where no language is neutral

migration

2010-05-15T07:14:00.002-04:00

As I've mentioned, I've recently relocated to a new city - and I also felt it was time to virtually relocate as well. In all migrations, identity of course stays intact; however it will soon adapt, shift, be influenced by new surroundings. Like my physical move, my virtual identity remains the same, though it will now be hosted by wordpress.

You can find me at: http://wnlin.wordpress.com

Qatar.

2010-01-27T17:49:00.004-05:00

In under a few weeks, date to be confirmed, I will be relocating to Qatar.

Not much of this is emotionally or internally processed - I can say that I am simply going with the seemingly determined flow, which is moving quite seamlessly and pointedly to the Middle East.

My standard line these days is that I'll only realize my movements when I wake up in my new bed, in my new apartment, in my new City. Perhaps then, the weight of my decision will start to settle around me.

I cannot articulate what I am feeling. This is a first short post marking the start of a new reality.

But, yes, it is all very intriguing! And I can say with relative confidence that writing will re-instate itself as a staple in my everyday while I navigate through new customs, existences, cultures and experiences. Let the blog posts begin!

a return to kaiten sushi and temples

2008-02-17T17:09:00.005-05:00

I realized that I haven't written for a long long time. Well, here I am.. about to change that - except for the fact that I have to be somewhere in a few moments. I should wait to write this entry for a time when I have nothing pressing in my immediate future moments, or when my mind doesn't feel like it is performing its lil' own juggling act. Ah well.

This photo is of Mount Inasa - or more comfortably pronounced, Inasa-yama. On my way up the leisurely climb to the top with good friend Hiroko and hubby, this past January 2008, when I was so fortunate to break free from my daily grind and take a six week adventure far from here. Three of those weeks spent with dear dear friends in Sydney, Oz and the latter three weeks by myself wandering Japan - a country I have come to know so well - and one I have missed ever since leaving her land five years prior.

I jumped on and off the shinkansen (bullet train) from Tokyo to Kyoto to Osaka, to Nagasaki, to Fukuoka, back to Kyoto and ending in Narita - with side day trips along the way. By myself. Reacquainting with a language I have not spoken for years, and reconnecting with a culture I have missed a great deal. I didn't do much to be honest other than spend the days walking aimlessly from here to there, one temple to another, revisiting old haunts, stumbling into some new. I met up with two friends in Nagasaki, and that's about it. It was quiet - me, my ipod and my feet wandering around town. I loved it.

A perfect way to cleanse out the mind end-of-year style and return here with a clear heart, spirit and completely ready for new adventures forward. The past seeming far far welcomingly far away.

Photo: Inasa-yama, Nagasaki, January 2008

Sierra Leone's Refugee All Stars

2007-08-30T22:48:00.000-04:00

"When two elephants are fighting, the grass will suffer." - Sierra Leone's Refugee All-Stars.

This evening I attended a Journalists for Human Rights screening of "Sierra Leone's Refugee All Stars" - a must-see documentary.

There's a lot that can be said about this film. I'll leave it with one thought for tonight - To contemplate and/or witness the degree of cruelty that we are capable of producing and inflicting on others is frightening (to understate). And then, on a flipside, these moments, among others, give rise to a seemingly unstoppable human spirit which glows in pure and true intent. One spectrum. Opposing vantage points. The breadth between the two so vast. The strength of both sides - one side crippling, the other humbling - amazes me.

Synopsis from the doc website:

"Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars are a band of six Sierra Leonean musicians who came together to form a band while living in a refugee camp in Guinea. Many of their family and friends were murdered in the war, leaving each of them with physical and emotional scars that may never heal. Despite the unimaginable horrors of civil war, they were saved and brought hope and happiness to their fellow refugees through their music.

Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars chronicles the band over three years, from Guinean refugee camps back to war-ravaged Sierra Leone, where they realize the dream of recording their first studio album. And so begins a musical phenomenon that is making the world hear the voices of West Africa’s refugees – through the film Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars have been able to launch an international musical career, while drawing the accolades of Keith Richards, Paul McCartney, Ice Cube (one of the executive producers of the film), and Joe Perry.

Through their unflinching spirit, their powerful stories of survival and their joyful music Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars celebrate the best that is in all of us. As violent conflicts multiply around the globe and the worldwide refugee crisis deepens, Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars is a humanizing ode to all the innocent survivors of war whose brutal realities are often dismissed by surface mass media sound bytes."

The SLRAS are now touring world-wide. So good. Their first stop in Canada is scheduled for February 2008, Alberta. Hopefully they'll pass through Toronto/Montreal area, soon after. I have to see "Refugee Rolling" live...!!

Check out their website. Support the band and buy their CD (their music - pure, honest, raw, great beats). If you stumble across a screening of the doc - watch it.

king of cups

2007-07-30T17:24:00.000-04:00

Last Sunday of every month. Old Mama's Boy, Parliament Street. Psychic Brunch. I have attended this encounter with the sixth sense on two separate occasions in the past 6 months - and both have been ever so enlightening.

The first reading was "My life as it will unfold in the next 12 months". A general overview. Months later, I must say, many of the events predicted have in fact come to fruition. Intriguing. Thus far, predictions have been mainly positive, though some shadowy events lie potential in my future. Another eight months to discern the truth behind his words.

The second reading dealt with one particular aspect of my life. Unraveling, exploring, considering, questioning. This 30 minute session left me rocked. And not entirely positively so.

Interestingly enough, the second experience was very much reminiscent to my second turn at a meditation retreat. I remember clearly the first enrollment to the ten day Vipassana meditation retreat (more details here), I was ready. I was able to embrace the experience ... and can say it was one of the most life-altering moments of my existence to date- without any melodrama attached.

The second experience though, I would say was far more difficult. I can recall vividly on the third day wanting to gather my belongings and walk out of the Centre. After a few years of meditation, after grasping the fundamentals of self-awareness and Buddhist realities, here I was, out of my comfort zone - embarking to push my senses to their respective limits - and I wanted to rebel. I managed to work through these cyclical behavioural patterns to reach a new understanding of certain realities - all within the ten day period. And for this I am grateful. For this, I recommend everyone to open themselves to such an opportunity.

Yesterday, post-reading, I can say that I was overwhelmingly affected, where yet again, a need to gather my belongings - mostly emotional - and walk another way, resurfaced. After an afternoon at the Beaches, absorbing, reformatting, contextualizing with a good friend, balance has been restored and a stronger sense clarity has shown herself.

I recognize many question this medium, much in a similar way to which I question the merit behind the recent bestseller, The Secret, but I suppose, for lack of a better term, to each their own.

Though I must state that clairvoyance is a gift that no one can convince me to be untrue. As many professions, the quality of experts in the field are debatable, but there is a proven substance at the centre of such talent.

For those skeptics, I say, give it a try. Be open to it for a moment - Why not? No loss really - other than the $30 cost of the reading - but included in this is a delicious organic meal and a bottomless cup of coffee. One lazy Sunday, check out the Psychic Brunch. I think you'll be surprised with what transpires. If you do take me up on this dare, I'd be curious to know the outcome.

in a continued pursuit

2007-04-07T21:18:00.000-04:00

Easter weekend, a few days off and a few nights to rent some flicks and take it easy. One of the films in the pile - In Pursuit of Happyness - I know, a hollywood one, but I had wanted to rent it regardless and so I gave it a go this evening.

I suppose if you haven't watched the film, and if you don't like knowing anything about any film that hasn't made it to your DVD player, like me, you shouldn't read the rest of this post as I'll probably, perhaps, give a few tidbits away. Though, I'm sure everyone knows the tale - a man, down on his luck, manages to fight against odds stacked determinedly against him, and finds success at the end. And which comes with, a sense of happiness.

It's that one moment, near the conclusion, when, internship up, Chris Gardner is called into the office to learn his fate. The one moment when the head boss guy looks at him and asks him to come in the next day. He gets the much-competitive job. That one moment when all of past and recent struggles seem to tangibly start to dissipate knowing that all was worth it and there was a chance for more.

It is that one moment I wished that someone I know was able to feel within his lifetime. There are many Chris Gardners in this world, some who have the fortune to see similar achievements, and some, who continue to treck along but who cannot seem to make things connect. The person I know is in the latter category.

This person fought an extremely strenuous uphill battle. From one job to the next - nothing seemed to sustain. To pay for expenses. To provide for his wife and for his children. Rejection letter after rejection letter, he moved forward. From once within a promising career, then faltering, and then through random jobs in and out of various fields, he continued. Evictions. Motels. Lack of financial stability. Lack of food. He strived for a day when he'd see a crack in his misfortune.

Not to say that this person was perfect - by no means. Due to x, y, and z reason, he lost many things in his life - his wife, his children. His aspirations. His drive for a better day.

Tonight, after watching this film, I wonder if he still waits for that moment when his history of struggles align to create that perfect moment when all makes sense. I am not sure.

To pause and remember the decades prior, in his eyes is an endeavour I have embarked on numerous times. Tonight is another such experience. Not much to say at this particular point except maybe that regardless of anything, I do wish him some form of happiness if this is still something he actively desires.

trying for a happier day.

2007-03-19T06:18:00.000-04:00

Looking into the eyes of a person, you can sometimes see their lived experiences - if you are granted entry - if their walls are down. You can see hardships and glory - moments which have left their imprint on a person over the course of our movements on this little planet.

This weekend was one of those times where a new imprint has been left. On myself. On numerous people who had the opportunity to know this one special, fiercy passionate woman.

From this past weekend, some things are too personal. Instead I'll write on peripheral moments.

To my friend who was a recipient of wondrous love, and a bearer of much sorrow. You are amazing. A pillar of immeasurable strength. Your words of yesterday continue to resonate in my mind this morning, and I imagine they will in the days, if not longer, to come.

Friends are everything (to me). A new familial dynamic is formed in different periods of life. For me, I have a few distinct ones: from elementary school -from which only one friend remains close, high school, university and etc. in Montreal, 3 year period in Japan, Toronto to present. All circles serving unique and different purposes. For all of which, I am grateful.

I consider myself extremely lucky to be connected with individuals from my teenage years. To see them find love, grow, have children, and move into different phases of their respective lives, to visit them in faraway countries, to be welcomed into their spaces when I return to Ottawa on my infrequent visits. I am grateful that they are always ready to listen to my perpetual rambles. To receive their support fills the heart.

As the best friendships are a two-way flow - from one to another - back from the one to the other, today, I'd like one particular friend to know the following things:

a) I love you
b) I respect, admire and am in awe of your strength
c) you can call me anytime - normal hours in the day, or 3 AM, 5 AM. Makes no difference. Whenever.
d) you can visit me anytime.
e) If you ever need anything, you know to let me know.

Yesterday was a sad day, as were the days before. And before. But as you poignantly quoted the beautiful words of one special woman, let's make today a happy one. They'll be more sad days to come but as long as we interlace them with a few sunny ones, we'll be ok. You'll be ok. Happy moments in her everlasting honour.

Writing this is difficult.

Love and metta.

and the snow falls

2007-02-26T18:14:00.000-05:00

Winter Hibernation in effect.

Love the snow falling though walking through the slush not a favourite past-time. Counting the days to Day Light Savings end of March sometime - an extra hour of sun such an appealing notion. Would very much enjoy wandering through the city (when the slush decreases somewhat) to snap some pics. The city is pretty covered white. Too busy working around the clock to do so as of yet. Less energy with the onslaught of below zero weather.

Full-on dreaming of summer and warm rays. I cannot cannot cannot wait for the day. I can recall last summer's few days of 48 degrees with humidex. My non-air-conditioned bedroom's temperature equivalent, if not higher, than outside. Sweltering. At this day in the year, I'd take the 40+ heat to this.

My mood's coping. Somewhat affected by the abovementioned conditions I suppose. Simply stated, I need a vacation. White sand. Clear blue water. Skin comforted by a blanket of heat. Sunlight filtering through eyelashes. I'm dreaming again.

Looking forward to, within this season:
- Day Light Savings (as mentioned)
- Dear friends' wedding March 17th
- A weekend with the family same March 17th weekend.
- Pyschic Brunch mid-March (can't wait girls!)
- Good friend's BDAY celebration this coming weekend
- Renting some Oscar-nominated flicks I hadn't had a chance to see before the awards

I'm sure there's more to keep me busy and relatively happy over the next month or so.

I could follow with a list items which I don't particulary like within this season... but I figure I deal with these on an everday basis. I don't need to write them here, now.

I just looked up DST online - March 11th. Is this true? That's not that far off is it? Yay.

Borat, Herouxville is waiting for you.

2007-01-30T18:24:00.000-05:00

Watching the news last night left me disturbed.

Herouxville has released a set of cultural standards signed off by its Mayor and 6 town councilors. These Standards are targeted to immigrants ever wishing to settle in this small town in rural Quebec and explain what is 'acceptable' and 'not acceptable' for all present and future residents. You can read the whole lot of rules here [scroll down to 'Les Normes de Vie' where you'll find the English version.]

Among the directives, are the following:

Regarding Women:
"A woman can; drive a car, vote, sign checks, dance, decide for herself, speak her peace, dress as she sees fit respecting of course the democratic decency, walk alone in public places, study, have a job, have her own belongings and anything else that a man can do. These are our standards and our way of life. However, we consider that killing women in public beatings, or burning them alive are not part of our standard life."

I've read the entire set of standards - and they are, for lack of literary fluidity, ridiculous.

Salam Elmenyawi, president of the Muslim Council of Montreal, has stated in response that the Herouxville's declaration had "set the clock back for decades" as far as race relations were concerned. He continued saying he was "shocked and insulted to see these false stereotypes and ignorance about Islam ... in a public document written by people in authority who discriminate openly."

Exactly.

Jean Charest stated that the Herouxville antics form an isolated incident within Quebec. I don't care really. The actions of this town are deplorable and should be publicly denounced - especially by key political figures. As Herouxville has sent letters with the list of standards to Canada's Citizenship and Immigration and Foreign Affairs offices ... Come on' Canada: Speak up against this blatant perpetuation of racism.

free will part 4... I think?

2007-01-04T19:03:00.000-05:00

I am not sure how many times I have posted astrological predictions from Mr. Brezsny. Four? Five? Anyways, as it is now a new year, here are some words of wisdom from Rob…

Listen up Libras:

"I predict that sometime in the coming year two rich attorneys will offer you $20,000 if you'll deliver a cursed diamond to their shaman in Brazil for exorcism. But you will demand that they not only give you the money, but also introduce you to their good friend Angelina Jolie. They'll balk at that, and the deal will fall through. But then you'll write a movie script based on your fantasy of the experience you might have had if you had actually done the deal, and you'll sell the script to a producer who gets Angelina Jolie to be one of the stars. And if that exact scenario doesn't happen as prophesied, Libra, I bet you'll have a comparable adventure or two that will revolve around the power of your imagination, your determination to hold out for exactly what you want, and a rich harvest of poetic justice. "

Intriguing. Comparable adventures. Power of imagination. Determination. Rich harvest of poetic justice. Nice concepts for 2007 I must say.

Now, since we are moving ahead with this year, I suppose I could reflect somewhat on the last. This comic sums a lot of it quite eloquently: http://www.eye.net/eye/issue/issue_12.28.06/fun/mattb.php

Oh so true.

2006 was full of personal progresses, evolved and strengthened relationships, career advancements, crazy work schedules, less than favourable professional interactions, unexpected excitements in the form of front row tickets and picks hand delivered by Mr. Vedder, too many heart-bruising moments. I am more than happy the clock has ticked forward, calendar pages flipped.

That's it for looking over my shoulder at what has past. My 2006 reflections can be found by reading through this blog-thing anyways. On to the New Year. 2007.

You know the drill. For your weekly astrological predictions, visit here.

simple moments.

2006-12-28T22:17:00.000-05:00

nothing fancy to write. just a few simple observations.

a good 5 days out of the city.

Broadways with friends. A group of individuals I've known for over decades. Gathered for a late breakfast and catch-up conversations, now with little ones running around at our feet. One sitting oh so pretty with pink rosy cheeks, another wandering about, his feet following a direction of endless curiosity, and another just mere months, sleeping quietly on the periphery. Sweethearts.

Looking around the table, over empty coffee mugs and plates, a wealth of experiences linger under skin, I take us in. Highs exist of marriage and pregnancies, engagements and birth. Lows of illnesses and death. Hectic states of an in-between of new jobs and new cities, uncertain relationships. We sit somewhat each different but connected within a bond founded on a past shared, and a continued respect that carries us forward. It is notable. It is valued.

Sisters. Always replenishing.

A mother pulls at the heartstrings unknowingly.

Such a bizarre city, this little government hiding spot. Similar thoughts run through my mind whenever I return. As they did earlier this year. As they did earlier this week. Tis ok. The way it is.

Thanks for Broadways' breakfast, refreshing conversations over wine with lovables Christmas Eve, wandering through the Glebe, catching that matinee flick, phone calls. A break from a fast-paced existence very much needed.

I am back home now and miss each one of you. Happy 2007! See you soon. I promise.

not just a matter of semantics.

2006-12-18T20:51:00.000-05:00

Where to begin. Sitting at Swatou on Spadina one Thursday ago, Over some late-night (delicious!) Chinese delicacies, I was asked if I was born in Canada. Yes I responded. "Oh so you are Second Generation". To which I answered after a pause, “No, I am First". Followed by which, a question - if I was First-Generation - what would that make them - zero? A short debate ensued concerning our respective status - between myself with immigrant parents, and me being born in Canada and those who sat in front of me, with themselves immigrating to Canada during their teenage years. What was I? What were they? I allowed it to drop from conversation for that moment, but not from my mind.

What is the definition of a First Generation Canadian was the resounding question.

My parents immigrated to Canada in the 70's. I was born here. All my life, I have been schooled to consider myself to be a part of a first generation of many born in Canada. A first generation of individuals dealing with a full slate of issues with parents arriving from another country of origin, with the balancing and interpretation of two cultures. One in which I was born into and one in which was in my immediate heritage. This has had a more than profound effect on my personhood. Notions of identity, culture and nationhood and a myriad of complexities that fraction within, have shaped my everything.

But this does not answer the question posed. Who is considered a First Generation Canadian - and when did any categorization alter? 1998 I graduated from university - the final year in which I wrote an academic paper on the negotiation of cultural and national identity. Within this report, I used the now contested terminology when referring to myself, with freedom. In 1998, I was understood. Now, eight years later, I cannot say that it is as clear.

I threw the question out to those around me. Many friends. Acquaintances. Those in a similar circumstance such as myself, with resounding affirmation, believe themselves to be First-Generation as well - to be countered with some I have met who, similarly-minded to the friends first mentioned, perceive differently.

Some individuals underlined the term to refer to "First-Generation Canadian born", the last word implicit in definition, but dropped in speak. While others believed in a shift to "First-Generation Canadian citizen". Even though I leaned toward the first definition, I felt there was more to the debate than this - something still didn't work with either definition. A quick research via google resulted with even more conflicting interpretations. Though, this research did bring with a definite reality - somewhere along the way, definitions have been evolving. To be honest, I cannot say I am comfortable with this.

Again, answers uncertain.

My parents would never subscribe themselves to be First-Generation Canadians, as the latter definition would label them. Alternatively, they see themselves to be a part of a group of individuals who came to this country, with strong connections to other roots. Naturalized citizens of this country but tied inextricably to another. I adhere to this.

Over coffee tonight with a dear friend, this subject matter, still very much present in my mind, was broached again - my friend added a vital dimension to this debate. Maybe it is not a matter of birth, nor any form of clear-cut lineage, but more a matter of where your identity formation occurs. Maybe one is considered a First-Generation Canadian depending on if this is the country where you came into your identity, developed your personality, where you spent your childhood years filling into your own unique shoes. A solid point.

I turn to my eldest sister. Born in Germany during a short stay while my father was completing post-graduate studies. The three then relocated to Canada at her age of under one year. Yes, I have always viewed her to be like me, a First-Generation Canadian. No, she was not born in this country, but falling into my friend's line of thought - she has spent her entire existence shaping her personhood in this country. I cannot imagine her considering Germany to be anything other than the random location for her birth. I also have friends that fall into line with this lived experience - coming here at a very young age with their parents. And I have listened to their perspectives - many of which mirror my own. That we share this identity in common. Though (again!) opinions differ. It is evident that I'll have to extend my survey to unearth more views.

If it is based on identity-formation – is the definition of what constitutes someone to be First-Generation relative? And can we have a relative understanding of something that is very much a public and political labeling? I am not sure.

So what conclusions are we left with? Again, I don't know.

After my own self-reflection, I cannot say that I will alter my understanding of myself, my family, those around me. For reasons above mentioned, and for others not, I will always consider myself to be a First-Generation Canadian - regardless if the public and political define otherwise. As an aside, if definitions do change, I must admit, I will feel a certain amount of loss. A stripping of identity of sorts. Perhaps melodramatic, but honestly true.

I have tried to condense my deliberations of this issue within this short post - but in fact, there is still so much more that can be said, and that I have left out. Contributing factors and views make this debate endless. I love this stuff. Obsessively so. And me, well, I am always open for a lively discussion.

And if you throw in some more Swatou as an incentive – I am there.

to blog. to work. to blog about work.

2006-12-14T17:29:00.000-05:00

An employer is caught writing slanderous words about staff online. One young woman is described in defamatory and disrespectful ways. This woman stumbles upon this blog by chance. Unable to remain in such a toxic environment, she quits the following day. This employer has a history of unfavourable management practices, which the young woman had been witness to over the course of her employment at the small company. And now it was finally her turn to be on the receiving end of such behaviour.

Within her exit meeting, the online insults were filtered through the employer's mouth. The young woman retaliated as calmly as she could describing recent acts to be ones based on immaturity and unprofessionalism. She then walked out of the office.

Surprisingly, although this young woman was fully aware of the employer's unstable actions, when fallen victim to it herself, was more emotionally affected than expected.

Ah well.

Interesting, a lawyer friend was intrigued. As he pointedly commented, stories can be unearthed online of individuals unhappy with their current employment state of affairs. Questions arise if companies can take action in any way - if any recourse can be taken for employers, i.e. can this lead to some form of reprimanding or even, depending on the severity of what is said, firing? Or is it all freedom of speech. This was the first time my friend had heard of an employer ranting abuse online about employees.

Anyways, time to stop allowing this incident to consume the mind.

2006 is almost over, and with the end of the year, I recommend leaving negative energies and experiences behind. Working less is also something to look forward to for 2007.

december 6th.

2006-12-06T13:48:00.006-05:00

This came through my inbox. I thought I should post.
_______________________________________________________

We must never forget...

GENEVIÈVE BERGEON , 21 years
HÉLÈNE COLGAN, 23 years
NATHALIE CROTEAU, 23 years
BARBARA DAIGNEAULT, 22 years
ANNE-MARIE EDWARD, 21 years
MAUD HAVIERNICK, 29 years
BARBARA MARIA KLUCZNIK, 31 years
MARYSE LAGANIÈRE, 25 years
MARYSE LECLAIR, 23 years
ANNE-MARIE LEMAY, 27 years
SONIA PELLETIER, 28 years
MICHÈLE RICHARD, 21 years
ANNIE ST-ARNEAULT, 23 years
ANNIE TURCOTTE, 21 years

"I can’t help but think about the morning of Wednesday, December 6, 1989: young women getting out of bed as if it were any other day, appearing mildly distracted at breakfast, their heads full of details for the next exam, or vacation plans for Christmas. Dreaming. Thinking about life. At that very moment, elsewhere in the city, someone who probably hasn’t slept all night is writing his hate letter, preparing his weapon and his ammunition, going over each step leading him to his death mission. He’s found scapegoats for his failures: women, who deny the existence of the old father who commands, gives orders, excludes, dominates, punishes, beats, who holds the right to life or death over women and their children. The killer-to-be knows that the Almighty father can never exist again, and he would do anything rather than accept the challenge his own life represents: to deserve, not overpower, the love which is no longer his privilege simply because he was born male. His reasoning is superficial, one-dimensional: women today are out of line; all feminists want to be like men, so there’s only one solution, to put them in their place before it’s too late, before women become human beings like everybody else. No more, no less." (excerpt from "A Matter of Life or Death: Second Installment" by Élaine Audet, The Montreal Massacre (gynergy books 1991)

"When I think of that poor young girl who, lying on her stretcher, said that she wasn’t even a feminist, I feel like crying. When I think of that girl in the classroom, the only one who tried to reason with the killer, crying out: "We’re not feminists. We’re only women who want an education," I feel like screaming." (excerpt from "Letter to the Media" by Louise Malette, The Montreal Massacred (gynergy books 1991).

_______________________________________________________

December 6th. Stop whatever you are doing and remember. It doesn't seem like the many months ago since I wrote this... but it's been almost half a year.

Love and metta to all women who are victims of, or affected by violence. Who have been. Who will be.

may all beings be happy

2006-11-30T23:15:00.000-05:00

Over the past two days, the topic of meditation has surfaced in conversation. With talks of slowing the pace, of stepping away from our current realities, of taking time to refocus.

Vipassana, as taught by S.N. Geonka: Awake at 4:30 AM. Meditate. Sleep by 9.30 PM. 10 days. I have participated in this retreat twice in my life. And both times they were so much more than worthwhile. Friends who have been in contact with me immediately post-retreat, have experienced my inability to refrain from speaking about its impacting and wondrous results.

I want to participate again. Anyone care to join me? Though, if so, you would be embarking on 10 days of no external stimuli whatsoever: no reading, no talking, no nothing other than observing your mind, your body, your self. Teachers lead meditation instruction. Home-cooked yummy vegetarian food is prepared and served by volunteers. Actually, all involved in the course are volunteers. There is no cost. (You may donate to the Centre upon completion of a course, but not before.) To maintain its purity, these Centres are completely non-profit. These days, this is pretty rare. And amazing that new Centres pop up around the world as often as they do.

I must say - I've received mixed reactions when speaking about this form of meditation, with most individuals somewhat fearful at the thought of not talking for so long. This act initiates - by default it would seem - a sense of nervousness from within. At first, I too was a bit sceptical of adhering to this principle. This would be a first for me. Not speaking for 10 days.

After undergoing the experience, I have to say that letting go of any sort of communication with those around proved itself to be a welcomed relief. Only when rules were imposed on me to not speak, to not react to body language, to not communicate through eyes, did I realize how much energy I spend doing these activities. How many faces I put on depending upon what situation I am in, whom I am with, and what frame of mind I am trying to share or trying to hide. Only when this was stripped away, and deemed irrelevant did I realize how freeing it was to be without.

Today I was in an environment where wearing a mask has become commonplace. To hide racing thoughts to safeguard fragile emotions, a necessity. It was within these moments that I wished for the space where I could let go of this falsity and be true to what was actually happening under my skin.

I know to some, this form of meditation sounds - for lack of a better word - flaky. But, to all, I say: Try it. Sit with yourself for this relatively short time and listen to what your body and mind are saying. Find out what thought is sitting within your mind, to date, its existence unnoticed. And I assure you that there are many. In a world where we process so much at such a rapid speed, imprints on our psyche often go undetected. It's a worthwhile endeavour to process life.

I had contemplated the idea of meditating over the holiday season. December 27th, 2006 - January 7th, 2007. The idea of releasing the New Year festivities of its built up importance seemed like such an intriguing phenomenon. To have New Year's Eve pass as any other day, in silence even, such a unique experience. I checked the online course schedule with anticipation. Unfortunately, the Centre outside Toronto is booked, as is the one outside Montreal. As an aside, interestingly, those out in BC don't feel the necessity to meditate to the degree as us city-dwellers on the Eastern side. There is still space at their Centre. Ah well.

My retreat will have to wait. Tis ok. All happens for a reason - especially with something like this. I will return to the retreat when I am meant to - which is what I say to all friends who express desire to complete one of these 10 day courses, but who have not yet been able to leave their everyday lives to do so. It will happen when it is meant to.

Though I will not be able to formally focus on myself, nor will I be able to take a step out of my current realities - I will try to implement ways in which to bring meditation back into my life. Even within 50-hour work weeks and other such distractions, I will attempt small ways in which to walk away from this madness (!). (Any suggestions?) Worthwhile considerations as we come to an end of 2006. And to a start of 2007.

Anyways, I've rambled ... which is what I always seem to do when asked about this subject. To quote S. N. Goenka, "May All Beings Be Happy".

give me a break.

2006-11-16T23:28:00.000-05:00

Ok. I am really tired. Need to sleep. Just watching some CTV news, winding down, before I have one last cigarette and my body hits my bed.

I have to comment on one disturbing news segment: O.J. Simpson to release his book, "If I Did It - Here's How it Happened" - his account of how he would have killed his wife, Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman. All in 'hypotheticals'.

Is he serious?

Disgusting. On so many levels.

Surfing the web, I came across commentary from Denise Brown, sister of Nicole Brown, who lashed out at publisher Judith Regan of ReganBooks for "promoting the wrongdoing of criminals" and commercializing abuse. Exactly. To put it lightly. To sum up actions which are so far beyond anything acceptable, comprehensible, sane.

To write a book about how he would have killed the mother of his children. If he did it. Right.

Basically, at one point, a murderer was acquitted. A pathetic verdict. Now, 12 years later, he's to gain profit from telling the story of how he committed the vicious crime?

If this becomes a bestseller, I think I'll puke.

And who are these people captured in the news footage - chatting him up on the street, requesting his autograph?

November 20th. The book has been cancelled.

freewill part 3

2006-11-10T18:34:00.000-05:00

It's been awhile since I've consulted Mr. Brezney to see what he has to say re: my fate for the next week.

For the week of November 9th:

"Dear Rob: Most of the Librans I know, including me, are adept at creating opportunities and generating energy out of humbling experiences, which they seem to have plenty of. But is it too much to ask that we might someday come into contact with bright new possibilities that emerge from empowering experiences? Just wondering. -Overly Patient Libra." Dear Overly Patient: Funny you should bring this up. According to my analysis of the astrological omens, you're due to receive an unexpected gift that will prime your ambitions. To encourage its arrival, I suggest you ask clearly and playfully for a boisterous inspiration that will fuel your lusty courage.

Mmmm.. Ok. Ok. I can do this. So I am imploring to the Goddess clearly: Provide me with a showering of inspiration to boost my courage.

I'm up for that. How could one not be? 'Tis interesting. Somewhat related - recently I seem to have fallen into another 'planning' stage. To determine next steps in relation to my career. For example, the other evening, convening at Queen Mother with a good (and presently absent) friend over drinks and dinner, we tossed around these such contemplations. What new goals to reach, career shifts to make, wider picture to consider.

Basically, in the next handful of months (half year?), the moment may present itself where I'll have to take another (risky?) leap forward. Out of a realm I have come to understand, and into another with new challenges to a higher degree. Change always intrigues. Though... perhaps not yet. Right now, all these notions of change and professional advancement are simply in the form of fuzzy outlines. So back to Rob's words: any hints via inspiring moments welcome!

Slightly off-topic. Colder weather approaching = boo. I am not a fan of November. That hour change-thing in effect now. Sunlit hours getting shorter, wind getting stronger, air getting colder. Not not a fan. Boo.

Slightly even more off topic. Nothing to do this weekend? Check out the Regent Park Film Festival. Free screenings.

I wonder if this post revolves around career matters because I am still currently sitting in my office?? Most probably. This is first time I have written a post from work. Not really a fan of this either. I like the comfort of my apt, typing at my own pace on my laptop, writing within a more relaxed vibe than a workspace can offer. Anyways, I'm just waiting for a friend to drop by so we can grab dinner and a film.

I suppose I could do a few things that are on my to do list for Monday... or I could go out and have a cig.

Yay. Friend just phoned. I’m out.

where art thou?

2006-11-08T23:20:00.000-05:00

So this is how the view from my balcony would look without the Tower. Usually I see this ... well, without the snow for half the year, thankfully. Anyways, today, it was absent. White fog its blanket. This is not the most pretty shot, I must admit. Pretty drab. Pretty unassuming. Pretty boring. But, pretty notable without the usual vertical structure. I have to admit (in hushed quiet tones) I kinda miss my usual view.

A few other things playing peek-a-boo in my everyday. Most significantly my sweetheart of a friend and roommate one day here. One day not. One day being lovably annoying with his comments while surfing the net. Lounging on the couch. One day getting on a plane to fly across the country. Gone for 5 weeks. Back for 4. Gone for 6. Back for how long again? Can't follow your timeline anymore my friend. All I know is that I am missing your energy around this apartment. Come home!

Whatelse? Work is surprisingly absent of stress these days. Leaves me to tiptoe and tread carefully in the wait of the recognizable and expected anxiety-filled moments to resurface during my 9 to 5 (or 9 - whenever the work gets done). But, I shall appreciate the lack thereof in the hopes that I will be that much more prepared for its return.

Other absents to note: Upheavals of a rocky relationship. A positive thing. Tickling butterflies of a new romance. In due upcoming time I imagine. Spare time. As to be expected. The heavy warmth of the summer sun. How I wish for its return. Kinda like my sweetheart of a friend - Come back soon, I say. Though I know it cannot. A timeline I must adhere to, but may not favour.

It's now 11:32 PM. Still no change to my view. Still without.

Photo: what would have been if. (2006)

short and to the point

2006-11-02T20:26:00.000-05:00

I went to a screening last week at the Camera Bar. Authors, poets, artists, the focus of this series of half hour documentaries.

One scene inspired.

Hours later that evening, and now a handful of days afterwards, this moment continues to resonate within me.

Staceyann Chin, in one of her readings, stated - if not almost screamed:

"I want to write more than I want to live."

........

Wednesday, November 8th.

I don't usually add to a post, days after the fact. But, hey, firsts are always welcome.

This afternoon I came across an online interview with author Jamaica Kincaid. I had studied her work while taking a Caribbean Literature course in university (way) back when, so I paused to read some of what she had to say.

Again, one line stays with me.

"I'm someone who writes to save her life."

boo!

2006-10-31T15:37:00.000-05:00

I love October 31st and the mischief it brings with. Have to admit, didn't do too much this year. Unfortunately. A too crazy work schedule, with other commitments this past weekend, didn't leave room for much else. Didn't even dress up. Not even one pumpkin turned jack-o-lantern within these apartment walls. Ah well. Must promise myself to partake in festivities for 2007.

As no new j-o-l was carved, here is Nate, an old friend from '05. Don't recall why we felt he needed to be smoking a stick of incense. Not sure. To my roommates out there - any recollection?

Past Fond Memories:

2003. Neo, Trashy Beauty Queen, Tacky Golfer and myself, Twister (the game). Belated birthday cupcakes and celebrations for Mr. Golfer and a night out on the streets of Montreal.

Another Montreal fave. A Lamp, Ms. Beauty Parlor Diva and myself, a Shower hitting the Village. To the two lovables of that night - if my recollection is correct - this was 7 YEARS AGO. Insanity. Highlights: my friend, the Lamp, plugging himself in at the house party - not the safest activity to have a glowing light bulb inches from his face while consuming large amounts of alcohol. Ms Beauty Parlor Diva - I still have a clear image of you sitting at the bar at Unity, reading your trashy mag, chewing on your gum, curlers in hair, under the portable hair dryer, dressed in a smock. I can also recall interesting characters entering my shower and me without an escape. I also forgot the Karate Kid relation until that evening.

2000. Teachers and staff of Seihi Agricultural High School throwing a party. All in costume. Numerous gigantic j-o-ls lining the path to the principal's house. Drinks. Only 2 months from my start at this school, 3 months into moving to this small town. This party thrown - not because this is usually what is done - but because they knew how much I adored October 31st festivities.

Stanley Court 4th floor parties. Me, the eternal witch until I was barred from pointed hat and straw broom, and forced to contemplate new masks and alternative forms of masquarade.

There are a bunch of other fun times swirling in my head.

As for this year, like I mentioned, I don't have much. Ah well. C'est la vie. Until the next. Looking forward to future mischief of the huanted house kind.

Happy Halloween!

Photo: Nate - Take 2, (2005)

more than a phone call

2006-10-24T23:55:00.000-04:00

I received a phone call this morning 8 AM. Still lying in bed after finally succumbing to sleep at a too-late hour considering my current schedule (2:30 AM), I looked at the number on my cell and let the phone ring. It was my mother, a sweetheart of a woman whom I love to bits, but whom I couldn't speak to this morning because I was way too exhausted to answer the phone.

I knew why she was calling. To say that today was a day she wished for us to be in the same city. So I could come over to her house after work, sit with her, my sisters and her close friends, eat whatever scrumptious foods she had prepared for a day that was very much one of her highlights of the year. Eid.

I've mentioned through an earlier post that I am not religious. This is true. But I do respect my mother's deep connection to her faith. Throughout decades, I have observed solace and strength drawn from handful of minutes x 5 each day that she faces west, as one small example. Her beliefs are entrenched in a truth and a compassion that is remarkable. In light of the many (many and many) hardships she has faced and overcome within her life - her ability to let out her still infectious and adorable laugh is awe-inspiring, simply stated. Her spirit unbelievable, enabled in part by her religious connection.

On the first day of Ramadan, she had phoned. I laughingly said that I knew why she was calling before she started in on her (mildly frustrating but expected) speech on how I should be behaving for the upcoming 30 days. She replied with a question testing my knowledge. I returned with, "It's Ramadan and you want me to do roza (fast)". When asked how I realized it was the start of the Holy Month, I answered, "Well, I was reading the news online today." She scoffed - with a slight chuckle.

Tis true. Skimming BBC news as I often do, I realized days prior to our phone call that Ramadan was soon approaching. Jumping the calendar in two-week intervals each year, I am always surprised when it arrives.

Now after the full cylce of the moon - Did I fast? No. Does my mother know this? Yes. Is she impressed? Not so much.

Yesterday I found myself perusing BBC pages again, and I paused for a moment. Photos on display from across the globe highlighting Eid festivities, editorials written on how Muslims acknowledged and celebrated this important day. It was 11 PM at night. Wait. A beat. Did I miss it? ... Nah, couldn't have. I then realized that for some (always a point of lunar debate), Eid was the next day. (Today). Tuesday October 24th.

Plus, I didn't receive a phone call.

An hour into work this morning, I listened to her message with lips turned upwards. In her quite adorable accented voice, she explained to me that it was Eid (I knew that). A day for us to celebrate (I know). A day where my sisters who reside in the same city and her good friends were all coming over for dinner this evening in celebration.

I ended up working late. Finally returning home and with a short nap turned into a 5-hour escape, it is now close to midnight. I called my mother - though the voice mail clicked on right away, indicating that she was chatting on the phone. I left a quick message. I know she is somewhat disappointed we did not speak today. I know I could have made more of an effort.

I know she recognizes me for who I am, regardless if a part of her would have wished for a little bit of difference. Results: a little bit of friction. Well, this is what happens with solid parenting - it makes refreshing way for a child to absorb all she encounters, question her surroundings and form new beliefs. Her own. (This is one of my arguments when we delve into the much discussed and equally avoided topic of religion).

All this to say, I wish I was there tonight to partake in the festivities. For her.

To the most amazing, frustrating and lovable woman on this little planet: Eid Mubarak.

sometime ago.

2006-10-22T22:59:00.000-04:00

This weekend I bumped into someone from my recent past. Always intriguing when this occurs – in moments such as these, you are given a unique opportunity to measure your difference. Your change from the person you were at a prior time. Within a previous relationship.

Definitely worth a moment's pause when you find yourself speaking from within a frame that does not quite fit. When the limitations of how someone perceives you - or of old dynamics - scratch uncomfortably at your skin.

Anyways, I had a strong unshakable thought that I may cross paths with this particular person this evening. Intuition, I suppose. Upon seeing him, I could have continued walking ... but instead, I walked into the bar. Sat down. Poured myself a drink. And we had a conversation.

I was curious to measure change.

A few observations: Interesting how I can believe someone to be selfish based upon certain actions; hurtful and even to this current day, questioningly aware of the scope of his behaviour - yet still, we are able to share a pitcher of beer and chat over the mundane. From near bursts of frustration to casually light exchanges - our conversational ease is something that I do notice. Pieces remain. Anger may have dissipated, but memory is intact. I don't exactly understand elements of you, but this is mostly fine. A part of me views you as simply someone I knew. Once. Sometime. Ago.

A not surprising reassessment of sorts as I sipped my beer and slipped out of the frame.

don't have much tonight - just Nagasaki Eki

2006-10-17T22:10:00.000-04:00

I'm funny sometimes.

I haven't wanted to post as of late - because a) I haven't exactly had anything too exciting to write and b) I haven't wanted to let go of my birthday as of yet .... Since my last post was on and about the day. (yes, an extension of my crazy love for bdays).

Before I move on, I will say that I had a great great great weekend. To all of those lovable individuals who shared the night of yummy food, countless mojitos and great conversations - Thank you. And to out-of-city cherished ones, thank you for the cards, emails and phone calls. Sigh. Until October 14th 2007, it is!

Now. Presently. To write, I have nothing.

Well, that's not true. There is always something.

I'll rephrase. To write, I have nothing too engaging.

So, here is a picture taken from the pedestrian overpass connected to the Nagasaki train station, which is the transportation hub - where all trains, trams and buses in this city converge. I spent many a day crossing this path. This photo was snapped on one of my last days in the city in 2003. I had wanted to capture a view that I had taken in on so many occasions during the three years prior.

I have a story I could tell about one of my first nights in the city.

10:30 PM. Heading home after an evening with newly made acquaintances. A friend and I stepped on a bus from this station and ended up (at that time) in an unknown town. We were lost. The last bus for the night left us without bus service to get us back on our track. Little to no money (ATMs locked at night - a fact we didn't fully believe until that moment!). Although, cash levels somewhat irrelevant as taxi drivers drove past the two 'foreigners' walking confused alongside the road. No phone numbers of any new acquaintances in our respective cell phones (remember, this being one of the first nights in this city). No hotels lining the rice paddies and residential areas. Many a gas station and family run corner stores closed for the night.

Our mutually reached decision was to walk back to the Nagasaki Train Station. 'It couldn’t be that far', we guesstimated. Much to the demise of our poor feet, we were incorrect. We proceeded to walk … and walk …. and walk…. All night. Not even exactly positive if the direction we were heading was correct. Our minds exhausted. With our little cash, we purchased genki drinks along the way. Onigiris to munch on in moments of hunger. We eventually made it back to the train station and waited for the morning bus service to start up again. We missed the first few as we couldn't seem to keep our eyes open and repeatedly nodded off to sleep whenever our bus pulled into the station. We finally stepped on to the (correct) bus at 8:30 AM and headed to our little town of Kinkai.

At the time - not so funny. A few days later (giving time for blisters to heal) - Hilarious.

Looking at this photo does make me think. I have so many others taken during my period overseas, which I have not yet gotten around to scanning (from my pre-digital days) or uploading. One day I will and perhaps at that point, I'll post some of my favourites. Alternatively - I could wander around my current city of residence to snap some new glimpses of beauty. I kinda like the latter option.

Capture and Experience New. A nice thought for my upcoming year.

Photo: View from Above, Nagasaki Eki-Mae (2003)

the second reason

2006-10-14T00:08:00.000-04:00

I was in a boo hoo mood this morning, having worked until 9 PM the night prior, all I had to do getting under my relatively calm demeanor and throwing me off-balance (not the most ideal sentiment for a Libran). To walk in to a colourful mix of flowers across my desk was a more than pleasant lift to the beginning of my day. Thank you anydirectflight. Cake, candles, that happy song sung at 3 PM. And not even my day of birth yet.

During the late afternoon intake of sugar, I was asked how it felt to be on my last day as a 30 year old. To be honest, I didn't know really. I had gotten quite fond of these two numbers: 3 and 0. Now, as of tomorrow, they will no longer be representative of me.

A lil' melodramatic, I know.

But anyways, it got me thinking. Minutes after I was asked this question, my mind was formulating something, almost irrespective of me. All day, I couldn't shake whatever it was her words had inspired.

I had stated in my last post that I would keep any reflections to myself. But, hey, since my mind hasn't let go of that one question, here I am. What can I say? I'm a writer. Obviously addicted.

So this past year. Well, a lot has occurred from October 14th 2005 and within the 365 days following to bring me here, typing away at 11:39 PM.

I'll keep my words brief. My storytelling minimalist.

Significant changes on the family front. My whole professional landscape transformed and now thriving on its own momentum; friends resurfaced, connections strengthened; romantic lines flown on and off course; personal goals achieved. Honestly, so much. And all within the course of this past year, I can distinctly put forth.

These ponderings will remain relatively unspecific, as at this time, I'd like these observations to be my own. There may be a moment where any further elaborations will be penned in my journal and not onlined for whomever to read. To myself. For myself.

Anyways, it appears that I have become quite attached to this year about to pass. Who knew? A lil' part of me would like to answer the same as I would have yesterday should I be asked my age. Kinda don't want to let it go. . .!

I will say I enjoyed spending my last night in my 30th year with a dear dear friend. Wine. Yummy food. Mainstream laughable movies. Silly chatter. Relaxing, if not somewhat (insanely!) freezing (sorry!!).

Now I am solo. The apt is quiet. I am here typing away. I am good.

11:49 PM. I like this feeling. Where I am right now is where I am supposed to be. Of course, this feeling may dissipate Monday, let's say, when I am back at work and stressing, when someone pisses me off, when frustration hits because I am getting 'older' and still not writing that novel living in me, not shooting that documentary replaying in my head. But for now, I'm ok. Life is as good as it is. I am happy.

It is now midnight. To my sister, I wish you a brilliant day.

in three days

2006-10-11T22:00:00.000-04:00

is the mark of another year passing. Or beginning. Depending. For me, a bit of both I would say. Most probably my libran sense of scales influencing my perspective.

I love birthdays.

Ridiculously so. In my past, I've countdowned to the date months prior, I confess. I can remember announcing the imminent arrival of the day on August 14th. Yes, 2 months in advance. Weeks before, I have begun the contemplation on how to bring in such a festive occasion.

Not only the anniversary of my day of birth do I love, but even of those around me. I can clearly recall running into my dear roommate's bedroom early morning university days and jumping on her bed to nudge her awake. Why? Because it was her day. I'd roll up the blinds and let the sun stumble in, as she rubbed her eyes awake. I can't say she was the most receptive - so I gathered as she'd bury herself under her duvet in response. Not surprisingly, as this is a woman who started counting her age backwards at 25. According to this, she's currently 20, if not 19 - but I imagine even she has limitations. I don't think anyone would voluntarily revisit their teens.

Anyways, why do I love birthdays so? Mmmm.. for numerous reasons I suppose.

First, why not? It marks the day that I started into this crazy life-thing so it would make sense to stop in my steps for a few minutes to acknowledge this.

Second, It's always interesting to reflect on the past 365 days - what have I done? what have I accomplished? whom have I loved? how have I grown? what silliness did I get tangled up in? (I'll keep these answers to myself) A good way to remind myself things are always moving. Impermanent.

Third, my sister. 4 years my senior to the exact day. Somewhere along the way, this time has evolved into something we share. And among the many troubling and tiresome moments throughout our childhood, this day, and each of my other two sisters' birthdays, were moments in the year where other influences became secondary. If not just for these 3 days.

Fourth, it's an excuse to get together with cozy friends.

I'm sure I could continue.

I know, I know. It's a day like any other day... but hey, you make it what it is - so it might as well be fun.

I can't say all these reasons are on my immediate surface once October 14th, 12:01 AM hits, but they are dancing around underneath. This is true.

Other reasons worthy of celebration as of late:

1. Dear friend's birthday October 13th (happy happy day of birth!).
2. Another's recent acquisition of an amazing position (Miss CTV!).
3. Another's exchange of marriage vows with her giant German (so happy for you!).
4. Previously mentioned birth of beautiful baby girl (can't wait to meet her).

And there are others, I am sure.

Looking forward to drinks with lovable people Saturday.

solo

2006-10-09T23:30:00.000-04:00

What a difference an extra day makes. Every weekend should be three days long I say!

So productive. Chatted with friends from around the world. Caught up on work that had been almost suffocating. Music blared constantly. Spring-cleaned the apartment and my head in early autumn. Spent many hours outside under the brilliant sun.

Don't exactly want the week to start, but, hey so be it right?

Though I miss my roommates dearly - one who has left for faraway land, as previously mentioned, and the other who is off on a writing gig on the other side of the country - I have to say, having this spacious apartment to myself has its perks. I haven't had my own space for this long (only a week now) since I lived solo in various apartments (three to be exact) in Japan three years prior.

My mind goes back to my first apartment, in rural Kinkai. I'll never forget arriving to the apartment to find 6 Japanese men congregating around a rather large hole in the inside of one of my closets. At that time, a few weeks into my stay in the country, I had only mastered basic pleasantries in Japanese and had no inkling to what they were discussing as photos were snapped and measurements were drawn. They eventually left my new residence, and at that time, left the hole behind in its gaping glory (two days later, it was dealt with).

I remember this apartment quite vividly for numerous reasons. It was the first apartment I was to live in solo. Teachers' accomodation - so subsidized and extremely cheap - cheaper than any apartment rent I had paid while living in Montreal in any of the 6 years prior, which was a notable surprise for me as I expected everything and anything associated to Japan to be frighteningly expensive.

But this endearing apartment did have its drawbacks. It was alarmingly old. A fact that I gently and very diplomatically commented on during my one year living here, to no avail.

In many Japanese homes, flooring consisted of tatami mats. In this apartment, to lift tatami would have me eye to eye with dirt, which allowed wind to come up from underneath the apartment structure, and any other creatures should they have chosen to slide through the thin cracks between mats. There were also more 'holes' along other parts of the apartment, separate from the one in the closest, and these were not easily fixable. Thus, wind on a cold winter day or rain during typhoon season, entered at their own discretion. To indulge in a steaming morning shower required me to ignite flame and wait for water to heat.

To receive reception on my cell phone required me to sit precariously on the arm of the living room couch. Should I enjoy the luxury of actually sitting on a seat of the comfy couch, I'd have to say good-bye to whomever I was speaking with. But to be fair, this was separate from my apartment troubles and more to do with my (lack of) phone coverage in rural areas.

Central heating did not exist in southern Japan. Portable heaters, air conditioners that turned into heaters with a press of a button (though the use of which was crazy expensive) and kotatsus (heated coffee tables - which I love and will explain in another post perhaps!) were the norm.

Arrival of winter brought with, me awaking to the sight of my breath when I exhaled. A shock to my system to say the least. Just above zero I would estimate was the temperature both outside and inside my apartment. Again, I'll underline my shock. I was definitely not prepared nor forewarned of the necessity to wear mittens, a scarf and a tuque to bed each night. My first winter in Japan, I can honestly say that at certain times, I was surrounded in misery as I sat in my living room under countless blankets with portable heaters and the aircon running – though, due to the many holes and problematic tatami flooring mentioned earlier, heat retention was near impossible. I was left with huge electricity bills and still, frozen fingers and toes. And to wait for water to heat was a frustrating and chilly five minutes of each morning.

“But you are from Canada, it is very cold there!” would be the comments from students and teachers alike. Yes, but central heating prevented teeth from chattering when watching TV, chopsticks from falling from icy fingers during evening meals.

It was an experience, which now makes me laugh.

That following spring, I was temporarily relocated to a new (beautiful and merely two-year old) apartment upon the announcement that the teacher's accommodation was unsafe and was subsequently ordered to be demolished. I bit my tongue and feigned surprise at this ruling. I lived in the temporary gorgeous space for 4 months.

I don’t have a picture of the dilapidated apartment, but I have included a photo of the shining new accommodation that was built in its place. By the time it was completed, I was relocated to a new school and put in another teachers' residence, and though not as old as the apartment described above, did have its share of holes and was in desperate need of some home renovations. Just my luck.

(Not the greatest picture, I know. Doesn't look like much, but I can ensure you it was lovely from the inside, and what you also can't see is the unobstructed view of a gorgeous bay mere steps away - which was one definite plus even when the old apt was falling to its dusty pieces.)

All this to say what? Nothing really. I like having my own space. I suppose. Holes and falling structures and all.

Though to you, Mr. Whistler, should you read this - I am looking forward to your return to share a cup of morning coffee and to catch up. Just bought some yummy strong fair trade, organic. Think you'll like.

Photo: New apts, Kinkai (2001)

It's a girl!

2006-10-07T23:29:00.000-04:00

I walked aimlessly around Toronto today. Having told myself I was not permitted to do anything other than enjoy the start of the long weekend. No work. Due to fallen NYC plans, I was initially disappointed to be in this city, though I quickly dismissed this sentiment and focused on me enjoying the next three days at a slower pace.

Giving myself this reprieve from responsibility on day one of three, I spent most of the afternoon outside - taking in crisp temperatures - which I love - especially when paired with warm rays and clear skies.

I walked through parks with head tilted upwards to take in the leaves within their transitional process. Bursts of orange, yellow and red filled my view. A perfect autumn's day, I remember noting.

A perfect autumn’s day made that much more special with the receipt of recent news.

Via email, two of my dear friends announced the birth of their second child today. Born October 7th, 2:52 AM.

A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

Born in the early hours of such a beautiful day. I love that.

Momentous events such as these have a unique ability to put life into perspective. Some happenings outweigh others, and add more than a shimmer of happiness to your thoughts. Her entry into this world is one of them.

Just wanted to write: Congratulations!

this month, I remember

2006-10-05T00:52:00.000-04:00

It's always interesting when I feel like writing but don't have anything distinctly pushing forward to describe. So, where do I move from here?

Hmmm... I just had a thought. It is Ramadan. Eid is upcoming. October 24th. Presently, I do not fast. I did from a young age until I was 18 and relocated to Montreal. At the first moment of self-sufficiency and independence, I began the process of shedding any religious practice. Prior to this, in my early teens, I went to Qua'ran school Wednesday evenings, I prayed 5 times a day, and as mentioned a few words back, I did not eat nor drink from sunrise to sunset for 30 days, annually. Now, I do not adhere to any religion. The single life practice I align myself with is that of Buddhist philosophy which brings with, a sense of balance. An understanding of myself and individuals who surround. On a later post, I may describe a Buddhist mediation retreat whose impact was, for lack of a better description, life-altering [if you are curious, click 'Vipassana' side link. I am a complete advocater of this experience!]. Anyways, I am sidetracking. A few months back, I enrolled in a Children's Literature course at a local college. The first assignment was to "reminisce about a childhood memory that has left a strong impression" in a short paragraph. Even though I dropped the course soonafter [I did not agree with the instructor's teaching methods - as a teacher myself in a previous career, apparently my standards remain quite high and my vantage point quite critical], I did complete this task requested.

Subject Matter: Eid.

I remember sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, age 7, squeezing a two-foot yellow and white teddy bear, tufts of fur already fallen on the carpet and settled on my shalvar chemise, but I didn’t care. I felt its fur reach between my sandals and feet to tickle my skin. With my chin propped up in the recess of its neck, I monitored the happenings of the room now filtered through yellow. Two of my sisters were just as engrossed in opening their gifts as I was. My mother exited the kitchen in a brilliant red and gold sari, her hands full of yet another plate of samosas, kebabs and roti; products of the past three days of continual cooking to commemorate the festivities of Eid. Her hair was wrapped around and around and around in a bun which sat loosely at the base of her neck, with wisps of hair having escaped to frame her face. The living room was full of women in a sea of colours. Their voices and laughter mix as they were given this day to reminisce about their homeland, strikingly far away from the present day Canada. I remember turning my head at the sound of stairs creaking, to see my father entering the room. He paused to watch the women, then to look at my mother. I felt his glance on me so I lowered my head and my gaze met the glass eyes of the bear. I pulled him in tightly as the front door slammed announcing my father’s departure. I closed my eyes against it all and inhaled the newness of my toy.

Through this short exercise, I remember being surprised in my ability to recall the detailed vividness of this event. I was unaware of its presence in my mind.

I enjoy wandering within my mind to observe what is sitting quietly, awaiting to be highlighted. To be mindful of its inner workings. A few months back, it was the event described above. This evening, it is an odd connection I have with a religion which, though had shaped so much of my earlier years, now plays a peripheral, if not absent, role in my present.

we are the same

2006-10-02T20:40:00.000-04:00

Minutes earlier, my sweetheart of a roommate started clothing himself in luggage: laptop bag on the side, small pack in the front, large pack on his back, and suitcase in tow. Returned his two apartment keys, and is now making his way to Pearson airport.

Off to Dublin, he is. For one year. Then maybe London, or somewhere in the vast beauty of New Zealand. Options are endless.

This note is just to say: Here's to new adventures, new scenery, new inspirations, new pubs, new loves, new streets, new veggie restaurants, new silliness., new so much . . . in your new city of residence.

Yes I will visit you. Yes it will be within the year.

Looking forward to living vicariously through your excitement (since I'll be ... you know,... here... working ... and working.. and yeah, working...)

Love you lots.

Miss you already.

[I'd like to put a photo of both of us here, but hey, still keeping some semblance of anonymity .. . so here is our miserable friend, instead .... Which reminds me - Halloween is fast approaching and who’s going to carve another j-o-l and munch on toasted pumpkin seeds with me this year?]

Photo: Nate, (2005)

firsts

2006-09-25T20:16:00.002-04:00

Climbing the Great Wall was a first. 2002. Two friends and myself nibbling on our packed lunches, while lounging on ancient stone. An afternoon was spent walking along the steep and at times nervously narrow pathway across this awe-inspiring structure. The four people captured in this picture were the only other individuals on this section of the Wall. A quietness at high elevation, a resilient wind, and each other's brilliant company is what I retained from this day, along with photographs such as this one.

Today was another first - a first to a different degree, within a different circumstance. And a first not particularly desired. Nevertheless, to share a space for the first time with an individual who has, since our last face-to-face, proven himself to be less than inspiring - was a first. The second and the third and any such subsequent encounters will take less effort on my part I imagine.

Even the memory of that day on the Wall has begun to recede. For one example, at this time, I cannot exactly recall what we packed in our lunches with so much carefree excitement. Details have started to slip. As with relationships, connections will lessen.

It is worth noting that I do have photographs of the Great Wall to maintain a level of remembrance. As for this relationship, I do not. Memories may fade. Intricacies may blur around our edges. Images may fragment [this process has already begun, I believe]. Though some pieces may potentially remain behind. Regardless of me. Within. Somewhere.

Photo: Great Wall, March 2002

complete

2006-09-21T22:10:00.000-04:00

Kyoto, Japan. An unknown woman walks alone. Sun filters. A scenery encircles, breath-catching. One moment amongst my many travels; I remember reaching for my camera, not realizing what I was seconds away from capturing: a serenity and a strength in her movements forward.

This evening. I understand her. Sun filters from within. Calm. A simplicity in soft steps. Within a fraction of a moment, almost unbeknownst to me, I have left. An absence is felt, welcomed.

A past assists in a reconciliation of a present. A phone call heals. A remembrance of a woman's strength is embraced. A beginning is formed. A woman looks ahead. Her eyes sparkle.

Photo: woman walking, Kyoto (2002)

a story

2006-09-20T12:28:00.000-04:00

There once was one girl and one guy. Two people who crossed paths and fell into each other in a distinct way. Their relationship has since concluded and to reach its end, this guy inflicted on this girl a sense of fear, and a weight of emotional damage, with unfortunate resulting repercussions on her psyche.

Personalities are multi-faceted which form unions of the same nature. At times, when their complexities are brought to the surface, I observe in awe the manner under which they function. I see a guy who, incapable of coping with current realities, lash out on another in a harsh manner he despises. I see a girl internalize another's words to begin questioning actions she knows to be her truthful own. I quietly observe as buttons are pressed, insecurities are highlighted, weaknesses are unraveled.

There now is one girl and one guy. Two strangers who may cross paths and at that time, deny each other's existence.

There is always a silver lining circling our perimeter, she believes. Though at times like these, it takes a bit to notice its shimmer.

All said, no regrets reside in the heart of this girl, irrelevant of their outcome. Simply a sad awareness. Of truth. Of her actions. Of his. She is committed to retaining all facets of this situation - from their connection to his disrespect. To accept the many sides of their temporary meeting and to draw knowledge from its happening.

Perhaps this is one element to her silver lining that will start to shine.

R.E.M. deliberations

2006-09-16T15:05:00.000-04:00

A few nights ago, I had a disturbing dream. It was extremely quick and distinctly clear. A dear friend of mine, Mr. Yamaoka (I have written about the Yamaokas before here) had died. Initially, within the dream, I was under an impression that both he and his wife were involved in the accident, but soon realized that it was him alone. He was working. There was an accident in relation to the transit system. I started crying at the news. I woke up.

I have not spoken with either of them since I left Japan in 2003. We exchange letters every once in a handful of months, send cards during the holiday season. They are often in my thoughts. I have a great love for these two individuals who were strong influences in shaping my overseas experience. Our relationship was the single constant over my three-year stay in this country.

Many sleeps later, I still cannot get this dream out of my consciousness; it refuses to fade.

A dream is simply a dream, many would say in response to my worries. Though for me, dreams are not 'simply' anything. They offer an insight into my future and the future of those in my heart. They impart, in sharp visual imagery, events that will soon unfold. At times, amusingly mundane incidents present themselves, at others, overwhelmingly dark. I welcome both.

There was a time in my childhood when I didn’t. Having an unstable mind is how I perceived myself. Too young to comprehend; too fearful to acknowledge otherwise.

Over the past 15 years, I’ve since reevaluated my connection with my subconscious, after countless of events having proven its validity. Though at times such as these, a part of me hopes that I am wrong. That my dream was not informing me of a tragedy that has recently occurred.

If I soon discover that this is in fact the terrible situation - receiving this knowledge is something for which I must be grateful.

I will end this post now for I have been avoiding an action that I can no longer. Time to locate their phone number and wait for the time difference to permit a phone call.

Dawson College, September 13th 2006

2006-09-13T20:20:00.000-04:00

Today. 12:14 pm. A man walked into Dawson College (Montreal), into the cafeteria and opened fire on the student body. One woman, 18 years old, is dead. 19 people have been injured. 8 people are in critical condition. 2 people are undergoing emergency surgery tonight. The gunman is dead.

My heart goes out to all of the victims, to all of the witnesses, to everyone who is directly and indirectly connected to this shooting.

Among other raging emotions, I do have some sadness for this unidentified man. What desperation drove him to walk into a room, pull out a semi-automatic and shoot? What happened in his life for him to spiral into a deep negative space - which allowed him to look at all those around him and believe that all should be hurt. By him?

So upsetting on so many levels.

The green line was closed this afternoon. A security perimeter has been set up spanning Atwater, Sherbrooke and de Maisonnueve. I used to live on Atwater. I used to work at Dawson College.

It has been a handful of years. The students I knew have since graduated. Immediately, my mind went to the staff I worked alongside, to the employees of the College who I passed in the hallways each morning and exchanged small chats, to the kind security officers who would always check in on me during my many late-night hours of overtime.

Again, my heart reaches out to everyone involved.

I heart veggie fare

2006-09-10T14:54:00.000-04:00

This post really should have a picture. A picture of the tents and tents and more tents all devoted to providing delicious vegetarian food.

I wish everyday was the Vegetarian Food Fair.

That would be awesome.

Until this happens... I'll just have to come back every year and spend a sunny Sunday afternoon down at Harbourfront browsing from stall to stall, sampling vegan brownies, nibbling on veggie dumplings, sipping (strong!) fair trade organic coffee.

Vegan Jamaican Patties - who knew?

A beautiful day. Great company. Yummy food.

I know there is more to the Fair than listed above: Lectures. Films. Info Booths. A wealth of information. But what can I say, I couldn't help but get sidetracked by the scrumptious offerings.

More on the Fair here.

"REAL" Women

2006-09-09T21:32:00.000-04:00

Right. The organization "REAL Women" infuriates.

Some of the reasons why:

1. To quote from a recent press release written by REAL Women, when discussing letters written in support of the Status of Women Canada: ...."The theme of these many letters is that "shelters for abused women and children protect them from the violence. (No mention of the studies which indicate that half of domestic violence is instigated by the women.)..."

Yes, you did read correctly. Apparently this women's equality seeking organization believes that 1/2 of domestic violence cases are caused by women ourselves. Are we serious?

2. To quote from their list of objectives, "To support the right to life of all innocent individuals from conception to natural death". Further to this satement, is their Position Paper outlining their stance on abortion, which clearly states their advocacy for pro-life in all and every circumstance. Yes, we all have a right to individual opinion, BUT I do not believe that any org that does not advocate for pro-choice can define themselves as an organization striving for women's rights. Each woman has the right to reproductive choice. Our bodies. Our decision.

3. Promoting the definition of 'traditional marriage' to exclude same-sex marriage, as outlined in their initiative, "Upcoming Vote on Same-Sex Marriages" in which their discriminatory position is clearly stated. Again, "equality-seeking organization" would suggest that women - in this particular scenario - of any sexual orientation - should be given equal human rights. Simple as this.

Their latest lobby effort involves the federal agency, Status of Women and their attempt to disband Status of Women and the Law Commission, which would result in the eradication of federal funding for shelters, women's organizations, gay and lesbian advocacy organizations, multicultural organizations, and the Court Challenges Programme. REAL Women's Lobby Campaign against the Status of Women is here.

Frighteningly, they are gaining ground.

DAWN Ontario (DisAbled Women's Network Ontario) is one of the many groups mounting a counter-lobby campaign. Click here to read. NARCC (National Anti-Racism Council of Canada) is also strategizing a counter-lobby response.

Read Funding for minority groups to challenge federal laws under review, Janice Tibbetts, CanWest News Service; Vancouver Province.

If REAL Women succeeds in any of their campaigns (esp. eliminating Status of Women), this would alter the Canadian social justice landscape to our detriment. As I uncover ways in which we can counteract, I'll be posting.

On a related note, for any Torontonians reading this: Nothing to do Saturday September 16th? Come out to support NAC. (National Action Committee on the Status of Women) - Canada's longest-running women's equality-seeking org as they attempt to revitalize after being forced to close their doors for the past couple of years due to loss of core funding.

What: NAC Fundraiser
When: Saturday, Sept. 16th
Time: Doors open at 8 pm / Show starts at 9 pm
Where: The Savannah Room, 294 College Street - College and Spadina
Featuring: Belladonna and The Awakenings, Kendall Mitchell
Cost: Pay what you can. Suggested $5. (it's a fundraiser, so any amount of cash is good..!)

Music. Drinks. Helpin' a good cause. That's my plug.

searching for symbolism

2006-09-09T11:49:00.000-04:00

I don't know exactly what to write about but I feel since it's been a handful of days, I should attempt to put fingers to keys and output some thoughts.

Why not start with my horoscope? It appears to be turning into a weekly exercise [or a weekly writing copout?].

For the week starting September 7th, Mr. Brezsny advises fellow Balance-Seekers:

"You've slipped into the Anything-Goes Zone. It has resemblances to a duty-free store in an international airport, a speakeasy during the Prohibition Era, and the more benign areas of the Twilight Zone. There you may very well experience events that seem to happen off the record and days that take place outside of time. You could feel like you're in a buffer zone or waiting room--a nerve-wracking sanctuary where you're safe and yet filled with doubts and pregnant questions. At least half the cards will be wild. Exceptions to the rules will be the rule. My advice? Experiment ingeniously."

I see. Tis true. It could be said that I have been wandering within an Anything-Goes Zone. A buffer-zone filled with elements that are less than clear. With living off the record the basis for recent actions. As for this upcoming week? I dunno... Perhaps the air of the Twilight shall continue to hang? Some questions do, I admit. Experiment ingeniously, states Rob? I can do that.

Anyways, to put aside cryptic words and astrological analysis, this weekend the 22nd Annual Vegetarian Fair is here. Yay. I must attend.

Oh, and of course, TIFF. I was able to catch my first ever (I only moved to this city last year...!) TIFF film Thursday night. HANA. Kore-eda Hirokazu, my favourite Japanese director was in attendance. Previous films: Afterlife, Nobody Knows. (Rent them if they are unknown to you.). I will ignore my cultural studies inclination to provide an in-depth review of his latest, and leave it here: Excellent for so many reasons. And main protagonist Okada Junichi = Hot (a side point worth mentioning...). It may be time to start my own personal Kore-eda film library, me thinks. I still have to track down and rent Distance.

[Afterlife. Again: Rent it.]

Moments: Viewing the film; Seeing a fave director speak and explain his art; Hearing Japanese again; Feelin' the festival buzz; Last question of the night from an audience member - "is there any significance in the fact that the bird was named Hana and got eaten by a cat?" with subsequent me and friend laughing to tears (I suppose you had to be there. Still cracks me up).

Ok. I just googled Okada Junichi. Birthdate: November 18th, 1980. ... 1980. A youngin'. Ah well. Will return to my search now. Retrieve some Okada starring films to add to my night of Japanese film.

welcome to jamrock

2006-09-03T11:40:00.000-04:00

Unfortunately I didn't have a camera with me. Wasn't able to capture to print Jr. Gong as he performed at the Molson Amphitheatre last night. I suppose, I'll have to rely on my mental recording abilities to retain the image of him from last night's show.

Yes, Hurricane Ernesto was passing through our near vicinity and struck down with force yesterday. By the time I reached the ampitheatre, I was fully and completely drenched from toes to strands of hair. My umbrella irrelevant. Luckily sitting in the 200s provided me with cover from overtop, though slices of wind carried the water to my seat with its own determination. The air was damp. Chilled.

All this to lead up to the fact that from underneath a downpour, or highlighted by brilliant rays, the result would have been the same. This man is amazing. My only criticism was that his set was far too short and I wasn't within the crowds directly infront of him.

I had waited for some time to see him perform, and he did not disappoint.

It seems I had been waiting for a few things to unfold as of late. And with the arrival of Jr. Gong, came the unraveling of the others. In quite the dramatic flourish, I would have to add from a perspective only distance can provide. An inevitable pull. Reconnected. Pushed to limits.

On an aside, it appears that I have become addicted to this online form of creative expression. With less than adequate sleep, my mind fuzzy, a fragile heart, still I power up my laptop to find myself here.

I may return to this entry in a few hours with a different sense of clarity to rewrite, reedit, re-express. [Until then, I tried.]

I should mention – also sharing the stage pre-Damian: Bedouin Soundclash and post: Ben Harper.

free will - part 2

2006-08-31T15:55:00.000-04:00

I seem to be fully succumbing to past habits. Since my last free will post two weeks ago, my former roommate (and close friend) seem to have rekindled our old method of analysis into Mr. Brezsny's words.

Free Will Astrology for week starting August 31st. For all Librans:

"I really encourage you to have a celebration. The planets are urging you to revel and rejoice, too. I wouldn't be surprised if God Herself is rooting for you to whip up festivities worthy of a jubilee. So what are you waiting for? What? You say you don't have anything to celebrate? I beg to differ. How about extolling the end of your addiction to a time-wasting delusion? Or maybe the loss of a "privilege" that encouraged you to be lazy, or the end of a false hope that kept you stuck in the past? How about if you throw a party to express your gratitude at finally being forced to embrace a creative limitation that will ultimately set you free?"

At first, I could not correlate. But after a most insightful conversation with my friend 3 PM today, she has opened my eyes to the wisdom in Rob’s words. In fact, just the night prior, we had been discussing this particular issue. It’s time to put to welcomed rest a past which had kept my heart intricately, and at moments unknowingly, tied to another.

Time to celebrate the end of futile efforts, which have resurfaced on and off over a handful of years. Wasted Efforts? Nah. Never. People grow. Change. Relationships always impermanent. Evolving. As my tagline suggests. It's been a drawn-out little ride for me, and now I’m simply satisfied to have embraced an end to this particular situation.

Any other fellow Librans currently undergoing a break from the past? Maybe we should throw a party. Theme: Embrace Present Day Possibilities.

Again, to the other 11 signs: Read up on your 7-day forecasted destiny here.

To my friend: Allow me to mull over the cryptic Piscean prediction and we'll discuss tonight!

a precarious state

2006-08-29T22:12:00.000-04:00

Recent events make me realize I may not be immune to this crazy schedule to which I have currently committed myself. When friends raise their eyebrows in apparent concern at the announcement that I am adding another day to my already hectic work week and laugh about starting a betting pool on how long I will last, it would be an ideal moment to pause to reassess the wisdom of my current actions. But I know I won’t. The amusing thing is that when this option to up my working hours was presented to me, I didn't perceive it as an ambitious undertaking.

Weekends now blur into weekdays, giving Saturday the same weight as a Monday; Sunday equals a Thursday. I don't exactly know how to slow down the momentum I am currently riding. I did write about 'slowing down' months back. Apparently I haven't found the answer to that one yet.

Anyways, a part of me would like to jot down the other thoughts spinning through my head but it may be slightly early to do so. And as I alluded to above, I am tired.

So I will say a few words.

A friend resurfaces, undergoing certain trauma I am distinctly familiar with. Assisting her through this is my goal. Unfortunately, during select moments when we are speaking, I feel at my periphery, the presence of a scared little girl, listening quietly. Although I have developed far beyond her, based on my recent emotional state, all is still interwoven. Rationally, of course, I know this. But as of late, I have been forced to acknowledge the force behind this fact.

Recycling a past for the help of another is a fully worthwhile endeavour and I am determined. It is just perhaps not the easiest task to undertake on even the best of days - like even when I am not tired.

I received an email tonight entitled 'unhappy news'. To my Ottawa friends, my heart goes out to you both.

get in the car!

2006-08-27T14:36:00.000-04:00

My 3-week road trip through New Zealand crossed my mind today. A few years ago now, but the memories of myself and a beloved friend, with our backpacks in the backseat, road maps on our laps, a constant supply of Werthers, driving aimlessly through empty roads overlooking gorgeous scenery and ever-changing landscapes are pretty fresh, considering.

This image captures it perfectly.

From white sandy beaches to glacier hikes to camping alongside the Bay of Islands to the funky energy of Wellington, this tiny country has almost everything you could want.

Though, the ‘end of the world’ isolation was almost palpable when walking through any given street - which would be one reason why I would debate whether or not to reside in this otherwise gem of a nation.

To my beloved friend, now back in London: It’s been too long since we spoke or saw each other. Little over a year since we celebrated your ‘faux’ birthday in Toronto - at Margaritas to get access to an otherwise closed patio and felt the guilt after photos were taken and birthday tunes were sung by gracious strangers, since I showed you the Jazz Festival induced city of Montreal, since my 4 AM lesson planning madness (I apologize!) - and since we laughed ourselves to tears in each other's company.

“The bees… They’re In! Get Out Of The Car … Get Out… They’re out... Get in … Get in!”; You, Me and Trudge; Milford Sound Tunnel of Darkness; Glacier-hiking with Ms Super-Guide. (New Zealand, 2003)

Me, you and your mum, pushing your aunt’s battery-dead car around a dangerously busy roundabout; Climbing the Cliffs amidst bruise-inflicting hail and bitter slices of wind (but yes ... it was beautiful); Tartan New Year’s Eve. (England, 2005) . I know I still owe you the photos.

You, me, Senegal vs. France and my World Cup inspired temporary loss of sanity. (Korea, 2002)

Kinkai and all the madness that came with. (Japan, 2001-2003)

Japan. Korea. New Zealand. England. Canada. We’ve hit more than a few countries across continents over the years. Where to next?

Photo: NZ freedom (April 2003)

counting sheep is useless

2006-08-23T03:18:00.000-04:00

3 AM. Can't sleep for the life of me. After lying awake for 2 hours, I got out of my now uncomforting bed and turned on the light. Accepting the fact that my sleepless state had won the battle for now, it was pointless to think I was going to be able to fall into the dream-filled unconsciousness that I so desired. Insomnia is a bitch.

So, here I am. 3:17 to be precise. Have to work tomorrow at 9:30. I didn't nap this evening - so no clear reason to explain why I can't give my tired eyes a rest. And usually I can sleep anytime, anywhere, any circumstance.

This post may just be a rant on my current frustration. Anyone reading this may want to quit now.

I am even contemplating doing some work. A part of me feels like I might as well be productive and pretend that doing an arts grant application, or reading a script, or doing research on theatre venues across town, are completely normal tasks to embark on at this time of day.

My apartment is empty. One roommate is currently playing his luck in Vegas (bring us home a fortune!), while the other is working as per his usual schedule (a horrendous 12:30 AM - 8 AM shift). It is probably better that I am solo, to avoid feeling envy towards others sleeping deeply in bedrooms close by. Instead, this space is quiet except for the tapping of fingers to keys.

I attempted to call a sweetheart of a friend in Australia, thinking that the time difference would work. 3 AM here is 5 PM in Sydney. Perfect. Unfortunately, his cell phone is turned off.

I had a cigarette on the balcony. Actually, this was the first thing I did before turning on the light. Even this - not very satisfying.

A hint of a headache floats behind my eyes.

Overworking at two jobs, with a personal life that is debatably stable as of late, I would prefer to give my mind a break.

Hmm... Can I complain anymore? Possibly, but I shall leave it for now. For those who managed to reach the end of this self-pitying write-up, I’m impressed.

I may be back in a few hours … 5 AM perhaps? If I haven’t won the battle of the zzzs, that is.

Photo: even later than the post (August 2006)

Well, it's currently 5:25 AM and I remain defeated in the sleep department. I did complete the theatre venue research, which I suppose is positive.

hey Mr. Neighbour

2006-08-22T22:16:00.000-04:00

Sitting outside on my balcony. An afterwork cigarette and chat with a close friend, recapping the tribulations of our respective days, as we usually do. Loud conversation from my neighbouring balcony drew me in, involuntarily. A robust voice, with an undertone of aggression clearly noticeable, declared, "… Men are allowed to leer at women. Women are allowed to leer at men. It's human nature. Accept it and you are stupid to think otherwise…" I actually didn't hear the response from the others involved in this insightful discussion. I rolled my eyes, put out my cigarette and continued my phone conversation indoors.

A rant. I'm allowed one of these every so often I think.

I don't know why this statement annoyed me as much as it did. I overhear enough dim comments (one recent example) throughout my day, that I shouldn't be surprised when another one crosses my path. But, hey, I still hope for wisdom, if not, some intellect or, at least, a little bit of basic common sense from others. On too many occasions, I seem to be disappointed.

Newsflash to Mr. Neighbour: Men are not allowed to leer at women, nor vice versa. Sure, attraction, and the possibility of, often flies across the mind - from men to women, women to men, men to men, women to women. But according to your choice of words, we should all expect walking down the street on any given day to mimic a random bar scenario, 1 AM, with too many drunken idiots overstepping their boundaries. Not too appealing, thanks.

(It's called respect - look it up in the dictionary if need be. Or maybe expand your vocabulary to better express your ideas - just a suggestion.)

free will

2006-08-18T19:58:00.000-04:00

I remember each Thursday picking up the Montreal Mirror to peruse the entertainment listings, club events, upcoming concerts for the week - and faithfully reading Rob Brezsny's words of wisdom as he set everyone's astrological fate for the next seven days. My roommate and I were mildly obsessed. Running the city streets, melodrama catching us at any corner, we used his words as guidance as we tripped through the maze of romance – as it hit us both with its gorgeous highs and low despairs. We took pleasure reading between his cryptic lines to determine what lay awaiting us on our immediate horizons.

We charted our rising signs, calculated our moon signs and much to the amusement of our friends, made sure to uncover where our current love interest at any given time fell on the compatibility chart. If fire met water, there was trepidation. I stayed away from Capricorns and constantly was twisted within Sags. My roommate, on the other hand, had a repetitive history with those same January-born and thought wise to find herself a Cancer or Scorpio guy.

It was quite ridiculous, and at the same time, extremely satisfying. Our attempts to rationalize the randomness of relationships. To gain insight on matters that otherwise, remained elusive to our fragile hearts.

This evening, to commemorate our loyalty to the governance of planets, sun and moon, I pulled out the current issue of the NOW, and had a read at what Mr. Brezsny had to say for the week of August 17th:

Listen up fellow Librans!

“Novelist Jeanette Winterson told a TV interviewer about her mother's strongest belief: "You can be happy, or else you can be like normal people." This idea applies to you right now, Libra--maybe more than you realize. From what I can tell, you're at a crossroads in your relationship with happiness. You could go either way, and it's mostly up to you: Will you tame your urges for wild joy, repress your instincts to follow your lyrically crazy heart, and surrender to the dull insanity of the maddening crowd? Or would you prefer the scarier, more eccentric and action-packed route that will constantly push you to enlarge your capacity to feel good?”

Crossroads in our relationship with happiness. Wild joy and exciting adventure versus the mundane. Whereas before, this prediction would have instigated a thirty minute gossip session between my roommate and I, today, I turn the page knowing the lack of validity of such fluff.

Ok. Perhaps a tiny remnant of me is curious to this playing out in the upcoming week and cannot help but make parallels between text and romantic life and whisper, ... that is so intriguing! ... I cannot lie. Old habits die hard, especially the silly ones.

(Not to leave the 11 other signs without direction: Rob's Free Will Astrology.)

Photo: words to live by... for a week (August 2006)

selling it

2006-08-17T23:40:00.000-04:00

A simple breeze and a handful of rays shine overtop. Sushi. Easy conversation. Contemplations voiced without clear resolves.

There is something to be said about allowing honesty to speak for itself. Very rarely is it done in its entirety, and when it is, one can feel a lightness - a welcomed reprieve from resting, if not almost hiding, behind partial truths. And in the moment, circumstance irrelevant.

Potentially along with this, comes an unknown that is new and unsure but worthy of exploration by definition. Energy expelled within the moment can continue.

Not a bad way on which to base your actions... 'cause as the line goes, you only live once ... ent?

Photo: a pretty sky for a pretty day (August 2006)

well-adjusted

2006-08-12T21:14:00.000-04:00

There are a handful of ideas sitting in my mind - which to voice is yet to be decided. Do I tackle all or one or a few of the thoughts that currently found my restlessness.

Crossing Spadina, at Dundas on my way to the streetcar, earlier this week. A taxi had pulled up to the streetcar stop and a man opened the door and did not see the cyclist zipping down beside him. A near collision. The cyclist yelled something to the passenger and rolled up to Spadina and Dundas to wait for the light change. I thought I heard ".... stupid chink...", and based on facial expressions of those around me, I believe I heard correctly. On foot, the passsenger followed him, approached him and yelled, "I am sorry for not seeing you, but don't you ever discriminate against me or anybody else again. Who the fuck are you to say that to me or to anyone. Don't ever ... ever ... say those words again..." His voice raised attracted attention from pedestrians around. I could see red creeping up his neck to fill his face. The cyclist said nothing.

College and Huron, two days ago. A car leaving a parking lot, the driver not seeing a cyclist riding down College. He stopped abruptly, the cyclist swerved. Collision diverted. Cyclist: "... .... go back to Pakistan or wherever you come from ..". More rumblings from the cyclist, and as he passed by me, " ... immigrant pigs ..." I looked down to avoid catching his glare and noticed cracks in the sidewalk. I lifted my gaze to the driver, turning left on to College, shaking his head. Pedestrians laughed uncomfortably around me.

Shocking what is unearthed within random events, such as these.

these 3 cities

2006-08-12T08:07:00.000-04:00

Last night, The Horseshoe. Was great to see a friend in his element on stage.

Check them out.

Reading this over, I realized that "These Three Cities" appears 3 times - well, now 4 times in a post that has very very scarce text. It's a shameless plug, and by the time you've finished reading this (to the small few that do), "These Three Cities" will be circling in your mind. That's my intention.

5 times.

Photo: These 3 Cities, August 11, 2006

shades of discrimination

2006-07-21T00:32:00.000-04:00

Over Italian sodas at the Second Cup, a good friend of mine recounted a recent job interview she underwent for a position of a production coordinator at a local film company. Midway through, her interviewer, in a failed attempt to appear casual, asked about how she ‘came about’ her last name. (Her last name is German, taken from her husband.) His quizzical expression cleared after her explanation. It seems questions circling within his mind were not focused on her expertise in the film industry, but preoccupied with her race and ethnicity.

Years prior, fresh out of the Toronto Film School and straight into an interview at another local film company, she was asked how she would feel about working with white men. I almost choked on my lime soda. Apparently what was really in question was how this man felt about working with Black women.

A few weeks ago, I had attended the National Anti-Racism Council of Canada (NARCC)'s speaker series, Racial Profiling. Two speakers presented - one from an academic perspective, while the other from lived experiences - both personal and from those she has witnessed working within the Aboriginal communities, in various grassroots women's organizations, at the Human Rights Commission. She spoke of the predicament of first and second generation Canadians, of inequality in the workplace, of the inadequacy in recognizing professional accreditation from certain countries, among other topics. Immediately I was immersed.

Her examples of racial profiling mirrored some of my own personal experiences.

2004. My sister’s wedding. Being the first daughter in my family to get married, the ceremony quickly transformed into a grandiose affair. Family members from Pakistan were planning their way to Ottawa for the event. Having only visited the country once at the age of 6 months, I looked forward to this prospect of meeting my extended family. Cousins of similar age to myself applied for visas and were rejected. They are young single women, without property, land, a business. Being in their mid-late 20s, this was seen as suspect and there was not sufficient evidence provided to prove they would not attempt to stay in Canada after the visa expiration date - so stated the Canadian Embassy.

2004. Flying through Heathrow Airport, I was stopped 4 times to have my luggage inspected, my passport studied. I clearly recall one other individual further ahead of me, undergoing a similar process. He turned his head and raised his eyebrow. Random searches or was it due to the colour of our skin, the origin of our names?

2003.

dining hall, small town outside big city

I sit beside a woman in her late-forties
and start into my vegetable soup
She turns to me with a smile,
So where are you from?
A lengthier response than needed,
I begin,
Well, I grew up in Ottawa, but moved to Montreal at—
No, but where are you from?
She dismisses, almost cuts
I slip awkwardly off the beat
of conversation
and resurface moments later
to almost justify
My parents are from Pakistan and I was born here
Eyes not unkind narrow slightly and speculate
I would have said Indian
I would have said Canadian but I keep this to myself
as we enter a dialogue
I have almost memorized
So you were born here, you say?
Mmmm, Yes
And your parents—
They moved here over 30 years ago,
have lived here ever since
Her eyes remain focused on my features
I continue into my dinner
and wonder what she sees

Other events of a more serious scope have forced me to remain critical of a country which boasts diversity and inclusion. I do strongly believe this country offers individuals a platform for self-expression, and allows multicultural communities to flourish and for this, I am appreciative. Alternatively, it is also naïve to believe no, or little, tension exists.

ichi e ichi go*

2006-07-16T23:06:00.000-04:00

July 16th 2000, I arrived at the Narita Airport, Tokyo. After a three-day conference, I flew to rural Nagasaki to begin my adventure as an ESL Teacher. I was 24, wide-eyed with anticipation and slightly nervous around the edges. Montreal, for now a distant and nostalgic memory, I remember realizing as I glanced outside my window to the expanse of golden rice paddies before me.

July 16th 2003, I was on my way back to Canada with a heart full of memories.

July 16th 2006, recollections from these three years overseas drift in and out of my mind, welcomed.

I had an intention today to write of this endearing period of my life with retrospection, but for now, I can't seem to express adequately. I believe having spent the entire day today on Centre Island in oppressive heat has made my mind somewhat fuzzy.

When walking along Lake Ontario this afternoon, I wished to be transported back to quiet Okinawan beaches of white sand and clear blue water. To be able to take a 10-minute drive from my residence to the coast and have the ocean lap around my feet.

Such a fascinating country. I look forward to the day we cross paths again.

*"Ichi e Ichi go": (一期一会, literally "one time, one meeting") a saying loosely translated as "for this time only," "never again," or "one chance in a lifetime."

Photos: Arrival and Departure (July 2000 & 2003)

the present is the prize

2006-07-11T00:35:00.000-04:00

A full moon is out tonight, and as usual, I am drawn to it. There is definitely a romantic allure to its completeness. Almost hypnotizing. I can sit outside for hours and contemplate under its guidance. As if my thoughts this evening have more insight. Are more reflective uncovered under the moon's light.

Another full moon - driving through the hills of Seihi, a small town of 10 000, outside of Nagasaki. One of my last jaunts through the countryside with two individuals whom I adore. The Yamaokas.

I can clearly recall the first encounter I had with Kimie years before this. My first day as an ESL Teacher at Seihi Agricultural High School. Sports Day. When I realized I was without a camera to document tug-o-war, three-legged races, rice bag hurdles, group pyramids and other events not present in any of the Canada Fitness regimes I had taken part in when I was in public school, I made my way to the corner store in search of a disposable camera. I was halted by a woman in her fifties waving me down from the other side of the street, singing hellos in English. I clearly remember her sunny disposition reach for me as I came forward. After introductions, she invited me in for tea and I accepted. Thirty minutes later, I returned to school, having made a new friend, and with a digital camera she insisted I borrow.

Three years later, and days before my departure back to Canada, Kimie, her husband and myself drove through lush rice fields, weaving through land and coastline on our last evening together. The moon was art accompanying us on our drive. Commanding the sky as its own, it hung low, a deep orange and complete.

With full moons, thoughts - and experiences - can sometimes reach full circle.

... Off-topic, I had left a surprise for my roommate this evening. Though he didn't see it, he thanked me for the gift nonetheless. Questioning him on thanking me for something he had yet to receive, he replied, 'the present is the prize, the gift is the thought". I kinda like that.

Photo: Tonight's Prize (July 11 2006)

two cities, two people

2006-07-03T18:34:00.000-04:00

It's odd that for a city where I lived the first eighteen of my years, Ottawa still does not show itself as a part of my history I enjoy revisiting. To put forth without melodrama, I have yet to slide back into its city walls and feel like I am understood. Fully. A dilemma of sorts that I have attempted to deconstruct in a previous time - Why have I always felt the necessity to pack my few bags and move locations, in search for a new set of streets that would hopefully assist me in my want to individualize. Luckily, I found pieces of Montreal, my first stop, that allowed me to do this.

A return to Ottawa did bring with, reconnections to sisters who comfort, to a mother who I do not see nearly as often as I should and to friends who have known me for over a decade. With this, light is shone on my difference, and on an intimate part of me I do not acknowledge often. Simultaneously, this city pulls me a part and reinforces me at the seams.

How do I reconcile this?

The long weekend's return to the nation's capital did manage to offer me a slice of perspective on my current actions. Most probably distancing myself from my everyday had more to do with it than the specific location, but I appreciate regardless.

Coming back to Toronto yesterday, I was fortunate to have one of my closest friends stay with me, along with her one-year-old daughter. From beginnings of high school drama, to present day preoccupations of marriage, new life and first words, and love - one within the depth of its genuine grasp and one presently seeking it, conversations seem to have evolved. Yet, sounds of our laughter interweaved through our words as they did when we were 16. Giggles broke through serious moments and some form of reconciliation appeared to be sneaking through my earlier ponderings to present itself.

To my friend: thank you for a much-needed evening of silly and truthful chatter. Sitting on the balcony. A cool breeze. A bare sliver of a moon hidden behind clouds. The air quiet except for us whispering slightly as to not awaken your daughter sleeping soundly on the other side of the door - is an image I will retain. And, on an aside, seeing the mother in you develop is beautiful.

Photo: Makeshift Toy (July 3 2006)

seeking shade

2006-06-15T17:28:00.000-04:00

It's surprising when certain small utterances affect you. It makes one realize how fresh emotions are under the surface of the skin, when they are.

Over the past week, various individuals' comments on the play of my eyes. To the recent few who have spoken of them - whether you've known me for years or for a handful of months - sorry kids, you're all off the mark.

To the latest one standing outside the other day. Front steps. Sun ablaze. A few sidepoints: No, you don't know me. No, I was not hinting at anything and neither were my 'knowing eyes'. I was being friendly, though in comparison to your questionable behaviour post giving your word, it might be worthwhile to rethink this.

Interestingly, never thought anything – other than the sun - would drive me to reach for sunglasses. Apparently unperceptive men do that too.

Photo: sunglasses June 2006

pot of gold

2006-06-14T22:34:00.000-04:00

The sun was about to set. A ten minute rain shower followed by a rainbow arching across the Toronto skyline. Not a bad way to spend the evening - sitting on the balcony and realizing that this city has its moments.

Photo: Pot of Gold, June 2006

canadiana at the theatre

2006-06-12T09:25:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine has recently been assigned to instruct a Canadian Studies 4-week course at the ESL school in which he teaches and has requested a few Canadian films that could be suitable for his students. Here is a list. Off the top of my head. I may edit a bit once I have had a think about it.

(in no particular order)

The Sweet Hereafter
The Corporation
The Take
Mystic Ball (may not have distribution yet - a popular one at HotDocs this year)
Ryan
Falling Angels
It's All Gone Pete Tong
Flower & Garnet
The Hanging Garden

I haven't seen Escape to Canada but it did a run at the Bloor Cinema a few months ago. Could be an interesting screening for a class of international students as it talks about Canada, its recent politics and legislation on issues including the decriminalization of marijuana, same-sex marriages, the war on Iraq. I suppose if this is screened, a footnote must be made that Canada's positioning on these issues may all change for the worse with Stephen Harper leading our nation.

(I was asked not to include films by Cronenberg or Egoyan - I abided by this limitation except for The Sweet Hereafter because I love this film.)

Honourable Mentions:
As it is an English as a Second Language class, Quebec cinema is out which is unfortunate as some of Canada's best films derive from Quebec. I don't think I could comfortably make a list of Canadian cinema without including any of these noteworthy films. These are just three - and there are plenty others. Dave, if you haven't seen these, rent them outside of the classroom.

Barbarian Invasions
C.R.A.Z.Y.
Mon Oncle Antoine

and any of Deepa Mehta's films- which also do not work in the classroom:
Water
Earth
Fire

and
Atanarjuat
What Remains of Us

As I stated above, this is not an exhaustive list by any means but rather a list comprised of films that popped into my mind within the ten minutes of writing this post. I'll have more of a think and add later.

On an aside: Closing of the Royal on College. Another blow to the independent film community.

disconnected

2006-06-08T22:37:00.000-04:00

Relationships slip. On occasion. A natural part of their course. When this occurs, it affects the heart regardless.

What does it mean when someone states that your character detours people from wanting to get too close - because of its strength. Makes me wonder who will want to sit alongside the independence in question.

The moon is almost full tonight. Makes me think. Solo, I smoke a cigarette under the softly lit sky.

Shining mirrors on bracelets glint under the sun. Earlier today. Sitting on doorsteps; distracting.

Photo: Mirrors on wrist June 2006

slowing down

2006-06-03T19:52:00.000-04:00

The touch of water on skin when walking down the street is refreshing. The light pitter-patter of rain drops on glass comforting.

Subtle tapping against my bedroom window reminds me of a past time when rain was present in my daily basis. Rainy season in Kyushu, the southernmost island of mainland Japan and the most tropical, outside of Okinawa. Each day in June, rain and humidity mingled intimately in a constant downpour. I can remember walking the tiled floors of the building where I worked, gingerly, with a mild fear of slipping on water accumulated on its surface. Putting palm against wall would leave a damp imprint. Mundane activities such as washing clothes proved to be somewhat of a challenge - for the duration of this month, I soon became accustomed to wearing clothes from the line which were debatably dry. And when I realized I had little baby crabs keeping me company while making my way to the local grocery store, I stopped in awe to survey the many clusters of them crawling alongside my path.

Today, what comes with hours of rain is not anything as drastic but simply slight alterations to my usual movements. Having chosen not to speed through the city streets this afternoon, I found myself open to memories resurfacing. Sitting at Tequila Bookworm, I drank coffee and idly watched people as they scurried by hunched under their umbrellas. I followed the rain as it fell. I started to process the innumerable events of the past week, which as of late, have gone without. I let muscles loosen. I allowed my pace to soften.

Based on the stillness present in today's air, I imagine that I am not the only resident living in Toronto's frantic downtown core who has chosen to do this.

I also remembered a time when I chose to slow down on my own accord regardless of the weather.

Rain has forced me to pause. Even if just for today. And until I can figure out how to bring this back into my everyday, I welcome the external push.

Photo: From my bedroom window, June 2006

it is long overdue

2006-05-26T22:52:00.000-04:00

to Take Back the Night. The Day. The Each Moment.

The second occurrence in the past handful of weeks. A woman is pushed off a 10th floor balcony by her husband to fall to her death. The woman, 19 years of age. Raglan Avenue, near St. Clair and Bathurst.

A few weeks ago, a Ryerson university student was stabbed to death. A restraining order was in place on her boyfriend. Media had phrased it, with "one bad judgment", she let him into her apartment that evening. The woman, 20 years old. My neighbourhood, one street away.

These two incidents refuse to fade from my consciousness. I bring these women into conversations with friends; I see the 19 year old woman - her photograph displayed in a recent issue of the Toronto Star - when sitting on my balcony early mornings. "End to Domestic Violence" - words spray-painted in bright pink, stark against the dark asphalt across from the apartment complex, remain imprinted on the back of my eyelids when I close them. Walking down Grange, my pace slows down noticeably.

Each year, on December 6th, I pay tribute to women affected by various forms of violence. The many women I know personally, and the many others across this globe, also living under this oppressive regime. Women who have in their past. Who will in their future.

I remember the 14 women who were shot and killed by Marc Lepine at Ecole Polytechnique in Montreal (1989). By ordering all men to exit the university classroom that winter day, he then channeled his rage on to the remaining individuals in the room, segregated specifically because of gender. He was heard screaming, "I hate feminists".

I acknowledge my intimate connection to this issue.

This December, I will add these two young women to the list of those in my thoughts. Frightening is the speed in which this list of abused grows - with almost its own beating pulse.

Image: Take Back the Night Poster, 2005

train rides

2006-05-19T19:44:00.000-04:00

Sitting on the train leaving Toronto, end of November 2005. 5 hours to my destination. Music. A solid read and the space to let my mind wander to wherever it chooses.

At each journey's start, tension is released from my body with the knowledge that I am not expected to be at any place, nor complete any task from the moment I step on to the train to the moment I step down. This in-between state which is a part of all forms of travel is one of the highlights that accompanies each trip. Whether it be on an airplane heading towards a city, country or continent I have yet to visit, or a bus ride returning to the city full of family and childhood friends, the block of time before the destination is reached is open to idle thoughts, welcomed to surface within this middle ground.

There is something infinitely worthwhile in observing moments of transition with a similar weight as you would its start or its conclusion. Being appreciative of the many hours in-between here and there; being conscious of shifting from relationship to singledom; being within such processes where your mind wanders to surprising locations, relapses to past events, contemplates future possibilities.

A part of me would love to be on that train tonight moving in a direction away from this city. If not only for the chance to let my mind rest. Better yet, with a longer period of time, to purchase a plane ticket out of this city, out of this country, out of this continent. (And take you with me). Perhaps.

Yet this long weekend, within the city boundaries I shall remain. Leaving idle thoughts (and relapses) for the next train ride.

Photo: An Equal Music, November 2005

in love and struggle*

2006-05-15T18:05:00.000-04:00

Two months ago, I lent out a book. Instructing the borrower that I could potentially forgive him should he misplace any other item that I have lent him previously or would lend him in the future except for this 50-page slim collection of poetry. I underlined this - as I had underlined in solid lead many of the verses found within - as I placed it hesitantly in his hands.

Weeks later, when he informed me that the book was possibly forever lost through the chaotic clearing of house in his move to a new home, I was devastated. I contemplated taking the ferry over to Toronto Island and sifting through each pile of books he said were strewn in his new space, rummaging through each cardboard box or plastic bag of household items.

I tell this story due to the fact that I have unabashedly borrowed it's title No Language is Neutral from author Dionne Brand, who in turn borrowed the phrase from Derek Walcott's Midsummer Lii.

Words taken. Recycled. Transformed. Released again, slightly altered from their previous use.

It's funny (amazing really) how some words resonate. Even a decade later, when I'd like to propose that I have progressed from the wide-eyed girl running around the streets of Montreal to someone more in control of herself, more aware. Yet for some reason, these words, strung together in these particular ways, continue to remain relevant, regardless of me.

I could picture the tan coloured cover, scratched. The pages faded. The binding frayed. The only book thrown into my backpack when I traipsed through Europe, when I settled in Asia. Yes, I was attached.

An author’s wish is to create like this. To affect a reader over the span of a decade and longer through silly little words.

At least this is mine.

Late last week, the book was returned to me. My friend, 'the borrower', came to my place of work with the cherished in hand and in all smiles. Immense relief on my part. Apparently, tidbits of my past ten years had somehow found themselves hidden comfortably within the pages of this little book - something I had only come to realize upon seeing it's familiar worn-down cover in my hands again.

*"In Love and Struggle" words written by Dionne Brand, Public Reading & Book Signing, October 28, 1998.

Photo: front cover, 2006

407 days

2006-05-13T00:26:00.000-04:00

A little over one year has passed since relocating to this city with the tower.

I was more than a little hesitant to embrace this space, or even loosen my arms to let any part of its sprawling elements in. Being a Montrealer at heart, I was determined to remain loyal to the city of fashion, cafes, and culture and look with scepticism at what Toronto could possibly offer me.

I must admit, 407 days later (though of course there still really isn't any comparison between the two cities), it has thawed out some of the ice around my opinionated edges.

HotDocs Film Festival. Excellent vegetarian food options. Tequila Bookwarm. A rooftop with a view of a tower which has (surprisingly) grown on me. An international airport with cheap deals. Intriguing individuals. Hearing random languages while wandering down any given street.

Not completely won over. But the arms seem to be relaxing a bit.

Photo: Moving In, April 1st, 2005