Aura

 Today, I dreamed of Aura. At first, she was cautious with me, but in the end, she managed to forgive me, and it made us both feel lighter—especially me, because I was really glad about it. This dream means I still haven’t forgiven myself for everything I did. Maybe I could if I talked to her, but after what I did, I fell so low in her eyes that she probably wouldn’t even want to think about hearing from me again.

This story begins in my teenage years, but it should start with meeting Aura.
Back then, I was living in Poland, wanting to be a cool businessman and make lots of money. I achieved part of that dream because my friend and I had a small construction business with a fluctuating staff of 10-15 people. We took on various jobs: interiors, facades, roofs, demolition, restoration, cleanups… I mainly handled the people, organizing the work process, and bookkeeping, while my friend dealt with clients, materials, and equipment. And though it sounds decent, for some reason, we never had any money. We constantly needed to upgrade or buy something, arrange housing for workers near the sites, and get them uniforms, gear, and all the consumables. During that time, we went through a lot of vehicles because we bought the cheapest ones, and they broke down within a few months—at most half a year—before we scrapped them and bought new ones. Since we always had money problems, we often picked up tools ourselves and worked alongside everyone else. I didn’t like that because I wanted a business precisely to avoid physical work, but that didn’t happen often. I didn’t like construction; it never interested me. The only thing I loved about my job was when we got demolition jobs—I was ready to do that even for free. Armed with a big hammer, crowbar, axe, and pry bar, I’d put on rock music in my earphones, sip energy drinks, and furiously smash everything in my path. We started from absolute zero; at that moment, it so happened that we didn’t even have money for housing, so my friend took a job from an acquaintance who provided us with housing, gave us an advance, and a car, also against the advance. When we hired our first employees, we didn’t have capital for their salaries; we relied only on advances from clients. Over time, this scheme didn’t change—we’d take a project, find workers, spend almost all the money on organization and equipment, and wait for client advances to pay salaries. Unfortunately, clients didn’t always pay on time, and we’d start having problems with the workers because they couldn’t get their salaries on time. Sometimes we managed to cover one project with another, but not always. Often, people understood the situation and were willing to wait a few days or even a week. But when delays stretched on, and just as we were fed “tomorrows” by clients, we fed “tomorrows” to the workers for over two weeks, problems began. Some simply stopped working and went to other employers, staying in touch and calling every day to ask, “When will the money come?” We never ignored the people we owed; as soon as we had money, we paid them right away. But sometimes, people’s nerves gave out, and over time, they stopped believing us, thinking we’d taken their salaries for ourselves. It always amazed me that people could think that because it made no sense—an employer makes much more money when a person works for them long-term than from a single salary. All kinds of people come to construction; the most desperate were those who thought they were very cool and those who had little to lose. When payments were delayed for too long, many called with threats—some threatened only to burn the car, some tried to intimidate us with connections, some wanted to beat us, some threatened to break our limbs, and some didn’t shy away from threatening murder. The worst part was that there were people whose threats felt believable. There was one case when we couldn’t wait any longer for money from a client who owed a significant amount. Through acquaintances, we reached out to some local influential bandit, and he agreed to solve the problem his way for a certain percentage of the debt. I met him a few times, and at first glance, I wouldn’t have said he was some “thug” or anything like that. He seemed quite ordinary and calm, even very polite, and I’d even say understanding, but there was one trait in him that couldn’t be ignored—when he looked at me during a conversation, it felt like he was looking straight into my soul. One glance from him made me choose my words very carefully because I felt that if I said even one extra word, he’d latch onto it, develop it, and use it against me. Anyway, he did his job, and within a few days, we got every penny; we gave him his share, and the rest was just enough to settle with the workers for their salaries. So, in fact, we earned nothing but frayed nerves, wasted time, effort, and the workers’ trust. There were also good clients who paid on time or with delays of about a week, but there weren’t many of them. For some reason, we always had problems that, as it seemed to me then, were completely out of our control.

One day, we took a job to replace windows in a school—a small two-story school in a little town whose name I no longer remember. It was summer, so the school was closed, and hardly anyone came there. This job didn’t require many people, so we took a few workers and went there. I liked that place—far from the noisy city, surrounded by nature and fresh air. Upon arrival, we figured out what was what, and my friend went back to Warsaw because we had other projects there, while I stayed. Since the town was very small, we didn’t even look for housing there; we lived right in the school. It had everything we needed: a shower, a kitchen, and plenty of rooms (offices and classrooms) for living. We used gym mats instead of mattresses, so living there was a pleasure. We asked them to open the storage room with balls and sports equipment in the gym, and there was an old piano in the music classroom, so we had leisure activities covered too.
At that time, I didn’t have a girlfriend, so from time to time, I went on dating sites. I came across different girls, but I couldn’t take any of them seriously… until her. I don’t remember why I noticed her; her profile was unremarkable, everything was simple and clear, the photos were from different years and in such different styles that I even doubted it was the same person. It looked like she didn’t bother much about the photos and just uploaded a few decent ones from different times. When we started messaging, she didn’t give me reasons for silly jokes or a frivolous attitude toward her, and at the same time, it was easy and interesting to communicate with her. She lived in Warsaw, so after some time, we agreed to meet when I returned.
Time flew by, and I came back to Warsaw. We agreed to meet in the afternoon near the zoo and go look at the animals. When I arrived, we didn’t find each other right away; we seemed to miss each other a few times, but eventually, we met. I really liked her name—it was unusual and a bit fairy-tale-like. Her name was Aura. She seemed sweet and cheerful to me; she laughed very sincerely—few people can do that. I also really liked that she was tall; when she wore heels, she was only a few centimeters shorter than me.
We met in person, and I suggested grabbing a bite at some restaurant before going to the zoo; she agreed. The nearest place was a restaurant with Eastern cuisine, and we went there. Inside, I chose a table with comfortable, cushioned benches in the far part of the restaurant so we’d see fewer people passing by. We ordered some food and a bit of wine. When the waiter took our order, we started getting to know each other better and tried communicating not through the internet, without delays and pauses. Talking to someone in person is harder because you can’t reply hours later after thinking it over or just stop talking for a while because you don’t know what topic to pick—you can do that, but it’d look awkward. There’s also eye contact and auditory perception; you have to react not only to words but also to their intonation and the person’s facial expressions. But despite all that, it was very easy and pleasant for us to talk; there were no awkward moments or misunderstandings—we just talked and laughed as if we’d known each other for a long time. We were so interested in each other that we completely forgot about the zoo and sat in the restaurant until it closed. When the waiters politely hinted that the restaurant was about to close, we started getting ready. Aura went to the restroom, and I decided to play a joke. While she was gone, I paid the bill and sat back at the table. When she returned, I said with an ambiguous tone, “Grab your purse, and let’s just leave—don’t look at the waiters…” She didn’t catch the hint right away, but when she did, she very firmly said she couldn’t leave without paying and offered to cover the dinner. For a second, it seemed my harmless joke was getting out of hand, so I stopped playing around and assured her I’d already paid the bill.

When we left the restaurant, I didn’t want to let her go home and suggested taking a walk. We headed toward the city center and, after some time, stumbled upon a beautiful garden shaped like a small labyrinth with a fountain in the center. By day, this garden didn’t look very impressive—I’d even say it was a bit dull—but at night, it seemed to come alive, as if it grew larger and more majestic, with the flowers and bushes brimming with life. The problem was that the area was closed, and we were standing about a hundred and fifty meters away, in front of a barrier at a checkpoint with a guard booth, but for some reason, there was no guard there. I told Aura to wait, climbed over the barrier, and walked toward the garden to see if anyone would stop me. I reached the fountain in the center and came back—no one noticed me. I suggested going there, and though not immediately, Aura agreed and climbed over the barrier too. The night was bright enough, and the city streetlights meant we didn’t need to wander in the dark. We strolled through the garden, admiring its architecture and flowers. At one point, about twenty meters away, we saw some movement in the bushes. When we took a few steps toward it and looked closely, after a few seconds, something like a dog darted out of the bushes. Looking closer, we saw it was a fox. It was scurrying between the bushes, sniffing something, and seemed so busy with its affairs that it didn’t want to notice us at all. We saw a fox almost in the city center—it was so unusual that we were as delighted as children. After the garden, we were ready to head home; it was too late to go anywhere else. That was our first date, and it was wonderful.

After that, we started talking more, and things moved quickly. The more I got to know her, the more I fell in love; I was always so interested with her. Aura, though about six years younger than me, was much wiser than me. She was constantly growing consciously, while I didn’t even understand what that meant back then.
Time passed, and I was like in a dream. We never argued with her, even when we lived together. Now I realize it was much more her merit than mine. Aura helped me with many things. She gave me the determination I so lacked; she showed me that I shouldn’t suffer and suppress myself now for some illusory future. Thanks to her, I was able to abandon my fake dream of being a cool and rich businessman in construction, which weighed me down so much and kept me from moving forward. Back then, I didn’t even realize how important and right that was, but she saw it and was genuinely happy for me at that moment. After that, life became harder, and the lack of money reminded me of itself every day, but despite all that, I felt some lightness inside me, so I didn’t want to go back. Because of this new, unfamiliar freedom, I didn’t know what I needed to do or how to use it, so I started whining more and behaving like a child.
We started arguing, and I completely stopped understanding her. Seeing that we were having problems, I tried to blame her because I didn’t see my fault at all. But when I realized she wouldn’t let herself be made the guilty one, I saw only one way to save the relationship—I wanted to propose to her, naively thinking it could change something. But that wasn’t the only reason; Aura was truly the only girl in my life I wanted to marry, so if it could also save our relationship, I was only glad about it. Fortunately, there wasn’t a convenient opportunity for that. If it had happened, both outcomes would have been bad. If she had refused me, it would have hit me even harder than the fact that we ended up breaking up anyway. And if she had agreed, it would have been much worse because she would have lived with a little child and felt like an unhappy, lonely mom, which is definitely not what I wished for her. So, our relationship was inevitably sinking. Back then, I wasn’t living consciously at all, or almost not at all; she saw that and probably took care of me like a teenager, hoping I’d grow up over time. But I didn’t grow. She kept growing. And apparently, when Aura saw me as nothing but a child, she couldn’t stay with me anymore. When she said she didn’t want to be with me anymore, I started begging her to give me time to fix myself, and she even patiently and understandingly gave me a few chances to do so. But the problem was that, although I wanted to change something, I had absolutely no idea what exactly or how to do it. When my last attempt failed, and what I couldn’t believe would happen actually did, something in me seemed to die.

Something in me definitely switched because I hardly slept—I just didn’t want to sleep—and I completely stopped eating; it was like my sense of hunger vanished, and I was stuck in a state of shock. I lived on autopilot; I went to work and performed necessary actions, but I was like a marionette with absolute emptiness inside. After a few days, I thought it might be a good idea to eat, or my stomach would start hurting, and I didn’t want to suffer from pain—or maybe I did, because I went to the nearest pizzeria and ordered a medium pizza and a bottle of beer, not worrying at all about how it would affect my stomach after days without food. When I started eating, I liked it; I liked the taste of the pizza, and the beer was decent. It wasn’t the tastiest pizza of my life, but there was still something unique about its flavor. I ate everything with appetite and left. I thought it was nice that I could eat, meaning things were getting better, but the next day, I was surprised because I still didn’t feel hungry. I tried eating something else, and this time I managed to do it with appetite too, but even after that, the feeling of hunger didn’t return—it slowly started coming back only after three months. During that time, I ate only when I remembered it might be good to have a snack. It’s still strange to me; I had an appetite while eating, but at the same time, I didn’t feel hunger at all.
Since I didn’t know how to get out of this state, I didn’t try very hard. My days flew by quickly and monotonously. I worked almost the whole day, then came home, took a shower, and went to bed, grabbing a store-bought salad to which I usually added hunter sausages, a “cocktail” of half a bottle of tonic and half a bottle of gin, turned on something to watch on my laptop—didn’t matter what, but usually something funny, just to grab some emotions and experiences from somewhere because I felt like I had none at all. Though I drank a lot during that period, for some reason, it wasn’t noticeable, so no one really saw I had any problems. And I was only glad about that; the last thing I wanted back then was to discuss it with anyone. Even to my closest friends, I didn’t show the full depth of my sadness.

This went on for several months until I got a visa to Canada. I started the process when Aura and I were still together. We planned to move there. She said there was a good university in Toronto, and she wanted to study there. I was supposed to go first, find a job and housing, so she could come without worries. It was a good idea, and we would have done it if we’d stayed together. When I got the visa, I was glad, but not because I was going to Canada, but because I was leaving Poland—I couldn’t stay there anymore; the Polish air itself seemed to choke me. As soon as I saved up for tickets, I bought them right away and left Poland within about a week.
Back then, I still communicated with Aura a little, as much as she allowed. She completely blocked me a few weeks after I arrived in Canada. My dependence on her was too great, so I couldn’t let go of her abruptly and tried to get her to talk by any means possible. At first, I begged her, as pathetically as I could. Then I started insisting more and more, and when I saw that didn’t work either, I sank to the very bottom. I had a list of her contacts from various social networks and started threatening that if I couldn’t communicate with her, I’d communicate with them, bother, and annoy them. It wasn’t a problem for me to create new accounts to do this. For a while, I managed to blackmail her, but soon that stopped working too. I’m immensely grateful to God, the universe, fate, myself… everything that influenced me not to sink even lower and not follow through on my threats. I don’t know what stopped me; back then, I was in such despair that I was quite capable of doing it or going even further—I don’t know why I didn’t go through with it, but I’m endlessly glad I stopped. Even without that, I scared the poor girl so much that I still don’t know how to atone for my guilt.
Upon arriving in Winnipeg, I checked into a free hotel through a special program for Ukrainians, where you could stay for up to forty-five days and where they even provided food three times a day. Also, through the same program, the Canadian government gave each arriving Ukrainian three thousand dollars as a one-time payment so people could find housing and food for the initial period. With all these benefits, I knew I wouldn’t be lost, so I wasn’t worried at all that I had almost no money with me when I arrived.

I went through all the necessary procedures, like getting an identification number, a medical checkup, a health card, opening a bank account—everything needed for life in Canada. I also looked for a job, sought new acquaintances, went through tons of brochures and organizations that could be useful to me, and even started doing exercises. I did everything to start a new life, except the most important thing. No matter how hard I tried to run from my problems, no matter how deeply I tried to bury them by piling on new activities, the problems I had in Poland couldn’t stay there—they clung to my soul with a death grip, and every time I had a moment alone, they inevitably sank their claws into my mind and weighed heavily on my heart.
When I was looking for an apartment, I met Raphael. It was literally the first apartment I decided to check out, and I’m still living there. Raphael worked there as an assistant building manager, and part of his job was showing apartments and signing lease agreements. He showed me the apartment and the building’s additional features, like the laundry room, garbage chute, and other routine things. To sign the lease, I needed to pay the first month’s rent, a security deposit of half the monthly payment, provide a bank statement showing I had some money, and a guarantor. The guarantor was a problem because I didn’t have one. Raphael suggested I go to the Ukrainian community nearby, as they could help with that. He also said he’d talk to the building manager, and maybe a guarantor wouldn’t be necessary. It was surprising that he was trying to help me, but it was clear he was doing it sincerely, so my doubts became unimportant. He also said I seemed like a good person, so he wanted to help me—that surprised me too because he didn’t know me at all, and I barely knew English, so I couldn’t really talk to him, and I didn’t consider myself a good person back then. Anyway, I just did what I could and didn’t worry too much about the outcome. In the end, Raphael is still my friend and always helps me, sometimes even more than he can, it seems. Sometimes I feel I don’t deserve his friendship because I don’t give him as much as I get from him. He always tries to help sincerely and with great enthusiasm, not only me but all newcomers to Canada; he even developed his own program explaining to new arrivals what they need to do, in what order, and where. I think it was very hard for him when he arrived here, so he’s so eager to help others. In the end, I moved into that building, and after some time, Raphael helped me with a job too. He recommended I apply to a plastic window manufacturing plant where he used to work and introduced me to Zhenya, who was working there at the time. With their help, I managed to talk to the person reviewing candidates for labor positions, and the next day, they called and asked if I could start work. So now I had everything I needed: a home, friends, a job, and free time, since in Canada, it’s not common to work more than eight hours. The only things missing were peace and happiness—though I tried to fill my life to the brim, they kept slipping away from me.

At first, I tried to fill my free time with new acquaintances and random events, but soon realized it wasn’t interesting to me and started drinking again. The more time I spent alone, the worse it got. I began to understand that everything I had wasn’t really what I needed; it didn’t bring me happiness, and if I stripped away all these unnecessary things, only I remained—an I that I hated, an I that disgusted myself. From a complete lack of understanding of how to fix this, the bottle became my companion again. Sometimes, I’d fill the bathtub, bring food and alcohol there, and while watching a movie or listening to music, at some point, I’d just start sobbing, sobbing and raging, punching the tiles, trying to cause myself pain, which I succeeded at because I think I dislocated my pinky—it still hurts sometimes. I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me, why she left me, what I did that couldn’t be fixed… At times, it felt like I was going crazy; I had fits of laughter that started back in Poland, but there I could control them—here, I couldn’t. At some point, I’d start laughing, and realizing I wasn’t laughing from joy and couldn’t control it, I’d start crying too, and so I laughed and cried until I got tired because I couldn’t stop. After some time of such self-destruction, I got fed up; I didn’t want to live. For some reason, I never liked suicides, so I didn’t look in that direction. But, after getting drunk again, I’d get dressed and go out for a walk around eleven at night. I looked for the most dangerous places the city could offer—alleys, under bridges, near empty train cars by the railway, and in parks. Parks always had the most people; the streetlights didn’t work there, and it was dark. When I noticed some groups—nobody walked alone there except me—I’d head straight toward them. As I got closer, their voices grew quieter and quieter; when I was almost next to them, most would go silent, and I’d pass by. It turns out, a person wandering alone in such places scares people much more than a noisy group. Back then, I thought, “Unfortunately,” but now I think, “Fortunately,” no one stabbed me during all my escapades. That was my lowest point; then, without realizing it, thanks to Lisa, I started taking uncertain steps toward my path.

I saw in Aura what I sorely lacked and absorbed it like a vampire, and when it was taken from me, I didn’t know how to live. The problem was that I had to fill that void in myself, but instead, I tried to appropriate something that belonged to someone else. All this time, I thought it was taken from me, but no. You can’t take from a person what never belonged to them. It was never mine; it was always hers, and I, a greedy, naive fool, tried to claim what I should have built in myself.
When I realized this, I started working on myself. But then I wondered: “Where did I lose it? That thing I so desperately wanted to gain.” I didn’t understand it for a long time, and the realization came by chance. I was calmly watching anime—I like watching anime because Japanese culture is very deep, and some anime touch on such profound things that they’d be good to teach in schools under a subject called “humanity.” The scene showed a battle between two Men with a capital M. One looked like a thug-pervert, and the other was in a diaper, baby bonnet, bib, and chewing a pacifier. But that didn’t stop them from being men; they didn’t care how they looked—or rather, that’s exactly what mattered to them, but they didn’t care what others might think about it. They fought honestly and steadfastly, each trying to preserve their role as a man. During the battle, the plot revealed the story of the man with the pacifier. He used to be in a gang and met a girl who later became his wife. He told her he worked in a bank and sometimes, citing business trips, left for gang business. Everything was going well, and they had a child. But one day, he left again, and when he returned, a horrific scene awaited him. His wife, in a state of shock, said she’d called the bank, but they said no one by that name worked there. While he was gone, their child fell ill, the doctor couldn’t do anything, and the child died. The mother stopped responding to the world after that; she stopped talking and even looking at people—she withdrew into herself. This man kept visiting her in the hospital, but time passed, and she didn’t get better. He found himself in a situation where there was no one to blame but himself. If he had just told the truth, it might not have happened; if she’d known where he was, even if they couldn’t save the child, he’d have been there, and she might have been able to cope, or maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to date a gangster from the start, and it could all have been avoided—there was no one to blame but himself. He loved her smile so much, and he missed it terribly. One day, he put on a baby bonnet and came to the hospital in it. When hope left him, and he wanted to take it off, saying to his wife, “Sorry, it was a stupid idea,” she suddenly gave a faint smile. After that, he changed his image more and more, always wearing a bonnet, bib, diaper, and pacifier everywhere—he didn’t care about everyone’s opinions; he just wanted to see his wife’s smile again.

This really struck me, and I started thinking why. Then I remembered a situation from my life that I always wanted to bury as far away as possible.
I was a teenager and dating a girl from a neighboring village. Once, she invited me to a club—not in my village, but hers. It was a very dangerous proposition because in villages, when an outsider walks into a club, they often get carried out beaten. But I couldn’t refuse; I had to go. At first, everything was fine, but her ex was there, and after some time, he approached me outside with his friends. He lived in that village, and I didn’t know anyone there. The fact that he didn’t come alone made the situation even tenser. He told me to leave, and scared that the odds were too heavily against me, I took the girl, and we left. But my mistake wasn’t even that—it was that I held a grudge against him. I was too foolish to understand that it wasn’t he who humiliated me; I allowed myself to be humiliated. The next day, my girlfriend said I did the right thing and even acted very maturely, but that didn’t stop me. I called him and set up a meeting. That evening, when the time came, I took a few people with me for backup. Remembering that even in his own territory, he didn’t approach me alone, I was sure he wouldn’t be alone this time either, and I didn’t want anyone to interfere. I made another mistake by bringing my reckless friend. There were three of them—my girlfriend’s ex in the center and two tall bruisers on either side. We got closer and closer, and at some point, my friend, ignoring the purpose of our meeting, lunged at one of the bruisers; my other friend immediately did the same—it all happened in a second. And in that same second, before my friends even got close to his guards, my girlfriend’s ex turned around in a flash and, abandoning his companions, started running. Not forgetting why I was there, I immediately ran after him. He was hard to catch; we ran along the entire street until the road ended, and a cornfield began. It was already night, and visibility was poor, so there was no point searching for him in the corn. I went back. When I returned, I was surprised because I didn’t see anyone at the scene of the fight. I called my friends; they were around the corner. We left.

The next day, the police came to me.
It turned out someone had beaten one of those bruisers so badly that his spleen was ruptured, and he was in the hospital. We held out as best we could, but eventually cracked and had to admit guilt. In the end, they jailed my reckless friend. But something else happened while the investigation was still ongoing.
I remember I was scared back then. We were told that guys from that village wanted to beat us, and whenever I had to go somewhere or travel, I always looked over my shoulder. People who knew me started looking at me sideways. The investigators managed to turn us against each other, so things were very tense with my friends too. I felt more or less calm only at home. My mom was working as a cleaner in Kyiv at the time, on a two-weeks-on, two-weeks-off schedule, so for half the month, Dad and I were alone. That evening, Mom was in Kyiv, staying with her third cousin, who had an apartment on the ninth floor. It was already night; I was in bed but not yet asleep. I heard footsteps—Dad was approaching my room. He came in and said he’d just talked to Mom on the phone. Then he said words I’ll remember my whole life and hope he’s forgotten. He said, “Mom said that if you go to jail, she’ll jump off the balcony, and if she does that, I’ll take the gun, kill you, and then myself.” He spoke with a trembling voice, choking back tears, so I believed him. He ran out of my room, and I was in such shock that I couldn’t even cry. At that moment, I was completely alone, and there was no one to blame but myself. Back then, I lost everything and more—I lost my parents, Mom’s love, and Dad’s determination. That doesn’t mean they stopped loving me after that; I just couldn’t perceive their love anymore—I didn’t believe in it.
My girlfriend’s ex wasn’t called “red-haired scum” or “freckled bastard”; his name was Vadim. He probably didn’t want all that either; someone probably came up to him and said his ex showed up with her new boyfriend, and to keep playing the role of a tough guy, he had to confront me. My friends were kind to me, but when a teenager faces the threat of prison at the start of life, everyone will do what they can to avoid it. My parents always loved me, just in the way they knew how, which means there was even less love in their lives, and no one showed them how to love truly. We live in a terrible time when children raise children.

Mom’s love and Dad’s determination. That’s what I found in Aura. That’s what I needed for so long. That’s what I lost along with my faith in my parents. But I believed in Aura. That’s why I clung to it until the end. I just didn’t want to be alone. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to be alone, is there?