Australia Post One: Time Out


To You,

I’ve decided to refrain from making any ongoing promises about the consistency of my posts. Because, let’s be honest, I’m sucking at it.

But to err on the side of sounding negative – here I am! Success! Brava to me!!

In February of this year my husband and I finally hopped on a plane to visit my brother and his girlfriend in Perth, Australia for an amazing two weeks. We flew into Brisbane for one night before jumping over to the WA where we stayed with them in their home a mere few blocks from the Indian Ocean.

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[It’s okay. Take a moment to hate them for a moment. It happens.]

It’s needless to say how beautiful Australia is, but it does require reminding on how beautiful life can be over there. Just the idea of breathing in that fresh sea-salt air; feeling that golden sun on your well-sunscreened skin; drinking cup after cup of top-notch coffee. Every evening I became exhausted around 9:00PM, and sure I can blame some of that on the ridiculous jet-lag I suffered, but for the most part my body and mind finally let go of all my worries and uneasy anxiety that I hold onto daily. My brain would just melt down and my body would follow suit. And I rested. My soul just rested. And although this sounds lame and like death, it was quite the opposite. It was a moment for the death of the monotony to escape, and a breath for life to make its way back in.

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The trip reminded me that I need to find my peace in where ever it is that I’m situated. I’m a free bird, and being settled in one location is a very hard notion for me to comprehend. But that doesn’t mean that I have to give in. So no more giving in. I may not live on the Indian Ocean (Damn my brother!), but there’s still a beautiful life to live.

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There will be more posts to follow (who knows when) with more photos and write-ups pertaining to our trip to Oz. You can also check out more on my website, www.VLSon.com/work.

But for now, I’m going to take my own medicine as I head into the weekend. Time to take a breath. And keep on keepin’ on.

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

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Drinking the Apple Cider and Thinking the Thoughts


To You,

Autumn and its cool breezy self has crept its way into our lives, and with it brings clarity for thought, contemplation, and recollection.

I’ve been living in the United States for over a year now, and my goodness, what a year. I’ve been encapsulated by the explosion (and implosion) of culture, social and political conflict, and the perpetuating missile that is the regression of society. And we’re now at the  door of another presidential election, one of which is quite possibly the most ridiculous and frightening scene I’ve ever witnessed on reality TV. [.. oh that’s right, it’s just reality. Shit.]

It’s been a year to think about the dichotomy of independence and relationship; recognition and practice vs. tolerance; tradition and progression. I haven’t mastered the balancing act of these things, and if nothing else I grow more and more passionate over finding my ground and landing that dismount with firm confidence.

It’s been a tiring year. Culturally, I feel out of place. And not because of my own culture and heritage by any means, but more so because of the fear that exists around our differences. Black Lives Matter – “Well then tell me why All Lives don’t matter?” Fight against rape culture – “Maybe women are just too sensitive.” Refugees need saving – “But they’ll kill our economy, and maybe even us.”

There’s much to discuss, and even more to listen to and think about. I know my frustration and empowerment of these topics can get old to some, but that’s when I think maybe I’m in need of a different people.

Peace and love,

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

Rolls of Film


To You,

I recently finished up a roll of film, but before planning a trip out of the city’s core to have it developed I went through my photography kits to see if any others were laying about. And of course there were. Of random times. Southern Ontario, Chicago, Indianapolis, Columbus, Northern Indiana.

I adore film. It presents little surprises of sporadic memories. Here are a few of the randoms.

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Autosave-File vom d-lab2/3 der AgfaPhoto GmbH

Why, hello there!


To You,

This would be so much better if I had some thought-provoking, influential words to re-introduce these writings to you. Like, Adele lyrics-good. Or something to the extent of a Ghandi speech; a robust collective of sentimental sentences to make your eyeballs shed those salty tears.

But I don’t. I’ve been off for around 7 months, and honestly, I hadn’t realized it had been that long! There’s been so much chaos.. of mundane events.. crazy dullness.. like, insane day-to-day happenings. Basically, I’ve been learning how to have a day-to-day relationship with my husband, and oddly enough, it’s been exhausting. We’ve been so used the ridiculous situation we were in for 4 years of long distance, and now that we’re in one homely abode, we’ve been trying to adjust to the normalcy. Dinners together. Drives to work. Grocery shopping. So, although for us it’s been nuts, emotional, and overwhelming, for you it would have been stories on the craziness of cooking up some leftovers together. And staying in watching an episode of Making a Murderer on Netflix. (Okay, to be honest, it may have been like 4-6 episodes in one sitting..Yeah.)

I’ll be re-capping on what we’ve been through, creative projects we’re working on, and all the other weird stories on what it’s like to move in with your spouse after being married for 18 months.

But today – it was time to come back, because yesterday was our 2-year wedding anniversary. And remembering what we have been through together, and still realizing that there are few people who really understand what we’ve been through, I got that itch. Not like an uncomfortable itch that requires an ointment or anything – I’m not here to get that personal with you folks. But that itch to get back to writing. We have Part II of our wedding coming up in a couple of months where close friends and family have been invited to celebrate our journey, and come together for us to thank them personally for being there for us, and supporting us through what has been scientifically proven to cause complete insanity, and be diagnosed as a case of plain stupidity. But yesterday, we celebrated our wedding anniversary together which we were not able to do last year due to immigration processing. And so here I am, remembering how this blog came into fruition over 4 years ago.

There are no words that really sum up how yesterday felt. We’ve had a couple of truly rough months which are smoothing out gradually, and yesterday emphasized the amount of work we have put into this relationship, and how hard it has been. No amount of trust, respect, admiration, support, and love has been spared throughout our relationship. We have invested our life into each other these past four years, something we don’t recommend to others to do ever, but something we will never regret nor take for granted.

So I’ll leave this here with some lovely photos to cheese this shit up some more 😉 I’ll be back, keeping this blog thing up again. No more slacking for this lass!

Lots of love,

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

An Ode to the Men and Women of Salon Group


hair-scissors-clip-art-advertisement-clipart-nTE5oykTA To You,

I haven’t written on here in months, for good reason however. Much has happened in my life to the point that I truly required time to gather my thoughts, gather my sanity, and gather many overdue hours of uninterrupted sleep. Over the past couple of years I have gone through many relationship-based life changes, and at the end of it all I believe in taking a moment to reflect, analyze, and take time to appreciate all of those who have helped me along the way. However, in my little tale on this site of being in a long-distance relationship, to getting engaged, to eloping and getting married, to commencing the agonizing process of family immigration, there were a few unexpected people in my life who honestly came to know my journey more than most. In all honesty, they were not close friends, we didn’t hang on the weekends or do dinners together (I’m a loner at heart and so awkward at the very nature of socializing that this was all for the best), and at first impressions I felt completely at odds with these people (jokingly referred to as “your” people, Randy *cues inside joke resulting in me probably sounding like an ass to many outsiders*), but in the end, these were my go-to folks who not only cared for my story each and every day, but always celebrated and bitched in it when I needed that companionship. So today I will further digress from telling the tales of the past few months of immigration happenings to express a truly appreciative thankfulness to my coworkers of the past two years, the guys and girls who manage not to use their sharp tools to take out their long days on others (something I think is a testament to self-control), who stand there day in and day out to be tipped a few dollars for their talents, and endure many days of empty complaints for not making their short-haired clients look like JLo – this is an ode to Salon Group.

To this day, I am a long-haired lass who cannot figure out how a pony-tail would not require 10 bobby pins to keep the frays from poking in this way and that. I only started tweezing my eyebrows in university (thank god because at least I still have brows to this day after growing up in the 90’s) and had my first Pedicure two years ago. And I colored by hair during only one few month phase of my life (I think I went through an Asian crisis since I dyed it bright fire red… other Asians know what I’m talking about), and since that time 10 years ago have let my tresses sit au naturel. Basically, what I’m trying to say is I am beauty-industry-stupid. I don’t understand make-up, or what the range of make-up brushes are for.. I admit here and now I thought eyeliner pencils were real pencils…. and I used them as such to write notes in people’s lockers in high school. I admit to using Pantene Pro-V even after my hair wouldn’t stop shedding mid-shampoo.. I mean the commercials guaranteed its shininess, so maybe it was only the dull strands swiftly falling to the ground? I thought facials were luxury services of pointless lotioning of the face, and putting cucumbers on your eyes instead of in your mouth. But, after receiving my Master’s degree from Durham University in the UK, I was without a job but with much debt. I needed income, and somehow found myself working front desk for a local upscale salon and spa business in my hometown. And I somehow ended up being there for over two years. And in the end, I can only say this in response to my experience: We walk into these industries and we bitch. We look down upon these men and women due to the aesthetic-based nature of its purpose. We complain when a hair cut is a certain price, we blatantly scoff at the notion of paying someone a certain dollar amount for 2+ hours of services. We are rude, we are ignorant, we are beyond incomprehensible in our judgment towards others within those walls due to the notion that we feel we have the right to comment on someone’s beauty, someone’s size, someone’s style of choice due to the fact that they work within the beauty industry, and therefore this somehow makes them an exception in our decency from refraining from blatant and public objectification. Your hairstylist and your esthetician are not lesser than, and these individuals have passion in the health of your hair and body.

Yes, there is drama, and yes there are those moments when I hated being surrounded by constant beauty-standards. I was questioned by some on the point of my academic pursuits as it only lead me to working a front desk job. But in the end, we have one opportunity to learn in life, and no knowledge is bad knowledge. No education is wasteful. It is the means to opening doors, opening conversational platforms, opening your hearts and your minds to all walks of life, and it is a means for comprehension and endless lessons learned. These individuals with whom I worked are talented chemists with their color concoctions, they are therapists in sitting there day after day hearing about your divorce, your custody battles, your battle against cancer, the death of your spouse. They may not be high on the list of employment rankings as doctors, lawyers, and peace makers, but they will help style your newly grown hair after chemo has stopped, they will take their time to treat a elderly woman whose husband just passed and doesn’t have the efforts to set her own curls the morning of his funeral, and they will talk to your teenage sons and daughters about how they look awesome no matter who else disagrees. They may run behind in their schedules, but only because we as clients have unrealistic expectations of the beauty industry and demand the impossible because one of the Kardashians could do it (remember people… they are kind of loaded in the dough). Yes, your haircut may cost $50.00 for what you consider to be a few strands trimmed off your ends. But do you bitch at a Chef for their restaurant charging you $70 for a prime piece of steak that sits at the size of your thumb sided with a lettuce leaf? Or at the bartender for charging you $12 for a delicately sized cocktail? I suggest you try that sometime and see if they waiver on their prices too. It’s honestly embarrassing.

To wrap this up, I just want to say this to all of those I worked with for the past two years: Thank you. I was going through a personal roller coaster of hell, and your hugs, your jokes, your time meant the world to me. Now being able to say I worked a role within the beauty industry, I can only offer advice to you in that you should take the time at least once a week to appreciate the man whose in charge of your job, who trains you with his knowledge, and who presents opportunities for you to train in New York city or attend product training in Mexico. To some, get off your ass and work for him with everything you have. Your feet may hurt, and your legs may tire, but if a knowledgeable man who has been in this for over 50 years can come to work everyday without unwarranted sick days, so can you. Unless you suck. He only hires talent, and if you’re still there, you clearly have it and so grow up and prove it. A life not lived with pride is one completely wasted. I came to work and worked my ass of at something I am still clueless about and for that man alone- not for a love of hair, or aesthetics, or beauty. There is always an opportunity to learn, always an opportunity to grow your mind, and in the end, you are all intelligent masters because of it, but always still learning. To the women in the joint – there are some of you who personally astound me, and I am so much better for knowing you. I am a full blown feminist who truly values the upholding of strength, intelligence, and skills of other women, and your personal pursuits in your career and academics and personal individuality are inspiring – so don’t stop. Never stop. To those of you still lost in life, whether young or young at heart – opportunities only knock at the doors of those willing to open it. If you want something, go get it. Or stop talking about it.

And to Sal and Jill: just, Thank You.

And to any other readers – remember these people are in the service industry, and they deserve your appreciation. So thank them. Oh, and show up on time. It’s not funny when you’re late. And yeah, there are some who do actually suck in that industry of hair and aesthetics, but in the end none are lesser than and as human beings all deserve respect. If you don’t believe that, then cut your own damn hair and massage your own stupid feet. 😉

Peace & love,

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

Packing Boxes, but Not Yet Moving Home


To You,

There are people out there who hate moving. They hate the chaos, the packing, the sorting, the re-sorting, the mental frustration and emotional rollercoasters. Right now I’m in the midst of packing boxes of bits and pieces, artwork, books, records, clothes, etc. as I prep for yet another move in the story that is my life. You see, most of my adventures revolve around a move. And this one adds a rather depressing, melancholy tale to my immigration woes as I am yes moving out of my family home to help clear the clutter as my mum preps for her own move abroad, however I am not yet moving to my husband.

I am in an awkward head-space right now as I get my shit together in a depressive mindset knowing that although I am married – and happily so – I am not yet able to move in with him. And for two people who have never had the opportunity to share a home due to long distance and international dilemmas, we have always made our individual abodes a home for the other, even if we would step into said space a mere couple times per year. While dating, my husband (well, boyfriend at the time) had an extra key made for me to his apartment – and its pertinent to note that I was living in England at the time doing my Master’s degree. And whenever I’m in town visiting, he lets me redecorate and make it homey for me – he even purchased a pillow for my side of the bed, and when accumulating the days I’m able to visit, I’m usually there for about 1-mth per year, maybe 2.

This upcoming move into my own flat again is bittersweet. I enjoy living on my own – I did so for the first time during my postgrad degree in the UK and loved it, in fact I really wanted to enjoy that single studio-living lifestyle again. However, I never pictured that after being married I would then be given the opportunity to do so again. It throws me off, it makes me sad, and it just doesn’t feel right.

I miss my husband like mad. People say we’ll drive each other nuts when we’re able to move in with each other, and yeah, that may be the case but bring it on! Phone calls getting dropped drive me crazy, opposite work schedules drive me crazy because we can’t find the times to talk, bad phone lines drive me crazy, and having to Skype at the local Starbucks due to limiting satellite internet service at home drives me crazy – so you know what, bring on the crazy that I get to deal with in person!!

But for now, it’s back to packing boxes. I’m trying to stay excited about having my personal space again in my small Victorian bachelor space. But I miss my husband, and I would love to be packing these boxes and shoving them in a truck to head south of the border to arrive at our home.

Home is where the heart is. But I’ll do the best I can to make it homey for me and him since it makes me imagine a life with him rather than away from him.

Peace,

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

Hello Face, Meet Mallet.


To You,

I haven’t been doing all so great these past few months. I’ve been rather down in the dumps miserable, and each and every day I try to find the gusto to pick myself up and forge onwards for the bigger and better, and then I get smacked in the face with a mallet. Since October I’ve become engaged, started the researching process into immigration, eloped, filed for immigration, felt like my life is being put on hold due to immigration and its unknown processing time span, had to search for a new apartment (again, a little stressful when I require a lease without a year-long contract), realized that a job I would love to pursue is only possible as a Canadian (a.k.a federal government work that I can’t do in the U.S since I won’t be pursuing citizenship)… I feel like a pawn on a multi-player chess board.

For the past few years, I have fought to reclaim independence. And since then, I’ve also felt like I’ve been compromising that fight for this life I’ve found myself within. The life of a long-distance relationship, immigration, and stress. You know, all of this right now is why I cannot recommend long-distance to anyone – it’s definitely a “pursue at your own risk” type deal, and although it can be wonderful it is not easy, at all.

Don’t get me wrong – I love my husband otherwise I wouldn’t have married him. But, I feel like I’ve been loving myself less. Due to long-distance and the overwhelming personal commitment that it requires to formulate a trusting long-distance relationship, I feel as though I haven’t been able to create a balanced life of my needs and wants versus our relationship’s needs. Lately, I’ve been more and more annoyed, irritable, and uninspired. And this is all based on me. I have put my life on hold for everyone else, and whether that has been a mistake or not, it’s been exhausting. I hate thinking about it. I am so uninspired with my life right now, not because I’m unappreciative of what I have but because it doesn’t feel like I’m me within it. I am not used to remaining stagnant for a relationship’s requirements (the expenses of immigration and the unknown limbo it’s put me in within its unpredictable time frame leaves me without much wiggle room for adventures). Nor am I used to putting my travels on hold to save up for immigration. Traveling is me, it is what my heart and my mind survive on. And in these past four or five years, I haven’t been me. And no matter the elements, when you don’t feel like yourself, and you’re exhausted from sustaining a lifestyle that doesn’t feel like it’s conducive to your inspiration and self-worth, it’s saddening. Maddening.

I don’t know who I am, nor what defines me. I feel as though people are focusing on me as a wife awaiting immigration, and nothing more. To be honest, it’s been hard for me to see more than this. The good person, the committed partner and step-parent, the intellect, the strong woman, the independent woman, the adult, the adventurer, the reader, the artist, the thinker, the risk-taker, the crazy-person, the wonderer – will I ever get her back, or is that not a part of the plan?

I am human and I’m having a hard time. It’s not a day-to-day type problem to deal with because tomorrow it will still be the same. I don’t feel appreciated as who I am – I’m appreciated as a wife and human being, but I don’t feel celebrated as me. When was the last time we raised our glasses to who we are, who our partners are, what we’ve been through – what we’re going through? When was the last time that we received gifts that were out of recognition of who we are – not getting a TV, or jewelry, or cell phones, but a book, an adventure, knowledge, a new experience?

Like I said, I’m rather unfulfilled and dumpy right now. Have been for a while, and I’m struggling on my own. Life is throwing me an adventure, that’s for sure, but it’s not mine. You know, I exist within all of this too- as me- and I feel like that’s been forgotten.

Keep calm (and pour me a drink).

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

Real and Stupid Things That Would Make Me Happy


1. A movie starring Shaq.

2. A hand written note telling me it’s all going to be okay.

3. A latté.

4. A day off.

5. A one-way plane ticket to the middle of somewhere.

6. A moment of intellect.

7. Another Shaq movie.

8. Someone doing for me what I’ve done for them.

9. Flowers (I like saving them after they wilt)

10. A book that someone else loved to read.

11. Snuggling with my dog, Emma Bear Tugboat. (She lives in the U.S with my husband now… I miss her)

12. A Thank-You note.

13. A compromise.. someone willing to meet me half way.

14. No more immigration… I have never felt so restricted.

15. Something unexpected.

16. Feeling appreciated.

17. Kazaam…. starring Shaq. What can I say, he makes me laugh.

He Gave Us the DNA of Warriors, and so We Live On


Twenty-two years on, his life has yet to cease. xoxoxo

[Excerpt from a post commemorating his 20-year anniversary]

“I don’t think anyone will ever comprehend the beautiful man my father was. But to give you a taste, I’ll tell you this much. My mother has never re-married, and to this day wears her wedding band. Most women do not comprehend this, but most women did not know my father. My father was a doctor, a swimmer, he windsurfed and sailed, he traveled, cycled France, did Tai-Chi, and played tennis. He grew up in Asia, and completed med-school at Aberdeen, working as a dishwasher to fund his studies. He was a stateless man for some time, and in Canada worked 3 jobs as a doctor to support us and his parents in the UK. He was a family doctor and an Anesthesiologist. He married my mother, they managed long-distance as he set himself up in Canada, and within seven years of my life created a lifetime of opportunities and stories to pursue.

My father passed away on June 8th, 1992. Twenty years ago to this day. My siblings and I pursue life as it should be, and many people do not comprehend our decisions. Long distance relationships, careers, travel adventures – my father’s story lives on in all of our crazy lifestyles, because if nothing else, we are his children.”

Love you dad, now and always. xoxoxox

Twinkle, twinkle little star…


To You,

Tonight I sit here with my eyelids falling heavy, something which indicates that this head will be falling equally as heavy onto a soft pillow in the coming hour or so. As my mind races, my inner being grows heavier and heavier, and so tonight I sit here wishing upon the many stars that sit in the countryside sky above me.

Tonight I wish for sleep, because I am so, so drawn out and tired. People ask how they can help me since I’m been miserably exhausted for so long now and the answer I wish to have given to me is the gift of time to sleep. When I sleep, my mind turns off, my soul goes back to dreaming and I lay in peace until my soul is rejuvenated to make life out of my dreams.

I also wish for space, space to muddle through my thoughts and come to grips with all of the changes I’m left dealing with. I wish for open skies and wide open paths to walk along, and I wish for the whispy freedom to do as I choose.

I wish for days when I’m not under pressure to meet the expectations of others, for the release to do for me what I need right now.

If nothing else, I wish for people asking me how they can help me to understand my need for the above. It may not be what others want from me, but for me, it’s what I need after neglecting what I’ve needed in place for doing as others have requested.

Sweet dreams and peaceful sleeps.

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

Flickering Eyelids


To You,

I haven’t written in while and that’s because I’m truly just tired lately. I’ve been trying to find inspiration – to finding me, in all honesty – and right now I’m just lacking in the energy or the perspective to do just this. My life is feeling.. I don’t know. I don’t know the word that correctly sums up how I’ve been feeling other than just tired. I’m tired of always trying to get things together to formulate a decent equation as to what I want my life to be built up from and feeling like I’m constantly falling short. I want to travel to paint a fuller picture of the life my father had before mine. I want to learn languages so that I can talk to the people that reside in the places I travel. I want to build up a conceptual understanding of places and the human race so that I may become more inspired to create again. I want to have a home that I can feel at ease and settled and a job where I feel at rest and fulfilled.

I have felt stuck for so long now, for years. Stuck and tired. Immigration is taking it’s course, and its a predictable slow one at that, and in the mean time I am to sit, and wait, and put my life on hold. No building upon my life with the travels I have put on hold for the past few years. I don’t feel like me, and I’m exhausted from having to push forth a front that’s not me.

People tell me that my exhaustion, my frustrations, my stresses – that they’re all just life. But whose life? Life is filled with troubles, stresses, obstacles, but what these are defined by are what make me unfulfilled right now. These stresses are due to things that aren’t me. I’ve had financial issues before, but they were because I’d landed in a new country and needed to dig up a job to help me buy food and pay for accommodation. I found whatever job I could find, just like right now, but it was to help me live the life I wanted to live, not one I feel stuck living. I’ve been stressed with communication issues, but because I didn’t speak the same language and not because people were too lazy to merely vocalize an issue in a familiar language.

I’m just tired. Really tired. I cry too often, my eyes twitch out of exhaustion for weeks. I can predict almost every move and word spoken by people everyday. Some days I wonder who really knows who I am out of the people I interact with daily, and it makes me feel alone. I don’t recall the last full day that I felt like myself, and whoever I’ve become lately has made me knocked down tired. My spirit is not enlightened, and my soul is feeling emptied out – and in the end, it’s all my fault.

Sleepy now, sweet dreams.

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo

The Most Misunderstood F-Word Out There


Bad-ass women exude Femininity in their flare, but hold strength in their heart.

We are educated in forms of art and design, but have the intellect to never shy away from political or social debates.

We carry ourselves with poise and grace, and with warrior-like confidence in our steps.

We don’t go to the gym in fear of losing our soft, womenly flesh, but with the full intention to let the bodies hit the floor.

We don’t understand the phrases, “too strong” or “too hard” because when the time comes to carry the weight on our shoulders, we can and we will.

We have no space in our vocabulary for ‘skinny’ because strong and healthy is the only ‘bikini-body‘ we need.

We don’t fear lifting weights at the gym, because carrying mounds of literature in our bags has trained our bodies well.

Bad-ass women don’t diet, we don’t fall to childish games, we don’t waste our money on the latest trend, or ever pretend to play it stupid, play it weak, or play it down.

We stand on our own two feet and even though we have the physicality to take idiots down, our brains can deliver a much harder blow in standing up for ourselves in a crowd of stupid.

We are strong, we are brainy, we are eloquent and we are to be feared. But we’re sweet, and we’re kind, and we’re a hell of a mate to have, and we don’t have time for stragglers. We can pursue careers without family guilt; bear children or not; cook as well as we can eat; understand our finances as much as our shoe collection; be a Mrs. as well as a Ms., and we will commit to marriage, but we don’t need to marry to be happy.

Bad-ass women don’t dream of becoming Princesses, we thrive in becoming Warriors. And in doing so, we exude the utmost class in femininity. Only stupid people mistake that F-word for anything short of bad-ass.

Let Me Explain Why I’m Not Laughing


To You,

I’ve never been the smartest person in the classroom, the most eloquent or the most influential. I’ve always found myself taking a little bit longer than others to at times comprehend theories that I’m reading, literature that I’m perusing, or equations that I’m calculating. I’m a slow reader in that I usually have to re-read texts a few times over to actually take in what I’m reading. I don’t consider myself to be a natural learner, since my traits as a dreamer typically override my attention span in lecture halls or classroom discussions. However, when people scoff at the notion of textbooks, academic readings, or institutional learning, it truly frustrates me because I feel like people are blinded to one of the most wonderful and powerful truths that lie within the air of knowledge: the beauty of new knowledge.

It is human nature to make fun of things we don’t understand, to laugh and poke at things that somehow don’t lie within our understanding of ‘normal’. I’ve been made fun most of my life for various reasons: from the age of 8 through to my early twenties I was a strong tomboy, wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs proudly and a sweet ball cap on my head; I don’t drink or do drugs, never have beyond a sip of wine when I was a child, and it goes without saying that this is neither ‘cool’ in highschool (or in my adult years, oddly enough) nor part of the social norm; I’m a third culture kid, meaning not only are my parents from two different continents raising me and my siblings in a third first-generation country, but also I am mixed race born to a British-Caucasian mother and a Chinese father. I have been ridiculed, poked at, mocked, and intentionally hurt out of humour not by people who are necessarily cruel, but who are socially and culturally intolerant. They are intolerant of something or someone outside of what their current mindset is capable of understanding. If you were brought up in a predominantly Caucasian setting, the onset of an immigrant family is easy to mock – their accent, their inability to pronounce the English language, their clothes, their skin tone. It’s easier as the observer to laugh and mock than it is to recognize and respect. A joke with the acknowledgment of mutual respect is one thing – laughter and light-heartedness is not wrong, but mockery with the lack of civility and comprehension is bullying.

Not by any means stating that the formal institution of academia is a place for everyone or that it is the only place that one can learn, but for me it is a place where people can broaden their minds to allow previous comprehension to expand to new measures. Although you may not read a philosophical text and use it (or understand it) for exactly what the classroom is requiring of you, but you may grasp onto a concept which allows you to think outside of your traditional thought patterns; it allows your mind to associate certain social happenings with analogies from a variant of sources.

People who have ridiculed me, belittled me, bullied me, undermined me, disrespected me, racially dehumanized me, and critically devalued me have all ranged from smarty-pants to the generalized uneducated. And so intellect isn’t what I’m getting at here, because the one thing all of these individuals have in common has nothing to do with the intellectual size of their brain but rather their incapability to utilize said mass.

I am 29-years-old and to this day am made fun of for my cultural descent, my appearance, my nationality, my [fill in the blank]. I have a pretty awesome sense of humour, if I do say so myself, and I’m not a ‘stick in the mud’. But no offense, if my eyes are a funny ‘squinty’ shape to you, or my Chinese familial names are so funny because you know, they’re Asian sounding, or my kind of people can’t pronounce English without an accent – the only people laughing with you are those who hold the same profound stupidity as you.

Words do hurt me. They’ve hurt me for many years and they will continue to hurt me, but rather than me hide my emotions from your verbal actions, I can’t and I won’t. I’m perhaps ‘overly sensitive’ to the mockery of my various joke-worthy traits that make up my identity, but only because you – the incapable of using your brains – have poked the bear for most of my life. I’ve done nothing wrong. And if it takes the same discomfort that you’ve pinned on me for me to fully use my brain and pin on you in explaining why I’m pissed off, then I’m happy to do so. And maybe it will take the same discomfort that you’ve made me feel for so long for your brains to open up to new knowledge…

And make you realize that you’re kind of an ignoramus douche.

Peace & love,

Love from, Vic Louise xoxoxo