We thought we had such problems. How were we to know we were happy?

My sister gave me 'The Handmaid's Tale' for my birthday. It's been ages since I've read Margaret Atwood. Her prose is inspirational. It makes me happy to read good Canadian fiction, like it does to listen to good Canadian music. It means something more, like eating nice food grown in your own backyard.

"I lie in bed, still trembling. You can wet the rim of a glass and run your finger around the rim and it will make a sound. This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter. I want to be with someone."

City Song

"The city called me so I came

It isn't mine to question what it said

I sleep until the point when I'm awake

I walk until there's nothing left to trek

And everyone is looking for an answer

And everyone is waiting for a break

I came and I was bored of it soon after

But I had nowhere to go and so I stayed

I dreamed a lifetime of this place

It seemed an awful thing to waste"

Emmy the Great

Over the past week, I've found myself missing Vancouver quite a bit. I think it's the first time I've actually really, really missed it since I moved to London in 2008. I always miss the forests and the ocean and the mountains and the accessibility of beautiful deep, dark wilderness. But Vancouver itself, not so much. So why now?

It may be because the city has been at the height of olympic fever for the last couple weeks, and that everyone seems to be having the time of their lives back at home. Or it may be because it's March and I'm still banging my head against the wall here in London. The city is waking up to spring, but I'm still frozen in the battles of the winter.

Now that I have my 2-year visa - now that I no longer have to fight to be in London - I don't even know if I want to be here anymore. I was convinced that I did, but maybe that was just because I had nowhere else I felt I wanted to go? Or because I was clinging onto something that is no longer here, or wasn't even here to begin with?

The last week is the first time in a long time that I've actually looked at Canada as being a possibility for the future; a place where I am relevant and wanted and loved. Lately I've felt really irrelevant and foreign in London, and like I'll always be an outsider. It's nice to know that somewhere in the world, I'm home, I'll always be home, and I don't have to fight for that right. I may never be a Londoner, but I'll always be a Vancouverite.

I've been listening incessantly to Emmy the Great over the last couple days, and it made me realize that some of the artists I have most fallen in love with over the last couple years have all been English, and tied to the London scene. The music that has resonated with me and kept me going is so entrenched in being young and lost and broken and in-and-out-of love in (and with) London.

I love London. And once I get my shit together, I know I'll be able to see that once again.

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.

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.

Toronto (is not my lover)

I stopped in Toronto for two nights on my way back to Vancouver for the holidays. Part of me just wanted to see it (it's my country's largest city, and I've never actually been) and visit some friends, but another part of me was window shopping for a new city. It seems like in the last year or two, every time I go to a new city I’m more consciously assessing whether or not I can see myself there. I know Vancouver well (obviously, it’s my home), and find it has a combination of beautiful urban qualities unmatched by any other global city I’ve been to. I love it, but I’m not convinced I’m meant to end up there forever. London I love, and I can picture myself being very satisfied there long-term. The cultural and professional opportunities - coupled with the general charm of the city and the (Vancouver-like) mild climate - are exactly what I’m looking for. But at the same time, I’m open to another city sweeping me off my feet; I’m open to an endless number of urban possibilities.

Toronto is (in many regards) the cultural and economic centre of (Anglo) Canada, with a population twice the size of Vancouver’s. I like the fact that the music scene is better, that so many companies are headquartered there, that I can get a good job easily, etc. On paper Toronto seems like it has a lot to offer me, and so I was totally open to being charmed and courted. And to be honest, I was partly hoping it would win me over. Five million people seems like two-point-seven-million more opportunities to fall in love and be happy than in Vancouver. But in the end, Toronto didn’t really reach out to me. I realize you can’t really make judgements about a city in 36 hours, but sometimes you just know. I liked it, but I'm not sure it's in my cards.

And so, my thoughts return to London. Beautiful London. I’ll see you again in three weeks! Though I must admit that I’m going window shopping in NYC in January, and as always, I’ll keep an open mind.