Random Thoughts of an Alpha Female

Leaders, Goons & Marionettes

2012-01-17T21:42:00.000-05:00

Thereare those who hate thinking for themselves, who hate making their own decisionsand would rather have someone else make these decisions for them. They tend tobelieve whatever they’re told, are confident that a person in power has all theright answers, knows best and whose judgment conquers all, even when thatjudgment is highly questionable. Forming one’s own opinions and going againstthe status quo is a heavy task to undertake for these people. Conforming to thewill of one who has enough will power to be in charge is comforting. Admiring, in others, the very qualities that one lacks can be inspiring; however, simplyadmiring someone based on their position of power can be tricky.

Adriana Lima for Donna Karan New York Spring 2012

2011-12-15T13:46:00.001-05:00

Donna Karan New York

I've always wanted to go to Haiti. In December 2009, I was telling my mother about my wish to go there and visit my family, considering that I have so many aunts, uncles and cousins on both sides of my family that I've never had the chance to meet.

Men on a Mission

2011-12-05T21:42:00.001-05:00

Recently, afriend of mine informed me that one of his friends saw my profile picture onFacebook, thought I was cute and wanted to send me a friend request. I politelydeclined by explaining that I'd had enough of strangers approaching me on FB toadd me to their catalogue of chicks. Sure, it’s flattering that some men wantto get to know me based on my appearance, but I’m no longer interested inletting technology, in any of its forms (social media networks or textmessages) be the middleman when it comes to connecting with someone of theopposite sex, or anyone for that matter.

The Lula Mae Syndrome

2011-10-24T23:57:00.000-04:00

This is for those of us who have seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s 3875 times, who grew up watching Dynasty and Beverly Hills 90210, are fixated on Gossip Girl, who know every line in Clueless and have no shame in watching every season (over and over again) of all things Kardashians. But there’s more to this list than what some may call vapid entertainment. Indeed, there is a passion for all things pretty and glamorous. Living vicariously through the lives of filthy rich people with a mean shoe game is a form of escape from the humdrum of everyday life. Of course, it is pure fiction; we know that. Right?

Harvest

2011-10-19T00:29:00.000-04:00

As I witness the bright hues of red and yellow that garnish the trees and wince at the dreariness of October weather (and the impending doom of winter), my mind is stuck on memories of fall 2006. Why? I really can’t say; it just is. There’s something in the atmosphere that reels me back to that period.

Back in the Day...

2011-08-26T23:47:00.003-04:00

http://www.scopesux.com/images

This ain't your mama's Batdance.
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Sixteen Again

2011-08-14T00:10:00.002-04:00

Ah, to be 16 again! There isn't enough money in this world to persuade me to go back in time and relive it all. Don’t get me wrong, 16 was a fabulous age to be in 2001, well at least for me it was. My life was far from perfect, but I had the right amount of innocence for a girl that age. When my friends would come to me with their boy troubles, I would give them that ‘look’ that said it all: “Girl, whatchu comin’ to me for? I never had a boyfriend! How do you want me to figure out if he really likes you?!” I didn’t have a clue what it meant to be in a relationship or how to behave in one, meaning that the only set of rules I learned on the subject were taken from “Two Can Play That Game”. Although it was very entertaining, I doubt that movie helped me in any way to decipher the complexities of romance, or pseudo-romances for that matter.

Don’t Tolerate: Amputate!

2011-07-22T15:42:00.000-04:00

http://cantankerouscanuck.wordpress.com

No, I won’t be discussing the ravages of gangrene on the human body, or complications due to diabetes. I’m talking about staying in a negative situation, whether at home, at work, in your circle of friends or in your love life, when you know darn well that this particular situation is driving you insane and killing you softly.

Socks & Skittles

2011-06-06T21:34:00.002-04:00

Image: Life's So Beautiful

It would be an understatement to describe the past two months as “busy”. It’s been a whirlwind, for sure. On April 4^th, three days after my last day of class, my clothes were packed and I was ready to head home. I left my basement apartment in the wee hours of the morning, hopped in a cab towards Coach Terminal with my luggage, ready to take the 7:30am bus headed to Montreal.

Icon

2011-03-23T17:21:00.001-04:00

Can't Fake the Funk

2011-03-19T23:49:00.000-04:00

I’ve been in a bit of a funk as of late. I don’t know, I guess my brain’s going through a sort of episode where it’s overloaded with to-do lists, crises, epiphanies and general lassitude. Why the lassitude? Well for starters, I’m sick of being a student. Yes, I’ve said that a gazillion times over the past 4 years; I meant it then, and I sure mean it now.

A Bagel in a Plate Full of Onion Rolls

2011-01-15T23:51:00.002-05:00

Sitting in class in the first grade, I’d look around, observe my classmates and notice how most of them seemed to blend in: the way they spoke and the style of their clothes was similar, their haircuts, the stories they would share with the rest of the class about activities they would do with their family, places they went to visit, etc. Ok, so I should probably mention that I was one of the very few Haitian kids in my class… and that most white kids could barely notice that I was in fact non-white.

Style Inspiration

2011-01-14T22:19:00.002-05:00

Moonlighting as Hubert de Givenchy's muse must have been grueling, but someone had to do it. And Audrey Hepburn killed it.

Fashion Pick

2011-01-14T21:03:00.003-05:00

Photo: Essence.com

There's no denying it: Lala's look is always on point, even when she's pumping gas, casually striking a pose with her designer shades and what seems to be a mean shoe game.
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The Land of Milk & Honey

2011-01-01T01:54:00.001-05:00

Before my big move, my sister envisioned me taking Toronto by storm, with “Don’t Rain on My Parade” playing in the backdrop, throwing my hat in the air à la Mary Tyler Moore. For the past two years, I’ve been bending God’s ears with my prayers, asking Him to open doors for me in Toronto so I could start a career in publishing. When I finally found the book & magazine publishing program, applied, and got accepted, I thought “Wow! Finally, I’ll be doing something monumental! I’m one step closer to my dream!”

Nanny Fine & Mr. Sheffield

2010-10-24T00:29:00.001-04:00

Friday afternoons are simply delightful. I spend the entire week working on assignments (and stressing about them way too much), squeezing in time to go work out early in the morning, desperately trying to catch up on my beauty sleep…so when Friday afternoons promise a half-day in class (whoo-hoo!) the other half of my day is all about me. I can kick back, relax, maybe take a 2-hour nap, watch yesterday’s episode of The Office and savour ridiculous amounts of cookies and other sweets.

My Humble Abode

2010-10-03T00:39:00.001-04:00

It’s been a little more than a month since my giant leap westbound… Well, westbound from Montreal to Toronto, that is. Now that I’ve digested the bulk of what’s happened in my life during those four weeks, I feel ready to share the tales of my new chapter in T.O. Of course, no adventure of mine is ever without a hint of kooky craziness…

When Autonomy Becomes a Burden

2010-08-19T18:33:00.001-04:00

Last week I started packing boxes for my big and exciting new life in Toronto. I looked at the collection of books I’ve amassed over the past five years and it made me realize that my mom’s bookcase will look less cramped now… Actually, it won’t look like it’s about to burst and spew bestsellers at me anymore.

Church Weirdoes, Begone!

2010-08-09T19:53:00.001-04:00

You know who they are. You’ve got stories, love letters, messages on your voicemail, emails and text messages to prove it: those weirdoes lurk in the shadows of our churches.

Growing Up Sure Ain't Easy

2010-08-05T00:09:00.001-04:00

Nobody said it would be easy, but nobody told us it would feel like a kick in the groin either. You remember when you were a kid, and you looked at your older siblings or the older kids in school? How mature, cool and relaxed they looked, and how it seemed that they “had it together”? You couldn’t wait for your parents to stop treating you like a baby, you wanted to do whatever you felt like, whenever it felt right without having to explain yourself to nobody. You thought that’s what it was all about: being a grown up. As a kid, I thought being a grown up was all about telling people off whenever they got on your nerves. I couldn’t wait to be an adult.

Crazy Baby Mamas & the Men Who Put Up With Them

2010-06-26T02:42:00.002-04:00

We hear so many stories about deadbeat dads who never visit their toddlers, who never give a dime of child support, who got kids in so many area codes that they could start a Model U.N. session in their backyards. We know so much about the mothers of these children who bend over backwards to instil in their children a sense of pride and honour and most of all, to create a loving home despite the blatant absence of one of the family’s pillar, their father.

I Simply Can't Have That

2010-06-26T01:04:00.000-04:00

You know what? I’d rather stay single a while longer than to start dating some dude whom I know isn’t The One. I’m willing to wait for the Real Deal, that wonderful man God is preparing for me. I want to wait to be fully prepared for that gorgeous man God has destined for me to marry, love, cherish and pamper. I don’t want to settle for Mr. So-So because I want time to go by faster as I anxiously wait for Mr. Right. No way. I only want the Real Deal. Nothing else. Seriously, how can I date a guy, look him in the eye every time he speaks tenderly to me, while I ponder on the harsh reality that, “Hey buddy, you’re not the guy for me; you’re not the dude I’m supposed to marry”???

You see? I simply can’t have that. I know my man’s out there, he just ain’t ready yet: he’s still cookin’. The ingredients are all there, they’ve been added to the bowl, stirred, poured into the mould, put in the oven: I just gotta wait for the timer to go off to get my cake. The temperature’s gotta be perfect or else that cake’s gonna make me sick. And no, I will not get impatient and run off to buy me a donut or some cookies at the grocery store: I want that homemade, made from scratch, three-layer chocolate cake fresh from the oven. I don’t care how long it takes. I can’t spend my time being pursued and seduced online, getting random Facebook friend requests by weirdoes who want to add me to their catalogue of FB bimbos. I simply can’t have that.

I can’t settle for anything less than the very best and that includes finding the right man. So here I stand, confident that that day will happen, that Mr. Man will come along and be the Real Deal, and not Mr. “I Know You Have Absolutely No Career Plan Whatsoever and We’re Really Not That Compatible, But I’ve Been Single For Almost Two Years Now and I’m Already 25, So If I Want To Give My Mama Some Grandbabies Before She Turns 65, I Should Just Go Ahead And Date You And Hope You’ll Stick Around Long Enough To Ask Me To Marry You.”

Call it how you want it: I want that whole written in the stars, match made in heaven, soul mate, better half kinda situation, the pieces of the puzzle assembled by the hands of God; that’s it and that’s all, nobody else in charge. No Facebook, email, text-messaging matchmaking: whatever happened to face-to-face romance? Nah, man, I simply can’t have a man who’s willing to sacrifice romance for a quick electronic ego boost: the Real Deal’s gonna know how to make the right moves.

My mother often told me that, growing up in Haiti, the only time she saw a group of young men huddled together on a street corner was to discuss literature. Can you imagine living in a time where men gathered under streetlights to work on literary analysis together, debate views on Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Voltaire in the moonlight? More so, she told me courting was a serious affair back in those days; it was more than a recreation, it was a diligent enterprise. Men always had to be dressed on point, had to be well-read, eloquent and dignified to address a young woman: courting was not for the faint-hearted. No man would be crazy enough to show up at a girl’s front steps without being on his best behaviour, knowing that he’d be greeted by a legion of nosey brothers, sisters and cousins. Whenever I indulge in my mother’s stories, I can’t help but wish that things could’ve stayed the same, that more men would go the extra mile to present themselves in a better light…or at least acknowledge the fact that courting makes more sense than hooking up with a random chick on Facebook. I’m not saying that a dude has to recite Sonnet 18 outside my bedroom window late at night to capture my heart and make me feel special, but the lazy FB shenanigans have got to stop. ASAP.

Rejection Sucks!...Or Does it?

2010-05-31T01:59:00.000-04:00

Some people believe that not having your life unfold exactly as you planned is a sure sign of personal failure. Even rejection is a form of personal failure: it makes you feel that by being denied something you desired, you’ve failed to conform to your ideal of success.

Let’s say that you’d planned on becoming a doctor since you were a kid, but in college you were brutally awakened by your tendency to suck at biology so you had to change majors, therefore in your parents’ eyes you “failed”. You’d planned on finishing your degree in 3 years, but it took you 5 instead with a 3.1 GPA instead of a 4.0, thus you feel you have failed. You’d plan on getting your driver’s license the first time around, you wanted it so bad that’s all you talked about, and then the little man at the DMV looks you dead in the eye and tells you “You’re not ready to drive on your own just yet”… and then the little lady at that other DMV tells you that the next time around you’ll get it…and then the bitter dude at the other DMV makes you feel like a moron for wasting his time examining your so-called driving skills. In your eyes, and theirs, you have unequivocally failed. You thought that by age 27 you’d be married, own a BMW and a house on the South shore with a fancy job downtown: all you got at 27 is a $70 OPUS card in your wallet, a notice from the Financial Aid office saying that you need to start paying back your student loan NOW, you’re unemployed and still living in the same bedroom you’ve been in since you were 4 years old, and the only man who seems remotely interested in marrying you is some middle-aged creep-o at your church. FAIL.

Nevertheless, some people believe that the measure of one’s success is all about how one can overcome life’s setbacks.

I try to be one of those people. It’s hard, but I try.

You see, I’ve had my fair share of personal failures and I’ve dealt with all kinds of rejection. Somehow I don’t think my life story would’ve been as fascinating without all these life experiences.

Undoubtedly, the most important event in the life of a teenage girl is her senior prom. You spend your time idealizing how it will be, your dress, the hotel, your date. Unfortunately, my date couldn’t make it to the prom: I only found out a few days before the big event. I was devastated and inconsolable for a long time, but I had so much fun that night, it was one of the best nights of my life. It marked the closing chapter of my formative years with some of the greatest girls I’ve ever met. And I looked absolutely gorgeous. I really did: I have the photo to prove it. I’m staring at it right now.

When I applied in Journalism in March 2005 I was put on the waiting list. I was pissed because I couldn’t believe that someone dared to put my career on hold by putting me on a freakin’ waiting list. It was unfathomable. My ego was bruised. So I went with my second choice, my plan B, my “Ok, IF I don’t make it in the Journalism program (as if!), that’s the next best thing, but I know that I’ll totally get in, for sure, like, there’s no way I can’t, I mean: have you read my essays? Come on!”. I took English Literature instead. And then in September 2005, I received a phone call from the Journalism Department informing me that a place had opened up and that I was accepted. I politely declined the offer and said “No, I’d prefer to stay in English Literature”. In my head, I was like “So now that someone chicken’d out of your program, you want me? Screw you guys, I don’t need this crap!” I never regretted choosing English over Journalism: my studies have allowed me to discover so many authors and genres, it really helped me develop my personal writing style and nurture my passion. I’m glad I let my oversized ego make that fateful decision.

I had planned on finishing my English degree in three years. Yeah right. Did I tell you about that minor in History I used to have? And that I took three Literature courses and two History courses in my first semester? And remember that thing that kinda happened to me, you know, that lupus situation that kicked in around that time? Yeah, that one. Did I also tell you how I just stopped showing up to my History classes before the end of the semester because I was about to have a nervous breakdown? In the end I got myself a nice collection of Fs on my transcript. Fortunately, considering the medical situation I was in, the ministry of education cancelled my grades! But I was just one grade short of passing my British Literature to 1660 class…so I had to take that class all over again the next year. But I was much better at it the second time around. It took me four years to get my degree, I had to take summer classes every year (and complained about every minute of it) but it was all worth it. I’ll be getting that coveted piece of paper with my name and degree inscribed on Monday June 21^st at 3pm.

In July 2007 I had my biggest heartbreak ever: that was the hardest rejection I’ve ever experienced. But if it weren’t for that gruelling experience, I never would’ve felt the urgency to express myself, to take on a new challenge and to nurture my creativity in exciting ways. Basically, I have to thank my ex-boyfriend for breaking my heart and giving me a reason to start writing a blog. And the rest is history.

This month of May has been particularly difficult for me: I’ve been dealing with rejection for three weeks in a row. I’ve had two phone interviews for internships that couldn’t have gone better: I was witty, charismatic, and really showed off that I had a lot of potential; I was prepared to answer all kinds of questions. I actually google’d “How to prepare for a phone interview” and took notes! And then I received those sad little emails, “Thank you for your interest in this position. It was a real pleasure speaking to you. Although you have great potential, we’ve decided to go with another candidate. Best of luck!”.

Are you serious? Those phone interviews were the highlight of my day; they gave me hope, they reminded me that I got something better coming along, something better than folding sweaters and greeting customers and telling a lady that yes, those colours go together and no, it doesn’t make her look like she’s trying too hard to look younger. Even though it does.

I’ve dealt with all kinds of rejection: by men, close friends, insurance companies, academic programs, jobs, medication and internships. Yes, I included medication: one of the most frustrating things that can happen to you is when you take medication that your body stops approving of after a month. All you think about is how your body puked $50 worth of meds, three times.

Surprisingly, my latest experience in Rejectionville was pleasant, and dare I say, a gift from God. It happened Friday, May 28^th at 8pm. I was at work with a massive headache, feeling dizzy and walking around with a pile of clothes in my hands, when my manager asked to see me in private. I was like “O-oh! The jig is up! They know I don’t care about the company! I’m gonna get it now!”

My boss has a sombre look on her face and tells me she has bad news. The store hasn’t been doing so well the past months and most of the girls at work, including myself, have witnessed our weekly schedules dwindle down to a few days a week; it was only normal that at some point someone would get fired, I thought.

Well, that’s not exactly the reason I was “let go”. Because of my health, I was concerned that working long hours on my feet would cause me extreme fatigue and aggravate my condition, thus I asked my doctor to write a note to my boss, explaining that it would be in my best interests not to work more than 6 hours consecutively. I spoke to my boss about it in February, the doctor’s note was sent to the head office, as standard procedure. I was told that the people at human resources handle these cases to better accommodate their employees. In March, I received a letter from the head office, asking more details about my health, if the present condition was temporary, and when I’d be able to perform my tasks as usual. My doctor provided them with all the information required and I never heard a peep out of the head office again…Until Friday, May 28^th at 8pm when my boss had to read a letter from head office addressed to me, telling me that the company could no longer employ me due to my work restrictions and that my employment ceased today as well as my employee discount.

I was shocked, mostly because I was happy to have gotten fired. I was so calm and collected; I think my boss was more troubled than I was. I mean, she had to do the company’s dirty work: that was a cheap move. Come to think of it, the folks at the head office are cowards, but I digress. I got my deliverance. No more folding clothes for me, yippee! Without a doubt, that is the best rejection I’ve experienced this year.

Sure, I have to call Normes du travail on Monday morning to see if that whole mess is legit or not and yeah, I have to put my foot down and give the head office a piece of my mind. Of course my mother is pissed because the company discriminates disabled individuals and somebody should put them in their place, and I’ll probably be the one doing that. But you know what? I got fired! Sure, I’ll be broke for a while, but ridiculously happy!

I guess the lesson of my story is that although the initial sting of rejection and failure cuts to the core and brings you misery, later on you’ll realize that everything happens for the greater good of all concerned. And sometimes rejection feels amazing, right away.

Time For A Little Self-Reflection

2010-04-29T01:28:00.000-04:00

No, I’m not having a quarter-of-a-century crisis. I’ve just been doing a self-check-up, contemplating what I want to accomplish, what’s driving me nuts and how to get the real Linsay back.

Let me explain.

My current part-time job is making my brain melt. There I said it. I’m not stimulated intellectually at work and I yearn for a challenge. Sure, the job is stimulating my savings account, but what about my precious brain? Isn’t it worth much more than an account balance? But I can’t quit just yet. Sometimes when I’m bored at work, I imagine myself literally walking away: like I’m just at the front of the store greeting a customer and just leave to take the bus home.

I wish.

I’ve been going to Chapters/Indigo almost every week for a while now just to be in my element. To spend some quality time with myself, kick back, relax, explore new books and dive into the literary treasures authors have unveiled for my greedy mind.

I’ve been feeling so artistically frustrated lately, I’m not myself: I’m afraid that not being in my true element has dimmed my inner spark, my oomph.

The worse is that when I do have time to write and be creative, my mind is too lazy to capture the moment: I’m losing that easiness to write and share my thoughts and meditate on my reflections.

Say it ain’t so: where did the real Linsay go?

No, that can’t happen. I’ve longed to unleash the real me for so long, and now that I’m done pickin’ cotton for a degree and that my mind is finally free, what have I done to nurture my creative aspirations? Working part-time, folding clothes, greeting customers, selling lacklustre, over-priced merchandise to clueless people blinded by the hype of a brand?

Nah, man. I can’t. That’s not me.

I know I need money to save up so I can get closer to my dreams, but damn…

I know I make it sound like I work for Hitler or something. The job isn’t that bad, the staff is awesome and makes the job so much fun…but I don’t believe in the product I’m selling. I can’t fake the funk and act like I don’t care, ‘cause I do care. I’m not desperate for cash so I’m not stressing too much about that; I’m more concerned about not being a hypocrite. Yeah, I’m only selling clothes. But I hate being a hypocrite.

I don’t like money all that much. I like what I can buy with money, I like having money in my bank account (trust me, when you haven’t had some in a while, getting paid every two weeks sounds like a fairy tale come true). But so what? I get paid to do something I don’t cherish that much. I come in to work wishing I could be heading home instead.

I know I have a goal to attain, and to attain that goal I have to be patient and save money. But the wait is long.

Part of me wants to quit my job now, pack my bags and take the first train to Toronto (train tickets are cheaper, gotta stretch that loonie to the max), crash on someone’s couch for a while and just harass every magazine out there until one hires me. I’ll be all bold and taking no sh*t from nobody and demand a job and get it ‘cause I’m THAT good. And crazy.

*Sigh*

Since I’m rational, I won’t do it… Just yet. But wouldn’t that be cool though?

Lately I’ve been re-reading some older blog posts and poems to invigorate my dull senses. I have to say, not to sound arrogant… well, maybe a little… but my stuff is pretty good. I mean REALLY good. Like I read some poems and was like “Woah, where did THAT come from? Who pissed me off?” And they weren’t written that long ago, maybe like 6 or 9 months ago, which is crazy.

Anyways, so I fell upon this poem that, to me, seemed unfinished at that time. I never dared to post it: I think I wrote it as a form of catharsis and certainly not to expose my business for the whole world to see. But now that time has passed and that the sentiment in the poem has too, I’d like to share it with you. The poem reflects a mishmash of anxieties about relationships and life in general…come to think of it, that poem isn’t that irrelevant to how I’ve been feeling lately.

Chin up.

Suck it up.

Shake it off.

Woman up.

I wish I could suppress those tears,

That threaten to fall at any moment.

I wish I could resist those fears,

Those disquieting emotions

That pervade my thoughts.

Wishing that I could numb myself enough

To not be subjected to any kind of distress,

In dire need of a shield

To protect me from dejection

In days where resilience alone

Doesn’t suffice.

I’m unsure of what the future holds

Or whether I should lower my expectations

And simply to just stop trying so hard

To make things better

Wondering whether I should be less passionate,

To avoid heartache,

Less emotional

To save myself from being hurt

Or stop thinking about love altogether

And focus on more tangible matters.

Relationships are far too complex

And being into someone drains me

Perhaps the possibility of love

Should be the least of my priorities

I’ll keep drowning myself in work

To avoid thinking about what really worries me.

Yearning for that special someone

Thus far has proven to be unfruitful

Longing for loving arms to hold

Would be ideal,

But can this even be real?

Instead of leaning on someone for comfort

I do the best I can

To chin up

Suck it up

Shake it off

And woman up

I long for the day

Where I’ll no longer fight to swallow my tears

And no longer feel the urge

To shed any tears

Suppressing those overwhelming thoughts enough

To be unmoved by disappointment and pain.

I’m seriously considering self-publishing my poetry, put it in a book, sell it from the back of a truck myself if I have to, make it my daily hustle. A very gratifying (and legal) hustle. I just have to pray more on it so God can shed all my fears and give me the courage to actually do it. I cannot settle for less. I have to fulfil all that God has placed in my heart, I can’t just be paralyzed by a fear of failure or success or whatever it is that I think I’m too scared of to just take that giant leap of faith and let the real Linsay shine to the fullest. I’m not restrained by chains of academic performance anymore, so what’s holding me back? Money? New found security in a part-time job that I don’t like that much anymore?

When did I get all comfortable in my boring routine? When did I accept not being in a complete state of greatness on a daily basis? When did I allow my brain to rot?

Last week at work I was so bored and desperate for intellectual stimulation, I started praying (well begging is a better word) for God to nourish the dream He has planted in me of becoming a writer and getting that editorial internship in Toronto. I looked around the store and I noticed new earrings we received: they were large, diamond shaped, chainmail earrings. They weren’t half-bad, which is a vast improvement for the store’s brand. The chainmail reminded me of a film adaptation I saw of Macbeth, where most of the costumes were made in this material. And then I’d imagine how cool it would be to draw a parallel between medieval times and fashion… An editorial photo shoot presenting different plays from different time periods, using fabrics and materials of those periods that concord with current styles…or to create new ones…

And then my brain was satiated. I felt like myself again.

To Whom It May Concern

2010-04-18T02:11:00.001-04:00

What do you do after God has planted a dream in your heart,

And that dream is so vivid that it has become your reality,

Only now you live according to a reality that only you can comprehend,

And no other man can?

You deal with the naysayers, who look at you crazy,

Who think you dream too big, too loud, too proud:

“You got some nerve, thinking you’ll get that,

You’ll get there, you’ll be there.

Who do you think you are?

You think you someone special?

What you got that I ain’t got

That makes you think you can get what you want

And I can’t?”

You shut them up.

Not with your words,

But with your heart.

‘Cause nobody’s gonna mess with your mind

And sabotage your dream,

Your reality.

You don’t hope anymore:

You just know.

You don’t feel it coming:

You live it.

You’ve stopped waiting in vain

For life to start happening,

For the real you to be brought to life,

For that thing to happen so you can finally

Be where you wanna be

And how you need to be.

You just are.

That dream possesses you;

That seed God planted has a life of its own.

You live it everyday,

But people don’t get it.

You can’t shut up about it.

They don’t see where that dream has gotten you

So far.

They never see the conversations you have

With God

About your dream,

How He feeds your heart with wisdom,

How He reminds you the countless ways

In which He will blow people’s minds

Once that dream materializes.

God will shut them up.

So you smile to yourself.

Everyday you know that your life is getting

Better and better.

You feel new.

“There’s something about you.

I can’t put my finger on it,

But you’re different.”

You let people talk.

That’s all these people do

Anyways.

They can talk themselves to death.

They can talk until they’ve ripped somebody’s dreams

To death.

They probably killed off their dreams by talking so damn much.

You stay cool.

You keep praying:

You know what you gotta do.

They don’t understand the point

Of always praying for something

That hasn’t happened yet,

That doesn’t seem to be happening

Anytime soon.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be.

You should forget about it

And move on.

Why don’t you do something else instead?

At least you’ll have that to keep you going.”

But you don’t.

‘Cause that’s not how it was meant to be.

Less than perfect isn’t part of God’s plan.

And you won’t allow it.

“You’re never satisfied.

Why you always after big things?

Why can’t you stay put?

Why can’t you be like everybody else?”

‘Cause I was destined for greatness.

Excellence is my true state

And I won’t be satisfied until God’s plan is fulfilled.

The next song has been on my heart for some time now. It's the best expression of what I'm all about. And what better way to nicely finish off this post than to showcase a fellow Taurus who won't take crap from nobody. Kick back and enjoy Fanny Brice as she pours her heart out.

Vanité des vanités, tout est vanité

2010-03-30T22:33:00.001-04:00

The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.

2 “Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher,

“Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.”

3 What advantage does man have in all his work

Which he does under the sun?

4 A generation goes and a generation comes,

But the earth remains forever.

5 Also, the sun rises and the sun sets;

And hastening to its place it rises there again.

6 Blowing toward the south,

Then turning toward the north,

The wind continues swirling along;

And on its circular courses the wind returns.

7 All the rivers flow into the sea,

Yet the sea is not full.

To the place where the rivers flow,

There they flow again.

8 All things are wearisome;

Man is not able to tell it.

The eye is not satisfied with seeing,

Nor is the ear filled with hearing.

9 That which has been is that which will be,

And that which has been done is that which will be done.

So there is nothing new under the sun.

10 Is there anything of which one might say,

“See this, it is new”?

Already it has existed for ages

Which were before us.

11 There is no remembrance of earlier things;

And also of the later things which will occur,

There will be for them no remembrance

Among those who will come later still.

(Ecclesiastes 1:1-12, New American Standard Bible)

Last week I lost an earring. I got on the metro, about to reach for my magazine in my purse when suddenly, I felt something weird. Something was missing. It was my right earring. I’d lost it on the bus. I was startled. Of course, the whole thing was silly, but I was hoping that my earring had somehow gotten stuck in the collar of my coat. But it had not. It was lost. And I had to take off my left earring because it just wouldn’t make any sense for me to walk around Montreal with only one earring on.

I hate losing things. Sure, they only cost me 6$ at H&M and I could get some more, but losing that earring made me ponder on something that I’ve known for many, many years: I am vain. What shook me during that moment was the thought of roaming the streets without anything adorning my ears. I know how fickle it sounds, but I never leave my house without any earrings on. Actually, for many years, I wouldn’t even contemplate taking off my first set of earrings, given to me by mom, passed down to me from my older sister.

For years, and still now, my mom pesters my sisters whenever she catches them sans earrings: you see, she has old-fashioned ideas about femininity and such. As my sister so eloquently paraphrased my mother’s philosophy, if you don’t wear earrings, you look like a boy. An idea that is very far-fetched, of course, but the thought of not wearing any couldn’t cross my mind; the image of “real” female beauty created in my mind at a tender age sticks to this day. Mind you, I don’t bother wearing earrings to go workout, but still I might wear tiny ones, out of habit.

So on that fateful day of March, I gave myself a nice internal pep talk while cruising on the STM’s green line. I told myself that it was nonsensical to even toy with the idea of purchasing the same earrings as soon as I arrived downtown, just to clothe my naked earlobes. But I thought about it, I really did. Then I reassured myself that these accessories do not define my outer beauty, and that outer beauty doesn’t define me. Sure, those earrings looked fierce, but aren’t I fierce regardless of what I wear? Exactly. I continued with this inner monologue by contemplating the many ways in which all my material possessions could possibly, someday, clutter the image I create of myself for myself, an image distorted by the over-dependence on fashion accessories to make me feel good on a daily basis. Ain’t that crazy though? Feeling good because you look good, and not looking good BECAUSE you feel good?

I think of all those women, especially conservative Christian women I see regularly who have “given up” on jewellery of all kinds, on relaxers and hair extensions and what not. They look good, they’re comfortable without any accessories on. I’m not saying I’m thinking about giving up my relaxer any day now, but it makes me think. They have renounced to this unnecessary attachment to artifice in their beauty regimen. They do not allow material things to define their true nature.

But is it really such a bad thing to enjoy wearing nice jewellery, wearing a weave, makeup and high heels? I think not. You can enhance your natural beauty without letting these accessories overtake your life. You have to find a healthy balance between the pride you take in your appearance and having too much pride not to go out in public because your hair is due for a touch-up.

I’ll be the first to admit that it’s hard not to become obsessed with one’s appearance. You can love yourself and feel God’s love in your heart on a daily basis, a love reminding you that you are created in His image and that He defines how beautiful you are, but when you look at your closet and you supposedly have nothing to wear for a party when in reality your closet is full of fly outfits to clothe some of the most raggedy looking chicks in the ‘hood, then your vanity has snuck up on you. Real bad. Nobody cares if you rock the same outfit you wore two months ago when you had your girls’ night out. Well, you care. So you grab your wallet and buy yet another fly outfit, one that will make a NEW statement.

I dread the day that my vanity will lead me to an unthinkable place of despair, with maxed out credit cards, an apartment full of shoes with an empty refrigerator, and a guest spot on Oprah with other women in serious debt who lost it all in order to look extra fly all-day, everyday. I try to keep myself in check. I’m fully aware this is indeed my tragic flaw. I once contemplated spending an entire day makeup-free (not at home, but in public) to detach myself from artifice and to bask in natural beauty. I seriously considered it. And then a couple of days later, I lost an earring on the bus and had to take the metro, back and forth, with bare earlobes. God works in mysterious ways.

Yes, this whole situation was silly, but it was a much-needed lesson in humility. I was overdue for a reality check. I guess my greatest lesson in humility was when I was hospitalized, looking like a hot mess in front of handsome doctors. Man, that sent a twinge in my heart. My eyebrows had not been trimmed in weeks, my hair was always looking jacked-up because I lay in bed all the time, my skin was ashy like crazy and I had a parade of gorgeous doctors examining me. I wish I’d pull a Hilary Banks, take out a picture of myself from my wallet and prove that “I don’t usually look like this!”

Sigh.

Vanité des vanités, tout est vanité.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:19-21, New American Standard Bible)

Why Buy the Cow When You Can Get the Milk For Free?

2010-03-11T23:49:00.000-05:00

About three weeks ago I was at a birthday party where a lot of the women were scantily clad. There were freakum dresses in all colours and synthetic fabrics. I mean, I understand you want to look good and all, but why you gotta wear a dress that looks like you painted it on before you left home? Aren’t there any clothes in your closet that make you look like a lady?

This post will offend many readers especially those who think that dressing up like a prostitute and acting like a floozy is appropriate. There, I said it: you need to stop thinking that being sexy is synonymous to short, skin-tight dresses and skirts. Unless you want men to view you as a piece of ass and nothing else, of course. Because you do know that the image you project is that of a jump-off, displaying her goodies to the highest bidder, right? Oh right, you don’t care what other people think and if they judge you. Ok, so let me ask you this: do you mind not getting the respect you deserve from men because of the image you portray on social occasions? There’s nothing wrong with dressing cute as long as you do it TASTEFULLY. Then again, ‘taste’ is highly subjective: one woman’s trashy attire is another’s treasure. Call me old-fashioned, but don’t you want people to take you seriously, to value your opinion, to treat you like a lady and not like a jump-off waiting to happen? Whether you like it or not, people will judge you on your demeanour. Point blank. First appearances are all about your outward appearance and even if you have an MBA, working on a Ph.D. or volunteering in homeless shelters on a regular basis, when you go out wearing that dress that engulfs your body organs and threatens to burst and rip to pieces any second, nobody can see all the great things you accomplish daily.

Everybody knows what you’re up to when you’re dressing like that to a party: you want to attract men. Yeah, we get it: like honey to a bee, men will flock around you upon seeing your glorious ass covered in Lycra. Congratulations, you have successfully boosted your ego and self-esteem. You may possess a false air of confidence while wearing that dress, feeling irresistible and ready to conquer any man at the party. But you do know that the kind of man worth getting your attention won’t be impressed by that freakum dress, right? Right, of course you know, ‘cause you don’t think about life in the long run, you want instant gratification, you want a man to like you now, you’re not concerned about quality, but quantity, how many men will gawk at you and try to seduce you in one night. Right, right. You’re not looking for anything serious, just fun. Okay. So I guess you’re doing the right thing then by looking cheap all the time. Oh, did I say that? Yeah, I said it: you look cheap. But you’re comfortable in that situation and that’s what’s most important: your overall wellbeing.

What’s that? You’re feeling lonely? You’d like to find a good man? You’re tired of men treating you like crap and being underappreciated? You say all men are dogs? There’s not a single great man in this city? What a shame. Hey, if classy ladies have problems finding a great man, I can’t even imagine the kind of crap you’re going through. So what you’re saying is that acting like a floozy and dressing like a hoe gets you nowhere? Uh. Things that make you go hmm. And there you were thinking that all those clothes that looked disposable on you didn’t automatically make you into a disposable commodity. Wow. In reality, the clothes you wear are an outward manifestation of your inner self: if you don’t even believe in your own qualities, how can you invest in the quality of your appearance? No, I’m not suggesting you only buy Chanel and Dior or clothes plastered with the names Chanel and Dior to portray a false and desperate sense of upward mobility. No, no, what I mean is, why don’t you try to find clothes that flatter your natural beauty without them sticking to your skin like a plastic-covered sofa on a hot summer day? You know, clothes that denote a casual elegance, clothes that make you feel good without emptying your wallet. You know, clothes that make a positive statement about yourself. The kind of statement that says “I’m not desperate for a man’s attention, therefore I don’t feel the need to dress like a hoochie to be sexy and feel beautiful”.

Looking like a lady is pointless if you don’t act like one. Sure, you look refined and well put-together, but if you still act the same way you did before, you’re still seen as a hoe on the go. Being classy isn’t just about attracting respectable men; it’s about how you project yourself onto the rest of the world. Of course, it’s also about how you think. What are your plans in the long run? What do you aspire to accomplish? If your answers to both questions are “Be rich” without any feasible plan of action, such as obtaining a degree, working your way diligently to the top and feel your job is gratifying, then maybe you need to reassess some things. I’m no life coach or expert on being a lady, but life’s more than just clubbing and having a busy social life. And being a lady is more than just looking fly on a regular basis. If you wish to be rich by all means necessary, that could be a real problem. If your life revolves around money, making money, working to get more money so you can buy expensive things that will make you feel valuable… I can’t even illustrate the kind of life you could lead.

Here’s a great example: I was watching Divorce Court today (I don’t care what you say: that show is good) and there was this woman who sued her ex-husband because he owed her rent money or something like that. Basically, she demanded a divorce because she felt her husband wasn’t supporting her financially. This lady who looked a hard 26 was an escort, promoting lap dances in clubs and she had the audacity to demand that her husband supports her financially because she’s all about sex and money and making more money.

*Sigh*

I know this case is extreme, but… Wait a minute: this case isn’t that extreme, ‘cause a lot of us know chicks that are beyond desperate to make money. It’s tragic when you think about all those women who act like floozies and act like it’s normal, like it’s the only way to survive in this world: you have a lower opinion of yourself, put on tight clothing; you want to feel important; buy expensive things; you want a man’s affection, then spread ‘em.

*Sigh*

Look, I can’t make you change who you are just because I can’t stand the way you dress, or how you act in public or the fact that you seem not to care about the image you portray. All I can do is give you sound advice: why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

Fashion Pick

2010-03-05T23:46:00.002-05:00

I'm not really a Cassie fan and I won't jump on the gossip bandwagon regarding her relationship with Diddy, but this chick is fly. She ain't even trying that hard to make her look work. A casual outfit to wear to visit the Louvre in Paris, that's all. I admit I wasn't feeling the half-bald situation she had going on, but that hair colour looks absolutely gorgeous on her.

Her "celebrity" status aside, this proves that just because you're a tourist doesn't mean you have to look like a tourist when you're travelling and taking in the sights. I understand that sneakers are the most comfortable shoes to wear when walking around town to photograph historical sites and such, but why not look fabulous at all times? Especially when you're not in your hometown? If you're not keen on wearing 5 inch heels to roam the streets, you can travel in style wearing cute flats with ultra-comfy insoles. And if you can't fathom roaming around in Paris, Rome or London for the first time ever without your beloved heels, then buy some insoles especially made for high heels (I recommend Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles and Open Shoe Insoles with massaging gel). It's that simple. Oh, and don't mind your friends looking at you funny for bringing 5 pairs of shoes in your luggage when travelling to Europe: they just don't get it.

I remember the first time I took the metro in Rome: it was a bit horrifying because there were SO MANY people. I mean, the trains were jam-packed, and there was still a butt load of people crowding the station. What amazed me, above all, was how Romans dressed to commute on a day-to-day basis: they all looked fly. It wasn't a "in your face, fresh off the runway" kinda fly, but a "I care about my appearance and I enjoy looking good on a regular basis" kinda fly. I don't know how else to explain it. Romans care about their looks, and as I contemplated their casual chic, I realized just how much I really, REALLY belonged there.

No offence to my peeps in Montreal, but I didn't see anyone wearing a big ole sweater with a wolf print and a scrunchie in Rome. Sure, Rome sounds like a fancy place with beautiful people lurking out of every nook and cranny of the city. Well actually it's true, I've seen it. But still, why you gotta look like crap when you're taking the bus in Montreal, uh? Why can't you start caring about your appearance, not just out of vanity, but just as a reflection of how you feel, and who you are? Ok, so you feel like crap today. So? Nobody else knows you feel like crap today other than you: why you gotta perpetuate your negativity by projecting it unto the rest of the population? And you know crap is contagious, right? Why you gotta be the bearer of crap germs, uh? If you don't feel that great spruce up your image, put a little oomph in your look: wear some lip gloss, get a haircut, get your nails done, burn all your nasty looking scrunchies, tie-dye t-shirts and kitty sweaters and get you some fine looking clothes for grown-ass women who care about themselves. I know, I sound harsh, but come on, give a damn about yourself and reflect the beauty that is in you. If all that greatness is buried deep under that pile of crap you're wearing, how can the world see just how special you are? So give a damn, look fly on a daily basis.

And stop using that lame excuse "Oh, I'm saving that outfit for a special occasion". Girl, stop lying to yourself. Even when that "special occasion" comes around, you'll be too chicken to wear that outfit. Why don't you wear it, just because? Say you're meeting a friend for lunch. Wear that outfit. Who cares if your girl looks like she rolled out of bed and got into a fist fight with her blanket: your flyness will be as contagious as crappy clothes, if not more. So the next time you two meet for lunch, she'll want to step up her game and look fly too. And both of you will benefit from each other's flyness. See how that works? Good. Now spread the word.

Kinda Like a Big Deal

2010-02-28T19:18:00.000-05:00

What can I say? I don't mean to brag, but it's a great time to be Canadian. These olympic games have got to be the most exciting I've seen thus far. I remember how engrossed I was by the 1994 Lillehammer Winter Olympics, how cool it was to watch Jean-Luc Brassard and Myriam Bédard win their medals. I also remember how ecstatic I was when I watched as Marc Gagnon win gold in Salt Lake City in 2002. But the Vancouver Winter Games...I mean... they were legendary. Watching the different disciplines (I even caught myself watching curling intensely quite a few times) made me realize that there's more to Olympic games that we can imagine. Sure, it's mostly about patriotism and showing the rest of the world that we're not a bunch of losers. I'll be honest, I love the winter olympics because I know Canada's guaranteed to kick some ass. But this time around, the games were in Canada, we invited the world on our turf. We had to step up, big time. And we did. I had a feeling these winter games would be special, but I had no idea that they would be the most awesome television experience for a Canadian.

From Alexandre Bilodeau, Tessa Virtue & Scott Moir, Jon Montgomery, the women's bobsleigh team, the men's curling team, the women's hockey team (who dominated the games from the get-go and schooled the rest of the world on how to play hockey IN CANADA!) and of course, the men's hockey team who have just defeated the United States 3-2 (sorry, I had to rub it in)... What else can you say? Canada's got the most gold medals. We're kinda like a big deal.

We Are the World

2010-02-14T20:55:00.000-05:00

I just finished watching the new version of "We Are the World" and I got really emotional. I'm thinking about my family back in Haiti, what they've been through, their fears about the future and how I pray that Haiti will be rebuilt on stronger foundations, physically and spiritually. I know that some people will watch this video or listen to the song, be touched by its lyrics and the overwhelming support by celebrities, and then go on with their lives. Even I, after posting this, will go on with the rest of my evening. But my family in Haiti and families of many of my readers are under the stars right now, sitting right in front of their house that has either crumbled to pieces or isn't safe enough to stay in. The earth shakes from time to time, and even when it doesn't, many earthquake survivors still feel the motions of the earth within. Some have recurrent nightmares of the tragedy, some are even afraid of going into a house, afraid that it will collapse on them.

The reality of the aftermath of the earthquake surpasses our imagination: we cannot fathom what people living Haiti are going through. My mother's pain for her homeland, the land she left 33 years ago, is unfathomable. Watching from far away the misery in which her sister, her brothers, cousins, nieces and nephews go through day to day is a lot to take in. The tragedy in Haiti affects all of us on different levels. Some in Canada and the U.S. carry the heavy responsibility of being the sole caretakers of family members in Haiti, financially and emotionally, receiving phone calls late at night or early in the morning from distraught siblings seeking comfort and help. We may give money, talk to them on the phone, cry ourselves to sleep praying for God's help, plan fundraising events in support of the victims... Still, we feel it's not enough.

Our prayers are not in vain, nor are the donations, but still... I wish I could do more.

As I watched the video, I got chills, because this time around, the song lyrics hit close to home. Too close for comfort. The song doesn't support a foreign country, to help people I have no relation to. Even though I have a multitude of family members on both my mother and father's side that I have yet to meet that are living in Haiti, we share the same blood and we're all connected. Every single fundraiser, donations and every effort to help heal and secure people in Haiti helps my family. And that's why this version of "We Are the World" means so much to me.

When the Saints Come Marching In

2010-02-08T12:59:00.000-05:00

There's more to this than a Super Bowl ring: this victory is for everyone in New Orleans. I believe that somehow the people of New Orleans and Haitians are kindred spirits: in the aftermath of devastation they carry on wounds that won't completely heal. Despite the scars, we are victorious: hardships will shake us to our core, but we're not defeated. We grow stronger. We are victorious.

Needless to say, I am extremely proud of the New Orleans Saints. I don't think I've ever prayed so hard during the Super Bowl for a team to win. I'm sure glad no one was around to hear my shrieks and incomprehensible grunts throughout this game.

Congrats to the Saints! Here's a little song that really fits this victory: here's The Impressions with "We're a Winner". Enjoy!

It’s a New Dawn, It’s a New Day, It’s a New Life For Me

2010-02-06T23:04:00.002-05:00

I’ve been back in Montreal for 2 weeks now and I’m yearning for another great adventure overseas. There are no words to describe the range of emotions I’ve experienced during my trip to Switzerland and Italy. Not enough words in the French or English language to fully detail how blessed I felt to have been there to witness some of the world’s most breathtaking sceneries.

This trip to Europe wasn’t just a reward for 4 years of hard work and sacrifice. It was a means for me to conquer my greatest fears, fears that have paralyzed me beyond belief all my life: my fear of heights, and the biggest, my fear of planes. And that fear was conquered once my plane took off and I heard that little cutie-patootie sitting in front of me on the plane, saying to her father “We’re flying! We’re flying!” I opened my eyes, looked out the window, and saw my city in all its glory… from the sky… It was so cool!

Most importantly, this trip made me realize, once again, that I can do anything that I set my mind to. I’ve worked relentlessly in school to finish my bachelor’s degree, despite not being able to take 4 courses a semester. I sacrificed my summers by going to school in order to get this degree done, with every semester bringing its load of emotional strife. And now this chapter of my life is over. I’m happy it is, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a huge change for me, not being a student, not having this label as part of my identity anymore. I’m not saying that I have to completely refashion my identity now that I’m done with school (it feels so amazing to be able to say that…) but now that I’m released of my biggest burden, I can really do what I want to do. And that’s so freakin’ awesome that I don’t even know where to begin.

Right now I’m in a transition period: I’m not a student anymore, yet I’m not tied-down to a long-term job. However, I do have a plan (I always have a plan, that’s how I roll or else this blog would be named “Random Thoughts of This Chick Without a Clue Who Thinks Waaay Too Much”). Before setting out to conquer Toronto with my charming wit and flair for fashion in the coming months, I found a job working in retail and I’ll be able to save up while I work there before making my big move. All I have to do is ask God to grant me a great deal of patience and strength to wait for His plan to unfold. It’s all in God’s control.

I’ve started looking for a room to rent in Toronto, anticipating the beginning of the next exciting chapter in my life. Although I’ve set a budget, I wandered around different real estate postings, far beyond my means of course, but I looked up fancier apartments and condos. I did that so I wouldn’t limit my mind by thinking that I could only stay in Toronto for an internship, but that I will begin my career there, land an amazing job and create a home for myself. So I dared to dream a little dream condo with fancy windows and all that jazz.

I know that my trip to Europe has intensified my desire to do my own thing without any restraints. I’ve conquered my greatest fears and this gives me a confidence to embrace what’s to come with so much anticipation. I realize that I have to be patient, but I also realize that 2010 is a year of abundant blessings for me. I can’t really explain it, but I strongly believe that during this year a lot of my dreams, even my wildest dreams, will come to fruition. All the time spent visualizing accomplishing these goals… it’ll actually happen. Ain’t that crazy, though? You think about something, you dream it with all your heart, you cherish it with your whole being, you work on your dream with all your guts for years… and then, it actually happens. It’s like you’ve spent so much time working hard, sacrificing all that’s humanly possible to attain your goal, keeping your eyes on the prize, pushing away detractors and your own worst enemy, yourself, so you would stay focused… you actually forget that there will be an end to all that hard work, that it’s only a means to an end…and then your dream comes true. But it’s not just a dream anymore, it’s a reality, you can actually see it around you, it’s not going away. And that dream you’ve harvested in your mind, that seed that God planted in your heart so many years ago, has grown and bloomed beyond your wildest dreams. Isn’t that crazy?

I knew that I wouldn’t be the same coming back from my trip. I haven’t changed per se, but I knew that I would dream even bigger, now that I’ve witnessed how potent the power of my mind over the realization of my dreams can be. It’s kinda scary, I won’t lie, but then again, it’s amazing to witness how strong one’s mind works in sync with God’s plans. And it’s very empowering.

What better way to encapsulate how I’ve been feeling since the beginning of this year than through song: here’s Michael Bublé with a favourite of mine, Feeling Good. Enjoy!

Michael Buble, Feeling Good
envoyé par memmoria. - Regardez d'autres vidéos de musique.

When in Rome

2010-01-21T17:25:00.000-05:00

After spending nine wonderful days in Switzerland, I left the Alps early on Tuesday morning to go to Rome, Italy. Part of me was a bit worried about staying in Rome by myself; I mean, I hadn’t been completely alone in Switzerland, since I’d been staying with my brother-in-law. Rome would be a stepping-stone on my journey into independence.

It kinda freaked me out a bit.

After a layover in foggy London town (for real, it was all kinds of foggy around Gatwick airport), my plane landed in Rome around 5pm. I made my way through baggage claim and a fast food restaurant (affordable Italian food + me = happy Linsay), and then I had to find the train station to go towards Termini station to get to my hotel. But some security dude suggested I take a small shuttle that could drop me off in front of my hotel.

Sounds good, right?

Yeah, right. Let me explain.

You see, the shuttle took about 30 minutes to arrive at the airport, and I was EXHAUSTED, I mean I got up at 4:30am and it was already 6:30pm: can a woman get some sleep already?

When the shuttle arrived a little before 7pm, the driver rushed all six of us (six petrified tourists) into his huge minivan and off we were, without even having said a single word to the driver. Let’s just say that the dude wasn’t very friendly at first. Did I mention that people in Rome drive like maniacs?

It was almost 8pm and I couldn’t wait to finally arrive to my hotel. Unfortunately, I was the last one to be dropped off: the driver started doing some small talk, which included the usual “where are you from, how long are you staying in Rome, is this your first visit, etc.” And then the dude gets way too friendly, calling me bellissima and telling me he wants to take me out to dinner tonight to a nice restaurant.

Yes, he did.

Seriously, do I look like I’m stupid enough to go out to dinner with a middle-aged stranger (who probably has a wife, kids, and grandkids) who just happens to know which hotel I’m staying at? ARE YOU INSANE?

I politely declined, telling myself that I will throw away that business card he gave me ASAP.

I finally got to my room (yay!), which is all cozy and clean. But there was a huge problem, or should I say MAJOR problems: it was freakin’ cold, the TV didn’t work, and there was no phone.

*Sigh*

I inform the dude at the hotel about my huge predicament: he tries to “fix” the heater and tells me to talk to the manager in the morning (Wait, you’re not the manager?) and then he tells me the same thing for the phone and for the TV.

Great! Just great! I’m tired, I’m cold, I just go hit on by an old man, I can’t call my mom, does the WiFi work at least so I can send an email to somebody, ANYBODY???

Yes, it does.

I sent an email to my sister, telling her about my little woes in Rome and also to inform her to call my mother and tell her I landed safely.

And then I felt all kinds of lonely. The fatigue didn’t help either. When you’re tired and you’re in another continent by yourself, the loneliness can creep in. Even though you’ve been dreaming about this vacation for years, a little moment of despondency can overcome you in a flash.

After listening to some gospel music, a good prayer and a quick email to a friend, I felt better. I took a shower and went to bed, hoping that a good night’s rest would do me a lot of good. I have to admit that the thought of some gypsy weirdo creeping into my room in the wee hours of the night crossed my mind, but I promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those people… Still, I went to bed with my money, passport and laptop. I don’t play!

I woke up hungry and gypsy free, praying that this new day would be more promising than the night before. I took my first Italian breakfast: pastry and orange juice made with oranges from Sicily. Can you say yummylicious?

Equipped with a map of the city, armed with a prayer and guided by the directions the hotel manager gave me, I was off to visit Rome by myself.

And it is AMAZING.

Although my feet are jacked up from all the walking, my tricky left knee reached the zenith of its ‘trickyness’, and my shoulders are sore, I feel incredible.

Thus far, I have photographed and visited the coliseum, the Palatine, Foro Romano, the Trevi fountain, the Pantheon, the Vatican museum, the Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basilica… Words can’t even describe how great it is to visit all those places I’ve been studying and dreaming of since I was a child. It really hit me when I was visiting the basilica and I looked at Gianlorenzo Bernini’s Chair of Saint Peter. I studied this piece in a survey course on art history in the fall of 2006 and I absolutely loved it. Who would’ve thought that three years later I’d be standing in front of it, taking a picture of this masterpiece as a souvenir?

I am truly blessed. I realize that a lot of my dreams are coming to fruition. First, obtaining my bachelor’s degree, then my trip to Europe… This means that whatever dreams God places within me will be accomplished. Isn’t that amazing?

This is undoubtedly the best feeling in the world.

So Far Away...

2010-01-17T04:58:00.003-05:00

Being here in the Swiss Alps is bittersweet: although I’m enjoying myself here and I’ve made so many great memories thus far, part of me longs to be home with my mother. I know she’s going through a hard time since Wednesday: she barely slept after watching the news about the earthquake in Port-au-Prince. My friends in Montreal are having a hard time coping with the tragedy; the images shown on the news are so traumatic. And here I am, overseas, in another continent, away from my people.

I feel so blessed that my aunt, uncles and cousins are safe and sound in Port-au-Prince. I tried my best to remain hopeful, despite news that Carrefour was practically destroyed…yet my family survived and the family home was barely hit…

I can’t even imagine how my mom felt while watching news reports on her hometown, the despair she felt when she couldn’t reach her brothers and sister by phone… When I called her Wednesday afternoon, I know that she must’ve hoped it was her siblings in Haiti trying to reach her, I could tell from the tone in her voice. Although I’d been eagerly calling her everyday since I arrived in Switzerland, and received her warm greeting on the phone, I dreaded to make that phone call because I knew I wouldn’t be the bearer of good news. I felt hopeless; I was scared for my family, for my people in Haiti. I know that I’m too far away to really feel the sorrow of the folks back in Montreal and that I can’t truly fathom the extent of their desolation. All I can grasp is the pain I feel all the way over here, which is like being in a reversed snow globe: I’m on the outside looking in on my people struggling to dig out corpses, wailing in distress and panicking because the urgent help needed never seems to come through fast enough. And here I am, surrounded by snow-covered mountains, a landscape that exudes serenity.

On Thursday, I visited a good friend of mine who’s been living in Lausanne for a year now. We watched the news on Haiti together: two young Haitian women from Montreal watching news on Port-au-Prince in Lausanne, Switzerland. It was comforting to watch it with someone from home; I didn’t feel that far away anymore. The reality of the earthquake didn’t feel so far away anymore.

I’m well aware that when I return home in 6 days, I’ll be brought back to reality: I will feel the pulse of my people’s plight. The worst hasn’t quite happened yet: the real test will be to help evacuate locals, heal them, provide on-going psychological support, assure security in the streets to stop looting and pillaging, rebuild and restore a people’s dignity. The whole world is still looking down upon my people as the world’s desolate, most unstable and poorest nation. I hate that. I’ve never been to Haiti, yeah, ok, but I’ll never tolerate how others judge this country and its people, whether born and bred in Haiti or children of Haitian immigrants: call it how you want it, we’re still Haitian.

I know my people will pull through; we have the resilience and faith to overcome. But I wonder: if such a tragedy would happen in a prominent country, one that isn’t “accustomed” to strife and misery, would that said nation be able to surmount such adversity, ever? If, God forbid, such a thing would happen in Europe, would its people stick together, pray together, join hands and be strengthened by this tragedy? Would it be easier for them to cope with such a tragedy due to their affluence and unlimited resources, or would it be far more difficult for them to overcome this disaster because they are unaccustomed to mass human tragedy?

If I’m not mistaken, an earthquake occurred last year in Italy and I remember how Montreal’s Italian community stuck together and provided all the necessary help for their families and friends in their homeland. They were shaken, but stood still. They did what they had to do to salvage their land and its people. I guess every nation has its own way of dealing with tragedy.

All I can do, all the way over here, is pray that God will restore Haiti and have mercy on its people. That His love and provision will pour out on this nation and help its people rebuild and move forward. I pray that God blesses every person that will volunteer to evacuate, dig out corpses, heal the wounded and do so much more. I pray that people around the world can comprehend how much it hurts to be dehumanized by news reports of dead siblings, relatives and friends and to be belittled as a human spectacle on television screens. I pray that everyone prays for Haiti, because prayer seems to be the most effective methods right now. It may not heal physical wounds in an instant, but God’s mercy and love can act immediately in favour of those who need it most.

Back in the Day...

2009-12-30T00:53:00.006-05:00

Ok, there must be something wrong with my brain, because I haven't felt any inclination to indulge in this melodic delight in years. How could I forget this song? I used to listen to it ALL THE TIME back in the day. Then again, I was a 15-year old who always indulged in love songs and sighing heavily every time I watched this video and exclaim a heartfelt "Oh my gosh, that is sooooooo sweet!!!!" every 20 seconds. Now as I watch it, I can't believe that nine years have passed since the very first time I saw it.

Four Years Ago

2009-12-18T15:19:00.004-05:00

I feel blessed. I truly do. Four years ago today, God changed my life. I’ll never shut up about it because to this day I still can’t fathom how He did it or even why He did it, but He saved my life. As I have mentioned in past blog posts, on December 12, 2005 I was properly diagnosed with lupus, after 6 months of misdiagnosis, hospitalizations, emotional turmoil and atrocious pain. I was hospitalized upon receiving the diagnosis and I was beginning treatment for what the doctors believed to be pneumonia. My health deteriorated dramatically during that week: test results demonstrated that there was unusual amount of protein in my urine and the doctors scheduled a kidney biopsy for December 15. I’m telling you, that kidney biopsy was horrific: I felt every single injection and I was bawling like a child. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

Yeah right.

I was supposed to be released from the hospital on Monday, December 19. However, on Sunday, December 18, I woke up feeling extremely weak. I told the nurse that I wasn’t feeling well; she then called the doctor, who then called another specialist to examine my chest. After performing an echocardiogram, the doctors told me very calmly and with much discretion that I had fluid around my heart and in my left lung: I had to have an operation as soon as possible to prevent the fluid to enter my heart.

And then I snapped.

I started screaming, crying, yelling; I’d had enough. Why did I have to suffer so much? Why me?

I waited 6 hours for an operating room to be available. The longest 6 hours of my life.

When I woke up around midnight in the operating room, I was left alone with a nurse: the doctors had left hurriedly, picking up what needed to be picked up, cleaned up, and left. It was just 2 of us in that cold, operating room. Her voice was so soft and calming, she asked me to wiggle my feet to see if I was fine. I did. She held a glass of water with a straw in it for me to drink in; I’ve never been so happy to drink water! Hey, I was just happy to have made it through the operation without… well, I’m glad I woke up, period.

Then a group of nurses came to bring me back to my room; my mother, who was in the waiting room, came to join me too. It was around 1 a.m. and there were all these caring women around me settling me on my hospital bed, making sure I was comfortable and soothing my fears. I had all these catheters in my arms: I was petrified of moving even an inch. The nurses kept telling me that everything was okay now, that I could move my arms.

I woke up around 8:30 a.m. My mom fed me breakfast and kept jabbing spoonfuls of cereals in my mouth. At some point I told her to slow down, I didn’t want to choke, I mean, I just survived surgery: can I live for a while? She just sighed and said something about me being a slow eater just like my father. Oh well.

I spent a couple of days doing physical therapy to get me back on my feet, I did some more tests, and they removed that awful tube from my ribs that was draining excess fluid (my sisters called it a hose, but it wasn’t THAT big…). It turns out that the results of my biopsy came out fine, much to the dismay of the nephrologists who looked REALLY disappointed: I guess they were hoping that my body would be even more messed up and then I could REALLY be a noteworthy medical case. Man, I was just glad to be alive.

Needless to say, I was antsy to go back home. I wanted to be home, sleep in my bed, eat my mom’s cooking… Oh Lord, how I missed my mom’s cooking. I wanted to move on with my life, I wanted to move my legs and just go places; it didn’t matter where, as long as it wasn’t HERE.

My sisters tried to convince me that even if I couldn’t be home for Christmas, they’ll spend it with me at the hospital and bring me turkey sandwiches.

I‘m sure you can imagine my facial expression upon hearing this.

There was NO WAY I would not spend Christmas AT HOME with my family, eating like a pig, cracking jokes and opening presents AT HOME.

No way, man.

The night of December 22, I told my sister how I couldn’t wait to be back home: I wanted to be home so bad I could taste it. That night I dreamt that someone was looking over my sister and I, as we were asleep in the hospital room. I couldn’t tell what that person looked like, but that person was watching over us and standing next to my bed and to the chair my sister was sleeping on.

The next morning, on Friday December 23, I was about to begin yet another day in the hospital. My sister left early to go to work and my mom was on her way to the hospital to stay with me. I was alone. I hated being alone.

I called my sister for comfort, she told me I would be fine, that my mom would be there soon. I started crying a bit, out of frustration.

I grabbed my CD player: my batteries were dying on me. Great, just great. I rubbed them together (yes, I did), put them back in the CD player and pressed play. Can you believe that I was able to listen to my gospel CD from beginning to end without a glitch?

Around 11a.m. or so, my mom hadn’t arrived yet, however I was feeling much more relaxed and confident. Suddenly a doctor came to my room and asked me: “Are you leaving today?”

I looked at her incredulously: “Not that I know of.”

-Well, the doctors have been looking over your chart and your test results and since you’ve been recovering so well, they’re talking about releasing you today.

-Really?

-Yes. Let me get back to you on that.

Indeed, the doctors said I could go home. I asked them to double-check if everything was fine with me so I wouldn’t have to haul myself back here again in a couple of days. They did more tests, of course and all was fine. My mom finally came (snow + Montreal + crappy transit system+ hospital on a steep hill = no bueno) and she was in shock when I told her the news. But this time it was a good shock.

To make a long story short, during those hard times God blessed me with little angels who catered to all my needs, spiritual, mental and physical. All those doctors and nurses, the endearing patients who shared a room with me, the people from church, my family, my friends –or should I call them my homies, my posse who got on one doctor’s nerves because they were so many. You guys were and still are my favourite cheerleaders. You cheer the loudest and you literally busted your asses to come see me in the snow on that insanely steep hill and find your way through that labyrinth of a hospital. God poured down His love on me exponentially everyday, there wasn’t a single day where I didn’t have at least 3 people visiting me. I never truly felt alone, even when I was physically by myself, God watched over me at all times. I also want to thank those whose phone calls lit up my day, especially in the aftermath of the surgery during my semester off, and those whose prayers have contributed to my recovery.

There aren’t enough words to thank everybody who supported me when I was sick. I wish I had all the money in the world to buy you presents, however, what I can do is pray that God will bless you abundantly and fulfil your needs, whatever they may be.

My Emancipation Proclamation

2009-12-14T22:38:00.004-05:00

No more cotton pickin’ for me:

Today, as of 11:43,

I became free.

Free of boring classes to attend, free to allow my heart to mend

The fractures it has suffered throughout this long, tortuous journey.

I, Linsay,

Have travelled for four long years with a heavy burden on my shoulders;

A burden that I once believed would cause my premature downfall.

And yet I stood tall:

A higher power carried me through it all.

I testify today the glory of His nature,

The greatness of His accomplishments

And the mastery behind every struggle,

For every struggle have made me more resilient with every step.

Standing in disbelief,

At a loss for words,

I simply raise my hands to the skies

And close my eyes:

He’s given me my deliverance.

Although I must wait some time to receive a testament of my freedom,

I will be proclaiming my emancipation with much anticipation.

No,

I have already signed my emancipation proclamation:

I declare on this day that I am free of the bounds of academic persecution.

Ok… So what do I do with all this freedom?

Hmm. Now I can read books that I actually like, for personal pleasure! Wow, I’m not quite sure I remember what that means anymore… Ooh, ooh! I can take a vacation! Wow, I wonder what that feels like. Let me think…I have time to watch television without feeling a pang of guilt in the pit of my stomach because I don’t have to study or do assignments anymore! Wait, I can actually have a SOCIAL LIFE?! NO WAY!!! I can go to the movies, go shopping, get a massage, chill with my friends for extended periods of time…Wow. God is good.

I can spend most of my time doing what I love most, and no, I’m not talking about sleeping and eating (although both come very, very close): I can dedicate my time to writing and being creative. Finally. I can let my creativity flow as it pleases, like it should be. That’s what awaits me for the rest of my life. Woah.

I know: I’ve complained a lot during the past four years; heck I’ve been complaining about school since I was a kid, but much, much more in the recent years. I’ve envisioned what this day would be like: I visualized myself handing in my last assignment, and then, overcome with glee, I would run down the street screaming at the top of my lungs: I’M DONE! I’M DONE! NO MORE SCHOOL FOR ME! WHOOOO! But it didn’t turn out that way.

You see, as I was making my way to my professor’s office to hand in my last assignment (ever), I was overcome with a strange serenity. After sliding my assignment under his office door, I expected to burst out in tears and cry uncontrollably for hours, and then become hysterical. But that never happened. I remained very serene.

I’m still in shock. I have completed 90 credits. I’m done with my bachelor’s degree. I have survived four years of essay writing in the middle of the night, four years of devotedly studying for things that will be no use to me, other than for clever banter in social occasions. Those panic attacks, near mental breakdowns, hospitalizations, chest pains, acid reflux, headaches, tears, grunts, screams, and peculiar physical pains… are all behind me. I don’t have to give myself a motivational speech before getting out of bed in the morning to attend another painfully boring class with a painfully boring teacher who can’t enunciate her words. I don’t have to roll my eyes anymore at students whose vapid comments hurt my senses.

I did it; I’m really done!

Back in the Day...

2009-12-04T20:38:00.007-05:00

I remember it so clearly: it was Spring 2002 and I was about to finish high school. I was stressed about everything, such as wondering if I could really pass all my science classes, if the choreographies my friends and I were working on would be on point for the June talent show, and if I could really count on my date to show up for prom night. Overall, I was an emotional mess.

I wish I hadn't wasted so much time worrying about things beyond my control; in the end I did pass my physics and chemistry courses (barely!) and the talent show was AWESOME. As for the prom date, well, let's just say that having a date for your prom is WAY overrated. Among the many memories I have of this period of my life (that seems so far away as I reminisce on it) this song is part of a list of beloved R&B/Soul songs of 2002 that I couldn't get enough of.

Here's "Don't You Forget It" by Glenn Lewis. Hope you enjoy it!

The Marrying Kind…?

2009-12-04T00:24:00.004-05:00

I’ve been told that I am the marrying kind. When that comment comes from one of my girls it’s usually followed by “…so I really don’t understand why you’re still single!”, generating a conversation that usually spontaneously disintegrates into a pity party about singlehood and the dread of turning 30 without a man, with a dried-up, hostile and infertile womb, sharing a one-bedroom apartment with 12 cats. Ok, I’m exaggerating, but you know what I mean.

On the other hand, when that comment comes from men, you’d think it would generate an opposite response, one that would make a woman feel that despite all the hoodrats and trollops of this world, a woman of substance can still be appreciated.

Although I am certain that being told that I’m of the marrying kind is a compliment on my character, I can’t help but think, “So where are all these men that are actually interested in the ‘marrying kind’?”

Ladies, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but… Ah, forget it, I will.

Being of the marrying kind is good. Really good. It means that if a dude tells you this, it means that he respects you enough not to treat you like a jumpoff, ignore your phone calls, acts like he doesn’t know you or even ever met you when he sees you at a party or anywhere out in public. It probably means that he won’t (intentionally) drag your name into some mess when he talks about you to his boys.

However, it could mean that he’s telling himself: “Yeah, she’s the marrying kind, but I’m not ready to settle down with a woman like her just yet, so in the meantime I’ll just chill with some chicks I know and then, when I get sick of all the meaningless nonsense, I’ll find myself a good woman for the long run”.

Yup.

What does that mean for you, woman of the marrying kind? Well, while Mr. Man is out there frolicking with whomever he deems fit for the moment or for the occasional nocturnal excursions, you remain the ‘marrying kind’, the woman who’s already had enough of fickle romances (should we even categorize them as romances?) and feels ready to embark on a long-lasting relationship with a good man. You remain the chick who’s told that she possesses all the right qualities a good man is looking for and all the right qualities you pride yourself with (have self-respect, loving, caring, intelligent, self-reliant, supportive, spiritual and all that jazz) but can’t seem to attract the attention of the good men who do want to be with a good woman, because they just aren’t ready to settle down.

This is the state of the society we live in, my friends.

So, what are we to do, us women of the marrying kind, in the meantime? Shall we twiddle our thumbs while waiting for some men to awake from their indulgent slumber? Shall we roam the streets, feverishly and desperately looking for men who’ve passed that stage? Shall we stick to whoever seems fit to temporarily ease our uncertainties to ever find a good man, until a really, really good one comes along? Or far worse, shall we give up and say “Screw this ‘marrying kind’ bulls**t: I have needs and I’m gonna get me a man RIGHT NOW”?

I am sorry to say that I have no solution to this dilemma.

I know there are many women who haven’t the patience to wait until the right man comes along and will just settle for the first guy who makes them feel fuzzy inside, regardless of constantly arguing with him, being taken for granted on a regular basis and being disrespected.

There are other women who will become cynical, categorize men as dogs and reject any notion of love and tenderness, and will treat their bodies with little respect as possible by becoming those interchangeable jumpoffs men talk about with their boys.

And then, there are those who have come to terms with the reality that some men need a little more time to be ready to be in a serious, long-lasting relationship. These women are at peace with the fact that it may take some time before she meets that good man. Some day, that good man will be ready to be with her: a woman who’ll call him on his crap when needed, a woman who’ll ease his doubts and support him like a rock, a woman whose love and affection pales in comparison to the crap he’s had to deal with before with triflin’ heifers.

What will these patient women do in the meantime? Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait our turn. I know, it sounds wrong and very 1950s damsel in distress. Whether you like it or not, you can’t make the future unfold itself before its time, and it’s pointless to spend your time wallowing in self-pity wondering why men say you’re the marrying kind, yet you’re still single. Save yourself a migraine and frowns on your forehead and let it be.

The Return of the Alpha Female

2009-12-03T01:11:00.007-05:00

I must apologize for the unexpected hiatus. It was not due to a lack of inspiration: on the contrary, I’ve had an overflow of creativity since the past 4 weeks, so much that I couldn’t channel it properly. There have been so many topics that I wanted to write on, so many new venues that I want to explore artistically… but I couldn’t find the time to sit down and do it all. Well actually, I told myself that it would be wiser that I refrain myself from being swept away by mighty waves of inspiration, waves that could take me somewhere far away from the boring school stuff I have to attend to until mid-December. Yes, I’ve knowingly sacrificed my flow of creativity and my passion for writing because of school. I hate doing that. Nevertheless, God willing, I won’t be doing that for long: yes, two weeks from now, I’ll be handing in my FINAL paper as an undergraduate. I’ll be shouting my emancipation proclamation like a banshee; I’ll be free to let my creativity run unbridled and I won’t have to spend my time wishing I could be writing instead of studying for things I know I won’t remember as soon as the test is over.

It feels absolutely amazing to be back on my blog.

I’ve spent most of the past 4 weeks watching films (and studying and doing assignments, of course) and that alone has helped me nourish my creativity in many, many ways. I’ve just finished watching a film that I haven’t watched in so long, a film my sisters and I fell head over heels in love the first time we watched it. I was 10 years old the first time I watched “Only You”, starring Marisa Tomei and Robert Downey Jr. It’s the quintessential chick flick, and if you’ve never seen it before, I suggest you look up a bootleg version on Youtube or something real quick. I won’t give too much away, but allow me to explore what I’ve gathered from my viewing tonight, 14 years after my very first viewing.

In the film, Faith is convinced from a young age that a man by the name of Damon Bradley is destined to be the man of her dreams, her soul mate, despite not knowing who is. Weird, uh? So 14 years go by, she moves on with her life, gets engaged to this podiatrist dude and out of the blue, a man calls at her place asking to speak to her fiancé. He’s not home, she takes a message, and lo and behold, the dude calling for her man is named Damon Bradley. Freaky, right? I know. So Faith is buggin’ and her best friend/sister-in-law is buggin’ too: could it be, really? Could it be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to seek out her destiny, throw caution to the wind and take a leap of faith (no pun intended…ok, I’m lying: yes I meant to make that pun) and find that man? The only problem is, Damon is going away to Venice and won’t be reached until he comes back.

Do you think she was crazy enough to hop on a plane with her friend and finally see who her alleged soul mate is?

Of course she was.

Once in Venice, Faith runs all over town to try to find this guy; actually she runs all over Italy to try to find him, hanging on to a glimmer of hope, yearning for a manifestation of predestination.

Like I mentioned earlier, I won’t give away too much, but there’s an important lesson, or should I say conundrum, that resonates throughout the whole film. I’m not condoning the use of Ouija boards or kooky fortune tellers to figure out your destiny, because I think it’s a waste of time and money. But let’s just focus on the film’s prevalent theme. The main character is driven by faith, by an “assurance of things hoped for, a conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11: 1). She knows deep within that whoever she’s engaged to isn’t her soul mate, and that she must seek her true soul mate, even though she must travel to find him. Now, her journey doesn’t exactly unfold to her liking, but the end result proves that indeed, she was right to hold on to her faith.

Let’s say that God gives you a vision, whatever that vision may be: leaving your homeland to travel across the world to live your dreams, embarking on a risky, but fulfilling new career, etc. At first, you think that vision is way too farfetched, you can’t fathom how that vision will come to fruition, you doubt you’ll ever have the guts to even take on such immense challenges to assure that this vision is fulfilled. But God tells you that He’ll be there through every step of the journey, giving you all the strength, confidence and courage needed to bring this dream to life: all you have to do is believe in Him and take a leap of faith.

You finally believe in the vision: it is yours and you’ll do anything to achieve it.

Nevertheless, your friends think that whatever it is that you been sippin’ lately must have damaged your brain, because there ain’t no way that dream is ever gonna happen. They can’t understand the dream that God has placed within you, they just don’t get it.

You cherish that God-given vision, you put your whole faith in Him and you strive to make it happen, with the strength, confidence and courage He provides you daily, despite naysayers and how improbable its accomplishment may appear. You stopped caring what people around you say: that vision is gonna happen ‘cause God said so.

Would you be willing to leave the comfort of your home, your city, your country, your dead-end job (that pays the bills), your lacklustre relationship, to take a leap of faith and follow that dream that God has placed within you?

Sometimes I wonder how my mother’s life would have been if she had followed her aspirations and had decided to dedicate her life to her talent. It’s easier said than done: she comes from a generation of immigrants that had to take the first job they were offered and tough it out to feed her family and make sure the rent is paid on time. Nobody told her that she could profit from her talent, have her own business, hire other seamstresses, find clients, open a boutique or a workshop, be her own boss and thrive, and all that joy and fulfilment would come from her God-given talent. Nobody told her that, probably because there wasn’t anyone who believed it could happen for her, or for themselves.

Maybe she had that vision, but tucked it away in the back of her mind and decided it would be too complicated, and as the years went by she gave up on it completely, and believes that it’s too late anyway to achieve that dream.

I strongly believe that whatever is predestined will happen, no matter the detours you’re taking in life to avoid taking on that perilous, yet likely rewarding journey. Out of fear, some people may succeed in crushing that dream completely and ignoring they ever had one, and go on to live dull and unfulfilled lives, dragging along with them a heavy burden of regret for a lifetime, droning on and on with their ‘shoulda-coulda-woulda’. All they had to do was take that leap of faith.

Easier said than done, right?

I know.