"My Body's a Zombie For You"

There are only stories with pain. We need pain to learn, and a story needs lessons to matter.

Screaming and crying and broken glass and broken hearts - it's not worth it. It's too much. Love is as much of a construct as any ideology or religion or cultural custom that is qualified and deconstructed in every university classroom. We know better, but we still believe. We have to believe.

If there's anything in the world we believe in purely and truly, it is love. And we believe over and over and over again, even when love shoots us in the face and we lose so much blood that we almost don't make it.

It takes months - sometimes years - for the wounds to heal, and the scars never completely fade, but fuck, we still believe.

And worse: we hope. We desperately reach out our arms with tears in our eyes and pain in our chests and a rush of blood to our crotches, and we grab for that tortuously elusive someone that will fill our hearts and our holes and makes it all worth it.

But is it? Is it really worth it when so often in the end at least one of us decides that it is, in fact, not worth it at all. Not anymore.

Sometimes it makes for a good story. Good, perhaps only if we still believe. And deep down, we do believe, don't we? Don't you?

Nostalgia

And we remember the days when we believed that we would be happy and successful and in love, and moreover, that happiness, success and love would come quickly and easily, like we were led to believe.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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....

Vancouver Is Just a (beautiful) Place

If there is anything Christmas has been this year, it's snowy. Inconveniently snowy. Snow everywhere! Snow always! Snow snow snow!

After a cold 2 days stopping over in Toronto, I was looking forward to balmy Vancouver, but I arrived home to record low temperatures and historically high accumulations of snow. Shit - it was crazy! It's finally starting to melt, leaving pools of slush and brown water on the streets of Vancouver. Not romantic, but at least I can leave the driveway now.

I'm sitting in a cafe on Commercial Drive right now, sipping tea and thinking about things. I love travel because I feel like it offers a chance for me to objectively see my world; the distance allows me to gain perspective on my own life. Being in Vancouver has given me a bit of that perspective. Which scares me, I suppose, as that makes it feel all the more like I'm a visitor here. It doesn't feel so much like coming home, as it does like I'm a guest in a place I used to live.

After living in Singapore, returning to Vancouver was a real homecoming. I still had another year of University left after my return, and all my friends were still here. Even though Singapore became my home while I was away, Vancouver still embraced me as home when I came back. Now I'm visiting for the holidays, with no intention to move back anytime soon. I suppose that's the reason I feel like a guest: it doesn't seem like home because I don't see myself here anymore. Or because I don't want to see myself here.

I'm meeting a former love interest for tea at this cafe in a few minutes. How does one greet someone that one used to love (ish), and then didn't, and now doesn't? And how do you greet them for the first time after not seeing them since the time when things were very, very different? With a hug? A kiss on the cheek? ... A handshake?

Life is so awkward. Blurg.

Me and You and Everyone We Know

A crazy stressful week in London, but a success.  I got a presentation on environmental economics vs. ecological economics over with, and while it was the least prepared I think I've ever been for a presentation, and the worst one I've probably ever given in my academic career, it wasn't an outright disaster.  In any case, it's done.

Stress two was the Newspaper.  This week's theme was "comics," and as nobody was willing to write anything about that for the film section, I was left to my own devices.  I went to the Of Montreal show on Thursday evening with my friend Susan, which meant I woke up Friday morning bleary-eyed and with a deadline 8-hours away.

And so, I emailed my friends Jordan & Ben for some advice, and they helped get the creative process going (I love you guys!).  Then I got an email from the PartB editors saying they were turning the entire PartB into a comic book this week.  That actually made things a lot easier, given my time constraints.  I took some of the points J&B brought up, photographed some friends, matched the dialogue to the photos using Comic Life, and success!

Met some friends in Southwark later in the evening and we talked about life and love (and lack there of).  Loneliness is interesting.  It's amazing how absorbed we can get in our own loneliness, to the point where we often don't even realize that the people around us are feeling the same way.  Me and you and everyone we know.  

I don't understand love.  It's so intangible, and yet it defines everything I am looking for, hoping for.  I'm trying to concentrate on THINGS I love, because I don't see any other alternatives.  I think if I keep walking my journey, keep fighting for things I find beautiful and meaningful and worth while, maybe I'll meet someone.  

Maybe, baby.