It started out like every other day. She rolled out of bed, made her coffee, and perched herself in her favourite spot on the east-facing patio.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To Stella, the east is where the day is born. The sun first appears, its golden rays gently coaxing the world into action. To her, this signifies the importance of positivity and light. It wasn\u2019t long ago that everything in her life seemed perfect. Perfect job, perfect family, she had it all. As she gave into this train of thought, she thought back to her early childhood.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She had a stable, if unspectacular childhood. She was not overly popular, but she was liked well enough. She would never be described as an exhilarating person, but rather as safe, stable and reliable. It was in this mediocrity that she thrived.\u00a0\u00a0 Her home life was much the same; her parents had seemingly been together forever. Sure, they had their share of tense moments, but they always seemed to come out the other side of them. While inspiration was not their strong suit, love and stability was. Thinking back on it, a smile starting to appear on her face. She always felt safe at home, regardless of what was happening in the outside world. Her foundation was solid, there was always mom and dad, there was always her childhood fortress; these things all added up to her sense of home. It was when she was deep in this thought, that very precious moment, when the phone rang.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Stella glanced at her watch, it was only 8am; for a moment she hesitated as the sun was just clearing the top of the forest behind her house. That glorious moment when one feels in touch with nature, the warmth of the sun providing the same sense of security for her that home did. It was then that her sense of curiousity overtook her; who would be calling so early, what in the world could they want?<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She slowly rose, and chided herself on her ingrained sense of obligation; yet another carryover from her upbringing, her inbred desire to be there whenever anybody called. She told herself that it was selfless, but deep down she knew it wasn\u2019t. These acts of service did more to satisfy her sense of purpose more than her desire to help others. She learned this from her parents. They had a habit of being \u2018helpful\u2019, even when their presence was unwelcome. Perhaps this was a byproduct of her introverted personality? Perhaps this was how she reached out to the world. Maybe it was just her strong sense of curiousity? Whatever the reason, she lunged for the phone and picked up the receiver.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was her cousin, and childhood best friend, Joan. There were no pleasantries or platitudes in this conversation, just an explosion of frantic dialogue. While only half listening to Joan, as she had a habit of carrying on like this, Stella got lost in the story of how she met her soul mate.\u00a0\u00a0 She met Steve while she was at work one day; handsome and funny he had swept her completely off of her feet. It wasn\u2019t the dialogue of the phone call that brought Steve to mind, but the abruptness of it that triggered her memory. Her parents were unimpressed with him, not personally, as they found him rather charming, but in what he represented. He was a break in the solidity of their family unit. Her relationship with Steve was all encompassing, and for years she tried to live in this self-concocted duality. She tried to evolve into her new role as a life-partner without severing her ties to her parents. Even as an adult, her parents represented security, and most poignantly home. In building her future with Steve, she was faced with the task of reconciling her past. Her parents and their stability versus Steve and his passion. She knew from her childhood example that she had to buy-in with Steve, but what of her parents? Where was the balancing point, was there a middle ground\u2026<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was in this moment when Joan recaptured Stella\u2019s attention. It was abrupt, a single phrase that did it; there has been an accident, it was pretty bad\u2026<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was her father, there was a drunk driver, or perhaps he was drunk. The details didn\u2019t really matter, as it appeared as if he wasn\u2019t going to survive this. Her mind wandered back to her childhood impressions of him. He was stoic, strong and stubborn. He rarely bared his soul, but when he did that is when his true essence shone through. He had a strict sense of duty to family that had more than imprinted on her; it had enveloped her. It was this that caused her to fight when Steve expressed his dislike for where their relationship was heading. It was her insecurities, also from her father, that had caused most of the fights in the first place. It was this that saw her wake up alone on this morning, her sense of duty that triggered her stubbornness. Joan slowly brought Stella back into focus; in the short amount of time Stella had become engrossed in her own thoughts her father had passed. Her childhood broken, but her future secured.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
She hung up the receiver and mechanically returned to her patio. As she slowly brought the cup of coffee to her lips, fighting the accompanying tremble, she decided it was time. She finished her coffee and picked up the phone. When Steve answered, all she could do was sob.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It started out like every other day. She rolled out of bed, made her coffee, and perched herself in her favourite spot on the east-facing patio. To Stella, the east is where the day is born. The sun first appears, its golden rays gently coaxing the world into action. To her, this signifies the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":40999,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[305208],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-32","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-unit-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/40999"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=32"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":33,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/32\/revisions\/33"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=32"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=32"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.ubc.ca\/seansturm470\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=32"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}