The Quarter Life Crisis
I sat at my desk with the letter unfolded in front of me. The envelope it arrived in had my name written on it in calligraphy and was torn up somewhere on the floor. I scanned the text for reassuring key words: “Congratulations.” “Welcome.” “Accepted.” Nothing.
No Cure For Bad Seeds
Back in the fifties, psychologists developed a process called Past Life Regression therapy. Oftentimes, patients will complain of a skin rash, a burning sensation or an emotional or sexual block. In other words, something that cannot be otherwise rectified by traditional therapies, doctors or medications. It is thought that these physical attacks to the body are manifestations of our past lives. They – the old us – are trying to tell us something. They are saying, pay attention. this is important.
What Lies Ahead
University is described as a next step, a new adventure, and a chance to discover who you are. My first year was all those things and many more. I was recently able to select my courses for my second year of studies, thinking it would be a chance to explore my interests and dive into what I am passionate about. However, it has taken me most of my life to figure out what that is.
New Youth
It is certainly a truism that whenever there is mention of youth, one’s thoughts flutter to ideas of childhood and memories of their formative years. With the recent passing of this year’s spring convocation, ideas of youth, questions of maturity, and the experience of liminality are reintroduced in a purposeful manner as to embed this stage within our life course.
Onward
For any of us in the 22-25 age range, who either have graduated, are currently graduating, or will be graduating soon (God willing), we are in a stage of transition. We’re leaving the One Card existence and entering something totally new – which I will not call the real world, because it’s either always been real or never has. This something new, whatever it is brings with it doubt, fear, discomfort, excitement, anxiety, and everything in between.
I Miss You
It was around the time that I switch from beer to whiskey, no breeze and Indian summer, that my ex-lover walks onto the patio and asks to move to a table in the shade. We catch up on all the weekly boy/boy drama: who’s fucking who, who’s in Toronto doing what, a funny anecdote about run-ins with drag queens. I drink, laughing and smiling.
Onions
On a damp December afternoon, Grandma and I were coming to the completion of a mission: Operation Onions. There was no greater fun to be had, as it never really snowed in Vancouver and there is no such thing as a rain angel. That evening’s meatloaf called for two large cooking onions, of which there was a full sack squatting by the chest freezer in the basement.
Jesus Camp
When I was ten years old my mom and step-dad sent me to a Jesus Camp for one week. I’m still not sure why they decided to send me to this camp – neither of them were religious and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been to church.
My Broken Biological Clock
There’s something disturbing about children. Perhaps it’s their pudgy faces, smothered with ice cream and selfishness, or perhaps it’s their freedom from responsibility and reality that unsettles me. While many women may listen religiously to their biological clocks and blush with maternal instinct, I remain unsettled and unwaveringly opposed to motherhood.
In Pursuit of Youth
When hair is dyed, concealers and polishes put on, dietary supplements taken and the shapes of bodies altered with plastic surgery, thoughtful consumption is deferred in favour of a youthful pursuit of beauty. The ideals on which these decisions are modeled, however, are inherently flawed. It is time to reflect on what one does to themselves when their bodily appearance is physically and chemically altered.
In Praise of Age
People find it odd how much I love old people.
I don’t mean it in a patronizing way, but when I see old people and interact with them, I get the feeling that many have about children: I absolutely love them. The elderly are so confident and comfortable with themselves; they not only appreciate what they have had in life, but also the time they have left.
Passage
My friend will be here any minute now. I am packing up the small meal I’ve made for us, folding the napkins, tucking it all into my bag. I am thinking of a place I’d like to show him. Tap, tap, tap. That must be him at the door.
Innocence
All the poets are dead,
And every lover is no more;
So too the words that quills once writ
and too the words they bore.
And math and machines and technology
have invaded sombre heads…
An Old Man Watches the Farmer Break
I couldn’t help but watch from the deck.
The day unrolling properly.
The earth still pushing the grass from it’s skin, so
the blades stood tall as the neighbour’s mower cut them down.
Beholder VII
Today, my only son was found murdered for being a necromancer’s child. “Respecting mortality…
