'No! Bangkok's Eastern Bus Terminal!'

We've sort of been relying on Lonely Planet's Thai guide for our directions around town. Alby and I had no idea what we'd be in for yesterday trying to get from Bangkok to Ko Samed but figured who gave a shit really, it'd be an adventure. So on Sunday morning we ambled over to the guesthouse office to find "Glory," the sweet front desk
lady and get directions. Or at the very least some names written down in Thai. No luck with that though because she was nowhere to be found and we figured we'd be able to manage on our own.

Um. Yeah.

Armed with a map we headed up to the top of the road with our backpacks. The two teenagers at the 7/11 (guys, that shit is on every corner here! It amazes me) seemed to know a bit of English so after a bit of pantomiming we managed to get them to write "Bangkok's Eastern Bus Terminal" in Thai.

The cabbie we found was pretty eager not to take us where we wanted, but straight to Rayong, which was the town we needed to get to. Alby and I both screamed "NO!" in the same tone of voice i use on Oliver and looked at him with what I assume is the steely faced determination Alby uses on her behaviourally challenged students. Eager to make peace with us he pulled out a photograph of himself riding a tiger. I'm wondering if I need to Photoshop myself into a picture like that too, if it's the universal sign of goodwill out here or something? I will take one for the team.

With the help of an American hippie we scored two tickets for what was promised to be a "luxury bus ride" to the sleepy seaside town of Rayong. Bus bay 106 at 10:00AM. (I know, that's a photo of bay 105, but my view was obstructed!) The people in Thailand have been so sweet to us so far. Neither of us have been harassed at all (unlike in Colombo) and when we got on the bus an elderly man asked to see our tickets to make sure we were on the correct bus. Even the ticketing agent double checked to make sure we hadn't effed up.

So off we went to Rayong feeling pretty confident that we'd be okay.

Oops.

I didn't realise until yesterday, when I actually took a look at my blog page, that everything looked so effed up. First off, genius that I am was sending "my email to blogger" thing to the wrong address. Kids, even though the domain maybe .blogspot the email address is .blogger. Who knew? Secondly, is anyone actually even surprised?
Anyways just to put things in some kind of coherent order:
1. I left Toronto on the 31st night
2. Landed in Frankfurt in the ealry hours of the 1st.
3. Landed in Colombo early on the 2nd.
4. Got into Bangkok early afternoon on the 2nd.
5. Left Bangkok for Ko Samed the morning of the 3rd and got here in
the afternoon.
6. Today is the 4th and I've got my ass firmly placed in a beach chair with a pool behind me, a clear blue sea in front of me, alby reading trashy tabloid magazines to the left (while my novel languishes), two leathery looking italians tanning on my right and a buffet of banana hammocks coming at me from all angles.

I think today is going to be a good day.

Cankles

Alby was sitting out on the balcony reading a book when Vichan and our hot pink cab pulled up to the guesthouse. She let out a high pitched scream (trademark alby), bolted down the stairs and was standing outside my door even before I had the chance to get out. Neither of us can believe that we're actually finally doing this trip. It's incredulous really. Even as I painstakingly peck this out on my iphone I have a hard time wrapping my head around it.

We pretty much concluded that although I was ready to curl up into a ball and fall asleep on the ceramic tiles it's probably be best for us to go out and explore instead of sitting around being tempted to sleep. I had a quick shower and off we went stupidly leaving our guidebook and maps behind.

I'm struck at how much Bangkok is like Colombo, but not. I was expecting it to be far more squalid. Maybe it's because it's the weekend but the streets seemed relatively litter free and in good condition. Vichan told me that the traffic is non-existant on the weekends so I'll have to wait and see if Thai tuk-tuk drivers are as bad as your garden variety Colombo type. The expressway from the airport into the city was impressive too. Parts of it had a very highway 401 vibe going on. But with tropical weather and palm trees. Speaking of weather, it's been perfect so far. The stifling heat and humidity that I come to expect from Colombo doesn't seem to be making an appearance here.

Alby and I set off at about 2 something, ordinarily that would be suicide in Sri Lanka. The only acceptable activity at that time over there is sleeping. First stop was the 7-11 for some supplies. It's amazing how they're EVERYWHERE. Obviously they don't sell any of the things we get back at home, but it's just jarring to me seeing them out here. Stupid multi-national corporations. I got a sim card for 49 baht that I will need to replace. The "Dtac" provider is craptastic, their network is still edge! And it's bloody expensive too. Today before we head out to ko samet I'm going on a 3g hunt.

From there we went to one of those weekend only markets. The disorganization, stench and shameless people made me feel like I was in Colombo. Poor, polite alby, she was in charge of the afternoon's expedition because I was so jetlagged and disoriented, but pushing through the crowds? I had to lead the way. I weave like a pro yo! Our haul was decent. Got these fantastic v-neck tshirts for 50 Baht and and a pair of sunglasses each. My haggling skills are a bit rusty but I did bust them out and they were useful.

I don't normally haggle when the price is fair, but if you're trying to rip me off on purpose? Hellz to the no! I'm holding off blowing too much cash on random market shit, but it was a fun afternoon and a good way to keep the jetlag at bay. We didn't get back until 8 and I was fighting trying to stay awake. So while alby sorted through her Christmas presents (photo above) I had a shower. That's when I noticed my ankles had swollen so much they were cankles. They still look a bit swollen.

It's 3:59 AM. I'm going to attempt to take a nap.

Wherein a figment of my imagination becomes a pleasant but fleeting reality.

O. Hai! This is Vichan. He drove me from the airport to my
guesthouse. Did I mention that I'm in Bangkok?!

Ugh. It's 2:14 AM and I'm so jetlagged. I've never been one of those people who's been debilitated by lack of sleep so when I forced myself to stay awake until the wild time of 9:15 PM I honest to goodness thought I'd get a few more hours than 5.

Anywho, before I get to Thailand I think it's only fair to talk about getting here from Frankfurt. I had such high expectations of the German airport, it's only natural that I was utterly disappointed. There are too many crap things to outline, but I will say one good thing, being called "Bitte" is kind of awesome.

One thing Frankfurt had to offer (which I don't think I'll forget for some years to come) was a fabulous seat companion on the Sri Lankan Airlines flight to Colombo. By the time I got my boarding pass in Frankfurt it was 20 minutes prior to take off and I was convinced I'd have to sit in a middle seat of a middle row squeezed between screeching old Amammas enroute to Chennai. (Which the flight was FULL off and screaming kids). I was taken aback when I rushed in and saw that I had a window seat in the bulkhead. My short stubby legs rejoiced! And then I rejoiced some more when I took a look at who I'd be stuck with for the next 10ish hours.

We didn't even bother exchanging names but let's call him Bill for now. I hate to travel alone, think it's because I find it very difficult to wile away the time on these long distance flights. Sleep eludes me, I get motion sickness if try to read a novel and I can never find anything enticing on the inflight movie roster to watch. Even though I'm a total cantankerous hermit (who's getting worse with age) there are times when I can turn the switch on and become a very friendly, pleasant person.

Being forced to travel alone does this to me. Before I sat down I remarked to Bill that I thought I'd get stuck sitting "over there" and pointed to some fat red faced German men who were so large they were oozing into the laps of the people beside them. To which he cheekily said in an accent I couldn't quite place "Oh I feel very sorry for those seatbelts. The stories those poor bastards would be able to tell."

With that it was on.

I miss meeting people like Bill. He reminded me again why I'm such a picky bastard when it comes to men. He was an absolutely fascinating Northern Irishmen who spent his childhood bouncing around from country to country because of his dad's work. (They even lived in Toronto for a bit!) I love that world weariness that frequent travelers have. So this is what I found out. Bill did his PhD in viral studies, specifically mosquito borne viruses so he's done a lot of work for the UN in the great lakes region in Africa. My former NGO self was squealing in delight and then had to repress the maniacal grin when he said he'd done stints with MSF in west Africa. Turns out Bill's fluent in German and French. So why was he enroute to Colombo? He's doing a specialists program with Duke university in the spread of dengue and was headed to Singapore for research.

So while flipping through our pretentios reading materials (I had the New Yorker and Harpers, he had the Economist and Wallpaper (more points awarded here for stylishness!)) we managed to make the 10 hours fly by and hung out in the Colombo airport for another ridonculous expanse of time waiting for our connections. We both grumbled that it's such a waste meeting cool people in airports fully well knowing that the likelihood of ever crossing paths again is 0, unless you live in the same city. Then we buggered off to our gates.

So. What have we learned from all of this?

1. I should be sleeping

2. My taste in men has not changed one bit in the last 5 years.

3. All the good men are placed outside of my geographical grasp making them unattainable (see point 2)

4. I don't purposely mean to be a snob (or do I?) but is it just me or do you notice the more interesting folks tend to also generally have some kind of advanced university degree? Maybe I'm just very nerdy.

5. OMG! I'm in Thailand.

Off We Go

Doesn't the window look like there's a tiny man rocking a little tiny frosted fro?

I'm about 1 hour out of Frankfurt tapping away on my iphone (which is on airport mode thank you). 2010 was welcomed in on a plane and I didn't kiss my seat companion, although she was a super cute Parisian and totally my type.

My cousin came by the house in the afternoon to say goodbye and during the course of a conversation I started whining about how this trip was a long time coming since I'm so used to heading out some place or another at least once a year. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. It's not my fault that his passport has expired and he hasn't bothered to renew it.

When I left for England I was determined to fill my current passport with more stamps to more countries than any of the previous ones. It expires in 2012 and so far hasn't done so badly. But the excitement of travel really gets zapped in certain areas when you do it frequently and there's a certain cynicism that follows.

Just before I was clearing security Ammi asked me if I was wearing a belt. Even seasoned travelers often forget that they have to remove their shit for security. I subconsciously didn't wear a belt today. I also didn't wear shoes that required lacing up, a jacket with cumbersome buttons or mismatched socks (you wouldn't believe how big of a feat that last one is for me)

But I do remember a time when air travel was far simpler and I could take a goddamn bottle of water on the plane.

There are a few firsts on this trip though, enough to have me a bit piqued at least. It was pretty wet this evening and we were a bit delayed because the plane needed to be de-iced and that's something I've never seen before. I always thought they literally go and scrape ice off the plane like we do with our windscreens in the winter. Apparently this is not the case. There's actually these two giant crane like things on either side of the wing spraying liquid and the following up with some oily/slick looking stuff.

Yeah, I know it got old very fast but still.

I've never been to the Frankfurt airport or to Germany actually. I wish I had more vacation time because I may have taken a couple of days inbetween to explore the country a bit before heading to the tropics. The airport will have to do, but word on the street is that there's bugger all to do there.

Oh, yes. I think I may be growing up a bit. I was all packed up the night before and my room isn't a complete and utter disaster. Both of these are monumental firsts.

I'm trying to think of what else but I'm blanking. Oh. I got my phone unlocked so hopefully we can has 3g connectivity whilst gallivanting.

Over Indulged.

Growing up, Thathi very rarely ever said no to me. If I wanted something I would get it under the pretext of it being an "early birthday present" or one of those "you can pay me back later" type of deals. This would irritate Ammi to no end and Aiya was never afforded such preferential treatment. I like to think that I'm none the worse, my sense of entitlement only extends so far and in general most would agree that I am a grateful person? Who knows really.

Oliver totally benefits from Thathi's generosity and I think he is way more spoiled than I am because both Ammi and Thathi indulge the crap out of him. Below is a photograph I took earlier on this evening of him lounging in the midst of 7 of his 8 beds. And yes, you read that correctly. EIGHT BEDS.



Here is a clockwise break down starting from 7 o'clock.

The plaid one with the monkey in it sits in the living room in front of the window. He sleeps there in the afternoon sun.

Navajo print? Hideous I know, but it's the latest acquisition and has usurped the original favourite bed in my parents room for the night sleep.

That little sofa! It is the one that makes me go squee. That was his first Christmas present and it's a bit worse for wear these days, there's barely any padding in it so it's got another bed in it to soften things up a bit. This used to be his go to bed, it recently got booted from my parents' room into mine.

The barefoot pillowcase is covering the kitchen floor cushion. He perches on there while we're eating.

Winnie the Pooh's chillaxing on the bed that is permanently fixed in the study.

And finally, the derelict plaid cushion. His very first bed which gets afforded no respect these days. Anyone who's been over will verify this for you, but he literally just carries that around in his mouth from room to room.

Not pictured: the other barefoot floor cushion, it's his "outdoor" pillow and has been put away in storage until the warmer weather is back.

So in light of all these indulgences and what's been going on with the Toronto Humane Society we went by the Vet's office today to drop off some dog cookies for the animal shelter food drive that they're doing for Christmas. The deal was, bring in some dog food and have your pet's picture taken with Santa. Of course this would not do for us because our lovely pet would most likely shit on Santa out of excitement, urinate with no abandon or headbutt him. Oh, and natch, those poor needy shelter animals didn't get gourmet carob, yogurt, carrot and peanut cookies. Those plebes got Milk Bones.


If you only knew how many people have seen these in the cookie jar, stuck their hands in and tried to eat them thinking they were of the human variety. Aren't they cute though?

Every day in the morning I tell myself that I'm not going to read the latest on what's going on with the whole Humane Society debacle, but I do and my stomach churns. Oliver has been getting a lot of extra love these days as a result which I suppose isn't necessarily a bad thing? Anyways, if you get the chance I would recommend taking a stroll through here: http://www.thestar.com/topic/TorontoHumaneSociety


I daily resist the urge to take a bite out of this little face. Daily.

Tagged.

So Vindicated hit me with a tag for that whole "letter to your 16 year old self thing" and I believe it's been years since I was last compelled to take part in one of these memes. How dare you! Thinking back to 16 makes me so depressed because I can barely remember that far back. I've decided to be sporting (despite not knowing the rules) so here goes.

You know that feeling that you get? When you look back at your 13 year old-self? And want to slap her silly? That does not fade. You will constantly want to go back in time and roundhouse kick some sense into your past self. Something tells me that we will always feel like this no matter.

Where should I start?

16 is a monumental year for you. First off, that brain aneurysm that Ammi will supposedly die of? No fear, that wasn't an aneurysm and she's actually still alive. You will however carry the emotional trauma of that and the fall out from her illness around for a long time. Actually both you and Aiya do, and in typical fashion deal with it in completely opposite ways. You both survive. Next year will sort of suck though, not going to lie. You decide that you're going to completely rebel against everything and become a serious pain in the ass. Like for real. You break your parents' heart by turning against religion, God and the institutionalised church, but they both survive. Despite the turmoil so do you. Your relationship with them drastically changes, but that's to be expected.

You feel stifled. Believe me. This feeling NEVER GOES AWAY. You will always feel suffocated you also believe that life will change once you get out of your tiny shit school and meet some new people. Fact: Life still sucks and all those friends you labeled as being "circumstantial," (just your friends because there are no other options) actually turn out to be the best friends you will ever have in life. You stay close to them through your undergraduate degrees, med school, law school, teachers college. You name it. You will be a bridesmaid and hate every moment of it, but you suck it up and do it. Then they start having babies, (which yes, even now freaks you out) and you have no idea what to do with these small creatures, but as they start getting older and you see flashes of their parents in their faces you realise that your past nomadic life may well be in the past because you're actually around to see this shit happen.

Yeah, you know that whole traveling thing? It dogs you man, all your life and you totally embrace it. You travel, a lot (your goal of living and working in two countries on every continent is right on track). And you experience all sorts of fantastic things. That drive to live in another country out of a suitcase sort of wanes eventually, but never dies! You start to realise how much you're missing at home. With that said, the time you spent working at an NGO in Sri Lanka? Good on you. Sometimes you'll wonder wtf you're doing, but stick with it. If anything it gives you a chance to know your family and grandparents in Colombo on a level that would never have been possible before. Looking back you'll be happy about this because your grandfather does not live forever, you won't be full of regrets like aiya.

Speaking of Sri Lanka, you are blown away by the awesome people you meet while you're there (none of whom you work with or are related to hah). One of them will even move to Canada and ingrain himself in your life, the same way those friends from high school do. He becomes a common fixture at the Christmas dinner table, the guest bedroom and even gets exposed to Aiya's girlfriends too.

You become easier on the people around you and become much more accepting. This is a good thing because your social sphere also expands and your friends become an eclectic mix of strangeness. You will never attempt to gather them all in one place for this reason.

The best example of this is the monumental nerd that flies into your peripheral this year. You will ignore him. For years. And years. He will tutor your baby cousin in calculus and you won't know he exists until one Thanksgiving you're forced to roast 38 turkeys and have no other option than to speak to him. Go with it. He will irritate you, you will want to kill him, but give him a chance because he turns out to be nothing at all like you expected. He reads Wuthering Heights voluntarily and becomes slightly less nerdy because of your influence. In turn he becomes a place of calm and reasoning in the midst of much insanity for you. It also helps that he's deliciously good looking and most of the single females in your acquaintance are madly jealous.

The most important thing that you'll discover later in life is how to weed people out. This is pertinent to your well being. All those people who are on a crusade to save you from yourself? Good news! They'll mostly be gone by the time you hit your 3rd year of university. You stop feeling the need to explain yourself to people and being misunderstood isn't so bad because you stop caring. Life keeps going on and it's not that bad.

Unfortunately you're a bit hit and miss in the boy department. Most of your relationships fizzle out and die a pathetic death because you refuse to be changed. A douche will famously quote to you the third stanza from "Marching Bands of Manhattan" in an attempt to make you feel badly about yourself, but instead you will feel emboldened and kick him to the curb. This is a trend that continues with you. It is also awesome.

You are also still terribly verbose. We will stop now.

Annnnnnnnnd I tag Tiny Little Fascist and Curious Yellow.

Oh dear.

It's been one of those weeks kids. One of those weeks.

Here I am on your bed again-- it's too big for the room it's in.

I had a meeting with my manager today. End of the fiscal year, start of the new quarter. You know the thing. I'm coming up to my one year anniversary at work and my manager wanted to go over my results, I remarked to her how crazy it is that I lasted this long. After an hour going over various boring, financial things as I was walking out of her office she turned to me and said I'm wasting my time. Wasting my time and "not fooling anyone," were her exact words I believe.

Not really what I wanted to hear on a Friday morning. I guess it capped off the craptacular week I'd been having though. This week has been one of the worst I've had in a really long time. Career-wise, personally, socially. You name it. Everything found a way to slightly unravel itself and in the process make me despondent. Every now and then I start getting that same feeling I got towards the last couple of years in high school, like I've outgrown things. The cliched big fish in a little pond. Bleh.

I'm still in a pretty foul mood right now, but I've gained a little perspective and Maybe if I try just a little more, I can take myself from this dirty floor*. Ever so often I forget about the things that ground me. The people in my life, the things that I do to make myself happy. I've drowned myself in music (and forgotten to scrobble. Oops), cleaned my room, walked the dog. Re-evaluated. Bummed? Still? You bet.

Anyways, the room. It's been cleaned, but when I was going through the recent purchases and acquisitions I had very little to show. Trying to curb the spending to save for my pending January vacation.



As much as I try to be good, shoes remain my vice. So the brown oxford shoes were showcased in a post of their own, these red and black plaid pumps are from Joe Fresh. 25 bucks, who can go wrong for that price?



Note the abject squalor in the background. What? I'm not ashamed. Bring it! Found that sweater vest for $10 at some super random store at Scarborough Town Centre. The turtle neck is one of Ammi's cast offs from the early 90s and no jokes I've been rocking that thing since I was like 11 easily. Is it like a crop top? Yes. That's why it's worn underneath things, duh! Oh, also, I got my haircut at Pacific Mall. I have bangs again!



Everyone needs a pair of mustard stockings and a Nescafe briefcase. Incidentally, I recently re-discovered that under my bed. I bought in in Senegal. Whenever I see it I think of Moussa, my driver when I was there. One day when I'm far less lazy I may tell you the story of how this briefcase came to be in my possession.



I had every intention of getting a blouse made from this material (it's the blouse piece off of a very kitschy sari), but I never got around to it. With the colder weather on us I've started rocking it as a scarf. Note Oliver's smouldering manly look though. I've read a measly 39 books on this list this list, I'm sure he's read all of them. The bastard.



There's a sari store just around the corner from where I live. Last weekend Abi and I, for lack of anything else to do, headed over that way just to "browse." I walked away with two saris. I love that store because they have really retro prints, we've sort of come to the conclusion that it's unintentional, but I don't really care because the stuff is very inexpensive. Which means I don't feel bad dropping cash on them. That one was $7.50. Abs hates it, I love the pink checks. It's okay though, she and I hardly ever agree on clothing options.



So alright, this one time Abi and I totally did agree on a clothing choice. That grey jacket. We are at Vaughn Mills sometime in September and both spotted the jacket, ran over to the rack, proceeded to try it on, looked at each other and laughed. Although we were wearing the same garment we had both individually styled it so different you could hardly tell that the jackets were the same. I had my collar popped up like a big douche, the buttons undone in the front and my hands jammed into the pockets. She however was buttoned up, fully. All the way up to the throat. That's my Abi!



My cousin's getting engaged in November. Most of you know the background on that whole thing. I don't particularly want to go to it, she's a major contributing factor to a lot of the stress we as a family have been dealing with for the last little while. That's also a whole 'nother post. Anyways, I thought I'd wear a sari for the engagement, but decided not to. This is the second one that I got, paid a princely $14.00 for it. I think it looks much better on Oliver. Again, the vintage print. I love it.

Well, I sincerely hope that next week turns out to be better than the one I just had.

*Lyrics shamelessly stolen from Band of Skulls who TinyLF and I will be seeing in concert November 13th

Home from work today and I've done absolutely nothing with my day aside from washing my hair and eating a sandwich. No one else is at home aside from Oliver, my desk is littered with papers and my bed's unmade. Just a typical Tuesday morning not spent at work. Hopped out of the shower and passed by my bedroom on the way to the kitchen when I see this:



Yes. That's my unmade bed with a dog not just sleeping it but also using my pillow.

Oi! Get off my lawn.

I feel old. Some uncharitable people would go as far as saying that I am old. With the increase in weddings and birth announcements amongst a slew of other cringe worthy life events I think I'm headed for my mid-mid-life crisis. Although I have a sneaking suspicion I've been battling that since I turned 21. I'm not grappling with any huge existential questions though. I just feel old. Literally old and creaky.

Friday night I was supposed to head out and while I was waiting for my ride I thought sprawling on the sofa would be an appropriate use of my time. Until I woke up at 1 am with a crick in my back and a strong desire to throw my PJs on and crawl into my very inviting bed. Hmm. You can guess the ending of that story. I have officially become that person who really can't be arsed to go out. My work peeps have been harassing me for weeks, fortunately my excuse of 'being a student' is fantastic and usually even makes them sympathetic. I'm not entirely sure what ruse I'll have to put forth once my courses wrap up. Oh. Who are we kidding. I'm going to be a student for life.

Speaking of work, there's been some positive movements on that front and although things are still being tweaked, I may be finding myself a more frequent guest at HQ. This means I'll eventually need to invest in corporate drone-wear. I've been seriously making an effort to expunge the student from my wardrobe and I think I've done well?

There hasn't been a jeans purchase since August 2008. Sneakers? My true besetting sin? Been able to keep that beast at bay as of May 2008. Going shopping sucks now. (I lie! Retail therapy how I love thee!) I'm on a pretty strict self imposed budget. Between my fees, textbooks and pathetic attempts at saving there isn't really much cash left for clothing or sensible shoe purchases. It's hard though! When I see shoes my first immediate impulse is to think 'wow, those would look fantastic with my jeans in X wash.' Then I need to remind myself, 'but they'll look like total ass with dress pants/a skirt/a dress.' In the ideal world I'd still get the shoes if only to wear them on casual Fridays.

There are stores that I don't even venture into anymore. I can't even trust myself to browse to see what I'm missing out on. It's too depressing. The only cold comfort I have is that even in my age appropriate attire teenagers still stop me to say they like what I'm wearing. I feel the need to point out that these are savvy dowtown dwelling teenagers, not suburban ones.

But after a little incident in class this evening I'm not so sure how discerning these kids really are. I popped over to the bookstore before class and was subsequently a bit early for my lecture (because I always over estimate the amount of time it'll take to get things done). While flipping through my book a sweet looking girl came through the door, smiled at me and sat down a few seats to my left. Apparently she registered late and this was her first day. She started asking me questions about the class, how big, how many assignments etc.

We veered off topic (surprise!) and started talking about music. That's when my fellow classmates started to trickle in. As the room filled up she stopped talking about K'naan and asked me if this class? Is it intro to first year research methods? To which I laughed a hearty laugh and informed her that she was not in the presence of undergrads. She scrutinised the class a bit more and said 'yeah, there's no way in hell that these guys were ever undergrads in any life. They look like professors.' With that scathing judgement she picked up her shiz and got the hell out of there fast.

The lesson I'm choosing to take away from this tale of misunderstanding is that I'm a hip old person. (But still old because most of my classmates are around my age add or subtract a year or three.) That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I'm notorious for getting distracted. When I sit down to study I probably can't concentrate for more than 15 minutes at a time. I'm trying to study right now. In the last hour and a half I've gone through my photographs from Nuit Blanche, addressed those two yellow envelopes above and done some online banking.

Normally Oliver is under the desk and not on top of it, but he hates studying too. Usually if I'm trying to be diligent and not paying attention to him there will be a small Oliver sized pile of toys at my feet. All his vain attempts and getting me to play with him.

I tend to be a spreader. When I'm working my desk is usually covered in crap. The above is probably the desk on a fabulous day. That giant black binder has all my notes for that terrible ghost writing project I'm working on. My OCD still runs high, yes. That is a plastic ziplock bag with colour coded post-it notes of various sizes. Each post-it has a corresponding high lighter. Then we've got the Canadian Press guide on Caps and Spelling along with Canadian Press Style Guide. It's only been a few weeks since classes started, but both of those are starting to get pretty dog eared. My wallet and iphone are always within reach. The cellphone's a given and the wallet is for the credit card. What? I enjoy online shopping. Oh, my trusty laptop. I could devote an entire series of posts devoted to you. There's my glasses case on the side beside a my gold fish snack box. It's mandatory that there's something around to eat and drink.

Poor Cedric has been sequestered to the window. I was meaning to take him out for Nuit Blanche last night, but completely forgot about him until I was comfortably seated on the subway. He's nestled between two glass Coke and Pepsi bottles. They're filled with sand from my first trip to Sri Lanka. The Barbara Sansoni doll was a gift from my Uncle who passed away, he sent it to me through my grandmother on her first visit to Canada.

Think that's 15 minutes there. It's time to hit the books again?

Boo.

A continuation.

Classes have started up again and so have the long boring subway rides. I realised I had some unfinished business.

You may want to read this first if you want to understand what's going on below.

I think they always knew that if they left any kind of safety net they may have taken advantage of it and gone back. Since both my parents did a fair amount of business and personal travel back in those days we had bank accounts scattered throughout various hubs in Asia-Pacific. Thathi is always amazed by how quickly we were able to close out all the accounts and have all our other affairs ready to go. I think the entire process from start to finish was only six months?

So we left and it was far from easy. I don't think I ever asked my parents what they expected when we came, but I know whatever their expectations were, our first year euthanised those expectations completely. After trying my hand at moving to London the respect I have for what my parents did has increased. There were times when I felt desperate and I would think back to our earlier months in Canada. As a single person I was stressed out and I couldn't wrap my head around how difficult it would be with a young family. But they succeeded and our life here is equal in some aspects to the one we had back in Sri Lanka. No one regrets coming here.

So all those months ago when I was taking the piss put of that person's blogpost Thathi turned to Ammi with conviction and said, "I guess we'll be able to go home for good soon." Ammi gave him the usual rant about Tamils being marginalised etc (whole other blogpost kids. It's something along the lines of a Theodore Kaczynski style manifesto). But she seemingly agreed and I called bullshit.

You see, my parents? They sometimes forget what they were like when they were young and tell people that coming to Canada was about safety concerns. They couldn't deal with the suicide bombs and the general tension. Sure. It must've sucked, but it's also a steaming pile of crap.

I think you've gathered by now (especially those of you that know the parents) they're not your run of the mill Sri Lankan parents or even Sri Lankans for that matter. Regardless of if there was a war or not, they still would've hightailed the shit out of there.

Growing up I used to think they were cowards for leaving. I didn't really start to understand what their real motivations for leaving were until I went back to work in Colombo, that experience is very different from being a tourist. After the novelty of the first year wore off I felt like I was suffocating. The culture clash was too difficult for me to deal with and I finally understood why Ammi was happy that I don't have any Sri Lankan friends and Thathi was stoked when I decided working in Colombo wasn't for me. They left Sri Lanka because they wanted to, not because they had to. Both of them were being stifled to a breaking point and I know that feeling well. Whenever I try to explain my own restlessness to other people I can barely put it into words. Toronto is my home and there's no other place in the world that will ever take that place, but it doesn't mean I want to live here forever.

And that's the same reason my parents left. So no, they won't be flocking to Colombo with the other retirement aged members of the diaspora. (Lately there's been barely a peep of such talk.) I also guess this is the same reason that the two of them have been so damn supportive of all my harebrained schemes. The next of which may or may not involve a move to the States, Australia or Korea.

Who knows? I definitely don't that's for sure.

| Nerdery.

New brown shoes and the Canadian Press Style Guide for this semester's course on writing press releases. Exciting!

Don't really know why, but I always have to buy a new pair of shoes before school starts. It doesn't feel like the start of a school year without them (see above for new shoes). I've gone through a smidge over two decades of first day of school jitters and excitement. Like many other scholars who've been headed back to the books this month I too view my year as 'beginning' in the fall. January is set aside for looking back at the calendar year, but September has always been about setting goals and trying to figure out how to achieve them. Unsurprisingly, 20+ years of school and I still haven't a bleeding clue. If anything the future seems so much hazier now than ever before. Of course I have an idea of where I want to be academically and careerwise in the next couple of years. The difference though is that I'm not as consumed by it.

I look back at my younger self sometimes and want her to a) stfu and b) chill the shit out. If you ask aiya he'll readily tell you that out of the two of us I was the one born with the silverspoon shoved up my ass. No denying that and I'm not ashamed of it either. This can however be problematic because I'm prone to be an irritating overachiever. Even though lately people have started to grow concerned that I'm still in school, working in a field that I never in a million years expected to be in, I don't give a shit. I'm not just managing, I'm excelling in what I do. Guess the reason why I'm generally so 'meh' about the entire thing is that I will never let work define who I am and instead I'll hang on to school for as long as I can. Even though I don't need to be doing there's still some thrill left in education.

Here's to being a lifelong nerd.

Cheers.

Lyk OMG

I'm trying to de-clutter my life, being such a packrat, it's not surprising some of the shit I'm holding on to. Found a box of old papers and letters from High School. Labro and I had a habit of pretending to write class notes while actually fully recapping daily drama. School was never really important to either of us. Yeah. I know. Look where that's gotten BOTH of us now.

Anyways, below is a prime example of what a normal set of "class notes" would look like. I re-read the note and honestly, I don't have a clue what it's referring to...I can only guess though.

Check it! (Oh, also, I believe that if you click the image you'll be able to see it much larger. Fear not though, I've copied and pasted the text below as well)



Conclusion? Not much has changed. Also, I do believe that the blanked out bits are real name call outs and also my use of salty language.

You will not believe what happened last night my gosh the amount of drama that was going on ___ ____ ____ i was dying!

Okay so I was (as usual) minding my own damn business when ___ and I started talking on icq. She msged me and i was so surprised. Well long story short she told me how she's basically ____ about my relationship with ____ and ____. LOL I didn't even know it mattered to her. Then on icq i was talking to ___ about what ___ did at lunch to you and he got really mad. (I thought he knew about it but he didn't). THEN ___ calls me up and he's telling me all about his love ish (LOL). So I call up ____ to ask her about ___ and ___ ___ pulls a fast one on me and ends up weeping on the phone. I couldn't call ____ and I couldn't call you. So ___ it was. The amount of drama.

It's kinda funny actually. It's bad but funny she's jealous of ____ and ___! He's like "WTF is wrong with them?!" and he actually said I never should have said anything to ____.

Before she started weeping I told her to cut it out with the teasing. She got really mad at me! GROW UP. I can understand what they're both saying, but that's so selfish and juvenile, it's insane man. But the thing is though, he's the type of person who doesn't like fuss. In that way he's like me...that's the exact reason why I never said anything to anyone about George. But I understand that they don't mean to do it. Thy don't know when to stop. He thinks they're doing it on purpose, he doesn't understand girls. From a guy perspective it's a big deal. He's not wrong. He so rarely expresses his feelings out loud like this and I feel bad because when he does they make fun of him. Like when he thought ___ was hot LOL.

I can't believe though that ____ got mad at me about that. That got me mad because she was acting like she doesn't care you know? Like regardless of whether she thinks it's stupid or not it's your feelings and she should respect that.

Srs Bzns

It's been busy. Nay hectic. July is nearly over and I've only got a rather hazy recollection of wtf has actually happened. Between final exams, papers and the usual gamut of summer school bullshit, Alby left to Korea for two years, a dear friend was visiting Toronto on business for a month, I was coerced into helping coordinate a wedding and doing logistics for a church conference. Unsurprisingly I am totally spent and all I want to do is sleep. I decided to knock out for a quick half an hour nap today after lunch. Which turned out to be slightly problematic because I accidentally set my alarm for 3:15 AM instead of PM. Subsequently I did not wake up early enough to shake off that assy feeling that you get when you've hit a good deep sleep. Boo.

Instead of studying or working on a pending writing project (that has been languishing for a few months) I opted to clean up my living quarters on Saturday. My standard of living can be described as being squalid at best, but I have an excuse! Did you see that whole thing earlier about me being terribly busy for all of July?

Anyways, we know what happens when I purpose to clean. Not much. Behold the fruit of my labour below.

I had one of those make or break career moments last Wednesday. Problem is I won't know if my career has been made or broken as of yet and won't find out until after the Labour Day weekend. Yeah. That's right. Early September. I lack the patience to wait that long for anything and I'm totally stressing out. The only way I've found to cope with all of this is to plan. My one year life plan for my career now has three options and all of them hinge on the answer I get in September. Since it was a director that I was meeting at the company HQ, alby and I hit the mall the previous week and found the below gem. It came with a sash of its own, but I coupled it with my grandfather's cummerbund which I'm sure I've photographed before.



Moving along. When Labro got married in May I was tasked with getting a pair of 'metallic high heeled sandals.' I was wearing the shortest dress of all the bridesmaids and couldn't get away with flats. Four inch heels and one blue bridesmaid's dress later...



While shopping for the shoes I of course browsed around and found these. I have not spent so much on a pair of shoes in a really long time. Even though they're Aldo, hot dang I don't have another pair of shoes that's made out of Italian leather as soft. Plus I think mustard is overtaking torquoise as my couleur du jour. Funny story, the cuffed jeans that the shoes are on top of? 20 bucks at American Eagle. Only hitch? The length is meant for regularly sized people and are therefore close to four inches too long for me (and they look like ass with those gold sandals).



One of my many glamorous jobs at the wedding was to herd around 30+ people around a park. Wearing a sari was not an option. I can't even sit properly in one of those let alone traipse through a poorly maintained park. (Boo to you Mayor Miller! Resolve the civic workers' strike already!) I thought I'd stay true to the Tamil roots and opted to use some silk pavadai chattai material (that I picked up from Ram Brothers down Sea Sreet) as a skirt paired with a random ancient beaded cami from Odel. It worked well enough although some of the old aunties had a few things to say. But really, when do they not?



Alby and I hit up a Jays' game earlier on in July and both walked out desperately wanting either a Blue Jays hat or tshirt. Thanks to the wonderful folks at footlocker and their buy one get one half off sale I picked up one for myself and for her as a going away gift. That hat is now safely ensconced at her apartment in Seoul. I'm going to miss you so much alby :(



I haven't worn a dress since I was in grade eight. All of that changed this year when Labro forced me into one. Then alby and I found this one for 15 bucks at bluenotes. That's when the epidemic started.



I bought this one just before I saw Transformers 2. It was probably the only good thing about that day because dang. That movie was crappy. If I hadn't seen it at the IMAX I think I may have left the theatre.



Labro and I went up to Barrie after work on Tuesday to say bye to alby. Her flight was way too early in the day for us to go to the airport (which is a real bummer because I love going there). Her parents are moving later on this summer and there was a pile of shiz stacked up for Goodwill and look at who was right on top?! That bag apparently was originally her dad's from way back in the day. So not only do I have her kid sister's hand-me-down skates which belonged to Alby and a couple of cousins before her, but I've also got Ron's bag. Pretty sweet! Oh, the cardigan is from a hole in the wall in Wellawatte. Rs 300 bitchz!



I've got a thing for scarves. Aiya found this one at the dollar store of all places and it's pretty hype. It's got Madge circa 1988 on it, her image is black and on a backdrop of different coloured squares: pink, orange, green, purple, yellow and blue. The pink top-like-thing I picked up last week while looking for someone else's birthday present. I know. I've really got to curb the shopping. As my people would say, "What to do no?"



And then it rained.



So I fished out the best umbrella I've ever had, one that I got from Arpico of all places. I'm sort of convinced that you can't really compete with umbrellas that have been designed to withstand the monsoons yo. That shit is serious.



After I tucked the camera away for the day I sat in a ratan chair and watched the rain come down.



Here's hoping for a chillaxed August.

What's so Bad About Dying Anyways?

When you're a kid there will always be certain things which are the shit because you honestly don't know any better. Martin Streek definitely fell into that category.

Growing up Aiya and I depended on the radio for new music. If a new single came out we used to record it off of the radio. I feel like a dinosaur, but I still have cassette tapes, lovingly labeled with artist name, song, date and time. CFNY was my station. Even now when I see Allan Cross walking around downtown I become a total tool. I had a radio in my room that didn't have a recording device on it, just a straight up battery operated radio. When I was in elementary school Martin Streek was an integral part of my life. Thursday night he used to host a show called the Thursday Thirty which counted down the top 30 songs for the week and also introduced new artists. I'd usually fall asleep before the end of the show, but it was Martin who introduced me to Sloan and Radiohead. I'd head to school on Friday mornings feeling like such a badass. Michael and I used to talk music when we should've been doing math, but we used to compare notes and swap artist names. He was an avid Thursday Thirty listener too.

With the dawn of our dial-up internet connection my dependence on the radio slowly began to wane, but all of that changed when I started to work in Sri Lanka. Because of the time difference between Toronto and Colombo I used to catch the Thursday Thirty streamed live on Friday mornings at work. Between that and reading Torontoist and Now online, home didn't seem so far away. I've always said that I become much more patriotic when I'm away from home than when I'm actually here. For a couple of hours every Friday morning I used to feel like I was at home. Without the familiarity of Martin Streek's voice and on air style I doubt I would have felt the same way. That's when I started to understand why the migrant community in Toronto tried so, so hard to hold on to where they came from. Really I was no different, tuning into a Toronto radio station, reading Toronto street magazines. Obviously when I do it's way less fobby. But still.

I found out that Martin had committed suicide via Torontoist on Tuesday morning. When I was on my way home from work Josie Dye (who for the record I cannot EFFING STAND. She and the Dean Blundell Show epitomise everything that's awful with what CFNY now known as edge102 has become) was talking to David Bookman about what had happened. Bookie was just about to take over the afternoon drive shift and one of the first songs that he played in Martin's honour was actually The Lines you Amend by Sloan. It's actually one of my favourite Sloan songs of all time and oh so fitting.

Bye Martin. Toronto is not going to be the same without you. I will miss your voice.


photo from exclaim.ca

When I get stressed out I tend to have really insane dreams. Well, I shouldn't say really insane, but you know. Which I guess goes without saying because most dreams always do have a strong element of wtf. It is however that time of year in the summer semester where there are assignments galore and midterms. That means catching up on a condensed half a year worth of reading I haven't done. To make matters slightly more harrowing I need to point out that I'm a proud student at two different universities. So on Mondays and Wednesdays I'm at U of T and Tuesdays and Thursdays at Ryerson. Oh, did I mention that in the sea of books, papers and shoe receipts that is my room I have misplaced my faithful mouthguard. That ingenious creation that stops me from grinding my teeth and saves me from insomnia. My grinding increases with stress and the insomnia from the teeth grinding brings on the effed up dreams.

Last night I wanted to go to bed early, the weekend was hectic. I've been immersed in Victorian lit (and maybe this is the reason for the dreams? All the repression?!) and wanted to take a minute to send Alby a goodbye note before she headed to Memphis. With all this swirling around in my head I went to bed at an indecent hour and had this dream.

We were headed to London, but as usual running late, got separated and boarded the plane individually. When we were in highschool and went on trips, we were Those Kids. You know, the ones that unspoken-ly got the back of the bus even if they're the very last ones to get on? This plane was no exception. Lo and behold Alby, Labro, Copto, Whoren and even Hoolia were all at the back of the plane. Apparently Labro and I were headed to South Africa after London. (Which seriously, wtf. She's the least likely out of everyone to want to do that. Also, no husband either.)

As we buckled ourselves in for take-off, a flight attendant came by, confiscated my iphone, passport and copy of George Eliot's Middlemarch. (I'm actually frantically trying to finish reading that for my mid-term on Wednesday.) This starts a series of scandalised whispers between the girls because as in real life, I look like ass in my passport picture and the flight attendant was all kinds of good looking.

We make it to London and go our separate ways. Emily leaves me for South Africa and I'm left stranded at the Heathrow (an airport I HATE) because the aforementioned confiscated documents. I head over to a kiosk and try to passively aggresively throw a civilised shit fit. Finally the same flight attendant comes by, gives my shiz back and I get upgraded to business class. (You'd think I'd have fought for 1st class eh? Even in dreams I aim low.) In a Bollywood twist of fate he turns out to be my seat neighbour and he's reading Bleak House. He turns to me and asks if I understand anything about the intricacies of the Victorian-era British legal system. I attempt to explain (sadly it is almost a word-for-word repetition on some short hand notes I made on the topic for my mid-term. I had been going over them earlier on in the evening). We then turn our attention over to George Eliot, banter on about Daniel Deronda, Eliot's supposed Christian fundie phase and her general scandalousness.

Natch at this point, I'm all "OMG. THIS FLIGHT ATTENDANT IS LYK TEH BEST EVAH!!1!one1" Then it happens. He transforms into Optimus Prime and ruins everything.

So what did we learn from all of this?
1. I am a giant nerd even in my dreams and Victorian lit is still totally hot.
2. My subconscious is telling me that I should re-look at going to South Africa.
3. Seeing the new Transformers movie really is a must.
4. I'm sort of effed for my mid-term on Wednesday.

Let's go home!

I haven't written a "real" blog post in awhile. Just don't seem to have the time these days between summer school, work and all the seasonal social obligations. The only time I can actually punch something out is when I'm on the subway. I've been pecking away at this for the last little while and I have no idea if I'll ever get around to finishing it, but it's a partially written post that was thoughtlessly written with my two thumbs on the iphone. I haven't read it over so you're warned...

More often than not these days our conversations around the dinner table always lead to the same thing: Ammi and Thathi retiring to Sri Lanka. I can't say that I'm completely opposed to the idea. The properties that they've been looking at are infinitely more conveniently located than where my grandmother lives. Plus centralised a/c is always ftw in gawdawful Colombo. Generally speaking though when the old couple appeal to me on important issues like proximity to other family members, 'hot spots' and wtf to do with the dog, my wont is to stare back blankly and blink a few times. This has rankled the old man into fits and caused Ammi her fair share of consternation as well. In their minds it would seem that Aiya and I don't give a shit what happens to them so long as they don't move in with either of us during their Golden Years. If I have the good fortune to have Aiya around (which these days is not the case due to the acquisition of a new femme) we will roll our eyes, hold our tongues and display a level of restraint hitherto unknown.

That all changed recently though. I was catching up on my feeds in the kitchen. I happened to start reading a blogpost that someone had written about the scattered Sri Lankan diaspora returning home. It was so asinine, ill conceived and ludicrous I couldn't help but read out a few of the more 'passionate bits' out loud for public ridicule. Ammi and Thathi responded in typical fashion. Mostly because they are generally aware of the writer's status as being an unbearable tosser and also because they don't really view themselves as being your run of the mill conflict-fleeing-Sri Lankans.

I suppose this is something I've meant to write about for some time and nevar could really be arsed to do. Most of you know in bits and pieces what I think and how I feel about the circumstances surrounding our migration as a family. I've never really sat down and gone through the whole thing in any cohesive manner so I guess this is as much for me as it is for you? In light of all the political events that have been unfolding it's unsurprising that I my thoughts on the subject are courted more frequently than in the past.

So here goes?

I'll start from the point that most people find relevant and I feel the need to add the disclaimer that not only do I personally feel it is irrelevant I also don't give a shit. In short, Thathi is Sinhalese and Ammi is Tamil. I know right? It's horrifying.

We lost our home in '83 due to this disgusting twist of fate. They found out that Ammi was Tamil through the voters list and our neighbours torched the house. We knew it was coming and our immediate family left to Thathi's parents place in Ratmalana. Amamma and Ammi's younger siblings weren't so fortunate. Amamma was a well known doctor in the area, her house was razed. She and Punchi mammah ended up in a refugee camp. My aunt saw the worst of it. She was on her way in from the city, saw people being burned alive. I know she used to sometimes wake up screaming from nightmares well into the 1990s. Obviously this is what happened to countless other Tamils in Colombo in 83 so it's really not that special. Needless to say that was the last year any of my Tamil family members ever voted.

Ammi says that one of her earliest memories as a child were houses burning and being hidden in a cupboard. She was very young when the first race riots broke out in the 50s. This whole being Tamil/Sinhalese thing was never an issue within our family, even at the point when Sri Lanka gained independence. My maternal grandfather wouldn't let his children speak Tamil at home and neither would my paternal grandfather. Actually scratch that, speaking the vernacular in either home was forbidden by both families by my great grandparents. I come from a long line of brown sahibs. Don't get me wrong though, I think both the Tamil and sinhalese sides would die if they were termed imperialists. My family were long time LSSP supporters and believed in a free independent Sri Lanka for all Sri Lankans.

I suppose it sounds so cheesey to say this now, but the older generation believed this with great vehemence. The next generation didn't quite get it right. At least not the Sinhalese generation. I learned what marginalization was from them when I made my first visit to Sri Lanka as a teenager.

Ammi's entire family eventually migrated either to Canada, Australia or the UK. I have no male Tamil family left except for 2 who married well established sinhalese women. We were originally slated to go to Australia. Ammi was petrified that we'd get killed for being half Tamil, it didn't make much sense for us to go but they put in their paperwork and Canada was the first to get back to us. In the 1950s my paternal grandfather nearly came to Canada with his young family. I think this was always meant to be our home.

The immigration officer who interviewed us tried to dissuade them from leaving. He didn't think they'd last more than six months in Toronto. Granted looking back my parents haven't got the foggiest clue as to how we made it. He was so intrigued by our family that he actually made a concentrated effort to keep tabs on our progress for close to 15 years. I think that he eventually made it to Cyprus and found himself a wife. That's when we lost touch with him. He's now actually a director in in the refugee and immigration department in Ottawa. It's a shame that Ammi's not as much of a pack rat as Thathi & I because she actually tossed out his letters.

We had a horrible dog named Sandy when we lived in Sri Lanka, actually he was Aiya's dog. Some random stray puppy that a family friend had given him, the kind that would go after chickens and neighbourhood children. Sandy wasn't around for very long if I recall correctly he was given away to the cook within the first few years of his life. Then we came to Canada and I desperately wanted a dog. Aiya and I both begged and begged, but it never happened. Aside from Ammi hating them we couldn't get one because "this is not Sri Lanka, dogs can't roam around outside," "you can barely take care of yourself," "who's going to feed/walk/groom it," and a host of other retarded excuses.

When my childhood home went up for sale one of the conditions that Thathi put on Ammi was that we'd be able to get a dog at the new house. She never really expected that we'd do it. Thathi came from that kind of home where each member of the family had a dog. Granted his dad was a planter and there was more than enough room for five beasts to be scampering about. He's a dog person and wanted one just as much as Aiya and I. So it happened that five years back for Father's Day, three months after we moved we bought Thathi a dog. This dog specifically:



I lied to him and told him that Jack Russell Terriers grow up to be mid-size and they don't shed much. You guys know that I am always covered head to toe in dog hair and it would be generous to say that he's "petite." In he barged into our lives and I'm sure like all first time puppy owners we felt like we had made a huge mistake. Some of my earlier blog posts (which are painful to read and I should just delete them because they're so horrible) document what a nightmare that we had with him.

He's sick and we don't know what's wrong with him. The vet's had him stay overnight because he's on an IV drip they suspect it may be a case of pancreatitis. We just want to bring him home. I went and visited him during my lunch break and he looked absolutely miserable. They had to shave his leg to get the IV apparatus on.



Five just seems like an awfully young age to go.