oshawa

26/03/2013 § Leave a comment

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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.

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summer thrillz.

03/05/2012 § Leave a comment

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trees and flowers and coffee.

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.

i remember this feeling.

17/11/2011 § 3 Comments

My joie de vivre.

Otherwise known as, my priorities.

Last night, our little group we called it early after drinking red wine and watching Harry Potter: The Deathly Hollows Part II in HD on our rather large flat-screen t.v. The movie was meant to be shown in theatres in 3D, but I had missed it.

I was busy. I kept saying.

There were tight turns on roller-coaster tracks and flight-simulated dragon rides. At the end, and I give nothing away, the flakes of Lord Voldemort’s vile skin float towards the viewer. The experience, 2D, was epic, but I shoulda seen it the way it was meant to be seen.

Woulda, coulda.

I remember seeing a girl with a rather bold tattoo on her shoulder. It said something to the effect of: “No fear, no regrets.” In the moment, I thought it was silly to get such a phrase permanently inked on one’s body. For a moment, my judgments became self-righteous, I would never do such a thing. But then again, you never know. For her, maybe it was never meant to be seen, except in the context of summer dresses in humid weather while travelling (thus, the positioning on her shoulder).

This morning, I woke up after many hours of rest. I had slept the way I used to sleep. There were no pangs to wakeupwakeupwakeup. Where would I go, anyways? Instead, I made some drip-coffee, reflected a little on watching Harry Potter in 2D, wondering if I had missed something epic by not seeing it the way it was meant to be seen, if I shoulda said “no” to one plan and opted for a theatrical experience in the summer. And then I reveled in the fact that perhaps I, the viewer, was meant to watch it with a glass of wine in her hand, amidst friends and twenty steps to some much needed bedtime. Would it have been any other way?

Coulda. But, I don’t want to change this feeling I have right now. The movie was awesome.

 

 

kittens.

21/10/2011 § Leave a comment

“Her name is Oryx.”

“Can I call her Rikki?”

And there were some looks.

She had stopped eating, she didn’t drink for days which, to her, must have been a semi-lifetime. Her potassium was high and her protein was low and I lay with her on the kitchen floor telling her she was wanted and loved. Her green eyes were glazed with unwant-on-ness and the look of longing to belong.

I remember being a kid and sleeping on couches or deflated air mattresses, slumber parties and sleeping bags, half-inch thick foam mats to keep the roots from out of one’s back. Still, to this day, before and after sleep, I stretch my legs and arms out until I shake, roll around and find the sweet spot of a bed. Longing for dreams and wanting.

Like kittens.

summertime.

18/10/2011 § Leave a comment

 

 

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