The N and the G

I could’ve called myself anything on this blog – but I chose Janille N G.

You all know the story of the Green Heart by now. I’ve talked at length about why I named this blog The World of my Green Heart, and why the symbol of the green heart is so significant to me. (Future tattoo, perhaps? More on this one day soon!)

What I’ve never talked about, though, is why I decided to sign my posts and make all my social media accounts under the name Janille N G. It is my name, rest assured. But why do I include my middle initial? And why am I so attached to my last initial as well? Why not just be Janille and leave it at that?

The N comes from my maternal grandmother. She was an absolute sight to behold, I am told – the most gorgeous, classy woman, with an Audrey Hepburn-esque style and a sophistication that exuded from her every perfect pore. She came to Canada from Lebanon when she was just a teenager, and with her remarkable determination, she picked up both English and French fluently. She leant me (and my mom) our raven black hair and our sparkling brown eyes, as well as our affection for red lipstick. I have also been told that she was the kindest, most caring and generous woman that ever graced this Earth. Not a single person I have ever met has an ill word to say about my grandmother, and on the contrary, I have been told so many amazing stories about her that she has become this overwhelmingly impressive figure in my mind. And I am absolutely certain that she would have adored my fiancé and wrapped him in her arms as if he were her own grandson.

My grandmother passed away at the very young age of 57 after a long battle with breast and ovarian cancer. I was a year old. But whenever I have had the choice, on my university diploma, on all my IDs, on my marriage license, I have chosen to include my middle name in honour of her. And of course, I knew I wanted to include my middle initial as part of my identity on my blog.

The G comes from my paternal grandfather. He was the life of the party, and was in some ways very different from me, from what I can tell. He was constantly joyful, loud and fun, not bogged down by any anxieties or fears. I am told he had the kindest heart and was loved by literally every person he ever met. A true Italian to the core, he was fiercely loyal to his family, providing for them in every manner, but also encouraging my grandmother to get out of her comfort zone. I firmly believe he would have been the perfect grandparent for me to hang out with – I can see him urging me to calm down about my school and work stresses, taking me out for a big breakfast and reminding me that he will love and be proud of me no matter what I do in my life. I can see him at my university graduation, cheering louder than anyone and being impressed by the ambiance and mystique of it all. And I can clearly see him as the heart and soul of my wedding day, encouraging everyone to get on their feet and dance the night away. He had a larger than life personality!

My grandfather passed away at the devastatingly young age of 47 after a long battle with kidney and bone cancer. I was months away from being born. This is a story that absolutely breaks my heart whenever I think about it, particularly now as I am about to get married. My own father has now surpassed his father’s age, my grandmother lost her beloved husband when they were only 47 years old…that is too young, much much too young. What’s hardest for me to fathom, though, is the fact that I was so close to being born when he died. He was months away from becoming a grandfather (I am the first grandchild on both sides of my family), but unfortunately the doctors couldn’t tell my parents if I was a boy or a girl because I was flipped on my freakin’ head or something. So, my grandfather never got to learn if he would have a grandson or a graddaughter…and so many times when I was young, I wanted to just have the power to go back in time and poke him on the shoulder and say, Hey! It’s me, I was a girl! But I can’t do that, and I never will be able to.

I don’t know if I believe in God, but I have to believe that both my grandparents can see me now, as I plan the wedding I have always dreamed of. And, of course, they have become my Something Old as I will be sewing small pieces of their old clothing into my wedding dress.

When it came time to decide whether or not I wanted to change my name after marriage, the choice was easy for me. I have always known that I want to keep my name exactly as it is, mainly because I am so attached to what it represents and who it honours. My fiancé adamantly agreed (his own mother never changed her name), and so I intend to remain Janille N G for the rest of my life.

Janille N G

Girl with a Green Heart

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The Persian ~ Le Personnage Principal of A Christmas Fairytale

All signs led to him.

“I was immensely interested by this story of the Persian. I wanted, if there were still time, to find this valuable and eccentric witness. My luck began to improve and I discovered him in his little flat in the Rue de Rivoli….I also went into the past history of the Persian and found that he was an upright man, incapable of inventing a story that might have defeated the ends of justice.”

~ The Phantom of the Opera, Gaston Leroux

Long before I read a single Victorian novel, I was obsessed with a different story. The musical The Phantom of the Opera was my absolute favourite story from the moment my grandfather first took me to see it when I was in elementary school. Something about the heartbreaking love story (which is so similar to my favourite Disney movie, Beauty and the Beast, in many ways) touched me profoundly, and my passion for the music, characters and eventually the original French text of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra has been ingrained on my heart for what feels like my entire life. I sincerely believe in the power of music on the human soul, and the soundtrack to The Phantom of the Opera has very much been the soundtrack to my life – it is the music I instantly turn to when I am stressed, the opening notes from The Point of No Return are my alarm clock tone, and I have derived infinite pleasure from seeing the musical on more than half a dozen occasions, in many different cities around the world.

Years later, when I started studying the French language, I picked up Gaston Leroux’s novel and flew through it. This was a turning point for me, when I realized that I did in fact understand French…and that I absolutely adored the language. I would not be even close to where I am today, in terms of my education and my career, if I didn’t speak French, and I credit my desire to pursue the language all throughout my schooling to my first experience of reading and loving Le Fantôme de l’Opéra. The text branded itself on my heart alongside Andrew Lloyd Weber’s gorgeous music.

I remember distinctly when I was in third year university and stressed out of my mind studying for my French exams (ironically). That was the year that the 25th anniversary production of The Phantom of the Opera was performed at the Royal Albert Hall (again, ironic, considering that the venue is named after one Prince Albert of England), and lucky for me, it was broadcast by Cineplex at a theatre only 10 minutes away from my home. I bought tickets as soon as I learned they were on sale, and since I was single at the time, I dragged my mom with me to the theatre. I was truly and utterly blown away by the production, and I became attached to the portrayal of the characters by Sierra Boggess, Hadley Fraser and most particularly Ramin Karimloo. Karimloo performed as The Phantom, and although I will always be loyal to my first Phantom, Colm Wilkinson, Karimloo totally blew me out of the water with his incredible voice and tortured portrayal of one of my favourite characters. I was obsessed, and I went home and Googled him immediately, purchasing as many of his CDs as I could. I learned that Karimloo was Iranian born and had moved to Toronto when he was a child. He grew up in Toronto, where he first saw The Phantom of the Opera, and because of Colm Wilkinson, decided to pursue acting and singing. I didn’t know much about Iran, but somewhere in my searching I read that Iranians are often referred to as Persian…whatever that meant. It certainly wasn’t relevant to me at the time.

Flash forward to just over a year later, when a bookish girl who believed in nothing more than True Love sat down across from a kind, gentle, loving boy. He asked for her phone number, after only moments of speaking to her, and the rest, as they say, is history. In an attempt to get to know this new guy who had entered my life and who seemed to be taken with me, I started texting my now fiancé before our first date, asking him some key facts about himself. One of these questions was his nationality, to which he replied Persian.

Persian… Persian… I scratched my head at that one and asked my mom where exactly Persia was on the map. Turns out, it isn’t on there anymore and my mom (who is Lebanese) explained that Persian people hailed from Iran. Then, it hit me…Ramin! He was Persian! Well, if that sexy, brilliant singer was Persian, then I was certainly planning to give this new guy a chance. I went on my first date with SS with an open mind and heart. (Imagine my disappointment, though, when I learned early on that he couldn’t sing. Haha!)

It wouldn’t be until years later, when I was studying the text of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra again that it all came back in a flash. The Persian…arguably the most influential and significant character in Leroux’s novel. He is written out of the musical adaptation for reasons of keeping the plot concise, I can only assume, but he is the character that is responsible for most if not all of the action in the novel. He is the one who guides Raoul down to the Phantom’s lair to save Christine. He is an intimate friend of Erik, the Phantom. And, he is only ever referred to as The Persian. How could I forget this character? And if the text of this novel was stamped on my heart…then perhaps a Persian man was there too, long before I ever met my very own Persian man in real-life.

References to Persian rugs and artifacts abound in Victorian literature too. They’re seriously everywhere. Was I perhaps, then, being led toward SS throughout my entire life?

It’s funny how Fate works. I remember vividly that in high school, I was constantly looking for signs from the universe that my crush was my future husband. If his name was whispered in my vicinity, or I saw an object we had talked about or that was somehow associated with him, I took it as this notice from Fate that yes, in fact we would end up together. But, needless to say, we didn’t, and in the years before I met SS, I often wondered what the point of all those signs was. Now, I realize, I was looking at the wrong signs; I was being distracted, led away from realizing that a Persian man had always played a role in my life, from childhood, and that one Persian man in particular would become the love and light of my life.

There are tricky and problematic things about Iran, no question…but now that I know a thing or two about Persian people and their culture, I can say that they are warm and genuine, caring and good, and I am very lucky to have a number of them in my life. Ramin, of course, with his voice that soothes me when I’m stressed. And, my fiancé especially, whose very presence in my life is something I consider a real miracle.

Janille N G

Girl with a Green Heart

It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like… ~ The Start of a Christmas Fairytale

Once upon a time there lived a boy and a girl who loved Christmas.

Okay, they were more like a man and a woman, but in the interest of not aging myself too much (my birthday is tomorrow and I’m still insisting on hanging onto my girlhood, although I am distinctly in my mid-twenties now), let’s consider them young-ish adults. When this boy decided to marry this girl, after only a few years of courtship, he proposed to her on a blossoming May day. The sun was shining, the air was clear, the flowers were out and about, waving at the passersby. It was a glorious day to celebrate such a beautiful union!

But, the girl didn’t want to get married in May…or in any warm season, for that matter. No, this particular girl, with her raven hair, pale skin, and blushing cheeks and lips, had always dreamed of getting married during what she believed to be the happiest time of the year ~ Christmas.

Flash forward to almost a year and a half later, and this boy and girl are in a flurry of wedding planning. It is only just over a month until their nuptials, which will take place on December 22nd, and they have settled comfortably into a home in their favourite city. What they didn’t consider when moving in, however, was that they would want to bedazzle their new home in honour of their Christmas wedding…and since it was already past November 1st, what were they waiting for?

The boy and the girl were eager to get to the local arts and crafts store and pick out their first (albeit artificial) Christmas tree, along with ornaments, ribbons, the whole lot. There was just one problem, though: neither the boy nor the girl owned a car (although, it is important to note that the girl could drive; she just had no interest in owning a car herself). How on Earth were they going to get a Christmas tree home with them? Sure, the store was only a 30-minute walk away, but weren’t Christmas trees usually big and heavy? The boy reassured the girl that he could handle it, flexing his muscles while he was at it, and the girl pushed all worries out of her mind, thinking they could sort things out in due time.

Flash forward again to 2 hours later, when the boy and the girl are scurrying down the busiest and longest street in their city, carrying not 1, not 2, but 3 Christmas trees! When they saw the incredible sale on trees at the store and realized that they could get 3 trees for the regular price of 1…well, how could they resist? They were, after all, the ultimate Christmas enthusiasts! And it seemed that the residents of their favourite city were taking notice: they got multiple stares from people walking past (particularly as they took their many breaks along the trip home), and one man even stopped them to ask if perhaps they had gotten a bit carried away, getting 3 trees? The girl replied, confidently, “Absolutely not, Sir! Christmas is the happiest time of the year, so why not make the most of it?” She smiled and continued brightly, “Have a very Merry Christmas!” The boy smiled too, his heart growing about 10 sizes at how utterly adorable the girl was! *cough cough*

The boy and the girl would look back fondly on this hour-long trek, and the story of their first, most ambitious Christmas would be passed on from one generation of their family to the next, as their grandchildren and great-grandchildren shared the story of JNG and SS’s first official Christmas together.

~ If you haven’t gotten it by now, that boy and that girl are none other than my fiancé and me. And, it’s definitely true – we did indeed walk an hour home, lugging 3 Christmas trees, just last weekend. Our place couldn’t look more festive (aka absolutely perfect)! Would you like to see?

We decided to wrap our kitchen cabinets like presents, and gave each one a label. Some of the “gifts” are from our favourite literary characters!

 

Our 2 smaller Christmas trees, named after our favourite brothers and fellow Christmas enthusiasts: Ernest and Albert.

 

Our large Christmas tree, affectionately named Tree #108 (inspired by Queen Victoria’s Doll #123).

Stay tuned for more Christmas-y blog posts coming soon, as wedding month kicks off here at The World of my Green Heart!

JNG

Girl with a(n Ever)Green Heart

My Victorian Condition ~ A Life Talk

I could never be a Victorian.

Isn’t that ironic? How many times have I mentioned here (and in my life in general) that I would love to have lived in the Victorian era? I mean, for god sake, my bio on the side of this very blog’s homepage professes…

~ I would trade this life for a Victorian life in a heartbeat. ~

But, it has come to my attention recently that there is no way I would survive a Victorian life…and it has everything to do with one tiny thing I have been carrying around for my entire life. My anxiety. Now, I know there’s a stigma about mental health issues, which is definitely going away slowly, but is still pretty prevalent in society. Not many people feel comfortable about discussing their mental health struggles, and honestly, I’ve always sort of been one of those people. I talk very openly about my anxiety with my close friends, my immediate family and my fiancé, but it’s not something I’m exactly eager to shout from the rooftops. I’d like for the people I work with not to have any clues about it. I never revealed it to any of my classmates or my professors. I just always felt that it was the sort of thing that needed to be kept silent, or at least not have attention drawn to.

I’m very lucky because my anxiety is not debilitating and, to be honest, I’ve never had it diagnosed. But believe me when I say that I know I suffer from anxiety because I have read enough about it and seen enough examples of it in my life to know what it looks like. Although it is most certainly a different experience for each and every person, I have witnessed enough different forms of anxiety to know that my nerves and worries are more severe than most other peoples’. And perhaps I should feel shy about writing this post (even know, as I write it, I wonder if I will ever actually post it on my blog), but part of me just wants to write about my personal experiences, not only to get them out there for others who may be struggling, but also to help sort through them myself. Writing has always been a cathartic and therapeutic pastime for me, and so it seems like the best method to unravel my anxieties and get to the root of them.

My anxiety manifests itself as a preoccupation with things that are unlikely and illogical, but terrifying. I become fixated on one idea, one fear or source of nervousness, and I find it hard to stop my fixation and rumination on this notion until another one slips in to replace it. Don’t get me wrong, I have good periods when I’m not that consciously anxious about anything in particular, but at any given moment, if I sit down and think long enough, I will be able to pinpoint one or two things to be nervous about. As I said, these things are often totally outlandish and ridiculous, and yet I latch onto that slim chance that it may happen and sometimes make myself sick at the thought. I am getting better at realizing that my anxieties have no actual basis in reality, but that doesn’t mean that I’m able to overcome them entirely. I may never be able to do that, and I am strangely okay with that…I know that anxiety will be a part of who I am forever, and I also know that it will be one of the biggest things in my life that makes me strong and resilient. I try as much as I can to use my anxiety to my advantage, to try to become a stronger person because of it, as hard as that may often be. It has made me resourceful and driven to persevere and not let it stop me.

My anxiety is also always worse in times when I am incandescently and extremely happy. For whatever reason, it seems like, whenever I am most content and confident, my anxiety kicks in and reminds me that everything can disappear in a flash. It’s the ultimate manifestation of the “glass half empty” mentality…my anxiety is constantly there to encourage me to be prepared to lose everyone and everything, to make me believe that happiness is fleeting and fragile. These are the points when my anxiety is most exhausting, because I am most frustrated with myself. These are also the times, though, when I feel most compelled to work on my anxiety, to try to combat it by being even more joyous and ignoring the tiny voice inside me that warns me to be pessimistic. It is at these moments that I get fed up with myself and my overactive brain and try to live fearlessly and boldly!

Recently, however, it came to my attention that 3 of my biggest most all-encompassing anxieties would absolutely prevent me from living the life I have always professed to want. Ever since I was young, but definitely more so now that I have moved out to my own home, I have been predominantly anxious about 3 things: fire, lice and bed bugs. I think that most people would be afraid of these 3 things and the inconveniences they cause, but my anxiety will go to the point of exhaustion, where I am checking my hair every night, or pulling my bed apart to get at my mattress, or feeling terrible nerves whenever I am out even though I checked that the oven was off 3 times before leaving. It does tire me out, no question, to have these 3 worries constantly at the back of my mind, and I have actually gotten to the point in this fatigued state where I have almost broken down in tears after seeing a firetruck randomly drive in the vague direction of my home. Again, I think most, if not all, people would be terrified by the thought of enduring a fire or the inconvenience of having lice or bed bugs, but my anxiety causes me to take that fear to the extreme.

Which brings me to why I could never be a Victorian… It is a pretty widely known fact that the 3 most prevalent issues in Victorian society were fire, lice and bed bugs. As coincidental as this may seem, I wonder if maybe my anxieties stemmed from reading and watching so many Victorian stories when I was growing up. In any case, it’s no shock to anyone to learn that a large part of London burnt down in 1666…although that was centuries before the Victorian era, fires were still a huge occurrence in Victorian England. And don’t even get me started on lice and bed bugs…it seems that almost every Victorian household had them, and I once read an article somewhere that suggested that at any given moment in Victorian society, 85% of children had head lice. I have to be frank, I didn’t want to do any research for this post as I wanted to speak of my own personal ideas more than anything else, so those statistics may be off. But there is no doubt that the things I fear on a regular basis were spreading rapidly during the Victorian era.

When my best friend, CV, mentioned to me that I could never live in the Victorian era because all of my greatest fears were a viable risk, I was immediately disappointed. Time machines don’t exist (just yet), so it wasn’t like I was exactly missing out on a trip to Victorian England…but at the same time, it felt like my anxiety was actively preventing me from doing something I had always wanted to do. Generally, I don’t let my anxiety get in my way, but here was an example of a limitation, a society I couldn’t have lived in comfortably no matter how much I love it and wish I could visit it. It was shocking, to say the least, to think that this lifestyle I put on such a pedestal was also one that would have terrified me on a daily basis…and it was eye opening. Anxiety should never ever prevent you from doing anything, and that is something that is not always easy to wrap your mind around when you’re having an anxiety attack or fixating on something. For me, it was helpful to have this reminder, to have a moment of clarity where I realized that these things I fear are things that other people have gone through and survived, and are things that don’t happen all that often in a time I am very fortunate to live in. It was an interesting source of perspective for me, a little extra jolt to try to force down my anxieties about these issues, to try to talk myself out of them and work through them.

I am and always will be a Victorianist, and it seems that my own particular Victorian condition is to be wary of the very same things that my Victorian counterparts and idols would have been concerned about. Whatever that says about my anxiety, it does remind me that there are certain things I will never be able to dodge or control, no matter what time I live in, and that it would not necessarily be simpler to live in what many people perceive as a simpler time. At the very least, I am reminded now, on a daily basis, that the people of the past had many more reasons to be afraid (by my standards, anyway), and yet they lived, they didn’t fear, they somehow managed to go up against greater risks than I face currently. So if Queen Victoria can be strong, surrounded by all her candles and gas lamps, why can’t I? I think I can, because I do, after all, have all those Victorian inclinations, both good and bad, way deep down inside me.

Janille N G

Girl with a Green Heart

The Ambitious, But Not Impossible Reading Plan…

Hello again dear Readers!

I’m actually here, doing an update on a Sunday…go figure!

Today marks the first day of October and the start of the best time of year! In my opinion, the stretch from the beginning of October to the end of December is the loveliest time because of the perfect, crisp Fall weather and the anticipation of Christmas and the New Year. As you all know already, this Christmas is going to be particularly exciting for me, and so I am already counting down the days until 2017 wraps up.

With that being said, I was recently thinking about how I want to end my reading year. How many more books do I hope to finish before 2017 is up? Which book do I want to be reading the week before my wedding? Do I have time to finish another series before then? This all led me to make a list of the books I currently own and hope to have read by the time January rolls around. This is somewhat ambitious because last minute wedding planning is ramping up, but I am confident that I can at least get most of this list done.

What do you think – can I do it? Are there any books you would recommend I swap into this list?

The Books I Want To Finish Before January:

(in the order that I would like to read them)

  1. The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee
  2. Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo
  3. Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo
  4. If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio
  5. Jane Steele by Lyndsay Faye
  6. Rochester by Sarah Shoemaker
  7. Jane Eyre by (the queen) Charlotte Brontë

Notes:

If I can manage to finish all 7 of these books before the end of 2017, that will bring me to a grand total of 52 finished books for the year… MUCH higher than my Goodreads goal of 18 books which in hindsight was very low. (I’m thinking of setting a goal of 52 books for next year, but we’ll see how that goes!)

As you can probably tell, I’m going for a Jane Eyre theme leading up to my wedding. I definitely want to be rereading Jane Eyre right before I get married (I’ll explain why closer to the date), and I thought it would be cool to lead up to this reread with some newer adaptations of my most beloved story.

So, here we go – let’s finish off 2017 with a bang!

JNG

Girl with a Green Heart

Wednesday Words ~ Spotlight on “Sunscreen”

Hello dear Readers and happy hump day!

We’re already at the middle of the week… Can you believe it?  I’m extremely grateful for the fact that this week seems to be flying by because there is just too much excitement in my life at the moment to sit at work all day!  I’m getting restless, to say the least.

Welcome to my first ever Wednesday Words post.  I’m not going to lie to you all and pretend that this sort of post is going to become a weekly thing here on the blog, because Lord knows that I find it hard to do weekly updates, what with being torn between reading and writing reviews for the 2.5 million books I have in my room.  Having said that, I was thinking that whenever I have a particular passage or quote or song lyric I’d like to share, I’m going to try to do it on a Wednesday (what can I say, I’m a fan of alliteration!) and go into greater depth analyzing the quote in detail.  So, look out for more Wednesday Words posts in the future (if not consistently)!

Today’s spotlight is on a song that I recently stumbled upon in this great Spotify playlist called “Your Favorite Coffeehouse”.  I’m new to Spotify – I have an iPod which I update regularly, so I never felt the need to use the Spotify app – and I am loving it!  Although my iPod is great for listening to music at the gym or on the subway, it doesn’t allow me to discover new music or artists, and I find it hard to listen to music for too long with headphones, so I wanted a means of listening to music out loud from my work computer.  Spotify allows me the perfect opportunity to do that, and I’ve already found a bunch of new songs that I am really fond of and would’ve never heard otherwise.  It also has some great playlist collections, like the Coffeehouse one which is absolutely brilliant, and I was able to save entire albums from artists I adore, like HAIM (Something To Tell You is THE album of the year, in my opinion) and Bruce Springsteen.  I swear, there is nothing Spotify doesn’t have and I love having all this music at my fingertips!

One of those amazing and new (to me) songs is called “Sunscreen” by Ira Wolf.  I have to admit, I know nothing about Ira Wolf.  Although I saved a bunch of her other songs on my Spotify account, I haven’t gotten around to listening to them just yet…because I have been listening to “Sunscreen” on repeat ever since I first heard it.  Honestly, I made a playlist called “On repeat…” with just this one song so that I can listen to it over and over, uninterrupted.  It is just the loveliest little song – so romantic and simple and easy to listen to that I can’t stop.  I latched onto the lyrics as soon as I heard them because they so eloquently and creatively emphasize the routine, mundane and simplistic aspects of love.  Love is about being accepted, of course, but also about having that companion who may be flawed but perfectly complements you in every way.  Love is about having someone with you for the everyday moments, for the little events and occurrences that no one else can possibly fathom or appreciate.  I think Ira Wolf hits the nail on the head with her lyrics about wanting someone to be there every single day, to support and guide her, and to put in that effort to be a true friend and lover.  The lyrics speak for themselves, so I am going to include them here and highlight the portions that touched me most profoundly.

“Sunscreen” is a beautiful song, a work of poetry put to music, and I sincerely encourage you all to have a listen!

Enjoy your Wednesday and look out for more song recommendations coming soon!

JNG

Girl with a Green Heart

*Note: This post was in no way sponsored by Spotify…trust me, I’m not enough of a music aficionado to have Spotify pay me any particular attention – haha!

Beyond Representation

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words. But, it isn’t worth a thousand feelings.

Yesterday was my bridal shower. Today I’m feeling melancholy, which is a sentiment I’ve very used to after big events. When I was a child, I used to cry after weddings or birthdays because I was so distraught over the thought that this huge occasion that I spent so much time looking forward to was over. I have that same feeling today. I didn’t plan any aspect of the shower – my amazing parents and my incredible Man of Honour, my brother, took care of everything – but I knew that it was going to be an awesome day, and although I tried my very hardest to soak up every single moment, today I’m left with the sensation that it passed me by too quickly. I know the wedding (less than 3 months away now!) will pass in much the same way and the thought terrifies me. I’m trying to figure out ways to really focus on how I feel in my dress, on how wonderful it is to have my best friends and closest family around me, on how remarkable it is that such a good and kind man has chosen to make me his wife…but I already know that so many of the little moments will go unnoticed.

I just wish a photo could capture a feeling, or transport you back in time. I have no doubt whatsoever that our talented wedding photographer is going to get some perfect snaps of the day and each special moment, but when I look at those photos months or even years later, won’t my memory of the moment still be hazy? Will I ever be able to get the exact feelings back? Probably not. I know this because yesterday, I tried so hard to take one photo that would capture exactly how excited and loved and supported I felt on my bridal shower day, and all I got was this…

Although it’s an okay photo and reflects the room where we had afternoon tea, at the King Edward Hotel in Toronto, quite well, it still doesn’t capture my overwhelming emotions. At the moment when I took the photo, I was alone in the high tea room, music from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack playing around me, and I was just quietly reflecting on the fact that so many people loved me enough to celebrate my upcoming wedding with me…and also that one man loved me enough to want to give me this absolute dream life. And yet, when I look at this photo now, it just seems so inadequate. It shows a very happy girl in a beautiful place…but it can never show just how happy she is or how beautiful her life has become.

What’s worse is that this is the only photo I took the entire day. Of course, my bridesmaids took some wonderful photos and my family members and friends are excitedly posting photos on social media, but none of them are photos seen through my eyes. None of them reflect what I was thinking or feeling in that moment, and no photo is really powerful enough to do that anyway.

As I wrote in my Instagram post when I uploaded my lone bridal shower photo, the emotions I felt yesterday are beyond representation. The love I feel for my family members, my best friends and my fiancé is too big for this world, let alone a single photo or even a lengthy blog post. And, now that I think of it, I would rather be living in the moment, seeing the event through my own eyes rather than through the filter of a lens…so I have determined that if on the wedding day I don’t get a single photo, at least I can use my eyes and my green heart to try to soak up every last detail.

xox,

JNG

Girl with a Green (and Very Full) Heart

JNG’s Weekly Round-Up #4

Apologies are in order (I feel like I apologize a lot on this blog, for missing posts, eh?)…I missed my Weekly Round-Up last week, but I promise I have a great excuse! Last Sunday, I fully intended to write up … Continue reading