The sun comes up and I start again

A month of heat and sun makes me welcome the rain. I’ve forgotten why I have a blog. Tonight, I remember—to improve my writing and to keep in contact with friends. Lately, there’s been less writing, less reading, and more starring at spaces. Spaces of what could have been, would have been, things that should have been said. I’m not a frequent visitor of loss spaces, of wanting to return to the past and correct my words, but there are times when the present could only make sense by unraveling the past.

This last week have been full of activities: lunches with Geret, breakfast with Hitomi, dinner with Ariel, a night with Anya and the “Japan Gang,” feeling light as smoke and touching the ground again by filling my belly with insanely delicious poutine at Fritz at four in the morning, a night of talking about strippers with the boys, and not being able to get in to their local stripper bar on Granville. I find I’m no longer shock that Canadian men frequent such establishments, that I’d be curious enough to even check it out and find out what they’re about. Dinner again with Berlene, her husband, and her friends. All these plus a six day work week.

This Thursday, I’m jumping on the ferry to Bowen Island with Sharad. His time in Vancouver is coming to an end, and soon, I’ll be without a roommate to explore Vancouver. Another great roommate with a departure date.

It’s almost four. I’m waiting for the sun to come up. Other than drunken nights in Tokyo, waiting for the train to start running again, it had been years since I stayed up for the sunrise. I miss Kildonan Park, my roller blades, the pink and tangerine colored horizon over the Red.