3 Questions...

 (source: unknown - this is the best I've got)

Well - it's July. Man, the year has been a crazy mess of things coming and going. Then again, I keep hearing everyone saying "WOW 2013, where have you gone?!" and honestly...I don't want to be that kind of person. It's July. After June and before August.

And honestly, I've spent the past few weeks in one of those 'I have no idea' hazes. The kind where everything seems muddy and you're in-between places and you seem kind of lost, but not lost enough at the same time...

Yeah. It's been a weird few weeks.

And I know that all seasons of life ebb and flow, and that eventually I'll pull out of this weird place. I feel like I'm slowly emerging myself. And what I'm really finding to help me are three simple questions. They're giving me enough clarity to hold out through the aimlessness, and maybe they can give you some, too.

What do I want to learn?

What do I want to improve (that I already know a bit of)?

What do I want to experience?

I'll see you on the other side of this weird, twisty tunnel, friends.

weekly plans - Crystals, maps, Now

Hooray for getting my act together and finally fixing my camera (thank you to think forum post for helping me to fix my piece of junk camera! Oh - technology...)

Here are my plans for this week:
1. Finishing up my art journal inspired by Kara's "You Go Girl" class. I love this girl's style!
2. Spending an inappropriate time in my own fictionalized world of Arcana (that's the map I drew) - ecking out my first draft - oh the joys of putting down a stubborn idea...
3. It's time to do a summer evaluation of how I've been meeting my goals this year. Eep - time to measure up - I'm pretty impressed with myself this year, but hopefully some clarity will come of it
4. Re-reading this awesome book. It's one of my favourites - I make it a point to read it after my birthday every year.
5. New tea came in - Alpine punch - a surprisingly summer-y winter tea! I will be drinking lots of it this week.
6. I have to re-charge and cleanse my crystals for the coming summer. They're in need of some love.
7. Using up some long-lost film. Excited to see what I can do with this...
8. Dancing! So much dancing! I'm teaching a workshop weekend this week - and it's going to be a blast!

What do you have planned for your week?

Truth: I grew up on Abstinence-only Education

(image still from Virgin Tales)

 

(This is a post entailling my own personal experience with adstinence only education. 

It is very triggering - please do not read this if you're triggered by abortion, rape, religious-inducted patriarchy or violence. 

This is not an attack on anyone's beliefs - only those forced on me. Please be respectful when/if commenting, as it is a very personal topic.)

I was given abstinence only education. I was given abstinence only education and this is the first time I've written about it - and it terrifies me to do so. I still struggle with the reprecussions of this - but letting it go and writing about it is a big step to healing - so here goes...

Our teacher writes the words “SEX” in big, ugly green letters on the board. Her chalk squeaks as her hands scrawl it across the board – angry. She stands at the front of the class posed like some sort of policewoman – far more tall and proud than she has been the whole school year (she was awful, regardless of what she was teaching – but that's another story).

“Do you know what this word means?” Not really. We were in grade 5. But we learned more and more about this vague, taboo word every year we had the same discussion. Same big ugly green word. Same phrases and platitudes carved in to our brains. “It's a sacred act that God only wants you to have between your husband or wife, and you.”

We learned about masturbation – it was wrong. But definitely more wrong for girls than for boys because – well, we all know, boys can't help it. God likes boys better. God is more lenient with boys because the patriarchy is backed by God.

We learned that sex before marriage made you feel dirty. Made you feel used.

We had an activity where the teacher picked one girl, and set her at the front of the class. She had the rest of us form a circle – girls in the middle, boys on the outside. We shook hands with everyone in the circle, going around and giggling, while the girl sat lonely, pouty and a bit bitter at missing the fun activity at the front.

The teacher then sat us all down and asked the boys “Who would you rather be with? The girls who were in the circle, or the girl who was left out?” We were silent – we didn't quite get how hand-shaking was the classroom equivalent of down and dirty sex. The teacher walked us through “most men would want the girl who was left out because she was pure. God wants all girls to stay pure until their husbands touch them.”

This is where the guys education stopped, for the most part. But the girls? No – we were just beginning.

For a weekend, the school backed the girls in the upper grades going on a 'camping trip'. That's what the permission slip said. What we were really going to was what's called a 'Purity Retreat' – but nobody was really told that, or had any idea what it meant.

Let me tell you what it was – Viginity Camp.

At Virginity camp we watched videos of 'abortions' being performed. Where mangled-looking piles of spaghetti hung from sobbing women's uteri. We watched videos explaining how condoms DON'T WORK. And how sperm and HIV and every other STI can get through them. They had diagrams. They had “Facts”*. We learned about how God will punish all 'the sluts' – and that whatever happened to them, even if it was rape or death or anything else, was their fault because they chose to have sex before marriage. We were given worksheets on how we can prevent rape – because it's not the guy's fault that they find women SO ATTRACTIVE that they just cannot help themselves.

We were given lessons on how to properly cover up. Any girl who was wearing a shirt that came any lower than three fingers placed at the tip of her throat was given a paper that they had to keep taped there for the whole weekend.

The camp minister – the ONLY guy allowed on the campsite, came up one day with his wife in tow. He began his speach with “God only wants marriages between a pure woman and a man,” and ended with having his wife kneel in front of him, head down, saying “This is the kind of marriage God loves to see.”

They coddled us, gave us manicures and hair-dos. We chatted and giggled and connected as a group. We gained the trust of the young women who were running the camp. In turn, they gave us rubber fetuses that were the 'size of a fetus when a woman usually gets an abortion'. We were told to keep them somewhere safe – treat them like the children we were going to have one day. Ironically, after that retreat, my best friend and I discovered they made great bouncy balls (imagine a schoolyard full of young girls bouncing rubber fetuses around...I don't think that's the message they were intending to give...)

At the end, we all sat in a circle. A hush fell over the group – a sort of reverence gained from bombarding young teenage girls with too many 'facts' (not real facts, but overwhelming fear-mongering). They passed out cards – the kind you get from banks, or from stores as gift cards - my body - a swipeable commodity. They were decorated all flowery, pink and pretty. “True love waits” the front said. On the back was a pledge, explaining how we were to pledge to stay PURE until our wedding night, when we could present this card to our husband and cut it up.

We were all forced to sign them, carry them out with us. The leaders inspected our cards as we left to our parents vehicles – to make sure we signed them, and tucked them in our pockets with a hug.

Virginity camp and the lessons I learned there still haunt me. I have felt scared, guilty and disassociated from my own body since that day. Only these last few years am I beginning to untangle the lessons that were forced in to me that weekend. Before that I have felt that my body and my worth as a human being, as a person under God's eyes, was determined by whether I stayed pure and followed the rules and anxieties set out at Virginity camp.

Up until I was 19, I firmly believed that condoms did not work. That rape victims deserved what they had done to them. That abortions resembled a serving of spaghetti with a few hands poking out. That my body was simply a means to an end to get a child out of it. That taking birth control led to cancer and birth defects. That even in conception, a fetus has a FACE (yes. I was taught that the moment that sperm penetrates the egg, there is a face. I picture the teletubby baby sun, floating around in women's uteri...). I had no idea how sex actually worked – at all. All I knew was that it happened.

This is why we can't have abstinence-only education. This is why young adults need to learn the real facts about sex, sexuality and everything that fits in between them. This is why parents cannot avoid talking to their kids about sex – because someone else will. 

Seeding spring...

Source: call-me-cupcake.blogspot.com via Melissa on Pinterest

So it's been a while.

And as spring begins to turn where I live (Canada - serves me right for my choice in locale...) I really am beginning to re-evaluate this blog and where I stand with everything. Things are changing, both outside of me and inside.

I have big, big plans for the next few months. Plans that I don't have completely solidified in my head yet, but plans that I wanted to share on here (for accountability's sake). The seeds of a new beginning, if you will.

This blog is going to be going through some serious overhauling in the next while - so I ask all of my lovely, lovely readers to please be patient! I really, truly hope that the changes will make my blog even more awesome and an even better space for all of you!

In the meantime, the Boyfriend and I have decided to embark on a juice cleanse. I feel amazing (but holy cow - the cravingsss) after the first day!!

Here's to new beginnings and sowing the seeds of great things - I hope you will stick around for the ride!

♥Mel

Words from my Buppa

I call my Grandpa 'Buppa' – apparently my mom was trying to get me to say “Opa” – which is German for Grandpa – but I had a penchant for 'Bu' more than “O”. It stuck. Whenever I'm in need of motivation, a gentle confirmation, or some support, he's my go-to man.

I asked him a long while ago if he'd fill out some questions for my blog. I gave him a sheet full of options – thinking that he'd pick the best answers. He certainly did. There is simple wisdom in his words – all handwritten on a piece of graph-paper, short and sweet. I hold them dear to my heart – and I hope you take something from them, too.

What is one thing that you regret not doing?

One thing that I regret is the fact that because of financial restrictions at the time, the option to furthur my education was not possible. But I do not regret the opportunity that was avaliable to me – I was able to find employment in a field I enjoyed.

What is the difference between talent and skill?

In my opinion, the difference between talent and skill is this: A person can be a very talented person in many ways such as being an excellent musician, sports player, dancer, or any good subject. But the skill aspect of talent, the essence of true talent and skill - would be to be able teach a person how to become a better performer using their talent.

How do you feel about today’s society?

My feelings towards today’s society are that people are being too rushed in their daily living. Also we suffer from too high expectations - expectations mainly caused by computerized technology.

How do you relax?

I relax by reading good western novels and watching sports on TV.

I love you, Buppa.♥

Late Night Thoughts

I'm at a point where I'm a little bit lost.

There are a few things in my life right now that are slowly draining away - threatening to disappear forever. I know it's foolish of me to cling to them - nothing in the world is permanent, but I can't help feeling a bit betrayed by life right now. And maybe a little tiny bit sad.

Okay, maybe a lot sad.

And with that, all the things that I had 'planned' - all the things I was so sure about, suddenly crumble away. Suddenly the routines I've been working hard to develop seem to disappear in to thin air.

Grief is hard. It's hard, it hurts, and it's not something anyone can tell you how to do right or wrong - you have to do what works for you. And I guess that's what I'm trying to do - I keep waiting for the feelings to go away - when I think I really need to just start learning how to work with them instead.

I have no idea right now. And yet - I can't help but feel like I'm on to something. On the verge of discovering something amazing.

The thrill of the unknown, untread path winding in to darkness before me. And maybe - just maybe that's where all these feelings are leading.

I'm choosing to believe that - because it's the only thing I've got right now.

We become what we believe - and I can't allow myself to become something borne out of sadness and pain.

So... here I am, and here I go.

TEDucation: The Art of Asking

One of my goals this year was to start each week off with a TED talk. I'm hoping this will allow me to watch some of the less-known talks, and really stretch my mind and fill it with positive energy that listening to brilliant minds can bring. At the end of each video, I'll post a couple of questions I found intriguing. Feel free to discuss them in the comments, or just carry them in your mind after watching the video. 

---------------------------

How great was that?

This talk really spoke to me, Amanda Palmer's experience as a street performer reflect a lot of the feelings I experience as an artist. It can really hurt when someone reacts in a hostile way to your creative work, but it can also really mean the world to make a genuine connection with someone through your work. And I totally agree - we need more connections.

So my questions for you this week are these:

1. How do you react when you recieve soul-crushingly negative criticism? 
2. What's one thing you do to ease the pain of it?
3. Have you ever made a genuine connection with someone through art (or whatever else you do) in the same way Amanda puts it in her talk? I want to hear about it! 

--

1+2. The most common way I react to harsh, unfounded criticism are either to mope about it, or to laugh it off - let it out, regardless of how you feel. This gets more and more important the worse the criticism stings. I've been known to draw the occasional charicature, or mocking impersonation. Don't deny yourself the feelings of sadness - but do NOT allow yourself to feel inadequate or like a failure. Criticism can either break you down, or build you up higher than you've been before. Use it to grow - at worst, you can look down at the haters from the beautiful things you've created.

3. I'm planning a whole post about this question - but yes, I have. A few times. And it's one of the most magical things in the world.

Well Hello 2013: A Goals Book

I'm not quite sure what to think of it. Maybe the Mayans were on to something...

I don't know if maybe the Christmas rush, all the carols and shoppers and santas drowned out my senses and kept me from feeling it. Or maybe it did turn with the new year - maybe I need to stop being such a pragmatic and wonder if perhaps there is a tiny bit of magic as our year turns. Maybe it is more than a date on the calendar. Or maybe it just came down to all the darn work and reviewing and reevaluating of my life I did before new years. Or maybe it was a bit of all of these things, combined; I have no idea...
 


All I know is that when the year ticked by in to a new one, I felt...newer. I felt a sudden, slightly terrifying sort of energy rush in to me and start bouncing around inside of me. A positive glow that no matter how much I try, I can't seem to shake. It seems like Max caught it too, and suddenly we've become these crazy, goal-oriented people - er...not that we weren't crazy to begin with. We feel good - really good, and that's a really great change from how 2012 worked out for us. We were carrying a lot of awful stuff, negative emotions that weren't necessarily our own. They've eased up a bit, and we're revelling in the magic of that feeling.




This is odd for me, especially in the middle of January. Being a long-time sufferer of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), winters are usually the gloomiest months, where I'm left to simper in a kind of pathetic puddle of pudding consisting of cold, grey weather, and even colder, greyer thoughts. 2013, for me, has been dubbed the Year of Passion, as I'm finding that my thoughts have bloomed in to a really, really great place where I can manage to focus my energies and grow.




Maybe I'm going crazy, but suddenly I feel like someone's filled that grey mess with sunshine and optimism. And I really don't care how awful things get this year - I want to hold on to that, and keep that with me. So I made a book of all sorts of lovely things I want to do this year. Not really resolutions, more of gentle goals and things I'm really, really passionate about seeing happen. I think all together, I came up with 12 different areas of my life, as well as an outstanding challenge of finding 13 things I am Really, Truly, Honestly passionate about this year.




It's a pretty genius solution, if I do say so myself. I broke my life down in to a number of areas that I want to enjoy. Then I made individual, measurable goals that I can do, for the most part, quite easily, or with some routine-restructuring. Those dots, each cut from a magazine, have been glued in with a really light paste (think paper-mache mix. A bit of flour and water, a bit of salt. It sticks just enough to not take the whole page with it if you pulled it off).




Now here's where the genius part comes in. Every time I complete a goal, I get to rip the circle out of the book, and either display it, or put it in a jar and look at how awesome I'm doing. If I can complete all the goals in a 'section', I  have an awesome paper-gold medal waiting for me at the end of each book that I can display and brag about. Since I tend to err on the flighty side, I left some spaces blank, so I could add some other goals as the year progresses.

It serves as both a happy reminder that I can cart around with me, and a sort of accountability partner for when I feel a lot less inclined to do goals. It's totally portable, and just screams 'carry me in your purse'. I embraced imperfection with it (the pages are FAR from even, and the tabs on the sides are all skewed, but it works) and finished something for a change. For the first project of 2013, I'm unbelievably proud of it!

 I'd be happy to share more about how I made it, if anyone is interested. If you happen to be inspired, or have a goals book yourself, I'd love to see them!

2012 Reflections

Source: call-me-cupcake.blogspot.com via Melissa on Pinterest

It's that time again. Time for resolution making (and, in a few weeks, for most people, breaking). Now that the darkest part of winter has passed, we can slowly begin to come out of hibernation, shed our old skins, stretch a bit, and grow. And maybe that's why we all make resolutions. Because we're so anxious to get to that stage of 'newness'. That stage where we feel like winter's grip has finally left us, and a bit of optimism and hope can come back (especially those of us with Seasonal Affective Disorder - winter can really, really feel like an uphill battle).

Considering that on the 21st of December, the sun set at around 4:00pm where I live (call that an end of the world situation...ew), I am WAY past excited for days to get longer. And with that, especially this year, has come this child-like enthusiasm for change. For growth. For doing things that make me feel amazing and happy and free.

Last year, I made a list of resolutions using Chris Guillebeau's Annual Review planner (it's free - don't worry!). It was a real treat to look back on it this past week, seeing what I managed to do, what I didn't do, and what I surprised myself with. I'm sure everyone is saying this - but I really have grown since I sat here on 2011, sad and confused and harboring a bitterness for things that were out of my control.

I've learned to be grateful for the things in my life. I've learned to let go of bitterness and grief (even though it sneaks up on me every so often). I have a new kitty named Bacon, and we recently added a dog to our family, too, named Eggs! I managed to create this blog, as well as create an etsy shop and get myself in to a craft show (holy cow - when you stop blogging for a while, the need for sharing really adds up. Pictures on all of this to come, I promise!) I proved to myself that some really awesome things can happen, even when you're not expecting them.

Although 2012 was a year I faced a lot of personal problems and struggles - guilt, anger, dealing with expectations and pressure from living in a small town, I feel really good, and really proud of all that I've done. And I'm so happy to have shared it with a wonderful, wonderful partner, too!

Today Max and I went to the liquor store (holy crap - we never drink, so this was a big, hilariously awkward thing for us. We were standing there shuffling around trying to look like we knew what we were doing...oh, the joys of trying new things) and bought ourselves a bottle of champagne. 2013, I can't wait. You're going to be a wonderful year for me. I have so many plans, and I know that many will fall short, but I know that there will be many successes and happy surprises in store for me, for us, and for you too! I can't wait to share it with you all!

Thanks for being here for the journey - we're just getting started. This next week, I'll be sharing my goals (I made an awesome book to keep track of my progress over the year that I'll be sharing) and I have some real life updates, too! I have so many awesome things planned for the blog this year - stay tuned!


Do you believe in resolutions on New Years? What do you have planned for 2013?

Dear world: I'm not a robot.

Source: flickr.com via Melissa on Pinterest

 Lately, I've been neglecting almost everything. I've been hiding under a blanket, watching an entire anime series, playing various video games, drinking TONS of tea, and giving too much attention to a cat named Bacon. And I've felt pretty awful about it, which made me realize that's NOT okay.

Sometimes we need to step away to get a better outlook on things.

Sometimes it's alright to admit that you need a break.

Sometimes we can't stand to be around the things we once loved.

Sometimes it's necessary to abandon things, in order to seek out new ones.

It's totally alright if we fail sometimes. Nobody is a perfect, creation/working/speaking/whatever you do fantastically machine. We're not robots.

I think sometimes we get too caught up in being 'productive' that we neglect our Selves. We mistake 'rest' for 'failure'. And when we do that, sometimes they fight back. Suddenly they throw up blocks you've never encountered before. Suddenly something that once came so easily to you won't come at all. Suddenly you feel like doing nothing but curling up on the couch with a big, heavy blanket and a cup of tea, playing video games and watching an entire season of anime with a cat on your lap...

Or whatever you do for comfort. hint: usually this has NOTHING to do with being 'productive'
And, hint, usually you'll feel guilty about it. You'll feel obligated to 'produce', in whatever way you do that.

Maybe you skip your homework. Maybe you party too much. Maybe you sleep in until noon. Or maybe you cry too much, eat too much, laugh too much (be more serious!). Maybe your past-times aren't 'good' enough.

Usually, when we need rest, when we allow ourselves rest, we face the biggest demons we have. Don't let them stop you from taking a break. These things are what make us human. These things are what give the world colour.

And without rest, we cannot be the brilliant beacons of light and energy that we all are. We become sluggish, mired in mental and physical fatigue. So please, when the time comes, and your body says that you need a break, do what you need to do. And then jump right back in to the world, ready and rested. Nourished and healed. If you need to lay back down in a day, in a minute, that's alright. Rest as long as you need, because you have big things ahead of you, and it will be wonderful.

We're not robots. Allow yourself to rest in whatever way you do, so that when you feel ready, you can take on the world again - better and more beautifully than ever.

Don't let fatigue dampen and drown the supernova you are.

LIST: 10 Things that Terrified me as a Child

(image from here; there's tons more to giggle at)

Since Hallowe'en is now creeping closer, I think it's safe for me to share some horror stories, some things that scared me to the core. The kind of things that struck mind-melting, tear-inducing, shivers and screams fear in to my heart, some that I'm still a little bit skittish about. I guarantee you, all of these stories are 100% true. And since we're all friends here, I think it's safe to say I won't have to be worried. Right?

Pencil Shavings

That's right. I was absolutely terrified of the things. They reminded me of half-needle, half monster-claw, trapped inside the clear plastic of my pencil sharpeners like caged demons, waiting to attack me the moment they got let out. The moment I finished sharpening my pencil, I would scream “MOM! I'm DONNNEEE!” to which she'd have to come barrelling in to the room, carefully extract the monsters from my ever-vigilant hands (they could NOT escape), and escort them out of the room, seemingly disposing of them, and then hand the sharpener back to me.

This fear, thankfully, was sufficiently neutralized when, one horrific time, the case opened, spilling pencil shavings all over my lap. After the initial shock of waiting, just waiting for the monsters to start eating me alive, I realized they were harmless. Amen.

Trees at night

They were monster claws. Again. I must have had a thing for claws, because at night, tree branches (especially those of the coniferous kind) (For you non-botanists, that's trees like pine and spruce, that have no leaves) were the hands of evil, reaching towards me to, trying to snatch me in to their grasp. I'd head straight for the doors, for the light, the moment I was outside.

Dolphin Music

Okay, okay, so I wasn't terrified of it. That would be embarassing. I was just...perhaps...sensitive. I was a sensitive child, yes. And this music hit something inside of me that just turned on the waterworks. Mom played it one night, hoping it would help me sleep, and possibly relax, and I simply started wailing. A feeling of complete and utter hopelessness, absolute sadness overtook me. I started making noises quite similar to the dolphins wailing in the background, and the waves and other-worldly music in the background only freaked me out more. I mean, the music's just weird. I have no idea how it's even relaxing. Needless to say, I didn't listen to the stuff ever again.

If you want to subject yourself to the torture of dolphin music, take a listen

Potpourri

Ugh. All the weird shapes, and weird smells? Monsters. More monsters. I swear, when I was little, everything was a monster. This one, for the record, is more the fault of my grandpa than anything else. We used to sit on the couch, watching TV (I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, still do) and he'd sneak up, holding a potpourri pinecone, or some weird, alien-looking dried...thing, and he'd make a BZZZZZZZ sound, and tickle/poke me in the ribs with it. Terrifying. I thought all potpourri, after those actions, were, much like pencil shavings, simply lying dormant, waiting to try and kill me. I was lucky every time I survived a Grandpa-induced attack.

The bad guys, in ANY movie

I couldn't watch Skydancers, My Little Pony, or Care Bears. For years. It was terrifying.

My bed

I've always been a terror trying to get me to sleep (I still am. Ask my boyfriend). Some nights, I just have trouble. When I was younger, this lack-of-sleep was entirely on the fact that I hated my bed. You know why? It was all because of THIS pingu episode. Seriously. That Walrus-sea lion things? Ho. Ly. Crap. I wasn't getting in my bed, if that's what happened. I mean, look at how traumatized Pingu is after that...I'd be too. Ugh.

Numerous Locomotive toys

They were coming to get me. I couldn't stop them – they were going to get me, and that would be it. I received a bumble ball for Christmas one year. They put batteries in it, and had it rip-roaring around the room in all its innovative toddler-friendly glory. I nearly crapped myself from fear. It was going to kill me. Mom had to put on my early Christmas lists for people “No toys that move. She doesn't like them.” I mean, really, does a kid need that? We can move our own darn toys. Stationary toys are fine by me.

Bald People

Like, really. This one developed later on in my life. (Mostly, I think, because I was a baldy for about 3 years before my hair apparently exploded all over my head). Bald people terrified me. One would be kind enough to coo or say hi to me, and I'd burst in to tears. Leaving my mom to explain that I was a sensitive child, and that bald people terrified me to the core.

It didn't help that mom LOVES Phil Collins, and left his tapes all over the house for me to find and scream at.

The Furnace

I was a brave kid. I really was, when I wasn't coping with apparent crippling fears of everyday objects. I mean, most kids are scared of the basement. I wasn't! Psh. I could go down in that basement with the lights out, and I'd be fine. But! If the furnace turned on – get me OUT. That thing scared me. Basement, no big deal, the furnace? A demon from below. It was going to eat me. The sound of it turning on meant it had noticed me.

I had to run up the stairs. It was the only way to be safe from that thing.

Hornets

This fear has prevented me from getting stung. I swear, if I ever get stung, I think I'll probably have a deathly reaction to it. Y'know, like those people who just don't drink milk all their lives, then find out that they're deathly allergic to it the one time they try it? Yeah. Me n'Hornets.

I mean, don't get me wrong, they're kind of cute (Or at least the fat fluffy ones are. Though, those are bees, not hornets.) And those guys are a big help. I appreciate them. I just (still, to this day) don't like 'em anywhere near me. Especially Hornets and the like, because they seem to chase me. They know in their evil, sick minds, that I'm absolutely terrified of them. And they try to get me. I guess I should widen that category to any flying insect that has the capacity to bite and/or sting. But the fear concentrates on hornets.

And it goes without saying that these scare the crap out of me, too. They seem to display the same traits as hornets. Evil things, I say!

---

So there you go. 10 childhood fears. Feel free to link me to yours, so I can laugh at them, like you just did at mine.

Dear Toronto.

Source: flickr.com via Melissa on Pinterest

     Dear Toronto,

     About a year ago, I gave up on you. And don't get me wrong - you were pretty cruel to me. But sometimes it's nice to just remember that, in many ways, you raised me. You brought me to a woman that I know I'll walk with the rest of my life, and shaped her in to the person she is now, even though she's struggling in a small town. 

     You were our apartment, all fresh and smelly and new and shiney. I remember snuggling up on the newly-crocheted blanket, in the new bed, spending my first night alone terrified yet exhilarated as the light from the city shone on our ceiling.

     I remember the snowstorm that the city held its breath for. The snow ploughs and car horns and the sudden, eerie silence that descended like a blanket the moment the snow fell. I remember running out in the middle of the night for groceries and laughing at how hilariously huge the snowflakes were – they were literally snowballs, floating down, and when they landed on our mitts, the snowflakes would puff, falling in to a hundred different places, all from that one puff.

     And then I remember the slush. Oh, the slush. I remember trying, so hard, to keep my feet dry, and stay happy, when the slush filtered in to every corner of my once-dry shoes. Wrinkly toes and strange white skin. And the fit I pulled, that day I forgot my metropass, and had to walk all the way home. I kicked my shoes off, across the apartment, and started to cry. The pure, hard frustration that consumed me all too many times while I was there. The anger that would make me eventually leave.

     And the trip to Rosedale, in search of matryoshka dolls for that one damn art project. And how amazed we were that a piece of the city felt this much like somewhere we'd already been. And the disappointment that we would probably never, ever live there.The heartbreak that would continue to break our hearts, even away from you.

     And that one party we went to. The one where smoke drifted everywhere, and we were the only ones choking on it. Lazily but happily watching from the outside in to a world neither of us, even today, understands.

     Our dim-sum dates with Brooke. And how amazing it was to find those little gems of restaurants. Like New Bilan and the plate-fuls of food. Rancho Relaxo, and the piles of delicious Mexican food, the endless string of Indian restaurants, in hope of finding ONE place that stacked up to Masala. And us feeling like incredible food-snobs when they didn't. And the dumpling house. The plates upon plates of deliciously slippery dumplings with chopsticks and vinegar and soy sauce.

     And the botanical gardens. Discovering that beautiful place, showing it to you. It's one of my favourite places in all of the city. The wet-smell of chlorophyll, the sacred silence that perpetuates the space, and the warmth of the rooms.

     Or the time we rode the subway until we couldn't anymore, just watching the people and talking and falling asleep. And how freakin' creepy the outskirts of the city were...

     The blind restaurant. What's your Raashii?

     The nights we spend swimming in the pool, wondering why the lights weren't turning on, and then getting turned on with them off. And then getting freaked out when the whispers and waves started without warning. Lonely and sad.

     And the stuffy air of Art School. My nights spent up late pitching fits at my art, the grueling journey (that you always seemed to take with me) of transporting the art to campus, and the feeling of pride, or hate, that came after the critiques.

     Or the beautiful buildings of U of T. Sitting in the old, musty lecture halls, soaking up academic words and thoughts eagerly, together. Feeling like a student of old, wandering halls and courtyards, and marveling at something that I somehow never knew I wanted.

     Or the days we skipped out. Shut the world out, and just spent the days and nights together. Laughing and fighting and crying and smiling. Stomach aches and knee pains, broken dishes, and holes in the ceiling. And yet looking back, even those cracks were beautiful. Every single moment i spent was beautiful. Toronto, in its own way, was beautiful, and I am so happy I got to spend it and share it with you.

      So, thank you Toronto. Here's to your tough love, your city streets and sidewalks. Here's to the things you taught us, and the things you never could. Here's to the memories of old, and the promise of new ones. Maybe I'll come visit, maybe we both will. Or maybe we won't - either way, I hope our boots will be dry, our house cozy, and our minds filled with wonderful thoughts and challenges and revelations. May we light a million candles, and may we always know that, even in the hardest times, they're worth it in the end. 

Thanks, Toronto. 

Sincerely, 

Melissa.

COLLECTIONS : Wade Whimsies

Collections is a series where I share some of my numerous collections, whether they be sentimental and antique, or things I simply gathered from a walk. Each hold a special meaning to me, with their own stories.
 

There are a few things I have been collecting since I was little. Wade whimsies are one of those things. As a child, they were something so different from the usual toys I fond and played with. Heavy, cold porcelain figures that I could plop around my room, play with, and carry around in my hands; their unusual weight and beautifully unique glazed colours have captured my affection since then.Some of them belonged to my Great-Gran that I seemingly 'inherited' when we moved in to her old house, others were collected from garage sales, antique stores, and sales from my travels.

The deer and the bison are probably my favourite. I found the bison, laying dirty in the mud of our backyard when I was young, and the deer was given as an offhand gift. Although the three bears come in at a close second. I put them all up on my windowsill, so the sunlight dances over the browns and reds every morning when I wake up. Sometimes it really is the little things that can make a home feel like your own, the little things that can make the biggest difference.

I HAVE EVERYTHING I NEED...

 (July 13, 2012 by Angelos.ru on Flickr)

“I have everything that I need to do what I need to do.” 

It's an affirmation I now have written where I can see it every morning when I wake up.

The other day, my grandfather (I call him Buppa) nonchalantly handed me 100 dollars. Just passed it across the table to me, pressed one of our odd, new, plastic-ey bills in to the palm of my hand. I protested a bit, but he refused to relent, keeping it pressed there until I tucked it safely away in to my wallet.

A few days before that, my boyfriend Max put his arms around me, looked me in the eye, and told me, “You're gonna do some freakin' amazing things, Melissa, and I'm going to love you through them all.”

It's funny. Because lately I've been feeling absolutely crushed. Hopeless and unable to move forward. Deprived of wealth, physically and spiritually. I'm still struggling with the fringes of it, but it's gotten a lot better since.

I've felt alone. I've felt like a single martyr, carrying my burden across plains and deserts, listless and near defeat. I've felt like nobody, absolutely nobody, cares about me and my little space on the planet. I've felt like money defined my own vision, when there was no money with which to define it. Which is a tough, tough thing to swallow when you're a girl set on changing people and changing the world, breaking the norms and shaking the world.

How can you be a hero when nobody wants to listen to you? How can you change people and inspire people when nobody can give you the time of day? How can you build your empire when all you have is sticks and a bit of tar?

But I realized that one cold, hard truth we all come to accept sometimes. A sense of monk-like zen has overcome me, and I feel at ease knowing it: Things aren't as bad as they seem. And once again I was humbled to a deep, deep sense of gratitude. To the point of tears.

Chris Guillebeau talked about investing 100 dollars in to each participant at this year's world domination summit. Hundreds of people came out of this event electrified, supported and passionately set on doing something incredible. I looked at the news with a tinge of jealousy when it first came out, thinking 'man, I wish I had that...' when in reality I should've been thinking 'I have that, too. Maybe not in the same way, or the same time, but I have that.'

Because whether he realized it or not, my Buppa placed his support in me. He placed his own hard-earned money on me and my dream of creatively changing minds. And despite the fact that I'm still a rebel with the most broad idea of what I'm going to do, he still invested in me. Max, despite all my failed attempts at...well...we're both not too sure what I'm doing yet, but I'm doing something, still places his love and support in me every. Single. Morning.

In amongst the silence and desolation my mind had convinced me was present all around me, one of the most important people in my life quietly, and without apology or pity, put 100 dollars on me, and another constantly fills me with energy and love and support spiritually. And I am making a promise to do absolutely everything in my power to make those investments count, even if they're the only things I get.

And maybe you don't have that 100 dollars. Maybe you have 4000. Maybe you have hundreds of supporters at your back. Maybe you have none. Whatever you have, please, don't let that stop you from doing the work, from bringing whatever it is that is hanging on the tip of your fingers, beating silently inside your heard, hammering in your head and trying to claw or simply float its way out of you. Whatever it is, and however it's doing it, you need to bring it in to this world.

And in a time and place so consumed with money and objects, let us all prove to the world that, no, you don't need to be the special case to change things, to bring hope and light and love and energy in to the world. You don't need a million dollars, or to be struck by lightening to do something incredible.

So, armed with my own 100 dollars, a priceless investment of pure moral support from a few very wonderful people, and the second-hand wisdom from you, Chris, and all you World Dominators of '12, I plan on changing the world and doing something incredible. I hope you'll all come along for the ride.

NAMASTE

Today I took a leap.

Today I finally went to a yoga class on my own. Nobody there with me, pushing me and cheering for me. Just me, my sweaty clothes, and a mat that I felt better without, in the middle of a park.

Now, save for dance, exercise and me have a tenuous relationship. For years I believed that exercise was the 'penance' I had to pay for simply being. I would exercise because I was fat. That was just the way things were.

If I didn't exercise, people would suggest I go take walks, go outside, move around. Which was all fine and dandy, up until I started to feel obligated to exercise ALL the time. Walking suddenly became a token, a card I could show to prove that, yes society, I am not falling under the 'lazy fat person' stereotype. Nope, not me. If I didn't exercise, I was faced with a huge sense of guilt and shame, not only from myself, but seemingly from those around me as well.

And it sucked, because all the activities I enjoyed suddenly became chores. Suddenly I felt like a giant, fun-sucking, grouchy-faced lady was standing behind me at all times, clucking her tongue every time I couldn't run a marathon (which...I've never been able to do, for the record). She followed me everywhere that I moved, frowning, sighing, muttering things to me.

And she really, really showed herself the year I began battling with my illnesses. I gained a bunch of weight (hello freshman year and a thyroid disorder). My self-confidence plummeted and I felt absolutely horrible. Why bother exercising - the lady's walked out of the room, she's so upset with me, telling all her sullen friends about what a disappointment I was.

 Save for dance, I felt no desire to move my own body. I felt no desire to even look at myself, let alone move. Until a few months ago, when an inkling of an idea bubbled up inside me.

What if I moved, just because I wanted to?

Why couldn't I exercise, for the sake of moving, for the feeling I felt after yoga?

What was so wrong with that? Nothing. But, my anxiety bubbled, angry and hissing, for months, stopping me in my tracks as the confidence slowly built up inside me. Leaving me to survey the damage done, without leaving.

Social anxiety is an awful thing. But this was a step. A proverbial middle finger to the monster that holds me back so often. And honestly, I felt SO GOOD after yoga. Not because I wanted to lose weight, not because I felt obligated to, but because I WANTED to. And it sucked, halfway through the class I was a sweaty, shaking, slightly nauseous mess. But I did it. And I enjoyed it. I felt at peace, and so connected and honestly, guys, it was so amazing.

So take that, anxiety. One step towards freedom.

I encourage you all to do something, even a tiny thing, that moves you forward and away from whatever is holding you back. Those steps make all the difference. And you deserve to take them.

Taking the Jump

 

So I'm biting the bullet. Finally, FINALLY I am applying to sell some things at a local craft show. With my etsy shop slowly building itself up, I'm hoping that this (and it's impending deadline of autumn) will help me get my act together and finally make things.

It's hard to do, commit to something without knowing what the end result will be, especially something big like this. But honestly, I am so ready for it. And I'm really hoping I get a booth, so I can shake some things up in this little sleepy town I'm presently occupying. It's exciting.

I'm feeling really motivated and inspired. Sometimes drastic changes are the best coaches.

What do you do to get yourself motivated and working?

Birthday Thoughts

(Photo credit Victo Ngai)

Yes, my birthday was a few days ago.

And usually I like to keep things low-key. I get uncomfortable with crazy settings and surprises - I'd rather spend my birthdays in little humble settings, knowing that those around me genuinely care and are happy that I am in their lives (as happy as I am to have them in mine).

This year was just that. A nice, humble setting. A few modest presents (two movies from my favourite animator/studio EVER - Studio Ghibli) a delightful lunch at my favourite restaurant, and a yummy surprise supper. I was so beyond happy - and so thankful for those few people to take the time out of their day to spend it with me. I spent the morning with my mom, the afternoon with my Bamma and Buppa (my grandparents) and the evening with my soulmate and my best friend. It was absolutely lovely. So lovely that I felt an incredible amount of gratitude and thankfulness (which wasn't simply being polite) bubbling out of me the whole day.

There were bumps - a performance scheduled during my birthday was cancelled. And ultimately I made the call, against the wisdom of my old drama teacher, who believed that 'The Show must go on, at all costs". But sometimes it's just not worth it, and this was one of those times. Sometimes the odds are against you, and it's better to back out gracefully than to fight the current.

And after a stressful 3 hours or so, fidgeting over the idea of cancelling it, and then calling disappointed parents, I breathed a sigh of relief. I really wasn't looking forward to the performance anyway. And I had made the call on my own, since my partner in crime is away indefinitely, healing herself.

Since the new year turned, I've been looking for those 'words' to define my life. Those ideas, moments, singular phrases that are supposed to focus you and define your attitude for the year to come. They never came to me, until my birthday passed.

I started my year off, the first year in a new decade of my life (cheers for being 20) being grateful and brave. And those are the two defining words for this year. Gratitude because I need to count my blessings more, and from thankfulness flows humility and love, which I think everyone in the world (especially me) need. And Bravery because I cannot let humility simper in to silence. These next few years are the years I fight, I yell. And while I need to be humble, I need to be brave, I need to be the warrior I am meant to be, as well.

So cheers to this new year (even if I'm 6 months late. It always seems to happen that way). Do you have any words inspiring your life? I'd love to hear what they are.

Dear June - It's Party Time

 (Image via Melissa on Pinterest)

Oh, June. Month of Midsummer and Bees. Named after the latin word iuniores (meaning 'younger ones') you belong to youth. As well as potentially being named after the Goddess Juno – Roman equivalent of Hera – the kickass mother to the Pantheon. And it is the month of Unicorns. MONTH. OF. UNICORNS.

Yes.

I freakin' LOVE June. It also happens to be the month I was born under. Which...the five-year-old inside of me cannot help but acknowledge the fact that birthday-months are clearly the best ones.

Last June...was awful. Dealing with a confrontational family from my significant-other’s side, away from home, and having to face a bunch of emotional and physical baggage in the span of three days, and then moving halfway across the continent and across a border in the span of 12 hours basically stole the entire month away from me. I spent it listless and soggy-eyed. Defeated, scared, and wounded.

This year, I plan on it being different.

Lately, I have been noticing myself falling in to a trap. A trap of inaction, and then absolute sheer frustration and negativity after failing to do anything. Coupled with a HUGE cloud of guilt and pressure from the people in my life (who mean well, but their ideas of obligation and life can be crippling) I've felt pretty crappy.

So I am calling a truce. I'm calling every single emotion, dream, laugh and smile to climb out of the trenches of self-obligation and play football for a month. I won't allow any shots to be fired, at any of you. Because I've been waging a war against my dreams for too long. Against the parts of me that, yes, want to sit for a day and play a game through. The parts of me that really just want to sit on the floor of the library and hum to myself.

So, June. I fly the white flag. For the entire span of you, I will consciously choose to pursue one peaceful, beautiful action each day, free of scorn, anger, frustration, and obligations. June – you are for my dreams. You are the birthday present I am giving to my Self.

Because honestly – how can I not dream on a month named after Unicorns? Let the party begin.

In Defense of Body Positive Blogs

According to the media, according to a lot of people, I am a headless body.

I am a spectre drowning in layers upon layers of 'flattering' clothes. I am the boat, floating in a sea of small barges, lithe little vessels who out work, out do and out succeed me in every way. I am a mound of fleshy, ugly flab. Melting and oozing on to sidewalks, subway cars, airplanes, sinking and stinking in to the pavement, like discarded gum on a summer day.

I am 'the problem' according to media today. I am consistently judged and valued (or in almost every case, de-valued) according to a single three-digit number. I weigh 220 pounds (can I also point out that this is the first time I have revealed my weight?). That number has defined me in ways I have no control over, consistently, for almost all my life.

In reality, I am the girl, crying in the clothing stores because I can't find anything that fits me. I am anxious every time I go out, feeling the stares that feel as ugly as I'm told I am. I am the girl who, every day, struggles with the reflection in the mirror, feels mind-numbing guilt every time I indulge in a treat. The girl who treats her weight like the world's worst secret – the kind that gnaws away at you. The girl who thinks that I am the only one, the last one, the one who doesn't deserve anything good from life.

Because I am one of those headless bodies. I am a big, fat 'problem'. A scapegoat. A huge red target painted across my big, fleshy ass.

But, I am also the girl who dreams of travelling the world (without having to pay double airfare prices). I am the girl who is pursuing a creative career. I am the girl who dreams of being a ballerina, a yogi, a monk. I am the girl who dances gleefully in the rain. I am a Girl Guides leader, a dance teacher, an artist, a singer. I am an incredibly talented person.

And I am learning, slowly, that the third girl matters infinitely more than the other two.

And I am learning, mostly, due to a supportive, safe community of blogs and tumblrs. Blogs that post pictures of us 'fatties' that feature more than simply decapitated figures slumped in exhausted positions. I now know that there are some of us who dance. Who sing. Who dress up, go out, run, jump, scream.

Because the reality is that we live in a world that teaches us we need to be invisible. Because we're the big, fat problem for humanity, we must ease the burden by being quiet, taking the abuse silently. 'Sit and enjoy the bitter taste of self hate, folks, because that's about the only thing you deserve,' the media seems to say.

So don't you dare go telling me that 'fatspiration' blogs are simply promoting another 'unhealthy lifestyle'. Take a long, hard look at these women and men. These, yes, say it with me, fat women and men. Look at how happy they seem. Listen to how their stories whisper 'there's hope' across leagues, to hundreds of thousands of humans who have heard anything but. And maybe, just maybe, feel a bit of their pain, their joy, their struggles. And then take a much harder look at the media. Take a look at the hateful, painful images that are replayed over and over again like battle cries, rallying cries, if you will. Regular, accepted mental and physical abuse, played over and over again in a crusade against thousands of people WORLDWIDE. Because, I'm sorry guys, fatness is not simply a first world 'problem'. Nor is it a modern 'problem'. Or a problem to begin with, but that's besides the point.

You look at the media, and tell me. Really, honestly tell me, who is the one promoting an 'unhealthy lifestyle'. Because these blogs have helped me to realize, for the first time in my life, that I might have an inkling of value as a human being. That I might matter more than simply 220 ticks on a scale. More than three measly digits. We are tired. And we are angry. And we will not put up with this garbage anymore.

So all of yous keeping fatspiration blogs. All of you speaking out against an oppressive beauty cult and body police. All of you fighting stereotypes, breaking barriers, and, most definitely, all of you who are brave enough to bare all for the world to see. All of you willing to say 'Check out these beautiful rolls', all of you who wear crop tops out, who stare down their muffin tops in the mirror and smile, all of you willing to choose love, if even a bit. All of you willing to share your stories, your pain, your ideas and breakthroughs, all of you who are tired of this absolute crap: I say to you all – keep doing what you are doing.

Because this battle is not fought with rude words, hate, anger or violence. And that, like all of us, is the real beautiful part of it. We are winning this battle by choosing love. In a world run by oppression and hate, we are fighting back not with sword-blows, but blown kisses. We are fighting back with hearts, not hate. And although Love is hard to find, and hard to keep, it is the most powerful substance and feeling on this planet.

And we, my friends, are a vivacious, brilliant, great big, rolling red love letter to the Universe. No matter how hard it gets, how nasty they might treat us, keep the love coming. Don't give up. We are beautiful, and we do deserve everything good in life. Simple as that.

The Big 'Secret'

 (I feel like I should put a 'slightly NSFW' tab on this, but that would kind of defeat the purpose of this article, so screw it. If you're uncomfortable with the word 'vagina' or the discussion of 'periods' then please, feel free to navigate somewhere else)

So - I have a confession to make. I menstrate. I do it quite frequently. Along with approximately 52% of the population. I, along with many other people (let's not get gender-specific here - there are plenty of varients to human beings who menstrate, and I don't want to exclude any of them, or make the assumption that only women menstrate and/or possess female parts) usually once a month (although, like gender, this time-period can shift profusely from person to person) bleed from my lower half for approximately three to five days.

It's no secret - we all know that it happens, and yet we all pretend like it's some kind of 'hidden' thing, something to keep secret and hide from the world. Constantly commercials croak out that we need to be 'secure' against the menace of menstruation. We need to 'keep the secret' and be 'free' from the burden of our periods.

I was watching a show today where a group of men worked to restore a Kotex vending machine. The entire segment of the show was about these guys whining and sobbing over the fact that they had to restore it, and how it was the 'first and last' time they were ever doing it. A few of them wouldn't even touch the machine. And then, as the highlight of the show, one sends his son out to pick up 'supplies' for the machine on an adventure in humiliation and shame.

Because buying tampons and pads is sooo horrible.

I don't know - maybe I'm being over critical, but this aversion to a process that happens in over half of the population seems, like a lot of things that seem 'normal' around women, oddly misplaced. Why, on TV, can we easily talk about the other side of the spectrum - 'boners' and 'husbandry' like it's something normal, and yet not bother to even mention what the machine was built for (not once did they say 'period' - watching it, you wouldn't even know what this machine was for, if you didn't know that Kotex is a brand of pads and tampons). Why can't anyone say 'vagina'? Heck, why do I even have to put quotes around these words?

I guess what I'm trying to say is - why do we need to be ashamed of these processes? They're natural and happen to be the norm for a large percentage of the human population. I say we own it. Screw being ashamed - let's all talk openly about it. About these issues, because a culture that perpetuates silence perpetuates ignorance. And we have enough questions about living in our bodies as it is. Let's make it a bit easier on ourselves and open up the discussion on periods, on erections, vaginas. Let's own our own bodies, and treat them as such - not letting a society take our voices and ownership of them from us. It's your body - own it.