Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

What is a father? Who is our father? Our Father, capital F, who art in heaven, Our father, who's watching the game on TV, Our dad, to go on camping trips with, Roasting marshmallows at dusk Our daddy, a strong neck to hold on to When we are too weak to walk Our papa, the second face we register When we are born onto the earth Our pa, pop, Old Man, tata, head of the house A man, a person, a being with graces and faults Pa, a cluster of memories Of popsicles on the way home from school When mom wouldn't allow it Of walks to the park and the playground Of being taught how to ride a bicycle Then pa morphed to dad, and then to father Our Father, distant, almost unaware of his existence Father, to be prayed to, to be worshipped A father who is not a dad at all What is a father? Who is our father? A man who loves us unconditionally A man who sets an example for future generations A man, surrounded by family, in a warm home A man who is honoured because he deser...

I am obsessed with life, and with finding the meaning of it all. This is why I adore poetry and literature. Certain philosophical quotes stick in my psyche and I can fish them out whenever I feel like I am drowning in my uncertainties. It is also why I love music. Certain songs, lyrics, instruments, and even sounds whisk me back to different places, different people and times in my life. Anytime I want to escape the present, I can turn on the stereo. But poetry, philosophy and music are not the meaning of life. It is just an interpretation. In fact, the older I get foggier the meaning of life becomes. When I was little, I had no critical thinking skills. Most kids do not. We swallow up everything we are told by the authorities towering over us (teachers, parents) like candies. The first time I learned about "heaven" was in the fifth grade, in Catholic School. My teacher taught religion class every afternoon, and we discussed what happens when we die: we go to the pearly gat...

As a young person, my attitude towards life, others, and myself in general is constantly in flux. And I'm learning, over and over again, the old-age adage "if you keep doing things the same way, things will stay the same" (or something along those lines). It's true: if you don't change your attitude, your behaviour remains the same, and you are stuck in a never-ending replay of a car crash that you can easily avoid, but choose not to. From various life experiences, these are the "Seven Deadly Attitudes," if you will, that might not necessarily keep you locked in purgatory, but which will make your life on Earth feel hellish. 7. Anger No one likes an angry person. Someone who is perpetually red-faced is not nice to be around, but he is mostly harming himself. Having an angry attitude towards life means, roughly: lashing out at others and using anger to disguise more vulnerable emotions, such as pain and sorrow. Basically, you puff up like a porcupine...

What is it, that you want out of life? Have a job, have a husband, a wife? You want everyone to know your name? Will you deal with depression that comes with the fame? Will you deal with your parents when they get old? Will you be able to breathe when your fingers get cold? It's a cruel world, they say, this is true We're floating on jetsam without having a clue It's a cruel world filled with killing and pain With injustice and horrors that we shun in vain I want to do something, I don't want to sit still I want to fill something that cannot be filled I want to do everything and it overwhelms me so much That I get soft and decrepit to the touch 'Cause another part of me wants to chill and just float Hoping that another person will steer the boat Floating, floating, not an island in sight Floating and weeping deep in the night

Hooray. I graduated from the notoriously soul-sucking, snobbish, yet also beautiful and prestigious establishment that is the University of Toronto. When asked, "what have you learned in your four years?" nothing remotely related to academia comes to mind. I could say that I learned about wacky political philosophers and their undying sexist theories. I could tell you that I acquired "critical thinking skills," improved my writing and grammar, and can now read a Victorian novel in one day without a problem. But the things that I was taught in my classes are not the things that have stuck with me the most. All my various experiences of growing up and "discovering myself" in the maze of U of T can be summed up in one lesson: Sometimes, the things that are good for you don't feel good, and the things that feel great are leading you down the wrong path. This is an elementary lesson that we learn as four-year-olds. "Eat your broccoli, Susan! Even i...

What do you do when everything you have been working for For let's say, the good past eight years Goes up, up, up To reach a climax The tip of the rollercoaster The momentum The adrenaline That goes down, down, down and around In grooves and loops and exciting angles What happens when that climax Never comes? And you're left there, facing upwards, in a halt Simply trying to not fall back down to where you came from See, I've tried, I've really tried I've prayed, and I've bled and I've cried I thought I got better in all I did I improved my writing I improved my relationship building Busted my bad habit forming Achieved all the grades I wanted to Made friends, lost friends, travelled around Wrote a mammoth 40-page senior goddamn thesis Then I applied to my master's program and I got Waitlisted And the uphill battle came to a stop A deafening screech of the wheels Silence What now? Panic Well, I thought I was smart enough, pret...

The present is all that exists The candle does not rise as it burns It collapses onto itself The bird does not stop singing because, two weeks ago, it got its feelings hurt It sings now because this morning is all that exists History has brought us monuments, Mozart, and star-cross'd lovers Which haunt and awe us today, but cease to exist in tact They are just relics Like an empty wine glass with lipstick stains Or crumpled petals and flower remains Like old movie tickets hidden in a drawer Or a stolen sweater that smells like cologne Yet the present is all that is real That is tangible, that is whole The heart beat, the hum of the fridge, mango hair spray An itch in the neck, a twitch of the nose, a cat's meow Is all of reality Mundane and sublime The aged fruit of old time Rotten berries on the window sill will keep on rotting Good old pals will continue being forgotten The past should not be disturbed The birds, the squirrels, the r...

Before I went to university, I thought the whole four-year experience would look something like this: And on the odd occasion, there would be a little bit of studying involved, like this: (Seriously, why are university students always smiling in the grass in all university pamphlets!?) But, my university experience pretty much looked like this: When I first started university, I was striving to be the best, and I was thriving after repeated failures, visits to the writing centre, visits to professor office hours, and countless hours spent studying. Now, I'm just surviving university. The eager motivation I had as a freshman, second year, and even third year student has now worn off. The illusion is gone: of endless partying, drinking, carefree nonsense... well sure, I did some of that too, but I always felt a perpetual guilt when I wasn't studying. I didn't settle for Cs, I aimed for Bs. Then I stopped settling for Bs and only accepted As. I pus...

As Father Snow turns the world blue-grey I think about tulips on a snowy day I think about Spring even though she is dead Father Snow captured her and tore off her head He transformed the world into ice and metal All beauty that remains is one tulip petal Each year the sad couple kisses again And the world is saved from frostbite and pain And the heart is kept from heavenly song If only for a moment, or not even so long For there will be a day when the tulips will prime In the middle of winter; it will be the time To surrender to the snow and humbly pray And allow the late Spring to show me the way When the heart is lost and the sky is grey I can only think about tulips on a sombre day

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

"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...

Soon, we'll be old and sour and grey, Looking back at today, thinking those were the days, Where dawns and dusks spilled into each other like syrup. At sunrise we slept and at sundown we wept, And all in between we filled our days with nonsense. Soon, we'll forage our memories and become so Overwhelmed with nostalgia that we will have to Caress our stomachs and sit in a chair with armrests, And life will play itself out once more, like a movie, In fragments of memories, sensations, delusions, Of days where we felt so ashamed that we crawled Into ourselves and, like pathetic snails, we waited for life to pass us. Of days where we felt so alive that we risked Our pride and respect in exchange for a glass of beer. Of days where we were so miserably defeated That we cried to rock songs and wondered how it would be To see someone else in the mirror for a change. Little fragments, little things, will flash like fireworks. Then every thing, every dew drop on every ro...

What a blessing it is to be part of this world Part of a bigger plan, something bigger than us It is humbling, rather than terrifying to know That our senses are limited and we know not much at all What a blessing it is to sail through life altogether Through its murky waters, calm waves and sea storms Knowing we are on the same ship, in the same sea The same love passes, one smile to another There is more to life than can be seen, or dreamed of Or tasted, or calculated, or measured, or interpreted A love that is tasteless but sweet A hope that is invisible but tender A spirit that is alive and forgiving What a blessing it is, to be part of God's plan

I looked into the mirror and did not believe That this was actually me Just a heavy black cloud with teardrops for eye sockets, pouring down my chin The rolls of misery drip drip drip drip Mascara streaks, not streaking, no, but eating Eating my cheeks once so perfectly dabbed with rosy blush Eating them away like acid, Soot Black Puffy eyes so sad So miserable So Monstrous. Is this actually me or is this some fictional creature in a dream? Like a ghost from the Shining like the dead woman from room 217 like a death eater swallowing souls of the innocent like an undead soldier Like Death. Is it possible to look like death? Because that is what I saw. If death had a face, it would be that of mine in that polished mirror with the mint green walls on the sides and water on the countertops drowning my textbooks, drowning my sorrow, spilling onto the floor and just pure misery etched into every crevice of my face, every pimple like a canyon of b...