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When you no longer work in an office, sometimes you don’t find out it’s a long weekend until the Friday of. My friends have also replaced their ritual barbecues with babies and play dates, so no invitations were sent out that may have notified me of the holiday.
A quiet moment among volleyball tournaments and beach goers in a calm area of the Lake Shore.
I wanted to get away cause I’ve been dreading any time alone. Loneliness hits me hardest when I’m sitting at home wondering what everyone else is doing. A road trip to Toronto was the best way I could avoid that. Unfortunately, the only people I can drop in on with such short notice happen to be five hundred kilometres away.
The truth is I never watch sunsets anymore. I’m usually too caught up in my projects cause I’m worried about being left with nothing but the thoughts I’ve trying to put in the back of my head. That’s why I don’t mind the five-hour drive at this time of year; it gives me an excuse to see what I never make time to do. When I leave at a quarter to seven, I hit the richest1 part of the sunset halfway through the 401. For a glorious stretch, there’s nothing concrete curves and crimson colours bleeding through the trees.
The “CN Tower” sushi platter, with tempura observation deck.
All I wanted was a quite time with the right company, no heavy plans or personalities. I’d be kicking myself for all the shots I missed cause I was too comfortable to pull out my camera, but I know that’s what those moments are about.
To lose yourself in the haze and summer heat finally upon us is to live like a child again without a worry or thought of anything beyond the next five minutes. Regression is embracing the itchy sweat breaking out on your face, as your fingertips mash the ice into slush in a white cream soda freezie.
Feeling lit, feeling light,
2 a.m., summer night.
I’m always fighting exhaustion on these trips cause I don’t get enough sleep. There’s too much to do. It’s a test of constitution to be driving in the darkness and city lights, wondering if I’m too tired to be driving, let alone navigating the infuriating construction and traffic of downtown Toronto. When I survive another day, it’s a reminder that not everything has to be perfect, that the world still turns no matter the state of my heart or mind.
Over a particularly heavy blend, I was asked what it would take for me to go all out, to say fuck it and lose control. It made me realize I’m already there, siding with indulgence over moderation, trying to break myself down so I can rebuild myself again. That’s why I always lose myself on those warm summer nights, when I tell myself I’ll be in bed by 10 every night, but the company keeps me up till 3.
Dexter is now too fat and lazy to fight off my cuddly advances.
I have such a mixed past with Toronto. It was such a chaotic time in my life when I lived there. I was cripplingly undeveloped, but that also meant I still had the innocence none of us ever return to once we hit adulthood. Much like those memories, this city will always be a part of me.
Now I’m back in Ottawa, returned to the little things that make it home like a familiar pillow and a cat’s particular purr. In my case, the exile is always self-imposed, a controlled escape, and I always wonder if anyone would care or miss me if I never came back.
I’ve only shared about two conversations in my life with Chris — the last of which was about seven years ago — owing to the fact that we live on opposite coasts of the country. But Darren and I recognized him as one of us: someone who thinks for himself and doesn’t buy into the whole Chinese culture unquestioningly. This is in contrast to many of our other cousins, who seem to love their parents simply because they were birthed by them, not necessarily because their parents are good people.
Chris happened to be passing by for a wedding, so I hosted him for two days. It was interesting to meet him at this point in our lives. I wonder if I’m actually more similar to Chris than I am to Darren, mainly because of how our creativity defines us. It was so easy for me to relate and talk to him. And as with Darren, I actually felt like Chris was family, closer to a brother than a cousin, which is all too rare among my blood.
As an industrial designer he does amazing drawings, full of vibrant colours that pop-off the page. I asked him to draw something on my dry erase board because drawing is a creative ability not in my possession, and I find the process fascinating. It was a logistical challenge because he would smear his existing work every time he rested his hand on the board for stability.
He’s my exact opposite when it comes to health. He’s a vegan, while I’d find it impossible to give up meat, let alone butter and ice cream. He just literally biked 100km a day across Canada, while my lifestyle could be considered sedentary at best, with only Tai Chi and some mild calisthenics in my exercise routine. And yet we’re the same weight and shape. It’s sort of eerie to see him drawing in this video; aside from a shorter haircut, it’s almost like I’m watching myself.
The time he spent here passed quickly, as I introduced him to the ukulele. Aside from catching up and learning about each other, most of the two days were spent experimenting and playing together. Eventually, we went to a music store and bought him his own Mahalo ukulele, which filled my heart with glee. Darren and Jeff are coming up for a visit next week, and hopefully Chris will be able to hitch a ride with them for our ukulele band before we all head back to Toronto for Crystal’s wedding.
Darren came up from Toronto for a visit over the long weekend.
These sessions always fulfill my quota of relationship talk. When one admits to not wanting to be in a relationship, this is followed naturally by the question, “Would you go for it if you found the perfect one right now?” from the other. Then in return, “If she came back to you and said she wanted to try again, but you only had a 50–50 percent chance of success, would you go for it?”
In our little duet, our philosophical collaboration, love is always a theme. No one else challenges our psyches in this regard.
Remember how I was all like I can’t stop listening to Love and Greed, and it’s not even the best song on the album? But I never mentioned the best song on the album, which is Violet’s Constellations, here:
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So Darren sent me this e-mail today:
from: Darren
to: Jeff
subject: i don’t really knowhe says whereeeeee where are youuuuuuuuuu he says where are you goooooo-annnnnn!!!!!!!!!!
sheet
I’m gonna go see Magneta Lane with Jeff on Feb. 12 ion toronto
COME COME COME!!CF a little later? I’m waiting for some guy to release some shares online
And the subject + first line are the lyrics in the best part of Violet’s Constellations in the last verse, when Lexi is singing as the keyboard kicks in again.
This is how in tune I am with Darren.
And then news of them IN CONCERT, when I had to miss the Blonde Redhead concert in Toronto last time to take part in Pat and Jen’s wedding rehearsal. I’ll definitely be taking the day off to join them this time around. Maybe visit my dad too, since that’s his birthday.
(Isn’t it insane that out of 2384 posts I have right now, I can remember the entries for these specific events?)
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There’s been a smattering of good music lately, but this is the song that haunts me; Love and Greed by Magneta Lane. I added it to my collection on the 12th of October, and it’s already in my Top 20 Most Played. By no means is it the best song on the album; it’s just the one that hit me the hardest.
To hear it as a track by itself is a little out of context. It comes as 7 of 10 off Gambling With God, their latest album, and the songs leading up to it charge at a much faster pace. The dramatic change of tone between the verses and the chorus are effective in subtly drawing you in, against lyrics that should be screamed more than anything else.
My favourite part is when Lexi says, “I don’t want recycled love / if I did I’d pour wine in a cup / and get all liquored up / and fucking crawl in front of you” when the guitar and bass stop, and it’s just Nadia doing the bum-ba-da-bum-ba-da-bum-ba-da-bum underneath on her toms.
With the way she says fucking with such saccharine softness, one can’t help but wonder what intense sorrow could have caused this sullen, honeyed voice to spit such profanity.
It’s stuff like this that makes rather plain looking Lexi Valentine so goddam attractive, very much in a Karen O kind of way. I guess you could say I have a fascination with Lexi swearing, because she does it so infrequently.
I gave this song to Darren, and he sent me back this reply:
shit this song is on auto-repeat right now.… ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Darren’s the only person in the world who sees love the way I do. John knows me in every other way — logic, mindset, emotion, personality, habits, taste — but he doesn’t understand my love, which is a big part of me. The only one who understands is Darren1 because we share the same quixotic ideas about it. It’s as if we developed this romantic attitude as a backlash to how our fathers (brothers, who also look the same) raised us with such aloofness. This ideal is how we bond.
One time he told me he can’t wait for the day when we’re at his house with our girlfriends, and we’re playing Cranium, and we’re just…happy.
This is how I know he’s the only person who hears this song the same way too.
Named after Dexter the serial killer. You can’t keep this cat down. If you leave anything lying around that’s not more than 25 pounds, he’ll play with it. This usually involves batting, scratching, knocking it off a table, or chewing it.
I suspect this is why Darren keeps his house so clean.
I left when the sun was setting. Along the way, the road stretched out infinitely before me, as if to say that I can always get away, and there is always more to go. The tree line danced and waved across the horizon, eventually disappearing with the sun. Then the lines of red and white in each direction guided me all the way to Darren’s house.
In it are little things from the house I grew up in — some candles here, some cabinets there — that my parents didn’t want after the divorce. So strange to see innocuous objects from my childhood in a different setting.
It was the first time we’ve been completely sober together since we were kids. No alcohol, no weed.
I found out a couple things I wouldn’t have known otherwise:
A weekend of sweet indulgence, late nights, and intimate conversation. No one understands my relationships the way Darren does, because we both share these quixotic ideas about love. It was so comforting to be able to express myself on these things without having to explain my underlying feelings, as if someone could truly understand me, especially important in this current phase of my life.
It made me realize that home isn’t where the parents are, something I used to believe1. It’s an idea.
A comforting place you can go to get away, where you’re completely accepted for who you are.
Two in one day…you know it’s serious.
I’m driving out to see Darren for the weekend. He’s five hours away, and it’ll be my first trip out of the city in the car. My car.
There’s a certain satisfaction to filling my trunk with odds and ends — tripod, sandals, snacks — that I couldn’t have carried on a Greyhound bus. Got my GPS and a full tank of gas.
I had Summer Sun by Ellen ten Damme playing here.
I can’t wait to drive with the windows down while the sun is setting along the horizon, Summer Sun playing on the stereo. To be going somewhere by myself.
Free.
Killed my top rated playlist at work. Even have all the songs burned to several CDs for the trip. My head is filled with lyrics. I may also begin my audiobook of Carson McCullers’s The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter.
I’m going through some hyperactive euphoria again, this contradictory feeling of the scary and exciting unknown. The best part about hanging out with Darren is that each of us understands exactly how the other feels, even though we may not understand it in ourselves. Something which is especially important right now, even though I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.
I just need to get away for a while.
I had Darren over from Toronto for the weekend. We were going to do a movie marathon at the theatre — three in a day — but the movies all sucked. Disturbia? Georgia Rule? Please. Instead, I bought the first season of Six Feet Under, and we finished the roughly 11 hour season over two days. Now I can re-watch it with Bronwen and lend it to Pat. To be honest, I’d seen up to the second season before, but I was too stoned to remember most of it.
Darren also gave me a nice tea container. It’s rather large, since I buy my tea 50mg at a time, but better too big than too small. He also got me some chai tea, considered a wellness blend. When I asked him what for, he couldn’t give me a reason. I love gifts for no reason.
We shared our tattoo ideas, and his was the Chinese character for love on his back. Darren and Bronwen are the some of the few people I can talk openly with about love. We’re such hopeless romantics. We tell each other that we’ll never be married, not to be self-depracating, but to be honest with ourselves. We have our ideals, and we’ll never settle for anything less. It’s comforting to know that we’re not alone in our quixotic beliefs.
Darren and I had originally planned on driving up together, but the timing didn’t work out, so we arrived when we could and played it by ear. Bronny was the point of my visit, while Darren was there to see Lindsay. After a driving from pub to pub, each one full of St. Patty’s day partiers adorned with green horns and holding green pints, the four of us ended up at a small restaurant, and eventually at Lindsay’s house.
It was Bronny who made the most interesting comment to me afterwards. “Darren needs to be with someone…deep”, she said, “Someone intellectual”. I still wonder what made her think so. What did we talk about? As far as I could remember, there was no particularly interesting discussion, just a bunch of us hanging out.
But she was right.
Exactly one year ago today, I was doing this. Even though the annual party at Chris and Clarmen’s actually starts on the 25th, I really see it as a boxing day party, the way a New Year’s party really starts on the 31st of December.
That night we used the excuse of going to Timmies for all the parents as a way out of the house to have a session. Unfortunately, this meant remembering about a dozen drink orders, something that proves difficult under the influence.
In chronological order:
Other signs of how stoned we were:
This year, today, Lam joined us instead since Darren is off in Las Vegas.
True friends stab you in the front
Keep you from getting what you want
When one more fix could kill you
They help you realize that
You’re more and less than you first had believed
You’ve so much to give and there’s so much you need
Shortcuts through graveyards and a brand new way to breathe
Three thousand miles just to learn
All that’s gold does not all shine
And helping words aren’t always kind
When one more kiss could kill you
They help you realize that
You’re more and less than you first had believed
You’ve so much to give and there’s so much you need
Shortcuts through graveyards and a brand new way to breathe
Three thousand miles just to learn
How to let my guard down
—Thrice,The Beltsville Crucible
When you look back at the problems you faced a year ago, they seem insignificant compared to the problems you face now. Finding out how things end up, and seeing the path that your actions have paved, makes everything passed seem simple and logical. Even knowing this, I still look back on a time when I was faced with a troubling dilemma, a situation where I continue to wonder what I may have done differently. At the time, I brought my troubles up to Darren, a person with whom I could always confide without being judged.
His advice was to give no advice at all. He told me that he understood how I dealt with my problems, being one to always weigh the options carefully, and that he knew I would make the right decision. Perhaps being his older cousin, the one he himself has always turned to for advice, made the situation strange to him. Nonetheless, it was the first time I had experienced such a trust, and it was heartening to know that someone respected me enough to put his faith in me before I knowing what my choice was.
I admitted this to John, and he told me that the worst mistake he could make was assuming that I would make the right decisions. As he put it, it’s his job to keep me in check and make me constantly question the things that I do. Of course, he always presents things tactfully, so he doesn’t end up hurting more than helping.
Neither Darren or John is more correct than the other, because it all depends on the relationship. You need some friends to understand what you do. You need other friends to stab you in the front. I know I can count on Darren to accept my decisions, and I know I can count on John to give me the honest truth when I need it. The important part is the respect that goes both ways. Without respect, an opinion is meaningless. My introduction to the dominant/submissive lifestyle has given this even more significance.
Gimmie a girl who I can respect enough to understand this, and who can respect me enough to be her crucible.