The Fan Girl in All of Us

The Big Apple had landed. New York City in Toronto. Storefronts were changed. Street signs were taken down. NY-style subways were planted on the sidewalk.

Oh, the intrigue of a film set. Like a forbidden paradise of trailers and wires and jaded crew folk. But if you look closely, you just might find a rare species amongst the lighting equipment.

It didn’t take me long to figure out what was being filmed: Beauty and Beast, the television show which stars Kristin Kreuk (or as I know her, Lana Lang from Smallville).

My brain made the connection instantly. Kristin Kreuk, the woman who formed a huge part of my Smallville-obsessed high school angst, was just a block away from me. I suddenly felt an impulse to catch a glimpse of her. So I sauntered over to the film set to the tune of Remy Zero’s Save Me.

The scene was extraordinary: the director yelled action. A crew of planted cars, including some New York taxis, drove by. And petite Ms. Kreuk, stepped off the sidewalk and raised her arm as if to hail a cab. Cut. It’s understandable why this pivotal scene justified the disruption of a busy city street.

Step by step by step, I made my way to the celebrity. At just the precise moment, when I was passing by where I thought she was standing, I looked to my left and there she was, nestled amongst the cameras, staring straight at me. My heart lept. I smiled and kept walking.

And for the rest of the day, I could think of nothing else but the moment when our eyes met. She was real. She was…human. And she looked exactly like she did on TV. She was tiny and beautiful.

My thoughts were immediately flooded with giddy euphoria. But the more I thought about our small, meaningless interaction, the more I doubted it. It drew me to a state of anxiety. Should I have said hi? Could I have asked for a picture? Either of those ideas both excited and terrified me. Oh no, I could never. Though I wanted to talk to her, I struggled to think of anything meaningful to say. Though I wanted to take a picture with her, I didn’t want to invade her personal space. I wasn’t a creepy fan girl.

And there it was, the creature living inside of me all along: the fan girl. In an instant of spotting a celebrity, I lost all sense of the maturity I’ve worked so hard to convey. What remained were giggles and this nagging desire to get as close as I possibly could.

What was it about Ms. Kreuk that reduced me to this irrational state? She is nothing but a character to me. I don’t know anything about her except the roles she’s played. And I’m absolutely nothing to her. I went home that day and continued my life just as usual. Meeting Kristin Kreuk wouldn’t have made any difference unless she offered me a job or a date with Tom Welling.

When I focused on this truth, although my bubble burst, I returned to reality. I can admire an actor’s work and persona, while acknowledging that my existence runs parallel to them. Sometimes my path might cross with some rich, popular person, and it doesn’t matter if I stop to talk, or keep on walking. We both move forward. Perhaps this is the cure to keeping the fan girl at bay.

 

Early mornings

There’s a stillness in the morning that can’t be replicated. A quietness that seems to last forever. Something magical happens in that space. When you seem to wake up before the rest of the world realized it was day. It’s when I usually spend my time contemplating. Sometimes I write. Sometimes I just lay in my bed, hoping that I never have to get up.

I’ve been spending my nights trying to plot a course for my life. It usually ends in guilt and frustration. The night wins. I close my eyes and try to forget about my not-so-clear future.

When I blink my eyes open in the morning, I can feel that I’m laying in the doubts and despair of the night before. They sink into my mattress and cushion my fall. They’re all around me. When I open my eyes, I have no where to look but forward. I can’t slip into dreams anymore. It’s time to face the day.

And these mornings, when I can lay listening to the quiet noises you never hear during the day, I find something like comfort, telling me to get up and try again.

Life is a waiting game. But you can decide what you do while you wait.

I want to make something.

I have hair on my legs

I have hair on my legs. So what.

I wasn’t alive when the world decided women had to be hairless creatures in order to be accepted into mainstream society. I’ve often wondered just how this became the norm.

I’ve seen women shame themselves over leaving millimetres of unkempt hair on their legs. Women who shave as obsessively as they brush their teeth. And it doesn’t stop at legs. Arms. Backs. Fingers. Toes. …..other regions.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am not calling for all women to stop shaving. If you want to shave your whole body, go ahead. Smooth skin feels great. But I should have the liberty to wear shorts in 38 degree weather and not care about the half a centimetre of hair on my legs. Obviously, in my mind, I have a knack for attracting judging eyes and pointing fingers.

My long-suppressed turmoil with this issue inspired me to reach out to another woman in my life to ask what her relationship with hair removal was like.

My co-worker, Jonsaba, only started shaving recently in her twenties. She never cared about it before but once she started, she discovered that shaving was a double-edged razor. It made her feel more feminine while at the same time making her feel more insecure about her body hair.

“Hair is very political,” says Jonsaba. “When we see a woman who doesn’t shave or has underarm hair, it’s like whoa. It’s rare for us. And we judge them. Oh, they’re feminists. Oh, they’re one of those hippie women.”

Ok, so I’ll confess.  The other day, I said goodbye to friend and when she lifted her arms to hug me, I was shocked by the sight of her underarm hair. When I got home, I felt compelled to share this story with my mom and sister. I immediately began to come up with reasons as to why she would reveal her underarm hair like that. Maybe she’s a hippie feminist. Maybe she was hot. Maybe she doesn’t care who sees her underarm hair for half of an insignificant second of their lives. Maybe she trusted that another woman would be the last person to judge her for that. Yikes.

“For the most part, pop culture influences a lot of what we do in our daily lives,” says Jonsaba. “We see a lot of celebrity women. They’re all shaved. They look perfect. They have no hair. They look like they have nothing.”

They look like they never spent the countless hours pouring hot wax on their bodies that the rest of us do. In fact, the opposite is true. So maybe I won’t judge other women for for letting it grow, or choosing to get rid of it. How about we just do what we want to do, and move on to ending world hunger?

What’s your relationship like with hair removal?

Body knows best

I’ve started working out.

I’ll give you a moment to catch your breath. I can’t believe I would even type these words on to the screen. Do you know what I just did? I just committed myself to the world. It’s a long fall if I fail from here.

I spent the whole summer trying to motivate myself to exercise more and I just couldn’t do it. But something happened as the season started to wrap up. September always brings with it something new.

Since I’ve been out of school, there hasn’t really been anything to “new” for me in the Fall. Between my desire for change and the sparkle of September, I found a way.

This is my third week of working out 6 days a week. That sentence just blew my mind.

For the longest time, I’ve hated anything to do with the fitness industry. Gym membership? No thank you. Running? I’ve got bad knees. Sweat? Gross.

I’ve tried running, zumba, treadmill, kickboxing, and yoga. Although I enjoyed them, I was only willing to push myself to a minimal degree. I was terrified of losing control. Body aching, lungs gasping for breath, throat heaving, head pounding; that’s what working out looked like to me. It was a torture I didn’t want to endure.

Two weeks in, I can honestly say I’ve pushed myself harder than I ever have before, without losing control. If I was going to do this, I was going to do this my way. I was going to work hard, but I wasn’t going to scare myself because some ripped guy in a cardio video thinks he knows how hard my body can go.

I’ve gasped for breath. My throat has parched. My head has pounded. And boy, has my body ached. But all of it came with good energy. I refused to beat my body (and mind) into submission. I’ve done it because it’s logically the best possible thing I could do.

You know, once you get into this stuff, you start to think like they do. I find myself whispering motivational phrases to myself all day. You can do this. Focus. You will improve. Hang in there.

That ripped guy in the video can see straight into my soul. I push myself, but I go at my own pace. And I try a little harder each day.

What do I want?

Have you ever wanted to start over?

Hit refresh. Push restart. Click close and open up a new window.

I’ve been feeling this way for a while. It feels like it never really goes away. And it makes me wonder if maybe I’m the problem. Do I get bored too easily? Am I just so unsatisfied with all the good in my life? Or am I too lazy to actually take a risk?

New always involves risk. The amount depends on how much your willing to sacrifice.

I don’t know what I want. I just know I want something different.

I’m tired of chasing after the endless streams of information. I want to know everything. Yet, I know nothing.

It seems like life is one perpetual motion of dreaming and desire. And I don’t always get what I want. I don’t always chase what I want either. It’s so easy to get distracted by the things that don’t matter. The dead end job. Why can’t I just quit? The project I want to accomplish. Why can’t I just do them?

Maybe it’s all about the money. How can I get more and how can I save some?

And still, after years of wondering, I stand in the same spot. Where did money take me? Not to the edge of happiness. It’s only made me want more. It’s only suffocated me and cornered me and distracted me into making decisions that took me away from my original pursuit.

Rejection

I’ve been rejected.

It’s heartbreak in the most business sense. I finally garnered up the courage to direct message a blogger that I admire, albeit undercover. I told them I admired their work, loved what they do, and wanted to swap internet tips. Then, like a girl asking a boy to love her, I asked the daunting question: Would you be interested?

I sat there, vulnerable and exposed, and waited.

I was sure they would say yes. How could such an incredible, smart, intelligent, upstanding person ever say no to such a polite and flattering request?

I guess it could’ve also seemed random and creepy. But I digress.

The blogger responded pretty quickly with a no. They tried to be funny about it. I appreciated their honesty.

But just like that, my relationship with them ended before it even began.

They always say, “Don’t meet your idols.” The sight of their flesh and bones will make them human to you. And human isn’t always a good thing. Well, in this magically inter-connected world, don’t message your idols on social media either. Attached to those fingertips on a keyboard are hands and arms and a body, just like yours. Just like in the physical realm, they are entitled to push you back into that small, dark and insignificant corner of the interwebs from where you came, from where I lay crying myself to sleep. Boo hoo. Welcome home.

How the World Cup ruined me

The last month ruined me.

Everywhere I went I saw colours: green, yellow, black, red, blue and white. I saw the flags flying from every other car, dwindling one by one. I heard the honking. The cheering. The boasting and smack-talking, mostly from behind a computer screen.

But worst of all was the dreaming. The hope that seems to grow from the tiniest seed, watered by equal parts skill and luck, gaining momentum as it rises up, taller than the rest.

For the last month, I rose and fell with a nation.

I watched every game. I raised the flag on my car. I dug the jersey up from it’s hiding spot.

Where the brazuca moved, my eyes followed. When the goalie leaped, my heart stopped. And when a player made that unmistakable run for the net, I got up out of my seat. To cheer, or to sit back down.

I cheered with a country. I cried with a country. We suffered together. We celebrated together. And through out this World Cup, if there is one thing I’ve finally encountered, it was my cultural identity as an Argentinian.

All of my life I grew up hearing stories of glory days come and gone, wanting nothing more than to see it with my own eyes. To catch a glimpse of the magic for myself. But something swelled within my heart that I never quite expected: pride.

Not the kind that is loud and rude. Not the kind that overcompensates or lives vicariously through someone else. The kind that stems from passion. And it made me proud. Not just my family. Me. Every time I wore the jersey, I bled blue and white.

After years of searching, it’s going to be very hard for that to disappear.

They told me soccer was a religion. And at the end of four weeks, I can’t help but believe.

Glory and failure

I make it a priority not to run for buses. Or trains in this case.

Maybe it’s because I have a crippling fear of failure. Running leaves me exposed.  If I run and don’t make it on time, it would’ve all been for nothing.

All that hope and energy wasted.

Maybe it’s because running reveals what horrible shape I am in. Is there a worse image than a person keeled over, huffing and puffing as the bus glides away? The look of despair in their eyes. Disappointment in their gasping breath.
They tried and failed.

But today, I ran and won. I wont even bother to be ambiguous about what propelled me.

Soccer. If I caught this train, I could make it home in time to watch most of the game.

Maybe that’s the difference between an athlete running for the net and a person trying to catch a bus. An athlete upon seeing the goal line is fueled with every inch to persevere. The train-chaser too I suppose. What awaits the athlete on the other side of the pitch? Glory …and failure. But they never hesitate to run.

Drenched and gasping for breath, I never thought I could find glory on the inside of a train. But catching this train felt like a victory to me.

And I should also probably work out more.

I’m afraid of dogs

I just got chased by a dog.

A small, aggressive fiend who was hungry for my flesh. It’s true. What started as a familiar walk to the mailbox, ended in the most terrifying 30 seconds of my life.

I’ll admit, it was a small dog. But it still ran after me: barking like a maniac and nipping at my ankles and everything. I kept walking and tried not to look back. I figured running was probably the worst thing I could do. So I just walked at a normal pace, resisting the urge to run. It had to go away right? It had to know I was not a threat.

But it didn’t leave. And I felt like an idiot for keeping this leisurely pace when every bone in my body was telling me to run.I cringed inside and started to panic. I stood up on my tippy toes and screamed — a nervous yelp. What was I doing wrong? I turned back to face the little devil in the eye. If fear was my perfume, I was drowning in it.

So yeah, if you’re animal lover, this is about the time when you conclude that I am a horrible person. But let me try to explain. I never really had pets growing up so I’ve been known to get a little tense when a dog is in the room. I don’t hate dogs. I just don’t get them. And that makes me anxious. So please take this post as a the questionings of a animal-ignorant, slightly overdramatic human, curious for some answers.

For most of my life, I’ve denied that I truly have a fear of dogs. But dog-owners can smell fear just as quickly as their furry friends can. I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve heard the following well-intentioned suggestions:

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”

“She’s a friendly dog.”

“You know they can smell fear right?”

“Just push him away and he won’t bother you.”

I have never found comfort in any of these words. The main reason being that I have little to no understanding of the relationship between a dog and its owner. I mean, obviously your dog loves you, but why would he trust me? Isn’t he supposed to protect you? If I pet him the wrong way, could he go into attack mode? What if he jumps on me? What do I do?!

All of this sounds like nonsense to an animal-lover. I find pets, and the relationships they have with their owners so fascinating. How can you trust each other so easily? Part of me wishes I could understand or experience it on my own. But I’m stuck with a black blot on my heart, in the shape of what I assume is a puppy.

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking about dogs a lot. I would like to have one some day. I’ve been making some good progress. But today, I feel like all of it has gone down the drain.

Oh, and about that dog that chased me? An older European lady came to my rescue. “He no bite,” she assured me, shaking her head. I did as I usually do in awkward situations, smile — and laugh. And I turned right around, my heart pounding in my chest and skipped up the steps to my house.

The first thing I did was google what to do when a dog chases after you.

Texting on the run

“Check texts on the run.” —said a Samsung smart watch ad.

“Wait — what?” I did a double take. The young, fit jogger on the poster smiled at me. I realized that this was more than just a clever pun. Samsung was actually trying to sell me a smart watch by telling me it would make it easier for me to check my texts while running. Pfft, as if I even exercise on a regular basis. And when I do choose to exercise, running is definitely not in my routine.

But to all the spirited runners out there, do you really wish you could check your texts during your morning jog? Is this actually a desire that’s been burning inside of you?

I’m going to take a guess here and say no.

“So Samsung, why do you think this would work?” The woman on the poster keeps smiling. I’m not sure what she would say to me if she could talk.

“It’s convenient.”

“Now, you can be connected even when it’s incredibly inconvenient.”

“Haven’t you always wanted something to stare at while waiting for the light to change?”

I laugh. Nice one, Samsung. Technology is supposed to make things easier right? Even when it doesn’t always make sense.