The Joy Luck Club (aka The Return of the Travelling Adventures)

It was a dark and stormy night. Inside a Tim Hortons, four weary travellers sat around a table strewn with empty coffee cups.

"Do we even know each others names?"
"Nope."
"We know the details of each others lives, yet we don't even know each other's names!"

One of the girls stepped outside for a cigarette.

* * * * * * *

The trip started innocently enough. On Monday morning after attending to work responsibilities and an appointment with one of my professors, I had 30 minutes remaining to pack and walk to the railroad tracks to catch the Grapevine. As anyone who knows me might have expected, that walk became a run as I ended up a few minutes behind schedule. But luckily the Grapevine was also a few minutes behind schedule.

Okay, so apparently the bus is actually called the Grapeline, but I like Grapevine better so I'm sticking with it.

As I got on the Grapevine I began reading my material for this trip: The Wind in the Willows. I had never read Wind in the Willows before, but I was instantly taken by the Mole, running about in the spring meadow enjoying himself. And thus I vowed to do a better job of opening up my senses to the wide world around me and enjoy the beauty.

* * * * * * *

"So where are you going?"
"I'm headed up to Smithers."
"Where?"
"It's a little town near Terrace."
"Where?"
"It's a 16 hour bus ride north of here."
"Oh, that's terrible. What are you going there for?"
"I live there, and my baby girl is there. I was down in Oregon for the last two weeks taking a vacation from my baby."
"..."
"My baby girl is wonderful and amazing, but I just need a break sometimes."

* * * * * * *

I arrived in Vancouver shortly before midnight. While I was hoping for a good veggieburger from Harveys or Burger King, along with a side of Poutine, a quick glance outside the station made it abundantly clear my only quick choice was McDonalds, so instead I settled for two large fries and a Mint Aero McFlurry.

The world cup was on, Italy vs Paraguay. As I sat there enjoying the game, the restaurant workers gradually closed one door, then the other. Then they cut the power to the television as a gentle hint to leave. I took the hint.

* * * * * * *

"Okay, whose turn is it to ask a question?"
"I think I asked the last question."
"Alright, then it's me. How many times have you been in love?"
"What do you mean by 'love?'"
"I mean like really in love, not that infatuation thing."
"Do you have to have been in a relationship?"
"Take it to mean whatever it means to you."
"Well I've never been in a relationship, ever. I've gone on one or two dates, depending on whether the second counts as a date. So I guess by your standard that would be zero."
"None at all? I think you need to live in a big city. There can't be a lot of opportunities in a small town of 44,000."
"Well..."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to have to say two and a half."
"Why half?"
"I thought I was in love but then I wasn't really."
"Then you weren't really in love."
"But I thought I was really in love."
"What about you?"
"Hmmm... Five. There was the first guy who I lost my virginity to in high school; but then he moved away because his mother was an alcoholic. There was the man who fathered my baby girl. We were together for five years. And there is my current boyfriend who is so amazing to me and wonderful."
"Well I'm going to have to say two and a half too."

* * * * * * *

My flight was supposed to leave from Vancouver airport at 4:30pm the next day, but the last Greyhound bus that would get me there on time arrived in Vancouver at midnight, so I figured I'd just sleep in the bus terminal. After all, I'd slept in the Vancouver bus terminal before, and the Seattle bus terminal, and many airports besides.

At least, I thought I'd sleep in the Vancouver bus terminal...

A short, burly security guard approached me and addressed me in a thick Russian accent.

"The station closes at 12:30. Just making sure you know."

Was he... kicking me out? Really?

Out of shock I exclaimed "then where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Don't blame me, the government made the rule."

So it was that I found myself sitting on a park bench shortly past midnight, contemplating my options.

* * * * * * *

"Alright, your turn. Where are you going?"
"I am travelling home to watch my sister graduate from high school."
"Where's home?"
"Toronto."
"What are you doing out here?"
"I am attending college at Walla Walla University, studying music education. I play oboe."
"What's an oboe?"
"It's like a clarinet."
"When's your bus?"
"I leave from the airport at 4pm tomorrow."
"Oh that sucks. We all leave at 6 and 8am."

* * * * * * *

I look around. I have absolutely no idea where the nearest hostel is. As it's past midnight, I'm a little hesitant to start wandering around the city trying to find one. As such, I begin to warm to the idea of sleeping on the bench. After all, I've always wanted to experience life as a homeless person.

Two girls walk out of the bus terminal and start heading toward me. I recognize them from the Greyhound I had taken from Seattle.

"Hey, you get kicked out too?"
"Yep."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure, but this park bench is looking pretty good right now."
"Don't do that, you should come with us to Tim Hortons."
"Is there one nearby?"
"Yeah, there's one just around the corner."
"Are the open all night long?"
"Yeah, it's Tim Hortons."

And so I went with them to Tim Hortons.

* * * * * * *

"My turn for a question: What's the stupidest thing you've ever done while drunk?"
"Well I've never drunk alcohol in my life."
"What about something stupid you've done on a caffeine high?"
"I haven't drunk a cup of coffee either. I've drunk three cokes total. And I'm a vegetarian, so you could say I'm a health nut."
"Well... you have anything that you've done that could count?"
"There was this one time I stayed up for 72 consecutive hours. I think that's pretty close to drunk."
"Sure, that works. What did you do?"
"Well I was going on a camping trip. Except I left town too late in the afternoon so I ended up barely out of the city on the first night, so I just slept in a ditch. Which didn't work out so well because I didn't get any sleep. Then the second night I was on this mountain and it started raining and I didn't have any rain gear and I started freezing because it was March so I headed back down the mountain and ended up spending the night huddling on some bridge over a creek that led to a camp. The closest I came to sleeping that night was when I felt myself fall away to the left so I threw out an arm and barely caught a bridge girder, which ended up being the only thing that saved me from falling into a creek."
"Um... wow."

* * * * * * *

After spending the entire night awake at Tim Hortons, we went back to the bus terminal.

"Did you just shave your legs?"
"Yep. They still smelled strongly of coffee. Hopefully that isn't a problem."
"I hope this guy is worth it."

Two of the four of us got on their bus shortly afterwards, leaving me and a girl to wait for another two hours before her bus would leave. I bought some Raspberry tea in a vain attempt to stay awake and keep her company, but it was all for naught. I awoke around 10am by myself, with a cold cup of tea.

* * * * * * *

"And where are you going?"
"It's a long story."
"We have a lot of time."
"Well I was coming up to see my girlfriend, but she broke up with me a few days ago. So I figured, I already had the tickets, I might as well go up to Victoria and have some fun."
"Do you have anywhere to stay?"
"I don't know yet. That's part of the fun."

* * * * * * *

It was now 11am, and I had three hours before I needed to be at the airport. Ordinarily, I'd grumble about the long layover, head to the airport early and wait at the gate reading. But what misfortune is to some people is opportunity to others. I'm in Vancouver, with hardly any luggage to drag me down and time to kill. What more could I ask for?

Thus I struck out on foot to explore the town.

After travelling through a somewhat industrial, run-down part of town, I discovered a Gelato factory. I'd never had Gelato before! Clearly this was opportunity ripe for the picking.

I found a door to a staircase saying 'offices on the second floor' and decided that maybe this wasn't an 'opportunity ripe for the picking.'

* * * * * * *

"Canadian customs people are so mean. Whenever I go through American customs they're like 'welcome home, bro.' This last time I went across the border the customs officer asks me where I'm going. I say I'm going up to see my girlfriend. He asks where I met her and I say online. Then he asks if I've ever seen her before, and I say no. And the customs officer gives me an incredulous look like I'm stupid or something."
"Well, you ARE travelling a long ways to see some girl you met online a few weeks ago..."
"So he asks what I'm bringing up with me and I have $3600 and a ton of clothes with me and he asks if I'm planning on moving up here. He finds my cellphone, calls up my girlfriend and asks if she knows who I am to check my story. He almost didn't let me through, held up the bus for 30 minutes, everyone on the bus was so angry at me."

* * * * * * *

Leaving the abandoned warehouse section of the city, I passed into what seemed at first sight like a standard busy city street. The sidewalks were teeming with people scurrying this way and that way, storefronts gleamed with fresh sales, while ahead of me the silvery shoulder of a curb and foamy tumble of an intersection, arm-in-arm with a rather ordinary looking concert hall, that held within a turn the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra, filling the air with a soothing murmur of sound, dull and smothery, yet with little clear voices speaking up cheerfully out of it at intervals. It was so very beautiful that I could only hold up both hands and gasp 'Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!'"

I walked further down the street when I happened upon a rather odd building: The Geological Survey of Canada Bookstore. Could it be? Could it be? I ran inside and begged as a favour to unpack all the maps all by myself; and the clerks were very pleased to indulge me, and to sprawl the charts at full length on the table and rest, while excited me shook out the geological surveys and spread them, took out all of the mysterious maps one by one and arranged their contents in due order, still gasping, 'Oh my! Oh my!' at each fresh revelation. When all was ready, the sales clerks said 'Now, pitch in, young fellow!' and I was indeed very glad to obey, for I had started my travels at a very early hour the previous morning, as people will do, and had not paused for bite or sup; and I had been through a very great deal since that distant time which now seemed so many days ago.

* * * * * * *

"So what's the stupidest thing you've ever done while drunk?"
"Well I can think of a lot of things... but the story I'm going to have to go with was the time I almost went home with two cougars."
"What?"
"Well I was over at a friends house for a party, and apparently I got so drunk I went home with two 40-year old women who apparently had plans for me."
"So what happened?"
"Well my friend thought about saving me but thought it was too funny to watch so he just let it happen."
"Some friend."
"I know, right?"
"So how did you get out of it?"
"I don't actually know. I woke up and didn't remember anything about that night."
"Feeling better about having never drunk alcohol yet?"

* * * * * * *

"In another life I would have been a geographer," I remarked.
"You still can be," the sales clerk replied. "Nothing is too late at your age." The sales clerk appeared to be of South Asian origin, with long, starting to grey hair. "What are you taking in college?"
"Music Education."
"Then I will see you playing with the symphony down the street some day."
"I play the oboe. Yes, I know, it's a fairly rare instrument."
"Then I will have to catch you on TV instead," she replied with a smile.

An old, grey-haired man walked in with a smile and hugs for all of the workers.

"He is our old director. He's in town for a rare visit."
"Is there more to this building than the store?"
"Oh yes, there's three floors of offices above us where the geologists and geographers work. We send out survey teams all across the west coast."
"Cool..." And for a brief moment, I regretted not chasing my childhood dream of a career in geography.

After all of this, I couldn't possibly leave without purchasing anything, so I bought a "trees of Canada" guide for some as of yet unknown future purpose.

* * * * * * *

"Whose turn is it for a question?"
"Who asked last? You? I suppose it's mine then: What is your biggest regret?"
"I'm not certain I regret it yet, but I think possibly dropping Engineering for Music."
"Oh, good choice."
"?"
"I just graduated with a Civil Engineering degree and I'm not going to use it. I just don't want that kind of a job."
"Yeah, a job is the reason I dropped. I had an internship that involved sorting traffic accident reports all day and plotting them onto a GIS. Paid well, but it was really, really mind-numbing."
"How about you?"
"Hmmm... I have a few, but I think I would have to go with starting World of Warcraft."
"Oh, yeah, that's something to regret. I once broke up with a boyfriend over that."
"Really, what happened?"
"Well I told him that if he started playing I would break up with him. I know what the game does to people. I'm an engineer--those are MY people. He said he was just going to do the 10 day trial, but I said that was it."
"Oh, I remember my gaming days. This one time I played Age of Empires for 29 hours straight..."
"I remember those missions would take 8 hours."
"Eight hours for normal people, maybe, but I always played super defensively."
"Like triple walls and stuff?"
"Oh yes, oh yes! I played that way too. Those were the days... Wait! Stop talking about games! I'm getting tempted now. Don't think about it, don't think about it..."

* * * * * * *

As it neared lunch, I started getting hungry, not the least of the reasons having been skipping breakfast. After a long search for fine Canadian cuisine, I settled on Poutine and Cherry Blasters, and sat at a bench near the waterfront, inhaling the salty ocean air. Could life get any better?

As I began eating, a gull walked up to me and began eyeing me over. "Oh, alright..." and I threw the gull a french fry. The gull hungrily devoured the french fry and proceeded to return to its original position. I threw the gull another fry, a little farther this time, in hopes it would get lost on the way back, but no such luck.

"Oh, come on, little bird. You're not 'one of the least of these, my brethren.' I'm under no obligation to help you." The gull continued to stare at me with the puppy eyes look. "Oh, fine." I threw the gull another fry. However, the fry gets caught on my fork and lands at my feet. The gull eyes me suspiciously. "So what, I've been feeding you, and you don't trust me?" The gull cautiously approaches me, grabs the fry, then runs away.

As I finish my meal, I throw my last french fry at the bird, which again lands at my feet. This time the gull won't take it. "Oh, fine, I'll move." I get up to throw the container out, and the gull grabs the fry, then noticing that I have nothing left, flies away. "I see right through that innocent veneer. You were just here for the free food, weren't you?"

The gull takes off, struggles to get about four feet off the ground, then realizes this whole flying thing isn't happening, at which point it settles back down on the ground and walks away. Suddenly I don't regret feeding the gull as much of that artery-clogging goodness as I did.

* * * * * * *

"Alright, your turn: where are you headed?"
"I'm taking the bus to Victoria to see my boyfriend."
"Great! How long have you been dating?"
"Oh, I met him in a hostel in San Francisco last week."
"..."
"It feels great! I'm doing something completely crazy and impulsive. I've never done anything like this before."
"I hope it works out for you."

* * * * * * *

With an hour left before I need to head to the airport, I figure a trip through Vancouver would be incomplete without a visit to the famous Vancouver Chinatown. Relying on my memories of studying maps of Vancouver as a 10-year old, I navigate my way through downtown city streets until I see a bank with Chinese writing, and I can just begin to smell that unmistakeable Chinatown smell wafting through the air. Imagine the smells of live seafood, mixing with that of ripe tropical fruit and concrete on a rainy day, and you'd begin to have a faint idea of what Chinatown smells like.

I began to follow my nose, with little success; the smell was soon gone, and all the retracing I could do couldn't bring it back. I began walking in a wide radius around my initial spot of discovery, again to no avail. Around the time I discovered a map of Vancouver, pointing out that Chinatown was in fact two miles away from where I had thought it was, it was time to head to the airport. Oh well--I can get it on the return trip. Also, apparently my childhood memories are not nearly as good as I thought they were.

* * * * * * *

"Aaagh!"

Our Civil Engineer friend had picked up her cup of coffee, assuming it was empty, to look inside, and managed to spill the remaining coffee in her lap.

"See this is why you don't destroy coffee cup lids."
"Great. I'm about to see my boyfriend and I've got coffee stains all over my lap."
"Coffee crotch!"
"You could always claim you were really excited to see him."

* * * * * * *

"You know, I don't feel so crazy anymore after hearing all your stories."
"Isn't that the point?"
"I don't know, are stories supposed to have a point?"
"Good question."

Recital

So it's the night of my senior recital. It's stormy outside, with lightning and thunder, and possibly wind but I can't tell because I'm inside the FAC. (In case the last sentence didn't give this away yet, this was my dream from last night.)

The auditorium is relatively packed. I'd say about 50-100 people.

It comes time for the string piece to start. We walk on stage, but all the chairs and stands are out of position. So we move them into position. Except coordinating four people moving chairs into position doesn't work so well. So we move them into position again. And no matter what we do, the chairs are always out of position.

The floor gets scratched up. After 5 minutes or so of moving the chairs, the music department desk workers show up and start doing something to the floor--it looks like they're scraping off the varnish.* Any time we try to move the chairs into position they move them out of the way; but this fact does not occur to me. Rather, I think they're trying to help but they're just doing it wrong. After all, none of us can get the chairs into position.

After 40 minutes of moving the chairs, one of the workers gives the reason for their activity--"All your chair moving has scratched up the floor and we need to repair it now. Don't worry, we'll only charge you the cost of the materials." For some reason, the cost of the materials feels like an exorbitant sum, yet the gesture of only charging me the cost of the materials feels like a favour.

At this point, I begin looking for somewhere else to finish the recital. I walk out to the foyer, where one of the friends of one of the string players is babysitting the children in either/both the art gallery and the conference room. She's in the conference room most of the time, checking up on the majority of the kids in the gallery on occasion, who are running wild, but this fact does not seem to bother anyone.

The audience is getting antsy. I call the quartet together and ask if we should play the piece in the foyer. However, before I can call for a vote, people start walking up to me to shake my hand and say they have to leave. The audience begins evaporating and the recital ends like that.

Then I wake up.

-------------------

* I'm assuming this part of the dream was inspired by the time I attempted to lock a certain practicing organist in the auditorium on her birthday by krazy-gluing doorstops to the outside of all the doors to the floor. Not only did that prank not work, but I ended up having to spend my afternoon scraping the glue off of the floor.

Distractions

Paul put it so beautifully. That which I want to do, I do not; that which I don't want to do, I do.

This morning I woke up vowing to complete the remainder of my homework for the quarter.

Today, I spent playing computer games from about 11am to 11pm.

(No, not non-stop. I do certainly hope those days are over. At least, my eyes certainly hope so.)

How did this happen?

Well, I woke up, and decided to eat breakfast. While eating breakfast, I loaded the news. I read through it rather quickly, and as there was still cereal to eat, I figured I could play a quick game or two.

About three or four hours later I caught myself and broke myself away from my game long enough to ponder doing homework. But by then it was lunch time, so I made myself some lunch. As I said down in front of my computer desk, which is also my dining table, I started to browse some web pages to keep my occupied while chewing...

Why do I get distracted? Distractions have been the story of my last couple of years. I had many big plans. Many pieces of music I wanted to write, many pictures to take, many adventures to go on, many stories to write. Most of them ended up not happening for various reasons or another.

I always had good reasons to postpone. Bills needed to be paid, my room was a mess, I needed to take a shower, the trash needed to be taken out, I simply wasn't in the mood, there was no way half an hour would be nearly enough time to get started, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. (Now, if there was two or four "et ceteras," then that would have looked odd, but for some reason one or three is fine, despite the fact they're odd numbers. Wait, sorry, got distracted.)

I suppose I could get myself treated for "distraction addiction." I've already been in to see the shrink about "computer gaming addiction," but all I've managed to prove so far is that if I ban myself (successfully) from computer games, I'll simply pick up another distraction, be it wikipedia, googling your name, sitting in a closet for hours on end going on imaginary adventures, or even--heaven forbid--reading a novel!

Besides, psychology was founded a century ago. I always wondered how those Renaissance-era people were able to survive without counselling for depression and addiction.

I got distracted again. Why do I get distracted? Is it a cultural phenomenon? Is this generation going to be forever remembered as the distracted generation? Do I have ADD? Did people have ADD before the 19th century?

...

(Sorry, ended up fidgeting with a "Final Notice--Power being disconnected in 48 hours unless we get paid" sign that was hung on my door for a few minutes. I wonder how many of those I can score before I graduate? Mmm, graduate. Sorry, got distracted. What was I talking about?)

Right, distractions. Why do I get distracted? Wait, I said that already?

Anyways. I get distracted. Do I just lack vision? Is it because I'm a perfectionist to the nth degree and won't start something that's actually important to me unless I'm capable of doing it to the best of my ability? (i.e. when I'm in the "mood?") Is it because I can't stand to spend 30 seconds sitting still that I must constantly fill every minute of my life doing something? I mean this very literally, in case you don't believe me. While the computer is booting is a great time to brush your teeth, pour a bowl of cereal, refill a glass of water. I don't remember the last time I watched my computer boot.

And of course, whatever activity I choose to fill those 30 seconds with doesn't always take 30 seconds. And a few hours later, "what was I supposed to be doing again?"

Nah, that answer sounds too neat. Life is rarely neat and organized. Gold doesn't sit there on the Earth's surface waiting for someone to walk by and pick it up.

So why do I get distracted? Do I simply need to sit down and actually do it, regardless of whether I feel like it? Do I need to relax instead of constantly filling every moment of my life with some action or another? Do I need to bring back the planner? I don't think lack of an agenda was a problem. I truly did have an agenda for today. I just got distracted.

Perhaps the relaxation isn't it. I distinctly remember as a high school student using the five minutes in between each class to get a head start on the homework for that night.

So that leaves... perfectionism? Really? Hmmm. There has to be something more.

A lack of urgency? I suppose sitting locked away in one's room all day long can lead to complacency, where you don't realize every day someone dies and every day an opportunity vanishes and every day changes the course of the rest of your life.

A lack of God? I have managed to read my devotions on occasion the last few years. God ought to be the direction of my life; the setting of the tale; my raison d'etre. But the last couple of years it feels like I take God out in the morning and put him away when I walk out the front door.

I just don't see anything holy in turning in a paper, or throwing an hour of practice at a wall, or reading through a chapter in a textbook. Granted, I'm usually too distracted to do any of these things. But life has to have greater meaning, at least for me, or else I'll end up stabbing myself just to see if I can feel something.

I don't like jumping through hoops. So many times it feels like they just throw hoops at you because you're moving too fast and "they" need to find a way to pass some time. Like an old boss said, "stop working so fast, or we'll have nothing left to give you and have no justification for keeping you around for the rest of the summer." (In case you're wondering, that was government work.)

I suppose it's hard to focus on the holy when your religion classes ask of you the same as your other college classes, which is to question your previously held beliefs, and eventually when you question so much you lose sight of what answers really are and what facts really are and what reality really is. Questioning is a great thing; but people need a foundation, you know? When an artist chips away at a block of stone, removing everything wrong and unnecessary, you end up with something beautiful; but when you take everything away all you have left is powder.

I suppose this means I will have to ponder the question of God for myself. I've been putting that off for a while. What is this question of God, you ask? What does He expect me to do? Here, on this Earth? Here, for my life?

Somehow this question relates to "Did the Hebrews really cross the Red Sea?" and "Is the Bible factually accurate?" The world was so much simpler when it was black and white. Even now it still feels like I'm struggling with trying to figure out whether such and such a shade of grey is closer to black or white.

Wasn't I supposed to be writing a post about distractions?

I suppose when you hammer away at something with enough dedication you eventually find the real issues. It's pretty hard to find the holy in the every day when you're not even sure what the holy is.

But that, unfortunately, is a post for another day. Distractions abound--in this case, sleep.