Amidst the throng

Summertime in Vancouver means fireworks. Several hundred thousand people swarmed to the beaches to take in the Celebration of Lights, an annual international pyrotechnic competition. That's several hundred thousand each night of the competition. Estimates were that over the four nights of the event, approximately 1.4 million people went to root for the pyrotechnic teams from Canada, the UK, South Africa, and China this year.

My father is of the ilk that says a fireworks competition is a waste of money, akin to burning paper bills. I, however, am a believer in the transitory magic, the beauty that passes in the blink of an eye. Through the years, I have become more familiar with the jargon used to describe the various kinds of rockets and bombs. I've been told that red and green fireworks are common, but that blue displays are rare.

Part of me has lost that naive wonderment. I wait and watch for the blue stars and fountains. When I see them spin and whirl, I tell myself that I'm witnessing a "girandole." I have to work to suppress that part of my brain that analyzes the colour schemes and arrangements in order to just ooooh and aaaah whole-heartedly.

But, when the shells and rockets and mines and roman candles all explode together in their grand symphonic finale, my brain effectively shuts off and my heart takes over. I gaze up over the tops of heads, not wanting to blink for fear of missing something. The small child in me surfaces, straining to catch the fairy pyrotechnic dust that falls from above. And when it's over, a trace of that small child remains, pulsates, walks along the sidewalk with a lilt in her step, amidst the throng of several thousand people on a warm summer night.

Yoga, attempt #358

I blame the weather. Since my arrival back in Vancouver over two weeks ago, it had been nothing but sunny and brilliant until today. Actually, everybody I met today commented on how nice and welcoming the clouds were, how the cooler weather was more comfortable. Well, I disagree.

I was in a bit of a slump today. I tried getting rid of some of my books and DVD's, to simplify my life via minimizing my possessions. That was a complete failure. I had merely shifted items from one box to another, trying to categorize them into "things I definitely won't miss," "things I could probably toss but might later regret," and "things I can't live without." At the end, I decided that even the "things I definitely won't miss" held some sentimental value, and simply boxed them all up and left them in the basement yet again, till further notice. Or until my parents move and decide to unceremoniously dump my boxes, which might happen sooner than I'd like to think.

In the midst of my attempt to cull my possessions, I came across a couple of yoga books I had bought a few years ago and somehow never managed to read or follow. I took an introductory hatha yoga course about eight or nine years ago, and had always looked forward to my weekly class. However, in the last few years, every attempt to do yoga has met with excuses, better-things-to-do, sheer laziness, and general wilful forgetfulness.

This evening, I practised my ujjayi breathing, and indeed felt washed over by stillness and awareness. I have a yoga mat in storage at my friend's place in Edmonton, and intend to make good use of it when I head back that way. Perhaps this latest attempt at yoga will be exactly what I need to feel centered again.

Culling

I'm slowly culling through the boxes in the basement, boxes that I had shipped back from Inuvik a year ago. Instead of having them take up precious storage space at my parents', I've decided to dig through everything, and slate the items either for shipment to Edmonton, or else for donation.

So far, I've created more of a mess than anything else. I've kept less than half of the clothing items. Next come the books; that'll be the tough part. I hate parting with any books, but I know that aside from my few favourites, most of the others really should have been gone long ago.

The one good thing about rummaging around in the basement is the reprieve from the midday heat. Not a drop of rain has fallen since my arrival back in Vancouver, and the forecast predicts at least five more days of the same sunny, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky weather.

The evenings are the only times I feel comfortable venturing outside. Last night, we took a nice stroll in Queen Elizabeth Park, and I took numerous photos of the blossoms and the panoramic views of the city and the mountains.

And it's back to the basement I go....

Beach days

The temperature has soared to 30 degrees Celsius (86 degrees Fahrenheit). The general masses gather on the beaches around the city, hoping to catch a breeze off the ocean. Joggers take to the trails in their shades, tanks, and shorts, impervious to the heat. Parents chase after their toddlers, who instinctively make a mad dash toward the waves. The sand surface is abuzz with chatter, the rise and lull of human voices -- excited voices, in-love voices, the end-of-another-workday voices....

An amateur musician performs a rap for all passersby. Some stop to listen; others move on squintingly toward the evening sun far in the horizon. Couples swing-dance to an imaginary tune, barefoot on the grass, spinning each other self-absorbedly. The world of sand and water -- of youth playing volleyball, and of the lone man gently propelling himself on a surfboard on the soft-lapping waves -- spins by, till the sun sets and night falls and the crowd disperses. And all that remains are the lights of the high-rises reflecting off the water, and the north shore mountains looming like silent giants guarding our slumber.

Chasing, stretching, grasping

I’m sitting in the airport waiting lounge, with an hour to go before my flight back to Vancouver. I’ll be coming back to Edmonton in August to move into my apartment, get settled, and prepare for school in September. M’s flight took off toward the east coast about an hour ago. Who knows when I’ll see my dear friend again?

As I move from place to place, taking on new adventures in various towns and cities, the overwhelming feeling I have is that I cannot gather all those things and people that are important to me and keep them close. It’s as though I’m collecting flowers by the roadside, and with a gust of wind, the petals disperse, and run as I might, I’ll never gather that armful again. I’m left chasing after something that will never be whole again.

Edmonton will grow into a home of sorts in a few months, and I’ll go about my days scuttling back and forth, to and from classes, spending my evenings and weekends with new friends. And then, in two years’ time, when I graduate from the program and set out to find work once more, I’ll be in the same position of whirling around in the winds of change, feeling lost and helpless.

What does it take to not feel this sense of loss?

I do feel blessed to have had the past five months in Fox Creek, with M there to vent to, to travel with, to bounce ideas off of. I was in the privileged position of having a good friend pick me up at the airport, drive me to that new small town, show me the school and the town. M had forged her way there first, and my adjustment to my new surroundings was made infinitely easier because she was there. I now have more experience under my belt, more varied subjects and students that I’ve taught, more challenges overcome, frustrations conquered.

I received news from Inuvik that a young boy had drowned in the east channel of the Mackenzie River over the weekend. It happens without fail every year or so, a bright future extinguished because of a moment of poor judgment. Although I had never taught him, he was one of the lively characters in town, and he and his mischievous grin were impossible to miss when I sauntered out on the main road. I remember how he was following me around one day after school with his incessant questions. He was a child who, despite his apparent peskiness, would have grown up to be someone wise, a person whom others could trust. There was a kindness and a goodness that shone through, something that maturity would have brought out clear and bright had he been allowed to stay on this earth and flourish.

Part of my heart is still in the North; other parts of me call Vancouver, Edmonton, and even Fox Creek home. I’m stretched over a vast landscape, grasping at wisps in the wind.

Homesick

I've been back from spring break for a week and a half, and already, I'm homesick. This is a strange sensation for me, as I have a hard time defining where "home" is anymore. Am I missing the North, the days that stretch increasingly longer, into the snow-blinding golden world that soon melts and bursts into lushness? Or am I missing the cherry blossoms of Vancouver, the crisp, fragrant, silky air? Mostly, I think I miss the feeling of home, the feeling that emanates from the core, from my heart, stomach, liver, and lungs. I miss the feeling that tells me the air I breathe smells of belonging, that my blood pumps vigorously of a "comfortableness."

Here are some pictures from my spring break in Vancouver. How I yearn to walk along the Fraser River now....

Breathing in the spring

I love Hallmark's Smilebox application, which allows me to create photo slideshows and send them to friends easily. This evening, I went out into the garden to snap some photos of the flowers, and then sauntered to the nearby lake for a leisurely after-supper stroll. The light-pink cherry blossoms are already out; now, if only the darker pink ones will show their stuff....

Spring Break (Part 2)

I'm testing the e-mail blogging feature of Blogger....

So, I'm smack-dab in the middle of my spring break. In four days, I'll be heading back up to Fox Creek. There are still a few things I need to do in town here, mostly paperwork that I had kept putting off while I was busy working.

Some of you might have noticed that I had finally changed my profile a while back and declared myself an Albertan. It took a good many months before I felt all right about not being a Northerner any more. If only I had an apartment or a house in Edmonton that I know I'd be moving into over the summer, then I'd be set.

As much as I'm beginning to feel okay about acclimatizing to the "south" again, there are still some loose ends to wrap up. I have yet to receive my full reimbursement for my move last summer. The Government of NWT was supposed to reimburse me for all of my moving expenses when I decided to move back to Vancouver after my teaching contract ended. It took almost eight months for me to see less than half of what I was entitled to. Now I have to dig out my claim forms and receipts once again and try to harass someone into hearing me out.

Other paperwork includes confirming with Graduate Studies at the University of Alberta regarding my scholarship, contacting the department about my registration, etc.. According to the online system, my registration date is today, but I was previously told to hold off until I receive further instructions from my department.

Then, there's filling out an application for student housing. It's my back-up plan in case I can't find a suitable apartment for me and my cat.

The daffodils and hyacinths are out en masse in the backyard. I'm still waiting for the cherry blossoms on the boulevard out front. Hopefully, they'll bloom before I leave to go back to Fox Creek.

Posting via e-mail works perfectly, except I had to delete the little ad at the bottom that comes with any Yahoo e-mail.

Spring break ramblings -- Part one (of maybe just one)

In the last year, I've moved twice, and am now anticipating my third move. Although it is exciting to contemplate new adventures, I'm also sick of this incessant restlessness. The last time somewhere felt like "home" was when I was still in Inuvik. Yesterday, while I was waiting for my flight from Edmonton to Vancouver, I saw a Canadian North plane on the tarmac. In that moment, I wished I could return up north, to "my town."

I'm in Vancouver now, staying at my parents' for spring break. I need this break, these days of movies at the theatre, good books from the library, sushi and desserts with friends and family. I had been in an off mood all week before break. If it weren't for work, I might have stayed in bed for five days straight. Part of it was just being burnt out from the job; part of it was ennui from being in Fox Creek; but mostly, it was from all the time I had to overthink things. Yes, things....

Over the past eight months or so, I had consciously cut ties with two people who had, at some point, mattered very much to me. These were two people who had made my heart ache whenever I was with them, but who made that ache ever stronger when I was without them. These were two people who had forced me to let go of them through their actions, but who had the immense power to hold me captive through our shared history.  These were two people whom time and experience had refused to let me forget.

During the most unexpected of moments, these two people would creep into my mind, and I would sink under the weight of the distance we had let build between us. I might be watching TV, or showering, or trying to fall asleep. I would become morose at the irreparable relationships; I would question whether I should have done something; I would come to the conclusion that nothing could or should be done, which would just drag me lower into the depths of my melancholy.  But, just as surely, that same realization would comfort me. After all, I'd reason, letting go is a two-way manoeuvre. 

Whenever I feel that emptiness, that hollow echo and that dull ache, something ordinary would jolt me back to reality, to seeing just how nothing is black and white. There are never just downs, or just ups. Life is this magnificent mish-mash of colours, from violent reds, through calm blues, to joyous yellows. Things are and aren't what they seem. There's usually something deeper, something unanticipated, something that gives way to something else.

Case in point: On Thursday, the school held "King and Queen of the Creek" festivities for the students. The students competed against each other and some teachers in scooter-races, arm-wrestling, and pillow-fights. The students were just so excited. Some kids who regularly skipped school came in just to vie for the title of being "king" or "queen." Part of me found the whole event rather sad. Eighteen-year-olds had nothing better to do than to shove each other out of the way as they did their laps around that tiny gym. But, there was also an innocence in their ability to be so fully absorbed, to find such joy in something so simple.

In the Home Ec. classroom, the fridges were cleaned out for break. One seventh-grade student managed to take home bags of groceries that included an almost-full jug of milk, some peppers, garlic, and mushrooms, half a jar of salsa, and half a jar of pasta sauce. His eyes lit up as those items were put into plastic bags for him to take. Meanwhile, his classmates danced around, singing along to the tunes blaring from an expensive iPod. How disparate the worlds of those twelve-year-olds seemed -- from one who cherished leftovers from the classroom fridge to those who danced as though nothing mattered in the world.

Later that evening, as M and I drove down to the store, we saw that same boy -- the one who had taken the groceries home -- on a side street by himself, throwing rocks into the woods. Part of me wanted to scoop that little boy up and whisk him away from Fox Creek, from his apparent loneliness. However, watching him launch those rocks with a beautiful rhythm all his own, I saw that perhaps there was some secret joy in his solitude. Perhaps those were moments that he hoarded as he would some cherished treasure.

As for me, perhaps I hoard those moments of melancholy. Those moments make me appreciate what I have, and the people I do have in my life. I may have some secret joy too. It just may not be in a scooter-race, a bag of groceries, or a pile of rocks. But I do have it. It's here, in having a home at my parents' no matter how old I am, in the eyes of a cat, in the clickety-clack of computer keys. It's here, and I have it, and it's all that matters.

You say "raring," I say "rearing"

In any case, I'm rearing/raring to go....

Made it out to the airport an hour and a half before my flight was scheduled to leave. Had a deja-vu moment when the agent at the WestJet counter told me my flight was cancelled. (This happened in December too, as I was trying to make it out to Edmonton before going to the Dominican Republic.) They blamed it on ice-fog in Edmonton; however, I noted that my flight was the only one cancelled to/from Edmonton this morning. Just my luck.... What is it about the universe not wanting me to be in Edmonton? I hope this doesn't apply to my grad school application as well....

The past few days went by in the blink of an eye. I needed to get a current criminal record check done in order to be in the classroom, but the Vancouver Police Department told me that the check would take two to three weeks to complete. I most definitely do not have two to three weeks. I am supposed to start teaching on Monday. Although the attempt to get the criminal record check ended in utter failure, I had an educational morning walking around Vancouver's infamous downtown eastside, as the police station was there. One man pulled out two packages of chicken from a garbage bag, placed them on the sidewalk, and proceeded to try to sell them for four dollars to passersby. A woman had old clothes and shoes laid out on the ground, and several people examined the items with interest, with hands in their pockets and slightly embarrassed expressions on their faces. A man who walked beside me dropped a bottle cap, and three people in front turned around in a frenzied state, eyes darting to the ground, searching. This is my city, my home. This is the city that is welcoming the world in 2010 for the Winter Olympics. I was ashamed to have to walk down its streets with such discomfort, with my eyes cast downward, hand clutching my cell phone in my pocket, just in case.

I was supposed to be landing in Edmonton right around this time; instead, I'm sitting here, hoping that the flight they've put me on will indeed take off six hours from now.

Some days, there's nothing much to say except "oh well."

* What do you say -- "rearing" or "raring" to go? I just searched an online forum on word usage, and it seems as though I'm the only one to whom "rearing" sounds correct. Yet, the online Oxford dictionary lists "raring" as a dialect variant of "rearing." Hmmm....

Check, check, and check

I had run out of books to read again, and had started to catch myself having negative thoughts again. But today, I did something about it.

Took a long walk, enjoyed the crisp air, the slippery frost on the sidewalk, and some excellent tuneage on my iPod. I smiled at passersby, and was warmed to discover that people do indeed smile back in this cold cold city. (I'm talking mostly about an emotional coldness.) Went to the library and read newspapers and magazines, caught up on all the latest world events and felt in some way a part of the wide world again. Browsed all the classics on the shelves, and decided it was time I read some of them -- well, more of them. Borrowed Malcolm Lowry's Under the Volcano to start, something I was ashamed to have never read before.

Then, I did the unthinkable.... I went and bought myself a pool and gym pass. I've paid for a month's membership so far, and vow to start tomorrow. I want to get into shape before ultimate frisbee season begins in the spring. Theoretically, there's still one day left before registration for the winter league closes, but I won't push it.

I've basically given up on one of my grad school applications due to multiple complications, but the application for the school in Edmonton, the one I'm putting all my hopes on, will probably work out fine. The only thing left is a reference letter that seems to have gotten lost somewhere between Burnaby and Edmonton. It might now have to be written up again and sent from Brazil, since that's where my professor is currently. Let me live in hope that optimism and positive thinking are not overrated....

Checklist for the day:

1) Dispel negative thinking by consciously seeing the good around me -- check!

2) Take the first step toward having a regular exercise regimen -- check!

3) Find some new brain food (i.e. reading material) -- check!

4) Learn a few new tricks on PhotoShop -- check check!

5) Vow to take care of myself better -- a big check!

Yesterday, I wanted to go to the beach for a walk; however, as I drove west, the clear sunny day became shrouded in fog, so I detoured to Granville Island instead. Here's a picture of the kite store -- oh the marvellous kite store, I sing praises to thee! For because of you, I can envision bright gentle days on wide open fields, my face turned upward, my spirits soaring.

Ailing

I think I've made myself sick. When I was doing my first undergrad degree all those years ago, I would routinely get the flu during exam period. This past semester, the bug managed to steer clear of me; however, it has found me now, and in the time it has taken to search me out, it has grown into a giant that is capable of knocking me out.

I swear that it's psychosomatic. I'm sick now because I'm stressing myself out over every little thing. And I'm helpless because I've done all I can, botched things up along the way, and cannot do anything to fix them. (I'm talking about my grad school applications here -- yes, still -- but I won't go into great detail other than saying that there is one further complication that I've brought on myself that might delay my going to grad school for a year.)

My mother took this week off, and had a "staycation," where she stayed at home and relaxed. I used to love staying up in Inuvik for spring break, to read and write and walk the town without any apparent purpose. Today, Mom and I went out for lunch at a Korean restaurant that I had never been to. That seafood pancake and the chicken stew were to die for! My favourite part of any Korean meal is the little plates of complimentary appetizers, and this restaurant certainly did not disappoint.

After lunch, I went shopping, although I needed absolutely nothing. Bought an expensive sweater, and I could imagine the wrath of my conscience, the little voice in my head telling me that I didn't need it and couldn't really afford it. But, the rational part of me was napping and trying to recover from the flu bug, so the beautiful sweater is hanging in my closet now, awaiting a special occasion.

And I hear that it might actually be warmer up in Inuvik than here in Vancouver right now. That's just not right! On the bright side, the mounds of snow along the roads are almost gone. I can imagine myself going on walks to and from the library, to and from the pool, to and from the nearby lake, and to and from nowhere in particular....

But first, let me battle with this giant of a flu bug and kick its nasty butt. And let the applications work out, or else let me accept that I have to wait another year. Maybe I'm meant to do and learn something amazing in the meantime.

* Here's another photo of my kitty, Duncan. I was going to go out to take some potentially amazing pictures, but both the weather and my own constitution did not allow it.

Sepia

What does it mean when you look outside at night, and the world is reminiscent of an old faded sepia photograph? It means it's going to snow! You can always tell by the sky in Vancouver when it's going to snow at night. The sky is brighter than it should be, and has a dull orange glow. Once the snow starts, it's the type that sticks, that coats tree-branches and rooftops. Soon, the ground mirrors the sky, glowing its sepia magic.

The snow that prevented me from writing my Friday exam did not deter me from my Saturday -- my final! -- exam. It's all done now, and even my last term paper was electronically-submitted at a reasonable hour. Oh, and Dr. S has exempted me from making up the cancelled Friday exam. My pleas worked, and I'll be receiving an average of my coursework thus far as my final grade.

I want to wish you all a happy holiday season! I'm going to bed now, and my dreams shall be sweet, by virtue of the sepia world outside. May your dreams be sweet too, and may you find magic, whatever colour it takes its form in, and may it touch you gently upon your eyelids as you allow yourself to drift off, showing you that all is good and well.

* And I'd like to recant my "stupid snow" comments in the previous post....

The white stuff

Woke up this morning to gigantic chunks of the white stuff drifting down. "Oh no," I thought, "Bus service will be disrupted and I won't be able to make it up the hill for my exam." I turned on the computer, and by some miracle, buses and trains were running as usual. The university was open, and exams were proceeding as scheduled.

Trudged to the train station, made my bus connection, and slowly but surely, forged my way up the mountain. Left myself a couple of hours to go over my notes at the library, to memorize the gazillion distinctive features of phonological systems. My friend P called me just as I was beginning to feel confident about what I knew: "Did you hear? Buses have stopped running. The exam is cancelled!"

And indeed, the exam was cancelled. Went to see my professor, who told me that it would be rescheduled for Tuesday, December 16th. That would normally be hunky-dory, but I am flying out on the 15th!!!

What are my options? Well, since Dr. S is going off to Brazil for four months on the 17th, sitting for a make-up exam in January is out of the question. That leaves us to consult the Chair of the Linguistics department as to how to proceed. The Chair, of course, was conveniently elsewhere, not to be found.

Dr. S thinks that I'll be given the option of being graded based on my average thus far in the course, or getting credit for the course without a final grade. But I need a final grade! The grad school I want to get into needs this course as a prerequisite, and will look specifically at prerequisite courses when making admission decisions.

Now, I wait.... The moral of the story: Do not take classes at a hill-top university in a West Coast city that does not know how to deal with snow. Or, alternately, when something is beyond your control, stop thinking about it.

Stupid snow, stupid snow, STUPID SNOW!!!!!

* Let's see what happens tomorrow. I have another exam scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.

Courage and wishes

There comes a time in everyone's life when she has to muster up all the courage she has -- no, more than she knows she has -- and do or say something because she cannot possible imagine continuing on otherwise. Well, I've done one such thing a few days ago. And now? I don't exactly wish to undo what I've done, or to take back what I've said, but I came away no wiser, and ended up more than a little embarrassed. Isn't courage supposed to make me fly high, give me clarity, free me from fear and regret?

The year is drawing quickly to a close. I marvel at the changes that have taken place in these past twelve months. The girl sitting at her computer typing up the last blog-post of last year was not the same person as the one typing here now. That girl twelve months ago was so full of hurt, and this girl here now has found a peace, albeit a restless peace. I always like using the end of the year as a time to plant my feet firmly on the ground, to reflect upon my growth, and to look forward to the future -- hence forcing myself to be brave.

Furthermore, I've begun reaching out to people I had previously left contentedly as casual acquaintances to call up or write to every year or two. I was looking at photographs on my old laptop computer, seeing if there were any more remnants I should transfer over to my new computer. There, I found photos of a fishing trip in late spring up in Inuvik, on a brilliant day three and a half years ago. I was with a few dear friends, one of whom is no longer with us. It was sweet to remember his laughter, his boldness, his caring, his love. Those photos made me see the importance of reaching out in spite of our self-absorption, all the more because of it.

I tried hunting for a friend I had made up in Inuvik. She had moved away over two years ago, and for some unbeknownst reason, we had lost touch. I tried e-mailing her, but the e-mail bounced back, indicating that she had moved elsewhere. I Googled her last night, and discovered that she was doing research in the wilds of Eastern Canada, living the dream she had once described to me. The pang inside my heart at not having been in contact with her as she forged her way these past few years was unbearable. I was able to find a new e-mail address for her, and hope that my note found its way to her, two years too late. My heart wishes that it's true what people say, that it's better late than never.

This afternoon, the university issued a warning that exams this weekend might have to be rescheduled due to impending snowfall. The Simon Fraser campus is particularly susceptible to wintry conditions because of the winding, steep roads that lead to the mountain-top site. I don't want the exams to be rescheduled. I want everything done, so I can fly off to my vacation and not have thoughts of exams hanging over me -- because if my last two exams need to be rescheduled, chances are I won't be able to complete them before I leave on Monday. I would have to make them up in the new year.

I'll be in Edmonton en route to the Dominican Republic. I want to go skating on a frozen pond. I've never done that before. I want to feel myself glide under a velvety, starry night sky, to feel the crisp air on my cheeks. That's what I want for Christmas.

I'm going to leave you with a photograph of the downtown library, my "home" this past week and a half, where most of my studying, thinking, and self-reflection has taken place.

Filling the void

Today, I ventured downtown to the central library to sit and study, and, more importantly, to be with people, albeit strangers. I went to the circulation desk to inquire about getting a library card again. As it turned out, I was no longer in the system because I had been away for so long. Sadly, without proof of my current address on me, I could not acquire a new library card right away. But it still felt comforting to walk along the aisles of books, to see what a happening place the library was. I could almost envision the gears turning within the minds of all the patrons who sat with their laptops plugged in at the desks, writing their papers. It was wonderful to feel as though I belonged.

After a couple of hours of reading over my Psychology notes, I grew restless and burst out into the late afternoon toward the busy shopping district. I stopped by Cafe Artigiano again and ordered myself a mocha and a turkey panino. Crammed into that cozy space, there was a table of Japanese students to my left, while the young couple to my right switched back and forth between French and English. I could have sat there forever, taking it all in, breathing in the aroma of the baked goods and the coffee, feeling myself being wrapped up by the city, by the simultaneous anonymity and warmth amongst strangers.

As dusk fell, I walked out again, joining the throng that hurried either toward home after the workday, or toward the stores for holiday shopping. The bookstore beckoned, and I could not resist. I came away with three beautiful hardcover volumes, and suddenly felt richer, fuller, more complete. It's been a while since I've read a novel. I used to devour fiction, so insatiable was my hunger. But since starting life as a student again, I've been inundated with scholarly articles and textbooks, which, as fascinating as they have been, could never fill the void and satisfy the yearning of that other part of my mind, the part that ached to be swept away, to be challenged, to be taken both deeper within myself and toward the outer reaches of experience.

Sadly, the books will have to sit and wait to be read. I can't touch them for another two weeks, not until I have my two major papers written and my four final exams done. I'll bring them along for my Christmas vacation, for the two weeks when I'll be lounging on the beach with three dear friends in the Dominican Republic.

But, right now, it's back to the books... the textbooks, that is....

Oh happy happy day

A good friend came to Vancouver from the Island for a conference, and fortunately, we were able to squeeze in a brief visit. We hadn't seen each other for over two years (really?!), but it did not seem that way at all. As I walked in the midst of the end-of-November drizzle on this Saturday morning, there was a lilt in my step. I was traipsing through the downtown streets with purpose. We went to Cafe Artigiano, the place with the fancy foam-art on our lattes. On our way there, outside the art gallery, there was a small crowd of eclectic people holding signs. "What are they protesting?" I wondered to myself. As we got closer, we saw that their signs read, "Happy happy day!" They were giving everyone who passed by high-fives. Even I couldn't help but slap that hot-pink mitt with a silly grin on my face. How utterly refreshing.

At the cafe, we enjoyed our lattes, remembering the times we had spent together, those days that seemed so long ago and yet were so vivid still. E is the friend with whom I had nibbled my stoned wheat thins at the kitchen table late into the night, commiserating for hours on end as the darkness closed in outside. Later today, during a late lunch, she dug out a sheet of paper from her little purse. It was a list she and I and a bunch of friends had scribbled out during a particular night of drunken lucidity almost five years ago, when we brainstormed the advantages of having a band of diverse and interesting women in a lonely northern town. That group of women had disbanded long ago, and I'm only really in touch with E now.

Oh happy happy day indeed, when certain people remain in our lives even as others drift away. With those certain few, all it takes is a phone call, an e-mail, a short visit to reel in that thread that has stretched over time and space, in order to reconnect, reminisce, laugh, and be glad.

It's time (almost)

I moved from the North back to Vancouver almost four months ago, and yet, I've still not updated my Blogger profile. I'm beginning to feel settled here again, although there are still many factors to consider soon, after my semester is done.

On the list of things to think about:
1) Should I go to grad school?
2) Do I really want to become a speech-language pathologist?
3) Am I sure I want to abandon teaching?
4) Where should I live? Should I move to Edmonton?
5) Should I return to Inuvik?
6) Should I even think about returning up north?

A couple of days ago, a friend from Inuvik came here for a little visit. We went to the aquarium for the afternoon. It's normally so easy to be immersed in the daily grind and forget what wonders there are on the planet. The aquarium certainly put me back in touch with a magical side of life. However, I have conflicting views on aquariums and zoos. I must admit, I could watch the pulsating jellyfish for hours and marvel at how such a simple creature could fascinate me so much. I could stare unblinkingly at the giant turtle, who looked as though he was flying, gliding, so free and so beautiful. The irony that he was in captivity did not elude me though. And, there were the belugas, with the grey baby in the tank with her mama and grandma. There was something both soothing and disturbing in their movements. The large white bodies swirled by, just mere feet from where we were standing. Their sheer mass and their brilliant white were startling. I've always found a fetal, unfinished quality to these whales, as though they were mounds of clay still waiting to be moulded. I watched in awe as the three whales spun round and round. The silence was finally broken when my friend let out a chortle and said, "We must remember not to harpoon these whales!" I laughed heartily. Those coddled majestic whales were indeed the same as those up north who represent something quite different. Up north, whaling is still a way of life. I had muktuk, squares of beluga, in my freezer just months ago. In that moment, I knew then that I had indeed completed my transition back to being a city-folk once more, when I could watch those belugas with city-eyes.

So yes, it's almost time to change my Blogger profile....

What I learn on Skytrains and buses

Today, a young woman sat beside me on the train. After a couple of stations, she started giggling uncontrollably, covering her face with her hands, bending over the backpack she had placed on her lap. Many of the passengers, at least those not absorbed in their iPods or their cell-phones, turned to stare with disapproval. Meanwhile, I looked out the window, embarrassed to have her next to me. It was as though I wanted everyone to know that I was not with the giggling lunatic sitting beside me. The woman continued laughing for what seemed like minutes, and then finally stood up and got off the train, one station before my stop. I didn't feel relief over her departure; instead, the empty space beside me for that last little stretch before I got off seemed infinitely more embarrassing. I realized it would have done us all good to be able to laugh with such spontaneity and abandon once in a while. Maybe one of these days, when I feel braver, I'll laugh at nothing on the train and ignore all the dirty looks. It might be therapeutic.

On the crowded bus, a student stood holding onto a pole by the exit door. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder. On the outside pockets, the name "Kristen" was scribbled in blue ink over and over again. I just had to smile. It was something I would have done to a boy's backpack years ago, scrawling my name all over and daring him to appear in public with it. The boy's nonchalance was endearing and it just made my day.

* I'm going to disappear from the blogosphere for a short while, just until I get back into the swing of things with school. I know what I need to do....

Ode to today

This is an ode to today,
To the day that followed a sleepless night,
To an awakening to unexpected joy,
To the clouds that were burned away by the heat of the sun,
To revisiting an old haunt,
To walking the old campus,
To admiring the changes,
To things that stayed the same,
To taking tests in a hushed room,
To Betty, the invigilator who so clearly loved people,
To having more people who smile and love,
To a $2.75 slice of pizza after all these years,
To the boy who gave up his seat on the bus,
To the two hockey fans (one Oilers, one Canucks) who stopped to talk to me,
To a beloved cat at my feet,
To seeing someone from a new perspective,
To seeing myself with fresh eyes,
To today,
To my day.

Today, I went back to UBC to take my tests for the Public Service Commission, for several positions that I had applied for (as a back-up plan).  Arrived there at 7:20 in the morning, and had a gruelling 6 hours of tests. I thought it would ruin my Saturday, but Betty, a woman who supervised the exams, made them a pleasure to take. No, she didn't give away any responses, but she helped in a way infinitely better: She had a radiance about her that calmed all the nervous test-takers down. This was a woman who loved her job, who loved people, who believed in kindness. When a few stragglers came in late, one of the other administrators was ready to toss them out in a huff, but Betty, in her gentle, soft-spoken ways, made it all better. And no one was annoyed or embarrassed in the process.  And she supplied us all with sharpened pencils with such flourish that I felt like a kid receiving a magic wand. From then on, the day just got better. Can't beat a giant cookie out of the vending machine, or the best $2.75 slice of pizza, still the same as how I remember it from years ago. I passed by the beautiful library again, walked old paths but saw new sights. Reconnected with important people, who allow my flights of fancy, but who ground me, and make it so easy for me to love them. I feel different today. I feel more myself, more alive, just more....