SewSweet

needles and thread of everyday life

10 notes

Donations for David and Emily

greetingsfromcanadaland:

Hello friends, family, kind and loving strangers.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? David and I met in the Fall of 2003. He had recently moved to Vancouver, British Columbia to attend a bicycle mechanics trade school; I was diving head first into my first semester at Chapman University in Orange, California. We had never met, and likely never would have if not for the wonders of the internet. 

Most of you are familiar with, or have heard of, the social media website MySpace. Well, back in 2003 it was brand spankin’ new and connecting people all over the world. You didn’t have to know each other in person, have gone to school with, or be connected through friends of friends to make new connections at that point. You could search for people interested in the things you were interested in and BOOM, connection made. Neither David nor I can remember exactly who friend-ed whom, or how we made it to each other, but it was likely our love for nostalgic cartoons (Power Rangers, anyone?) that eventually linked the two of us together. Thus, sending us on the longest, most adventurous love story we ever could have imagined. 

Over the course of the next eight years David and I were virtual pen pals. We chatted and connected over relationships gained and lost, concerts attended, movies watched, hopes and dreams both big and small. In the early months of 2011, David asked if I’d like to have coffee with him via Skype. That video coffee date led to many more. Soon we were spending all of our free time glued to our computer screens, chatting on our cell phones and dreaming of a world without borders where we could be together. 

In June of 2011, we decided to take a giant leap. I sold all of my belongings, quit my job, and got on a plane headed for Victoria, BC. I stepped onto Canadian soil with my suitcase naively packed full of sundresses, ready to meet the love of my life in person for the very first time. We had planned this meeting down to the very last detail: our eyes meeting across the crowded baggage terminal, the run-jump-catch-hug that would swing us in circles as the travelers around us watched. I don’t need to tell you that that is obviously not how it went. This isn’t the movies, ya know. I had looked around for him for quite some time and resolved to find him after I had gathered my things. While waiting for my luggage to come around to me, I felt a tap tap on my shoulder and knew. This was it. Here he was. I was so nervous that I awkwardly hugged him (too tight, arms in all the wrong places) and kissed him quickly on the cheek (more on his neck, if I’m being honest… I was so nervous, he’s lucky I didn’t puke on him instead).

So began our whirlwind romance in Canada-Land. Over the next two years we hopped back and forth between Victoria, BC and Oceanside, CA, before finally being stopped by Canadian immigration in August of 2012. We were lucky to meet with a Canadian border guard who was having a very good day, he told us he’d allow me to enter Canada, with the promise that we would seek out a proper visa. We rejoiced! We filled out what felt like a million pages of official documents, became legal Common Law partners, and mailed it all to Ottawa, Ontario with fingers crossed. In March of 2013, we got the best news- I had a Temporary Resident Visa that would allow me to be in Canada legally until December 30, 2013. We were elated. For the next few months we made sure to make the most of our time there. We travelled to Kamloops, BC to visit with David’s mum, Jacki, and to the house he grew up in at Pinantan Lake, BC. I met his stepfather, Bill, and spent time with his brother John and his partner and heard the wondrous news that they’re expecting their first child in February. We attended weddings and travelled all over the island we called Home.

As my visa’s limit came to an end, we made the choice to seek greener pastures in my home State of California. Our plan was to stay with my family while seeking the guidance of a lawyer to see about getting a visa for David similar to the one I had held in Canada. We gave notice at our apartment, the apartment David had resided in for 9 years. We sold off our furniture and David left his job. We happily packed all our things into boxes and shipped them off to his mum’s house for safe keeping until we had a more permanent residence. We put our warmest weather clothing into three suitcases, said goodbye to our friends whom we love like family, and headed for the Victoria Clipper (a ferry that sails between Victoria, BC and Seattle, WA). 

While going through US Customs before boarding our ferry, we ran into some trouble. As it turns out, because we had filed Common Law (which we had to do in order for me to apply for my Temporary Resident Visa) David would no longer be able to enter the US for pleasure trips. He would forever be regarded as a Canadian citizen attempting to immigrate to the United States, and unless he had a visa and could prove his ties to his home country he would not be permitted to cross any US borders. The US border guard who was handling our attempted entry went as far as to accuse us of “playing house,”  told us we were lucky she didn’t ban him from entering the US for up to five years,  and that we needed to “get married, pick a country and stay there.” The conversation was ended by her telling us that David would not be allowed to pass through to the US that day, or any day for the next three months. With two days left on my visa, we were devastated.

With no job and no apartment to go back to, we turned to our circle of friends who graciously agreed to house David until he could find a suitable place to live. In the mean time, I boarded the ferry bound for Seattle, heartbroken and without my other half. It’s been four days, and while we are weathering this storm of anger and sadness as best we can, we are determined to be productive. David was able to see an immigration lawyer in Victoria, who said that we have more than enough proof of the validity of our relationship, and could file for my Permanent Residency in Canada. If all goes well with the filing I could be back in Victoria, with David, by the end of March. When he told me on the phone after their meeting, I wept, overcome with the joyful thought of once again being by his side.

While asking for financial help is not something David and I are comfortable with, it’s our only option. The fees that come along with hiring a lawyer and filing governmental documents are high, and need to be paid quicker than we could ever dream of earning them. The internet once gave us the ultimate gift of love by connecting us in the first place; we thought we would see if we could rely on it for help just one last time. In total we need to pay $8500, with the first $2000 being due on January 31st, a mere 28 days away. We are both working our hardest to earn enough money to cover it in our respective countries, but any help you could give would be worth its weight in gold to us.

We thank each and every person who has taken the time to read our story, and if you are able to donate (big or small, even your morning coffee money would help) know that you are giving your hard earned money to good people, with the best intentions. You can donate by clicking the “Donations for David and Emily” link at the top. We love each other very much and only want to be able to share our lives together. We hope that you and yours are happy, healthy, safe, and holding hands this New Year.

 

Love and warm regards,

David and Emily

(via witchesoath)

771 notes

There is not TIME in your DAY to remind someone of how wonderful you are. And not in the Tyra Banks Disney Channel movie self-empowerment way, either. In the factual way. In the way that if someone does not speak French, and you are walking around speaking French all day long, it’s just not a fair exchange. You do not have TIME on this EARTH to tread water and slow down to educate some idiot re: why you’re an asset and a treasure and an honor to be around. If he can’t figure it out, he’s a moron. Done. Next. It’s actually that easy. And I know it doesn’t always feel like it, but goddammit you need to fall in love with someone who looks at you and is like, “Holy crap, here is the human! Here is the human that is different from all of the other humans!” and if you’re fucking around with anything less than that, then you’re wasting your own time more than anything else, and as your friend I’m just not going to stand for it. This guy does not love you. You don’t even love him, you just want him to like you because WHY DOESNT HE? But at the end of the day, fuck it, my angel. Fuck it, and fuck him, you do not have TIME in your DAY to solve extra credit math problems. You are too busy being wonderful.

my friend just forwarded me an email I wrote to him a year ago and this is the key takaway I think all people could benefit from (via christinefriar)

I think about this so so sooo often.

(via yrthebossapplesauce)

(via areyoukiddingmewiththisshiiii)

16 notes

yrthebossapplesauce:

I rly should have known better than to date the dude when we weren’t even dating and he wanted to see my blog so I sent him the link and he wrote back, “Girls are fucking monsters” and didn’t talk to me for a week. THANK U 4 YR UNWARRANTED SLUT SHAMING YOU MISOGYNISTIC FUCKING SCUMBAG. 

(Source: areyoukiddingmewiththisshiiii)

263,229 notes

People hate that I flip two cigarettes
Upside down in each pack
for luck,
But I hate that people notice
When you gain three pounds,
But not when you buy a new hat.
I’ve been told that the way I sleep
With one leg draped over
The person lying next to me
Is annoying,
But I think it’s annoying
When people tell me
I look pretty,
But only when I paint my face.
I’ve heard that old men
Like to touch the girls who work late at bars,
But I want to know
Why they never kiss the women they married
fourty-two years ago.
I’ve noticed that mothers teach their daughters
That it’s rude to refuse a hug
From an uncle they’ve met three times,
But forget to teach them
That they aren’t obliged to kiss
The boy who paid for dinner.
(via wellbothdrinkanddrive)

(Source: thewriterandthewildflower, via areyoukiddingmewiththisshiiii)

15,208 notes

'I think about your thighs,' he wrote in the second letter, 'and the warm, moist smell of your skin in the morning, and the tiny eyelash in each corner of your eye that I always notice when you first roll over to look at me. I don’t know why you are better and more beautiful than anybody else. I don’t know why your body is something I can’t stop thinking about, why those little flaws and ridges on your back are lovely to me or why the pale soft bottoms of your New Jersey feet that always wore shoes are more poignant than any other feet, but they are. I thought I would have more time to chart your body, to map its poles, its contours and terrains, its inner regions, both temperate and torrid - a whole topography of skin and muscle and bone. I didn’t tell you, but I imagined a lifetime as your cartographer, years of exploration and discovery that would keep changing the look of my map. It would always need to be redrawn and reconfigured to keep up with you. I’m sure I’ve missed things, Bill, or forgotten them, because half the time I’ve been wandering around your body blind drunk with happiness. There are still places I haven’t seen.'
Siri Hustvedt, What I Loved (via comelyhomely)

(Source: larmoyante, via areyoukiddingmewiththisshiiii)

42,086 notes

But, even if you’re not fat, if you’re a woman, you’re probably still so caught up with your toxic weight shit that you can’t even see straight. During my working life I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been part of these ridiculous workplace group diets. Almost all of the participants have been women. Sometimes they even try to bribe one another with money. They all put in ten dollars on the first week and whoever loses the most wins the pool at the end of 4 months, or whatever it is. Look, I’m like you. I’ve done it too. And at a perfectly normal, healthy weight I’ve done it. All because of a sick, shitful, ugly little voice in the back of my head that tells me I ought to be smaller.

And that’s the rub, right there. Exactly why do we want to be smaller? What exactly is the appeal of being smaller? How does it benefit us? Does it make us better mothers? Better students? Better lovers? Better artists? Scientists? Friends? Does it make us more badass badasses?

No, no, no, no, no. You must see that it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything but make us smaller.

Babies and puppies are small. So are dimes and Skittles. You’re a fucking woman. A woman! You are entitled to occupy as much fucking space as you like with your awesomeness, and you better be suspicious as fuck of anybody who tells you differently.
Why, ladies? Why must we continue to whittle ourselves down? Who is it for? What is it for? You can walk through a certain aisle at the pharmacy or at the grocery store and see the language of diminishment all over the packaging for weight loss aids of all kinds. “Shrink your waist.” “Lose inches off your thighs.” “Slim down.” “Get skinny.”

How about “Grow your mind.” “Increase your confidence and productivity.” “Beef up your knowledge.” “Enlarge your scope of asskicking.”

That’s a valid message for women and girls: grow, expand, branch out, open up, get bigger, wider, faster, stronger, better, smarter. Go up not down. Get strong, not skinny.

You are not here to get smaller. You are not here to have a thin waist and thighs. You are not here to disappear. You’re here to change the world! Change the fucking world, then! Forget about “losing a few pounds.” Think about what you could be gaining instead.

Not a food post. But absolutely wonderful.

Ladybud.com 

(via rolivetoeat)

This is absolutely wonderful. 

(via crazysexyfierce)

(Source: heyheyjules, via deuxencore)