Saturday, 27 November 2010


I wasn't always so organized.  I only grew increasingly so with time and age.  With age came situations that required managing increasing numbers of tasks.  My level of organization became my safety net: it's what made the hard times manageable.  So, few things annoy me more than disorganization.

Even when we keep up with daily tasks, it's important to set aside time to audit your processes to maximize efficiency. I do hate to work backwards, but for the next while, I'll only be reviewing my old posts.  I want to review my use of categories and tags, and I want to add in as many links and captions as I can.

Monday, 8 November 2010

Impressionable Youth

Someone recently asked me if I had ever considered becoming a teacher.  The truth is: I had always considered it. I was teacher's pet all through elementary and high school, being given the opportunity to run sessions in class, and I successfully tutored numerous students on diverse subjects: math, physics, French, English...

Back then I knew I couldn't teach in Ontario's public education system because I didn't think that I would be able to tolerate the children as an adult.  (Since, of course, I could barely stand them as my peers.)  If anything, I always imagined teaching early elementary school children in the twilight of my working years so that I could inspire impressionable youth when it would be most effective.  I still feel mostly the same way, except now I have more ideological constraints that prevent me from willfully being employed by that system besides my dislike of ignorant youth.

The other day, I audited an undergraduate course.  During the break, I chatted with some of the first-year undergraduates.  I discussed my situation, my ideologies, the reality of the educational system, the reality of the workforce, some studies, and how all of these factors came together as the ultimate reason why I made the choices I've made.

One young student appeared to be blown by my story.  He began to relay information about his situation and his opinions and how some of the facts that I'd mentioned were very useful.  I think I inspired him to follow-in my footsteps.

I guess I don't have to teach children to inspire impressionable youth.

Thursday, 4 November 2010


When I was five, my parents left me alone in the living room for about a half hour with heavy-duty scissors.   In this time, I decided to give myself and my teddy bear a haircut.  I managed to chop off a lot of the hair on the top-front of my head, while my teddy bear managed to come out prettier.  This was probably because I could see what I was doing to its fur with each cut.

I managed to cut my own hair in just such a way that there was nothing my parents could do to hide it.  It was too short for bangs, and I had made enough cuts to not have hair atop my head to cover the mess.  My dad, unhappily, cut all my hair to the same short length of 1 inch.  I didn't personally care, but I know it hurt him to chop off the rest of my really thick, healthy, long black hair.  At least, this is what I gathered from the look in his eyes.

When I turned thirteen, and I again made the decision to chop off my thick, healthy, long black hair to imitate T-Boz of TLC, I knew he hated it then, too.  But he never said a word.  He just let me ride out my trends until I got sick of them on my own.

Tuesday, 2 November 2010


When I was a teenager, and I told my sister that I wanted to be a singer, she started looking for every talent show and event that I could sing at and audition for.  She told me about the humble beginnings of a bunch of local singers and how they used every opportunity they could to sing and get exposure, and that that's what I needed to do, too.  But I couldn't do it.  There were just some events that I couldn't bring myself to be part of.  I dropped out of pageants, singing contests; I turned down shows.

I tried.  There were a lot of events and competitions that I had signed up for, but that I couldn't go through with.  For years, I questioned my drive.  After all, if I really wanted something, why couldn't I do "what it would take" to get there?  I began to believe that I just didn't want it enough.

But maybe it wasn't that at all.  I just wanted it a certain way, and I wouldn't compromise that.  For me to become a singer, there was a certain route I wanted to take, and no other.  Yet, given the low probability of "making it" the way that I hoped to make it, I persist.  I find it difficult to let go of dreams of making a living working autonomously on a project that is of personal interest to me.
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