First, don’t go in the winter unless you’re interested in experiencing the wild tsunami that glides off of the Atlantic and Larry, Moe + Curly slaps into your face. After my first walk along the pier by the world’s largest fiddle, I couldn’t move my mouth to speak proper. This is not an exaggeration.

Lucky that balancing out this exhausting cold is the warmth of the Cape Bretoners** who occupy the City. Everyone says hello, and everyone smiles at you. EVERY.ONE. It is so very lovely to be greeted with smiles at every turn, and like a true City girl, I wonder what the murder/suicide rate is.

On Friday morning, my boss/colleague/friend/I-don’t-know-what-to-call-him-exactly-just-yet and I jumped into a cab at 6.30am and made our way out to the closest lighthouse, which was an approximate half an hour out of Sydney, and to be found in the neighbouring town of “New Victoria.”

Sitting at the tip of Sydney Harbour, she seduces all manner of sailor to shore. I had never seen a lighthouse up close and personal, and so tried to open her door because who wouldn’t?, only it was locked. Sad and dejected I circled the base willing her to open to me. She did not. I froze my face. I returned to the car.

But not before I went down by the water and took this gorgeous photo which makes me wonder if this is some sort of a plank from which Cape Bretoners chuck the bad people.

Sidebar: Though we had hoped to watch the sun rise, Sydney was expecting a storm and so all we saw were rolling burbling clouds. That said, I strongly encourage that you make your way here to watch the day break over the Atlantic on a clear day.

On the way back into the City, we stopped at Fort Petrie where the ground is covered by these beautiful skeletons of a particular flower (anyone know what it is?), and something else which checked my gag reflex. Claws! Or legs! Of cockroaches of the ocean!

We then went on to see lobster traps, before having a lovely and full day at work. Must admit that I was a little panicked I would find lobster feet/claws/toes/fingernails/I-don’t-know-what-to-call-them-either, in the traps. Luckily, there were none, though I would later have nightmares that I had dinner while a lobster sat next to me, staring.

That same evening, I popped over to the world’s largest fiddle. For a while, I was convinced that I was at the wrong place, because I only saw a massive violin, with no fiddle in view. Lucky for me, my other colleague is v smart, and explained: it is the same instrument, but called a fiddle when used to play jerky music. (I am the one who calls it “jerky,” not her. Because I am not a fan of jigging.) I took photos but accidentally deleted them, because apart from my phobia of cockroaches of the ocean, I am a little brain addled.

After dinner that evening, I cozied down by the window to enjoy the storm, before heading out the next day. Here I am trying to say goodbye while on the Sydney Boardwalk, and failing because the wind was far too strong for my parka…

All in all. A super trip I would strongly recommend for a little bit of summer fun.

Additional must eats + sees:
- Anything and everything at the Allegro Grill.
- Pop by the Cape Breton Fudge Co., grab some fudge and a coffee before making your way down to the violin masquerading as a fiddle. The gent at the shop wouldn’t let me pay for my fudge, surely because I was verging on hysterical when I saw their selection.
- Buy something at the Cape Breton Curiosity Shop.
- Marvel at the number of evening gown dress shoppes along Charlotte Street (and try to get yourself invited to wherever it is that these Haligonians party).
- Have the grilled + chilled shrimp at the Governors [sic] Pub & Eatery.
- Take a walk through the neighbourhood situated across Esplanade from the fiddle.
- Have a latte at The Bean Bank Cafe, but only if you sit in either the Don Cherry room or the piano room (where you must play).

…then, make certain to come back and let me know how much fun you had.

More photos here.

P.S. Dear K + F, who took the time to paint the base of the lighthouse: I hope that you will live happily ever after.

———-
** Because Janey is from Halifax, and Halifax is the center of the Nova Scotian community for me, I was calling Cape Bretoner’s “Haligonians” until Ben put me straight.

Dear Cape Bretoners,
Please don’t issue a fatwa against me for this now corrected mistake.
Thank you. Love you.
M

You know her. And she turns your stomach. And you should pity her because usually, her self worth rests entirely in the realm of how men react to her. And woah is her when her looks shift.

Listen. I too need attention from men. When I don’t even know I need it, and I suddenly get it, I would be a lying liar who lies were I to lie: It doesn’t affect me, I don’t even notice it. And when it’s from a boy I actually like, even better. I am overrun with a hysteria that amounts to a mass email / text to all of my female friends, and where my phone is broken, I will send smoke signals that HE SMILED AND SAID HI AND DO YOU THINK MY OUTFIT IS OKAY, SMOKE SIGNAL LOOKS A LITTLE BLOATED, etc.

But for a normal healthy woman with her self-esteem recipe in good shape, this comes in measured doses. It is not a daily thing, but rather a once in a while thing. Our self-worth is composite of an awareness of what we bring to the human table, rather than what we bring to — specifically — the male table.

That girl mentioned above, contrary to what media keeps trying to shove into my head, is not the norm. Or maybe I have just been blessed with most of the women in my life. (And I hope that you are, too.) She is not the norm.

The norm is women who love one another deeply.
Women who love one another even when we want to punch the other one in her stupidity.
Women who support one another when there is nothing left to say, but only the deepest most heart stopping pain to manage.
Women who tell one another that they are better, that they deserve better, that they can do better, that they will do better, and that they don’t have to show their boobs to get there. But if they did, “then I’ll help you get the right bra, but I would just like to raise my hand and say that I don’t think you need to show your boobs to get this. Let’s go shopping! I love you.”

That is the norm; these women, are the norm.
And if you don’t know these women, then you need to seek them out, to learn from them, and to become one of them. Trust that they will enrich your life, as they do mine.

All of the above to say, please read this article by Emily Rapp, an ode to the beauty and power of female friendship, the love story that all too often goes unsung. A snippet: I was that desperate mother now; it was my baby who was going to die, and soon. It was already too late. I literally could not bear it. I asked for help and I got it. My friends stood with me in the middle of the scary, sky-howling road I was on, knowing they couldn’t take away the pain of the experience, but promising to be there when I emerged on the other side of the grief tunnel when my child would be gone. I feel them, every day, standing there as I stumble through the blissful, heart-breaking hours with my son whose brain and body fail him a little bit more each day. It is not an exaggeration to say that I would not have survived – that I will not survive — without my women friends.

Share it with the women you respect and hold dear. Share it with your daughters to lead by example, and to remind them that their strength is not in how men react to them, but also — if not more importantly — in how women who know them, are women who respect and love them.

Thank you for your friendship.

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**As balance to the earlier article about when to pull support from friends, this is a necessity.

Looking at the scenarios separately provides more clarity, because their core motivations differ.

When a friend behaves in a way I would not support in a stranger

There are certain and very few lines which even my friends can not transgress. Absolutely no one is immune to this. Usually, these are selfishly motivated behaviours, and once in a while we are all allowed to make such a completely and totally selfish choice. Just once in a while. (Because someone who behaves in this way repeatedly, is someone who lives by this code, is someone I would never engage in the first place. See? JUDGE-Y. But it’s simple, no? It’s not rocket science: don’t put out into the world what you would not wish to reap. If we all lived by this code, this world would be a much nicer place, God damn it.)

Right. So, I have learned that I must excuse myself immediately. The best way to do this is to actually let the friend know — with love — that I am tapping out of the conversation because I believe their behaviour is shit and I refuse to support it. Quite honestly, I’m not sure I say it much kinder than that, and where the conversation turns back to that scenario, I don’t pull any punches.

On this, I expect the exact same in return. Where I behave in self-involved possibly hurtful to others manner, my friends have called me on it, and I am a better woman for their gentle yelling.

When a friend repeatedly engages in self-destructive behaviour

This one is a trickier one because too much support becomes a form of enabling someone you love to emotional — if not worse — self-mutilation. And if you don’t support them, the fear is that their isolation will further push them into the situation from which they have asked you to help them leave. The only way to deal with this is to pay as close attention as you can to a friend, to love them unconditionally, and to be very clear with them at every step of the way. Usually, this happens because of a combination of environmental factors: childhood experience, abusive partner, and challenged self-worth.

Only twice have I had to tell someone I love that I am no longer engaging, because my engagement is enabling their behaviour. And because I tend to make everything about me, let me confirm that: I was devastated, because I was so very worried for them. Devastated to the point of physical nausea and the shakes, in fact, just like the quintessential drama queen. Blessed be, and in due time, both of these individuals who daily break my heart with their amazingness, were able to eventually self emancipate. Hurrah them!

Like I said, this scenario is the trickier of the two, and usually filled with more heartbreak. The two most important things here are that (1) you tell them you love them. You tell them how much you love them and that the reason you need to disengage is precisely because you love them; and, (2) you up the ante in all other dimensions of the friendship. Never ever cut them off, but rather no longer discuss the one (or several) items you no longer support. If you have a healthy friendship, you will have twenty topics to discuss on any given day; with one or a few less, you should still have about ten more things to engage.

Simply, and in both scenarios above, what we are essentially doing is loving and supporting our friends, but not loving and supporting one or a few of the choices which they have made. Also, displaying that we have enough respect for them to tell them the truth.

If a friendship can’t be sustained with differing opinions, then the foundation — which should be built of mutual respect — never had time to dry and set itself properly into place. Friendships aren’t just about fellating one another in order to make ourselves feel good; they are a means to growth for both of you, because as so beautifully stated by W. Somerset Maugham, “When you choose your friends, don’t be short-changed by choosing personality over character.” Character builds both itself and you, and we could all use a little character building, especially the judge-y bitches like me.

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Photo from SomeEcards, the absolute best ecard shoppe in the history of the internet.

Baba and I had an extremely volatile relationship during my adolescence. When him and mum divorced, I was young enough to understand the surface ‘why’, but not psychologically mature enough to disassociate myself from the divorce itself. At such a young age, my identity was wrapped up with that of my mother’s. I didn’t understand where I ended and she began, and so when my father left my mother, my mind’s eye watched him walk away from me.

For a little while following, my father and I would see one another infrequently. Inevitably, we would always fight. I have his temperament and am much closer in character and personality to him than I am to my mother. When he and I clashed, it was always a full-on battle. His leaving had set something alight in me and I took every opportunity to lash out and cut as deeply as possible. Looking back at some of the things I said and did, I am shocked by my capacity to be cruel.

Among the many unfortunate memories that seem to have surfaced as I write are the two following. First was at the end of my high school years. I had taken three weeks to collect the down payment on my high school graduation ring. I walked into baba’s office and handed him the outstanding bill. He told me he wouldn’t pay the outstanding amount because I’d not taken his permission to purchase the ring and that I shouldn’t merely expect him to drop money at my whim. I explained that I would lose my down payment and he matter-of-factly said “that’s a lesson [I’d] have to learn the hard way”.

It may seem bizarre to those of you who don’t know the long and short of the history between he and I, but that served as the end for me and I decided that our relationship was finished. I titled that time in my life The Ice Age because I have no imagination and also because it really was an era that ran the course of too many years. I figured if every time I left him was in tears, it would just be easier for me to bury him, and so he was dead. I would see him at parties and weddings and walk past him without so much as looking at him.

Some time later we had one further interaction over email. There was an ‘incident’, and he took so much time and care to explain something to me, sending me pages of explanation. I responded with the horrendous: “Sorry you took so much time to respond, but you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares. I can’t be bothered to read this.”
He came back with: “You’re not my daughter.”
And I ended it with: “Thank you for finally articulating how I’ve felt for the duration of my life.”

Quite honestly, I thought I was okay then. I didn’t realize how much I needed my father because I’d never really had him in the first place. There was nothing to miss except a sort of misery. My mother and my family tried to push me to change, but I would have none of it and I made it clear that it was no one’s business but my own. Eventually, everyone stopped trying, but only because my response was so visceral.

Ultimately, it was my mother who sacrificed everything to raise me; she was the one who held me up and picked me up. She was the one who shaped me and helped me define my personality. She stayed up late nights waiting for me, and she was the one who read Quran to me when I couldn’t sleep. Mama will forever be my anchor because she is the only individual in this world that has the capacity to keep me grounded. We say it all the time, but I don’t think I can express it any better than this: Without her, I would be lost.(1)

I graduated high school, finished university and then received my M.A.; my father was at none of these ceremonies because I never invited him. I staunchly believed that because he was the adult, it was his role to seek me out. In my mind’s eye, he had to fight to be let back in. After all, he abandoned me when he divorced my mother. Didn’t he?

In hindsight, I understand that I wanted him to know he wasn’t the only one capable of inflicting great pain. I also understand that he never tried to hurt me, but had merely become disenchanted with his marriage. I understand that my anger was partially to mask the sadness which comes with a child living divorce. Most important, I finally understand that baba never fell out of love with me.

I finally understand that both of my parents are also individuals and that often, their hopes and dreams are not intimately related to the fact that they’re parents. The identity of parent is only one aspect of who they are and sometimes it conflicts with other desires they may have as people. The moment we have children, that map of identity changes and the fabric from which it’s made becomes the finest of silks. Unfortunatly, it happens that sometimes “parent” isn’t careful and children fall through to great pain.

The reconciliation
I’d set up rules where baba was concerned. There were certain “stipulations” which had to be met by him if he was ever going to be allowed entry into my life again. I had a script that no one knew about, not even him.

The Script was absolutely insane. It went against every aspect of who my father was and his behaviour to date. I now believe that I scripted it as such to ensure that he would never be allowed back in, because that was my way to self-preservation and protection. To my surprise, baba not only knew The Script, but he went above and beyond the call of duty I had imagined.

When seedo passed away, mama’s father (Allah yir7amu), my father called to give his condolences. Setting aside everything that had transpired between my mother and father and their respective families due to the divorce and its aftermath, my father loved seedo deeply. When my father called, he was crying. I’d not even heard my father cry when his own father passed away and so every second of that moment is deeply entrenched in my memory.

We went to dinner the following evening. Seated across from one another, there was no room for niceties or small talk because I didn’t really know or understand the man before me.

I’d previously imagined that moment, and I had imagined myself being merciless toward him, mocking him, not forgiving him but rather enjoying his need for forgiveness and me refusing him. In my imagination that was such a powerful sentiment – denying him – because he denied me the only thing I needed as I grew up: My baba. My imagination was so vindictive and so cold and I was prepared to lash out after so many years of him not coming after me. I thought I would have been able to laugh and say: I don’t forgive you. I don’t forgive you. I don’t forgive you. I will never forgive you.

But as soon as I sat down and looked across the table, I saw baba. And he was looking at me as though he’d never seen me before that moment, and I saw the recognition in his eyes. He understood how much we’d both lost, how much he’d lost in the way of knowing me and the young woman I’d become. He couldn’t speak for a few moments and I spent the duration of the dinner crying.

It was at that moment that I realized just how deeply I loved him and why I had been so angry. There’s a connection that exists between parent and child that seems – although relatively simple to bruise – impossible to break. The ease by which my own pain disappeared left me spinning, and unless you’ve experienced it, it’s very difficult to describe. I think the only time we can forgive more easily than a child toward a parent is a parent toward their child.

Hearing him tell me he had been the adult and he had failed me, repeatedly, blew the lid off of everything that had been pent up and painful and hurtful. It was so overwhelming and there were moments of anxiety, I think, where I couldn’t see or breathe during dinner.

I had been gifted the opportunity to tell him everything, everything, everything he’d done to hurt me, and he accepted it all. He didn’t deny anything and he didn’t offer a defense, but merely accepted that his actions had ripped my heart to pieces for years. To me, that evening will always be the measure of my father.

After hours of conversation, I accepted his apology. I was terrified and apprehensive because I feared that he’d walk away again…but he’s still here, ten years later, and I’m still getting to know him. I can’t possibly imagine my life without him and it shatters my heart to think of the many many years wasted.(2) Since I trust that Allah knows best, I have come to accept that this heartbreak had to happen for the best of reasons.

One week after that dinner, he gave me my high school graduation ring, still in it’s bag, still with the receipt, a portion of which I’d highlighted: ‘Outstanding Balance Owed’. This ring has since hung on a chain next to my heart, and has never been removed.

———-
(1) Ten years later, I can say that without my father, I would be equally lost.
(2) Originally written on the 3rd of November, 2006 at which point it had been four years. I have updated it to reflect today’s reality.

I am not one to begrduge another person’s hangnail, but rather prefer to nudge them to look at all of the amazing and incredible things they have, least of which is: life. Every single moment within our lives, even the most brutal pain has to be accepted as precious.

Sidebar: Some people reading this have been sexually assaulted as children. I can’t touch that, nor would I ever say that those moments are “precious.” What I can say is that YOU are precious, I am so grateful for your presence in my life, and I love you with every bit of my being. And if I were there when this was happening to you, I would have taken a crowbar to the men who inflicted such pain on your precious selves.

The darkest moments of this past year have been emotional, and I have been able to lift myself out sometimes alone, often times with the aide of the incredible individuals I have in my life. I do not live in an abusive environment, nor an oppressive one, nor a monetarily challenged one, alhamdulliLah. So really and truly, I am blessed, and everything above and beyond what I have is icing on the most decadent cake I can imagine.

A lot of the time, people send emails asking me how I do it. Specifically, “you seem so happy. How do you do it?” In short, here’s how…with the most important caveat that: it’s not fkn easy…
1. Most of my time is spent laughing at myself.
2. I am fiercely devoted to those I love, and with that comes a reciprocity (if not from them, then the Universe brings it back my way in some other incarnation). None of us are sovereigns, except the assholes.
3. I am genuinely happy for the success of others.
4. I give myself no more than three days to deal with a trauma. I figure that if we are to mourn death only three days, there is nothing in this world which should extend beyond that.
5. I struggle to ensure that there is neither hate nor bitterness anywhere in my heart. (Not even to those who hate me and tell me that my Faith is anything short of its beautiful self. Where these people are concerned, I only feel sorry for them, because hate is an ugly disease of the heart whose toxicity imbibes all aspects of who we are and how we see the world.)
6. I learn. Not knowing about something is another way of saying “I have been presented with a choice” to either fear it, or to learn about it. I choose the later.
7. I am never made happy by the pain or hurt of others, because I’m just asking for trouble if I do this (but this shouldn’t be confused with being pleased that someone has gotten theirs, deservedly, because everyone reaps what they sow, in time.)
8. I never allow my happiness to hinge on the hurt or pain of someone else. I am always amazed at how sick people are, who do this.

And most importantly…
9. I believe that Allah has my back. Simple. Even in the darkest recesses of pain, and even when I am angry with Him, and shaking my fist at Him and demanding WHY? and only coming up with “Because Allah knows best,” at the end of the day, within the corner of my little heart, I know He’s got me in the palm of one hand, and covering me with the other until there is no more from which to be protected. (And I floss.)

If you would like to share your own pillars of happiness, please do, as I would love to learn from you.

With the above, there are always things to change, to learn, to hone, to learn, to learn, to learn and to learn. As you enter into 2012, I am going to leave you with a lecture from my most favoured teacher. He speaks about our responsibility to our lives as precious cargo, and also our shared responsibility to our fellow humans, and to animals. You will be riveted. Trust.

Happy 2012.
You all are loved.

When was the last time this question was put to a man? Think about that for second…

Right. That’s what I thought.

Where etiquette is concerned, this is a rude question and it’s not yours to ask, you ignorant hysterical interloper.

Please. Let’s not confuse the question with the statement. From those who love us and hold us in warm and cushioned places, it’s never ever a Question, but rather, it is a statement. Like, “I just honestly can’t begin to understand how it is that someone as amazing as you is single.”

I say this all of the time to my girlfriends. And I mean it every single time I say it.

For clarity: to ask them why they are single is in fact my asking them to (1) justify their single status; and then, (2) to expound on the real root of the Q, which is: what’s wrong with you that no one has gone near you yet? (I.e. what is/are your flaw/s?)

I will be the first to recognize that this is a highly sensitive matter. Sensitive enough that I have thought about it to the point of needing to write about it. Trust me: I am not immune to the tone of this Question. Every time I face it, I think love of God, haven’t you read Bridget Jones’s Diary?, before offering my standard completely and totally serious response: “I have a tail.”

1% of the time, this elicits a laugh. 99% of the time, people genuinely look surprised, and curious because if they’re dumb enough to pose the question, they are not smart enough to catch the humour of my response. To the 99%, I usually follow up with a “why are you not single?” posed in the same tone, intended to mean what’s so special about you?

It’s one of the very few situations in which I allow myself to be completely rude (with guilt-free enjoyment and abandon).

Like that one time:
“Why are you single?”
“I have a tail!”
“What do you mean?”
“Well. It’s small. Fleshy. Makes a squeaking noise every time I sit down.”
“Really?!”
“So. You’re married?!”
“YES! With children! You’re never completely a woman until…”
“Yes. I can tell you’ve had children. Extra weight around your tummy looks so cozy!** Tee-hee.”

(Look. I’ve never pretended to be an angel, so chill.)

The reality is there are a million reasons why someone is single, ranging from not meeting the right person, to not having the inclination, to not giving enough of a shit to actually put in the effort. No matter the reason, you, Interloper, will not receive a satisfactory answer, because there is no right answer to this question.

All that will happen is that the smart person to whom you put the Q will think you an idiot.

Bottom line is that the smartest men and women I have met, have never put this question to me, and the men and women who have, have always eventually proven themselves simpletons.

To conclude: Kindly take the above advice with you into the new year.

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**To my beautiful sisters who have had children. Don’t take this personally. Knowing your fierceness, you would have just punched her in her Mommy and not allowed me to interact further. Trust.

“I un-friended you because your ego-driven behaviour is so very unfriendly.

I un-friended you because 9 out of 10 times, I believe you’re lying, and I have walked away from communicating with you feeling like shit.

I un-friended you because I don’t believe you’re as nice as you think you are.

I un-friended you is not passive aggressive, but rather hard-core extremely aggressive. (In case you were wondering.)”

New Year’s Resolution? No more ego-driven “friends” who behave in unfriendly manner.

I recommend you do the same.

Each one of us defines “righteous” in a variety of ways, right down to the simplest thing, like helping someone on the street, or taking care of a best friend. Some people will argue that people should fend for themselves, and if someone is on the street, it’s because they deserve to be on the street, and so to help them is not to behave in righteous manner, but rather it is to enable.

The people who would argue the above are definitively: assholes.

Do you remember when you were growing up and people asked you what you wanted to be when you were older, and you said: “living on the street” or perhaps “sleeping beneath a bridge”?

No? Me either.

What about when you answered: “being alone!”

Yeah. Me either.

My mum tends to travel over the holidays, and most of my friends are usually out of town or at family Christmas dinners drunk and working out their issues. Basically, I have always been — more often than not — alone over the Christmas holidays. Almost everything is closed and a girl can only read so much and see so many films over the course of a few days.

Thing is, even though we don’t celebrate Christmas, I do love all of its accoutrements. On some level, the holiday resonates with me, and so when I’m alone, that resonance turns into sadness a little bit. I still remember last year, no one was even on-line or on bbm or over text. And I am someone who is very comfortable being alone, so imagine how bad it had to be for me to actually feel like it was too much.

A couple of tips for the holidays, which you should carry with you throughout your year if you can. (And please note, I am not at all comparing being inside, safe and sound and warm but alone, with being on the street. I am merely trying to make a connection for those of us who would never see a connection between ourselves and those who too many of us ignore on the streets.)

First, it’s the easy one: don’t leave your single friends alone. Surely, you must have room for one more. Surely.

To clarify: Possess enough emotional fkn intelligence to note that if they’re there for you 360 days a year, now is not the time to leave them alone. Even a simple “thinking of you” text message is better than nothing. And unless your fingers are broken, you need to do this, you morons.

There’s something really sad and alienating about being left alone at a time of year that’s meant to be about family, love, peace, and forgiveness. There is a reason that the highest rate of suicide happens around this time of year. And this is the time of year you are meant to be thankful and loving — that doesn’t only hold true for your blood kin. Don’t forget about us who may not have family in the City, or who may not normally celebrate Christmas and so are de facto outside of the circle of Noel.

Go through your friend list in your head, and you will find at least one person who fits this description. Now, make a point of reaching out to them and engaging them. Trust me on this one. Please.

Second, it’s the harder one, the more important one of this article: if a regular everyday Maha with a full social schedule and a loving circle of friends can feel so alienated and sad over the holidays, imagine someone who lives on the street. Imagine someone who is already alienated and troubled. The majority of homeless have come from childhoods of abuse — more often than not, it is sexual. Another great majority has mental health issues.

Don’t ever kid yourself about this fact: No one wants to live on the street by choice.

Here’s something I came across recently, which is amazing, and what better way to teach your children about righteousness, than by leading by example? (Thank you, MJ.)

“Guerilla Giving,” started (and still happening) by a garbage man in Edmonton:

Each year his family & friends fill backpacks for individual homeless people
In each backpack they include:
A wallet with $25.00 cash (optional if you don’t have it).
A personalised Christmas card, signed by the family.
Christmas treats and snacks or granola bars & lipton soup.
Things like long-johns, gloves, hoodies, tea light candles, thermos, toiletries.
They target individuals, not those in groups.
They avoid churches and shelters, as they want to give with no pre-condition.
They always shake their hand, or hug them, and wish them well before they leave them to open their packages.”

You don’t need to do this at Christmas. In fact, you don’t need a reason to do this at all, except maybe the active choice to be thankful for your shelter. To be thankful for your food. To be thankful for your ability to have a Christmas tree, at the foot of which your family sits. To be thankful that you were not abused. To be thankful that you do not have a reason to be on the street. To be thankful that you can purchase a backpack and fill it.

And aren’t these reasons truly in the spirit of Christmas? More so than the twenty gifts beneath your tree?

You don’t need to do this at Christmas. But I am placing my bets on this time of year, when people are meant to live within the spirit of this holiday, and I am betting that you may be a little more open to the above suggestions today than you would be on a random day in April.

I guess this coming year, maybe our resolutions should be on a foundation of: I resolve to not look away.

Happy holidays dear readers. Thank you for sharing your stories and your hearts, for uplifting mine when it has been prostrate on the ground, confused by Heaven’s will. May your season be filled with love, light, and warmth. And may you have the generosity to share these things with those less fortunate.

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Photo from FinancialJesus(dot)com.

I have just learned that a woman with whom I went to high school has passed away due to cancer. We were acquaintances, not friends. I remember her smile, her gentleness and her crazy beautiful milk-coloured skin.

I am in some kind of shock, because she is the first of my graduating class to pass, and she is too young.
This is just. She is too fucking young. We are too young.
We are too young. We are too young. We are too young.

RIP, Barbara.

Yesterday was my Orientation. Some of you may be thinking that everyday in my world is “Orientation” which, I mean…fine. I accept that.

One takes said Orientation with all new employees of the hospital. Everyone, including Physicians. And you would think that they are keeners who sit at the front of the class, right? No. The only keener present was me. On my side of the auditorium, I was the only one who propelled herself at high speed right to the front of the class.

I was walking so fast I almost fell and broke my face.

I WAS SO EXCITED TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.
I AM A SERIOUS VOLUNTEER.
SO SERIOUS I AM YELLING BECAUSE I AM STILL SO EXCITED.

They gave us the rundown of everything, which basically amounts to:
Be nice.
Treat people like you want your loved ones to be treated.
Don’t date the doctors.**
Only the surgeons.**
Wash your hands because otherwise you will kill people with the gross bacteria you are transporting from one to the next.
Pay attention to people.
Never run away from them.
Don’t wear denim.
You can’t see all disabilities. In fact, you can’t see most disabilities.
Disabilities don’t cause hardships, but rather an inaccessible environment does. (Said the wonderful man, at the bottom of the auditorium, which only had stairs.)
Service animals are working. Don’t play with them, dumbass.

And always remember: To provide each patient with the world class care, exceptional service and compassion that we would want for our loved ones.

I watched and learned and I was riveted. I am now officially a part of this incredible team of people — setting aside the Doctors and Surgeons, let me say the following about nurses: They are amazing. They are AMAZING. And they are underfunded, and undervalued, and under appreciated. Exactly like teachers because we have our fkn priorities ass backwards, if you hadn’t noticed. Because we pay those who play pretend exhorbitant amounts of money, while we cut funding from our caregivers and educators. F/ck you, System. F./ck you, hard because what a disappointment you continue to be.

And now, I am a little buzzing volunteer who can maybe help take the weight off of the shoulders of these incredible individuals. And maybe I can make people smile, and I can definitely hang out with them on Christmas and New Year’s and pay attention to them.

But not before I know what in the shit I am doing. Because I had nothing else to do but to wait for an hour before I could have my photo ID completed (wherein they squashed my head, and I am contemplating legally changing my name to BlockHead SuchAndSuch), and while waiting, I attempted to complete the Self Guided Campus Tour. Which is another way of saying I got lost for an hour and couldn’t find anything because the architect is a man named M.C. Escher.

Truth be told, it was fun to get lost. Because now I know where every toilette is, so anyone needing to go to the Washroom, I’m your gal! The Volunteer coordinator told me I was funny. I don’t think she meant like comedic funny, but funny because I was so excited.

WHAT’S THERE NOT TO BE EXCITED ABOUT?
DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I AM GOING TO BE HELPING PEOPLE?

Speaking of which, I had to have a criminal record check completed. Totally awkward and weird. But I am as clean as a whistle. Hurrah!

I have one more step to complete before I may work directly with patients, and it is to have my second tuberculosis test completed. InshAllah, they will inject my arm with this on Friday, and by Monday we will confirm that all is well (since the first one came out negative).

Until then, tomorrow specifically, I am relegated to the Gift Shoppe. I can’t deal with patients, but I can smile at them and wave at them from the Gift Shoppe. While waiting for Banksy, I plan on fogging up the glass and drawing them hearts.

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**They didn’t say any such things. I am the as/hole who just did, for your amusement. Because, precisely like a monkey, I am here to entertain you.