If you had to guess my major, what would it be? English Language and Literature? Politics, Philosophy, and Economics? Sociology? If I had to take a guess at which one you’d pick, I think it would involve a ridiculous amount of writing.

I used to hate the way I looked.

I clutch it in my hand, pat my pocket every so often, and scroll aimlessly when I hold it, just to know it’s there. My phone is my lifeline; it connects me to the rest of the world, and without it, I would be lost.

One of the questions given to me to inspire this article was, “How has O-Week made you feel?” As a Gael, I must say…“I FEEL SO GOOD! OH, I FEEL SO GOOD! OH!” 

As a queer, non-binary woman, I don’t have strong opinions about queer culture.

As the only woman in my family to attend University in a double degree program, I spent a long time idealizing the experience.

As a young girl, I found women beautiful.

The story behind how I learned that life is too short and unpredictable to not show the people you love that you treasure them.In January of 2017, I felt like I was drowning.

When I first stepped into the Journal office, it wasn’t nearly a perfect fit. The floors were covered in a respectable layer of dust and the couches reeked of cigarette smoke. I’ve now spent three years here, losing sleep over all the ways we could be better, wanting to take a breath.  

I was thirteen years old when I performed my first magic trick. All I had to do was say the words “law school” to my parents, and they’d transform into different people. The perpendicular worry-lines which marked my mother’s forehead softened. My father smiled.

In Nairobi, the ghosts of all the women I could have been cascaded in and out of my body. 

At the age of four, I first picked up a violin and started learning the language of music as an extension of my self-expression. 

As I approach the end of my graduate coursework, I’ve been trying to find the words to define what my time as a philosophy student has taught me.

On Feb. 1, I took a pregnancy test in a campus bathroom.

Racism is inescapable. 

Growing up, the only time I can remember learning about mental health was through my hockey association’s charity.

Ever since my family immigrated to Canada, I’ve been trying to find the perfect balance between Russian, the language of my family, and English, the language of my new home. 

No matter where I go, I see media reflecting a society that centers on whiteness, no matter how “inclusive” they claim to be.

The night I lost my virginity, things didn’t go the way I’d planned.  

The way I look was one of the only sources of control I had over my life.