More magical BC pictures

All pictures by me, uneditted

You know, I love the rain. maybe not the cold weather accompanying it lately, but the rain is wonderful. I love big storms.

I can't wait to go to Europe next SpringBreak. I'm all signed up.

Ironically, I have H1N1. However, like I said, it's just the flu. It sucks like any flu does. So, no big deal



Go on and dream like New York/ As high as the sky line/ Aim for the stars/ Above those city lights/ Gotta dream like New York/ I'm running down Broadway/ Gotta catch the next train/ I'm makin' my way

I have this book. A notebook. I've been working on it slowly. It's... it's hard to explain. It's special.
In it I have my bucket list. A peacock feather. A poem I wrote for someone's birthday. Something I wrote that made someone cry. A picture of a mountain...
Like I said, this book is strange, but it's special to me.

I went with my mother and bought plants today. Rose bushs and azalias and lilacs and cedears.
I love gardening.

Soon summer will be here.
It's a hopeful thought

Part II

all pictures by me

May 15th, and May16th are oddly absent.
I failed to write that day

May 17th

Sing me/ Sometimes brave from your mouth

Maybe I didn't belong there fully
[don't]
but a piece of my aches for it.
Calls for it in loud brave tones.

I am not a deb.

I am me.

A writer. A storyteller?

I did learn about myself there. I did.
About family.
About being alone.
About storytelling.
About words and stories in general.

I learned it's okay to be alone, if you're okay with yourself.

from the first day on the beach, to my final lonely walk
i learnedsometimes, it's okay to be what other people want
-- as long as you remain yourself.

I scrubbed with pink fragrant soap.

The kind he hates.

AND I LIKED THE SMELL. I ALWAYS HAVE.

and i like the Dixie Chicks sometimes too.

I'm sorry you made me forget that.

Present day


As some of you know, I am one fourth Arabic.
I read a book recently.
In Arabian Nights, A caravan of Moroccan dreams.
This book changed my life. I want everyone to buy it, borrow it, get it, READ IT.

It talks about finding the story of your heart.

And it tells in it, wrapped around a central plot of humor and self discovery, a true story following a man in Casablanca.
And in it, are many stories I've heard or faintly recall from my grandfather.

I'll relate one for you.

There were once three men, all of whom wanted fruit though none of them had ever seen any, since it was very rare in their country.
It so happened that they all traveled in search of this almost unknown thing called fruit. And it also happened that, at about the same time, each one found his way to a fruit tree.
The first man was heedless. He got to a fruit tree, but had spent so much time thinking about the directions that he failed to recognize the fruit.
His journey was wasted.
The second man was a fool, who took things very literally. When he saw that all the fruit on the tree was past it's best, he said: "Well, I've seen fruit, and I don't like rotten things, so that is the end of the fruit as far as I am concerned."
He went on his way, and his journey was wasted.
The third man was wise. He picked up some of the fruit and examined it. After some thought, and racking his brains to remember all the possibilities about this uneatable delicacy, he found that inside each fruit there was stone.
Once he knew that this stone was seed, all he had to do was to plant and tend the growth, and wait for -- fruit.

Janina Ballerina - I am not your rolling wheels, I am the highway

I'm home.

BOOKS I BOUGHT ON MY TRAVELS:
Animal Farm - George Orwell
Lady Oracle - Margaret Atwood (novel)
The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie - Alan Bradley
The Gargoyle - Andrew Davidson

May 10th

I'm high above the world, or part of it at least.
Below, someone has mowed
HARPER
in large clumsy capitals in a field.

I imagine telling you about it.

I drink my third cup of coffee.
It's eight am. I've been up since 330am

My eyes are sandy, and "Blaziflor Et Helena" switches to "Gives You Hell."

She loves this song.

And I'm flying towards her.
Though, I won't see her.
The idea, the nearness is a comfort though.
And him?

"& truth be told, I miss you. & truth be told, I'm lying"

"Better luck tomorrow."
I whisper
as I shoo his ghost away.

May 11th

"looks like we're heading for a crash landing, like songs that say goodbye"

This place reflects me.
And today,
it's less lonely than I thought it would be.

At Night I was no less
[no more]
fitfull than usual.
But I didn't reach out for you, or your voice.
I reached within.
And I would drift off again,
knowing better than to reach out again for you.

I awoke as if hungover,
with a blistering bursting headache,
and my tongue felt furry.

Damn jetlag.

I showered.
I threw up.
I slept again.
I woke up
and you were barely there.

I saw you once today,
while in a book shop.
While in peace
but right now, perched on a quilt, in socks too big,
the sun finally appearing,
I'm good thanks.
You've been so quick to leave my system:
Are you just weak?
or am I stronger this time 'round?

*

Near the ocean
but not quite there yet.
24+hours here.
Why do I feel such trepidation?
It's water.
It doesn't know me.
Cannot judge me.
I think.
God, it's green here.
This place is so small town.
I feel the people my age looking at me.
What an oddity I must be.
They don't know me either.
I'm small town too.
I think.
I guess here
I'm a big city girl
impressed with the "novelties"
that make up their everyday.
I don't belong here with the locals.
I should be with the tourists.
I don't belong here
[not alone]

*

No one's love comes close to yours
Nothings what it was before.
My eyes are heavy
and my heart is sore.

*

I found a coffee shop, on a lonely walk with no purpose.
It's called the "Cha C'ha Java"

It's quiet. It's fun. It reminds me of Winnipeg.
I had a coffee.
I resolved to take a book with me next time I come.





May 13th
Raining.
I've learned something --
just because you love a place,
doesn't mean you belong there.
For that matter,
just because you love someone,
doesn't mean you belong together.
Or, even,
you don't always love what you need or belong to (belong with)
Sometimes it takes time, patience.
You just need to acknowledge that feeling, that voice that says:
ahhhhhhh
Need to know what it sounds like, that this feels different, because it is different




May 14th
Sunday Morning by Maroon 5 was the first song to play when I put my iPod on random.

"Back and forth/ we sway/ like branches in a storm."

I can still smell the ocean on me.
In my hair? No.
Feet? Hands? No.
It shall remain a mystery.
[in my heart?]

*

I am not a doll.
Nor am I a lady
British
Dainty
Proper
Quiet demur ivory fine chine
I am not a painting.

I never did much like playing tea party when I was little.
Maybe on occasion.
But not often. Not really.

Now, playing debutant or,
Proper Victorian British Lady
[ i think this the most fitting analogy]
i am smothered.

I've drunk countless and endless cups of tea
[only two sugars allowed]
ankles crossed, both feet on the ground [!!!!!!!!!!!!]

If I hear once more
"how pretty she is!"
"oh she looks so much like her mother!"
"oh Anna, you must be so proud of have such a lovely granddaughter!"
I will chuck this hand painted fine china at the wall
and grind my scone into the carpet.
As it is,
I smile charmingly, demure.
Lay my spoon on the saucer the way I've been taught
[Perpendicular to my body, behind the tea cup]
I endure my grandmother, whom I love dearly
adjusting my shirt
wiping my face
always being at my elbow.

I love her and spending time with her
but this is too much too many days in a row.

And now,
there is nothing I value more then my hour or two at night,
when I go for my walks alone.
In which I am,
as best I can,
young flirtatious and above all,
free.




That's all for now, I'll post more later!
(I took 1000+ pictures. I'm still sorting though them all. But all the pictures today are mine, from this past week)

Take me down to Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty

Bc, here i come!

I'm off to the island, where the salt can be smelled from my bedroom window.

Where every morning my grandmother and I have a cuppa, before going for a short walk to the beach to discuss the days plans.
Where the trees are green and flowers already exist

I really need this trip.
Really.
I need to just get away from here.
From school, from home, from winnipeg, the endless prarie sky, the dead air, from him.

I'm bringing two cameras.

I leave sunday, return the following.
Ergo, I shant be posting after sunday.
I'm bringing a notebook or five with me, so you'll have dated "journal" entries once i return.

All the pictures here were taken by me, on location

It's not about what you did
it's about what I did
and what I allowed
"make myself translusant, to let you in"
so now,
the one who swore
to always love me for me
to never judge me,
has decided,
he doesn't like what he sees.
"they will lay you out in the moonlight, and reinvent your name"
how could I?
how could I have allowed you to convince me
that I can trust you,
that I can let you in.

Awake soon
The mindstorm
I feel
I feel
the stars out.
The fear goes,
I soar now
As far as I can carry you
as deep
as deep.
No theif can take away from you
the way you have taken from me.
His mouth
full of loose teeth
I see
I see
The liar is weeping
and down on his knees.
The light no longer terrifies
the grief goes to sleep.
So
beauty came with agony.
But sweet
oh every love
is sweet

Goodnight dear readers. Look forward to the morning.
It's 11:11 as I post this. I transfer a wish to all of you.