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Missi - voted "Ms. Vet School 2013" from our class - is gone. It's beyond heartbreaking. Of course people are not always as they present, but she was such a sunny, bubbly personality in class. I sat behind her for three years in lecture and she was always bright and good-natured, laughing and making jokes with her seatmates, open and friendly to everyone. She seemed so happy.
It seems like postpartum depression may have been a large component. When Joy told me about what happened with her baby, I was heartbroken for Missi. I can only imagine what led her to feel she had to do what she did. I can't imagine the pain of living with the reality of that action. When Joy shared the update yesterday that she seemed to be doing well, I was so relieved to hear that. I am devastated to learn that Missi had passed away one day earlier.
I know there are so many more factors to it, but it is hard not to look at my reality of the four people I've known who have lost their lives to mental health issues/depression being in the veterinary field.
My parents are out of town living their retirement dreams in Bali at the moment. I don't begrudge them their travel at this stage of their lives - my dad has really started to show signs of his age over the pandemic and I want him to enjoy travel and the retirement that he deserves. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed to be spending Christmas alone for the third year in a row (thanks for nothing, Covid!) Being an only child with no cousins who I'm close to, and being a single woman, the reality of an "orphan Christmas" in my future is very real and a little frightening. I am an introvert - yes - but the thought of being truly "alone" is disheartening, to say the least.
When a friend and her family very kindly invited me to join in on their Christmas dinner, I was relieved and grateful to accept it. To participate in someone else's warm and loving holiday dinner and fun is certainly much more enticing than spending it at home with my Korean take-out and only my (beloved!) cat for company. I have been looking forward to it and have been happy to share with co-workers and friends that I will not be alone for Christmas! Someone wants me to be a part of theirs! Isn't that great?
In the meantime, I have been performing my filial duties by driving to my uncle's house to shovel snow. It's a corner lot, which means extra sidewalk and back laneway to shovel. It has three decks, which means another extra hour. Every year when it snows, I tell my mom completely truthfully that I hate having to shovel this house and that I wish they'd sell it. With my grandparents' passing, there is now no longer a "family" that occupies it. My single, technically elderly uncle lives there alone. He does not cook, he does not clean, and he truly does not need a three-bedroom free-standing home all to himself, particularly in the current housing climate in this city. I would begrudge him less if he made any effort to learn these life-skills, but having been taken care of by his mother, then his wife, then his mother again, and now my parents, it's likely too late. It doesn't help that I have a complicated relationship with him, frustrated that as I grew older his treatment of me did not adjust accordingly. He is argumentative for the sake of "winning" debates that no one is interested in engaging in. Even when I have begged out of these unwanted debates, he does not relent until I have truly lost my cool, and then he plays the victim to my mom, because why would he deserve such an outburst like that? This was before the emotional meltdown I had at him over my grandmother and his refusal to accept her diagnosis of dementia. It has only gotten worse since then.
So yes, there is unfortunately a lot of resentment felt when I have to go over and shovel out the house he refuses to sell. And why does he refuse to sell it? Because - purportedly - he is keeping it to pass on to my cousin. My cousin who walked away from the family while I was in my first year of veterinary school. My cousin who reportedly has depression and is probably not doing anything to treat it. My cousin who is a widow at the age of 47 after just under 10 years of marriage to a woman who steadfastly refused to believe in the medical system and so passed away from breast cancer despite knowing her sister had been diagnosed with it (and survived with treatment) and finding a lump in her breast two years ago. My cousin who is - most pointedly - not here to live in and take care of this house.
A lot of complicated feelings.
Anyway, I shoveled out the house three times. Ryan (my mom's "kid" as I call him) also showed up twice, and my friend Lisa helped out once. I am ashamed to say that I am outwardly cold to my uncle, but it's almost a defense mechanism. If I don't engage with him, he doesn't have the opportunity to provoke me into one of his stupid "debates". My mood significantly improved with the appearance of my friend, but quickly soured when I introduced her as "my friend from Trek" (a high school outdoor program we both attended) and my uncle responded "But you weren't in Trek". Not a question, not asking for clarification about whether I had been in Trek and he had forgotten. He was so certain that he was right that he argued with me about my own life, even when I tried to correct him and laugh it off.
He invited me to stay for dinner, after having made Ryan drive across Vancouver in the cold and ice to deliver it to him. I declined.
When it snowed again on Friday, I had to shovel my way out of my apartment building (with another exercise in frustration with an old man) and asked my uncle NOT to shovel and to try calling 311 to see if they could organize a volunteer for him. He - of course - didn't listen. When I showed up he had cleared part of the sidewalk. And while I should be, I don't know, grateful?, that he did something on his own, I was more peeved that he could have injured himself and that could have resulted in a visit to the doctor or the ER and for me to "take care" of him. But I finished the rest of the sidewalks while he trailed me telling me how I was obviously doing "the easier stuff" that people had walked on. I finished the front path, the stairs, then moved to go into the house to do the porches. He told me not to do them.
Charitably, I know that it's his way of trying to be kind. He doesn't want me to do more than I need to. But in my mind, I am already here. I have made the drive out to shovel the house out and his not been easy. The drive back to my apartment will not be fun. If I am here, I might as well do things right and prevent the likelihood of my needing to return in icy conditions. The snow today is heavy, I explain. Freezing rain is in the forecast, which can make things worse. If we don't clear the snow and ice, the drains could get clogged and we could have issues with flooding. He tells me I'm wrong and everything will just melt. Exasperatedly, I tell him it's his house so he can do whatever he wants then.
I move on to start shoveling out the back laneway and he tries to stop me again. I explain that to safely LEAVE, I need to shovel this out as I do not plan to ping-pong down the icy death-trap that is the completely untouched back and side streets in this neighbourhood. I also point out that if he is planning to leave the house (which I had strongly recommended he not do), he will need this area shoveled as well, as does the rest of the people who live on this block. Finally, I note that it had already been cleared on the Tuesday when I came by, which means that the neighbour behind us had probably done it the previous days, and doesn't Jeff deserve a break too? My uncle tries to argue that Jeff doesn't have to shovel as much since he doesn't live on a corner lot, as if I didn't already know that having shoveled three times.
When I was finally done, my uncle asked me what my plans are for Christmas. I froze for a second, my mind racing through "he might want me to spend it with him" and "I should probably offer to spend it with him" and "I really do not want to spend Christmas with him". I have plans already, that are going to be fun and warm and happy. If I spend Christmas with my uncle, I have no idea what we'll eat (I haven't cooked for him since he ate ALL the curry I made for him once, leaving no lunch for me, and then turned around and complained to me about my cooking), and I know it will not be a fun and warm and happy time. I quickly tell him I have been invited to a friend's family dinner that I am planning to attend. I am needlessly brusque when he presents me with a $100 gift card to the mall again. I don't shop often, I don't need things, and these cards collect dust in my apartment. I tell him I appreciate the gesture, but please don't get me anything anymore, I don't need it. He has the grace to smile and tell me to gift it to someone who does then. I wish him a Merry Christmas, tell him to be safe, and leave.
My mom tells me people say I'm a "good kid" for shovelling the snow for him. I tell her how actively resentful I am for having to do it. That resentment is actively growing every year, I can feel it.
My friend Meghan texts me and I mention that I've had to go shovel at my uncle's house that day.
Meghan: Did you see Malcolm?
Me: I'm not aware that he's in town
Meghan: He told me he was coming for the holidays
Me: First I've heard of it
Meghan: That would be weird if he came and didn't tell your uncle and mom?
Me: I mean, it's possible they just haven't told me. And my mom is in Bali anyway
Meghan: He said he was coming the 21st
Me: Maybe his flight got cancelled. Anyway, I have no idea
I hate how emotionally riled up I immediately become with any mention of my cousin. I think it's the same defense mechanism I use with my uncle, I have to not care because I've felt so hurt and I don't want to be in that state again. But immediately, the possibility that he is in town and either 1) my mother has purposely not made me aware of it or 2) my mother is not aware of it herself is upsetting to me, particularly with everything she has done for him this year. The third possibility (he is not in town and lied to my friend) seems less likely. So! My feelings about having to shovel this house have become significantly more resentful.
Today, Meghan showed up to return my Harry Potter want and drop off some cookies. She pointedly asked if I would spend time with my uncle. As someone who has complicated relationships with her own immediate family, I'm surprised that she would care. I tell her that no, I'm going to a friend's place for Christmas instead. When she asks why, I tell her that I have made the choice not to be actively miserable on Christmas. My uncle and I are not a point where we enjoy each other's company anymore, and I don't want to spend my Christmas arguing with him and increasing my already growing resentment towards him.
But, of course, now I feel guilty.
Maybe there's no reason for it. Perhaps Malcolm is in town and he can spend Christmas with his son and they can try not making each other miserable. There's a possibility he could spend it with his on-again-off-again girlfriend of some twenty-odd years and her daughters. I would have absolutely hated spending time with her, that's for certain. She shares that same unearned, self-assured smugness that I dislike so much in my uncle. The two of them together is almost unbearable.
God, I hate that it is always my family (my uncle and my cousin and my dearly departed grandma) that always drive me to needing more therapy. It's not an expense that I really want to pay for, but I think if things keep spiraling in my head like this, I'll have to consider it.
But hey, I have Disneyland in January. Maybe if I hold out until then, that infuriatingly effective Disney Magic can fix me instead.
a) Just because my feelings are hurt does not necessarily mean circumstances have anything to do with me
b) If prioritizing something extracurricular brings me more stress and upset than positive feelings, then I probably should consider re-evaluating it's importance to me
I will still give myself room to have and experience these feelings, I am only human after all! But I should be able to let it go after that. Leaving it to fester has never and will never be productive.
My Neighbour Totoro was probably my first exposure to anime. The scratched up old VHS that had no doubt been copied off a family friend was dubbed in Cantonese, so my three year-old self knew the titular character as "龍貓" and like may children I was completely enamoured by the fantastical adventures on my TV screen. Several years later, Sailor Moon (dubbed in English) burst onto the scene, and to say I was obsessed would probably be an understatement. I would rush home every day after school to catch the newest episode and I still mourn the sizable card collection I had cajoled my poor parents into helping me acquire. But if Sailor Moon paved the way for anime in the North American market, Pokemon opened the flood gates and suddenly there was an embarrassment of riches when it came to family-friendly anime being available on TV. Aside from a special few though (namely Digimon and Cardcaptor Sakura), most of the series that came and went failed to hold my attention.
Then I discovered through a new friend (a crush, if I'm being honest) that the local kids' channel played the "cooler" and "more mature" anime when I (a deeply shy, uncool and rule-following teenager) was already in bed. As someone who loved to sleep, staying up late was a big ask, but the pretty boys and political intrigue of Gundam Wing managed to entice me into sacrificing sleep. And so I was pulled into the vortex, never to fully escape from the grasp of anime again. I started visiting my new friend's house where we would watch his anime VHS tapes (copied off friends, as is the Asian way. See: Totoro) and we scoured the internet looking to find what our next emotional investment should be.
It should surprise no one that in 1999, the talk of the internet world was Neon Genesis Evangelion.
Between all the online anime sites telling me this was a must watch and the "cool girl" anime fan at school dedicating a whole section to the series on her Geocities website (all the rage in 1999-2000), I was determined that I would get my hands on this series. Knowing only that there were giant robots and teenagers piloting them, I convinced my parents to let me spend my little bit of cash on the first VHS tape through an online anime store. $50+ dollars for a measly two episodes.
I know how old this truly makes me, but man! Kids today really have NO idea how good they've got it.
My friend and I waited with bated breath for the package. When the VHS tape finally arrived, we arranged a viewing date. I still remember the shivers I felt down my spine when the opening song and animation started. This was going to be something special.
Needless to say, we devoured the first two episodes in one go.
It was a foregone conclusion that I was going to have to purchase the next installment. With each VHS costing $50 and my cash influx consisting only of birthday/Christmas money, Chinese New Year Money, and $20 per "A" on my report card (no weekly allowance for me!), I was going to have to do well in school and live a comparatively frugal teenage lifestyle in order to afford them all. I had enough saved to commit to the next tape immediately, but we were going to have to wait until the following report card to see about any further purchases.
Thank goodness, then, for the advent of DVDs. Not long after I managed to get my grubby little hands on the second tape, ADV Films announced that they would be releasing the series on DVD. $50 for 3-4 episodes seemed to be a much more economical option and the fact that it would be months between releases meant that I could relax a little bit in saving money, even if it was excruciating to wait for new episodes. But over the next year and a bit, I would purchase the newly released DVDs whenever they were available and our little viewing group grew from just the two of us to four or five (depending on scheduling availability). It always felt like an event, the anticipation for these next installments and what they would deliver, soaking in all the visuals and dialogue and music because we only got three new, precious episodes every few months. I remember all of us laughing a little when we couldn't help singing along to the opening and closing themes. We were absolutely hooked.
I'm not sure if I can accurately remember my feelings about the ending. It's no secret that Evangelion is a deconstruction of the mecha genre, and so when things started to take a turn into a downward spiral I was prepared and probably even appreciated it - what with being in the melodramatic throes of being a teenager in high school and wanting things to be "gritty" and "real". Still, while I loved the characters and was emotionally invested in their journeys, I was equally invested in the grand underlying plot, intrigue, and conspiracies that seemed to coming to light. So when the last two episodes rolled around, I couldn't help but be a bit disappointed that most of it fell by the wayside. But, I had also paid $50 for this last DVD so I also felt compelled to like it because it had cost me so much! I suppose that's where End of Evangelion comes in. While many fans feel this was a satisfying conclusion to the story, I was left a bit whelmed. It's been nearly two decades since I've watched it, so I can only say that I loved Komm, Susser Todd and felt otherwise ambivalent and maybe even a little frustrated with the oppressively negative and almost nihilistic ending.
I'm not sure I expected much when the Rebuild of Evangelion series was announced. I knew I would watch it, but more out of mild interest and fond nostalgia rather than any true excitement. The first movie offered beautiful animation, but there wasn't much that was new to explore. And then I went away to Australia for veterinary school and pretty much lost track of its progress. Sure, I would hear occasional updates that a new movie was out (or a new song, as the case may be), but I honestly didn't know until this year about its prolonged and troubled production (14 years!)
-------------------
And I return almost 3 years later to finish this rambling, stream of consciousness about Evangelion! Fitting - I think - given the subject.
My mom got an Amazon Prime account, and with that came Prime Video. She generously shared her login with me, and in one of those mind-numbing, doom-scrolling fits, I happened across the fact that Amazon had the "exclusive" rights to streaming the Rebuild of Evangelion movies! And all 4 of them were available for my viewing pleasure! What!
Honestly, I'd picked a good time to stumble across this (September 2021) as the last movie had only just been made available in North America a month earlier. After - I cannot emphasize this enough - 14 years of production from the release of the first movie until then.
Despite my own feelings of ennui and disappointment in the human race with the pandemic still very much a part of our daily lives, I decided to give it go. Misery loves company after all, and this universe in particular was populated with characters that certainly existed in miserable circumstances. And whoo boy, did the first two moves deliver that misery in spades! I remember commenting on a Plurk Post I'd made about it that "this seems more... brutal than I remember". Evangelion is not exactly a series that inspires warm, fuzzy feelings as a rule, but as an adult, with the movies deliberately leaning into the horror of watching these pre-teens be subjected to this level of violence and trauma as "military assets"... well, it was bleak. Which was impressive in its own way, given I went into this expecting nothing less.
The third movie - honestly - was an exercise in frustration for me. Like many, it's a pet-peeve when conflict arises from characters refusing to communicate with each other for absolutely no good reason, and the third movie was filled with this. I have also never been particularly attached to Kaworu as a character. I supposed they did a good job placing me in Shinji's perspective of not knowing what the hell was happening around him and the frustration this would inspire. But to me, the third movie is a bit of a wash, all set-up and little payoff.
... was it worth it? I'm going to say it was a little worth it. Because even as someone who truly has a lot of nostalgic affection for Evangelion, I was shocked by how emotional the 4th movie made me. I had been promised catharsis, and that promise had been delivered.
It's well-known that Hideaki Anno was struggling with depression during the production of Neon Genesis Evangelion, and that he has (mostly) been in a much more stable and happier state of mind since then. I've seen jokes that the Rebuild of Evangelion movie - at least the final one - is "Evangelion on anti-depressants". It's a little funny... but also it's true? My main reaction immediately after the credits started rolling was "I'm not used to so much hope in my Evangelion franchise??"
Mostly though, it gave me time with these characters that I had craved without knowing it. The whole village sequence was so lovely, getting to just spend time with people, really focusing on characters and their inherent humanity, the importance of forming connections and just how precious life really is, why it was so worth protecting and fighting for. As a self-professed Asuka fan (yes, I bought into that whole thing back in the day), the time we got to spend with this version of Rei was incredibly rich and rewarding. She was adorable, her genuine enthusiasm to learn how to live was extremely effective. I loved her. I have never loved Ayanami Rei before.
I also loved Asuka - older and broken and embittered by everything that had happened to her, but still Asuka. She has rougher edges (as hard as it is to believe since she was never soft to begin with), but the closure she receives with Shinji was so important to me. Almost as important as the fact that Asuka gets a semblance of a "good ending" for once.
And Shinji. The "third choice" female character really didn't add much for me, so I'm ambivalent about that. But in this one it just really felt like Shinji had autonomy in his own choices and motivation for once. Seeing him at the end as an adult, happy and confident and whole. Maybe it seems like a fantasy, but I will take it, because you know what? A life that has moved past the events of Evangelion? That is all I want for Ikari Shinji. And seeing it on my screen - an unequivocally content and well-adjusted adult Shinji - made me verklempt.
I'm not sure there was a point for this ramble that took 3 years to complete. Maybe it's just about how changing perspectives with age and experience impact how we look at something and how we feel about it upon reflection. But I think it's that choice to reach for hope - after everything - that hits me the most.
Thanks for everything, Evangelion.
This didn't mean I started watching a plethora of Hong Kong features afterwards. It was hard to find any in the rapidly dying Blockbusters, the bootleg DVDs in the tiny, cramped shops of Chinese strip malls in Richmond could not be trusted to have reliable and accurate subtitles, and trying to find an active torrent seemed an impossibility. Besides, where would I even start? My parents are hardly cinephiles and I didn't have a friend-group or community to glean recommendations from. I made a point to drag my mother out to any release that featured Chinese actors or stories heavily - even sitting through the very uncomfortable sex scenes in Lust, Caution in theatres with her - but that was the extent of it. Unsurprisingly, I gravitated towards films that focused on the experience of second-generation immigrants and their experiences, including but not limited to Saving Face, My Wedding and Other Secrets, Double Happiness, Crazy Rich Asians, and The Farewell.
Today, in an attempt to have a better appreciation for Tony Leung's immense talents and charisma while not feeling comfortable enough to brave the cinemas for Marvel's newest installment - Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings - I sought out a way to watch the much lauded In the Mood for Love instead. Glory Hallelujah but streaming sites (legitimate or not) have made it so much easier to access more obscure titles, and once I found a link for this movie I jumped on it. It was as visually gorgeous and lush and as emotionally wrought and mildly devastating as I have read about for many (many, many, many) years. I knew of course that for Tony Leung this is a performance that is widely noted as career-defining, having won him the acting award at Cannes. And he was as captivating as expected - much is made of his expressive eyes and it cannot be emphasized enough how incredibly true and accurate all of those plaudits really are. If anyone has a particularly effective longing smolder for the camera, it's him (the last scene in the movie and everything leading up to the culmination of it, ugh). What I didn't expect was how much more this is Maggie Leung's movie, how quietly heartbreaking she is in a way that his character is not quite. Seeing her on her lonely nightly sojourn for noodles, sitting and watching others play mahjong with polite (dis)interest, covering for her boss and his own infidelity, contemplating on how complicated marriage is and the contentment of being single and alone, worrying about the morality of the situation and what the neighbours will think as she seeks emotional comfort from the one person she knows understands her own hurt...
I expected even less to be so emotionally impacted by the Shanghainese influences peppered throughout the movie. The dialect of the landlady and the elderly house attendant, the clothing, the hair, the architecture and personality of the narrow building and the rain-soaked streets, the anxiety about the imminent political changes. These are my maternal grandparents' people in the city my mother grew up in. This time and place - in some ways - has a part in the history of my family roots that I have not seen demonstrated before because I've never gone looking for it.
Perhaps In the Mood for Love was a melancholy way to spend an afternoon, all in the pursuit of staring into Tony Leung's dreamboat gaze. But it turned out to be emotionally productive, one way or another.
(ETA: A summary of our family history as a result of my rekindled Tony Leung infatuation.)
Some People: aRe yOu SuRe YoUr HaIr Is LoNg EnOuGh To Do ThAt?
First-world whining for sure, but frustrating nonetheless! As if this wasn't something I put a lot of thought and research into already!
I took a break and then came back to a Melbourne episode. Interesting how I can occasionally feel such strong pangs of homesickness for a place I only lived in for 4 years and admittedly did not explore to its full capacity. But seeing the familiar architecture of the city and its neighbourhoods, and particularly the footage of Queen Victoria Market - where I went for groceries weekly for two years - gives me a kind of ache I don't feel for anywhere else except Vancouver.
Also. Maybe I need a vacation.
Crystal and Andrew had to say goodbye to Kai - their beloved Formosan Mountain Dog.
He was only 2 years-old.
I am so heartbroken for them. They gave him the best life and every chance.
If something I did in his treatment contributed to this, I will learn from it.
I'm sorry, Kai. I wish I could have done more for you.
So - once again - I turn to the highs and lows of D&D.
Today we (hopefully!) concluded Praxana's major backstory arc. I joked that Veit Copperlark was her very own "Princess Peach" - unfortunately plucked out of their grasp right back into mortal peril every time they thought they'd pulled him out of danger. While I generally play Praxana as quite brash and confident in most situations, the absolute terror of possibly losing her dad again after decades of him being MIA absolutely paralyzed me. I couldn't bear for him to die because I knew that she wouldn't be able to handle it. Praxana knew how absolutely devastating that would be, how much it affected her world-view. At one point she had pulled another party member - Zanner - aside, admonishing him for his reckless actions in battles that endangered both himself and others. She didn't want him dying for her family's problems, especially knowing that he had his own quest to find his missing wife. "I've been a bard long enough to know stories like ours more often than not end in tragedies," she told him, "But I'm banking on things being different from us. I want us to have happy endings."
In today's battle, the wits and efforts of my friends in-and-out-of-game absolutely saved my fake dad's life. A brilliant move by John's character - a frog-like wizard - got Veit out of the villain's grasp and the party absolutely decimated the bone devil that was after him. An unlucky (or poorly planned on my part!) sequence of event resulted in Veit suffering so much damage that he had two failed death saving throws and when he rolled an absolutely abysmal "4" on his third death saving throw, I was panicking. Luckily, having placed Praxana close to Veit and by the good graces of our DM, I was able to give Veit my "inspiration" for the game to re-roll, and with a "19" he had managed not to die.
I actually shed a few small tears and had to hide my face because I was so relieved about an imaginary character in our make-believe game.
In any case, this was about as much of a "good end" as we could have had, jumping feet first into a hellscape and escaping with none of our party dead with a hundred or so prisoners released. Sure, some decisions we've made are likely to come and bite us in the ass later, but for now Praxana and her family are alive, no one had to make any major sacrifices, and now she has a possible spell-induced proposal from a dwarven prince????
Ah, D&D!
It was also fun hopping back into the comfortable shoes of Praxana and immediately emotionally terrorizing her charismatic and shifty younger brother when it looked like a quest for a lost father was actually going to be some sort of crazy heist for his own purposes. It made me laugh when - after going to a "private room" to work out this issue - everyone else was joking about how expressive we had looked in our brief interaction where Praxana rolled a 20 on intimidation and did her best to make her little brother pee his pants in fear.
Ah, D&D!
When someone is taking advantage of you?
When there are irreconcilable differences in morality?
When you no longer share anything in common?
I have mostly been lucky in life - aside from a few bumpy patches - to have good friends in my life. At a (very) young age I was guileless enough to be charming and had two very best friends in pre-kindergarten and as good a social-standing as you can have at that age of 4. Moving away to the other side of the country in the early 90's meant the end of those friendships; at such a young age with no easy way to keep in contact and likely would not have been worth the effort. I found myself in precarious social-standing at my new school in Vancouver, being one of the very few Asian children, but found myself two new very best friends for the year and we became our own little misfit trio. But in the days of elementary school, your friendships were very strongly dictated by who you shared a classroom with, and so friendships started and faded every year.
High school was tricky in the first year, when one of my very best friends from elementary school suddenly decided she didn't like me anymore. I was baffled and hurt and incredibly lonely that first year. I remember being left to watch a circle of various belongings - backpacks, lunchboxes, etc - as members of my "friend group" each peeled away to leave me there alone, pointedly not inviting me to join them. I felt like a social pariah until Elaine unceremoniously breezed into my life and decided we should be friends. She is my Best Bud Forever to this very day and I will never forget how in that one act, she probably single-handedly saved my high school experience.
I came away with a few new strong friendships in university and had cemented some existing ones into what I expect to be life-long friendships. Vet school brought more of the same, and I walked away from my time in Melbourne with some friendships that would have made the whole experience worthwhile even if nothing else had come from it. I will never forget the feeling of loss when I left Melbourne, that things would never be like this again. I will never forgot how Joy immediately started sobbing and how loved I felt in that moment.
As my mother often says, "I count my blessings" with the people in my life now. I am very lucky to have good friends who I know care for me and will go out of their way to show it. Now more than ever, I appreciate those who've taken the time to check in on me in the midst of this pandemic. One group of friends and I joke about investing in a mansion together in our old age and hiring a caretaker to tend to our fragile, crotchety selves.
I've had my share of friendships that fizzle out, as we all do. Life gets in the way, schedules and commitments make it difficult to connect, and sometimes people just naturally grow apart. There are some people that I am not in close, continuous contact with, but I know if I was ever in need of help that they would provide it without question, and vice versa. There are people I think fondly of, but have not spoken to in many, many years. Facebook - while not without its problems - enables me to keep up-to-date with some people in small ways. It makes us feel connected even when we are ostensibly not really involved in each other's lives.
And then, I have had some friendships I have chosen to "end" in recent years though. I have garnered a bit of a reputation for being nice and patient, but what many of my close friends know is that I have a long memory and the unfortunate habit of holding a grudge. I can let little things lie, but when "infractions" increasingly pile on, my patience can start to wear thin, given enough time and incidents. When someone manages to cross beyond my "tolerance" threshold, I find that I am often unable to cross back over and will actively stop prioritizing that person in my life. It is not an admirable trait and it's one that I have tried to curb, by learning to speak up sooner than later about things that make me uncomfortable or unhappy.
It is interesting that most of the friendships I have chosen to "end" in recent years have been with men. One was a newer friend I'd made in Australia, a guy in the army who I ran into at a pop culture convention and we bonded over our shared love for Battlestar Galactica. He was fun-loving and outgoing and the kind of geeky friend I needed in this new environment. But we increasingly fought over a number of things (even joking about our friendship-break-ups) as we clearly had numerous different values and outlooks on various topics. Where I lost my patience was the time he point-blank told me that being stressed over my final exams in vet school was small potatoes compared to being pregnant and going through childbirth, so I should learn to handle it better. I was further pushed over the edge when he posted that only those of a certain body-type should be allowed to participate in cosplay at conventions, as the "non-ideal body-types" in costume disgusted him. There was such a heavy layer of misogyny and privilege underlying his happy-go-lucky exterior. How could I be friends with someone like that?
Deciding to "end" a friendship with someone I've known since high school was tougher. But I'd put up with over a decade of him showing up 1-3 hours late, which became increasingly hard to interpret as anything but a blatant disrespect for my time over his. He would only call when he needed to purchase food for his dog and then would expect me to be available to personally deliver it to him at all hours, regardless of my own schedule and commitments. He would cancel plans at the very last minute, forget to show up for things he had arranged, and would rely on others to pay for his meals. He was never able to step outside himself and consider other people, something that was frustrating in a teenager and intolerable in an adult. The last straw for me was when he wanted a last minute delivery of a large bag of dog food, and then was unable to pick it up from me because he had an "emergency situation" where he had forgotten to renew his passport ahead of his trip to Asia the next day. He had once sent me to deliver food to his house before, swearing to me that he had called home to ensure someone was there to open the door and take the food. They weren't. Needless to say, the dog food stayed with me until his return and then I told him in no uncertain terms that I no longer had time to be his delivery person and the he needed to find his own source of dog food.
I am now struggling with someone I have considered a close friend in the past few years. By virtue of us both being single, we had become food buddies and hung out quite a bit as a result. It had been clear that we do not see eye-to-eye on many topics (I had said that if he still wanted to be friends, then politics was off the table because we disagreed on so many things) but overall he has been a kind, caring, and generous friend. When he wanted to adopt a senior dog, I was wary and told him so, but since he had a regular 9-5 job now, he felt up to the task. Then he want back to his old job of jet-setting around the world and working odd hours, leaving his senior dog in the care of his neighbour for months at a time. When he didn't show for an appointment he'd booked for his dog, I called him and he told me he was at the pharmacy and was running late. We booked another appointment and I called him fifteen minutes prior to remind him of the appointment. He told me he wouldn't be able to make it, that he was caught in a work emergency and I told him how upset I was that he was not only disrespecting my professional time, but he was actively taking away an appointment spot that we could have given to a sick patient. I told him in no uncertain terms that if he did not show up for the third appointment, that it would be a mark against our friendship. After being away for a few months, he flew back into Vancouver right as the 14 day self-isolation recommendations were announced by the government in light of the COVID-19 pandemic. He put out a plea for someone to deliver toilet paper to him, which I did. I was anxious, going into a high-rise and therefore high-occupancy building, but I did it because he's my friend. When he noted that his dog had been vomiting and no one was able or willing to bring him to the clinic to be seen, I offered to pick up his dog in the morning before my shift. He told me I had to call his neighbour, and I told him I was not comfortable calling someone I didn't know to try and pick up his dog, especially that early in the morning. This was his dog and therefore his responsibility, and I was doing him a favour. He begrudgingly agreed. When I dropped his dog off at his apartment that evening, he had a cleaning lady in his apartment. Despite the self-isolation recommendation, despite the fact that I had - on two occasions - put myself in a position that was scary at that time to help him, he had broken the self-isolation rules for his own purposes. I went home and cried to my mother on the phone. When I received the labwork results for his dog (they were all within normal), I reported them, ensured the dog was doing okay, and then I reamed him out for being irresponsible in breaking his quarantine. When he lamely argued that his cleaning lady had told him it was fine, I was even more upset that he refused to take responsibility for his part, that he was pushing it onto her, someone who needed to make a living when I know it is fully within his capability to pay her and ask her to come back when his quarantine was over. I told him that taking these unnecessary and selfish risks was putting people like my parents in danger. When his dog became ill again, he would text me later at night to tell me his dog had been sick all day, when I was already at home and could not do anything about it. Despite my personal frustrations with him, I felt badly about Frank and the situation; it's not easy to have a sick pet. When he made the decision to euthanize, I met them in the parking lot because our protocols prevented me from being in the hospital when I wasn't at work. I told him to call me if he needed to talk about his grief over Frank's loss. However, I was still not at the stage where I was comfortable with him as a friend anymore, especially with his purposely inflammatory posts on Facebook during the pandemic. It is reaching the stage where I question whether our differences in values and morality are at the stage where continuing the friendship is no longer viable. I was hoping tincture of time would let my emotions about my various grievances settle down, but his actions continue to fan the flames and I wonder if it's worth it. I'm starting to think it's not.
(Spoilers: I did not, and have yet to cancel the subscription.)
I loaded "My List" with a number of different movies and shows from this fancy new package that I wanted to prioritize, and to my credit I watched maybe... three of the movies in the first month? That has to count for something, when you take into consideration that My Brilliant Friend is eight one-hour episodes. I didn't add that many other series - I'm sometimes a bit leery of making that kind of commitment because so often it doesn't pan out. But when Anna Kendrick's face popped up on a poster advertising Love Life, I thought, "Sure, why not? She's aggressively likable, right?"
While I would hesitate to say I'm a rom-com person, I do like rooting for cute or intense or "obviously-meant-to-be" relationships. And as I've noted before, I do appreciate when relationships are portrayed in a way that emphasizes how much work needs to be put into them sometimes, the ups-and-downs. Love Life is... fine. For a person like me - a shy, square, and risk-adverse introvert who has only had two serious relationships, and that is a miracle in and of itself - I certainly can't relate to everything Darby goes through. But there were moments that made me remember the giddy feeling of beginning to love someone, the isolation and loneliness of break-ups, the sheer "how the fuck did I get here" feeling when someone turns out not to be what you thought and threatens to kill themselves when you try to leave.
Yup, that happened.
The episodes that hit me most were the ones that explored Darby's relationship with her mother and best friend. While they were some of the more melancholy entries in the series, I appreciated that they did emphasize the importance of non-romantic relationships and how they can affect our lives, how things can change; they can be healed and they can just as easily be broken.
The whole reason I'm making this entry though is really to document this one thing, this one fragment of such strong emotion I experienced in these "unprecedented time", unrelated to any of the romance mumbo-jumbo. It was Darby going to see Hamilton with an old high school flame at the Richard Rodgers Theatre. Seeing the crush of people lined up to get into the theatre, seeing the merchandising booth and Darby giddy with anticipation, seeing "The Room Where It Happens" packed with excited theatre-goers... it gave me goosebumps. I was there four years ago in that exact location, feeling that same giddiness, surrounded by complete strangers who shared in the anticipation. I almost teared up at the scene, thinking about how it was both an extraordinary but still normal experience, and how returning to that "normalcy" is so far away. It was absolutely a feeling of mourning.
Oof.
Back to the romantic side of things though, the narrator with her soothing British accent announces early on that the average person has seven relationships before they find "the one". Watching this show is making me realize this may never happen for me. I joke that I take it as a sign that COVID-19 hit just as I had re-installed a dating app on my phone and was actively making an effort to try and meet new people, if only because I felt stable and happy and like myself again. But COVID-19 makes that nearly impossible, and I am not going to jeopardize my own health, the health of my co-workers, the health of my friends and family, etc to try and meet "the one". On the one hand, I have never really prioritized romantic relationships and I am not the kind of person to put myself "out there". I have said on many occasions (and truly believe) that I have never been miserable they way I am when a relationship is going south vs when I'm single. I am comfortable with my own company - and that of my cat, of course - though I may find it a little boring. But I am not unhappy.
I don't know if that's enough, but for now it will have to be.
While I don't know the circumstances exactly, we know that our classmate was in the ICU and was essentially declared brain-dead. His family made the decision to honour his wishes and will to donate his organs. His wife wanted us to know that he had struggled with depression for years and she had the unparalleled grace to worry about how we - his classmates - would accept the news about his loss.
When I saw the news posted on our Facebook page by a classmate I am particularly fond of, I burst into tears at work. I couldn't help sobbing and was somewhat relieved I was alone when I found out and took ten minutes to myself before seeking out a hug for comfort. One of my bosses asked if we were close and I had to say that while he wasn't a close friend, our class had been as close as 120 people can be. We saw each other on an almost daily basis for 4 years of our lives. We exchanged pleasantries, helped each other with assignments and studying, and celebrated our veterinary milestones together.
I wasn't particularly close to Julian through vet school, but I do remember that he was one of the first people I met during our Orientation Week and the feeling of mutual relief that we were not the only ones over the age of 21. He was soft-spoken, gentle, and funny, and I remember his very clear affection when talking about his then-girlfriend and their shared cats. I remember the tight-knit friendship that developed between him, Atsuko, and Rosanna and how they often were found together.
I will admit that I was somewhat alienated by how strongly vocal he became after transitioning to a vegan outlook. But as combative and inflammatory as he was online, he continued to be the soft-spoken, gentle classmate in-person. I understand that he wanted to speak for those he recognized as voiceless, and wanted our animal charges across the board to be afforded the same protection and dignity.
I cannot imagine what his loved ones are going through. I only know that I feel his loss the same way I did with Flynn. When my co-workers kindly asked how I was doing, if my class seemed to be coping okay, I said "The last time this happened..." and then stopped and sighed as the meaning of those words started to sink in.
I hope very much that Julian has found his peace.
Well, here we are.
I love Dungeons and Dragons.
If you'd asked me five years ago whether I would ever see Dungeons and Dragons as the highlight of my week, I would have laughed. I have never really fallen under the thrall of "high fantasy", turn-based battles always seemed to lack any kind of urgency to me, and dice are my natural enemy in any game I've ever played. I was convinced that there was absolutely no way the combination of all three together was going to do anything but bore me to tears. But - as is so often the case - I didn't want to miss out on spending time with my friends, especially as our work commitments and adult responsibilities often made it difficult to find time to see each other. So I begrudgingly agreed to throw together a character for our first attempt at a D&D game. I approached the character creation itself with some enthusiasm, putting together a druid gnome mostly so I could turn into animals on a whim and cast spells because that sounded more fun than just fighting.
And thus, Ninove Loopmotin Cottontail etc etc was born. (I had read that gnomes were given something like five names so I made an effort to be "authentic". I cannot for the life of me remember the rest.)
I don't remember much of her backstory, she possibly didn't really have one. Our friend had volunteered to be our DM and followed the story laid out in the official book. A lack of preparation and his propensity for showing up 30 minutes to an hour late severely dampened my little spark of enthusiasm for the game. It was a slog to get through each session, and we accomplished very little in the 4 hours it would take to play. We did little to no roleplaying and fights took an excruciatingly long time to finish with very little tension. I often sat there at the table, committed but also bitterly wishing we were playing a board game instead, which would at least guarantee some kind of fun. Suffice it to say, I was trying to get my character shipped off to study with some other old druid or - a more permanent solution - have her killed in battle. I could never quite manage either.
The game fizzled out eventually, and I was honestly a little relieved. We went back to whatever our regular meet-ups were and I assumed that was the last of it.
Not so!
One of our friends who had joined in our previous campaign (he had one character he promptly killed and replaced with another character not too dissimilar from the first) volunteered to run a game. He'd had experience playing before and had invested a bit of time into world-building, placing us in a scenario where druids were outlawed and non-humans were looked upon with mistrust. Naturally, we had to make lives a little hard on ourselves!
Joining once again mostly because I didn't want to miss out on time with friends, I decided to stick with the druid class because I couldn't be bothered to learn a whole new system. Since I hadn't been that attached to my previous character, I decided to go with human male this time, reasoning that I didn't really have to know a whole lot to play a human character.
And thus Darwin Brightwood IV was born.
I put a little more effort into the character creation this time. I crafted a backstory about Darwin coming from a family that lost its fortune and suddenly had a whole bunch of mouths to feed with no discernible skills to do so. Darwin was so far down the line that his name was an afterthought, sharing it with his father and his eldest brother. When the opportunity came to pawn him off on a traveling druid who was grateful for their begrudging hospitality, the family did so in a flash, and suddenly this hermit druid was saddled with a new charge who was none too bright nor studious. I decided that he was trapped on this island that was so hostile to druids because he had spilled soup all over a very important Arch Druid at some sort of druid gathering and had been cursed with a fear of water, and his mentor had run off with vague platitudes about Darwin having all the skills he needed.
It started off promising enough. We had a core set of players that were all game to have a good time. But while our DM this time was significantly better prepared and crafted an overarching storyline and a few recurring NPCs, he was impatient with us and handed out great boons and harsh punishments with little reason, like killing off a character's missing mother within the first few games because of our out-of-character indecision. We had some fun moments and he introduced some interesting mechanics (Jenga towers as a skill check was one), but overall I fell back into the same resigned feeling that I could probably be having more fun than those four hours tended to provide.
Eventually that game fizzled out too, with none of us really seeming too upset. I liked Darwin, but I never really had the chance to develop him beyond clumsy and good-natured, and there was nothing too compelling about his backstory to keep me invested. I didn't necessarily want him to die, but I wasn't going to be too torn up if it happened. When we quietly stopped scheduling games, I thought that surely this was the end of it. We'd given it two decent attempts, and maybe Dungeons and Dragons just wasn't for me.
To her credit, our friend Jessie was not going to give up that easily.
From my understanding, Jessie had had several very positive experiences with various D&D games and was convinced it was something that we could really enjoy together as a group. Having been part of campaign with friends from work under the guidance of a professional DM, she felt that we were owed a more "typical" experience with D&D than the ones we had been afforded so far. Seeing it as a kind of "last shot", she cajoled us into trying a one-shot game with the same DM and a few of her friends. I agreed, but was wholly unconvinced that it would be something I would want to continue. When it came to characters, we were given the option to create our own or pick from some profiles that the DM could randomly generate. Not really wanting to go back to my previous two characters and also not wanting to invest any time into the character creation process again, I opted for the latter. One week before our one-shot game, Jessie forwarded us the character profiles. I asked "Siri" to pick a number between 1 and 12 to help me choose a character.
And thus, Praxana Copperlark was born.
Or adopted. Whatever.
I'm sure I could have made do with whatever character I ended up with, but I was somewhat delighted at the idea of playing a bard. In my attempts to understand the potential of D&D for our second go, I often had episodes of Critical Role playing in the background while I did chores, cooked, or did crafts. While Percy was probably my "favourite" in terms of characterization and overarching storyline, it was hard to deny that Scanlan was the scene-stealer of the show, and the episode where he single-handedly took down an entire household of enemies with ingenious play was probably the first time I had felt truly invested. I had no misconceptions that I would ever match the truly comedic, inspiring, and improv-heavy heights that Sam Riegel reached with this character and class, but I recognized the flexibility and freedom in a bard character. I was pretty sure - at the very least - that I could probably have some fun with this character.
The character sheets prepared for us gave us all we needed to play our one game. Praxana was a Mountain Dwarf Valor Bard who had a Lawful Good alignment. My weapons and spells were picked out for me. I walked in having decided only that her goal was to collect stories and that if the opportunity ever arose, she was going to be very bad at accents. The DM helped establish a few relationships between characters to give us more of a "bond" and had us roll for tokens; Praxana ended up with a "butt earring" that made her more attractive to the opposite sex. All the better for a bard, really.
That first game was a ride. We went to resolve a mysterious wailing well for an old elf who cut our rope and sent us tumbling down to our deaths - a very-near TPK in the first fifteen minutes of our game (Joan's monk survived by sheer luck and grit). We were revived by a very young dwarven girl and journeyed through the Underground, eventually making our way to confront a bad guy in cahoots with the elf. We managed - after various mishaps - to win our fight and escaped to the surface. The DM skillfully guided us through the game, keeping it moving at a brisk pace but never robbing us of our choices. He populated the game with a few interesting NPCs to keep us engaged and left us with enough of a resolution that we could happily end there, but also with the promise of more story.
I wouldn't say I was hooked, but I was intrigued. Although I was in the background more often than not, I had enough small moments that I could get a sense of what I would want this character to be and how she would interact with the other party members. I could see how this could lead to a really engaging experience and a fun thing to share with my friends. The DM was clearly comfortable and confident in his role and I'd had a thoroughly enjoyable time. When Jessie suggested we consider trying a series of six games, I was open to giving this thing one more go. Maybe third time would be the charm?
Jessie sent us a few more resources to help flesh out our characters and prepare for the campaign. I spent a rainy day "rolling" my way through Praxana's life-story thus far with the help of Xanathar's Guide to Everything, piecing together her family tree and her otherwise pretty mundane life given her 107 years. I made a few changes, opting for the more flexible "Lore Bard" and the more forgiving "Neutral Good" alignment. I finished with a clearer sense of her goals and personality and entered our "Session 0" planning night feeling pretty good about what I had. Jessie helped us "roll" for relationships as we had some new players/characters joining where others had departed, and Praxana ended up with an old friend and adventuring buddy in a Cleric Goliath named Thrunk. We sat down and gave each other a few bare-bones important details that we felt our characters would have shared, and away we went, committed to bi-weekly games for the next six weeks.
We are now 21 games in, and I am hooked.
Our "core" group happened to gel nicely and these games have been a bright spot while I worked through my grief and increasing anxiety after my grandmother's passing. They have remained a bright spot as our daily lives were turned upside down by a global pandemic. Sure, playing online through various websites and apps is not quite the same as playing in person, but I'm grateful we get to play at all. While the mechanics of battle are things I am still becoming accustomed to, many years of LiveJournal and Dreamwidth roleplay have made me comfortable with becoming "attuned" to the instincts and reactions of characters and personalities that are not like my own. I have become increasingly more comfortable with Praxana (a more confident, ambitious, and cheeky personality than I am, but also a bit more cowardly in battle than I'd hope to be) and as a result, I am more invested in her story. I have enjoyed her commitment to stardom and the Ampersand Company, her tight purse-strings except when it comes to children and orphans, and her bond with her buddy, Thrunk. I am mildly perplexed but mostly amused that Praxana enjoying trying to get a reaction out of an uptight elf who is the head of the guards has resulted in the majority of the party "shipping" them. I have enjoyed occasionally pulling out songs for spells (I do love musical theatre, after all) and am immensely grateful that the DM has recognized how terrible I am at insults and does not make me come up with them on the spot for my Vicious Mockeries if I don't want to. I was surprised at how emotional I felt when soldiers died in an ambush on a supply escort and I knew that Praxana would feel this loss keenly and want news of their untimely deaths to be sent back immediately, so their loved ones would not suffer the way she and her family had, never knowing the fate of their missing father. I am honestly giddy at how fun her interaction with her youngest brother was - something that was not discussed ahead of time with the DM at all - and I am excited at the prospect of having some resolution to her only big (if rather straightforward) storyline, which was something I hadn't really anticipated. Unlike my other two characters, if Praxana were to die, I would probably be devastated.
Now I write down any songs that come to mind that may be useful in the future. I make sure I know my spells and how to utilize them to what I hope is their greatest effect. Inspired by Jessie, I dress up for our games, experimenting with hair and make-up in a way that I've never been inclined to before. I look forward to the 4 hours every two weeks where I get to forget that our world is falling apart, and instead get to play as a plucky dwarven bard who is hopefully helping to do some good. It has become so important to me that I have asked my boss and colleagues to help me juggle my schedule so as to miss as few games a possible.
I love Dungeons and Dragons.
First, the wonderful Sandra Oh voicing her concerns and frustrations about it 20 years ago.
Sandra Oh talking about racism in the industry (1999?). The way the interviewer tried to gaslight her and she was like NOPE pic.twitter.com/uVB3mAIEHU
— kae (@SandraHive) June 18, 2020
Second, a general overview on the subject in movies and Hollywood by the amazing Be Kind Rewind channel.
