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.

The most significant obstacle in my path to recovery wasn’t just accessing treatment—it was breaking through cultural silence and raising my voice against generations of unwavering customs.

Conversations can become a lot more meaningful once we stop treating strangers like extras.

I will never get my Barbie dolls back.

Eight thousand kilometres away from everyone I know, I’m choosing to celebrate this Valentine’s Day by appreciating one of the deepest love stories I know—my relationship with myself and the world.

“How do you feel?” This is the question I get asked the most by my non-Black peers. “How do you feel being one of a few Black students at Queen’s?” Though they always ask, I’ve found no one ever really wants to know the answer. Nor are they interested in listening.

I’ve spent most of my life waiting for it to feel like a movie. High School Musical, Mean Girls, and Legally Blonde—these weren’t just movies to me, they were blueprints.

When I began my nursing journey at Queen’s, I anticipated a rigorous academic path filled with late-night study sessions, early morning clinicals, and countless cups of coffee.

I was never supposed to be at Queen’s. I didn’t even apply.

With “Sparks” by Coldplay droning through my AirPods, I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves as the plane takes off. Reality has finally hit me: as the hazy map of Winnipeg grows smaller beneath the plane’s wings, I bid farewell to the place that has been my home for most of the last 13 years, for what’s perhaps the very last time.

September marked the beginning of the end for me—my last year at Queen’s and, in turn, my last year living in Kingston. The bittersweet emotions that come over me when I think about this fact are overwhelming.

Throughout my entire undergrad, Queen’s campus has felt seemingly endless. Each year, I discover a new study spot, a new secluded park bench to sit on between classes, and a new overpriced vending machine in one of my lecture halls.

The Law School Admissions Test (LSAT) world is one I thought I’d leave after taking my test this past September—but as November has now begun, I’m wondering if I’ll ever truly escape its grasp.