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Dear Caitlin,
I know it has been a while since I last wrote a letter to you, and I cannot apologise enough for that, but you should know I have been rather busy. My studies have been difficult recently, although I am learning. It is taking countless nights of very little sleep to catch up with everything and translate it all into English so that I can understand it better, but I'm getting there. I suppose it is my own fault for going to a part of the world that speaks French really, but you know ever since I was a child I have loved the French language. I have yet to meet anyone else that speaks English well enough to help me with translations but that is due to the fact most of the people here don't speak English at all.
Qikiqtarjuaq may not be the most beautiful of places, but it is one of the most refreshing I have ever been to. The cold crisp air that nips at your skin if you aren't wearing enough clothes reminds me on a daily basis how hard I have to work for this. I promise this time I won't let you all down. I think I'd freeze in the bitter Canadian air before that happened. I refuse to rest until I have learnt everything for my CPL and PPL. As a small child all I have ever wanted to do was to become a pilot. I really think I could here. If I just spent a little more time learning both the language and the subject matter I'll be flying in no time, you just wait Cait. I'll be flying you, Simon, mum and dad all across the world.
I fear I may not belong here though. I just don't seem to fit in. I struggle with the language and it obvious from the way I speak it I am not a native speaker. Sometimes I think I feel outcast only because I am homesick. Two thousand three hundred miles is a large distance from home, but it feels so insignificant. I do not belong here, and I do not belong back home.
However, I am not writing to you to complain about situations were I can not help my own thoughts betraying me, I am writing to seek help. I don't know what to do. It all started when I was in the small library on the outskirts of town. The library itself was very old and the smell of old books filled my senses. It reminded me of home and the old bookshop we used to visit when we were younger. I thought I would use the library as a quiet place to sit down and study the French language in an attempt to get over this language barrier between myself and the rest of the town. I picked up a few books and set them down on a small table which was hidden in the corner of the main seating area.
After reading a few chapters of the first book I started to struggle with the deemed 'romantic' language and sighed. I looked up from the book and was faced with a pair of dark brown eyes staring at me from between the gaps of one of the bookshelves. I thought nothing of it. I had thought it was just a coincidence that the pair of us happened to glance at each other at the same time. A wave of anxiety washed over me, so I rearranged the patchwork scarf that hung loosely around my neck. I ensured that it would cover the majority of my face so that I could feel safer hidden away from everyone else.
After half an hour I could not stand sitting in that room any longer. I did not feel safe. I could feel those dark eyes staring at me as I read each line from the book. He was stood there, watching my every move like a jungle cat stalking its pray. I felt helpless. The man wore a three piece suit with brown Oxford shoes. A business man. I suddenly didn't feel so out of place as I had previously. I glanced at myself, wrapped up in layers of knitted wool and a trench coat a little too long for me. I smiled behind my scarf. I heard the man grunt and watched him suddenly leave, no interest in any of the Shakespearian literature is was hiding behind.
It puzzled me as to why he suddenly left. I got up and headed towards the dictionary section of the small book filled building. I felt a hand on my wrist as I went to go pick up a French to English dictionary and froze. I slowly turned my head to see a young woman staring up at me.
“Je suis désolé, mais je dois vous dire un mot?” I froze. I understood some of what this woman was saying.
“Parlez-vous Anglais? I fear my French is very poor and I may not be able to understand you.” He smiled softly.
“I speak little Anglais, but this is trés important.” I nod slightly, urging her to carry on speaking. “The monsieur who was looking at you, do you know of him?”
“No, I have never seen him before in my life.” The woman shook her head.
“This... This is not good.” She started pacing across the floor. “I shall give you a man. One to protect you. You must leave here. Maintenant!” She pushed at my shoulders, shoving me backwards towards the entrance of the building. She quickly glanced at a large man. He was intimidating, standing tall at six foot three inches and muscles on his arms that made me pray I would not get on the wrong side of him. The woman called him over with the movement of her index finger and I could feel the anxiety flood through me once again.
“Emmenez-la. La protéger. Assurez-vous que l'homme ne la touche pas.” She spoke to the man. He nodded and pushed me outside of the door. We were confronted by the man who hid behind the books.
“Well, aren't you cute. Studying another language just so you can be a pilot. It's almost sickening how sweet that is. A young girl doing anything to chase her dreams.” He smirked. I was shocked. This man spoke perfect English, it was such an odd feature here in Qikiqtarjuaq. The English speaking man was tall, but smaller than my 'bodyguard'. He had greying hair that was in need of a trim, he had attempted to brush it into a more professional looking hairstyle but failed slightly. The business man leant forward pushed down my scarf and took hold of my chin. “Aren't you just precious?”
It was all a blur after that. My 'bodyguard pushed me in the opposite direction.
“Run!” he shouted in a thick French accent, and that is exactly what I did. I ran all the way back to my student accommodation. I haven't left in three days now. I am far to terrified to move. I have run out of food supplies and I know I need to do something. I can't just leave Canada. I can't leave in the middle my studies. Father would not be pleased after paying out so much money to help me study to become a pilot in the first place. Oh Caitlin, I just want to come home.
Lots of love,
M.