February 2011 Archives

It is easy to hate and it is difficult to love.
This is how the world works.
All good things are difficult to achieve; all bad things are easily attained.
This is why struggle is necessary.
It means you are on the path to good.

--Confucius (my translation) --


Hi!
I sent my closest and dearest an update Feb 10th about how great it was to be in Canada (the accents, the food, the nature and the people are all the best in the world!) but how difficult of a time I was still having getting over the shock of what had just happened and how challenging it had been so far to try to suddenly begin to build my life again. This last update came right before the Olympics party in the streets of Vancouver, after which I finally headed HOME, to Victoria.

Victoria, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Victoria's snow-capped mountains are even more amazing, as is the weather and ocean breeze, than I remembered. The people? The greatest people on earth. My best friends/family include upper level government officials, owners of most of the property, a few famous athletes and some incredible business people. It is strange to be back because I just fit right in - right where I left off four years ago. Everyone is still doing what they do best, and are happy to put their arms around me, hand me a beer, and ask me for a story.

I am still working on the police applications here, as well as some other jobs (NGO's and charities). I spent last weekend realizing how big of a wuss I am while getting my first aid and CPR certificates re-certified. And I had a mid rendez-vous with a French Canadian fireman, which only served to remind me of many things, including why I miss Sebastian. Which reminds me, I have an ulcer again. Again? you ask. Yes. The last time I had one was the week I met Sebastian. No sign of one since. Patterns. I always see patterns in everything.
Regardless, this Frenchy was a nice distraction and I took him to all my favorite places in Victoria. Number 1? Fisherman's Wharf.

These last weeks I've gotten some things done which had been incomplete on my list in France. Being single definitely makes one more efficient. You have to seek out things to do or you go insane. And by you I mean me.
My things to do have involved joining a squash league (I can hardly walk right now), the Chinese association, and starting on a garden. We (Steve and I) are planning to make our own wine when I get back from my snowboarding trip mid March, too! And by then the garden will be ready for my organic vegetables and the compost I will be building. Eeeee!

That's right, be jealous. I am just about to leave for a one week visit to the interior to snowboard the best mountain on earth and see family. I am "allowed" to make decisions as of the 1st of March. But it's not looking like any will be made soon. Fear coupled with more fear. I won't deny it.
I am afraid of deciding - of getting myself stuck into something.
And I am afraid of wanting. Afraid of being passionate about something again, and then losing it.

The good news is this is not in my nature and much like my broken heart, it too will pass. The bad news is, the time which is required for the fear to subside is unknown, and the real world beckons - a few job offers and an unfinished book to name a few.
Think McGrew, think...
I can't figure out when I can return to China. Something I have to do. I want to work on my novel there but feel like now that I've started the police app process, I can't leave. And then there is money. If only we operated on good deeds. I'd be rich! Working on a novel is hard and complicated. I can't just pick up where I left off if I work all week then write on the weekends. It's taken crazy amounts of research lately and I feel I need to be there, in Chongqing, to really get the setting right.
But how many incredible novels go un-found? Unread? Am I doing this all for nothing? Is it possible the time and effort and passion invested will go unnoticed? I'd do it anyways... I think.
But if I really thought it would all be for nothing, I'd be less inclined to spend a year going more and more into debt in order to write it. I need to realistically set my own expectations, at the same time as find something I am passionate about.

Decisions. Speaking of which, I've had NO dreams since leaving France about missing a plane. How strange. No more anxiety about missing something important in life. But maybe it's because I have bigger things to worry about and other emotions that have taken over. Or maybe it is actually true, that I was being held back and I just didn't want to believe it.

Two steps forward, one step back.

I was so sad Feb 18/19/20. It was a full moon, which has a tendency to make me overly emotional, but is there some sort of 1 month hump I don't know about? I thought everything came in 3's. I missed him so much I felt like I was going to vomit. It all came back all of a sudden. All the feelings - not as strongly but the empty hole in my heart was even stronger. It's still there. But it turns out that was possibly just my ulcer,  and it has only compounded my heart ache because it feels like someone is punching me in the stomach. Just like when Sebastian left. I can't tell if it is physical or emotional now. But it hurts just the same.
I guess all in all, two steps forward are still that, even if there is that one step back every so often.




Now, I had originally planned on sending this out in an email to the people who've been asking me to keep them in the loop. But then I got some great pictures after finding my charger and I can't help showing off! it snowed in Victoria on Feb 24th. The entire city shut down, and I went for a walk to some of my favorite spots.
Not bad, if I do say so myself;)
 
The Parliament Buildings.




China Town.


I had also originally planned on not writing on this blog for some time.
But come on, who lets a young, ill-equipped, ill-tempered prince-boy get them down?
Not this girl!
(do you know that when his mum used to make him lasagna, he'd complain that it wasn't delivery pizza?! People don't change, just the things they blame their own unhappiness on do.) 
So let the new adventures begin!
And with them, stories will follow.
I'm Back!

Wow. France.

Unfortunately for me I never did get to live in France long enough to unearth all of her Francaiseness. I didn't even go to a single chateau or winery (WTF!?). I did, however, learn some useful things, elicit a few entertaining quotes, have some deep thoughts, and received some niceness in Nice.

The following are a few last stories I'd like to share with you from France.

You've likely noticed from my tone in the few blogs I posted from here that the shift from Beijing was shockingly difficult for me. I am still quite amazed how much culture shock I went through; how it was almost even more so than when I first went to China. But in fact, I've spoken to a few other British people, and they, too, experienced several months of 'anger/frustration/shifting'. One told me it took him over four months to adjust. The culture is so similar but so - surprisingly and oddly - different.

 

For instance, Meanness.

French people like being mean, it (along with complaining) gets them off. Everywhere you go, you see Frowns. Seriousness. As soon as you speak, you are a total moron because your grammar or pronunciation isn't perfect. They look at you like you are a worm. But I found in my last month here that for the most part this is only at the surface. Once you get IN with a French person, they are with you for life. In my last week in France, my landlords took me in when I was not wanted (nor allowed) anywhere else, and had no other people to help keep me alive. They fed me, talked to me about how I felt, and constantly reminded me that it will all work out in the end. They might be exceptional people in any culture, but all in all, French people aren't that bad. It just takes them a while to let you find that out.

 

Another example of why us CommonWealth-ers struggle to adjust to France is Boundaries. Both personal and work boundaries are very different in France. For me, this was both annoying and uncomfortable a first. Everything new is always annoying and uncomfortable at first, right? This is due to massive gaps between a boss and their subordinate or a student and their teacher. For a Canadian, this is a tough pill to swallow. Apparently we have the smallest gap IN THE WORLD between relationships such as this. Sorry for being used to calling my Dean by his first name and giving him high fives in the hall (right, David!?). Furthermore, French people's boundaries between work and home life are also quite depressing to those of us who know the joy of grabbing a beer after work, or even playing on a baseball tram together. In France, don't even think about suggesting post-work-beers with the team. No extra-curricular time is spent with colleagues. And they work no more than a 35 hour work week, but the second work is over, they head home. What can they possibly do with all their time?

 

The Language: It took me a full 3 months to be comfortable with using French again. But (Murphy's law) during my last week in Nice, I have to say, I was impressive - the vocabulary and grammar I was throwing out there. ... wooo! But as previously mentioned, it is not uncommon for a local to essentially tell you to stop talking since you are ruining their language. Not too supportive of an environment in general.

 

So it takes three months not only to adjust to a culture, but also to re-remember a language of your childhood. Even when you expect both the language and culture to be so similar to your own, Mental note. Apparently it also takes 3 months for someone to go 180 on you. Another mental note. Nothing in life is permanent.

 

I went through a process of discovering more about what I want in my life while pursuing my Dream Job in France. Becoming a writer has been fun, obviously, and I've won several competitions so far and have a few bites on my book (and it's only been 4 months!) but it is a very lonely profession. Some say, the loneliest. Something for me to be aware of in the future. In experiencing that life here, I learned the difference between Being Alone and Being Lonely. I felt lonely at first but once I got into the swing of it, I realized I was not lonely, just alone. And that is not a bad thing at all. Moreover, the shift from an ancient, vibrating, ever-changing metropolis of 12 million people to a small town, out of the city, with a tiny population of less than half a million, taught me the difference between how a place can Be Peaceful and how we might initially misconstrue that as Being Boring. Each alternative has its perks. Though that too was a tough shift at first, by December I had learned to accept the peacefulness (while at the same time dying for some excitement).

 

 

Ultimately, I want to try to be fair and positive about my time in France, but truly, the only good thing about it in general is the cheap wine, of which I drank almost 5 Litres in my last week. Nothing like taking advantage of the present! I am pretty excited to be leaving, in fact. As many of you heard me say over and over, the only good thing here was Sebastian. I don't consider myself an expert, but I have been in love 5 times, and lived with my love 4 times. Although he no longer loves me, those 3 months were the best 3 months I have ever had in a relationship. I was taken care of, loved, and nurtured in just the way I need. I was grateful for how good I had it every day and I told him so. I can only hope that one day I find someone else half as wonderful (pre-mental-and-emotional-breakdown). The trouble is all animals go through a physical reaction to stress: the fight or flight response. I guess it was best that I found out he was a flyer and not a fighter early on rather than later.

 

Notre Dame in Paris

 

 

Quotes by the French about the French:

 

I worked for IELTS (The International English Language Testing System) for all of Southern France (the same job as I did in China) and it was an unbelievable way to get to know the culture, people, and nuances of a country. Some of my favorite quotes from interviewees are as follows: (A note to the reader, read with a very strong French accent).

 

 

"In French Culture, we see work as a burden. Basically, we don't like working."

 

"French people don't want to have to think about new things. People say we are lazy. We are."

 

"French people are not so welcoming. I think you know this."

 

 

Other insights form the IELTS students wasn't just negative/funny like the above quotes; in fact, I learned to appreciate Bordeaux and Southern France more by listening to them and their insight on it. In addition, I learned why (annoying to me) tradition and culture are so important and protected by the French - the Second World War was not long ago, and it affected them possibly the most out of all countries in the world. Two generations isn't a long time. Maybe it's a good thing they work hard to remember.

 

 

Deep French Thoughts

 

As you know, I am a writer. I wrote a bit about France while here but mostly wrote about China. Of the things I wrote about France, most was generally angry or frustrated. I can't help it, I was adjusting! (plus brought up to hate them) As a writer I keep a pad of paper and pen with me any times when I don't have my computer. Here are some of my "Deep French Thoughts" from my journal:

 

 

Yes, French people are rude. But it is simply because they don't agree. Agree with what? With the idea of joy, fun or gratitude. Rather, they have rules and paper work in a vice grip, squeezing hard, fearing nothing else, but the loss of "solidarité".

 

It's different being a foreigner in places like France. Here, I look like everyone else, dress like everyone else, and even talk like everyone else (for the daily pleasantries anyways). But this 'likeness' almost makes it even more difficult and lonely. I want to stand out. I want people to know I don't belong. I want to stand up and scream, "Hey look at me, I'm different! Be my friend!"

 

French women are all thin and gorgeous, but insanely frustrated. I don't relate to nor do I feel a connection to the women of France at all. They are in a tough spot, and I mainly feel sorry for them. Currently they are stuck in the middle of being educated yet held under the thumb of traditional ways.

 

Side note: In general, Europe has been quite disappointing to me with regard both to its treatment of women, and its treatment of the environment. A lot of what we see in the media is a façade.

 

Bordeaux at night at Christmas

 

Nice is Nice (pronounced like: neeeese is naighse)

 

Though the scenario was not ideal, I spent a good amount of time learning about and exploring Nice during my second last week ever in the South of France. (no, I won't go back, unless we do that bike tour and write a book on it, Alex!). Nice is by far my most favorite city in France. There aren't many other sandy-beached-palm-treed-café-lined-boulevard-cities with Italian men everywhere... we all know how much I route for the Italian men's soccer team.

 

Nice has the Nicest (pronounced "neeecest" (pun!)) people in France. It is, essentially, the anti-Paris. I had some of my first funny and fun conversation with people in Nice since arriving in France. One was a Cambodian immigrant, the other was an Italian man. So no, neither were French, but both were in French, and both lived in Nice. People in Nice care for one another, something I had forgotten people do after my time in China and then France. For example, the odd seat rendered to an elderly woman or helping someone get their ticket stamped on the bus. The little things that go a long way are things I notice in a culture - things that I appreciate.

 

The last cool thing about Nice is the Italian/Spanish influence in everything. Architecture, language, food, and the even the way people look.

The beach at Nice. Nice.

 

 

Coming Home

 

We had a couple of difficulties in our first two months. I guess some people give up after that. One of them was the Internet and the other was my Visa. France is living in the stone-age when it comes to technology, and as we all know, they are in love with their bureaucracy. The visa was a bit stressful too. There is a rule in France stating that the only possible way for a North American to get a job in France is if no other European applies or is capable of doing the job. American haters! I went around this and used OrangOrang as an enterprise from which I would be bringing jobs and income to the country. After 6 months of effort, I got my 'Titre de Sejours' in my last week. Condition-free. A small miracle. A miracle I couldn't share with anyone. But something to consider: I can now live anywhere in Europe, no conditions, for the next 3 years. Hmmmmm.....

 

 

When something devastating and unexpected happens in our lives, we are made to be so vulnerable that we are unable to manage ourselves. That is when friends and family come in to play, and through these last few weeks, I have been reminded about just how amazing my friends and family are; just how supportive and loving they can be. All of the thoughtful messages, emails and letters I've received have overwhelmingly reminded where Home is, and most importantly, what Home means.

 

A blow like this, unfortunately, doesn't push you along; instead, it takes the wind entirely from your sails. For this reason, for now, I feel I've been abroad long enough. Although it is not of my own choice, I am, in fact, ready to come home.

It's exciting! 

I'm coming home this time not just to quickly see everyone, but to really connect with people again. To be there for them as they have just been there for me. I'm even looking forward to it - the new adventures I will have in and around my home, coupled with the familiarity, the safety, and the family.

 

Going abroad and experiencing, seeing and learning what I have over the last 4 years has been fun. But as with many of life's experiences, I realize more than ever what is important in life. Adventures are great, but family is Life.

 

So I have to say that this is the end for now. The end of Lindy-loo's Life as we know it. Maybe the next few things you will read by me will be published. Paperback? Hardcover due out 2012;) Until then I will leave you with a thought I had in the bath this November. Seems even more fitting now.

 

What is life if not but a string of failures?

Like water. It attracts, connects, pools to a point.

Until which it flows, runs, and finally falls.

It is mere chemical reactions. Hydrogen bonding.

Rules by which nature has enforced both a predetermined and inescapable finality on us.

Such is life, then: nothing more then an encoded attraction, connection, flow then fall - to failure.  

 

 

To be unloved and sent home is one thing. But to then be treated as if I am a disease and avoided like the Plague, with no help to the airport let alone a goodbye? No words can describe it fully. Selfish, weak, spineless. But others' journeys are not my own. I can only accept and try to learn from it. Knowing neither I or anyone I love would have ever behaved that way. At the very least I can be thankful I learned earlier on what type of man I had accidentally fallen in love with, and try not to do that again.

One of my many lessons through all this (aside from forgiveness, compassion, and letting go) has been that life is better when there is someone special in it for you to love unconditionally, and who will love and cherish you back. For some of you that's obvious. For me, I had to really have it in my face to come to terms with it. Returning to Canada, I will keep that at the front of my mind while making some pretty huge life decisions, set to change the course of my life over the next few months.

 

 

Today is my thirtieth birthday!

I am grateful for everything that I have: health, family, brains, forgiveness, beauty, compassion, friends, gratitude, experience, education and fire in my belly. I could easily be happy with life as it is now, doing what I love, being around people who accept me and allow me to grow, living a life wholeheartedly, vulnerable, and open. And I am.

They say life begins at thirty.

Well, I guess I'm about to find out!

Leaving the Bordeaux airport to go to Portugal (alone) was good preparation for February 1st. Nausea, depression, anxiety, and feeling like I was going to have a mental and emotional breakdown, were only a number of my overwhelming emotions. Just exactly how it will be when I really have to leave? God, I can't even begin... Unbelievable, that is in 6 days. Thus begins the next three weeks of living in hostels or on people's couches, and the next while of rebuilding my life. As the acceptance stage goes (which I've not yet reached) the real work starts here and now. Lovely.

 

I went to Portugal for my last week in Europe because we'd already bought the tickets, and it's possible (though not plausible) that I may never return to this continent: The Old Country. I wanted to take advantage of the present, but I didn't expect it would be so hard. I guess I just need to understand that the true healing won't begin until I leave this place. Until I know I will never see him again and there is nothing I can do about it. Until I accept that giving unconditional love does not mean receiving it in return.

Mamma (Sebastian's mum, whom I will from here on call Tina) gave me some wise advice prior to leaving. She told me to "Look Around Me". See the scenery, keep my head up, so to speak. It wasn't hard to do, in a place this beautiful.

 

On my first night, as I took the subway into the city, I thought, Well then, Portuguese people are not very attractive. But holy are they nice. The entire time I sat on the plane and subway, I cursed myself for having decided to come. I just wanted to go home to Cananda, to begin to forget about the pain. But the second I stepped out of the subway system and into Oporto's old town (relieved) I realized it had been the right choice.

Oporto, or, Porto is, yes, home of Port wine. It is also where I began and ended my adventure, and continued my emotional rollercoaster. On my first day I had three goals: 1. Walk to the top of the main church turret and see the city from above, 2. Go to the art district and check out the local art scene, 3. Cross the river and explore the Port cellars, tasting free port along the way. None of these things got done. Day One looked more like: try-to-eat-and-fail-try-to-sleep-and-fail-try-to-drink-your-sorrows-away-and-fail-at-that-too. It doesn't help the church and art district were both closed, and I just couldn't bring myself to go learn about and try port, alone. Afternoons have been almost as tough as mornings.

Instead, very uncharacteristically, I spent most of the day inside, watching movies and writing. I met some nice people in my hostel and learned a few fun Portuguese sayings. The language sounds like Russian and Spanish put together, but you can almost always get the gist of something when you see it written, for instance:

another glass of wine please = um copo de vinho por favor.

Basically looks like Spanish, right? But add in a bunch of "sh", "csh" and "s" sounds, and you've got Portuguese from Portugal. It turns out there are Arabic influences, which probably explain why I hear Russian. I must look Portuguese (NOT a compliment!) because daily three or four people would stop me to ask me a question in Portuguese. Every time I would be like, "Me no speako Portuguese." No, actually I had learned how to say "I can't speak Portuguese" (Eu não falo Português) and aside from "Abrigada" (thanks), it was my most oft used phrase there.

 

 

 

I woke up very early the next morning and went for a walk, watching the city wake up as the sun rose. Some cafes were open, and as the traffic became more dense and louder, I slipped into one of them for a cappuccino. The cafes are set up just like in Italy; like a bar to us. Portuguese coffee, let me say, is some of the best I have had in my life. It is not bitter, not strong, not burnt. Instead, it is this smooth, almost sweet delicious goodness. I had not drunk a coffee since Finland (it makes me nervous) but I accepted nervousness for my 5 days in Portugal.

 

From Porto I took a train almost 300kms South to Lisbon. It was 16C and sunny when I arrived at 4pm. I walked around for a bit, both exploring and trying to find my hostel, and immediately noticed more of a "city" factor. There is a lot more visual immigration, people are in a rush, and the architecture and energy are just a bit less charming. But it is still quite a cool city. Portugal is officially number 2 on my list of European countries now. Number 1 is the Czech Republic.

 

What is it about Portugal, the Czech Republic, and Italy (I had to bump Finland out of there on principle. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but I had thought I would live there one day. Now I don't have to like it.) that makes these countries so appealing to me? There is something raw about them.

Something untouched or just plain hard.

Something about the people, who have accepted that life is suffering, and who have come to realize that good food and wine, heartfelt music, and love are all that matter in life.

I appreciate the trueness of the way the architecture is built into the land and the land hasn't been changed by the people.

I feel it has something also to do with the people just being who they are. Not trying to be or have something that isn't from them.

And the languages... Italian, of course, is gorgeous to listen to. But Czech and Portuguese are so soft and strange to me. Some of the sounds are ones I have never heard made before. I want to watch their mouths and find out how they are doing it all. Like making sense of a puzzle.

 

 

 

In Lisbon I walked around, exploring, of course. (zen party bus, remember?) but I spent most of my time either writing or running. I would write things to people about how I felt and no matter how many times I wrote about how sad I was, the feeling would not subside. No matter how often I told myself to "Just let go" I couldn't. I worked on some articles. I wrote a few poems. I wrote things to Sebastian he neither understands nor wants to. Things about love, acceptance, and new beginnings. When I got tired of listening to how pathetic I was being, I would run. Run out the anger. Run out the sorrow. Run until I could feel nothing but pain and tiredness.

My body matched my heart. My body is currently pure lactic acid.

 

A quote from my travel journal, January 29^th, 4pm:

"I just bought a 20-something-girl a sandwich at this café I am sitting at, in the centre of Lisbon. She would not have begged me if she didn't need it. As I bought her sandwich she started begging for a water or juice, and I got annoyed. "What, a sandwich isn't enough?" I wanted to say. But now as I sit out on the patio, sipping my much-un-needed-hot-chocolate, I can see her scarfing down the sandwich out on a bench on the side of the road, as if it is the first thing she's eaten all week. Maybe it is the first thing she's eaten all week. In which case, she probably did need a juice. I feel like a jerk. God, and I thought I had problems."

 

After Lisbon, where I spent a full day in a tshirt, lying in the sun on the grass by the water, I returned to Oporto. It was Sunday and the train was quite busy but everything else was closed. I spent the 3 hour ride alternating between writing an article for a magazine on learning Mandarin, and feeling pathetic, depressed, and wondering what the heck I was going to do with my life. Writing about China makes me miss it. But do I want to go back there to live? What do I want to do with my life? Why can't I just get something right? The weather in Porto (13C and sunny with a slight breeze off the water) was my perfect weather for an afternoon run. I ran, and ran, and ran, until I couldn't feel any longer, had an espresso and a pastry, had a shower, and returned to the downtown core for some last-day pics. 

 

Unfortunately, due to my mental and emotional state, as well as timing, I never did get to go on a Port tasting tour, nor see a Fado show. However, this is all the more reason to return. Anyone up for a cycle trip through Portugal and Spain next year?

 

 

Other last thoughts about Portugal:

I saw a Starbucks in Lisbon (yes, I did enter and I did have an Americano, who am I?!) and 2 McDonalds', however there were little to no other international brands/shops (except the usual Euro trash stuff like Armani and LV and Paul Whateverhisnameis).

Nothing is in English in Portugal but that was OK. Somehow you just understand, like when I was in Italy. The secret is in not trying too hard to understand every single word. And most of the people working in customer service speak English, Spanish, and Portuguese pretty well.

The cars drive ridiculously fast - reminding me, again, of Rome. Why do they drive so fast? I found out while in a taxi to the train station in Lisbon, that it might have to do with the crazy flamenco/Latin music the drivers listen to while driving.

I saw about thirty drug deals, most of which were just out in the open. Each time I would look around and be like, is no one else seeing this? And sure enough, no one else appeared to have noticed.

I saw the biggest Jesus in my life in Lisbon. I was like, "Jesus!" It had to have been 50 meters tall.

Portuguese is the fifth most commonly spoken language in the world, and the most widely spoken language in the Southern hemisphere. Portuguese is also the fourth most learned language in the world. At the moment, 30 million students study this language.

Portugal has colonized every continent as we know of them today (not including Australia as it is an island). The Portuguese Colonial Empire was the first global empire in history. In addition, it was the longest-lived of the modern European colonial empires, spanning almost six centuries, from the capture of Ceuta in 1415 to the handover of Macau in 1999. The empire spread throughout territories that are now part of 49 different sovereign states.

 

Portugal colonized parts of South America (mostly Brazil), but also some failed attempts to colonize North America in present day Canada. In 1501 and 1502, the Corete-Real brothers explored Newfoundland and Laborador and claimed it to the Portuguese Crown. In 1506 King Manuel 1 created taxes for the fisheries of cod in Newfoundland's Bays. The colony of Joao Alvares Fagundes in Newfoundland and Nova Scotia was only five years old when it was abandoned (too cold!?). The foreign invasion of the homelands of the indigenous people was met with resistance and the main cause of the intruding project's failure.

 

Dreams:

Over the last year, probably every three or four nights, I have dreamed that I am late to catch a flight or a train. It is never in the same country or city, and it is never for the same reason or with the same people, but I am always late to board a mode of transport, and the repercussions of me missing it are catastrophic. Moreover, getting to the airport or station on time is out of my control. Annoying, right? I had yet another one of these dreams last week (this one was coupled with the Italian mafia - go figure) where I was trying to get to the airport and board a flight, but was late because I had to rely on someone else to get me there, and he was busy doing some gangster stuff in the basement of an old chateaux (yes, I am creative). As the clock ticked nearer to the departure of my flight, I began to panic, and I couldn't find my driver, whom I relied on to get me there. In these weekly dreams, I always wake up right before I find out whether or not I make the flight. The dreams have been happening, basically, ever since Sebastian came into my life. So after this dream this week, I finally did a bit of research online as to what it all could mean.

 

"Missing things or being late for some things usually means that you feel like you have missed an opportunity to do something in your life. When you dream of missing a flight you feel you've missed some opportunity in your waking life; you're too late; you can't make a connection, that you need to pull yourself together to make the connections you desire."

 

 "To dream of missing flight means you are overwhelmed with work or other activities and you sense you lost control of time (missing flight is a sense not being able to be on time somewhere) no matter what you do. It all is too much, and too fast."  

I don't know about you, but bells are ringing in my head, and they all scream, "China! China! China!" I definitely don't have the courage or energy to return to China right now, but I had felt yanked from the place and people I had come to love so dearly a wee bit prematurely.

When I left China, I wrote a blog in (June 2010) which ended with:

What did I come here searching for?
Will I leave having found it?
Will I remember all that this place has taught me?
Will I be able to move on?

No, I don't feel I was done with China. I don't feel I had had my fill of it. But I was pursuing something that I felt was greater. A higher calling. Something that I thought was more important. I guess my subconscious disagreed. Something for me to ponder over the next little while.

 

 

Symbolism:

 

For the last 3 months or so, almost since arriving in France, I have been seeing owls. Not real owls but owls on mugs, owls in paintings, owls as symbols, owls on clothing, owls just generally all around me. It had especially started to become over the top when I was in Finland over Christmas. I've not seen one since Sebastian came home telling me he longer loved me, January 14^th 2011. What did these owls mean?!

Owl: symbol of Magic, Wisdom

"The owl as a prediction usually means that you are about to be taught something of huge significance. When the student is ready the teacher appears. It certainly ties in with wisdom and can also tie in with death/new beginnings depending on what the actual owl was."

 "The owl has exceptional vision and sense of hearing. It symbolizes wisdom and ability to see and hear clearly despite the darkness. The owl is the symbol of magic, good omens, prophecy, astral travel, power to see the un-seen, all seeing knowledge, great wisdom, good luck, power of the moon and night, insight, giving and receiving messages, clairvoyance, religious beliefs, communication with the spirit world, and insight into others true motives"

"The owl is the symbol of the feminine, the moon and the night. The owl is the bird of magic and darkness, of prophecy and wisdom. You will hear not what is being said by others, but what is hidden. You can detect subtleties of voice that others cannot."

 

SO, then... is it good or bad news I haven't seen one since that fateful day, when my life turned upside down, and I've felt ever since that I can't go on? I'm thinking bad news. So what does one do when they need an owl? Buy some. I bought 4, while in Portugal. My only souvenirs.

 

Portugal reminded me of something too, which may or may not have anything to do with my dreams or symbols:

 

When you think you have it all figured out, life has a way of reminding you that getting it right is essentially impossible. Don't even bother. Just let it go. It's all out of your control anyways.

And I don't mean this in a negative or cynical way. In fact, since having started this blog five days ago, I've seen a dramatic change come over me. I've accepted his choice, which has everything to do with him and his stuff, and I've even been able to see this as a gift. Afterall, who wants to be with someone who just bails over a bit of stress in their lives? If it wasn't now, it would have been later. At least we didn't go buy a house  or have children together. He won't even see me one last time to say goodbye. Not even for a minute. Wow. As I said to my friend in China the other day when he asked me the story:

 

It's not a good story, nothing I'll bother writing about. I fell in love with someone. He fell in love with me. We moved to France. He fell out of love with me. I've psychoanalyzed the heck out of it. There's not much to say but that he comes from a very broken home, something like 75% of people he is directly related to have been through a divorce (my family? 0%!). And I was his first love. He doesn't know how good he had it. Nothing much I can do at this point. I can't teach someone how to love or how to be in a supportive relationship. I fell in love with the wrong guy. Now I head back to Canada to get my life sorted again. That's all there is to it.

 

And it's true, that's all there is to it. Just let it go. let it go, let it go.........