Recent events have lent fuel to the fires of racism, of hatred and fear. With such sustenance to feed upon, the darkest side of humanity begins to writhe up inside. The side that cries for self-preservation above all, the side that must point fingers and lay blame, the side that is willing to look at someone and judge them based on their appearance, the side that would be willing to hurt someone for nothing more than their differences…
Why a stove top kettle when electric ones are so much faster and cheaper?
This question had first been posed to me a few months ago, and when I took a moment to polish the kettle which had become a target for all the splatters that my well-used stove-top collects over time, I found myself revisiting the question.
Life has this way of packing every moment of each day full of things that we seem to have no choice but to do. Chores, responsibilities, work… they pile up and pile up, leaving us feeling like we’ve run out of time; that one resource that we never seem to have enough of. We spend our time, and often we feel as though we really have no choice in the manner of our spending. Our day starts and we allot two minutes to the brushing of teeth, ten minutes to the eating of breakfast, five minutes to staring aimlessly into our closet and fifteen minutes to a shower. We slice up, and block out our days into little segments, and when it’s all said and done we bemoan the way in which we were forced to chop it up and utilize the meager little slivers we are left with after the main responsibilities are taken care of Continue reading The Kettle Conundrum→
The last time that I was in the Houston Airport was an eternity ago, and yet this time, walking through the corridors, it felt as though it were yesterday. I have spent the last seven months in a paradise, in a place so different from anywhere that I have ever known that it was destined to change me. No way could I live through that and come out the other end exactly the same person that went in.
And yet. I could have sworn that no time had passed at all. A part of me felt as though it had all been a dream. I left my mountains, my dear, incredible mountains, only the afternoon before and I could already feel them slipping into a memory. Continue reading The Layover→
I’m not perfect. I never have been. But the thing is, I’ve finally gotten to the point in my life where I can see who I am very clearly, all my flaws, and all the beautiful bits. I’m finally ready to admit this, to put it out in the universe, to be this self-confident.
In just over two months I will be returning to Canada, and in an effort to save money so that I can save up for my next adventure, I have decided to try to find some compatible roommates. I believe in honesty, so I wrote this letter for anyone crazy enough to consider me as a roommate.
Every so often, the hands of time revolve and return me to a set of circumstances, to a state of being that I know so well, and yet manage to ignore far too often. I find myself inexplicably feeling empty, even though my life is full and I am happy. It’s not because of some fault in the world around me, but rather because I am neglecting something that is a part of who I am, and without it I begin to feel incomplete.
No matter how incredible life is, no matter how many crazy things I’ve done in a day, how many rainbows I’ve seen or waterfalls I’ve swam under, I need to sit down and just for a little while, reconnect with my soul. Continue reading Taking the time for…→
Even though I know that we each make our own happiness, I have still been searching for a place that feels like home. It was one of the things I was hoping to find when I came to Ecuador; I had this dream of walking into a valley or stepping onto the beach and suddenly, miraculously, feeling like I belonged. Continue reading Home is…→
Part of my endless search to discover a character that fascinates me enough to dedicate an entire story to their antics.
Her feet were always a little bit dirty, her hair a little out of place and she tended to project an air of general neglect. It wasn’t for lack of caring, upon occasion she would catch a glimpse of herself in a reflective surface, sigh in resignation and fix the misaligned buttons on her slightly oversized shirt. Her hand might make a motion towards the pin falling out of her hair, but then a thought would occur and replace the previous one with such overwhelming ease that she would immediately forget what she was about to do, her hand falling limply to her side, its task unfulfilled.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care; there were simply more important things to focus on.
Your world is defined by that which you accept as truth. Whether it is the things you were taught in school, or by your parents; information gleaned through experiences or as is often the case, formed by the religions, belief systems and societies we grow up in.
Life is this nutty, crazy thing. I’m not sure it ever really starts to make more sense. Maybe it’s just me that is as confused as ever, and life is plodding on in its regular predictability wondering when I’m going to come to my senses!
Either way, the only thing I’m sure of is that I’m currently sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring out at an expanse of beautiful green. Or at least I think I am. So long as the reality I perceive is actually real and I’m not in some version of the Matrix, lying in a pod filled with goo and powering the mechanical bodies of an artificially intelligent life form with my bio-electrical energy.
Jeese man. How did I get so weird?
Maybe it’s because of my parents. Maybe I was born this way. Maybe I’ve always been like this and it has just taken 25 years of this particular reincarnation of myself to figure it out.
Figure what out? That I’m a nut? …
I couldn’t tell you what kind of nut. Maybe knowing everything would take half the pleasure out of life.
Anyone want to be nutty with me? Cause goodness knows, if you’re not, and you hang out with me long enough, or sit closely to me for any length of time… or read too much of my writing… you’ll probably catch what I’ve got. Nothing is more contagious than nuttiness.
I hope it’s sunny tomorrow. Roasted nuts always have the most flavour…
Welcome to the musings of Beth Hobson (writer) – to be taken with a spoonful of sugar.