Tuesday, 30 December 2014

Merry Christmas

I want a laptop. I want an Ever After High doll.  I want a camera.  I want a new hoodie.  I want Lego Friends.  

I need new shoes for choir.  I need new shoes for my soccer tournament.  I need skate guards for my figure skates.

Credit cards maxed.  Gifts opened.  Wrapping paper in the garbage.  Our souls spent and bloated from the gluttony of presents and food.  

Amidst all the things that were exchanged, my favourite gift this year was sitting down at a table with four generations of women and their families.  

Once the cognac and wine started to flow, so did the stories and laughter.

Stories spanned from 1940s Poland to 1970s South Korea to 2010s Abbotsford. Tears were shed in memories of lost friends and family.  Hardships were remembered of traveling abroad, not knowing a language, and being alone.  An old Polish folk song wishing long life and good health was sung to us by wispy voiced 86 year old Babcia.  A Korean love song was sung by my 60 something year old parents, the same song that they used to sing with each other when they were in their 30s, always together.  And then the little 6 year olds chimed in with their songs of Jeremiah, the Bullfrog and other jingly, Christmas songs.



In all this singing and clapping and cheering and crying and laughing, I know the children may never appreciate how precious this moment would be because it is fleeting.  But I hope that one day, they will rediscover this cherished moment and re-gift it to their children.  

Friday, 19 September 2014

LaFarge Grand Prix

My 9 year old daughter ran her first cross country race this past week.  She is lightweight at most, and compared to most 9 year girls, for height, she is on the bottom end of the spectrum.  I'm theorizing that she will have to run double the steps to keep up with some of her longer legged classmates.  But I am glad that she is going to try this.  I generally like to stand near the finish line as that is the most exciting spot for a runner.  With much anticipation and no expectations, I wait there for the race to begin. 


Once the starting horn bellows, I see a mass of little girls take flight; a huge clump running together.  And in the middle of that flock, I see Chloe with her fluorescent orange and yellow running shoes. They eventually approach a small hill and start running through some trees. I lose sight of them.  I am watching at the other end of the opening to see who is going to emerge from the trees.  I hear feet pounding….. It is only the pace rabbits.  A few seconds later, I see fluorescent
orange and yellow running shoes emerge, attached to some chopstick thin legs, and long, black hair flying behind her like a cape.  CHLOE!
 

Much to my surprise, she comes in ahead of the pack and goes on to win the race. While her cheeks are hot pink, she hadn’t even broken into a sweat.  So I ask her, “Aren’t you tired?”
 

“A little”, she replies.  “There’s a part when I got to the top of the hill, I wanted to stop, but I didn’t.  And I wanted to spit, but I couldn’t ‘cause I kept running”.


Beyond pride in her physical endurance, I am most impressed by her strength of will.  She doesn’t realize what she had just described to me was her digging deep and pushing through her pain.  She felt like she wanted to quit and maybe even spit (which I’m going to interpret as the urge to vomit from my hard running experiences...haha), but she didn’t stop. Those are 9 year old words of perseverance.  And whether she had come in at the front of the pack or at the end, in my eyes, she had won that race.   

 

Wednesday, 2 July 2014

Dear H.Y.

I am writing this letter because it was one of those special things that we used to do since we were children.  With the advancement of technology, I know that it is way easier to text or email a quick message, but your stories were much more tangible when they were written in ink.  They were much more mysterious when I would have to turn the page to see the conclusion of your story written on the back.  Knowing that the ink from your pen travelled all those miles across Canada into my hands made your stories of love and drama and gossip that much juicier.

As we both get older, I keep remembering the things from our childhood because these are the little things that have helped me become who I am today.  I relish in the little moments that have brought us to where we are in our lives.  In a way, your letters connected my Toronto childhood to my BC adolescence. 

 

I remember the games of truth or dare we would challenge each other with.  I remember playing hide and go seek with our siblings.  I remember some of the parties our parents would have, Korean music blaring and the smell of whiskey next to the glass of Coke on the tables, and all the while, we would be playing in someone’s basement or bedroom. 

 

I remember our letters of boys that we would have crushes on because for the most part, both of us were pretty sure that we would marry each one.  And we knew they were THE ONE because they were cute, smart, athletic, mixed, musical, or tall.

I remember our letters during university and the boys were even better because they were cute, smart, athletic, mixed, musical, tall, AND in university! 

I remember our letters when we did actually meet THE ONE.  Wedding plans and mortgages and baby plans all in its gritty details – angst, stress and excitement in the changes in our lives.  Oh how our lives would change.

And finally, we have met the “men of our dreams” in our little baby boys.  More letters, this time of exhaustion and nervousness and joy.  And I feel like we are going through the whole cycle again: our crushes on our sons because they are cute, smart, athletic, mixed, musical or hopefully tall; our dreams of them one day in university or off to meet their special ONES to start new families and lives.

I write this to you today on your birthday, because in the 39ish years that we have known each other, I cherished every single one of those letters of friendship.

 
Sincerely,

 
Your Pen Pal

 

 

 

 

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

Hot Yoga

I open the door and walk in.  There is a thick heat that almost hits me like a brick wall.  I try to breathe in the air, but it is heavy and requires a deep inhale to suck it all in.  In this dimly lit room, there are a few bodies splayed out on mats.  A light melody plays above my head, but it is oh so quiet, as if the heat is smothering the sound from blasting over the speakers.  I choose an obscure corner, and lay out my mat. There is a message reflecting back to me on the mirrored wall:  I love my life.  Hmmm. I haven’t really thought about my life lately, but suddenly, I feel like I have to make a mental inventory in my head so that I could love my life.

 

I do have beautiful, healthy children.

I do have family nearby that love and support me.

I do feel strong and powerful for entering this room through the smothering heat.

 

And before I know it, the music is blasting.  A petite, tattooed woman in nothing but second skin spandex and a sports bra is yelling at me.  We are pumping our legs and humping our mats. We are bouncing on bricks and squeezing rubber balls between our thighs.  We are downward facing dogs.  We are bouncing bears.  We are posed like children. 

 

I am dripping in sweat, feeling light-headed, trying to practice 4 seconds of deep inhale breathing and trying to force out a deep 4 second exhale through my mouth.  I am fighting to stay alive in this 42°C hot box of a hell. Right now, I am NOT loving my life!

 

And finally, we are splayed back out on our mats with our towels and our clothes soaked through with our sweat.  Exhilarated or delirious from the heat, I’m not sure which one, I walk out the door with gratitude for having survived and finished this class.  Ecstatic at seeing my beautiful, healthy children again; and knowing my family is nearby to love and support me; and feeling strong and powerful for walking out of this room of smothering heat; I love my life.

 

Namaste.

 

Friday, 2 May 2014

The Lunch Box



There is a little place by the railroad tracks called Jimmy’s Lunch Box. 

The food is simple.  The ambience is diner-cafĂ©-dive at best.  The tables are tiny.  The floors are crooked.  And every time, the train goes by, it vibrates for the ride.  But the people that fill it every day are what make this place delicious.

It is a microcosm of small town Mission, it is colourful, eclectic and feels like family.  It would be too clichĂ© to say that this is a place “where everybody knows your name” but everyone comes because they know each other’s names or they know someone's ex husband or they know someone’s aunt who eats there. This place is to Mission, what apple pie is to America, except I would call it more of a mincemeat pie with the meat, dried fruit and colourful spices. 

We have guys who bring their girlfriend for breakfast; and three months later, bring their new girlfriend; and three months after that, bring their newest girlfriend.  Weekend warriors would crawl in after a night of heavy drinking for a cure for their hangovers.  It has seen burly bikers, swimming clubs and local musicians through its doors.  At times, there are bible study groups, politicians or yummy mummies meet ups.  And there is always a toddler running up and down the ramp or a baby passed around for a cuddle.   

Sometimes it looks like a man cave with packs of men meeting every week to catch up, share stories of chicks and children, and mostly just laugh. Then there’s an older pack of men that meet daily to talk about their jobs when they weren’t retired, share stories of women and ex-wives, and mostly argue about politics. There are gaggles of girls that come in to gossip, rave about last night's party and complain about their boyfriends. 

Last night, someone broke into the restaurant.  Windows were smashed and food and garbage were thrown everywhere.  Knives were thrown out and motor oil was poured all over the floor.  And some coins were taken from the float.  The shock of the mess was devastating but the greater shock was when the customers trickled in to simply ask if we were ok or if we needed any help or offering hugs. 

There is a family here in the Lunch Box

Saturday, 5 April 2014

C3 Wellness

“What does wellness mean to you?” my friend Ray asked me.

I have known him since we were about 16 and we became fast friends.  But we became even faster workout buddies because he would literally knock on my door and wait for me to change so that I would go to the gym with him.  Talk about motivation. Back then, if I could fit into my size 28 jeans, whether it was through starvation, fad diets, smoking or exercising, I felt that I had been practicing wellness.  I know it was a superficial motivation to exercise, but a separate little seed of endorphin had been planted in me.  And without realizing it at the time, it made me happy. 
 
Fast forward fifteen years and two children later.  After giving birth to my daughter, I just couldn’t shed the last of my baby fat because of a herniated disk.  I couldn’t be active.  I didn’t think about what I was eating.  I was not sleeping well.  Sounds like most parents with small children, right?  I was just hiding behind my children.  Literally, I hid behind them because I was embarrassed about my body.  Figuratively, I hid behind them as my excuse for not taking better care of myself.  Most of all, I was frustrated because I couldn’t fit into my size 28 jeans!

This is when I shot Ray an email telling him that I just couldn't seem to lose that last 10 pounds.  He writes back with a general eating schedule, body measurement chart and a plan teaching me how to run.  Run?! Really?! Did he not know me at all?! I would never run…unless it was to chase after food or run from danger for survival.  
 
I have little kids. 
I have no time.
I am not in good enough shape to run.

These were my excuses why I could not do it. 
 
Then in one moment, I just asked myself “Why not?” 
 
Two minutes at a time, I started to jog with my daughter in a stroller.  Fifteen minutes at a time, I started to jog with my son riding behind me in a tricycle.  An hour and a half, I jogged from my daughter’s ballet school to my house and back while she was in her lessons
   
That “why not?” moment is the beginning of wellness.  The moment you decide IN YOUR HEAD to do something, your mind decides which battles your body will fight and your mind will provide the courage and strength to win that battle. 

Wellness becomes much more because it goes full cycle and also needs to end IN YOUR HEAD.  No matter what size or shape your body is, no matter how many kilometres you can run, no matter how many push ups you can hammer out in one minute, your mind needs to feel good about it and from it.  Your mind needs to feel good from the foods you put in your body to nourish it.  Your mind needs to feel good about being in your skin.  Your mind needs to find a balance in your life spiritually, emotionally and physically so that it can cope with the stress that bombards you every day. 

Now 20 years later, I am still imitating my friend Ray in going to the gym or trying to eat lean chicken or running a Spartan race with my children.  That endorphin seed has blossomed into a full blown addiction, making me want to try anything that crosses my path: running, floor hockey, crossfit, pole dancing, boxing….and I finally fit into my size 28 jeans. 

But beyond that, it also means that I am happy with my body in spite of the fact that my stretch marks have given birth to two children.  It means that I am happy to look to my friends for emotional support in spite of the fact that I could technically solve all my problems myself.  It means that I am grateful and awestruck by the magnificent trees and lakes and mountains surrounding my hike in spite of the fact that I could thankfully pray to God about them in a church.  It means I am living in wellness because I decided to



Wednesday, 26 March 2014

Silver and Gold I Have None

Silver and gold have I none,
but such as I have, give I thee. 
In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth
rise up and walk. 
Walking and leaping and praising god.
In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth
rise up and walk.

 
The other day, I heard my 5 year old niece singing these lyrics of a children’s hymn.  To boot, she was singing them in Korean.  It seemed strange, yet adorable since she doesn’t speak Korean and if you asked her what she was singing, she wouldn’t have a clue as to what the words meant. 

 
These words remind me of my grandfather and through him, they mean sadness, then hope, then peace.

 

My grandfather passed away when I was very young.  Of all my grandparents, he was the first one to pass away.  I think I was around 10.  In the last few weeks before he passed away, all my aunts gathered all of us cousins together to visit him in the hospital.  He was deteriorating pretty quickly from a losing battle with brain cancer. 

 

When we went to see him, he was unable to move and could barely speak.  But he was still alert enough to know all the 10 grandchildren who had come to see him.  Most of us shuffled in and were unsure of what we should say or feel or how we should react.  One of my aunts suggested that someone sing a song…one of his favourites.  So, our youngest cousin, Stella, who was probably barely 6 years old, stood up in front of him and sang this song.  In my mind, I can still hear her high pitched voice, her little body standing on twig legs, singing these words in Korean.  My grandfather’s eyes were wet with tears, but smiling.   Not sure if it was because this song rang true to his heart; maybe realizing that material possessions were useless unless you were spiritually rich.  Maybe he saw hope in the littlest of all his children and grandchildren singing to comfort and love him. 

 

Recently, someone I had known suddenly and unexpectedly passed away from brain cancer.  When speaking with his mother about his death, while I imagine she was grieving, she smiled at me with wet tears and said that there was a reason he passed on so suddenly and God knew that he would suffer less this way. 

 

I am cynical of religion and not sure what category of Christian I would fall under, if at all.  But I believe there is a higher being and something greater than us in this universe.  It goes by many names, God or Buddha or Allah or The Tree in my Backyard, but when faced with moments of loss and grief, whether it is for the person dying in the hospital or for the people who are left behind after their loved ones pass away, this belief in this greater power provides hope and gives peace. 

 

When I hear this song, I like to believe that my grandfather is in his heaven “walking and leaping and praising his God”.