Incite Magazine - December 2015 by Incite Magazine

INCITE MAGAZINE VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4 ▪ DECEMBER 2015

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TO WHOMEVER THIS MAY CONCERN | Annabel Krutiansky

COMPLIMENTARY POSITIONING | Matthew Basset

THE SPACE BAR Catherine Hu

WOEBEGONE Annie Yu

WHERE NO ONE HAS GONE BEFORE | Danielle Smith

EMBRACING THE UNKNOWN Kayla Esser

LIGHT YEARS APART Osmond Jian

6:45 AM Michele Zaman

RUNNING OUT OFSarah O'Connor

BEES Rachelle Zalter

ART: FINDING MY OWN SPACE | Lauren Gorfinkel

COSMIC CELEBRATIONS Marlene Malik

TO INFINITY & BEYOND Matt Yau

TO UNCREATE GOD Chukky Ibe

A HOARDED LIFE Takhliq Amir

HOROSCOPES Nimra Khan

22 23 24 25 26 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 36 37 38 39

CROWD OF SOLITUDE Aryan Ghaffarizadeh

PULSATING STARS Sana Gill

AN ODE TO STANDING IN LINE | Alexandra Marcaccio

KEYNOTE ADDRESS Coby Zucker ART | Leah Flanagan, Emma MacLeod, David Shin, Rohidan Rajkumar SOLITUDE OF EMPTINESS Parsa Mehraban Far

THE TRIP Hamid Yuksel

SCIENCE AND EXPLORATION Arakel Minassian

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Sarah Mae Conrad Jaslyn English ART CURATORS Kayla Da Silva Lauren Gorfinkel Jason Lau Angela Ma CONTENT EDITORS Caitlyn Buhay Dalya Cohen Kayla Esser Gali Katznelson Nimra Khan Madeleine McMillan Sarah O’Connor Sunny Yun Rachelle Zalter IN-HOUSE ARTISTS Kayla Da Silva Mimi Deng Lauren Gorfinkel Diana Marginean LAYOUT EDITORS Catherine Chambers Angela Ma Elaine Westenhoefer

NIGHT SKY Sadiya Jamal

HEAVEN OR HELL? Olivia Fasullo

ART: IDA & SPACES Michael Sun & Jason Lau

ART Camelia McLeod

CENTER OR FRINGE Khatija Anjum

THE SPUTNIK MOMENT Emile Shen

THE ONE Sunny Yun

TAKE A BREATH Linda Nguyen INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

ncite Magazine is McMaster University’s student-run monthly publication with a wide range of content, from essays and research pieces to fiction and poetry. Every aspect of Incite’s production is carried out by student volunteers, from writing to graphics to layout. We invite anyone interested in contributing to attend our planning meetings, where we will brainstorm ideas together and you can sign up to contribute. All skill levels are welcome! We work to foster close relationships between our contributors and editors. This allows new contributors to collaborate with experienced writers and artists to develop their skills in a friendly and positive environment. Email us at incite@mcmaster.ca to get involved.  issuu.com/incite-magazine facebook.com/incitemagazine @incitemagazine

WRITERS Takhliq Amir, Khatija Anjum, Matthew Basset, Kayla Esser, Olivia Fasullo, Aryan Ghaffarizadeh, Sana Gill, Catherine Hu, Chukky Ibe, Sadiyah Jamal, Osmond Jian, Nimra Khan, Annabel Krutiansky, Marlene Malik, Alexandra Marcaccio, Parsa Mehraban Far, Arakel Minassian, Linda Nguyen, Sarah O'Connor, Emile Shen, Danielle Smith, Matt Yau, Annie Yu, Hamid Yuksel, Sunny Yun, Rachelle Zalter, Michele Zaman, Coby Zucker

ARTISTS Rene Andrade, Evan Benak, Carl Cheng, Kayla Da SIlva, Shirley Deng, Mimi Deng, Leah Flanagan, Glenesha Grant, Janus Gomez, Lauren Gorfinkel, Catherine Hu, Jason Lau, Jin Lee, Ellen Li, Angela Ma, Emma MacLeod, Diana Marginean, Sherri Murray, Patricia Nguyen, David Shin, Franco Simões, Michael Sun, Rohidan Rajkumar, Eric Van Nus, Melanie Wasser, Shannon Wu, William Zhang, Brian Zheng

LAYOUT DESIGNERS Catherine Chambers, Sarah Mae Conrad, Catherine Hu, Angela Ma, Elaine Westenhoefer, Annie Yu, Sunny Yun

COVERS/TABLE OF CONTENTS Angela Ma VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

 To Whomever This May Concern Annabel Krutiansky A series of letters to where the space in my life lingers. Dear Lines, Your presence fills everything I’ve ever read. We should talk. Or rather not? Because that seems to be your talent. You say so much, but it’s nothing. Everything you mean is hidden between. I’ve spent a lot of my life resenting you, only because I could never understand what you wanted. Turns out I was the one to blame. Thanks to you I’ve developed a talent of seeing between everything that you say matters and finding the truth. We’re still working on it but I look forward to dealing with you again. Sincerely, Your reader. Dear Space, I’m cleaning myself up, I’ve decided to cut you out of parts of my life. Now, don’t be upset. Less of you here means more of you somewhere else… I suppose. You are where hands aren’t being held, where legs don’t touch, where glances aren’t exchanged. Just the thought of you can bring me to tears. This is all me, nothing even to do with you, really. I’ll keep it short and simple. Sincerely, I’ll keep you short and simple.

artwork by Kayla Da Silva

Dear Hurt, I’ve been doing some soul searching. I couldn’t find you. I realize you not being in my life has to do with you being locked up in spaces. I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know how to save you. I’m sorry you were stuck in spaces, left to grow on your own. I’m sorry I didn’t rescue you sooner. I’m here now. Sincerely, Forgive me. Dear Silence, Why are you so loud? You’ve been distant… and my god is it deafening. I thought that having you here was the absence of something, But, really, you are the presence of everything. You always told me that what I don’t know can’t cause me pain. Because of you I never experienced hurt. You were wrong to do that. Sincerely, I need you to say less. Dear Love(r), I don’t know where you are. That scares me. I need to know the honest truth. Keep it short and simple, because I know you feel it too. You’re in NY and I’m in LA. It feels like a million miles, but I know in the morning I’ll be pulling on your shirt and I’ll beg you to stay. You tell me not to worry, but I now know hurt and I don’t want be at those cross roads again. Remember that I can read you better than any book I’ve ever read. Sincerely, A Friend. 

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

ARTWORK BY PATRICIA NGUYEN

COMPLIMENTARY POSITIONING Matthew Bassett

usical tones and rhythms communicate emotional information. Whether you are a solo musician or playing in a group, much of your ability to relay that information is dictated by the way you use the space between phrases and dynamic changes. Such as it is with body language and comedy, in music, you can often say so much with so little. Would the drop be as powerful without the pause after the build up? Would the solo be heard if other instruments did not allow room for the soloist? Would the hook be as memorable if not for the identifiable cutoff? Silence, when used effectively, can be the defining feature of a piece of music, which can be exemplified by John Cage’s 4’33”. Musical phrases can be thought of phrases in conversation; they can be short and quick, long and slow, filled with passion, or lulled by passive undertones. An essential aspect of a phrase is that it is bookended by pauses. If it were not, much of the detail of the piece would be lost. What makes a phrase meaningful, however, is not when it starts and stops, but rather how it works in sequence with others to create a theme of expression. When

phrases are linked (I’m thinking genetic scales), all the voices can be heard, and coherent units (not proteins in this case, maybe) come forth. Dynamic changes refer to the loudness, or intensity, of the sound. Changes in dynamics also occur in music and language similarly. We adjust our volume to our surroundings and we convey different emotions with different pressure levels. One way we discover context to these differences is by analyzing how they change over time. If a naturally quiet person screams out suddenly, we take intense notice. A trait is an intrinsic characteristic; the norm in which you rotate around. A state is a characteristic that varies with time. The same principles can be applied in music. The space that is created by dynamic changes keeps listeners from becoming bored, I think often because it means we sense the character(s) evolving, or because we can validate or create emotions from the rise and fall of the intensity. It is the moments of silence in music that steal our breath and captivate our attention. It is the space, which we fill up, that keeps us yearning for more. 

What makes a phrase meaningful, however, is not when it starts and stops, but rather how it works in sequence with others to create a theme of expression.

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

THE SPACE BAR Catharine Hu

ARTWORK BY CATHERINE HU

lex had never seen the stars this close. As he swirled the drink in his glass, he looked out into the void pressing against the windows on all sides and the vast fields of light laced within. He felt very small here. It was not a feeling he was used to. Emily tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to start. “They’re here,” she said quietly, and Alex turned to see two men in uniform enter from the far end of the bar. “Are you sure you want to do this?” “I’m sure,” he said. “Look, I know you have reservations about this deal, but it’s for the best.” “Do you really believe that?” Emily murmured furiously. “Alex, you know what the military’s going to do with this technology. Billions are going to die.” “We need the money to fund other projects. What they do once the tech is in their hands isn’t our responsibility.” The two men had seen them and were walking over. Alex downed the last of his drink and swallowed hard. “Anyways it’s too late now, the deal is practically done.” “Not true. We’ve done this kind of transaction before; you know it can be nullified at the last –” “You’ve got to be joking.” “Alex, please. Lumos was meant to develop clean energy, not intergalactic warfare. You still have time to make a choice.” The two men were nearly upon them, and Emily gave his arm a quick comforting squeeze. “Remember, one button for yes, another for no. Make sure you pick the right one.” “Mr. Pietrowicz,” said the first of the military men. He walked

One button for yes, another for no.

up and they shook hands. “I am Commander Walker. This is Commander Bastien. We will be finalizing the Lumos deal with you today.” “Pleasure to meet you, Commanders,” Alex replied. He nodded towards Emily. “This is Dr. Emily Cruz, chief engineer on the Lumos Project. She will be able to answer any last questions you may have.” The four of them sat down at a table. “Thank you for travelling so far to meet us,” said Commander Walker. “I hope you appreciate the delicate and confidential nature of our business. There is a reason we’ve brought you to this location. Nothing we do leaves this bar.” “Understood,” said Alex. “Thank you for flying us out here. It’s… well, it’s quite stunning.” The bar’s enormous windows wrapped them in a tapestry of stars. There was something about staring into the belly of the universe that gave Alex a strange feeling of vertigo, an unnerving yet exhilarating sense of perspective. Emily was right about the military, he knew. It was a hard thing to admit to himself. But somewhere out there, in one of those galaxies that now seemed close enough to touch, there was an entire planet whose fate was decided by the deal he was about to make. His attention returned to the negotiations before him. Emily was settling technical details with Commander Walker, her tone detached and coldly professional. She had handed Alex her resignation on the flight here; she would be leaving the company once the deal was done. Across from him, Commander Bastien had pulled out a sleek black laptop with a military crest. “Everything appears to be in order,” Commander Walker finally said. “Is there anything you wish to add, Mr. Pietrowicz? You have been very quiet.” “Nothing, Commander. All the major conditions have been settled. Dr. Cruz has said anything else I may have wanted to say.” “Very well.” Commander Walker nodded at Commander Bastien, who turned the laptop towards Alex with the terms of the deal pulled up on the screen. All that was needed was Alex’s signature and a simple push of a button. “On behalf of our nation and planet, I’d like to thank you for your cooperation in this agreement. Now if you would be so kind?” Alex gazed out the window one last time. One button for yes, another for no. He knew what he had to do. He reached towards the keyboard, a sad smile on his lips. And just like that, everything fell into place.  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

WOEBEGONE

Annie Yu

ith a gentle press of the home button, the messaging app obediently shut off and she rolled out of bed. She pondered what his thoughts were while brewing her first cup of Earl Gray. It was difficult to imagine whether he found it peculiar to say “Good morning” to her at midnight or if he felt the same comfort that she clung to. He hadn’t replied to her last message yet, so perhaps it was the former. Was she over thinking? A myriad of insecurities flashed through her mind. Rumours invaded her trust like flies in the sweltering summer: Kimberly, Jenny, Anastasia... the list of female names went on. A quick swipe of the screen led him back to their conversation thread. He scrolled through her messages and wondered how she was coping with his absence. Sometimes he felt like he was conversing with a stranger, and most of the time he felt powerless against her loaded inquiries. He curled up in bed listening to the rattling nightlife of Amsterdam, savouring the memory of the soft curves of her body. The high-quality screen in his hand didn’t make him feel any closer to her. In the end, her words were simply pixels. Catching the moment the green dot disappeared beside her name, he sighed and tried to bury his troubles in slumber. She gnawed on her fingernails. When had their relationship become a computerized enigma, an electronic mind game for two? She pictured the next reunion. Circumstances made it impossible for either of them to relocate permanently. Parents, careers, and ambitions: all barriers that their almighty love could not seem to drill through. Was it worthwhile to be hopeful in this hopeless battle? He chuckled and cried at their two years of delusion. A cheerful notification alert signified his invitation for “communication,” something they vowed to practice the first time she accompanied him to the airport. Yet her heart thudded with fear. It felt like an ominous call.

Rumours invaded her trust like flies in the sweltering summer. There were a few sympathetic seconds of silence. “Let’s not be so reckless anymore,” he whispered mournfully. “Let’s not keep driving towards an escarpment that will lead to our inevitable fall.” Spilt tea stained the carpet. “I know you try, we both do. But courage is our greatest weakness. There’s nothing romantic about sobbing in the bathtub over each other’s lack of empathy or falling asleep alone for the next thousand days, recounting our memories like the homeless tallying up the cents in their ragged pockets. It breaks my heart. I’m a man, not a magician. I can’t romanticize reality even if I prayed each day that we could both be eternally content in our current state of madness and endure this laughable distance. I love you, too.” Her finger smudged the bitter tears that splashed onto the screen of her device. She was familiar with lingering pain, helplessly drowning in the crashing waves. 

ARTWORK BY LEAH FLANAGAN VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

WHERE NO ONE HAS GONE BEFORE Danielle Smith

s I child, I always had my nose in a book. I would stay up late at night, equipped with a flashlight just bright enough to light my page, and read entire novels, cover to cover. Filled with fantastical settings, heroic characters, and unexplainable events, the science fiction and fantasy

novels I devoured satisfied my craving for adventure and opened my eyes to endless possibilities. In my books, I traveled to places that stirred the imagination—places I had never been, and may never go. As an adult, the novels I love still fall into those genres, and they continue to inspire curiosity in me,

and a desire to explore the unknown and beyond. According to Star Trek, I’m not alone. To boldly go where no one has gone before. It’s the mantra that defined a generation and a goal that many of us try to live by, myself included. It evokes a sense of courage and thrill often associated with adventure. Adventure takes many shapes and forms. It can be as easy as trying something new, whether a new dish for dinner or a new hobby in your spare time. Alternatively, it might entail going out of your way, even risking danger to explore unknown territory. It doesn’t require expensive gear or fancy gadgets, just the courage to step outside of your comfort zones and the willingness to take a risk.

But what drives us to explore the unknown?

ARTWORK BY ERIC VAN NUS 8

But what drives us to explore the unknown? One obvious answer is curiosity, a vital human characteristic. No one is sure exactly how curiosity works or why we are willing to waste hours exploring new areas just for the sake of knowing more. However, the root of our curiosity may be linked to neoteny: the evolution of humans as a more child-like species than other mammals. Our never-ending curiosity and insatiable desire to learn may be one behavioural outcome of this evolution. Beyond curiosity, humans have a deep need to stand out, be unique, and leave our mark on the world. Cathedrals, pyramids and museums are prime examples of past generations’ attempts at leaving their mark. Perhaps, most of all, we desire to build a legacy that future generations can not only be in awe of, but aspire to achieve someday for themselves. While creation and innovation are one way of achieving this, it is our ambition that drives us to want to go further than our ancestors. Combined with the thrill of adventure, the thirst for knowledge, and rampant curiosity, there are no limits to our exploration of the unknown.  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

EMBRACING THE UNKNOWN Kayla Esser

ccording to Neil deGrasse Tyson, there are three kinds of scientific discoveries that researchers can hope to make. The first is simply a discovery of what we already expect, a confirmation of our understanding of nature. The second is when we don’t find what we were expecting, and have to go back and re-evaluate the way we think about the world. And the third occurs when we are forced to look back, and we end up discovering phenomena that are entirely new and unanticipated. For example, the discovery of the Higgs boson, an elementary particle that is crucially important to particle physics theory, falls under the first category. It didn’t bring us a new understanding of physics; rather it confirmed the prevailing model. This kind of discovery is a good thing, but sometimes it’s when things don’t go as planned that major scientific advances occur. In Physics class last year, our professor taught us about the Michelson-Morley experiment, in which the researchers attempted to measure the speed of light in perpendicular directions as Earth moved around the Sun. They expected the speed to be variable, but found that it was the same in every direction. This initiated a line of research that eventually led to the theory of special relativity. The fact that researchers didn’t get what they were expecting led to an even more enlightening discovery. In more recent news, research done by astronomers at the Space Telescope Science

Institute in Baltimore indicated that the universe has enough planet-making material to create at least 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 Earthlike planets. And that’s only in the observable universe! Of course, the potential existence of these planets doesn’t guarantee the evolution of intelligent life, and it doesn’t give any timeline to when the planets may show up. This puts Earth in an interesting context – it could be millions of years after our extinction that another form of life appears. I find it kind of comforting that maybe someone in a future civilization will one day find the signals we sent out in our spaceships, or the Golden Record that Carl Sagan released. Like throwing a bottle out into the ocean, we will likely never know if our messages get picked up, but even just the notion of launching them says something interesting about our capacity to hope. As a student, I know that we tend to focus very heavily on wanting answers. But to be a scientist, you have to learn to love the questions. You’ll realize that most of the greatest mysteries of our time will go unanswered, and that’s the fun part! You have to embrace the unknown and accept your ignorance. It’s not surprising that so many people are inspired by outer space. It’s a blank slate for our imaginations. We have no idea what life beyond this planet could look like, or if it exists at all, but ever since we turned our faces towards the sky, humans have been dreaming up the possibilities. 

ARTWORK BY GLENESHA GRANT

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

ARTWORK BY JIN LEE

LIGHT YEARS APART Osmond Jian

Hey Ben.

It’s been a year since I last saw you. By the time this message reaches you, another year will have passed. We are still in transit to the Omega system and nowhere near completing the mission. I can’t wait to see you again in 20 years. Remember those cookies we always wanted to try? And that amusement park we never got to go to? We’ll definitely do everything when I get back.

I haven’t gotten your reply yet, it’ll probably come in another 3 years, but I just wanted to let you know that the mission will be delayed. They estimate that I’ll be back 30 years from now. You’ll be in your seventies by then. Seventy years old! It makes me so mad that they’re holding us here until then. They just robbed a huge chunk of my life. I spent my teenage years in space, my adulthood working for the military, and by the time I get back, everyone I know will be old or gone. This message probably won’t reach you for another 10 years, and I won’t even hear your reply for 10 more. Time is so cruel to us. But even then, will you wait for me, Ben? Will you still think of me every day? I think our love is strong enough to surpass even distance and time.

How is the band doing? How is Alexis? And your sister? Space is vapid, surrounded by the same stars, enveloped by a blanket of constant darkness. It feels kind of lonely here, though I’m supposed to be in cyro. By the time I get your reply, I’ll probably be at the space station. I guess I’ll go back to kill time. Miss you, Miranda

I wonder if when I dream about you, my thoughts travel faster than light, reaching you and then flying back to me, to give me the warm dreams of us by the fireplace on a Christmas winter night. I love you, Miranda

By the time this reaches you, it would have been 4 years since your last reply. Hey Ben. Thank you for that picture of you, it was so funny that I nearly choked on my food from laughing! It’s good to see everyone so happy, and how some people certainly never change (Alexis)! We got here a few earth days ago and I’m stationed on the planetary fortress. The station is even better than the moon base. It’s amazing that a manmade monument can make you feel so insignificant. Yes, of course I’ll send some photos. The universe is such a large place, Ben. By the time this reaches you, it would have been 4 years since your last reply. Will you still remember me? Yes, I still think about you a lot. Have you decided what you want to be? Did your sister become a doctor? Will the band still stay together? Keep me updated! I really miss the planetary lifestyle. I’m not allowed on the planet we’re colonizing yet- I hear there’s some trouble and the mission might be delayed even longer. I can only pray that it won’t.

Dear Ben, I’m headed back to Earth now. I should get back in 10 years. I still haven’t received a reply from you. I hope everything is okay, and that there were just some complications with the delivery system. I can’t wait to see you. Maybe I won’t even recognize you. Do you remember the convenience store owner, with the bald spot and the beard? You’ll probably look like him now. I’ll definitely look younger than you, as usual. With all the money I made, we can finally finish doing everything on our bucket list. I’m so excited. Love, Miranda

I wonder if when I dream about you, my thoughts travel faster than light. Hey Ben?

Can’t wait to see you, Miranda 10

Are you receiving my messages? Are you still alive?  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

6:45 AM Michele Zaman

as anyone told you that life is different at 6:45 am? The very moment you wake from slumber, when your mind is drifting from one world to the next, the sun also awakens, half in our world and half in another – slowly rising above the horizon, slowly filling the sky with color and joy. Life is colder, calmer, and stiller. Some days I wake up happy. There’s a skip in my step as I walk down the same streets, past the same houses, the same trees, the same cars, the same flowers,

to wait at the same bus stop. Taking the same bus, with the same driver, standing beside the same people as I do five times a week, eight months out of the year, at 6:45 am. On those days I am bird, happy and soaring freely amongst those around me. Some days I wake up miserable, each step heavier than the last, as I walk down the same street, past the same flowers, waiting at the same bus stop, beside the same people. I don’t remember what it

feels like to soar, all I know is weight, all I feel is the anchor I call my life bringing me down. My worries caress me, my pain cradles me like a child, clouding my vision. Some days, instead of noticing every breath I take, I notice the breaths taken by everyone else. We stand mere inches apart yet we are oceans away. I wonder if they are soaring or if they are sinking. I wonder what pains and aches they carry with them, I wonder what makes their heart sing.

Has anyone told you that life is different at 6:45 am? Our hearts locked away and our minds lost in the distance.  ARTWORK BY SHANNON WU

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

RUNNING OUT OF Sarah O’Connor

aitlyn was tired of running. Her feet ached, her lungs burned, and worst of all she was starting to smell. She slowed to a walk, holding her side which throbbed in pain. “Come now Caitlyn, you’re better than this,” Malachi’s voice echoed in the alley. She looked around frantically but couldn’t see him, but Malachi had his ways. She forced herself into a run, looking for somewhere to hide. Had it really only been a month since she’d escaped Malachi and his gang? She’d left on March 2, her birthday. She remembered Malachi foolishly fussing over her as she nodded, smiled, and drugged his coffee. It had been easy enough to leave: she told the other members of his gang that she’d been given a special job, and that Malachi was sleeping and not to disturb him. They had believed her. Who wouldn’t believe Malachi’s pet? But as soon as Malachi woke up from his drugged-up stupor, the truth got out and the running began. “Come on out, Catie. We can talk about this like two grown adults.” He turned his head around in a circle, eyes searching for movement and finding none. Caitlyn watched him from behind a metal trash box. She used to love working for Malachi, loved the rush she felt from stealing from his rivals. Hell, she even liked when things got violent. But then she started to notice that she was nothing more than Malachi’s pet. Sure, she got to go on jobs, even got to beat up a few bastards, but it wasn’t without Malachi’s constant cooing: “Now Catie, be careful. We don’t want you getting hurt now, do we?” “Catie, why don’t you be dispatch this time?

You’ve always been so good at giving orders.” “No, no Catie, no fighting this time. How about the seductress (again)?” Yes, it had taken Caitlyn a long time to figure it out, but she knew she couldn’t be Malachi’s plaything anymore. She was not a princess to be locked up and yearned for, and she was no damsel. But Malachi would never just let her leave, so she’d been forced to run. He pushed his dark, curling hair back with his hand and let out a slow breath through puffed cheeks. “I’m not very happy with what you did to me back in March. Drugging me? Very unlike you, and extremely rude. Not something I would’ve expected from you. But if you come out now I’ll forgive you, let bygones be bygones, and we’ll continue with how things were. There’d be a dock in pay of course, but you’d make it up eventually.” Caitlyn gritted her teeth and glared at him. She knew he was baiting her out, trying to get her to speak and reveal her location, but she was smarter than that. Malachi crossed his arms and looked up at the cloudy night sky. “You always were a stubborn girl, weren’t you?” He laughed, “Why can’t you just be a good girl and come out?” Caitlyn pulled out her gun and aimed it at the back of Malachi’s head. He didn’t turn to look for her, just waited for her to come out like a loyal dog who’d chewed up his favourite slippers. The world was silent. Caitlyn could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she stared at the back of her former boss’s head. She licked her cracked lips, and t- (You have exceeded your word count.) 

(You have exceeded your word count.)

ARTWORK BY JANUS GOMEZ

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

 Bees Rachelle Zalter The sun tends to show up for funerals. My best friend hasn’t been answering my phone calls for three months, but she shows up today, with the sun. There’s a lady here who I swear I’ve never met, yet, she’s asking me about the cancer. She’s asking me about the cancer, and with every answer I’m thinking (in case she’s a stalker), “What can I safely say?” I’m wondering how many people have the gumption to crash a funeral? Nine years ago my mother said: “There’s nothing I hate more than customs for the dead.” Maybe she’s crashing for the lemon meringue pie, the kiwis, cantaloupes, berries, bagels, the fucking entire menu of IHOP—hold the bacon. I probably would have crashed it for the berries. It’s easiest to appreciate fruit when it’s the only fresh thing in the room. She’s definitely not here for the 20-minute eulogies that last 20 minutes longer than they should.

I didn’t eat the berries, or any of it, because I was thinking about the body. And yet as I ride with the body in the trunk, I don’t think of it anymore. And I don’t think of it when they lower the casket, or when my dad cries on my shoulder, or when the sun makes me wish I were naked, or when my brother pinches his palm to feel new pain, or when the Rabbi prays to Our Benevolent God, or when they shovel the dirt, again and again, into a hole where the body decomposes, and I note: even the dirt, today, is fed. I don’t think of the body until the bee. Nine years ago, my mother finished: “That’s why bees find funerals. They hover where sweet things rot.” I’ll think back to this at a garbage bin in the summertime And I’ll feel her buzzing. But not today. Today I feel the bee. When it stings me I laugh. I laugh because it’s fucking hysterical. There’s a bee, and food I cannot eat, and eulogies she cannot hear, and a prying crasher, and my best friend whose changed since college, and the sun on my black attire, and I want nothing, none of it, but the guest of honour who’s too dead to hate this and yet somehow still having the last laugh. 

artwork by Brian Zheng VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

Finding My Own Space Artwork by Lauren Gorfinkel Model: Talia Jacob Mixed media

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

 Cosmic Celebrations Marlene Malik The moment before my eyes delve into a deep and promising slumber, I am awoken. To the sounds of hoarse yet vibrant calls. They hum a familiar tune and suddenly my consciousness begins to inhabit a dimension between the infinite and the finite, between the cosmos and the earth. I resist the pull and am propelled back, not to the earth but close in proximity. Here I extend my extremities, yearning for land and comfort. I encounter the thriving and dancing roots of a family of trees; my hands become entangled in their beauty. I learn quickly that my touch is both a gift and a weapon. The organ of roots starts to lose vitality, an infection spreads, and the leaves blacken before my being. No apology seems sufficient but before I can even attempt one I am transformed into interstellar dust. The mind cannot fathom this and I realize it does not need to. Now, I am more formless than ever. I retain the capacity to become aware, I come to understand that I am a composition of necessity and luminosity. A wave of surrender engulfs me; this is not about me but about every particle, nebula, and star that consists of bits of me, bits of matter, and other evolving entities. The beauty of this revelation takes refuge in the landscape of my being, it has found the home it has been seeking. Time passes, slowly or quickly I do not know. No longer confined by the past or the future, I come to experience something transcendental: the magnificence of Here…of This Moment. There is nothing else that can light up the galaxy quite so triumphantly, this exquisite manifestation of harmony that stems from inhabiting the Now. Here I am and there is nothing more to it. Sleep is a distant dream that I no longer desire, for in being awake I can celebrate all that is with the cosmos and celestial bodies of this universe. Strange and magnificent is this dimension, strange only because it is unfamiliar and full of freedoms I did not know existed. I want to share this with everyone I’ve ever met or seen, with every form of existence on all four spheres of the place I once called home. Part of me yearns to remain here, planted and free in this atmosphere. The familiar hum returns and sings to me. You must return home the winged creatures tell me. To the fortress that needs saving, to the land of wonder, suffering, and love. This is my return, my commitment to becoming a beacon of light before I return to the interstellar dust; this is why the cosmos celebrate. 

artwork by Jason Lau

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

TO INFINITY AND BEYOND Matt Yau

uly 20, 1969. Children gazed at their television screens with wide eyes as they witnessed one of the greatest scientific feats of the decade. Heroes were made, dreams were born, and an era of innovation was ushered in. This date marks the first time man dared to leap from the ball of rock we call Earth. And it was glorious. These days, things have changed. The golden days of space are gone. In the 1960’s, the United States engaged in the infamous “space race” with the Soviet Union in a technological display of machismo. They designated 4.41% of their GDP to NASA at the height of the race. Today, NASA’s White House budget has dropped to ridiculously low levels - only 0.5% of the United States’ GDP. The government-funded organization can’t even function independently anymore; private companies like SpaceX are forced to take the mantle of space exploration. Did the moon landing make us complacent? Are we that kid, the one who aces the midterm, gets arrogant, and fails the final? Our reluctance to fund space programs begs the question - why should we anyway? With so many domestic problems, is it socially responsible to devote money to programs such as NASA? I certainly think

so, and I’m not alone. A 2015 Pew poll showed that 68% of Americans view NASA favourably. NASA’s reach is incredibly vast. Take a look around your room - it would look completely different if not for NASA’s influence. They have played critical roles in the cre-

mental in tracking asteroids, and warning communities of potential disasters. One of our world’s most pressing problems is being combatted by NASA. The organization uses its technology in order to collect data and make informed predictions regarding our Earth’s climate. Besides, what else would America spend the money on? Their “defense” coffers are disgustingly stuffed, and investments into programs like Medicaid and Social Security are inefficient and a highly partisan matter. Space exploration used to be a bi-partisan deal - Richard Nixon (Republican) and John F. Kennedy (Democrat) were presidents who supported NASA’s trip to the moon. No single department is as focused on moving forward and generating innovation than NASA. When some people argue for the increase expenditure, they end with a flashy, feel-good platitude like “we explore because we can”. I prefer to stick to reality: NASA will help us prepare for the inevitable adventure that we face as a species. I want to raise kids in a world that embraces the unknown, as opposed to vilifying it. I want my children to be able to gaze up at the night skies and smile, knowing that someday it will be theirs.  Check out penny4nasa.org to get involved.

We are constantly putting strain on our Earth’s resources - if things continue to deteriorate, we will need to find another planet to call home. ation of GPS, CT/MRI scans, and the beloved cellphone. So what does NASA actually do? One of its more exciting missions is to explore Mars. Critics will say that there’s no point, that we’re wasting valuable time and money on a fruitless adventure that has no definitive returns. I disagree. We are constantly putting strain on our Earth’s resources - if things continue to deteriorate, we will need to find another planet to call home. NASA’s interest in finding potentially habitable colonies is a necessary venture. The space organization also prevents us from being smashed into oblivion by giant space rocks. Their asteroid detection system is instru-

ARTWORK BY FRANCO SIMÕES

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

 To Uncreate God Chukky Ibe The genocide that was never spoken. the baptism of a million Gods by the unholy British empire. waterboarding. Find two brothers at odds with each other give one your Gun and the other your God scream SHOOT. Find the son of the fallen unteach his language whisper: father did not pray hard enough In Latin. Teach about a new father His second coming is upon us He arrives on a slave ship called Jesus pray. On the next full moon, unsettle the nest of the resting mothers. unoriginal sin salvation is for the living pray.

As the spirits of our mother’s burn like incense that poison demons that love you See how your mother tongue hides in the cracks of your teeth as you witch-hunt her Gods. How prodigal sons grown into a-men whose church stands on sacred graves And flames burn resting souls. Twice removed from oneself alien in your own home praying to a dead God who promises life with a gun in his hand you turn on your kin kiss the feet of the God of the outlandish . The hen that wanted to fly was not patient in pecking could not find beauty in grass and stick your wings were not built for the sky so you set the clouds on fire. Why? What you have taken what you gave us what you left behind is the finest invasion not from the furthest of the stars, or depths of deepest oceans but from the safety of the silence that dressed our destiny when I did not shoot. Yet this new religion fits our genes like diabetes and good skin and now Jesus is stretched too thin who do I call as he no longer answers our prayers?



artwork by Robert Pinchin 18

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

ARTWORK BY MIMI DENG

A HOARDED LIFE Takhliq Amir

t begins subtly, one might say. As a child, we get one toy or another, a colouring book, a doll house, a race track. So we begin to unconsciously collect things, putting them in the corner where all the other miscellaneous objects had been ungenerously shoved. Those toys, unknowingly, begin to gather dust in that fated corner but the tarnish goes unnoticed as you flit between objects. And thus begins the life of a hoarder — regular people living their lives as they continue to hold on to old objects and collect new things. As they age, their fascination shifts from merely children’s toys to the clothes that are “à la mode”. You see an intriguing book and decide it’s worth buying. You might go to the movie theatre and keep the ticket or go to a conference and save the coloured wristband. But as you look around you and consider the clothes and the books and the tickets you collected, you cannot bear the thought of not having them. To you, the clothes might have become ratty, the colour washed out, but their comfort remains as they wrap you in a warm cocoon of care and safety. Why do we, perhaps unconsciously or intentionally, hoard material objects? Perhaps you expect a future. Who’s to say what is not needed currently cannot be necessary later? But even greater than that are the memories they carry or the loved ones they symbolize. Perhaps that book might now be torn and in places illegible, but every tear, comment and food stain on its surface

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stocked, while buying new clothes would carries with it a person with a story to tell. add life to an already bursting closet. There Perhaps the smelly old hockey equipment isn’t really much room for emptiness, and still lies in your garage because it reminds thus we feel the pull of power from the presyou of the days that have long been gone, ence of objects that we might never conor the broken camera in your drawer a remsciously seek out again. nant of the memories it once captured perAs we collect more objects while simulmanently. taneously saving just as many, therein lies However, as time passes and objects the twist in the game. It is no longer about become memories and memories become the power that comes from holding on to captured, it must be questioned whether things, but merely a hold of those objects hoarding represents a loss of the balance on your life. Unconsciously, you have given between the value of objects and the valaway your freedom and your life to inaniue of life. As you move through societies mate things — not to people or loved ones, and situations and new experiences, those but to books and clothes and material obobjects and souvenirs become your new jects that only exist to chain you to them. saviours and storytellers instead of the real, You cannot throw them away for the power living people who were once the stars of no longer rests with you. You are, essentialthe show. Subconsciously, you become ly, weak and lost. You are only an embodioverly attached to objects to fill the holes ment of the objects that control you.  left by the people in your life. Perhaps, then, hoarding isn’t merely to represent loved ones or memories but to repre“At the end, all that’s left of you are your sent the loss that might possessions. Perhaps that’s why I’ve follow. How does hoardnever been able to throw anything away. ing truly influence us? Maybe we see the colPerhaps that’s why I hoarded the world: lection and safekeepwith the hope that when I died, the sum ing of these objects as a means of retaining total of my things would suggest a life power. Holding on to money, for instance, larger than the one I lived.” might make you feel as - Nicole Krauss, The History of Love. if you were rich. Collecting books will keep your bookshelf well 19

H O R O S C O P E S

ARIES

March 21 - April 19 Your instinct this month will be to run far away, but then you’d have to pack your laptop and charger. And what if you get hungry? How many days are we talking about here? Better follow your second instinct, which will be to zip up your onesie and get lost in Disney movies.

TAURUS April 20 - May 20

Your patience will be tested with an early holiday gift list. Through the trek to the highest floor of the tallest mall, some agonizingly long lines, muggy weather, and the inevitable duel-to-thedeath with another customer over an item you both want, at least you can check “going to the gym” off of your list.

GEMINI

May 21 - June 20 There are monsters from your past that you must face. So put on your running shoes, grab your coat, and get the hell out of there -- you’ve seen enough horror movies to know how this will go!

CANCER June 21 - July 22

Hardships arrive in battalions to spoil your day, so consider an archery class. You never know, an extra-credit exam question could involve some Hunger Games trivia about how to nock an arrow.

LEO

July 23 - August 22 Your pride often gets in your way, especially when someone hurts you. Watch Mean Girls a few times and you’ll be set for a passive-aggressive sabotage. So fetch!

VIRGO

August 23 - September 22 Some things are better left a mystery... like why you woke up in an empty lecture hall on a Saturday morning with a backpack full of whipped cream.

Nimra Khan 20

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

LIBRA

September 23 - October 22 With your diplomatic attitude and the crushing certainty of exam failure, reconsider your plans for world domination -- perhaps by now offering free Netflix and pancakes (please and thank you).

SCORPIO

October 23 - November 21 Procrastination can be a good thing, believe it or not -- when else would you realize the inordinate amount of skittles in a Skittles Party Pack and how much you absolutely NEED to organize them by colour?!

SAGITARIUS

November 22 - December 21 Good things hide in unexpected places, like money in a forgotten coat pocket or the answers to your exam taped to the underside of your desk in the exam room.

CAPRICORN December 22 - January 19

Extraordinary things only happen to extraordinary people. But with the chance of falling into radioactive waste, suddenly being able to shoot lasers out of your eyes, and the resulting solitary confinement, you might want to tone it down to just “ordinary".

AQUARIUS

January 20 - February 18 Old friends can become lost friends when left alone for too long. Be sure to attach strings to your friends to be sure they don’t wander off too far. Without you, they’d never have fun!

PISCES

February 19 - March 20 It might feel like you’re missing all the fun, but you’ll be dodging a bullet. Being near an exploding confetti factory will only lead to picking confetti out of places you didn’t even know it could reach. ARTWORK BY RENE ANDRADE

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 Crowd of Solitude Aryan Ghaffarizadeh God’s asleep in this dessert The thirst for love Has blindfolded my people They make love with hatred They make love from the fear of love Seconds are wet I’m watered by my tears Sigh, I’m lonely inside I’m lonely inside The light inside me is getting dimmer and dimmer The leaves by my trunk Smirk at my naked branches I’m pure I’m rich I’ll give birth to new leaves They’ll leave me again, I know Gone with the wind They are light, they are crude They fall in for trees Possessing carious fruits I stay true to my roots They plunge deeper and deeper As I scream louder and louder No ears there to hear The cancer’s terminal It spreads It dominates It kills 

artwork by Diana Marginean

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

ď Ž Pulsating Stars Sana Gill Remember when I lived between the hollows of your ribs? Grew behind the sternum like a tumour or a heartbeat. Feeding on your intimacy, drunk on your aches, I pulsated like a distant star. But you knew my twisted dreams, how they clawed into your veins, poisoning your good heart. They had to tear you open just to rip me out, leaving infinite space. But these vacancies, they fill like a parched well does after monsoon rains - so did your chest. Hope seeped into cavities, another guest made a home. I too set out in search for my missing self in abandoned civilizations, among forgotten roads. Drank from the palms of dessert-dwellers, learned visions from the land of the blind, filled my belly with my own fire until I was whole again. Now, I dwell in outer spacelearning from the moon about accepting rocky paths, gaining humility from the throbbing of collapsing stars. I twirl among the galaxies at my own pace, without nostalgia to any place or anyone.

ď Ž

artwork by Melanie Wasser

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

AN ODE TO STANDING IN LINE Alexandra Marcaccio

got to the store early, thinking it wouldn’t be as packed at the crack of dawn. Too bad everyone and their uncle thought of the same brilliant plan. Not a fan of crowded stores, I ran around as fast as I could, picking up every realistic present on Jacob’s Christmas list (did he really think Santa would bring him a live python with rats to feed it?). And then I ended up where I am now, stuck in a massive line with only two cashiers working. I don’t know what makes a hint? Maybe he just thought the line was it better, the dulcet sounds of screaming moving up? I still have more space in front children that surround me, or the man that of me. I can try this again… is standing only six inches away from my face. When I turned around to see the clock, I nearly screamed. There he was, all six feet of him towering over me with that thick bushy moustache of his, the putrid smell of his cologne slowly forcing me to breathe through my mouth. Seriously, does he actually think it smells good??? This is why I hate crowded stores. For some reason, everyone gets it in their head that standing really close to the person in front of you is going to magically make the line go faster. In actuality, it makes everyone uncomfortable. I’ve always wondered why people haven’t thought to get all their coupons and their wallet out instead. That would be infinitely more efficient. And certainly less embarrassing than having to empty the contents of your purse in front of a crowd of impatient strangers. I can’t stand it anymore; this guy is driving me nuts!! Thankfully I have left more than enough space between the person in front of me and myself. I can just move up a few steps. Give myself a full foot of space. Ahhh. Much better. I think I see my neighbour walk by the line. I turn around to check, and this time give a startled jump. There he is again, six inches away. Same towering figure. Same ugly moustache. Same nauseating cologne. Maybe he just doesn’t take ARTWORK BY ANGELA MA

For some reason, everyone gets it in their head that standing really close to the person in front of you is going to magically make the line go faster. …And the idiot moves along with me. Seriously, can this guy not take a hint? A family of five has just gone to the cashier. Plenty of space will open up. I can try one last time to get myself some breathing room. Cautiously, I move again. I feel like I can finally breathe. Lots of space in front of me, lots of space behind me. I can close my eyes and almost imagine the store isn’t so crowded. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. I open my eyes, turn around, and SCREAM. “Sorry to startle you ma’am, but the line is moving again.” HOW HARD IS IT TO REALIZE THAT I DON’T WANT YOU STANDING SO CLOSE TO ME???? This time, I give him a pointed look. “Oh the line is moving? Thanks for letting me know. I really appreciate it.” Maintaining eye contact, I take a step forward. So does he. I take another step forward. So does he. I take another step forward. So does he. And we continue in this fashion, until I stop out of protest. We sit in a staring contest. Then I feel another tap on my shoulder. “WHAT NOW?” I yell. It’s the woman in front of me: “Sorry miss, but you’re standing a bit too close for my comfort.”  INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

ARTWORK BY SHIRLEY DENG

KEYNOTE ADDRESS Coby Zucker

took a long drink of water, buying time. With one clammy hand, I grabbed the microphone and leaned forward to speak, “It was like this.” I paused for a moment and squeezed my eyes shut, remembering. “The hatch opened. I took one step onto the solid floor, and where there would have been a metallic clang, there was now silence. One more step and my foot landed on nothing. This nothing was so profound that not even a single particle of dust could disturb its nothingness. With both hands firmly clasping the hull, like a newborn baby clinging to a finger, I surveyed my surroundings. The vastness reached all corners of the known universe. Every star was a pinprick in the jet-black fabric of time, like a flashlight shining behind a keyhole in a dark room. Perspective fell away in the face of such enormity. I was utterly, utterly alone. As alone as any person had ever been, but it did not matter. There is no emotion in a place where anger, hatred, and love fall away before the sheer magnitude of being. As the shock subsided, my eyes were drawn to the beauty of our planet, a round sphere of lively blues, lush greens, and muddy browns. At first, it blotted out the sun, but then light began to

creep out, like a timid child peeking out from behind her mother. At once, swatches of magnanimous gold illuminated the world, pulling the slumbering orb into the daylight. Living creatures in the southern hemisphere were busying themselves with morning rituals. The squalor of the planet, the bustle and tension that rested on the shoulders of all its inhabitants, was infinitely distant. For a moment I forgot everything: whom I was, where I was, why I was there, how I had gotten there. All my experiences lapsed into non-existence. I was not a thinking human, but rather an observer, lent vision by some higher power. It was awe-inspiring. It was terrifying. It was mesmerizing. It was amazing, stupefying, dazing, stunning, terrorizing, revolting, paralyzing, jolting, breathtaking, and foundation-shaking.” I broke off, letting out a nervous laugh, “God, I sound like Dr. Seuss.” The crowd chuckled sympathetically. After taking another swig of water, I resumed: “It felt unnatural, but also like every moment of my life had been bringing me closer to that second. When I finally got there, there was nothing I could do but float and experience and float some more. Of course, these impressions are all retrospective; my thoughts at the time were more along the lines of, ‘Wow. That’s… pretty.’” 

Every star was a pinprick in the jet-black fabric of time, like a flashlight shining behind a keyhole in a dark room. Perspective fell away in the face of such enormity.

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

Emma MacLeod

David Shin

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

Leah Flanagan

Rohidan Rajkumar VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

SOLITUDE OF EMPTINESS Parsa Mehraban Far

ying on the damp grass, I observe the beauty of the night sky. Everything around me is painted in silver from the pale moonlight. I witness the tremendous view of the stars, which are shining brightly like tiny pieces of gold. From down here, they look so small. The distance between them looks so miniscule, but I know in reality they are great distances apart. I think to myself: “Do the stars ever feel lonely, wandering around in the discontinuity of pure emptiness?” “If they are living, with beating hearts, how can they remain warm when pure darkness is the only friend keeping their company?” Even thinking about the gigantic separation between the companionless stars scares me. Isolation is indeed the most difficult concept to deal with. I continue looking at the starts. My eyes continuously shift from side to side, hopelessly trying to capture the sky’s beauty in its entirely. A thought suddenly interrupts the silence in my brain; everything is enormous in the sky compared to Earth. I can’t hide my internal jealousy for the stars. I can’t think of anything other than the endlessness of space the stars have to explore, the presence of boundless possibilities of places to go, and the free choice to occupy any location. Most of them stand still for an eternity while some choose to take advantage of this opportunity. Unfortunately, these are concepts that are foreign to us in our society. Down here on Earth, we are not used to having room for ourselves. Our cities are packed with people. Our rooms are filled with tools. Our schedules are bursting with tasks. Everything we do and think about is somehow related to the concept of occupying the smallest space. We want to make use of the available space in the most efficient manner, fitting the most number of people in the smallest places. To be more efficient, we have even invaded the emptiness of the sky. We have built buildings, one taller than the other, to make sure we can still manage to fit everyone in the limited room. Living in this world has also changed the way we think. We are so used to having very little room that we think of vast space as a horrific concept. We think of it as something to be scared of. Instead of appreciating the freedom, we are reminded of isolation because the concept is so foreign to us. Just think about this for a second. What would happen if saving space was not our number one concern? Would we still naturally return to our own habits? Or perhaps we would all become like the stars, each of us acting as a source of warmth and strength for the others far away? 

“Do the stars ever feel lonely, wandering around in the discontinuity of pure emptiness?” ARTWORK BY ELLEN LI

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

THE TRIP

Hamid Yuksel

he boy and girl walk at a slow pace through the vast expanse. The boy drags along a large brown bag. The bag is larger than him and is teeming with food. He trails behind the girl, who pushes along a large jug filled with water. Together, they are alone. Surrounding them is nothing but dirt and sparse patches of grass. The sun blazes overhead. There is not a speck of a cloud to offer shade. Despite this, the two trudge onwards to the long horizon. For over the horizon exists a faint silhouette of palm trees swaying in the wind. In the opposite direction, an abandoned car. “I do hate that bag you’re carrying. It is an awful bag,” says the girl “Can we not just leave it behind?” The boy replies, “Please, not this again. We’ve been over this a hundred times.” “What would you do if I say it a hundred more?” “I would stop walking.” “Really?” “Yes.” “I don’t believe you.” “Just please, stop talking.” The girl looks ahead to the horizon. The shadow of palm trees beckon for her. She looks back at the boy, “But I can’t stop talking. If I do, I think I’d go crazy.” “If it doesn’t end, I’ll go crazy first.” “I do hate this vacation.”

ARTWORK BY DIANA MARGINEAN

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

She then closes her eyes and imagines lying under the cool shade of the tree and the refreshing pool right by her. “You just repeat, don’t you? You keep finding something new to hate. It’s endless.” At this, the girl looks again at the horizon line. She then closes her eyes and imagines lying under the cool shade of the tree with the refreshing pool right by her. She’s been imagining these things a lot lately. It’s become a good way to kill time. The trip has taken two days now, but really it’s felt like much more. Soon, the sound of bags being dragged across dirt stops. The girl opens her eyes and looks back. The boy stopped. He pants under the scorching sun, and lies against a nearby boulder. “Let’s take a break for now,” he says, out of breath. Nodding, the girl stopped pushing the jug and leaned against the boulder as well. “I do hate this heat,” she says. Too tired to answer, the boy instead slumps onto the ground and falls asleep. The girl looks around the vast expanse. Truly nothing to look at. She turns her head in every possible direction. “There really isn’t anything here, is there?” she mumbles to herself, “Nothing but dirt and dead grass.” Tired from the heat, she lies down next to the boy and falls asleep as well. In the cool shade, the girl lies on a soft blanket. A slight breeze comforts her, and the pool sparkles brilliantly. She watches with lazy eyes as the palm leaves sway, letting in fragments of sunlight. There is no large brown bag. There is no large jug of water. The car isn’t broken, and she is here with the boy relaxing as they should on their vacation. She hopes it’ll never end. It does. A loud “Wake up!” bolts the girl out of her dream. The pool and palm trees disappear. All that is left is the hot sun and infinite desert. “C’mon, get up,” The boy says, “We still have a lot to go”. The girl looks at the horizon. It’s taken more than two days. It’s had to have. “How long have we been walking?” she asks the boy. “Not long. Only a day or two” the boy answers. She remains fixated at the horizon. We’ll get there soon, she thinks, we have to. Grabbing the reigns of their gear, they march. 

SCIENCE AND EXPLORATION Arakel Minassian

t is baffling how much humans want to know about space. This isn’t a new phenomenon either. More than two thousand years ago, Aristotle explained the orbit of the planets around the Earth. During the scientific revolution, Copernicus rearranged the model to place the Sun at its centre, which Galileo confirmed through observation. With the advent of new technologies, humans have gone so far as to send people into space, most notably to the moon. Today, the prevailing mystery is whether there is life on Mars, and whether humans might one day colonize the Red Planet. Why is there such a widespread interest in something so foreign and seemingly unattainable? It’s really the same reason people are so mesmerized by fire or by the sea. These are things that we observe, but don’t completely understand. Fires are natural sources of heat and light, yet their ability to do these things is foreign to the naked mind. Likewise, when humans look to the sea it seems boundless, and there is an innate uncertainty about what lies at its end. Throughout history, there has been a complex desire to better know the unknown. Intuition and observation helped to uncover the complex interactions of particles that create fire. Where there was uncertainty about the sea, individuals set out by boat to discover its end, if it even had one. These are the practices of science and exploration, which are just two sides of the same coin. Science uses research to make the seemingly ethereal understandable to the human mind. In the same way, exploration fills a blank space with the tangible and the visible. This desire to make the unknown known is curiosity.

Necessity drives curiosity. When Aristotle created a model of the universe, he was trying to explain the distant movement of celestial objects. When Copernicus moved the Sun to the centre of this system, it was because Aristotle’s model could be explained

Space exploration and manned missions to the moon were undertaken to better understand the uncertain nature of the cosmos, and what celestial objects were really like. But these explorations were also fueled by a more pragmatic necessity. In 1492, Christopher Columbus sailed the Atlantic Ocean to see if there was a direct route to India that could be used for trade. Other explorers followed Columbus in an effort to find gold. The Pilgrims founded the United States to escape religious persecution. Likewise, early space exploration was fueled by Cold War competition between the United States and the Soviet Union. More recently, the search for habitable planets began in order to find humanity a new home should this one prove unsustainable. Is this necessity to better understand something complex, or just necessity for survival? If anything, it is a combination of the two. When Columbus sailed the Atlantic Ocean, it was to find a trade route, yes. But it was his curiosity that led him West rather than East. Who is to say he wouldn’t have felt this urge without its monetary value? Perhaps he would have, and perhaps he did. All the same, curiosity is sometimes not enough to push humanity to make radical decisions. For Columbus, both curiosity and worldly pressures were required. During early space exploration, it was curiosity about the vast ether that made people look towards the heavens, yet it was the Cold War that actually pushed humanity out there. Today, it is the fear of losing the earth that necessitates the search for habitable planets. 

More recently, the search for habitable planets began in order to find humanity a new home should this one prove unsustainable.

in far simpler terms. In each case, there was a gap in knowledge, and a need to fill it. The same is true for the major explorations of the past. The “New World” was discovered because of an uncertainty about what lay beyond the Atlantic Ocean, if anything.

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

NIGHT SKY Sadiyah Jamal

ARTWORK BY SHIRLEY DENG

hydrogen atom is 99.9999999999996% empty space, and the universe is almost 75% hydrogen, which means the universe is nearly 75% empty space. I remember this as I look around me, and wonder how all that space can be so full and still be called emptiness. One Sunday, when my father was driving me through downtown Toronto to Hamilton, he told me that when he first came to Canada over twenty years ago, none of the tall buildings existed yet. Back then, the tallest buildings were not tall enough to cast such long shadows as the sun set. Back then, the tallest buildings were a few stories high and only cast shadows over those nearest them. I told my father on one of these drives how I wanted to see a night sky that was not tainted by the light of the city. I have never seen a sky that was not bordered by these tall buildings that are as empty as VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

What does the sky look like when we turn the lights off and stop fearing the dark? the atoms they are made of. What does the sky look like when we turn the lights off and stop fearing the dark? What does the sky look like when we do not keep the darkness at bay? I can remember areas all over Toronto that were once empty space but now host a myriad of structures. In all the neighbourhoods I have lived in, the land has been encroached upon by the city. Many people see these buildings at night, with lights like stars, and think them beautiful. I only think of the electricity required to keep those lights running all night and the various types of pollution they cause. As I am slowly enclosed by building after building, I wonder

if I can look beyond them and see the sky. My father told me he would one day take me to a place where there are no city lights to push the darkness away. For someone who is terrified of the dark, it is both a frightening and exhilarating thought. Maybe I want to see something that the cities have not yet tainted. Or maybe I want to remind myself that no matter how quickly we run out of space here on earth, the universe will still be nearly 75% empty. Until then, I will be okay looking up at the few stars that manage to shine through, and will make do with meandering through this land that is being consumed by the human desire for more. ď Ž 31

HEAVEN OR HELL? Olivia Fasullo

“A

re you lost?” Pacing back and forth in a long yellow hallway, filled with unmarked doors, I nodded. “There are no doorknobs,” I motioned to the lack of handles. A small woman in thick rimmed glasses and a business suit sighed and looked down at her clipboard. “Name?” “Avery Clark.” “Avery…. Avery Clark… Ah, there you are.” She paused, “You’re early. We weren’t expecting you for another few years…. We’ll have to squeeze you in.” “I’m sorry?” With a huff, the woman began to walk further into the hallway. I stared at her, not moving, until she paused and looked back. “Well, hurry up. You weren’t on my list today.” I jogged after her. The woman walked fast. I tried to keep up, priding myself on not losing my breath. I wasn’t sure where we were going. I counted how many rights and lefts she took, but after a while it was hard to keep track of the map I conjured from all the doors that looked the same. While we walked, she bombarded me with questions. “Where do you live Avery?” “Hamilton. Ontario. That’s in Canada.” “Ah, any kids?” “No, not yet.” “No kids. Leaving behind someone special?” “Well, I wouldn’t say leaving behind… When I’m done here, I have a date if you must know.” “Oh dear,” she muttered to herself, “I’m always the one who has to explain.” Confused, I continued to follow her in awkward silence. The hallway was eerily quiet. Despite all the rooms, not a sound crept through. Even our footsteps left no noise. “Um,” I began, abandoning my eloquence. “Where are we going?”

“That’s an interesting question. Where are we going? I suppose as a species there are really only a few options. We either will eventually destroy ourselves or be destroyed when the sun explodes. I mean, if we do continue on until the universe implodes, where does that leave souls? I personally don’t know. If the whole universe is gone, are souls gone too or in another universe? Don’t get me started on—” “—No! Not like that! I meant, where are we going? We as in you and me.” She stopped. “Oh. Well, you’re dead.” The whole world spun. It felt like all the air had been sucked out as I struggled to breathe. Black spots wandered before my eyes. I was about to faint, but the drop never came. I couldn’t faint. I was dead. “That can’t be.” “It wasn’t scheduled. I’m sorry for your loss.” “I didn’t even say goodbye.” “I know.” Her mournful look did nothing to ease my pain. All my plans and dreams were dead. I would become nothing but a sad memory. A reminder that life is short. I turned on her angrily, “Where am I?” She backed away in fear, but I pursued her. “Where am I?” I grabbed her by the tops of her arms. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Each door has a different eternity. I just take people to theirs.” “What’s behind mine?” “Please, I don’t know,” she said, “It depends on the kind of person you were.” “I’m a good person.” She refused to meet my eyes, “Well, you’re about to find out.” I let go and turned my back to her. A few doors away from us, there was a door with my name on it with a new doorknob. I walked towards it, compelled by anticipation. I turned the handle and opened the door. 

Each door has a different eternity. I just take people to theirs.

ARTWORK BY SHERRI MURRAY

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

Ida | Michael Sun

Spaces | Jason Lau

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

Camelia McLeod

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

 Centre of Fringe Khatija Anjum I. I was claiming my own phases and carving my own spaces, II. unwavering, I hovered and burned, a centered star in a constellation, straining my strings of gravity, building a galaxy to spin around, surround me.

With my feet firmly rooted in the soil of my patchy backyard, I let my head fall back to breathe in the brisk midnight air; as my eyes catch the eye of the universe, I feel the galaxies lure me into their celestial cosmos; space is like an arid, inverted cave, holding promises of magic, mysteries and miracles, of a rich, abundant reserve in the complete emptiness; the darkness of my pupils is reaching for its deepest darkness, with stars, like fireflies, setting the cold, never-ending alight; the longer I stare into the infinite blackness, the more twinkling points I see, like counting flaws and blessings; these lights grow more pointed and intense, defiant; with my body grounded between the dust of my miniscule surroundings, I am overwhelmed by the triviality of my existence, the realization that I am nothing more than a grain of salt – crystallized, I am mesmerized by my own chemistry, my sharp edges are weapons of lacerations, I am simply balancing the satisfaction of savouries and the stinging of wounds,

artwork by Mimi Deng

but I am of no measure in comparison to the vast expanse beyond my front door.

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INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

THE SPUTNIK MOMENT Emile Shen

he Cold War extended into the cool atmosphere of space. If the wars in Korea and Vietnam weren’t enough for the two superpowers, space was the next territory. After World War Two, the US was confident in its position as the military, economic, and democratic centre of the world. It came as an unpleasant surprise when Sputnik 1 was launched by the USSR on October 4th, 1957. Without the US having so much as an inkling of its creation beforehand, the Soviet Union had launched the first artificial Earth satellite. This 23 inch metal sphere made the USA feel panicked, incompetent, and all the while experiencing a fair amount of mental turmoil.

This was the original Sputnik moment. Although such a phrase is not used often in our millennial generation, a Sputnik Moment is “an event that makes people collectively say that they need to do something, and this sets a course in another direction,” said Roger Launius, senior curator of the National Air and Space Museum’s division of space history at the Smithsonian Institution. The launch of Sputnik led to a much greater investment in technological and scientific developments in the US.

The Space Race had started. For much of the late 50s and early 60s, Soviet Russia was first priority on many missions. The first living organism in space was Laika the dog. The first man in orbit Yuri Gagarin. But just as Germany woke the sleeping giant in World War One and Two, the sleeping giant had once again been awoken with the launch of Sputnik. President Dwight D. Eisenhower established the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) in 1958. In 1962, President John F. Kennedy delivered an inspirational speech to Rice University, stressing the importance of reaching the Moon before the 60s were over. Speaking in a way that much resembled 18th century imperialist ambitions, JFK said “Many years ago the great British explorer George Mallory, who was to die on Mount Everest, was asked why did VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

ARTWORK BY SARAH MAE CONRAD

he want to climb it. He said, ‘Because it is there.’ Well, space is there, and we’re going to climb it, and the moon and the planets are there, and new hopes for knowledge and peace are there. And, therefore, as we set sail we ask God’s blessing on the most

hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked.” The Space Race effectively ended on July 20, 1969 when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin set foot on the moon. Declaring even the Moon property of the Stars and Stripes.  37

THE ONE T

Sunny Yun

here’s something that my high school guidance counsellor told me about ‘the one’ that has really stuck with me over the years. Senior year I sat in her office torn between university programs, terrified that I would make a horrible mistake and ruin my future. I anxiously asked which option she thought would be ‘the one’ for me. She looked at me, smiled conspiratorially, and said, “Want to know a secret? There is no such thing as ‘the one.’ Just like in relationships how there is no one person who was made just for you. There is only right timing and choice.” As a big-time consumer of Hollywood romantic dramas and Disney fairytales, I was puzzled and outraged. How dare she!? Of course there’s such a thing as ‘the one’! Hello? It goes by the name of fate! Destiny! It’s tragic, it’s beautiful, and it’s romantic. It’s your great love, your raison d’être. Why else would Prince Charming have gone through the trouble of finding Cinderella after she lost her glass slipper? There is ‘the one’ perfect dress that will make you light up the room at the party. When you go to adopt a puppy, there is ‘the one’ that will complete your family (Marley & Me, anyone?). You find ‘the one’ passion in an explosion of creativity that distracts you from your routine homework. You bump into ‘the one’ in front of your favourite coffee shop after the winter’s first snowfall. That’s ‘the one.’ Shakespeare knew it and so did

Nicholas Sparks…didn’t they? While the aforementioned scenarios make for fabulous movie moments, the more I thought about real life, the more of a nebulous figment ‘the one’ became. Remembering that movies are carefully scripted by hierarchical boards of writers and million dollar budgets, I realized that there’s a significant difference between real life and on-screen romances: in real life, the most important milestones are rarely achieved suddenly and effortlessly. Of course they don’t show those parts in the movies: hard

after sleepless nights tiring away at disinteresting and irrelevant subjects. Real life is failing at presentations you worked really hard on. Real life is family conflicts and uncomfortable silences. And unlike the movie version, sometimes real life doesn’t come with second chances. The point is, the world’s events rarely fit together into a seamless narrative. While this is starting to sound bleak, I urge you to remember the achievements and successes that still exist in this world. That’s also real life. People dedicate their lives to a seemingly insignificant pinpoint of academia that ends up revolutionizing the world. Did Banting and Best know that they would save millions of lives when they discovered their method of insulin production? How about Gandhi: did he know he would change the concept of civil disobedience when he first became a lawyer? Did J.K. Rowling know she would forever transform the fantasy genre when she penned the first words of Harry Potter? These people had no figurative yellow brick road, that is, they didn’t change the world by serendipity alone. Instead, they dissected their work, experimented for years, met rejection and defeat, and continued to tweak and alter even after their public success. So now, I no longer believe in arriving at ‘the one’ easily. Instead, I believe in choice. After all, you choose to make your significant other ‘the one.’ You choose ‘the one’ vocation for you. You work hard at relationships and projects, day after blasted day, conscious of the imperfections that Hollywood would otherwise airbrush, but deciding to persevere anyways. Instead of daydreaming of a knight in shining armour or complacently waiting for the moment when a gigantic neon sign falls out of the sky, you actively pursue your goals. Real life is crowded by twists and turns, triumphs and setbacks, and yet we keep pushing. ‘The one’ does not inherently exist; we choose to bring it to life. Maybe there aren’t any magical spells involved, but I think that choice is just as magnificent and grand a concept as destiny. Don’t take this as some kitschy consolation; the application of our free will and determination amidst our flaws speaks to what it truly means to be human—to be real.

The more I thought about real life, the more of a nebulous figment ‘the one’ became.

ARTWORK BY CARL CHENG

work takes time—it cannot be compressed into a single montage set to dramatic music. Hard work is also synonymous with blood, sweat, and tears—not very pretty, and would most definitely mess up the actors’ makeup. It’s not so exciting to watch a person sit in their office, taking phone calls, and persisting through business meetings, so Hollywood skips to the happy ending where the protagonist ends up in an island mansion laughing beside a husband with dark flowing hair. Real life? Sometimes it’s mundane and exhausting. Real life is your dark eye bags

INCITE MAGAZINE, DECEMBER 2015

 Take a Breath Linda Nguyen I ran away Into the darkness fighting against the howling wind leaves crunching beneath my feet branches scratching my face leaving marks and lines but I didn’t care and continued marching deeper into the forest I couldn’t get away escape the fear buried in my chest swirling questions of doubt scared of being alone confused about which path I should take bewildered by all the possibilities Which option do I pick? How do I choose…? And still I run faster and harder searing intense pain burning sensation aching muscles away from the crowd and all the noise from the probing questions that required answers As if I could decide

As the seconds tick by... heaving breaths slowing down one step at a time palm against chest hear the thumping of my heartbeats rhythmic pulses Breathe. Deeply, slowly Struggling to let in air Feel my lungs expand inhale… exhale… Leaning against the trunk rough patched timber Staring up at the clear dark sky Feeling the hazy fog clear away and my mind open up Hearing the tiny voice whisper “It will be okay” Still shaking with fear and doubt Sensing the heavy weight of what lies ahead A future of uncertainty vagueness and ambiguity Wondering about the decisions to be made Knowing they will not be made today— I take a step forward Back towards the beginning A full circle.

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artwork by William Zhang

VOLUME 18, ISSUE 4

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