Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

I have compiled a list of the top 10 books I read in 2015 (but the books are not necessarily written in 2015... actually none of them are). Yes, I read a lot. Hopefully my fellow bookworms will take joy in this list, and read one of these gems this Christmas season. 10. Into the Wild (1996) by: Jon Krakauer Favourite quote: "It is easy, when you are young, you believe that what you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that if you want something badly enough, it is your God-given right to have it." Reason to read this book: it will make you feel more adventurous (but also sad) This book is a very touching, non-fictional account of Chris McCandless, a man who, upon graduating college, journeys on his own to the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, and never returns. His tale does not make sense to the average, sedentary person, and why any human would take such a risk baffles me. It's a great read, and will take you to the wild side! 9. Dracula (1

Here is a thing that you may not know about me. I hate my face. And not in a casual sort of way that is modest and attention-seeking. The self-hate for my face is real. Amid all my insecurities, from some of my unpleasant personality traits to my guilt of not working out enough (whoops!), my face, unfortunately (and quite shallowly) takes first place. Perhaps writing down this insecurity, taming it, and confining it to a series of paragraphs will help me see how senseless it is to fret so much about something, that, frankly, is irrelevant to my worth as a person, and how my obsessive insecurity might, ironically, make me a more irritable and spiteful person instead. Ever since the age of twelve, I have had acne. You know, the usual teenager "T-zone" acne on the forehead, cheeks, chin, and occasional nose and neck. Except maybe a tad worse than the "usual." That means, for the past nine years of my life, I have woken up every single day being self-conscious. I don&

I went to sleep one day and woke up on the street With a musky beard on my chin and no shoes on my feet I smelled my whiskey breath and cried to the sky Why have you taken away my youth, God, why? I woke the next day on a downy filled bed Servants round my toes and a crown on my head I was asked to behead twenty people that day Can I please be a beggar again, if I may? After a night full of dispassionate sorrow I could not find a more dismal tomorrow I was a blind woman and a deaf one too I envied the man who couldn't afford shoes The next day I saw in the mirror a face With not even an eyelash out of place A bombshell model who puked up bread I cried because I'd rather be blind than dead In the span of one night I aged 50 years Gained wrinkles and fuzz in my ears I was a grandfather so close to the grave To be a pretty girl again I so did crave Switching through bodies was exhausting, you see I forgot who I was, but I yearned to be me Which will n

On Halloween Eve I attended a feast Where friends were disguised as brilliant beasts Amid all the rags of black, grey, and plum My red dress blotted the floor with red rum I was the Queen of Hearts for one night Flattered by men who blushed at my sight I was a caricature of women who rage I was a damsel from the Victorian age Though I was proposed to by all the males I rejected them at the swish of my scarlet red nails There was one man, in the corner of the room Who caused my intrigue to tenderly bloom He was not a clown, a cowboy, or an ape He was a skeleton in a flowing black cape This sort of blasphemy I've never seen To dress as the Reaper for Halloween He transformed a holiday of fun and fear Into a reminder that death is too near He left to the garden, and I followed and whined And told him his costume was way out of line He turned his head and I shuddered at his face Which was a skeletal, bleached disgrace "Sir, I demand you unmask your brow!

Why do you wear red lipstick? Honey, it just makes you seem lovesick As if the blood from your heart and your brain Travelled straight to your mouth Leaving you heartless and dumb And desperate for a kiss Why do you wear red lipstick? While claiming that you defend women's rights For if you truly did, you would rebel Against the covergirls and the cosmo magazines But instead you draw attention to superficial femininity Eve's sins smeared on your lips Oh, why do you wear red lipstick? I answer: because I like to

We are disconnected stars; artificial constellations A mind set, a fluke, a trick of the imagination We are lines connecting but never intersecting We do what's expected but are never expecting We are tied to each other one day, severed the next We are mere pawns, but think we are blessed Fingers in each other's palms, we are whole Eyes connected, we make love soul to soul A warm word, a kind slip of the tongue A kiss, a relief, a reminder that we are still young But the moment we part, an ocean divides us And a mystical force in the universe guides us The moment that our lines disconnect The moment that our souls don't reflect Is the moment we flee from each other, and fast Lightyears apart, we say the past is the past All the faces I've seen, touched, caressed All the hearts that I've cried to, lied to and undressed All the stars that I've met that produced something new A beautiful constellation in the sky, a dark blue All the friendshi

*Apologies for belated post. Internet was down for one week!* Yesterday, I went on a class field trip to Florence. The majority of the day consisted of a guided tour through the Uffizi, one of the oldest art galleries in the world. Apart from being insanely crowded and bursting at the seams with tourists (like myself) I was still able to take a few angled photographs of the most interesting pieces we saw, of which I will give a brief description in this blog post. Below is the first art piece that the guide showed us. Unfortunately, I was not able to find the name for it. It features the Virgin Mary, very two-dimensional, with the angels seemingly stacked on top of each other. Her facial features are diminished and there is no use of highlights or shadow, giving no depth to the art piece. Below is the art piece “Ognissanti Madonna” by Giotto di Bondone (1310). This representation of the Virgin Mary is much different from the first. In this piece, she is strong and feminine,

I refuse to sell my heart, not for twenty-five cents The auction is closed, ladies and gents I’ve already sold my eyes, when they caught sight of the streets So now everyone can see the beauty of my Italian retreat I sold my tongue for gelato, feeling so young Letting the wild berries dance around on my tongue I sold my feet when I traveled to see our Holy Mother in gold Like a saint on a mission, I’ll walk until I get old I sold my ears when I heard beautiful Aida open her lips Echoing through the theatre in which the ancients used to sit But I won’t sell my heart, it is still free For my heart belongs to God and not really to me My heart aches for home, too many miles away Yet for now I am here and I will live for today Yes, I sold my eyes to Italy; it’s all I can see How I wish you were here seeing these treasures with me I’ll try to buy back my sight, taste, and ears too So that I’ll be able to share these memories with you

As you may or may not know already, I am doing a summer abroad program in Italy at the University of Siena. I'm taking an ethnic politics course where we study the different ways that ethnicity influences nation-building, and how a unified Italy came about from ethnic solidarity. So far, the trip has been amazing. Yesterday we went on our first class field trip to Pisa and Lucca. In the photograph below, you can see the Leaning Tower of Pisa (of course) and the Pisa cathedral (which actually leans a bit as well). Pisa used to be a marshy area, which is obviously not a good foundation for these gigantic structures. You could not climb the tower throughout the 1990s because the tower was leaning too much, but they fixed it by putting lead blocks on the non-leaning side in order to stabilize the structure. Walking up the tower is a dizzying experience, as you can really feel the lean! Also, the steps are made of marble and can be slippery. The view from the top, however, is surreal.

Waves lapping on the sandy shoreline Grains of sand stuck to the bottom of my feet Developing a slight sunburn on the back of my neck And on the side of my arms Instantly cooled off as I heal my wounds in the lake Not just the burns, but also the stress, the internal chaos My senses acute to the extreme As if in a dream I can taste the oxygen streaming out of the trees I can hear the breeze I can hear a cricket from a mile away And a fat cat purring on a windowsill in a house across the lake If only I could retire permanently in summer Swim in sangria parties As the days swim into each other 'Til I forget whether it's Sunday, Tuesday, or a Statutory Holiday This is the luxury that has been granted to me this summer Wasting time, chasing time, doesn't matter Time has retired, too

Here at honeymooners anonymous, we welcome people coming from every stage of lustful self-destruction. We particularly aim to help those who are addicted to the honeymoon phase. Yes, addicted. And pills can't fix it. Because when you first meet a person and their lips taste like honey, you assume that they must always taste like honey, that you and them will be in a stasis, a trance, a tasty eclair filled with a never-ending flow of creamy love. But one day your beau eats onions. No longer tasting like sweet sugar, you stop, re-evaluate. Why settle for onion breath when there are honeys buzzing all around you? The full moon comes ever so soon, and before you know it your love is gone too.  Every full moon you transform, like a werewolf, from a man to a rabid creature.  On the hunt, on the prowl, so here you are. Seeking perfection. An immaculate pair of hands to hold, fingernails trimmed long but not too long, French manicure and Italian perfume. Perfection. Milky

I have started reading a book called "Help, Thanks, Wow." It is basically a how-to guide for prayer, geared towards spirituals and skeptics alike. The book tries to answer the difficult question: How do we pray? The author, Anne Lamott, recalls her childhood, growing up in an atheist household where only rock bands were worshipped and the New York Times was a temple. Feeling alone, lost, and caught in existential despair, Lamott "snuck off" into the attic to pray to God for help. Prayers for help humble us. They make us feel that the world is out of our control. The cosmos does not act in accordance with our wishes, and our prayers are not answered in the way we would like them to be. Thomas Merton's prayer reads: "My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me" (Lamott 33). Just by reading the "Help" chapter, I realized why I have trouble with uncertainty. Because it is admitting defeat. It is admittin

I had a dream that I was walking through a deserted subway train terminal. The hallways were winding and there were no direction signs anywhere, no maps, and no points of reference. It did not seem that late at night, but every underground store was closed. The place smelled like the eerie remains of all the souls who passed through the terminal that day: baby powder, cinnamon buns, vanilla scented cigarillos, sweaty underarms after working a long day at the construction site... the place smelled, most of all, like aching ligaments and the longing to drown oneself after spending a day sitting in an office. Drown in whiskey, or an odd romance, or insanity. Everyone who passed through the bus terminal that day had wanted to drown. I could also hear the echoes of stale voices, which were happy just a few hours before, but now seemed like ghosts. Children's laughter, recovering addicts spitting loudly into the garbage cans, the rusty wheels of old strollers squeaking through the windin

Falling in love is easy Because falling is simply a mistake Caused by a crack in the sidewalk Or a crack in your heart You must always get up after you fall Hence, falling is a transitory state Between a mistake and your fate Yes, falling in love is easy Whereas staying in love is hard Standing still in a world where lovely faces pass you by You're in a stasis cause you've found the apple of your eye When you see him you feel warm as apple pie Stay in love. You can do it if you try. Staying in love makes us human Staying in love makes us age like fine wine Running, tripping, and falling in love... Makes us run too fast towards the finish line So ask yourself: do you want to be an animal? Or do you want to be free? Are you attracted to the peacock with the finest feathers? Or to the raven with the warmest heart? Do you believe in a forever? Or do you think that everything will fall apart? You can get up from falling, yes, there are left only a few bruises

The power of perfume  Secrets trapped in cheap glass bottles The air is misty as I enter the room Memories climb through my nose into my heart How weak the soul is! Vulnerable, protected by skin But through the nose, through the mouth, through sad eyes The haunting perfume can get in This perfume, the one with the heart shaped glass Reminds me of the days when I shopped as I skipped class And if I close my eyes just tight enough And if the circumstances are right enough I can sniff the love perfume like a drug That takes me right back to a day when I was a different me Recollecting past memories of ourselves We refer to ourselves in third person That girl, that one who wore this perfume with the long blonde hair flowing down her back Is not the girl I see today, with a hairdo that I would never have the courage to flaunt Back when I drowned myself in the love perfume Like a blooming, honey scented flower Waiting for worker bees to devour me Stop it, old perfume,

How easy it is to wish someone ill How hard it is to smile as they outshine you How easy it is to let anger fuel your words How hard it is to let forgiveness reign How easy it is to insult and betray How easy it is to get carried away How hard it is to be humble Humble words poison your lips How hard it is to ignore the pain How easy it is to ignore your blessings How hard it is to thank and pray How easy it is to not think at all How hard it is to work and not get your way How hard are the nights when your pillow's wet with tears How hard are the days when they turn into years How hard is but life, how hard it must be How easy it is to forget that you are free As a flame in the wind, as a dove in the sky To dust you'll return and as dust you will fly How hard it is to conceive that you're earth and the sky How easy it is to forget those who cry For you, those who love you so much It is easy to dismiss their love as a crutch How hard it is

I remember the days when I was scared of ghosts After watching a marathon of poltergeist movies About hauntings in strange homes My juvenile friends and I couldn't get to sleep And we'd squeal at every creak creak  On the floor board I'd sleep with a night light on  The one with Winnie the Pooh reading a story to Piglet Yet I'd still lose sleep I was so scared of the ghosts that were out to get me Now I want the ghosts to get me I don't even understand what I was scared of I want ghosts to haunt my house I want ghosts to transcend their world and show their white faces Hell, I want poltergeists to mess my whole room up Because, see, if ghosts don't exist Then why should anything invisible exist, too? What you see is what you know But I don't see love, so how do I know it's there? What if love is just a ghost?  What if "love" is what we label that chemical reaction in our brains that sparks fondness? And

Nietzsche was an interesting guy. Other than his rampages about God being dead and his morbid existentialist rants, I kind of like him. What struck me most interesting in Beyond Good and Evil was his critique of Christianity. Okay, well, I like to think of myself as a Christian, so I wasn't very much convinced by his longing for complete obliteration of religion. Nietzsche mentions that Christianity has become a religion of resentment, because it started off as a religion of the poor, and its doctrines emphasize the goodness of the meek and the corruption of the rich and powerful. Hence, Christians are jealous of those who flaunt their excess, and wish them to hell (according to him). Christian "anger" hence stems from envy. What he failed to point out was that the rich can also be jealous of the poor...and that in fact the powerful are weaker because they are always afraid of having their goods stolen, while the poor have nothing and so they have nothing to lose. The Chr

The river of 4 am. Flows through my heart and fills my brain I see moonshine in its ripples I see my pain reflected in the moon It is only at 4 am. that I can touch the moon By dipping my foot into the river To pretend that I am living two lives at once One on earth, in its predictable climate And the other in the river, to where we are all sure to return Sometimes I sleep soundly through the river's calling Other times I feel like I'm drowning at 4 am. And I know it's the river being angry at me Causing a shipwreck in my mind All the anxiety sinking to the bottom To be decomposed and eaten by tiny fish Don't be mad, river of 4 am. I always long to sleep through you But sometimes I fall into a state vanity And I just want to touch the moon

No, he didn't treat you like a friend, Because he neither cared for you nor took care of you when your heart bled. He didn't treat you like a lover, Because, like a werewolf, he turned into human form only in the sunlight, and he escaped before you could see, in its entirety, the beast that you had spent the night with. He didn't treat you like a God, Because he neither feared you, nor respected you. He didn't even try to disprove your very being. It was not even worth it. He was the one you called "home," honey I'm home, home sweet home, A home with a welcome mat stained with reminders that you are not his home, but his backyard, an old tire swing just for fun. You love thy neighbour, and forgive thy enemy, and bleed when his heart bleeds, But he does not exist. Opposite to a god, he fears himself, and disrespects himself, He is homeless, for fear of getting caught in the honey at the door, when he says, honey I'm home! Like a poor

"H uman beings are not like sheep, and even sheep are not indistinguishably alike" - Mill I got lost on the way to adulthood. It is easy to get lost in this world. To drown in a sea of facts and statistics. To get beaten over the head with estranged opinions. To get into quarrels over our views on religion, violence, sex, education, morality, this and that, each person trying to prove that he is right, each person trying to demean the other because of their insatiable need for always being right. Although it would take some god to determine whether humanity is making the right decisions or not, one can always decide what is best for himself.  But it's easy to get swayed. I've wanted to be a teacher ever since I was in elementary school. But in university I panicked. I was told that the job market for teaching sucks, that English majors will never amount to anything, and that I am not actually as special or smart as thought I was because everyone is a uniq