Articles tagged with: About Me
A Weekend Offline
We called Bell. Technical support said there were issues in our area and that it would be solved without two to twenty-four hours. “Twenty-four hours like… like a day?” we shrieked. “What are we going to do? Talk to each other? Play board games? Clean the house? Make babies?”
Oui, I hablo Spanish!
A little while ago, Guillermo, my good blog friend and fellow immigrant in Ottawa, asked me if he could interview me. “No worries!” I replied—hey, who doesn’t like being interviewed?
“The interview would be in Spanish” he quickly added. See, Guillermo and is family are from Argentina and even though I know for sure he speaks English fluently, the interview was for his Spanish blog.
“Well, sure” I replied, mentally reviewing who could edit my Spanish replies.
“Oh, and it’s a recorded interview” he finally added.
Splitting Hair on Haircuts in Canada
I don’t care about my hair. I don’t dye it (although I used to when I was a teen), I don’t blow-dry it (that’s what the wind is for, right?) and I don’t style it (why bother?). I had long hair, braided hair (please, don’t ask for pictures, that was a long time ago) and I’ve had short hair for a few years now. I do have very thick hair though. It’s a blessing in disguise: I need a haircut once in a while otherwise it looks like I’m wearing a wig, but it keeps me warm and I don’t really need to style.
We May Be Stupid But We Are Good At It
I’m not saying I’m always smart but I generally have some kind of common-sense. But hey, we all have occasional embarrassing “duh” moments… well, this is one of these.
28
Happy birthday to me!
Still no white hair (although it got bleached by the sun during our last trip).
Still no plan other than the usual—writing, taking pictures, traveling.
Still freezing my butt off in Canada, the country that adopted me.
The Professional Worrier
Feng calls me a “professional worrier”. I do worry a lot. I worry about the past, the present and the future. I mostly worry about the future though. And time. Time is my biggest issue. I don’t have enough time to do what I love and I spend too much time doing stuff that I don’t like. There are never enough hours in the day except when I’m bored, never enough time to accomplish everything.
The Runaway
Many years ago, as I was heading to Australia, a friend of a friend tried to psychoanalyze me. “But, don’t you think you are running away?” she said, wisely, at the ripe old age of 20. “Traveling so much… what are you escaping from?”
I quickly brushed her comment away, both because her superior air of wisdom annoyed me and because I quite didn’t know what to say.
My November
November is such a depressing month—I don’t even know why it exists. Days are cold and damp and it is pitch black by the time I go back home at 5 pm. This month is an interregnum between pumpkins and Santa Claus, between red leaves and snow. I guess we need a transition period to adapt but boy, November drags on forever.





















