At 35, I know what makes me happy.
Browsing: About Me
A little part of me still believes that if I try hard enough, Canada is the place to be for dreams to come true.
I’ll bite. I’ll give it another shot.
This is when, at the ripe old age of almost 19, that I realized that life is like the blank page of a book waiting to be written.
I remember buying a red diabolo and training for hours in my building’s inner courtyard, throwing the spool in the air and failing to catch it a thousand of times.
“Do I look any different?” I asked Feng the other day.
“No,” he replied. “Why?”
Two feel-good stories featuring British author Cath Staincliffe and chocolate. Read on. It will make sense!
What happens after you send a query letter? You can either use hard data on hand to figure out if you stand a chance or create several scenarios in your head.
France has a new president, democracy is safe and I was interviewed live on CBC. Enjoy my deer in the headlights look!
I bought three bamboo stalks for good luck. Then, on my way home, I realized that the woman who had sold them to me was whiter than me and could have made up the “Chinese good luck” part.
This is the starting point. I have a completed work of fiction and I want it to be read. On one side, the manuscript, finished. On the other… the jungle.
I’m 34 and I have unfinished business to tackle. This year, I want to give this project a chance.
The date on the plane tickets we booked a little while ago is tomorrow. Christmas presents were unwrapped and now we are packing—packing for travelling. My favourite kind of packing, ever.
I’m not doing anything illegal or shady. I’m not gambling, cheating or drinking. I’m not even watching a pirated movie.
Online personal attacks hurt. This one took me by surprise because they came from someone I knew.
I wanted to please. I wanted my in-laws to like me. They are Feng’s only family and the only familiar faces I knew in Canada. It made sense to get on well, to stick together like grains of rice.
In North America, we are all little special snowflakes quick to (over)share what makes us unique, exotic, different.
Trapped. The downside of not blogging anonymously, putting my real name online with pictures. People can and will recognize you. Damn. No running away now.
This is the way I was wired. I don’t have the relentless optimism North Americans find in their breakfast cereals.
Today, I woke up thinking I had turned 33. A split second later, I pulled the duvet back over my head and closed my eyes to grab a few more minutes of sleep. Turning 33 did not magically make me a morning person.
With forced cheer and social gatherings, the entire month of December is a prime time of the year for the fine art of social niceties—“The turkey isn’t dry at all!”, “What a thoughtful gift!”, “I’m looking forward to seeing you at Christmas!” and “This reindeer sweater is very slimming!”.
Our words sounded needlessly adversarial. We don’t do gift giving very well at home. Or rather, we do it well without pressure, but it’s hard to buy something just because you have to buy something.
Each country’s set of road rules has a few idiosyncrasies. In Canada, the rule I hate the most is the “right turn on red”.