Incite Magazine - April 2014

INCITE MAGAZINE

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7 ▪ APRIL 2014

X

4

EXECUTIVE EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Sam Godfrey Avery Lam

5

CONTENT EDITORS Sarah Kanko Palika Kohli Julie-Anne Mendoza Kacper Niburski Jessica Teicher MANAGING ART EDITOR Ianitza Vassileva ART EDITORS Khatija Anjum Jason Lau Whyishnave Suthagar

6 8

PROMOTIONS Emily Power

issuu.com/incite-magazine facebook.com/incitemagazine @incitemagazine

N-RAYS McMaster Nuclear Reactor

RES DIVINAE Stephen Clare

NATIVE AIR Victoria Haykin

10 12 13 14 CONTRIBUTORS 15 LAYOUT EDITOR Sarah Mae Conrad

THE ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES OF P VS. NP Kayla Esser

FAILURE Christina Vietinghoff

GENERATION X Salmi Noor

ART Ianitza Vassileva

IDENTIFYING MALCOLM X Salma El-Zamel

WRITERS Sunanna Bhasin, L. Maegan Cheng, Stephen Clare, Curtis Cook, Salma El-Zamel, A. Emmanuel, Jaslyn English, Kayla Esser, Aaron Grierson, Victoria Haykin, Eliza Jackson, Therin K., Danielle Lanteigne, Janice Lee, Salmi Noor, Ana Qarri, Shruti Ramesh, Imaiya Ravichandran, Mackenzie Richardson, Emile Shen, Alison St. Pierre, Raluca Topliceanu, Christina Vietinghoff ARTWORK Khatija Anjum, Angela Busse-Gibson, Joyce Chan, Katie Dingwall, Kristina Durka, Yoseif Haddad, Sonnet Irwin, Paulina Kryzwiecki, Jason Lau, Ellen Li, Nick Luymes, Sabnam Mahmuda, Hibah Mian, Whyishnave Suthagar, Raluca Topliceanu, Ianitza Vassileva, Christina Vietinghoff, Shannon Wu, Shreya Yugendranag LAYOUT Sarah Mae Conrad, Lauren Gorfinkel, Tony (Shicheng) Jin, Avery Lam, Jason Lau, Angela Ma, Elaine Westenhoefer

COVERS/TABLE OF CONTENTS Ianitza Vassileva (sculpture: Alicia Giansante)

SO YOU THINK YOU’RE AN INDIVIDUAL Jaslyn English

16

X-MEN ORIGINS: APATHY Curtis Cook

17 18 19 20 22 ART Hibah Mian

PLEASE WATCH YOUR FUCKING LANGUAGE Mackenzie Richardson

XMAS Therin K.

BLACKOUT POETRY Emile Shen

DEVIANT Raluca Topliceanu

24 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

AN INTERVIEW WITH KING ARTHUR Danielle Lanteigne ART: JOURNEY TO NEVERLAND Sabnam Mahmuda

X MARKS THE PIRATE L. Maegan Cheng

10 THINGS ABOUT TURNING 20 Imaiya Ravichandran THE XX BODYGUARDS: FRIENDS OR FOES? Sunanna Bhasin

ART: THE KOI POND Joyce Chan

EQUATION, VARIABLE, AND END RESULT Aaron Grierson

A LETTER Eliza Jackson

ALIVE / ‘X’ MARKS THE SPOT A. Emmanuel

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU, ANA? Ana Qarri

CARBON MONOXIDE Janice Lee

CACHING IN Shruti Ramesh

ART: PALM TREES / SPICES Shreya Yugendranag

TIC-TAC-TOE Alison St. Pierre

I

honestly can’t believe that no one wrote about sex. X ratings are reserved for the most sexual explicit films, XXX is colloquially employed to refer to pornography, the word itself has the letter ‘x’ in it. I mean come on folks, I can’t be the only one who saw it, I don’t think I’m alone here. In fact, a great portion of western media would suggest that I’m actually in rather good company.

The advertising sector in particular, I’m sure you’ll agree, has had its mind in the gutter for a while now and isn’t showing much indication of removing it. Five years ago, I didn’t even know you could sexualize some of the products that have hopped on this filthy bandwagon.

Now, if I’m not guaranteed to get laid by buying your auto insurance you can just forget about it. But don’t feel too bad, just have this beer instead, and this white female with symmetrical and otherwise societally-endorsed physical traits will like you enough to bone you off-screen, probably.

So I guess I can’t really complain that no one wrote about sex. With access to media saturated in slick, youthful, airbrushed sexiness, I certainly get enough of it outside the pages of this magazine. But it wasn’t this widespread message of sex and sexuality that I would have liked this issue to contribute to. I’m not interested in being forcefed more identical claims about which bodies I should covet and the ways in which I’m supposed to covet them. I’m interested in a conversation about sex.

People talking about their varied preferences and interests, being given the space to talk about what their comfort levels are.

So would I have liked to see a piece in this issue to even out the unbalanced, crude messages projected onto us, about us, every day? Absolutely. Am I disappointed that this piece wasn’t written this time around? Absolutely not. In the finite pages of this magazine, it’s not Incite’s place to dictate what people want to talk about, it’s our place to provide a platform for them to talk about whatever they want to talk about. No, we don’t have a piece about sex in this issue. But we have a personal piece about anxiety, a surprisingly informative article about cuss words, an interview with King Arthur, an article about geocaching, poetry about people, among many others, all beautifully complemented by student-made art and photography.

And hey, the layout is sexy enough on its own. Beware paper cuts – use protection.

– Sam Godfrey, Co-Editor-in-Chief 

THE ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES OF P VS. NP Kayla Esser

T

he debate over P versus NP is one of the greatest open problems in all of mathematics, with applications in physics, economics, computer science, and biology. The Clay Mathematics Institution declared the P vs. NP problem one of the seven Millennium Problems. These seven mathematic problems are so challenging that there is a one million dollar prize available for any person who develops a valid solution.

alike have envisioned the world of P=NP as a utopia of speed and efficiency, where computers have discovered simple solutions to all of our problems.

However it is important to look beyond the beautiful world of P=NP and seriously

ARTWORK BY ANGELA BUSSE-GIBSON

Any skill possessed by an individual would no longer be unique, given that it could be programmed in a matter of seconds.

P vs. NP simply asks whether every problem whose solution can be quickly checked by a computer can also be quickly solved by a computer. If P=NP, then P, the class of problems which we can easily solve, is equal to NP, the class of problems that we can easily check solutions for. If P≠NP, then there is no conceivable way of simplifying complicated NP-type problems.

A simple analogy for P vs. NP would be a computer password. If someone were trying to hack into your personal account, it would take him a nearly infinite amount of time to put in different letter-number combinations in trial and error. This is equivalent to the computer trying to solve the problem.

But it only takes one second to check if the password is correct — all the hacker has to do is hit enter! This is comparable to the computer checking the solution to the problem. Your password is an example of one of many NP problems for which we can easily check the solution, but not produce it.

You may be wondering why knowing whether P=NP is so important. The driving force behind the debate is that if we can know with certainty that every problem has a fast solution, it is only a matter of time before that solution is discovered. A theoretical solution to P vs. NP would advance computational theory, and could be developed further to have practical consequences. For example, using P=NP codes, short programs could be developed to optimize transportation schedules or design new drugs. Mathematicians and philosophers 4

consider the ramifications it would have on humankind. Are we prepared to relinquish creativity for a future where humans are essentially no different from computers?

Believing P=NP seems to guarantee an ideal world where there is virtually no waiting between coming up with an answer and verifying it. As Lance Fortnow writes in his book The Golden Ticket, the world would become one of computational bliss. Politicians would no longer write speeches, but merely run through a database of previous campaigns to generate a new speech based on current events. The unfinished works of classical musicians could be easily generated with a few keystrokes. Instead of struggling with chemotherapy for a cancer patient, doctors could “examine a person’s DNA and develop proteins that will fold in just the right way to effectively starve out the cancer cells.” The solution to P=NP would revolutionize life in many domains, and perhaps provide the utopia that humans are currently labouring towards.

While it is tempting to believe that a proof for P=NP will someday be unearthed, the notion does not appear to be consistent with reality. There will always be problems for which we can verify the answer without being able to produce it quickly, unyielding to even the most powerful computers.

Fortnow, despite sketching out a wonderful P=NP world, seems to agree. He believes that mathematicians are currently hundreds of years away from discovering any answer,

and that there may never come a time where it is easy to find solutions to most complex NP problems.

It is also important to consider that the essence of human creativity comes from struggling with problems for which we have no easy solutions. What would the discovery of P=NP change about our fundamental nature? Scott Aaronson, an M.I.T. mathematician, wrote: “If P=NP, then the world would be a profoundly different place. There would be no special value in “creative leaps … Everyone who could appreciate a symphony would be Mozart; everyone who could follow a step-by-step argument would be Gauss.”

Any skill possessed by an individual would no longer be unique, given that it could be programmed in a matter of seconds. In a P=NP world, ingenuity would hold little value and critical thinking would be unnecessary.

According to Fortnow, believing PNP yields a world humans are more familiar with – one of mystery and frustration, but also of inquiry, inventiveness, and delayed pleasures.

Without the use of P=NP codes, solving the aforementioned problems will be time-consuming and critically dependent on human ingenuity. The one advantage we hold over computers is our capacity for creativity, and perhaps this will prove to be the unbreachable gap between our world and a P=NP world. For now at least, the quest to resolve the P vs. NP debate remains one of the greatest mysteries in mathematics.  INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

N-RAYS

McMaster University Nuclear Reactor These stunning radiographs, though resembling x-rays, are in fact created using neutron imaging. Neutron imaging - or neutron attenuation – is a non-destructive type of radiography that uses the neutron attenuation properties of the item to create the image. Unlike x-rays, which are attenuated based on an object’s density, n-rays are not related to density, and so are in many cases a useful type of imaging. The neutron radiographs in this issue were provided at the McMaster University Nuclear Reactor by Nray Services Inc., located nearby in Dundas. You can visit nray.ca to view their collection of prints available for sale, and they also do custom object imaging at request. Though these n-rays don’t quite fit our theme this issue, we hope these striking images help you realize why we were compelled to make an exception. 

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KATIE DINGWALL

RES DIVINAE

Stephen Clare

T

he golden spires of the city shone with divine radiance in the morning sun. The sky was, as always, an infinite expanse of deep blue broken only by the looping trails of doves and phoenixes. It was, in every way imaginable, a perfect day; and so it would be tomorrow, and the next day, and every day after. Such was life in Heaven.

But for Hephaestus, lord of Lemnos, divine smith of the gods, ruler

of craftsmen, metallurgy, and volcanos, these eternal pleasures passed unnoticed, for it was Monday, and he had work to do. It was time for the biweekly Collective Assembly, and bound to be a long and tedious afternoon.

Glass-eyed angels parted like water as Hephaestus strolled down Heaven’s streets, his thoughts distracted by the pending meeting. The Aztec Huitzilopochtli and his Ministry of War were meddling again, initiating a resource war between two minor mortal nations. No doubt this conflict would the focus of the Assembly, and, as metals fell under Hephaestus’ bureaucratic jurisdiction he would be expected to participate.

6

It was all so damn complicated now! Hephaestus felt the weight of the letters, forms, and reports crammed into the folder tucked in the crook of his arm. How he longed for the days when the discovery of a new silver vein was initiated by a flick of his finger, not a recommendation to the Divine Committee on Precious Metals and Minerals! In past centuries he had visited the mortal plane on mere whim when he needed a break from the monotonous comforts of Eternity. In some ways the carnal pleasures of those days had been more gratifying than the steaming baths and sweet fruits of Heaven. Hephaestus smiled to himself, thinking of that one time he forged an unbreakable sword, light as air, and left it in the closet of a lucky farmer from Lorium. And of course he remembered the mortal women that he had seduced – perhaps not as many as some, but he had done alright for himself. They would be long dead now, and there were no more in his foreseeable future. Such hedonic excursions now had to be approved by the Committee on Mortal Relations, and considering the strength of the Mortal Rights Lobby he hardly thought those kinds of holidays would be looked upon favourably. Besides, every week he was so swamped by studies to be approved and meetings to chair that he couldn’t afford to leave.

The Assembly was just coming to order as he arrived, so he took his seat quickly. They were inside an enormous rotunda, ringed by rising steps on which the thousands of gods who oversaw the workings of the universe and the creatures that lived in it sat (or, in many cases, lay, squatted, or coiled). Hephaestus, as a relatively minor deity, took a spot with colleagues from his department near the outer edge.

In a raised dais in the center of the ring stood the head honcho himself: God, who, as the primary deity of the current world’s most popular religion, was in charge. He raised his arms expectantly, waiting for the assembly to quiet down.

The other gods, however, being notoriously suspicious of any authority except their own, ignored Him. He cleared his throat and the sound echoed like a volcanic eruption throughout the chamber, but only after He summoned a great crack of lightning to slice through the building with ear-shattering thunder did silence descend.

“Thank you,” said God. “This meeting is now called to order. Let’s get right to it, ladies and gentlemen, starting with this business of a new war. Would the delegation from the Ministry of Mortal Conflict care to explain themselves?”

“Oh, sure,” Ares rose to his feet. “A simple misunderstanding, you see—” “THE MORTALS SHALL DROWN IN THE BLOOD OF THEIR FIRST-BORNS,” someone in INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

the Afterlife section interrupted.

God sighed. “Damnit Anubis, how many times do we have to tell you? The Ministry of Death will deliver its report later. If you wish to speak sooner please ask to be added to the speaker’s list!” “… SORRY.” “That behaviour won’t be tolerated. Ares?”

“Thank you. Yes, as I was saying, just a misunderstanding. Resource conflict, you know? Diplomacy failed, things got heated, and, well, they just started fighting. You know how they are.”

“That’s bullshit!” a bird-headed god in the section opposite Hephaestus jumped to his feet. “This is an obvious power grab by Bumba and his gang! As the aggressing nation pushes forward my believers are being killed or converted! I’m about to lose my position as Chair of the Committee on Miracle Distribution!”

“Oh, put a sock in it!” Bumba, an enormous white giant from the Ministry of Creation countered. “Your people were losing faith long before this war.

That Chairmanship can, should, and will be mine!”

“Hey! My people were doing fine until you bribed Ares over there to start this stupid war!”

“Bribery?” Ares feigned offense. “What a ridiculous accusation!”

“Rat!” “Scum!”

“CORPSES WILL CHOKE THEIR RIVERS AND BUZZARDS WILL BLOCK OUT THE SUN.” “ENOUGH!” God slammed his staff on the ground and the resulting shockwave rattled the marble columns on the edge of the rotunda. “Huitzilopochtli, your Ministry started this fight without submitting the proper request to the Ministry of Mortal Affairs. Under Section 3.8ii of the Conflict and War Act you are thus responsible for resolving the situation as quickly as possible. How do you plan to proceed?”

Huitzilopochtli replaced Ares as the Ministry of War’s speaker.

“Uh, yeah, actually they’re fighting over some silver reserves, y’know, so it’s really more of a Natural Resource issue if anything.”

A murmur of discontent rippled through Hephaestus’ section.

Cleaning up a war would be a messy and time-consuming process, should it fall to them. “Screw off Shitsilopochtli, this isn’t our problem!” shouted Shosshu, the Abkhazi god of metal.

God massaged the bridge of his nose and exhaled painfully.

“Huh. Never had this problem when I was in charge,” muttered someone in the weather section.

God raised an eyebrow. “What was that, Zeus? Got something you want to say?”

“Not really. Just saying that I would never have stood for this kind of squabbling.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s why you’re not in charge anymore.”

“Hey, fuck you, God! Things were going pretty well when I was running this show!”

“Oh, go electrocute a golfer, Zeus. Or is it Jupiter now? I always forget, what with you changing it all the time.”

“Oooh, if it was 2000 years ago I would shove your stupid staff so far up—” “Yeah, well, it’s not 2000 years ago. We’re doing things a little different now, so if you have any complaints I’m sure the angels over in Immortal Resources would be more than happy to hear them.

Now then, Natural Resources, I want you to work with War and get this mess sorted out, okay? As soon as possible. This conflict should last no more than a month or so, and shouldn’t really have happened at all. Ares and Hephaestus will lead the Reconciliation Committee.”

Hephaestus groaned. Of all the people to be paired with!

Ares flashed him an impish grin. “Ay, this’ll be fun, Hephy! Bring your girl along, we’ll make an evening of it!”

Hephaestus blushed as his wife, Aphrodite, giggled and smiled at Ares. The assembled gods snickered. Aphrodite’s promiscuity was infamous around the offices of Heaven, and very embarrassing for Hephaestus. As if he didn’t have enough work already. Now he had to deal with this nonsense, too, and on top of it all spend the next month working with Ares!

God, satisfied with His plan, was already moving on. “Now, the Ministry of Mortal Affairs is proposing to increase mortal life expectancy by half a year.

What say you, Ministry of Death?”

“WE ARE OPPOSED.” “Noted. Next—” Suddenly, Hephaestus stood up. “No,” he said.

God regarded him, seemingly amused.

“Hephaestus, please add your name to the speaker’s list and we’ll—” “No, I won’t do it. I won’t chair that committee.”

God frowned. “Yes, you will.”

“No. It’s a bunch of bullcrap. Hell, this whole system is a bunch of bullcrap. This meeting is bullcrap, this Assembly is bullcrap, this government is bullcrap. You’re bullcrap, God.” “Sit down, Hephaestus. If you have complaints please direct them to—” “Yeah, yeah, Immortal Resources. Screw that. Being a god used to be fun, man. And now it’s just… just reports and meetings and shit. What happened to the parties? What happened to ambrosia?”

God seemed offended. “Well, you know that we banned ambrosia after the whole—” “Exactly! You banned ambrosia! What a joke. Heaven sucks now, I’m out of here.”

Hephaestus, with dramatic flourish, threw his overfilled folder of reports to the ground, picked up his enormous warhammer, and stomped up the stairs and out of the rotunda. The warm, heavenly sun beat down on his finely-chiseled back, and he felt he could think clearly for the first time in millennia. He walked to the edge of the cloud and looked down to where, hundreds of kilometers below, the sea of the mortal plane sparkled in the sunshine. Hephaestus twirled his hammer lazily, took one last look around the perfect kingdom of Heaven, and dove off the cloud. 

“What was that, Zeus? Got something you want to say?”

“Not really. Just saying that I would never have stood for this kind of squabbling.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s why you’re not in charge anymore.”

“Hey, fuck you, God! Things were going pretty well when I was running this show!”

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

7

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SHANNON WU

NATIVE AIR Victoria Haykin

S

he could see the future. Not in the traditional sense, she possessed no preternatural gifts or special insight, she simply felt keenly aware of the monotony of each passing moment.

For so many years, the days and months had replicated themselves seamlessly. As she sat at breakfast that morning, Greg was talking in his usual manner. Something to do with a work proposal, something about a new colleague with an uppity attitude and questionable ambitions. It was hard to concentrate on the routine banalities.

She stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back with slightly too much force. As the wooden spindles smacked against the granite countertop behind her, she felt overwhelmed by the harsh rush of the reverberations blocking out all of Greg’s measured chatter. In her mind, the ripples of the sound waves washed over her coarsely, tearing open a rift in her dry reality.

This could be a place, she thought to herself, where I could start over.

It was not the case that she hated her life. She simply felt nothing akin to affection for it. She could remember a time when people would say that her forecasted future looked promising. Though, if she was truthful with herself, she would admit that she had always been destined for this. It was the arrogance of youthful entitlement that had led her astray. Go to university, get an education. Everyone had said the same things.

She could say that she found some enjoyment in her work. It

had not been what she had expected. The picture everyone had painted of higher education certainly seemed mythic after graduation. Still, employment had been secured. Now she had this apartment, the one she shared with Greg and the cat. She had never moved far from home. Her parents came to visit every Saturday.

Often, she wished they would come over less regularly. There never seemed to be any time to see old friends between the five-day, forty-hour work week, and her parents’ endless weekend visits.

It was your grandparents’ tradition, her mother would say whenever she hesitantly broached the subject of date-switching. Then she would sigh. She was a great sigher. Everyone she met felt the need to comment on it. Yes, I know I sigh a lot, she would say with little enthusiasm. Inside she was shouting it. The endless recurrence of pointless comments about personal affectations drove her wild.

A new hireling was supposed to be shadowing her today. M-o-l-l-y, that was her name. In her head, she pronounced each letter distinctly, measuring the weight of each syllable. M-o-l-l-y would comment on the sighing, and in return she would sigh.

She could hear Greg talking still. Now about something he had heard from a friend. Not a friend at work, but someone else. It had happened that night, the one before last, when he had gone out for the usual drinks with so-and-so. With one ear half-cocked as

Yes, I know I sigh a lot, she would say with little enthusiasm. Inside she was shouting it.

8

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

She is sure of one thing, she cannot resist the magnetic attraction of the world at her fingertips.

In this moment, nothing seems fixed. if intent, she was nodding mindlessly. Standing now with her back completely pressed up against the cold edge of the counter, she could feel the cat rub itself against her bare calves.

When she was very little, she had lived in Oxford for a short time. Her earliest intact memory. She often relived it to herself at moments like these. She is sitting on the outside steps of her parents’ rented flat. Three concrete slabs leading up to a blue-grey door, and the neighbor’s daughter is playing across the courtyard with little dolls in green floral dresses. She can smell the plastic odor of play-doh as she molds it into different shapes. Father is coming through the wrought-iron gate now, walking jauntily, the way he always walks, thrusting out his right leg in an almost arrogant gesture.

He approaches clenching tightly large books from the Bodleian Library where he is working as a visiting scholar. He bends down and hands her a little pencil sharpener. Plastic black-and-white, with a tasteful etching.

She compares then to now. Even the life of her childhood has long since ebbed away with the onset of reality. On other occasions, this memory would not have been so disruptive, but today it has had a near catastrophic effect on the volatile state of her sanity. Trembling in the air- conditioned pre-processed air, she pulls her sweater tightly VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

around her shoulders. Greg notices nothing. If he ever did, she might reconsider her desperate predicament. She was feeling far less attached with every passing minute to the life she had built with him.

They were so content to take one another for granted.

Slowly she feels herself moving robotically to and from the kitchen table to the sink. The sound of water gushing from the tap drowns out Greg’s one-sided conversation. The warm water flows over her hands as she scrubs the breakfast residue from her mother’s old dishes. Around the rim they are dotted with delicate blue-and-pink flowers. She had taken them only because her mother had begged her. They were a wedding gift, she had said, but your father and I have always hated the pattern – so damn chintzy.

Leaving the dishes soaking in sud-filled sink, she begins to move from the kitchen to the front hall. She bends down to pull her boots on and opens the front door. As the rush of summer air hits her face already flushed with nervous anticipation, she steps outside on the front walkway. In the fragrant early morning light, she is drawn forward by an irresistible urge to run without looking back. She is sure of one thing, she cannot resist the magnetic attraction of the world at her fingertips. In this moment, nothing seems fixed. And she knows she must make this uncertainty last a lifetime.  9

ARTWORK BY CHRISTINA VIETINGHOFF

FAILURE

Christina Vietinghoff

F

or each headline of a student winning an award or someone placing first in a competition, there are dozens, sometimes hundreds, of people who tried, applied and made it part way, but were ultimately rejected. Although society celebrates success, most of us can relate more to stories of failure. In fact, 97.5% of us will

be rejected or fail at something in the next three days.

But don’t let this dismal statistic get you down (I made it up). Given the likelihood of you facing a life of failure, you may as well become a proficient rejectee. Be warned, this article does not aim to make you feel better or learn from your mistakes.

97.5% of us will be rejected or fail at something in the next three days.

But don’t let this dismal statistic get you down (I made it up).

10

You may finish reading this feeling sad, pessimistic and doomed but at least you can be the best you can be at failing.

Failure Type 1 A classic way to guarantee rejection is not to conform to what people expect from you. When I was at a potentially life-changing interview that would have paid for my university education and beyond, I was asked “who do you look up to?” If you want to receive said life-changing-opportunity you should respond with a witty, unique and creative response. I responded with a garbled metaphor about sheep and my father. As my answer became more and more confusing and began involving shepherds, I INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

could see the eyes of the panel looking increasingly perplexed. Blurting out an incoherent response that doesn’t make sense and then stumbling through a confusing explanation will guarantee rejection!

Though you may be able to pinpoint the exact moment when you screwed up your chances (like I did), in fact, you may have been doomed to failure from the moment you walked in. The selection committee may have wanted someone who came from a certain area, who had worked with certain people or just looked different than you. Any of these exogenous variables could have condemned you from the start.

One of the worst parts of failure of this magnitude is the obligation to explain your failure to others. Learn from Nicholas II, the last Tsar of Russia who failed his people but took the deny, deny, deny tactic. He allegedly said “I never wanted to become [the Tsar]. I know nothing of the business of ruling.” Although he was executed, his advice holds true. Deny you ever wanted the opportunity! No one needs to know you applied and likely, you never stood a chance anyway.

Failure Type 2 I recently participated in a cross-country skiing race. I pushed myself so hard I wasn’t sure if I was sweating or crying. As I slowly skied up what felt like a mountain, I was passed by a horde of old grunting bearded men (the Masters category started after me) who merely snorted to warn me they were passing me on my right. Needless to say I finished last in my age group.

Granted, my category only had three people so I still got a medal, but for anyone who is not racing in New Brunswick, ask yourself: WWPS? What would Putin say?

Putin has been rejected from the global community for his blatantly homophobic legislation and invasion of Ukraine’s sovereignty. When the world rejected him, Putin rejected the world. As Putin said “Our aims are absolutely clear: They are a high living standard in the country and a secure, free and comfortable life.” He established a new interpretation of success (and a new interpretation of reality) to suit his vision.

If you are rejected by society like Putin, or come in last like me, keep a balanced life as Putin said “I go to the gym, I swim daily and from time to time I meet with friends and do extra-curricular stuff.” Although you may not have the time to invade a country, create oppressive legislation and go to the gym daily, at least make time for your friends. Friends and family can tell you how great you are and how you will be better off without the opportunity. Whether or not this is true doesn’t matter.

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

My category only had three people so I still got a medal, but for anyone who is not racing in New Brunswick, ask yourself: WWPS? What would Putin say?

Case 3: Personal Rejection I was recently rejected for something I had spent months preparing and had become extremely emotionally attached to – this is the trickiest type of failure to deal with. How can you cope with rejection when it is a dismissal of you as a person?

It is impossible to make any good out of a situation when months of work have culminated in… nothing. It’s a sad fact that effort does not correlate to success (Source: My Life 2014). There’s really nothing positive to say, except to learn from Canada’s Greatest Failure. There’s only one person who has been utterly totally rejected as a person by his colleagues, his city and his country. To deal with personal rejection, learn from Rob Ford.

Rob used a classic coping strategy

when he was asked about his failure to adhere to our expectations of politicians to not consume crack cocaine: “Um, probably in one of my drunken stupors, probably approximately about a year ago.” That’s the key, ladies and gentlemen! Blame it on the goose that got you feelin’ loose, or the ‘tron that got you in the zone. Don’t take responsibility for your failures, and you’ll have nothing to regret!

For the rest of us who didn’t show up at the job interview completely wasted, and can’t blame our 38% midterm on mind-altering substances, the only solution is to get over it. Failure sucks. Especially in a university context where success is binary and anything but the best is worth nothing. Life moves on. 

ARTWORK BY NICHOLAS D. KIEHLE (FLICKR)

11

GENERATION X the impact of the aging population on Canada’s economy

Salmi Noor

Back in 1945, right after World War II, Canada experienced a major event known as the baby boom.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KATIE DINGWALL

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KATIE DINGWALL

T

he World Health Organization estimates that by the year 2050, there will be approximately 2 billion people aged 60 years or older in the world. Canada’s growing population of seniors suggests that we are moving in the same direction. Approximately 15% of Canada’s population is 65 and older. Not only does this show that Canada’s population is gradually aging, but also makes one wonder at all the changes that will need to be implemented to accommodate for this in the future.

First, why is canada’s population aging?

Back in 1945, right after World War II, Canada experienced a major event known as the baby boom. The term itself is pretty self-explanatory; essentially there was a drastic increase in birth rates during that time. The economy was flourishing right after the war, all the soldiers had returned, and overall it made for quite a happy and prosperous time to start thinking about a family, or to expand existing ones. This period continued well into the 1960s, and individuals who were born after the baby boomers were referred to as Generation X. A quick calculation shows that individuals who were born in 1960 would be 54 years old now. Within the next two decades, the proportion of individuals who are classified as Generation X will be retiring. Evidently, as a society, we will have to modify the ser12

vices and resources available to accommodate for this demographic change.

One of the most important fields that will be impacted is the social support and caregiving sector. To be more specific, there will be an increased demand for personal support workers in order to cater to the growing number of seniors in our country. Personal support workers (PSWs) are individuals who help seniors and people with mental disabilities with their day-today tasks. To say that all older adults require personal support workers would be a generalization. However, it was estimated that about 57 000 PSWs work in long term care facilities in just Ontario, with 26 000 and 7 000 working in communities/homes and hospitals respectively. In the coming two decades, there will no doubt be a high increase in these numbers. But before allocating all these jobs, it is important to understand how this change will impact Canada’s economy as a whole.

This change will have both positive and negative impacts. This opportunity will create more jobs for recent immigrants who are unable to find their desired work placements immediately. Furthermore, the increase in available jobs will provide all those wishing to pursue a career as a PSW. However, this also means that there has to be more institutions and facilities involved in the education process. As a result, more funding will be required to prepare aspiring PSWs, and to also provide them with

the foundations for success in the field.

More workers wanting to pursue degrees in personal support work would require additional funding. We could see an increase in taxes, as tax payer money would be required to fund education, training, and employment of these workers. In addition, on a smaller scale, this situation may create a further social gap between upper and lower classes. If our government is unable to meet the required amount of funding, only older adults with very stable incomes will be able to receive help from PSWs, while older adults with low incomes will have a tougher time accessing such services.

Generation X is now nearing retirement age. As a result, we can expect to see a drastic increase in the demand for PSWs in upcoming years. There is potential for unique economic opportunities in the form of increased jobs, however, there are also potential economic drawbacks because of increased taxes, creating a large social gap between individuals with varying incomes.

All things considered, it is our responsibility as the working age class to make sure that the elderly “Generation X” receive optimal care. By implementing an appropriate care system, we can help ensure that services provided by PSWs can be accessed by everyone in need of this resource. These individuals entering their senior years have helped build the society we live in today, and we have a responsibility to make necessary changes to accommodate them.  INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

Ianitza Vassileva

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

13

IDENTIFYING MALCOLM X Salma El-Zamel

I

remember when I was in elementary school I always had someone who complimented me on how ‘white’ the color of my skin is and how soft my hair felt. I didn’t really like the attention because I believed I just looked average – and I still do – but I guess they thought anyone born in Africa had to be dark-skinned and curly-haired. I had a couple of dark-skinned African friends, and I always envied how beautiful their souls were. I always felt they were kinder than I am, always supportive and hardworking, and had a sense of community that just made them even brighter in my eyes. Yet, one of them would come to me and tell me that they envied me for the color of my skin and the softness of my hair.

I wish I could go back in time and ask them what Malcolm X once asked his audience in Los Angeles 1962: “Who taught you to hate the color of your skin? Who taught you to hate the texture of your hair? … Who taught you to hate being what God made you?”

I really wish I gave them that confidence, but I didn’t even know who Malcolm X was at the time. I wasn’t educated on how the color of my skin can create a form of hierarchy amongst us kids. It was just con-

Yet, one of them would come to me and tell me that they envied me for the color of my skin and the softness of my hair.

sidered normal to compliment or envy a ‘white’-skinned person on the color of their skin, but I never noticed it happening vice versa. I was 16 when I first heard of Malcolm X. And I remember sitting in the audience of a conference so stupid and clueless, wondering who the heck is that guy with the X in his name? The letter X was mentioned so many times I ended up not paying much attention to most of what she was saying.

Instead, I was just trying to figure out why a man has an X in his name. I even came up with the lousy conclusion that maybe he was an X-Men fan or something.

That’s when I decided I needed to identify that X, and I read the full autobiography of Malcolm. The X in the name of Malcolm X is much more than a letter. It is probably by far one of the most iconic historical symbols because it was a stance against slavery. Malcolm really knew how to attract attention PHOTO COURTESY OF THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS towards him. It is as he said, “if you want something you better make some noise.” That X was noise he created to raise awareness to the African struggle.

Born in a household of two activist parents, Malcolm Little was no stranger to injustice and racial discrimination. His father was eventually assassinated and his mother sent to a mental asylum. At school he dreamt of becoming a lawyer, but was shunned by his teacher and asked to get a realistic goal “for a negro”. Devastated and enraged, he began drug dealing and burgling as an alternative for what he then believed to be the education of the en-

14

emy. It is when he joined the Nation of Islam he decided to replace the name Little with the letter X. Little represented the inability to move beyond the colonial shackles. It was Anglicized, pointing to a time where African slaves were snatched away from their homes and stripped of their names, forced to carry the names of their owners instead. The X was not only a symbol of uncertainty, but a symbol of resistance as well.

He believed that the only way to fight extremism and hatred is with reciprocal extremism and hatred. He condemned American democracy for all the inequality it enforced upon the African community and demanded separation rather than integration. Therefore you’ll notice many comments such as “The white man is the devil/beast” or “Democracy is hypocrisy”. He criticized and insulted any black man who joined hands with a white man in order to create an integrated America, including Martin Luther King Jr. It was only after quitting the Nation of Islam and going to a pilgrimage in Mecca that Malcolm understood that democratic reformation would never take place with an extremist approach. He extended his hand to Martin Luther King Jr. and preached for acceptance and mutual respect between races in order to reform the unjust American Democracy. Just before his assassination, he sought the support of the UN to expand the Civil Rights Movement into a Humanitarian Movement that should involve all humans globally.

It is when we love and embrace ourselves for who we are, regardless of how we look on the outside, that will we be able to work with those who are different from us to build a just, fair, and equal democracy.

As Malcolm says: “Ignorance of each other is what has made unity impossible in the past. Therefore we need enlightenment. We need more light about each other. Light creates understanding, understanding creates love, love creates patience, and patience creates unity.”  INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

PHOTOGRAPHY BY ELLEN LI

SO YOU THINK YOU’RE AN INDIVIDUAL Jaslyn English

A

merican Idol premiered in 2002.

Eleven idols later, replicate shows have popped up: The X Factor, America’s Got Talent, So You Think You Can Dance, just to name a few. These shows play on our belief in an ultimate individual that is above and beyond the rest of us. The judges evaluate contestants based on their own knowledge and value systems, which they gained in a job sector that exploits an idea of standing out. They dismiss contestants based on their on skill level, performance, and on this subjective ability to stand out. They are searching, as the title tells us, for an X-factor. The reason why all of America should idolize you, and why you are definitively better than everyone else.

American Idol is going on its twelfth season. Which means that America has chosen 12 idols – 12 people who are in theory the one person that everyone looks up to. Catch the absurdity yet? These 12 people, all very different I’m sure, are somehow the one person we look up to, at least in the world of singing.

What is more likely, I think, is that these are 12 people who represent not someone that we want to be able to sing like, but a person who epitomizes our dream of being truly recognized as a unique, one-of-a-kind individual. Isn’t this what we all want, after all? To have that one X-factor that sets us

apart? The thing that gets the judges up on their feet clapping, claiming to everyone that will listen that we are what it means to be unique? I would argue that these shows are not about singing or dancing or juggling whilst riding a unicycle. Our generation watches these shows because we are ex-

media generation, and yet we lack the unity held by previous generations in the face of conflict. We have made technological advances in previous years, there have been previous great disasters, and communication seems to be revolutionized every few decades. Chuck Palahniuk writes in Fight Club that we are the middle men of history, with neither war nor depression nor catastrophic and unifying event that sets us apart from other generations. Instead, we look for this uniqueness in ourselves, making for a people wary of their outward image.

We project these images on social media sites. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. Most people have at least two, and of millions of underage Facebook users, 25% are under the age of ten, getting a jump start on showcasing their unique social persona.

We, the computer-addicted, mason-jar-loving, latergram-that-meal generation are trying to become individuals by copying the ways of those around us. We have grown up in a culture that values being an individual and above and beyond everyone else. It is reasonable, our attempt at creating an individual ‘us’, but why don’t we just take our ideas of being better than everyone, stuff it in one of our hand-painted mason jars, and throw it away. 

We, the computer-addicted, mason-jar-loving, latergramthat-meal generation are trying to become individuals by copying the ways of those around us.

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

cited by the possibility of being known as an individual, in a generation full of recycled ideas.

There is a literary problem that English professors and literary enthusiasts try to solve pertaining to this idea of recycled stories. That everything we think and write is just a repackaging of something else we heard. As a generation without a major war or characterizing event, we epitomize this idea of recycled stories. We are the internet generation, the 9/11 generation, the social

15

X-MEN ORIGINS: APATHY Curtis Cook

P

icture the scene: You’re a comic book writer for Marvel in the 1960s.

You have a lot of really, really cool ideas for different character’s powers: a guy who has metal claws and accelerated healing, a girl who can walk through walls, and assorted descendants of deities with

god-like abilities abound. You’re eager to grow these nifty seeds into a beautiful, fully coloured flower. But as a rookie in the mean comic book game, you don’t know where to start. Pen in hand, you take a look at the popular superheroes whose stories have already come to fruition.

Things being created by people who are lazy.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY WHYISHNAVE SUTHAGAR

16

These include such household names as Superman, Batman, Spiderman, Green Lantern, Arm-Fall-Off-Boy… OK, maybe some of them didn’t stand the test of time.

But looking back on this early pantheon, the difference between them and the X-Men is more obvious than Emma Frost’s cleavage.

Each original superhero had a concrete backstory, the key details of which are graven into practically everyone’s minds: Superman with his tragic fall from Krypton, Spiderman with the tragic death of Uncle Ben, Batman with the tragic mugging of his parents by a random lowlife in the parking lot of McDonald’s (or was it the opera?). They’re all very—tragic. No matter how much the details of these origin stories might change, the fact is that they remain always there in the background, shadowing and underscoring every move the heroes make.

Now, try to tell me the origin story of any one of the X-Men. X-Men is big business, as big as any of the aforementioned protagonists in terms of movie franchising and avid fan base, and yet unlike those previously mentioned, the character backstories in X-Men are not nearly as relevant or important. The biggest secret about the motley crew of genetically-challenged youngsters is that the reason the X-Men are who they are is due to laziness. Those slothful, Cheesie-dust-encrusted geniuses Jack Kirby and Stan Lee simply didn’t want to come up with an origin story for each neat set of powers they had dreamed up. So what’s a way to justify the fact that these heroes have strange, even uncanny traits that go far beyond what normal humans possess? They’re mutants, of course!

One can picture the Marvel writers cackling over this latest coup. No pressure to come up with a detailed origin story involving toxic chemicals, radioactive spiders, loss of family members, or alien planets – just encode all of that into the DNA of each and every hero. Zero effort! Maximum coolness-return on your investment! And as it turned out, the X-Men idea must have touched a nerve with someone, as evidenced by its huge success. But who could possibly identify with a group of people persecuted for a trait that they were simply born with?

The X-Men were variously seen as a metaphor for LGBTQ rights, racism, and the Red Scare. As well, the X-Men’s origin stories or lack thereof struck a chord with a generation of alienated youth who found themselves feeling unloved or rejected from INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

society. Their vague backstories made it easier for anyone to step into the shoes of their favorite X-Man. And just like the X-Men, young people who didn’t fit in often formed their own groups of outcasts. The X-Men were just like them – except they had really sweet powers! Poring over comics related to the exploits of Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Jean Grey and Magneto must have brought joy to many social misfits, who, much like the heroes themselves, felt cast aside from a community that they didn’t fully understand, and that didn’t fully understand them. It’s no wonder why the X-Men movie franchise has raked in over $2 billion worldwide.

But the success of the X-Men, in my opinion, has more to do with a deeper divide within the two giants of comic book intellectual property: Marvel and DC. The DC characters are more paragon-like and heroic. They stand above the rest of us mere mortals like shining gods (except for maybe Aquaman). Think of the Justice League with their base on the Moon. They are literally and figuratively separated from the rest of humanity. On the other hand, the Marvel characters (including the X-Men) often find their greatest challenges within themselves, in the flaws of their own human nature. The Avengers in their 2012 movie had more than enough raw power to defeat the scrawny, arrogant Loki. The only obstacle that was preventing them from doing so was the dynamic between the members of the team – something that anyone who has gone through a group project can relate to.

The X-Men, as well as the rest of the Marvel roster, are easier to connect with. This is the reason why I will always pick Spiderman over Batman, despite Batman’s brooding edgy vigilante attitude that has won him so many fans.

The moral of the tale is that the creators of the X-Men never meant for their creation to mean so much to so many people. Like us, they were probably motivated by looming deadlines and an acute desire to go out to the bar. The X-Men origin story shows us that some artistic achievements can be generated by a mixture of laziness and sheer coincidence. Not all great works must be produced by a solitary, hermit-like individual toiling for years to create a masterpiece. Sooooo… yeah. Laziness. Things being created by people who are lazy. How many words is that so far, like 900? I think that’ll do for now.  VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

Hibah Mian This project was based on a free form idea that extended from an original artwork. It is a collaboration of Marvel comics and Street Fighter imagery. I have manipulated it into my own aesthetic way by using a variety of media including paint and gel medium. It captures the brilliance of characters appearing before one another. 

17

please watch your fucking language Mackenzie Richardson

G

eorge Carlin once said: “shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, and tits.” This string of expletives is but a smattering of the possible swears and curses a person can hurl. Swearing fills an interesting position in the English language: words with established definitions which are almost never used or mentioned in written form due to the social taboo associated with them. The study of such expletives is not a common practice, but like any other type of word, swear words possess etymologic histories. word Shit origin The word shit is most likely derived from the Old English words scite (dung), scitte (diarrhea), and scitan (to defecate). These eventually became the Middle English words schitte, schyt, and shiten. history Some of the earliest written examples of the word shit are in the naming of rivers and towns in England. One such town, Shitterton, lies on the banks of the river Shiter. There are reports from the 14th and 15th centuries which refer to the river as Shitebrok and Shitebroke, referring to the usage of the river as privy. fun fact The first television show in America to use the word shit uncensored was Chicago Hope in 1999, which used the word once in an hour long episode. The record stood for two years, until an episode of South Park broke the record by using the word shit 162 times in a half hour episode. The record holds to this day.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY WHYISHNAVE SUTHAGAR

Where did these words come from? What are their earliest origins?

Why should one even care? To know the history of “fuck” shows that you give one. To know the story of the word “cunt” can prevent you from seeming like one. And learning about “shit” will mean you know some. The use of expletives is becoming increasingly more common in our modern lives. Any logophile should welcome with open arms these prodigal words as they return at last to the common vernacular. Words are beautiful, even when they’re fucking rude. word Cunt origin Believed to stem from the Old Norse word kunta. May be related to the Latin word cunnus (vulva). Some Middle English spelling derivatives include: coynte, cunte and queynte. history The word cunt has been in written usage since at least the 13th century. It appears a number of time in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, and in “The Miller’s Tale”. One of the oldest written examples is from The Proverbs of Hendyng, a collection of sayings ascribed to King Alfred the Great. The quote goes: “Give your cunt wisely and make / your demands after the wedding.” fun fact The word cunt is in a very interesting position. Some consider the word to have highly misogynistic overtones, and consider it a degrading term for women.

Many feminists want to reclaim the word in much the same way the LGBT community has reclaimed “queer”. This is in sharp contrast to cunt’s usage in other parts of the world where it is not necessarily associated with women at all. word Fuck origin The origin of the word fuck is very hard to determine.

Some scholars believe the word to originate from Old High German word pfluog, which means to plow (as in fields). Another possible origin may be the Latin future (to fornicate). The jury is still out, but soon enough it will be known what the fuck is going on with this word. history The oldest written usage of the word fuck is in a 15th century coded poem written in a mixture of Latin and English. The poem, “Flen, flyys and freris (Fleas, flies and friars)” makes a mockery of Carmelite friars in Cambridge. A line contains the decoded pharase: non sunt in coeli, quia fvccant vvivys of heli A rough translation of which means “They are not in heaven because they fuck the wives of Ely”. fun fact Excluding the documentary “Fuck”, “The Wolf of Wall Street” uses the word fuck more than any other movie. Fuck is used 569 times within the film’s 180 minute play time, meaning about 3.1 usages of fuck every minute.

18

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SONNET IRWIN

X

CHRISTMAS T

o live in North America is to face an inevitable and annual debate: does the use of “Xmas” in lieu of “Christmas” constitute a ‘war on Christmas’? Many believe using Xmas is a purposeful removal of Christ from Christmas, a removal that goes hand-in-hand with using the phrase “Happy Holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas”, or purchasing “family” or “holiday” trees instead of “Christmas” trees. Jesus is strangely tight-lipped on the subject; however, we can only assume that JC is totally down with the use of X as a supplement for “Christ”.

The X is not symbolic of a purposeful removal of Christ from Christmas; it is in fact the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter in the word chrystos (Χριστός), the Greek name for Christ. Religious scholars and priests have reportedly used the X as a demarcation of Christ for the past thousand years, though it rose to prominence during the 16th century and onward. At the other end, the “-mas” of either Christmas or Xmas is the Old English word for “mass”. No matter how you slice it, Christmas and Xmas mean the same thing: a mass for Christ. The assertion that Xmas is somehow a removal of Christ seems to stem from a biased religious conservatism, which articulates itself through a lack of knowledge concerning Greek language and religious practice.

Despite its basis in ignorance, the debate over Xmas opens the floor to a much

larger discussion of Western societies and their tendency to employ euphemistic language. While Xmas appears to have valid historical and religious roots, there are many examples of euphemistic language that do precisely what some believe Xmas does, which is the removing or disguising of a crucial social context through another form of representation. Case in point: the do-ityourself instructions for torture, released by the CIA in the 60s and again in the 80s un-

Therin K.

when a tax hike becomes a “temporary refund adjustment”, (thank you, Simpsons) and when the U.N. sends in “peacekeepers” armed to the teeth (“armed to the teeth” is another common euphemism).

What euphemistic language truly reveals is twofold: the impetus to name and categorize as methods of power, and the inability to linguistically articulate a social situation. Naming a person or an object immediately subjects it to forces of categorization and identity, which in turn makes it available to be controlled. Furthermore, it is often the inability to properly articulate a situation that incites and increases the anxious need to articulate, name, categorize, and control.

We can see this manipulation of power and identity in any community in which the dominant and the marginal populations attempt to define themselves through and against each other, in this case Christianity through and against other religions. The reality is that no one has yet set forth an incontestable framework for identity constructions. Euphemisms in this way are always already in flux, and take on meaning as it is ascribed to them.

Xmas is just one cultural site where humans of different belief structures attempt to define their identities against each other.

Does Xmas unfairly mutate the meaning of Christmas? Essentially, if you truly believe it does then it does, although your euphemistic beliefs may cross the convictions of others. 

No matter how you slice it, Christmas and Xmas mean the same thing: a mass for Christ.

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

der the name “Human Resource Exploitation Training Manual”. Similarly, military operations are routinely titled “Operation [insert random euphemistic word]” as a majestic effort to mask the bloody realities of war.

Beyond matters of war and national security, euphemistic language is everywhere, so much so that we are unable to notice it without intense scrutiny of our surroundings.

Whether it is a “turn of phrase”, “figure of speech”, or “political correctness”, euphemisms are ubiquitous. We see them when babies go “boom boom” in their diapers,

19

blac

20

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

ck

out poetry

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

Emile Shen

21

ARTWORK BY RALUCA TOPLICEANU

DEVIANT Raluca Topliceanu

He was looking at her shoes the whole time, not lifting his gaze as she decreased the distance between them and crouched next to his crumpled body. When she removed her scarf and used it to dab at his wounds with trembling fingers, he did not even flinch. He was fixated on articles of her clothing, first her socks, then the scarf in her hands, slowly working his way up to her unmarked face.

“It must be painful,” she whispered, watching his blood blossoming into scarlet flowers across her scarf. “What happened?”

“Wrong person at the wrong place.”

“No. If you were there at that moment, you were meant to be there. Everything happens for a reason, even though you might not see it at the time. Maybe there’s something bigger than all of us, pulling all the strings.”

“That’s out of the question. I have a reputation and a legacy to protect.”

T

he man glimpsed the new-born child, a boy, from the other side of a glass window. “Read it again,” he said.

Clothing shifted, and the glint of a clipboard left its impression on the glass.

“Full genetic sequencing found 2 mutations on chromosomes X and 21, both silent but with the potential to show amplified symptoms in successive generations. A spontaneous mutation on chromosome 6, which we also found, is 80% likely to lead to epilepsy and 41% likely to lead to cancer. The child is 100% likely to experience intermediate to severe motor control problems. Once this analysis is made public to the government, the child will be branded a Deviant due to the severity of the conditions associated with their genome, and be restricted from bearing children of their own. Associations between them and the general population will be tightly regulated so as to minimize the possibility of genetic exchange and the maintenance of those dirty genes in the gene pool.”

“And that genetic sequence belongs to this boy, right?” “…Yes, sir. Our hospital is state of the art, mixing of samples is impossible.”  She remembered that first meeting; in the split second when his shoulder grazed hers and his face lifted enough so she could make out the brand over his left eye – the mark of a Deviant. He ran down a narrow alleyway, officers licking at his heels like shadows, leaving her to trace the path he took.  It was the second time he saw her that day; other than the omnipresent officers, he had never seemed to see a single person more than once. They were like black holes – no shape, no form, only clusters of existence occupying space in his memory. But she was different. The same pink buckled shoes made their way towards him.

22

 He led her through the city’s interconnected alleyways to its core – a series of derelict cement buildings suspended in near collapse. Canals laced their path, and he offered her his hand as they made their way over precariously thin bridges connecting one crumbling path to the next.

“Do all Deviants live here?” she asked, noticing several branded faces peeking at her from the windows.

“This is where we collect, yes. Some of us wander into the cleaner parts of the city, but though our presence there isn’t illegal, they try to limit contact as much as possible.” He tilted his head, strands of his hair shifting to perfectly frame his mark. A grin spread on his face. “Aren’t you scared? With all these dirty genes around, aren’t you worried they’ll come after you, too? Intimate associations between people like you and Deviants like us are prohibited.” He held her eyes, then sighed, turning to look instead at an elderly couple sharing a loaf of bread, young children frolicking around them and chasing each other through the cement labyrinth. “But there’s nothing to worry about. Only the Deviant in the relationship is ever punished; they can’t risk losing one of their own. Good genes would go to waste that way. Perhaps that’s for the best.”

“Why?” He pulled her to his chest, so close that she could feel his heart beat overlaid with hers. She felt his lips, ever so soft, on her cheek, INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

and she struggled to push him from her. “No! If they see us, they’ll—” “Let them—” “Idiot! Do you know what they’ll do—” “They’ll be doing the same thing they do now! You think public execution is the only way they kill us?” He shakes his head, his face adopting a look of disgust. “To them we are weeds. They try to remove our ‘bad’ genes from their pool by getting rid of any chance we have to pass them on. They isolate us, keep us away from them, wait for us to die out on our own. In the meantime, though, we’re always good for some cheap labour.”

The anger drains from her voice, leaving her defeated. “That’s true. At some point, my father had twenty servants that were Deviants. He paid for them what he would have paid for a servant of our kind.”

“But it must not be that much different for you, either. They match you up with suitors that complement your genes well, so that the men you sleep with don’t love you, and you don’t love them.”

“I will never receive suitors,” she said, mimicking his sad smile.

The metallic door opened, a stream of light spreading throughout the cell. He saw her pink shoes first, inches from his face, and then she lowered herself to her knees.

“I didn’t think they’d let me see you again,” he whispered.

Two men in white uniform entered, poised on either side of the entrance.

I don’t have very long,” she replied.

“I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Me, too. I came to tell you that you’re getting out.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The sentence has been retracted. You are free to go.”

“I’m free?” A laugh broke out from his mouth. “Let’s get out of here before they change their minds.”

Slowly, deliberately, she shook her head. “I said, ‘you are free to go’.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I must stay here.”

“You? There must be some mistake.” He looked around her, catching sight of the men blocking the doorway. “You two, get her out of here, there’s been a mistake.”

“No mistake.”

“But they’ll be killing—” “A Deviant. In accordance with the law, only the Deviant is punished if an intimate association is to occur.”

“You’re not well. You’re talking nonsense.”

“I should tell you about when I was born—” “Now—?”

“Now.” She flashed him a sad smile. “I was born on December 8 with a spontaneous mutation that affected my brain. My hands always trembled, and any fine movements were impossible for me. My father, who held a position high in the government at the time, could not stand the idea of having a Deviant in his family, so he paid one of the doctors in the hospital to switch the samples before sequencing.

He knew that because the machines are so accurate, sequencing would only need to be done that one time, so there would be no problem later on. The only other child at the hospital that day was a boy borne to a woman who was very ill and died shortly after giving birth. No father stepped forward to claim the child.” She paused.

“I’m sorry. Because of me, you had to be branded and live the kind of life you did.

“This is my chance to set straight all the strings my father tangled.” 

“They try to remove our ‘bad’ genes from their pool.

They isolate us, keep us away from them, wait for us to die out on our own.”

“Father, this isn’t right!”

Her voice echoed off the paintings hanging on the walls of his study.

“The Deviant has already been sentenced to death for his crimes, there is nothing that can be done now.”

“You know that’s not true. You know what would get him released.”

“That’s out of the question. I have a reputation and a legacy to protect.”

“And you can just watch an innocent man die?”

“He’s not innocent.”

“You know better! You know what you did!”

A brisk slap across her face drew the first few set of tears. “I will not have one of their kind associate with a true-bred and contaminate our gene pool with their mutations and hereditary diseases!”

Her mouth trembled as she tried to gather words. “I can’t hide it anymore. They need to know the truth.”

“Wait! What are you—” She ran, barely seeing the way through the thick film of tears building up.  VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

23

PHOTOGRPAHY BY JASON LAU

AN INTERVIEW WITH KING ARTHUR Danielle Lanteigne

F

or the man simply known as “Arthur”, one of the most compelling aspects of his persona is his indefatigable strength and perseverance in the face of adversity. Having emerged from difficult beginnings, the pressures of heading a kingdom in ruin were heaped onto his plate, with little consideration for willingness or personal ambition. Stepping up in admirable fashion, he is now seen as King of a just and thriving Camelot, as well as leader of a fellowship made up of the best Knights in the land. If such prestige weren’t enough, Arthur also has his name linked to such celebrated adventures as the Quest for the Holy Grail and the Battle of Badon.

But the accolades, though impressive, are not the most astonishing part of Arthur’s story; rather, it’s that such feats were accomplished in spite of heart-wrenching betrayals and inescapable doom. While fighting to remain afloat amid the myriad of obstacles thrown his way, Arthur not only manages to support a people in suffering, but does so while maintaining the reputation of a courageous, noble warrior, able to find the moral high g ro u n d ,

24

regardless of temptations to do otherwise.

It gives me great pleasure to present King Arthur to our readers here at Incite!

D: My Lord, thank you for doing this.

It’s difficult to find any written records of your life and exploits. In fact, your Lordship, you could say that this interview is fairly exclusive. It’s truly an honour.

A: The honour is mine. You paint an impressive portrait with that introduction. I only pray I can do it justice. And please, call me Arthur.

D: All right, Arthur! So glad to have you here. There’s a lot I’d like to get to. But first, take us back. It’s difficult to imagine that the life you’re leading now is one you’d planned for.

A: *laughs* You could say that.

D: Tell us a bit about it.

A: I just fell into it, really. Looking back, I’d say it started with the sword in the stone.

D: Excalibur?

A: No, no. Excalibur was a gift from the Lady of the Lake. People get the two confused.

D: Interesting. Myself among them, apparently. You were saying?

A: Yeah. The sword was discovered in a courtyard. It attracted a lot of attention

because of an engraving it had. Hold on. I can’t remember it exactly...

D: “Whoso pulleth out this sword is by right of birth King of England?”

A: That’s right! Anyway, King of England is a pretty fair incentive. There were all these great leaders and knights coming over to try their luck.

D: There was a fighting tournament, wasn’t there?

A: Yes. They made a real show of it.

The winners were to be deemed “worthy” of a formal attempt at removing the sword. My foster-brother, Kay, had signed up.

D: What about your attempt? Did you fight in the tournament?

A: No! You kidding?! I was just a squire.

The only reason I was there was because I was helping Kay out. Didn’t do a very good job either: I forgot his sword.

D: What’d you do?

A: Well, I had to run back home to get it. But when I got there, all the doors were locked and the ladies were out – they’d been given leave to watch the tournament Now I knew that, if I screwed this up, I’d be at the hurting end of one of Kay’s fists, if you catch my meaning. I was wracking my

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

brains, desperate for a solution. I wound up running into this empty courtyard, and that’s when I saw the sword. I could hardly believe it: my prayers were answered! Honestly, I’d no idea that that was the sword everyone was talking about. I didn’t even notice the inscription. I just yanked it out and ran to meet my brother. It was someone else who pointed out what I’d actually done.

D: And, that was it? You were king?

A: Yeah. Sounds ridiculous, but that was pretty much it. No real going back from there.

Remember: my people had fallen on hard times and had had to deal with many botched leadership efforts. They longed for things to get better. They cried out for a saviour.

D: Your success with the sword must have seemed a light in those dark ages.

But... being King... that’s a lot to take on for someone so young. And you weren’t exactly walking into a kingdom in its prime.

Why did you accept?

A: The kingship? A number of things, I think. There was some guilt, of course. Over in Europe, Rome was falling, and the British colonies were losing military power to its cause. Those who stayed behind were left to deal with invading powers – Saxons, Picts, Irish.

Some of the native leaders, Celts, fought amongst themselves to become “high

king,” but even when they’d finally figured that out, they neglected the developing colonies and the defence of its people. They were more interested in making deals with the Saxons, leaving the remaining Brits to deal with sickness, starvation, and enemy attacks. Any infrastructure established by the Romans was falling apart. It was tyranny.

when I was still a baby. Initially, I hadn’t known he was my dad, and I didn’t find out about his murder until much later. The Saxons were enemies of Britain long before then. Finding out only fuelled a war already in progress.

D: How’d you find out?

A: Merlin told me. He’d been my father’s advisor before I was born. He was the one who saved me and put me into foster care.

D: Why didn’t he just care for you himself?

A: He did, in his own way.

Merlin’s a complicated guy. But he believes in me and what I can do for Britain. I can’t put a price on what his support has meant to me. In fact, I give him credit for Excalibur.

D: Why is that?

A: Merlin led me to the Lady of the Lake and encouraged me to take the sword. And he was the one who told me about the scabbard and its powers of immortality.

D: Fascinating stuff. I feel like we’ve barely scraped the surface – there’s so much more to discuss! I’d love to delve deeper into this. Maybe we’ll look to do a sequel some time in the future?

A: It’s been a pleasure. You might not want to wait too long, though. I’ve got a date with Mordred, and things aren’t supposed to go so well.

D: For you?

A: For either of us. 

“I had grown up in Britain. I saw the people’s oppression and felt their suffering. But I also understood their love of land.”

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

D: But that wasn’t your fault.

A: Maybe not directly. Even so, it was my ancestors that had deserted us. And I had grown up in Britain. I saw the people’s oppression and felt their suffering. But I also understood their love of land. They wouldn’t leave.

D: So, you became King because of your Roman-connections?

A: That’s part of it. There was a bit of anger too. I know it’s not very noble, but when I found out what the Saxons had done to my father, I wanted revenge.

D: Your father?

A: Uther Pendragon. He’d been poisoned by a Saxon lackey. He’d died

25

Journey to Neverland Sabnam Mahmuda 26

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KRISTINA DURKA

X

MARKS THE PIRATE L. Maegan Cheng

I

n the early days before there were words, there were symbols. Cave drawings are pictographic representations of life in ancient history. With time, simple symbols like stick figure people grew to communicate messages more complex than the lines used in their formation. In times when the ability to read was more of a privilege than a requirement, symbols were perhaps the most foolproof way of communicating services offered or dangers present. Even now the ability to understand the warning labels of hazardous materials is one of the first lessons learnt before working in a laboratory. One of these icons hardly requires any thought or explanation: the skull and crossbones.

On containers, it warns of poisonous contents. Skulls and crossbones represent death – for a corpse to have been stripped down to the skeleton is definitive proof that the deceased has long passed. Crossed bones can be seen as a reflection of how the arms of the dead are positioned when they are laid to rest in some cultures. Theories upon the origin of this tradition vary from the aesthetic explanation – crossed arms appear more natural than arms laying stiffly at the sides – to religious ones, like that of the pose emulating Osiris’s (the ancient Egyptian Sun God) to symbolize the deceased’s relationship or devotion to the gods.

Crosses, both upright and saltire, are often found on religious and national symbols, but only one flag contains the skull and crossbones. Designed to strike fear into the hearts of those who saw it, the Jolly Roger became a symbol of their sailors, the mark of a pirate. In early days, pirates would fly the red flag of naval warfare signifying, “No quarter will be given.” The French

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

called this bloody colour jolie rouge which may have been corrupted by the English to Jolly Roger. Alternatively, the origins of the flag’s name may be from piecing together the jolly grin of the skull and ‘Old Roger’, a nickname for the devil.

At crossd-purposes with the law, flying or even just owning the Jolly Roger could be construed as a proof of piracy. Thus, rather than being flown at all times, pirates would sail false flags until just prior to attacking another ship when they would hoist the Jolly Roger. It served as an announcement of their rule-breaking identity and as a warning that resistance would be met with death.

As pirates developed their unique identities, black, the colour of quarantine, became the base of the flag. While skull and crossbones may be traditional, variations on the design included full skeletons, the devil, speared hearts, hourglasses, and crossed swords.

Terrifying victim ships into surrendering was preferable to the vessel damage and bloodshed that could arise from an active fight.

After all, pirates had everything to gain from their illegal hauls and nothing to gain by showing mercy. If caught, they faced death by public hanging.

Punishment for the modern cyber pirate entails jail time, a lighter though still undesirable sentence. Unlike the pilfered gold, jewels and cargo of 17th and 18th century pirates, modern treasure is not buried and marked with an X on maps to be dug up at a later date. The treasure of the 21st century are files, downloads of content which official channels ask money for. These stolen materials are intangible. Perhaps due in part to how often these thefts occur, and the lesser value of the goods, thieves appear to be rarely pursued.

The long-standing torrent site The Pi-

rate Bay is representative of the mindset of the thousands who escape being held accountable for their illegal activities. Crossbones, no longer symbolic of death in this era, can be reinterpreted as crossed arms, disapproving of common conventions like laws and copyright. Like crossed swords, crossed arms allude to combat and rebellion. However this is piracy in the privacy of an internet connection, no face to face contact is required. Modern pirates are unlikely to physically fight over files but they counter culture with every download. Additionally, The Pirate Bay flag bears a cassette tape rather than a skull, parodying a British anti-copyright infringement movement against the home-taping of music. Founded on the opposite ideals of anti-copyright, The Pirate Bay’s looted logo is symbolic of these ideals.

Pirates and the Jolly Roger have made it into 21st century popular culture.

Depicted in films like The Pirates of the Caribbean and classic children’s movies like Peter Pan, they’ve become symbolic of swashbuckling fun. The Jolly Roger has come to stand for much more than death; it has grown to stand for the adventure of the high seas, and the historic and present perils and rewards of disobedience to the law.  27

10 P

Imaiya Ravichandran

things about approaching

20

erhaps the word “approaching” is somewhat misleading. In actuality, I turn the big 2-0 in 84 days, so I have quite some time before my inevitable existential crisis, during which I will dramatically question everything that my teenage-self once knew as simple and true (“What do you mean, I’m too old to wear Converse?”). However, despite there being a ways to go, the very notion of abandoning my adolescence is unsettling enough to have instigated some serious self-reflection.

My limited knowledge of post-adolescent life mainly draws from popular media. However, pop culture is divided on how they represent people in their 20s. On one hand, they say your 20s are the most exciting years of your life. On the other, there are countless dramatizations about unemployed, debt-ridden 20 year olds who have unfulfilling sex. Which trope is it? Obviously, there is no definitive answer, but I’m perfectly happy to relish in the unknown. I still enjoy musing about my future, and so, allow me to present 10 predictions of about what life might be like during my 20s.

1

7

2

8 9

My adorable grandmother and other distant relatives whom I’ve never met stop sending me money on special occasions. This is unfortunate because I’m way more broke now than I was at seven, when my major expenses were the newest Avril Lavigne CD and sour gummy worms from Bulk Barn.

Tragically, my mother stops washing my laundry once and for all. This is not unexpected. Mom, don’t think I haven’t already noticed you casually skipping over the dirty clothes strewn across my floor, heading straight for my half-full hamper, which, by the way, I mainly use to store the clean clothes that I’m too lazy to hang up. As Kelly Rowland croons, “let’s do this dirty laundry, dirty laundraaaaay”.

3

I start going out on a lot of “coffee dates”. I’m confused as to whether these are romantic dates, or simply an occasion for young adults to make mature (read: pretentious) conversation in the middle of an understaffed Starbucks.

Hopefully I solve this quandary soon. If it’s the latter, I’d rather move the conversation to my place, where I can serve them cheap instant coffee instead.

4

My peers start to seriously judge me because I don’t have a LinkedIn. People, I have enough trouble as it is keeping up with Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Vine.

The last thing I need is a social media platform dedicated to reminding me that the majority of my work experience has been in the enthralling field of office administration.

5

I can no longer enjoy the newest Disney/Pixar movie in the comfort of a dark, dingy movie theatre. Woe is me.

Before turning 20, I was a wide-eyed teenager who was justified in wanting to relive the magic of Disney from my childhood. After my 20s, I’ll start going again, hiding behind the pretense that I am going for the sake of my toddler child. But sadly, in between, I must resign myself to “real” movies like Gravity or The Wolf of Wall Street, in which stunning animation and lovable characters are replaced by gratuitous amounts of CGI explosions and sex.

6

I frequent upscale parties with my 20-something friends and sip rosé while semi-engrossed in conversations about things like Canadian politics and the latest episode of Cake Boss. All the while, I reminisce about my dear friend tequila who was the life of every house party that I’d ever attended. She will be deeply missed. RIP.

28

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KHATIJA ANJUM

I discover that grey hairs aren’t just a thing that people Mick Jagger’s age have to worry about. I shamefully purchase multiple boxes of L’Oreal hair dye, but make an appointment at the nearest hair salon after my DIY attempt inevitably goes awry. Alternatively, I embrace the ashy look. I repeatedly tell myself it makes me seem “distinguished”, like George Clooney or Steve Martin.

I officially stop secretly watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians. On the bright side, I still secretly follow all of their Twitter accounts.

Inspired by my friends’ adventures, I spend a summer backpacking in some obscure Balkan country rather than doing normal things, like finding a job or moping about my non-existent career goals. The best part is that I do so with the blessings, and the money, of my parents. Opa!

10

I am bestowed with superpowers unique to the 20 year old species. Thanks to evolution, 20 year olds are the only mammals that can spend a wild night in a downtown club, only to come home and binge on Nutella and Netflix, and after all is said and done, still maintain some shreds of their dignity. I’d like to see a lion try and do that. King of the animal kingdom, my ass. 

XX

the

bodyguards: friend or foe?

Sunanna Bhasin

ARTWORK BY PAULINA KRYZWIECKI

I

magine walking through a winding, eerie alleyway in the middle of the night. Dangerous? Perhaps, depending on the circumstances. Now imagine having two large bodyguards accompanying you. Surely you would feel safer with two rather than one.

That would be the expected response, but let’s suppose you’re a fatalist and you feel less safe with both of them there in case they turn on you. Now, if you had one bodyguard, you would have a better chance of escape if he were to attack you. With both bodyguards potentially double-crossing you, your chances of survival are slim-tonone. It’s bleak, isn’t it? Most of us would like to imagine that the bodyguards would protect us in all cases at all times. However, the human body doesn’t always work that way. If you’ve taken any introductory biology course, you would know that females have two X chromosomes (XX) while males have one X and one Y (XY). The implications of having two X chromosomes are not known with definite certainty, but many studies have been conducted in order to determine what the effects of having the extra X chromosome are on immunity. Having two X chromosomes is a double-edged sword, really. On one hand, it’s double the strength, and on the other, it’s double the trouble.

Back in the creepy alleyway (picture something out of a Stephen King novel), Bodyguard X and Bodyguard Y are walkVOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

ing with you. The alley is terrifying and you feel better knowing you’ve got X and Y by your side. What’s more reassuring is that X has a lot of assets, many more than Y. X is extraordinarily muscular – in fact, you can’t help but stare a little – forgive me, I digress. X has training in the martial arts and even has a few weapons on him (we’ll leave out the legality of all that for the sake of the analogy). X is just what you need to keep

On one hand, it’s double the strength, and on the other, it’s double the trouble. you safe in the spooky tunnel. Conversely, Y is quite strong but not nearly as built as X. Y has a few assets, but is lacking when compared to X. It would only be logical to want the two X’s by your side in case of trouble, right? Maybe. The cynic in you fears the possibility of these all-too-perfect bodyguards double-crossing you while you’re too busy admiring their robust physiques. A situation with two Bodyguard X’s seems too good to be true.

You consider X’s most beneficial asset

– its massive collection of weaponry (or microRNA, as he likes to call it). You would be completely protected from the latest neighbourhood threat, the Hepatitis C virus, because X would ensure that none of its friends would be able to help it carry out its evil intentions. So, let’s say you did have two X’s on your side. If anything happens to one X, you could always rely on X number two for back up. In fact, X2 is not identical to X1.

Perhaps X2 has some experience with this external threat. X2’s training was somewhat different from X1’s, after all. Even better, you think. Still, suspicion gets the best of you.

You don’t fully trust X1 and X2, no matter how close they are to you. You want to trust them. It often feels like they have parts of you within them because they know you inside and out. You are aware that if one of them has a change of heart, he would be more than capable of destroying you. Still, you walk with them, glancing about for any signs of danger. You hold on to them because what other option do you have? You could walk through the cold, crime-ridden alley alone and have no chance of survival, or you could put your faith in your guardians, hoping they never turn their back on you. After all, it’s risky walking through the dangerous alley in the first place, yet you choose to every day because you can’t get anywhere if you don’t. All you can do is hope that you’ll be safe with your XX bodyguards because that’s all you’ve got.  29

The Koi Pond Waiting On a recent trip to Guangdong, China, I took a picture of the fish as I was pretending to drop some fish food into the water. I was amazed by how when one fish began to swim towards me, dozens of fish would follow. They did not know for sure that they were going to find food, but that was the system they had created. ď Ž

Joyce Chan The Koi Pond On the same trip to the temple garden in Guangdong, China, I visited a temple garden where humans and nature existed in harmony. Separating the historical buildings was a long Koi pond that weaved itself under stone bridges and between small islands inhabited by green turtles. Visitors could purchase small bags of fish food, but whether or not you had purchased the food, the fish had already been conditioned to expect that you had. When standing by the pond, the hundreds of fish would swim towards you, their heads bobbing above the surface and mouths open. This picture shows the migration of the fish; black and white was chosen because I thought it makes the photo more dramatic. The fish are naturally all different shades of orange, yellow, and gold, but their migration to visitors and dependency on the fish food makes the lifestyle of these fish unnatural. The black and white also shows the age of the temple garden. ď Ž 30

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

ARTWORK BY NICK LUYMES

EQUATION, VARIABLE & END RESULT Aaron Grierson

As ‘x’ the individual is far beyond being defined as a simple number, or a complex one.

O

nce, I was in academic bliss, naively unaware of the unending multitude of indistinguishable variables.

When a simple mathematical formula was all I needed to apply in order to reveal the unknown. Then, one day without warning, there was a light in my tunnel that changed my life irreversibly. X came through the door without knocking.

It has been some years for me, having mostly avoided math class since high school. But I am aware that the hunt for unknown and sometimes imaginary numbers is an ongoing struggle in the field. The major difference, perhaps, is the twofold complexity of the equations. X keeps getting harder to find, and the equations available become that much larger and more difficult. Even when solved, so often does ‘x’ proliferate, appearing the next day, becoming something new altogether.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, my feelings towards the mathematical concept we designate ‘x’ have changed with time, and I’d like you to bear with me and imagine something together. You are x; not only defined as a number. You are x just as much as I am x, just as much as the person to your right, or to your left, is x. And not just Professor X, either. Still with me? Good. Now for the more complicated part.

What is your value? Not just your age, or your gender, your eye colour, but your actual, whole, real, value. Can you properly express it? Condense it into some mathematical formula? Plot it on a graph? If you answered yes to any of these questions, or any others in the plethora of possibilities, I say Y. I say Y, and then ask you what good it is. How is it possible to solve for compounding variables? At what point do we not know enough to even hypothesis a simple answer? Surely you would concede that your formula only applies to you? Or do you

mean to posit that there is someone out there that is equivalent to you? There must come a point where values are assigned, even arbitrarily, in order to continue in some mathematically organized fashion. But at this point, one may question where the value comes from. What good does any of it do when a variable has no real value and changes on a whim or as needed?

Even if someone could come up with an irrefutable argument which proposed that these duplicate values were still useful we are still left with the issue of individuality. How can people be differentiated when they have the same value? Would we fall to trivialities like clothing? And if we were

tions doesn’t necessarily define who you are as a person. It’s more likely that conformity masks in order to tow some line.

There is no one thing I can prescribe in order to fully determine x, no amount of self help that will individuate you from your neighbours, no magic formulae that will work to help you as a single person. No –­ the set of life is never so simple.

Determining which formula to apply or which path to chart is our job as x. Now hold on, you might say, it was always our job to find X in math class, so if we are x, shouldn’t we be the solution and not the process? You’d be right about math class, but if we wait in life for someone else to tell us who we really are, we not only get an incorrect and insufficient answer, we won’t have a chance of maximizing that potential value.

As ‘x’ the individual is far beyond being defined as a simple number, or a complex one. It requires more than the most advanced calculus, surpasses the most predominant psychology, and ultimately, may take an entire lifetime to determine. It may sound daunting, but this is merely the revelation setting in. Life is the ultimate problem stretching beyond the numbers of days and years. It may be to err to think us all equivalent, or perhaps that we are differentiable by way of formulae. It is not just the homework or one person, or a class, but of the entire world, with variables innumerable, the parents of all find ‘x’ problems.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I’m insane and this entire construction is a heaping pile of balderdash, proliferating through unending tendrils of mass production and media, brought to you by the Middling Corporation of Mediocre Ideas.

It may be none of these things at all, but that is where you come in – to fill in blanks, the prelude to the journey that is finding the value for x.

There must come a point where values are assigned, even arbitrarily, in order to continue in some mathematically organized fashion. But at this point, one may question where.

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

to give such importance to something so fleeting, could we not merely fall into a regression ad nauseam, choosing increasingly diminutive details in order to highlight superficial differences?

I would posit that we would merely become the same point in a line, rather than parabolic points, which, like our lifeblood, rises and falls, but never quite falls into the same path as another.

So after all of that, how do we transform our personal x from a simple line into a parabola that has its own space, but not in total isolation?

If you haven’t already guessed, I would suggest self-discovery. Because dressing a certain way or going through certain mo-

31

PHOTOGRAPHY BY YOSEIF HADDAD

Dear Christopher, Ten days ago, we visited Couchiching Park in order to celebrate your life and the impact that you made on our lives in your eleven short years.

The park served as a memory to me of our childhood, climbing the lifeguard posts and staying in the park until dark. We would ride our bikes there almost every day in the summer, and neither of our parents could make us get out of the water until we decided we’d had enough.

We lit lanterns on the lake in order to remember you, and a family of young boys that we had never met before came out onto the ice to celebrate with us. They reminded me so much of you and of your spirit. I hope you saw the lanterns, and the messages that were written on them. I’m sorry I did not send a message of my own, but everything I wanted to say seemed too private to share, even with our parents. Ever since it’s been just them and me, it’s been hard to share much with them at all.

“Birds of a feather” is what our dad said about us the other day. I still feel that it is true, even though death has separated us. I dream of you every once in a while, as if you were still alive and had grown to the age you could be. I once dreamt that I completely neglected your existence, even after you had beaten your cancer. These kinds of dreams often lead me to wonder about our relationship if you had lived, but I know that we would still be close, no matter what. I often hear of siblings who are so uninvolved with each other’s lives, and it frustrates me to hear that because they make the choice for themselves. That was never a choice I got to make.

Spending almost every day of eleven years with someone influences the person you become, especially during the most formative years of childhood. Each day when he dropped us off, Dad would remind us to “be humane and strong,” and looking back you exemplified those morals every day that you lived. Because of your sense of humour, you were easily friends with most of the kids in your grade. Even still, you were never afraid to stand up for your best friends when your classmates picked on them. You didn’t care about the things that made your friends outcasts to the rest of your class, you were more focused on the fact that they also played Xbox and watched Adam Sandler movies and liked to ride bikes around the neighbourhood.

You demonstrated to me the importance of empathy and how to recognize the positive aspects of every person.

It has been ten years since you’ve passed, and while it feels as though you have helped shaped me as a person, I also worry that I have long forgotten some of the lessons you taught me. When we were kids, you would constantly antagonize me because you found my extreme reactions humorous. I was never as easy-going as you were, and I know that if you were here today, you would tell me to lighten up, to not take everything so seriously.

I know that I should have learned to appreciate life even more and not get caught up on every situation, but it seems as though the opposite is true.

While I can acknowledge this fact, it is very hard for me to change it. However the celebration of your life has spurred these reflections on then and now, and I hope that by becoming aware of the person I don’t want to be anymore, I can start working towards the person I do want to be. A person you’d be proud of.

All my love little brother, Eliza 32

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

 Alive A. Emmanuel I used to believe in summer I used to hear birds sing tunes of nostalgic nothings that made my heart feel things I forgot I knew I used to dance Feel vibrations of sound frequencies that extended through my legs to the tips of my toes that pointed toward my dreams I used to breathe Sensations of cold winter air refreshing the curves of my nostrils filling lungs with life and cooling my deflated skin I used to touch People and things and hearts and Fingertips grazing the small of my neck where the sun kissed and adored the surface of my body I used to love Myself and him and those who never loved me back Intricate thoughts for unrequited pursuits and a ribbon tied around my smallest finger to remind me to stop I used to believe In summer and dancing and breathing and touching and loving and believing and I used to be alive before I grew up. 

 X Marks the Spot A. Emmanuel exquisite features upon a plain face of pretty innocence made her loved for reasons you could not explain. she lay there in extraordinary calmness with a

complexity that could make you wonder

what exactly you were meant to look at. extracting features one by one

until she’s picked apart and studied feverishly and

dissected through every bone of her exiled body. extra rose petals dancing among thin strands of dark black that cascade

over shoulders covered in cold snow. a forehead creased with experience and a

face of drawn ecstasy to disguise the

extraterrestrial smile that once lit up a room. eyes wandering to find arms crossed upon an exerted chest,

her thoughts, but dreams of exponential sadness and sorrow and expiry 

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KHATIJA ANJUM

What happened to you, Ana? Ana Qarri

W

hat happened to you, Ana? Five thousand words. A box of chicken wings. Fries, on the side.

Spilled some water. Didn’t clean it up.

The table is made of fake wood. Some of it bulged up. It never went down.

I puked three-thousand four-hundred and sixty-seven words in.

Page four. The statistics collected by the World Health Organization show that… What happened to you, Ana? I puked. Didn’t clean it up. Just stood up and leaned over the sink.

Saw bloodshot eyes, filthy lips, bleeding nose, and thought, What happened to you, Ana? It started three weeks ago. Couldn’t leave my bed. Woke up at 6 PM. Went to a party. Took a picture with a friend. Cried when I got back.

It started two weeks ago. Mom visits. Looks at clothes spread out like corpses on the floor. Looks at the utter mess. Looks at me. What happened to you, Ana? It started two months ago. Walked through a parking lot and cried. Crossed the street and cried. Entered the house and cried. Sat down. Cried.

It started one month ago. Moved fingers and couldn’t type. Austerity measures affect suicide rates. Fell asleep. Woke up. Puked.

I think it started two years ago. On a bus. Opened my mouth. Couldn’t breathe. Sucked air in. And in. And in. And couldn’t breathe.

Until I could. And then I’d forget. Until I found myself on a bus again and I couldn’t breathe. Until I could.

The other things? They started ten months ago. Four AM. Got up from the dining table. Started sweating.

Woke up in the morning. Started sweating. Was asked to bring a fork. Started sweating.

What happened to you, Ana? Five AM. Can’t sleep. Too hot. Six AM. Maybe if you move downstairs. Seven AM. No. Can’t sleep. Too worried. Eight AM. Please sleep. Eleven AM. Sleeps all day. Doesn’t care. Why is she sweating?

It started a long time ago. I think it was the day of the move. Probably the day of the break-up. Maybe the day she lost your passport in another city in another country. She found it again, but I can’t stop sweating.

Maybe it started five years ago. The day I walked home alone. Maybe it was nine. I don’t know what happened then but whatever it was, I can’t stop sweating.

Seven AM and two thousand words later, I don’t know what happened to you, Ana. Now you’re in a car and someone loves you and you’re still sweating.

When did you start it? The paper?

I think it was two days ago. Maybe stop here? This is my building. I can’t stop sweating. 

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JASON LAU 34

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

 Carbon Monoxide Janice Lee I. August, afternoon haze: highway static; taste of gold lingering; air sticky against my shirt. I am watching a popsicle melt and trickle down my arm, sucking in smog from dead end suburban road races, ecstatic teen voices still ringing in my head. I just sit on the curb and it’s enough to feel everything almost happen in the disappearing light— but not quite.

A boy with waxy skin blocks the sun. I thought I knew him but I don’t – he’s a vacuum no one can explain, it’s like he’s trapped outside his body – a smear, a fever begging for water. When he sits, his shorts climb up his thighs and I can see X’s all over, some crystallized into pink flesh and some still angry— deep red destruction no one can reach.

II. The three of us; a lethargic road trip; a strange dryness in the December night. The collision happened in slow motion and then all at once. On this stretch of the highway, I sense nothing but the body no one could ever find. And in my nightmares I feel rather than see his laughter fogging the windshield, the sleepy radiator blush burning his face— III. Smell of burning, then a fist knifelike against the dashboard and a hushed swearing, almost like a voice chanting it’s too late, you’re hurtling through this sleet corridor – tight knuckles, a sudden wrenching of the steering wheel; I don’t kiss the glass, it kisses me hard— a hollow gasp ripping up my throat, body cut in two by the seat belt— a stillness that takes me under.

IV. I still taste blood on my lips and when this boy parts his, bloodless galaxies pour out, this gash, these words like stars – sizzling out, inert with vacancy. I realize this boy’s shoulders are wilting because he’s tied to an anchor and so am I. I dream about collisions in reverse, flames that swallow themselves, the split second before a warm, sugary darkness— euphoric voices sinking into the distance, engines now sputtering and hazy, and then gone.

A quietness in the neighbourhood now; we watch as the light dries up.

The sound of soft sirens linger, smooth and fading. 

PHOTOGRAPHY BY IANITZA VASSILEVA VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

35

PHOTOGRAPHY BY WHYISHNAVE SUTHAGAR

Caching in Shruti Ramesh

W

ith school coming to a close and summer fast approaching, what are we to do with all of our upcoming free time?

For many, summer is the prime time to pursue new interests under the pretense of “doing something productive with my break”. If this applies to you, an activity you should definitely look into is geocaching.

Geocaching is an outdoor recreational activity that is essentially like a modern-day treasure hunt combined with elements of hideand-seek. Participants use Global Positioning System (GPS) receivers to find (or hide!) secret containers called ‘caches’. A cache is generally a waterproof container containing a logbook which the geocacher will sign using their established code name. Containers may be larger and contain items to trade with fellow cachers, usually inexpensive trinkets and prizes. If taken, the objects must be replaced with objects of equal value, as a form of ‘geocaching etiquette.’ Cachers will also post their exploits online via an official geocaching forum, but following this must return the cache to its original location to allow other cachers to find it. The cache’s are denoted with an ‘X’ symbol (see geocaching logo) in order to differentiate caches from other containers.

Geocaching is a relatively novel activity, and was developed from a similar activity called ‘letter-boxing.’ Letter-boxing also involved finding secret containers with log books, but knowledge of the locations of these containers was spread by word-of-mouth, often involving solving puzzles and deciphering clues to find the location

of the next box. Geocaching developed from this after the improved accuracy of GPS systems, with the first documented placement of a geocache taking place in May 3, 2000.

Geocaching placement has sometimes been criticized as ‘littering’ and ‘suspicious activity’ by local governments. As a response, a CITO policy was developed (see glossary). Upon explanation, the activity is usually met with positive reception, but certain cities, particularly in the Southern United States, require compliance with lengthy and thorough procedures. For instance, Bill 3777 regarding cache placement was passed by the South Carolina House of Representatives, stating "It is unlawful for a person to engage in the activity of geocaching or letterboxing in a cemetery or in an historic or archeological site or property publicly identified by an historical marker without the express written consent of the owner or entity which oversees that cemetery site or property."

There are numerous existing websites dedicated to geocaching, listing caches to be found all over the world, the largest of which is geocaching.com. Others sites include opencaching.com, opencaching.us, and terracaching.com.

Through these sites, membership is managed through a sponsorship system. The sites also allow users to collaborate and peer-review various findings, and this feedback is taken into account when planning the locations of future caches. Some of these sites are supported by Android and iPhone apps, increasing the accessibility of the activity. 

...a modern-day treasure hunt combined with elements of hide-and-seek.

A Brief Glossary of Geocaching Terms CITO: Cache In, Trash Out. This is an ongoing environmental initiative supported by the worldwide geocaching community involving cleaning up litter during their caching pursuits.This reflects the geocaching community’s dedication to cleaning up parks and other cache-friendly places around the world.

Muggle: People who do not know about the geocaching (now this officially excludes you!). The term was borrowed from a word for ‘non-magic folk’ from the Harry Potter series due to its rising popularity when geocaching was first established.

DNF: Did Not Find.

Signature: Some geocachers have established signatures, such as leaving specific items behind like or a calling card.

FTF: First to Find, generally when the logbook of a geocache is blank when found.

D/T Evaluation: Geocaches are rated in two categories, difficulty and terrain. Both

36

categories are designated on a 5-point scale. Difficulty relates to the mental challenge of finding a cache and terrain describes the physical environment. A 1/1 difficulty/terrain rating would the easiest cache to find, while a 5/5 difficulty/terrain rating would be the most difficult.

Watch List: A list of users tracking a specific cache online. The watch list receives periodic emails about the logbook of the cache.

TFTC: Thanks for the Cache.

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

Palm Trees

Spices

Spices are commonly enjoyed, and here, I try to highlight things about spices other than taste. I focus on texture, colour and smell.

Palm trees are especially ubiquitous in Southern India. Coconut palm trees are also common, and a lot of cities have street vendors selling coconut water straight from the fruit. This work is my expression of home, nature and longing.

Shreya Yugendranag I am interested in the integration of traditional and contemporary elements in a space. On a visual basis, I am interested in how culture and personal experience integrates with interior decoration.

Recently, spices have been a running motif in my work. My intention is to be apolitical with the works I create, since I am mainly interested in how my work can come off to different audiences. It can either be viewed as nostalgic or exotic. I also enjoy delicate design work. While part of the success is in satisfying the eye of the viewer, I believe there is a greater success in making the viewer think, even if subconsciously, about colour or design or their experience. ď Ž VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

37

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KHATIJA ANJUM

TIC-TAC-TOE Alison St. Pierre

T

ic-tac-toe – also known as Noughts and Crosses or X’s and O’s – is a game with a rich history. It appeared originally in ancient Egypt and then in the Roman Empire, under the name Terni Lapilli. I assume it was a welcome break from other popular games of the day, which included violent chariot races and fights to the death. During the Middle Ages, the game was linked to pagan rituals dedicated to the nine-square grid and its magical properties.

These magical properties included being able to arrange the numbers one through nine on the grid so that their sum was the same horizontally, vertically and diagonally.

Secret societies called the Magic Square “the Cabala of the Nine Chambers.” And I agree with them, math is magic.

Somewhat more recently, I dubbed this game the gateway puzzle. Drawn in by its clean lines and sleek appearance, you may

think it’s simple, but don’t be fooled! In actuality, tic-tac-toe is hard.

Why is this? Well, in other games, you win when you are the best player. In X’s and O’s however, the best moves from both players leads to a tie, usually called a “Cat’s Game”. What! You mean there won’t always be a winner and a loser? For this reason, tictac-toe is sometimes used as a pedagogical tool for teaching good sportsmanship to children. We, however, are not children.

The competitive brains of young adults, elderly teens if you will, despise ties. I say this with the confidence of an amateur-pseudo-pop-psychologist. X’s and O’s is difficult because even when you are clever, in fact when you are the cleverest, you still don’t win.

Tic-tac-toe is so hard, the smartest minds in the United States turned to children’s toys to solve it. In the 1980s, students

X’s and O’s is difficult because even when you are clever, in fact when you are the cleverest, you still don’t win.

38

at MIT built a computer only out of Tinkertoys – coloured wooden sticks and spools with holes. Scientific explanation: looks like the world’s most complicated Rube Goldberg machine. An operator inputs the move made by a player in, the machine is handcranked, and then it outputs the move required to win. And the machine always wins.

Even though tic-tac-toe is a challenge, if a computer built out of toys can play, then so can you. So, you are sitting around with your friends on a Friday night. You just finished hearing a mundane story about a koala and bubble gum, and it’s time to shake things up. You reach towards the shelf, and pull out a pencil and paper. Game time! Here are some tips to help you succeed, regardless of the game’s outcome: – Say “great game” and give the other player a friendly high five.

– Pretend to be a country and discuss your strategy in an accent.

– Make fun doodles on the side of the page, during half time.

Under no circumstances should you do the following: – Say you would rather be doing a Sudoku.

INCITE MAGAZINE, APRIL 2014

– Burn and/or shred the game sheet in a fit of rage.

– Say anything along the lines of “I subscribe to the pagan belief that this game is magic. However, narwhals are not magical.”

Be wary however, as your opponent may challenge you to a super-mega-crazy tictac-toe game. This involves tic-tac-toe games in each square of a tic-tac-toe

board. When you make a move in one of the mini-games, the next player has to make a move in the smaller tic-tac-toe board in the larger square corresponding to the mini-square you played in. To win, you have to win the overall mega game by winning three mini-games that make up a row of smaller tic-tac-toe boards. If you land on an already-won mini-square, you can pick any board to play on. Good luck, comrades.  [Editor’s Note: Here is one such game played by the Editorsin-Chief. Guess who won!]

VOLUME 16, ISSUE 7

39

WRITE ▪ EDIT ▪ DRAW ▪ PHOTOGRAPH ▪ DESIGN incite@mcmaster.ca