Love letters: a romantic’s dream or a nightmare for someone with bad penmanship. Our contributors have dedicated a short letter documenting a love of their life, human or not.
AMY ASIN Illustrator MAYUMI IZUMI Contributor CLAIRE BRNJAC Arts & Culture Editor WEN ZHAI Contributor
Bon Iver's "For Emma, Forever Ago"
ANDIE BJORNSFELT Contributor
Jericho Beach MAYUMI IZUMI Contributor
This Valentine’s Day, I choose Jericho Beach to be mine. Some of you may scoff at me, but Jericho Beach has never let me down—always beautiful, available when I want to see it and fun to be around—unlike some boyfriends I’ve had over the years. I was born and raised in Vancouver and have visited my favourite beach since I was a chubby little girl in pigtails. During my childhood, my family, friends, and I had many picnics, sandcastle building sessions, and walks on the sand when the tide was out. It felt like we could walk for miles, admiring the snow-capped mountains, while watching baby crabs scatter as we left our little footprints. Oh Jericho, how I love you so. Whenever I think of you, all that comes to mind is sweet nostalgia: wonderful memories, oceanside photos, sunfilled days getting tanned, frolicking and splashing in your waves. Later in my adult years, I fell in love with a tall, dark and handsome Taurus and had some naughty moments in his Chevy Malibu overlooking the Vancouver skyline and your beautiful landscape. Yet it’s your love that I cherish more than anything. Jericho, if you were mine, I could finally rest assured that all my wishes came true. No longer lonely or blue from memories of broken promises from ex-lovers. I’m happy that I no longer have to listen to their poor excuses for why they were late and couldn’t make our date and why they didn’t have the decency to text or call to cancel. Seething with anger, disappointed to the point of tears, they didn’t deserve me or my love. But I have you, J, and for that, I am grateful. 2 4
CLAIRE BRNJAC Arts & Culture Editor
When I was eleven, I was peer pressured into leaving my Jonas Brothers phase by my friends because it wasn’t “cool” and I was completely bereft. Having also realized that my attraction to men might be not as real as I imagined, I went through an awakening many tweens do—I can listen to sad music and stare up at the ceiling for hours on end to feel better. Enter Bon Iver. I first found his music when I went looking for a playlist to listen to during my bouts of ennui. This was in the time of 8tracks, a playlist service where people could make and send their own playlists to their friends. There was one playlist, helpfully titled Winter Blues and captioned with “for when nothing feels okay.” Perfect. For Emma had just been released a few months earlier. I, being eleven and not in the music industry, hadn’t heard anything about it, so I didn’t recognize it when it came up. There were a few classics on the playlist; “Creep” by Radiohead and “Lua” by Bright Eyes were two of the main players. But when the song, “The Wolves (Act 1 and 2)”, came up, it held my attention for the longest. It was a slow song with acoustic guitars and a haunting refrain. To a sad eleven year old, it was catnip. Thus began my obsession. I bought the CD just so I could listen to it in my Walkman on my way to school. It went well with every weather change; just as suited to a rainy day as a sunny one, and it hit every sad, melancholic mood I had perfectly. I might sound like a hipster now— my eleven-year-old self would have adored the comparison—but I felt like I had discovered something that spoke directly to me in a way other songs never could. Years later, it is the album from my tween period that I haven’t gotten sick of yet. For Emma has remained by my side through breakups, graduations, realizations, failures, and rainy days. While I don’t depend on it like I did back then, there will always be a part of me that quiets at the sound of “Holocene” playing, like I am finally coming in from the cold.
