So I have this friend…

So I have this friend and honestly, what I have with him is nothing short of a miracle.

It’s this weird twilight zone between a brother, a best friend, and my Meredith-Christina-type-“Person” that all these articles keep talking about. He’s the one that rarely understands me, but loves me enough to try, (or at least to send me and inspirational youtube video to get through it) and is definitely absolutely the only man on this earth my boyfriend never worries about me being alone with.

He’s beautiful and flawed, and also this almost unprecedented combination of kindness and tough that leaves you in awe and just a little breathless. Unfortunately though, he’s also chosen to move to Australia (aka literally the other side of the world) to pursue his law degree.

Now, I’m not one for sap (jk I totally am). However, a week before putting him, yet another person I love on a plane, I’m feeling just a little sappy. So I thought I’d tell you about him, the person who has been there for me since I met him, who has literally the best taste in music, and who helped me find the love of my life (aka Jordy).

Specifically though, I’d like to tell you one of my favourite memories of him, one that I don’t have a picture of, but is nonetheless burned in my brain, so here it is:

We’re in the car. We’re driving from London to somewhere in the GTA where he’ll meet a buddy for a night in the city with all the guys. His data-less phone is bluetooth connected to the car radio and Spanish music is bouncing around the car. He’s bobbing his head in the passenger seat, and I’m glancing over at him about to ask him to translate the Spanish lyrics, and it hits me, just like that, this feeling of contentedness with the moment, with a world that is so fucked up and twisted and full of broken people and stories that rarely have happy endings, but that somehow helped my best friend find his way to me once again.

I thank God for a world where the boy who wasn’t supposed to be back for another 2 years is sitting in my passenger seat with a box of donuts at his feet, his Spanish music blasting over my speakers. I thank God for a friend that helped me see what I almost missed out on, an incredible hearted Dutch kid with hair that was too long, and scuffed cowboy boots.

I thank God. I thank the universe. I thank his mother. I thank fate and all the powers that be. I thank myself. I thank him, and I thank us.

I thank us for managing to stay close across a 14 hour time difference and 9000 miles, so that for exactly an exactly 2 hour car ride, I could have the privilege of his quasi-lectures, his insights, his lyric translations and explanations, his bad jokes, his frustration over lack of a phone, and of course, his excellent road trip playlist.

I thank us. We did it kid. Here’s to surviving two more years of long distance friendship, and actually remembering to skype as well as facebook chat.

Why a Turkey Wishbone Taunted Me

So randomly last night, my family had a turkey. A thirty pound turkey for dinner.

(Needless to say we will all be eating turkey for the next week or so, but that’s beside the point of this post).

The real point of this post is that this morning I woke up to find the wishbone sitting on the kitchen window sill, and that damn wishbone, it was taunting me.wishbones It was mocking me with all the wishes I need granted right now, and the great unfairness that IF (and that’s a big if), I get the bigger piece when it’s pulled apart, then only one measly little wish will come true.

But that still got me thinking. If I had to choose one wish? What would I wish for?

If I had to pick one wrong in my life to make right. If I had to pick one hole in my heart to fill, what would I choose? What is at the very top of my list of current heartbreaks.

(You probably see what I mean about how this wishbone was taunting me now. See said wishbone to your right).

But honestly, at first I didn’t know. What would I wish for? What would I choose?

Would I wish for my situation to improve?
Would I wish for my best friend not to live so far away?
Would I wish that Toronto and everyone in it wasn’t a 1.5 train ride away, and that traffic didn’t turn a 40 minute drive downtown into a nightmare of stop and go.
Would I wish for more money? (God knows I could use more money).
Would I wish for my Dad’s chronic pain to go away?
Would I wish for my the happiness of my friends who SO deserve it.
Would I wish away my mother’s migraines to suddenly cease?
Would I wish for my little brother to get more sleep?
Would I wish therapy was free?
Would I wish for my Grandfather to make better choices?
Would I wish for my panic attacks to stop?
Would I wish for justice?
Would I wish for the world, for humanity and right some of the wrongs that aren’t so personal to me?

Unfortunately not.
Unfortunately not with only one wish.

No that one wish, I knew almost immediately what it would be. I knew what I would choose if I only had one wish, because that wish while not righting all the wrongs, while it wouldn’t fill all the holes in my heart, while it certainly wouldn’t solve everything, it was still the one thing I wanted more than any of those other things. It was still the one thing that might just make all the other things a little easier. That would make my battles a fairer fight. That would me a little bit stronger, and a whole lot happier.

So you’re probably wondering, what would it be?
What would I wish for if I only had one wish?
What would I dedicate that semi-dried wishbone to?

Well, it’d be for Jordy. My star-crossed lover from Holland, who’s working in Germany and trying to make his way back to Canada to see me.

It’d be for the person who believes in me, fights for me, and loves my rabbit like his own child. It’d be for the face that makes me set an earlier alarm just so I can spend a little extra time looking at him.

It’d be for love.
For the one I love.
For the kind of love that’s once in a lifetime.
It’d be to have that love in bed next to me in the mornings.
It’d be for the thing, the only thing really, that makes anything and everything else worth anything.
It’d be for love.
That would be my wishbone wish.



It’s Been One Week

It’s like being born again.

That’s the best way to describe life after putting my heart on a plane. It’s like being born. It’s raw and painful and a little surreal. It’s like waking up to a life where suddenly you know you have love in a way you didn’t before. You have real, physical pure love.

Because that’s how he loves me. In a way no one ever has. It’s almost entirely pure. Selfless. Simple.

However, it also feels unbelievably disorienting. Like I don’t quite know how to walk yet, or talk yet, or exist in the way most people exist. (Like I said, it’s like when you’re first born).

I put on clothes today, or tried to. They didn’t fit. (And I don’t mean that in some grandiose metaphoric sense, I mean they literally were too small for my current body). That felt disorienting. Those clothes used to fit like a glove, kind of like my life did, like the person I was before him fit my life. Now I could barely get them on, I do hope they fit again one day (and soon) I liked who I was before Jordy just fine. I don’t want to discard the pieces of that person, not all, maybe not even some.

I can feel things coming back though. I can feel how hungry I am. I want things more. I want to sink my teeth into something, to dig into it and pull back the layers until I not only understand it, but I can use it and work with it, manipulate the information like a tool.

I am sad though, but in a resigned kind of way. I know this is necessary and I realize it more everyday (especially given how disoriented I feel), and honestly as much as I miss him I am glad he’s not here. See, I am more certain with the more than ever that I need this. I want him to come back to a whole person, but more than that I want this for me. (And even though he isn’t the cause, you can’t reboot a computer and use it at the same time). I want to be without crutches and either fall or fly.

And if I fall. I want to pull myself back up, and this week, even though it’s been incredibly hard. I’m doing that. I can feel it. I can feel the falls, and the crashes, and I can feel myself stand up. I can feel this incredible resilience, this strength and hardness. This willingness not to let anything take from me what I hold most sacred, because contrary to popular belief, being without the person you love romantically isn’t the worse thing that will or can ever happen. It’s harder maybe then a lot of things that happen, but in comparison to the possibilities? It’s not.

So that’s where I am right. That’s how I feel right now.

I know it’s a mixed bag. I know it’s a little contradictory, a little bit of a mixed bag, but it’s what I’ve got. It’s what I’ve got to say.

Precarity & Reality

I’ve spent a lot of time lately looking at blank pages. I honestly just haven’t known what to say and when I did, I had no idea how to say it.

My life is a tumultuous mess right now. I guess that’s how I’ll say it, what I’ll call the state of things for right now. That’s accurate enough. See, everything is on the edge of something happening. Everything is precarious, yet also a non-starter.

My boyfriend is here, but temporarily, and neither of us have any idea what the future looks like for him or for us.

My dream job is still deciding, but I know deep down no matter how much I “killed it” the chances are I probably won’t get it. (Meaning I’ll be back to the soul destroying experience of job-hunting, and also not be getting to opportunity to do something I love and something that  would be a perfect fit).

Being unemployed and living at home, I’m stuck helping my dad at his company and slowly watching our relationship crumble because of it. (Never work for family, just don’t do it friends).

I’m just feeling like precarity and tumulty squared.  That’s my existence right now. That’s my reality of late.




Writer’s Block

I’ve cried at my computer screen more than a thousand times. I’ve let my heart bleed into the keys, put everything I was thinking, feeling or just needed to say, into flat words displayed as pixels on a screen. But for the first time, maybe ever, I haven’t been able to do this.

Everything I type feels wrong. Everything I want to say get’s lost, and whatever I’ve written seems to get backspaced away. For most people this wouldn’t be a big deal, but for me it feels like the end of the world. See, I don’t know who I am if I can’t write. I don’t know how to be, how to understand myself, the world, or really anything. And right now I need to, maybe more than I ever have.

I guess one psychoanalytic answer to this is that I can’t write because I can’t bear to face myself right now, or my situation. That not letting the words come out is my subconscious putting a blockade in front of the things that right now, I just really can’t deal with. But I need to write. I need to write the way most people need to breathe and I don’t know how to handle the fact that right now I just can’t seem to.

So please, if you’re reading this, if you have any answers, any suggestions, any ideas to get my voice back let me know. Because I’m really dying over here.




What’s My Brand?

I know the title of this post is a little odd for many of you reading. After all, I am not laundry detergent, cereal, shoes, or any of those things we generally consider “branded” or “brands”. I am also not about to throw you a whole self-branding or self-marketing spiel. (I promise). Quite the opposite really.

Now to be fair, I know my site is somewhat branded. It’s girly and cutesy. I have a logo and a colour scheme indicative of my audience…blah blah blah. (Not that I’m not proud of these things, I am. I worked quite hard on them). I just want to ensure you readers out there that as cutesy as I might seem I will not shy away from tackling hard topics on here.

The hard things are the most interesting, and I believe they are what should be most talked about. Usually though, they aren’t.

SO PSA: To All My Readers

Prepare yourself.

On this website, you will be entertained yes, but that will never be my singular purpose for writing. Rather, I hope to enlighten you, I hope to make you think about some hard things, some fun things and some interesting things. I hope to help you and inform you, to offer you a different way of at looking at the world, yourself, your relationship and others.

I hope to take you outside of your bubble.

I know this is quite an undertaking, but then, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. It’s just not in my nature to not tackle the hard things. The content I bring you on here will be no exception.


Starting in August, I will be publishing a series of profiles. I want to introduce you to real people who inspire me, challenge me, and make me happy because the world needs more positivity. It needs more support and it needs more love!

Stay Tuned Y’all,

xo Hannah

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Humans Aren’t Designed For Independence

Humans were not meant to be self sufficient. That is why there are so damn many of us. That is why we are able to recreate with (relative) ease. However, even the process of pro-creation is hardly self-sufficient. Yes, the female bears much of the responsibility but she still requires a partner for pro-creation.

In an age of science, the necessity of a human partner in pro-creation is much less necessary. There are sperm banks which enable and for some, are perceived to empower single person procreation. Minimal relations required and none of the intimate variety. Though in my humble opinion having someone stick anything up there is still intimate to some degree. But I digress.

Now, I won’t stoop to spouting intelligent design theories or creationism, but there is something to be said for the evolutionary design. That is, historically, being surrounded by other humans maximized survival potential. To stay alive, we literally needed others, and so we evolved into complex groupings, societies, families, partnerships even—all intended for our maximal individual survival.

Individual, individual, individual. I wonder how many times I can say the word before it turns into, translates into, or magically becomes synonymous with independence, a prized brag-worthy characteristic. A characteristic so valued that it has even    become something to be graded, a “learning skill” monitored in school.

“X has the ability to work independently.”

“X lacks the ability to adequately work independently of others.”

One of those statements is not like the other. That is, one is bad and one is good. One is celebrated and one is debased. One signals a parent’s worst fear, that their child is  co-dependent, the kind of human not suited to our modern times. But why? Why are they not suited to our time?

After all, our time is a time so ridden with anxiety and stress. Our time is riddled with the inability to create meaningful relationships wit others and consequently lacks such all too-necessary relationships.

SO, in the year 2016, when countries and individuals still can’t manage peace, still suffer self-imposed yet still detrimental isolation, why is co-dependence so bad? Don’t we need each other more than ever?

I think so. Then, who am I to declare this?

Well, I am a girl who’s made a recent discovery. I love someone. I love them more than I knew you could love someone. They are infused into my pores, into the very breathing being thing that I am. They are so much a part of me that I know that I’ll never rid myself of those parts even should I rid myself of them. Then, this is true of most parts of myself. I am made of others.

I am made of the things I have said to them and done to them. I am made of the things said and done to me. I am their expressions; the phrases they regularly use. I am pieces of people whose names I don’t remember and of some whose name I never even knew.

Before you let you mind drift to the gutter, I don’t mean to say I’ve had sexual relations with these “people,” I just mean I live in the world, in a society. I go to restaurants and talks to waiters, I walk to the parking lot and smile at an old man sitting by the street. I have dinner at a family friends, or slip a few dollars in a fireman’s helmet. I live in the world, I can’t escape these people, just like they can’t help their interactions with me.

Sometimes I hate this. People are dangerous, they can hurt you, maim you, kill you, and/or worst of all, they can break your heart. Sometimes, without even knowing your name.

On days I can’t bear to deal with people, I do what most of us do now a-days. I order in. I go through the drive through. I text instead of call.  On these days I wonder if I am suffering from something. I wonder if it is a symptom of something to so actively avoid the minimal interactions of daily life. It might be. But then, if these interactions are what are meant to be most natural, what should make me feel human, why do some of them go beyond social convention and into the realm of mechanical?

How did we ever let this happen? Was it the celebration of independence? Or was that symptomatic of our waning group-centric humanity?


Can we even call ourselves human as anymore, as we strive and sometimes even achieve independence? Or then, are we fooling ourselves with the idea true independence from others is something we could even achieve?

Personally, I hope it isn’t achievable.

I know I have days where I aim for it. Where I do my best to keep my contact with others minimal, but on these days, unless I spend them entirely lost in my own mind I never come close to achieving it. Actually, even lost in my own mind, I don’t think I could achieve it. There are too many other humans swirling around in there. My thoughts are such that I’d never be truly alone.

Speaking to this mechanical-ness of modern interaction, however, when one thinks about it, it seems without authentic human companionship we seek to replicate it. We need someone to replace it, and do so in a way that at least feels authentic. Consider movies or television entertainment. We give prestigious awards to people who can best “act,” who can best be authentic.

I hope that sounds strange when you think of it. I hope you realize the oddness of that in an age of human independence.

I guess what it comes down to is we need other humans. We are made of them, literally (ha ha), and in every other possible way. We build ourselves from them, even the replications of them. We identify ourselves with our heroes (real or mythical), with our favourite actors, and with our favorite characters. We can’t help it. It’s evolution.

We pass on things about ourselves, we manifest in other people, and let other people manifest in us. We give parts, we take parts and we take parts on. We are not born alone, we do not live alone, and we do not die alone. We become through others, and we go on through others.

We are human, even in 2016, we are human, we are co-dependent, we need each other. I think most of us just forget how very much.