Tag

hadithi ndogo

Browsing
In Lifestyle

#6 — En Grève

No Comments
Pink and gold bed

I feel good today.

It’s still bitterly cold (–22°C), but the sun is out, and the snowbanks outside are slowly giving up. The Eglinton LRT is finally running. I moved here four years ago, and for most of that time, it’s been a running joke that it would never open. Decades of waiting, endless construction, and suddenly, here we are. The mood in the neighbourhood feels lighter.

After a short, very indulgent afternoon nap, I found myself reflecting on something else I’ve been doing for the last two months.

I’ve been on strike.
Je suis en grève.

How did I end up en grève?

I love Megan, my therapist. I’ve been seeing her on and off for the last six years, ever since I landed on the shores of Vancouver, usually when I’m tired, avoidant, and running (again) from hard truths I don’t want to face.

This is a theme in my life.

I have an elite cut-off game. Stronger than my knees. Stronger than my ability to digest two scoops of chocolate hazelnut gelato from Mizzica without getting the shits. I am always ready to leave — relationships, jobs, apartments, countries, cities, dates. Clean breaks, no looking back. I love wiping the slate clean. Tabula rasa. Heaven. The joy of a brand-new notebook and the hope that comes with it.

But I’m trying to be better.

I’m trying to stick it out.

Last fall, I was ready to bolt. Pack everything up. Move countries. Abandon relationships. Start over. I felt that familiar restlessness creeping in; the discomfort of building something meant to last, of committing to roots. The idea of buying a home or condo and staying put for a decade? In the suburbs? Absolutely not.

I was tired of everything. My job. My routine. Rice and broccoli. Tofu. My curly, perpetually knotted hair. The news. The world.

Megan clocked it immediately: burnout. I’ve been several versions of burned out since we met, but this time, my body and brain were done negotiating. I told her life felt like carrying an absurdly heavy chair up a seventh-floor walk-up. At every landing, the space was too tight to put it down and rest. I was stuck on the third floor, already convinced I wouldn’t make it to the seventh.

Instead of running, her suggestion was simple and deeply annoying:

Go on strike.
En grève.

Not abandon your life. Not blow it up. Not start over somewhere else.
Stay, but refine.

Apparently, I can’t keep running forever. (I remain unconvinced, but I agreed to try.)

What does being en grève look like for me?

  • Kicking the chair down first, and taking a nap. Lots of naps.
  • Being okay with the B version of things rather than insisting on an A+.
  • Saying no more often — especially when I have no capacity.
  • Carving out weekly time for small joys and treating it as sacred.
  • Letting my partner do things his way and not getting my knickers in a knot about it.
  • Less (or no) overtime.
  • No side hustles from January to April.
  • Morning walks.
  • Sauna time.
  • Less screen time (this one is… aspirational).
  • Not trying to save everyone or do other people’s work.
    (We’re calling this “not stealing learning opportunities from others”)
Sheila waking up from a nap
Squishy and I waking up from a nap

What does being en grève feel like?

Hard.

It’s difficult to say no. Even harder to watch someone struggle and not jump in, especially when I know exactly how to fix the thing. It is really uncomfortable becoming a new version of yourself when people are accustomed to the old one.

But I feel better. Lighter. I treat myself more kindly.

I’m discovering a creative, whimsical side of myself that had been buried under work and obligation. I’m enjoying writing again. Doing things with my hands. Baking. Being a learner. Failing. Trying again.

This strike hasn’t been loud or dramatic; it’s weirdly quiet. Ordinary. Ongoing. And somehow, that feels radical in my little world. Megan might have been right about this one, but I’ll hold off on telling her that.

Thank you for being with me on this journey.

Je suis en grève et j’adore ça.

What about you? Would you ever consider going on strike?

Continue Reading
By
In Lifestyle

#5 — Rage

No Comments

I am not proud of myself.

At least not lately. I haven’t been the best version of myself, and I am struggling to get back to an older version of me who was calmer, more tactful, and less mouthy under stress and adversity. I woke up one day and, suddenly, I was in perimenopause. What they don’t tell you is that one of the symptoms is moodiness and, dare I say it, Game of Thrones, dragon-worthy rage.

Sometimes I look like I have it together. But just beneath the surface lives a vengeful chihuahua, ready to go feral at a moment’s notice.

Rage has me against the ropes

I am fighting to control this rabid urge almost every day.

The thing is, it’s mostly not my fault. And it’s surprisingly hard to explain why I’m no longer the upbeat, jolly version of myself I used to be. As a woman, it feels like you enter this phase of life and are dropped into a complex maze of symptoms and health issues, with no sherpa to help you navigate your way through.

It’s heartbreaking. Piercingly lonely. And you somehow feel like a failure for not handling it better.

Internally, it feels like some alien parasite has taken over my body. I have no control, and I’m constantly bracing for what comes next.

I am exhausted, in every sense of the word. Things I once had patience for now leave me hanging by a thread. Yesterday, I nearly had a breakdown at the grocery store because a woman was taking too long to decide which milk to buy, and I had to wait my turn. This is who I am right now, apparently.

Chihuahua.

Rage.

I fight so hard to keep it together during the day that by evening, I become the worst version of myself. Grumpy. Nitpicky. Short-fused. When I finally can’t take it anymore, I cry, and then I nap.

My enemies may not be suffering, but my partner is

I am the absolute worst version of a toddler: a mean one with big words who screams like a banshee.

Simmering rage.

I am not proud of myself.

The other day, my poor partner endured a twenty-minute monologue because he made a small mistake loading the dishwasher. It was as bad as you’re imagining. He had just stepped out of the shower, towel around his waist, still dripping wet, when I cornered him.

Somewhere in the middle of my tirade, my brain registered that what I was doing was completely unhinged. But I had short-circuited. My mouth had taken over, and I could not stop. My partner is the kindest, gentlest person I know. He has endured, and is still enduring, this strange, volatile version of me. He gives me grace. He makes me breakfast. He gives me pedicures and rubs my feet.

My partner’s feelings…

I am horrified. And I am deeply ashamed.

If you’re reading this, honey, I am so sorry.

Finding some peace during this rageful season

This week, my naturopath prescribed new supplements, and in two weeks, I’ll be speaking with my GP about medication. In the meantime, I’m leaning more into meditation and breathwork. I’m slowly learning to pace my workday so my body isn’t constantly in fight-or-flight mode. I’m trying not to overwork the way I used to. And I’m trying to give myself grace.

One of my colleagues, an adultier adult who has been through this, promises me that it gets better. The hardest part, she says, is the adjustment. Finding the right balance.

Today was a good day.

I slept in. I did Pilates. I sat quietly in the sauna and meditated. Less rage. More peace.

I hope for more days like this. I hope to return to the more joyful version of myself. I miss her.

And to anyone else going through this: I see you. I wish you well. I hope you, too, find your way back to yourself.

And if you have any survival tips, please share them with me. You don’t have to comment publicly; a quiet message counts too.

Continue Reading
By
In Lifestyle

#4 — The Revolution is Relational

No Comments
The Revolution is Relational - Carefree kids

Winter is at it again. We’re in the middle of another snowstorm, like much of the Eastern U.S. I’ve devoured all my storm snacks and, out of sheer desperation, just ate two dried prunes (send help in the form of chocolate). A couple of weeks ago, I watched a video by smoenaco in which he shared how he and his community saved their beloved local post office from being replaced by digital post boxes. He talked about how the revolution is relational, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. In his words:

“The revolution will not be televised, they say, and that’s because it’s not on a screen; it’s interpersonal, it’s relational, it’s found in the minute moments when we choose to be curious about another human being in our world.”

Years ago, while working on my master’s capstone project on domestic violence, I spent months travelling across Baltimore City, talking to experts, listening to stories, and collecting data. At the end of many days, I would go home and cry quietly in my closet so my brother (we lived together at the time) wouldn’t hear me. Some of the stories were so horrific that they made me question humanity’s capacity for good.

During that same semester, I had regular check-ins with one of my professors. She said something that has stayed with me ever since: in public health work, in social justice work, yes, there are unbearably hard days. But there is also so much good. And you must take time to notice it. Otherwise, you will drown. There is more good in the world than bad.

So I did.

In the weeks that followed, my laptop was stolen during a burglary, and I was gifted a new one, even better than the last. I lost my wallet at Lexington Market, with everything in it, and it was miraculously returned intact. At the end of the semester, I hosted a fundraiser for women experiencing domestic violence and was deeply moved by how many people showed up and donated. Friends told friends. Strangers walking by popped in. It was wonderful.

I’ve carried this truth with me ever since: there are more good people than bad, and good things are always happening, even when it doesn’t feel like it. The revolution is relational.

A few days ago, I was talking with a colleague about how helpless it can feel as difficult events continue to unfold across the globe. We are living in strange, heavy times. What can we really do? How do we make a meaningful impact?

I don’t have all the answers, but I shared my own ethos: I focus on community. The kind of grounding I talk about more in why I write here.

Revolution is Relational – A 15-Minute Life and the Power of Community

Knowing my nature, I try to make it as easy as possible to live in and support the community around me. For over a decade, I’ve committed to a 15-minute lifestyle: most of the services I rely on are within a 15-minute walk of where I live, and I choose local businesses whenever I can. It’s a small thing, but it means the money I spend stays close and circulates through my neighbourhood.

My favourite coffee shop is a steep 12-minute walk uphill, but I love it there. My dentist is a 10-minute walk away and family-owned. The Asian grocery where I buy my produce is also family-run. I get my eyebrows waxed by a wonderful young woman who migrated to Canada around the same time I did. The pharmacy where I pick up my medications is run by the kindest Iranian husband-and-wife team. My hairdresser is from Nigeria, and the money she earns helps fund her degree. My osteopath recently hiked Machu Picchu and spoke about it with awe. My podiatrist just got engaged and is saving for his first home.

Revolution is relational - Hot chocolate at my favourite local coffee shop during winter

My violin teacher is endlessly encouraging and recently migrated from Hong Kong. My last facial was with a woman who, after years of saving, finally opened her own practice, and it was the best facial I’ve ever had. When the local craft market runs in the fall and winter, I do my Christmas shopping there. I’ve joined my neighbourhood Facebook groups to stay in the loop and support people when I can. I donate regularly through my Buy Nothing group. I make a point of voting, knowing who my local representatives are, and writing letters in support of local causes.

To me, this is what revolution looks like—a thousand small interactions. Stories exchanged. Mutual support. Acts of care for the neighbours and communities we choose to call home. Showing up, imperfectly, inconsistently, but as often as we can.

As a woman often travelling solo in many instances through this timeline, I’ve been deeply cared for by the communities I’ve inhabited. When I moved to Canada alone, knowing no one, colleagues, now friends, helped me find an apartment in a brutal housing market. My friend Shadi helped me move and invited me to gatherings so I could build a social circle. My friend Jenn bought me my first Tim Hortons coffee and breakfast.

When I moved to Toronto, my neighbour gave me her Kallax shelves, which I painted pink and now live in my home. Every summer, I plant herbs in a pot gifted by another neighbour. My favourite earrings came from a clothing swap my friend Jill invited me to.

Revolution is relational - Pink Kallax shelves with gold legs in my Toronto apartment

I have been cared for in more ways than I deserve by communities that didn’t have to, but did.

So I try to show up in the same spirit whenever I feel called to do so.

I hope you do too. I hope you learn your neighbours’ names, not just their dogs’ (I’m guilty of that). I hope that when the world tries to convince us that everything is going to shit, you plant your feet firmly in the ground and say no. We are here. There is good in the world. And there are more of us than them.

The revolution is relational.

Continue Reading
By
In Travel

#3 — Aruba

3 Comments

Notes from my trips to Aruba — on Eagle Beach, rest, food allergies, and why this island keeps drawing me back.

We just had the wildest snowstorm this week, and I’ve been feeling a deep sense of saudade, that quiet, aching longing for a place, a time, a different version of yourself. These Aruba travel reflections have been returning to me often in the depths of winter, pulling me back to one of my favourite places in the world.

It was the end of 2021, and the world was just beginning to exhale after COVID restrictions. I had endured a terrible year. A breakup with someone I learned, waay too late, wasn’t who I thought he was. I was exhausted from a year of hard therapy lessons and was severely burned out, absolutely frayed at the edges.

At the time, I didn’t think of it as travel planning. It was simply a search for warmth, safety, and quiet, a Caribbean island I’d never visited before. As I always do when I feel like that, I opened Google Flights and searched for a beach. Somewhere close. Somewhere sunny. Somewhere that could hold me gently, because I was travelling solo and very tender.

Enter Aruba.

December 2021 was my first visit, and it has been one of my favourite places ever since. I remember landing, stepping through the airport doors, and feeling the heat blast my face. I remember how beat up I felt, and how, almost immediately, something in me softened. Like, yeah… everything is going to be okay.

I was struck by how kind everyone was. Locals helped me figure out a SIM card at the airport, flagged a taxi, and pointed me in the right direction. Aruba’s tourism slogan is One Happy Island, and honestly…I felt that in my spirit.

Aruba is my happy place because when I’m there, I get to be the most feral version of myself, in the best way. It has been one of the most healing places for me when I feel broken or lost.

I arrive stripped down to my essentials. I wear no makeup. I let my hair do whatever it wants. I stay up late and sleep in without guilt. In the mornings, I make a small pilgrimage to my favourite café, put on weepy 90s R&B, devour gluten-free arepas, and wash it all down with a smoothie.

Here’s a picture of me in my post-smoothie glow.

Aruba travel reflections from a solo trip near Eagle Beach

I always stay close to Eagle Beach. After breakfast, I wander there slowly. I nap on the sand. I spend hours floating in the water. I nap again. I read something delightfully trashy. As the sun sets, I journal, watching the sky change colours, letting my thoughts land gently.

After beach time, I waddle to the nearest convenience store for pistachio ice cream, then make my way back to my Airbnb. Evenings are unstructured. Sometimes I go out for dinner; sometimes I cook. Afterward, there’s often a quiet night swim in the pool with a gin and juice or a glass of wine.

I always get sunburned. I always get the worst heat rash. And I am always, somehow, deliciously delighted.

I think I love Aruba so much because it lets me feel untethered from regular life. There are no emails. No long meetings. I try, really try, to stay off social media and WhatsApp. The nights are calm and quiet. No traffic. No sirens. You can see the stars for miles. It feels like an endless summer. It feels like rest.

Recently, a friend of a friend mentioned they’re heading to Aruba and asked for a few recommendations. It reminded me how gently that island has held me over the years and how naturally it lends itself to a slower, more intentional way of travelling. For anyone feeling called there, especially solo travellers, those craving rest, or those navigating food allergies, Aruba offers a rare combination of ease and care. Known for its safety, warm hospitality, reliable infrastructure, and calm beaches, it’s an especially supportive place to land.

Where to Stay in Aruba

When I travel to Aruba, I always stay near Eagle Beach, an area known for its calm water, expansive shoreline, and quieter pace.

There are a few high-tourism areas, but I prefer an Airbnb near Eagle Beach. I like having a kitchen because of my food allergies, and I enjoy moving at my own pace. Eagle Beach is also one of the best beaches in the Caribbean. It has warm, calm water; impossibly soft sand; and plenty of palapas for shade in the early afternoon. It’s family-friendly, peaceful, and very safe, while still being close to restaurants, groceries, and some of the island’s most swimmable waters.

Aruba travel reflections – at sunset by the sea

Picture: Me, feral, just out of the water, drying off with Coco, my travel bear. Palapas in the background.

Groceries in Aruba

Having access to groceries matters to me when I travel, especially because of food allergies and a preference for cooking some meals at home.

Superfood Plaza is my one and only grocery stop; it has everything. It’s perfect for travellers with dietary restrictions, including gluten-free needs. When I visit, I have a rule I never break: I always buy the crab salad and the Dutch milk chocolate with hazelnuts. The crab salad at Superfood is unreal. I eat a tub a day when I’m there. I pile it between two slices of gluten-free bread or tortillas and inhale it. No regrets.

Where to Eat in Aruba

Aruba has a wide range of restaurants, from casual local spots to higher-end dining, and I’ve found it easier than expected to eat gluten-free when I’m there.

That said, my only beef with Aruba, and it’s a serious one, is the plantain situation. Everywhere you order plantain, they give you three pieces. Three. Who is satisfied with three pieces of plantain? My heart breaks every time.

That aside, here are my favourites:

  • Zeerovers – A must. Located in the fishing town of Savaneta, serving fresh fried fish and shrimp with sides like plantain, fries, pan bati (a local cornbread), and onions in vinegar. Order by the pound, eat by the water, the wait is always worth it.
  • PF Chang’s – A nostalgic pick. I go purely for the fried rice.
  • Gianni’s Aruba – Fantastic cocktails and the best gluten-free pizza I’ve had on the island. A bit pricey, but worth it. I celebrated my last birthday here and had an unforgettable gluten-free chocolate cake. I still think about it.
Aruba travel reflections - dinner
Aruba reflections - What to Eat

Things to Do in Aruba

I tend to balance rest with a small amount of exploration, especially on longer stays. These experiences offer a gentle mix of adventure and ease.

  • ATV or Jeep Island Tour – Do this early in your trip. It’s a great way to see the island, scout spots you want to revisit, and take in some stunning views.
  • Aruba Aloe Factory Museum & Store – One of the largest aloe factories in the world. The tour is genuinely interesting, and the products are excellent. I’m currently using their aloe to help heal from recent laser therapy.
  • Boat Trip – Especially at sunset. Always beautiful. Always romantic.

Practical Travel Notes for Aruba

  • Aruba requires an ED (Embarkation–Disembarkation) card, which must be completed and approved before travel. Every passenger needs one, including children. No ED card, no boarding.
  • Renting a car makes getting around the island much easier. We’ve had great experiences with Top Drive. They had excellent service and well-maintained vehicles.
  • For connectivity, I used an Airalo eSIM on my last trip (2025), and it worked flawlessly.

If you’re planning a trip to Aruba and wondering what it feels like to spend time there, not just what to see, I hope these notes offer a sense of the rhythm of the place.

If you need additional tips, drop a comment or message me here.

Happy travels. 🤍

Continue Reading
By
In Lifestyle

#2 — Showing Up Is Half the Battle

No Comments
Meeting myself where I am is enough — gentle January reflection

The beginning of 2026 feels intense, weird, and shifty. I think we’re all wondering what is going to happen globally as we see the news come in from Venezuela, the USA, and Iran.

Lately, I’ve been reminding myself that showing up is half the battle, especially when everything feels heavy.

Earlier this week, I was having a delicious cup of hot chocolate and a slice of tiramisu at Eataly with a friend. We like to do long walks and finish off with ice cream or something hot, depending on mood. It’s our ritual. We catch up and talk about life and the goings on.

Somewhere between the hot chocolate and the conversation, we landed on how off balance things feel right now. Social media especially feels split into two camps. There are a significant number of folks all about the January “lock in”: fitness, diets, journaling, ice baths, 10,000 steps. Then there’s another group carrying grief, fighting for their neighbours and their communities. People who are putting their bodies on the line to make the future better for everyone.

2026. YOU JUST GOT HERE!

And honestly, it’s a lot to walk into.

I have to admit that the first week of this year has not been easy. I’m trying to balance two versions of myself: the one that wants to know everything that’s happening in the world and figure out ways to support communities, and the other that has to reckon with my mental, emotional, and, more importantly, physical needs.

I am going through perimenopause. I have PCOS, adenomyosis, and a failing gallbladder that has to be removed this year (more on that in a later post). I have wonky knees (thanks, Lil Jon!) and a weirdly itchy neck thanks to night sweats. I’m doing my best, y’all. Truly. And I’m trying my hardest to carry everything.

So this year, my version of “locking in” has looked a little different.

For me, it’s been about staying informed and staying present in my body. Reading about what’s happening, but also thinking about my health and finding ways to fuel myself with things that will actually do me good, and moving my body every day, even when I don’t feel like it.

I primarily work out at Ferris360, and I have a fantastic coach there, Maja. But this week, I was sleepy from doomscrolling, and in the middle of a workout, I wanted to quit. My body was tired. My brain was exhausted. And suddenly, this whole scene from Bond started playing in my head.

All this running around, Mr. Bond? All this jumping and fighting? It’s exhausting!

And… yes. Exactly.

Why am I here? What are we all training for? Why all this picking up, pushing, running, lifting? Is there an apocalypse coming? Maybe it’s best not to survive the first wave. Also, no one even asked us to lock in (screams inside!).

But jokes aside, this is usually where things get hard for me.

It’s always tough being the slowest and worst in the room. You see it. You feel it in your bones. My body takes up space. My chubby parts are in the way. I’m pushing at 100, but that’s someone else’s 50. I don’t compare to even half the people I work out with weekly. I’m trying, slowly, to get better at not comparing.

Showing Up Is Half the Battle

What has helped me immensely over the past year, especially after a truly hellish 2024, is remembering that showing up is half the battle, even when I don’t feel ready.

Years ago, one of my professors noticed I was struggling and failing in my genetics course. She told me that after class one day. It was a rough go. I ended up with the only C in my undergrad career. It was my worst grade, and the one I’m most proud of. I showed up. And slowly, it got better.

Since February 2025, showing up,  even when I really didn’t want to,  has had real benefits. I’ve made some friends. I’ve gotten stronger and a little faster. My knees are less wonky than when I started. I sleep better on most days. And my mental health has honestly never been better.

I even kind of enjoy waking up early and watching the sun come up on my way to the gym.

Just before Christmas, I hit a personal record: a 203-pound deadlift. I’m still a little proud of that one.

Site icon
#2 — Showing Up Is Half the Battle

But I get it. Showing up isn’t easy. And it helps to have people in your corner who are actually supportive.

As a big girl who’s been laughed at in gyms, sneered at in yoga studios, and had eyes rolled at her in spin classes, my biggest piece of advice if you want to start showing up is this: take a studio tour.

I do this in every city I’m in. I get a ClassPass membership (this post is not sponsored), tour studios close to home (because proximity matters, and I get lazy), and check out their classes. If something makes me uneasy or uncomfortable, I don’t go back. There’s a Pilates studio across from my apartment that I would never set foot in again after an awful experience there.

The three things I always look for are: support — do instructors offer real modifications for different bodies; space — is there enough room to move comfortably and safely; and vibes — are the people there kind, decent human beings? If it ticks all three, I’m good.

I’ve been doing this for a while now, and here are some spaces I’ve genuinely enjoyed working out in:

  • Ferris360 — Strong sense of community, thoughtful coaching, and a place where different bodies are actually supported.
  • Jaybird — Calm, candlelit spaces with instructors who pay attention and care; challenging but grounding.
  • Heather Robertson (online) — Accessible, no-nonsense workouts with clear modifications for days when leaving the house feels like too much.
  • Loft Fitness — Friendly, welcoming team and good energy, even if spin wasn’t for my crotch.
  • YYOGA — Inclusive, steady instruction and flow classes that made movement feel possible again.

(If you want more details on any of these, I’m always happy to share, just send me a note).

A small note: outside of ClassPass, many studios also offer trial classes. Take advantage of those when you can. ClassPass is great, but supporting local businesses is even better. Once you find a place you like, consider buying a membership directly from them.

I hope the rest of January 2026 is a gentler one for all of us.

After all these years, from my opinionated twenties to this less sprightly version of my forties, I keep coming back to the same truth: showing up is half the battle, and some days, it’s the only part I can manage.

I hope you do the same and keep showing up for yourself, in whatever way you can. You deserve care, too.

Continue Reading
By
Pin It