Mestizo

When I worked for the software firm Radical Entertainment Inc. in posh Yaletown in Vancouver, BC, there was a strange mestizo Macanese coworker there, who brought a bird in a cage to the office.

Today, the 18th of February of 2025, I go walking to Tim Hortons several times during the grey-sky day. I drink White Chocolate Pistachio Oat Milk Latte, cold, twice. Yesterday was the first time that I drank it. Yesterday was a day with Latinos: In the afternoon, there was a handsome round-faced mestizo: Caucasoid and Amerindian. He reminded me of myself, like a mirror image. He seemed to interest himself in Chabacano, Philippine Creole Spanish. He was fiddling with his smartphone. We smiled at each other without talking, as if he did not want to speak English with me. Last night, there was a younger Latino with a Latina, talking at a table next to mine. The man mentioned an Esperanto word, "Nikaragvo" (Nicaragua), to which I obliquely replied with "Gvatemalo" (Guatemala). I sensed that he interested himself in Esperanto and Lojban, from the way he was talking to the woman.

In the afternoon of the 29th of June of 2025, I ate Filipino purplish ube pancakes on the blue-sky sunny verandah. I walked to Tim Hortons café to enjoy an Earl Grey tea with oat milk and a Turkey Bacon Club Artisan Sandwich. There was a handsome Filipino mestizo with his family. There was an Eastern girl in an elegant white dress. There was a First Nations man. On my walk, I saw my ufologist Dane-French friend Michael in a hurry to get home, so that his ice cream in his knapsack wouldn't melt.

Cool cloudy morning, hot sunny afternoon, it was for today, this 18th of July of 2025, here on Lulu Island. It was rather hot, but there was a slight breeze, so that I could flap my arms through it. I walked several times to Tim Hortons café for drinks and a steak sandwich. At home, there was much fish with rice. On the way to the café, I keep noticing what looks like a very tall European Mountain Ash tree, with bunches of orange berry-like fruits. At the café, there were a Hispanic mother and son. The mother said in Spanish to him, "Eres gay." "Te quiero" he mumbled. He was muscular with a stocky build, a good-looking mestizo with Amerindian blood. I whispered in Portuguese, "Sou um pardo..." Before 4 PM, I walked to the "Clam Temple," the Roman Catholic church on St. Albans Road. On the way, I saw the Bamboo Grove. Rotting rose leaves, rotting fig leaves, and rotting apples littered the compost beside it. At the near-empty grand nave, at the left front, was a group of Cantonese chanters. Maybe, they were not just Cantonese, but some were Hokkien. The list of donors to the building of the modern-looking church included many Cantonese, as well as Hokkien from the Philippines. I was sitting at the back of the nave. Today was my 71st time to the church this "Krismas" year of 2025. I love Science, though I'm a spiritual Syncretist.