Sirene Winter - Whistler

 

It's been difficult to pen my thoughts on this particular subject. Perhaps it's because if I think about it for too long, the pain resurfaces. When you lose someone close to you, the pain doesn't go. You just learn to handle it, control it, hide it better. You would think after four years it would be easier.

 

I found out about my friends passing amongst the serene Whistler landscape. You can say this post is a long time coming.

 

In the lonely cold air, I walked aimlessly along the trail trying to grasp the concept of him not being around anymore. I inhaled the overpriced strawberry flavoured cigarettes. The smoke mingled with the airy fog. The beat of my pulse rages through my body and is a constant reminder of this ever present life.

 

In a way, even until his last days, it was as if he was still looking after me. Making sure I was amongst placid lakes and breathtaking mountains to soothe the fall, to feel that I was a little closer to heaven, a little closer to him. Without knowing his fate, his last words to me was goodbye and that he will miss me. He had given me closure without having to ask for it and for that I thank him.

 

 

 

 

Concrete Jungle Where Dreams Are Made Of Part 1, New York City

Yellow cabs honk their horns,
Bikers swoosh on by in between the nooks and crevices,
Empire State shines on,
Couture strut their glory in Bryant Park,
As birds migrate to Central Park

The iconic New York City.

Grabbing bagels from a vendor across the street we wait behind the businessman, the man in sweats and the boy in a bike. Rockefeller Centre is along the way, the passerby run into our shoulders. We are scared to venture into the ice skating rink as the fear of unknown eyes witnessing the worst of falls is not a story we want to be remembered for.  With a DSLR in hand, I snap a photo and move on.

Where there's Broadway, there are aspiring actors. We stumbled onto Ellen’s Stardust Diner full of aspiring stars making a living performing and serving us food. I hope that the 18% tip will help them get thru the week and they do end up making it in the city that never sleeps.

Our feet is our means of transport. During the journey of getting lost, we stumbled onto one of many entrances of Central Park. Autumn has come and the wilting leaves creates a sea of orange on the sorry grass.  Birds lie on Angel of the Waters, in Bethesda Fountain while a father and son stroll thru The Mall.  

A man playing bongos outside his window in Greenwich while singing "two girls should smile a bit," as we pass by. We consciously eased the corners of our mouth to show we are nice girls as heart. We reach the doorsteps of Carrie Bradshaw, the fictional Sex and the City character and take a picture with our best heels on. Ceramic pieces are hung on a wired gate to honour those who were lost during the tragic Sept 11 occurrence. We honour the lives that were lost and the heroes who risked their lives.

A Simple Map of New York City courtesy of NYCTourist.com

Treading on Water (Vietnam)

The war museums displays deform babies in jars and the forests have apparent scars from man-made crates. The remnants of the Vietnam War are a stark contrast to the bustling city. I am crossing the Ho Chi Minh streets with a nervous friend gripping my hands as hundreds of motorcycles steer around us. Without any shield, our lives are in the hands of drivers in the scampering vehicles.

Walking from the War Remnants Museum to the theater is a journey itself. Our minds are still recovering from the museum displays yet we have to be alert while crossing the streets. The raw imagery is heartbreaking and we feel the sympathy for the people. We stop by a small shop that makes Pho. A bowl for each of us, we add mint and chilies to the traditional Vietnamese noodle. As the sweat drips down our face, we enjoy every spoonful of the delicious soup topped with thinly sliced beef. The Ca Phe Nom (Vietnamese hot black coffee) made the meal that much more pleasant.

The small kid crouching at the ditches senses our vulnerability and approaches us. We have to politely say no to countless children as the plea for any spare change. My friend uses body language to say ‘no’ and an angry kid hits him in the rear and chases us for a block.

We run into the theater to hide from the furious children and also catch the Mua roi nuoc, Vietnamese water puppetry. In the 18-th century, at its peak, troupes would travel around Vietnam to perform in lakes of the Red River Delta. Now, we have to go to theaters with water basins to see them. Water has always been a key feature in Vietnamese culture. The word for water (nuoc) also means country.

As the lights dim and curtains rise, firecrackers rattle as the drums violently bang and cymbals clash. The wooden puppets portray scenes of Vietnamese life as they float above the reflective surface. The art form illustrates the simplicity and beauty of the country. As I witness the ‘soul of the rice fields’ in the theater, it fades all memories of tanks and effects of Agent Orange defoliation.