5 yrs wasted with 3 puffs

I quit smoking approximately 5 years ago. After I finished my undergraduate thesis, I woke up one morning and decided that I did not want to smoke anymore. Thus, began my journey to quitting. I did not have a rollercoaster quitting journey; instead, I did it slowly and meticulously. I cut down the number of cigarettes I had in a day until I eventually reached the point when I did not crave it anymore and my day continued its merry way without it. I never really hooray-ed or made a big deal about it because I did it for myself. I did not do it for anyone else.

Now, 5 years later, I have been going through a very emotional stage of my relationship, which sometimes feels like a negative emotion vortex leading to an abyss, that I have been tempted to smoke again. Since last week, I have been fighting it. I refused to buy a pack because knowing myself I would end up smoking the whole thing. I got a hold of a couple of sticks. It’s been sitting in the apartment for a week now. This morning, I really struggled with my emotions and I caved in. I don’t feel shame rather I felt disappointed in myself for not having enough will power and not providing myself with a coping mechanism to avoid this. I had 3 puffs. I could not bear finishing a stick. I just threw it out. *sigh*



Via twitter, this article in the New York Times brought to my attention the shameful practice of H&M clothing store.

“At the back entrance on 35th Street, awaiting trash haulers, were bags of garments that appear to have never been worn. And to make sure that they never would be worn or sold, someone had slashed most of them with box cutters or razors, a familiar sight outside H & M’s back door. The man and woman were there to salvage what had not been destroyed.”

The same article also mentioned Walmart as guilty of the same practice.

“A few doors down on 35th Street, hundreds of garments tagged for sale in Wal-Mart — hoodies and T-shirts and pants — were discovered in trash bags the week before Christmas, apparently dumped by a contractor for Wal-Mart that has space on the block. Each piece of clothing had holes punched through it by a machine.”

I am utterly disgusted by this.



No more tirades. All I want to say is………… I’M STILL AROUND AND I HAVE NOT COMPLETELY LEFT MY BLOG 🙂


just too old

Back when I was an undergrad, birthday weekends were a staple. My friends and I did not celebrate birthDAYS. We all celebrated and partied for the entire weekend to commemorate our birth. Being young and focused only on living life to the fullest the only way we knew how was the greatest thing to do. Our bodies bounced back the very next day like we didn’t just partied the night away. It was the life as we knew it back then.

Now, as I am approaching the big 3-0, my perspective is definitely not the same anymore. I still love dancing and it remains to be the only perk I now see in clubbing. If I was to have drinks with friends, I would prefer doing it in a place wherein I can sit and have a conversation with them without having to yell the entire night or deal with recently or barely legal individuals. In a way, I have always associated certain types of partying with age. There comes a point in one’s life that the mature gene kicks in and one starts acting like an adult and refuses to act like a drunken fool in public anymore.

Unfortunately, it has been made abundantly clear that a lot of people do not think the way I do. Or maybe I am just surprised that individuals in graduate school with enough life experiences can still choose outrageous public inebriation.

One of my school friends, Ferry, appears to be one of these individuals. Much to my surprise and chagrin of course. Her choice to have fun in the expense of sending her liver to overdrive is difficult for me to comprehend. Then again, I should have expected this as her mentor and her mom (both in their late 40’s) have no qualms going clubbing and getting drunk with her. It’s just plain sad to see anyone of that age party like they just turned 21. Please, grow up. It is a pathetic sight. Acting like one’s age (or an age very close to yours) is key to gaining respect from anyone. Cougars aren’t symbols of feminine strength and sophistication. These are the last things that enter my mind when I see one in a club. At that age, they have the knowledge of the effects of alcohol on their body yet many of them opt to ignore their individual level of tolerance and proceed to use the “I’m too drunk” excuse. I do not think it’s too much to ask anyone age 30 and older to drink responsibly.

My undergraduate uni had a bit of a reputation as being a party school and I have seen my fair share of public displays of drunkenness. None of them really shocked me until this past weekend, Ferry’s birthday weekend. Yes, at the ripe age of 31 she is still doing birthday weekends. I get the whole I’ll drink more than normal because it’s my birthday, but to drink to the point where your friends have to literally drag you home is complete irresponsibility. Staggering was not an option anymore as even this was a feat for her. Then, came the peeing. Yes, she peed on herself. When it happened, my jaw was to the ground. The puking was nothing. The peeing? I could not ignore the peeing especially when we then had to change her. Seriously, I cannot even imagine doing that to my friends. Being a burden to my friends and exposing them to unpleasant situations due to my own stupidity is something I would never do to my friends. Yet, this was what she did to us. Even more shocking is the fact that her friends were not surprised by the peeing. I started to wonder if this was an accepted occurrence. Honestly, that evening she lost some of my respect.



changes galore

The past few days rendered the month of November as the month of ginormous changes in my life. Most of the time life throws you a curve ball that you can hit with your usual or just slightly increased amount of force; however, every now and again that pitch is pure perfection that you have to exert the extra effort and concentration to hit it out of the park. What happened these past few days is that perfect curve ball.

It began right before my trip to the Motherland. I received a letter from my wonderful federal government informing me that I am approaching the limit for my student loans. Honestly, I have not kept up with the number of weeks I have been in school nor was I aware of this limit. Nevertheless, it clearly stated on the letter that I am approaching it. Considering my very busy schedule, I opted to address this matter upon my return.

My return from the Motherland was welcomed with organized chaos. I mentioned in a previous post that class immediately started for me along with a new job. This pretty much occupied my time and energy that I made the decision to delay my inquiry regarding the issue a little while longer.

Then came mid-October.

I finally had the respite that I needed and I contacted someone from the student loans office. The provincial government informed me that I was not even close to reaching the limit on their end. The federal government, on the other hand, proceeded to tell me that I was actually not approaching the limit. I was past the limit! The person I spoke with continued to explain to me that it means they are halting my loans after this year unless I switch to a doctoral program on which they will extend my time frame. This places me in a bit of a conundrum since I still have my practicum year left before I finish my master’s degree. Eventually I do want to enroll in a doctoral program, but at the same time I want to finish this degree so I can work on acquiring my license. Also, the program I am currently interested in requires a master’s degree as its requirement. As a result, I have been in such a pensive mood that I could not even post anything until now. For now though, I do not have a solution yet. It’s still a work in progress.


Happy Halloween



MLB and me

Over the past couple of years, I began following major league baseball more closely primarily because Mr Shell is an avid fan. Initially, baseball never really held my attention because I have always considered it an American game and I did not know anyone who followed it. At one point, I had tendencies to confuse strikes with balls. Nevertheless, Mr Shell has provided me with all the information I needed and I actually enjoy watching the game.

By default, I cannot help but always root for the Blue Jays, the only Canadian team left. It feels a little weird cheering for a team I am not completely familiar with yet the departure of the Expos (I’ve actually seen them play against the Mets once) removed all my options. Thus, it’s inevitable. The Canadian in me will always have a spot for the Jays. On the other hand, Mr Shell is a huge Red Sox fan, which means that I am also a Red Sox fan. To some this may appear to be an issue of autonomy. To me? It’s my way of supporting him on something that he loves. Relationships are about give and take. With regards to this matter, I am more than happy to be doing the giving.

With the present World Series ongoing, I hope the Phillies win because I see them as the underdog even though they are the reigning champions. I perceive them as underdogs because the Yankees have some of the best players their money can buy. In a way, it would be like the Yankees bought the World Series instead of actually winning it. Then again, this is how professional sports is like. Talent = money = champion. Team with the most money will have the most championships. What a faulty system.


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