Incite Magazine - August 2024 by Incite Magazine

One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star “

Friedrich Nietzsche

chaos

INCITE VOLUME 26

ISSUE 2

Dear reader,

Chaos seems very fitting for our lives as university students, doesn’t it? Sometimes this chaos is the only thing we can think of – perhaps why the theme came so naturally. Time seems to fly when you have to complete a new assignment each day, decide what meal to eat each night, wake up for that one 8:30 class, and amidst all of it, orchestrate meetups with friends who share the same struggle.

That is chaos, but it isn’t the only chaos. I see chaos in being around my loved ones too. Those late-night conversations that go till 3 in the morning, those game nights where one person decides to wreak havoc by cheating, and those simple moments of uncontrollable laughter –those are all examples, beautiful ones, of disorder. In those moments where everything and anything is happening, you may simply choose to observe. To appreciate, to cherish and to soak it all in.

I am also reminded of those people, who can only be defined by chaos. Perhaps you are familiar with that person in your own life, or you are that person. They have the admirable ability to light up any room with their infectious smile and turn even the gloomiest day into the best one. It is during such encounters that I feel grateful for the people I am surrounded by, and that I find a greater appreciation for the complex concept that is chaos.

Sure, chaos has its challenges. But, when you find yourself in the middle of this chaos and unable to run away from it, the best you can do is to embrace it. If there is anything I have learned this year, it is that time does not and will not slow down. I now find myself three-fourths of the way through university, having overcome many chaotic moments and anticipating many more to come. Like every year, this year too has felt like a continuous cycle of sprinting and trying to keep up with every new deadline. And as always, in just the blink of an eye, here we are at the end of another year. And so, if chaos will always exist, rather than focusing on its flaws, why don’t we, both you and I, embrace it? See it, not as a time of toughness, but as an exciting opportunity to grow and to become so much stronger.

Editor’s

Amidst all the chaos of this year, Volume 26 comes to an end with this issue. As always, I want to extend a deep and heartfelt thank you to the editorial board, content editors, art managers, and layout editors. I promise this is not just another copy pasted excerpt – truly, I appreciate all of your resilience and effort. You left no stone unturned in pulling this issue together, despite the chaos of your own lives – an admirable quality. To our lovely contributors, know that you will always have this one fan who remains in awe of your creativity. You never fail to bring a smile to my face, as I see you all adopt the theme and make it your own. Even when you finally get your hands on the print issue and flip through your work, it is a beautiful sight to see. The feelings may be unique, but deep down, are equally shared by each creator. These moments exactly exemplify our goal as Incite.

Now, I’ve always wondered what it means to run headfirst into chaos. You may ask, why would one do that? But, if the opportunity presents itself with this issue, why wouldn’t you?

Signing off,

SGupta

Editor-in-Chief (Arts and Production)

Sana Gupta

Letter

CHAOS

content

staff question

milk and dates manal effendi

psychological retreat reyanne morgan untitled sakeenah niazi

whirlwind sidak arora listen close ria patel the forgotten dream dora xu untitled sofia funamoto

bookstore madness aliyah sumar thunderstorms anonymous static rami naamna

small writing parsa razeghi

scorching chills zoya hasan

i embrace death for us both durezernab berki into the storm sowmithree ragothaman

jnga catalina costiuc drive timi toyon about me aidan zeglinski

please give me an elixir ramneek panchi highway heart surgery jess kim nightmare kaleb huarez rios a piece from the beginning rachel oseida enough? jake gimmy

building blocks eeman najeel

indigo is where i’d go eeman najeel the invisible scars of trauma mcmaster friends of msf adults we are jess kim untitled jay rose i forgot to water the plants fiona moffat untitled emily silver

ART by HARMELA CELESTIN

look ahead yameena zahid

chaos emerald harmela celestin whisked damilola alabi-benson untitled alexandra russell untitled reyanne morgan chaotic symphony of blooms tania kazi tornado house melinda meleki false tranquillity dora xu delicate destruction mahek marker listen close esther han in my dreams emily zeng away from home yeemon state of mind sana gupta livres sana gupta scavengers vicky lin untitled alexandra russell static emily zeng now sana gupta

i feel self conscious yeemon faith emily zeng the chaos of a man melinda meleki safe for now yeemon unbothered mahek marker endless road melinda meleki about me aidan zeglinski (trickkdicee) hand aditya kalra untitled sana gupta untitled alexandra russell parallel universe mahek marker girl on a train melinda meleki anti-chaos sana gupta create in chaos mara li iv station with graduation cap aditya kalra secret garden sana gupta lucky whip albany sutherland

We asked Incite staff...

I just embrace it! I let it be a part of my day-to-day life, and learn and grow from it.

NAIHA

ALI LAYOUT DIRECTOR

How do you manage and embrace in your life?

MIA SAHA CONTENT EDITOR

When life gets too chaotic, I try to slow down. My mind can get overwhelmed with too many thoughts of the future, so I find it’s sometimes best to focus on the present. Take it day by day, and save bigger plans for quieter times. The world will keep spinning. Life will go on — even when I take a break.

Chaos

with good vibes! [[(praying hands emoji)

CHRISTINA TAM COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR

I manage and embrace the chaos in my life by trying to be the “calm” and “peace” at the center of it all. So imagine me as the calm cross-legged Yoda (yes star wars lol) in the middle of a whirlwind tornado of chaos.

MELINDA MELEKI ART MANAGER

I panicked first (that is screaming, crying, throwing up, crawling on the ceilings), and then i tell myself “it is what it is”. And i deal with it, knowing that the chaos is not gonna last forever. After the chaos i know there is something good for me. I would avoid the chaos as much as i can, but if i can’t avoid it, its meant for me to deal with it. I feel like its a part of maturing. My agenda! I don’t know how I would survive without it

YEE MON ART MANAGER

Learning that chaos is also a part of life, and that there’s beauty in it! We typically give it a negative connotation, but maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. My goal is simply to be happy, and so I’ve learned to focus on what I can control rather than on what is out of my hands. Living in the moment, going with the flow, and opening myself up to unpredictability is daunting -but it’s also rewarding when I look back at my resilience and willingness to enjoy these moments of chaos. chaos is what makes life interesting.

SANA GUPTA EIC ARTS

MAHEK MARKER ART MANAGER

ALIYAH SUMAR EIC CONTENT

ADITYA KALRA ART MANAGER

earbuds in and take a mini mental vacay!

ELIZABETH ZHOU CONTENT EDITOR

PEYTON

WHITEHOUSE EVENTS DIRECTOR

i just roll with the punches, to be honest! if stuff happens, stuff happens , and i think it’s better and sometimes more fun to accept it. that way you can figure out how to work with what you have as soon as possible, rather than fighting and having to relent anyway.

MARA LI ART MANAGER

By reminding myself that life is unpredictable and experiencing chaos may be inevitable. I believe this is an important mindset to have as it allows me to let go of the stress of not being able to control everything and be resilient through life with chaos. I remind myself to stay positive as experiencing chaos may lead to opportunities of change and growth. Plus, a little bit of chaos is what makes life interesting.

ART by ALEXANDRA RUSSELL WORDS by MANAL EFFENDI

There was once a time when people like you and I lived off of the simple things. Life was a series of tasks and chores to keep the world moving. It often felt like you had to physically push the Earth to continue rotating on its axis. Somehow, those were simpler times. Daily tasks were but a list of attainable goals that one had to reach in order to make ends meet. But once the cards in the game were swapped for chess pieces, the world seemed to spin faster. Now, nothing is attainable. There is always another task, another goal. And no one can come close to finishing the race. Stretching our limbs towards victory, but in this world, you’ll soon realize there is none. There is always more to achieve, your efforts and your achievements will never be enough.

Large corporations are trying to push the latest gimmick down our throats to solve all our worldly problems. Tell me: does it benefit you to create solutions to issues you created? I guess only AI can answer that.

I used to dream about seeing the fruits of my labor, now I can only paint a world in my imagination where that might be attainable. Nowadays, rewards can cost you somewhere between an arm and a kidney, but that still might not be enough.

Where are we supposed to fit?

User 67534596, that’s all you’ll ever be. In a system designed to configure us to fit inside a box, in a system built upon cubicles that allow you limited words, limited seats, and limited characters.

In a system that doesn’t recognize you and me unless we remember a string of digits. In a system that has built an entire intelligence to mimic our brain functions to help us function better, only to feed into a society that doesn’t even recognize us as humans; maybe I wouldn’t mind going back to living off of milk and dates.

Perhaps I’ll survive better. Spinning the axis by myself seems more achievable than controlling an axis that I can’t catch up with. At some point, all the world’s articles, news channels, videos, conversations, and technology will blend into an uncontrollable explosive atomic bomb, and we’ll all have no choice but to go back to milk and dates. x

WORDS AND ART by REYANNE MORGAN

Psychological Retreat

I’m moving around

Through my mind, in and out of time, I’m moving around

I regret not being present with you

While i’m in my future

While i’m moving around

Do you notice when i’m not here?

Years of living in my head to then meet you

Knocking on my door and asking if i’m home

Asking me to come out

To settle down

To stop moving around.

And while life moves through you

Unforgiving and unkind

I am frozen with you there

And how I want to run

From your fears and mine

But I am still burdened with want

To be with you... and for you

So I carry that guilt in place of you

I’ve begun to move, my love

Back into my mind

I’ve begun to run back to myself

To move around x

chaotic symphony of blooms

ART by TANIA KAZI

WORDS by SAKEENAH NIAZI

ART by MELINDA MELEKI

The house is quieter and quieter with every passing page on the calendar.

It's the year 1993.

A brown wooden door, freshly painted, opens with just-cut keys. Two shadows embrace each other as they step inside. As pages are torn off the calendar, letters are pushed through the crack in the door and a warm voice greets the neighbours when they stop by with welcome written on their faces. A new calendar is stuck on the fridge, and a tiny pair of booties joins the row of heels and dress shoes, pink and frilly and oh-so-tiny for an owner with such a loud voice.

It's the year 1996,

and when an unfamiliar uniform steps in to take census — hindered only slightly by the energetic brown puppy clawing at the door — a proud mother reveals the name of the newest addition to their family, the one that ran outside the second she found an opportunity only to be lured back in with the promise of cookies — not a promise made lightly since the scent wafts through the corridor and steams the front windows.

It's the year 2000,

and a pair of tiny sneakers has joined the pink shoes thrown across the foyer; loud babbling fills the morning air. But when the sun sets, strained voices sound across the hall. Sharp sounds of anger and tearful disarray. Clothing and zippers and heartache, a suitcase rolling across the hardwood. The brown wooden door, paint starting to chip away, slams shut — one pair of shoes is not seen again for several months. When it finally returns, it returns to a draft of air icier than the greeting it receives. It takes several more months for the toddler to remember his mother.

It's the year 2005,

and yet more shoes have appeared; two more of the same size sent the parents into a frenzy that could only be described as a hurricane. Spilled food, spilled milk, spilled tears — toys scatter across the foyer as mud tracks over the carpet. Thankfully, the brown wooden door has not seen a real hurricane to this day, yet it may as well have.

It's

the year 2007,

and Britney Spears and Miley Cyrus dominate the music blasting on the porch. Sticky hands fumble with the doorknob, smearing fingerprints onto the paint as juices from popsicles run down their hands in the dead of summer heat. Jackets flung over the railing for someone to carefully hang in the closet, only to be met the next morning with a frantic scramble and calls of “Have you seen my coat?”

Boots placed haphazardly around the shoe rack, slowly transitioning into muddy sneakers and wornout sandals; blue ballpoint pen markings climbing higher and higher up the drywall, a modern vine climbing the brick as the members of the family grow and grow and grow — one child’s name stops at 4’6 and hasn’t been touched since 2011.

It's

the year 2012,

and suitcases line the foyer, carried out one by one into the back of a pickup truck. Tearful words and hugs are exchanged, promises to visit for the weekend made and kisses peppered on stained cheeks. The dog jumps up, licking salty tears away. A pair of shoes is removed from the rack— as the door shuts, silence falls over the house as everyone tries not to look at the empty space it left against the wall. Two years later, another space is left on the rack. The house is quieter and quieter with every passing page on the calendar.

It's the year 2023,

and none of the children still live in this house. The door has been repainted a familiar shade of brown. But a familiar pair of heels comes home one evening with a new pair of dress shoes and an unfamiliar cologne that sends the dog rushing to the front barking his head off. The new boyfriend is thrilled at this rather unfriendly greeting — he has a way with animals. x

false tranquility

ART by DORA XU

WHIRLWIND.

ART by MAHEK MARKER WORDS by SIDAK ARORA

People often told me that my 20s were going to be the best phase of my life — I’m young, carefree, healthy, and likely going through the most growth, becoming myself. However, in my opinion, your 20s are overrated. While every phase of life has its share of ups and downs, the confusion I have felt in young adulthood has proven the most challenging. Many people say that the tween and teen years are the most complex, yet we often overlook the struggles our 20s bear.

Throughout life, we share many milestones with friends, from starting school together and navigating the same subjects to graduating high school. However, the 20s mark the pivotal moment when individuality truly takes center stage, and personal life paths begin to diverge. It’s a phase where unparalleled beauty and complexity coincide. Some get married, others embark on career journeys, and some are still in post-secondary education. Meanwhile, you might find yourself stuck at the crossroads, grappling with the uncertainty of what path to take.

When I find myself alone, contemplating life, I often feel the weight of not having done enough, influenced by the social pressures inherent in young adulthood. It seems as though everything is expected to be achieved in this decade—a time to establish a career, find a life partner, leave the comfort of your childhood home, and, simultaneously, make room for travel and self-enjoyment. This sudden rush of demands often leaves me filled with anxiety, questioning whether I will ever achieve the dreams the 5, 10, or 15-year-old version of me set. Will I ever attain the success I always aspired to?

It constantly feels as if everyone else has their life figured out, and it’s just me left behind, unsure about the future. As a twenty-something-year-old, there’s an expectation for me to have a deep understanding of myself and an ability to make life-altering decisions, such as choosing a career path. However, I can only look back on my childhood years to recognize my likes and dislikes, which don’t always align with my current self. I’m evolving, and the reality I face now is quite different from my childhood. I often feel like I’m in a middle ground—not entirely young, yet not quite old. I’m expected to commit to lifelong choices before fully experiencing life and discovering who I am.

I often chuckle at the thought that as children, we eagerly wished to grow up quickly, certain that adulthood would be a time of true freedom. Yet, now, we yearn to go back and relive the carefree days of our childhood. I frequently reflect on how as a child, it seemed like I had more of my life figured out than I do as a young adult now. Everything changes in a short span of time; you’ll encounter new people while simultaneously parting ways with others along the journey. You’ll experience many new things, achieve so much, and fail at even more. There will be moments of extreme confusion. However, these are all milestones of where you will grow and learn. You might often feel unsure of your direction. Yet, eventually, you will discover a path that brings you happiness.

In the whirlwind of life’s changes, from the aspirations of youth to the complexities of adulthood, it’s crucial to recognize the beauty in our journey. Despite societal pressures and the urge to have everything figured out, life unfolds at its own pace. Embracing uncertainty and understanding that it’s okay not to have all the answers can be freeing. In moments of confusion, when the path seems unclear, remember that growth often arises from challenges. While life may lack a clear roadmap, it offers the chance to carve a unique path aligned with our true selves. x

ART by ESTHER HAN

You might remember Old Noise

New boys

Same toys that don’t tick in time of please

No need

This melody knows ‘bout two or three things stand back

Hold fast

Don’t forget how to steal

A glass

A pass

At the thrill of all things

Smooth jazz Tall stacks

What’s gone is never coming back

Age passes x

WORDS by DORA XU

ART by EMILY ZENG

The Forgotten Dream

I see the world at peace–silence, not screams.

Equal and acceptance, no need to protest or plead.

But when I wake up, truth crashes in like a wave, violence at every turn I take.

When can it be reality… instead of a forgotten dream? x

ART by YEEMON

HOME

My bins stare at me across a blank room Pleading for me to empty them, These walls echo whispers of lives well lived Still I sit unwilling to unpack mine

Yesterday my calendar fell off the wall: It landed on a month that had passed Stuck on an image of distant friends I could have sworn I heard them laugh

Digging fingers into the worn seams of my bear I find the tear my dog left; In his canine’s unforgiving scar A sliver of solace is kept

Coin in the slot, unshackling the cart

Wheels wail under the fluorescent light, Overwhelmed by aisles of options I grasp for the familiar

From a foreign stove’s flame Spiced scents soar, Weaving through the air

The aroma lingers,

ART by SANA GUPTA state of mind

ART

by SANA GUPTA WORDS by ALIYAH SUMAR

Bookstore Madness

I step into the small shop, which is surely more of a shoebox than anything worthy of a door,

“Which edition?”

I sputter, “I didn’t know there was more than one? Surely you don’t have many options, anyways?” He scoffs. “I have all 59 editions, And they’re all on different shelves. Which do you want?” he relays, But with all these options before me, I really could not say.

I walk up and down the aisle. Looking at shelf upon shelf, jam-packed. I pulled out a book, then two more fell out and believe me, I was gobsmacked. When I finally felt the wall at the end of the shelf, I counted three rows of books that had been stacked, All from one shelf, I’m shocked it hadn’t cracked.

I stopped for a second And I looked all around, I almost could not be found, Lost behind books from ceiling to ground.

When I finally found my way out, I fell to the floor, I’ve never seen more books in one place, I swore. The clerk, grinning, looked down on me then to a door,

“Oh,” he says with a laugh, and I look up in both fear and amazement,

“Did you know that this store has a basement?” x

thunderstorms

a spark of summer

a dash of spring rain left behind, untamed for our juvenile hearts to sing and dance in the pouring parade

a singing wind so strong you might be floating, but not with the fear of flying only the freedom of falling

a drum so loud, booming clouds, sounds of jailbreak water leave your blurry eyes thrumming in time with your sprinting pulse, rolling roaring

a single flash arcing through the bruised sky, your arching neck seeks to try and follow that brief, beautiful brightness; colours in the darkness brushstrokes of happiness catching in your eyes lighting a desire, a mad need to chase

a cleansing pour floods the doors washing away everything named doubt, shamelessly dancing in a spinning spout; take your mind by the leash of your nightmares and set it cold, wild, and free

a sky full of neither day nor night but of pure rain and spite and thoughts that plague our heads, dark with fright darker laughter echoes with mocking, teasing joy i don’t bite thunder strikes

a single gesture; beckoning calling run away with me come dance with me forget everything except me

that open hand that imperfect call that asking eye a question a trap with an answer foretold

these whirling words f ixed your fate before you could think to think otherwise yet it should not have rose unfolded or collapsed any other way

dance in what that burns you love in poison waters strike lightning’s very soul but don’t, don’t stop spinning into the eye of the storm; the inferno is incessant until the quiet still is free

follow the recipe for a thunderstorm, learn all the ways the world can end lean into the feeling of letting loose at the ends and going mad just because you can remember, love is not in the rainbows in the end ( it’s born in the storms where they begin ) x

WORDS by RAMI NAAMNA

ART by EMILY ZENG

STATI C

when I choose myself I, ignore the wrongdoings of everything that is around me

lie on my sofa, bedridden by the television flip through channels I, choose actions that are detrimental mental health is not savoured, choose not to bathe my eyes in blood but the colour of it television static, black and white, I can’t tell what’s right despite the political media informing me of the modern day blasphemy reality is striking, cognitive dissonance is striking me so unhappily when I choose myself I, ignore the wrongdoings of everything that is around me my very own, flesh skin and bones, brainwashed by media platforms like CBC perspective filled with, distractions that I could avoid voided of, my own thought processes whenever I’m alone static fills the ambience of my room, hues that I force myself to consume when I subconsciously acknowledge that my static mind is harmful the foggy ambience of my surroundings reminiscent of a vacuum have for too long, clouded my perception, and my premonition

So I stretch myself, every single bone, and every protein within

To grab the remote, and rather than distractions, turn off the screen

To get off the sofa, and instead of this static I choose to be mobile

Not just in my movement, but my thoughts, and my actions for the world

I stand tall, ten toes down, fully being me

No longer utilizing and finding the necessities of social profiles

When activism faces itself, the chaos of the tinnitus will make the world your pearl

Static thoughts and static perception in all my TV screens

Will only disable my own beliefs and humanity hidden within me x

ART by SANA GUPTA

Nn now

[nau] adverb

1. at the present time or moment

2. without further delay; immediately; at once

3. at this time or juncture in some period under consideration or in some course of proceedings described

4. at the time or moment immediately past

5. in these present times; nowadays

6. under the present or existing circumstances; as matters stand

7. (used to introduce a statement or question)

8. (used to strengthen a command, entreaty, or the like)

WORDSbyPARSA RAZEGHI

ARTbyYEEMON

S M A L L W R I T ING

There is something so special about writing small

i never do it — a sign of carelessness

without thought, I populate pages — unplanned prose, without blueprint

it is almost exciting maybe this page will suffice, maybe not

but those who write small always have a plan: the same people who never leave soilded dishes stacked; no texts piled up, and to-do lists checked off — always knowing what to say

they wake up at 6 am getting groceries for the week, without waiting for droughts within their cupboards, of spoiled milk

those conservative with their words taking their time, making promises they never fail to keep

I used to hate people who write small, the same who acount for all possible outcomes, the careful and calculated

green and sick, i wondered “how can they look at themselves in the mirror?” as i shuddered away from mine

sometimes i wish, i too could write small; but instead, i settle, obsessed and preoccupied with all those that do x

ART by EMILY ZENG

WORDS by ZOYA HASAN

scratching the snare that stifles throats swallowing the sweltering air fight to heave off brutish blankets against dodgeballs whipping past ears lungs feel heavy; filled with despair head tipping; airy and bare need to breathe; waves drag down creep to surface but fog makes glass covering the space between ocean and air knocking out warmth from bones sand sears and coils around ankles the dodgeball hitseverything falls

But. beneath the fiery ice my heart goes thud,thud,thud,thud and it beats with a warm consistency a light in the blue glacier breaks through and embraces me tears of gratitude melt my worries away; replaced with hope and faith I pray.

All is well; it truly is. x

Scorching Chills

WORDS by DUREZERNAB BERKI

ART by MELINDA MELEKI

I EMBRACE DEATH FOR US BOTH

Death is a sanctuary whose walls hold eternally...

Save me, not –from the last breath –Usher away your gratified springs I am the essence that will consume them

Containing the abyss of my enmity Is a task befitting another –

Death is a sanctuary whose walls hold eternally

Against the vility that pours unhindered from within Lest you, I and all –burn to ash x

IT’S SO SICKENINGLY BEAUTIFUL . to see yet now I can HARDLY address the UNREST INSIDE ME RAGING maybe that’s why

WORDS by SOWMITHREE RAGOTHAMAN

ART by YEEMON

INTO the STORM

a false dawn. the world swims around me winds chasing, things breaking the sky cut open and loudly weeping, but i am silent. though the voices in my head are screaming run, run, get away to safety i am rooted to the ground by my own two feet. caught in the eye of the storm eerily calm; the brilliance of the sun’s rays nearly blinding me, the cool breeze wafting across my skin, i can easily imagine never leaving.

i gaze upwards in awe watching the world destroy itself with ease, never even stopping to think that perhaps the real fool is me. lulled into a meaningless sense of security; mesmerized by the insanity of being at a perfect standstill while life is in freefall do i really have such little authority? my worldview begins and ends with myself it seems that i’ve long forgotten about traveling to the lands beyond my periphery.

i grew up dreaming that one day i’d exact change chase victory, solve mysteries; fulfill wishes to my heart’s content yet now i can hardly address the unrest raging inside me maybe that’s why it’s so sickeningly beautiful to see the currents unraveling everything i know, piece by piece.

i remain in my reverie until the waves break overhead. the eye has passed, quietly and cunningly; now the ferocious eyewall leaves nothing in its wake. i am all too easily swept up into the tempest. as i meld into the concentric chaos

i wonder where it’ll take me. x

I was once whole, Carefully built, thick-skinned, and tall, But so incredibly fragile, One loud boom and I was done for. That’s when it started, They began taking pieces of me away, Curiously seeing what would hapen, Laughing and cheering when tall I wold stay. It was entertaining to tem, and I felt left out, So I too started picking mself apart, Harder and hader it became, Holdin my weght wit my wounds, To them, tis was all a game. This wil all end wen I fall apart, When I crak, break, shater, And feel uncofortble in my own skin, But evn wen tey wan u to crmbl, Dnt let tem w i n x

WORDS by CATALINA COSTIUC

ART by MAHEK MARKER

And so they turn,

The wheels on the car, the thoughts in my mind,

One stopped by breaks, calculated and easy, The other stopped by nothing, even sleep plagued by dreams.

I squirm in the seat below me,

Once warm and cozy, now an extension of the anxious heat within me, Foggy-brained,

Failing to remember the time I embarked, 5 past 9, or 9 past 5

Perhaps it was neither,

Perhaps that marked the moment I stopped watching the clock, When it all started to blend into one.

Now I watch the tank,

Somehow it remains on full, I wish it would budge,

Take the smallest of steps, I yearn for confirmation,

Proof I’ve been moving

Proof this hasn’t been for nothing.

I began this journey filled with ease, Naive eyes hopeful for where I could go, These eyes feel aged now, Hardened by the evergoing motion, without an end in sight. The left windows stay slightly ajar, Evening melodies softly streaming in, A reminder that I’m still alive, That the grass is still green, and the wind is still cold.

A soft breeze brushes through my lashes, A dangerous dance edging my eyes closed, Whispers of the night echo in my ears, I whisper back, some of it into the abyss, Most of it to myself,

Telling her everything will be okay.

My headlights pierce through the night, Past memories flickering like distant city lights, The steering wheel slowly slips through my fingers, I let go of my urge to be in control, Holding on to shadows of uncertainty,

Chasing a fantasy whose existence I often doubt, Hoping the paved path becomes my yellow brick road. x

Drive WORDS by TIMI TOYON ART by MELINDA MELEKI

ART AND WORDS by AIDEN ZEGLINSKI (TRICKKDICEE)

“recording”

“frequency”

ABOUT ME

this is aidan, and i wanted to take a minute to pay my respects to creation and art, hopefully also inspiring you to tap into your creative self. i believe humans were innately designed to create; whether or not you think you’re a good artist, putting something out to be seen and sharing creative ideas with others is what living is all about.

i started trickkdicee as a way to push the boundaries of how i see the world around me, including funky colours in places you may not normally see them, or making you question if the real world could truly look the way it does in my photos. i have taken a lot of inspiration from photography geniuses such as Sasha Elage and Briscoe Park, as they too tend to push the boundaries of what can be real. i also find a lot of inspiration in music, specifically the blurred, oceanic imagery in the music of King Krule, and some of the raw, horrifyingly real-life comparisons in the music of Armand Hammer. i hope you too take this message and decide to go create something, anything at all. x

“uku, to float”

“bloodseeker”

WORDS by RAMNEEK PANCHI

ART by ADITYA KARLA

Please Give Me an Elixir

Please tell me how I can cure my soul.

I fear that something is festering deep within me.

Something pitch-dark, and so sharp that it pierces my crimson heart. It runs through me like blood does so through my veins.

It is a raging plea for help that can only be whispered when you utter her name. I have nothing left to feed it.

I have tried.

How many more times do I have to die until I feel I know what’s going on inside?

My blood is black.

My tears are no longer fluid.

I am no longer lucid.

I am infected!

I am ill!

I am decomposing at my own will.

I can’t see my heart or my soul,

So please, I beg you tell me how I can be cured Of this godforsaken thing we call a human will.x

COULD SNATCH IT AWAY

Highway Heart Surgery

I stand before you on the little yellow line of the pavement— the same little yellow line that separates cars from crashing into each other— with my chest cut wide open.

Open heart surgery is a dangerous endeavour on its own, let alone done in the middle of a highway, but there you stand anyway, cupping its small gooey self gently, blood seeping through the cracks of your fingers and drip, drip, dripping on the pavement. It taints the yellow line.

HIGHWAY HEART

“Careful,” I say, “drivers might get confused.” Your eyes remain transfixed on the organ but Mine remain transfixed on you, mesmerized by your hands strong enough to hold me and to crush me.

HEART SURGERY

Med school drives by. So does my family. A truck labelled unknown contents emerges from the distance. Your eyes never leave the organ.

“What are you going to do with it?” I ask. You turn it over slowly.

“Well?” You poke it a little. I squirm. You squeeze it a little. I ache. You could throw it into oncoming traffic if you wanted to. I wait. I could snatch it away, I think, But my chest is still open and I only hold scissors. Besides, even if I wanted to try, we both know I wouldn’t. we both know how it would end.

“What are you going to do with it?” I repeat. Unknown contents whooshes past.

And so we wait to see And so we wait to see And so we wait to see And so we wait to see And so we wait to see

“I

don’t know yet.” And so we wait to see. x

NIGHTMARE

NIGHTMARE N IGHTMARE

NIGHTMARE

NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE

NIGHTMARE

NIGHTMA R E NIGHTMARE

NIGHTMARE

NIGHTMARENI

NIGHTMA

NIGHTM

Head hurts

Cold stings

Dead trees

Silent river

So dark

BAM

BOOM

BANG

Scurrying shuffling

Snow crunching

From where?

SPLASH

Paralyzed terrified frozen Can’t move

SNAP

Closing in Out of breath

Someone help

HISS

Shining claws

Sharp teeth

Hungry eyes

SCREEEEECH

No escape... x

ART

WORDS by RACHEL OSEIDA

ART by MAHEK MARKER

A Piece From The Beginning

Damp chill set in quick, and soon her limbs seemed all but a distant memory.

There was magic in the trees. Hidden under the dense cover of pine and scarcely beneath the thicket laid an effervescent hum of something more. A weave of golden threads which laced themselves under the earth and across the moors, through the violet blooms of heather in the highlands and the vibrant foxglove flowers blanketing the countryside. Nearly invisible, and yet entirely impossible not to notice. A tapestry of power which spanned across the woods and spanned out to the North Sea.

Cassius took one step into the trees and knew she was waiting for him.

Katarina placed one foot into the loch and watched the soft waves part beneath her feet. Her calloused skin hit the damp rock with an empty thud without the usual splash of soft gray waters to soften her step. Pushing further, she willed the waters back, fighting against the pressing weight of the tide. Her hands began to shake, holding up against the immense pressure. She was weak; he’d been gone.

Kat faltered at the thought of him and, next thing she knew, the water was upon her, taking its opportunity to break past her frail walls. The frigid sea rushed over her feet, flooding up to her shins. Kat inhaled sharply as it hit, and any remaining color leeched out of her already gaunt pallor. She squeezed her eyes shut, momentarily bracing against the cold.

In the dark, her memories seized upon her brief moment of instability to invade her thoughts. Kat was immediately swarmed with images of Cas, scattering themselves over the back of her eyelids. His brown eyes flashed at her out from the black, still somehow begging her not to turn away. Wide and pleading, his stare was just as clear as it had been a week ago. A week? Had it only been that long?

Kat had yet to shake the feel of his strong, soft hands, desperately clinging to her arms, so tight his fingertips dug into her freckled skin. A week, she intoned. And she had alreadyfallenapart.

“Kat,” his voice was still so fresh in her mind she could feel him shouting her name. She relived herself turning back to look him standing just beyond the treeline, the image still just as clear as before. Even the words still seemed to reside on her lips -- her feeble attempts to make him understand. “I can’t—they won’t letme—Ijust…”

Cas had taken her hands in his. “Don’tleave,” he said, his voice breaking. And it was all because of her.

Kat wiped at her face now as if the tears she had shed were still lingering on her checks.

“I’m already gone,” she had whispered in a low voice, stupidly hoping he might not hear.

Kat whipped her eyes back open, shaking off the memories. Her hands were wobbling at her sides and she tucked them around herself, shuddering into her own embrace.

The chasm that had split in her chest now seemed wide open. Any cloak she had been hiding it under had floated away, leaving her open and exposed. Kat wondered if anyone happened to walk by: would they see the massive pit in her chest? A hollow gorge savagely ripped open by no one but herself?

A real tear slipped down her face now. She didn’t bother to brush it away.

Sinking to the ground, she let the cold-water lap over her. Damp chill set in quick, and soon her limbs seemed all but a distant memory. She was almost painfully weightless as she rested her head against her knees and began to sob for the first time since he had left.

No, she corrected herself. Since you left.

A brief cool wind brushed across her back; Kat cried out in its absence.

Maybe he would come back. He had always been exceptionally persistent, sometimes to a fault. What if he came after her, and…? She let the thought trail off. And what exactly? Would he come back only to end up reliving the same painful conversation? Would he come back, wrap his arms around her as she currently wished for, only for her to disappear again like mist? What did she think was going to happen?

Oryoucouldgiveitallup, she murmured to herself, hardly daring to indulge in the idea.

She could give it all up. She could… technically. Take Cas and vanish across the sea. Leave her parents, her sisters, her family forever. Forget the moors and the lochs she had known since birth. Say goodbye to the hills and rugged mountain peaks. Cut herself off magic she could feel stirring beneath her feet even now. Never return.

Kat cursed out into the open, ricocheting to her feet and fleeing out of the water.

No,no,no. That wasn’t an option.

It had never been an option, she promised herself.

Back on the hard earth, Kat began pacing through the long seagrass. Each sharp reed pricking the underside of her arms, against her rough feet, skimming against her shins until she was covered in red irritated scratches. Come back, she wished. Come back and…

She needed to stop moving. Needed to slip her boots back on and wander back into the comfortable shelter of the kind green woods. Yet her feet seemed to have a mind of their own, propelling her back and forth against any volition.

Whatifyougogethim? Kat pivoted on the spot. And make matters worse? She asked herself.

Say goodbye to the hills and rugged mountain peaks.

Kat cursed again.

Finally striding in a consistent direction, Katarina gathered her belongings and strode towards the not-too-distant wall of trees.

Just go home, she told herself coming upon the tree line. She took one step into the woods and stopped in her tacks.

Move, she yelled internally.

Kat peered into the dense wall of branches before her. Old towering evergreens ready to welcome her back into their arms. The soft forest floor coated in a layer of needles and leaves. Kat listened carefully for the hum of magic she knew all too well. She stretched her gaze deep into the thicket until her world faded into a blur.

Katarina turned back around and cut her way back to the loch.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

She threw everything in her arms back down to the ground and ran both hands through her raggedy brown hair.

Come on. Come on.

Kat released a shaky breath, her face falling back onto the verge of tears.

“I can’t do this anymore!” she wept to herself.

He was gone, and she was never getting him back.She sank back down to the ground.

Katarina released a cry into the wind, letting her howl blend into the breeze. And then another voice burst into the scene.

“Kat?” an all too familiar voice asked behind her and she turned to him on instinct.

Her breath hitched, catching his brown eyes from across the way. Katarina felt his name rush past her lips in a whisper of a promise. And then she propelled herself into his arms. x

enough?

Trying my best yet never enough

Never enough to make you feel better

Every hope fading

Constantly falling short

Always picking fights

Efforts seem small

Like shadows

Chasing brightness

But keeps dying

Lost in this journey

You slipping away x WORDS by JAKE GIMMY

building blocks

Home was never a picket white-fence, Ballet lessons on Tuesday afternoons, And slumber parties with friends from school

There were rarely any spaces

To fit all my pieces of the puzzle So I painted my own picture. x

WORDS by EEMAN NAJEEL

indigo is where i’d go

To escape My own Story

To make friends On paper

Ask them for advice And see what they’d do

Straight to the romance aisle Because fictional men Knew how it was done And they treated me better Than he ever did

To see if the ending was worth the trouble. x

The Invisible Scars of Trauma

In the midst of natural disasters, crises, and conflicts, the physical repercussions are often visible and immediate: communities destroyed, populations displaced, and lives lost. However, behind the forefront of these devastations lies a secondary, yet equally profound impact that is unseen by many: the mental health toll on those affected (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2022b).

People preoccupied with escaping conflict, dealing with injuries, or worrying for loved ones often disregard their mental health. The psychological effects of disasters can seem invisible (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2022b) and the scars left by such events can be deep and persistent, affecting a community’s ability to recover long after physical effects have subsided (Makwana, 2019). Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF), a leading international medical humanitarian organisation, recognizes mental health as a vital, yet overlooked, component of effective disaster response (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2002). MSF takes a holistic and multi-faceted approach to addressing the psychological component of disaster response, acknowledging the complex intersections of trauma, societal disturbance, and individual adaptability (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2002). As the organisation’s current activities in Ukraine, Syria, and Morocco reveal, from conflicts of war to natural disasters, the acknowledgement of psychological impacts are undeniably important in humanitarian response (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023).

As the ongoing war in Ukraine demonstrates, individuals grappling with the immediate physical consequences of conflict find themselves entangled in a complex web of psychological distress. Amidst the fear and trauma of escaping shelling, living with war wounds, and worrying about loved ones, people are experiencing depression, anxiety, insomnia, and chronic stress (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2022a, 2022b). Women, children, and the elderly have been particularly affected, with women making up the majority of those seeking psychological care (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2022a, 2023). Oftentimes the most vulnerable people, such as the elderly, are isolated. Unable to flee their homes, they have lost access to the supports offered by neighbours and family members. Children, on the other hand, are particularly vulnerable to the psychological effects due to their developmental stage. They often perceive the stress that the adults around them are faced with and pick up on it (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2022a).

Contributors: Colin Fife, Kabir Khatana, Mohammed Al-Rawi, Salena Jaffer, Thiszani Navagnanavel

Many of those affected find themselves living only in their traumatic memories, seeing life only as ‘before’ or ‘after’ the war (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). The recounts of those living through this terror exemplifies the trauma they face, “Of course, it was scary. You lie down and think: ‘who knows what will happen in the morning’” (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). The conflict has opened-up a substantial need for psychological support, ranging from psychological first-aid to comprehensive care. MSF mental healthcare workers have been actively responding to these mental health needs, taking a multifaceted approach (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). From mid-April to mid-May 2022, over 1,000 individual and group mental health sessions were conducted (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2022a). Between January and August 2023, MSF provided 8,000 mental health consultations in seven different regions in Ukraine (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). MSF’s mental health support includes providing services in mobile shelters for people displaced by the conflict (Médecins Sans Frontières Australia, 2022). They have also provided mental health training and increased support for healthcare workers facing burnout and stress through its Care for Carers Program (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2022a). The Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) has emerged as a crucial player in addressing the mental health needs arising from the conflict. The personal testimonies shed light on the tangible impact of MSF’s interventions, highlighting the organisation’s role in providing solace for those dealing with trauma (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2002).

Amid these global challenges, similar struggles are witnessed in other regions, such as the High Atlas region of Morocco. Struck by a devastating 6.8 magnitude earthquake in September 2023, Morocco faced immediate physical consequences, including 2862 casualties and 6000 injuries (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). The Moroccan government, with international collaboration, initiated an intervention to locate the deceased and provide medical aid to the injured (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). Unfortunately, mental health support was not incorporated into the recovery initiatives (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). Mental health is often overlooked during such humanitarian emergencies, yet many individuals are in urgent need of psychological support (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). Stripped of their homes, communities, and loved ones, many Moroccans are now grappling with a surge of emotions—distress, fear, and the unsettling uncertainty casting a shadow on their future. (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023). The earthquake further intensified the challenges for individuals who had delayed seeking help for their mental health (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2023).

MELINDA MELEKI

The event serves as a reminder that, during times of significant crisis, mental well-being is not only essential, but a critical lifeline.

A similar situation is found in a town called Al-Hol located in Syria, where over 40,000 individuals live in makeshift tents (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2024). Having been displaced during the Deri ez-Zor battle in 2018, these refugees have been struggling to cope with the dire living conditions present at the campsites, including poor sanitation facilities, limited access to water, and inadequate healthcare services (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2024). One MSF patient further describes what the living conditions are like: “For six months, I did not know anything about my son and my siblings. We were so poor and helpless. We had to eat grass to survive. No one came to help us or advocate for us” (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2024). Combined with the experience of violence and family separation, the camp has only heightened the refugees’ anguish, leading to increased prevalence of post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and anxiety (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2024). Despite their symptomatology, many individuals hesitate to seek help for fear of being ostracised by others (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2024). The stigma surrounding mental health treatment is something many people identify with, as one MSF mental health patient states: “I was embarrassed to tell my neighbours and friends that I am seeking mental healthcare out of fear that they would consider me crazy” (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2024). MSF is currently on the path to addressing the mental health crisis in Al-Hol by opening new mental health clinics and having open conversations surrounding mental health without the fear of being negatively labelled (Médecins Sans Frontières, 2024).

Often overlooked during crises, mental health has emerged as a significant stressor to communities in need of humanitarian aid. MSF’s projects reveal the gaps in accessing mental health care in many parts of the world, drawing attention to the need to understand mental health as a crucial component of individual well-being. The importance of this awareness is brought to surface in a variety of contexts, from civilians experiencing war and conflict in Ukraine to those confronted with the loss of their homes and loved ones in Morocco and Syria. In light of these situations, governments and local organisations are encouraged to work closely with MSF to improve access to mental health support for individuals experiencing traumatic events.x

References References

Makwana, N. (2019). Disaster and its impact on mental health: A narrative review. Journal of Family Medicine and Primary Care, 8(10), 3090–3095. https://doi.org/10.4103/jfmpc.jfmpc_893_19

Médecins Sans Frontières. (2002). Mental health care crucial in emergency situations | MSF. Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) International.

https://www.msf.org/mental-health-care-crucial-emergency-situations

Médecins Sans Frontières. (2022a). Responding to mounting mental health needs in Ukraine. Doctors Without Borders - USA.

https://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/latest/responding-mounting-mental-health-needsukraine

Médecins Sans Frontières. (2022b, June 8). Ukraine: 100 days of war take a significant toll on mental health. Doctors Without Borders / Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF ... https://www.doctorswithoutborders.ca/ukraine-100-days-of-war-take-a-significant-toll-onmental-health/

Médecins Sans Frontières. (2023). Mental health needs a priority after Moroccan earthquake | MSF. Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) International. https://www.msf.org/mental-health-needs-priority-after-moroccan-earthquake

Médecins Sans Frontières. (2023). Protecting mental health amidst the trauma of war in Ukraine | MSF. Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) International. https://www.msf.org/protecting-mental-health-amidst-trauma-war-ukraine

Médecins Sans Frontières. (2024). Unveiling the mental health crisis at Al-Hol Camp in northeast Syria | MSF. Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) International. https://www.msf.org/unveiling-mental-health-crisis-al-hol-camp-northeast-syria

Médecins Sans Frontières Australia. (2022). Crisis in Ukraine | Médecins Sans Frontières Australia | Doctors Without Borders. https://msf.org.au/issue/crisis-ukraine

ART by SANA

The All-Knowing Adults We Are

Conrad

~Joseph

“The horror! the horror!”

Awake in a nightmare, The people are hooded and Running from being chased— Or running to chase—I can’t tell.

Awake in a nightmare, The ground rumbles, grumbles, and Cracks the pavement, setting free Grass sprouts and entire trees,

The businessmen shouting, “The horror! the horror!”

Awake in a nightmare, My ears ring from my brain remembering Sound and my feet stumble, forgetting How to step forward and forward and forward again.

Awake in a nightmare, I watch my young self curl into a ball On a pavement crack, Naked amidst the chaos.

I walk toward her.

“What are you hiding?”

Trusting adults—for adults Always know best— She reveals to me a small flower, beaten and bruised, shrivelled and stepped on.

And, The all-knowing adult I am, I weep. x

I remember thinking to myself that I should’ve been crying, because that’s what people do during these situations, right?

When I left my house just after 11 am on July 28, 2022, I had no idea what would happen to me less than an hour later. At 12:15, I mobile ordered a coffee from the Tim Hortons in Jackson Square. As I walked through the King William entrance, I suddenly collapsed in the doorway, unable to move. I looked down and saw that my leg was bent in a way it shouldn’t be and I immediately noticed that I was losing feeling in my foot. Over the next hour, I’d be surrounded by Jackson Square personnel and somewhat useless EMTs, while also not being able to force myself to cry. I remember thinking to myself that I should’ve been crying, because that’s what people do during these situations, right? They cry?

I don’t remember much of anything after getting to the emergency department of Hamilton General Hospital. I lost three days and didn’t fully ‘come to’ until August 1st. One thing I do remember, however, is waking up, lifting my sheets, and seeing a gnarly-looking external fixator (ex-fix) literally screwed into the length of my leg. Having a group of surgeons tell you what will happen in the OR while you’re knocked out versus finally seeing the aftermath of their work are two completely different things. I know they told me that they’d be putting an external fixator in, but the sight I woke up to is one I don’t think I’ll ever forget. It’s almost stomach-turning to think about.

I barely had time to process what had just happened because, as soon as I came to, I threw myself directly into my Summer class and its assignments. By week two or three of being admitted, I became extremely depressed; I’d often cry myself to sleep or call my mother crying because I was feeling scared and alone. As it turned out, my depression was partly due to being immobile and partly due to the lack of sun I was getting, they gave me Vitamin D and I felt better within a few days.

The Fall 2022 semester was difficult for me, though, not only because I had to take all of my classes online, which came with its own set of issues, but because I wasn’t able to participate in the one thing I’d been looking forward to since my second year. The only reason I had decided to take the Honours program: was to go on exchange. I was so excited to study abroad in the United Kingdom, but it, unfortunately, wasn’t meant to be. That crushed me more than anything else I’d dealt with up until that point.

It felt as if everything I’d done had essentially been for naught and I hated that feeling because I knew it wasn’t.

Being forced to go back online for my Fall term, and experiencing the deepest depression I’d ever had since 2017 during the Winter, was extremely evident in my grades: I wound up not only withdrawing from a class in the Fall but also completely failing another in the Winter (two things I hadn’t experienced up until then). I could’ve very easily taken some time off to heal both mentally and physically, but I was (read: am) stubborn. So, I forced myself to persevere and cry as needed because I’d told myself that I was going to graduate in the “allotted” four years and I’d be damned if I was going to let a knee injury stop me.

Thankfully, despite having to miss the last few weeks of classes, I finished Fall 2023 strong with grades that were far better than I could’ve hoped (three A’s, a B, and a C) and I couldn’t be more proud of myself. I’m currently in the process of finishing my last semester of undergrad, so I’ll be graduating in four years–just as I said I would. My doctors, instructors, and SAS coordinator are amazed at how well I’ve done, given the circumstances, not many people would continue the way I have. Most would probably take time off to heal, both mentally and physically, but I didn’t give myself that because I felt like I couldn’t– I would’ve been letting myself down if I had. I simply adapted and kept moving. x

I would’ve been letting myself down if I had.

I simply adapted and kept moving

KEEP MOVING

I forgot to water the plants yesterday It slipped my mind, but as the leaves pruned I felt my eyes dampen with the water that could have nourished a life

Should I feel guilty?

That water flows so carelessly in my body, spilling from my eyes

Spilling out of the cup I drink from Sloshing in my stomach that turns, overwhelmed by such mundane tasks

I Forgotto Water the Plants

I let the pests eat the plants I let the rabbits devour the vegetables I dreamt I’d cook for myself

Being so overwhelmed by the joy reflected in their tiny faces, I didn’t ask them to stop

ART by SANA GUPTA WORDS by FIONA MOFFAT

The skunks dug holes in my soil that I didn’t fill

And the satisfied animals, who left with stomachs full

Left my view empty, dismal, scavenged. I forgot to pull the weeds in the front garden

And now they spread, diseased, relentless; consuming the beautiful plants I once believed I’d love enough to sustain Entangled like the hair that my mother once brushed

The hair that I fought to let free, so the strands could mingle with each other in a dance of adulthood and freedom

The hair she loved enough to maintain

Should I call my mother? I forgot to water the plants yesterday

But the sun rose and shone on their corpses I awoke to the early morning light, the water spilled over the can

A step into the crisp air, a breath of life into the garden

Today I will try again. x

[i want to address the gathering of scars/ the price/the blood/the lies/the glass/most importantly, the boredom]

i have never thought life to be boring.

yesterday i bought cigarettes from a man - his gaze, averted, i studied the wrinkles on his skin. a landscape etched with stories, new geography, old earthquakes, the faint sound of mountains being rearranged. i wanted to ask him how he contains; how he can keep his stories and secrets from bursting him apart at the seams. i can not contain. trying to connect with people leaves me feeling like a severed head. the guillotine drops, yet it doesn’t slice with a clean cut. my head, crooked forward, looking down at everything in my voice box, a cascade of confessions pooling on the floor, “i am sorry” - “i love you” - “i tried”

i used to believe in the simplicity of others; the spitting of cold truths that could burn a hallway in hell. but not me; my god arrived scented in smoke and leather, with love like a chain-link fence and a sedated comatose.

[and there’s a glass, i shattered not long ago, lovely blue sharp geometries now, i am saving them for a crown of bones and jewels. the jar that cradles them, i roll it in my hands, savoring the sound. i think, what is a human, if not a vessel, a container of stories?]

yesterday, i found a poem written a decade past in the chill of october. i had wished for october to be gentle, yet it was sharp and cold and quiet. if you listened closely, you would hear the ghosts scratching the walls of your throat, making you bleed words you never knew existed before. the last lines of the poem were - “everything is blistering, everything is red”

last night, my nose bled in the shower. blood frightens me and nosebleeds are nauseating, yet this time i held no fear. it was hypnotizing; the melding of blood into water, the impermanence. tomorrow will bear no traces. my body, the bottom of my pink bathtub, chips in the vinyl pooling with crimson - everything was red.

the past year, too, has been red, it has been blistering. a deep shade of scarlet taints my memories, a permanent stain muddying the details; a mess i am unsure i will ever be able to wash off. cleaning it gets harder when i convince myself that it is meant to be that way, it is meant to be dirty, tainted and bloody. that perhaps it is true, perhaps i am a mess of good intentions gone wrong. striking a match on myself to keep others warm but somehow now the whole world is on fire, and i try to douse the flames, i try so hard, but instead the dam breaks, and emotions spill like unbridled waters. i am sorry, so very, very sorry and i have drowned everyone to prove it.

[the glass pieces are scars, wounded memories. as the jar turns, as we turn, they stab us a little. and yes, with time, or salt water, they soften their edges. they might. but here we are, jars of glass, filled with glass]

i have never thought life to be boring.

how could it be? when for far too long, love existed beyond a veil of shadows, where madness, pain and bruises masqueraded as tenderness. like salt born of ocean, penetrating my skin and weaving a venom through my veins, i would beg to drink in the madness. i would let salt saturate my body with poison and plead to soak in it, to immerse myself in a bath of disorder, baptized and drenched head to toe, carving my bones with a scripture of delirium.

there is no boredom - when you wake up in your dress at 4am, close your legs for someone you love, open them for someone you do not. back away from a mirror that wants to kill you. swim across the river to watch the moon devour the sun and rip out the stitches in your heart because why not, if no one else can and no one else will. there’s no boredom - when you understand extremes. i am a choir of voices breaking into prayer against the church ceiling. sadness is blood letting, guilt and anger taste the same on my tongue. i can never remember which one is supposed to be virtuous. shame is being decapitated, never with a clean cut, forced to carry my head, and tell everyone lies.

the same kind of lies that could set a hallway ablaze in hell. and in return, i craved more lies for safety, a refuge against truths that burn. lies come in many hues - white, black, countless shades of grey. some justified, born of kindness, preserving dignity or sparing pain. maybe, i thought, with enough lies, there would be enough fuel to burn a hallway so vast that it had no choice but to end. and at the end there would be a door. and behind that door there would be a truth.

[time doesn’t heal; it’s a broken promise. time is the accumulation of shattered glass. random geometries, all we can do is hold them close, inside ourselves, let them carve through us]

[i am not sure when i mistook stability for boredom.]

[in my head things can be, so many other things] at some point the lull of monotony became unbearable. like a starving dog being offered a meal from someone who may as well have been god, i would reject stillness, bite the hand offering change. because i believed stillness was just a dream, a trap. tomorrow is a given, yet tomorrow never comes. we get bored of life, resume and repeat. again. and again. there was nothing left to do but to ignore tomorrow, reasoned words, the instant they come, unread, unfelt, untouched.

[bone=crown=my self accumulation = fairytale]

neck wrapped in twine, comfort in calluses, you can only unravel a knotted life by cutting the frayed end and i was simply just (un)comfortable the way i was. the farther i strayed from myself, the closer i got to home. falling into the night like a dizzy sun, holding pain like a girl pinned against the wall. these lies, this blood, the extremes, the starvation, empty invitations, misguided intentions and severed heads - it was a home in the madness. yet, it was never gratuitous, it was only me, finding silver linings everywhere i could, convincing myself i did not need a head because i never knew the right words to say anyways.

[scar=glass=gemstone=story=please stay=no=stop=accept the broken geometry=another story=survival]

the truth whispers - [i am not bad like i always claimed.]

[does a distraction matter when pain looms inevitably?]

today, i woke up in a different body than the one that rose beneath the same covers yesterday, caught between monotony and shaping the rhythm of my breath in preparation for leather lungs to die in dust. i woke up in a new story with the same cover, yet the struggle lingers. who i am is accompanied by the remorse of living as who i have been, speaking through a brand new throat wainscotted with shards of regret. these fragments slice every word into pieces so small that learning from my mistakes will eventually have me stitching my tongue to my teeth. i preach a subtle hypocrisy that the past is the past, yet as soon as i am faced with the same situations, i find myself searching for my reflection in a house of mirrors with the lights off. i have never been a looking glass, but rather a smoke filled room.

[me, i want to build jewels from my damages. is there another choice?]

maybe i have been doing it wrong this whole time - tenderly clasping tightly wrapped boxes brimming with fairytales, anticipating the right moment to open them. now, looking back, i lived on my island of stability, blissfully ignorant of the sharks lurking in the water. each day presented a choice, to swim or not, and every time i did, i would forget the pain, asking myself the same question with the same cluelessness each day. telling myself, tomorrow i’ll stop. and tomorrow kept coming, it kept washing away the blood. but it was only a matter of time until the guillotine dropped once more. i heard my head, thud, hit the ground. everything in my mouth came flowing out - all the saltwater that i swallowed, the broken glass, the boredom. just as crashing waves begin to sound like an orchestra if you listen long enough, the deafening lull of monotony began to grow melodic. it was not a call to the mundane but rather a plea to slow down. it was a reminder that october does not need to have sharp edges and that i do not need to bleed in order to be held. x

ART by ALBANY SUTHERLAND

IN THE MIDST OF CHAOS THERE IS ALSO OPPORTUNITY

- SUN TZU

incite magazine volume 26, issue 2 “chaos”

Published June 2024

Incite Magazine is McMaster University’s creative arts and writing publication. We aim to unite a community of creatives by promoting self-expression, collaboration, and dialogue within our university campus and the city of Hamilton. Every aspect of Incite’s writing, graphics, multimedia, and event production is carried out by our wonderful student volunteers. If you would like to get involved, feel free to get in touch by emailing incitemagazine@gmail.com.

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

editor in chief (content): aliyah sumar

editor in chief (arts and production): sana gupta

layout director: naiha ali

treasurer: ayesha umair

communications director: christina tam

events director: peyton whitehouse

content editors:

elizabeth zhou, hedeel askar, hooriya masood, mia saha, misaal mehboob, parsa razeghi, rachel oseida, sowmithree ragothaman, yumna ahmad

art managers:

aditya kalra, alexandra russell, alissa norenberg, emily zeng, mahek marker, mara li, melinda meleki, yeemon

layout editors: aditya kalra, rhiannon carr, rushaida khan, sana gupta, sheza jamil

cover art: beautiful chaos by naiha ali

contributors: (Content): aidan zeglinski, aliyah sumar, dora xu, durezernab, fiona moffat, jay rose, jess kim, kaleb huarez rios, manal effendi, mcmaster friends of msf, parsa razeghi, rachel oseida, rami naamna, ramneek panchi, reyanne morgan, ria patel, sakeenah niazi, sidak arora, sofia funamoto, sowmithree ragothaman, timi toyon, zoya hasan (Artists): aditya kalra, aidan zeglinski, albany sutherland, alexandra russell, damilola alabibenson, harmela celestin, emily zeng, esther han, mahek marker, mara li, melinda meleki, naiha ali, reyanne morgan, sana gupta, tania kazi, vicky lin, yameena zahid, yeemon

incite

VOLUME XXVI:I

CHAOS...