Brenna Holeman

The other evening, returning from a visit to Leeds to visit my good friend Tom, I stood in the pouring rain and looked around. I didn’t know where I was – the exit I had taken from the bus station was unfamiliar. I was cold, and tired, and the grapes I had bought to snack on during the journey had spilled and crushed in my bag. A taxi splashed by, covering my boots and legs with water. On any other day, I might have been very frustrated with this entire situation. I might have cursed (silently or out loud, it would depend on my mood). I might have huffed and puffed. Instead, I stood there with a grin, laughing at the series of events that could only be described as Murphy’s Law. The thing is, nothing really phases you when you’re in love. And in love I am, absolutely head-over-heels, over-the-top, twirling-in-the-streets kind of love. And who, or what, is so deserving of this adoration?

I was all set to do something completely different for this instalment of Around the World: beer, books, hot dogs, (all my favourites in life) but I realized I still had a lot of photo of dogs, and dogs always win.

My ears perked up. “Winnipeg”, I had heard the girl say, I was sure of it. I had a fleeting sensation of excitement, of hearing the name of my hometown dropped casually into conversation, and I briefly wondered why she was mentioning it at all. This entire process took about 1.5 seconds in my brain, before I once again stopped myself, rolled my eyes.

“I’m in Winnipeg, you idiot,” I thought to myself. I had been for a month.

A beautiful mural depicting social change versus a random tag on a random brick wall – how do we approve one, but disregard the other? The line seems to be drawn somewhere between construction and destruction; the work must take on some form of cultural significance, or, well, at least just look good.

There’s been a foreboding sense to this summer – I’ve known all along that, eventually, I’d be packing up and moving my life to London for an indefinite period of time. This isn’t a surprise; I’ve been talking about it since spring. And yet I’m the type of person who, instead of taking my time packing and organizing and planning, will leave everything until the very end. I leave in four days, and yet I still feel as though there’s a lot to do. That’s the way it always goes, though, isn’t it? There’s a lot to do and we stress out and then it’s just done.

“What do you got under there?” The man asked me. The tone was lascivious. I doubted he would have asked the question in the same way if it were a man sitting behind the wheel, but perhaps he would have, I don’t know.

“A V8,” I responded, hardly taking my eyes off the road in front of me.