The Roncy QBC #10 was on June 16, 2026

and I’m only writing about it on June 30, during Roncy QBC #12, can you believe this? I don’t owe anybody an explanation, and yet, here we are.

What happened on the day before QBC #10: a story of rejection and stoicism

On June 15, the day before QBC #10, my landlady denied my plea to stay longer in the apartment. I opened her text while I was finishing the post about QBC #9. That was it. I had to face the reality that “♪la mia camera, più bella del mondo♪” would not be la mia camera anymore, let alone la più bella del mondo. The Italian serenade I would sing to my bedroom (to the tune of “La donna è mobile” from Verdi’s Rigoletto) every time I came back from outside was slowly losing its gusto and sincerity.

La mia camera was now what it had always been: la camera della landlady. All these walls belonged to her. The only electrical outlet in that room was hers. The small skylight, the room's sole source of sunlight, was hers. All these things I had grown to love were hers. An ocean of empty moving boxes was drowning la mia camera. Maybe they remained empty because the only things I actually wanted to put in those boxes were the familiar walls, the tiny skylight, the electrical outlet, all those things that were hers.

On June 15, the day before QBC #10, a friend who had been crashing in my living room left, and Roomie came back from her trip. That friend's presence in my home had felt like a change of scenery, a break from the ordinary. It made everything feel new and exciting. During his stay, I had been avoiding opening the iMessage app, where my landlady would eventually pronounce her sentence. I had sent 40+ job applications by then and hadn't landed a single interview. I was stuck in a liminal space (where I still am as I'm writing this), and yet I was in a good mental space. I had come to terms with my future of uncertainty.

“Que será, será.”

Whatever fate the landlady had in store for me, would come with pros and cons. Whatever job I land, whatever place I end up in, whatever direction my life takes from now on will come with pros and cons. But right now, the pros are that I'm still alive, I'm still living in Roncy, I finally launched that quiet book club I had been yearning for, and I've shown up every single week. Today was the 10th time I had said yes to walking to SAVA carrying a box full of stuff, yes to welcoming a bunch of strangers every Tuesday morning, yes to getting some reading or writing done. That was something to be happy about and proud of.

The night before QBC #10, I had written and published the post about The Roncy QBC #9 and wondered whether I should do something special to mark the occasion. 10 is a great number! One that calls for celebration! But I was already reposting all these entries from FakeBoob to my personal blog (you’re on it right now, if you’re still wondering), I didn't have the time or energy to come up with an idea to make #10 special. It was past midnight. #10 would start in less than 9 hours. Forget it, it’s too late for that, Jo Güstin!

So maybe I should wear something special so that, at least, I feel special? So I did. I wore my favorite hat (“mon chienpeau”), my new favorite T-shirt that quietly reminds me that one day I'll move to New Zealand (Taika Waititi is all over it), pants made of my favorite fabric (corduroy), a scarf made of my other favorite fabric (bogolan), and my favorite shoes for feeling safe (Dr. Martens leather boots). I put on my white windbreaker because it was still a bit windy (I guess: it was 2 weeks ago), and I headed to SAVA, probably super late for the person supposed to host.

SAVA, SAVA, for the 10th time! Unless you take my table!

Olivia

Olivia was there when I arrived. So was a group of 4 older ladies occupying my usual table, and two other people at the table behind them: the Roncy QBC area was under siege.

So Olivia, wearing her trademark glee and nurse-like joie de vivre, volunteered a solution: moving the QBC area to the front of the café this time. And in doing so, she wasn't simply suggesting her favorite Plan B. It felt like she was only showing me that she was open to any change, that she was willing to adapt, and gleefully so.

And I say "nurse-like joie de vivre" because the constant good mood Olivia brings to the Roncy QBC feels, to me, like care. Like, for some reason, she wants to take care of me, as in: "Here, here, Jo. Here's a good mood for you. Hopefully it'll add a little extra sunlight to your sky."

Or maybe I'm wrong and she's just genuinely happy to be there.

That’s not Olivia, that’s Alex with the cute nails like Dexter Morgan’s mom’s. You’ve met her before.

But unlike Olivia, I was not gleeful at all. I wasn't sulking either. I was in survival mode, making quick negotiations with my autism before everyone showed up.

Sudden, unexpected change is not my favorite thing in life. I'm pretty sure I'd rather have cockroaches hosting a barbecue between my toes. It would tickle a little, yes, but it would be much less unpleasant than the upheaval of one of my very few routines.

I considered another option besides the one Olivia suggested: keeping the QBC area at the back of the café, knowing that the big four-seat table was the only one remaining while the individual tables along the opposite wall were still available.

Moving the QBC area to the front meant less space, more noise, and everyone sitting in front of me (which would distract me), whereas staying at the very back meant having to share my table with 3 people and sitting in an unusual orientation, facing south instead of west.

The irony was that, not even the night before, I had written the post about QBC #9, in which I declared, verbatim:

"The big table is meant for a group of four; I'd never sit there on purpose."

And yet there I was, considering sitting there because the staff at SAVA never reserved those tables for me. Should they, though? Is it something I should ask? I legit wondered out loud. The French girl was working that morning. Should I go ahead and complain? Should I email the boss later? I took a breath.

There are no problems, only solutions. And new problems.

I don't remember how we found out that the two ladies sitting at the two-seat table behind my usual spot were actually there for the book club too. That changed everything.

My usual spot was still occupied (by the four señoras), but the other tables meant for my clubbers weren't. I left my backpack at the large table in the very back (in case I changed my mind), but decided to sit at the very front and have the clubbers sit where they usually do.

Which meant the older ladies would stay at my usual table, I'd sit in front of them, and the rest of the club would be behind them.

To be honest, that separation felt rather good! Hiding under a blanket, turning my back on the participants of my own book club, and now being separated from them by a bunch of older ladies? That's Avoidant Jo's ideal setup!

Why am I like this? Who hurt me? Don't ask me.

The new faces were Ildiko, a visitor from another neighborhood, and their friend Xenia, who lives nearby. They took the table where Alex, Colleen, Ann, and even Olivia like to sit whenever it's available.

Buffy’s back!

Buffy arrived soon enough and I cheered because it was her big comeback after the unspeakable tragedy that had affected her over the past month and caused her to travel abroad. It was so good to have her back. Because she looked confused (she should be! There were squatters at my table!), I guided her to the table at the very back where she was used to sitting (see? That's why the negotiations with my autism had to be quick). Gemma did the same and sat in front of her.

The quiet clubbers after the 4 ladies were gone. Aren’t they too cute?

A new problem presented itself: the sign-up sheet was full.

But no worries. Rosy had printed a second one. Look! I had put it behind the first one on the clip…board?

Huh.

I was pretty sure it was there.

Oh, silly me. It must be in the QBC... box...

Wait...

How...

How many copies did Rosy print that day again? I'm pretty sure we had two sign-up sheets, printed in colour on both sides, and that I had initially slipped the second one behind the first on this clipboard. The only other possible place would have been with the rest of the posters that never leave the QBC box. But it’s not there either. All things related to the Roncy QBC stay in the QBC box, after all. Why else would I carry such a heavy box every week? Where else could it be if not in the box?

I looked everywhere.

No second sign-up sheet.

Then I started wondering if maybe there had never been a second sign-up sheet to begin with. It would have been idiotic for me to move it anywhere else.

New quick negotiations with my autism, now that Olivia, Ildiko, and Xenia had filled the last three rows of the sheet.

Should I run across the street to the public library and print a new one real quick?

I didn't have my phone. The PDF was on Dropbox. I couldn't text Rosy to ask her. She'd have to log into my Toronto Public Library account, and that would be a whole thing.

Should I just grab a blank sheet of paper this once and have those people fill in the next sign-up sheet, in the exact same order, the next time they came? But what if they never came back? What if it's not even the same pen?

No.

My autism and I decided that I'd have them write in the margins of the current, already-full sign-up sheet.

The first person to conquer the margins was Gemma. Then Buffy. Then either Alex, Carianne, or me. Last came Alba, whom I simply told to fend for themself. They found a spot on the marginal margin.

Time to read the welcome speech.

I opened the first file I saw on my iPad and realized, as I was reading, that it was the very first draft (the mega-long one), not the shorter newer version. But this time, it didn't feel that long. I knew for sure it was the first draft, though. I wonder if anyone else noticed.

I read the whole thing.

They clapped, as they always do, whether I complain about it or not.

My treat!

#10 dictated that I order something from the café, so I went to the French employee serving us that morning and ordered a large matcha tea and a chocolatine.

(I grew up in Cameroon, where we say pain au chocolat. Then I went to high school in southwestern France, where they say chocolatine. Then I left Toulouse for Paris, where they hate it being called anything but pain au chocolat. Since doing whatever annoys Parisians is a lifestyle to me and a big source of joy, then chocolatine it is. I was surprised to find that it was also the local currency in Canada. There might be too much pain in pain au chocolat for the Anglophone majority.)

I hadn't slept the night before (or any other night), so I said to the café employee:

“Matcha tea doesn't wake you up, though, right? There's no caffeine... It might make me fall asleep, non?”

I was surprised when she replied:

“Oh, it takes a minute, but it'll give you a boost eventually. It just takes some time to kick in.”

I had never heard that before.

I paid and tipped. Happy QBC #10, Jo Güstin!

The French girl (whose name I asked once in the past, but she didn't hear me, so I never asked again. I tend to forget names anyway) made me a hot beverage with a beautiful foam design on top. I was quite impressed by her skills, and I suddenly remembered how I feel when people are impressed by mine: quite insulted.

I had assumed she had landed the job for being a cute young white French woman, the same way people often expect the least from what I can bring to the table as a Black African woman. That beautifully executed latte art became an invitation to see the barista standing in front of me as a well of unknown potential.

I still didn't ask her name, but as I looked at the green beverage, I did ask myself whether my matcha tea was usually that green.

She brought it to my table, the chocolatine on a small plate in her other hand. I asked whether she could take a picture of me at my table when she had a minute, and she said, "OK!"

I sat down with my philosophy book, my green latte, and my chocolatine.

Huh...

That green latte was very green, though. The only green milk I had ever drunk was a mix of cold cow milk and mint syrup, served at birthday parties when I was growing up in Cameroon. I kept staring at the not cold, but hot, green milky beverage, disgust written all over my face. It looked like there wasn’t mint syrup, but spinach in it. And I only say spinach because you probably don’t know what ndolè is. I couldn't even bring myself to take a sip.

This beautiful greenery was *not* my cup of tea!

Did I order the right thing? Was it really called matcha tea?

I went back to the Frenchie.

“Hey… Is it possible I ordered the wrong latte? What's the Indian one? The spicy one with cinnamon...”
“Oh, you mean the chai latte?”
“Yeah! Sorry. And it's not green, is it?”
“No, it's not. And yes, indeed, it doesn't really wake you up.”
“Voilà. I'm sorry. That's the one I meant to order.”
“No worries. Let me change it for you!”
“I haven't touched this one yet. I'm sorry you have to waste it...”
“It’s no problem at all. I’ll replace it for free, don’t fret.”

We only spoke in French, I’m translating for convenience. The way she immediately put me at ease (and coming from a French girl! I know my French people: they're usually easily annoyed) showed me yet another skill from her well of unknown potential.

I got a large chai latte in a similar cup. (I don't like that kind of cup. It's low and wide, so you can't really gauge its actual capacity. You can't tell you're getting a lot; and I like getting a lot. I much prefer mugs. But I have a long list of preferences when it comes to beverages and their containers, and if there's even four seconds of silence in a conversation even with a perfect stranger, I'll gladly blurt out this completely unsolicited piece of information:

“Water has no color, so it needs to be in a container that does have a color. Drinks like syrups and lemonades already have a color, so their container should be transparent and colorless, so I can actually see their color. As for hot beverages…”

And it just goes on.

I went back to my seat and finally opened the philosophy book I'd brought with me again.

I was a bit agitated during QBC #10, but I was proud of myself, no matter what was happening in my life.

Yeah.

Right now mattered.

Right now was good.

45 minutes left, and I had barely started my quiet time!

Oh my gosh. It's been two weeks since that day, and I still remember how fucking loud that café got during our quiet time. You'd think it was the four ladies at my table. Not at all! It was always little groups of two people. You're talking to just one person sitting right in front of you. Why do you need to shout?

Djizoss.

I used to call them extroverts, but now I wonder whether they're not just narcissists.

I walked up to the French barista (who never did come take that picture of me, by the way) and asked her to remind people that the quiet time of a Quiet Book Club was going on until 10:45.

She hesitated, but agreed.

I don't know what she told them exactly, but it changed absolutely nothing. I had earplugs in, and I was still distracted by the noise. Had I brought my iPhone with me, I could have listened to my own playlist and drowned out the din entirely. I didn’t hear the alarm of my iPad ringing, but since I kept glancing at the visual timer next to me, I didn’t miss the 10:45 mark. My usual table was available again, I moved some stuff there before it wasn’t, grabbed my clipboard and kicked off the third and final act!

Act 3

At The Roncy QBC #10, we had:

Olivia, who put a smiley next to her name again, which put a smile on my face again. Her goal was to continue writing her play, and she did!

Ildiko

Then, we had another writer, Ildiko, who was visiting from another neighborhood and had come to write a book outline. I asked them if the project was still top secret at that point and they said yes. Obviously. So I moved on to their friend in front of them, Xenia, who had two goals: reading EAST OF EDEN by John Steinbeck and journaling.

I noticed many reactions across the room when Ildiko showed us the book she was allegedly not reading for the first time. So I asked:

“Who here has read this book before? EAST OF EDEN. Or at least heard about it?”

Pretty much everyone raised their hand. I, for one, had never heard of it.

“Is it, like, an American classic?” I assumed.

They all nodded, so I admitted that I was not familiar with American literature. North or South.

This is the quote that Ildoko retired from EAST OF EDEN:

“An ache was on top of his stomach, an oppression that was like a sick thought. It was ‘Weltschmerz’… the world sadness that rises into the soul like a gas and spreads despair so that you probe for the offending event and can find none.”

Nice to meet you, Ildiko!

“Ildiko, you also wanted to journal a little bit. You wrote on my sign-up sheet ‘daily reflection’. Did you manage to reflect in all that noise?”

I got some giggles. Someone had to acknowledge that today was noisy, and better me than any of them. Can’t remember if I publicly apologized for it, but I do remember that Alba privately told me later:

“When I hear ‘Quiet Book Club’, I understand that I will do the quiet. I don’t mind if other people are talking, as long as the rest of us don’t have to talk.”

They’re very open-minded. Me, on the other hand, expect complete silence from everyone so that I can focus. I certainly hope that no one else was as annoyed by today’s noise as I was.

Gemma

Gemma, the literary agent who usually brings queries (which is fine, I’ve said it before, you can bring whatever you want), brought a published book this time: THE CHILDREN by Melissa Albert. It’s a dark fantasy novel that just came out (June 2!) about the children of a writer who explore the works of their mother who had used them as characters. If I understood correctly.

I read from Gemma’s page on Manuscript WishList that she was into that kind of literature (fantasy is my least favorite genre), so I’m afraid she’s gonna hate my manuscript if I ever send it to her. Realism is my shit.

Two quotes from THE CHILDREN stood out to Gemma that day:

““What’s ‘cunning’?”” The word felt good in her mouth. The kind of word that carries a knife.”
“A massive furnace covered the bulk of the western wall, like a pipe organ in a church.”

Now you know what kind of sentences to write in your query letter to Gemma! New vocabulary entries from THE CHILDREN, let me know if you knew these words or concepts:

the game called SPUD (from the sentence “They played spud on the lawn”), according to Wikipedia: “Spud is a dodgeball variant for children and adults, where players try to eliminate each other by catching and throwing an inflated and generally soft ball. It is related to "call ball" and "ball tag". (…) Targeted players who come into contact with the thrown ball in any way (unless the ball is caught), are penalized with one letter (i.e., S P U or D) (…)
When a player receives four penalty letters (S P U D), that person is required to be eliminated, or a new game is begun.“ => “la balle au prisonnier” in French.

Now the definitions of the new words Gemma noted, as found in the Merriam-Webster dictionary:

malinger (v.): to pretend or exaggerate incapacity or illness (as to avoid duty or work) => His boss suspected him of malingering / of being a malingerer because of his frequent absences from work.
nacreous (adj.): possessing the qualities of, consisting of, or abounding in nacre => also: IRIDESCENT

I started collecting the books and laying them on the tables were the four ladies used to be, for the group photo later: EAST OF EDEN, THE CHILDREN, what’s next?

Buffy

Buffy came to write a story. Not her usual manuscript.

I wish I could remember what we said about it two weeks ago. I can’t even remember if I picked up on the fact that she wrote something new that day. I was just happy to see her again.

For weeks, I had thought about a welcome back present for her, but I wasn’t inspired, so I didn’t force it.

Oh my gosh, Buffy’s back! I should be taking news from Chris. (Remember Parkdale Chris?) I’m more and more worried about them. And as weeks and weeks go by, I’m still not reaching out, and feel guilty about it… It’s very strange when a regular suddenly stops showing up: something must’ve happened.

Alex

Speaking of regulars, Alex brought two novels (again): the endless INFINITE JEST, a philosophical tragicomedy by David Foster Wallace (that you remember from QBC #8) and THE NEW ME by Halle Butler, that she didn’t really like. I decided to add the French version of INFINITE JEST (L’Infinie comédie) to my wishlist. I also found out that the author had taken his own life in 2008 and that the unfinished book he was working on then won a Pulitzer!

Here’s how Merriam-Webster defines the words Alex discovered that day:

sobriquet (n.): a descriptive name or epithet : NICKNAME

“Did you know? This synonym of nickname has the same meaning in modern French as it does in English. In Middle French, however, its earlier incarnation soubriquet referred to both a nickname and a tap under the chin.”

Of course, I knew about sobriquet meaning nickname, but I didn’t know about the tap under the chin.

ontological (adj.): of or relating to ontology (i.e. a branch of metaphysics concerned with the nature and relations of being); relating to or based upon being or existence
ergotic (adj.): of, relating to, or produced by ergot (i.e. a disease of rye and other cereals caused by an ergot fungus)

What an interesting new word, for if you ever create a character who is a cereal healer. Got it? And she uses her knowledge on cereals to track down a notorious serial… I knew you got it.

Carianne

I looked down at my sign-up sheet and read the next name, which rang a bell: Carianne! I hadn't recognized Carianne! Their first QBC was QBC #8, and they returned for a second time at #10. Although I had remembered their name (we added each other on FakeBoob), I certainly hadn't remembered their face.

I made it my personal goal to memorize it this time.

I will soon find out that if there's one person who always makes sure there's at least one queer book being read at the Roncy QBC, it's Carianne! This week, Carianne brought RAINBOW WISDOM:18 LGBTQ+ Life Lessons for Everyone by Mischa Oak. And here’s the quote they read out loud:

“Yet I am confident that Queer people are a vital part of humanity’s way forward, here to inspire us all to be better, fuller versions of ourselves, no matter who we are, no matter our identities.”

I think we need to let that sink in.

Meditate on that.

Thirty seconds of deep silence.

Carianne got another round of applause, or maybe it was sounds of approval. No one shouted, "Hallelujah!" because, except for Alba, they were all white.

Jo Güstin

Then it was my turn. I was excited to deliver another monologue on I THINK, THEREFORE I DRAW. I had first brought that philosophical essay by Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein, for The Roncy QBC #9. Even though I hadn’t read much during the #10 session, I had written down a lot of quotes and new concepts:

I started by explaining John Rawls’ concept of “veil of ignorance” to demonstrate that by default, the human being will prefer to live in a just society. But I had paused after saying his name—John Rawls—for the first time, which drew an amused chuckle from Alex. That’s when I confused John Rawls with John Stuart Mill (so many Johns) and said that Rawls wasn’t my best friend.

Moving on, I also noted down the concept of “reductio ad absurdum”, a method of argument deriving from Xenophanes of Colophon. Here’s the quote that came with it:

“It turns out that Xenophanes’ reductio is the key to many successful cartoons.“

Other vocabulary entries and their Merriam-Webster definitions:

supplicant (n.): one who supplicates (i.e. who makes a humble entreaty, especially who prays to God; who asks for earnestly and humbly)

I’ve just looked up “entreaty”: an act of entreating : PLEA. OK, so when I texted my landlady begging for the authorization to keep renting the apartment at least until I found a job, my text was an entreaty, and I was a supplicant. And she was the lord. The landlord.

bespectacled (adj.): wearing spectacles
forthwith (adv.): without any delay
to foment (v.): to promote the growth or development of : ROUSE, INCITE => to foment a revolution, a riot

I retired a lot of quotes and decided to read them all (I was having too much fun discussing philosophy and the week before, I had skipped so much, just to save time… I wish I hadn’t). The first quote I shared was the title of the chapter on freedom:

“Freedom’s Just Another Word for ‘Leave Me Alone’”

On John Stuart Mill’s essays ON LIBERTY:

“As one wag put it, ‘your right to swing your arm leaves off where my right not to have my nose struck begins.”

That’s when it clicked: John Stuart Mill was the one I was not a fan of, not John Rawls!

“I feel like I’m supposed to know by now what ‘wag’ means, I feel like it was a new vocabulary entry maybe last week or the week before.”
Gemma’s chuckle kinda confirmed my suspicion.
“Anyway! What Mill doesn’t mention”, I continued, “is the fact that the ones who don’t want to have their noses struck tend to be the same who keep swinging their arms around. We live in a society where a minority can swing their arms, while the rest just gets their noses struck.”

I immediately regretted making any comment, I was clearly unprepared: 20 seconds ago, I didn’t even know the difference between Rawls and Mill. Maybe… I tried to ignore my own thoughts and moved on to the next quote:

“Counterculture heroes such as Angela Davis and Abbie Hoffman were radicalized by reading One-Dimensional Man. It articulated their frustration and anger toward modern society.”

Once again, I had the opportunity to shut up and avoid any political comment, but I didn’t seize it:

“That quote stood out to me because I had never heard of One-Dimensional Man. I wrote the quote down so that I could remember the name of the book, because I, too, want to be radicalized!”

Some chuckles in the audience. Maybe my political stances are for some people. They do make you feel vulnerable though. I’ve only watched two episodes of MAD MEN, which was enough to come across this quote from Don Draper (Jon Hamm): “Childhood is like politics, religion, or sex — why talk about it?“ Or to quote my own stand-up (translated from French): “It's scary to be a beginner in political comedy, in socially conscious comedy. At first, you don't really know your audience's political leanings… also because you don't have any audience.”

I proceeded to share my last two quotes:

“Hedonism comes in different flavours.”
“Aristippus (435-356 BCE), a Greek Libyan, was one of the first recorded philosophers to promote the pleasure principle as the entire point of life. If it feels good, it is good.”

I told the group that I had always thought that Epicure (342-270 BCE) was the first hedonist philosopher. But I retired this quote to remind myself that someone else had done it only decades before him. The OG “Epicurian” died 14 years before Epicure was born.

Alba

Last book: Alba’s. Xenia and Ildiko indicated that they had to go, and I had sequestrated Xenia’s book on the table for the group photo. I felt bad for not watching the time, but didn’t apologize. Since they were new and the event is claimed to end at 11am, they probably expected to be released from The Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club at 11am. I hurried up and collected the rest of the books, including Alba’s novel (it’s so cute how Olivia always inserts her notebook in the group photo!), I took the picture and then gave the novel EAST OF EDEN back to Xenia.

Xenia and Ildiko waved us goodbye, and I carried on with the last book of the day, the one Alba had brought, a collection of poems called CRUSH by Richard Siken. My reaction when I saw the cover in black and white:

“Is this a penis?”
“Maybe it’s a thumb? Maybe they intentionally made it look like something else?”, Alba replied, amused.

Alba said that they did not usually read poetry, so they counted on this book club to find the motivation to do so. They said that the quote that stood out to them was rather long and wondered if it was OK to read it. Without probing the audience (who might have been in a hurry too), I extended my pleasure as much as I could and hastily shouted: “Yes!” After all, this time, I had allowed myself to go through all my quotes too!

“I try, I do. I try and try. A happy ending?
Sure enough—Hello darling, welcome home.
I'll call you darling, hold you tight. We are not traitors but the lights go out. It's dark.
Sweetheart, is that you? There are no tears, no pictures of him squarely. A seaside framed in glass, and boats, those little boats with sails aflutter, shining lights upon the water, lights that splinter when they hit the pier.
His voice on tape, his name on the envelope, the soft sound of a body falling off a bridge behind you, the body hardly even makes a sound. The waters of the dead, a clear road, every lover in the form of stars, the road blocked. All night I stretched my arms across him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe. Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces. Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.“

I’m touched every time I see Alba feel comfortable enough to share with the group. It’s like watching someone who never dances dance, or someone who never wants to eat anything devour the meal you cooked for them.

The Roncy QBC #10 group photo! (Yeah, I should call these “group photos” from now on)

Before we parted ways, I asked if anybody had any updates. No one did, so I shared: still looking for a job, still landing zero interview, but I did have a human interaction when an actual person emailed me “We received your application, we’ll get back to you.” and that made my heart melt.

I also shared that on Donald Trump’s birthday, I was extra furious that he was still alive. I biked through the rain to the Parkdale Public Library to attend the annual general assembly of the NDP Parkdale—High Park association, and I don’t know what happened, I got impulsive and ended up becoming the new provincial LGBTQ representative. People gasped.

“I’m committing to this new thing I know nothing about. For a neighborhood where my future is uncertain. Apparently, I will have to knock on people’s doors and come out to them, which sounds horrifying.”
“Is it paid?” Buffy asked.
“I don’t know! I know nothing! I didn’t even know I had been elected! At the end, people came up to me to congratulate me, and I had to ask them, ‘So, what am I exactly?’ I had expressed interest in disability and LGBTQ. So to one of the people who congratulated me at the end, I also asked, ‘So which one did I get? LGBTQ or disability?’ It was as if, when the whole thing happened, my brain conveniently decided to stop understanding English! That’s AuDHD for you. But you know what? I’ll send them an email and ask what it all entails. Can you imagine? Me in politics? I love politics in arts, when I’m allowed to say whatever I please. Being told what to say, do you think I can… I’ll send them an email.”

It was a wrap on The Roncy QBC #10! I was the only person emotional about it, which was understandable: I was the only one who had attended all ten.

Alba offered to buy me some food for my birthday. They had already invited me to lunch the week before (and I had spontaneously declined—that was terrifying. Did I mention that I have an avoidant attachment style?), so this time, I was already prepared for that kind of request.

I told them that I don't eat in public or with people I'm not very close to. They understood and offered to pay for my takeout instead!

I hesitated for a long time, then invited them to keep reading and writing with me at SAVA. They agreed. I typed my report on QBC #9, they read their poetry book before moving on to their phone, and then I finally said yes to getting takeout from the Thai restaurant next door.

“When I order their green curry with tofu and make my own rice and air-fried plantains at home, I can stretch it into SIX MEALS!” I told Alba with dollar signs in my eyes and that smile I wear whenever I’m sharing a life hack.

We went to Friendly Thai (the restaurant next door), and Alba kept thanking me for... My mind went blank.

My mind always goes blank when they say things like that, or whenever I receive a compliment. Something about what I do for the community. I remember the word community. And "what you do." But what do I do?

Beats me. Ask Alba.

Alba treating me to a whole week of warm meals at My Friendly Thai

It looks like the day when I finally accept to treat myself (to some chai latte and a chocolatine) is also the day when I accept to let others treat me. Congrats on #10, Jo Güstin!

That night, I decided that to celebrate the 10th gathering, I’d send a special newsletter with the link to this blog to everyone who booked a spot from Eventbrite at least once!

#FunnyBrainyRoncy #Roncesvalles #RoncesvallesVillage

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This post was NOT published on Fakeboob.

All the books mentioned here can be ordered on anotherstory.ca or borrowed from the Toronto Public Library.

Book your free spot at the next Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club here (donations are welcome): https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/the-roncesvalles-quiet-book-club-tickets-1986008762671

The Roncesvalles Quiet Book Club #10