Put your pitchforks down: this is not a book review. It’s a love letter to Vancouver, BC. I haven’t even read the book, Fifty Shades of Grey that has gotten more mixed reviews than bedbugs at a backpackers’ hostel. According to WikiPedia, which, let’s face it, is the only ‘encyclopaedia’ that I’ve referenced in the last 10 years, it’s a trilogy of erotic novels that looks into the less-than-vanilla side of sexuality. I’m imagining something along the lines of a Danielle Steele novel with dungeons and safety words, with a cover that has Fabio wearing something in black pleather.
While I’d love nothing better than to curl up with a mediocre bit of erotica for an afternoon and then write about it, I have greater things to address. Like how it feels to be back in Vancouver.
After an 11 hour flight from Hong Kong during which I got no sleep, we touched down at Vancouver’s international airport. I breezed through the quickest immigrations check I’ve ever experienced, and had plenty of time to be grateful to the Universe for this blessing during the 55 minutes that followed, while I waited for my luggage to appear on the carousel. The wait also allowed me to talk to Jay on the phone and enjoy a clear connection for the first time in four and a half months. He, seasoned airport-person-fetcher that he is, did not start driving toward the airport until after I had landed. I worried that I would have to wait for him outside, standing half-asleep next to my pile of belongings like a hungry, homeless puppy. The baggage handlers, no doubt sensing my concern, ensured that my luggage was unloaded last so that this would not happen. Bless their hearts.
The sky was grey and thick with rain when I landed. It was clear blue and sunny when I exited the airport. And cold. So very, very cold. The four inches of bare skin between my leggings and my sneakers froze on contact with the outside air. Another blessing- numb skin doesn’t feel the cold. Plus, I was then able to enjoy the tingling sensation of renewed blood circulation when we got to the car and turned the heaters all the way up. What girl doesn’t enjoy a little tingle now and again?
Thanks to The Boyfriend, the apartment was in a much better state than I left it. Recyclables in the recycling bin rather than on the coffee table. Dishes on the drying rack instead of in the sink. Shoes organized in the closet rather than scattered haphazardly under the couch and bed. It was a beautiful thing to see. Evidently, the only reason that it ever looks like a raccoon’s nest is because of me. Something to think about. Inspired by his hard work, I did something that I don’t believe I have ever done in my life: I unpacked all at once, and immediately put everything where it belonged. For those of you unfamiliar with my unpacking style, it generally involves leaving my bags in a corner until I realize that I need a particular item, then digging through everything to get to this item. The resultant pile of items will then remain in that corner until such time as they are individually required, a period of time that may stretch over several weeks, after which time they will be jammed unceremoniously into a box in the closet, never to be seen again. Until the next trip.
So I suppose what I’m trying to say is: Thanks, Vancouver. I’m so happy to be back. I feel as though I’ve really grown since the last time that we saw each other. I’m in a position to better appreciate all that you have to offer (like the opportunity to wear rubber boots as a fashion statement or tuck my sweatpants into my Uggs without being judged) than I ever was before. I am deeply indebted to you for giving me a chance to indulge in Seasonal Affective Disorder with you again this winter. For letting me be one of the only people I know who lives in an affordable apartment. For your use of grey skies and rain as a teaching tool to remind me how to look inside for the sunshine instead of seeking external reinforcement. You’ve really stepped up to the plate this time, and I am grateful. I love you.
the bright side 