I think I caught it-- (is it contagious? Is there a vaccine?)
It's not like we have less light than you down South-- maybe a half hour or so less?-- but the lack of light when I trudge to work, the lack of light when I leave work, compounded by the isolation sometimes of living in a small town where I can't easily just go catch a movie, or head to a yoga class, or BUY VEGETABLES AT THE STORE is starting to get to me.
So I then I wallow a bit. And then I try to practice patience. And count down to Vancouver/ Mexico (36 days!)
In the meantime, I thought I'd repost something I'd written on my private blog last year, in my inaugural year of living in the Yukon. It's a reminder that there are many beautiful things about this place.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunday, October 17, 2010
This Time Last Year...I lived in another universe.One where I felt a bit like a startled deer; where men shouted come-ons at me on the street, as my eyes scowled while my heart palpitated too much, too hard against my rib cage. London was such a conundrum to live in. I lived on Turin street, which smartly divided my corner of East London in two: if you turned left onto the high street, you were suddenly thrust into Indian and Bangladeshi corner stores and saris with millions of reflective mirrors, dirty sidewalks. If you turned right, you were amongst the white/black/pink/green people of the hipster world, sipping their espressos, men in pants tighter than mine, smoking a fag, evidence of evocative street art everywhere. Perhaps even dirtier sidewalks. It was hard to fit in. After all this time, I realize that I never felt like it was home. Such transience, and speed and kisses on both cheeks-- but hardly any hugs, ever. I got accustomed to living with bars on my windows (because we lived on the ground floor), the gawking of men as they strolled past these windows of our flat, as they shouted "Chinese girl!" while we tried to watch TV on our laptops in the living room, the omnipresence of traffic noise. Every time I descended into a Tube stop, I felt my lungs tightening and a sense that I would never be rid of residue. I would then ascend onto the street level, having lost microscopic pieces of my soul. Yes, being down in those sweaty, winding tunnels have a melodramatic affect on creatures who crave light and air. And to think, in my first weeks there: I thought the Underground was God! I dressed up on the weekends. I never felt as fashionable as the beautiful London girls. That didn't matter-- it was a pleasure to watch them in their skyscraper heels and coiffed hair. My eyes were full of them; I thought of style always. I returned to my Land, suitcases brimming. I ate out with gusto. It was delicious. I didn't have art to hang on my walls. So they were plain and off-white. I had a 2 hr commute everyday. I haunted streets that William Shakespeare also did, 400 years ago. I never stopped feeling tingles upon coming around a bend and seeing St. Paul's Cathedral. I had my best friend and my boyfriend. Sometimes it was hard on the heart to divide my time. I vigorously planned weekend jaunts to Amsterdam. Berlin. Prague. San Sebastien. Paris. Dublin. Croatia. I was in London, and never would I regret this.  ----- I now live in another universe, again. A year later, I write this and feel, at last, at home. My house has windows on all sides of its walls and nothing is barred. We bought ceramic terracotta planters to nurture the lives of Minty, Sir Grows-a-lot and Spiderman. Plants will live here. I still feel like a deer, but no longer startled. Maybe more of a meandering deer who has found a brook to stick her pink tongue in. It's snowing as you read this, as I write this. I am a skeptic of snow. I lost my childlike affinity to that white stuff when I was very young--- and now it is slowly coming back. Maybe. We spent yesterday loping off into the forest to find a patch of the most virginal snow with which to make Maple syrup snowslushies with. I ran down hills a lot. I sit by a woodstove where a fire burns, one that I built, I think about what I will make for dinner, I pick up laundry off the couches. I admire the art that hangs on my walls. Every morning I wake up to my partner. Every night I fall asleep with him. Everyday it becomes more of a partnership. Our boots sit muddily side by side in our entryway. People in this town wear neutral tones, and sensible things. I am out of place in this way. I long to fill my eyes with fabrics and textures and colors! I fill my head instead with images of fox-covered tights from the Internet. I can always get things, in lovely parcels hopefully, sent to us. He is reluctant to travel, since we were inundated with trainsplanesautomobiles so recently. He wants to stay put in one place. I look at flights much less frequently now. We quietly muse about spending our summer in a wall tent on Vancouver Island. I brighten when he brings up the possibility of New York and Mexico.....at some point. I will go to yoga tomorrow. I will heat up leftover sausage stew for dinner tonight. I sometimes get lonely in this Wintery scape. My other loved ones are not here. I walk to school and it takes 3 minutes. We take drives to Whitehorse to stock up on food: the stoplights are overwhelming. I buy a ticket to Vancouver for Christmas. I still am not easy with friendly strangers. My half smile must often look like a grimace. I love the kids (most of them) I am teaching I live in Haines Junction, and never will I regret this.  |
No comments:
Post a Comment