Artwork By: Lacey Crombie
The
YOUR OFFICIAL COLLEGE NEWSPAPER
Confluence
HOLIDAY 2017
To Make A Monster
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Yellow Coat
10 Cardamom French Toast
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Kyle Rowell
Editor In Chief The Confluence
Harman Dandiwal Organizer CNC Students’ Union
Editorial
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Submissions, inquiries and requests can be made to news@cncsu.ca, in person at the CNCSU room 1-303, or mailed to “The Confluence c/o CNCSU 3330-22nd Ave. Prince George, BC V2N 1P8. All submissions are welcome, the authors of edited works used in the confluence receive a $20 cheque upon publication. Advertisement rates are available upon request.
Kyle Rowell
And so, here it is. November’s winding down and the holidays are upon us. On top of that, we have exams, deadlines, and for many, longer holiday hours. The more I talk with students the more I’m amazed. Amazed, at all of the things a single person can fit in to their schedule if they simply cut out sleep. I’m amazed at how much wonder we all have. Like wondering if there’s an upper limit on the health benefits of coffee, or wondering at what age you’re too old to get adopted by rich parents. It’s incredible to see how determined students can be. Not only do students work and study tirelessly for years to create a future, but they’ll travel incredible distances to avoid paying for parking. Students collaborate, they share knowledge, wisdom, illegall copies of textbooks, and on rare occasion’s food. The good news is that in only a few weeks, exams will be over and we’ll all be free. The bad news, is that there’s only a few weeks left until exams. For those of us who try, those of us who struggle but survive to accomplish all we can, a round of applause, and for those still struggling, perhaps a round of something strong but sweet.
Soon it’ll be nothing but Christmas Cookies and warm sweaters. Hopefully we’ll have a chance to breath, and some of the hair we’ve pulled out in the last few months can begin to grow back. Unless of course the holidays just mean more hours at work, to help fund your next semester. Maybe it’s to easy to be cynical, it’s not like tuition is going up by 2 percent or anything. Maybe like procrastination, cynicism and disillusion comes too easily. Maybe in both cases it’s important to live just a little in the future, and consider what it’s all for. Maybe, one day we’ll all make it somewhere and do the incredible things our professors tell us we can.
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As stressful as these last few weeks can be, I sincerely hope you find the time to cope with these years in a way that lets you look back on them in a positive light. I hope you find the time to find friends, to make snow angels, or sit by a fire with a good book. More than anything, as we work through the years of our educations, I hope we find the meaning of success. Not the meaning of success society hands you or the meaning of success your parents create for you, but the success that truly makes this life worth stumbling through.
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To Make a Monster If I give birth to a son I am afraid I will come to fear him. In lieu of this I will take him to women’s rights assemblies and peace marches as much as I will take him fishing, to the park, and basketball games. I hope he gets a normal childhood, scraped knees and all. I hope he is in women’s company as much as he is with men. I hope I can always be an example for him, and show him from the beginning that women are human too. I hope he will see me working, laughing, sleeping, and crying. I hope he will always see his father and I treating each other with respect. I hope he will learn by example. I hope he loves animals, cars, the smell of flowers, and hockey. I hope he likes bedtime stories, camping, and climbing trees like I did. I hope he will be helpful, compassionate, generous, light-hearted and kind. I hope he laughs more than he gets angry. I hope he has a nice smile. I hope he will have the courage to swallow his pride. I hope I can hope he resembles his father. I hope in his life he will be happy. I hope he will look up to me as a superhero, and know that superwoman is just as fast and strong and brave as superman. I hope he will always know he can be as boyish or girly as he wants and I will love him regardless. I hope I will raise him to be confident so he won’t pay any mind to the toxic air of masculinity he will encounter every day of his life. I hope to teach him to cook and clean for himself as often as he eats and plays in the dirt. I hope he holds the door for everyone just because it’s the right thing to do. I hope to teach him to play an instrument or create art so he’ll always know how to make something beautiful. I hope he learns to play a sport so he can work in a team and will always be strong and healthy. I hope he doesn’t inherit any abusive genes. I hope he can control his temper. I hope when he gets mad he doesn’t lose control. I hope he never even thinks to take advantage of a woman’s beauty and kindness. I hope he dies before he rapes someone. I hope he never learns to hate. I hope he will have the ability to think for himself. I hope he will be intelligent, or at least smart enough not to yell through every argument until he wins on the grounds that he cannot hear the other person speaking. I hope that he will always be able to find the rose in the wreckage and make diamonds out of coal. I hope that he never becomes jaded. I hope by the time he outgrows me he will know all of this. I hope he will never hit me. I hope after all this he loves me. I hope he will always know how much I love him. I just hope he never kills me.
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Rosalyn Trice
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It’s not everyday you get to go to the psych ward. Being voluntarily submitted, it was my first time. Whenever someone is voluntarily submitted to a hospital, it usually means the other option was to go by the force of a police officer. When we hear the words “psych ward,”we often picture bloody handprints on white walls, straitjackets, and screams echoing down barren hallways. I assure you that my visit was nothing of the sort.
I never liked hospitals: the smell of hand sanitizer always made my nose wrinkle. Through my slitted eyes I could see two blurry faces looking down at me, conferring to each other in hushed voices. They soon left, and once they were gone, I sat up and took in my surroundings - I was in the hallway in a hospital bed. There was a reception desk near me, and more beds littered the halls. To my right was the general entrance, and I briefly considered flying off the bed and making a run for it. That was, until I was greeted with a young lady grinning at me, holding blankets and a warm cup of milk. “Why don’t you have this? You’ll relax now.” She gestured to a corner. “If you’re hungry, there’s food over there for you.” My stomach growled -- I hadn’t eaten all day. With a shaky hand, I took the milk from her and hobbled to the fridge. Idon’t remember what I ate, or how much, but I do remember tears streaming down my face from pure joy. I didn’t know what would happen to me next, but all I cared about in the moment was having a full stomach. When I returned I was given pajamas with an odd, velvety texture to them. I got to the change room and I stared at the stranger in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy; black streaks of mascara hugged her cheeks. Her hair was a tangled mess, and with aching thighs, I realized it hurt to stand for too long. Emotionless and tired, I went back to my bed and laid down.
Yellow Coat Anonymous
Despite the pills, I was awake throughout the night. I layed on the bed in a starfish shape, counting the specks on the ceiling. Also on the ceiling, in the corner of my eye, was a camera. I flashed my middle finger, then rolled to my side. “I’m not some lunatic,” I muttered, hoping I was heard. As the night went on, I thought about my situation, anger and sadness welling up as I reviewed the events of the past day. At some point, the sun hit my eyes: it was dawn. When I satup, I felt like a statue. Suddenly the door opened, and I jumped. A middle-aged man walked inwith the softest smile I’d ever seen, and he informed me that I could see the doctor now. The next thing I remember is sinking into a brown leather chair, the offending leather sticking to the skin of my legs. I waited for the agent of my fate in a small, quiet room with motivational posters plastering the walls. The door creaked open to reveal a tall, elderly man with black hair. Our conversation consisted of him telling me that I was prescribed new antidepressants and that I’d be going to see a therapist in my town. I remember pleading to go home, saying I would be safer there than here. After ten minutes of convincing, I got the doctor's approval to be discharged. It was ten in the morning when I was approved, but for some reason I wasn’t allowed to leave until three in the afternoon. After waiting for an eternity, I was given my belongings and I changed into my previous clothes. Torn and dirty, they were a vile reminder of what I’d been through. I marched through the halls, finding the nearest exit. Once I opened the doors, my face was greeted by cold air. I inhaled as much of it as I could. I looked to the sky and whispered, “That wasn’t nearly as awful as I thought it would be.”
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I soon woke up to find the same nurse from earlier and someone else at the foot of my bed. The newcomer was a scrawny woman wearing a yellow lab coat and a frown staring down at me. She held a clipboard and occasionally jotted some notes down on it with purpose; the action made my heart clench in my chest. The nurse told me the woman's name, which I don’tremember, and said, “She will take you to the lower level now; that’s where your room is.” My room? I thought, confused. I was led through two different elevators and three large hallways before the woman turned to me and demanded I give her my belongings, lest they be taken away forcefully. I’m sure anyone else would be taken aback by what she said, but it just made me angry. I glared at her for a moment while she repeated the same sentence over and over, before I handed her my phone and purse. She let out a huff and opened the door to an empty room. There was a bed and sink, with a window across from the bed. It looked like a regular room, nothing like what Hollywood likes to depict. The woman opened her hand to reveal three white pills. “You’ll sleep faster if you take these. Dr. Juma will see you in the morning.” She placed them in my hand and slammed the door. That would be the last time I’d see that moldy-lemon jacket of hers.
CNC Students Invited to Youth as Peace Builders 2017 UN Forum
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Stephanie Jack
The day started out as any other for three students at the College of New Caledonia, Graeme Mackenzie, Stephanie Jack, and Storey Layton. Then they received an email stating that they were chosen as representatives of the school at this years Youth forum at the Vancouver Convention Center. A huge honour to say the least, as Stephanie quickly googled what the event entailed. Prestigious indeed. UNA-Canada Youth as Peace-builders 2017 forum is an event that is held every year in response to Resolution 2250. Briefly, the government has given a voice to the youth population in regards to decision making on what happens in our country. This gathering has been happening every year since 2015 to ask the youth as a whole our suggestions on courses of action that we can implement for future peace and security.
As aspiring leaders of our community it is important for us to take this experience and bring it home. We all have a say in what it takes to build a future for ourselves and the world today.
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It was an honour to have been chosen for this exciting adventure into politics and peace building opportunities. Hopefully this is not once in a lifetime experience and all the attendees can continue to develop their skills, as community leaders, by way of amazing programs such as the youth forum. The atmosphere was exhilarating and filled with passion about something we all can agree is an important topic. From the moment that I realized what this conference was about, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment to be a part of this event. The conference was filled with such enthusiasm that much of the time we found ourselves lost in the discussions. What inspired me most was the privilege of listening to everyone's suggestions and gathering together to create plausible solutions on the fourteen main topics that we chose from.
Cardamom French Toast Madison Buckner “Where the Streets Have No Name” plays passionately in the background” Two souls of the same heart, soul mates, dance wildly. Parallel to one another, twists, spins, jumps; moving in unison. The beauty and power when they connect is breathtaking. One fades, the other continues to swirl. Perhaps the partner is in the background, in awe of the elegance before their eyes. Now they are back in sync, suddenly the other fades. The dance pursues the next song, and the following. But, eventually, the two lovers struggle to maintain the passion. They linger. Struggling to generate another leap, another bound. The music keeps on, but the dancers stop. Not having the energy to keep together, they disappear. Is it not tragic? two people so wholly in alliance infatuation visible to the naked eye unable to keep up with the music of life. Parted.
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Now, what if I told you the lovers were wisps of steam from my tea in the cool morning? Would that change anything? Never let your dancing cease.
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ZOMBIE WALK!
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Exhibition 4 The Bay
rs a H
re p h
K t e
r u a
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SUBMIT TO THE CONFLUENCE TODAY • We are looking for: Essaays Short Stories Articles Poetry Artwork • Showcase your talent • Receive $20 per published submission
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Submit your work to editor@cncsu.ca
Feel Free To Colour In This Snowman
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Happy Holidays
Support and Crisis Contacts and Help Lines • Crisis Line- for immediate 24/7 support and information and referrals: 250-563-1214 Toll Free: 1-888-562-1214
• Youth Support Line: 250-564-8336
Chat line at www.northernbccrisissuicide.ca
• Provincial Suicide Hotline 1-800-SUICIDE or 1-800-784-2334
• College and University students for mental health • CNC Counselling: 250-561-5818 • UNBC Counselling: 250-960-6369
• Individuals who identify as aboriginal or wish to access aboriginal services • Carrier Sekani (Family Services): 250-562-3591 • Central Interior Native Health: 250-564-4422 • Native Friendship Centre: 250-564-4324
• Healing Centre: 250-564-4324 • SUCCESS Chinese Help Line:
Cantonese Help Line, available 10 a.m. – 10 p.m.: 604-270-8222
Mandarin Help Line, available 10 a.m. – 10 p.m.: 604-270-8222
• Bounce Back teaches effective skills to help adults overcome early symptoms of depression and improve their mental health: www.bounceback.ca