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...

They all want to takes pieces of me The bank won’t leave me be Neighbours won’t let me breathe Landladies calling me A fragment here, a small piece there To bosses, friends, and lovers To my pet and to my mother They all want pieces of me There’s not enough to go ‘round I hide in solace ‘til I’m found By exes, hexes, unanswered texts Cold calls, UPS guys, insurance guys Never knew it could hurt so much to cry Skeleton’s trembling and I don’t know why No more pieces to go ‘round No more of me to be shared I can barely cure my own heartache Can take the maximum I could take They say God never gives you more than you can bear But God never answered any of my prayers Fragments of me lining the street Pieces of my life on the wall, on the sheets Leaving a trail behind me as I embark On this new journey into the dark They all want to take pieces of me All I ever wanted was to be ...

Sometimes life really throws you in the deep end. No floaties, no swimming instructor by your side. No wading in the shallow end before moving on to the diving board. Sometimes life just pushes you in head first and you're 18 feet deep before you can even open your eyes. Perhaps this is when we learn the most- when everything hits us all at once. A beautiful catastrophe, a cavalcade of explosions, tears, laughter, happiness, loneliness; all of the contradictions and antonyms converging. Just a few months ago I felt like I became an adult, and now I am alone. So alone. There's help from friends, colleagues, and family, of course, but now I feel as most of us do. Like on an endless pursuit for money and happiness, not really knowing where to find either, and never feeling like we have enough. Adulthood is loneliness. As the strike nears a fifth cold and bitter week, and as I hopelessly scramble to find an apartment to move into before the Christmas season, it is only my inner a...

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...

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...

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...

It's that time of night, either 11 or 2, When I start to get the headboard blues There's nothing more awkward, we can agree Than hearing your neighbour in ecstasy I'd rather be woken to birds in their nest Than a pursuant "yes, yes, YES" The sound makes you too human, too real I've seen you check your mail, and I've heard you squeal I've seen you walk your dog and I do confess I get uncomfortable when you say the word "yes" The headboard noise is probably the worst I stare at the ceiling; ah, I've been cursed I play some music and curl into a ball Waiting patiently until you finish your brawl What you do in your home is your own affair Just letting you know: I'm also there Creepy, right? Those are apartments, you see But let me nag you, if only indirectly I'd rather listen to five kids crying at once I'd rather hear twenty-five basketballs bounce I'd rather be woken by a tiger's roar Or of a teenag...

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 w...

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'm not usually intrigued by superhero action movies, but since I work at the cinema, I can't resist seeing some blockbuster action flicks from time to time, the newest one being Iron Man 3. Although the movies are based on comic books, I still like to do a literary overanalysis of the characters, their flaws, and the hidden messages that they're portraying about our society. Popular media defines society as it is in the moment. For example, back in the post-war days, literature was depressing and scrutinized the advance of the Industrial Revolution and lack of individualism (take into account Virginia Woolf or Sylvia Plath). Now, our society seems to hail the cynical hero- the one who makes snippy remarks, has low moral standards, and consumes himself with one-night stands- the jerk. The greatest example of the cynical jerk superhero is Iron Man. The newest Iron Man movie had a simple, predictable plot line (nerd wants revenge, things get blown up, pretty girl, nerd b...

My husband stole milk from the neighbour's farm, He told me that I ask him for too much. I told him that I'd cause him raw harm, Now he retracts at the threat of my touch. My husband didn't come home for the night, He left the milk on the doorstep to rot. He and his pals went to grab a quick bite, Between smokes and beer chugs he forgot. This morning we ate dry cereal and bran, Because my husband is a lazy old man.

TO MY FUTURE/POTENTIAL BOYFRIEND/SIGNIFICANT OTHER: If for a second you have a moment of doubt, Then please do not bother trying me out. And if you think that kisses are free, Then you sure as hell do not want me. Don't call me beautiful because I already know, Please love me for all that I have to show. Don't claim to understand me just to please your pride, 'Cause you don't have a clue what's going on in my mind. If you want me as an accessory to drape over your arm, Then purchase a scarf and don't cause me harm. If you are a smoker, then cough into your sleeve, Your breath is more revolting than you may believe. I don't ask for gold and I don't care for cars, But don't go out with your pals, hopping bars. Be a gentleman and stand up for me like a man, And I'll be a sweet pea; I'll be as nice as I can. But if you deceive me I will make your heart swell, I'll castrate your ego and wish you to hell. If you feel like th...

Sitting on the subway train, Backpack on my right. Music blasting through my vein, I don’t care if I’m polite. A man comes on the train and sighs, His feet hurt from standing. And I’ve run out of alibies, I move my bag; I’m understanding. His palms are soaked in sweat, His nails have turned black. Letting him sit was my regret, There’s no way of turning back. He asks me for the time, I tell him half past ten. His hair is streaked with grime, He pauses then talks again. He asks me if I go to school, I nod then turn the volume up. He gapes at me like a fool, “Are you all right?” “Yup.” He glares at my reflection, I plug my nose to drown his smell. I have shown too much affection, So I crawl back into my shell. How I hate mornings like these, Where I must frown and strain. Dear God, I beg you please, Stop spending me creepers on the train.