Breaking Vigil

C’mon skinny love, just last the year

There’s a night in the back seat of a long, bloated car, your feet tangled in the skinny end of a sleeping bag, when you can’t move him from your mind. Cicadas chirp outside your cocoon, muted by the cold-pearled windows. Your logic sits in your throat, whispers up to your brain, Stop. He cared more about his reflection in other people’s eyes than your trust in his hands. But your mind is too cloudy with the late-night fog of memories, and all you can think of is him seated at the end of a torn couch, caring, caring. The two of you on the dewy front lawn, cigarette smoke floating above the taste of burnt coffee, a father chasing his renegade children down the sidewalk in front of you, and him turning to tell you, “I was one of those leash kids. I’d just take off running.” And you laugh until you are doubled over, because of course he was. He might be running his whole life. Continue reading “Breaking Vigil”

How to Stay

Before, when you took off and walked down new, foreign streets, it was in defiance. Not that you knew it then, of course, but it was how you were going to prove your worth to yourself. Not anybody else, just you, which is somehow worse. Nerves crackling as you walked jagged sidewalks — I can learn this city, you would challenge yourself, I can crack its codes. This would signify a permanence you could take with you, despite the changing tides of your life, despite the uncertainties. It would carry you through. Continue reading “How to Stay”

Missing Pieces


Why do you want to run on your own? Let’s run together.

We first meet in early fall, hands in baggy hoodie pockets, sun glinting off free sunglasses advertising some real estate company. I like your laugh, your kindness humming in the background, your battery bunny energy. Your honesty as we sit at the top of a half-hill, half-mountain. My day has taken a turn, and the sunshine warms my bones. Continue reading “Missing Pieces”

Neither Here Nor There


I was at a bar last night in Toronto. It’s a great place: cheap drinks, free arcade games, and a generally friendly crowd. It’s the sort of place where you arrive with friends and you make even more as the night progresses, and nobody awkwardly stares at their phone while waiting at the bar. At one point, I had drifted away from friends playing some Luigi and Centipede games and started on a finnicky game of pinball. I made a new friend there — a really nice guy from Kitchener who was marginally better at pinball than I was, and the usual small talk ensued. Once we wrapped up the game, his friends appeared, and introductions were made.

“This is Kenza,” said the friendly guy. As a ‘fun fact’ kind of person, he added, “She’s from the Dominican Republic.”

“Really?” said the friends.

“Well,” I explained, “born and raised, but I moved to Canada at 17, thanks to a Canadian mum who gave me citizenship. Are you guys from Kitchener as well?”

“Really?” said one guy. “But where are you actually from?” Continue reading “Neither Here Nor There”

Rumpelstiltskin Sucks

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As a kid, I remember Mum reading us Rumpelstiltskin from a big, beautiful book. The art was amazing, and at the time, the story didn’t seem so bad either. I mean, spinning straw into gold? A little evil gremlin? A crafty queen? What could be better?

To my surprise, though, the story popped into my head the other night during my shower (for the first time in 18 years or so). There was a good reason for this, I swear, and I feel a need to explain since saying “I was thinking about Rumpelstiltskin in the shower,” admittedly sounds a little weird. Continue reading “Rumpelstiltskin Sucks”


The first time I ran a 10k, I was 16 and had recently completed the Couch-to-5K program. My mum and I had managed to run about 8k without stopping, so we made a last-minute decision to sign up for a 10k that weekend. I was excited — to wear a racing bib, to reach a new goal, to cross the finish line. Mum gave me a little side-eye and said, “Kenza, remember to pace yourself.”

We’d been running together for a while at that point, but the problem was, we never actually ran together. I had this horse-like instinct to remain in front of our two-person pack as we looped around Santo Domingo’s botanical gardens, so I ran slightly ahead of Mum, which kept my competitiveness in check for the most part. If someone came up from behind and passed me, it was fine — as long as they were fast enough that they quickly zipped out of eyesight. But if they were within reach, I couldn’t help it — breath ragged, I’d speed up with a singular goal of needing to pass them. It usually fucked up my run, scared strangers, and I’d end up walking the last kilometer or two. Continue reading “Pacing”

Being a Girl in 2015


When I first considered writing this blog post, I hesitated. The second and third time I considered it, I still hesitated. It’s not a funny post and it doesn’t really give you warm fuzzies. Actually, it’s a topic that tends to piss people off or make them feel like you’re including them in blanket statements. That’s not my intention. I’m talking about what I’ve experienced and what I’ve seen in the world. That’s it.

Here’s the thing: when talking to guys, I’ve realized a lot of them have no idea what it means, in practical terms, to be a girl in a still-somewhat-sexist world in 2015. Since they don’t experience the other end of it, they don’t know how a lot of seemingly harmless actions come across. So I thought I’d share my own experience in a couple of areas. Continue reading “Being a Girl in 2015”