Absence.

I'm sitting at a desk in a nice quiet house on a Sunday afternoon...and the silence is beautiful.
The last few weeks I've been struggling to get a grip and get a move on, so to speak. My head's been spinning, my heart's been aching (and don't get any ideas, there hasn't been a sudden acquisition and subsequent loss of some mysterious young man.) , and I've just felt a particular attraction to my bed. Despite the fact that Taylor's got a really bad cold, which she's in the process of passing to me, and if I don't get that one, maybe I'll be lucky enough to get the stomach virus that's on the other side of my floor, the world isn't all darkness!

Monday it was ridiculously warm, at 7 degrees and raining. Full out hear-the-drops get-soaking-wet raining, and it was lovely. A bunch of snow melted away, leaving green grass and big, salty puddles everywhere. Even in the city, the rain made the air smell good and the breeze feel fresh. And as an added bonus, the cars are looking cleaner! Sadly, this meant that the canal had to close again, and so there were to be no more skating adventures this week.

The balmy weather quickly disappeared, and by friday it was -25, with a -33 windchill. Taylor and I, lovely sick students that we are, needed to go to the drug store to get some cold-combatting supplies. On went the coat, the mittens, the toque, the socks, the boots - and out we went. And to my surprise, it didn't kill me. In fact, it was so much more bearable then I had imagined! Yes, I was only outside for 15 minutes (but we were walking against the wind!) but I honestly had dreaded this cool weather, and it wasn't that bad. Saturday was 5-10 degrees warmer depending on the Wind, and as I trekked around downtown trying to find somewhere to get an eye exam, I found myself enjoying the icy air.

The canal was so much clearer than it's been so far, and with no skaters on it, only the reflectino of the black sky and yellow lights which line either side, I could almost believe that it was just water, or glass, or paint. Eerily tranquil.

Last night I took some cold medicine, and even though it still took me a long time to fall asleep, this morning, when I woke up, I actually felt rested for the first time since being back from the break. I got up, got dressed, and caught the bus with no rushing for once...and it was a good morning. I recognized the busdriver - the nice busdriver. And it's worthy of "the," because friendly busdriver's seem to be hard to find around here. The bus was quiet, and I listened to some music without having to blast it to hear the words. I got off at Place d'Orleans and waited in a heated bus shelter for the next bus. I arrived at church and sat humming along to the piano while everyone came in. I like being early for church. And then I was greeted with a cheery goodmorning from the lady who sits behind me that I finally met last week. I liked listening to her talk about her children and grandchildren, or about the weather, or the music. This week was "orchestra" Sunday, so there was even more excitement about the music. When we got up to sing, I sang. And even though I'm sick, my nose is plugged, and my throat is sore, my voice sounded like my voice. It sounded like it belonged.

I've been filling out applications for mission trips this week, and one of the sections is inevitably about my home church. Every time I get to that question I find something else to do. Is Knox my home church? I grew up there. I'm a member there. My family's there. Is Grace my home church? I come here every week. I' m going to be in Ottawa more than I'm in Sooke this year.

Last night Taylor and I were talking about how much better it is to be at home when you're sick. And this morning, going to church, it finally felt a bit like home.

Lane's up from a nap now, and Lianne will be home soon with the rest of the family, so my quiet has ended in favour of friends... and potentially FINALLY watching V for Vendetta.

I miss and love you all! Go to the beach sometime soon - I dont care that it's Winter! There's a peace there that you can't find anywhere else, and it's worth the cold.

Magic Earmuffs

January 19...

I had expected to be colorful at the end of the day. Purple and blue and yellow hues adorning my skin all over. No, I didn’t start volunteering at a preschool, or return to my childhood roots, or begin painting a mural.

I had expected to be feeling. Tremendously aware of my spine, tailbone, and knees. Cognizant of every muscle , every joint, every motion. No, I’m not on a stint of becoming one with my emotions, or nature, or anything like that, though I would love to wrap my arms around a giant tree right now, and feel the bounce of the forest floor beneath my feet. It’s happier than snow, ice, and concrete.

I had expected to be embarrassed. To be the laughing stock of little kids, and universities students, and vendors, and maybe even whatever little creatures are still alive in the line of grass and trees between one way and another.

But when I got out there, tightened up my laces, put my bright red Olympic mittens on, and stood up, I found myself nervous, but steady as the blades beneath me carried me over bumpy ice.

I had hoped to be able to borrow some earmuffs from a friend. I’d planned it for weeks. I would get out there with my earmuffs, and skate, then fall, skate, then fall, while my friends helped me up and silenced their amusement until eventually I could sort of blend in with the locals, for whom this is just a part of life, and at 18, no longer some sort of rite of passage.

I remember watching Piglet learn to skate. When Pooh finds out he’s not playing hockey (or ice-cookie) because he can’t skate, the friends decide to teach him. Christopher Robin lets piglet wear his earmuffs – magic earmuffs- which piglet believes are the only reason he can skate.

And so I was going to wear these earmuffs, and take pictures with my ice-skating friends. And I was going to write a beautiful blog about self confidence and learning to glide down the ice on my own.

Piglet learns, when trying to rescue Pooh after the ice breaks, that the earmuffs weren’t magic after all: he saves the day, on his skates, without the earmuffs.

But I stood on the skates, and cautiously skated up to my friends, and then we took off, down and around and across the canal we went. It was freeing. It was exhilarating. And the smile that I had was real, completely real. And a little foreign.

Taylor and I skated the entire open part of the canal. We stopped and had the last beavertail before the stand closed. We took pictures of the trees that have been placed in the canal, of the “Bacon Bunner” sign, and of how grossed out we were.

And I was colourful: rosy red cheeks, bright eyes, white snow in my hair colourful. And I was feeing: unwrapping a fabulous birthday surprise, the first plunge into quiet waters, heart pumping joy through my body feeling.

And I was laughing – like the little kids, and university students, and vendors, and parents, and whoever else was around.

This is a Winter wonder.

Wander.

There's a lot of "have-to's" in my life right now. I wake up and force myself to slide out of the warmth and peace of my bed, into my cool dark room. The morning seems to be the only time the room is cold. And in the quiet, I'm not thinking about the things that make me happy. I'm not thinking about how warm my socks are, how pure the water I drink is, how much love there is in my life. I'm thinking about finding my books, my keys, my toothbrush. I'm thinking about the time of day, and whether the elevator is faster than the stairs at this moment. I'm thinking about the class I have to be in, the assignment I have to finish, the notes I promised to copy for a friend.

My class is over and I'm thinking about eating lunch, studying french, switching gears. I'm thinking about when to go to the optometrist, and when to buy skates. I'm thinking about what I need to prepare for dinner. I'm thinking about finishing my passport application, and when can I take that in, and where do I take it to?

And before I know it I'm thinking about my next class. I'm thinking about the reading that I have to finish, and the reading I have to start. I'm thinking about the grades I have to make. I'm thinking about the appointment I need to make to discuss how I can fit in all the courses I have to take.

When my classes are done for the day, and dinner's cooked, I rush to finish, to be downstairs, to meet Amber for an exercise class. I have to start being active again. The class is full, but instead we decide to walk together a little later.

The canal is frozen. It opened for skating last week, and as we walk along it, I wonder if there's water running underneath, or it's frozen solid, stuck, until something bigger lets it free. Sometimes I wonder if the things I think about are really about the water I'm walking on, or if they are about the things that are flowing, or stagnant inside. I wonder if I'll melt, or if I'll break, and which will be easier. And which will work better.

I say goodbye to Amber, and now I'm walking back along the ice. It's not as slippery as imagined. I think about the last few days. From the birds eye view I have through the chilly glass of my tenth story window, I've watched the ice. I watched it harden. I watched when the snow began to stick. I watched the trucks go up and down it. Benches and flags get carefully placed. I've watched children, and lovers, and parents, and grandparents put on their skates, and glide until I can't see them anymore. It's a smooth and fluid motion, it's a free and marvelous dance. But my boots tread along the ice and it's bumpy. There's holes and hills and the thinnest possible slices, a serene tracing, a silent story of somebody's journey. And I know that I'm just in a bump right now. Most people dont fall when their skates go over the bumps. Everyone who falls gets up.

I'm watching some little boys race across the ice in hockey helmets and skates and mittens that make their hands remind me of Winnie the Pooh lifting a hand of glossy honey out of Rabbit's jar. I'm listening to mother's calling to their children. "That's far enough" "Quoi?" answers the child, who looks at me, and back at his mom, smiles when I smile, and skates on. I think about going skating when I was little. Everyone thought I had the coolest mom, because every time, after I didn't need a hand, she'd lead a train. I'd reach up and grab on to her hips, laughing. And my friend would latch on to me, and her friend to her, and soon all the kids were gliding along behind my mom who twisted and turned and sped along the smooth ice while we giggled and held on with everything inside of us. Then we'd break, someone would let go and we 'd tumble down, roll around on the ice, get back up and race towards her. We'd crash into her all wanting to be at the head of the train. I think about my pinky-orange helmet and the reflective sticker that I got one Halloween which lay crooked above my forehead. "Get Visable." What am I doing right now that is visible? What am I doing right now that I'll want to remember ten years down the road? What am I doing now that reflects the light I want to reflect? What am I doing right now that makes me laugh, and makes the people around me laugh? I need to re-discover the thing that makes me want to jump back up, and race to start again after a fall.

I'm curled up in my chair feeling the icy air move slowly through my window. The tops of my fingers and my arm that's closest to the window are starting to get cold. I hope that tomorrow when I wake up, in the quiet of the morning I'll know who I am. Whose I am. And maybe I'll be able to see the have-to's in a better light.

Response

I stare in awe

and disbelief and gratitude

at a picture of a house

opened by nature, not shiny brass hinges, on one side

the rooms exposed like a little girl’s doll house.

Sally plays here, Jacob plays there.

The house is curved, sagging, ripped apart

Where the lovingly placed miniture

carpets and furniture and dishes belong

There are debris. Shattered shelters

Shattered lives.

Shattered glass,

A photograph of a time

That isn’t anymore.

I stare, with an unknown emotion

And wonder, and anger, and gratitude

At a uniform text, and another, and a few more

Emails, facebook groups, headlines.

Does the world really mourn with Haiti?

I don’t know what that child feels like

Who wrapped her arms tightly around her knees

Who ducked down and plugged her ears

Whose mother and little brother are lost in the rubble.

One, Two, Three, Four

We counted in unison when the sound of shaking ended

Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight

We kneeled under our desks in a bright class room

Forty-something, fifty-five,

One hand holds the leg of the desk, one arm protects your neck

And then at sixty there’d be a rustling

We’d come up from under our desks,

And we’d file outside into the sunshine

And we’d laugh on the soft green, level playing field.

The drill is over.

I don’t know what the teacher felt like

Who frantically tried to calm her students

Everything’s gonna be all right.

Who thought at the same time about

Where her husband was at this exact moment

And her daughter, and her sister, and her mom.

I don’t know if the boy with dreams to build a city escaped.

I don’t know if the pregnant woman survived.

I don’t know if the church is standing.

I don’t know if I’d be able to worship.

I can give money here, and there

And this organization, and that one, and the one across the street.

I know that my school, and my church,

and my city are all collecting.

But I want to feel the jagged crumbling bricks shred my skin

I want to dig with my hands. I want to understand.

I want to dig, not to my pockets or my bank account, but

To the soul stuck within the depths of a new chaos

and to the bottom of myself

As I figure out where

and what and who I am

in this world.

That can fall

In an instant.

I know it's not good to say I'll never...

But I’ll never put hairspray in my hair when I’m straightening it in rez ever again. This week, I had almost finished my hair when there was a POP and a little fireball - yes, it was fire, not just a spark. And I watched this little fireball fall away from my straightener and infront of my face until it went out, where thankfully there were no papers or real branches or matches or flammable materials lying innocently on my desk. My straightener no longer has a chord. I no longer have a straightener.

And I’ll never write a textbook, demand students read it, and then give three hours of lecture each week that are literally the exact same as the textbook. I don’t think I’ll ever like economics either. And speaking of textbooks and teachers, if (when) I become a teacher I’ll never read through the textbook faster than one could speak on fast forward and then put students on the spot, demanding answers and expecting them to know the stuff that I just “taught.” Everyone needs some time to soak in the difference between, and when to use, and why not to use the other, and what the other words in the sentence mean, and what on earth she said in the first place. Pendant, depuis, pour, en. Pendant this semester, francais is going to be a stressful class. Depuis the first day, I’ve known this. Pour some dumb reason I seem to be fabulous at finding faults with my French teachers. Maybe this is why I want to be a French teacher myself? Maybe I’m learning from all these supposed faults. Or maybe I’m doomed/blessed to find faults within myself?

I like that my French teacher has giant, deep dark eyes that remind me of a little girl I once knew. I like the textbook she chose. I like that she’s a tiny woman who speaks loud enough and definitely has control of the class. Maybe her control is because we sit, crammed together in the basement of a basement, in theatre seats where we cant open our books without being in the next person’s space. We cant move because of how close we are, and heaven forbid we touch the next person. And we all sit, waiting for her to randomly select our name and hoping we’ll be able to come up with the right answer – or one that’s not right but starts with the same letter and maybe she wont quite catch what we said. At least the basement of the basement is of a a beautiful building, I can try and imagine myself in a grand and glorious room upstairs, with magnificent old architecture. I sit beside a massive column and my boots squeek when they rub against the marble floor, and as long as I pretend that I went up the stairs not down when I entered the giant doors of Tabaret Hall, I can almost believe that I’m in a nice place, with a prof that inspires me. The one that I want to be like “when I grow up.” The one I’ll tell my unsuspecting students about, when it’s still time for them to be dreaming about how much better University is than high school.

I’m working on organizing my life this week. I need to have a place for everything, and apparently, all the places in my room were full before Christmas, so when I brought back more things – all useful – but still more, there were not enough places left. So I’ve reorganized my room. I’ve found a home for my empty suitcase, for my summer clothes, for my food, for my dishes. And now I’m on to organizing my school life. Yesterday, I sat on my bed, the sun shining, it’s beams warming me as simultaneously a refreshing breeze flows through my window. If I don’t look down, it’s possible I’d believe it’s Spring, maybe Summer. And the notes, that have travelled from binder to file to box to suitcase to Ottawa to various stacks around my room travelled back into one binder. Four and a half years of French. Enough to see my writing neaten, , the ridiculousness of how “just so” I needed my notebook to be increase, and enough to carefully see the shift from learning French in English to learning French in French. And of all these notes, all the time they stand for, the growth, the lessons, I chose the ones I needed, and was left with a pile of things I don’t. Now, unless you know me in some context which I can’t think of, or unless you’re just getting to know me, or don’t know me at all, you are going to sigh when you read what comes next. You’ll sigh, either as an expression of how proud of me you are, or simply because it is the best and most satisfying way to say “finally.” You’ll sigh alright, when you read that I took that pile of papers which didn’t make it into the binder, I held them in my hands for a minute, and then, sighing myself slipped them into the recycling bin. My room mate made me rip them up later.

I’ll never see those notes again.

Yes, I’m sentimental about my notes! And I’ll probably never not be.

Double negative intended.

Hopefully.

The end of last week was wonderful….I realized how strange it’s been being away from most of my Christian Friends. I went to Campus for Christ on Friday – it’d been more than a month since I’d seen everyone there. We had a good time at the Draft Pub afterwards, and then I came home and had a quiet evening to myself. Well, semi quiet. It was the first Friday back. Saturday I got some work and some relaxing done, and bought my French book. I had to go to a French bookstore, and for some reason, until I phoned to ask about their hours, it hadn’t occurred to me that a French book store would actually be French. I was very thrown off when the woman answered “bonjour?”. Thankfully, she didn’t treat me like a complete moron when I asked my question in English. But it certainly was weird being in the store, I know the cashier spoke English, because he obviously understood what my friend and I were saying to eachother, but he refused to speak it to us. I refused to speak French back.

I’d like to say I’ll never be so stupid again, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve done at least 10 equally ridiculous things since that moment. Maybe at least 10 a day.

Sunday morning I got up and took the bus to Orleans for church. I’d like to say that it is VERY weird having a bunch of people my age sitting with me in church! Lane has introduced me to a bunch of his friends there, and they often come and sit with me, as I get to church before Lane and his family. They like to take over the row and make Lianne (Lane’s mom) sit somewhere else. It’s very strange that the youth joking around in church are not my brother and his friends – but me and my friends. Don’t worry. We listen. We just have a little too much fun taking note of how many times Pastor Dan says “Time after Time” in his sermons, which sparks Sam to begin singing the song, and everyone to laugh as quietly as we possibly can. Even when he’s not sitting with us we at least smile when we hear it. Sometimes Sam does actions too. Sometimes I let my mature side win, and I ignore them, likely with the same expression on my face as when I ignore whatever shenanigans Tim and Nate and Samuel are up to. Usually not.

After church and lunch Lianne wanted to watch a movie, so we watched 500 days of Summer. Then Lane and I watched Spy Kids 3 and some ridiculous short clay-mation thing interviewing animals about aliens, and aliens about their immigration to earth. The last two were awfully funny. And by that I don’t mean really funny, I mean the kind of funny that is awful. I think Lane and I were just so completely shocked at how bad both were, and how crazy it was that they were on tv, and how sad it was that at one point all of us liked Spy Kids. We played spy kids, pretending to use our special devices and powers to save the world. We remember the Spy Kids toys at MacDonald’s. We remember how exciting the 3D parts were. 3D’s come a long way in the last 7 years. Then we set the table and helped with the finishing touches for dinner. I’m so thankful that they’ve brought me in to be part of their family!

Monday was interesting. I couldn’t find out which room my 9:00 Spanish Lab was supposed to be in, so I didn’t go to it. When I went to the 10:00 discussion group, there was another class in the room my schedule had listed, and another girl who’s schedule said she was supposed to be there for yet a third class. Even our teacher had the wrong room number. One student’s schedule suggested a different room, so we went down there. Nobody was there – so hopefully that’s actually where we’re supposed to be!

That brings me to today. It’s January 12, 2010. My best friend from Elementary School turns 19 today. I woke up, realizing that the feeling I had that I was getting sick is sadly reality. I have a nasty headache, no energy, and plugged sinuses, and school’s only been on for a week.

I’ll never get through a semester without being sick.

Oh, and by the way, I went outside without my coat today - it was brief, but it was still without my coat or mitts, or toque or scarf. It was so bright! And I thought to myself, "It's actually really warm today, for Ottawa."

Without the windchill, it was 20 degrees warmer at home. With the windchill, it was 30 degrees warmer.

Back.

I cried when I left this time. I had tried to make myself believe that two weeks would be just the right amount of time. I'd get to see all my friends. I'd get to spend time with my family. And I'd realize why it was that I wanted to be out on my own in the first place. Perhaps it's time for me to realize that when I try and make these sort of ideas about time and love and people, my plan is never right. Two weeks was definitely not long enough - but though it was too short, it was amazing.

I got home late - and in some ways it was like I'd never left. Same old conversation. Same old car, house, wonderful things, annoying things. Only suddenly my brother is obviously bigger than me. And suddenly I notice that the way I look at the trees in the back yard, listen to the waves roll up and trickle down the beach at Whiffen Spit, feel the rain on my skin, smell my laundry fresh out of the drier, taste the soft cool water as it enters my body... it's all different.

But it's different in a good way.

I smile.

Christmas began! Shopping, baking, stressing, laughing...the whole kit and caboodle. (where on earth did that saying come from?) We bought groceries and some gifts on the 23rd. The twenty fourth I spend the morning cleaning, and then spent the afternoon making "Christmas Cookies" (ahem...cough cough...) with Hannah. Every Christmas needs a scandalous love story about sugar cookies turned green and space ships and aliens and candy canes, doesn't it?

That evening I really went home. It was an indescribable feeling, walking into the church with my dad and brother. Candle light, the soft hum of exchanging stories and best wishes, faces aglow, smiling. My voice blends, familiarly, with the others around me as I let myself go and just sing. How long has it been? I think about the last several Sundays. Where has my voice been? It's sounded wrong, off, like someone else's. And here I fit. Here my voice, and my brother's voice, my dad's, the people behind and in front of us, the choir, the piano, and the child laughing near the back are all one joyous chorus. Maybe because it's Christmas time. Maybe it's because this is how I know my voice - together with these specific people as we worship as one. Anyone feel like coming to Ottawa?

I like the church I go to here, but it's been a long time since I've felt this way.

Christmas day was certainly a change this year. We woke up, opened stockings, and went to church. After church we came home and had lunch. But then, instead of hopping in the car to visit our grandparents, we headed to Ayre Manor, where mom works. We brought some story books, some song books, and our guitars, and simply sung Carols for an hour or two. It was fun singing as a family. When we left we went down the Ed Macgregor park. We walked along the boardwalk, and through the forest. We took a bunch of pictures of Tim and I. (Photo 3) How wonderful to be outside in just my shirt for a while! I took my jacket and my mitts off. One pair of socks, light shoes, no scarf or hat. I couldn't even see my breath! When we got home I (and my two helpers!) made stuffed pork roast with mashed potatoes, vegetables, and gravy for dinner. It was SO nice cooking a big hearty meal in a real kitchen with my dad. And so nice to sit down at a real table with real chairs - my own house with my family. It wasn't turkey, and we weren't all there, but it was still Christmas.

Boxing Day and the day after that were each Christmas again, once with each set of Grandparents. How wonderful to hear everyone's voice, to see everyone, to be together. And with Turkey! It's the cherry on top. (Or, for those of you who know how much I've lost my brain, to quote myself) "It's like Christmas"

Yes, that was my first reaction when I was told how many presents under the tree were for me.

Yes, I realize I'm in University.

Yes, I realize I need more sleep.

Monday I took a very long bus ride into Victoria with Justin. It was good to get off the bus and venture outside in the fresh air. We wandered through Victoria, stopping at a few shops, and at a cafe to have some tea. Then we headed down to the harbor. We sat and talked, and watched for a while. The people - kids coming up trying to leap-frog over mushroom shaped lamps along the edge of the water, the smallest one trying so hard to keep up with his older brother. The water - calm, the boats rocking just gently. The sky - clouds, but not dark depressing clouds. Eventually the temperature got to us, and it was time to walk again. We headed down to James bay. As we neared the water, we could see a bench and what seemed like the end of the world. Gray sky and nothing else. But by the time we reached the bench, and headed down the path onto the beach, the sun was going down. The sky began getting brighter and brighter, as suddenly what had just been nothing turned to be breathtakingly beautiful. I loved the sound of the rocks moving under my feet. The smell of the ocean air. I was completely, whole-heartedly happy. (Photos one and two)

When the sun had set, and we'd pried ourselves away from the water, we caught a bus to head out of the city. I said goodbye at Town and Country, got off the bus and met up with Emily. We had dinner at one of my favourite restaurants, watched movies, and lay awake talking as if we were thirteen again. Only now our joys are so much deeper, our struggles are so much bigger - and matter so much more. Maybe five years from now I'll look back at the things that I'm feeling now and think they were small too. It's both wonderful and scary, being able to see yourself growing. I like how my emotions have grown too. I really did have as much as I could handle back then - and it taught me to handle more. I've learned to love deeper too.

The next day Emily and I had tea with Ms. Kilduff, I dont think I've ever seen her look so happy! She had some great advice about jobs, and showed us the scrapbook she's made for her 9 month old son. He has gigantic blue eyes, and such a personality.

Wednesday was supposed to be my day to myself, but instead mom and I went into town to get some stuff for her goats, and then rushed to have lunch before she had to go to work. I spent the afternoon quietly though, which was great.

Thursday Sydney and I went for a hike in the rain. I love the forest! And you know what? I actually like the rain too. After our hike we had one of my favourite lunches ever - left over Turkey dinner, and then went into Sooke to have tea with Kaylie. Go have a Bourbon Street Vanilla Rooibos from the reading room cafe. It's soooo good.

New Year's Eve was spent at the Martin's place, and it was wonderful. I came in the door and Samuel had tons of new exciting stuff to show me: a drum and a unicycle and look-what-I-can-do on the drums now! Bryn's grown up so much, tall and beautiful all dressed up for her birthday. Even though I admit that by this point, I was getting a little tired of "so, how is Ottawa, how is University, how are you doing" (It's boring only having 3 stories to tell. Some times I wanted to say "Actually, it wasn't my thing, so I went backpacking through Europe and spent a month living in Timbuktu"), I had some great conversations, along with some great wine. When the New Year had begun, and most people went home, we spent the early hours of the morning like we usually do at their house, playing Settlers of Catan. Nate and I teamed up as usual, the normal craziness ensued, it went on forever, but we all left happy at the end of the night. Happy and Exhausted. Welcome, 2010!

January 1st was likely the closest I've come in a long time to spending the whole day doing nothing. I needed it!

The next day I woke up nice and early, went to Victoria to have breakfast with my grandparents, and then spent the day scrapbooking with my Aunt. I'm still 4 years behind...but it's getting there! That's when the goodbye's started in earnest.

Goodbye Grandma and Grandpa, Goodbye Auntie Karen. I went to church - and said goodbye there. I went to Whiffen Spit with Justin, Hannah joined us, and at the end of a walk in the rain, I breathed in as much ocean air as I possible could.

Breath out.

Bye...

January 4th I visited EMCS, it was weird - but enjoyable being back. I had an amazing muffin from the cafeteria, got to catch up with and bug my favourite teachers. There were certainly a lot of downs in highschool, but over all, I loved it. I changed so much in those four years - I achieved so many goals, and came out of it just as full of dreams as when I went in. I remember one day in grade 10 or maybe 11, I was peer tutoring Mr. Scott's math class. He made some joke about me teaching there one day, and my kids going there. I remember being outraged. Definitely not, I laughed. I'm getting out of here - I love this place, but I'm getting out. I think I felt like I had to leave to make something of myself. Like staying in Sooke would somehow mean I was incapable of becoming someone successful. Like the town somehow had claws on me, and I needed to break free to prove myself. But I did make something of myself in highschool. I did have many successes. I walked through the halls and felt like this was a place where I accomplished something - not only for myself, but for others. When I was in grade nine, every day I'd come up the stairs and look at the names of student council presidents going back to the 1940's. I wanted to be on that wall. How amazing would it be to have that fame?

My name is on the wall now, along with the name of one of my closest friends. And as I looked at the new plaque, I laughed at how I once thought of this wall. These are all people who stood up for something in highschool. I was a shy girl with big ideas and no clue how to make them happen. That name on the wall represents and incredable journey, and an incredable friendship to me. Not fame. I've made it out now, and with the exception of my pride which says "don't let him be right," I wouldn't mind being back. Not forever - but for a while.

I cried when I left. Two weeks had come and gone. I think the things that changed only made it harder to leave, they didn't give me the excuse I was looking for. The thing is, I know Ottawa is where I need to be. And I actually do really love it so far. But it's a young love. It's like my 13 year old love. It needs time - that maybe I dont want to give - in order to get deeper.

So I'm back now. From being back. My things are all put away, the fridge is full of groceries, and I'm preparing to settle in to the grind that is University. I'm catching up with friends, Taylor's already had me crying from laughing so hard. Veronica's already left us a note under the door. Some more boys, (after failing to make instant rice) have already asked if I'll cook for them next year. The snow is deeper, the wind is sharper. But the sun is shining, and I'm smiling, and strangely, even though I'm homesick and jetlagged, this place feels kind of like home. A new home, but home.

It's nice being back.