Archive | July, 2013

My Newfie friend

24 Jul

Newfoundland is a tiny island that is pretty isolated from Canada, physically and culturally. It’s inhabited mostly by Irish descendants who like to argue about whether or not Roman Catholics are better than Protestants. And which fish is the best fish.

Okay, so my knowledge of the province is a little sparse.

I’ve gathered most of my information about Newfoundland from a Newfie herself, a former lab mate and now awesome friend who visited Toronto and all of its diversity for the first time in her twenties. Now before you start judging me for being so uninformed (and borderline racist), allow me to casually throw her under the bus and tell you some of the stuff she’s said and thought of Torontonians. Or as Newfies like to call us, ‘mainlanders.’ Clever.

On non-white people:

Wow, there are a lot of different people here. I got to meet a Jewish person for the first time. And I had no idea Jen was Chinese. She definitely doesn’t sound Chinese on the phone. Out east we don’t have so many different people, it’s all Jesus-loving white folk.

I can't

I can’t

On not being white:

So what happens when you go out in the sun? Do you, like, get darker?

On a Jewish lab mate’s birthright trip to Israel:

So did you see where Jesus was born and all the Jesus statues?

On Hinduism:

Okay, so you’re Hindi right? Or do you speak Hindi? No that can’t be right, you speak Indian.

False

On Hindu Gods:

That’s such a cute elephant hanging from your rear-view mirror!

That’s my God! What’s wrong with you? *I give her a dirty look*

*Awkward silence*

Haha, just messing with you, it’s okay.

*Uncomfortable laughing*

ganesh

On Indian weddings:

Why do you wear a huge nose ring when you get married? What’s up with that?

Well, as a bride’s maid you have to wear an even bigger nose ring or it’s considered bad luck. And I’m planning on wearing a big ass nose ring. Plus, I have to be the one to pierce your nose, it’s the rules.

Being a naïve Newfie that talks to everyone on the Brampton bus when you should be pretending to be sleeping:

Hey Saaqshi. Yeah I’ll be there soon. No, I’m okay, I’m sitting next to this nice gentleman; we’re just chatting it up.

5 minutes later:

Oh my God, hurry up and pick me up! I’m trying to get away from this creepy old man, he invited me to his house and said he would show me a good time! Come quick!

transit

And now, some pictures of Newfieland, er, I mean Newfoundland

4 3 2 1 2canon

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Life is beautiful. Even when it’s not

20 Jul

If there’s one thing we can learn from literature, it’s that all of the pain, grief, love, betrayal, and joy we experience in life is necessary and will shape us for better or for worse tomorrow. If all of these things didn’t exist in our lives, we wouldn’t be human.

Getting Lost

8 Jul

DetourA few months ago, fresh from an international trip and seriously jet-lagged, I had to pick up my boyfriend from the airport. He called me to let me know that he arrived and was just waiting for his bags; and that I could pick him up from section D, terminal 1.

Heavy eyed, I made my way to the airport from the nearby Tim Horton’s I was waiting [napping] at.

Navigating your way through the airport is simple enough, you just need to follow the signs and try not to end up back on the highway or into valet parking. I had done it successfully enough times, I wasn’t worried. But what I didn’t anticipate then were two factors that would impact by ability to perform a simple task. One: exhaustion. Two: construction.

I made it to Terminal 1 without a problem, but somehow ended at section N.

I must have zipped passed D without realizing it, right? Okay, not a problem. I’ll drive all the way around and pay closer attention this time.

And so I was back at Terminal 1.

There’s N again. Hmmm. Maybe I’ve forgotten the alphabet, D must come after N.

And so I kept driving forward. And then I passed R. I was 99% sure that D didn’t come past R.

Okay, third times a charm.

Fuck! Fucking N again! Okay, I’m just going to loop around again and slow down and stare at every single person that I pass. One of them will surely be him.

But no one was him. At this point 30 minutes elapsed and I received another call reminding me to go to section D, Terminal 1. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to admit I was lost.

“What do you mean you’re lost? Where are you?”

“Terminal 1.”

“Okay, so come to D.”

“There is no D, there’s only N.”

“What do you mean there’s no D? I’m standing at D!”

“Okay, you’re right, there must be a D. I’m sorry, I’m just tired, hang on, I’ll be there.”

Big ass loop

Big ass loop

And so I restarted my epic journey yet again, and began to loop the giant loop that is Pearson International Airport, my heart in my throat and my palms sweaty. I just couldn’t believe I was taking so long to pick him up. I was officially a stupid girly driver who couldn’t go anywhere without getting lost.

Approaching the sign for terminal 1, I pulled over and started to cry. I cried, swore, banged my steering wheel, and prayed to God I could just go to sleep.

And then, through my tears, I found my way.

Like, literally found my way. There was a construction sign off in the corner that read Terminal 1 A-M Detour.

Morale of the story: sometimes you just need to pull over and cry to find your way.