Yesterday was grocery day.

I looked out the window, and it was raining. “You can’t wait for the perfect opportunity forever”, I told myself, so I grabbed my toque, my hoodie, my jacket, and stepped outside.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but enough to soak through in a couple minutes.

On my way to the store, I thought of putting an ad in the classifieds.

WANTED: RAIN DANCER

Looking for cheerful model to dance in rain for photo project.

Should be slim build. Light-brunette to blond hair, no longer than shoulders. Bring own clothes, short-sleeved with no logo preferred.

Will offer digital negatives for portfolio as compensation.

It was a short walk.

At the deli counter was the regular bunch of hooligans, a group of unmotivated, lackadaisical guys with whom I’ve dealt many times before.

I was about to say something to get their attention when another young man (whom I initially assumed was part of this group, with the same facial hair and the same mug), walked up to greet me.

“Barbecue chicken?”, he asked.

“Please”.

I stood there waiting for less than a moment before he came around the counter with something in his hand.

“Wipe your glasses off with this shit”, he told me, and seeing the beads of rainwater on my glasses, handed me a wad of paper towel. The uncouth manner in which he presented the paper towel made his gesture all the more warm.

Handing me my dinner, he said “Take it easy, bro”, and touched his fingers to his forehead in a mini salute.

The rain stopped before I stepped outside again.

And I haven’t cleaned my glasses, or stopped smiling since.

Ah yes. My first trip “home”¹ in about a year and a half, since my parents got divorced.

The entirety of my trip was in the company of Andrew and Alex, who hosted me for the weekend. Pictures tell the story.

Drinks at the Madison

On Friday night, we went to The Madison to catch up with their old dragonboat teammates. The Madison is a massive pub, made from two or three amalgamated houses in the downtown district. A very popular spot, which was apparent from the amount of people in it as the night went on.

I hadn’t been out drinking in…two years? Something like that.

Continue reading

1. I’ve decided that from now on, the quoted “home” will refer to Toronto, and the unquoted home will refer to Ottawa [↑]

I saw her there again, wearing the same clothes, with her life in two new grocery bags. On the same night of another faceless week, except the temperature dropped, and I was standing outside in my bomber jacket, looking in. This time, she was sitting upright and silent, unmoving, hat draped over her eyes.

Crashing inside, I thought.

Her hands were cracked and dark from exposure. How I wanted to reach out, and straighten the tangled skein of her black hair. But what could I do?

God isn’t here anymore.

It was grey today.

Grey from morning to night. Grey inside and out.

I strolled home from work amid the rainfall, with Sara Melson and her saccharine lyrics in my earphones. Words sung unrestrained, clichéd almost, like any other love song, but with an experienced maturity nonetheless.

Now my hands are worn, my clothes are torn
A few of my dreams have been met with scorn
And I don’t have too much time left to borrow
But still I’m gonna love you like I’ve never been hurt before

Drawn to her voice more than her face, sugary sweet mixed with a hint of strength. Guilty pleasure? Maybe. Not that I mind anymore.

But it was still grey today, and I was still undecided.

Yes, I’m up again. Not even, but up.

I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t think straight when lacking sleep. I get very grumpy, and Bronwen knows not to get in my way when that happens (and not to call me “Mr. Grumpykins“). Still, even with enough sleep, I don’t think it would have changed how I was feeling.

So I picked myself up by reading the parables of Chuang Tzŭ¹. Though it’s still well beyond my grasp, I’m slowly learning how to achieve utter emptiness and single-minded stillness.

Sometimes I wonder if I sound like a born-again Christian, only with Taoism. One of those people who gets preachy, where everything they say relates to their new-found faith. It’s as if my brain processes everything through a Tao filter, and I see everything in a different way. I try to be conscious of it in conversation, to avoid boring someone who wouldn’t really understand anyway, but I can’t help but write about it here.

Nevertheless, I feel enlightened, though still human²; I’m not sure if I’ll get the rug pulled out from under me again. It’s a strange feeling. In this mindset, it’s as if nothing can stop you. Until something happens.

Part of me wishes I wasn’t feeling this high. That I was more even, like Pat. It’s a balance of emotion that I seek, not the dramatic ups and downs. I’ll be content when I can achieve that.

Hence it is paradoxically said, “Perfect happiness is to be without happiness; the highest praise is to be without praise”.

1. Dave helped talk some sense into me as well. I think part of my recovery was that our discussion led me to feel as if he’s a kindred spirit. [↑]
2. When looking back on this entry, I realized that I wrote about picking myself up twice in one month. I don’t even remember writing it the first time. [↑]