I am standing at a train station. Waiting, for I know not what. A train is blurring past. The force of its speed blows tendrils of my hair up and away from my neck. In the windows, I see familiar faces.
Familiar in the sense I know their names, and parts of their history.
And by the looks in their eyes, I know they know mine.
But they are on the train, and I am not.
I am waiting.
Will the train slow down, or will it accelerate out of sight, and I, out of their minds?
I could have been on that train, but I chose not to be. Instead, I went to a far-away land, where I had adventures, and changed.
But I'm back, trying to gauge if I should chance it, and hop on.
Will there be room? Is there any use? I know I'm not staying long. I supposed to get off at the next stop.
Maybe I should I wait for the next train?
Life doesn't give us a timetable.
Friday 11 May 2018
Monday 5 February 2018
It Doesn't Feel Real
I said goodbye to my Grandpa Victor today.
I spoke a tribute and sang a song at the funeral.
Last night, I walked into a funeral home, and saw his face for the last time. The hands were his, but the face? Something was missing. He was missing.
And I am missing him. He was my only grandpa. He was in the picture for all of my life. I had the privilege of being his first grandchild. It's been a week since he left, and I've been overcome with memories. My grandparents were an integral part of my childhood. All day, surrounded by his siblings, children, nieces and nephews, I caught sight of him in their faces, heard his voice in their laughter, and thought, "This doesn't feel real."
Not seeing him last night, not the service, or the limo ride to the cemetery, or touching the urn with his ashes. I keep expecting him to walk through a door. I keep wondering if it's his voice I just heard. His smile is everywhere.
The grief hasn't really hit me yet. This is my first loss, my first goodbye to someone related to me, who's influenced my life. I have his flair for the theatrical, love of music, and curly hair. I love working with my hands. My grandpa was a quiet man, but he loved spending time with those he loved. My childhood brims with memories of bike rides, picnics, kite flying, gardening, and watching him in his workshop, bringing shapes and furniture out of blocks of wood.
Many lovely things were said about him today. I feel I know him better after hearing the stories his family shared, and seeing pictures of days gone by.
I don't know what to do now. I don't know when the haze will clear, and I'll see he isn't there.
The loss of him has created a lostness in me, which I think will fuel me to love my family more.
Thank-you, my community, for the love and care you've shown my family. It does not go unnoticed.
In closing, I leave my favorite memory, which I shared at the funeral:
I spoke a tribute and sang a song at the funeral.
Last night, I walked into a funeral home, and saw his face for the last time. The hands were his, but the face? Something was missing. He was missing.
And I am missing him. He was my only grandpa. He was in the picture for all of my life. I had the privilege of being his first grandchild. It's been a week since he left, and I've been overcome with memories. My grandparents were an integral part of my childhood. All day, surrounded by his siblings, children, nieces and nephews, I caught sight of him in their faces, heard his voice in their laughter, and thought, "This doesn't feel real."
Not seeing him last night, not the service, or the limo ride to the cemetery, or touching the urn with his ashes. I keep expecting him to walk through a door. I keep wondering if it's his voice I just heard. His smile is everywhere.
The grief hasn't really hit me yet. This is my first loss, my first goodbye to someone related to me, who's influenced my life. I have his flair for the theatrical, love of music, and curly hair. I love working with my hands. My grandpa was a quiet man, but he loved spending time with those he loved. My childhood brims with memories of bike rides, picnics, kite flying, gardening, and watching him in his workshop, bringing shapes and furniture out of blocks of wood.
Many lovely things were said about him today. I feel I know him better after hearing the stories his family shared, and seeing pictures of days gone by.
I don't know what to do now. I don't know when the haze will clear, and I'll see he isn't there.
The loss of him has created a lostness in me, which I think will fuel me to love my family more.
Thank-you, my community, for the love and care you've shown my family. It does not go unnoticed.
In closing, I leave my favorite memory, which I shared at the funeral:
One of my clearest, most vivid memories of Grandpa is of when I four.
It was an October morning, and I awoke to Grandpa excitedly calling my name. “Esther, Esther, get dressed, and put your shoes on!” Still groggy from sleep, I stumbled into my clothes, and was helped into my shoes. He flung open the front screen door, and took my hand. The world had been transformed into a mysterious sparkling white wilderness. The diamond shell crunched under my feet. “Esther, it snowed!” His excitement ignited my curiosity, and I explored the yard, leaving trails of footprints. More snow meant learning the magic of gathering up the white fluff in my mittened hands, shaping into a ball, and delighting when I hit my target-often unsuspecting grandpa.
Then, wonder of wonders. A ball not meant to be thrown, but rolled along the ground, gaining girth. And another, till it was triple stacked. Snow-man. Next, the frantic raiding of refrigerator and closet, in search of clothing for our creation.
A photo snapped. Esther and grandpa, beside their snowman.
Grandpa, from building snowmen, to working in the garden, you taught me how to work with my hands, but more than that, how to see the wonder in everyday tasks. Something I have never forgotten. Thank you for being present in my life, and being the best, and my favorite grandpa. In my 22 years of life, every single memory of you is a good one. I think that’s an amazing legacy. I love you.
Friday 18 August 2017
Catching Up And Moving On
I often stand with my back to the future.
Gazing into my past, I try to sift through my mistakes, sorting out what I could have done differently, trying to learn, so history won't repeat history. Yet, sometimes I wonder if I wander the mazes too frequently. Have they become regular walking paths? Maybe I've learned what I can from the labyrinth.
I feel my lives colliding; present, future, past. I'm finally catching up to myself; the part of me who knows it's time to move forward. I've wrestled with questions. Some, I'll never know the answer to.
It is sad to say goodbye to yesterdays. There are memories I've clung to, wrapping myself in them like a blanket, shutting out the present, resting in an easier, simpler time.
Though, as time goes by, some memories become tainted by reality. The present always seems to burst the idealistic past's bubble, and I must accept things will never go back to the way they were.
That is not the nature of life.
The sweetness leaves some memories, and no matter how long I wander in the past, I find myself in the present, a slight bitterness on my tongue.
I cannot get the past back.
A part of me has waiting for the rest to catch up.
I think I'm finding and meeting her now.
I like this woman. I can see by the light in her eyes she has not given up. I can tell by the occasional flicker of wariness across her face she has known deep pain and loss, and has not forgotten the salty taste of heartache's tears.
I like this woman. She is becoming bolder when she needs to, and discovering the worth of silence. She is many things I've always wanted, from her long hair, to her adventurous spirit, to her heart who's bottom is yet to be found. She is spontaneous and dependable.
I like this woman, facing the winds of future-change, unafraid.
She's let herself hope and dream again, while still remembering to breathe, and stand on her current stepping stone in time.
She is holding out her hand to me.
She has waited patiently for me to catch up. I haven't been ready before now.
We take our first step together, maybe for the first time ever.
Forward, on, moving as one.
Gazing into my past, I try to sift through my mistakes, sorting out what I could have done differently, trying to learn, so history won't repeat history. Yet, sometimes I wonder if I wander the mazes too frequently. Have they become regular walking paths? Maybe I've learned what I can from the labyrinth.
I feel my lives colliding; present, future, past. I'm finally catching up to myself; the part of me who knows it's time to move forward. I've wrestled with questions. Some, I'll never know the answer to.
It is sad to say goodbye to yesterdays. There are memories I've clung to, wrapping myself in them like a blanket, shutting out the present, resting in an easier, simpler time.
Though, as time goes by, some memories become tainted by reality. The present always seems to burst the idealistic past's bubble, and I must accept things will never go back to the way they were.
That is not the nature of life.
The sweetness leaves some memories, and no matter how long I wander in the past, I find myself in the present, a slight bitterness on my tongue.
I cannot get the past back.
A part of me has waiting for the rest to catch up.
I think I'm finding and meeting her now.
I like this woman. I can see by the light in her eyes she has not given up. I can tell by the occasional flicker of wariness across her face she has known deep pain and loss, and has not forgotten the salty taste of heartache's tears.
I like this woman. She is becoming bolder when she needs to, and discovering the worth of silence. She is many things I've always wanted, from her long hair, to her adventurous spirit, to her heart who's bottom is yet to be found. She is spontaneous and dependable.
I like this woman, facing the winds of future-change, unafraid.
She's let herself hope and dream again, while still remembering to breathe, and stand on her current stepping stone in time.
She is holding out her hand to me.
She has waited patiently for me to catch up. I haven't been ready before now.
We take our first step together, maybe for the first time ever.
Forward, on, moving as one.
Wednesday 25 January 2017
Turbulence.
Fasten your seat-belts.
Sometimes I wonder if God gets a small measure of amusement at my tiny soap opera of a life.
Honestly.
The rate of crazy things, and how quickly my life changes, is truly astonishing.
Or is it?
Maybe everyone's life is like this, maybe it's part of being human.
My mom and I had a chat over Christmas about the bizarre things that have happened to our family. How it seems like we can't have a single year without some strange storm to blow us off course.
And I realized my life has lacked constancy ever since I was born.
Growing up a missionary kid, we were always moving, always making new friends, always travelling to new churches to raise support.
Politics forced us back to Canada, we had a year and a half of perceived peace, then we up and go to Winnipeg, of all places. But even there, what we thought we came for changed.
Change, change change.
Curves ahead.
Rocky road.
Turbulence.
Career changes, changing churches, house renovations.
I was swept in the tidal wave, adapting as best I could.
I was good at it. I became adept at letting people in, and letting people go. Staying deeply unattached. I craved constancy, even though I had no name for it at that point.
How I longed for a rock in the surging sea of change.
I found solace in books, knitting, music, and my dog.
The unasked question, every time I met a new person.
"Will you stay?"
Now, at 21, I see life works in cycles. Seasons.
The question is answered. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
I've spent a majority of my life trying to cling to shreds of what I thought would last forever.
Sound familiar?
and yet,
"Quick now, here, now, always-
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well
All manner if things shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one."
Excerpt from "Little Gidding" of The Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot
Sometimes I wonder if God gets a small measure of amusement at my tiny soap opera of a life.
Honestly.
The rate of crazy things, and how quickly my life changes, is truly astonishing.
Or is it?
Maybe everyone's life is like this, maybe it's part of being human.
My mom and I had a chat over Christmas about the bizarre things that have happened to our family. How it seems like we can't have a single year without some strange storm to blow us off course.
And I realized my life has lacked constancy ever since I was born.
Growing up a missionary kid, we were always moving, always making new friends, always travelling to new churches to raise support.
Politics forced us back to Canada, we had a year and a half of perceived peace, then we up and go to Winnipeg, of all places. But even there, what we thought we came for changed.
Change, change change.
Curves ahead.
Rocky road.
Turbulence.
Career changes, changing churches, house renovations.
I was swept in the tidal wave, adapting as best I could.
I was good at it. I became adept at letting people in, and letting people go. Staying deeply unattached. I craved constancy, even though I had no name for it at that point.
How I longed for a rock in the surging sea of change.
I found solace in books, knitting, music, and my dog.
The unasked question, every time I met a new person.
"Will you stay?"
Now, at 21, I see life works in cycles. Seasons.
The question is answered. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
I've spent a majority of my life trying to cling to shreds of what I thought would last forever.
Sound familiar?
and yet,
"Quick now, here, now, always-
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well
All manner if things shall be well
When the tongues of flames are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one."
Excerpt from "Little Gidding" of The Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot
Friday 25 November 2016
The Lie of I Can
Life can change in the blink of an eye. You know that I know that.
I'm tired. I'm tired of having to adapt to new, overwhelming situations.
I've heard I can. I've heard I'm strong. I've heard I'll get through.
Chase your dreams.
You can do anything you put your mind to.
Lies.
The truth is, I can't.
I'm not strong enough right now. I can't muster up energy that isn't there. I can't push myself like I want to. Sometimes I can't get out of bed in the morning. Except I do. Somehow. I rise. and eat, and go to class. Sometimes I pay attention.
I'm in a show. We open tomorrow.
Finals are coming up. Since I'm at a theatre school, most of them are performances I'm not ready for.
The next four weeks stretch out in a daunting array of tasks to complete.
Have I mentioned I'm tired?
Maybe this sounds like I'm complaining.
Maybe I am. I know I chose this program, I had a good idea of what I was embarking on. But you can't always foresee what will happen. The challenge lies in the unexpected.
I'm discovering my fragility, and have the responsibility to respond to what my body, my soul, my heart is telling me.
I can't.
Most of the work that happens here is emotional, internal. We're taught awareness and breath. Listen to instincts. Respond to your scene partner. Be affected.
What happens when my instinct is to sleep?
Yet, I go on. There is no stopping. I marvel at the human body and mind. What it's capable of withstanding. What I'm able handle. Somewhere, deep inside me lies resiliency.
So, of course, I wrote a poem. Maybe not where I'm at right now, but where I hope to be.
Resiliency.
When shadows come to shroud my joy
The sun sinks as sleep escapes
I lie in shades of darkness
Dream bring no respite
One thing comes to rescue
The uncanny gift
Resiliency
I stretch my hands to stop the time
From marching regimentedly
But it continues, putting distance
Between me and what has hurt me
Unasked, it heals
Granting
Resiliency
I'm tired. I'm tired of having to adapt to new, overwhelming situations.
I've heard I can. I've heard I'm strong. I've heard I'll get through.
Chase your dreams.
You can do anything you put your mind to.
Lies.
The truth is, I can't.
I'm not strong enough right now. I can't muster up energy that isn't there. I can't push myself like I want to. Sometimes I can't get out of bed in the morning. Except I do. Somehow. I rise. and eat, and go to class. Sometimes I pay attention.
I'm in a show. We open tomorrow.
Finals are coming up. Since I'm at a theatre school, most of them are performances I'm not ready for.
The next four weeks stretch out in a daunting array of tasks to complete.
Have I mentioned I'm tired?
Maybe this sounds like I'm complaining.
Maybe I am. I know I chose this program, I had a good idea of what I was embarking on. But you can't always foresee what will happen. The challenge lies in the unexpected.
I'm discovering my fragility, and have the responsibility to respond to what my body, my soul, my heart is telling me.
I can't.
Most of the work that happens here is emotional, internal. We're taught awareness and breath. Listen to instincts. Respond to your scene partner. Be affected.
What happens when my instinct is to sleep?
Yet, I go on. There is no stopping. I marvel at the human body and mind. What it's capable of withstanding. What I'm able handle. Somewhere, deep inside me lies resiliency.
So, of course, I wrote a poem. Maybe not where I'm at right now, but where I hope to be.
Resiliency.
When shadows come to shroud my joy
The sun sinks as sleep escapes
I lie in shades of darkness
Dream bring no respite
One thing comes to rescue
The uncanny gift
Resiliency
I stretch my hands to stop the time
From marching regimentedly
But it continues, putting distance
Between me and what has hurt me
Unasked, it heals
Granting
Resiliency
Friday 14 October 2016
To Tree and Poppy
Firsts
Life can change in the blink of an eye
Some things I saw coming,
Some took me by surprise
Full of very last first times
Tour guiding, music writing, line memorizing
Opening night
Hiking and sunshine
First date
Long drives, late nights
Lives colliding
The bird who became a sister
Secrets kept and spilled
Shared giggles
Dreams born
Morphed
Knowing smiles
Dinners cooked and eaten side by side
Movies past midnight
Special songs, goodnights and good mornings
Goodbyes
Distance
Before you go, let’s eat one more cyclone
Talk about the road we’ve walked
Probing the depths of each other’s hearts;
Boys, found and lost
Faith and God
The summer we never wanted to stop
Long hugs
The ache of seasons change
Of what I’m not supposed to miss
New beginnings
Classes and auditions
Lines, scenes, and songs
The process once more begins
Fresh challenges
Phone tag
One month in, some things haven’t changed
In the blink of an eye
Six months of my life
Friday 20 May 2016
Accepted and Fragmented
It's been nearly three weeks.
The letter came.
I'm in the Mentorship Acting Programme!
But I barely had time to register that fact in the swirling soup of my brain.
May 2nd I began training for my summer job; leading tours at the Atlas Coal Mine! Plus, I was doing a dance show that week.
Second week of May, rehearsals for a friend's final project began.
If you haven't heard from me lately, it's probably because I've been running and running and trying to keep my head above water. Ha! And I though school was busy. I think in a way, school prepared me for this new level of crazy. The end is in sight, though. My month of racing from work to rehearsal to bed to work to rehearsal to bed to work to. . is ending soon. The show goes up June 3, and closes June 5th. I'll (hopefully!) be able to resume my social life, and maybe get some time to myself, to sort out the fragments of thoughts and emotions I keep hitting the snooze button on, because there simply isn't time to feel right now.
Prayer would be appreciated!
The letter came.
I'm in the Mentorship Acting Programme!
But I barely had time to register that fact in the swirling soup of my brain.
May 2nd I began training for my summer job; leading tours at the Atlas Coal Mine! Plus, I was doing a dance show that week.
Second week of May, rehearsals for a friend's final project began.
If you haven't heard from me lately, it's probably because I've been running and running and trying to keep my head above water. Ha! And I though school was busy. I think in a way, school prepared me for this new level of crazy. The end is in sight, though. My month of racing from work to rehearsal to bed to work to rehearsal to bed to work to. . is ending soon. The show goes up June 3, and closes June 5th. I'll (hopefully!) be able to resume my social life, and maybe get some time to myself, to sort out the fragments of thoughts and emotions I keep hitting the snooze button on, because there simply isn't time to feel right now.
Prayer would be appreciated!
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