01.23.19

There are pretty little things everywhere – the flicker of a candle in a lamplit room (a recurring image in my writings, a recurring image in my life), the smile of a friend when he laughs at my jokes, the tender way a girl might tuck a few strands of hair behind her ear and turn to face the sunlight.

I’m left wistful and wondering in a quiet mood that softens everything in sepia tones– in calm beiges and ochres and pale yellows. This might be my favourite lens of all, because looking through it, everything I see already feels like a memory – like a moment trapped in time, only to be put away for a while and then to suddenly emerge when least expected.

12.05.18

I lit a new candle and played an old album by a half-melancholy band, and doing these small, tender things has done so much to lift my spirits. Sometimes I forget that I like the quiet - that I like the time alone, on my own in my room, with all my stray thoughts swirling through my head and then out with every breath I take, swimming in the scented air around me.

It smells warm and cozy and every time I leave my room and come back in, I’m greeted by a space that makes me think of soft, baked things and sitting in front of a crackling fireplace in a home sheltered from the winter cold. It makes me think of lumpy, oversized sweaters and easy satisfaction on a chilly night.

12.04.18

The human being’s capacity for resilience is a marvel in itself. We jump through hoops and over hurdles – crawl belly-flat in the mud under ropes of barbed wire, bounce off walls and break through glass and watch all the shattered pieces dazzle in the light and clink to the floor around us, barely noticing the blood seeping from the cuts on our arms and legs.

And through hardship and pain and injustice, we persevere – sometimes with the unwavering faith in better things to come, sometimes with the knowledge that things could be far, far worse, and usually with some sort of shift in perspective – usually by looking at current circumstances in new ways that make them tolerable

09.03.18

It’s easy to feel disconnected from the things that bring more vivid colours into your life when you work a 9-5. It’s easy to feel like everything has fallen into such predictable and steady routines without you even realizing it, and like the days are starting to blur together in washes of monotones and greys until the weekend comes thundering along with its many illusions of neon vivacity – and even then, you go to all the same bars with the same people and have the same blurry, hazy, half-remembered nights.

08.14.18

I can walk anywhere in this city and be struck by so many memories held by so many familiar places – spots where I’ve loved and laughed and cried and wondered about so many different things. How many of my own ghosts live and whisper on that stretch of Beverley and St. George that runs from Dundas to Bloor? I remember walking down that street in high school with my headphones in my ears, meandering home at some ungodly hour when all the university students seemed to be sleeping in dorms all around me, and I didn’t really have any idea what life was really like yet.

08.02.18

I’ve always wished I was the kind of person who collected things – the kind of person who stowed away little mementos or tokens or trophies – concert tickets, or friendship bracelets or the bill for a dinner from a very first date. I remember Chris had a box of things that marked our relationship together, and he gave some of these collected things to me to remember him by before we parted ways for good, and I still have them, and I’m grateful for them.

07.25.18

Do you remember the night we went skinny dipping? We hopped a fence and I kissed a boy through the chain link and whispered goodbye to him before meeting you by the waterslide. We tore our clothes off and left our underwear by the pool and you pushed me in. I’d seen it coming, but I played along in mock surprise and I remember being so grateful to finally be able to escape the summer heat. You came cannonballing in right after and we laughed and splashed at each other and after a while, we hugged, naked and exhilarated by all the possibilities of that summer stretching out before us.

07.24.18 – Free write

I’ve been thinking a lot about want lately – about desires and hopes and dreams. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how we can convince ourselves we want certain things when really we don’t, and about the chasm that forms in us when we reach for something we thought we needed and get it and realize it was absolutely nothing at all. A heart yearns for wholeness – for recognition and satisfaction and peace – but it has absolutely no idea how to get there.

10.17.17

It’s not in me to hold grudges, and so I don’t. There’s no room for that kind of cruelty in my bones. I want lightness and air and bright shining things in my bloodstream. I want to show the world that true goodness exists, despite everything. I want to provide an example of how to exist without hurting others, and how to try live the best life you can every single day. 

Be good, be free, and smile at people. 

“Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Everything starts in the palms of your hands – open them towards the sky and breathe. 

09.14.17

There is purity in this wretchedness – a little beam of light cutting through all this confusion, seeming to say “you know what, look here, I can guide you – I can split the eaves.

But still, I lay here dazed and unknown, waiting for someone to save me from myself.

What is physical contact but a temporary comfort? The man who reaches over across my chest and pulls me towards him, a strange aroma wafting from his skin – who is he and why is he here? And what is he doing in my bed, by my side?