As I begin to re-learn my "old" ways - ways temporarily forgotten with a sudden swap of surroundings and resources - I'm dismayed to discover new areas of weakness and lower levels of productivity.

Perhaps it is an obvious consequence of time being invested elsewhere, but I had optimistically hoped not for my endurance to wither within such a short period. Returning to regular pilates sessions was not particularly difficult, though chills were frequently felt, as were moments of abnormal warmth. The mind and body were drained despite little engagement with the outside world.

​Breakfasts consisted of: coffee, far more accessible than before with all equipment and roasts on hand, and items derived from a seemingly endless freezer stash. Buttermilk Eggos were a recent addition, unknown to me until my return; blue sky bran muffins and banana bread (marbled or unmarbled) welcomed me back in a toasty, cinnamon-laced embrace.

The first few meals back would comprise of congee (for detoxing), kale (for iron), and lean pork (for more iron). At times of weakness, Ensure was consumed for a boost of protein. However, nausea and a persistent headache refused to depart. An inability to obtain quality sleep was another telling exhibit of unwellness.

​After unpacking, I began to tackle the next order of business: my medical appointments.

More unpacking ensued, reminding me yet again of the annoyances of travelling. Vacation is great. Travelling is not.

The sleepy polar bear emerged on my boulevard with a six-pack of mochi donuts - on his own accord, of course. Donuts have never been an item of fondness for me, and even those bearing limited knowledge of my preferences expressed surprise at the selection: "Not Gong Cha?" No, I would be served sugar instead of coffee jelly and luscious Oolong milk tea.

I had explicitly expressed no intentions of leaving my humble abode until all physical and digital content materializing as a result of the trip had been sorted thoroughly. Perhaps I ought to have vocalized that donuts weren't my style either, though it wasn't too difficult a deduction should critical observations been made.

​While I would never have bothered to invest in such costly fad snacks, I will admit that the chewiness harnessed within offered better texture than regular donuts. That said, this chewy consistency was sustained only when fresh, with the cross sections revealing themselves stale and rigid the next day.
Obnoxiously sugary on the first day, I experienced an instantaneous headache. I wanted nothing more than to strip them of their colourful dip and solely munch of its base - the Old-Fashioned Plain Timbits are my go-to for a reason. They were acceptable the next day, with the Sea Salt Honeycomb proving the best overall. Hong Kong Milk Tea bore no resemblance whatsoever to the its name, while Ube was vaguely similar, albeit masked within sugariness.
Nevertheless, I wouldn't hesitate to pass them up next time around. It was an interesting taste, but not a comprehensibly enjoyable one.

​The gift had been poorly timed, for little was it known that I had assembled a Chocolate Mousse Cake just in advance of the donuts' arrival.

​With a penchant for curbing cravings from the evening prior, I proceeded to realize my true item of affection, starting from the base utilized in Sunday Baking's Rich Chocolate Mousse Cake.

To my dismay, the cake disintegrated upon touch. The gluten content was severely lacking, as it had also been in the seven-layer Pecan Chocolate Mousse Cake With Chocolate Ganache. I only realized later the absence of flour - neither all-purpose nor cake flour had been added, meaning that stability relied strictly on the inclusion of cocoa powder. I re-watched the video twice afterwards, just to confirm my understanding. Visually, the cake was identical to the slab shown in the video. On the other hand, the same degree of sturdiness was not to be witnessed. Consequently, any future chocolate cake layers shall revert to roll cake formulas - or maybe the inclusion of cornstarch? Brownies rely on aerated eggs and cornstarch after all.

Whipped cream and melted Surfin formed the middle layer of chocolate mousse, with a small portion of melted chocolate reserved for ganache. Alas, in my haste, I had omitted the heavy cream entirely, yielding a firm block of chocolate on the surface. It weighed down on the components underneath, causing the mousse to ooze and the fragile cake to crumble even further: Chaos.

​Rapidly cleaning up the edible catastrophe, I readied myself with my first outing since return. Donning freshly tinted treads, a new AIRism tank, recently acquired accessories, and a spritz of Maison Kitsuné x James Heeley's Note de Yuzu, I set off to re-familiarize myself with the conditions of 401 and the Gardiner after 3 weeks of involuntary dependence on Vancouver's up-and-coming Translink system and Uber.

The reservation at Yuzuki has made just three days before, and actually as a backup to Shinobu at Yonge and Lawrence. The York Mills sushi spot was discovered to operate a total of 13 hours over a seven-day span, making calling the establishment quite a challenge while still on a time difference. I opted for the cozy Yonge-Bloor destination instead, for it was responsive to calls and a receiver of consistently positive feedback.

Journeying downtown on a weekend was just as I recalled: a tad frustrating at times, given the increased number of weekend drivers, but otherwise decent. Parking was found at the Green P garage adjacent to Tokyo Kitchen. The neighbourhood was exactly as it had been several years ago: grimy, bustling, and questionable. Furthermore, places I had flagged as mediocre (Tokyo Kitchen) and despicable (TIKA, WISH) were still standing, shockingly enough.

View the full album HERE !

During this procedure, I also unveiled a delightful assemblage of artwork from orderlyblue.

​Beyond being a friend of mine since the Before We Begin Vancouver stop, she is a flourishing artist, teacher, and entrepreneur in her own right. To declare my pride in her is an understatement; she is young but intrepid, and contemplative but resolute.

Prior to the Lynn Canyon trip, I had expressed interest in supporting her craft, to which she responded enthusiastically.
Her stunning creations, meticulously sealed in individual sleeves and bubble-wrapped for extra protection, were finally revealed upon reaching home. Delicate, precise linework, harmonious colours, impressive innovation, and astounding attention to detail were witnessed in each and every piece. 

​I was also in awe at the souvenirs that she had obtained for me from her recent trip to Hawaii. The first was an adorable fridge magnet, in which the magnet was embedded inside of the wooden design itself, rather than affixed to the outside with oozing adhesive. The second was a lucky cat pin slurping ramen, and on the bowl showed the islands of Hawaii.

​Amongst the largest voids emerging throughout the trip were: a distinct lack of Larry and the convenience of a personal vehicle, for door-to-door trips that could take whenever my heart desired.

I proceeded to satisfy the first of these longings immediately after being relieved of the aircraft grime. Larry, along with both sizes of Sulleys, had undergone deep cleansing rituals in my absence. Radiating from them were fragrant clouds of cleanliness, along with noticeable boosts in fluffiness.

News of the heavenly heptet's return as seven had already been a blessing for us all. For them to expand beyond digital releases and attend group schedules was another degree of elation altogether, whether we be observing the process in person or not.

At long last, my fingers would glide over a physical album, over lyrics that each member had thoughtfully assembled with the sole intention of "repaying" ahgases. Truthfully, our patience needed no compensation, for once an ahgase is always an ahgase.
​GOT7 is home, after all.

With my days on the West Coast withering away, it was only fitting to maximize the remainder of my unsalted butter for another batch of cookies.

My fundamental array of tools were kept consistent: A weighted tumbler as a rolling pin and a dull knife for cookie separation. This time around, I took to toothed depressions along across the surfaces in addition docking the pieces with chopsticks, Lego-style. They were unequivocally as delicious as the variation with expired matcha. 

Aside from clearing out the fridge, I had another mission to tend to - an undertaking normally reserved for locals.

The province imposing recycling deposit fees for all packaged beverages in an attempt to encourage sustainable living (read that carefully: it is merely an attempt and no more) had angered me greatly. For the first few days of my stay, I had left our plastic water bottles in the hotel room. They had been too great of a hassle to lug though about. Since having accumulated quite a number of return-able items over the course of my stay though, efforts to recover the sum were now warranted.

​The trek to OK Bottle was surprisingly quick. It also felt more enjoyable given the breezier - yet still sunny - conditions. Within seventeen minutes, I arrived at the storefront. Meandering through the rows of vehicles, I realized that I had found myself facing the end-of-day rush.

My arrival had coincided with their last hour of operation, for they were slated to close at 5 PM. The lineup was long and traffic was high, yet many people continued to haul bags brimming with empty containers from the asphalt lot.

Within the facility were trays for sorting: they were grimy, just like The Beer Store, but noticeably filthier with black patches along the blue plastic crates. Slipping into the queue, I observed a very local experience. One tray had been sufficient for my needs, for I was only returning six bottles: 5 standard beverages and 1 beer can.

The lineup moved quickly despite limited staff behind the counter. Constantly heard echoing throughout the space was the shattering of glass, likely from haphazard tosses of returns. These sounds were less frequent at The Beer Store, for sorting compartments were hidden from view in a separate room, dissimilar to OK Bottle Depot's open concept with high ceilings.

I received sixty cents back - the lowest amount for anyone there. It seemed that most people visiting at the time were elderly, which made sense given that most adults would be working (or leaving work) around 4 PM on a Monday.

Following the pricey partial dye job, I had been made aware of the salon's one-week colour guarantee. Within this period, I could return for remediation services, should the colour exhibit fading and deviations from the intended result.

​Typical of my solo trips to Vancouver are alternating periods of activity and rest. Fitted in between calmer days of editing and pilates would be outings with friends - normally those extending from the mid-morning to late evening. It was only wheen navigating as a unit with the Thai ahgase that back-to-back travel could not be escaped.

​During the previous day's stopover at The Amazing Brentwood shopping centre, I engaged in unplanned retail therapy at Thinka. The Miniso/Mumuso replica had previously been spotted replacing Nature Republic inside Aberdeen, though fur-less, fruit-shaped plushies and stationery items had been of little interest to me. The Burnaby location offered an assortment of household items akin to Miniso, prompting the purchase of innisfree sheet masks (terribly tragic to locate in store these days) and tools to leave behind in the city for my next visit.

​Lunch comprised of leftovers from the days prior: soft-boiled eggs, seaweed salad from T&T, and kimchi fried rice and fried chicken from DooBoo.

In consideration of the light lunch, I proceeded to unveil Paragon Tea Room's cookies for investigation and evaluation.

​Okinawa Sea Salt Dark Chocolate triumphed easily over the Cornflake Earl Grey Cookie, which was needlessly gritty from coarse bits of tea leaves. The cornflake bits adorning the surface were also found to be bland and soggy, rather than nutty and crunchy. In contrast was the Okinawa Sea Salt Dark Chocolate's sweet-savoury profile, wherein, perhaps the only aspect left to be desired were melty pools of luscious chocolate. The utilized variety appeared to be baking chocolate instead of couverture.

​Approaching supper time, I began to browse options for iron intake. Options were plenty on UberEats, however prices were steep for strictly veggie-based dishes. After a great deal of economic evaluation, I resolved to Yuu Japanese Tapas' Housemade Styled Teriyaki Hamburger and Housemade Gyoza with sides of Steamed Broccoli and a Single Salad.

​The entire order totalled just under fifty dollars, fees included and Uber Pass discount applied.

With the bruises on the left wrist hurting significantly less than two days prior, I opted to undertake the baking mission I had planned from the onset of the vacation. On the singly unoccupied day of the week, I would commence with Banana Bread to use up the rapidly browning trio on the countertop; it would serve as a warmup before progressing to the comparatively more challenging recipes.

1) Hot Chocolate Marbled Banana Bread

Banana Bread is quite versatile and, really, requires no more than a scale, bowl, whisk, and spatula - items already existing in the average household or items that could be easily acquired within a reasonable timeframe. The endless variations of this classic and, more importantly, its ability to be constructed manually in its entirety was its most attractive aspect.

​For the marbled portion of the batter, I had not cocoa powder on hand. Instead, I reached for a can of Tim Horton's Hot Chocolate Mix. It would prove a tad sweeter than natural cocoa powder, but contribute an interesting dose of creaminess from dehydrated milk components.

​Subject to the power of a convection oven half the size of that of a standard house, the batter baked evenly, though browned quickly at the top.

The results were fabulous, even if I do say so myself. A thin layer of plain batter served as the foundation. Chocolatey goodness was found in the centre, followed by moist bits of roughly mashed banana above it, then lastly a crunchy, satisfying surface. Cinnamon and nutmeg would have been welcome accents, though the slices were nonetheless scrumptious!

2) Green Tea Cookies

Next up were sugar cookies. Reaching for my SK favourite, I folded in expired matcha without hesitation. The grassiness was way subdued than before, naturally, as the container had expired. The same water bottle trick was used in place of a rolling pin, though this attempt saw insufficient chill time and an utter lack of cookie cutters.

At long last, the day had arrived.
Long awaited was my return to Vancouver, and even longer was my commitment to adopting purple treads. In the months leading up to a prospective West Coast vacation, I had fervently researched the desired style, eventually also confirming my salon of choice.

The appointment had been secured on the date of arrival, my decision utterly unaltered by the price and duration. I mean, I'm here anyway and wasn't about to lose out on the opportunity.

The earliest appointment slot of 11 AM was obtained, for I had been warned of the lengthy procedure time. Inclusive of bleaching and styling, it was anticipated that entire process would span five to six hours.

I evaluated my options for the journey: 15 minutes of walking or 30 minutes by bus. The choice was simple, and so I began a slow trek along the River Road gravel trail. A gorgeous view of the mountains accompanied my walk.
Turning onto Hollybridge Way, there was no longer shade within sight. 19-degree weather proved scorching under direct sunlight.

​The doors of So'o were wide open. In I strode to relay news of my arrival to the faux nail-donning receptionist.

My stylist appeared shortly afterwards and ushered me inside. At this point, we commenced discussion on the desired outcome, consulting both my references images and his past projects. I had my eyes set on a trendy layered style that, admittedly, seemed to be popular locally than back home. While maintaining the top layer natural, the bottom layer would adopt a cool purple. However, unlike most partial dye jobs, I requested to maintain the bottom-most layer its natural shade.

​The stylist agreed, expressing respect towards my decision. We then went back-and-forth to confirm the precise shade of purple. Even based on reference photos, he noted that, oftentimes, the same dye job could appear distinctly different depending on angles and lighting. We agreed upon a cool purple, void of warm, pinky undertones.

As part of the booking, I had requested a trim as well. Once again, the stylist was diligent in confirming the length to be removed and ensured confirmation was received before proceeding. Likewise, he repeated this for each step of procedure before initiating, explaining the steps he would be taking.

For the first time in any colouring appointment, I was permitted to keep my glasses on. This was tremendously helpful, as I would retain, at best, 40% vision strength otherwise. Smartphone use could continue in parallel.

He began to separate sections of hair for bleaching. At first, he worked silently, but curiosity soon crept up from within. He posed the question, "Why did you want to leave a small section?" It had probably come an uncommon request. "instead of dying the entire bottom section?"
"When it grows out, it will look ugly." I began to explain my rationale, though he caught on quickly.
"Ah! So you can hide the parts underneath black hair!" He nodded, acknowledging my thought process. "You are smart."

My strands were a yellowy blonde after the first round of bleaching. A touch had come into contact with my ear, causing a burning sensation. The stylist quickly followed up with ear covers and carefully cleaned off any exposed areas of skin. The gap in bleaching relieved my ear tremendously, though I did find that particular section to be less pigmented than the rest, even after the job was done.

Two rounds of bleaching spanned approximately three hours. In this time, my battery was slowly depleted. My concerns were relayed to the stylist again, who set off in search of a USB Type C cable for Android. With majority of the staff being iPhone users, some time passed before he returned with the correct cable for my needs. It was a very courteous act, and I was truly appreciative of him taking the time to search the salon grounds.

The next morning, I woke bright and early. I reached for the phone to make my calls, eager to nab a spot at the closest x-ray clinic in their first few hours of operation. But as BC would have it, no clinics were open until the 8 AM mark. A one-hour wait ensued.

Once correspondence was made with the receptionist, I was informed that obtaining an examination slot would not be an issue, even for out-of-province visitors. Whether patients had a BC-issued health card or Canadian "MSP" (Medical Services Plan) was irrelevant for the provision of their services; the sole requirement was an x-ray requisition from a local doctor.

"You can go into any walk-in." assured the receptionist. But this process was much easier said than done.
Finding a walk-in open at 8 AM was impossible. Some had transitioned to only caring for existing patients, while others were fully booked on their online system until two weeks later.

At 9 AM, I phoned WELL, since apparently Google Maps hours had differed greatly from their hours in reality; the receptionist squeezed me in for a phone consultation and mandated a fee of $160 for the medical consultation (Insurance claim details to follow). I had originally hesitated, but further research proved fruitless: other clinics in the vicinity charged an even steeper price, and their next available slot wouldn't be until the following week! 

I had been informed that, following the phone consultation, the x-ray requisition could be faxed over to brooke radiology directly, such that I would not need to hobble down two blocks with an injury.

​Patiently, I resided at home, waiting until the 2 PM mark to call the clinic again, as I was "on call" until 3 PM. The pain had not lessened during this period.  The receptionist's voice seemed to grow quiter each time, the volume barely audible over the cordless landline phone. The office confirmed that I was still on the list, and that the doctor was making his way down the list, with two more patients ahead of me in the virtual queue.
Eventually I received the call at 3:31 PM. A male doctor with heavy Chinese accent commenced the phone consultation. As I explained my situation, he constantly cut me off, expressing extreme arrogance, and demanded that I go into the clinic for a visual inspection. In spite of relaying my difficulties to him, in that not only was I was an injured, out-of-province visitor without a car, he was insistent on the in-personal examination, pointing out that I had "paid anyway" and "it would be better to come in."

Without any other options, I called an Uber; time was ticking, as the radiology clinic was slated to close at 5 PM. And I was most definitely unwilling to wait till the next day to confirm my suspicions.
Another wait ensued as I arrived at the clinic. The droopy-eyed receptionist gestured towards one of few chairs that were not taped off and marked with an "X".

The doctor, a bald man in his thirties, said nothing about the abrasions. I had kept them bandaged and refused to remove them on the basis that I would have no backup Polysporin or bandaids to cover them back up. Instead, I offered to show him images, though he refused to extend comments without viewing the wounds.

"I saw you move your hand." He remarked skeptically at my swift re-positioning of my fanny pack to my backpack. "It doesn't seem broken at all."
He declared the bruise on my left leg worse than the wrist, and observed no fractures in the wrist upon physical examination. Then, he proceeded to interrogate in a manner that spited rather than solicited specifics.
"Does this area hurt?" He asked.
"It hurts here." I pointed to a neighbouring area.
"Does it hurt where I'm pressing?" he snapped, exasperated, as if I should have known he was strictly inquiring about the point in question.
He announced that "(I) was fine" and that I had sounded significantly worse over the phone, as if I had been exaggerating the situation when, in reality, I was merely informing of how I felt in that moment following the trauma-inducing occurrence. As a patient seeking medical advice and confirmation, my sole duty was to provide coherent and comprehensive details for analysis and recommendations. Degrading it was to be taken as someone who was not visiting the clinic for story-telling and drama.

More McD's muffins awaited me for breakfast the next morning. Along with my must-have iced coffee was a lightly charred Fruit & Fibre Muffin topped with oats.

​I would also, for the first time since the commencement of the trip (!), undertake a pilates session. Engaging in the act of mobility was truly nurturing for the soul.

Originally purchased as a birthday present, I was urged to sample the ever-pricey Russian Walnut Cookies from La Patisserie. Within its paper container were a total of eight mounds, leading each to assume a unit price of $0.999 plus tax. The cookies had been heavily praised for its crunchy properties, piquing a great deal of interest in me.

​A mild sense of aversion arose from my first bite into the powdered sugar-topped scoop: albeit crunchy with fine chunks of walnut, the cookie was dry and reeked heavily of milk powder. Beyond this synthetic addition, there were few flavour notes to be perceived. Buttery it was not, nor particularly fragrant. While I appreciated the uniform golden hue, the costly half-orb was not for me.

​I would, instead, be taking back these observations to formulate my own variation when time warrants - ideally a version with less milk powder, more nuttiness, and more butteriness.

​The previous day's round of errands had also included pre-ordering of a Mango Cream Cake.

Mango and fresh cream were the main constituents of the cake, as with typical Chinese-style birthday cakes. 

​The sponge was exceptionally airy and light, likely the result of cake flour, oil, and gentle mixing for the formation of uniform, fine air bubbles); that said, it was sweeter than preferred, which may be, in part, owed to meringue for structure. Sandwiched between these two sponge layers - each measuring roughly one inch in thickness - was a delicate whipped cream and vibrant pieces of mango. Fresh whipped cream, especially when unstabilized, is susceptible to dissolution (read: melty) and lacks dimension. It retains a greasy mouthfeel without much contribution to complexity and depth.

​There was no doubt about it: for the duration of my stay, I would need to undertake at least one grocery run.

Plans had been made the evening prior to facilitate the acquisition of daily necessities for self-sufficiency. Following a breakfast of iced Starbucks Medium Roast and a thawed Blueberry Muffin from McD's, I was whisked away for groceries and errands.

With ample time to prepare my getup, I reached for my contacts, only to find a distinct tear in the right lens. No wonder my eye was hurting!

We would first stop at Superstore for cake-making ingredients. Being unable to find cake flour, I requested cornstarch for mixing with all-purpose; the 1 kg bag would be more than sufficient for my short-lived baking endeavours.

La Patisserie, which had opened in new plaza called Central at Garden City, emerged as the go-to spot for Chinese-style bakery items, "Honey Cakes", and Swiss rolls. A $7.99 bag of Russian Walnut Cookies, two Honey Cakes (which emerged as nothing more than standard cupcakes brushed with a layer of honey), a Prune Swiss Roll, and Coffee Swiss Roll were procured at this stop.

I accompanied a series of errands at Parker Place before we ventured back in time for lunch.

​La Patisserie's Coffee Swiss Roll would prove itself light and airy, yet utterly deficient of buttercream. Moreover, the cream was thin, greasy, and exhibiting signs of separation. My own renditions were concluded to be far more gratifying.