Ottawa: the epic love/hate story of my life.
Whenever I am asked, “Where are you from?” a part of me hesitates. I am never sure how to respond to such a simple question. For a multitude of reasons, my family would pack up and settle somewhere new. Each town, city, and country had an equal influence in forming the person I am today. We never stayed long enough to know all the secrets of each place, but lived there long enough to let the spirit of it seep into our skin, hair, and hearts. Home was something we packed into a suitcase.
Now that I have grown, I feel myself growing restless with each place that I inhabit. I am constantly dreaming of new cities to explore, imaging conversations with friends I haven’t made yet, and feeling the kisses of future lovers. I love the opportunity to create a new mystique around myself, create a whole new me and no one would be the wiser. That was something that always appealed to me whenever my parents would say the words, “We’re moving.”
There is only one city that I resented moving to. Ottawa: the epic love/hate story of my life.
When I was 17, I was dealing with the shear agony of adolescence. Naturally, this was a very painful, guilt-ridden and substance-induced process. High school seemed irrelevant. What was the point of writing a 500 word essay about “what it means to be Canadian” when 9-11 just happened and the Americans were looking for blood? School was not a place I could ask questions. My parents made the mistake that is easy to forgive. After becoming accustomed to tuning out their extremely garrulous daughter over the years, they never heard me tell them that I was flunking out of high school and wouldn’t be graduating in the summer.
It was Christmas day. I was nestled on the floor amongst the torn wrapping paper building a tower out of the books I was given. That was where my mother broke the news of ‘the move’.
“Sweet pea, I am being sent to Quebec for job training. I will be gone for almost a year.” I stared at her waiting to hear more. There was always more.
“Also”, she continued, “Your father has been promoted and needs to move to Ottawa.”
My dad and mom exchanged glances.
“We want you to stay here, take care of the dogs, and graduate.”
“When will you be leaving?”
There was a pause, and big intake of air, “Tomorrow”.
Solitude really cracked my disposition. I was trapped in this claustrophobic nightmare and nothing would wake me up. At night I would curl up into a ball on the living room floor and just scream. I was screaming because I heard the jingle of my skeleton’s chains in my closet. I would try to peel the skin away from my arms and legs because I was so hollow and wanted to see if there was anything under it.
One evening, a friend of mine decided run away from his parents house and live with me. The story was his parents thought he was too immature to get a drivers license and to prove their point, he ran away. When the front door was opened to his excited knocking he was met with me. I was really happy that Marilyn Manson and I were to have another friend join us in our tea party. In my excitement, I forgot that I was naked, and didn’t notice my friend’s horror at the sight of the strips of flesh cut out of my body. I was wresting a chair from the pile of furniture I barricaded against the other doors and windows, so he could sit down to a table already set for two. As my friend surveyed this macabre spectacle, he spied the cupboards in the kitchen bursting open with obscene amounts of dog food.
“Ah... I don’t think I would like some tea thank you...” My friend’s voice trailed off as I looked visibly disappointed. “Actually, I would love to go for a walk with you.” I set the wooden kitchen chair down on the floor and a look of utter terror flashed in my eyes.
“You mean... go outside?!” I squeaked.
“You’ll be fine! We can go garden gnome hunting and it will be fun!”
He walked up to me and took my hand and led me upstairs to my dark bedroom. He opened up one of my dresser drawers and started to dress me. Then he held my hand and we took the 45 minuet walk to the Richmond General Hospital.
This was my third psych assessment in my life. I was given a prescription for prozack and a phone call was made to my parents. This was the choice I had to make: Move to Ottawa with my parents, or be committed into hospital. I didn’t want to leave Vancouver, and all the things that were familiar to me. I didn’t want to leave my friends, and my youth worker, and psychiatrist. I dropped out of high school a second time and packed all my things and moved to Ottawa.
My first impression:
Ottawa felt like such a cold place despite the hazy weather.
I fell into a simple routine.
8:00AM -11:00AM school via correspondence
11:00AM- 12:00AM was lunch at my local high school so I could meet people.
I was flourishing through home schooling. I completed two years of high school in six months. It looked like I was going to graduate before the fall, and I would be able to start a life in Toronto pending on whether or not I get accepted into post secondary there.
Ottawa was never supposed to be a permanent place. I didn’t really make an effort to make friends. Just before my birthday, I found out that GVDES sent the wrong transcripts to OCAD and I lost my place. The lady in admissions reassured me that I can re-apply next year when I get this all sorted out. I was devastated. My brand new boyfriend dumped me not too long after that and I was falling apart at the seams. That fall was probably one of the loneliest times I ever experienced. All the friends I had were in BC. I wrote them letters nearly everyday.
I would describe winters in Ottawa as:
Crispy. Sharp. Glittery.
It was the middle of winter when I met Dick and Tracy. These were the 1st two individuals who were interested in having anything to do with me. As Dick and I knew each other more intimately Dick and Tracy’s relationship deteriorated. In hindsight I understand her jealousy and anger towards me. My 18 year old self did not. Dick was like a brother to me. I adored him. He was my family. That was all. She rallied all the people I was acquainted with behind her. In order to save my reputation I would have to say goodbye to my only friend in Ottawa. It felt like everyone I met was callous, cruel, and cliquey. I endured the threats of violence, cruel words, criticsm, and jokes at my expense. In exchange Dick and I continued our regular nights of chemical induced confidences and comedies.
In desperation, I applied to every single art school in Canada. As I was waiting for my acceptance letters, I met four noteworthy people.
Honey Bee, James, All Spice, and Fabio.
Bee was my only female friend. She and I banded together as THE social pariahs of
H-Block
James and Fabio were my geeky sober friends. With them I would debate important topics such as “What was the best Star Treck franchise?” (I would always say the original, and James would always insist on Deep Space Nine.) I would go on ridiculous adventures with Fabio like hunting for ice cream in -40 weather.
All Spice.
Probably the second person I ever loved. The best way to describe that brief relationship was a passionate chess game. No one was innocent. We were tragically destroying each other, but in a way he saved me.
As winter melted and gave way to muggy sleepless nights, I would wait for my letters outside and listen to Ottawa sleep. The wind was like steady breaths. A little unknown fact to most people is that night time is the time that ants are the most industrious. I would feel them crawl over my toes as I would watch them rebuild their sand castles that my mom would so cruelly kick over during the day.
Then the day I was waiting for came. I got my letter to ECAID. I was moving back to Vancouver.
The years I lived in Vancouver, I would make an annual pilgrimage to Ottawa during the best time of year. Winter. Beautiful crisp glittery winter.
I would visit with family, and Dick. Ottawa became a place of refuge. It became a place I could hide from the world and decompress. It was full of home cooked smells and wagging doggie bums.
Why do I live in Ottawa now?
It depends on my mood, or who you ask. Some say it’s running away from a breakup that was very traumatic, and embarrassing. Some say it was a way to be more financially secure (HAHAHAHA!!!). Some say it was to be close to relatives that are seriously ill. Most importantly, Ottawa is a great place to wait.
This time around, I find making friends a simpler matter. Gaining employment, not making friends, is my one big obstacle now.
Ottawa is a place to pause, reflect, wait and hold. It is a place to plan, a place to hope. Now Ottawa feels like a sleepy small town. Here I laugh with new friends as I wait for more acceptance letters to trickle into my mail
Now that I have grown, I feel myself growing restless with each place that I inhabit. I am constantly dreaming of new cities to explore, imaging conversations with friends I haven’t made yet, and feeling the kisses of future lovers. I love the opportunity to create a new mystique around myself, create a whole new me and no one would be the wiser. That was something that always appealed to me whenever my parents would say the words, “We’re moving.”
There is only one city that I resented moving to. Ottawa: the epic love/hate story of my life.
When I was 17, I was dealing with the shear agony of adolescence. Naturally, this was a very painful, guilt-ridden and substance-induced process. High school seemed irrelevant. What was the point of writing a 500 word essay about “what it means to be Canadian” when 9-11 just happened and the Americans were looking for blood? School was not a place I could ask questions. My parents made the mistake that is easy to forgive. After becoming accustomed to tuning out their extremely garrulous daughter over the years, they never heard me tell them that I was flunking out of high school and wouldn’t be graduating in the summer.
It was Christmas day. I was nestled on the floor amongst the torn wrapping paper building a tower out of the books I was given. That was where my mother broke the news of ‘the move’.
“Sweet pea, I am being sent to Quebec for job training. I will be gone for almost a year.” I stared at her waiting to hear more. There was always more.
“Also”, she continued, “Your father has been promoted and needs to move to Ottawa.”
My dad and mom exchanged glances.
“We want you to stay here, take care of the dogs, and graduate.”
“When will you be leaving?”
There was a pause, and big intake of air, “Tomorrow”.
Solitude really cracked my disposition. I was trapped in this claustrophobic nightmare and nothing would wake me up. At night I would curl up into a ball on the living room floor and just scream. I was screaming because I heard the jingle of my skeleton’s chains in my closet. I would try to peel the skin away from my arms and legs because I was so hollow and wanted to see if there was anything under it.
One evening, a friend of mine decided run away from his parents house and live with me. The story was his parents thought he was too immature to get a drivers license and to prove their point, he ran away. When the front door was opened to his excited knocking he was met with me. I was really happy that Marilyn Manson and I were to have another friend join us in our tea party. In my excitement, I forgot that I was naked, and didn’t notice my friend’s horror at the sight of the strips of flesh cut out of my body. I was wresting a chair from the pile of furniture I barricaded against the other doors and windows, so he could sit down to a table already set for two. As my friend surveyed this macabre spectacle, he spied the cupboards in the kitchen bursting open with obscene amounts of dog food.
“Ah... I don’t think I would like some tea thank you...” My friend’s voice trailed off as I looked visibly disappointed. “Actually, I would love to go for a walk with you.” I set the wooden kitchen chair down on the floor and a look of utter terror flashed in my eyes.
“You mean... go outside?!” I squeaked.
“You’ll be fine! We can go garden gnome hunting and it will be fun!”
He walked up to me and took my hand and led me upstairs to my dark bedroom. He opened up one of my dresser drawers and started to dress me. Then he held my hand and we took the 45 minuet walk to the Richmond General Hospital.
This was my third psych assessment in my life. I was given a prescription for prozack and a phone call was made to my parents. This was the choice I had to make: Move to Ottawa with my parents, or be committed into hospital. I didn’t want to leave Vancouver, and all the things that were familiar to me. I didn’t want to leave my friends, and my youth worker, and psychiatrist. I dropped out of high school a second time and packed all my things and moved to Ottawa.
My first impression:
Ottawa felt like such a cold place despite the hazy weather.
I fell into a simple routine.
8:00AM -11:00AM school via correspondence
11:00AM- 12:00AM was lunch at my local high school so I could meet people.
I was flourishing through home schooling. I completed two years of high school in six months. It looked like I was going to graduate before the fall, and I would be able to start a life in Toronto pending on whether or not I get accepted into post secondary there.
Ottawa was never supposed to be a permanent place. I didn’t really make an effort to make friends. Just before my birthday, I found out that GVDES sent the wrong transcripts to OCAD and I lost my place. The lady in admissions reassured me that I can re-apply next year when I get this all sorted out. I was devastated. My brand new boyfriend dumped me not too long after that and I was falling apart at the seams. That fall was probably one of the loneliest times I ever experienced. All the friends I had were in BC. I wrote them letters nearly everyday.
I would describe winters in Ottawa as:
Crispy. Sharp. Glittery.
It was the middle of winter when I met Dick and Tracy. These were the 1st two individuals who were interested in having anything to do with me. As Dick and I knew each other more intimately Dick and Tracy’s relationship deteriorated. In hindsight I understand her jealousy and anger towards me. My 18 year old self did not. Dick was like a brother to me. I adored him. He was my family. That was all. She rallied all the people I was acquainted with behind her. In order to save my reputation I would have to say goodbye to my only friend in Ottawa. It felt like everyone I met was callous, cruel, and cliquey. I endured the threats of violence, cruel words, criticsm, and jokes at my expense. In exchange Dick and I continued our regular nights of chemical induced confidences and comedies.
In desperation, I applied to every single art school in Canada. As I was waiting for my acceptance letters, I met four noteworthy people.
Honey Bee, James, All Spice, and Fabio.
Bee was my only female friend. She and I banded together as THE social pariahs of
H-Block
James and Fabio were my geeky sober friends. With them I would debate important topics such as “What was the best Star Treck franchise?” (I would always say the original, and James would always insist on Deep Space Nine.) I would go on ridiculous adventures with Fabio like hunting for ice cream in -40 weather.
All Spice.
Probably the second person I ever loved. The best way to describe that brief relationship was a passionate chess game. No one was innocent. We were tragically destroying each other, but in a way he saved me.
As winter melted and gave way to muggy sleepless nights, I would wait for my letters outside and listen to Ottawa sleep. The wind was like steady breaths. A little unknown fact to most people is that night time is the time that ants are the most industrious. I would feel them crawl over my toes as I would watch them rebuild their sand castles that my mom would so cruelly kick over during the day.
Then the day I was waiting for came. I got my letter to ECAID. I was moving back to Vancouver.
The years I lived in Vancouver, I would make an annual pilgrimage to Ottawa during the best time of year. Winter. Beautiful crisp glittery winter.
I would visit with family, and Dick. Ottawa became a place of refuge. It became a place I could hide from the world and decompress. It was full of home cooked smells and wagging doggie bums.
Why do I live in Ottawa now?
It depends on my mood, or who you ask. Some say it’s running away from a breakup that was very traumatic, and embarrassing. Some say it was a way to be more financially secure (HAHAHAHA!!!). Some say it was to be close to relatives that are seriously ill. Most importantly, Ottawa is a great place to wait.
This time around, I find making friends a simpler matter. Gaining employment, not making friends, is my one big obstacle now.
Ottawa is a place to pause, reflect, wait and hold. It is a place to plan, a place to hope. Now Ottawa feels like a sleepy small town. Here I laugh with new friends as I wait for more acceptance letters to trickle into my mail