Over The Edge
UNBC’s Independent Student Newspaper est. 1994
We Stand Together
Monique Gendron | OTE
Volume 23, Issue 5
Free overtheedgenewspaper.ca
January 24, 2017 ote-newspaper@unbc.ca
Letter from the
Over The Edge is the University of Northern British Columbia’s independent student newspaper. Our office is located on the 2nd floor of the NUSC building in room 6-350. We are an equal opportunity publication which represents students in the UNBC and Prince George community. Our publication supports student writing by welcoming news, arts, sports, culture and opinion articles, as well as photography, comics, and creative writing submissions.
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If it doesn’t inconvenience you, it’s not an effective protest. Like the people who put up poorly designed anti-choice posters up on the side highway between Cache Creek and Smalldesertstonabbeyshire Village, failing to make people pay attention to you turns you into a bemusing roadside attraction instead of a credible force. In a society where the voice of the individual should be valued, it is up to the individual to determine the value of their voice. As
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much as we might like to think so, social progress has not always been achieved by a polite discussion over tea. I don’t believe anything should be broken (either people or objects) in the pursuit of progress, but some things may need to be stretched out a little. Oh, to those complaining that Americans that didn’t vote/support Trump need to stop whining, you need to step back and consider the 8 years you spent trying to undermine and delegitimize Obama. Obama got burned in effigy, but oh geez, these pussy hats are a step too far.
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Every year, we provide employment as editors, designers, and managers to students with a passion for journalism and are always looking for motivated individuals to work and volunteer in our collaborative environment. Over The Edge offers competitive advertising rates for space in our print publication as well as online.
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Over The Edge
people are upset about the inconvenience of it all. Guess what? That’s the point.
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ou might have witnessed it in person, or seen it on TV. You might have seen it happening in North Dakota or in the presence of a very powerful person that has decided to become the most prolific employer of high profile neo-Nazis. Protesting! It’s all the rage these days, and if one thing is certain, old white people hate it. Whether some stuffy talking head on Fox News is arguing that protesting is disrespectful to a man who has never shown respect to anyone in his life or an oil executive is saying that protesting pipelines is disrespectful to profit margins,
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Prince George Women’s March Sam Wall News Editor
(Full disclosure: the writer of this piece was involved with the Women’s March that took place in Prince George on January 21)
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his past Saturday was a powerful one in Prince George and all over the world. With the inauguration of Donald Trump as President of the United States of America, marginalized groups that have been targeted by the new regime, starting with women, are carrying out large-scale protesting. Thus the Women’s March on Washington was born as an alternative to the inauguration. The event caught on, and several cities held their own sister rallies in solidarity with the Women’s March, including Prince George. There were even Pussy Hats. The rally in Prince George occured at the Civic Plaza, and included various chants, speakers, and a short march through the Plaza. UNBC professor Zoë Meletis organized and led the March with chants including “Who’s not their president? Trump!” and a lovely chant written by Fiona Apple “We don’t want your tiny hands anywhere
near our underpants!” Several community members gave short speeches, including Zoë Meletis, UNBC professor Annie Booth, UNBC President Daniel Weeks, Darrin Rigo, Sherry Ogasawara, and Sam Wall. The energy of the crowd was incredible, as we danced to keep warm, Annie rallied the crowd in classic feminist chants, and Sam discussed LGBTQA++ issues. Protesters proceeded to march back and forth through the Civic Plaza, chanting all the way and waving signs of solidarity. One of the exciting things about the community in Prince George is its ability to come together in solidarity. The crowd of almost 150 people contained people from all walks of life, all ages, all races, and all genders. Many people were wearing Pussy Hats, or pink toques knitted to appear to have cat ears, in protest of the horrible comments about women Trump has made. Another moving thing about this community is that it not only have the ability to show up and stick around in cold weather, but is also ready to make its voices heard when it is
called upon. The children in the audience were called to the front to show off their cool outfits and radical signs. Several others took the stand to discuss the sexism, racism, and xenophobia expressed by the US Presidency. Another brave child led us in a chant of “I say dump, you say Trump!” Of these spontaneous speeches, one that stood out the most was Hira Rashid’s story of her mother’s experience as a Muslim woman who wears a hijab shortly after 9/11. Hira said: “It’s important for communities to hold sister marches in solidarity to the Women’s March on Washington because as women it is our job to raise each other up. Being a feminist means we fight for the rights and protection of all women across the world regardless of where they come from. Donald Trump is now the leader of the biggest world power and his values are a threat to the freedom and rights of our sisters not only in the USA but also across the world. As we all know, the USA has influence on the world and if injustices are happening there, then surely they will be
reciprocated across the globe in some form. We must stand together and fight back. That is the only way we can win, united.” When asked about the importance of these Sister Marches, rally organizer Zoë Meletis replied: “I think that a lot of people are feeling very at risk or under threat. These include people who are under threat for simply being who they are: African Americans, immigrants, refugees, Muslims, Jews, members of the LGBTQA+ community, activists, advocates. Today, people around the world said no - we don’t support misogyny, white supremacy, homophobia, Islamophobia and other forms of hate. We support diversity, inclusion, and rights and freedoms for all. We came together, we told stories, we listened, and we took another step in resisting oppression, and working towards better societies. I’m proud of the groundswell in PG to make such statements and join such actions. It’s good for everyone to know that they’re not alone, and that one man or one regime is no match for strong, united communities.”
Monique Gendron | OTE
Culture
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The Thing About Loving a Narcissist Anonymous Contributor
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ear Self,
So you’ve realized he’s a narcissist. Not in the official sense of the word, like a person who is medically proven to be much more vain and manipulative than most 20-something-year-olds and who cares very little for the people in their life. But he’s a narcissist in the sense that he’s highly selfinvolved and he’s intensely focused on an aspect of his life that isn’t you (or anyone else, if it makes you feel any better. Not even his mother. It’s not you – it’s definitely him). How did you end up here? How did you fall so deeply in love with someone who is so clearly obsessed with himself? You’re a smart girl and your parents adore you and you certainly don’t put up with such nonsense from your friends. But the thing about loving a narcissist is that their self-absorbedness isn’t off-putting. It doesn’t raise any red flags. It actually it contributes to an obsession with winning their love. And he did love you, to the extent that he was capable of. But the
relationship was imbalanced. His attention and his affection sent such a rush to your chest and it made your cheeks ache from smiling because the sensation of capturing his focus was so vivid and addictive, like ecstasy. It was one of your favourite sensations in the world (also like ecstasy?). Even if it lasted for only a moment or a night. Remember, his love and care didn’t always come in the moments that you deserved it to. The ambiguous and sporadic nature of his affection reminds me of the reinforcement schedules you learned about in first-year psychology – in this relationship, you weren’t always rewarded, but you were rewarded frequently enough to keep trying. And try you did, you big-hearted girl. You made excuses for his self-centredness because you knew he was busy with his thesis project, then his new album, and so on and so forth. You made an excuse for everything, including the time he didn’t wish you happy birthday. He’s “only human”, you assured yourself. You accepted and
loved him as he was (and still is!) because you are kind and giving and naïve. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be those things, but know that this means your sentimental heart will be broken again and again. To be fair, he didn’t know that he was taking advantage of you, emotionally. His conceit isn’t a permanent fixture of his personality. It’s a part of his Figuring It Out years. You’re sometimes a bit of an A-hole too, by the way. It’s a byproduct of being in your twenties. But just because it’s unintentional doesn’t mean it’s right. And it doesn’t mean that you need to stick around and suffer invisibly until he comes around. You deserve someone who remembers to wish you a happy birthday, even if they’re extremely busy and it’s not like they were actively not caring about your birthday. It’s your flippin’ birthday. You’ve read it a million times on new-age feminist social media posts about selflove, like Marilyn Monroe’s famous “If you can’t handle me at my worst” adage.
Young Frankenstein Tierney Watkinson Team Member
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ou can stop holding your breath now— the show dates for “The Mel Brooks Musical: Young Frankenstein” have been set! This year, the Musical Productions Club is returning to the Canfor studio at UNBC. Shows run from March 16th through 18th, and March 23rd through 25th. Mark it on your calendars! Each of these days will have an evening show, at 7:00pm. An additional matinee will be presented both Saturdays, at 1:00pm. Tickets will be sold in the Winter Garden closer to the show date. Prices are 10$ for students and 15$ for the general public. The production is relatively kid-friendly. That being said, you may have to answer
a few questions afterwards, courtesy of your kids, should you bring them along to watch the show. There are no scripted curse words in this play (no promises about ad-libbing). However, the sexual innuendo is layered on pretty thick. It’s so thick, it is harder to ignore than that chunky soup you made three weeks ago when you were on a health kick and forgot in the back of your fridge after you misplaced your gym fob. And just as hairy. You have been warned. Come and watch Dr. Frankenstein the younger attempt to avoid following in his grandfather’s footsteps…and succumb to the lure that is science and brains and beautiful women and surprisingly friendly ancient housekeepers named Helga. Igor
might also have something to do with it. The play’s got singing, it’s got dancing, etc, etc, there’s love, and most importantly, there’s science. Still haven’t found those werewolves yet. But wrap that all up in the humour of Mel Brooks and you’ve got yourself a play that you won’t want to miss. Special note: There will also be a showing of A Very Potter Sequel this semester— dates TBA! Just because Voldemort is dead doesn’t mean the party has to end. House cup! rottentomatoes.com
However, the message is valid: don’t fall in love with anyone else until you have fallen in love with yourself. I haven’t fully figured out what Falling in Love with Myself looks like, but I know it doesn’t look like staying with someone who loves me (a little) less than I love them. It doesn’t look like accepting less love than I am willing to give, even if I convince myself that it’s my choice, so it’s an empowered choice. Part of me still loves that narcissist. Why? Because I am still kind and giving and naïve. And he’s got a good heart. So I wish my first love all the best in Figuring It Out and Working On His Art. Even if he hardly thinks of me at all. I’m no longer caught in his wash/rinse/repeat cycle. I loved and I lost and I learned. And now I am free. Love, Me. xo
Opinions
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Grant’s Rant: Generations Grant Bachand Guest Contributor
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ecently, I watched a video of Simon Sinek on Inside Quest. This video has been viewed by millions and shared on my Facebook feed repeatedly, so I figured I would watch it. What do you know? Here is another person giving a lecture in the nicest way about why millennials are unhappy, lazy and narcissistic. Sinek had a good argument and honestly I was compelled to believe him, at first. I do spend a lot of time on Facebook, and I do get excited about getting lots of likes on posts... Oh my god I am a narcissistic millennial, and it is all because I got a participation medal in school! My life is over. Calm down Grant. Let’s have a serious think about what Sinek is saying. According to him, millennials suffer from not being fulfilled with work. We lack deep, meaningful relationships and thus we are more depressed and we look to technology to happiness. Our phones have become drugs that dull the pain of our crappy lives. He does make a good point about the phone. I have noticed we are on the phone way too much. So Amen to that part, we need to stop texting before classes and talk to our neighbours. When we go out for dinner with our buddies, please stop looking at your phone and have a conversation. And for god’s sake stop using your phone when on a date, unless it’s a crappy date then you have my permission to GTFO. However, Sinek’s good points ended there, and then he went on a rant about why the young are the worst generation in human history (I may have exaggerated, but you get the gist). Sinek identifies four areas which cause our unhappiness: parenting, technology, environment, and impatience. Let us break down his argument and look at what he is saying. “It all started when I was in elementary school, doctor. Someone had a brilliant idea that my self-esteem is important and therefore they should not fail me. Also, they said yes to everything I ever wanted, Oh doctor it was traumatic!” Grant says while holding a teddy bear laying on a couch crying. Ok, I have left jobs because I do not feel fulfilled. That is not because I got a participation medal in school.
Sinek’s argument is that because we as children grew up with adults looking at every child’s individual worth and value, and instead of those same adults saying we couldn’t do things, they decided to be encouraging. Let me get this straight; because I got a participation medal when I was in elementary school during track and field, I therefore always need to get a medal every time I do something right. No, giving everyone a medal does not ruin it for the ones who came in first, their medal is no less valuable. That kid still came in first, and everyone, including them knows it. All a participation medal does is show the kids that don’t finish in the top three spots that they are still valuable. It also makes sense we give those medals in the crucial developmental years of a child’s life. I remember through I high school I did not always win. In fact, I lost a lot, and I learned from my losses and moved on. Why? Because my brain was no longer in the elementary school phase of my life and I could critically think about the events that were going on around me and learned to understand them in complex ways. Not everyone got a medal, so my first place is useless! The only thing technology does, besides getting my back curved from looking at my phone too much, is create a doorway to interactions with other individuals I was already having. Yes, we might get a dopamine rush from getting a lot of likes, but we also get a high off getting an A+ in school, doing something we couldn’t do before, or getting a date with that cute girl in class. Sinek talked about technology leading to higher rates of depression amongst young people. According to Sinek a rise in depression must be because of technology. To that I say, bish please. It could have something to do with the reduction in social stigma around mental health issues and how more people are willing to get help. Our society is now more willing to say “everything’s not fine, I need help.” That is a great thing, and people shouldn’t use higher usage rates of mental health services to generation bash. Though, in Sinek’s defense, he did
remind us time and time again in that video that it wasn’t our fault, so I can blame my parents for another thing now. Impatience was the next cause for our unhappiness in the workplace. According to Sinek, if we are not promoted right away or feel like we are changing the world then we quit our jobs and move on to the next thing. What millennials are you talking about? Job options are scarce, and I have rent to pay! Sure I want to change the world, but in reality, I want to eat. Could my lack of satisfaction at work be because in Canada full-time jobs are on a decline and part-time employment is filling the void? Could it be that instead of working one 9-5 job I am working three because wages have not kept up with inflation? Could it be that I have to get dental work done and fewer jobs are offering full benefits to their employees? No, that can’t be the reason, it has to be because I am not saving baby pandas. Please, we are young. Of course we want to change the world as did our parents and our grandparents when they were young. You know what brings us back to reality…BILLS! Yes, I am going to quit my job if it is a crap job to go to a better one if I can, and why shouldn’t I? Do I owe some allegiance to my employer? Do we have to be happy that
typically young people are paid crappy wages and are working multiple jobs? Oh, I am sorry, I forgot “boomers” generally stayed with one job their whole life and therefore so should we. Except when that practice was happening unions were stronger, and as such wages were higher, benefits were better, and universities were cheaper, so I didn’t have to pay down a mountain of debt. This is not the 1950’s. The world has changed, and in many ways not for the better. For the sake of time I am going to skip environment because it is a summarization of the other three points Sinek already made. In the end, yes, Millennials are different from other generations. But that is also because the world we live in is fundamentally different. It’s a common thing for older generations to judgingly look down on the younger ones. They like to say we Millennials are lazy and would never make it in the workplace the Boomers had to work in, except we would because the environmental factors which they grew up in would have applied to us too, and we would have learned to adapt just like they did. Can we give it a rest already with the generational bashing? We are different. We know. But next time you need your computer fixed don’t come crying to us. We’re apparently too lazy to deal with your issues around learning new technology.
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Opinion
Why New Years Resolutions Are Overrated Jade Szymanski Contributor
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nce again, the festivities of the holiday season have ended; as have the stresses of hanging out with family members who bicker over politics and their neighbor Sheila who parks too close to their beloved BMW. With the new year comes excitement of renewal and improved lifestyles which plagues the minds of the masses who refuse to accept responsibility of their failures and downfalls. Instead, they think that a date on the calendar can erase any bad habits or grant them new opportunities without any sort of effort. While we can appreciate the motivation that the idea of a new year brings to people, it should also be reflected upon that you can change your life for the better whenever you want, and that deciding to make that change at the beginning of the new year is not only extremely overrated, but can also show negative effects instead of the positive ones that most people expect. The time is 11:59, the date is December 31st, 2016. You are at a New Year’s party that you managed to get yourself invited to at the last minute and the only person you know here is your best friend who’s in the corner with their significant other; about to ring in the New Year with one of the most romantic kisses possible and you have no one but the party thrower’s fat dog named Porkchop to show you any affection when the clock strikes midnight. Your self-esteem is quite low at this moment, and to relieve your feelings of inadequacy, you reflect on what your New Year’s resolution is going to be. There are the classics: drink more water, eat more vegetables, go to the gym 4 times a week… you want to be creative and think outside the box though. Call your mom at least once a week? Knock two strokes off your golf game? Practice having better posture? You decide to go with the latter as maybe it’ll help with your future aspirations of being a model for Aeropostale. Just as you make this decision, Ryan Seacrest informs you that it is now 2017; the party goers around you squeal with joy and you die just a little bit on the inside.
Now, here’s the problem with making that resolution. First of all, most people don’t like change. While it’s true that almost everyone can find aspects of their lives that they aren’t happy about, if they were truly haunted by discontentment then they would have made the necessary changes to obtain satisfaction a long time ago. People are lazy and scared of change, and to think that a new year can completely reinvent a person is unrealistic and naïve. Secondly, the idea of New Year’s resolutions have almost become a type of peer pressure where people are expected to have one and share it when everyone returns to normal life in January and have nothing else to talk about except what facet of your life needs modification. This idea of being almost forced to think of something to change about yourself or your routine is setting most people up for failure as the motivation is not rooted out of your own internal desires, but rather is stemmed from societal norms. Finally, it’s been shown that half of the people who end up making resolutions fail by February. This statistic is extremely disheartening as people cannot even keep a promise to themselves simply for a month. It is not surprising however since the majority of these resolutions were not made with the right intentions. The naivety and peer pressure mentality that surrounds New Year’s resolutions are not healthy nor positive and they can make you feel even worse than when you started since knowing you failed is more shameful than staying the way you are right now. This is not to say that self-improvement should be avoided due to the possibility of failure, however the idea of a new year shouldn’t be the only reason you want to make a change. Only when you have the proper internal motivations which are stemmed from personal goals will you succeed in achieving a better life.
Culture
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Journey to NASH 79 Sam Wall News Editor
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o start off the new year, I was lucky enough to attend NASH, a student journalism conference with Over the Edge’s Editor in Chief Colin Slark, and Production Coordinator Monique Gendron. This year is the 79th incarnation of the Canadian University Press’ annual national conference (NASH). The conference takes place in a different city each year; this year required some long-distance travel to Fredericton, New Brunswick. The aim of the five-day conference is to gather together student newspapers from across the country to share their knowledge and learn more about journalism. The conference includes daily workshops, writing critiques, roundtables, panels, key-note speeches, and presentations on subjects as diverse as dealing with criticism to talking to sources who have experienced sexual assault. The theme of NASH this year was Start Up, emphasizing the changing world of journalism, which requires a more entrepreneurial spirit and willingness to go outside of traditional tasks and career paths. Professionals in the journalism industry serve as mentors to the students who come from a variety of disciplines. Discussions not only centred around writing, but also photography, reporting, design, social media, and the experience of being a journalist. NASH also features nightly social events and tourism suggestions to facilitate further networking. The conference is put on by Canadian University Press (CUP) who, according to the “History” page of their website, are the oldest organization of student newspapers in Canada. CUP has become “a place to share ideas, learn the tricks of the trade, connect with industry professionals, and even forge friendships that span a continent.” NASH was an incredible experience overall, but several journalists stood out to me in what they had to say. On the second day of the conference, I was very excited to see a panel discussion about the disproportionate hate female journalists experience. The panel included a diverse group of journalists: Jan
Wong, Shireen Ahmed, Lee Thomas, and Sarah Ratchford. Jan Wong is a longtime journalist who has worked for papers such as the New York Times and the Globe and Mail, where she had her first experience with workplace depression, driven by hate towards one of her pieces. Shireen Ahmed holds the unique distinction of being one of the few Muslim women in the world who is reporting on sports, specifically misogyny and racism in sports. Lee Thomas is a non-binary person, a journalist, and a mental health and LGBTQ advocate, who reminded us on the first night of the conference to maintain consensual relationships. Sarah Ratchford is also a non-binary freelance journalist, whose work on women’s issues, particularly rape and sexual assault, can often be found at VICE. All four of these people provided excellent insights into the challenges that gender as well as race can create in being
heard as people and as journalists. I was very happy to see such critical discourse occurring around these issues as they relate to journalism, and how to cope with the potential negative attention. NASH featured several other interesting speakers and discussions. Some of my favorites included a talk by Chris Jones, aka NASH Dad, where he used the techniques of a good magic tricks as a metaphor for the techniques of good writing. On day two of the conference, Scaachi Koul provided an excellent keynote speech entitled “How to be Less Sad, or Not, I’m Not Your Mom, Okay,” where she used her background as a SassMaster to address the burnout and creative frustration that can come with personal work for a critical audience. Shannon Busta provided an overview of how social media can be used to promote journalistic work in her workshop, “Instagram for News.” Tom Henheffer presented an eye-opening session
on the state of journalism in Canada, and “Why the Canadian Media Can’t Have Nice Things.” For those of us just getting our journalistic sea legs, Josh O’Kane discussed the pros and cons of journalism school, and writing and career tips in his session, “J-school in 60 minutes.” The final keynote speech of the conference was given by Maureen Googoo, who described the joys and struggles of bringing Indigenous stories and reporting to the mainstream, and running an independent Indigenous newsource. Despite the long flights from Prince George to Fredericton and back, and the horrible cold (and subsequently bronchitis) I developed upon arriving home, I left NASH feeling refreshed and creatively invigorated, an excellent way to start a semester.
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Student Life
So, Everything is Not Really Okay Jordan Tucker Guest Contributor
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ome mornings I wake up to my cat literally punching me in the mouth as a sort of siren song towards the empty food bowl. Those are the good days: I feed the furry kings, eat and make coffee, and then do whatever it is I need to do. Other days are not so good: on the bad days, I wake up to a wall of ten thousand bees all buzzing at me. Not only is the buzzing increasingly loud and angry, it’s also accompanied by ten thousand versions of my own voice (and also sometimes my mother’s, and former boyfriends or friends or employers), all shouting out the various reasons I suck and should stay in bed. Oh, but the bees are also revving chainsaws for some reason. On those mornings, I still get up and do things, but later-- sometimes, unfortunately, the only response is to grab the other cat (the one that isn’t punching me) and roll over and sleep more. It’s easier to coma out than it is to deal with reality on those mornings. Here’s the answer to the question: what’s wrong with you? Well, many things. I’m glad you asked. I’m perpetually late, self sabotage a great many opportunities, am more terrified of a genuinely fulfilling friendship than I am of having a leg sawed off, and don’t floss enough. I also smoke occasionally because it looks cool, despite multiple warnings from the Surgeon General and my emphysema-stricken beloved Uncle. But in this case, the problem tends to be a saucy and heady mix of anxiety and Seasonal Affective Disorder, along with slight dabbles of PTSD. It’s been around for as long as I can remember-- I was a little kid from a really unhappy and sometimes violent home, and in those situations, you learn to always be on your guard. Recently my sibling and I realized that we both monitor is approaching based on the way their footsteps fall behind us-- a skill that proved useful when hoping to avoid an angry parent’s wrath. In those situations, you always sleep with one eye open, and you never feel entirely safe. This is one way anxiety develops-- the way my doctor explained it is that your chemicals get really used to being high strung all the
time. Think of a deer with a constant set of headlights following it around. Then, when the cause of stress eventually leaves, it feels so normal to have those chemicals at that high level that your body is hesitant to take them back down. Or, when a situation that would be marginally stressful to a welladjusted person shows up, your body gets so excited to return to those old familiar stressed-out stomping grounds that it dials your chemicals up 200% for fun-- in this case, picture that guy in your high school who had a shitty car with a massive speaker setup who would crank them up as loud as rock concert even when he was driving to the gas station. When your system is built for the maximum, it is hard to convince it to go softly. For a long time, I was really angry, all of the time - I shouted at people, places, and things like some really traumatized version of a See Spot Run book. “What’s Jane doing over there? She’s screaming into the void, and also at her high school principal. See Jane scream!” And I drank like it was water or oxygen.
energy to be constantly amped up and ready to pounce on the people around you for perceived mistakes. I have to give credit to guys in Tap-Out shirts, it takes a lot of energy to be that pissed off all the time. And one day, I realized that I was over it. I couldn’t spend all that time with a chip on my shoulder. I like eating chips, not using them as epaulettes. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life looking like a Frito-Lays’ women’s power suit in the 90s. I’m not saying it was easy, but one day I wasn’t angry at the entirety of the world anymore. In fact, I quite liked the world, and wanted to spend time with it. But where the anger had been was a giant well of deep-seated anxiety - it turns out the anger had been Mary McFly’s high school bully Biff. Lots of bravado with a lot of sad
down at the bottom. Anger had been useful because it was a way to blame the outside world for my own problems. But when you carve it away, the problem was what it had always been, a total fear of the world around me, calling itself “Anxiety” (along with a big bad tendency to get really, really sad in the winter). So with that has come a whole host of other problems. I obsessively overthink interactions with the people around me, I have a chronic inability to sleep through the night, I severely procrastinate until the last minute because I am paralyzed by the possibility of making a mistake. Oh, also panic attacks, the most fun thing ever, where one minute you are sailing along and over-thinking one thing to avoid dealing
And drinking all the time was only making it worse, too: it turns out that the reason alcohol makes us feel uninhibited up until a certain point is because it uses up a chemical in our brains that makes us relaxed and happy-- so the next day, you feel like crap, because you literally used up all your happy points for the next day. With drinking, it got to the point where I realized that I was doing it because I liked that when I was drunk enough, I could finally admit to myself how much I hated myself. And right after that, I would be drunk enough that maybe I would finally not wake up, which was what I secretly wanted. But at some point, I got enough friends and hobbies that I enjoyed that I realized that if I was dead, I couldn’t do the hobbies I enjoyed or spend time with the people I care about. Also it was making me fat. And if there’s one thing I hate more than myself, it’s my body. Where my ladies at? Beauty standards, am I right? #Yolo #whitefeminism. Not that Basically I realized that I was burning myself out. It turns out that it takes a lot of
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Student Life
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with your emotions, then all of a sudden all you can think of are hundreds of swirling knives and also your mother’s screaming face in close up, and also ten thousand rottweilers gnarling at your legs, which is sad because like you they could have been sweet affectionate animals if only they had had a normal upbringing full of care and tenderness. And it lasts for somewhere from twenty minutes to hours. Once I literally thought I was having a heart attack, and made it up the stairs to my roommate’s room, where she told me I needed to breathe. She was coincidentally listening to music of the ocean and had like twenty candles burning in her room. She made me touch her heart and breathe and hug my cat, and told me that I didn’t need the ambulance. I told her that if this was some of her hippy bullshit I would return and haunt the hell out of her. But I was ultimately fine. Such is the power of the mind and the imagination. It’s not like I’m alone, either. When I started telling my friends about my lack of grip on my own sanity, many of them confessed that they had also had panic attacks. A friend of mine said that when school stresses got to be too much, he could hear thousands of people yelling-- in an empty room. But when these attacks happen, you are entirely convinced that what’s occurring is real. And it is real, but the person who is screaming is your own mind, tired of being ignored. A different friend said similar things about getting panic attacks managing a coffee shop. Our current world is a cesspool of factors that exacerbate anxiety-- our generation is overeducated, under-exercised, underemployed, and oversaturated with information. Some scientists from the University of Illinois did a study that pointed to cell phones causing anxiety and depression. The idea behind it is that, basically, we need time to process information. But since we’re too quick to
bury our heads in our phones as a quick way to avoid reality, we miss out on important time needed to reflect on the course of the day. If we don’t get that time, we quickly become overloaded with information and our bodies and minds become overwhelmed. So the answer to that is, unfortunately, very simple. Spend time alone and spend time with your friends. But when you are alone, be alone - don’t bring your phone into it, you need the time to process. And when you are with your friends, actually BE with your friends. It’s as easy and as hard as that. In some ways, it’s great to hide from the world in your phone, and I get it - I do it all the time. But it doesn’t promote emotional resilience. In fact, it makes us less resilient-the key to being better at handling things is to have more experiences that bring us joy and vulnerability and laughter, and to be fully immersed in them. It makes you better at actually dealing with sad things. Think of being able to handle leaping from the hot tub into a snow pile in the winter-it only works if you’ve been warm! And anxiety what happens when you stand around outside of the hot tub because you’re afraid of the heat, and then get thrown into the snowbank anyways. It’s no fun and you’re colder than you would’ve been. For me, anxiety and the associated horror are all a learning curve, but it’s getting easier. It’s about really listening to yourself, and being unafraid to talk to people who care about you about your struggles. As the running monkey in Bojack Horseman says, “Every day it gets a little easier. But you have to do it every day. That’s the hard part. But it does get easier.” I debated over writing this article, because there’s stigma around seeming weak, or not entirely sure of yourself at all times. If there’s anything the election of Donald Trump down south can tell us, it’s that people are still in love with leaders who talk down to those who are defenseless. (“But Jordan,” you
say, “We didn’t elect him! We elected Prime Minister Sunshine Buzzfeed!” Yes, we did, and before that we elected Prime Minister “Old Stock Canadians”, the Master’s Degree version of “Make America Great Again.) We are often little kids at bedtime asking for someone, anyone, to tell us if the monsters are real. Our parents tell us, over and over that they aren’t - and this is the wrong approach, because in a child’s mind, the fearful metaphor is the most real thing there is. If you tell a child a monster isn’t real, then in their mind, not only is the monster still real, you have now told them that they have to face its fangs and whorling bloody talons on their own. So when a person such as Donald Trump comes in and says that not only are the monsters real, they’re Muslim and Mexican and they’re in your country, and he offers to stand next to you with a sword if you only give him your vote, why wouldn’t the scared child of someone’s deepest guts agree? What an easy trade, a vote for a general to fight against the monsters. We want a quick fix to complicated problems. I don’t know the solution, but I do know one thing. In my wooden-sworded flailings against my own personal demons, the most helpful friends and companions I have found are those who can help me understand it. Sit with me as I watch it from afar for weeks, days, noticing the ways it moves, it breathes. We chat and laugh as I carefully throw breadcrumbs to the beast, it snarling at first, but eventually lapping them up hungrily. Tell me to drop the sword in the snow and approach slowly, cautiously edging foot after foot into the crunching drifts. Its eyes grow wide, and you realize they’re the same colour as your own. Laugh encouragingly as its nostrils flare hot air into the cold around it, and I begin to talk to it - and eventually, it rolls over, and shows me its soft belly, no longer fearsome, just in need of a soft touch.
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10
Student Life
How to Jumpstart Your Car Tierney Watkinson Team Member
1) Long before you ever find yourself with a dead car battery, get a set of jumper cables. Everyone should carry a set of cables in their car for emergencies. (As well as a survival kit, fire starter, a thick blanket, and a shovel for the winter months. While I have your attention, don’t use all-season tires during winter around here. You will die. Or you’ll kill someone else. Don’t do it. Get real winter tires.) Jumper cables cost about $10-$12 at Canadian Tire or similar stores. 2) Make sure the car that is going to boost yours has at least as much voltage as your own, or the boost probably will not work. It is recommended that you don’t use an electric or hybrid vehicle as a booster car. Those vehicles are a new kind of animal and deal with a LOT of electricity. Electricity that, if used improperly, could fry you. Or blow you up. 3) With both cars in Park or Neutral, and with keys in the “off” position (or hell, out of the ignition altogether. If you are extra worried, put on your parking brake as well. But don’t worry), pop both hoods and prepare to attach your cables to both cars. Tip for a long life/un-zapped body parts: Keep the clips of the cables away from each other (and your body) at all times. The cables are completely safe until you start attaching them to electric things. Only handle the rubber grips, so you don’t make physical contact with the metal conductors and so you have complete control of where those metal bits are. The other guy or gal (it is also recommended you don’t jump cars while alone) can help you by holding two of the clips. Or even get them to do the attaching. Just because they are a Good Samaritan doesn’t mean you have to be. (But ethically, disregard that statement. Be helpful.) 4) Attach a cable with a red clip or grip (there may be a “+” indicator on it if it isn’t red) to the positive terminal of the dead car’s battery. The terminals are two conical metal bits that stick up on the battery. Don’t worry about the cables that are already on the
terminals—you don’t have to remove those or avoid clipping over the metal piece attaching them to the terminal. Just make sure the clip is firmly attached to the terminal somehow, and isn’t in danger of falling off. You’ll have to flip up a little, generally red cap that covers this terminal. If you aren’t sure which is which, the positive terminal should be labelled with a “+” or “Positive” marker. Otherwise, the positive terminal is larger than the negative terminal. (Note: make sure your battery terminals are fairly clean. If there has been heavy corrosion and subsequent buildup on your battery’s terminals (batteries are acidic and metal corrodes; don’t touch this buildup with your bare hands), it disrupts the electric current’s connection and could prevent your car from boosting successfully. It could even be the reason your car wouldn’t start in the first place.) 5) Attach the other red clip to the booster vehicle’s positive terminal. 6) Attach a black or “-“ clip to the booster vehicle’s negative terminal. Like the positive terminal, it should have a label too: a “-“ or “Negative” indicator. Negative terminals don’t always have a cap, but traditionally a negative terminal’s cap should be black. (Note: If you can’t get at the live car’s negative terminal with a clip, because some vehicles have ridiculous engine layouts, you can attach it to a piece of bare metal on the engine or the car’s frame. More on that in step 7.) 7) Attach the final, black, clip to an unpainted metal surface on your car that isn’t next to the battery. A good place is on your vehicle’s engine block, which if you don’t know what that is, is that hunk of metal that sits essentially near the middle of all the stuff under your car’s hood. Your engine block might have a plastic cover on it, so be careful. Plastic will not help. Anything that is under the hood, so long as it is bare metal and not right beside the battery, is ok. You could
also attach the cable to part of the vehicle’s frame, for instance somewhere closer to your front bumper (bumper covers are rarely made of metal but they protect the bits that are). Close to where the hood latches is a good place to look, provided the cable can reach. This clip will act as a ground. Do NOT attach the clip to the dead car’s negative terminal. It could spark and ignite the hydrogen gas that might be radiating from the battery while it’s charging. Don’t repeat the Hindenburg. 8)Be sure that all of the clips are secure, and turn on the booster vehicle. Let it run for a few minutes. Car batteries only charge when the alternator is running or when you have them hooked up to someone else’s live car battery. And the alternator only runs when the car does. Boosting the dead battery right away would be rude. The dead battery should have time to charge a bit before it drags your car back into the world of the living. If it is very cold out and the other vehicle had not been running very long before its driver saw you crying over the hood of your car, your tears freezing to the paint, it is important to give the other vehicle time to warm up. It is much better for their vehicle. Some people will leave the (live) car running as they hook the cables up—this is not the safest option, but it is certainly not quite akin to setting off an atomic bomb, and is understandable especially if it’s freezing outside or the weather is poor. Even so, not highly recommended. 9)Try to turn on your vehicle. This is the moment of truth. What should happen: Your car comes back to life. What might happen: nothing. If nothing happens, make sure the cables are properly connected and try starting it again after a few more minutes, in case the battery was further into the void than you thought. If nothing continues to happen, it could be because your battery’s terminals are not clean. A no-start could also be the
result of leaving your car or the battery itself in storage for a long time. Batteries go flat after a long period of not being used. Your battery might not be the only problem. Or it might be more than mostly dead. It could be fully deceased. If the battery’s age surpasses the average lifespan of 5 years, you may need a new battery. Or a new something. If your alternator is the problem, the car will die soon after being boosted (and the car likely initially died while you were driving it). Regardless, your car needs more help than a Good Samaritan can provide, unless said Samaritan is coincidentally a mechanic and also carries spare batteries compatible with your car around on the off chance someone might need one. 10) If your car starts, rejoice, and disconnect the cables in the reverse order to how you connected them. Do not turn off your car again until after at least 15 minutes of driving. Your battery needs to charge enough that it can start again. Also, thank the person who helped you. Make them cookies or something. In a nutshell: Red dead, Red live, Black live, Black metal. Never attach the black/negative clip to the dead car—it’s dead. It already has enough negativity in its life. A helpful poem I found: ‘Red from the dead, to red on the good. Black from the good, to under the hood.’ If you forget how to jump-start, most jumper cables I have found in stores come with instructions, either summarized on a tag (so read those before you just chuck them) or even printed out in step-by-step format on a card or a on a fancy bag holding those brand-new, fancy cables. If that fails, and you are in an area with cell service or wifi, use the Google. And if you find yourself stranded with a dead battery, no Good Samaritans, and no phone service, you better hope you packed that damn survival kit.
Poetry
11
Changes
Rain in January
Sarah Green Contributor
Tierney Watkinson Team Member
The air is crisp
things I used to believe
have to bear
As he walks through the clearing.
were impossible
this self doubt
It’s too late.
like
and its iron claws
No one can stop him.
rain in January
slowly tearing
His strides show purpose.
winter water
out
He moves towards the group
freezing
my insides
Standing clustered around the fire.
becoming ice
what once kept me alive
A few faces turn
a deadly mirror
pulsing
As he walks towards the smallest figure.
taking over
pouring out
She stands slightly apart.
making me
as I am
Obviously waiting for him.
invisible
paralyzed
He draws a breath.
crumbling slowly
I think I
This is it.
ripping apart
stopped screaming
When she sees him,
as I try to remember warmth
a long time ago
Her amber eyes light up.
bones
but maybe
For a moment,
splitting
He falters.
beneath my skin
I’ve just stopped hearing it
Disarmed by her beauty.
burning
But it’s too late to change his mind.
even as I succumb
He takes a step forward,
to numbing cold
Clears his throat,
ripping
And changes his life forever.
deep wounds caverns within me forcing cracks within myself straining under weights I should not
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12
Culture
Letter to the Editor D
ear Sirs,
In the last few days I have read your volume 23, Issue 4 - Nov 17, 2016 issue and found it interesting (but there are areas in your reporters presentations that need to be addressed. First the bid to take and gain control of our country with its freedoms and customs and traditions began immediately after the end of the 2nd world war with the establishment of the Canadian Communist Federation Party which sadly I have to say was formed by people who wanted yet to see the hope of the dictator, over the people established eventually here, even after all the horror that Hitler and the Nazi’s placed upon the world was so openly viewed by citizens. Make no mistake, if any tells you that C.C.F did not mean the Canadian Communist Federation, you are being lied to. Later that party’s name was changed to the New Democratic
Party which still practices it’s closeminded policies. We, of my age have witnessed the chipping away of our democracy for many years and when we read in our newspaper letters and editorials praising and honouring leaders such as Fidel Castro it is very disturbing for obviously those writers are out of touch with real truth. Our Prime minister Trudeau is one such man who spoke honourably of Castro, as did his Father Pierre. Kelly Leitch does not dictate to Conservative Party members their policies, nor did Stephen Harper. Most of us turned to the Conservative Party to strengthen Canada’s Policies. I have never seen so much racism and foolishness as there is now and common sense is on the bottom rung of the ladder. “A racist view” is mentioned often I think not that I am racist because I desire my ‘Canadian values’ preserved, but that the chipping away continues. The first
incident that comes to my mind was for the R.C.M.P. to be required to allow members of the East Indian nationality to be allowed to wear turbans with the traditional R.C.M.P. uniform. Though it was approved to allow that, those of Asian pushed and pushed for their own way and won. One custom & tradition taken away & lost. As you have heard 1000 times before, you could never go to other countries and force our customs and traditions on them. Wouldn’t be allowed but our constitution and laws are allowed to be used for situations they were never designed for. No Kellie Leitch does not determine ‘Canadian Values’ they are established long before her time and yours. Things are out of control and those of us those of us of the war years can verify that. Most of us as kids had friends and buddies of different nationalities and we were able to laugh at one another’s differences and
customs but we had respect for one another. You want to come in live in my country and become Canadian than you show and prove you honour this country as well as your own and don’t come and start trying to change and twist it to your own liking destroying the Canadian identity in the process. There are those who desire to possess our Canada and they will stop at nothing to achieve that. There is so much more I could write but I see the West extremely threatened from within and without. The young can teach the world everything Margaret nnon states, “Trump won because a group of people were angry at their country and let that vote instead of intelligence. Don’t underestimate the Americans, they can take care of themselves when it comes down to the nitty gritty. Shirley Ballum.
Culture
13
Looking Beyond the Surface - A Rebuttal D
ear Mrs. Ballum, while everyone at Over The Edge are always thrilled to produce content that inspires an emotional reaction in our readers, I’m afraid that your letter is the product of decades-old rhetoric and outdated colonialist attitudes. The CCF was not communist, it was the “Co-operative Commonwealth Federation”. While it was left-wing and socialist, to label it “communist” is the product of Cold War-era fear mongering designed to label less mainstream political views as a dangerous Other. I am not sure why you have picked this target when an actual Communist Party of Canada existed (and still does) during the same time period, and was openly aligned with the Comintern, the governing body of global communism in the lead-up to the Second World War. They actually managed to get an MP elected in 1945 – a single MP in their entire history. That is hardly the hallmark of an influential political movement. I would be extremely curious to know what freedoms and customs we lost because of either party. I do not believe that the CCF (or the NDP) or the Communist Party have ever held power nationally, and so I do not believe that they were responsible for our country’s more egregious curtailing of rights (Japanese internment, residential schools, etc.). Secondly, let me challenge your assertion that we do not go to other countries and force our beliefs on the people there. That is how our country was founded. The English, the French, the Spanish, the Vikings - all the Europeans who came to this continent forced the Indigenous peoples who lived here to submit or face certain death either by violence or disease. Or does that not matter? Do you believe in the right of conquest? That because the Europeans had a greater capacity for violence that they’ve earned the right to do whatever they pleased? When the people of Fort George burned down the village of Lheidli in 1911 in order to force the inhabitants to move farther away from the white people, was this an example of the great job we do at not forcing our beliefs upon people? I hope this is not the Canadian identity you are so determined to protect.
Let us discuss your complaints about the “East Indian nationality.” First of all, “East Indian” is a racist term. There is only one India, and it is in South Asia. I hope you do not refer to members of Canada’s Indigenous peoples as “Indians” because that is a racist colonial term used in wilful ignorance. Second of all, do you believe that all men from India wear turbans? The group you are referring to are Sikhs, which is one of many cultural and religious backgrounds present in India. Perhaps if you took the time to learn about these people that you so quickly throw under the bus, you would appreciate the richness and diversity they add to the world and our own society. RCMP officers wearing turbans is a wonderful thing. It means that those people are passionate enough about their country to want to help protect it, without compromising their own identity. That is as you put it: “[proving] you honour this country as well as your own…” Apart from this nation’s Indigenous peoples, we are a country of immigrants. As a result of having such a diverse group of cultures, ethnicities, and identities, there is not one set of “Canadian Values” as Kellie Leitch would have you believe. The problem with enforcing “Canadian Values” on immigrants is that invariably this means “white conservative values,” and it may surprise you to know that this is not the only viewpoint, or the only valid viewpoint. You say that the Constitution and our laws are being used for things they weren’t designed for. That is why we have a government. The guidelines created for our society in the past to function long term cannot be permanent. No matter how deft a mind attempts to foretell the foibles and challenges a country will face, there is no way that a set of rules will be forever relevant. I am not prepared nor am I willing to live the way the Fathers of Confederation intended – a country where only white men can vote, a country where we imprison those of foreign heritage without trial on the off-chance that they might potentially be traitors, a country where the civil rights of non-whites are threatened, a country where non-straight people are punished criminally, and a country where we force Indigenous
people to attend schools where they have their non-whiteness beaten out of them. “Our Canada” means a Canada for everyone who lives there, your Canada seems to be a Canada for white conservatives, afraid of their own shadow and desperately trying to keep a grip on a society that no longer allows them to rule with impunity. (On a side note, are you saying that party leaders have no influence on party policy? That’s the entire point of partisan politics). Of course I underestimate the Americans. Yes, they have accomplished staggering feats of good, but they’re the same country that kept slavery long past the point they realized that it was morally repugnant. This is the same country that solves its problems with violence rather than democracy. This is the same country that elected a dime-store TV clown to lead them, and is happy to rubber stamp said clown’s hiring of people that are the ideological successors of the Nazis you claim to hate. Justin Trudeau may not be a perfect leader. Hell, he may not even be a good leader a lot of the time. But when I look at what the Americans have done I am ashamed for them. When I see that Canadians are seriously entertaining two-bit Trump wannabes in Kevin O’Leary and Kellie Leitch, I don’t want to be ashamed of us too. Every government needs a strong opposition to keep it in check, and the Conservative party, whether it is lead by O’Leary, Leitch, or even Rona Ambrose, is not presently that party because if they are trying to peddle 1860s ideologies on us, they have not learned anything from the past 150 years of progress. Mrs. Ballum, I would invite you to come to UNBC and audit some History, Political Science, or First Nations Studies courses to broaden your horizons, and realize that the past is not as wonderful as you might remember. Stop assuming that everyone is out to get you. The Soviet Union fell in 1991, the Cold War is over and you don’t need to maintain a death grip on the fearful rhetoric you were fed. wallpapersafari.com
14
News
Transgender Day of Rememberance Sam Wall News Editor
O
n Sunday, November 20th, the annual Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR) Ceremony was held in the Artspace above Books and Co. The ceremony is held to honour those who have been lost to violence because they are transgender. As a nonbinary person, I, and my other transgender friends and allies, make an attempt to attend this ceremony every year. TDOR was cohosted by the Northern Pride Centre from UNBC and Inspiring Women Among Us. Taking the lead in the ceremony was Krystal Vandenburg, the President of the Northern Pride Centre. Krystal chose not to prepare a speech, rather they spoke powerfully and with sadness about the horrific transphobic violence occurring globally. Other speakers included Leasa Kells, who gave a general overview of issues facing transgender people and the history of TDOR. Hira Rashid also spoke about her experience providing a video presentation about transgender rights in Canada at a conference in Pakistan, where
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life for transgender people is radically different. Other attendees also brought their experiences and points of view to the ceremony, often bringing tears to my eyes. One of the most striking elements of TDOR for me, is the list of those who have been murdered worldwide this year. Several hundred people have been murdered this year. What is especially disturbing about this, is that the majority of those murdered are transwomen of colour. Also disturbing, is the amount of people who could be on this list, but their deaths may go unreported or their transgender identity may be covered up. As well, this list does not cover those who committed suicide this year, which is most likely also a high number of people, as transgender people have higher suicide rates. The list of those murdered was posted in Artspace during the ceremony for attendees to view. I always try to peruse this list, and wonder what these people may have been like, who they loved, and
who loved them. The average age of the people on this list was 25, with the youngest being 16 years old. Many people were killed in gruesome ways, including stabbing, shooting, stoning, beating, and burning. This violence is so unspeakably awful. Though the subject was difficult to talk about, and many people were emotionally affected by the ceremony, the theme of solidarity and community was strong throughout. Resources for LGBTQ people and their allies were available for anyone with questions or looking for more support. As well, earlier in the day at Artspace, there was a panel led by LGBTQ activists and allies called “Challenging the Status Quo.” The discussion centred around biases and difficulties faced by transgender people. This event, hosted by Prince George Pride and Inspiring Women Among Us, provided an excellent segue into the Transgender Day of Remembrance ceremony.
According to the TDOR website, the international ceremony began on November 20th, 1999. The event began as a candlelit ceremony in San Francisco to honor Rita Hester, who was murdered on November 28th of 1998. Her murder remains unsolved. Though not everyone remembered at TDOR identified as transgender (they may have identified in different ways), they were still victims of the bias against transgender people. The importance of this ceremony is that it raises awareness about the violence experienced by transgender people, which has only recently begun to come to more mainstream media attention. By providing a day to mourn and honor the lives of those lost, we remember them always, and provide support for those who are struggling today. More information about the Transgender Day of Remembrance can be found at https://tdor.info/ .
Rememberance of Violence Against Women Sam Wall News Editor
T
his past November saw the ceremony for the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women occur in the Wintergarden at UNBC. The event featured a variety of speakers and other creative performances, while honouring the women lost in the Montreal Massacre. This ceremony was also helped to wrap up the many events put on over the previous two weeks by Inspiring Women Among Us (IWAU). Shannon Williams, the Women’s Representative with NUGSS, was the MC for the event, introducing each speaker as well as giving a speech herself. Other speakers such as the Executive Director of the Northern Women’s Centre, Sarah Boyd, and Associate Professors Si Transken and Zoë Meletis addressed the various states of women’s experiences, available resources,
and other IWAU events. Prince George Mayor Lyn Hall and UNBC President Daniel Weeks both made brief appearances at the opening of the event. Several creative performances were woven throughout the event, adding strength and joy to an often somber ceremony. Darrin Rigo, UNBC Alumnus and Student Recruitment Officer, approached the topic in a unique way, with his “Letter to the ‘Nice Guys.’” As well, local musician, Britt Meierhofer, performed a couple of songs expressing the challenging experiences of being a woman. Finally, undergraduate student, Hira Rashid, read her moving poem about women who have been abused. Each speaker or performer was given a rose afterwards in thanks. The National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women formally takes place on December 6th of each year,
to commemorate the 14 women who were killed on this day in 1989, at l’École Polytechnique de Montréal. The female students were murdered because they were women pursuing higher education. According to the Canadian Women’s Foundation, this day is also to reflect on the everyday violence experienced by women and girls and those who have lost their lives to it, as well as consider concrete action that can be taken to eliminate this violence as a society. To commemorate this day, men are asked to wear white ribbons, while women are asked to wear purple ribbons. The white ribbons represent men’s personal conviction to never commit violence against women, and a commitment to stop it in our society. The purple ribbons represent the pain and bruising that women have been through at the hands of abusers, and that they are survivors.
The IWAU page on UNBC’s website describes their events as an annual celebration of the contributions made to Canadian and global society by women, and how others can support them in their endeavors. These events lead up to the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women. This year IWAU was led by Events Coordinator Krystal Devauld, and supported by Zoë Meletis, Annie Booth, and several other volunteers. The theme of the 2016 events was “Women, Media, and Masks,” which focussed on the challenges of gender-related imagery in media, and how people of any gender can use masks to conform to these gendered expectations. continue that work into this year’s events.
Culture 15
Daydream Sam Wall News Editor
F
irst, I should clarify. This may sound like a story, possibly even a true one, but it is not. This is merely a daydream. As such, you should try to imagine this series of words with appropriately hazy, cloudy edges. It was an often occurring one. A fantasy, perhaps you might say. It started when I met you, and quickly escalated when I ventured outside. The reason I started going outside is a complex one involving a lifetime of trauma and a counselor. Having heard and reviewed my lifetime of trauma, said counselor made a suggestion: that I begin the process of un-traumatizing myself by doing things that I like. Naturally, I had no idea what it was that I liked. It seemed that many people around me were interested in the “environment,” so I thought I’d give it a shot and get involved. Little did I realize that I was at Canada’s Green University™, which meant that any traverses into the nature, and the subsequent adventures that could follow (this isn’t a story, remember) might, perhaps change things for me. Under no liability of The University™ , of course. Venturing out into a cold, bright winter one day, I realized I wasn’t quite sure how to get to “the nature.” I could see all sorts of snow and trees in the distance, but they surrounded me all the time. Feeling unsure of myself (and my ability to fend off any obviously occurring moose or caribou), I put footprints in snow, heading west of this bush-buried building. Now you might be imagining a lush, snowcovered northern forest complete with owls and all sorts of spookies. This is not the case. I wasn’t even out of the parking lot yet. For on my way out to the “the nature,” I stumbled upon a lovely snowy garden. Only by signs did I discover its true nature, but I was drawn in by the curving wooden bridges over a man-made stream lined with rocks. Surely, this is a sign I’m on the right path! I continue to walk, clear through snowfilled trails. It had snowed several inches in the last few days, leaving piles of fluffy crystals for me to kick through as I walk. I dig through my pockets to find the tangled mass that is my earphones, and slip the buds
into my ears. My music helps keep me sane as I return to my usual process of rehashing my entire life on the daily, complete with peculiar and particular little worries. Snowcovered pine and spruce trees flow to either side of me. I am almost to the lookout. The lookout faces west out over University Way, towards the horizon. It is built up on a slope, so you can see trees, mountains, and most of the city. From here I can see all of the buildings, which look so small and whimsical covered in snow. I imagine how it looks at night, when all of the lights shine so bright I can’t tell the difference between them all. When I was a kid, my Dad would ask me if I could count all the lights as we drove down the road cut out of the side of a hill. I always tried and quickly gave up, there were just too many. Now, you might think that you’re getting to the story part, but you would be wrong. Even daydreams need some description! No, in fact this, is precisely where the entire true fantasy begins. Somehow, my tiny earphones blasting music keep my ears warm against the winds. When the weather is like this, the wind has no problem blowing cold and clear through the division of trees, creating small flurries in the powdery snow. At the same time, the sun is shining in that strange way we only get up north, where it fills the sky and reflects off the snow so the world is full of light. Despite the cold tingling in my fingers, my hands ache to dig into the snow, to leave it at the mercy of my creativity. I think about you. Suddenly, I turn my head. All of the times I’ve dreamt about you flicker in front of my eyes like the slide show on a smart phone’s camera. You are here, feet moving through thick powder, big headphones over bowed head, lost in thought like me. I return my eyes to the mountains, pretending not to have noticed you. You continue walking, coming to stand beside me, looking in the same direction. My cold-reddened cheeks hide a blush as I sneak a glance at you. I can’t believe that you could be this close, at this place, at this time. “Wanna have a snowball fight?”
“Uhh, I guess?” you say, poorly hiding a mischievous shit-head grin. I reach for the nearest scrap of snow I can find, but I’m too slow. You’ve already collected a ridiculously large handful seemingly out of nowhere, and are hurriedly forming it into a surprisingly well-constructed snowball. I feign left, nearly missing the death ball whizzing by my head. But I’m ready with the next one, which grazes your left shoulder. “Aghh,” I yell, as you run off in search of more snow, “fight me!” “No!” you shout, as I find myself dodging rapid fire snowballs. “I’ll win!” laughing maniacally, you make the mistake of gaining confidence, and moving closer to me. Now is my opportunity. I make a big clump of snow and hide it behind my back as you walk up. “You can’t win if you won’t play!” I say as I reveal my handful of snow, right as it collides with your face. “How dare you?!” Suddenly I am lifted up, almost upside down and roughly deposited in a snowbank. I look up just in time to see you running from the wooden structure of the lookout, past the decorative rocks and onto the trail that runs south along the tree line. You run fast, but I am right on your tail with another hunk of snow in my hands. You glance back at me with that mischievous grin, right as I manage to get this giant ice ball into flight. “Ooohhff,” you say, as the ice chunk forces you face first into the snow. I can’t stop laughing. “Stay there!” Running up to your place in the snow along the trail, I slip and find myself laid out flat on your wool coat-clothed back.
“Oh, sorry,” I begin picking myself up, until I catch your eyes. You’re looking at me in this funny way, with the edge of your lower lip between your teeth. I can’t help but notice how warm your body feels as I pull away to sit in the powdery snow. Suddenly shy, I look down at my gloved hands in my lap. I chance looking up again, and I find myself drawn in by your eyes, looking incredibly blue against the winter background. I am starting to get cold, but I can feel heat emanating from you as if I was sitting by a campfire. Our bodies close in on each other like magnets; I have no idea who is North and who is South, only that you smell like the outdoors and feel like a crackling fire. I can feel the static electricity grow as the fabric of our coats slowly meets, closing the distance between arms, chests, and finally, lips. I see you close your eyes as we meet, and I melt into you. I push you down into the snow, on your back so I have more access to your heat, which I greedily press myself into. Pulling my face away from yours, I gently nuzzle into your neck. We hold each other this way for a long time. Opening my eyes, the northern sun is once again shining over the trees and the city. A gentle breeze blows by me, emphasizing the tingling sensation in my body. Time has collapsed into itself and I look back towards the trees, searching for your form in the snow. I stand alone in the wooden lookout, blasting music through my tiny earphones. Once again, I am lost in a daydream of ocean eyes pouring into me, as real as a memory.
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