Fathers be good to your daughters...

This is the first attempt at a story that could fill volumes. It is with great courage, and not without fear that I begin to tell this tale.

The most challenging thing about moving is losing superficial comfort. In the absence of being surrounded by things that can in some ways soothe you - the presence of a friend who understands, a hug from someone who cares, the relaxation of a flavour or place that just feels familiar- you realize just how uncomfortable you are in your own skin.

Some days, my discomfort excites me as I realize that it makes me reach harder, further, faster to establish myself in my newly-proclaimed home. But on some days, it wears uncomfortably upon me like a wool sweater on a warm day, yet here there is no way to simply shed a layer, release and relax. Yet somehow, stewing deep in discomfort, you find pieces of yourself, reflections deep at the bottom of the pool you knew were there, but had never seen.


In recent weeks the right set of circumstances has lead me to a realization years in the making. The overwhelming loneliness of moving to a new city, accompanied by the still enduring pain of past relationship circumstances, left me craving love, yet unable to fall vulnerable to it.

For the first time I realized that I didn't want some love affair but what I craved was the embrace of a man who unconditionally loved me, a voice on the phone that wanted to hear what I needed to say, and was willing to stay and tell me everything would be okay. I wanted someone willing to hold me, I wanted my dad.

But our relationship has never been such.

Growing up, no one really knew the story of my dad and I. I didn't tell my friends, I didn't write it in my journal nor did I admit it to myself. Instead, I was known as Boy-Crazy-Barb: swept up in the next object of desire. And in some ways, many things have not changed.

I never understood why I was so different about relationships than the girls around me. I loved with a vengeance diving head first into any love, committing myself fiercely to every man who showed some reciprocation of the wildly flaming feelings.

While my passion has lead to some beautiful interludes and affairs, it has also lead to some devastating heartaches. In therapy, my therapist made the connection quickly, I seek men like my father for the familiarity of how I was used to feeling on some level I myself believe that I seek a man like him so that I can succeed where I failed with him, and make a man just like him love me.

It has been hard in the last few years working in the same industry and at the same studios as my Dad, Everywhere I turned people were willing and eager to lecture me about how I should feel and act. I hardly blame them, for the image they saw was one of a charismatic, interesting, personable and intelligent man, different and perhaps quirky but one who cared so much for all his students and the yoga he loved.

And then the element of yoga itself, this discipline of self-understanding, righteous, noble and moral action. How could my colleagues keep quiet when seeing a young 20-something girl, who didn't talk to such an interesting father who cared so much. So I was lectured by more folks than one can imagine, told to be quiet and stop spreading false truths by teachers I admired and respected, and all the while I listened and kept mum.

"Fathers be good to your daughters..."

No one knew, not about the long, forked-tongue lashings that were routine, not about my mothers shaking hands and anorexic frame,not about my stoic brother's tears, not about the dark shadow that could emerge from the bright colorful man he was known to be. They didn't know that at my high-school graduation I broke down with violent tears when my dad walked in the door because I didn't believe that he would show. More importantly, they didn't know how much I loved him.

"Daughters will love like you do..."

When I was 5, and he asked how much I loved him I was tormented by the fact that my little arms weren't wide enough to show him the distance. I would close my eyes and imagine that my arms would leave the earth, go farther than the moon, than Jupiter, Saturn, Pluto and the stars, only then would I feel I had shown him enough. That love, so big and wide, is still within me. But my skin has had to toughen to protect from the blows.

Every missed dance performance, un-soothed broken heart, cancelled father-daughet date. Every angry voicemail, every hour long scolding for how horrible of a child I was, every time I heard he was disgusted with who I was, every time I saw a destaining look in his eyes when he looked upon me, I was hardened. My hardness and hurt began to mount to the point that I couldn't talk anymore. Only when I stopped talking, I started succeeding, and he, standing to gain from the light of congratulation, changed his tune.

And so when my colleagues saw him applauding at a competition or performance, they thought, "Wow, what pride," not knowing that applause came only with medallions and acclaim. When I was young and struggling, when I was getting my heart broken, when no one was there to witness, there was nothing but empty space, not a shoulder to cry on, not a supportive hand to help.

I realize now that this is part of the reason I wear my failures, my slip ups and trip ups harder than the rest. When I exist without achievement I feel as if I am wasting time, energy and worth. Somehow the absence of the one person I loved larger than the universe itself convinced me that without achievement, I wasn't worthy of love. What's worse, is that not only did I believe I wasn't worthy of love from others, but I didn't see myself worthy of self love.

"Girls become lovers..."

I realize that in the absence of that unconditional love I searched for it else where. Between the sheets of one night interludes, or the minutes of three week romances, or multi-month loves I searched for that feeling of validation, for that look in someone's eyes that denoted pride, love, compassion and support.

I suppose that what I had yet to realize is that it wasn't just Dad's love that was missing it was my own. What has been missing over the years is my own voice telling me that I am loved, that I am worthy, that I am enough just as I am, without achievement without success without accolade or praise.

"That turn into mothers...."

But I am working on it. After hours in a small green therapist's den, reading and researching, writing and weeping I am slowly -still have a way to go- finding my peace. For the first time in my life I have moved beyond resentment, frustration and outrage and begun to feel sadness and mourn the passing of a father's presence from my life.

In coming to slowly understanding him, his struggles and his pain has helped me ben thankful, as I realize that my love for this man has made me.

Seeking to right the wrongs in his life, to love him back to life - will make me a better journalist as I seek to finally right some injustice in the world.

Learning to accept who he truly is - will make me more compassionate a woman, a journalist, a lover, a mother, a friend, and daughter.

Acknowledging the gifts he gave me - will help me soar father than I ever thought possible.

Seeking to achieve and to feel worthy - is why I WILL live in New York, doing what I love and dream to do.

Knowing how his hand, tongue and absence effected me - will make me forever want to give back, to women, to girls and make sure that my children will not suffer the same way at the hands of me or their father.

"So mothers be good to your daughters too."

Step two...

An exact twenty pages into my spiritual journey, I got stuck. It went a little something like this:

Book: "We seek help for what we cannot face or accomplish alone; in seeking help we accept our powerlessness. And in that acceptance and the acknowledgment that we are not in control, spirituality is born."

Barb: "Hold up, wait a minute, don't go there cuz' I ain't with it!!"

There it was, smack in my face almost as if in bold print, the slanderous message : You are powerless, you are not in control.

This has always been my problem with religion, and has also been a huge hurdle in my own discovery and understanding of my own spirituality. I simply cannot agree that humans are powerless to some all knowing God who plays upon his/her/it's puppet strings.

In fact the only way I began to make peace with the idea of being spiritual in the first place , was the belief that human beings are made in God's image. If that is the case then there must be some peice of Godly-ness within us. In some way we must all be Gods, each a different facet of divinity.

Yet the spiritual truth on page twenty, was seemed to be telling me differently. Confused, I wrote to my therapist, and as usual in a few sentances he put the thing into perspective.

He says our powerlessness refers to our ego admitting that it is powerless to our spiritual self. That our inherant spirituality, our inherant divinity is the true power within us and that our ego does not in fact have any control.

My friend Alex further contributed, "If there is divinity in each one of us, then we truly are not in control because we each have the same power within."

Slowly I began to come around.

I guess my acceptance of my lack of control, is a direct result of realizing that each time I have tried to control my life nothing but the worst has come out of it. I tried to MAKE relationships work when they were fraying at the seams, I tried the MAKE friendships work that were taking advantage of me, I tried to MAKE people love me, I tried to MAKE myself love activities that weren't a part of my destiny.

And each-time I have tried to control my life or its outcomes, be it in a relationship or in the pursuit of a specific end I thought I desired, I have come out the other-side beaten and battered, bruised and bemused, questioning 'Where did I go wrong?'

So, while I refuse to relinquish my own sense of accountability I feel that I am ready to open my mind to having a little bit of faith. Maybe, that guy didn't call after the first date because the relationship would lead to another shattering heartache, maybe my passion isn't coming for a certain activity because I should be following something I love more, maybe an opportunity falls through the cracks because the lesson learned will lead to paths with greater vistas. 

I am not yet comfortable with the idea of 'God', but in my present exhaustion, I am willing to trust a sense of karma or justice, if you will, to the workings and ways of the world. Furthermore, I am willing to sacrifice the bravado of my ego to some spiritual light that lies within. I don't think I understand that light, its nature or its profound-ness, but I am willing to bend my mind to the idea that there is a place of faith within me that is willing to surrender my sense of control to the idea, to the faith that everything will be alright, that it will all work out in the end, and when it doesn't it just isn't the end. 

Gentlemen brace yourselves, we're talking about kids here....

If you would ask my mother, she would tell you she does not regret her marriage. Even after years of heartache and abuse she would tell you that it brought her two children she loves ("and likes" she always adds) and allowed her to come to Canada. But if she had one regret, it would not be the length of time she allowed the relationship go on, nor would it be not standing up for herself more often; instead, it would be the pain that her two children endured as a result of her relationship.

My mother, like many others, would endure all pain, and sacrifice the world for her children. In fact, if you would ask her why she endured the pain of her marriage so long, she would say it was partly because of her love for my father,but mostly because she thought it was best for her children.

And so, she was able to do what mothers do best and everyday: put their children first. Yet I wonder if this is ability is exclusive to women who have had children, or if even those who have yet to give birth are able to make decisions and personal sacrifices on account of their future children.

"I just kept thinking what marriage would be like," said a friend of mine as we discussed her recent break-up. "I realized he would make such a terrible father, his children would hate him and resent him for the rest of his lives." The thought of that resentment helped drive her to her final decision and break off the relationship. As she confessed a light bulb went off in my head and I was pulled back to a conversation I had many months ago.

"Every woman in my family has been cheated on," I explained to my ex's brother."And a part of me thinks, if this guy ends up being the one, how do I turn to a daughter and say, 'Its okay honey, Daddy cheated on me too, but it was only once, you get through these things with time."

"Uh, Barb," he responded, severely uncomfortable. "I think its little too early to be talking about kids here."

But he didn't get it. And how could a man? Somehow I felt and continue to feel, that I owe something to the children I will one day bear. I see the way that the choices of my mother and grandmothers has shaped my life and I realize what a responsibility and opportunity I have in the life I create for my future kids.

I realize that I have the chance to re-write my family history, chose differently for my children than my mother was able to chose for me. I have the benefit of a western upbringing, of years of women's rights, a Canadian education, the opportunity to learn about myself through yoga and a GREAT therapist. All of that means that for the first time, I have the opportunity to chose a man who will not be narcissistic, misogynistic or abusive.

And each time I chose a man, I feel the weight of that responsibility (so, results so far have yet to show this...but I am trying, ok!?). At times, when I have found myself hanging on so desperately to relationship fraying at the seams I, like my friend, have turned to thoughts of future children to find the strength to say, "Enough."

While there is a certain sweetness to the idea of how children can save their mothers, there is a cruelty in it as well. It strikes me as tragic that so many women are find themselves thinking that they could endure the heartache, hardship, devastation or abuse, and would not put an end to it out of empowerment or self-worth but out of trying to save a child.

"Its true," agreed my friend."I could deal with his shit, I could figure out how to handle it and deal with all of it, but the thought of a helpless baby, or a defenseless child in the situation would make me end the relationship."

I think that the bond of motherhood is beautiful, and I think that it is incredible that even childless women can call upon unborn children for the strength to rise against an abusive spouse. But I look forward to the day that I and others can make that decision for ourselves because we value our hearts, our minds, spirits and bodies enough to stand up for our own self worth without searching for a reason outside of ourselves to put ourselves first.

I will continue to look to my unborn children for inspiration to make sound decisions both in my relationships and life. But I hope that when my girls grow up, I will have made such good decisions on their behalf that they will be able to make their own sound decisions upon the same thing that inspires me: their future happiness and self-worth.

Let the journey begin...

One of my New Years Resolutions was to deepen my understanding of my own spirituality.

When I was young being spiritual meant that I got to get dressed up in pretty dresses on Sundays, stare at beautiful paintings on a ceiling and sing with a bunch of people in a gorgeous Cathedral in the German countryside. On holidays there were rituals, walking through the countryside while holding candles, and more singing. 

But when I came to Canada, no one dressed up like they did in Europe, wood panelling replaced the paintings of the cathedral and there were no interesting rituals that allowed me to handle fire at age six. Bored, I defected from the church.

For years, I didn't think of spirituality. Not until I fell head over heels for my biggest high-school crush. A profoundly Christian boy (and now man) he would send me forwards about the glory of God, and the more often I received them, (and the more he rejected me) I began to question what a lack of "godliness" was doing to me my future and the type of real-estate I would end up with in the afterlife (clouds and feathers or coal and whips.... I wonder if you could have both? Feathers and whips, sound much more fun....but I digress)

Anyways.

Fast forward a couple of years, age 17 and still spiritually confused,  I start taking yoga. For the first time I begin to feel like perhaps there really is something within me that has a capacity for a deeper sense of spiritual understanding. So I pursued it, and among studying yoga, going to teacher training and reading some great books I began to get a semblance of a spiritual understanding. The past six years have left me convinced that there is something larger than facts, something more complete linking all of us together, but I... just... can't..... put.... my finger on what/how/who that is... 

You see here lies the problem.

While I have experienced a feeling of levitation in large group meditations, have practiced and witnessed the power of manifestation, and  have read and watched enough material to understand that Western science is slowly beginning to prove the power of perception, of manifestation and even point towards one source energy, I still feel lost.

I feel lost because somehow I feel like I need for my spirituality to have some sort of definition. I would really appreciate if someone could provide me a mug-shot of exactly what this source energy is, pass me a manual and just tell me how the hell to wrap my head around it. 

And no, I don't want a door to door Christian or Jehovah's Witness. In fact my education in the history of religion really prevents me from moving forward and discovering the potential of my spirituality. Every time some kind of "creator", "God", "Almighty" is mentioned it is as if the alarm goes off in my brain and instantly alerting my ears to shut down stop listening and deny all understanding of what is being said.

And while I am admittedly adverse to religion, I crave spiritual understanding. I need to know. I need to know and feel that we are all somehow connected. I need to know that somewhere divinity exists, that there is such thing as some sort of universal justice, some sort of greater power that gives to us, that there is more to us than simply flesh and bone. But I need to have a framework for that understanding. And within that understanding I need answers to certain questions. 

How can I believe in a greater power, when I believe that ultimately we control our destinies? Furthermore can you be powerless and yet responsible?

How can I have faith that someone looks over us when there is so much injustice in world that continues to swell to epic proportions?

How can I understand what "God" is if there is if all definitions of him/her/it are so abstract?

How, when raised in a world of facts and evidence, can I trust simple feelings and ambiguous ideas to form belief?

To start my therapist has asked me read a book called the Spirituality of Imperfection... and I plan to keep you all posted on the issues that come up as I read. But for the moment, anyone have any thoughts? I would love to hear...

Quote of the Day...

"Small dreams make small people"

- Sean

Happy Happy 2009...

The minute the clock struck 12 on NYE my close friend Laurie broke into a smile and proclaimed that a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders. Yet I felt mine tighten just a little (which I attempted to remedy with a bottle of sparkling wine, note to self: wine is for the sharing, not guzzling).

Don't get me wrong I love New Years, and the symbolic turning of a calendar page that makes us feel as if we can all start anew. I get wildly superstitious and believe that "The way you ring in the New Year is the way you will spend it." So I go out of my way to ensure I do something I want.

But as 2008 left I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. I had some of the best moments of my life in the last year, so I was sad to see it go, but I was also struck by the realization of what 2009 would entail.

You see while I travelled around the world, while I danced and bent my body in yoga class I also bought time. For many years I had taken time out to just build 'self understanding' while dreaming big dreams and doing nothing about it. Yet now, I realize I have to act.

2008 was a year of learning, a year of therapy, seeing my homeland, gaining insight through the crash and burn of some relationships and the thriving of others and now I feel like I "get" it more. Like I understand what I have to "do" in order to truly create the life that I want for myself.

But, can I tell you a secret?

I AM SCARED SHITLESS.

Truly. Every time I pick up a pen to write, a phone to call a friend, go to interview a person, step out my front door, I feel a level of sheer terror. Its as if every-time I go to act and take the reigns to steer my own life, I hit the equivalent of a marathon runner's "wall" and feel like turning around, running straight home to Vancouver, climbing under my bed, hanging out with my favorite high heels and never, ever coming out.

But I am determined to do it. I am determined to take the steps to truly become the woman I want to be, and step on to the path that will lead to my dreams. I do not apologize for having dreamed big, but now I must act big to make those dreams a reality.

So, here I go, one unsure foot in-front of another.

I have decided to include more of my journey within these "pages", and I hope you will join me for the ride.

Top Ten Moments of 2008...plus a few

Runners Up...

New Years Eve, 2008
Smoking green for the first time with Laurie and killing myself laughing. Cooking great local food, binging on that food and falling asleep content on the quite hillside of Bowen Island.

Seabus Rides in Vancouver... any one, any time I just love watching the city and the mountains loom closer....ahhhh

Girls night with Laura in Zurich. Sex and the City + Champagne + Paris' hotest DJ + Zurich's most adventurous femme fatale= made for one of the best nights out EVER

In no particular order...

10) February 27th 2008... New York City, USA
Dressed in a metal shirt (if you could call it that), white skinnies, my MiuMius and hot pink lipstick, I hit the town with my favorite of favorite ladies Nuala, met up with some mutual friends and rocked the martinis at Marquee.... fast forward 8 hours and I was on the bus from Hoboken to Long Island, watching the sun rise over the Manhattan skyline grinning ear to ear. Fun times.

9) May 27 -29th 2008...Gimmelweld, Switzerland
So Switzerland was full of highs. It is tough to choose between strolls by lake Zurich and cake at Sprungli, but out of all of it Gimmelweld and the Lauterbrunnen Valley were the highlight. Hiking in the Alps, soaking in hot tubs and listening to goat bells, biking through the valley with Danielle and visiting the Tremelbach waterfalls... nature at its best. It seemed as if I was living in a fairy-tale.

8) June 6th 2008...Venice, Italy
I got up early in the morning and wandered alone through the winding streets catching scenes with my camera. I watched the tourists and went in the opposite direction, and wound up at a fishermen's market. Walking among the amazing Venitian produce, and fresh fish with my red heels and red lipstick the fish mongerer's called to me, "Miss Red, Miss Red, smile at us please!!". I truly felt like I was in Italy, fresh food and sexy men.

7) June 12th 2008... Cortona, Italy
I made it, to the place where one of my favorite films was made. But the best moment was when I ordered an appetizer from the restaurant where Dianne Lane pens a postcard in Under The Tuscan Sun. Made of steamed Riddichio, local cheese, barley, cream and "local secrets" I died an went to heaven with each and every bite. And the wine....Oh, the wine!

6) June 14th... Cinque Terre, Italy
Basking in the sun, I decided to go for the best ocean swim of my life. Buoyant in the salty Mediterranean I feel head over heels for the sea, the rocky beaches and mountainous skylines of Cinque Terre. It was so, so incredible.

5) June 22nd 2008... Paris, France
After weeks of museums and galleries I found myself alone in Paris. After a search I found exactly what I was looking for. A beautiful cafe with gorgeous outdoor tables, the freshest of baguettes and streets bearing food, fashion and people to die for. That night Paris leapt to life and I found myself surrounded by musicians and beautiful Parisians partying in the streets. Magic... but what else did you expect it was Paris!!

4) July 1st 2008... Prauge, Czech Republic
Nikki, my cousin and I, walked over the moonlit St Charles' Bridge, we drank an absurd amount of booze at hidden martini bar in Prauge's old town. We found a guardian angel for the night, by the name of Marek, who decided to make it his duty to show us all that Prauge's nightlife had to offer. Two hours later I was salsa dancing to hip hop with a Mexican stranger who insisted on dancing the night away. Nikki and I walked back to our hostel barefoot, across the warm cobblestone in an empty Old Town Square watching the sun rise over some of the world's greatest feats of architecture, stumbling giggling and dancing all the way....

3) Sept. 2nd 2008... Toronto, Ontario
The first time I saw a Ryerson University sign, and knew, I had made it there.

2) October 12th, 2008... New York, USA
Coffee in Chelsea, dance class at Broadway Dance Center. Getting dressed to the nines, and meeting up with BDC's best looking ( and rather good dancing) dancer and having the most fun night out that in recent memory. Never, have I had so much fun dancing and connecting with someone.

1) December 6th, 2008... Toronto, Ontario
Locked out of my house, I got a hot cocoa with Nyomi. We watched "Love and Basketball" gushing over crushes and stories of love life tragedy till 4am. As I fell asleep watching the CNTower put on a very suggestive light show, I realized, I dream of this moment long ago and never thought it attainable. That I would be in one of Canada's Best Journalism Schools, in Canada's biggest city ( and oh so close to NYC) with a great friend and even greater opportunity ahead of me.

It has been a damn fine year....

infidelity and intuition

"What gives, what helps, the intuition?" asks Leslie Fiest in one of my favorite songs of all time.

I think its this very question that makes our intuition so questionable. Facts without evidence...could it be? And yet, too often the words "I knew it all along," or "I had the feeling..." grace conversations laced with regret. Those words left my mouth so many times after the events in July when an email left me knowing that my boyfriend had traded our bond in for another and cheated on me.

Few facts matter but, of them these are the few that do:

I knew....and I ignored it

When I first saw their facebook connection I knew

When she called late at nights and texted in early mornings I knew.

When he refused to introduce me to her,

When I first saw the her email accusation,

When he touched me.... I knew.

But I ignored it...

One night he crawled into bed, home later than planned, kissed my forehead and a voice inside said "He was with her," Clear as day, may as well have been written on my ceiling.

And yet, I ignored it.

Until he admitted it. Admitted that for a month he had lied to me, that when he accused me of having faltering feelings it was him who was locking himself behind bedrooms doors with a woman of reckless reputation. Admitted that it was him who had talked her out of telling me, him who had let me squirm for a month questioning why I could not connect to him when a lie so large hung over his head.

They say hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. (I question if the pain of infidelity and the scorn that it arouses is exclusive to the Y chromosome)

If I could describe what hearing those words was like, I would say that they were shattering. In a single moment everything was broken, my trust and faith, hopes and dreams for a future together, every effort, every romantic gesture, every happy memory was instantly shattered. Broken beyond repair , I felt as if I caved in the absence of all the things about us that I had used to stand tall upon; gone was this pride in a relationship that was built stepping across borders of countries, expressed in ink stain and brushstroke, suddenly all of the details did not matter. And as I crumbled I shook not only physically in my hands, but internally within my soul.

That quake, that shake, started the tsunami of destruction that left nothing untouched. I was angry, loud, lewd and violent. I hit him. I wanted to take a bat to his car, and stopped myself only because I knew that his little brother wanted it. I sent hateful messages, swore slander in his ear, I investigated and interrogated every detail. Each act was like a grain of small sand, a mere particle of the mountain of hurt that instantly arose within me. And no matter how hard I dispelled these grains of pain, no matter how many of them I spewed, those acts did nothing but scratch the surface of the injustice of infidelity.


But what was most damaging, was that tsunami also destroyed me. Blew me over and made me weak desperate for love and affection to fill the void that was left by our shattered bond. I stayed, I was swayed by the empty promises, the crocodile tears and feigned gestures of apology. Even though I still knew.... I hung on believing that from the wreckage I could still salvage the bond that once made me strong.

I listened, I waited, put my heart on hold. Until conversations turned to accusations, till name calling began and bizarre narcissistic emails commenced, till all most all promises were broken. Only then did I turn away to survey the broken pieces and let Toronto and New York mend me...

This week when I saw them walking together in the streets of Vancouver, I was not surprised. Nor was I shocked by photos of her in his arms, or his final violation of the one promise he had faked the best : that he was rid of her. Yet what did surprise me, was that in some strange way I was happy for the two of them.

The mad hatter, the compulsive liar and manipulator together with his lose mistress, 'they deserve each other,' I thought. In some weird way I am thankful to this terrible twosome.

Indeed they left me scarred, yet in wielding these wounds of experience I have learned. I have come to understand the importance of listening to whispers of wisdom that seem so fact less. Yes, I have really learned the importance of intuition

I have gained insight to what it means to be a woman. I feel that rising from the depths of such maddening heartache helps to build compassion and empathy. Like I have earned my badge to belong to the sisterhood of women done wrong, and in gaining my stripes and colours I have come to understand the bond that women all share and how we must care for each other. ( This is a whole other blog entry really)

True, there have been times when I have become unintentionally entangled in the relationships of others. There have been sad moments of fear when I realized I overstepped and became the third in a triangle of love that left me running far away in opposite directions. I regret the subsequent consequences and I will not make excuses for my actions.

In the end, despite the pain I feel privileged to have survived, to recovered and learned when so many others are not so lucky.

And at the end of the day, if nothing else, the situation makes for damn fine writing material.

Time is a ticking...

Since it is exam season I thought it appropriate to share with you my newest methods of procrastination. Wonderful Web hangouts have made themselves known to me over the past few weeks, some too good to be kept to myself. So, in the spirit of exam season I am here to share them with you all

www.jezebel.com

Run by a group of women, this site combines all things you always wanted to read but couldn't find in once place, news links, sex advice and ruthless gossip all in one fabulous blog. Many of the femme-based articles skillfully walk the line between smutty entertainment and intelligence...fun fun fun

Pot Psychology

Never in my life have I actually found something that makes me want to go and smoke something green, not until I watched this that is. It was a slow go at first but after watching a few episodes I fell hard for the hosts and their stoned antics. Those of you who are Savage Love fans, will find this equally entertaining. Rich and Tracie post weekly videos in which they answer questions under the influence of Mary Jane. Small disclaimer, if you are squeamish this is not for you, questions can tread into bizarre fetish territory, after all Tracie did write a column for Vice Magazine about how she hired a prostitute to fulfill a rape fantasy that is close to erotica.

You Tube, YouTube, YouTube

I have rediscovered my love for late 90's/early millenium R&B. Jagged Egde wearing oversized fur jackets and dancing like they're in a club to a ballad in 6/8 time... priceless.

I have also found an increadible make up artist thats inspired me to go a little further with my make up than before. While I find this useful, I fear that given the fact she only does make up on herself, it is all techniques that would be used on someone with a more caucasian eyes, so my asian sisters are a little out of luck. Still its worth a browse.

Dance videos, dance videos, dance videos.... I keep tabs on my favorites and find new ones all the time. This is how I get stoked for NYC every time.

The animations of musicANDmuffins is so heart warming that I melt everytime. My favorite, Kate Nash's Nicest Thing, a superb song and an oh so cute animation to melt your pre-exam winter woes.

Oh, Canada.

Peter Mansbridge just admitted to "dragging the puck" while waiting for Stephane Dion's address to the country in rebuttal to the creepy, creeeeeepy, disingenuous address to the nation by Stephen Harper.

"This shit is so Canadian its out of control," says my roommate, " Thank God no one gives a shit about us in the world, or I'd have to be really embarrassed for us."

Between the 80's fro of one of the political commentators, the plethora of patterns (polka-dot, plaid and pinstripe in one outfit) on another and the pseudo-apocolypitic storm over Parliment Hill in the CBC graphics, I admit I spent the coverage of the "crisis facing Canada" giggling like a school girl.

Here are my thoughts.

Since I am not a Canadian citizen yet, I cannot vote. Still, I would not have voted Conservative in the last election. That being said I am against the forming of a coalition.

Here is why...

Despite following the news, I still don't know WHY we are discussing, or creating apocolptic storm cloud graphics in the first place.

Since becoming PM Harper has set a precident for being the most secretive leader in Canada's history, keeping a tight leash on all his MP's and controlling what they say to the media with ferocity. So whenever Harper comes across a screen and makes decelerations or promises I simply cannot trust him. Especially when he is all smiles during an address during one of the most heated moments in recent Canadian politics. Though I really don't believe that Flahtery's announcements were really that terrible for the country, I don't have the confidence that there isn't soemthing hidden within the plethora of pages in the budget announcements.

Not trusting Harper is not aided by the fact that he is continuing to make misleading public statements. Things like claiming that forming a coalition is making deals with the Bloc, which has been confirmed to be not true (yes the Bloc will support the Coalition in matters of confidence, but will not be a part of writing budgets etc). As well, as making false statements that the coalition is violating the constitution of Canada....puh-lease.... every major newspaper in Canada has de-bunked that theory.

Of course then, there is the coalition of the NDP and the Liberals. Layton, the sore loser of the last election told Harper to accept his defeat and I couldn't help but think of a mustached barking chiwawa... all bark, no bite that's even worth mentioning. Then there is the disorganization of the Liberals that left them so late in handing in their taped statement to the networks who agreed to air it that it got cut off on CTV and Global. Whats more is that the tape was out of focus and so badly framed it made Dion look like a talking head.

As the daughter of immigrant parents, I have always had a particular skill for deciphering my way through an accent. Still when Dion begins to speak I get confused and spend so much time trying to figure out what he said that I miss parts of his statements. While that doesn't change my opinion that Dion is a learned individual who really could have done some interesting and great things for this country, had it not been for his poor communication skills.

In the end I feel that the only reason we're having this conversation is because the NDP are putting politics over the interest of Canadians and is acting to protect both their own salaries and funding to their parties. Yes, the conservatives have now retracted the statement that they would put an end to government funding for federal parties, however the orginal budget opened a huge window for a mighty power grab by a very defeated Dion to try and win leadership in the name of protecting the economic interests of every day citizens.

Do not be fooled this is all about money, power and regardless of what Dion tries to spatter, partizanship.

It will be interesting to see how Michelle Jean will weigh in on this...

I will be watching, and hopefully things will be more a less apocalyptic this time.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow....

So in moving to this East Coast city of mine, I realized that I have not once in my memory experienced a snow storm. Sure I've seen Vancouver pseudo-snow-storms that leave behind a slushy 10cm of snow, which leaves all West Coasters dumb and frozen with stupidity that nearly shuts down the city. But I have yet to witness a bona-fide scared-to-go-out-the-door, can't-see-you-hand-in-front-of-your-face, careful-or-you-might-freeze snowstorm. So while my other Torontonians are still bitter from the bite of last years winter that saw record snow falls, I am  jazzed that the thought that tonight, Weather Canada is predicting the first snow storm of the season.

I've got my boots, my gloves, and my game face on, ready for what promises to be an oh so fun night.

Oh! And apparently, there are blizzards around here too!! Exciting!!!

"If you are going through hell, keep going"

Good old Winston Churchill...

How can you tell that times have been rough?

I haven't been writing. My journal has been abandoned for so long that it collects dust and I have yet to post since Obama made history. 

Writing is my truth, I bleed words onto pages and screens from the very fabric of me, so whether it is a journal entry or a simple essay I need to believe that what I write is real. Its like I need words to hold something, the addition of my vowels pregnant with life and concenents sharp with truth somehow must equate some figure that leaves a mark, more than just a symbol for a sound, but something with meaning behind.

I just cannot lie when I write. 

So when things get rough, I avoid my truths but turning away from blank pages and screens in avoidance of a plague of sobering reality. Because one always knows, I know when I am deceiving myself, betraying myself, harming myself by continuing to engage in the things that pull me down, so sometimes I run from admitting hard truths.

And in the last two weeks I had reason to run.

7000 photographic memories slipped from the slippery silver disk of my hard drive into oblivion.  Yes, I endured a hard drive crash that left me crushed beyond description. Gone are, all my photos from Europe, recipes from my grandmother, poems, essays, letters and songs. 

Past affairs blazed hot and angry across my screens in voices and tones I have so desperately tried to eliminate from my life : manipulation, selfishness and greed. 

I learnt lessons the hard way, slaps of reality in my face. I slept through alarms, didn't research thoroughly enough, missed work, pulled all nighters and get so frustrated and lonely that too often I could do nothing but cry and pray that some force from the universe would provide some way forward.

I am now one article away from being done...

Where do I stand?

I am in desperate need of a pedicure, my room is a mess (there are post-its glued to the floor, making me feel like a real writer) and laundry need to be done. I haven't put on real make-up in quite a while, and I've made some startling discoveries...

I realized that this city doesn't belong to me yet. Nor do I belong to it, or Vancouver. Which is a frightening thing in the sense that I feel a bit like the littlest hobo, lost and without a place. But not all is lost. Vancouver feels like my hometown, a small place in which I grew strong enough to venture away and develop into something more. I am no longer just a high-school student, no longer just a yoga teacher no longer just a Vancouverite.

And of Toronto, I know this isn't my final destination, but more so a launch pad to New York. It's interesting that I am so determined to make NYC my final destination, but since I was 13, I just knew. There has only been one point in my life where I tried to deceive myself into thinking I would be perfectly happy going back and forth between New York and my city of residence, but that quickly boiled over. No, New York is my destiny and I have never been more certain of anything.

But Toronto, despite just being my launch pad, I want to own it too. I want it to make a mark on me. This city is more alive than my former West Coast home, festivals, events, showcases and parties happen more often with greater vibrance and so far I have yet to engage in all this city has to offer. I know little of this place, I've familiarized myself with some of its corridors, but instead of venturing further I have been desperately hanging on, white-knuckling, any feeling of familiarity. Which is understandable, but as school ends and leaves me without a structure I realize just how rootless I am.  So today I start my journey, back to writing, back to more organization and towards building a greater bond with this new home.

After a pedicure that is....

Election Musings...

Well, it is the eve of one of the most historical elections in my lifetime (if not ever), even the music on the evening news is more dramatic. Personally, I must say I am both excited, and a little terrified.

I sincerely hope that all of my American friends use their votes wisely, go out and make their voices heard tomorrow.

That being said as a "Canadian" or at least permanent resident of this country I feel a mix of emotions.

For one, I feel that the world needs America to elect Obama. In some ways I feel like everyone is willing to forgive the US for electing George Bush, even the second time, but they need some sort of indication that the US is no longer aligning themselves with the Bush Doctrine, something that a McCain victory would in no way indicate. We need America to redeem itself.

I do have to confess that despite desperately wanting an Obama victory, in some ways, I fear it. It has been reported in newspapers this side of the 49th parallel that if Obama were to win, Canadians would be significantly more likely to align themselves with US policy, especially that pertaining to border regulation (soon to be seen at your border stations, mandatory identification cards that provide all your info to the US). Which, given the post 9-11 privacy policies of that country, is frightening.

I am not, however, one of the Canadians that is scared of Obama's contentions with NAFTA regulations. I realize that it could mean a huge problem during an economic era in which even bumps can be deadly. But I am a British Columbian who has seen huge losses in the softwood lumber dispute, which has seen the US violating free trade agreements with little consequence. I am a concerned Canadian who understands the strength of our resources in a time when Global Warming is threatening the contamination of drinking water. A time when the scarcity of oil is putting a higher priority on discovering new ways to generate energy, and Canada has a wealth of hydro, wind and thermal energy capacity. Those types of resources are not things I would want to be traded freely under regulations that too often play to the sound of the US tune. That and hearing the plight of women in Juarez, Mexico which is largely a result of free trade regulations under the NAFTA agreement. So any move to change NAFTA regulations, if not dissolving the concept of free trade (which, really, does not exist) is fine by me.

Now that being said, I am not so sure that Obama will deliver on his promises. Yes, he has campaigned on Change yet that doesn't mean that anything will. Not only would he take over a huge mountain of problems left behind by the Bush presidency, but his "Campaign for Change" has largely been paid for by the very elite he claims to intend to tax and regulate should he be elected. Will he do so? I'm not entirely sure.

That and the problem with politics in North America is not lack of visionary leaders, but rather lack of citizen involvement. After spending a summer in Switzerland, and seeing the effect of a democracy in which the population actively participates (the Swiss show up to vote in numerous referendums held through out the year to vote on legislation at numbers higher than the most recent turnout at Canada's federal election) I am of the opinion that we need not only electoral reform but reform of our entire parliamentary structure. We need to participate, we need to be involved and we need to have power redistributed and handed down to the lower levels (we referring to the general population). We need to learn the power of our voice.

Regardless of whether Obama delivers on his promises or god forbid, McCain wins the White House, at least this election has given the US population a bit of their voice back. I like to think that even if a Republican victory becomes the reality, Americans will not take the decisions of its leaders lying down as it has for the last eight years. Perhaps that is the optimist in me, but I like to have a little faith in my neighbors to the south (the ranks of which I hope to join one day).

I like to have faith that tomorrow they will chose the chance (even if it is small) on "Change". I like to have faith that America is ready for a black president (what an incredible victory that would be).

Tomorrow I will be watching and waiting, hoping that my friends are exercising their rights and taking part of history.

Never thought I would say this but tomorrow I really hope that God (Authority, Creator, Allah, whoever will you) does, bless America.

Ode to You...

In keeping with the theme of "truth" from previous posts, I have decided to post this poem. It's a personal one, that came to me quite quickly after returning from a February NYC trip, fresh with Nuyorican Poets Cafe inspiration.


....... enjoy.......

Today,
We passed in the streets like strangers

For the first time in a long time,
you did not notice me.
So I studied you secretly.

The contour of your chin,
the dip of your collar
where I always seem to slip,
and drip,
into a puddle of desire.

Before I,
collect,
myself.
And remember:
You belong to another.

But,
this poem is not about
secret fantasies,
unrealized possibilities,
or even girlish jealousy.

No,
this soliloquy,
is about how I wished
I could have run to you today,
take your hand in mine and say:

“You saved me.”

A rescue mission conducted in such a secrecy,
not even you were privy.

You see,
I had studied what it means to happy
so I could mimic its exact geometry.
The art of my deception
rooted in mathematical precision:

I stacked my vertebra
so my columns curve
conveyed confidence,

smiled to a specific degree,

while the angle from chin to nape
denoted a sense of pride,
Inside,
the days were darker than the nights.


Until you blazed across my sky,
bright like Halle
constant like Polaris.
You were the beacon that beckoned
me back to light...

Your bright
shone deep into me
until glee was splashed on my face
and with joy glistening in my reflection
I blanked with a lack of recognition
at the depth of my own stare...
...for the fresh happiness that was suddenly there.

During espresso scented conversations,
I nursed myself on your connotations.

Your eloquence and sense
of humor sang to me…
Light arias and soulful melodies.

Your importance—
was and is—
not defined
by your success at winning me—
not by the sparkle of a blue eye
when you flash your dimpled grin.

But, by your ability
to create a change in me:


You were the push, that
flattened my dominoes
of carefully aligned self deception,

The first call
back
to a truth that has always belonged to me:

My own divinity

And for that,
I will always be yours.
Not always in desire,
but always,

in gratitude.

Because, you saved me.
You were the light that
showed me the way home:

back into my own.

Truth...

I'm up late once again... wondering why it seems that I still maintain a Vancouver sleeping schedule while my feet are firmly rooted in an eastern time zone.

Many thoughts have popped into my mind today... whisperings of new and old that rise and fall like the tide, like breath...

I've been reading a lot of other blogs lately, and while they have served to inspire I also question as to why my writing is so different here than anywhere else.

I made a decision so long ago to keep my blog writing impersonal enough so that my emotional self is kept far away. Close friends, lovers, family members are rarely mentioned, emotions are kept behind a veil of secrecy unless they are easy enough to share. While I express my thoughts, I rarely touch on my feelings.

Whats more intersting is that as I filter my ideas, I change my voice. Here is a place of casual wit, while my journal reveals the writings of a hopeless romantic, pages smeared with similie, rhyme and metaphore.

So I begin to wonder what other things I keep secret, and what is worth keeping secret.

In truth I have always admired brash honesty. Women who live fearlessly. Yes, I am a fan of that Angelina, not just because she is beautiful but because she doesn't apologize for testing the waters. And whenever she has chosen to test, it has never been with a small dip of an extremity, but with a headfirst dive into situations that would downright scare me. She moves through her phases, self damaging cutter, award winning actress, Gothic blood veil wearing seductress, lover of women and emerges as a mother, complete and round like her belly that gives life to children both her own and not.

I admire honesty, yet still secretly dwell backstage dreading my own curtain call.

I remember the first night I went to a New York poetry slam.

Late night, in the heart of Alphabet City, I clung to a chair and watched pear shape women spit into a mic that could scarcely keep up with the raw emotion they delivered. And the best poems? Were the most honest, the ones ones about the biggest mistakes: one night stands, past-due relationships, accidental children and purposeful passion. The poems about insecurity, imperfection and accident were the ones that moved me to tears, until I sat goosebumped all over, and for the first time told myself I too was willing to stop trying to be perfect and make a mistake.

True to that silent promise made one cold Febuary night I have been slipping up. Defying the ridiculous "hallmarks" of perfection I once clung to.

I stopped trying to prove I was too smart to care about clothes and make up... and have emerged painted face, glowing all over in Victoria Secret push-up-bras feeling like the center of the universe on a Friday night.

I stopped pretending that I was too wholesome to enjoy the presence of a person for just one night... and boy did poetry ever follow.

I stopped pushing myself to define my appeal by the number on a scale and the size of my pants... okay, so I'm still working on that.

But at the end of the day I am learning, learning to stop wanting perfection. Because what i learnt on a cold Febuary night in New York, is that its not perfection but rather imperfection that makes us so beautiful. Be it the mole that sits above a lip (a beauty mark), or a tale of a tryst told with a twinkle in an eye, it is the things that that undo us that define us in the end.

So, I'm making a push to be a little more honest, more honest with you and more honest with me.

Here are some things you might not know...

I'm ruthlessly self depricating, but mostly in my head.

I read tarot cards... seriously...

I procrastinate more than I would like to admit...

And when I am bored on tranist I look around and guess who would be the best lover aboard the bus or train.

I'm damaged, imperfect, weird, and quirky. But I am begining to figure out, I like it that way.

New York...

I cry each time I leave the city.

Its as if the contour of the city skyline is the prefect puzzle piece completing the jigsaw of my complexities. Like when I am here I am all of a sudden complete, and yet without this "Big Apple" I am anything but. Its true that I learn here, and take home with me new revelations each time I come, strengthened in some shape or form, yet I cant help but feel that there is something that I leave behind.

And I love the place.

I love so big that my love fills the streets and sidewalks, explodes through all places, until it boars through concrete and roots me firmly here, leaving some little piece of my very spirit deep in the heart of this urban oasis.

I walk these streets amidst the car horns, surrounded by the urban decay of tossed away newspapers and crumbling brick and i can't help but fall for all of her imperfections.

What I love about New York, is what I loved about Venice, two cities like old sages, different and yet alike in their attitude. Like Venice, New York is like fading movie star, wearing her scars proudly, signs of addiction, heartache on her sleeve. And while Venice seems to no longer try, letting the locals dress her for the tourists, New York still rocks the rhinestone studded heels, hot pink lipstick and fur coats. New York, comes and goes with bang, or more accurately a taxi horn.

The first time I came here I remember feeling the pull of this place, as if there is a gravity that yanks your forward to achieve. Opportunities for success are endless, there is not just one definition of reward here. So everyone is seemingly reaching for something better, something bigger than they have. Yes, this hub of capitalism creates a tangible, palatable desire within me to go forward, like I get swept up in the current of some great river pushing me forward forever towards my dreams.

I imagine that this is what settlers felt, once they completed their Atlantic journey and first laid eyes on the Statue of Liberty.

While I am sure that the world holds many places that inspire, what I love about New York is that not only does she urge you to reach your destination but she challenges you to do it as loudly ad boldly as one could ever dream. Rhinestone studded heels, boas, lipstick and all.

Life is a party, a broadway musical, a late night cabbarret and steamy backroom encounter. NY life is sexy, edgy, sultury, seductive and ruthlessly unappologetic.

If home is where the heart is...mine is in the streets of New York.

News..

I have a new coffee home

Investment Advice...

About a year ago, I was really concerned about the fact that I didn't have a retirement plan.

Everyone says that its never to early to start planning for you future. So I thought that I should put together a thousand dollars and invest that into some stocks.

Of course one thing came to another (ie one store lead to another) and I never ended up scrounging up the cash to do it.

Now, a year later, the markets have gone haywire and I have learned a very important lesson...

Fashion never fails.

Had I invested my money into the market, by today it most likely would have been mostly gone, yet as we speak my beautiful shoes lie safe and sound in my closet, my trench-coat hangs on its hanger and my jean collection is nicely folded in my drawers. Sure I have lost a yoga outfit or two to the fast handed yoginis of Vancouver... but all and all, investing in fashion was a much wiser choice!!

xo B

Publicity....

I've grown up in an era where people explore their sexuality on the profile pictures of their myspace or facebook accounts, in an era where bad nights and alcohol mishaps are forever immortalized in the zeros and ones of computer file, breakups are blasted across pseudo-"newsfeeds" and first sexual encounters start in chat rooms rather than bedrooms.

I sometimes wonder how this has changed the way feel for one another. Is the Internet helping our relationships or hurting them?

As a woman with family and friends strewn around the world I have always been an advocate of the world wide web. I've had every major Internet network profile that has been popular in the last ten years, from ICQ and MSN to LiveJournal, Myspace and Facebook, I have been there and done that.

But when my most recent relationship fell to shreds, I got a little worried about what my forthright Internet use meant to my emotional state. Of course, I did what any vindictive Internet-era girl would do and skipped egging his car to leave nasty comments (well just one comment...posted over and over about 25 times) all over his "wall". And damn...did it ever feel good.

I dreaded removing my relationship status, for so long I was the lucky girl who owned the profile photo of her and her handsome boyfriend kissing before the Eiffel Tower... but a mere month later I was walking wounded in front of my closest friends and almost forgotten acquaintances. Surprisingly instead of the wave expected embarrassment I was touched and consoled by comforting messages of encouragement.
But months later the story is a little different...

I mean, I admit that I still Google even some of my ex-ex-boyfriends. I still look up old crushes from time to time, sneak peeks at their new lives (and sometimes wives). But is it healthy?

I sometimes feel jealous to think that there was an era when breaking up meant that you didn't have to face a glowing green circle showing you that she or he is online. I resent the women who could walk away and have it be done with over and gone...out of sight and out of mind. Women who didn't have to be reminded of the existence of the jawline that made them weak in the knees every time there was a photo update on so-and-so's page.

And while I envy them, I wonder if the Internet provides us the opportunity to make sure that there are indeed no unanswered questions in life... letting us catalogue our "what ifs" into neat contact groups.

I wonder if the safety of being behind a computer screen takes away from our true knowledge and experience of life's relationship moments. Little things like finding out that the boy in science class really has a crush on you... how much of that thrill is lost when its typed in a chat room rather whispered in the flesh? It scares me to think that I may have kids who have Internet sex before they experience the real thing, and how that may change their experience of it.

I suppose the connection of the web has its ups and its downs. While we have more opportunities to connect more than ever, perhaps we are corrupting and taking advantage of the very thing that truly connects us to each other : our ability to feel with one another in the presence of one another.

I guess at the end of the day, while I support the Internet and all its advancements I will forever and above all else advocate experiencing meaningful moments face to face rather than face to screen.

Quote of the Day...

"I think you should have a meaningful one night relationship."

-- my boss