What does a life entail? A home, family, work, a social circle, spiritual and moral awareness, and health. Yeah, I’ve mastered the art of compartmentalizing life into boxes with overlapping grey areas.

All of the above are works in progress.

• Living Conditions: I am living with my family (brothers) for the first time in 8years and I have a newfound appreciation for my little (now big) brother’s cooking. I’ve also had my “own” place since I was in high school, spending the past several years with friends in shared apartments. So it’s different not to have a constant flow of social traffic, gossip and girltalk in and out of the house. I live with two guys! Who woulda thunk it…But it’s quite nice, the privacy and solitude. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to leave Toronto — to find time to myself. This house is very peaceful. And healthy. My brothers work out, don’t smoke and make an effort to eat healthy. This can only be a good thing for me.
• Car culture: I’m not used to driving a car everywhere I need to go. I’ve been absorbed by Toronto and Montreal’s walking culture. I used to walk for everything, from laptop parties at cafes to dinner and grocery shopping. Here, most homes seem like they’re in the “suburbs,” so to say. Most of Dubai, except for JBR and a few other areas, embraces a driving culture. It’s just the way things are done, considering so much of the country is under development and there are huge expanses of land that are occupied completely by sand or construction sites.  I started driving as soon as I decided I was here to stay. I’ve become skilled at driving like I have nothing to lose so as to match the skills of others sharing the road.
• Getting Lost and Found: I’ve gotten lost a LOT, but I tend to do this everywhere I go at first. When I lived in New York over the summer, I got lost every other day, on foot. I would often walk up 54th thinking I was walking down and arrive at my destination a half hour late with blisters on my feet, frizzy rain hair and an improved sense of direction. Here, everything is landmark-based. “Right beside the Al Jaza cafe across the street from Sun & Sands, near the big roundabout”…It’s like visualizing maps in another language of images. Don’t even try to use north/south/east/west references. No one will know what you’re talking about. The one thing that I like about getting lost here is the long stretches of time I have to myself and my thoughts. There’s often music playing in the background (not very good radio stations, though) and I find myself in and out of conversation with myself. Yes, I am my closest friend here. Which brings me to my next point…a social life!
• Socializing in Dubai: It’s different from Toronto, that’s for sure. There are certain norms to adhere to and note…It’s a more conservative society at heart, and communities are tighter. I’m still feeling this one out, and until I know where I stand and how to present myself, I’m keeping it low-key. I think. Hah see I don’t even know if I’m low-key. Sigh. Oh, and I don’t have many friends. I’m totally, totally cool with that though. I hang out with a couple of people a lot and whenever I need some serious confiding time or gossip I do Skype calls with friends in Toronto/UK/Pakistan. I also have fun hanging at home with my brother. This is exactly where I want my social life to be right now. I think it would be easy to get sucked into the social scene here, which consists of lots of restaurant dining, sheesha, bar and club hopping, and house parties — from what I’ve seen. Everyone seems to get bored of these activities at some point, so I’m going to take my time exploring every spot in this city.

Many people have asked me why I relocated here, and I have a few answers to that. I’ve visited several times over the past 5yrs and grown more and more fond of the place (reluctantly). The past couple of visits have made me want to move here. Here, I have my brothers, family friends and plentiful SUNLIGHT. The grey Toronto winters can drive an already moody person over the edge!

I will tell you, I still haven’t come to terms with the fact that I’m here. It feels like I’ve made reality of a childhood fantasy I nursed for my first 5 years in Canada. And it feels exactly as I imagined — right. One day I will tell you how I broke up with my Toronto life and made this impulsive decision. You’ll laugh, readers, and smack your head saying, “Oh, Caroline…”. But that’s another blog entry in itself.

Photo Credit, Cityscape: http://web.mit.edu/cre/education/iap08-part1_united-arab-emirates.html

This isn’t smart, none of it is. In my defense, I’ve spent the last week or two eating mostly at home and my meals have all consisted of things containing minimal oil and carbs. Except for those Chinese restaurant leftovers that didn’t seem to end. And then, my birthday…and cake…and wine..OK I lied. I just thought, when I started this fitness program, that I would pay attention to everything I eat and do, workout-wise. Otherwise, I’m not going to see results — right? I also am still smoking, having bought a pack for Halloween. SIGH. I need to be strict with myself!!! So I’ve decided to raise the stakes.

Punishment & Rewards

This is something Booty Camp Fitness discusses in their handbook and on their site. As incentive, Booty Camp offers a prize to people in their programs, where you win a badass trip to New York along with a shopping spree and tickets to a show. In order to win, you have to make the most recognizable progress of everyone taking the 8-week session. I am not in that competition, obviously.

Of course, they don’t have anything that says “TSK TSK, you’re a bad girl for eating all that junk food.” They don’t stop us from indulging. But they do say that you should set a goal with a prize at the finish line, even if you designate the prize yourself. Technically, if you haven’t met your target, you don’t give yourself a pat on the back and you don’t get your prize. Sounds fair, right?

I broke the rules: I told myself weeks ago that I wanted a pair of really cute high-waisted Cheap Monday jeans. About a week ago, I bought them for myself. Why, when I haven’t met any of my fitness goals? My body certainly isn’t the hottest shit in town. But I was convinced that I deserved them, reminding myself that I’ve reached a lot of career and personal goals I’ve set myself, completely shunning all thoughts on toning up. So I bought the jeans in a happy daze. Truthfully, I don’t regret them;) But I need to set new rules around punishments and rewards. Any ideas? I’m thinking that, if I tone up and make my body parts look the way I’ve always dreamed, I should go to New York at the end of November for my friend’s birthday. That leaves me till November 21st to get my body into shape. That’s it. That’s my target, and I have more fitness programs lined up to make this happen. Booty Camp has been useful so far, but I know there’s more work to be done.

Booty Camp Fitness

My last two sessions at Booty Camp have not been like the first few I discussed. For one thing, I’ve been really awful with not attending. I’ve missed two sessions out of the 8! Naughty, naughty. If I didn’t feel so guilty about it, I’d miss tonight’s as well;) I’ve always got some deadline that I put before my fitness regime, and this is my first error with looking after my body. Consistency is imperative to getting fit, I believe. But I’m just no good with schedules! Which explains why I freelance….though that’s a whole other story!

Last week, we had a makeup class where everything was accelerated due to time constraints. It was definitely hardcore, where we had to do a whole circuit of body work: leg lifts, squats, plank lifts and a few other things. Even though we were doing each of these for a minute at a time, I found it difficult and let myself take it a bit easy. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t feel my body aching in the following days. Could you believe that I started to *miss* the struggles I was having with walking? I think my error was in taking it easy — at all times, it’s important that one push themselves to the limit in this program. That’s the only way you’re going to see results.

When I went to class a couple of days ago, I pushed myself more. We did partner exercises and I partnered up with the instructor, Leigh. You could tell that she really knows what she’s doing and stays on top of her fitness training. Read: She has an amazing body and her level of resistance is phenomenal.  I asked her a bit about herself and it turns out she is also a private trainer on the side. If I had the determination, I would want my body to look like hers — curves in all the right places! In this class, we focused more on resistance — each element of the circuit involved our partner putting pressure on us. For instance, on the floor she would stand behind me and put weight on my leg as I lifted it. Trust me, this HURT! While running around in circles, my partner would hold me back as I pushed her to let me finish my lap. This definitely dampened me up.

At tonight’s class (which is sadly my LAST!), I’m gonna make the most of it — I want my body to KILL this time. I actually was growing fond of the pain! Yeah, weird, I know — but it’s almost this stamp of approval, a sign that I’m doing something right. Will let you know how it goes!

“If you want something badly enough, the whole world conspires in helping you achieve it”

Don’t act like you’ve never heard that line before. I’ve been spewing that shit for years, and I’m not stopping anytime soon. But how badly do you want it? Do you really want it? ‘Cause if you really wanted it, you’d have it — the same way you’ve gotten everything else you’ve “really wanted.”

Because yes, you have wanted other things really fucking badly and asked the whole world to hold hands and conspire in your favour. Hands were held, clammy palms and all, and you received. As a disclaimer, this is a notice of entitlement — this is beyond the necessities, which are sometimes not in our control. This is about what you WANT, not what you NEED.

If you want it, you gotta live it, breathe it and eat it. What was on your plate today? What did you digest? Are you too embarrassed to admit that you spent the day in bed, reading? Guess what I was reading about — I read about it, I read about what I wanted to eat instead of just eating it.

“But there wasn’t any of it in the fridge, wahhh”, I respond. So go out and buy it. Walk the distance, even if it’s a little cold out. You know what I’m saying, right?

Now look at this classic example of bad habit. I’m not eating it. I’m writing about my hunger for it. And I still haven’t eaten it. Tomorrow’s a new day, but today I will chastise myself so that I wake up with my stomach growling in hunger. Now I shall do the things I do to facilitate what I want to do more of but which I don’t in fact do enough of.

This badass picture that perfectly encapsulates my rant was discovered via GoogleImages, on OfficeFridges.com

Find it here!

We visited a Hakka Chinese restaurant at Bay and Dundas, Spadina Garden. Hakka Chinese is how we’ve celebrated special occasions since I was a kid — my parents are on a first name basis with the owners of Fedricks, Chung Moi and Lucky’s in Scarborough. My mother’s currently out of town, and my father is a little quieter than my social butterfly mother. Still, he’d insisted on taking me out for my birthday.

Dinner conversation did not pick up speed immediately. He was quiet, perhaps with work or poker on his mind — yes, he’s made a small fortune from this hobby-cum-second-career. Ours is an interesting relationship, mostly cerebral — I look up to him and appreciate his insight on almost everything, even though we are often on opposing ends of the spectrum. Since young, he’s supported me on everything and has always been proud of my writing and artistic pursuits. My brothers, who themselves have chosen unconventional routes to success, have also always been privy to his support — always paired with lectures and in-depth analysis, of course. Politically, we clash completely. His favourite subject is business, however,  which is also one of my favourite topics — thanks to my family’s entrepreneurial history. We talk every week or every few days, and usually it’s him giving me advice on certain aspects of my freelance work, or to hear about my latest ventures, or him bouncing ideas off me. I enjoy these talks immensely, though sometimes I zone out because I will never be as passionate about business as he is. My relationship with my mother is more like girlfriends, best friends who giggle and tease each other. Sometimes I think my father feels he can never be this girlfriend of mine — and it’s true, he never will be. But over the years, I’ve realized no one can be my father, either.

This past year, there’s been something on my mind, something that’s stood in the way of us getting closer. I wanted to tell him, talk to him about it, but instead I let the fear of confrontation build a distance between. I was afraid of disappointing him. I recently decided I had to tell him. I wanted to bridge the gap, I didn’t want to keep secrets. Now, if you know my father, you’ll know that he has a fiery temper. Nobody wants to face his wrath or stand in the path of his fury. In the past, fights between us have been highly volatile. We know how to get under each others skin, because we are far too much alike. My family likes to say I have a tongue as sharp as a sword and I think I got it from him. I’ve said things to my parents and siblings that I hope they’ve forgotten. It’s taken me years to tame this ‘tongue’ of mine, and I am now an apt diplomat. I keep my opinions and the harshest of criticisms to myself. I don’t get a rush from making people bleed anymore. Well, unless they deserve it.

As we continued with the meal, my dad opened up some more. I got him talking about his new ventures, and we also discussed assorted family gossip. He confided in me about his concerns, and I felt my eyes get glassy in gratitude, for the fact that I have someone so intelligent and ambitious in my life. Not everyone is so lucky to have parents that have put the world at their fingertips, who’ve given them everything they could ask for. Not everyone has received such unconditional love from their parents. I cry easily when I’m near my family, and I cry as I write this, because I know how hard they’ve worked to give us everything, and I know how much contention they faced for the alternative way in which they brought us up.

As dinner neared its end, I realized it was now or never. I knew I had to tell him one-on-one. I knew this dinner was the chance. I had talked to my brother’s GF a few days ago and she’d said the same. The sooner, the better. As he paid the bill, I cracked open my fortune cookie, eating the cookie without thought. I ran to the bathroom with my phone in hand and called my best friend from the stall. My hands were shaking. Please note that I am the queen of confrontation. I am not scared of talking about important things and in fact relish such conversations. But this felt like a breakup with the love of my life. This was huge, the thing I’d been mulling over for months. Dinah told me to just do it and wished me luck. I returned to the table, quivering with anticipation.

“Dad, before we leave, I have to talk to you about something.”
He shook his head, rolling his eyes. The last time I said this to him, in 2006, he had taken it in and responded with calm. I wasn’t sure this time. I looked down at my hands, fiddling with the fortune cookie paper. “You will be an accomplished writer,” it said. I was shocked, and nervously laughed as I repeated aloud what it said. He cracked a tiny, sarcastic smile, recognizing my discomfort. His paper was nearby and I read it to myself. His paper said something even more shocking, and I held onto it tightly as it propelled me to say what I’d been holding back. And I conquered my greatest fear. I told him, bravely, that his opinion mattered to me. That I needed his support to move forward. I needed to know that he loved me even with the decisions I made that were going against his expectations for me. He told me that he would be my father regardless of my decisions, regardless of the fact that he didn’t like them. He didn’t disown me, as I feared he would. He didn’t write me off as a failure, as useless, as the black sheep that I’d been feeling like. And as he talked to me, like an adult, like his daughter, I felt a wave of relief and love wash over me. I was grateful beyond belief. My eyes were glassy again, and I think he could tell just how difficult this was for me to say. We got up to leave the table and he grabbed the fortune cookie paper I’d been thumbing.

“Someone looks up to you,” it said. “Please don’t let them down.” He smiled, and I took his fortune cookie paper and mine, tucking them into my wallet. “Thank you,” I said, hugging him tight before we walked out of the restaurant.

Last week I attended my second session of Booty Camp. Before I got there, I had contacted my instructor, Leigha, to ask her about my sore, aching body. She told me that I should still attend, as it’s better to keep my muscles active even when sore. I was anxious about this as I was still walking like I’d just been violated. When I got to the class, I quickly jumped right into it. And she was right.

I didn’t have any trouble with the activities. This class was structured like a boot camp you’d see in a movie…of course, not to the same extent, ’cause she doesn’t bark like Damon Waynes in Major Payne. After warming up, we were put through a circuit of floor exercises, skipping rope, shuffle-stepping and stairs. It sounds more complicated than it was. I surprised myself, as I found that once I got my adrenaline going, I was “in da zone.” My energy and determination increased with each round — I was intent on maximizing my body’s ability to take more.

For the floor exercises, we had the option of keeping the medicine ball between our legs and rotating our bodies as we went along, or keeping the medicine ball on our stomach with our legs lifting and dropping in a controlled upright position. The latter of the two was the easier choice, but I tried the first one instead. Pushing my body to the limit, right? I pretty much broke a sweat with the first effort. So I switched it up to the second choice and did a bit better. Sometimes it’s OK to admit you just can’t do it!

Next was skipping rope. I love skipping rope! Not just because it reminds me of playing double-dutch as a young’un. It’s like running — you can get completely absorbed in the act and choose the speed you like. I kept my eyes trained on a distant figure and just kept going. This is something I’d like to incorporate into my own personal fitness schedule after I finish with Booty Camp. You can really feel your body work when skipping rope.

The shuffle-step and stairs were the last element of this circuit. Basically they lay out a series of squares and you have to hop across them. Then you run up and down a short set of stairs. A bunch of pylons are arranged at the end for you to shuffle-step across.

Each element of the circuit is split by one minute breathers. I hope I’m not making the program sound too easy or too difficult — it’s neither of the above. I’ve found that with both classes I’ve attended, I literally am about to give up just before we reach our 1-minute break. And that break gives me just enough energy to dive into the next portion of the drill. Time flies, as well, and class is over before you know it. Interestingly enough, after this class, my body did not ache as much as it did when I entered. Perhaps I need to keep the momentum going in this way so that it’s not so extreme for my body to meet these challenges. That would be the smart way of doing it, right?

I also took my instructor’s advice and took a hot, soapy bath when I got home. Truthfully, I NEVER take baths — my last bath prior to this was probably ten years ago. I read at a young age that baths consume more water than showers, and this fact appealed to the latent tree-hugger in me. It was soooo relaxing and my body was instantly soothed. I must sound like a cranky old hag the way I’m complaining about the pain, but it really wasn’t fun.

My Own Circuit: Queen West & Trinity Bellwoods Park

Our next class was scheduled for Monday, but it had to be canceled due to Toronto elections polling stations being set up at our location. Therefore, I decided to keep the momentum going on my own. I woke up Tuesday morning all revved to go with my own circuit in mind. I jogged along Queen West, making my way to Trinity Bellwoods Park. As most people know, I very much enjoy walks and picnics here, and a jog is even better I’ve found.

I tend to jog fast, as my legs are pretty long. Also, as a kid, I was a member of my school’s cross-country team. I stopped competing before I got too involved in the sport, but not before I made it to the top ten for my league/age. After awhile I chose to invest my extracurricular time in the arts instead. I also stopped because I started tasting blood while doing long distances and it freaked me out. Still, I remember the days of running during lunch breaks with my teammates, and the rush of competitions and reaching the finish line before everyone else.

Trinity Bellwoods reminds me of those days jogging through Scarborough’s Morningside Park. There’s a decent sized hill towards the centre of Bellwoods, with a set of stairs. By the time I reached this area, I was a little worn out. Jogging fast is not a good practice if you’re out of shape. Within less than 7-minutes I’d run from King and Bathurst to the park — which is an 18-minute walk according to GoogleMaps:) So I need to pace myself more.

I recreated the Booty Camp-style shuffle-step using the stairs, running up and down and then jogging across the pit section of the park. There’s a small hillroad going up from the pit back to the park, and I walked up it once as an interval and ran up the hill on the second round. I wanted to run up the grassy side of the hill but the ground was still damp from the previous night’s rain and I was afraid of slipping.

I considered running up to College and back down Bathurst to King, but though this might be too ambitious considering I’m not a regular runner. I think I could do it if I really tried — last summer my girlfriend and I did a few jogging sessions from Queen/Bathurst down to Lakeshore and Yonge and back up to Queen & Bathurst. I think that’s a pretty solid distance, ah?

Anyway I totally suggest y’all take a jog through the Queen West area when you can. It’s quite beautiful in the fall. This is my favourite season and I think I should continue taking jogs through the area when I can — I simply adore all the gold and red-coloured leaves that litter the paths. Pair your jog with a high-energy setlist of music and your morning is made! If I wasn’t running the risk of looking like a loser dancing in the streets, I’d seriously break it down to my workout playlist, which features the likes of: NIN, LCD Soundsystem, Gorillaz, Kitten Control, La Roux, Adam Tensta, The Kills, and many more.

Stay tuned for more on my quest for fitness success!

I am also not fit. People look at me and say, you’re so slim, you look after your body well eh?…but no. I am not fit, I am fat and bones and I don’t pretend to know much about fitness. I smoke (though I’m trying to stop). I am more susceptible to I don’t make time for sports in my life. I spent the summer in a jazz dance class and still wasn’t able to touch my toes by the end of it. Yeah, I’m not fit. I do, however, watch what I eat, how much of it I eat and when I eat. I guess that’s my saving grace that lets me wear a size 26/27. But I’ve known for awhile that I need to change my bad habits. How am I doing that? I’ll be taking a fitness program for two weeks, watching what I eat and paying attention to my body — will let you know what that entails as we go along.

My measurements (never thought I’d share this publicly):

Height: 5’5

Weight: 116lbs

Age: mid-20s

Body Fat %: 24.1% !!!!! <– so bad!

Fat weight: 28.0lbs

Lean mass: 88.0lbs

What do I want out of this?

• I want to turn 8lbs of fat weight into muscle. (24% body fat —> 18% body fat!)
• I want my skin to be clear (more water + activity – smoking = THE BEST SKIN!)
• I want to have more energy (so I can work harder, party harder)
• I want a really hot body(there, I said it!!!)

Booty Camp Fitness

As part of my quarterly resolution, I decided I’d get cleansed and active. I’ve been paying attention to the Twitter threads on #BootyCamp + @BootyCampFit, reading what all the ladies say about the classes. A couple of girlfriends took the program in Scarborough and said they were getting super toned as they went along. So I contacted the BootyFit communications person and asked if I could try the program out and write about it in my blog.

I went to my first session a couple of nights ago and was admittedly self-conscious — a lot of these girls were more toned than me and had taken BootyCamp programs a few times. I always feel like this in structured programs though — be it jazz dance, pole dancing class, hot yoga or quad spinning. Yeah, you name it, I’ve done it, and I’ve been pretty awkward at it.

It wasn’t difficult to get into BootyCamp mode, though. The whole class feels like a series of alternating stretches, exercises and resistance techniques. We started off with a warm up, jogging around the class. Then, while introducing ourselves in a round-circle fashion, the instructor said we should do squats while listening. About halfway through the round-circle and before it was my turn to speak, I was panting. Yes, I hadn’t technically “worked out” since March or April, and my dance class ended in July! I suck. I was out of breath when I had to speak and my legs were starting to ache. But the instructor isn’t militant, which I liked — I was able to pause without feeling bad, and jump back into it when I chose.

Then we did wall-squats in pairs. One person leans against the wall and holds the rolled up yoga mat upright or across while the other person boxing with the mat. I found myself marveling at my partner — she was a real trooper, holding the mat with focus and determination. When it was my turn, I cheated a bit — pausing to relax and then returning to position. I just couldn’t hold the squat. As we went on, though, it got easier. Squat for a minute, do floor stretches for a minute and rest for a minute. Time flew and I was able to hold my focus and resistance longer.

I was surprised — and, I’ll admit, really happy — when I saw that class was over, though. I wish I was one of those people who really LOVED and LIVED for working out. Perhaps over time if I stick to it long enough?  I was pretty wobbly by the end of it all. It took me about 25mins to get home — a walk that usually takes 10mins max. And I knew the next day would be worse. It always is, right?

The Next Day, and The Day After

The next day, my legs were like steel blocks and my arms felt like I’d lifted really heavy weights. But it didn’t feel that bad at the time!? See, Booty Camp Fitness didn’t make me feel like I’d just been hit by a car. But it obviously had an effect on my muscles..probably because my muscles are rusty! Usually I enjoy the pain that accompanies working out but this was an all-new feeling.

I emailed the instructor to ask her why I felt this way and what I should do and she said I have Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness, which kicks in over the first 48hrs post-workout. I think my body is just not used to this and this is how it punishes me. I’m going to keep going, though, even if my bf keeps taunting me in anticipation of my quitting (who needs 2 brothers when you have one boyfriend?). Stay tuned for news on my next class!

- @caro2point0

1. How the hell have I never been here?

Body Blitz is situated the King/Queen West area of downtown Toronto. Friends have suggested going there for a relaxing girls day, but we never get around to it. The building is a bit nondescript and you wouldn’t expect the haven that lies beyond its doors. Inside, there’s a large room composed of three pools — a sea salt pool, a cold plunge pool and a green tea pool. They give you a water circuit map that directs you on how to get the most out of the different properties and minerals in each of these pools. There’s an infrared sauna, an aromatherapy steam room, a changing room and vanity room, and a juice bar at reception. There’s also a series of small rooms for individual treatments.

2. I kinda like my body

Body Blitz is a women-only spa, and for that I am grateful. Women wander around naked (chill out guys), their bushes and bulges happily exposed. Some have tight, curvy builds while others sport sagging, wrinkly flesh. Nobody cares. Everybody is comfortable. It made me want to strip down and share my goods, but I am still a little shy — I’ve always been the girl who puts her bra on under her shirt in ladies change rooms, and those habits die hard.

3. How do these people make money?

With the amount of water, steam and electricity coursing through this spa’s veins, you’d wonder how this place makes a dime. They have fresh towels traveling in and out of each room on carts, they’re not overcrowded in that “is-there-pee-in-this-community-pool?” sorta way, and I hear Dead Sea salts typically cost a little less than $10 a pound — how many pounds of salt was in that pool!? But I’m certain Body Blitz is more than breaking even.

Clients have access to the waters either by paying only for the therapeutic waters circuit or complimentary with the purchase of an individual service, which range from $90 to $205. Ridiculously affordable, and obviously viable to the average T dot fem! On my Friday evening after-work visit, there must have been around 30 to 40 women roaming the joint. It’s a hangout for the girls, filled with chit-chat and giggles. Plus, it’s open throughout the day and there are several rounds of women entering and leaving. The spa also has an area with private rooms for individual services  including massages, scrubs and muds. I imagine they have hundreds of visitors on a good day.

4. Are all of these women straight? Hmm…I roll with a lot of queer girls, and we have a bad habit of radar-ing everyone we meet. “I think she’s a dyke but doesn’t know it,” “he’s totally gay, why doesn’t he just come out already?” and “she would totally sleep with me if I came on to her” are just a few of the things you’ll hear sprinkling conversations between my girlfriends. HE HE HE. Naughty, I know, but we get our kicks out of sexual ambiguity. My radar isn’t that great, but I’m pretty sure this is a queer friendly place. I ran into a queer friend-of-a-friend, and think I recognized others from the scene. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing going on between the girls at Body Blitz. I just think it’s cool that this place is acceptable to all types.

5. Am I going to die in a spa? At some points during the therapeutic water circuits, I started to wonder if I’d be in the news the next day. My paranoia regularly translates into headlines I announce in my head or via text message to my boyfriend: i.e “Toronto actor and publicist admitted to CAMH for iPhone4 Jeopardy! addiction,” and “Stormy Waters at Body Blitz: 20-something found dead in steam room.” Yeah, narcissistic, I know:) But at least I don’t get as far as the speeches at my funeral.

There are plenty of warnings around Body Blitz reminding you to take a break if you feel dizzy or weak, and to be careful if you have a history of health issues. Sitting in the aromatherapy steam room by myself, this smoker didn’t last more than a minute without everything going blurry. I stepped out unsteadily and said a silent thank you to the spirits for saving my life. But I like a challenge, so I went back in after a few minutes and this time concentrated on my breathing. Later, after rinsing, I immersed my self neck-deep in the cold plunge. I really don’t understand how people go ice swimming for recreation. I got dizzy at this point, too. I took a break and relaxed on the lounge chairs at the side. I consider these reactions signs that I need to expose my body to more extremities so I am not thrown into such disarray in the future.

6. Will my skin stay this soft if I promise never to shower again?

I initially visited Body Blitz in hopes of a massage, but since I am a last-minute-idiot, their masseuses were all booked and they only had half-hour treatments available. I really wanted to try something, though, so I chose “the sampler: body wash + body scrub.” Aside from a bit of stinging which was my fault, the spa therapist was thorough and considerate. The stinging was due to shaving my legs just before my visit. Either way, my legs were fine and she was careful with them. This treatment was about 25mins and felt like longer. It was refreshing and smelled yummy. I tasted some of the mint-lime sea-salt scrub as some splashed on my face, and I wouldn’t mind a bowl of that for dinner sometime.

7.  I wish I was healthier and looked after my body better

After doing the water circuit and getting the sampler scrub, I walked out of the place feeling super smooth, soft and cleansed. I felt light and detoxed, could smell the crisp fall weather and breathed clearly. In a way, I felt like I’d just stepped out of the gym. Later, as I had a cigarette, I felt like I was inhaling dirt. I instantly felt heavier and wished I could bury this vice forever.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to truly make an effort at quitting smoking and becoming healthy. I feel guilty each time my mother mentions her asthma, and I am starting to have nightmares about cancer. My brothers are treadmill maniacs and very health-conscious, which puts me at risk of becoming the bad-habit black sheep. I figure that, by documenting my experience here, I’ll have no choice but to stay on top of my game.  WISH ME LUCK READERS! Thanks:)

People always ask me what my background is and I tell them I’m Indian, but others suggest that I’m not Indian because:

a) I came here when I was 5 and it’s been 20 years since.

b) I don’t speak the native languages

c) I don’t have an “Indian” name, whatever that is.

Truthfully, at some point it started to bug me that people would respond the way they did to my saying I’m Indian. According to them, I don’t look Indian — whatever that means — because I have coloured hair and light skin. But what does the average Indo-Canadian look like that I am not taken as one? Sorry my hair has been bleached — I look sallow with dark hair, sue me! Indians can spot an Indian from a mile away, and most smile knowingly at me. It makes me wonder, though, how Indians are portrayed in media that people should think we have one unmistakable “look.”

This sounds like a silly gripe, that I’m complaining about such a seemingly aesthetic concern, something  so superficial. But to be honest, at some point I found myself “de-migrantising” myself and instead considering myself just another Canadian with a distant past. But then why does it feel so close, hovering just above me? I started to forget how long it took me to adjust, my accent, the struggle to settle in and more. I think that, as multi-cultural as Canada has been in my experience here, there is still a part of me that feels stifled. It’s not directly from the government, but from my peers, to be honest. Perhaps systemic?

You know, in India there are hundreds, even thousands of languages and dialects. And unbeknownst to many, there are Christian, English-speaking Indians and Parsi, Farsi-speaking Indians, and hey, even Chinese Indians out there.  And shades of skin range from coffee-bean tones to creamy, milky complexions.  Eyes go from quarry gray, like my grandfather’s, to blue, like Aishwarya Rai (yes, I did just compare my grandfather to the great Aishwarya).

But then, I’m still unclear on where I stand as an Indo-Canadian. I tried writing for South Asian-themed publications a couple of times and was not into it. Not sure if it was the subject matter that I didn’t connect with enough. I always feel a little less knowledgeable about things having to do with India, partly because of my difficulties learning Indian languages and partly because mainstream, internationally recognized “Indian culture” is not what I was brought up with. So even though I have the same curry in my fridge that uses all the spices India is known for, I feel somewhat un-Indian because I don’t understand nor like — obviously — the song and dance of Bollywood films. What can I say, I don’t vibe with the storytelling format. And though my parents tell me of their upbringing in India, their time climbing coconut trees and playing extra-curricular sports (which were very popular for them growing up), somehow I’m still un-Indian because my name sounds Spanish.

So I find myself tip-toeing around the subject of my ethnic background, trying to change said subject as quickly as possible, being apologetic for not knowing enough and for knowing what I do know, trying to prove myself as Indian as any other Indian but still remain within the boundaries of being Canadian. Currently I’m wearing an Indian nightdress that I’d wear at any other time around friends and fam. A moment ago, I got super self-conscious about this night dress. Why, you ask? Because I am living, for the first time, with a South Asian person who’s not my parents!!! It’s different, I’ll tell ya. She’s super cool and super tidy (which I’m lovin’). But I just don’t feel as Indian as her. I want her to add some South Asia to my bones. So I suggested we cook together and she looked at me as if I asked her to marry me.  “We’re moving too fast, Caroline,” she was probably saying to herself in her head.. Mind you, we’ve only been living together a week so maybe I am jumping the gun.

I think it’s normal for us first generation and 1.5 generation immigrants (yes, that term exists and I just found it!!!) to feel sorta split between two places. So many people I know have left Canada to build lives in the countries their parents worked so hard to leave. My brothers went back to Dubai, last month I sent a Palestinian friend to Jordan and I’m sending her sister to Jerusalem next week. And why? I told one friend, who’d left Toronto to work in Lebanon, that she had an “”unwilling, unsure arriving or
departing feeling for (every) city.” I’m still not sure where I’ve been and where I’ll go. With all the love affairs I have had with cities I visit, the last thing I’m certain of is where I’ll end up.