On Being a Cultural Chameleon

I'm glad I'm Canadian. It's given me the chance to be open about culture and religion, and I think it's had a very profound effect on me. I truly consider myself to be a global girl, a cultural chameleon, and apparently, others have noticed this about me as well. I've had several occasions that have made me smile for precisely this reason.

The very first was a European woman who I served when I was working at the Bay. I was one of the only people on the floor who spoke French, so I was called over to another department to help her. The woman inquired about my accent (I have a peculiar accent when I speak French), asking if I was Portugese. When I said I wasn't, she remarked that I looked like I could be Portugese...Or Greek. Maybe French. Actually, she concluded, I could probably go anywhere in Europe and be able to pass for a native. I know that looks aren't everything, but I was certainly treated nicely by waiters/tresses in France, when I could actually see other tourists getting cold shoulders, ha ha ha!

Then I went to Scotland, and was told by one of my hosts that I could pick my way through bogs as if I was raised in the Highlands.

I've also been told by a few of my Caribbean students that I dance like a black woman. Apparently, white girls aren't supposed to be able to move their hips when dancing to Bob Marley, ha ha ha!

Another student told me that in my driver's license picture, I look like an Arabian princess, and would be able to pass as a very fair Middle Eastern woman if I darkened my eyebrows a bit!

But my favourite moment by far, was when I was in Korea at the temple attending a Buddhist ceremony in my traditional Korean dress. After the ceremony, I was approached by a friend of mine who was one of the temple administrators. On her arm was an little old Korean man who looked to be about 100 years old. He spoke to me and my friend translated. He said that he noticed me from where he was sitting (I kinda stuck out, ha ha ha) and that my posture and the way I made my bows were like to those of well-bred Korean aristocrat. So much so that he felt the need to tell me.

On top of all this, there's the fact that I have a knack for mimicking language sounds, so I'm often able to sound like a native speaker even if I only know a few words and sentences.

I know that this all sounds a little immodest, but that's not my intention. This is just something that's been on my mind for a few years now. I can't ever remember having any real culture shock when traveling or living abroad, and I've always wondered why. Perhaps this is why!

So, by virtue of a assembly of lucky genes and an eager and open mind, I seem to have put myself in a place that makes me well-suited for travel. Is it a sign? I sure hope so!!!

On Looking Back at Love

In a comforting sign that I'm getting back to normal, I spent the time I was in the shower this evening pondering love. Well, less pondering and more looking back at my own experience of it.

My musing began with an inner dialogue between myself and a fellow I used to have a thing for (one of many, hah!). In my mind he asked if now that I was over him (and had formulated good reasons why we'd make an awful couple after all), would I date him if the opportunity arose? And after I gave my thoughts on that, he asked "Did you love me?" And my inner answer was:

Of course not. I felt affection, yes. I was attracted, of course. But love? That's a completely different kettle of fish. But I have loved... At which point, he disappeared from my mind and I continued solo in an epic monologue. I wish I could repeat it, because it was truly Oscar-worthy, but I don't make a habit of immortalizing my inner monologues on paper. The gist of it, though, was that I've really only truly loved once in my life. I assume that I've always been open to it (except for the two years recovery period after that first love), but I refuse to use the term "love" unless I really and truly mean it.

I've had plenty of crushes, and one or two more-than-just-lovers, but I haven't really loved in, ohhh, about 5 years. Now, I'm talking here about deep, romantic, or "true" love; eros/agape, not philia/storge. Not the kind of compassionate love I would have for family and dear friends or the world at large.

And now, I've been three years single and over a year celibate. Has it been a recovery period like I had after my first love? Was I affected more than I realize by my last relationship, which ended rather badly? Have I truly been open to love? The last time I closed up, it took a dashing stranger, met by near-unbelievable chance, to open my heart up again. Am I waiting for another such windfall? Am I leaving too much of my love life up to fickle Fate?

Am I asking too many questions for one post?

Perhaps.

Either way, I've made no breakthroughs tonight. It's just something I was thinking about this evening.

On Willpower

Throughout this short, but educational jaunt through depression and recovery, one thing has been on my mind quite a lot.

Why have I been able to pull myself together when so many others need meds and therapy? I'm not saying that those are not useful medical devices(or that those who need them are somehow less for it), and I'm glad that I didn't have to go that route...but what is it that gives me that ability to empower and heal myself? Can anyone do the same? Is it simply a matter of willpower?

The way that it happened for me was that I recognized that I was more than just a little bit sad, then took steps to get over it through whole body/mind healing. It was a very logical progression. Mind hurts --> body hurts, so heal the body and the mind will follow. It never occurred to me that it may not work. I just did it.

This seems to be a trend in my life. I just assume that I can do anything until I'm proven otherwise. That goes for challenges (new job, NaNoWriMo), travel (teaching ESL in Korea, hobo-life/backpacking Scotland, etc), and healing (broken arm/loss of motor function in hand, common colds, this depression). It seems I just don't take no for an answer. Now, sometimes I find myself in over my head, this is true. But most of the time, I discover or develop some new skill or talent.

As for my current challenge, all seems to be going according to plan (as I assumed it would): I got my apartment cleaned (except for my bedroom, but wasn't so bad to begin with), I did some (though not all) my laundry, I had a visit from a friend (and a short Skype with another), got some Christmas shopping done, took a long bath, and planned an exercises for the week. I didn't have time to the week's plan meals, but the evening isn't over and there's still time. :)

And while I'm not completely back to my normal, perky self, I'm certainly far better than I've been these last few weeks.

On Making Progress

Well, Day One of my rescue mission is almost done, and I'm already feeling better. Today was mostly devoted to apartment cleaning, and I managed to get everything except my bedroom cleaned. So tomorrow, I can finish that, and make my weekly exercise/diet plans.

I'm still all tense around the neck and shoulders despite the company of a warm compress, and so, I'm still getting wicked headaches. So that's kinda crummy. It's times like this that I wish I had a man around the house (or at least one who could come visit) to rub the stress out of my neck. Or enough money to book a professional massage therapist.

I had a good sign today as well. Despite having a tree up and decorated, it hasn't been inspiring the happiness in me that it usually does. Today, after wrapping up the day's cleaning and settling on the couch, I looked over at my tree and was filled with warm fuzzy feelings. Small pleasures are the baby steps towards getting back to my old self.

I also want to thank my friends who have been taking the time out to send me kind words and encouragement. It really means a lot to me; more than you know.

So far, so good! Now, I just have to keep up the good work tomorrow. In the immortal words of Scarlett O'Hara: "After all, tomorrow is another day!"

On Saving Myself

I still feel awful.

In fact, physically, I feel even worse than I did a few days ago. I even had to leave work early. And as a result, I feel even more sad about the state of my life.

The one ray of hope is that I feel I've sunk so low that SOMETHING has to be done. I made the decision today that the first steps to dragging myself out of this horrible emotional/physical pain spiral is to start with the simplest measures.

Sure I could just take advil for my headaches and mask the sad feelings with empty pleasures. But is that really helping? Depression is a state of being like any other, with emotional and physical repercussions. As the Dalai Lama says, the way to treat negative states of being is to cultivate positive ones that will cancel the negative ones out.

So how do I treat a body that feels sick and tired? By cultivating habits that will make it feel good like healthy food and activity. Once my body feels good, I will feel like going out more. This will allow me to counteract my negative emotions by indulging in activities that bring me happiness (not merely pleasure, mind you, but happiness).

And so, this weekend I'm making my own personal well-being retreat:
Step 1: I'm going to clean my apartment.
Step 2: I'm going to do my laundry.
Step 3: I'm going to plan out a 5 days worth of healthy meals, making one of those days completely devoid of processed food (more, if I can).
Step 4: I'm going to plan out a 5 days worth of short, easy exercises I can do at home to get my blood coursing again.
Step 5: I'm going to take a long, hot bath (on both days, if I can)

And as much as it hurts my pride to say it, I could really use some encouragement to remind me that even though this is something I have to do for myself, I'm not on this journey alone. I don't have a new phone yet, but if you're reading this and over the weekend, you think of me toiling away, please send me a quick message on Facebook, or even an email.

Just to let me know that however distant I've been lately, I still have some cheerleaders out there who want to see me succeed.

Wish me luck, and thanks for caring enough to read this.

On Depression

I think I may be depressed.

Not clinincal-I-need-meds-and/or-professional-help depression, just average I-just-have-to-pull-myself-together depression.

But it still sucks.

It seems at this particular moment that the universe is conspiring against me. The winter solstice is approaching, which means the days are short and getting shorter, meaning I get to work in the grey dim of the early morning and leave work in pitch black nighttime. As a result, I don't have the energy to do anything. Not even cook a proper meal or keep my apartment tidy.

I'm tired, I've lost my appetite, my energy to participate in activities that I love, my drive, even my perkiness is suffering. At every turn I feel like I'm about to cry and have to swallow a sob. Mostly at sweet, touching moments I see around me, or on TV. Sweet, touching moments that I feel like it's been forever since I experienced and won't be experiencing again in the foreseeable future. But I also break down when I think about the state of myself.

I feel bloated and fat all the time, and I'm indulging even more in little bad habits like chewing my cuticles and scratching at the occasional zit. And the fact that I've had no real appetite, nor energy to cook has me snacking on convenience foods, which make me feel even fatter and break out even more. Even my half-hearted attempts at getting dressed up and feeling pretty have failed to have the desired results.

To make things worse, I've been getting mild tension headaches for the last three days. Possible from the fact that I haven't been drinking coffee in as many days. But I assume that being behind in my paperwork at work and my lack of Christmas gift preparation have played their parts as well.

And that's just how I've been feeling. I've been plagued with rotten luck as well, not the least of which being a smashed phone that has left me phone-less for the last two weeks.

But probably the worse part of all this is that in my sorry state (and partly due to my lack of a phone), I haven't been seeing my friends and family. I feel like I'm neglecting the people who love me best. I tell myself that I should get in touch with someone and go out, but I feel so disgusting all the time that I don't want to leave the house.

There are other troubles as well, but this is plenty and I'm almost regretting this melodramatic whinging...I feel the need to vent, though. And I'm sorry.

I know that there's light at the end of the tunnel and that the days will get longer and my bad luck will pass, but I've been feeling hopeless and impossibly lonesome for several weeks now and I just can't seem to gather the effort needed to haul my sorry carcass out of this emotional mire.

On "Just Dealing with it"

It's a rare second post in the same day! Huzzah!

Actually, not huzzah at all...

The warm fuzzies of this morning's post have been replaced by cold frustrations of an un-resolvable issue. And seeing as this blog is supposed to be documenting my feelings, here they are:

I have many issues in my life, but there is one that has been plaguing me for years. It's something that's always bothered me and made me feel guilty about myself and my thoughts. And this isn't even one of those private issues, it's the kind that everyone knows about. Every time they bring it up and I say it isn't resolved yet, I feel even worse. So bad in fact, that if others are around, I'll repress the feelings and joke about it to hide the frustration. But if I'm alone, I instantaneously melt into tears.

The real problem is this: it's actually impossible to resolve. I've looked at it from every angle, sought out inner and outside opinions, and tried everything I could, but it's just one of those things that can't be sorted out in a healthy way.

So what am I left with? Just dealing with it. 'Just dealing with' it is less painful and less trouble than would be caused it I tried to solve the issue. Sadly, 'just dealing with it' doesn't make me feel any better.

How can I hope for happiness when I'm in such a hopeless situation?

On Family

I never thought of myself as a family-oriented kind of person.

I grew up with very little access to my extended family (the closest being two hours away and we saw them once to twice per year) and rest were in Nova Scotia. I got sporadic visits from them scattered throughout my childhood, but nothing that was enough to form a real bond. Another issue was that my Mum is the oldest of her siblings, and I'm the oldest of her kids, so most of my cousins (save for one or two) on her side were too young for me to really have any fun with. My Dad on the other hand, is the youngest sibling by ten years, so when I was growing up, all my cousins on his side were already adults.

On top of that, both parents had full-time jobs and social lives, leaving our family bonding time to supper (it was the rule that we all eat supper at the table together) and the occasional family outing. Really, we didn't spend THAT much time all together. It was usually either the kids and Dad, or the kids and Mum.

And on top of THAT, my sisters and I did NOT get along. Ever. Actually, it's not that we didn't get along, we just fought constantly, especially me and my middle sister. I rarely played with my littlest sister, because she was 5 years younger and just not worth my time (lol).

I have distinct memories of taking piano lessons with my middle sister and we fought so much that my dad pulled us both from the class and announced that we were never allowed to take piano lessons again. Even when I begged him to let me go back alone (my sister wasn't interested in going back), he still refused. I've also been told by a friend of mine whose mom was a Girl Guide leader, that my dad told her that even though my sister and I were in the same troupe, she was to NEVER EVER put us in the same group/team/pack/etc.

If you add to that the fact that I was bullied and ostracized by my peers, is it any wonder that I grew into the hermit I am today? I just wasn't instilled with the family values that a lot of kids in my generation have (I say my generation because I think the current generation is losing family values thanks to technology, but that's another story completely). I've always felt that I'm the only one I can count on, so why expose myself to the indifference of others.

So all my life, I've felt alone and unsupported by my family. That sounds dramatic, because of course my family loved me and did what they could. I just FELT alone and unsupported in general because I was mostly cut off from my extended family, not terribly close to my immediate family (except for my Daddy because he's always been there for me.), and I didn't have a supportive group of friends to act as a surrogate family.

As a result, family has never been a priority in my life. Sad, but true.

That, however, is starting to change. Suddenly, I'm not fighting with my sisters anymore. I have a slew of cousins that are old enough to hang out with and that are awesome. I also have a kick-ass bro-in-law (with a kick-ass family of his own) and three step sisters (and a step niece) and a loving step-mother. Also, thanks to some lucky genealogical study, I discovered long-lost family in England (third cousins, thrice removed, lol) who got to meet them over the summer and made me feel like one of their own.

Not only do I feel loved by my family, but I also feel that love for them. And it's genuine caring and affection, not just "they're my family, so I HAVE to love them". I really love them and want to help and support them so that they have happy fulfilling lives and feel that they are loved.

I guess the point of this post is that I'm seeing a change in myself. I'm feeling more confident and secure because I feel the love that's coming from my family around me and I'm sending out more love than ever to them as well. It's something I rarely experienced growing up and I'm so grateful that I'm experiencing it now.

So today, I'm feeling good. I really love my family and feel like they love me back. The little empty spaces in my heart are filling up and it feels wonderful.

On Racism and Stereotyping

I was part of a discussion today on my Facebook was on the topic of racism and stereotyping. I made a comment about the new "We are a culture, not a costume" campaign that is out right now. It's purpose is to raise awareness of racism, in this case, in the form of Halloween costumes (though it's meant to be all-encompassing, not just restricted to costumes). Here is an example of one of the posters:

While I believe that racism has no place in our society (or indeed any), and I understand what they're trying to say, I find that the campaign is a little ridiculous. I think that dressing as someone from a different culture (such as a geisha or gangster) is no different than dressing as a someone from our own culture (like a hippie or a cowboy). It's a stereotype, yes. It runs the risk of being in bad taste, yes. But is it insulting or damaging? Most likely, no.

I mean, if I see someone dressed as Bob or Doug MacKenzie (stereotypical Canadian), I don't feel like that's an insult to my culture!

I like to think that we, as a culture, are able to look beyond the stereotype and not judge based on race or religion. Do look at every Asian and think they're a ninja, or at every black person and assume they're a thug, or at every Southern American and think they're a redneck? OF COURSE NOT! But is it funny when someone dresses as a ghetto baby-mamma, or as a pugilistic Irishman? HECK YES!

Of course, there's the whole issue of "Well, we can parody our own race/culture, but nobody else is allowed to." And I'm just not gonna do there, because I'll just get frustrated.

Here's the thing that bugs me, though. In our ultra-PC society, if I admit that I like stereotype humour, I'm a racist. It doesn't matter that I don't judge people based on their background. The fact that I don't see the issue in someone dressing as a geisha apparently makes me racist now.

So now I feel bad. I try to logic my way around it, but I'm blocked at every turn by our society's PC views.

I just don't understand. Why restrict Halloween costumes to what's "appropriate for your race"? Isn't that another form of racism? Where's the harm in dressing up as a samurai because it's cool? Or as a geisha because it's beautiful? Or as a viking because you get to wear big horns? Or even as something a little edgier like a Nazi soldier or suicide bomber as a joke, or to get a rise out of your friends? Though I admit, that's pushing the envelope... I'd even go so far as to say that a most cultural costumes fall into two categories: tribute or joke. So what's the big deal?

Have we as a society become so suspicious and and distrusting of others that someone who dresses as someone from another race/culture for Halloween or a fancy dress party is automatically ridiculing them? Seriously. Take a chill pill.

Where does this all lead me? To feeling like all my friends think I'm a racist now, dammit! Just because our society is too afraid of hurting someone's feelings to take a joke. *sigh*

Thank goodness I'm dressing as someone from my OWN culture this Halloween or else I'd be really screwed...

On Negative Emotions

As I said in a previous post, I haven't been accustomed to feeling in the last few years. My overly emotional self was restrained by my new-found sensibility. And I'm talking purely of negative emotions here, such as fear, anger, resentment, sadness, and depression (those who know me know that I'm not shy about showing how happy or excited I am, ha ha ha!)

Last night, I had a dream where I was really really angry. Not for any particular reason. I was angry, irritable and cranky and I didn't care who knew it or who it affected. The best part was that I recognized why I was pissy. I had an excuse. Which was PMS. And I felt like suddenly, I had a viable outlet for my bitter feelings.

And it actually felt good. In the dream I was aware of the fact that I had an excuse for venting negative feelings, so I did. I was as nasty and unpleasant as I wanted to be. Not in a mean-spirited kind of way, just in a "I'm in a bad mood so don't mess with me" kind of way.

When I woke up, I didn't feel angry, but I felt refreshed. It's as if that outpouring of pissiness from the dream refreshed me.

I'm wondering if my subconscious is trying to tell me something...Something to the tune of, it's okay to have negative feelings once in a while. It's okay to feel angry, or resentful or depressed if the situation calls for it. Just as long as you don't dwell on those feelings.

I've always been afraid of showing negative feelings, as if being anything but my usual, perky, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed self made me less of a good person. As if by being angry or upset, the terrorist had won.

I'm wondering now if I shouldn't make an effort to release my negative feelings more often (in a healthy, constructive way of course) instead of bottling them up. I guess I've always felt like if people know I have/show negative emotions, they won't like me, so if I'm more or less always happy, they will like me more.

Now that I say (write?) it out loud, it sounds pretty silly. Of COURSE my friends will still love me if I have the occasional low point. That's what friends are for, aren't they? They're meant to be there to support you if you are sad or upset or angry.

I guess I just never saw myself as worth supporting. I'm the supportER, the one who helps others with their negative emotions. I have to be strong for everyone else. I must not show weakness!

Again, that sounds silly once I say (...or write?) it out loud. So the next step in my healing process: recognize and feel negative emotions before logicking them away.

On Hearing the Other Side

Over the summer, I had a rather traumatizing experience. It involved a guy I had a bit of a thing for, and too much "liquid courage" which led to a very awkward confession on my part. I'll spare you the embarrassing details, and just say that I ended up confused and hurt. Not only that, but I was convinced that the whole situation was my fault and that I'd lost a friend in the process. As a result, I was in a funk for a few weeks, perplexed and brooding.

Eventually, the initial hurt wore off and life went on, but it stayed there in the back of my mind, because I didn't understand what I had done that was so heinous to merit what had happened. I didn't have closure, so it remained a proverbial thorn in my side.

Today, completely by chance, I discovered from a neutral third party what had happened from the other side of the situation. Not only had it been completely blown out of proportion (and for once, not by me!) but other than one or two less-than-choice comments on my part (which I fully admit to), I wasn't to blame for the end result. In fact, once I knew both sides of the situation, I found it almost laughable.

It's really amazing what absolution can do for your soul. I'm so used to blaming myself when bad things happen that I can't explain that I just never considered the possibility of someone else being at fault, or in this case, mostly at fault. Of course, I don't hold it against him, because it's not my place to judge and condemn. But knowing both sides of the story is one step closer to knowing the truth, and I know now that part of that truth is that it wasn't my fault.

So now, not only have I learned a valuable lesson, but my conscience is clear in a matter that has been nagging at the back of my mind for months.

And it feels REALLY good.

EDIT: The above situation is the one that caused my writier's block. I think that tomorrow, I'll try to write and see if the writer's block has lifted in light of the resolution of my feelings about the ordeal. :)

On Over-Analyzing

I think I've made a breakthrough.

It has come to my attention recently that I over-analyze when it comes to romance. This is most likely why I'm not getting any.

As my sisters have so hilariously put it, when it comes to men, I'm like Sheldon from "Big Bang Theory" I think that, like science, human interactions can be neatly and logically codified. I believe that if I can secure all the emotional and personality-based variables, then I won't have to worry about being hurt down the road, or even worse, hurting someone else.

I can't believe it's taken me so long to realize how utterly ridiculous this is. Especially with Sheldon right in front of me on the TV screen.

Thanks to some wise words from friends, my inner sage, and some emotional turmoil (Oh. My. God...I'm FEELING!) I think I'm finally starting to learn.

I've been so afraid of losing (or in this case, hurting or being hurt) that I haven't been playing the game. I've been dismissing potentially fantastic men just because I think that this or that personality trait will lead to trouble.

Cher once said, "A girl can wait for the right man to come along, but in the meantime that still doesn't mean she can't have a wonderful time with all the wrong ones." My problem is that I haven't been allowing for those wonderful times for fear of them going wrong. The perfectionist in me is insisting that in dating, like all other things, I must be excellent; I must do this well and better than other people because I'm smarter than your average bear and above all that dating nonsense.

Clearly, this is extremely delusional and must change.

Another related issue is that my views on dating are too black and white. Either I meet someone who is perfect for me with whom I can enjoy a healthy, long-term relationship, OR I find someone for a night or two who I don't have to get attached to. Something in my overly-analytic mind is not recognizing the fun and usefulness of short-term dating.

This leads to a lot of time alone, pining for guys that I think are perfect for me, but, in the end, not at all interested. Sadly, it's tough for me to let go, because it's so infrequently that I meet a guy who I think is perfect for me. I have a hard time accepting that this seemingly perfect man doesn't agree with my analysis, ha ha ha.

Another really amazing thing about the way I think is that it's only in the sphere of dating this this problem occurs. Anyone who knows me will know that I don't care about the future. It's too far away to fret about, so why bother? I'm always jumping into situations without looking and having adventures, not knowing if they'll be good ones or bad ones. So why can't I seem to be the same about romance?

In the end, I just have to accept that I'm NOT smarter than the average bear, that dating someone imperfect IS acceptable (because really, who is perfect?), that dating IS an adventure just as much as travelling the world, that I'm NOT Sheldon, and for heavens sake, I have to remember to FEEL instead of analyze!!

On D.O.E.S.

Some of you may be familiar with the acronym "DOMS" - Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness. It happens when you have a good workout, then a few days later, you can't function for the pain.

Well, this evening, I experienced "DOES" - Delayed Onset Emotional Soreness.

I whipped out my laptop to do some writing on my novel, which I've been ignoring these past few months. To be honest, the last time I worked on it, I had a bit of a heartbreak happen. Actually, that's a little dramatic; less "heartbreak" and more "extreme romantic disappointment" And I haven't looked at my novel since.

This evening, I sat down to write, and found that I just couldn't. My head was heavy, my emotions were numb and my imagination had gone out to lunch. "This is strange," I thought. "I usually love to write and perk up at the opportunity to create prose" But the ghost of the past clung to my manuscript, and it seemed like I was looking at my story through a thick fog. I couldn't see my characters, nor my plot, nor any of the brilliant ideas I've had recently.

I sat stared dumbly at the screen for awhile before I closed the document and walked away. But I couldn't settle. My mind was waterlogged. I went out for a walk to clear my head, but walking alone in the dark just gave all the demons an opportunity to come out.

After months, I truly felt the disappointment from that ill-fated night when I last worked on my novel.

Not just that, though. More thoughts formed. Thoughts and questions.

"Why do I let men treat me this way?" I thought. When really, I realized, It's not the men, it's me. What I should really be asking is "Why do I let myself be affected by men?"

THEN I realized just how much I repress my feelings of hurt. Not just over men and love, but over other hurts in my life: my job, my social life, my relationships with certain people...

My usual reaction to hurt or disappointment is this: analyze it, whine a bit, brush it aside and laugh about it. I turn my pain and fear into a joke. I figure that nobody wants to hear about my pain and insecurity.

And yet, I want to hear other people's problems. I want my friends to come to be if they're sad. I want to help and soothe. I'm Leah: the strong shoulder and cool voice of reason. No matter how bad the situation, I'll do my best to listen, offer advice, or just be a hankie to cry into.

It seems taken this persona too much to heart: "I can't cry about this! There are people so much worse off than me and I need to be ready in case they needs me. I must, under all circumstances, retain the image of cool, collected and chipper. Optimism must not fail!" So my own emotions get pushed to one side in the form of a joke or passing remark, too unimportant to dwell on.

But despite all this: I remain as vulnerable as ever. I fall in love easily, I forgive at the drop of a hat, and I make friends for life. I leave myself wide open for hurt, but refuse to acknowledge it.

I know that it's good to be vulnerable, to allow yourself to feel. What would I be otherwise if not jaded and emotionless? And yet, I put up that analytic facade, to convince others that I'm not ruled by emotion, that I'm in control.

But really, I'm just denying that I feel, dammit! Where's the good in that?

So here I am, reeling from past hurt that I never properly dealt with, a hurt that is blocking my creativity and ability to write. And if anyone asks about it, I'll probably trivialize it and make some joke. Because I have to keep calm and carry on...

On Music

I always have a handful of songs that really speak (sing?) to me. Not just songs I like or even love, but songs that I can listen to on loop for ages without getting tired of them, because they strike a real chord in my heart.

Sometimes, it's the lyrics that hit me, but sometimes, the lyrics are second to the music itself.

Here are a few of the songs that I can think of right off the top of my head (though there are more) that never fail to make me feel a welcome surge of emotion:

This is the newest one, "Shake it Out" by Florence + The Machine. I stumbled across it one day on a friend's Facebook status update and from the first listen, it really struck me. I'm still not completely certain why. It's not the lyrics (though they are fantastic); something about the music itself makes me feel good. This song, in my opinion, is a triple threat: great lyrics, great music, and a great video:

Next is a fantastic song by Sigur Ros, an Icelandic post-rock/ambient band that I've gotten to really like of the past few years. None of their music is really "mainstream", but choice tracks have been featured in films and trailers here in North America. I love this song because to me, it's the music equivalent of young love. It doesn't make me think of my own young love (I have plenty of songs for THAT), but of a love I might have in the future which is as pure as young love. Something that I can hope for. The lyrics are in Icelandic and "Hopelandic" (nonsense phrases that sound like Icelandic), so I have no idea what they actually mean, but I do know that the title comes from "hoppa i polla" which roughly means "hopping into a puddle":

I really could go on forever with songs that touch me, but for the sake of brevity, I'm limiting this to the first three that popped into my mind. And so, the final selection for the evening is actually related to the previous one.

Jon Birgisson is the lead singer of Sigur Ros, but last year, he went solo under the name "Jonsi." One of the songs not included in his solo album was called "Sticks and Stones" from the soundtrack to "How to Train Your Dragon" (heard in the end credits). I immediately loved it. If my childhood brain could be heard, it would sound like this song: excited, imaginative, full of colours and feelings and good intentions, not to mention half incomprehensible (the song is in English and Icelandic). And I admit, my brain still sounds like that sometimes...

It's amazing how well-crafted music can make such an impact on a person. I hope I will always be susceptible to falling under its spell.

Emotions can hurt or heal, and music makes both easier.

On Coincidences

A friend recently told me that life's deja-vu's and coincidences are a sign that your life is on the right track.

I don't know if that's true, but I just had a doozy of a coincidence involving a chance (as in, not through facebook) online meeting with an old classmate.

All through my life I have had extraordinary chance encounters, lucky moments and happy coincidences.

From lucky meetings in far-away countries to getting re-acquainted with old friends through new friends. From sudden scholarships and inheritances right before major trips, to receiving a surprise government check in the mail JUST when I need it.

And yes, often the scale of the coincidences are so enormous that I have a hard time wrapping my brain around them...But they're almost always happy or amazing ones.

And so, with this is mind, I hope that these wonderful coincidences continue to happen in my life and that they ARE a sign that I'm heading in the right direction.

On Being Thankful

First of all, sorry for the absence. It's been a busy holiday weekend and I haven't been home.

Okay, onto tonight's musings:

This Thanksgiving, I wasn't particularly thankful. This sounds kind of awful so let me explain. I'm constantly thankful for the things I have in my day-to-day life. I'm always thankful for my friends, family, *relative* good health, the roof over my head, the food on my plate, the sun, moon, stars, etc...

But I had nothing to be extra thankful for that I'd want to highlight on this day for giving thanks. My job sucks, I'm still single, and I can't get up off my lazy arse to do anything productive.

So why should this day be different from any other day?

On a whim, I decided to hit up Netflix for a couple of documentaries. The first, "Bowling for Columbine", I'd already seen when it came out, but was interested in seeing it again. As with the first time I saw it, I was shocked and appalled. But then, that's Michael Moore's modus operandi. He's out to shock the world. I believe he has an agenda of some kind, though. He seems to be a sensationalist.

Even so, it made me thankful that I live in a country that doesn't need to lock its doors, or carry firearms. I'm thankful that as a young woman, I can walk alone at night and not be afraid for my life. I'm not saying that Canada is perfect by any means, but I think it's one of the greatest countries on Earth and I'm grateful that I was born and raised here.

The second documentary I watched, "The Last Days" was on a completely other level. It is an Academy Award winning account of the stories of 5 Hungarian Holocaust survivors. I have read a few first-hand accounts of the nature of the camps, but NOTHING could have prepared me for the photographs and footage from the camps, and the stories that were told by the survivors.

I watched in horror as the survivors described their lives as the Nazi occupation spread across Europe and their subsequent treatment in their hometowns and on the way to the camps. One woman recounted the moment she saw a small child's head being bashed against the side of a truck, then tossed in the back, and said "That's when I stopped talking to God" I burst into tears and wasn't able to stop.

I sobbed like a baby throughout the accounts of each person's experiences in the camps. The documentary alternated between the videos of the interviews, and actual footage of the gas chambers, crematoriums, piles of emaciated bodies, shorn heads, overcrowded barracks, firing squads, and massive firepit graves. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe, and didn't stop crying until after the last of the post-Liberation footage/photos were shown, and the happy endings of the survivors started.

I cried for the Jews in Auschwitz, Dachau and Majdanek, but I also cried for all the other atrocities that modern man, who should know better, has committed in the last 100 years. For a moment, I felt personally responsible for the suffering of the world that has been caused by man's cruelty towards man.

All through this, though, I felt an overwhelming thankfulness that not only do I live in a free, democratic and tolerant nation, but that my mind is open and enlightened enough to know right from wrong. I know that regardless what a man's race, religion, nationality, sexuality or lifestyle may be, that he has the right to live and prosper as much as I do.

I know that not all humankind has reached this point yet, but I'm thankful that I, and so many others, have and are working to spread the word. I don't think that cruelty and intolerance can ever be completely eradicated, but we can certainly try to make it scarce and unprofitable.

And so, on this almost-not-so-Thanks-giving, I am thankful for my amazing home nation and my sound, compassionate mind.

On My Brain at Rest

When I have pressing matters on my mind, it naturally drifts to something that permanently floats around in the back of my thoughts. When it comes to hobbies, I have many that I can choose from if I have free time.

One of those things for me is language study. It's something I love to do, and will gladly do if I have free time.

Tonight, I had my first night off since the weekend and I was pleasantly not busy. I didn't have to clean anything, do laundry, do any work, and no episodes of favourite shows to catch up on. So after eating, I had the evening to myself.

My first thought after "What should I do now?" was invariably LEARN STUFF! So went through my inner bibliography of languages I know and want to practice (French. Latin), know a little and want to continue with (Gaelic, Italian, Korean) and don't know but want to learn (Finnish, German, Spanish). In the end, I pulled out my lappy top, downloaded a language pack for Korean and got to it.

Within 1/2 an hour, my brain hurt. This would be my first non-roman-alphabet language, and it was a lot harder than I thought. When doing Italian (the other language I did with Rosetta Stone), pronunciation was a breeze, and the grammar was easy to understand with French and Latin already under my belt. But Korean? Geeeeez! The grammar wasn't too bad, but trying to follow the pronunciation with only a toddler's undertanding of the alphabet is freakin' hard!

Now, I picked up some rudimentary vocabulary and phrases when I lived in Korea, but so far, it isn't helping me, ha ha ha!

Here's the best part, though: now that I know it's going to be hard, I want to do it MORE!!! I'll be damned if I let a little thing like learning a new language beat me! How VERY DARE it make my brain hurt!

So yeah, this is what happens when Leah has free time and wants a rest...An epic battle between brain and language!!! God help the poor soul who marries me and has to deal with this on a regular basis. :P

On My Perspective of Men

I'm about to admit something that I haven't really even discussed with the world at large. I've always been sort of a little bit embarrassed about it all.

Men terrify me.

In particular, men who hit on me (or I feel as if they are).

The worst is men who hit on me who I'm not attracted to.

Even the ones I AM attracted to make me all nervous and awkward.

The exceptions to this rule are few and include members of my own family, and those male friends who are as close to me as family. Or religiously celibate. Or gay.

I've tried to be rational and think about how this ridiculous behaviour came about. The best I could do was this: I'm afraid of men I'm not attracted to hitting on me because I'm afraid of having to turn them down some time in the future, especially if I consider them a friend. Turning someone down usually involves hurting their feelings (unless things are crystal clear from the start), and I can't bear to hurt someone's feelings. So the options I'm left with are hurt feelings, or grin and bear the awkwardness.

Yep. That's the best I could come up with. Pretty sad, eh?

I'm fine with men in a casual group setting, but in a very small group, or alone, I have a bad habit of going into "fight or flight" mode. Regardless of the reasoning behind it, I'm left with a socially debilitating neurosis. I'm automatically frightened of a huge chunk of the male population. And considering how much I complain about being single, THAT'S UTTERLY FOOLISH!!!

So there you have it. Leah is single because she's afraid of men. And so far, there isn't a damn thing she can do about that.

How do I manage to get into these situations?!?!

On Making Choices

There are some things you can control in your life, but they aren't many. You can't control how people act towards you, or how the weather goes, or is the bus driver is a jerk, or even how your own body behaves, or your emotional impulses.

What you can control is how you think of things; the choices you make. For example:

I can't control what job I get or how much I get paid, but I CAN make the effort to put myself in the path of getting a better job.

I can't assure that my novel will someday be finished and published, but I CAN will myself to write each day, finish the manuscript and send it out to as many publishers as it takes.

And I can't make a man love me, or even be attracted to me, but I CAN keep my emotions under control, go out and meet new people and make an effort to look nice.

So now that I have an understanding of what I can control and what I can't, what now?

WILL

That's all it is. Will power.

So my problem is this: what's stopping me? Why am I so comfortable accepting the crummy way things are when I know for a fact that I can be doing things to make it better? Am I simply lazy? Do I have to hit rock bottom first?

This is definitely something I'm going to have to think about in the coming months...

On Attraction

Attraction is a funny thing. It can be immediate, or it can grow over time. It's the second kind that I don't think is given enough credit, or really much of a chance in today's instant gratification society.

And after 26 years on the planet, the laws of attraction still surprise me. It comes in so many forms.

My first encounter with attraction was pretty boilerplate. In my early teens, I fell for a dashing, sweet-voiced classmate. Unfortunately, that ended when he turned into a shorn-headed, tattooed, druggie, rapper wannabe. C'est la vie.

But then, in high school, I was pursued by a tall, lanky, awkward-looking fellow who was a full two years older than I was. I was terrified. But I gave him a shot and we ended up dating, and even though there was no hint of attraction when we first met, he changed in my eyes from lanky and awkward-looking to Prince Charming. I thought of myself as the luckiest girl on Earth. That feeling faded in the years after we split, but I can still feel it if I think back to those times. That's a comfort in these long, lonesome single years.

Also, I have a couple of guys who I've maintained a pretty constant level of attraction to, despite years and changes. I think of them and feel like even if decades pass, I'll still feel the same way about them.

I recently experienced falling out of attraction so abruptly, it gave me whiplash. He's still as good-looking as the day I met him, and I still find him to be very handsome. Unfortunately, his personality and behaviour towards me (whether done on purpose or not) was so ungentlemanly that I just stopped being attracted suddenly.

On the flip side, I recently developed feelings for a fellow that I was not remotely attracted to when we first met, but have since been won over by his personality and friendly interactions with me.

It's so easy for a girl to say "I want a guy who is tall, dark and handsome. Witty, sensitive, romantic, chivalrous, funny, etc...", but you really can't tell who you'll end up with in the end. If you pay attention, that is. I mean, I'm sure that there are plenty of girls that go for their "ideal man" even if he's a terrible match. And that's unfortunate. It's so much more fun to explore the different kinds of attraction and where they'll lead you. Most of the men I described above are in some way quite unobtainable to me, but that's okay, because I'm so fascinated by my attraction to them!

And it feels good to have someone to daydream over ever now and then...

On Essays and Teaching

I never really realized just how passionate I am about essay writing until tonight. I mean, I've always liked writing them, and I've always received very high marks for them with very little effort, but I really got the chance to go over someone else's from a teacher's point of view tonight.

My cousin, now in her first year of university, asked me to review fer first classics essay. I proceeded to rip it to shreds (from the organizational aspect), write a little blurb about the importance of using an outline, add a brief explanation about each part of an essay and it's function, AND attach an old university essay of my own with explanations of the parts.

I tried to make it as easy to follow and non-condescending as I could. I really just want her to succeed because she's my cousin and I love her. But I wonder if I'm being too prideful by assuming that she needs to be "taught" about how to write an essay.

I've been a little hesitant about teaching (outside of school, that is) and offering advice ever since I had an incident a few years ago. After spending months learning about the wonders of life and enlightenment at the Buddhist temple in Korea, I wanted to share my new-found wealth of information. What followed could be considered an epic failure where the family member I tried to teach completely rejected me, saying "I like my blissful ignorance. Leave me alone."

Brokenhearted, I went back to the monk who taught me and explained what happened. I asked him why someone wouldn't accept the knowledge I was trying to give them. He replied that you can't just go and teach someone, because it's almost always prideful to assume that what you know, others want to know. It seems to others that you're flaunting your intelligence or smarts, which you may or may not actually be doing. You must simply live your life in the way that you learned. Others will see it working for you and ask to be taught. Then, can you effectively tell them what you know.

It kind of blew me away. Now, I try to wait until asked before going off on an educational lecture. But I still wonder: how much is too much? When should I turn off the "teacher" mode?

Either way, I hope that I can be a help to my cousin. I hope that it results in a good mark for her first essay and good essay-writing habits for the academic years to come.

On Disappointment

I'm very disappointed in myself tonight.

I was SUPPOSED to spend the day cleaning my apartment. Instead, I made pancakes, went to the bank, watched Torchwood and ate junk food.

Not only that, but I spent money today when I didn't have to. It wasn't a serious amount, and it was for food, but it wasn't essential either. This is kind of serious as I'm now working a job where my pay is so crappy that more than half of what I make in the month goes to pay my rent. I'm just able able to pay my bills and eat, but I've fallen behind with my student loan payments since I lost my long-time job in August.

And I couldn't even get my arse off the couch to do my dishes and tidy my living space...which is free.

Sometimes I really wonder where I'm going in life. On the inside, I'm very content. I'm a generally happy, compassionate and tolerant person. But outwardly, everything seems a bit of a mess. I'm unhealthy and out of shape, lazy, continually broke, eternally single, in a job that pays peanuts, and I can't keep my apartment clean unless I have an excuse (such as guests).

But I have no real desire to change these rotten aspects of my life. Why? Because I'm content. I'm surviving. I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back and food on my plate, what more do I need? It's a proven fact that once basic needs are met, material things have little effect on one's happiness. Since I have the basics and AM happy, I fear that this inner security has led to outward complacency.

What am I doing wrong? Because clearly, there is something wrong with my values or virtues if I can't get my life in order. Now, don't get me wrong; I try. I have a job that I think is meaningful and where I'm in a position of respect (it just doesn't pay much), and I'm making an attempt to not be a hermit and get in shape by taking an affordable taekwon-do class. And the odd time, I will clean my apartment for the sake of cleaning it. But it's not enough. I dream big, but I'm not inspired to improve my day-to-day life.

I've tried various methods, especially with money matters, but the fact is that I chafe under strict lifestyle rules. Budgets and plans, diets and organizers, and countless numbers of good intentions and promises to myself have all been tried and failed miserably.

Is it worth it to upset my inner calm by sorting out my outer failures? Is it even possible?

On Surprising Yourself

It's not often that my body surprises me or does something unexpected.

In the last 4 years or so, I've been collecting new experiences and sensations, but always with the knowledge that I was safe in my own body and mind. That I knew myself well enough to trust/anticipate my own reactions (be they good or bad).

In the last month, I've had two entirely new and quite unpleasant encounters with my body doing something that I didn't see coming. I wonder if it's because I'm getting old and my body is already wearing down, of if being pushed to my limits is simply new to me .

The first was the weekend before my new job. I was camping with my extended family a few hours away from Ottawa. I was a little nervous because that only gave me a couple hours on Sunday night to prep for my first day, but hey, I'm Leah, I can do anything! Or so I thought...

On Saturday night, I knew I had to get a decent night's sleep so I could be fresh to do my work prep. So despite the warmth of the campfire and several beloved cousins still chatting around it, I retired to my tent. An hour went by and I couldn't fall asleep, the campfire chatting was loud and there was music coming from the other side of the lake. I was also kind of cold (even though I had a good quality 3-season sleeping bag). Then, I started to worry, and it all went downhill from there.

By the time I stumbled out of the tent at 2am to ask my cousin to take me back to the house, I was in full-blown panic mode. My mind was buzzing with anxiety I was shaking like a leaf. Even the warmth of my aunt and uncle's couch AND two friendly dogs wasn't enough to keep me from shivering.

The next morning after a scant 2 hours of unrestful sleep, the first person to get up and notice me on the couch was my mother. She asked what was wrong, but when I opened my mouth to calmly explain, I couldn't contain the sobs. And as the morning wore on and more family member saw me asked what happened, I couldn't explain without my eyes filling with tears and my chin puckering.

The mental anxiety was bad enough, but I'm used to dealing with my own insecurities. What really floored me, and probably made the stress spiral so violent was the fact that my body was reacting in a way that it had never done before: the shaking and sleeplessness were something wholly new to me. I didn't know how to cope because I had no precedent to compare it to. It was scary and new.

Tonight, I was surprised again. At taekwon-do, the warm ups are always intense. It's been that way for the last 3 weeks that I've been attending. It's tough, but nothing I can't handle, even if the instructor puts me on the spot and pushes me harder than I'd push myself (like he did tonight). This evening, I knew on my way to class that I was hungry. I hadn't really had time to eat a proper meal all day really, just small, snack-sized meals. I didn't think anything of it...

Until 3/4 of the way through class, when I started to feel awfully dizzy. I figured it was just adrenaline from the epic moves I'd just learned, and pride that I wasn't doing all that badly for a padawan. But then, even after a few minutes rest and a breath of fresh air, I was still feeling lightheaded. So much so, that I didn't even feel up to the last exercise (which was awesome flying kicks/punches). I even felt like I was going to pass out. It wasn't until one of the instructors asked if I'd eaten that I realized that my body was trying to warn me. Never in my life had I been so at the mercy of an unfed body. Apparently, my blood needs sugar. Who knew?

I guess these instances have been a bit of a wake up call for me. It's as if the powers-that-be are reminding me that it's hubris to think that I know my own body/mind perfectly enough to predict and/or control its reactions. And so, the quest must continue to improve myself and learn about myself.

Almost passing out in the middle of a taekwon-do class is NOT fun (in fact it's very embarrassing and humbling), but it did teach me that I have to make sure I eat properly before submitting my body to that much abuse.

Soooooo Leah needs to take her pride down a notch. I've been so pleased and proud of all the work I've done improving myself that I've started to think that I don't need any more (except in the area of romance, of course), which is a terribly cheeky way to think of yourself. Well, universe, I hear you. I'm fallible. I still have an awful lot of discovering left to do and improvements to make. Consider this lesson learned. Now pardon me while I eat something...My blood sugar needs to have a word with me as well.

On Writing

I've never considered myself to be an exceptional writer. I've just always loved writing. I assume it stems from a love a reading that I developed as a child. What else could I do? I had few friends and was bullied often enough to, according to my father, come home crying and saying I didn't want to go to school on a regular basis.

And so, I retreated into a world of fantasy: Ella Enchanted, Catherine called Birdy, The Chronicles of Narnia, countless fairy tales, and Little House on the Prarie (whose setting was foreign enough to me to be considered fantasy, ha ha ha!). They made me happy because I could imagine myself beyond the real world that caused me pain so frequently.

It seems like a natural progression to want to give something back to the literary world that gave so much to me. And so, I started writing.

At first, I clumsily mimicked stories I knew and loved:

[N.B. these are exactly transcribed, so please forgive the grammatical errors. I was the queen of run-on-sentences... :P]

Grade 2 [I think]:

(...) La sorciere parle au prince. "Prince, tu as 3 jours a dit 'je t'aime' au monstre. Si tu dis a la troisieme jour, le monstre va changer en princesse." (...)

Grade 6:

(...) The christening was a great one and all the gods and goddesses came to lay their blessings on the infant, but one person was not invited. The sea witch was sore vexed. She got very angry indeed and burst through the palace doors. Everyone was silenced, she started to walk towards the cradle which held the little girl. She chanted a spell in an unknown language. Suddenly, the witch and the baby were gone!

Neptune and his wife searched everywhere and sent messengers all over the ocean but neither the princess nor the witch could be found. All the oceans seemed to fall into a bottomless pit of despair. Neptune and his wife cried every night to the mourn the loss of their only child. (...) [At the end, the witch bursts from anger and is never ever seen again, ha ha ha!]

Also Grade 6:

Once upon a time long ago, Rabbit had a long bushy tail like Fox. Rabbit loved his tail and would spend long hours cleaning and brushing it but sometimes he would brag and the other animals got tired of it so one night the lion called a council meeting and once they were all there, some of them started complaining:

"Rabbit always says his tail is better than mine!" Fox cried,

"Rabbit keep saying his tail is faster than mibne!" whined Turtle,

"Rabbit won't stop bugging me by saying his tail stands out more than mine!" complained Bear, and so it went on.

"Calm yourselfs" said Lion. "We shall think of a small punishment for him" Then it got noisy again

"Let's banish him!" shouted Skunk

"Let's burn him!" whistled Robin

"Duh, let's feed 'im to the owl!" said Buzzard

"No, no, no! A SMALL punishment" repeated Lion.

"I know", brayed Donkey "Let's get Owl to bite off his tail, then he won't brag about it anymore!" (...)

Grade 11: [dramatic monologue for Hamlet unit]

There are so many ways I could kill you. I could sever your hands and feet from your limbs and watch you bleed to death. I could poison your cup with a substance so vile that it would make your body sieze and your heart shudder to a slow and painful stop. The possibilities are infinite (...) What if I nestled a venemous serpent into your sin-stained sheets so that it would strike you as you made incestuous love to my whore-mother? (...)

Once I hit high school, though, I stopped using school as my only outlet to write and started to create my own stories. I still have the beginnings of two or three novels that I started writing. At this age, my stories took on another purpose: to live out my own fantasies. Having grown up reading about girls having great adventures, I wanted my own! The heroines in my "novels" looked and acted surprisingly like me, and the romantic interests looked and acted strangely like whatever guy I had a crush on at the time.

You'd think I'd have grown out of that. But really, all the male characters in the stories I write now (including the novel I'm seriously working on) are based on men I know/knew. So much so, that there are a few projects that I have going that I'm far too embarrassed to show to others because the similarities to my life and fantasies are so blatantly obvious!

But never in my life, would I have imagined that my blog ramblings and novel-in-progress would actually generate interest! Tonight, I was asked by a friend (you know who you are... :P) that she was disappointed that I did my blog post in the morning because she looked forward to reading them before going to sleep. Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather, I was just that flattered and pleased! So of course I wrote another post just for her <3

But I've also received so much positive feedback from others about my novel, and recently, this blog. I just feel so amazingly blessed that my writing, imperfect as it is, gives people pleasure. Finally, I'm starting to give back to the world what has been given to me since I was a lonely insecure little girl.

That's why I write. I don't believe I can call myself a writer until I publish something, but that doesn't stop me from writing my little heart out to amuse, inspire, encourage, or just get things out of my own system.

I just hope that my love affair with the written word doesn't someday turn into an unhappy marriage and divorce, ha ha ha!

On Pain

This morning, I work up with bruised forearms as a result of a blocking exercise in Tae Kwon Do last night that was meant to "toughen me up". The instructor even went around after the exercise to check that our forearms were red, because "if they weren't red and painful to the touch, you weren't doing it right". It made perfect sense, but it hurt like a bitch. And it made me think about pain.

Despite what most people think, pain can be a good thing. In the case of this exercise, toughening up the areas you use for blocking opponents assures that if you're attacked in real life, blocking will cause you overall less pain, and hopefully, more pain for your attacker. Thus, temporary and controlled pain in a safe environment can give you an edge in the future.

Another example of "good pain" is that soreness and stiffness you get after the first good workout in awhile. Sure, it's not pleasant having to hobble around like an arthritic octogenarian for a few days, but it means that your muscles have been pushed to their limit and will soon get stronger. Microtears that occur in your muscles and cause the pain are quickly healed and toughened.

Continuing on this analogy, I can say that even pain signifying a more serious muscle injury is beneficial. Again, not pleasant, but beneficial. If you sprain or tear a muscle, it causes a lot of pain. It's your body telling you, first of all, to stop what you're doing because it's wrong in some way. And later, as a reminder not to move that particular body part too much while it heals.

Pain can also be a red flag that something is not right in your body. A sore throat can that you're fighting off some virus or bacteria; a sharp pain in your side can mean that your appendix is about to do something stupid; a headache can mean anything from a tumor to dehydration. It tells us to stop and see a doctor, or to rest up while the microscopic battle rages.

So really, pain has an important function: it's our watchdog and nursemaid and chaperone all rolled into one as our bodies make their way through the physical world. It assures our survival and remind us that we're still here. Interesting side note: the reason lepers lose body parts is because extremities lose their ability to register pain, (and later any feeling at all). If your hand doesn't feel pain, you don't know that it's being slowly eaten away by infection, or being burned by a hot mug of coffee...

To feel pain is part of being alive. We all stub toes and break bones and get sick in our lives. Trying to avoid or mask physical pain can be more dangerous than simply living through it.

Similarly, emotional pain serves an important purpose. Painful emotions can warn us that we're in trouble, or that we need to take a break and rest, or that our perception need to be altered.

Grief for example, is a natural emotion that we feel when we lose a loved one. Trying to ignore the pain of loss is like an athlete trying to power through a serious injury: it not only causes more pain, but it can lead to more serious damage and pain later on. On the flip side, dwelling on emotional pain is just as dangerous. It prevents us from moving forward and growing, like an overprotective mother who disallows a son from playing sports because he once broke his arm playing soccer.

We need a certain amount of emotional pain to develop stronger, more resilient personalities, just like we need to go through a certain amount of physical pain if we want to have stronger, more resilient bodies.

This thinking, to me, helps greatly with my own pain management, both physical and emotional. Just knowing that there is a purpose for the pain, and if I play my card right, that I can benefit from it, can make the pain more manageable. As a result, I have grown more resilient to pain in general. It's enough to prevent me from slipping into depression when life gets tough, or to allow me to pop a dislocated toe back into place before the adrenaline wears off and swelling starts.

To quote Dr. Paul Brand: "pain is the gift that nobody wants". Pain may not be pleasant, but we'd be better off appreciating and accepting the marvellous and subtle genius that is our ability to feel pain. It's what makes us human.

On Farmer's Markets

Today was the penultimate day for the Bayshore Farmer's market...The mini-market that operates on Wednesdays in the parking lot of the Bayshore mall (which is right next to my apartment building)

For the last two months, I've developed a routine. Make sure I have $40 cash on Wednesday so I could to the the market on the way home from the bus stop. My shopping list was usually the same every week:

First stop was to the stall at the far end, where they had melons. I'd choose some obscure variety of melon and maybe a green pepper or two. Next to that was the bakery stall, where I'd get a baguette of olive bread, and a demi-baguette of white bread. Then to the meat stall for either a chunk of Mennonite summer sausage, or a package of wild game sausages. Last, I'd hit up the veg seller for a chat and some potatoes and/or beans.

It was so nice to go there and be able to chat with the vendors, who knew me by sight, if not by name. And I know it will feel like torture to have to take the long bus to go to the grocery store, where the clerks don't care and the food isn't nearly as good.

I'm sure I could wax philosophical about this topic, but it's late and I just got back from tae kwon do...So I need to go pass out now, ha ha ha!

On Being a Heroine

I had a very vivid dream last night. It was long, so I'll sum up:

I was backpacking around Ottawa, with nothing but a small bag containing a change of underpants, a spare pair of socks and a water bottle. Suddenly, a giant alien robot started raining destruction upon the city. I somehow knew that I'd be safe of the other side of river so a couple of intrepid friends and I bolted from the safety of the underground mall we were hiding out in to the bank of the river. It was out in the open, but the alien robot was far enough away to give us some time to cross.

I started to wade in, when the water magically turned to salt (some kind of protective spell), with the consistency of wet sand. I forced my way out further, but by the time I got shoulder deep, I couldn't move at all. We stood panicking for a few minutes, watching the alien robot crushing Ottawa. But then, a young man appeared on the shore and called out: "I know the spell, I know the words! It's a song!" He waded in and sang the first line to me, and I sang it back. The salt started to loosen. He kept singing, and I tentatively followed. Soon, I realized that I knew the words (without actually knowing the song) and within a few lines, we were both singing together. The salt once again turned to water and I swam across the river.

I got to the other side and scaled up the building that stood right on the bank. Once there, I looked out the window and saw nothing but desert and desolation. Somehow, though, I knew that we would be safe and make this place habitable and prosperous. [We may even call it "This Land"!!! :P]

Over the years, I've found that I often dream of major catastrophes and/or post-apocalyptic futures. The thing is, though, I'm always the heroine. I'm the one saving myself and those with me. Or leading the resistance. Or defeating the bad guy. Or slipping past the invasion forces. But always something totally badass in the face of adversity.

I don't really have true nightmares anymore, either. I have discomforting dreams sometimes. Ones that when I wake up, I know that I've just seen some kind of refection of myself that was not terribly flattering, or some truth that I was avoiding or ignoring.

So what do my dreams tell me? Over my years of studying dreams, I've come to the conclusion that most dreams are one or more of the following: your own hopes/fantasies/fears, your subconscious trying to tell you something, and random images from the last few weeks.

I'm usually able to interpret my dreams based on those guidelines. But some things I've yet to figure out, such as this theme of "Post-Apocalyptic Heroine" which seems to pop up so often in my dreams. It just doesn't fit with any of the categories above, nor does it fit with my personality...

Perhaps some day I'll learn why. For now, I'll just keep kicking ass and believing that if we're ever invaded, people can count on me to lead the revolution. Vive la Resistance!!!

On Old Friends

I had planned to spend this evening sitting on the terrace of the Highlander Pub with my good friend, but fate had other plans. Not an hour after we'd sat down and started our catchings-up, but another very old, very dear friend of mine (and acquaintance of my other friend) passed by and ended up joining us.

What started out as quick pint to catch up on the last month or so, turned into the kind of evening where the time just flew by because I was with two wonderful friends. We chatted about how life had been doing, what our respective siblings and mutual friends had been up to, but also touched on philosophy, as we're all quite thoughtful people.

One thing I noticed (and this is continuing the thread I started sever posts ago), is my behaviour around the friend that joined us by surprise. As I said, he's a very dear friend from when I was in high school. And I found myself in a very strange kind of mood. Usually, when I'm around men I'm attracted to (and this is a fellow that I've been attracted to since high school - though I'd never date him...), I'm nervous, and a bit of a bumpkin. But I'm so comfortable around him that I noticed that I was flirting effortlessly. Not flirting with a mission; I didn't want to get into his pants or anything, but flirting like I see other girls do on a regular basis. And that got me thinking: no wonder I'm such a disaster around men: they terrify me. Ha ha ha!! It was nice, though, to be around an attractive young man who I knew cared about me, and that I didn't have to be on my guard around.

I also can't help gushing about how wonderful the evening was. The warm afternoon cooling into a brisk evening, a few glasses of wine. All three of us drank enough to loosen up, but not enough to be drunk: the happy medium. There was an balance of conversation - no one person dominated it. And the waitress was very nice. And in the end, all of us realized it was time to depart, but none of us regretted it because it was neither too late nor too early. And as if the evening couldn't get any better, both of my friends made plans for the next time to get together with me.

I may complain about my lack of a love life, and yes, I do wish I had a man to share my life (and my bed!) with, but it's nights like this that really make my life feel complete. As if there's no better place to be than who I am, where I am, at this very moment. I'm happy that it happened, but not resentful that it's over, because I know that while I have wonderful friends, I'll always be able to look forward to more nights like this...

On Journaling (Part 2)

Since yesterday's post, I've been thinking about why I've been keeping a diary all these years...And I've come to the conclusion that it's for two real reasons. The first being that I need a place to let out all the embarrassing thoughts I have, which is mostly about my romantic hijinx. The second is that I want my descendants to have some kind of account of my youth.

That being said, I don't even know if I'm going to have kids...I love kids, but the way things are going, it seems unlikely that I'm going to settle down in time to have any.

This might explain why I'm so excited for my sisters to have kids. Maybe deep down, I know that I need to live vicariously though them because it's the closest I'll get to a family of my own (my cat doesn't count)

But I digress.

A byproduct of keeping a diary is, of course, being able to look back on your life and see patterns emerging. Perhaps, you might see something that you didn't notice while living it, and now, with hindsight, you can learn from whatever it was. I've really been trying to learn from my past.In one sense, I have. I'm much more aware of who I am as a person, but at the same time, I can't seem to escape it, either.

It isn't all bad, though. Thanks to my diary, I've been able to retain some pretty epic memories of people and places that would have otherwise been forgotten. And my diary has it's share of pretty epic retrospection. I ended off my last diary with one such retrospection that I'd like to share, because I think this is what journaling is about:

"June 24, 2008 -

(...) I realized that while it's hard for me to see, I have a really exciting life! The people, the places...And when this came to my mind, I felt this amazing peace wash over me, and I was sublimely happy. And to think that my life is only about a quarter over, I can look forward to so much more in the next 60 or so years.

I'm in Korea for another 8 months, and it feels like forever, but why fret about it when it's so little time compared to the span of my life? So much has happened already...And I want to end this diary with adequate musings of the last 7 years [this diary spanned from 2001-2008].

When this diary was started, at Christmas of my senior year at high school, I was still a child, despite my serious relationship and miscarried pregnancy. And in a way, I'm still a child. I keep waiting for this feared adulthood my parents keep warning me about. I know 23 is not exactly old, but I see nothing of this dreaded adult life, so I can only assume that I haven't gotten there yet.

And yet, in the space of 7 years, I've graduated twice, traveled to to both ends of the Earth; loved, lost, loved again; made new friendships, rekindled old ones; seen my name in print; become sexually liberated; been so happy I could burst, and so proud that I glowed; shaken the hand of a great actor; met humblingly holy men and men who were so human it hurt; felt abandoned by my own mother, then 'adopted' by another; discovered my past, mastered my own future; learned that love comes in as many forms as there are stars in the sky...

And I've barely even started...

Even though I'm in the middle of an adventure, with the completion of this diary, I feel as if a chapter of my life is closing and another is about to be opened.

As always, your faithful writer, Leah Chisholm"

I think this is why I keep a diary. For moments like that. Moments when I can look back and feel good about the choices I've made and the lessons I've learned. It's funny how at 26, I can read back to when I was 23 and feel inspired, as if I could learn from my younger, more innocent and less jaded self. Perhaps it can even keep me from becoming too world weary in the end.

On Journaling and My Sad Romantic Past

In celebration of my daily journal, I went though my old diaries. And it occurred to me: doing a daily journal for this Stoic workshop is not a great stretch from what I've been doing for half my lifetime anyways, except that this one I have to write in every day, and for a purpose.

I currently have 7 journals. Three diaries (the third is half filled), and four dream journals (the fourth has just been started) - pictured here. The diaries range from December 25, 1997 to July 26, 2011 and the dream journals range from December 29, 2000 to September 11, 2011:

My dream journals ^

My diaries ^

After reading through my old diaries, I realized something quite interesting (and slightly worrisome): while I have grown and matured in many ways since I was 12, one thing has stayed exactly the same. I'm still completely unable to deal with my feelings about men. It's small wonder that I still write about it so often, because it's one of the few things that I've not been able to sort out despite years of introspection and self-improvement. The only thing that has changed about it as I've aged is my ability to express it slightly more eloquently on paper. For your amusement, here is a history of my romantic failures, copied word-for-word from my private diary:

N.B. Each post is a different guy unless otherwise stated -

Age 12:

"Jan 18, 1998 - I wonder if he has a crush on me. I wonder if any boy has a crush on me. If so, why hasn't anyone asked me out? Or asked me to dance? Oh, forsaken and lonely me! Oh well, I always have myself."

Age 13:

"July 24, 1999 -I will try to forget about _____. No songs or words from friends will be able to touch me, for he has been shut out of my heart. At least until I know he does not hate me...but as long as I think he does, I will not talk about him, write about him, relate songs to him, or think about him. Please help me through this."

"Sept 21, 1999 - Sometimes I wonder why I just stand around while _____ and _____ get all the guys. I don't think I'm flirty. Or I'm not flirty enough. Even though, I always get the nerdy or really ewwy guys, and they get all the nice, hot guys. Maybe I should work on my attitude, or my posture..or my EVERYTHING!!! Tomorrow I will ask ____ and _____ about it. Perhaps they can give me some advice. I think that _[same guy as July 24]__ has weaseled his way into my heart again. I'm not saying that I "like" his again. Just, he is so just adorable that I just can't push him completely out of my thoughts. I wonder if he can still sing...What am I bubbling about? I should stop this before I fill this entire book with his 'cuteness' Bye!"

[There's a bit of a gap here from when I was 15 and had 5-year relationship and didn't have to worry about men :P]

Age 21:

"May 28, 2006 - (...) Today in his blog, _[my ex]_ referred to [his new girlfriend] as his muse. He always called me his muse. It bothers me that he's saying the same things to her as he did to me. As if it doesn't really matter who the girl is, as long as she's with him. And here I thought I was someone special. Oh well. Hearing about ____ and ____ makes me wonder why I'm not attached yet. I'm over _____, but I just haven't been interested in dating. Well, I've decided to start trying a little harder. I'm eating better and getting exercise. And by the time I go to England, I'll be desirable again."

Age 22:

(Warning: this post has an excessive and unrealistic use of the word 'love'...I think I was experimenting with the word, ha ha ha!):

"Sept 16, 2007 - (...) When he said that, I realized that he must feel something for me, too. Also, that I have to stop being afraid of love. So I love him. I'm not sure what about him I love, because I know so little about him. I just know that there's a bond between us and I love him. How do I know I love him?Well, it just seems more meaningful than any of the crushes or one-night-stands I've have. Thinking of him doesn't give me nervous butterflies like it did with other crushes. I think of him and I feel happy and warm."

Age 23:

"Oct 10, 2008 - ____ and I both crushed on him. We used very different methods. She really kinda threw herself at him, and made a show of being moody when he was deep in conversation with me. I, on the other hand, managed to gain his trust and reach a nice level of comfort with him and prove myself an equal. (...) She won, plain and simple. This made me think very hard about the whole situation. And this is what I found: men are not attracted to women who are their equal. They want a woman who makes them feel (even if they're not) stronger, smarter and altogether superior to her. Men want their friends and colleagues to be their equals, not their lovers or girlfriends.This is a pattern that seems to repeat itself in my life all to often. (...) So here I am, pouring my little broken heart out to a piece of paper, and ____'s got a date with _____ on Monday. Regardless, I'm pleased to have a friend in ______, even if it's all I'll ever have."

Age 24:

"July 24, 2009 - (...) After the show, when his bus came, he hugged me, then gave me a kiss on the lips! I totally didn't expect it either! He's only kissed me on the cheek so far and even theough this kiss was really quick and friendly, more of a peck, he kissed me on the lips!!! I smiled all the way home...My goodness, I haven't been this giddy about a little kiss since ____. I can't wait to see him again!"

Aug 23, 2009 - I wish I had happier news about _[guy from July 24]_, but the fact is that he hasn't contacted me in a long time.I'd be , lying if I said I wasn't upset. I really like him I can't imagine what happened. Oh well, life goes on, though. Small heartbreaks don't kill a person and they certainly won't kill me. Still sucks, though. You know, I really have to learn to not get myself so excited about things like men. They're just so fickle...But then, I guess so am I for getting myself emotionally involved."

Age 25:

"June 3, 2010 - I've tried so hard to stop pining for _____. I've tried to tell myself that I'm not attracted to him; that he's completely uninterested. And yet, I end up at the same place every time. I can lie to myself all I want, but the fact is that I really like him. I know this because I feel the need to talk about it here. It's always the same story. Leah likes boy. Leah writes about the boy in her diary. Boy moves away (physically or mentally). First, it was _____, then ______, then _______, now ________ (with ______ in there, filling the gaps). I don't understand why I can't just like a normal guy like a normal girl does, and flirt like a normal girl does. Maybe then I'd have a boyfriend instead of mere scribbles on paper."

Age 26:

"May 16, 2011 - Ugh. Why can't I stop writing about the guys I like? You'd think I never grew up from who I was in Jr high *sigh* (...) One side of me wants to believe that he's interested, but the other side is convinced that this is a cruel joke the the universe is playing on me, where I've fallen for a man that has no interested in me. Again. Even, if in this case, all signs point to him being interested. Also, a part of me wonders if the universe is protecting me from harm. Perhaps all these men I've liked in the past few years have been entirely wrong for me and I'm being spared from having to date them before I figure it out...But then again, I need to date. I need the experience to know what to look for in men. Oh man, I don't know why I keep having thoughts like this, because really, my problem is that I think too much about this sort of thing. I need to stop overanalyzing. Maybe I spend too much time alone. I was talking to _____ about this a few days ago. I told her that I want a boyfriend because I have so much romantic love inside me that can't be expressed. It's just being bottled up until I find the right man. It's not that I don't like being alone, in fact, I quite enjoy it. It's that I need that cathartic release of emotion that only a significant other can provide. Well, the quest continues. And at very least, this thing with _____ is yet another adventure in the bittersweet saga that is my dating life."

So there you have it. I'm feeling a little exposed after posting this in such a public place. My diary is where I write things that I'm afraid to talk about or admit to others.

I'm discouraged by it all, really. So little has changed and all-in-all, nothing has improved in my romantic modus operandi despite the efforts I have put forth over the years. I've made such leaps and bounds in other aspects of my life, but this one has stayed the same...I'd even say it's gotten worse! I fear if I'm not careful, I'll become jaded and embittered.

I was going to write more about journaling, but I find that after this, my mind is hurting a bit. Perhaps I'll finish for my weekly review tomorrow...

On Being Social

I'm never really been the social type. I'm not anti-social, but I don't seek out social situations. I blame this on my lack of social development as a child. When I was in elementary school, I was overly imaginative and very strange. I marched to the beat of my own drummer, which didn't endear me to my peers. In fact, I was bullied. From a strange child, I developed into a strange adolescent, but I had a tight-knit group of strange friends, so I was good.

For the last few years, I've been telling myself that I need to get out and find something that will help me meet new people, which I've never really been good at (aside from when I travel/live abroad, for some reason).

I've tried so many different activities, from medieval reenacting, to music lessons to yoga to ballet and contra dance, with a couple games of volleyball and ultimate frisbee thrown in. But I've never felt at completely at ease. I've never been terribly adept at sports, I have the wrong body-type for ballet, I had to travel too far for yoga (inconvenience is a terrible barrier), I couldn't afford music lessons for long, and everything else had me with groups of people that were not anywhere near my age group (ie. much older)

But after all of this, I think I've found something that fits! Something that I'm interested in, that challenges me, is with people my own age, affordable, and isn't a hassle to get to. And I'm already seeing a difference in the way I think. I feel somehow lighter in spirit. Not only because I'm being social with people my own age, but I'm doing something that I've always wanted to do: learn a martial art. It seems that everything just kinda fell into place. Not only was my childhood friend a tae kwon do black belt, but I lived in Korea, AND tae kwon do is a style that puts the focus on kicking, which just happens to be my strong suit (yay for tree-trunk legs!)

So all-in-all, I feel like I'm taking a step in the right direction. :P