It's six degrees outside and there's no snow on the ground. It is also just a few days before I spend my first Christmas by myself. It feels bizarre.
I must admit that I'm looking forward to having the house to myself for a few days. Melissa left for Winnipeg yesterday and will be there for over a week; Peter leaves on Friday for the weekend; and my friend Joelle is heading to Arizona with her family for a week and is dropping her cat off to stay with me from the 24th until January 2 or 3. I'm stoked about having a feline companion for a while. I've got my weekend all planned out. My mom was here for the weekend of the 9th (which was divine - more about that below) and brought with her a whole whack of little gifts for me to open throughout the day on the 25th. She's put together all of our small traditions and comforts to keep me occupied here while she sips Coronas on the beach in Mexico. I've splurged on some amazing food to treat myself with: tourtière for Christmas Eve dinner (a longtime tradition of my mother's and mine), mulled wine with Grand Marnier, brie with caramelized onions and dried cranberries, and a massive shrimp cocktail. Handel's Messiah and a Lord of the Rings marathon on Sunday. So... like, is it December 25th yet??
It isn't the fact that I'll be alone during this particular holiday that's got me thinking about it. My spiritual inclinations are inconclusive, but aside from coming from a Mennonite family and having been raised attending the United church, this time of year doesn't bring with it any personal spiritual significance anymore. Additionally, I abhor and recoil from the way the capitalist machine has perverted a religious holiday into this mass-marketed materialistic mayhem/corporate delight. I take little part in Christmas gift-giving and have for a number of years made handmade cards for my loved ones in lieu.
DISCLAIMER: I am fully aware of the hypocrisy in my making such statements after I've expressed excitement over all of the gifts that my mother has just brought me in honour of this very occasion. I truly am looking forward to opening them all. I'm not going to make much of an excuse for the contradictions herein save for one: this is an exceptional case. She never would have done the same if we were spending the days in question together; we would be enjoying these traditions in each other's company instead. I do also receive gifts from my father and grandmother every year for which I am of course deeply grateful. They are both aware of my feelings about Christmas gifts but they send presents anyway, and we've come to an understanding about it all. And don't get me wrong. I buy gifts for people for other occasions (which may, in itself, seem rather hypocritical I guess). I've just made a decision to bow out from this particular practice... on principle. My logic isn't flawless, but give me a break; I'm only 27 and I have years to work it all out.
Anyhow, I suppose that what's got me really reflecting is that the thing I love about this time of year - family spending time together - won't be happening for me. I'll really be missing the good food, good drink, roaring laughter coming from every room of whomever's house we're all visiting in, and the abundance of superb hugs. I'm still feeling a bit homesick because I know that all of these great things will be going on back where everything is warm and familiar to me.
Segue: Speaking of familiar, I was super-duper fortunate enough to have visitors for the first time a couple of weeks ago. First, my brother and his girlfriend, who had a twelve-hour layover in Toronto on their way back from Puerto Plata (Dominican) spent those very few and fleeting moments chez moi - Steve and I stayed up with a bottle of wine talking for much longer than we should have given the few hours he had to rest before his flight. He was here and gone so quickly that it felt like a bit of a dream, but at the same time it slightly altered the sense of place that I've been developing since I arrived. Hosting someone in a different city gave me an idea of how my family may be seeing me now. Shortly after I arrived, during a conversation with my mom about the evolution of the family's plans for Christmas (do you see how I bring everything around full circle? hah!), she referred to me as having joined the group of my cousins who have moved away or don't live in Manitoba. I'm outside the circle. Not in the sense that I'm being excluded or don't matter anymore, but in the same sense as I have always considered family outside of Manitoba a little differently. A much bigger deal is made about their visits, of course, but they also tend to play host to family when said family is around their neck of the woods. My fam may very well keep me in mind if ever planning a trip down here. I love to host people, by the way. So this new idea is exciting.
My darling mother's visit was so wonderful. We had a blast together. We laughed hysterically. We visited the ROM and walked down Bloor looking at all of the designer shops - went into Chanel, looked through the windows at Cartier and Prada at all of the pretty things that we could never afford nor would, in actuality, really want to own. Shopped for good quality makeup at MAC. Drank really good wine. Laughed some more. Went for Sunday brunch with my roommates. Shopped at Zellers for some housewares for me, like my own bedclothes and some mixing bowls for the kitchen (how nice to own some things of my own again!). It was two nights and two full days of bliss. I slept like a baby while she was here. The other day we're on the phone and she says to me that she just wants to let me know again how wonderful our weekend together was; that she misses being my mom and had so much fun mothering me. "I miss being mothered!!!" Laughs all around. But she does, and I do.
Sigh. OK, everyone raise your mugs of mulled wine with me and let's give a big cliché'd toast to growing up. To venturing out into the big world and creating one's own path - something that I, personally, could never have done without the love and support of my family, as well as without knowing that they're cheering me on.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
An open-ended stream of (un)consciousness
Well, I've sort of let blogging drop down my list of priorities since I've arrived in this new city, but I've been feeling particularly pensive over the past week or so and thought it best to get it out.
Today is election day in the DRC. As I sit and write with a cup of coffee in my kitchen there are only a couple of hours until polls will close. Al Jazeera has already informed the world of the violence in the southeast of the country - in the city of Lubumbashi - where frustrations over what has been expressed as a lack of organization (names missing from voter rolls, poll stations not opening on time) has led to stations being burned down and riot-type street violence erupting in various locations throughout the country, including in Kinshasa. From what I've managed to gather over the past six months, through the limited and subjective media sources available who are actually reporting anything about election developments in the DRC, there has been a fair amount of such violence occurring, caused by allegations of fraud and corruption; government attempts to control (and often shut down successfully, albeit temporarily) media; and, among other things, various supporters of certain political parties losing their shit towards supporters of certain other political parties. In addition, I've learned from Facebook status updates that my family members are currently, and have been numerous other times recently, relegated behind the safety of their high compound walls due to the high tension and violence in the capital and because it would be unsafe for them to be out and about.
So, why? Why so much violence and unrest over a process and event that, theoretically, carries with it so much potential for progress and stability? Well, I certainly don't have any definitive answers to these questions. These are matters far too complex to have definitive answers. But I've been doing a fair amount of pondering from this very safe place in which I am situated (both physically, and in a broader, global sense). Let's take, for one, the Occupy movements that have sprung up and been quelled in various parts of North America recently. I've heard a lot of people asking - and have had a few conversations/debates over - just what the Occupy movement is about and has achieved. If we break it down to its most basic purpose, we can say that at its root it is a protest against the disparity of wealth in North America and the world over. Well, what a different form this takes in this hemisphere. With exceptions, it has been a fairly peaceful movement. Here in Toronto, Occupiers took over St. James Park successfully for a full five weeks before having been evicted last week. The damage: the ground in the park turned into a swamp. No one was seriously injured or killed; there were no violent stand-offs with the police; in fact, although in my opinion ultimately its demise, it was an incredibly inclusive environment and, to its credit, run as democratically as could have been in the grassroots sense of the concept. But - and this is not to diminish the validity of concerns about the ways in which disparity is manifested in this part of the world - the very peaceful and democratic nature of the movement speaks to the privilege of those involved. This disparity of wealth in the DRC manifests itself much differently. It breeds desperation. I can speak to this in having felt a thick tension in the air in Kinshasa, as though people were always on the edge of erupting. Agh, I feel like I'm not explaining this accurately. A story to illustrate:
When I was staying in Maluku, Mama Yvete took me to a huge outdoor market on the shore of the Congo River. Not being the type of place that white people frequent, my presence was something of an event. We had already been there nearly 45 minutes when, for just a brief moment, Yvete left my side to speak with a friend and about five women surrounded me and began asking me why I was there. They were for the most part just curious and friendly, but it only took about a minute for five people to turn into 25, and for the curiosity of a few to turn into hostility on the part of others. I overheard people around me making nasty comments about the rich white girl taking a trip down to the river to observe (i.e. exploit) the poor locals, and others commenting that the market was no place for me to be. I was quite thickly surrounded and the crowd was not only growing but starting to converge on me, all in a matter of just a few minutes, when Yvete pushed through and grabbed me and then led me to sit under a canopy that friends of hers were selling fish from while the balloon of tension sort of deflated and the one man who had followed us, showing me his foot so swollen and infected that it looked gangrenous and asking me for money, finally gave up and left.
It all happened so quickly that it wasn't until later that evening that I realized that for the first - and only - time, I had been afraid. I remember being acutely aware of feeling the tension building around me. I remember hearing some of the people around me trying to calm others down, clarifying my purpose there as I had explained it (I'm just a student, doing my practicum here, in Conflict Resolution studies). I remember questioning whether I did have any right being there at all (I'm still not sure).
I think that this experience that I had speaks well to the ways in which these different parts of the world experience a similar phenomenon. Imagine what an issue as contentious and highly charged as national elections might do to transform the environment in a society living in abject poverty?
Now, on the other hand, nowhere in the world will you find such resilience and hope as you will in places like the DRC, which have been plagued by oppression and injustice for about a century and a half by colonialism, bureaucratic kleptocracy, war, corruption, and poverty. People are passionate about the potential their country has for positive change. But is democracy really the answer? And what form should it take if it is? Democracy is an imposed political structure with imposed ideologies in this country. The territory was, before it was colonized, comprised of a series of kingdoms - slavery not only existed but was well ingrained in societies. And they functioned well. And then, after 75 years of colonialism, post-independent Congo's first democratically elected Prime Minister was assassinated and the country was taken over by a military dictator. 32 years of brutality and theft later, another militarized coup changed the scene (ever so slightly). It was not until 2003 that a peace accord was signed that commenced the adoption of democratic processes. However, now in 2011, during only the third democratic elections the country has seen in 51 years of independence, many Congolese have little faith in the type of democracy that exists in the country's institutions and little faith in the majority of its elected leaders. I've stated this before, but I'll state it again: when I was there and asked people what type of leadership they thought best for their country, many people responded by telling me that democracy is not 'natural' in Congo, and that they thought it best to have the country run by a benevolent dictator. I don't purport to speak for Congolese people, and also met a significant number of people who believed that democracy was the only way to go. I'm just saying... that I really, really hope that whover are the elected leaders this time around are elected fairly, and that this election has positive results for Congolese people, whereby the disparity is lessened and people's hopes are realized. What else can I say? This is the point at which all of my ranting about this wonderful place in the world has always hit a brick wall. Nothing I have ever been able to think or say has ever been conclusive. I don't know that I have a right to be conclusive. But I do have a right to hope, and hope I do for good things for my Congolese family and friends.
Today is election day in the DRC. As I sit and write with a cup of coffee in my kitchen there are only a couple of hours until polls will close. Al Jazeera has already informed the world of the violence in the southeast of the country - in the city of Lubumbashi - where frustrations over what has been expressed as a lack of organization (names missing from voter rolls, poll stations not opening on time) has led to stations being burned down and riot-type street violence erupting in various locations throughout the country, including in Kinshasa. From what I've managed to gather over the past six months, through the limited and subjective media sources available who are actually reporting anything about election developments in the DRC, there has been a fair amount of such violence occurring, caused by allegations of fraud and corruption; government attempts to control (and often shut down successfully, albeit temporarily) media; and, among other things, various supporters of certain political parties losing their shit towards supporters of certain other political parties. In addition, I've learned from Facebook status updates that my family members are currently, and have been numerous other times recently, relegated behind the safety of their high compound walls due to the high tension and violence in the capital and because it would be unsafe for them to be out and about.
So, why? Why so much violence and unrest over a process and event that, theoretically, carries with it so much potential for progress and stability? Well, I certainly don't have any definitive answers to these questions. These are matters far too complex to have definitive answers. But I've been doing a fair amount of pondering from this very safe place in which I am situated (both physically, and in a broader, global sense). Let's take, for one, the Occupy movements that have sprung up and been quelled in various parts of North America recently. I've heard a lot of people asking - and have had a few conversations/debates over - just what the Occupy movement is about and has achieved. If we break it down to its most basic purpose, we can say that at its root it is a protest against the disparity of wealth in North America and the world over. Well, what a different form this takes in this hemisphere. With exceptions, it has been a fairly peaceful movement. Here in Toronto, Occupiers took over St. James Park successfully for a full five weeks before having been evicted last week. The damage: the ground in the park turned into a swamp. No one was seriously injured or killed; there were no violent stand-offs with the police; in fact, although in my opinion ultimately its demise, it was an incredibly inclusive environment and, to its credit, run as democratically as could have been in the grassroots sense of the concept. But - and this is not to diminish the validity of concerns about the ways in which disparity is manifested in this part of the world - the very peaceful and democratic nature of the movement speaks to the privilege of those involved. This disparity of wealth in the DRC manifests itself much differently. It breeds desperation. I can speak to this in having felt a thick tension in the air in Kinshasa, as though people were always on the edge of erupting. Agh, I feel like I'm not explaining this accurately. A story to illustrate:
When I was staying in Maluku, Mama Yvete took me to a huge outdoor market on the shore of the Congo River. Not being the type of place that white people frequent, my presence was something of an event. We had already been there nearly 45 minutes when, for just a brief moment, Yvete left my side to speak with a friend and about five women surrounded me and began asking me why I was there. They were for the most part just curious and friendly, but it only took about a minute for five people to turn into 25, and for the curiosity of a few to turn into hostility on the part of others. I overheard people around me making nasty comments about the rich white girl taking a trip down to the river to observe (i.e. exploit) the poor locals, and others commenting that the market was no place for me to be. I was quite thickly surrounded and the crowd was not only growing but starting to converge on me, all in a matter of just a few minutes, when Yvete pushed through and grabbed me and then led me to sit under a canopy that friends of hers were selling fish from while the balloon of tension sort of deflated and the one man who had followed us, showing me his foot so swollen and infected that it looked gangrenous and asking me for money, finally gave up and left.
It all happened so quickly that it wasn't until later that evening that I realized that for the first - and only - time, I had been afraid. I remember being acutely aware of feeling the tension building around me. I remember hearing some of the people around me trying to calm others down, clarifying my purpose there as I had explained it (I'm just a student, doing my practicum here, in Conflict Resolution studies). I remember questioning whether I did have any right being there at all (I'm still not sure).
I think that this experience that I had speaks well to the ways in which these different parts of the world experience a similar phenomenon. Imagine what an issue as contentious and highly charged as national elections might do to transform the environment in a society living in abject poverty?
Now, on the other hand, nowhere in the world will you find such resilience and hope as you will in places like the DRC, which have been plagued by oppression and injustice for about a century and a half by colonialism, bureaucratic kleptocracy, war, corruption, and poverty. People are passionate about the potential their country has for positive change. But is democracy really the answer? And what form should it take if it is? Democracy is an imposed political structure with imposed ideologies in this country. The territory was, before it was colonized, comprised of a series of kingdoms - slavery not only existed but was well ingrained in societies. And they functioned well. And then, after 75 years of colonialism, post-independent Congo's first democratically elected Prime Minister was assassinated and the country was taken over by a military dictator. 32 years of brutality and theft later, another militarized coup changed the scene (ever so slightly). It was not until 2003 that a peace accord was signed that commenced the adoption of democratic processes. However, now in 2011, during only the third democratic elections the country has seen in 51 years of independence, many Congolese have little faith in the type of democracy that exists in the country's institutions and little faith in the majority of its elected leaders. I've stated this before, but I'll state it again: when I was there and asked people what type of leadership they thought best for their country, many people responded by telling me that democracy is not 'natural' in Congo, and that they thought it best to have the country run by a benevolent dictator. I don't purport to speak for Congolese people, and also met a significant number of people who believed that democracy was the only way to go. I'm just saying... that I really, really hope that whover are the elected leaders this time around are elected fairly, and that this election has positive results for Congolese people, whereby the disparity is lessened and people's hopes are realized. What else can I say? This is the point at which all of my ranting about this wonderful place in the world has always hit a brick wall. Nothing I have ever been able to think or say has ever been conclusive. I don't know that I have a right to be conclusive. But I do have a right to hope, and hope I do for good things for my Congolese family and friends.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
A cupboard party
It is November 1, 2011, the sun is shining, the sky is clear, and I have been in Toronto for exactly one month today. Couldn't be happier.
In honour of this momentous occasion, Mel, Peter and I are having a cupboard party tonight. Due to our paranoia as a result of ongoing pest (i.e. cockroach) issues - adding to which, I have discovered, we also have mice - we haven't actually put anything away in our kitchen cupboards. I think I can accurately speak for all three of us when I say that it drives us all nuts, but as long as the cupboards have been empty (after, of course, the first couple of pesticide treatments), we haven't seen any roaches in them. As soon as anything is placed in them, the little (insert profanity)s have shown up within hours. But it's been a couple of weeks now since our kitchen was treated a third time, and I think we're ready to give it another shot. It's time to move in. So I'm going to pick up some wine and we're going to stock the cupboards. Fitting, no?
It feels rather surreal to think that I've been here a month now. In a sense it's flown by. After all, a month is not exactly a huge, significant amount of time. Although I feel much more comfortable getting around and using the transit system here, I still really don't know this massive city all that well which will, of course, come in time. I do know how to take the subway to Queen Street, though, which is a marvelous street to stroll down. However, in other ways it feels like I've been here much longer than a month. I don't like being unemployed. It's boring. Sure, I'm filling my time job hunting (I will admit that that kind of went to the dogs last week though - I got rather lazy). But it's exhausting, and although I am receiving a comfortable income on EI I'm not exactly loaded and Toronto is expensive. I don't have a crazy social life. Have been looking into different volunteer opportunities and hope to get in somewhere soon. It'll help me network and fill my time and be fun.
The other contributing factor to my feeling as though I've been here so much longer is how much I miss my mother. Waah. I miss her terribly! I am aching for a big Mama Bear hug.
In any case, I'm still plugging along. I looked in the mirror yesterday and realized that I've lost weight - from all of the walking I'm doing I would imagine - and physically feel great, which boosts my emotional health too :) I also just feel stronger and more confident. I feel like the whole world is open to me, like I have so many options, and it's exciting. So cheesy, right? I know. But I can't help it. And besides, it is, I do, and it is. I must also make note of exactly how privileged I am to be able to say that and feel that way. I am one of relatively few people on this planet facing as few barriers as I do as a white twentysomething female living in a country like Canada.
So. Here goes a new month. Bring it on.
In honour of this momentous occasion, Mel, Peter and I are having a cupboard party tonight. Due to our paranoia as a result of ongoing pest (i.e. cockroach) issues - adding to which, I have discovered, we also have mice - we haven't actually put anything away in our kitchen cupboards. I think I can accurately speak for all three of us when I say that it drives us all nuts, but as long as the cupboards have been empty (after, of course, the first couple of pesticide treatments), we haven't seen any roaches in them. As soon as anything is placed in them, the little (insert profanity)s have shown up within hours. But it's been a couple of weeks now since our kitchen was treated a third time, and I think we're ready to give it another shot. It's time to move in. So I'm going to pick up some wine and we're going to stock the cupboards. Fitting, no?
It feels rather surreal to think that I've been here a month now. In a sense it's flown by. After all, a month is not exactly a huge, significant amount of time. Although I feel much more comfortable getting around and using the transit system here, I still really don't know this massive city all that well which will, of course, come in time. I do know how to take the subway to Queen Street, though, which is a marvelous street to stroll down. However, in other ways it feels like I've been here much longer than a month. I don't like being unemployed. It's boring. Sure, I'm filling my time job hunting (I will admit that that kind of went to the dogs last week though - I got rather lazy). But it's exhausting, and although I am receiving a comfortable income on EI I'm not exactly loaded and Toronto is expensive. I don't have a crazy social life. Have been looking into different volunteer opportunities and hope to get in somewhere soon. It'll help me network and fill my time and be fun.
The other contributing factor to my feeling as though I've been here so much longer is how much I miss my mother. Waah. I miss her terribly! I am aching for a big Mama Bear hug.
In any case, I'm still plugging along. I looked in the mirror yesterday and realized that I've lost weight - from all of the walking I'm doing I would imagine - and physically feel great, which boosts my emotional health too :) I also just feel stronger and more confident. I feel like the whole world is open to me, like I have so many options, and it's exciting. So cheesy, right? I know. But I can't help it. And besides, it is, I do, and it is. I must also make note of exactly how privileged I am to be able to say that and feel that way. I am one of relatively few people on this planet facing as few barriers as I do as a white twentysomething female living in a country like Canada.
So. Here goes a new month. Bring it on.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Small city girl meets big city world.
So, as many of you may be aware at this point (if I do in fact have (m)any readers), I have safely and soundly made it to Toronto.
I don't know if you know this, but this is a big city. I mean, really effin' big. Wow. I have never felt more like a small town girl in my life. As a matter of fact, I've never felt more like a small town prairie girl in my life; I never did receive the memo about how often one must walk down - and, as a result, up - hill in this city. Thighs of steel, here I come. Nor did I receive the memo about how much distance there is between any one major point and another. In my neighbourhood, The Junction (West Toronto), we are fortunate enough to have all essential amenities within a 10-20 minute walk away. Grocery store (No Frills, the best/cheapest grocery store in the world - puts Price Choppers to shame), some big box stores like Home Depot, Future Shop, etc., little coffee shops all over, a really cute little pub called Aquila about a couple of blocks from home, an LCBO (Ontario's MLCC - yessss....) are all within reasonable walking distance. But downtown, for example, is definitely not within walking distance. Thankfully the transit in this city is phenomenal. Subway (FAST holy smokes), bus, street car, train; it's all here and super convenient. Colour me impressed.
I haven't quite made it downtown yet, but most of what I've seen thus far looks like something crossed between Osborne and The Exchange, with at least two tiny little privately owned variety stores per block (that's a Toronto block, not a Winnipeg block). Eclectic. Fun. Tons of great vintage shops. One we went to last week has a room in the back where you buy things by the pound. The skies have parted.
My street, Indian Road Crescent, is absolutely beautiful. Wolseley-esque. Long street with all kinds of big beautiful trees all the way down. I've found a Youth Employment Services centre just around the corner from where my street meets up with Bloor Street West, about a 15 minute walk away, where I have free and unlimited access to Internet, fax, phone, photocopier, career workshops, and career counselors. I've come to browse and apply for jobs for a good 3-4 hours the past three days in a row. But this walk has taken me about 25 minutes each time; it's gorgeous. The trees are turning all kinds of hues of yellow and orange among the still-green of the rest that haven't started to turn yet; and the splashes of the neon-orange-reddish colour of the sugar maples that burst out here and there down the street takes my breath away. I've just taken my time walking to and from home and have been mindful of the taken-for-grantedness of living surrounded by trees and birds. I love this neighbourhood already.
Although it's been less than two weeks, I somehow feel like I've made a very good decision coming here. It just feels right, like my life is catching up with my mind. I will always love Winnipeg in all of its diversity and for all of its somewhat tucked-away little gems (Mondragon, Cousins, the antiques mall in the Johnston Terminal and the antiques warehouse on Princess, Aqua Books); my fondness for my hometown seems already to increase for me every time I think of taking a new trip somewhere in the city by myself... but what I'm beginning to understand is just how much more opportunity there is for me here than in Winnipeg. I applied for a job with the Stephen Lewis Foundation in downtown Toronto two days ago for goodness' sake. Brilliant.
What is beginning to circle the outskirts of my mind, however, is whether I am actually meant to return to West/Central Africa at this point in my life. I yearn every day to be back in Maluku working with ALFEMADEC, or at Pascal's CPLB (http://meganalardcongo.blogspot.com/2009/05/partie-ii-de-ii-relations-construites.html) assisting with mediation training. I would rather be there than anywhere. But what I mean is that perhaps it has been so logistically difficult for me to return is that I don't belong there right now. Perhaps I am meant for something else. The strangest thing about this thought is that I'm not quite sure that I really believe in fate, or destiny, or that the stars align for each of us. On the other hand, I've never felt more like I was meant to do anything or be anywhere than when I was in Kinshasa. So maybe I'm here for a reason. And if I am, I am bound and determined to figure it the hell out.
Got myself lost AND found myself (for the first of what is sure to be many times) within about an hour and a half a couple of days ago. Wildly amusing. My adventure has begun. Did I mention that Toronto is really effin' big?
I don't know if you know this, but this is a big city. I mean, really effin' big. Wow. I have never felt more like a small town girl in my life. As a matter of fact, I've never felt more like a small town prairie girl in my life; I never did receive the memo about how often one must walk down - and, as a result, up - hill in this city. Thighs of steel, here I come. Nor did I receive the memo about how much distance there is between any one major point and another. In my neighbourhood, The Junction (West Toronto), we are fortunate enough to have all essential amenities within a 10-20 minute walk away. Grocery store (No Frills, the best/cheapest grocery store in the world - puts Price Choppers to shame), some big box stores like Home Depot, Future Shop, etc., little coffee shops all over, a really cute little pub called Aquila about a couple of blocks from home, an LCBO (Ontario's MLCC - yessss....) are all within reasonable walking distance. But downtown, for example, is definitely not within walking distance. Thankfully the transit in this city is phenomenal. Subway (FAST holy smokes), bus, street car, train; it's all here and super convenient. Colour me impressed.
I haven't quite made it downtown yet, but most of what I've seen thus far looks like something crossed between Osborne and The Exchange, with at least two tiny little privately owned variety stores per block (that's a Toronto block, not a Winnipeg block). Eclectic. Fun. Tons of great vintage shops. One we went to last week has a room in the back where you buy things by the pound. The skies have parted.
My street, Indian Road Crescent, is absolutely beautiful. Wolseley-esque. Long street with all kinds of big beautiful trees all the way down. I've found a Youth Employment Services centre just around the corner from where my street meets up with Bloor Street West, about a 15 minute walk away, where I have free and unlimited access to Internet, fax, phone, photocopier, career workshops, and career counselors. I've come to browse and apply for jobs for a good 3-4 hours the past three days in a row. But this walk has taken me about 25 minutes each time; it's gorgeous. The trees are turning all kinds of hues of yellow and orange among the still-green of the rest that haven't started to turn yet; and the splashes of the neon-orange-reddish colour of the sugar maples that burst out here and there down the street takes my breath away. I've just taken my time walking to and from home and have been mindful of the taken-for-grantedness of living surrounded by trees and birds. I love this neighbourhood already.
Although it's been less than two weeks, I somehow feel like I've made a very good decision coming here. It just feels right, like my life is catching up with my mind. I will always love Winnipeg in all of its diversity and for all of its somewhat tucked-away little gems (Mondragon, Cousins, the antiques mall in the Johnston Terminal and the antiques warehouse on Princess, Aqua Books); my fondness for my hometown seems already to increase for me every time I think of taking a new trip somewhere in the city by myself... but what I'm beginning to understand is just how much more opportunity there is for me here than in Winnipeg. I applied for a job with the Stephen Lewis Foundation in downtown Toronto two days ago for goodness' sake. Brilliant.
What is beginning to circle the outskirts of my mind, however, is whether I am actually meant to return to West/Central Africa at this point in my life. I yearn every day to be back in Maluku working with ALFEMADEC, or at Pascal's CPLB (http://meganalardcongo.blogspot.com/2009/05/partie-ii-de-ii-relations-construites.html) assisting with mediation training. I would rather be there than anywhere. But what I mean is that perhaps it has been so logistically difficult for me to return is that I don't belong there right now. Perhaps I am meant for something else. The strangest thing about this thought is that I'm not quite sure that I really believe in fate, or destiny, or that the stars align for each of us. On the other hand, I've never felt more like I was meant to do anything or be anywhere than when I was in Kinshasa. So maybe I'm here for a reason. And if I am, I am bound and determined to figure it the hell out.
Got myself lost AND found myself (for the first of what is sure to be many times) within about an hour and a half a couple of days ago. Wildly amusing. My adventure has begun. Did I mention that Toronto is really effin' big?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Someone's cut the brakes.
I only have seventeen days to go. Moving anxiety has descended. I am experiencing the worst breakout in the history of acne at the moment. Naturally, stress is the active ingredient in the chaos that is my face right now. And naturally, this is stressing me the eff out. What a vicious cycle.
The anxiety is not in any way about the actual move. It's about how the hell I'm going to get rid of all of my shit in seventeen days. Clothes, linens, etc. for donation are sorted and need to be picked up. I really thought that that was going to be one of the biggest challenges so I tackled that part first. Hah. I'm funny. As in stupid. Books, furniture, kitchen stuff, crafting/jewellery supplies, jewellery itself, all kinds of stupid accessories, pictures, wall hangings... WHERE DID ALL OF THIS SHIT COME FROM??? DIDN'T I JUST MOVE SIX MONTHS AGO??? Ugh. Every time I look around the disorganization station that is my living space I develop temporary narcolepsy. And then I find an excuse to go out and not deal with it.
One major accomplishment: I'm down to just 34 pairs of shoes. This is unheard of. The most ironic thing about the shoe situation is that the pair of shoes that started it all (still among my top five favourite pairs of shoes) is my very first pair of black pumps. I bought them the one night that I've been to Toronto. Hah.
Anyhow, the bigger issue for me right now is that I still haven't found a home for Minou. I'm really worried. The Humane Society is not an option. I've got her on waiting lists for all of the no-kill shelters in the city who would take her, but this will take months and I don't have anyone to hold on to her until such a time as a spot opens up for her in a shelter. The past three mornings in a row I've stayed in bed and snuggled with her for almost an hour. THIS SUCKS. I can't think of anything that better articulates the way I'm feeling than that. I really don't think I ever want to own another pet. This is so hard. After the heartache of having to put Midnight, a cat I had had for nearly 21 years, down this past May, and now not being able to keep Minou any longer, I'm feeling a tad emotionally drained in the pet department.
So much to do. This is feeling incredibly surreal. I really am leaving Winnipeg. FINALLY. I've been wanting to get out for what seems like such a long time but I suppose that things like this never really do feel or unfold the way we imagine they might.
I remembered today that I blogged seventeen days before I left Congo. Pulled up the post and read it over. I was in such a tumultuous emotional state at that point. I think I was downplaying exactly how little I wanted to return to Canada. But interestingly enough, I do make reference to the fact that nothing ever happens in Winnipeg in this post. Consider the context in which I'm making this statement: I have just spent two and a half months in a country that may as well be located in another universe in terms of how similar it is to my home country. I have had my life touched by the deepest desparity and the brightest hope I have (n)ever even fathomed existed in this world. A country that's been in a perpetual state of unrest and war for 15 years at this point, since the Rwandan genocide. So at that particular moment in my life, Winnipeg was a place where nothing ever happened. What's changed for me though is that I've grown quite fond of Winnipeg over the past year. It's a really neat little city. I've taken to carrying my camera around with me everywhere and taking pictures of my favourite places. (I'm going to have to get down to the 7/16 at Sargent and Spence over the next few days. LMAO.)
So I'm heading off into the great unknown in just seventeen days. Good grief that happened fast.
The anxiety is not in any way about the actual move. It's about how the hell I'm going to get rid of all of my shit in seventeen days. Clothes, linens, etc. for donation are sorted and need to be picked up. I really thought that that was going to be one of the biggest challenges so I tackled that part first. Hah. I'm funny. As in stupid. Books, furniture, kitchen stuff, crafting/jewellery supplies, jewellery itself, all kinds of stupid accessories, pictures, wall hangings... WHERE DID ALL OF THIS SHIT COME FROM??? DIDN'T I JUST MOVE SIX MONTHS AGO??? Ugh. Every time I look around the disorganization station that is my living space I develop temporary narcolepsy. And then I find an excuse to go out and not deal with it.
One major accomplishment: I'm down to just 34 pairs of shoes. This is unheard of. The most ironic thing about the shoe situation is that the pair of shoes that started it all (still among my top five favourite pairs of shoes) is my very first pair of black pumps. I bought them the one night that I've been to Toronto. Hah.
Anyhow, the bigger issue for me right now is that I still haven't found a home for Minou. I'm really worried. The Humane Society is not an option. I've got her on waiting lists for all of the no-kill shelters in the city who would take her, but this will take months and I don't have anyone to hold on to her until such a time as a spot opens up for her in a shelter. The past three mornings in a row I've stayed in bed and snuggled with her for almost an hour. THIS SUCKS. I can't think of anything that better articulates the way I'm feeling than that. I really don't think I ever want to own another pet. This is so hard. After the heartache of having to put Midnight, a cat I had had for nearly 21 years, down this past May, and now not being able to keep Minou any longer, I'm feeling a tad emotionally drained in the pet department.
So much to do. This is feeling incredibly surreal. I really am leaving Winnipeg. FINALLY. I've been wanting to get out for what seems like such a long time but I suppose that things like this never really do feel or unfold the way we imagine they might.
I remembered today that I blogged seventeen days before I left Congo. Pulled up the post and read it over. I was in such a tumultuous emotional state at that point. I think I was downplaying exactly how little I wanted to return to Canada. But interestingly enough, I do make reference to the fact that nothing ever happens in Winnipeg in this post. Consider the context in which I'm making this statement: I have just spent two and a half months in a country that may as well be located in another universe in terms of how similar it is to my home country. I have had my life touched by the deepest desparity and the brightest hope I have (n)ever even fathomed existed in this world. A country that's been in a perpetual state of unrest and war for 15 years at this point, since the Rwandan genocide. So at that particular moment in my life, Winnipeg was a place where nothing ever happened. What's changed for me though is that I've grown quite fond of Winnipeg over the past year. It's a really neat little city. I've taken to carrying my camera around with me everywhere and taking pictures of my favourite places. (I'm going to have to get down to the 7/16 at Sargent and Spence over the next few days. LMAO.)
So I'm heading off into the great unknown in just seventeen days. Good grief that happened fast.
Friday, September 9, 2011
FUNemployment, here I come.
Today is my last day of work. Can anyone say yahoo?
Sigh. I am so relieved to be leaving this place and closing this chapter. I may be embarking on another uphill battle, but at least this one is over. I'm not really sure at this point whether I won, or 'they' did... or whether we both did... or both lost... or whether, metaphorically speaking, of course, these are win-lose circumstances at all. I suppose that being here has been more of an internal struggle than a battle, but I can vividly recall numerous times when I felt as though I was fighting my superiors and the institution itself. En tous cas, after seven years, I have just never found my niche here. It's time to move forward, and forward I move.
22 days from now I will be in Toronto. Like, whoa (Black Rob, anyone?). The suspense is killing me.
Sigh. I am so relieved to be leaving this place and closing this chapter. I may be embarking on another uphill battle, but at least this one is over. I'm not really sure at this point whether I won, or 'they' did... or whether we both did... or both lost... or whether, metaphorically speaking, of course, these are win-lose circumstances at all. I suppose that being here has been more of an internal struggle than a battle, but I can vividly recall numerous times when I felt as though I was fighting my superiors and the institution itself. En tous cas, after seven years, I have just never found my niche here. It's time to move forward, and forward I move.
22 days from now I will be in Toronto. Like, whoa (Black Rob, anyone?). The suspense is killing me.
Friday, September 2, 2011
The countdown officially begins...
...yesterday, September 1. So today marks 29 days until I'm outta here. I wish October 1 would just hurry up and present itself.
I haven't made much progress on my to do list, but have been keeping up with the self-reflection portion of this big change. I want to follow up on my last post.
I had written last about beginning to feel rather indifferent to the goings on in my office. I'd like to revise that statement a little. I tend to take everything I do at work seriously, even though I'm just a bottom-of-the-barrel admin. But I work in the public sector; not only is my salary paid by tax dollars, but I'm also responsible for the expenditure of public dollars. I think that it's these ethical implications of my job that really do me in sometimes. I tend to get really caught up in politics. That and I can't STAND the bureaucratic process - it is so counterproductive that it makes me nauseous sometimes. In any case, all of that mixed up with being treated unfairly by people with more power than I have, and dealing with the internal politics of working an environment which places less value on diversity than I feel it should, has really built up a sour taste in my mouth over the course of my little career in public service.
BUT. And it's a big one.
First of all, I won't deny that working in public service has been good to me, too. For one thing, the student employment mechanisms in place put me through university and helped me afford to get my tuition paid, work only part time for most of it with a full-time job every summer, and develop some really important job skills that not everyone has the opportunity to develop while they're still in university. I feel like I did have a leg up when I graduated. I'm a huge advocate of student employment in the public service and think that there are really great programs available. I'm just not suited to work in public service.
More importantly, however, this change is such a good thing for me. In only a month, I feel like I've already moved into a much healthier place physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I've lost a bit of weight (due, in truth, to stress, but it feels good nonetheless). I've been meditating lately on integrity, and on trying to be more gracious to those around me during my last few weeks both at work and in Manitoba. And I'm happy. Genuinely, just generally happy. Excited to learn. I want to feel this way in every little division of my life; I don't want to leave a place I've worked for four years with feelings of resentment or anger. So I'm just not going to give all of these things that frustrate or bother me any more of my energy. Goodness knows I need it. I'm moving forward feeling as though I'm finishing off one chapter and starting another (cliché! I'm full of them right now), not walking away in anger.
It's all happening.
I haven't made much progress on my to do list, but have been keeping up with the self-reflection portion of this big change. I want to follow up on my last post.
I had written last about beginning to feel rather indifferent to the goings on in my office. I'd like to revise that statement a little. I tend to take everything I do at work seriously, even though I'm just a bottom-of-the-barrel admin. But I work in the public sector; not only is my salary paid by tax dollars, but I'm also responsible for the expenditure of public dollars. I think that it's these ethical implications of my job that really do me in sometimes. I tend to get really caught up in politics. That and I can't STAND the bureaucratic process - it is so counterproductive that it makes me nauseous sometimes. In any case, all of that mixed up with being treated unfairly by people with more power than I have, and dealing with the internal politics of working an environment which places less value on diversity than I feel it should, has really built up a sour taste in my mouth over the course of my little career in public service.
BUT. And it's a big one.
First of all, I won't deny that working in public service has been good to me, too. For one thing, the student employment mechanisms in place put me through university and helped me afford to get my tuition paid, work only part time for most of it with a full-time job every summer, and develop some really important job skills that not everyone has the opportunity to develop while they're still in university. I feel like I did have a leg up when I graduated. I'm a huge advocate of student employment in the public service and think that there are really great programs available. I'm just not suited to work in public service.
More importantly, however, this change is such a good thing for me. In only a month, I feel like I've already moved into a much healthier place physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I've lost a bit of weight (due, in truth, to stress, but it feels good nonetheless). I've been meditating lately on integrity, and on trying to be more gracious to those around me during my last few weeks both at work and in Manitoba. And I'm happy. Genuinely, just generally happy. Excited to learn. I want to feel this way in every little division of my life; I don't want to leave a place I've worked for four years with feelings of resentment or anger. So I'm just not going to give all of these things that frustrate or bother me any more of my energy. Goodness knows I need it. I'm moving forward feeling as though I'm finishing off one chapter and starting another (cliché! I'm full of them right now), not walking away in anger.
It's all happening.
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