ISIS

Prime Minister Stephen Harper recently announced, during a rare address to parliament, that Canada would be going the fight against ISIS. He informed the MPs that, though there will be no ground troop deployed, air strikes will commence and continue for up to six months, at which point the situation will be reviewed and efforts will possibly be extended. According to Harper, the airstrikes are planned for Iraq, but could potentially be expanded to Syria. 

Additionally, Harper explained that Canada's participation will be limited to only countries where there is a supporting and legitimate government (thus excluding Syria). Parallely, the government will extend it's original 30 day advisory mission, which is supposed to contribute 69 special operations officers, in addition to the 280 aircrew personnel. Despite admitting that eliminating the Islamic State is likely impossible, he said that he does believe Canada's efforts will "significantly reduce" the threat. 

Parliament will vote on -and likely pass- the proposition on Monday, due to the Conservative majority. Both Thomas Mulcair and Justin Trudeau, leaders of the NDP and Liberal parties respectively, said that, as oppose to airstrikes, other means could be explored. Mulcair said “The tragedy in Iraq and Syria will not end with another Western-led invasion in that region." Similarly, Trudeau said that Canada can make a much more prominent impact on the war on ISIS by using some unspecified "non-combat roles", rather than "a few aging warplanes".

The US's airstrike campaign against ISIS has seemingly come to no avail. Not only has it cost them approximately 1 billion dollars to date, but it has cost them the literal heads of 3 citizens (The US refused to pay a 100 million ransom for each kidnapped journalist, and the journalists were hence beheaded). Other countries have joined the airstrikes and threatened to revoke the passports of citizens that go to aid ISIS, but it doesn't seem to be having a potent effect either. 

The only troops on the ground at the moment are Kurdish (An Islamic minority being targeted by ISIS) and Iraqi militia and soldiers. "Not good enough" according to a flurry of critics, who believe that the only remedy to the ISIS plague is ground combat. It is undeniable that ISIS must be stopped, but to what lengths should Canadians and the rest of the world go to? How much tax-payer money should be expended on this? Is there more that Canada can do? And most importantly, is this fight, especially from Canada's perspective, in vain?

The Personal Bubble

"Don't invade my private space!"

"This is my personal bubble!"

"Could you just not be so close to me?"

These are all phrases which I have heard all too often.

When I was younger, and attending elementary school, I was faced with the concept of "the personal bubble". It was a very challenging concept for my extroverted mind to grasp. Nonetheless, I tried; naturally, I failed. No, I wasn't very good at "keeping to myself". When I would talk to my friends, I would touch them. It was nothing inappropriate; just the occasional tap on the hand, the hug and the pulling of the jaw to adjust the line of sight. At least, I thought it was nothing inappropriate. 

According to a countless array of Super Vision Aids, teachers, counsellors and friends, however, I was extremely aggressive and impolite. In fact, I was even once told, by a teacher, that my touching could be viewed as a form of harassment. Apparently, tapping your friend's hand to get their attention, holding their hand while walking to some place you're really excited about and adjusting their line of sight via jaw-pulling, could all be potentially traumatic and harassing experiences to a person, even if that person was your friend. It was a good thing to learn. It gave me a better perspective of what constitutes a friend and of the society I live in. It was tough lesson to learn at a young age, and it was, in a way, very shocking. Needless to say, it was a lesson which I was bound to learn the hard way. In hindsight, I am actually quite happy to have learned the lesson at a young age, for it put a lot of  society's mannerisms into perspective for me. Additionally, that lesson became the foundation for many soft skills that I would learn in the years to come.

Obviously, I still touch people; not as much as before, but still. Actually, I am able to judge which friends of mine would greatly mind me invading their personal space and which ones wouldn't. Last year, I made an error in judgement. I was talking to a petit Asian girl in my fantastic planning class, and when she started to stare out the window, I poked her leg as to have her turn her attention back to me. My poke succeeded; she focused on me again, but quickly drifted off again. This time, I didn't want to poke her, rather I came to terms with the fact that she didn't want to listen to me. Regardlessly, I kept talking because I was so enthralled in my own story that I simply had to say it, and didn't care if anyone bothered to listen. During my riveting monologue, I placed my hand gently on top of hers in order to imitate and add some depth and texture to what I was saying. To this touch, she swiped her hand away from under mine and gave me a look of fury. 

"Can you stop touching me?! No seriously, it's like every story you tell you have to rape me!"

Rape her? I didn't know that tapping her hand constituted rape, but I guess it did to her. 

Luckily for me, my planning teacher heard this, and turned her head to give me the most degrading and confused look possible. I immediately addressed her confusion with the line: "I only touched her hand!"

"Look Nat, I know, it's just a difference in culture. You have to understand that this isn't Europe, people don't like to be touched."
Okay, I guess I understood. People are, for whatever reason, petrified of being touched. I myself, can never truly relate to those people, but then again, I'm European, right? We barbaric Europeans, we feel the need to express our emotions fully and to the highest possible degree. To achieve this, we use hand gestures and touching. They convey the story a little better; they dramatize the story a little more.
Allow me to move from this small anecdote into the reason I am actually writing this post.
Everyday, on my daily commute, I see people who know each other, avoid each other on the bus. They politely nod and say "hi" as the make their way to the back of the bus. They don't stop to speak to the person they know; sometimes, they don't even sit down next to the person (provided that there is seat available). They walk on by without giving so much as a second thought to speaking with each other. It's repudiating. If it weren't for the pathetically induced polite "hello", one would think that the two didn't know one another.
Many of you reading this are probably taking into account how well the two folks know each other. You probably are thinking "well, you can't talk to someone if you don't know them well enough to know what to say - you could offend them." That's true enough, but are there really things that you think/say that could offend them so much? I would hope not.
It's really annoying and sad when I see it. I say a little prayer to myself that I never become associated with such individuals. Even if a person had only met me for a few minutes at a mutual lecture, I'd still hope that they'd be willing and decent enough to strike up a conversation. I'd rather have them sit beside me and talk about anything, than have them ignore me while they walk to the opposite side of the bus. Wouldn't you? See, I would feel like a bad person if someone didn't want to sit near me. I would question what I did wrong in order to have that person feel that way about me.
But, what would make me feel the worst? If that person sat down beside me and then ignored me by putting their earbuds in or opening up the newspaper.
I could barely believe my own eyes when I saw it! A man donned a proper nod to some woman he knew and -I believe it was out of decency- sat down in the empty seat next to her. They exchanged greetings that lasted about 30 seconds. A "hi" and "how are you" per person. Then the they got bored with each other, or they came to a lack of words, or, most likely, things just got awkward. The man pulled out his tablet and started repairing some excel spreadsheet, and the woman, keeping her plastic smile in full throttle, stared out the window.
It looked like something out of a SciFi movie, where aliens had programmed people to say "hello", yet be emotionless. She reminded me of a Stepford wife, and he, he just looked pathetic. Overall, it was a very sad and depressing scene to witness. It was almost as if the end of human interaction was pending.
Worst of all, when the man checked his Facebook account, I saw that he had 568 friends. 568 friends in cyberspace, yet he couldn't even properly speak to one for twenty minutes.
Just like people feel uncomfortable with me touching them when I tell a story, I'm sure they feel uncomfortable to speak to each other if they aren't very well acquainted. What's the point of a life when you have no one you can talk to? What's the point of life when you are too frightened to speak to your fellow man? Can living truly be called living if it is wretchedly stiff?
I wouldn't write about this if it was a "one-off", but unfortunately, it's not. It's an event I see at least once a day on my commute, and it's an event which sours my entire day and causes me to lose hope in this interactionless society known as "humanity".

Unwise

Three years ago, when I was in grade 8, I witnessed a boy win the student election at my school by giving a speech about turtles. Like all the other candidates, he got up on stage and recited a carefully written speech about turtles entering the salt water of the beach from their sandy birthplace. He then made the correlation, the connection, the metaphor that all of us kids are turtles entering the ocean that is high school. As he spoke, he trembled and shook the way a leaf does when hit by a raindrop. He stammered and stuttered the way a toddler does when lying to his mother about stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Sweat dripped from his forehead the way juice drips from a rotisserie chicken. His speaking skills were inadequate to say the least, and he was petrified, yet he went on to win the grade 8 presidential election. His win was purely based on his creatively themed speech. His charisma, his thoughts, his future actions were not addressed in the slightest in his speech. Not one of my peers cared about what that boy was going to do to bring change to our school, nobody cared about how he would improve our grade's position in school decision making and nobody cared about what kind of person, and more importantly leader, that boy would make. The only thing that that group of 13-year-olds cared about was the hilarity of their peer's speech. 

I'll give credit where credit is due however. That boy earned his win because he knew how to appeal to a group of his peers. He was clever. He knew that any young adults would enjoy his funny speech. He knew that any adolescent child would rather listen to a guy talk about cute turtles and make them laugh, rather than listen to a boring speech of someone's vision for a better future - and I commend him for that.
This little anecdote is what brings me to my point: the legal voting age.
I have read countless articles written by children of my own age boasting the benefits of allowing those under 18 to vote. I have even read articles by adults insisting that children are capable of making a serious choice in an election. Some of my peers have gone so far as to say that they feel that all children, as of age 16, should and would be excited to vote and inform themselves about politics. I, however, disagree, and with each pro-lowering-the-voting-age paper I read, I feel a sense of immaturity, rebellion and even disgust.
I am repulsed by the Napoleonic attitude of my generation and their absolute certainty in their decisions.
Feelings aside, I would like to bring forward a series of arguments as to why children of my own age should not be able to participate in one of society's most important and defining functions - elections.
From the story I described above, one can conclude that children have an issue separating entertainment from reality; a problem which can encourage a party to alter the focuses of their campaign.
Well, okay, maybe not change everything, but definitely some things. It is undeniable; parties would have to endeavour to gain the votes of the young. Surely, they would attempt to create a campaign based majorly in social media, as that is what we youth spend most of our free time on. Surely, they would attempt to make a profound and thought-provoking campaign, but the question remains: what would they do after their mature campaign failed? Would they allow the youth's votes to go to waste? Would they change their campaign to appeal to the masses of the youth, hence risking the revocation of older peoples' votes? Or, would all those children's votes become the votes of their parents?
Regardless of your opinion, I'd like to provide another example:
During a debate with one of my peers on the subject, I was faced with a question: "You and I are perfectly capable of making an informed vote, so is it not arrogant and wrong of you to assume that the rest of the kids here can't?" An excellent question, which I believe I answered with an equally excellent response. I figured that words could simply not express and disprove my peer's theory as well as an example could. Considering the fact that we were in school on our lunch break, it was very easy for me to pull aside a child to use as my example. A sandy-haired, pale and muscle-less boy was in the middle of his enormous sub sandwich when I pulled him aside and asked "If you could vote in the next election, which party would you vote for?" After a series of "umms", "whats" and "uhhs", his response was exactly what could've been expected from the average adolescent boy. "The Awesome Party". I responded by inquiring about what was important to him. "Video games" was the ideal response to cement my point to my peer.
The sad truth is that that boy represents the masses of my generation. Despite the fact that I have met a multitude of clever, witty, smart and well-informed children my own age, I met far more who are dumb. So, to those that argue that not allowing youth to vote deprives them of expanding their horizons, getting involved in their community and expressing themselves, I disagree. I think that disallowing youth to vote actually prevents all the stupidity that could come out of my age-range.
And let me just pre-emptively address an issue which is sure to arise: Allowing 16 year olds to vote, is not going to encourage them to get involved in politics. We see this through history in countless like-examples.
Lastly, my opinion changes on a whim. I have a different view on a different subject on a near daily basis. Take my future, for example. I am never sure what I want to do after high school. I feel like I have a general idea, but nothing concrete. So should someone like me truly be able to vote - only to make a decision I could regret the next day?
So, why the long post about why kids shouldn't be allowed to vote? Because of the boy who won the student election? No. Was it a big deal? No, being the grade representative of the youngest high school grade does not change the course of humanity, nor does it have a tremendous impact on a student's life. The truth is that teachers and administrators continue to make the majority of the important decisions. Student council is more a way of providing false hope and assurance to children that they indeed are equal to the rest of society. But what that speech was, was a testament to the immaturity and the incapability of youths to make serious decisions.

Liz

The best relationship I have and have ever been in on a friendly level is one with a girl called Liz. She is incredible. Gentle and kind, hilarious and accepting. She is passionate and willing to go out on a limb for me. I adore her and I think I know why I love her so much.
Our relationship started oddly. She escorted me to the airport on the day of my vacation to Hawaii. Here's the catch: she had never spoken to me before. I fell in love with her spontaneity then and sent her a postcard from my vacation.
One day, when I had come to school with a relatively stuffed school bag, some children came to ask me what I had in it. I responded that I had a flight scheduled for Hawaii that evening, which meant that I had to bring my luggage to school and go straight to the airport afterwards. With this in mind, about seven of my peers offered to actually take me to the airport, she was one of them. Obviously, I accepted their kind offer.

When the final bell of the day rang, a few of those children and I met at the front of the school and waited for the rest of the kids. While we were waiting, a girl asked us where we were all congregating to go. One of the boys with me answered her. Her response stunned me a little bit, considering the fact that I didn't know her. She asked if she could join us. To the dismay and implicating dirty looks of my original group, I said yes. I thought "the more the merrier", right? She tagged along, pushing her bike with her to the Canada Line station. Along the way, I spoke to the people I knew, mainly avoiding her for the thought that she was strange, and so that I could retain my precious image with my group. A few of the kids I knew told me that that girl was very weird and that that was the opinion of the majority of the student body. I didn't doubt him. Not many people would invest the time or effort to take a stranger to the airport.

At the Canada Line station, part of the group decided to stay at the mall after eyeing a "ridiculously" good sale. One kid got a call from his parents ordering him back home. Another said he lived right around there and was going to go home to study for a test the next day. And then there were five. Two of them got on the Canada Line, but in the opposite direction. Now it was myself, my friend and the strange girl. My friend, for the sake of not being the only one left, made up some excuse as to why he had to leave, and left me with this bizarre child.
Naturally, I thought that she would excuse herself as well. Why would she want to go all the way to the airport with me?

To my surprise, she said she would take me all the way to my departure terminal because she knew that I would get lost. 

"You don't know me, how do you know if I have a good sense of direction, or if I'm gonna get lost?"

"I've heard stories about you - I know you get lost often. And I know that if you were to do this trip by yourself, you might not even make it on the right plane."

"Okay, I didn't realize people tell stories about me, so who are you."

"I'm Liz!" She said in the bubbliest, most enthusiastic voice I've ever heard.

And she went on to tell me about herself, and we got along quite well, despite being from totally different social standings in the school. She seemed to know a lot about me. Every time I would ask her how she knew all she did, she would reassure me that everyone else knew it too. She would go on to say that I would probably notice this if I wasn't so caught up in my own world. It was one of those situations where everyone knows your name, but you don't know anyones.

Anyways, we got to the airport, and Liz informed me that my flight would be at the sign that said "US Departures". 

"You must fly a lot" I said.

"No, I've actually never been on a plane in my life, but I have common sense, unlike you!" She stated.
I didn't want to argue with her over the common sense statement because I figured that everyone else thought so too. 

So we walked on over to US departures and, surely enough, there was my father. I introduced him to Liz and he told me to ask for her address so that I could at least send her a postcard. She had taken me to the airport after all.
As I said, I sent her that postcard, misspelling her name and some words in the process.

When I got back to school, I was greeted by a teacher who asked me where I had been for so long, and another teacher who asked me if my best male friend had locked me up in his basement for the duration of my trip. (I know, an inappropriate question from a teacher, even as a joke!)
After telling all my popular friends about the trip, asking my male friend why our teacher would feel the need to make said remarks, and asking all my teachers about what I had missed in the academic region of school, I found Liz (or, she found me.) She said hi, and it was as if she had opened herself up to me completely, telling me tons of stories about her family and life. Sadly, I didn't get to spend much time with her.
Even though we attended the same school, we had different cliques. Our friends were different, very different. Also, I didn't have many classes with her (just PE). Time, as well, was not on my side. There were only a few weeks of school left when I came back from the vacation. Regardless, she had claimed a spot in my heart.

I was quite pleased that school had drawn to a close because it meant that I had finally managed to rid myself of the clique, which I had inserted myself into. Considering that I wasn't coming back to the school next year, the last day of school was a freebie for me. I declined an invitation from my group in favor of having coffee with someone unaccepted by my circle. When that someone said some things that made me feel awkward, I excused myself from the coffee and went back to school. Going to my group was not an option because I really couldn't stomach having to look at them again, so I went back to the nearly deserted school. There was Liz, carrying a camera (to this day I have no idea what the camera was for) she approached me and said hi. I wasn't in the mood for chatting, or hanging out with her, so I told her that I had to go home.

"Where do you live?" she inquired.

"Downtown, far away. " I responded.

"Can I come?" I was dumbfounded and said yes.
She happened to have bus fare and asked me which bus I took. We walked to the stop and waited for the bus. Eventually, it came. We got on and talked. She turned my mood around. I went from sad and angry to happy and talkative. I told her about my extensive schooling, my extracurricular activities and about where I live. She talked about so many things that it would take too long for me to list them. When we got to my stop, we got off. I told her that I now had to transfer to another bus to make it all the way home.
"Maybe we should get something to eat." Stated Liz.
"Okay, where? I don't have much cash."
She looked around, saw a 7/11 and started heading in. I followed. We bought some high-quality corn dogs and chocolate bars, along with a disgustingly mixed Slurpee. It was a fabulous lunch.
Along the way, I pushed her to take a bunch of photos of anything and everything. I didn't want her camera to go to waste.
A few hours and a memory card full of photos later, we parted ways. I said that I should probably get going and she said that she probably should too. She used my phone to call her parents and tell them that she was alright and on her way home. I was astonished at how laid-back her parents were. They didn't seem to care that she hadn't told them about where she was. Anyways, she headed on over to the bus stop and I started walking home. It had been a really nice day. I had had great company and great climate.
That summer break wasn't plagued with baseball practices for Liz, and I, as usual, was completely free. We saw each other often. We went to the beach, to the pool and for countless picnics. I visited her at her place and she came to mine for dinners. It was a really nice break, during which, we made some truly unforgettable memories. The most prominent one? Second Beach Pool.
It was only the third or fourth time that Liz and I had gone out, but she was so open and honest with me that it felt like the thousandth for her. I was still hesitant. I didn't exactly want to pour my heart out to this bizarre girl. Anyway, that day at second beach pool made me love Liz for her kindness and question her sanity at the same time.
After that, we went out more. Quickly, we had visited just about every part of Vancouver together. Despite our differences in opinion about where to meet, we always managed to compromise. (She always succumbs to my wish of going to Downtown). We have done a lot, from pools to plateaus, we have seen just about everything there is to be seen.
I hope that we manage to stay friends for a long time and here's to 2.5 fabulous years of friendship. To the understanding and the memories we have shared. A good omen showed itself while I was writing this post - 10 000 views on this blog. Happy achievement, eh? Anyway, I can't wait to see Liz this Labour Day at Grouse Mountain to celebrate. Her birthday is always a great way to end summer break; to "go out with a bang". (I hope my cake turns out better this year than last.) I'll conclude my 50th post now, as I am at a loss for words and this conclusion is becoming long and lethargic. To end my substitute for a birthday card, I'll simply say: Happy birthday, Liz! Thanks for being a fabulous friend! I love you. 

Mom and Dad

As my break continues progressing, my life does not. I have been at a stagnant capacity both mentally and physically. It would be great if that stagnant pace was at an all-time high as oppose to a low, but hey, I guess consistency only comes in bad ways. That is a major part of the reason I haven't been writing as much as I would like. Oh well, bad things happen. 

It could be that melancholia and free time for pondering the complexities in life, which has inspired me to write this post. 

The better half of my break has been spent watching "Videoflow", a daily show on MuchMusic. It plays the video of popular top 40 videos. It's mind boggling for me to realize that I have watched this show everyday for about 3 hours, considering that I don't care for the music, nor the pornographic videos. I would understand watching it for a day, but everyday - the same videos are played everyday. No variation, no education, nothing. I think that if T.V. shows were like food, and thus included nutritional value facts, the nutritional value of Videoflow would be 0. And that is the show that has consumed my life, but that is the sad reality. In fact, it is very likely that my I.Q. has dropped a good 10 points from watching the series. My sister, who is the one who is subjecting me to the to torture, enjoys it and would never stop watching it, but I think that that comes with age, and hope that she will grow out of her stage of resentful music. 

I've grown fed-up with Videoflow, and today, forced my sister to turn it off, which she took as well as could have been expected. I feel that I need to eradicate Videoflow from both of our lives, as it serves as a means for brainwashing. With about 20 days left in my break, I hope that I can avoid the sight of Videoflow. 

There is one good thing which has arisen from Videoflow. A song which discuses a topic which I have never written about, but which I have discussed a great deal with my friends. 

My swim club is located in a part of Vancouver with a large Balkan population, thus the ethnic makeup of my swim club is largely Balkan, myself included. This, of course, is contrary to my school, which is nearly completely Asian. As you can imagine, the mindsets, mannerisms, values and beliefs of Asian children and Balkan children are naturally very different.
I have had the pleasure of interacting with children from all sorts of different cultural backgrounds here in Vancouver. I have been inspired by them countless times, not only to write, but to think as well. As much as I love talking, I love listening to other peoples' thoughts, too. The one topic, which despite having been discussed a million times by my friends and I, has never been written about is that of leaving home.
It's a touchy subject for some, and the contrasting views I've heard on the topic are incredible. Nowadays, it is very common for children to leave home after graduating from secondary school. Sometimes, the move is out of necessity - their post-secondary education facility is in a different part of the world, a career opportunity awaits them in a far-away land etc.. Sometimes however, the move is out of vain. Sometimes, children want to leave home for "independence", or because their old-man is a "straggy delinquent". Leaving home is a fairly big decision. In some cases, it can be viewed as the quintessential step for becoming an adult; for becoming independent. It can even shape your life. It's a big decision, especially if your on your own financially. But I'll stop rambling about the importance of making that decision.
Before I continue, why don't you take the time to venture a guess about which group of my friends -the Balkan or the Asian- are insistent on staying at home. Have you met any people from either cultural group to have a better understanding of their opinion? Have you an opinion on leaving home yourself? If you guessed the Balkan, then you are correct! You finally managed to guess something right, eh?
See, my Balkan friends pray to not leave home.
In fact, as I was waiting for the bus one day to go home from my swim practice, I was joined by a Bulgarian friend of mine. I wasn't the first time I had taken the bus with her. She would come with me occasionally when her mother couldn't pick her up. Every time her mom did pick her up however, she would offer me a ride, which I usually declined. She lives in Yaletown: the Balkan district of Vancouver, if you will. She goes to the local high school, which has an ethnic make-up of mainly children of Eastern European descent. Her opinions, as you can imagine, greatly resemble those of her parents, whose opinions greatly resemble those of people from the Balkan region. Her high school is a little taste of our region in Vancouver. But that's beside the point.
On that day of waiting for the bus, we talked about stuff that we usually do. She told me about some of the people in her high school and how they were doing (I had attended elementary with most of those kids, but I ended up being deemed gifted and attending a school on the other side of the city for gifted children, while they stayed close to home.) Regardless, I like to keep in touch and indulge in a little bit of girly gossip - who's dating who, who's behaving erratically, and other stuff of that nature. On that day, she confided in me that her best friend, who happens to be beautiful, was allowing boys to LG hunt on her. My Bulgarian friend told me how she was trying to get her friend to stop returning the flirts, but was unable and asked for my advice. I told her to tell her friend what the coach in the movie Mean Girls had told the class - "Don't have sex because you will get pregnant and die!" She laughed and we kept talking. Somehow, the conversation led to the Bulgarian girl's sister, who had just graduated from high school. I asked what post-secondary institution her sister was going to attend. The girl looked at me with a near crazy look in her eyes and in a low, almost whispering voice, said "she's going to UBC" (the local university). She went on to say that I had spent too much time in my over-acheiveing school, so that I had become accustomed to hearing exclusively Harvard. "I can't believe you even asked that! Of course she's staying at home with us, why would she ever leave? I would never leave home, I just want to live with my mom and my dad for the rest of my life and get married and then live next door! Don't you, or have you become totally 'Asian-ified'?"
It's hard to describe the way someone from that part of the world speaks, but it's very distinct. I've noticed it in myself and in my parents and in my Eastern European friends. Other, exclusively Anglo-Saxon, people have pointed out that the way I speak is odd and "overly passionate". See, had I attended my local school, I would've never even toyed with the notion that I speak in a funky way. I also debate, and the only critique I ever get is that I am too passionate during my speeches. It's funny, I never knew you could be overly passionate in a debate, but I guess I was wrong. Okay, I can empathize with the Anglo folk. I speak in a way that is a little "over-the-top". I look like I am about to murder the opposing team in order to get the judges to agree with my proposition. To someone who has grown up in a sterile society, where fieriness is seen as a sign of weakness, I can imagine that someone's desperation and pleading of a case in my manner can seem intimidating. Personally, I think that it's an air about the speaker, which distinguishes them more than the words. This air is what attracts me to speaking to fellow Balkaners. It's just that "it" factor, which makes me feel at ease and understood and happy to talk.
I've rambled again. Let me get back to the point.
Remember how I talked about Videoflow at the start of this post? Well, remember how I mentioned that one good thing that came of it? A song called Mother and Father by a band from New Zealand called Broods. In the song, the woman says "And ever since I left my mother / It's much harder to know / How to live my own life here / How to make my own home". The lyrics got me thinking. Thinking about the things all my Balkan friends had said, especially the Bulgarian one.
Due to the fact that I hadn't attended a school with people of my own region in a while, my feelings about staying with my parents during adulthood hadn't been as strong. I hadn't really thought about it. I knew it was looming, but accepted it as a necessary evil of growing up.
After listening to the song a few times, reading the lyrics and so forth, I came to the realization that I never want to leave home. It may have been the fact that the song instilled a fear of leaving home in me, or that it just brought me back to my roots - I'm not certain.
Broods sings "I just don't want to wake up lonely / I don't want to just be fine", and neither do I. Life just seems so uncertain without my mom and dad by my side. I just don't know what I would do. I think that I'd feel lost, maybe even pointless. Life alone just seems too scary, too independent.  

Make It Stop

Sounds are wonderful things. They can inspire and ignite emotion through music, speeches, sighs, even breaths. These little vibrations, which enthral your eardrum into pounding signals like a jungle drum to your brain, can move you, but of course, there are two opposite directions in which you can move. Music, for example, can make one person elated and cause depression in the other. Drake's song "Started From the Bottom" is a perfect example of the varying effect any set of sounds can have on different people. I remember a time at school when, in an effort to seem cool, one stupid child blasted the song on his backpack speakers. He walked the halls of the school from one side to another, with nothing -and I mean nothing, the boy didn't even have a shirt on- but the aggressive thumping sounds of "Started From the Bottom". 

Naturally, it was hard for me to focus on the music. Such a sight was not a regular occurrence, even in my school of teen pregnancies and drugs. (Speaking of drugs, I presume the child was on drugs.) Anyway, as the boy walked past people, I observed their reactions. Truly, very few of my peers were as genuinely awed as I was at the sight of a boy in nothing but underwear and socks pacing through the halls with a backpack. I feel that it is safe for me to separate the student body into two groups: Drake fans" and "Not Drake Fans". The titles speak for themselves, but I will elaborate a little more. The "Drake Fans", well they grooved and moved their crotches and butts in a sexually provoking manner. They would come close together and rub genitalia together, mind you, they had clothes. The "Not Drake Fans" would simply stay back and throw boos at the shirtless jukebox. They didn't so much as give a second thought as to why a boy was marching through the school half-naked, rather they criticized his choice in music and encouraged him to try certain other genres. 

Obviously, sound can evoke a certain feeling in an individual. Generally, noise evokes bad feelings in people and music evokes pretty feelings in people. See, those students that didn't like the music from my example above, didn't like it because they didn't consider it to be music; rather noise. 

I was once the subject of a survey for my friend's project, where she would play sounds and ask the test group to rate how terrible the sounds were. There was beeping, barking and banging. I remember sitting there and wishing that the minutes would pass by faster so that I could get back to class. 

This is all pointless writing however, I want to get to the point. 

Last night, I went to sleep late because I was watching some interesting TV. The night prior I had went to bed at 2:30 in the morning and woken up at 8. When I woke up at 8, I was obviously tired, but the day started with a nice breakfast so I was happy. I promised myself that I would go to sleep early, but the TV didn't let me. This morning, I had no need to wake up early. I knew this when I went to sleep last night. I thought that I would sleep the day away and wake up in a state of mental clarity. I was wrong and my hopes were wrong. 

I was woken up this morning by a shrill-shrieking, no-good, obnoxious-barking dog and the construction crew, which sounds more like a destruction crew. Every morning, since the start of my break, this construction crew has impeded my sleep with their crashing and beeping and dropping. Every morning. But I'll get to the constructers later. Let's discuss the bitch.

Some poor, lonely soul, who is incapable of being dated has attempted to fill her life. How? By purchasing a mutt. This pathetic woman has come to accept the sad reality that, due to her appearance, she will never find a mate. Moreover, she has come to accept the reality which is her repudiating mirror reflection. But, due to her personalty, her ego, she cannot accept the fact that no one wants her. She thinks, no, she knows, that she is too incredible to not be wanted. She knows that she is the most awe-inspiring creature to have ever set foot on the planet. She believes that she is God's miracle. Too bad that no one apart from her mother feels the same way. 

The level of arrogance and obnoxiousness possessed by this woman is off the charts. She feels that she has the right to interrupt the slumber of the entire neighbourhood. Perhaps, she feels the centre of attention when her replacement-for-a-boyfriend, flea-bag begins to bark as if the apocalypse is arriving. Yes, that is what was occurring. That dog began barking and howling like there was no tomorrow.
I'll be frank, I have never owned a canine, in fact, I haven't even managed so much as a goldfish, so my critique of this woman could be wrong. The part about her ego, I believe it stands however. I believe that single persons, especially women, own pets in place of something any normal, reproductively functioning human female would want - children. Call me old-fashioned, but you know it's true.
My major problem, and the reason I have decided to massacre Jane Doe's behavior is because of her dog, right? Wrong. I am disgusted by Jane Doe for the simple fact that she, at that moment, felt no desire whatsoever to force her child into silence. I would actually venture to say that had that drooling, disgusting dog been a human child, the woman would have disciplined in a far harsher manner. It's quite true actually.
Take a look at the news for example. When a human is murdered in, let's say, a gang shootout, it is mentioned along with some statistic about murder rates. When however, an animal, like a cat for example is killed by a person, an international tribunal level  investigation is lauched. The person who is eventually found guilty of the kitty murder is sentenced harshly and spat upon by society. I don't know too much about cats, but I know that, if not neutered, they can produce tremendous amounts of offspring. What is a person to do with those offspring? Killing them is actually one of the more humane options. That way, they won't end up suffering through life as strays etc.. A human being should not be antagonized for the quick murder of an animal out of necessity. People should be criticized when they release their anger on animals and abuse them in horrific ways.
My point however, isn't the inequalty between humans and pets, it is Jane Doe's bitchiness. She let that dog bark into eternity. I was awoken, I was disturbed, and I was angered. I don't care much for alarm clocks, especially ones that bark and initiate themselves during my summer break. The world doesn't revolve around Jane Doe or her mutt. She needs to know that, as does her bitch. I think that her actions this morning qualified as "disturbing the peace". That is my diplomatic statement. Less diplomatically, I'd like to inform Jane Doe that if she were in any number of foreign countries, her arrogance and her makeshift community alarm clock would be quickly executed so that the human folk could rest.  Am I mean? I don't think so. I simply follow Mother Nature's system. I am a human, therefore I am superior to an animal. Now, I am going to tell you something shocking: I am not a vegetarian!
Now to get into the second part of my fabulous daily alarm - the construction crew. These are the men who so charmingly evoke crashes and bangs, which echo throughout the famously beautiful and peaceful Vancouver neighborhood of Coal Harbour. They are the producers of the sounds of metal clashing with metal, cranes smashing against buildings and notoriously, the incisive dinging of safety signals.
These construction workers have an ugly habit. Instead of working on a typical schedule of "nine-to-five", they prefer to work on a schedule more similar to that of a rooster. Work begins at the crack of dawn and ends around lunch. It's terrible. Call me crazy, but I like to sleep in. Isn't that normal? Shouldn't construction men also enjoy a schedule which allows them to rise after the sun? It doesn't make a difference to the building's construction schedule if they work early or late, right?
Another issue which taunts me is the level of noise that is produced from the building in question. Despite it being at a distance from my building, I can hear it as if it were being built in my living room. Is that noise really necessary? I don't think so. See, I think that those destruction workers enjoy, or at least, don't mind the sound. They have those massive noise-cancelling headphones on their heads, so they can't hear anything. Maybe it even makes them feel good to smash things around; empowering to say the least. A fetish, maybe a perversion, which makes you the king of the world. Again, I may be wrong. Maybe that is an unfortunate byproduct of building. Maybe that noise is the unfortunate byproduct of living in one of the most overly-priced, most in-demand neighbourhoods in the world. But maybe not.
Coal Harbour, the envied neighbourhood, the neighborhood everyone in Vancouver dreams of living in, has been polluted by the figurative screams of a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Coal Harbour used to have nearly everything. The marina, the beach, the Seawall, Stanley Park, tourist attractions, cafés and everything in between. It was picturesque. Now it really has everything; dying whimpers of dogs and construction included. It is famous for it's peaceful atmosphere and it's friendly people. But it is expensive (with good reason). It's one of those communities where Utopia seems a little closer. It used to be popular with retirees and yuppies, however, since adding "head-banging-heaven" to it's repertoire, it may just become a little more popular with the early-rising crowd. 

Child-like Innocence

Growing up I had always believed that the naïvety possessed by children was a flaw; that it held them back. I looked at grown people whose lack of understanding of society's functions held them back and concluded that my hypothesis must be true. Throughout my schooling in North America, I had seen tonnes of examples of kids whose minds have been poisoned by the media, older siblings and their schooling. Sadly, because of this, I thought that that was the right way to be, and in order to fit in, polluted my own mind with a flurry of things no child should know, but most children do. 

For as long as I can remember going to school, I had had one goal - to be popular, or at least, to fit in. I changed my personality the way a chameleon changes its colour, blending in to whatever scum I became associated with. I never really found a true friend; someone I could share my true colours with until grade eight. 

In a school filled with failures and rubbish, drug-dealers and users, teen pregnancies and sex - I found light. I found a true friend. Someone who I could be how I truly was around without fear of rejection and judgement. It was wonderful and very relaxing. In fact, all my cares about portraying a certain image flew out the window. My friend however, was not completely sane (I mean that in the best way possible). She was bubbly and bold and bright and all that stuff that makes one seem a little off. There was one thing that my friend lacked, and that was a sort of child-like innocence; a naïvety, if you will. Of course, I didn't mind that, because by the time that I had met my friend I had forgotten that I had ever had a grain of innocence in me. That is until my second friend came along.

I moved schools after spending one year in that "ghetto" school. I went to one of the most tame schools in Vancouver. I expected that it would be tough to make friends, but I was wrong. Everyone was very social and welcoming, so I made friends and all was good. I felt accepted. After my best friends from that school had to move to different cities at the end of the year, I was sad. I knew that I'd have to make new close friends, but I wasn't sure who.
Miraculously, I was introduced to a girl who would go on to become a very good friend of mine. I have spoken a lot about said friend in past posts, so I won't reiterate. She is the polite and proper one. And she, well she is really different from my first friend.
She is the type of girl who would never utter an ugly word, but not because she refuses to let it slip out of her mouth, rather because she simply does not know such a piercing word. When I first met her, she was quiet and attentive and very prim. At first, I thought that the her way of being which prevented her from using swear words, or engaging in the sexually themed conversations of her peers; I later found out that it wasn't so much that as it was her  inexperience with such subject matter.
I was honestly appalled at her lack of knowledge of certain mind pollutants. Her mind was so pure and innocent, and I had grown to be so infected with society's wretchedness, that I was shocked. Due in part to her poshness, you would never be quite sure of whether or not she knew what you were talking about, as she would never ask. No matter what was being said, she managed to conceal the fact that she didn't have a clue quite well.
It took me a while of being friends with her to finally begin to distinguish her behaviours from when she did and didn't know something. Since the two of us rarely allowed ourselves to be thrust into regular teenage conversation about "hot guys" etc., I first noticed her lack of knowledge while reciting one of my posts to her. Since she is my biggest supporter in blogging, I subject her to the joy -or horror- of listening to everything I have to say. In her typical fashion, she always nods and smiles along, occasionally, she even rebuts a point I make or offers me advice for improving the quality of a post.  A few times, when I first began incorporating some "10$ words" into my posts, I would notice her pause before continuing to nod and smile - that was my key to realization. I then would proceed to ask her, "Do you know what that word means?" To which she would respond by shaking her head. "Then why don't you ask me? You can learn the word and make sense of what I am saying." She responded by telling me that she does figure out what I am saying through the context. Regardless, I encouraged her to ask.
To this day she doesn't ask me, rather I have to beat it out of her, but that's beside the point.
Because my friend is on vacationin Europe right now, we don't get to see each other in person. Luckily, we have email and Skype. After sending approximately fifty, near thousand word, essays back and forth to each other, she had gotten tired and requested that she see my face on Skype. Of course, this was fine. So, we agreed on a time, and made it happen.
We talked about regular things - how our respective breaks were going, how much we missles each other etc.. To my surprise, in the midst of my conversation, I heard my father make an inquiry to my mother. He asked her whether she and her friends spoke the way my friend and I were speaking right now when they were sixteen. I had to shelve the comment in the back of my mind, at least until the conversation was over, because I didn't want to be distracted.
At the end of our long Skype, I asked my sister what my dad had meant by the comment. She replied, telling me that dad thought that it was adorable. Apparently, our conversation seemed like that of a couple of pre-schoolers. But what was adorable? The way we were speaking to each other? At first, I brushed off the comment, but later, out of respect for my father's intellect, tried to find some merit to the comment. It was easier than I thought.
I looked back at the topics we discussed during the course of our conversation - blackberry picking in the park, future trips we were planning, future blog posts I was planning, what clothes we had newly gotten, the food we had eaten and how much we missed each other. At one point, I even put a blackberry up to the camera lens on my computer and said "here, try one!", to which she responded by putting a hand up to her camera lens, as to accept my blackberry, and mimicking the motion of eating.
Truly, the subject matter of our long conversation was so childlike that it was astounding. No gossip, no   hate, no mind-polluting topics. Our conversation was as innocent as that of a 5-year-old. Remarkably, I enjoyed it, and I realized that my friend and I always talked that way when we were together without our peers. She, being the incredibly sterile person she is, brings out a child-like innocence in me, which I thought that I had lost years ago. Moreover, I enjoy the innocence; it makes me feel like a better person.
I hope that she manages to remain the way she is in a rotten world because I want to draw some of that happiness from being around her. I am elated to have rediscovered the beauty of childlike innocence, because it is one of those small pleasures, which is truly beautiful and freeing, but sadly sparse. 

Fun in the Sun

Approximately a month of summer break has passed. I can't say that it's been an eventful one, but it's been nice. I've spent a lot of time indoors despite the beautiful the weather. I've written -or rather, started- a flurry of blogposts. For some reason, I cannot summon the energy, nor the right words, to complete any of my blogposts entirely. I haven't went outside on many occasions, but between my vacation in Banff and my occasional relaxing strolls, I have nonetheless enjoyed the weather. I love the sun and the warmth, though it has made me more lethargic than usual. Happily, my self-confinement has also kindled a desire to go outside, hence my nightly strolls. Because one of my friends is off in Europe for the whole break, I have really only been left with one good friend to hang out with. Unfortunately, my friend's tremendously busy schedule of baseball practice, has made it nearly impossible for us to see each other.

Until this week that is. This is the week that my friend is free from baseball! She managed to qualify for the provincial championships, and in preparation, her coach was kind enough to give the team a week off before the big touranament. Being my best friend, she decided to spend that week with me! After calling me, the two of us agreed on meeting at the pool and going for a swim. I very much enjoy tanning myself to a crisp as well, so being the scorching day that it was, I was sure that our meeting would be wonderful. And it was.

We were eating, drinking, swimming, tanning, and being merry. That is, until my friend brought up an extremely depressing topic.

My friend and I met in grade eight on a sunny day in April. We went to the same school, but didn't have any classes together. One day, when I had come to school with a relatively stuffed school bag, some children came to ask me what I had in it. I responded that I had a flight scheduled for Hawai'i that evening, which meant that I had to bring my luggage to school and go straight to the airport afterwards. With this in mind, about seven of my peers offered to actually take me to the airport, she was one of them. Obviously, I accepted their kind offer. And in that short trip to the airport, actually formed a good bond with her. Two years later, and we're still great friends! But that's beside the point.
So, what was this extremely depressing topic? Teen pregnancy.
In grade 8, I went to a school filled with problematic teens. Blow jobs were happening in the change rooms between classes, and marijuana was a normal part of existence. As you may have concluded, it wasn't the best school for expanding your horizons academically. Now, I had been accepted to a handful of other schools and gifted programs over the city, but because the majority of my classmates were headed over to this school, I followed.
Realizing that it was a mistake, I quickly applied, and after getting accepted, transferred schools. Initially, it was hard for me to leave my friends, but my new school suited me a lot better. The people there were a lot more similar in personality to me.
Incredibly, the events which I witnessed while attending the school were nowhere near the events which would reveal themselves in the two years after my leaving.
One year after I left, a girl from my grade gave birth to a baby. A boy from my grade is the father. The girl, well that was expected, but the boy, not so much. Let me put it into perspective: I'm 16. To have a child at the age of 15, and refuse to abort it because you are "in love", well that's just beyond me.
I can't possibly fathom taking care of a baby at this age. I feel bad and careless at the same time for these two kids. Moreover, I feel icky that this was no "one-off".
No. In the past two years since I left, at least seven girls have gotten pregnant. One has given birth, another is expecting, and the rest have aborted. Most know who the father is, a few don't. And honestly, I'm almost at a loss for words. I'm not quite sure how to describe the dramatic change which has occurred at my old school. Moreover, I don't know how to feel.
I contemplate what would have happened had I stayed at my old school. How bad would it actually be?
I thank my friend for keeping me informed, but I feel confused.

The Great Outdoors - Part 1

I am currently situated in a quaint little village just outside the famously beautiful town of Banff. It is a small town in the middle of the Rocky Mountains. It is a nature lover's dream. All the features someone could possibly want and ask for of a picturesque mountain scene. There is hiking, animals, lakes, mountains, dirt, rocks and miles of grey highway. In fact, I hear that the movie Narrow Margin was filmed here.

Needless to reiterate, it's quite majestic.

Now here's the question? Am I enjoying my mountain retreat, my getaway, my vacation? No, I am far from enjoyment and bliss. I quite despise it. This trip was suggested to me by my lovely father, an outdoorsman. This trip was supposed to inspire me, to pull me out of my spiral of uninspiredness, to save me from falling into the depths of unimaginative oblivion. I think that it has quite succeeded in that goal, for I am very inspired. A fire has been lit in my soul, so great, so bright, that I feel more inspired than I have in months. Inspired from hatred and ire, however, not from pleasantry.

Yes, the miraculaous nature riles me. It fills me with hate. What causes me more anger and distress is the knowing that I endured a hardy 10 hours confined in a car behind an incredibly irritating seatbelt. And for what? So that I could see some mountains? So that I could exert myself on the beaten, dirt path up one if those mountains. All in search of what? A lake, some coniferous forest? Really?

I hate to say this, but I see no beauty in it anymore. It is not special to me in any way. But of course, Hawaii isn't special to me anymore, yet I still adore it. Why? Because I adore the beach, and the waves and the warmth and the feeling of salt water as it splashes against my navel. But is there any feature of this kind of nature that I adore? Sadly no. I don't like dirt, I don't like getting dirty, I don't like exercise, I don't like rocks, I don't like vegetation and I especially don't like bugs.

Oh mosquitoes, they are the worst! I would gladly eradicate them if I could. I just generally dislike all the characteristics associated with a mountain setting.
The mountains seemed to instigate a huge amount of rage in me. It had become increasingly easy to set me off. Every small flaw seemed grave. Had I been given the chance, I would have broken someone's nose. I was psychologically incapable of coming to terms with the knowledge that I had to hike. With each statement of elevation gain and length, I fell into a deeper state of melancholia and lethargy. I didn't want to do it. People cannot understand why, nor how it is possible to despise walks through mountains and forest to such an extent. I just do. Physically, it's fine. I am strong and conditioned enough to survive just about any hike. For example, a few years ago, I survived the hike up Whistler Mountain - a staggering 21km But did I enjoy it? Absolutely not. Don't get me wrong, it's not like the lakes and mountain tops aren't beautiful, it's just that they're all the same. At least to me, that is. I feel that each one is similar and that the strenuous hike required to get to the top is not worth it. But that's just me.

I never grew up dreaming to be like Heidi, or the woman from The Sound of Music. I was perfectly content with city life. I don't like Vancouver because of it's rainy, disgusting climate. But, I would not trade living in a big city for "the simple life".

Or at least, that's what I thought at the start of this trip.
By the end of this trip I had started to like the mountains. They had begun to grow on me. And just as my attitude started to evolve from negative to positive, I was yanked from the Rockies and shipped back to Vancouver.
I don't know why my attitude started to change, but it did. I was sitting in the backseat of my car, and, as we made the drive from Calgary to Banff, an immense calm came over me. As I watched as the wind blow on the grass, I felt at peace.

Quantity v. Quality

It's an age old question. One of those that can be debated into the wee hours of the morning with no conclusion. It's the question of quantity or quality. Before I get into it, take a moment to consider it for yourself. Would you rather have a plethora of something "meh" or a few of something really good. I'll give you two examples so that you have a better idea of what I'm saying, and an easier time of determining what your view on the issue is:

1) Let's talk about food. Let's assume that you don't like fish and chips a lot, but that you are a huge fan of oatmeal (I know that it's an odd and mostly unrealistic example, but bear with me). So, one fine day, you get to choose between a good portion of fish and chips (a hardy 2 fillets with a heaping pile of warm fries) or a delicious pack of your favourite oatmeal. (Note I said "pack". One, single pack.) If you've ever eaten oatmeal from  those instant packs, you know they aren't very big. In fact, they're so small that I'd doubt one pack could satisfy a toddler. So, which do you choose? A little bit of incredibly delicious oatmeal or a satisfying amount of average-tasting fish and chips?

2) For the second example, let's talk about people. If you could be the "popular" kid in school, and have flocks of acquaintances, but no really close friends, would you? Or would you rather have one or two very close friends, but not many broader connections?  

Based on the two examples I provided above, you should be able to come to some sort of vague conclusion as to what kind of person you are and what you value more. Regardless of what you value, I encourage you to keep reading. My critique will be about this philosophical question in terms of life. I will be advocating for the "#YOLO" mentality (moderately, of course!)

As you may have guessed, I prefer quality. I'm one of those people who believe that life should be good. That every breathing moment should be lived as comfortably as possible. Obviously, this varies for people, because the definition of "comfort" varies for everyone. Take another moment to consider what comfort means for you. 

Before I begin delving deeper, let me explain why I was so inclined to write this post. I was inspired by my friend, and by many of the people who live in Vancouver, particularly joggers. 

On one of Vancouver's many rainy days, I was walking down Robson street. I was on my way home from school, which was the only reason I was outside. (Generally, I refuse to exit my home if there is so much as a cloud in the sky, but school sadly requires me to leave often.) I was on my way out of one bus, and had to walk down about a block of Robson to reach my next bus stop to get home. This was unfortunate because it required me to get wet in the rain, but I had to do it. When I made it to the shelter of the bus stop, I sat down and impatiently waited for the next bus. Of course, as is the usual case, the bus was nowhere to be seen. Looking back, I am extremely satisfied that that bus was late because it gave me time to think and even undergo an epiphany.

No bus, lots of rain and humid, dewy people - ain't life grand? I stared into space, looking for something to turn my attention away from the anger I was experiencing because of the bus's tardiness. There it was! But it didn't help with my anger, it amplified it. It was a woman. A woman dressed in tight Lululemon leggings, a NorthFace windbreaker and hot pink Asics running shoes. Her blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and raindrops dripped from her nose with each gallop. She was jogging. It was repulsing, pathetic and vomit-inducing. She was running in this weather. Why? Why? Why? Why would anyone condemn themselves to this? 

Luckily, I quickly realized that she wasn't the only woman I had ever seen doing this. No, hundreds of women run by me each day in their pathetic workout attire, in all kinds of weather, in their sad attempt to stay healthy. This one just happened to be the subject of my wrath that day. 

Anyway, this woman got me thinking about my friend. My friend, who has intensely muscular legs for a 16-year-old girl. My friend, who is so repulsed my McDonald's food that she refuses to consume a single fry. My friend, who forces herself to perform physical activity, in the form of running, on a daily basis, at the encouragement of her father overseas. My friend, who tries her very best at running races in school and thus possesses a school record. My friend, who went on a diet consisting exclusively of fruit to lose imaginary weight to please her visiting parents. (I really do like her, it's just these aspects annoy me.)

Anyway, the problem I saw with my friend and these women was, firstly, that they were doing most of these things to please other people as oppose to themselves, and secondly, that they were doing these chores not because they enjoyed them, but because they believed they could reap some benefits from them in the future. Let me make 2 things perfectly clear. Firstly, I do believe that there are benefits to physical activity. Secondly, I understand that these women may be doing some of these things because they enjoy them, or to please themselves, but that's beside the point. 

These women were suppressing their lives, in order to extend them. That is what repulses me. Their quality of life is low, but, as a result of that, they will most likely outlive idle, cheeseburger eating folks like me by a decade or so.
Do I regret it? Absolutely not. I'm happy with my life and it makes me feel good to do the bare minimum in PE class, and to never workout on my own will, and to eat whatever I feel like eating. So, would I sacrifice 10 extra years of senior-ism and a cellulite-free butt for living comfortably and peacefully? Yeah, I guess I would. What's the point to 10 extra years, anyways? If you outlive all your friends, then what? You'll suffer from deep misery knowing that it was mistake to hesitate from all those small, simple pleasures of life.
Look, I think that the mental burden of waking up each day with the fear of missing a run or accidentally eating something with carbohydrates is more harmful to a person's life than actually not running. But that's just me.
So, to all those joggers decked out in thin, see-through Lululemon and in deep states of depression because their delusional wishes of fitting in eventually come to no avail - relax. Don't worry. Everyone will eventually die, so don't do things to make them happy because they won't be able to judge you for long. Don't restrain yourself for such a huge portion of your life because you'll never get it back, and when you have no one to turn to in your raw vegan book club, you'll regret the running during the torrential rain because you'll know that deep down, you hated it.
Don't make the task of life any longer than you want it to be. Think about it, if you hate running, then do you really want to add those extra years to your life? In reality, those extra years amount to extra suffering and extra diets and extra runs and extra muscles in your thighs. 

It's Not You, It's Me

The reason that I haven't posted in so long had puzzled me up until today. I knew that I was uninspired and I knew that I was depressed, but I wasn't quite sure as to why. I supposed that it was because of the looming, dreadful exams in school. Math was the first exam and, considering the fact that math is my worst subject, I assumed that I was "screwed". Luckily, after much studying and a heightened level of understanding due to a divine intervention, I took the exam and felt good. I walked out of the dimly lit school gymnasium, which had shed the coloured lines from it's dingy wooden floor in favour of blue tarp, with a confident air. I took some extra time to finish, but between the multiple choice and my calculator, I think that I did well. Sure, some questions stumped me, but overall it was much better than could be expected of a dud. However, I am not writing my first post in a while to brag and flaunt my new-found capability of math.

Why was I depressed? I would be lying if I said that it was solely because of the exams. No, my depression had started much before exams and it stemmed from something a lot more personal. The cause of my depression was actually -as cliché as it sounds- hidden in plain sight. That is why it took me weeks to actually put my finger on the root of my emotions. 

The problem with having a problem right in front of you is that it is never the first place you look. It's like your car keys: You can never find them, and you literally flip the couch cushions over in search of them, all to realize that they are on the kitchen counter - the place you had walked by hundreds of times while searching for your keys. 

My problem was a person. Not just someone, someone dear. A relationship was stressing me so tremendously that I was losing interest in everything, even the things I generally love doing. In a way, the depression was like a blessing in disguise. Hear me out:
Since I didn't feel like doing anything, I had a lot of time to study for my exams, but still, everything had become meaningless. I was studying for the sake of filling my time, yet still my days seemed long and anguished and I was withdrawn. 

I don't think that it's fair to the people around me for me to be radiating sadness, so I usually try and eliminate the cause of my sadness so that I can get back to normal and not concern those around me.

After much pondering, I couldn't come to an answer and I was becoming ireful. (Terrible combination, eh? Angry and depressed.)

I went to sleep last night with a little bit of anxiety because of my exam. (No matter how much I know, I am never confident enough.) I groggily woke up in the morning, brushed my teeth, scrambled to find  a clean pair of socks and ate two slices of bread with Nutella that my mom had prepared. I started to dress myself, considering I would want to be comfortable for my exam. Three hours of sitting is no easy task, after all. I put on my skinny jeans, which my body had become so accustomed to that they felt like pyjamas. A white long sleeve shirt, advertising some abstract graphic in the front followed. (The shirt was so light, and the cotton so soft that it was heavenly.) Over that, I put on my favourite and most versatile article of clothing - an Adidas track jacket. And for footwear I did some platform Dr. Martens, just to make myself extra tall. (You know, because 178cm is not nearly enough). Little did I know while I was doing this that my persistent depression would be resolved today. 

I took my protractor, ruler, pencil, eraser and calculator and sighed. If anything, I expected my day to get worse after the exam. 

When I got to the exam, I was scared. Despite not being very religious, I was inclined to say a prayer. I answered the questions and when I was finished, handed in the exam and left that dreaded gym as quickly as I could. My friend was right in front of me, but she didn't notice me. She was talking to a new crowd and was quite entranced by them. Anyways, she eventually noticed me and came to give me a hug. I supposed that it was because she thought she had done quite well. Being the strange person I am, I tend to become the most anxious after exams, and I was at a level where I couldn't physically hug her back because I was trembling. Literally, I was shaking and such a chill had come over me that my teeth were clattering at what seemed to be a rate of 332049 taps/minute. Perhaps I had entered a state of shock or had a panic attack; I don't know.

Regardless, I started to walk towards where my locker was, and naturally expected her to be behind me. I thought that we would sit down, I would calm down and that we would possibly ask each other how we did etc.. I was wrong. 

My friend didn't walk with me, instead she stayed with her crowd and continued talking. I was hung to dry. I felt betrayed. 

Luckily, she isn't my only friend, and instead of seeing her behind me, I saw three other students who I have recently started to hang out with. Led by one girl, who I talk to on a daily basis now, they approached me with usual greetings and questions about the exam. Another girl joined us and explained some of her answers, but she had to leave promptly. 

After some time, my friend and her newly adopted group arrived because some of the people in that group had lockers near mine. Once again, she payed me no mind until she overheard a question on the exam that the people I was with were speaking about. She turned around and said "Oh yeah! How do you do that one?" We explained it to her and she laughingly admitted she got it wrong. And that was pretty much that. That was the extent of our speaking to each other.
I turned to my group, and she to hers. About five minutes later, she turned to me and opened her mouth to speak, but I didn't listen because I knew what she was going to say. She was going to tell me, as she has been telling me for the past few months, that she was going to play sports with this group instead of walking the route to the bus loop with me, as we had done since the start of the year. I nodded my head, though it wasn't like I cared. It wasn't like my nod meant anything to either of us. 

Since she isn't absolutely mentally retarded, she understood my utter dismissiveness of her as bad. So she did some sort of action that resembles what a girl does to her father when she wants money to go the mall - some sort of flirting. I smiled as consolation to her, but it wasn't really like she cared about the hint I was giving her. The way I see it, she had no need to bat her eyelashes at me because I am not her father with money to spare or her master.  

Regardless, she continued on her way with her friends without giving me a second thought. After spending some time in the school, my group and I headed out to the nearest grocery store in search of soy sauce. After we had finished with that, we walked down the street to the bus loop. This wasn't the first time that I had walked with this group and thus I felt quite at ease with them. In the past few weeks actually, I'd venture to say that I have been walked to the bus loop more by this new group than my friend. In fact, I have walked on a near daily basis with one of the girls from the group. It's nice. I like the company. I prefer walking, especially on the few non-rainy Vancouver days, however, the 20 minute stroll can become dull if I must walk it alone. Due to the growing number of commitments my friend has decided to take on, she hasn't been able to walk with me to our bus stop in recent weeks. So, I feel particularly blessed that this new girl comes up to me everyday and asks me if I would like to walk with her - it's mutually rewarding, as neither of us needs to walk alone.
Anyway, I have concluded that this friend of mine is the root cause of my depression. She is the one that is making me hurt. I feel betrayed by her. I feel as if she left me for someone else (I know, I sound like the girlfriend/friend from hell!). She now consciously disregards me in order to talk to her new friends. Look, I am not trying to say that she should only ever be friends with me, rather that there should be a certain degree of loyalty. In spite, I return the favour and disregard her.
However, this isn't a cat-fight. This isn't a messy and vile case of friends becoming foes - it's a drifting apart. Slow and steady, but sure. This is the type of scenario where, after the friendship, there are no hard feelings, no back-stabbing, no gossip - just neutrality. ("The opposite of love's indifference", anybody?)
I can't say for certain what caused us to slip out of each other's affection. Perhaps it was ourselves, perhaps it was others. I feel that she has changed since she started associating with the new crowd, but I'm sure she feels the same way about me. I could blame the change on hormones, which have caused her to fall into a deep state of non-mutual adoration with one of the boys in the group and thus feel the urge to follow him wherever he goes, and which have caused me to become over sensitive and angry. I could blame it on her for not standing for anything. I could blame it on myself for being over-protective and over-expectant. I could blame it on the fact that two ever-different people were ever brought together by fate, or on myself for ever believing that I could have a relationship with someone so different. But whatever I blame it on won't change the fact.
The best relationship I have, and have ever been in, on a friendly level is one with a girl called Liz. I attribute a lot of the successfulness of the relationship to the fact that Liz and I aren't joined at the hip. We see each other often, but not daily, so we cannot get bored of each other, we cannot take each other for granted. We can look forward to seeing each other. Perhaps that is the problem. Maybe seeing my friend every day made her sick of me and me of her. Maybe people all need change and variation. After all, that's why the divorce rate is so high, right? You cannot bear to see the same person every moment of everyday. We need variation as humans, don't we? Maybe not. I presume my theory is disproved by all those long-term, happily married couples like my parents. Or maybe, maybe my theory is right. Maybe relationships just require loads of work. Time and effort, which I, and all those divorcés aren't willing to put in.
I guess that if I already am not willing to expend countless units of effort onto saving my relationship with this girl, I am going to have to practice what I had preached to her before. I am going to have to move on, and let go.
Letting go is tough. It's something I'm only just learning. I've realized that I spend too much time fretting over banal things. I am young and malleable and am fortunate enough to have a chance to fix things about myself. I have realized that sometimes I cannot face a problem head on, but that I have to give it time. Sadly, in some cases, coping through disregard is the best method for saving your own sanity. Have you ever heard the phrase "Ignorance is bliss"? How about "Tolerance is bliss"? I am starting to see how these phrases can seriously help fiery people like myself. I am starting to see that sometimes they are the most empowering options. It's ironic of me to say that considering that my blog is all about critiques and letting things bug me, so that I can write about them. My passionate soul would have nothing to write about if it just tolerated everything, so I guess that may not be a viable option after all.
Regardless, I have reviewed the situation, I have determined how important changing it is to me. I have decided on how much energy I am willing to invest in getting what I want and I think that I have reached that threshold.
No one starts a relationship to see it end, no one waters trees to watch them die, but sometimes that is the reality. Things fade away, things come and things go, I just need to come to terms with that. Maybe the two of us will reconnect later, maybe we'll miss each other after the time apart (summer break couldn't have come soon enough!), or maybe we just won't. I'll have to let this one play out as it does; it's for the best.
So to my friend, who may or may not realize that this is about her and who may or may not actually bother to read this post in it's entirety: It's not totally you, it's me.

Sadly, Everyone Ages

An activist, a woman, a wife, a friend

A lover, a poet, a fighter and then

Gone.

Yet far from forgotten

Deeply respected

Against all rotten.

She taught us to love

She showed us fight

Peace like a dove

Words like rays of light.

Eminent she will remain

Adored by but the rain

Beautiful in all ways

Change bringing by the days

A soul of the ages

With words on pages

Releasing from cages

Moving speeches on stages

Sadly, everyone ages.

~~~~~~

POWERPOINT

Good Ole Days

Ahh, the good old days. How I wish I was living within them. Honestly, I think that I was born a few generations too late. Sucks for me, I guess.

I really like the ideals which used to exist in society; the ideals which are currently being eroded by my generation. Some of these ideals used to be very formidable, in my opinion. As bigot-y as it may sound, some of the "rules" which used to exist in society gave people a place. Let me be clear, I'm not saying that everything that used occur in society was correct. The diminishing (or at least the seeming of diminishment) of things like racism and sexism is a big plus of my generation. Why do I italicize "seeming"? Because of personal reasons. See, I was never a victim of bullying to my face, but does that mean I was never bullied? No, in fact, I was very bullied for a good deal of my time in elementary school. People from my generation are simply too frightened at the thought of openly telling someone what they think of them, they use something more painful - gossip. People (especially girls) used to gossip about me all the time in elementary and probably still do. 

Steering from anecdotes, let me get to the specifics of what I want to say. The parts of society (from the 50s all the way to the 80s) which I admire were the honesty, the up-frontness, the sensitivity level, and the decency. Yes, decency. A concept which has become meaningless to teens in the West (and of Westernized nations) and completely ignored by my generation. Decency was that thing that used to prevent girls from wearing underwear -oops, I mean "short-shorts"- to school. It was the thing that gave boys a sense of chivalry and honour. Generally, it helped society function "appropriately" and made women, women and men, men. It defined the genders. 

Obviously, it could be argued that this "decency" also forced women to stay in the home, and even so far as to say that this sense of "decency" prevented women's right to vote. Sure, I'll take it. But, I'd like to say that it wasn't so much "decency" that prevented women from voting, rather a lack of acceptance. Regardless, this is no longer a problem and can be disregarded. (Honestly, after second wave feminism, women had reached the majority of their goal, the rest of the feminism movement is more or less pointless and mean. It's beginning to treat men as second class citizens. Again, I stray from the topic at hand - decency.

I have a slight problem - ambiguity. There seems to be more and more ambiguity around genders. People behave more or less the same way, or at least, their body language does. 

Today, I was sitting in my English class. We had a substitute and she didn't allow talking in class, as our usual teacher does. Eventually, she had to let us talk because we were doing some group work. Naturally, my 5-person group didn't do too much work, and instead we chatted. During the course of this chat, one of the boys in the group, Nadje, kept making fun of the other girl in my group, Dujy. He was mockingly telling her that she was beautiful. I thought it was kind of funny (actually quite so) but being another girl, I tried to suppress my laughs and stand in solidarity with Dujy. Each time Dujy would show a picture of some girl on Facebook, and the other boy, Wrenad, would comment on the girl looking nice, Nadje would ask Wrenad how he could say such a thing when the beautiful Dujy was sitting right there.
Anyways, somewhere in the midst of this mocking, Nadje made an interesting statement. He said something along the lines of there only being one person more beautiful than Dujy. He named some other girl in our class. I laughed along with everyone, simply because we knew that he meant it as a joke. Nadje then went on to describe this other girl's beauty by telling us a little story about something she did to around him a little while back.
According to him (and his mocking voice), this girl sat down on a desk in front of him whilst wearing leggings. She then went on to spread her legs into a position similar to that of a straddle. Naturally, this resulted in Nadje having a covered vagina in close proximity to his face.
Don't get me wrong, I fully understand that the girl and Nadje had to sit close together and face each other - that constitutes productive group work - the problem I see is the position in which the girl sat. This is where my point of decency comes into play, as well as my seeing of a glimmer of hope for humanity. This girl did not have enough decency to spare Nadje from giving her an involuntary gynaecological check-up.
The girl is a self-proclaimed hipster, and we know that hipsters are famous (or notorious) for their sense of ambiguity about gender. Sometimes, it can be hard to distinguish a hipster female from a hispter male. Anyways, what I am trying to "get at" here is that this girl took gender ambiguity to a whole new level. It was, from the sound of it, disgusting. She spread her legs in front of a perfect stranger. Not only was that gross, it was also extremely disregarding of her being a woman.
Let me be honest. When I am sitting at home with my sister and talking about banal things, I sit in the most comfortable position. My little sister sees and doesn't mind, but would I ever sit that way in front of my parents friends? Would I ever sit like that at school? Most likely no. Why? Because my parents have successfully raised me in the aspect of modesty. They have explained to me the differences between things which I can do in the privacy of my own home and the things that I can do in public. Even as a small girl, they would remind me to cross my legs on the bus, so as to spare onlookers my underwear. I feel that this was, of all things that they attempted to ram through my thick skull, one of the more successful. Some may argue that there shouldn't be these kinds of barriers, but please, how else are we going to be able to tell whose stomach is going to carry around a baby for 9 months?
Men sit with their legs in the "child birth" position for a good portion of their lives, but that's just it - they're male. It looks nicer and simply politer to close your legs (at least partly) as a woman. This girl, who sits with her legs in straddle position, doesn't realize the repercussions. She thinks that she looks so cool, and that the rest of the people think so too. She doesn't realize that people talk behind her back about it and really don't find it too flattering. Boys, the group of people this girl would like to one day are themselves repulsed by the very things she is doing to show off.
The sad truth is that girls will never be guys, and guys will never be girls, so it's best to not act like it. Have some respect for the gender and sex, which you have been appointed. Try and act appropriately. In the case that this becomes far too difficult, there are things to help. 

The Girl at the Pool - Part 10

I woke up on a terrible Monday to get ready for school. Luckily, I had gone to bed early and was well-rested. I put on my debating skirt, -boy, are skirts ever uncomfortable- my black pantyhose and my debate face on. I knew that talking to Mr. Forman would not be easy, so I had to be prepared. The previous night,  I had talked to my true friend and she had agreed to come with me to talk to Mr. Forman, as he had sent her an email requesting to see her as well. When I got to school, I began ranting about the issue to my girlfriend. I don't think that she was listening. She's heard me rant about so many things, so many times that I'm sure that she has a mechanism to go deaf each time I start ranting.

My classes weren't going well, all I could think of was what I would say to Mr. Forman. I was stressed,  but nonetheless, I kept a straight face. Over lunch, I saw my true friend, and she told me to not go off on a whim about the freedom to expression/speech. She told me to basically just say that I was wrong. As the gangstas would put it: "AWWWW, HELL NO!" There was no way in hell that I was going to accept guilt. I had done no wrong, and of that, I was sure.

My true friend came to my last block class to pick me up. We walked down the hall and arrived at the room. Mr. Forman was sitting there and he greeted both of us with a really nice "hey girls!" Then we got into what had happened. He asked if I understood his problem. I said no, because I honestly didn't. I couldn't believe it when he told me that his issue wasn't the emails, it wasn't my actual post, but rather that it was the comment that I had left about his "forcing". My mind flooded in disbelief. I honestly thought that he had some problems. A grown man was nit-picking over one word, telling me that he didn't force me.

I said, "okay, but then what would you call it?"

His answer was "nothing, your outburst was out of line, and apologizing was the right thing to do."

"Okay, I understand that it was out of line, but I still don't see why I shouldn't have used the word 'force', what else could I have called it?" I demanded.

"It wasn't force because it was the right thing to do, no matter what you think it was right, and I'm right. I'm done." He said, as he stammered out the door.

Wow, right? In between this issue, he had stated that he hadn't received the emails from the wretched woman until last night, and that he was upset by them. When I asked him what he intended to do, he simply responded that he wanted to forget about it. So why wasn't I allowed to forget about my outburst? Why was I FORCED to apologize for my statements? Most importantly, why was this woman getting a free pass?