Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Beautiful BC

We watch the sun set on our first night on the lake. We sit, cross-legged and in a line, on the rickety wooden dock. We are strangers, hailing from all the corners of the world. A motor boat buzzes through the water in the distance. The little waves rise and fall and make their way to us. The dock creeks and gently rocks back-and-forth. Pink and gold paint the moments between day and night. The moon is starting to glow. And as the remnants of the sun fade away, so do all of my worries.
I've been away for a while, but something about autumn always brings me back to my blog. As a time of change, fall is a period of reflection for me. One of my favorite quotes perfectly embodies the spirit of the season: 

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

School is back in session and life is busy as ever, but my blog is always a safe space for me to come back to. As a little escape, I'm going to start a series on my summer adventures. Vignettes, poems, snapshots, musings, or whatever it may be. My little corner for creativity. Come away with me...

In the months of July and August, I spent some time in British Columbia, working as a facilitator at the Global Leadership Academy. Our program invited middle and high school students from around the world to a small boarding school located on the beautiful shores of Shawnigan Lake, where we taught workshops, hosted motivational speakers and took service learning trips around Vancouver Island, all in preparation for students to work on their Dream Project, in which they would design and lead a passion project to serve their communities in a meaningful way. Up at Shawnigan Lake, it was the first time in a long while that I was able to take my time to be present. Without service, I found myself going entire days without looking at my phone and allowed my self to disconnect. Instead, I dedicated my time to getting to know the people and the places around me. We took the students to volunteer at Woodwynn Farms, an organic farm and therapeutic community for those who have suffered from homelessness and addiction. We cut lavender and wrapped the flowers in bundles tied with twine. We watered the gardens and cleared roads overgrown with invasive species. We also volunteered at Our Place,  a community center and home for the most vulnerable populations of Greater Victoria, where we handed out fruit cups and lemonade. A man told us his story, from growing up as a victim of domestic violence and turning to drugs to mask the pain since he was a child, to finding a home in Our Place and now, navigating the world upon recently moving into his own apartment...Writing his story in this piece does not do it justice. What can we do to help those who need it most?
Remember the smell of lavender.Remember the legends of deep sea creatures told by a young girl from Klemtu. 
The fresh water weeds tickling our feet when we swam across the lake.Remember names. Remember faces.
Remember the drop in your stomach when you swung through the trees, 60 feet in the air. 
When you put too many Oreos in your bagged lunch. Remember Morning Coffee and late nights playing Uno. 
The fireworks. 
Remember to be kind to yourself. Be kind to others.
Remember to listen. Be patient.
Remember the mosquito jokes. What has six legs, bites and talks in code?
Remember the lyrics to "I'm the One" by DJ Khaled.Remember the last sunset. Remember the first.The waterfalls. The forest at night. The red moon.

Remember the summer. Savor it.

Saturday, March 4, 2017

New York in a Nutshell

A photo diary of my visit to the city that never sleeps.

Locations: SoHo, Chelsea, The Met, Washington Square Park, Greenwich Village, Brooklyn Bridge Park

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

For My Mom

When I was very young, I wanted to be just like my mom. She was so smart and knew the answer to everything. She kept our family together and scrawled all of our appointments, basketball games, girl scout meetings and school dances on a calendar that hangs in the kitchen. She was strong. She kicked the ball hard during our mother-daughter soccer scrimmages and was really good at tennis. In our lunch boxes, my sister and I would find thoughtful notes written by her that morning. She was the first to wake up and cooked us a hot breakfast everyday before school. With her, I knew everything was going to be okay. I thought she was beautiful. Sometimes, she would come volunteer in my elementary school classes. Every time she walked in, I would get up in the middle of any activity or assignment, run to the door and give her a big hug. I wasn't embarrassed. I was proud of her. 

When I grew older, we fought more. We disagreed about almost everything. Sometimes I said things that I regretted - things I didn't really mean. We were hard on each other and hard on ourselves. We pushed each other. We made each other cry. We couldn't be less alike. 

As the years pass, we fight less and understand more. I've seen her put her whole heart into keeping our family together, something she believes in to her very core. I've seen her give so much to those around her and expect nothing in return. Some of the hardest days were seeing her in pain, seeing her vulnerable. But it was these days that made her more human to me than she has ever been before. She pushes through everything. She is so strong. She has taught me to know my worth and is always there to lift me up. With her, I know everything is going to be okay. She is beautiful. She is not afraid to speak her mind. She is so smart and, though she might not know all the answers, she sure knows a whole lot. Sometimes, she knows me better than I know myself. 

Somedays, we will walk down the stairs to find that we are wearing matching outfits, or I'll cut my hair and it will end up looking just like hers. "You want to be just like me," she'll tease. The truth is, I do. I want to be just like her.  

Sunday, January 29, 2017

The Sunrise

I open my eyes and close them again. Some days it is harder to wake up than others. I hug my sheets closer to me. Each morning promises to be colder than the last. That in-between moment in the morning darkness when the dream you just had still seems like a reality. My heart flitters. It's just a dream, I whisper. It's just a dream...
Old letters and trinkets in a box. I find myself storing away the past. But I like to hold onto things. I like to look at them from time to time. Feel the paper and the ink, the rose gold chain and pink stone. I sit at my desk and stare at my wall. It's papered with a wrinkled map and botanical prints now. Remember that time when everything was warm?
I climbed to the top of a peak yesterday. I looked down through the trees and wandered three hundred sixty degrees. The sun was out, but the wind whipped at my bangs. My bangs. "Why did you cut your hair?" they ask. 
Today is a new day, as will be tomorrow and the day after that. I make my way up a new peak. It is still cold and I can feel the numbness running through my fingers and toes. It makes its way to my core. But the sun is rising and its beams stretch through the trees. Soon it will be warm again. The sun will rise and everything will be warm again.