Essays – Page 3 – Alexis Veenendaal

The Incredible, Undeniable Enigma of Poutine & Canada

Posted on August 12, 2017April 19, 2022 by alexis

There is much to be said for Canadian’s and their infamous ways. We are somewhat of an enigma to the rest of the world, and especially to our southern neighbours. We live in igloos, we play hockey, we ride polar bears to our day jobs at the maple syrup factory, and our diets subsist of bacon, and this mysterious meal rarely seen outside our own borders: Poutine. We are a majestic and bearded populace, and we have great taste when it comes to beer. Oh, and free healthcare. That’s a thing. The ‘Po

Millennials – The Generation of Disappointments and Dreamers

Posted on July 13, 2017April 19, 2022 by alexis

I often hear of the debate between the Baby Boomers and the Millennials, and it’s not actually much of a debate. It’s target practice. Baby Boomers are aiming their unregistered shotguns straight at the troubled, younger generations, and we’re armed with nothing but a smartphone and unlimited data. Half the time we don’t even realize the conflict is there. In this battle-of-the-ages, I have personally done little to raise my finger in defense of the other side. Why? Because I have minor social a

Trust Me, You’re a Feminist

Posted on June 17, 2017April 19, 2022 by alexis

So, let’s talk about feminism. Until about four years ago, I was that young woman sitting in the back of my university lecture hall talking to another female friend and stating “I am not a feminist. I don’t hate men”. I scoffed at the ‘Women’s Studies’ department. I’m not the only woman to have done this. Many of you still believe it to be nonsense. But how could I say I wasn’t a feminist? I could sit in a class, go to university, even speak in public. Wasn’t that the result of feminism

White and Multicolored Love Is Love Banner

LGBTQ + Pride in Southern Alberta

Posted on June 15, 2017April 19, 2022 by alexis

I live in Southern Alberta. If you’re not sure what that implies, let me save you the Google search: Southern Alberta can be a lot like the Southern U.S. (If we are going by stereotypes. I don’t say this to promote stereotypes, but simply to appeal to the general public’s understanding. Which may sound ironic, I admit). The city of Lethbridge is a university town with a lot of forward-minded young people. But it is also an extremely religious place. On just about every street corner there is eit

Photo of a Yellow Banana Hanging on a White Balloon

Let’s Talk About Feminism

Posted on June 12, 2017April 19, 2022 by alexis

Introduction I don’t remember the exact moment I became a feminist, but I imagine it began around the time I got my first job in retail. An elderly gentleman called me ‘pretty girl’. To some people that may seem like a compliment. What’s wrong with being called pretty? Maybe you’ve even said that to a young woman: “which of these pretty girls wants to help me today?” In that moment, though, and in the eyes of that man, I was an object. I wasn’t Alexis. I wasn’t even Cashier Number Three. My enti

The Rock of Cashel

Posted on July 9, 2016April 19, 2022 by alexis

The pastoral landscape intrigued me as a city of cobblestone never could. The grass seemed greener here. Perhaps it was the dew freshly drying in the cool morning breeze. The sheep seemed more pronounced here, dotting the landscape like seashells along a sandy beach. I could hear their soft bleating, carried along by the rolling hills. There was nothing outwardly unique about this horizon. It resembled many of the green fields I had seen along the Irish coast. But there was something about this particular view. Perhaps it was the massive stone castle that towered just behind me, the Rock of Cashel. Perhaps it was the six-foot tall wall that divided the graveyard in which I stood from the outlying farms. With my eyes, I followed a dirt path leading down a steep hill. I stood on tiptoes to see over, using a rain-washed gravestone carved in the shape of a Celtic cross as my balance. The names of the long deceased were no longer legible. They were faded lines of a forgotten human life and were now my stepping stool.