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DECEMBER 2009 | THE SOUND
LICENSE TO THRILL
ONE-ON-ONE WITH DRAGONETTE Words by JEFFREY VALLIS Photography courtesy of UNIVERSAL MUSIC CANADA
Their lyrics are blasphemous, their videos are downright salacious, and the band doesn’t make apologies for any of it. With good reason, since the fans probably wouldn’t accept it if they tried. Based on the crowd at October’s Dragonette concert in Winnipeg, I think it’s safe to assume their fans aren’t the least bit offended. Because, let’s be honest, a little casual sex never hurt anybody. To be fair, Dragonette isn’t all sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. On their sophomore effort, Fixin To Thrill, the sexual content is noticeably toned down. Meanwhile, the music itself is amped up more than ever, with thumping bass, heavy synth and catchy pop hooks that practically beg for a gyrating, dry humping dance party. “I was really nervous about making it,” front woman Martina Sobara explains. “I don’t trust myself to be able to write enough songs quick enough to release something that’s pertinent. I’m not quite disciplined enough to make 2
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music at the rate you’re supposed to, but it was really much easier than I thought.” Whether or not the process was difficult, the final product is flawless (with the exception of “Okay Dolore,” but we all make mistakes). The new disc speaks to the influence that bands like Dragonette, Thunderheist and Metric are having on the Canadian music scene. Bands that are producing authentic, intelligent pop, at a time when so much of what’s on the radio is garbage. “I love that that’s how we’re thought of, that’s quite complimentary,” Sobara says. “I think because the music is somewhat shiny people tend to write it off, because we’re considered pop. You hear snarky remarks about bands like us all the time. I think that we’re making an alternative to the sugary pop you mostly hear on the radio and television.” And people are definitely noticing. As much as we all
hate Kanye West, even we can’t deny his star power, and coincidentally, his great taste in music. Kanye wrote on his blog that he considers himself a fan of the basement-pop group, and the ultimate gossip girl, Perez Hilton, said he “love love LOVES” Dragonette. “We feel very underground generally and to have that sort of thing pop up is like ‘Really? What a surprise. That’s amazing,’” explains Sobara. “I don’t ever consider us being on the scale where people like Kanye could possibly pay attention, so it feels good.” One person, however, is missing from the new album and the increasing attention Dragonette is receiving. Former guitarist Will Stapleton left the band to pursue a solo career and is currently working on new material in Europe. “He’s playing his own stuff in London,” says Sobara, who insists there is no bad blood between the two. “I will always love Will, as Whitney Houston said,” she laughs. But William James Stapleton’s MySpace Music page would suggest otherwise. There is no mention of his involvement with Dragonette anywhere on the page, and his top 40 friends include Ben Folds, Tegan & Sara, and Regina Spektor, but no Dragonette. I’d like to dig for more details, but before I have the
chance, we’re interrupted. “Omg, is that what we’re doing?” Sobara asks a record label exec in the car with her, on the way to an appearance at Much Music. “Sorry, I just saw a big crowd of people, but I realized they’re not for me, so it’s OK,” she relays, laughing. So is it a relief or disappointment? “It’s a relief. I guess it makes me a little bit nervous.” Nervous? It’s surprising to hear, considering the often sexed up, super vamp image she has been known to portray in her videos. “I think it’s a part of me I explore more hypothetically than practically, but there are little parts of me that I expand and magnify,” Sobara explains. “It doesn’t come out of thin air, but some things are truer than others.” One undeniable truth is the impact Dragonette has had on the gay community. “I think that gay culture is historically attracted to stronger female bands, not that I would compare us to Madonna or Kylie, but I think there’s something that’s attracting between the two. There are always a lot of gay men representing at our other shows. And we love ‘em!” We love you too, babe.
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DECEMBER 2009 | THE STAGE
E R U T L U C L A T I P CA
G
MIN R O F R PE
THE F O T ES SON A THE B E S THIS S T R A
MANITOBA THEATRE CENTRE Words by EMILY BARON CADLOFF Photography by MICHAEL STEELE When you think of the theatre, you probably don’t think of hordes of fun, hot, young people hanging out and enjoying the show. But maybe it’s time for that to change, beginning with the Manitoba Theatre Centre (MTC). “We’re thrilled that we have over 1,000 students that subscribe to MTC on their own. In any seat, in any performance, there are young people,” says Steven Schipper, artistic director at MTC. In it’s fifty-two year history, MTC has done a lot to attract young audiences. They offer discounted rates and subsidies for students and the working class. MTC always aims to have a diverse audience at their shows—not the stuffy crowd you think would usually attend the theatre. “When it comes to shows at the Warehouse, we joke that we have to put warnings on the posters when the plays 4
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don’t have profanity,” laughs Schipper. “You’re getting the very au courant, very hipster, very forward and cutting edge take on all the plays this season.” This season is eclectic, as well. With offerings on both the Mainstage and the Warehouse ranging from a feminist look at a murder mystery, Strong Poison, to the story of a young man coming to terms with his father’s past in East of Berlin, there are plays to appeal to every taste, and every budget. “We are very fortunate to have so many student subscribers, but we don’t take that for granted,” says Schipper. “We try very hard to ensure that the theatre experience is affordable for everyone. I’d like to see every student attend at least one play a year. That’s the way to create a more peaceful, lovely world.” Calming as it might be, if creating a peaceful world sounds a little too hippy-incense-hemp loving for you, no need to worry. A night out on the town can be a great way to relax, but the shows are usually about conflict—both internally and in relationships. Take Top Girls, a comedy about what it takes to make it as a woman in today’s business world. Top Girls explores famous women’s lives throughout history, and how each dealt with the pressures of being on top. On the other hand, the holiday season offering this year is It’s a Wonderful Life, a reinterpretation of the classic movie done as a radio drama. So don’t think you need to have a pension to come to the theatre. Bring a date, and that fancy night out on the town can become both culturally rewarding and personally rewarding. “Theatre is the surest way in the world that I know to score,” laughs Schipper. “It’s the ultimate aphrodisiac.”
PRAIRIE THEATRE EXCHANGE Words by VERONICA HALL Photography by JONATHAN BOEHM Remember the story of King Midas? It’s the classic story: man gets one wish, man asks to have everything he touches turn to gold, man turns everything gold, man becomes an unappreciative bastard and hates his life. Well, just call Prairie Theatre Exchange artistic director Robert Metcalfe the new King Midas. Except, minus the unappreciative bastard. And he still likes his life. And he didn’t turn his daughter to solid gold… The point I’m trying to make is that Metcalfe seems to have the golden touch when it comes to selecting just the right plays for the PTE lineup each season. And this year is no exception. “My favorite two words are ‘sold out,’ but I don’t put a season together based on potential box office sales. That’s not what a non-profit arts organization is supposed to do.” His focus was to ensure there’s only gold on the stage at PTE this season, “The arts are supposed to do more than just entertain. A great play is entertaining, but an entertaining play isn’t necessarily great.” His first gem this season was the world premiere of the Canadian play Souvenirs by Michele Riml. The story follows the dramatic relationship of an estranged father and his daughter. “What about that, putting the riskiest show at the beginning?” Metcalfe says, laughing. To him, taking risks is part of what makes theatre so exciting. “It’s a tight rope act, because nobody has ever seen it before. Roll the dice and away we go!” The follow-up is a return to PTE and fan fav, Bordertown Cafe, currently on stage, and Goodness, by Michael Redhill, after Christmas. A story of mystery, love, war crimes and murder, Metcalfe says the play is brilliantly done, powerful
ROYAL WINNIPEG BALLET Words by SEAN LEDWICH Photography by MICHAEL STEELE
and moving. Lawrence & Holloman by Morris Panych, shows in February and will offer a unique breed of comedic theatre. “It’s a different kind of comedy. It’s very dark and biting and sardonic and witty,” he says. “It’s quite nasty—in a fun way.” The season ends with Where the Blood Mixes by Kevin Loring, followed by the London derived Glorious! by Peter Quilter. Based on a true story, Glorious! is a charming comedy about Florence Foster Jenkins who was donned the worst singer in the world, but became a must-see artist in New York in the ’40s. Overall, the season has all the goods. Plays about a Canadian hockey-playing teen, a guy who can change the world, two frenemies and the Paris Hilton of the ’40s. It’s either a stellar lineup of plays this season or Metcalfe, with his uncanny wit and silver-fox charm, has done a great job of making me believe that.
So you want to be a professional ballet dancer, eh? Start when you are about six-years-old and, with talent and luck and 30 hours of training a week, you will graduate ten years later. Just kidding. The six-year-olds don’t train that much, but they are still extremely dedicated. However, if sedately soaking up the visual fruit from a young lifetime of dedication appeals more, the Royal Winnipeg Ballet (RWB) will oblige. Canada’s premier ballet company celebrates 70 years of tying toe shoes and buttoning bodices with the new season, which began this October with the muchanticipated, Paris cabaret love story Moulin Rouge (October 21-25). The 2009-10 lineup also features the seasonally appropriate Nutcracker (December 19-23), the fairy tale love story Swan Lake (March 10-14, 2010), and the jazzy A Cinderella Story (April 28 – May 2). The shows are fairly well known and are typically a good draw, according to the RWB artistic director André Lewis. Although I must admit, I know little about these shows, SANDBOX MAGAZINE
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DECEMBER 2009 | THE STAGE ROYAL WINNIPEG BALLET CONT’D and less about ballet. So why should I go? Why, if you’re like me, should you? Isn’t ballet the domain of tuxedowearing River Heights inhabitants? Lewis insists not. “The dancers are elite artists, meaning they’re elite athletes. What they do is very, very difficult to do. So in that sense it is complex. But the art form itself is not elitist whatsoever. You could never have seen a ballet before and come see Moulin Rouge and be completely taken by it. The visual aspect of it can be very enjoyable and clearly understood.” Lewis talks to a lot of people who have been brought by friends to see ballet for the first time. “Often people say ‘well, I don’t know, I’ve never been to the ballet and I’m not
WINNIPEG’S CONTEMPORARY DANCERS Words by VANESSA KUNDERMAN Photography by MICHAEL STEELE Brent Lott sat behind his desk with his chin tucked daintily into his palm as he reviewed footage of his dancers in the Rachel Browne Theatre. “This is right before the flocking section,” Lott says, “I told the dancers ‘be a spider! Clap your arms and throw up webs!’ I wanted the insect world to take over.” Lott’s new choreography Between the Sycamore for the Winnipeg’s Contemporary Dancers (WCD) new season has been a work in progress for the artistic director, and his enthusiasm for the project is obvious. “The world [in the show] is fertile and full of pheromones, but it’s genderless,” he says while hopping in place. “I’m not sure if that’s the right word, but it’s a sexless world. It’s very female.” Between the Sycamore is a combination of two distinct themes, the insect world and Egyptian mythology, which Lott says have been big parts of his life. His work on a farm during his youth had him spending much time with beekeepers, quickly harnessing his interest in bug life. Simultaneously, Lott became enchanted by The Alexandria Quartet by Lawrence Durrell, a four part book series that unfolds four different perspectives on a number 6
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sure I’ll understand.’ I always ease them and say ‘just sit back, relax, keep your eyes open and I think you’re in for a treat.’ After, they say ‘you know, you’re right. I enjoyed that. It was fun.’” And the RWB is accessible to the proletariat. No tuxedo required. “It’s not an issue for us. You can’t come barefooted or things of that nature and no tops on, male or female for that matter. Maybe it happens on stage from time to time,” said Lewis. Hmmmm, it happens on stage from time to time? With those wonderfully tight tights, it’s hardly necessary to doff the cloth.
of incidents in Egypt. “There was a point a couple years ago when I was interested in hieroglyphics,” Lott says, “I started using that as inspiration for my movement.” But Lott says that he originally wanted his five female dancers to move to a different theme. He had been toiling with the message of shame and was working without the help of music. “I was frustrated with the movements coming out of me. They had nothing to do with what I wanted to create.” Lott says he watched hours of playback footage of his dancers frolicking in the studio when one night he was struck by a new theme. “My partner had discovered Hauschka and we had started listening to his prepared piano music all the time,” Lott says while recalling a particular time where he had been whining to his partner about the uninspiring videotape footage he had taken. “Hauschka had invaded my choreographic process. When I played his music over my choreography, I knew exactly where I needed to take the movement. It fit together perfectly.” Other exciting performances for the WCD this season include Freya Bjorg Olafson’s Nuna (now) presentation titled AVATAR, a four-city tour titled On the Road, and the duel performance titled Bingham & Boivin. In Olafson’s piece, she explores one generation’s obsession with documenting their lives on the internet through solo dance movement and digital images. On the Road features original works by Lott, Rachel Browne and Lesandra Dodson, who meticulously choreographed movements to show off their dancers, while Bingham & Boivin features a two-part dance; first, Marc Boivin takes the stage for a solo performance, followed by the EDAM Dance quartet choreographed by Peter Bingham. Pictured above: Brent Lott, artistic director for Winnipeg’s Contemporary Dancers, with Emma Rose, Mark Medrano, and Farrah Fernando, students of the Senior Professional Program of the School of Contemporary Dancers.
WINNIPEG SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA Words by TAYLOR BURGESS Photography by JONATHAN BOEHM Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra (WSO) music director Alexander Mickelthwate is lodged in traffic, probably cursing and flipping back and forth between the road and his car’s dashboard clock. So I’m seated in the WSO’s reception area for the time being. I busy myself by jotting down notes and reading this year’s program. The WSO’s Pops series is chock-full of baby boomer staples like Tom Cochrane, a Cirque du Soleil-esque performance, The Nylons, and fully orchestrated versions of songs from the Broadway musical Beatlemania. Mickelthwate arrives in a flurry, and after the photo shoot we sit down in his office, out of breath, then talk about the life force we both inhale so vehemently—music. He calms me with an unbearable magnetism, pulling me in, making me wish that I could put down my pen and lean closer, closer, so I can soak in the intensity shooting from his eyes. He is describing what it’s like when he conducts the WSO. “It’s like a dance when you lead the orchestra. MJ talks about when he’s in the zone during a game, and it just all happens.” Mickelthwate is concentrating on his hands, his instruments of vigour and life. I see him re-entering his ‘zone’ before me, and his tunnel vision encapsulates everything around him, including me. “It’s the most powerful feeling, with the orchestra connecting with each other, and connecting with you, and with the audience behind you.” He pauses. I feel the swell of hundreds of people watching and taking a single breath behind one’s back. “It’s as if everyone in the hall has one mind. It’s one of the most powerful experiences.” Because Mickelthwate isn’t an actor, even though he acts as the face of the WSO, it’s easy to forget that he can, and does, get so passionate about his work. He can smile for the camera falsely enough, and he gives the necessary info for these lame,
stilted junkets, but he puts his passions into the final product of music, on the stage and through his selections for the year. This year, between the Pops series—which, Mickelthwate pointed out to me, has an older audience than the Masterworks series—and the Masterworks series, the WSO offers a range of music, from “the music of Queen to more hardcore pieces.” “What do you mean by ‘hardcore’?” Surely he didn’t mean that hardcore. “Well, it’s like when you go into an art gallery and you see a painting with a single blue painted line,” he thrusts his arm across the air, once, “and you step back and say, ‘whoa,’ what is that?’” and tilts his head. The cheapest way to go is to subscribe to a series, and if you want the classics, you’ll have to choose between either Masterworks Series A or B. With Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Hadyn, and “Rhapsody in Blue” in one hand, and Beethoven’s 5th (picture it), Brahms, Mendelssohn, opening night of the New Music Festival, and RimskyKorsakov in the other. Both options seem ideal, jumping over each other, screaming, “Pick me! Pick me!”
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DECEMBER 2009 | BEAUTIFUL MAN
BEAUTIFUL MAN CHRIS PAETKAU: THE SENSITIVE TYPE
Words by JEFFREY VALLIS Photography by RYAN WIBAWA How does a good little Mennonite boy grow up to be a sexy, sacrilegious philosopher, outcast by his family, but adored by girls and gays alike? We wanted to know the same thing, so we sat down for a candid chat with 27-yearold communications student Chris Paetkau, our first ever Beautiful Man, who talked to us about his religious upbringing, his fascination with cross-dressing and the glory of losing his innocence. WHAT INITIALLY CAUSED YOU TO CHALLENGE YOUR FAMILY’S MENNONITE BELIEFS?
That stems from dissatisfaction with the answers that we would be given in church. It always goes back to religion for me, I’m sorry to do that. It goes back to having to question the assumption that God exists and not getting a satisfactory answer, or any sort of logical argument. When I was 19, I went to bible school in Europe. We would go buy some vodka and just get wasted, that was enlightening. THE SEX MUST HAVE BEEN CRAZY AT BIBLE SCHOOL.
Oh, there was no sex. Everyone was a virgin. Of 75 people, one wasn’t a virgin, and she was the black sheep. She was blacklisted because we found out that she had sex and we thought she had to repent—she was in trouble. SO IF YOU DIDN’T HAVE SEX BY THE TIME YOU WERE 19, WHEN DID YOU FINALLY LOSE YOUR V-CARD?
I was 21. I waited until then. There was a love, and I thought rules be damned or morality be damned. Look, you’re 13 or 14 when you start emitting your seed. That’s eight years of abstinence. It’s too long. So you crave the body of another, and it was a feast. I really enjoyed it. AND NOW YOU’RE A LADY-KILLER. HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE SUCH A DREAMBOAT?
Is that true? Well, I take it with a grain of salt. Looks fade, I guess enjoy it while you can. It’s only going downhill. Gravity’s a bitch. Have some fun with it, I guess. HOW WOULD YOU HAVE FUN WITH IT?
I would like to wear more women’s blouses. I go to the gym, I should display my pecks more proudly and I think a blouse would afford me the opportunity to do that. I wish that was acceptable. Women wear suits to a boardroom, 8
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but if a dude shows up in a blouse that’s a whole different ball game. Why be so inhibited? There’s no reason. WELL THAT WAS UNEXPECTED. DOES THIS MEAN WE HAVE A CHANCE WITH YOU?
I’m just not wired that way. With that said, I wouldn’t say that I’ve completely opened myself up to the possibility. Who knows? Stranger things have happened; it’s not out of the realm of possibility. It’s not plausible, but it could happen. STUPID STRAIGHT GUYS. SO WHAT DO YOU WANT IN A WOMAN ANYWAY?
Somebody funny, they’ve got to make me laugh and enjoy my life and give me space to maneuver and not be held so tightly. But looks-wise, hips are just the greatest invention ever, ever. I mean, man, I’m squirming right now. That’s so wonderful. That’s good stuff. WHAT’S YOUR IDEA OF THE PERFECT DATE? PAINT US A PICTURE OF THE EVENING.
Going to a more or less secluded beach, where people are not in view. Building a nice fire in the sand, bringing a picnic, hanging out and then just rolling around in the sand. Well, that’s a bit fast. Although, I’m quite charming, so it’s not out of the question. I would say it’s a possibility, I wouldn’t rule it out. THE PERFECT HARLEQUIN ROMANCE. WE’RE GETTING HOT JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.
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DECEMBER 2009 | TALENT & TITS
TALENT & TITS ALEXA DIRKS: THE JUNO AWARD WINNING BABE Words by BRADEN ALEXANDER Photography by CINDY TITUS Walking through a sunlit Exchange District with Alexa Dirks on the way to her shoot, it’s hard to believe the girl is only 22 years old. It’s not that she looks old (although her voice does sound like it could belong to a cougar named Wendy with a penchant for whiskey and Colts—in the best possible way). But something about Dirks makes me feel like I should be deferential. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s in not just one, but three bands at the moment. Maybe it’s the fact that one of those bands, Chic Gamine, won a Juno this year. Or maybe it’s just her aura. That glow I assume you achieve when, instead of feeding the corporate machine, you earn your livelihood by living out your dream. “I’ve never felt as sure about anything else in my life,” says the songstress. “It feels like the universe is like, ‘here, take this life and do it.’” And so she does. When she’s not touring with Chic Gamine, Dirks lends her smokey vocals to other bands like The New Lightweights. Working with different groups in different genres, she says, is all a part of being immersed in the Winnipeg music scene.
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“You get juggled around a lot,” she says happily. “You’re in a million bands at once.” Still, Chic Gamine remains her professional endeavor and her priority. A smart decision considering the amount of success the band has been met with. Earlier this year they won a Juno for roots and traditional album of the year. Not bad for a band that picked Dirks up in a bar. They saw her singing karaoke, asked her if she wanted to join, and the rest is history. Alexa Dirks does not have a day job. Writing, recording, and performing music is her day job. And, hearing her sing, you know she’s doing what she’s meant to be doing. But what happens if the music runs out? “I don’t have a back up plan,” Dirks admits. With a voice like that, honey, you don’t need one.
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DECEMBER 2009 | LIFE STORIES
LIFE STORIES FLEEING THE COUNTRY TO FIND YOURSELF
Words by SWEENEY MAIN Photography by SWEENEY MAIN As it happens, a post-secondary education is neither free, nor cheap. Silly me. I really thought a little charm would get me out of having to pay for my six years of indulgence in orgies of self-important pontificating and pouring over yellowed pages and hours under hot stage lights (also known as an honours English degree with a minor in theatre). And at the end of that, the bigger shock: an encyclopedic knowledge of the works of the Pre-Raphelites or the ability to produce a well-rehearsed, deliciously tart monologue about a woman in a liposuction clinic would not secure me a job above slinging coffee in a mall. Who knew? So, when bill collectors started calling, my fear of once again finding myself homeless kicked in my flight response. Flight. Far, far away. Now, since one devastation is never enough to push someone all the way across the ocean, I threw in a second for good measure. An old standard, a classic: heartbreak. Wallowing was well and good for a while, but when I no longer had the funds to fuel my spending-as-an-alternative-to-valium lifestyle, it was time to go. Where? Where else do wandering English majors go to make the most of their degrees? I left to teach English in Korea. After touching down in the Seoul airport, immaculate and sprawling, my first priority was to staunch my nose (it erupted into a full-on bloodfest the minute I passed through customs—my body was rejecting this stupid idea on a physiological level). After barely a moment to gather myself, I was quickly thrown aboard my limousine (which, 12
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I was disappointed to discover, is the name of the bus line here, and not, in fact, a limousine at all) for the three hour trek to my new hometown of Daejeon. After one restless night in a love motel (cheap, sometimes clean rooms that are rented out by the hour or evening for men to take their mistresses, or for young couples to screw in since everyone here lives at home until they are married). I was, without training or warning, placed in front of my first-ever class. I was the only foreign teacher at the school, which made Monday to Friday a lonely haul. Living for the weekends became a way of life. It wasn’t until two months in that I finally met another English-speaker (none of the other teachers at my school spoke passable English, nor did they make the effort to communicate with me). All of my possessions in two suitcases and a backpack, I was finally settled in to what I now understand to be a swanky Korean pad (I had a real shower, not just a hose dangling overtop of my toilet, as I would discover is the norm). My apartment had two levels, with a staircase leading to a sad half-loft that housed a child-sized mattress on the floor with no sheets, a grimy white blanket and one tear-stained pillow. The rest of the apartment was barren. The prison parallels were becoming alarmingly more apparent. I resisted carving the passing days in the walls, only because the textured wallpaper was too thick. When I say my time here was like a prison sentence, I mean it. Solitary confinement in a city of one million. I was a ghost. An illiterate, leprous ghost. There is a box full of journals that track my million and one self-discoveries, re-discoveries, and total meltdowns that embodied this period. Thanks Oprah, Project Runway, and internet
porn for getting me through it. The greatest reward for this trial, of course, is the discovery of the grace and glory of good friends. Those few folks who held me in their hearts throughout this long separation were my guardians, my heroes, and the walls that held me up when all this isolation threatened to tear me down. Let’s face it. A year teaching overseas here, for most, isn’t really about the teaching. Teaching is something we do to afford this ridiculously easy lifestyle. It’s a 17-hour workweek, thick with frequent headaches and frustration, but a bloated paycheque and easy life. The time spent in those sweaty hagwons (Korean schools for extra study) is well worth it, but sometimes, looking into the eyes of my students was all but unbearable. By the time they arrived at my class, many of them had already been in school for 12 hours that day. Korean students attend regular class 6 days a week and take additional classes (academies) for a variety of subjects including English, Math, Science, at least one musical instrument, Chinese, Japanese, and Taekwondo. Are they smart? Probably. Burnt out? Definitely. It appeared that they have little time to form their own identities between the hours of homework and extra lessons. Understandably, they seemed to come to resent everyone around them, not least of all the round-eye standing in front of them barking “wake-up!” and “pay attention!” When I finally got around to making friends, I found them to be a strange mix of people. From all walks of life, with little to nothing in common, we found ourselves here. Our only common thread is the moment. We are all at some point in our lives that allowed us to leave everything behind and come to a foreign land, typically alone, and spend a year away from it all. Be it poverty, the need for adventure, boredom, depression, or desire, something opened a hole in all of our lives that permitted us an escape. The world at home goes on without us, but when we’re here, it feels like everything is on pause. Your family
is at the airport waiting right where you left them, friends aren’t making new plans to go out on Friday night, the bill collectors aren’t calling, the city has stopped and is waiting for you to return. That’s the illusion, and we’re just fine with it, thanks. As I wind down, I ask the question that I must ask: Have I made the most of my time here? Have I made something of this year? I have dined with monks, bowed to Buddha on a remote mountain, swam in the salt water between two foreign lands. I’ve made friends and enemies from all over the world, shared my bed with too many, shared my heart with too few, shared stories with Africans, Aussies, Yanks, Micks, Brits, and Kiwis, fools and philosophers, only some of them worth remembering. I overdrank and overthank, overindulged in experience. I’ve laughed ‘til I’ve cried, cried ‘til I’ve slept. I’ve wandered the largest cities, the smallest villages, and put my life in the hands of inept drunk drivers and war survivors. I’ve shed the suffocating skin of the 25-year-old who left Canada to fly over the sea for the first time. This new coat is raw, and in many ways the same as the one I’ve shuffled off all over this tiny nation. It remains thin, sensitive, permeable, and damaged. But it’s new, and that’s something. Have I made the most of my time here? Well, I’ve survived it. I’ve lived it. Some days better than others. But I’ve done what many haven’t and I will take this with me wherever I go. No matter how many times I might shake off my skin and become the new and improved me, there will always be a crease, a wrinkle, an elbow of me that reads Korea. I came, I saw, was conquered, and rose to fight another day. The new freckle, the new tremor in my hands, the lines of burned skin on my arms, they will always whisper a story of that time I flew away, became, and became again.
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