To Walk On The Hawk
One of the most pivotal moments in life is the realization that you can actually have a say in the way it plays out. Up until that blessed eighteenth birthday we are children; constantly being told what to wear, when to be home and what we should do with our lives. While we may resent our parent’s over-protectiveness and endlessly struggle to bask in the glory our own independence, it is that little direction which often keeps us sane.
Pep Rally Blues
Contrary to popular belief, or my countless “I hate retail” rants, I like people. Really. I’m a social person, I love friendships and I’m an extrovert to the point of having been kicked out of class all through high school for talking too much or making inappropriate comments. That, in all fairness, were relatively funny – just not appreciated during Canadian law class.
The Quarter Life Crisis
I sat at my desk with the letter unfolded in front of me. The envelope it arrived in had my name written on it in calligraphy and was torn up somewhere on the floor. I scanned the text for reassuring key words: “Congratulations.” “Welcome.” “Accepted.” Nothing.
What Lies Ahead
University is described as a next step, a new adventure, and a chance to discover who you are. My first year was all those things and many more. I was recently able to select my courses for my second year of studies, thinking it would be a chance to explore my interests and dive into what I am passionate about. However, it has taken me most of my life to figure out what that is.
New Youth
It is certainly a truism that whenever there is mention of youth, one’s thoughts flutter to ideas of childhood and memories of their formative years. With the recent passing of this year’s spring convocation, ideas of youth, questions of maturity, and the experience of liminality are reintroduced in a purposeful manner as to embed this stage within our life course.
Onward
For any of us in the 22-25 age range, who either have graduated, are currently graduating, or will be graduating soon (God willing), we are in a stage of transition. We’re leaving the One Card existence and entering something totally new – which I will not call the real world, because it’s either always been real or never has. This something new, whatever it is brings with it doubt, fear, discomfort, excitement, anxiety, and everything in between.
I Miss You
It was around the time that I switch from beer to whiskey, no breeze and Indian summer, that my ex-lover walks onto the patio and asks to move to a table in the shade. We catch up on all the weekly boy/boy drama: who’s fucking who, who’s in Toronto doing what, a funny anecdote about run-ins with drag queens. I drink, laughing and smiling.
Onions
On a damp December afternoon, Grandma and I were coming to the completion of a mission: Operation Onions. There was no greater fun to be had, as it never really snowed in Vancouver and there is no such thing as a rain angel. That evening’s meatloaf called for two large cooking onions, of which there was a full sack squatting by the chest freezer in the basement.
Jesus Camp
When I was ten years old my mom and step-dad sent me to a Jesus Camp for one week. I’m still not sure why they decided to send me to this camp – neither of them were religious and I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been to church.
Thank You Grace
Lately I’ve been really fascinated by fashion. I never used to care much about clothes; I’d pick up some things that I thought looked nice or appropriate, and that was that. More recently though, I’ve felt a shift; longer pauses at my closet, more poses in front of the mirror, and a slightly more daring attitude when putting an outfit together. I think it’s partly due to spending most of my time with people who are really interested in fashion, but it’s also due in large part to the documentary The September Issue.
Travellin’ Roots
I’ve got travelling roots. The kind that seem to need only a jar of water and a good dose of sunshine. They come from my grandparents, displaced during or after the second world war, and the community of Latvians that managed to find each other and gather together in Southern Ontario. They started schools and credit unions and folk dance groups and published cookbooks, holding onto the culture of their homeland while far, far away.
Sunflower Fairytale
Once upon a time, I was just a little girl. Born under the burning summer’s sun into a teeny, tiny town where I lived for years and years and years.
In this little town of mine, there were rivers and lakes and streams. There were fruit trees and bushels and all of the raspberries, peaches, cherries and pears any little girl could dream of.
Untitled
It has taken me twenty-three years to come to the realization and acceptance that my identity has experienced trauma. It has been hard; hard to accept and even harder to heal.
I am First Nations and I am Cree. I moved to Waterloo in the fall of 2008 and it was by being here, living away from my friends and family and away from my comfort zone, that being First Nations first took hold of my identity.
Disconnected Roots
I have a photocopied handout of my family’s origin that was passed around at a 1994 family reunion: The Borutski family reunion. I didn’t attend because I was so small and unaware of where they—my family—came from. They came from Round Lake; that is all I ever needed to know. In this handout, something of which I have poured over many times since it was given to me a year or so ago, reading and re-reading it, I discovered the origin of my family on my mother’s side. I saw the first house built by my great-great-great-great grandfather and his dozens of sons.
My Radical Body
News, everyone. Big news. My thighs are beautiful. Not beautiful like the lifeless two-dimensional Photoshop thighs. Those are, well, like I said: lifeless. That set of thighs has no character, no qualities that would distinguish them from the two-dimensional Photoshop set of thighs on the next page.
Battlescars
It may cause confusion. It may alter your sense of taste. It may cause nausea or vomiting. With prolonged use, it may cause modest weight gain.
But it will also make you happy, maybe, with the right dosage, for some people, did I mention it might also cause a worsening of symptoms, might increase suicidal feelings? The list of side effects goes on, it’s especially long when you’re taking up to seven different psychiatric medications. Oh and the “modest” weight gain worked out to be about 30lbs, and I already had body image issues.
Trans Story
I came here to tell you a story about being a trans person.
I have a hundred stories to tell you.
I have stories about the looks of revulsion, anger, shock and naked confusion I get when I use a public washroom.
About the men on the bus who undress me with their eyes, like my identity is a puzzle they have a frantic need to put together.
Palestine: Life Under Occupation
I’m not going to write about the history of the conflict in Israel-Palestine. I’m not going to write about the politics and policies. I’m not going to write about the peace processes and the one-state solution or the two-state solution. I will not write about theories or discourses of violence and conflict. Voices get lost in the noise when talking about these issues. All of these concerns are important to address, but what I want to do, is convey to you how the Occupation of Palestine affects people daily.
Korean-Canadian Poet
Growing up my parents told me I was Korean-Canadian. I resented that. Why couldn’t I just be Canadian like the other kids? I mean, like the white kids in my neighbourhood. They didn’t have to eat rice and kimchi, bow to their elders, or go to Korean school. They got to play Nintendo, eat spaghetti and talk back to their parents. They were so cool. I just wanted to be Canadian.
Confessions of a Third Culture Kid
I can distinctly remember quarrelling with my eldest cousin over the concept of patriotism. He told me it was something I absolutely had to feel—there was no option and no argument. Of course, he didn’t know whom he was up against. As a child I was relentless; no debate could be long enough and the barrages of questions (and snide remarks) were never ending—especially with him.
They Say Love Is Blind
They say love is blind.
But who are “they” and what do they know about it?
It doesn’t matter. They’re right.
Being in love and even in a relationship removes our objectivity and we fail to see what is in front of us, which is a dangerous situation for both men and women.
For the Love of Dinosaur
When I was a kid, I had a stuffed velociraptor in lieu of a teddy bear. I, like most other earnest little kids, had learned to displace a substantial amount of my affection, trust and hope into what was, speaking entirely pragmatically, only a collection of fabric and stuffing sewn together by a machine.
I Could Tell You
For what it’s worth, I’d like to tell you something about love as I know it. The trouble is, I’m not quite sure what to say.
I could tell you about unrequited love. That it once gave me pain so deep I thought I’d die. Pain so real and raw I spent my days doubled over, tears rolling down my cheeks. I could tell you that every relationship portrayed on television moved me to tears, that I played “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls on repeat.
