I’ve always thought that the things we treasure reveal an unfiltered snapshot of who we are. Like the carefully curated belongings that populate your bedroom shelves or the go-to items in your bag, they tell your story—not the polished, Instagram-ready one, but the real, messy, heart-at-the-core one. So, in the name of over-sharing (you’re welcome), here’s a peek into mine: the essentials I rely on to ground me in the chaos of daily life and the kaleidoscope of relationships that shape it.
The Clear-Blue Kayak That Saved My Sanity
On a sunny day in Kitsilano, you’ll spot the sheer madness of paddleboarders, windsurfers, and kayakers converging on the glistening waters of English Bay. Among them, my clear-blue kayak glides in an unhurried zigzag. Whether I’m paddling out past the bustle of Jericho Beach or floating idly near the sea lions who couldn’t care less about my existential musings, this kayak gets me.
During my last breakup—a particularly messy one that ended with me leaving a scarf (and a chunk of my dignity) at his place—I discovered the true healing power of water. I’d haul the kayak into the waves and lose myself in the rhythm of paddling. It’s impossible to feel sorry for yourself when a salty breeze is sassing your face, your arms are aching, and there’s a freckled seal staring at you like you’ve spilled tea on its favorite rug.
Relationships are a lot like kayaking. Find your rhythm, embrace the calm, and learn to weather the choppy currents. The kayak has taught me plenty about moving forward, even when you kind of want to stay still and sulk.
Hong Kong Milk Tea: A Hug In Disguise
If you grew up in a family-run café, like I did, food isn’t fuel—it’s soul currency. My parents’ café was famous for its silky-smooth Hong Kong milk tea, slow-brewed and meticulously strained not once, not twice, but three glorious times. It’s bold, creamy, and unapologetically comforting.
These days, I don’t make it nearly as well as my dad could, but even an okay attempt reminds me of home’s steady hum of clinking cups, Cantonese chatter, and bittersweet resilience. It’s a grounding ritual for mornings when life feels like a pre-coffee email inbox: chaotic and unreadable.
When I’m navigating the “What are we?” phase of dating or replaying an awkward family dinner in my head, milk tea is the hand on my shoulder, whispering, “You’ve got this.” It’s like therapy, but hot and caffeinated.
My Ocean Stone: Cheap Therapy in My Pocket
Hear me out. There’s this smooth, grey stone I picked up on a Tofino beach one summer. It’s unassuming and perfectly palm-sized, and yet it feels like it holds all the wisdom of the tides. Maybe that’s dramatic, but stick with me.
I carry this stone around everywhere: in my jacket pocket, at the bottom of my tote, probably rattling between receipts and gum wrappers right now. When I’m wrestling with overthinking—Why hasn’t he texted back? Did I come across too needy?—I hold the stone and rub its ridiculously smooth surface like I’m a character in an indie film processing some major life #feels.
Does it cure anxiety? Not even a little. But there’s something about its quiet permanence that reminds me to breathe. Relationships, to me, are like that stone: beautiful, imperfect, and often shaped by forces we can’t control. (And if you manage to vibe with someone who’ll accept your slightly witchy rock habit? Keeper alert.)
My Knockoff Doc Martens: A Journey on Two Feet
So, here’s a mildly embarrassing confession: my trusty boots aren’t even real Docs. They’re a solid dupe I picked up in Melbourne during my university exchange year, after spending all my cash on lamingtons and tram rides I forgot to tap out of (Melburnians, you get it).
These boots walked me through nights of head-bobbing indie gigs, questionable dumpling spots, and long walks along St Kilda’s foamy shores. Back in Vancouver, they’ve scuffed their way through Granville Island markets, dates at hole-in-the-wall ramen shops, and awkward Subway rides home after ghosting-worthy Hinge meetups.
They’re a reminder that real comfort isn’t about perfection; it’s about finding something (or someone) who can weather the storms with you. Also, for the record, my knockoff Docs have never betrayed me with a blister. That's more than I can say for some relationships.
“Sailing By” by Orla Gartland: The Playlist Anchor
Every epic playlist needs an anchor—a track that feels like revisiting your childhood bedroom, where nothing fits anymore but everything still fits. For me, it’s “Sailing By” by Orla Gartland.
I first heard it as I walked along a Melbourne pier at dusk, lights flickering and salt air heavy with possibility. It’s followed me ever since, through writing sessions at cozy Kits cafés and awkwardly slow dances in living rooms. Its melody hums with nostalgia, hope, and the bittersweet ache of growing up.
Share a song with someone new and it becomes this living thing—you hear it differently once it’s tangled with their laughter or lipsync attempts. And when things fall apart, the song might scratch at the edges of hurt, but eventually, it finds its way back to you, like an old friend who knows your heart better than you do.
My Cracked Journal: A Time Capsule of Chaos
Finally, the MVP of all my essentials: my beat-up leather journal. Its pages are crammed with unfinished poems, lopsided sketches of people I’ll never show (because I’m clearly not a visual artist), and cryptic notes like, “Should love feel like the third mug of wine?”
Journaling is my way of reminding myself that the mess of my emotions—all the hopes, heartbreaks, and half-laughs—is worth documenting. I think we’re so quick to dismiss the mundane chapters of life: the solo Sundays spent reorganizing bookshelves, the casual text exchanges that didn’t “lead anywhere.” But those moments are what shape us.
I’ve scribbled so many dating mishaps into this journal it basically counts as an unofficial romcom screenplay. And maybe one day, I’ll look back on all these slightly anxious reflections with the kind of fondness reserved for younger siblings: messy, infuriating, but heartwarmingly authentic.
Whether it’s milk tea warming my hands or my weather-stained boots taking me to another unknown, these seemingly small things keep life steady. Maybe one of my essentials sparks an idea for your own—or maybe it reminds you of your own little lifelines, the ones that tether you to yourself when the world feels overwhelmingly big.
Because whether you’re riding the highs of connection or wading through uncertainty, there’s value in the anchors—the people, items, and moments—that keep you afloat.
