Static Energy

I can't help but wonder about time and change and how they help and hinder each other.

With time, seasons change... days turn to weeks, weeks to months and months turn into years. But with time, people grow too. Mothers can relate to this movement in time quite easily, as they watch their new borns grow into toddlers who move into pre-school-adolescence-teenagerville-adulthood-etc...

I think about how time has changed me and the relationships I have made over the years. It has certainly affected my relationship with my family. Whether this is a good or bad thing is yet to be determined... but I am content. I guess that should say something.

I tell my friends who I don't see often, that this program I'm studying in right now feels like a bubble: once I'm in I can't get out until it pops. When the bubble pops, I look at the world as it passed me by and feel unsure as to whether or not I've actually moved forward... or if I was left behind.

I guess some friends understand it. I'm still trying to sell that story to others who probably think it's an excuse.

In any case, I feel as though time has affected a lot of aspects in my life. On one hand, I feel that when I'm at school working, time ceases to exist, as one thing after another comes flying in my direction at record speed and I'm left struggling to keep up. I leave only when I'm completely done for the day, as I know the next day will have more meteors speeding in my direction. There is no room to pile up the work.

On the other hand, I feel as though the rest of my life is on pause. And really, it is. I mean I'm at school five days a week from early in the morning till the evening. After that I either go to work or come home and sit at my computer typing together words and praying that they will make sense upon submission.

Here I draw upon my last post about most aspects of my life being an open book. My friends, for the most part, know where I am and what I'm up to at all times. From school, to events I'm covering, to family affairs, to weekend outings... it's all there. And because once in a while, I'll take a peek out of the bubble to look around and glance at who I am missing, I will even send random messages to check in.

What sucks... (uh-oh) is not hearing back. I mean not a single response in terms of "a-ok" ... or "fine, hang in there..." or "screwed on this end too..."

The changes I've noticed with time have showed me that people whom I never thought would give a damn... do. Strangely enough... I find messages of comfort, reassurance, check-ins and "stop being such a drama queen" from people I didn't think even remembered who I was.

... And I'm left stunned!

Perhaps with time I have come to expect a lot from the people I am close to. On the other hand, maybe they expect me to be a certain way as well.

However, in the past few months I have felt more like myself than I have in a very long time. I mean, I have particular micro goals now... actual dreams... all my own. Some time ago, if anyone asked me what my plans were for the near future, I would always map them out based on people who surrounded me.... family... co-workers... friends... (please don't read this as a complaint). Nowadays I'm learning to live for me. This is probably because of the little down time I get... I've come to treasure it so so so so so much!

So I guess time has had a positive and negative impact on me. I guess it is supposed to go both ways, right? Too much of a good thing can be bad. Time has brought me closer to my true self... and closer to the people who are okay with me being me and I could not be more thankful for that. All I can say is, FINALLY!

By no means is this post over. I wrote on for another 4 paragraphs... but I deleted it all because those thoughts are some of those "private emotions" that I'm learning to keep, well... private. Maybe with time, I will learn to speak more freely to those who inspire these musings! =)

xo
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n.b.: on a read over... wow, remind me never to post a blog at 1 a.m. after a long long long manic monday!

A Wintery March in March

Today was not at all what it was supposed to be.

I was supposed to wake up and go to college to speak with new recruits about the program I'm in. I was supposed to come home and go out in the evening for a night out on the town with some friends.

But, Mother Nature had other ideas.

The 9,57,489th snow storm of the season began yesterday afternoon. I was at school, working away on the computer in a deserted office, when I glanced out the window and saw the first speckles of snowfall. I thought to myself, "The weather guy must be wrong. This has to be one of those "psych!" sort of deals." I was pretty sure even an hour after it started snowing furiously, that it would stop, and I would be able to enjoy my last weekend before school started again, doing the things I wanted to do.

24 hours later, I found myself at my computer, reading over an e-mail that spoke of the cancelation of the event happening at college. Which meant, I had the morning/afternoon free to do... well, whatever!

The storm was still bellowing outside, so my automatic impulse was to crawl back into bed and sleep away the sleepies!

Saturday was March 8th... International Womens Day...

... and I was in desperate need of a story.

So, resigning myself to the fact that sleep was not such a good idea, I called a friend who I knew was covering an event taking place at a couple of the local universities... I asked if I could tag along with her... despite the storm... despite the fact that it was a cold, windy, Saturday morning.

I automatically assumed that because of the storm, no one... man or woman, would venture out of the house.
I assumed wrong.

When I got to that auditorium, what I saw was something I never would have imagined. It was something right out of a TV documentary... something I knew happened... but not on snowy Saturdays... let alone, just around the corner!

Women... of all ages, races, shapes... mothers, friends, daughters and sisters... all of these women were crowded into the small auditorium, more animated and with more character than I had seen in a group in a very long time. There were signs, slogans, petitions, pins, buttons, scarves... all showcasing the variety of movements and support networks that were represented at this Rally in honour of International Womens Day.

They then proceeded to brave the cold and marched along Bloor to Yonge, then down Yonge to Ryerson University.

Just like me, my friend acknowledged that she too had never experienced something like this before. I mean, despite the weather, when most people chose to stay home (like I had wanted to) these women (and quite a few men) chose to come out and march in solidarity for causes that they held near to their hearts.

This was not how I imagined spending my Saturday at all. However, I am glad I did. It reconfirmed a lot of things for me. For one thing, I know that the weather is just a factor not an absolute hinderance.

On the other side, I wondered about whether there was something on this planet that I believed in so strongly ... that I would drop everything and rally in support of it. I don't know if there is just yet. I guess I'm still learning.

Still, all of those women out there today... wow! I was honoured to be around each and every one of them. Yes, even the scraggly and animated bag lady who kept screaming, "What about India?" during every speech or announcement in that auditorium.

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My friends and I didn't end up going out tonight. I was a bit disappointed about it, because it would have been a good way to end my week. This cancellation is mostly due to the weather so hopefully a rain-check is in order.

I proceeded to spend the evening, reading through a large chunk of Eat Pray Love (a book I have come to love as much as chocolate... and anyone who knows me, realizes how big of a deal that is!).

This was a good compromise for the weather, I think.

xo
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An open book?

Since my last post, I have received a lot of feedback from people who read my blog. Thank you, because you all are very encouraging with your words, thoughts and comments. I am fortunate to be surrounded with such a wonderful network of people who appreciate my passion and add to it.

Out of these comments a lot of people have talked to me about the fact that my blog is so open and honest. They've mentioned that what they read on here is written freely and to an extent they feel as though they're in my mind.

This got me thinking: Am I being too open? Too honest? Am I not saving any aspect of my thoughts and ideas ... things that should remain private, for myself?

This is the reason why I haven't posted on here for so long. I have been busy trying to build a professional online portfolio of stories and photos, so that at this time next year, I will actually start getting paid for my work. It doesn't hurt to be a dreamer, right? Aside from this, I also needed some time to think about whether or not I should keep this blog. I have to admit that although I don't update it too often, this blog has outlasted any social networking site that I have been part of or any of my prior attempts at blogging.

Still, I do write a lot of my thoughts on here. Usually, these thoughts are just ramblings that I type away, in an effort to get rid of some of the static that takes over my mind. In a program where I am constantly thinking... of possible events to cover, of people to interview, of those who don't respond to my messages, of new people to interview, of structure, of format, of headlines, of decks, of layout designs, of photo angles... of... of... of... everything except my life... this blog helps clear up some of the fog, allowing me to briefly have a checkin with my own thoughts.

I have always been an open book. In fact, after earning a major in theatre, I wondered how that even happened. I have never been a good liar and have most often always gotten caught when I attempted to do so. Hence, I figured why not lay it all out there. without worrying too too too much about grammar... or structure.

This is far from that cliche of "people airing their dirty laundry out in public."

I am positive beyond a doubt that a lot of the people who read this blog don't know a speckle of the dirt on my laundry. Well, maybe some of you know about that ketchup stain on my white shirt. Those of you who didn't know about that, do now.

I come on here when I know there's at least one of you who will get a kick from reading my ramblings. And... to my huge surprise, there's more of you reading this blog now than in Dec 07. I was surprised... but I kind of like it.

For a girl who stumbles on her words when talking, I feel as though this blog allows me to talk to my friends (you all)... and by reading it, you are letting me know that you're listening. There is a great possibility that I'm being judged... but if you have something to say back, you have to write a comment. Did I mention, I love comments?

Anyway, I guess listening helps too. You all don't realize this... but you're all the inspiration for Breezy Thoughts.

It is from my conversations with you that I am able to think... and write... You're all an inspiration to me.

Ok... go on.... insert cheesy music here


and... insert... GAG... here

xo
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Letters

I've written a lot of letters in my life; some to other people and most to myself. None of these letters were typed out. If and when they were, I called them e-mails.
I recently got back into the habit of writing long-winded and conversational letters. Not too long ago I shared one with a friend who was shocked that I still did this. I looked at her and wondered if there was something wrong with me. As it turns out, she was shocked because:
a) my handwriting was still legible... apparently in these days of the keyboard, peoples penmanship has taken a turn for the worse... and
b) she actually enjoyed reading it.

Some of the letters I have written have gone along the following lines:

When I was 12, I wrote a letter to myself at age 16. I wrote a list of things I needed to have done and accomplished by 16. I also wrote down my 12-year-old thoughts about how the world would look at age 16. I put the letter in an airmail envelope, and highlighted the front, "To Me at 16. Do not open till 16th Birthday." Strangely enough, on my 16th birthday (which, mind you, was life altering enough for me to never forget) it was the first thing I did. For four years I had played and replayed the contents of the letter in my head and knew exactly what was in that envelope as I opened it. Still, the idea of reading it thrilled me to no extent. Nevertheless, I had accomplished 2 out of the 10 things I had listed. I haven't written such a letter ever since. At 16 I learned never to set timelines for myself, because life should be lived small goals at a time.

I have written letters to three guys in my lifetime. One in elementary school, one in high school and one during my university years... this one ended up being one of those e-mails I mentioned earlier. Though I will never disclose the contents of these letters and to an extent, go flush-faced every time I think about them, I don't regret ever writing them. I have always found writing therapeutic. I find comfort in expressing my thoughts and ideas with a pen on paper, rather than speaking them out. When i do speak, I get nervous, I feel judged, I feel like a flake and I also find that I repeat myself.

I wrote a letter to my father at age eight. The I wrote one to him at 12... 14... 15...

I have written numerous letters to my family overseas. Most of the time, I never get a response. However, the letters I send never come back, so I know they receive them. Therefore, I keep writing.

I still think mail, the old fashioned way, has the power to bring a smile to anyone's face. However, bills or flyers do not count.

When I put my thoughts and ideas down on paper, I feel as though they are being absorbed into an honest place. The paper does not judge me... it just takes whatever I have to say, line after line. You may be wondering here, what I'm doing writing this blog via keyboard... Well, the content of this blog was written while I rode the subway a couple of nights ago, on my way home from work. In a book. With a pen... when I should have been reading for my 8 a.m. class the next day.