The Concert Experience

Yesterday evening, my sister and I were fortunate enough to attend a concert featuring one of our favourite bands -- The Summer Set. What makes this whole first-concert experience pretty darn amazing was how it started. The tickets went up in 2013 and I was unsure if I wanted to go or not. I had only recently purchased tickets to see The 1975 (who I cannot wait to see in May!), so I was worried this was going to place a strain on my wallet (in the end, it did, but it was worth it, obviously). Eventually, I caved and bought the tickets in January.

In my planner, I wrote the concert date as March 5th. In my head, the concert date was March 23. Why the 23rd, I have no idea. I kept reminding myself that it was the 23rd and knowing there was still loads of time to go, I didn't worry too much about how my sister and I were going to arrive at our destination. However, when my sister called me the weekend prior to March 5th and asked me why I hadn't reminded her of the concert on Wednesday, I realized I had made a big mistake with the dates. We ended asking our Dad to drop us, which messed with his work schedule, but thankfully, he wasn't too angry with us. Luckily for us, being so last minute and such didn't really make a big difference in anything at all.

When we reached the bar where The Summer Set were going to perform, there was already a long and waiting line outside the front doors. It was only 5:00 and the doors were not going to open until 7:00. Us and a large group of others waited outside for two hours and fifteen minutes in the freezing cold. I was stupid enough to forget to bring a hat or gloves to keep myself warm, and although my sister was kind enough to share her gloves with me, the blistering chill was relentless. There were many occurrences where I wanted to cry because I was so cold, I could not feel my toes, and my fingers were numb. I only wished the people inside would let us in. Of course, we didn't have to see the band, but the least they could have done was allowed us to stay warm. It was awfully rude of them to keep us waiting in the cold like that.

At around 7:15, they started letting people in (woohoo!). Anyone who was under age (below nineteen), got marked with two black X's on their hands (so they couldn't order alcohol). Walking into the actual place where the show was to be held, the first thing that caught my eye was seeing the band members sitting together near the back, signing things and chatting with fans. They were real, live band members! It was really cool. After coat-check, I was insanely nervous to go meet them (mostly because I hadn't actually known we would get the chance to meet the band, so I hadn't prepared what I was going to say). One of the guys working there sort-of pushed my sister and I go anyway, and the funny thing was, John (one of the members) noticed how reluctant we (mostly me) were to go. My sister took the lead, then, and dragged us over there. We were given a photograph of the band they signed for us:

what's really funny is that the band looks very little like
how they do in this photo (you know, haircuts and all)

And then, John high-fived me because he's amazing and he could tell I needed something to calm my nerves.

Once the concert started, it was just...words cannot describe the emotions I was feeling. Hearing the songs off their Legendary album after only having heard them through my speakers or my headphones, I was in awe of how much better they were live.

Halfway through the show, John and Brian played my favourite track off Legendary, acoustically, and I don't think I've ever been at such a loss for breath. The song is titled "Someday" and it means the world to me. Being the person that I am, where I don't know where I'm going at the moment and really, just the uncertainty of so many things in life, this song speaks to me in ways I can't explain. I wasn't able to record the whole performance (as my I ran out of memory on my phone), I did manage to catch a snippet of John talking about how he's a "massive fan" of the track as well.

The night was surely one to remember. I will never forget this concert and all the incredible feelings I went through whilst watching this incredible band perform. A big, enormous, ma-hoo-sive thank you to The Summer Set for everything. I now know what post-concert depression feels like.

- - -

I'll probably be writing about three more concerts I'm attending soon, yay. 

Thank you,

At the age of eleven, my family and I travelled back to my birthplace for my uncle's wedding. The whole of the country seemed to have gathered for the occasion and being the second-last person on my mother's side of the family getting married, we definitely had to go.

I was thrilled because I hadn't visited since I left when I was four years old. The place ought to have changed a lot in six years. And it had. My cousins were all grown up, my then-newly-wed aunts and uncles were beginning to learn the mass difficulty of marriage, and my old home had been occupied by a new family. But it was still home, my first home. 

The four months from July to the end of September were spent in bliss. I had the time of my life: laughing, dancing, singing, spending time with my cousins and attempting to refrain from correcting people's English. I never believed myself to be above anyone there who didn't know English, but it was nice to be fluent in two languages and show off a bit.

Unfortunately, come October, my siblings and I's school asked for our return or face expulsion.  My parents obviously freaked out when the notice came and we hurried back to Canada. I hadn't known then that my life would change drastically.

The year before, on our report cards, we had been assigned the name of our new class and teacher for the upcoming term. All my friends and I were lucky enough to be placed in the same class. We were overjoyed! However, due to my absence for an extended period of time, the class lists had been switched around and I was then put in another class with people I hardly knew.

It was only the fifth grade, but it was damn terrifying, especially  since I hadn't known anyone in my new class.

However, despite my lack of familiarity, every person I met was incredible in their own sense. From each of them, I learned so many things; things that carry through with me even now. I remember meeting two very kind girls who were the first to speak to me named Danielle and Robin. They were already friends and were sweet enough to ask me to sit with them during the class's daily reading circle where our teacher would read one chapter of a book to us while we listened intently. Danielle and Robin then went on to ask me to lunch and spend recess with them, as well. I was so grateful. Not only had they made my transition from knowing no-one to knowing a few people easy, they also proved to me how kindness can lead wonderful new friendships.

We were friends for a while, but even though, there were a few times where I was the last to leave the classroom for lunch period in fright that no one would want to spend time with someone like myself. I was horribly awkward and lacking in social skills. My teacher noticed this and jumped at the opportunity to show me something that has since changed my life...books. 

Years before in school, books were merely something I was forced to read as a part of the English curriculum. Yet, after the brilliant introduction from my fifth grade teacher, I was enthralled with the beauty of literature. Thus, starting my future fiction-writing career.

It began with the Horrible Harry series by Suzy Kline, Cam Jansen by David Adler, and Sideway Stories from Wayside School by Louis Sachar. These books were the foundation upon which my fascination and interest in the fiction world was built. I would read from them the Horrible Harry and Cam Jansen books daily, and look forward to hearing an installment of Sideway Stories from Wayside School as an audio-book with my whole class. These books were funny and sparked joy within me with every word.

I am so incredibly thankful to my fifth grade teacher for helping me find these amazing books and showing me how much more there was to life than my boring routine. These books allowed me escape from my large family, created entertainment other than television on Friday nights, and sought me through difficult times.

These days, I read more advanced novels (obviously), however, I will never forget my roots; the place where my love for English literature first sprouted. Because of my wonderful teacher and her kindness, I was able to find something in myself I never would have found on my own. I owe so much to her.

And thank God, I came back to Canada late, or else I never would have ended up in her lovely class.

Fate really does know what it's doing.

The Things You Don't Know

There are a number of things that scare me. Things like losing my parents, failing an important exam, clowns, and being hated by someone I care deeply for. Though, even with all those things combined, there is something I am terrified of more than anything: the future, or rather, the things I don't know about it.

When a question like "what do you see yourself doing in ten years?" is posed, I hardly have time to think before I'm consumed by stress and breathing heavily. The truth is, what I do imagine myself doing in the future is entirely different from what the people around me have imagined.

Once upon a time, I was a naive six year old  whose parents had planted the classic 'doctor, engineer, or lawyer' trope in her head. I believed them when they said these three careers are everlasting. They saw the money, the respect, and the happy living. What I saw was completely the opposite. I saw long nights, crazy shifts, and an occupation I could never comprehend for myself.

When I was a kid, I didn't know what I wanted to be. It was never set-in-stone like it was with the other kids whose parents mine were friends with. Every introduction at a gathering began with, "This is Rida. Our eldest daughter. She is going to be a doctor."

Where was my say in that?

No one ever bothered to ask me what I wanted for myself. They only assumed my parents knew best.

The bitterness of it all is that my parents don't know me at all. They think they do, almost like every parent does, but they don't really. I've tested this theory on countless occasions and they have always let me down.

It begins with my birthday, something of which my father can never recall. He knows it's in the summer, but not the exact month or day. Neither one of my parents have any idea that I write. I mentioned once to my mother that I hit over a million reads on Wattpad with a story I began writing at age fifteen and she was happy for me for all of two seconds before she received a text and that was it for me.

And the worst part?

The hobbies I do have, I have to hide from them because if my father knew that I enjoyed fashion design, photography, or film-making, he'd be so disappointed. He hated it when I read as a kid (which shall be explained in another post) and to know that I now take part in "foolish things that will never lead me to a respectable career," he would probably make a joke out of me for the rest of my life. I have to hide my books from him, pretend as if I don't like reading any longer and am more interested in my education now (as if math or science could ever be more interesting than a Jane Austen novel).

My interests, my hobbies and my strengths don't mean a thing when it comes to my future because as much as I would adore the chance to write a novel or a screenplay, or design a new line of clothing, or be a part of a photoshoot, everything that I am leads me back to who my parents have always made me out to be: a success made from the seeds of failure.

I don't know how to tell them I am not a piece on their chess board and they can't move me around as they deem fit. Where they might have dreamed about performing surgeries, saving lives, and fighting court cases, I dream about writing novels, making films, and being a part of something greater.

Whatever my future holds, I hope it's good. I hope I achieve these things I wish to be and prove to my parents that I didn't make a fool of myself. I hope I make them happy and have them say, "we're proud of you," even if it's just once.

Family: A Travesty

Quite unlike my younger sister, I am hopelessly fond of family and keeping up with familial relations. Family, for me, brings a sense of joy that I have never been able to find anywhere else. When I was younger, I saw family as the end-all be-all of life; without it, you are nothing.

Years have flown by and gradually, I have learned the absolute bitterness that my family, in particular, holds for each of its members. To put it simply, everyone hates everyone. I have no clue as to how this came about, though, I imagine somewhere along the line of marriages and 'who's richer than this uncle as opposed to this one' caught on and built the platform for how we all treat each other now.

It was my aunt's birthday today, so it was only appropriate the whole family gather at her house to celebrate. Of course, being the tired girl in need of Gossip Girl re-runs on Netflix, I dismissed the idea when my mother brought it up at breakfast. She said 'okay' but then added a defeated sigh and gibberish about how I never go anywhere at all any more and have become consistently dependent on my laptop. Obviously to get her off my back and also to prove her wrong, I said I would come.

It's boxing day here in Canada and since I needed a few things for my new place close to my university, I asked to take a small trip to Wal-Mart first. I quickly shopped and met my parents back at the car where we went to my aunt's.

My aunt is younger than my mother by exactly three years. They've got a brother in-between them whom they never mention when it comes to age, but like polite family that we are, we ignore that for one day a year and pretend that my aunt is not in fact that much younger than my mother.

The thing about my aunt is that I my baby-self owes a lot to her because according to everyone who's known me since I was still in Mum's womb, my aunt looked after me as if I were her own child. Now, I am well-aware that I sound very ungrateful when I saw this, but, I am honestly beginning to despise her. Somewhere in the back caverns of my cluttered mind my aunt remains to be that sweet person who cared for me when I was young, alas, I see her now and all I can think is "God, what the hell happened?" 

Loving family should be unconditional, shouldn't it? Because when the whole world turns against us, family is the one thing we can count on.

Unfortunately, my family did a damn great job of making certain that we never depend on each other.

This post probably makes no sense because I haven't actually provided valid reasoning towards the dislike I feel for my aunt, but they are reasons I cannot expose and would like to keep to myself.

All I know is that family once meant something important to me and now all I want is to get away from it all. Similar to how she usually is, my sister is right when it comes to family - none of us really love each other anyway, so what's the point?

T-Minus Seven Days Left of 2013

This year presented many challenges for me personally and for my family. I began January 2013 with the prospect of landing a spot at Ryerson University in Toronto. I had applied for the psychology program, as in secondary school, psychology was the only subject I could imagine myself studying for the next four years of my life.

I was so very wrong. 

Psychology is not the last subject on Earth that I am capable of learning or understanding, yet, for so many years as a high school student, I allowed myself to believe that that was it. A part of me wishes to blame my school for never providing decent chances for their students to discover majors outside the realm of math and science, but in the end, I know that a large sum of my decision to join the psych. train was my fault. 

I never enjoyed school. Perhaps when I was younger and my assignments consisted of reading before bedtime or solving four math problems, I could see myself waking up with a bright smile to attend another day in an old brick building. Those innocent days are long gone now and have been replaced with adamant hate for the word 'learning.' 

School is no longer about learning, rather, forcing as much information as humanly possible down a student's throat until they are left with two choices: acceptance or termination. I was embarrassed before to admit that school has forced countless thoughts of suicide in my head, but now I realize that I am not the problem. The education system is. 

They always say, "everyone learns differently. We are all unique." 

Well, where is that when the twenty-percent of people for whom the standard school system does not work? We take tests, quizzes, exams, etc. based off a style of testing that only works for a specific group of students. Where in the world do the rest of us go then? I despise tests and whatever else follows. They never truly measure what I am capable of. They are simply measuring my memory and everyone and their mother knows how terrible mine is. I only wish for the days where testing could actually be something to look forward to. 

I never got into Ryerson. 

I waited for a reply for months up until May where I received a letter declining my admission. If I'm honest, I don't think I have ever cried as hard as I did when my mother told me "it's alright, Rida" and I was still re-reading the words in the hopes they might change. They never did, obviously. 

Then it was the final week of May and I was left pondering what school from whom I did receive acceptances I should accept for September classes. And after much talking with my sister, I decided McMaster was the best choice. 

It was, and probably will always be, one of the best decisions I have ever made. 

The university is incredible. From its teaching, to its architecture, and its people. I love it all despite having seen very little of it. For the first four months, I took a bus, then a train, and then another bus to the reach the school. Four hours commuting every day has not been the highlight of my freshman career, but I am not complaining. I sometimes wonder to myself why I enjoy going to McMaster and I cannot put my finger on one final reason. There are a cluster of them, however, one reason that sticks out is the happiness I get from stepping onto campus each morning. I feel like I belong there. 

I am not studying psychology at McMaster. Instead, I am hoping to major in communications with maybe a minor in social psychology. It is definitely a different path from how I envisioned myself as a seventeen year old still in high school. But, I am enjoying communications a lot and I hope the future will hold great things for me and everyone else. 

Kings and Crowns

Synopsis: 

There's not much to look forward to when the life around you seems to be falling apart quicker than you can run and try to catch it. For Tom, a drunk-driving incident left him immobile and bound to a rickety old wheelchair. Then there is Oliver, a good kid whose dream is to attend law school and not disappoint his mother, but constant restriction leads him to make awful decisions. Flynn is tired of his daily routine in the socialite world where his parents rule everything. And Will, he doesn't say all too much, but he's got a heart of gold and he never stops smiling despite his circumstances. 

By themselves, these four boys are just normal university students, going about their day similar to everyone else. Though, together, they form Kings and Crowns, an alternative indie rock band that sold out every show they played in 2014 with their debut record Abatement. 

Meet the Writer

"the world looks
better through
your eyes"
- (firefly by ed sheeran) 

A couple of years ago, I wrote my first official draft for a story that carried very little substance, but presented a start for my fiction writing career. I was fourteen then and struggling as a freshman in high school. I forced my friends to read what I had written (sorry, Meg!) and I honestly believed I was doing an ace job.

I wasn't.

Now the years have flown by and thankfully, despite my lack of talent then, I have continued to write. The sentences flow out of me some days like water rushing down the Niagara Falls and other days, I forget the spelling of begin. 

That's all this is, then, really - a beginning.

I am now eighteen years old, studying communications and social psychology at a university in Canada. I have a fondness for the acoustic guitar, historical fiction, meaningful song lyrics, maps, mix tapes, fashion, photography, ink paintings, hash-browns, denim, travelling, and a certain boy who is the inspiration behind everything I write, and he is worth every period, every comma, and every word I have ever written. 

My name is Rida and it would be an honour to get to know you.