Goodbye, Katie. I love you, and I'll miss you!

(Katie is not dead, she just moved back to the States.)

In the present, on the future...

Does adulthood mean being persistently attuned to the fact that at any moment, given a certain change in circumstances, one might become:

a) bankrupt

b) homeless

c) alone

d) crazy

e) dead

f) a social smoker?

Or am I just having a bad day/week/month/season?

London?

Hana at Cafe String in Stockholm

I'm thinking about applying for PhDs for next year, which has also had me thinking a lot about cities and countries and the future, and where I belong in this world.

I've really loved living in London, and part of me can see myself being really happy here in the future. The other part of me still has an insatiable curiosity for the world, and for experiencing life - not just travel - in new corners of it.

I'm not sure whether the fact that I've enjoyed London is necessarily a reason to not keep searching. I was really happy in Singapore, after all, but I know now that having returned would've been the worst mistake of my life. It was a nice chapter while it lasted, but Singapore was not my future.

I spent the other weekend in Stockholm with Hana, and we talked over the options. Hana is from Vancouver too, but we met in Singapore. She's Czech-born, has been doing her Master's in Sweden, and is starting med school in Ireland next year. We've been to 14 countries together across 3 continents. She's my other 'international' friend, and she understands me probably as much as anyone does. Thus, talking to her was really helpful, and discussing leaving London seemed a lot less scary when I was actually outside of England. When I'm in London, it's hard to picture myself elsewhere, like I'm caught in an urban vortex.

Maybe Amsterdam is the place for me? Or Berlin? Or maybe even New York? Or maybe London is indeed the perfect fit, but I'll likely always regret not trying other places while I was young and had the chance. If it's the place for me, I can always come back, right?

I know I learn the most about myself and the world when I'm living in a new city, and I want to keep learning. But at the same time, I also feel the desire for a little bit of stability; to lay down some roots; to build strong friendships; to perhaps have a long-term relationship.

London could be a great place to assert myself, to build the life I want. This prospect has been somewhat clouded by the fact that things have been really rough lately. I have been in a rut, and so I guess I have seen my life in London as also being in a rut. But things will pick up, surely, as they always do. And London will continue to be that great bustling metropolis; representing beauty, diversity, challenge and opportunity. I guess only time will tell whether that's going to be enough to keep me here.

I'm tired of being disappointed...

but I don't want to lower my expectations.

Guy Fawkes Day in Clapham Common

I'm not in love, except with Autumn

Today is Sunday, and I spent it sprawled out in a pile of autumn leaves in Finsbury Park, watching children, dogs and lovers frolic around me in the colourful leaves that littered the ground. It was beautiful.

I'm not in love, I don't have a job, our shower is broken, our internet isn't working, the days are getting colder and darker, and I have no idea what I want from my life, but still, I'm happy. Today, I'm happy.

Adorned with the fleeting warmth of the autumn sun, crunching alone through the leaves with nowhere to go and nobody to see, I realized that for now, this is all I really needed.

This is all I really need.

Back in the Fast Lane

Sarajevo

My first week back in London was a bit shitty. I got the worst jetlag I think I've ever had, and wandered around the city like a zombie. So many of the people I loved in this city have moved away in the short time I've been gone, and their ghosts lingered on street corners. To make things even more grim, the rain began to fall. And fall. And fall.

I booked a ticket to Sarajevo, and 36-hours later I was greeted at the airport by my dear Jelena. Two other close friends who are moving from London to Singapore (sad!) were also visiting her, which is a large part of the reason I decided to go. We had a great time in Sarajevo, which really charmed me the second time around, and then spent the weekend in Dubrovnik, soaking up sunshine beside the sea. They had rented an amazing flat just outside the walls of the old town with a great view over the harbour and the city, and a little garden in the back where we drank too much at night and recovered over coffee and breakfast the following mornings.

I came back to London totally rejuvenated. Being with people I love - and possibly the people that understood me and tolerated me the most in London - was exactly what I needed. I had no idea how drained I really was, never really getting a holiday after the dissertation wrapped up. It was the perfect last-minute decision.

And now I'm back to London, out of the funk I was in, ready to move on and start (re)building a life. Applying for jobs, getting settled into our new flat, making new friends, maybe even dating again. Life, as always, moves on. And I'm okay with that.

One battle won; the neverending fight of London approaches

The dissertation is done.  Done!  Not necessarily done well, but printed and stapled and submitted and, therefore, finished.

Right now I'm sprawled out on the sofa on my parent's patio, wrapped up in a light blanket, listening to the late-summer rain fall around me, Noah and the Whale playing in the background.  I just want to be alone here in this moment.  I don't want to go anywhere, and I don't want to see anyone, and I don't want to do anything.  I just want to be alone and quiet.

But I'm returning to the bustle of London in 5 days, and I've got far too many goodbyes (and hellos) to say before then, and so much to do to get ready.  Oh, London.  You seem so far away from me right now.  And I'm afraid to return to you.  I don't want to start living again, just yet.  And London forces me to live, or even more, to fight to live.  And that reality, as I lay here listening to raindrops fall on the green leaves of the backyard garden, is a bit overwhelming.  I'm not sure I'm ready to fight again. Yet.

Nothing Gold Can Last (or how a beautiful moment is a sad soliloquy in the works)

I took a break this afternoon from my slowly and poorly evolving dissertation to glance through some old family photo albums.  The past is amazing and beautiful and so tinged with a faint-but-ever-present sadness.  But it's a beautiful, sweet, poetic kind of sadness; people's frozen fearless smiles hide a myriad of dreams that would never come true, and dated outfits conceal wounds and insecurities that you will never know about the people you thought you knew completely.

Nostalgia is about remembering, but in a way, it is also about knowing.  Knowing better now, in the present.  And knowing that you know nothing, still, like then, when you thought you knew everything.

Awesome haircuts, too.

A Saturday night alone with my dissertation (and three love songs, that really aren't love songs, but are kind of about love in some way)

I've been sitting here all night, trying to find the discipline to finish transcribing the last of  my dissertation interviews, but not able to turn off my music and give my full attention to a recording of someone talking about Mountain Pine Beetle policy failure.  The music has won tonight, like it usually does.

And it has won because I currently feel like Joni Mitchell in "Both Sides Now"

"I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all"

..and sometimes like Karen Carpenter in "Goodbye To Love," the most brutal song ever.

"...and all I know of love is how to live without it"

But it's songs like this that keep me going; songs that meditate on the little slices of magic in the world; in the moments that, however brief, however fleeting, make us marvel at how beautiful the world is, and how sometimes, everything can change in a moment. 

"I met a girl on Halloween
When she was lost, and I was drunk
And it was dark and cold out 

When we left

And as we walked the rain started
The leaves softened with every step
And all around us people slept 

Alone with their dreams"

On layovers, long and short...

I've been in Vancouver for a few weeks now, after a weekend in Toronto and a quick stop in San Francisco on my way back over.  I've been plugging away slowly at my dissertation (ahhh!!! two weeks to go!!!) and trying to keep my chin up in the face of a heavy heart and a tired mind.  

The last month has been pretty rough-and-tumble.  But I'm putting the pieces back together.  Or life is, anyway.  It's good to be home.  It's good to be with family I love, and friends I love, in a place that I love.  

I'm going to be just fine, I'm sure.  Until I'm not again.  And the journey continues...

Vancouver

Keats Island

Keats Island

San Francisco

Toronto

The End; The Beginning

What a miserable week. Starting to say goodbyes to friends that are leaving London, many of which I will not be seeing again for a very long time. I myself am moving flats tomorrow, leaving my beloved Southbank behind to stay with friends in West Hampstead before returning to Canada in a couple weeks. I still haven't booked a flight, which is ridiculous, and adds so much stress to an already stressful enough chapter. My last dissertation meeting with my supervisor is tomorrow. I'm not prepared. I'm overwhelmed. And just trying to get packed is too much for me. How did I accumulate so much stuff? And how can I pack myself neatly into two suitcases?

The icing on the cake this week has been the break-up. Our two-month was (uncelebrated) about a week and a half ago. Things haven't been as good lately, nor have they been bad, I've just assumed that the problem was the typical British emotional unavailability, and that once that was overcome things would be better, like they were in the start. But I think I secretly knew that wasn't the problem; it just wasn't meant to be. I can tell myself that, but that hasn't changed the fact that I've been shocked twice now to find myself in tears, both times when talking to my sister on the phone. I'm not sure whether I'm crying over the break-up, even, or just the disappointment. This year in London has been so amazing, and simultaneously so laden with disappointment. I think part of the reason I was hoping this relationship would last over the summer until I returned to London in September, was just to finish the year with a blazing victory. To return home triumphantly in love. But there's no triumph in a love that isn't meant to be, and I know my heart will catch up with my head soon enough in that regard. I know I'll get over the ache, as I always do. It's always just so sad saying goodbye to people. Because yes, you say goodbye to all their bullshit and their ridiculousness and the things that piss you off and drive you crazy, but you also say goodbye to the qualities that captured your heart in the first place, and the ones that redeemed them in your eyes for so long, and the things you know are specific to them, specific to your time together, and untouchably special despite the way things turned out.

Sorting through all my junk and papers yesterday, while listening to a break-up mix CD I made for a friend in the spring, I came across a ticket stub for Breathless at the BFI from our second date, when we first held hands, a ticket for High Gate Cemetery, the day we had our first kiss, and a pamphlet from the Wetlands Centre, the date that confirmed things for me. It's been a great fling. And I think thinking of the beginning yesterday made me so much sadder about it all, but also so much more aware that things are no longer as they were.

And so begins another transitionary period. Yet another one.

The Emotional Journey of an Academic Year

It's June. I remember the shock of June 1st, of finally realizing that summer was arriving, that the year was finishing; that my time at LSE was rapidly approaching the end. And now, amazingly, it's June 11th. Already. Another 10 days evaporated away into the ether. But in that time, three exams have been done (hard exams!), and just one left to go. Things continue moving forward. I get kicked out of my residence in less than a month, and I'll be heading to Canada for the summer just a few weeks after that.

I was scanning through some of my blog postings from the past year in London, and paging through some of my journal entries, trying to make some sense of the year behind me. I've been thinking about how fast it has all flown by, about how much fun I've had, and how it's been such an amazing, fun, easy-going year. But retrospectively, after looking through my entries, it's been a LONG and hard year in London. It hasn't been easy. Not at all.

Part of coming to London was the opportunity of LSE; another part of it was the need to get away from home again; to have some space; to find myself on my own terms, away from the pressures and constraints and routines of home. And I think I've done that. It's been a rough road, getting to a place where I feel comfortable with who I am and where I fit into this world. Even then, I have days were nothing makes sense and I see a heavy fog descend upon the path ahead.

The winter was particularly challenging for me in that regard. I felt strange and awkward and lonely and misunderstood. Disappointment after disappointment, coupled with the grayness of London and the snowy lull of Christmas in Canada, locked me in a weird state of restless surreality. Nothing felt real or tangible. I felt really, really lost.

All the while, London was my salvation. Falling in love with its dark winding streets, green parks, and warm pubs was what held me through with my chin held high. There was so much anger and frustration and dissatisfaction in me, it sometimes caught me off guard. I never realized how much baggage I have. But the load is getting lighter. Or maybe I'm just getting stronger, and more capable of carrying it?

It's been an amazing year, however, and while it's been emotionally challenging, and very low at times, the highs have been VERY high. I've had a ton of fun, met very interesting people, and have had exciting adventures in new lands. What's more, my spring fling appears to be continuing on into the summer. It's been seven weeks now, and it's getting better, not worse. A nice way to end this chapter at LSE.

Damascus

Few places on earth have enchanted me as much as Syria.

Spring Fling

Well, it's spring in London: the days are warm and long, the air is filled with pollen and cotton, and smiling people are coming out of hibernation to fill green leafy parks and bustling streets. In short, lovely.

I've been seeing someone new recently, enjoying somewhat of a spring fling, which is making the season all the more enjoyable. It's only been a few weeks, but it's been surprising and interesting and a lot of fun. There's nothing quite like falling for someone in the spring. There's so much optimism.

Jordan

A brief return to London

Tracey came to visit.

I also found a new potential love interest. Potentially the best I've found so far. I know better than to get my hopes up by now, but I'm being optimistic in general these days, instead of in specific. It's the only way I'll pull through.

Date three, after Cyprus, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon... And yes, I'm tired already.

Santorini!

Hana and I had a lovely and relaxing time on Santorini, drenched in beer, sunshine, and melting gelato. On the last night we got blasted drunk, talked to about 50 people, and danced with half of those we talked to. In the chaos of the evening my journal got lost. Months of writing gone. Sad. Also, it creeps me out to know that a random Greek will be getting into my head. Though, they might be even more creeped out by what they find there.

Athens!

Vienna!

The second time was a charm. Vienna won my heart.

Goodnight and Goodbye, M.

All good things come to an end. This week's casualties: LSE classes and another relationship.

My Heart Is Where The Waves Crash

It's March 1st, which is scary, as I only have 3 weeks of class left at LSE. It's nearly Spring now, and I actually saw cherry blossoms on Portobello Road the other day. We've been getting some lovely mild sunny days, and picnic season is now in the foreseeable future. I also, maybe, am falling for someone. It's too early to say; I don't want to jinx it, but it's nice. It's really nice.

Today I was having a late-afternoon brunch with my friend Ariel. We both had tons of school work to do afterward, but we talked of how nice it would be to get out of the city and take a bit of a break, have a bit of an adventure. And we did.

Two hours later we were in Brighton, just in time to grab a cup of tea and watch the sunset from the beach. I miss the ocean so much, and it was so invigorating to spend a couple hours there listening to seagulls and to the waves gently caress the pebbled seashore.

And as it goes with a city you love, it was nice to come back to London too.

The Waiting Game

If there's anything worse than the general awkwardness of dating, it's the waiting: waiting the appropriate amount of time to text/call after the first date; waiting to get a text/call after a nice date; waiting in-between dates for the next date; waiting to get over someone; waiting to find someone new; waiting, waiting, waiting...

We're a culture that craves instant gratification, instant pleasure, instant results, but you can't stick two people in the microwave for 30 seconds and expect to create a nice, warm mug of love when the timer goes off. No, things are never that easy. In the real world, you just end up with two dead people and a criminal lawsuit. And then you have to clean the microwave.

In short, blurg.

What is wrong with me?

I'm sitting here trying to write an essay. I'm not being successful.

Things I want this week: adventure, romance, fiction, art and music.

Things I need this week: patience, discipline, focus, confidence and perspective.

Things I can't stop thinking about: your smile, the world, and what the hell is wrong with me.

...I think I need to get some sleep.

One Nice First Date

I had a really nice date this evening. After the last few, I've been wondering if I'd ever have another nice date. Now I'm wondering if I'll wake up tomorrow thinking of you? Or if you'll wake up tomorrow thinking of me?

Blurg. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Trent.

How I Fell Back In Love With the Cinema

Several weeks ago I went to see The Reader with some friends one evening after class. I cried my eyes out; it was the hardest I've cried in recent memory, and I needed it. I can usually only cry like that at the cinema, and it's so cleansing, cathartic.

Film has always been my salvation. There wasn't a time since I was 12 that I wasn't writing a screenplay or filming shorts with my friends. I was always reading indie film blogs and watching movie after movie after movie... And then something changed over the past couple years. Finishing undergrad meant that I had to start thinking about careers and life and to try and be pragmatic about things. Film got lost in the mix. I began traveling voraciously, and reading and writing fit perfectly into that lifestyle. Film did not.

I'm the film editor for the LSE paper, but last term I probably only saw 3 or 4 movies total, none of which were any good. I've watched some really great films lately, and it's reawakened me to my connection with cinema. Film is where all of my passions intertwine: words and narrative, music, design, composition, romance, philosophy. I still don't know if I could ever convince myself to try and start a career in the film industry, but I'm thinking about it once again. I know I want to tell stories, but film has become such a daunting medium.

Last night I watched Rachel Getting Married, which reminded me so much of Festen (The Celebration), but was also good in its own unique ways. It made me yearn for those people who have know me my whole life, who know where I've come from, what I've been, the good and the bad. I miss having those people around in times of personal crises. I miss crying with them, deliberating with them, arguing, finding consensus, agreeing to disagree, agreeing to love each other despite. I've got a wedding coming up back in Canada over the summer which will catapult me back into the arms of those people. I'm really looking forward to being 'me' amongst people who have always known me. There's something about weddings that facilitate honesty and vulnerability. I suppose it's the blend of retrospection and nostalgia, coupled with new beginnings. And I suppose that's why weddings make such good movies!

Sometimes London Makes It All Better

It's amazing how quickly things turn around in life, and in London. What a difference a month, a week or a day - or just a good night's sleep - can truly make.

I was walking home today along the Thames with the sun shining down on me while I listened to Patrick Wolf's "The Magic Position." Some of my best moments in London have been walking alone along the Thames listening to music that fits perfectly in the moment. And when the sun bursts through the clouds after days of rain and grey, it makes you take a look around and recognize how beautiful things really are. It brings me back to centre.

I've got two dates arranged next week - two dates that came, more or less, out of nowhere - with people who both seem worthy of the aforementioned butterflies. But moreover, I'm more in-tune with the fact that I see a dozen faces everyday that I could easily fall in love with. The opportunities abound. There's no reason to get discouraged. Life is good. London is great. I am really happy.

London really does make it all better sometimes.

(Not) Finding Love (In All The Wrong Places)

I went on a few dates recently with someone who was kind and sweet and smart. The conversation was easy, and the company was good. On our last date we walked along the Thames holding hands and enjoyed a good-night kiss; by all accounts, quite nice. A third date was planned, but I was having serious second thoughts: there was no spark, no butterflies, no elation when I received a text message or phonecall.

I've been talking with several friends about the realities of love and dating. It seems, generally speaking, that there are two broad camps, and the line dividing those camps hinge on one rather ridiculous notion: butterflies. There are those that demand it in a relationship, and those that are willing to keep an open mind and work around the fact that sparks may not be there initially.

I saw this recent love interest as a real test as to which camp I stand in. On paper, I believe all people have value and are worth the time to get to know. I don't think you can judge your compatibility with someone based on whether or not they make your knees weak. But at the same time, all I really want is to find someone who makes my knees week. There's nothing more exhilarating, more grounding, than feeling that way about another human being. I need to believe that we live in a magical universe where fantastic things really do happen; where someone amazing will storm into my life, and the romance will fall from the sky like rain.

And so I cancelled the third date. It was an awkward and sad conversation that stretched to 40 minutes, instead of the 10 minutes it should have taken. I felt so bad to disappoint a decent, gentle person who, on so many levels, is looking for exactly the same things I am. What's worse, they responded that they were beginning to feel butterflies for me. That really killed me. Lately I've been mostly on the receiving end of heartbreak, and this was a good reminder that it's just as terrible on the other end. My heart is just too fragile for dating, sometimes.

But I will lift up my chin, I will straighten my collar and tie, and I will head out onto the beautiful streets of London and live my life. Just the idea that someone amazing is waiting out there for me makes being single a lot easier. It makes everything a lot easier.

And so I wait.

New York City

An Ode To Vancouver (at yet another departure)

I spent my last evening in Vancouver catching up with a dear old friend, Diana (something that appears to be becoming a bit of a tradition, as I also spent my last evening in the city in the fall with her before moving to London). It was nice to catch up; I like listening to her, and sharing my ideas with her; I value her friendship and her complete lack of judgement and pretension. She is going to be a lawyer, but she can also appreciate the beauty in a poem and a sunset. That is why we get along so well.

After our coffees (and buying a hip, red, vintage shoulder bag at True Value Vintage) I headed to Six Acres in Gastown for goodbye drinks with friends. I love that place a lot (exposed brick, airy windows facing Gastown’s lovely main square, great international beer list, cute hipster servers, menus bound in vintage children books, and dramatic readings of Doctor Seuse books playing in the restrooms). I love my friends too - gathering a group of a dozen lovely and loved people together in my favourite (former) hang-out warms the heart. It was a nice last night.

And as things go, the snow that has hounded me during the last couple weeks turned to rain yesterday, with balmy 6-degree weather finally melting away the feet(!) of snow that has handicapped this lovely (normally warm) city; pushing the white horror far, far back into the forgettable minds of disgruntled Vancouverites. I knew it would turn right, rightwhen I was leaving. But the snow made me spend time with family instead of friends; at home instead of at my island cabin or at the bar. That, retrospectively, was important. I love my grandparents and my parents and my sister very much, and I needed that time with them. That time won’t always be there.

And today, after driving through the fast decaying remains of snow drifts on the way to the airport, a promising brightness emerged in the sky. And - quite fittingly - the sun burst through the clouds as I was sitting on the tarmac at YVR, waiting to take off for New York City. Vancouver was returning to normal, right as I was returning to London.

Vancouver, you are a cheeky dame, and I love how you make me work for it. And I realize that I no longer have to say goodbye to your frosted mountains, blue waves, gentle beaches and glass towers, because a piece of me remains behind with them every time I leave, waiting to be reunited and made whole when life brings me back... home.

I Still Love You Vancouver, and I'm Sorry

Vancouver, I still love you. I’m sorry I sometimes forget about all the good times we’ve had together. I’m sorry that I overlooked your beauty and charm; I’m sorry that I underestimated you. I still long for your beaches and forests and streets, despite the fact that I may be happier elsewhere for a time. I’m thankful for everything you have given me. You gave me wings, Vancouver: wings that have shown me the world, but allow me to fly back and visit. My love for you remains.

~

The snow has continued to fall throughout the rest of my holiday in Vancouver. I have gotten to do very little as a result, and the inconveniences don’t appear to be going anywhere. Today I woke up with a horribly violent flu that had me hallucinating and drifting in and out of consciousness. I was very thankful to have my Mother by my side, feeding me liquids and comfort (even if she was the one that passed on the bug to me in the first place).

I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by life at the moment. I see so much “busy work” in the months ahead in London, and I’m not sure where it will all take me. I wish some things could be more certain, like what I want to do next year, and where I want to be. I have such a long list of things I want to do: read books, write books, make art, see art, travel, succeed with school, make new friends, find love, etc. I can’t do it all, and I wish I had more wisdom as to which areas I should be spending my time on.

I was talking with a friend about love and relationships the other night, and we are both so disenchanted and lost in this department. I find it hard to picture myself meeting anyone anytime soon, but the idea that there is someone out there who is absolutely amazing makes me smile. I want to believe there is someone amazing out there; I need to believe it.

Maybe in 2009 I will meet you? Maybe you are the face that I am picturing now? Or maybe you shall remain faceless, elusive. Either way, I have a feeling 2009 is going to be important for me. For better or for worse or for....

A Year In Review

Happy New Year, everyone!

Cities I visited for the first time in 2008:
Valletta (Malta), Valencia (Spain), Porto (Portugal), Amsterdam (Netherlands), Istanbul (Turkey), Basel (Switzerland), Marrakech (Morocco), New Orleans (LA), Savannah (GA), Charleston (SC), Raleigh (NC), Montreal (QC), Toronto (ON), Ljubljana (Slovenia), Zagreb (Croatia), Dubrovnik (Croatia), Mostar (Bosnia), Sarajevo (Bosnia), Oxford (UK), Normandy (France), Sevilla (Spain), Belfast (Northern Ireland)

Cities I revisited in 2008:
Stockholm (Sweden), Paris (France), Cologne (Germany), London (UK), Seattle (WA), Portland (OR)

Favourite Books read in 2008:
Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You (Peter Cameron), all the Harry Potter books

Favourite Bands discovered in 2008:
Chris Garneau, Cut Copy, Noah and the Whale, Slow Club, The Albertans, Two Gallants, Page France, Cloud Cult, Miracle Fortress, Final Fantasy

Best Shows attended in 2008:
Hot Chip, Miracle Fortress, Chris Garneau, Okkervil River, Micah P Hinson, Teitur, Tobias Froberg and Peter Moren, Born Ruffians