I went to Vancouver because no one knew what to do with me. This was about two months after the thing I did to myself, which wasn’t even the only thing I had done. I write about those thirty or so minutes in particular, because I often forget that I had also gone to Cabrillo, where I had paid for parking, kept my shoes on in the water and tried to go low. I climbed over rocks, not thinking that I would have to find a way to get back across them, and then I watched the tops of the cliffs. I looked at the people who were still on the sand, I took a call so that in the spring, I would be alive for Canada.
My mom and I were on the plane for three or so hours. I was asking a lot of questions on the way there, while and back. I’ve written about the airport before, how you could see the forest on the other side of the windows. How velvety green the carpets were, how old it all seemed. We were picked up by a man who had immigrated to Canada, this is something my mom could talk to him about because she also was born in one place, raised in another that is different from where she would later be.
My mom had booked us the apartment, it was a one-bedroom in Chinatown, near the Downtown Eastside. Vancouver has one of the highest drug-addiction rates in North America, and we were staying a couple blocks away from where people tended to gather. It seems that the city has enacted a policy of decriminalization, as many people have lost their lives while tending to addictions in private, away from arrest. The most popular drugs in this area are cocaine and methamphetamines, fentanyl and heroin. These people walk like I have done, though I have never put any into my body. I know what it is to be in another reality, when there is no way of knowing which one is correct.
On our first night, we went next door to the noodle shop. I ordered rice porridge and it was the most delicious. I ordered it again before we left because it was so delicious. I told my mom about how I was, how I could never forgive myself, how I could never be as I have been, how I had to try to die because it was the only thing on my mind, and she tells me that she had similar ideas when she was my age. I have been there for a lot of my mom’s life, over twenty years. On that note, I turned twenty-two a couple of days ago, but back to Canada. We went to a couple of different museums, one showing Indigenous art - whose writing is beautiful and on the buildings all around. Another had an Experimental Art in the Eastern Bloc exhibition, where there were nude bodies. It was one of my favorites.
I can’t remember which order the days came in, but we went to the suspension bridge too, where we were among the trees. We shared what I believe were called otter balls, which were these little round pancakes like takoyaki. Too sweet with marshmallows and chocolate, but I had chosen them. We went on a bus for a guided tour, we went to Granville Market to have chicken pot pie and look at the water. We were only there for a few days but it was enough. I left a Yelp review for quite possibly the first time in my life, because I had really enjoyed one of the cafes. We went to the Gastown district, which had a smoking clock. Mom took me to have an expensive dinner, I can try to find the name of the restaurant. They helped me take off my coat or jacket, and that was quite an unusual experience. The food was good, but it was just nice to be there with her. My mom would go hungry so that her siblings could eat, after all.
I feel that I am forgetting some places we went to. There was a little used bookshop where I bought a somewhat libelous Plath biography, and I spent a lot of time reading about her before going to sleep. We watched Leave it to Beaver on one channel and during commercial breaks, we switched to Little House on the Prairie. My mom loves that show because she used to watch it as a kid and believe it or not, I used to watch Leave it to Beaver (1950s-1960s) as a kid. Yes, I was born in 2003 but there was a channel called AntennaTV that I had loved more than anything. We spent Sunday mornings watching Hazel and Gidget, and the Flying Nun - by the way, I’ve been thinking about becoming a nun. I don’t believe in God, but I don’t think that’s really important.
During all this time, I was recovering from pink eye. I put droplets of liquid antibiotic into my eyes, at least I think that is what it was. I was not back to normal in Vancouver, but it was a way of getting there, or becoming entirely different. I was tired during the guided tour, but there were really lovely buildings by the bay that were pastel-colored. I hope to be able to find them again. On one of the stops, we went to a park where people were having an encampment - I wrote one of their sayings in a poem later, it was Save the Sacred. I gave them some money, that is Canadian money, which is pretty. I kept a coin or two.
The image that I’m going to put up for this Substack post is one that I took last night, by accident. I was trying to take a picture of Sophie in her sunglasses at General Lee’s, but the flash came on and I got embarrassed. We were in Chinatown - hey, I’m just making the connection now. We were in the Los Angeles one, and it was something. I had to leave the bar early because I was so hungry, and so was Yuka. We had chow mein and orange chicken, and then everyone else came to finish off our plates. Jon was bummed because the girl he liked hadn’t come, so he stood in the middle of the street for a little while, but at least he had some noodles. Emma was there with Sean, who finished her plate of broccoli beef and white rice. These are all people I wouldn’t have known had I gone away before my twenty-second birthday, and I guess that is another connection. A callback, if you will.