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Let us.

Let us be whole.
Racing across a continent like the vast vacuum of seafoam.
Let us be whole.
I will sink into your heart, floating elegantly like a child in the Dead Sea. Feeling no weight other than than the decompression of salty relief.
Let us be whole.
So that I can dive into the body of water made by bed sheets and body language.
Let us be whole.
So that you can trace our absence with your fingers across the gorges of my two toned foreign skin.
Let us be whole.
Let me kiss you like the first time I tasted red wine.
Let me love you like the first spring bite of a ripe fig.
Let me tumble into your body as if I was a graceful tide. Let us be whole.




My life is a bundle of questions that go something like this: “how much can I work?” “How much can I save?” “Where can I cut corners?”

Saving to go traveling is a lot more stressful than I remembered, and sometimes I think I am forgetting to actually enjoy the fact that I have a ticket to Europe, and that this is really happening. 

Beyond my anxiety and OCD to save, I took my rare and rainy evening off to listen to Bon Iver in my kitchen, prep meals for the week, and remember what I am really grateful for. 

#1 my rad new tattoo 

#2 the wonderfully bearded, open eared and equally as open hearted, loving man lying next to me. 







I have been in a number of relationships. Most of them toxic, suffocating, and detrimental to my mental health, to my bank account, and to my overall well-being. Usually not all of those things at once, but at some point, whether they started off happy, or ended in plea, since the age of 16 I have engaged in these consistent webs of lovers that make me feel like shit. 

I have a number of girlfriends and male friends that admire my strength to break free from these binding relationships and start fresh. Sometimes I do that in different continents, completely alone, and sometimes I do that while writing ridiculous amounts of poetry.

I also have a number of friends that scold me for inevitably engaging in another impossibly romantic endevour with another man who seems perfect but once again, leaves me gutted. This is my achiiles heal-love and my inability to run away from it. I am a romantic. I am a lover. I am a poet. And I feel the strongest when when I have broken free from love, or when I am coddling it endlessly. My adult life has been a vicious cycle of loving, and hurting and that spell has been on repeat for the better part of seven years. Seven very long and arduous years. 

Finally, I feel that I have dipped my calloused feet into a healthy, loving, and beautiful relationship. I have thought this before mind you, but in the past, I was used, I was condescended, and I was suffocated. I was not Brittany Tiplady, writer, dancer, and dreamer. I was Brittany Tiplady who cares nauseatingly for her boyfriend, and all of his whims and fuck my own because being a girlfriend means being an obedient house pet. Right? 

And so, after ending a long distance pseudo marriage with a man I truly believed would be my husband someday, I had a lot of reflecting to do. And by reflecting I mean I needed to re-learn what it means to be a woman, what it means to be me, and what it means to be a partner in a healthy relationship that suits both my lifestyle and that of my partner. It was a long road that beat the shit out of my self-esteem, and after talking emphatically to all the right women and all the right men, and being encouraged by all the right friends, I rebuilt myself into the woman I want to be. The Brittany Tiplady that is a strong and confident 23 year old human being finishing her degree, hustling three jobs, struggling with a shopping addiction, planning a year long trip to Europe, writing impossible amounts of poetry, and loving a new partner that has fuelled all of those things, and more. Instead of taking them away from me. 

I did not know that being with a man, in a healthy way, was supposed to encourage all the things I dreamt of and then encouraged me to dream a little more. I did not know that my wants and dreams and wishes, were not supposed to be suppressed or entirely sacrificed. They were supposed to be encouraged. They were supposed to be the reason why someone loved me. I didn’t realize that I shouldn’t be loved because I gave up everything I wanted for that person. But that I should be loved, because having my own goals and ambitions, and keeping them, is all the more sexy, and all the more beneficial to my partner and to the beauty that is honing a personal life and personal goals and getting to stay up all night sharing them with your lover.

I still struggle everyday with keeping my identity and staying strong in myself, and most importantly with my self image, but I feel exceptionally lucky to have someone sleeping next to me, that helps me do that. Early in the year, I had beers with a very important male friend in my life who lives in New York and was visiting for the holidays. It was his first time seeing me post-pseudo marriage break-up and I was feeling mightier than ever. He told me, that without realizing it, I had really lost myself in that relationship. And I finally had my traveling, loving, writing, self back. I think it was that conversation that kept me on the hike back to my self discovery, self empowerment, and self worth.

And I feel really good to finally be getting there.




Christina Lukeman photography

I have talented friends. This girl is going places-do her justice. 




Everyday I wonder what I am going home to. If there is anything to go home to? It all seems like nothing now. 

7 weeks. 



mid way mark

I have been gone from my Vancouver nest 3 months today, and in two days I will be halfway home. This mid way mark, has brought on so much reflection on what was, and the tornado of weeks waking up in different cities and what each of those cities brought to my soul. I am feeling so full of gratitude for each experience I have been able to digest, in each country, and in each culture. There have been moments of awe that I can’t even delve into with words, without tearing a part the simplicity of the moment into an extravagance defeating the purpose. To be in Chile, sitting with a French couple so in love, and so crazy, driving across South America in a VW bus, full filling each of their travel desires through each others lenses. To be in Buenos Aires, feeling electrocuted by the sound radiating from the drum ensemble La Bomba del Tiempo, sharing a no holds barred dance with a cultural center scattered with every nationality of travelers. To be in Mar Del Plata, Argentina, playing guitar and singing with strangers who become your best friends in 24 hours, forgetting about your nightclub plans and instead, drink in the comfort of the most simple social pleasures. To find a connection without the fluidity of language, but with the heart, in both Argentinean people, the passing of a matte cup, and beautiful surfing woman that is so lost, but helps me become even more found. The moment when you say goodbye to the girl who became one of your most treasured friends in only 3 weeks, in the streets where you met, after sitting at the cafe that you loved, and crying because you are so happy to have embraced and shared time with such a beautiful igniting, soul, but also to be separated from it. And when your final moment is her words echoing across the San Telmo cobblestone: “I’ll see you in Vancouver.” Or to be arriving in Lima, where you will be living for the next 5 months, and so riddled with goosebumps because essentially you are alone, but after one month of traveling you have learned you are never really alone, and the curiosity of what awaits is amplified by the silence of your new surroundings. The moment you find a connection to your far away family, that is now so close, and fall in love with the cousin that is now your closest friend here. To be sinking into the typhoon of lust, that is laced with all the love that you always gave, and never received, in the half way mark of a journey that started off about you, and but has become about what others have taught, shown, and given. To practice a new language everyday, and walk into a new building, filled with new education in all different ways, and find yourself tongue tied with all the new words pouring from your lips. To be humbled, by language; put it in your place. To know that just because you are proficient in one, you still must start all over in another. To know that you aren’t changed, but altered, you aren’t found, but you’re no longer lost, and you’re only half way there. 





Peruvian disposable love. 


Peruvian disposable love. 




As I find myself,

I don’t find you.

You are now

disapated into a 

swiss holed memory.

The ash that paints

the day to dusk.


the remorse of 

airplanes and I love yous.

I take the Clementine route of


The chosen vacancy;

I forget you. 




"Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it, you must take mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it." - Eat Pray Love.

Eat Pray Love

Elizabeth Gilbert



beach rambles.

Lost into the infinity

of rocks I fall.

Beneath the cracks

to breathe the remnants

of a forgotten supply.




The post cards I sent from Chile are just starting to arrive in the mailboxes of my loved ones. People forget how exciting it is to receive words on a paper sent from somewhere that’s not Facebook. 

I can’t wait to send more. 

I am going to backtrack and put up a few of my photos from my time in San Telmo, Buenos Aires, Argentina.

All photos taken with an iPhone 4 and edited on Instagram.





Today is my last full day in Canada!

Don’t forget to check out and follow my new travel blog: 




A month ago I learned that no matter how often you say “it won’t happen to me,” it still will. My eyes have been heavy. I go through each motion in the day with the promise of sleep approaching as a bribe for productivity and interest. I find my fingers dialing numbers they shouldn’t. I crave the inhilation of smoke, feeling the tar wrap itself around my lungs-exhaling the pleasure of cheap release. Stress subsided with the routine flick of ash.

I hold the defense of “I’m leaving…” clutched to my chest as armor. Something so much more waiting behind a simple phrase. 

To leave it all behind and return to something more. Or to leave it all behind and return to what I will have to rebuild.