I just got back from my favourite cafe, Metanoia, where I got an extra hot lavender latte with oat milk. The almost-full moon is out, in broad daylight – it’s strange to see it hovering over the lake without creating a reflection. Just as beautiful regardless. At the cafe I overheard the owner talking about their signature saffron latte, and how they use a high quality saffron extract – I have to try that when I’m there next! I was going to grab and go, since I had my groceries and some freezer items, but I stayed and talked to the lovely owner and I’m glad I did. I discovered that she lives in the same building as me and we were commiserating about the state of things – there are so many issues! People getting stuck in elevators (there was once a blood-curdling scream because the girl was having a panic attack and no help was coming), closets falling apart (all the shelving in my friend’s closet just collapsed one day), and loud popping noises throughout the night (that people say is totally normal in the winter). Definitely not normal! Not to mention theft – one person’s motorcycle got stolen, repeated locker room break-ins, and not having a garbage disposal for over 6 months.
I’ve been thinking of the buildings I’ve lived in as past lovers. And maybe it’s the case where you don’t appreciate the one you’re in until you leave. My last building in the Junction was great because it only had 7 floors, and you never had to wait for an elevator. There were countless good restaurants, cafes, and shops. I loved going to Saving Mondays every Monday where a coffee and muffin would cost $3, and I would make conversation with cute guys. (I recently sat next to one of those cute guys at a cafe and he was with his girlfriend and pretended not to know me). However the Junction building wasn’t perfect and we broke up for a reason. There were shady characters outside and sometimes I would hear yelling and fighting outside, making it hard to work and just live in peace.
The building before that was in Liberty Village – looking back it was pretty perfect, with a huge social scene and curated events, rooftop pool, good friends close by, and perfectly working elevators. But it wasn’t rent-controlled so every year they would raise the rent by $300, which quickly became unaffordable. Priced out of paradise, as they say. Not that I would call the neighbourhood paradise. There were random shootings and also a murder! And a dog problem (well the problem was more with the owner rather than the dogs).
The building before that was in Riverdale, a small place in a cozy East-end neighbourhood, close to a hill with the best view of the Toronto skyline in the city. However it was too small and rustic for my liking.
Maybe home is at my parents’ place, or maybe I’m just a nomad that is yearning for a place to call home.
Tonight I’m going out dancing with some friends; it’ll be nice to unwind and see their beautiful faces! Tomorrow I’m going to Maria Serrano’s flamenco show LAS VOCES DE MI VIDA (the voices of my life) at the Palmerston Theatre. I won a ticket!! I never win anything so this was such a nice surprise. I started taking classes at Maria’s studio this month and it’s been incredible! She is so intense and passionate, and brings that fire out in us. I’m loving my new shoes too – my old ones lasted for many years, and then one day the heel flew off in the middle of class. I bought these new ones and they provide a lot of stability, allowing me to go wild… clicking and tapping and flying across the room. Maybe stability that allows for freedom of movement is the true definition of home.
It feels like the world is on fire. Everywhere you look another disaster, so much pain, so much suffering – Iran, Gaza, Ukraine, the United States (which shouldn’t even be on the list!), Afghanistan, Sudan, the DRC. There is no point drowning in it but it is beyond shocking. And it feels surreal to go on and do regular things, while constantly questioning if you’re doing enough.
While I was in Ottawa, I went to a comedy show at No Forks Given downtown. Oh how I wish I didn’t give a fork! It was an unpaid show, where I made negative dollars, if you add up the cost of gas (free since it was my dad’s car), cost of parking ($9), cost of fries (also $9), and associated stress since I drove on very snowy and slippery streets. At the end we were each paid $5. When I came home, I added my $5 to the $15 my Dad had laid out on the coffee table to give to the homeless person outside of Costco. He said that he always passes him but never has cash, and then sometimes drives to the other entrance to avoid him. That’s how I feel it is with human suffering right now – can we drive to the other entrance to avoid it? But even if we do, it stays on our mind and if we’re good people, we find a way to do something when we can.
I also read the Community Voice newspaper while I was there – I can’t believe that I used to work there! I was a sales consultant, and I would drive around town and try and sell advertising space to small businesses. I loved the Heart and Soul cafe where Jim would give me several free lattes, while telling me about the effects that the fire and the flood and the pandemic had on their livelihood (sounds more like a biblical story than real life). I read an article about the Dominican Republic. Again, I had a flash of guilt since I’m going there with friends next month to celebrate a friend’s 50th birthday (damn we’re getting old). An Ottawa teacher created a partnership with a school in Yamasa, which is a 3-hour drive from Punta Cana. Upon retirement, he expanded his mission to enhance medical services (mom & baby program, gift of hearing, food for the poor) and empower local medical professionals since many there don’t have access to healthcare. I made a donation, reflecting on how these articles do make a difference, and maybe the ones I wrote for the newspaper did too.
She's Come Undone 