Sunday, April 19, 2026

Androgyny, Music, and the Conversations We’re Having Today 🎶✨

Androgyny, Music, and the Conversations We’re Having Today 🎶✨

Lately, I’ve been seeing more conversations around gender identity—especially when it comes to young people. It can feel like everything is changing so quickly. But when I sit back and really think about it… I’m not sure that’s entirely true.

Many of us grew up with artists who were already challenging gender norms—long before social media, long before today’s language existed.

Think about David Bowie 🌟
Or Elton John 🎹
Or Prince 💜

They weren’t just musicians—they were forces. They played with identity, fashion, expression. Back then, we often used the word androgynous. It was mysterious, artistic, even admired.

There was also Annie Lennox 🎤 and Boy George 🎭, who both blurred lines in ways that made people stop and look.

And let’s not forget Grace Jones 🔥—bold, unapologetic, and completely unique.

These artists didn’t fit into neat boxes—and maybe that was the point.

So What’s Different Now? 🤔

Today, we hear more specific language—terms like trans, non-binary, gender fluid. For some people, that feels unfamiliar or even overwhelming.

But maybe what’s really changed isn’t the existence of these experiences—it’s the visibility, and the words people now have to describe themselves.

What used to be expressed through art, fashion, and music is now being spoken out loud in everyday life.

From Stage to Real Life 🌈

Back then, we might have celebrated these expressions on stage—while still expecting “normal” roles in everyday life.

Today, young people are asking:
Why can’t I be fully myself everywhere—not just in art, but in my daily life?

That’s a big shift.

The Role of Support 💞

That’s where communities like Mama Bears come in.

They’re not about having all the answers.

They’re about listening.
Learning.
Showing up.

A Thought to Sit With 🌿

Maybe this moment isn’t about something entirely new.

Maybe it’s about something that has always been there—finally being named, understood, and lived more openly.

And maybe, just maybe…
the same spirit that once inspired us through music 🎶
is now asking us to show that same openness and curiosity in real life.

Reflective Questions 📝

When you think back to artists like David Bowie or Prince, how did you perceive their style and identity at the time? Has that perception changed?
What does the word androgynous mean to you today compared to when you first heard it?
Do you think society was more accepting of gender expression in art than in everyday life? Why or why not?
How do you feel about the language used today (trans, non-binary, gender fluid)? Does it clarify things, or feel confusing?
What role do you think visibility plays in shaping public understanding and acceptance?
Have you ever felt pressure to fit into a specific role or identity? How did that affect you?
What does “support” look like to you when someone is trying to understand who they are?
Do you think conversations today are opening doors—or creating new tensions? Why?
How can we balance personal beliefs with compassion and respect for others’ experiences?
What can we learn from past artists and cultural icons about freedom of expression?

Care Across Generations: A Personal Timeline of What We Lost and What We Carried

🧭 Care Across Generations: A Personal Timeline of What We Lost and What We Carried

This post is a personal reflection on care work across generations, home support history in BC, and how systems and families have carried (and struggled with) long-term care needs over time.

My mother, born in 1930, worked as a Home Support Worker in the Fraser Valley from roughly the mid-1970s through the late 1980s. She spent many years supporting people in their homes—helping with daily care, dignity, and companionship long before home support became highly structured and regulated.

In the late 1980s, she became ill and went on disability around 1990. Before that, when I was about 14, she had her first heart issue. That was when we first experienced home support services directly in our own home.

A Home Support Worker came in to help stabilize care, and that experience shaped my understanding of what care work really is.

🌿 My own experience in care work

I later worked in home support myself during the summers of 1993, 1994, and 1995.

At that time, care work was very hands-on and deeply human. We went into people’s homes and helped them stay there safely and with dignity.

Helping people eat when they were lonely or grieving
Supporting people with chronic illness like emphysema
Assisting elders who rarely left their homes
Shopping, cleaning, and daily support tasks
Spending time so people were not alone

It wasn’t just tasks—it was presence, dignity, and care.

💔 2002: A turning point

In 2002, I had a baby at 40. My child was only a few months old when my mother had her second heart attack.

At that time, I was living in Nelson, and she was in Abbotsford.

I was nursing a newborn and trying to manage everything at once. I remember taking a 12-hour bus just to visit her.

We could not access enough support at that time, and eventually my mother had to move into my brother’s care in Kelowna.

That experience still feels deeply unfair—not because my family didn’t care, but because the system didn’t hold what was happening.

🧭 What this shows

Looking back, I can see a pattern across generations:

Care work has always existed, but support systems have shifted over time
Home support was once more community-based and flexible
Over time, care became more regulated and credentialed
Families have increasingly carried gaps in the system
Care crises often happen when support is not available early enough

🌱 Why this matters now

When we talk about dementia, aging, or home care today, it is important to understand that these pressures did not suddenly appear.

They have been building for decades.

Many people who worked in care, or relied on care, are still here—still remembering, still carrying those experiences, and still seeing where systems have not fully caught up.

💬 Final reflection

Care is not abstract.

It is bus rides across provinces, sleepless nights, hospital visits, home visits, and everyday acts of holding people together when systems are not enough.

Understanding this timeline helps us understand where we are now—and why so many families are still struggling today.

Dementia Care in BC: Costs, Caregivers, and Home Options

🧠 Dementia Care in BC: Costs, Caregivers, and Home Options

Connected to my last post on dementia awareness. This post goes deeper into the practical side—care costs, caregivers, and what support actually looks like in British Columbia.

Dementia care in British Columbia involves three major areas: home caregivers, public home support, and residential care homes. Costs and access vary widely depending on need, income, and availability.

🧑‍⚕️ Private caregivers at home

$30–$45/hour for private caregivers
$6,000–$15,000+/month for full-time or live-in care

Agency care is more expensive but includes training, scheduling, and background checks.

🏠 Where to find caregivers

Private home care agencies
Regional health authority referrals
Community support organizations
Alzheimer support services

In BC, navigation support is often available through local health authorities and dementia organizations.

🧾 Who is qualified?

Home Support Workers: trained through health authority programs
Health Care Assistants (HCAs): certified care aides
Private companions: may not be certified (vet carefully)

🏡 Home support (public system)

Personal care (bathing, meals, mobility)
Respite support for caregivers
Income-based cost or subsidy system

Note: Services are limited and often not enough for full-time care needs.

🏥 Types of care homes in BC

🟡 Assisted living: For people with partial independence (meals, housekeeping, basic support)

🔴 Long-term care: 24-hour nursing care for moderate to advanced dementia

💰 Costs of care homes

Public long-term care: ~80% of after-tax income
Private care homes: $4,000–$10,000+/month

Costs depend on income, care level, and facility type.

⚠️ What is going wrong

Late diagnosis and delayed support
Long waitlists for care homes
Caregiver burnout
Fragmented services
Heavy reliance on families without enough support

🌱 What needs to improve

Earlier diagnosis and intervention
More funded home support hours
Better caregiver pay and training
Stronger respite care systems
More affordable long-term care spaces
Integrated care coordination

🧭 What you can do right now

Notice early changes and patterns
Request medical assessment early
Contact local health authority support
Reach out to dementia organizations
Seek caregiver help before crisis stage

💬 Final reflection

Dementia care is not only a medical issue—it is a social system issue.

Families are often left carrying emotional, physical, and financial responsibility in systems that are not fully built to support them.

The earlier support begins, the better the outcome—for everyone involved.

Saturday, April 18, 2026

Dementia: What We Ignore, What It Costs, and What We Can Still Do

Dementia is not a rare condition. It is present in families, homes, and care systems across British Columbia and beyond—often quietly, often unspoken.

That silence has consequences.

🧠 What dementia actually is

Dementia is not one single disease, but an umbrella term for conditions that affect memory, thinking, behaviour, and the ability to carry out everyday activities.

One of the most common forms is Alzheimer’s disease, but there are others.

It is progressive (it changes over time)
It is not a normal part of aging
Early signs are often subtle and easily dismissed

⚠️ Early signs people often overlook

Repeating questions or stories
Misplacing items in unusual places
Difficulty finding words
Confusion with time or routine tasks
Withdrawal from social situations
Changes in mood or behaviour
Difficulty managing money or appointments

Many of these are often explained away as “just aging” or “stress.” This delay matters.

💔 What happens when it is ignored

Increased isolation
Caregiving begins in crisis instead of preparation
Higher safety risks and accidents
Family confusion and emotional strain

By the time support is sought, families are often already exhausted.

🧩 The emotional impact

Grief while the person is still alive
Role reversal between parent and child
Caregiver burnout
Guilt, frustration, and emotional fatigue

Many families quietly carry this alone.

💰 The cost of dementia

Financial costs:

Home care and support services
Long-term care placement
Lost income for caregivers
Medical and transportation costs

Social costs:

Caregiver burnout
Family conflict
Housing instability
Pressure on health systems

🧠 What is going wrong in society

Late diagnosis due to stigma
Underfunded home care systems
Long waitlists for support
Lack of respite care for caregivers
Fragmented health services
Over-reliance on families without support

🌱 What can be improved

Earlier screening and diagnosis access
Stronger home care systems
More respite care for caregivers
Better financial support for families
Integrated care coordination
Dementia-informed housing options

Support organizations such as Alzheimer Society of British Columbia provide resources, but demand is high and growing.

🛠️ What can be done right now

Pay attention to patterns, not single moments
Document changes you notice
Seek medical assessment early
Ask for caregiver support before burnout
Connect with local dementia services
Reduce isolation for both caregiver and person

❤️ If someone you love has dementia

You cannot fix it, but you can support stability
Behaviour changes are part of the condition, not personal
Routine and calm communication help
Safety becomes increasingly important
You will need support—you cannot do it alone

🌿 Final reflection

Dementia is not only a medical condition. It is a social reality that reveals how prepared a society is—or is not—to care for people when memory and identity begin to change.

The most dangerous part is not always the disease itself.
It is the silence around it.

Follow My Work

Follow My Work

If you’d like to see more of my art, writing, and ongoing projects, you can find me here:

🌿 Blog (Personal stories, murals, reflections)
http://tinawinterlik.blogspot.com

🌎 Adventurez In Mexico (Travel & culture)
http://adventurezinmexico.blogspot.ca

🎨 Zipolita (Art site – in progress)
http://zipolita.com

📌 Pinterest (Visual inspiration & collections)
https://www.pinterest.com.mx/zipolita

🐦 Twitter / X (Updates & thoughts)
https://twitter.com/zipolita

📘 Facebook (Community & posts)
https://www.facebook.com/pg/zipolita

💼 Online CV (Work & experience)
https://zipolitazcv.blogspot.com

My Whale Murals- Kitsilano

Whale of Tale - Mural by Tina Winterlik aka Zipolita

Tina Winterlik (Zipolita) – Artist Bio

Tina Winterlik, also known as Zipolita, is a Vancouver-based artist, photographer, and storyteller whose work lives at the intersection of resilience, nature, and human connection. With a background in digital imaging, photography, and social media storytelling, Tina has spent years documenting both beauty and truth—often turning her lens toward the overlooked, the misunderstood, and the deeply human.

Her creative path has never been separate from her lived experience. Through personal challenges, shifting economies, and a changing city, Tina continues to create with what is available—transforming simple materials into meaningful expressions. Whether through writing, photography, or painting, her work carries a consistent message: that even in difficult times, there is still connection, still kindness, still something worth protecting.

On the Murals – A Story from the Seawall

Yesterday reminded me why I keep going.

Lately, I’ve been writing about difficult things—heavy things. But out there, on the seawall, something entirely different happened.

Person after person stopped to talk to me. Not just passing by—but really stopping. They told me how much they loved the murals. How they look forward to seeing them. How they noticed when one had been damaged. How sorry they were that someone painted over parts of them… even writing something as harsh as “Nuke the whales.”

That one hurt.

But what stayed with me more was the kindness that followed. The words people took the time to say. The care. The encouragement. Honestly, it felt overwhelming—in the best way. Like medicine I didn’t even realize I needed.

If I ever feel low again, I know where to go.

There’s one piece in particular—the old log on the beach.

Last year, it was almost chopped up. I remember being there when people found out. There was a real sense of loss, like something important was about to disappear. But that log isn’t just driftwood—it feels like an old warrior. It has held its place through storms, tides, and time. It protects more than it harms. It belongs there.

And now, it holds art too.

One man who stopped to talk told me his son used to be a tagger. That could have been a tense conversation—but it wasn’t. It turned into something thoughtful and real. We talked about how expensive spray paint is, and how toxic—not just for the environment, but for the people using it.

We even talked about artists like Emily Carr and Vincent van Gogh, and how in their time, they were exposed to harmful chemicals in their paints—things we understand differently now.

It made me feel grateful for my own process.

Most of my materials come from simple places—$2 bottles of paint, brushes from Dollarama. For about $20 and a few hours of work, I painted a whale that’s still in progress… but already alive in its own way.

There’s something freeing about that. No gatekeepers. No expensive setup. Just time, effort, and care.

Some of the murals are in places that are hard to reach—ledges I have to carefully climb up and down. It’s not easy. But maybe that’s part of why they’ve lasted.

From April through summer, into winter—through wind, rain, and salt air—they’ve held up. Not perfectly, but beautifully. There’s wear, yes. But there’s also strength in that. Like they’ve lived.

Yesterday reminded me of something simple but powerful:

People care.

Not everyone—but enough.

Enough to stop. Enough to speak. Enough to see.

And right now, that means everything.

Follow My Work

If you’d like to see more of my art, writing, and ongoing projects, you can find me here:

🌿 Blog (Personal stories, murals, reflections)
http://tinawinterlik.blogspot.com

🌎 Adventurez In Mexico (Travel & culture)
http://adventurezinmexico.blogspot.ca

🎨 Zipolita (Art site – in progress)
http://zipolita.com

📌 Pinterest (Visual inspiration & collections)
https://www.pinterest.com.mx/zipolita

🐦 Twitter / X (Updates & thoughts)
https://twitter.com/zipolita

📘 Facebook (Community & posts)
https://www.facebook.com/pg/zipolita

💼 Online CV (Work & experience)
https://zipolitazcv.blogspot.com

Thank you for being here, for stopping, for seeing, and for caring. It means more than you know.

Friday, April 17, 2026

Call It What You Want — I Call It a War

From where I stand, this feels like a war.

Not the kind with soldiers or official declarations. The kind that happens quietly, in plain sight—until one day it’s right in front of you.

Last week, a man died on Main Street in Mission.

Out in the open. In a community where people still like to believe, “that doesn’t happen here.”

But it does.

And it’s spreading.

Frontline workers are raising concerns about people showing up in unfamiliar towns—out in the Valley, in places like Surrey and White Rock—disoriented, unsupported, and at risk. There are reports of people being given money and put on buses, ending up far from whatever fragile support system they had.

Think about that for a second.

What happens to someone already struggling when they’re dropped into a place where they know no one?

Now add a toxic, unpredictable drug supply.

This is how people die.

And while this is happening—

Land values keep rising. Luxury towers keep going up. Older buildings are left to decay, then cleared out. Rents climb higher and higher. Communities like the Downtown Eastside are pushed, reshaped, displaced.

We’ve seen these patterns before.

Neglect. Displacement. Erasure.

Over 18,000 people have died in British Columbia since this crisis was declared.

That’s not random. That’s not small. That’s not something we can normalize.

So yes—from where I stand, it feels like a war.

A war on the poor. A war on the vulnerable. A war that doesn’t need weapons you can see.

You can argue about the wording.

But you can’t ignore the reality.

People are being poisoned. People are being pushed out. People are dying in our streets—from Vancouver to Mission and beyond.

And too many are still looking away.

This is about priorities.

Profit over people. Investment over community. Silence over accountability.

We need to start asking harder questions.

We need to start caring about each other again.

Because this isn’t just happening “somewhere else.”

It’s here.

And it’s not stopping.

💀☠️😭🫃🧑‍🍼👩‍🦽🧑‍🦯👩‍👦👨‍👩‍👧‍👧💁‍♂️🤦‍♀️💔💔💔🙈🙉🙊😡

Normalization of Suffering – Post 7: What Are We Teaching Children?

Normalization of Suffering – Post 7: What Are We Teaching Children?

Children are always watching.

Not just what we say.

But what we do.

They see what we scroll past.
What we stop for.
What we ignore.

They notice more than we think.

And today, they are growing up in a world very different from the one many of us knew.

A world of constant exposure.

Not just cartoons and simple programming…

But ads. Algorithms. Endless content.

Messages layered into everything.

In places like Vancouver, children don’t just grow up in neighborhoods.

They grow up surrounded by messaging.

Bus shelters. Screens. Phones. Schools.

Everywhere they look—something is trying to reach them.

And here’s the part we need to sit with:

What are they learning from all of this?

Are they learning empathy…

Or are they learning to scroll past suffering?

Are they learning self-worth…

Or are they learning they need to change to be accepted?

Are they learning how to think…

Or what to think?

Because repetition doesn’t start in adulthood.

It starts early.

The messages they absorb now—

About bodies, success, worth, and even suffering—

will shape how they see the world.

And themselves.

And then there’s something even harder to face:

What happens when children start filming suffering… instead of helping?

Not because they are cruel.

But because that’s what they’ve seen modeled.

This isn’t about blame.

Parents are navigating the same environment.

Teachers are working within systems they didn’t design.

But that’s exactly why the question matters:

What are we consciously teaching… in a world that is constantly teaching them something else?

Because if we don’t guide awareness—

The loudest message will win.

And right now, the loudest messages are not always the healthiest ones.

So maybe it starts small.

Conversations.
Questions.
Moments of pause.

Helping children not just consume the world…

But understand it.

Because they are not just growing up in this environment.

They will be the ones shaping what comes next.

And what they learn now—

Matters more than we realize.

🔍 Reflection Questions

What messages do you think children are exposed to most frequently today?

Do you believe children can distinguish between advertising and reality?

How early do you think media and advertising begin to shape self-image?

Have you ever seen a child mimic behavior they learned from social media or online content?

What are children learning about suffering from what they see online and in public?

Are we teaching children how to think critically about what they see?

How often do adults model mindful media consumption for younger generations?

What role should schools play in teaching media awareness and emotional resilience?

If children are constantly exposed to messaging, who is responsible for guiding them?

What would a healthier media environment for children look like?

Wednesday, April 15, 2026

Normalization of Suffering – Post 6: Escaping the Noise

Normalization of Suffering – Post 6: Escaping the Noise

What happens… when the noise stops?

Not completely.

But enough to notice the difference.

I’m writing this from a hammock.

Away from the constant movement.
Away from the pressure.
Away—at least for a moment—from the endless stream of messaging.

And something shifts out here.

Not dramatically.

But quietly.

My thoughts slow down.

My body feels different.

My mind isn’t being pulled in ten directions at once.

And that’s when I realized something important:

The noise isn’t just loud.

It’s constant.

In cities like Vancouver, it’s everywhere.

Screens. Ads. Traffic. Notifications. People. Urgency.

Even silence there… isn’t really silence.

We’ve become so used to stimulation that stillness can feel unfamiliar.

Even uncomfortable.

But that discomfort?

It’s revealing.

Because when the noise fades, even slightly…

You start to notice what was always there underneath.

Your own thoughts.
Your own feelings.
Your own pace.

Not the ones shaped by repetition.

Not the ones pushed by urgency.

The real ones.

And this is where something else becomes clear:

Stepping away isn’t weakness.

It’s awareness.

It doesn’t mean disconnecting from the world forever.

It means creating space to understand it.

Because when everything is trying to reach you…

Choosing distance becomes a form of protection.

A reset.

And maybe that’s something we don’t talk about enough.

Not escape as avoidance.

But escape as recalibration.

Even small moments.

Turning off notifications.
Walking without your phone.
Sitting without input.

It doesn’t solve everything.

But it reminds you of something essential:

You are still there… underneath all of it.

So here’s the question for today:

When was the last time you experienced real quiet—and what did you notice?

🔍 Reflection Questions

When was the last time you were in complete silence without any digital input?

Do you feel uncomfortable when things are too quiet? Why do you think that is?

How often do you check your phone without a clear reason?

What changes in your thoughts or mood when you step away from screens?

Do you feel more like yourself in busy environments… or quiet ones?

Have you ever intentionally taken a break from media or advertising? What happened?

What parts of your environment feel overwhelming, even if you’ve gotten used to them?

Do you believe constant stimulation affects your mental health? In what ways?

What small steps could you take to create more quiet space in your daily life?

What might you discover about yourself if the noise faded more often?

Tuesday, April 14, 2026

We Saw It Coming

We Saw It Coming — So Why Does No One Act Until It’s Too Late?

Back in 2016, I said something that didn’t go over well.

I said that Donald Trump showed signs of being dangerous—not just politically, but in how he behaved, reacted, and escalated.

People shut it down fast.

Some said I was being “racist” for even bringing up personality.
Others said I was ignoring the real issue—racism itself.
And many just dismissed it altogether.

But here’s the thing…

A lot of us felt something wasn’t right.

We just didn’t have the language, or the permission, to say it out loud.

Fast forward nearly 10 years.

Now experts are writing urgent letters.
Now leaders are being warned.
Now there’s talk of crisis, escalation, even war.

And it leaves me asking:

Why do warnings only matter when it’s already happening?

I remember being in a Carving and Reconciliation cohort around that time. There was energy in that space—awareness, truth-telling, a willingness to sit with uncomfortable realities.

And outside of that space?

Silence. Division. Deflection.

It’s like we’re able to recognize danger in small, intentional communities…
but when it comes to power and politics, everything gets blurred, delayed, or denied.

Now we’re watching decisions being made that affect the entire world.

And it feels like:

The people who spoke early were dismissed
The systems meant to protect us are reacting late
And the consequences are unfolding in real time

This isn’t about being right.

It’s about asking:

What would it look like if we actually listened earlier?
If we didn’t wait for crisis to validate concern?
If accountability didn’t come after damage was already done?

Because right now, it feels like we’re always playing catch-up with reality.

And that’s a dangerous place to be.

I’m not writing this out of anger.

I’m writing this out of heartbreak…
and a deep need for us to start paying attention before things reach this point.

💔

Monday, April 13, 2026

PFAS: The “Forever Chemicals” We Can’t Escape

PFAS: The “Forever Chemicals” We Can’t Escape — And the Questions We Need to Ask Now

There’s a quiet crisis unfolding around us—one that doesn’t explode like a wildfire or flood a city overnight, but instead seeps slowly into everything.

Our water.
Our soil.
Our bodies.

PFAS—short for per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances—are now being formally recognized by the Canadian government as toxic. That alone should stop us in our tracks.

These chemicals are often called “forever chemicals” because they don’t break down. Not in the environment. Not in our bodies. Once they’re here, they stay.

And they are everywhere.

🌍 Where PFAS Are Showing Up

PFAS have been widely used for decades because they resist heat, water, and grease. That convenience has come at a cost.

They are commonly found in:

Non-stick cookware
Fast food wrappers and food packaging
Waterproof clothing and outdoor gear
Cosmetics and personal care products
Stain-resistant furniture and carpets
Firefighting foams

They’ve now been detected in:

Drinking water systems
Rainwater
Agricultural soil
Fish and wildlife
Human blood (including newborns)

⚠️ What This Means for Our Health

PFAS don’t just pass through us—they accumulate. Over time, even low exposure can build into something much more serious.

Documented and emerging health risks include:

🧠 Immune & Hormonal Effects

Weakened immune response
Reduced effectiveness of vaccines
Hormone disruption (thyroid and reproductive hormones)

❤️ Organ Damage

Liver damage
Changes in cholesterol levels
Kidney stress and dysfunction

🧬 Cancer Risks

Increased risk of kidney cancer
Increased risk of testicular cancer
Ongoing research into links with other cancers

👶 Developmental Impacts (Children & Babies)

Low birth weight
Delayed development
Behavioral and learning challenges
Early puberty or hormonal irregularities

🤰 Pregnancy & Fertility

Reduced fertility
Pregnancy-induced hypertension
Increased risk of miscarriage (still being studied)

🐾 What About Pets and Wildlife?

Our animals are often the first to show us when something is wrong.

Pets drinking contaminated water may accumulate PFAS faster due to size
Wildlife exposed through waterways show reproductive and immune issues
Fish and marine life can carry PFAS up the food chain—right back to us

This isn’t just a human issue. It’s an ecosystem issue.

🌱 Environmental Consequences

PFAS contamination doesn’t stay contained.

Polluted water spreads into rivers, lakes, and oceans
Soil contamination affects crops and food systems
Cleanup is extremely difficult and expensive—sometimes nearly impossible

We are essentially creating permanent contamination zones.

🇨🇦 So What Is Canada Doing?

Canada’s move to classify PFAS as toxic is important—but it’s also late.

Consultations on regulating their use in products like cosmetics and food packaging are still years away.

That raises a difficult truth:

We already live in a world saturated with these chemicals.

🧭 What Can We Do Right Now?

We may not be able to eliminate exposure completely—but we are not powerless.

Practical steps you can take today:

💧 Water Safety

Use a high-quality water filter (look for activated carbon or reverse osmosis systems that target PFAS)

🍳 In the Kitchen

Avoid non-stick cookware when possible
Choose stainless steel, cast iron, or ceramic alternatives

🛍 Consumer Choices

Reduce fast food and packaged foods
Avoid products labeled “stain-resistant” or “waterproof” when unnecessary
Check cosmetics for simpler ingredient lists

👕 Clothing & Gear

Be mindful of waterproof sprays and treated fabrics
Support brands moving away from PFAS

🗣 Advocacy

Ask local officials about water testing
Support stronger regulations and faster timelines
Share information—many people still don’t know

🔥 The Hard Questions We Need to Ask

Why were these chemicals allowed to be used so widely for so long without full safety data?
Who is responsible for cleaning up contamination that may last generations?
Why are regulations still years away when the risks are already known?
Are corporations being held accountable—or are costs being passed to the public?
What does “safe exposure” even mean for a chemical that never leaves the body?
How much are we willing to trade long-term health for short-term convenience?

🌊 Looking Forward

This isn’t just about chemicals—it’s about choices.

The future of our children, our pets, and our environment depends on how seriously we take issues like this before they become irreversible.

PFAS remind us of something uncomfortable but necessary:

Just because something is invisible doesn’t mean it isn’t shaping our lives.

The question now is—what are we going to do about it?

Righteousness, Hard Work, and the Lie We Were Told

Righteousness, Hard Work, and the Lie We Were Told

There’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

Righteousness.

That quiet belief that if you work hard, do the right thing, push through the hard times… things will eventually work out.

I used to believe that.

I remember being a kid, after my dad passed. We were poor.

Not the kind of poor people romanticize. The kind where you feel it in your stomach, in your clothes, in the way the world looks at you.

So I worked hard.

Always.

Job after job, pushing myself, trying to get ahead. I went through tough work, physical work, exhausting work. I got injured. I took out a student loan, believing that would be the turning point.

And eventually, I did get a “good job.”

But it came with ridiculous hours.

The kind of hours where your body starts breaking down, but you keep going because you have to. Because you have debt. Because you’ve been taught that stopping means failing.

I worked like that just to try to pay off that student loan.

I remember something else too.

I had a friend once. His dad was rich.

We saw someone homeless, and he said, “That’s their choice.”

Even back then, something didn’t sit right with me. But I still carried that idea of righteousness—that people who worked hard would be okay.

That bad things happened for a reason.

That somehow, people ended up where they deserved.

Then I got older.

And life started showing me something different.

I was downsized just before I turned forty.

Just like that.

All that hard work didn’t protect me.

Later, after I had my child, things got even harder.

No one wanted to hire me part-time.

Must work Full-time, or Split shifts. The worst hours.

I watched management take the best schedules, the stability, the benefits—while the rest of us scrambled and stretched ourselves thin just trying to survive.

At one job, they worked us to the bone.

The bosses got married, went on a honeymoon, bought a house.

I asked for a raise after a year.

Instead, they handed me a disciplinary letter and told me to sign it.

I refused.

I quit.

And just like that—I couldn’t get EI.

There were other things too.

Things that felt wrong.

Inappropriate behavior. Power imbalance. Fear.

I was told things like they could read what I wrote. I felt watched. I didn’t feel safe.

And when you’re already hanging on by a thread, that kind of pressure doesn’t just stress you out—it changes your life.

By then, I was in my 50s.

My child was a teenager, confused, watching everything unfold.

I lost my job.

And with that comes something people don’t talk about enough:

The stigma.

The judgment.

The way people look at you like you must have done something wrong.

But here’s the truth I’ve come to understand:

You can work your whole life…

Do everything “right”…

And still end up pushed to the edge.

Right now, I’m in a precarious housing situation.

I work hard every day—cleaning, caring for a home, doing what I can.

I’m working off $1500.

There’s no contract.

The person I’m living with pays me nothing, as get free room and board..so there's imbalance

And me?

I’m one step away from the street.

I’ve been unhoused for six years.

So when I hear people talk about “righteousness”…

About how people just need to work harder…

About how those who struggle must have made bad choices…

I think back to my life.

And I know:

That story is not true.

We are not failing because we didn’t work hard enough.

We are not struggling because we didn’t try.

We are living in a system where hard work is no longer a guarantee of stability.

Where loyalty is not rewarded.

Where age becomes a liability.

Where speaking up can cost you everything.

And the hardest part?

Young people are walking straight into this.

Being told the same story.

Work hard. Stay positive. Push through.

While the ground beneath them is already unstable.

This isn’t about giving up.

It’s about telling the truth.

Because until we stop blaming individuals…

And start questioning the systems that put people in these positions…

Nothing will change.

Reflective Questions:

What does “working hard” actually guarantee today?
Have we confused survival with success?
Why do we assume people who struggle made poor choices?
What role does luck play in stability?
How does age affect opportunity in today’s workforce?
What happens to people who speak up at work?
Why is unpaid labour becoming normalized?
How does housing instability affect mental health?
What are young people being told—and is it still true?
If hard work isn’t enough, what needs to change?

This is one story.

But I know it’s not just mine.

Saturday, April 11, 2026

Lesson of the Day: The Internet You’re Inheriting

🌐 Lesson of the Day: The Internet You’re Inheriting

You didn’t build this world.
But you’re going to live in it, shape it, and maybe even fix it.

Right now, powerful tech companies like Anthropic are creating artificial intelligence that can do things we couldn’t imagine even five years ago—like finding weaknesses in systems that run hospitals, banks, and entire cities.

At the same time, platforms you probably use every day—like Meta Platforms (Instagram, Facebook) and Snap Inc. (Snapchat)—have already been exposed for something else:

👉 They knew their apps could harm young people’s mental health… and kept going.

📱 The Snapchat & Meta Files — What Happened?

Internal documents (often called the “files”) showed:

Teens felt addicted to scrolling 📲
Many experienced anxiety, depression, and body image issues 😔
Companies were aware… but growth and profit kept coming first 💰

Let that sink in:

The apps were designed to keep you on them—even if it wasn’t good for you.

🚫 Governments Are Starting to React

Countries are beginning to step in.

In Australia:

Discussions and policies have focused on restricting or verifying age for social media use
The idea: protect kids from harmful content and addictive design

In Canada:

There’s growing pressure for:
- Age limits
- Stronger privacy laws
- Rules around how your data is used

👉 Translation: adults are starting to realize things got out of control.

🤖 Now Add AI Into the Mix

Here’s where it gets serious.

AI isn’t just:

homework help
chatbots
filters

It can:

influence what you believe 🧠
generate fake videos and voices 🎭
find ways into secure systems 🔓

And the scary part?

👉 It doesn’t need to be evil
👉 It just needs to be used by someone who is

⚖️ The Real Problem Isn’t Just Technology

It’s people.

Someone feels ignored 😶
Someone feels angry 😡
Someone wants power 💥

And suddenly:

private data gets leaked
systems get hacked
misinformation spreads

It only takes one person.

🧭 So What Does This Mean for You?

You’re growing up in a world where:

Your attention is being competed for 24/7
Your data is being collected constantly
Powerful tools are becoming easier to misuse

But also:

✨ You have more awareness than any generation before you
✨ You can question systems
✨ You can choose how you engage

💡 The Big Question

Will you just consume this world…
Or will you challenge and change it?

🔥 Reflective Questions (Think Deep — No Easy Answers)

If an app knows it’s harming your mental health but keeps you using it, who is responsible—you or the company?
Should governments control social media access for teens, or is that a violation of freedom?
If AI can hack systems, should it ever be created in the first place?
Would you stop using a platform if you knew it was designed to manipulate you? Why or why not?
Is addiction to social media different from other addictions—or the same?
If your data is constantly being collected, do you really have privacy anymore?
Should companies like Meta Platforms and Snap Inc. be allowed to design addictive features for profit?
What happens to society when people trust AI more than each other?
If powerful tech can be misused by “just one person,” is it ever truly safe?
What kind of digital world do you want to help build—and what are you willing to do differently to make that happen?

$7 Million for Ostriches, While People Sleep Outside

$7 Million for Ostriches, While People Sleep Outside

There’s something deeply unsettling about numbers—how easily they pass by us in headlines, abstract and disconnected from real life.

Seven million dollars.

That’s what the recent ostrich cull in British Columbia ended up costing taxpayers. Legal battles, enforcement, delays, security—it all added up. And now the bill is paid, the birds are gone, and the story moves on.

But let’s pause for a moment and ask a different question:

What else could $7 million have done?

In a city like Vancouver, where rents hover around $2,500 a month for a modest one-bedroom, that amount of money could house:

Over 230 people for an entire year, or
Nearly 470 people for six months

That’s not theoretical. That’s hundreds of real human beings—people sleeping in shelters, couch surfing, living in cars, or out on the street—who could have had stability, safety, and dignity.

Instead, the money went to a situation that spiraled out of control.

This isn’t just about ostriches. It’s about misguided priorities.

It’s about what happens when:

Misinformation is allowed to grow unchecked
Processes drag on without resolution
Systems react instead of act

And in the end, the public pays—not just financially, but socially.

Because while millions are spent cleaning up a preventable mess, the housing crisis continues. Quietly. Persistently. Without urgency.

There’s no emergency response team when someone can’t afford rent.
No rapid deployment of resources when a senior is renovicted.
No million-dollar legal mobilization when families are displaced.

But there was for this.

That contrast is hard to ignore.

To be clear, public health matters. Containing disease matters. There are reasons governments act the way they do in these situations. But when the costs balloon to this level, it’s fair—necessary, even—to ask:

Where is our sense of proportion?

Because $7 million is not just a number.

It’s:

Years of stability for hundreds of people
A chance to prevent suffering instead of reacting to crisis
An opportunity that’s now gone

And maybe that’s what stings the most.

Not just the money—but what it represents.

A system that can mobilize quickly and spend massively—just not always where it matters most.

Reflective Questions

What should governments prioritize when resources are limited?
How do we balance public health emergencies with ongoing social crises like housing?
Who decides what is urgent—and what gets delayed?
What would you have done with $7 million in your community?

Keywords

housing crisis, Vancouver rent, taxpayer spending, public priorities, homelessness, government spending, social justice, cost of living, policy failure, British Columbia

Thursday, April 9, 2026

Tribute to Elder Shane Pointe (Te’ta-in

A Tribute to Elder Shane Pointe (Te’ta-in)

There are some teachers who teach skills.
And there are others who change the way you see the world.

Elder Shane Pointe was the second kind.

I met him through the carving and reconciliation program at Langara, but to call it a “class” doesn’t come close to the truth of what it was. We didn’t just learn to carve—we were brought into something deeper. Something raw. Something honest.

We carved two panels.
One for the Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women.
One for the children from residential schools who never came home.

It was heavy.
There’s no other word for it.

We cried. Often.
We talked about things most spaces avoid.
We broke the usual rules—because this wasn’t a usual classroom.

We ate together.
Every Friday, we shared a meal before we began.
And then we sat in circle and told the truth.

Elder Shane would drum and chant—deep, powerful, something you didn’t just hear but felt in your chest, in your bones. I can still hear it now… that deep sound that seemed to come from somewhere beyond the room.

His nephew, Aaron Neson Moody—known as Splash—would drum and sing with him. Together, they created something that can’t be easily explained.

You had to be there.

This was also during the time of the pipeline protests. He spoke openly about his worries for his daughter, who was there. At one point, she had been missing for six months. When he finally reached her and asked where she had been, she simply said, “Having fun.” Maybe she didn’t want to worry him.

That honesty—his willingness to share his fears, his humanity—stayed with me.

So did his wisdom.

One day, I told him, “The system is so broken.”

He looked at me and said,
“No. It’s working exactly as it was designed.”

That moment woke me up.

Elder Shane didn’t just teach carving.
He taught truth.
He taught awareness.
He taught us to see clearly, even when what we saw was difficult.

At our final ceremony, when we gifted the carvings, something happened I will never forget. As he drummed, suddenly there was a huge crack of thunder—and the rain poured down. The timing was so powerful it still gives me goosebumps.

You had to be there.

Looking back, I realize he carried a lot. And even years ago, I sensed he was tired. People like him give so much of themselves—to community, to truth, to healing.

Elder Shane Pointe was a respected Elder of both the Musqueam and Squamish Nations, a powerful speaker, teacher, and Knowledge Keeper. His passing is a profound loss to all who learned from him and all who were touched by his presence.

It is also deeply sad that he did not get to see the towers completed—something that mattered, something connected to the future he was helping shape.

But I believe that someone like Elder Shane doesn’t stop working. He simply continues in a different way. Free from the weight of the physical world, still guiding, still present in the teachings he left behind.

We carry him forward now.

In the carvings.
In the stories.
In the truths he wasn’t afraid to speak.

And every time I hear that drum in my memory, I know—
he’s not gone.

He’s just on a different part of the journey.

Funeral and ceremony details will be shared as they become available.

— Tina Winterlik (Zipolita)

When “Fat-Free” Went Too Far:

When “Fat-Free” Went Too Far: What Olestra Taught Us About Food, Power, and Pushback

There was a moment in the 1990s when the future of food was sold to us in a shiny, crinkly bag of chips.

No fat. No guilt. Eat as much as you want.

It sounded like magic.

Instead, it turned into a cautionary tale—one that still matters today.

The Great Experiment

Olestra was introduced as a revolutionary fat substitute. It passed through the body without being absorbed, meaning zero calories from fat. For a culture obsessed with dieting, it seemed like the perfect solution.

But our bodies had something to say about that.

People began reporting side effects—cramps, digestive distress, and, most notoriously, loss of bowel control. The phrase “anal leakage” entered public vocabulary in a way no one expected or wanted.

This wasn’t just a minor inconvenience. It was a collective “wait… what are we eating?” moment.

When the Public Pushes Back

Here’s the interesting part: people didn’t just quietly accept it.

They complained. Loudly.

They told their friends. They made jokes. They stopped buying the products. Eventually, warning labels were required, and the whole thing faded out of mainstream food.

This wasn’t a top-down correction. It was bottom-up.

People trusted their bodies more than the marketing.

Fast Forward to Today

Now here we are in Vancouver in 2026.

Food feels… off again. But in a different way.

Not explosive. Not immediate.

Just quietly concerning.

Everything is ultra-processed
Prices are sky-high
Fresh food feels like a luxury
And somehow, spending $35 barely gets you milk, berries, and a few basics

So what do people do?

They adapt.

You see it everywhere:

$5 frozen pizzas becoming staples
People skipping meals
Choosing shelf-stable over fresh because it lasts longer
A slow drift away from whole, nourishing food—not by choice, but by cost

The Bigger Question

Olestra was obvious. It made people sick in ways they couldn’t ignore.

Today’s food system is more subtle.

No warning labels for:

Long-term health impacts
Nutritional gaps
The psychological toll of food insecurity
The normalization of low-quality, high-cost diets

So where are we now?

Are we in another experiment—just slower, quieter, and harder to prove?

What Hasn’t Changed

What gives me some hope is this:

People still notice.

People still talk.

People still push back—whether it’s through growing their own food, supporting local farmers, or simply questioning what’s on their plate.

The Olestra story reminds us that the public isn’t powerless.

When something feels wrong, it probably is.

And when enough people say it out loud, change becomes possible.

A Small Morning Thought

Maybe the “gross-out giggle” is part of it too.

Because sometimes the absurdity wakes us up.

We laugh… and then we ask better questions.

And maybe that’s where real change starts.

Reflection Questions:

Do you feel like today’s food system is transparent enough? Why or why not?
Have you changed your eating habits because of cost rather than choice?
What would “good food access” look like in your ideal community?
How can individuals push back when something feels wrong in the food system?

Keywords: food systems, processed food, Vancouver cost of living, Olestra history, food safety, grocery prices Canada, food insecurity, public health, corporate food industry, consumer awareness

When Safe Places Stop Feeling Safe – A View from Vancouver

When Safe Places Stop Feeling Safe – A View from Vancouver

I used to believe that if you worked hard enough to build a life in a “good” neighborhood, you could create some sense of safety.

That’s why I chose Kitsilano in Vancouver.
That’s where I raised my child.
That’s where I felt, for a long time, that things were okay.

Yes, things happened over the years — a shooting on York and Cypress, a murder in a nearby building — but those felt like isolated incidents. Tragic, but not constant.

Now something feels different.

Yesterday, a man threatened a woman for her phone and tried to push over her stroller. She saved her baby. He got the phone.

That’s not just “crime.” That’s a breakdown.

And people are still acting like this is normal.

We Ignored What Was Happening

For years, what was happening in the Downtown Eastside was treated like it was contained. Like it would stay there.

But suffering doesn’t stay in one neighborhood.

When people don’t have housing, when mental health care is out of reach, when addiction is untreated — it spreads. Not because people are bad, but because systems are failing.

Now it’s everywhere. And people are starting to feel it.

Something Is Happening With Health Too

There’s another layer that people are afraid to talk about.

It feels like more people are getting sick — not just physically, but mentally.

More dementia
More confusion
More people ending up in hospitals
More families overwhelmed

And it’s not just a feeling — there are increases, but not always in the way people think.

In Canada:

About 6–9% of seniors live with dementia, and that number is expected to rise as the population ages
The overall number of dementia cases is increasing, partly because more people are living longer
In British Columbia, the overall burden of dementia has been rising over time, especially in more vulnerable populations

At the same time, risk factors are also increasing:

social isolation
depression
heavy alcohol use
inactivity

So yes — more people are struggling. And families are carrying that weight.

But Why Does It Feel So Much Worse?

That’s the question no one wants to ask out loud.

Is it:

The isolation and stress from lockdown years?
Increased alcohol and substance use?
Grief, loss, and economic pressure?
A system that can’t keep up with demand?

Or something else?

People are noticing patterns, and when there are no clear answers, it creates fear — and sometimes suspicion.

But what we do know is this:

👉 Mental health needs are rising
👉 Access to care is not keeping up
👉 Families are being left to cope alone

And that creates visible breakdown in communities.

This Isn’t Just Policy — It’s Personal

While all this is happening, I’m packing my life into one suitcase.

I’m figuring out where I can stay next week.
I’m asking people for help and being told no.
I’m navigating situations that feel unstable and unpredictable.

This is what falling through the cracks actually looks like.

It’s not dramatic.
It’s quiet.
It’s humiliating.

And it can happen faster than people think.

We Can’t Ignore This Anymore

Some people say: “We need more police.”

Others say: “Just lock your doors.”

But that’s not a solution.

If we don’t address:

housing
mental health care
addiction support
community breakdown

then this doesn’t stop — it spreads.

Final Thought

This isn’t about blaming people.

It’s about asking: How did we get here?

Because once places that felt safe start to feel unpredictable, that’s not a small shift.

That’s a warning sign.

And ignoring it won’t make it go away.

Letter to Myself – September 2025

Decided to share this today

Written September 6 2025

Letter to Myself – September 2025

Dear Tina,

I’m writing this as three towers of Sen̓áḵw already rise above the bridge. The cranes move so fast it feels like glass and steel have grown overnight. By 2026, people will be moving in — thousands of them — and the place you knew so well will be transformed.

I want you to remember what came before. The green building where you found a safe home for $630 a month. The mornings you walked to work under the bridge, sometimes in the early dark or afternoon light, not always safe. That’s why you later rode your bike, keeping it close when you painted — helmet on, always ready to move.

The under-bridge world was raw. People were being robbed. Tents caught fire — sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose. Garbage piled up, graffiti sprawled across the walls. It was harsh, even frightening. But that was why you painted. Mermaids, then butterflies — to cheer it up, to bring a little beauty back. You painted because the question kept echoing: what would Chief Khatsahlano say?

Remember too the berries you picked, the cherries you ate, the birthday parties in Vanier Park, the kites in the wind. Remember how you dreamed of hanging gardens under the bridge, a farmers market, art alive in that space. Remember the way the land always pulled you back, almost karmic, as if it wanted you here. Remember also the deeper history: Chief Khatsahlano, born here, walking this ground long before the fences and towers.

Right now, it feels complicated — a mix of pride, grief, anger, and awe. Towers rising for 14,000 people, built in the name of reclamation, yet still carrying the feeling of colonization.

When you read this a year from now, maybe the skyline will already feel different, maybe your life will too. Hold on to your memories, because they matter. Hold on to your vision of what healing could have looked like.

And never stop asking: What would Khatsahlano think?

With love and truth,
Me

Tuesday, April 7, 2026

My sweet Shakira passed

English

My sweet Shakira passed away tonight😭 at 9 pm on the beach at El Caracol. She loved sitting there, watching the waves, and visiting everyone—she made friends so easily. 🌊💛

She was also the Queen of the beach 👑; when she was young, no other dog dared to mess with her 😉.

Tonight I am brokenhearted as she begins her journey, but I feel comfort knowing she is with me in spirit. That thought brings a little light in this very sad, dark time 🌌.

She took her journey as my spirit guide, clearing the path for me when I go. I loved her so much ❤️.
😪😪😪 She was an amazing guard dog, always sleeping outside my door 🐾.

We met in 2017 and spent 8 winters together ❄️, hiding and hanging out during COVID in my room, where I painted many murals 🎨—my mermaid sanctuary 🧜‍♀️.

We became such great friends when fireworks 🎆 scared her, and she hid in my room. In her last three months, she slept on the cool floor 🛏️.

She was old, her hips hurt 💔, but I think we understood each other—family changed, and we really needed each other 🤝.

She nearly passed on my birthday 🎂, but with vet visits and care, she held on…for me. I’m sure she did 🙏.

Animals are beautiful like that, and I’m so grateful 🐶💖.

It’s hard to write; my tears blur everything 😢. She was loved by so many. She was THE BEST DOG 😪😪😪

💔💔💔

I have some lovely photos to share 📸.

Spanish

Mi dulce Shakira falleció esta noche a las 9 pm en la playa de El Caracol. Le encantaba sentarse allí, ver las olas y saludar a todos; hacía amigos con facilidad 🌊💛.

También era la Reina de la playa 👑; cuando era joven, ningún otro perro se atrevía a molestarla 😉.

Esta noche estoy con el corazón roto mientras emprende su viaje, pero me consuela saber que está conmigo en espíritu. Ese pensamiento me da un poco de luz en este tiempo tan triste y oscuro 🌌.

Emprendió su viaje como mi guía espiritual, allanando el camino para cuando yo me vaya. La amé tanto ❤️.
😪😪😪 Era una gran perra guardiana, siempre durmiendo fuera de mi puerta 🐾.

Nos conocimos en 2017 y pasamos 8 inviernos juntas ❄️, escondiéndonos y pasando tiempo durante la COVID en mi habitación, donde pinté muchos murales 🎨—mi santuario de sirenas 🧜‍♀️.

Nos hicimos grandes amigas cuando los fuegos artificiales 🎆 la asustaron y se escondió en mi habitación. En sus últimos tres meses, dormía en el suelo fresco 🛏️.

Era vieja, le dolían las caderas 💔, pero creo que nos entendíamos; la familia cambió y realmente nos necesitábamos 🤝.

Casi se va en mi cumpleaños 🎂, pero con visitas al veterinario y cuidados, se aferró… por mí. Estoy segura de que lo hizo 🙏.

Los animales son hermosos así, y estoy muy agradecida 🐶💖.

Es difícil escribir; las lágrimas lo borran todo 😢. Fue amada por muchos. Fue LA MEJOR PERRA 😪😪😪

💔💔💔

Tengo algunas fotos hermosas para compartir 📸.

French

Ma douce Shakira est décédée ce soir à 21 h sur la plage d’El Caracol. Elle aimait s’asseoir là, regarder les vagues et saluer tout le monde ; elle se faisait des amis très facilement 🌊💛.

Elle était aussi la Reine de la plage 👑 ; quand elle était jeune, aucun autre chien n’osait la déranger 😉.

Ce soir, j’ai le cœur brisé alors qu’elle commence son voyage, mais je me sens réconfortée en sachant qu’elle est avec moi en esprit. Cette pensée m’apporte un peu de lumière dans ce moment très triste et sombre 🌌.

Elle a entrepris son voyage comme mon guide spirituel, ouvrant le chemin pour moi le jour où je partirai. Je l’aimais tellement ❤️.
😪😪😪 C’était une super chienne de garde, toujours endormie devant ma porte 🐾.

Nous nous sommes rencontrées en 2017 et avons passé 8 hivers ensemble ❄️, à traîner et nous cacher pendant la COVID dans ma chambre, où j’ai peint de nombreuses fresques 🎨—mon sanctuaire de sirènes 🧜‍♀️.

Nous sommes devenues de grandes amies quand les feux d’artifice 🎆 l’ont effrayée et qu’elle s’est cachée dans ma chambre. Ses trois derniers mois, elle dormait sur le sol frais 🛏️.

Elle était âgée, ses hanches lui faisaient mal 💔, mais je pense que nous nous comprenions ; la famille avait changé et nous avions vraiment besoin l’une de l’autre 🤝.

Elle a failli partir le jour de mon anniversaire 🎂, mais grâce aux visites chez le vétérinaire et aux soins, elle a tenu bon… pour moi. Je suis sûre qu’elle l’a fait 🙏.

Les animaux sont beaux comme ça, et je suis tellement reconnaissante 🐶💖.

C’est difficile d’écrire ; mes larmes brouillent tout 😢. Elle était aimée par beaucoup. Elle était LA MEILLEURE CHIENNE 😪😪😪

💔💔💔

J’ai de belles photos à partager 📸.

Easter almost didn’t happen this year 🐰🌸

Not because people didn’t care… but because life gets complicated. People get tired. Traditions quietly fade if no one holds onto them 💭

And someone said something that really stayed with me:

“If we don’t do this now… it won’t happen anymore.” 💔

And it’s true.

Growing up in Canada, Easter always felt like something everyone shared—whether for faith, family, or just the feeling of spring 🌷🐣 But things have changed so much over the years. Places like Surrey feel very different now, with so many cultures and traditions blending together 🌏✨

Last year, I remember feeling confused… I was saying “Happy Easter 🐰” and not really hearing it back. It felt like something familiar had quietly shifted.

But this year, in Vancouver, I said it again—and people smiled and said it back 💛
“Happy Easter” 🐰🌸
And just like that… something felt a little bit like before.

We sat around the table, a mix of old beliefs, new perspectives, and years of shared history 🏡

Somewhere between dinner and dessert, Monty Python came up—and for a moment, I could feel the conversation drifting into deeper, more sensitive territory…

So I said, “Oh, I remember the rabbit!” 🐇🤣

And just like that… laughter.

We didn’t debate. We didn’t divide. We just remembered something ridiculous and shared a moment 😂

It made me realize something:

Sometimes it’s not about agreeing on everything.
It’s about finding the small, human moments that keep us connected 🤝✨

Because one day, these gatherings might stop…
Not dramatically—just quietly.

And the things we’ll remember most won’t be the disagreements…
It’ll be the laughter, the stories, and yes—even the killer rabbit 🐇💫

Grateful this one happened ❤️❤️