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

Guest Post: The Happiest Rooms

Hello, I’m Joanna, a writer for Arcadian Lighting, a great source for beautiful lighting. My work takes me daily around the world (via the Internet) on a mission to find the most incredible interior designs and furnishings on the Web. Thanks to Straight from the Curls for letting me share with you!

Bright colors make us happy, energize us, and generally, make us feel good. When creating a home with bright colors, decorating ideas are seemingly limitless. Whether you add pops of color with colorful glass light fixtures or lots of color with a brightly-hued area rug, you’ll find it brings joy to your everyday life. Here are some of the happiest rooms around!

This warm orange sitting area feels very Indian with its carved settee, textured fabrics and lovely tasseled pillows. An adjustable floor lamp adds a modern touch to an otherwise classic space.

Cheery lemon-yellow chairs brighten this transitional space while light blue walls reflect ambient light from the room’s large windows.

Lemon and lime furnishings brighten this city apartment with its pale gray walls and floor. Yellow panels on the windows welcome the natural light in to illuminate the room even more.

We’ve been having a romance with turquoise for awhile now. We see it everywhere: on walls, floors, beds, pillows and even lighting fixtures. This room, with its high white floor and furnishings, enjoys a bit of color with a boastful blue wall.

We love, love, love this pink and white dressing room! A fun floral lining in the open-faced armoire and on the pouf, make way for the brilliant fuchsia of the accent walls and rug.

The color of nature, green (in all its hues) is everywhere. This living room is a perfect example of how shades of green can flow together to create a cohesive and naturally happy environment.

In such a traditional setting, one might think lime green and aqua inappropriate. We beg to differ, this room makes us smile, especially those curvy green lamps and their interesting shades.

This room is so energetic and fun…I love the floral ceiling. The crisp light flowing through the large windows highlights a sumptuous purple rug.

Discover a wide variety of design ideas to suit your every mood over at Arcadian Lighting's blog!

Arcadian Lighting is the best source for lighting fixtures and accessories at discount prices. Arcadian Lighting has been in the lighting industry for over 15 years selling decorative home lighting fixtures and lamps online, and has become one of the top Internet retailers for home lighting products.

Clearing out the cobwebs

Yep. It's official: I'm definitely not in a good place in my life right now. You know how I know that? I've managed to not put a single word into this blog for over a month. It's the first time this has happened since I first started Straight From The Curls back in 2007.

Thankfully it's the August long weekend, and I've dedicated my time to write. Write for leisure first, and for work second. Ah! I can't tell you how good it feels just now. Just sitting here putting thoughts into words. I can feel myself de-stressing already. Do any of you ever experience that? When you finally find yourself doing something you love for leisure, and you feel all the worries, stress and absolute weight of life just slip away into the shadows? Even if only temporarily? Hmmm...

Since my last post (which was in the middle of June?!?! -- what?!), I've been dealt a couple of unsettling blows by life. But I know as I sit here and write this, that it could be worse. Work has been alright. Some days are better than others... especially because it's a new style of writing, for a new audience, with new demands. But I think I'm working it out. I miss my lifestyle and travel pieces terribly, but I'm continuing to freelance (as much as possible, anyway) for some of the magazines I've worked for, which I'm truly excited about.

I've also been reevaluating my life and the choices I've made to this point. I almost feel like I might have a different purpose... a different calling than what I'm up to these days. I just wish I had more clarity. Perhaps I should put those meditation lessons to some use, huh?

Also, on a side note, I think it's worth mentioning that when I was in Seoul at this time last year, I went to a restaurant where the waitress offered me a cup of Turkish coffee, and then told me she would do a psychic reading. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but as she was doing the reading, she asked me to promise her that I'd go visit my doctor. I just shrugged it off, and went on with my life. I now wish I'd listened to her sooner. Nothing to worry about... just a cautionary tale -- when a psychic makes you pinky promise to go see your doctor, you might want to take that little nugget of information a little more seriously.

In other news, I've also booked a short trip at the end of August to visit a friend in the States. It's really exciting, because it will be exactly a year to the day since we last saw each other. I can't wait! Expect a lot of travel posts from that visit!

Hope all is well with y'all!

xo





Image courtesy of 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

Colour my world

I love bright colours. I know this might come as a shock to most of you who know me, but it's true. Despite my habit of swaying towards a black canvas when it comes to my staple clothes, I love bursts of vibrant colour and try to include some aspect of it into my outfit at every chance. Some days it's through chunky accessories like bracelets and earrings, but on most days, it usually translates across through the scarf that's draped around my neck.

Even as I look at my outfit as I write this, I can't help but laugh -- dark blue jeans, black boots, a black sweater, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a white scarf with green and orange flowers on it.

Lately I've been spending a lot of time thinking about my own space. Literally, of course -- I'm talking about my very own humble abode. I'm imagining what I'd be like as the interior decorator for my own life, and wondering whether my personalty would translate through my décor and designs.

My shoebox in Seoul didn't leave much room for negotiations. I had one rectangular room that acted as a kitchen/bedroom/closet/office/living space. But I often laid in bed and imagined what I'd do if I had a bigger space. Would I stick to a neutral canvas and highlight it with colourful accessories (like my daily uniform)? Or would I be bold and actually add colourful splashes to the walls and living spaces?

Well, I'll let you be the judge of my thoughts. I was recently going through my computer and came across a folder titled 'Casa Inspiration'. Here are some of the images I found inside it. I guess the name speaks for itself, eh? These are some of the inspirational pieces I've held on to for my Someday Casa, stemming mostly from Indian and Moroccan designs.

I love these colourful cushion covers, inspired by the beautiful mirror and embroidery work that's native to Rajasthan -- India's desert oasis. I feel like these cushions can add bursts of colour to any space. And you can never have too many cushions!

And this lovely mustard yellow colour for an accent wall...

Sigh! Just type 'Indian decorations' into Google and check out the colourful melange that comes up.

I'm biased to warmer tones because I can trace my past all the way over to the ambiances of India's eastern coast. To this day, when I think of spatial comfort, I draw upon visions of sun-kissed rooms with vibrant splashes of colour in the drapes, the furniture and the linen. I long for open spaces where breezes aren't left out because they're cold, but are invited in because they're warm and familiar.

So when I conjure up images for my ideal comfort space, I can't help but smile when I see these.

I think if you left me alone in any of these spaces, I'd be quite content. It's simple luxury, isn't it? Throw some colour into a setting based in nature, and you've got such elegant beauty.

And with that, my tropical heart wins once again over my nostalgic brain... which, mind you, is still thawing out from this brutal Canadian winter.

What inspires your ideal space? Do you go for comfort, clutter or nostalgia? And do you prefer bright, bold colours to neutrals, or rather, the other way around?

xo

Images 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

2010 Wrap-up

A friend recently asked me to describe the year 2010 in one sentence. I thought it would take a long time to come up with one simple sentence to sum up an entire year -- I mean, so much has happened. But when I brought it down to a personal testament, I was shocked to find out it didn't take long at all.

'Rather bipolar, and pushing the limits on opposite ends of a very tested spectrum.'

That's the sentence that came to mind with regards to 2010. I was surprised because this seemed rather deep coming from me. But I think those words perfectly sum up the year that's been. I've had moments of such joy and happiness that I wished they'd lasted forever. And on the other end, I've experienced tests of absolute loneliness and sadness that I'd go to bed in hopes I'd wake up with a smile. I know this sounds dramatic. But I also know that I'm not alone in experiencing these feelings.

2010 has been a roller coaster of a year for a lot of us. We've all entered new chapters in our lives -- new jobs, new loves, new schools, new additions to the family and in some instances, new lives in new countries. Chapters filled with so much excitement and adrenaline, they make your heart want to leap out of your chest with joy.

Then by the same token, 2010 has also been a year of losses -- we've mourned the loss of family members, friends and pets, jobs and businesses, homes, and so much more. There's been so much heartache and sadness stemming from events that have certainly been tests of faith.

I'll admit that by the looks of it, this may seem no different from any other year. But it is, and I'll tell you why. 2010 marked the 10-year anniversary of the new millennium. People came into the 21st century with high hopes and great expectations. A lot of us started off the year 2000 with a 10-year plan. And 2010 came as a reality check to many people.

Over the course of the past year, many of us found ourselves faced with that pivotal moment where we had to ask one simple question:

'Am I where I thought I'd be 10 years ago?'

And the truth of the matter is that some of us are, and most of us aren't.

I mean, life changes on a dime. In most cases we go to bed believing one thing, and wake up the next morning to an entirely different set of truths. Imagine all that can change over the course of a decade. Imagine the different paths and roadblocks we've encountered. Imagine all the moments where we we're faced with forks in our journey.

'Do I go down the beaten path or create my own tracks in the snow?'

2010 was a year for reality checks, I think. My little cousin claimed this was a great year for her -- not only did she graduate from high school, but she also left home and went away to university. She's filled with such excitement, and I adored the hope and stars in her eyes.

A friend is is looking forward to 2011 because she's finally finished 'educating' herself. 'I'm done studying,' she proclaimed. 'These past 10 years were spent in libraries, labs and classrooms. I'm glad this decade is done!'

Needless to say she has high hopes for the decade ahead, and I wish her the best in her endeavours.

As for me, well, I capped off the decade with a year abroad. I tested my limits and pushed the boundaries I'd created for myself. I felt I was able to meet parts of my soul that I'd keep suppressed for a long time. I was blessed with the gift of travel and met some amazing people along those journeys -- each who has left their own unique imprint on my grateful heart.

Moving back to Toronto was a test in and of itself. I've encountered more difficulties over the past few months than I ever imagined possible. I've been tried, tested, torn apart, and pieced back together. If I learned anything by coming back it's that no matter how far you run away from your problems, they'll sit patiently and anticipate your return. But I'm hanging in there. If I've got anything on my side, it's my stubbornness and resolve to make things work.

(Notice how this has been a bipolar kind of year yet?)

Someone once said, 'You can never really go back home.' And I guess they were right because going away and coming back has been a shock to the system.

But here's the thing -- Toronto never really was my home. I've spent years in this city just existing. And my year away made me realize just how much I enjoy living. And I'd like to make an attempt at living in this city.

Of course I don't think I'm anywhere close to satiating my love for travel. That's the one absolute joy I won't let anyone take away from me -- but everyone needs a place to call their own. Perhaps Toronto is it for me? I suppose it's worth finding out, right?

So here I am entering a new year. A new decade. A new chapter. (Because as much as we may debate it, a new year is like a fresh page. And when you're given a fresh page, you better find a unique way to leave your mark.)

Here's hoping my romance with Toronto soars in 2011.

And as for you, dear readers, I'd like to share some of Charlie Brown's pearls of wisdom for a happy new year. Take them as you will:

Peppermint Patty: It's been a great year, Chuck. You'll have to admit that. What you do think, Chuck, would be good rules for living in the new year?

Charlie Brown: Keep the ball low, don't leave your crayons in the sun, use dental floss every day, don't spill the shoe polish, always knock before entering, don't let the ants get in the sugar, never volunteer to be a program chairman, always get your first serve in, and feed your dog whenever he's hungry.

Peppermint Patty: Will those rules give me a better life, Chuck?

Charlie Brown: The better life, and a fat dog.

____________

I wish we never run out of hope. I wish we always have reasons to laugh until we cry. I wish all of us peace, security, good health, and the kind of love that starts in our toes, sizzles up through our bodies, and pours out of our hearts.

I leave you with one of my favourite quotes and a simple pinch of inspiration to start the New Year right.


See you in 2011. Cheers!


xo
SC

Image courtesy of Google Images

A very Martha Christmas?

Christmas is exactly a month away and I'm not feeling the least bit festive. I know -- it's quite shocking, isn't it? Every year I usually spend the weeks leading up to the festive season reveling in holiday cheer. Carols slowly sneak onto my iPod, and the house begins to smell like sweet shortbread and peppermint. The tree goes up at the end of November, and I two-step, grin and sparkle my way right into the new year.

But this year, for some reason, I'm just not feeling festive. Perhaps it's because I'm still going through reverse culture-shock... or perhaps it's because I'm trying to make some sense of my life again. But as much as I want to have Wham! and Mariah Carey take over the sound system at home... they're just not receiving a warm welcome this year... yet.

So here's my attempt at self-inspiration and cheer. I was just online 'browser' shopping, and came across some lovely holiday décor ideas from Martha Stewart that I'd love to implement. I never imagined I'd ever feel the need for holiday decor ideas... but here I am.

These are some awesome tips to recycle and re-purpose old ornaments and decorations -- definitely right up the alley of this recessionista!

These beautiful garlands are made out of old ribbons. I remember we used to make the same kind of garlands out of construction paper for parties in elementary school. This is such a great idea! Not only do you end up with a garland that's uniquely your own, but you're also able to re-purpose those old ribbons that you've been storing for a rainy day. Well done, Martha!

This was another great idea that I wish I'd thought of! Consider taking old holiday cards and giving them a fun place in your holiday décor this year. Simply cut them out into circles of different sizes, and stick them with colourful reinforcement tape onto fishing wire or clear string. Then, voila! Another fun, festive garland that's both economical, and environmentally friendly.

Show off that freshly baked batch of gingerbread men, by displaying them in a cheeky wreath. Again, another fabulous design idea that I wish I'd thought of. But it's so creative and simple to make. Head on over to MarthaStewart.com to find out how. I'd watch out for hungry guests, though!

When I was a child, we'd always collect Christmas cards and display them over the holidays. The easiest way was to hang them from a garland of tinsel or clear string, against an empty wall. It's easier to display cards now, with cute clothespins and wall hangings that you can purchase from stationary stores. But I also found this awesome idea for a holiday card wreath over at MarthaStewart.com. It's so simple, and has a very nostalgic look to it. I love that the wreath will look different, depending on whose house it is displayed in.

Finally, these ornaments speak to my tropical heart. Simply take seashells and dust them in glitter, choosing either one or two tones to give them a fantastic shimmer. I absolutely love the idea of converting seashells into Christmas ornaments. You can find the easy, step-by-step guide to making the coast part of your holiday décor, by clicking here.

OK... soooo perhaps I'm feeling a bit inspired now. Maybe some carols and a few hours of baking should set everything back on course. :)

xo




Images courtesy of MarthaStewart.com

Quarter Century

At Busan Tower, South Korea - August, 2010

While talking to my friend J (from [key]Stroke my Ego) the other night, I asked him how it felt turning 25. Simply put, he likened it to doing laundry. Here's a snippet of that conversation:

The reason why it was like doing laundry for me is this: the lead up to it, I hated. Just like before I do laundry, all the separating and being surrounded by dirty clothes. But when I got to the age and lived it, it gave me a sense of accomplishment. It's like that feeling when the laundry is done and everything is all folded neatly and put away and its smells so good. It gave me a better idea of what type of adulthood I am headed towards and it's given me the opportunity to decide whether that is the right path or whether i want to change it.

I liked this theory. And though the path so far has been unpredictable and, at times, chaotic, I've enjoyed the journey to this point. I'm looking forward.

xo
SC

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

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

Seoul Writing Dates

I've met a kindred spirit, here, in Seoul. She's from Chicago and I'm from Toronto... we had to get ourselves across the world, to meet in a city where we're both equally confused and amused all the same.

This is Sharon on our first coffee/writing date at Holly's Café in Seoul. She never fails to represent Chi-Town wherever she goes. Lest we forget.

Sharon's company has resulted in many ab workouts for me and all those who surround her. Truly, she's a 'what you see is what you get' kind of woman, and if you don't like it, she'd only be too happy to show you the door. I like that about her. I never have to second guess her thought-process. In a country where a lot of people flutter around with hidden agendas, Sharon is a refreshing gem.

Even as we sit her today, on writing date #2, she's managed to make me laugh with some random bursts of questionable grammar and misspelled words. Oh, did I mention she's also a journalist? Amazing times!

Check out her blog... Sharon in Seoul.

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I'm inching at the two-month mark, here in SoKorea. It's quieter moments like this where I truly start to reflect on my journey so far. To say it's been a shock to the system would be an understatement. I've had to deal with situations and experiences that I never imagined having the strength to put up with. But somehow I have... and I feel I'm better off because of that. Yesterday, a friend of mine said he thought this would be a life-altering experience for me. I think it already has been.

Last weekend I had to experience my first holiday alone - Canadian Thanksgiving. It was the first time I felt pangs of homesickness. I wished I was home celebrating with my family, and simply lounging on the balcony chairs, watching the maple leaves flutter to the ground. Simple pleasures that make life beautiful.

Fortunately, I've met wonderful friends here, who made sure I wasn't alone on a single day throughout the weekend. I spent my time indulging in some amazing Korean food, watching a free concert at City Hall, meeting Sharon for the start of many writing dates, and ... lesson planning. No complains. I'm loving all my experiences here so far... yes, even the confusing and mind-numbing ones.

This Saturday, I will be joining some of the other teachers for a much needed retreat at a Buddhist temple, for 24 hours. I'll certainly write about it and share my experiences with all of you, once I get back.

Till then, lots of love and hugs!

xo
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Critical Mass

Wow, this city gets more interesting by the minute!

I finally had a chance to end my week in style - the company of good friends, a beautiful evening avec sunshine (thanks, Mother Nature... no hard feelings, right?), a spacious patio, and margaritas in glasses that resembled fishbowls.

I was in heaven.

After a couple of hours and a few ounces, Kabs and I decided to head on down to Dundas Square to check out the Caribana eve happenings. We could tell that activities were abuzz, as people leisurely strolled around Toronto's downtown core... many with confused looks on their faces. They clearly weren't from this part of town.

As we crossed Bay Street, we came across a swarm of cyclists, headed south during rush-hour traffic. It seemed like a large group at first, but as they stopped and collected at a red light, we noticed the masses, capped off with a row of police officers on their bikes.

Curiosity getting the best of me, I asked one cyclist what was going on.

"Oh, it's Critical Mass!" she said, nonchalantly.

This one was going to be tricky.

"Not sure what that is," I replied. "Is it a biking group?"

"Nope. We gather at Spadina and Bloor on the last Friday of every month and cycle around the city," she said. "It's for anyone."

"Oh that sounds like fun!" I replied.

The lady gave me a half smile that I didn't think too much of at the time, and rode off as the light changed.

When I got home, I Googled.

And what do you know? Critical Mass is actually a form of protest, showcasing how unfriendly the city is when it comes to cyclists.

It does take place on the last Friday of every month, as she mentioned... but it happens in about 300 cities across the world.

It baffled me. I've lived in this city for half my life and have NEVER encountered Critical Mass before.

It excited me on one hand... but on another, it broke my heart.

Do I really not know Toronto as well as I'd like to?

xo
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Photo courtesy of TorontoCranks

Depending on how the wind blows...

Decisions, decisions. So many decisions.
Don't you sometimes wish that someone else can decide what your next step in life is supposed to be?

Erm... maybe not. I think I'd grow tired of that very quickly.

I suppose decision-making is harder when you find yourself at a big fork in the road. This isn't apples vs oranges or jeans vs a skirt. The decision I'm faced with will map out the next year of my life. Maybe more.

Some people say it's easy to make a big shift during a recession. It's a chance to leave behind the old and move on to something new. The most daring take gambles at this time and try to create a dramatic shift... in thought, perspective and in actions.

I'm still trying to figure out if I'm one of those daring people.

In just over a week I'll have some news for all of you. Some big news, in fact. Sorry about the suspense, but I don't have anything concrete to tell just yet, and I want to be sure before I say anything.

But if this yo-yo of an experience has taught me anything, it's that I'm more patient than I ever imagined I was.

And that V is right: I do think a lot... so much in fact, that I make my head spin. Head spinning sucks at the best of times (think red wine highs).

I hope that within the next two weeks I'll find myself on a path that will allow me to commit more concretely to what I'm doing.

Think some Joel Olsten will help?

xo
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Photo courtesy of FriendsorEnemies

Something special to me!

These are some of the photos I took at this time last year, in Goa, India. Enjoy!

xo
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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.

Chubby Cheeks

Well, it's finally here.

As I sit here on the eve of one of the biggest trips I'll probably ever taken in my adult life, I am bombarded with just about a million thoughts, flying at me in every direction.

This trip has been over a decade in the making. I can't help but wonder how drastically different things may be. I know they are, but I feel as though I'm not prepared enough for it. On the other side, I have my entire family freaking out, as if to say that me going down to Goa is some sort of big deal. They seem to be making it a bigger deal than I ever could and I have to admit that I don't like that aspect of it.

If it were me, I would simply go down, check into our flat, sleep, eat and hit the beach while losing myself in the local market places. I don't like this hoop-a-lah! It just seems like too much.

I'm nervous about seeing my relatives. I know they have expectations and I don't know if I can ever meet them. I guess I shouldn't worry about that but I do worry about the fact that I had to dig pretty deep into my pockets to pay for this trip and the last thing I want is to spend three weeks freaking out about the fact that I'm not their poster-child of perfection.

On the other side, I look forward to taking some solitary walks on the beach and following the various paths I took to school as a child. I want to see the effect that time has had on some of my favourite haunts. I want to see the different colours, smell the familiar scents and breath the tropical air. It's funny, after all these years if I will myself enough, I can actually place myself in a moment as a child and sense everything that I experienced at that time.

Anyway, I hope to keep a detailed account of the trip. I plan to take more pictures than I can store. But before all that, I need to survive this 32 hour trip to my past.

In the meanwhile, stay safe and keep smiling!

xo
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...It's as if I'm playing with fire...

A lot of people have been asking why my upcoming trip to India has me so nervous.

I'm just over a month away from visiting all that I left behind as a young child. I find that no matter how much I try to explain the feelings of displacement, confusion and cultural isolation that have taken over my life in the past 12 years or so, no one will fully be able to understand the extent of it, unless they have experienced it themselves. And to date, I can only think of a handful of people in my life with the exception of my family, who can relate.

I've been reflecting on the manner in which my life has changed since I left India all those years ago. I've been lucky enough to have received an education in a post secondary institution and post grad institution. I don't think I would have been as fortunate were I still living in India. This is simply because of the fact that there's no such thing as student loans there. And besides, the dollar carries you a lot further here than a rupee carries you in India.

There's a lot more advantages to having moved to this country. Although, at times I wish my parents had decided to make the move when I was much younger. Maybe then the transition wouldn't have been as difficult. Then again, I don't really know. All I can vouch for is the fact that over the past decade or so, life has dealt us a lot of curve-balls... and I think any immigrant family can relate. It isn't easy for the child and it certainly isn't easy for the parent.

However, I think it is harder for the child who has lived half their life in another country and is forced to adapt to a new culture. I know for me, it was very difficult because I had been brought up on a very different value system for the first 10 years of my life. When I moved here, I was forced to abandon all that I had learned and take on a new system of beliefs - one that would help instead of hinder me in this society. And I realized quickly that my accent wasn't the only thing standing in the way of complete integration into Canadian society.

I can't say that I have fully grasped it yet. I don't think I ever will. I find that everytime I do anything in this world, I am constantly drawn back to my 7, 8, 9-year-old self and am left second guessing my moves. I think it can't be avoided simply because we're catering to so many different aspects and people in our lives.

We have our parents who see things one way... our siblings; who take on different aspects of our society's culture in an effort to survive or simply fit in... our friends; who may or may not know what you've been through and don't understand your manner of thinking unless you sit down and reflect or explain it to them.

I find that I'm constantly having to defend the fact that I can't go out every weekend because I can't afford to spend 10-15 dollars to get into a club and then top it off with 8-10 dollar drinks... without feeling absolutely guilty. Usually the guilt comes on after the fact though.

I am learning these days (and I was wondering when it would happen) that a night in with a boardgame and bottle of wine is a lot more satisfying than going to a club where the odds are, I won't even meet anyone interesting, will probably come home with blistered feet, have to cough up an extra $60 for a cab and so forth.

I miss my childhood in India terribly. I saw how my older cousins and their friends spent their time. Value was put more into dinners, drives around the country, walks around town and indoor activities that bonded people for longer periods of time than simply one night.

I don't regret the few years when I went out every weekend. I think everyone has that period in their life. Maybe it will surface again when I'm older and get into... well, older clubs. But for now, I'm content with reverting back to my peaceful weekends that don't include wondering how I'm going to make it back home at 3 a.m. Maybe this too might change when I am more financially secure.

All I can think about when I spend money is the fact that there's a great amount of student debt waiting for me once I finish off with school... and that terrifies me.

Still, I have friends that I made upon moving to this country who could be in the same boat as me in terms of finances. However, unlike me (a basket of nerves at the thought of having to pay it all back... and fast!) they are able to move on through life without a single worry, anticipating that a day will come when their loans will be paid off. But because that day isn't today... why worry?

Somedays I wish I was like that. But as I said... I'm not built that way.

Anyway, so I guess after all this... it comes down to the fact that I'm terrified of going on this so called vacation. I fear that this trip will either reinforce the fact that I miss the pace, the smells, the summer laze, the fact that no shops are open on sundays and that traffic literally means competing with the stray dogs and cows on the roads.

On the other hand I also fear that all that I remember from my childhood might just as easily be an illusion as nothing will be the same as it was.

XO
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** Please click the "home" tag at the bottom of this post to see a related post I wrote last July!**

A speck in silence

I remember the feeling distinctly. I was 8 when the days used to be endless. When night came, it was welcomed by the sweet scent of homemade desserts and sounds of unforced laughter. It was a temporary escape from the city -- but it was the ideal escape. I had known this place since the day I was born, which is probably why I was so strongly connected to the sounds, sights and general moods associated with it. It is where the generations met under one roof and we knew we were family. When I turned 8 I finally made the connection. This was my safe place; whether or not anyone still lived here. The mango trees, the untainted breeze... and the silence.

This place was never short of love and it remained that way for generations. It was sparse but cozy, loud but peaceful. I knew every inch that spanned from the two banana trees in the backyard, all the way to the reservoir a couple of blocks away. We used to go swimming in that reservoir. We would get right in there with the spring water and the tiny fishes that circled our legs. No one cared... everyone laughed.

At 8 I realized that when life led me astray and I felt hopeless, I would always come back to this place, even if I wasn't physically present here. It is amazing that although I spent most of my first few years as a child living in the city, I continued to find comfort in the rustic ambience of a secluded utopia built by my great grandfather.

I feel myself climbing those 16 steps to the porch... touching the bench as the sunlight bounces off of the yellow paint... I smell the earthy, wet mud kissed by the monsoons and the fusion of gardenias, sunflowers and roses spinning into the air.... there's spinach growing in the backyard, and pigs bathing under the mango trees. I sense it. I feel it... I'm there.

Never would I have imagined that a weekend and summer getaway as a child, would turn out to be a seatbelt for life as an adult.

From the day I was born, I had been absorbing its essence into my mind. Into my soul. I haven't been back there since I left and yet, I can direct strangers with familiarity.

In my mind, I have fallen asleep on the stone porch for the millionth time. There is a tropical breeze singing a familiar tune, while the coconut trees shade my body -- content with a promise that I will wake up at peace again.