The Search for Meaning

Coffee.

It's everywhere. Money.

There's so much, it spills. Garbage. Back and forth and all along the streets.

The man is holding out his hat on the corner of Robson and Thurlow, smacking his lips, shifting from foot to foot as if he needs to pee, asking for money. or coffee? or garbage.

And I'm drinking it, sitting right inside.

They walk back and forth. Pretty clothes. Eye shadow and BMWs. Armani and Lululemon. The sun is shining today. Across the street, a girl is strumming her guitar and singing her own songs, selling her CDs. No one is buying. There is a recession, isn't there. Out in front of the Art Gallery, it is now late evening, a young dude masked by his hair and sunglasses, belts out songs in Japanese, a crappy amp broadcasting his earnest simple guitar chords. His voice is ugly, but in tune. People walk by, look. Freak. He doesn't care.

I am touched.

A moment ago, a display for the "Canadians for Democracy in Iran." Lots of text and graphic shots. I remember the anti-abortion displays on UBC campus. images of extracted fetuses next to canadian quarters. A bus drives by with "tax deductible mortgage plans" advertised along the top.

Today at the hospital we discuss a man who was started on hemodialysis, then diagnosed with metastatic pancreatic cancer. The dialysis will prolong his life from weeks to months. Family wants the dialysis to continue. We would never have started dialysis on a man with metastatic pancreatic cancer. He wants every bit of time he can get, even if it means being needled and made hypotensive every other day, and spending his remaining days on a hospital acute care ward, instead of in his home.

Choices.

I hear about a bombing in a part of the world I've never seen. That I probably wouldn't accurately locate on a map. When was the last time I even looked at a map of the world. Everybody seems to care about the green planet these days. Even on my coffee cup, there's a reminder to be green.

Green is the colour of envy. Green in the face, right before you vomit.

I know someone. She's been cheated on at least twice by the same guy. She doesn't leave him. She sees the good, the potential, the hope. Loyalty? Optimism. The best endure the worst. The hematologist at the hospital confesses in a brief moment of self-pity, "if you're nice, you get left with more work." If you're kind and forgiving, you get wounded more.

As I sit here, I worry I've lost all my friends. Because I didn't work hard enough to hold them. Did I work at all?

But isn't there something more important?

The girl in front is reading through her ALDO receipt.

Isn't there something else?

People dying for stupid reasons. People dying for no reason. Esprit having a sale. It was a great show. I got a raise. Tonight is parent-teacher night. That cake looks delicious. We should have coffee sometime. Am I gaining weight? Will private school ruin my child? We've lost our appreciation for reality.

What do you care about? Why do I care? Do I...

This is not life.

This is not life.

But...



I'm in love. And it's entirely inside me.
Everything that matters is here and there. And nowhere else.

all the people

i want to spill my insides out. it's never appropriate.

this is victoria. here till the end of january. working on a cardiology hospital ward. days start at 6:30 and end at 6:30. when i'm not there, i'm here: starbucks. endless 2hr internet. and the days go by.

i want to tell you i love you. yes... i still love you. i love that your forgave me over and over again as i grew up. i remember the tears you wept as she scolded me, so hurt to know your son had lied to you. because i am a liar. i love that you always loved me, never stopped believing i was a good person. even after i lied to you.

and i still love the memory of my younger years. i remember walking through the cold. satchan, so cold, but refusing to wear a coat. it was like you wanted to shiver. just to feel it. and you are still my sister. our separate different lives. our twice a year correspondence. but still sincere. i never had the chance the tell you, and you will likely never be reading this, but when we saw mrs. wilson for the last time, i'm glad we were there together. to know that the last time she saw us, we stood beside each other. like old times.

mrs. wilson. i owe you so much. and yet so much that i owe you, i've lost in recent years. my mother believed i was good natured. and you believed i was talented, that i was inspired. you raised me too, from the first day i picked up a violin, so fearful of so many things... till i was old enough for you to confide in. to tell me you were dying. and as we publicly celebrated your retirement, alone i knew you'd soon be gone. a secret. for me to watch you die. just as i was commencing my medical career. loss is the first lesson. your memory makes me want to be talented and inspired, just as you believed i was.

mr. polson, i didn't make it to your funeral. i haven't forgiven myself yet. you gave me more credit than i deserved. you believed in my shostakovich. you'd be so disappointed with my scales now.

ilya, i didn't nurture our friendship. you were right. "missed opportunities." i never told you, but i always feared offending you. you have passion. i never wanted to risk disagreeing. maybe that made me stay distant.

brian, when you moved in, i stopped coming home. i'm not good with sharing a home with other people. but over the course of our years, the indications of your presence became so important. you saved all my friendships. you needed no more and no less space than me. you helped me escape toronto when i had no one else left to turn to. and i have no other roommate in my heart hereafter.

and keith, you know me too well for my own comfort. our vices are too similar. we see the ugly side. and laugh of it. you'll be there when i've fucked up big. you've been there each time. it's silly that i still prop up the pride i do before you. you see everything on the other side.

ge, you don't read these blogs. especially if there's so much text. but i love you too. we're connected not by choice, but by blood. but that doesn't stop you from being my hero. my fortress wall. you've wisdomed my life for my whole life. you work harder than anyone i know. and remind me what's important. your compliments are validation. my violin practice always went to shit when you walked in the room. that's how much your opinion has always mattered. i try to be smart. but in the end, i just need to please. and now... you know my darkness. you know my despair, even though we don't talk nearly as much as everyone expects us to.

i'm a broken body. a fractured mind. a sappy heart.
i'm not a kid anymore. i'm an adult. i don't know myself any better. i just have a larger shoebox of memories. my shoes are holed.

i met a girl. i fell in love. and now... because she wants me, i start wondering what 'me' is. and i realise i don't know. everything i think is something, it turns out to be just a cover for some other embarrassing emotion or fear. or a learned behavior from a strong memory of hurt. running away.

this is victoria. i'm here for another week and a half. working on a cardiology ward. the days start and end. i'm here. wherever that is.

tell me... where are you? where are you.. do you know something more? i've given you everything inside.