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Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Unedited I told myself I wouldn't write about him again. Not here. Not for everyone to read and know. But I was packing for Montreal tonight and I picked up my journal - something I haven't touched since early July, since I used it at the conference in Orange. There's only one page left and folded up at the back was the letter I wrote one of the nights I cried myself to sleep. Meant for him, but never delivered of course. I looked at it and hesitated - I wasn't sure if I wanted to read it - I certainly didn't feel like crying about it all over again. In the end, I did read it and...and well, nothing. The only things that followed were a small sigh and a want to share it here with you. Goodness knows why. I want so badly to begin this letter with "To My Dearest Jason" like I'm so used to, and in a way, you will always be the Jason nearest and dearest to my heart. But I no longer have the privilege of writing such things. I've been thinking a lot about this week and why we are here - why we were brought together, in California of all places, and why now after so many months. I have yet to come up with an answer and perhaps the reason will not reveal itself to me until much later. My wishful thinking got me believing that we might be friends again, but my more recent thoughts have me thinking otherwise. Perhaps this was a sign for me to push myself harder in moving on. This was a chance to see you in one of your most favourite environments and to realize that maybe we really shouldn't be anywhere near each other. For the time that we were together I was filled with such love I felt as though I could burst. But now seeing you leaves me feeling empty and deflated. I wish we could talk. I wish I could look you in the eye for more than a few seconds. I wish I could touch you. I wish that I could have been there when you found out about your mother. I wish that I could have held your hand, held you close, told you that I love you or let the silence speak for itself. I wish that I didn't have to hear the news from a stranger that we both met mere days ago. But this is another fine example of my self-centeredness. I hope/know that you had someone there for you when you did find out. I hope/know that they offer a support like I didn't - that they love you like you deserve to be loved. I'm glad that you know you deserve no less than what the finest people of the world - and the world itself - has to offer. I heard that you're seeing someone now - a best friend that only wants what's best for you - and I'm glad to know that. I hope your relationship is strong and full of the love and trust you deserve. I wish that I didn't have to hear the two heaviest pieces of news from strangers, but maybe that's another lesson to myself: you're doing just fine. And it would be silly for me not to have thought so. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. In a way, I'm glad I know - this is the closure that everyone needs. There's no room for wishful thinking anymore. I'm glad you're happy. Whether or not you knew it at the time, it is what I've always wanted for you. I wonder if we would have ever spoken had I not approached you on Monday. Regardless, I know all that I need to know for now - or for however long the fates decide. Maybe we have finally come to the end of the road - I'm not sure. You were my seven year glimpse at what could have been. As beautiful as it was at times - I'm sure that what you have in the end will be better. When I think of art, I think of something pure. When I think of art, I think of what we had once upon a time. I will never be able to deny that our love was pure, that my love for you was pure once. No matter what, it will always exist. When we broke up I could only remember the bad things - all our arguments and fights. Now I can only think of the love, the fun, the shared experiences - things I will never ever forget. I will admit that I have not been able to let go of you yet, but I suppose the last few days has taught me that I need to. 11:47 pm Tuesday, August 30, 2005
How's It Going To Be My weekend was filled with goodness, starting off with the famous Blog Party and finishing off with a dinner with none other than the Blog Party Creator Himself. To tell the truth, I wasn't too too excited to go to said party, but I'm super glad I did because it turned out to be a hella good time. The first person to say hi to me was Captain Poultry aka Amy as I remember, and she was just as nice (maybe even nicer!) as the last time I saw her, five months ago back in March. I finally got to meet Kristen outside of class and we hit it off so quickly that we soon clambered up onto the stove and fridge and posed with wallpaper sashes as boys took pictures of us. Before we knew it, she and I, along with Jen were wallpapering the kitchen walls with crosses, hearts and smiley faces despite the fact that the boys who lived in the house were clearly moving out in five days. Along with Miss Small Potatoes Tanya, the bunch of us girls had a wicked time with pigging out on Sra's home baked goods (yay for pretzel buns!) and taking Chris' old sheets and having a pompa - a very sudden and random toga party for those of you unversed in Latin unlike Tanya and I. We proceeded to dress up in his old clothes - baggy khakis and Adidas tear-aways, residence sweatshirts and oversized Fringe t-shirts. With turbans on our heads, we chilled out on the front lawn while I suckled my drink out of a jam jar and later, a BillyBee honey container. THEN! An impromptu soccer game at one ay-em on the street during which I proved to Dave that my miserable athletic skills were more miserable in real life, and which was ended by a random man on a bicycle playing Neil Young on his guitar (which had a pen as a bridge). Kyle asked me to do film stuff for him one day (squeee!) and Scott couldn't stop giggling at my honey container of sloe gin. I saw and/or chatted with Laura, Carly, Regan, Dave, and Nicole. There were games that I missed out on, balloons that I was scared of, people I didn't get to meet or talk to, but overall, I had a blast AND went home with a free scanner. Basically, I arrived hesitant but went home happy. Squeee. 10:03 am Friday, August 26, 2005
Secretly, I Want You Buried In The Yard Someone called me cynical today, and though I said (quite truthfully), "I barely know what that word means", I agreed with him. I later looked it up. We were right. I have to keep reminding myself, Never assume you know what someone else is thinking or feeling. You don't know you don't know You Don't Know. Sometimes I wish other people would remind themselves too. You don't know, you know. And if one day, you'd like to know, ask me. I'll probably tell you too. Simple as that. And I try not to forget that that applies to me too. I don't know what you think or feel and though I'd desperately love to, here I am, making assumptions and hoping to goodness they're not all true. I don't know how I'll ever know the truth though. I'm not one for solutions and I'm sure there's a part of me that quite enjoys leaving things in limbo. Tonight I'm going to a Blog Party. I had sinking feelings about it before and I can't say that they've all effectively disappeared. Oh gawd, people are going to judge me and think that I'm like this that and the other thing based on the goofy things I write and they're going to think that that that that...I was assuming that people weren't going to like me, and then I remembered that hey - I Don't Actually Know That. So I'm going to ingest half a bottle of sloe gin, listen to some fun music and hope that it all works out for the best. If I'm lucky, I'll come home with a free scanner too. 9:14 pm Thursday, August 25, 2005
21 And Then Some Work pants. Black slacks. Black heels. Stone blue collared shirt. Stay late at the office, take short lunches, don't take lunches at all. Cup of coffee. So hungee. Get off work (late) and go to the corner store. To buy a carton of milk. The store is actually on a corner. Get home, check the mail, pay my bills, make my dinner and plop on the couch to watch So You Think You Can Dance? in an oversized men's shirt and short shorts. I'm totally a forty year old woman. And I really need to do something else other than stare at a computer screen for eight hours a day. Ow. My retinas. 3:10 pm Tuesday, August 23, 2005
You Know I Love You When ...I wrap my camera up and mail it to you (Express! no less), along with two memory sticks and batteries included so that you can take 134MB worth of digital photos of Costa Rica while I go camera-less for two and a half weeks only to have you say not even thirty hours after the mailing that you don't want it after all but sorry and thanks to me anyway, BUT THEN, tack on another seven hours and you've changed your mind yet again and you're taking the camera after all resulting in a whirlwind digital camera tutorial over the phone at twelve thirty in the morning. Two and a half weeks. I'm dying people, and it's only been one day. This gives me a good reason to do a bit of shopping for a new toy, don't you think? Hrm, so thirty hours later, I find out the roomie doesn't want the camera. And I'm getting it mailed back to me. Does this mean I can't buy a new one anymore? Or rather, does this mean that I shouldn't buy a new one anymore? Hrm, so thirty six or so hours later, I find out the roomie still does want the camera. And so I'm not getting it mailed back to me. This definitely means I have to buy a new one. Regular font = original post Italics = update 28 hours later Bold italics = update 36 hours later You know I love you when... ...when I'm willing to put up with all this. 2:58 pm Monday, August 22, 2005
The Measure of Love Last night I lay in bed feeling insecure about myself as I sometimes do when my brain feels like being ridiculous and my mouth feels like making me sound foolish and silly. In the darkness I confessed about growing up with the pressure to be the best, the family's only hope, about being called 'fat girl', about being told that females were at a disadvantage, and I was too short and not pretty enough and not smart enough - and come to think of it, if they thought I wasn't going to get anywhere because of my gender and height and lack of looks and brains, why in the heck did they want so much from me? My parents were always pointing out people who were better than me and gave me reasons why I should be more like them - who I was was never quite good enough. One of my bedrooms walls back at home is plastered with awards and certificates and plaques, the shelf underneath lined with trophies and medals, but I was so unsure of my parents and myself that one day I had to ask, Are you proud of me? I grew up in a household with little affection and a definite lack of positive emotional expression. I never felt like they were really that proud of me because they never said it. I didn't grow up with unconditional love - at times it felt very conditional and every now and then, it felt like there was no love at all. To this day, my parents have never said I love you to each other or to me. But then again, neither have I. Being in a serious long-term relationship with someone who provided all of that love and support that I lacked as a child and teenager did wonders for me, I'm sure. But when the relationship itself was thrown into question and eventually lost, so was everything else. I've spent the last half year reminding myself, learning about myself, asserting myself, trying to love myself. And sometimes it can get tricky, especially when you were taught for twenty one years to focus on your flaws. I fear that at times, I get stuck in a rut of negativity. Sometimes it definitely happens, especially when it comes to examining myself or with my housemate. We have never really been on fantastic terms - she and I always did our own thing, on our own time and we could go for days without seeing each other. I complain about her a lot - how she drives me crazy because she moves my things without telling me, gets snarky with me for no reason, and when I wave and smile at her, she just looks at me, pauses and looks away. She is often rude to me and the people that I have over at my place. For long periods of time, I can do nothing but focus on how awful she is and how much I don't like her. Last night, I lay there and as I thought about all the bad things about me and the world, I heard her boyfriend's car pull into the driveway. I heard the car door open and close. There were a few words exchanged, silence, perhaps a kiss. And then, her voice. A very clear, very simple and pure I love you. In that moment, I felt my heart soften, my entire body relax and the wrinkles in my brow disappear. A small smile danced across my lips. With three little words, the housemate that I've despised living with reminded me of a very simple but fundamental truth - There Is Love. Admist everything, all the badness, the petty disagreements, the arguing, the anger, the tears and heartbreak of the world, there is love. I wanted to go downstairs and just...look at her. I didn't want to hug her or say anything - I just wanted to look at her, in her eyes, and with just my expression, tell her that I knew. I knew she was good inside, that she may be mean to me, but she's not that way to everyone. She doesn't love me, but she loves someone else. And someone else loves her back. Sometimes you can't hear it, and you can't see it and sometimes, maybe you can't even feel it. But know that it is there. Maybe the measure of Love, is Love of no measure at all. Last night...I knew. Me. I. Know. Love. Know. Love. Me. Know. Me. Love. Know. Love. Me. Love. Me. 8:59 am Friday, August 19, 2005
This Is Adam and I have been seeing each other for a little over a month now. This is the same Adam that I stayed up a whole night with - we talked until four in the morning, went for a walk to get ice cream at a 24 hour Shoppers Drug Mart, goofed around in a Sobey's parking lot, went grocery shopping at five a.m., danced in the cheese aisle and when we finally went back to my place, he read me to sleep. While I took a quick forty-five minute nap, he was downstairs making cheesy spinach garlic pasta. And then he did the dishes. He always does the dishes. This is the same Adam who I ordered pizza with at two in the morning and stayed up until five a.m. with watching Titanic. He told me bad jokes about cheese and put up with the fact that although it was sweltering hot, I wore socks and wanted a blankie for the movie. This is the same Adam who called me a 'vivacious, luscious, curvaceous minx of seduction'. He said he liked seeing my darker, not-so happy side - it was like a mural he said. This is the same Adam who I went to the Sigma Chi Initiation Ball with. This is the same Adam for whom I rode across town in a taxi at five a.m. for. This is the same Adam who will teach me French and take me to his father's wedding in a couple of weeks. This is the same Adam who I've been seeing as often as I can since we met about a month and a week ago. And yes, this is the same Adam whom I will be embarking on a little automotive adventure with this weekend. It starts tonight and a rental car will bring us to and from four different cities - we will see old friends, meet new friends, go on a walking tour, have a picnic lunch by the water, see two plays and enjoy each other before he up and leaves me for Montreal (it's okay, I'm not mad - Montreal is home, not another girl). Le swoon. This is Adam. 3:50 pm Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Most People Find It Normal To Breathe* There was no fear. There was no doubt. There were no second thoughts whatsoever. When I found out that my friend Jen was thinking of going skydiving four months ago, I asked if I could join her and never looked back. We were thinking of going sometime in May, but planning was tricky and it got put off until three days ago. Three days ago I jumped out of a plane. Saturday morning found me awake earlier than normal for a weekend and sipping a caffienated drink in the backseat of a new friend's car en route to Skydive Burnaby, Southern Ontario's premier skydiving facility. I wore sweat pants in public for the first time in a long time and I was pumped pumped pumped full of adrenaline. There was no stopping me or my motor mouth or my energy or my photo taking or my laughter or my jittery excitement as I signed the waiver forms that made me promise not to sue them if I died. I didn't care - I was going skydiving.  The Skydive Gang: Pre-jump. Mark, Chris, moi, Ashley, Jen. Chris is a veteran (13 jumps under his belt) who was nice enough to drive Jen and I up there and wait around with us all day. The wait was long - gloomy Saturdays are popular with folks who want to jump out of planes. My friends and I sat around trying to entertain ourselves and evntually gave in to taking pictures of our bored faces and making movies about being bored. Mark and I confessed that we had an acute fear of heights. Ashley and Jen were calm. Chris chatted with his skydiving buddies and took care of his own training paperwork. Four hours later, we got our call to gear up and never, ever, EVER have I been more in love with a bright blue and orange jumpsuit. If they didn't cost $400 USD, I'd buy one. We all got dressed, met our tandem masters (it was a tandem jump - where you get strapped to someone else who actually knows what they're doing - I got PeeDee) and strapped on our gear.  PeeDee and I in my wicked jumpsuit. Isn't it just totally superawesome? We met our videographers (we all ordered DVDs to be made, capturing our first jump - mine was Brento), were taught the proper body position so that we could descend like feathers, praticed exiting aka jumping out of the plane's backdoor and before I knew it, I was walking to the Twin Otter, the plane that would take us up up up but come back down without us.  Praticing my somersault exit with PeeDee while Brento films. No fear. Only excitement. Loads of excitement. During the ascent, all I could do was ask questions, yell HI to my friends who were sitting down along the bench and goof around with Peedee and Brento and the other masters and videographers and even the co-pilot. Skydivers are the coolest people ever. I got strapped tightly to PeeDee, watched two of my friends tumble out the back door and then we waddled up for our turn. I must say that the nost nerve racking part of the experience was getting closer to that door knowing that I would soon be launching out of it. But on the count of three, I did it. And suddenly, there are no words. I can't describe to you what happened next and do justice to the experience. I'm wrestling with the English language right now and no matter how I try to beat it up or sweet talk it, the words just won't fit. But I try anyway. When we jumped, we somersaulted out the back door, flipped a couple times and then...it wasn't like falling, it was like floating. The wind rushed past us and inflated my cheeks. It was raining up in the clouds and we were free falling so quickly that the rain drops felt like mini daggers that were coming at us from underneath. I was so taken by everything, the surroundings, what I was doing, that I forgot to bend my legs at the right angle and forgot to look at Brento as he was filming. Since PeeDee and I were smaller people, our free fall lasted longer and when we finally deployed the parachute, our descent was so slow that Jen (who jumped after me) landed first. I got to 'steer' the parachute and we did a couple 360s so that I could see the entire area. I learned that to be a skydiver, you need to have lots of upper body strength and I also learned that I don't have a lot of upper body strength. Thank goodness PeeDee was there. When we neared the landing area, I yelled down to everyone, "HEY EVERYONE! I'M FLYING!! I'M FREAKING FLYING!! DID YOU KNOW IT'S RAINING UP THERE? IT IS!! IT'S NOT RAINING DOWN HERE BUT UP THERE IT IS!! I'M FLYING!!" The land came at us quickly and I used every ounce of strength to pull the cords so we could land properly and it was so soft that it felt like we had never left the ground at all. Conclusion? It was worth it. It was worth everything, every. single. thing. It was worth me getting up that early, it was worth the long car ride, the four hour wait, it was worth every single one of my 36,654 pennies. Everything.  To the Skydive Gang, I am so glad that of all the people that I got to jump out of a plane at 13,000 feet (2.5 vertical miles!) with, that it was with every single one of you. And yeah, I'm totally doing it again. *A line from the training video we watched - just in case we got so excited while free falling that we forgot to breathe. I was the only one who found it funny. **I finally cracked and gave in and made myself a Flickr account. My skydiving photos can be seen HERE. 8:45 pm Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Now With 50% Less Posting I haven't been around much, I know. Things got busy and I'm totally enjoying what's left of my summer. I've been meaning to tell you about all my adventures - the Backstreet Boys concert, anecdotes from my weekend back home, stories from Taste of the Danforth, Masala Mehndi Masti, the Jays vs Yankees game, my friends and the general good times that are being had. I even want to tell you about work and how I'm getting stress related blemishes. I want to tell you about food and skirts and sunburns and Toronto and cameras and boys and music and bus rides and strangers and late nights and beauty and my heart and him. I even have photos. But I'm enjoying it too much to sit in front of a computer and write it all out. I will tell you this though: Humans are strange creatures with strange desires and wants and reasons for doing things. I, for example, like to take cabs across town at five in the morning carrying two packs of Neo Citran with me. I also go to work panty-free because I don't like the ones that are left in my delicates drawer because they don't go with the skirt I'm wearing. Moreover, I have spent about $75 in the last two weeks getting the hair on my pelvis professionally ripped out of my body. *As you can tell, very little is considered Not Acceptable here. Yay for candid-ness. 9:51 am Friday, August 05, 2005
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