Sun, Fun, French and...Sociology???

You know, if I look back at previous blog entries and allow myself to be swept away by the conviction of each one of my posts, I too might be a little skeptical about what I'm about to reveal as the heinous plan I'm about to embark on for the next year and a bit. Ready?

Teacher's College in Australia.

The University of the Sunshine Coast, February 2012.

Right? Right! Right!!!

So, what happened to the writing bit Aldwin? You remember, that novel you said you were working on? Don't forget, wasn't it the message in The Alchemist that lead you to ultimately believe that writing was your passion? Your personal legend as it were? Well, first, writing is still there. I'm writing now amn't I? (Stupid.). Seriously, the writing will always be there. Wherever I am, whatever I end up doing, I don't think I'll ever be able to feel fulfilled if I wasn't writing about something. This past year's personal awakening lead in large part to my writing for 20-something.ca something that I couldn't have imagined doing even a year ago. I'm finding ways to catalyze my inner creativity, turning to projects here and there to keep my artistic spirits burning within me (cue gag reflexes...now). The truth is, I am a writer, always will be and because that is true I'm not worried in the slightest about letting that part of my life fall to the wayside. There was this touching segment on the National a couple nights ago about a conductor from South America who had grown up in this wildly successful program that brought classical music to the underpriviledged. When asked what he would do without music he said that it music for him was like "water, food, and air." Basically, that he couldn't live without it. So, like him, that is what writing is to me. Writing is life. Period.

Okay, so back to the teaching thing eh? Wasn't it also you who wrote about those horrid Grade 2 monsters you likened to the devils on Kindergarten Cop not so long ago. Yes. True. But as much as I complained about them, I loved them too (see the end of that post). I felt like I was doing good. I really didn't know what I had gotten myself into until the very last day of classes. There was a boy, Xavier, cute blondish kid with freckles and piercing blue eyes. He was one of my average students, participated every now and then, but didn't stand out above his peers by any stretch. I thought I had made it clear to the class that there would be no more English after that day and as I packed my briefcase he addressed me as he normally did at the end of our time with a "see you next week Mr. Era." I felt awful. I said, "No, Xavier, that's it. No more class." To which he replied in French, "You mean, no more Simon Says?" I laughed and then cried a little bit in my heart. He gave me a hug and walked out. Shoot. Eight months fly by and you have no clue how important they are to your life until a moment like that. It's a good feeling when you look back at it all.

So there. I'm making the big decision. I'm giving myself one year to prep. One year to get myself ready for this big thing that's going to happen. And finally, I'll have something to blog about to all of you.

Here we go. Let's the ride the USC Feb 2012 train. First stop, applications.

UGH!

This might be my campus. That's messed up. But fun. Yay.

Read Me at 20-something.ca

Hi Friends!

Come and support the launch of the LGBTQ section of the 20-something.ca website by reading my article on My So Called Gay Life.

Here's the link!

http://www.20-something.ca/2009/11/06/my-so-called-gay-life-gay-on-tv/

ENJOY!

Aldwin

14:50!!!!!!!

I swear to God I did not think I was going to beat my time last year. With all the smoking and the being half committed at the gym and the not really eating that healthy I was pretty pessimistic about how I'd finish this years CN Tower Stairclimb for the United Way. But as I stood at the base of the tower, waiting for my good friend Antonio to finish taking a leak, those competitive juices started flowing and I was prepared to give it my all. I really do like that about myself, the fact that when it comes down to game time I somehow find a way to deliver. And I did. And I'm crazy proud of myself.

In all, it was an amazing day. As team captain for the Holt Renfrew Yorkdale store team, I organized the troops in their fundraising and race day efforts to ensure that we represented ourselves and did all we could to support the United Way the best way we could. Definite bonus this year, the t-shirts. Last year we weren't fortunate enough to have team t-shirts and I remember being a little green with envy as we saw the other corporate teams flash their company logos proudly. This year, the t-shirts were a nice finishing touch. It was good to see the thirty-five something of us wearing our glistening white tees as we awaited our march across the way to the tower.

So, I paced myself with a couple of others: Richard, Antonio, and Jody whom I knew were going to have excellent climb times. I knew from the beginning that Richard was going to be a good climbing partner and kept focusing on keeping up with his pace. Girl, that lasted twenty flights (there are 144 in total) and before I knew it he was blazing up those steps like an African gazelle. I was definitely sure I would finish behind him so it became a race against myself, against last year's time which I knew was going to be hard to beat. This year seemed way more difficult than last. There were a couple of factors at play: 1) I've been smoking a little heavier in the past couple of months, (bad, I know!), 2) I just finished recovering from a nasty cough (thanks Angela!), 3) I don't think my legs were in as good a shape as last (Sharlyn, I'm waiting for you to reschedule your step class!) and 4) I felt the stairwell was a little more congested this year. In any case, as I raced up the last couple of flights and got my time card stamped I was faintly hopeful I made at least last year's remarkable 14:56. I grabbed my time card back and started doing the math.

"Alright, nine seconds make it even. Add fourteen. Holy shit, I'm going to be close. Okay. Add the fourty-one, Holy Fuck, I beat my time! 14:50!!!"

ELATION.

Inspite of all the stupid shit I've been doing to myself the past couple of months I pulled in a great time and was super proud of myself. That's what these things are about anyway. It's about doing your personal best. Although I am a little disappointed that I could've pushed a tiny bit harder at the end, I'm taking 14:50 as a success.

Yay. Good times.

Until next year I guess.

The Dark Place

It seems like every year, at about this time, if I'm not careful, I let myself go to "The Dark Place." I've been there before, on and off last year, for a good chunk of time after I came home from my two trips to France, and almost became a permanent resident during my third year of University. I don't like The Dark Place, but I have to admit, it's an easy place for me to visit. Easy because it's so close and so accessible. Without even realizing it I could be there already. Maybe I lied when I said I don't like it, it's not that I don't like it, it's just that I don't realize that I don't like it until I leave. When you're there, you're kind of unaware of anything really. It's easy to hide, easy to igonore, easy to crawl up into a tiny ball underneath a pair of warm covers and watch Maid in Manhattan for the sixth time. And you wallow there in your own self pity and doubt but you don't care.

The Dark Place has a population of one person: you. No one else can visit you in The Dark Place. They can try to reach you, but you're not home. You're never home. Not until you decide that you've overstayed your welcome do your friends see you again. And then they're angry at you for going there because they missed you. They missed you that time they went to the movies or they missed you that time they went to have dinner or they missed you that time they went to window shop on Queen Street West. Then their disappointment makes you want to go the The Dark Place again to avoid the confrontation and the feelings being hurt and so on and so forth. I can say in all honesty that I've retreated to The Dark Place a couple of times for exactly this reason. I don't like disappointing people and it's hard when the people around you have expectations of you that sometimes you can't meet. But The Dark Place doesn't judge you or care if you don't call or it doesn't give a damn if you can't make it and that makes it easy to go back. There will always be a discounted seat on the plane heading to The Dark Place. You can fly there on the red-eye whenever you want.

The Dark Place however is so lonely. Again, the poplulation: you. So you end up being your own friend. I would say, "let's have a pity party!" and get all excited and then send out inviations to my friend. Me. But that's no fun. You get tired of yourself so much that you begin to realize that it's time to leave. That's when you start missing your friends and making an effort and calling them and asking them if they want to go window shopping on Queen Street West. But sometimes your real friends can't make it. They have lives of their own or they're too busy at work or they just can't make it this time around and then you're stuck by yourself again feeling bad that you left them in the dust in the first place. Now they're either visiting their own Dark Places or actually doing things with other people. That's a terrible, terrible feeling. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. Even the witch I work with.

I promised myself that this year I'm not visiting The Dark Place. Okay, I can't promise I won't visit, I just promise that I won't stay for more than a day. I think it's fine to visit The Dark Place now that I've become a less frequent visitor. Sometimes you just need to have those days to cry or be sad or hate the world or feel sorry for yourself. But it's the letting those feelings simmer that's bad. Don't let them simmer. It's really bad for your mental health.

My best friends in the world can attest that I have become better at not visiting The Dark Place. I think small things like CARS night or Spanish lessons or first dates that go nowhere or CN Tower stairclimbs make me feel like there are other destinations worth visiting. I'm glad that there are things that I can look forward to. The Dark Place doesn't have to be the destination of choice this winter season.

I will say for the record that I hate the winter. HATE. There are no redeeming qualities about the winter. NONE. But the winter and The Dark Place usually coincide for obvious reasons. Duh. I wish I lived in a place like Madrid or Sydney or Marseilles or someother warmer more temperate place. I have never felt so good about myself than in a warm weather climate. Blah blah blah, you've heard this from me before. Okay, I'll shut up now. But mark my words. This will be my last winter here.

I promise. I promise I'm not making an extended visit to The Dark Place this year.

Yay for me.

My 27th Birthday

I'm about to leave Jovy's house to go home to Toronto. It's a good day for my birthday. Here I go.

Writing It

So I'm starting to write this story and I'm pretty damn excited about it. I don't know why, I guess I just never felt this strongly about telling a story before. As I was sitting at my computer this afternoon working on it, I just started crying. Crying because I feel attached to it, attached to the characters, because it is really a part of me. I'm not giving myself a deadline to have it done. I'm just going to let it all happen organically. When I sit down to work on it I'll let the characters talk to me, let them tell me how to tell it. And when it's finally finished I'll feel, well, I don't know how I'll feel. Relieved probably. Satisfied. Sad. Who knows? All those things. And maybe much more. But here I am, on the edge of something crazy-scary-amazing.

Here goes everything!

Felicity

This past Wednesday, just as I was leaving to head for the gym, I had this strange urge to find this one scene from the TV series Felicity on YouTube. I don't know exactly how I came about wanting to find it, I just knew that I had to because of the way it made me feel. Anyway, it didn't take me long to find and I sat there watching the brief clip feeling exactly the way I had the times I had watched it before.

This is the last scene of the pilot episode. Felicity follows this boy, Ben, whom she had never spoken with in high-school, all the way to New York City for college all on a message he writes in her yearbook. She completely turns her back on the plans her parents had for her going to Stanford and arrives in the Big Apple, lost and for the first time in her life, completely on her own. After revealing her reason for being in New York to Ben and making a fool of herself doing it, her parents fly to New York to try and convince her to come back to California, get back on track, and "do the right thing." Ultimately, she refuses and decides to ride it out in New York.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pS-XSldo14

Anyway, that night I bought Season 1 and have been watching it all week long with my sisters, who too, have become hooked.

I fell in love with Felicity twice in my life. The first was when I was in high school and the series was actually on the air. My best friend Sheryl and I were nuts for Felicity. We'd tune in every week to see how her life would unravel and then get patched up. We drooled over Noel and Ben, and Eli too, for a brief second. And we watched her for a good three seasons or so. Felicity had the kind of life I wanted to have. I was looking forward to college and the idea of it resembling anything like the show was exciting. I wanted it all: guys fighting over me, meeting up at a friends apartment, studying at the library till God-knows-when in the morning, lectures, frat parties, all of it. I fell in love with Felicity the first time because I wanted to be her. I wanted to live her crazy, messed up life.

The second time I fell in love with her was when I lived in Paris. Another best friend, Meg, brought Season 1 with her over and I remember asking to borrow it one of the zillion times I went down to visit her in Nancy. I watched the pilot again on the three hour train ride home and I remember crying like a baby as I rested my head on against the window next to me. I looked outside and watched the green countryside rush past. Old French homes, unfamiliar looking houses, strange signs. Where the hell was I?

I rushed to my little apartment and attempted to finish Season 1 in one sitting. I woke up the next day to the sound of the soundtrack repeating itself from the main menu of the dvd. I cried again. What was I doing in Paris? I loved it but it was hard not having my family or friends with me. I had new people in my life, and like Felicity, we were growing up and having messed up, complicated lives. I fell in love with Felicity the second time, not because I wanted to be her, but because I had become her.

I love Felicity. Why? Because she's real to me. Because with every awful and awkard moment she spent fumbling through her first year of college, I was there too. I was her when she confessed her feelings to Ben, rambling on like a crazy person, and not really thinking about the reprecussions. I did the same when I lived in Paris and got my heart broken too, a couple of times actually. I was her when she thought about moving back to California, because it was easy, because she could have everything at her fingertips. But like her, I decided to stay where I was, because it wasn't going to be easy, because, for the first time in both of our lives, we were going to do something on our own terms, for ourselves. I can see myself in her, being the impulsive, over-analytical, doubtful, hopeful, love-struck, caring, crazy person she is. When I feel like I can't deal and when no one really gets me, I'll watch her, and know, that she just knows exactly what's going on in my head. I love her.

My sisters and I finished Season 1 last night. And ironically enough Nicole is calling me, right this very instant, so that we can go buy Season 2. So here I go about to spend my entire Sunday watching her again making a mess of her life but loving every minute of it.