I have no idea what year this photo was taken. Nor do I have any clue regarding the location, but it looks pretty interesting. Perhaps I'm standing on an open-air medieval torture chamber. Who knows? I'm just enjoying me mom's company:
Four Eyes
Adolescence is a difficult era. Surviving puberty, attending the hell that is high school, and being at the continuous mercy of those with less acne than you (when that is seemingly the only currency that matters) is one of the more challenging periods in life. On top of this stress and Clearasil, I was all-too-aware that my vision was slipping.
Despite the greatest of efforts to achieve invisibility by sinking into my chair while conspicuously avoiding eye-contact with my teachers, I recollect the feeling of overwhelming dread that rushed over me every time I was called upon to read something written on the blackboard. My desk was near the front of the room, yet I couldn't do it. Everything was a blur. I would always feebly state I had a sore throat and couldn't speak because at the age of thirteen it was preferable to be thought of as illiterate rather than a spectacled nerd. My teacher, bless him, allowed me to maintain this ruse for a bit until I couldn't hide any longer. Eye exams were to take place at my high school. All students had to participate.
The day of the eye exam, I was paired with one of my best friends. He went first and damn near aced it. Envy was second only to anxiety at that moment. For when it was my turn, I just randomly called out letters and numbers that I felt best matched the rorschach test laid out in front of me. "You didn't get a single one right!" mocked my friend upon completion. I was handed a note to take home to my parents informing them that I desperately needed glasses.
I wore them for a few years but the stigma weighed on me. Guys don't make passes on girls that wear glasses. I didn't feel attractive. I didn't feel cool (one cannot underestimate how important this is when you are a teenager). I switched to contacts. Coloured contacts. My eyes became the most brilliant, unnatural hue of green I'd ever seen. And people noticed. Guys noticed! As silly as it sounds, I started to develop a complex that I would never be good enough unless I was faking it. I blame this lack of self-esteem primarily on society's conditioning towards females. … but that's a journal entry for another time. My feelings were confirmed by a boyfriend who, once he saw me without my emerald orbs, reacted with a disappointed "oh, you look different".
I wear glasses as an adult not because I've completely outgrown vanity. Lord, no. I'm terrible. It's because the fear of being rejected by my peers based upon appearance has been overshadowed by my phobia of having something poke at and permanently damage my eyes further. Glasses make great shields! And I suppose the confidence one gains as they enter adulthood and start living for themselves rather than others may have something to do with it as well.
Plus, in my occupation, black thick frames are practically standard-issue. Looking like a nerd has never been cooler.
Thirty Something Vignette: no.5
"Do you think he's handsome?"
"Yes."
"Really?!?" the boyfriend's face wrinkled in disgust while remaining somehow oblivious to the fact that her apparently questionable taste in men may be reflective of him as well.
"Swagger goes a long way." she replied.
The boyfriend let out an audible gasp of judgement. "I can tell by his face that he is a crap guy. He's a player."
"I'm aware of that." she smirked.
As the debate over whether Drake was hot or not continued, the music video detailing a booty-call gone sour played as soundtrack in the background of their lazy Sunday afternoon, defining this epoch of modern dating.
Throwback
1984. Then, as now, winter has arrived.
Viva La Winnipeg!
My hometown, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, was recently included as one of twenty destinations on National Geographic's list of Best Trips to take in 2016. Dubbed the "little spark on the prairie", it's well worth adding to your bucket list … as a summer excursion though.
©Deborah Clague/Oblada.com
To view more pictures of Winnipeg and the province of Manitoba, click here.
Throwback
It's the summer of 1998. I'm eighteen in this picture and had just graduated high school. My time was mostly spent partying with friends, hating my call centre job, and hoping that my decision to take Advertising Art in college would lead to something more fulfilling in life.
The person in the photo with me is a very good friend that reconnected this week, after much time apart becoming the adults we are today. It made me reminisce about how it's not so much about the things you do, but the people you do them with.
Grand-dogs
I waited at gate 12 for my return flight home. Headphones in, but they were silent. I was giving my ears a much-needed rest after listening to Adele all weekend and didn't want the emotional stigmata of her broken heart affecting the jocund greeting I planned to share with the person welcoming me home in a few hours. So instead, I stared off into space until a woman that could have passed for a "Real Housewife" of Winnipeg sat near me, all perfect hair, manicure and tanned complexion. Then I started eavesdropping.
She was chatty with an older lady also sitting near us and very excited about her imminent trip. "I am going to London" she replied when the older lady asked of her final destination, post-Toronto pitstop. "Well, London and then Paris. My husband is taking me there. I've never been."
The "Housewife" continued a one-sided conversation of humblebragging about her amazing life, of which I was somewhat envious, when she finally extended an offer to the older lady to participate by asking if she would be visiting children or grandchildren during her travels.
"No", she replied. "I never had children".
"Oh", Housewife paused. "Well … I'm sure you will have grand-cats or grand-dogs."
You may think I'm making it up, but this actual conversation occurred at Winnipeg International Airport (YWG) at approximately 6:30pm on Sunday, November 1. I totally blew my cover of pretending to listen to bops while staring off into space and immediately gave the biggest side-eye towards Housewife's general direction. The older lady didn't really know what to say and finally made a joke about fur-babies while half-smiling uncomfortably. The conversation then changed to something less awkward.
Why does everything for women filter down to having kids? This older lady may have been a pioneer in any field, could have written the world's most beautiful, soul-stirring poetry, or been a Nobel Prize winner. But none of that would have mattered as it whittled down to pity towards her for not having offspring. I see this all the time and experience it firsthand myself. I'm 35. Childless. And know my ovaries are drying up by the day. I don't give a shit. I am aware though that this subject is of more interest and concern to a lot of people rather than my accomplishments or personal interests.
Perhaps I feel extra ranty on this subject because Christmas is coming up and I know I'm going to field these questions while meeting friends and family, or perhaps it's just the environment I'm in, which increasingly could just be planet earth, but a woman's life, purpose, and worth should not be defined by this.
Manx Pride
Imagine my surprise when I saw this flag hanging above the mineral water pool of a spa in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, Canada. Bonus: there was no Union Jack in sight. I'm pretty sure very, very few people could identify its origin (birthplace of the Clague surname and brothers Gibb) and am still curious as to why it was on display over more well-known nations and territories. #ManxPride
❤️
Je'taime Paris. :(
Throwback
1. No changing tramps
2. No tag
3. No fooling around of any kind will be tolerated.
4. Only one person per tramp.
- The Management -
I think I'm about four-years-old in this picture. It was taken at a trampoline park in Killarney, Manitoba. This was prior to my first visit to Disneyworld and I couldn't anticipate nor imagine anything exceeding the fun I had here. My parents bought me a small trampoline - the size and type of which Jane Fonda probably used in one of her iconic fitness videos - but it was nothing like the dozen or so here. They were massive in my eyes. And extra super bouncy!
I grew up without brothers and sisters to enjoy this revelry with, unfortunately, but my father was always game. He was a kid at heart, attempting to defy gravity along with me. Excursions to the trampoline park eventually became excursions to the arcade; travelling to Disneyworld eventually became travelling THE world. My life is rich with extraordinary experiences and cherished memories because of this man. He was "Super Dad".
I miss him so much.
