Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Over the years, I have met many people. I have also known many others. Then there are are the few who I had befriended, and for some period of my life they were my role models, companions, and temporary acquaintances with whom I identified with. And the more people I got to know, the more I started to realize how much we are all alike. I'm not sure whether this revelation is a result of my slow progress into emotional maturity, or perhaps it is a fleeting thought. But it dawned upon me how truly messed up we all are. As a hopeless romantic and a stingy perfectionist, I have sailed through life, thus far, searching for a seedling of sanity in this raging sea of lunatics. Alas, the water would never settle. Little did I know that the water was calm all along, and the unforgiving sea was just my own reflection. I can say, without exaggerating, that I have much fewer friends now than ever before. I have become the person that I had loathed as a whiny teen- I am the person who ins

That is the problem with the young and educated of today. They talk a lot and they claim to know a lot but really they know nothing at all.  We can talk all day about the bright futures we have ahead of us, the futures generously donated to us by our parents, who have loved us and provided for us since we were babies.  Yet inside we are the same feeble, irrational creatures as we were in the womb.  We think we can get away with anything by choking up a little tear in the eye, by refusing to pick up our toys and toils after we’re done with them, by saving money for an Irish cream coffee instead of putting it aside to pay back for the debt of our selfishness.  We are babies, wrapped in the disguise of immaculate men and women.  We are babies, with translucent skin and a hunger for the primitive needs, of leisure and pleasure and enough vodka to fill an aquarium.  We are more childish than we were at thirteen, for we were straddling between inn

From the time you know how to blink You are branded like a milking cow It's the reason you are here now But do you ever stop to think While you are dabbing blush on your brow And you are scraping your legs into shreds And you are perming your locks 'til they're dead Why you are doing this at all? Because when you're born you become a slave To the thing that's between your legs You're a sweet pie if it's concave And if it's hanging, then you're brave And if it's slanted then you're nothing You are ridiculed to your grave Here is a bold proposition that I offer to you What if you should want to be both? If you wish, I allow you to Snuggle with boys when you're blue And wear black heavy soled shoes You may chew grass and drink booze And bathe in pink salts if you choose Don't be swayed by the notion That you should be affixed to a box With your legs cramped to your chest You're not a boy or a girl or a fr

Rape culture: a term that is flung around to explain everything from teen suicides to summer hit songs. But what does rape culture really entail? I've been doing a good amount of research on this topic for one of my ethics courses, but I have much more to say than the assignment's word limit allows. Why am I sharing my thoughts about this topic with the web universe? Because I want to purge myself of my strong minded opinions, and hopefully inspire some of my blog readers to have counter-arguments, agreements, and opinions of their own. What is so fundamentally wrong with the portrayal of men and women in society is that we have categorized 7 billion people into two categories, based on nothing else but biological sex. One half of the population, the women, have a "profile" and the men have a different profile. This is troubling because each person is a unique individual, and there are very few people who match their profile in the least. Here are some of the mo

The snake used to be my biggest fear, but The snake who hurt me is now my curer The snake who used me is now my slave The snake who tricked me is my insurer The snake who downed me made me brave The snake who rejected me is now my pet The snake who bit me made me eternal The snake who beat me lost its bet The snake only scratched at my external The snake was a looming shadow of fear The snake tried to push me into the sea But the snake- the snake's still here The snake now lives inside of me

The worst part of the day is when your teeth are brushed and your hygienic tasks are completed. Your work is done and you brain can't handle any more badgering from the world. The laptop is in sleep mode and the cell phone alarm is set to 8 am. This is the worst part of the day because, in the dune of time left between midnight and falling into a nightly coma, you are faced to deal with yourself. It is in this span of time that you forget about time at all.  You think about all the people you've talked to that day. You said good morning to the bus driver and you never saw him again. You split a lemon poppyseed muffin with your friend and you laughed together. You talked with the professor about his questionable teaching method. You explained to your cat that it's not proper etiquette to vomit into a food bowl. You said good night to your mother and texted bye to your lover and tweeted gnight world #peaceout .  Now, torn from the rest of the world, you suffer a sinist

Scattered Thoughts While on the TTC Subway/Bus/Streetcar Waiting for the subway . It's funny how the TV monitor screen says 5 minutes but I already see the lights coming through the tunnel. Trying to find a place to sit . Smelly guy. No. Homeless looking person. Uh... Dude who packed his entire life into his luggage bag. I'll just stand. The pole is warm . I wonder how many people didn't wash their hands after peeing . And touched this pole. And then licked their hands. God damn it I just scratched my face, I'm going to be infected with pee germs. Why is that guy staring at me? Is there something on my face? Stare at reflection in dark subway window. Looking good , looking good. Dude, turn down your music, I can hear Destiny's Child from here. New people coming into the train. Avoid eye contact at all costs . I just locked eyes with that girl for more than five seconds. AWKWARD . Put head down. Lift head back up. We made eye contact again. I'll just t

He was the type of guy who would drink luke-warm Molson straight from the can. Then he would pass the can to me and I'd leave my strawberry lipstick on the rim. We'd sit there for hours staring at each other and it would be most natural silence. It made me feel at ease. Then one day he told me that he wanted to swim far away and I nodded and said I liked to swim too. We were young, you know. Youth is the deadliest disease. So we stripped to our underwear and he bit his lip when he noticed the blemish on the side of my hip. He pinched my stomach in a way that was both childish and suggestive. I smiled and said we should swim. The problem was that we had no idea where to swim to. We sat at the end of the dock half-dressed and split another Molson. It was hot as a cup of tea, as it was basking in the sun with us all day. But we were young and diagnosed with youth and infatuation.* He said that he loved me. And the step from infatuation to love is one that is large and full of

We like to wonder about what is to come Because the unknown is thrilling And the known is nothing but Stale coffee and broken staplers Every corner of my life has a dent in it Or a pothole or a mud stain or A dragon behind the door With great fangs and the back arched Waiting for things that haven't happened yet Worrying about things that might not happen And all these things are illusions Delusions Confusions They're a different sort of suffering Wondering what is to come Is a self injected needle filled with Blood from a dying pheasant As the bird wonders if it should Stray to the wolf's jaw or just wonder How it would be like to be brave (Or an idiot, you choose) Like a horse with blinders on And a flamethrower for a tail I speed towards uncertainty The hooves chaffed and the wings scorched And the rider gone astray Talking about the future Only my demise is certain And the rest is a brew Of good days and better days Days where I'm a

Like businessmen on their way to a funeral We had our hands crossed on our laps We had our lips zipped to a sulky slit We had our wings clipped to our backs I knew that the doom would be over soon Like a mother I shielded your fate I didn't want you to know my weakness For it showed as we opened the gates Like cowboys on the road to nirvana We had false hopes inside of our shoes We had love where our heads should've been We had red hands and we had no excuse As the gates opened I saw your face Split like a clay mug constructed by a kid The rays of sun clung to your eyelashes The spit of the gods cleansed your eyelids Like murderers we erased all we had seen We had our hands crossed behind our backs We had our lips pressed against each other We had our wings folded in our laps And our love was more futile than a clay mug And our hope was an addictive, impotent drug And our sense was forgotten on the side of the road And our love remai

I decided to watch "The To-Do List" but I had pretty low expectations for it. The reviews were very mixed and I'm not usually into raunchy "American Pie-esque" movies. I was gladly surprised that this movie is not as shallow as it seems. It is about a teenage girl exploring her sexuality and dealing with pressure from her peers and family. She is a valedictorian and an overachiever, but she realizes that she underachieved in the romantic and sexual part of her life. She writes a list of sexual fantasies to fulfill before going to college. There were a few stereotypes brought up in the movie that irked me, though. The biggest misconception that this movie triggers is that smart girls don't get action. The main character, Brandy, is also called a "bitch" and "uptight" simply for being smart and successful. In truth, it's possible for a woman to be both intelligent and sexually experienced. Also, the sex scenes get a little ridiculous

I draw circles on my arms when I am bored I lay on the grass and I smile to the Lord Who may exist only in my head A flimsy deception hung by a thread I've been in a plane and looked to the sky Searching for angels that might pass me by But all I saw were clouds, empty and thick It seems for my whole life I've been tricked If God exists and is on the lookout for me Where was He when I was on a killing spree? Was He eating biscuits and drinking tea? When I cried and I lied, where was He? All I want is for Him to send me a sign A supernatural presence from the divine I want this mint tea to turn into red wine I want all the stars to shine and align All I want, dear Lord, is just one sign Philosophy class taught me there is no God The teachings and prayers are nothing but fraud A delusion that only the peasants applaud As any person could see that the bible is flawed Yet I want to believe that He really is here That my life has

I fell in love, as one falls into a cauldron of brisket and bones. Fighting the fall left me impaired with three stitches on each breast. Only the psychopaths in dystopian fine art seem to understand me, as Real people are as fake as Gucci glass cases in Chinatown, Given that they are undeniably in denial and deny denying. It's that sort of thinking that puts doctors in chicken coops, you know. Veering away from this deceptive normality is the best I can do, Even though real people feast on the vulnerability of my complexities. Yes, the list can stretch long enough for St. Nicholas to read Of all the complexities of this tragically abnormal soul of mine, Unless I fall in love with another maniac in that boiling cauldron, of course.

I recently stumbled upon an advertisement featuring a young woman with her eyes covered by a Kraft Dinner box. She is licking her lips, and the caption reads "a guilty pleasure." Beside this slogan is a box of macaroni and cheese. For some reason this advertisement shocked and offended me. It took me a while to decipher the root of my angst. I finally got it: it gets me mad that the term "guilty pleasure" even exists, because you should never feel guilty for being happy (unless you get happy from twisted and possibly illegal things, in which case you should seek help). My only conclusion from this strange commercial is that we live in a society in which it is deemed normal, and even necessary, to feel guilty for doing anything that is remotely pleasurable. This is most obvious in food and diet advertising. Their message is that you should eat lots of cheap junk food, feel guilty and remorseful for doing so, and then sweat out your tears at an expensive gym, t

I don't know about many things. I don't know what I want my future to look like. I don't even know what shoes I want to wear tomorrow. Then there are things that nobody can ever know. Like how the sun looks like up close. Or how it feels like to sit in a corner of the Milky Way. I will probably never know how it's like to be a billionaire or a celebrity. I don't know when I'll die and I don't know if I'll go to heaven or hell. I'm not even sure if either exist. I don't know if I'm a good person. I don't know who I will see in the mirror tomorrow. I don't know if I will live to see another winter day. Will I be able to tell my grandchildren the tale? I don't know what the ocean's abyss looks like. I will never know how it's like to step foot on another planet. There is just so much that I don't know, and it taunts me. All I know is that I've already felt the sun up close because I've felt its warmth in your

I once met an old man walking his goat He had white fingers and a ripped up old coat He bared his black teeth as he passed me by He said, "we're lonely people, you and I Cause we have friends who are never there And distant cousins who show us no care We feed our sick hearts with whiskey and dance Knowing one day we will be devoured by ants We're lonely people, me and you We hide all the troubles that we've been through So we climb back into our sad empty shells Betting on poker and deep wishing wells Lonely, lonesome, aloof and astray We count down the minutes day by day" A world to explore, and he's there with his goat Looking pathetic in his tattered grey coat His goat is his friend and his friend is his life His life is his misery and misery is his wife Loneliness spreads like black fleas It travels around like a gruesome disease I caught the malady from that dirty old man I should've ignored him, I should'

I had an odd dream last night. I dreamt that I looked into my bedroom mirror and instead of seeing a monotonous reflection of my face, I saw a panther instead, with its teeth bared. I felt that I had a tail, which I whipped from side to side subconsciously. My eyes were green emeralds and my pupils were dilated. My black whiskers were thick as rope but sensitive as silk threads. And my fangs were sharp enough to slice through the meaty flesh of a wild animal. It was, in a way, incredibly empowering to see myself as a beast. Imagine being a panther. You have no natural predators (except for man), no need to wear makeup or shave or stress about self-image or compare yourself to the distorted standards of society. A panther is free and powerful (at least, that's what my dream dictionary told me). Maybe, for the first time in a long while, I feel free. The truth is that, somewhere along the way from adolescence to adulthood, I lost my power. I lost my grip on the power that I possess

Let's fall so hopelessly in love that we forget our names Let's dance in the bliss of ignorance so no two days will be the same I've been feeling like a schoolgirl lately and my skirt's above the knees Just to see you turn your head around one hundred eighty degrees I've been swooning like a desperate widow lately and I'm breaking down I've been scanning all the faces hoping that I'll see you around I've been smiling at my cell phone and flirting with the sky I've been acting like a madman and you are the reason why Please let's sit just a little closer so I can hold your hand 'Cause then you'll fall in love with me if all does go as planned And once you've fallen in love with me there is no going back I will hoist you on a train ride and we'll be going down the track I hope that you will let me peel your clothes off to the floor I hope your lips taste as good as they look, or maybe even more I want the smell of

Here is a little wish list of mine: I wish I could tame my emotions with a lasso. I wish I agreed to things without picking a fight. I wish I were more accepting of others. I wish that my face would not reveal my emotions so obviously. I wish I were less cold. I wish I quit holding grudges. I wish that every word that came out of my lips was firstly filtered of toxins. I wish I had no bad habits. I wish I stopped worrying about the past, present, and future simultaneously. I wish I loved myself. I wish I stopped being my own worst enemy. I wish I stopped blaming myself for everything. I wish I saw things for the way they really are. I wish I smiled more. I wish I were just a little bit sweeter? Okay, so I’ve established that I’m cold and not sweet. That definitely means I’m not a delightful scoop of ice cream. Maybe I’m like frozen beef. Raw. Filling. And can also leave you with a nasty bruise if you’re struck with it. Most people succumb to t

I can't believe I'm moving to Toronto. Okay, it's not that far away from Richmond Hill, but it's going to be a big change. I grew up in these neighbourhoods. I've been in Richmond Hill for nine years now and I don't even remember life outside of this town. I know these streets on the back of my hand. In a mere three days, I will be completely cut off from this wicked little town (minus the fact that I have a job here, different story). Today, I walked around Richmond Hill. Visited my old high school (the cramped hallways, the secret corridors and the back field... memories came flooding back). Took one last glance at Central Library (all those hours spent at the exam tables, "studying" for mediocre high school exams). Ordered one last meal at the renovated McDonald's on Bayview and Major Mackenzie (probably spent hundreds of dollars at that place on McChicken combos alone). Walked past my old house, the one my parents and I moved into when we f

When I was seven years old, I got three dollars a week of allowance. I usually spent it on bubblegum or really cheap stuffed animals. Then one day, when I was with my parents at Wal-Mart, I snooped through the "summer toys" section to come across the most incredible toy ever, in my mind- an insect catcher. It was made of clear plastic and the lid had an opening that you could slide open, then snap shut, in order to catch the bugs. There was a net on one side of the container so that the bugs would be able to breathe. I was flabbergasted at the idea that such a wonderful invention existed, but I knew that my parents would never buy me this toy. They would tell me to get a Ziploc bag or tupperware instead. Those caught bugs too. But this was a special bug catcher and it cost fifteen dollars. It took me four good months of saving up allowance in order to buy this insect catcher (I spent a bit of it on bubblegum, so it slowed down the "saving" process). At last, I pro

For as long as I can remember, I've had the same unachievable goal, which I believed to be my life's purpose: to achieve perfection. I wanted to be a straight A student, an idol for the younger generation, the prettiest girl on the block, the girl with the perfect boyfriend, the perfect balance of everything that is wonderful and exquisite. Little did I realize that perfection is just a myth, like Big Foot or the cookie monster. I now type this blog post, feeling both shock and excitement, about my new found discovery- that the thing I've been trying so hard to attain all these years does not exist. It's a big pill to swallow, but hopefully a glass full of water and reality will ease the pain. The biggest problem with trying to be perfect is having the constant feeling of guilt and failure. Since perfection is an illusion, I'm chasing after nothing. I feel guilty for not being perfect and, by this definition, I'm a failure because I'm not perfect. This sou

I know you’re cheating on me with the game This foolishness is driving me insane If the taste of beer is sweeter than me Then kiss the keg and leave me be Love deprived, you’re a sad bitter man A lonely, sleazy Maple Leafs fan Half-undressed, I stand at the door You say move, honey, game starts at four I know that your friends will come over soon You’ll cheer on the team and yell like baboons Your life goals reflect your poor persona You can’t even choose- Guinness or Corona You’ve worn the same jersey for three days now You’ve fed on nothing but frat boy chow (Mr. Noodles, hot dogs, and leftover steak And last month’s strawberry birthday cake) It hits twelve pm and you still hit snooze If they lose, you drown your tears with booze And if they win, you celebrate with the gin Who do you love more- me or Fenton? I’m not sure why I haven’t left you yet But at a hockey game is where we first met