sapphic Vancouver

Some things about me:
– I was born in 1989. Thus, I love 90s/early 2000s rom coms… which is why I’m a hopeless romantic who dreams of moving to NYC and falling in love.
– I’m a millennial, so I really need you to like me!
– I’m also really, really good at talking to people, making new friends, and subsequently… shooting my shot with girls.

Not to be overly confident, and not to say that I think I’m god’s gift to the queers; I’m just not scared to walk up to a stranger that I like and talk to them.
Does my heart pound in my chest and right before I do it? 100%. But I know that if I didn’t talk to them, I would feel worse. So, I shoot my shot. Partly because no one really hits on me, not sure why. Possibly because of my huge personality — I’m a lot for some people, I know!
But hey, at least no one has ever called me boring, so there’s that!

But Pascale what do you mean when you say you “shoot your shot?” Well…
A few years ago, I was working as a server at a very busy outdoor restaurant in the Old Port of Montreal. I was 27 and finally about to move to NYC in a few weeks: AKA, my dream come true.

It’s a hot July Saturday night, and we’ve got a lineup around the block. Just as I’m walking towards the bar, I freeze. That’s when I see her: tall, dark skin, short hair, fresh fade. Blue polka dot, short-sleeve shirt buttoned to the top, and army green pants. If I were to compare her to a celebrity, it would be David Beckham.
She walks in, and I stop dead in my tracks. Everything about her takes my breath away. She is so hot, I immediately start blushing. I walk away with a stupid smile on my face.
At the bar, the bartender says, “Pascale, what’s going on? You look different?”
“Umm…I’ve just laid eyes on the hottest girl I’ve ever seen in my life!”
I subtly ask the hostess to seat her near my section, but not IN it, ‘cause OMG, I couldn’t actually serve her. So she’s seated in my friend’s section, and I ask him, “Max, that girl at table 38, what’s the deal?”
“She’s with two girls, I think they’re a couple, and she’s on her own,” he says.

I keep serving my tables, trying to make eye contact with Bechkam, but it doesn’t happen. Then, Max says, “Hey they’re getting the bill, what are you gonna do?”
I panic. The bus boy says, “why are you so obsessed with this girl?”
I say “Shut up and take notes.”
Right then, I see the lovely lady who sells roses to tables. It clicks. Done.
I run up to her and buy a rose. I write down my name and number on a piece of paper. I put it inside a billfold, and ask Max to give that girl the rose and my note and say, “That server thinks you’re stunning.”
My pulse is racing as I head back into my section, trying to look busy, taking extra time with my tables, and then get lost in work. Finally, I meet up with Max and he hands me the bill fold back. There is a note from her, “I’m Ada, thanks for the rose. We’re going out for drinks later, you should join us,” and below that, is her phone number…WITH A NEW YORK AREA CODE!
Are you kidding me?! I’m about to move to NYC: we could walk through Central Park in big cozy sweaters, while the leaves fall, drinking chai lattes, holding hands… and we could fall in love in the fall in New York! It’s perfect! — You know, the usual thought process.
My very interested server friends want to know what happened, so I show them the note with the phone number as the mouthy, jaw-dropped bus boy slowly raises his hand for a high-five.

As Ada and her friends leave, we cross paths for a second. With a big smile on my face, I tell her I would love to see them later. She smirks and says, “I hope so.”
Once I’m done work, I text Ada and head to the bar down the street. I can’t stop losing it that I am on my way to have a drink with this girl. You know when you’re just like, “Is this actually happening?!”
I take a deep breath as I walk in, and spot Ada right away. She looks at me with her gorgeous smile, asks me, “can I get you a drink?”
I say yes, of course and while she’s gone, one of her friends says, “by the way, very well played.”
We have a few drinks, play some pool, and then her friends decide to head out as they’re all going back to New York the next day. Ada and I want to stay out, so we walk over to another bar. We order two Jonny Walker Black, on the rocks, just before last call.
The lights are low, the music is loud.
We’re staring at each other, smirking, as I take a sip of my drink. Ada puts her glass down, takes mine from my hand, and places it on the bar. She puts her arm around my waist and stands tall above me.She slowly pulls me close, so her face is just an inch from mine. Ada looks deep into my eyes and finally our lips meet in a soft, still kiss, as the world around me seems to blur and fall away.
If this were a movie, the camera would be doing a 360 slowly, with the crowd dancing around us in slow motion. Right as the term “French kiss” would be used, the lights come on, and the moment is over. We both pull back, stare into each other’s eyes with a smirk… “Should we get out of here?”

We take a cab home and the next morning, I wake up in her arms. We lay there in that perfect little morning-after bed-bubble until it’s time to get up.
I drop Ada off at her hotel on my way to teach a very hungover spin class. Before she gets out of the car, the leans in to kiss me and says “I’ll text you later.”
I figure she will never text me: I was a girl she met on that Montreal trip. Just a name in a story. But still, the smile I have on my face walking into the spin studio is unprecedented!
Against all odds, Ada did text me later that day. We started talking every day for two months — spending hours on FaceTime and making plans… you’ve heard of lesbians, right?
September comes and… I would love to tell you that when I went to New York, we met up for coffee, went for a walk in Central Park, and fell in love. But really, she just led me on for a few months, and then ghosted me.
I never saw Ada again.

I often find that I chase people who don’t want to be caught.
I’ve now been single for about six months, after my longest and most serious relationship. I tell myself I need some time for me, but I keep going after people who give me crumbs when I give it my all. I’m not sure I know how to date casually. Because, honestly, either I like you or I don’t. If not, what are we doing?
Not to say I’m not happy with who I am, but maybe I should take the time I put into chasing someone who won’t text me back, and spend that time on what I want and who I want to be.
The girl who will go up to a stranger to shoot her shot will always be there, inside. But maybe we can sit with her for a minute. Maybe ask her how she’s doing, or take her out on a date… because I’ve never taken the time to get to know her — know me, without chasing after some crazy idea of a love story.

Maybe, for this summer, I stop chasing those who don’t want to get caught.
Maybe, I fall in love with myself instead.

I remember sitting at my desk and feeling every molecule in my body pull me towards the door. In the past 6 months, I had only enough energy to come home after work and sleep. I would wake up the next day, head back into work, and completely disassociate.
At work, sounds were becoming louder, I could hear the photocopier at the rear of the office better than the person trying to converse in front of me. I had zero short-term memory. If a conflict arose, even if it was an easy fix, my mind would draw a blank, my eyes would well, and my voice would stop working. I felt like I was hanging on by a thread; I had no core inside my chest to hold the weight I was feeling.
I thought to myself “why am I the only person not able to cope in this environment?”

On that same day, I listened to my gut and I started the process of going on medical leave. I made a doctor’s appointment, I emailed HR for the paperwork, and then I bawled my eyes out that night thinking I was a failure and doomed to go nowhere in life because of my perceived shortcomings.
A few days later, after processing some emotions, I realized how deprived I had been from the things that brought be joy and peace. I made a plan. The first thing I was going to do was put in the film The Sound of Music, because Julie Andrews knows how to do.
Then I was going to commit to doing more art and, despite not having a car at the time, I was going to get out of the city one way or another (these are a few of my favourite things).

I thought about flying home to see my folks in prairie nowhere, Manitoba, but given the circumstances, I didn’t think a family visit was going to alleviate the stress and guilt I was experiencing. There was, however, one family member I had recently reconnected with who I felt understood me more than anyone else at that time: My 93-year-old Great Aunt Maizie; the eccentric sister of my late grandfather who had moved out to the West Coast in the 1950s to practice yoga and to become a “heathen” (as Grandpa would say)!
I remembered first meeting her when I was 5 years old during a trip to Vancouver for my uncle’s wedding. I thought she was a spunky old lady… And that odd old house she lived in decorated with beads, candles, and photos of bearded East Indian men, it was so different from my regular surroundings…That yard she had, it was full of lush trees and flowers… That ocean, where I collected shells near that massive park… that terribly scary swinging bridge I cried the entire way across holding my Dad’s leg for dear life… those Godly Totems… That had all been 23 years prior, and it had evidently left a mark on me. It became clear to me where my journey out of Calgary was going to be: Vancouver.

Remember when Airbnb was cheap? I booked 5 nights in a shared apartment that overlooked Davie Street for $37 bucks! I mean, it was no Shangri-La, the room was a closet with a window to the kitchen, and the folks living there didn’t care much for their own privacy (saw a lot of bum), but hey! I made it!
After dropping off my bag, I went straight to Beach Avenue and down to the water. I felt the sea air fill my lungs like drinking a cold glass of mountain spring water. The bay was like glass and appeared to stretch beyond the horizon. I needed to swim. I stripped down into my bathing suit. I fell into the sea, and then it fell into me. In the middle of a busy city, I could finally hear the silence I so desperately needed just beneath the water’s surface. I felt an internal exhale.
Afterwards I walked to the edge of Stanley Park and around the giant trees. I felt nostalgic, the farm I grew up on was full of big trees and I missed them, but another feeling returned to me that I hadn’t felt in years. I felt like I was home.

The following day I ended up going over to North Vancouver. The journey up and down the mountain felt magical; a maze through hills and trees, all of which extended beyond my bus framed vision. But you know what else was fricken cool? The Seabus! Woah, I was on a boat! That may seem ridiculous to some, but if you’re from the prairies, it’s absolutely delightful! The angle of the light during my initial crossing lit up the buildings on the North Shore as if I was entering the ‘Kingdom of North Vancouver.’
And then there was Maisie’s house… It was EXACTLY THE SAME as it had been all those years prior! Maisie however, was much older, much more frail, but that did not stop her from showing me her flexible yoga moves! We chatted about family for a bit, then life and philosophy. Despite the enormous age gap, I felt like I was talking to an old friend who understood that I needed to set my spirit free.

Coincidentally, a few different old friends were in Vancouver at the same time, and I ended up having a blast catching up with them! I went out on a party boat and hit up all the gay bars on Davie! Joy had returned, and experiencing a little more Queer representation around me also brought about a sense of safety.
I went back to the North Shore once more, not just for that Seabus thrill, but to shop and chill at the Lonsdale Quay. I sat at the brewery that shared its patio with the promenade, sipped my IPA, and watched the ships, boats, and aircrafts go by. Despite my busy surroundings, I had found a bit of peace.

Inevitably, the day to board my departing flight had come. I settled into my window seat and felt tears come to my eyes. I didn’t want to go, but I knew I would do my best to return. I consciously left a piece of myself at YVR that day, imagining that one day, even if only for a week every other year I would meet myself again.

That soul cleansing visit in the summer of 2015 put me on a incredible trajectory. 3 weeks after returning to Calgary I would meet my future wife. 5 months later I left my job for good. 2 years later, my partner and I would take a trip to Vancouver together to start apartment hunting after she accepted a new position. 5 years later in Vancouver, I would be diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder which allowed me to reflect on and reevaluate my own needs at work and in life (as it turns out I have selective mutism and what I had gone through was burnout). An engagement, and a whole pandemic later, my partner and I married in a spectacular service at Christ Church Cathedral with all our family and loved ones present.

As for my dear Great Aunt Maisie of whom I found a kindred spirit, she would pass on just shy of her 101st birthday. Sometimes we fall in love with people, and sometimes we fall in love with places, whether it’s a summer “fling,” or something that later becomes a long-term commitment. Vancouver was my summer fling that later became my home. Vancouver opened up her ocean stretched arms and nestled me into her mountainous earthy embrace, she filled my cup, and restored my peace.

Whatever the future has in store, even if my wife and I end up leaving this place down the road, I will always love Vancouver because Vancouver reminded me how to love myself.

Tag: sapphic Vancouver

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