An Open Letter to Jon Krakauer

Jon Krakauer, what I want to tell you is so vast.
It expands years of my life. It connects the different “parts” of me. The “chapters” if you will, of my life.
I am going to write here, free-form as Sarah instructed us to do without editing, without re-writing, I am trying to write here without editing myself, but it is difficult as I have just smoked half a cigarette and I am buzzed and the physical limitations it places on me means many typographical errors – I can barely type coherently.
But the thought that I encountered while I was thinking of how to start this letter to you was that I understand, to a limited extent mind you, the enormity of challenging Nature.
My life and my relationship with Nature, with my brief and ever-so-narrow experience with Mountaineering and that part of my life, intertwined with my life as a Writer and my life as a Journalist and as a Filmmaker are all intertwined and somehow echo deeply with the kind of writing that you have produced.
I have known the harrowing experience of challenging Nature. While I taking the time to reflect briefly, to delve into my memories if ever so tentatively, I came across the memory of Jason. How he had come to climbing X mountain and told me that he almost froze to death along with another climber there on the side of that face, him trying to sleep in the bivvy bag that I had sewn him while young, while inexperienced, while idealistic about the sport, the challenge, the life.
Yet by the time he tried it, I myself had given up. Had walked away from the challenge. Had decided not to take it on as my own. It was a big part of why he and I are no longer together. Yet I feel it. I feel a kinship towards it. This desire to feel the ache of our Planet, to feel humbled by the sheer force and magnitude of the power of Nature.
I love to feel humbled.
Hence, I suppose, my inhibition to write to you.
Ok, it’s not easy to write to someone you admire greatly. I mean, who am I? Yet we are all Human, we all share in the awe of being alive.
For nine years I lived in British Columbia and forsook my parents, my sister and friends in order to maintain a fierce relationship with the Land. The mountains, the trees, the earth and sky and oxygen it fed me. The Earth never gave up on me. It always gave me more: more nutrients, more challenges, more questions to be answered.
Yet here I am today in my country’s largest city and I feel at home. I feel as though in those nine years I explored as much as I needed. I became aware of and could accept my limitations. Others could not. Others pressed on to the point of expiration. I admire that, yet I disdain it simultaneously.
Your writing was at first a quenching to a thirst. To understand more fully the quest to “bag a peak,” to understand the feeling of being pushed to ultimate physical limits. Lately, after reading “Under the Banner” my respect for you grew. I have to be honest though, when I first started the book I was annoyed and disappointed that perhaps it was a little sensationalist. The feature magazine writer in you pushed me away. Especially after “Into the Wild” captured me so fully because of its intimacy. But as I read further, I realized that you had spent a great deal of time, a great deal of energy – you had invested so much into this story that was at once a part of you also became a part of you. And as I read it, so did it become a part of me.
Religion proposes endless questions.
I have been working in television for the past – oh, almost ten years now. Sheesh, the greatest part of my adult life. I have often wondered why I am involved in television at all since it feels like it is too much too often the pap of the people. But it is, actually, a place where human stories are told. I am trying, right now, to piece my first film together. It is personal. It involves friends who have started to make maple syrup from the trees that grow on their land. It is also the story of a birthday party, an event that is consciously made to occur simultaneously with the spring maple rush. It is a lovely story of the excitement that we as humans have for the life-force of Nature.
I don’t know if it will turn out to mean anything more than a fond memory to myself and the friends who attended this weekend of maple sugaring in the bush – but at the same time there is a deeper reckoning. For myself at the very least.
Somehow I have ended up working for the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) in the Documentary Programming unit. I am the executive assistant to the Executive Director of Documentary Programming for CBC Television. There are too many times I have typed the word executive here and I am annoyed. The fact that I am an assistant is also annoying – but then, this is the story I have written for myself. Sometimes I think of the job as a corner instead of an opportunity which is maybe limiting myself.
All my life I have fancied myself a writer. I have fancied this of myself, yet I have also known it to be true on a much deeper, fundamental level. When I read your books, I feel a sense of relief. A sense of “ah, someone is answering my unwritten, unspoken, indescribable need.” You connect the disparate “chunks” (for lack of a better word at the moment) of my life.
The writer in me. The explorer in me. The philosopher in me. The journalist in me. I have never been published, yet does this detract from me? I used to think it did. I accept (happily) now that I am who I am.
My newfound friend (I am being forward in calling her a friend) my writing teacher and peer, Sarah, suggested that I write you a note to thank you for having an impact on my life. Isn’t that a lovely idea? She said that too often writers work in solitude.
I thank you, Jon. I thank you for questioning. I thank you for questing. I admire you greatly for your desire to feel connected with the unknown, the previously un-explained. You dare to attempt to explain the facets of life that are sacred, that many feel are not possible to put into words. You dare to try. And you do so with grace, with the utmost respect and with, I feel, a desire to understand more fully the nature of us, us strange, weird, egotistical, magical, creative wondrous creatures, us humans. And with your writing, you bring us together in a way that has never been done before.
It’s 1:49 am now and the day has taken its toll on this 33 year-old child who is unaccustomed to staying up this late on a “school night” and subsequently attempting to write. I appreciate your patience in reading through this bit of a slog. I wanted to reach out to you, more than any other author, because I believe in you, Jon. I believe your convictions to be true, and I am inspired by your desire to quest.
Thank you for the words and experiences you have shared with myself and your other readers. I am grateful for the efforts you have made and the thought and care you have infused in everything that you do and write.
All my best,
Your daughter, your sister, your friend and your colleague,
Ilka

Hot Docs Summary

My Hot Docs experience was limited. No Industry Pass, just a book of ten tickets shared between Dave and I and a few of our friends. Tonight, Heather joined me for Garbage Warrior which I had originally earmarked to watch with Hilary (who is in Kentucky selling leather boots.) Hilary still needs to watch this film. So does Louise. So does Ingrid. So does anyone who will take the lessons learned from that film and the other wonderful docs presented at this festival and use them to make the world a gentler place for our young ones to stretch their wings in and grow.

I felt like I chose wisely. My three films this season comprised of Garbage Warrior , Suicide Tourist and What Would Jesus Buy . You can read their synposes if you'd like, I'm going to follow-up below with the reasons why I felt I had selected well.

What Would Jesus Buy tells the story of a street performer who one day, living in Times Square, is spurred by the panic caused by the consumer frenzy that surrounds him, and takes on the persona of a preacher. In no time, he has founded the Church of Stop Shopping and a dedicated team of fellow performers (read: activists) become his choir. It is the story of a band on a road trip. Touring minstrels of a sort with a very important message to Americans - reign in the shopping addiction, stop and think before you buy. If you have been reading my blog at all (and I know that this is a very rhetorical environment, so I have no clue if anyone is reading this!) But if you are, you would know that I have been struggling of late with my love for shopping - for clothing in particular. This film really stroked my sensibilities in the sense that it was echoing my desire to become a more "conscious" shopper. My Facebook religion lists: Everything is connected. It is true. What we buy in North America has a direct effect on: the environment, the economy, and the lives of people around the world. Luckily, this film was a raucously funny ride and seldom does it drag in philosiphical mire. That's the brilliance of anything Morgan Spurlock (Super Size Me) touches.

The second film we saw, Suicide Tourist, spoke to a concern my sister Sonya and I have been discussing for the past few years. Assisted suicide, to me, seems like a basic human right. When our bodies turn the corner from being able to sustain health to clinging to life in a state of irreperable unhealth and desperate decline, then I believe that we should be able to settle our affairs with our families and loved ones, and do ourselves in. We'd spare the medical system, our families and friends the great favour of passing on with the least resistance and pain. That is, if such is the way we choose to go. This film follows two couples and their families and their relationship with an organization called Dignatas which works to legally assist with this last stage of life we all must face. It is a story of courage, of respect and compassion for human life. It is as lovely as it is sad. The score wavered at times, but at times also transcended this peice of filmmaking that could have been extremely uncomfortable into a poem. What I appreciated most about the film was that it demonstrated that death is taboo in our culture and we need to learn the language and behaviour to better treat it.

Garbage Warrior was inspirational in the best way - a kooky mad scientist with wild white hair. Only he's an architect. Building these dwellings he calls "earthships" in New Mexico since the '70's, he's learned a hell of a lot through trial and error of how to build self-sustaining communities completely off the grid. Beautiful bejeweled walls made with glass and plastic bottles was my favourite feature. So much to learn from one individual! I love these amazing, creative folks. See, we humans as fabulous as we are mad.

There is a solution for all the world's problems. Just a matter of fighting the good fight. Perseverence. Creativity. Well, you know the rest.

Banning the Bulb

Ontario is the first North American jurisdiction to ban the incandescent lightbulb. It will become illegal to sell them by 2012. Still a long ways away, but hopefully we will naturally switch over long before then. Another step forward. Upon learning this, I had instant visions of silkscreened hemp t-shirts emblazoned with the image of a bulb crossed out. Bulb Powrr! I admit, however, that I may hold on to a few for special nostalgic evenings. They really do emit a different kind of light that we are so accustomed to. Especially those fat, colourful Christmas lights from the '40's. I'm going to have to find a set of those, stash them away, and pull them out from time to time the way that recepients of thieved art skulk to their cellars to gaze upon stolen Picasso's. Anyone have a set? I can meet you in the alleyway of your discretion.

Friday the 13th

The filming of the Maple Party was a success and I have since (with Dave's help) loaded the footage to iMovie. I was planning on getting started this week - but I hit a snag...

WE'VE BEEN EVICTED! ok, it didn't happen today (being Friday the 13th - which I actually believe to be an auspicious rather than ill-omened day) but back on Tuesday. Our landlord has informed us that he is moving from his store-front, where he's been living behind spray-painted windows, up to our suite. He's "expanding his business" and this appears to be a valid reason for legal eviction. Since Tuesday though, Dave - being the man of action that he is - found us another place! We'll sign the lease tomorrow morning.

That being writ, it's painful to have to move after putting so much love, time and elbow grease into our current abode. Man, did we ever turn that place around! I'd like to post some pics of our current apartment and the new pad once I get the chance... but it won't be for days as life is far too busy lately!

Eventually, I will also post a link to the Maple Movie - when that day finally arrives.

In the meantime, I know that several of you are combing your closets for swappables. Excellent news, my pretties - the swap is going to be mayhem! I envision a clothing hurricane in my living room! At least one broken wine glass and the noise of women cackling will drive any sensible man running!!!

A Project Idea

I am very excited for my first project - the maple syrup party at Leslie and Colin's River Bend Alpaca Farm in Merrickville at the end of the month.

Personal Homework

Last night while doing some personal homework and research, my gut tingled when my mind lit upon the following thought: my personal "stamp" in storytelling is that of spotlighting interesting people. I'm going to make films, and write stories of people doing interesting things. The closest type of docs that I can think of are some of the docs of Errol Morris and Verner Herzog. Or, the book "The Orchid Thief" by Sudan Orlean. Like her, I want to pump my stories with my femine spirit. No one's ever seen documentaries like the ones that I am going to make. And if they don't sell, who gives a shit. I have a day job.

Creativity, Comedy and Womankind

Creativity is the most valuable currency of humankind. Without it, we are doomed. When humans first evolved on the earth there were so few of us and so many resources. As we learned and our brains grew we became adept at harnessing the natural world for our gain and growth. You could see humankind as a plague, the way we have ravished this once-healthy planet. We are now (and have been for some years) at the brink of a precipice. What will save us? The very ingenuity that got us here! And though the task seems daunting, we can always turn back to ourselves for new ways to humour ourselves, new ways to build comraderie, and endlessly brilliant new ideas.

Comedy is a pleasant form of truth. We look at ourselves in the mirror and we shake our heads - "how did we get here?" If we can laugh, we are open to learning, to evolving, to growing and changing and if not continuing on the same path, recognizing that there are others to follow.

Womankind does not forget the importance of the sensual. Touch, sound, taste. Silence, temperature, vibration. The subtle essences of life that often elude men, we women live and breathe. Like ferns and orchids and plakton, we feed oxygen back into the atmosphere. Men and children luxuriate in the blessings of womankind.

Today, let's celebrate CREATIVITY, COMEDY AND WOMANKIND! Three precious human traits of our shared experience.

Taking the Time to Quote Good Ole Mac

"During this time it may dawn on us that although we live in an abundant and peaceful society (Canada) and have more than we can ask for, we still are discontent and restless. What is happening is that our senses are satiated and we have become jaded, misguided and totally separated from who we truly are and what our true spirits are capable of. No amount of money, fame, sex or power can remedy this ailment of the soul. No need to worry about alien invasions since in reality we are the aliens from a far away place. Deep within ourselves we know it and our souls long for that profound connection to the universe.
We see our leaders and celebrities falling apart and we conclude that money fame and power allow no release and no peace of mind at all. This is what is changing in our consciousness. If we want love and peace then we must reach inside to get it. Nowhere else can it be found. When we let go of the material acquisition game and seek peace within and find it, an abundance of love begins to flow. "

Fashion & Consumerism

Been thinking a lot about fashion. Consumerism. The earth and it's people. Been tossing around the idea of becoming a personal shopper, but one that is in tune with our times.

Recently my sister asked that future toys bought for her children be (preferably) made locally. And (preferably) by hand. It is difficult to always buy with lucid consciences. Just the other day Sonya and I found ourselves at the sales racks of H&M. Before we knew it we'd purchased dirt-cheap togs made in China and India. An orange corduroy skirt for five bucks! How could I pass that up?

Expressing myself through clothing is central to my being. And we all need to express ourselves in some way...

Last year I was asked to publish this little story about my relationship to the wedding dress. I was thinking about it today and found it and thought I'd add it to wecommute:

http://www.openjournalmontreal.com/hand-stitching-unraveling-and-standing-alone/

Clothes Swap

Check out picks from the massively successful swap on my Facebook page!

TAKE TWO!!!


Hello Gals (Boys, I doubt you’ll be interested in this one) -

UGh. I am totally exhausted by the winter doldrums. If you are like me, you need a little “charge.” Here’s an opportunity to revamp your wardrobe – perhaps even your “look” – for free!

CLOTHING SWAP @ my place Sunday April 15th

Bring duds you’re sick to death of but that still have good wear left in them. Everyone else will do the same. Then we’ll swap! It’s a fun way to clear out your closet of deadweight and get new stuff - free!

But it’s not only clothes…

Bring also: shoes, boots, purses, hats, jackets, belts, jewelry, trinkets, housewears and other goods you thought you’d love, you thought would work for you – but don’t. You never know, they may look fantastic on someone else. (Personally, I am planning to empty out half my closet for this event - no joke!)

And also… bring wine! Bring snacks! Bring friends! And we’ll make an afternoon of it. (I'll have plenty of sustenance available as well - we clothes-horses need a lot of energy food! :)

P.S. This is the third swap I've hosted and I can guarantee they are lot of fun - if you are worried that there won't be anything your size, I assure you, I've invited a wide range of "body types" - and don't forget there's always accessories!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! xoxo-i

Happy New Year!

I am so excited about 2007 - so many opportunities to use our talents and skills, and push forward the love we all have in our hearts - I believe we can have a positive impact on our precious Earth that we all call home. So many of us, myself included, have become so lazy and complacent. But with wee ones in my life, I can't be.

Some great places to start us moving and shaking: http://www.climatecrisis.net/ http://www.davidsuzuki.org/ (I am intrigued by going "carbon neutral.")

Here's a little anecdote and I invite you to come up with a method to deter the conscienceless:

Two days ago I saw a late-middle-aged man sitting in a Hummer that was idling at the side of the road. I was triply annoyed (the Hummer, the idling, the arrogance) and felt like knocking on his window, and with a sugary sweet smile tell him to smarten up. I chickened out.

A friend (I will keep this person annonymous in case they finally decide to act on this brilliant idea) decided years ago that with some paint and a stencil, a little guerilla stealth in the middle of the night, to plaster SUV's (and other known offenders) with the message: "This Idiot is Killing Us All."

My idea was to make big, round, brightly couloured stickers that read: "Stop Destroying Our Home, Learn Cunnilingus." Dave says that's a little too "riot grrl" for his taste, but Bhajan and Hilary seemed to like it!

Diamonds In My Eyes

My imagination was consumed a few days ago by synthetic diamonds. They seem to be the answer to so many peoples' desires: the desire for bling (in a Tiffany setting of course!), the desire for technological advancement (imagine a diamond microchip), and the desire for a clear conscience.

There seem to be a few labs in North America that are capable of simulating Nature's magic recipe.
I'll keep my eye on this one, and if you know anything about it, could you let me know?

Other things that are of particular interest to me are:
The world's housing challenge (over 50% of Caracas consists of squatter settlements - see Dave's picture of a barrio below)
Water (the rising of water, the purification of water, the distribution of water)

Addendum - Dave bought me gold stud earrings in the SHAPE of diamonds for my birthday! Lucky for him I find the irony adorable.

Venezuela

Some images that Dave took during his trip to Venezuela.

Future/Past

"Motorcycle Diaries" just came to a close here in my living room. Trying to feel a connection with Dave who is in Caracas and a day from returning home. The film was wonderful because it offered me a warm invitation to participate in Ernesto "Che" Guevera and Alberto Granado's epic journey. It will be memorable because of its grand and sweeping landcapes. As I sit here, I am thinking about history and how it is recorded and who gets a say, and when and why and what. And I'm thinking about perspectives and points of view and how easy it is to feel competitive against our fellow humans when intellectually, it should be possible to shed the ego and share in our experiences together. Will we ever be able to write a "human" history?

Above is a picture of what will soon be the tallest building in the world. Tokyo will beat Toronto! Acutally, the CN Tower which I see from my living room widow, from the building where I work, the building that oddly is such a presence in my life - well, I forget that it's the tallest building.

That reminds me of when I arrived in Vancouver at age 20. When I expressed my awe of the mountains, a friend who had moved there a year prior claimed "Ah, you'll forget they're even there. I do."

In nine years, I never did.

Not sure what radio station this is I am listening to, but the DJ is talking about Oregon - feels like a different lifetime ago that I passed though that state! Anyways, they are playing a Broken Social Scene tune. I remember the first time I listened to it - in the kitchen at the place on Bleecker. I think back to what my life was then. I also remember clearly listening to this particular song in my basement apartment on Gwynne last year. And now I am here. Is life changing too fast? Too slow? Too much? Too little? Again, I wish I were somewhere foreign. I am looking forward to the stories and images Dave brings back from Venezuela tomorrow.

Making Sedentary Progress

It has been too many months since my last confession, Father.

Perhaps it is the grinding discomfort I feel whenever I visit my untouched blog that I have moved very little since I last wrote and this is meant to be a place of movement - the movement of people and ideas. But maybe I can accept into the fold the concepts of flux, evolution and dynamism. What little movement I have made is - physically - virtually immeasurable. My job has changed: I now work at the CBC Broadcast Centre downtown instead of in the barren outlands of North York. So that has made a major impact on my daily commute and in turn my daily life. Taking the bicycle or a short streetcar ride - or heck, walking even! - the change from transitting from streetcar to subway to bus which robbed almost two hours of my day has impacted my life considerably. For one thing, I've been left with all this time! What a luxury. Yet I have been confounded by how to manage it.


May we exchange wisdom with each other as we travel on our own unique, mind-blowing experiences!

Springtime in the Annex

We found this lawn chair on the sidewalk in a pile of stuff marked "free." This is me waiting for the Bathurst streetcar.

Doubly Privileged

After two years of international paperwork, I am finally, officially, a dual citizen of Canada and the Netherlands. Today I picked up a whole new passport. You couldn't give a person a better present then the rights to citizenship to one of the world's most safe, wealthy and socially minded countries. A second set of rights and privileges. It's almost sickening how lucky I am - thanks Mom and Dad. My sister is not so fortuitous - the folks renounced their Dutch citizenship when they became Canadians during the time between when I was born and she was born. They loved Canada so much they wanted to become citizens - who could blame them? Is this not a country to be proud of? Unfortunately Canadian law demanded that they relinqish their birth nationality in order to become Canadian. My parents did not chose to remain landed immigrants and maintain their origianal nationality as so many thousands of immigrants to Canada choose to do. They wanted to vote.

Below is a recent email from one of my Dutch cousins from her travels in India. My Dutch isn't fantastic, but in this communique Floor describes how she and her travel companion meet a traveler who knows no English so they teach him a few words. Then tomorrow they themselves will learn more English from two other girls who work in the hotel. Yesterday they watched the Canadian film "Born In Brothels" - a fantastic documentary about children born and raised in the brothels of Calcutta.

I thought in light of my new identity as Dutch/Canadian I would push the Netherlandic language onto you since English is always pushed onto them.

Hey hey,

Hier zijn we weer... Het is hier eindelijk weer lekker weer! De eerste paar dagen dat we hier waren was het echt Nederlands weer! Vida en ik gaan iedere dag een heel eind lopen want onze conditie is nog niet echt wat het zijn moet en we willen toch echt wel de berg op (6000 m.) Gister hebben we een jongen leren kennen die 3 maanden geleden uit Tibet weg is gegaan en nog geen woord engels spreekt dus wij gaan hem een beetje engels leren! Ook twee meisjes die bij ons in het hotel werken gaan we vanaf morgen engels leren. Gister zijn we naar de film geweest (born into brothels). 't Was echt een hele mooie documantaire over kinderen die in een sloppen wijk in Calcutta wonen en een amerikaanse vrouw die de kinderen daar probeerde weg te krijgen. Er was een jongetje bij die echt prachtige foto's kon maken en kon schilderen. 't Was maar goed dat er meer mensen in de bios zaten want anders hadden Vida en ik hard zitten huilen! O ja weet iemand nog hoe die Italiaanse film heet die afgelopen zomer in het filmhuis draaide en 6 uur duurde (ja zelfs Philippe weet dit!) Kan het niet hebben dat ik de naam ben vergeten... Verder vermaken wij ons hier nog prima,natuurlijk!!!
Veel liefs en tot snel (hahahah) xxx Vida en Floor

Valentine's Day 2006

(This was emailed to my dearest of friends for Valentine's Day)
You all know me as a helpless romantic incapable of checking my love at the door. Always happy to be in love, I find myself surprisingly at peace with being unattached this fine February the 14th. Yet my love still gushes forth. Just now as I walked back to my desk, touching the red pendant that hangs between the red collar of my red shirt, I banged my head against an open cupboard door. I chuckle to myself because on my mind is the beautiful man from the streetcar whom I made a point of sitting behind while returning home from my class last night. He was very tall, very thin, very dark-skinned and walked with a casual style. What struck me in particular were the two bags he carried which were full of some sort of recording equipment. Sound or picture - I could not decipher. He had placed them gently down on the seat to his side and kept them close. He gazed through the windows alert at the world around him. He must use the equipment to record this world. I was smitten. At one point he turned my way and smiled at me. My heart could have pounded through steel. You could argue that this is an unremarkable event. A fleeting blip of the connection of two human souls on a planet of billions…
(Check this out! http://www.ibiblio.org/lunarbin/worldpop )
But I’d rather think it’s about our human capacity for love – a power that we can wield even in a world that sometimes feels ovewhelmed with conflict. Ok. Enough blather from me. I’ll leave you here with the words of a true poet who says it better than I ever could.
HAPPY LOVE DAY TO ALL OF YOU!

F. R. Scott
From: Events and Signals. Toronto: Ryerson Press, 1954.

A Grain of Rice

Such majestic rhythms, such tiny disturbances.
The rain of the monsoon falls, an inescapable treasure,
Hundreds of millions live
Only because of the certainty of this season,
The turn of the wind.

The frame of our human house rests on the motion
Of earth and of moon, the rise of continents,
Invasion of deserts, erosion of hills,
The capping of ice.

Today, while Europe tilted, drying the Baltic,
I read of a battle between brothers in anguish.
A flag moved a mile.

And today, from a curled leaf cocoon, in the course of its
rhythm,
I saw the break of a shell, the creation
Of a great Asian moth, radiant, fragile,
Incapable of not being born, and trembling
To live its brief moment.

Religions build walls round our love, and science
Is equal of truth and of error. Yet always we find
Such ordered purpose in cell and in galaxy,
So great a glory in life-thrust and mind-range,
Such widening frontiers to draw out our longings,
We grow to one world
Through enlargement of wonder.

Voting in St. James Town - January 24, 2006

This is a corner store in the traditional sense of corner stores: crisp apples in baskets are lined up in rows outside and fresh flowers sit in colourful plastic bins in the windows. Racked newspapers cramp the entry-way and a little bell rings when the door shuts behind you upon entry. Regulars here are welcomed by name and their purchases are anticipated: the lotto ticket tray is swept out from under the counter for presentation, and the amount for Ethiopian bread is punched in the register before the customer has selected his purchase.

Boyun Lee, who goes by the name of Julia, owns and runs Howard’s Fruit and Vegetables with her husband Howard. Their store is on the corner of Howard and Bleecker Streets (guess where Howard got his “Canadian” name) in St. James Town. This is arguably Canada’s most densely populated and ethnically prolific neighbourhood – fifteen thousand souls from around the globe in two city blocks. Here my Caucasian face is the minority.

For two years I lived in the third and top floor of this turn-of-the-century brick building that is dwarfed by the eighteen high-rise apartment buildings that loom in the background. It is one of the few reminders of St. James Town’s earliest years in the 1870’s when this was one of Toronto’s desirable upper middle class neighbourhoods. Now this area represents a chief concentration of new immigrants to our city.

Today is Election Day, and I am on my way to Rose Avenue Public School to vote. I stop in at Howard’s to have a friendly chat with Julia. We talk a little longer than usual. There has been a paucity of concern for immigrant issues during this election and I am curious to know how Julia feels about it. In broken English she explains that she is fed up with what she perceives is a corrupt Martin government and has decided to vote Conservative. She wants to see a change, that change is good. Her children on the other hand, prefer an NDP government. But she doesn’t want to throw her vote away, that’s how she’s sees it.

I ask Julia if she understands the terms “minority government” and “opposition party” and she says she’s heard these words before but doesn’t understand them. She explains that when she became a Canadian citizen a year ago that this was all described to her, but her English is rough and it’s difficult to understand such concepts. Language acquisition is important to her and she has attended ESL classes; however she was disappointed in how lax the instructor was and how he never assigned homework. Now she tries to practice with customers, but since nearly everyone in the neighbourhood is also struggling with the language there has been little progress. She laughs when she describes how she tries to read the Toronto Star between customers but rarely gets past the headlines. I wonder how many new Canadians never get past the headlines.

Julia, Howard and their two children moved from South Korea to Canada on May 16, 2001 and within a year they had bought the store. For the most part, the neighbourhood is friendly. There is an evident crack problem and some prostitution, but the crime comes and goes in waves. There are times when Julia gets very, very scared: one day last week a half-dozen thuggish teens stormed in and grabbed whatever they wanted then hit every other store on the block in a similar fashion. Last year there was a marked dealer presence on the corner, the same types of thugs sat behind the glass window of the fried chicken place next door and kept their eyes trained on the sidewalk. A new, resolute owner has cleared out that presence – for now.

But Julia is happy to be here. She has no plans of returning to South Korea, especially when she thinks of the future of her children. “We moved here because it was the thing to do for younger people who want to see progression. We wanted to break free from the traditional life in South Korea where women of my mother’s generation are still servants to their husbands.” If there’s one thing St. James Town needs, Julia thinks, is a change of attitude. “Most people are very nice, but some people need education to learn respect.”

As I leave for the elementary school, I ask if Julia’s youngest attends class there. She says no, he attends Rosedale Public School. In his class he is one of only two or three visible minority kids – so why? Because she wants to make sure that he commands the English language and sees immersion into Anglo culture as the most efficient way.

Rose Avenue Public School is another rare brick building amongst the tenements. It has seen better days. Big yellow arrows direct voters down a basement corridor. On the walls of the corridor are collages that children have made of themselves from tiny scraps of coloured paper. Below these collages they have listed particulars about their physiques. The title of each collage is called “Me” and one description reads:

Me
My eyes are BROWN
My hair is BLACK
My skin is LIT BROWN
By: Nirmala

Before I enter the gymnasium to vote I take a pit stop in the girls’ washroom. Two ten-year-olds are playing with a faucet, trying to make it squeal as loud as possible. They are laughing uncontrollably but gulp back when they see me. I enquire if it’s ok to ask them a couple questions about immigration and they agree.

Rafa Mir is from Bangladesh and moved here with her family when she was two. Neither of her parents is a Canadian Citizen and will not vote today. Cristine Castro’s mother is from the Philippines but has become a Canadian Citizen and will vote today. The girls learn about voting in school. They cut out articles from the newspapers and learn about the parties and the polls and how to not wreck ballots, and if you’re sick that you can email your vote in, or if you have to go for an operation you can vote in advance.

The girls tell me that the hardest thing about immigrating to Canada is leaving family behind. Also, Rafa says that her mother turned over a lot of fast food restaurants but is thankfully sticking to one these days. She says that the government could make life easier for new immigrants if they would show them around Toronto and Canada upon arrival. They have felt the pain of their parents’ struggles, yet when I ask them if they feel Canadian they chime a resounding “yes!”

The cinder-block gymnasium is very big and like many school gymnasiums also stands-in as an auditorium. The large stage at the far end is currently doubling as a furniture storage space. There are six basketball nets and crisscrossing coloured lines painted on the weathered wooden floor.

I present my identification and am told to proceed to booth sixty-nine. There, one of the volunteers tells me that I am told to go back to the front table and fill out a registration form. The other volunteer at the booth argues that no, my name is on the registration list and that is sufficient. The first volunteer pulls out the handbook. As they discuss, I look around me. It is Noon and there are few voters, but those who are in the room are of varying ethnic backgrounds and ages. Some look tired, others looked rushed, but all take the time to smile. It is a peaceful room.

After voting I decide to sit at the entrance on a plastic folding chair and watch the comings and goings for a while. A young security guard pulls a chair up next to me. He is bored and wants to talk. I tell him that I am interested in the immigrant experience and that I am watching all of the different faces in this room. Today is a special day for Canada because the people have the opportunity to play a role in the direction of our government. And this room is a special place because there are so many new Canadians here that may be voting for the very first time. I must have piqued his interest because he tells me “Yeah, that Martin guy, what did he do, like steal a bunch of money?”

Sibthey Hasnain has a nickname that matches his disposition poetically: Sunny. He tells me he’s 21 but as his story unfolds he admits with a warm and bashful smile that he is only 20. He and his family moved to Canada from Pakistan on September 30, 2002. They came via Houston, Texas where they lived for about 8 months. In Pakistan his mother worked as a Civil Servant in the Department of Agriculture. His father worked in a semi-private cotton company in a similar position. Both were raised in middle-class families and both hold University degrees.

Currently Sunny’s mother assembles fan parts in a factory and his father drives a taxi. But both are trying to improve their situation: Dad’s studying to obtain a real-estate license and Mom’s learning about RRSP’s. They own their own house now and Sunny is planning for college – he wants to become a police officer. “I want to keep the community safe, unlike in Pakistan” where there is no confidence in peace.

Things are pretty good for the Hasnain’s now, but they weren’t always. Living from Visa to Visa in Texas was proving to be exhausting and they applied to emigrate to Canada. When they got the green light they had one month to relocate north. They sold everything they had accumulated in Texas and moved into a friend’s basement in Mississauga. “Those were the worst days,” Sunny says. “It was a cold first winter.” Then, when his father burned his hands in an accident, Sunny and his brother were forced to leave school and find work – Sunny clerked in a convenience store while his brother washed dishes. But the family pulled together and that’s how they managed to buy a house within three years time.

Sunny thinks that the best way to improve the lives of new immigrants to Canada is to allow them the opportunity to work in their discipline. “Professionals, with a degree, should work in their fields. We need doctors don’t we?” Although this is his main gripe about the transition, Sunny is grateful to be here. “I am happy to be Canadian, I feel Canadian. Life is assured here. You live peacefully, make your life, make your money, and you get to know more cultures. I like Canada because you can find your community.” When I ask Sunny to explain what he means by that he tells me “Because I am Muslim, there was a fear in people in the United States. Here I can talk to anyone, brown guy, white guy, anyone. The States is different. They call you Bin Laden to your face. Here, there is none of that.” He explains that there are some people in Canada who try to take the peace away, but there are people like that in every community.

St. James Town sees its share of crime and strife. Guns are not unknown here. Thankfully, what is known is that beside the worst in human nature you will find the best in human nature. When I leave the school, I spot Sunny smoking outside. He is wearing a black jacket emblazoned with the word SECURITY. He is bored and wants to chat some more, but I have to leave. I wonder if he’s grateful that he’s bored.