The Strand | Vol. 64, Issue 3

the

STRAND VICTORIA UNIVERSITY’S STUDENT NEWSPAPER VOLUME 64, ISSUE 2 | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021

Ticket to dine NEWS | PAGE 3

Not my coming-of-age movie OPINIONS | PAGE 5

Community in times like these ARTS AND CULTURE | PAGE 13

02 NEWS

EDITORS | DREW-ANNE GLENNIE AND SARAH ABERNETHY NEWS@THESTRAND.CA

Fourth wave and fall semester Despite public health efforts, COVID-19 cases continue to rise in Ontario ROY SHI CONTRIBUTOR

After a year of virtual classes due to the COVID-19 pandemic, faculty and students were keen to return to campus this September, only to find the pandemic still looming.

In spite of efforts by the Province of Ontario and Toronto Public Health to ensure as many vaccines were administered as possible for the start of fall, the number of COVID-19 cases reported in Ontario has risen significantly since the province entered Stage 3 of a threestage reopening plan released last spring. The average number of daily reported cases of COVID-19 remained above 700 during the first two weeks of September.

Modelling by the Ontario Science Advisory Board released at the start of the month shows a variety of possible scenarios for the upcoming months. Among these, a worst-case scenario stood out in which case numbers could reach over 9,000 by October and continue rising into the cold months.

This “fourth wave” of the COVID-19 pandemic has largely been driven by “a critical mass of unvaccinated individuals in Ontario,” University of Toronto professor and

top epidemiologist Dr. David Fisman told The Strand in an interview, saying “[we] are likely to see substantial strain on our health system in [the] future.” Dr. Fisman recently resigned from the Ontario Science Advisory Board, citing “political considerations [that] appear to be driving outputs from the [Science Advisory Board] tables” in his resignation letter.

To combat rising cases of COVID-19, the University of Toronto has enacted various policies to minimize on-campus transmission.

These include requiring students to submit proof of vaccination and complete a COVID-19 symptom questionnaire on UCheck before coming to campus, mandating masks for public indoor areas, and ordering physical distancing and capacity limits during non-instructional activities.

Access to UofT libraries have also been restricted, requiring students to complete a UCheck questionnaire and present a valid TCard before entry. Some libraries on campus, including the Milt Harris Library and the Engineering and Computer Science library, remain closed. Specific information about hours and operations can be found on the University of Toronto Libraries website.

Most clubs at the University this year are continuing to operate virtually for the time being, with official University guidelines advising against indoor in-person events.

Additionally, clubs and student organizations cannot host events with food except for “prepared, individualized boxes” and are prohibited from engaging in activities “involving yelling, chanting or singing.”

Despite these policies to limit the spread of COVID-19, the University of Toronto has removed physical distance and capacity requirements for “indoor instruction spaces/ activities,” a decision Dr. Fisman criticized as “foolish,” adding that he “suspects [the policy] will come back to bite us.”

When asked about the University’s measures against COVID-19, Dr. Fisman said, “the push for a vaccinated student body was really helpful,” though he “would have liked to have seen the University make vaccination mandatory for students and not provide a testing loophole.” In addressing what changes to COVID-related policy students can expect to see from the University of Toronto in the upcoming months, Dr. Fisman said he thinks “the University will follow the province, which in turn will depend on epidemiology.”

Trapped at the border International students discuss flying in a vaccine-inequitable world PHOTO | KIM NGAN PHUNG

EUGENE KWONG CONTRIBUTOR

During the 2020–2021 academic year, at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic in North America, the University of Toronto conducted some classes through dual-delivery, which meant students could choose to attend class in-person or virtually through Zoom. This allowed for international students to return to Canada in preparation for a new but precarious school year.

But after just a few weeks of school, the alarming spike in COVID-19 cases made it far too dangerous to continue classes in-person, and classes all shifted to online delivery methods, leaving many international students stranded.

At last, after nearly two school years of online learning, universities all over North America announced their plans on reopening campuses to in-person learning—this time employing numerous measures to ensure the safety of students. Among these measures, requiring proof of vaccination for students stands out as one that could inconvenience students coming from areas lacking in vaccine distribution. The Strand interviewed three international students coming

from India, Brazil, and the United States to see how their experiences with travel and returning to campus compared.

Students one and two are third-year students from India and Brazil, respectively. Student three is a first-year student from the US, so the questions provided were more concerned with evaluating the University's ability to communicate with students throughout the process of entering Canada.

The Strand: Were there any issues in your home country or with Canadian policies in 2021 that made travel to Canada difficult? How has the vaccine policy impacted you? Did vaccine distribution in your home country enable or hinder you from returning?

Student One: Canada has a flight ban from India right now, which makes traveling really difficult. Not only are there no direct flights from India, but I’m also supposed to get a COVID test from a country that’s not India to travel here, which eliminates basically every route possible. I think it’s a very devious policy that not only made it extremely difficult for lots of people to get here, but also displaced the burden of dealing with potentially-[COVID-19]-positive people onto countries [with less COVID infrastructure] rather

than taking responsibility for people they’ve issued visas to or [who] have citizenships [in Canada].

Student Two: Vaccinations for people my age (18-20) started pretty late in Brazil, so it wasn't easy to book tickets to come back to Canada.

Travelling back was very stressful as each country has different laws and COVID travel restrictions, and despite the information available online, most things are still unclear/uncertain. In the end, I made it back, but I wasn't sure I'd make it here for most of the time.

Student Three: It's expensive to travel to Canada right now because we have to pay for a $150 test each time and if my family comes to visit, that really adds up!

Read the full interview here:

NEWS 03

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 28 SEPTEMBER 2021

Unravelled: e n i d o t Ticket ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM

Burwash Dining Hall's new system triggers eating disorder concerns DREW-ANNE GLENNIE NEWS CO-EDITOR

Content warning: discussion of disordered eating, diet culture, fatphobia, and food insecurity.

Victoria College is adapting to COVID-19 safety measures with another new dining system.

Students now receive three to four meal tickets when they swipe their TCard, each redeemable for an entrée, a side, or a beverage with a cookie or fruit. Breakfast, lunch, and brunch allow for one ticket in each category, while dinner is given an additional side. Students can purchase more sides separately at the cashier’s desk. Breakfast and brunch offer a choice of entrées from two combos, while lunch and dinner have three.

Residence students are required to purchase a meal plan, totalling at $5,388 or $5,946 for first years. Upper year students have the option of Meal Plan C, which costs $4,688. These amounts translate directly into Meal Dollars and Vic Dollars: breakfast costs $8.50, lunch/brunch costs $12.50, and dinner costs $15. This system is intended to be a temporary replacement to the traditional buffet system.

On developing the system, Dean Kelley Castle wrote to The Strand: “We’ve tried to respond to what we hear in the Dean’s Advisory Committee (DAC), the broader UofT student ancillary services groups, and feedback Food Services received last year.” Students are invited to join the DAC; the elected Victoria University Students’ Administrative Council (VUSAC) was not consulted.

Experts on disordered eating were not specifically consulted, despite potential risk factors. For instance, eating disorders have a dimension of social comparison that could make having to pay extra for sides—or even using up all your meal tickets—untenable if those around you are not. The current system also directly points to strategies for restriction. While these risks also exist under buffet-style systems, its inherent perspectivism is the art to the sheer quantifiability of ticketing’s science.

This is particularly concerning, as universities can serve as a hotbed for eating disorders. “I think some of the major drivers of that are just the general transition from… being home with family members to living on your own, lots of freedom, exposure to different social situations, exposure to substances, exposure to activities, et cetera,” said Dr. Kyle Ganson of the Factor-Inwentash Faculty of Social Work in an interview with The Strand.

“On top of that, there's obviously a lot of pressures associated with going to university. So social pressures, you know, trying to fit in, trying to find a group of friends, trying to find extracurricular activities, academic pressures, athletic pressures, et cetera.” Food insecurity—an issue faced by

approximately 40% of Canadian students—is also associated with higher levels of some eating disorder pathologies.

Fatphobic narratives such as the “Freshman 15” or the more recent “Quarantine 15” can also contribute to this issue. “18-year-olds … are supposed to be gaining weight, their bodies are growing and developing … but that's often shamed,” stated Aryel Maharaj of the National Eating Disorder Information Centre (NEDIC) in an interview with The Strand.

The potential for heightened disordered eating on campus is not new or unique. For instance, buffet-style meal plans make binge eating relatively easy. “There's no one-size-fits-all plan because everyone's relationship with food is so different,” said Kaitlyn Axelrod, the Program and Outreach Coordinator at Sheena’s Place, in an interview with The Strand. Addressing these issues takes concerted efforts outside the dining hall.

Dr. Ganson suggested public awareness campaigns on what disordered eating actually is, why it occurs, and how to seek help. Axelrod concurred, highlighting myths surrounding who can develop eating disorders, which can cause affected students or the people around them not to recognize the symptoms. She also emphasized fatphobia and diet culture, which dictate “good or desirable or healthy bodies as being thin … that people should be striving to lose weight or go to the gym in order to have a certain body. Universities should be doing more to challenge those messages.”

Dr. Ganson also suggested that helping students adapt to their transition to university life would reduce the incidence and risk of disordered eating.

He added that: “as far as treating it … just having accessible and knowledgeable clinicians on staff and locations where students can go to get help as a first step is obviously key.”

A search of Victoria College affiliated social media finds no recent mention of eating disorders or disordered eating; the @viccollegelife Instagram did promote weekly “Workout Wednesdays” for the back half of the 2020–21 schoolyear, along with “Fit-tober.” According to Dean Castle, residence dons undergo basic training on responding to eating disorders. Transition adjustment programming is also offered. On Victoria College’s website, there is one mention of disordered eating, grouped together with other mental health concerns on the “Resources and Services” page. This is largely where the similarities in issue management end.

“We do direct sessions with students in and out of residence through academic advising in the Registrar’s Office, through transition programming, commuter and residence don programming, and international student services (orientation, mentors, etc.),” wrote Dean Castle.

The Victoria College website lists several initiatives

under “Student Wellness”: Wellness Wednesdays hosted by commuter dons that each explore “a different dimension of well being (sic),” weekly Mindfulness Meditations, and two personal counsellors (one specifically for BIPOC students) available for referral. They also host the Minding Our Minds conference annually to discuss mental health on campus, and the topic is brought up in conferences on other topics such as race and sexuality. The Office of the Dean of Students and the Office of the Registrar and Academic Advising have staff trained in responding to students and referring them to services in and out of the University, while all staff are trained in “Identify, Assist, and Refer.” “Ask, Listen, Talk” was developed for students to help themselves or their friends, framed on their website as a covenant for dialogue and understanding on mental health and/ or sexual violence among community members.

While Victoria College’s approach to mental health is more extensive than that for disordered eating, it is not perfect. “VUSAC's position is that there are many gaps at Vic and UofT regarding student mental health and wellness,” President Jerico Raguindin wrote to The Strand.

Dean Castle somewhat echoed these sentiments: “there’s always more to be done in these areas and we meet regularly with students. We have [DAC] that normally meets 2-3 times per year. Last year during COVID we met 26 times (along with Vic Black, to discuss the ongoing and urgent needs of our BIPOC students).”

Dean Castle stated that Food Services was willing to make adjustments based on student responses and that the issues raised here would be discussed during evaluations over Thanksgiving.

Of course, words and action are not synonymous; for instance, outside of the Minding Our Minds conference, only one affiliated event focusing on mental health has been advertised on Victoria College's social media in at least the past year.

Meanwhile, students have complained about not being heard while serving on the DAC and/ or feeling that the meetings were unproductive.

Whether disordered eating continues to stray from mental health’s precedent remains to be seen.

If you find yourself struggling with disordered eating while living on campus, eating in the dining hall can be part of the remedy. “We hear from a lot of people that when they're at the worst point of their eating disorder, they isolate themselves from others,” Axelrod added. “Creating space where people can come together to build community and connect with each other can be really, really powerful.”

If you or someone you know might be experiencing an eating disorder, you can call NEDIC’s toll-free helpline 1-866-NEDIC-20 or chat on nedic.ca, or register for free, group-based support at Sheena’s Place.

04 EDITORIAL

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF | KHADIJA ALAM EDITOR@THESTRAND.CA

A new normal

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The Strand has been the newspaper of record for Victoria University since 1953. It is published 12 times a year with a circulation of 1200 and is distributed in Victoria University buildings and across the University of Toronto’s St. George campus.

The Strand flagrantly enjoys its editorial autonomy and is committed to acting as an agent of constructive social change. As such, we will not publish material deemed to exhibit racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, or other oppressive language.

@STRANDPAPER WWW.THESTRAND.CA

KHADIJA ALAM EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

This past summer, I developed the habit of taking walks around my neighbourhood. It was partly because I hoped a change of scenery every now and then would reignite my stifled creativity, but it was mostly because my parents begged me to do something other than watch Netflix in bed all day (fair enough). By the time September rolled around, I had both digital and analogue snapshots of every nook and cranny in town. I made it my personal mission to capture the mundane—from empty park benches to local momand-pops.

Curiously, another frequent subject of mine was one I didn’t expect to see: discarded masks littering the neighbourhood. I think that I felt compelled to photograph them because these improperly discarded masks felt like a visual representation of a phrase we haven’t been able to escape since the onset of the pandemic: “back to normal.” Looking back on these photos, they seem like a reminder that although some of us can easily move on from the pandemic, COVID hasn’t simply disappeared. Considering that the country is in the middle of a fourth wave, the virus is still clearly a threat. And even if it wasn’t, the pandemic has been affecting all aspects of our lives; our social interactions, mental health, financial situations, and the political climate we find ourselves in have all been shaped by the pandemic, and these effects aren’t going to vanish now that society is opening back up. The littered masks remind me of the people that are being left behind while everyone else is excited for life to go “back to normal.”

Particularly, I’ve been thinking about how reopening strategies are working in favour of some people while completely disregarding others. A pertinent example is how Ontario’s vaccine passport system is placing significant strain on workers in the service industry.

The food service industry has been experiencing a perpetual labour shortage ever since the pandemic hit; with the implementation of vaccine passports, many small businesses in particular are too understaffed to check patrons’ vaccine statuses. On top of this, food service workers tasked with checking vaccine passports have been subject to increased violence by antivaxxers. In a NOW article published a few weeks ago, Richard Trapunski writes, “[I]t’s not that people don’t want to work, they just don’t want to work at a job that underpays, abuses and treats them as disposable.”

For the most part, vaccine passports seem like a great idea, but while things might seem to be going back to

normal, this is uncharted territory for service workers and small businesses, and the government of Ontario needs to support them.

Looking at the bigger picture, we also need to think about what returning “back to normal” really means.

Pandemic-specific policies such as mask requirements and vaccine passports may have exacerbated the harassment that service workers face, but the exploitation of minimum-wage earners isn’t anything new—it’s normal under the capitalistic ideology of “profit over people.” Similarly, anti-Asian hate crimes and inadequate healthcare for Black and Indigenous populations aren’t exclusive to the pandemic either, and they won’t suddenly vanish in a post-pandemic world.

Most of us using the phrase “back to normal” aren’t doing so with these charged connotations in mind— personally, I would just like to attend concerts and not deal with maskne on a regular basis! But wouldn’t it also be worthwhile to imagine a new normal? I think the easiest way to go about this is to take the helpful pandemic policies and continue implementing them post-pandemic. While many of us are sick of Zoom meetings, working and learning from home has had benefits for many Disabled people, commuters, and caregivers. Moreover, many UofT course instructors have been accommodating to students struggling because of the pandemic; I know professors who have waived late penalties and participation marks.

Why shouldn’t these accommodations continue to be implemented post-pandemic?

While we all desperately want the pandemic to be over, the fact of the matter is that we’re nowhere near the finish line. In this issue, The Strand shares stories about how the pandemic is continuing to shape our lives. In News, Eugene Kwong interviews international students about their experiences returning to campus amidst the pandemic. Associate Arts and Culture Editor Rion Levy examines the pandemic’s longterm impacts on art. In Science, Serena Marek speaks to students who have been juggling academia and practical work in healthcare. But our third issue is also attuned to the myriad of ways we can create a “new normal.” Tammy Yu’s Feature highlights the ways that asexuality is misunderstood and encourages us to have a more nuanced view of sexual orientation. Associate Opinions Editor Abi Akinlade argues for cinema to decentre white coming-of-age stories. And in Stranded, Max Lees advocates for denormalizing visits to the seventh floor of Robarts.

OPINIONS 05

EDITOR | EMMA PAIDRA OPINIONS@THESTRAND.CA

Not my coming-of-age movie Standing at the crossroads between film and race ABI AKINLADE ASSOCIATE OPINIONS EDITOR

Growing up, as I cycled through my various stages of adolescence, I always wondered why coming-of-age movies didn’t resonate with me. In my upper years of high school, I was admittedly becoming more enamoured with film.

I downloaded Letterboxd, wrote rudimentary reviews, and studied the meaning of popular jargon like “aspect ratio” and “cinematography.”

Aside from horror (what’s enjoyable about scaring the shit out of yourself?), there are few genres I haven’t dabbled in. But there was something about coming-of-age films—a genre which, on paper, I should be totally obsessed with—that has always been ill-fitting.

Movies like Lady Bird and Booksmart are notoriously a hit among self-proclaimed film kids on Twitter. However, while I could easily appreciate their sweeping cinematography; the screenwriting that was admirably accurate to teenage colloquialisms; and the soundtracks that intensified the melodramatic scenes of adolescent yearning, there was always something missing.

Naturally, I assumed this sense of absence had something to do with the plot. A common characteristic of coming-of-age films is their ardent focus on characterization, often at the expense of plot development. They are movies in which nothing really happens, save the protagonist discovering that they truly had been in love with their childhood best friend all along, or finally getting admitted into their dream school after losing all hope of getting off the waitlist. It was all too easy for me to fall back on this excuse.

That is, until I eventually got around to watching Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight.

Finally, here was a coming-of-age story with a darkskin lead. Aside from reaffirming my love for film and giving me a newfound infatuation with Trevante Rhodes, watching Moonlight made me realize that coming-of-age movies could be so much more than anything I’d previously been exposed to. I became aware that my issue with the films wasn’t with their plots; my problem with standard coming-of-age films wasn’t even with their mediocre attempts to pass off actors in their mid-twenties as gangly, pimply high school sophomores. I simply could not identify with them because they never featured anyone who looked like me.

For every Moonlight, there are seven Breakfast Clubs. For every If Beale Street Could Talk, there are ten Edge of Seventeens. It is so, so unfathomably rare to see films that depict Black youth just as we are—multifaceted and diverse. With our culture, music, hair, clothes, and vernacular on full display.

With debates about the merit of “Black trauma porn”—films and TV shows that exploit stories about slavery, police brutality, and other forms of Black pain—escalating on Twitter, now is the perfect time for the film industry to demonstrate its supposed commitment to telling stories that are authentic and indicative of the true human experience. Black teens go through the same motions of falling in love, agonizing about school, exploring and embracing their sexuality, wrestling with body image, and gaining and losing friends that everyone else does; albeit, with the added clause of growing and finding themselves in a world that often degrades and polices Blackness.

As a moviegoer, I deserve to see films that feature Black teenage girls as more than just stock characters—the “sassy sidekick” who is afforded

twenty minutes of screentime to further the white protagonist’s storyline before unceremoniously melting into the background.

The question of accurate representation is one that has plagued the film industry since its inception. This issue undoubtedly spans across multiple genres and executive positions (not just on-screen, but off), and has personally proven to have skewed my impression of film.

My perception of the entire coming-of-age genre had been utterly warped by the lack of representation that I saw. When those with the power to make executive decisions consciously (or unconsciously) choose to exclusively centre white stories, they contribute to the implicit Othering and further undermining of people of colour. Media that we voraciously consume should embody the intrinsically multifaceted nature of our society, especially within a genre that prides itself on depicting the occurrences of everyday life.

Seeing the sensationalized, raw, all-or-nothing experience of being a young adult on-screen is unlike anything else. The coming-of-age genre is unique in its propensity to take us right back to our first day of high school—rife with uncertainty, new crushes every 48 hours, and the overwhelming perception of things being drastically more critical than they actually are. There is something so special to be found in a genre that embraces the awkward and the ugly, that takes an overwhelmingly universal experience and says, “No, this isn’t too mundane for the big screen. Your experiences are valid. This stage of your life is important.”

The question, then, must be: if this experience is so universal, why are we only seeing one type of person represented on screen?

ILLUSTRATION | NATALIE SONG

06 OPINIONS

EDITOR | EMMA PAIDRA OPINIONS@THESTRAND.CA

Summer reflections How a seemingly uneventful summer revealed new things about myself, and how it will change the course of my academic career

ILLUSTRATION | SHELLEY YAO MATHULA MAHUNDAN CONTRIBUTOR

I’ve never seen leaves change colour. That was my first thought as I ambled along the pavement in downtown Toronto. It may be a strange thought, but I reveled in it for that brief moment. I would have something to look forward to as the summer sun faded away and winter came along. The changing leaves were but one of many transitions I was looking forward to.

To many, my last summer before starting university might be viewede as eventless. However, I found solace in what may seem like the smallest of things: moments spent with family, enjoying nature, having time to myself, and reconnecting with old friends while striking up new friendships.

The summer was a taste of normality in a time when our concept of normalcy was, and still is, warped. The past four months provided a touch of familiarity where things were about to become very unfamiliar.

I came to Toronto in August with my parents.

After years living abroad in the Middle East (in the United Arab Emirates and Qatar) as a Canadian citizen, I was finally back where I was born, and I was beyond thrilled. As an expatriate studying in an international British-curriculum school, the diversity in the community I lived in was commonplace, and growing up there made me accustomed to having friends from vastly different cultural backgrounds. While the concept of multiculturalism is not new to me, the concept of having four seasons is—I’ve only experienced arid summers and half-hearted winters in the Middle East. Nevertheless, I was ecstatic to meet my extended family, eat delicious home-cooked traditional food that I haven’t had the chance to enjoy in a long time, and laugh at inside jokes together. Coming back home meant that I would get a chance to reconnect with my culture. But after observing the community around me, I realized there’s still so much I don’t know about culture and tradition beyond my intermediate family. I

am Tamil by ethnicity and can speak Tamil, but not brilliantly. I’m still mildly embarrassed when asked to have a conversation in Tamil about what I’ve planned out for my future with people who may or may not have held me as a baby at family functions—from family friends’ kids’ birthdays to wedding receptions. With the rather small Tamil community that exists in the Middle East, the sudden escalation in people who I am inevitably connected to is overwhelming. I’m not sure if reconnecting with my family excites me with the prospect of discovery or fills me with dread. I’m not sure where I belong.

In addition to family, friendships have always been something I’ve cherished. The pandemic has made friendships even more important in my eyes, regardless of how difficult it was to form or maintain them. Zoom meetings will never have the same feel as sharing fries or nudging each other in the cinema at parts of a movie we find funny. My friends and I had hoped that high school graduation would let us be together again in person; it didn’t. We had to make do with speeches along the lines of, “In these unprecedented times...” Yet times continue to be unprecedented and exceedingly difficult given the curse of time zones—I am now 12 hours behind some of my friends studying in various parts of the world, including Southeast Asia and the Middle East. Texting won’t be the same now that those punny memes that need to be seen right now will be left unseen for half a day.

While I still hold on to the imperfect, but dear, remnants of friendships built over time, I’ve taken pleasure in creating new ones over the summer that will hopefully last as I navigate new terrain.

Of course, in the midst of the pandemic, many of those friendships were initiated online. So, you can imagine my shock when I realized that the person I’ve been conversing with via Instagram and the Faculty of Arts and Science’s Arrive Ready Program on my little laptop screen is really, REALLY tall. Beyond that, however, socialization in a complicated landscape has led me to understand that people aren’t out to get you in university.

Some of the most understanding people can be met in the most unexpected places, while bonding over shared experiences.

Some of my most eventful memories of the summer were made possible because new friends I had met said they wanted to hang out. We walked around in the sun, complaining about being sweaty and tired, but chatted as if we had known each other for ages. Our adventures involved sorority members trying to convince us to join them (I still have their contact card to convince myself and others that it was real), trying to open the doors of lecture buildings on a Sunday (“Maybe they’re not locked?”) and walking through Queen’s Park while contemplating how bad it really is to cross the park at night (don’t worry, I’ll steer clear of it).

This seemingly ordinary summer gave me the chance to introspect and realize who I am and how I function as an individual and in society. Even though I told myself I wasn’t scared of standing out or pursuing my ambitions, I was. I was scared of not having the time to pursue my passions, such as trying out for leadership positions or dipping my toes into activism. I was scared that I’d be judged for “trying too hard,” and I was scared of letting people down by taking on too much. Realistically, the only person I was letting down with all these thoughts was myself. This summer—and the people I met during it—made me understand that I need to slow down and take my time in establishing meaningful connections rather than making assumptions about others and worrying what they think without knowing their true thoughts. Standing out and doing something even a little bit differently gives you the chance to grow, and to appreciate growth around you. This year, I plan to do exactly that, by reaching my goals one step at a time and exploring everything I’m interested in without regret, as well as taking the time to talk with the people that can help me get there. To everyone starting or going back to school this fall, here’s to a great year—one that is hopefully full of growth and change.

OPINIONS 07

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 28 SEPTEMBER 2021

Bookstore budget battles Unpacking the exorbitant textbook prices that haunt my parents’ pockets ADRIANA GORAIEB STAFF WRITER

It’s the first week of September—my social media group chats are flood with messages now our courses’ syllabi have been released. My eyes light up in excitement as my life as a university student finally kickstarts. That excitement, however, quickly morphs into concern as some bookstore browsing unveils the hefty prices of the textbooks that my pre-college research over the summer had warned me about.

With my limited knowledge of economics and a little bit of research, I understand that the reason why textbooks are so expensive is because publishers don’t expect more than a couple hundred sales. This low expectation is rooted in the fact that the market for university textbooks is limited to (obviously) university students. The anticipated low demand for textbooks forces publishers to raise prices because developing textbooks takes years and costs quite a lot, pushing prices to soar as high as $300. Besides involving expert input, colour production, illustration, graphics and additional software, textbooks cost an arm and a leg. The economic justification of it all, however, does not make me feel any better about spending around $300 CAD a semester for books I will only use for four months. I’m an incoming university student without a job, and so, as financially dependent as I am on my parents, the guilt weighing on my conscience as I muster the courage to ask them to pay that much money is pretty damn nerveracking.

As any student would (I think), I instinctively turn to a website through which I might be able to obtain the books by less *ahem* legitimate means.

Eureka, I found them! Wait, but here’s the thing—I need to buy my math book through Perusall in

ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM

order to be able to complete my assignments and be graded on my annotations. There is no way around it. Save my parents $138.00 CAD (sorry, no, $100.00—the class was offered 50-year access to the book by Perusall, rather than permanent access, for $38 CAD less… bless their hearts) or pass my class? The decision was a no-brainer. And, based on my Reddit research, many other courses have backed their students into the same corner as well.

The monetization of education has always been a topic of deep frustration for me, especially considering that many students worldwide either skip out on college entirely due to lack of affordability or choose not to buy their textbooks at all, at the inevitable expense of their academic success. Alongside the correlation between financial status and college admission success, textbook prices demonstrate that education has become more of a luxury than a right. When I told my mom that downloading the textbook’s PDF off a website was not possible, her defeated reply to my question about whether I should buy the book was, “Do we even have the choice?” Heartbreaking.

I think I speak for all college students when I say, thank God for used books, rentals, and free PDFs. The decades-old stereotype that college students work on a tight budget holds true, and we are all inevitably scrambling to obtain our textbooks at the lowest price possible. Tuition costs, residence costs, meal plans, and student loans make going to university difficult enough.

On top of this pre-existing difficulty, a study conducted in 2009 for the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation showed that the prices of textbooks played a vital role in many students’ decisions to opt out of college entirely. What should be part of the package deal of being a university student has

evolved into a major threat to student success. Plus, the demand for textbooks continues to decline as college students using alternative ways to obtain them. As such, prices keep hiking up in order to maintain publishers’ profit from sales. And with the textbook market being dominated by only a few publishing companies, the lack of competition eliminates any possibility of price reductions.

At this point, we’re all eagerly searching for ways to deal with such exorbitant prices. I, for one, am actively looking for a job in order to alleviate financial pressure off my parents’ shoulders, especially amid an economic crisis back home.

Severe local currency depreciation makes it even more expensive to buy my university textbooks priced in CAD. I know of many others who have either chosen to share textbooks with each other or work with less well-formatted—but free—versions.

I feel less alone when I realize that penny-pinching is a shared experience. But the value of solidarity does not help our pockets. This is not to say that our professors have not been helpful; several professors have posted the necessary textbook/ reading chapters on Quercus or referred students to rentals or used textbooks from the bookstore.

The efforts of such professors have certainly not gone unappreciated. But with the limited quantity of such books, most students are left needing to buy new or digital copies for no less than around $70 apiece.

All in all, I genuinely hope that some sort of financial reform hits the education sector in the near future. With the pandemic making finances harder on all of us, it is my wish that nobody experiences unnecessary hardship. All we can do is help each other out, and keep a lookout for discounts and offers. We will undoubtedly need them.

08 FEATURES

EDITOR | ANNA SOKOLOVA FEATURES@THESTRAND.CA

ILLUSTRATION | YOON-JI KWEON AND VIJAY VERMA

I'm asexual, but 2D characters are t

Why attraction to fictiona TAMMY YU CONTRIBUTOR

I am asexual, which means I do not feel sexual attraction.

I am completely uninterested in—and even slightly disgusted by—the idea of having a sexual relationship with someone. I never look at someone and think, Mm, I’d let them do nasty things to me.

When it comes to fictional characters, all of that goes out the window.

Over the summer, I got into Genshin Impact, a storydriven role-playing video game with a buffet of attractive characters. One day, while roaming the fictional world of Teyvat, I spotted one of my favourite characters, Xiao, standing on the shore in the distance, waiting for me to talk to him for a quest. As I noticed his toned, tattooed arms and the shape of his body through his tight-fitting tank, my heart fluttered and filled with joy. That’s when I knew I was attracted to that cluster of pixels on my screen.

I wanted to know all about him. For the next three months, I spent much of my leisurely afternoons learning his lore, browsing fan art, and even reading spicy fanfiction.

All of a sudden, it felt wrong to call myself asexual.

This isn’t even the first time I’ve been attracted to a 2D character. One of my earliest fictional crushes was Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle. Even earlier than that? Nori from Barbie Fairytopia: Mermaidia. How could I possibly be asexual if all my life I’ve clearly been experiencing a sexual attraction to fictional characters?

Maybe my attraction to fictional characters isn’t sexual

in nature at all. It might be purely based on aesthetic attraction, which is what I describe as an appreciation for someone’s physical appearance without the desire to interact with them in sexual or romantic ways. If you’re aesthetically but not sexually attracted to someone, you might say to them, “You’re hot, so you must be sexually attractive to a lot of people. However, I am not one of those people. I still acknowledge that you’re hot, though!”

All of these 2D characters that I’m into have flawless skin, exaggeratedly cute eyes, and shiny hair that flows in the wind even when they’re indoors. No wonder I want to scroll through pictures of them all day! If what I feel for fictional characters is nothing but aesthetic attraction, then these feelings certainly don’t contradict my identity as an asexual.

Oh, if only it were that simple. The truth is, sometimes I do fantasize about characters in sexual ways.

That rules out the possibility of my attraction to them as purely aesthetic. If I can be sexually attracted to a fictional character, then surely I can’t be asexual… which means I must have the capacity to feel attracted to an actual person, right?

This question troubled me so much that I went ahead and did what most people do when they have a major identity crisis—I Googled it. After some scrolling, I stumbled upon a helpful article (which was surprising, because who the heck writes articles about fictional crushes?). The article says that attraction to fictional characters is completely normal, “especially since fictional characters are often created to look really perfect” and have “easy-to-grasp personalities.” Of course I’m in love with Xiao—he’s selfless, heroic, and perfect in every way.

These traits make him easier to root for as a protagonist, and that’s exactly the effect that writers want to achieve when designing their characters.

While fictional characters have relatively simple personalities, people in real life are more complex. We each come with flaws and quirks, and it takes effort to maintain a stable romantic relationship with someone. I happily accept the way that my friends and family are because I feel platonic love for them. However, I don't feel attracted to anyone romantically or sexually, so I'm just not motivated to maintain that sort of relationship.

“Dating” a fictional character, on the other hand, takes no effort. The relationship can be whatever I imagine it to be, because it all takes place in my head.

If I ever decide that I'm no longer interested in Xiao, I'll happily let my feelings go; no tissue boxes or pity parties necessary. If I fall for other characters, I don't have to worry about breaking poor Xiao's heart. And likewise, Xiao will never hurt me. He will never sit me down at a dimly lit coffee shop and give me the ol' “it's not you, it's me” talk. Liking fictional characters is the closest thing I can experience to sexual attraction, but it comes with none of the commitment or intimacy involved in real relationships, so it's perfectly within the boundaries of what little sexual and romantic interest I have.

But this raises the question: what if my asexuality is nothing but a fear of abandonment? What if it’s not that I lack the ability to experience sexual attraction, but the courage to pursue that attraction because I’m afraid of vulnerability and heartbreak?

I skimmed through countless Reddit threads and YouTube videos to figure this out, and what I’ve learned

FEATURES 09

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 28 SEPTEMBER 2021

the exception

al characters doesn't define your sexuality is that a fear of abandonment—or of commitment, vulnerability, or relationships in general—is not mutually exclusive to asexuality. I feel no sexual attraction when it comes to real people, which by definition makes me asexual. My fear of abandonment might be the reason I am asexual: because I am afraid of relationships involving sex, my sexual desire is inhibited. However, the reason why I am the way I am doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, the simple fact that I do not feel sexually attracted to people is enough to validate my asexual identity.

And yet, I can’t stop doubting myself. It’s like I’m in a perpetual state of denial, hoping that my sexual attraction for 2D characters will one day extend to real people and I’ll live happily ever after. The truth is that I don’t know how to fully accept my asexuality because of the way that I, like many other queer women, have been taught to desire sexual relationships with men.

When I was in the process of questioning my sexuality, I naturally turned to the Comphet Masterdoc to see if I was truly attracted to men. Compulsory heterosexuality, also known as “comphet,” is the idea that our heteronormative and misogynistic society teaches us that being straight is the default and that women existsolely for men’s sexual pleasure. Comphet thereby forces many queer women to deny their true sexual identities—so the Masterdoc serves as a guide to selfdiscovery for lesbian women who may have lost touch with who they are.

If you think that you might be lesbian but the fact that you like male fictional characters is giving you doubt, your identity as a lesbian is totally valid, according to the Masterdoc. Lesbian women are not interested in intimacy

with men, and crushing on a fictional character involves no intimacy due to the completely unobtainable nature of the crush. In fact, having the hots for 2D hunks might even be a direct result of comphet. Since there’s so much pressure for women to like men, the most that lesbian women can do to fit in with those norms is to like fictional men, which gives them an excuse to claim some form of a heterosexual identity while simultaneously distancing themselves from real men.

And if the Masterdoc says that crushes on fictional characters do not invalidate a lesbian woman’s identity, then the same principle should apply to asexual women, too. Both asexual and lesbian women are not sexually interested in men, yet are affected by the same heteronormative pressure that tells us that we are incomplete without them. Perhaps my crushes on fictional characters are a subconscious way for me to deny my own asexuality, a result of what I call “compallo”— compulsory allosexuality.

Allosexual people are those who experience sexual attraction. Unfortunately, most of the media I was exposed to growing up, and that I continue to be exposed to, perpetuate allosexuality as the norm. Every Disney princess I knew in my childhood ends up with a prince.

Every chick flick that’s supposed to represent your teen years involves a romantic plot. Tons of movies have sex scenes for no reason at all, and pop music is full of explicit lyrics that objectify women as if we only exist for the sexual pleasure of men. Romance is painted as the most beautiful, magical thing you could ever experience, and sex is portrayed as an essential part of life that validates one's adulthood or coming-of-age.

So when a woman like me has no interest in finding the love of her life or spending steamy nights with hot strangers, it’s hard not to feel excluded, or even broken, for not feeling or wanting the same things as other people.

We’re made to feel like children, stunted in growth because of our lack of participation in “adult” things.

Sometimes I feel so desperate to live a “normal adult life” that I find myself wishing I could get into a relationship, or at least experiment with sex, even if doing so would make me feel uncomfortable and violated.

The reality is that there is no such thing as a “normal adult life.” Not everyone is going to get married or have kids or have active sex lives. Not everyone wants that.

It seems a lot easier to convince myself that I’m allosexual because of my fictional crushes than to come to terms with my asexual identity. But as any queer person would know, you can’t choose who you’re attracted to or how you experience attraction. I simply cannot feel for real people what I feel for fictional characters—that’s all there is to it.

Asexuality is a vast spectrum and looks different for everyone. There are different types of attraction, and each person experiences each type to varying degrees. Some asexuals never experience sexual attraction, whereas others only experience it under particular circumstances.

Some experience romantic attraction and will pursue romantic relationships, while some may not. Some have crushes on fictional characters; others do not. To any asexuals out there who feel like an imposter within the asexual community, I hope you remember that everyone on the spectrum is valid, no matter what asexuality means for you.

10 SCIENCE

EDITOR | JESS NASH SCIENCE@THESTRAND.CA

Burnt out The science behind burnout ALBERT CHENG CONTRIBUTOR

Burnout. A term first coined in 1974, it has been increasingly applied in the first person ever since.

Although not classified as a mental disorder by the World Health Organization (WHO), burnout is a part of everyone’s life and often has profound impacts on one’s standard of living and emotional well-being. The online lifestyle and workplace that was adopted at the onset of COVID-19 has only intensified the rate at which employees and students alike feel distanced from their work, with there being little distinction between work and personal life.

Zoom fatigue is an increasingly well-known term for one aspect of this mental depletion. The inability to truly leave one’s work when working from home has contributed to overwork and a reduced capacity to re-energize. But this is not a trend that can be ascribed solely to social distancing—even in 2018, almost half of workers were reported to experience burnout on the job.

Historically, this occupational exhaustion has been especially problematic in academia, health care, and social work, where the incumbent stress and emotional toll has resulted in rampant burnout.

Burnout can be delineated principally by three well-characterized psychological dimensions: exhaustion, depersonalization, and feelings of reduced personal efficacy. While exhaustion is straightforwardly defined as feelings of fatigue, depersonalization can refer to increased cynicism; irritability; a tendency to view clients as objects as opposed to people; and reduced personal efficacy, as well as a perception that one’s work is

meaningless or inutile.

These facets of burnout are measured by the Maslach Burnout Inventory, the predominant test for its assessment that has been adopted by the WHO. Many symptoms of burnout align and correlate with anxiety and, particularly, clinical depression, to the extent that some studies claim that burnout is a subtype of depression. However, this is not a widely accepted idea, and multiple studies support distinct construct validities between the three—for example, burnout tends to be centred around work-related stress, whereas depression is pervasive in all contexts of one’s life.

Though there is definite overlap between these psychological conditions, there is substantial evidence that burnout is a separate concept from other disorders.

As a predominantly stress-related syndrome, burnout has been suggested to be biologically connected to the hypothalamus-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis, a neuroendocrine pathway that mediates the production of cortisol, the chief stress hormone of the body. Although multiple studies have attempted to find and elucidate a relationship between burnout and the body, meta-analyses show contradictory findings, which may be ascribed to a lack of consistency in how and when to measure cortisol levels, small sample sizes, and so on.

Some studies have pointed to decreased sleep, higher immune cell counts, and elevated blood cholesterol as correlates of burnout.

Recently, attention has been drawn to brainderived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), a growth

factor which promotes neural differentiation and development, which is potentially decreased in individuals experiencing burnout. While no definitive biomarker or physiological mechanism of burnout has been credibly identified, further research is warranted to validate burnout as an independent psychological syndrome.

It’s easy to blame aspects of present-day society—interconnectedness, social media, hustle culture—for the emergence of burnout. Though the term burnout is just over four decades old, there is evidence to suggest that the phenomenon of emotional exhaustion and disillusionment stems from a much deeper past than the twentieth century. And so, as we students struggle with motivation, become dissuaded with our essays or courses, or suffer from imposter syndrome, perhaps some comfort can be found in the knowledge that burnout is not a lonely condition, but an intensely relatable one.

As students, some common pieces of advice we’ve all heard for dealing with burnout include “drink some water,” “go on a walk,” and “pick up a hobby.” As burnout is associated with excessive time and effort devoted to work and an insufficient amount to relaxation, most simple solutions involve taking breaks and implementing a distinct separation between work and life.

It’s easy to recognize these strategies, but it’s a completely different beast to integrate them in our daily lives. It’s important to take time to learn what works for you, and to know that you aren’t alone in burnout.

ILLUSTRATION | KALLIOP É ANVAR MCCALL

SCIENCE 11

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 28 SEPTEMBER 2021

Balancing school while battling a pandemic PHOTO | GREEN CHAMELEON SERENA MAREK CONTRIBUTOR

On November 9, 2020, pharmaceutical company Pfizer Inc. announced that their vaccine candidate against COVID-19 was found to be successful in Phase 3 trials. Shortly after, on December 21, Ontario hospital Trillium Health Partners administered their first COVID-19 vaccine in the Peel Region.

The rapid development of Trillium Health Partners’ vaccine clinic can be attributed to their extremely motivated staff. This was the first mass vaccination clinic ever opened in Mississauga, and no contributing healthcare worker had ever experienced a virus as impactful as COVID-19. The pandemic affected every aspect of workers’ lives, including their work, school, relationships, and mental health.

I started working in the vaccine clinic a week after they administered their first dose, and I will never forget the excitement and passion displayed by every healthcare worker, including vaccinators, clerical staff, IT staff and cleaning staff—all vital members of the team. Most of the clerical staff were students, many of whom studied at the University of Toronto, with a range of responsibilities ranging from administration tasks to clinician roles. Despite balancing 12-hour shifts with school, these students were consistently eager to pick up more shifts. I interviewed three of my previous coworkers currently studying life sciences at the University of Toronto to determine how working in healthcare during a pandemic affected their student life.

How did your work affect your career goals?

Working on the front lines allowed the team to experience what working in healthcare is like and therefore impacted their career goals. Aaditya Modgal, a Biology specialist at UofT, mentioned that he was inspired by the paramedics he had worked with for several weeks. “I never considered a career as a paramedic,” he said. “However, after working with them, I realized I loved their work culture.” Aaditya said that seeing the paramedic perspective motivated him to consider a prospective career in the field.

Alisha D’souza, supervisor of the clerical staff and a Life Sciences student, was also inspired by working

at the clinic. She aspires to be a nurse, developing a long-term career in health management and clinical leadership. She was especially inspired because most of the management team was composed of women of colour, like herself, which she had never experienced before.

Pharmacology and Psychology double major Christina Zakala’s career goals were solidified by working in the clinic. Christina plans to pursue research in addiction and substance abuse. Christina was grateful for the opportunity to work in a clinical setting because it reminded her of why she wants to pursue that field of research. “I want to create solutions with my research that directly aid my community. Just like how the research behind the vaccine is helping millions of lives.”

How did your scientific background affect your work?

“Having a background in science made work more exciting,” said D’souza. “I enjoyed watching the pharmacists make the vaccines and talking to them about the process. It reminded me of wet laboratory work.”

Zakala agreed with this, claiming that her background in psychology helped her deal with anxious patients through conversations and “prioritizing their experience in the clinic to make sure they left satisfied and not in a vulnerable state of mind.”

D’souza said that having a background in science helped her feel more confident on the job because she could answer more questions. It also helped her feel compassion for those hesitant about the vaccine. She realized that many people have limited knowledge regarding the science behind vaccines. This realization granted her perspective and empathy, which further helped her understand the hesitancy prevalent in communities where “science background is low and misinformation is high.”

How did you balance school with work?

Team members often worked overtime while balancing school. Staying motivated to study is challenging already; while battling the pandemic as a frontline worker, it becomes more difficult. Modgal

emphasized the importance of rest days, explaining that “finding time to relax was definitely part of the balance a lot of people ignore.” He explained that choosing a day every once in a while to dedicate to rest helped him remain focused. Holding onto hope that the pandemic would end once enough people were vaccinated really kept him going. “I think this job was a privilege because I got to work somewhere where we were all fighting for the lockdown to end, and we all did so hopefully,” he said.

In comparison, Zakala said that making schedules with concrete deadlines was the best strategy for her.

“I’m prone to procrastinating with schoolwork, so holding myself accountable with strict deadlines is the only way I keep up with anything.”

D’souza was a full-time student while working full-time hours and was also a research assistant in three research laboratories. D’souza also emphasized the importance of scheduling while balancing school.

She mentioned that scheduling was important because it ensured she had time to sleep, something a lot of students neglect. Staying firm to a set schedule allowed her to be “fully present at work and at home.”

She suggests the productivity app Forest and the scheduling app Todoist to students, claiming that they were major contributors to her finding balance between school and extracurriculars. Although she maintains that her workload could be difficult, knowing that she was helping the community was what motivated her.

“At our closing we had completed nearly 500,000 doses, nearly 25% of all doses administered in the Peel Region, and over one-third of the entire population (including children) in the Peel Region,” said D’souza.

“Through an analysis of infections to hospitalizations to death, we have saved over 5,000 lives. Knowing that I was playing a role in doing that for my community is what made me come to 12-hour shift after 12-hour shift.”

Although many find it challenging to balance work and school, there are clearly strategies to stay motivated. Different people have different habits and attitudes—but there’s something that works for everyone.

PHOTO | JOSHUA HOEHNE

12 ARTS AND CULTURE

EDITOR | JANNA ABBAS ARTSANDCULTURE@THESTRAND.CA

Marvel’s Shang-Chi An experience, not an experiment ILLUSTRATION | HELEN YU

How often do you hear the phrase “representation JULIE KIM CONTRIBUTOR

matters”? Chances are, we’ve all heard it at least once. While it’s important to acknowledge such a phrase in order to combat social injustice, it’s brought up so often that we tend to brush it off as something ubiquitous. The truth is, we all know that representation matters—but knowing and feeling the reality of this statement are two different experiences.

Marvel’s first Asian superhero movie, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, has already brought a significant sense of pride to the Asian-American community through authentic storytelling and cultural representation. Of course, one might argue that a number of movies with Asian leads already exist in the history of film. But what we need to remember is that films starring characters such as Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan have been centred around aspects of otherness, such as broken English and cultural eccentricity. Even the comic version of Shang-Chi involves a sinophobic, problematic depiction of Fu Manchu, Shang-Chi’s father. His character was particularly prevalent as an image of yellow peril to evoke anti-Asian sentiments.

In my own life, seeing negative stereotypes on-screen only enforced the internalized racism I harboured. How could we expect representation to matter when the most frequently seen portrayals of Asians in films were wise old men or nerds? For these reasons, I was hesitant to step into the theatre, but within the first ten minutes of the film, Shang-Chi smashed right through my apprehension.

I immediately felt a sense of attachment to Katy upon seeing her struggle to connect with her cultural identity. Katy and her brother embrace an American lifestyle, a stark contrast to their grandmother and mother. The depiction of this multi-generational immigrant family and their individual struggles is one that many viewers can understand.

For the entirety of the film, Katy has numerous family expectations to meet. Her grandmother wonders when she will get married, and her mother harps on her for her job as a valet. She consistently mentions that she cannot speak Chinese fluently, which many Asian parents push for.

In my case, I was lucky enough to be taught Korean at a young age and maintain connections to

my roots (thanks for sending me to Saturday Korean school, mom). Despite this, I knew there was a barrier between myself and others. For many of us, this barrier exists in every possible way—physically and emotionally, at school and at home. The fact that I couldn’t speak English until I was seven—and then faltered with Korean fluency thereafter—didn’t help my case. When my parents ate kimchi stew for dinner, I ate mac and cheese. When I brought Korean food to school, I was told that it looked and smelled weird.

What makes me most upset about these experiences is knowing that they’re not uncommon.

Being caught between two cultures makes us feel like there’s no way to win. No matter what, we’re left in the middle as the Other, which brings us to the ultimate question: who are we?

Even Shang-Chi undergoes a loss of identity and is told to “stop hiding,” and Katy refuses to pursue new things for fear of failure. When we are continuously told that our efforts aren’t good enough, that we aren’t good enough, we stop trying to be ourselves.

In many Asian cultures, contributing to our family’s legacy is what makes us our family’s pride.

The movie alludes to these social conventions in Asian cultures, such as when Katy spots a young Asian woman studying on the bus and states, “That is exactly the kind of girl my mom wishes came out of her vagina.” While this line was written for comedic purposes, the underlying message is that Katy feels the inevitable pressure to live up to her family’s expectations. I myself wonder if my parents would’ve been happier if I was a STEM major rather than an arts student. Would they have been prouder if I wanted to become a doctor? Were they disappointed when I wasn’t feeling too sure about law school anymore?

Whether or not we stray from the paths onto which our families guide us, the focus on heritage in this movie reminds us that we have thousands of people supporting us. Hearing the characters say, “You are a product of all who came before you. A legacy of the family, the good and the bad,” and “Names [...] connect us not only to ourselves but to everyone who came before” truly reminded me of how much appreciation I have for my identity now. This is why true representation matters—it teaches us to love ourselves.

It teaches us to love others, too. I found the main antagonist, Shang-Chi’s father, the most human

character of all, blinded by his visions for his family.

The grief of losing his wife eventually leads to what one might call his downfall.

At one point, Wenwu tells Shang-Chi, “Throughout my life the Ten Rings gave our family power. If you want them to be yours one day, you have to show me you’re strong enough to carry them.”

The ten rings being given to Shang-Chi seconds before Wenwu’s death proves that Wenwu chooses to hand over everything to his son—what many Asian parents consider the best gift they can offer to their children: a legacy. So, is it truly a downfall when he committed the biggest act of service for his son?

Shang-Chi goes a long way in representing interpersonal dynamics and values in Asian cultures.

It’s not simply an action movie, but an opportunity to learn to appreciate what makes us us.

With all this in mind, there is still a long way to go in terms of diversity and representation. Shang-Chi is simply a first step forward, and I can only hope that one day, the world will view this film not just as the Asian superhero movie, but as a superhero movie.

Playlist: Fall Study Session

ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM

ARTS AND CULTURE 13

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 28 SEPTEMBER 2021

TIFF 2021: a return to in-person

A Piece of Vic: Community in times like these

TIFF is back to normal!

Except not really. But kind of!

LIAM DONOVAN CONTRIBUTOR

If you grew up in Toronto, your relationship with the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) was likely a little strange. At first, hearing adults talk about something called a “TIFF” at the dinner table means nothing. Then, you realize it’s a cool thing called a “film festival” that happens in your city. Eventually, though, you find out that it’s not just any film festival, but a world-class one of considerable size that plays a large role in generating buzz for the upcoming Oscars season.

Together with the beginning of the school year, TIFF ordinarily imbues September in Toronto with a lively and unpredictable energy; however, in 2020, the festival, though technically hybrid, ended up essentially online due to limited availability of in-person tickets to the general public.

This year, though, there were more than enough tickets to go around.

That’s not to say things were as before— popcorn wasn’t sold, theatres ran at 50 percent capacity, and you had to show your vaccine receipt to bouncers in tuxedos who were far more imposing than the usually cheerful festival volunteers.

I had the chance to catch three screenings at the festival. At the Cinesphere, I saw Indian director Ritwik Pareek’s Dug Dug, a satire about the religious worship of a motorcycle. Then, at the TIFF Bell Lightbox, I saw Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s English/Spanishlanguage debut, Memoria, a slow arthouse film starring Tilda Swinton about a mysterious noise in Swinton’s character’s head. Finally, also at the Lightbox, I saw this year’s Wavelengths shorts program, Present, Tense, which featured two hours’

worth of experimental short films.

All three screenings were embellished in their own way by the in-person TIFF experience.

In Dug Dug’s approach to satire, instead of setting up punchlines for individual jokes, the ridiculousness of the situation creates an atmosphere that is comedic throughout. As the film employed fast-paced montages to rapidly barrel through the exposition, waves of laughter rippled through the theatre as a collective acknowledgement of the absurdity of what the audience had gathered to watch.

Memoria has an opposite pace, employing long, motionless takes to build up the emotional world of the film. With a film so slow, many audience members would have likely paused to pee or check their phone if they had watched it at home, but the age-old social custom of sitting in darkened silence to view a film helped the audience get through the film as Weerasethakul intended it—boredom and all.

Finally, the Wavelengths program featured films projected from 35mm film, so the filmmaker’s experimental exploration of the physical qualities of filmstock were far more perceptible. Additionally, in the case of Daïchi Saïto’s earthearthearth, the booming speakers helped foreground Jason Sharp’s explorative score, which featured heartbeat-synced saxophone playing.

Even though TIFF is, on some level, all about the films, it is also not at all about the films. It’s about the shared rituals of viewing, from preand post-show chats to audience callbacks to suppressed giggling with a friend about an inside joke that happened to be featured in a film. So, in my books, TIFF is back.

How VISA builds communities like no other NATHAN CHING CONTRIBUTOR

When I was asked to talk about VISA (Victoria International Students Association), I couldn’t choose one story in particular that would encompass the multifaceted community-building exercises we’ve done. But just as I’ve mentioned community in my last sentence, I’ve realized that the story I need to tell is one that really reflects the common denominator of every VISA story—community.

As a student studying abroad for the first time, Toronto was a lonely city at times. It was often difficult being an outsider in a city you don’t truly understand, and so, during my first year at Vic, it was tough to meet friends and get to know people. But as it turns out, nobody’s truly alone—especially not at Vic. I remember meeting Faye (VISA’s co-president that year) during my international student orientation, as she was one of my mentors. During my second year, when COVID hit, Faye told me all about VISA and their work with the Dean’s Office in providing opportunities for international students to get to know each other. So, I applied to become the events director. I specifically remember the night before our flagship event, when I was panicking and told Faye over Zoom that I was worried about my performance as a director and that I didn’t feel like I was ready. She told me that whatever happens, the team would be there together to support each other—and it was at that moment that I felt I truly belonged at Vic. I grew up in an intimate high school community in Hong Kong, which meant competition and friendship often went hand in hand. As a result, I was accustomed to having “work-hard-play-hard” friends. At UofT, you meet all kinds of people. While this diversity in students and personalities can create communities that may not always suit you, once you’ve found your people, you needn’t look any further. I’ve found ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUMmy people at Vic through VISA, and I cannot tell you how much I’ve missed having this sense of community.

Community within this wild, wide world is difficult to find, but VISA has helped me build strong relationships between me, my friends, and the larger Vic community. This year, we’re expanding our operations and hiring sub-teams as part of a new membership experience in order to give back the feeling of community to students at Vic. As I serve as VISA’s co-president, Faye’s words are what drive me to bring the feeling of home to international students. So, to the international students reading this: welcome home.

To learn more about VISA and/or to apply for an executive position, interested students can contact nathanchingtk.ching@mail.utoronto.ca or vicu.visa@gmail.com.

PHOTO | VISA

14 ARTS AND CULTURE

EDITOR | JANNA ABBAS ARTSANDCULTURE@THESTRAND.CA

Beyond Monet Accessible art in Toronto

PHOTO | STEFANIA KUCZYNSKI STEFANIA KUCZYNSKI CONTRIBUTOR

As a university student, having a culturally educated aesthetic has always been incredibly enticing. I’ve made it my goal to become more educated and cultured through any experience available to me. This endeavour started when I attended the Van Gogh exhibit in the summer of 2020. While the tickets were a little pricey, I was blown away by the incredible composition of music paired with the stunning visuals from Vincent van Gogh’s portfolio; it was such a fun experience. So I knew, as soon as I saw advertisements for it, that I would have to see Beyond Monet: The Immersive Monet Exhibit.

Let’s start with prices. Basic tickets for students and seniors were both priced at $46 before tax, which is about $4 less than general entry. As I planned for this to be a date, the tickets for my boyfriend and me were over $100 with tax. My wallet hurt, but the day

finally came, and we excitedly set off on a date in the city.

The exhibit consists of three main components: two rooms and a walkway. The first room is dimly lit with bridges throughout the room leading to various screens describing Claude Monet’s life and work. Then, you proceed through a trippy walkway with beautiful lights and hanging iridescent fabric.

The walkway leads to the star of the show: the Infinity Room, a circular room with a gazebo in the middle and various seats throughout. Here, there is a constant 37-minute showing of Monet's work— animated paintings blend seamlessly into one another, accompanied by music and relevant text or quotes from Monet and critics.

While I loved going through the exhibit, I couldn’t help but be disappointed. It was a wonderful experience, but for a student on a budget, the exhibit is not exactly accessible or “worth it.” While there are some great, cheaper ways to experience art throughout

Toronto, there is no push for youth to experience it due to a lack of affordable prices and lack of advertising towards youth for these experiences. I can’t help but think of the pilot project in France that gave €300 (around $448 CAD) to 18-year-olds to “bring young people to discover the realms of possibility of cultural life.” The project let youth discover any cultural experience they wanted, from books and manga to ballet shows and concerts.

We live in an incredible city with an insane amount of art and culture. I think it’s imperative that we have accessible cultural experiences as we grow up, including a push to learn and grow as adults. Being more cultured in the arts emphasizes the humanity in us all, and in a time where there is so much strife and anger in the world, I think it’s incredibly important to learn about culture and history in the hopes that we can all be a bit more empathetic and open.

Post-pandemic art How might future media portray life during the COVID-19 pandemic?

RION LEVY ASSOCIATE ARTS AND CULTURE EDITOR

Pandemic stories have been around for centuries.

Humanity has long been fascinated by the presence of illness in society and how swiftly it can disrupt daily life. The arts have and will continue to communicate, alter, and create stories of people living through outbreaks of disease. Upon reflection, there are three rough categories of pandemic art that I have been able to identify: The first is speculative. Typically, these stories describe horrifying, worst-case scenarios in which viruses spread uncontrollably, leading to the end of humanity. This category ranges from zombies such as those in The Walking Dead (2010–2022) to the sudden

death of most of humanity, such as in Stephen King’s The Stand (1978).

The second is intimate. Stories such as Daniel Defoe’s A Journal of the Plague Year (1772) or Timothy Conigrave’s Holding the Man (1995) depict real (or close to real, in the case of the former) experiences of human life as we’ve adapted, struggled, and persevered through epidemics and pandemics that have actually occurred.

The third is a bit of a mixture. These art pieces take elements from real outbreaks and modify important parts of their histories for an artistic effect.

One of the most famous examples is Albert Camus’s The Plague (1947), where the city of Oran undergoes a fictitious yet realistic epidemic based on previous outbreaks in the city.

As COVID-19 continues to rage on after almost two full years, artists will certainly take inspiration from their time spent in social isolation, and I suspect the pandemic will persist in art in a few different ways.

We will undoubtedly see memoirs, biographies, and autobiographies written by and about people who experienced the pandemic. Soon, any story about a person’s life will be incomplete without mentioning life during the pandemic, regardless of what shape it took for them.

Beyond the reflective, the pandemic will also—as with most major catastrophes in human memory— lead to a new era and style of art. Whether this takes the form of fictitious tales in which people live in a world where everyone wears face masks, or the next horror plague story, the COVID-19 pandemic presents a framework for storytellers and artists to work with from memory.

ILLUSTRATION | AMIE LEUNG What is less certain is how day-to-day life will be depicted on-screen and in literature going forward.

Most television shows, movies, and books coming out today still present the pre-COVID world, where viral transmission was not a common consideration.

Will the next daytime sitcom be set in a world where everyone hangs out over Zoom or in six-foot distanced circles outdoors? Will characters forget to grab their mask the way they always forget their keys?

Might routine vaccinations become a new part of storytelling?

We will likely begin to see stories told from a world where COVID persists, along with social isolation, distancing, and health measures—but will they become the norm? Furthermore, will we wish to consume such stories, if what they depict is our normal life for the foreseeable future?

STRANDED 15

@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 28 SEPTEMBER 2021

Boba is NOT good.

Y’all just have too much indigestion to see the truth DON'T COME FOR US CONTRIBUTOR

Picture this: You’re walking through the mall with your bestie, and she decides to get boba. You decide to join her. At first sip, you’re intrigued, but a couple of sips in, something starts to feel wrong. The slimy texture combined with the sheer volume of boba is so

overwhelming, you start to worry. You look over at your bestie, who seems fine—nay, she’s enjoying it—so you trudge on. After a few more sips, you can no longer deny it: boba sucks. You try to avoid the boba so you can at least enjoy the drink… but the boba DEMANDS to be tasted. You can’t escape the small balls of hell crawling up your straw. You manage to finish your drink (and somehow there’s still boba left at the bottom!!!). You think the hard part’s over, but you’re gravely mistaken.

Now, you must suffer the pain of post-boba bloating.

So painful that you fear you won’t survive it. Your day is ruined and you’re down one friend and it’s all the fault of the abomination of a drink called boba.

Not convinced by this stomach-wrenching narrative? Below is a comprehensive argument to further explicate our point.

5 reasons why boba is trash: 1. Flavour (or lack thereof ) Someone please tell us what boba is supposed to taste like. You can’t? That’s because it doesn’t taste like ANYTHING! You expect some sort of flavour explosion, but it’s just bland, tapioca-filled sadness.

If you’re going to put little giblets of solid gel at the bottom of a drink, at least make them worth our while.

PHOTO | KIM NGAN PHUNG

2. Mouth feel Drinks are liquid. They do not require chewing.

Boba is a drink, but requires chewing?? Honestly a choking hazard, if you ask us.

3. Stomach feel Boba defies biological reason. It does NOT digest like normal food (drink? Idk). Those chewy orbs sit in your stomach like rocks. Nothing is worth that level of indigestion.

4. Cult status You know what we’re talking about.

5. Resemblance to Orbeez Orbeez are fun. They are silly, squishy orbs. They are, however, NOT edible (trust us). Boba is basically Orbeez but without fun colours. Why would someone create such a mind trap?

So, we want to know: who’s forcing you to uphold this grossly false narrative that boba is *choke* good??!

Is Big Boba paying you all??? Are you being held at gunpoint?? Blink twice if you need help!!

If you are part of the cult of boba worshippers, we hope our entirely logical (and correct) argument can help you see the light (and regain your taste buds).

Boba lovers have reigned for too long. It’s time for boba haters to rise up and proclaim the necessary truth that boba is just plain bad.

A tour of Robarts's Area 51, A.K.A. the seventh floor (Caution: Enter at your own risk. Escape is NOT guaranteed.)

MAX LEES CONTRIBUTOR

For those who have not had the chance to visit the massive 14-story concrete turkey that is Robarts Library, please be advised that this establishment does not come with instructions. Although its imposing structure makes it deceivingly easy to locate and enter, navigating and exiting the building is a different story.

If you are like me, you might decide that the best way to find where you want to go is to get on the elevator, pick your favourite number from one to 14, and hope it takes you there. (Directory? What directory?) As the doors close behind you, the seventh floor welcomes you with a blank wall, a deafening silence, and the creeping feeling that you are trespassing on a secure government facility.

The central, hexagonal room feels mildly suffocating, so you head for the doors around the edge that surely lead to somewhere with windows. They do not. None of the doors open, with no indication of what’s on the other side except a few signs reading “IT” and “Staff Only.” This feels deliberately vague and cryptic. On the other side of the blank wall, there are a few desks and a man who does not acknowledge your presence. There are no stairs. Naïvely, you decide that this floor is boring and you’d like to leave. A friendly little sign above the elevator you just exited informs you that the elevator does not service this floor. Neither does the next one, or the third, or the fourth. The fifth services only a few floors which are not open to students. What are they keeping there? Aliens? A map to the Northrop Frye McDonalds?

You press the “down” button and the elevators glide past, ignoring your request. The light behind the button turns off. Rude. You try the “up” button with no success. While you stand there trying not to look like a fool, several people appear out of nowhere pushing a black cart. They do not look at you, and proceed through a set of metal doors without saying a word. Robots? Central Intelligence?

After circling the room again, your options for escape are: a) call security; b) call a friend; or c) pray to the elevator deities. That is, assuming you don’t get kidnapped by Big Brother first.

TL;DR: Don’t come here. Or do, if you don’t plan on leaving. Happy studying :)

PHOTO | MAX LEES

16 STRANDED

EDITOR | VICTORIA MCINTYRE STRANDED@THESTRAND.CA

Woman Committed to Overcoming Oppression Also Interested in Making Life Harder for Herself All of the Fucking Time You have to pick your battles and I guess I choose those big systemic ones SARAH BURNS CONTRIBUTOR

I am interested in ending all oppression, including my own. Even though I am wealthy, white, and physically and emotionally able, most of the time I just... can’t.

This is because I am a woman, and, when it comes to the marginalized, teeechnically I am a part of this group— thanks, Kimberlé Crenshaw! But don’t get me wrong—as grateful as I am to the women who paved the way before me, actualizing change is not as simple and easy as they made it seem. Nevertheless, I am still 110% committed to making my life and the lives of everyone, across all intersections of oppression and every marginalized social stratification, free from and unburdened by all the patriarchy.

The other day, for instance, when I went out for drinks with friends, I managed to successfully monopolize the conversation for an entire 45 minutes discussing issues disproportionately facing women today. In a moment of extreme passion, I threw my drink in the face of a passing waiter and exclaimed, “If women did not have to face such high beauty standards, we would have time for other

pursuits deemed valuable by capitalism!”

Who knows if any marginal change came from this act of public defiance, or whether the alienation of my friends really does count as a form of social resistance. But what I do know for sure is that, when it comes to eliminating the hurdles women must jump over so that they are able to delight in the fruits of waged labour and the thrills of temporary gratification, my level of determination knows no bounds.

I have found, however, that this personal propensity for change is very much at odds with the choices I make in my everyday life. These choices do not necessarily have anything to do with the patriarchy, but rather with a perverse inclination to self-sabotage that is almost equally as harmful (if not more so) to my ability as a woman to self-actualize!

For example, I have noticed that I am not only uninterested in streamlining my mornings, but that I also like to make life harder for myself in avoidable ways.

During my commute to work, for instance, I often wait until the bus has arrived to both put on my mask and search for my bus card within the labyrinthesque reaches

of my tote bag. In the ten minutes beforehand, I usually become aware that I should prepare myself for the possibility that the bus should, say, arrive. However, I always find something better to do, such as wondering if I will ever learn my times tables. And then, when the bus does arrive, I am forced to fasten my mask and dig through my bag at a standard of athleticism more characteristic of a low-level tennis match.

Some might conjecture that my procrastination stems from an inability to confront challenges, a result of being cushioned from all hardship throughout my entire life. But what I have discovered through processes of unlearning and relearning is that my self-sabotage is more rooted in a lack of self-confidence due to—you guessed it—being a woman. So sure, maybe I would prefer to scroll through Instagram than buy an NFT, no matter how valuable and non- fungible they are to our communities.

But that is not because I am bad at creating change in society; it is because society made me that way.

Now go and think about that at happy hour

Incoming: Hot Girl Fall!

Don’t let the lack of sunshine rain on your hot girl parade—here are 5 tips to rule Hot Girl Fall

ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM IMAN HUSSAIN CONTRIBUTOR

As the temperature drops and we’re forced to exchange bikinis for sweaters, Hot Girl Summer officially ends and midterm season looms over our heads. BUT who said we had to stop channeling our inner “Hot Girl”?

Introducing: Hot Girl Fall—where pumpkin spice lattes are always on hand and the “Hot Girl” vibes never end. Being a Hot Girl is not actually limited to a season; in fact, it’s a mindset. Anyone and everyone can be a “Hot Girl” by simply following the tips below.

1. Celebrate yourself and the people around you Being a Hot Girl means always lifting up yourself and the people around you. It’s acknowledging all of the everyday achievements, like getting out of bed in the morning to finish an assignment earlier than planned.

This also means honouring the people around you and their accomplishments, too!

2. Channel your highest self A Hot Girl never stops growing, and growth only comes when you’re uncomfortable. Every day, when you wake up, make sure you’re striving to be the best version of yourself and better than who you were yesterday—always channel your ultimate Hot Girl.

3. Focus on the things that are important to you Priorities. Priorities. Priorities. If waking up early is important to you, start setting your alarm and doing it!

If checking up on friends is your focus, then go shoot them a text! Whatever it is that you prioritize, make sure you keep at it in order to really embody Hot Girl Fall.

4. Practice self-care Self-care—not to be confused with treating yourself

(they’re different, I promise)—is the act of doing the things that you don’t necessarily want to do. This can be cleaning your room, taking a shower, finishing some homework, or even reading a book. To be a Hot Girl this fall, you need to ensure that you’re taking care of yourself both physically and mentally.

5. Be unapologetically yourself!

Coming from the OG Hot Girl herself, Megan Thee Stallion: “Being a Hot Girl is about being unapologetically YOU, having fun, being confident, living YOUR truth, being the life of the party etc.” You are in control of your reality, so don’t let people tell you how you should be. After all, being a Hot Girl is all about the attitude and confidence!

So what are you waiting for? Take these tips and go rock Hot Girl Fall!