Can I please just blog?

Today I was wondering, why on Earth is it so difficult to sit in front of the computer and blog?! I am passionate about my writing, I have absolutely no friends to hang out with (my closest friend lives in a completely different time zone), I have a good computer and plenty to complain about.

So what is it? What stops me?

I can come up with a thousand reasons, but the fact of the matter is, I just don't.

My Turkey went out last night, his friend is visiting and I'm so jealous I can't even think straight. But, if I really think about it... his friend hasn't visited us since we moved to this side of the Country, and he only came to visit us once when we were on the other side. We see my friend at the other side of the World a lot more often than we see him. So why am I so jealous?

Again, I can come up with a thousand reasons, but the fact of the matter is, I just am.

I'm starting to spot a trend. I seem to do (or not do) all these things and feel all these emotions without ever really understanding why, so then, a few months down the road, I do something or say something stupid that then makes me do, or feel even worse. And I never do anything about it.

Do I complain too much? Absolutely! I know I do!

I've been sending messages to every friend I can think of, trying to schedule skype calls, and it feels like I'm a debt collector chasing payees. Nobody picks up, nobody replies, nobody really cares!

Am I surprised? Not one bit. Does it hurt? Every time. I feel that there is nothing I can do about it. I can't create a life that has other people in it because I am let down every single time. Why bother?

Facebook. The enemy. I see people's lives, how full they are, how full of love and joy. I see my facebook page, it's all complaining about this that or the other. No real life. But obviously nobody is going to put on the social page how miserable they may really be! Of course not! They are going to put things there that they want other people to see, so they can show how wonderful their lives are.

It's so medieval it's funny when you truly think abou it. Everybody gets to be a courtier. Everybody gets to show off how powerful they are, and if you are not in that circle, you are a peasant with holes in your shoes and rotten teeth.

I'm a peasant with rotten teeth.

Last Week in Vancouver

This is it. Just a few more days.

As we were approaching the runway at YVR at the end of October 2012, the sun was shining, the mountains were in full view, snow covered the tips and my heart beat with excitement. I was so giddy. I couldn't wait to get home.

That day, we had many errands to run, from booking the internet/phone connection, to sorting out the fireplace issues at our property which is currently let, we stayed awake for over 48 hours. But I was so glad and excited to be home that I didn't notice, I was numb with joy.

I had the biggest lunch of Spicy Tuna Sashimi at the McSushi close to my mom's apartment. This was the best day ever.

The next day, we woke up got ready grabbed a cab, rode the sea bus and then the sky train straight back to YVR. But I wasn't worried, in a little over 2 weeks I would be back again. I had many many days ahead that I would take advantage of everything!

I saw people, I ate sushi, I watched movies, I drank wine, I even had jagger bombs!

It was so amazing to get to have a bit of balance in life, my husband and I started working 10-14 hours 7 days a week but we also began going out more. We danced and we laughed!

My Turk had the most fun he as ever had at a New Year's party. He was like the young man I never had the chance to meet and I loved every bit of it.

I always give him a hard time because he always acts like a 10 year old and that make me feel like a mom. But I'm glad he does. I'm glad he is crazy, fun and so silly! He's the perfect Ying to my Yang!

But now... just a week to go, it is all sinking in. The apartment is still the mess we found when we first walked in and hated the idea of having to stay here. The kitchen is not finished as I wanted. I didn't see everyone I wanted to see. I didn't watch as many movies as I would have wanted to and I certainly did not eat as much sushi as I could have.

What happened?

The new baby was born. I introduce to you, Zacely Limited. Our very own brain child!

Tea Pee Tea Pee Tea...

Apologies for the rude title....
I'm just speaking from the heart.
Life is moving on... things are changing... and I have found the new meaning of Tea. It's not only my business, my future, my new love, it is my new way of living and looking at things.
New cup of tea... new cycle of pee. You brew a cup, you drink a cup you wait a little bit  you go to the toilet it comes out. The more tea you drink the more time you spend in the toilet. Not all tea is great, some is amazing... but no matter what it all ends up going through.

Isn't that the case with everything in life?
There's antioxidant ones, there's some that can get you high, fruity, bitter, strong, medicinal... the best and the worst of it stays with you but the majority just goes right through. And even the core stuff that sticks around for a bit longer, eventually comes out too.
Nothing lasts forever! This could totally be depressing, but somehow it isn't.
I just turned 30, I'm probably going through some sort of psychological panic or something, but I feel as calm as ever, and as happy as always. Stressed beyond anything imaginable, if I could afford it I would check myself into a recovery home claiming exhaustion, but that's only for overly paid under fed celebrities. I'm real, and definitely not under fed, so bummer, I have to stick it through and somehow come out the other side.
So many new plans, so many changes... never enough time to write! Maybe one day I can just pay someone to write for me instead? Let's keep working and pay off the bills first I suppose!

I'm 30!

My biggest one so far!

I feel old. I feel poor. I feel... the happiest I have ever felt! I don't know how, I don't know why, I just do. 

I'm ready for the next 10 years of my life. Bring them on. All I ask for is health and happiness to those I love, that's it. That's all I want. I am now old enough to realise that at the end that's all that matters and it's a very selfish request at the same time as I want them to be healthy and happy so that I can stay as happy as I feel today.

For my birthday, I planned a party and I asked my guests to dress up as whatever it is they wanted to be. Everyone embraced it and loved the idea! There were about 15 people at the party, I cooked and my friend hosted. We played charades, we drank sangria, and I had a lot of fun. It wasn't a crazy party it was a happy party, my sister should have been there, and she was missed but she also makes me feel uncomfortable, judged, so in a way I'm glad she wasn't. But I did miss her.

I received gifts, a friend baked me a cake and my Turk was there to share everything with me! 

Here are just a few photos of this momentous date!

He got me this lovely coat... he knows I don't like them black!

He also got me a gift certificate for fondue, both cheese and chocolate and we went in January! He knows me just too well!!

We saw this movie, which was weird... just like I like them!

Strangely enough we ended up here for my 30th birthday dinner! Who would have thought! I want to always remember, no matter what you think you want to be when you grow up, where you want to be, were you want to do, life is a lot more exciting than that and it throws things at you that you could've never see coming!

I also got lots of little gifts at the party which were all items from 1982 the best year ever!

But well before that, I got treated to a great dinner in Hong Kong! I had pasta, and salad and western food! (Don't judge... it's a long story so just go with it). Once again proving that I have to stop planning, and predicting and I have to just get on with it and enjoy :)

Hungry very hungry

It's hard to know where to start. Finding time for writing here is getting harder and harder! I'm a busy girl. But then I think, everybody always says they are busy... am I really and truly busy?

I am a director at my own company. It's a small business but with big plans. Travel is a must and very unavoidable. This year alone I have been to almost every continent including the tip of Antartica, only Australia/South East Asia/South Pacific kind of area was a bit too far. My passport is new and it looks as if I have had it already for 5 years. The traveling schedule added to the fact that I live more and more between two continents makes everything feel really busy!

I am not complaining, not really anyway. Although I'm exhausted my life is exciting. It is thrilling, stressful, blissful, happy, sad and everything in between. I look at other people's lives and I can't see myself conforming to any of them. I can't picture myself with a 9-5 job in the same city, the same area as I grew up in. My job is 9-5, but it isn't. I work 24hrs/day 7 days/week, and to be honest I love it. The blood, the sweat, the tears... all worth it.

One little problem of course, I don't make as much money as I would want. The last 3 months have been completely focused on trying to come up with a plan to change this. I am turing 30 in just a few days and just like everybody else I'm freaking out because I want a mini cooper and I can't buy one. My husband and business partner can't surprise me with one. I'll be lucky if I get a nice pair of boots or coat, and when I say nice I don't mean Dior nice. I mean Aldo nice. This is depressing. Very very depressing.

I have cried. I have hyperventilated. I have panicked. I have done all of that as I prepare myself to the realization that making money is a lot harder than I thought. But, then I stopped. It isn't that hard.. is it? Not really. I travel a lot. I speak 3 and a bit languages. I have lived in Mexico, USA, France, UK, Canada and are now getting extremely familiar with business and society in Hong Kong, China and Taiwan. All I really need to do is think. Right?

So I did. I have a plan. I have a vision. A change of direction and I can make 50% of that happen. If only I had more money! I have a fab idea for a global business but I can't quite make it happen. Where do I start? What do I do? That... I don't know yet.

I am not that person that sits and waits for things to happen. I'm not the person that sits and complains. I'm the crazy girl that gets up gets messy, cries, panics and then pretends to know exactly what she wants while getting everything so wrong, and believe me when things can go wrong they will, they always do! But.. that's me. Messy, crazy, frustrated, fidgety and easily bored.

And that's why I'm busy. Because I don't like to be bored. I don't like to sit down, I can't. That makes sense. Our lives are as busy as we make them, which is why everybody is always so busy. What busy is to someone may not be to someone else, it's always up to the individual to determine the breaking level. But I always think there is more room to do more. Ask my white hairs that seem to be coming out right in the middle of the top of my head. The plan now? Make every white hair that comes out be representative of £10,000!

Good plan I say.

The Painful Reality of Relocating (Continued)

And so we moved. We packed our bags and off we went. We had a quick sale of our things (including my very beautiful picture of a ballerina's feet close up), the piano, the Japanese tea set. Everything. Gone. Yes the horse too.

We fit things into boxes. We fit things into suitcases. Only the suitcases came with us. The boxes, I later realized went back to the city, someone, somewhere was going to take care of our things until we figured things out.

My sister and I had a student visa. My dad had to keep working in the city and he would travel back and forth. My mom was a loose end. She went with us and was expected to wait, without being able to travel back home, until her visa came.

Everything about it made no sense. Why so quick? What were we running away from? Why so far away? My sister liked Vancouver, in fact she loved it. She had lived there a few months as my parents sent her to learn English. Not me, ofcourse, she was mature and well deserved every opportunity of growth they could give here. Me? Ahem.

We stayed at a hotel with a kitchenette for about a month. It's funny how little I remember of this period. I was 14 and yet I remember almost nothing. I remember sleeping on the sofa bed. I remember my mom trying to cook food in that horrible kitchen with no Mexican ingredients available other than Old El Paso style, which are really rubbish if you are looking for the proper stuff. I remember looking out to Burrard street and not really understanding why I was there in a high building looking down at the rainy street and dimmed lights. I remember the tiny tv on the corner and how everybody was glued to it when the news of Lady Di came through. I remember my mom saying "the Queen did it." I didn't know what to think. I never liked her, she was weak, frail, boring, so plain and stupidly rebellious. I hated that my name was the same as hers. I would never grow up to date someone like Dodi!

I assume that hotel got too expensive and we still had nowhere to live so we moved to a much smaller cheaper looking place. It was still good, don't get me wrong, but it was different from the first place. We went from a four star to a two. I definitely felt the change in the decor, but the sofa bed remained the same. The neighbourhood even though we were only a couple of blocks away from the old place, had completely changed. Rainbow flags decked the streets and friendly strangers waved each other and commented on their respective dog collars. It was nice. Everybody was always so nice.

Eventually we found an apartment. My sister had taken us to Stanley Park and she said "look across the water, this is the point where every tourist guide points to the area where the richest of the rich of the whole of Canada reside. We are moving there." Her word was always good as done. She said it, we did it. So we moved to West Vancouver.

We lived one block up from the waterfront. We lived on the 9th floor. We had a two bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a balcony facing the magnificent mountains. One window had a "sea view." The carpets were cream. Clean, soft... so clean. Everything was so white. We started to take off our shoes at the door. That was weird. But it was so white!

At the time I was going to an ESL school. I learned so miraculously fast that I went from a beginner's level to the most advanced in the whole school within a month. I was hanging out with kids that were a lot older than me (I was 14 they were 16, massive difference!) I developed a crush on Wormir. Wow. What a name he had. Wormir. I had to like him, he had blue eyes and a strange name and he was from Poland. Where exactly is Poland? Maybe I should have stayed at that all girls school in the city. I wouldn't just know where Poland was, I would probably be able to speak Polish too. But then, I wouldn't have been at that superbly easy ESL school where we went tandem biking, ice skating and bowling as part of the curriculum. I became a rebel. I was late for school. I ignored my teachers. I didn't do my homework. I left to go roaming the streets of downtown everyday. The teachers were so bad at being responsible for us that they would never dare call our parents and say "we have lost your child." I was rude. But I knew, it didn't matter. My mom and dad were so worried about us being here, my mom was so disconnected, my sister was into her own school and being the best with straight A's. My teachers were young and very stupid. Whatever grades I got would not make a difference at all. So I enjoyed! I was so free, so lonely too, but I liked it. I loved being this completely different girl. I knew I didn't want that for ever and ever, but I had a crush on the baddest boy ever and I was a bad girl. He never liked me, I was so overweight and ugly! But I didn't really care, I didn't want a boyfriend, I was happy with my crush and the way I was in control of so many around me, including my teachers. Not at home, my sister was the master puppeteer, and I never really cared much to be like her at home. It was a lot easier to fly under the radar and under promise my performance. No one really expected much from me.

But that had to end. After Christmas I got subscribed to a preppy downtown private school full of international students and a ridiculously short skirt. Did I mention I was really overweight? That wouldn't have worked out. I protested. I made it clear I wanted to go to public school, like on TV. I wanted to go to a "high." I would miss the uniform, all my life I had gone to private school. But I didn't want to make friends with international kids anymore. I wanted to make proper friends not the kind that go away for holidays and sometimes never come back. My parents understood and my sister too. Well, she probably just liked the idea of the schools on TV, just like clueless. Regardless, I was very lucky and they helped me get into public school very close to home. They paid the exact same as they would have if I had stayed in public school, but the hope was that our immigration papers would go through and I would then be able to attend free.

Off I went. They had an ESL program too and I was forced to start on it. I had some regular classes (like maths and PE) but I had "special classes" like English and Social Studies. I was also forced to go back one year as I had lost four months of grade 10. So I started grade 9. I was a bit too old for this grade, but not crazily so, I was very young for grade 9 so it wasn't too bad. I never got teased about this. In fact, I never really got teased. I was completely ignored. I didn't exist. It was such a contrast from my ESL school and from my other school back at home. I was nobody. I was a dark skinned overweight bushy eyebrowed girl that didn't speak at all. I never spoke. I was quiet as a mouse. I listened. I was afraid of speaking and having this Speedy Gonzalez accent. How horrendous and life ending that would be. I would spend my lunch time at the computer room. Email was just starting to be used and I tried emailing my bestest friends back at home. 9.9/10 times nobody would reply. I was lonely, sad and wanted to run away terribly bad.

I have this thing. I always ask myself "In five years, where will you be? What will you be like? What will you be thinking? Will this moment matter or would you have completely forgotten about it?" I talked myself out of getting frustrated and I told myself to get over it and move on. My English learning had gone mad and I was now removed from the "special" classes and thrown in the regular ones. I was taking grade 10 classes too. School was really too easy at that point, so I took advantage of it. I got extra credit for typing, Spanish, English and Chemistry. Academically speaking I was doing impressively great for someone who had learned English in less than 6 months. But I didn't think I was smart. I still don't think I was. I took advantage of situations and I took control where I could. But I was still lonely and friendless.

Somehow and I really can't remember exactly how this came to be, but I ended up hanging out with the second most popular crew. For a while I had befriended the least possible crew. I knew that if I were to survive this I needed to learn more about this world, and to do this I needed to understand the "top." So I meanly ditched those girls and moved on to the top of the chain. Somehow this just worked. I got talking to this one girl and things went on from there. I had a slight make over, they took me under their wing and everybody was so nice. To my face of course. Behind my back, it was a completely different story. And I knew it. But I had no interest in being their friend. I was there to capture their accent. I sat through all their empty gossip lunches, back stabbing after school hangouts and in between classes locker talk. I never said much. I was really boring and so far from my true self. But I learned. I learned their accent, I learned their culture, I learned their ways. When they got fed up of me (I was never allowed to go to parties), and I got fed up of them (I could only take so much about whose boyfriend kissed whom and what make up they bought). I moved on. I was alone again. But I didn't care. I wanted to be alone until I planned my next move.

Our school for grade 10 merged with another school. All of the sudden there was an influx of new kids, everybody seemed to know everybody somehow and I had thought it would be a lot easier to make new friends, but it wasn't. It wasn't at all! It was daunting and horrible and I was so scared I resumed to hang out in the computer room or toilet. Ah the toilet and lunch. Very hygienic and glamorous!

Eventually I found a group. I studied them and determined they were perfect. They were nerdy enough but not so nerdy they were scary. They were funny and very smart. I liked them and I thought I could fit very well with them. So, I wiggled my way in. And finally, at the end of high school, I had friends. (Yes it took me about 2 years!) The summer after grade 12 was one of the best summers ever. For the first time in my live I enjoyed a travel free teenage summer with my friends. It was perfect. We had moved finally to our proper home, 4 bedrooms, lots of bathrooms, amazing high ceilings and bright windows, sea view, gorgeous kitchen. Everything was finally perfect.

I wanted to fit in so much, that I completely started to forget I was from somewhere else. But I could never really be just from there. I tried to forget, I forced myself to forget, but there was always something there that made me feel different. And it wasn't the muffin top.

When I was old enough, I forced my parents to support me and send me to France to learn French. I guilt tripped them about how much they had supported my sister with everything she wanted to do and it worked. They (and my sister) organized for me to go for three months to France. I was over the moon. I was ready to leave everything and once again, re-invent myself! When the plane took off, I cried. I had never been on my own before and it had dawned on me that I had no idea how to be on my own. I knew how to be lonely, but I would always go home and feel the warmth of my family. This time I was properly alone. And I didn't speak a word of French. What was I thinking?!

Arriving in France was one of the scariest days of my life. I went through immigration, I have no idea what he said to me, he laughed when he saw I didn't understand and stamped my passport. I then had to find a train that would take me to the town I would be staying at. I had no idea how to say train station and there were no little drawings anywhere. I had my luggage, the address of where I was going and a few Euros. I thought "what if I never find this place?!" I couldn't help but laugh at myself at that second. What a ridiculous thought. I'm not that stupid! So I walked and eventually found help (British Airlines counter was so helpful in English!), I got on the train and off I went. I made it to the town!

I got a taxi from there, it was late and I was so tired. I gave him the piece of paper and he took off. He then dropped me off on a street and pointed down a long misty road with stubby tall trees on either side. I thought I had walked right into a Tim Burton film. I was in one of the most romantic countries in the World, it must then be my very own nightmare before Valentine's. My two giant suitcases weighed what you are no longer allowed to carry on a flight. I grabbed both and started walking. There were no roads on this street. The side walk was earthy and in the middle the ground was gravelly. Am I in the right place? What if I'm not? It's the dead of night and I have no idea where I am.

I walked and counted the houses. When I thought I had the right one I knocked. Cruella Deville came to the door. At least she wasn't made of fabric, I thought. If only I had my very own Zero I thought. She looked me up and down and said Bonjour and a whole lot of something else which I didn't understand. Her hair was dark and long. Her shoes dark and pointy. She had a long cigarette in her hand which she was holding as her other arm was crossed. She then said in English "your sister, call." I said, oh great, I can call my sister, awesome. So we walked in, I put my suitcase down, and I said "phone?" and she said "non non" Then silence. Long and agonizing silence. She then said "room." So she walked me up this wooden old windy staircase with uneven steps. My room was on the third floor. the toilet, to be shared by 6, was in between the 3rd and 2nd floor. My room had two twin beds, a t.v, and a shower room. I thought "jackpot!" We then went downstairs and I pointed to my suitcase. She then unfolded her arm slightly bent forward and grabbed her back and said "non non." I said "but they are heavy!" and made a gesture pulling my arms up and grunting. She said "non non." Silence again. Agonizing long silence where we just looked at each other.

The phone rang. Thank God. She picked up and started speaking in French. Then she walked to me and passed me the phone. My sister was on the line and she said, "whew, you are okay, I've been trying to reach you, I was so worried!" She exaggerates, she always exaggerates. I had landed in CDG, grabbed the first train, grabbed the first taxi and walked here. Unless I had had a helicopter pick me up at the airport and dropped me off right outside my door there, I would have never been able to cut the time of travel. But this is her. Always "worried." She then said "is the lady okay? she seems very nice." I said "yup, it's all very good! she is lovely." "Call me again tomorrow, my mom wants to speak with you and ask how you are, for now go to rest and sleep off the jet lag." "Great, thanks, I'll call you tomorrow, thank you."

"Merci," I said to Cruella, she then said... nothing. Pointed to the suitcases and the stairs. So I opened the suitcase and took several trips up and down until it was lighter. Once it was almost empty, she quasi helped me up. The other one stayed downstairs until the next day.

I sat on my bed. Cruella walked in, pointed to the t.v. and said "non non," and walked out. I laid in bed and fell asleep.

The next day I woke up at around 1pm. I was so hungry but I had no food and Cruella didn't offer me any. I managed my suitcase upstairs and went for a walk. Cruella gave me a map.

The town was tiny. I walked it all within 1 hour. I walked past a cinema and I saw Lost in Translation was playing. Perfect. I grabbed some food and went in. I wanted a coke inside but realized it was 4 Euros for a tiny bottle. Um.. maybe not.

more to come!...

The painful reality of relocating

I'm slightly fearful of getting into this topic, it's something I've faced many times and every time I think I totally get it something happens that shakes my ground and I break.

I first moved when I was 8 years old. I had moved houses before, but never cities. Being so young obviously meant I had absolutely no say on the matter. I was told by my parents it was for my own good, so that I could play outside with freedom and without the worry of someone kidnapping me. I can't say I really cared. Being at an all girls school with incredibly unrealistic standards meant that I would develop an ulcer before my 14th birthday. I would be bilingual yes, but these girls were vicious. The red room (a play area) was the kingdom and becoming the queen was the quest of us all. This was obviously just the beginning. This girls were groomed to become intelligent, beautiful and the perfectly submissive wives to the elite. So, I don't remember being too bothered.

The city we moved to was small, which meant hell for the first few years as I had come from the capital. The girls and boys at my new school hated my accent. Mocked me... made fun every time they could. It was also the elite of the city but it was so different. No one was bilingual and no one really cared to know the capital of every single Country in the World. They were different. Ranches and politics measured wealth. Traveling the World meant they didn't understand you, and they really had no interest to try. But that didn't really bother me either. Who cares, bunch of small towners! I knew better. So I didn't care. Still, I had no feeling of really belonging anywhere. Friends I had from the city were gone, there was no email, no facebook, nothing, an 8 year old really didn't stand a chance at keeping in touch. I was no longer from the city as I was very much out of the loop, and I was not part of this new small town as I didn't own a horse.

Eventually, we did own a horse, my accent changed, and little by little I got accepted. New outsiders came to the school and the children found new targets. I was old news.

When I was 14 I was told we were going to move again. I was a 14 year old adolescent girl. Really mom and dad? Really? You just tell your child, by the way, we have to get rid of all your things? We move at the end of the month! Oh, and by the way, we are moving to another country. Ahem, and you are not bilingual since this school is not really very bothered with that kind of thing... oops.

......more to come.