The Unofficial Guide to Life
Here we pay tribute to different chapters of life, honouring the passage of time. Perhaps we cling to an irretrievable past or yearn for an unknown future, all the while doing our best to live courageously in the present. We revel in monumental occasions; cherish quiet moments. Obstacles, uncertainty, regret: thank you for making us stronger. Make yourself a cup of coffee and get comfortable: this is the good stuff.
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”
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”
There is an old man who works in a Turkish kebab shop on the street that I walk up and down most days. Sometimes, he looks busy and other times, he appears bored. He’s looking out the window, at all the people passing, and our eyes meet for half a second. It’s only when I’m already gone when I wonder if I remembered to smile.
Continue reading “We’re All Looking at the Same Moon”
One of the saddest sights to see is dead Christmas trees abandoned on the side of the road. Last year, when I was finally able to leave my room and go out to explore after ten days in quarantine, dead Christmas trees were one of the first sights to greet me. No longer standing upright and no longer full of bright lights and colourful baubles, they looked lonely and dejected in their nakedness. It’s a very depressing thing to see.
Continue reading “Dead Christmas Trees”
Things I Learned Growing Up 