26/03/2013 § Leave a comment


new horizons from old perspectives.

once, many years ago, i lived in suburbia. i never wanted to leave, not because i thought it was ideal, but because i didn’t want to leave my friends.

you’ll make new friends.

things do not change, they get easier as you realize your self in all of it. now, looking grey upon grey, graffiti-born transportable tubes, i find solace in silence atop double-decker trains.

the brilliance of intransience.


the star in a buck.

01/02/2012 § 2 Comments

I had an alias by the name of Briz Wevera. This aspect of myself believed in the people, was against the tyranny of major corporations, and an avid supporter of grassroots movements. She held strong to these principles, passing on the potential of a round at Monopoly, against conglomerates and amalgamation and selling out.

She still lives, but has learned a little humility from real life circumstances.

The other night, we experienced a loss of a loved one. Our kitten passed away, premature in life but, oh, what a full life of love it was. It was painful to watch, to endure, to come home from work to. For a moment, darkness crept into the Sheridan home: Tears, “what ifs” and “shoulda, woulda, couldas”.

I needed some space, because the brave face can only save itself for so long. I remember once being told I was as tough as stone, but chisel away long enough and there is nothing but molten brie beneath the surface. I decided it was necessary to find a bar or coffee shop to sit and write some notes about my thoughts and feelings, to gournal away for another time’s reflections.

On the streets, I could feel the cold from the sidewalk coming through my boots. But, I walked and walked, looking for a place with bright lights and cozy chairs. The bars were dark, too dark. The restaurants were too busy. Can’t a girl get a little space, was all I could wonder.

It was nine o’clock p.m. — almost insidious to think post mortem — and I walked along Dundas, Dovercourt up to College. And there it was, the only coffee shop open at that time: Starbucks. I have never been a fan of Starbucks. It was partially a political thing and partially a taste preference of coffee-snobbing. Still, the reality for the need for some quiet time and caffeine had jolted me into impulse indulgence. Inside, the fluorescent lighting was slightly obtrusive, but the consistency of space allowed me to automatically order a tall latte and ginger molasses cookie. It was convenient because in the moment I didn’t want to think, I wanted to feel. I wanted to purge on paper.

Perhaps there is something wrong with this notion: that a coffee shop that gains ground is able to psychologically dissect the masses into what they need: consistency and comfort. Eventually, it made me wonder whether that is corporately immoral?

With so many struggles in life — change, death, life, inconsistency — is it really all that bad to be reliable in superficial ways?

I remember sitting in a McDonald’s in Buenos Aires with a friend from the United States. Although there were meat and sausage shops all around with better quality food, they were usually jam-packed with regulars. This McDonald’s was off one of the main streets, Paseo Colon, but inside you felt like you could be anywhere:

“It’s funny. Whenever I am feeling a little homesick, I just want a fudge sundae and french fries. When I come here, I feel a little at ease and not so overwhelmed with it all.”

It pulled me back a little and took me in. I could give advice, tell her to ride the wave, to be where her hands are, to offer to eat some empanadas, but I knew I couldn’t. This was all too familiar a scene and the only thing I could think of doing was taking a french fry — pureed potato gel mash — and dip it into the hot fudge sundae — whipped oil-by-product. We sat in silence and relished the comforts of The Man-made home.

When your home, the one you go to every night, becomes turbulent where are you supposed to go for breathing space? In a city where space can be limiting, the feeling of anonymity is a challenge. There is too much going on at home, your coffee shop is closed, the bar is too intimate, the windows are too big in that restaurant, the library is closing in five minutes… Sometimes you choose the next best thing: Mine was sitting for an hour in a Starbucks, finding the fluorescent light within a dark night.

Viva la vida.

losing to snooze.

23/01/2012 § Leave a comment

Last week, I was going to be late as working coffee shop hours can be quite out of the ordinary. The alarm was set for five-a.m. with an half-an-hour leeway for ten-minute snooze time intervals. Later that morning, M was on his way to school:

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna be late. I hit the snooze button too long. I have to write my test, but, I dunno. I’ve always been a snooze-er.”

At the coffee shop, as the sun began to rise and pour in through the East-facing window, a regular came in. Full of energy and bounce and a million remedies for my cough. She asked how I was:

“Tired. Feels like I haven’t slept in years and I like a solid nine to eleven hours.”

She told me I probably had a lack of vitamins and that my life energy was low. And, I wondered if that was true? Was I losing my joie de vivre? Was there something wrong with me that I could (cannot) function normally without nine to eleven hours of sleep? Was it wrong (abnormal) for me to want to sleep all day and be up all night? My inner sense of curious justice got the best of me.

I remember working mornings at a bakery in an East-End grocery store and one of the guys asking me, why? Why would you interrupt sleep with an annoying sound when you could just skip through that and wake-up when you need to? Wonderfully, but not surprisingly, he has since gone to Law School, and done very well for himself.

In the present day, on the West-side of town, a few ladies got together to sip wine and listen to records. We started talking about the mind-body meld while looking at Miyako’s new Fuji (which has beautiful colours and clarity, by the way).

“Sooo, how long do you guys sleep for?” I wondered.

“At least nine, nine hours to be functional,”said Lizerton.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Sometimes five, sometimes more. But, I’m a morning person, I love the sunrise. It gives me so much energy.” Miyako’s eyes sparkling at the thought.

I walked Westward home with vigour, the street lights casting an eerie orange hue on melted snow slick streets, but for some reason I turned my head around and looked East. There it was: the city. Like a blackened quilt with a large cluster-burst of fluorescent stars. The nights are good, too.

Back at the house, T and M were already asleep. I was not tired, yet, so I stayed up to read while listening to a little music. I wondered what time I was going to fall asleep. I wondered what time I was going to wake-up and whether I should just sleep through the snooze and not lose anymore sleep.

In the end, everything made me think about that woman in the coffee shop. Despite her good intentions to share her knowledge of how to live a healthy, mindful lifestyle, the reality is perhaps some people need a little more sleep. Perhaps, some people like the mornings, some people like the night. Some like to snuggle in bed, while others like to constantly be out with people. And sometimes, we all need a little of column A and column B — the East, the West, the right, the left, the day, the night — to find balance in-between.

the holidays.

22/12/2011 § Leave a comment

Merry Christmas, Joyeux Noel, Feliz Navidad.

Celebrating one year of growth and birth.

Waking up to the tick-tock of the clock, I find myself wrapped in the arms of Father Time.

I remember renewing my Health Card, once, just outside of Guelph. The forms asked me the date and at the time I did not carry a calendar or phone:

“Excuse me, sir, what day is it?”

“Why, young lady, it is Thursday.”

“Yes, but what is the date?”

“You must be a happy person, because they say the happiest people don’t know what date it is…”

It made me wonder if that was true, if brushing off two millenia of conventional time would mean I was a happier person…

Right now, I have two schedules that I try to balance. Three and four if you count friends and living a normal life of laundry and dust-bunnies. I keep hearing “hard-working” and how “people need someone like that” and I still wonder if that is just my merriment of existence and the hope of someday moving back to South America.

I heard on the CBC radio program, Q, an interview with Jian Ghomeshi. He was asking a Law School drop-out what made him choose the life of a comedian. And, I paraphrase:


Everyday, he woke up with dread of going to his job, his office, his tranquil life instead of hanging out and joking with friends. Then, one day he read a quote from Ghandi:

“What you do in life will be insignificant, but it’s important you do it.”

Perhaps that is where happiness falls into the bend of space and time.

So much time has passed, 26 years, and each day I take as it comes. I wake with no dread, only questions of meaning and wonderment whether it would be any other way. This is the time of year that usually brings people together for cheers and saludos.

As always, a Happy Christmas to all wrapped with bows of warm, fuzzy hugs.

hello world.

10/11/2011 § Leave a comment

Here, I am.

Everywhere and nowhere,

And all the places we have been,

Like a leaf, a flake, a butterfly with bird’s wings.

I think of how you used to sit with your feet tucked in,

Curled into a half-ball watching your favourite programs,

Stories, like the ones I now watch.

I think of times with woodstoves and locked away liquor cabinets filled with gin.

I think and wonder what you think about now.

I wonder why my heart desires to live on the end of town,

Or why I love woven sweaters,

Why I believe in a common ancestry,

And why, as a kid, I built castles in the sand.

Or why I tend to run away from everything that I am

And towards the perpetual pursuit of truth.

Hello world, here I am.

what we can.

16/08/2011 § 2 Comments

The break from boiling kettles.

And the breeze blows through.

the way.

05/08/2011 § Leave a comment

And of what, I am unsure.

Life being a series of flowing moments and snapshots of emotions distilled with time. Yes, those times will become more pure with the ageing process (pronounced PRO-cess in my head).

Where do new memories fit in while we try as we might to push old ones away, because heaven knows dear you can’t remember everything, right?



I left behind something and I couldn’t put my finger on the button. Someone pulled it out of me and that tingling sensation — like when your arm falls asleep, pins & needles they call it — has started in my body again. Feeling.

I’m getting my feelings back after being paralyzed, emotionally and mentally severed. Oh, these physical manifestations. What was that? A grumble from my belly: “I am huuuungry!”

Of course you are.

I started gaining my eye sight back, too. Not so twenty-twenty-five, but enough that my left eye doesn’t shoot to the top left when I have a glass of wine (or two, or too many). Sitting here after a spin-out, sleeping through a few nights of recovery, sipping on some Chicken Noodles (because, hell is it ever good for the soul), I did what I have always done after extensive surgery:

Get up and keep on keeping on.

If only I could become a pro at this incessant change.

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