Kensington Market in 23 Photos

As a journalist, writing simply doesn't cut it anymore. With tons of different platforms to present our work on, I have to be skilled in a lot more than just knowing how to throw a story together. So over the summer, I purchased a Canon T3i and tried my hand at photography. While picking up this new hobby has been extremely refreshing, what is even more refreshing is how differently a camera causes you to look at things; the simplest things. 

All of the photos below were taken on a field trip (exciting to still have these in my fifth year of post-secondary schooling) to Toronto's Kensington Market. The instructor suggested we think of a theme. A seemingly impossible task, I thought, "I'll just photograph everything and let the pictures speak to me." But it wasn't the pictures that spoke to me, it was the things that I captured that did all the talking. And I hope that I told their story the way I would my own. Here are 23 photos that summed up my adventure in the K.

Asking (and Answering) This Simple Question Can Really Change Your Life

When I moved into my sister’s room almost a year ago, I hadn’t done much to personalize the space other than smother the walls in posters and paintings I had brought with me from my old room.

After sitting in it for months and months trying to decide what the space was missing, I came to the conclusion that a fresh coat of paint was just what it needed.

I knew that choosing the paint color would be the first hurdle because the last time I painted my room I spent $75.00 on paint, and an entire day painting only for the walls to go not even one shade darker than what they were before. But I knew the wonders a change of scenery could do for my aching psyche that had been promised an update for the new year.

So I called my two friends, Rebekah and Jasmine, and they agreed to help me get the job done.

I went in there with a pretty clear picture of what I wanted in my head. I wanted some sort of beige, not too light, not too dark.

But warm. The most important thing was that the color be warm.

But as I stood in the paint section of Home Depot, with about 1000 different shades in front of me, it became increasingly difficult to stick to my original vision.

Rebekah and Jasmine looked diligently through each paint swatch, bringing them to me in hopes of approval, selling each color to me as if it were a car.

Rebekah, who I personally believed missed her calling to be on the HGTV network, talked about “tones” and “shades” and “accent walls” and stuff. Jasmine on the other hand simply kept saying, “What about this one?”

It seemed that the more they talked, the less I knew.

Half an hour passed by before I felt myself losing hope. I wanted to call off Operation Paint.

Until…

Jasmine and Rebekah were off to the side looking at another brand of paint, getting ready to collect a handful of swatches and pitch their ideas to me, yet again.

But in their absence, I decided to ask myself:

“What do I want?”

I looked at the wall of colors and picked up a swatch, looking directly at one color. It was called Sand Motif. It was nice. It was beige. It was dark but not too dark. And it was warm. I put it back down and looked at the wall again. I saw a color similar to the one I had just picked up and grabbed the swatch. It was 

Sand Motif again.

When the girls came back over to me, each with about 15 swatches in their hands, I said:

“Wait. I’m gonna look at the wall, and whatever color I see and like will be the color I choose.”

A silent two minutes passed by. The Jeopardy theme song played in my head for the entire time. My eyes passed by a few colors that I liked from a distance, but nothing enough to pick up.

I caught my eyes wandering back to the same swatch over and over again, and decided to pick it up.

Sand Motif.

I looked at the swatch silently. And as the seconds passed by, I felt myself falling more and more in love with the color.

“Guys. This is it. This is the color!” I exclaimed, not realizing how excited I really was to finally decide on a paint color.

“Are you sure?” Rebekah asked.

“I went back to it three times without even knowing it was the same swatch. This is it. I know it. I feel it,” I replied.

The three of us jumped up and down and gave each other some sloppy high fives before excitedly approaching the counter to order a gallon of paint.

The moral of the story is that sometimes, no matter where we are or what we’re doing, everyone will be telling us what to do and how to do it. It’s up to us, particularly in those instances to be able to step outside ourselves, turn everyone else’s voices down, or off completely, and turn ours all the way up and ask ourselves:

What do I want?

Even if they’re our best friends, it’s us that has to make the final call. Nevermind what they want. Nevermind what they want us to want. Nevermind what they think.

When we were all done painting and the girls left. I put my furniture back in its place. And when it came time to hang up my posters again, I only chose a few. Because for once, I wasn’t so concerned with covering things up, but perhaps more interested in baring it all.

See, when you follow your heart and you trust your instincts, you have nothing to cover up. Or maybe you do but you don’t even feel the need to. Because you know that maybe it isn’t right for Rebekah or Jasmine, maybe it isn’t right for anyone else in the world.

But it’s right for you.

And it makes you look around before you turn your light off at night.

Or smile at the uncrowded spaces that were once filled on your walls.

It makes you feel warm.    

When I was in high school, I knew I wanted to be a journalist. But when it came time to apply to university, I didn’t listen to myself and enrolled in the history program instead. It took me two years to find out how unhappy I could be. I should've stuck to my original vision.

I’ll never forget the day my aunt asked me,

“Stephanie, what do you want?”

The words seemed like they were in another language as I repeated them to myself.

When I asked myself what I wanted, the answer was journalism, just as the paint kept reappearing before my eyes. I didn’t know how at home I was until I entered my lecture that first day, the same way I didn’t know how much I loved the color until it was all over my walls, good enough without the posters and the paintings.

So what is it that you want?

Is it a new job? A new paint job? A new car? A new life?

Sit down and figure it out. Make your way there. It might take a lot; it might be a few minor adjustments. But if it’s a process of moving mountains, stone by stone will eventually get the job done.

Whatever the case is, I can make a personal promise to each and every person reading this right now that asking yourself what you want, and then actually going after it will change your life.

Don’t believe me?

Just watch. 

5 Happy Habits

Fortunately, 90% of my life is spent in a state of absolute happiness. Unfortunately, when other people ask me what my trick is, I don’t really know how to explain it.

I’ve comprised a list of my top 5 "happy habits". They might take a while to become habits, but they do have an immediate effect. For me, at least.

Start mornings right.

I take an extra five minutes in the morning to tell the universe how my day is going to go. Because I am the boss. I say things like “I am happy”, “I am loved”, “I am divine”, and especially, “Today will be a good day.”

To think that someone sits in their bed and says these things out loud first thing in the morning is totally absurd. But it always seems to be the most asinine things that have real results. Try this the next time you wake up and see how much positivity you can muster up in just the first few minutes of your day, furthermore, the lasting effect it has on the rest of your day!

Rock out in your car.

I believe in being that person at the red light going crazy because whatever song is on is the best song in the world. Specialize your playlists, choose your music wisely, and don’t be afraid to walk to the beat sometimes.

Personally, I don’t listen to sad songs. I like to leave those for funerals and the first 5 minutes after a break up until you realize life goes on. I’m very cautious of what slow songs I listen to, and for the most part, a lot of (if not all) of the music I listen to is upbeat, fast with meaningful or inspirational lyrics, or just puts me in a good mood.

If you're wondering who I've got in my playlist, it's a fine mix of Sara Bareilles, Corinne Bailey Rae, Kelly Clarkson, Katy Perry, Nelly Furtado, and a few men. Occasionally.

Keep to-do lists.

I started keeping a to do list when I was in high school because I found myself making “mental notes” in my head of things that needed to get done that never quite got finished.

I read about a study that scientifically proved the feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment that comes from the act of scratching something off a list. So I made an arts and crafts project of it and got a decorative notepad. On it, I would write down the smallest tasks like vacuum my car, or send an email. Sometimes the tasks were much larger, like booking a flight ticket or looking at new cars. Big or small, without the proper motivation, it’s hard to get them done.

Verbally communicate with yourself. Like, out loud.

Self-communication is one of the most rewarding habits. First it teaches you how to be comfortable with yourself. The more you talk, the more you have to say, and before you know it you’ll be talking about things you didn’t even know were on your mind, but sure feel good to let out.

Secondly, it teaches you to listen to yourself, and truly understand what it is your inner self is trying to say. Get in the habit of turning down your music (when you’re not rocking out in your car), and turning up your voice.

Be appreciative.

I always wonder how I can be so happy without even really having lived yet. I’m only 21, I’m still in university, and I’ve only travelled once. While some adults might think that the reason I am so happy is because I haven’t experienced the “real world” yet, I beg to differ.

I’ve learned the value of what I already do have in my life, so much that when I’m actually out there in the real world with things that bring me true happiness (my career, my children, home ownership) come in to my life it will just be an added bonus.

I believe that my experience in the “real world” will just be an elevated feeling of what I already feel. Sure, the reality of debt and job loss and stresses of home ownership and a sickening load of other haunting ideas are out there, but until I get there, my attitude remains unchanged, and will probably remain unchanged even if I find myself in the face of those realities. 

To be honest, I just have this crazy gut feeling that my future will play out just as my day does when I wake up in the morning and tell it how to go. 

Because I find happiness in the smallest, most minuscule things. Sometimes it doesn’t even have to do with me. Seeing other people happy, remembering something that makes you laugh so hard your tummy starts to hurt, a day where your make-up or hair turned out just as you had hoped, maybe even better, or sharing a moment with a stranger you might never see again.

There is a line in a Sheryl Crow song that sums this up perfectly. “It’s not having what you want; it’s wanting what you’ve got.”

Ultimately, we make of our lives and ourselves what we are able to. Our ability depends on the power we believe we have, and our belief in that power depends on our ability to see beyond just being human. And if being human is really all that we are, then you look around at the world we've created and tell me that isn't enough. 

How to be Inspired by Career Envy

Somewhere, I heard that the best role model to have is one that you don’t really fancy.

By fancy, I mean like. If you think about it, it’s quite a strange concept. But if you think about it a bit more, it makes complete sense.

There is this girl that I absolutely despise. For shallow reasons of course; nothing that would make sense if I said them aloud. But lately, I have taken the time to psychoanalyze my dislike for this girl, and I have come to realize a few things.

She’s beautiful. She’s a journalist. She’s got amazing hair. She is ridiculously smart. She’s an amazing writer. She is famous. Essentially, I despise her because she is exactly where I intend to be.

Today, when I stumbled across something that featured her work, I tried to put my jealousy of her own accomplishments to the side, and instead, try and find some inspiration in her work. She was asked to give advice to young women looking to make it into the journalism industry. Her advice was that you have to have passion, amongst a few other things.

As she went through the list, I found myself identifying with a lot of the characteristics she felt were necessary to be a good journalist. It comforted me to know that I had these skills.

I stopped to think about why I had felt so envious of her, especially since I knew it was unjustified. And the more I thought, the more I healed.

I think sometimes when we see people who chase a similar success to us, and are closer to it than we are at any given point, we get frightened and afraid. We feel this relentless sense of competition that doesn’t let up. We either look for reasons to doubt ourselves, or look for ways to belittle the other; both are toxic.

The first thing we need to remember in times like this is that there is always room for the best and the brightest. This means that if you pursue your passion proactively, you will make it. People recognize hard work, but more importantly, people recognize passion.

Besides, passion produces hard work.

The second thing we need to remember is that worrying is silly. To jeopardize our experience of life and of living by worrying about not making it, not doing well enough, or not being good enough, we become those things. We become unable to make it because our actions are the sum of our thoughts. We don’t do well enough because we don’t do anything with conviction. And we become not good enough because we are what we say we are.

The last thing you need to remember is that you will get there. And you’ll get there in your own time. Envying another person’s success is the same as envying an older person because you were born after them; you’re going to grow up too. As she went through the list, she discussed the importance of education in rising to the top. I am in university, in one of the finest journalism programs being taught by the finest journalism experts in Toronto. I will graduate one day too. Don’t measure your success by anyone else’s. Measure it simply by whether you feel you’re doing enough. If you’re always using someone else’s empire as a frame of reference, you have no chance of becoming your own royalty.

I had two choices today. The first was either to continue to dislike her, and allow my pride to disrupt the valuable lessons to be learned from this woman. The second was to use her success as a means of building my own.

What I’m saying is, knowledge is more important than pride. If someone you don’t like can teach you something, choose the lesson, not the envy. If you’re a blogger with a smaller audience than someone else, look at their crowd-sourcing tactics in order to gain a bigger audience for yourself. If you’re a photographer, reach out to the person for some advice, maybe even some opportunities. If you’re a poet, ask someone what they do for inspiration, then ask what they do for an audience.

And if, like me, you’re a journalist, get down to the nitty-gritty.

This is a tough industry. But you too, can be tough. Develop your writing skills more. Meet more people. Write more stories. Work more. And mostly, work harder. 

But no matter what your pursuit is, use your resources. Simply because you deserve the same success, if not more, than whoever you feel your biggest competitor is.

It takes wisdom and maturity to be inspiredby envy, rather than consumed by it.

Letting Go

Everyone has that one song on their iPod that they listen to and turn all the way up.

You almost wish that everyone in your immediate area could not only hear the song, but experience the feeling that it brings to you.  You wish that at the height of the song, that one part that makes you go crazy in your head, they too, could feel. You wish they knew the hidden beauty of the beat, and the one line that you’ve repeatedly considered getting tattooed on your body. But sadly, it doesn’t happen like that. Sadder, however, is that even if they did hear the song, they might not react the way that you do. Not to that song.

All my life, I’ve been that song. That amazing sound; so worthy of a broken earpiece. And all my life, I’ve wished that people would react to me the way I react to myself.

I got a call last night at 2:00 a.m. from an on-and-off lover of 4 years. The affair began when I was a tender 17. I would stop by his house everyday to see him, because he didn’t get out much. Despite being polar opposites of each other, I thoroughly enjoyed the only quiet area of my life-him.

His life was a mess. I felt that the universe hired me to be his maid, and chase after him with a broom and dustpan for all the things he left scattered about in his life. I was the professional organizer that assisted in filing away everything from his thoughts to important documents. But I also felt that I had been chosen to be his night nurse. The one who would bandage his wounds with my love.

He has made great progress over the years. He went from being a dropout to working full-time and being in school simultaneously.

While this is all great, there are a ton of void emotional cheques that need to be deposited into the bank account that has survived on overdraft for four years. Me.

When my birthday came around this year he asked me what I wanted. And I looked at him and said, “Just take me to dinner.” He asked me if that was all and I said yes. Then he asked me why. And I said, “Because we’ve never been out to dinner together.”

The night before we scheduled our dinner, he held me close and apologized to me for absolutely everything he had ever done wrong. He had the same itemized list that I had written in my head, and scarred in my heart.

“I’m sorry for all the times I said I would call you and didn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most,” he said. “I’m sorry for not knowing how to return the love you gave me,” he said.

Then he made me a promise. “I never want to hurt you, disappoint you, or let you down again. I promise I’ll be better.”

The next day, he didn’t call, he didn’t text, and when I called to ask if we were still going out, he said no.

Despite his reason being valid, and more importantly, being true, I could not help but feel my heart break inside my chest. I felt the pain that I knew too well in the first few years of our…love. But this time, there was a greater pain within me; letting myself endure that after coming so far.

Last night when he called me, I awoke from my sleep and listened to everything he had to say. I waited patiently for the tears to come, I was ready to swallow the lump in my throat, and I had the First Aid kit ready for my heart, in case it ripped into two yet again.

But when he spoke, I felt nothing.

When he choked up, I felt nothing.

And when he apologized, I had already forgiven him.

The reason we are so afraid to walk away is because we always think we’ve come too far, when in most cases, we have come just far enough.

I felt nothing because I knew in my heart that my job here was done. I was not his maid, nor his organizer, or his night nurse. I was there to support him in his pursuit, there to cheer him on. That is why I never received his love, not the way I wanted to anyway, in return.

Because I didn’t need his love as much as he needed mine.

Now that he is where he’s supposed to be, doing what he’s supposed to be doing, one might think that this is where I take my passenger seat and enjoy the rest of the ride. But I want off, because I did my part in teaching him what I could through aiding in his elevation, and carrying him through the transition of boy to man.

But he’s still got so much to go that the universe has contracted other people, like me, to help him with each lesson. There will be someone there to teach him how to keep promises. There will be someone else to teach him how to love himself. There will be someone else to teach him how to love someone else. Then, there will be time. And time will teach him, show him, how much he should appreciate me and all of his other teachers.

We play our song over and over, anxious for someone else to hear it, when really, they don’t have the ears for it yet. We play our song so much that we doubt whether it’s a good song anymore. We think of changing the components to it. But we have to realize, we have to believe, that the song is fine; some members of the audience are just deaf.

If someone isn’t dancing to your song; it’s because they haven’t heard the music yet.

They haven’t heard the guitar in your rhythm. They can’t hear the bass in your beat. They don’t know your words, and they surely don’t know your chorus.

But you know it. You know the introduction; you know the hook, the chorus, and the bridge.

So cross over it. 

In life, you can get people to hear the music by doing one of two things. You can either sing your heart out and hope they hear it. Or...

You can turn off the music. 

The Power of Inspiration

What an amazing weekend I had.

Today, I went and explored different parts of the beautiful city of Toronto. Something I should, and always promise to do more often, but never actually get around to it. I went on a “date”, if you will. I took the subway because it was nice outside, and abandoned my usual North American menu for food, and dined at a Pakistani restaurant instead. So willing was I, that I had no say in the food that was ordered, I just perused the menu.

I was amazed at how good the food was, and simultaneously disappointed that I had never tried it before. But I know better than to cry over the illusion of wasted time. After that, we watched the sun set over the Toronto skyline, and listened to whatever song would play next.

Last night, I spent the night with my sister at our usual Saturday night spot. A friend from high school came up to me. I see her around town sometimes, but we don’t stop and share the conversations we used to when we would both arrive at school early in the morning. She mentioned my blog, and let me know that she had been tuned in to it a lot lately after finding out that I had one. She told me that one post especially had helped her through a tough time, and that I should keep writing.

I had this exchange in mind when I saw a girl there who I owed an apology to for being catty with over a guy. I walked right up to her, apologized, and she smiled at me and said “it’s okay.” She even apologized to me too, for I have no idea what, but I raised my drink to her, and we went on with our night.

The night before that, perhaps the greatest night of my entire weekend, was spent at my good friend Sarah’s house. Every month, she has these amazing get-togethers. It is a room full of about 30 great, open, and opinionated minds, good music, and even better times. Despite the space being small, each area has its own destiny. The kitchen is usually where the meet and greets happen. The living room is for video games and dancing. The dining room is usually for board games, and if there is no board game set up then a heated debate must be going on, as it was on this day. And then there are the stairs, for people who are having deep and philosophical conversations.

I usually find myself on the stairs. Some of my greatest conversations take place on the stairs. And on this night, one of the greatest conversations I have ever had in my life took place.

I have a friend named Talia. In high school, I watched her write her heart out. She volunteered with all sorts of organizations, and her essays were always the ones the teachers used as the rubric. Needless to say, as a writer, I regard Talia with the highest and the utmost respect, so the things she said to me on this night had a special place in my heart. Talia said to me:

“I watched you start your blog. You wrote for 5 days straight on some very important topics. These weren’t rushed pieces; they were well-written, and I appreciate something that’s well-written more than I appreciate something that’s interesting. Your pieces were both.”

And then she said this:

“At first, I felt jealous. But then I thought, don’t be jealous, be inspired. And I started writing again.”

Tears fell from my eyes, but they really came from my heart. She continued on to tell me that my future was bright, that I was going places, and that I was a great writer. I felt, in that moment, that not only had I accomplished the only mission I have ever really had as a writer; to inspire, but that I was on my way. 

Everything, everyone, every single landmark I pass by is telling me that I am on my way. I have never in my life been so fulfilled, so happy, and so proud of myself, than I am right now.

When I entered Sarah’s house, my friend, my peer, Alexa said “Hello my favorite blogger!” Truthfully, I have never thought of myself as a blogger, and have surely never been called a blogger. I shied away from the term because I felt if I had imposed it on myself it would be conceited. But I left that place that night with a hunger to claim my place in this creative revolution that is taking place. More importantly, I left there with a plate full of proof in front of me that I was speaking through my writing, and people were listening.

That night, this weekend, taught me a lot about how life works.

Firstly, I learned that there are two things that come with forgiveness. The first is the forgiveness that is granted to you when you honestly seek it out, regardless of whether the person accepts your apology. 

Forgiveness isn’t about being forgiven; it’s about having the humility to ask for it. 

The second thing that comes with it is the freedom that is granted to you, within yourself, when you forgive yourself enough to ask for forgiveness. I didn’t have to apologize to this girl. We had no relationship, I had no obligation to her, and my life would have gone on without a hitch had I not apologized. But when I thought about what my friend from high school had said to me, and all the wonderful things people had said about me the night before, I felt I owed it to them to be the person they believed I could be; the person I was. And more importantly, I owed it to myself. I wanted all of my freedom; not just some.

The other thing I learned was the power of inspiration. Friday proved that great things happen when great people come together, and cumulative greatness happens through individual greatness. The amount of compliments, words, and support that was generated in the few hours Sarah’s guests spent together that night was enough to start a revolution; one I believe each of us already belong to, one that will continue to grow exponentially. Everyone took something home that night. Maybe it was a memory, maybe it was a lesson, or a new piece of knowledge, but for a lot of us, it was inspiration. When Talia said what she said to me about being inspired, I, in turn, was inspired.  

Inspiration is regenerative. It recycles itself through the hearts and the minds it resides in, and continues to spread through the hearts and minds it opens.

So to you, I say, open your heart and open your mind. Allow yourself to be changed by the different people you meet, greet, and talk to, the experiences you have and don’t have, and all that unfolds throughout your days. Be not the same person that you were today tomorrow, be a better, more beautiful, more radiant you. In turn, you will have a better, more beautiful, more radiant life.

And I promise you, you absolutely deserve it.