Hey, there. What's up? Kelvin James Guillot is the name, and I'm a young man living in the City of Toronto, Ontario. My father, Oscar Guillot, is Afro-Caribbean, originally from the island of Haiti, and my mother Jennifer Hughley is white, originally from the City of London, Ontario. I guess that makes me Haitian-Canadian. Cool. My folks met as students at Queen's University in the 1980s, got married and had little old me and my sister Hannah. Wasn't easy for them as an interracial couple in the Old Toronto, but my folks stuck it out and recently celebrated their thirtieth year of marriage. Me? I love my folks, but I am not the marrying type.
I think some people are destined to be single forever and I just might be one of them. Ladies and gentlemen, I am damaged goods, not that you can tell just by looking at me. Six-foot-one, lean and athletic, with caramel-hued skin, kinky black hair and lime-green eyes, that's me. The proud son of a black father from the Caribbean and a white mother from small-town Canada. I have been called exotically handsome by ladies of all hues more times than I can count. I am not bragging, folks, just being open and honest.
Yeah, I have had my share of fun with the ladies. Let's see, there was this tall, blonde-haired and green-eyed white chick named Gretchen Edelson whom I dated during my senior year at Saint Guillaume Academy. We were the golden couple on the Saint Guillaume Academy campus, and everyone either envied or admired us. I was the star of the rugby squad and Jennifer was the queen of social life at school. Her father Joel Edelson was a racist dick but that didn't stop Gretchen from openly dating me. I thought Gretchen and I would be together forever, but we went our separate ways after our halcyon days at Saint Guillaume Academy ended.
Gretchen Edelson got accepted at the University of Toronto, where she went on to study law. I've never been what you'd consider a genius, just barely above average when it comes to academia. I couldn't get into the University of Toronto to save my life. I tried, folks. Gretchen and I were destined to follow different paths. I tried to get into Queen's University, but couldn't hack it there. I opted for Ryerson University, but applied too late. Eventually, I applied to Carleton University, and got in. Can you guess the only snag? Carleton University is pretty far from the Greater Toronto Area. It's in Ottawa, the dreaded Capital of Canada, the little town that fun forgot.
Christmas is here, and I am spending the long weekend at my parents house in suburban Mississauga. My sister Hannah came to visit our folks from the City of Vancouver, British Columbia, with her new boyfriend Jason Yasimoto. The dude seems alright, even though he lets Hannah walk all over him. Apparently they met in the engineering department at the University of British Columbia, where Hannah supervised Jason's work. Some guys like women who dominate them, and Jason the nerdy Japanese dude seems like the type. I wish them both the best of luck. I found their cutesy crap and constant hugging and kissing annoying, because I am not trying to think about relationships right now.
I recently split with my Iranian-Canadian Muslim girlfriend Samira Hashemi for the second time. You know that woman that when you first see her, everything inside of you warns you about her but you listen to your dick and approach her anyways? I met Samira Hashemi during my first visit to Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Ontario. I was lost on the vast campus, and I was looking for the registrar's office so I could handle certain matters, and nobody seemed to know where the place was. That's Ottawa people for you. Passive-aggressive, politely racist and absolutely not trustworthy.
Anyhow, I was this close to walking my bored ass back to the train station when I was approached by this six-foot-tall, curvy and totally gorgeous young woman with the most enigmatic smile. Clad in a long-sleeved red shirt featuring the Carleton University sports logo and shiny black leather pants, this gal was absolutely stunning. Twinkling her lovely brown eyes at me, the elegant angel asked me if I was lost. I looked her up and down, smiled and shrugged. What do you say to a question like that?
That's how we met, Samira Hashemi and I. The tall, lovely Iranian gal and I came from different worlds. Samira's father Ali Hashemi is Iranian and her mother Sarah Khan is from Pakistan. I guess that technically makes her biracial, but whatever. Pakistan and Iran are both predominantly Islamic countries, as I recall. Me? I was raised Catholic and even attend a Catholic private school in the City of Toronto but no one will ever accuse me of being a religious guy. Sex, the Toronto Raptors and more sex, that's what occupies my consciousness most of the time.
Samira Hashemi was different from anyone I'd ever met. This gal was smart as a whip, and had a stunning ass even bigger than that of actor/rapper Ice-T's wife Coco. A tall, gorgeous and exotic woman with an ass like whoa and the brains of an Einstein, that's Samira Hashemi in a nutshell. I didn't know of many women with model-like looks studying civil engineering, and when Samira revealed her major to me, I was impressed. Beauty, brains and booty. I was determined to make Samira mine and went after her like a shark smelling blood. Samira was coy, and played hard to get but eventually my persistence paid off. I got her digits, added her on Facebook and we began hanging out. The day Samira and I made it official, I was on cloud nine. Little did I know it was the beginning of my nightmare.
Samira and I became a couple, and for the first time in a long time, I was happy. I was doing good in my business classes at Carleton University, much to my parents surprise. Samira tutored me, and the gal seemed to believe in me. No one has ever supported me like Samira has, not even my parents. I love my folks but to them I'm the guy who screws up and has to be rescued. Samira believed in me, and that meant a lot to me. With her by my side, I felt like I could do anything. Fellas, you know what I'm talking about. When the woman in your life loves you and believes in you, you walk around like you're ten feet tall and can breathe fire!
Walking about the Carleton campus, and around Ottawa, hand in hand with Samira, I felt like I was invincible. There are a lot of Arabs and Persians at Carleton University and even though guys from those cultures date/marry interracially more than any other group, they don't like seeing "their" women with men of other cultures. Samira would kiss me and hold my hand without giving a damn whether there were Arab guys and Persian guys nearby. Everyone knows guys from those places are jealous and possessive of their women. Samira was fearless, and I loved her for it.
