Most people say university changes you—but no one talks about how lost you can feel when it doesn’t go the way it’s “supposed” to.

I thought I hated sports; it turns out I hadn’t been watching the right ones.

I’ve learned that success to me means little without purpose, and my efforts gain value when they contribute to something bigger than myself.

The truest parts of me aren’t tucked away in a single place; they live in the people I love, scattered across cities and continents.

The moment I stopped comparing, I started loving the person I already was.

From the very first time I was asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” the endless possibilities left me awestruck without an answer.

What started as a casual drink at a queer bar quickly spiraled into a crash course in self-discovery.

I’ve worn many hats as a volunteer, but none have reshaped me quite like stepping into the world of correctional service.

Orientation has cast a spell that makes me keep coming back—and I’m perfectly fine with that.

When I first told my friends and family that I wanted to attend a Canadian university, their reactions ranged from total surprise to a sense of understanding.

I remember my very first first move-in at Queen’s so clearly.

I stayed in Kingston last summer for rugby, but ended up finding so much more.

Queen’s was never where I imagined myself, but four years later, I can’t imagine having been anywhere else.

Coming to terms with my sexuality has been a dynamic self-exploration, with my hair as a constant reflection of who I am and how I wish to be seen.

I’m not saying I’m part fish, but the lake definitely knows my name.

The first time I went swimming with my ex-boyfriend, I jumped in without hesitation in a moment of pure boldness.

Allie and Skylar say goodbye to The Journal.

The girl moving into my Albert St. bedroom is buying all my furniture. I bundled it together for a bargain deal—my bed, desk, chair, and dresser—all for a few hundred dollars.

The perfect student doesn’t exist—it’s a fragment of our imagination, a construction of all the achievements we think we should want.

Cancer has always been an unwelcome visitor in my family. It visits so frequently that it’s become an inevitable guest, always taking someone with it.

I’m over trying to make the perfect memories.