more sample writing

Alright. So I decided to try something new. It's been a while since I've been inspired to write anything so I've been playing around with voices, point of views, characters et cetera. And since I am always thinking about relationships and how they work and why they're so important, I decided to write a a little something from the other side, the side I've never really understood. This is a work of fiction and all characters and events are fictional.

Dear blissfully ignorant better half,

I am writing to you because of the guilt I bear and cannot stand to bear it anymore. I have done some things that I am not proud of, some things that I'll never be able to take back.

It started the night of my birthday. My friends were throwing me a little fete and, of course, you couldn't be there again. I was feeling so lonely without you by my side and he, well, he was there. He took care of me and made me laugh and kept me company. I never meant for it to happen, I swear. He invited me back to his place, and I couldn't say no. I let him ravage me all night long. I'm not going to tell you I didn't enjoy it, because I did. But I swear, it's you that I love. 

Yet, when he called me the next day I picked up. I couldn't help it. A big part of me wondered if he was feeling as guilty as I was. If he even cared that you existed. He was so sweet about the whole thing... We talked about everything. About him. About me. About everything and nothing at all. It's been so long since you and I have talked. Really talked. I won't let you make me feel guilty about this.

We started hanging out. Just innocent things. Drinking coffee. Listening to music. Watching movies. Discussing Picasso and dadaism and all those pretentious unimportant things people talk about. There was never a repeat of what happened on the night of my birthday. I think we both knew we wouldn't ever be able to return if we did. So we settled for coffee dates. 

And after all that I turned around yesterday and looked you in the eye and said I love you. Do I even mean it anymore?

Yours always.

Life as a Canadian

Visibly, no one would ever mark me as a Canadian. I have long black hair and a small dark stature. My nose is as flat as a button and my eyes, while big, still taper off into that undeniable oriental slant that brands all Asians. But I am Canadian. I was born and raised in what all Canadians know as the centre of the universe, Toronto.

So what does it mean to be Canadian? Around the world we are reputed to be nice, polite people (as opposed to our neighbours just south of the border). In my mind that equates to boring. Are we boring? Canada is never one of those countries that tends to stand out in people's minds. We come second in everything. Second largest country. Home to the second tallest free standing building in the world. We like to stand outside and distance ourselves from everyone. We were "non-belligerent" in the Vietnam war. We refused to participate in the war in Iraq. So what defines us as Canadians other than our love of hockey and production of maple syrup?

Last summer I spent some time in Central America trying to discover what it was to NOT be Canadian. It was actually kind of nice. When I came back, the first thing I noticed was how straight everyone's lawn was. How symmetrical the houses were. How every piece of property fit into its own neat little plot. And I was reminded of that song by Malvina Reynolds... "Little boxes, little boxes, little boxes, all the same."

As much as I love my country, I believe we've traded off our last little ounce of personality for freedom, security, and the right to be our own person (all things that I value to the utmost degree). We are trained that to be successful we need to go to school. Get a degree. Enter the workforce. Make good money. Everybody can do it. We have become so "tolerant" of differences that everything has become "unPC" (politically incorrect).  There is no such thing as eskimo and Indians are not those people who first owned our stolen land (they are most commonly First Nations people, Inuit, native Americans). And never do we utter the word n****r. Unless it's after a big meal and we're all a little sleepy. And even then we say "itis". (Google that if you don't get it.)

But why am I complaining. Depsite the frigid winters. And the frigid people. (I don't get the hand shake. A kiss on the cheek. Or even two. That's much more simple than the awkward stick out your hand while the other person goes in for the hug.) And the rep of being doormats for other countries (ahem, U.S.A.) to step on and wipe their crap all over. (Am I a little bitter? No. Of course not!) I love my country! I am Canadian.

So here. I can tell you at least one thing about what it is to be Canadian: never being ashamed of professing your nationality. (Unless someone brings up Jim Carey, Cable Guy, or the likes.)

Return from the Holy Land

Shalom. Both hello and goodbye. I never understood how one word could mean such opposite things. But I think I get it a little better now. I don't know if I'm coming or going or where I'm heading to. I've left Israel, but my heart is still there. So were my rose-coloured glasses shattered? I don't know. So much has happened in the past two weeks that I don't know what to think anymore.

Israel is still an enigma to me. It's a country so rough around the edges (and in the middle too), as a Canadian, it can sometimes even come off as brash and uninviting. It's history is something so far from what I've ever experienced, I can only begin to try and understand what is on the surface. Yet despite all the problems there is a truth and honesty to Israel that I've never been able to find in Canada. Beneath the rough exterior are the heart and soul of a person yearning for the same things that we all are.

And I stand outside it all. Unable to truly understand what goes on within those walls. Set apart by my Canadian upbringing. Not Jewish. Not even an Arab.

Some places are so easy to fall in love with. They are warm, welcoming, vibrant. There are those places that open their arms to you, no matter who you are. But then they fall flat when you try to explore their depths. I don't think Israel is one of those places. So what is it? Could I fall in love with Israel? Would Israel accept me?

I sit here now in my large house with central heating. The tv blares with an endless circulation of infomercials and a droning voice tries to sell me products from all corners of the room. It feels like another lifetime since I've been in Israel. Or even as if it were all just a dream. All I have left are my photos to confirm it really did happen. I wonder if I will ever return, if I will ever be able to go back to the way things were.

Shalom: Ramblings from Israel

The man in the moon looks the same from here. Or maybe I've forgotten what he looks like at home. Sometimes I even forget what home looks like. But then again I've never really considered one specific place to be home.

I've only been a couple of days in Israel, but already I'm starting to feel comfortable. I have yet to decide on an explanation for that (because, of course, my analytical mind will not stop until a reason is found). Maybe it's due to the fact I've not only become jaded in my "real time" life, but in my travels as well. Nothing manages to excite or thrill me anymore. Another country, another scenery, just another notch on the bedpost. I envy those who look at life as if everything is new again.

Then my emotions take over. That dark, insecure, female side. I let myself wonder if maybe the reason I feel so comfortable is that I am in the exact place I should be at this exact moment in time. And that's when I start to doubt myself. We all know when we want something so badly we are willing to believe anything, to see only what we want to see. It's impractical. It's illogical. It's wishful thinking. But just what if?

Aside from my need to question and understand everything, Israel is a beautiful country (from what I've seen so far). Though I haven't been to many places yet, I feel as though I have stepped outside from a generic, colourless, and sterile world into a place that breathes life. The sunsets are so vivid and everywhere you go orange blossoms grows in abundance. You've never smelled anything until you've smelled fresh orange blossom. Not to mention the orchards in the kibbutz. Fragrant oranges, mandarins, tangerines, grapefruit, avacado - as far as the eye can see. And the sun, just touching everything with its warm golden glow.

How nauseating was that passage, eh? I feel as if I am waxing like a person in love - this was lovely, and that was lovely, and everything was just perfect. But... We'll see how long these rose-coloured glasses can shield my weary, skeptical eyes.

Life in the Linear

Do you stick to the straight and narrow or do you veer off the beaten path and take the road less travelled? Being the random and sometimes erratic girl that I am, I am definitely in favour of blazing your own twisted, winding trail, but who's to say what the best method is?

I will the be the first to admit, I envy those who can walk a straight line without veering off this way or that. I like the idea that you have an end in sight, a goal, a plan, a means of getting there. One foot in front of the other, knowing exactly where the next step will take you. There are no surprises for you. You know what to expect. Everything is stable.

But is it worth it to give up that excitement to feel just comfortable all the time? I don't think I could live following one path all my life. There are too many twists and turns and unexpected forks in the road that you absolutely cannot plan for. I crave adventure - always exploring, uncovering the unknown, discovering new ideas. I am not afraid to leave my future in the hands of fate. It's the unpredictability, the curve balls, the random forks in the road, that make life the dynamic, beautiful thing that it is. It's like my favourite architect, Antonio Gaudi, once said: the greatest architect ever (God) never used straight lines so why should I?.

So I look at it this way, maybe I'll never have that nice condo which I've saved years for. Or maybe I'll never work that stable job that feels like a second home to me. Maybe I'll never meet that someone who I come home to everyday. You can insert here any one of those goals that many acquire along the linear path. But does that really matter in the end?