Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Like a walnut, my heart's sealed shut No one but I can crack it open But I am always stuck in a rut Desperately tired of hoping For a decade, my muscles have been tense My poor body and mind constricted Like a snake, looking into my soul, intense My own heart's gotten me conflicted So I self-medicate with ramen noodles and wine And push the uncomfortable thoughts deep down But there's so much it can bear, this heart of mine And not enough noise for the bad thoughts to drown There is no running from your soul There is no solice in denial Sooner or later you have to take control So that you're ready to walk down the aisle Yes, walnuts are tough to crack But with love and patience it can be done When you get there, don't look back Know that you have won Yes, healing hurts, my heart's an open sore Admitting it is hard to do But now my heart's an open door 'Cause you love me, and I love you, too

My mom used to say: that ’s the way the world works, hun You can’t make friends with everyone Some will love you, some will pretend Others will be with you right ‘til the end That’s the way it all works, dear Friends close, and enemies near But even when everyone around you will say That you won’t make it, that you haven’t the brain Even when one hundred people will boo you away You’ve got to believe in yourself, that’s the only way The self-preservation, the fight in you, you see You can’t let them tell you that you’re not free You’re an artist, a scholar, you’re special to me You are incredible, but not everyone will agree Though it’s not fair, that’s the way it all works Some slave away and then the others get perks You don’t get to choose where you come from, you know But you can decide where it is that you want to go You are a sunflower, you just need to find the right rays That will set your true glory ablaze You are a bluebird, but you’re ...

Watching the VHS of my parent's wedding day for the fifth time brings a smile to my face, but a pang of unsease to my stomach. My mother has told me the story a million times: about how she met my dad in school through mutual friends, about their early dates at the movies, their inevitable falling in love with each other. The grainy image from the '90s video tape shows my mom, in her long-sleeved, lacy white wedding gown, a giant smile plastered on her face, and dad, who to me looks the same as now, but with fewer grey hairs. The event takes place in a beautiful cathedral in my hometown in Poland, my mom and dad surrounded by family and friends. A happy occassion. A momentous occassion. So why do I feel uneasy? Well, it might have to do with the fact that my parents have been divorced for the past 15 years. You can't blame me for having a pessimistic view on marriage. Did you know that Canada has one of the highest divorce rates in the world? Yet, I tried to suppress these ...

If I could be a hedonist just for a day I'd drink and I'd gamble my whole day away I'd lay twisted up with you under the sheets And eat a copious amount of ice cream and sweets If I could be a hedonist just for a week My outlook on life would be a bit less bleak I'd bathe in wine and swim in iced tea I'd sunbathe all day near the blue sea Why are we taught that pleasure's a sin? When it's the only thing that provokes a grin I could sit all day with drool on my chin I could wear just slippers and bare my skin It's how nature intended for us to be Eating fruit, naked, beneath a pine tree Don't be afraid of the tale of Adam and Eve We've grieved enough for humanity I have not an ounce of moping left to spare Life's too short to be stuck in one square If I could believe that we could be free Then a happy hedonist, I would be

I sometimes, probably too often, complain about my day job. The hours are too unpredictable, the pay too average, the students, at times, drilling a hole through my ears and directly into my brain with the constant questions, excuses, and regular torments. But I must realize how far I have come from my very first "real" job, which I want to recount in writing, so I remind myself that life is not all that bad right now. My first job was at a very popular Canadian movie theatre chain. I was ecstatic when I got the job. It was right before Christmas time during my senior year in high school. Back then, I didn't have to worry about paying trivial bills, and didn't mind the concept of "rent," so I planned to use 100% of my earnings on truly important necessities, such as fast fashion and Burger King whopper meals. It was a truly exciting time. On the first day of training, the boss (who seemed intimidating at the time, but I now realize more resembled a ba...

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 ...

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...

I've never been afraid of fear This is why I am still here I love the deep sky way too much And the feeling of your touch So much to see, so much to do Before this mad, short life is through I've never been afraid of tears This is why I am still here My heart's been beat and chopped in two Sometimes I had misplaced the glue I have, however, beat the odds I've accepted that I'm flawed Even though my goal's not clear And the world's a ticking bomb sphere I just know the end's not near I'm still breathing, I'm still here

Hold the stress in the palm of the hand, crush it, and watch it sprinkle to the ground, so fine and pink it looks like it could be crusted on cupcakes. Send the thought "I'm not good enough" into a wooden crate and place it in a freight ship bursting with cargo. Watch the ship slowly drift away, into the ocean, across endless blue. When the throat and face get hot with envy and rage, cool them with a sip of cold chocolate kisses, melting down the throat, coating the mouth in sugary goo, preventing a regretful word from being said. When sadness triggers the eyes, let them be, let the tears flow down the cheeks and dribble from the chin. Let the tears dry on the soft skin and leave a trace of conspicuous emotion, as if the face were bathed in salt water. Grab the fear from the crevices of the diaphragm and exhale it all. Like bad smoke, it only rots the lungs, for fear has no place in the body. Feel it burn a little as it rolls out the nostril, and floats away with the ...

During my undergraduate degree at U of T, I was completely and desolately lost. I had no idea what I wanted from life, academically, spiritually, or career-wise. During my second year, I decided to do my double major in English and "Ethics, Society and Law" (a pseudo- "pre-law" program) because those topics were (and still are) my two passions. I aimed to go to law school because 1) I thought of myself as a social justice warrior, striving for equality for people of all genders and races and 2) lawyers get paid well. My two opposing motivations for going to law school ultimately wore me out, and I ended up selling my LSAT prep book. I didn't even take the test. My back-up plan: a Masters in Public Policy. I was selected by a supervising professor to do my undergraduate thesis (approx. 50 pages) about an obscure painting located in Siena's city hall, and how it relates to medieval Sienese politics. After all that hard work, and after presenting at a thesi...

There is something special about coffee shops. The ambience. The grainy smell. The chatter of young lovers and old friends in the background. The stability of it all. The simplicity. Most breakups take place at coffee shops (true fact). The sun blaring down, scalding coffee at my lips, trying to gulp it down to get the conversation over with quickly. Secrets murmured. Coffee cup left half empty (or half full, if you will). Reunions occur at coffee shops. Gift exchanges. Christmas time. New seasonal special: white candy cane mocha with gingerbread biscotti. The smell of creme brulee wafting through the air. Cheap tinsel on the walls. Hungover morning after New Year's Eve: a stop by the coffee shop, a large cup of roasted heaven. Injected like a drug, warming every vein in the body. Then there are days spent alone at the coffee shop. Bent over a stack of textbooks. Fifth coffee of the night, and not the last. First dates at the coffee shop. A mixed sense of hope, and despair in the p...

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...

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...

2016 is a big year for me and for most friends my age. 2016 means I'll transform from "Olga Taratuta, High School Graduate" to "Olga Taratuta, B.A." 2016 holds my future in its sweaty palms. The words "job," "money," "graduate school," and "scholarships" seem to have dominated my pool of vocabulary. 2016 is where I become a real adult, not the OSAP mooching fraud that I am now. But adulthood is a scam. It is a fable told by society to keep the economy in check. Adults are seduced by money. We become promiscuous, lurking the streets to make a buck.  My original goals for 2016 were to: A) Get into graduate school B) Get a job C) Get an apartment D) Save, save, save! Then I realized that all those goals are money-driven to some degree. They are but cookie cutter resolutions, such as "exercise more" or "lose 5 pounds." I will not make money by aiming to make money. I have realized this ...

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...

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

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...

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...

"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...