In this blog I reflect on the heartwarming experience of watching Will & Harper at TIFF, and hearing a Q&A with Will Ferrell and Harper Steel two meters from me, afterwards.

This blog post is a reflective journey through the streets of Toronto, specifically the College Street area between Bathurst and Spadina, where I spent my early twenties. It's a mix of nostalgia and introspection, as I revisit places that hold deep emotional ties to my past, particularly Kensington Market—a place that symbolizes community, defiance, and my connection to my father. As I walk these familiar streets nearly a decade later, I find myself confronting the memories of who I was and what I’ve lost, while also acknowledging the growth and wisdom I’ve gained. This piece is about the powerful grip of memories, the changing landscapes of both cities and selves, and the enduring love for those who have shaped our lives.

Last year, I had the opportunity to interview the mighty Nina Santos. Our beautiful conversation spanned many topics. Nina shared her experiences growing up in the Philippines, when her father worked overseas to support her family until she (alongside her mum and younger brother) could immigrate with him to Aotearoa New Zealand. We discussed immigration, feeling like an “outsider”, a work ethic born out of wanting to make her parents proud, imposter syndrome, and ultimately realising that one’s identity is more than what they do for work. We even managed to cover some iconic TV shows along the way. I hope you’ll enjoy our conversation as much as I did.

On the day of my mum’s surgery, she said to me: I truly can’t say which emotion outweighs the other; grief or gratitude. And I agree. I am so thankful for the army of people who are supporting our family. We have lost count of the number of people who have been “praying” for my mum, whether through religion or simply “positive vibes”. And I personally have a long list of things to be grateful for, despite this horrible hand we’ve been dealt.

I truly believe there will be an aspect of this interview that resonates with any listener, as we explored his childhood, growing up with a single mum in a small town in Ontario, deciding to leave home and ride his bicycle around the world, meeting my mum and pursuing a more mainstream life path for many years before divorcing and eventually setting sail on this world voyage. So, after a bumpy ride in the punctured, half-inflated dinghy to and from the boat in Sarangan to collect the equipment, we successfully set up in our unique little villa in Uluwatu for a wonderful conversation.

In February 2022, I had the privilege of sitting down with Ayla over a few ginger beers and picking her brain about all things te reo Māori, te ao Māori, living overseas, education, language, working in the public sector here in Wellington, and what we could all do to contribute more to our communities. Despite the fact that Ayla is younger than I am, she inspires me endlessly. I hope you’ll enjoy reading her words as much as I enjoyed hearing them.

A journal entry and reflection about losing my grandmother during the pandemic.

Collectively, I think we were all transformed by the realisation that you can sit all of two meters from someone every day and only really have a surface-level understanding of what they’re going through.

I didn't know how to articulate that on one hand I'd met an incredible guy, but on the other hand I was miserable, lonely, unfulfilled, and unable to picture what my future would look like. I was struggling to redefine my identity as an expat or immigrant without the people who have always been by my side. How do I explain that the best year of my life was also the worst?

I lay alert in their guest bed, taking in my new surroundings. After months on the boat, I was extremely conscious of the stillness. I realized how familiar I had become with every sound on the boat. The dull rattling of the anchor chain, the creaks of the wooden floor boards, the ocean. These sounds were replaced with new ones that night.

Starstruck by the night sky, my dad and I took turns keeping a lookout for other boats in the darkness. I had never seen stars so bright, with absolutely nothing competing with their light. I felt incredibly small, yet somehow entirely safe.