New York

I would have to say that 3 days on a bus and 13 hours on a train were worth the boredom, and the sore ass. They were worth it because being in New York on my birthday was the best gift i have given myself, although last years necklace was really beautiful, this is a whole other category. I have wanted to go for a really long time. I lied about going when i was in High School, said that i had some Aunt that lived in Manhattan, who worked for Mary Kay cosmetics and had a pink mercedes convertible, i also brought back pretend gifts, things i stole from around my house. Pretty sad really, how much i wanted to be liked and how much i wanted to be in this place that represented coolness, success, vibrancy, and style. Going to New York would have made me cooler, less poor. I used to sing New York, New York in the bathtub at the top of my lungs when i’d get home from work, mostly to amuse and annoy my family and i think to let people know i was there, that i wasn’t just another waitress getting home late, having her bath and heading to bed for another day of the same.

New York, a romance in my head. It was better than i imagined. I’m in love actually, another cliche. I think i’m in love with how i felt there. Alive, curious, beautiful,and seen. Then, like i was going to be sucked up by the beautiful monster and trampled by the people that descended like rats and cockroaches trying to escape it. I didn’t care. I thought the last day, the day that drained me, the day i was walking around in a trauma state wanting to collapse in a pile on the sidewalk. I thought that would cure the romance out of me, we had our bad day together, it was all a lie, i was just duped by your charm. I wasn’t though. I feel good when i talk about visiting New York, even with the bad day, the intense smells, the stink, i felt more alive there than i have in a long time. I realized some things i need. I want to be tossed around by storms, sweating from heat, joked with, admired, loved, needed and desired, valued, and challenged. I don’t know what being there would bring me, but i would like to find out.

It’s about the weather…

I was walking up Kamloops Street in Vancouver heading south towards Jacinda’s place. I had dressed in fairly light clothing, stepped outside and realized i had to change, it was cold and rainy, pretty standard Vancouver weather. I was walking along holding my hood against my head so it wouldn’t blow off, and i was thinking about the storms i’d been in over the past 3 weeks. Storms that drenched you in minutes, this rain, this Vancouver rain is like long ineffective foreplay. These eastern storms, well, your body is warm enough to take them by the time they hit, the heat is wearing you down, serious heat, and then the sky turns the most remarkable colour, and then the wind blows harder, and the rain begins and then it pours sheets down on everyone, we huddle for shelter together, smiling at the craziness of the storms after the hot day, the intensity of them, a reminder of who’s in charge, we are collectivley humbled. Here, the seasons blur, its all terminally pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. The wateriness of this place has seeped in to the souls of its citizens making them wishy washy, comatosed and frustrated by passions that can never be consumated.  We want things to be bolder, a passionate kiss, not one that took too long to happen, and when it did, it was too soft and kind of boring.

Side effects

People i know told me to have a blast when i headed off on this trip, have a great time. People say this kind of stuff to me all the time in regards to birthdays, trips, etc, its normal. I always wish it was that simple. Its hardly ever just a great time or a blast. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder about 15 years ago, which means that i have moments of a having a good time, and i have many other moments of experiencing debilitating triggers. Triggers that can be anything from large crowds, to ice clanking, people drinking in my peripherary, people kissing, gum cracking, certain types of people, certain smells, sudden loud noises, and more, that change according to who i’m with and where i am in my cycle. They feel like an attack, like my brain is being scraped or my body is being coated by the energy of a particular sound or action.

Side effects of being raised in a culture of violence i guess. The triggers are daily, they have been for years, since awareness hit, ignorance is bliss. I hear about soldiers coming home from wars, other abuse survivors and their side effects, it makes me wonder if were all in trigger prison in some way, let out on moment passes to see the things that open us up, make us feel normal, beautiful, and then back again. I write this knowing and hoping that the reverse will be true some day. A contradiction i guess to know and hope at the same time, but there is only a small part of me that knows and a larger part that hopes.

Welcome to Vancouver!

When our bus was heading in to Sault Ste. Marie, the sign said “Welcome to Sault Ste. Marie, home to Canada’s first female astronaut Dr. Roberta Bodnar.” I wondered what ours would say. It went something like this.

“Welcome to Vancouver, home to Dr.’s Jean and Allister Carruthers, chief promoters of Botox; also the home of the highest population of people infected with HIV in the western world whose population is primarily concentrated in V6A, one of Canada’s poorest postal codes where you can buy a home for a million dollars. In this same postal code resides Canada’s first legal safe injection site, stores where you can buy fleece jackets for your dogs, North America’s largest open drug scene, hundreds of murdered and missing women, thousands of deaths by overdose and Bryan Adams Warehouse Studios, one of the finest recording studios in the Country. We are also home to the Greenpeace movement and the David Suzuki Foundation. Vancouver is also home to one of the world’s richest men Jimmy Pattison, a haven for the stars, everyone has a place here from Leonard Cohen to Oprah and of course there is Vancouver born crooner Michael Buble, oh yeah he’s from Burnaby. There’s always Chip Wilson, founder of Lululemon, he is true blue Vancouver, white, money and benevolent, but then so is Jimmy Pattison, who gave a million dollars to restore what some people call his driveway, Stanley Park. Stanley Park, the jewel of Vancouver, the tears, the pain, the shock, when thousands of trees came down, 26 gruesome murders of women, and barely a whisper. Also Canada’s most addicted City and breathtakingly naturally beautiful. Oh yeah, one more thing, future home of the unnatural disaster which is the 2010 Winter Olympics.”

Or we could just have a simple sign, that said “Welcome to Vancouver a sea of contradictions and tragic ironies, anything is possible here, really!”

Home

I watched The Namesake at Marge’s place. This story is all of our stories in some way, all of us who came from somewhere else, to make home somewhere else, and the awkwardness and pain that comes from trying to maintain your identity while developing a new one, in a new home. I’m going home tomorrow, after 20 days of being away from home, one day shy of the amount of time it officially takes to break a habit, i hear its 21, but maybe 20 will count. The habit has been to reject me, and now, well now i want me, bad. I feel a bit sad at all the time i’ve waisted not feeling at home in my body, but some people never feel that kind of home, even a moment of it.

There are times when i have been travelling and enough time has passed that i’ve gotten over the anxiousness of being away and i fall in to this place of comfort with myself and whatever community i’m in, at peace with no home for a little while, because everywhere feels like home. I am in the in between place now, my trip is ending, i head back to this place that used to feel like home, knowing that its time to leave and still wishing there was a reason to stay. Friends are a good reason, but they all have families and partners, they are grounded in this place. Me, i have felt beaten by it, taken advantage of, working with too many drama queens, really nice liberals and some Fidel wannabee’s all seeking my input, but never really listening, and me, still playing nice with people, not wanting to hurt their feelings or dismiss all their good intentions, no matter how patronizing, dictatorial, obstructionist or racist. Blind to the mess we have collaboratively built here, and still trumping on about how fucking great this place is. I have been in 6 provinces, and 1 state in the last 20 days and honestly, were just a teenager, were a teenager of a City, that was blessed with good looks and money and is spending that money and energy in a devastatingly irresponsible way, like alot of teenagers. Every place has its issues of course, but the place i call home will be a place that is real, respects and knows its history, and is moving forward in a thoughtful way. Maybe all i can expect is that at the very least if i embody these qualities, then maybe i’ll always be at home.

Today.

Today was one of those days. A day that hits you a bunch of times, then winks at you, makes you laugh, and then walks away. Like i said before, in the absence of a live body, my intimate relationships will be with places, i have sex with the city. Yesterday, we made out, i wore my pretty pink dress with a rose in my hair, carried my parasol, went to see an amazing exhibit of the last 100 years of Cuban art, took some great photo’s, graffiti, public art, and some guys dancing in the plaza of Place Des Arts, while Vicky(new friend from Mexico) and i soaked our feet in the fountain, the fountain with spades and shovels spinning in the water. You were blasting heat, then you rained, you rained on me until i was soaked, my pretty pink dress, my parasol all wet as we made our way into Chinatown for dinner. We looked for a good place to eat, saw this buffet, went in, super touristy place, didn’t bring you tea, and they served pizza, so we left. Walked further, looked at the review in front of the restaurant, then saw this old guy coming out, who told us that this place was the best so we went in. It was pretty good. We ate, left, walked, took more pictures of amazing graffiti, came back to the hostel, fried up a banana with some ben and jerry’s ice cream and some cookies and split it with Vicky, Eli, Joanna and the guy from Iceland. Then i couldn’t sleep.

I realized a couple of days ago that almost all my inner dialogue lately is in the shape of stories, or concepts for stories, and then i was experiencing these moments like i was on a soundstage, in my own film. Sort of crap day today, trying to get copy of birth certificate, skirt flying open every 2 minutes, get to office, they tell me i can have it in 2 days if i have a copy of my train ticket to NY, i go down to the train station and they say they can’t issue a train ticket without my birth certificate, i’m pissed, sad, might not be able to go to New York, i console myself with overpiced french food in a fancy old building, with stuffy rich customers, me with my bright orange bag, $1 willie smith top, $3 wrap skirt that flies open and my $7 sandals that kill my feet, i walk in the wrong door, into the coat room actually, and polite but cool waiter waves me over to the proper entrance, i eat, feel lightly buzzy from the cognac in my lobster bisque, make notes about handsome asshole sitting across from me, maybe he’s not an asshole, maybe he’s a sweetheart, but he looked like an asshole. Make my way back up to the Government offices to tell them what happened at the train station, and the very nice woman at the counter said they would issue it for me and i could pick it up before i leave on Thrursday, New York is still on. Get back, sweaty, tired, sore, no towel, mine is dirty and wet, so i ask for one at the front desk and they charge me $2 for this tiny towel, they say its for washing, i say $2. for washing this tiny towel, i eye roll, she shoulder shrugs, I take a shower, get changed and head off to do my Laundry, some guy shouts out “big tits” to me, like this is news for me, i just yell something stupid back, like “gross”. It takes forever to get there, its fucking hot, they are paving the street i’m walking on which makes it triple hot, do my laundry, head back and some cop stops me for walking on a red light, he’s speaking to me in french, i look confused, so he tells me in English, i say i’m sorry, i turn around and see these two old guys, we smile at each other, one of them winks. Winks i think, because we all know that i knew it was red. I walk further, thinking that if this was a movie, this would have been the cute scene. A little further, and the street is quiet, i hear The Beatles Because coming from the top floor of the duplex i’m approaching, i stand there, with my laundry bags, listening under the window.

Because the world is round it turns me on
Because the world is round…aaaaaahhhhhh

Because the wind is high it blows my mind
Because the wind is high……aaaaaaaahhhh

Love is all, love is new
Love is all, love is you

Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry
Because the sky is blue…….aaaaaaaahhhh

Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh….

enough said.

new day today.

Here.

3 days, 3 rainbows, 1 black bear, 3 deer, 1 elk, 2 moose, 1 dead, about 5 bus drivers, a sore ass, 1 major panic attack, 6 provinces, and a lot of people details in between, and i’m here. Here in Montreal, i started to cry when we were crossing Decarie Blvd and i saw Ruby Foo’s and the Harvey’s. Not sure if it was exhaustion, recognition or relief, it was probably all of it.  Its good to be here.  Changed clothes 4 times yesterday, something i forgot about being here, the stifling heat. It rewards though, with a rain storm in the afternoon, a favourite childhood memory.  After a day of heat, you get blasted with rain. It is the softest, sexiest rain i know, heat rising from the sidewalks and were all showering together, sweaty, stinky and relieved.

Went to Schwartz’s for dinner last night, i think i cried again, but this was pure joy.  Walked down great old streets, went with some women from the hostel for some Sangria on St. Laurent Blvd, and it was jammed for Grand Prix weekend, streets are closed and everyone is outside, drinking, eating, dressed up, not dressed up, all ages. There’s more. I’m stopping here. Need to eat.