Irony

I honestly did mean to make a big comeback.

I set out with the best intentions, planning to post as if the fate of the world depended upon it. As if my words were the only thing keeping the aliens from attacking and the seas from swelling-- keeping the peace on Superman's days off.

..But then, life happened.

Nearly one year later, and I haven't written a single post.

Not that I've neglected writing itself-- it's just, I've discovered new venues for creativity. I've been writing for school-- I've almost finished my second year of university, and I've managed to have some short fiction printed in a campus publication (!!), a dream that, in being realized even in such a small way, has managed to make me even more enthusiastic about writing than before.

..If that's even possible.

But what I mean to say is that, in the past little while, I've changed and grown, and realized that things don't always turn out the way we expect them to-- sometimes, life takes unexpected turns.

Sometimes,  blog posts don't happen.

And that's ok.

Because it's a happy accident-- all the better for the sheepish smiles, and new ideas that a wonderfully ironic plot-twist can inspire.

Returning to Something Awesome

I'm ba-ack!

Back to school, back home (after being back to the Caribbean for the second time in my life), and back to blogging.

Awesome? I thought so.

Excited? You should be.

Welcome back everyone :)

Summer Camp

Little kids are amazing.

For the past couple of weeks I've been working as a camp counsellor, supervising a group of eight-year-old girls as they soak in the summer and party on the playground. Through all the fun and the sunshine, I've really gotten to know them-- and the stories they leave me with are among the sweetest and the funniest I've ever heard.

From the self-righteous camper claiming Justin Bieber as her boyfriend to the boondoggle-bonanza that has become the basis of many of our lives, I've been having the time of my life-- singing and dancing and running and cheering-- partying like a princess and playing pretend as a pirate.

It makes me realize how much fun I used to have when I was their age-- and makes me realize how much fun the rest of my summer with them is going to be.

--I mean, where else can I come to work dressed as a superhero and not only get away with it, but be applauded for my powers?

Realizing that Childhood Movies Have Shaped You as a Person

I haven't been the unfortunate recipient of a poisoned apple or a cursed spinning wheel, but there's no denying that I have a Disney princess personality.

Don't get me wrong, there's been none of this waiting around for Prince Charming nonsense or soaring musical interludes sprinkled throughout my days-- but I've recently come to realize that a lot of the things I enjoy are derived from the Disney movies I used to watch as a kid.

One similarity after another has slowly crept upon me as I've revisited my Disney days-- blowing my mind with the awesomeness of just how much my favourite movies and characters have worked themselves into my psyche. It could just be coincidence-- I may be reading into it too much-- but I rather like the idea of being a Disney darling.

It's quite possible that my favourite colour is yellow because of Belle's ballgown in Beauty and the Beast-- and maybe I really like willow trees because of Grandmother Willow in Pocahontas. My fascination with Africa can be ultimately attributed to Simba in The Lion King, and my love of everything oceanic must be because of Arielle in The Little Mermaid-- my favourite childhood princess.

So when you think about it, a lot of my personality can be attributed to aspects of the Disney movies I grew up with, and quite frankly, it's awesome. Maybe in consequence I anticipate a  magic spell to be flung my way every once in a while, but what does that matter? 

--I mean really, who doesn't want to lead a fantastic fairytale of a life?

Discovering that there's a Superhero in the Next Lane

I'm not sure many people would believe me, but cruising along the highway to and from work every day, I'm joined by Clark Kent.

Cool in his black car, window down, he drives past faster than a speeding bullet-- cape flapping and kryptonite lacking, oozing awesomeness of superheroic proportions as he heads out incognito on his daily commute to fight crime and rid the world of evil.

Or at least, that's what I assume.

"CLARKENT", as reads his license plate, is perhaps but one of the many travellers joining me out on the highway with a secret identity-- the rest attempting to maintain their covers with unpersonalized plates and windows firmly closed.

One may speculate that Superman is trying too hard, but there is some reassurance to be had in knowing that he's out there, even in disguise-- so I, for one, am thankful to have him on my highway.

Better than a bird or a plane, he rescues the common commuter from Monday morning mundanity, and keeps the excitement of Friday's freedom alive-- singing along to the radio and tapping out a beat on the side of his super-mobile.

You rock, "CLARKENT".

Happy Father's Day!

My dad is awesome.

The all-star, go-to guy for everything from monsters under the bed to athletics to relationship advice-- he's the man I've counted on since even before I was born.

I admire him a lot-- perhaps the most articulate and side-splittingly funny human being I've met, my dad is like a superhero to me, and has been since I was a little girl.

Ridiculous and sweet and incredibly witty, he's raised me alongside my mom, and made me into who I am today. I thank him for being my role model and for thinking the world of me-- for all those late night TV shows that we've stayed up to watch the ends of, the story-lines and paper topics we've discussed, the inside jokes, the advice, the softball practices, and the remarkably similar culinary tastes that we share.

I love you Daddy, you're awesome.

A Picture That Tells A Story

With everything that's happened in Vancouver over the past couple of days, the news has become very dark.

People are losing their faith in humanity-- watching cars burn, windows break, and riots explode.

But is this really what we're all about?

Taken by photographer Rich Lam, this photo has gone global.

The young man pictured, Scott Jones, is seen embracing his girlfriend, Alexandra Thomas-- she had been injured by the riot police amidst the chaos of the Stanely Cup aftermath.

The full story can be seen here, outlining what the photo is able to say without words.

It's a powerful image-- standing as proof in favour of love, not war.

Trees Are Forever

Do you know what I mean when I say that trees are forever?

Yes, they live on for years and years, but that's not quite it.

There are trees that grow up with us, designed for climbing and adventure, housing entire flocks of birds and colonies of squirrels-- trees that feel and move with us, green and gold and smiling, as if to say "welcome home" whenever we recognize their waving branches. Trees that give us places to read, to think, to watch for thunderstorms-- to play hide and seek-- to paint and laugh, to cool down and to smile.

Trees that mean more to us than we would readily admit.

So, as the birch tree in my front yard is about to be uprooted, nearing the end of its lifespan, I dedicate this post to everything awesome that it's given to me-- to everything awesome that trees have given to us collectively.

It's a cliche for a reason: go hug a tree. Your big leafy bud will stand by you forever.

Happy World Oceans Day!

Perhaps a slightly obscure day of importance, June 8th was first declared World Oceans Day by Canada back in 1992-- a day dedicated to the wetter 70% of our planet and its 230,000 known inhabitant species.  Now recognized by the United Nations, World Oceans Day is making a splash (pun intended), with scheduled UN talks this afternoon from 3:00-5:00.

And the ocean really deserves it. A muse to artists, a challenge to adventurers, a playground for researchers, and a home for Nemo, it really does it all. A multitasking marine force, our oceans deserve our respect.

I mean, where else are you going to find creatures of exquisite awesomeness like the leafy sea dragon, the lionfish, the giant clam, and of course enormous coral reefs?

Our aquatic neighbours need a day of celebration, and for them I present the following-- grab your goldfish crackers and enjoy!

Zorrillas Really Do Exist!

A friend pointed this image out to me today, and it made me smile:

The Zorrilla of my imagination really does exist!

Pro-Environment Awesomeness

There's nothing better than a late-night realization that people out there do care about the environment-- a late-night realization, with a little humour and the right information, that leads to magic.

Or at least to the end of global warming.

For more information, see howtoboilafrog.com, and get proactive about what matters to you.

PS: Check out my new link under Other BEST Things EVER! The Global Ecological Initiative is a great example of what it means to be proactive, and has oodles of information and links for you to enjoy.

Cheers!

Do YOU Know What a Zorrilla is?

Google is my best friend.

This morning, reading an article on nationalgeographic.com, I came across the name of an animal that I had never heard of before.

Having been obsessed with animals in my earlier years, I refused to believe that I didn't actually know what this one was-- I read its name over and over-- ZorrillaZorrillaZorrillaZorrilla.

It sounded pretty at least, sort of rolling over the tongue.

But all I could picture was a sort of zebra-gorilla hybrid.

I would have liked to believe that there was some sort of striped horse-ape out there, somewhere in the far reaches of the Earth, but my curiosity and common sense eventually got the better of me-- admitting defeat, I turned to Google.

It turns out that Zorrillas are very much like skunks.

Stripier and smellier, they're the African equivalent of Bambi's little friend, declared by The Guinness Book of World Records to be the smelliest animal on Earth-- pungent enough to keep lions at bay out on the savannahs.

That's pretty impressive without gorilla-sized biceps to back you up.

Figuring Out What That Flavour Is

The other day I was in the grocery store, buying my favourite brand of pop.

I always stick with the same flavour-- the pineapple variety-- sweet, yet exotic enough to maintain a constant level of excitement, sip after sip, bottle after bottle.

 But this time, the excitement of the one flavour just didn't cut it for me.

Glancing over at my friend, I decided to take a risk and try something new-- grabbing a new bottle-- a new flavour-- a new carbonated culinary adventure:

"'Kola Champagne'?"

It had a soft caramel glow about it, calling to me with its distinctly foreign nature.

"Really?"

I looked at my friend pointedly. There was no turning back now, the bottle of pop was already off the shelf and journeying with me towards the check-out.

Sighing a soft resignation, he joined me as I paid for the pop, musing over the magical mystery-beverage that awaited us.

A twist and a pop and a fizz later, 'Kola Champagne' stood in front of us, joining the two glasses that were already sitting on the countertop, brimming with anticipation.

A gentle pour, and a clink of glass-- we entertained our first sips-- and then our minds exploded.

We had definitely tasted 'Kola Champagne' before.

"But where?!"

We racked our brains, the flavour shooting us back across our childhoods and vacations-- a gustatory gander through time.

A full twenty minutes went by, tasting the pop, musing over its oddly familiar flavour, and then--

"I've got it!"

I jumped up with a grin as I prepared to deliver the answer to all in the vicinity-- my taste buds cheering at the victory:

"White Freezies!"

My friend's eyes widened, and then shone with recognition.

Yes.

 'Kola Champagne' tasted exactly like my favourite childhood summertime treat.

Score one point to me.

New Jobs!

I just got a new job.

There really is something awesome and exciting about it-- about coming into a new place, finding a new desk, and learning new things. There's something special about moving in with picture frames and coffee mugs-- matching names with faces and places with people.

My last job, in direct contrast, had me isolated from the entire existing human population.

Sometimes whole days went by without so much as a friendly "hello!"-- whole days went by without a single syllable.

So understandably, right now I'm as over-excited and enthusiastic as a puppy-- I wave with excessive flourish, and roll around in my chair with pizzazz-- dancing along to my iPod when no one's watching, and taking over the gym at lunch.

It's really great working with lots of people. Everyone stops to say hi-- and everyone has a smile to share, even if their days haven't really been all that great.

So the next little while here should be really, really awesome.

Improvising Sports

Rules were made to be broken.

You know the drill-- you're outside with a group of friends and decide pick up a casual game of soccer or football-- it's all going well, you're winning and grinning and rubbing it in their faces-- when an eyebrow is raised, a smile grows, and they charge.

Someone grabs the player with the football and carries them through their own end zone for a touchdown.

They throw the ball into the net for a goal, and then do it again, from behind.

Suddenly the game has morphed-- you're not playing a standardized sport anymore, but rather a free-for-all, declare-the-rules-as-they-come, ridiculous, and ridiculously awesome game. Tackling has become tickling and everything else is undetermined-- only the goals remain standing.

A test of on-the-spot thinking and bravado, you're in the ultimate act of spontaneity, running and laughing and falling all over the place.

Forget rules and regulations, they're for kids-- the true test of a sports-hero is to just let you play.

Abandoning the Internet

My Internet has been down for the past week, but you know, going without it for a while was pretty awesome.

There was no hectic emailing, no frantic Facebooking, no instant messaging-- for an entire week. Only a phone to talk to who I really needed to get in touch with.

It may sound rough, but hey-- I finished a couple of books instead of surfing the web, hung out with friends instead of messaging them, and went outside. (I mean really, how many people forget to go outside because they're on their computers? -- I know quite a few too many, and as much as I love you for reading my blog, I'm hoping you're not one of them.)

So, in the spirit of my fixed faulty Internet connection, I propose a challenge:

Once you've read this, turn your computer off. For a day, a week-- however long suits your lifestyle.

You might surprise yourself with how great it really feels.

Just Dance

Sometimes there are days where all you can do is dance.

We've all had those days-- those days where absolutely everything goes wrong.

Days where you lose your wallet, download a virus, and spill your coffee all over your brand new pants-- all within the first half hour.

Days where you just have to do something, or you're going to explode in an oozing mess of stress.

But why let that trend continue?

I say, dance.

Turn on your favourite music-- loud enough so that you can feel it in your chest and in the walls-- and dance.

It may sound ridiculous-- and it is, I'm not going to lie.

But it's so ridiculous that it breaks the pattern-- it ends the trend of spiralling negativity and infuses some awesomeness back into your day.

So close the blinds, shut your door-- and let loose.

The sprinkler, the hand jive, some jazz hands-- they're all fair game, as are the unnamed and time-honoured moves that many of us may not qualify as actual dancing, but reserve nonetheless for hair-brush lip-synching rockstar moments (you know who you are).

Just dance it out. Find your inner Ellen DeGeneres, and everything will be a bit better.

You can have a three-hour commute home and forget all of your important papers on your desk-- but five minutes is all it will take to have some fun.

Happy Mother's Day ♥

Today I found my Mom's old baby journal-- a diary written about the pregnancy in which I came to exist.

I read about what it was like hearing my heartbeat for the first time, and  my Mom's gut instinct that yes, I was definitely going to be a girl. I read about my parents' hopes and dreams for me, months before I was born-- about how excited they were, and how nervous they were too. She wrote about how my bedroom was the first room to be painted in their house, and how they couldn't wait for me to arrive. She wrote me letters, and so did my Dad-- just about their days, about how they loved me already, and how much they loved each other.

My Mom wrote about how beautiful I was when I was born, and how excited everyone was-- she wrote about everything, and told me that she loved me over and over.

The pages continue on over my terrible two's and three's, and the arrival of my brother into the world-- noting my toddler-like misunderstanding of why he couldn't go back to where he came from. She detailed every new word I learned, and every time I giggled and cried-- always telling me that she loved me.

Up until today, I don't think I ever fully understood what my Mom's done for me. Reading this journal, I teared up, because she's been there for me all the time, from before I was born to eighteen years later-- she's loved me the same every minute, never faltering.

So Mommy, I love you. You, and my Dad, are the most amazing people I've ever known-- and I know raising me must have been a lot of work, but I am so grateful to be able to call you my parents, I couldn't have been brought into the world by better people.

Happy Mother's Day ♥

The Mastery of Chopsticks

As someone raised on forks, the mysterious concept of chopsticks has always been intriguing to me.

筷子, as they are called in Chinese, are really remarkable when you think about it. Existing since approximately 1766 BCE, these pieces of bamboo (or wood, or plastic) are considered to be an extension of the hand while eating-- something  many people like myself may feel to be an impossible feat-- something we scoff at, while folding our hands carefully away in our laps.

To the fork and spoon lover, chopsticks may seem to require such concentrated dexterity and coordination that the multitasking required in wielding these utensils is just simply out of the question. Forget eating, it's all about keeping both in your hand at once. Or politely inquiring as to the location of silverware.

I've been eating Chinese food for years-- it's awesome. But there's always been a bit of a struggle in the department of the transferrance of food from plate to mouth. Dropping a chopstick, letting a noodle slide-- having it all end up in your lap-- been there, done that.

So imagine my joy in finally getting it right. After years of seasoned practice and valiant effort, I have now mastered the art of chopsticks.

Believe me?

The proof lies in one bowl of salad.

After swinging my head around in search of a fork after its delicious delivery upon my table yesterday, I realized that there were no forks to be found in the entire restaurant. It was just me, my chopsticks, and a bowl of slippery, dressing-covered salad.

This was it.

There was only a moment of hesitation before I picked up the utensils, undaunted and determined to succeed. My friends at my table had both seen me falter and fail before, so I wasn't about to let it happen again-- not in the middle of a restaurant.

I braced myself, and plunged in.

One successful grasp of leaf after another, I was amazing. Never have I been more proud in my life-- I proclaimed through a mouthful of salad my supreme awesomeness to my friends-- and very well the entire restaurant. Everyone knew of my newfound talent, and I was happy to have them know.

Chopsticks, really, are just so much more entertaining than standard forks and knives. It's been a rough battle, but I've come out on top-- they may not yet be an extension of my hands (a la Wolverine), but I feel that I may be close.

Victory is near, my fork-loving friends.

Walking-- Everywhere, All the Time

Try to imagine what a bridge feels like with construction drilling its way through the middle.

If you've only ever been on one in your car, then you wouldn't know-- but to a pedestrian it feels like a vibrating foot-massager set on fifty times its recommended setting. It's actually kind of fun.

Now imagine your local park. You've been walking for just under an hour, and, creeping forward as silently as possible, you not only see a few deer in passing, but also a raccoon, a beaver, and an incredibly adorable bunny.

I think you'll find that even the quietest of cars won't stand up to this feat.

With your dog, your friend, your thoughts, or nothing other than just a sense of adventure-- walking is a step easier than running, and is infinitely more enjoyable than driving, giving you time to see everything that there is to see along the way. Giving you time to see that baby caterpillar and that scrawled graffiti-poem-- time to see what's around that corner and time to let it sink in.

Walking gives you a chance to really see what's around you-- to really feel what's around you. It gives you the opportunity to find out what you've been missing every time you've stepped into your car and every time you've decided that you're too tired to go out.

Yesterday I travelled 13.2 km on foot, but I still think that walking's awesome.

Believe me, fourteen (!!) deer-sightings later, I didn't regret it.