Keira-anne.com

Things are rarely ever as they seem. I walked into my counselor’s office last week with only one goal in mind. While I didn’t feel like I had much of anything to talk about, time spent in thought over the Christmas holidays gave me a new focus I wanted to pay special attention to, and I was absolutely resolved to tackle this goal head-on.

As her and I discussed the ideas that bounced around my head, my counselor passed a book on to me that she guessed might aid me in my quest. While the title of the book isn’t something I plan on sharing – that particular issue is far too personal and irrelevant to my point tonight – I am quite sure she knew precisely what she was doing in encouraging me to read it.

What was unbeknownst to me, though apparently not to my counselor, was how limited my point of view was. I had tunnel vision, and the emotional journey I have been on over the past few days since picking through these pages is completely overwhelming to say the least. Not long ago, for the first time I was able to pinpoint the source of anxiety and fear that has plagued me for my entire adult life. What I failed to realize was that identifying a problem does not equate a solution.

Discovering that there’s an issue or that something is amiss doesn’t necessarily come naturally. For as many years as I can remember, men tend to force my stomach into doubled-over knots. I completely and entirely freak out when my mom doesn’t answer the phone when she’s supposed to be home, and I hit re-dial as many times as it takes to get through to her. And worse yet, when I feel as though someone in my life is slipping away, I immediately show them the door to protect myself.

These reactions to panic were something I always viewed as normal reflexes. But why, I have to ask myself, were these reactions constantly conflicting me? It didn’t feel right.

This is where the identification of my abandonment issue comes back into the picture. I called my mom this evening and told her all about the book that I’m reading and the work I have cut out for me. The truthful bottom line, I told her, is that it all goes back to losing the two most significant males in my life during a huge time of growth in my adolescence. My mom was quick to point out that things were much more tumultuous than simply two those instances at that time in my life.

Between the ages of 14 and 17, I lost my Oma, my Opa, my paternal grandfather, my Father, my high school homeroom teacher (one month after I graduated high school), my paternal grandmother and my great Uncle Alfons. This was on top of being in the middle of the dissolution of my parents’ marriage (which was ultimately the best decision for all involved). For a naïve 17-year-old girl, that is a hefty weight to carry.

Ultimately, despite the losses, my relationship with my Father is clearly what still impacts me most at 28, whether I like to admit it or not. It’s been over ten years since he passed away from a drug overdose. It was tragic and nothing that anyone could do anything about. For a time after his death in August of 1998, I felt guilt. Once I learned about his addiction, I was so cold to him. To this day, I can’t recall if I ever again told him that I loved him before he died.

Taking a cue from the book, and in an effort to emotionally reconnect with the loss, I decided to write a letter to my Dad this evening…

As I scrawled out the first page on lined paper, I surprised myself not only at how easily the words flowed, but at how composed I felt. No tears, no sniffles – just words. That was, until, I recollected to my Dad one of the last memories I have of him. On the day of my high school graduation, he showed up at the salon at which I was having my hair and make-up done. I remember that he was gaunt and his skin was the colour of concrete. Instantly I felt anger at him for embarrassing me in front of my friends by appearing in such a state, and so I asked him to leave immediately. I pushed my Dad away, and for that I feel such sorrow. All he wanted to do was tell me how proud he was of me that I was graduating that day, and I couldn’t even allow him that much.

Recalling that is when the deep sobs because to reverberate and the hot tears poured. I felt such shame at the sharp memory.

I was young and inexperienced at life, and understanding how to deal with such a situation was next to impossible at the time.

No one asks to be abandoned. No one asks to feel this way. I know that my Dad never intended to leave his “princess.” I know that he wanted to protect her for her entire life. While I know that he still loves me, he made his choice and that choice and its consequences have ultimately impacted the woman that I am today. It’s hard to understand how much a girl needs a father until she no longer has one. So much of what I experienced in the time since his death was nothing that an hour with Dad couldn’t have uncomplicated.

I feel overwhelmed at how suddenly I am submerged in the work ahead of me. The light at the end of my slowly widening tunnel vision is that I feel a certain peace mingled in with the anxiety. From here, I have no choice but to learn to live as a woman, wholly but with a piece that will forever be missing. It’s no easy battleground to navigate.

I chose to share this because writing is my creative medium, my outlet. I could choose to keep this to myself, to not share it, but I feel as though I would be compromising my authenticity. Judge me if you wish, judge my Dad if you must, but know that it is real and comes from a place of integrity.

Nearly nothing incenses me as much as animal abuse, and in particular, abuse to dogs. They don’t have a voice, and thus don’t have a choice. I saw something after work yesterday afternoon that made my blood boil.

As I waited outside a Blenz coffee shop to meet a friend, I noticed a man crossing the street with a black lab puppy who could have been no more than a couple months old. The puppy’s gait was clearly still unsteady, but the man had no patience and kept on commanding “come on!” while yanking roughly on the dog’s leash.

Photo: Gmonkey on Flickr

Once on the sidewalk, the man stopped to talk to someone he clearly knew. While I couldn’t hear the conversation entirely, what I did hear was how he had just been reprimanded by a complete stranger for mistreating his dog. He went on to tell his friend something to the effect of “I know how to handle my own f**king dog!” before continuing on his way.

However, he stopped near a doorway about half a block down on the other side of me, where I proceeded to watch out of the corner of my eye. The man wanted him to sit; the puppy would not sit. Instead, the little one kept going for the doorway and the man would jerk hard on the leash, lifting his puppy entirely off the ground while condescendingly yelling at him to “sit DOWN!” And being that the puppy was too young to be steady, his little legs collapsed on the ground under his body every single time. This repeated close to ten times before the puppy finally gave up and sat.

I immediately dialed my friend Angela, who is an Animal Protection Officer with the BC-SPCA, and reported what I saw. Even if it’s not enough to do anything other than warn the guy, assholes like him need to be put in their place.

Raising a dog takes a tremendous amount of love, patience, perseverance and compassion. If you aren’t willing to show those traits to your furry friends, you have no business owning one.

Original Photo: goldbeere on Flickr

Days like today prove to me that I am not invincible.

Days like today find no comfort.

I walked home at lunch to take the dogs outside. The tears I fought so hard to blink back the entire way started to fall the minute that I opened the door. There is something about a canine’s love that is entirely unconditional and which radiates on some supernatural level. However, there are still hours left in the day so I had no choice but to “suck it up” and dry my eyes. Four o’clock will not come soon enough, and all I crave is hot tea and a warm blanket. The irony in that is that those simple comforts only serve as examples of how days like today ask me that for all the care for others I pour out, who is there to care for me at the end of the day?

I awoke yesterday feeling entirely un-rested. I’m not sure if it was the club kids from the Blarney Stone and their drunken screeches at all hours of the night or the bad dreams that kept waking me at regular intervals. Clouds hung over Vancouver for the entirety of Sunday and that suited me just fine. I was doing nothing but lamenting my downward feelings; sunshine would’ve seemed condescending. Despite the hazy cover of the day, I knew there were two puppies who needed to get outside, stretch their tiny legs and play. Around 2:30 p.m., Benji, Casey and I started the short trek to Crab Park at the head of Main Street.

I love Crab Park. I love that the boys can run around and play without leashes. Benji loves rolling around and giving his back some great scratches in the grass, whereas Casey could play fetch with his green rubber bone for hours on end if I’d let him. I also love Crab Park because I unfailingly meet interesting people there.

Original Photo: VanKeefer on Flickr

Yesterday I met a man named Miguel*. He was sitting on a bench by himself as I started to throw Casey’s rubber bone, so I looked over, smiled and said hello. This was all the encouragement he needed to stand up and come and talk with me. And so, as I watched the boys play in a foot of mud, Miguel and I talked.

He left El Salvador in the late 1970s, before the Civil War, and joined the army against his father’s wishes. The oldest boy of 10 children, Miguel’s father had hoped he’d stay and work on the farm. Instead, Miguel found himself in Canada in 1984 after a military stint overseas, and was soon married and living in Montréal. There he worked as a long-haul truck driver, often spending much time away from home. His marriage dissolved in 1999 after finding out from a neighbour that his wife was cheating on him while Miguel criss-crossed Canada.

It was then that Miguel found himself in Vancouver. Now in his late 50s, here he works at a minimum wage job, has no family in Vancouver and is not welcome to move back to El Salvador. He told me he was what’s known as the “black sheep” of his family. Miguel is an alcoholic. He now feeds himself with food stamps and lives in one of the Downtown Eastside’s hotels that is slated to close in order to make way for condos. It was about twenty minutes into our conversation that he brought out his handkerchief to dry his brimming eyes. He lives a life void of hope.

Original Photo: milder60 on Flickr

Though Miguel and I come from different backgrounds, we both could agree that Vancouver is a hard place to live at the best of times. This is a city in which there is no love – no real love. So many people are only out for themselves, in competition with everyone including their own selves. It’s harder still for those that do nothing but give, only to have more taken.

I told Miguel I hoped to be back next weekend to let the dogs play again. He told me he hoped we’d talk again. Miguel visits Crab Park every single day, no matter the weather. It brings him peace and rest, even if only for a few minutes. I am grateful for people like Miguel. Their strength and resilience has the power to bring us back to earth and put our own “problems” into perspective with the upturn of a smile.

* Name has been changed to protect privacy.

(AND A FULLER SCOOP)

I’ve been back in my apartment for a little over an hour, and I’m surprised and amazed to tell you that I’m actually happy to be back in Vancouver. If my quick jaunt to Victoria did anything, it gave me a new-found reappreciation for the city I live in and the apartment I snuggle into. So in the spirit of all things fuzzy-feeling, let’s start this post off on a fun note!

I told you earlier today that I bought leg warmers. For some of you, the tune of Olivia Newton John’s “Physical” probably started swimming through your heads, but hold up! They’re super cute and super cosy – I promise! The bottoms have even been left wider so I can wear them over top of my jeans and boots!

Commence salivation. Just don’t buy them, k?

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So, wanna know about my trip to Victoria? Okay. Let me start off by saying that the people I did spend time with are fun in their own way, the city is and always will be beautiful, and I did enjoy myself at times. Most of yesterday afternoon was spent driving around from house to house, saying hello to people and trying to figure out what everyone was doing for the night. When the sun finally set, I found myself at my friend Evan’s housewarming party in Vic West. There were lots of familiar faces there and it was good to reconnect. I was most happiest to see my dear old friend Andrew and spend most of my time there with him.

From there, everyone re-convened at Lucky Bar (which is everyone’s local weekend haunt). In celebration of our long-time friendship, Andrew and I had shots and beers, which everyone knows is never a great idea. Mostly it was fun and dancing with everyone, but someone from my past…an ex-something…showed up at the bar. After a few drinks he finally came over and talked to me, but I can honestly and truly tell you I don’t remember a scrap of our conversation. I am sure, however, that I made a royal fool out of myself. I wouldn’t be Keira-Anne if I didn’t, right?

That brought me to today. I slept well, but not long enough. I crashed on the couch at Bateman and Stephen’s place. I showered with a dish towel because I couldn’t find any clean bath towels in a boys’ apartment. All I wanted to do was go home, but I had promised Antonio I’d see “Titanica” at IMAX with him. As soon as it was over, I bolted across the street to the bus depot. I couldn’t get home fast enough to talk to my mom and just relax.

Most of the trip home I just spent deep in thought, thinking about the things I care for and the things that matter. The truth is, few things really do in this life. This year has thus far been the hardest year I’ve experienced since 2000. Don’t they say something about a seven-year itch? I’ve wrestled with myself until my thoughts and my heart turned black and blue. I question myself and whether I made the right choice(s). When so few things in life really matter, isn’t releasing one of those few a completely foolish thing to do?

Okay, sorry about that little deviation. Want to know a fun fact that I learned at IMAX today? Many of the 17,000 workers who built the Titanic believed she was cursed before she left dry dock. It’s thought that one of the steel workers was accidentally sealed inside the hull during construction. Spooky!

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Last, but certainly not least, the extended version of the CTV spot that Becky and I did is online (for a limited time only). My aunt was wonderful enough to burn it onto her computer’s hard drive, so I’ll hopefully post the video clip online somewhere somehow. In the meantime, head on over to CTV Vancouver’s website and select “View Streaming Newscast.” Pick Saturday’s broadcast, and zip ahead to approximately 13:30.

It’s 12:52 p.m. and I’m sitting in an Internet cafe in Victoria. I think I’m on Yates Street. I just bought some legwarmers, but they absolutely did not work for me in the way that retail therapy should.

Did I mention that things suck right now? Okay, I’m being a bit dramatic by saying so, but it feels like they do. Coming over here yesterday, we missed the ferry and got stuck at the terminal for two and a half hours. We played Keno to pass the time. Driving into the city I had a bad feeling. Here I am hanging out with all these people that are two, three and sometimes four years younger than me. Why?

I miss him and I’d rather be with him right now. And always. And I’m a huge fucking idiot who made an even huger fucking mistake.

I feel ditched out on by my friends here, even though that’s not technically the case. We’re all supposed to see Titanica at IMAX at 2:00 p.m. but I ditched out to talk to all of you until then. Alone time was very necessary. I just want to get on the bus and go home. I miss my mom. I actually miss Vancouver. I miss him. Shit. Bye.

Oh and my cell phone’s dead.

Isn’t it weird?
Isn’t it strange?
Even though we’re just two strangers on this runaway train.
We’re both trying to find a place in the sun.
We’ve lived in the shadows, but doesn’t everyone?
Isn’t it strange how we all feel a little bit weird sometimes?
Isn’t it hard…standing in the rain?
You’re on the verge of going crazy and your heart’s in pain.
No one can hear though you’re screaming so loud.
You feel all alone in a faceless crowd.
Isn’t it strange how we all get a little bit weird sometimes?
Sitting on the side waiting for a sign, hoping that my luck will change.
Reaching for a hand that can understand, someone who feels the same.
When you live in a cookie cutter world being different is a sin.
So you don’t stand out, and you don’t fit in…weird.

Sometimes things get worse before they get better. I’m having one of those incredibly strange evenings where I have absolutely no idea what is wrong with me. All I know is what I am feeling. Perhaps it was the whiskey on the ferry ride over. Maybe I’m just too tired. Maybe it’s just stress. As my brother’s truck left Parksville and turned onto the highway, he and his girlfriend sat in the front and talked about cars while listening to music.

I sat in the backseat of the truck, stared out the rear window and sobbed the entire way home.

Lyrics written by I.H., J.T.H. and Z.H.