practicing happiness

you know those days where everything seems so damn right?

days, moments, fleeting seconds where the universe lines up directly with your desires and you feel perfectly fulfilled?
like you could walk off the curb and step into nonexistence and everything would be perfect as it currently is.
there would be no regrets.
no what ifs.
everything is as it should be.

happiness.

sometimes this fleeting intense happiness rushes over me when i am nearly asleep
and i cannot help but kick my feet sporadically in a little happy dance
because right now...at 10:34 p.m.
things are so damn right.

please tell me you know what i mean...

apparently this feeling is like a muscle.
or so they say.
the more you use it, the more pronounced it gets.

....how absolutely delicious is that?

happiness...although fleeting...can be called upon when you truly need it.

boom.
happy.


i quite like that theory.

grateful and, yet,

a degree.

a piece of paper that claims i know something.
i am sure i do.
but what?

to hell with it.

i refused to go to my conovcation
and i refused to buy a frame and place this paper on my wall.
what for?

it would be an outright lie to say that i didn't work hard
countless sleepless nights
edits after edits after edits
that one break down over the bhagavad gita.

it would be a fib to say i am not proud.
i am.
but i am not sure what this paper really means.
for other peers, this paper is responsible for carving out their paths
for me, it is simply a tree that should have stayed a tree.

it does not define me.
it does not decide what my future will be.

i do.

and while this little paper might have some weight in what potentials rest in my future,
it is nothing without me. it seizes to exist without me.


people approach me with nothing but excitement

you are done now, right?!

yup....i suppose i am.

so, now what?

silence.


between follow your dreams and grow up already,
i rest.
i close my eyes, put my feet up and rest.

i think about four years ago,
running on love and sporadic dreams

let's go.
let's hit the road to mexico, buy a goat and never look back.

and he would say

i'll go anywhere as long as you are there

the dream

i dreamt that i was in her home once again
and everything was as it was before we took it all down
and placed it in boxes
and dispersed it all between the family.

the laughter and chatter that was normally around at family functions filled the room
and i found that special place on the couch.
the one i always liked.

and then there she was.
in a hospital gown.
and she said

oh, those pumpkin cookies. those must be old.

and i thought

i will eat them any way. they are all i have left of you. i will eat every last crumb.

but i said

let me do your dishes

and i walked over to the sink, plunged my hands into the warm water and looked out the window placed just above.
when you looked out of this window, you were able to see the grave yard.
and one tombstone in particular. the one that belongs to her husband, my grandpa.

some things are planned.
perfectly so.



i woke up to tears streaming down my face.
and then i felt his hand on my hip and i knew it was okay.

good actors

when i was little all i really wanted to be was an adult.
they really seemed to have a handle on this thing called life.
they really had it together.
evidently...they were really good actors.

no one warned me that life could be such a soul-sucking menace
on the flip side, of course, life is a beautiful, nourishing entity that i feel honoured to live.
but it is a fine line.
at this stage of life, it is a very very fine line.

at 24, i still feel like a child.
unsure, eager and scared shitless.

i digress.

the fire alarm rang out in my friend's apartment building and within minutes, people lined the streets, holding their prized possessions lest they lose everything they have ever had. for some reason, the image was spectacular. neighbours - but really, more like strangers - standing on the dimly lit street, winter woolies hastily wrapped around necks and mittens stuffed in pockets. people holding that one thing they know they could not live without..
a hard drive
a cat
lip chap
a cell phone

i started to think, what would i take? at 24, what do i have?

nothing.

at 24, i have a degree in an obscure program, a couple skeins of wool, a five year track record as a receptionist, a bin of worms and a couple of books.

full circle.
scared shitless.

as much as i am exhausted of this stage of life...i fear i have nothing substantial to show for it.
i turn up empty-handed.
hopeless.
like i played a very long and intense game and, in the end, the screen went dark and the words
please try again
danced across the screen


days like this, i have to remind myself that it won't always be like this.
there will come a time when i may actually be on steady ground.
if only for a few minutes.
all i can hope is that my path will show itself and soon
because, despite it all, i still believe in it.

it..the calmness that signifies you are right in the place at the right time.

i still do.

loving me

someone once said that in our culture, ripe with self-hatred, the biggest rebellion there is, is to love yourself. flaws and all.

i love this....in theory of course. the actual loving myself has been a draining and erratic journey. and, damn it anyway, i am still not at the holy grail. 

but i vowed to. it was that fateful evening when i discovered that my four year old cousin was ashamed of her body. the word fat should not be in her vocabulary and yet, there she was, crying fat.

i was outraged, saddened and determined.

i wrote a letter. it was succinct and went something like this:

dear world,

you want me to hate myself. i won't.

suck it.

love,

brittany

it was adorned with my signature, loopy wiggles and squiggles that meant i was committed.

after all, i knew that if we all continued to hate ourselves, young women would follow suit. 

their power would fall to the way side, it would mean nothing. nothing. unless they truly loved themselves in a way that no one else possibly could.

true to form - i did not have a plan.
although i began to realize that this path to loving myself is inextricably linked to wellness
i don't know why.
i don't know when this became the case.
maybe it was always the case.
but i realized that if i was not taking care of my body...i did not really love my body.

and thus it began.

i would love to report that i stared at myself in the mirror with lovestruck eyes and whispered sweet beautiful nothings to myself.
i did not.
i am not quite there yet.

but i have been spending mornings and evenings and any other minute i can spare to practicing gratitude.
being grateful for my body.
early mornings, i push snooze and reserve the next ten minutes to think these thoughts...

i am thankful for my hips.
i am thankful for my breasts.
i am thankful for my hair.

and it continues until i have acknowledged all my parts in all their imperfect glory.

i have also become more introspective and have began to ask myself the really tough questions..
you know, like,

do i really want that latte?

as it turns out, i do not.
when i drink it, i don't feel well physically.
i feel accomplished...like i have checked something off my to do list...but i do not feel well.
of course there are times i can predict the sluggish aftermath of one too many cookies.
but i do it anyway.
the 90/10 rule, folks.

i feel different. i feel happier. and rumour has it, when you feel happy, you radiate happiness regardless of your dress size.
i vow to pay it forward.

up next: naked dance parties

a candle

i got home and a lit a candle.

one sole candle

this action seems minimal and dismissive
but for me, this act was the beginning.

the beginning of acknowledging my loneliness...

i digress.
the source of this loneliness is known to me and only me
and i intend to keep it so.

but this candle.
it was a symbol.
a way for me to acknowledge myself.
acknowledge this space as my own
and to make damn sure that i knew i was worth it.

i only ever used to light candles when i was expecting visitors.
only then would i adorn my room in dimly lit candles.
on this particular eve, i knew i would be alone. all night.
this did not stop me.

and you know what?
i am beginning to quite like my loneliness.
sometimes it can swallow me up whole.
other times, i observe it.
and then i ask myself what it is that i really want to do.
and i do it.
no questions asked.
no one to ask them.

i quite like this thing - my loneliness - after all.

on being a woman

some time ago, a woman asked me

who is the most important woman in your life?

i thought long and hard. it was a challenge to sort through all the women in my life and decide which one had the most influence over me. and then it was obvious.

my mum, i said, because she has taught me everything i know about being a woman.

this response got me a cocked eyebrow and a somewhat cynical "hm"

i have never stopped fretting about that response.
it was the truth. the absolute truth.

maybe, i think, it is because i used the word woman so loosely.

what does it really mean to be a woman?

hell if i know.

but i do have a good sense of what it means to be a woman in my bloodline.

we are notoriously strong.
capable. and fiercely independant.
yet we walk a fine line of insecurity. constant wondering. constant worrying.

and this is where i found myself.

walking this fine line of capability and strong-willed to speak my mind

but scared shitless of what it would reveal about me.

too much?
i took a breath.
and i said it.

a rock

i held a rock in the palm of my hand.
a rather unusual rock, it was round, smooth, chosen just for this sort of activity.
for some reason, this rock made me feel comfortable. which, in this context, translates into brave.
like i could say what i felt, and the rock would understand.
even if the other 30 people in the room could not.
the rock in the palm of my hand would understand.
maybe this rock would be friend. not foe.
i took a shot.

i start.

i have been thinking...
about the reprecussions of going to someone...a professional someone
and saying the words


i feel fat.


this person might look at me. might wonder what on earth i could be talking about.
they might judge me. they might send me on my way with a diet.
they might want to prescribe me pills.
these are all things i am not interested in. because i feel like it is unnecessary.

nay, it is just wrong.

to tell me it is my problem is to completely deny that it is, in fact, a sociological problem.

in the lowest low, muddled with confusion and frustration, i confided in another woman

i feel weird. like..i'm fat? but...i'm not?

welcome to my life.

and that, that is the exact moment that i understood.
welcome to being a woman in today's society.
surely i knew this before, this delicate balance between fat and too terribly thin.
and how, as a woman, i was supposed to walk this line.
i did. i knew all of this.
but i did not know a spell of self-loathing would sweep me over in the way it did.
and knowing that myself, an advocate for beauty in all forms, had been duped into believing otherwise
was a guilt trip that hit me like a motherfucking freight train.

the rock in my palm, i looked up. and i saw women on the brink of blinking a tear.

aye, they get it.

it was the very same look i had when i discovered that my four year old cousin feels fat.
she is four. and ashamed of her body.
i swallowed back tears. hard. and i silently vouched to change it.
change it all.
i would not play this game.
i would not give in. or give up.
and, someday, young girls everywhere
will love love love this thing we call a body.

a birthday

at 6 in the morning, a familiar sound rang throughout my room.

a message.
someone sent me a message. at 6 in the morning.
what on earth might one have to say at this ungodly hour?

a wish for a happy birthday.

i should have went back to sleep.
but i didn't. not yet.
i stretched. and then i lay very still. and i thought.

i do not know why i thought this particular thought
but all the sudden i was very grateful for all the women i have in my life.

the powerhouse of women, as i like to call them.
these women inspire me and propel me forward.
they have changed me.
and i, i hope, have changed them.

i meditated on who i am and who i have yet to be.

i truly do not know what will come.

i do not have a plan.

i have my beliefs, my thoughts, my passion and my ambition.

i have a feeling i won't need much more.

i guess we will just have to wait and find out...

revival

i feel like this is what i need to come back.

when i say back that seems to imply that i went somewhere.
i guess i sort of did. just not physically.
my mind was filled with thoughts. thoughts that challenged me, drained me, upset me, and ultimately, carved the path back to me.

i was so buried in thoughts that i wanted to take a step back.
and just observe.
observe the areas of tension in my life.
i must have a role in all of this.
i must.
what do i do? and what should i do?
to say i have the answers would be a fib.
heck, to say i know how to get the answers would be an even bigger one.


but at the very least, i can praise my ability to recognize tension. and to demand a solution.


won't you join me?

mixing colours

lately i have been thinking a lot about that time in elementary school...

unequal blobs of paint sprawled out in front of me.

young, spry, eager, and a whole lot of shy.

we sat at the table in the big art room.

i always liked this room but i was equally intimidated by it.

i, as a child, was an awful artist.

i could not colour in the lines if my little life depended on it.

i tried and i tried again.

each time, i failed.

so when it was time for me to venture into this art room, i felt like an impostor.

here i sat, with blobs of paint on brown construction paper.

the task? mix colours. find new colours.

green and blue make yellow

red and white make pink

pink and blue make purple

and on and on we went. fingers filthy, minds working oh so hard. masters of colour.

now i appreciate the brilliance of it. the mixing. the discovery. the shove to learn on your own.

now that i am shoved into the time of life where people start demanding

pick one thing to do

pick one person to be with

reproduce.

now i crave to be back in that room, fingers covered in paint, mixing colours to my desire.

there was something so holy about that time. encouraged acts of messiness. acts of mixing norms to create new norms.

how i wish to be back.

the truth

i have this tenuous relationship with beauty.
sometimes i grasp it and other times, it grasps me.
and in those times, when i play the slave, i sink.
i have not felt beautiful as of late.

i approach this subject with absolute caution
like a cat approaching it's prey.
steadily, sneakily and with a confidence that proves i have been here before.

aye, i have.

people assume that if i say these words

i feel fat

that i must be irrational.
i must be capable of harming myself.
i must suffer from distortion.

none of this is true.

i feel fat
i am aware that i am not fat.
but that does not mean that i cannot feel fat.
the body and the mind are different entities that try to work as one.
some days mine try very hard.

and when i say these words,
i do not want rebuttals. i do not believe them.
i do not want frustration. i am frustrated too.
i do not want recognition, really.
i just want them said.

i just want people to know why i am here but elsewhere simultaneously.
i just want someone to know that some mornings it is hard to get out of bed.
but that i do it anyway.

in these times, i reach out and grab a book.
a book about women, a book that praises beauty in all of it's forms.
there is a paragraph that never fails to pick me back up.
i read it.

and then i read it again.
and hope with everything i have left, that tomorrow will be better.

on beauty

some time ago i wandered into a classroom.
and there sat a woman. and i, appeased by her beauty, was stunned.
i deemed this woman one of the most beautiful women i have seen.
i quickly noticed her boots. and because i had to know…

where did you get those boots?! i love them.

oh these? my friend bought them at value village for seven dollars and gave them to me when she moved, she said between chomping away on an apple.

swoon.

she was not wearing an ounce of makeup. nor was she beautiful by the societal values we place upon beauty.
she was not particularly thin and not particularly large either
she was blonde but a natural sun-streaked blonde
she was freckled
she didn’t even shave her legs.
but she glowed. My god, did she glow.
part of this was due to the fact that she had just bicycled to this destination.
that post-bicycle sweat. but more so than any of that,

she was happy. she was so gosh darn happy.

i have been pondering beauty a lot as of late.
beauty.
the thing that decides how we feel about ourselves that particular day.

am i beautiful today? no? well maybe tomorrow i will be beautiful.

the thing that young women of our generation obsess over.

am i beautiful?

it doesn’t matter that they are intelligent, kind, powerful little beings
and that their sense of moral justice outshines the sun on the brightest summer days.
no.
if they are not beautiful, if they do not possess beauty then they believe they are nothing.
i was one of these critters. spry and fresh, bopping around life trying to find a place.
any place as long i looked beautiful in it.
people would meet me and say “your job must be being beautiful”and i would happily comply.
forgetting that i was kind, smart, dedicated and caring. forgetting that i was so able to do many things. forgetting that i was able to read a novel with an acute eye for wrong-doing. forgetting that, even then, i was able to hold down my own in a debate
i forgot. And i only focused on one thing: being beautiful.

it didn’t take long to realize that beauty was something i would never possess.
not the society-based ideal.

i dyed my hair. i tanned to a red crisp. i bought make up. and more make up. i dieted. i weighed myself. i bought clothes for the sake of buying clothes. for the sake of being beautiful. i still felt inept. *

finally.
i gave up. not wholly. there are still days, times, moments of days, where i look in the mirror and think

who have i let down today? i don’t look beautiful.

but i am working on it. always working towards this thing called inner beauty. the only kind of beauty i am sure of. the only thing i – myself – can possess. it is tangible. and it is mine. now i am able to leave my hair naturally itself and let the sun do with it what it will. i am able to run, bike and do yoga because it makes me happy. not because it makes my hips shrink. there are days i forgo make up all together because i want to. and there are days i apply a quick coat of mascara because i want to. but i never depend on these things to make me happy. i know better. if i want happy, i look for it in other places.

a book. my garden. a great soup. a debate where i use every intellectual cell i have in my body. a yoga practice. a chance to praise my body however big or small it may be. a cup of tea. a cozy sweater. a bike ride. finding that certain je ne sais quoi in people. beet greens. i do not care to be beautiful.
i care to be happy. the beauty will follow suit.

one of the most beautiful girls in the world rolled out her yoga mat right beside mine yesterday.
i believe i willed her there. i thought so intently about this all for so long, she eventually found her way back into my life.
it was thrilling to move beside her, both of us loving our bodies in their imperfect ways.
and after, i felt happy.
and, if i do say so myself, dewy with fresh sweat

i felt beautiful.


*i'm not saying that every woman who engages in these activities is seeking beauty. for some people, these things make them happy. go be happy.

musings

one.

pickle brine is overwhelming, tantalizing and tangy, an overall unbeatable melange.

two.

just when you think you have plucked all the apples one could possibly scavenge, you find a whole branch more drooping with round, juicy possibilities.

three.

morning soup dates are not only vital to a productive work day but necessary to a better life.

four.

beet greens have never been more scrumptious.

five.

never underestimate an extra 5 minutes of sleep.

with that, you now know what my week has been like.

how was yours?

that one time

inspired by this book. read it not only because it is hilarious, brave, kinky, sad but mostly because it is honest.


it was a musty room.
it didn’t belong to either of us but a friend of his.
we were laying upon the damp bedding like children
as if we should have been swinging our legs and pretending they were swooshing around in a chilly lake, dispersing the minnows as we giggled wildly.
as irony would have it, it became the moment that i stopped being a child.
i realized that i was no longer.

sweaty palms, slobbery kisses and a flickering light.
these are the things i immediately remember.
i was wearing a blue shirt. a v-neck. the colour of the sky.
how i wished i could go see the sky.
but i could not.
i was obligated to be there.
as a certain someone’s “girlfriend”

apparently this label meant he was able to touch me where he pleased.
or so he thought.
his hands felt foreign on my waist.
and as they edged up towards my breasts,
my eyes began to feel with tears.
i lay there, lifelessly.
wondering why he was still touching me as my body refused to respond.
seconds later, i could no longer bare it.
i pulled myself up off that bed and left him alone in that room.

to hell with you and being someone’s girlfriend.

i have never been able to understand why he thought he was automatically given the right to touch me
and why he continued to touch me as my tears flooded the area between our cheeks, my eyelashes thick with dew.
had he not known that my body is mine.
and it deserves more than awkward, fumbling fingers?
i was outraged for weeks.

to hell with you and being someone’s girlfriend.

that certain someone traded me for a cigar weeks later.
the cool grade 5 transaction where someone offers you a cigar
if and only if you dump your girlfriend.



and i am so damn glad he did.

and so it happens

i can tell the story of her last days with a kind of delicacy.

i can recall many things about that time.

after all, as she slept, as she lay there in a drug-induced relaxation,

i watched. i listened. i traced the room with my finger tips.

the funeral was a day to remember.

minutes after finding myself back in that little town,

i felt my heart begin to flutter.

begin to come back to me.

ever so slightly.

i had never been so proud of my lineage.

i had never been so sad to part ways.

and as the words of her eulogy rang out,

i was comforted.

ah, this is where it all began. i thought.

her love of nature. her love of politics. her patience.

this is my lineage.

days later, a friend asked how i was.

she meant it.

she was genuinely interested in how i felt.

how are you

there was such emphasis on the you, i felt inclined to be totally honest.

i am good. i am better. i am at peace.

and i meant it.

and i still am.

but this, of course, is temporary.

grief comes in waves.

it wasn't long ago that i was having a shower.

and as it turned the taps off and the last few droplets of water hit the tiled floor,

i heard my mum speaking on the phone.

it must be gramma, i thought.

it only took a few seconds to realize that it was not, in fact, my gramma.

nor would it be again.

and then i found myself reading,

i read two memoirs and a novel.

each of them tackling death. and the mourning that follows after.

i did not mean to do this.

i was not - really - seeking out these books.

they sort of fell into my lap.

and i, lost in some sort of grieving confusion,

read them all.

last christmas, gramma lived with us for two weeks.

the day she left, to spend new years in alberta, i cried.

as she lay there in her last days, i thanked her for that time together.

those two weeks.

they were lovely, weren't they?

*

the long goodbye - meghan o'rouke

torch - cheryl strayed

wild - cheryl strayed

yes, i recommend them all.

hips

a call to my femininity

a trail of beginnings

a way to feel rooted

**

it all started with a touch of the hips

a graze.

four fingers gliding across a hipbone, resting ever so lightly on the very top of her hip.

and from that point on, those fingers rarely left that scared spot.

in early mornings, those fingers would find themselves there again, wrapping themselves around her flesh and pulling her in close.

**

she tied the apron around herself.

it rested snuggly on her hips.

it was white lined with pink embroidery,

and as thin as they could come.

it reminded her of seashells.

and the one in particular that used to be in the bathroom.

as a child she picked it up and held it close to her ear.

she didn't know much about oceans - she was a prairie girl.

but if there was a chance that she could hear that infinite blue mass in one compact piece of calcium - my god, she would do it. she listened with deep intent and she swore she heard it all.

she grinned at how the oddest moments take you back.

standing in the kitchen, wearing an apron, holding a whisk and thinking about that seashell.

it used to belong to her grandmother, this apron.

she inherited it along with a couple of other household items.

an antique sifter, a mortar and pestle and this apron.

this apron that hung on her hips, wrapped in a bow that rested delicately on her low back.

she wore it when she baked as a way to feel closer to the matriarch who took her last breath a couple of months back.

she thought maybe, just maybe, she would wear it and be gifted with her grandmother's recipe for cinnamon buns.

they were infamous, those cinnamon buns.

known to cause sticky little fingers, and some adult-sized ones too.

**

in a vibrant splash of colour, women lined the room.

all nervous, all overly aware of their hips.

we wore scarves on our hips so we knew exactly where they were.

where our flesh ended and the universe began.

we all stared at the floor with intent, watching our fingers trace a figure 8 symbol

∞

then we stepped into it and our hips picked up where our fingers left off.

she came around and rested her hands lightly on our hips

this is just for me, she said, i need to know that your hips can follow the pattern

and they all could.

after, we collapsed into fits of laughter.

giggly like girls and proud like women.

women with hips.

**

and after such profound connection to my past, my loves and my body

how could i even begin to hate my hips?

i know you want me to, claiming they are too big.

or too small.

but, no. i refuse.

they are mine.

and they are my gateway into many wonderful things.

i choose to enjoy them.

and this act of loving my hips, this ode to my hips,

i hope it stings.

i hope you are stung by this act of rebellion.

loving your body, after all, is the most rebellious thing a woman can do.

join me, won't you?

forgiveness

i want to forgive myself for sleeping in, drinking that extra latte, buying those shoes, picking all the vegetables off my pizza that one time i was hellbent on avoiding any nutrients, laughing too loud, crying too much, loving whole-heartedly, speaking english to that one french man..

i want to forgive myself for the nights i stumble home exhausted.

too exhausted to wash off my make up. instead, i collapse into bed.

i want to forgive myself for being weak.

or, rather, being strong for too long.

and then, suddenly, it is harder to breathe.

and i have to ask someone to tell me it is ok.

and i have to do this over and over again.

because, despite my best efforts, i do not believe them.

i want to forgive myself for those days i just do not have the power for a practice.

instead, i roll out my yoga mat and i curl up just to take a nap.

i want to forgive myself for those times i feel a burst of emotion in my heart

and it makes me want to trace your entire body with my fingertips before you disappear and i am left alone.

but i don't. even though i want to.

i lay there. quiet. scared to move.

instead, i roll over and place my back right against yours.

if you move, i do too.

i want to forgive myself.

and why shouldn't i?

this life belongs to me.

it is shaky at best. but it is mine. and for the first time, i want to take care of myself in a way that acknowledges my shortcomings. lord knows i have plenty.

i want to quiet the voice in my head that doubts i am doing the right thing at the right time.

and i want to laugh loud. cry lots. do yoga. or skip class and eat ice cream. twirl my hair in between my fingers as i contemplate life. or lunch.

i want to love. love. love.

what i wouldn't give...

lessons on a rainy monday

i have no control...

as soon as these words come out of mouth, i loathe them.

having no control is much like feeling useless.

having no purpose. or so i thought.

i met her on the corner of 13th and hamilton.

i was irritated. exhausted. emotional.

i had slept for a half hour the evening before.

i watched my alarm go off at 6:15 am.

i waited all night for it to ring.

i had zero desire to speak to anyone.

and, yet, there she was.

she spoke.

i listened.

today is her first day.

she is from a small town.

and wouldn't it be lovely if the rain would stop?

and, suddenly, i understood why she was there.

on the corner of 13th and hamilton.

i moved closer and held my umbrella over the both of us.

i listened to the rain hit the top in a scattered nonsense pattern

and i felt like i had a purpose.

if only for a couple of blocks.

for my daughter

i was asked to write a peice for letters for our daughters.

and so i did.

if i am fortunate,

i will be gifted with your heartbeat fluttering inside my womb.

and if you are anything like your mama,

you will be a joyous jelly bean,

bouncing all around my belly.

each time you move, i will sense it.

and i will smile, thinking about what you will become....

your eyes will sparkle and tell a story all on their own.

let them.

you should be forever grateful to your body,

it is your fortress.

it will swell and dwindle with the seasons

and

as your dainty fingers trace your ribs

and swoop down the canyon of your waist

only to rise again at your plump hips,

i hope you smile.

know your food.

grow it. know what vegetables love sunlight and know those that do not.

never see food as an enemy

or a calorie,

or as something with the potential to harm you.

relish in vegetables.

find awe in the roundness of eggs

and the crunch of apples.

never miss the opportunity

to dig your toes deep into the ground.

always be thankful for mother earth.

let your emotions be raw. let them be real.

speak.

and know that sometimes it is best we speak without thought.

recognize choice.

not just your own.

but the choice of others.

be fair and be stern.

never limit the definition of love.

you will have an infinite amount of people who love you.

all for different reasons,

and for one reason in particular:

because you are you.

embrace it.

unexplained silence

i have been...

reading this

thinking about soulfood

drinking lavender soda

eating greens. a lot of them.

dreaming about tuscany and letting go

eating goat cheese with just about everything

and, most importantly, not feeling guilty about any of the above

dear me (then)

you will fall in love with a boy
he will not love you back
and this will make you fall out of love with yourself.
hold on tight.
it will be worse, much worse, than one day..
better.

and when he approaches you at that party
and compliments your "blouse"
yes, he will use the word blouse
and you will find it charming,
do not shy away.
admit to being flattered and be equally charming back.
it will stun him.

and later, when he asks if he missed his chance
say yes.

you will never regret it.

there will be several random opportunities that arise,
take them all.

remember to step back,
absorb,
and recognize the beauty of it all.

there will be times you will be scared,
do it anyway.

never underestimate your strength.

a sun salutation will help.

when your body craves it,
give in.

forgive yourself.

there is no such thing as failure.
learn, breathe and keep on going.

when you come across that red vintage skirt,
buy it and don't look back.

memories of the matriarch

i call her the matriarch

because for years after grandpa had left this world,

she was our matriarch.

she would approve,

love unconditionally,

talk politics,

always listen,

cry,

laugh,

hug,

give advice,

and if there was ever something you were endeavouring,

she must have known about it.

and she would have given her blessing, ten times over.

she taught us so much

about family

patience

love

card games

bird calls

nature

i owe her

more than i could ever repay.

i am me

because of her

and the other women (and men) of my family.

and as i continue to struggle

to find a way to commemorate her...

i search poems.

most, completely unrelated.

but i feel connected to something when i read them.

so i keep reading.

first

second:

acutely aware

heavy eyelids

a cats purr

breath

how it comes,

goes,

and, sometimes, stops completely

the aching of loss

the sensation of bangs on my brows

a good silk scarf

colour

the smell of rain

cozy dwellings

family

life

moments

tear drops

the smell of patchouli

bean sprouts

tea

bringing me back

i remember

what the air smelt like

just before it started to rain

racing outside and dancing in the rain

opening my mouth and eagerly catching rain drops

walking along the sidewalk just to count the earthworms that came out

magically, it seems, to enjoy the rain like i did

the taste of carrots

fresh out of the earth

the call of a robin

watching the flocks of birds

landing on those berry branches

eating till they were stuffed to the brim

and chirping merrily, drunk on their reaping

scouting a hummingbird

as quickly as they come

and go

scooping water out from the rain barrel

just to splash it on my face

standing under a weeping willow

in awe, as i realized how small i really was

using the fresh cut grass

as a launching pad

springing my body up and over

forming cartwheels, flips, and somersaults

those memories

those scents

those feelings

are forever wrapped in my memory

and as she reverts back, so do i.

i'm with her.

and everything has come alive.

unread pages

there are some chapters in my life that i cannot share.

i have yet to decide if it is because i sincerely do not want to

or because i know the depths of my open wounds

and i cannot risk any salt.

either way.

there are some pages that are to remain untouched.

they are sacred.

if you must know something,

then you can know only this

i hold her hand

close my eyes

and listen to her steady breathing

i feel the back of my hand grow moist

as she exhales onto my skin

i rest my head against her

and i say the only prayer i know.

the only prayer that i turn to when i need peace.

shanti shanti shanti

peace peace peace

i say it over and over and over again.

i say it with such focus, such intention, such force

and i hope, with all i have left in me, that it will fulfill it's promise.

keep your head up

for the past week, this song has followed me. everywhere.

in the car, in stores, on the radio...

i cannot help but think that someone..something... knew i would need it.

i hope all is well with you and your loved ones

and may you hold them all a little closer.

i know i am.

wood and memories

give this girl an old house.

a house made of wood and memories.

made by hands that are no longer on this earth.

give me the creak of the hardwood floors.

the breeze coming through the old, huge windows.

the walls, painted and then painted again.

the hallways where many people have walked before.

the rooms where life was created, given, flowed and left.

where lovers loved.

and love wilted.

spending their final night together,

knowing that it is for the best.

sometimes there are no answers.

but you cling onto each other tight,

knowing that this is will be the last time.

packed boxes sit in the corner

waiting for their new oasis.

and when the sun rises, the lovers part.

promising to remain friends.

but not quite naif enough to believe it true.

where families grew.

where children laid and giggled for hours

because the echo was just right.

and then, almost suddenly, they became adults.

walking the halls of their childhood home.

searching for what could be left.

finding that perfect spot.

laying.

speaking.

listening.

awaiting the echo.

and, just like before, it arrives.

where tea was brewed

and books were read.

laughter, tears, triumph, passion..

all wrapped up into one compact space.

i will stand there.

in this empty house.

breathe it all in,

grin,

and say

if walls could talk...

equinox

she asks us to speak.

one word

things you believe in

things you would fight for

without a second thought

words chime in from all around the circle

family

freedom

passion

love

hope

children

earth

spirit

creativity

expression

women

community

things you are grateful for

rain

love

community

compassion

mother earth

water

animals

family

wind

and when we parted our sacred space,

the wind was blowing feverishly.

it was alive.

someone had awoken it.

and we relished.

clippings

amongst the clinking of silverware

and broken french,

there is a connection.

a woman bruised.

battered.

not physically. but mentally.

mon mari

my husband

she calls him.

as if he is still there.

sitting on his chair, untouched in the corner.

as if he still greets her everyday.

as if he never got sick.

as if he never died.

i search her eyes for sorrow.

the kind of sorrow a widow might carry

even years after the early parting

but she is slow to make eye contact and

i cannot blame her.

eyes say too much.

it is best we stay on this grounded area

of silence

of quiches and talks of gardens.

we can both rest at night knowing we understand each other.

maybe not linguistically.

but there is something larger, deeper, and real

that pulls us in even if we refuse.

and when we part

we say

à bientôt

see you soon

neither of us likes permanents farewells.

*****

my super heroine

my hero wears rubber boots

and plaid

on sunny days, she wears a wide-brimmed hat.

she was never one for tanning

she has no weapons.

only garden tools

she is strong

yet kind

she is naive

and wants to believe in the good

yet is acutely aware of the bad

her moto

is simple

make soil, not war

she will save the world.

or maybe, she won't.

but she will feed one under-nourished soul at a time,

and that political act, will be enough.

******

it was 1986, she says.

we were thick into fighting for women's reproductive rights.

it is 2012, i say.

we are thick into fighting for women's reproductive rights.

to make sure women have access to contraception

to make sure these women are not called sluts

to make sure men take the onus for their role in heterosexual sex

to make sure that mother can birth at home

at a hospital

at a birthing centre

where ever her contractions take her.

it seems exhausting.

and it is.

but i refuse to stop.

truth

"We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing--an actor, a writer--I am a person who does things--I write, I act--and I never know what I am going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun."

Stephen Fry

the feeling

it was a lovely early-spring day

sunny, clear.

the fields of wheat swayed in approval.

there was nothing but the highway and me.

well..

there was the anxiety, the panic and the inherit feeling that something was horribly wrong.

and, at last, there was the feeling.

when i was younger, i used to attempt sleepovers.

all the time.

and, suddenly, i would be stricken with homesickness.

i would be literally ill.

many nights my parents would have to throw on layers of protection against the harsh evening winter winds

just to come get me

and there i would be.

sulking.

panicked.

and in need to go home.

not much has changed.

i sit here in this strangers house.

observing my room.

it's perfectly lovely.

but i want nothing more than to be at home.

if i pause to consider how my bed would cradle me

or how i would rest against my headboard for that perfect reading angle,

i will cry.

so i think of other things..

like slam poetry.

it's getting me by..so be it.

my faults

here i shakily stand.

not knowing which direction to walk or, to be more truthful, fall.

as the world continues to spin

and people continue to search the dream

the weddings

the babies

the stuff that one day will belong to someone else

i stay stuck somewhere trying to figure it all out.

trying to decide what it is i want.

well, i know what i want.

i want

a milkshake

waffles

pizza

red lipstick

earrings

a new dress

to bask in sunlight

to speak french

to speak english

to laugh. hysterically.

but these are temporary.

they are my next high.

and once they are gone, i will again be lost.

looking for some sort of path that, evidently, i refuse to take.

so why search?

i may just have to accept that i am a somebody who lives for the day.

only for that day.

and that's as far as my plan can stretch.

today..

i lived for fried brussels sprouts with balsamic reduction.

and it was lovely.

under slept

if someone could explain to me why, oh why, i have been waking up exhausted

during the week i have off,

that would be lovely.

apparently it is true, what they say

you cannot catch up on sleep.

sleepless nights are here and gone.

and once they are gone, they are impossible to retrieve.

damn.

i was kind of banking on that whole "i'll catch up later" speel.

instead, during this week away from school,

where i had all the time, well some of the time,

to sleep to my hearts content.

i didn't.

last night, i was sure i would collaspe from exhaustion and fall into a nice coma.

nope.

i rode out a caffeine high until 2 am.

maybe i'll get this right some day. but probably not.

my week, according to instagram and youtube:

i also watched these charming french films:

sorry...no subtitles for the second one. you will just have to trust me, it was lovely!

remember?

it seems like it was not long ago
but, then again, it was.

two people, somewhere between children and adults.

the light was lovely.
flickering, maybe.
or maybe, that was just her heart.

she was talking, fast.
she always spoke fast.
she couldn't stop it.
some people might plague it as a nervous tick.
but she was never really nervous at all.

she was so caught up that she almost did not realize
he was staring right into her eyes, focused.
not focused on her words. but focused on her.
and before she could question him,
he said it.

you're so beautiful.

and then, she was silent.

and, so, it is true

to follow, some things i may or may not be proud of.

nonetheless, it is a story.

it is my story.

and, so, i have to own it.

there will come a time when i will look back at this time in my life

and laugh. hysterically.

i will wonder what i was thinking and why i thought this path, out of all the paths, was the right one.

that, however, will be in the future.

right now i find myself knee-deep in french phrases

all muddled, all unclear, all forged

trying to write a term paper on french film criticism.

and if it was not obvious enough, i am an anglophone.

my stance as an anglophone has never mattered to me.

yes, i speak english. it is my mother tongue. so what?

there were all other labels that meant more to me

woman

friend

sister

yogi

but, now, quite suddenly, i have to recognize myself as anglophone.

this recognition has come awkwardly.

i still don't really know what it means.

i just know that other people know this about me the minute i speak.

it makes me wonder if i should speak.

and, yet, i do.

and, so, the confessions of an anglophone learning french in one maniac-esque year:

it is a good day if i remember to shower

it is a really good day if i brush my hair

matching socks are minuscule

action movies do not make more sense in french

woody allen is some sort of film god and one should never critique his films

snacks make the world go round

you will feel ancient when you realize that pluto is no longer a planet.

then you will be slightly tickled when you realize you can use the phrase "back in my day...when pluto was a planet..."

drinking wine for breakfast is acceptable

cupcakes are medicine

coma's help

dreaming in french is a good sign

waking up at 4 am to complete homework is also acceptable.

and so i wait.

wait for the moment when i can laugh at myself. and then - hopefully - mutter something brilliant en français.

brillance...

read this.

absorb.

because i have no words

"Time is tricky. You have whole months, even years, when nothing changes a speck, when you don't go anywhere or do anything or think one new thought. And then you can get hit with a day or an hour, or half a second, when so much happens, it's almost like you are born all over again into some brand-new person you for damn sure never expected to meet."

E.R. Frank

savouring

i have come to appreciate many things in my time.

and, especially, these past couple months

due to my hectic schedule.

i have to appreciate these things while i can.

things like a cats purr

a warm cup of tea

a (non-french) book

music

my running shoes

the sunlight

fresh air

and my yoga practice.

i have been savouring my yoga time lately.

probably because i spend most of my days sitting around listening, studying, or writing

so when i finally get to move, it is a beautiful thing.

i make my down dogs extra wide

so i can feel my spine and calves stretch.

i focus on areas of tightness in my body

and send my inhales to those area

and push out the tension with my exhales.

i find my physical limits.

i spend all day finding my mental limits

and believe moi, i find them.

so, really, there is nothing better than finding a little spot of sunlight

unrolling my mat

and sweating and stretching away some stress.

however.

if i could mix a kitty in to the mix, i would be content:

tales of a veg

one morning, some time ago,

i awoke.

groggy and likely muttering french verb conjugations.

(it never ends)

i stretched,

placed my feet on the floor

and had a revelation.

i need a veggie smokey.

with sauerkraut.

and onions

and mustard

and a bun.

i managed to suppress this craving

even though i thought of it everyday for months.

every day.

behold.

a photo i like to refer to as: veg woman vs veg smokey

the veg smokey.

with all of the above ingredients.

i may have gone to one too many grocery stores to find it.

but i found it.

and i devoured it.

behold!

a chair that is no longer being used as a closet.

one might assume that i actually have my life together.

one would be wrong.

but i'm trying.

you know you have been a student for too long when..

one.

you shower at night just so you can sleep in a little longer in the morning.

two.

you refuse to pay the fee and park close to the university. instead, you pay nothing and walk a couple blocks everyday.

three.

you become a teaching assistant and start to use the term "jaffy" - just another f**king first year

four.

you do not study the night before a big test. instead, you blog about student life.

five.

you openly discuss your sad little bank account due to the fact that you are a "poor student"

six.

you open your textbook. and then walk away.

seven.

you start to nod your head as the prof talks. you might be nodding to sleep, or you might be admitting to using the expression "birds of a feather" before realizing that all your classmates are too young for said expression. it is too late. you already outed.

eight.

if you remember to pack a lunch 3/5 days a week, you best celebrate.

nine.

you start to recognize familiar faces in the hall. and you share looks. looks that say "why are we still here?"

ten.

when someone asks you what scent you think of when you think of school and you reply "my rotting dreams"

comings and goings

i have been

watching french cinema

speaking broken french

spending way too long at school

snuggling a kitten

buying new-to-me skates

skating. or at least trying to.

sleeping just enough.

not drinking starbucks.

congratulating myself for not drinking starbucks

wondering when i became french movie critic

and daydreaming about cupcakes.

i wish i was

in italy

sipping café

wearing red lipstick

buying new boots

and a mustard yellow dress

some tights

speaking french fluently

and eating cupcakes.

a girl can dream, right?

this girl has to dream.

it gets her through.

then again, maybe it is just me

so i stood back.

a little awed.

a little moved.

and mostly unnerved by the vacuum forming in my stomach.

i was trying to fill it.

trying to avoid the nauseous rush

that tends to arrive with nerves.

trying to remember where we came from.

our roots.

how we got here.

if this road, was the right road.

if there was any other choice.

and, alas, there was not.

you may forget many things.

my only wish is that you will never forget that

that i look up to you.

always have.

always will.

B

because it is brilliant

and oh so relevant...


read this.

let it be known,
i frown upon diets as well.

how about some alternative new years goals?
your body deserves it!

to the year of greatness

i have not made new years resolutions.

you may peg me as a pessimist.

but you would be wrong.

i am just trying to avoid the burnout that usually accompanies my huge list of things i need to accomplish.

instead,

i have created three simple rules:

one

survive.

in approximately 3 weeks, i will be thick into french.

struggling, struggling, to defeat my vernacular

that makes me sound like belligerent spanish cow

attempting to speak french.

and, i must survive without taking up a coffee addiction.

wine and cheese are acceptable.

two.

push the limits of my yoga practice.

it will go something like this

hi foot! you are going behind my head.

hi other foot! you are now joining foot one behind my head.

be nice to each other, we will be here for five verrryyy long breaths.

three.

and, lastly, have more fun.

i will have 2.5 jobs this semester (yes, it is possible to have a half job)

and will be in desperate need of fun.

cheers to twenty twelve!

may we all love, laugh and prosper in the months to come.