New Wave Magazine Issue 6 (Spring 2021) by New Wave Magazine

NEW WAVE

ISSUE SIX

SPRING 2021

X I S E

U S MASTHEAD S MASTHEAD Editors-in-Chief Emily Peotto Vanessa Quon

Features Editors Managing Editor, Creatives Zanele Chisholm

Lauren Kaminski Arianna Kyriacou

Creatives Editors

Managing Editor, Features

Natalie Michie Monica Sadowski Sama Nemat Allah

Pia Araneta

Head of Layout and Design Katia Puritch

Heads of Copy/Fact-Checking Dorsa Rahbar Sara Romano

Head of Social Media Katie Shier

LETTERS FROM THE EDITORS My final year at New Wave has been bittersweet. All year, we have ached to see you. To let you hold us in your hands. We wanted, so desperately, to celebrate this with you. A year of achievements: over one hundred pieces, thousands of revisions, graphics so beautiful they make my heart hurt. We hope you can feel our love through the screen. We hope you feel like you found a home here, even like this. Thank you for two years of magic. Thank you for your hard work. Thank you for sticking with us. I hope issue six brings you love and light.

Emily Peotto Editor-in-Chief

New Wave Magazine is about community and creativity, and that has been more-than-evident during this COVID-19 pandemic. Despite no longer having a physical community on campus this year, issue six persevered and was constructed by a group of people who continued sharing important and personal stories. Among its many pages, this issue details the experiences of virtual therapy during a pandemic, finding community in crochet, ‘breaking up’ with social media, and coming face-to-face with white beauty standards in an immigrant family. I’ll forever be in awe of the resilience and love that went into this issue by our entire team, from our editors and writers to our design and layout team. Thank you for all that you’ve put into this. The past year has been difficult for many different reasons, but I hope these pages can bring a sense of community and understanding and serve as a reminder that we’re not alone. I’m extremely grateful and proud to have been part of this magazine throughout my four years at Ryerson, and even more so that I get to end it with this team and this issue.

Vanessa Quon

Editor-in-Chief

As another academic year draws to a close, it’s hard for people (myself included) not to reflect on a year of loss; we are grieving in-person classes, our peers, what we imagined our graduation to look like and hell, we’re even grieving the Student Learning Centre beach floor (eww). After a year of hearing the word resilience, many of us are feeling tired — and naturally so. Ryerson students this year have gone above and beyond to advocate for systemic changes for themselves and graduating years that will follow. It’s made me exceptionally proud to see the growth, strength and advocacy in my classmates, but again, it shouldn’t be up to us to instigate these changes. There is exhaustion in resiliency. Despite everything, I feel like I’m leaving Ryerson on a high note. Though there’s a lot of work to be done I am grateful to know what kind of future my classmates will be carving out for themselves and I imagine the spaces we will create are the ones that reflect the same fabric of our multicultural society. It’s from these communities that New Wave has strived to protect and create space for. Without them, our stories would be hollow. I want to say thank you to the Ryerson Journalism class and the exceptional team at New Wave Magazine, especially the contributors who bore with us as we attempted to piece together a magazine in a pandemic. It’s been a hell of a year.

Pia Araneta

Managing Editor, Features

Working with New Wave Magazine as the Managing Editor of Creatives has been one of the most giving experiences of this year. Creating, nurturing, feeding the world and people around us with art has been a lighthouse guiding us through perhaps the most unexpected year of struggle. I’ve always found creativity to grow during times when we have space, room to imagine realities beyond the present. While at first the restriction to a virtual life felt incompatible with creation, the writers, artists, and creatives that have helped bring issue six to life have proven all doubts wrong. I am beyond proud to be attached to such a beautiful and brilliant structure of work built by such talented and resilient artists. Thank you for allowing us to contribute to that light in the dark. I hope reading this issue brings you joy and healing. Best,

Zanele Chisholm

Managing Editor, Creatives

CONTENTS A Summer in Suburbia..........5 How to Disappear..........6 Have Wheels, Will Protest..........10 My Breakup with Instagram..........12 Author Spotlight: Taylor Jenkins Reid..........14 The Attic..........18 Pre-Existing Condition..........19 What’s So Great About Sex?..........22 Echoing Walls..........24 The Hats I Keep..........27 The Skin I’m In..........29 One Basket at a Time..........31 That Means Good Luck!..........36 Drive..........38 Stitch by Stitch..........40 The Human Connection of Virtual Therapy..........42

A Summer in Suburbia

By Christina Flores-Chan

you wrote a verse about the summer we spent together I hate the way I recognized myself in your lyrics hearing your voice for the first time in six months raised goosebumps on my arms it might be the broken heater in this apartment though, I don’t know you sang about how my touch gave you chills even under the sweltering sun I’m sorry I never warned you about my bad blood circulation I’m sorry I was the coldest part of that summer when the memory of holding your hand, the night sky collapsing over us, burns through my skin I still listen to your music with Spotify’s private session on it’s snowing in the city and I don’t want anyone to know that I still think about you when I sit by the fireplace, fingers looming over the flames

How to Disappear By Eduard

The phone rang from across the room, 15 — no 1500 — yards away. It was vibrating off the hook, shaking the house. I could feel it in my throat. I could feel it in my heart.

“Hello?” you said, as though you were the one that answered.

It’s been years since I left New York. The intensity of the city just grew too much for me. Maybe it was the sleepless nights, the early mornings. Or maybe it was people — how many there were, how crass they were, how ruthless they were. As though I’m any better. I’ve become just like them over the years. The city changes you. I can’t quite put my finger on when, but it did. My father warned me before I left, tried to stop me when I told him. He said I’d hate it, that it’s not my kind of place, that I wouldn’t find anyone there like me. He was right about one thing.

“I’m sorry, do I have the right number?” You sounded just like you did the first time you called; somber, telling me you needed to drive to LA, that you needed to see me. What about? You didn’t say. You never say.

The second ring was even louder than the first. It echoed down the street and through my neighbourhood. I used to get vertigo from the skyscrapers — being inside them, looking down, and being below them, looking up. It was dizzying, New York. I never quite felt connected to the earth below me, because it wasn’t there. It was nothing but concrete or stone or carpet or tile. I could’ve gone months without feeling dirt beneath my feet or seeing greenery in the trees above me. But one thing made it better. The third and fourth rings bled together. I’d almost tuned them out. I stood up to answer before it stopped. Because I knew it was you and I couldn’t not pick up. When I picked the phone up off the hook, I had to hold it with both hands to keep it up. Had it always weighed a tonne, or was I just getting weaker? I heard a car go by on the other end.

Tatomir

I cleared my throat away from the receiver, “Hello.”

“Yes, it’s me, John. Where are you now?” “Riverside. I pulled into a truck stop to dial.” “That’s not too far,” my fingers slipped through the coiled wire. “That’s not too far at all. When can I expect you?” Silence, but the call didn’t disconnect. I heard another car going by on the wet road. You sniffled away from the phone, a deep breath. “An hour at the most,” you said. My ring tapped the receiver. “Everything all right, John?” “Oh absolutely, Lana. Absolutely. I’ll see you soon.” You didn’t sound the same. I heard it. The neighbours heard it. The cats in the yard heard it. Something’s changed with you. I thought perhaps I was imagining things from our first call — I chalked it up to you being tired from the stockyards. Now it’s undeniable. I hope everything’s okay, John. I’ll only know when you arrive, so please hurry.

I made a spread. Cheeses and hams, bread and crackers. You’re always hungry. Even when you tell me you’re not. I cooked for two every evening, despite the protests.

I stood in the doorway as you made your way to the couch and sat down.

An hour had passed. Then two. Then three. Sunset came and went. I worried. It wasn’t like you to be this late. What if something happened? What if you got in an accident? I didn’t know who to call. I didn’t have a number. All I could do was wait.

The rain stopped for a moment. Everything did. Even the cats stood still.

“Is that so?” I asked, shutting the door behind him.

“So, if I took a match to your mouth you wouldn’t breathe fire?” You looked over at me, eyes drooping. “I’m sorry.”

And before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep on the couch in the flower-print summer dress I put on for you, hugging a throw pillow, with my heels kicked off under the coffee table.

“Christ, you’re such a dick, John. I don’t know what I was expecting when you called. I thought maybe something had happened, that maybe you changed.” I pulled out a cigarette.

Knocking at the front door woke me up. Tilly meowed I lit it up and took a drag. Then another. My entire at me. I checked the clock, half-past midnight. It body ached for it, as though I were starved. I hadn’t couldn’t be you. You wouldn’t be this late. smoked in four months, but that streak didn’t matter anymore. I peered through the window, but it was too dark to see. “That was foolish of me to think. You’re still the “Who is it?” I asked. same old man child,” I said. A pause. “It’s me.” I opened the door, and it really was you. Soaked from the rain — it looked as though you walked here. Your car wasn’t in the driveway and you reeked of alcohol. You exhaled. “Oh John, what happened?” You cleared your throat. “My car broke down.”

He looked away, at the floor, through the earth, and into the galaxy on the other side of it. Tilly meowed at him. I waited for him to speak, to move, to blink. Nothing. I put the cigarette out and walked over to the fridge. “You know what this reminds me of? That time at Rockefeller when you got pissed with the Hardy brothers.” I opened a bottle of wine. One of the good ones — I was saving it for something special.

“It was your birthday, so I didn’t say anything, but you were such a tool that night, and every time you drink, which only seems to be on the days you want to forget.”

My words of reassurance were drowned out by your repetitions. You fell to the floor crying and I fell with you. We sat there together in a puddle of your tears until you were ready; until you finally spoke.

I poured myself a glass and it went down like silk. “You always make such an ass out of yourself. You always get so ugly.”

You asked me, “why did you leave New York?”

I slammed the glass in the sink. It cracked. “And what was all that on the phone about you needing to come see me? Huh? Driving all the way down here from New York for days just to get wasted on the last stretch? Then lying to me about it? The hell’s the matter with you? What was the point of all this?”

All the air left my lungs. There were a million things I wanted to say, but only one that mattered. “Because I couldn’t take it there anymore. The cold, the grey, the hardness of it all. It changed me, for the worse.” You didn’t move. “Why do you ask?” A pause.

“Because I don’t think I can take it anymore, either. I turned back around to face you, “I mean, tell me, I don’t have anyone.” what was the point…” only to see that your head was now bobbing in your hands. I pulled him close. “You still have me.” “John?”

“You’re gone, Lana. It’s all gone.”

I’d never seen you shed a tear in my life. I’m sure God could say the same.

“Nothing’s gone. No one’s gone.”

Tilly curled up next to you and began purring. Sunny swept your leg. When I sat next to you, the act started and old John tried to return. You cleared your throat, you covered your eyes, you stood up and away from me. You did everything you could so I wouldn’t know what you’d just done.

You rested your head on my shoulder, it fit perfectly, and we just listened to the rain hit the roof. “I’m always going to be right here,” I whispered in your ear. “No one’s going anywhere.” I wish I could’ve pushed the subject, I wish I did, but I wasn’t about to take a mile when you only gave me an inch.

Your hand was on your mouth, as though you’d uttered a slur.

I made up the couch and you stayed the night. No way I was letting you go anywhere in your state.

How many times have you hidden this from me? “You’re right, Lana, I’m sorry.”

I thought you’d pass out quick, but you laid there with your eyes open and Tilly cuddling you while I turned out the lights and closed the blinds.

“John.”

“Lana,” you said.

You rubbed your eyes until they were raw. “No, “Yes, John?” everything you said was true. I shouldn’t have come tonight. This was a bad idea.” You made your way to “You’ve changed.” the door. “Forgive me.” “I have?” I asked. You nodded. “John, wait.” I sat on the cushion next to you and, even though You opened it into the storm and stood there for that was the closest I was to your face all night, you a moment, shivering. The wall of water had you felt so far away. trapped. That’s when you dropped your defences. You kept repeating, “I shouldn’t have come, I You left before sunrise. I never found out why you shouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have come.” came, or why you were crying, or where you went.

I had no number to call, no address to visit, and the operator has no correspondence with the last name I provided her. You disappeared, and the only note you left behind was an apology for the intrusion. As though there was one. I only wanted to know what happened to you and why you came that night. You held back, to the point of falling apart, and then vanished. My mother always said that’s how good men disappear — they keep quiet until they reach their breaking points. Then, they’re gone forever. “Why?” I remember asking her that sunny afternoon after dad’s wake. I was only 11. “Why do they do that?” “Because that’s what they’re told their whole lives,” she responded as she was washing all the dishes in the house. Even the clean ones. “That they’re wrong for feeling sad, feeling vulnerable, feeling depressed, hell… feeling anything at all. So, they don’t. Then, they break. And then they’re gone for good.” I don’t want you to end up like my father, John. I don’t want you to be gone for good. If you’re reading this, I want you to know I’ve never moved and I’ve never changed numbers, and I don’t plan to. I’m always going to be right here. No one’s going anywhere.

Have W

otest Pr

W , s l e il l e

How Black Americans use roller skating as a form of community and activism By Asha Swann If you saw roller skaters effortlessly dancing through your social media feeds over summer 2020, you weren’t alone. Millennials and Gen Z are the latest group to partake in the classic pastime of roller skating. Coinciding with iconic fashion and music of the disco movement, it isn’t hard to see the appeal. In the 1970s, roller skating and roller derby swept the world, giving people a new way to express themselves through movement and dance. For the new generation, roller skating is excellent uncharted territory. While social media has certainly propelled skating back into the mainstream, it conveniently ignores the consistency of the sport through the last several decades in southern Black communities. Jasmine Moore and Marician Brown are two California-based roller skaters, whose followings on social media have led a never-ending string of viral videos. The history of roller skating holds a unique spot in both Brown and Moore’s history, as well as Black history overall — a fact that has gone largely unacknowledged in mainstream media for decades, according to Brown and Moore. Brown believes social media has helped connect lovers of roller skating from around the world, giving an incredible resurgence to the sport.

Brown says that going to rinks in the South as a kid was very different from the carefree era of TikTok skaters today. When she was growing up, she couldn’t look to YouTube for instructions, she says. “I’m 24, and every time I went to the roller skating rink when I was younger, it was very different,” Brown explained. “[Now there’s] good music, good instructors and people who are willing to teach you. I didn’t grow up with that.” Before looking at roller skating’s popularity across TikTok, it’s important to take historical context into account. According to a 2014 article published by The Atlantic, roller skating was simply inaccessible to anyone poor or Black before the Civil Rights movement — partially due to Jim Crow legislation, but also partly due to labour laws. The majority of the American population was forced to work long, grueling hours for measly wages. If you were Black, these wages were even more pathetic. Take a look at the Roaring 20s that saw massive economic growth, consumerism and the birth of some of America’s first roller rinks. In 1923, the average worker was a white male, earning $34 per week.

Black Americans meanwhile, were on average earning between $5 to $9 weekly. With a pair of skates selling for around $2.25 a pair, this meant skating for Black Americans could cost about half of a week’s salary. As a result, the white affluent class thrived in the environment, which segregated them not only from all other races, but low-income people as well. Jim Crow laws enforced segregation from 1870 until 1968. Undeniably, 1970s white America and 1970s Black America were worlds apart, even after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 technically made types of discrimination illegal. While white Americans became cozy in the suburbs with the first Barbie and Hot Wheels toys, Black Americans were finally allowed to take the bus into newly integrated schools. Race scholars say that during the 1970s and 1980s, roller rinks and amusement parts were among the last places to desegregate due to how ingrained they were in white recreational culture.

For Moore, the power of skating as a form of protest has been a powerful tool in the Black community. Moore also explains that the diversification of roller skating is long overdue but necessary for the sport to grow. North American skaters should also strive to understand the historical context of skating, she says. For both Moore and Brown, skating isn’t a fad that will pass with the seasons. Roller skating as a whole never stopped — instead, it stealthily shifted underground. It is a community, a sport, a lifestyle and a culture that coincides with an integral part of Black history.

As Moore explains, Black America used roller rinks to create spaces of justice and activism. “When you look at the history of roller skating through the segregation era and up until now, Black people used roller skating as a form of protest. They use it as a form of escape, they use it as a form of expression,” Moore says. In 2018, The New York Times reported that around 95 per cent of attendees at the nightly roller rink specials in New York and New Jersey are African American, ranging from teens to seniors. During segregation, roller rinks that allowed Black patrons needed to be scheduled in advance. During the one night each week, Black Americans were allowed to take part in a “coloured-only skate night.” In the 2018 documentary United Skates, a Black skater explained how he grew up seeing KKK members picket any roller rink which allowed African Americans, saying that people would “rather die than integrate.” Racial tensions increased alongside pop culture. Disco and hip hop grew alongside flared pants and the fight for civil rights. Using the large rink, Black people organized protests in their forced segregation. In places where hip hop was rejected, musicians performed in any roller rinks that would permit Black people to gather. It isn’t hard to see why Moore is just one of many skaters who believe the rich history of roller skating is intertwined with the Black Lives Matter movement. Brown, who grew up going to roller rinks in her hometown of Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, says the roller skating movement has become much more inclusive because of social media, adding on that rediscovering skating makes people “feel like they’re on top of the world.”

MY BR EAK UP WITH INSTAGRAM By Munara Muhetaer “Don’t worry,” she said. “You can use my phone to call an Uber home later.”

I felt this need to maintain the image I’d meticulously crafted and mimic the lifestyles of the other beautiful women overcrowding my feed, no matter how unattainable.

I barely knew her, but she meant it as a reassurance. We were a small crowd of nineteen and twenty-year-olds partying downtown for a mutual friend’s birthday. This was her way of looking out for a female acquaintance whose phone battery had just died, and who’d have to make her way out of the city alone in the dead of night.

What was once a fun fling between Instagram and I had morphed into a toxic relationship and I was trapped without knowing it.

I appreciated her offer, of course. But at that moment, getting home wasn’t my main concern. All I could think about was how I wouldn’t be able to document this night and plaster it all over my social media. Outfit: wasted. Fancy drinks: pointless. Night: ruined. After all, if you didn’t post about it, did it really happen? Now, when I look back at this memory from over a year ago, I’m embarrassed that I couldn’t simply enjoy an outing for what it was. But at the time, my relationship with social media, specifically Instagram, was consuming. I was constantly recording and sharing my life: what I was wearing, where I was and who I was with. It was a habit, almost a natural instinct. There was a time when I’d spend entire weekends reading a book while curled up on the couch. Where I cut my own bangs unevenly and made my own jewellery out of beads that I bought at the dollar store. But over the years, I’d created and carefully cultivated a caricature of myself online: one that was outgoing, done up and with an expensive taste for clothes and food. It happened gradually. What initially started as a hobby bled off the screen and began to control the real-life me. Every view, like and comment I received validated my self-esteem, and so I kept seeking them.

Then the pandemic hit. All my weekend plans went out the window, then the next week’s, then the next month’s — until there was nothing left to do but to sit at home and wait. In quarantine, my life became somewhat static and suddenly I was out of things to post. Yet that no longer seemed to matter anymore. There was so much devastation everywhere — people were losing their livelihoods, their loved ones, their own lives. I knew that I was one of the luckier ones.

“What was once a fun fling between Instagram and I had morphed into a toxic relationship and I was trapped without knowing it.” Largely stuck in isolation with no set schedule and with a lot of spare time on my hands, I spent hours upon hours doing what I knew best: scrolling through posts, sifting through comments, refreshing the explore page. But along with the inspiring stories and activism that came out of this time, I also saw a lot of negativity and skepticism and comment sections bombarded with hate. The more time devoted to my screen, the more hopeless and depressed I felt. I developed insomnia and was always fatigued. There were days I didn’t want to do anything, where I didn’t even want to get out of bed.

I decided to take my departure from Instagram one step at a time. I set myself daily reminders for how much time I can spend on the platform and abided by them. I spent more time with my family. I started taking long walks outside. I bought myself a dozen new books. And I began writing for myself again — stories, scripts, essays, ramblings — and in doing so, I rediscovered a love I’d somehow abandoned along the way. Now, some months later, I’m in a much better place. My mental health has improved and I feel the most creative and productive I’ve ever been. I’ve learned to focus my time, energy and efforts on what truly matters: the people I love, the projects I’m passionate about and the real me instead of the caricature. I’ve also learned the importance of practising mindfulness and moderation when using social media. And I’m slowly learning to rediscover Instagram again through a new lens — this time, as a tool to inspire and to be inspired, to inform and to be informed and to connect — not as a toxic partner keeping a tight rein on my life. Yes, Instagram and I are broken up, but we’re working on being friends.

And every time I clicked on my profile, I could barely recognize the person smiling back at me. Who was she? Certainly not me with my uncombed hair and the bags under my eyes. I could feel for the first time the true extent of the mental stress social media was causing me — something that I didn’t let myself feel before, when I was too busy maintaining a public performance of myself. Though my relationship with Instagram had somewhat evolved, it was even more draining now. I was no longer concerned with views, likes and comments, but my mental health was suffering from all the negativity I was exposed to. I knew that I had to step back, but it was difficult to tear myself away. Toxic relationships aren’t always easy to recognize and they’re even harder to leave.

Aut hor Sp otlight:

TAY L O R J E N K I N S R E I D By Don Qarlo Bernardino The romance genre is often accompanied by gendered assumptions that deem its narratives as vapid, cliché and centred around women’s unrealistic fantasies. Women romance authors not being taken seriously is common, and they are often positioned against highly regarded works of fiction. It’s a genre that almost everyone is familiar with, yet less respect it as “esteemed literature.” Despite the criticisms that are associated with romance novels, it is still one of the most profitable genres. Many established authors have built long-lasting careers out of romance fiction, such as the classical Jane Austen and more modern names like Julia Quinn and Danielle Steel. You may recognize Quinn’s name from her thriving book series, Bridgerton, that recently became a hit on Netflix, further proving the genre’s profitability. Taylor Jenkins Reid is a fascinating author and the centre of this spotlight as she sets herself apart from other romance writers. She gives readers a fresh take on a familiar genre through complex female protagonists and compelling storylines. Reid’s work speaks to women everywhere, with a career spanning across multiple mediums, including television, magazines and now adult and historical fiction. In managing to write romance stories that speak to an audience beyond its stereotypical target reader, Reid’s work tells real, honest stories about love and romance that address their complexities. Each of her books is told from the perspective of female protagonists with compassion and empathy, fleshed out as real and complex human beings. These women are dealing with love, but the author also gives the readers

a reason to identify with them beyond their romantic endeavours. Pre-author years Early on in her career, Reid worked in the entertainment industry and as an essayist with various magazine publications. Her foray into fiction all started when she met Jennifer Aniston, whom she recognized from the show Friends. In an interview with Marie Claire, Reid spoke about how all her friends wanted to know what it was like meeting Jennifer Aniston, leading her to write them an email detailing the story of how she met the actress. This was what made her realize she loved writing stories and found that she had a real knack for it. She then decided to write full-time, and has since become an extremely prolific and talented writer who shows no signs of slowing down. Her early novels: adult romance Reid kicked off her literary career with four adult romance novels that had similar themes of two people falling in and out of love. The romance genre is plagued with familiar narratives like this, attracting much of the criticism that writers of romance fiction receive. But it’s the tried and true formula. A man and woman meet, fall in love, have steamy sexual tension. Change up the setting, characters and conflicts every now and then and you have a bookshelf of best-selling novels. What elevates Reid’s adult romance novels from others in the genre is her ability to tell grounded, heart-wrenching stories about love that take different approaches in their concepts and have realistic characters. In her first novel, Forever Interrupted, readers follow Elsie Porter,

who at the beginning of the novel tragically loses her husband Ben Ross, with whom she recently eloped. The novel jumps back and forth between past and present, showing us Elsie and Ben’s whirlwind romance and the aftermath of Ben’s death in which Elsie processes and grieves his passing. As with most debut novels, it isn’t Reid’s best work and you can sense that she was still trying to find her footing. Still, the book provides an emotional exploration of grief, what it means to lose love and how to move on from it. Reid followed up her debut novel a year later with After I Do. This is where she takes what she did right in her first novel and elevates it to new heights. The book is a heartbreaking story about a recently married couple, Lauren and Ryan, who realize that their marriage is reaching its breaking point and come up with an unconventional plan to fix it. They decide to spend one whole year apart from each other, without contacting each other. After that one year, they will reconnect and try to see if they can fall in love again. What separates After I Do from other romance novels is its dissection of marriage after the honeymoon phase. What makes Reid’s books so compelling is that it all comes down to how well she writes her characters. A great romance novel works only when the reader cares deeply about the characters. After I Do deals with the destruction of a relationship, but what makes it so engaging

is that you get the chance to understand both Lauren and Ryan’s perspectives. It’s a heartbreaking read as you witness firsthand how the two were able to fall in love and how that love slowly fades over the years. It’s real, raw and gets deep into the philosophies of what it means to love. Reid ended her journey of writing contemporary novels with One True Loves. It follows Emma Blair, who marries her high school sweetheart Jesse. Emma’s whole life takes a turn when Jesse goes missing. This forces Emma to reshape her whole life while dealing with grief. She feels like she gets a second chance at love when she runs into Sam, an old friend. That is until Jesse turns out to be alive and finally finds his way back to her. What follows is Emma dealing with a love triangle for the ages. This time, Reid focuses on whether or not we are destined to end up with one person: our one true love. What makes the novel so fascinating is that the love triangle is so unique. It’s about a woman falling in love with two different people during two different periods in her life. It dives into the complicated emotions that come with this dilemma, marking a strong end to Reid’s era of writing original contemporary fiction.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo: Taylor Jenkins Reid’s’s breakout into historical fiction In an interview with Girly Book Club, Reid discusses her transition from adult contemporary romance fiction to historical fiction. She talks about how she felt like she had written everything she wanted to cover within the adult contemporary genre. With her next novels, she wanted to try something new and thus started her journey writing historical romance fiction. Personally, I think The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo is her best book yet. This was the first book where Reid branched off

into historical fiction and was met with positive acclaim. The novel starts off in the present day when journalist Monique Heart mysteriously gets tasked to interview Cuban-American Evelyn Hugo, one of the most popular Hollywood actresses now in her old age. Readers are entrenched in the fictional life of this woman, as her story reads similarly to a compelling biography from her rise to astronomical fame,

but with a lifetime of secrets, regrets and mistakes. Like the title suggests, Evelyn Hugo has seven husbands over the course of her life and each of them have a compelling story attached to each marriage. But, there is someone whom she ultimately loves the most and finding out who that person is makes the novel a serious pageturner. Many readers have cited the book as a masterpiece. It’s all about the scandals, gossip and the price of fame in Hollywood all from the perspective of a powerful and complicated woman such as Evelyn Hugo. Reid also explores writing about LGBTQ+, POC and even stronger female leads that we hadn’t seen before in her previous books. This is especially true with Evelyn Hugo, a woman of colour who is deeply flawed but incredibly ambitious. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo unpacks marginalized identities in Old Hollywood and how one is forced to change or hide certain parts of their identity to fit into a world that would not accept them if they didn’t. The hotly anticipated follow up to Evelyn Hugo was released the following year: Daisy Jones & The Six. The book follows a fictional rock band in the 1970s Los Angeles Sunset Strip through its lead singer Daisy Jones and her constant clash with the other lead Billy Dunne. Told in an interview-style format, the book plays out like a documentary where the band members recount their glory days with their rise in fame and what led to their infamous break-up. Like your cinematic rock and roll biopic, Daisy Jones

& The Six is all about the clashing egos between band members, the romances that form and the price of fame. Daisy Jones has a lot of the same ingredients that made Evelyn Hugo a success. The flawed but fascinating female protagonist, Daisy, has an undeniable talent in singing and a beauty that gets everyone’s heads turning. She is a woman who lives by her own rules and walks to the beat of her own drum. She is empowering and electrifying, never letting her gender get in the way of pursuing a career in a maledominated industry. Taylor Jenkins Reid is clearly a prolific author. She has released a book every year since 2013 and the quality that she is able to produce at such a fast rate is astounding. The trademark in each of her books is that her characters, in one way or another, deal with love. Whether that’s falling in love with a person, love for your friends, family or career. Her books always have that signature female protagonist, with her prose often turning to introspection by diving into their thoughts, feelings and philosophies. She has a knack for creating not just empowering, strong female protagonists, but just as compelling side characters. You get to relate to and understand each and every character’s perspective in her books, even if they don’t make the best choices. Reid’s books are all about learning what it means to love and how to create empathy for the people you come across in life. She is a talented author who writes thoughtful characters and universal themes. In oversaturated genres like romance and historical fiction, she stands out by subverting readers’ expectations, writing beautiful prose and having diverse representation.

The Attic By Arianna Kyriacou

you always expected me to immediately get on my knees for you you are not something to be worshipped you are not a god i am not below you yet i know you are not capable of loving me without making me feel so small

so i tuck the way i feel about you into tattered cardboard boxes that sit thick with dust above the bed we spend far too much time on it rests dead, enclosed around brown walls and it’s damp and leaking onto the floor through the muddy print you left from your size twelve shoe sometimes it drips onto my torso while you are bruising my jaw and strangling my neck for fun

Pre-Existing Condition By Katie Shier

I posted something on my Instagram story a few weeks ago about getting aggressively catcalled. I usually don’t post things like that, but I guess I was pissed off more than usual that day. It wasn’t even 10 a.m. I was just trying to go to a doctor’s appointment. I got message after message: “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” “I hope you’re okay.”

“That’s so scary.”

I’m not sure what response I was expecting, but I didn’t really think people would care. I’m so used to this. We all are. It wasn’t that big of a deal, right? I genuinely didn’t think it was a big deal. This happens to literally every woman on earth. Everyday. The only difference is that I said something about it this time.

What about the time I was 12 and I got catcalled while babysitting? We were on our way to the park. A group of construction workers whistled at me. I grabbed her hand way too tightly as we walked past. I hope she didn’t know what was going on. What about the time I was on the subway home and a guy was masturbating and staring at me my whole ride home? I have never felt so violated and the man hadn’t even touched me. I almost threw up in the garbage at St Clair station. What about the time a guy forced my hand on his crotch at a party and when I tried to get away, he grabbed my wrist so tightly that I thought he broke it? I was told by a friend that it wasn’t worth reporting because “I didn’t really have anything to report.” What about the time the guys in my seventh grade class made a hot-or-not list of all the girls solely based on our boobs? What about all the times I had to order a new drink at a bar because I left mine unattended for half a minute? What about the time a man old enough to be my father grinded on me and groped me at a bar? His hands dug into my hip bones like he was trying to dig through me. I couldn’t move. I was trying to celebrate my 18th birthday. What about all the times that are too insignificant to post about because getting harrassed is the rent I pay to exist in the world as a woman. What about all the times I thought I would get kidnapped or raped or killed? Where’s the nearest exit?

Are there any other women around?

Is anyone around?

What’s in my bag?

Can he grab my ponytail?

Did he look at me weird?

Did she notice him looking at me?

How fast can I run in these shoes?

“What about all the times that are too insignificant to post about because getting harrassed is the rent I pay to exist in the world as a woman.”

All of these questions go through my head the second I make eye contact with a man. Even if he’s ‘normal looking’ or a mutual friend

or young and cute.

Every man is a threat when my mere existence is a pre-existing condition. An invitation for male attention. What about all the times that incidents like this happen on the way to work or class? We’re expected to function as normal. Like nothing ever happened. I’m supposed to take notes during my lecture. I’m supposed to focus on what my professor is saying.

“Every man is a threat when my mere existence is a pre-existing condition.”

As if I was not just yelled at by a random man like I was a dog.

Like I am worthless.

Like I am a removable piece of garbage in his way.

After each one of these situations, I’ve just brushed it off and gone on with my day. I’ve had to and I’ve learned to. We all have. Because if we start talking about all the ways we have been violated there would never be silence.

What’s So Great About Sex? Being comfortable with yourself and your partner is key to sexual connection By Omar Taleb On New Year’s Day, Oliver woke up and decided that the only way he could get out of having sex with his girlfriend was to tell her that his co-worker had gotten into a car accident. Oliver, 26, can’t ejaculate from sex in the morning. He gets hard, but never horny enough to orgasm. He’d be surprised to learn that Alisa, his 19-year-old girlfriend, doesn’t get horny either. While Alisa also hates morning sex, she remembered something her friend told her when they were out for drinks. “Not having sex with your boyfriend on New Year’s Day sets a terrible precedent,” the friend had said. “It sets you guys up for failure.” Liking or disliking morning sex didn’t matter to her anymore. It was the precedent that was on Alisa’s mind as her boyfriend jumped out of bed, phone in hand, and ran to the bathroom. He came out a few minutes later, boner non-existent. “Jessica’s okay, it wasn’t too bad. From the way she put it in the text, I thought she was in the hospital.” Wrapped in the bedsheets and unsure of what to say, she realized his underwear was already back on. If not having sex on New Year’s sets the relationship up for failure, Alisa didn’t want to think about what comes after getting cock-blocked by a car crash.

“If the sex isn’t going so well, she fears, does it mean they need to break up?”

For something so universal, the concept of pleasure is not the easiest topic to bring up to partners. “It takes practice to get comfortable expressing your needs,” says Toronto-based relationship therapist Carlyle Jansen. Young people tend to be more comfortable telling their friends about what’s working in the bedroom and what isn’t. It can be a bonding tool composed of envious tales of sexual exploits and embarrassing sexual failures, but talking to a group of friends isn’t the same as talking to a romantic partner. “There’s a fear of rejection,” Jansen says. “We’re a little bit more vulnerable, and the acceptance and the judgement cuts a lot deeper.” According to a Mic article, sexual compatibility can be the deciding factor for a successful relationship among young couples. For Alisa, an age gap of seven years between her and Oliver has made it feel as though she needs to play catch-up. “I feel like I need to grow with him sexually,” she says. “It could be easier with someone else.” If the sex isn’t going so well, she fears, does it mean they need to break up? “When sex is bad, it actually accounts for quite a bit of the dissatisfaction in what could otherwise be a pretty good relationship,” says sex therapist Kat Kova. “But when sex is good, it only makes up about 15-20 per cent of the overall satisfaction in the relationship.” Kova says that people often think about sex as a performance. This can often lead to unrealistic expectations, pressure, anxiety and feeling disconnected from the experience; which naturally leads to problems with arousal and desire. Relationship writer and intimacy coach Kyle Benson points out that the pressures of having a perfect sex life can feed into sexual dissatisfaction. He says a lack of desire or general frustration is a signal for both partners to grow. “It’s not the time for sex pressure.”

In a 2018 article from InsideHook on unsatisfying sex, therapist Jacqueline Mendez points out that the lack of communication between partners can slowly chip away at physical chemistry. When it feels as though sexual compatibility has been compromised, it can hang like a cloud, becoming an uncomfortable mixture of shame and confusion. Healthy communication between partners is key, and self-awareness is a way to get there. If satisfying sex means pleasure over performance, as Kova says, then having a deeper and more intimate understanding of personal desire is the first step to being intimate with a partner. For Alisa, personal desire means exploring what excites her, and only then can she share these desires with Oliver. Sexual exploration can involve watching porn, having sex with her partner or simply using her index and middle fingers. It can even mean keeping a sex journal. “When you read articles about how to have great sex, it doesn’t say much about [how to] tune into yourself and what feels good,” Jansen says. Kova says that being aware of a partner’s sensitivities is also a gesture that makes a big impact on the sexual dynamic. The reassurance that comes with supporting a partner’s wants and needs goes both ways.

Kova talks about sexual desire as something to develop before sharing with a partner. She described it as something otherworldly, “a life force within that drives you, that drives movement, action and a sense of aliveness.” What makes for great sex is what individuals in the relationship bring to the table. For couples, it’s whether they take risks or if they’re able to be vulnerable, Jansen says.

Unpacking insecurities around not being able to orgasm in the morning is Oliver’s next step in understanding his sexual desires on his terms and on his schedule. It’s a total misconception that men should always want or be ready for sex, explains psychotherapist and sex specialist Vanessa Marin in a 2017 Bustle article.

Exploring and taking ownership of one’s sexual desire without embarrassment makes it easier to talk about feeling sexually dissatisfied. What comes after this varies by person and by relationship, but the first step is having the vocabulary and the confidence to be open about dissatisfaction. Kova maintains that giving permission to desire from the very beginning comes before any conversation on sexual compatibility and physical chemistry.

“Most women feel their own arousal ebb and flow throughout an interaction,” Marin says, “but it’s important to recognize that that happens for our partners too.”

“We’re very much wired to connect,” she says. Cockblocks and car crashes aside, the best precedent for great sex is one built on connection.

H C

WALLS G N I O

but make it in a pandemic , e n o l . By ng a i v i Sa m L reen Ma q so After a long and tough day of online classes, Naya od Yacoub ran herself a hot bath, lit some vanilla scented Bath and Body Works candles, put on some slow indie music and put the world on pause. She settled into the bubble bath, thinking her day was over.

The first-year fashion student at Ryerson University missed her friends and family back home in Calgary, as well as her boyfriend in New Brunswick. Keeping in touch with them online was still keeping in touch, but she couldn’t wait to get back to the “old normal” of being there with them — going out for food and drinks, thrifting and attending fashion events. Yacoub remembered one night when she was feeling particularly lonely. She was scrolling on TikTok when she saw a video of someone speaking to their reality of constantly feeling alone. They dove into the details of how COVID-19 affected their life and how this pandemic has created a world filled with people who are all feeling alone. COVID-19 seems to have forced Canadians into living the same day over and over, often alone and isolated from their regular communities, which is making them feel lonelier than usual, according to a recent Ipsos survey. The more self-isolated and lonely a person feels, the more stressed they will feel. Realizing she wasn’t alone and could reach out for support, Yacoub began opening up to her friends and family when she would think herself into a bad mood. She found that the majority of them felt the same way. “This entire sequence of events has gifted me with the ability to accept my feelings, talk them through and then dismiss them,” she says. “The key thing here is connection.”

COVID-19 restrictions and lockdowns have been especially difficult for those who are living alone. According to the U.S. Census Bureau data, younger adults who are living alone felt more anxious and depressed during the pandemic than older adults living alone. The report found that 51 per cent of people ages 18-44 who live alone had anxiety, and 51 per cent of those living alone had lost their jobs during the pandemic and reported higher feelings of anxiety compared to those who still had a source of income. Being alone was a huge change and beyond terrifying for Yacoub. Without the comfort of having her family and friends around whenever needed, Yacoub found that she had to gain inner strength and force herself to face the idea of independence. “It was difficult realizing that I didn’t have my parents to rely on like I was used to,” she says. “When I was down, sick or needing help, I found my own ways to cope, which I now have so much value for. Self-soothing was a skill I didn’t think I had in my life until I was put into an environment and situation that forced me to develop it.” Through the journey of finding herself and gaining enough strength to pull herself out of her negative mindset, Yacoub found interesting hobbies to keep herself occupied. Her favourite is rug-hooking, a craft where you make rugs by pulling loops of fabric through a woven backing. She enjoys the slowness of the activity most of all, as she says it’s a break from her fast-paced routine.

“Creating is such a fulfilling and beautiful way to spend time,” Yaroub says. “The great thing about it is there is no fear of failing. You can express yourself artistically and be left with something you’ve made yourself. You can play, which is something we forget is so important when we reach adulthood.” According to Leslie Hackett, a relational and psychotherapist in Winnipeg, extroverts feel the stress of the pandemic much earlier on. They have been affected by the inability to socialize in-person and to make plans with large groups of people. A client of hers recently mentioned “the exhaustion of being bored,” which she thought was a great description of the feeling. Having a lot of time to rest does not work for everyone, as some people recharge their batteries through interaction with others. However, Hackett said that everyone can get stuck in negative thought patterns when spending a lot of time alone, regardless of if you’re introverted or extroverted. The challenge for people who are very introverted and have enjoyed being able to stay home will be when we eventually have to venture out into public interaction again. People who enjoy and need a lot of time to themselves may not be distressed by pandemic restrictions, especially if they get social contact through work. Those people might find it difficult to get back into the routine of being around other people, which can be exhausting for an introvert. For Yacoub, the biggest way to combat her loneliness is by staying active. Winter made staying active more difficult, but she found at-home workouts and yoga sessions on YouTube to help her. Along with having a healthy and balanced diet, she can focus more on her mental and physical well-being during such difficult times.

“Self-soothing was a skill I didn’t think I had in my life until I was put into an environment and situation that forced me to develop it.”

According to an article in the Daily Press, social isolation can lead to loneliness and cause stress, which can have severe effects on both mental and physical health. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) says that loneliness is associated with a 50 per cent risk of developing dementia, along with increasing a person’s risk of premature death from all causes including obesity and physical inactivity. For 10 per cent of the adults already facing anxiety and depression because of loneliness from the pandemic, they will have long-lasting effects from their mental health, according to Dr. Shekhar Saxena, a professor for the practice of global mental health courts. Narod Zakarian, a second-year social work student at Ryerson University, moved away from Burnaby, B.C., during the summer, something she says impacted her mental health. Zakarian was used to waking up the smell of coffee, or the sound of her mother’s voice saying good morning. Now, when Zakarian wakes up, it’s with a sense of loneliness inside her and an empty apartment to go with it. According to an article by Calgary CTV News, Canadians’ mental health has declined for the 10th time since the Mental Health Index rating system was put in place in April 2020. The reasoning behind this is because of the long and harsh Canadian winter and the uncertainties of the pandemic. Zakarian remembered those nights where disappointment took over her body and self-doubt was the only thing running through her mind. “Did I make the right choice by coming here?” she would often think to herself. In November 2020, she decided to go to therapy. “For the longest time, I thought I didn’t need therapy,” she says. “I thought I was okay because I was suppressing my emotions.” In therapy, Zakarian learned how to manage being a fulltime student and her job and learned to love herself, including how to allow herself to feel negative emotions and coming up with healthy ways to cope. One day a week, Zakarian spends the days practicing self care — cleaning her room, putting on new bedsheets, drawing a bubble bath and having some wine.

“It’s important to pay attention to where your mind is going and to interrupt those negative thought cycles,” Hackett says. “It’s not easy to do, but it’s important to avoid going into really dark states of mind.” In an article by Rolling Stone, Lisa Brateman, a psychotherapist and relationship specialist in New York, said that while people were doing art projects, home renovations and puzzles last year, this time they’re spending hours in front of a screen unsuccessfully trying to book a vaccine appointment. According to Brateman, this only takes more of a toll on people’s mental health. According to the CDC report, immigrant and LGBTQ2IA+ people are at a higher risk for loneliness, with language barriers, differences in community and family dynamics being the biggest reasons for loneliness within these groups.

In the Rolling Stone article, Brateman gave different ways to boost mental health and avoid loneliness. One of the biggest recommendations many Canadian therapists have given is virtual therapy sessions. Talking from the comforts of your home can help people open up more, said Barteman. There’s less travel time involved and easier access for people living in rural areas and higher retention rates. With the increase in technology use, such as Zoom and video conferencing, Barteman also suggests chatting virtually with loved ones to conquer the feeling of loneliness. While it won’t necessarily fill the gap of in-person meetups, therapists say it is still good to stay in touch with friends and family regularly to avoid spiralling into a dark mental state. A Canadian initiative set up by Here to Help B.C. is “The Loneliness Project,” which is a collection of personal stories aiming to help those who are lonely. It also provides new strategies on how to build connections with new people and develop compassion in these difficult times. Several therapists have said that while self-care days are important, maintaining social connection is so important for maintaining a healthy mood and frame of mind, according to Hackett. Technology allows people to have virtual meetups with friends and family. Seeing people’s faces and hearing their voices is a major part of fulfilling communication. At the same time, Hackett realizes that lots of people are tired of talking onscreen, especially if they have to do that for work or school. There is also the option of meeting up with one or more people in outdoor settings, depending on where you live and the pandemic restrictions. Hackett encourages people to do this, only if it is safe and according to the guidelines in their area.

The Hats I Keep By Mia Maaytah I felt confused when I entered my third year of university. My approach to sexuality and gender changed depending on class or work or through exhausting conversations with the same mundane types of people. My demeanor corresponded with my desire to match my surroundings. It was not until COVID-19 that I realized I had been yearning for extravagant fluidity in clothing and sexuality while searching for some title to encompass it all. After moving to Toronto in 2017, I spent the following years crafting my identity. I wore multiple hats, catered to the environments they suited. During the weekdays, I was a journalism student — a woman with a loud mouth and a limited circle of friends. On the weeknights I worked long shifts in the service industry, allowing the objectification of my short dress and low neckline. Still, I prioritized the heaps of money over the hair stuck in my lipgloss and the unnecessary commentary from guests.

In a world with gender normalities and sexual entitlements, my choice is not to rotate them frequently, but to coexist within them all together

I’d spend the weekends with my close friends, sipping wine and nursing heartbreaks, or shooting tequila and trying new positions. While wearing spaghetti-straps and no bra, highlight and red lips, we frequented clubs where I kissed girls in the bathrooms and kissed boys at the bar. Online, my social media profiles quite literally painted me colourfully — a feed full of art and highly saturated photographs. I’d contend that it didn’t scream heterosexuality, though the pictures of my current boyfriend would argue otherwise. Rarely did I feel like the same person all of the time. I chalked this up to late stages of adolescence and the coming-of-age movies that told me I was still finding myself. I rationalized all of my experimentation, and decided that it was nothing permanent, but rather a fleeting moment of curiosity. As if those hats I often wore were just as quick to go out of style — I had to try them all.

Once quarantine began, I felt utterly stripped of the identity I had so carefully built. I was no longer a loud-mouth student, the brunette with the bottles, the bisexual in the bars — I was a person left alone in her apartment, with nothing but a reminiscent camera-roll and all my hats stacked away in my closet. I went through the stages of grief. I watched as the world’s expectations for normalcy arose and then burned and burned again. I wound up back in my childhood home, finding safety in my teenage routines. Though through this routine, my weekly rotation of attitudes suddenly garnered a need to stabilize. I felt as though all of my differing representations now clashed, and I had to pick just one. Hesitantly, I approached my femininity first — though I felt an uproar of internalized misogyny as I blow-dried my hair and painted my nails. It’s something I’m still working on. I attempted masculinity-femininity, a mix of gender stereotypes which in my head was a mantra of lesbian porn and unshaven legs. Finally, I attempted masculinity entirely, a love affair of pay-per-view fights and celibacy stemming from sexual confusion.

This past fall, I checked back in with the hats now dusty in my closet. I stood there, reminiscing on my grievance and interpersonal reflection. I finally felt free from the bullshit that resided inside my brain, an achievement I didn’t know I wanted. I’ve reached a place where I don’t care to identify as just one thing, which I think is what my collection of characters were all about. I don’t care to be intelligent on Mondays, scandalous on Thursdays, and slutty on the weekends. I don’t care to justify my behaviour with women, or my behaviour with men, and convince myself I’m on some experimental journey that comes to an end. If the question is if I got more gay, more straight, more femme, or more masculine during the pandemic, then the answer is yes. I’ve become them all at the same time without reservation or concern. I am all of the above. I am androgynous and absolutely elegant in it.

In the summer, I landed somewhere in the middle — in a land I like to call androgynous and elegant. I think I feared, and still do fear, this obsession we all seem to have with titles. Perhaps this is why in the past I opted for alternating personas fluidly as opposed to possessing all of them at once. I think before COVID-19, I built myself not to appease my own comfortability, but to appeal to the eyes that stood before me.

“I am androgynous and absolutely elegant in it.”

The Skin I’m In

The ugly side effects of European beauty standards By Sonia Bermas

When I was a child, my mother would make me a sandwich every day for lunch. More often than not, it would end up in the trash. I hated the plain food and was tired of the same ham sandwich, wondering why she didn’t make me the dishes we usually had at home, like the chicken biryani, butter chicken, roti and curry. I told my sister how I felt and she sat me down in our small shared room that was so cramped it felt hard to breathe. She told me how she brought my mother’s cooking of traditional Indian food to her elementary school for lunch every day, and how her classmates would make fun of her by calling the food smelly. She broke down one day crying, begging our mom to make her something else so she wouldn’t be made fun of.

My parents immigrated to Canada — one from Persia and the other from India — in the hopes of a better life. I was never taught the languages my parents spoke in their homeland, and as I grew older, I’ve regretted not learning how to. I now wish that I was more connected to the beautiful lands my parents came from. The mountain ranges and lush forests, lands filled with rich vegetation and exotic fruits, streets filled with rich flavours and the smell of strong spices. My desire to be more attached to my roots wasn’t always the case. There was once a time where I wished I could be something I was not. I wanted to be white. I hated my skin. I hated how I never saw someone that looked like me in magazines and movies.

Our mom listened and gave plain sandwiches for lunch instead. My mom had to give away a piece of her culture for her children to be safe. When my sister told me this, I realized how much of ourselves we lost to assimilate to Canadian life.

My mom would try to make me see my beauty, and constantly remind me that brown skin is beautiful. I never listened. I wish I was happy with who I was, but I kept denying myself that opportunity because I was trying to be the person I saw in the media. I never felt represented. When I did see someone like myself, often when I watched Bollywood movies as a child, I felt like an outsider — so disconnected from my Indian roots because I could not understand a word of what was said.

I was taught by society that I needed white beauty to have worth, and for a long time, I was so focused on trying to achieve that goal. I would dwell on things I could never change about myself. I would compare myself to every girl who looked nothing like me. I hated that my skin was brown instead of white, and my eyes were brown instead of blue. Looking back, it breaks my heart to see how I strongly believed I wasn’t beautiful, to remember how I cried myself to sleep every night.

Growing up, only a small group of my peers looked like me. I remember the girls who were paler than me and had lighter hair. They were always happier than me, living in a big house surrounded by a white picket fence. They were always favoured by other students — the popular kids with many friends and the types of girls that boys liked, while I felt invisible. I downloaded Instagram when I was a teenager, which made me realize that Eurocentric features were the beauty standard as I scrolled through my feed of popular celebrities — all white or lighter-skinned. I saw what my people were called on social media based on our skin colour: terrorists, cow worshippers or smelly. There was always an underlying tone to these so-called jokes, as if they truly perceived my people to be like that. These “jokes” left deep-rooted scars.

As I grew older, I finally started to see my mother’s beauty. How she gave everything up just to protect her children and how she was still true to herself through it all. I wanted to be strong like her. I forced myself to stop caring about beauty standards because they don’t determine my worth. It was hard at first to give up a version of myself I carried around for so long. I was saying goodbye to a piece of myself. Even now, there are still days where I am consumed by my thoughts and fall back into destructive habits.

In a world plagued by patriarchy and misogyny, women are often valued by their appearance. It is no surprise that young girls are brought up to aspire to fit society’s standards of beauty — a white standard of beauty. We idolize characters like Barbie who construct this idea that we need to be skinny, have fair skin and straight hair. I owned two Barbie dolls as a child — one white-skinned and the other brown. I would get mad and pick fights with my sister when she left me to play with the brown doll. When I look back on that memory, I feel disgusted. I am ashamed of myself for the thoughts I had. I looked like that doll, and yet, the doll was ugly to me. I was a child no older than six, and I already felt like my appearance had no worth.

When I look in the mirror, I see the face of my mother. My mother, who did everything she could for her children in order for them to have a better life. She endured every rude remark, every judgemental stare and every scar. Yet she faced it all and it somehow made her stronger. She put on a brave face for her children’s sake. I see the golden eyes, the raven hair, I see the beauty I deprived myself of for so many years.

One Basket at a Time How the Hijabi Ballers are empowering Muslim female athletes By Stephanie Davoli

Growing up in India, Amreen Kadwa’s life was filled with sports. She would constantly play around in her backyard with her sisters and cousins, yet she always hoped to do something bigger and better. When she moved to Toronto at the age of 10, she had her first experience of being part of a sports team when she joined her school’s soccer team. Although she was benched most of the time, Kadwa would make her mother come to every game for the chance to watch her play. Never having any opportunity to play an organized sport before this, fifth-grader Kadwa felt an immense sense of accomplishment and pride — a feeling that she would continue to chase for the rest of her life. While Kadwa was always involved with sports in some capacity, she never felt that she was part of a community that she truly belonged to. So when her high school started a rugby team, she jumped at the opportunity to join. Kadwa fell in love with the sport. After playing for three consecutive years, she won the title of MVP. The sense of belonging and the community she found within rugby followed her after graduation and she went on to play for the Yeoman Lions RFC in Toronto. It was during that time when Kadwa realized she stuck out amongst her teammates — she was the only hijab- wearing Muslim woman on the team. But the realization that her hijab caused her to stick out amongst her peers only fueled her passion to play. After playing rugby for a total of seven years, Kadwa’s world suddenly changed when she broke her leg. The devastation of knowing that she would never be able to play her sport again was heartbreaking and she felt her athletic identity was stripped from her. The thought of leaving behind a community that had been so welcoming to her — where she had made friends and grown both as an athlete and a person — was almost too much to bear. Not one to give up easily and definitely not feeling ready to leave the sports world behind, Kadwa began writing blog posts about what it means to be a hijabi athlete in a world where her identity is often ignored and frowned upon. Soon, her blog posts attracted enough attention that another community began to form: a group of mainly Muslim and female athletes like herself, who are now known as the Hijabi Ballers. “It came down to, ‘What can I do to still feel like a part of the sports scene and how can I still give back to sports?’’’ says Kadwa, the founder and executive director of the non-profit organization. “It was obvious that there was this new-found need for a physical space for Muslim females to get together and play sports and to just be recognized and seen.” The Hijabi Ballers are now a renowned GTA-based organization known for their support and encouragement of Muslim women in sports. Since its formation in 2017, the organization has hosted many large-scale sports festivals, countless other in-person and virtual events and has cultivated a partnership with Nike and the Toronto Raptors.

According to Kadwa, the Hijabi Ballers’ first sports festival in July of 2017 was a huge success and encouraged her to continue planning more events. Over 70 women registered to play in the multi-sport tournament, with the majority of them being Muslim. Many also participated in other athletic activities, such as drop-in cricket and soccer games, yoga sessions and a variety of fitness classes. All of these activities took place in an environment that cultivated and celebrated the athleticism of young Muslim women where sisters, mothers and friends cheered and played alongside each other for hours. Kadwa credits the success of the first festival for the growth of the Hijabi Ballers. “There was definitely enough demand and support from volunteers and other businesses that showed that this could be sustainable and grow into something a lot bigger,” Kadwa says. There are many barriers for Muslim women who play sports. For example, restrictive dress codes often interfere with wearing a hijab and make it difficult for women to dress modestly. Additionally, some coaches don’t know how to address the unique needs of Muslim women who wear hijabs, so participation becomes difficult and sometimes even impossible. Having gone through this herself, Kadwa sought to address these issues in order for other women to feel recognized and seen. Since then, the Hijabi Ballers have become a resource for many Muslim women athletes in the GTA.

Photo of Amreen Kadwa, founder of the Hijabi Ballers 32

For Hodan Hussein, the head coach of the Hijabi Ballers’ Sunday Basketball Program, the organization was a community where she saw herself represented right away, making it a dream collaboration for her. Hussein has played basketball and been an avid swimmer since she was four years old. But when she started wearing the hijab at 17, she began to encounter challenges that she had never faced before, from searching for facilities that hosted women-only programs to figuring out what to wear when playing sports. Hussein says she never had these issues until she started wearing a hijab. As the Hijabi Ballers continued to grow, they began to host more events where Muslim women could find a space for their athleticism to be seen, appreciated and encouraged. “It’s incredible seeing the participation of Muslim female athletes across a wide range of sports,” says Habibah Haque, the Project Manager with Hijabi Ballers and a Muslim female tennis player. “The sense of belonging for me also comes from seeing Muslim females find their own path in sports where they might be the only one or one of few.” According to Kadwa, there are currently about 40 volunteers helping run her organization and that number only continues to grow. Most of the volunteers are young Muslim female athletes.

The organization’s Sunday Basketball Program, a weekly drop-in affair where young women would come together on a Sunday afternoon to play basketball at a gym inside a local Scarbrough mosque, was one of the hardest activities to see be put on hold for Kadwa. “We had a lot of athletes missing that sense of sisterhood and community that they would normally find with Sunday Basketball,” Kadwa says.

According to Kadwa, videographer Zach Derhodge noticed the empowering work that the Hijabi Ballers were doing when he approached them in 2019 to produce a video showcasing Muslim female athletes from Toronto. Not only was the video successful in highlighting the importance of the Hijabi Ballers, but it quickly drew the attention of Nike Canada. Additionally, the Hijabi Ballers were featured in a Toronto Star article around the same time in the spring of 2019, which Kadwa credits for drawing more attention to the organization. It was around this time that the Hijabi Ballers became the inspiration for the Toronto Raptor’s Nike Pro Hijab — a sports hijab that was the first of its kind and a partnership that was meaningful to the organization.

Hussein’s favourite memories from the Sunday Basketball Program come from the moments after the basketball games ended. As the girls would wind down after playing a series of lovingly competitive games, they would gather together in a halaqa (meaning a “circle of learning” in Arabic) where they would sit in a circle on the gym floor and simply talk to each other. According to Hussein, there would usually be an Islamic lesson or topic integrated into the conversation and, afterwards, the girls would share knowledge and information together in an “open, heart-to-heart talk where everyone could contribute whatever they wanted.” These conversations, paired with the enjoyment of some post-workout snacks and drinks, were the “perfect cooldown” to Hussein.

“That was a big moment for us,” Kadwa says. “It kind of put us on this global scale because legitimate organizations like the NBA and other sports teams would look up to us, or the Raptors, and see this as something that they should also do in terms of recognizing and respecting the diversity of their fanbases.”

Despite the inability to host any in-person events due to the pandemic, the Hijabi Ballers recently collaborated with Ryerson University’s Faculty of Communication and Design’s Global Experiential Sport Lab (GXSLab) to create a virtual community conference titled, “Integrate. Advocate. Mobilize.” This virtual conference focused on the inclusion and recognization of Muslim women in sports. The collaboration was originally scheduled to be an in-person conference held at Ryerson University in April 2020, but it was restructured due to the pandemic.

While the Hijabi Ballers have continuously grown and expanded as an organization since its formation, COVID-19 has unfortunately caused the group to suspend all of their in-person events and activities.

The funds collected went to Black Muslim female athletes through grants, sports equipment, memberships and whatever else they needed to make playing sports more financially viable.

The collaboration consisted of a month-long community conference from September to October of 2020 that featured live webinars and a variety of other virtual panels and events. Every Tuesday there was a “Toolkit Tuesdays” social media campaign where audiences would learn how to include and welcome Muslim female athletes into sporting communities. One of these presentations focused on acknowledging how to accommodate and respect those who choose to wear a hijab and modest clothing in an athletic environment. Other nights, they would feature a keynote speaker who would share their experiences of being marginalized in the sports community, including Ibtihaj Muhammad, Olympic bronze medalist and the first Muslim woman to compete in the Olympics for the U.S. while wearing a hijab. “I’m really proud of the ways that we were able to make the conference community-involved and interactive in the virtual world,” Haque says. The collaboration ended with Laurel Walzak, the GXSLab director, and her research students receiving a grant to conduct a study on how Muslim women are consuming, engaging with and being represented in sports. The study, which is set to be published in spring 2021, includes research from a survey done in association with the Hijabi Ballers that recruited almost 100 Muslim female athlete participants. “We wanted to make sure that we heard more stories of each participant to help people better understand how Muslim culture and religion intersect with the Canadian sports world,” Walzak says. “If we can use this to have an impact in the industry while running these conferences, that, to us, is progression.” Immediately after the conference ended, the Hijabi Ballers launched their Black Muslim Female Athletes Community Fundraiser. This fundraiser was created out of the recognition that financial inaccessibility can stand in the way of many Black Muslim girl’s sports journeys and it sought to help address this issue by “levelling the playing field.”

While the fundraiser has since ended, the Hijabi Ballers are maintaining their commitment to aiding Black Muslim women in sports by continuing to grow their Black Muslim Female Athletes Fund in new ways. They’re also looking to the future by promoting their “Get Certified” program which focuses on certifying Muslim female athletes as coaches and referees, while offering them mentorship opportunities with local organizations and Islamic schools. These programs, in addition to a bit of internal restructuring and organization, are some ways that the Hijabi Ballers plan to stay active until everything reopens. “We can’t wait until we can get everyone back together to play in person again,” Kadwa says. “But for now, we’re hoping to use this time to grow and to help us meet our short-term goals in the next three to five years.” Until then, Kadwa is left remembering her early days of being a benchwarmer on her fifth grade soccer team, not knowing then that by the age of 25 she would create an organization that helps Muslim girls like herself find a place in sports. The Hijabi Ballers have provided a sense of belonging and joy to hundreds of women in just it’s short four years of existence. Through her years of hard work and dedication, Kadwa shows that it is truly amazing what passion, some ambition and a broken leg can accomplish.

“That means good luck!” By Ana

There is nothing magical about an old mattress on the side of the road, lumpy and tainted. But when I was growing up, my grandmother would excitedly point them out and exclaim, Eso es de buena suerte! “That’s good luck!” The old unwanted non-functional mass became a sign from the universe. My grandmother had a whimsical way of turning unwanted and ugly things into something charming and full of purpose. Things that would otherwise go unnoticed or ruin my day would instead make me smile with the understanding that the universe was looking out for me, like bird poop and pennies on the ground. As far as I am concerned, 2020 was a massive bird defecation on the world. For obvious reasons, such as the whole planet dealing with a pandemic and on a personal level, I was dealing with a break up in isolation. By the time October came around, I was petrified knowing that my mental health typically takes a dive as the winter sets in. I knew that it wouldn’t be pretty once my pandemic blues met my online learning blues and collided with my winter blues. After talking with a friend, I realized that the trick to surviving the holidays was going to be in sparking little hints of magic in my spirit throughout the season, instead of avoiding the season all together. I thought about what sparked joy in me when I was growing up. I recruited my sister to brainstorm the traditions that brought us joy as kids. Among our many traditions, both Canadian and Colombian, what stuck out the most from our childhood was the good luck our grandmother injected into our lives. My grandmother died in December 2012 due to a sudden heart attack. Thinking back, that was when my winter blues began to hit me hard. Growing up in between countries, I developed a strong sense of belonging in my family instead of the outside worlds I was navigating. My family became my social network and the foundation I used to understand those worlds. When my grandma died, she took her magic with her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find

Leal

messages from the universe anymore. As my sister and I threw ideas back and forth, we both knew we wanted to do something special to mark the end of a fairly non-magical year. As silly as it might seem, we wanted to do our part in bringing some good luck to the world in 2021. Fortunately for us, we grew up hearing about New Year’s traditions and thought it was time to bring them back into our lives. We posted on social media asking for people to share their traditions and we also looked up articles online. We wanted to know as many traditions as possible. “Run around the block with a suitcase if you want to manifest travel in the upcoming year,” said our aunt Diana, who would be joining our celebration via Zoom. Diana — who also suffered the loss of our grandmother, her own mother — asked us to share these hints of magic with her two sons who never got a chance to witness their grandma’s magic in action. I realized that by sharing these moments with my seven and eight year-old cousins, I was sharing parts of my grandmother with them. One of the beauties of tradition is that it connects generations to each other and cultivates a sense of magic and hope between people who have never met. A second realization came when friends from different backgrounds who had family in different countries started messaging in. Apparently, our grandmother wasn’t the only one sparking magic in her family. “We put lentils in our pockets for good fortune, too!” said a message from a Brazilian friend. “Eat 12 grapes at midnight and make a wish with everyone,” read a message from a friend born in Venezuela. “Wear yellow underwear,” said a friend from El

Salvador. As friends and family started to report back to us with their anecdotes and quirks, we became more interested in not only the traditions themselves, but also what they were believed to bring. “Let’s do them all,” I told my sister with wide eyes and a sense of purpose. December 31, 2020 My five-foot-seven sister hunched below our dinner table, taking up the length of it while she was on all fours. My cousin and I stood over it wondering how we were all going to fit under the table while holding suitcases, a cup filled with twelve grapes in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. “No, you know what? I can go another year without a boyfriend. Tell Rafa to get under here, she is more important,” yelled my sister in a panic. My cousin and I called for my aunt Rafa, who had been divorced for years now, and made her sit under the table. One article said that in parts of Latin America entering the new year sitting under a table would invite romantic love.

It was five minutes to midnight and as is customary in Colombian households, the song “Faltan Cinco Pa’ Las 12” began to play. Every single year as far as I can remember this song has made me cry because it reminds me that I am missing someone I love. This year, I didn’t cry. Perhaps none of us will get married, win the lottery or travel the world, but the little hints of magic and excitement that these traditions brought my family and I for one night were relief enough. These traditions tie us to our ancestors who did all the same rituals and trusted that the universe was looking out for them too. These traditions meant there was hope that life was going to get better and bring better things in the upcoming year. These traditions brought my grandma’s magic back to me and introduced it to my younger cousins. For a few minutes, I didn’t feel like a lumpy mattress on the side of the road. I felt the same way that I imagine my grandma felt when pointing out messages from the universe, like a magical bearer of good news during dark times.

We needed to prioritize. It was almost midnight and we needed to figure out how to perform every tradition in a matter of minutes. We scrambled around and shuffled our way under the table, strategically set up empty suitcases nearby, filled our pockets with dozens of uncooked lentils and started making a wish at every grape we scarfed down. In the other room, my parents were having a video call with our aunt Diana and the other half of our family who weren’t able to join us. Her sons questioned what the four of us were doing in the background and laughed at us in their innocence.

DRIVE

By Eduard Tatomir

There are two ways I use my car — when I have somewhere I need to go, and when I don’t. I find the latter to be more fun. It’s Friday. I’m home alone, my headphones in with nothing playing. It’s harder to think when there’s something distracting my brain, but even harder to find a song that doesn’t bring up old feelings of him. When he was happy, sad, dancing, or crying. It all reminds me of him. My leg’s bouncing; another by-product of the restless mind. How do I make it stop? Just put your hand on it, I tell myself. Force it if you have to. This book isn’t all that interesting. That movie’s already tired. How many seasons? Oh who cares, I’ve seen them all. Twice. There’s nothing new. Nothing to do. I feel completely stuck. It’s back. The bouncing. Gradual at first, but now it’s both of them. Cross your legs, that oughta do it. Scrolling, scrolling, stop. What’s that? Another photo of them smiling. Who’s them? Anyone. Everyone. They’re all happy, somehow. What’s their secret? I need to know. What do they know that I don’t? What do they—? OW. My knee hit the underside of my desk. I can’t do this. I need to go. Where? I don’t know. Anywhere but here. I grab my keys, take a sweater, and just drive. If I had someone to explain myself to, I would tell them that I just want to get some fresh air and clear my head. The truth is I really need to get out and feel the tires glide along the asphalt with no one around to slow me down. I need to blast some music and scream-sing to it on an empty street. I need to absorb the nightlife and admire the neon signs before dawn comes and it’s all routine again. This is unscheduled. This is abnormal. This is the kick you give the vending machine that jolts it back into place. This is necessary. The sun has long set and the moon is out for the graveyard shift. I’m cold, but I know the warmth will come. I’m barely breathing, but I know the air will fill my lungs. I’m exhausted, but I know happiness will ensue. I’m sure of it.

I let my foot rest on the gas and leave everything behind. The car is lighter. I am lighter. Music that doesn’t come to me can be brought to me. If I can’t think of a single song that will make the edges soften, it’s only because I’m the one that chooses. It needs to be picked for me, and who better than a late night FM DJ? I scan the channels and find one that matches the night. The host has a warm-hug-from-behind voice and a caring attitude. There’s only good vibrations on this station. This is my home now. My hands melt with the steering wheel as I let the smooth bass wash over me and I forget where I am, driving down an empty street I’ve never seen before. I’ve unlocked a new part of this big city and made it even bigger. You’re welcome, world. Something new for you to explore, too. Things get louder when I eventually reach the epicentre of madness that is a Friday night out on the town. I turn down my volume because theirs is turned up. I hear clubs and bars blasting their own heavy beats as I drive by — even through rolled-up windows I can make out the words. They all reminded me of him. My heart was pounding in my ears and I could feel my lungs get smaller. The glowing signs I’d come to love most about the nighttime shine so bright, I have to squint. There are too many memories here. This isn’t what I need. I drive until I am away from home, away from the city, away from the buildings and the bike racks and the streetlights. I see endless forests and billboards and water. The radio can’t pick up my favourite station anymore, my home left far behind. I am running out of gas; this baby can go over ten miles on empty, I just didn’t realize I’d reached the ninth mile already. A gas station off a highway exit is the only sign of life around. I pull in and fuel up, a full tank this time. Who knows how far I intend to go tonight. I swipe my card to pay, my heels bouncing off the ground. I get an error code. I swipe again. Error. Swipe. Error. Fine, I’ll try a different card. I swipe. See cashier.

All the air leaves my body. I kick the gas pump as hard as I can, then I do it again, and again. I punch and yell and scream at the thing until I fall to my knees. I’m sweaty despite the cold and I’m angry despite the drive. The screen doesn’t change, the same error message stares back at me. Have you ever seen a vending machine magically work after someone kicks it? Me neither. Nothing ever jolts back into place. It doesn’t work like that. I don’t know why I thought getting in my car and driving to god knows where would make me happy or fix my problems. I can run pretty fast and at night, I can drive even faster; but no matter where I go, I take it all with me. I’m not actually lighter. It’s time to go. I pay at the cashier and I head home, no music this time. It’s all mechanical now. But when I look out the window, I catch a glimpse of the city and see a version I didn’t know existed. A version that’s so far, and so small. I never thought I would think of our big city as small... but here it is. I can fit it in the palm of my hand. All the lights, they’re not so blinding. All the sounds, they’re not so deafening. It’s just right. I sit on the hood of my car with a sweater wrapped around me until I realize the dawn’s starting to creep in. The routine and the schedule of the world is coming back, the appeal of the night leaving with the sunrise. Even though the drive didn’t go as planned, at least I’m able to sit here — no boredom, no anxiety, no leg bouncing — and enjoy the view. I said there’s two ways I use my car; when I have somewhere to go and when I don’t. Turns out I lied. Even when I think I have nowhere I need to go, I always do; I just haven’t found it yet.

STITCH BY STITCH

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How crochet connected me to my grandmother and the long line of feminists before me

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By Lauren Kaminski

Time would completely slow down. Every time I looked at my phone, hours had gone by and the wool that rested on my lap continued to grow. With a single string, my hands moved like they were part of a machine. Insert hook into the second chain, yarn over, pull through and repeat. Crocheting is so repetitive that it’s easy to let yourself fall into a meditative state — the switch between yellow to orange, like clockwork, while I fastened hundreds of sunflower granny squares for an afghan throw blanket. These colourful creations painted colour on the dull, grey skies of early March. In 2002, my grandmother Audrey passed away in her sleep the morning after her 65th birthday. She was a life-long knitter, and all over my childhood home my mother displays her lace doilies, pillows and granny-square afghans. I was only two years old when she passed and despite hardly knowing her, I’ve always had a strange connection to her in my mind. I longed to be close to her, to have the connection of a grandmother. So in elementary school I taught myself how to knit using YouTube. As I grew older, I would only knit seasonally to make the odd scarf or pair of socks as a present. Without the knitter’s eye of my grandmother to appreciate the detail of my projects, I grew to rarely pick up the needles. Knitting and crochet are often stereotyped as elder domesticity. Admittedly, for most of my life and into my teenage years, I believed this too. It wasn’t until I scoured social media for inspiration and saw that the yarnwork community is far from the cisgendered white grandmother often envisioned. My Instagram feed was flooded with psychedelic matching sets, bohemian-style crochet homegoods and inclusive communities like Black Girl Knit Club that are committed to empowering knitters of colour. These limiting domestic narratives are being flipped on their heads by many creators using this traditional work to empower and rebrand the craft as something for all to wear, enjoy and make.

Amongst the sense of worry at the start of a pandemic, I was fortunately able to find comfort in the slow pace of life. I was no longer working three jobs while commuting from the GTA to Toronto for full-time classes. I had time to myself, moments in the day where boredom was a possibility and I didn’t have a responsibility or deadline to meet. As an adult, I’ve never succeeded in developing healthy habits. I bite my nails so far down that it’s impossible to even fit a presson nail. I drink wine in the bath while watching HGTV shows whenever life gets a little too hard. Some may assume an outlet like journaling my thoughts would universally fit my needs as a writer, but frankly, I find it tedious to write my thoughts down when I can just think them. I’ve failed at every positive outlet that self-help books recommend — that is, until both boredom and a sense of nostalgia from being stuck in my childhood home prompted me to google “crochet for beginners.”

The first project I completed was an Amigurumi baby Yoda plush doll. He was, of course, lime green with the Star Wars signature huge ears and brown onesie. Albeit, baby Yoda wasn’t my best work. The five inch tall Star Wars character looks a bit wonky sitting on my desk today, with some of the lime yarn poking out of his toes from not knowing how to weave in my ends. But, at the time of his creation, he was flawless — the apple of my eye. It wasn’t just this feeling of creating a physical article out of a single ball of yarn that fueled me, or it being the first meditative and anxiety-calming tool that actually worked for me. I felt there was something more to crochet than just a yarn and hook, and I longed to submerge myself in the craft entirely. I wasn’t aware of the trend’s history and cultural significance when I created this first Amigurumi project, but the genre of cute characters had profound beginnings.

Valuing yarn work crafts is a feminist act in itself, as the belittling of knitting or crochet links to a history of women’s activities and work being inferior to men’s work. I could see how the yarn community lifts and empowers creators, especially those who identify as women, to defy the domestic, grandmotherly stereotypes and make profit off of something once seen merely as house work for wives. I wanted to be a part of the community again after seeing it in this new light. It’s an act of rebellion for some to take up something once so wrapped up in femininity and make it whatever you want it to be.

In the 1970s, Amigurumi rose to popularity in Japan when a subculture built on Kawaii products was developing. I didn’t consider that there was more to yarn work crafts than just the blankets and sweaters I used to make. There was something deeper that I was beginning to see as I scrolled through Pinterest boards hunting for my next project.

“Valuing yarn work crafts is a feminist act in itself, as the belittling of knitting or crochet links to a history of women’s activities and work being inferior to men’s work.” 41

The Human Connection of Virtual Therapy Loss, isolation and fear are impacting mental health conditions during COVID-19 The stranger on my laptop asks why I chose to start therapy. I’m fidgeting in my seat, trying to find a definite answer, but I am also distracted, hoping no one in my family comes home and overhears my session. I try to steady my voice, all the while hoping the internet connection stays strong so I won’t have to repeat myself again. Before I know it, 30 minutes have passed and my therapist says she’s looking forward to seeing me next week. Acknowledging mental health and searching for support is a lot to handle alone, especially when facing the added difficulties of the pandemic, like isolation, a loss of motivation, and the infamous Zoom fatigue. According to the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH), 50 per cent of Candians reported worsening mental health since the pandemic began. Sitting down at my desk and staring at screens all day was not how I envisioned my second year of university. Instead of paying attention to dreadful three-hour zoom lectures, I daydream about chasing stories around the city for the journalism lab that I would’ve seen all my friends in, where we’d be laughing and stressing to meet our deadlines together. The loss of human connection and non-stop screen time is what gradually diminished the last shred of motivation I had left. I felt my personal well-being take a turn for the worse and I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. Stephanie Charitar, an analyst for inclusion and diversity at CPP Investments, decided to seek treatment for her depression and anxiety in 2019. She was referred to a cognitive behavioural therapy program called Bounce Back, a national self-led program

By Megan Camlasaran

which provides skills and techniques that help people in coping with low mood and worry, free of cost. Charitar would make sure no one else was home, settle into her room on her bed, pull out the workbooks the program mailed to her and dial in to her phone therapy session. With her therapist on speaker, she would take notes in her little book. She describes her anxiety levels as always being high, and her thoughts being “all over the place.” It always felt like she was having mini panic attacks. Once she started therapy and taking anti-anxiety medication, she felt a little more at peace. “It was weird but nice. My mind was quiet for once. It didn’t have those constant self-doubts, overthinking thoughts, my mind wasn’t racing 24/7 anymore and it was nice.” As psychiatric care becomes widely available online, services like Inkblot, Talkspace, and Betterhelp are getting more recognition and attention for their commitment to ensuring people have access to affordable and readily available therapy. After Charitar finished the Bounce Back program, she decided to try Inkblot, where there are options to call, text or video call with therapists. While she was uncomfortable at first, Charitar says that feeling eased gradually. “It was like stepping stones, getting to know them and them getting to know me helped.” As social beings who thrive off making connections with other humans, the fear is not being able to connect to a therapist the same way online. However, what matters most to people is that the human element remains the same, according to Dr. Bruce Fage, a psychiatrist at CAMH.

As stated by CAMH, 30 per cent of Canadians did not seek help for their mental health pre-pandemic because of barriers like cost, language, and transportation. Virtual therapy provides solutions to many of these barriers and allows more Canadians access to the psychiatric care they need. Fage believes that the convenience of virtual therapy will encourage more to seek treatment and will become part of a normalized routine, even after patients have the option to return to in-person visits. Charitar doesn’t see herself ever doing in-person therapy sessions, as she now prefers the flexibility and accessibility of online. She is able to schedule sessions in between work or after a long day — whatever works best for her. Much like patients, therapists are also trying to navigate their way through these changes. Fage did a phone session with a patient for the first time, and it went well. They were able to talk as freely as they would have in-person. “We want to keep people comfortable and we work really hard to do that.” In May 2020, the federal government promised $240 million toward mental health resources and better e-therapy options. CAMH noticed video therapy sessions growing from around 300 per month to more than 8000 by December 2020. Ziyad Patail, a digital producer at Markets.to, has been doing in-person therapy since 2016, and has since had to attend virtual sessions. At first, Patail didn’t think the sessions would go well — as someone who believes in the human, in-person element of healing — but he is now appreciative of being able to access any care at all.

Patail says therapy is a “sounding board” for his mind and emotions, “an accountability partner for life.” For me, therapy provides much needed perspective and clarity when my mind is overwhelmed. At times, I feel like I’m running a constant marathon, trying to catch up with the endless to-do lists that seem near impossible to achieve from the one corner of my home that has now also become my workspace. Struggling with mental health, especially in a pandemic, can be a very lonely thing. I feel human connection becoming a faded memory in my mind. I miss seeing a friend across the street and running up to them to embrace them in a long-overdue hug. I miss seeing the unintentional smiles on people’s faces when they see something that makes them happy, the smiles between strangers who walk past each other and the smiles that let you know you’re not alone. I discovered that virtual therapy can be a solid source of support for some. It is guiding people to take care of their own well-being, while also maintaining connections with others no matter the distance between. Patail describes how, in the midst of uncertainty, he finds solace in knowing that people are experiencing similar emotions. I didn’t realize how much losing that human element in life has impacted my own well-being until I was able to speak about it in virtual therapy. This serves as both a reminder of the many losses caused by COVID-19, but also as an anchor that keeps me connected and mentally sound.

CONTRIBUTORS Editors-in-Chief Emily Peotto Vanessa Quon

Head of Social Media Katie Shier

Managing Editors

Copy Editors

Zanele Chisholm Pia Araneta

Yasmeen Aslam Victoria Malawi Kirsten Svitich Amanda Noor Mariam Nouser Adriana Avraam Samreen Maqsood Serena Lopez Emma Moore Laura Dalton Pooja Rambaran Jessica Mazze Aishah Ashraf Stephanie Davoli

Features Editors Lauren Kaminski Arianna Kyriacou

Creatives Editors Natalie Michie Monica Sadowski Sama Nemat Allah

Head of Layout and Design Katia Puritch

Heads of Copy/ Fact-Checking Dorsa Rahbar Sara Romano

Fact-Checkers Jessica Mazze Aishah Ashraf Stephanie Davoli Kayla Mcintosh Kareena Aranha Tatiana Latreille

Layout Artists Tamia James Isabel Gallant Catherine Cha Safa Kubti Katia Puritch

Illustrators Catherine Cha Safa Kubti Katie Shier Katia Puritch

Social Media Katie Shier Rosie Leonard Bela Caxarius Brittney Gonzalez

New Wave Magazine Issue 6 (Spring 2021)

Articles inside

Stitch by Stitch

That Means Good Luck

Drive

One Basket at a Time

The Skin I’m In

The Hats I Keep

My Breakup with Instagram

How to Disappear

Echoing Walls

Author Spotlight: Taylor Jenkins Reid

A Summer in Suburbia

The Attic

What’s So Great About Sex?

Have Wheels, Will Protest