An extra day, A special day

The 29th of February should be a public holiday. Although it feels like any other day, there is also something about it that makes me think of it as a gift. An extra 24hour period to live in this beautiful world. Funny coincidence on a day like today that I was too sick to go into work. 

It is the first sick day I have had to take since working for Camp Timberlane when I started in June. So on this extra day of the year, I made brownies, stayed in my pajama’s, slept, read Game of Thrones: A storm of Swords, wrote 200 words of a one woman show, skyped with mum and watched the snow fall through my bedroom window. There is nothing like a day at home doing nothing. All my roomies are oot and aboot at their various jobs and lives and the place is quiet and serene, as is the white dusted world outside.

Sometimes I hate to be idle, I am happiest when it is go go go, and the idea of sitting with myself is boring. But today was different, I turned inward and concentrated on health, rather then looking outward for stimulation.

It’s also the end of the month, which makes me whimsical and think about what I have achieved. March starts tomorrow and that Idea is insane, because March means we’re well underway for this year, and it feels like we just had Christmas. I always like to take the start of each month to think about what needs to be achieved and where to go from here on in.

For me, March is exciting. I’m going to Boston in just over a week, for a weekend away with my Miami girlfriend Amanda. In March, I am going to see a hockey game and be in a corporate box with my acting friend Jenny. I’m going to see the Black Keys and Arctic Monkeys with boyf and two of his friends. I’m going to London Ontario for a weekend of debauchery and St Paddy’s day madness. 

And as March progresses, it is meant to get warmer. This has been the mildest winter in years according to my friends, so, I don’t know how I would have survived if it had been as thick and furious as it has been in the past. Because I am over the cold, I’m over sweating in my jacket in the subway, I’m over my face skin drying out and coming off in flakes. I love the snow, but there hasn’t been enough to make a snowman! Maybe next year.

In conclusion, yay for the 29th of February, and yay for March, and life in general!

Ah the follies of youth

I have previously mentioned in posts that my fourth and final wisdom tooth was growing into my face, and that its removal was imminent.
Well, Friday marked the day of that tooth’s demise, and now here I am back at work with a hole in my gum.
I won’t bore any one with the specific details, but it kind of hurt and then it kind of ached over the weekend, but I was a big girl, who didn’t complain much and basically got on with my weekend. Now that that useless body part has been removed, we can all move on with our lives until the Spleen goes.

So this morning I walked to work from the Boyfs house, through the center of the down town area, contemplating the beautiful day that threatened to break over the gray glass buildings any minute. It was a whimsical walk as it often is, seeing business types scurrying to their various beehive type offices, the policemen strolling about, the homeless guys living on top of subway grates, the lines of pre-teens lined up around the block…

Wait a second..whats going on here?

After further investigation during my daily quest for lunch that doesn’t taste like charred sauce and isn’t a hamburger, I learned that the lines around the block and the waves of hormone-filled young women, were all for the boy band ‘One Direction’ who are apparently coming to Toronto and must be doing something at the Much Music offices which are located around the corner from the office.

I’ve heard of ‘One Direction’, but I am not that familiar with who they are, so I turned to google.

One Direction - Outdoor edgy shot

 

One Direction - Your Mother would love me shot

 

One Direction - We're kind of soft and sensitive shot

 

30 seconds of googling reveals that they are in fact a boy band of pretty eyed, nicely haired young men (I say men, but I mean…children) who have something to do with Simon Cowell and the X factor. Honestly I wish I could give you more details than that but I actually don’t care enough to read more. All I need to know about these guys is that from the office, every now and then, I hear a HUGE shrieking/chanting noise from the Horde that carry sparkly signs and t-shirts with these lads splashed against underdeveloped titty’s.

And as I roamed my familiar lunch/work district, I couldn’t help but scoff at the girls and the conversations I overheard. Girls crying because they love this band so much and they just want to meet them. Security guards holding people back, trying to make sense of the insanity and shrieking, girls excitedly nattering into mobile phones “you’re at the front?! OMG!!!”

Yes, oh my god indeed.

But then I felt bitter and sarcastic, and I recalled my own teenage heart-throb obsessions:

Blue

Uh. Look at these guys

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I waited for them in line at a Mall when I was a pre-teen, and I had their CD which I made my family listen too any time we drove anywhere. I talked about them a lot, and I can’t be sure that I cried over them, but knowing how melodramatic I was, I probably did.

Then I also loved:

The Backstreet Boys

and

S Club 7

So there you go. I actually see a lot of similarity between Blue and One Direction. Both English bands, both have pretty boys. Thais about it for similarities. One Direction seems to be made up of Caucasian 16-year-old guys, while Blue tried to mix up their singer colour palate’s (although the dark-haired guy could be some kind of minority) and the guys from Blue look like they are super old, and I think those pictures are from when I liked them. Creepy.

As for the Backstreet boys, I wasn’t alone in loving them, they were huge! Look at those guys, they are economizing 90′s-ness right there. Look at the hair on Nick Carter (that’s the only one whose name I can remember) and the little sunglasses on the guy on the right. Wow. I wonder what they are all doing now. Hmm. If only I could be bothered to google them.

S Club 7 wasn’t just a pop band I loved, I also watched their TV show religiously. Thinking about it now, 7 is A LOT of people to have in a band. And why the imbalance? Why 4 girls and 3 guys? I always felt like someone was missing out on a partner.But whatever, those kooky kids always seemed to get in trouble and then get out of it by throwing a concert. OH YOU GUYS!

So anyway, I can’t judge those screaming girls out there (okay I can and I still am) because maybe I/we’ve all been there before, and it’s just a part of life. I would still TRIP BALLS if I saw some of the bands I love now, I might even wait in line for hours to get tickets to their show..But I don’t know that I’d wait in line overnight, or scream my ass off any time a car I THOUGHT was carrying the stars went past, I probably wouldn’t wear a glittery headband or a t-shirt with their face splashed across my boobs, or weep because I just love the band/singer/person so much.

And maybe that is more the pity for me and a sign that I am getting too old, and too cynical.

P

University words of Wisdom

My littlest brother is flying out of our home town of Hong Kong in a few short hours, to start his University journey.

I know my Mum is sad, and proud, at the same time. What an achievement, three kids through high school all by the tender age of 42.

Littlest brother is excited, and nervous, as we all were when we packed up our rooms to head to our new lives. Like I did when I hit 18, LB (Littlest Brother) is flying 9 hours and half way across the world by himself to start his higher education. Luckily we have a network in Sydney which will scoop him up and hopefully set him in the right direction.

I wish I could be there to help you in this exciting time, but sadly I am on the opposite side of the globe.

But what I can give him are some words of Wisdom from my own experience, and Canadian boyfriend is here too, and he wears glasses so he must be smart.

Eat the meals provided at College, but make sure you work out.
‘Fresher Spread’ ‘Fresher Fifteen’ ‘Freshman Fifteen’, these are universal. First year Uni students living away from home get fat, they eat crap and they drink loads of booze. Eat the free food, because you’ll be broke, but just make sure you exercise/eat a salad occasionally, because those Kilo’s are hard to shift. Trust me. You can eat cheap Thai near the Uni and get cheap deals on campus.

(Canuk Boyfs advice): Wear Condoms.
Self explanatory. As the only gay in the village, you won’t have to worry about getting girls knocked up (yay for you), but STD’s are for life man.

Have as much fun as you possibly can.
Say yes before you say no (not to drugs obviously), embrace every challenge and new opportunity. The University years are short and fleeting, but they are fun and amazing. You are not only there to learn things from books, but also to learn things about yourself and others, to learn discipline and independence. Make sure you have a good time.

(Canuk Boyfs advice): Time Manage.
Personally, I started my assignments the day they were due (I used to run to the drop box at 4.55pm because I knew they closed at 5pm and start them at 6am). But CB’s advice is work hard play hard. Get shit done and get shit faced. Or if you do it last-minute like me, then make it look good by throwing in loads of citations and fancy schmancy words.

Don’t get involved with someone you live with unless you’re prepared for the drama when/if it all gets fucked.
Loosely summarized by our mother as “Don’t shit where you eat.” At college you live with 250+ people. You see them every day, at every meal (unless you become a troll hiding in your room), so be careful. It can get nasty.

(CB advice): Talk to your parents often
Let them know how you’re doing, they are the reason you are there and they care about you. (awww! isn’t that sweet)

Get a part-time job – you’ll have the time.
Seriously, you’ll need the money for extra booze when there aren’t organized parties and to go to the local bars. Never underestimate the $5 goon sack. Also, as great as a degree is, having work experience on the resume is awesome too.

 

And that’s it from me, older sister done with Uni, as you start your journey. Remember all the good things – like be true to yourself and to study and shower occasionally, etc etc.

Love you lots little pants

 

P

A sad snowy day

At 23, I’ve lived a pretty varied and well-rounded life.
So it’s interesting that the experience of living in Canada has exposed me to a lot of ‘first-offs’.
First snow, first skate on a lake, first Christmas away from home, and today, a sad first:

first funeral.

Tragically, two friends of mine from camp lost their mother yesterday.

Though it is of course an awful situation, it was amazing to me to see the way the community responded and with such rapidity. The majority of my friends in Toronto are Jewish, and so the service today was different from those that I have seen depicted in movies (the root of my funeral knowledge).

At the service, a huge group of people turned out to pay their respects, so many in fact that people had to stand at the back of the room. Every one signed a book when they entered, and the majority of men donned Kippah’s. The service included prayers in Hebrew, and my two friends and their older brother spoke about their mother, who sounds like she was a pretty awesome Mum and member of the community. The prayers were repeated in English, and though not a religious person myself, the sentiments carried through the service affected me deeply. The Rabbi spoke about leaving the service and remembering to take each day as a blessing, trying to let the service change you a little bit to be a bit more thoughtful to those around you.

This is something that I will try to carry away.

We travelled in a procession (police escort) twenty minutes from the funeral home to the cemetery. It was a beautiful day full of sunshine and crisp winter air, with fresh white snow on the ground. At the gravesite, the Rabbi explained that the final kindness you can pay someone who has passed away is to shovel dirt onto the coffin, first three times with the back of the shovel, to signify that this is not a pleasant task, and then from there with the front side of the shovel. It was a very big group surrounding the plot, and so many people were there to shovel that they did the entire thing (apparently sometimes they use a machine to push the dirt in to bury the coffin completely.)

In Jewish culture, after someone dies, they hold a ‘Shiva‘ at a relatives house. Unfortunately I have been to a Shiva before, recently, when another friends Grandfather passed away. At a Shiva, as far as I’m aware, there are times when you can visit the family and pay your respects. There are refreshments and nibbles. Mirrors are covered as a grieving family is not meant to look in a mirror.

And so after the cemetery we grabbed some lunch, and then went to the Shiva. We had not had a chance to speak to our friends at the service or at the burial, obviously. But a Shiva is like a Wake, I guess, and it was nice to be able to share a drink and a hug with my friends in this devastating time. It was a moment to just be around, talk about stuff. To try to make them smile and tell them that you are around, and available.

It was my first funeral, and first Jewish funeral, and the whole thing just struck me as being about love and community and celebrating someone’s life, while also mourning their death.

Life is a series of events from start to finish, Births, Birthdays, Graduations, Weddings, Funerals.

Today will remind me to love each moment, to be grateful for the good, the bad, the difficult, the easy, the dull and the bright because all these things make up a full life, and a full, healthy and happy life is all you can hope for in the end.

P

I’m too sober for this

Last night I went out to a bar. I hadn’t had that much to drink as I had worked out earlier in the day (for the first time in over a year), and like one of those people on ‘The Biggest Loser’ or ‘I used to be Fat’ I felt like I was going to throw up all afternoon. I didn’t, but when it came to pre-drinking I was very slow. I’m a pretty big light-weight (it doesn’t take a lot for me to start feeling the effects of booze) so after two drinks (mostly hastily skulled as we were leaving) I thought, okay sure. Tonight’s going to be fine. The thing about clubbing/pubbing in Canada is that on a Friday or Saturday night there are often queues if you get there lateish (like we always seem to). So you stand outside in the cold, sobering up, just wanting to be in the club. It’s a true shame drinking in public is illegal here, pubs could make millions by selling drinks outside. In Hong Kong when we were underage, we used to buy alcoholic drinks, like those cruiser-mainly-sugar-in-a-bottle types and just mill around drinking.

So finally after 30mins in 2 degree weather (sobering up all the while) we get into the pub. $9 cover at Grace O’Malley’s – which is where we always seem to end up. Okay fine. $9…whatever we just want in to the f-ing venue and not to be outside in the cold. Live band. Great. Get a drink. K-thanks.

Now to the teeming dance floor, filled with drunk people staggering around making out hotly, sloshing drinks on each other, dropping their glasses on the floor, knocking into one another, elbowing each other, standing on toes…It was then I realized… I am too sober for this. Sadly I was alone in that regard as my friends had all downed more booze than me.

I stood looking around at the people, making eye contact with the bouncer who shook his head.

I was too sober to be there, and with last call approaching, there was no way to catch up to my friends, and the people in that bar. Not that I was desperate or dying to get to that level of boozery. But it was just weird, to be the one on the outside. I was “that guy” the sober one, saying, NOPE that’s not your beer, NO don’t walk onto the road, NO you don’t want to fight that guy.

Maybe I’m getting to old for this.

The Cliches are True

It’s a cliché and I know it, to say, “Life is short.” It’s the kind of thing my Dad would say, as he holds my hand (yes we still hold hands,) and every time I see him he gets misty eyed and tells me how I used to fit in his forearm between his palm and the crook of his elbow and life is too short and quick.

But life IS short, or the days are, and they seem to ZOOM past at an incredible pace, with no regard for the people in them, like HEY! I had things to do today, oh well… I guess I’ll do them tomorrow. The little squares in the calendar don’t even get written in, the events and appointments and life things come at me too thick and heavy I just have to make a mental note. I race through the week, plodding through each working day and then I wake up and lo and behold it is Saturday morning, and there is nowhere I have to rush to be, and snow covers the rooftops because it snowed over night, and I’m like, What happened to this week? Where did Wednesday go? What did I achieve? I can have a whole weekend to myself again? And then what? We’ll restart the week and then we’ll keep doing this and then it will be Christmas again?

Ok.

If you’ve ever read my blog before you’ll know that I am pretty full of life, and I love mine, good, bad, f*cking nuts, bruised, scraped, shiny, insane family and all. I love the new experiences I have and every day (even the ones where I cry because I miss Sydney and Hong Kong and my friends and family) I wake up with wonder in my heart and joy in every breath I take.

What an incredible place Toronto is, the other side of the world from where I was born, and half a world away from the linoleum floored apartment’s of Asia. And how young I feel in view of all the things on this planet I still have to see and learn – I walk around with wide-eyed excitement like a toddler. But then I see photos of old high school friends at such and such’s wedding, and WOW do we look old, like real adults. That’s weird because when I look in the mirror all I see is a slightly more made-up version of the 15-year-old I still feel like.

And that’s time, tricking me. Has it really been six years since I graduated high school!? I see the babies that were in year 6 when I was in year 12 graduating and going to Universities, and I’m like, WAIT A DAMN SECOND!! You can drink now?!  Are people really getting married and having babies? What’s that about? Who are these people with real job titles like “Market Analyst”? Because all i see is Market Anal-yst. Sigh.

And then I realize Canuck boyfriend is turning 28 this year and what the HELL could you BE any closer to 30!? (yes I guess…he could be 29….)

Am I still going to feel like a child in this wide world when I have my own child eventually? Is there a switch that flicks from child to adult, and where is that located? Or don’t I want to know?

A wider education

It’s hard to be creative sometimes when the days of office work whiz past and there are relationships and commitments and financial obligations to juggle. You have a blog space sitting right there, beckoning you to splurge and blheurghk all your ideas and musings right out into the open so everyone can see. And it’s hard, because each day that passes is marked UC, UnCreative.

And thus it has been over a week since I posted. I went from posting once a day, to three times a week, to when I can manage it. Rather like my Gym attendance (hello size 12 verging on 14).

But I have finally found the time, between work and social and all the other things that eat up my time to finally discuss something I’ve been thinking about:

A Wider Education.

My youngest brother is about to start at the University of Sydney (which is where I went to for four years), my other brother is mid-way through his degree, constantly looking for ways out – or other travel adventures to escape to.

Recently I’ve been reviewing the contracts of new international staff applying at our summer camp. Their resumes and cover letters are interesting, they all seem to be well-educated, thrill-seeking types who are after something a little bit different.

We have Uni students coming from England. We have full-time workers coming from Australia. I read their personal essay’s and look through their resumes and ask myself, what is it that attracts this group of people to this experience?

It is the same thing that drew me to Canada 8 months ago. The search for the unknown, the restless desire to be somewhere new, new experiences, new places, new people, actions which lead us to become more diversified and interesting, adding more colours to our shimmery identity, more skills to be learned. To add more strings to our bows.

There are plenty of people in this world stuck in a formulaic existence, to some extent, I would have classed myself in that group prior to ditching my life and staying in Toronto. I was good at school (for the most part), got good grades (except in Maths), did what I was told, got a good University entrance score, didn’t fail any units, finished my Bachelor of Arts and got my Masters.

Okay so I’m leaving out some minor details, like the fact I went to 3 different international schools in Asia, and that my family life completely imploded when I was in year 12, but the gist is the same. Each Uni holiday I would go “home” to one or the other of my parents homes (Hong Kong or Perth). I never went with my friends through their global trecks. Uni holiday time was family time as my family was thousands of Kilometres away.

It was only when I was doing my Masters degree that I realized I might have to put in a little bit more effort, that I wasn’t just going to walk from school to Uni, from Uni to the perfect job. So I started interning.

Interning is an amazing way to get a foot in the door in places, you do a lot of bitch work but you also learn a lot. I consider my 5 months of free work for Freehand productions as an invaluable part of my education. It was wider education.

Travel is part of my wider education. Living in Toronto, learning about North Americans from the inside out is part of my wider education. Learning how to move places on a whim, is part of my education, that I’m sure will serve me down the road. Even working my kind of boring office job is teaching me something, a core unit of study in the University of life (perhaps, how to sit the f*ck down, shut the f*ck up and get on with it.)

I try to never overlook the value of things I do in my life – even if they seem irrelevant or annoying, or wastes of time. Recently I did a VERY amateur dramatic production of a Panto – Goldilox and the Bears. I bitched and moaned, PRETTY much through the whole production. I constantly whined about doing rehearsals three times a week, but I now realize it got me through the heart of winter. It gave me a purpose and a place to be. It made me feel like I was part of a community again, and has actually given me an idea about putting on a show of my own.

You can’t underestimate the power of a wider education.

It’s the different experiences of each of us that make us more interesting and diverse human beings. I’m glad that I’ve taken risks and made mistakes, and had moments of absolute-what-the-hell-am-I-doing-with-my-life-ery.

I hope that if you are reading this blog, you challenge yourself to gain a wider education.

4 Reasons I wish I had a Sister

I grew up in a household with three kids, Girl, Boy Boy.
There are some great things about having brothers, and I love mine very much. But there were many times I wished for a sister.

And here are some of the reasons.

4. I could steal all of her clothes and shoes
I never wanted to steal my brothers clothes, because A) Most of them had pictures of Thomas the Tank engine or Power Rangers and B) Obviously they were too small and ripped/torn. I was with a friend on Sunday who was in Toronto for the weekend. Before we left her house so she could get back to her Uni town, she went into her sisters room and borrow/stole a cardigan. Imagine twice the wardrobe!

3. My Barbies would have been safe from harm.
My brothers took perverse pleasure in torturing my toys. I once came home to a pile of decapitated and de-limbed barbie dolls. I cried hysterically. My parents laughed, then scolded. Great parenting guys.

2. No one ever taught me how to do my makeup.
I did a lot of community theater when I was in Middle School and High School. My mum wore a lot of lipstick, but didn’t really throw on that much face slap (being youngish), these two factors led to me experimenting with makeup, copying off the Pantomime makeup that was done to my face. Think BIG eyes, OVERTHETOP lips. HUGE blush spots on my cheek bones. I am embarrassed to say that it was only in June last year, at the age of 22, that my stylish and makeup loving friend dragged me to a cosmetics store to stock up on things before summer camp. She did my makeup before a few nights out and taught me how it was done. Thank god those drag-queen days are over. For one member of my sibling group at least.

1. There would have been someone to fight with.
Fights with my brothers during childhood ended one of two ways. Before they were taller than me, they would cry. After they got taller than me, they ended with punches and objects being thrown. I never had the verbal wordplay kind of fights between my siblings (and when I had them with my parents I would always lose), which are a necessary part of sibling-in-fighting and teach one about comebacks and bitch attacks.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade my brothers for any one else (most days), but when I see my friends that have sisters, and the bond between them, sometimes I am a little jealous. That’s okay. I now have two roomies to steal clothes off, no barbies to protect, kind stylish friends to teach me how to not look like shit, and my brothers have developed a huge amount of sass between them. I guess rolled into one, it’s like I have a sister after all!

P

Who Mourns the Moon? Poem Part One

When the sun descends
Below the western line
Darkness creeps out and reclaims the sky

Amongst the jewels flung through the night
The moon rises
steadily, into sight

“Hello Moon.”