jumping ship

fick·le

   [fik-uhl] Show IPA

–adjective

1.

likely to change, esp. due to caprice, irresolution, orinstability; casually changeable: fickle weather.

2.

not constant or loyal in affections: a fickle lover.

(from Dictionary.com)

Being the fickle girl that I am, I've jumped ship to a new blog. Je vous présente: VancouverWrite.

autumn in vancouver

I was covering the Heart of the City Festival in the Downtown Eastside last week, and during a lull in events walked to Crab Park, just over a small bridge. It's fast becoming one of my favourite little spots downtown, especially now.

Early autumn leaves always pull on my heart strings in funny little ways. Years ago, I used to take photographs of everything that moved me in some way. Autumn leaves were one of them. Now, I try to enjoy their colours and movements without attachment. It makes it easier to accept their gradual decay, and death.

visiting my mother

I went to my mother's house for lunch yesterday, as I do every Sunday. She lives in a modest two-bedroom townhouse in Coquitlam, shrouded by trees. She lives alone.

I always shiver when I enter her house, because she likes to keep all the windows open "for fresh air" when she cleans. She cleans the day before I come, but the chill lingers in the house like a ghostly net.

She uses energy efficient lightbulbs in many of the fixtures. When I flick on the switches, there is hardly any light. After about five minutes, the bulbs cast a harsh, white light that makes the house seem even colder.

My mother is always in a nervous frenzy. She flits about the kitchen, preparing vegetables and meats. Sometimes she gives me something to do, but most of the time I just sit at the dining room table, listening to her chatter. Mostly it's about what she's going to cook.

"I bought these mushrooms at T&T, on sale! I'm going to try making something special today," she says in Korean.

I nod, and look forward to the meal. It's always good. I will eat most of whatever is put in front of me, because I'm a good girl. After the meal, I wash the dishes dutifully and eat the fruit that my mom carefully peels and arranges on a plate. I'm a good girl.

Finally, the show is over. My mother drops me off at a nearby Skytrain station. I feel sadness and relief.

On the Skytrain I sit and watch the grey sky darkening overhead and the neat rows of houses below. I wonder how many others, at that precise moment, are also escaping.

notes from everywhere

On Monday morning, I dragged myself out of bed early to get to campus for a guest lecture. Normally I only have classes from Tuesday to Friday, but the topic was Time Management and Organization for Journalists- one that I was sure I could use some brushing up on.

The lecture turned out to be one of the most informative 80 minutes so far this semester. Chris Cannon, the guest lecturer, is a freelance journalist and former US Marine Corps officer. Contrary to my expectations, he doesn't wake up at 4:30 a.m. every morning for exercises- he said he wakes up at 10 on most mornings, in fact.

The "life as a freelancer" part was actually much more interesting than the "how I organize my life as a journalist" part, although both were equally informative and entertaining.

This morning, I wrote the Media Law midterm exam. It didn't go as badly as I thought. All that anxiety, for naught!

In other news, my current mot de jour is "dread"- a rather shallow tribute to Joan Didion, who has captivated my imagination of late.

I've been reading The Year of Magical Thinking, which I almost dismissed after the first chapter as rather dull. It was missing the usual lyricism and flow of her other works (such as her essays in Slouching Toward Bethlehem)- but it's slowly grown on me.

Speaking of growing affections- I went downtown today, and found this store on West Pender and Carrall St:

Everything you need to be a spy. How awesome is that?

Joan Didion, on Self-Respect

"To live without self-respect is to lie awake some night, beyond the reach of warm milk, phenobarbital, and the sleeping hand on the coverlet, counting up the sins of commission and omission, the trusts betrayed, the promises subtly broken, the gifts irrevocably wasted through sloth or cowardice or carelessness. However long we postpone it, we eventually lie down alone in that notoriously uncomfortable bed, the one we make ourseleves. Whether or not we sleep in it depends, of course, on whether or not we respect ourselves."

Excerpted from 'On Self Respect,' in Slouching Towards Bethlehem

I've been reading more and more creative non-fiction- essays, journals, and memoirs.

It's wonderful when you find a certain passage that speaks so loudly and clearly to you. It's that strange sensation of discomfort mixed with pleasure- you feel slightly guilty at sharing the same thoughts, and yet delight in the discovery that someone else out there knows exactly how you feel.

Vancouver Police Holds Town Hall on Violence Against Women in the Downtown Eastside

(Left to right: Sergeant Toby Hinton and Vancouver Police Chief Constable Jim Chu and Major Crimes Section Inspector Joanne Boyle faced tough questions and anger from Downtown Eastside residents.)

Smoky incense filled the air in Carnegie Theatre, as men and women prepared to speak to the Vancouver Police about violence against women in the Downtown Eastside.

The incense, lit by a small group of aboriginal women, did little to soothe the palpable tension in the room.

Vancouver Police Chief Constable Jim Chu, and Sergeant Toby Hinton, who oversees the Downtown Eastside beat, listened to a long and varied list of grievances, suggestions, and emotional testimonies from outreach workers and community members.

CHU CALLS FOR TRUST

Chu began the meeting with a moment of silence for Ashley Machiskinic, a 22-year old woman who recently fell to her death from a building on East Hastings St.

“The ability of the police to provide safety for you is greatly enhanced if you help us, you work with us, and trust us,” Chu said.

Despite his conciliatory remarks, many community members challenged his call for trust as they stepped up to the microphone.

“There is an invisible wall between us,” said Dalannah Gail Bowen, about the Vancouver Police and the Downtown Eastside.

“You gotta start being more involved, and not just in police apprehension,” said Mona Woodward, an excutive director of the Aboriginal Front Door Society.

FURTHER INVESTIGATION INTO MACHISKINIC’S DEATH

Woodward also spoke about the need for more support for the community in the wake of traumatic events, such as Machiskinic’s death.

“There was nobody here for the community,” she said. “There has to be some kind of system or setup so that when something like that happens, there is an appropriate response.”

Major Crimes Section Inspector Joanne Boyle responded to Woodward’s comments, emphasizing the active role Vancouver Police have taken in the investigation.

“We’re not ready to say it’s a suicide, we are not ready to say it was a homicide,” she said. “We’re ready to say that it is an active investigation, and it will stay open until we come to an conclusion with it.”

TICKETING FOR MINOR OFFENCES AND HOUSING

Community members also raised issues of police ticketing people on the street for minor offences such as jaywalking.

A housing rights activist began her comments by paying respect to the Coast Salish territory people, and stated the need for proper housing in the Downtown Eastside.

“These people are living in dilapidated homes,” she said. “Not even a dog or cat should live in such a condition.”

The audience applauded loudly after her comments.

Most of the speakers were applauded, particularly those who spoke from firsthand experiences about their interactions with police.

A man recounted violent interactions with police, including one in which he said he was kicked in the teeth.

THE PICKTON COMMISSION

Gladys Radek, an activist in the Downtown Eastside, directly addressed Wally Oppal, head of the Pickton Commission.

“I do not support you being the head of the commission,” Radek said, looking directly at Oppal. “We need someone in there who is compassionate about all the issues around missing and murdered women.”

Oppal remained silent, sitting on the sidelines near the front of the room.

“I’m a big boy; I can take the criticism,” Oppal said later, before he left the meeting. He emphasized that he was genuinely compassionate about the issue of women in the Downtown Eastside.

DISCUSSIONS WILL CONTINUE, CHU SAYS

After two hours, around ten people were still waiting in line to speak. Chu apologized for having to cut the Town Hall short, to loud booing from the audience.

“These discussions will continue,” Chu said, and thanked the community members for coming.

As the meeting broke up, the media descended on Chu, asking for his thoughts on the anger and frustration expressed by residents.

Meanwhile, the small group of aboriginal women who had burned incense hugged each other, some silently wiping away tears.

overheard on the 7 bus

Tonight, I was riding the bus home from Granville Street when I overheard this uncomfortable exchange:

Girl: So...did our relationship status change, or what?
Guy: What do you mean?
Girl: Well, did you have sexual relations with anyone during the time we were apart?
Guy: I don't know what you mean.
Girl: We had an agreement.
Guy: Well that's not fair. I don't think that it's relevant for me to tell you what happened. I don't see the point....(continues blabbing, beating around the bush)
Girl: But I need to know. Did you or didn't you? If you did, you need to tell me.
Guy: But why is that? I don't see why you see it that way....(continues ad nauseum)

I somewhat admire the guy for not letting up on his Bill Clinton-esque defence tactics for the entirety of the conversation. He denied all allegations to the very end of my shameless eavesdropping. They both disembarked at Granville and West Broadway, but the conversation was clearly far from over.

Looking back, I felt sorry for them both- they were guaranteed not only a shitty night, but the pity of everyone who was in earshot of this overly candid conversation.

It also led me to ponder a more general question: why do people feel the urge to discuss intensely personal matters with their significant others/friends in public places? It's akin to wearing sheer tights with short shirts- you're exposed, and placing yourself squarely in the judging eyes of everyone around you.

Thoughts?

scenes of gentrification

After a thoroughly unproductive weekend as a journalist, I took a long walk through my beat today. I walked through Chinatown for the first time in two years, and got caught up in its post-Olympic charm.

Perhaps I never paid too much attention back then, but Chinatown seemed quite different from what I remembered it- the bright red paint, kitschy wall murals, and even the lamp posts seemed so welcoming.



Of course, the gorgeous blue skies and sun also had a hand in affecting my mood and perceptions today.

I then did a general walkabout the Eastside, stopping at the Vancouver Women's Health Collective, and the Carnegie Community Centre, where I ate my lunch. For $3.10, I got: a yam and coconut soup ($0.85), and a veggie burger with potato salad ($2.25). It was delicious and very filling. I couldn't even finish my soup and veggie burger bun.

Then I walked around some more, and bought quite possibly the worst hot chocolate that $3.30 can buy, at Bean Around the World Coffees. Having previously worked at a coffee shop, I like to think that I am knowledgeable on matters of overpriced steamed beverages. So before I even sipped it, I knew that this hot chocolate was bad news. As I suspected, it was a powder based, watery liquid with perhaps the most unappetizing, thin foam layer. And it was lukewarm. I guess it serves me right to expect a "hot" chocolate of reasonable quality that cost less than $4.00 in this city.

As I wandered around, I could not help but notice the visible transformation of the neighborhood in various stages.


An empty, overgrown lot next to the Woodward's building on West Hastings.


Newly renovated office space for lease, on the same street as a Salvation Army shelter and right across the street from the monolithic Woodwards building.


One of my personal favorites on West Hastings street: the Regal Place...


...and right across from it, the brand new Simon Fraser University Centre for Contemporary Arts. As you can see, it is still undergoing final touches.


The remaining vestiges of old West Hastings street. These buildings are survivors, but not for long.

the water in vancouver

Just over a little bridge in the Downtown Eastside is Crab Park, a small beach.

Since the last time I went to a beach in Vancouver was on a rainy day, I walked there with Jason on Saturday. It was gloriously sunny.


Crossing the bridge.


Great big cranes at the Port of Vancouver.


A memorial to missing and murdered women in the Downtown Eastside.


An interesting view.


The water.

overwhelmed in october

As I stumble into October, it's getting harder to keep my head above water.

I am juggling an increasing load of assignment deadlines, menial (yet necessary) errands, and my ever-shrinking bank account balance. Oh, and making up for the four year hiatus from recreational reading.

I am currently reading:

A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali by Gil Courtmenche
Life Stories: Profiles from the New Yorker edited by David Remnick

And I have about 10 others, literally lined up on my desk.

Bus rides are not so unbearable, now that I always have a book in tow. But the motion sickness can be overwhelming, and I have to put the book down on my lap and look out of the window for awhile.

I wish I could do the same with my life right now- just put everything down, and look out the window to think.

finally, a ray of sun

It's finally sunny outside!














The view from my kitchen window, this evening at around 6pm.

I didn't realize how starved I was for sun until today. As soon as I got home, I literally jumped out of my typical attire (jeans, long sleeved shirt, sneakers) and into a sundress that I wore all the time in Montreal during the summer. I smiled all the way to and from the grocery store. My apologies to all of the sullen people I passed by, who probably thought that I was a bit unhinged. Sunlight tends to make me a little more exuberant and giddy.

Another sunny day is forecast for tomorrow- I am going to try going to try venturing out to Wreck Beach.

snapshots from vancouver

Epic battles on the dining table.







































The aftermath.













Coffee, books, and newspapers.













The Jem Gallery on East Cordova Street.
















































Lunch with my mother.

comings and goings

This is a mural overlooking a parking lot next to the First United Church on East Hastings and Gore Street. The inscription at the top left corner reads:

It takes knowledge to understand others, but it takes a clear mind to know oneself. It takes strength to surpass others, but it requires a strong will to surpass oneself. - Lao Tsu

It reminded me of someone in Montreal.

I recently made a new friend who works at a shelter in the Downtown Eastside. As with many of my friends, Jason is one of those people who tends to help others to the point where he forgets his own needs.

After an underwhelming lunch at Britannia Sushi on Commercial Drive, Jason drove me down to Stanley Park. I think it's already been two years since I was last there. We hung out at Prospect Point for a little bit, chatting.









































There were so many people and things, coming and going. It made me wonder which way I would be going this summer.

daily rituals

Every morning after breakfast, I sit down at my desk and check my email on my laptop. Then, I load my news for the day on my iPod touch. It struck me that before coming to Vancouver, reading mobile news was never a part of my daily life. The big difference between my lifestyle in Montreal and here is the amount of time I spend on public transit- namely, the bus. During the 20 minute commute to the UBC campus, I find myself no longer listening mindlessly to music, as I did in the first few days of classes. Instead, I read about wars in distant places, housing problems in Canada, and North Korea's latest provocation- all on a screen the size of my hand.

I can't say that I am completely seduced by this paperless trend, though. The evidence: a pile of books on my desk, lined up and ready to be read:













I've only begun to read Anthony Lane's Nobody's Perfect. Lane has been a film reviewer for the New Yorker since 1993, and the book is a collection of his reviews. While that may sound rather unappealing to read, Lane's wit and sincere (for lack of a better term) approach to writing about films continues to pull me through this book.

What's on your bookshelf?

going the distance

Couples on the bus usually make me smile, but these days I try hard to avoid looking at them. I look out the window, and blast whatever is playing on my iPod to drown out my thoughts.

I am currently in a long distance relationship with a boy in Montreal. He will be there for four years for his studies. I will be here in Vancouver for two years for my Masters, and then go anywhere I can find a job. His life is one of stability, and mine is one of uncertainty. In fact, uncertainty is a common theme in my life. I have always been uncertain: about who I am, and where I will end up. In a way I really enjoy this uncertainty; that life can be a great adventure filled with twists and turns, and novel experiences. And being uncertain does not mean that I don't know what I want, either. I know what I want to do with my life, and why. It's a matter of where I will end up physically that is the uncertain, and exciting part.

In the last few days, I have been thinking about the point of continuing a relationship with someone with whom there is no certain future. Is it purely a matter of compromise? Compromises can be made day by day, week by week, month by month. But what is the use of compromise when the end result is so unclear? I love him, but I don't know if all of this is worth it.

There's no answer for this one.

scenes from the city

Have you ever heard of "beat blogging"?

Me neither. Not until I came to journalism school, anyway.

My first assignment is to write about a neighborhood in the Metro Vancouver area (my "beat") on a designated blog, called the Thunderblogs. I chose the Downtown Eastside, an area of Vancouver that you may or may not have heard about. In brief, it is the poorest urban postal code in Canada. Most of the poverty and drug abuse goes on at East Hastings street.

There are five blog entries due by September 26. So far, I've done one, about an Aboriginal hip-hop/media showcase called Beat Nation.

[As a sidenote, If I had $5 for every link in those last few sentences, I would have enough to pay for my lunch date next week with my mother at this swanky place downtown. If you counted the one I posted just now, I could treat myself to a beverage involving steamed milk and espresso at one of the numerous Corporate Coffee chains in this city, as well. Conclusion: having no money breeds whimsical yet pointless sidenotes in blog entries.]

Last week, I walked around the Eastside to orient myself with the neighbourhood. Keep in mind that all of these photos were taken on my LG phone circa 2008.














The back of an apartment building, from East Hastings street.














A beautiful mural overlooking a community garden.














A run down housing unit.


















In addition to its ironic name, the Regal Place is located right across from the street from the Woodwards Building, a historic landmark that was long abandoned- that is, until Vancouver was announced the host city for the 2010 Winter Olympics. Then came the face lift from real-estate developers. I wish I had taken a photo, but it was too dark outside. Needless to say, it is no longer the decrepit, old-fashioned building I remember. It took me a few minutes to realize while walking past its gleaming glass facade that it was, in fact, the old Woodwards building.

So there you have it- right on West Hastings Street. The spatial and physical embodiment of the stark contrasts you can find all around this city. One one side of the street, the Regal Place. On the other, a newly renovated condominium and commercial complex where squatters used to huddle to shelter themselves from the relentless rain.

Now there's one thing that hasn't changed since I left.

on new beginnings

It was the first day of classes. I looked down at my watch: 8:57 am. My first class was set to begin in 3 minutes. I quickened my pace, breathing in the heavy, damp air. The sky was a molten gray.

In my hand was a piece of paper with my class schedule. Integrated Journalism, Media Law, and Creative Non-Fiction. Integrated Journalism was up first at 9 am. Or was it? I looked down again. No, now it was Media Law. But how could that be? And why didn't I bother writing down the room numbers?

I now had 2 minutes. My heart began racing, and I broke into a light jog just as a cloud broke and released its first droplets of rain.

I woke up in a panic.

It was the morning of August 28th, and I had three days left in Montreal. Three days left in a city that I called home for the last four years. Three days to say goodbye to all of the people that I love. To the people who helped me build myself back up when everything inside broke down.

During our last lunch together, my friend Emil and I talked excitedly of our future plans. Plans to backpack the Jeju Islands in Korea. Begin an independent magazine together. Become BBC international news correspondents. That afternoon, the world seemed ours to seize. It was only a matter of time before we were reunited.

Today marks two weeks since I arrived in Vancouver. The days have slipped by--a blur of furniture, bookstores, and classes. Like most of my anxiety-fueled dreams, the one I had turned out to have little prophetic value. If anything, journalism school has re-ignited my passion for learning, and curiosity about the world.

I hope to harness this reinvigorated curiosity toward reflecting on my life in Vancouver- this strange new city that I cannot yet call home. My heart is still letting go.