That’s the face I wore in Vancouver on Giving Tuesday. It was like hanging a Renoir in a Dadaist museum. Also, I’m not sure what Samsung filter is making my forehead look so enormous, but I’m determined to find it.

One of the most satisfying things about having some of my writing online is being contacted by people who randomly tripped upon it, decided it was interesting enough to seek me out, and kindly make some sort of request or offer.  I’m not talking about emails from readers complimenting or critiquing my content, or butthole-puckering weirdos who try–and fail–to make hopeless attempts to impress or intimidate me.  I am referring to folks who have done surprising things such as offering me opening-night tickets to a theatrical production, or asking if they have permission to use an excerpt of my stuff for their own purposes, or most recently, wondering if I might be able to spread the word about how a simple gesture can really affect one’s mental wellness, be it positively or negatively.

Allow me to elaborate: a nice-sounding lady from Coast Mental Health Foundation contacted me a week or so ago–no, pal, not for reasons you might be thinking–because she had actually found a piece of mine written several months ago about how a stranger smiled at me in Vancouver, and I had no idea how to respond to such a bizarre phenomenon.

It wasn’t an essay posted on this blog, but instead, something I had composed for a very, uh, simple site that wanted me to contribute as a contract writer earlier this year.  It was one way to keep me occupied and collect some honest cheques despite my disliking the tone and style of writing they insisted on, but I had to cease all contributions towards them fairly recently due to a long-winded, infuriating, draining, nonsensical battle over payment.  It seemed they just didn’t want to pay me several hundred dollars that I was owed for a handful of articles–no rationale or explanation given, just “We are unable to pay our contributors at this time,” despite us having mutually signed a contract and them having paid me for my work prior to this–and the amount of time, energy, emailing, yelling in print, demanding, and unwavering persistence I had to expend on collecting my pay (one thing people underestimate me on is my legendary tenacity) was enough for me to basically grab my stuff and walk away forever.  We are talking hours of email warring that stretched across entire days, extending for weeks, all with a three-hour time difference.  I finally got my pay, but it was all very flabbergasting, stunningly amateurish on their end, and beyond belief, adding to a series of stressful events that seemed to punch me in the face at once.  

ANYWAY…this lady had found that story, and reached out to me voluntarily to see if I would be interested in participating in or contributing to what they called their Just Say Hello campaign on Tuesday, December 3, which was apparently “Giving Tuesday.”  After the consumerist whorehouse known as Black Friday, such a concept had already won me over.  In her words:

I thought you might be interested in our campaign to encourage people to “Just Say Hello!” this Giving Tuesday…People in all walks of life can feel lonely, whether it’s someone experiencing homelessness, who could go days without a single human interaction, or a new mother might feel hopelessly alone in the early days of parenthood. People living with mental illness or substance use disorder might face stigmas that isolate them, while many seniors living alone might only ever speak to the cashier at their supermarket.

But we have the power to change someone’s day with a simple smile and a Hello.

One example of people doing that every day at Coast is our team of ‘Better Together’ peer support workers, who take to the streets of Vancouver to offer a friendly hello, offer supplies and help connect people with resources.

She then linked to their contact information, as well as contacts for a few of their peer-support team members and their specific roles at Coast, which I would be very happy to share with anyone here if you are interested.  I am always thrilled to learn about new mental-health resources in the city, as they are so maddeningly in-demand, underfunded, and overburdened.  Everyone can use the comforting information that there are, indeed, people and places you can reach out to if you are having an internal crisis or just need to talk, since everyone on the planet has experienced challenges with their psychological health at one time or another.  In fact, I would venture to say that there are two types of people in this world: those who have had issues with their mental wellness, and liars.

Giving Tuesday is a terrific concept and something we as a society should urgently promote more, but which I suppose gets entirely drowned out in the wake of discounted PlayStations, giraffe onesies, and 40-gallon slow cookers, even though our country is cratering faster than Michael Jackson’s old nose and apparently we can’t even afford the basics.  Nothing like being told you can get forty percent off a Beyonce-themed toaster oven to convince yourself you absolutely require one.

Nonetheless, I wrote back to this lovely-sounding woman and let her know I would participate in my own way by taking on the immensely brave task of smiling at perfect strangers in Vancouver.  There is not one droplet of facetiousness in my saying that, either; having grown up here, and having specifically lived in the city centre for nearly a decade, I am still taken aback by how distant, aloof, and stern-faced people here are at best, and irritable, cold, and unlikeable at worst.  This only happens in Vancouver, incidentally.  Travel to any of the surrounding areas, and you will immediately feel lessened degrees of strain, hostility, and tension, and increased measures of warmth, relaxed body language, and public interaction.  Nobody here wants to make eye contact with each other, never mind do that accompanied by a merry grin.  

This has been going on for decades, by the way, and has been documented on every conceivable platform ranging from the heartbreaking corpse of The Georgia Straight to the unavoidable den of sludge known as Reddit.  When I moved to Victoria, BC, back in 2004–where I lived for three extremely joyous years–it was because I became completely fed up with how unfriendly and alienating this city was.  In fact, I wrote an article for the local rag, Monday Magazine, describing how shocked I was at how welcoming and open Victoria’s residents were, my experiences ranging from being greeted whilst cycling along the Galloping Goose trail, or being invited to play music with people I met on the street (tried looking for an archive for this, and it has been lost to the internet ether, like so much of my writing).  It was an unknowing twenty-year precursor to what I’d eventually write with regards to Vancouver’s entirely opposite social climate.

The morning of Giving Tuesday, December 3, 2024. It’s days like these where you think to yourself, “Maybe we aren’t living in such an unsalvageable shithole after all.”

I took the day to run some errands around the city and see if I could muster up the courage to smile at people.  Again: we don’t even really make eye contact with each other here, and if we do, it’s as quick as a sniff.  I mean, I wasn’t going to smile at everyone I saw, because that would invite indisputable trouble into my life.  As a woman–and as an attractive woman–it is not in my best interest to lock eyes with men and flash them a smile unless I know them.  I don’t need to get into the reasons why, because we all know why.  I’m also not in the habit of doing this with guys who I think are cute, because it’s simply not my style; for better or for worse, I’m not that brazen.  Therefore, young and middle-aged men were crossed off my list.  Men who appeared to be over the age of sixty seemed a safer bet, and the more elderly, the better.  Besides, it’s usually seniors who hold onto the vintage habit of not simply smiling at passers-by, but greeting them with a “Good Morning” or “Hello.”  It’s happened quite a few times in my decade here, and I always appreciate it, although it never ceases to startle me since it’s so out of the norm in this place.

My first stop was the Staples on Smithe and Seymour, as I had to return an item.  I didn’t even bother with my smiling mission at my starting point, which is my neighbourhood of Davie Village, because this area is home to what are arguably the most disagreeable, surly citizens of the entire Lower Mainland.  This essay, which has shockingly climbed to nearly 1,300 views since I wrote it last summer, tells you all you need to know.  This borough is populated largely by gay men–meaning I get all the attention of a cardboard cutout of a semaphore–and “gay” used to be a synonym for “cheerful,” but there is something terribly, miserably, wordlessly wrong with people in this part of town.

I walked down Thurlow and turned onto the alley that eventually leads to Smithe, figuring I could start there.  Here’s something to note: I also had to make a very conscious, very challenging decision to sort of rearrange my resting face, which is not necessarily bitchy, but is indeed serious.  When I’m in my neighbourhood, well, it just takes on the local scowl.  I kept my eyebrows raised a smidge, and the corners of my mouth turned up ever so slightly, and the whole expression actually made me feel like a softer, more approachable Nadya.  Amazing how that works (review header pic for photographic documentation of my revamped-for-civic-cheer face).

Downtown, as in any metropolitan core, is bustling with thousands of individuals who are busy doing downtown things, so having people smile at you isn’t exactly prioritized or expected.  Still, I thought I’d start in a nice, easy way by being kind to people I encountered in Staples.

The first person I saw was the security guard, smack-bang in front of the entrance, hands clasped in front and with an expression only slightly more inviting than a North Korean soldier.  I made eye contact with him and smiled.

“Hi,” I said.

He merely nodded, his face not breaking one bit.  And that was okay; I could only imagine how jaded he was to the various thieves, addicts, impatient business types, and generally rude customers he encountered.  In fact, he was probably accustomed to feeling invisible unless he had to intervene somewhere, and that realization made me feel somewhat sombre.  I silently thanked him for his downtown service.

I went to the Customer Service counter and greeted the young woman working there.  I flashed her my chompers and also greeted her warmly.  She smiled right back at me.  

“How are you?” I asked.

“I’m good, how are you?” she replied in a way that made it fairly obvious she wasn’t used to being asked this question.  

We made our transaction and I went on my way, but not before doing my Extended Black Friday best and purchasing a 60%-off journal.  The cashier was genuinely smiley and talkative, but I also recognized her accent as being Brazilian (take it from someone who has taught hundreds of them), and Brazilians are, by far, the friendliest souls I have ever had the pleasure of working with in my entire life.

Next stop was the downtown public library, where I was picking up a book on hold.  On my walk there, a completely normal-looking woman around my age gave me a small smile, which again had the effect of surprising me.  I forgot to add that, whenever this does happen, I generally give a quick smile in return and immediately look away / down, because I’m not sure what else to do.  In this case, I think she may have shown me some silent friendliness because of my nice new facial expression, which likely stood out in massive contrast to the severity of the bustling surroundings.

At the library, I once again smiled at the security guard, who happened to be a rather small young woman.  She smiled back at me.  Since the environment at VPL is mostly quiet and not crowded, it’s much easier to catch people’s attention than on the mean streets of Terminal City, so I remembered my rule of giving all men except seniors a blank stare (which is my general rule anyway).  Many people of advanced age spend time at this library, so when I passed by a woman of perhaps seventy years–I honestly am terrible at telling people’s ages–we made eye contact and I shyly gave her a gentle smile (no teeth).  To my delight, she gave me a very kind-eyed, genuine smile in return, and this actually lifted my spirits.  

My next errand was to take the Skytrain to Joyce / Collingwood, as I often shop for my produce there.  This might sound nuts, but listen to me, fool: in downtown Vancouver, I have paid eight dollars for one zucchini, two potatoes, one grapefruit, and a bulb of garlic.  No word of a lie.  At Consumers Produce on Kingsway, I will struggle home with two entire canvas bags of vegetables for roughly twenty dollars.  Do I want one lemon for one dollar, or four lemons for one dollar?  A bunch of green onions for $1.99, or a bunch of green onions for 69 cents?  A long English cucumber for $1.79, or a long English cucumber for 89 cents?  I could go through every price point at this fantastic joint, but I think you get the idea.  Being a very thrifty gal who knows how to live on very little money, I don’t see the issue in taking the train a few stops to save many, many dollars whilst walking away with loads of food.

There was absolutely, positively, categorically no fucking way I was going to smile at anyone on the Skytrain, and I never have, and I never will.  If you choose to do so, well, I have no pity for you and whatever comes next.  That is one place where you just sit or stand, you scroll on your phone, you stare out the window, you eat your Tim Horton’s, you text someone, you sneak sips from your mickey of vodka, you close your eyes for a bit, you do some last-minute cramming for an exam, or you gawk at your feet, but you absolutely never make eye contact with someone for any amount of time, let alone flash them a Coppertone tan smile.  I don’t care who it is, whether it’s a Filipino nanny with her young brood or a construction worker fresh off his shift.  Keep to yourself.  Keep everyone and everything safe and quiet by minding your own business and not starting anything.  We are all trying to get from A to B, maybe even C, and sharing a cramped space of questionable odour several metres above the ground with perfect strangers isn’t something anyone aspires to do unless it’s out of necessity, which it always, always is.

The Joyce / Kingsway area is interesting and appealing because I know it well: I lived here several years ago, and I worked here a few years ago.  It’s a very underrated, cool, enjoyable place in the city–right before things technically turn from Vancouver into Burnaby–with wonderful ethnic shops, independently-owned stores, diverse eateries, and a satisfyingly low number of corporate retail chains.  It’s out of the hectic downtown core, but it also happens to be permanently bustling with cars and pedestrians alike, so interactions aren’t very commonplace.  However, one thing is very noticeable: people here do not carry the same weight of absolute tension and barely-held-together sanity on their faces.  They look busy, they look preoccupied, but they do not look as though they would pull a Longlegs if their barista accidentally gave them the wrong brew.   

Additionally, many of the people here are of Asian descent–primarily Chinese–and it’s always kind of been this way, so there is a vast language barrier.  They have their own communities and keep politely to themselves, and so do we non-Asians.  Consumers Produce is entirely Chinese-run and it’s understandably packed all the time, so the cashiers are brisk and efficient, and wouldn’t comprehend why the bottled redhead purchasing sixteen lemons at once is wearing an alarming rictus on her pale visage.

On my walk back to Skytrain, I did manage to make eye contact with a woman and her very young children, and gave her a small smile.  She gave me an identical one in return.  I also stopped into a small Japanese goods store (who doesn’t love a Japanese goods store?), and made friendly talk with the saleswoman there who spoke fluent English.  It was quite nice to have that interaction, and she even showed me a new product that removed period stains from panties beautifully.   I especially appreciated that bit of bonding over something every woman can relate to, and at pushing fifty, am both pleased and confused as to how I still can.

Back to downtown, where it was more of the same.  However, some bearded guy sitting by himself at an outdoor table said to me as I walked past, “Hey, beautiful.”  

I couldn’t actually believe it.  I gave him a very authentic smile and said, “Hey.”

“Have a great day,” he called as I walked past.

He wasn’t asking for change, he wasn’t drunk, and he didn’t say it in a sleazy way.  Remember what I said about being a nearly fifty-year old woman?  Hearing that kind of random compliment in a sea of much younger women actually made me feel great; I’ll be honest.  If I had been wearing suspenders, I would have stuck my thumbs beneath them and given them a jolly stretch.  

As you can probably tell, my increasing age is starting to enter my thoughts more than ever before.

Feeling pretty satisfied with my day overall, particularly since I never voluntarily smile at people in the city, I walked back to my neighbourhood–my weird, weary neighbourhood–and waited to cross Davie Street.  An older woman who appeared to be around sixty (again, I’m hopeless here) approached me and said, “Excuse me.”  

Now, I’m very much accustomed to people asking me for directions, even when I’m travelling, which I have always chalked up to having a very purposeful gait and looking as though I know where I’m going.  Which, of course, I always do.  

I took an earbud out, prepared to give her my Vancouver geographical expertise. “Yup?”

“Is today Wednesday?”

She, too, was not inebriated, nor did she seem suspicious, but was frowning and really seemed unsure.  

“No, it’s Tuesday.  The third.”

She nodded.  “Okay, thank you.”  And walked off.  

Don’t go changing, Davie Village.  Lord knows I’ve had those days myself, and plenty of them.

*   *   *   *   *

What’s my takeaway?  I guess that it really does make a difference to show just a wee bit of kindness to someone.  I know that I felt pretty good about the few interactions I had on Giving Day, whether it was my offering some niceness to an unknown person, or them offering it back to me.  I also truly believe that the facial expression I had adopted for the day made an enormous amount of difference in how I decided to approach people, and in turn, how approachable I may have presented myself as being.  The storm clouds are evident on people’s faces here in Lotusland, and it’s not without reason.  

…it being Taylor Swift weekend this weekend is probably making it even more so.  The locals have added eye-rolling to their typically gritty look.  I can’t even believe how much of a production this is, and how the city is absolutely opening wide for her appearance; you’d think Jesus himself scheduled the end of his world tour at BC Place Stadium for three nights.  And you know what?  That might actually be what’s happening.  I’m going to shelter in place as tens and tens of thousands of people navigate traffic, scramble for accommodation, and excitedly watch a billionaire become even richer thanks to them happily handing over their life savings to watch her on a Jumbotron.  If I feel inclined, I’ll write about it

Oh, and in exactly two weeks from today, I’ll be a nauseating forty-nine years old.  Thus, I decided to take my midlife panic to Elon Musk heights and get me a young and hip and groovy and with-it hairdo.  Here’s my debut:

I’m completely kidding, of course.  What a sorry sight. That’s my ponytail flipped over because I was playing around with how I’d look if I cut bangs or something into my mop.  And I’d look like an idiot.  

Til next time: give someone a smile, not a smirk. Tasking, I know.

Love,

Nadya.