The four of us cling onto each other, forming the grief squad. Our days fall into a familiar routine: cleaning, sorting, crying, convincing each other to eat, forced evening walks and sporadic (somewhat guilty) laughter, usually when we discover a hidden memory we can share with the rest that we had long forgotten about. We… Continue reading The grief squad.
There is nothing more unsettling than watching my mother fall apart, realizing my own ineptness at comforting her. Every night, I hold her sobbing body in my dead aunt's bed, while we take turns telling stories, desperately hanging onto the memories I already feel slipping away. I only pull up my aunt's voice in my… Continue reading Grief (cont’d).
If I stretch my arms out far enough I can graze the edges of my grief with my fingertips, pushing it away to make room for my mother's grief, which she is unable to hold back as it crashes against her relentlessly. Nothing will ever be the same again. I stumble through the hospital corridors… Continue reading Jubilee garden.
All the bad days of my life combined don't come close to this living hell. I stare begrudgingly at the carefree couple sitting across from me on the train, clearly on their way to somewhere filled with laughter and friends and ice-cream that trickles down their hands as the sun shines down on them on… Continue reading The train of doom.
As you may already know from previous posts, I work for a large nameless corporate conglomerate, affectionately referred to as the salt mine. The thing about my job is that it's very steady, it pays well and for the most part...it's okay. The problem with "okay" is that it breeds complacency. Things aren't good enough… Continue reading The problem with “okay.”
Today marks the one-year anniversary of the night I met Mr. B, subsequently launching me into a transatlantic whirl-wind romance, culminating in the the shell-shock of dealing with the first heartbreak of my life. I haven't written for a while for various reasons. Reasons I've been mulling over and struggling with over the past few… Continue reading Happy Anniversary, asshole.
During one of the the last few unsettling long-distance Skype calls with Mr. B, as I stressed about work/friends/family/whatever else was pissing me off on that given day, he asked me if I thought I had lost my joie de vivre. Out of all the conversations we ever had, this one consistently haunts me. Irrational… Continue reading Finding my “joie de vivre.”
During one particularly aggressive pinning spree of Chris Evans' biceps on my favourite social media time suck, I stumbled across the following quote: "Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned." - Buddha Alright, Buddha. I see… Continue reading Must I forgive? Can’t I just forget?
It has been exactly 25 days since Mr. B killed the dream. During this time, I have eaten my weight in ramen, possibly exhausted Canada's supply of imported merlot, watched 10 seasons of Friends and listened to more Kelly Clarkson than I care to admit to. I am happy to report I am officially a… Continue reading Realization #4 – I must embark on a “Year of Self”
When Mr. B arrived, all that was on my mind were the lazy Sunday mornings we would inevitably spend in a quaint European village, in our modest but cozy home with the door I would insist on painting red. The memories we had not yet made, were the ones that kept me hooked. In reality,… Continue reading Realization #3 – There is no path to happiness. Happiness is the path.