End of the month, end of the line. Losing my friends to Vancouver and my flat to a renovationary landlord. The former are heading out west (I swear I have to stop for a few seconds and paint a mental 4 point star to work out directions every time) to see whether Van City or Tron-ah suits their lifestyle best for the next year. It’s been taxing trying to remain neutral. Of course I selfishly want them to live here so I can hang out with them all the time. They’re some of my best friends in the world and having them in my orbit would significantly increase my quality of life. Concurrently I’m driven by the inclination to be a good friend. My desires take an obvious back seat to their wants and needs. I gave them a Fox News style fair and balanced (actually, maybe less biased. Barely) account of this city I’ve come to love, while being open and honest about their need to really give Vancouver a good go.
The city didn’t appeal to me, perhaps because of my lack of willingness to get out and meet people. I felt lonely and isolated being so far from the centre of town. There was a heap of rad stuff to see, but I felt like I didn’t really chomp down to the bones, due to not amassing a strong friend group. I shouldn’t beat myself up, I was there two weeks and still managed to go out for drinks with strangers and have a few dates. I found Commercial Drive and the inimitable Storm Crow Tavern, a gift of a geek bar from high on Valhalla. So I found some things, I’m sure my friends could too. They’re probably far more inclined towards the outdoors, which is why I feel Vancouver could hold the golden ticket. The appeal of Hamil-Tron-ah has ever been the masses of niche interest groups I find around here. The constant feeling that I’ve found my place, found my tribe, is something almost intangible but weighty. It makes me proud of my hobbies and interests, things that had only fledgling support back home. With all the events I’m getting involved in, the bands I’m seeing and cultures I’m discovering, my heart is burrowed deep in the heart of this city. My friends could well find the same over the western coast, if there’s something there that calls to them I can’t wish for more than their happiness in locating it. Still selfishly hope they don’t, though.
Now back to the latter. Remember when I talked about my renovationary landlord (check your notes, it’s right there in the second sentence)? Well he’s coming in to fix up the kitchen and bathroom, which means I’m out on my arse. When I say out on my arse, I mean I’m lounging comfortably in this greatly supportive computer chair at my relatives’ home. Also this keyboard has an outstandingly firm response. One more thing to add to the pile I’ll eventually acquire when I ascend Maslow’s Triangle. A departure from home means I’m in much nicer surrounds while my amenities back at the flat get torn asunder and reshaped. I’m kind of terrified of my landlord, his moods seem to have a certain Hexidecimal quality. One day he’s raging, demanding I move everything I own from the house despite not touching up the bedrooms, the next he couldn’t be nicer, asking if I like the hallway colour or if I’d prefer it repainted. A hard guy to read. He relented on making me move my stuff, instead allowing me to just stow everything in my bedroom. At present it looks like a poorly organised garage sale, with things pushed to the side, stowed in my cupboard or packed away into a series of boxes. It’s weird to note that the entirety of your belongings can fit into one room. Puts things into perspective. I don’t know what kind, it just seemed the right thing to say. So until he’s finished, I’ll be suffering the warm surrounds of familial company and lovely amenities. It’s neat to note that my stay coincides with my arrival at this same house almost exactly a year ago. I guess we’ve got an annual gig going now. I’ll print the T-Shirts.