Cold Feet

by sunnyfong


It’s funny that I start my writing about my big trip when I’m still in Toronto. Currently, I’m sitting on the 506, just passed Sumach and about to approach Sackville. I’m meeting Joel for a pint but I’ll have to go to Shoppers Drugmart across the street to pick up some toiletries.

[2 hours later…] Okay, so I got distracted by our disgruntled driver yelling at tourists and now I’m a little buzzed on 2 black and tans: Guinness and Harp for those beer neophytes. We were sitting next to a very loud group yelling about blogging actually. I’m not even really sure how blogging became this huge cultural phenomenon but back in my day, we called it an online journal. I recently found my old “online journal” – doesn’t it look sad in quotation marks as if it never existed – and spent a whole hour cringing at every little detail of my sex life. What, I wrote about him? I actually did that with him? I actually fell in love with… that?

Love is a funny thing to reflect on because it never really seems like an accurate depiction of the drama after the fact. I hate to admit it but a part of me wants to fall in love during this trip. Maybe I’ll meet someone at a leather bar in Berlin? Maybe a slightly handsome stranger will talk to me on my flight to Paris? Maybe I’ll spill a giant stein of beer on a guy in a Prague hostel bar and this man and he will be the father of my future children? More fodder for my current “online journal” I guess.

[2 days later…] Truth be told is that I’m going to Europe to take a really special leadership programme affiliated with the United Nations.  Love will be the last thing on my mind as I’ll be too consumed with 11-hour days filled with global issues, international politics and strategies for board governance and of course, when I’ll conjure up the necessary courage to wear my new Hugo Boss boy-cut swimsuit.

Going to Lucca (a gated village in Tuscany) is going to be an interesting journey of style. Not only will I have to wear appropriate clothing for the scorching weather but I have to make a good first impression on this diverse group of peers. So far, there are 24 countries being represented and I’m the second Canadian to ever be accepted into the program. So I have to be on top of things intellectually and sartorially.

What’s the packing plan you might ask? A seersucker short here, a straw hat there. Italian men seem to love their bracelets. I’ve definitely overpacked and I’ll even use 24 pairs of underwear. I feel like I have my entire life in my suitcase. Which in itself is a sick thing to say if one considers their life to be defined by jeans and t-shirts. Maintaining a style blog can be limiting so I am trying to decide what angle to take with my writing while on this trip.

Considering I’m essentially attending this program to make a bigger impact on the world and in my career so the colour of my socks are secondary to… the colour of my parachute?

Shit, I really shouldn’t mention parachutes since I am actually sitting on Delta 6496 while typing this. Gotta go, the nuts are here.

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