Susana landed in Halifax after several flights taking her from her home in Mexico. She arrived at this derelict hotel bearing gifts (Susana gave me a beautiful amber necklace, a beaded bracelet, a black stone ring that may permanently be stuck on my finger, two bookmarks and some nice postcards of her home city of Monterrey) and a wide assortment of candies I had never tasted before (I would later discover the sour-spicy and spicy-sweet ones are very good, though very different from anything I have ever tasted). Among the things I was given was a nice letter from Susana’s friend Ximena that, among other things, included a joking threat that she’d hurt me if I should harm Susana (I’m sure she’d be quite capable of that, seeing that she called herself a homicidal otter) and an odd new nickname, Mr. Maple Flavoured Boy. I must not forget to write her in return and send her something for the candy she sent.
Wednesday we walked to and through Point Pleasant Park before we visited the public gardens. I wanted to show her some of my favourite places in the city and those two came to mind first because I spend a lot of time there. She seemed impressed by the crows we have here (there are none where she is from) and by the amount of trees and plants that cover this city. The weather differences were the big change, though, I’m sure; Nova Scotia’s a lot cooler than Mexico. You can see some photos of our time there in her fotolog and flickr pages, as well as in my own photo album.
We also went to see a movie, Howl’s Moving Castle, an anime film that we both enjoyed a lot; the animation is excellent, with bizarre and rich scenery. Go see it if you have the chance, if only to marvel at the strange and beautiful shifting, walking castle.
There are plenty of details I’d like to write of, but I’d be typing away all night to record them all, so this will have to do; I’ll try to entrust the rest to my memory. That may be unwise, seeing that it’s a cluttered place at the moment, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed it’ll be its usual reliable self.
There have been certain experiences in my life that leave me with a head filled with stories. The clearest example of this happened when I was returning from a trip to Ottawa 5 or 6 years ago. I was trapped in a van and trapped in a jumbled mind; conflicting emotions, immediate nostalgia and a sense of leaving home rather than returning to it were an alchemical chaos. Out of this I developed my first novel-length story. Though I never took the time to write it, the themes and narritive forces have never left me. It was an epiphany guided by the muses that solidified my love of stories and manifested my desire to create. I can never forget my time in that city or the hours of travelling home.
Now I feel as though I’m on the verge of another of these times of creation. This time, though, I’m prepared to channel whatever inspiration comes into something tangible. I’m ready to brave the brambles and arm myself with a quill.