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I’ll be traveling to Japan for the next few weeks so I won’t have time to write new articles but I will be using this blog to post photos and perhaps short stories if I find the time.
See you soon!
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This is our living room. Like the other rooms in our home, it isn’t big, but what it lacks in size, it makes up in height and cachet. This means that we’ll be using these tall walls by adding lots of shelving in order to store our (quickly growing) collection of books, DVDs and random deco items. I’ve commissioned a huge built-in style bookshelf to be assembled by my step-dad. It will replace the precariously standing unit we have right now. Good thing we don’t live in an area with strong seismic activity because that thing is so unstable that I’m scared it’ll drop any time I even so much as walk next to it!
Living Room The chosen color scheme of the room is a dominant of white with fushia, yellow, blue and black accents. This is reflected in the mural that I painted on the back wall a few months back. When we visited the place, as soon as I spotted this huge piece of wall, I knew it would be covered in art. I had a few designs in mind but I ended up choosing to replicate a drawing I’d done six years ago, that I’d always kept because I loved the look of it. It represents a funky, lively view of a modern city, with highrise buildings that are more Hundertwasser then Rockefeller.
Cities inspire me. I grew up in a small town, but I always had big city dreams. Ever since I was young, I was absolutely fascinated by metropolises like Paris, New York or London.
We didn’t come often to Montreal, but every visit was memorable to me, so I couldn’t wait to move here when the time to go to university came. To me, cities are vibrant, colorful and beautiful with all their imperfections. There’s always something to discover because the evolution is constant.
Even though I live in one now, my passion for big cities is still not satiated and I’m always attracted to objects that feature urban patterns on them. That’s why I decided to play around this theme for the living room.
This built-in armoire is what sold the apartment to me. It’s so unique and cool (regardless of the old fashioned stucco design inside and bad paint job done by the previous owner, we’ll fix that!).
We inherited this sofa from family, and although it’s nice and comfy, the original forest green slipcover really didn’t do it for me. I’d love to have it reupholstered but that would cost a fortune so instead, I used the easy solution: sheets. Never one to leave things just like they are, I had to paint them up Pollock style.
There’s still so much work to be done but we are doing things at our own rhythm and trying to do them the right way.
For now, welcome to my living room. Sit down, relax, have a cup of tea, I’ve got lots of stories to tell you here!
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I got this card for my birthday two years ago. A colleague had gone out to the papeterie next to our workplace during her breaktime. When she came back she handed me an envelope with, inside it, this cute card.
She said it reminded her of me.
I look Asian. I know that’s a vague affirmation, but that’s what people think when they first see me.
I have a round face, a small button shaped nose, dark brown hair and almond shaped eyes.
When I meet someone, I know they’ll eventually ask me where I’m from. For some, it’ll come soon after we are acquainted, where as for others, it will take more time. One friend tells me now that she first thought it was a sensitive subject since I didn’t bring it up myself so she was afraid to ask.
It isn’t. The whole truth: I’m the product of many mixes like most people. On my mother’s side everyone has been Canadian for multiple generations and on my dad’s side I have an Italian grandpa and a Canadian grandma. So where do those almond shaped eyes come from? The most plausible explanation is that someone, somewhere along the line, was a native American. We don’t know for sure and haven’t bothered to check, but it’s what’s most likely.
When I was young, people thought that I was adopted. Whenever I was asked, I laughed it off, but sometimes I’d stare at my parents, wondering: ‘What if? Is there something they are hiding?’
‘No, that’s impossible’. I’d shake the thought off instantly. Over time, I noticed that I’d inherited the same body shape that my dad’s sisters had, as well as his hair and my mom’s delicate features, so I felt reassured.
For other people though, it isn’t so clear. Just last week my downstairs neighbor asked my boyfriend if I was Japanese. I wish!
I’ve also been mistaken for a latina girl by a flirty counter guy at the Dominican bakery close to my former apartment. He addressed me in Spanish, and when I looked at him, confused, he said ‘You’re not latina?’. ‘No.’ I replied.. ‘Really?’ He asked, seeming doubtful.
When people ask ‘the question’, most times I’ll tell them to guess. It creates so many possibilities and I love hearing people’s perception when they see someone that looks different enough to them that they’ll enquire about their origin, whilst still seeming local. I’m lucky, I’ve never felt racism because of my features (language is another question but that’s a whole other subject to write about). Once, a kid in elementary school called me a stupid Chinese girl but that hardly counts.
Most times people will think that I’m Vietnamese, Chinese or Korean. My boyfriend, on our first date, guessed that I was Mongolian (no joke!).
I love to hear all the possibilities of what I could be in the eyes of someone else. Sometimes I’ll even play with that idea a little bit before disclosing the truth to the person I’m with.
Like I said before, I myself don’t know all the elements of the truth. I have no idea where this native blood fits into the genealogy of my family. One day, if I have time and money to spend on that type of research I’ll do it. For now, I like not knowing. It kind of makes it more exciting to keep things mysterious.
Who knows what’s real? Does it matter? Will knowing the full truth change my identity or my view of the world?
Another funny story:
In 2009 I traveled to Rome with my boyfriend. We were people-watching at the piazza navona, when suddenly I saw this little girl, about 3 years old, playing with the pigeons. She was the spitting image of me at the same age, face, haircut, colorful clothes and all. When the pigeons stopped being friendly, she started crying and her parents came to comfort her. That’s when we realized that her father was Chinese and her mother Caucasian. Interesting!
I wonder if, wherever she lives, she’ll be faced with the same question over and over again, like I am.
I hope if she is, she’ll have fun blurring the lines of her identity like I do!
Little Japanese girl, little Chinese girl, little Italian girl, little Léa….
A storytelling home by Léa Plourde-Archer 