I’m Going Home

My Symphony: Home by Daughtry
I don’t regret this life I chose for me,
But these places and these faces are getting old…

IMG_20131128_193206

Maybe that’s the best part of going away for a vacation – coming home again. ― Madeleine L’Engle, Meet the Austins

This is it. In less than 24 hours, I’ll be on a plane back home. 

Damn. Typing that out just literally sent chills down my spine. There is something about the word “home” that is very powerful in a comforting way. And that’s what I am feeling right now – this almost indescribable feeling of danger and safety. It’s been a long time coming, and now here I am. My bags are all packed, and I am more than ready to go.

The weeks and the months that have led me to this moment hadn’t been smooth-sailing, though. There was a lot of stress, a lot of anxiety, a lot of reckless daydreaming and a lot of uphill battles with the people around me and with myself. But I have to say it was all worth it. We take every experience, big or small, and learn from it tremendously.

When I left the Philippines two and a half years ago, I left with one goal in mind: to find whatever it was that I was always looking for. Halfway through high school, I developed this irrepressible longing to leave – leave the city I’m in, leave the people I’m with, leave the life I live. My “past life” (for a lack of a better term) was byzantine, to say the least. I made a lot of mistakes, disappointed loved ones, broke my friends’ trust, caused a lot of emotional trouble and took for granted all the things and moments I now wish I could have back. And instead of facing the world and trying to repair the damaged, I decided to walk away and leave everything behind. And I did that because that’s what I had been wanting to do all along; I wanted to start over, strongly believing that there was another place out there for me which I could call home.

I was wrong. 

I think everybody should leave his or her hometown and go somewhere far at least once in his or her life. Not only is there a myriad of things and life lessons to learn Out There, Out There also makes you appreciate In Here, in a way no other place can. And to me, it’s been an exhilarating ride so far.

Everytime a friend or a family member asks me ,”So when are you visiting the Philippines?” or “Hey Kenn, are you going back here in Bacolod for a vacation soon?”, there’s always this part of me that cringes for some reason. It’s like my heart turns gray and my entire upper body shrinks, and all I want to do is run away screaming like a lunatic. I don’t know, I guess up until now I’ve never really accommodated “visiting the Philippines” as an acceptable oxymoron. Phrases like visit home and vacation in Bacolod sound disturbingly self-contradictory to me. So let us make one thing clear:

I’m not “going on a vacation”; I’m going home.

It’s as simple and as truthful and as accurate as that.

I look at Vancouver and the world that I’ve somehow built here for myself. I look at the bed I’ve been sleeping in for many months; I can see its edges and its weight take up a portion of the wooden floor. I look at our kitchen and then I look inside the refrigerator; I see a dozen eggs with one that’s broken, along with my brother’s sliced cheese which he always reminds us is expensive. I look at the living room; I look at the ceiling, my mom’s new carpet, the big red cushions and the television, which has started to look noticeably old despite its newness. I look inside my closet; I look at the big black bag in which I carefully stuffed all of my notes and physical memories from college. I look at my cat, Dunkley; I see him in the biggest and fattest he’s ever been; I see him groggily walk towards his favorite spot on one of our red-and-white dining chairs, and I see him yawn, stretch, stare devilishly into the air and lull himself back to sleep. And then I look at my pile of luggage sitting tall and proud in one corner of my room. For the first time in a long time, I feel like myself again.

This is why this chapter is very important to me. The farther I’ve been from home, the closer I’ve felt to it. And at these times when I often feel lost and unsure of who I’ve become, I find it crucial to go back to my roots and refresh things a little bit. The people I’ve met and the experiences I’ve had here have all been climactic, and I can never be grateful enough for the opportunity to get to know life and the world around me from such a different perspective. But the time has come. For at least the next two months, I will be in my hometown, the small city of Bacolod. For at least the next two months, I will be breathing a familiar air under a familiar sky. For at least the next two months, I will be storing my clothes and my books in a room inside a house which my feet and my heart have known since I was little. And for at least the next two months, I will be not here, but there.

And there is waiting.

See you soon. 

Advertisements

Today, I Turn Twenty

My Symphonies:  Baker Lake by Sera Cahoone | Nothing Left to Lose by Mat Kearny

two_trees_by_bennybrand-d3aw1ne

“But it does make me sad that we’ve forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else’s, because I’d like to love them, but I don’t know who they are.”
― Isaac Marion

May 24th, 2013 [Philippine time]

Today, I turn twenty. And right now, I cannot believe how much happiness and sadness typing out those four words brings to me. Although I actually like how “twenty” sounds, I still haven’t digested the fact that I’ve walked on earth and breathed its air for two decades now, and that 1993 is already twenty years ago. It’s quite fascinating to me, how quickly life turns its pages. What’s even more fascinating is the amount of fear and nostalgia leaving the teen-age bracket has given me.

My fear doesn’t involve the future, though, which is unusual for me. I used to always think about the future when I ponder on life and the world I live in. I used to spend days just wondering how tomorrow was going to be like. I had tried and worked hard to participate as a normal functioning member of the society. But the whole future-chasing has done nothing to me but make me weary. I have divorced the future. The kind of fear that I had in what is not yet there has carefully transferred to what was, and possibly is, still there. 

Before any of my loved ones who read this get worried about me again, know that this fear I’m talking about doesn’t necessarily state that I’m depressed. No, this isn’t one of those fears. This is a good fear. It’s the fear that makes me feel more alive than I have ever been. And it lies both in the past and in the present. How so? I’ll tell you…

About two years ago, my family and I moved to Canada. Surrey, British Columbia, to be specific. It was 6th of July in 2011. I remember. I just finished saying all my good-byes both at home and in the airport. I was holding tightly on my sky blue travel pillow as I used its shaft to wipe my tears. Going through security, removing my shoes and all and still sobbing, I said to myself in a semi-whisper (and I will never forget this), “H-h-home… I’ll a-always… b…be”.

Thinking about that moment today still sends shivers down my spine. I was younger then, and I didn’t know a lot of things. I was only trusting my feelings based on the experiences I had in the places and with the people back home. But I always knew inside of me that I could never escape something so bold and real in my life just like that. It’s actually very paradoxical, how being away from something actually puts you closer to it. And I’m grateful that I get to be here in Canada, I really am. This was what I wanted so badly when I was still in the Philippines– to be away. To be somewhere else for some time. To take a break from the world I was in too deep. To learn, to grow, to see. And today, I am happy to confirm it to myself that all of the things I wished for is now right in front of me.

I’ve learned. I’ve grown. I’ve seen.

I’ve learned, in the past two weeks that I’ve been reconnecting with my friends and family back home, that real relationships are supposed to stand the test of time and distance. I’ve learned, from hearing their voices and seeing their faces, how strong a memory can be; that we are ultimately interwoven no matter where life takes us. I’ve learned that truthfulness is rare, and it only lives from a place of love. I’ve learned that as a person, as a human being, my highest goal isn’t to build castles for myself, to have monuments dedicated to me or to possess a power akin to Zeus’ or Hercules’, but simply to give; to find what is real in my heart and to offer it to people in ways that I can.

I’ve grown, so much so that I’ve managed to reach out to the clouds and to the loneliest plankton on the seabed. I’ve grown slowly, but I’ve grown meaningfully. I’ve grown in a way that has made me ask a lot of questions to the air even when I know it’s never going to give me any visible answers. I’ve grown enough to see both below and above me; I’ve grown to stand beneath a marquee knowing that mountains do move and that the sunset is the most romantic lover I have in my life. I’ve grown not just into a man but into a child, which is far more important and remarkable– I’ve grown to love my parents more and more, my brothers like they are those mountains and my friends like they are the whimsical wind in front of the sunset. I’ve grown in a way that makes me feel okay about not being okay, and great about not being great. I’ve grown with the little things, and these little things have made me grow bigger.

I’ve seen that the best things in life aren’t things. I’ve seen the desperation of a student, the heartbreak of a girl and the melancholy of a writer. I’ve seen the ways by which a boy follows his heart’s dictates. I’ve seen the falling down of the world and the rising up of the citizens. I’ve seen every bit of sorrow that takes place in seventeen-minute intervals within gloomy coffee shops. I’ve seen the coldness and the bitterness of society. I’ve seen the anger in people’s chests and the compassion in their mere little fingers. I’ve seen the hunger for light and the quest for beauty. I’ve seen emptiness and rage, loyalty and condemnation. I’ve seen the escape from the labyrinth, and I’ve seen the best thing of all.

So where’s my fear in all this? My fear is that somehow, my learning, and my growing, and my seeing have managed to take me face to face with who I am. It’s overwhelming, nonetheless exhilarating, and nothing short of enlightening.

Last week, I was reading the scrapbook my friends made for me when I left my university back in the Philippines. I was just shocked by the way I felt upon reading the individual letters and the pieces of sentiments written in that scrapbook. I haven’t read it since I left the country, and reading it again sort of put me in a time machine that brought me back to my brief college days in Miag-ao, which is a place I hold dear to my heart. Each word in that scrapbook (which they entitled “Kenn”) means so much to me. What I love about it is that it isn’t centered primarily on me but actually on the kind of friendship we all had. We all became so close to each other in so little time. I wish they could read what they wrote in this scrapbook right now. That way, they’ll clearly remember. One of the letters there, written by my friend Lester, succinctly narrates a night spent in Bentoy’s (a super cool, laidback resto bar that serves really aggressive drinks for such a low price and whose owner lets his pet dog named Shabu meddle with the customers) along with Esther and Nikko. We did some really fun, though not completely appropriate, things that night and as freshmen college students, we didn’t really care. That’s what got me about the letter. It took me back to that night, and I could clearly see the four of us sitting on the bamboo floor, drinking, smoking, talking about life not really knowing it was right there sitting with us. And I could see everything else– the road leading to the resto bar, the color of the night, the shapes and the cracks of tables, even the color of Esther’s shirt (it was her olive green shirt which she wore best during nighttime). 

Remembering. Today, I give myself that. I know society forces us to always look ahead and move forward but really, sometimes I think that’s a trap. I think it is fantastic to be able to go on with my life especially now that I am two years away from home; I think it is awesome that I’ve made few great friends in Vancouver whom I know I will continue to be friends with for the longest time, and I think it is so, so nice that I embrace this place for all that it has taught me. But to treat time and distance as an opportunity to escape eighteen great years of my life? That’s simply unjust. I know for a fact that I would never be able to grow as the person I am today if it weren’t for my family and my friends and the real-life moments I spent with them.

I guess, after all these musings, the fear I am talking about is only the fear of remembering. Remembering my roots, remembering my values, remembering myself. And like I said it’s a good fear. Well, I think that fear is generally a good thing. It makes something real.

Today, I turn twenty.

Pre-graduation Thoughts

My Symphonies:  “Svefn-g-englar” by Sigur Ros; “Girl Out West” by Speck Mountain

PicMonkey Collage

You know, those stars up there, they might not even exist. I mean, it takes so long for the light to travel here that the stars themselves, they could be gone by now. You know? It´s just weird, but they are like a message from back in time. The universe is bigger than we can imagine. I guess it just kind of puts things in perspective. All the stuff that we think is so important when in reality, it’s not. It’s nothing. Our planet, nevermind, our species, you and me, we´re nothing. We´re like a blip in time. We can´t worry. We just have to lie back and enjoy the ride.

– Jasper Herman, 90210

I can’t seem to unwrap my mind around the fact that graduation is in one month, exactly. I’ve been going back and forth with the list every pre-graduating student mentally makes when he’s nearing the end of a tunnel. Although, I think the list I have come up with so far isn’t entirely helping me clear up my mind about the big future plan— that blueprint for the brighter tomorrow, as some put it. Instead, my list ended up as a thread of reminiscence, rhetorical questions, apostrophes, metaphors, realizations and declarations.

It would be a baloney for me to deny the fact that I am stressing out. Because it is true. I’ve been pulling my hair out and punching myself in the throat over the past fourteen weeks (figuratively speaking, of course). It’s actually painful to constantly analyze my life and my emotions in the context of  pre-graduation blues. Wait, did I just say “blues”? Okay so yes, I did. I mean, that’s me. The last month in each chapter of my student life is always dreadful. Yes, I get all giddy and excited about moving on to the next step along with my unicorn friends and octopus fathers-in-law (reference to my make-believe companions in life). But at the same time, I tend to turn into this massive tumbleweed of extreme emotions: I begin to detach myself from my classmates, hate everybody, hold my middle finger up even to the innocent inhabitants of the earth and cry without any conscious reason.

I’m used to this, though. I just keep my focus on the good things that come with my hormonal student-life hostility. What are these good things, you may ask. Well, these are the priceless things in my list. My very own pre-graduation list:

Kenn’s Pre-grad List:

1. People in the city are simply richer, smarter, busier and fancier- but not necessarily happier. Three weeks ago, I decided to have a long walk on both Burrard and Robson. Now I love this place not because I am a Starbucks-addicted young tycoon who thinks the restaurants and boutiques on these streets are “beyond comparison”. No. That’s not the case. I love Burrard and Robson streets because of the distinct unforgettable memories I made there last summer. I was telling one of my classmates, Audrey, that sometimes I miss those streets so much I can hardly stand it. Her response? “Then go be there.” Sounded quite reasonable to me, so I ecstatically hopped in the train towards Burrard station. It was a sunny little winter day. I was there standing inside the vehicle, listening to “Cold Dessert” by Kings of Leon, ready to revisit a fresh past on downtown’s streets. When the ride was over, something cinematic happened. The moment I got off the train, everything literally became a blur of fast-moving black-and-gray images. More than a hundred people crowded the station– some getting in and some getting out of the train. I found myself feeling light-headed and out of balance as I marched towards the escalator. I took a deep breath, removed my earphones and let my eyes flutter open. I saw a little boy wearing a turquoise jacket getting dragged by his mom up the stairs. I looked around to see dozens and dozens of people mostly in suits, blazers and work uniforms- all in a rush, many on their phones discussing matters that sounded urgent. Not a single smile from any one of them. Not even a glimmer of content. I looked down and saw the little boy in turquoise again and I saw the only colorful thing in the entire motion picture, holding tightly on the hands of his mother as they get overtaken by the soldiers of the city. In that moment, I felt so strongly, that this isn’t who I am. This isn’t even who I want to be. Marching with a hundred people who are so used to such life, who are so conditioned to the society and who are all going somewhere to be productive? It made me feel so alone. I was the only one, apart from the boy, who had nowhere specific to go. I was the only one without a calculated purpose that day, the only one without a homework to submit, or a project to finish, or a deal to close. I was the only one in that march who wasn’t marching. I was instead gliding, floating and dreaming– fascinated once again by the humans of my time.

PicMonkey Collage1

2. I have 921, 758 deaths and only five lives. Sometimes I just stare at the blank tv screen and I see a meditated photograph of the ocean. I would then look out the window and realize how much I miss feeling alive. Truthfully, I feel most alive when and only when 1. I am having a walk on the beach with the view of the sunset, 2. I am laughing hysterically with friends and family, 3. I am gazing at the night sky on a starry night, 4. I am bonding with my pet cat and 5. I am sitting on an old tree’s branch eating fresh mangoes right next to someone special. I know these moments so well because these moments contribute greatly to the person I am today. These are the moments that shape me and continue to nourish me through my years. These are the moments that remind me of what’s important to me, of what I love the most about breathing. These moments are my lifetime vaccines against futility, convolution and adversity. These moments are what I am made of.

3. Are we humans, or are we dancers? I say I’m both. Everytime  a teacher or a classmate tells me I am hardworking, my insides manage a skeptical grin. Some tell me I can’t seem to relax, slow down, lay back and breathe. It has even been an issue brought up in my Singing and Voice classes. And it’s true in the literal sense, too. I mean I do have a verbal diarrhea every now and again, and I constantly feel grumpy and stressed out. But if you could read my mind, you’d know that my internal struggle towards a bigger energy is so disturbing and so indescribable that my dour appearance is but a poor mirror of it. I choose not to open up about my real thoughts in class simply because I do not trust myself with them. I am scared of my own thoughts, yet at the same time I embrace them; so much so that I am not willing to share them to people I know are less likely to understand. Sometimes, when I say in class, “I can’t seem to slow down”, it actually means I can’t seem to stop deliberately over-analyzing life in general and whether or not I will have the courage to fight against the conventional standards and live the simple life I know I want and need. My speech is quick, my facial reactions unplanned, my emotions rushed and my visible presence aloof and indifferent. This is why I write. It is only in writing that I am able to entertain my thoughts one at a time. More importantly, it is only through this medium of communication that I get to encounter life at a fairly rational level- the rest is chaos. It is official. Writing is the only thing that keeps me sane.

4. I am a man of no plans. Contrary to popular belief, the story of my life is written in real time. I have no concrete agenda when it comes to “success” as viewed by the society. Questions like “So what are you doing after graduation?”, “Got any work yet?”, “What kind of actor do you want to be?”, “Are you moving downtown by then?”, “So you’re saying you will work here for eight months. Where will you go after?”, “Are you planning to be a part of a web series or something? Like, what’s your strategy?” are all laughable to me. Not in an insulting way. It’s just that a big part of me finds humor in my lack of direction in life. I know that it is crucial to at least know what you want. But I already know that. And I know who I am. And if life takes me on a different spin tomorrow or thirty years from now, there will be no regrets. I may be a giant ball of question mark, but I get to know the world in a way I never would had I been born to live and die as a sturdy period or a loud exclamation point.

5. Life is a free verse prose-narrative written by a three-year old starfish with a brain tumor. Why are some people white, and some black? Why do some people believe in God while others in the Big Bang Theory? Why are some people so easy to get along with while there are some who are so intensely annoying you just want to grab them by their nipples and give them axe kicks? Why are there people who were born rich and famous while others have to technically excrete blood and sweat to get on even just a slightly higher ground? Why are there people with ten fingers while some with eleven, or nine? Why are there class valedictorians who end up waiting tables and dumb high school slutbags who now own a villa somewhere in Greece? Why are there people who haven’t smoked a single cigarette in their lives who have lung cancer, and others who do all sorts of smoking and drug abuse and manage to live without complications until the age of 92? Why are there so many innocents stuck in jail cells and so many criminals planning on their next dirty deed as we speak? Why does the six-month old baby die? Why does Burundi suffer so much financially while Dubai just carefreely throws itself away at 828-meter tall buildings and dancing fountains with camels on parade on a year-round sunny season? Why is the earth so big only five percent of its total oceanic area is explored? Why do some people dislike beer while others drink it eight times a day like water? Why are gummy bears so freaking irresistible? Why are there deserving people who have empty hands and lazy-ass hipsters who are given so much in one way or another? Why are there no stars in Surrey? Why do birds suddenly appear? — It is obvious. Life has no rhyme nor reason to it. We desperately turn to Religion, Science, Literature, Government Laws and Societal standards to try and make sense of the universe, but that’s the thing the majority do not understand. The universe is way bigger than we can imagine. Yes, you may be able to explain why birds suddenly appear or why there are black and white people through Physics and Anthropology, but you will never be able to rationalize the why’s in the full sense of the word. Why as in “how come?”, why as in “to what extent?”, why as in “for what possible reason?” Why?.. as in “WTF?!”

6. Even the stars die. I have been and always will be in awe at the massiveness of life both in the visible and the invisible sense. I am 19 years old, Filipino, unemployed, still living with parents and brothers, a writer with a recurring existential crisis, passive-aggressive, a self-confessed literary activist, and one the most unstable human beings you’ll ever meet. This is me. I can say a million other things about me in here, but that’s not the point. My living condition, my financial status, my emotional progress and my favorite past time are nothing compared to the dangers and beauty of the universe. I do not live each day towards a bigger goal. I do not wake up each morning to build a tower I can stand on so I can look down on those whose towers had crumbled down, or those who haven’t built one yet. I do not breathe to have a better tomorrow. I instead live each day with literally millions of wonders, as I lay down on the sand facing the ocean, knowing that right now is the better tomorrow. Just me. And the universe. Together as one.

Elsewhere

My Symphonies:  Morning Light by Courrier | Will You Be By Me by Wallpaper Airplanes

[Vancouver, British Columbia]

“Today I decided to say goodbye to Vancouver, my home for the last 16 years. This city and this country has been so good to me, yet I always felt that something was missing. It took me a while to figure it out, and I finally realized: it is the feeling of connection. I found it difficult to make friends here, to connect with like-minded souls who would be there for each other. I had no family in Vancouver– many acquaintances, but only one or two real friends. I find Vancouver and all its beauty a very lonely place. So Vancouver, it’s time for me to go. But know that I am likely one of the many who feel the same way.” 

[taken from the ‘Confessions’ section of Georgia Straight, volume 46]

 I have called Vancouver many things; today, I call it emptiness. 

I have been here in British Columbia for a little more than ten months now. Yes, ten months is not such a long time. But in this province, ten months can feel like a decade of pure desolation. And as much as I hate writing about things I’m not happy about, I just feel the urgency of letting this one out once and for all.

Vancouver is a beautiful city, don’t get me wrong. But really, looks can be very deceiving. Before I came here, this city appeared in my dreams like a shining, glittering piece of hope for great beginnings. I came from a country and from a city which I then considered incapacitated. The Philippines is the place where I spent 18 years of my life, and Bacolod is the city in which I made lasting memories, both good and bad. And everytime I think about my hometown, I can’t help but realize that I have so much history there. Those 18 years hadn’t been dormant. In fact, those 18 years are still so full of life, energy and charisma that it doesn’t even feel like the past. It’s all still there, lingering. And so while I am in this foreign country, I am bound to feel like I have left a very big part of me behind, and now I am forcing myself to continue breathing in a significantly thinner amount of oxygen. And I was fine with that. I was fine with moving on. Damn, life made me move on quite a lot in the past. And I didn’t mind walking on a different road, sleeping in a different bed, drinking from a different source of water and seeing a different horizon. I was fine with that, until my heart cracked open. 

The thing about Vancouver is, there is an underlying gap between expectations and reality. It disappoints. Underneath the marvelous mountains, stunning lakes and oceans, marbled walls, vaulted ceilings and glamorous way of life, people here are living in the chaos of a social discord. And they don’t even know it.

Living here for almost a year, I learned that I am not willing to succumb to the depressing weather and the wet, gloomy streets of this province (except for a couple of weeks in August, during which it’s really amazingly sunny). I don’t know, I’m just not wired that way. I miss the hot air in the tropics, and how I had to sweat just by crossing the street. I miss jumping up and over upon seeing an ice cream cart being pushed and pulled by a sidewalk vendor. I miss those days when I could wear flip flops and board shorts when I just wanted to roam around the neighborhood. Mostly, I miss the warmth not just of the weather, but also of the people. And I am gonna miss all of this even more if I stay here for the remainder of my existence. I am one of the many people who admire white sand beaches, coconut trees, mojitos, reggae music and the sun. And I do love the city living. City living is the best for me. But Vancouver isn’t the kind of city I want to stay in for  a long time. Here is the kind of city living that triggers all sorts of emotions, but on most occasions, sadness… and the feeling that something is lacking. And for someone like me, that is a total hell.

Aside from the obviously dull and dark weather conditions, another thing that makes me fall out of love with this city is the fact that it is, as a matter of fact, a dazzling epitome of the failed Canadian multi-cultural project. Because really, this country isn’t multi-cultural at all. It is bi-cultural. The population is divided into who are “natives” and who are “immigrants”. And as far as I know, multi-culturalism is essentially impossible. People will always be who they are, but society will keep on seeing it not as different, but wrong. It sucks for some of us, but that’s just the way it is. And yeah. It sucks.

This is a city where it rains eight times a week, and most people hate that. But there’s something worse than the weather and the social condition, and that is the people themselves. This place is too cold, too rainy, too expensive, too unfriendly and too disconnected. And all of these too’s are referring to the general Vancouverites, not the weather and the living condition. It is frighteningly weird that this place has a great scenery, but has no character.

Living in Vancouver is like having a very hot, very good-looking drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend/girlfriend with absolutely no personality– vapid. It will keep you hanging around for a while but I mean, at the end of the day, this city has good looks and that’s all. Most of the people I have encountered here almost seem soulless. They have nothing to say, they have no depth, no spirit, no genuine aura, no sense of being alive. Everybody just seems so worried about succeeding, and fitting in, and getting richer, and looking cooler. They would keep you company, you would laugh together, eat together, talk about deep things, get drunk and get down but very rarely does it evolve to something bigger than that. Each conversation is nothing less flat than the other, each moment is nothing less shallow than the other and each day is no different than any other. People keep on saying that this is a beautiful place to live in, but that is a resounding no. To me, the idea that Vancouver is beautiful has begun to appear as a piece of spin that has no foothold in reality. And this is because as I grow up, I tend to define the term “beauty” very differently. It just seems so ridiculous to me how this place is being immensely overrated. I was one of those people who worshiped this city. But then again, humans never get contented. And I guess right now, this is me being a human being– always wanting what he doesn’t have, and always longing to be elsewhere. Hence, the discontentment.

The only thing that keeps me from evacuating this province soon enough is my school and the few amazing people I’ve known there. It’s like as soon as school is over, and as I head back home at the end of each day, it sort of feels like a wooden coaster ride– you feel so happy and so alive while you;re up there, but as soon as the ride is over you get down on your feet and feel empty again. And then you just feel dizzy and you just wanna vomit. That’s how I feel at the end of each day here. Clearly enough, I am not happy. 

It may seem unfair and irrational for me to blame it all on the people, but that’s just how I feel it. I am a very social person, and all of my old friends know that. But here, no matter how hard I reach out to people, the connection I foster is never good enough to last for more than three or four months. And even when I observe the relationships of people in this city, I can see how evanescent all of it is, and how everything seems so temporary and shallow. And now that I have declared my utter dislike of this place, I probably won’t last long here. And so I just wanna say in advance, to the two or three people whom I have considered real friends here, that I love you, and I will miss you in the future. I mean, I know there’s no telling. The future is quite uncertain, but all I know is that right now, I am decided that Vancouver is not the place I want to spend the rest of my life in.

This city has taught me many things. This place has a lot to offer. But a couple of things this city doesn’t have are heart and soul. And I might regret saying this a couple of years from now, but here goes…

I can’t wait to be elsewhere.