The best place in the world

OK. I admit it. I'm extremely biased. But really, there isn't a person I know who hasn't been to Vancouver Island and not thought it was amazingly beautiful.

The first thing I can think of, when I think of home, is the green. As far as the eye can see. We live in a mid latitude rain forest. Yes, that is why it rains so much. But the rain can be gotten used to, and unfortunately, so can the beauty this island has. You really have to leave to appreciate it.

I have been to some exquisite places. The Caldera of Santorini Island in Greece takes your breath away with its shocking starkness featured against the blue of the ocean. The quaintness of Otaru on Hokkaido Island in Japan, lit up against hundreds of snow sculptures with candles, makes you feel like you are in a wonderland. The underwater miracle that is Koi Phi Phi in Thailand, makes you wish you were born a fish. The Cloud Forest in Peru, high in the Andes is a feeling that can not be properly described.

But as amazing as these places are, Vancouver Island can compete. Take a float plane from Vancouver airport. You leave the mainland and for minutes are complete surrounded by the Georgia Straight. Then, on the horizon, you catch your first glimpse of the island. It is an arc of green. Slowly, the city of Nanaimo can been seen, framed by Mount Benson in the background and the wilderness on either side. Down island, the city of Gardens is world famous. As it should be. As restless as I am, and as much as I have the need to leave, Victoria will be the place I always come back to.

However, my favourite place is one that not many know about. Out on the west coast is the village of Ucluelet, the place I spent the first 5 years of my life. It is tiny and is the rainiest place in Canada. It is here that the west coast rain forest can be seen in full effect. In nearby Tofino people come to watch storms. Yes, watch storms. The beach is so wind blown that the trees grow at strange angles, like they are trying to run away from the beach.

Just down from my Grandmother's house is Hetinkis Park. It's tiny and hardly anyone uses it. In fact, Roots lodge kind of ruined the best parts of it grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Not bitter, not at all. It's a boardwalk through the rain forest and down to a pebble beach surrounded with huge rocks that the waves crash against.

It's beautiful.

When I die, this is where I want my ashes to be spread. Because no place in the world can compete with this tiny peace of paradise.

So, you can see I'm biased about this island. But I'm not the only one. People all over North America think so too.

http://www.cbc.ca/consumer/story/2007/10/26/travel-survey.html

Vancouver Island has been named North America's best island for the sixth year in a row in a Condé Nast Traveler readers' choice survey that also awarded sixth-place honours to P.E.I.

So forgive me if I gloat a little. Tony Blair recently said to look out for Canada as it is set to become a powerful nation. Maybe Ontario and Alberta will. Us here in BC are far too occupied enjoying our Eden.

S.

Weekends are for...

I love to sleep. It's a fact. Apparently even as a child I loved to sleep. If I don't want to, I don't get out of bed. What's the point?

In Japan the earliest I had to be at work was 10:30 and that suited me just fine. The other thing that suited me fine was doing karaoke until 6:00 am and then sleeping the next day away. I got back to Canada, got a job and shock upon shock... I had to be there at 8:00. AM! Oh the horror. I make it there in time but I'm not exactly happy.

This morning I woke. But I didn't open my eyes. I laid in bed and thought pleasant thoughts for as long as I could. Finally, I couldn't stand the tedium anymore. I cracked one eye. I shot a look at the clock. 9:00 am? That's my sleep in? Crap. I think I may actually be an adult now. You know, one who goes to bed at decent hour and wakes up before the sun has reached its zenith.

I'm 27 and I absolutely refuse to be an adult. I just wish my body would listen.

So, up I got and went down to Beacon Hill Park. I'm not exactly sure if I was going for a walk or a run. I kind of did both. Then I gave up on both those ideas and scrambled around on the rocks down at the ocean. Got some vitamin D into my bones.

So as I was making my way in Beacon Hill Park I stopped to smile at the squirrels. I love squirrels. They are mad. Flitting here and there. Love everything about them. Was looking at one climbing a tree when I glanced down and noticed one coming toward me. I figured, that since so many people use the park (British Columbians are outdoorsy!) that the squirrel was used to us and not afraid to get close.

Um. Yeah. Not afraid at all.

The squirrel came up to me. I sensed that he wanted a nut or something, the way he was eyeing my empty hand. Maybe to him it wasn't empty. Maybe it held all kinds of squirrel like possibilities. So he jumped.

Oh yeah, the squirrel tried to jump on me.

I let out a screech that was far, far too girlie. Luckily, I have cat like reflexes when I need them and that squirrel landed on the ground rather than my thigh which is what he was aiming for. He looked me. I looked at him. And I hightailed it out of there. Which really isn't fair, seeing as he's the one with the tail.

Attacked by a squirrel on a day when I couldn't sleep in. What is the world coming to?

S.

No freakin' wonder

My name is Shari but I pronounce it like Sheri, not like shaa-ri. It's my name and I can pronounce it anyway I like. Besides, it's a derivative of Sharon which most people pronounce as Sherin anways.

I digress. It's a bit of a sore subject with me.

In Japan the kids that I taught called me Shari-sensei. Pronounced nice and proper like. When I went and taught with other teachers, they introduced me the way I like. Except Aaron. Aaron figured because there was no "she" sound in the Japanese language, he would use the "sha" sound. It's hard to explain this if you don't know the Japanese vowels, because they don't sound like they look in English. S-h-e would be pronounced like sh plus the e in egg. Sha would be pronounced like shampoo.

So I would be Shaari sensei with an a like shampoo in his class. The kids would giggle. Never really understood why. However, they giggled about most things that I did so I never had another thought about it.

Monday was Heroes night. The boys and I watch it every Monday. So Stephen and I used the opportunity to make sushi. I knew there was a recipe to make the rice, so I looked it up on wikipedia. And I come across this lovely sentence...

The common ingredient across all the different kinds of sushi is sushi rice (known as shari in Japanese).

Note the "known as shari in Japanese". No freakin' wonder they were laughing at me. He was calling me sushi rice sensei.

Hmph.

S.

Brother o Brother

My whole life I felt like I was supposed to have a brother. I can't really explain it. Just a feeling I had. I even went so far as to concoct this whole story in my head that perhaps I had been a twin in the womb and that my twin had somehow mysteriously died without anyone even noticing that he existed.

Hey, I was 12 and have always had an overactive imagination.

But I only had a sister. My lil sis who is forever besting me at everything I do. It's not good for the ego I tell ya. Perhaps it is for the best. Big brothers (which is what I wanted) do gross things to little sisters growing up and taunted them endlessly. Well, my friend's brothers did. Horribly nicknames and endless farting incidents and always the excuse that the testosterone made them do it.

So, home I came from Japan and home I came to a big announcement. Dad's girlfriend is pregnant and due in February.

Once I had gotten over my shock, immediately it popped into my mind that it was going to be a boy. I like to think I'm psychic. The odds are actually on the female side because most of the Nakagawa boys have had girls. Dad had two girls. Girl births are more prevalent in society as it is. But let's face it... my feeling when I was 12ish clearly has more weight. Right?

Came home from Vancouver last weekend to an email from Dad. It's a boy.
Vindication.

A boy and only 27 years later than I had expected.

Tammy wants a Japanese middle name to match Dad, Nadine and me. She says I can pick it out. I'm currently leaning to Taiki but we'll see.

S.

Old Friends

It's funny how your memory can change them.

Sure, you don't see them for awhile and all you can remember, really, is their name. You add adjectives, fun, sweet, awesome... but really, what does it all mean?

In some cases, you forget their annoying traits. You forget that you, for the sake of your friendship, should only be in their company for a few hours. You forget that you like quiet time and they can't stop talking.

It's good that you are older. Where once you would have said something nasty, or rolled your eyes, you hold it in until bed when you can let out the huge sigh of annoyance. That's a sign of maturity, right? You remind yourself over and over that this person is your friend, just maybe... a tad on the noisy and self absorbed side.

Then there are some friends that in your head you know better than you actually do. There must be something to talk about.

Then there are some friends who you forget about. You forget about the long night chats via msn you used to have. You forget about the crazy ass pictures you took at DisneySea in Tokyo. You think as the commitments for the weekend add up, maybe I should postpone seeing this person. But you don't. When you see her round the corner at the mall, you feel the giddy rush of excitement. And you find as you chat, that nothing has changed. And that makes you so freakin' happy that you almost want to miss your ferry home.

Old friends. Our actions may speak louder than words, but our friends show the true depths of our characters - to ourselves.

Good weekend. But it's good to be back on my island.
S.

The Landlord

Help! My nickname was attacked.

I was never a girl that liked nicknames. I found them endlessly embarrassing as a girl. Then again, my family had strange ones for each other. Lit? Snub? Blueberry? Seriously, our names are Nadine and Shari. Nadine likes to call me "lub" for reasons I will never understand.

Anyways, I grudgingly gave in sometime in high school and accepted although never loved, the nickname Share-bear. It all seemed a little to cutesy to me and I was never a cutesy girl in high school. Actually, I think I was more of a misery in high school. Maybe that's why I can remember very little of it.

Just before I left for Japan, Bonnie presented me with a share-bear. Not like the one here. Mine has a sundae on it, which apparently was changed to lollipops in 2002 because sharing sundaes spreads germs (or in Shari-land, we don't share sundaes because, well... get you own!). Share-bear sat on my bookshelf and reminded me in my darkest moments abroad, that I had friends back home, who loved me enough to call me a silly name after a cutesy doll.

I know. That last sentence makes me want to gag too.

The day before I was scheduled to leave Japan, I found myself at the local shopping mecca. I rounded a corner in one of the overly cute sections and found myself face to face with a share-bear bonanza. Before I knew it, I had a face cloth and a small stuff doll on a chain that is meant to be attached to your cell phone (why I don't know, seeing as it is bigger than today's cells). Sense finally came to me just before I reached the smiling Japanese girl at the counter and I talked myself out of the facecloth. After all, I'm not a child. I can make due with only the small plush right? Right?

So, big Share-bear lives on my shelf and small Share-bear lives on my purse. My travel buddy.

On Monday I went over to Jason and Stephen's for our weekly dinner and Heroes night (I love that show). Chillin' in the kitchen and talking. Good times. Until Jason went into the living room and I suddenly hear "Bishop... NO!"

Chills.

Bishop is their Pomeranian. A Pomeranian living with 2 gay guys, who has a thing for purses.
By the time Jason found him, Bishop had discovered Share-bear Jr. and chewed.. the... ass.... off.
My nickname has had it's ass chewed off. What does that mean? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??

I guess Share-bear Jr and it's no bum will have to remain at home from this point forward. I mean, a girl can only take so many assaults on her nickname.

S.

Guilty Conscience

I was minding my own business. A girl has a right to head for the grocery store listening to music very loudly and ignoring everyone around me. Normally when a person tried to talk to me, I just pretend like I can't hear them. It's very efficient. I hate stopping and talking to people I don't know. It's just.... so .... friendly. Ick.

The problem was he was just so cute.

So, I took out my earphones. He was saying something about Greenpeace. I was looking at his pretty teeth.

The next thing I knew "I already donate to Greenpeace" was coming out of my mouth. He smiled, gave me a high five and told me I rocked. I accepted said compliment and then went into the grocery store.

The thing is... I don't donate to Greenpeace. Or Amnesty International, to whom I lied to yesterday (he wasn't near as cute, dreadlocks don't do it for me). If I was going to donate, it would be these two organizations. I would love to donate. But I have no spare money. Sure, I'm making decent money but I'm not actually sure where it goes.

But why the lie?

I think I just wanted the pretty boy to think I was a girl with a conscience rather than a girl with an addiction to jewelry.

S.

With Furniture...

Here's the thing. When you are a purging maniac like I am (not the bulimic type, rather the type that likes to throw away personal possessions) and you move to another country, your furniture goes AWOL. But, you are gone for two and half years and you forget that you hauled it to the dump or gave it away for a pittance. In your head, you have a whole shitload of furniture waiting patiently for your eventual arrival home.

Yeah, I do have a selective memory. I choose not to deal with it.


So, home I came two months ago, and quickly discovered... I don't own a bed, among other deficits in my furniture-less state. No biggie, right? I had hardly any furniture in Japan. I can deal.

So, I moved into a tiny apartment in the non-downtown downtown section of Victoria. It's not the size of the hamster cage I lived in in Japan but it is tiny. 250 square feet to be precise and has a shared bathroom. But seriously, when you are only paying 385 a month, you deal, even if the girl upstairs always likes to take looooonnnnggg baths when you really have to pee.

The previous tenant had left me a loft bed. It sounded fun in theory. Everything that has loft in the title sounds fun. But in reality, it was a bunk bed minus the bottom bunk. So, that first night, I braved the loft. Climbed up the ladder, tried to lay down, quickly freaked out, climbed down, pulled the mattress off the loft and set it up on the floor. Classy. Apparently, I'm not 8 years old, the only right age to be sleeping in a bunk bed.

Got rid of that thing as soon as it was possible to make Robin come and get the bed. Alina sold me her futon which is nothing like my poor futon in Japan. It really should be called a bed/couch. It's comfy though. So, for a month that's what I had. Computer on the floor and the rest of my life on a bed. Unfortunately, the rest of my life is pretty boring at the moment.

So, you can realize my excitement this weekend. I was getting... furniture. Mom brought me a computer desk and Dad brought me a sofa and one of the pink high backed chairs that I absolutely loved in my house growing up. The minute I move somewhere bigger I'm getting the other one. Even if I have to steal it.

I'm all for reducing our personal possessions. But life without furniture... well you might as well be a dog, roaming the floor for scraps.

On the other hand, there sure isn't much room now to have one person dance parties. Maybe I'll actually have to go out to get my dancing in. Alas.

S.

Something Fun

http://www.news.com.au/heraldsun/story/0,21985,22556281-661,00.html

This is weird, Stephen told me as he sent me the forward. With Stephen you never know what is going to be at the other end of the link. Fortunately we were at work thus nothing too crazy could be there.

Well, there was the dancing woman. Spinning and spinning in a counter clockwise direction. I stared at her a good while. Try as I might, I couldn't change her direction. I exclaimed my frustration loudly.

I know, said Stephen, I can only make her go clockwise.

She's going counterclockwise.

No clockwise.

We stared at each other in frustration. Back to the computer I went. Staring at her feet, all of a sudden, poof she changed direction. Now clockwise. Poof, now counter clockwise. Apparently it's just a matter of mind of matter. As it were. I like to think it means I'm smart.

As you can see, we are all very busy at work. Doing work related things.

S.

You know you LOVE it!

You can deny it all you want, but secretly you totally get down in your house by yourself. And why not? Get down with your bad self.

Gimme gimme gimme more... shoes!


S.

Non-Turkey Day

It’s amazing what Thanksgiving does to people.

Suddenly thoughts of family and gushy gushy “quality time” invade the brain. Normally I shudder and push these thought to the far reaches of my brain where they can remain safe from the cold hard realities of the world outside my brain. But when it comes to Thanksgiving my filters just don’t work. Thus, family and the traditional dinner it is.

At least I thought so.

I mean, traditional dinner doesn’t work when there are two vegetarians in the family. We aren’t fair-weather vegetarians either. There are some who have a day off their vegetarianism. Perhaps they are the type that is in it to save the cutesy wootesy animals. Turkeys aren’t going to win any beauty contests after all. However, I’m in it to save the world. I can be pretentious if I want to.

But, my hopes of the traditional dinner were dashed when my mom decided to announce that she was off to Kelowna for the holidays. I tried the emotional blackmail thing but clearly am not a mother and thus, can not pull off that gut twisting guilt thing. Go figure.

My sister was working nights anyways. So Dad, Dad’s girlfriend, Dad’s girlfriend’s friend, my sister, sister’s boyfriend and I went out for Thanksgiving lunch. At our favourite Indian restaurant. Nice and traditional.

That night I did go to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I had managed to wheedle my way into a friend’s family dinner. The Zutz’s are the loud family who always has the meals with too much food. Alina promised to cook me lobster tail, so as if I was going to pass that one up.

After listening to the pre-dinner show of an Aussie taking the piss out of a Newfoundlander, we settled down to dinner. Toasts were made. Alina’s brother is off to Grande Prairie for reasons that I will never understand because really, who in their right minds wants to live in the prairies? Alina got a little teary at that point which I suppose if you are close to your brother you get. I don’t see how you can get teary eyed over a brother who in high school used to sit on your face and fart, but maybe that’s just me.

The loud brother didn’t take kindly to the tears and told her to stop. Boys are boys, 3 years old or 30. Which is why I was then beamed with a flying carrot. I shot Keith my teacher look but apparently he doesn’t respond to those looks. It makes sense. I don’t think he responded to those looks in school as it were anyways. He just shrugged and said “you shouldn’t have sat next to her.”

Thanksgiving. Always an adventure. Of some sort.

S.

Descent

As a child I was the fancy girl. Apparently I loved dresses and abhorred getting them dirty. I say apparently because I have no recollection of this.

But then I got older. One day in grade 6 I came home and announced to my parents that “I had joined the basketball team”. Something sparked in my poor, lone man in the house, father’s eyes and poof, we were out on the local court. That day I ran many laps and learned how to play defense. I was not even allowed to touch a ball for weeks. Fundamentals you know.

That sealed my fate for the next decade. I was the girl that wore a sports bra every day because they were more comfortable. I suppose the term tom-boy applies here but really, I was just lazy. Perhaps boys in this day and age are bombarded with the ideas of metrosexuality and thus have as much grooming/dressing issues as us girls do, but in my teenage years, dressing like guys was the easier route.

About 8 years ago, I got a job at a bag store. The constant bombardment of purses got to me. Sure, I made fun of the ladies whose purses and shoes just “had to match”. You would too if you had heard the words they used. Because the world does hang in the balance if you don’t find an off-white purse to match those off-white pumps that you are lugging around from store to store.

Regardless of what I thought of these ladies, I soon found myself with a healthy collection of purses. I figured that was it. Everyone needs a functional bag right? If it just happens to be the cutest thing imaginable is just a bonus.

Then I got a job at a jewelry store.

I have always worn necklaces but they were a mere after thought. But after 10 months of trying on all the jewelry (especially the ten thousand dollar diamond, whoo baby!) I was converted. Rings and necklaces and bracelets, oh my! I drew the line at earrings. I had to maintain my dignity somehow.

Two and half years in a different country can get to you. I arrived in Japan and immediately started in on my favourite sport – Japanese accessories. Jewelry? Strange. Haircuts? Feathered disasters. Shoes and their ability to walk in them? Can I even describe the pigeon toed shuffle in heels that the Japanese women have perfected?

However, attitudes can change. Somewhere along the line I developed an obsession with earrings. Big ones. I got a Japanese haircut. But the day I knew I HAD to leave was the one when I started to like the shoes there.

So I came home and hoped for normalcy to kick in.

But all I can think about is a pair of red patent mary jane pumps at the Bay.

Japan may have finally done the impossible and made a girl out of me. Working in the corporate world may do the worst and make me a *insert shudder* fancy girl.

The Switch

After much thought, I have decided to move my blog. Why? Mostly because I think the msn Live site is too busy. Plus, I'm too lazy to change the formatting and remove things. I prefer clean slates. They are so... clean.

It's fun to dirty them up.

Apparently, blogspot doesn't have a function where I can import my old blog posts. There are suggestions of cutting and pasting. This is where I use my favourite Japanese word - mendokusai. That means I can't be bothered. And I can't be bothered. Thus, old posts can be found at http://sharinakagawa.spaces.live.com.

I still need to think of a purpose for this blog. The old one was about being an expat in Japan. However, seeing as my person has been removed from Japan I can no longer blog about that. Well, I could, but that would be downright LIE! I was going to blog about my repatriating myself but eh, b-o-r-i-n-g. So, I'll think about it some more. I promise to try to be amusing. I think I'm pretty amusing but then again, I am the funniest person in the world - to myself.

I'll stop babbling now. Perhaps I will even go and do some work.

S.