This post is for woman between the ages of fourteen to fourty.
“Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.” Joanne Kathleen Rowling
I was walking downtown - obviously shopping, when a tall, beautiful, flawless woman walked passed me and caught my attention. She carried a big, red leather bag that seemed too big for her puny body; This woman was annorexic. She looked as if i could push her over with my pinky, while causing severe damage to her bones. She was too thin.
Her name was Kimya. Kimya was a model, a starving model. She dressed very chic and walked with attitude. Kimya new she was beautiful, she knew that she caught everyones' attention but she didn't flaunt herself. Her ice blue eyes popped out of her face with the help of her jet black hair. Her hair was long, very long and shiny.
Kimya was beautiful. That was undeniable, however for some odd reason Kimya seemed sad. When i looked deep into her eyes i realized Kimya was miserable. She seemed depressed. Work had been very stressful for her, she had to much competition. Her agent was pushing her to lose more weight, or her job would be in jeoprody. She could not afford to lose more weight and she knew that.
Kimya took the right path, she decided to tell her agent to accept her for what she is or she would personally rip up their contract. She told her agent she was fed up with her pushing her around and she needed more respect. Kimya stood up for herself, she did the right thing because if she didn't it may have cost her life.
Kimya realized it was not all about being thin. She got tired of people critisizing her and of always watching what she eats. She is young, she has a whole life ahead of her and she does not want to ruin it because of some stupid modelling career. She is now in acting and has happily gained twenty pounds. Kimya is the happiest she has ever been because she is happy with herself and for herself and not for anyone else.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Stress of College
This post is for people who get stressed out easily in life. For highschool students going into college or university. It is for college/university students who get anxiety before tests or exams. So remember:
"Stress is the trash of modern life - we all generate it but if you don't dispose of it properly, it will pile up and overtake your life." ~Danzae Pace
As I was walking into Centennial College for an interview, an average looking girl smoking outside caught my eye. Her friends' were calling her Lindsay. She was about 5'4 inches tall with shinny red hair. Lindsay wore flashy attire with countless lines as well as dots. She was more distinguishable then the rest of the crowd around her.
The way Lindsay pulled on her cigarette reminded me of how my father smokes when he gets stressed out. The way she pulled on her cigarette reminded me of a starving dog gorging on his first meal in days. The cigarette was her cure for her symptom; It was the cure for mending her wound. With each drag Lindsay took her face became smooth, relieved as well as restful. She was definitely stressed about something, only what could it be?
Lindsay was taking photography in Centennial. Her class started in fifteen minutes and she was writing a test. This is what was stressing her out. She was kicked out of her home when she was sixteen because she rebelled against her parents rules. Lindsay is a hard-working eighteen year old lady now. She learned to care for herself and she is determined to succeed in her course. She pays her own rent and travels by subway. She works at a restaurant, which she enjoys because it is her source of income.
Lindsay will do well on her test because she seemed prepared. She was just anxious. Lindsay will be succesful in life; Whether or not she was kicked out of her home, was rebellious, or tried different drugs; It was a phase most teenagers go through. A phase most overcome.
"Stress is the trash of modern life - we all generate it but if you don't dispose of it properly, it will pile up and overtake your life." ~Danzae Pace
As I was walking into Centennial College for an interview, an average looking girl smoking outside caught my eye. Her friends' were calling her Lindsay. She was about 5'4 inches tall with shinny red hair. Lindsay wore flashy attire with countless lines as well as dots. She was more distinguishable then the rest of the crowd around her.
The way Lindsay pulled on her cigarette reminded me of how my father smokes when he gets stressed out. The way she pulled on her cigarette reminded me of a starving dog gorging on his first meal in days. The cigarette was her cure for her symptom; It was the cure for mending her wound. With each drag Lindsay took her face became smooth, relieved as well as restful. She was definitely stressed about something, only what could it be?
Lindsay was taking photography in Centennial. Her class started in fifteen minutes and she was writing a test. This is what was stressing her out. She was kicked out of her home when she was sixteen because she rebelled against her parents rules. Lindsay is a hard-working eighteen year old lady now. She learned to care for herself and she is determined to succeed in her course. She pays her own rent and travels by subway. She works at a restaurant, which she enjoys because it is her source of income.
Lindsay will do well on her test because she seemed prepared. She was just anxious. Lindsay will be succesful in life; Whether or not she was kicked out of her home, was rebellious, or tried different drugs; It was a phase most teenagers go through. A phase most overcome.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The Lonely Lady
Someone laying on the ground caught my eye, they looked as if they were drowning in the layers of blankets ontop of them. At first it was hard to distinguish whether this person was a woman or man; but when her head poked up, I figured it out. This woman was named Sarah. She was in her fifties but looked twice as old.
Sarah lay on the floor as if she were planning on sleeping there; Shockingly i realized she was. Sarah wore a multicolored, oversized, knit sweater and black track pants. She wore a grey hat and black gloves. She carried a tin can with her that had dirty, rusty paint brushes. She liked to paint, she had one of her paintings with her and another tin can infront of it with coins. Sarah was a homeless, unclean, little old lady. She looked miserable and cold. In her eyes i sensed lonelyness and hunger.
Sarah had no family, she was not able to produce children and her only friend, her only companion, her only love passed away six years ago. Sarah was alone in the world. She sold her house once her husband passed away because she could not bare to live in an environment full of memories of him. The memories just sadened her more. She decided she would live her last years painting for the streets of Toronto. She refused to accept welfare. She just wants to live her last years painting and accepting that each day she will soon be closer to being with her husband again.
Sarah lay on the floor as if she were planning on sleeping there; Shockingly i realized she was. Sarah wore a multicolored, oversized, knit sweater and black track pants. She wore a grey hat and black gloves. She carried a tin can with her that had dirty, rusty paint brushes. She liked to paint, she had one of her paintings with her and another tin can infront of it with coins. Sarah was a homeless, unclean, little old lady. She looked miserable and cold. In her eyes i sensed lonelyness and hunger.
Sarah had no family, she was not able to produce children and her only friend, her only companion, her only love passed away six years ago. Sarah was alone in the world. She sold her house once her husband passed away because she could not bare to live in an environment full of memories of him. The memories just sadened her more. She decided she would live her last years painting for the streets of Toronto. She refused to accept welfare. She just wants to live her last years painting and accepting that each day she will soon be closer to being with her husband again.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Blogs for week ending February 20th, 2009
I should be considered your best friend. You use me for ten months and I make your lives easier. Sometimes I feel unappreciated because I get tossed everywhere. Like today for example. Let me tell you about my horrible day today...
I was hanging on your back just like any other school day and then I got swung into the backseat of a car. I don't mind the ride homes because they are peaceful. I don't have to worry about the weight I'm holding in me and I get to relax on a comfy cushon - rather than the hard dirty floor. Anyways, my owner decided to forget me in the car! The whole night I was freezing. My material became coarse, ragged, and uneven. The weather affects me physically and mentally. Physically because when I get rained on or wet from the rain on the ground I get dirty. I hate being dirty because I don't look presentable for the other bags I am around five days-a-week. This affects me mentally, I feel grotesque. So please take care of me better, please?
*******************************
Today I was injured. I am furious. I cannot explain the anger I have towards my owner. I understand I do a great job in holding weight, but i'm only material. How much weight do you expect for me to hold? I was ripped today on the shoulder handle because I could not hold the excessive weight that was in me. I tried so hard to hold together, but i failed. It hurt, the stitching just tearing away while I was concious. It was a horrendous pain. Undescribable. If I had to describe the pain I would say for a human to rip their own arm out while being concious. I am enraged with anger with my ownder for not taking care of me. After all I do for her, she could just allow me to be put in a position like that. No care in the world for the bag on her back, for the bag that relieves her arms from those burdensome books.
No care.
No care.
No care.
***************************************
What a relief! I thought because I tore yesterday I would be thrown in the trash. We'll I wasn't. I was repaired instead. I feel like a completely new bag today. The stitching somewhat hurt. The needles were screaming with joy as they pierced through me..I heard them. They were laughing at me for not being strong enough, but I didn't care. I was just blessed that i was being renewed. In fact today I feel stronger and refreshed. I feel great, I feel new and I am ready for any book that tries to destroy me again.
********************************
Being a bag means a lot of different things. I hold your belongings for you, I get dirty all the time, I get thrown everywhere, and I GET DIRTY ALL THE TIME. When I am dragged on the floor it irratates me because the floor is dirty. When I am placed on the floor it irratates me beacuse the floor is dirty. Why can't you place me behind your chair? You CAN wash me. So why don't I ever get washed? I love being washed. I just got re-fixed and I feel great about myself, so how about the suggestion of giving me a bath too?
*********************************
Diary,
This is my last page in you. I'm upset that our journey has come to an end. Writing in you about my feelings has relieved me in many ways. In my position, no human can comprehend the mountains of feelings within me. From being tossed around to torn up, no one understands that i need a break too. Eventually i will not be good enough for use, i know that. I have accepted that. My time will come to an end the way every living thing on this planets will. I ask myself why it has to be this way though. As much as i have complained about the dirty floors, the heavy weight, and the tossing around, i have also realized within these pages that those things are the things i love most. I love every single part of it because those things are what makes me who i am. Those things differ me from something i am not to the bag that i am. When i was first bought, i had sat on a shelf for weeks prior to that. The joy i felt when my owner purchased me is incommunicable. The second i was carried out of that store, the breeze on my body, the smell of the air, it was beautiful. It was a new life, a life i was ready for, a life i enjoyed. I know my days are coming to an end soon, i've been used for almost three years. Maybe when it is my time to go, the new life i recieve will be just as beautiful as the life i served for my owner.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
******************************************************
I was hanging on your back just like any other school day and then I got swung into the backseat of a car. I don't mind the ride homes because they are peaceful. I don't have to worry about the weight I'm holding in me and I get to relax on a comfy cushon - rather than the hard dirty floor. Anyways, my owner decided to forget me in the car! The whole night I was freezing. My material became coarse, ragged, and uneven. The weather affects me physically and mentally. Physically because when I get rained on or wet from the rain on the ground I get dirty. I hate being dirty because I don't look presentable for the other bags I am around five days-a-week. This affects me mentally, I feel grotesque. So please take care of me better, please?
*******************************
Today I was injured. I am furious. I cannot explain the anger I have towards my owner. I understand I do a great job in holding weight, but i'm only material. How much weight do you expect for me to hold? I was ripped today on the shoulder handle because I could not hold the excessive weight that was in me. I tried so hard to hold together, but i failed. It hurt, the stitching just tearing away while I was concious. It was a horrendous pain. Undescribable. If I had to describe the pain I would say for a human to rip their own arm out while being concious. I am enraged with anger with my ownder for not taking care of me. After all I do for her, she could just allow me to be put in a position like that. No care in the world for the bag on her back, for the bag that relieves her arms from those burdensome books.
No care.
No care.
No care.
***************************************
What a relief! I thought because I tore yesterday I would be thrown in the trash. We'll I wasn't. I was repaired instead. I feel like a completely new bag today. The stitching somewhat hurt. The needles were screaming with joy as they pierced through me..I heard them. They were laughing at me for not being strong enough, but I didn't care. I was just blessed that i was being renewed. In fact today I feel stronger and refreshed. I feel great, I feel new and I am ready for any book that tries to destroy me again.
********************************
Being a bag means a lot of different things. I hold your belongings for you, I get dirty all the time, I get thrown everywhere, and I GET DIRTY ALL THE TIME. When I am dragged on the floor it irratates me because the floor is dirty. When I am placed on the floor it irratates me beacuse the floor is dirty. Why can't you place me behind your chair? You CAN wash me. So why don't I ever get washed? I love being washed. I just got re-fixed and I feel great about myself, so how about the suggestion of giving me a bath too?
*********************************
Diary,
This is my last page in you. I'm upset that our journey has come to an end. Writing in you about my feelings has relieved me in many ways. In my position, no human can comprehend the mountains of feelings within me. From being tossed around to torn up, no one understands that i need a break too. Eventually i will not be good enough for use, i know that. I have accepted that. My time will come to an end the way every living thing on this planets will. I ask myself why it has to be this way though. As much as i have complained about the dirty floors, the heavy weight, and the tossing around, i have also realized within these pages that those things are the things i love most. I love every single part of it because those things are what makes me who i am. Those things differ me from something i am not to the bag that i am. When i was first bought, i had sat on a shelf for weeks prior to that. The joy i felt when my owner purchased me is incommunicable. The second i was carried out of that store, the breeze on my body, the smell of the air, it was beautiful. It was a new life, a life i was ready for, a life i enjoyed. I know my days are coming to an end soon, i've been used for almost three years. Maybe when it is my time to go, the new life i recieve will be just as beautiful as the life i served for my owner.
Maybe.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
******************************************************
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Blogs for due date February 12th, 2009
Stop Lieing
Okay so I went to Shoppers Drug Mart today and was going to develope some pictures...My lips were really chapped though so I first decided to go to the cosmetics section to buy some chap stick. One of the cosmeticians was talking to an elder lady about face creams. One was $89.00 and the other was a Clinique $56.00 one. So the employee was trying to convice the elder lady that the more expensive one was worth it, that it did a better job, and it was better for your skin.
Wow! Is all I have to say. This poor older lady who clearly knew nothing about face cream was being manipulated by this employee who clearly felt no sympathy for her. She was clearly just trying to sell the more expensive product. The higher priced bottle carried less cream than the Clinique (which is actually a good product).
I just found it sad that this poor lady is left stuck with two creams in her hand not knowing which to choose from, after taxes the more expensive cream would have been about $100.00 . Who would even spend that much on a little bottle of face cream? Anyways I put my two scents into the conversation and I told the lady "You should go for the Clinique, my mom uses it and it works just fine." My mom does not use it she uses a $30.00 Olay one and it does the job just fine. I know I did a white lie, but hey I saved the lady $50.00 that she could use for something more 'worth it.'
How Many?
My little brothers, whom are twins are constantly battleing it out amongst each other. One minute they love each other and the next they're pulling each others hair out. Fortunately, living in the same house with the rug rats I get to hear all their entertaining conversations. The first one I thought I should share is based on girls.
I came home one day and in order to get to my room, I pass by my brother's room. His door was closed and both of them were in there. They were arguing about how one of them hasn't kissed as many girls as the other. I was laughing histerically; First of all, they are thirteen, do they even know what kissing is?? Secondly I know for a fact that one of them is way to shy to even talk to a girl. So they were arguing back in forth saying stuff like "NO YOU DIDN'T KISS CLARA! YOU'RE A LIAR!" and then the other one arguing back "FINE, BUT I ALMOST DID." I found this aboslutely hilarious. Two little teen boys arguing about who has kissed more girls. Being a pest, I opened the door and starting making fun of both of them. I was laughing so hard and tormenting my poor little brothers for being big losers discussing who kissed more girls. The conversation still did not end there. Stephen (one of my brothers) was still hung up on the fact that Aris (the other brother) was lieing about how many girls he had kissed. He was accusing him of lieing and calling him names. Really, why do they even care? I find their conversations so entertaining, and I just thought i should share them with you, to make you laugh too!
It's Your Turn
Once again, I need to share with you a conversation regarding my two little brothers. My parents give us "chores," around the house. My brothers have the responsibility of taking out the garbage. They hate it. I was getting ready to go to school, about to walk out the door and my mom yells from downstairs "Twins don't forget to do the garbage." Aris starts having a hissy fit whining to himself saying "I'm not doing it, no Stephen has to, I'm not doing it, why do we always have to do the garbage." So Aris finally after taking a breathe yells "Steve it's your turn!!" Stephen obviously has already jolted out of the house and was on his way to school. Aris was basically in tears from whinning and complaining how he HATES DOING THE GARBAGE. He was cursing Stephen under his breathe and when my mom came upstairs and act what all the banging was- which was my brother stomping, Aris acted all normal. He put on a straight face and then out of nowhere started complaining to my mom "I did it last time, it's not fair Stephen always makes me do it." I was once again laughing because my brother acted like such a baby, he was complaining to his mommy about taking out the garbage. The funnier thing was that he got off on it, and my mom made Stephen do the garbage when he came home for lunch.
I just find it funny how Aris got off on it from complaining and whinning, usually my mom would tell us to be quiet and do it. But then again, Aris is the little baby of the family, and from what you can see he is the $hi* disturber!
Monday, February 9, 2009
What if...
As I was walking downtown to go shopping at the Eatons Centre, I happened to eavesdrop on two girls in their mid-twenties conversation. At first I figured it would be a typical girl conversation - "what are we going to do this weekend!?" or "Oh my God, like I don't know what to wear." As if it were the end of the world or something. Fortunately, it was not at all like that. These girls were talking about a deep dark secret, one that even I feel bad repeating, but it is part of my assignment...
So I decide to follow these girls - I know that is kinda stockerish :S, into Costa Blanca and they are talking about how the one girls boyfriend cheated on her with a close friend. The girl looked horrible once I actually looked up to see her face, she looked devastated and tired. What that poor girl did not know was what close friend it could have been. From what I heard, her friend was trying to convince her that her boyfriend wouldn't do that, that he loved her very much. She was saying "Liz, John would so not do that to you, you know that, he loves you..." The girl constantly kept looking at her phone still with droopy eyes.
I felt bad listening into their conversation, I really did, but I guess I can call this part of my job now? Like my parents always say, school comes first, so world here comes a class full of 30 people ready for eavesdropping in on your conversations.
After I finally left because the conversation died down between the two girls, I thought to myself...What if the close friend the girl's boyfriend cheated on her with was the girl she went shopping with? What if that was the reason why she was convincing her so much? She did seem pretty tense and sympathetic but more towards the boyfriend. What if...
So I decide to follow these girls - I know that is kinda stockerish :S, into Costa Blanca and they are talking about how the one girls boyfriend cheated on her with a close friend. The girl looked horrible once I actually looked up to see her face, she looked devastated and tired. What that poor girl did not know was what close friend it could have been. From what I heard, her friend was trying to convince her that her boyfriend wouldn't do that, that he loved her very much. She was saying "Liz, John would so not do that to you, you know that, he loves you..." The girl constantly kept looking at her phone still with droopy eyes.
I felt bad listening into their conversation, I really did, but I guess I can call this part of my job now? Like my parents always say, school comes first, so world here comes a class full of 30 people ready for eavesdropping in on your conversations.
After I finally left because the conversation died down between the two girls, I thought to myself...What if the close friend the girl's boyfriend cheated on her with was the girl she went shopping with? What if that was the reason why she was convincing her so much? She did seem pretty tense and sympathetic but more towards the boyfriend. What if...
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