Chapters

(Photo Credit: Taken in El Paso, Texas, by Chandra Nunes)

As I sit here, staring at a blank screen and a beige, dirty coloured wall behind it, I can't help but let my mind wander.The beeping of phone lines, the clicking of keyboards, and the shouting voices calling from one room to the next easily fade as I drift into a mere semi-conscious state. The monotony of the day and the tasks that go with it are what carry me to a world I once knew but no longer exists.

Do you remember high school? Because I do. I can almost smell, touch, and taste all the familiar memories. The perfume I once wore, the rough desk chairs, the $1.00 cookies we used to buy in the morning at the cafeteria... it's so real and yet untouchable, like it never existed. I remember the conversations, the concerns, the classes. It was a long time ago that I was fifteen, almost ten years now. The older I grow, the farther away it becomes, as with all things.

I didn't particularly enjoy high school while I was there. There were a lot of tears, fighting, hormonal changes, and stressful homework. I hated math, I had as many enemies as I had friends, and the days seemed long. There was a time when all I thought about were the horrors of my teen years but I'm finding it harder and harder to remember those things.

I remember that I was skinny, despite that I didn't know it then, I had faithful friends, good grades, and a solid outlook on the future. All I wanted was to get out and move onto University. That was my goal and it seemed like it would never happen. I thought I'd be with my high school sweetheart forever, that I'd be married by the time I was twenty-three (to my fifteen year old self, that was ancient), I'd have a successful career ahead of me, and I would be travelling the globe forever a roamer. I had an untainted perspective, no fear, and a fire that burned so deep for love, art, travel, books and God. I was unashamed of anything I believed in, unafraid to speak it loudly to the people around me, and a hopeful eye for improving myself and helping others reach their potential. Of course, that same person still lives within me. The light is dimmer, or perhaps I'm just more refined, learned the ways of the outside world and how to live within it. My whole world was really only my classrooms and the people I spent time with outside of those rooms. It was a very small world.

Since those days I've come through a little bit, I'd say. I've dealt and now managing a hormone disorder, I've graduated high school, I've graduated University, I've floated through different jobs, I've landed myself a full time position, I've sifted through boyfriends, gained experience as a youth minister, I've left youth ministry, I've joined other churches, I've saved more money than I ever thought possible, I've been on an archaeological dig, I've travelled to Europe and back, I've wandered through some of the States, and I've bought and sold a car. I've made friends in a different country, I've said goodbye to old ones, I've lost and gained weight, I've torn ligaments, I've lost a pet, I've gained two more, I've dyed my hair, I've cut my hair, and maybe I've grown a few centimetres too.

Through it all, through thick and thin, I've found people I can count on. I've lived, laughed, and loved with them and as our journey moves forward they remind me why I don't hate high school as much as I thought I did. It's because it was there, in that small building, I cultivated some of the most precious friendships I'll ever have.

"What are men compared to rocks and mountains?"

(Photo of: my mess. Photo Credit: Anjuli Baldwin.)

Pride and Prejudice always knows what to say. Jane Austen was a true genius. Because what are men compared to rocks and mountains? They are most certainly not the serene picture of rolling hills, tumbling rocks, and looming mountains. Nature brings my mind peace whereas men, and I would venture to guess this would apply to most women, bring about an eye twitch. No, I'm not writing this because my love life has come crashing down like Jenga, but just simply stating the truth of human nature and making a redundant, already obvious statement. Perhaps this thought was risen up by the indulgence of watching Eat, Pray, Love, which to be honest I'm not terribly fond of. However the concept is tempting, lures women in like flies to a Venus Fly Trap, only to be swallowed slowly and painfully. Or maybe it's more like a Pitcher Plant, drawn to the taste of a honey-like substance, disguised as a treat of ecstasy, only to drown in a puddle of sweet nectar. Brutal, I know. Elizabeth Gilbert is a good writer indeed and her travels interesting but evil in nature as it invokes the same desire within myself, and I am sure many women, to just abandon life as we know it to seek oneself in food, nature and a romantic love affair in a far off land. How cliché.

My desire to abandon everything is less extreme. I'm not about to pick up, leave my boyfriend, and just ditch my job and family in pursuit of a "higher power" or "myself". I already know myself and I'm already rather acquainted with a higher power. I'm also not miserable in my relationship nor am I suicidal (like Liz Gilbert was post-divorce before she gallivanted off to Italy). Simply, my life is monotonous. I wake up everyday at the same time, I go to a job I less than love, and I come home at 3pm only to crash for a quick nap before I spend time with my boyfriend or friends doing the same thing we always do. I'm always exhausted, I'm always waiting for the weekend, I'm always counting down the days till my next vacation or long weekend, I'm always wondering about the future and I'm always thinking about how can I get myself out of this meaningless job. Is school the answer? It would certainly help get better positions in my field of interest but that's not exactly a guarantee either. Is running away to a foreign country the answer? Maybe. But then again, that's just running away from life and the real world. And what would I do when I came home? Resume my old life?

The picture of my easel and paints reflects my mind. A chaotic disaster, scattered across a large surface area. That's what my thoughts look like. A little organized, a little messy, a little artsy, a whole lot of crazy. Someone once told me they saw me in a the middle of a tornado - I was the eye of the storm - and the clouds of fury were made up of colour, representing emotion, and I was plucking them from the chaos. A sort of prophecy, so to speak, given to me very many years ago. I still haven't a clue what it means. I don't exactly feel like the eye of the storm as life swirls around me. There's certainly a lack of calm where I stand. Most of the time I feel part of the winding winds.

But maybe that's just life. A crazy whirlwind that passes quickly through the night and you can only squeeze your eyes shut and hope you land somewhere between normal and crazy.

Dipping my toes in the water...

(Photo Credit: King's College Chapel - found on Google Images :))

What a beautiful piece of architecture. Much less boring than the schools we have kicking around Canada - last time I checked Carleton didn't look like a fortress or a medieval church. Although King's College is only a place I could dream of attending, being an Ivy League equivalent my guess is that an average student from Ottawa, Ontario wouldn't be so welcome there. Such is life.

Although, there are other Universities that may consider my only average grades. So I suppose here this latest update of my ever-changing life: I am applying for my Master's in England. Yes, I may spend close to $40,000. Yes, I may pack up and move across the ocean for a year. Yes, I may be giving up my permanent, full-time job with benefits and 4 weeks vacation.Yes, I may put myself through torture even the Spanish Inquisition couldn't imagine. Yes, I may be giving up my dream of being a home owner for at least the next few years. Yes, I am that crazy.

And... that's that?

No, not really. Going overseas to the UK has been a dream I've never fully forgotten since as long as I can remember. With my horrendous experience last year applying to Carleton's graduate program in Anthropology I had basically given up and figured my grades wouldn't be accepted anywhere and I wasn't really looking to be rejected like that again. (When I say rejected, it wasn't just a nice formal letter in the mail ((which I didn't even receive)), it was a full confrontation from the vice-president of Anthropology Graduate studies in which she accused me of late application (which I hadn't), of being an idiot for trying, and wasting her time because she "had better things to do"). Don't mistake the word "confrontation" to mean that I battled with her. Unlike my usual character, I let her rip me apart as I stood in her doorway after, very nicely, asking when we would be receiving acceptance or rejection letters. Probably one of the worst experiences with administration I've ever had (and I basically work in an administration environment). As far as I'm concerned, that woman should be fired for not only being unprofessional but attacking an undergraduate student (verbally) during her final month of 4th year University. Last time I checked, it is the students who pay her salary. But this is an entirely different rant that maybe I'll post another day. (Sue McColeman, if you happen to be reading this, I'm sure you're interested and I will have to tell you about it sometime).

But, I digress! It turns out, a B average isn't so bad in the UK! I signed up with an organization called "Study Across the Pond" which sets up students with advisers who help guide and facilitate the application process. According to my assigned advisor I not only have a fighting chance of acceptance but even a, dare I say, good chance. Now it's time to decide where to go and the options are endless.

So, I haven't given up! With the... prompting of a special boyfriend of mine, I've decided not to let that evil woman destroy my confidence, especially since someone I've never met, who's only seen my grades and resume has a spark of hope for me. So fingers crossed and here's to possible adventures!

Now time to find reference letters.... this should be oh-so-joyous.

Apples will be Apples

(Photo Credit: Indie and Ollie, taken by me)

When I was little I had a bad habit of ordering people around. Usually this landed on my unsuspecting sister once she was old enough to walk and understand me but it didn't particular matter who it was, just whoever happened to be available. It was something as simple as ordering Rachel to get me an apple from the fridge, or telling a classmate not to screw up so I didn't have to give him another eraser. (We had "eraser duty" and took turns handing them out, I being the kind individual that I am, handed a crumb of an eraser to one poor child and when he protested merely reacted with a haughty, "Well, then just don't make any mistakes!"). I suppose this trait probably made me a bit of a bratty child, and by a bit I mean a lot, but over the years this specific niche in my personality greatly subdued itself.

Maybe not subdued, just adjusted to society and my childhood self has realized I can't order people around so I don't have to fetch an apple from the fridge. I'm pretty sure I would've been punched in highschool if my attitude had carried into adolescent life.

Adjusted is almost the right word. I've pressed down my urge to control every situation, and I've even overcome some obstacles and managed to let go of things I had trouble holding onto. I'm not so much of a control freak anymore, at least not obviously. My inner self still battles, still fights to cling to something tangible in which I can get my grimy little hands on to manipulate. That sounds so evil but I promise it isn't. The control has manifested into fear. It disguises itself so I can't see it, so I can't get rid of it, so it can infiltrate my life and the control begins to control me. All I see is fear, and my fear leads me to digging up histories, my own, other people's, and the obsession of knowledge overtakes me and the obsession of finding out the past to predict the future takes over until I am so wound up I develop eye-twitches. And I spiral inwards down a dark hole and all I can see is a lot of self-hatred and a lot of desperation.

Something as stupid as ordering someone to get me an apple has turned into an internal battle of self-worth and fear. The fear of losing control and allowing someone to hurt me can ruin my life. But controlling people, relationships, my career, my entire future, is about as fruitless as trying to control the two terrorist kitties you see sleeping in the picture above. And no one can control those two.

I am aware this is all very shocking news, very unsuspecting of me to have control issues. Everyone is mind-blown. (enter sarcasm here).

But apples will be apples, right?

"I think I'm quite ready for another adventure"....

(Photo Credit: Google Images, Arenal Volcano) 

.... Costa Rica! On a whim, and like most of my trips recently, I found it, bought it and started planning it all in a few hours. A trip to Niagara Falls turned into a nine day tour with G Adventures to Central America. Impressive, no? So it seems the travel bug has not only bitten and infected me, it also won out over reason and logic. My poor Visa is feeling the effects of my impulses.

But isn't life more interesting that way? If everything is so carefully planned and calculated it can suck the excitement right out of it. That's not to say I don't like to plan, I do like a list or two, but that's because I like to use fancy pens and pretty paper. But I find the planning is most fun when it's a spur of the moment decision, like mine to take off to San Jose. Though an impulsive buy, the trip doesn't take place till at least the fall, so I suppose it's not exactly a last minute departure. My trip to Texas was much more last minute, decided and bought about three weeks before we left.

The challenge with this trip will be dodging all of the ailments that come with it. Malaria, Cholera, Dengue Fever and various forms of Hepatitis. If you don't know anything about me, as much as I love to travel and I love food, travel and food are not things that love my stomach. I have a finicky digestive system, plagued with lactose intolerance and IBS whenever it feels like flaring up. So travel mixed with foreign foods has never been good to me. I usually end up mildly uncomfortable for most of the trip but nothing significant enough to put a damper on the experience. Cholera is probably one of those trip-ruining things, and as the description of it says:

"The diarrhea starts suddenly, and pours out of you. It's characteristically described as 'rice water' diarrhea because it is watery and flecked with white mucus. Vomiting and muscle cramps are usual, but fever is rare. In its most serious form, it causes a massive outpouring of fluid (up to 20L a day)."

Can't say that sounds exciting. The phrase: pours out of you... something about that makes me rather uncomfortable.Of course, explosive diarrhea is only one of the concerns, I'd rather that than Malaria. But, the chance of small danger makes it that much more of an adventure. I'm actually going somewhere outside of the Western world as I know it. I've been to Europe a few times and the States plenty but this is a culture I've never experienced before. Sure, it's still part of the Americas, sits on the same continent as I do, but an entirely different world none-the-less. I am so excited it's all I can think about. For as long as I can remember Costa Rica was on my top "places" lists. I mean, the world is on my life list of places to see, but I've always been drawn to that place in particular, out of anywhere tropical anyway.

The dates have yet to be solidified but as the plans form I'll be sure to post with updates. Not only am I travelling to an unknown world, I finally have found someone who is willing to take it on with me.

A Nebraskan Jaunt

(Photo Credit: Google Images - Andy Lim)

As beautiful and ceremonious as they are - many people hate weddings. Probably because it reminds them of their own misery, whether it be loneliness or some kind of hatred towards the opposite sex and the idea of "forever". I, on the other hand, like weddings. I will agree that the cost of a wedding is outrageous and unnecessary and there is definitely too much emphasis on the whole "show" of it all but I like it all the same. I can't help but look at wedding themes and dresses and rings and venues and food and decoration... it's attractive. Especially to a woman in her 20s and during wedding season. Most female friends of mine also spend some of their time surfing the web browsing through wedding websites and photos. The market is definitely geared towards women - to suck us into believing we need the whole she-bang to be happy and have the perfect day. And as much as I've admitted to being a victim of all the advertising... my own wedding will probably not resemble anything like the fairytale TLC broadcasts or the picturesque image theknot.com has created. Hopefully, someday, my own wedding will reflect what I witnessed this past weekend - a couple truly dedicated to one another, binding themselves as one under the authority of God in love and devotion.

The ceremony was beautiful. Amanda glowed as she floated down the isle and the pure joy on Scott's face will forever be ingrained in my memory. Young couple, young romance, but a romance that will stand the tests of time, I am certain of it. There was no question of doubt or uncertainty in their minds, it was obvious they knew they were meant to be. The pastor's speech was not for the congregation but rather for the bride and groom. It was personal, it was heartfelt, and it was honest. The words he spoke were true. He discussed the highs and lows of a marriage, the reality that not always things will be perfect, and he drove home the importance of love and co-operation. The submission of a wife to her husband and in turn, the submission of the husband to his wife. No one likes the words submission and I am one of them. The idea of submitting to someone else irks me and immediately I am uncomfortable. I blame the era for this - the individualistic mentality of society and the greed which surrounds it. Despite this discomfort, it's true. When marrying someone you are putting someone else first. You are committing to being one person - a whole - and that takes submission. It was beautifully said. The pastor's words to Scott were, "This is a serious calling - The Bible is calling you to love your wife the way Jesus loves his church...which means to lay down your life for her's as Jesus died for his people". That statement hit hard. The truth of it was moving as I sat there and realized that Scott would willingly die for Amanda in a heartbeat. The tears were swelling in my eyes and I noticed Brittany sniffling away beside me. It was beautiful.

My short trip to Nebraska was engulfed by the wedding - we didn't really do much except browse the mall and hang out with Amanda, but that is exactly what I wanted it to be. I wanted it to be a trip dedicated to a friend who was making the ultimate sacrifice - marriage. She gave herself up as an individual to be united with Scott forever. That is one of the most admirable acts one can witness and I don't think many people realize the importance of such an act. I know I didn't until this weekend.



As an aside, my baby died a year ago today. I thought long and hard about whether I would write a post dedicated to him or not and I decided not. Just a small tribute at the end of an uplifting message to let him know I haven't forgotten. I miss you everyday, Ginger, you were my little furry life companion. xox

Hobbit Potential

(Photo Credit: Me of me!)

"As for the Hobbits of the Shire.......they dressed in bright colours, being notably fond of yellow and green; but they seldom wore shoes, since their feet had tough leathery soles and were clad in a thick curling hair, much like the hair of their heads, which was commonly brown. Thus, the only craft little practised among them was shoe-making; but they had long and skilful fingers and could make many other useful and comely things. 

Their faces were as a rule good-natured rather than beautiful, broad, bright-eyed, red-cheeked, with mouths apt to laughter, and to eating and drinking. And laugh they did, and eat, and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day (when they could get them). They were hospitable and delighted in parties, and in presents, which they gave away freely and eagerly accepted."

Tolkien's words describe them best but I must say that my face - the picture above - is the perfect visual to match. I am not willing to photograph my feet and/or from the neck down to prove how short/plump I am on the world wide inter-web. I can save myself at least some dignity, can't I? But I have the dark curly hair, the "good-natured" look, my bright eyes (they aren't so bright in this image, my iPhone is limited, okay?!), my "broad" cheeks, my mouth apt to laughter and especially eating and drinking. Also, my cheeks turn a brilliant red when I ingest alcohol, which Hobbits tend to do quite often. There, the perfect fit! I am also a fan of bright coloured clothing. 

As a kid I used to ride around on my bike pretending it was a horse and that I was the brave Samwise Gamgee galloping around Middle Earth. Unfortunately for me, and my equally nerdy friends, there were no female hobbit heroes. Immediately identifying with the Hobbits wasn't hard, though, despite our gender differences. They were the main characters, of course, and every child wants to be the hero. I picked Sam and not Frodo because in my little girl heart I felt he was the real star - the friend who rescued Frodo from himself and helped carry him up the mountain to the fires of Mordor to destroy the great ring. He was also pure of heart, loyal, naive and honest. To me, he embodied the perfect friend. And unlike most little girls, I didn't identify to the gender stereotyping, as my favourite toys consisted of a plastic airport, tonka trunks and violent video games. So I suppose it was appropriate that my identity lay in the male character who adventured across a mythical land to save the world. Not much has changed in the way of my imagination. Except, you know, I've accepted I'm female. :) 

A casting call for extras on the Hobbit. My dream? Yes. Unattainable? Of course. But this whole post was inspired by someone within reach of that dream that I happen to know. He will be an elf if he gets it, which would be equally cool although my physical requirements would not match, at all, and neither would my demeanour really. Elves are graceful, beautiful, gentle, and soft.... I am none of those. One of my boyfriend's loving nicknames for me is a bull. When I completed the sentence with "Bull in a China shop?", he said, "No, just a bull in general". And he is correct. So my elf dreams are better laid to rest. I suppose I could be Eowyn, her rough, badass behaviour isn't too far fetched from my own. And in days where women had no rights and were lesser than men, I wouldn't be surprised if I pretended to be a man to get what I want - similar to Queen Hatshepsut or even Cleopatra (who at one point, pretended to be a man to solidify power). 

But hobbit is probably most suiting. Among Adam's other "loving" names for me is "my little homunculus" - which means:

ho·mun·cu·lus/həˈməNGkyələs/

Noun:  

A very small human or humanoid creature.

A supposed microscopic but fully formed human being from which a fetus was formerly believed to develop.

Or "my little Hobbit", depending on his mood. I've fought him on both these definitions but sadly I regret that I may finally succumb to my doom. At least I would fall into the category of the four Hobbits who left the Shire as I am a restless type and don't like to stay put very long before I need another adventure. Causing a raucous in the village would also be my speciality and trouble would find me as it always does in real life except I imagine it would be more exciting in Middle Earth rather than the boring stupidity of Ottawa. Yes, I must say Hobbit fits. 

Once Upon a Time?

(Photo taken by me)

There was a time when you couldn't catch me dead wearing shoes like these. My attire consisted of boys cargo pants, baggy sweaters with lizards on them and sneakers covered in a thick crust of mud. My idea of the perfect life was to be independent, single, and travelling the world alone like a true hero. Men were of no concern and women were a mere annoyance most times save the exceptional few. And when I say men, I mean boys, and when I say women I mean girls. As these were the thoughts of a 10 year old. But my, how things have changed...

Except not really.

Save the softening of my cold little girl's heart (which was never cold in the first place, I just liked to pretend it was), the change in outlook on relationships in general - men turned out to be not-so-bad and women eventually grew on me - and the evolved feminine appearance... nothing has really changed. My childhood imagination still lives on, maybe things don't appear in rainbow colours splattered with glitter and fairies, but it still dreams of adventure, heroes, far-off lands and magic-like places. There are days when all I think about for hours are all the undiscovered places I haven't been.

I dream of Ireland. The rolling hills of brilliant green, the crumbling castles, the old country homes, the daunting cliffs... there's a romance about Ireland that I can relate to much better than the kind of romance Paris offers. Of course, I wouldn't complain about visiting Paris either but Ireland reaches my heart in a way that the big city cannot. Maybe it's the people I would hope to encounter, the down-to-earth nature, or the vastness of the countryside I love so much. Ireland has the romantic appeal that draws me but Egypt has the adventure that thrills. There's something mysterious and almost sinister about Egypt. The dark history of the pyramids, the ominous Sphinx, the violence of the Nile, the emptiness of the desert... more than romance I crave adventure. I know Egypt is very over-populated, quite dangerous politically speaking, and over-dug by archaeologists but in my heart of hearts I still hope to find something undiscovered. The Temple of Karnak must still hold a secret or Luxor a hidden gem. Despite Egypt's vastly different religious beliefs (historically speaking) than my own and their ancient tendency of enslaving the Hebrews (my ancestors, I suppose), Egypt holds a special place in my heart. A little girls dream that never faded with time and will always forever exist until completed. But the jungles of the Amazon call my name. The humidity, the overwhelming foliage, the exotic species, it beckons me. I am taunted by the Peruvian textiles, the climb to Machu Picchu, the mountainous landscape and the rare jewellery. I am made restless by the endless options.

If I had my way I'd go to all of those places and more. Ideally I'd hit every possible place I could go. Those are only a few of the destinations I yearn to see. Growing up I never wanted to settle down, have a permanent residence, get married or have children. All I wanted to do was wander the planet and discover the ancient world. Of course, now that I am older I wouldn't mind a house, getting married and maybe even having children - although those aren't a particular desire. But I still want to wander. I still lust over the adventure and unknown. However, I don't want to do it alone.

Gifts from a boy...

(Photo Credit: Taken by me :))

I read an interesting article yesterday. Of course, the article was based on the ever-popular Valentine's Day. The only reason I opened it up is because it came from National Geographic - an odd source for a Valentine's article, I thought at least. But my nerdy habits have me checking the National Geographic website almost daily and I couldn't help but feed the temptation to read the blurb about a holiday that isn't really a holiday. And of course it was something ridiculous.

Did you know that Valentine's Day was actually a pagan holiday before Christians took it over? I'm sure you aren't surprised considering that is how many other holidays came to be. Apparently on this day, in ancient Rome, men would strip naked, use a whip either made from goat or dog skin and "spanked" women in hopes it would improve their fertility. The day was called "Lupercalia". I am a little relieved practice no longer exists. It is interesting to see how far Valentine's Day has evolved since then. Now it's about romance, making sure your significant other is showered with gifts and love.

I've always been somewhat neutral to the celebration. When I was younger it was a much bigger deal. Up until I was 15 Valentine's Day was huge. Who didn't love giving your entire kindergarten class Valentine's and receiving a bag full of your own? Or the kids' parents who made treats, that was always the best. And then of course as I grew Valentine's Day became a staple in any young teenage relationship. I remember the hand-made card my very first boyfriend gave me on my first Valentine's day with a significant other. And I also remember being 16 and shovelling ice cream down my throat with my best friend as we spent the day single but together. After that, it didn't seem like a big deal. No ex-boyfriend of mine really dedicated time or effort to the day and who can blame them? To be honest, I'd rather get flowers, or chocolates, or dinner out for no reason than feel like he was forced into it by the pressure of society. Of course, those things have never happened to me either, but still.

My primary love language happens to be Words of Affirmation. I know a lot of people don't believe in that stuff but it is most certainly true for me. As much as gifts, quality time, physical touch and acts of service are things that are important to me, words of affirmation comes first. I love to give gifts, I feel it is a way to show appreciation, but my favourite form of a gift is something hand-made and drowning in meaningful words. I don't need grand gestures or fancy items, though those things are nice, all I need is a card with warm, heart-felt words hand-written inside and I am ecstatic. It is interesting to see love languages collide and manage to work together. For example, my boyfriend's is definitely Acts of Service. He has done so many things - large and small - that I have lost count. I appreciate every action, I try to recognize every action, and I try to thank him for it. Even carrying my bags to the house when he drops me off is something to take note of. He just glows at the opportunity to do something for someone else. And I know he appreciates it when I do something small in return- like make him a coffee or grab him dessert without asking. I'm not sure this is my strongest form of showing love - probably not since I'm a wordy-kinda-person, but I like to think I try. But what I want to praise here is his effort to use mine. No, he hasn't written me love letters or fancy cards, but he reminds me on a daily basis that he loves me, that I'm beautiful, and I'm a wonderful person all around. He makes sure to reassure me when I need it, even if I have to express that I need it, and he does it with ease and without hesitation or irritation. His patience with me seems endless and I honestly don't know how he does it. The items depicted above are a combination of my birthday and Christmas. I love them, they are perfectly suited for me and well-thought out. But they are only a small representation of the wonderful things he gives me all the time. So I suppose this is a Valentine's Day post - a post to recognize and appreciate the significant other in my life who is more than good to me. We may not do things the traditional way - we didn't "celebrate" Valentine's Day as a romantic day, instead we had heart shaped pizzas with my best friends - but I know what we have is meaningful. And no Hallmark company is going to tell me otherwise.

Charging Buffalos

(Photo/Drawing: by me)

I have decided to take a course! It is mostly to push me back into doing something that I have always loved to do. I stumbled across it while surfing the Algonquin website for the kicks. Of course the title, "Drawing at the museum of Nature" caught my eye instantly. A combination of two loves? Yes please.

Since high school my artistic drive has gone out the window. Not because I allowed my passion to die but simply because it was swallowed by the mass amount of papers, reading and studying caused by University. I was taught other things, refined my writing skills (or so I hope to believe) and expanded my view of the world in general. But time was not something I had the luxury of. I didn't read for fun, I didn't pick up my pencils and draw for hours, I didn't pull out my easel on a whim... none of those things were options. I'm not really complaining, any spare time I did have I spent sleeping or trying to be social and I think those things are important too. University was rewarding in many ways and I parted with new skills under my belt. But old habits die hard and the art bug has reared it's ugly head once more.

I suppose it would be unfair to say that I left all arts behind once I embarked on my University adventure. I did scrapbook, and scrapbook I did. Hours poured into sorting, organizing, glueing and designing pages of pictures and cut outs. It was easy to lose myself in it, feed my nostalgic side and ease the stress of life weighing down on me. It was something new and different that I temporarily replaced drawing and painting with. It was easy to drop in a second and pick up in a moment. It isn't that easy with other mediums.

So I have decided to take a course. A course that will help me refine my skills and re-teach me many of the things I have forgotten as my talent whittled with age. So far so good, I think. I was worried I would walk in there and forget how to draw the basic shapes. That I had lost all the experience I gathered over the years and reverted back to childhood drawings. I think I did alright, not wonderful or anything, but I was never an amazing artist to begin with. The sketch above was the first attempt that class. I moved onto a moose, a more detailed buffalo and even the head of a bison. They were all mediocre but better than I had hoped. The charcoal and graphite sticks just moved instinctively, as if I were born holding them. Despite the screaming children, the playful toddlers, and the photo-clicking tourists I was able to focus. I would like to say I'm an already focused person. But the real focus, the deep concentration, has only ever come through art. I'm lost in it, found in it, and live in it. There's a sense of invincibility that comes with it. The surrounding world can't touch me and I can live in a space available only to me. The sensation is freeing.

I have found my calm. A calm otherwise only provided by God and maybe even this is God's way of giving it more easily to me. Otherwise, outside of that element I am more like.... a charging buffalo.

An Introduction

(Photo Credit: James Appleton - nationalgeographic.com)

So far, I've avoided mushy, emotional, and insightful posts displaying vulnerability. But I love this photograph. And it has inspired a post of honesty and introductions into my heart and the intimacy of my life.

I was once described as a mixture of a volcano and a hurricane. I have been described as many things before, this one on a few occasions, and I happen to agree. Sometimes I am a mixture of those two natural disasters. A massive eruption, sometimes short-lived like a hurricane, and sometimes long, slow and just as damaging as a volcano. Although if you're familiar with volcanoes they can also be abrupt, cause massive destruction and leave devastated cities in it's wake. Of course, I've never obliterated cities, I'm not exactly Attila the Hun, but I do give fair warning that if I'm really triggered (and it doesn't take much to get me worked up), but I mean, if a fury ensues, just let me go and get out of the way. That is really the idea of a natural disaster. Take cover, head for the hills, go into a lock-down if ever one occurs within your proximity. But this photograph doesn't scream "DANGER" to me. It's a beautiful fire. A fire that draws you in. I always lean closer to my computer screen to try and get a better look. I would love to stand where the photographer stood. I wouldn't be running, not like I always imagined I would if I were to witness a "natural disaster". Of course, the Northern Lights really add to the magnificence of this image. In some ways, I identify more with this image then I would with a more violent eruption. I suppose that entirely depends on my mood. If I'm angry, then something much more angry would be the appropriate photograph but in general I think this one fits a little better. I'm not pretending I'm some sort of anomaly, a "natural beauty", but more identify as a reflection of personality, demeanour, and position in general.

It's a mixture of sympathy, empathy, compassion, love, passion, hatred, fury and anger all thrown together to create this picture. It mixes well, actually. The two extremes can coincide and exist as one, cooperatively, neither dominating the other. I can almost see the two sometimes fighting to overcome the other, one burning more brightly to show off it's power. When I look inward, I see this photo. I see all the rage, all the passionate hate and love fighting to co-exist, all the beauty, all the curiosity, all the compassion... all of it brewing, creating the person I am today. I am a passionate person. I generally don't feel with apathy, if I take a position, I take it strongly. Not to say that every little thing I take very seriously, I choose my battles. I choose what to love with greatness and hate with force. But it all flares up. I can be a bit extreme, although I have calmed down significantly since getting over hormone imbalances and growing up out of teenage-hood.

I witnessed the Northern Lights only about a month ago. I was standing in the country, in a snow-spotted field, in the middle of the night with a boy and we watched as the sky moved in colours of pink and green. At first it was subtle, so subtle that I almost missed it. It seemed sort of like a trail left behind from an airplane. Until the mist started to fade in and out and reappear in streaks downward towards the ground. Of course, the brain that is half tomboy started screaming "Alien plasma?" with a mild excitement, but logical, female side of me knew better than to speak that outloud. I was so excited I called my dad to tell him. It has always been a dream of mine to travel up North to see the lights. I even mentioned it to the boy I was standing with.

Similarly when I see the photo above I think of him. I imagine we're a mixture of the two great sights. Sometimes I am the lights and he the volcano and vise versa. Immediately I identify with the volcano and place him as the Northern Lights although that is not always true. However, I am more eruptive then he. He would be more like a dormant volcano, sleeping in wait for the perfect moment to explode. I am much more active. I spit and rumble frequently, only erupt with fury every-so-often but not every million years. More like hundreds. He is much more calm, like the sky. The lights flicker in and out, beautifully, gently, with the night. He is much more gentle than I. Much less excitable, much less invasive and much less loud than the quite extreme me. Of course, this does not mean he is complacent about everything in life. When worked up, though rare, he is just as passionate as I, and just as loud. He even arm flails on occasion, which is always entertaining. But I love his calm demeanour. His gentle, care-free, compassionate attitude. He is patient with my flares of emotion, no matter what it is, and manages to shrug me off when it's needed. If I were with someone like myself, we would kill each other. Our fits of rage, competitive tendencies, and struggle for dominance would ensue someone's death (I like to think it wouldn't be mine). And I am not the type who necessarily wants dominance in the relationship, it's more that it would be a struggle for me to relent to someone who is like me. The significant other needs to be able to calm me, be my reasonable, rationale half when I am in a frenzy. That I cannot find in someone who is just as easily blinded by passion as I am. Which is why he fits rather nicely.

His boyish charm is what got me first. He's tall, lanky - sinewy - and carries a goofy grin. His loud-speaker laughter echoes down the hall and his light outlook carries him. The shyness adds to the boyish charm. It's not reclusive, rather hesitant and a little wary of his surroundings before taking the first step forward. He approaches with an observant attitude rather than my loud, bold and in-your-face advance upon meeting new people. His lack of care towards outter appearances is more than admirable. His attire of baggy sweatpants, up until recently, burned and paint splattered, hole-y tee-shirts and broken zippers on hoodies doesn't bother him in the least, or myself. It's endearing, part of his boyish nature, despite his adult maturity that accompanies it. He's light and fun. Caring and resourceful. Intelligent and eager to learn. Always ready to help anyone who needs it. He brings a balance to my rather different personality, and meshes with my interests. It's been about six months, and to be honest I've lost track as it seems like just yesterday and forever all at the same time, and there is already a chemistry I cannot explain. This could turn out to be the perfect love story. A story I could write about, make women swoon over, and retell to my possibly future children. Or this could be a story of heartbreak, tears, anger, screaming and months of misery. Either way, it's something I'll be able to write about.

Oh, and his name is Adam.