This blog's for ME

Almost 25 years old, asking my parents if I can sleep in their bed with them. I had thought I was going to be the 25th Prime Minister of Canada. Things had changed. 10 years later, I was still a scared little boy. The time had come to slap myself awake. One Saturday morning, November 19th, 2009, I declared to the world I would be riding my 10 year-old motorcycle from Vancouver, BC Canada to Rio de Janeiro, Brasil, and back.

The official departure was August 28th, 2010. A group of well-wishers saw me off at 8:03 am.

I arrived in Rio de Janeiro around 6 pm March 1st, 2011.

My return to Vancouver came on July 5th, 2011 about 2:00 pm.

Drug & alcohol abuse, ADD, social anxiety, health, chronic pain, night terrors.

So many concerns. But I am far more interested in this question: Do I have the capacity to make this trip despite all my shortcomings?

My mission: To inspire myself to face my fears, enlighten myself on how all living things can peacefully co-exist, enjoy every moment, and see the world as plentiful and generous.

Go ahead. Call me crazy. Call me anything you like.

I'm out to save my world.


Questions, comments, concerns, threats? Contact me:

The Painter

Although my instincts tell me to be careful around certain people, I take every person at face value, and give them a chance regardless. It was my idea to get the trim painted, as I told Kiko I thought it would spruce up the place a bit. I started late, and when I got on the roof, there was another painter there. He looked at me defensively. The painter guy started on me right away. He was quite aggressively speaking in Spanish about my painting, and I just kept saying "no entiendo" or don't understand, and went back to work. Turns out after I had told Kiko it would be a good idea to paint the trim, a labourer from the south with plans to go to Tijuana was willing to barter goods. He would exchange room, board, and food for painting. By 8 pm it was completely dark, and I decided he needed it more than me, so I left him to it. Besides, I simply wanted the job done, and I didn't need any unneccessary aggression. I asked Kiko later to ask the fellow what the hell his problem was. He came back smiling, saying the guy thought I was painting wrong and that all the wood had to be scraped first. Fine, fair enough. I just wanted to get it done. I was glad to be away from it, as they use these huge brushes in Mexico that are very hard to get used to.

He did an excellent job. I remembered Tom's words about being nice to the labourers and smiling, but everytime I saw him, I just felt like defending, and giving him a scowl, but i didn't. Everytime I saw him I told him Bueno, Bueno. He finished the job yesterday, and Kiko gave him $400 pesos for his work, which was about 3 days. Last night, he got himself into trouble. He got drunk, tried to start a fight with Miguel, the sweet 24 year old kid that introduced me to everyone here. Turns out a Military sargeant from the base was here, and decided to pound the krap out of him. Kiko went over to him this morning to tell him to leave, as he said he didn't want any more problems. The fellow had an awful face I guess, as the military guy was kicking him in the face and body.

It's a sad story. The painter guy is uneducated, and probably had a tough life. Perhaps though, the Mexican justice will teach him a lesson.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Videos of my journey