The idea of walking a mile in someone else’s shoes is a common metaphor for how people should empathize with one another. I see this show up in little ways in my everyday conversations. When a friend tells me something they’re struggling with, I find myself responding with a story of a situation I’ve been in that is comparable in order to identify with their struggle.
For the past year, I’ve been working on an academic research project in which I interview individuals from the trans community who belong to generations before me.
I have a scar behind my right knee that I got when I was 12 and tried to break up a fight between two neighbourhood cats.
Like many other introverts and book lovers, I have fond memories of public libraries from a young age.
It’s difficult to ask others for help. It’s difficult to admit you don’t even know how to begin fixing a big problem.
A few months ago, I sent a message to a high school best friend who I hadn’t talked to in more than five years.
The other day I called a crisis line. A volunteer answered: Hi, how are you doing? How can I help you?
A lot of talk around sex positivity foregrounds sexuality as inherently a good thing – something to not be ashamed of and even as a way to enact self-love and community-building.
The perception people often have of someone being successful usually goes hand in hand with seeing that person as happy.
When my house burned down at age 13, I assumed that all material evidence of my childhood was lost forever.
The desire to go back and redo some, if not all, of one’s life is a feeling that seems to emerge often when reminiscing about the past.
This summer, I had the great opportunity to do research with the Museum Queeries project – a research collective that looks at queer representation in museums. Through the course of the summer, my research interests quickly veered toward representations of transgender identities and gender non-conformity within archives.
There is one space that we cannot escape, that is always with us, constantly mediated by our perceptions of self and how others perceive us. This space is our own body.
I’m sitting in a small fluorescent-lit room about to have a conversation I’ve been rehearsing in my head for years now
Refugee claims are a pressing political subject these days. With millions of people at risk of being displaced by rising sea levels within the next century, this is an issue that won’t go away anytime soon.
It’s the end of November, and if you are as busy as I am, this time of year will be characterized by long hours spent studying in tucked-away corners of the library or days spent staring blankly into the dull glow of a computer screen.
Earlier in October, the Parker Wetlands were bulldozed, and a lawsuit was filed against 49 of the land defenders who had peacefully occupied this historic Métis land and ecological zone.
As I walk the length of Centennial Hall, a burning sensation is forming in my bladder. A need to pee! I suppress this bodily function too often, but here I am saved! A gender-neutral washroom is midway down this hall, and, as I lock the stall door, I am thankful that this time I won’t be forced to choose between a binary that I’ve never been able to fit into.
July 26 to 30 // Moviegoing: An exciting summer activity