Stephanie in Suwon

The weight is wearing on me. Expectations and deadlines. Unbendable. Non-negotiable. Emotional eating and no time to work it out. No time. My body feels soft, heavy, hungry all the time. Blue lights and whispered conversations. Flashes of silver cradles, open graves and fists wrapped in blood. Swallowed whole by demons being exorcised, red wine and loud laughter. Haunted dreams. There is darkness and frozen air, stale smoke and forgotten longing. Thoughts slip through the cracks like thieves, planting themselves firmly in my mind, my heart. It’s all coming to the surface and pouring out of my eyes, my mouth. As simple as a man’s white t-shirt. As complex as a woman’s heart. And all the while….the latest story. The newest cast. Backstabbing whispers and thinly veiled contempt. The odd glimmer of hope, of interest, and then it all feels washed away, in a sea of copy, voicers and black coffee. I’ve simply got to get a grip.

I feel like I’ve been whacked across the head by one of those cartoon mallets, birds and stars circling my head. Overwhelmed by schedule rotations, due dates and the expectation that by this point, I’m supposed to have a handle on what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing. I was sitting in one of my journalism classes on Tuesday trying to listen, write, comprehend, apply, watch, learn and breathe all at the same time. The prof glanced at the clock and called for a 10-minute break. I put my head down on my computer keyboard and closed my eyes. For some reason, my mind flashed to a day I spent in a Café Passcucci in the heart of Seoul. It had been a Saturday and I had risen around 6, and crawled onto the 5100 bus. I needed to feel the city, escape, and be alone. I took the subway straight to Meyongdong, and by the time I came out of exit 6 the streets were already alive. They smelled the way so many streets in Seoul did; of coffee, garbage, baking bread and plastic. I sat in that coffee sho...

Media personalities are an interesting aspect to the program I’m currently bungling my way through. We’re a unique bunch, I’ll give us that. High school grads, fresh faced, irresponsible and full of surprises, current active members of the press, drunk on the power of information and the right to wield and disperse in the manner they see fit, biology majors who feel they have deluded themselves long enough and are learning the art of scientific storytelling, jocks, ex-figure skaters stepping off the ice and experiencing trial by fire, army brats, a bona-fide Hollywood starlet, poli-sci junkies……and me. Age gaps wide enough to drive a truck through and I watch them in wry wonder, remembering when I was their age, how much I thought I knew. The masks are intricate and plentiful, vulnerability is a detriment. There’s no crying in baseball…and all that healthy stuff. Competition is cutthroat; apparently there are only 4 media jobs left in the world so we’d better claw our way there. Af...

Be grateful for the things I have Be hopeful…not bitter…about the things I wish I had. Fall in love. Use my body in ways that are pleasurable and comforting; to myself and to those around me. Exercise a lot. Eat food that is healthy and delicious. Everything in moderation…including moderation. Drink wine. Spend as much time with my family as I can. Run the half-marathon with my father. Fall in love. Write. Be vulnerable. Smoke shisha. Breathe, be, think, criticize, analyze, dig, drop in, feel, stretch, smile, cry, twist, bend, break and heal: act. Drink beer. Watch my brother get married. Have a houseplant that I don’t kill. Win something. Go to New York with Amy. Fall in love. Read. Get another tattoo. Dance. Bleed. Lose weight. Gain it back again. Drink gin. Turn 30. Publish something. Smoke cigars. Kiss. Be OK Revel in being......a beautiful mess......... ...You've got the best of both worlds You're the kind of girl who can take down a man, And lift him back up again You are...

12 months since returning to Canada. 11 and a half weeks of teaching Gold reading, Gold writing, Master reading, Master writing, and 100 Classics to a bunch of kids who probably had more money in their bank accounts at the age of 16 then I have in mine at this very moment…summertiiiiiiiiime….and the livin is eaaasssyyyyyyyyy………. 10 thousand reminders why coming home was the right thing to do and how lucky I am every day to be where I am choosing to be. 9 thousand, 9 hundred and 99 reminders of how my experiences overseas have forever changed me and how unbelievably fortunate I am to have been able to do what I did. 8 courses in my first semester….conveniently leading into….. 7 nervous breakdowns…which is actually a record low for me……also my lucky number….. 6: The average number of times a day I wonder if the people around me have figured out that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing….. 5 days a week at the gym + walking EVERYWHERE + up and down 6 flights of stairs every day at work + ...

Lets’ take stock shall we? Snow, snow and more snow. Mom and Dad, the sound of the espresso machine and sleeping in a single bed. New places, new faces, same job, same desire to blow my brains all over the computer screen I sat in front of each and every day. Walking away. Rainbow corsets and Buddy Holly glasses. Beautiful Disaster. Reconnecting with Holli Day. The Calgary International Airport. Love. Confusion, inner struggles, tears and red wine. Skinny hazelnut lattes and banana chocolate chip cake. One job, two jobs, three jobs, four. Picking myself up from the floor. Skype. Hardwood floors, electric kettles and the smell of spring. The green neon. Greek Salad. Dirty Dancing. Butterflies. Red wine, shisha and 5am. Falling, falling….. Love. SK. The smell of the streets. Saying goodbye. I Could Say. TPR. Vogue Slims and Cafri. Saus. Skype. Broken Strings. Desire. The Heart of Life. End of the tunnel. Love. Amy. 29. Smashed and shattered. SAIT. Band-aids and broken hearts. Brunches at...

Vanilla Noir. Red wine. Fake Plastic Trees. VDEO 235. Cambodia. Passion. Coffee. White rims. Purple pens. Audio. Sample sale nails. Red and green. Pin-up. The Missing Piece. Dirty snow. Starbucks. Red underwear. Jason Mraz. Silver Belles. NYC. Wintertime maintenance.. Bing Crosby. Memories. Band-Aids. Broken hearts. ....who you wanted...... I look like the real thing……. I taste like the real thing…….