I’m free again after my training, and Dave takes me to his favourite restaurant in Nashua to meet up with Sid and his girlfriend. It’s a small, family-owned Mexican joint with bright colours and an appropriately accented waitress.

Over dinner, we compare our regional differences. I ask them what it means when someone says “A quarter of one” (12:45), because they don’t say “a quarter to one”. I ask them if they take their shoes off when they get in the house (sometimes, depending on the host), because I noticed no one did when I was in a house¹. I ask them if they have bubble tea (there’s one Vietnamese restaurant that serves it), because it’s all over Canada now. I tell them New York Fries serves poutine (What’s New York Fries?). I pull out some Canadian bills and show them the braille (Oooooooh). At one point, Sid calls me on my “eh”, contrasted from their “huh” used at the end of a sentence to emphasize a point.

Dave and I drive to downtown Manchester, the biggest city in New Hampshire, to a bar/café called Republic. Every month, Dave organizes the Collective, a group of creative people with a certain energy, and a void in their lives when it comes to someone with whom to discuss their endeavors on a practical, nonthreatening, philanthropic level.

I repeat a person’s name after being introduced to them, a trick I learned from the client specialist course I took in New Hampshire four years ago.

At one point, Ed asks us how we know each other, and Dave explains, along with a story:

When my sister and I were kids, we imagined what it would be like if we were more of us, so we needed an older sister and a younger brother to round out the sibling experience. As the oldest brother, I needed to know what having an older sister was like. And we also chose personalities to go with them. I think the older sister was a heavyset, strong girl with a determined, mothering tendency toward us. Her name was Daphne, and she was the type to play field hockey or lacrosse when she went to college had we known what that was back when we were kids. The younger brother would be a slender, artistic type that was a stylish and careful dresser; “metrosexual” was the term we’d have used, my sister commented recently, had we known the word. His name was Leland.

And when he met me yesterday, he thought, “That’s Leland!”. Now he’s wondering if he’s going to run into Daphne in the future.

After two hours of brilliant conversation and exchange of energy, we go our separate ways. These are my people, and I feel the need to start something similar in Ottawa.

I take a picture of us because I leave tomorrow, shortly after the end of the course, and won’t have a chance to see him again. I offer my house if he ever wants to get away and change up his frame of mind, and he returns the offer.

In 24 hours, I’ll be home sweet home again, but certainly wishing I had more time to talk, and relate, and feel as if there was another kindred soul in the world.

1. Not even in my hotel room, which I found very strange. [↑]

The training is light and relaxed. I avoid wearing my name tag, but not the awkward round of introductions everyone has to make around the class. We finish early for the day, and I wonder if there’ll be a test at the end as part of my certification.

I vaguely remember that Dave Seah, my online mentor and personal coach, lives in New Hampshire. We met four years ago when I joined 9rules, and immediately developed a connection. His writing, ideas, and achievements have always inspired me, and he’s been the only person to make a guest post on my blog.

I call him, and as fate would have it, he lives 10 minutes from my hotel. For years, I’ve wondered if he had a New Hampshire accent, and I finally find out he speaks just like me.

Dave picks me up and whisks me away to Factory 99, an open artist studio converted from an old factory, to meet Sid. Sid is a photographer trying to turn his passion into his living. I see his photos, and pick his brain about off-camera flashes, exposure, post-processing, backdrops, and lighting for much longer than I should have. I can’t even explain how many questions he’s answered. I feel like I’ve been through a workshop, and leave with an urgency to try everything I’ve learned. It’s easy to see why Dave is such good friends with him, and the synergy continues.

From there we take a stroll to downtown and onto Main Street. It’s only sunset, and many stores are closed, a sign of the economic downturn. It’s a small city we’re in¹, and there’s almost nothing of note, save for the triangle manhole covers.

We make a quick stop at his house, nestled among evergreens and a cosy part of town, to check on a turkey he’s been slow cooking. I finally get a chance to see his studio in real life. I recognize the laptop he purchased for his project. I see his handwriting. His gun vault. His OLPC laptop. His cats. All the little details I’ve glimpsed from his photos are in front of me now.

We look for a place to have dinner, and decide on some Asian food. He takes us to a Korean/Japanese restaurant. I let him order everything for the both of us. Just from hearing him describe the unagi, I can tell he’s one of the few people who analyze and study and appreciate food the way I do.

Over our steaming bowls of rice and tea, we talk as if we’ve known each other our entire lives. I realize just how similar we are, how we’re at the same stage in life, both self-aware, emotionally intelligent, wondering the same things, figuring out the mysteries of life, and trying to sustain ourselves on what we love doing.

I don’t feel so alone anymore.

1. Compared to Ottawa, at least, at only one tenth the population [↑]

I pack light. A single lens, and only carry-on baggage.

This plane takes me to a more central airport. Every seat has a USB plug, a power outlet, and a video screen that lets you choose what you want to watch. I make a note to fly Air Canada from now on.

In stark contrast, my connecting flight has two propellers.

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Day one

At security, I’m selected randomly for a screening. The guard asks my age. “Twenty…”, I begin, trying to remember if I’m 27, 28, or 29. “Twenty. Okay.”, he says, cutting me off. Somehow, he believes I look nearly a decade younger than I am. For two days, I’m packed light, with no checked baggage. In my rush, I forget to get some American money. This worries me.

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Four of us piled into my car to make a venture out west, in search of ghost towns. Areas that weren’t developed enough for the Canadian railway to go through, and the lack of major transportation eventually killed them.

What we found were not-so-abandoned places, black flies biting us all over, and dead ends.

Still, it wasn’t a total loss. There’s something to shoot almost anywhere, as long as you can change your perspective. And riding in a car with three new people means you get good conversation, if not good photo opportunities.

I’m on a plane somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, in the middle of this 16000km journey. 18 hours of flight time, one layover in Chicago, and two meals.

My grandmother in Hong Kong is dying. She’s been diagnosed with colon cancer, and started chemotherapy last week, slipping in and out of awareness due to the cancer, the treatment, the medications, or all three. So when my dad told me a few days ago that he was booking a ticket to fly out to see her, I had to take the opportunity to go with him.

This is the woman to whom I mailed the first paycheque from my first job. The woman who gave me the jade necklace I never take off. The woman who came to Canada by herself to find an education for my dad, when the only English word she knew was “delay”. The woman who taught me how to hold chopsticks properly. The woman I’ve looked up to my entire life.

I don’t know how I’ll react when I see her, because I don’t know what condition she’s in. The details have been vague.

The circumstances aren’t great, but I’m thankful to have this opportunity to go. I’ll be able to bond with my dad. I’ll get a chance to see my uncles and aunts and cousins. I was going to go last year, but the trip was canceled due to unforeseen circumstances.

In a way, the timing is right. I already have my passport. I was able to get more than three weeks off work. My colitis has been diagnosed, and I’m taking medication that will allow me to eat very well and not worry¹. I have all the camera gear I need². And I’ve been feeling so jaded with life lately, it’ll be good to get away, a little bit of much needed exile.

Before driving to Toronto, I dropped Dolly off at Joel’s house³ The fish has a delayed feeding tablet. Extra prescriptions have been filled. The plants have been watered. Projects have been put on hold, both paid and unpaid, and plans have been canceled. Even Naveed called me during the drive, and invited me to Rosella’s first birthday party, but I’ll have to miss it. I don’t like to do things so last minute, but I have no choice.

This will be the first time I’ve ever gone when it wasn’t Christmas. It’ll be warmer, that’s for sure, and I’m going from a brutal Canadian winter to relatively tropical climes.

As a woman in her 80s⁴ with such a diagnosis on a different continent, it’ll probably be the last chance for me to see her.

It feels like soon isn’t soon enough.

1. I have yet to calculate the adjustment for the timing of my medications, since Hong Kong is 13 hours ahead, and the dosage for one of them is carefully tapered over several weeks. [↑]
2. The last time I went to Hong Kong, I wasn’t into photography yet, so I borrowed my dad’s camera and didn’t know how to use it. [↑]
3. He owes me a favour for taking care of Sprocket for six weeks while he was in Australia last year. It’ll be interesting to see how she handles living in someone else’s home, along with Sprocket and another dog. [↑]
4. No one really knows how old she is, because they didn’t keep birth records in Hong Kong for girls when she was born. I’m guessing somewhere around late 80s. She just tells everyone that her birthday is on Christmas to make it easier. [↑]

By now, I’ll have spent twice as much time on this bus than in class.

Through the windows, the world is streaked and muddy, and it looks like god has turned on the lights outside, it’s so bright. These goosebumps aren’t from the cold. It’s the music, loud and full in the ears, that shivers.

The homeless ask for quarters with an apology for interrupting your music. It’s as if the cold has turned their bitterness to desperation, and we get a little politeness in return. No sign of my lost girl, just a man in her spot with too many bags, a frumpy hat, and two old paperbacks that he never opens.

My socks are soaked through at the ankles, and all I can think of is how good it’ll feel to peel them off and jump in the shower. Or how good my wonton soup will taste when I eventually get home. Or how convenient it’ll be to just take off and drive next time, instead of waiting outside for the bus.

I may be wet and cold, but I’m going somewhere nice. That’s enough to keep the spirit warm.

I don’t do this often enough.

I’m going home today. It’s been a great trip. Just one more stop for lunch with an old boss before I make the drive back to Ottawa.

I miss sleeping in my own bed. It’s been a different bed almost every night. But the trip was also filled with good people. People who are truly touching. And cats.

I’m not feeling as overstimulated as I expected. Maybe I’ve been too busy for it to sink in.

I’ll be leaving in the early afternoon to catch the sunset in the 250km stretch along the 401.

I’m driving out to Toronto tomorrow. Instead of a long vacation, I’ve decided to do long weekends until Christmas.

I’m praying for a safe drive, as it’ll be my first winter with the Civic, and the fact that it already snowed in Toronto today. I’ve always pictured myself in my car, warm inside, protected from the cold outside. I like that idea.

As per usual, I’ll be packing all my camera and video gear.

I’ve been so busy getting ready for this trip — organizing plans with people, getting my pictures printed and framed, packing, doing extra work for my first boss — that I’m already feeling somewhat overwhelmed. It’s going to be four days packed with people, so I know I’ll be feeling overstimulated by the end.

Normally, I don’t like to have things this tight, but there are so many people I want to see. If I could, I’d fit in Andrew and Alex, maybe even explore on my own.

I’m still pretty excited though.

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Andrew, Alex, Annie, and I took a road trip to Montreal. Armed only with my GPS and a veggie platter, we headed to the food capital of Canada without a plan or timetable.

Schwartz’s Hebrew Delicatessen

Our first stop was for lunch at Schwartz’s. It’s a tiny place, packed with with the heady aroma of seasoned smoked meat. Established in 1928, it’s a landmark in Montreal. I like to imagine that Moe’s Diner in The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz was based on a place like this, or maybe that Leonard Cohen frequented in his youth, and I was sitting where he penned the lyrics for his songs.

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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.

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

What an overwhelming experience.

There was barely any time to explore; we took one walk and pretty much stayed within a 10km radius. Too much reading, testing, and meeting to do anything else. It felt like the time went flying by, yet dragged on, the longer I was from home.

As an introvert, you fall back on memories and past experiences, and it drives reflection and re-evaluation.

I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t affect me. I learned more about myself in the last two weeks than I did in the last year, and I’ll be writing about it for weeks, if not months.

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