the end of 2006: year without fear

It is three days from the end of the year 2006 -- the year I so boldly declared would be the Year Without Fear. And let me say, that I think this little experiment worked.

My friend, Finer, wrote a lovely little note on Facebook comparing this December with December 2002. He, like me, is an Eng Sci deserter. After going through the 4 years of hell, we decided to not reap the rewards of our labour and decided to do something else. Me, I went to study musical theatre, and Finer, he went to study political science. And he's happy! He took a step into the great unknown, and is happy. And if you don't know Finer, this is something very strange. Four years of Eng Sci honed his complaining skills, which are now going into essays about political conflict and such.

To be honest, I forgot about this whole Year Without Fear thing for the last couple months, but it was going strong until August. Then school started and then I just kept doing new things, which adheres the Year Without Fear rules*, just unconsciously. But before that it would be like, "Should I do this? Why not!? It's the Year Without Fear!" I know I'm a nerd.

But see what it led to! I'm at Sheridan College! Meaning I auditioned for Sheridan College (among other places, with less fruitful results). Funny story, Mimi Mekler, after one very intense class, told me that in my audition, I was fearless, which is why they wanted me. Cool, eh? The overstretching implications of this Year Without Fear.

And in terms of people, Year Without Fear worked less, I think. School ended, I moved, so a lot of connections were severed. I miss people a lot. I miss my Eng Sci bunch, my church lunchers, my common room dwellers, my Living Room.** But on the other hand, I spent the summer just reaching out to friends, and I even was bold enough to date a boy.

Anyway, I think today I was able to end Year Without Fear with a very brave action. It didn't end well, but I'm sure it was brave, and I'm glad I did it.

Today is Old Year's Day for me. Happy Old Year, everyone!



*There weren't real rules. I mean, I didn't write then down or anything, but if I was to they'd be like this:
1. Don't act in fear.
2. Don't not act in fear.

**If any of you are reading this, drop me an email. I'd love to get together.

"i wonder how many blogs that will show up on," says danny

not the shiniest wrench in the toolbox

Only Christians talk about being tools and being used like it's a good thing. But it's not like we're excited about being used by just anyone.

What is it, though? Why, when God has these mighty hands, would he choose to use broken marionettes?

I wrote and performed this piece for a church service that I attended these last few months. It's the first time I've really seriously acted in front of people (Skule Nite isn't serious acting, folks), and to be honest, I think I did horribly. I know I could have acted so much better. I know I was nervous. I know that I probably played the jokes up a little too much. At the end, I was so upset at myself. I guess I kind of expected it to be miraculous, because it was in a church (and I know that's unreasonable), and I felt a little cheated.

But it doesn't matter. If it's good, that could make it better for me and better for the audience, but for God, it just is what it is. And while nothing is good enough, all things are redeemed.

I want to be a good actor, and I think that we should never be content with mediocrity. But I also think that maybe we shouldn't look at our insufficiencies as disappointing failures to God, but as daring challenges from God.

i'm up too early

Every year after exams I'd always have this problem. I'd be all "Yeah! I'm done! I'm going to sleep all day!" and inevitably, I'd wake up early the next day. Even though I do sleep in on weekends, it takes a little longer for my body to realize that holidays have begun.

I'm just about finished my first term at Sheridan College's Music Theatre Performance program.

"Are you being transformed?" Danny asked me in the car yesterday.
"...yeah, I think so. It's more like things are being unlocked inside me."

Seriously, guys. What I'm doing is ridiculous. Do you remember what I was talking about a year ago? Flip through some of the November entries. I was looking for a job, applying to teacher's college, and shyly alluding to my quiet ambitions. Watch out, guys. The next entries are going to be MAJOR reflections. It's that time of year.

news flash!

Guys! I think I'm growing up! I spent a whole day with dear Little Lisa, and something was different than before. Have you ever watched that Looney Toons cartoon where there's a big bulldog and there's a little scrappy dog that's hopping around asking questions? Of course, the cartoon proceeds to the confusion of a wildcat and a tiny kitty, and of course, the big dog always tries to get the wildcat and comedy ensues, because the little dog only sees the tiny kitty and thinks that the big dog is being a wuss.

Anyway, I always got a little bit of that feeling around Lisa before. Not that we weren't good friends, because we were; and not that I couldn't confide in her and have good conversation, because I could. I think I'm just getting a little more comfortable with myself. Cool, eh? Take that, awkwardness!

dream of the day: to have a christmas special

I'd love to have a cheesy variety show with guest stars and Christmas banter and songs.

"oh, fie, fie, fie!" #2

I did my Shakespearean monologue again today. It wasn't very good. Last time, I was in the moment, etc., but today I just didn't seem to get it. And that fact was reflected in the multitudes of notes I got from people. Now, they all weren't totally constructive (not to say that they were mean), but the general idea was that there was something missing.

So Mimi Mekler told me to play in the sand with my scene partner, who was supposed to be my brother, like how we did when we were kids. Now, here I am, a little sad that my monologue didn't work.

Side note: These last couple weeks have been a little hard for me. I keep on getting criticism that cuts my heart, even though I reasonably know that it wasn't personal.

Okay, so I'm on the verge of unreasonable tears, and I'm in a scene playing in a sandbox with my brother. So what do I do? I find an excuse to cry. I'm a kid, right? Alex Fiddes ruins my moat so I tuck in my knees and cry until he fixes it. Then we go on building the sandcastle.

Then Mimi says, "Okay, now, start your text."

The rest is a bit of a blur. It all seemed to touch me a lot more. I cried over my brother dying and how I could save him but wouldn't. It was all real. After that, I was upset for the rest of the class.

And I wonder: Is this really how it's supposed to be? Isn't it unhealthy to do this to yourself? I think there's something really big to be learned here, and maybe, today's monologue has been the reason I've been so emotional lately - so I could learn how to use it. Maybe. Does that sound too crazy?

Acting's hard. Being real in a situation that is decidedly not real.

I want to be good at this, even if it drives me crazy (and I think it might).

"if i get up, i might fall back down again"

Sometimes people compliment me. Often, it doesn't really matter, because I refuse to believe it. (Why? I don't know. I think it has something to do with the way my older sisters made sure I was never vain.) I like them though. It would be better if I could just hear "I like you", rather than try and analyze what the complimenter said.

There's a compliment I've heard a few times in the last little while and it scares me. Is it vain to talk about? Who cares. This is my blog, my place to be self-indulgent.

People tell me that I'm strong.

And then I laugh. Me? Strong? That's very nice of you, but I think it's just because you don't know me. Because if you knew how many times I fall apart and how often I'm held together by threads, you probably wouldn't be saying that.

But then, I keep hearing it, from different places - from people who know me. Maybe it's me that's got it wrong. Maybe I don't really understand what strength is.

And maybe, it's not even my strength.

God is made strong in my weakness, right? Maybe, God's strength is that he threads my pieces back together. Maybe, that's what they meant.

I don't know if I understand this yet.

I've always wanted to be strong.

changed, not necessarily improved

Hey, dudes! I've changed a bunch of stuff. I also found some new blog entries that I never published for one reason or another.

I didn't publish this one because I got in a car accident before I finished it.

This one, I didn't publish because I was frustrated with the HTML, and I was already frustrated when I was writing it. But I fixed it.

dream of the day: to be emma thompson

I don't want to be someone who reviews movies because:
1. I don't watch a lot of new movies.
2. People always disagree with me, so I don't want to be responsible for making you see a movie you don't like. I mean, I really liked Punch Drunk Love and I hated Love, Actually.

BUT, you have to go see Stranger Than Fiction. Gloria and I went with expections of a Will Farrell movie, and we were both pleasantly disappointed. It's wonderful, it's thought-provoking. And Emma Thompson's performance may give you dreams of being her. Her character's angry, weird, and honest, with all these wonderful quirks.

The story is really original and interesting. I think the writer Zach Helm is someone to look out for. Plus, they have some really simple graphic designs through out, which enhanced the mentality of it all.

Okay, so just watch it, and fall in love with it, and thank me. I'm going to go add this one to my Facebook profile. (Now, you know I'm not joking.)

there are 3! permutations of singer-dancer-actor

At the beginning of the music theatre program, everyone had to sing a song for everyone and tell everyone how they considered their skills: singer-actor-dancer or dancer-singer-actor or whatever. I went up in my cute, shy way and said "Umm... well, I think I'm least bad at acting." Everyone laughed.

The internal dialogue at that point went something like this:
I don't think I'm a singer. I'm definitely not a dancer. I guess that leaves acting, right?

I asked one of my friends (outside of this program) who is in music theatre what her strength was.

"Well, I really consider myself an actor, but everyone and their cats can 'act', so I usually say I'm a dancer."

And it's true. Dancing is a real tangible skill, whereas acting is so subjective, so when do you say that you're an actor? When can you say that it's a skill you have?

Next time, someone asks me which of the three is my strength I'm going to say "Acting... but only because it's the most subjective." I think that's the funniest way to go.

what you said isn't what i heard

In Voice & Text class today, we had to do this exercise where we got down on one knee and took someone's hand and had to say "I love you" convincingly. Furthermore, the person had to receive it before you could go on. It's seems easy, but it's HARD. "I love you" is such an important phrase and it isn't always (and maybe very rarely) sincere.

What I found hard was receiving it properly. In this exercise, you didn't have to necessarily return the feeling, but you had to receive it. It was difficult to just take what was said. I'm beginning to realize in my classes where we receive critique on our performances that this is true more than ever. So easily, I take things personally even when, intellectually, I know the criticism is true and subjective. I'm not the only one either. When you're up to perform, you're so vulnerable, and a word can hit the wrong note that resonates in a sensitive place.

Interesting, eh?

epiphany needed

When I was a kid, I used to do piano competitions. I don't really know why. My piano teacher, Mr Element, thought it would be a good idea. I would do this thing every year: We would drive out to St Catherine's or Detroit to a hotel and dress up a bit and wait all day for our half-an-hour time slots.

In retrospect, it was kind of funny. There'd be regulars. Some kids that I wouldn't talk to because I'm shy, but I'd recognize because they were snobbish or super friendly or had annoying parents.

Anyway, I'd do really really bad. I would go up and be so nervous that I'd forget how to play the song I'd been practising for months. I'd forget what the first chord was. So I'd try some out in front of everyone, and they'd be wrong. I'd start to cry and the adjucator would feel sorry for me and let me see the music, and then I'd get started and be fine. Or I would play the whole song with the wrong pedal. It wasn't really fun for me. I'd cry a lot from those competitions.

One year, things were different. I resigned to the fact that I was probably going to screw up, that it was very likely that I'd make a huge and horrible mistake, and that I'd go back to the car and cry a little bit and that was it. It sounds like a pretty depressing admission, but it was actually kinda freeing. That year, I won first place in that competition.

I think I need a similar revelation for singing. After Monday's awesome Shakespeare, on Tuesday I did a really bad job on It's a Perfect Relationship from Bells Are Ringing. And it's not like I forgot the words, but I couldn't do so well because I was nervous. Marie Baron, my teacher, totally intimidates me. She's starred at Stratford and been on Broadway, and she really knows what she's talking about. She is very classy and controlled in her mannerisms: she shows very little that she doesn't want to. Anyway, after performing she told me (in her extremely sweet voice) to say, "Fuck it. I'm going to do badly." And I said it with as good articulation as I could, but I wasn't in a place to understand it.

I need an epiphany, and I know exactly what it has to be. (Marie Baron told me.)

"oh, fie, fie, fie!"

I want to be an actor!

I had kind of forgotten that, and I got caught up in the whole school thing, that I forgot why I really wanted to go to school there. Today, in Shakespeare class, I did my monologue. It's from Measure for Measure. In case you don't know the story, Claudio knocks up his girlfriend and is going to get hanged for it, so he gets his nun-in-training sister, Isabella, to go talk to the dude in charge, Angelo, who's actually subbing for the real duke, to see if she can change his mind. Turns out that Angelo thinks Isabella is hot and says that if she sleeps with him, then he'll let Claudio go. (Pretty messed, eh? It's a problem play.)

Anyway, my scene was when I tell Claudio of Angelo's proposition. It's awesome. I get all angry and sad and sympathetic. And, it was FUN. First, I did it, and then I got all caught up in it and started yelling. Then Mimi (my acting teacher) made me do it as a big huge joke (which was weird, but funny), then as a televangelist, then like I was in love (this was weird because the other person in the scene was supposed to be my brother). It all seems like a silly game, but it's got me excited and thinking like crazy about what my monologue could be - what more it could say, how truthful and intricate it could be. I'm realizing now that it's not just about being realistic, but also meaningful. Anything truly meaningful never is straightforward.

Dudes! I'm in theatre school! I'm learning to be a musical theatre actor! MESSED!!!

happy anniversary!

Guess what, y'all! I have had this blog for over a year now! My first entry claimed that I was going to jump off the blog bridge, and I've been doing so (however, intermittently and despressingly) for a whole year!

I talk about blogging all the time on my blog, but here's another great opportunity. Once, I secretly told someone that I really liked my blog. I like the stuff I write, even if it's a hit heavy-handed and wallow-y. Another time, I even felt embarrassed by an entry, and I started apologizing profusely for its contents. But that person just said "chill out" and reminded me that the whole point of this thing is to make myself feel better.

You know, in acting class, we try to get in these moments, and to try and feel emotions. I wonder if that's being self-indulgent: to spark these feelings in front of an audience, hoping that they'll relate to you and like you. I think this blog's a lot like that. I mean, I want to vent, but I also want an audience.

I have Hardeep back! He looks as good as new, but smells like paint. It's really good to just sit in traffic and think. It's just Esther and Hardeep time. I've been in kind of a weird mood, and I think it has to do with Garden State. I watched it the other night. It's honest and lovely, and hits that point of wanting more than numbness. But it also made me really sad. Natalie Portman's character's tendency to laugh at what she can and cry at everything else really struck me. I don't want to be so bold as to say that I'm like her, because she's so cool, but I relate to her a lot, and that made the story so bittersweet.

Formation is process, people. One year later, I'm still at it. Who am I? God only knows.

"how are you?"

Is "How are you?" really an appropriate question to follow "Hello"?

Seriously. Consider the following exchange of greetings:

"Hello. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"I'm fine, as well. Thank you for asking."

Harmless, right? But it's not real. It's true, that often we might be fine but how often are we truly concerned about the state of the other person. And if we are truly concerned, can we just assume that they want to share?

I mean, I'm not saying that all our contact with people is superficial. I feel very free to tell many people how horrible I feel. But it is impossible to engage in real introspective conversation every time you run into someone. In fact, I find when I really care how someone is, I'm a little more cautious to ask the question - I make sure I have the time and listening energy before I proceed.

For the most part, I think the "How are you?" routine is just a way to lengthen the greeting - a way to make us feel like we're making contact and do you know what? It is much more pleasant than singular hellos from either end. And to be honest, I don't usually answer the question truly. I usually say I'm fine even if I might not feel fine. Sometimes I say I'm fine before even thinking about it, because the question has lost meaning.

In fact, I think we can argue that the "How are you?" routine is like the secret handshake of civilized society. We expect people to know how the script goes, and when they follow through, we list them in our Nice People Club.

promiscuous girl

For the record, I'm not promiscuous. I'm pretty afraid of things like that. That being said, I think I can really understand it. I can understand why people would go too far physically to be close to someone or to many people.

I think I kind of do that, emotionally rather than physically. Sometimes when I want someone to be close to me or when I want someone to like me, I'll start telling them things that are maybe too personal for the current level of relationship. I mean, if I start pushing that comfort line, maybe it'll actually move. I think it's emotional promiscuity. I'm revealing myself to anyone and everyone.

I mean, because after a while, maybe too many of my feelings will lose their sacredness, and they'll instead become showy.

On the flipside, maybe this is just an elaborate excuse to keep to myself. I'm not so good at balance.

acting emotions

Acting is weird. I've never taken an acting class before coming to Sheridan and I'm only now beginning to realize that there's something dangerous about it.

I remember at theatre camp last summer (so I guess I lied - that was a sort of acting class), I did a monologue where I cried in it. It was about puppies dying. Mary Francis Moore told me that it was good that I was "feeling it" but that it just wasn't practical to put yourself through those crazy emotions every time you run the show. Since then, I haven't heard very much about actors protecting their emotional lives. If we are breaking down and on the edge of sanity, we're not supposed to take a break - we're supposed to use it in the scene. That's CRAZY, man.

So, let's say something bad happens to me. Do I use it then? Do I find a scene that requires me to be really upset? Will that be helpful to me? Will it be cathartic or will it just get me confused about my emotional state? If it helps my acting, do I go looking for bad things to happen to me? Do I make okay things into super emotional ones to feed my creative power?

I'm sure there are answers to all these questions, but none of them are probably very definite. Answers to real questions are usually "Yes, but..." or "No, unless..."

People go to the theatre to watch people have big emotions - so big that they can't find them in their lives everyday. How are people to pretend that?

hardeep gave me the gift of time

At 7:25 I was driven to the GO train station for the 7:55 train that would put me in Oakville by 8:15, then I went on another bus to Sheridan. I arrived there at 8:45. Morning travel time: 50 minutes.

After school, I went to go visit my super cool friend in Hamilton, so I left school at 15:30 and went to the bus stop. After waiting for 15 minutes, I realized I didn't have a ticket and would have to walk to the Oakville GO station. I got there for the 16:09 train, which was late by 7 minutes, but I was able to land in Hamilton for 17:03. Afternoon travel time: 1 hour and 33 minutes.

After my delightful dinner with my super cool friend, I went to the bus stop for 19:11. After waiting for about 40 minutes for my proper bus, I asked the bus driver of another bus where I could catch it. She said that I should just keep on waiting, but when I expressed my unwillingness to do so, she suggested that I just hop on that bus and transfer downtown. Eventually I arrived home at 21:01. Evening travel time: 1 hour and 50 minutes.

In summary, today I travelled on two different trains, five busses, and one automobile, for a grand total of four (4) hours and thirteen (13) minutes. That's right. Over four hours of transit time today.

I miss Hardeep.

"i never meant to hurt you"

Mark today in your calendars, people. I made history. Today, I got in my very first car accident.

It's okay, everyone. I'm fine. Hardeep*, however, is definitely not. I was driving behind another car and then he braked hard and I couldn't brake fast enough. I rear-ended him on the Skyway bridge. His rear bumper is a bit unhinged and Hardeep is very hurt. The hood is bent. You can see his insides with a mere tilt of the head.

I'm upset. Hardeep and I have really bonded over the last couple months. He took me to my first day of school, he listened to me practise, he took me to dates and hosted serious conversations. I know he's just a car and that even giving a car a name is ridiculous. But I'm sad. It's really upsetting to see him so bent.

I feel so stupid for getting into an accident. On one hand I don't know what else I could have done. I wasn't tailgating and I braked as hard as I could. On the other hand, I know I do some stupid things when I'm driving - like change CDs or eat or try and dry my hair. But I wasn't doing that then. I don't know. Like, if the car in front of me could brake that fast, why couldn't I? Was I zoned out?

I'm going to have to take a GO train tomorrow. Which means I'll have to leave my house at about 6:30. Oy vey.

Poor Hardeep.




*Hardeep is the name of my car. He is named after the very abrasive, very funny man who sold him to us.

top 40

Since Hardeep* has become a major presence in my life, I have put all of my CDs within reaching distance of the drivers seat. This will ensure that I'll always have something to listen to. Oddly enough, I still find myself listening to the radio.

I'm not really a Top 40 kind of person, nor do I really listen to the traffic or weather. The only reason I turn on the radio is because I don't want to bother to choose my music. If I don't like my music, I'm stuck with the consequences of my choices, but if it's the radio and I don't like it, it's not my fault.

Isn't that weird?




*Hardeep, of course, is the name of my car.

the first lap

I have completed one school week, and it's exhausting to think that this is just the first in a series of repeating units. I have twelve more tap dancing classes, twelve more Shakespeare lectures, twelve more singing tutorials... it feels like a lot. And, of course, it's not like I'm counting down - it's just interesting to begin a routine. To think, every Monday morning, I'll start off the week with jazz dancing. Does this seem totally absurd to anyone else but me?

It's like running laps. The first one's all cool because it's your first one, but then you start to worry because that one lap wasn't extremely easy and you've already decided to do ten more. So you start the second one but with a little bit of panic because you're kind of already out of breath. "Can I really do ten?!" you say to yourself and you run around. "Maybe I'll just do five. No! I can't just give up like that. I've done this before. Was it always this hard? Should my legs be cramping this much this soon? Maybe I'm being too ambitious. I'm so tired. I hate running. No wait, I'm almost half-done my second lap. You can do it. I hope. Otherwise, you're pathetic." Running is mentally exhausting for me.

Anyway, here is the concern. One week of school and I'm tired. I've done EngSci. Does that mean anything in this totally different context? I often think that I can do anything - but, often (especially when it comes to running), that's not totally honest.

I also have this fear that as I am able to be more creative in real life, my blog will no longer be necessary as a creative outlet. So, I might post, but on top of it being depressing*, it'll be boring, too. How ridiculous is this? "Oh no! My creative expression is in real life rather than in my BLOG!" Being irrational is funny.




*That's right, everyone. I'm aware that my blog's depressing. Deal with it. It's supposed to be honest, jerks. I think I'll go turn off the lights and cry because I'm so misunderstood. I might even write an emo song.

eskited

Today went well and I am PSYCHED. I kinda get a similar feeling to when I started Eng Sci. All the professors were talking about The Next Four Years, and how it would change our lives and all the great people we would meet. They were right, of course. Eng Sci was difficult, and it did change my life and I met so many great people.

But for this, I'm actually really looking forward to the classes. I going to learn how to sing and dance and act! Not that classical mechanics wasn't fun (It was. I'm not being facetious.), but it's not like it was ever my dream to be able to do it. It was never my deep desire to be able to find a wave function for a finite potential well, unlike singing or acting well.

Boo yeah!

I'm really tired.

meet your fellow hot-air ballooners

This is a conversation that happened on Sunday:
"Guess what I'm doing three days from now!"
"Umm... You're going on a hot-air balloon ride?"
Pause. "Not a literal one."

Yesterday, I met a few of the other Music Theatre students. Now, I've posted before about how weird it is to meet a new group of people, except in this case, I'm not scoping out for good-looking boys, because 1. I'm going to be in a class with these people for a while; and 2. It's musical theatre, people. The boys are all very gay or very vain*. There is a very different feeling in this group than other groups I've met. They are all very talented, many of them are very young, and many of them are very experienced (in theatre). This feeling, I think, is a new type of intimidation. I've talked about how very blessed I was to get in, and now, I am comparing myself to all the people that very reasonably got in without as much divine intervention. So one hand, I'm thankful, but on the other hand, I'm FREAKED.

I'm putting my heart out there. This is something I really want to be good at, unlike engineering. We all want to be good, but I want to be good at this. Here goes nothing.





*The very vain straight boys in musical theatre is to be expected, and they can hardly be blamed. After all, being in a place where there are so many girls, they are bound to be desired and hooked up as much as they want, logically leading to vanity.

trying to lean forward

"The Selection Committee was most impressed with your achievements to date and with your potential for success at Sheridan. We wish you every success!"

I moved back to Stoney Creek yesterday and had this letter waiting for me. Thoughts:
1. Yay! I'm being looked after.
2. Yay! I have a room and drawers.
3. Ooh, wait. I'm not in Toronto, anymore...

The Almighty Selection Committee (to whom I am very grateful) was "most impressed" with what I've done so far. What have I done so far? I wrote a neat little essay to them a few months ago telling them how awesome I was, but I failed to convince myself.

A friend gave me a quote from On the Road.

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."

medals and scars

In Giant Killer Shark: The Musical, they sing, "Let's get drunk and compare scars in a slightly homoerotic fashion." Like in so many movies and situations, they wore their scars with pride like medals. Reasonably, they were proud of the things they had gotten through - especially if they had gotten hurt.

But what if they scars aren't physical? Can we really compare those? Can we ever be proud of them? Lately, I've been noticing that in the way I act, I've been metaphorically limping a bit. I'm noticing that when I want to do something one way, I'm strongly impeded from doing so, because of the things I've "gotten through".* The physical scars we compare are supposed to tell a story, but hopefully, they don't really leave people very broken. A trick knee or a weird fingernail may be inconvenient, but a fear of relationships or rampant insecurity can really affect one's life.

People do compare emotional scars like break-ups. Like the Bittergirls. At Sharron Matthew's cabaret, Mary Francis Moore and Alison Lawrence were talking about the Bittergirls being a movement of people talking their break-ups, and how talking about it and seeing that your problem is not old is supposed to make you not feel alone. That's not really the idea behind comparing physical scars, of course. I think the analogy can end there.

I don't know. Can I just resolve to stop acting scarred (Whoa. That word is really close to "scared")? Will that help even?

I should end with a joke. Umm. Uh. Okay, it looks like I'm fresh out of emotional scarring jokes. Anyone know any?








*Ambiguity noted.

when i all i have is on the floor divided

I think it's time to take stock of everything. Camp is over this week, and we are frantically trying to come up with ways to get rid of materials so we don't have to pack them up. And, as I have a huge tendency to read into things, I consider this as a metaphor for my life.

I feel like I'm taking stock of myself. This is Huge. It's not like I'm not constantly trying to better myself, but I've noticed over the last few years I've grown a lot, but not all the changes in me have been good. So, how are things going to change again when I move back in with my parents and attend a school with many people younger than me? What are the changes that have happened? What hasn't changed? Should these things change?!

I was going to say that part of taking stock was my friends, and I'm wondering whether this is a big mistake. Friendships should be organic, right? But, then again, is it bad to decide to keep in touch with some while admitting it probably wouldn't work with others? In a way, taking stock of my friends is like taking stock of myself - the people who have changed me, for the better or the worse.

I'm moving back to Stoney Creek in a little over a week. I don't have a lot of stuff - I can fit it all into a backpack. I might even be able to take the GO train. But I feel like my thoughts are too much for my brain and my emotions are too big for my heart. I really need to sort through. Chris said goodbye to Toronto in his blog and he's moving to BC. I'm moving an hour away and I'm moping too. But it's more than that. Everyone around me is transitioning.

Whoa. I think I need to sleep. Today's blog was undirecting meandering. I know the situation's not dire. I just need to take a break and breathe through all of this soon. Sorry, friends. If you want an interesting blog entry, you should read my seester's. She's very smart.

i have a friend named christopher crazypants

So, I did something bad. I have a tendency to make plans and then change them. This weekend was no exception - I made a million plans, then could only make half. On that other half was my dear friend Christopher Crazypants' farewell concert.

Let me tell you about Chris. I met Chris in high school, and he was always this vibrant presence. People would always say his name and be excited, because he was fun and fun followed him around. We were in band together and one day he asked me to accompany his flute on the piano. Thus began our friendship.

Over the last few years, Chris has gone through so much - enough to make anyone selfishly driven. He has big dreams, but he always was there to talk to me about mine and to encourage me to pursue them. Chris is a wonderful friend.

Now, Chris is going to UBC to study flute, something that he's wanted and worked for for a long time.* He deserves it so much, and I am so proud of him. But, this all means one thing. Chris is moving far away, and if all goes well, he probably won't be back in the area. Selfishly, I am sad. I'll miss him so much.

Anyway, this is my public apology for missing Chris' concert. I love you so much, Chris. You've added to my life, and I hope I have and will continue to add to yours.


*Awkward sentence noted.

another adventure

Here lies another tale of Esther - the young girl blessed and cursed with wittiness and awkwardness (respectively).

One day, Esther had the opportunity to obtain a key that would help her battle the curse of low self esteem, awkwardness and tactlessness. That key happened to be a special dragon - one with the power to battle the curse through laughter and sarcasm. The trick, however, was to win the dragon over. In order to unleash the dragon's power, one had to get into the dragon's cave, and in order to get into the dragon's cave, one had to be invited. So, ironically, our hero had to battle her curse for the key to help her battle her curse.

Knowing that the dragon's power would be invaluable, Esther decided to try.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" mumbled the dragon as Esther approached.

"I'm sorry for waking you," said Esther, apologetically. However, Esther quickly remembered that the dragon did not care for apologies. That was one thing she had been specifically instructed to do - never apologize. So, thinking quickly, she changed her tactics. "I had no idea that you'd still be asleep at one o'clock in the afternoon. What are you, a grad student?"

The dragon looked offended as Esther looked past him to see his many drafts of meaningless theses sitting on his desk. Esther smiled, hoping that she had made a relevent and tactful joke. The dragon began to cough. Esther ducked, expecting spurts of offended fire, but was then surprised by a very different sound - the dragon was laughing. Surprisingly, the Sarcasm Dragon appreciated sarcasm.

Understand that this was no mean task, for though her blessing gave her a quick wit to come up with quips, her curse took away the common sense of when it was appropriate.

The dragon gave Esther an appraising look and said, "Why don't you sit down?"

"No, thanks," Esther said. "I look skinnier standing up." The dragon gave a silent, questioning look. "I know! How is it even possible that I could look fatter than this? It's like if I sat down, I would break anyone's theoretical idea of the fattest person ever."

"No, that's not true," the dragon said out of politeness.

"Really? Because that's what my ex-boyfriend used to say." Once the dragon realized that Esther was joking (he was very polite), the dragon started howling.

Yes, Esther thought. I can use the curse of low self esteem to win over the dragon! Perhaps, this won't be so hard!

The whole situation looked very promising at this point, and Esther was looking forward to entering the dragon's cave, and unleashing the full power of the dragon's sarcasm to fight the curse. Esther and the dragon exchanged some more insulting comments, and the dragon asked Esther to return the next day.

Unfortunately, Esther was very unpatient. She thought that she should try and speed up the process by upping the intensity of her sarcasm. So, when Esther came in the next day, she said the most sarcastic, mean things she could think of, thinking that it would only make the dragon let her enter his cave faster. He laughed, many times incredulously, but Esther, because of the curse, did not notice. She only noticed that he was laughing.

Sadly, she had forgotten that all this time she had always been toeing the line between outrageous and tactless. And now, with the more intense sarcasm, she had begun to push the limit.

Now, Esther and the dragon had been joking around, and the dragon made an especially biting comment, which Esther didn't mind. Esther never minded any insults, usually, because the curse gave her such low self esteem that she usually agreed with them. However, Esther believed that she should act very offended to continue the bite of the comment.

"Shut up," Esther said, playfully, and she reached into her bag and threw the first thing she could find to throw, which was her snack, artificially cheese flavoured rice cakes. The dragon was, as many dragons are, very big and very strong, so Esther was sure that throwing something at him would be no big deal - no more than a playful expression of offendedness.

She was wrong.

As the powdered cheese hit the dragon's face, he began to freeze.

"What's happening?" asked Esther.

"Powdered cheese?! Don't you know that dragons and powdered cheese creates an endothermic reaction?"

Upon a tiny bit of reflection, Esther remembered the very first lesson in high school chemistry - dragons and artificial cheese flavouring causes freezing. Instantly, the dragon began to freeze, starting with the shoulders.

"I'm so sorry!" pleaded Esther.

"It's okay," said the dragon shortly.

"No, I'm really sorry. Oh no, I'm such a jerk. I am SO SORRY." Of course, Esther had forgotten the first rule of dragons - never apologize - and had now, broken the rule three times, on top of creating extreme discomfort for the dragon by freezing him.

The dragon's shoulders were now completely frozen. Esther was very flustered, and tried sarcasm again, which didn't work because the dragon's sarcasm powers were now gone as the powdered cheese did its work, and then tried apologizing again and again. This upset the dragon's internal chemistry so as to speed up the freezing. The dragon, being very polite, excused himself and rolled the very heavy stone that blocks the door to his cave.

The next day, Esther came by to see if the freezing had worn off. However, the dragon was very busy with his thesis, and though the freezing had worn off mostly, frost still remained on his shoulders. It would seem that this meant all was lost because this frost made the dragon immune to Esther's sarcasm. She no longer had something to win the dragon over so she could unleash his powers against the curse.

It is unknown whether the frost is permafrost, but Esther had lost hope. She would have to find another way to battle the curse of low self esteem, tactlessness, and awkwardness.

what do you do when you can't sleep?

You change your blog slightly! Yay! New links on the right. If I missed you, let me know.

toronto is cool

Hey, look! Colour! I went to High Park on Thursday and saw Comedy of Errors, and I loved it. Generally, I always like live theatre, but this was really fun. Some of the actors were 'meh', but Ins Choi (someone I met once) who played some merchants and the "saffron-skinned" Dr Pinch was really good. Ooh, and the Dromeos (pictured on the left) were Awesome.

The reason I think Toronto is cool is that the cast was so not totally white, and though I'm pointing it out, it really wasn't that big of a deal - even the identical twin Antipholuses were not the same race. Too often, I think we see groups of white people and think it's totally normal. If we watch television, and only see white people, it's just how it is. Sometimes, when they're looking to add diversity, they add a black person.

I think a lot of time, this is fine - if it represents the people its supposed to. But any sitcom is certainly not watched by all white people, and in Toronto, any theatre event is certainly not watched just by white people. I'm not saying we should go out of out way to hire "ethnic" people - I'm just saying it shouldn't be an issue - like if it's Shakespeare, why should anyone have to make sure that the person wearing the period costume is white?

Perhaps, this is a selfish topic. I mean, I want to go into musical theatre and I don't want to do Miss Saigon forever. But, hopefully, if I was white, like I believe myself to be, I'd still comment on how cool Toronto is for its unapologetic diversity. I remember at theatre camp last summer, I brought this up as an issue, and the fabulous Mary Francis Moore said that I shouldn't let it restrict me, that I should feel free to do the monologues I wanted. When I met Ann Harada on the West End in London, she told me that it (being Asian) helped her more than it hurt her. So maybe I shouldn't be worried. The world is changing. Things aren't as hard as they used to be for people who are (racially) different.

ask a ninja's not depressing

but I like them, and you should too!
http://askaninja.com

rilo kiley's depressing

but I like them, and you should too!
http://rilokiley.com

I have a friend named Esther

Okay, this isn't one of these weird blogs, where I refer to myself in the third person, or make up some fictional ideal of myself. I actually have a friend named Esther.

Last night, I was on my way to meet a group of church people for prayer and then Esther called me and then we decided to pray on our own. It was fun. Esther makes everything fun. When we get together we call ourselves the Esther Club and occasionally accept other members.

Esther is very different from me. It seems that she has a gorgeousness that transcendent of herself. Not that she isn't pretty, but her gorgeousness seems to be bigger than that. She always dresses coolly (she even owns a fashion store), she has a high voice that she adds interesting inflections to and a delightful little laugh at the end of many of her sentences.

I just think she's cool and that it's funny because we have the same name.

friend crushes

Am I the only one who gets these? Every once in a while I'll meet someone who I wish was my best friend. This person will be someone I want to hang out with all the time so I can benefit from their presence. Very often this is a guy. In fact, in my case, it's always a guy that I'm not attracted to, and I'm not completely sure why.

Off the top of my head, I can think of five cases of these friend crushes that I've had. I think it might be a problem or some form of my warped reality. It seems like I am not attracted to the people I like the most .

But then again, I wonder if this is a defense mechanism on my part. I used to get these insane-oh crushes in high school and beyond high school I decided that they just had to stop because it was stupid - I'd get too excited and unreasonable and just totally crazy. So now, maybe when I really like someone, I decide that I'm not attracted to him because a friendship is way easier to pursue than something else and I have a better chance of seeing this person on a regular basis.

I'm not really sure that's true. Anyway, it kind of comes together like any of my real crushes, where I start to get to know them, then get scared that I came on too strong, then run away.

Am I unique in this? Am I really the only person who meets people who they really really want to be their best friend? Validate me, internet!

once upon a time...

Once upon a time, there was a girl born in a land called Stoney Creek. People came from lands near and far to greet her and to marvel at her already evident potential for awesome. Because of the significance of her birthday, instead of fairies coming to cast spells, Jedi knights came by instead.

"She shall be witty and charming and make people laugh wherever she goes," claimed one Jedi.

However, one Jedi was not so nice. Seeing the fantastic blessing bestowed on her, he decided that he must do his best to counteract it.

"Perhaps, these things shall come to pass," he said ominously, "but she will be so socially awkward and tactless that her wittiness will be met with confusion, her charm will be met with pity, and her humour will be met with nervous laughter. And so, despite her gifts, she will be continually self-conscious and insecure."

As the ladies and gentlemen present gasped, the Jedi quietly left the room. Thus began the adventures of Esther. As she grew, she become more and more aware of the raging spells inside her. The spell from the second Jedi has yet to be broken, but with every adventure, she gets a little more power to battle it.

i'm like a robot

...in that I need electricity to live. I didn't realize I was so urbanized! The power went out for an hour, and I was in pieces. I was desperately trying to heat my take-out curry over a few tealights and a fruit bowl (it was made of metallic wire). At first, I thought I was an urban girl scout, but after that didn't work in the first two minutes, I got impatient and decided that living without a microwave was inconceivable. How can I be expected to wait more than five minutes to reheat food?

I hope this is the closest I come to camping in a while.

i have toothpaste on my face

I've been told that it helps dry out zits. I wonder what other weird things people can make me do if they appeal to my vanity.

my new car is the same blue as hydrogen

The new stage of my life is slowly taking shape. Today, we picked up the new car - unofficially mine, officially my mom's. Over the next year, I will spend about 200 hours in that car. In that car, I will sit in traffic, I will road rage, I will sing, I will dine, I will laugh, I will probably cry, all the way to and from music theatre school. That still kinda sounds like a joke to me.

I'm going to music theatre school.

Weird.

Besides this car being a step of preparation, it also is a huge, wonderful sign that my parents are supporting me in this insane endeavor. I remember being so afraid of what my parents would think when these notions came into my head, and when I admitted them, they totally surprised me. I think I'm in danger of forgetting that. I hope I don't screw this up.

*Funny anecdote: When the lady at the dealership saw my brother, my sister, and I, she thought that he was my father, and my little sister was my mother. My brother is 35 and my sister is one year younger than me. Gross and weird.

the most tactless person on earth

I remember watching Whose Line Is It Anyway? one time and Colin Mochrie had to play the most tactless person on earth. It was really funny, but let me assure you in real life it is rarely very funny. Usually, it ends with a quiet space leaving the people around desperately trying to think of some other topic to talk about.

I have a knack of finding the least appropriate joke possible and saying it. Once, I was with a friend and made fun of his break-up. Little did I know the break-up was recent in history, and while that friend was trying to confide in me, I was trying to be funny.

And sometimes, I find the one thing that someone happens to be sensitive about, and I make fun of them for it. It's like a super power, if super powers are supposed make you into an awkward loser with no friends.

Maybe one day, I'll get to say a eulogy, and I'll make fun of the deceased and his or her loved ones. Then I won't ever have to worry about "hanging out with people" or "having friends".

my inner child can beat up yours

Right now, I'm in a room with 18 4-7 year olds, enjoying the most relaxing time of the week - computer time. It's the only time when I know they'll be quiet, they won't hit each other, ask to go home, or need to go to the washroom*.

People who work with children must be the most patient people in the world. My sister's a teacher, and I would never call her a patient woman. But maybe that's because she spends all day with kids who are always saying her name (and those are the good kids).

So definitely, this is a better job than Tim Hortons. But there are moments when I think I'm going to totally lose it. Perhaps, this is my chance to learn infinite patience and care. Or maybe I'll just lose it and these kids can always brag that they pushed their science camp instructor to the brink.

"Esther! Esther! I have something to tell you!" Even now, the chorus resounds. It's funny. I always whine about not being well-liked, and now, I'm respected and adored by these four feet people and it drives me CRAZY. Well, today it is. On Monday, I'll go back to basking in their love.

Yesterday, I taught the grade 7/8 class instead of the 1/2 I usually teach. Dave, the other instructor, and I started the switch by me coming into his class and critisizing his lesson, and we started to fight. Then the boss came in and told us that we had to switch. It was fun. Anyway, my main point is that 7/8s are almost the same! They whine just as much, and they are almost as needy! The only differences are height and cuteness.

Maybe, my lectures are the same, I just never realized it. Wouldn't that be funny? "Professor! Professor! I have something to tell you! Come over here and help me!" Actually, that sounds a lot like my lab. Oops. Maybe that whining things isn't as endearing as I thought.



* You may think that's weird, but at any other time, these kids insist on going to the bathroom every 30 minutes or less.

bye, bye, blackbird

I just wrote this beautiful poetic good bye, and Blogger just deleted it. It's like a metaphor for my real good byes - always well planned, rarely well executed. Just as well. I didn't really say anything more than my usual "Why am I so messed up?" rant. Today, I concentrated on my own personal paradox of being shy and extroverted at the same time.

I think that when I get sad about things like this, it's because I miss the group and the feelings of belonging and comraderie. A group is very hard to reproduce. I like who I am in a group too - I'm not awkward, I'm funny, I'm lighthearted. In smaller groups, I feel like I can be the exact opposite.

I want people to like me but, unfortunately, it's one of those things that trying just makes worse. So when I leave a group, I guess I look back and see how successful I was. So there is a double standard - if I did badly, damn; if I did well, I'm now saying good bye (damn).

I forget what I said in the entry that was deleted. I bet you it was way better than this one.

"nice to meet you"

There's something about meeting a group of new people that I either love or hate.

This week I'm doing training at my new job at science camp. The people they hire usually have these big personalities that children will like. However, there's always this newness that's a bit uncomfortable. In a way, it's fun because you reach out and end up talking to neat people who you get along with. But in another way, it sucks becuase everyone, including myself, is making snap judgements and trying to get a picture in their head that they can connect you with.

I like meeting new people. It's like a game. You don't know who they are, and they don't know you either, and you're just trying to find something that grabs. But sometimes, it's just seems like too much bullshit. It's just too hard and silences are too long and nothing is meaningful. I suppose it just depends on my mood... and how good-looking the other person is.

"You didn't recognize me, did you? Have I changed?"

I had joked, when referring to my forthcoming European trip, that I was going to find myself there, because that's where you go to find yourself. I had no real plans to find myself. I'm sure that no matter where I went, I would not be able to do that in three weeks. Still, I had vague notions of a Sabrina-like transformation when I came back.

So I haven't found myself, and I also haven't found a rich older man to buy me clothes. I'm the same person, no more enlightened or better dressed than I would be from many other experiences. Nevertheless, I had a wonderful time, and have slightly different perspective. Here are the things I think I've learned:

1. I don't like museums. That's not to say that I don't like art (which I am still undecided on), but it's like they try to cram in as much as possible in the smallest area. If I was to make a museum it would have 2-5 pieces of art per room, like a living room or something. It would have couches conveniently placed so you can fully appreciate it. No flash photography would be allowed (because it's annoying), and there would be a guestbook, where cool people can write their cool thoughts on the stories and emotions that happen in response to that art. Plus, you don't really get a feel for a city by going to a museum. They're the same no matter where you go.

2. High school friends are different from other friends. I feel like so much has happened in my life in the last four years being away at university. To be honest, my memories of high school are kinda cloudy and imperfect. I had forgotten that while I had changed, my friends from high school had changed too. I went on this trip with two friends who, honestly, I hadn't spent a lot of time with since high school. And it's strange - in high school, even more so than now, I didn't really know who I was, but my friends had some sort of idea. That Sort of Idea may not be exactly what it would be if they met me now but it's still very true in many ways. Weird, eh? Transversely, my ideas of my friends are outdated. They've had all these experiences that I had nothing to do with. I think this is the biggest thing I learned on my trip. It was really neat (and, admittedly, sometimes annoying) to meet my friends again, to learn more about who they are and who they've become. My friends are cool. Apparently, in high school, I must have been cool enough to make them.

3. The only problem about the view from the Eiffel Tower is that you can't see the Eiffel Tower. I have a feeling that this fact has a deeper meaning but I haven't figured it out yet.

4. Tourists make things tourist attractions. Sometimes it seemed arbritrary which monuments were popular, and just because someone had written in a guide book that it was cool, more and more people would flood to see it.

5. I should experience where I live. In Toronto, I never really went to a cafe just to feel the atmosphere or saw a play to understand the culture. I will do this more this summer (right before I move back to Stoney Creek).

6. Mind the gap.

I wish I had much more to say. I wish I had a novel or play in my head as a result of my travels but, instead, I have a longer-than-usual blog entry. I suppose that's enough for now.

hair

I was going to through my files and I found this funny essay I wrote in high school. Maybe it's not really that funny, but at the time, I thought it was hilarious. Anyway, the assignment was to write an argumentative essay then read it to the class. I, not wanting to talk about anything real, wrote the essay below encouraging people to shave their heads. The worst/funniest part of the whole thing is that everyone thought I was serious. People actually put up their hands after and asked me whether I actually wanted shave my head. Please tell me that this was quite obviously a joke. Gah. High school.

Hair

Why everyone should rid their heads of hair

If you are looking for something to encourage prejudice, destroy your health, and ravage the environment, you need not look further than the top of your own head. Whether your hair is curly, straight or wavy, whether your hair is short, long or both, whether your hair is blonde, brown, black, red, green, blue, or pink, that pile of locks on the top of your head hurts you, the people around you, and, yes, even the world. Our health, environment, and society would ultimately improve if all people in the world shaved their heads.

There are many health issues surrounding the issue of hair. Hair dye – deadly and dangerous – would no longer be needed if hair was to be removed. Recent studies have shown that hair dye can hurt the fetus in a pregnant woman and even cause cancer. Is having hair really worth this risk?

One half of all teenagers today are sleep deprived. My friend admits this problem. However, she spends one hour before going to bed washing her hair, and two hours in the morning brushing, straightening, and styling her hair. With the banishment of hair, teenagers and adults alike would have more time out of their busy schedules to catch up on those much needed hours of sleep. With this sleep, students will do better in school, road rage, which is linked to lack of sleep, will be reduced, less collisions will occur and all this with this simple action of shaving one’s head.

Having hair is also very harmful to the environment. Without hair, people would no longer have to use blow dryers, curling irons, and hair straighteners. People would no longer have to spend that extra ten minutes in the shower to wash their hair. Think of all the electricity we would save. Furthermore, once we shave our heads, we can burn the shaved hair for fuel, saving even more natural resources.

Most importantly, shaving our heads has social benefits. In many cases people are judged by their hair. We come up with unreasonable and potentially harmful stereotypes like, “Blondes are dumb,” “Redheads are saucy,” and “Brunettes are really smart.” Without hair, these stereotypes, that restrict people from judging others by their personality, would no longer be valid. Moreover, this will help already bald people. For example, male pattern baldness would no longer be a great issue and this would reduce midlife crisis depression. Chemotherapy patients, already stricken with the pain of failing health, lose their hair because of the treatment. If everyone was bald, middle-aged men and chemotherapy patients would not have to deal with the angst of social denial.

We now see how much risks we take for our useless tresses. Hair destroys our health. Hair hurts the environment and hair hurts other people. When will we finally see how much we are sacrificing for so little? It is already hard enough to get the world’s problems out of your hair, but it is impossible to get hair out of the world’s problems.

stoney creek is different than toronto

Someone told me that I was their most ethnic friend the other day. Funny, eh? Just to be clear, when I'm in Stoney Creek, I don't go around wearing traditional Korean dresses, speak with an accent, or even mention my "ethnicity". The difference? Well, it's really just Stoney Creek, where my parents were once proud convenience store owners serving hundreds of people who thought we were Chinese.

I'm not really bitter. It's just a different place, right? I remember in my first year in Toronto, I went out with a bunch of Asians and I thought to myself, "Wow. I'm the only white person here." Once, my friend and I were counting the number of white girls in my class and, lo and behold, he inadvertently counted me amongst them. So it seems like one of the great differences between Toronto and Stoney Creek is that in Toronto, I'm pretty much white and in Stoney Creek, I'm pretty much anything but.

And, again, it's not me that's changing -- It's the people around me. In both Stoney Creek and Toronto, my friends are primarily white, but in Toronto, it seems that there were so many Asians that I was free to distinguish myself, and in Stoney Creek, I'm already distinguished. I'm not saying my friends are racist or anything. I'm even sure that they have "ethnic" friends at university. It's just the environment that makes me stand out I suppose. I usually like to stand out, but instead of me sliding into the spotlight with my arms outstretched in a ta-da formation, it's more like I didn't know I was on stage and the curtain opens and people are seeing something that I didn't mean to show.

That's the grandest thing. I forget how people see me, so it always comes as a shock when someone points out that I'm Asian. I can forget that I'm not white, but some people can't.

I don't really understand the difference. Like, in Toronto, I make mildly racist jokes with my friends but usually there are other Asians there. Maybe that's the difference. Maybe it is me, being uncomfortable with my lack of back-up.

I guess I'd better get used to it. Looks like I'll be Stoney Creeking for a while.

jazz singers

I don't like Billie Holiday. I never thought her voice was something nice to listen to. I preferred the smooth voice of Ella Fitzgerald. However, I must concede that there is a rawness in the song Lover Man that Billie Holiday really pinned. Ella's version, though good and sad, doesn't beat the real pain Billie seems to get across.

A trumpeter friend of mine told me, in response to my negative opinion of Billie, that the reason why all the amazing jazz players wanted to play with her is because she didn't hold back, and she just put her all into the songs that she sang. Now, to me, sometimes that just comes across as sloppy, but then again, what the hell do I know?

Anyway, Lover Man, if you don't know, is the sad aching song about someone whose never experienced romantic love and is longing for it. The other day I showed this song to a friend in need of some wallowing, as it is often my wallowing song. I have a sort of inkling that I won't be singing Lover Man forever, but as it is, sometimes it's nice to sit and sigh.

in a world full of changes

So there's been this lull. At the time of my last post there were a hundred things to do and all of them were very important. Now, I've moved away from her, and all I have to do is clean, I finished the big paper, and now I just have 2 exams to do over the next 2 weeks.

When I took apart my bed on Tuesday, I suddenly got really sad. I had been in this bed for the last 3 years, and it become evident that this was the end of something, and maybe I didn't really leave my mark on people. I was really upset that there were people that I just won't see again - you know, those people who aren't really your friends, but you're friendly with - and I'm afraid that those people may be most of the people I know.

Everything's changing, and it's freaking me out huge. I don't really know where I'll be in September, but wherever it is, it'll be an unfamiliar place where I don't know anyone.

Like my bed frame, my life's coming apart. It'll come back together, but who knows what that'll look like.

exactly what i was talking about

i hate running

I mean, I really hate it. People say it's relaxing, that you can turn your mind off and just go. Well, for me, somehow, I can't stop thinking about how little breath I have.

People say that it's all mental and, honestly, I think that's why I hate it. I mean, if I was more fit, it would be less of a psychotic game. My internal running dialogue is a lot like this:
"Okay, I've just started, no big deal, I'm not even tired... Oh no, is that a leg cramp? No! Too late. I've already started. Oh man, I should have stretched better.... one lap... Okay, Esther, you have to at least do 10. You did 10 before. No big deal, you should be able to do that again, maybe even more. Should I do 11? Maybe I should do 11... I'm so tired... No. Keep on going, you can DO this. Press on. ... two laps"

Tiring, eh? Yeah, tell me about it. This is like my life. I always feel like I'm pushing myself, and I always want to do more. Don't get me wrong - I am very lazy, but when it comes to things set before me, like school, working out, it's always this mental game where I see how hard I can push myself.

I have so much school in front of me and I really want to do well. I'm staying in most nights so I can study and work on my essays, and when I don't get enough done, I berate myself, and try to use that push harder.

My sister, Gloria, said I should try and simplify my life now that school is ending. Maybe she's right. Or maybe I just have to work harder.

So the question is: Should I push my limits? Or should I try and realize them? I really like the sound of the first one - it's like one of those things that should be on a poster that they have in a guidance counsellor's office - and the second one scares me - this sounds like the people who don't believe in me. Plus, it sounds a lot less straightforward.

I once said that I thought a life of fear was one of mediocrity. I think I was wrong. Some people are afraid of mediocrity. (I'm afraid of mediocrity.) 2006: Year Without Fear is turning out to be more complicated than I thought. When I think I've conquered a fear, it now seems that I'm just more afraid of something else.

considering ravens

Consider the ravens.
They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn.
Yet God feeds them.

They do not write theses or research papers.
Yet God feeds them.

They do not find assignees for their apartments, they do not fight with their landlords.
Yet God feeds them.

They do not pick schools, choose places to live, decide whether to commute. They do not write cover letters or resumes or attend job interviews. They do not make money. They do not pay off their credit card bills or students loans.

They do not spend hours and hours on a problem set to get crappy marks on them. They do not find recursive algorithms in coding languages they haven't used in years. They do not study for exams. They do not go to auditions.

They do not graduate with honours. They do not have degrees.

They do not console their friends. They do not call their friends in tears. They do not ignore their friends.

They do not have boyfriends.

They do not have self-esteem.

They do not read the Bible. They do not pray.

They do not blog.

Yet God feeds them.

i feel like billy elliot

There's a very poignant scene at the end of Billy Elliot where he gets a letter from the ballet school and takes it into his room, reads it and then cries. It's wonderful. It's still real, yet we're left in suspense. Today, I totally relate. I got into Sheridan's musical theatre program. I know this might be the tackiest way of finding out.

I'm scared. I'm excited. What the hell is going to happen next year?

Billy: I think I'm scared, Dad.
Jackie Elliot: That's okay, son. We're all scared.
Billy: Well... if I don't like it, can I still come back?
Jackie Elliot: Are you kidding? We've let out your room.
[straight face then laughter]

i wish my life was like a 1950s musical

Then the answer to most of my problems would be to dance and sing.

mr sun!

I love the sun. Not like the California beach sun, but I love the sun when it makes the difference between being able to wear a coat or not. I love closing my eyes and feeling the warmth on my face. It's this time of year, when you're still caught up in your normal routine, but the new weather seems to put everything in a different context.

Sometimes when I write on this blog, I'm just venting about how sad I am. Sadness is a complex thing. Not to say that happy people don't think as much, but when you're sad and you're not sure why, there is certainly a lot to sift through in search for the reason.

I'd just like to let everyone know that I'm okay. All the reasons I bitch about still apply, but there are bigger things that beat them out. Like the sun.

I just have to keep that in mind while I deal with people I don't understand, life decisions, school work, and boys.

Thought of the day: I wish I was a poet so people would listen to me.

how to hurt me

I've found that there is a certain way that people always can get me. Just follow the following steps:
1. Disagree with me.
2. By seeming completely logical and in control:
- Make me feel stupid and unreasonable for offering a differing opinion.
- Make me feel stupid and unreasonable for having a differing opinion.
If you succeed, I'll walk away thinking I did something wrong and that I'm a bad person.

You probably need to be a certain type of person - the type of person who I could probably respect, with good opinions. This horrible thing about this is that these people don't seem like assholes and bitches! In fact, they seem like friends! If you're able to be my friend, first - if you're able to be someone I trust - these steps become 550% more effective!

Maybe if I was a little less proud, these steps wouldn't be as effective. Maybe if I wasn't as insecure as I am, this wouldn't bother me.

I hate that I let people get to me. It's funny - while I do have the longings of a young girl to be loved, sometimes I feel like it would be easier if I was a rock.

"And a rock feels no pain,
And an island never cries."
- Simon and Garfunkel

slaying green-eyed monsters

Skule Nite is over. I worked hard and long with so many other people, and now I find that there's going to be this large gap in my life for a bit. This year, I found that Skule Nite has revealed my lowest parts to myself. I've been so tired and so annoyed and, most regrettably, I've found that I've been so jealous.

I once heard a preacher say that being jealous was a sin because you are refusing to rejoice with others in their blessings. Sounds pretty bad, eh? But what if you can't help it?!

I tried for a long time to just ignore my feelings, but it didn't work. They bubbled to the surface in ways that I couldn't imagine. So what's left? - Accept your feelings. But then I feel like such a horrible person because of these incredibly petty responses and the even pettier ways they bubbled to the surface.

A friend told me that it is ridiculous to be upset with the way you feel - emotions are usually completely reasonable. I suppose the trick is to not let your jealousy get in the way of loving people. (I'd rather learn to juggle.)

Shouldn't I be changing, though? Shouldn't I be beyond these grade five emotions? I thought the deal was transformation, but in many ways, I still feel like a child.

When getting communion today, I prayed that I would change, but, in the meanwhile, be okay with who I am. It's hard to deal with a broken world, especially when that broken world is inside of you.

Good night, my friends. Tomorrow, everything will be new again.

naive security

So I have this dream, this fantasy - to be a musical theatre performer, an actor, even. I hope to attend theatre school. After a really good audition, I began, slowly to let people know of my plans. Before this, I had too many conversations like this:

"So what are you next year?"
"I don't know."
"No grad school?"
"No!"
"I guess you're getting a job."
"Yeah, I guess I should look then."

So, to a few groups of people, I've been telling them of my aspirations. It's a little scary. You never really know what people are thinking. Sometimes it's "Oh! That's really cool! You're a cool person!" or it's "Maybe I can do that too!". I love those responses. But sometimes I feel the response is more like, "Do you know what the hell you're getting into?" Those are hard to deal with - I'm unsure whether it's because I haven't really thought about this question, or I think about it too much.


I feel like this dynamic duo: Mindy and Buttons. You know the story (if not, educate yourself). I kinda feel like Mindy - too young to understand danger. But the Thing is Mindy is always safe! Buttons always takes care of her. She never gets hurt, because while she's naively climbing skyscrapers, Buttons has got her back. This is how I want to feel - safe even in naivety. Often we're scared because we don't know enough, but today I want to be happy that I don't know anything, except that some cosmic dog has got my back.

wanting to be heard, not wanting to speak

Bea, Bea, wonderful Bea sent me an email yesterday. As my heart fluttered in joy, I was a little worried because the beginning was quite serious.

"uhm. Esther. this is something I actually have been meaning to ask you for some time..."

Pretty intense, right? Does she need a kidney? Does she want me to send her Canadian drugs? Is she going to ask me out?!?

Turns out, Bea, in her masterfully tactful way, was asking me if she could link my blog on hers. For some reason* she thought that I might be uncomfortable with it. To be honest, I'm not sure if I am or not. On one hand I want people to know me, to see what I'm thinking. On the other hand, I don't want to people to read it and judge me - think I'm too naive or trying too hard or being too religious.

I guess it's like what Julia was talking about: vulnerability. I posted on my church message board that "Blogging [was] like running around naked. It might be inappropriate, but, you know, some people just gotta." I have a feeling that was totally inappropriate, and I thought I heard crickets laugh in Christian cyberspace. I've mentioned this before: I want to be heard, but I don't want to say anything.

I want people to read this. I want people to know who I am. I'm just totally afraid of being so tacky with neediness. Many of you reading this are my friends to whom I've casually mentioned the existence of this blog. Some of you are my friends who I don't know read this, and found this by some other secret avenue. And maybe some of you are strangers. Well, welcome, whoever you are. I hope you see something honest here.



*That reason being the contents of many entries on my blog.

men are dogs (metaphorically)

I think I have a phobia for dogs. I want to be like the people I know who like dogs - you know, they're always bright and energetic - and I really try. I approach stranger's dogs and pet my friend's dogs, but every once in a while, there's this moment when I freak out and think the dog is going to get angry and bite me and there won't be anything I can do because kicking a dog is wrong.

I think this is, generally, like my attitude towards boys. I will happily name off my many husbands, I can often be found claiming that I'm 'in love' with... well, anyone, but as soon as there's any hint of returned interest, I freak out. I think I may have an irrational fear of relationships. I mean, don't get me wrong - I don't want to be alone. Like the dog phobia, I do want dates and flings and romance, the whole cake, but I'm also afraid.

It's pretty weird. I often find myself going so far as to make sure that the guys I liked thought the opposite. It's understandable to want to ensure that guy friends you definitely don't like don't get the wrong message, but with the rest? I'm messed up.

As I've declared 2006 The Year Without Fear, I have decided to not be afraid of being the object of anyone's interest - kind of like the woman in this article, but to a smaller extent.

And do you know what? Maybe it was totally egotistical to think that I was in danger of being liked. So I really had nothing to be afraid of in the first place! Score! ... wait...