A hot summer day. A playground. Bikes parked on the grass, some knocked over, some still standing.
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i think i’d been in denial about it for a long time. i never wanted to admit but i’m the third wheel.
My conversations with my best mates astound me daily.
It was the last night before our high school year-end ceremony. Thirty eighteen-year-old kids sat together around the campfire on the beach. The sea breeze, mixed with the fire, shifted through our faces.
In the fleeting period of time you spent together as friends, you’ll realize that they’ve become a part of you and your story in little ways.
I recently watched The Holdovers, a movie I recommend if you went to a stuffy school on the East Coast and/or didn’t have the most orthodox adolescent upbringing.
it’s to know the joy of racing down the shores of the beach, kicking sand and sinking our feet into the cool underlayer
There’s never any judgment between us. The debrief is all about supporting one another.
We live our beautiful, messy and chaotic lives thousands of kilometres apart.
I hate the way you made me feel / I hate the way I cried / I hate the way I ran home / I hate that I had to hide.
No one really talks about how harrowing friendship break-ups are.
Once we graduate this type of constant proximity will be lost, but while it lasts, I’ll savour the limited car rides we have left together.
When students run in AMS Elections as a joke, it's often not just for laughs — it's an expression of student discontent. Should these candidates win? What happens when they do?
I am the daughter of a farmer. / And maybe one day I will run back to my forefather's land.
I’m Black. I’m a woman. I’m an immigrant. I’m the product of a working-class family. I’m a fervent celebrator of Pride. I’m so much more than just one thing, and I have immeasurable honour and joy in embracing all of these identities at once.