I remember standing there, looking at him and wanting to pick up something - anything - and hurl it at his head.

Fortunately there weren't any objects within reach and pins and needles had begun to creep down my arms and legs, making it difficult to coordinate a successful attack.

"Get out!" I screamed. "Getoutgetoutgetout!!!"

I started to twirl my hair (a nervous habit since childhood) and my stomach began to knot. I looked around my apartment, trying to collect my thoughts, and realized I was shaking.

He's gone, I thought to myself. He's gone. He's gone. He's gone. He's…

Ok.

I took a deep breath and sat down on my couch. I heard the footsteps of my neighbours, walking on the floor above me. The refridgerator rattled and a car alarm went off down the street.

All of these noises seemed very, very loud.

I got up and started to pace.

Look, I said to myself. He's probably sitting in the parking lot right now, feeling foolish about the whole thing. He would never just up and leave. Why don't you march out there and tell him how much you love him. Tell him that even though he said some horrible things, you are willing to forgive him. He's not gone. He can't be gone.

I walked through the empty parking lot and onto the empty street. I stood under a street light and watched the snow fall around me.

I remember our first date. I had taken a little extra time doing my hair and makeup and spent the entire morning on the phone with my girlfriends, going on about him. Mom always said that when you meet your future husband you will know. She was right. I knew it was going to be him. Right from the day 1, I knew …

I began to cry.

For a short time I could not stand to see his picture or hear his name. The very thought of him made me want to stick my head in the sand.

And then one day I was walking down the street. A car passed and as it did I caught wind of a familiar song which brought me back to the night we first met. As it played I hummed along,

and then went about my day.

When I get a headache, I can take an aspirin and be cured within minutes. You, on the other hand, might not be so lucky. This holds true with many things - what works for me will not necessarily work for you.

I have often been told that the formula for a successful life is as follows:

- study hard;

- go to college/university;

- get a good job;

- get married and have kids; and

- retire.

Some people know what they want to do after graduation - I , unfortunately, was not one of those people. After university, I took the first job offer that came to me. It wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but the pay and benefits looked good on paper. Fast forward three years - I am miserable. In the past, I subscribed to the belief that after school, you must work, so I went out and did just that. I now whole-heartedly regret the rash decision. In hindsight, it would have been better if I had taken some time off after school to figure out what I want in a career.

Despite the fact that we all have different wants, needs, and expectations, many of us try to force ourselves into "responsible" lives that do not coincide with our individuality.

The divorce rate in North America currently hovers around 50% - leading me to believe that many people enter into marriage for the wrong reasons. Why do people get married? Is it because of a desire to be committed to one person, or because one feels it is the "right" thing to do? Who says that you need to get married anyway? What's wrong with being single?

There is nothing wrong with getting married, or remaining single, so long as you make that decision based upon what is right for you, and not those around you.

Why do so many of us live for the approval of others? I believe that often with age come wisdom and I often wonder how the elderly feel about the lives they have lived. I hope they do not feel cheated.

The next time you are faced with a big decision, ask yourself this:

Am I making this decision based on what is best for me, my family, and our ultimate happiness or am I forcing myself into something because I feel that it is the "right" thing to do?

Try not to base your decisions on the latter - It is a trap. If you go through life this way you will never find fulfillment, because you are ignoring the things that you really want.

Life is too short,

To have it governed by the expectations of others.

In 2005, The Toronto Star published a survey revealing that sixty percent of Canadians were unable to identify the victims of the Holocaust - despite the existence of numerous of countless blockbuster films, world-class literature, art, music, documentaries, and museums - dedicated to it. When pressed, the top three guesses regarding Holocaust victims were Poles, French, or British.
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I am crazy for Betta fish.

I currently own two, Phinnaeus and Groggy. Before acquiring them I spent quite a bit of time researching and have become a bit of a Betta expert. Phin and Groggy have taught me two things: one, that it is possible to spoil a fish rotten and two, that I should never, ever get a dog, because I am one of "those" pet owners. "Those" pet owners are the type to dress their animals up in funny outfits and join pet discussion groups. They have birthday parties for their pets (commonly referred to as their children) and, if they own a dog, paint the poor thing's nails.
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Little Johnny was a prodigy.

Some even called him a genius - that kid could belt out tunes like there was no tomorrow. He sang in a church choir and he was a local hero. Then one day Johnny woke up and his … uh ... voice … dropped. Poor Little Johnny could not get his groove back and in the blink of an eye, his singing career was over.

Puberty killed the radio star.

I'm sorry - I'm fibbing. I was having a hard time starting this story and I needed an opener. I have never been particularly religious, have never attended church regularly and I haven’t the foggiest clue who sings in my local choir. There never was a little Johnny; I picked this up from an episode of The Simpsons. I wanted to pass it off as real but dang nabbit …. I can't lie to you people. Sorry. I digress.

Little Johnny's story, however, raises an interesting question. Once one has achieved a high level of success, is there anywhere to go but down?

Take Orson Welles. In 1941 he produced, co-wrote, starred in, and directed what many film critics have hailed as the greatest film of all time.

He was twenty-six years old.

Unfortunately life after Citizen Kane was filled with shortcomings. Interference from studio producers and all-round bad luck resulted in disappointment after disappointment for Mr. Welles. Although some of his later works received recognition at the Cannes and Brussels films festivals, nothing in his oeuvre has ever come close to the brilliance that is Citizen Kane.

Time and again this happens. Look at Elvis Pressley. The man died on his toilet seat.

And then there is Michael Jackson. At one point the biggest superstar in the world, he is now riding the train to Crazy Town. Michael Jackson was once responsible for "Thriller", "Beat it", and the Moonwalk. Now he wants to open a Leprechaun park in Ireland and he has a kid named Blanket.

Tell me, how far do you have to fall in order to believe that it is acceptable to name your child after a piece of linen?

Don't get me wrong. Over time, there have been people that have been able to maintain their genius - Shakespeare, for example. But in my humble opinion, those that can maintain brilliance throughout their entire career are few and far between. In reality, to be blessed with genius is a rare gift. What many don't realize is that it also often fleeting.

Should you ever wake up and find yourself blessed with brilliance, I suggest you run with it. You never know how long it's going to last.

Forever had been spoken and it was understood.

One day you tell a joke and he doesn't laugh. At night he rolls away from you and says that he is tired. After a heated exchange you catch him staring at you. You've never seen him look that way before; his eyes are cold. You have always been able to read him but in this moment you cannot, for the life of you, tell what he is thinking. He blinks and smiles at you and suddenly, he is back to the man you love.

You pay this no mind.

Life changes, relationships change and anyway,

Forever had been spoken.

One day he pulls you aside and tells you that his heart belongs to another. Of all the horrible things he could have said to you, this has got to be the worst. You scream, you cry, you kick him out. You lock yourself in your room, face down on the bed, sobbing.

Thankfully, the pain subsides quickly.

You are a strong woman and one man's weaknesses cannot stop you from loving again.

You have always learned from life and now you understand that while love is beautiful it is also, at times, dangerous. You have learned that it is important to not to rush things, and that love must grow over time. Love that sparks quickly can delude someone into believing that when forever is spoken, your fate is etched in stone.

There is nothing more painful than realizing that the man who said he would never leave you,

Is halfway out the door.

This is a story about a girl I once knew and it has been written with her permission.
***

Don't eat. Do not eat. Only eat a little when you are hungry. Stop before you are full.

Carrots and grapefruit are good - peaches and bananas are bad.

Do not eat.

Three simple words - but she can't get it right. It makes her feel inadequate. If you were to see her you would stare at her dumbfounded; at 5'6" and 120 pounds, she is a beautiful, healthy weight. There is no reason for her to be looking in the mirror and saying:

Do not eat.

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If you haven't already, read Gwenwhyvar's post on marriage.

I have never been married or engaged but have had many discussions with my mother, who has been happily married for thirty years, on the topic. Here are two pieces of advice that she has given to me:
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The wheel barrel was across the street from my house, on Mrs. McLeaver's lawn. It was a large piece rested permanently in the centre of her land. She had put soil in its body and every summer, beautiful flowers bloomed.

Mrs. McLeaver was a nice lady and when the neighbourhood children engaged in hide and go seek the wheel barrel was my favourite place to go; if I angled myself just right, I was practically invisible.

Mrs. McLeaver was elderly and one day, sadly, she passed away in her sleep.
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Cheryl hates cleaning - she'll do anything to get out of it. While sorting the junk in her closet, she comes across an old journal.
When she was seventeen, Mr. Ryan challenged everyone to keep a diary for a semester. Those who wrote in it five days a week would get five bonus marks on their final grade. Honour system.
It would have been easy to cheat - but Cheryl decided to accept the challenge. She discovered that she loved writing and when the journal was finished, she started another. Many would follow.
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Ah, reputation.

To borrow the words of Robert De Niro in Stardust, it takes a lifetime to build and a second to destroy. Fortunately, if you are hell-bent on ruining your credibility, there are many ways in which you can do so. A few popular methods include:

- committing fraud;

- lying;

- becoming a politician; and of course

- hypocrisy.

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I hate most film students.

Don't get all bent out of shape - I have earned the right to that opinion. I studied film for four years and I have an Honours degree on the subject. More on that later.

Wait a minute - where are you going? Don't close that window on me. We art students are intellectuals too, you know. Gentle reader, I implore you: Do not write me off based on what I studied in school.

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As a child I knew three things about Malaysia: I knew that it was very, very far away, I knew that Malaysians ate curry, and most importantly, I knew that my grandmother lived there. When I was six years old, I wouldn't eat anything voluntarily except for chocolate cake and hot dogs but I was willing to brave the curry and the long plane ride for a chance to meet Grandma.

My father immigrated to Canada in the 1970s and I can't imagine what it must have been like for him. He left everything he had ever known and traveled to the other side of the planet with limited funds and no connections. He met my mother, a Canadian, in 1976 and brought her to visit Malaysia in 1978 shortly after they were married.

Three years later, I was born.
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Leona Helmsley, the notorious “Queen of Mean” passed away Monday. Upon learning this, I expected to open the newspaper and find something celebrating her accomplishments, as is the standard when someone with money dies. Recall the recent passing of entertainment mogul Merv Griffin. For a week after his death, newspaper, radio and television time has cast him in a positive light. Unfortunately for her, Ms. Hemsley is no Merv Griffin and the coverage of her death has been quite different.
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Hong Kong is known for many things, but open space is not one of them. Every square inch of the city is used for living, working and gathering. Here in Kowloon, alleyways are not shady; people have set up makeshift markets in the small gaps between buildings. Every vendor shells the same items and I see a fake Gucci watch five times around the city before I decide to purchase it. It breaks on the flight home.

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[NOTE: This article describes a car accident that I was involved in. If you are squeamish, I suggest you skip this one].

There are five of us in the car.

I'm in the backseat, with someone on each side. The car reeks of cologne and hairspray - we're going clubbing!
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Amsterdam's Red Light District is packed with tourists and rowdy American college kids.

There are bright lights and beautiful hookers but there is no lust, no drug-fuelled shenanigans spilling out onto the street. At 3 in the morning, Amsterdam's Red Light District appears just as safe as the suburban streets back home.

Disappointed, we wander in and out of side streets determined to find the seediest coffee shop in all of Amsterdam.

And then there it was.
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One day the sun was bright and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I had nothing to do until late in the afternoon so I decided to visit Alex.
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A couple of weeks ago I was watching Terminator 2. There's a scene in which Eddie and Arnie watch a couple of kids engaged in a play fight. Eddie turns to Arnie and says.. "we're not going to [survive] ... humans, I mean".
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One day I had to leave work early and of course, that was the afternoon the elevators were shut down for maintenance. I had a bus to catch, the last one for an hour. In heels I ran down 29 (!) flights of stairs and across the street to Union Station, Toronto's version of Grand Central.

Union is always busy during business hours. By this time I had two minutes to catch my bus, which was departing on the other side of the building. Off I sprinted, weaving in and out of people, calves aching. Finally my knees gave out and I belly flopped/face planted right onto the floor.

SO embarrassing.

Except that nobody noticed.

Well that's not completely true. One man, engaged with his Blackberry, actually stepped over me.

Heartwarming.
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