Passion is What We Live For

It was November 12 when I finally arrived in Casablanca. When I got out of the airplane it was two o’clock in the morning. The driver coming to pick me up gazed at this teenage-looking Chinese and was quiet puzzled what I could be there for.

 

The air smelled moist and foreign. The car smelled of sweat and cheap perfume. I sat in the back of a 1989 Buick Park Avenue in a light brown suit that was not very well cut, and obviously not local to the climate, and hugged my black fiber-glass briefcase like a baby hugging his teddy bear.

 

That was my first assignment on my first job as an adult. That year, I just turned 21.  

 

I had always longed for the day when I could visit at where the story Casablanca actually happened, though I almost knew that this was not a true story, but rather a fusion of many stories of the era. Born a fan of WWII history, to be in Casablanca was a dream.

 

That night, before I was totally ready, I was thrown into that dream.

 

The only thing that could have added romance into a place like Casablanca is passion, the one human feeling we nurse for things that inspire us, be it women, nature, or a revolutionary cause. Something that would have us enthusiastically pursue, knowing it would inflict pain and suffering onto our own flesh and minds.

 

I loved every second I sat in my car watching the sun going down in Casablanca. All these days, I was not alone. I had my favourite cassette with me.

 

Passion is what I live for, even for the challenging moments of my life.

 

That little grey rock under the Arabic sun looked to me like the definition of continuum. It should be long gone now. The world has swirled around me. I am at the center like a giggling new born.

 

I read The Great Gatsby when I was 12. It was probably today that I truly appreciate his passion and devotion. Realizing that I have done almost what he did granted me relief over many other things that troubled me. Somewhere along the way, I have learned to live my life with passion.

 

As I looked out again, the Canadian horizon is as flat as that of North Africa. It is November again, and Christmas lights are starting to come on. On my desk, water is glittering under the light. Simple, and inviting, like all joys of life, as beautiful as you can appreciate them.

 

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