My favourite things of the year:

It's the season for year-end lists. And as I'm too busy/not motivated enough to write something more original, I will simply detail my favourite things of the year. Enjoy. 

CITY: Seoul
I travelled to Korea last Spring, somewhat on a whim, after becoming fascinated with the culture. I didn't know what to expect upon arrival though. Certainly I didn't anticipate falling as deeply in love with its capital as I did. At this time, Seoul doesn't seem to be on a lot of traveller's radars but it should be: in my opinion, it is the most fascinating place in Asia offering a mix of history, both past and modern, technology, trend, and nature that is unrivalled on earth. To view a gallery of images of Korea, click here. 

RUNNER UP: Paris.
Because, Paris. 

 

BOOK: Nothing to Envy, Ordinary Lives in North Korea by Barbara Demick
The author focused less on politics and the autocratic regime, and more on the everyday lives of average North Korean citizens crafting a tale that is universally relatable in its yearning for love and freedom. 'Nothing to Envy' remains one of the best books I've ever read. 

RUNNER UP: The Man Without a Face by Masha Gessen
I still can't believe Vladimir Putin's life isn't a work of fiction. 

 

ALBUM: Beauty Behind the Madness, The Weeknd
His lyrics are questionable but I can't get enough of The Weeknd's voice (or this awesome bass line): 

RUNNER UP: '1989', Taylor Swift
'Style' is the perfect pop song. 

 

FACE: Paul Maurice
A friend has gotten me hooked on watching Winnipeg Jets games. I admit that half of my fandom has to do with hometown pride and the other half has to do with watching head coach Paul Maurice's face from the sidelines. I don't think I've ever seen him smile. 

RUNNER UP: I may be a bit biased. 

 

EMOJI: :I
I recall reading somewhere that Canadians deploy the "poo" emoji more than any other nation on earth. I'm not sure why that is. I certainly went through a phase with it. But the emoji I most often use mirrors the way I'm feeling. Perhaps this is why I'm so fascinated with Paul Maurice.  
 

😑

RUNNER UP: 

👫

 

News Story: #WHOOPS
A lot of bad news comes out of Winnipeg. An invisible darkness seems to permeate the city, resulting in crimes so brutal that the rest of the country is left in shock while citizens, used to (and perhaps, at times, numb to) the headlines, continue to treat their reality as routine. I chose #WHOOPS as my news story of the year because it countered this. It was a tale so completely ridiculous – and hilarious – that even thinking about it now causes me to break out in laughter.

#WHOOPS, the perfectly astute hashtag used to document the event as it unfolded, is about three City of Winnipeg police officers discussing the pitfalls of oral sex with someone who is, uh … er, not that familiar with waxing. While this would normally be a private conversation, it was broadcast to half the city when someone in the WPS Air 1 helicopter accidentally hit the loudspeaker transmitting it to everyone down below.

I'm not sure what type of disciplinary action – if any – was used. But I think the sheer embarrassment of being involved, and the international headlines and fodder that followed, is punishment enough. 

RUNNER UP: Syrian refugees
On a more serious note, I'm proud to see Canada open its doors to people who truly need help and hope. 

 

MOMENT: July 13

RUNNER UP: October 16

Throwback

2007. Me and a panda chillin' at the Chengdu Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding in Sichuan, China: 

To view more photos of China, visit my gallery here.

Thirty Something Vignette: no.6

It was a Sunday night. They sipped cabernet while music provided soundtrack softly in the background. The conversation flowed from such weighty topics as the terror attacks in Paris to the economic downturn and how local industry needed to diversify. There was one subject she wanted to broach … one that she desperately needed consensus for but could be perceived as controversial. She waited until the timing was just right (not-coincidentally aligning with the initial buzz of inebriation): 

"Do you think Drake is hot?" she asked her friend. 

"Pfft. Of course he's hot. What kind of question is that?"

She explained her confusion and the debate she had entered into a few days prior. She always considered herself to have impeccable taste and standards. The judgement against this was enlightening, but, alas, proved premature. 

"You know, I have an acquaintance that looks just like Drake." her friend stated. 

Throwback

I have no idea what year this photo was taken. Nor do I have any clue regarding the location, but it looks pretty interesting. Perhaps I'm standing on an open-air medieval torture chamber. Who knows? I'm just enjoying me mom's company: 

Four Eyes

Adolescence is a difficult era. Surviving puberty, attending the hell that is high school, and being at the continuous mercy of those with less acne than you (when that is seemingly the only currency that matters) is one of the more challenging periods in life. On top of this stress and Clearasil, I was all-too-aware that my vision was slipping. 

Despite the greatest of efforts to achieve invisibility by sinking into my chair while conspicuously avoiding eye-contact with my teachers, I recollect the feeling of overwhelming dread that rushed over me every time I was called upon to read something written on the blackboard. My desk was near the front of the room, yet I couldn't do it. Everything was a blur. I would always feebly state I had a sore throat and couldn't speak because at the age of thirteen it was preferable to be thought of as illiterate rather than a spectacled nerd. My teacher, bless him, allowed me to maintain this ruse for a bit until I couldn't hide any longer. Eye exams were to take place at my high school. All students had to participate. 

The day of the eye exam, I was paired with one of my best friends. He went first and damn near aced it. Envy was second only to anxiety at that moment. For when it was my turn, I just randomly called out letters and numbers that I felt best matched the rorschach test laid out in front of me. "You didn't get a single one right!" mocked my friend upon completion. I was handed a note to take home to my parents informing them that I desperately needed glasses. 

I wore them for a few years but the stigma weighed on me. Guys don't make passes on girls that wear glasses. I didn't feel attractive. I didn't feel cool (one cannot underestimate how important this is when you are a teenager). I switched to contacts. Coloured contacts. My eyes became the most brilliant, unnatural hue of green I'd ever seen. And people noticed. Guys noticed! As silly as it sounds, I started to develop a complex that I would never be good enough unless I was faking it. I blame this lack of self-esteem primarily on society's conditioning towards females. … but that's a journal entry for another time. My feelings were confirmed by a boyfriend who, once he saw me without my emerald orbs, reacted with a disappointed "oh, you look different". 

I wear glasses as an adult not because I've completely outgrown vanity. Lord, no. I'm terrible. It's because the fear of being rejected by my peers based upon appearance has been overshadowed by my phobia of having something poke at and permanently damage my eyes further. Glasses make great shields! And I suppose the confidence one gains as they enter adulthood and start living for themselves rather than others may have something to do with it as well. 

Plus, in my occupation, black thick frames are practically standard-issue. Looking like a nerd has never been cooler. 

Thirty Something Vignette: no.5

"Do you think he's handsome?"

"Yes."

"Really?!?" the boyfriend's face wrinkled in disgust while remaining somehow oblivious to the fact that her apparently questionable taste in men may be reflective of him as well. 

"Swagger goes a long way." she replied. 

The boyfriend let out an audible gasp of judgement. "I can tell by his face that he is a crap guy. He's a player."

"I'm aware of that." she smirked. 

As the debate over whether Drake was hot or not continued, the music video detailing a booty-call gone sour played as soundtrack in the background of their lazy Sunday afternoon, defining this epoch of modern dating. 

Throwback

It's the summer of 1998. I'm eighteen in this picture and had just graduated high school. My time was mostly spent partying with friends, hating my call centre job, and hoping that my decision to take Advertising Art in college would lead to something more fulfilling in life.

The person in the photo with me is a very good friend that reconnected this week, after much time apart becoming the adults we are today. It made me reminisce about how it's not so much about the things you do, but the people you do them with. 

Grand-dogs

I waited at gate 12 for my return flight home. Headphones in, but they were silent. I was giving my ears a much-needed rest after listening to Adele all weekend and didn't want the emotional stigmata of her broken heart affecting the jocund greeting I planned to share with the person welcoming me home in a few hours. So instead, I stared off into space until a woman that could have passed for a "Real Housewife" of Winnipeg sat near me, all perfect hair, manicure and tanned complexion. Then I started eavesdropping. 

She was chatty with an older lady also sitting near us and very excited about her imminent trip. "I am going to London" she replied when the older lady asked of her final destination, post-Toronto pitstop. "Well, London and then Paris. My husband is taking me there. I've never been."

The "Housewife" continued a one-sided conversation of humblebragging about her amazing life, of which I was somewhat envious, when she finally extended an offer to the older lady to participate by asking if she would be visiting children or grandchildren during her travels. 

"No", she replied. "I never had children". 

"Oh", Housewife paused. "Well … I'm sure you will have grand-cats or grand-dogs."

You may think I'm making it up, but this actual conversation occurred at Winnipeg International Airport (YWG) at approximately 6:30pm on Sunday, November 1. I totally blew my cover of pretending to listen to bops while staring off into space and immediately gave the biggest side-eye towards Housewife's general direction. The older lady didn't really know what to say and finally made a joke about fur-babies while half-smiling uncomfortably. The conversation then changed to something less awkward. 

Why does everything for women filter down to having kids? This older lady may have been a pioneer in any field, could have written the world's most beautiful, soul-stirring poetry, or been a Nobel Prize winner. But none of that would have mattered as it whittled down to pity towards her for not having offspring. I see this all the time and experience it firsthand myself. I'm 35. Childless. And know my ovaries are drying up by the day. I don't give a shit. I am aware though that this subject is of more interest and concern to a lot of people rather than my accomplishments or personal interests. 

Perhaps I feel extra ranty on this subject because Christmas is coming up and I know I'm going to field these questions while meeting friends and family, or perhaps it's just the environment I'm in, which increasingly could just be planet earth, but a woman's life, purpose, and worth should not be defined by this. 

Manx Pride

Imagine my surprise when I saw this flag hanging above the mineral water pool of a spa in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada. Bonus: there was no Union Jack in sight. I'm pretty sure very, very few people could identify its origin (birthplace of the Clague surname and brothers Gibb) and am still curious as to why it was on display over more well-known nations and territories. #ManxPride