Posted in (All Posts), Breast Cancer, O Canada 🇨🇦, Rants

My First World Problems

 

 

enhanced-6523-1416593112-26I recently heard of an interesting exercise to teach privilege to a group of high school students. They were each given a balled-up piece of paper and told to throw it from their seats into the waste-paper basket at the front of the room (regardless of seating position.) The teacher said, “The game is simple — you all represent the country’s population. And everyone in the country has a chance to become wealthy and move into the upper class.” Everyone took their shots, and — predictably — most of the students in the front were successful, but only a handful from the back row made the shot. He concluded, “The closer you were to the bin, the better your odds. This is what privilege looks like. Did you notice how the only ones who complained about fairness were in the back of the room? By contrast, the people in the front of the room were less likely to be aware of the privilege they were born into.”

vancouver_1731580cI know that I am privileged AF. I am a university-educated, white Canadian with a good job, a good salary and a beautiful home in Vancouver. I can eat basically whatever I want, I have a family and a job that I love. I live in total peace and safety and I travel to exotic places fairly regularly. But sometimes, it’s good to keep an eye on the checks and balances in life. You don’t want to see one girl having all of the fun, now do you? Worry not. I, too, have suffered. Continue reading “My First World Problems”

Posted in (All Posts), Fiction

The Final Teardrop

It was all I could do to try to stem the flood of tears that threatened to escape me.  The harder I tried, the stronger the urge grew until I could hold them back no more. At long last, I gave in and allowed myself to grieve.

As I stared into my husband’s eyes, I could almost believe he could see me: his sparkling eyes trained directly onto mine.  The photograph curled up at the edges in my hand.  I should have known that my decision to unearth this photo album was only an invitation to revisit the pain.  Not only did it bring back the flood of emotions attached to the memories, but worse, I’d eventually have to admit that he is gone forever.  Closing the album meant closing a chapter of my life. Continue reading “The Final Teardrop”