MUSE Magazine - Love On The Brain

Giving myself the best advice

G B IVING MYSELF THE EST ADVICE

Sophia Ceccucci

How transforming the way you talk to yourself can create better relationships

I’m the advice friend. My listening ear does not discriminate between hearing about your education, health, wellness, partner, parents, or best friend; my entire life has been filled with connections forged and strengthened through working out problems with others. Most recently, I have had a series of conversations with a friend about how to navigate their strenuous relationship with their mother. At this point, I truly feel as though I’m a part of the family because of how much emotional energy I’ve invested in the situation.

I’m grateful for my empathetic abilities, as I’m able to build meaningful relationships with my friends, getting to know and understand those around me in a way that I think is more purposeful than surface-level friendships. I truly love this aspect of myself because I am able to experience every emotion and situation fully and entirely while gaining a deeper knowledge and understanding of the world around me. However, embodying the emotional highs and lows of others can also be exhausting. While I’m proud of my ability to feel life intensely and passionately, the emotional fatigue I feel when confronted with my own big feelings while simultaneously working with a friend to help them navigate their emotions can be a struggle.

to recover and try again later.” If I realize that I haven’t eaten and it’s late in the day, I will remind myself how important it is to fuel my body instead of falling back onto old habits. These are the same ways that I also check on my friends.

Giving myself the best advice

There was a period of my life when I had to address the emotional fatigue that I was experiencing because of empathy, and I didn’t see my empathetic abilities as beneficial. In certain circumstances, my empathy robbed me of my own identity and prevented me from feeling my own emotions fully, or even determining what I was feeling because I was so consumed with the lives of those around me. At a certain point, I realized that something needed to change if I was going to be fully present in my own life again. It took a relocation of my home and an entirely new friend group but, upon reflection, I don’t think such drastic measures needed to be taken.

The answer that found me was a notion that I’d been dancing around for some time: take your own advice. I’ve been trying to treat myself like I treat my friends by looking at my embodied experiences and emotions as if I was listening to a friend. This process culminates in giving myself the same empathy that I give other people.

If I am not as productive as I had hoped to be, I will show myself empathy by telling myself what I would tell my friends: “your brain needed a break today, so give yourself time and space

This technique also works if you struggle with doing chores sometimes (like I do). If my room is getting messy and it begins affecting my mood I will remind myself that being an untidy person is not a personal failure, and I am not any less worthy because I am messy. I reassure myself that I am capable of cleaning up my mess at any point, and if it seems like too big of a task for me right now, I am capable of leaving and coming back to it later. Even when I am navigating advice conversations with friends that can leave me feeling drained because of heavy subject matter, I remind myself of the way I’d want my own feelings to be validated by a friend if the roles were reversed. Treating myself the way I would want to be treated by a friend causes me to be more grateful. As my own friend and support, I spend time celebrating the little wins I find throughout the day.

My point is to have the same empathy for yourself that you do for other people. This can drastically change your wellbeing; I know it has drastically changed mine. I think the absolute world of my friends, but I struggle with putting myself on the same level as them sometimes. Using this strategy has not only made me a more confident person by allowing me to have empathy for myself, but it has helped me navigate the emotional fatigue that comes with being an empathetic person. It has allowed me to take better care of myself as a motivation for being more present in the lives of my loved ones without sacrificing the quality that I love most about myself.

The 20 Year Old Virgin

Aaliyah Mansuri

People say that your internal clock is never offtime. I find my body anticipates the question as I blow out the candles on my birthday cake, “is this the year I do IT”? It started when I was in high-school, I have thought about it ever since. I realized I don’t exactly understand what virginity is. Why does everyone care about it? Why do I care about it? All I know is that everyone is doing something that I am not; having sex. My inner monologue manifests into a character when I start to spiral about my inherent lack of experience - I named her The Virgin. Her inner thoughts very much consume me this time of the year, “cuffing season” or what have you. These are her thoughts now, straight from the source.

If my body’s intuition is on time, what is it waiting for? If I’m being practical, I know that I can technically lose it whenever I want. I’ve done the research, in the form of rewatching Sex and the City. At twenty years old, I’ve done the time. Does everyone else know something I don’t? It feels like something I should have gotten over with a long time ago, but it sounds unlike me to “get over” something. If sex is this all-encompassing thing that humans will do anything to get their fix for, why do people tell me to “get it over with”? Supposedly boys will jump at the chance to have sex with anyone. So is that what I want? To be an “anyone”? Do I want just “anyone” to see me naked? The Virgin persona who still believes my first time will be magical is taking over. Will I remember it forever? I think losing my virginity will have some sort of imprint on me, hurting more than my tattoos.

At Queen’s, I hear it all the time, that it is commendable to still be a virgin. In the same breath, when I tell people that I have never seen a penis, the room fills with laughter. I can’t help but feel, despite my other many fulfilling experiences, that I am lacking big time in a category that everyone cares about. My relationship with sex is warped from everyone around me, to a point where I just want discourse and no action. When everyone is exchanging their “wildest place I’ve had sex” stories and those rice purity scores, how can I participate? Let’s face it, everyone cares about sex, even the ones who aren’t having it. I am the proof. Sex is something that holds us by our necks, metaphorically of course! (Unless you’re into that… I wonder if I’m into that?)

So do I even want to have sex, or do I just want to talk about having sex? I want to prove that my friendship has just as many benefits as a “friends with benefits” does. It feels like we are lost in translation between what me and my friends define as intimate. During the Saturday brunch debrief, I want my makeout stories to matter as much to my friends as their one-night stands do to me. I don’t feel like I’m missing out until I see it in front of me. I’m playing Never Have I ever and winning, but sober.

When I tell you I have my shit together, I mean it. I’m doing great in a triple major, I have summer internships lined up. I play a mean lead guitar and I have incredible music taste (my Spotify handle will be taking off soon). There is nothing I wouldn’t do for someone I love (except have sex). Not to mention, I turn heads when I walk into class… Yeah, I am very attractive. I don’t need to be making up for my lack of experience in love with everything else that I offer. My mind likes to forget that I’m fine. Instead, it loves to place all my value in what is coming my way.

To be a virgin at 20 apparently means I’m missing out. My FOMO is raging harder than Stages on a Thursday night. If I have waited this long, surely it must be worthwhile. Is it possible that I am ready to have sex, but not lose my virginity? Why is it something to lose? I don’t want to change. I want to say sex is a big deal, but it would make me a hypocrite for caring about it. My inner voices are battling, and the only casualty is myself. There are things that I simply don’t know and unfortunately, I think there is only one way to find out. Where are the lines of virginity drawn? Does it have to include penetration? I know I’ve asked a lot of questions, but I just have one more. Am I supposed to keep my socks on?

IIllustration by Armita Dabirzadeh

Love Thy Self

Love Thy Self

to truly love yourself is to fall in love with being yourself, to hold space for your errors and celebrate your wins. finding the ability to treat yourself with compassion is the biggest treasure to approach life with.

How The Earth Loves Me

TEAGAN KIRKEY-MANNING

My greatest love is with the Earth – it is pure, innocent and always reciprocated.

It can never be taken from me; it will never leave me.

From sleeping under the stars, my bare feet on the warm sand, and the smell of spring after a long winter.

I play in her oceans, dance in her rain and wander through her forests.

Her vastness lulls my anxiety and sparks childlike wonder.

And when I find myself questioning the point of it all, I look to her stars and I think of the stories she tells, from the story of Cygnus’ selflessness to Laelaps’ commitment.

She teaches me lessons — to embrace the unknown, climb over mountains and how to adjust my sails to bear the rough waves.

She teaches me kindness, forgiveness, and how to be delicate. Letting her flowers grow back each season with perseverance and bloom with grace.

She changes and grows with me.

There is always an expression of our connection.

When I find the perfect place to sit amongst the trees or when I sit in the shallow part of the lake and let the fishes say hello to me.

She reminds me that beauty is often found in the simplest of things — like how intricately alive the world is around me. The way the birds sing and the way the seasons dance.

And she shows me the beauty within me.

The elements of my body were formed in stars. The magic that takes away my breath on a clear night, is the same magic within me.

Her existence is a reminder of persistent bonds. She acts as evidence of how my features and personality have been loved for centuries; my mother’s humor and my father’s eyes. I am generations of my ancestors’ love and hard work.

She doesn’t worry about what we think of her, or what’ll happen tomorrow. Her sun will still rise and her moon will still shine.

My greatest love is with the Earth because she taught me how to be myself, and I will study the land and the sea in hopes of giving back just a small part of what she gave me.

Your body is your best friend.

Who needs diamonds?

Me, Myself, AND

MY

Myself and My Spastic Pelvic Floor

SPASTIC

Pelvic Floor

“Pain, and don’t be surprised if you bleed.”

This, or some variation of this, is the message everyone with a vulva and vagina is told when the topic of what to expect during your first-time arises.

For me, sex never stopped being painful. For

months after my first time, I bled. Every time I had penetrative sex felt like I was inserting a penis-sized tampon made of sandpaper (excuse my vulgarity, I don’t know how else to put it). It took forever to insert anything, and it hurt the entire time. I was frustrated, confused, and scared. This wasn’t the version of sex I had been promised. Sex

Me,

Sophie Richards

was supposed to be this amazing thing where only the first time hurt and everything else after was smooth sailing, right? Wrong.

be a huge part of what makes the act of sex so seductive. Finding ways to work around this has been an ongoing (and honestly fun) process.

My sexual desire tanked. It strained my romantic relationships. I grew to resent sex and how much everyone else loved it. After months of painful sex with no improvement, I booked an appointment with my family doctor who had nothing to say. She referred me to my gynecologist who shrugged and slapped a prescription for birth control on my forehead. For years it felt like everyone I knew was in on a joke I missed the punchline for. I convinced myself that I just couldn’t have penetrative sex. Wanting something that my body would physically not allow felt like the ultimate rejection, and I accepted it. There I was, heartbroken and hopeless and stuck suffocating my ache to be in on the joke. In a world where sex can feel like such a fundamental pillar of relationships (so we’re told), I felt incredibly alone. My own body wasn’t even on my side.

Me, Myself and My Spastic Pelvic Floor

It wasn’t until the beginning of the third year of my undergrad that I learned through my ow research what I have is called vaginismus. Basically, my body has learned to expect pain with penetrative sex. This causes my pelvic muscles to involuntarily tighten, causing more pain. After this diagnosis, I became determined to repair my relationship with sex. I invested in dilators (think Russian nesting dolls but… phallic), purchased a vibrator and started seeing a pelvic floor physiotherapist. I tried every kind of lube under the sun, even ones that contained CBD (life changing by the way). I taught myself that penetrative sex could, and should, feel good.

I still struggle to have spontaneous sex. It’s less painful but it’s still a process. My engine requires a lot of warming up, which isn’t ideal for setting the mood. After all, spontaneity can

Learning to navigate hook-up culture was scary at first. I used to worry that the little rituals I needed to execute to have pain-free sex wouldn’t be palatable. I feared that sex with me would feel too robotic. I worried how someone would react if I busted out my bag of sex gadgets during a one-night stand. Above all else, I worried that I would never be able to have casual sex, which was something I wanted to explore. These concerns plagued me during my first hookup after the end of my long-term relationship. It was then, in the middle of gettin’ it on, that I had a revelation. I realized I was fed up with feeling inadequate because I couldn’t perform like (seemingly) everyone else in a place where hookup culture is so prevalent. I was fed up with the narrative surrounding sex with cis men. I wanted to have casual sex and I wanted it to feel good. I knew my body now, I knew what worked for me. So, I looked at him and simply asked, “Is it ok if we use lube and my vibrator?” He grinned, reached into my drawer, and got them for me.

Consider this my love letter to anyone going through something similar. You and I aren’t unlovable, undesirable, or damaged. Most importantly, we aren’t doomed to a life of painful penetrative sex (if that’s your jam). This goes for everyone - vaginismus or not. Spoiler: we’re allowed to feel good too. We don’t have to accept a passenger seat on the sex roadtrip. Take control of the narrative. Invest in dilators. Buy a vibrator. Sit on a pool jet. If you want to use your gadgets with your boo, ask away!

Get to know your body. It wants to know you too.

I’m Sorry, Timothée Chalamet

I’m sorry, Timothée Chalamet. I’m really sorry. In all honesty, I don’t really know that much about you other than your infamous everychanging haircut and that you were in Call Me by Your Name, which was arguably a pretty good movie.

Allow me to elaborate on my apology: on that Friday afternoon when my new university friends suggested we all go around and say our celebrity crushes, I didn’t know what to do. The warm glow of my Zoom screen, the cloudy Winnipeg January skies, the melting iced coffee on my desk, all of it, suddenly disappeared as I found myself in the seat of a cold interrogation booth, familiar to so many of us with secrets.

When you are a gay kid so deep in the closet you begin to collect dust, seemingly insignificant things like conversations about love and sex can feel like torture. From what I can gather, most straight people don’t think about these kinds of questions, they just say the person who they are attracted to with no consternation, no

hesitancy, no fear. Despite this, when you are secretly queer and still slowly defrosting new parts of your identity, trying to talk casually about crushes and love and attraction can drown you; eroding your progression towards self-acceptance, and serving as a reminder of the eased heterosexual lifestyle you’ve left ;behind.

Sitting in front of my laptop as my friends talked, I had come to a mental crossroads—one where I could use this conversation as the perfect opportunity to come out, albeit before I was ready; or tell a lie to protect this part of my life I have instinctively shielded for so long. On that January day, I made the decision to hide, and you, Timothée Chalamet, were my unfortunate chosen straight-girl crush, an unsuspecting and innocent accomplice in my lies.

Emma Monti

While we’re being honest, Timotheé Chalamet, I must admit that this is not my first time using a carefully chosen celebrity crush as a convincing-enough method of concealing my sexuality in a variety of social situations. At 14 years old, I would sit in my living room listening to the Roxy Music album Country Life for no reason other than the picture on the album sleeve (you can find the original cover artwork on Spotify, if you’re interested). Even with my unreliable adolescent foresight, I was always sure to have a copy of Purple Rain by Prince or Heroes by David Bowie on hand to make a deliberate comment about the attractiveness of the men on the covers as my parents sat nearby. In high school, I was able to fend off circulating rumors about my queerness with the help of a well-advertised attraction to Adam Driver and, as you might have guessed, you, Timotheé Chalamet. As my strong heterosexual façade was bolstered by the many unattainable men I flaunted as crushes, I silently continued to wrestle with my identity while self-confined in the comforting restraints of the closet for years. By some strange force of divine intervention or luck, I thought that hiding behind you, Timotheé Chalamet, would make the true attraction I felt towards women disappear in the shadow of the falsified heterosexuality I fought to maintain.

decipher my sexuality in my own time and on my own terms. Remaining closeted saved me from the well-intentioned but deeply intrusive gaze of those close to me, especially as I grew up in an immigrant family where secrets were few and almost always discovered and dissected.

Im sorry Timothee Chalamet

In the end, I’m sorry Timothée Chalamet for dragging you into all this, for taking advantage of your attractiveness for so many years. I hope you understand why. The main point of all this rambling is to let you know that I don’t think I need to hide behind you anymore. When I first started using you to protect my identity, reaching a point in life where I could live as the truest version of myself seemed so impossibly far in the future. I remember long nights spent in bed, listening to The Smiths and fantasizing of moving away, of finally being able to tell myself that yes, it does get better. It has taken me many months to process that the future my past self used to dream of is now my present—I have the most incredible group of queer friends, proudly wear a rainbow pin on my backpack and actually say my real celebrity crush when someone asks. So thank you, Timotheé Chalamet. Please know how proud I am of my past self for choosing to use you when I needed to.

But despite all the secrets and self-loathing, there was a certain beauty I could feel about my queerness and the timing of my coming out. It sounds incredibly counter-intuitive, but remaining in the closet, lying to people I loved, creating fake versions of myself suspended in alternate realities, were all part of an elaborate scheme to protect myself. Though blinded by confusion and anger towards my identity at the time, temporarily eclipsing my queerness with a convincing heterosexual image gave me time to

Illustrations by Sadie Levine

“No he’s NOT my boyfriend! We’re just seeing each other…Yeah, I’d be mad if he hooked up with someone else!... We both still have Tinder downloaded… He’s coming over tonight to make dinner together… But it is certainly NOT a date. We’re just keeping it casual!”

This explanation is often met with my best friends’ sympathetic stares, an exhausted sigh, and another thorough game of 20 Questions. It is the same rundown road I revisit a few weeks into each of my romantic relationships. A psychological maze attempts to lead me to

label whatever my situation resembles: take a right and this person is my “boyfriend”; take a left and “it’s just sex”. I’ve noticed labels are meant to define the relationship, why am I scared of them?

While calculating the final destination, I’m exposed to an ecosystem of emotions: trust, frustration, and admiration. As the relationship blooms, an inevitable storm of pressure forces me to take the nearest exit. Sometimes this means leaving the morning after or rerouting to grab dinner. Other times it’s sending a “good morning!” text versus a “u up?” text.

A label becomes a convenient way for the outside to perceive an inner-world that they are not invited into. However, romantic relationships are anything but convenient. When I think about my friendships, the statement, “they’re my friend”, rolls off the tongue quickly and effortlessly. My friends are my most meaningful and uplifting relationships in my life. I don’t ever think twice about who they are or what they mean to me. On the other hand, defining my romantic relationships resembles a grueling hike. It takes an excruciatingly long time to unanimously admit that we mean something to each other. Often, the trouble expected traversing down the road of “what are we?”

turns into a path I might as well steer clear of. Perhaps my stubbornness leads me to believe that if I admit that I want this person to officially become my partner, they will automatically hold power over me. They’re in the driver’s seat and I’m unsure of which way they’re going to turn.

Defining a relationship introduces expectations. Expectations associated with labels are meant to hold each other accountable so no one gets hurt, right? Once my relationship runs its course and comes to an end, I always end up thinking to myself, “I wish we put a label on it”. It feels like a label offers unspoken validation for their feelings of sadness post break up. I don’t feel like I can truly be upset because we never technically ‘dated’. Is it possible that two words - “my ex” - could incite the empathy from others I’m seeking? Truthfully, a label is not a seal of confirmation that the intimacy which transpired between us was real. It’s the hours we spent listening to each other’s secrets, exposing our vulnerabilities, and encouraging the best for each other that validate the attachment I feel.

Relationships are difficult to navigate. Peaks of happy Himalayas and valleys of sadness. Labels are a tool to check the intentions of the people in the relationships; nevertheless, the label is only a fraction of the relationship terrain.

KATARINA BOJIC

Illustration by Micheal Passler

Love thy Friends

Love Thy Friends

friendships are likely the purest form of love. one chosen instead of given, flexible instead of conditional, and kind in nature.

DALYAH SCHIARIZZA

GLOSSY �Y�S

Weeks have sped by, and your memory only pops up when I think of the things that never turned out the way I bet they could have. I once again found myself making you more beautiful in my mind than you deserved to be in the reality you made. Yet there was something

about you that was so gorgeous, so intriguing and enticing and different that something fell somewhere along the communication lines between my brain and eyes that made you beautiful and my eyes Glossy.

Stage 1: you’re so impressive i like that you read books & my writing most don’t but you do.

historically uncoincidentally never listened to him but you made his songs appealing venus in scorpio

you seem driven and bright are… actually

no one can deny you’re also gorgeous

dark hair and eyes… reminds me of mine your humour and grammar … perfect like mine

for you to be so perfect i am viciously determined to scout out your grand flaw

yet i feel it doesn’t exist.

Stage 2: in a world close enough to hold 48 texts seem daunting unless they’re from you

you’re interesting to me smart

i wonder how your mind works what keeps you up at night why you work so hard where our safe haven would be

so opposed to my usual run ignore ick I indulged 47 or 49 or whatever helped to get to know you better

to know to imagine to touch the potential

baking with you predicting psychological thrillers

telling you all the best books i’ve read this year that you’ll read next dipping into your world until you grab my hand and pull me right under with you

Stage 3: stones thrown at this glass house stomach bugs bring me the stones glass fragments on them still roof walls fireplace

small attacks make it cold you deflect

but continue on all the things that amaze me you could never do that despite how you aren’t around an answer for it always

surely

you can’t think i’m dumb with all you’ve read & interest taken you ought to know i am not dumb

trust given i hope not misplaced i know not …partially

yet your grand flaw peaks through the precipice though i wish i don’t see it

Stage 4: cold water gets a blood stain out winter is coming

large breaks in this glass house (that you haven’t returned to)

your grand flaws came in boulders shatter crack snap

… of course they did the november wind loud and annoying …yet you’re much worse

shatters cracks snaps drew blood from my cheek onto my cardigan

the white one …

so i sat crossed-legged on the floor. placed my cardigan in front of me. tried to blow out the candle… the wind beat me to it. did it for me. i breathed deeply and gently. closed my eyes. let myself cry. onto the cardigan. the stain. the candle. i asked for rain to wash away this stain. i asked for rain to wash this glass house away.

i asked for rain to return your boulders. i asked for rain to wash me back to whoever I was before you came along. i asked for rain to wash me back to wherever i was before you came along with your questions and good grammar and dark eyes and intelligence and perfect venus sign. on a cold night in november.

i haven’t cried since. i like looking at my new glasses and my new house too much. when i opened my eyes, the optometrist’s number was there, i just had to dial. i dialed. she checked and prescribed. i picked out black frames and saw shine and light again when she gave them to me. i look back on that glass house and realize none of those windows or walls or even the roof was my prescription. i was never stupid the way you likely thought. i just couldn’t see properly. gave my trust and kindness to you. trust and kindness you were never deserving

of. maybe if i had my glasses then i never would have given you those. but i don’t have time to speculate like that. i have a date in an hour. like i said, i haven’t cried since. not even when i think of that time in that glass house. cold and miserable. because i got out and got better. i am okay. i know you’re just fine. and we are okay. though you never heard from me again. will never hear from me again. just some boulders that washed up on the end of your driveway.

Stage 5: new prescription

DEAR MUSE

RelationshipS and Sex

My boyfriend and I have a really active sex life, but my sex drive has been really low recently because of medication I’m on. What can I do to show him that my low sex drive has nothing to do with how I feel about him?

It’s hard to forget the first time you get that talk. On a sushi night with my older cousin, after I had just gotten into my first serious relationship, she turned to me and said – “the thing with sex is that you will never be more vulnerable in front of another person.” At the time, I thought that this sentiment was meant to steer me away from having sex; she alluded to this “vulnerability” with fear and loneliness. However, I have grown to realize that that does not have to be the case, and that vulnerability in sex can be a beautiful thing – but that doesn’t mean there’s not remnants of fear in those of us who endured ‘the talk’ when we were perhaps too young to appreciate it.

First and foremost, it is crucial that you honour your body and the days where sex is not in the cards for you. It sounds like you understand your situation well, which is key. But now, let’s put ourselves in your boyfriend’s shoes. When the two of you engage in sex, you are both experiencing this vulnerability that some people are simply more comfortable with than

others. Whether or not this comes naturally to your boyfriend, in such a state of intimacy, it is natural to want to feel validated. And so, if your boyfriend has reacted negatively to your decreased libido, it may boil down to a subconscious sting of rejection when he is in this vulnerable state. And as much as you can reassure him that it has nothing to do with him (as I’m sure you have done), it may take a while for him to come to terms with it.

My biggest piece of advice is to have an open conversation with your boyfriend, where you set a standard of honestly updating him when you are ready to have sex, so that he does not make advances that you are not prepared for. In the meantime, I encourage you to think of ways to experience intimacy and vulnerability without having sex. Surprise him with a date, make him a playlist, bring him some bubble tea - do something to remind him that you see him and appreciate him.

Lastly, remember that what you are experiencing is truly a form of vulnerability that will build a foundation for your relationship. Vulnerability in sex does not only come from getting naked with another person. It is the times like this where you have the tricky conversations, and land at a place of honesty where you can deliver on each other’s wants and needs.

Yours Creatively, Alisa

TAGS: Love, Sex, Blog, Advice, Valentinesday

Break-Up

My boyfriend of just over a year, broke up with me right before the holidays. It has been a really tough transition to process as I feel like by losing him, I am losing a piece of myself. I’ve had the winter break to process it and try to move on, however, being back in Kingston, where we met and spent most of our time together, is difficult. Everything, from the library, to the fact that he lives one block from me, reminds me of him and our relationship. Is it possible to form new perspectives of Kingston/Queen’s that will allow me to love my life devoid of his presence?

So you have found yourself in that unfortunate group of Kingston break ups. Welcome, it’s not as scary as it seems. Though I know at first this seems like the absolute worst place to have set the scene of a past relationship, I am here as an unfortunately seasoned member, and I can tell you that it really is not as bad as it seems. I know now it’s daunting, and every moment outside the sanctity of your room feels like you are simply avoiding the markers of what was. If your experience is anything like mine, you are most definitely doing your best to avoid that person as well. You likely know just how hard it is to dodge that one person or place, because Kingston seems to have this incredible way of always being way too small.

Right now, there are street corners, coffeeshops, hallways, and bus stops littered with the memories of them. Houses you once passed without second thought become the place you take five extra minutes to avoid on that daily walk to campus. There is an echo of what once was that follows you. It’s hard to shake off the ghosts of someone you shared intimate memories with, even more so when love complicates the severance.

To your question of whether a new perspective is possible, I want to reassure you that it is not only possible, but inevitable. It’s been six months since my last breakup. I have spent these months in a constant state of reclamation in all aspects of my life. It’s time to be a little selfish. Take back that place where you first locked eyes. Chances are, before it was a pillar in your relationship, there was some other memory that tied you there. Our connections to places and things are inevitably temporary. Romantic relationships tether moments to places, people, things. When things between

you dissipate, amicable or not, it is only natural to cling to what once was. Perhaps the worst thing you can do is reject the reminiscing; there’s no way to go back and erase those moments from time. The first kiss, first date, those milestone moments are marked in the oh-so-small locale that is Kingston.

I know it’s simple to say, but can seem nearly impossible to do. There will come a day where the sound of their street name doesn’t send you down a spiral of missing, or when the thought of running into them doesn’t paralyze you with fear. Take back the place that became them. Spend some mornings alone in a coffee shop, doing a workout, on a walk - whatever your prerogative. Reclaim some time for yourself, and in that you will begin to disentangle each place and moment in time from what was, and into a permanence that is you.

I have found my way in the streets that we still share again. I no longer fear running into anyone. I don’t take the long way round their street, or avoid the libraries or stores at the times they tend to be there. It’s a long road to reclamation, but with time and the right friends with you, even what seems like the smallest and most interconnected place ever can simply be yours.

Yours Creatively,

Joanna

FrIendship

I’ve been travelling with my longtime friend for the past month and a bit, but she has been extremely negative the entire time and has changed so much since the last time i saw her.

Before the trip, we both left for exchange one after the other so it’s been over a year since the last time we actually spent time together. I don’t really know what to do because my opinion about her has completely flipped, even though we used to be so close and I would feel bad going home and not talking to her anymore.

Is there a way I can fix things without sounding like an asshole?

us because they are going through the ups and downs of this tumultuous existence. But sometimes people just change. By giving her an opportunity to explain what is going on, you are opening the door to fixing your relationship. Truth be told, sometimes we are unaware of when we are acting differently with friends, and a reminder might open her eyes to her recent behavior and perhaps unearth what is causing such negativity.

And just like a romantic relationship, it is terrifying, but necessary, to know when to let things go. It can be strange to outgrow a friendship, knowing that no big blowout or betrayal has occurred. Friend break-ups are not nearly as normalized as romantic ones - though they can be equally devastating. But you also owe it to yourself to be transparent about which relationships serve you, and which don’t. If this relationship is something you no longer feel makes a positive difference in your life, you can express the concerns knowing that perhaps you are both growing up and away from each other.

Travelling is one of the greatest joys of life— when free of drama. Nothing is worse than spending Air Miles points just to be anxious about a potential spat with a pal.. Friendships are perhaps the most complex of all the relationships we have in our life; when you remove the thrilling aspects of intimacy, sex, passion and romance, you are left with a bond that relies purely on trust and loyalty.

Maybe as a result of this, we have a harder time solving issues in our friendships compared to issues in romantic relationships. There is a significant lack of resources teaching you how to communicate with a platonic friend, an absence of juicy articles and shared anecdotes. I think there is value in treating a platonic relationship similar to a romantic one, and the first step in “fixing things” in any relationship is to talk about your feelings. It can be scary. But if you have come to the conclusion that this is significant partnership in your life, you need to give repairing it an honest shot— and at least, offer this person who has given you so mucha chance to know how you really feel.

If you are looking to fix this issue without hurting your friend, the most crucial step is to intervene and tell her that you notice a change. Sometimes people feel different to

Best of luck—being honest is hard and it is easier said than done. But ultimately, if your relationship is not an honest one—what’s the point? Hopefully you can work through this issue ; friends usually, and luckily, go through these hiccups and make out stronger on the other side, laughing off the memory of a vacation tainted by temporary bad moods. Treat your friend with kindness and be as truthful as you can—and think carefully of the tone and environment of your chat. Best to have the conversation soon before your trip ends; being stuck on a plane a thousand metres in the air might not be the best place to have an intervention.

Yours Creatively, Liz

We all have our own seduction styles. A friend teased me that I draw people in without trying, but that isn’t true. Every look of my eyes, every turn of my head, every movement and placement is technical and applied. I often say I do nothing, and that’s a lie. It looks like nothing, but it is always with purpose.

A subtle look, I glance over your eyes. You are watching Where they land, So obsessed

I turn to the side. Never standing in one place long, I dipped beneath the light. Proportioned with Artless purpose, Heavenly placed, Carelessly, blatantly, Caught in nettings of your sight. Laugh, Throw my head back About things I observe, And then I will Look to you. It is shared You are already there, Waiting to hear my voice Like the flute

That opens the film. It was a red aura,

It Is Always With A Purpose

But it turned pink. It fell from the light fixtures, Satin-soaked, A thing of distraction

To pull your thoughts, To my station On a string. I look to you Then look down, Up again, I smile.

It is difficult to tell, And that is the skill of the game. A touch to my arm, I gloat

You will hear me sing.

The craving

You passively seek, The call that sinks you deep In familiar seas, A vanilla siren

I called your eyes, You walk by Then walk beside. It is always with purpose.

Sarah Towers

Love Thy Self

Love Thy Partner

the romantic in us all can’t help but swoon for true and honest forms of love. the partnered dynamic is one riddled with it’s own intricacies unique to that of the relationships we surround ourself with.

Kris Sanchez

One for you, One for me

How my relationship has changed the way I look at food

One of the most common causes of death in wild animals is starvation. Some animal species lay between thousands to millions of eggs at once but only few survive to adulthood. Food shortages interrupt their prosperity, leaving the smallest of the packs without their share. As such, many species have learnt to hoard rations to prepare for times when food would be scarce.

Growing up in an eight-person household, I’d say I’m quite familiar with this tactic.

house and one to give away to mine. When we cook meals together, he splits our food evenly down the middle so that we each eat equallysized portions, even though he has a far greater appetite.

One night, I had this surprising urge to drop off food at his house.

One for you, One for me

My styrofoam container full of leftovers from dinner doesn’t sit casually at the front of the fridge. It’s at the back of the bottom shelf with my name written on it in Sharpie, safe from the scrounging hands of my family. And when a good home cooked meal finds its way on the dinner table? I eat as much of it as I can, even if I’m not hungry, just to avoid the regret that would come in the case that there isn’t any more left in a few hours.

It might be selfish, but when food is short and there aren’t even enough ingredients in the fridge to cook, you have to do what you can to survive. I’ve never had a problem with it - not until my boyfriend.

My boyfriend is an only child, which roughly translates to, “his fridge is regularly stocked and his pantry full of snacks.” He loves sharing food.

When he visits Kingston, he brings two boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts - one to share with his

I was going to deliver the laptop charger he had left at my house as he needed it for an exam the following morning. But on my walk over, the thought occurred that he might be hungry from studying all day, and would appreciate it if I brought some food with me too.

I made a stop at Metro and walked the aisles for much longer than I should have with the goal of buying just one item. In the end, I bought a tray of Maki sushi with zero intention of having any of it myself.

When I showed him the sushi, his face glowed. He hadn’t had dinner yet so he devoured the whole tray in just a few minutes. He only gave me one roll, that’s how hungry he was. Watching him eat and seeing his face of contentment was a reward different than any food had ever brought me. It was a new feeling that I wanted to feel more of.

Since then, sharing food has become an instinct, and is something I look forward to rather than avoid doing. Now, when I pack for long days at the library, I always bring two granola bars with me. Sharing food has never felt better.

What Once Was: Reclaiming Music Post-Heartbreak

There’s nothing that compares to the feeling of nostalgia: the sights, scents, and sounds that transport you to a different place and time.

Nostalgia is so individualistic that it would be foolish to attempt to describe what pushes anyone’s mental buttons except my own. It’s a sensory experience that is so personal that even with my oversharing tendencies, I can’t seem to articulate how it manifests within myself. Still, I’ll give it my best shot…

It’s the smell of hash browns sizzling on my grandpa’s stove, backed to the tune of the Vince Guaraldi Trio’s “Lucy and Linus”.

It’s the feeling of his ugly ‘70s shag carpet under my feet.

It’s the taste of the Haagen Dazs’ Cherry Garcia ice cream that he always kept in his freezer.

In the same way that your favourite homecooked meal brings you back in time, a song can emulate that feeling tenfold.

If there’s something I’ve learned from making friends who are just as crazy about music as I am, it’s that they will defend artists with their life solely based on nostalgic value. Although one could argue that LMFAO’s discography is mediocre, technicalities are gone with the wind when “Party Rock Anthem” was the first song you bumped and grinded to at your school dance. There’s no such thing as unbiased critique when it comes to the albums that were the gateways to our current musical tastes. I’m certainly guilty of this. I immediately get defensive when someone judges an album that defined my childhood or coming of age. I usually don’t have words

Paisia Warhaft

to defend my position, besides “HOW COULD YOU BE SO COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY WRONG?”

People wouldn’t feel such a strong connection to the music they listen to if it didn’t play a role in their journey of self-discovery. A part of that path are the meaningful relationships we make along the way, each with their own soundtrack. But when a relationship comes to an end, what happens to the nostalgic music that remains?

Without getting into the nitty-gritty details of my dating history, I can only speak from a place of my own experience with love and love lost.

Maybe I place too much value on the music taste of my partners, but nonetheless, music has always been a source of connection in my past relationships.

My first boyfriend listened to a concerning amount of Yung Gravy but redeemed himself through our shared love of Young the Giant. A memory that still lingers is the night we saw them play live. The song “Superposition” came on, and he looked at me to mouth the lyrics “No matter what we do, I’ll be there for you”. I remember thinking, “This right here, ladies and gentlemen, is what romance looks like.”

On the other hand, my first queer love sent me into a new dimension of musical exploration. Her taste in music expanded my own, and I fawned over being with someone who could introduce me to sounds that I’d fall head over heels with. I never thought of myself as a “hopeless romantic” before, but that quickly changed when we spent

our days soaking in the summer heat, listening to Blossom Dearie and Al Hirt serenade us in the background. Jazz aside, she showed me music that would help me grow into my queer identity over dates that fit the cottagecore archetype a bit too well. Think, Big Thief, The Moldy Peaches, Frankie Cosmos— you get the idea. At this point, I thought “how could life get better than this?”

Spoiler: it did get better, but after a long-winded and frustrating process of non-linear healing. And let me tell you - the music that lingered over the ghost of my past relationships didn’t make it any easier.

I’ve tried my fair share of coping mechanisms to mend a broken heart, but most of them ended up being like trying to reattach a limb with Scotch tape. Sure, a tub of ice cream, a sappy romcom, and some Instagram stalking can enforce your self-loathing in a way that feels appropriate for your current state of mind, but it starts to be unhealthy when it becomes routine.

Breakup or not, listening to music can be a sustainable coping tool to get through your woes. I say can because doing the aforementioned activities with Phoebe Bridgers on loop is probably going to make things worse. Confronting the music that haunts you is not a quick fix, and unfortunately, there’s no such thing as an ex-orcist.

Although it seems like the easiest decision to avoid nostalgia-producing songs like the plague, I’ve always taken the opposite approach. In fact, I tend to overanalyze each lyric like I’m the Editor in Chief of Genius. This was until I was humbled by a post-breakup phone call.

The song “Ghosting” by Vancouver-based indie band, Mother Mother, used to be my kryptonite. On the call, I shared an excerpt of the lyrics as a (failed) attempt to communicate where I thought our relationship stood.

I compared the narrator to my ex, as someone who cut off contact but knew that they remained the “ghost in my house” that was keeping me up at night. And pulling the white sheet off their head, well, I thought that was their way of telling me that they wanted to open up contact and be “out of hiding”.

Oh, silly me, thinking I cracked the code and we’d end up walking off into the sunset. To my discontent, the way she perceived the song was

on the opposite side of the spectrum.

Their interpretation of the metaphor figured that taking off the sheets, and leaving them folded up, asserted that they were leaving the relationship “unhaunted” and finally closing the door that still remained cracked open.

…Damn, where was the ice for that burn when I needed it?

Despite wanting to demolish a Cherry Garcia pint after hearing the stone-cold truth, it was a necessary reality check. A song that we used to listen to together became a representation of our paths diverging. While I could continue the cycle of listening and contemplating what once was, I realized that it was time to start placing my own meanings to the songs, beyond the ones we previously shared. After all, if I gravitated to a song in the first place, why should I let melancholic nostalgia ruin it?

Tucking my old habits away, I kept listening, but this time, without placing the songs into a dusty memory box. I challenged myself to reframe the music as a fluid object, one that ebbs and flows with me as I do through life. Now when I hear something that reminds me of a past relationship, it’s no longer a reflection of us - it’s a reflection of me.

I encourage you to keep listening, too. To listen both intentionally and passively. Allow yourself to cry, to laugh, to reminisce. But most of all, create new meanings that reinforce where you are now, and where the future will take you.

The Beso Series

The Beso series is a trio of 8 x 11” oil paintings that aim to tell a visual story of individual relationships through colour and body language. Beso means kiss in Spanish, and as the name suggests, each piece depicts the act of kissing as an intimate yet commonplace occurrence taken within varying contexts. It explores intimacy between two people and how romantic love manifests through interaction in a given relationship. The warmth emanating from the colour palette and the lighthearted connectedness of the subjects’ facial expressions highlight the interpersonal connection that occurs through a kiss. Each piece delves into a specific aspect of romantic relationships, with one depicting playfulness, the second sincerity, and the third joy. Iconography in the background emphasises this and adds more context surrounding relationship dynamics. There is a focus on inclusivity and positivity across all three works, with depictions

Valerie Camila Letts

Oil paintings

November 2022 - January 2023

of queer relationships, as well as interracial and interreligious relationships, within this limited canvas space. This is a way to explore the multifaceted ways romance exists in various relationships. There is an emphasis on queer love throughout this series as a way to make space for love that deserves more casual and substantial recognition.

By not showing kisses in their literal or expected form, a simple, ordinary act of romantic love can be interpreted differently within a particular context. It allows the viewer to see the genuine love between the subjects, simultaneously inspiring them to take a moment and appreciate the love and adoration they may see in their lives. Using warm tones and passionate iconography, the Beso paintings begin an artistic journey into the development of idiosyncratic warmth between human beings.

FIRST GENERATION IMMIGRANT PARADOX

THE FIRST GENERATION

FIRST GENERATION IMMIGRANT

As we move to a more inclusive environment, one where diversity is showcased and celebrated, remembering the tribulations of my younger self who did everything to reject her cultural identity has only empowered me to fall back in love with it.

I’m sitting here in my paternal family home in Pakistan where my father and his siblings explored their curiosities before immigrating to Canada in 1987. I’m writing from the home where they dreamt, where they embraced, where they loved.

Growing up with a foot in the Western world and the other in my Pakistani identity juxtaposed everything I knew to be right. The communities of my people abroad used

culture as a means to justify moral policing due to an innate fear of losing their backgrounds in the aftermath of diaspora. Adding to the unattainable uniformity of the Pakistani identity was the orientalism embedded in western consciousness that rendered me paralyzed in understanding my heritage.

How to look, what to wear, and how to act were constantly dictated by each circumstance and in the process of attempting to conform to each – a true sense of self seemed unattainable.

I didn’t feel like there was a place for me in the traditional atmosphere of my upbringing, I felt like the black sheep in a herd of cattle. To mitigate my lack of belonging, I thrusted myself to fit into the world outside my home.

RST ATION NT FIRST RATION ANT 44

IMMIGRANT PARADOX RIDA CHAUDHRY

ATION NT PARADOX FIRST RATION ANT PARADOX

far too small for my size.

I allowed others to dictate my state of being – my insecurities forced my heart and ears open to those who didn’t care for me, thus superficially filling my desire for belonging.

The catch-22 of aging is the interests one pushes away when they’re young are the ones they come back to as they reconnect with themselves later in life. This rings truer than ever to my 21-year-old ears that yearn to hear the stories of those who came before me and seek to appreciate the beauty of the heritage I come from.

This is the paradox of the first generation immigrant child after all – a balancing act between two worlds that could not be more opposite from one another where if one were to tip too far either way, they risk falling completely.

From an upbringing in the greater Toronto area to a high school education in Texas has placed me in the hands of the Queen’s University atmosphere – one which, in the first two years of my undergrad, felt like there was little room to grow. I pushed myself to find communities within the campus of a predominately white institution where I felt welcomed and appreciated instead of pushed to the sidelines. Through curiosity and creation, I found others on campus who’s experiences may not have mirrored my own yet managed to level the understanding between us.

To learn from one’s cultural heritage and explore the stories of those who have both come before them and continue to live in the core of their homelands is a gift that ought not to be taken for

granted. The rich art that derives from South Asia weaves together historical and contemporary experiences of it’s inhabitants - from the Gaj of the Sindh people to the words of comedic relief from the Aleph Review.

THE FIRST GENERATION

My family both close by and abroad is full of artists at their core - be it musicians, designers, painters, or writers - the creativity I so often tap into is in my blood. I listened to my aunt tell stories of designing the clothes for the weddings of her siblings, learnt from my uncle the differences of the Eastern and Western musical scales, and relished in the stories of writing shared by my mother and her father. To appreciate and admire with an open mind is a gift I feel inclined to share though it seems so obvious now.

Observing the stories of those from my heritage; learning of their craft, their struggles, and their triumphs has chartered me onto a quest for further knowledge.

In the aftermath of the partition of India, my paternal grandfather migrated to Pakistan with only his older brother, they constructed a new life that has manifested into the home I now sit in. My maternal family’s building housed nearly her entire extension while she grew up, the ups and the downs, the pitfalls and the peaks, were witnessed collectively and though not at all without their unique struggles - the legacy of perseverance, community, and creation lie in the wake of their offsprings now living abroad. My heart is filled with admiration and my mind with a want to know more, for that is the full circle of the first generation immigrant paradox.

IMMIGRANT THE FIRST GENERATION

Love Thy Family

family is messy, family is complicated, family is nurturing, family is idealistic. if we asked our readers to embrace their families without acknowledging the limits to love deriving from obligation, we would be doing you a disservice. loving thy family is loving the path taken by those who came before you to allow you to be where you are today.

MUSE MAGAZINE, LOVE ON THE BRAIN

PHOTOGRAPHER

Sheana Tchebotaryov

Joanna Petropoulos

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF EDITORS DIRECTORS

ONLINE

Liz Gonzalez

PRINT

Alisa Bressler

CREATIVE

Rida Chaudhry

MARKETING

Tiana Lam

BUSINESS

Jordan McEwen

HEADS

CO-HEADS OF LAYOUT

Armita Dabirzadeh

Nadisha Gautam

HEAD OF GRAPHIC DESIGN

Michael Passler

HEAD OF EDITORIALS

Indira Fisher

HEAD OF PHOTOGRAPHY

Taryn Resende

HEAD OF VIDEOGRAPHY

Nathan Hawes

HEAD OF SOCIAL MEDIA

Ellie Horning

HEAD OF PODCAST PRODUCTION

Jaimie Frank

Megan Tesch

Nadine Ivanov

Sophia Ceccucci

Lakshmi Anandaraj

Katarina Bojic

Reagan Feld

Caitlin Parkes

LAYOUT TEAM

Matthew Nguyen

Beth Hood

Aliya Conrad

Emily Spendlove

LOVE THY SELF

CREATIVE ASSISTANTS

Lily Grigoriadis

Nathalie Gotz

Rida Chaudhry

PHOTOGRAPHER

Taryn Resende

VIDEOGRAPHER

Duncan Glancy

MAKEUP ARITST

Jill Ford

MODELS

Nicola Koroknay

Eric Patterson

LOVE THY FRIENDS

CREATIVE ASSISTANTS

Matthew Nguyen

Jen Lamarche

Indira Fisher

VIDEOGRAPHER

Mackenzie Loveys

MAKEUP ARITST

Chelsea Roberts

MODELS

Heather Robinson

Khush Sagar

Armita Dabirzadeh

LOVE THY PARTNER

CREATIVE ASSISTANTS

Maeva Baldassarra

Midhat Mujaddid

Jude Al-Samman

PHOTOGRAPHER

Illia Gelman

VIDEOGRAPHER

Nathan Hawes

MAKEUP ARITST

Claire Matthews

MODELS

Meenakashi Ghadial

Shaira Ahmed

LOVE THY FAMILY

CREATIVE ASSISTANTS

Rida Chaudhry

Joanna Petropoulos