Saturday, 23 August 2008

Rhythmic Gymnastics

I love the beauty of this sport.

Aside from the diving shenanigans... I don't think I've ever seen anything more elegant among all the Olympic sports.

Happy Saturday!

Monday, 18 August 2008

I cave!

I'll write about it ... if only for therapeutic purposes.

I was doing so well over these past couple of months. I even shared this fact with my friends who were worried that I may have left what little sanity I had remaining, 10,000 miles away... buried in the tropical sands of a life gone by.

But here I am... three months later... I'm going to write about it. Not because I think the topic needs attention... but because my soul needs to be set free from the cramping pressure that's been weighing it down for weeks.

I figure, there's some experiences in life that liberate us from oppression. Not literally, but in every figurative sense of the word. Then there's others, which, under the guise of freedom, lull us into this fall sense of security and comfort... only to leave us feeling pained, exhausted and beaten in the end.

This is one of those experiences.

Happy moments short-lived, have a purpose. They stand as beacons in our dark nights... reminding us that it is possible to feel bliss and contentment. It is very easy to believe that negativity is all that we're inclined to receive in this lifetime, because there's enough of that to circle the world countless times around. But happy moments... they twinkle like stars... every time we think of one, or pull one out of our mental filing cabinet... we can't help but smile or be drawn back through a memory where everything seemed perfect.

About four months ago... I experienced perfection. In every sense of the word. Not here. There. My environment, my state of mind, my breath, my physical being.... for once in my life... everything seemed aligned.

I went on to hold on to that moment because it reminded me of possibilities... things that I never allowed myself to even consider. It allowed me to feel... to get past my own fourth wall and experience sensations brought on by life, circumstance and even perhaps... fate.

But in the months that followed... that solitary moment in time became my own worst enemy. Thinking about it no longer made me happy... it made me sad and anxious. It made me crawl out of my skin and lose focus... it made me ache and sob.

And as time passed, I soon realized that I was alone in my agony. A mental and emotional state of anguish that I had created for myself.

About a month and a half ago I realized that I had had enough and decided to fold the memory up and cling-wrap the life out of it and tuck it away into a filing cabinet titled, "learn from these lessons." Literally, I deleted that folder from my e-mail inbox and figuratively, I piled a whole bunch of new memories on top of it.

It worked perfectly... up until exactly four hours ago.

Four hours ago, I allowed myself a little peek into the triggers of the moment. I just wanted to glimpse through the window and see what was happening across the world. There. I knew I shouldn't have... but I am a slave to my thoughts and a fool when it comes to my heart...

And I saw it all. I saw the beauty and I saw the sincerity and I saw the honesty... I saw life... going on... moving forward.

And it crushed me.

I felt as though a huge elephant had jumped through my computer screen and sat square on my little band-aid-ed-up ticker.

I heard voices in my head saying, "here we go again... all this effort... down the drain..."

And I rolled my eyes... and pushed back the tears... but I allowed myself to continue to feel.

Because I'm human. I don't know how people do it...(disconnect... push away emotions), but I can't. I need to feel. These emotions whether painful or blissful... these emotions remind me that I'm real... and alive.

And I'm on this ride of life through the ups and downs, through the spins and flips... I'm on this ride and I'm not letting go. Not for an African safari or a tropical rendezvous.

I'm on this ride for me.


Friday, 15 August 2008

Get it together...

... you want to heal your body.

"I need to feel inspired again."

Those six simple words have been playing on loop in my mind for at least a couple of months now. I don't know why, but I feel as though I've been in this lull ever since the summer started. It's not that I haven't felt like doing things, because believe me, I have. I guess it has more to do with options.

There's a ton of stuff happening in the city on any given day. Toronto is never lacking in festivals, performances, shows or even entertainment on a strict budget. So undoubtedly there's no problem there.

I guess I've been missing this element in my life that makes me want to do things out of the norm. Colourful, things that make me feel more... content, for lack of a better word.

Perhaps this feeling stems from the uncertainity about my future over the next few months. School is almost coming to an end and I am anticipating what is in store for me. Will things be different? Will I be doing the things I want?
What? Who? When?

And with all this, comes inspiration.

Someone broke it down to me the other day, that there's something wrong if you have to keep reminding yourself about the beauty and the basics.

"It's really simple."

And I know it is. I mean I preach it everyday to anyone who's down or willing to listen. Life is beautiful... living is a gift!

But I want to bring the colour back. More than anything. It's ok to live in black and white for some people. Some even venture into shades of grey. But I've always loved colour. I don't want that to ever change.

I had a sense a few days ago... a feeling that seemed familiar and trusting. It made me relax and made me curious all over again.

I guess it's moments such as that, that I need to capture in order to get it together and start painting with a colourful palette once again.


Sunday, 10 August 2008

Jazzy weather chases away the blues...

In my opinion, there is nothing quite like listening to a nice selection of easy-listening lounge music, on a rainy, lazy weekend.

I often wondered why I enjoyed chick flicks... aside from the obvious, of course. But I realize, that I usually go in search of the soundtrack, after I've finished watching the movie. Most of these movies are accompanied by a beautiful set of songs that play while scenic displays of old world avenues, lit up with soft lighting and beautiful trees set the scene for the love affair about to take place.

It is during these moments that I find myself lost... and happy... and a lot of it has to do with the soundtrack. The soothing, easy tunes that hum and croon along to the story-line are what get me every time.

So it is not shocking to say that I found myself in my cozy and most comfortable clothes, sitting on our old lounge chair on the balcony, listening to the smooth sounds of Norah Jones, Bebel Gilberto and Michael Buble, on a lazy, rainy Sunday afternoon. I know... I am such a suck!

But as I looked around me, I thought of how picturesque (and kinda cute) this was:

Me on a lounge chair... in my jammies (again, I know!)... cup of tea in my bright yellow mug, sitting on the little table... and on the other chair sits Miss Ginger herself, listening with her eyes closed, while Gilberto sings of tranquility in far away places.


Outside, the rain poured... softly. And it added to the relaxing serenity that the soft music brought to my overactive mind. I've been craving quiet moments... and this was all I could ask for in this time and in this place.

I've always liked August. The weather, the smells... there's something "cozy" about this month. Perhaps it has something to do with the harvest. August does remind me of the harvest season. In Goa, people are peparing to celebrate the harvest feasts, as the monsoons draw to an end. There will be masses, street festivals... and food. All of this, pulled together in a wonderful, rich feast for the senses.

Perhaps my biological clock is set to anticipate these feelings. And as I sit here, 10,000 miles away... I'm draw in this euphoric sense of longing. But because I can't be there... I continue to sit here, on my balcony... with my eyes closed... thankful for the smells, sounds and quiet that surrounds me, in this place and on this side of the world.


Sunday thoughts

Instead of sunshine, Toronto has been experiencing heat of a different kind for the past couple of months...

Last month there was the explosion at 2 Secord Place, which forced the evacuation of a 30-storey building ... with no word still as to whether or not the residents can go back.

Today I woke up to news of a different explosion... this time to the north of the city. Apparently this one was caused by explosions at the Sunrise propane tank facility. According to the news, there's about 12,000 people affected by this, 18+ injured, one person unaccounted for and one firefighter who died as a result of the blast.

What's happening to this city? And usually on Sundays! It's kind of ironic, isn't it?

I really feel terrible for all those people affected by these tragic events and my heart goes out to them. I can't imagine the feelings of displacement, loss and confusion that they must be experiencing.

I read that the force of this explosion was so strong, that it pushed people out of their beds ... one woman even had the roof of her house collapse in on her.

To say this summer has been uneventful would be an understatement.

I really hope those people affected by the explosions will be able to get back to their lives soon enough and that they are safe.


Saturday, 9 August 2008

Boiling Frog Theory

... I'm starting to believe there might be some truth to this.

Poor Frogs.


Wednesday, 6 August 2008

Jammie Wednesdays

Today's post comes to you from my desk ... at home!

Yes, readers -- I finally took the day off. I've been saying that I wanted to do this since May but never had the chance to, for some reason. But It's almost 10 a.m. and I'm still in my pajamas... this ... is ... awesome!

I've honestly gained a new sense of respect for people who work office jobs... I know I could never do this as a permanent thing. For one thing--as I feel my rear end expand to the size of a small house--I don't think I could stand packing on the pounds. I have always worked at jobs that have required me to stand and be mobile for an extended period of time. Therefore, this is new. The only thing I work out when sitting at the desk is my brain. And let me tell you, even that tends to go on a vacation more often than it should.

With that being said, I'll write more, later!
I have a bed and an alarm clock that's not turned on, asking me to get some shut-eye!


Tuesday, 5 August 2008

Tattoo my being

I've been thinking a lot about my uncle over the past few days. He passed away unexpectedly in 2004 due to a massive heart attack.

But in the time I knew him, he managed to impact my life in so many ways that it would take words upon words upon words to express. To honour him, I feel as though I need to share a little snippet of my (and my brother's) relationship with him. The reason for this is because our experiences with him will forever be embedded in our beings. He was one in a million and we miss him terribly. However, when little things and minor events in our day to day remind us of him, we realize that he will never be forgotten and that his memory will move on with us for as long as we are alive.

Something triggered this blog post... I'll get into it as you read on... but let me give you a little bit of a backgrounder on him.

When I was born, he was still unmarried.
My mum was one of seven siblings. She was number three and he was number six. The 10-year gap between the two of them made them have a relationship that was almost suited to mother and son. He was a rambunctious child who preferred playing and getting into trouble over studying, and she was the stern older sister who showed her love by trying to get him to abide by the rules.

This followed suit even after I was born. My brother was two by the time I came along and from what I hear, he had turned into my uncle's tail -- following him everywhere... even to the top of the roof over grandma's house.

My uncle was the first person to carry me... the first person to bring me home from the hospital. I guess it was predetermined that he and I would always share a special bond. He was always forward in his ability to keep up with trends, in terms of music, dressing and technology.

Therefore you can imagine that my brother and I received most, if not all our exposure to music from him. He, along with my mother's four other brothers, used to have a field day by getting my brother and me to dance to music that they would listen to.

For just as much as my brother was his tail... I was his parrot. While he followed him around, I mimicked every word, phrase and comment that he made. You can imagine that this wasn't always a good thing. He never censored himself around me... which, as bad as it was, was actually quite funny. I can accredit my first swear word to him. I can accredit my first threat (fist clenched at age two, and everything) to him as well. I can say he taught me my first dirty joke and had me run around and tell every adult in the room... even though I didn't understand it at the time. In fact, I can thank him for corrupting my mind before I could even speak.

He was a big guy. in his short life, he acquired every bad habit from swearing to smoking to drinking to eating all things bad... but one thing that no one could ever match or take away from him, was his ability to love. He was, and probably always will be one of the most loving individuals I ever had the chance of knowing.

Everyone thought he was hard headed and stubborn. I don't disagree with that. But he was also the most warm and caring person I knew. When someone hurt him, he would present a stone cold exterior... because he was hurt... not a lot of people realized that and took it as a bad sign.

I didn't get a chance to physically say goodbye to him. That fact has always haunted me. It still does.

But something happened a couple of days ago.
I was sitting on the couch and watching TV with my mother, when suddenly a song came to my mind. One that I hadn't heard, sung or thought of, since the time I was a little girl.

It was a song by this 80s band named, Modern Talking. When he moved to the Middle East to work after getting married, he had sent my brother and me a music tape of their album. Mum used to play it for us every night as we went to sleep, on the small cassette player in our room.

The point is, the song came out of nowhere. So, automatically, I ran over to YouTube and found a list of songs by this group.... I couldn't believe the memories (good ones) that came flooding back to me. Memories that made me smile... and even dance a little bit.

At one point my mother walked into the room as the music was playing and looked at me with eyes wide open and said, "I was thinking about him too..."

... and I think that was his way of saying that he's still with us... but that God willing, he's at peace.

Memories of you are cherished and your life will forever be honoured, Uncle Roy!

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