Before I knew it, I was back home, packing my bag. Adding this, subtracting that, making sure I had all I needed, and nothing I didn’t. More friends, more goodbyes, one final sunset, and one more late night. It’s after 2AM, and I’m to wake in 6 hours to prep for departure at 1600hrs. I’m excited, I’m nervous, I’m anxious, I’m overwhelmed, and I’m underwhelmed, I’m tired, and I’m ecstatic. 24 years of experience. 4 months of research. 1 week of final planning. 1 flight, 1 transfer, and 2 meals. 1 amazing adventure, with 14 great friends, and 1 talented prof, in 4 beautiful cities.

Here goes nothing.
.. and by nothing, I mean everything.

Farewell Vancouver; Italia here I come!

Once I made it to the car, I wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. Key in the ignition, sun roof open, I winded my way up through the depths of the parkade and onto the street above. I called up Norbert, suggested gelato, picked him up, and found a spot to park up the hill from Denman. The girl at Mondo seemed happy for the business, suggesting I try some raspberry cheesecake. We then headed to the beach I missed out on earlier in the day, to sit and savour the moment. The sky, half painted black by clouds from the west, glowed the shade of dark ocean turquoise I have always loved. It is that time of day, no longer evening, not yet night, and something past twilight. The city lights, contrasted to the deepness of the colour in the sky, with dark shadows of trees and unlit condos, and reflections of all on the water’s surface…. I’ll remember it. I’ll remember it as I walk along the Tiber. I’ll think of it when the overwhelming pace and complexity of Milano makes me yearn for tranquility. I’ll miss it, gazing out my suburban bedroom window at the fence 6 feet away, and the wall of the neighbouring house beyond that. I’ll relive it when I move back in a future that has yet to be decided.

****

Wandering the streets of the city snapping photos.
Walking the sea wall with gruppo5, then half of downtown and the burrard st bridge; all 16km of it.
Blading the sea wall and false creek, and then doing it again. 13km each.
Cherishing a final coffee at the park at 9am under the glowing spring sun.
Watching the sun set in a glorious show of colours, reflecting off the glass towers all around.
Singing and playing my best in a competition of Rockband and American Idol (and reaching a tie at 100% on expert) with a handful of great friends.
and Smiling every chance I could.

****

Red Jumpsuit Apparatus – Your Guardian Angel

Clouds scattered the sky as we crossed the 2nd Narrows into North Van. The towers of downtown, sparkling in the distance, were no match for the mountains drawing us north. We winded up through residential hills before reaching the final lot outside Lynn Headwaters. Now, I’m sure I must have visited Lynn Valley at some point in my youth, but if I have, I can’t remember. Either way, I’m positive I wouldn’t have hiked the same 9km as a youngster.

It started off pleasant. Sun venting through the treetops, highlighting the undergrowth below. As we ascended, ice chunks began falling from the canopy, waging warfare on our heads. We reached a lookout, providing a partial view of the metropolis below – the bridge crossed earlier, perfectly aligned with our current location. Back into the forest, the snow underfoot grew deeper as we continued, and our shoes doubled as skis down many of the slight dips and slopes. Dozens and dozens of photos later, we reached a clearing that lead towards the creek splitting the valley. The sun that had been playing hide and seek decided to hide once more, as snow began to fill the sky. 4ft snowbanks lined the path towards the water, beckoning childhood emotions within me. I resisted the urge to duck, or dig, or write in its walls, but the others weren’t so restrained.

The snow grew heavier and turned to rain as we made our way back along the trail that followed the creek. No longer sheltered by the forest canopy, we found refuge in the occasional tree well. Fellow hikers or park goers grew in number as we neared the end of the trail. It was getting to be midday, and families were out to take advantage of their day off. We were glad to be near the end of the return trip, having enjoyed minimal human interruption on our journey. As soon as we reached the map at the trail head, and crossed the final bridge towards the lot, the clouds parted and the sun celebrated our arrival.

I made it home, bidding farewell to my classmates before taking advantage of the hot tub on the main floor, and retired to my bed to rest. It was no more than 3pm, but my Good Friday was nearer to being a Great Friday.

****

Spotting rowers in the dark below the Cambie Bridge.

Enjoying fare dolce niente with the roommate.

Finding a new outfit to make Easter a little more special.

Singing my best in that new outfit to make Easter a little more memorable.

Leaving time between commitments to sit, ponder, and improve.

Appreciating, savoring, living, and loving every minute I get to spend in my room, apartment, neighbourhood, and city, before the approaching move back to Delta.
Zoning out in lectures to write, reflect, and share, and feel great about doing it. Sorry Zorana!

* * * *

We arrived early enough to pick up a lunch from a sandwich place down the block, and grab a parking spot right in the lot. Neither of us had been to this particular park before, and we were slightly confused by the name of its centerpiece. Trout Lake, to us, appeared to be more of a pond or slough than a lake, and we were more than doubtful on the probability of actual Trout living in such a stagnant, muddy mess. Did that stop us? It sure didn’t. After touring around a corner of the lake, we set up our simplified picnic on a small dock hovering above some lilly pads, cattails, and rats. There was a small yellow duck toy as well, but it proved much less entertaining than our rodent friends. Before long we were back on the trail making our way around the rest of the lake, scoping out fellow event-goers setting up their domains for the evening festivities. We found a spot on a good plot of grass, threw down the blankets, and got to reading and people watching.

The Illuminaires Lantern Procession is a yearly event in Vancouver. Despite this being its 19th year, I had never come out for it, and Mark hadn’t even known of its existence. Regardless, there’s a first time for everything, and what an evening it was! Children chasing bubbles in the low sun offered free entertainment until the costumes appeared. Costumes of all sizes and colours, body paint, stilt walkers dressed as fairies and butterflies and fantasy characters, and a delightful woman dressed atop an ostrich in full on safari gear. Fire throwers, roaming bands of musicians, donation jesters, and everyone else, from newborn to elderly, come to join in and witness the event, made for quite the sight. Lantern borders defined blanket spaces until the sun finally set and the real show began.

There were lanterns of all sorts of shapes and sizes. Some small enough to carry, could be seen floating around the edges of the lake in the procession, while others were hidden amongst the trees and shrubs. We watched from our blanket for as long as we could handle before we packed up and joined the tour. Lights. Smiles. Shadows. Colours. Joy. The atmosphere was absolutely palpable. It was pure magic.

* * * *

The Simpsons Movie, pirated, and projected in a public park, for anyone and everyone, homeless or otherwise.
A solitary moment spent enjoying fireworks from afar, and a much more crowded time enjoying them right up close.
Scones, coffee, an English Mastiff, and a chance to catch up with a good friend.
A show of comedy and video humour in the back corners of 1181.
Strolling along Commercial, Venables, and other unknowns, in search of poutine and midnight gelati.
West van beaches, the old highway, both ways on the sea to sky, music, whyte cliff park, and a setting sun.
An outdoor concert complete with viva puffs, camera lenses, pleasant sights and Wonderwall.
Dinners with friends. Movies with friends. Beaches with friends. Wanders with friends. Drives with friends.

* * * *

i heart(ed) summer.

* * * *

I sit shirtless on the back deck, computer on my lap, and I experience summer relaxation. Sure it may be hard to see the screen, and there are wasps constantly investigating my legs, but it’s not raining. It’s not snowing. It’s not cold, not too breezy, too dark, too hot, too loud, too quiet, too lonely, too busy. It’s perfect. It’s summer in the suburbs of the GVRD and I am content, surrounded by all the colours of the rainbow in impatiens and hydrangeas and petunias and fuchsias and all sorts of unnameables, dancing in the wind, coated by swimming shadows of the cedars up above. This is right now. I am here, and I wouldn’t be anywhere else but here.

* * * *

memories: vaguely planned, delightfully made, easily lost.
..if not recorded.

* * * *

When the screen door opened, flapping back again on its weak hinges, the sweet satisfaction of new exploration was unbearable. We climbed the final ladder and made it to the top, whereupon we witnessed a new angle on the vancouver skyline in the evening. From Science world, what remains of the Plaza of Nations, past BC Place and the condos of Yaletown and False Creek, to One Wall Centre, reaching for the sky like a giant, glassy tube of lipstick long forgotten in the center of downtown by some nameless giant. The Cambie, Granville, and Burrard street bridges leading cars and pedestrians en masse into the core. Tonight is the opening night of the Celebration of Lights, a 4 night competition of music and fireworks, drawing a quarter of a million people nightly to the beaches surrounding English bay.

As we sat there on the roof, feeling the slight summer evening breeze, and watching the sky slowly gradient from blue to teal to violet to pink to orange, the first explosion peeked out from behind one of the many glass condo towers. We should have been working down below; we were paid to be working down below; but this was more than worth it. A simple 20 minutes spent perched atop a steel storage bin, 50ft above ground, watching the city watch lights and colours appear and fade into a dull brown fog. When it was over, we smiled, reminisced, and made the hot descent back into the bowels of the mechanical lair, dusty coffee grounds once again saturating our skin and senses.

This is my summer.

* * * *

He wondered what it all meant. ‘If the skies and the trees and the waves and the wind are the medium for the message, then what should I be taking from this?’ he pondered as a few giant drops of rain began to appear on the windshield. ‘I understand simple sunny weather, and I understand chaotic, destructive windstorms, but this is too beautiful to understand.’ His eyes drifted back and forth, attempting to soak in the sky as much as he could, while ensuring the white and yellow remained an equal distance from each wheel. The day had become another for the memory banks. ‘How many days have to go by before another like this will occur?’ he asked himself. ‘How often will I be given the chance to feel alive, in the monotonous discontent of suburb life?’

* * * *

Writing is freedom. It is a way to remember. It’s a tool to increase vocabulary. It’s a method to improve spelling, in a world dependent on [spell check]. Writing is a way to communicate when photographs aren’t available. Writing is a way to say what can’t be spoken, to pen what hasn’t been considered. It’s a way to evoke emotion, in both the writer, and the reader. It’s a way to relax, to put oneself at ease, to enjoy ones own company.

* * * *

Float above the world in a hot air balloon.
Run at least one marathon. Any one. Anywhere.
Climb to the top of a snow-capped mountain.
Live out of a suitcase for at least 6 months.
Canoe through a lake, a creek, or a river in the wilderness.
Jump out of a plane, parachute ready.
Enjoy a sunrise at least once a week during the summer.

* * * *

A free, live, open-air performance by the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra at the natural amphitheatre in Deer Lake Park. A blanket, some food, a deck of cards, a good friend, and beautiful summer weather. A hive of children; bright colours writhing and dancing over a spherical jungle gym. Clouds turning from blue to pink to orange to purple. Dogs panting, classical music echoing off the trees, the hillside, the thousands of fellow park guests.

Life is good. And I’m thankful.

* * * *

I’ve noticed that if there’s one thing that potentially sets me apart from most other people i know, it’s the ability to recognize moments as they’re forming, and to cherish and enjoy those moments to the fullest of my ability before they’re gone. I can be driving home from work and see pieces falling into place.. a full moon with soft foggy clouds nearby, the road leading up to the suspension bridge. I feel the moment coming. The clouds move into position, the bridge supports and cables, quickly approaching to frame the image, glow in the dim orange light cast from the street lights. One or two cars speed past on the right and left, and lights from the industrial island sparkle in the background. SMACK there it is. The world stops. Physical existence becomes inconsequential. Even consciousness itself passes into the background as the imagery before my eyes burns directly into my soul and brings it to life. I am consumed in the moment. I am the moment.

* * * *

Normal.
Progress.
Fun.
Change.

Subjective.

* * * *

When he was young, he thought he was special. Special in the way only a handful of people in history have been. In other words, he had the same thoughts as almost everyone else has had at one point or another. He slowly grew older, and came to realize that he was no more or less special than any other human on earth. He was simply different. Unique. For better or worse, he would be an individual. It wasn’t for a few more years that he began to realize that this is not something to be sad about, but rather a way to become a fully realized adult with talents, hobbies, interests, experiences, and a personality that seem to have no correlation to each other in any way. He wondered how he would ever find someone odd enough, intelligent enough, and attractive enough to be a reciprocal match. That is, until he realized he could find his match in simple interaction with others. Or by experiencing art, in any form it may take. Or by listening to the stories and memories of those he encounters, and sharing in their dreams. Becoming alive in their joy.

* * * *

Thank you for today. I smile, contemplating how it was we came to meet this warm afternoon, wondering if we’ll ever have the chance to meet again. You may never know the impact you had; simply knowing there is at least one other on this rock who knows how to make use of his/her mind, has given me the comfort to trust humanity just a little bit more. The faith to believe others like you really do exist outside of my imagination.

* * * *

Pulling into the church parking lot, looking across the valley to Mt. Baker in the background.
Finishing a great book with time to sit and think about it.
Turning off the computer.
Sitting at a bus stop, listening to a pleasant chat strike up between strangers.
Enjoying the salty, cool air of a sunset at English Bay.
Falling asleep on the last workday of the week.

* * * *

He speaks through the wind, and the clouds; the rain, and the burning sunlight. His face is hidden in the waves of the ocean, and in the reflections of the city. He knows how best to communicate what He finally needs to say, and He knows that he’s listening. And He knows that he’s ready.