My other roommates were unperturbed by the sleeping strangers, but I was perplexed. What was going on?

A few minutes after I had awoken, one of the strangers stirred and saw that I was staring at him with a puzzled look. He hurriedly got off the floor, woke up the rest of the room, and headed down the hall. He returned a minute later with seven friends of mine, each one wiping the sleep from their eyes. They joined the six sleepy people in my room (three roommates, three strangers) in a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” before they all told me to go back to sleep so that they could get some more rest.

That’s when I noticed it was only 6am.

The strangers were easily explained: they were alumni who had graduated last year and had come to visit. When they heard that it was my birthday, they thought it would be fun to surprise me when I woke up. Of course, they didn’t expect to wake up so early.

Classes were canceled that day because of a previously-scheduled series of workshops for all students that ran for half the day. After the workshops, I spent some time in my kayak out on the Juan de Fuca Strait. The rest of the day was spent celebrating and partying — and then, as I later learned was customary, by being thrown into Pedder Bay (in clothes, unexpectedly) at midnight.

I went to sleep that night feeling cold and wet, but incredibly loved.

Last week, I celebrated my 28th birthday. There were no strangers in my apartment when I woke up, no rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” at 6am. Work was not canceled, and I did not spend the afternoon in a kayak on the Pacific Ocean. I went home relatively early after going out with some friends (there was no partying into the night), and I was not thrown into the ocean at any time.

Despite all that, I went to sleep that night last week feeling incredibly loved.

Thank you. Thank you to everyone that made me feel incredibly loved through emails, tweets, Facebook messages, phone calls, text messages, letters, cards, office parties and hugs.

And thank you, as always, to T, whose birthday emails every year I look forward to most. From her email this year:

Happy Birthday
To someone I love and respect
To someone I think has enormous potential
To someone I am so glad that I count as a friend
To someone that has made a contribution beyond what he realizes.

Last Tuesday may not have been as epic as my 18th birthday, but I’ve realized, a decade later, that the best way to celebrate a birthday is knowing that there are people out there that love and care for you.

And that it’s not really fun to go to bed while cold and wet.

(Photo by Angélica.)

When I moved from New York to Toronto, I was nervous, maybe a little scared. My fellow students at my school in New York had told me that Canada was a country where it was always cold, and where I would be forced to speak French. My family was moving to a new country where we didn’t even have our own place to live (we stayed with extended family in a small apartment for the first few weeks) and where I didn’t have any friends. I was, understandably, apprehensive.

There was snow on the ground when we arrived in Toronto in January. I remember that well. I also remember my first day of school, a few days after we had arrived. I remember putting on an old parka that my uncle had found, adjusting my toque (with a colorful pom-pom on top) over my ears, and wiping the frost from my coke-bottle lenses so that I could see as I stepped on to the large yellow school bus. I remember worrying about not knowing where to sit on the bus, worrying about not knowing where to go once I arrived at school, worrying about not knowing how to navigate the playground politics at a schoolyard where everyone had known each other for at least half a year already.

My worries were unfounded. The bus driver smiled at me when I walked on, and introduced me to everyone on the bus. I sat next to Elizabeth on that ride to Elmlea Junior School, and she helped me navigate my first day at a new school, in a new class, with new friends. Elizabeth ended up being in my class not only that year, but every year until the end of the sixth grade, and became one of my closest friends.

That day, my first day of school, everyone I met didn’t think I was some chubby kid from another country wearing too-large glasses and a hand-me-down parka. Instead, I was someone who had new stories, new adventures, new experiences — someone that they wanted to learn from, someone that they wanted to help settle and feel at home. I didn’t feel like a foreigner, an outsider: I felt like someone who had gone away for a while and was coming back to family, to a place where I belonged.

In the many years since that day, I’ve come to realize that my experience wasn’t unique; a friendly and receptive nature is built into the character of the country. Newcomers to Canada aren’t just welcomed, but they are encouraged to bring their cultures, their customs, their traditions, their experiences, and their knowledge and share with the people around them. I may be stereotyping, but from every experience I’ve had, Canadians not only want to help newcomers feel settled, but also want to learn from them and cherish their similarities and differences.

As I watch the Olympics happening in Vancouver, I’ve heard a lot of negatives, but mostly I’ve been hearing accolades about my country, my home: that we have stunning natural landscapes, that we have an excellent health-care system, that we are the home of some of the most talented comedians and musicians, that our banks and our economy are strong, and that the people are extremely polite and modest.

All these things are great, but what people often forget is that, in addition to our politeness and modesty, Canadians thrive on diversity. Instead of just accepting or tolerating differences of culture, creed, opinion, and perspective, we in fact encourage it, hope to learn from it, and make it an essential part of our national fabric. Canada, almost uniquely, is a country whose national identity is tied to learning from others, and accepting diversity into the national narrative.

That hospitality that we are offering the world in Vancouver right now is not just a show for the Olympics: it is who we are.

Canada is a place where even a chubby little kid from another country wearing too-large glasses and a hand-me-down parka can feel at home. That’s why I am, and always will be, proud to be Canadian.

(School bus photo by iboy_daniel. Olympics photo by Tyler Ingram. Video of Tom Brokaw talking about Canada by NBC.)

After his short phone call, I asked him if his family was okay. He replied, not completely relieved, that his parents, wife, and children have been living in the USA for the past year or so.

Perhaps foolishly, I remarked,

“It’s good that you’re all here, safe.”

Auguste sighed.

“Yes, it’s good that my blood relatives are here, but the people in Haiti, still there, they are my family too. I may be safe here, but my heart is still with my Haitian family, under the rubble.”

(UN Photo/Logan Abass/The United Nations)

A year ago yesterday, I landed in Washington DC, moved into my apartment, started a new job, and embarked on a new adventure, a new journey in life. And my, what year it has been.

In the past twelve months, I have discovered the joys of having my own fireplace, helped someone find their way in a new city, celebrated my 27th birthday, been separated from and reunited with a dear friend, been inspired, flown in a hot air balloon, rediscovered the joy of travel, rethought my career, stared into the clouds, taken a much-needed vacation, grieved for my grandma, tried wearing contact lenses, got in a fight on the Metro, hiked through the Blue Mountains, and ushered in the new decade in the most spectacular of ways.

Yes, what a year it has been.

Over the past month, I’ve been asking myself a common question that comes with any anniversary: what’s in store for the next year ahead? It’s hard to predict the future, but I do have some answers.

For one, I’m moving back home. Back to Toronto.

I haven’t figured out all the details yet — in the next few weeks, I’ll share more information about the reasons for my decision and what it means for the future — but I should be back in Toronto in early April, ready for new adventures, new opportunities, and new experiences.

Again, expect more details later. For now, I’m off celebrating my one-year anniversary in DC, and looking forward to a new and exciting year ahead.

(Photo by Thomas Hawk.)

For a few years now, I’ve been choosing a word that would guide my actions and thoughts throughout the next 365 days. Last year, I wrote about that word on I Tell Stories for the first time, and a lot of people seemed to embrace the idea.

Last year’s word was “create,” and I had done a good job in 2009 to use those six letters to give some definition to the way I lived. This year, I had to pick something that was reflective of the changes I knew were ahead of me. After Maria sent me a link to this wonderful post by Luisa Weiss, I was sure that the word for 2010 would be “leap.”

Over the next few days, I began to ponder: why did I even pick a word of the year in the first place? What real value and meaning did this process have in my life? Why was I sharing my word with everyone here on this site? What did it mean to me, to everyone that read this post, that I was sharing my yearly direction in public?

Other things began to weigh upon my mind: I knew 2010 would be a year of change, but 2009 had brought along quite some change as well. I hadn’t been apprehensive about those changes at all. Did I really need to guide my year by “leap” when I had done a fairly good job of leaping in the past? And why was I looking for change — in my career, my location, my lifestyle, my relationships — this year so badly? What did it mean that I was unbalanced in my present circumstances? Why hadn’t I found peace with myself — something I lacked considerably in 2009 — when I had accomplished what I had set out to achieve at the start of the year?

I decided not to write my “word of the year” post upon my return to Toronto or my subsequent return to DC because I needed to ask myself why; everywhere I have been, everything I have done in the past year — what did it mean?

People often find it unnecessarily esoteric when you tell them that you’re searching for meaning. What does “meaning” even mean, after all?

I’m planning to explore that, this year. I’ve chosen meaning as my word for the year because I’m tired of doing things, making decisions because they are easy or make other people happy or even because they just feel right at the time. I want my decisions on what I buy, what I eat, what I say, where I work, where I live, how I spend my hours, who I interact with, what information I’m consuming, what I’m creating, to all be driven by a sense of meaning, reflection, and understanding.

I’m hoping that my search for meaning will also help me find some balance, some peace with who I am, right now — something I lacked in 2009 and was evident in the way I behaved.

This new year, I’ll be leaping, for sure, but instead of running off the edge and waiting to be caught, I’ll stand at the precipice, ask myself why I’m jumping, and then commit myself to the skies ahead with intention and purpose. And meaning.

(Photos by Amy Taylor and Craig James White.)

At the start of this decade, I was still at Pearson College, getting ready to graduate and explore new opportunities at Georgetown. A lot has changed in ten years.

Since then, I have graduated from high school and university; I have visited and worked in dozens of countries across the world; I have flown into more airports than most people can name; I have fallen in love and had my heart broken a few times; I have kayaked in three different oceans; I have started my own consulting gig and watched it flourish; I have had numerous clients and contracts; I have made friends that will last me a lifetime and some that were wonderfully intense for a few weeks or days; I have written thousands of letters on pretty notecards and paper; I have plunged into depression and had experiences that have almost crushed my soul; I have helped launch projects that I can now look back upon with a sense of accomplishment; I have watched several people close to me pass away, and others get married and start new lives together; I have constantly and continually found happiness in the smiles, in the hugs, and the wonder of others around me; I have loved and have been loved deeply, fondly, beautifully.

There have been many people that have changed my life this decade — teachers, employers, family members, strangers, best friends — and I hope that, in some small way, I have had at least a tiny impact in the lives of a few people these past ten years.

I’m off to Chicago tomorrow to celebrate the end of the year and the coming of a new decade with loved ones. In the meantime, here’s a look back at 2009, briefly:

2009: I Tell Stories

A few of my favorites (selected from the 84 posts I wrote on this site) this year.

Letting Go (January)
“Those of you who haven’t had someone close to you get married will be extremely surprised by the amount of burgers, hot dogs, Red Bulls and Diet Cokes that is consumed on an average wedding day.”

Twenty-seven (February)
“Today, as I celebrate my twenty-seventh birthday and enter what is officially my late twenties, I’d like to assure my teenage self that I have never stopped dreaming and that I’m still driven by smiles.”

Pocket change. (March)
“The old man hadn’t spoken to his son in twelve years. On that piece of paper was the return address corner of an envelope of a card his grandson had mailed to him over eight years ago.”

Release. (April)
“For the past six years, I couldn’t imagine life without my plush Pooh Bear. Two weeks ago, I gave him away.”

Social Media: A Defense (April)
“I have seen innumerable tweets, blog posts, and videos that all decry the so-called ‘social media expert’ or anyone working in social media as hacks who know nothing about their craft and are trying to brand themselves as being professionals in a domain which they do not really understand”

The Return. (May)
“I came home from work last night to find a small UPS package waiting for me at my apartment. In it, a plush toy and a two-page letter.”

Welcome party. (July)
“I was alone and a little overwhelmed. The cab driver could see the excitement and apprehension on my face. He offered to give me a quick tour of the city before dropping me off at my dorm.”

Left behind. (August)
“All my life, I’ve been the one who did the leaving. I left my birthplace as a baby, and left New York as a child. I eschewed going to the same high school as all my friends in order to go to a French school in downtown Toronto, and ended up leaving that school after a few years to finish my secondary education on the other side of the country.”

Mountains. (December)
“The weather was perfect for a leisurely hike: a paper-thin mist hung low in the morning sky, just barely covering the peaks of the mountains in a hazy gray while below the valleys were filled with verdant trees and crimson rocks that shined as they caught the errant rays of sunshine that peeked through the light fog.”

2009: World Wide Web

A few of my favorite articles, blog posts, and feature stories written this year, A non-exhaustive list, of course.

Maxing Out Your Triangle (Jack Cheng)
“Some people might ascribe to the philosophy that it’s okay to be at a well-paid-yet-crappy day job and use the remaining time and money enjoying your hobbies. I disagree.”

Does She Love You? and Does He Love You? (Pasha Malla)
“If when his mother calls he looks you in the eyes through the whole conversation, which obviously comprises her asking questions about you and him answering with vagaries like ‘Yeah, great,’ and ‘For sure, really good,’ and when he hangs up he doesn’t say anything, just sits there grinning like a total fucking idiot—he’s sort of a pathetic momma’s boy, but so was Biggie, and, whatever, he loves you.”

Remembering Gene (Roger Ebert)
“Gene died ten years ago on February 20, 1999. He is in my mind almost every day.”

Is Food the New Sex? (Mary Eberstadt)
“What happens when, for the first time in history, adult human beings are free to have all the sex and food they want?”

What You’ll Wish You’d Known (Paul Graham)
“If I were back in high school and someone asked about my plans, I’d say that my first priority was to learn what the options were. You don’t need to be in a rush to choose your life’s work. What you need to do is discover what you like. You have to work on stuff you like if you want to be good at what you do.”

Why Do They Stay? (hilzoy)
“So imagine yourself, in love with someone, on your honeymoon or pregnant, when suddenly this guy just goes ballistic, often for very little reason, and hits you. For a lot of women, this is profoundly shocking and disorienting.”

Pretty Sketchy (Jason Santa Maria)
“Sketchbooks are not about being a good artist, they’re about being a good thinker.”

Like Mother, Like Son (Men’s Health)
“I’d like to say I am all man, but 50 percent of me, genetically speaking, is 100 percent Mom. I am reminded of this every morning when I look in the mirror and see her unibrow reclining above my eyes like a caterpillar on a deck chair.”

Blind Prom (Sarah Wilson, Nicole Pasulka)
“I remember last year overhearing a conversation a couple was having as they were reuniting before prom. She grabbed his hand and ran his fingers along the sequins of her dress, to the curls in her hair, and to the strand of pearls around her neck. His response was an exuberant, ‘Wow, you look so beautiful!’ I know that she felt beautiful.”

15 Ways to Fix the World (The Atlantic)
“‘Make no little plans,’ said President Barack Obama last spring as he rolled out a pitch for a high-speed rail network—yet another presidential initiative to lift America out of recession and chart a new national course.”

Being alone (Maria Pontikis)
“The best company in the world, I think, is sitting in an armchair reading, with a favourite person close-by – each of us doing our own thing – occasionally looking up to smile or share a passage. The welcome being of quiet company. Feeling someone around without words, indulging in the reverent dead air.”

Sincerely, John Hughes (Alison Fields)
“Tonight, when I heard the news that John had died, I cried. I cried hard. (And I’m crying again.) I cried for a man who loved his friends, who loved his family, who loved to write and for a man who took the time to make a little girl believe that, if she had something to say, someone would listen.”

Politics of the Plate: Selling the Farm (Barry Estabrook)
“After six generations on the same 400 acres of rolling pastures, lush fields, and forested hillsides tucked up close to the Canadian border in Vermont’s remote Northeast Kingdom, the Borlands were no longer a farm family.”

Good Tips at the End of His Meals (Frank Bruni)
“Scratch off the appetizers and entrees that are most like dishes you’ve seen in many other restaurants, because they represent this one at its most dutiful, conservative and profit-minded. The chef’s heart isn’t in them.”

The Awesomeness Manifesto (Umair Haque)
“Let’s face it. ‘Innovation’ feels like a relic of the industrial era. And it just might be the case that instead of chasing innovation, we should be innovating innovation — that innovation needs innovation.”

Rules to Eat By (Michael Pollan)
“Every trip to the supermarket these days requires us to navigate what has become a truly treacherous food landscape. I mean, what are we to make of a wonder of food science like the new Splenda with fiber”

100 Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do (Bruce Buschel)
“Do not make a singleton feel bad. Do not say, ‘Are you waiting for someone?’ Ask for a reservation. Ask if he or she would like to sit at the bar.”

Back to the Land (Maira Kalman)
“The fabric of our lives is bound in the food that we eat and the way we sit down to eat.”

Barack Obama’s Work in Progress (Robert Draper)
“But to the Obama White House, words are deeds. This belief that the president can swoop down and save the day with a game-changing speech has become a cornerstone of the administration’s political strategy.”

Belly and heart (Maria Pontikis)
“Now and again, one is so amazing that we cheer in delight and fall off our chairs and triumphantly proclaim that in the history of friends and recipes, none has been better and none will be better, until the very end of time.”

Thoughts on tour (Charlie Hoehn)
“And therein lies the best career advice I could possibly dispense: just DO things. Chase after the things that interest you and make you happy. Stop acting like you have a set path, because you don’t. No one does.”

Rebuild. (Jon Crowley)
“Unless you’re supremely lucky, you’ve probably gone through something in life that broke you. Not permanently, maybe not even visibly, but there has been one, or many experiences that have left you in a state that isn’t quite what you, or those close to you, would call pristine. This is okay.”

Faux Friendship (William Deresiewicz)
“Yet what, in our brave new mediated world, is friendship becoming? The Facebook phenomenon, so sudden and forceful a distortion of social space, needs little elaboration. Having been relegated to our screens, are our friendships now anything more than a form of distraction?”

2009: My Year in Cities

Arlington, VA
Chicago, IL
Denver, CO
Milwaukee, WI
New York, NY
Philadelphia, PA
Roanoke, VA
San Francisco, CA
San Jose, CA
Washington, DC

Montreal, Canada
Ottawa, Canada
Toronto, Canada
Waterloo, Canada

Barcelona, Spain
Birmingham, United Kingdom
Istanbul, Turkey
London, United Kingdom
Paris, France

(One or more nights were spent in each place. Inspired by Kottke.)

On to 2010

The year 2009 comes to a close in two days, and with it, memories — of Bosphorus-side parties, hot air balloon rides, ducks in pairs, Australian beaches, fireside Thanksgiving dinners, Spanish culinary adventures, graffiti-marked castle turrets, space monkey searches at the museum, and so much more — will be stored away as remembrances of years past.

Time to usher in a new decade, to be surrounded by our favorite friends, and to remind the special people in our lives that they are appreciated, valued, and loved, every single day.

Thank you, all of you, for your support, encouragement, feedback, and honesty through this year and those that came before it. Happy New Year!

(Photos by: Amber Ellis, -34, Maria Pontikis, John Gruber, Jaci Sue, Jennie Clutterbuck, Heidi Swanson.)

Ouch.

I know that the email, and that line, was well-intended, but it still hurt. Mainly, because I get comments like that every day of my life — some nicer than others.

It’s not uncommon for me to be told that I should stop “pretending” to care about how other feel. It’s not uncommon for people to say that the things I do to try and make people smile are disingenuous and fake. It’s not uncommon for people to accuse me of lying on this site, making up stories for my own self-edification. It’s not uncommon for some to look at the things I do for the people I love and accuse me of harboring ulterior motives, for scheming, for wanting something that’s not there.

I get those kinds of messages, those types of comments, every day. I ignore them regularly, but before I push them away to the back of my mind, the back of my inbox, the back of my direct messages list, I’m always struck by sadness.

It’s easy to be cynical, these days.

I am truly sad for those people who are quick to jump to skepticism and disenchantment when they witness beauty and kindness, especially during the holidays. My Christmas wish is that we’re able to wake up tomorrow morning with a sense of wonder and amazement at all the lovely things around us, at all the amazing things people are doing for others, every day.

It’s easy to be cynical, but it’s important to remember that everywhere in the world, there are people who smile at you because they are happy to see you, and not because they are scheming or plotting. There are people who ask how you’re feeling because they want to make sure you are okay, not because they feel that it’s their duty. There are people who do things for you because they want to see you happy, not because they want something in return.

There are people who will sacrifice, and give, and care, and share because they love you dearly — love you not with any hope of reciprocation, or with any desire of wanting more, or with any ulterior motives, but love you because you are, indeed, special to them in so many different ways.

It’s easy to be cynical, but it’s only when we cast off the cynics around us and shed our own doubt and skepticism that we are able to fully appreciate the beauty and wonder in the people, in the world around us. The next time we witness something good, something special, something beautiful, maybe we need to stop asking why that person is acting so wholeheartedly and dedicatedly, and instead just admire their spirit.

Apologies for this perhaps prescriptive post, especially on Christmas Eve. I’ll stop proselytizing now.

Happy Christmas, everyone. Hope your holidays are filled with joy and laughter and family and friends and unending displays of selfless love.

(Photo by Matt West.)

I received five submissions, one of which I can’t print here because of the subject matter. You can read the other four stories, unedited, below.

And if you’re in the mood for a cupcake or other amazing baked goods, do be sure to check out Sugar Baking.

Worst.Sister.Ever

By Natalie.

I fear my memory is going….quickly. Two weekends ago, I forgot my lil sister’s birthday, and she was actually WITH me for the whole day! I am the WORST. SISTER. EVER!

So this past weekend, to make up for it, I decided to bake her a dozen cupcakes, icing and all. However, the temptation to just buy a beautiful, professionally decorated cake instead was VERY tempting while I was out getting the cupcake ingredients. But I resisted the temptation - nothing says ‘I’m SO sorry, please forgive me’ like baked goods you put your heart, tears and soul into, right?

All was looking great until I went to put on icing – this is when I realized I couldn’t make the cupcakes look pretty for the life of me – my cupcakes just had big blobs of icing piled on top, and no matter how much I tried to ‘smooth’ it out, nothing but peaks and valleys!

But I sprinkled them with lots of confectionary colour and drove out to Hamilton from Toronto to surprise my sister with my cupcake love and birthday candles, fingers crossed she would forgive me.

I have the BEST sister in the world, so there was no hesitation in forgiveness, and actually even wonderment that I had felt bad to begin with because, she said, spending the day together was all she would have asked for! The cupcakes and surprise visit were a big hit – even garnered a BEST. BIRTHDAY. EVER. (greatly exaggerated, I’m sure) - But she even said the cupcakes looked great – now that is love!

Secret Item

By mererhetoric.

I love cupcakes, so of course I had to impart my own preferences on my sister’s bridal shower!

When you put a group of ladies together, you get both creativity and heightened competition. Perfect.
I baked a couple dozen vanilla cupcakes with Magnolia’s popular recipe, and a secret item slipped into one liner. Some sprinkles, frosting, coloured gel tubes, smiles and much laughter later, a contest of cupcake decoration was complete, with the bride-to-be choosing her favourites. (photo attached)

What was the secretly slipped in item? An “engagement ring” to help indicate who would be getting married next. The bad news was that it went to an already wedded lady, but it’s all just fun and games!

The Big Three Oh

By Risti.

I turned thirty years old this year. The big 3-0. Upon hitting this landmark I decided that I was old enough to celebrate in the way that I wanted and to do something sweet for myself. So, I didn’t ask anyone for presents. I didn’t ask anyone to do anything special for me or to throw a party for me. Afterall, I’m thirty now, aren’t I old enough to do these things for myself? No more settling for an awkward dinner out with the family, trying to please the little sis, trying to find a cake that everyone approves of, trying to make everyone else happy on my own birthday. Instead, I picked up the phone and called my favourite cupcakery and ordered thirty custom cupcakes. One for every year. I had them delivered to my office and I paid for them myself. I shared the cupcakes with my co-workers then took the rest home to enjoy. I made homemade pizza that night because that’s what I wanted. When my family asked me what kind of cake I wanted, I proudly told them that I had bought myself cupcakes. My sister was so confused. “You mean you bought your own birthday cupcakes?” Yes. Believe it or not. I’m not a little girl anymore, I’m not a little princess. I have a job and a mortgage, I pay my bills. I can buy myself birthday cupcakes. Mom and dad, you can buy sis a trip to Mexico for her birthday. That’s fine. I just paid for my own Mexican holiday and it feels great.

Friends are Like Cupcakes in the Bakery of Love

By Jenna.

For four years I lived in residence at U of T with a handful of exceptional young ladies. Yes, in an all-girls dorm. We all loved each other dearly and did practically everything together. We would even shower at the same time in these stall-like showers that offer semi-privacy so you could talk/sing to your neighbour with the help of some mighty echoes. I swear, we deliberately would schedule our showers simultaneously to do this sometimes. That specific activity with my dear pal Chloe. Well, needless to say, we would also goad each other on to finish school work as well, since that was supposedly our most pertinent and pressing purpose in life at that time. We’d force each other to do work, and then meet for “breaks” that would inevitably last longer than the proposed study period to watch old seasons of absurd reality programs.

At one point, towards the end of one of our years there, we decided to celebrate some larger milestones (like finishing entire courses) by taking a jouney up Yonge St on foot. Partially for one of our American pals who hadn’t really fully experienced Toronto in her year there studying Philosophy and Ancient Greek. She was also planning to leave us to become a Dominican Sister, so it ended up being the only eight months she was ever to spend in Toronto (thus far). Well, it made sense to us to walk from Bloor to way North of Eglinton and stop the journey at the Cupcake Shoppe. So really this trek was to be a major benchmark for quite a few of us. It was actually the last year in Toronto for one of our most beloved Dons as well, and our journey was to commemmorate all of that as well. We planned this excursion about a month in advance, and literally perused the menu online to decide which cupcakes to get on arrival. I’m almost certain I ended up getting a “Curious George.”

When I think of that time I can only reminisce on how much I accomplished while simultaneously having so much fun with some of the most awesome broads around. It is hard to even grasp the concept of how many essays I once wrote when now I cannot finish just one over a span of a year. Sometimes I think back to that time with those ladies, when we’d just park our laptops next to one another, one of us playing the Sims (because she had finished all her coursework for the term) while the other frantically churned out yet another final paper (few of us actually wrote exams due to our Humanities-related vocations) and I wonder if I could have ever even done it without them. Now, I think, the one thing I’m really trying to accomplish is how to be my own friend during the tough times, you know? I am getting there though, even without the cupcakes at the end of a Yonge St. climb.

Today wasn’t the greatest of days, because I just found out that my cousin Amanda (one of those fine gals) won’t be able to come back to Canada for the holidays (they are all literally dispersed around the world and I’m the only one remaining in Toronto) and yet now I’m not too concerned about getting the prize cupcakes, because looking at this photo again and thinking back on those fine times has made me smile.

I met Wes on my first day volunteering at the local soup kitchen earlier this year. He was friendly, sometimes boisterous, and everyone loved him. The amount of charisma that he held in his 68-year-old body put me to shame: I was convinced that there wasn’t a human alive that didn’t fall in love with Wes as soon as they met him.

Wes had no family. His parents passed away when he was in his late teens, and there wasn’t much of an extended family around to take care of him. His wife had died early into their marriage; he never remarried. Wes spent his years working as a handyman, fixing things at a factory in Philadelphia when they needed fixing. When the factory closed about fifteen years ago, Wes was unemployed, with no savings, no family, and few resources to help him get by. He made it to DC at the age of 63, and has been living in subsidized housing in the city for the past five years.

I didn’t have a regular schedule at the soup kitchen, but every time I would return on a Sunday morning, Wes would be there to greet me with a friendly smile and a few words of wisdom. He never once complained, and was always thankful that the soup kitchen existed so that he could have a well-cooked meal a few nights and days a week.

I was serving orange juice one sweltering Sunday morning in early July, when Wes tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Vasta, let me show you how much I enjoy this orange juice.”

I watched him drink the orange juice slowly, relishing each gulp as it went down his throat. After he had finished the glass, he turned to me and said (I’m paraphrasing), “Vasta, you may think that was just a glass of orange juice, but to me, it was proof that on this hot summer day, someone cared enough for me to help me stay not just fed, but also cool and refreshed. Thank you for caring.”

Support your local food banks and soup kitchens.

It’s easy to take food for granted. When I’m hungry, I open the fridge, and if that’s empty, I walk down the street for take-out. Not everyone has that luxury, and I’m reminded of that every time I see Wes and the others at the soup kitchen.

This holiday season, if you have the means to do so, support an organization that helps bring food to the tables of people that don’t have the same kind of access that you do. It doesn’t matter if you donate canned goods to the food bank, volunteer at a soup kitchen, or attend an event like HoHoTO — if you can, try to do something for the people around you that need some help to keep food on the table.

And if you are going to HoHoTO tonight, tell everyone I say hullo and that I’m sorry I can’t make it down for the party. I’m happy to sponsor HoHoTO not just because the money is going to the Daily Bread Food Bank, but also because I love and believe in the wonderful community of people that attend the event and help put it together. Have fun, everyone.

(Photo by 96dpi.)

My Nanimaa (maternal grandmother) had been ill for quite some time, and had spent the past few years in and out of the hospital. In late summer, they moved her to palliative care because the only thing that the doctors could do for her now was help her deal with her pain.

I spent some time with my Nanimaa when I was last in Toronto in September. While I was there, visiting her at Sunnybrook Hospital, she asked me her usual battery of questions in her broken mix of English and Kutchi:

Do you have a new girlfriend? (No.) Are you doing well at work? (Mostly.) Where’s your brother? (At school.) Are you eating well? (Too much.) When are you getting married? (Not anytime soon.) Do you call your mom regularly? (Every day.)

It was the usual questions, and we had our usual chat about work, the length of my brother’s hair, my non-existent love life, and the family.

Before I left the hospital to head to the airport, I told my Nanimaa that I would be back, soon, to see her again. She told me not to worry — instead of promising to come back soon, she made me promise two things:

• That I would take care of my mom.
• That I would go, live life, and be happy. Not stay, not look back, but forge ahead, do exciting things, and be happy.

I promised her that I would.

My Nanimaa passed away on Wednesday. She went peacefully, happily.

I flew back to Toronto on Wednesday night to pay my last respects, yes, but also to take care of my mom. She’s the most important person in my life, and plus, I made a promise to do just that.

On Monday, I fly back to DC — I go back to forge ahead, do exciting things, and work on being happy.

A few people have asked me about funeral arrangements. The funeral will be held at 8:50am, tomorrow, Saturday December 12, in Scarborough. Email me or leave me a comment if you’d like more details. Thank you all in advance for your support, sympathies, and love.