How Much is Your Face Worth?

So I saw a friend of mine post this because she saw it on /r/makeupaddiction, and I figured I might as well do this as well (since I am a huge makeup addict).

I don’t wear foundation or really use any powders on a day-to-day basis, but I’m all about the brows, eyes, and lips! Below is an example of what I would use on a typical day. I think you can see I’m a pretty big fan of Urban Decay (I have a whole bunch of their palettes, I just can’t resist the gorgeous colours.)

Daily Face Products

A Shea & Olive body and hair oil that I use as a moisturizer – $20 at Kensington

Anastasia Perfect Brow Pencil in Dark Brown – $30 (as you can see, I’ve put it to good use)

Urban Decay eye shadow primer – $24

Urban Decay Naked Palette – $64

Sephora Classic Line Eyeliner – $18

Lancome CILS Booster XL – $30

Lancome Hypnose Star Mascara – $33.50

Lush Bubble Gum Lip Scrub – $9.95

Burts Bees in Grapefruit – $6.99

Sephora Universal Lip Liner – $12.50

Sephora Lip Stain in 01- $16

Total = $264.94 

So, for some, this might seem like a daunting and unnecessarily high, normal, or even pretty low number. But to be fair, a lot of my products are well used and are worth the investment! I think it’s interesting to put in perspective how much money I spent when this is only a part of the entire collection!

So, how much is your face worth?

You just got… Rejected!

You know, I’ve been giving this some thought, the idea of rejection. In class we talked about social anxiety, and what it’s like to approach random strangers just to ask them a few questions. I’ll admit, it’s not always the easiest thing to do. In fact, for many people, it’s incredibly hard.

But I’ve learned, after getting rejected so many times, that a no is just a no. It is nothing to fear, in the end I’ve lost nothing, gained nothing, changed nothing. I just move on. In the end, I got so used to hearing no that it doesn’t even shake me anymore.

It’s not that easy for everyone though, and for some people it can be crippling. Some people will go to extreme lengths to avoid getting told no. I’ll be honest, I’ll never truly understand it, but I don’t think it’s something that can’t be overcome (though, probably with a great amount of difficulty).

I think though, this fear of rejection is linked to the fear of failure. I’ve never been afraid to fail, but mostly I’ve never really thought much about failing. It is human, it is normal, it happens. Being told no, being disappointed, is just part of what happens eventually. Playing it safe will never get you anywhere. I think I would learn more from my mistakes than everything I’ve done right. So I’d rather be told no, rather someone tell me they don’t want to be interviewed or they don’t like me, well then, thanks for saving my time, I can find someone else. And it really is that easy. Rejection is hard to deal with if you’re not used to it, but the more it happens, the less sensitive you become about it.

Just gracefully thank them for their time and move on. You’ve lost nothing, gained nothing. Eventually, someone will say yes, you will get that awesome interview, and finish the story. Who ever said no won’t even matter anymore. You can apply this to anything, really.

I think this idea is helpful in other aspects of life. Some people have a hard time saying no. IBut you learn, just like how easy it eventually becomes to accept no, it’s just as easy to say no.

Rejection is not going to kill you. It’ll sting, especially if you’re scared of it, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. Take a deep breathe and relax. You’re going to get rejected by all sorts of people dozens of times – from employers, to friends, to potential dates, to random strangers… Just get used to saying no, and embrace it. The more ‘no’s you get, the closer you are to finding someone who will say ‘yes’!

Move(d) Along…

So, the new year has begun.

But the truth is, the start of a new year didn’t bring any new beginnings. I started over months ago. I don’t think I have anything to start anew again.

Today, I had a work party, all the locations that the owner of my store is in control of was invited. It was at the same location I had been an extra in a music video a few years ago… It was so weird coming back and seeing how I remembered it versus what it actually looked like.

For one, it was much smaller than I remembered. The first time it seemed more magical, more cool. Now I saw it for what it was, just an old concert venue.

I guess it’s the same idea with relationships, with my other memories of people. I think back to my relationships, and going on walk down memory lane. Going back to them, revisiting these people, it’s hard to see where they fit in my life now. It’s not the same, it’s not a glamorous music video, it’s just a location. It doesn’t really mean anything in the grand scope of things. They fit once, in that spot, in that moment, where it was amazing. Now, there is no room for such delusions, it’s reality.

I had a good time with people I didn’t know months ago. Good, hardworking, honest people. You think people are irreplaceable, and they’re not. You never replace them. But you find other people, people who fit into your life in another way. People who change your life and grow on you and you realize you can move on. I don’t have to hold onto the past. I found myself living in the present.

Year In Review 2014

I think 2014 has been the most life-changing year for me. One year ago, the beginning of 2013, I would not recognize who I am now.

It’s not that I’ve changed so much that if you talked to me you’d think I was a completely different person, no. That’s not it. But so much has happened in this past year that I feel as though I’ve transformed, and like I said in my Gala speech at the end of my school year, I think I’ve become the person I’m supposed to be. It’s not that at the core of my being my morals or my personality transformed, but instead I’ve just become a better version of myself. A grown up version of myself.

One year ago, I often felt like I was stuck. Stuck because every year of high school, every year of my life so far, had been pretty much the same. Each day, each week, each month, each year blended into each other and I felt like nothing had changed. But in 2014, everything had changed.

In January of 2014, I had no idea what lay ahead of me. I knew a few things. I wanted to go to Ryerson for journalism. I had recently started to wear makeup a few months ago. I was disappointed that my parents weren’t letting me go back to Nicaragua again. I was looking forward to a trip to New York City in March with my classmates. I was finishing up my first semester of my last year in high school. The curling team I was part of probably wasn’t going to do very well this year either. I still worked a busy part-time job. But that’s it. Everything seemed normal to me. Just another boring year.

Then, things really began to change. I got an email from the Credit Valley Conservation, I used to volunteer with them during the summers, in between the time after exams and second semester beginning. It explained to me what the Humanitarian Environmental Leadership Program was. It sounded perfect, it sounded like something I wanted, even if it was the last semester of high school.

So I emailed my eventual teacher and we put the application process in motion, and soon, I was attending HELP (although, a few days late). It was in HELP that I really began to grow and change. HELP made me meet people I probably never would’ve met otherwise. It allowed me to form some of the closest, most intense friendships I’ve ever had. These were people that I spent everyday of the week with, and I soon felt so connected to all of them.

It was in HELP that I was pushed to do things outside my comfort zone. It was taking chances, meeting new people, doing brand new things, and forcing myself to do things that scared me. It was going tree-top trekking on a cold wet day and finishing the course, despite my fear of heights and my fear of falling. It was us doing something meaningful with our time, planting trees or volunteering or getting involved in the community. HELP allowed me to become a person who isn’t afraid to go after what they want.

It’s hard to describe what it felt like when HELP was ending. We became a family, so it was difficult to know that HELP was just ending, and that everyone would be going back to their lives and I would be going to start somewhere new. We cried and we laughed and worked together, as we all struggled throughout the semester, and I really thought our bonds would last forever.

Over the course of this time I was still seeing my other friends as well, and our relationships were just as strong as ever. Things on the other end of things were normal. It was like living a different life, full of adventure, away from them. A second life. I would visit my old school and get a glimpse of all that was happening. A glimpse at my old life. It wasn’t all that different, and I was thankful I was able to keep my friends from it.

Then came Costa Rica. This trip changed me too. This trip brought two new people into my life, though they weren’t permanent, they were an interesting aspect to the trip. This trip, as mentioned before, pushed my limits. Pushed everyone’s limits. It helped me firmly establish the idea that I was home with these people, that we were family. We worked together well. We lived together well. It just felt like we all fit. There are memories made on that trip that I would not give up for anything.

Then, things changed even more. Summer came and the bonds we made seemed to really break. Friendships were tested and some of them didn’t make it. The reality of what HELP really meant hit me. In the end, we all became friends because we spent so much time together. Now that we weren’t spending so much time together, we weren’t really friends. Real friends stayed, the others left.

After HELP, I became much more of somebody who does, instead of somebody who thinks. I’m a very indecisive person, but I have become someone who just goes for things. I decided, I’m going to change my hair. So I did. I decided, I’m going to move out. So I did. I decided, I’m going to get a new job. So I did.

And then school started again, but this was my first year of university. I met all sorts of new people and managed to find a place where I felt like I belonged. I got used to living on my own. I got used to working in a new place, I got used to the now familiar faces I was seeing around campus. I went to parties, and tried to be more social (I even went on a date). I tried to continue to challenge myself and to continue to test my limits.

I was starting all over with people who had no idea about my past. I was starting over and all they knew me as was the blonde Sherry, not the girl I was in high school. They met a strong, confident, independent, more extroverted and competent Sherry. I wasn’t the shy, quiet girl I was in high school. Not so much, anyways.

I turned 18 and I headed to New York City. I met some fantastic people, had some of the most interesting and intense conversations I’ve ever had with total strangers staying in my hostel. It was the first time I truly travelled alone. It was the first time I really truly felt free.

I got my eyebrow pierced, took control of my body, not as an act of rebellion but as a way to express my freedom as an adult. I could, so why shouldn’t I?

And now, here I am. Done my first semester of university, with a decent average (and a surprisingly great grade in Critical Thinking – a class I hated) and a stable job (and another seasonal position). I look back at my life and how tumultuous this past year has been and I realized how much growing up I’ve done. This year was my bildungsroman novel. This year was my coming-of-age. I’m not as shy, not as quiet, not as indecisive. I am still me, but just better. This year helped to make me become the person I’m meant to be. And next year, and even the following years, I will continue on my journey and continue to become who I am truly meant to be.

Self Expression and Identity

I recently got my eyebrow pierced.

I look drastically different from how I looked a few months ago. It might not be that big of a deal, well to me anyways, but I realized that to a lot of people, I might be completely unrecognizable. I changed my hair colour and I got a facial piercing, it’s honestly not that big of a change. But in some ways, it kind of is.

I was hanging out at the mall with a friend of mine a week ago and I walked by this guy I was friends with in tenth grade. The last time I saw him was the beginning of summer when I ran into him at a music festival. We walked right past each other and he didn’t recognize me at all. I stared at him, but he didn’t look at me, didn’t notice me.

I’ve run into old classmates and they’ve said to me, “I wasn’t even sure it was you, you look so different.” And while dying my hair isn’t that big of a change, going from black hair to blonde can really throw people off.

I showed a picture to a good friend of mine (who has only ever seen me blonde) and she didn’t even recognize me in the picture. She thought that I was the one taking it.

So I guess, people probably think that I’m going through something. That it’s some kind of phase or something, that I’m trying to change my appearance because I’m having some kind of identity crisis or whatever. I’ve had comments about this recently.

That’s not true, I’m not going through an identity crisis. I have a good idea of who I am. That hasn’t changed. I’ve changed, I’ve grown up, but at the core of who I am, my basic beliefs and values, they haven’t changed. I just choose to express myself in the way I want to do it.

I’m not trying to be someone I’m not. I’m not hiding behind a new appearance. I’m not doing this because I question myself or because I don’t know who I am. I know who I am.

I’ve always been interested in self expression. Writing, obviously, but also through my appearance. Makeup, clothes, hair, nails. I’ve always loved that stuff. It’s art. It’s freeing.

I’m someone who knows what I want. I wanted to change my hair, so I did it. From there, from the freedoms that opened up once I turned 18, I knew it would only be easier to get more body modifications. I’m not going to get more piercings (probably), but if I wanted to I would. If I want to change my hair colour, I will. If it’s how I feel, if it’s what I decide on, I’m going to do it. This is not about me going through something, this is me going through change. Showing it, challenging it, on myself.

I’m not sure if it’s true, but apparently the most common thing for a woman to do after a breakup is to change her hair. I didn’t break up with anyone, I just grew up. I didn’t get a piercing because I was upset. I just decided to get it as a sign of my independence and freedom.

I guess in some ways changing myself was a way for me to move on from my past. It made me feel easier about moving forward. But it isn’t something deeper than that. It’s not because I wanted to hide, it’s not because it’s a phase. I just want to look the way I look. I’m happy with it.

It’s so weird to think about how much has actually changed. To think that even though it’s only been a few months, we can’t ever go back to where we were before. I will never be the same person again, even if I dye my hair black and take out my piercing. I will not be able to have the same relationships again, because I’ve grown and most of these relationships have grown with me. The ones that haven’t got left behind.

How I choose to look, how I decide to express myself is merely a physical representation of me. It doesn’t really matter in the long run, mentally I am always changing, and I think physically I should be too. The benefit though, I think, is that I used to fade much more into the background before. Now, I feel as though people actually remember my name, remember me. I often felt overlooked, overshadowed. And while I’m not particularly outstanding, I don’t think anyone will ever mistake me for anyone else. It’s nice to feel as individual as I believe I am.

“Friends” and their excuses, excuses, excuses…

Is anyone else tired of the “I’m busy” excuse?

The “I can’t make it, sorry things come up” last minute text?

What about the “I have to work” or “I made other plans” phone calls?

Tired of people bailing on you? Yeah. Me too.

I’ve examined the qualities I’ve looked for in a friend, and it used to just be someone I enjoyed spending time with. But having grown up a bit, having fun with someone doesn’t mean a relationship works. Reliability, emotional maturity, honesty, and accountability are things absolutely necessary for a friendship to work.

That’s why I’m done with all the standups. The last minute cancellations. The excuses. I expect better. I deserve better. If I have to drag you tooth and nail to try and get you to try to spend time with me, then I really don’t want to be your friend. If I have to think about where I stand in your life, about whether or not I really matter, then I don’t want to be your friend.

I want reconciliation. Forgiveness. The ability to own up to your mistakes and correct them, not automatically go on the defense. I want reliability, resolution, and responsibility, not recklessness. Not someone that puts in no effort and expects everything to be okay.

Friendship is not hard when you’re a good friend. Friendship is easy and mutually beneficial. Think of man and dog. Give and take. It’s work, but it’s easy and rewarding. You just have to find a balance. The problem is, some people are just not good friends. There just is no balance.

If I have a problem, I try to resolve it. Any relationship should be based around a good communication and problem resolution system. Here is how it typically goes for me. It’s not a ‘you vs. me’ fight, it is an ‘us vs. the problem.’ The goal is not to argue at each other. The goal is to fix the issue. So, address the problem. Get their opinion. Find a resolution together that satifies both parties. Simple mediation.

I think more people would benefit from this ideology. I’m straight forward. I will not sugar coat it. I will say what I feel. But I am not a rash person. I think it through. So when I say I’m tired of being bailed on, I mean it. So when I tell you how I feel, it is not coming out of no where.

I suck at cutting people out of my life. I suck at giving up on people. But there is a point where it just isn’t worth it. If you won’t fight, I won’t fight. I have to remember, you can’t change someone’s mind. You can’t fix a person. People will change when they’re ready. If someone doesn’t want to put in the effort, then don’t chase them. There are other people who are.

It’s weird how losing friends makes you become so much more aware of the great qualities that some of your best friends do have. And so much more thankful for it.

Is it “fate”?

Do you believe in fate? Destiny? Meant to be?

I don’t know if I believe it. I’m conflicted. On one hand, I’m a romantic. I’d like to think that somethings happen because they’re meant to. On the other hand, I think that kind of thinking makes people lazy. Like things will just fall into place and you don’t have to work for it.

Have you ever met someone and realized how many times your lives have intertwined before you actually met? In a classroom, full of people I didn’t know, I formed connections. I realized, wait, you were there when this happened? You know her? Wait, we both did this at the same time? We both live here?

I remember thinking back then, referring to that Misfits episode, that there was a reason that everyone met at the time they did. Everything fell into place. Everything played out right because each person was there when they were meant to.

You know, that story when you realize that your girlfriend lived next door to you as a kid but you don’t even remember. Or when you both were at the same concert two years ago, just a couple rows away. Going to the same party, going to the same school, but never meeting and never noticing each other until that moment. It’s like there were all these times in your life that you’ve been circling each other without even knowing. You’ve been in the same vacinity multiple times throughout your life and it just wasn’t until the right (or wrong) time that you met.

I try not to romanticize real life, but I’m a “writer”. I like to try to connect the dots. I wonder about timing. If only we had met later, if the inciting incident didn’t happen now. I wonder if maybe I am circling somebody and I haven’t noticed. Or maybe the timing just wasn’t right and they’ll serrendiptiously come into my life.

It’s just conflicting. I’m not one to wait around and hope that maybe I’ll get lucky and I’ll run into someone I wanted to run into. I’m the kind of person who picks up the phone and makes contact. I’m the kind of person who gets on the wrong bus, finds myself in a familiar neighbourhood, and calls up an old friend. I make things happen.

But luck would have it though, that neighbourhood is also the neighbourhood of another friend who I hadn’t seen in a while. And she had seen me and stopped to chat.

I don’t know if I believe in destiny, in meant to be, in fate. I don’t know if it’s real. I believe in compatibility. I believe in the fact that there’s billions of people on earth and you’re bound to be compatible with a whole bunch of them. And sometimes you find one person you’re really compatible with and you stick with them.

But I also believe in luck. There are just things out of my control. You can’t plan luck, you can’t plan running into someone accidently. You can’t plan finding out all the different parts of your lives where you intersected before you actually had met. You can’t plan what happens before you meet.

Dream vs. Reality

I’ve always wanted to be a writer.

It all started when I was a kid. My favourite thing to do was to read. I was a late reader. English was my second language (though, let’s be honest, I’m way more fluent in it than Mandarin) and I didn’t know how to read until first grade. My best friend was a strong reader and I remember being jealous of that. In class we would get separated into different reading groups because she was already capable, and I didn’t understand it at all.

It was kind of an accomplishment for myself once I finally made it into her reading group.

I remember sleeping over at her place and she would play audio files of Harry Potter in the background (to be honest I think that’s the reason I never got into Harry Potter, because I just didn’t grow up reading it). She would talk about her parents reading her the books before she went to bed. My parents never read to me. They certainly never took an interest in me reading (they would complain that I read too much). But instead, it was something I found by myself.

When I was in elementary school we would make frequent trips to the school library in class. I remember having a reading buddy read to me. I remember always taking the time to read books, picture books, novels, anything. I remember DEAR (Drop Everything And Read) would be my favourite time of day. I remember the books my teachers would read – Charlotte’s Web (the reason I never ate pork – which eventually led to me being a veg now), Grindle, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Roald Dahl was one of my favourite authors as a kid), A Wrinkle in Time…

It wasn’t until third grade (I think?) that I completely fell heads over heels in love with it. I think it was like the last day before summer break or something like that. The school had these bookshelves in our third grade classroom and they were full of old books that were falling apart. They were going to throw them out, so my teacher offered to let us take some. I took home a Nancy Drew novel. It was really old, and the cover was partially torn. I think it was called Lights! Camera! and Nancy was hanging off a light in the ceiling or a rope or something like that. That book changed my life.

That was the beginning of my obsession. I had never been so enchanted by a book. I loved the mystery. The thrill. I LOVED Nancy Drew. I loved her adventures and her fearlessness and her attitude and how smart she was and the fact that she solved mysteries. I think between that time and when I outgrew Nancy Drew (around 5th to 6th grade) I read over a hundred Nancy Drew books. I read as many as I could get my hands on.

Book order and book fairs were the coolest things ever. I was a complete and utter nerd. I basically read all the time, any chance I got. I used to go to the library ever week and take out like 7 books at a time, filling my bag. I would read like half of them the day I got them, and then the rest that I was less interested in periodically throughout the week. I could read for hours.

I would read on the bus, before bed, after school, late into the night… My friend once asked me in 6th grade how I had time to read so much, she just never realized how often I read. Whenever she had stopped by my house to hang out I was reading. I was a kid. I had a lot of free time. I still have my library card number memorized because I used to order books all the time.

Due to my obsession with reading, it kind of became a natural progression for me to want to become a writer. I had a lot of ideas. I wanted to write down things. I wanted to create my own books, my own characters, my own world. I think even though I’ve always been a reader first, I eventually evolved into a writer.

Growing up, writing really became an output for me. I’ve always put my thoughts down. In my diaries. In my stories. In my eventual blogs. I’ve struggled through NaNoWriMo twice, I’ve started countless stories. I’ve been on Wattpad, Quizilla, Inkpop, Figment and way, way, more… I’ve tried to be a writer all throughout my childhood.

So now, I’m in school for journalism, not creative writing. Why? To be honest, if I could be anything I would be a writer. I wouldn’t be a journalist at all. I’d write books, mostly just for me. So why am I doing journalism?

Mostly, I think it would have been impractical to go to school to be a writer. Hell. I don’t even need to go to school to be a writer. But the truth is, I feel like it would be childish to pursue this dream. I write very casually. I never have time. The last serious project I worked on was a two years ago, and I haven’t touched it since. I’m just not as passionate or as dedicated as many other people who want it so much more than me.

I’m still writing, stuff gets stuck in my head and I have to get it out. But it never amounts to anything. Life gets in the way. I stop writing. I never finish. I could never actually publish a novel, not yet.

I dreamed of becoming a writer, a great writer, publishing a book and settling down in New York City. I could be free. Do whatever I wanted with my time. Read. Write. Travel. Live on my own time, not stuck in an office or in a job that I hate. But it’s just a dream.

Writer’s Craft was a class I enjoyed and looked forward to taking for years. I liked how it forced me to write. Despite my complaints about never getting any of my assignments back on time, I liked having a teacher mark my work. She had to be objective. And I always did well. It was sweet of her to mention my short stories in my yearbook, and for her to encourage for me to keep writing. It stood out enough for her to remember. She might not have been the best marker, but she’s certainly a great person. It meant a lot for her to mention that about my writing, even if I never do seriously pursue it.

The truth is I have other goals and other things I want to do with my life. Grown up goals. They’ll never be the same as writing, there’s nothing that I would rather do – but they do make me happy.

Like when I volunteered with the Credit Valley Conservation, working outside everyday. It’s backbreaking labour and intense work, but it’s outdoors and it’s beautiful and I made a difference. I loved that. I remember doing trail restoration and taking a break by the river, sitting and listening to the water rushing and the sounds of the forest and thinking, “Wow, I could do this forever.”

There was also working in Nicaragua. It was also backbreaking and intense work, but I also loved it. I loved learning about the people around me. I loved seeing the world outside my life, my bubble. I loved knowing that I made a small impact, that I helped to build something that is part of these people’s lives. I loved being part of something bigger than just me.

These are things I’m passionate about. The world. I care about what’s happening around me. I think I can make a difference in another way – a practical way. I don’t think I could do the same with writing fiction.

I think a degree in journalism could make that difference. I’m never going to be someone that changes the world, I’m not aiming to be someone like that. Those positions are for people who truly have something to say. I don’t think I do. I just want to do the best that I can with what I’m given. That means finding a way to fit these passions – the environment and international development and my love for writing – into one. Journalism.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to be a journalist. Hell, I’ll probably still end up working in the non-profit sector. But it just means I’ll have a degree that could help me develop my skills in a meaningful way. I want to utilize this degree. I want to make sure I take everything I learn, and use it for when I do end up deciding to work for CUSO or another organization. It just means that it’s an opportunity for me to explore my writing and other platforms to do my favourite thing – tell stories. Isn’t that what writing fiction and journalism is about? Telling a story?

I feel like everyone in my program has so much of their life figured out. They’re in journalism for a reason, because they want to be journalists. I’m so not sure. I don’t know where the path leads for me. I’m open for anything.

So maybe I’ll never publish a book (it’s still my dream though) and maybe I’ll never make it to New York City, but at least I’ll be doing something I love. Journalism isn’t that different from what I truly wanted all along.

Oh…It’s You.

Being reminded of someone you really don’t want to be reminded of is kind of the worst thing ever. Especially if that reminder is in the form of an enormous advertisement featuring said person.

When Bob and I stopped being friends, it was roughly a week before I was to start university. It was the end of an era, the awkward transition period between starting over and staying where you were. I was glad to be moving on. High school, and the summer, was pretty much over by then.

And so was my friendship with Bob.

I was really looking forward to my first day of university, my first day of orientation week. It was a new beginning. It meant I got to start over with mostly new faces, meet tons of new people, create new, exciting stories. It meant I didn’t have to think about Bob anymore, and it meant that I had left him far behind. It meant I had left everyone who didn’t make it past that summer. It was a day full of possibility, full of adventure, full of potential and memories. The first day of the rest of my life.

I was walking with my friend, who had met Bob once, when it happened. She knew about him. She knew what happened.

So we’re walking together on Yonge and we turn onto Gould, near the campus store. I’m on the phone distracted, trying to figure out where our other friend is. And she says to me, “Hey, isn’t that…” She points to the truck idling beside us.

I proceed to scream.

It was Bob.

Bob’s was plastered all over the side of the truck. His face was plastered on the back of the truck. It was Bob’s stupid truck.

To backtrack, Bob’s an actor, and a few years back, during the Vancouver Olympics, he did some modelling for a company that ended up on being put on trucks. And one of their trucks was right there beside me.

I had seen pictures of the truck, but in all the time I’d known him I’ve never actually seen it in person. For some god forsaken reason, on my first day of school, I see it. I see him.

The person I wanted to forget, wanted to move on from, was literally magnified and all over this stupid truck. It was a big gaping reminder that I couldn’t escape him.

I was so shocked and so angry and upset. One of my friends I told said that maybe it was a sign, maybe we weren’t supposed to stop being friends. I disagreed, I knew that we couldn’t have stayed friends. I knew I made the right choice. But the fact that of all things to happen on of all days, it had to be that? I wondered if I was ever going to forget about him. If I was ever goign to properly be able to move on from our friendship.

That persisted. I would go do something, or hang out with some of the new friends I’ve made, and something Bob and I did would pop into my head. It was inevitable. I felt so deflated. Everything I thought, a new start, all this potential, was tarnished by this reminder that Bob wasn’t my friend anymore.

But I realized, after some thought, that it’s true. I’m never going to forget about Bob. I’m never going to find anyone else like Bob. I’m never going to be able to replace him, or mend it. That doesn’t mean I’m not done with our friendship. That doesn’t mean that it’s not possible for me to have moved on. It just means that he once mattered in my life.

Bob was once a really good friend to me. He was someone I depended on and valued in my life. He was like a brother to me. So there is no way that losing someone that close to you means that you lose every trace of them in your life.

I came to my senses. I realized that Bob, and anyone else important to me, will always be part of me. They might not be part of my life in the present, but they made a significant impact in the past. There is no way that they won’t come up every once in a while. There is no way that there won’t be a reminder of what happened every once in a while. You can bury the past. You can’t change what happened. You just have to accept that it did and recognize how it affects you in the present now.

All the talks and the memories and the secrets we shared, it’s all important. It all really mattered at one point. But it honestly does not matter in the present, only when you think back into the past. These things happened, I can’t pretend like they never did or that it didn’t matter. Pushing someone out of your life doesn’t change the fact that they were once in it. Either I accepted that I was always going to have reminders of Bob in my life or I would have to deal with the pain of the truth – Bob and I were not friends, and if I wanted him back in my life he would be.

Luckily I haven’t run into him in person, as we’re in two different cities, but yesterday I spotted this guy that I didnt want to run into three times. I don’t think he saw me, but it was hard realizing how small the world can be sometimes.

Yeah, it’s awkward, and uncomfortable, and a little painful getting such a huge reminder on such a huge day that someone I was really close to was no longer in my life. That’s the way it is though. Life is awkward and uncomfortable and a little (or a lot) painful. Doesn’t mean you stop living it. You carry on.

Loss of Innocence

I feel like a lot of people consider their first sexual experience to be when they lost their innocence.

It’s the moment when you bared it all and entered the world of sexuality and adult relationships. Its the moment when you face the nitty-gritty and become more than just kids who hold hands and occasionally makeout. It’s exciting and gross and heated and dirty.

Talking as someone who has not yet had sex, I wonder where I lost my innocence. Or, if I have even lost it yet. It’s debateable based on your idea of when someone truly grows up. Is it when they begin to work for their money? When they accept responsibility for their actions? When they find meaning in their work, their life, and their aspirations? When they move out?

Or just you know, when you meet someone and decide to have sex.

I feel like people place this milestone on ‘losing your virginity’, but really all you’re doing is gaining sexual experience. This idea that girls (and guys too) lose something and become less wholesome and pure is ridiculous. Society has made virginity seem like the ultimate sacrifice for a girl. Like “I chose you to give it to. It’s precious and special and important.”

Not that escalating the physical part of the relationship isn’t important and a big step, it is. It’s just that there’s a difference between recognizing taking the step collectively as a partnership, knowing how it impacts the relationship, and acting like having sex for the first time is monumental and life-changing.

The idea that your virginity should be cherished is ridiculous. As a female, ‘the less sexual partners the better’ is still old fashioned, thinking that we should be pure and innocent and good. It’s your body, your choice, your right. Do it when you want, in whatever position, however many times, when you’re ready, with whomever.

I mean, I guess the idea that it has to be special is understandable, as it is a first. There are only so many other firsts that we celebrate. First job? First pay check? First day of school? First car? These are some examples that people hold pretty close to them. But how many do we hold to such high esteem as our ‘first time’?

My friends, a lot of them, are in post-secondary now. Some of them, even in high school, explored their sexuality. Many of them now are exploring their sexuality. It’s exhilirating and scary and fun. But for some, it can come with a sense of guilt. “Why am I doing this? Why am I enjoying this? I’m not really that kind of girl?”

Why not? What kind of girl? A girl who enjoys sex? Someone who enjoys something that is perfectly natural and healthy?

The idea that a girl woman has to be wholesome and pure is so outdated. A woman can be whatever the hell she wants and doesn’t need anyones approval. Being confident is a lot more than just self esteem, it’s knowing your life and your choices are yours alone. Sex, if you choose to have it, is you and your partners business. If you enjoyed it and they enjoyed it, then that’s all that matters. Sex is dirty and gross, but it shouldn’t make you feel dirty and gross. There shouldn’t be guilt tagged along with something that you wanted to do and enjoyed doing. If anyone judges you for it then they’re either hypocrites or they’re closed minded and judgemental. Or both.

I don’t think females should consider their first sexual experience to be their first step into womanhood. Why does having sex with a man (or a woman) suddenly make you an adult? How does that really change you? How can you place such an importance on doing something with someone else when you’ve already done so much for yourself? Why are those things not recognized?

People have sex for a number of different reasons. But the moment you really lose your innocence, the moment that you lost the wide-eyed view of the world is yours to decide. Do not let someone else decide it for you. I don’t know if you can 100% pin the moment when you grow up, there are probably lots of factors.

It could be when you had sex for the first time. It could be when you had your first love and heartbreak. When you lost a family member. Or got a job. Made friends who loved and accepted you for you.

It just seems silly to me that there is such an emphasis on what sex means. What virginity means. What innocence and purity means. According to the Catholic Church, everyone is born with sin anyways. I don’t think thats wrong. In fact, it would be easier to look at the world knowing that no one is incapable of sin, that no one is truly pure and good, so that there aren’t such unattainable and unhealthy views and expectations of women (and others).

I’m 18. I know somewhere along the way I lost my innocence and came into adulthood. It wasn’t because I had sex. It wasn’t because I turned 18 either. I grew up, accepted responsibility, worked hard, pushed myself, and learned what pain and loss was.

Sex, while a great experience to gain, is never going to teach you all the life lessons you need. It is not a good indicator of being grown up. Give yourself some more credit and recognize that, while sex can be empowering and connecting, it is you and your accomplishments that made you an adult, not ‘losing your virginity’, not letting some guy (or girl) have sex with you for the first time. Don’t give them the credit for your hard work. Do not forget what you did for yourself.