I am not an immigrant

I didn't know I wasn't white until I was about 10 years of age. I wasn't aware of ethnicity until someone pointed it out to me.

But someone did point it out to me and they continue to point it out to me to this day.

I remember working at Bentley in Nanaimo. Some guy walks in and asks if I can help him. Being a super luggage expert I say sure. He then pulls in a Chinese exchange student and asks me to talk to the exchange student because he sure as hell couldn't understand what he was saying.

Riiiiigggghhhhttt.

When I volunteered this year with immigrants it was the same. Sure, I was in a room full of people from other countries but I had to point out to each and every teacher that walked in that I wasn't a student. You would think the accent would tell them something but no.

I went to the dentist on Tuesday. The hygienist takes one look at my mouth and says "oh yes, they don't take wisdom teeth out in Japan." The dentist seemed shocked that I was born on this island. Asked me if I was related to Yugi who goes there, the one who speaks great English but can't read it.

I'm sick of it. My father is just as Canadian as my mom, yet people assume that my dad is from Japan and my mom is 100% Canadian.
What does it take to be considered Canadian?

Hell if I know.
S.

The Stag!

It's Wedding season!

I don’t plan parties. It’s far too much work. People are far too flaky. I’m far too anal. It’s true.

But after a few hints, Lola and I decided we should probably take our groomsmaid duties a bit more serious (yes, groomsmaid is now a word, I thus decree). We met in early May. The wedding is in August. Plenty of time, right?

Except that May disappeared, quickly followed by June. Time sure does speed up when you get older. Before I knew it, bam, July. And the S-T-A-G!!! Gah.

After some frantic emailing, people were finally invited, theme picked and places decided on. We met at the dollar store to pick up decorations. Oh yes, the dollar store. We bees classy like that.

Theme – Tiki picnic

Place – Beacon Hill park followed by Darcy’s Pub

What – picnic followed by drinks followed by… where ever the night would take us.

Stephen and Jason hate surprises and laid it on thick but people managed to keep the secret and they were surprised when they showed up.

It went well. The picnic was fun. Tons of food, tacky decorations and a beautiful day. All of the different groups of friends mingled nicely. The sangria I made went down well (I may not be able to cook, but I can mix a mean drink. And by mean I mean strong.)

Next we headed to Darcy’s. There was a mix up because our sort of reservation was obviously not communicated to anyone. But eventually we all made it in and then the drinking began in earnest. Stephen had said and I quote “I don’t want to drink too much or party too hard”. Challenge? I think so. We played pool. Drank buckets. And danced! I even smashed my head against a railing in a moment of flail so hard that I thought I may have a concussion. Nothing in moderation.

We then headed to Hush for some D-A-N-C-I-N-G. I had no money left which is good because I did not need anymore. I remember hip bumping Chris across the dance floor because let’s face it, my hips should be labeled dangerous weapons. I remember a gay man telling me he loved me. I remember smacking someone with my purse.

Afterwards, they all went for veggie dogs at Mr. Tubesteak, where Jason and Judd proceeded to get shit on by a flock of seagulls. I didn't see it because I was headed home. I awoke to a major head ache and a very sore head. So sore in fact that 4 days later, my boss made me go to the doctor to make sure I didn't have a concussion. I don't. But it sure would have capped the evening - Shari partied so hard she gave herself a concussion!

Later in the week, Lola managed to plan a complete surprise shower. It was so much a suprise that the boys took their dog that got so excited he pooped the minute he saw everyone.

Yes, I do see the shit theme here.

I'm sitting here currently, waiting for the girls to pick me up for Tamara's stagette. Yes, 2 stags in 2 weekends. I'm going to be partied out soon.

S.

Hello again,

I guess I haven’t posted in awhile.

Basically what happened was Flamenco finished, and volunteering finished and suddenly I was faced with a vastness of uncharted days with nothing planned and quite frankly, no drive to do anything. Volunteering ended with a potluck dinner and it was so lovely, it made me sad to think maybe I wouldn’t see these people again. Because, they work and most have kids, so really, English is the last thing on their minds. Will they come back in September? Unlikely. Will I be back in September? I don’t know. I want to but with school and work, I’m not sure if I can even dance let alone volunteer. And that makes Shari sad.

In the end it was good that everything ended because I was feeling very burnt out. Mostly it was work that was burning me out but everything compiles and I internalize everything and if I don’t do something about it, something bad happens. The last time it happened, I had to be taken home in a cab from a restaurant that was exactly a block away from my house. So, I try to avoid getting to that point now.

I took a week off work and puttered around. I got my hair done. Got my eyes checked (great sight!). Went and talked to the manager of the school where I will be going in September. Went to a Canada Day Wine and Cheese party, which was a little depressing seeing as each and every male there seemed to be in a relationship which was neither here nor there seeing as they were all gay to boot. But, on a more positive note, I’ve developed a licking for wine. I managed to polish off a whole bottle myself. Okay, maybe it doesn’t seem like a positive note to you, but I’m sick of being the person who says no thank you to a glass of wine and then has to explain why I don’t drink it. So I’m on a wine program. It’s going well.

On Thursday I headed to Vancouver. Shannon was back from Japan and I was off to see her. I find it strange to see my friends from Japan in Canada. It’s like the context is wrong. The stories and mutual acquaintances are far away. But we had a lovely visit. It’s weird because she is in the position I was in 1 year ago. And it makes me realize that I have come a ways since I stepped off that plane last August. Plus, I like to hang out with her because I think she may be more of a hippie at heart than I am. And I appreciate that.

Friday I went with Nadine and Arne to a Jewel concert. Which was fabulous. Nadine and I went a few years ago at the Queen E and it was probably one of the best concerts I’ve ever been to. This was as well with the notable exception of the concert being at the River Rock Casino and us being 6 rows back. Arne was taken with how “stunning” she is. Nadine and I just dig hearing our favourite songs.

Saturday I headed to Nanaimo. It’s hard to believe but I was facing my 10 year reunion. To be honest, I really didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to hear about people who were married and had kids. But I was talked into it. We went to Tamara’s first with just the girls and had some drinks because to quote Bonnie “there is no way in hell I’m going to this sober.” A few hours later we walked into the pub and boom, time trip. I made instant eye contact with Jeralynn, who was my best friend in elementary school but never talked to in high school (we were in different groups) and lost touch in the intervening years. It was nostalgic. She told me how she remembered playing the dark game with my dad which I had been telling Tammy about a few months early. It’s nice to know that memories that mean a lot to you mean a lot to other people who took part in them.

Judy told me that she enjoyed my blog. I didn’t know that anyone read this thing. I believe I said that I thought only my mom read my blog which was one of my drunken lies (I lie a lot when I drink, go figure), seeing as my mom never reads my blog. But anyways, Hi Judy, if you are reading this.

I talked to people I basically haven’t seen since high school and I’m proud to say, even though I was sloppy, sloppy drunk drunk, I remembered everyone’s name. Except one. I talked to her for awhile and it wasn’t until Alina came over and got her name did I find out what it was. Anna basically had the same life as me for awhile. Got a degree in anthropology. Went to Japan. Worked for Peppy. Hell, she even lived in the same prefecture that my Grandfather was from. I guess that means we should have been best friends with her in high school but I was too busy being a sports jock. Alas.

Seeing the pictures from that night all I have to say is… I’m pretty sure I made an ass of myself. But then again, some of the guys creeped me out, so we’re pretty much even.

The next day, I hauled my very hung over ass to Tamara’s bridal shower. I think it very odd that half of the people there were Tamara’s friends and half of them were Tamara’s mom’s friends some of whom had never met Tamara. Maybe I’m just cheap but I wouldn’t want to buy a present for someone I hadn’t really met. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve never been to a bridal shower before. Maybe it is for the mothers. The stagette definitely promises to be for us girls. But Tamara seemed to have a good time which is all that really matters.

Now, I’m back and recharged for my last 2 months at this job. Only they don’t know that yet. Heheh.

S.

Ole

The moment was perfect.

Standing in the hallway, listening to the music on stage, waiting for my turn. The nerves. The giddy anticipation. The pained smiles from my fellow level one flamenco dancers.

This is the moment in the movies where everything slows down. Where the music cues as the dancers line up back stage. Where every look is nuanced and every stretch of muscle looks like a moment of epic proportions. Where the heroine makes her final stand.

There would be a flash back to the hours of practice. To the dance rehearsal the night before, in the crowded, sauna of a dance studio. To the support shown to all dancers. To the moment where the class danced their dance before their peers. To the shaking legs and nervous smile.

There would be a flashback to tech rehearsal from the morning of, to bumping into Joey trying to hit marks and trying not to think of how full the hall would be when showtime came.

There would be a flashback to backstage, putting on makeup, sticking the flower in the hair and finally feeling a sense of camaraderie with the other dancers, just as it is all about to end.

But this is not a movie.

And as the moment came, I stepped on stage and felt... right. Sure, there were nerves. But no shaky legs. No dread in the depths of my stomach. The music came and my head turned on cue. After that, my body just took over. Sure, I didn't look at the audience that much but I don't think that matters. Sure, I stepped on the trapdoor and nearly turned my ankle, causing me to loose time and bump into someone. Sure both hands went into the air when only one was supposed to.

Whatever.

The moment was perfect. As was the moment when the lights went down and the applause came.

Ole.

S.

I GOT IN

I try to keep it out of my blog but my overwhelming boredness at my job is killing me. So finally after much, much, much deliberation, I finally applied to Photography school.

Months ago, Nadine asked me what my dream job was.

It is and has always been photographer for National Geographic.

She asked me what I was doing about that dream.

Nothing.

She then said "maybe you should do something about it or change your dream."

Ouch.

But very true.

So after hemming and hawing, I looked around my office and had the realization that this was not where I wanted to be. And that going back to school, even going into debt over it, could never be a bad thing as long as I learned something from it.

I filled out my application (at work no less) and sent it in.

A few days later I got an email saying accepted.

In September I will be on my way to a diploma in professional photography, which I can hopefully mix with my anthropology degree in someway to get me experience, so that when I apply to National Geographic in a few years they will say "we gotta get this girl on board."

S.

Bruised Beyond Belief

On Friday work decided to have a volleyball game on top of a local pub. They have sand courts up there and what is funner than drinking and playing volleyball?

This was a practice round because we have been challenged by a local solar panel company to a game.

I went because I like volleyball and really, what else was I gonna do. Bonding with work people is good.

It started out nice. No rallies. Basically those of us on the court at that point weren't any good. I used to play but it has been 10 years since high school. If I used to be good (which I wasn't) then it has since leeched out of me into the abyss of non sport.

Then slowly, as more colleagues came, one by one, the players disappeared from the court and were replaced... by more hard core people. Suddenly I found that I had to actually concentrate and get the ball up for a second hit, not just send it over the net. It actually turned into a game. Gods forbid.

I could see it coming. It was an actual spike. I moved into position and actually returned it. But I did it slightly wrong. I caught it only on my right arm. All I could think afterwards was "ow, ow, ow." Actually, that's all I said afterwards.

When I finally hauled my ass off the court, I could see a bunch of tiny veins had been burst in my arms. Well, that happens when you haven't played in a while.

Some of us went out for drinks afterwards. My arms were aching a tad but not much so I thought nothing of it.

Went home that night, took off my hoodie and there it was. A bruise the size of a fist on my right arm. Purple, pink, green and yellow. It looked like someone had beat me.

So, 5 days later it is slowly fading. But now it is mostly yellow. And I look seriously diseased.

Thanks work. You made me look diseased.

S.

Indy

I admit it. I'm an Indiana Jones nut. I once had a hamster named Indy. He was an escape artist, able to push his whole cage away from the wall in order to escape. I named him well. I once found him, after having escaped his cage, in the cat's food dish, stuffing his face. He lived for danger.

I might have also gone in anthropology with a vague notion of wearing a fedora and crawling through ancient ruins deep in some jungle. This was promptly stomped on by my first anthropology prof who, in Archeology 200, announced the first day that "anyone who thinks they are going to be Indiana Jones might as well park their whip". Another dream crushed.

But I wasn't sure about another movie. The trilogy is perfect. Why mess with such a wonderful thing? But seeing as they were hell bent on it, I was willing to give it a chance.

So last night, my mom and I went. I had read reviews that people said they thought the storyline crazy and such. But come on.... were any of the previous movies plausible? The second one featured a crazy priest who would pull people's still beating hearts out of their chests and eat it while the person looked on.

The movie was campy, cheesy, and pure Indiana Jones. I enjoyed it. I think I will enjoy it even more with subsequent viewings... which if my past viewings of the first three are any indication, there will be many subsequent viewings.

Anyways, enjoy this tribute.




S.