life or something like it
My dad says he expected me to look older. My brother says he's glad the city hasn't changed me. My friend tells me I dress much more feminine. Three months can't really change a person can they?
But I do feel different. Insecurities aren't getting in my way as much. I don't sweat the small stuff. I walk comfortably in my skin. I speak to people I don't know with ease. I can see that I can be charming, even persuasive, if I feel I'd like to be.
I speak of Toronto with such love. When I'm there sometimes I think "What a cement hell hole of high rises". But I also think "Oh my god, I am happy." I feed off urban energy and know that I'm where I should be. Here I glance nervously at West Coasters, thinking, 'Damn..I should go for a run'. People have this pure, natural; wealthy West Coast air to them. I get nervous and apply more eyeliner.
I went to UBC the other day to see my dear Shirin. She drank a bottle of red wine, me a bottle of white, and we took off from where we left each other at the end of the summer. We danced. We talked. We laughed until our stomachs cramped up. She wants me to be happy. She sees a part of me she feels doesn't need to exist. The part of me that hates myself and tears me up. I agree. But then I think...that is a part of me. I need every part of me. Even if it kills me...it is inspiring..and it makes me whole. It brings out emotion, emotion is beautiful. But I see what she means, and happiness is beautiful.
Today I went out with my mother and her friend Marlene. Watching the two it's as if they're growing young, not old. They ooze feminine beauty. They are like Parisian women: classic, femine, stylish and confident. They're playful, strong, intelligent women. They laugh together like young girls. It feels good to be with them. There is an air of comfort and well being. There was no point where I would rather have been somewhere else, or with somebody else.
Afterwards I came home shortly, then headed over to my aunt Bev's. She lives in a wealthy neighbourhood over town, where she was having a christmas party. Her family's home is large and spacious, with decorating that would have Martha Stewart in a jealous rage. I was called over to help out in the kitchen. I spent the night preparing hors doeuvres, setting them out, serving them, and cleaning up. I almost felt I didn't deserve to be paid, considering I really enjoyed it. I love people, I love food, and I love displaying things. My brother drove me home, money in my palm and a smile on my face.
My family is being wonderful.
I am still a little lost somewhere between reality, my past, and my imagination. But I'm slowly finding ground.
But I do feel different. Insecurities aren't getting in my way as much. I don't sweat the small stuff. I walk comfortably in my skin. I speak to people I don't know with ease. I can see that I can be charming, even persuasive, if I feel I'd like to be.
I speak of Toronto with such love. When I'm there sometimes I think "What a cement hell hole of high rises". But I also think "Oh my god, I am happy." I feed off urban energy and know that I'm where I should be. Here I glance nervously at West Coasters, thinking, 'Damn..I should go for a run'. People have this pure, natural; wealthy West Coast air to them. I get nervous and apply more eyeliner.
I went to UBC the other day to see my dear Shirin. She drank a bottle of red wine, me a bottle of white, and we took off from where we left each other at the end of the summer. We danced. We talked. We laughed until our stomachs cramped up. She wants me to be happy. She sees a part of me she feels doesn't need to exist. The part of me that hates myself and tears me up. I agree. But then I think...that is a part of me. I need every part of me. Even if it kills me...it is inspiring..and it makes me whole. It brings out emotion, emotion is beautiful. But I see what she means, and happiness is beautiful.
Today I went out with my mother and her friend Marlene. Watching the two it's as if they're growing young, not old. They ooze feminine beauty. They are like Parisian women: classic, femine, stylish and confident. They're playful, strong, intelligent women. They laugh together like young girls. It feels good to be with them. There is an air of comfort and well being. There was no point where I would rather have been somewhere else, or with somebody else.
Afterwards I came home shortly, then headed over to my aunt Bev's. She lives in a wealthy neighbourhood over town, where she was having a christmas party. Her family's home is large and spacious, with decorating that would have Martha Stewart in a jealous rage. I was called over to help out in the kitchen. I spent the night preparing hors doeuvres, setting them out, serving them, and cleaning up. I almost felt I didn't deserve to be paid, considering I really enjoyed it. I love people, I love food, and I love displaying things. My brother drove me home, money in my palm and a smile on my face.
My family is being wonderful.
I am still a little lost somewhere between reality, my past, and my imagination. But I'm slowly finding ground.
posted by Gillian Young at 11:47 PM
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