Noisy Finals... or something.

Across the country, students are revving up their cerebrums for final exams. However, here, I am revving up to change rooms in residence to the top floor - floor number eleven. How did this come about?

When I signed up for TRURez (Thompson Rivers University Residence), it advertised having areas set aside for different profiles - studious, partiers, smokers/non-smokers, non-drinkers, etc. I signed up for a quiet, alcohol-free environment. I ended up living with a partying, heavy-drinking roommate. He's not a bad guy, don't get me wrong there, the lifestyle difference simply drives me crazy. If this were any other residence, I'd be fine. That's not the case, however.

This residence costs more to live in than an apartment downtown. It's modern, extremely spacious, and is essentially run like a hotel (as it is a hotel during the summer and non-academic part of the year). The view from my window is better than our multi-million dollar property in Langley. This leads me not to put up with shit when it happens. So I finally decided enough was enough last night at one o'clock AM when the folks downstairs were busy playing "drag the chair around all night." They are still busy with that right now. As they have been for the last month.

I had already arranged to be put on the list of people who wanted to change rooms during the Christmas break, however, I wasn't 100% certain that it would be necessary - perhaps I'd learn to deal with both the little problem of my roommate and the big-assed problem of the fucktards downstairs. 

This morning, after a hellish night of trying to confront the only rude staff member here (even the housekeepers try to chat you up in the hallway), the night watchman, I went straight to the desk and asked the status for my moving. 

The wonderful coordinator of this facility - who as I may add has the personality that could easily land him the position of head concierge at a Cancun resort - let me know that unfortunately the best option would be an upgrade ($300) to the top floor with an extremely tidy, quiet roommate. The price wasn't so hot but the situation is. I will highly appreciate living away from the hullabaloo of young adults acting like fifteen year-olds.

O Canada! I love thee.

I am proud to be Canadian. We have never started a war for our benefit, only ever fought in one, and never lost. We were in World War II even before the Americans joined, and in fact, we gained a unique title as a nation due to our performance in World War I. A Canadian invented the Ski-Doo and the resulting company now builds more commuter jets than any other company on earth. We are the main exporter of oil to the United States of America, which is the greatest consumer of oil on Earth. Canada designed the Canadarm, without which the space shuttle missions would have been impossible. Our country is peaceful and has no internal disagreements. We don’t have guns in every household. We have the largest French-speaking population never to surrender to Germany. Beat that. Ok, so it’s more Franglais. Wait. Franglais was a word in my Mac’s spell checker. What the hell? 'Anada!

If you want more on how awesome Canada is, check out the Rick Mercer Report on YouTube.

Feats of Humanity

This will be my last text post for quite some time, until I start releasing chapters of a book I was inspired to write with the news of the discovery of a mysterious dark planet 740 lightyears away. Let the post begin.

Sometimes I take ten minutes and stand, motionless, and realize "Holy fuck, humans have done some serious stuff." What kind of stuff? First let’s lay down the standards: We are primates. The most advanced tools of any other primate is a rock with gouges in it used to crack open nuts. None have harnessed fire. That is an obvious one that people don’t often realize. But we’ve harnessed the opposite too, and everyone I have ever met has taken it for granted and has said “so what?” when I pointed it out.

We have harnessed the cold, too, with refrigeration. The idea of a glass of cold refreshing lemonade wasn’t even thought of until the mid-1800’s. Does it not seem that big? Think again. It has changed the way we lived. But let’s move on from small stuff.

We are a land-based species that has reached the inside of the earth, the seas, the skies - even the heavens. Does it not stun anyone else that we have technology? That calculator you are carrying, that TI-84, has more power than the computers my parents used at the University of British Columbia. It is a lie to say that they are more powerful than the computers on board Apollo XI, they are pretty similar - but, wait, Apollo XI? What the hell? We’ve gone to another celestial body?

Humans have figured out how to get all the way to another place in the solar system. I hope one day I can look back on these statements and say, “Wow, have we gone a long way since then.”

We have half harnessed the power of the atom, but there is something far more simple that I believe is the most brilliant invention of humans: The screw.

The screw is used in everything - cooking, flight, cars, boats, machinery of all types… but it appears nowhere in nature. Things roll in nature, so I consider a failure that it took so long for humankind to invent the wheel. But the invention of the screw required even further thought. They are even used in the machines that transport people all over the planet every day, the jet.

And now, the sad part. We have become to obsessed with development for development sake that we have left them to rot. built 50 years ago, the first B727-100 ever built now rests outside a hangar, missing parts, falling apart in Everett, Washington. I have had the honour to touch this beauty. It was, in my opinion, the first modern jetliner. The BAC111 does not count, it looks like a propeller plane with toilet paper tubes on the tail.

But there it sits, desolate, forgotten by history, even though it was the greatest feat of engineering in its heyday. Visit a museum some time and just think about how amazing your species is.

My Only Quote, Ever.

"Just because you are trained for something does not mean your are better at it than someone who isn’t. You simply have more potential."

-Colin Stepney

The End

They had been planning on moving in together – and now all that was a pipe dream. She was gone. The blue fleece blanket was hardly sufficient. More was deserved for this situation.

            Returning to the back of the plane, he opened the little cabinet and found one of the remaining four nature valley bars. He contemplated it for a moment. If she hadn’t gone, there would have only been three and a half today. If she hadn’t gone, she would still be here. Joe pulled the door shut as the wind started to blow. He watched out the little window as snow started to blow over the blanket. This window – the same window he had watched Anchorage drop away from him through – now showed him a thing he had never wanted to see.

            Carly and him had taken a trip to Oahu, they had stayed at a beautiful beachfront hotel. One night was the night that would be stuck in his memory. One evening as they left the room for the restaurant, he had discretely picked out a small package from his coat pocket. That was dessert. It was to be enjoyed after dinner, to the sunset. He had ordered a steak, medium rare, she had a seafood platter with shrimp, a small sample of mahi-mahi, and a glass of red wine. After he paid the bill the two went for a walk along the beach in Waikiki. The sun was about twenty minutes from setting. Her hand in his felt warm and soft, the way it had felt the first time he had held it, back in grade ten. But now he had to do this. Time for dessert.

            He blinked. It was getting dark outside. He crawled up to the cockpit, and took the little electric lantern he carried in his hiking pack. He hooked it into the air vent over seat 4A. It was the middle seat on the plane. The plane was lit up with the eerie glow of blue-white. It trembled slightly each time the wind blew. He returned to the cockpit for the flashlight. He returned to his window. He clicked the little button, and a beacon shone out into the storm. The blanket held fast.

            He let go of her hand, but she did too, at the same time. She reached up and adjusted her hair. He loved the way she looked in that white beach skirt. Her long brown hair reached just past her shoulders and was tied into a ponytail.

            A sudden bang echoed through the silent hull and it tipped a bit. A rush of cold air blew over him. A tree had fallen on the cockpit windshield. Snow and brisk air were pouring into the cold passenger section and ice was piling up on the vacant pilots seats.

            Joe found a garbage bag in the cabinet. As he unraveled the silver duct tape, pain seared through his arm – just a sprain. It’s not broken.

            He slowed as Carly adjusted her hair. She was about ten paces ahead when she realized that he wasn’t beside her. She turned around. And looked down.

            The duct take didn’t seal well against the dried blood on the panel, but the wind stopped invading his warmth. He surrounded himself in the remaining five blankets.

            The sunset was the most brilliant red, the sun itself was about halfway concealed by the horizon of the Pacific Ocean.

            Just twenty-two miles dues west, from the charts. But what good would that do? There are no highways around here. Not for at least two hundred miles. Even if he found a road he would have to hike it out to the nearest town. Traffic wasn’t common in the Alaska winter.

            A second crash brought him back to his senses. The little lantern was still on. He reached up and switched it off. He glanced out the window quickly before laying down, even though he couldn’t even see where the window was. He knew what lay beyond it, though. A little “beep beep” from his watch signaled the twelve hour mark.

            Carly’s mouth opened slowly. Joe spoke first.

            “We’ve been together for five years now. I love you, I have for a long time. I know you love me. I don’t know a couple as happy as us. Will you marry me?”

            She had answered with one word.

            “Yes.”

            Turn off the light. No. There shouldn’t be a light – sunlight? Was it morning already? No – the light vanished. Good. More sleep. Then it was back. Over the storm, through the muffling of the hull, he made out a low pitter-patter. He sat bolt upright. The little red light on the EPRB was still on. It wasn’t possible. Just three hours earlier… The light came back.

            He reached into his pocket. The little black box had a thin velvet coating, just as he had seen in all those dumpy romance movies. He opened it – nothing. Needless to say, panic ensued. He was almost brought to tears on the happiest night of his life.

            Then all of a sudden, like rolling thunder, the sound of the helicopter came out of nowhere and the storm outside was illuminated by a halogen light. Joe kicked the door open and grabbed the red stick off the seat behind it, and pulled a tab off of it. A brilliant red light, brighter than daylight, erupted from it. Startled, he dropped the flare outside the door. The helicopter stayed. Still wrapped in five blankets, he waved out of the door. He could see the shape of it now that the light wasn’t blinding him. I landed about two hundred feet from the plane.

            He was breaking down, tearing apart the luggage, opening every drawer, checking pockets – all the while Carly had her hand on his should trying to call him. After and hour and a half of searching, he gave up. He picked up the bedside phone. He dialed his home number in Farmoll.

            A man in a bright orange jumpsuit, who looked rather like a giant carrot, came out of the storm and started shouting.

            “Where are the other three?”

            “Hello?”

            “Mom, it’s Joe – yeah – can you check in my office desk drawer – yeah top right one – the little wooden box – thank god. Love you, see you in a few days.” He hung up. “I left it in my drawer.”

            “The first thing I’ll do when I get home is put that ring on. She gave him a kiss.

            He was silent. The carrot yelled louder.

            “Sir, are you injured?”

            “What – no. They…” His eyes moved to the blanket laying under the wing. He pointed towards the cloth, then walked towards the helicopter. It was time to go home.

            “It has been announce that the small connecting flight from Anchorage to Farmoll airport has been recovered, with one survivor.”

The Best Week of My Life

On March 24th, 2012, I went through airport security. I am a frequent traveller, I use the airlines usually two to four times a year. However, I had always had my parents there to tell me what to do, how to do it, when to do it. Today I took off my shoes to be bombarded by x-ray radiation alone, and knew no one in sight. My heart rate was probably through the roof. In about a week’s time it would be back to normal. I was about to get on a flight to Ottawa for a program called Encounters With Canada or “Rencontres Avec Canada.” I got my last choice on my list of possibilities, politics in Canada. I didn’t think I would have a good time.

I generally acknowledge that I have a reputation that follows me without legitimate reason, a very negative reputation. I was worried, as usual, that I would be bullied, harassed and made fun of for a week. That wouldn’t be the case; that week changed me into a completely new person.

On the first day of Encounters, I sat down in the dining hall with a girl named April and a boy named Trevor. Trevor was from Richmond and April was from Edenwold, Saskatchewan. These people didn’t know me or even know people who knew me. Over that week they turned into the best friends I had made since grade 8, perhaps ever, and I continue to exchange emails, Skype and cards with them. I was now engulfed in an environment of people with whom I could relate and were ready to be accepting of new people. We spent our week in Ottawa touring around, attending sessions of parliament and taking part in political workshops.

In hindsight, it was the best week I have ever spent. The food was dreadful. The beds weren’t comfortable. I was bullied in the end by a kid from British Columbia. How did I change?

The biggest was my social change. Prior to that, I had no confidence making friends. I had been suspended once, in grade four, and people used it as an excuse to be mean to me and used it up until grade nine. Now there were 109 students my age or very close, all of whom knew no one in the building and wanted to make new friends and acquaintances. I developed a very social personality, hanging out in the recreation room playing ping pong or even hanging in the lounge playing piano for friends who would actually take the time to listen, complement and sing along. My self-confidence skyrocketed; I realized that I only had felt unable to make friends in the past due to the nature of those with whom I was isolated. I was freed from the social prison of having been bullied for ten years.

I learned that I could be myself and the majority of the intelligent world would not object to it. I learned that I enjoyed travelling on my own and being self-guiding.

In regards to my career, at this point my goal is to become an aircraft structure maintenance technician, or the guy who prevents the wings from falling off. The political aspect of Encounters did not truly interest me as much as the social aspect of the trip, although I developed extreme skill or at least had it come out when in the debating workshop. I was voted in every time for my team as the presenter, the one who got to yell at the opposition. This won’t help me fix aircraft.

An aircraft technician travels with the aircraft, especially with a commercial services company like a fire-fighting organization like Conair, my likely future employer. If I wasn’t comfortable travelling, meeting new people, being away from current friends and family, this would be far from ideal.

A smaller component of the trip was that I got to exercise my 8 years of pure French education by interacting with the Canadiens Français at Encounters.

The greatest aspect of the trip was my social change. I discovered that people did in fact want to meet me, that people were as interested in talking to me as I was to them. I changed from a child who was sheltered in fear of the bullying that was in no way imaginary to a boy who was perhaps the most outgoing in his group of friends. Prior to that trip, I had no interest of meeting people in places I wasn’t familiar with. Now, I actually look forward to later life and meeting people outside of school.

As I got on the plane leaving Ottawa, I had been up for thirty-nine hours straight. I woke up thirty minutes before landing in Ottawa. The man beside me introduced himself to me and asked me about why I had been in Ottawa. I answered as if I had known him the entire time, and I told him something very similar to what I wrote above. I would not have been able to say that six days earlier.

I would like to close by saying that the trip gave me personal responsibility. Each night the boys of our dormitory played rude pranks on the security guard, always laughing at him. He was in fact quite a nice person, so on the last night I went out and met him and apologized to him on behalf of everyone else. I returned to my bunk to find it covered in shaving cream and a very rude note.

Not-So-Stalgia

I can’t say I can experience nostalgia - I’m only 17. That would be rather pedantic of me. However, some memories are very strong. For instance, the smell or fresh, cool air and the sound of rain coming down from a grey sky reminds me of the first time I went to visit a friend who I hadn’t seen in another town. We had soup at a little coffee shop and hung out, it was the first time I went somewhere on my own planning without my parents. She is still a very important friend.

I think everyone has these moments. It’s weird what a small reminder can bring back - December, 1963, that song makes me feel like I’m about to land at 8:30 at Kona International Airport because all three times that I have landed there, somehow, that song on my shuffled playlist plays right at that instant. Every time I take the SkyTrain through Lougheed Town Centre station all I can think of is my ex-girlfriend who I made the mistake of dumping and ignoring for almost half a year. I go to Stanley Park and it’s memories of biking around the Sea Wall with training wheels.

The strongest memory, however, isn’t always the event itself, but the emotions that come out of the event. The happiness I experience when I visit the park in Fort Langley brings back memories, wonderful memories of yet another relationship. I’m sure that one day I will travel to England and all I will be able to remember is how the first email we got after landing was a notification from my grandmother that my grandpa had passed away while we were out of communication.

Visiting Ottawa will only bring back good memories, of making more friends than I could ever imagine. Some things draw emotions that aren’t in the guidebook of emotions that are commonly recognized - specific emotions, such as “holy god that tree with moss hanging off the branches is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.” I hope some day you will be able to share happy experiences with others, and not just photos and sound, but the actual feeling of it.

How (not) To Repair Apple Headphones

University residence is really loud. Sleeping is not a right, it is a privilege earned by those who call security to shut down parties. I enjoy sleeping, being a human being (unlike the other people in this building). 

Both pairs of my SkullCandy headphones broke the same way a week apart, and I'm sending them off for warranty replacement tomorrow. I'm stuck with Apple headphones: superior audio quality, in my opinion, but do nothing to cancel noise. The only way I can fall asleep at TRU Rez is by blasting the soundtrack to Kon Tiki on repeat (I'm at 162 plays, and that's only because I don't use my expensive and breakable iPod while sleeping. Please note, the song is 14:38 long, adding up to over 39 hours of one song. That's more than my whole library put together).

Tonight I decided to kick back and not study (ok, bad choice, but a much needed break). First I built the Banff Springs Hotel in the Sims 3, then got bored with that and decided to watch Life of Pi for the third time. Two seconds into the movie, the left headphone failed. I froze in horror: this destroyed all prospects of getting any sleep for the next month. My life fell apart at the same time as Pi Patel was thrown into the pool by Mamaji. By the time his family was being drowned by a Japanese cargo ship, my heart was going at about ten thousand beats per minute, and it had nothing to do with the movie. I need sleep. I'm not one of those university students who can party and operate on two hours of sleep (like my roommate, which is why I'm moving). I did, in the end, thoroughly enjoy the movie, as did my neighbours, because of my lovely giant speakers. I could feel the storm (although there was actually a storm outside as well). As the movie drew to a close and my best friend on Skype decided that sleep was in order due to illness, I needed something to do. How about fixing headphones? Ok. Let's go... (Warning: do not do this to your headphones, EVER):

1. Check for bent 3.5mm jack. Checked. Present. Probably from the amount that I roll around in my sleep combined with my stuffed fish.
   Solution: What to do... oh yeah, I have a toolbox. What's in it... a hammer? Ok, cool. three firm whacks later, the headphone jack is straight and fits into the female socket (that's what she said).
2. Check for damaged cable. Absent. Good. I'm not ready to carry out my fourth headphone surgery in my life at 11:30PM at university. 
3. Further diagnostics: The left earbud was emitting no sound... or so I thought. When placed backwards in my ear, it sounded beautiful, but they aren't really designed to sit that way in your ear. Obviously the speaker diaphragm has been damaged, probably from a sudden exposure to pressure from me rolling around in my sleep.
   Solution: Wtf. Apple builds things to not be taken apart. What do I do... what killed it... Pressure. With enough energy, anything can be reversed. With what, however, does one provide the inverse energy? Um... my mouth. This literally sucks. (har har). Suddenly, I hear Chopin wafting from my nostrils.

You should have seen my eyes light up. I had music... I had sleep. I would recommend this all as only a last resort, if your headphones have a warranty (like shotty SkullCandies do), make use of it.

Anyways, that's all I have to say for today. Other than people in this residence are truly stupid. Excessively so.

On Gay Stereotypes

This one will go to, and possibly tumble over the edge of controversy.

Recently I read a reblog on how we should have a TV show with every character being gay and one person being stereotypically straight and going into bars and getting women and so on. This made me upset. First of all, the show would be economically unfeasible, as it would not appeal to the majority demographic. Second, in a sense, it already exists. 

Have you ever heard of any of the following shows: Modern Family (Remember this one), How I Met Your Mother, Hogan’s Heroes, Gilligan’s Island, The Simpsons (remember this one too)? I mentioned two very old TV to use. I’ll start with them. Even without a gay character, these TV shows portray “straight guy” stereotypes as you like to call them. Being distracted by beautiful women, wanting to be drunk, reacting violently to bad situations. Most people just don’t realize that those are stereotypes, they think they are the norm - but wait, isn’t that the definition of stereotype? As a guy who (a) would never set foot in a bar to save my life, (b) will never touch a drop of alcohol, (c) isn’t attracted to every girl, (d) I don’t react violently (anymore) to bad situations, shouldn’t I get all offended and shit and start a campaign for fairness for straight people? Hell no. That wouldn’t make sense. Let’s take a look at the Simpsons.

The show the Simpsons aired on December 17th, 1989, and since its pilot episode, has been based around the concept of stereotypes. No one, as far as I know, has ever taken the creators to court over racism, sexism, homophobia, or any other “problem.” It’s because people are willing to laugh at problems. Also, the show is a cartoon, which is blandly unrealistic and in my humble opinion not that great a show, but that has absolutely nothing to do with this rant: it’s popular, that’s all that matters. But something that’s not a cartoon?

We change the stage to Modern Family, a rather decently acted but poorly scripted and shot sitcom that I was forcibly exposed to by a now ex-girlfriend. There is a gay couple in it. They are “stereotypically” gay. Guess what? There are also two “stereotypically” straight families in it too. The younger family with kids includes a mum and dad who argue non stop and the woman is always over-reacting to everything he says, which is a stereotype. In the older couple, the man always just wants to spend time out with his friends drinking or gambling or just generally not being around his stereotypically annoying as hell South American wife. People laugh. And they don’t realize it, but they are actually laughing at heterosexual stereotypes.

So before you make some brilliant comment about stereotypes and racism and segregation, look at the realistic and logical side of things - perhaps where people don’t always look. Don’t get so caught up in political correctness that it actually hurts you.

What is wrong here.

Life. The greatest gift we are given. And so many people abuse it like it's just a right. It isn't. Why am I writing this?

I am inspired to write this because I have become increasingly aware of the polarity of the world. I'm not talking about the gargantuan superheated sphere that allows compasses to work, I'm referring to the people who crawl on the surface of this rock. I also just noticed there is a corrosion hole that is growing every day on my computer. Back to the philosophy: 

I believe there are four corners to the quadrangle of humanity: Those who are intelligent and good people, those who are stupid and good people, those who are intelligent and bad, and those who are downright idiots and assholes. I hate generalizing, but it allows us to understand the universe better, like classifying a planet the size of Jupiter an Earth-like planet.

My roommate falls into category two: although not truly stupid, he's messy, disorganized, not very bright but a total "Good guy." Always willing to turn down the music or do the dishes. We are too different to live together, and that lead to a meeting with the residence coordinator that got me a guaranteed move in December at the end of semester. He is in category one. 

I am scared of confronting people. I end up shaking for fifteen minutes afterwards uncontrollably, the only immediate cure for which is piano playing. I was scared this was going to happen. Instead, I got greeted by this young guy with a huge smile on his face. The meeting went well and I actually left it smiling. 

Where am I going with this... oh yes. I look around this residence, even in my room, and I ponder my situation. On the wall of my room, there is a patch because a hole was put there - sometime in the last seven years that this building has existed. there are scratches on all the walls. The fridge looks like someone dropped it out the window (I am on the fifth floor). In the 17 years that I lived in my family's house, never once did a hole appear in the wall, or did the fridge get dented. This makes me wonder: what kind of people are doing this?

Confusion continues. I can't figure it out. There are only a few true morons in residence that I've met, and that number just doesn't add up to how many broken things there are here. I think the problem is that people don't respect the world enough. That's all I can think of. Sorry. They don't fit into my four categories. They are an entity of their own, people who could be any of those but shouldn't exist due to their simple lack of ability to recognize the importance of their surroundings.

Devotion and Love

Today I would like to share a little story about true devotion.

When we purchased my dog in 2006, he immediately attached to my mum and hasn’t left her side since. During the summer, we visit our cabin at the lake. Every morning, my mother goes kayaking. The dog does not fit in the boat.

Instead of chasing squirrels, looking for scraps or barking at ghosts like he usually does when she’s around, while she is out kayaking, he sits and waits. He will not do anything but stare in the direction in which she departed. Our dog is completely hydrophobic, I have never seen him enter the water except for four occasions, and every one of those occasions was during the arrival of my mother. I think his attachment is amazing, humans don’t even display that kind of love sufficiently in my opinion.

Awesome Things

Some things are far too good to take for granted. Mind you, some reading this mot believe that all of these things are awesome, but at least some of this should bring out a smiles.

Starting with nature, my personal specialty. Think about a warm, temperate forest: you can just see a lake through the trees, the sun is high in the sky. You get back to your boat at the shoreline but opt for a quick swim in the deep, blue-black waters. They are cool and refreshing, and the silence is interrupted by the sound of the small waves colliding with the tree-covered water’s edge. Back on the boat, you find a nice peninsula that is exposed to get he heat of the sun, but it is no problem: a cool refreshing northerly breeze whispers across the lake. The mountains create and oil painting of reflection at the bow of the boat.

In the city, a sunset is just breaking out across the horizon. From the balcony of the restaurant where uo are enjoying your rich, creamy Atlantic Bisque with a crisp and fresh caeser salad. As the hue of reds and pinks spreads across the sky, you finish your dinner and get a cup of coffee to enjoy with you loved one, maybe a friend, a family member, boyfriend, girlfriend - you recall every great moment with them. Soon the skyline of the city becomes a silhouette against a navy blue sky, and the lights beginning dotting the sky scraper. The heat of the day lingers on the waterfront walk, where you enjoy an night time walk back to your car.

I hope this has been enjoyed by someone, I quickly threw it together on my tablet in Geography 12 - I’ve seen the episode of the birds of paradise looking like goofballs one too many times… Even for a nature lover. And that shows you how many times I’ve watched that (stunning) series.

Assassin

This world has too much blood and gore,
But in this world there’s so much more.
Everyday I step outside,
And witness a bloody war.

This is not a war of man and men,
It’s not between two of us again,
It’s a fight for peace,
A fight for rights,
A fight that’ll let us see the light,
But it’s a race,
Where’ you’re the ace,
And your opposer has no face.

The sky was blue It’s taste was sweet,
It warmed the earth beneath my feet,
I shake hands with my enemy,
But he doesn’t understand or see.

We’re friends. He gives, he takes.
He causes storms and starts  earthquakes,
He gives us life, he takes away,
And I only wish that he would stay.

We’ve taken his life out of his hands,
And taken the water off the sand,
And pulled the trees off the hills,
And against him, we’re fighting still.

This is not a war of man and men,
It’s not between two of us again. 
This war is between,
My mom and I,
The ground, the sky,
And as he dies, 
He can’t speak,
Over time he’s become too weak.

I saw him just the other day,
I didn’t know what to say.
All I could do is look up and sigh,
And wave to his face in the sky.

How I Party

Most people in university party. They go out, or to another dorm room, they literally poison themselves with crappy tasting poison (at least use the good stuff), and have massive hangovers. And other consequences that are even less glorious. That's not how I party, that's for sure. So what do I do?

I stay up until 1AM staring at the computer screen for hours, doing two things: talking to my best friend on Skype, and designing airports. Yup, designing airports. What could be better. Nothing. Nothing in this world. Except maybe playing piano.

CZBB, Boundary Bay Airport

This obsession took off with my love for aviation (no pun intended). I got into X-Plane flight simulator in late grade 9, during version 9.10 if I recall correctly. Details aside, I quickly fell in love with flying, seeing the world, and so on. I've never gotten into the aspect of flying by regulation in X-Plane as so many have, I'm into visual realism, and X-Plane 10 (the latest version) is simply shouting out, "I have potential! Use me for graphics!" Alas, not many do. A people do, including me.

KBLI, Bellingham International Airport

One of the first things I discovered when firing up this new fangled flight simulator, which was pretty young and small in amongst the FSX fanatics, was how barren it felt. Back then, the whole world looked the same. Since then, add-ons have been released to improve realism to huge extents, now putting default X-Plane 10 at about ten times the reality level of Flight Simulator X. So where do I fit in?

Blaine Airport (semifictional)

I make airports. I'm no good at aircraft design, so I jumped that boat and headed for the welcoming arms of making the environment realistic. It seemed so easy. Boy was I wrong. Although it's simple, like any straightforward task, it takes a lot of practice and a lot of hours put into it to get good. I had about seven failed scenery project before I released my first (and startlingly, still my best) scenery, KBLI Bellingham International Airport. Soon thereafter, I started work on what is still my dream: PHNL Honolulu International.

PHNL Honolulu International Airport

I started this project on Boxing Day, 2012. I put over 300 hours and sacrificed over 115GB of hard drive space for all the imagery modification and all the airport layout. Then my computer crashed. I lost all the work. All of it. All that remains is a ghost; a beta-demo release I put out that included only one runway and twelve orthophotos (satellite images). I cried on that day, and threw my dream away. For a few months, I did nothing. Then, in March, I travelled to Hawaii (see my journal entries from then, they are probably my best writing) and was inspired once again to take on scenery. I started work on the pleasant little airport called Kamloops Airport near my university. That went well, I'm more proud of it than I am of KBLI, but barely anyone flies there in real life, and consequently neither do they do so in X-Plane. I needed a new plan of action, a business plan, if you will.

CYKA Kamloops Airport

I proceeded to make a beautiful discovery: American Samoa is not a country. What does this have to do with flight simulation? It is a dependency, or pseudo-territory of the United States of America. Therefore, like Puerto Rico, the entire country is available in the form of aerial photography with few clouds, for free and for public use. I was ecstatic. I did a quick experiment.

Aunu'u

You would have to pay me a lot to completely leave this project behind. American Samoa is beautiful. It has a nice variety of airports, from one large international airport to a bush strip, and some helipads here and there. But, that would take a very long time. I needed something to do in the meantime. I started fixing up CZBB, Boundary Bay (see photo at top) and decided I wanted something smaller for the meantime to get my work out there to prove I hadn't simply vanished. Thus, I discovered a small recently closed airport south of the border: Blaine. It was closed in 2008, but the imagery for the open and functional airport was still available. So, I brought a dead airport back to life. It received very positive reviews and I was once again motivated to shoot for the moon.

Blaine Municipal Airport

I then published CZBB, and shifted my focus back to American Samoa. To this day, it takes up all my hobby time other than piano playing. Today American Samoa isn't even close to 1% complete, mostly because I haven't even opened WED 1.2r4 (the scenery editing utility available from Laminar Research for free) in about a month. Today I am hoping to get a crap tonne done on my demo release of the island Tau, American Samoa, and the two small airports it hosts. 

Unlike my PHNL project, this project has been and will be very hard to market. Honolulu International Airports is arguably the most important airport in the entire Pacific Ocean, acting as the halfway-point for millions of flights. Most people flying from the USA to Asia (in X-Plane, not real-life any more) stop in Honolulu. I just don't think I have the drive to start that project up again... yet. In the meantime, I'm going to go pour some fresh concrete on a short runway!

Consumer Christmas

I was asked what I wanted for Christmas. I didn’t answer. Why do we want things “for Christmas?” Ok, to be honest, I just want that car I’m looking for so I can drive to school when it begins next year.

But why are people enfatuated with the concept of giving and recieving? Why don’t we just give year round? Andwhydo we use a fat, lazy, slave-labour employing roly-poly for our mascot of this religious holiday which give us two weeks off secondary school each year while others don’t?

I cannot deny, the feeling and spirit of Christmas are nice, Santa is a friendly man who only means well for the world. I love the lights, the music, the food, seeing family and friends… but why do we feel the need to spend more during this short period of the year?

On average, Americans spend 4.1%morebetween American Thanksgiving and December 25th. I still don’t understand why. Shouldn’t a time of celebration be a time during which you reduce spending and save for the new year?

My favourite depressing signs of collapsive consumerism are the car ads. Who thehellneeds a new car for Christmas? The car I’m going to buy is probably nine or ten years old and doesn’t require a mortgage on my house. Buying a new car in general is not something the general population can even really afford.

Then there are the “Mom one, Santa zero” ads running on the radio. We now believe that gift giving is acompetition? Aunt May got me aneven ugliersweater! I spent more on that toy than you did…

Christmas is a Christian Holiday. Why don’t we get two weeks off at Hannukah? The Chinese New Year? Frankly, in Vancouver, BC, The Chinese new year should get at least one week off.  I’m cool with time off for a holiday - buttwo weeks?

Anyways, this Christmas, embrace life, your friends, family, and not your credit card.

Written on December 10th, 2012.

Ripples

The sunset that evening had been splendid. I had watched it myself, having come out early enough to have witnessed the fiery spectacle of colours dancing across the mountain riddled horizon. Tonight would be a long night; I would be out much longer than usual. This was a night I would remember for centuries to come, a night of realization.

Where I shone down tonight, the air was brisk and smelled of icicles on a rocky precipice. The lake was as I had never seen it before. I had known it to become an eerily placid mirror once my nemesis left, remaining warm even as the air cooled above it, but it was not so tonight.

I looked forward to seeing this lake every evening. Normally, the lake was smooth. Now, the surface was rippled. An early evening star stared wisely from his age-old command. I had barely achieved any height at all when the remainder of his acolytes struck the night sky with their brilliance. Tonight, though, I could not see them in the water.

A torrid autumn day had created a light breeze that evening, there was not a cloud in the sky.

With time, and only time, this light breeze would settle. When it did, I set into my usual routine. The night became frigid, the lake like ice. Not a ripple disturbed my perfect orbit. I watched proudly as I sailed across the sky. Then something caught my eye.

On the Northern shore of the lake, there was movement. This dispirited me. My perfect evening, my unbroken lake. That lake was my dream. It was all I had. The movement carried a flask of a hot liquid, steaming. The thought was very welcoming. It approached my lake.

A dock sprawled out before it, extending a year into the lake. It made the choice. One step and it was on the fixed portion of the dock. This was fine with me; it had not yet disturbed my glassy surface.

One more step, and it was almost on the ramp leading down to the pinewood dock. He stopped and looked up at me. Something made me yearn for it to come closer. I did not notice my bright friends looking on disdainfully.

My light shone brighter then ever before. Now, all was visible. The rusty shoreline, the houses, the forest, the river. The dock, this new thing, it’s drink and the steam floating from it.

We stared at each other in awe. I knew that I could not breach it’s world, but that it could breach mine. It stepped onto the ramp. A loud sound of metal and wood broke the deadly silence of the night as my foot settled down. It seemed unshaken. My lake was destroyed. But now, I could see a million tiny, distorted versions of myself, dancing around in the lake. Another step.

With every step added, the ripples became more intense. It reached the end of the dock, and with that, his movement ceased. A new calm fell over the lake. My reflection recollected itself back into one perfect, unchanging shape. I had introduced something new, something wonderful, into my life. Something that could change my lake.

It looked down into my reflection. Never once did it look up at my actually body, only at the reflection. Waves of light danced across it’s face. The night had a new, more exciting feel to it. Was this to stay? It would. I knew it would. How could something so perfect, so great, not last?

With no warning at all, it pulled its gaze from my reflection. I did not notice immediately.

And then, my lake was broken again. But this time it was not with the coming of something good, it was with the departure. This I did not like.

I longed to scream out, yet no sound could I make. I longed to strike it, but no force could I create. I was too weak, too unwilling. It was leaving. The great thing that had entered into my life had not even looked me in the eye. It did not even say goodbye, it merely left.

The waves radiated from the dock as my dream climbed the ramp. It did not even turn to look back as it went. I could not go on. My old light was gone. I had no desire for the new. I felt as if something was gone… but then something struck me.

A new calm fell upon the lake. A new calm, different then the first one that evening, the second calm that evening. It felt… unique. I felt as if despite my loss, I had gained more than I had lost. I knew what to see in nights to come. A reassurance fell over me, and a glow formed on the eastern horizon. I smiled and my light dimmed as the day shift took my place.

As the lake slipped out of my sight, I saw the magnificent thing again. Only this time, I didn’t care. Ripples formed. But that lake wasn’t mine. The whole world was mine. And no one could stop me.

New Series: Works of Fiction

I'd like to announce that I'll be republishing all my past composition work from all my other websites to this blog.

Every two days a new piece will be published. My live posts will continue, don't worry. The first piece will be Ripples, a short story that I consider one of my best, from grade eleven. I wrote it shortly after I got back from China. It is about... well, that's up to you to decide. It's about anything really, anything that affects us. 

After that, there will be poems, stories, compositions about history, humans, etc. Anything at all.

Cheers, I hope you enjoy it if you're reading this.

All the stories can be found at this moment on my Tumblr (click the link in the top bar).

How the Past Drives our Future

Today I look out my window at snow covered mountains, only five kilometres away. They are stunningly beautiful. I can't say that's only because they have snow on them, although that is certainly part of it.

It is because it reminds me of a place in the past that I have been before. Perhaps it wasn't even significant. However, it is just that: significant. Everything is, in my opinion.

These snowing mountains drive me back to elementary school when I was just learning to ski at Manning Park. Just seeing snow-covered mountains this close reminds me of it, every little thing: the smell, the temperature of the air, how tired I was, who I was with. This drives me to continue. 

Although it seems strange, I try to recreate my past in a better way than I already remember it. Skiing at Manning Park Resort gives me blasts from the past like nothing else, because I've spent every winter of my life there since I could start remembering winter. The odd thing is that it doesn't remind me of only that particular place.

In 2012, I biked around Stanley Park and False Creek with my then girlfriend. From that point on, I do not only remember being on a date with there when I bike around the park, I remember everything about the relationship (including why I'm glad that it's over). I'm going somewhere with this, I promise. 

My past gives me something to strive for, something to reexperience or perhaps replace. I feel like my head is a computer program, and running the same scripts replaces the old iteration of them. I want to go back to Kauai to replace the memories that are slightly flawed and the problems that were going on in my life at the time. Yes, I wish to turn my back on the past, but I want to hold onto certain components of it. 

I have yet to meet someone who is attempting the same thing. I went on a trip with my best friend in July to Oregon, partially because Oregon is beautiful, but also because last time I had travelled to Oregon, I had either been eleven years old, or I had a girlfriend who I would do anything to forget about.

We set off bright and early on a Wednesday, as I had a week off school. First order of business: Museum of Flight, Seattle. Last time I was here... girlfriend. Not with her, but it's a place I want to remember without having to remember her. I'm strange, yes. We then got in the car and drove to Astoria, which I had done only ten months before. But I was replacing lots of memories. When we arrived in Fort Stevens State Park, I was flooded with good memories, since I hadn't stayed here since I was eleven. Those memories can stay, but I also have it fresh in my memory now. When visiting the Peter Iredale Shipwreck, I even replaced the photos from when I had a girlfriend with nearly identical photos. Certain things stay in my mind from the trip a year ago, but most have been replaced by this more recent trip. 

That trip represented a release from childhood, I could travel on my own accord. I was over seven hundred kilometres from home. This replaced the memories of going just where my parents organized. 

Today I am going to Biology to replace the flawed knowledge of the genome that we were fed in grade eleven, which is a perfect example of a practical application of this process. I'll be replacing the memories of that class, including the harassment I endured in that room. 

Maybe it'll all work out, maybe I'll be able to replace what I remember with great things I love.

The Dream of an Unattainable Future

I've been lucky during my life to travel more than anyone I have ever met. And yet, I wish to travel more. I am addicted now. 

My love for travel is rooted deeply, way back in kindergarten. We travelled to the destroyed Glacier House, part of the original Rogers Pass route of the railway. This is the earliest point that I can recall that I was obsessed with seeing something bizarre and beautiful. This was where nature was reclaiming the area that humans messed up for it, and I couldn't pry myself away from it. I spent quite a while exploring the ruins of the old hotel.

Over the years, I travelled to dozens of locations, some of which are gone or closed (cue that Beatles song). I've been to all sorts of places too, not just one type. I've lived in a Parisian Art-Deco mansion, rode the elephants at Disneyland (and World), been at the top of the world's tallest mountain (Mauna Kea, in height, not altitude), navigated the highest swamp in the world, seen the midnight sun, walked the great wall, flown a plane, witnessed a waterspout in Oregon, driven through a sandstorm, been irradiated at the oldest nuclear power plant in the world, timed Old Faithful, driven the world's longest continuous highway, and I'm just now beginning University. I've done a lot in my life. A lot more than a lot of people. 

What does the future hold? I don't want to know. Exploration to me is the key to happiness, not even knowing what you don't know, to the point where what you learn is completely unexpected. 

Unfortunately, I haven't had this option as I have pretty boring parents (despite that list of things I've done). They don't believe in taking any risks. If the trail doesn't look like it's maintained, they don't hike it. Had I been with a friend while hiking the Awini Trail through the Pololu, I would have carried on to Honopue valley, a secluded and difficult to access valley seldom seen by anyone. We stopped after Honokane Nui, because my mum didn't want to come along. This was a turning point for me, I decided that adventure is my sort of thing. Very few people hike beyond the next valley, Honokane Iki. I plane on doing so once I have the money to fly to Kona (which I already do, I simply need enough to survive after buying a plane ticket). My parents will disapprove. Highly. I don't care. I love the outdoors, I want to experience things.

At this point, I'd like to make it clear that, no, I don't believe I am invincible as do many young adult males of my breed. I want to stay alive long enough to see where this out-of-control world is going. 

So what is truly my greatest goal in life? Hamakua coast. That's about all I can say. If things go the way I want, it will be all the way from Waipio to Pololu or the other way around. What does this entail? 

Ten to twenty days in hell, to put it mildly. There is only one account of anyone else ever doing this hike, and it took them twice the estimated time of seven days. There is no trail (although many have been built, most are destroyed by nature). What else?

A partner: be it a girlfriend who actually appreciates hiking as much as me or a friend who is nearly as insane as I am. I just need a partner, or multiple partners. Hiking alone isn't safe. Nothing is safe when you're alone. 

To conclude this, I'd like to say that it is a dream. Not a terminus in sight. A dream. Hiking a route that no one else ever writes about will be difficult, to say the least. This is the only unexplored tropical rainforest in the fifty states, and it is dangerous. I will need a good troop. One day, this will happen. Not today, or any time in the next five years.