The Unofficial Guide to Life
It’s the time of year where people are drawn towards pastel coloured nails, and soft skies, and flowy skirts, and gentle music. People take pictures of budding blossoms and the daffodils covering the meadows like a golden carpet and post them on Instagram – I do too. The gardens repopulate with flowers, the night stays lighter a little longer, and everybody everywhere is taking pictures.
Continue reading “Hope”
As I write this, the sky has opened and the rain is falling relentlessly. I keep thinking that if I had been 10 minutes slower on my walk to the shops, I would have been caught in it and my fluffy coat that people keep telling me how much they like would have gotten soaked and I probably would have been annoyed and then I probably would have gotten over it.
Continue reading “Behind Rain Splattered Windows”
March is already half way over and I’ve yet to go on one jog around the meadows, or do yoga, or apply for enough placements or a bunch of other things that I said I’d do when the year began. Three plants have died because I forgot to water them. The book I planned to read is still on chapter two. The tasks on my work to-do list are still unticked.
Continue reading “Missing Winter”
So far, in June, I’ve bought 5 plants. One is called a string of turtles, another is a cactus, and one is a ficus. I don’t know the names of the other two but they are green, and lush, and alive. I shouldn’t have bought so many plants; I don’t even have room for them. They sit on my windowsill and table tops and radiators like too many cramped guests. I don’t know how to take care of plants either. I keep thinking they’re going to die because they wither or turn yellow or curl up or the leaves drop off completely but somehow they don’t. I want to believe that nothing really dies if you wish hard enough but I know that isn’t true. Most things die; many things die. Still, sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes life is forgiving.
Continue reading “Green Rooms”
I’m 30 now. I remember finishing up a piano lesson last Wednesday and looking over at the clock and seeing it was midnight. That was it; my birthday. The start of a new decade. I suppose in Canada I was still twenty-nine, but in my life in Scotland, I was thirty. I went straight to bed and woke up at 4am to watch the sunrise on Arthur’s Seat. I did that last year too, except there was too much fog and I didn’t see a thing. This year, the sky was glorious. I don’t know if that means anything; I hope it does. I hope it symbolises everything the year ahead will look like. I’m always trying to find hidden meaning in things. Maybe thirty is when you’re supposed to stop doing things like that. Maybe by the time you reach thirty, you’re supposed to realize that sometimes a sunrise is just a sunrise.
Continue reading “Thirty”
I walked a lot in January and so far, I’ve walked a lot in February too. Over the weekend, I was walking into town to meet up with a friend for coffee and it was pouring rain or ‘pissing it down,’ as they would say over here. It’s impossible to use an umbrella in Scotland because of the wind. That’s why I had to pull my hood over my head, holding in place the entire journey.
Continue reading “The Wind”
Lately, when I go for evening walks, it’s been cold and clear. I stuff my hands in my pockets and try to disappear inside the puffiness of my jacket. I hate being cold. I made a promise to myself once that I wasn’t going to be cold ever again if I could help it but here I am.
Continue reading “January Walk”
My favourite thing about walking with people who know Edinburgh better than I do is that whenever we pass something important, beautiful, or worth mentioning, they tell me about it. Some people will point out the significance of a statue, or the name of a building, or tell me that this is the place they went on their first date with the person who is now their wife or that that restaurant is their favourite or that they once threw up on those steps.
Continue reading “The Streets we Walk”
It’s dark and strangely quiet when I wake up, tiptoe to the kitchen, and look out the window while I wait for the water to boil. It’s 7:30; not even that early. But everything about the world still seems dream-like and faraway like maybe nothing is real.
Continue reading “The Light we Create”
Things I Learned Growing Up 