I Wish Somebody Would Have Told Me That Some Day, These Will Be The Good Old Days

So I’m going to Kelowna this Thursday.

My boss paid for flights and handled our overnight accommodations, and it’s happening.

We all just decided that we needed to get a better sense of the city and maybe view a couple different houses, see the schools, and just get a better feel of the different neighbourhoods etc before we move further with this. Although at this point it’s pretty much green lights all around.

Like guys. I’m moving to Kelowna. For real. Soon. By this time next year I’ll most likely be in a custom-built home. That I’ve designed from scratch. Every tap and door handle. Each tile and window will have been chosen by me. For me.

And I don’t know how I feel. My boss finally let himself get excited today when we finally made the decision that this was happening. That it was going to work for everyone and be a good move, the right move all around. You could totally tell he was happy, well my coworker, J, too for that matter. But A verbalized it a few times, point-blank saying, I’m getting excited now. And it’s not that I’m not excited. It’s just that I don’t normally show it. I legitimately have googled, on more than one occasion, and read multiple studies on the traits of psychopaths, just to make sure I’m not one, just because of how emotionless I am sometimes. Don’t worry. I’m not a psychopath… I’m pretty sure ūüôā But I definitely wasn’t as excited about the move as either one of them.

Do I want to move? Yes.

Would I be okay to stay? Yes.

Am I happy about moving? Yes.

Is it stressing me out? Yes.

Do I think it would be good to move? Yes.

Do I think it would be easier to stay? Yes.

Soooo, you can see my newest issue.


-Macklemore Ft. Kesha/Good Old Days-

 

I Just Started To See The Light Of Day, I Just Started Hating Some People Today

I met my “Dad” again at around¬†15 years old.¬† It had been like 10 years since he gave up his visitation rights to R and I, and stopped showing up¬†every so often¬†to drive us down to his house in the next city for the weekend. He also stopped paying child support for the two of us after my mom got remarried. Apparently him also getting remarried and having two other kids meant for some reason he didn’t have to pay any more. Lame, I know. But in any case, after reconnecting with my sister K, my fathers side of the family also reached out and wanted to build a relationship with R and I. I didn’t have strong feelings either way, and I was willing to give them a chance. My Aunt (my Dad’s sister) was the first to reach out. First by adding me on Facebook, and then emails every once in a while, until finally we started chatting (very rarely) on the phone. As the relationship grew (ever so slightly), and I got to know more about a family I knew existed,¬†but didn’t know anything about.¬†I began to feel more comfortable with the idea of spending more time with them, so my mom and I made a trip out to BC (again, while I’m stuck living in crappy Alberta)¬†to meet¬†more of my long-lost family.

When I initially saw my Aunty A, I’ll be real for the first time, I honestly felt like I belonged in a family. Both R and N are much shorter and smaller in general than myself. At 5’9, I’m also at least a solid 2-3 inches taller than my mom/sisters¬†and I’m the only one in my family with curly hair. I mean not just a little wave if I don’t straighten it in the morning, I mean full-out curl, while everyone else, yep you guessed it, straight. Well maybe a slight wave.¬†But also personality wise, my family is way out there, and while I’m not necessarily a stick in the mud, I do think everything through and weigh all my options instead of running around like a bull in a china shop like they tend to do. I’d rather make the calculated decision instead of fly by the seat of my pants… but that’s just me. When I saw my Aunty A at the airport in Victoria, it was like a lightbulb went off. I felt like this is where I came from. This is where my roots belonged. I felt like I was no longer a misfit, but I had connections and to be honest, I felt for the first time like I was the right “fit” for the family. I was no longer the black sheep as far as looks go. It was like hugging myself in a mirror. Sitting with them in their living room was so peaceful, compared to my home growing up where life was so chaotic, with constant yelling and arguments. Yeah the decor was outdated but the pace of life was just so me. I felt like I had missed out on a huge opportunity in life. Growing up how I did, was stressful but,¬†sitting in my newly discovered grandparents house with my new Aunt, I felt calm, and like I belonged.

My mom and I spent a few days in Victoria touring around and enjoying the sights. My Grandparents house literally shared a backyard fence with the Craigdarroch Castle, which we of course toured, but I also had the amazing view of it every night before bed. Once we had done all the touristy things, like visit the harbour and take horse-drawn carriage rides through the parks, we finished up our visit with grand promises to keep in touch.

Which we did, some what (again, this is not my strong point at all). I went back one summer for a week alone and my Aunt arranged a few day camp type things to keep me busy. Kayaking in the bay (SO MUCH FUN!) and¬†rock climbing (eh) among other things. The trip was a success, and I had a chance to learn a lot more about my heritage and how that side of my family also thinks my biological dad is a douche, so that was a bonding moment lol. But the moment when I actually got to meet him, came soon after, when my Grandpa passed away and I made the conscious decision to go to his funeral, knowing my ‘Dad” would be there.

My Grandpa and I shared a special bond and even though I had really just been getting to know him, we had instantly connected. He was a very kind, thoughtful smart man. When you looked at him you could see wisdom in his eyes. He had been through so much in his life, but had not let it get him down. He is 100% Japanese, making me 1/4, and his calm demeanour is something I aspire to. Nothing rattled him, and that’s how I try to live.

Anyways, when he passed, I wanted to be there for the funeral, so my parents agreed to send me to Victoria on my own (R wasn’t interested in getting involved, and my mom didn’t want to “intrude” on this family gathering). It was a little overwhelming at first, meeting a bunch of Great Aunt’s and Uncle’s for the first time…No cousins though… since my dads kids didn’t feel the need to attend the funeral of the granddad they’d known their whole life. Whatever. But I went, and I’m glad I did because I met my Great Aunt Yayeko whom I was named after (middle name) and everyone got to see me after so many years.

But when it finally came down to “meeting” my dad… that was so pathetic. He avoided me the whole afternoon, until the¬†memorial was winding down and I knew my time was running out so I made an effort to go and talk to him.

Our entire conversation lasted less than 20 minutes and was pretty boring. He spent most of the time talking about his other wife and two kids. Turns out I have ANOTHER younger sister and a brother. And the worst part? My sisters name is sooooo¬†damn close to mine it’s like common. All the names in the world and you had to name her something that the substitute teacher would call me because it’s so similar? Annoying. But the worst part… at the end of our “bonding” he suggested that we stay in touch. Sure I thought at first, that would be nice. Until he pulled out his business card and handed it to me and said “My numbers on here”… Umm pardon me? You’re a grown man, and you can’t even be bothered to ask me for my info? You don’t care enough to want to know how to get in touch with your daughter? Your going to leave the future of our relationship in my¬†teenage hands? Fine. Do that. But I’m gonna throw it in the trash, because apparently that’s how much you value it.
Needless to say, I was so pissed off. And that business card is in some garbage can where it belongs. Along with all my feelings for my sperm donor.


-Beck/I Just Started Hating Some People Today-

I’ll Choose To Survive, Whatever It Takes¬†

Yesterday I took my kids to the zoo, where I got my first mosquito bite of the year. I’m sure no one’s a fan of mosquitoes, but I have a particular hatred towards them. When I lived in Kenya they took an extreme liking to me. I could stand in a group ¬†of people, didn’t matter how many, and the stupid insects would choose me to bite, and ultimately infect me with Malaria. I’ve officially been diagnosed with the deadly disease on 5 different occasions, and I can tell you first hand, it is not fun, but one time in particular was much worse than the rest.

It was the first time we had moved to Kenya, and we were living in Nakuru when I began to feel ill. I’d never had Malaria before so I wasn’t sure what the symptoms were or what to do about it. Yes, I had all my immunization before I traveled, but there are many different strains of the virus and the shots cannot protect from them all. Sorry to burst your bubble.

Anyways, I became weak. So weak, because I couldn’t keep anything down (or in or up or however you want to put it). I lived in the bathroom with a bucket because for the first 4-5 days it was coming out everywhere, all the time. I tried my best to stay hydrated, knowing how important that was, for myself and because I was nursing little E, but it got to the point that I couldn’t even keep water down. I tried drinking pineapple Fanta (in place of ginger ale) one tiny capful at a time to settle my stomach every six hours or so, and I couldn’t even keep half a grape down. I easily lost¬†15-20 pounds over the course of the maybe 10 days total that¬†I was sick.

Finally, about a week into me lying in bed/sitting on the toilet, E suggested we go for a walk, and that all I needed was some “fresh air”. What I didn’t know at the time was that we were out of groceries and he wanted me to help him do the shopping. And, in his romantic fashion, he offered to carry little E, ohhh thanks ūüėí. So after about a week of being literally the sickest I’ve ever been, I got dressed (barely) and started out on what was normally a 45 minute walk to the Tusky’s Supermarket. Well this time… it took almost 2 hours. I had to stop every 5 steps or so to prevent myself from passing out or throwing up (throwing up what, I don’t know since I hadn’t eaten in days, but my stomach was churning). When we finally got to the store I made E go inside and do the shopping alone, because I didn’t want to throw up inside.

Then, because I was so exhausted, I insisted E find us a tuktuk to drive us home because there was no way I would make it back without dropping dead¬†plus¬†E had¬†also expected me to carry half the groceries?!?! Seriously? Nope I wasn’t moving. I literally sat down in the middle of the parking lot until he found a tuktuk to take us home. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, and for me that was staging a “sit in’ in the parking lot.

Once home, it took me two days to “recover” from the walk before I finally told E I needed a Doctor. I realized this wasn’t just your standard Kenyan food poisoning and it wasn’t getting better on its own. So instead of calling a piki piki for me to ride on to the hospital, E suggested we start walking and we would just hail one on the way. Again, I’m past sick. Past exhausted, or the point of arguing. I’m just wanting to get better. So, I struggled to get dressed, puke up nothing a couple more times, and we start off on the very slow walk to the clinic.

Of course, with my luck, not one piki piki drives past us the entire time. And E just watches me struggle for an hour trying to get to the clinic instead of call any of the drivers he knows. But finally, we arrive.

The nurse or doctor or whomever takes my blood to go figure out what’s wrong and as I’m waiting I have to go. Like GO. NOW! So I rush across the hall to the “bathroom” which is a literal hole in the floor. Ok, fine. Since living in Kenya I’ve gotten used to the whole squatting thing, but as I frantically look around I noticed there’s no toilet paper. That’s where I draw the line. I’ll squat fine. But I have to wipe! Especially in a “hospital”? How unsanitary! So I run back to the Dr’s office where I remember seeing some Kleenex on the counter and the tech is in there so I quickly ask if I can use the tissue and grab it without even¬†waiting for a response. I RUN back to the “toilet” and barely make it in time.

Then, I have to casually walk back to the office and discreetly place the tissue box back on the counter like no one knew what was happening, while totally worn out by the sheer effort of the running. Meanwhile the tech is politely pretending he didn’t notice anything, how kind right?

About half hour later, my blood work had been analyzed and the results were in.

Turns out, I had BOTH Malaria AND Typhoid! WTF! Not one but TWO deadly diseases at the same time! No wonder a walk for some fresh air didn’t do¬†anything lol. I was actually dying. Literally DYING!

Anyways, the Doctor said he’d never seen anything like it before (story of my life) and gave me a whole bunch of different medications for the various diseases and dehydration. Then sent me on my way. I refused to leave (again) until E called me a ride, for which he obliged right away. Saying things like “Oh C, you’re so strong” and “Wow, you actually were sick”. He’s lucky I was sick and tired, because I just didn’t have the energy to tell him how I felt.

Needless to say, I’ve obviously recovered, just don’t ask me to donate blood ūüėŹ.


-Muse/Survival-