Bits & Pieces

So I have completely lost all inspiration. (I still have yet to hear anything from potential muses, the position is still open!) I have decided for now to just post little tidbits and quotes and pieces from songs and and stories that make me smile, think, ponder, remember etc. Maybe something will get the creative juices flowing. (If there was any there to begin with.) So, bits & pieces #1 from Madonna's Dear Jessie:

If the land of make believe

Is inside your heart it will never leave

Is it really possible to preserve that innocence we all once had as a child? Do fairytales really exist? I think I have been stradling that line for a long time now - yes still, at the age of 23 I still stradle the line between childhood and adulthood. Part of me still dreams of happily every afters and Prince Charmings and fairy godmothers, where good triumphs over evil every single time. That part believes that anything is possible, that I can be whatever I want to be, that I can conquer the world, that I can save it. I dream of breaking from the mold, leaving the old rat race behind. And some days, I believe it's possible.

Then I take a good look at my life. And I wonder if I can survive outside of the ticky tacky boxed lifestyle the majority of us live in. I have done the 9-5er before. That was me. And it took a long time for me to break out. But eventually I did. I travelled the world. I fell in love. I danced. I lived. And now here I am, feeling that pull once again. Because, above all, it's stability. I stand here today at a crossroad, wondering which path to take and if I'll regret that decision I make. I want to continue down the road less travelled. But it's like Winston in 1984:

Forty years it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.

Tiptoe through the tulips with me :)

Am I the only one who didn't watch the inaguration? To be quite honest, I know nothing about Barack Obama. Only that he's black. But, that's just, well uhhh, kinda obvious. Ya know? Did I miss anything? Who knows. Apparently it was history the making.

Anyway, I didn't come here to write about presidents and politics and all those things I pretend to be interested in, but I'm really not. When it all comes down to it, what we have is the here and now. Let the politicians tend to political matters. All I really want is the simple life. To run barefoot in the park with no great expectations.

So why is it so hard for us to live in the present? Why do we think of today as what will be history in the future? Why can't it just be today? 

It's like, we've spent so much of our time studying how the rose came to be a rose and from whence it came and of what significance the evolution of the rose is. And then. Yes, AND then. We take that information and use it to spend all of our time trying to work out how to better that rose and create the best technologically advanced rose we can produce. We never once sit back and say, "Ahhhh THIS rose smells good. " (Did I stretch that metaphor a little too far? Yeah... I thought so too...)

Anyway. The next time you're off, hurrying about your life, worrying about what will be. Take a moment. Stop and smell the roses. Take a look around you, if you will. You never know just what you might find.

Time goes by, so slowly...

And time. Can do soooooo much.

Oh my God. What was I thinking when I wrote the "Long Canadian Winter" entry. I wrote it way back in November! When winter wasn't even upon us. It has now been snowing for three days straight. The snow almost reaches our windowsill and our driveway needs to be plowed every few minutes.

I wonder how we've all made it thus far. I marvel at how the others have managed to survive. I am one of the young 'uns and I'm barely holding on. It's times like these that I wonder if there is a God. No God would allow such cruelty as we have seen.

Okay, I'm being overly dramatic. I tried. Winter sucks. It completely kills any inspiration I have. I need a muse. Open auditions. Name. Age. Occuptation. That sort of junk. Oh, and of course, why you think YOU have what it takes to inspire me. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand go.

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.)