These are my covies.

Dear Jade,

These are my covies.

 

...my cheering uniform

...my krumping, getting-low, dance-like-noone’s-watching suit.

 

I like my covies because they are breezy, they have big pockets, and stains don’t show up.

I like them because no matter how much I sweat in them, they never seem to smell bad.

I like them because they are so unusual in and of themselves that it doesn’t really matter what I do when I wear them.

My covies are a daily reminder that the best things in life are free.

They remind me to be invested in the moment, to let go of inhibitions, and to do good things for others.

They remind me that being a team is not about homogeneity but about embracing and celebrating differences.

They remind me that I am only young once

My covies have 37 companions, belonging to 37 of the most incredible people I have ever met.

These are my covies and, in spirit, I wear them all the time.

Love,

Cindy

Work

Dear Jade,

I have work to do.

It’s not work that I want to do, but it’s definitely work that I want to be done doing.

Today I’m going to do work.

Ok.

Well, I’m a little hungry right now so I should probably get something to eat because I can’t work on an empty stomach.

Go to the caf...

Get some toast with peanut butter and hon...

Crap, I got honey on my sweater. That’s ok, I’ll just put on another one.

...

That sweater was really the perfect thickness for the current temperature of my room. Alright, I’ll just do laundry now. I can work while my sweater’s in the wash.

Go downstairs.

Forget laundry card.

Fetch laundry card.

Ok. Do work.

First I’ll check my email...

Check my facebook...

Check your facebook...

Oh shit. I have to do work.

Oh would you look at that! Laundry’s done.

Go get laundry...

Fold laundry...

Spend 15 minutes looking for the last sock that’s mysteriously disappeared...

Ok. Work.

Open Word Document.

Title: “Hobbes and Locke”

 “A comparison between Hobbes and Locke”

“Hobbes and Locke: A comparison”

...

...

...

Oh man, my stomach just growled. It is getting close to dinnertime. If I eat dinner now, I’ll have the whole evening to do work. I’ll work for like 8 hours straight.

Ok, dinner.

Om nom nom nom nom.

Alright, work.

“Hobbes and Locke were foundational figures in Western political theory.”

“Hobbes and Locke are foundational figures in Western political theory.

“Thomas Hobbes and John Locke are foundational figures in Western political theory.”

“Thomas Hobbeseesewwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa”

Oh crap I drifted off. I’m really sleepy, I shouldn’t have had such a big dinner.

Maybe I should take a nap. NO. I have to do work.

But I’ll be so much more productive if I’m well rested...

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

ALARM.

Snooze.

ALARM.

Snooze.

ALARM

Ok, ok, I have to do work.

Check my email...

Check my facebook...

Go on Youtube...

Funny dog...

Funny baby...

Not-so funny baby...

Google “cutest babies”...

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME I HAVE TO DO WORK.

“Hobbes and Locke disagreed on many things.”

Text message.

Someone wants to talk. Friendship > School.

Talk.

Talk.

Talk.

Talk.

Talk.

Oh shit, it’s 3 in the morning.

Well, I’m not going to be productive at this time of night, so I might as well hit the hay.

Tomorrow I’m definitely going to do work.

Love,

Cindy

 

Things I've learned from my parents

Dear Cindy,

Coming home after a gruelling slew of midterms means finally falling asleep, carefree and secure in the knowledge that your dreams will not be plagued by pre-exam uncertainties or the guilt at not finishing that last chapter of econ problems. Mornings mean gradually drifting in and out of sleep until finally accepting wakefulness, luxuriously long breakfasts, time to pore over a newspaper. Reading means a blissful escape purely for pleasure’s sake. Laughter means new jokes with old friends. As the mind shrugs the cacophony of competing facts and arguments, the body sloughs long accumulated tension. There are the simple joys and delightful surprises of having your laundry done and meticulously folded overnight, your favourite type of apples (honeycrisp) waiting for you in a special bowl, and being greeted by your dog as if you had never left.

Coming home from university also lends a far deeper appreciation of my parents. I perceive them less as mercurial offerers of permission or refusal, and increasingly as allies: sometimes they are maybe even friends? Now I can better acknowledge that much of what they have done is where I hope to be, and much about them is who I hope to be. What I have learned from them has often had more meaning than what I have gleaned from hours spent hunched over course packs or half asleep in lecture.

My mom hid her terror of water beneath a brilliant smile to help me overcome mine: she was determined that as a little girl I would develop the comfort in the water she is still trying to find. She fostered a love of books, taught me how to take photos (“never cut off peoples’ feet!”), and instilled a profound appreciation of food. 

She always tells me that one of life’s greatest pleasures and part of the secret to being a good cook is to love to eat. Her delicious concoctions and encouraging attitude (and maybe her rapid metabolism) may be solely responsible for my voracious appetite. In recent years, she has taught me how to cook healthy and (hopefully) delicious meals... using the maximum number of pots and pans available. My apologies to my roommates. 

My mom was always there to drive me to school when I missed the bus, to ferry me between sports practices, or pick me up late at night when the weather took a turn for the worse. As soon as she started the car before we drove somewhere together, she would immediately turn off the radio: she taught me that sometimes it is better to appreciate silence. Looking back, I treasure the conversations we had instead of listening to another generic Hot 89.9 tune.

Of course my mom and I fought. She taught me that it is always better to be polite when you are angry. When my mom is mad, she is dangerously calm and chivalrous. Nothing is more terrifying. Nothing works better. I aspire to adopt such an approach, but I think it needs added years of wisdom for a more potent effect.

While I struggled through school, program, and course selection, my mom always told me the most important thing was to do what you loved. If I complained about the daunting prospect of an approaching late night marathon to finish another paper, she would always tell me to just get it done: I did not have time to get stressed, she would say, and it was a waste of energy. Don’t go to bed until you’ve gotten all your ideas down and then edit the next morning, she would add, teaching me that the little details matter. Whatever work I put in, I was told, was investing in myself.

My dad is an adventure seeker. When I was two years old he would take me hiking in Vancouver parks. We would find matching walking sticks and he would call me his little wolf. Hearing about his youthful travels inspired a yearning to plan my own. He taught me that the perfect day should start with a swim right before breakfast and right before bed. He always said it was better to be the first one in the water and the last one out, but I think he applies this idea to everything he does in life. He embraces action and never wastes a moment. Breakfast should be earned by doing something to get your blood pumping beforehand, at the very least by doing push ups. 

On summer evenings, when the sun painted the clouds brilliant shades of orange, red, pink, purple... my dad would tell me to memorize the sunset and save it for a winter’s day. On summer nights, he always told me to look up at the stars: he would give me a sense of one’s almost meaningless place in existence but at the same time inspire me to strive to become more than what I am. My dad is fierier than my mom when he is mad, but he taught me never to go bed angry. You should always say I love you because you never know what can happen to people.

It is easier to understand something when you are further removed from the situation. 

Now that I have to come home to my parents I can better appreciate both their strengths and weaknesses. 

I wonder how much I will end up moulding myself in their image?

I hope I will be able to achieve a mere fraction of the things I admire about them.

Love,

Jade

Homeward Bound

Dear Jade,

I’m on the train home right now. I’ve been sitting for 7 hours straight, and I’m completely exhausted.

How weird is it that sitting for prolonged periods of time can actually make a person tired?

Especially since I spend most of those hours doing this...

Something about train rides always makes me nostalgic. Maybe it’s because I think training is kind of a rustic way to travel. Or maybe I just have a lot of time to sit around and do nothing.

Either way, every time I’m on a train, I can’t help but think about being almost-20.

About becoming a grown-up.

About where home is.

About where home will be in 3 years.

About the lyrics “Home is wherever I’m with you.”

About how cheesy and true that is.

I can’t wait to see you soon.

Love,

Cindy

Happy Valentine's Day

Dear Cindy,

I sincerely believe it would be highly beneficial to both our physical and mental well-being to skip out on midterms and papers just for a few days and take a romantic getaway. 

You're with me, right?

Love,
Jade

My Parents

Dear Jade,

Sometimes I think it’s hard for my friends to get to know my parents because of the awkward language barrier, which is a shame because they are very entertaining people. The fact that they manage to live under the same roof never ceases to amaze me.

My mom always needs to know where I’m going, who I’m with, and what I’m doing.

My dad once forgot how old I was when he was filling out a medical information form.

My mom cooks every night.

If left to his own devices, my dad’s diet would consist entirely of instant noodle and beer.

My mom can remember exactly where I put my red mitts two weeks ago.

My dad sometimes forgets to bring his wallet to the grocery store and doesn’t realize it until we have to pay.

My mom is often the most elegantly dressed person in the room.

My dad wore socks and sandals to my graduation.

If I spend two hours on a trigonometric identity, my dad can solve it in two minutes and then succinctly explain to me how he did it.

If I spend two hours trying to solve a trigonometric identity, my mom tells me that I need to do more practice problems and that she used to be great at identities because she practiced so much and that if I practiced as much as she did I could solve the identity too.

As a child, my mom was probably the teacher’s pet.

As a child, my dad was probably the awkward nerd who dug around in the dirt looking for worms at recess time.

My mom must constantly express her feelings on every subject, all the time.

I’ve never seen my dad truly sad.

My mom is afraid of skiing.

My dad is really bad at skiing but still loves it, and sometimes he’ll go down a hill 10 times and fall at the exact same spot every time.

My mom knows when all my exams are.

My dad doesn’t know what program I’m in.

My mom will try something, fail, and give up.

My dad will try something, fail, try it again, fail again... ad infinitum.

Like a lot of teenagers, I used to think that I had nothing in common with my parents. But nowadays when I look at my parents’ personalities and then look at my own, I think, “Oh. That makes sense.”

Love, 

Cindy

winter blues

Dear Cindy,
This is pathetic fallacy: midterm madness is about to be unleashed and we're caught in the midst of winter's endlessly monochromatic landscapes. To help fight off the winter blues, here are some fantastic (and more summery) art ideas that will hopefully boost your spirits!

1. String Gardens

This is definitely the ultimate way to achieve zen in one's apartment.

2. Drowning Beautiful
Jason de Caires Taylor has created underwater sculptures that interact with their environment to form a foundation for coral reefs. His creations are haunting and reminiscent of something like the lost city of Atlantis.

3. Banksy
This notorious and acclaimed British street artist's work lends a flight of fancy to graffiti.

Love,
Jade