All Too Well

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Just when I signed into WordPress it let me know that my last post was published a month ago. I stared at the screen for 5 minutes until I realized that I had written 3 draft posts and never published them because they weren’t the right words. I didn’t have the right message. I’m not even writing on the right computer.

Then I started thinking about you [readers], and the blog, and the fact that I curse the inconsistent things in life when this is most consistent thing I’ve made for myself. I often hear people describe how they make homes in other people, which is possible but after two years I’ve never had something so stable than a place to be open. I also had a few individuals come up to me when I was studying for exams asking me where my weekly blog post was.
(sorry I’m so weird in real life, and rush to every opportunity to show you photos of my dog)

Last year I did the one month hiatus, when you’re focused on exams it’s hard to give into the noise around you and when I write, I give in. I had Writer’s Block, but it was by choice, until I could no longer write a decent sentence, and self-loathed because of it.

“Sometimes he’ll just look at me in such a way that I forget how to utter even the simplest word. How dangerous is that, to even forget that I shouldn’t smile back as often as I do. But I do..Sometimes he does…But mostly I do….” – (3am texts, Beca)

We’re going to let ourselves look ridiculous until we learn not to. We let ourselves believe that the names in bright flashing lights ahead of us mean go ahead, and it’s our alibi when someone asks us why we picked up the phone, when we should have let it go to voicemail. Or why someone looks at us a certain way, but isn’t aware that they are.

I stopped at this point, showed a dear friend, and she said this post wasn’t done. It wasn’t. But I walked for hours today to get just a bit of inspiration. To exhaust my body, and my mental monologues so that I’d write and each typed word would become a scream, and finally someone would hear me. So violin buskers played at the right moment, and I strolled through an old bookstore, thrifted a Hemingway novel, and waltzed by familiar authors that I would associate with other people. Growing up, when I missed someone I would read their favourite author.

To be honest, none of these posts sufficed because none of them said what I have been wanting to express all month. That we look into empty doorways hoping someone will just walk in. I say things out loud before texting them, and write something different because I get so mentally exhausted of the idea of explaining myself. When I could just shoot at a point blank range and say, “maybe you should start acting upon the things you’re so afraid to say out loud.” But then again I’m contradicting myself.

Then again, so are you.

You’re all so afraid. To feel more than one emotion at the same time. Why? Because we’re so stuck inside of our own heads sometimes, and it’s so easy to get lost in there. Regardless of whether it is your own mind, you can’t control what or who consumes it.

And when you choose to walk around like I did today, to get out of your own head. I ask you to take a look around, take notice that there are so many beautiful things growing around you. There are people growing around you. Growing on you. Don’t give them fragmented pieces of what others have left behind, because they’re not your past.

Remember that, you’ll need it.


Kiss It Better

“He licked his lips. “Well, if you want my opinion–”
“I don’t,” she said. “I have my own.” — Toni Morrison, Beloved

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I no longer wish to be defined by the beings whom didn’t smile back in the past.
Let me re-do that sentence.
I will no longer be defined by the beings who didn’t smile back in the past.
Still not right.
I will no longer be defined by anything/anyone.
Whew, okay let’s do this.

If you’re concerned about the term defined itself, I’ve recently noticed how many of us are defined by our past decisions, and connections.
How can you be defined by a person whose laugh so unfamiliar to you because you would only hear it out of spite. Women and Men are often referred to by the people they once cared about, a neglected identity characteristic that we’ve spent almost 20 something years creating. To the point where they’ll no longer want people to know much about them. We start to tiptoe around conversations leading towards “Who’s been keeping you awake at 2 am,” because hush we’ve already said enough. It’s April and you deserve an emotional get-away, so let me be that.

Shouldn’t we celebrate the clean slate? That WHITE BLANK PAGE. Where we no longer question why we weren’t good enough, but why they weren’t quick enough to realize that we were?

When I reference back to old posts it’s not out of nostalgia but more of a guide because you’ve read so much, or you don’t know the story, but it’s to tell you where I was at a certain point and where I am now. Back to the word story, there’s no names here, just sentences, and a voice getting louder per post. When I wrote Clean in April, I wasn’t. That tub photo was ridiculously dramatic, and a poor decision after a late night. But it showed me how much a person could take, and the result of what metaphorically putting your foot down can do. I trust more than anything that everything I’ve written, everything I’ve done, and each circumstance resulted in this.

I’m not done learning, there will be many more souls and clouded minds that will attempt to force me to take two steps back. But if they wanted to they would’ve, therefore if somebody has the opportunity to pick up where you left off, let them.

“Isn’t it like the weight of the world being taken off your chest?”
“It’s more like water in my lungs, finally circling the drain”

There was a moment where I didn’t want to wear my favourite pair of Levi’s because they just didn’t feel right on me anymore. Something so miniature as that, represented the fact that I was getting rid of these parts of myself, because they weren’t desired nor appreciated. But in turn, I learned to slowly fall back in love with the loose jeans, bare faced, short-haired version of myself.

Here I am now, I’m back to the place of privacy where I’ll be writing to a different mind without them knowing it. A part of me wishes to profess it immediately to open up a new window of communication, found in metaphors and mumbled words in parenthesis. But another part of me doesn’t remember how it feels to write on a blank page. But if you’re reading, all of this was worth saying. And if you’re fumbling on your own words, and tempted by the idea to just go head first, do so.

Welcome to Clean


On a Bathroom Wall I Wrote

“He’ll find a way”

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It is now two Saturdays that we’re slamming car doors, and listening to the echoes of Uber drivers treating us as human beings rather than customers (thank u), but choice is the message, and the medium gets lost in people using their voice to take up space but the music’s too loud, it’s drowning us out.

It’s the fact that worth itself begins to grow the more you start to create this invisible defense for a person. We venture off into the world, and rely on spontaneous haircuts to settle us down. But I don’t want to be just content with settling upon a situation that’s going to make you feel smaller, if anything time has taught me to put up a fight against the idea of letting things happen. Being quietly brave has it’s perks sometimes.

God, it’s just all so messy. It’s the different versions of individuals, it’s the copious amounts of layers. Yes that was a Shrek reference. My guess is that these parts of us were left behind and shaped by other people, to which we adapt to. But on March 23rd of last year, almost exactly a year ago I started writing on walls and hoped that the faded ink would absorb into the wall. My hands are finally clean. How wonderful is it that after all of the rubbish, these new individuals receive a new version of you. A different kind of sobriety.

The worst part about writing an essay is whether or not your thesis is strong enough. Whether your argument is strong enough, or too broad. But that’s why I’ve always had difficulty proving to others why I was the better choice.

But are you sure that’s who you want to go home with?

What’s keeping me from pulling a Hemingway, and running to Paris is the fact that I am no longer haunted by the poor choices others have made. It was 2am and the windows of the taxi cab were playing different movie scenes. It was liberating to know that this was exactly where these individuals needed to be. That sobriety in a night club makes you extremely aware of the knots people have that are just dying to be unraveled, just don’t pull too hard.

We can catch ourselves in the reflection of an empty glass many times throughout the night, and maybe there’s an explanation, or maybe poor timing has to be a skill of mine and I just keep getting better and better at it. But sometimes, the only thing we can do is smile politely, wish them a goodnight, and start over again tomorrow.


Dancing On My Own

In our 20s we want love, spacious dance floors, and answers. We’ll spend countless weekends stumbling in painful footwear, only to carry our boots in our hands and walk barefoot into our cabs. We politely excuse ourselves from conversations and think of the boys who keep their hands warm in your jean pockets. We don’t want to be selfish for using the word want so much, but yet here we are.


We untangle our headphones, put on our favourite walking tune, and for just one moment we’re our own cinematic spectacle. Maybe it’s the beauty of seeing our world as its own film. Most importantly we hope the dramatic moments we create in our crowded minds will result in an acapella part of a song forcing the audience to pay close attention to what’s about to happen in front of them,
they lock eyes from across the street
she smiles even though she shouldn’t
he hears the dialtone when she looks away
the instrumental continues
she walks away from a situation that felt like a dead bolted door but was really swinging back and forth the entire time.

We’re not the only ones who know anymore. It’s so hard to be private in an environment that thrives on public spectacles. There’s so many outlets, you’re looking at one right now, to which people reveal that they only put out there what they wish others to see. In reality they’re right. But hold that pose.

I like timing. I like when the universe hands you something so gently and you have the voice of a toddler when you say, “No! I don’t want it” but it’s so aggressive. It comes at full force.
What do we want?
Mutual respect, and a little affection (ageless concept)
How do we get it?
It’s not for everybody!

But what if time was trying to teach us something? How many times do we really have to reconsider everything we text, post, snap, or paint so vividly for other person to realize that we’re pretty much walking the plank all whilst trying to get them to smile at us that way just one more time. However, we were taught that if we don’t fight right away, we’ll fight too late. Or at least, that’s what I learned. So I hopped into as many cabs as possible, and played the same Robyn song continuously to justify my actions, that I’m 20 and I have to say yes to everything that makes me feel electric.

But Thursday night, as I refused to move off of a recycled bean bag chair for a solid 7 hours, I kept looking at this post trying to understand what it really means to dance on your own. But the best part was, is that we never really are, and when it’s just you and 10 other people singing to the top of your lungs up the stairs, down the hallway, make a right into the karaoke bar, you begin to see that.

So I kept the song, but changed the rhythm, and found a Kings of Leon cover. I braved the cold, hopped up the stairs of the streetcar, and thought about how the 24 hour flu, was the end result of the fight. My body danced too much, and I had zero rhythm left in me.

There’s comfort to be found in the middle of the dance floor, and we misunderstood the DJ. He didn’t say, “We let things run their course, you ran your course!” But that’s what we heard. The lovers are fighting outside of the bar,
she pushes him, he kisses her.
You call a cab, take off your boots, and drop them on the floor of your doorway along with your house keys, and this song echoes as you creep each foot so delicately on your bedroom floor.

“I just needed something pretty to look at”


There’s no Such Thing as Bad Timing

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Your outer layer of skin replaces itself every 35 days. And the entire human body, right down to the very last atom is replaced every 5-7 years. Thanks Google. They don’t say anything really about the mind, or a person’s memory. My party trick is creeping people out with how well I can remember significant details, even if it’s been 2 years.

In the last 24 hours I’ve come to realize that it in fact is a small world after all, and that it takes 10 minutes to put you back in the place you’ve situated yourself for the last two years.

We want to be heard out, we have a voice, at least we had a voice, but stay silent until they’re done getting to and from their assumptions. I only realized the importance of a voice when I introduced “Bad Timing” to an auditorium filled with those ready to listen at 18. My voice has changed over the last couple of years, and it’s a little less shakier. There’s been new poetry, and posts, and an entirely different subject. But don’t close the curtain just yet, I’m not done speaking.

Reason no longer backs up our arguments, it’s just a “because” and a “doesn’t matter.” And suddenly you’ve been situated under a label, and they’re unaware that they’re minimizing people by assuming they’re out to destroy what they’ve found. I get it, protect your magic.

Jealousy, and hatred, are so toxic to such a pure heart. Rebelling against your army of sister’s allows you to make this a man’s world. The older we get, the less innocent our actions start to become. Nobody believes you can be 20 years old and still have the heart of a child, no longer worrying about whether or not your actions can be seen as verifiable, and justify what you’ve done, or in this case didn’t do.

Because of the immediate notion of the fact that there’s no such thing as a plutonic boy/girl friendship,  they’ll take away your best friend of 12 years because you walked into the wrong intersection at the right time on a Friday night. Do you hear that? It’s God’s laughter, that was all his plan. So take it up with him.

It’s already a rough time for women, an artist that prides herself on making people happy with her music is having her right to create taken away from her because the truth is locked into an 11 year contract, and doesn’t sell records. Sending all my love to Kesha, and anybody else going through the same kind of victimization.

Kindness costs nothing. Maybe if we lived in a world where people didn’t see it as a weakness, the world wouldn’t be ashamed of being a little softer. Stop being intimidated by education, how well we know a person, and how well we know ourselves.


Two Year Anniversary

I’m so happy you’re still here. Teaching me to laugh at my own humour, mask the real topics with animated images, and most importantly find peace. There’s many like you out there, some devoted to different causes, and some that offer a hand to those looking for something specific. I wasn’t looking for anything specific. I was just looking for something to offer to the world, something to continue what I started in 2013.

When I wrote a play at 17, I told myself that rather than hiding Demi Lovato’s Unbroken album and wishing I wrote “Give Your Heart A Break” why wouldn’t I just take matters into my own hands and really tell stories, my stories, to hundreds of people that watched it. I don’t look for merit, I don’t look for a good job. I put on a play once a week and let you know what’s been haunting/troubling/inspiring me this week.

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February 2014

The last 4 four posts leading up to March 23rd last year illustrated such a breakthrough in terms of character. February 2014, I sat on a stool in my favourite coffee shop and Googled “How to start a blog?” On February 2015, I sat in the Journalism lounge at school and questioned how it’s already been a year. February 2016, and there is no longer a fear that comes with freedom of speech.

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February 2015

There’s still a lot I don’t understand. There’s still some questions that show up in bold letters right in front of me when I’m not looking for them, or simply avoiding them. You think to yourself, how did I not see that coming when you were unconsciously expecting it the entire time. But I was not expecting this. I did not expect to find comfort in such a public place, where I can still hold onto such privacy.

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February 2016

February 2015 feels like yesterday, sometimes it feels as if it’s February 2015 again but, there are many moments to which I wished I would have said something different or refrained, let go of the grip a little bit.  But what a fool you can become so quickly to someone who plays the right chords.

The best thing that came out of 2014, and 2015 was a voice. A certain type of creativity that stemmed from curiosity. People often belittled my curiosity, and determination. I’m still very certain that everything I did, said, or professed was necessary. I won’t go back on that.  And if that’s supposed to inspire a certain type of resentment towards muse(s) then it’s not really the purest form of art.

I wrote something last week, and this was my favourite line; Darling you are alive, and maybe after awhile we get tired of sitting in the same position for such a long time but what a privilege it is to adjust so well to a throne of almosts & sometimes. By alive, I mean existing in the same time and era. Maybe we shouldn’t rely on leaving envelopes in nostalgic cafe’s. Maybe we should just deliver the damn envelopes ourselves.

Something I wish I knew last February.

I will never stop learning, I will never stop writing , and I will never stop pressing the keys and saying the things I hope to one day remember to say in moments of silence. I will never forget to always remind you the importance of rebellion. And I will be eternally grateful that even if it was momentarily my blog was opened on your computer screen, and that countries I can’t even pronounce have found me. That you’ve found me. That you’re reading this. That you’re responsible for getting me to sit in front of my computer at the end of the week and tell you what I’ve learned, or what I need to learn more about.

Shall we go for another two years? It’s a date.


The Philosophy of

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We desire to understand the beautifully curious. According to my Philosophy professor, plutonic love is a thirst for knowledge. A knowledge of the self. A knowledge of the other. How lucky we are to acquire both, and yet refuse to seek optimism when our hair was barely touching the brim of our shoulders, and we’re still thinking about the good fight. *Tightens ponytail*

How did we get here, who decided this exhausting fate? Now please, do not take that as an insulting comment, It’s a foreign routine, almost like following someone else’s feet whilst salsa dancing in a dingy bar.

You watch them grow, you were 18 years old on a January evening…writing a post about the year of man/year of you. You have that piece above your desk, and there’s an article beside it, not yours. Reminding you of growth. Genuinely wondering if you left that person better than you found them, something Pausnias would agree with. That person being yourself too by the way.

It’s all coming up roses, you say. It’s Winter, they respond. So we shake hands with the art of timing, and before we know it, Oh God, this is going to be troublesome okay. Here we go.

I think… Eventually, I think it’ll be remembered definitely. — Alex Turner talking about the album ‘Whatever People Say I am…’ in January of 2006

“You’re too good.” I thought to myself in this Philosophy class, taking notes as my Professor had me captivated. You never thought you’d pick up on this in a classroom, how initially individuals walk into your life as this wondrous being, but you ignore the beams of light radiating off their skin because you’ve always been so curious to discover the complexity within a mind busier than downtown intersections at 4:00pm.

And a year ago, we’re thinking to ourselves as we write over and over again how good we are for them, but what’s good for you? I’m not asking about the time. (But same place, same time?) That’s all I’m asking. Aren’t we better, once we’re better taken care of? Or is it just ironically frightening to leave yourself in better hands?

Then she spoke of Gods, but not the one I speak to regularly. Dionysus – a Rock God. Search him up if you’re still here. Aristophanes reminds us, especially when we’re quite vulnerable of course that there’s this being bumping around out there, into walls and other individuals. What may look insane and unfathomable to others, is electric to one. Really trying to give you something to believe in, for those who gave up on religion when they weren’t getting answers. This is when Another Love by Tom Odell starts playing, and I realize that this wasn’t something to be solved, more like the internal monologue that kept getting interrupted throughout my week.

“We’re not going through this again”

“But did you feel that magic, what a ride.”