I’ve never believed in fate. I’ve never believed that “everything happens for a reason” or anything like that. My life has just ‘happened’. Events or people I thought were miraculous, as it turns out, were not – I have been wrong about a lot. Unfortunate experiences have led me to believe that no, there is no so-coincidental-it-must-be-magic events. It’s all just random.

These days though, things are either a little rosier, or lack so much shine that I can only really believe that they’re meant to be. When I applied for the position I have now, it just felt ‘right’ to me. The journey I’ve undergone there, the good people, the great moments that remind me of why and how I became a teacher in the first place, have told me that I made the right decision, even when things seem dark and scary and ‘wrong’. I’ve come back “home”, whatever “home” may seem like to people… and that was the best choice I could have made in my career life. It’s hard to be alone out here. It’s hard to be out in the frigid cold. But I walk into that building and I get my day started and it’s 1.5 parts intimidating and stressful, and 1 part good. And for someone new to this, that’s the best I could hope for thus far.

Fate to me is also being with the person who makes me feel so, so, so much less alone when I’m with him. It’s not his responsibility or obligation to pull me up and believe in me, but he does, relentlessly. He’s proud of me; he tells me he’s proud of me. He calls me and doesn’t hang up until I feel better. He sort of vaguely wakes up in the middle of the night and will wrap his arm around me and I sort of vaguely wake up and feel protected. Fate to me is meeting someone from the same city I came from and then being willing and able to both return, together. Fate is being grateful that of all the schools in all of the Lower Mainland of BC, we happened to be at the same one, which happened to put us all together once a week so we could get to know each other from the start. Fate is having a horrible first teaching practicum which incited my thankful switch to another school. And fate is obtaining a close-knit second family.

What do I believe about the universe? I don’t know. But I listened to what the universe was telling me and I refuse to ignore anything it ever tells me again. I’ll continue to fight for everything I have because I’m so, so certain that it’s destined to be right in the end. All of it. The gains and the losses and the hardships and the boundless love. All of it is worthwhile.

How the Person You Love Makes Everything Better.

He makes every problem seem smaller. He makes every little obstacle not only manageable, but worth overcoming. He reminds you you’re happy and competant when you think you’ve forgotten that both of those things are true, almost all the time. He takes away your tears by making little jokes and talking you through your problems. He’ll stay up and talk to you until you obviously feel better. He takes the time to check in with you afterwards. And the longer you’re with him, the more you realize he’s not just your partner; he’s your hero.

Why I’m Doing This. “This” meaning ALL of this…

I’m having a week of total loneliness, frustration and misery. I’m feeling discouraged about my career; I’m feeling discouraged about being away from my partner constantly; I’m feeling frustrated with living without all the amenities I used to have in the big glamorous winter-less city I called home. The days are getting achingly short. The mornings are dark. Everything feels like it’s coming to a nerve-wracking head, and I’m nervous and stressed and unhappy and crabby this week. I want to bite everyone’s head off. I want to crawl into a hole and just say, “fuck this. Fuck everything” and let it all go. But then I look up, and I see all of this:

I see a partner who appreciates every single thing that I do and say, whether it has to do with him or not. I see someone who is so kind and giving and sweet and loving and caring, and someone I aspire to be like, and be with, all at the same time. I see a hero in the man I love and I see the missing puzzle piece in all the small and large ways he inspires me to be a better human being, a better teacher, and a better girlfriend. I see him in my dreams and whenever I have a great, or bad day. I see myself running to him not out of desperation, but out of excitement and romance and happiness just to be in love and be alive and be adopted by a loving second family. To be with him is to be home. To be with him tears down my walls and makes me realize just how much love is alive, unlike what I thought about love lifetimes and lifetimes and lifetimes ago.

I see a career I strived for and died for and lost sleep and gave up so much of what I love for. I see every single kid I’ve ever taught and the ways they made me proud and frustrated me and aggravated me and challenged me and made me feel inadequate and adequate and mature and immature and funny, all at the same time. I see something that I’m losing the will to fight for one day, and then am willing to fight for it full force the next day. I see a career that has never made me feel bored or useless, but is constantly either making me feel like a goddess on top of the world, or like a meek, incapable failure. Both of those things are oddly, good. Because they show me that I’m at a point where I continuously care, and challenge myself. A few years ago, I’d never, ever have the fucking guts to challenge myself like this.

I see a place that I never thought I’d embody in space or time, ever, but that has given me the chance to be at least a little closer to the man I’m head over heels in love with, and has given me this chance to challenge myself, even when it makes me want to spill over the edge. I see the world spinning non-stop, bringing me highs and lows and loneliness and vigour and joy and pain and heartaches and frustration and sleepless nights and days when I can’t force myself awake to save my life.

This is why I’m doing this. Maybe that makes me a glutton for punishment, but the point is: the hardest things in life are things worth fighting for and both of these things that are bringing me down this week are more than worth fighting for. I want them and I loved them and I’ve worked so hard to make them work and make them streamlined and make them as smooth and good as they possibly can be for my life at this time. Things that are worth fighting for, are worth fighting for. It’s as simple as that. And I will not stop fighting. I will not.

My Best Friends.

Someone who I consider to be my best friend is someone I never should have been friends with. I played with fire because I believed no harm would come to me. And no harm did come to me. I was right. I met someone who taught me so much about the world, the other parts of the world that I’ve never been privy to or understood. I reached my hand over into the darkness and allowed an incredibly dark person to lead me in. And then I pulled us both out. I won’t ever, ever, ever forget him. The only thing I want for him is happiness and healing and forward movement.

My childhood best friend is someone who I’ve known almost my entire life, whether we were friends or enemies at various points in our lives. I would never say I “worry” about him, because I know he can care for himself and figure things out for himself. I was finally, after more than a decade of friendship, shared my darkest secrets of him before I moved away from the beloved neighbourhood we both shared for the last two years. And I think we walked away from that as better, more understanding people. The person I grew up with, I have come to know, as one of the smartest, funniest deepest people in my life, who has gone through hardships and bullying and segregation I could never imagine.

My best friends from university are the best girlfriends I could ever ask for. They’re so drama-free, girl talks are not something we ever shared when we first knew each other; the beginning years of our friendship were filled with child-like trolling and stupidity and laughter, and later in life we grew into deeper and more introspective women. There was a time in my life when I thought I didn’t need those girls, but I do, and I did, and never truly realized just how much I love them. Even after over a year apart,we can consistently pick up where we left off. It sometimes just takes the following of another path to realize how much someone’s friendship means to you.


There are two kinds of distance: physical and emotional. And sometimes they comingle and sometimes they couldn’t be further from each other like snowflakes in a flurry being carried away from each other by the wind.

I’ve experienced both. Right now, I feel so close to someone in my heart but he’s towns and towns away and I wish I could wake up beside him every single moment forever, but right now, and maybe for the next year… or more… that’s not possible.

I don’t know which type of distance is worse; the kind where you feel like your hearts are being pulled apart, or the kind when you feel like your bodies are being pulled apart and your hearts are clinging to one another for dear life… I’ve been through both. Right now, the latter seems worse.

I looked around me tonight as I left work and thick fog engulfed me, held onto me by its strong fists, and encompassed everything. It was lonely, standing there, surrounded by fog so thick. It was symbolic of so much that’s happening in my life right now, but then as I drove down the road towards home and I could see lights in the distance, I was reminded that off in the distance, there is a lighthouse that I follow, even when I’m at my most lonely and lost.

Despite distance, my heart grows closer and closer to another person every single day. As I’ve heard that’s often the opposite I’m fortunate. But still, Mondays are the hardest days I have to live through. Some are harder than others. For whatever reason this week was the hardest. It’s going to take me some time to get through this week because of the misery that’s befallen me following the weekend. I just have to keep pushing onward. And remembering how much I know love, and how lucky I am to stare at it fondly every single day, even if it’s from afar.

Looking Back.

There was this time in my life when I looked into the eyes of my first love – the very first one that I believed was “real” – and I could see everything in my past and future, all in those hazel-green wide mischievous eyes. He was all I wanted, and all I thought that I could ever have the capacity to love. I believed that my hopes and dreams and obsessions with him were true love and somehow, someday, he would realize what I realized. and looking back now, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

When we love at first sight we tend to inject that love into someone’s actions and words even when it’s not there, not even remotely. It colours our view and vision of every single thing. that we remember about them; that fondness, that longing, those happy memories that were so fleeting they were addictive, and so we tried to recreate them again and again. And when we were successful there was hope; and when we were unsuccessful we were alone at home, licking our own wounds and making up stories that confirmed for us all the horrible icky awful things that haunted our nightmares: it’s over, he doesn’t love me, he loves someone else, soon this will all be over and the door will close and that will be that forever. How can I go on?

Looking back I wondered repeatedly why I was so unworthy of love; if it wasn’t from the person I thought I loved more than anyone, how could anyone ever love me? Why would they? Surely, if I was worthy of love, all of that would have worked out for me. It’s amazing how someone you would give anything to and do anything for, can make you feel so badly about yourself, looking back.

Being blindsided like that by my first love was one of the events in my life I least saw coming. It was a sure thing. It had to be. I felt like I was wilting away and my real self was in bed somewhere, dreaming the whole thing. I was watching this on a screen. I was rubbing my eyes and pinching myself desperate to wake up from my worst nightmare. And then when I woke up the morning after, only to realize the day before had actually happened, I punched my pillow and teared up, then I went to work, then I went to class, then I, humiliated, had to tell my friends what had happened. Looking back, I know now they were gleeful about it. Looking back, those people were never my friends.

Looking back, I realize I’m still angry at all the people who hurt me because they never actually gave me propulsion forward. They never allowed me the opportunities to heal that I deserved. I continually wished and hoped for conversations that would lay to rest all my bad feelings and confusion, but those conversations never came and I was just left angry because nobody ever gave me a reason not to be. Am I angry at my first love anymore? No. But I’m angry at me. For being that person that allowed myself to be treated like that by someone who never, not even for a moment, deserved my love and attention and worship. I’m angry at myself for thinking that just because my first love didn’t love me back, that I didn’t deserve love whatsoever, from anyone. Currently in my life I have the greatest love I’ve ever, ever known and maybe ever could and looking back, I couldn’t have been more wrong about who I chose to give that love to for the first time.

But maybe, that’s what life is about. Maybe growing up is designed to prepare us through hard lessons like this, how to love properly and fully with, not for, people who deserve it. Maybe love is not the answer to people’s pain, but it drives us to put aside pain for the benefit of love and growth and true happiness. I wonder if my first love understood that, or if, because my love was so, so one-sided, he even thinks about it or cares about it at all, or if he learned anything whatsoever. I wonder if my first love is still figuring out how to love on his own without the worship of people he never loved back. I can’t wonder, though. Because there’s no point wondering about something you’ll never know about, just as, looking back, you can’t love when there’s no point in loving.

And so, looking back, I have learned a great deal about myself in the last eight years and those lessons were extremely hard to learn, and yet, here I am, better off because of them. I would never pretend things were perfect or that I don’t on some days, or in some moments, don’t nurse unhealed wounds inflicted by the people in my past. And if they’re reading this, I hope they do take comfort and satisfaction in that. No. Things aren’t perfect. But they’re better, and they continue to get better still. And I’m in a better place in my life emotionally, with this ability to look back and view from a safe distance, all my mistakes and where they have led me.

Losing is never easy, nor is heartbreak. Loss and heartbreak are wounds that are only healed with time and the more we face them and stare them down, the better our well-being becomes, slowly but surely.

Tough Decisions.

I consider myself to be overall, kind of a broken person. I’m like the Barbie you ripped the head off accidentally and when you put her head back on her neck was shorter and she never looked quite ‘right’ ever again. I have good days and good weeks, and bad weeks, and really bad days where my world and all its nightmares and problems weave a tight cage around my being until I can’t really focus on anything except getting out and realizing, in that moment, I can’t. Then I go to sleep and wake up and have coffee and go to work and it’s all better after that. Until the next cage comes and entraps me. And the whole cycle repeats itself.

I don’t want it to anymore. The kind of confidence failures and personal hells I go through aren’t worth just sitting back for anymore. I’m ready to make a decision I didn’t think I could make and seek help for what has been a very difficult and hard-to-manage part of my life. I have finally gotten in touch with a therapist, and I don’t know how helpful this will be for me but I would like to try and sort out the back end of my life, since I’ve sorted out the front end. I want to be proud of myself and confident, inside and outside.

I’m nervous, and happy, and excited, and at peace. All I want in life is to move forward.