Tag: confessions

Cancer messes with your head a little bit.

Forget the roller coaster of emotions you go through. Forget the overwhelming number of doctor’s appointments, needles in your arm and information to absorb. It also changes you. Like it or not.

Last summer when I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, I went through my own roller coaster ride, from shock, to worry, to acceptance, to moving on. One thing that struck me recently was my new compulsive need for control.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have been impatient. I asked a lot of questions, always wanted to know the ending of a show, couldn’t wait for vacations, birthdays or books. If I saved up for a camera, I couldn’t wait till my parents drove me to the store to get it.

My mom often tried to teach me patience, and exclaimed, “patience is a beautiful thing honey,” whenever I would start to complain. My dad would tell me to let my faith fuel my patience.

It didn’t always work.

After that, I grew up and found a way to use that impatience to do something I love. I became a journalist.

When you’ve been told you have a lump, you start the process that I call “waiting, waiting, waiting.” It is not enough that your nerves are frazzled at the sound of the word “tumor,” but the long and tedious process that follows is sure to knock the impatience out of you.

You wait for the biopsy, you wait for the results, you wait for the surgery, wait for the treatment, wait for the scan. You wait, and wait, and then wait some more. It’s enough to force even the most impatient person to be patient.

I sit in hospital waiting rooms for way too many hours. The smell of the place makes me feel nauseated. The air around me reeks of disinfectant. My neck gets strained from staring at my phone to pass the time. When tests are delayed, or the staff is too busy, or there are more forms to fill, I feel so tired of it all that I want to kick someone or something. The call waiting songs ring in my ear again and again and again. Other times I take a deep breath, and try to remember how blessed I am. I remember that it could have been a lot worse.

That is when I started to have to know exact dates. I needed to know when something was happening, what time someone was coming over, when I could expect something, how I could plan, when I could schedule, when I could relax. If I had to wait to know, sometimes that was OK, other times I would get frustrated.

OK, most times I would get frustrated.

While I pride myself in being an easygoing person, I recognize that something has changed. The need for control is not something that appears out of thin air. To some extent it has always been there. However, it takes struggle to heighten it. It takes struggle to make it stronger.

It takes struggle to need it more than ever. The more we cannot control our fate, the more we want to.

University allows us to meet people from all different walks of life. I’ve met people older than me, younger than me, wiser than me; I admire and appreciate many of these people. However, I have also been introduced to this beautiful, majestic breed of person. The people who I like to refer to as “special snowflakes.”

Are you already picturing someone in your head?

It’s that person who feels the need to start a full-blown, off-topic debate with the professor, refusing to admit that they are wrong when it is clear to everyone else. The person who constantly and seriously uses the phrase, “Am I the only one who…?” There are seven billion people on this planet, so no, the odds are you aren’t the only one.

These are the snowflakes that cannot take an ounce of criticism, and are unable to wrap their minds around the notion that people have different opinions. They seem to think they have some kind of device that allows them to see the world in sharper definition. Show this person the colour blue; to them it will be a blue that you’ve never heard of.

These are the people who go off on long philosophical rants about life — most of the time on topics they know nothing about. However, that doesn’t stop them from getting on their double tiered and decorated soapbox, all the while shaming people for their way of life.

I, for one, am done being put down by people like this. I am also done watching others receive such treatment.

I am not sure where this self-righteous, arrogant attitude comes from. As a 20-year-old, I am constantly looking for ways to improve myself as a person, and I know that one of the best ways to do so is to meet and listen to as many people as possible. It’s through being open-minded to what others have to say, and what others do, that you learn more about the society you live in.

I’m not sure if it’s due to parents and their constant praise for their children, and if that is the case, good job! Look at what you’ve spawned.

My parents bluntly told me when I did and said something stupid, and they still do. They gave honest criticism, and never let me get away with anything. The minute my ego inflated, they made sure to let some air out.

This is my message to the special snowflakes. Do you actually feel good about yourself when you put people down because of what they wear, what music they listen to, or what they have or have not done in their lives? Sure, maybe you’ve done some pretty amazing things in life already, if so, good for you. Doesn’t make the story of the person you are interrupting any less interesting. Doesn’t mean you have the right to place judgment on someone who has chosen a different lifestyle. You don’t even know the person; you don’t even know how they’ve gotten to where they are in their lives.

We are getting older, which means we all come with our own baggage, so to speak. Likes, dislikes, preferences, quirks, and stories. Tales of triumph and defeat. It’s so incredible to me — and yet, some people chose to focus on the small picture. I won’t get philosophical on you all because I am not here to lecture you. I understand that it is not my place.

I’m just using this space to tell the special snowflakes to tone it down, defrost, and learn to live and let live. You may seem unique and impressive at first, but start insulting others while being condescending, and just like winter your novelty wears off and you’ve become a pain in the ass.

Don’t call a girl uptight. Don’t call any girls you know uptight because they will overthink it, analyze it, and maybe even eventually write an article about it.

One of my friends told me I was uptight the other day. I was working on my first assignment of the year, a one-page paper on what makes me laugh. To my surprise, the assignment was extremely difficult. Reflecting on your own sense of humour is extensive and difficult to summarize in one page.

I thought asking my friend what he thought was funny would strike up an interesting conversation, perhaps induce a giggle or two — but I was sadly mistaken.

As my friend started to tell me all the jokes he thinks are funny, I was beginning to notice a pattern: nearly every second joke he told was either racist or sexist.

“What’s one N-word you never want to call a black person? Neighbour.”

“What do you tell a woman with two black eyes? Nothing you haven’t already told her.”

I listened to him go on and on, offensive joke after offensive joke. Yet what really struck a chord with me was the fact that I wasn’t even surprised. At the age of 20, I’ve become so used to racist and sexist jokes. I can’t even count the amount of times some of my peers have asked me to make them a sandwich or to “get back in the kitchen.”

So I simply sat there, expressionless. I’ve never thought these jokes were funny but I’ve also never said anything — which could very well make me as disrespectful as the joke-tellers themselves.

I left the conversation confused, hurt and with no real direction on where my assignment was headed. I called my friend because I needed closure. I asked him why he thinks racist and sexist jokes are funny, and his response was simple:

“I don’t know, it’s just so stereotypically obvious that it’s hilarious.”

And that’s what I will never understand. I will never understand the purpose or comedic value of sexist and racist jokes. I will never understand how making someone feel bad for something they cannot control causes laughter. I will never understand why it’s funny to stereotype our friends, families, neighbours, teachers and classmates. I will never understand why we’re all OK with people categorizing and segregating simply based on appearance.

After telling my friend just that, he called me uptight.

I’m uptight because I refuse to recycle these ignorant and cruel typecasts. I’m uptight because I don’t want my children to grow up in a world where injustices are humorous. Well if that’s what being uptight is all about, then yes, I’m uptight. I’m uptight and I’m absolutely fine with that.

I know that most people who make sexist and racist jokes don’t believe they’re racist or sexist. In fact, most take offence when you call them such. But, to me, it’s plainly obvious. If you make these sorts of jokes, you are promoting and spreading racist and sexist ideas. Teasing someone based on his or her gender, ethnicity, social class or religious views, is not only disrespectful, it’s the humour of someone frozen in a time society looks back on and regrets.

And no, just because you ”have a black girlfriend,” that does not make your offensive joke any less offensive.