A present worthy of a pause

I can say in all honesty that the firsts have been the toughest. They always are, aren't they? Since June, we've been through the Euro Cup, the Olympics, birthdays, Thanksgiving, Diwali... his favourites. Seasons have changed and life has moved on. And it has only been five months. Well, it will be five months on November 21st. Five months on what would have also been a milestone birthday for him.

Image found on Pinterest.com

In one way, time has been speeding on by. I can't believe it's almost the end of November, with Christmas right around the corner. But in other ways, the days have been dragging. I sometimes feel as though I want time to speed up. Like the faster it goes, the closer and sooner I'll get to what it is I really want. I keep imagining that the fates have this grand plan chalked out for me. Something that will involve more smile than frowns and more reasons to live in the present than to anticipate what the future will bring.

Then, just as I get ahead of myself and what I imagine things will be like a year or a decade from now, life sends me a reminder that I'm not promised anything beyond the present. You'd think after everything this year has swung my way I'd have learned that lesson by now...

Then again, I suppose the reminders are also important. They're flagposts of our own mortality. I feel like we live in an age where life moves so quickly that we're constantly struggling to keep up.

Image found on Pinterest.com

I'm starting to savour the moments when I'm still. I used to be scared of the silence, but now I'm starting to embrace it. I'm grateful for quiet moments that let me reflect.

Many years ago, my mum printed out this image (pictured below) and stuck it to the mirror on her dressing table. Five simple rules for happiness. I remember seeing this printout every so often, but wouldn't really pay attention to it. It keeps springing to mind now, though. She follows these rules every day, and I hope that some day I'll be able to do the same.

Image found on Pinterest.com

xo

Simi

For the light that guides us

"2012 will be the year when big things happen!"

I clearly had high hopes when this year first began.

When I made that statement at the turn of the new year, I was thinking new job, life-altering trip... things along those simple lines. But how does that saying go? Something about the "best laid plans going astray...?"

If my experiences this year have taught me anything, it's to not be surprised if you end up on a different journey in life than you had planned. Because even if you have it all figured out (right down to what outfit you'll wear on the plane as you embark on your great escape), life can shift gears at any moment and send you on a journey you had no intention of ever entertaining. 

The thing about these unexpected journeys, however, -- the ones that shake the very foundation that you exist upon -- is that they hold a mirror to you. They usually set forth a series of events that test you down to your core. They make you rediscover yourself -- your mirth, your courage, your resilience, and what you truly believe in. I can't say there's a real ending to these journeys because I think they're the forever kind. But I can say that the strengths you pick up along the way (because they are strengths) do make the road... less... difficult. And they, perhaps, even help you as you work on your other plans -- once you get back on track, of course. 

Losing my father in June came as a rough blow. I wasn't ready for it. It wasn't part of my plan this year. I know that sounds awful, but because his passing was very unexpected I can say it. I (and members of my family, in their own way) have been on one of these unexpected journeys since May. And I have been tested. From shocking emotions to moods I never even knew existed, it's been a roller coaster. And I'm trying hard to stabilize the flickering lights in my life. 

I mentioned in my last post that over the past few months I've taken comfort in my job and the joy it gives me. However, the moments on my own have been the toughest. I've been forced to acknowledge a reality without my father, and it's heartbreaking. He comes to mind mostly during the holidays -- especially the Indian ones. He enjoyed them the most because they reminded him of his youth, growing up in India. Ganesh Chaturthi and now, Diwali -- the festival of lights. There's no denying a lot of people saw the light that shone brightly through my father. 

For the light that guards and guides us. For the one that will always shine so bright.
{Photography courtesy of StraightFromTheCurls.com}

So tonight, on the eve of Diwali in Toronto, I've lit a lantern as a symbol of hope and peace. I hope that the light will continue to shine and guide me on my journey. I hope that it will bring my loved ones peace. I've also lit it in the hopes that you, my dear reader, will always find reasons to see brightness over the dark, and that you and your loved ones will forever be surrounded by light and love.

Thank you for adding to the light in my life! 

Happy Diwali!

xo

Simi

On loss, life and the things we'll never know

I never imagined how much my life would change after my last blog post. Nor did I realize just how close to home the post on May 19th, (So finite) would hit.

In it, I talked about life having an expiry date. At that time, a series of small events highlighted mortality and sent me a strong reminder that our time on this planet is limited. Little did I realize that the post was almost a premonition of what was to come.

I lost my father on June 21, 2012.

A few days after I wrote that last post, my father was rushed to the hospital and almost a month to that date, he passed away.

Wow. I think it's the first time I've actually written those words. I've opened this blog to write many times since that heartbreaking day, and the words just never formed. But there they are -- real as this computer screen staring back at me.

Yes, death is real and it will eventually touch us all. However, no one can know how or when it will happen. As desperate as we may be to look into the future to try and figure how it will all turn out, the truth is we just won't know what's been designed for us until it happens.

Image courtesy of Pinterest.com

I never imagined that we'd lose him the way we did. For nearly a month we had to live hour by hour while he was in the hospital. On some days we lived minute by minute. Sitting here, just about three months since that day, I'm trying to pinpoint the moment when I knew he was fading. And I can't do it. The entire journey that led to his passing wasn't stable. It wasn't consistent. And we're still struggling with so many unanswered questions. But as I was often told in the days since he passed, 'When it's your time, it's your time.'
(Not comforting words, fyi.)

The three months since has passing have been a blur. I didn't imagine the impact this would have on my family and I. People who've experienced such a tremendous loss in their lives often say that they become numb in the aftermath. I never knew what emotional numbness felt like until this experience.

Everyone deals with grief differently -- denial, anger, inconsolable hysteria, silence. For my part, I've been trying to stay busy. Absorbed in work and holding on to moments where I don't have to be alone with my thoughts. I hang on to anything that lets me ignore my own reality. I'm coasting. Numbness -- I now know what it feels like. My choices probably aren't the healthiest, but it's what I need for now.

I'm not sure what the next few months will have in store for all of us. I keep thinking about how he died exactly five months to the day of his birthday. Appropriate enough, I suppose -- he always enjoyed symmetry. My mum refers to losing him as a void that we're unable to fill. She's right. Life, moving forward, will now be without him.

No matter your relationship, nothing can ever prepare you for the emotional turmoil that stems from losing a parent. But it's part of living, I suppose. And an experience like this certainly shifts perspective, makes you reorganize your priorities and look at life differently.

And now that I've found some words (finally), I hope I'll be able to write more. Share more. Acknowledge what has happened. Look towards the future. And I hope that the fog of the past few months will eventually lift.

**Thank you to all our friends and family who've stepped up and shown us support during these past few months. Thank you for your love, thank you for your strength, and thank you for your wishes of peace. We're lucky to have you all in our lives.**

Till next time,

Simi

Festive Baking

We're almost at mid-December, and I'm starting to get into the festive spirit. I've always enjoyed baking, and I think the Christmas season begs for some relaxing time spent in the kitchen. Yes, I said 'kitchen' and 'relaxing' in the same sentence!

Nothing brings me more joy over the holidays than setting aside time to listen to carols, while baking festive treats for friends and family. How comforting is the smell of freshly baked shortbread? What about ginger molasses cookies? These smells send me into a state of nostalgia —the good kind! The kind where every one of my senses gets engulfed in happy memories.

So I thought I'd take this opportunity to share some of my favourite recipes with you. These aren't family secrets (I'll save those for another post... maybe!), but they're a blend of tried and trues, and ones I'd like to attempt over the holidays this year.

Classic shortbread cookies, all dolled up for the holidays. Shortbread cookies are my standard go-to when it comes to baking. Easy, delicious, and SO much fun to decorate.

I get especially excited over Christmas time because Hershey's brings out their Candy Cane Kisses. These beauties are chocolate peppermint cookies with Candy Cane Kisses. A delicious blend of some of my favourite things!

One of my best recipes for family and friends is this delicious chocolate chip cheesecake, with an Oreo cookie crust. It took me a few tries to get it right, but now it's a recipe I turn to at almost any celebration.

My friend Melissa baked these fantastic vanilla bean cupcakes, with strawberry buttercream during a get together this past weekend. She found the recipe online. The cupcakes are delicious by themselves, but the buttercream is unbelievable. She took fresh strawberries and mixed them in a food processor, then added them to the buttercream. The result? Buttercream that tastes more like strawberries than sugar. Delicious!

Love 'em or leave 'em, no Christmas bake-a-thon is complete without a classic rum fruitcake. My mother has a great recipe that she turns to every year. She even soaks the fruit slices in rum, months ahead. The smell of the cake baking in the oven sends me into nostalgic overdrive.

So what are your festive baking plans for Christmas? Do you have your own tried and true recipes you turn to? Or perhaps you're attempting something new this year? Do you have any secret recipes passed down through the generations? I'd love to hear from you.

Whatever you find yourself doing in preparation for Christmas, I hope you have fun! I hope you're surrounded by love and laughter, and that your experiences give way to wonderful memories you'll cherish and turn to in the years to in the years to come.

xoxo

Images courtesy of Pinterest.com and Google Images

Resilience

I spent some much needed quality time with a couple of my girlfriends this past Saturday. Is there anything better for the soul than easy laughter over brunch with forever friends?

We don't see each other a lot these days, so when we do get together, it's always well appreciated. The conversations focused around the usual topics -- what we'd been up to since we last got together, men, our families, men, women, our upcoming plans, men... and reminders.

F decided to get tattooed on Saturday. She had been mulling over the idea and placement of it for a long time, but after finally having made up her mind on the 'where' and 'what' she decided the 'when' had to be on Saturday. So after a day of shopping and gossiping, we found ourselves on Yonge Street, in the friendliest Tattoo parlour I'd ever been in.

F told me a while back that she wanted the word "Resilience" tattooed in script on her body.

"Why not 'Resilient'?" I asked. "Wouldn't that be better?"

"Well, I'm not resilient. It's something I have to remind myself to try and be everyday," she said.

And after having listened to some stories from F's life, I couldn't think of a more perfect word for her to meditate on.

Resilience.

Ten letters joined together to connote so many different visuals and ideas.

Life expects us to be resilient, but no living thing can fully say they are, can they? Resilience is something we have to strive for. Plants and animals have to strive for resilience against the elements. And if they survive, they become resilient -- but just through that particular storm. If another one comes along, they have to strive for resilience again... and again... and again.

It's the same way with humans too -- we have to strive for resilience through the elements and physical forces. But there's also resilience from emotional and mental pitfalls. Battles that were fought long ago can leave unseen scars which, for some people, need to be dealt with everyday. These scars can affect our everyday life, our choices, our paths. But striving for resilience helps us get through, whether it's one day at a time, or one hour at a time.

If we simply turn on the news these days, we're reminded of what a mess our world is in. The recession is destroying families and businesses, earthquakes and tsunamis are causing havoc, and man-made wars are hurting civilians in so many countries.

And in between all the headlines we read "...but the people of Japan are resilient. They will get through this." Or "Libya is one of the most resilient nations in the world." Or even "This recession has made people resilient..."

The thing is... they're not. They're striving for resilience. They're fighting battles they didn't ask to be in. They've been dealt these cards and now they're trying to cope. They're trying to be resilient.

Resilience isn't something that comes with the click of a button... it's something we have to hope for. It's something we have to strive for.

Resilience is fueled by the hope that we can get through. That someday, everything will be OK.

xo

Image courtesy of Google Images

Creative room

I'd like to tell you the story about my creative room.

When my brother and I were kids, my mum designated one room in the house for all our future pursuits. This was the room where I learned the alphabet, where my brother learned to count to 100, where I practiced what I thought look like amazing calligraphy (yes, at the ripe age of three), and where I became convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd grow up to become a teacher just like my mother. Or perhaps a pharmacist.

I wish I had a photo of that room to share with you. But since I don't, please allow me to put into words the image that's ingrained in my mind.

It wasn't a big room by any means. In fact, it was probably the smallest room in the house. It had a small bed in it, an antique clock and a buffet-style table along one wall, and a dinning table that converted into our study area as we got older. Oh, and the room also had a window, which in those peaceful days, overlooked a small wooded area - home to many a stray cats, each with their own designated name.

As you might imagine, this was a living room of sorts for us. In the evenings, my brother (tamer and more civilized than I'll ever be) would come home from school and sit at the table to do his homework and read his Archie comics, while mum would drink her cup of piping hot tea and grade test papers. In those days I hadn't started school yet, but I was fully aware of what mum did... and what my brother was starting to do. And I wanted in!

The green crayon

Green. That was the choice colour, it seems. As I sit here and think back to that special place, I can't see white walls. I can only see scribbles. Lots of scribbles. I would watch my mother and try to copy her actions as she studied her students papers with intensity. Every check mark on a paper would mean a check mark on the wall. If a student had the misfortune of receiving a big X through an answer, then so would a porcelain white spot on the wall. Alphabets and numbers were scrawled all over the chalky white canvases, including pictures from my mind, begging for expression, even though I could barely put a coherent thought together.

And through all of that, mum never got upset. She was always aware of the insane toddler running around the room thinking she was Picasso incarnate; and yet, she never once lost her temper. As the years passed by, the walls in that room became covered with all sorts of strange musings. I think there were some nursery rhymes in picture form as well. One section even looked like those stick figures that archeologists find on cave walls. I'll never know what went through our minds in those times.

Creating comfort

That particular room always brought me a sense of comfort as I got older. In fact, my mum even taught me to tell time with the help of that antique clock.

I remember the day we decided to paint over all the walls in the house. I walked into the room with my mum and we stared at all the years of 'creativity' etched into the paint.

"How come you never stopped me?" I asked her. "This looks like the work of a crazy person. You let me keep going and going..."

"If you didn't have this space, you'd probably have attacked all the walls in the house," she said, with a laugh. "Not that it stopped you, anyway."

I grinned knowingly.

In the end, I was sad to see a fresh coat of bougainvillea pink cover a decade of memories. But I was glad my mum gave us that space to test drive our dreams. Those walls held truths and secrets of innocent minds. My brother and I were allowed to believe, imagine, create and hope in that space, without worries of the outside world. It was a sanctuary filled with so much love and happiness.

And even though I ran around with my crayons, believing I was getting away with some sort of illegal act, my mum always knew. She was around. She sipped her tea and graded her papers, and she always made sure she knew.

And now, as I look back, I know.

If you've got children in your life, I hope you give them creative room.

Image courtesy of Google Images

Sleep and Shock

It's been a while since I've written a post like this, so please bear with me.

I can't quite recall the exact moment I became a night owl. I used to stay up a lot when I was in university, but that usually stemmed from studying or staying out with friends. It was never because I couldn't control it.

Then there were a few spells while I was in Korea. Weeks when external silence was deafening, and I had to turn up the music on my computer to full volume just so I could drown out the noise in my mind. But those moments came and went in spells... depending on what occupied my thoughts.

But since moving back to Toronto, I haven't been able to fall asleep before midnight. In fact, I find I'm staying up well into the early hours of the morning, not because I'm not tired (quite frankly, I'm exhausted), but because the noise is back.

I lay awake in bed and my mind just keeps going and going, and the thoughts just keep swirling into this vortex that causes my heartbeat to pick up speed instead of relax.

All sorts of thoughts -- about life in general, my family, friends... about the decisions I've made in my own life that have led me to this point. And I truly wish I could sit here and say I regret the recent choices I've made -- but I don't.

So why aren't I at ease?

Let me be honest here and say that I did imagine my life would be quite different at 25. In fact, I pictured myself in a very different place than I'm in right now. But I also know that life tends to take whatever plans you have and throws them off a cliff. What we're left to deal with instead, are curve-balls and twisted paths, and if we're lucky, we survive the journey until we reach a certain level of happiness.

But I also knew a long time ago that moving back to Toronto wouldn't be easy. I just never imagined that five months into it, I'd still be trying to sort things out. And this recession... gosh, am I ever tired of hearing that word. And I'm even more tired of it being the excuse of all that's messed up these days.

I've been brought up to have faith, and to never lose hope. I've often said that hope fuels humanity, and that without it, we can never move forward. And I have hope. In fact, these days, it feels like it's all I have. But really, is it enough?

I'm not a kook. I know I have to do my part to change my own life. I'm the captain of my own destiny and all that fun stuff. But sometimes... sometimes some things are just out of our hands. And I've learned that particular lesson especially over these past few months.

I've been on this mission since the start of the New Year to remain optimistic in all aspects of my life. But seven days into it and I'm exhausted. I can count 10 not-so-nice things that have happened since January 1st, and not one positive thing. (Pretty bad and unusual for a hopeless optimist, huh?)

But all I can do is keep on keeping on... and sit with hope and faith that perhaps these days will soon be a distant memory.

This post must come as a shock to a lot of you, dear readers. As I read it over, it's shocking me too. But this is also reality. And sometimes in reality, optimism is hard to come by.

xo

You will smile in the future

I was on the subway coming home earlier this week, and had a moment I'd like to share with you.

I'd had a really long and awful day, and was looking forward to coming home and crashing on the couch for the rest of the evening. The rush-hour crowd wasn't helping my nagging headache, as people pushed and crammed their way into the already over-packed subway cars. Everyone experiencing their own sense of urgency.

As usual I turned on my iPod for the long ride home. Listening to music allows me to escape from my surroundings, but it's also a pleasant (and sometimes not so pleasant) trigger for lovely memories that tend to take a backseat when I'm focused on present negatives.

Within minutes of turning the shuffle on my iPod I heard the familiar intro to Shakira's 2010 World Cup song, 'Waka Waka'... and within seconds, I was transported to a small sports pub in the heart of Seoul, Korea this past June.


One of my good friends from my year in Korea - C - was from South Africa. So when we realized the games would take place in her home country, we were determined to indulge in the opening ceremony festivities with the South African expat community in Seoul. Listening to the song on the subway ride in Toronto reminded me of this spectacular experience in Seoul.

I don't remember another time when I'd been in a room full of people who were just genuinely happy. It was such a colourful atmosphere -- the little sports pub in Seoul was filled with South African expats and their friends, and they were all in a mood to celebrate.

If love had a pulse... then it definitely existed in that small bar on opening night.

I remember dancing so much, without inhibitions and with so much gusto, it might as well have been a rain-dance of sorts. But that was the beauty of it, I suppose. I was surrounded by people who weren't judging my moves or the fact that I wasn't South African... they just wanted me to have as good a time as they were. And I did -- vuvuzelas and all.

I mean, there I was, moving to the beats of South Africa, with my friends from England, USA, and South Africa... in South Korea. I remember taking a moment during that experience and thinking about how badly I wanted to bottle up the feelings that surged through me that night. I was genuinely and blissfully happy.

And back in Toronto, as I rode the subway home while listening to the song over and over, the memories of that summer night came flooding back to me. And I couldn't help but smile. And it made me so happy to know that I'll always have such memories to get me through times that are difficult.

Do you have your own go-to experiences that are guaranteed to make you smile? What are they? I'd love to hear about them.

Check out FIFA, Football and Family for a backgrounder on my 2010 World Cup experience in Korea.

xo
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Image courtesy of Google Images

Giving Thanks in 2010

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I hope you're all set to have a special weekend with your nearest and dearest. May you always be wrapped in joy and surrounded with love!

I have a lot to be thankful for this year. After a whirlwind adventure, I'm blessed to be home, safe and sound, with those I care about most deeply. I thank my lucky stars every day for friends who keep me grounded, and for those who challenge me to colour outside the box! I'm giving thanks to those of you who remain faithful, even when I tend to run low on steam.

"Just keep swimming...."

All the best, my dear family, friends and readers! May the warmth of the season always find you all with smiles on your faces!

xo

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Image courtesy of Google Images

Your roots will follow

It's always nice to remember where you came from, even if you're not sure where you're going.


My lovely aunt sent me the sweetest e-mail greeting today. I mentioned her in a post I wrote after visiting India in 2008. She's in her mid-70's and still managed to find the perfect e-greeting for this random Saturday message. Her tech-savvy-ness is beyond impressive!

There was no purpose or special occasion for the greeting. She just wanted to say that she was thinking of me, and that she was proud of me. I was pretty taken aback, as I wasn't expecting to hear from her until my birthday. Her words were like sweet poetry -- something that I've always known comes very naturally to her. My aunt knows just what to say and when. I love listening to her and reading her letters.

In a few short sentences she reminded me of all that I've overcome in life, and of all that she hopes for my future. As I lay on my bed while the rain hit the pavement outside, I couldn't help but feel absolutely guilty. I think about her often and I miss her a lot. I'm not sure why I haven't stayed in touch. It's not like I don't have the time. I guess I just wasn't thinking. As soon as I'm done this post I will be writing to her. But before that, I should mention one thing that came up in the message.

"When will the experiences of your Goa trip materialize?" she asked.

I wasn't sure what she meant when I read the question at first. But after spending the afternoon thinking about it, I remembered something. During my short visit with her, she was keen on me writing a series of articles about a pressing issue in Goa at the moment -- a beautiful post-colonial state that's being exploited by tourists with a lot of money, and a government that's more keen on pleasing them, rather than preserving the rich culture and heritage that makes Goa so unique from the rest of India.

I never did end up writing those articles. But now I feel the need to do.... something.

I've been keeping updated on the changes, however I'm no longer a citizen of India. I haven't been for a very long time. Still, as you know, fragments of my heart are floating along the Arabian coast and memories of Goa cease to disappear with time. Though I'm not physically present, my roots extend from that small, coastal state. I'll always be tied to it, regardless of where I end up on this planet. I mean, here I am, in Seoul, Korea, thinking of a country I lived in as child. I only spent three weeks in the state as an adult, but I remember the distinct changes in the landscape, the priorities and most of all, in the environment.

My aunt is an active member in the community. Despite age and dwindling health, she still finds the strength to wake up each morning and trudge to the capital city and work for the causes she believes in. A critical one that she's involved in is empowering women in local villages to educate themselves and stand up for their rights. This is a big deal, as a lot of women in rural parts of the state still live with the old mindset that they simply go from being daughters and sisters to wives and mothers. And, should the unfortunate occur and their husbands pass away, they confine themselves to their houses and wait their turn to dive into the great abyss.

She really does amaze me. I'm grateful to her as she's the link to my roots. My aunt reminds me of where I came from -- of my ancestors and history. She sees purpose in my existence and believes that I can enforce change. I'm flattered, but I hope an idea or opportunity surfaces soon.

Looks like it's time to put on my thinking hat.

As Winnie the Pooh says, "Think, think, think..."

Love you, aunty M!

xo
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Image courtesy of Google Images

FIFA, Football and Family

While most of my friends in Canada grew up with hockey and baseball as the family sport of choice, I was programmed to enjoy football (or soccer, for those in North America).

Yes football... the kicking, dodging, dancing, fancy footwork and general culture surrounding the sport, are things that I absolutely enjoy and look forward to.

Though most Goan families will admit that their children were born with a bias for the sport, I feel like my story was a special case. I didn't start off enjoying it. In fact, as a child, I would stir up an absolute ruckus while my father, brother, mum and uncles would sit around the TV and cheer for their favourite teams.

It wasn't until I was a little older that I started to develop a true appreciation for the game. My father used to play for Air India football club, and I remember listening to his stories as a child. I used to be in awe of this book he had, with all the newspaper cut-outs that carried his name and pictures in it. He even had a little showcase at home dedicated to all his trophies and medals. It really was a sight to see... and boy, did people SEE when they came to visit.

But, I digress. The point is that I started to enjoy the sport when I noticed how well and easily it brought people together. My family would literally stop any work, bickering and chores, just to gather around and watch 90 (and overtime) minutes of soccer. Regardless of the games' outcome, I remember this energy that would always fill the room -- it was contagious. Food and drinks were plentiful... and there was always enough mango juice or lemonade for my brother and me (this was very important). Soon enough, I joined my family and neighbours to indulge in the sport.

When we moved to Canada, I realized how much I missed this sense of belonging and comfort that came along with the sport's culture. I suppose I was more fascinated with that, rather than the game itself.

Canada has this same energy with hockey. However, because Toronto is such a vibrant and multicultural community, there's always an option to visit one of the specific 'country villages' to join in cheering for particular teams.

This is the first year I won't be with my family for the FIFA World Cup. It may not seem like such a big deal in general, but to me, it is. I'll miss the silly arguments with my brother (who ALWAYS roots for the underdog, just to spite me), and the friendly bets with my mum (who, somehow, always ends up winning... even though she begins by supporting the team that ends up losing. You tell me how this works!)

However, the beauty of being away from home this year, specifically, is that one of my dear friends in Korea is from South Africa. She's been spreading the joy of the game - which is being hosted in South Africa this month - for as long as I can remember! C has her outfits ready, the game schedules, and has even set up events where all of us can watch the matches together! This is bliss, with my United Nations family!

I'm really looking forward to the next couple of weeks. I even went out and bought a red Korean soccer jersey to support the Korean Red Devils. It's interesting living in a country again where the game is actually appreciated nationwide.

I'll leave you with "Waka Waka" by Shakira - the official song for the 2010 FIFA World Cup. Watch it, listen to it and love it! The beautiful video will have you moving in seconds!

xo
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P.S. Be sure to visit One Moment, One Note (a project by SFTC) for some insightful, inspiring and funny moments from people around the world.

"Waka, Waka!"

Global comfort gestures

I've been anticipating writing this post for a while now. The reason for the delay is because I was waiting for a package to arrive from my mum in Toronto. But this afternoon, when I got home from school, I saw not only the cute package sitting at my doorstep, but also a card... from someone else.

These past few days have been filled with beautiful gestures and wonderful surprises that have truly left me grinning like a fool... but a fool, with a full heart.

I was feeling a bit down over Christmas because, with the exception of my family, I hadn't heard from a few close friends back home. I didn't think it would be a problem for me, but I realize now, that it makes a difference when you're away from home over the holidays. Little gestures go a long way. It's one of the lessons I've learned this Christmas.

I started my winter hours at school on Monday this week. What do they involve? Well, seeing as how this is the break before the new school year starts in March, there's no students at school, except for the ones who are taking extra or special classes. I was supposed to have a 'winter camp' but it was cancelled due to a lack of interest from the students at my school. My co-teacher compensated by creating a class for me to teach twice a week, two hours each time, from this week till the end of January... to a grand total of five students. Today was supposed to be my first class... a grand total of zero students showed up.

The result? I get to sit and 'desk warm' at the coldest desk at school for half days, every day, from now until the end of January.

It could be worse. Rest assured, SFTC will be seeing a lot more action in the coming days, as I plan my escape to sunnier skies, somewhere tropical. Stay tuned!

So, yesterday, I wasn't looking forward to coming in to school. It was the first day back after the Christmas break, and after overdosing on 'happy', I dreaded having to sit, mute, in a cold staffroom.

Until I got to my desk to see a card and a Canada Post package waiting for me. Two friends, one from Toronto, and the other, from the Canadian NWT, had thought of me before the holidays and send treats in the post!

The card was from the same friend who sent me the stack of magazines earlier in the semester, when her father was visiting Korea. The card is now proudly displayed at my desk, right in between the caricature drawing of me, done by a student, and my timetable.

The package was from a dear friend I made while in journalism school. She, having traveled through Asia for many years, said she knew the difference a package from home would make. I was told to expect a card from her... but not a package! So, you can imagine my surprise when I opened the Canada Post package to find some lovely treats - a chocolate Santa (with ingredients listed in English AND French), some soap, a non-tacky, non-Koreanized reporter's notebook, and a magnet with the Canada 2010 Winter Olympics logo on it (now proudly displayed on my fridge at home).

I can't begin to express how I felt, sitting at my desk, in the cold hours of the morning. Despite the chaos with my schedule, I felt such a warmth fill my heart as I read and reread the cards over and over.

Thank you, friends!

Then, this afternoon, after I stopped off to pick up some soup from the restaurant across the street, I came home to find the package from my mum and the card (from a friend who I've met exactly ONE time in my life).

The package from mum contained neatly packed items that I'd asked for... including eye-drops that I desperately needed to battle the dry Seoul winter. My brother argued and said I could easily find it here, but it's a matter of comfort and principle. The stuff I used in Toronto worked well, so why switch?

The card was an unexpected and absolute heart-warming surprise. It's the first time during my time here, that I've actually taken a step back and thought about everyone I know at home. About the people I've met along the way.

In the card, this friend mentioned that it's very rare when you meet someone and have an absolute, instant connection. I couldn't agree more. And when it happens, you truly have to treasure it. Despite our single meeting, I feel as though I've known this person for a much longer time... and for that, I consider myself blessed. Thank you, dear Clubdir (not seals)!

So the lesson from this is that no matter how far away you gravitate from home, sometimes, it helps to have home come to you (whether in the form of packages, long e-mails or cards in the post), because it reminds you of... well, you! All it takes sometimes, is the comfort of familiar handwriting or an inside joke to quell even the saddest of thoughts.

Because it's very easy to forget you, sometimes, when you're off trying to discover other parts of yourself. When home comes to you, it helps you remember that you aren't really alone. That even through the silence and chaos, home is always with you.

So thanks, dear friends and family! You've managed to warm my heart this winter's day. And I couldn't be more blessed.

Stay tuned for the New Year's special.

xoxo

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Image courtesy of Google Images

Merry Christmas, 2009

Dear readers,

I hope you're all enjoying a blessed holiday with the ones who love and care about you. May you all have peace, joy and happiness in your hearts, along with plenty of laughter. I'm going to be spending the day with a few friends in Seoul, at a small potluck lunner. My contribution? Chicken with paprika and parsley, tossed in a pan. It's simple and easy enough to make on my one hotplate... and it's delicious too!

As I head out the door, here's a little throwback for you all to enjoy... it's a song I overdose on, every Christmas. I hope you enjoy it as well!

MERRY CHRISTMAS

All my love,

xo
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Both feet out the door

I always ask my mother to tell me the same story every time. And each time, just like the times before, she uses the same words, with the same tones, which in turn, give me the same imagery and the same butterflies in my tummy.

I think I'm ready to share this story with you.

Better late than never...

Mum talks about a period in my childhood that I sometimes choose to block out. Not because it was traumatic or tragic, but simply because it reminds me of simpler times, that I sometimes wish I could revisit.

"Do you remember the grill gate at our old house?" she says, with a look that means she's on autopilot. Mum has told me this story many times over the years. Those words unlock the portal to my memory bank.

"The big metal one in front of the main door, remember?" she says, smiling.

"Yea, I do," I say, already knowing how the story ends, but willing her to go on.

"Well, for years as a baby, you would stand at that gate and look out at the world. You would stare, bug-eyed, at all that was happening outside it, but never once would you try to venture out past it," she says; the memory of those moments, transporting her back in time with me.

"How come?" I ask. This is our game... I egg her on, and she willingly complies.

"Well, I was never sure. You even grew tall enough to reach the latch, but you'd never once thought to open it back then, and run out. The neighbour's children and your brother would be out playing, and you would simply stand there and watch... in awe. You were quite the observer."

"When did it all change?" I ask, with a smile. This is my favourite part.

"Well, after years of watching and observing all that was around you, one day you decided it was time. Your little hand reached up for the metal latch, opened the door and you took one step out... then another... and another... until you were far enough away from the door, but close enough that you could come running back if you needed to," she says, laughing. This part always makes her laugh. "I'm not sure why you were so scared.... but I knew."

"What did you know?"

"I knew that once you were out those doors, the world was your playground," she says, with a beautiful smile brightening the lines on her face that I've come to respect and admire so much. "And as usual, I was right."

"Yea?"

"Yea. It's the story of your life, you know?" she says. Her face always turns serious at this part. "All your life, through all your pivotal experiences, you've waited and watched as others around you move and shift. You stay still and wait your turn... but when you feel you're ready, there's no turning back."

I love the comfort and silence at this break.

"It takes you longer than others to make choices, S, but you always make them when you're ready. You come around in your own time, and on your own terms. That experience of the grill gate reminds me of the fact that you've been this way since you were a child," she says. "And you've never proven me wrong."

Mum, I suppose you're right, and funny enough, I do remember it all. It simply helps to be reminded sometimes.

Thank you for observing me while I observed. And thank you now, for watching me while I play. But most of all, thank you for always encouraging me back up, when I fall down during the games.

xo
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Why'd I keep that?

It's a question I've been asking myself for over two weeks now, as I've spent the greater part of my spare time cleaning up the remains of the past 12 years of my life.

And each time, I'm not quite sure what the answer is.

All I know is that at the time I put the items away, it felt as though I'd always look at them as fondly. I imagined that every time I pulled out the Shakespeare paper I scored a measly C+ on, I'd look at it and say "Awesome!"

That's not quite the case.

In fact, I'm pretty irritated with the teenage version of myself, and in parts, am also furious with the twenty-something me as well.

What was I thinking holding on to every bank statement, paper, receipt, magazine, critique, clipping, cover, CD, nick-knack, stuffed animal and lanyard from years gone by?

My room is a landfill of crap! Few items of substance and a majority of dust-gathering nothingness.

The fact that I haven't searched for or even looked at any of these items for so many years should have been a warning sign.

Sigh!

Regardless, after a couple week of intense labour courtesy of my former self, I can finally see empty shelves and clean table-spaces in my room.

So far:
3 bags of clothes and accessories have gone to Goodwill
5 garbage bags of paper and old school assignments have headed to the recycling receptacles
3 boxes of books have been packed away
Approx. 20 (yes 20) pieces of makeup, hair product and expired moisture have gone out the door

And although I'm not quite done, I am starting to feel more relieved. When I first started, I went into panic at the fact that this would be such a daunting task.

There's really something liberating about cleaning away items that are reflective of yourself. You start to realize that, at the end of the day, they're just things and aren't of much substance. What matters is how and if those items added to or helped develop the person you are at the moment.

Then, you realize it's time to leave the past behind, live in the present and look forward to the future.

I'm feeling good today!

Incidentally, I also feared turning into Marjory the Trash Heap from Fraggle Rock.
It works on so many levels.

xo
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Photo courtesy of EnvironmentalGraffiti

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!

xo
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On a Quarter of a Century...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY. BB!!!

Here's wishing you all the very best that life has to offer and that you find abundant happiness in all that you do!
xoxoxoxoxo
Me!

Divided

Almost a month after my visit to Goa, I am left feeling as though I'm standing with a foot on either side of the world.

My visit to Goa was long overdue, to say the least. Although the trip to Goa itself was quite uneventful, (aside from the minor customs mishap, the nine-hour transit in Mumbai, the sketchy porters from the international airport to the domestic airport, and the questionable food on the domestic flight) the three-week experience is something I could write an entire novel on.

As our pilot announced our arrival into India over the intercom, I couldn't help but think of one of my favourite lines from Elizabeth Gilbert's book, Eat, Pray, Love... "People always arrive and leave India under the cloak of night."

It wasn't until the end of my trip that I realized how true that statement was. our transcontinental flight arrived in India around 8 p.m., touching down in Mumbai at 9:30 p.m. It wasn't until 6:30 a.m. the following morning that we were able to catch our connecting flight to Goa.

Now you have to understand, Goa is a 45 minute plane ride from Mumbai. So the idea of staying over at an airport for over six hours for a 45 minute plane ride is something a lot of people won't even hear of. However, short of going to a hotel for 3 hours, this was our only option. Goa only has flights from 6:30 a.m to about 8 p.m.

We arrived in Goa at about 7 a.m the next day, to no fuss at all. Although I should mention that I had left Toronto in a jean jacket, scarf and jeans... all of which came off by the time I found my suitcases in Mumbai... In a speed unknown to me, I fished out a pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt, that I subconsciously packed. Something told me this was going to happen. It was close to 40 degrees overnight when we landed.

At the Goa airport, we walked from our 50-seater flight to the terminal that overlooked the belt, which carried our luggage.

While I stood at the belt, waiting for what seemed like eternity, I glanced to the waiting area and passenger pick-up area, to see if any of my family had come.

With one look, I saw the only person that mattered at that moment. My aunt. The lady who was the source of all things wisdom and beauty to me. It was at that point I realized, that the exhausting 48-hour journey meant nothing at all, because it had led up to this single moment.

My aunt... 72, strong, beautiful and poised stood at the doorway to the airport all by herself - despite sickness and age, because she wanted to see my mother and me.

I can't even begin to describe the emotions that passed through me in those few moments. I took it all in... her frailty, her shinning eyes, my mother's sadness/joy, my aching back... everything.

Aunt was holding flowers that looked like they were clearly plucked from a garden.

"These are for you," she said. "St. Anthony's flowers - the smell of Goa."

My aunt later explained that she was looking for something significant to give me, when she first saw me after over a decade. Then, being true to herself, she realized that the best way to touch on anyone's emotions was to play with the senses.

I remembered the first time I inhaled the heady scent of these simple white flowers (I was 4)... I remembered the feasts where we adorned the altars with these flowers (every year)... I remembered the garden in my grandmother's house where there was one bush of St. Anthony's flowers, strategically placed in the centre...

And it was in that moment that I realized... I had actually come home.