pp. 141-142:
He felt in those minutes his body's treason, how sometimes the central, tedious struggle in his life was his unwillingness to accept that he would be betrayed by it again and again, that he could expect nothing from it and yet had to keep maintaining it. So much time, his and Andy's, was spent trying to repair something unfixable, something that should have wound up in charred bits on a slag heap years ago. And for what? His mind, he supposed. But there was - as Andy might have said - something incredibly arrogant about that, as if he was saving a jalopy because he had a sentimental attachment to its sound system.
Monday, October 31, 2016
Sunday, October 30, 2016
By Warsan Shire
I DID NOT WRITE THIS. I REPEAT, I DID NOT WRITE THIS.
THE FOLLOWING IS FROM WARSAN SHIRE'S Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth.
Entitled CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HOME (AT THE DEPORTATION CENTRE).
Well, I think home spat me out, the blackouts and curfews like tongue against loose tooth. God, do you know how difficult it is, to talk about the day your own city dragged you by the hair, past the old prison, past the school gates, past the burning torsos erected on poles like flags? When I meet others like me I recognise the longing, the missing, the memory of ash on their faces. No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark. Ive been carrying the old anthem in my mouth for so long that there's no space for another song, another tongue or another language. I know a shame that shrouds, totally engulfs. I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel. I'm bloated with language I can't afford to forget.
They ask me how did you get here? Can't you see it on my body? The Libyan desert red with immigrant bodies, the Gulf of Aden bloated, the city of Rome with no jacket. I hope the journey meant more than miles because all of my children are in the water. I thought the sea was safer than the land. I want to make love, but my hair smells of war and running and running. I want to lay down, but these countries are like uncles who touch you when you're young and asleep. Look at all these borders, foaming at the mouth with bodies broken and desperate. I'm the colour of hot sun on the face, my mother's remains were never buried. I spent days and nights in the stomach of the truck; I did not come out the same. Sometimes it feels like someone else is wearing my body.
I know a few things to be true. I do not know where I am going, where I have come from is disappearing, I am unwelcome and my beauty is not beauty here. My body is burning with the shame of not belonging, my body is longing. I am the sin of memory and the absence of memory. I watch the news and my mouth becomes a sink full of blood. The lines, the forms, the people at the desks, the calling cards, the immigration officer, the looks on the street, the cold settling deep into my bones, the English classes at night, the distance I am from home. But Alhamdulilah all of this is better than the scent of a woman completely on fire, or a truckload of men who look like my father, pulling out my teeth and nails, or fourteen men between my legs, or a gun, or a promise, or a lie, or his name, or his manhood in my mouth.
I hear them say go home, I hear them say fucking immigrants, fucking refugees. Are they really this arrogant? Do they not know that stability is like a lover with a sweet mouth upon your body one second; the next you are a tremor lying on the floor covered in rubble and old currency waiting for its return. All I can is, I was once like you, the apathy, the pity, the ungrateful placement and now my home is the mouth of a shark, now my home is the barrel of a gun. I'll see you on the other side.
THE FOLLOWING IS FROM WARSAN SHIRE'S Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth.
Entitled CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HOME (AT THE DEPORTATION CENTRE).
Well, I think home spat me out, the blackouts and curfews like tongue against loose tooth. God, do you know how difficult it is, to talk about the day your own city dragged you by the hair, past the old prison, past the school gates, past the burning torsos erected on poles like flags? When I meet others like me I recognise the longing, the missing, the memory of ash on their faces. No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark. Ive been carrying the old anthem in my mouth for so long that there's no space for another song, another tongue or another language. I know a shame that shrouds, totally engulfs. I tore up and ate my own passport in an airport hotel. I'm bloated with language I can't afford to forget.
They ask me how did you get here? Can't you see it on my body? The Libyan desert red with immigrant bodies, the Gulf of Aden bloated, the city of Rome with no jacket. I hope the journey meant more than miles because all of my children are in the water. I thought the sea was safer than the land. I want to make love, but my hair smells of war and running and running. I want to lay down, but these countries are like uncles who touch you when you're young and asleep. Look at all these borders, foaming at the mouth with bodies broken and desperate. I'm the colour of hot sun on the face, my mother's remains were never buried. I spent days and nights in the stomach of the truck; I did not come out the same. Sometimes it feels like someone else is wearing my body.
I know a few things to be true. I do not know where I am going, where I have come from is disappearing, I am unwelcome and my beauty is not beauty here. My body is burning with the shame of not belonging, my body is longing. I am the sin of memory and the absence of memory. I watch the news and my mouth becomes a sink full of blood. The lines, the forms, the people at the desks, the calling cards, the immigration officer, the looks on the street, the cold settling deep into my bones, the English classes at night, the distance I am from home. But Alhamdulilah all of this is better than the scent of a woman completely on fire, or a truckload of men who look like my father, pulling out my teeth and nails, or fourteen men between my legs, or a gun, or a promise, or a lie, or his name, or his manhood in my mouth.
I hear them say go home, I hear them say fucking immigrants, fucking refugees. Are they really this arrogant? Do they not know that stability is like a lover with a sweet mouth upon your body one second; the next you are a tremor lying on the floor covered in rubble and old currency waiting for its return. All I can is, I was once like you, the apathy, the pity, the ungrateful placement and now my home is the mouth of a shark, now my home is the barrel of a gun. I'll see you on the other side.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
To stay grounded
- Can you list 5 things you see in your current setting?
- Can you list 5 things you hear in your current setting?
- Can you list 5 things you feel in your current setting?
Repeat with 3 things.
Repeat with 1 thing.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Dalton Barath
I found a roll of film from years ago. This was the only print of any substance. Everything else was destroyed. A wreck. A lot of black with nothing, a couple of ruined shots. This was the only thing left. A double exposure of Dalton and myself in my room in first year. Lovingly dubbed the jail cell.
How the fuck did we go from there to here? I don't even talk to him anymore. I haven't spoken to him in over a year. The last time was an awkward goodbye at the Grad Club. I hope he's happy now. I wonder if he ever made it into military school. I wonder if he's still with his girlfriend. She was a sweet generous person, exactly the kind of person he needed.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
On the 22 Men Who Inspire Me
Nico writes a list of 29 women who have shaped his life. These are women who helped him grow, who gave him love, taught love. "An ode to the women that taught me how to love."
I think it would be easier to write a list of the women who inspire me, encourage me, support me. Who love me. But this is for the men in my life, and their energy that I must accept. For it is the men in my life who have always caused the biggest storms, inspired the most tremendous growth. Men who have broken me, but also taught me strength and resilience. This is for the men in my life who have taught me endurance in love, courage and recklessness in love. It is for the men who have stayed and who have left. For the ones who have broken me, and the ones who have helped me rebuild. It is for men who continuously force me to go beyond comfortable, who open my eyes and show me the world in a way I had not seen it before.
To my father, Steven, who tries in the ways he can to show love, to create and foster a family. To my father who never knew his father, who never grew up in a conventional family. Who grew up struggling and lost. Dad, we disagree on so many topics. There are issues I don't know how to solve because of you, but Dad, I know you tried. I know you tried so hard to show me love and a good home. In many ways, it was a good home. Thanks for a childhood where I got to see so much, where I got to laugh so much. Thanks for doing all that you knew to do.
To my grandpa, Edward, who I wish got to see me grow older because I know you would've been proud of me in the silent way that you always were. To my grandpa who I still imagine sitting on the end of the couch, watching TV, helping me colour in my colouring books. It was my grandpa who was the first inspiration for art, for the creative. It was my grandpa who I never knew how to say goodbye to.
To Phil, who still haunts me today. Phil, you were everything and you taught me so much. Sex, love, photography, pain, messy relationships, graffiti, being playful and taking risks. The ferocity and viciousness of love. You were the most beautiful summer. You taught me love, heartbreak and doubt in the way that only being in love can. You were the best love, but the most confusing and heartbreaking.
To Adam, one of my best friends. You are the kindest, the most understanding. I always tell you you're one of the best people I know. You are comfort, you are safety. You are home. I don't want to imagine my life without you in it. We've known each other for maybe six years now, and I'm so happy for this. You're everything I'm so glad to have in my life. Thank you for always being so understanding, so giving with me. You spoil me, and for that, I'm so so lucky.
To Jack, the boy who lived upstairs; my first crush. You were the one who first showed me the importance of laughter in the person you hope to be your partner. You showed me to look for a partner in mischief, in adventure.
To my cousin, Ken, who always, always comes through. Thanks for all the drives and being the best handyman/tech guy. Things get tough, but they're far less scary when I know you're there for backup. Also, you have the driest sense of humour. You're so rude sometimes, and I love and admire that.
To Stephen, who I lovingly call Bear. You are not the easiest person, and sometimes I have to really try. You are different and kind in the way you know how, the way you believe in the things you do. It is a lesson and a gift to see the world from another's perspective. It is a blessing to see the world in a way bigger than your own. You've taught me so much about myself, about being in pain, about being resilient. You became such an important piece of my life in such a precarious period of my life. I remember all the late nights talking. Please know that even when we don't talk as much as we used to, even as I grow, you're always part of who I am. A part of the things I aspire to be.
To Mr. Erickson. You've taught me so, so much about how to be kind. How to be understanding and accepting of difference. You taught me to be critical. How to push and create the change I want to see. You also introduced me to my favourite author, and for that I will always be grateful.
To Mr. Bauer, who made all the girls swoon. You are the epitome of a good teacher. You, who cared so much about the world and the people in it. You, who changed career paths so you could change the world in a more tacit way. You've taught me to be kind and considerate of the people and the environment around me. You've taught me to always see the best in people; the potential in the world. You taught me to always be hopeful for the future.
To Richard, who was the closest I've come to a real boyfriend. You were so good until you became so difficult. But it was good. Our strange and awkward dance helped me figure out what I want and what I need in a partner. It taught me to communicate and to compromise. It helped me realize the importance of being alone, and of finding myself before finding someone else. You were so tall and you always made me smile and sometimes, I still wish that we could've made it work.
To Feo, the sweet alumnus who reassured me that the future would always be hopeful. We met right before the end of my final year. You were a friend of my Gael's, which only made your advice all the more reassuring. You were so many sweet things that I wished I had more often. A good influence who I wished I got to spend more time with.
To Timmy, who I met in middle school and somehow followed through university. We've become such different people, and we haven't spoken in maybe a year. But we've always stopped and picked up where we last left off. You're very dependable in that way. You've always been dependable. I think we'll always be there to help each other out. You're just that kind of person.
To Russ, the boy I lost my virginity to. You allowed me the opportunity not to lose myself in another person. You gave me the freedom to constantly choose, rather than to let one person define me. Also, I can't believe you waited a whole Guy Ritchie movie to make a move. I fell asleep during that movie. I had already seen it before.
To Alejandro, who spoke such lovely words and inspired me to speak lovely words in return. You were a beautiful tortured soul, more tortured than my young 19-year old self could handle. You were loving and possessive. I was in love and flighty. I never ached for someone the same way I ached for you. It was a short lived and distant romance, but the creativity and passion you inspired in me, I'll never lose the words for.
To Matt, the only boy I felt truly sorry about. I'm sorry for the way I treated you. It wasn't fair. It was cruel and reckless. You met me at such a difficult time in my life. I was heartbroken and so, so lost. I didn't know how to deal with it and you were caught in the crossfire. This isn't an excuse, but a poor explanation. I hope you're happy now with someone who deserves your affection.
And finally to Samuel, the most recent one. We had so much in common, and towards the end I thought I was fine being friends. I liked your passion for igniting change. I liked the way you spoke about it. So defiant against a system I had already lost faith in. You still believed in change, and I admired that part of you. But like you told me, we're not perfect people and we can't always treat people the way they should be treated. I'm learning to treat myself better. Be kinder to myself, be less harmful. One of the last things you said to me broke me down in tears. It brought back all the heartbreak that I thought I had moved past. I'm not ready or willing to be thrown into that again. Men have taught me strength, but I am trying to teach myself kindness.
To the men who have changed my life, I wish you only the best even if our end was only the worst. I hope that if the stars and moons align, we'll meet each other only in the best circumstances and with the kindest intentions. I hope I will meet the men of my present and future with the same strength and resilience I've been taught. I hope I meet myself with the kindness that I will surely need.
I think it would be easier to write a list of the women who inspire me, encourage me, support me. Who love me. But this is for the men in my life, and their energy that I must accept. For it is the men in my life who have always caused the biggest storms, inspired the most tremendous growth. Men who have broken me, but also taught me strength and resilience. This is for the men in my life who have taught me endurance in love, courage and recklessness in love. It is for the men who have stayed and who have left. For the ones who have broken me, and the ones who have helped me rebuild. It is for men who continuously force me to go beyond comfortable, who open my eyes and show me the world in a way I had not seen it before.
To my father, Steven, who tries in the ways he can to show love, to create and foster a family. To my father who never knew his father, who never grew up in a conventional family. Who grew up struggling and lost. Dad, we disagree on so many topics. There are issues I don't know how to solve because of you, but Dad, I know you tried. I know you tried so hard to show me love and a good home. In many ways, it was a good home. Thanks for a childhood where I got to see so much, where I got to laugh so much. Thanks for doing all that you knew to do.
To my grandpa, Edward, who I wish got to see me grow older because I know you would've been proud of me in the silent way that you always were. To my grandpa who I still imagine sitting on the end of the couch, watching TV, helping me colour in my colouring books. It was my grandpa who was the first inspiration for art, for the creative. It was my grandpa who I never knew how to say goodbye to.
To Phil, who still haunts me today. Phil, you were everything and you taught me so much. Sex, love, photography, pain, messy relationships, graffiti, being playful and taking risks. The ferocity and viciousness of love. You were the most beautiful summer. You taught me love, heartbreak and doubt in the way that only being in love can. You were the best love, but the most confusing and heartbreaking.
To Adam, one of my best friends. You are the kindest, the most understanding. I always tell you you're one of the best people I know. You are comfort, you are safety. You are home. I don't want to imagine my life without you in it. We've known each other for maybe six years now, and I'm so happy for this. You're everything I'm so glad to have in my life. Thank you for always being so understanding, so giving with me. You spoil me, and for that, I'm so so lucky.
To Jack, the boy who lived upstairs; my first crush. You were the one who first showed me the importance of laughter in the person you hope to be your partner. You showed me to look for a partner in mischief, in adventure.
To my cousin, Ken, who always, always comes through. Thanks for all the drives and being the best handyman/tech guy. Things get tough, but they're far less scary when I know you're there for backup. Also, you have the driest sense of humour. You're so rude sometimes, and I love and admire that.
To Dalton, one of my first and best friends in university. And whom I had the biggest crush on. I think maybe you were the one that got away. Everyone thought we were going to date. You kissed me on the cheek once, but that was all. You were still the one that showed me so much music, so many movies. So much counterculture. You were always so different, and the world seemed too small for you. I will always hope that you're doing well.
To Jonathan, my first kiss. I was 16, sitting in your living room. We were watching I Am Legend when you kissed me. I told you that it was my first kiss, and you turned my head over again and asked for my second. You were everything I wasn't at the tender age of sixteen. You were mysterious and a bad boy, all the things I'm drawn to today.
To Stephen, who I lovingly call Bear. You are not the easiest person, and sometimes I have to really try. You are different and kind in the way you know how, the way you believe in the things you do. It is a lesson and a gift to see the world from another's perspective. It is a blessing to see the world in a way bigger than your own. You've taught me so much about myself, about being in pain, about being resilient. You became such an important piece of my life in such a precarious period of my life. I remember all the late nights talking. Please know that even when we don't talk as much as we used to, even as I grow, you're always part of who I am. A part of the things I aspire to be.
To Mr. Erickson. You've taught me so, so much about how to be kind. How to be understanding and accepting of difference. You taught me to be critical. How to push and create the change I want to see. You also introduced me to my favourite author, and for that I will always be grateful.
To Mr. Bauer, who made all the girls swoon. You are the epitome of a good teacher. You, who cared so much about the world and the people in it. You, who changed career paths so you could change the world in a more tacit way. You've taught me to be kind and considerate of the people and the environment around me. You've taught me to always see the best in people; the potential in the world. You taught me to always be hopeful for the future.
To Raj, who I've known for so many years now without having to think much about this fact. You've always encouraged my sexuality, made me more curious to explore and embrace my sexuality. You met a frightful, young, innocent girl, and seen her become the unapologetic sexual being she is today. And still, you compliment me on my smile.
To Alex and Griffin, the Boys who made my undergraduate career what it was. We met what feels like a lifetime ago. When we met, we were all so young and naive in the way that we saw the world, the way we handled the world. I remember all the times in first year we spent getting drunk, and then the times in the following years. You guys take such good care of me. You're always there as an ear to listen. Always there to finish off the food at all-you-can-eat sushi. I don't know where I'd be, or how I would've made it out of Queen's without you two. I have so much love for the two of you.
To Robert, who is a hard person to explain in my life. You taught me a kind of comfort in my body. You taught me to demand what I want, and to say stop when things become more than I can handle. You are a return to animalism.
To Richard, who was the closest I've come to a real boyfriend. You were so good until you became so difficult. But it was good. Our strange and awkward dance helped me figure out what I want and what I need in a partner. It taught me to communicate and to compromise. It helped me realize the importance of being alone, and of finding myself before finding someone else. You were so tall and you always made me smile and sometimes, I still wish that we could've made it work.
To Feo, the sweet alumnus who reassured me that the future would always be hopeful. We met right before the end of my final year. You were a friend of my Gael's, which only made your advice all the more reassuring. You were so many sweet things that I wished I had more often. A good influence who I wished I got to spend more time with.
To Timmy, who I met in middle school and somehow followed through university. We've become such different people, and we haven't spoken in maybe a year. But we've always stopped and picked up where we last left off. You're very dependable in that way. You've always been dependable. I think we'll always be there to help each other out. You're just that kind of person.
To Russ, the boy I lost my virginity to. You allowed me the opportunity not to lose myself in another person. You gave me the freedom to constantly choose, rather than to let one person define me. Also, I can't believe you waited a whole Guy Ritchie movie to make a move. I fell asleep during that movie. I had already seen it before.
To Alejandro, who spoke such lovely words and inspired me to speak lovely words in return. You were a beautiful tortured soul, more tortured than my young 19-year old self could handle. You were loving and possessive. I was in love and flighty. I never ached for someone the same way I ached for you. It was a short lived and distant romance, but the creativity and passion you inspired in me, I'll never lose the words for.
To Matt, the only boy I felt truly sorry about. I'm sorry for the way I treated you. It wasn't fair. It was cruel and reckless. You met me at such a difficult time in my life. I was heartbroken and so, so lost. I didn't know how to deal with it and you were caught in the crossfire. This isn't an excuse, but a poor explanation. I hope you're happy now with someone who deserves your affection.
And finally to Samuel, the most recent one. We had so much in common, and towards the end I thought I was fine being friends. I liked your passion for igniting change. I liked the way you spoke about it. So defiant against a system I had already lost faith in. You still believed in change, and I admired that part of you. But like you told me, we're not perfect people and we can't always treat people the way they should be treated. I'm learning to treat myself better. Be kinder to myself, be less harmful. One of the last things you said to me broke me down in tears. It brought back all the heartbreak that I thought I had moved past. I'm not ready or willing to be thrown into that again. Men have taught me strength, but I am trying to teach myself kindness.
To the men who have changed my life, I wish you only the best even if our end was only the worst. I hope that if the stars and moons align, we'll meet each other only in the best circumstances and with the kindest intentions. I hope I will meet the men of my present and future with the same strength and resilience I've been taught. I hope I meet myself with the kindness that I will surely need.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
That Time in London
A flight on September 29th, originally set to land in London UK on September 30th at 6:25am. It was a week and a half of beautiful ol' London with an old friend to show me the ropes. I flew back to Toronto on October 10th. My week and a half in London was very, very full. There was a lot of walking. There was a lot to see, and probably more that still needs to be seen. I'm told London is one of the oldest cities, a real first class city. One of the most notable in the world. London was not for me, but it was still beautiful and it was still an experience to be had.
9.29.16. This isn't my worst flying experience, but it certainly isn't the best. Before I go to the airport, I already know that my flight is going to be delayed but I go early anyways. What was originally a 30-minute delay becomes a 3-hour delay. My seat mate is nice though. It's his first flight since he was a kid. It's my first flight in two years. He's moving to the UK to do his Master's.
10.1.16. Some girls are chatting in the kitchen when I get back to the hostel and join them. A French girl tells us her story. She spent her entire life doing the respectable thing- she went to school, to university, studied to start a career as an auctioneer. She always thought of herself as a career lady. When she failed her test, it all came crashing down. Now she moves around a lot. She works as a waitress, moving from country to country, trying to find a place for herself. Trying to find some kind of happiness. When she feels that it's not her place, she moves on. She tells us it's never easy. That it's not in her nature to be spontaneous or embrace change like this, but she doesn't know what else to do. Another girl contributes to the conversation, tells us her father told her, "There is a magic and a clearness in loneliness. Enjoy it."
10.6.16. What is supposed to be an early night ended up being much later when I come back to the hostel, only to go out again with people from the hostel. On a rooftop looking out at the Shard, I listen to these 20-year old girls talk about how they are exploring the world. A 20-year old Merreck tells me she took a year off from university to travel Europe and then spend a month in Vietnam. She tells me about how she backpacked the summer before in Europe. I keep meeting people like Merreck, although she is among the youngest I have met on my trip. These are people set on seeing the world, set on a little bit of difference in their lives. I am both proud and envious of these people with so much energy and curiosity to embrace the world.
10.8.16. We end up spending most of the day drinking and drunk. It is fun. The food is delicious. We see parts of the city alive that I haven't seen before. But the travelling is taking its toll on me. I know I'm ready to go home. I think what I learned on this trip is this: I like travelling. I like seeing the world, but at the same time, I need some sort of routine- no matter how small. I also need a feeling of connection, of home. It can be in other people, it can be in spontaneous moments, but it has to be there. London, although beautiful, did not offer any feeling of home or deep connection.
My flight home goes smoothly.
Nearly a week after I've been home, it is still difficult for me to decide how I feel about my trip, how I feel about London. I tell people that London is not my favourite city. Some people get this, some people don't.
Jennifer tells me at the beginning of my trip that London is just another big city, and by the end of the trip I agree with her. London is old and beautiful, but it is also a city ruled by young people and tourists. Buildings are torn down, but the fronts remain. An illusion, a mirage of history. A beautiful mirage, but a mirage nonetheless. The culture of the city feels hard to appreciate when there is so much other stuff in the mix.
My favourite parts of the trip are wandering the galleries and spending time with Jennifer in the quieter parts of town. I liked spending time in Jennifer's neighbourhood of Fulham and then Shoreditch on a quieter day. It is getting a little lost on the tube, and flirting with British boys at a bar in Shoreditch. It is the wonderful scenery on the way to the Barbican Conservatory. It is also all the wonderful food we had. It is getting lost with near strangers from the hostel.
London isn't my city. If pressed, I probably wouldn't go back. I probably wouldn't have gone if it wasn't to visit Jennifer. London is wonderful though. I had fun. I had a nice trip. 7/10.
Pictured above: Merreck, Henry, Jennifer and myself.
Thursday, October 13, 2016
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