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.