Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

A few months ago, I went to get my hair cut at the local shopping mall, and the female hairdresser engaged in some small talk with me. "So do you live in Oakville with your parents?" she asked, as she washed my hair with shampoo. "No, I actually live in an apartment by myself. Well, with my two cats," I answered. "And you can afford it? As a teacher?" she asked, bewildered.  I didn't really know how to respond. I don't think a male teacher would have been asked the same question, and this really irked me. This is just one of the ways in which women are prejudiced against in our society, even in our progressive Canadian one. Entering the workforce and official "adult life" I've been shocked, in 2018, how many difficulties and biases I had to clear up and overcome just because I am 1) a young millennial and 2) a woman.  Another example: When I went to the bank today, the financial advisor asked me no less than 3 times...

I admit it: I'm guilty. Guilty of being a self-proclaimed feminist. It is unfortunate that we are taught nowadays to attach shame and embarrassment to the term "feminist." When I tell people I'm a feminist, sometimes they chuckle and say, "okay, feminazi" or "I don't agree with feminism" or simply "I don't like that term." I don't think that most people truly understand what the term means, so let's take a mini crash course through history to piece it all together. "Feminism" as we know of the term today sprouted in the late 1800s to early 1900s. In North America at the time, women were not allowed to vote and were not considered as "persons" under the law, meaning they had little to no financial freedom and political influence. Female leaders joined together to fight this injustice and gained suffrage rights throughout the 1910s. This was the first wave of feminism. Later, when swarms of husbands ...

Since a young age, we girls are told That Prince Charming is raw and bold That one fateful day when our eyes do meet I’ll behold a smile and glance so sweet I’ll forever know that he’s the one Into the sunset we will run I was never told that love’s a mess A numbing game of playing chess All that’s missing are the pawns And the checkerboard is also gone Love’s not linear, but rather round Chasing one’s own tail around I want Prince Charming, and want him now But he’s out of reach, I don’t know how To be a true suburbanite With my kids, flying kites Gardening tulips at dawn While Prince Charming mows the lawn But I digress—true, love’s a mess A curse that leaves you in distress There’s no straight path to destiny It’s a forest too dark to see Against all odds I’ll venture on For my life’s barely begun My heart is sprouting, still My soul lies on the windowsill Since a ...

When the sun hits my face at just the right angle When my hair is combed and smoothed of all tangles When my nails aren’t chipped, and my toes are clean When the creases of my neck smell like nectarine When foundation is poured all over my flaws When I’m wearing just the right blue push up bra When my lips turn from pink to hot red When I feel like coffee, but opt for green tea instead When my legs are shaved and feel like glass When I glance at myself in the mirror when I pass When my skirt flips in the wind, revealing my thigh When there’s a sliver of sun in my eyes When the Instagram filter of the day is just right When my jeans are neither too loose nor too tight That’s when I feel pretty, flawless, in good cheer It happens once every couple of years Image: https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/426082814729724093/

My adolescence was unique. I went to an International Baccalaureate high school, but stayed clear of the advanced program. The main reason was because I hated math. I didn't see a point in it, it was stressful, and the sight of formulas and shapes made me squirm in revulsion. Many kids detest math, but my IB school prided itself in its advanced mathematics and science programs. There is nothing wrong with that. We need experts in STEM subjects in the world in order to progress modern society. However, all other aspects of academia, like literature and art (my two favourite hobbies) were cast into the shadows as useless and taboo subjects. Some of my classmates weren't that nice to me, either. As the editor-in-chief of the high school newspaper for an unprecedented two consecutive years, I did not make the "cool" list among my peers. Not because I was "geeky," but because I liked... liberal arts. I would get passing comments like, "have fun wor...

There's a well known psychological phenomenon known as the "spotlight effect," which claims, basically, that people are selfish, and that no one really cares about our perceived flaws as much as we ourselves do. Every person is in the centre of his or her tiny universe, so of course, any rupture to the tranquility of one's world results in [perceived] chaos. For example, there have been studies that prove that we overestimate how much other people really care about us. In the Thomas Gilovich study, researchers asked participants to walk into a crowded lecture hall wearing an embarrassing shirt. Every participant highly overestimated the amount of people who even noticed their shirt, missing the mark by as much as 500%! What does this mean, and why am I writing about this during my 3 am blogging rambles? I guess I've been highlighted in a lot of photographs recently. As I've written in some previous posts, I'm quite self-conscious of my appearance (as man...

I woke up, again, with sweat drenching my back, gluing my night shirt close to my body. I had a nightmare, the same one I've had many a time: in the dream, I am sleeping in my bed, but when I look down to my toes, I can't see them, because I have a very bulging, very pregnant stomach. I gasp for air, panic, cry. Then I wake up. I'm not from another era- I know perfectly well how to avoid unexpected pregnancies. Yet this is a fear that has burrowed into my psyche and which springs up when my body is trying to rest. Perhaps the fear is not the pregnancy itself- it is the fear that I will never want a child. It is the fear of...babies. While other women my age already have this maternal instinct, a drive to squish chubby cheeks and fantasize about cribs, I am ambivalent about babies. I can't fathom what drives a woman to momentarily give up her body, to sacrifice a portion of her career, and to devote her life to a crying blob without a formed personality, without hopes or...

i. Moss If only I could become one with the earth. I would lay down on the sweet scented grass. I would sink so low, into the moss, dried leaves, and crushed up Coke cans. I would be a part of the undergrowth itself, with the ants crawling into my shirt sleeves. I would be back home. ii. Toads There's something in the way that he looks at me. I wouldn't call it butterflies. They are more like giant toads, gurgling with the pace of my heartbeat. I feel the slime clogging up my throat, and I'm unable to speak. This is real love. iv. Birds From afar, white swans look like angels, with their feathery wings and bright beaks. Up close, they look like plain geese, with thick, slimy tongues. They make the most awful sounds, and they peck the mallards. I'll never trust beauty again. iii. Rodents My kindergarten used to have a class pet. A small white bunny. My teacher got it for us so we could learn how to respect and appreciate nature. The boys in my clas...

Am I pretty? She asks in vain While painting her lips pink The mirror does not answer her She needs to see a shrink While painting her lips pink She wonders if she's loved She needs to see a shrink Cause she believes in God above She wonders if she's loved If men love her for her skin Cause she believes in God above She knows the world is full of sin If men love her for her skin Does her conscience even matter? She knows the world is full of sin We lie, deceive, and flatter Does her conscience even matter? Maybe we're all just made of dust We lie, deceive, and flatter We look in the mirror with disgust Maybe we're all made of dust So what good is all this makeup? We look in the mirror with disgust Before we sleep and when we wake up So what good is all this makeup? The mirror does not answer her Before we sleep and when we wake up Am I pretty? We ask in vain

I couldn't wait to hear about the first female president of the United States. I could picture Clinton's inauguration speech: with tears in her eyes, she would promise to be a flaming beacon of hope for women and minorities in North America and around the world. But then, things got crazy. I didn't want to believe that Clinton's bigoted contender, Donald J. Trump, had any chance of winning the election. I was in denial yesterday night, but the results are official today: Trump is Mr. President, and Melania our First Lady. What an unimaginable downgrade from Barack and Michelle Obama. As an ESL-teacher-in-training, Trump's morals (or lack of) and stereotypes about immigrants, women, and visible minorities offend me immensely. His promise of "extreme vetting" of Muslim migrants, his plan of building a higher wall between the U.S. and Mexico, and his utter disrespect for the Black Lives Matter movement all unfortunately reflect the beliefs of the majori...

Murder is not an accident It is premeditated, filled with cruel intent Not a clumsy tumble down the stairs Murder is not guilty until proven innocent You are not jailed for being at the scene of the crime Murder is not an error in judgment: it is malicious It is not the innocent mess-up of forgetting to take your pill Or using a condom that is defective Murder is forcing women to use coat-hangers Or to seek an unlicensed doctor in the back alleys In order to rid themselves of something they never asked for Murder is silencing the voices of coherent adults Who have the right to vote To work To run for president Murder is telling them that they do not have the right To their own wombs Due to out-of-context words written in an old book And the bloody and destructive need to keep up traditions Traditionally, murder can be an accident When a woman goes to work, does sports, when she is pregnant And has a miscarriage by accident Traditionally, murder can be guilty until...

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

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...