Drunken Compadres

Ever walked around the streets of your town, drunk, after 3am? If you don't, you should start. You can meet some really bang-up citizens that way. Okay... Maybe not.. but you can sure meet some strange ones. Case in point.

I have this friend. Normally, I am a normal, calm person. Well as normal as normal can be... Anyways, when this friend and I get together, we go nuts. It's like our brains temporarily shut off. Recently, we went out for "one drink" which quickly turned into "one pitcher" which quickly turned into "This bar is closing! Let's go find another one that's still open so we can drink and party some more!"

Of course after a night at the bar, you have to eat something bad for you. So we made a pit stop at McDonald's, and made our way to a comfy curb, to sit and enjoy our gourmet treat. As we were sitting, this drunk, wobbly man came up and started talking to us. Of course we used the automatic brush off response that many girls use when approached by drunk guys. "Sorry, not interested. We're lesbians."

However, appearances decieve, and this drunk guy was smarter than he looked. "I don't believe you unless you prove that you are lesbians." Okay, so we weren't actually lesbians, so we had to backtrack... "Oh (horrified look on face)! We're not together..." This went on for some time, us trying to brush him off and him thwarting our attempts. Finally it came out that he had 9 year old twin girls. And it also came out that this guy thought we (two drunk girls eating McDonald's on a curb in downtown Vancouver at 3:30 am) would make great role models and even better mothers for his daughter.

The idea of being mothers weirded even us out, so we had to be on our way. Not without a final parting comment from my friend "Bet you can't wait until your daughters are 14 and pregnant."

Surprised he didn't shank us right then and there, we were off. Once again, having met some of the city's finest.

Okay, maybe you shouldn't hang out to meet people like we met. In fact, I wouldn't recommend it at all...

Tea Pot

You know when you buy something, and you are just really excited about it? Well, read on then!

A couple of nights ago, my friend managed to drag me out of my house to go to the Richmond Night Market. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, a night market is an Asian market that goes on at night. Many different little stalls are set up selling everything from CD's to underwear to puzzles to food.

I have never been to the night market before, but since I am fascinated by Asian culture, thought I would have a good time. After pushing our way through the throngs of people and browsing our way through a whole bunch of little stalls, my friend and I were hungry. The food was delicious (and cheap). I once again claimed my title as dumpling queen, and inhaled two plates of the delicious porky, vinegary, chivey jiao zi. I sampled whimsical Dragon's Beard candy, once only eaten by emperors in China. I snarfed down a stick of BBQ Vietnamese pork, tofu and a beef pancake roll and washed it all down with papaya bubble tea. Mmmm....Anyways, I am getting off topic here, not intending to talk about the food...

On my way out, I just had to buy a little tea pot that I had spotted on my way in. It was little and had a mesh holder, perfect for brewing up the loose leaf jasmine tea that I thought I had at home. It was so cute, and only $3! Just right for me. I was so excited, I couldn't wait to get home and make myself a pot of tea.

Alas, it was not to be. Once I came home, I realized that someone in my house had unwittingly thrown out my nice jasmine tea. I was heartbroken. I know at this point, if you are still reading this strange and rambling post, you are thinking "Well, let's not over react over TEA." But I had just set my mind that I was GOING to have that tea.

Blah blah blah, several days later, someone bought me some tea as to stop my incessant whining about the missing tea. But it just wasn't the same. Just wasn't the same....

Public Sleeping

Today I viewed a window of what my semester will be like. I had to be up on campus early, in order to go to the bookstore before it closed to buy the rest of my texts. Anyways, that created a slight problem because I was at school by 3:00 pm, but didn't have rugby practice until 6:30.

Since my bag (filled with my work uniform, change of clothes, rugby gear, textbooks, water and dinner) was extremely heavy, I was too lazy to find a building with couches to lie on, I cozied up on a flat metal bench. Using my ballooning bag as a pillow, I had a great nap.

And I came to the epiphanal (is that a word?) realization. I can sleep anywhere. I can sleep with people walking by, I can sleep on hard metal surfaces, I can sleep ANYWHERE! And I didn't even snore! This is a breakthrough! Normally I am too scared to sleep on campus because I fear that I will break into snoring, but not today! I can just imagine what the rest of my semester will be like. No more nodding off in class, no more walking-zombie days. I have mastered the art of public sleeping, and I will ride that pony as far as I can.

Summer, A Review

Today I was talking to a friend, and she asked me "So how was your summer this year?" I thought for a moment, and then replied "Not too good." After I got off the phone, I couldn't help but think about our conversation over and over. How did I let the summer slip by me unused? What would I have rather done with my time? And why did I waste so much of it?

I remember once watching a tv show (Ally McBeal, I think...) and there was a line that went something like "At the end of the year you should be able to look back and laugh, and cry." If I look back on my summer, the only emotion that comes to mind is crying. I didn't work. I didn't travel. I didn't see that much of my friends. I didn't accomplish the few things I set out to do.

So, this gets me to thinking, was my summer a failure? YES. Unless.... Unless I take the fact that I failed miserable at living this summer, and never let myself do that again. I know inside that there are things and people that make me inexorably happy, so from now on, I need to seek out these people, situations and experiences. I let myself be unhappy. It is easier to settle and fail, then to take a risk and succeed.

I always hit these moments of extreme sadness, where I vow to change my life, change to world, and be happy trying. I don't think I want this moment to be another one of those. I am acknowledging that unhappiness is a part of life. But I am also acknowledging that I can no longer be complacent, that I need to seek out happiness instead of letting it come to me.

So how was your summer? Worth it?

Confessions of a Gemini

It started back in 1983
Back in 1983, it started
And so began my life as a Gemini
So began my love affair with life
The life I love to hate, and sometimes
It hates me back
And sometimes
It loves me back
And sometimes, I sit, as I do today
And wonder why things are as they are
Why I have all this love inside of me
With nowhere to put it
All this sadness inside
With no reason
All this confusion,
Surrounded by a facade of stability
Sometimes, it seems the stars
Are playing tricks on me,
A joke that is my life

The confessions of me,
Stories that I keep just for me
Sometimes, they eat the insides of my soul
Tearing the edges jagged like a rotted leaf
I have two sides
Two conflicting sides, always fighting
Jockeying for position
Euphorium and Blackness
Meet life.

Tired

How can I be tired? Is it from all the sleeping I've been doing lately? Or how about the lying motionless? The lump imitation I've been doing? It's strange, taking a week holiday has only put me out of commission for possibly another week. Strange. I am too tired to function, too tired to do anything. I don't feel like writing, I don't like talking. I don't feel like moving.

I think I will go to bed. Maybe tomorrow I will be less tired...

Off on a journey....

Gone out of town for a week. See you when I get back, blog!

Sports

Why do sports make a supposedly intelligent, rational person do stupid things? I have hurt myself, done idiotic things to my body, things that I knwo that I should not have done all in the name of sports.

Last night at rugby practice, I arrived late. In the muggy heat, I quickly took one lap around the field, half-heartedly stretched, and quickly joined into the drill already going on. After half a length down the field, I felt a sharp biting pain in my upper quadricep muscle. "Damn" I muttered to myself, frustrated to be hurt this early into practice.

I tried to keep running but any sort of acceleration made my leg give out. So I took myself out, spent a few minutes wandering around stretching. A few minutes later, I decided that I was ready to go back into practice. I joined up the drill again, adopting a loping gate, one which didn't require muscle strength from my left leg. A few minutes later, I pushed off and hit the ground, leg giving out once again. "DAMN" I muttered again, limped off to the shade, and sat for a moment considering my leg.

I sat for a minute or two, watching my team do sprints (which I knew I couldn't do), and then start up another drill. "I guess I'll give it another go.." I thought to myself, as I proceeded to lope once again at slow motion through the passes and cuts. And of course, after several passes, my leg once again gave out, with a searing pain.

By this time, my brain had registered just how stupid I was being. I made myself to walk over to my bag, take off my cleats, forcing myself to stop practicing. You have no idea how much I do this. Hurt myself, and just keep on going, effectively hurting myself more. It's kind of a complex that I am pretty sure plagues many higher up athletes and amateurs alike. How much is too much? When is enough enough?

In rugby, I find it especially hard to know when to quit. Rarely have I played a game or practice without being in some measure of pain. It's part of the territory- when you're running into people at top speeds, getting trampled by metal cleats, having your body crushed by piles of people, you have to learn to distinguish between playable pain, and pain that needs attention or rest. As a result, in the past 2 years, I have played (stupidly) through injuries that have led to my removal from the sport for up to 7 months.

So, back to my original question. Why does a supposedly intelligent person like me pursue sports as if it were a life or death matter? I read somewhere once that in this time of relative peace, we have found substitutes for war and conflict-those being sports. Therefore, we partake in sports with a vigour that could be likened to fighting a war. Anyways, I don't know if any of this is true or not, but it's definetely worth considering...

Confidence

I like to think of myself as a confident person. But I am coming to realize that there are more kinds of confidence than one can shake a stick at... case in point:

As I have written about already, I spent 3 months living in China this past year. While a confident, independant person home in Canada, in China I became a confused, bumbling infant. When I first arrived, I had to have one of my Chinese friends with me to translate at all times. Just walking down the street, I would feel pangs of fear. "What if I get lost? What happens if someone tries to attack me? What if I get into trouble?" It was my first major trip to an extremely foreign country, and I was out of my element. It was like reverting back to childhood. Someone had to order food for me, point me in the direction of washrooms, walk with me to go buy some fruit or use the internet.

Finally, I started to regain my confidence. I began to feel comfortable in my settings, began to learn enough Chinese that I thought I could pass on my own in the city. I learned some choice phrases that I thought would help me out: "Ni che se ba (go to hell), man zou (take it easy), wo yao nyo nai (I want milk), pian zi (liar), da sha dan (big foolish egg), wo ai ni (I love you)" Only the essentials.

And finally, one day I was on my own. My roomate had headed back to the apartment, and I decided I wanted to go and use the internet. I literally strutted down the walkway, chest puffed out like a peacock, picking my way over the cracked concrete, scattered sunflower casings, and vomit stains (I had watched a drunken man vomit there the night before). I could see people passing me on bikes, wearing puffy mao-esque jackets, turning their heads to stare at the tall redhead walking alone through a back street in Northern China. Boy, did I feel confident. I began to think of my friends back home in Canada, slaving away at university. They had never done anything like this in their lives. I thought of my arrival in China, my low confidence and reliance on others. I thought of how privelidged I was to get this chance, and I felt so proud of myself for adjusting to life in a new country and culture.

As all these thoughts raced through my head, I spotted the internet cafe, and headed towards it. I could see through the shop's glass front, covered in a layer of dust and smoke, into the mass of people inside sending emails, instant messaging and playing games. I began to walk up the crooked, uneven stairs. And then I was falling, I had tripped and landed flat on my stomach in the middle of the busy afternoon, in front of a glass-fronted store.

Looking around, hoping no one saw, I picked myself up and tried to salvage what was left of my dignity. Head down, face flaming red, I hurried into the cafe, where no doubt the whole store had watched me fall.

Over-confidence? Yup, I'm prone to that too.

The Beach: Musings Pt. 2

Today the beach was crowded. Wall to wall, people on top of one another crowded. Arriving at around noon, we managed to find a small square of unoccupied sand, where we plunked down and set up for a day of swimming and suntanning. Directly to our left, was a small grove of beach umbrellas and several blankets, toys and children strewn about. It seemed that there were three couples, all with small children, spending the day at the beach.

"We should go to Mexico together," a tanned, blond lady with a french accent loudly proclaimed. "That would be great! We all get along so well. We should all go to Mexico. I mean, we all get along... so ...well..." Loudly, for the whole beach to hear, she laid out her reasons (well, reason) that all three couples should go to Mexico together, because they "all got along, so well," over and over.

The other two wives humoured the loud blonde lady with patronizing smiles, all the while edging further and further away from her.

After a while, the husbands all took to the water to toss around the ole pigskin, leaving the three wives on the beach. "I mean, we all get along so well! We really should go to Mexico. It would be fun. As long as our husbands don't play golf every day. I mean, that just wouldn't be fair. That would be such a fun trip. We should do it." The blonde lady prattled on and on, while the other two wives pretended to be absorbed in the many grains of sand on the beach, or with their kids' life preservers.

Did they get along so well? I found myself wondering as the day wore on. The blonde lady was the only one that I actually heard talk over the expanse of about 4 hours. The other two wives only replied in monosylables to direct questions, and the husband's only utterance was "I guess we should pack up and leave."

Ahh... got to love people who fool themselves.

The Beach: Musings

Today I went to the beach with some friends. I decided I wanted to test my swimming skills, so as my friend paddled about in an inflated smiley-face inner tube, I floundered in the water beside her. "Let's go out where it's deep," I said, confidently. So we paddled out to where the bottom of the lake disappeared in a deep green murkiness, and I struggled to maintain a casual conversation as I tried to keep my ears above the water.

Anyways, as we looked around, we began talking about girls, and our hangups regarding our bodies. My friend mentioned that her boyfriend thinks she is nuts for the little things about her body that bother her. In fact, most guys we have talked to like their girls with a few extra pounds rather than too few. So we got to thinking: who are girls really trying to impress? And the obvious answer: other girls. While sad, this fact to me is painfully obvious. When I go out, I am way more judgmental of girls than I am of guys. I wish I could say that I didn't judge (and I try really hard not to), but sometimes I slip, and I find myself sizing up the other females in the room.

Flash forward, back to the image of me coughing water out of my mouth, and trying to stop my ears from pooling with water. The beach today seemed awash in hot bodies, male and female. I think both my friend and I found our selves wishing, just a little, that we looked that good in a bathing suit. But, oh well. I know I never will, so it doesn't bother me that much. Just a momentary, mid-afternoon, semi-drowned wistful thought.

The older I get, the faster time slips away from me. It seems like just yesterday that I was starting university, new books in hand.

I made the mistake of purchasing a big, bulky cool-looking 5-Star padded binder. I pictured all those 5-Star ads on TV, the one with trendy university students talking and mingling after class, then heading off to frat parties or beer gardens. Anyways, there I was, first class on the first day, headed into my first lecture. Much to my dismay, the desks were the little fold-out kind, about the size of a pocket novel. I spent the entire lecture wrestling with my humungous binder, dropping it on the floor, and trying to scoop up my scattered papers without attracting any attention. As the lecture wore on, my writing began to scrawl all over the slipping paper, and my face grew redder and redder. I can recall shopping for back to school clothes, trying to anticipate what university students would wear to class, miscalculating grossly, as I bough stiff leather slides and a pencil jean skirt. I remember all too well the pain of that outfit, sweating in the early fall heat, and trying not to limp as my brand new shoes blistered and bruised my feet.

And then on to second year, I, another year older and much wiser, felt so cool. By this time, I knew the ropes. I bought small coiled notebooks, easily perched on the tiny desks. I filled my wardrobe with sweatpants and shirts, perfect for layering and for those misty, rainy fall days. I adopted a jaded, blase attitude, perfect for the second year student, I thought.

Now, I sit heading into my 3.5th year, and it all seems like a blur. The more I know, the less I know. I no longer feel like I'm "cool" or "superior." Rather, it is quite the opposite. I have a frantic feeling inside, that I should know something, I should know what's going on, but as time wears on, I have less and less of a grasp on what actually is. I think I finally have gotten the gist of university life. The fact that you never know anything. And when you think you know something, you have only scratched the tip of the iceberg.

But here I sit, and time passes me by. I don't know where it all went. I feel old, and I have barely cracked into my twenties. I went up to school today to purchase my books, and I spotted what had to be a first year. She was wide-eyed, walking with her mother, trying to navigate the campus. And that's what took me back, back to when I began my university career. And made me realize, just how far I have come since then, and just how much everything has stayed the same.

Job Hunting, The Saga Begins...

Today, if you've been reading my blog, I actually went and handed out resumes at the mall. At first, I wasn't going to go. Then I thought about the amount of money actually in my bank account versus the amount of things I have to buy for back to school, and I came to the conclusion that I have to work.

Finally, I got to the mall, cut a path across the parking lot in the sweltering heat, and broke into the air conditioned mall. Immediately, I wanted to turn around and leave, seeing all the customers wandering around chatting amiably with friends, parcels in hand. I walked past the stores, and after peering inside each one, walked on past with a queasy feeling. Every time, I thought to myself, "I really should go in there and give them my resume," and then "I don't have to do this.. I will just go back home."

After about 15 minutes of waffling back and forth, between staying and leaving, I finally bit the bullet and went into the first store. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not afraid to approach people and inquire about work. That part was fine. It was the prospect of working in retail sales again that was turning my stomach.

From that point on, the next hour rushed by in a whirl of handed out resumes, talking to friendly sales associates, and even filling out an idiotic questionnaire, a sampling of the questions read: "How many times have you taken something small from a store without paying? In grade 8, where did you and your friends hang out? How many times did you smoke in high school?" What were they trying to find out? Honestly!

Anyways, I am actually excited about going back to work. Well, not actually going back to work, but getting paid for my time. My big plans just can't materialize unless some benjamins are backing them. I think it's time for me to become a functioning member of society again, instead of a cancerous drain.

Poetry...

Oddly enough, up 'til now, I haven't written any poetry on my blog. I love to write poetry. Why, you ask? I am extremely impatient. I don't have the patience to sit down and write a story or a novel, as much as I wish I did... So the answer I come up with is poetry.

So, just to warn you, I might throw in a few poems here and there on my blog from now on.

Stay a Memory

Young, they are
Young boy in paint stained pants, with beaten lunch box
Steel-toed, scuffed boots pale in the summer sun
With brownish white tank top, against brownish white skin,
On the bus coming home after twelve hours, he says
Why don't you ever call me, he says,
Where do you work, he says
Have you been keeping busy?
Elusive, with an aloof glint in her brown eyes,
Swinging shining brown hair over brown shoulders,
She evades his questions,
Young, straight out of highschool
Feel free to call me, he says
She non-commitally promises to
And both of them know, that she won't
Ever
Pick up the phone and dial his number,
And when she sees him at the bus stop, 2 months down the road,
She will turn to her friend, and giggle
Avoiding his eyes.

Okay, I have an admission to make...

I love to write, I think that is well known. But, when I realized that the blogger profile keeps track of the number of words that I write, I came up with a crazy goal. I was going to write 10,000 words. The longest essay I have ever written at school was about 3,600 words, so 10,000 seemed like a lofty goal. So I wrote. And I wrote. And then I wrote some more. And tonight, I seem to have surpassed my goal, and yet I keep writing. It's like the more I write, the more words want to come out of me.

And then, horror of all horrors, a challenge surfaced. The only person that actually reads my blog (I think) http://larrykim.blogspot.com/2004/08/parental-pride.html Larry Kim has taken a shining to leaving comments on my posts (thank you, I love comments). But he decide that he is going to leave a comment on every one of my posts. Finding this out, a gleam crossed my brown eyes. "Have I just been challenged?" I wondered out loud to myself, much to the alarm of my sleeping cat. Can I possibly create posts at such a volume that Larry cannot keep up with me?

And so here I sit, typing madly away. It's been 17 hours, and I haven't stopped typing. Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but I have been known to be prone to hyperbole from time to time.

Good luck Larry, good luck. You'll need it. ;)

Bloggers United

As I wander through the world of blogs, I come to the realization that I am not all that different from the rest of the world. Like me, there are other bleeding hearts, late night life-questioners, lonely souls, semi-depressed wanderers, confused beings, self-proclaimed philosophers, aspiring writers.

Something about blogging must attract this type of person, people like me. People who have a true self that they can only unveil in the public privacy of the blog world. If you are reading this right now, you have been exposed to my innermost thoughts, the depths into which even my closest friends have not delved.

Something about myself: I am the perpetual independant. The one that people watch with mouth slightly agape, head perceptably shaking. Every time I unveil a new far-fetched plan, my friends chuckle knowingly. They know me too well to be surprised, but I think they secretly are amazed at what I do, how little attention I pay to conventions. This may sound dreamy and romantic to some, but it is a lonely path to walk down. As much as I value my independance, I would love nothing more than to find either a fellow nomad to share the wonders of the world with me, or a grounded tree that will calm down my urge to wander just a hair.

Something about my friends: I love them, I truly do. They know me perhaps better than I know myself. But they are not me. And they have their own dreams and hopes. I have yet to meet someone that is as adventurous as me. So, there are lots of parts of myself that I keep inside.

Until I type them out in my blog. The thoughts, feelings, memories, ramblings that are kept hidden from the rest, come out like a tide running through a causeway.

So, if you are reading this, I suppose you are a bit like me. Searching for people who are just as lost, hoping to find that you are not alone.

Return to the Working World. Begrudgingly.

Tomorrow is the day...

Currently I am unemployed. I have been for quite some time actually. Recently, I finished my summer course at university, and when I returned home after the exam, I jubilantly exclaimed "Yay! I am now officially on vacation!" My brother was quick to point out, however, that I have been on vacation since October of last year. Good point.

So tomorrow, I am hitting the mall, resumes in hand. I have never done that before. In the past, I have always been given jobs through acquaintances or connections. I feel so odd, randomly walking up to stores and cheerily trying to sell (whore) myself back into the retail world... Can you tell it's the last thing I want to do? I have been putting it off for days. Today was too hot, the day before I didn't want to lug my rugby bag around the mall, the day before I decided was more suited to the beach. I want finding a job to be easy, but as time wears on, the happy fantasy of a good job falling into my lap is slipping further and further through my grasp.

OH GOD I don't want to go back into retail. I hate serving customers. I hate being falsely cheery, pretending that I am enjoying mindlessly punching numbers into a cash register, pretending to care when customers come up and make paltry complaints. I DON'T CARE! I am not a naturally bubbly or talkative person, so spending 8 hours making small talk with countless people who don't care about me is mind numbing. Nothing is more depressing than a long day of retail sales. Don't get me wrong, I am not bashing the retail profession. Some people are awesome at what they do, and genuinely have a knack for it... I on the other hand do not have that knack... For a young female in university however, it seems the only job that is easy to get that will work around my school schedule is a retail job. And, the only experience I have is retail. I can't get other jobs without experience, so the vicious cycle turns, and I am stuck between a rock and a retail store.

Happiness is....

1. sunsets
2. sunrises
3. blueberries
4. country music
5. cats
6. pizza
7. friends
8. laughter
9. travelling
10. the outdoors
11. a nice letter
12. compliments
13. good movies
14. a good book
15. sleeping in
16. staying up late
17. the night sky
18. writing
19. rugby
20. softball
21. mexican food
22. chinese food
23. CSI
24. the beach
25. rivers, lakes
26. doing a good job
27. being lazy
28. running
29. meeting new people
30. independance
31. hugs
32. love
33. rain
34. winter
35. summer
36. christmas
37. ETC!

What's in a Name?

Lately I have begun to wonder what people think of my online name. I have started to wonder if anyone reading my posts (Larry this if for you, all one of you;) reads "melonface" and imagines a person with a round, melon-like face. So, I will set you all strait (all one of you).

Back in high school, I used to walk to school with a friend every morning. Every day, we had to pass a grove of tall cottonwood trees, and in mid-spring/summer, when the cotton was floating in the air, it used to look like snow. I highly enjoyed this time of year, but my friend was extremely allergic to the cotton, so her eyes used to get all puffy, swollen and itchy. Goodnaturedly (at least I thought so), I used to poke fun at her allergic reatctions.

Fast forward several years. It was a hot, late summer day and I had a rugby game. Add together the heat, an irritating sun screen, and small abrasions from the gravel on my face, and post-game my face felt a little bothered, but it didn't concern me too much. The next morning, however, when I woke up my face felt weird- kind of squashed and mushy. I walked into the bathroom, and took one look at myself. My face had swollen up like a melon! My eyelids were droopy, and my cheeks were fat, like a chipmunk.

Later that day, when I had to go pick up some lotion for my melon face, as luck would have it the very friend who's allergies used to bring me hours of enjoyment was the person to ring through my purchases. She had a good laugh (rightly so). Karma: it comes back to bite you in the ass.

So, from then on whenever I try to find a user name at a website, and my initials are already taken, I use the name "melonface." After all, who else would use such a weird screen name?

Beauty

Sometimes, when I'm in an optimistic mood, and it's been a good day, I can look at the sky as the sun sets. Seeing the pale blue fading to dusky golds and pinks, hanging over the dusty blue mountains; seeing the cottony pink slashes across the blue sky; I can see true beauty. Sometimes, I think that the only thing I need in life is a moment of pure beauty, and I will be alright.

Animal Dreams

If I were an animal in another life, I think I would like to have been a big predatory cat. In fact, maybe I was a cat. The idea of lying around all day, hanging lazily from trees on the savannah, appeals to me. Imagine, sleeping 22 hours out of the day, waking up for a quick hunt, then going back to sleep. Lately, my house cat Tommy and I have been converging in our daily roles. He lies like a lump on the coffee table (his new perch-of-the-week), occasionally rolling over, stretching, or uttering a muffled meow. And I lie like a lump on the adjacent couch, occasionally rolling over, stretching, or uttering a muffled meow. (Now maybe you think this strange, but I am honing my cat impersonation skills-I already have my sister fooled.)

Anyways, cat it would be. Or shark. Cruising around in the deep blue ocean would be great. Hunting little fish and seals, and not having to fear anything except for the limby-paleys that come from the surface. I would have been a sleek blue shark, a battle-scarred great white, or let's face it, probably one of the slow lazy varieties like a basking shark. If I was a shark, it would be kind of neat to scare people. I would cruise in through swimmers with my fin just above the water, and bump my nose into their legs. Just think of the stories they would have to tell "One time, this shark bumped into me, but didn't attack! I was so lucky!" and think of the laugh I would have as they ran out of the water in fear.

Hallucinations

Have you ever fallen asleep in the sun? If someone asked, you would have sworn you were awake, you could hear the conversations going on around you, after all. You were even a little annoyed at how loud the two ladies with children on the blanket next to you were talking because they almost drowned out the conversation you were trying to have with Seabiscuit, the racehorse from the 1930's.

Oh wait...

Is that normal? Conversing with a dead racehorse? Okay, maybe you were asleep after all. Or maybe you were having a sun-induced hallucination.

Okay, maybe "you" is really referring to "me." And maybe I am reading the book "Seabiscuit," but it still doesn't explain the converstation we had...

Heat

Ahh the stifling summer heat has returned. I missed it during it's brief respite... Oh wait, no I didn't. Today, my friend and I hatched the ingenius plan to spend the day at the lake. So we packed up, sunscreen, bathing suits and towels and set off early. By 10 am, the sun was already beating down with blistering heat, but we still set up camp on the beach, and proceeded to spend the rest of the day hopping in and out of the tepid water. Even more ingenius, we thought, was to leave the beach at 4 in order to "beat rush hour".

Alas, it was not to be. The highway was as clogged as an artery in Texas, after a sale at McDonalds. A garbage truck had caught on fire somewhere down the road, and since our radio was only picking up static until we hit the pileup, we were stuck for good. Crawling, we inched forward, playing the traffic jammers game of "which lane is going faster?" and always came up on the losing end. I spent my time watching the other drivers as they clutched their grim faces in their hands, started to blow steam out of their ears, or smoked cigarette after cigarette hoping to relieve some tension. The lucky ones had air conditioning, the unlucky (like us) didn't, and slowly suffocated as the air fell around them.

As the time we spent in the traffic jam grew longer and longer, I started to go a little crazy, performing franatic little dances when songs I knew came on the radio, imagining myself jogging down the road laughing maniaclly at those standing still. Car after car succommed to the deathly heat and their carcasses lined the shoulder, steaming with hoods propped open. My stomach slowly began to digest itself, as it should have been home and filled with food long ago. Sustenance, I screamed internally. I need sustenance! I thought for a fleeting moment about sinking my teeth into the driver. She looked a little baked under the windshield, and I wondered if human flesh really did taste like chicken, as they say. But it was only a fleeting moment, and I retreated back into my heat induced stupor once again.

Finally, after 2 hours (a drive that should have taken 30 minutes), we reached the burned out shell of the former garbage truck. And then, we were on our way, flying down the highway. Life never felt so good. I felt free, like I had just won the lottery. You know, there's nothing at all like a good traffic jam to make you appreciate freedom, and life. (And no, I wouldn't want to experience it again. Not for a million.)

Night Watcher

It's late by the time we reach the karaoke bar. Down a well-lit flight of steps, we end up in a cavernous, dreamily lit room. And then there are about 25 of us, crammed into a large karaoke room with two mikes. People I don't know, badly rendering many of the classics, the ones that everyone knows so we can all sing along. And yet, somehow in the night, we sound like stars. Each new song that appears prompts cheers from the beer soaked crowd, and with each pitcher, everyone becomes closer friends. I still sit on the periphery, only knowing one or two others in the room. This is prime people watching time.

I observe the guys in the room, who are more used to making public spectacles of themselves, singing their hearts out on any song from Metallica to Backstreet Boys. The girls, however, are broken into two categories: one is the girls who are secure enough with themselves to grab the mike and sing a song. They usually aren't quite secure enough to control their own mike, so share it with an equally inebriated friend. The main goal of these girls is to sing will appearing flirty and sexy. The second group of girls are the shy ones, the ones that probably love to sing at home, but are too afraid to sing in front of a group. They are probably longing to put in a favourite song, but instead resign themselves to sit and watch others butcher the tunes.

It is quite odd to be in a group of people that you don't know. You begin to notice things about certain people just by sitting back and observing quietly. And as the night continues on, people begin to drift off to home, to warm beds. Those that are left behind begin to form a new group, with new dynamics, shaped by too much to drink, music, tiredness, and the general disorientation that occurs in the wee hours of the morning. This is when you can really find out what people are like.

Rainy Day

Today it rained, finally. It wasn't normal rain, though. It was the thunderous, sheet rain of movies. The kind that you think isn't actually real until you experience it first hand. This year has been another record setting year for heat, and for dryness, so for once the people of the westcoast have actually been waiting for the rains to come.

I for one, love the rain. Especially at night, when the drops hitting my awning make a cacophony of sounds, somehow comforting in the darkness. Rain makes me think. It makes me want to cocoon, put on a pair of old sweatpants and just sit, listening to its noise.

Falling. Down. It is something that the rain is supposed to do, but today it was me. Falling, down. Sometimes life hits me like a slap in the face, and I am temporarily incapacitated. For no reason, my mind chose today to be the day to question all that I have accomplished, all that I am doing. Today, my purpose melted away with the rains, leaving a listless, purposeless lump, devoid of happiness.

Actually, I think this started two days ago, when I took a shower after going out for a run. Usually, I just hop in the shower, wash my hair, then hop out, but for some reason that day I lingered. Standing there with the warm, comforting water dripping through my wet hair, down my face, I came to the realization that I haven't felt loved in quite some time. Not by family or friends. The problem is, I know full well that they all love me (sometimes even more than I think), but I just feel like something is missing. I don't know how to make myself feel better. I know that time will do the trick. Today is just a down day. That is all.

Hair Saga

The hair saga....

My life has been one constant struggle to figure out what to do with my head of very curly (think Shirley Temple, Peggy Sue-esque) red hair. Most hairdressers see my hair and balk. Usually, unfortunately, they balk silently and internally. So I sit in their chair, happy that I am in the hands of a professional. Surrendering completely, I sit while they proceed to butcher the hell out of my curly hair.

Normally, my take on hair is pretty relaxed. Hey, it grows back, after all. I let it grow long, hack it off, then let it grow back, I don't really mind. Sometimes, however, the hairdressers push even me to my limits. Recently, I was in China. The day I was returning home, I had this overwhelming desire to have my hair cut. I don't know what I was thinking, but I frantically rushed to the hairdresser, plunked myself into the chair, and assumed I was in good hands. I had, after all, briefed my Chinese friend on EXACTLY how I wanted my hair cut (forgetting that a hairdresser in China probably hasn't cut the hair of many people who have curly hair...).

Anyways, I could only sit in slowly developing horror, as the young and trendy hairdresser proceeded to lop off the front of my hair, leaving me with a very obvious and discernible mullet. In tears, I raced back to the hotel, where my friend tried to comfort me "No ,really, it looks good. It's not a mullet, honest!"

Well, even mullets grow out. But when they do, they turn into even longer mullets. So I have spent the past 7 months trying to undo the mullet damage that was done to my hair. Finally, I think I have done it, but it has resulted in a clown-wig-like mop gracing the top of my head.

Wasn't I glad that I decided I just couldn't leave China without a hair cut?

Oh well. At least I can take it all in stride. And I have a pretty good sense of humour. The mullet story does make for good telling-who else can say they've accidentally acquired a mullet?

It is never too late...

We live in a world of excuses, broken promises, laziness, apathy and individualism. This much is true. People no longer care about issues that were once front runners of public forums, or are no longer aware of such issues. To look at the big picture is often disheartening and downright depressing. But to be aware of the small triumphs that are happening every day around us us uplifting.

I know that if people are reading these words, more likely than not you have heard them all before, and possibly ignored them before as well. I don't know why my ramblings should be any different to you, but I hope they are.

It is never to late to make a change for the better. Many people claim that "it is too late, I am one person, how much can I change, not enough people are making positive changes, how will I make a difference?" etc. etc. etc. The list of excuses could go on and on. But the truth is (and I know this phrase is worn to death), it takes one person to start a revolution. This is my recent dramatic change in opinion. I used to be a person who didn't mind if she didn't recycle because "What's one more bottle in a landfill?", didn't care if I bought coffee that wasn't fair trade because "What difference did it really make?", didn't attempt to buy organic because "What's the point, really?". But when you take the time to inform yourself about the world, and the choices you have, the difference that one person makes can be overwhelming. Think about this: if you buy one coffee every day for a year, how many cups do you use? How many people daily buy a cup of coffee, not thinking about the impact their consumption will have on the environment. Think about this: if you used your own reusable coffee cup, you have stopped 365 paper cups from going into a land fill, and no doubt saved a couple of trees in the process. Imagine if one person decided to make one or two positive changes in their lives, and then convinced one other person to do the same.

Now, I am not perfect. I am far from it, in fact. I still often go for convenience over sustainability. However, I am trying. I am trying to consistently better myself, and make choices that will translate into the preservation of the environment. I enjoy the world, I enjoy trees, I enjoy clean water, so why would I not endeavour to protect them? I know many people are skeptical of my position, if not downright scornful. The reason I am so positive, is that I was able to make a change. If I can change, then there is hope for everyone.

Nothing is too little, nothing is too late. Next time you use a paper product, imagine walking through a tree-less forest. Next time you use bleached cotton, imagine the chemicals used to bleach it swimming around in your drinking water. Imagine your kids (even if you have none, create some in your mind) walking around with face masks on in order not to breath the contaminated air. These threats are not a distant mirage, they are very real and present.

What we are doing to our planet and ourselves is utterly irresponsible. Who gave us the right to unthinkingly abuse the land we live off of? So many people continue to live unsustainably and the situation often seems hopeless. But every day, I believe more and more people like me are waking up and realizing what they are doing is horrible wrong, and life as we know it cannot continue on much longer without some major changes. So, I hope that you are still with me at this point. I hope you make a change in your life. Just one is all I'm asking. You don't have to majorly inconvenience yourself, just walk an extra block and buy fair trade coffee instead of regular. Use a reusable cup instead of paper. Buy an organic banana instead of a regular one. Purchase recycled paper instead of bleached, non-recycled paper. Walk or bike to work instead of driving, or take public transit. Please, just make one small change. It's all I am asking.

What Does it Take....

Sometimes I sit and ponder exactly what it took for me to meet the people in my life, the events that led up to our meeting. And sometimes, the odds are incredible. The tiny decisions that had to be made, the small twists of fate that took place in order for us to meet amaze me. It is for reasons like this that I strongly believe in fate. I have met people that have changed my life forever, people that I would never have had the chance to meet had incredible circumstances not presented themselves. There must be a plan, somewhere, laid out for each and every one of us.

My life continues to amaze me. Not constantly mind you, but usually in retrospect. Every year for the past 4 or 5 years, if you had told me what I would be doing in a year, I would never ever have believed you in a million years. I have had some strange and wonderful experiences, gone on journeys that I will never be able to retake. I truly believe that there is some invisible hand guiding me along, allowing me to experience the things that I have. If I could do it all over again and change something, I wouldn't. I can look back, and see every event helped me arrive at where I am today, even the bad situations. Sometimes, I look at my present situation and begin to feel a little depressed. Right now, I am not exactly doing what I love to do, nor what I want to do. Sometimes I feel like I am achieving nothing. But I also realize, that this portion of my life is just as much a part of me as any travels I might take. It is all part of the person that is me, and it is all part of the road of my life.

My Chinese name is Chang Lu (tell that to a Chinese person and they will laugh at me...), which translates into "Long Way" or "Long Journey". I chose the name to symbolize just that, the fact that life is a long journey. The path I choose to walk down, is often lonelier and more obscure than most. However, it is my choice, and I do not regret one minute of it. I do not live my life, striving towards an ultimate goal. Rather, I spend my time dallying along the way, collecting as much knowledge and experiences as I can, and at the same time hopefully positively affecting those around me. This is my philosophy. It's what keeps me going.

Exams

I have an exam tomorrow.

Notoriously, I am a disorganized person. My internal daytimer is not in the best of order, and I tend to forget things, lose important information, mix dates up, etc. Now, I know full well that my exam is tomorrow at 8:30 am, and yet, every few hours, I break into a cold sweat. My heart starts to beat a little faster and I suddenly think that my exam is supposed to be today, and I have just missed it. I begin to make up excuses I can tell the professor in the hopes that he will pardon my absence, as I run to the computer, desperately log into my student account and check the exam date.

And of course, nothing has changed. The exam is still tomorrow, like it has always been. For now I am relieved, but in about two or three hours, the drama will play itself over again. And again. And again.

Creepy Things

One of the local malls always goes all out for Christmas. In one of the central atriums, they build an ice castle for Santa. It is surrounded by evergreen trees, grazing reindeer (stuffed), and fluffy piles of cotton snow. Santa, he sits on a velvety throne and is helped out by several good-natured elves. The castle extends well up past the second floor of the mall, so people walking by can look out and see what's going on in the top floor of it. Situated in the topmost room, is a choir of mechanical elves. They move about and sing Christmas tunes to the movements of an elf conductor.

When I was a kid, I always thought that this would be a great scene for a horror movie. Imagine this: You are the night janitor or watchman at this mall. It's late, after midnight and you are the only one left in the mall. You are tired, and are just finishing up your shift, and decide to take one last walk through. The mall is dark, and through the partitions of stores, the racks of clothes all look like hunched over people. You are thinking about getting home to your family, a warm fire, and a good book. The mall is silent, except for your echoing footfalls on the white tile floors, when all of a sudden the elves begin to sing. A cold chill of terror runs down your spine, and you know you're not alone.

Terrorism

Terrorism can be defined as "The unlawful use or threatened use of force or violence by a person or an organized group against people or property with the intention of intimidating or coercing societies or governments, often for ideological or political reasons. " (www.yourdictionary.com)

As a corollary, wouldn't George W. Bush be considered a terrorist? After, all he routinely made false claims regarding biological, chemical weapons and weapons of mass destruction in order to change people's opinions regarding the unlawful invasion of Afghanistan, then Iraq. This created mass fear and even hysteria on a global level in the aftermath of the 9/11 tragedy. The people of America, and other nations were certainly intimidated by the threats made by the Bush Administration regarding participation in the "Coalition of the Willing" (Bush's ragtag group of countries that were supposedly "willing" to invade Iraq, including Albania and Tonga). France, who openly opposed this coalition, was in turn bashed by Bush and members of his administration, simply for denouncing the unsanctioned war-something that went against international statutes set out by the United Nations. I find it unfathomable that George can sleep at night, knowing how many people his government has killed, how many false statements he has made, how many lives he has ruined, how much terror he has put into the hearts of Americans, Iraqis and Afghanis alike.

Bush may not be the biggest terrorist we have ever seen, in fact he's not even close. But to be the leader of the most powerful country in the world, purport human rights and justice for all, and act the way he does is incredible.
Come November, I hope against all hopes that John Kerry is victorious. I don't think the world could take another 5 years of George W. Bush.

Long Beach

It was early springtime, before the rains had stopped (in fact, they had just begun, and would continue for the 6 days of our camping trip). Normally, I would not venture out camping on the westcoast during the early springtime. It's just asking for horrible conditions, but such were the circumstances that I would probably never get the chance to do this with these people ever again.

I have never been so wet, so cold, and had so much fun in my life. We spent 6 days tearing up Vancouver Island, exploring 800 year old, old growth forests, visiting remote beaches where there were more eagles than people. We saw drenched black bears, just waking up from their warm caves. We stayed up late into the night, drinking wine from nalgene bottles and philosophizing about life around are small, damp, smoky campfires.

And then we arrived at Long Beach, just outside of Tofino. Stretching on as far as the eye can see, Long Beach is one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen (and I've seen beaches in Hawaii, China, Mexico and Spain). Deserted, in the hazy, grey rain, we walked out onto the beach from between bleached driftwood. The only other person, was a lone kayaker. Sitting just out of reach of the tide, he was motionless on the damp sand, in his kayak. Like some sort of statue, the kayaker sat. I still wonder, what he was doing there.

Later, we went down to the beach to watch the sunset. Perched on the rocks, just out of reach of the tidepools, and the encroaching surf, we watched the orange orb of sun sink into the horizon. The small, white fleet of birds dashed up and down the beach, and we watched as the wind blew the remnants of clouds away, and we saw stars for the first time in a week.

If I could go back to that moment, I would.

Summer's Resolutions

This year, I was in China for New Year's Eve. Normally, I make some sort of resolutions, but this year I took the easy way out and made some broad, sweeping generalizations (not that I kept them...). Anyways, I have spent a lot of time since I returned home, doing nothing except thinking, pondering, querying, wondering, etc. And I think that it is time that I write down some of the things that I have discovered.

1) I need to travel. I learn more about the world by venturing out into it. An hour spent in a foreign country, in a foreign culture is worth more than a day spent lazing around my comfortable home. I need to see the way other people live and think, in order to understand where I come from.

2) I need to write. First of all, I will say that I am a gemini. I never placed much weight in what horoscopes told me. But recently, I began reading about gemini's and I will say that it definetely explained a lot. It explained why I have a new life's plan every week of my life, why I have to constantly be on the go, why I have to do things different than anyone I know. No matter what I decide that I want to do with my life (a small sample: scuba instructor, tiger trainer, veterinarian, philosopher, professor, chef, military officer, forensic scientist, etc.), writing is always constant. Writing is my rock. My only problem, I don't know how to market myself as a writer, but I am learning and growing up. Only time will tell what will become of me.

3) I need to be independant. The moment someone tells me what to do, I generally do the exact opposite just to prove that I can. I will make my own decisions no matter what.

4) I need to be learning constantly. I was so unhappy when I used to work in retail. I had nothing to look forward to. Every day was exactly the same, monotonous and redundant. Breaking out of that world, I realized that being active mentally was the single most rewarding thing I could do. And it's hard to maintain-it's a lot more comfortable to sit back wait for life to approach me, than to run to it. It is something I need to work on and I realize that.

So I guess, these aren't really resolutions. They are more admissions of learning. As I grow older and learn more about myself, I realize just how much more there is to learn. And I welcome that fact. I find myself interesting, which is good because at the end of the day, I'm all I've got.

Love or something like it

Have you ever had one of those people in your life that you know is wrong in every way for you, but you just can't help but love them? No matter what you do, you can't get them out of your head and the madder they make you, the more you think about them?

I have one.

I can't talk to him, because if I do, I usually end up getting angry. I can't not talk to him, because I start thinking neurotic thoughts and getting angry. I can't be with him because he lives so far away, and I am not ready to make that big of a commitment. I spend weeks ridding my mind of him, then all of a sudden, he re-enters my life in a blaze of glory, and I begin the agonizing all over again. Deep inside, I know he is wrong for me. But for some reason, my mind and heart always wander back to him.

Well, no more. I don't want this to continue any longer. This is my declaration to myself to stop. NOW. It's over.

Airport

I have a love-hate relationship with airports. On one hand, they are the jumping off place for many great journeys. But on the other hand....

1)I was supposed to meet a friend at the Vancouver Airport today. He was flying from Quebec to Vancouver, then to Castlegar and I thought I would go and visit him during his stopover. I was all excited, because this is the only chance I will get to see him for at least a year. Alas, it was not to be. After waiting for an hour, frantically searching the pods of flyers exiting the arrivals gate, I attempted having him paged. In the bustle of the airport, we missed each other. From an info desk employee, I found out that a security risk had been posed, and most flights were delayed.

This made me wonder. I am a firm believer in fate, but this situation was just a little weird. I tend to think that everything happens for a reason, but what was the reason for this? Why did I have to build up my excitement for weeks, get up and waste 5 hours of my day all for naught?

2)Seattle Airport, May of last year. I was returning from a trip, and our group was squished into two rental minivans. Alas, my shoes and socks, in the hungover haze of the morning had been packed in the other van, which had arrived at the airport sometime before my van. I had to spend half an hour walking around the airport barefoot, until I finally tracked down my shoes. Once I finally got them, I went to the bus depot only to see my departing bus drive past me. Realizing the next bus wasn't coming for 3 hours, and my group was taking planes out, I set myself up for a lonely stay at the airport. Then came the goodbye. Utterly empty inside, I had no idea what to say as the person I loved kissed me, and walked away towards security, leaving me. Three hours with nothing to do is horrible any time, but worse when your heart has just broken.

3)LA Airport, August of last year. LAX is possibly the most confusing airport I have ever been in, especially on my first trip alone. I felt all smart and grown up, planning, paying for and departing on my very first solo trip. Confident, as I landed in LA that I would easily be able to find the gate for my connecting flight, I allowed myself to calmly saunter into the terminal. Walking down the hall, my heart rate quickened, as I walked around like a chicken with my head cut off, searching for the United Airlines gate. To compound my anxiety, I could find hide nor hair of an airport employee to assuage my desperation. Finally, I found someone, who instructed me "Okay, you have to walk through that set of doors over there. Go down the second escalator, not the first, the second. Take it two levels, turn to your left. Go out the doors, cross the first road, but not the second. Go to a green sign and wait for bus "A". Take bus "A" as far as you can go, get off, go through security, and you will be in the correct terminal."Wow!! Easy, novice traveller friendly airport! Out of breath and in a cold sweat, I finally reached my gate with an hour out of my 2.5 hour stopover left.

Airports. Gotta hate them. But at the same time, I love them. Inside, it's like a special little world, for the privelidged few travellers. This morning, I saw a Japanese school group all dressed in uniforms, Chinese travellers posing for pictures with merchandise in the gift shops, tanned elderly couples, tearful goodbyes, and smiling hellos. I saw worried travellers hurrying to pick up bags and catch flights, little children clutching ragged stuffed animals, tired looking stewardesses, and disgruntled queue'ers. Airports seem to be the beginning and end of everything, the start and end of every fabulous journey.