My single-lens reflex used to be a constant companion on my trips, something I carried with me everywhere so I could have visual records of my experiences. Nowadays, my only intention is survival. Always trying to make sure I’m never too hungry, tired, anxious, or sober, lest I have breakdown in an unfamiliar place. It leaves little room for comfort, even less for any form of artistic expression. Fortunately, I always have with me a smartphone with a camera. It may not be able to give me the razor-thin depth-of-field that I favour, but it can capture things in slow motion, which is great for cockapoos who are born to fetch.
I thought I was stable enough to make it a few hours in a house alone with one of her brothers, but the anxiety attack I had while trying to fall asleep taught me otherwise. Being in the presence of a person with such a flat affect reminds me too much of the time in my life when I was so numb and broken that nothing could provoke interest or emotion. Sometimes I’ll find him in a lounge chair for hours, legs reclined, completely motionless and silent and staring into space. Even though we’re all glad he’s home and no longer living on the streets, being around him can be a discomforting still-face experiment I’d rather not take part in.
Her mom knows how hard it is for me to leave the house, let alone travel to another town, so she always makes her contentment known when I show up at her door. The shelves in her house are adorned with pictures of couples, families, children, records of a life rich with friendships and memories. I’m honoured to be among them, for I cannot concede to being significant enough to take up such space in many other homes.
She’s the closest I’ll ever have to a mother-in-law, and she gives me a hug and tells me she loves me for the first time as we leave. Heather will later ask if I think it’s true, knowing how hard it can be for me to process and accept love after so many broken relationships with significant people. I tell her I haven’t been given a reason believe otherwise.
Pita is soon moving to the west coast of Canada, so I went to visit him in Montreal on the weekend. We lived together in residence in university and for two years in an apartment downtown, but hadn’t seen each other in years. I’m probably the only person to still think of him as Pita, the nickname given to him from the first week of residence. There were two pairs of roommates named Jeff and Peter, so everyone decided that one pair should have nicknames to make the distinction, and that ended up being us.
He’s moving out in two days, so his house is a jumble of packed boxes and miscellaneous items.
Continue reading “Visiting Pita”…
Back in the summer, ____ and I went to the Ontario Science Centre. The planetarium was up-and-running, so we got to view the latest Mars landscape pictures in 360 degrees. We also arrived at the Science Arcade just in time to see a girl on the stage with her hand on the big Van de graaff, one of those mystical flagship images you often see in their advertisements.
We hadn’t been there since we were little kids, but the interactive tests and experiments are always fun, even when you’re older.
Ah yes. My first trip “home“ 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 “Thanksgiving Weekend ‘07”…
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.
There’s something about being away. Being isolated from your routine and everything that’s familiar. It’s a different set of stimuli.
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.
Continue reading “New Hampshire: Conclusion”…