Along with the bike, I bought a lock, a bell (required by law in Ottawa) and a helmet. “Do you want to see how it looks on you?” asked the salesperson at Sport Check after ensuring the helmet fit me. “I assume I look like an idiot so no, I’ll be fine,” I replied.
Browsing: About Me
I suck at this touchy-feely self-exploration and personal growth crap, so I’ll cut to the chase. Here are my 12 tips to keep your sanity through tough times. It works for me. Maybe it can help someone?
I have two flavours of instant oatmeal at home. I have just spent ten minutes trying to decide which one would be granted the honour of being my snack. Dates and nuts or banana. I was looking at the two boxes in the pantries and I just couldn’t pick one. And it’s not like it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to eat oatmeal. I mean, a box of Quakers Oats is $2.49 at WalMart and last time I checked, they weren’t anywhere close to being out of stock.
“You’re so thin!” I heard from friends and strangers alike. I didn’t see it. I didn’t look at myself. I was simply annoyed that my clothes were too big. I wasn’t trying to lose weight or to reach a particular so-called “ideal weight”. I just didn’t want to eat. Of course, here lies the big how-to-lose-weight-easily secret I discovered for you: don’t eat and you won’t gain weight.
While traveling, I went back to basics—sleeping, eating, staying safe and clean. I learned to stop feeling guilty about relaxing. I learned to indulge again. My anxiety and stress levels spiked on the plane home to Ottawa. As much as I was looking forward to seeing my two guys, I wasn’t ready to start the vida loca again.
When I worked at Canada Post, a colleague asked me for my date of birth. “March 21, 1983” I replied out without thinking—I had just spent the morning filling out employment forms. “Wow, I can’t believe you didn’t mind giving me your year of birth!” she laughed. “Some people are really weird about it!”
The first year I worked as a French teacher in Ottawa, as soon as spring sprung, my students—all federal government employees—started to sport painted toenails. They would compare the relative merits of Shellac over OPI. When I admitted I didn’t really have an opinion on the topic, they asked incredulously: “You’ve never had a pedicure?!”
¿Viaje sola? ¡Ay, probrecita! That’s how locals feel when they realize I travel alone. But I don’t feel like a “poor little thing”. Traveling alone is pretty awesome.
I was that close to win the imaginary “Mother of the Year” award. And then I made a decision that may cost me a few thousands in therapy sessions when Mark is older.
I’m not okay. And I haven’t been “okay” for a long time. I’m not writing this today to elicit sympathy, pity or ask for help. I just want to tell the other side of the story—because there is always another side to the story.
On Monday morning, after a night’s sleep to recover from the flight back, I drove Feng to the nearest walk-in clinic so that he could have his eye checked.
I am the first one to admit I don’t own a copy of the very much sought-after Life for Dummies – An Instruction Manual. Yet, even if my motto is “no gods, no masters”, I have a conscience, this wonderful aptitude that assists in distinguishing right from wrong.
I’m not exactly Martha Stewart material. I suck at proper etiquette, home improvement projects leave…
At 30 years old, I should have a firm grasp on my life and my unique sense of style. I should. Well, on the plus side, I am not in debt, I kind of like my life overall—even if it’s a bit crazy at times—and I feel thankful for what I have.
But there are these five “girly” things I can’t quite seem to master. First world problems, I know, I know…
Once upon a time, like, six months ago, I had fantasies—some of which I won’t describe here.
Now I have a fantasy: checking into an a hotel of my preference, alone. I know that I am a backpacker at heart but for that specific fantasy, let’s assume the location of the hotel doesn’t matter—only the amenities do.
Today, on March 21st, I am turning 30.
It doesn’t faze me much. I could pretend I’m freaking out over the big “3-0” because my twenties are over but really, I don’t care because I am looking forward to many more years of adventures, life experiences, ups and downs and surprises.
Perched on these comfortable high heels, I feel good. My legs seem longer, I am taller, I stand straighter and I am more confident.
I want to look pretty again. I want to seduce, I want to feel sexy and I want to be desired.
This is not to brag I have a perfect body—far from that. This is just a message of hope to the women who are pregnant or who want to become pregnant and are bidding goodbye to their body. Sure, pregnancy and having a baby changes you in tons of small ways. But your body is smart and it adjusts accordingly.
Not only my feet aren’t supermodel size, they aren’t molded to fit in stilettos or whatever expensive fancy shoes women are supposed to like. Honestly, I have no idea how other women manage to slide their feet into these pointy shoes. Don’t they have toes that get hopelessly squished? Don’t they feel pain?
I’ve been running for two weeks. Metaphorically of course—I don’t have time to run unless it’s after the bus.
It was to be expected: the pre-traveling rush is always intense. I had to wrap up work projects, prepare for the fact we are leaving for seven weeks and in between, keep up with the usual stuff such as grocery shopping and sleeping.
I’m still a travel junkie. I’m afraid there is no cure for it.
On December 14, Feng and I will land in Cancún, Mexico, for seven weeks of travel. As usual, we have no defined travel plans. We will go wherever the chicken buses will take us.
Follow us on the road… Welcome to the jungle!
A while ago, Nigel tagged me for the popular Seven Things About Me meme. I completed it twice in the past, but the last time was in April 2008—so I figured I was due for a newer version.
Alright, I was never 500 pounds neither I am 100 pounds today. I’m average. I’ve never been described as “skinny” or “thin” but again, at 5’7, I’m not a tiny little thing so I’m not aiming for that. My weight hasn’t changed in the past three years and I’m about the same as when I came to Canada in 2004.
But moving to Canada played havoc with my body, especially in the first few years.
Sometimes, when I look at my reflection in the mirror, I’m almost surprised to see that, indeed, I have a big nose and dark eyes that are much too wide to be mistaken for most Asians’ almond-shaped eyes. I’m almost about twenty inches too tall and forty pounds too heavy to be your average Asian woman. I guess I’m not Chinese.