Spring

      The sun is shining. The air is clear and fresh. The grass is turning green. And my allergies are out in full. I have a love hate relationship with pretty much every season (except Fall; Fall I just love) in Canada. I love Spring because it means Winter is over. I hate Spring because everything is wet and dirty and my allergies come back. I love Summer because it's hot and I can swim. I hate Summer because of mosquitoes and allergies. I love Winter because all of my allergens are dead. I hate Winter because it's ridiculously cold. I love Fall because of pumpkin spice, grass is dying, there isn't snow, and the weather is still nice.
       Why am I talking about the weather? Simply put, I needed to actually write something today and I wanted to keep it positive--especially in light of yesterday. And thus, the sun is shining, the air is clear, and the breeze is lovingly caressing all who meet it. There is something wonderful and magical about Spring, I will freely admit that. Especially in Northern climes. We just made it through a long, cold, and literally dark Winter, so those first few days of feeling the warm sun on our bare skin is a transformative experience bordering on a religious awakening! For months, we have trudged through snow banks, trod carefully on the treacherous ice, and braved the extreme temperatures for silly things. But now! Now the sun stays up past 4, and you don't risk death just by going for a walk!
       Spring is the start of something magical in Canada. I wish I could one hundred percent love Spring, honestly I do, but my allergies keep me from making the leap.
       That said, I'm going to sit on my porch tonight and maybe even have a beer. Because it's Spring, and I can.   

Some truth?

      Why do I do those things that I do? Why do I continuously stumble and fall? I am always falling. Even in my getting up I fall. Life has an odd way of reminding one that it is in control. That no matter how good things can look, life can still turn around and make you its bitch.
       I'm in a weird space right now, if that intro didn't clue you in. Yesterday I suddenly felt extremely anxious for an unknown reason, and now today I feel like I'm on the verge of tears. I'm still waiting for a I forgot what I was writing. I got distracted for a while. And again just now. This post is becoming just super distracted.
        Distractions are part of life, he says obviously.
I can't do this today. I can't write something deep and thought provoking. My mind is in pain right now and I don't know why. I can't focus on this. I can barely focus on breathing. I'm actively scared right now. I'm waiting to hear from this new job. I was supposed to hear from them Friday, then yesterday I got an email from them saying they were still deciding. If I get this job then all of my finances will be covered. I'll actually have enough to cover all my living expenses and bills, and have some left over to put aside, and some to have fun with. If I don't get it, I have another month with the festival barely making enough to cover rent and my bills. But they haven't called yet with a yay or nay so I'm stuck in this Schrodinger-esque situation where I both have and don't have this new job. I'm stuck in this position where I both have to and don't have to stress about next month's bills. My mind literally doesn't know if it should be stressed or not, and because of that my stress has gone into overdrive. Everyone keeps just telling me to take a moment for myself, to step out, to go away from people. I wish that I could do that! I wish that I could have a day all to myself where I wasn't worrying about anything other than my own well-being! But I don't get to do that yet. I have to focus on my writing. I have to focus on my filming. I let my filming slide once, and my views have still not recovered. I need to press on, I need to focus on my creating so that it can succeed! If I take the day for myself, right now, where I am right now, I could destroy all the chances I've ever had for succeeding. I wish that I could just throw EVERYTHING behind my creating, just go all-out into that and give it my all, but I know that I can't because I live in a society where money is essential for everything. I live in a society where going into the arts is not a glamorous thing. I live in a society where one cannot become an artist and live well unless they already have money. So until I have that money I must keep my attentions and my mind divided. I must burn at both ends for the chance, the chance!, to succeed and be allowed to focus on aspect at a time. Burning at both ends has a lot of risks, and there are days when those two flames get pretty close, not quite intimate, but close. I think that's my main problem right now. Those flames are too close together, and if they get much closer they'll extinguish each other. Then I'll really be in trouble.
      Well. This got a little depressing. Sorry.   

Memories of a childhood

***A quick, no spoilers thought on Game of Thrones before the blog***  

     Game of Thrones came back with a vengeance last night. They didn't really answer any of my burning questions, but I'm thinking they'll be touched on in episode 2. That said, there were some big things that happened, and that absolutely stunning reveal at the end of the episode. I'm not going to get into that today though. I know some people didn't watch last night, and I'm not going to spoil anything for them.
       This Monday's post is going to be a bit of a cop-out. I'm going to share a short autobiographical piece with you.

I always get the strangest urge to write the story of my life. I have no idea why, who would want to read about my life? It’s nothing incredible or even out of the ordinary. And yet the urges persist in tormenting me when I could be doing something else. So it goes, I guess, the story of me.

I don’t remember terribly much about my birth I am ashamed to say, but I suppose no one really does. It was in February, it was snowing, the dangerous and wet kind that the people living by oceans know and love, and it was in the morning. All this I know from people telling me. I should never have been born, and that sounds really depressing, but medically speaking I should not be here. Doctors told my mother she was incapable of having children, and nine months later I was an emergency caesarean. I started my life by almost dying. I wasn’t as well versed in etiquette as I am now and had no clue that dying at one’s own birth was frowned upon. As I said I don’t recall much from those early years. Snippets of a half-forgotten memory, a snapshot of a snapshot. I remember the wooden floors of our house in Nanaimo, the Disney wallpaper in my room, spinning around in circles until I would almost collapse. The sun. The grass. Oddly enough I don’t remember the rain. You would think that would figure prominently in the memories of one from the Island, but not until I was older. I remember my mother, and the neighbour girl.

Ahh the neighbour girl. My first love, my first kiss. All at the tender age of three or four. We spent almost every day together in the eternal sunshine of childhood. Eternity lasted until I was four and we moved away from her. I did not see her again for fourteen years.  The memories I had of her stayed in the back of my mind, forgotten, all those years only to spring forward when we got back in touch. The mind remembers more than we know. We may remember the sting of a thorn, but the mind always remembers the smell of the rose. 

I had a friend who burnt his feet on a pile of coals that someone had carelessly left on the beach. I can barely remember his face, I can’t remember the sound of his voice, but I can remember his poor feet. He had to wear moccasins for the longest time afterwards. He was my best friend back then, and I can’t even remember his voice or what we would play. I remember his feet. The mind is cruel. It torments us with half memories and half people. And burnt feet.

I had another friend, a girl with long, wavy brown hair, whose mom used to bake me cookies. She used to write me love letters. I have this vague memory of her face and this profound feeling of beauty. All I can actually remember is her hair. And, strangely, her kitchen. I spent time there, not a lot, but it stuck with me. All of a sudden I miss her. There is a strong ache in my heart where she used to be. In this time of upheaval and responsibility, I just want something simple. Something like a forgotten girl with beautiful hair on an island in the ocean.

Out of all of my experiences in British Columbia, a discussion about roads is the thing that stand out the most and has the greatest effect on my life. I was at the local Kid’s Club, mainly because one of my friends got an amazing stuffed bear from it, where I heard a talk about roads. The pastor stood up in front of us and began to tell us about the two different roads that were open to us. He said there was our way, which led to hell and damnation, and God’s way, which lead to the opposite. This simple statement has stayed with me stronger than anything else. Those words have shaped my entire existence. Everything I have done and am, hinged on this statement. Why? Why did a simple statement have such a deep meaning for me? “There are two roads you can take in life: your way, or God’s way!” For my entire life I have dealt in absolutes. Right and wrong. No grey areas, no middle ground. You’re in the right or you’re wrong. You can’t grow up believing that. It seriously messes you up inside. I’m still messed up from it. I'm not straight, and part of my mind still believes that I am going to burn in hell for that reason alone. Black and white. Only thing is though, absolutes don’t exist in real life.

We moved again. This time we moved far away from my ocean, my islands, and my mountains. I never imagined a place could exist where I could not see the mountains. So to educate me on my fallacies of thought, my parents moved me to Saskatchewan. My bright blue and green oceans were replaced by seas of wheat, my mountains replaced by the combines on the horizons at harvest. My friends were replaced with ignorant strangers who thought I was an American only because I was not from around their “parts”. I didn’t have many friends that first year. I was picked on because I was a stranger, bullied even. I started to gain weight from the stress and the hurt, which only led to more bullying. Little children are vicious bastards, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

I’m done. Writing all this in chronological order? Who actually remembers things in order? I sure don’t.

Spinning around. The hard wood floor flashing around me. A childlike smile of glee plastered to my little face. The world tottering around my little body, the floor getting closer and closer with each revolution. Of course reality came crashing down when I did the same. I have vague memories of getting in trouble for this, and I’ve never enjoyed the feeling of being dizzy since then.  

The power and responsibility of writing

      Wow, you guys really liked my post yesterday. It's like it was relatable and educational or something. Weird, right? I always have this weird feeling of obligation after a successful post that I need to top it, or make something that's as good. I rarely write two posts in a row that get a ton of views though. I'm okay with that. I'm glad that I write things every now and then that touch a lot of people and make a lot of people happy, or that it makes them think. Do I wish that every single thing I write would be loved by all? Hell no. If everyone loved everything that I wrote, I was doing something wrong. As writers we are given a wonderful gift that allows to bring joy and wonder to life! But we also have an obligation to inform and educate. To speak for those without a voice. And if we are doing that properly, some people are going to be offended, because that's just human nature.
         As an activist, I know that the majority of what I write will offend a vocal part of society. At the same time, I'm not a terribly well-known activist yet. I'm known enough that I'm on speaking terms with a lot of the bigger and more known ones, and I'm known enough that I do have posts that the majority of the asexual community have seen and read. But I'm not so known as to have a large following. It's weird. I'm friends with a lot of well-known activists in the asexual community (hell, we're even friends on miitomo!), and we talk on a regular basis, but the whole asexual community knows them (or at least their screennames/blogs), but they don't know me. My friends are people who receive hate on a daily basis from a large amount of people, whereas I receive it every now and then from a smaller group of people. But it's a risk that we gladly take. Hate speech and death threats become part of our life, and that is something that most non-writers can't understand. Every time I write something, even something that has no politics behind it, I'm opening myself up to hate and threats. Maybe someone thinks that I didn't use the right analogy and therefore I should kill myself. Maybe they didn't think a joke was funny so I should be raped. The possibility of those threats hangs over every writer when they sit down to write. But we do it anyways. Because we have a gift. We have the responsibility to share our gift. We have the obligation to speak out against injustice. And we have the power to enact change in this world.
        There are people who don't believe in the power of words. People who think the only things that can bring about change are big violent actions, Those people are wrong. Words have the power. Words can, and have, brought empires to their knees and knocked the crowns off of kings. It was with words that slavery was abolished in the Commonwealth. It was with words that Martin Luther King Jr changed the course of history. It was with words that Mahatma Gandhi led his people out of British Imperialism. It was with words that the world has changed. Those big, violent actions some people deem necessary all end the same way: with words. It is the purpose, and goal, of writers to skip the big violent actions and go directly into the words. This is why so many writers are also activists! One cannot write for an extended period of time without feeling the need to stand up and speak out.
       We, as writers, know exactly how powerful words can be. We know what emotions they can evoke, and what thoughts they can kindle. This is why we speak up and give voice to the voiceless, even with the threats of harm directly over us. We cannot deny the power of words and call ourselves writers. To do that, is to deny ourselves of our passions. As all writers know, writing is always our greatest passions and our strongest love. We can't give that up, so we stand up. We put the targets on ourselves not because we want to, but because we need to. Each bit of hate that gets tossed our way is one less that gets thrown at other people.
        As a guy named Ben once told his nephew: "With great power comes great responsibility." Writing is our great power, and speaking out is our responsibility. 

The Perils of Coming Out

      Let's talk about coming out. I'm not telling you my coming out story again, I mean let's talk about the emotions and reservations, and fears and hopes that people have with their coming out. Because there is a lot of stuff going on behind the scenes with coming out. There's a lot that doesn't necessarily get talked about. So, let's talk about it.
      Coming out is an emotional experience, no matter how it is received by the people around you. If the reaction is positive, you're on cloud nine! You're feeling the love that is surrounding you, and you're getting beautiful messages of support. If the reaction is negative, the feelings become mixed. You're feeling free because you get to be yourself now! but at the same time, you're wondering if you should've waited because now people aren't talking to you, your family could hate you now, and you could be genuinely frightened for your life. All those negative feelings are magnified if you come out as a teen. You've got your classmates to worry about, teachers to worry about, family, friends, society. And if you live in certain parts of the world, families are legally allowed to disown you, forcing you onto the street. There is a frightening statistic out of the States, that 25% of homeless youth there are queer, and the majority of that 25% are homeless because they came out to their parents/guardians and got kicked out.
       As a queer person, thinking about coming out, you know all the horror stories. You have friends who came out to a negative response. You know the numbers of queer people with depression and suicidal thoughts. You know the community faces persecution from almost all sectors of society. You know that the persecution doesn't just come from religious fundamentalists, but that it can come from everyone no matter what they believe. And you know that no matter what country you live in, you can face hatred and violence for just being the person you were born as.
      So why come out? What makes the risks worth it?
      The freedom. As a queer person, we've learned to lie to everyone around us. We've learned to hide our true nature. We wear so many different masks on a given day, that we can lose ourselves, and we do this just to stay safe. Coming out allows us to take these masks off. It allows us to be ourselves all of the time, instead of just in our homes and with close friends. We look at all of the risks, we know that they could happen to us, but we know what we get when we finally come out: freedom to be true to ourselves. Groups throughout history have fought for freedom time and time again. People have sacrificed their lives for freedom. People willingly die for a chance to be free. And that's why we come out, even in the face of hardship, pain, banishment, and death. We come out for freedom.
       Even with knowing why we're doing it, it's still a scary thing. It can take days to build up the courage to tell that first person, even after deciding that it is time. For me, I told people through text because I was too scared to come out in person in case the person reacted negatively. I talk about it in my vlogs a lot, but again that's not really in person. I can't have a conversation about it in real time. I'm in this weird limbo with my coming out, I'm out in the most public way possible (hello YouTube and blogs), yet I have no idea if the people I see everyday have any idea that I'm not straight. So I'm out, openly, but do people actually know? Because of this ambiguity I'm still living like I'm half in the closet. I'm out, but. I've got my freedom, but. I still get uncomfortable speaking to people face to face about it, because with each new person the fears become fresh and relevant again.
       Coming out is a daunting prospect, and it's something that we shouldn't really need to worry about anymore, but it seems like it's becoming something that we need to worry more and more about with each passing year. I mean, North Carolina just passed possibly the most homophobic and transphobic law in modern times! And NC is in the country that literally prides itself on freedom! Instead of being something that you can feel comfortable with, coming out has become something you need to think about and plan. You need to time it. You have to be careful with it. And most importantly, you have to feel safe about it. Which sounds ridiculous! We need to feel safe to tell someone that we life a different gender(s/no gender) than what is societally expected of us!
        Straight people, even allies, can never fully understand how daunting it is to come out. They've never had to worry about it, because they're straight, and religions and culture constantly tell the world that being straight is right. Being something other than straight is just wrong and something to be fixed. That's why gay conversion therapies still exist, even in Canada.
       But, god, it feels so good when you finally come out. When you finally can be honest. That freedom feels so good, even when it paints a target on your back. Being able to walk out your front door, 100% you, is an amazing feeling. And that's why coming out is worth the risk. A life hiding, is not a real life at all.    

Positive thoughts

      Got an interview today with SaskAbility for a Custom Employment Mentor position. I'm looking forward to it. It will be nice to have a job again where I'm actively helping people. Also the pay is significantly more than what I'm currently receiving. That's a nice little bonus.
      I've also enjoyed helping people. I believe that I excel in it. It's something that I've loved doing for a very long time--as long as I can remember actually. From when I was very small and telling people (complete strangers) that smoking was bad to my activism today. I enjoy my activism, and I know that it is helping people, but I'm really looking forward for this position because it will allow me to see the results of my help first hand and in real time. Being able to go to sleep knowing 100% that you actively helped someone is an amazing feeling.
     This morning, while brushing my teeth, I actually gave myself a pep talk in the mirror. I've never done that before, and I feel like it was one of the most cliched things I've ever done. But it felt good. Even though I was the one saying the encouraging words, hearing them aloud just felt good. Maybe that's some good advice for today: say nice and encouraging things to yourself out loud in the mirror. Do it at home though, not at work. Some co-workers might overhear and think you're crazy.
      Actually, on second thought, do it at work if you want. Who cares what your co-workers think? You deserve to hear nice things whenever you want! You go do it right now! Look at all this positivity! It's practically overflowing in a grandiose rainbow of joy.
       I don't actually know how I feel about that sentence, but I worked in the word "grandiose", so it's staying.
     If you're feeling down about something today, or every day, take a minute and find the closest mirror (or the front facing camera on your phone), look yourself in the eyes, and say something nice OUT LOUD about yourself. Say something encouraging, give yourself a compliment, something--anything!--positive! It won't make a huge change, it won't instantly turn things around, but it will give you a small amount of positivity. There are days where that's all we get, and some times that's all we need to make it through. Some days, one nice thing is all we need to keep living. Survival is worth looking a little crazy for.
      If you don't want to say something to yourself, if you don't feel like your worth it, allow me: you are all wonderful people, full to the brim with the potential to do amazing things! You are going to make it through this day, and the next one, and all the ones after that. You're going to get up, and you are going to conquer your world, one step at a time. I am so proud of you. You inspire me to better myself. You're gonna make it through this. You always have. No matter how bleak and dark it looks right now, you're gonna pull through. And that makes you amazing. I love you, and I will continue to until the day I depart this earthly realm. You are wonderful.  

What happens when life gets in the way of living?

       I may have forgotten to write something yesterday. That happens though. Nothing really worked yesterday technology-wise, so the blog didn't happen. But it is today! You lucky ducks, you!
      What happens when life gets in the way of living? You know what I mean, those days when everything is going right, works good, personal life is good, you're living and you're happy then boom! Something happens that throws you off the track. Life happens and interrupts your living. Life can leave you scrambling, trying to pick up the pieces of your life that it has thrown about. So what happens when life gets in the way of living? How does one move on from it? How does one get back to living?
      Recently, life has been getting in the way of living on a regular basis. So regular that the interruptions are almost becoming my way of living. I have constantly enveloped myself in this bubble of stress and interruptions that I legitimately don't remember how to just relax and live! Even my down time has become regulated! (5-6: supper prep/cleaning/cooking; 6-8: eating/watching TV; 8-9: video games; 9-10: edit; 10-11: get ready for bed/read) This schedule that I have enforced upon myself has even become a source of stress at times! I'll consider watching a movie, but I'll tell myself I don't have time because I have to be doing X at a certain time which the movie would cut into. I haven't watched so many movies that I've purchased for exactly this reason (sorry Spectre, Mockingjay pt 2, and Daredevil season 2)! Part of me wishes that I have more time to relax, while the rational part of me is telling me that I have the time, I'm just not letting myself use it. I'm not really living, I'm just sticking to a schedule waiting for the next time life interrupts. If I'm not really living, it won't be a big deal when it happens right?
      I could give myself excuses for this. I could say I'm scheduling everything so I don't have to focus on my grief. I'm scheduling everything so I don't have to focus on everything that's wrong with my life. As long as I'm focused on a schedule and completing arbitrary tasks by an imaginary deadline, I don't have time to think.
      And that's the issue. I'm not giving myself time to think. If I stepped back, even for a minute, I could allow myself to think. But I'm scared to do that. What if I don't like where my thoughts take me? So I stick to my schedule and pretend that I'm living.
      This is what happens to me when life interrupts living. I stop living and wait in sick anticipation for the next interruption. I need to start actually living again. To go out and joyfully smell the flowers as they bloom (and then take one hundred allergy pills)! To feel the grass beneath my feet (while being on one hundred allergy pills)! To breathe in the fresh spring air, and to let a giddy smile appear naturally on my face. Only problem is, I don't know where I'd fit that into my schedule.
       I miss the days where I wasn't on a schedule 24/7. The days when I could sleep in on weekends without worrying about having to drive someplace.
      I wish I knew the answer. I wish I knew how to go back to just living. But life interrupts so frequently, maybe sticking to this schedule is better. It sure is easier.
     What happens when life gets in the way of living? You fake living until it becomes your existence.  

The Inherent Need for Feminism

       Yesterday's post was heavy, right? Hard stuff. Strong words. I probably said a bunch of things that made a bunch of people upset. I'd apologize, but the people I upset are most likely the ones I was speaking out against, so what's the point? I love my country. I love what my country stands for. And I believe that the people in it can be and will be better. That said, let's talk about another big issue: feminism.
       I have said in previous posts that I am a feminist, and I stand by that statement. I am 100% a feminist. I believe it is something that the world sorely needs. That being said, there are a lot of people these days speaking out against it saying that egalitarianism is the better option. But by shutting down feminism and saying something else is better, aren't you really proving that feminism is still something that is needed? Telling women that their fight for equality is wrong and that they should be fighting for egalitarianism seems a little hypocritical. Egalitarianism, for those who don't know, is the idea that all peoples should be equal. Kinda seems like feminism is one of those steps towards an egalitarian society. Yet tons of self-proclaimed egalitarians are shutting feminists down, which is exactly why I still label myself as a feminist. I want a society where everyone is truly equal, and I believe feminism is one of the steps towards achieving that. From what I have experienced, most egalitarians are using their beliefs to tell women that they don't have it that bad in comparison to some other people so they should just quit their bitchin'. Intentional word choice is super intentional. The thing is, feminists are fighting towards equal rights for everyone, where it seems that egalitarians (the ones that I have met mostly white males from North America (I know personal experiences are anecdotal at best, but it's all I have)) are basically just saying everyone has it bad, so what does it matter? I am a white male-type person, I know that I have it easier than other people. I've seen it first hand, and it bothers me!
        It truly baffles me how people claiming to want equal rights for everyone can hate on a group that is also fighting for equal rights! I had a person try to mansplain egalitarianism to me in a truly demeaning way that was supposed to question my intelligence! There was one problem (there were a bunch, but), he misspelled egalitarianism every time he said it. Worse, it was a different mistake every time. Suffice to say, my intelligence was not greatly shaken.
        I say this again and again, but the fact that so many people take offense to, and argue against, feminism shows exactly why we still need it. People decry it and say that the information being put forward is false. I am unashamedly a feminist, not an egalitarian. I want equal rights for all people. I want people to paid the same as each other for the same job and experience. I want people to be treated the same while on the job, be they male or female! Feminism is the first of many steps before true equality. Egalitarianism is trying to fight an entire war at once instead of one battle at a time. Feminism is one battle. If we focus on one battle we can win. If we focus on the entire war and not the individual battles we will lose. We can only fight on so many fronts at once.  

Where is my Canada?

      I miss my country. No, I haven't left it. Still living here. But I miss what it used to stand for, and what its people stood for. I look at the Canada today, especially the western provinces, and I am greatly saddened. Where once stood a beacon of hope that shone out to the world, now stands a proverbial wall of distrust. Being Canadian used to be something one could be proud of, being Canadian used to tell others that they could trust you. Now I look around and I see people cheering for us to become more xenophobic. I see people fighting to keep refugees out of the country. I see people agreeing with Trump and Cruz. And I see people saying that we should become more like the States.
      All of this makes me sad. All of this makes me angry and furious. All of this makes me weep for my country. Canada was built upon the ideals of peace and trust. For decades, the entire world looked upon us as the peacekeepers, the rational ones. Immigrants would flood to Canada because they knew that they would be accepted and loved. Now we have people defacing mosques and temples. We have people delivering hate speech thinking that they are "preserving our Canadian identity". My grandfather, my uncles, my father, and other relations that served in the Canadian military did not put their lives on the line so that the people of Canada could be racist assholes.
      So many Canadians are starting to hate socialism as well--it's like they don't know what it is and forget that Canada is a socialist country. I honestly hope these people decrying socialism are using privatized healthcare, and aren't hypocritically using the public (socialized) health system our country is known for. And Saskatchewan, the birthplace of universal health care, is the worst for it! Saskatchewan, once the socialist stronghold of Canada and one of the most welcoming provinces in the country, now has the most conservative government in the country. I know people who literally celebrated the recent Sask Party win by telling socialists to suck it. Saskatchewan, the province that used to welcome everyone with a smile, now wants to kick the refugees out. Hell, the province has grown so xenophobic that some of the people are even mistrusting of white Canadians from other provinces. Which is something I, from British Columbia, have experienced first hand. For the first few years living here I was bullied and ostracized by the majority of my classmates simply because I was from a different province. I was routinely teased because of that. If the people here can get that riled up over other white people from the same country, imagine how they can be with people of different skin colours from other countries!  Because of recent comments made to me I feel I should add a disclaimer: I know not everyone from Saskatchewan feels this way, it's just a very vocal subgroup that does. That's how it is with everything though. Most people aren't racist or sexist, but too many people ignore the ones that are. When we ignore these people, they begin to feel legitimized, and that they have some kind of power. They begin to think that they are right. Worse, many begin to think they are righteous and on some kind of god-given quest to save mankind (so long as they're white! And literally only straight cis men!). A righteous bigot is a hard thing to stop. Any fanatic is hard to stop.
      A lot of people see their towns with rose tinted glasses. They hear the horror stories from other towns, but never think anything like that would happen in their town! So they do nothing. And the hate and the fear grow. And it festers in the cracks. And then some tragedy strikes that horrifies the town because no one saw it coming! Because no one cared enough to actually look. Because everyone thought that stuff like that only happened in other towns. People are beginning to look at Canada that way. They can't see the rot festering in the cracks and are so assured that things aren't going to happen here because it only happens in other countries.
      That, and it's hard to see the cracks when you're in them.
      I believe in this country. I believe in its people. I believe that we have the capacity to be the country that the rest of the world remembers. We are not the States. What they are and how they act SHOULD NOT define us! We are Canadian, the TRUE North, strong and free. We are the people who send peacekeepers into war torn countries, not soldiers. We're the country that helps other countries rebuild schools, not armies. We are the country that inspires hope, not inflicts fear. We used to be a country that known for being polite and nice; the country that did the right thing! And this didn't make the world see us as weak! They saw us as strong! Europe remembers what we did for them. How many of soldiers died defending their homes. Europe remembers Canada as what we're supposed to be. Why can't Canadians remember what Canada is supposed to be?
        Why can't Canadians remember that Canada is supposed to be one of the most inviting places on the planet? Why can't Canadians remember that we aren't the States? Why can't Canada remember that we are better than all this hate and xenophobia? Where is my Canada? Where is my grandfather's Canada? Where is the Canada that I was proud to call home? And why are all the real Canadians remaining silent? 

Getting back up

      Sometimes we fall down. And sometimes staying on the ground is easier than getting back up. Sometimes it just feels better to take the hits laying down, than to get back up and fight back. Some days we just don't have the will to fight back. Then there are the days when we don't fall down, we just kind of pretend that the hits aren't coming and that everything is okay. We move forward, hoping that our ignorance of the problems will in fact solve them!
      Admittedly, I oft times take the path of ignorance, hoping that things somehow will take care of themselves. So far this hasn't worked out. For some unknown reason the universe is just not taking care of my problems for me. Which is just ridiculous, why shouldn't the universe stop what it's doing, and fix my problems for me? After all, I do a lot for the universe. You'd think it could stop by and fix some stuff for me! But, no, that's not how life works. In life we need to fix our own problems and issues. And that is hard.
       It's hard to own up to mistakes and to try and fix them. It's hard to say, "yup, this is on me," and go onto fix it! It is so much easier to just shrug and move on. The more times we do that, though, the more we have weighing us down and holding us back.
      Life is hard enough without us bringing ourselves down. Life hurts enough without us prolonging the pain. It is so much better for us to just curse under our breath and face whatever it is head on.
     Life can be a tough son of a bitch, but we're tougher. We're strong enough to face it head on and take it down. 

Significance of insignificant pauses

        When the world begins spinning around you, and your eyes can't focus, what do you do? When the world spins faster and faster, threatening to tear itself apart in front of you, what do you do? When there is nothing to hold onto, when there is nothing to steady yourself with, you close your eyes and you breath. You bring yourself down. You slow yourself down. And through this, you slow the world down, just a little, but enough that you can open your eyes and see what is going on.
        Remembering to breath may not seem like much, but there are times in life where it is the biggest and greatest thing that a person can do. Just remembering to breath can alter your entire life. Taking a breathe before replying to a hostile or insulting question can temper your response. Taking a breathe before making a decision can give new insight. Simply pausing to breath can save you from making terrible mistakes. It can also give you the moments of peace and tranquility that you need to make it through a day.
       It is truly remarkable how important and life-changing the little things can be! There is truth in the old saying "take time to smell the roses"! The saying reminds us to slow down and appreciate the minutia of life. From the literal roses that we can stop and smell, to the moments when we can simply stop and admire the natural artwork of the sky.
       That's what I'm thinking about today: how important the small things are. From saying "I love you" to that special someone (I love you btw) to simply smiling at the passing stranger on the street. From enjoying a light breeze to the comforting embrace of a favoured blanket on a cold night, to simply pausing and taking a breathe.

Firsts

        The first real video for Weekly Queer News went up this weekend!  A day after it was supposed to... YouTube has been hating me lately for some reason, and keeps stopping my uploads at 71%. I thought I had the problem fixed, and set the video to upload and publish automatically before I headed to my parent's for the weekend. Unfortunately, I did not have the problem solved, and the video didn't upload. But I got it to work last night! And today's vlog went up on time, so maybe the problem is fixed now?
        I feel like WQN will get emotionally draining some weeks, there are so many sad stories out there, and it's hard to find the uplifting ones sometimes. I am going to try to end each episode with some happy news though! Something uplifting, or just not horrible?
       I feel like I shouldn't just post another short story, but I honestly don't have anything to talk about today. It's like it's Monday or something weird like that. I know what I need to write, but I'm not ready to write that yet. Soon, maybe this week even. But not today. It was my first weekend without her. Every time the wind moved a door, I thought it was her coming to say hello. Every noise I couldn't place was just her pushing something out of her way. But it wasn't her, and that's all I'm going to say today.
        Save the rest Zak, not today, not while you're at work. It's okay, it's okay. Okay. Okay. Moving on.
        After all is said and done, all we have is movement.  

One Day

      You know what's hard? Writing a blog everyday while filming and editing, running social media accounts, and working all by yourself. I enjoy it all, which is why I do all of it, but sometimes I feel like I let one or more things slide in favour of another. For example, I put way more effort into my twitter than I do into my Instagram or Facebook. Twitter is the one where I have my largest following, but if I don't give as much focus to my other accounts they won't grow. And if they don't grow, my overall audience won't grow. You see my problem, I'm sure.
       And now that I have a second channel (WQN, pay attention), it just adds another layer to it. I should be starting up at least a second Facebook page for it, but I'm holding off on that simply because I don't want to have another account to run. Ugh. I knew this was going to be a lot of work when I was getting into it. I knew it was going to eat up huge chunks of my time. And I know that if I want to succeed, I have to go 100% in. But I'm holding myself back because there's a little voice in my head that I always listen to that tells me I'll fail. I listened to it when I was going to pursue acting (I've won awards at the provincial level), I listened to it when I had chances to pursue my dreams in Europe, and I've listened to it when it came to my writing. And I'm listening to it right now, as I hold myself back from going fully into this.
     The thought of giving 100% into something that isn't a sure thing is frightening. The fear of failure is a constant specter that hovers over me, influencing and casting shadows over all my decisions. There is a part of me that knows I can succeed, that knows I will succeed--if I could ever pull myself from these phantasms of doubt and give my all.
      One day. But that's the thing, isn't it? It's always "one day", never today. As long as I keep telling myself "one day", I never have to hold myself to it because "one day" just hasn't happened yet. It still will, one day. Maybe I have to stop telling myself "one day", and start telling myself "today". Today is scary though. Telling myself to make those changes today incurs a risk of failure--a risk that one day doesn't have.
      So is today the day that I tell myself "today"? I don't know. Got a lot to do today. I have to film and edit for the vlog. I have research, write a basic script, film, and edit for WQN. I have to eat at some point. I have to pack to head home. I'll always have things that I have to do, that I can conveniently use as an excuse to not say "today". Oh, how I wish I had the courage and confidence to say "today". To say "fuck it" and go 100% into this.
      Maybe one day I will.  

A story about a hero

      The world is a cold and depressing place, I'm pretty sure we can all agree with that. But! On a note of positivity and warmth, the first trailer for Rogue One: A Star Wars Story dropped today, and it is a beautiful thing. There are AT-ATs on a tropical beach! Space Samurais taking down Storm Troopers! Sassy banter! Blaster fire! Death Star! Mon Mothma! Hints at Darth Vader! A mysterious new Imperial villain who has a badass cape! Literally everything you could want in a movie, except Chris Pratt.
       Seriously though, if you like Star Wars, go watch the trailer right now.
       Okay, that's out of the way, and I still have space to fill. I don't have a plan for this... Um. The weather sucks, eh? Snow in April. Good joke, Mother Nature, good joke. I'm thinking about having nachos for supper? That's not interesting at all...
      Okay, okay. I get it. It's going to have to be a story time blog. Fine. Here's a short story for you:

His name was George. An ordinary man, nothing remarkable, or special, or remarkably special. Just an ordinary bloke. He grew up simply, in a small town, attended an ordinary school and did ordinary things. If there was a single remarkable thing about George it was how bloody unremarkable he was.

                George was a postman. Now, a postman is an archaic position held over from the medieval times, before email, and Amazon air strikes. The postman wanders around the wilderness delivering parcels to destitute farmers, and the unfortunates with poor bandwidth. George enjoyed his job; it got him out of the house—not that there was anything to get away from. He enjoyed his walks up the long drives and down the same long drives and then up the next drive and down that drive again. His life was repetitive and unsurprising, just the way he liked it.

                Mary on the other hand, had a fantastically surprising life. Perhaps fantastically is a poor word. Tragically or upsetting would fit better. As a young child her parents had divorced and she was dragged off to the country by her father. At her first day of school she fell out of the desk three times. In a row. It was a sad foreshadowing of the rest of her school career. Her father passed away soon after she graduated leaving her to take care of the farm. Her first year as a farmer made the news. But not in a good way. Her barn turned down. While she was watering her vegetable garden. Events like that always happened to her. She had the least stable life she could think of. And she was starting to regret all of the things that led her to this.

                George had always fancied this one girl during school. But he couldn’t talk to her; that would be something new, something different. So he lived his life. His dull, dull life. She still lived in the area, he delivered her post everyday but he never saw her. She was constantly receiving packages. George assumed that she was simply growing bored of the whole country life—something that he could not understand. Why anyone would ever want to leave and go to the city was beyond him; the country had everything! The quiet, the emptiness, the lack of people. Who could possibly want more than that?

                It was a cheery May afternoon and George was delivering an unusual amount of parcels when he noticed something amiss. There was no package for Mary (I truly hope you, the reader, had figured out that Mary was the girl by now)! No post for her at all! The first time in five years that Mary had no post. George was slightly confused by this change to his routine, and that confusion led to worry when she had no post the next day as well. On the third day George decided to investigate. A first for him; an almost spontaneous decision, only two sleepless nights of thinking and overthinking and calling his padre at two in the morning. The padre was compassionate the first night, on the second night he told George to grow a pair and be a man. George took this to heart.

                She had a shorter drive than most but it seemed to take an eon to walk it. He finally reached her door, drenched in sweat, reeking of fear. His hand wavered over the door for five minutes before he finally knocked.

                The door opened a few moments later revealing an average looking woman in average looking clothes looking very haggard. “Yes, what is it?” She asked, obviously stressed.

                “Uh, hi, yes, umm,” George stammered out. “I’m, uh, George. The post man. I, hmm, noticed that you haven’t received anything in a, uh, um, while. I was slightly concerned.” He smiled awkwardly at the end. As awkward as a meeting between Obama and anyone from the South.

                “Um…thanks? I guess. No, no, my internets been down the past while. One of the cows knocked over the satellite and I haven’t fixed that yet.” Mary looked at the strange man closely. “Are you…are you George?”

                George brightened up, “Yes, yeah I am. Do you want me to check that satellite for you?”

                Mary smiled, “You would be my hero! Do you want to grab some tea first?”

                And that is how George became a hero to the one person who really mattered, and how he learned to live, just a little.  

After Farewells, a poem

After Farewells

"when does the emptiness leave?"
the child asked
the man simply smiled in answer.
"when does the emptiness leave?"
the man asked
the elder simply smiled in answer.
"when does the emptiness leave?"
the elder asked
the god simply smiled in answer.
"when does the emptiness leave?"
the god asked
nothing smiled in answer. 

state of hate

     While writing these blogs, a lot goes through my head. I wonder if people are actually going to read them, I wonder if people are going to send me mean messages, I wonder if I'm actually writing because I want to or out of obligation. To be honest, right now feels like I'm doing it out of obligation. I'm trying to keep myself occupied. Trying to keep my brain distracted.
      Lets talk about mean comments. I am in the process of creating an online persona. A known one. I have videos that have a fair amount of views, and I have videos with almost zero views. Same with my blog posts and all my other social media. I don't have a massive following yet. I haven't attracted the ire of the biggest assholes on the internet yet. But I'm getting big enough for the little trolls, the troll-lings (trollings?), to take notice of me. Every time I post something that has an activist angle I know I'm putting myself in someone's crosshairs. The internet can be a scary and dark place, I know all that.
      I have received a fair amount of hate online. I've been called a "liberal pussy", a coward, a traitor, an idiot, and worse for my support of the Syrian refugees. And I was called some of those things by close family friends. Honestly, the one that hurt the most was being called a traitor to Canada, simply because I wanted to help people. Which, btw, is what Canada is known for! I endured a lot of hate for supporting the refugees, but I would gladly do all of that again. That hate wasn't random. It was directed at me because I disagreed with some people on some moral issues. I've been called slurs for supporting LGBTQIA+ issues multiple times. Fun story, an American tried insulting my intelligence based on the fact that Canadians call refrigerators, fridge for short (which if you do a google search, most of the world does). Apparently in this person's state they call them "friges", which Google tells me isn't an actual word at all, and therefore that should be the proper term for the entire planet.
      Then the random hate started coming in. The hate that didn't make sense. I started getting hateful comments on my normal vlogs. I was being called homophobic slurs (I'm not gay, I'm not straight, but I'm not gay) on vlogs that were about me driving home, or going to buy milk. I found them odd and random, and would just delete them, I didn't bother reporting them to YouTube, they weren't hurting me and they weren't from the same people. But all of a sudden the hateful messages were coming from the same person. They weren't constant or consistent, so I just deleted them as usual. And then I got this one yesterday; warning, the language is horrifying: "kill yourself faggot nigger bitch". To say I was surprised by this comment is an understatement. It was on yesterday's vlog, the first one since Phantom passed away, it was sort of short, but there wasn't really any substance to it. The only point to this comment was to cause pain. I was shocked by the comment, I wasn't really hurt by it, but I was shocked that someone was telling me to go and kill myself. That was the first comment that I reported to YouTube, and this person is the first person I've blocked from commenting. I made light of the comment on Twitter, but I shouldn't have. Words like that can have a massive impact on someone's life. Where I am right now in my life, one person saying that to me didn't really have a quantifiable effect on me. If there had been a whole host of people, that would be a different story.
      I know people that have quit creating because of internet trolls. I know people who have locked themselves up because of internet trolls. I know people who have lost loved ones because of it. We have this amazing place, the internet, where we can uplift people and inspire others, but so many people use it for bad--no, evil, purposes. I always try and believe in humanity. I always say that humanity can be better, and I still do. But there are days where my belief is tested, and there are days when I don't know why I hold onto it. I hear people saying that the Earth is due for another flood (biblically speaking), and some days I have a hard time disagreeing.
       Humanity, what a bunch of assholes










sometimes.  

The forgotten Jedi

       I know what most of you are expecting me to write about, but I can't do it today. Filming and editing today's vlog, with its mix of older footage and new, almost killed me last night. So I can't write about it today. Maybe tomorrow when I have internet and can write it at my apartment.
      Star Wars comes out on bluray tomorrow, so I'm gonna talk about Star Wars. I actually filmed a rant about this topic a couple weeks ago, but edited it out because, even for me, it was a little too nerdy. Specifically, I'm going to talk about Ahsoka Tano, the real first female Jedi main character. Sorry Rey, you were just the first human one.

      Ahsoka entered the scene, and our hearts, back in 2008 in the animated film Star Wars: The Clone Wars, where she was introduced as Anakin's padawan. Over the course of the film and the television series of the same name, Ahsoka became an incredible leader, hero of the Clone Wars, and a formidable warrior who could hold her own against the likes of General Grievous and Count Dooku. She left the Jedi order after being framed for a crime, which allowed her to survive through Order 66, and she went on to become one of the founding members of the Rebellion under the name Fulcrum.
     She is an integral part of Star Wars history, a huge part of Darth Vader's story, and an amazing role model for people. Yet as soon as The Force Awakens came out, she was pushed to the side to make way for Rey, who got painted as the first female Jedi main character. Don't get me wrong, I love Rey. She was my favourite part of the new film! I love the fact that she is on her way to becoming a Jedi. But the Star Wars fandom cannot forget Ahsoka! Ahsoka is a badass, duel wielding, female Jedi trained by Darth Vader.
      It honestly irritated me when she was seemingly forgotten, even though she's still on television as a main character on Star Wars: Rebels.
      I haven't forgotten you, Snips. You'll always be the one I think of first when it comes to female Jedi. You and Aayla Secura. But mainly you.

The little, unexpected things

      As it's April Fool's Day, I feel like I shouldn't post anything serious, or make any announcements in today's blog. That being said, I do have one announcement that is 100% totally legitimate, honest! Now that you are all thinking that my announcement is going to be a prank, here it is: I'm releasing the channel trailer for WQN today! I actually filmed it last night after work. I was feeling good and confident, so I went and filmed it, and edited it, all before I made supper! And then I edited the majority of today's vlog while cooking! I was on a roll last night. Maybe even a... dinner roll. Get it?Because I did all of it around making dinner? HAH. I'm funny guys, why won't you love me?
      Netflix and IGN released a very mean prank trailer today. It was a trailer for a live action Star Wars series that was going to focus on Darth Maul and was to be released on May 4 (a pun-tastic date for Star Wars stuff). The internet on April Fools is just a mean place. Like, guys. That wasn't even close to being funny.
      I received an email today from one of the people I interviewed for my Queer-al Living article. It almost made me cry. Okay, it did make me cry, shut up. In it, the person thanked me for writing it, and said it was heartbreaking to read about how so many members of the queer community have shared negative experiences with small town life. They updated me about some recent successes they've had with their life, and told me how good the advice at the end of my article was. And then they thanked me for telling their story.
      They thanked me for telling their story. I never, in my life, thought I would hear those words from someone. I never thought that one day I would have the honour and privilege to tell people's stories to the world. Now I have, and the people are thanking me. They're thanking me for sharing their life with the world. I always dreamed of being a professional writer. I always thought that if that dream were to come true, it would be because of my fiction, or my autobiographical non-fiction, not from becoming a journalist. And now my dream has come true, and people are thanking me for telling their stories. That's, obviously, the part that hit me the hardest.
      I wasn't expecting to hear back from the people I interviewed, the thought that one of them might read the article and get in touch with me hadn't even crossed my mind. My god, I'm a writer now. Even got my first fan mail. Damn. You know, it feels really good.