Issuu

Volume 9 | 2021-2022

An anti-oppressive publication about identity, personal experience, creative expression, and their interrelations.

@CollectiveReflections @collectivereflections_sic sic.editor@ams.queensu.ca

SOCIAL ISSUES COMMISSION

Volume 9 2021 | 2022

Table of Contents About

Acknowledgments

Editor-In-Chief's Letter

Editors' Notes

Content Warning

Queer Luv | Sadie Levine

#2 | Sydney Stanley

Nineteen | Massimo Recupero

9-10

polluted purity | c.g. abouchar

wasted purity | c.g. abouchar

Ascension is Priority | Flynn Eves-Welch

Hey! | Isabella Crysler

Scared, Lost and Tossed | Christopher F.

15-16

Home | Natasha

Town at Night | Jobelle Quijano

Fraying | Gillian Stewart

Into the Being Room | Charlie Luche

20-22

Bloody Eagle | Flynn Eves-Welch

Cytotoxicity | Corey Martin

The Tower | Flynn Eves-Welch

Violets are Red, Roses are Blue | Ella Bigras

26-27

What Were You Expecting? | Isabella Crysler

Bond(ed) Strawberry Fields | Sapphyre Smith

29-31

The Key Is To Not Implicate Me | Mary Williams

Untitled | Corey Martin

Kitchen Crisis | Isabella Crysler

Love Game | P. Roussel

35-36

Femme Vitalis | Zara Memon

titli [Butterfly] | isaacsahota

back and forth | Alyssa Vernon

Pencil in a Bag of Pens | Kaamraan Islam

40-41

Something to Tell You | Sadie Levine

CultureSHOCK! An Editorial Series

43-52

reflections | isaacsahota

'Manly' | Isabella Crysler

Feast | Flynn Eves-Welch

‫ | میرا شعور‬isaacsahota

Revelation | Gillian Stewart

Stigmatic Solitude (At Peace) | Christopher F.

58-59

All the World's a Stage | Gillian Stewart

60-61

You Are Allowed To Affirm Yourself | Fatima Baloch

About Collective Reflections is a non-profit, student-run, anti-oppressive publication operating out of Queen’s University, in Katarokwi (Kingston, Ontario). The origins of Collective Reflections date back to 1993, with five separate publications existing before it: HeadsUP, Queen’s Feminist Review, Outwrite, CultureSHOCK!, and Able. In 2013, all publications were amalgamated, creating Collective Reflections to further encompass the intersectional nature of identity and the experiences that come with it. Over the years, BaseLine: An Anti-Poverty Review was added and all six sections were used under the publication to maintain their unique aims and continue structuring the publication. In 2020, it was brought to our attention that the previous structure of Collective Reflections did not reflect our aims as a purported anti-oppressive publication. As rightfully noted, the experiences and identities of people cannot be neatly categorized into sections. Since then, Collective Reflections is operating as a fluid publication, and all work submitted is published without structural boundaries. We continue to draw upon the previous sections to guide our approach and our team’s structure, as they continue to represent the core of Collective Reflections. We thank all previous teams for making the publication what it is today, and we only hope to honour your work by making these necessary changes. The purpose of this publication has always been to provide a safe and empowering space of expression and to be a platform to showcase creative, anti-oppressive work. With these changes in the publication, we hope to continue that legacy.

Acknowledgments Editor-in-Chief Fatima Baloch General Editors Victoria Chung Niroshini Mather Design Editor Fatima Baloch Printing Peter Farrance and Print Three Kingston Social Issues Commissioner Samara Lijiam Photographer Reza Aalaeifar Cover Art Zara Memon Past Sections

Editor-in-Chief's Letter It has been quite the year for all of us, transitioning in and out of remote learning. This pandemic has been a special challenge for artists, writers, and storytellers, as we have had to constantly adapt to these very unique times and modify the ways in which we would normally create and connect with people, and in turn build communities of care and healing. For the past eight months, I and my wonderful editors, Victoria and Niroshini, have been working incredibly hard reviewing and editing submissions, planning for community outreach, projects and initiatives, updating our social media, and addressing any important concerns and feedback that came up in the process. I am grateful to have worked with two lovely, kind and insightful women of colour who have graciously worked alongside me to create this wonderful volume with me, and I am genuinely amazed at what we have accomplished despite being such a tiny editorial team. When I started my position as editor-in-chief for Collective Reflections, I had a desire to see the publication become a means to establish a sense of community and belonging for those like me who have struggled, and continue to struggle, to find it at Queen’s. Having been a general editor a year before, I could really see the value of this publication in the way that it has centered the voices and experiences of marginalized and equity-deserving folks in the Queen’s community. In my current role, I wanted to see how this publication can be an even more accessible creative outlet for folks who haven’t had the chance to be in such spaces due to the many socio-economic barriers in place. My idea of an editorial photoshoot series centering the experiences, preferences and aesthetics of BIPOC folks in the Queen’s community was my way of combatting some of these barriers, and I am grateful that I got a chance to lead such a project that will forever have a special place in my heart. Through these pages that I have edited and compiled, I hope you can see the love and appreciation I have for this publication and for all the work you have shared with us. I want to express my sincere gratitude for the support of all our contributors, including the editors, the community members, and those within the Social Issues Commission who have helped spread the word about Collective Reflections. I hope you feel the same healing and uplifting emotions I felt going through this lovely series of works, and I truly hope Collective Reflections inspires you to take up space and tell your story in a way that is authentic to you, because absolutely no one can tell it the the way you can. Fatima Baloch Editor-in-Chief, 2021-2022

Editors' Notes

Niroshini Mather

Victoria Chung

Working on Collective Reflections, alongside our incredible team, has been both a rewarding experience and one of personal growth. I am grateful to have played a small role in amplifying marginalized voices on campus and fostering an intersectional approach towards literature. I would also like to thank the contributors for entrusting us with their stories- the bravery in your honesty is perhaps my greatest takeaway from this experience. And to our readers, I hope that our collection of personal reflections and creative expression can leave you with a meaningful message whether it be a moral story, funny antidote, or the all-important feeling of being heard and seen.

When thinking about what Collective Reflections means, I think about how important it is to see yourself reflected in the collective. All too often, the barriers that exist separating us from each other take over, so much that it seems like the walls are the only thing that exists. Words are a powerful way to break down those walls, to access connection through our humanity. Reading these works, the authentic expression of individual voices translates beyond borders. Working on the publication this year has been a privilege, and I’m so grateful to be a part of this team. I hope that by featuring these voices in our publication that you read these works as a reflection of the innermost pieces of life from people surrounding you, and let them touch you.

Content Warning

This publication contains personal accounts, experiences, and stories that grapple with difficult issues. These include but are not limited to: sexism, racism, patriarchy, colonialism, queerphobia, and mental health issues. These are important topics and we encourage you to engage with them respectfully. That said, we do not provide individual content warnings moving forward, so please be mindful as you go through the publication.

Queer Luv 7

Sadie Levine

Sydney Stanley

Fold you into me your touch is like poetry silver ringed skeleton end my life When the light through your window breaks and it’s just you and me doing what’s meant for just you and me we’re bound to fall in love play my record like you’re Mr. West

Nineteen is standing in the corner of a party with a drink in hand as if you weren’t curled up on your bedroom floor minutes before your friend texted “here” coming out missing the false warmth of the faux fur clothing in your closet wishing you were back in simpler times answering simpler questions big decisions bigger consequences fake apologies for fake closure

Nine Massimo

teen Recupero

Nineteen is also rekindled friendships hometown crushes big decisions even bigger rewards nostalgic waves of scholastic book fairs ding dong ditches sleepovers under the stars

coming out realizing that the faux fur warmth of your closet was suffocating now you can finally breathe standing in the center of a party with a drink in hand laughing because you texted your friend “on my way”

polluted purity c.g. abouchar women are supposed to be pure. to maintain the sanctity of a virgin, but still aware of man’s great desire. the church says, stay a virgin. the man says, you must know how to please me. the mother says, don’t let anyone touch you, but dear god, why aren’t you married yet? Dear God, what do you think? the words of men tell one story, the words of the gospel tell another. should i sell myself for Love? nobody will want me, if i don’t give myself to them. I think, I would like to give myself to you. Love, Your Daughter.

wasted purity c.g. abouchar tell us- what did you do how far did you go was it far enough? no – too far; falling, falling faster faster faster. you should have said no. you won’t be Loved anymore. I wanted to be liked You wasted yourself. nice ass – you should find a man; or a boy, settle. Hell, for sure. should have used your head. Whore.

Ascension is Priority

Flynn Eves-Welch

Hey!

Isabella Crysler Hey! What The fuck Sorry Le fuck Am I supposed to do now How do I stop My heart from itching My legs from melting Begging me for Something more There is nowhere You could carry me By any crazy means That would take away This restlessness like A shirt shrinking around you Do I have a crooked head or A crooked kitchen?

Scared, Lost and Tossed Christopher F.

There it was; not fifty paces away, The place of the filth and where the violins do play, A place with walls of concrete canvas and swirly, abstract lines, Never had I ventured to this place, not even now and not back in time, I know though, that I have never felt like this before, My mind caving in and crushing the only visible door, As the door crashed in and the walls started to drip, I felt the world shift as if upon a rough ocean on a two-month round trip, I was paralyzed and immobilized; like gravity was working overtime today, Yet this frightening experience I was sure would not forever stay, I attempted to breathe and the emotions did seethe, Through my pores alike a horrible disease, And just then, as quickly as these fleeting feelings did start, I opened my eyes and a television screen began to burn off the dark, I still felt the bumps under foot and narrations in my brain, But something had changed and the black in my eyes began to drain, The walls passed me by, at a tremendous rate, And I locked my sad feelings behind a strong keyless gate, The fog in my eyes began to lift so very quick, I fell to my knees and became incredibly sick, I was sweating profusely, shaking faster than a tree in a hurricane, I felt it consume me, the incredible mental strain, It was as if my head were about to explode, And ice crystals cut my veins as my blood flowed, I began to come back to reality, and it seems that I’d stumbled into a subway train, Full of people but not one passenger stood close, though witnessing my pain, I yelled for help, upon my hands and knees, But they ignored me as if I was incredibly diseased...

Oh, here we go again, it’s coming back now; I can feel it in my gut, The voices are yelling again; the door in my mind they want me to shut, They want me to submit, they want me to cease, Yet how could I run when the floor is covered in grease? The walls did spin, shake, convulse and run away, Alike all of the passengers on the subway train that day, I wasn’t a threat in the least, but I felt quite like a leper, It was then that I received in my eyes a great deal of pepper, I laid down on my side and began to heavily cry, I wondered where I was, I wondered what was happening and why, I wanted the waves in my brain to stop, I wanted more than anything a new brain in a swap, I was confused, lost and incredibly scared, Yet not a soul on that train had shown even a little bit of care, They looked at me as if I was the embodiment of the living and walking dead, But little did they know... that day; I had simply forgotten to take my meds...

Home Natasha

must notmust not

This silkscreen print discusses the issue with my family life. Throughout my life, I really struggled with belonging, especially among my family members. This was heavily due to my learning disability, as I talk, read, and learn in a different manner which made it difficult for them to communicate with me. Progressively through my life, I was made into an outcast. Unfortunately, it wasn't until I reached adulthood that I could truly grasp the impact it had on my perception of love, family, and happiness. The silkscreen is a presentation of my selfrealization, that the home is not always a safe place.

Town at Night Jobelle Quijano

Fraying

Gillian Stewart

Threads come loose… like pieces of myself. I provided warmth for others, a warmth that you so greedily took. But there was only so much I could do, only so much comfort I could give, before I started fraying at the seams. Yet what you didn’t realize was that — You caused the holes, You caused the rips, You caused the tears. You were the one who used me, leaving me feeling worn and torn and faded. You were careless. And when I no longer seemed useful You discarded me, and traded me for a new one. How was I supposed to know that I had a shelf life. 19

Into

the

Being Room Charlie Luche

It was how it always was, which meant that it was different. Change, in this land, was the only constant. As I walked through the pathway, which was a mix of trampled on snow and sandy cobblestone, I glanced upwards. You see, I seldom do this. For me, unlike for many of my fellow Amniodions, living on this plane is still new to me. I was brought here only a year or so ago by some of the Ancestors, so I am still growing accustomed to this new reality. Eyes now gone from the path; I froze. What I saw was completely ineffable. I can only make a feeble attempt to put the majesty of what I saw into this language. Before me was an infinite number of universes and realities, dancing together to form something that would never be able to be captured by the cameras of my home world. No, not home world, my old world. This was my home world. A voice lilted into my mind as I stood there. A sweet voice, it wrapped me in warm blankets and left the taste of honey in my mouth. Slowly, I managed to tear my gaze from the horizon and focus on this new entity. It was Nix of course. No one else is able to bring me back that quickly. “Basi…” Nix prompted again. “Nix?” I questioned, knowing full well I was correct, but still making sure. It is still difficult for me to talk to non-corporeal beings, but I would know my dear feyfriend by the taste of honey alone.

“Mm, yes,” Nix sent. “Are you on your way to your Being session?” “Yes, I think this might be the one.” “You never know,” Nix quickly interjected. “It is not relevant when you leave your corporeal state, what matters is that you are learning the best form of Being for you at the moment.” I nodded closed my eyes, trying to hide my body out of shame. Nix noticed this and sent their empathy. “It is difficult, but the Ancestors brought you here for a reason.” Suddenly, I was in the Being room. Time was unusual on this plane; everything was and wasn’t all at once. In a sense, I could see the outcome of the Being sessions if I really wanted to, but Nix and the Elders told me that being present during the transformation process is the only way to get through it. The Being room was eerie today, and I was filled with a sense of dread. What would be in store for me this time? Remembering that a key part of Being sessions is taking in everything you can, I looked up again. Mirrors, every surface was covered in mirrors. And the only thing besides the mirrors was me. Or rather, my body. I examined myself, taking in the new form I’d acquired since the last session. I hated it. My eyes, all three of them this time, slammed shut. To me, any body would have felt wrong. I just wanted to be like the other Amniodions. After what felt like hours of hateful thinking, I slowly opened one eye. It was the new, third eye. I approached the glass and took a closer look. This eye was purple. Interesting, as that was the colour I associate with passion, with mystery, with mysticism. My skin was as it always is, a patchwork pattern of other people and beings that I have picked up and subscribed to myself. This time, I had no hands, only a tentacle arm on one side and a scaly stump on the other. My back sprouted a single wing. That was new, I’d never had a wing before. It sparkled in the light of the Being room’s now open sky. What was originally a room with mirrors for every surface, was now a single full-length ornate mirror in the middle of a beautiful meadow.

I could feel the warmth of the sun on my skin as I continued to look at my body in the mirror. My hair was pink this time! Finally! I had always wanted pink hair in my old world, but it never quite looked right, often ending up orange instead. But this hair, my hair, was a perfect cotton candy pink. I smiled widely, and gasped. Fangs? I’ve never had fangs before. What did this mean? Around me, the meadow became a dark forest. I was scared, was this where I belonged? As the monster ruling the forest? I began to cry. As I cried the tears streamed into a marble basin that had appeared before me. My tears were golden. They were beautiful. I watched as the basin filled and drained away. Golden scales materialized on my face as the last drop left. I knew then that I would not leave my body that day. I am not ready quite yet. However, for now, I will cherish my hair, my wing and my golden scales. Keeping two eyes on the path, and one eye to the horizon.

Bloody Eagle 23

Flynn Eves-Welch

Cytotoxicity Corey Martin

The Tower

Flynn Eves-Welch

Violets Are Red, Roses are Blue. Ella Bigras

“Roses are red, violets are blue, come on, I’m only 35 years older than you” She walks alone down an empty street, hearing nothing but her own feet. Yet still, she’s walking faster than she thought she could, faster than she normally would. Keys gripped in her hand so tight that her knuckles turn white. Even though deep down she knows, she could not put up a fight. To withstand the pressures the world instills, she must keep an inner strength and resilience. If she doesn’t, she is weak. And a woman must not be weak, yet, she must be meek. She must succumb to what the world around her wants her to be. “You’re too skinny, you’re not skinny enough.”

She is a living contradiction. She is suffocated by the everchanging box she will never fit. “You don’t like that? It’s you, not me.” “You don’t want that? Too bad, it’s about me, not you.” She lives for more than just them. But how would they know?

What Were You Expecting? Isabella Crysler Were you ever told otherwise? What makes you feel so sure That there is greatness out there Or that greatness Is what you’re meant for?

Bond(ed) Strawberry Fields Sapphyre Smith

*Author's Note: This poem is written in response to The Quantum of Solace, a Daniel Craig James Bond movie. In it, a young woman, Agent Fields, is killed, and I was disturbed by the way the creators staged her body.

The Key Is To Not Implicate Me

Mary Williams

Untitled

Corey Martin

Kitchen Crisis Isabella Crysler

Sometimes you have to Lay on the kitchen floor In order to see that The ceiling (and the sky for that matter) Are not Falling.

Love Game P. Roussel

Stop this game. End it. Call the referee. Haven’t you put my heart through enough agony? The organ in my chest, Is flooded with pain and loss and doubt. I put in the overtime you couldn’t care less about. Was that all I was to you? A game? A sport? A medal? For my feelings were so pure, how could my love be accidental? I thank you for your effort, However small it may have been. Because now I know this game of yours, and I will never win. I sit now in this box of grief, The one you put me in, And wondered why I played this game; one I no longer want to win? For the time I played was memorable, And showed me the highs of life. But with the short-lived thrill of mystery, Follows with such a fall in strife.

Of all my time in this game, There were plays both good and bad, So why now, when I think of you, I become so sad? This isn’t what you came for, Because emotions got involved. But still, you kept a game-face, And remained a puzzle left unsolved. So please ref, Take me out. I’ve given all of me. Let me substitute my heart, In hopes of being free. Free of the sadness, free of the guilt, free of the misery. For, I have done my part. And when I take my next love, He won’t be playing with, But rather for my heart.

Femme Vitalis Zara Memon

titli [Butterfly]

isaacsahota

back and forth Alyssa Vernon

Handmade collages mixed with digital collage & colourful light. The light version highlights the 90s pattern in the background which represents my black girlhood influenced by this era <3 The birds and butterflies and bottom half of the girl on the swing speaks to freedom and black girl joy and just the magic of being a little black girl with a lot of potential and hope. The dark version has the shadows /darker colours in the background which highlights the pain a lot of black girls feel and is coupled by the ducklings which represent feeling like the ugly duckling.

Pencil in a Bag of Pens Kaamraan Islam

I typically make heads turn in curling clubs - but unfortunately it's not because of my curling abilities. I stand out for another reason. I stand out because I look different than everyone else. I stand out because I am brown. I stand out because the back of my uniform says “Islam”. I stand out because my mother wears a headscarf. When I walk through some clubs, I feel like a pencil in a bag of pens; different and inferior. To combat this feeling in my U18 curling career, I tried to assimilate. I tried to hide my identity, my skin colour, and my religion. I felt like I had to be like everyone else. I felt like I was hiding who I really was from myself and from others. I did not want to be different. I was likely going to bring this mindset into the 2020 U18 men’s provincials. However, the event was canceled due to COVID-19. And then my last season of U18, where my team was hoping to make a run at the national championships, was canceled. At first, I was disappointed. But, the pandemic gave me over a year to reflect on my identity and experiences in curling. As it turns out, the year off and reflection process have helped shape me into the person I am today. Over the course of this year, racialized people were the victims of multiple tragedies. Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Rayshard Brooks, the Atlanta spa shooting, and most recently, the murder of my Muslim family in London. These events helped me reflect on myself and my personal experiences as a person of colour in curling. Through curling, I have learned that I am different than everyone else – and this past year I realized that is okay – that it is a good thing. I realized that I should be proud of my differences and embrace my own identity. Internalizing this lesson is beneficial both on and off the ice. Being comfortable in your own skin helps bring a new humble confidence into your life that can translate into improved performance on the ice, in school, the community, or in the workforce. Most importantly, being different does not mean that you do not belong. Being different means the world needs you even more in that space. In this year off, I realized that being a person of colour is not a burden, but a privilege. My experiences as a minority in curling have encouraged me to become an educator and an advocate for BIPOC people. Curling has helped me understand that I have the responsibility to be a social change maker. I used to feel uncomfortable in certain places because I felt like I didn’t belong. Curling has made me realize that my presence as a member of the BIPOC community is educational. My presence has the power to inspire change. Curling has helped me realize that everything I do can have a positive impact. Holding the door open for someone, smiling, or simply saying “thank you” leaves a lasting imprint on people. You may leave the curling rink with a silver medal but deep down you know that you won the gold because people will remember that BIPOC people are compassionate and thankful. Having a positive presence as a minority can hopefully translate to acceptance and love at a grassroots level to prevent attacks like the most recent one in London.

This responsibility not only applies to my interactions within the curling community. I must be an ambassador for BIPOC people in the community at large. Whether it be standing up for minorities on the Queen’s University campus or being kind to others when serving on the Kingston and the Islands Provincial Liberal association, my curling experiences have helped me learn the importance of every single interaction as a minority. Because of curling, I am now not afraid to correct people when they say my name incorrectly. Because of curling, I am now not afraid to proudly respond to the question “why does your uniform say Islam on it?” with “because that’s my last name”. Because of curling, I am now not afraid to stand up against injustice and challenge the status quo. Because of curling, I am now not afraid to be the voice for people who don’t have one or share new ideas to aid in their empowerment. My experiences as a minority in curling have made me brave. Being a member of the curling community has also taught me there are some incredible people in the world. There are amazing allies who are ready to support you in your endeavours. There are people that will accept who you are and care for you, cherish each other’s differences, and take the time to learn about your culture and beliefs. I have met some of the best people in my life who respect my identity through curling. I am fortunate to have recognized that my curling goal is larger than the sport itself. I hope at the end of my curling journey, people hold the door open for a black man walking into a curling club, and don’t shut it in his face. And that a young Indigenous girl doesn’t hear racial taunts when she is playing the game she enjoys. I hope I can be a beacon of light for young BIPOC curlers. That would be a prize greater than any curling championship.

Sadie Levine

Something to Tell You

CultureSHOCK! An Editorial Series

This Editorial Photoshoot series of Collective Reflections was our newest project yet. Intersectionality and anti-oppression are important aspects of Collective Reflections as a publication, and we wanted to use this series to reflect that. This photoshoot was created to be a BIPOC-only space, with no modeling experience required, and was to be welcoming to people of all body types. The aim was never to create a superficial narrative through visual marketing about diversity in this predominantly white institution, but to simply create a space where BIPOC students of Queen's can feel seen. We wanted to use these shoots to amplify the voices and experiences of BIPOC students, as well as celebrate and honour their diversity and their beauty. Through these editorial photoshoots, we wanted to create an accessible creative space for BIPOC folks to cultivate joy, authentic self-expression and a sense of welcoming comfort. All clothing, accessories, and props provided were pre-loved, in order to ensure the shoot remained as environmentally sustainable as possible. CultureSHOCK! used to be one of the distinct sections of Collective Reflections. It was an anti-racism review that included art, poetry, photography, and short stories about racism and inclusion. It was published for years and was a space and home for activism and creative life at Queen's. These editorials will be called CultureShock! and will pay homage to the legacy of diversity, activism, and art at Queen's that still exists today. We hope you enjoy these pictures of lovely BIPOC folks from our community who were just as excited to be a part of this project as we were.

Project Founder Fatima Baloch

Photographer Reza Aalaeifar

Photo Editor

Fatima Baloch

mara

toria

Vic

Fatima Baloch Victoria Chung Samara Lijiam

tima

Creative Directors

MODEL: CYNTHIA RANJITH

MODELS: AMANDA & CARMEN YEUNG

MODEL: ASTRID LOUISE NANDOH

WAVY WAVY WAVY MODEL: ISAAC SAHOTA

reflections isaacsahota 53

'Manly'

Isabella Crysler You’ve really got this whole ‘manly’ thing, down Every time I see you You’ve grown a little bigger Makes me feel A little smaller when you Look down on my attempts For conversation Would it be so wrong to Admit you feel Or worse Tell me about it?

‫میرا شعور‬ isaacsahota

*Title translation: "My Conciousness"

Revelation Gillian Stewart

We are encouraged to ask questions, only to be ridiculed or overlooked. We are encouraged to think outside the box, yet society prefers pristine, pretty packages. We are encouraged to speak out, but some would have us not speak at all. I am tired of feeling as though I am lesser, I am tired of feeling as though I don’t belong, I am tired of you dictating what I can and can’t do I am tired of the system, society, and the government trying to control me I am tired of feeling tired. My life is my own, and it is not meant to make you feel better about yours My thoughts, my opinions, my voice - they matter I matter

Stigmatic Solitude (At Peace) Christopher F.

I woke up early and decided to go for a walk; just the other day, But it seemed that everywhere I walked, something stood in my way, There were rocks and trees and giant bumblebees, There were foul smelling roses and piles of dead leaves, All of this and so much more, was just outside of my front door, I saw fences and gates and people at the bus stop, as they did wait for more, I walked through the brush on the edge, of a neatly tended field, I witnessed a sign on soccer goalposts that did tell me to yield, I took the advice quite literally and I stopped dead in my tracks, For in my heart I knew, that if I kept walking to the place of busy I would be verbally attacked, For every time I seem to wander too far and saunter to the grocery store, I know that I will leave with my heart upon the floor, They stare at me, but will never truly see, The golden heart that lays not-so-deep within me, They see my stern face and the black bags beneath my eyes, They see me and they judge me, with their brains full of lies, They point and they laugh and they call names worse than a leper, Their bias of me runs stationary, like a man on an exercise stepper, They tend not to open their minds, about an eccentric like me, They choose not to learn about illness; they feel that calling me names will somehow set them free, Just then I decided that a trip past the soccer field would be ever so nice, I chose not to accept that; for me this was not a practical device, I pushed forth and I really didn’t care, if at the store; everyone, at me, would firmly stare, I accepted the challenge of a trip to the place of mockery and the coolest of air,

The door at the front of the store opened for me, without a chore, I walked into the building and as always, I stared at the floor, I walked past the bread and I felt like I was being viewed as the walking dead, But little did I know; that view was mostly all in my head, I walked to the back and I made a hard right, And what I witnessed was sure a delight, I saw a man of 30 years old, and he was talking to himself, He was talking to cans of baked beans upon the top shelf, I walked up to the man and I asked how he was doing, How he was enjoying the weather and what kind of gum he was chewing, I just asked questions because I wanted to talk, To a person like me; a person who most likely lives on my block, But just like me, he mostly stays in his house, His best friend’s name is Gerald; his little pet mouse, He likes lightning because he says it temporarily disables the voice in his head, He loves brainteasers, poetry and his favourite colours is red, I realized quite quickly, that we were one in the same, Even though we look a bit spooky; we are incredibly tame, We talked for a little while more and eventually decided we wanted to go home, But the best part of that day was when I realized ...... that in my illness; I am never truly alone.

All the World’s a Stage

Gillian Stewart

We don a mask, wearing it like armour, in hopes that it will protect us. But masks are suffocating, and like armour can weigh you down. The person we are beneath is hidden away; your truth and your voice are concealed. We construct a persona that we believe will allow us to fit in, sometimes achieving it so well that you lose sight of who you are. You become an unmemorable face in a sea of faces nothing more than another carbon copy. We hide behind multiple masks, layers of our identity hidden away as we fear rejecting the standards that oppress us, as we fear to stand out and be different to be someone worthy.

When you are alone, and the performance is over, all that is left is you and your mask, yet you continue to live in fear of being exposed. You wear the mask for so long, that when it finally comes off is there anyone left? Take off the mask and let yourself breathe. Allow the world to see you for who you truly are.

You Are Allowed To Affirm Yourself Fatima Baloch