This morning I met my friend Melinda at Lavazza near my place and we talked about boys (our favourite topic of conversation). There is a thing with women that no matter what situation they find themselves in, whether in poverty or in a refugee camp (or sitting in a café on Queens Quay), the conversation always tends to gravitate towards love. Does he like me? Does he think about me? Sigh. Age old questions that are so simple yet seem so torturous and cause never-ending speculation.

Following our chat, I started my 10 KM walk. It was -40 or somewhere around there, and I had to stop every few minutes to warm up in a pharmacy or coffee shop. I stopped at SickKids for a bit and talked to my Mom on the phone about fears and remembering past lives. She said that she didn’t think it was useful to remember because it just distracts you from your purpose and causes you pain. I thought that it is actually a blessing if you are lucky enough to be given insight into your karmic path, to know that there is something beyond this physical existence. There is a quote by Rumi that I love: “Know then that the body is merely a garment. Go seek the wearer, not the cloak.”

I got to the reference library and almost gave up and took the subway home, but something told me to keep going so I did. I went to Balzac’s and finished reading Count Me In by Emily White. She goes on a quest to understand human connection, our need to belong and live a fulfilling life. She is extremely sensitive to rejection, as am I, even though I throw myself in the fire over and over again. Perhaps one day I’ll throw myself in and won’t feel so burned. There was a scale at the back of the book that assesses your sensitivity level and I scored pretty high! Perhaps it’s like a muscle and you get better at it. Or perhaps no one is really rejecting you and it’s all in your head.

It was funny that I had considered going home and ended up having a very serendipitous meeting. I ran into Gillian, a woman who I’d met through my friend Gosia. She is making a documentary about the life of Phoolan Devi. I went to an auction last year where the director spoke about Phoolan’s story. She is almost a mythical figure in India – a woman who was brutalized by life yet managed to find the light. I can’t actualy believe this story is real. This woman lived nine lives in her one short life. Gillian wants me to be more involved with the documentary, and perhaps reach out to women’s rights organizations in India to form partnerships.

Then I walked to Chapters where I felt bored with my life in general, thinking that this blog is the most exciting thing I have going for me right now. Lately I’ve been scared to come home because it reminds me of how I almost lost my place, and triggers a lot of anxiety. It will take time for me to trust again, to release this knot in my stomach that doesn’t seem to go away. I walked home through Victoria College, and then onto Nathan Philips square, watching the skaters and listening to Neyo’s Miss Independent playing in the background. Finally came home to my messy place!

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