My Bad Ass Dad - Part 2 "The Untold Story"

If you met my dad today you would say that he's an unassuming man.  Standing at 5' 9", he's considered tall for Vietnamese genes and his athletic built is still impressive since he's 60 years old.  My dad laughs a lot.  He always sees the humor in every situation.  Because of this perspective, his small almond shaped eyes pretty much disappears into a face of permanent laugh lines every time he smiles.  In the Western culture, most people would agonize over the aging process but my dad proudly wears his laugh lines because he has earned it.  Each wrinkle is a mark for a right of passage that may have never been told so he embraces it graciously.

My parents got married in their early 20's and it wasn't mutual love at first sight.  My mom was from a poor family of nine children made up of eight girls and only one boy.  Vietnam is a dominantly patriarchal society, which meant that males were the main bread winners.  To break her family's poverty cycle, my mom was determined to be educated which would open up more opportunities by elevating her social status to marry into a more wealthy family.  As with life, the stars played a different card for my mom so instead of marrying an educated man, as she had originally planned, she was bequeathed to my dad.  My dad comes from a family of thirteen children, consisting of 12 boys and one girl.  Living on a small island, my dad's family was one of the wealthiest families in their small village because all the boys were trained to be successful fisherman.  Having a crew of 12 males pretty much meant your family was financial secure by Vietnamese measures.  Unlike my mom, my dad was never an academic person.  He only attended school until Grade 7 and even then he was not a good student, as he fondly recalls constantly being whipped for day dreaming or not completing his assignments.  Instead, he preferred channeling his energy into martial arts, often practicing and training up to twelve hours a day.  He mastered his fighting skills to the point that his spiritual body would leave this physical plane so he would pursue training with spiritual teachers.

My mom's father eventually became violently ill and on his death bed begged my mom to marry my dad.  My mom had already fallen in love with another teacher, but her loyalty to her family's honor and her love for her dad was stronger, so she reluctantly obliged.  My dad had already fallen in love with my mom, often shyly observing her when she came to buy fish from his boats.  As per tradition, he had requested to court my mother, but it was quickly expedited to marriage because of my grandfather's sickness.  Little did my mom know, her father's dying wish probably saved her life.

Shortly after the US army pulled out of Vietnam in 1975, Vietnam's fragile, war torn country crumbled to the North's communist regime.  Although both of my parents grew up within the heat of war and were acclimatized to the brutality and violence that came with it, this new regime promised even more bloodshed.  My dad had volunteered to fight against the North Communists and his mastery of martial arts quickly promoted him up the ranks into a senior position.  After the fall of Saigon, the North Vietnamese quickly moved to install their new governing bodies. This included tracking down all the "rebels" that fought against them and imprisoning them within "re-education" camps to secure peace. Positioned as camps that provided proper education of the new communistic government through training and labour, the true goal was to indoctrinate the South Vietnamese with propaganda.  Divided into five levels, the re-training camps took every South Vietnamese citizen, and depending on there involvement in the war, systematically applied differing techniques to ensure everyone adjusted to the new social norms without further disruption.  Being a high ranking officer, my dad was classified to go into a Level 4 camp meaning there was no gentle "re-training" just a lifetime sentence of torture, punishment and poor living conditions.  Death would have been an easier out.

My dad had not only mastered the art of karate, but also the art of hiding.  For years, he was able to successfully avoid being re-captured by these education camps thanks to his younger fishing days.  As a teenager he had discovered a hidden and uninhabited island and harboured there from 1975 until 1977 peacefully by himself.  Even though he had married my mom, he mainly remained on the island while my mom stayed on the mainland to avoid capture.  News of my conception in 1977 created a further dilemma in an already tumultuous future.  My mom and dad were going to become parents.  A funny thing happens when you become responsible for a life that is not your own.  Your own life no longer matters.  What matters is that your child survives, at all cost.  My mom started panicking.  The newly established Communist regime, still ballsy and hot after overthrowing the Americans off of Vietnam soil, announced that they were going to invade Cambodia.  War was again knocking on Vietnam's doorstep.  My dad finally realized his home was no longer the place he wanted to bring up a family.  He concocted an elaborate plan to give his child the life he was never able to have.  My mom, the more risk adverse of the two, spent the next nine months crying.  She begged my dad to change his mind as she was positive his plan was a death sentence.  My dad remained steadfast in his beliefs and wisely told my mom "No, giving our child this life is a death sentence.  At least dying means you're at peace."

The next day he showed up at re-education camp and peacefully surrendered.  For the next year and three months, although academia always eluded him, he finally became the perfect student.  His obedient attitude earned him access to food, weapons and fuel which were the three elements he needed.  He was such a stellar student that he was even allowed access outside the camp to visit his family and wife.  Every day he would steal just enough so no one would notice and smuggled the much needed supplies out of camp. He secretly buried it on the island that had previously kept him safe.  My mom's job was to quietly assemble the group that would leave with us and collect "payment" from non-family members.  Having access to the army base also meant my dad knew intel of where all the heavily guarded areas were and where pirates were attacking the Vietnamese fleets.

The risky plan was coming together.  A week before it was supposed to be executed, my dad caught wind that someone had leaked word of his stealing to the Communists.  He had no choice.  Ready or not, it was time.  He stealthily sneaked out the camp to travel back to his family's island village and stole one of his family's fishing vessels.  He then steered the boat back to the hidden island and loaded all of the supplies he had hoarded.  In the safety of the night, he loaded 39 other passengers and prayed the unknown future ahead was better than the known future they were leaving behind.

In June of 1979, my dad became the unofficial captain of Faith.  Faith that risking it all was worth it.  Faith that dying was a better alternative than a lifetime of war, poverty and violence.  Faith that there was more to life than just existing in fear.  As we were leaving, Communist vessels spotted our boat and started pursuing us with all their fire power.  Instead of just resigning to the fact that their citizens were fleeing in unprecedented numbers, the Communists' preferred to just kill their citizens.  My dad's military training and fishing background played in our favor and he was able to out maneuver the Communist's fleet relatively unscathed.  The boat of 40 people released a sigh of relief as we were able to survive the first major hurdle of out running the government.

A few days later, while everyone was still sleeping, a wealthy couple that had paid my dad substantial money to escape, decided to take a shower and foolishly depleted the fresh water drinking supplies that was calculated to last a month.  My dad was equally devastated and enraged.  He had painstakingly planned out every possibility that could have gone wrong on this dangerous mission but he never foreshadowed vanity as one of them.  While other fleeing refugees died by fathomable perils such as dangerous storms, raiding pirates and rickety fishing vessels, we were near death because two idiots wanted to be clean.   Anarchy started setting on the boat as the 40 people realized that there was only enough water to last another week at sea.  My dad equally rationed off the remaining amount of water to everyone, but he secretly gave my 3 month old pregnant mom and his almost year old daughter an extra ration.   At the end of the first week our boat had out run and out gunned multiple pirates, but the real danger was the lack of water.  Both my parents sacrificed their ration of water to myself and my young aunt.  Even though my mom was pregnant, she drank sea water to help stave off the dying thirst.  At the end of the second week it was discovered that I still had some water rations, and in the middle of the night a desperate passenger held my mom and I at gun point. He demanded my dad hand over the last bottle or he could watch his family die.  My dad was not to be tested.  He had come this far and wasn't going to let some asshole take away his child's future so he quickly unarmed the desperate man.  To restore safety on the boat, he locked up anyone he felt was a danger. From that point on, he armed his entire family of 18 people with weapons.

We drifted at sea for another couple of days.  Everyone was dehydrated, weak and even delusional as death was staring each of us in the face...

My Bad Ass Dad - Part 1 "The Academic Story"

You never really appreciate your parents until you become one.  The unquestionable love you have for your children is one of the most powerful sources of energy on Earth.  This unshakable bond, created without conditions has the force to move mountains... in my parent's case... it made them move continents.

I remember being 17 years old and whining to my dad that he MUST buy me a remote starter for my car because I didn't want to walk out into the cold rain to start my car.  I'll never forget the look on my dad's face.  If he was dead, he would have crawled back out of his grave, find the biggest whipping stick he can and would have unflinchingly thwacked me upside my head.  But he wasn't dead... but he probably wished he was.  He gave me one of those soul bearing looks of grave disappointment.  You know the one.  The kind that brings so much disgrace to your family that it even dishonors your cow.  Glaring deep within the pits of my soul, he carefully chose these words, "If you can't even walk 10 steps in the rain then you should just end your misery and die."  Ya... my dad is a bad ass.  He is not the type to hug you and tell you you're beautiful.  He shows his love by telling you to stop being a pussy or for the sake of humanity just end it already.  Growing up, my dad loved to tell me all these crazy stories.  As a kid, you eagerly listened but it never really made any sense.  As an adult, the stories started to string together in fluidity creating what actually ended up being a truth.  My dad is an amazing story teller and I have to thank him for my gift.  These childhood stories were so outrageous that I always fondly filed them under the "Nguyen Legacy X-Files."  Filled with plot line twists, perseverance, sacrifice, inner strength and the spirit world, they definitely caught my imagination but were so dramatic that I thought for sure they must have been made up to keep us in line.  It turns out that these stories were actually OUR family story.  In 1999, I had to submit yet another effin essay for a Geography class.  Bored of writing about Native people and salmon (which I wrote ad nauseam for five years) I decided to investigate our own immigration story.  I was mind blown.  I sat on the information for a week and then hit up the library and hauled out piles of books and went batty reading micro-fiches (I know, I'm dating myself here.  Do the kids these days even know what a micro-fiche is)?  As I started lining up the information this new found respect for my dad overwhelmed me so much that when I finished writing my essay I bawled.  Not because the damn paper was finally over, but because I never knew how brave he was... and still is.  

As this was an academic paper I had to postulate the slant to fulfill certain criteria so I had to leave out the really awesome stuff like the time my dad pretended to peacefully surrender so he can enter the re-training camps with the goal of stealing ammunition, supplies and tapping the travel routes.   But, justice will be done and the "untold" story will finally be written in the next post.   

“I remember the days as if they were yesterday’s nightmare.  Our boat sailed like a wounded snake in a tremendous sea, miles off the land.” (Hawthorne 1982, p.231)

One of the fundamental techniques successful species use to survive within their dynamic environment is migration.  Change is the only thing constant in this “survival of the fittest” competition and so how species react or embrace this aspect becomes the deciding factor in which species will persevere and which species will expire.  Humans are no different in that we migrate and change our settlement patterns when circumstances, from political to economic, changes, and our equilibrium in relation to our environment becomes misaligned.  Within my own family, we have migrated, on all scales of movement, several times throughout my lifetime in response to varying push and pull factors.  In this essay, I will analyze and discuss the migration movements that occurred within my immediate family accounting back from 1979 until the very present.  The bulk of the information presented within this discussion was gathered from several interviews from my mother, my father and my aunt whom I believe have accurately provided me with reliable data.  The remainder of the information, mainly statistics and historical overview, have been supplemented through academic resources. 

THE INTERCONTINENTAL MIGRATION

The fall of Saigon on April 30 of 1975 marked the end of  thirty years of civil war between the two opposite economies and lifestyles of North and South Vietnam.  The communist government announced its objective of rebuilding Vietnam as a nation by gradually introducing communist policy.  Domestic and economic tensions finally peaked and exploded by the summer of 1975.  Although counseled by the government in the North to be “tactful and respectful of rights in the newly liberated areas” many of the Communist cadres exploited their positions and eventually influenced the new regime through corrupted force (Hawthorne 1982, p.121).  

This often hostile environment coupled with the constant threat of New Economic Zones, drafts, re-education camps, and political prosecution for being a former South Vietnamese soldier created formidable motivations for 130,000 Vietnamese, mostly ethnic Chinese, to flee their own homeland that summer of 1975 in conjunction with the American withdrawal.  Depending on the different kinds of refugees and their specific push factors, the waves of exodus took three general routes: migration was either legal, semi-sanctioned, or illegal (Gilad 1990, p.60).  For most ethnic Chinese, the migration process was generally legal to semi-sanctioned since Hanoi, the capital city, wanted to expel the Chinese people anyway.  As a result most ethnic Chinese experienced very little trouble leaving and usually escaped utilizing the route overland or through organized, quiet exits through the Orderly Departure Programme.  In stark contrast, the Vietnamese that wished to leave were left to secrecy and semi-illegal tactics as there was a substantial amount of obstacles and deterrents enforced by police.  As a result, the only route of escape was by sea and these attempts were severely penalized through imprisonment, torture, and even execution should one be caught by the officials and was unable to bribe one’s way free.  For those Vietnamese that had the financial power to semi-formally register to leave through the indirect organization of the Communist government, they still faced the dangers of the open sea and pirates  (Gilad 1990, p.61). 

            My father had been enlisted in the South Vietnamese military force that fought the civil war between the North and South.  After the fall of Saigon he quickly hid in the refuge of an isolated island near his island village of Binh Ba in Cam Ranh province in fear of being sent to re-education camp, re-drafted or politically prosecuted for being a former soldier of the old regime.  My mother stayed in Binh Ba during this period and communicated with my father about twice a month through relatives.  In the beginning of 1976, the security patrols in the waters around my father’s hide-out island relaxed, enabling my father to emerge from his hide-out and cautiously re-join my mother in Binh Ba.  Massive horror stories of failed attempts to escape by boat were told nightly in the village and my father took articulated notes on each mistake so that he could avoid mishap.  In his heart, he knew he had to leave his beloved country if the political and economic situation worsened, but for the time being, he would endure the painful transformation of Vietnam. 

At the end of 1977, Vietnam was catapulted into a deeper pit of problems as she unavoidably went to war with Kampuchea.  This announcement instigated another well organized, sizable exodus of people which was facilitated by the corrupted base of the government pyramid (Hawthorne 1982, p.123).  This guerrilla war, and the announcement of my conception by my mother, became the catalyst my father needed to finally concede that Vietnam was definitely not the country he wanted to bring up a family.  Through his stack of notes he had collected from others failed attempts, my father organized a well executed plan that took one year to prepare and three months to rehearse the execution.

In June of 1979 my family finally escaped the oppression and war-torn country of Vietnam with eighteen relatives and approximately forty others.  The people on the boat were all under twenty-five years of age and comprised mostly of extended families.  This statistic is consistent with the profiles of Vietnamese immigrants in the book Vietnam to America and suggests that the power of extended family and strength in the youthful age profile aided in the number of successful escapes (Kelly 1977, p.41).  On the six day at sea we were found by the Americans in Philippines waters barely alive.   Even though we were navigating our course using only the sun as a guide and dying of dehydration, we were grateful that we did not become one of the twenty-five to fifty percent of people escaping Vietnam who died before reaching landfall (Hawthorne 1982, p.227). 

Because Vietnamese, Kampucheans, and Laotians were fleeing in unprecedented masses from their Communist regimes in response to the defeat of American arms in Vietnam, a humanitarian appeal from the UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees), was sent out around the world to help these refugees (Whitaker 1987, p.261).  Various bases, located on the shores of neighboring countries such as Hong Kong, Malaysia, Thailand, Indonesia, and Philippines, were established as asylums and in total absorbed approximately 199,000 Vietnamese refugees in 1979 - the highest record year for Vietnamese departures.  The group on our boat was sent to the Subic Bay base refugee camp in the Philippines where they had to endure grim living conditions in cramp corridors for six months. 

On a pivotal day in December of 1979 my family finally entered the interview room where representatives from Australia, Canada, and the United States interviewed my parents to determine where they would be most successfully resettled.  Although my parents were not selected as candidates to reside in America, even though that was their preference and the rest of the relatives were allowed admittance, they were immediately offered a place in Canada with private sponsorships from a church group.  Reluctantly, my father, mother, aunt and I were separated from our other eighteen aunts and uncles in January of 1980 to migrate to Whitecourt Alberta in Canada by plane.  In terms of absolute numbers over a period of a decade, America took in approximate 389,000 of the Indo-Chinese exodus, followed by 250,000 immigrants for China,  66,000 immigrants by France and 60,000 Vietnamese immigrants by Canada - “the single most generous record of any major country in proportion to its population” (Whitaker 1987, p.262).

PROVINCIAL MIGRATION

The place we came to know as home from 1980 until 1987 was the manifestation of everything my father wished for in his new life of freedom.  Whitecourt, Alberta in Canada, allowed us to have the freedom to discuss and criticize, to worship as we please, to earn a decent living, all under the nurturing umbrella of a just and fair government.  However, once again circumstances changed in our environment, although not as drastically as Vietnam did, but imposing enough push factors to motivate a secondary migration. 

Being a small, rural town located in the isolated parts of northern Alberta, Whitecourt did not offer enough resources and opportunities for the children and my aunt to acquire post-secondary education or be more involved and exposed to our Vietnamese culture.  In addition to this, my father, the primary income earner of the family did not want to spend the rest of his career life “rotting” in a sawmill.  In Vietnam, my father grew up beside the sea and loved the freedom and adrenaline rush that the fishing industry offered.  He ached to return once again to the “calling of the saltwater that coursed through his veins”.  British Columbia had the most alluring pull factors with its natural coastline that boasted a varied and prosperous fishing industry (please keep in mind it was 1987), a strong Asian community that catered to the cultural needs of the Vietnamese people in greater Vancouver and many educational opportunities ranging from technical institutions to three universities.  In addition to these vital infrastructures, the migration to British Columbia was not that far in distance and costs, and its natural beauty and temperate climate conjured nostalgic images of Vietnam.

In 1987 our family once again uprooted themselves and moved to the Greater Vancouver Area in British Columbia.  According to Canada statistics from the 1991 census the majority of Vietnamese people reside in one of the four largest provinces: 45% in Ontario, 18% in Quebec, 17% in Alberta and 13% in British Columbia.  Within these large provinces, a substantial amount of the Vietnamese community have become highly urbanized.  Like most Canadians in this present day, Vietnamese people have migrated from rural to urban areas in masses for more economic and educational resources and opportunities.  Not only are the cities an agglomeration for labor but also for ethnic cultures as well.  For this reason, it is not a surprise that in 1991, 93% of all immigrants from Vietnam lived within a Census Metropolitan Area in comparison to 84% of  all immigrants.  The attraction of minority clustering for Vietnamese people in urban areas can be seen with statistics: 32% of Vietnamese reside in Toronto, 16% in Montreal and 11% in Vancouver (Statistics Canada 1991). 

METROPOLITAN MIGRATION

In 1987 we called Richmond home, but were forced to make a tertiary migration to Vancouver in 1988, because my parents could not afford the high inflation rate of the suite we were renting along with the cost of living for a growing family.  For two years we endured the high traffic, noise polluted streets of Vancouver, however the lull of suburban Richmond drew us back to the less hectic lifestyle my family needed to prosper.  Presently, my family consisting of my father, mother, and my siblings, have contentedly resided in the south eastern quarter of Richmond.  My aunt has started a family of her own, consisting of her husband and two children who also live in Richmond. 

Although for the past decade we have not made any moves besides the odd change of address in Richmond, I believe the migrating story for this vertical slice of the ancestral line will continue.  The degree of how much this migration will continue is dependent upon the individual’s definition of what constitutes “home” in relation to what the immediate environment, with all its political, cultural, economic and social institutions, offers.  In life, if the only constant condition one can count on is change in the “survival of the fittest” competition, then migration for all species is inevitable.

The Shift

These are extraordinary times.  As spiritual beings having a human experience we are all being challenged to take our experience to the next level.  Some metaphysical teachers define this as "ascension" where humanity collectively takes an evolutionary leap upward into a dimension where we operate from a totally different speed.  Scientifically, evolutionists cannot explain the gaps in our timeline so they have labelled these gaps as just "missing data" that has yet to be discovered.  These "gaps" explained by the spiritual teachers are actually ascended steps, each one activating a portion of our unused DNA that allows us all to powerfully create our reality.  Instead of gradually evolving, we just altogether take leaps and bounds.

Currently we are all immersed in a three dimensional reality based on fear.  For whatever reason, we collectively as a group operate out of this energy field and this sadly just leads to a world of negativity.  We fear losing our home so we stay in a job we hate.  We fear being alone so we intellectualize that staying with our emotionally abusive partner is justified.  We fear that we we're not good enough so we don't bother pursuing a dream.  We fear the unknown so we actively isolate any triggers of change.  The current economic and marketing system uses this fundamental fear as the driver behind all their unsustainable practices.  To successfully sell you a product, marketers must focus on what you currently don't have and how unhappy your life is because you don't have it.  Even "feel good" companies such as Lululemon draws on this fear based energy.  If you don't embrace an active lifestyle, consuming non-GMO and gluten free foods while wearing spandex to wick sweat away while concealing cellulite during McYoga than you must be an unhappy budgie.  

Part of our 3D world is the concept of duality so even though the majority of us behave from a fear based model, some do consciously live from a love based energy.  People living their life from this paradigm focus on what their hearts want and push their fears aside.  They understand when they pass on from this world, the unstable economy that has us chained to materialistic consumption has no value to a spiritual being having a human experience.  When you leave your human suit and go back to the Source, you will look back at your life cycle to evaluate if you were truly living an authentic life.  Did people mourn you because you took the time to be of service to others?  Are others missing you because you showed them kindness and sheltered them at their lowest point when the rest of the world ignored?  Do people share stories of how inspirational you were because you constantly challenged them to pursue their dreams?  Do strangers, who don't even know you while you were alive regal how your contribution to society lifted them from despair to motivation?

Our current duality is constructed to remind us that everything is fleeting and nothing lasts.  Our time on this Earth is finite so don't take anything for granted.  We unfortunately can't appreciate all the positive things in our life without the constant reminder that everything changes.  When we signed up for this human experience, everyone of us created a contract filled with duality.  We will all love deeply and suffer intensely when that great loves returns to the source.  We will trust and betray, experience exhilarating wins and fail miserably, learn compassion and pass judgement, share passion and jealousy and also heal and wound.  Along with that we all play the roles of teachers and students, creators and destroyers, and explore both our light and dark sides.  All of these aspects are collectively us.  No one wearing a coveted human suit wrote their life plan to be "perfect" because our Highest Self is already perfect.  Instead, our highest Self wanted to experience an imperfect world to add to our collective experience.

In the last couple of months, I can feel the energy that is core to life shifted.  We have been injected with a higher level of energy and as our bodies adjust to this new level of energy chaos within ensues.  In my previous post, I share personal tragedies of people that are dear to my heart to show that this destructive chaos has been surrounding everyone.  If you're brave enough to go outside your own inner world and expose yourself to the media, you will see fundamental collapses that define nations.  The economy based on sucking our Earth dry is crashing.  The political climate of mistrust and greed have protesters questioning and pushing back.  Our planet has been revolting with crazy weather conditions, massive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.

Creative destruction was a term born out of capitalism and defined as destroying previous economic order to devalue existing wealth, with the objective of clearing the grounds for the creation of new wealth.  Our current energy is labelled as low vibration as it is based on fear.  Energy based on love is a higher form or vibration of energy.  To understand this complex concept, I like to use the analogy of a radio.  Depending on your frequency (or energy) you can tune into certain channels and receive information.  This information becomes your reality.  Just because you can't pick up a certain signal doesn't mean that channel doesn't exist.  I guess the Universe is tired of hearing the same bullshit, negative channel on Earth so in the last 5 months we have been upgraded to a higher frequency.

Some of us won't make it with this energy upgrade.  Some of us have agreed prior to reincarnating to opt out during this messy transition.  Those that have chosen to exit prior to this period actually are assisting those that chose to stay.  With their exit, they leave a heavy legacy that triggers those still sleeping to finally wake up.  Losing a loved one is a life altering event.  It causes all your sub-conscious emotions to finally come out and you have no choice but to face and accept them.  If you were living a lie, your loved one's death will stop your world from rotating as just existing in life is no longer acceptable.  The new energy does not tune into lies.  The new energy tunes into truth as that is what love is all about.  The truth is, living a life that accepts yourself for who you really are is powerful.  The truth is, our thoughts are a powerful form of energy that creates your reality.  If you constantly focus on what you don't have, the Universe obliges to your thoughts and will create a negative reality to support your thoughts.  Conversely, if you focus on the positive moments and show gratitude for the ebbs and flows in life, the Universe will oblige and create a happier reality.

The tricky thing is we are still in 3D which means duality exists.  During this creative destruction process the only advice I can part is to go within and really assess your thoughts.  If you're an over thinker like me this is a daunting task.  There are many moments where my mind wanders and I think of thoughts that are typical of a negative based form of energy:

"I'll get fat if I eat all of this"
"If I don't work harder I'll never get out of debt"
"If I don't parent better my kids will end up on the Maury Povich Show"
"If I open my big mouth, it's going to come back and bite me in the ass"

Monitoring the endless monologue of negative thoughts is exhausting but an exercise that must be done if you want to live a happier more fulfilled life.  With the new energy, thoughts create form almost instantaneously and that's why the last 5 months have been intense.  What used to take longer is happening quicker.  The perception is that time is speeding up because of this illusion that form occurs instantaneously.

It's an exciting time to be a spiritual being having a human experience.  Everything ordinary has just become extraordinary.

The Break

ME:  Echo... echo... hello?  Testing.  Is anyone out there?

UNIVERSE:  Hey slacker, get off your ass and start telling people your story.  I didn't gift you with a big mouth for nothing.

ME:  Who are you calling a slacker you jack ass?  I had a busy year mang!  You do know I'm an entrepreneur, mother of two small children, my husband operates a daycare out of our home and for shits and giggles I chose to live with my high drama brother right?  It's a small miracle the kids are actually alive and with all their original body parts in tact!  I am still waiting for my "Mother Of The Year" award.

UNIVERSE:  It's go time.  I gave you enough "synchronicities" that even you can no longer ignore it.  Accept your fate.  Unleash the voice.

ME:  (Shakes my fist into the air)  You go blog!  There's an episode of The Originals on my PVR.  I need my Ian Somerhalder fix!  Mmmmmm... nummy... there's priorities in my life you know!

UNIVERSE: (Hijacks my life line, aka my iPhone, and dramatically inserts this):

 

ME:  Whoa dude... shits got real.

As Audrey's dear friend Rosie had commented above, it has been almost a year since I put my crazy thoughts into form.  My year long hiatus is not actually due to lack of content but more like it's just been crazy busy.  Time has literally slipped through my fingers.  If you follow my Facebook rants and musings you'll know that my time has been hilariously fully booked by my personal Yin and Yang team (the kids).  Like a seasoned sadomasochist, whatever time is left over is squeezed for the good, the bad and the ugly retail world I subject myself to and if I'm really good at time management, I drink... a lot.  Last year also brought on some good ol' fashion, intense family drama that required a halt of everything else just to sort through the mess.  And I'm not talking about the kind of drama where you find out during a Thanksgiving dinner that your Aunt Edna lost her virginity at band camp.  I'm talking more like if Maury Povich and Grey's Anatomy had a baby, they would have birthed "Holy Effin Hannah and Damn That's Gonna Hurt" drama.  And even with all that juicy content, I still wasn't seduced enough to share it. 

I just chose to stay quiet.  On the down low.  Just observing.  Assimilating new information.  Purging destructive old constructs.  Breathing life into new ideas.  Re-examining patterns.  Closing chapters that have been read.  Letting go of behaviors that no longer serve.  Enjoying the small moments.  Showing appreciation to those that hold me up.  Just being.

Then something shifted in mid March.  I remember catching an update out of the corner of my eye from one of my friends back in February so I went back to refer to it:

 

As referred to by Joy's post, right on cue my world has markedly intensified since March 21st.  It started with my good friend Jenn.  Her favorite Auntie Lorraine suffered a heart attack followed by a stroke back in late November.  Auntie Lorraine's fighting spirit kept her bound to her family for a couple months but then on March 26th she slipped into eternal peace.  As with the loss of all beloved family members, time will eventually heal Jenn's broken heart but in the meantime a niece is in pain. 

 

On April 3rd, Rick Hansen's grandson passed away one day before he was expected to be born.  We worked quite intimately with the Hansen's on their new home last year and forged an amazing bond to the family.  When we heard their eldest daughter Emma was pregnant, both Rachael and I squealed in delight and our hearts grew a thousand fold because we knew this little one was being born into the most loving family.  For almost nine months, we kept a pulse on Emma's pregnancy as we too were eager to meet the newest member of this blessed clan.  On Good Friday, one day before Emma was suppose to deliver, her sweet little Angel decided to return amongst the Heavens.  My heart broke at the devastating news and I bawled as I read the incoming text from Krista.  Although I personally never met Emma, I felt in that dark moment her tragic story could have easily been any of ours: http://www.sincerelyskin.ca/blog/2015/04/13/born-still-but-still-born/.

 

In an attempt to stay healthy, our family has enlisted the services of a personal trainer to keep us motivated as we approach our mid life crisis.  Clive has been working with everyone in our family (ironically with the exception of me) to get us all into shape since last year. Tragically, last month his mother instantly died in a freak car accident.  When we heard the awful news everyone fell silent.  Last year, Clive's best friend took his own life and shot himself in the head with a gun.  The insurmountable loss that this one human has experienced within one year is beyond comprehension.  Yet... some how, Clive is back at the gym and still pushing his clients to be their very best. 

 

In the middle of April, my professional sidekick Rachael was also forced to say goodbye to an Aunt that was battling cancer.  We knew of her ailing health for about a year now so her death was not a surprise but her timing was eerily accumulative.  One of the perks of being my professional sidekick is that you're exposed to my crazies 24/7 so being the bright girl that she is, I'm sure the synchronicities piling up in both our lives was becoming unnerving.

 

At the end of April, Khanh one of my best friends texts me that her husband lost his job of 15 years.  I stare at my phone in disbelief.  My poor friends have been struggling with a lot of issues for many years now and this event I knew would be the turning point in their lives.  I can feel it.  For the next hour I'm on the phone doing the best I can to support them through this.  This one really pulls on the heart strings and I send a prayer to the Universe to give them the strength to get them gracefully passed this. 

 

In between all of this, my brother finds an amazingly sweet dog just happily lost amongst the bushes.  He tries to locate the owner but then decides to adopt him after realizing the teacup Yorkie was in really poor health probably due to the fact the previous owner neglected him.  He names the spunky fur-ball Linus and as with every responsible dog dad, he takes him to the vet for check-ups.  On the advisement of the vet, Lairay decides to go ahead with a surgery that removes a dozen rotten teeth to improve his quality of life.  Linus goes into shock from the complications of the surgery.  Over a period of a week and thousands of dollars later, Linus' health is precariously teetering on the brink of life and death.  My brother, guilt ridden for unwittingly putting him through the surgery makes the heart breaking decision to administer the last needle to end the poor creature's suffering.  Linus is now in doggy heaven running with our other dogs Yipsy and Loonie. 

 

Last week, Steph notices an odd Facebook post on my best friend Aliea's wall.  I check in to see if everything is okay only to learn that absolutely nothing is okay.  Her brother Bob, discovered their eldest brother Eddie, dead in his room.  I go into shock.  My heart literally stops beating.  I can't find my breath.  Eddie is just a couple years older than me so I think he's almost 40.  I force myself to focus on the computer screen to make sure I read it correctly.  Unfortunately I did.  The autopsy results won't be back for a while but already the preparations to say goodbye to Eddie were under way.  For the next couple of days I follow my other family through a stream of texts and every night I hug my immediate family a little tighter and tell everyone I love them.

 

I'm not exactly sure what's going on.  All I can sincerely say is the Earth... or rather we, have gone through some major shift since March.  I can feel a marked difference and because of this, I have broken my year long silence.  Coaxed out of hiding, I am sent signs that it's time to share...

 

 

ME:  Okay Upstairs Peeps, as requested I've opened my big mouth.  You better have my back...

 

UNIVERSE:  You're not alone.  You're not the only one that has to share their story.  Everyone needs to share their story.  That's how you'll know we're actually one.