Incite Magazine - October 2014

INCITE MAGAZINE

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2 ▪ OCTOBER 2014

ISLANDS

EXECUTIVE EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Sam Godfrey Avery Lam CREATIVE DIRECTOR Sarah Mae Conrad CONTENT EDITORS Stephen Clare Devra Charney Jaslyn English Kayla Esser Julie-Anne Mendoza Imaiya Ravichandran Louell Taye ART EDITORS Lauren Gorfinkel Jason Lau Angela Ma Sabnam Mahmuda Raluca Topliceanu

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DESERT ISLAND? Incite Editors

EBB Louell Taye

CASTAWAY Elina Filice

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GENIE IN A BOTTLE Annie Mills

GREEK GETAWAYS Kaila Radan & Devra Charney

KIRIBATI: A PARADISE SINKING Monica Alonso Soria INDEPENDENCE LEADS TO LONELINESS Michal Coret

A TALE OF TWO CITIES Julia Bugiel

EDITORIAL

T

hey say there are two stages to sea sickness.

At first, you’re worried you’re going to die; then you wish you would.

Yes, you can try preventative and reactive measures like Gravol, motion-sickness patches, or unfashionable bracelets designed to squeeze select pressure points (science).

Yes, you can try these things.

But, you may end up with Gravol-flavoured vomit, a patchshaped tan line, a bruise on your wrist, or just good old-fashioned begging Satan to please take your soul in exchange for two minutes on a patch of dry land. I’m not saying that any of these things will for sure happen; I’m just saying that they have happened before. Maybe even to someone you know. Maybe even to someone who writes these editorials. Maybe. I don’t know your life.

What I do know is this issue is packed with articles, memories, puzzles, photos and art covering everything from depression to Neverland and back, all nice enough to maybe change my mind about ocean-based travel. I could use a few more islands like this one in my life.

– Sam Godfrey, Co-Editor-in-Chief 

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IN THE DARKNESS Olivia Fasullo

TO MAKE THIS MUNDANE WORLD SUBLIME Jesse Bettencourt

ONLY THE FINEST Elizabeth Fu

THE WRONG SIDE OF PARADISE CRUISING Rachel Katz

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EMPTY SHELL Sabnam Mahmuda

LOST AT MAC: FEELING ALONE IN A SEA OF OTHERS Caitlyn Buhay THE REAL HOBBITS: HOMO FLORESIENSIS Graham Colby

ISLAND DEBATES Keir Heath-Griffiths

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THE CHEVALIER OF CHATEAU D’IF Raluca Topliceanu

MARBLE ISLAND Sarah O’Connor

DID YOU JUST CHECK YOUR PHONE? Parishae Ali THE EGOCENTRICITY OF MENTAL ILLNESS Emile Shen

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THE KEEPER AND I Imaiya Ravichandran

THE DEVIL ENJOYS A SUCCESSFUL TERM IN GOVERNMENT Christine Wang

ART Maxine Gravina & Jason Lau

LEGO IS NOT MEANT FOR NOSES Mary Kate MacDonald

CONTRIBUTORS WRITING Parishae Ali, Jesse Bettencourt, Julia Bugiel, Caitlyn Buhay, Devra Charney, Christopher Chiu, Michal Coret, Yara Farran, Olivia Fasullo, Elina Filice, Elizabeth Fu, Gerald Ibe, Keir Heath-Griffiths, Matthew Jordan, Rachel Katz, Krista Kruja, Mary Kate MacDonald, Sabnam Mahmuda, Annie Mills, Sarah O’Connor, Kaila Radan, Shruti Ramesh, Imaiya Ravichandran, Mackenzie Richardson, Emile Shen Monica Alonso Soria, Louell Taye, Raluca Topliceanu, Christine Wang

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EULER’S SEVEN BRIDGES Matthew Jordan

PLACES. Gerald Ibe

WHY CANADA’S NOT IN WITH THE IN-CROWD Krista Kruja

ART: UNTITLED MOBILE Cassandra Ferguson

issuu.com/incite-magazine facebook.com/incitemagazine @incitemagazine

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LOVE AT FIRST LISTEN Yara Farran

BAHAMAS Christopher Chiu

A CONVERSATION WITH MY GRANDFATHER Mackenzie Richardson

LEAVING NEVERLAND Shruti Ramesh

ARTWORK Christie Chan, Sarah Mae Conrad, Kayla Da Silva, Kate Dingwall, Cassandra Ferguson, Elina Filice, Karin Fish, Lisa Fluke, Véronique Giguère, Lauren Gorfinkel, Maxine Gravina, Barbara Karpinski, Nimra Khan, Jason Lau, Jonsson Liu, Angela Ma, Sabnam Mahmuda, Linda Joyce Ott, Kaila Radan, Emile Shen, Raluca Topliceanu, Elaine Westenhoefer, Shreya Yugendranag LAYOUT Catherine Chambers, Sarah Mae Conrad, Susie Ellis, Lauren Gorfinkel, Dana Hill, Avery Lam, Jason Lau, Angela Ma, Sabnam Mahmuda, Nasreen Mody, Emile Shen, Franco Simões, Raluca Topliceanu, Elaine Westenhoefer COVERS/TABLE OF CONTENTS Photography: Sarah Mae Conrad, Hilary Kee Concept: Incite Art Editors Models: Patrick Dans, Cathy Huang, Laura Jambrovic Special thank you to Debbie Marinoff Shupe and the lifeguards at the McMaster pool.

stephen clare

Bear Grylls because in a situation of Man vs. Wild, I hear he’s a Born Survivor. I’m confident that we would both Get Out Alive, and I would probably learn some pretty cool nature tips about life on The Island.

If for some reason we don’t manage to Escape From Hell, I’m pretty okay with just listening to his accent. Worst Case Scenario, at the very least, it’ll be one Wild Weekend.

If I were stranded on an island, I’d want to be stuck with Martha Stewart. Now, Martha’s prime was way back in the day, so some of you might not remember, but the lady could do pretty much anything. Cooking, cleaning, home design, you name it – Martha had something for you. I realize supplies would be far scarcer than what she’s used to, but she seems pretty resourceful. Plus, that whole insider trading thing showed a ruthlessness to her that would definitely help us out with the whole survival aspect of island life. Practically speaking, it just makes sense.

When I was seven years old, I was wronged. Austin Smith, that son of a bitch, stole the strawberry right off my slice of Angel Food Cake at Janet’s birthday party. I have never forgiven him. His smarmy, whipped-cream smeared, prepubescent face haunts my nightmares.

If I’m ever stranded on a desert island, I want Austin Smith to be there. His ruthless nature will be useful in hunting and foraging. Plus, he’s obviously sneaky enough to avoid attracting unwanted attention from local predators.

And after two weeks, when I’m sick, starving, wasting away, I’ll have no problem bashing his head in with a rock and devouring his organs for nutrients. Fuck you, Austin.

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kayla esser

devra charney

louell taye

editors! who would you choose to be

Michael Phelps, obviously. And a towrope and a really long stick with a gold medal on it.

INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

Since no one specified that we had to choose a real person to be stuck on an island with, I would absolutely choose Hermione Granger. Because if she for some reason couldn’t Apparate us off the island (and back to the land of internet access), she could keep us alive using both magic and supplies from her bottomless bag. She could also ease the pain of internet-withdrawal using her super memory-charm skills.

jaslyn english

imaiya ravichandran If I found myself stranded on an island, I’d first question my life and whatever series of poor choices that led me to this unfortunate predicament. Then, I’d be filled with intense regret upon realizing that I did not indulge in one last McDonald’s chicken nugget... yet another poor choice.

But if, as I wallow in my self-pity, a genie appeared telling me he could transport anyone I wished to join me in my exile, I know what I’d say: Mindy Kaling. Specifically, Dr. Mindy Lahiri. Also known as Beyonce Pad Thai.

Also known as my Tamil girl crush.

julie-anne mendoza

stuck with on a desert island?

If I could bring anyone on a desert island, I would bring a Tom Hanks. Hopefully, he learned something from his castaway struggles and, if not, he can entertain me by acting out his movies (I’ve always wanted to be Meg Ryan). As well, Les Stroud would be invited (I have recently googled that he is the Survivorman) thereby not only ensuring the survival of Tom and I, but also helping me turn the island into a comfy getaway. He would most likely be gagged since, let’s be real, I don’t want to be lectured ad nauseum on how to survive whilst I’m spending quality time on the beach.

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EBB

Louell Taye

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s the immortal and endlessly quotable Kanye West once philosophized, “They say people in your life are seasons.” Personally, I’ve never actually heard anyone say that before, and I question whether it’s really all that ubiquitous a saying, but I hear you, Yeezy. Obviously, we don’t treat everyone in our lives like they’re just part of a phase – you probably wouldn’t have too many people clamouring to be around you if that was the case – but it’s a reality with which, on some level, we come to reconcile ourselves.

Sooner or later, we all confront this truth face-to-face. Paths inevitably diverge, and we say farewell to some familiar faces.

Sometimes we don’t get to say bye, and sometimes, depending on the person, we don’t even feel the desire or need. It’s funny how nostalgia works. Nowadays, I’ll find myself waxing poetically with friends about the good ol’ days and all the great pals we used to hang out with back in high school when, at the time, we spent roughly 70% of our time (ballpark) complaining about how crappy our school was. Honestly, I don’t know whether the perception of my hormonal teenaged self or my current rose-coloured reminiscing is more genuine, but I do know that in the now, it certainly feels like the latter.

This feeling of leaving people behind has only become more pronounced during

ARTWORK BY VÉRONIQUE GIGUÈRE

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As a by-product of the new, it would seem that we often shed the old. my time at university. It’s a strange thing. We leave people behind pretty much our whole lives, from kindergarten through high school and beyond, but now, in my fourth and final year, standing at the precipice between the comforting and familiar cocoon of university and the daunting and vast real world, the reality of moving on and saying goodbye has become unavoidable.

University starts out as a sort of common ground. Thousands of nervous highschool kids transplanted at once to a foreign environment, let loose to define, and often re-define, themselves. Naturally, we quickly adapt. We meet people – make friends, connections that will support us through the next few years. Then, as the years go on, we evolve. We get involved with new things, have new experiences, and, naturally, meet new people. As a by-product of the new, it would seem that we often shed the old. Maybe it’s someone who decided they weren’t cut out for the university experience, or wanted to take some time off.

Maybe we find ourselves more aligned with

other people and gravitate towards them at the expense of others in our lives. It could be any number of reasons. It’s pretty easy to get lost in the shuffle of 20 000 people.

It’s uncomfortable to acknowledge that our relationships, even with some of the people we think are closest to us, can be reduced to, at a basic level, a simple matter of convenience and personal similarity. And then, if and when we grow apart, either geographically or personally, is there anything else that keeps us together? Of course, even if you do manage to stay close with those people for four years, what next? Once we lose that mutual ground provided by university and step towards the rest of our lives, is it reasonable to expect that these connections will stand the test of time?

Usually, we deny this to ourselves.

When we come to a point where we find ourselves and someone important to us going separate ways, we claim, “Absolutely, we’ll definitely stay in touch!” And sure, we’ll usually give it a go and make it last for a while. Sometimes a long while. But it almost always fades over time. Life gets in the way. Maybe one day you’ll run into one of those familiar faces from the past. You stop and chat for a while, exchange some small talk, maybe reminisce, and then, of course, to wrap it all up, say that you should “definitely!” get together again soon. But really, how often do any of us follow through with that? Do we actually even mean it when we say it?

At the same time, focusing on all this doom and gloom doesn’t paint a full portrait. Perhaps many people in our lives do end up being seasons, coming and going as a new cycle awaits. But not everyone. Time is not a void into which all our relationships are consumed. Rather, time is a sieve. There are those connections we forge that, with effort and circumstance, we manage to hold onto for years, decades even. And perhaps, in recognizing and accepting that not everyone we meet is destined to stay in our lives forever, these select few connections that we do manage to preserve are all the more valuable for it.  INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

CASTAWAY Elina Filice (@elinafilice)

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he woke up, forgetting for a moment where she was. In the dim light she recalled her surroundings. She looked to her left to where he sat, hands loosely on the steering wheel, eyes unblinking, staring ahead. Although their bodies were in the car, their minds were lost at sea. Static emanated from the radio; she wondered how long it had been like that. She turned the dial and stared out the window. The blackness of the night engulfed the car, so that the space between the ground and the horizon felt too small to pass through.

She searched for something to say. She sensed him doing the same. The air felt heavy, impenetrable. Everything that came to mind felt wrong. They stood oceans apart; all the things they could be saying flew far above them like lost messenger birds.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

The car sailed along the 403 Highway, scaling the escarpment.

As they broke through the cover of trees, the lights of the city lay far below on their left. Again she looked at him, and as she did so, a red light from the dashboard illuminated his face. The car began stumbling, as if dark, choppy waves hid dangers beneath them.

“Shit.”

“Tire?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

Slowly, he pulled over towards the wide right shoulder. They got out of the car.

“Spare?”

“Nope.”

“Phones?”

“Dead.”

They were stranded. “Sorry,” he said. She shrugged. He crouched down beside the car and began inspecting the damage.

His hair, longer than usual, spilled beyond his collar. She kept telling him to get it cut. The night was so black that she thanked the light pollution from the city for what little they could see.

With a whisper at first, and then a shout, her surroundings welcomed her back as if she were a long lost friend. “We used to come here,” she said. “Hm?” he replied. “When we were younger.

You remember?” But he was preoccupied with their shipwreck. He tinkered, as if he were bucketing out water flowing in through the puncture.

She turned to the road. The flow of traffic had slowed somewhat, but the gushing stream still throbbed with urgency. A sudden impulse compelled her to abandon ship. She crossed the two lanes and reached the safety median in the middle of the highway. Staring up at the night sky, she wondered if it was really just a vast mirror reflecting the city lights. His voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hey!” he called, “What are you doing?”

“Remember?” she said, “When we were younger?”

“Its not safe. Come back.”

“I’m fine.”

ARTWORK BY SARAH MAE CONRAD

He said “be careful” and she thought of all the ways to say “I love you.”

She gazed down the road, as far as she could. She was calm, serene. She felt safe, though danger lay only two steps away. Traffic rushed in opposite directions on either side of her. One stream going where they were headed, the other going back the way they came.

She felt his eyes on her. Hers were on the sky. Though they were just meters apart, she felt as if the seven seas were between them. Drifting helplessly in the current that pushed her farther and farther from him, she wondered if they’d be able to fight it. She thought of nights, so long ago, when they used to stand at this exact spot. They came to escape. Although movement encircled them and the world spun so quickly, here, in the middle of it all, they were detached from it. She hoped he remembered.

This time she stood alone.

This sanctuary, once shared with him, was now just her own. She was secluded, separated from everything by cars rushing past on either side. Her hair and clothes billowed as the cars sent waves of wind crashing over her. She was surrounded by sound as they passed close enough to touch. Their headlights punctured holes through the blackness.

If you had been driving down the escarpment that night, you would have seen them. With morning beginning to seep over the city that lay below, two figures, standing on the median of the highway, would have caught your eye. Though traffic flowed all around them they seemed quiet, tranquil. You would have smiled when he reached for her hand. And you would have thought of all the islands of the sea, and how the most important ones are the ones we stand on together. 

Though they were just meters apart, she felt as if the seven seas were between them.

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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ARTWORK BY ANGELA MA

A TALE OF TWO CITIES Julia Bugiel

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hat makes a city? Who shapes its identity, its narrative?

Throughout their history, cities have been carefully constructed according to the dominant ideology of the day.

Despite the importance of this planning, everyday people appropriate space for unintended purposes and carve their own paths through their urban landscapes.

These individual actions ensure that cities are not static: areas change as people’s needs change, and these individual impulses coalesce into large economic and political forces. Currently, the winnowing down of the middle class into a rich-poor dichotomy is fast becoming the American city’s predominant narrative.

Chicago was once a classic example of a tough inner city hardened by white flight to the suburbs, but over time, this dynamic has flipped. Writing for the New York Times Magazine, Ben Austen describes a post-recession suburban Chicago in which schools are closed, buildings razed, and activists like Willie “J.R.” Fleming do what they can to slow the decline.

Locals watch as their neighbours flee, and squatters move in as the city council tries to solve a problem that is clearly endemic.

Enter its urban core, though, and Chicago becomes an entirely different city renowned for its art and architecture. This is the Chicago shown in tourist brochures: vibrant and prosperous. At the University of Chicago, applicants are asked to write essays answering unorthodox questions such as “Where’s Waldo?” and students take part 8

in the world’s largest scavenger hunt. Both these collegiate high-jinks and Chicago’s inner ring of wealth make for a stark contrast with the torn-down high-rises in the Cabrini-Green suburb, showing how wide the wealth gap has become.

Like Chicago, San Francisco is an American city with a storied heritage, most notably as a cultural haven for immigrants.

Nowadays, however, people think of Google as much of the Golden Gate Bridge, since the company has made waves there for bussing and now literally ferrying its employees from the city on their daily pilgrimage to ‘the Googleplex’ some thirty five miles away. Accordingly, rent around these bus stops has grown disproportionately to other areas, and as the jobs in the area cater more and more to wealthy tech workers and their service staff, the middle class is shrinking. According to the Brookings Institution, San Francisco has the second highest rate of inequality in the U.S., and the gap between the rich and poor is the fastest growing in the country, as lower wage earners are being squeezed out of the city. It is difficult to reconcile the image of protestors smashing Google buses with one of a city where the latest trend is gourmet toast, but San Francisco, too, is a city of extremes.

Today’s ‘rich city, poor city’ dichotomy seems to reflect the growing income gap in the U.S. However, what these binaries often exclude is the space between the extremes. We have all heard Detroit’s bankruptcy described as either bound for ruin or

ripe for reinvention; Chicago is at turns elite and embattled, while San Francisco can be cutting edge or cutthroat. These descriptions are not inaccurate, but fail to capture the range of human experience within these cities.

Hamilton, too, faces a split narrative.

On one hand, the Social Planning and Research Council cites rising income inequality, and Hamilton Food Share lists an ever-higher number of food bank users. On the other, events like Supercrawl showcase the city’s burgeoning arts scene, and many McMaster students can live hardly ever leaving Westdale. Even if we know these problems exist, the McMaster bubble can make it hard to recognize their extent.

When I think of Hamilton, though, I think of a city in which hard steel and soft green come together; from these warring elements, an inventive and diverse cultural scene has emerged. Just like in Chicago and San Francisco, the most interesting and dynamic stories that emerge are of interplay between the extremes. As students, we blur the line between privilege and poverty.

As such, we form a middle ground that, by embracing both Hamilton’s waterfalls and its sketchy malls, has the potential to give back to the community and complicate the rich-poor binary. If we take advantage of the opportunities presented to us, I don’t think it is idealistic to say that we can affect Hamilton’s narrative. By working to change others’ conceptions of our city, we play a role in shaping its identity. For four years’ time, that’s a lot.  INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

ARTWORK BY LISA FLUKE

GENIE IN A BOTTLE Annie Mills

I

often find myself craving time alone; an hour free of communication with others, a moment to collect myself. These lone moments feel precious. These are times to read the book that’s been sitting on my bedside table for months, to dance around carefree to a newly discovered song, to talk to myself without worry of others misinterpreting this intrapersonal conversation as some sort of ‘crazy.’

Whether you identify as an introvert or an extrovert, there is little dispute over the importance of time alone. Solitary self-reflection is encouraged in a diverse range of disciplines: art, religion, and psychology, to name a few. This seems largely to be due to the developmental importance placed on contemplating one’s own nature. It need not be proven by scientific evidence that time alone is a crucial aspect of learning to communicate with others, and of healthy functioning in society.

Self-reflection comes second, however, to the preliminary critical period of learning the principles of communicating with others.

How can one contemplate their sense of self, their nature, without a basic understanding of how to interact with the people around them? Even society’s most shy must first be exposed to social interaction in order to make the discovery that this is something that may be a cause of anxiety. The majority of us have our childhood circumstances to thank for the fact that we have the ability to speak, interpret social cues, and read this sentence. We, like most others, were exposed to conversation

and social scenarios during - as psychology phrases it - the critical period for language acquisition in our childhoods. The knowledge acquired about this crucial developmental time frame is largely due to the observations of a young girl whose circumstances were not as privileged as our own.

As fairytales imply, before a genie is magically whisked into a bottle, this whimsical figure has first acquired the communication skills required to grant the wishes

ever, was the tragic discovery that Genie had not acquired speech during childhood. Genie was not exposed to any significant amount of language while in solitary confinement. She only heard the angry background sounds of her parents’ abusive relationship, or the growls her father directed towards her whenever she made noises to indicate her hunger.

Genie was beaten when she made sounds, preventing even the slightest progress in her linguistic development.

Genie’s tragic childhood circumstances shed light on the nature of language acquisition, and the necessity of exposure to speech during the critical development period. It is also now known that what allows you to be ‘you,’ ironically, is what you learn from those around you. Your words, thoughts, and nature were once thought to be something intrinsically your own. But it is clear from Genie’s circumstances that much of who you are is how you communicate, and this communication is not something that you develop purely out of nature. Much of who you are is what you have been exposed to.

The term isolation connotes a lack of communication with others. There is nothing more isolating than being unaware of your lack of communication. Genie had no means of knowing what lay outside her bubble of confinement until her rescue at age 13. It is a bittersweet discovery, when someone is released into an over-stimulating world. Genie’s new discoveries will forever be a reminder of all she was deprived of. 

Whether you identify as an introvert or an extrovert, there is little dispute over the importance of time alone.

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

of whoever releases it from captivity. The infamous feral child, Genie, was not lucky enough to have acquired the skills that her name implies. Genie faced near total isolation for the entirety of her childhood, having been locked in a room from the age of 20 months to 13 years. She faced severe abuse from her father, who kept her strapped to a child’s toilet for all waking hours of the day, and bound to a crib at night. Genie was malnourished and constrained, with evidence showing that her father limited her to consuming dangerously scarce amounts of baby food for her first 13 years.

Of most interest to psychologists, how-

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GREEK GETAWAYS

Kaila Radan and Devra Charney (@devviecakes)

You may find that after indulging in a fresh Greek salad, the North American version will no longer live up to your new standards.

T

hinking about your next weekend getaway? Whether you’re planning a surprise for that special someone or looking for some solo adventure, the Greek Islands have something for you! Here’s a handy little guide to help you plan the perfect escape. 

CRETE: FOR THE TYPICAL TOURIST

ARTWORK BY KAILA RADAN

For many, Crete is the obvious choice when planning a vacation in Greece. The largest of the islands, Crete offers something for just about everyone. Sample some authentic Greek cuisine, or make your way over to a winery for a glass made from the finest grapes. You may find that after indulging in a fresh Greek salad, the North American version will no longer live up to your new standards. In the Rethymno region you might be serenaded by Cretan lyre melodies while enjoying breathtaking scenery. If you happen to be there around Easter, you can also partake in the Apokries festivities, which offer a carnival and masquerade for people of all ages!

Any time of year, Crete is a popular choice and one that allows you to immerse yourself in Greek life and culture. 

RHODES: A WALK BACK IN TIME

ARTWORK BY KAYLA DA SILVA 10

Bring your history lecture to life by visiting Rhodes Island, home to a UNESCO world heritage site! While it might bring to mind a certain state of a similar name, we can guarantee a very different experience at this historical hot spot. Dating back to 407 BCE, the old medieval town has relics from a number of cultures and

ancient civilizations. Entering through the Gate of Freedom, you will soon come to the Street of the Knights, which is one of the best-preserved medieval streets in all of Europe. Overlooking it all is the Palace of the Grand Master, which has seen much violence in its time. To re-enter reality, exit the ‘old town’ and find yourself amid more modern amenities. Once you’ve had enough history for a day, you can head to the local theatre, or take your chances in the casino. However, even here you will still find yourself surrounded by architectural gems from, for example, the Roman Empire. 

SANTORINI: HONEYMOON HAVEN Looking for love? Santorini is the perfect place for you! With its dramatic views, stunning beaches, and picturesque sunsets, there’s no shortage of romance to be found. Start your day off with a dip in the ocean near the white beach before heading into the streets of Fira, where you can browse the shops at your leisure. Bonus points if you can convince your significant other to buy you a Greek gift! Around midday, head to the black beach of Perissa, where you can escape the heat with a cocktail enjoyed beneath the shade of one of the many umbrellas. If you’re feeling worn out by this point, you can always head back to the five-star resort (that you surely booked) to freshen up, or take a quick nap before the evening’s festivities.

Later on, head to Oia for dinner reservations on a restaurant terrace. Here you can enjoy traditional Greek cuisine while watching Santorini’s famous sunset. End your day with a walk along the red beach, conveniently the most secluded of the three!  INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

MYKONOS: FOR WILD NIGHTS Have any plans this Thursday night?

Forget watching Netflix on the couch, and book your flight to Mykonos! One of the hottest party destinations in Europe, this island won’t disappoint. Make sure to nap on the plane because once you arrive, you’ll be on the move for the next 48 hours.

Avid partygoers fly in from across the globe to soak up the sun at beach parties by day and lose themselves in ouzo by night. Start your evening off with a couple of drinks in Montparnasse, a piano bar with character and flair. Once the sun goes down, the real fun begins. Mykonos’ clubs cater to all kinds of crowds. Cavo Paradiso is one of the most famous clubs in Europe – it even has a dance floor that surrounds a swimming pool in the shape of the island. If you have the stamina to stay up all night, check out Ramrod, the newest addition to Mykonos’ gay club scene. You’ll never tire of the endless energy on this island, but be wary – we’ve heard that early flights and hangovers don’t mix well!

ARTWORK BY KAYLA DA SILVA

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SCHINOUSA: OFF THE BEATEN TRACK With only 206 residents, this destination calls to the weathered traveller. Few tourists make it out to this often-overlooked locale, as it is sandwiched between the more popular Mykonos and Ios. A useful hint before you alight: learn some basic Greek so that you can communicate with the locals. Also, be sure to come armed with a pair of sturdy boots, since there’s no public transportation. If you do choose to come with a vehicle, fill up your tank before the trip because once you’re on the island, there are no fuel stations to be found. Schinousa has fifteen beaches that are ideal for a moment of solitary meditation. Aligaria is especially known for its three sandy, secluded coves. A true retreat from civilization, there is even an old pirate cove close to the harbor. We can’t promise you’ll find treasure, but you never know where a geocache might be hidden!  VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

ARTWORK BY KAILA RADAN

ARTWORK BY KAYLA DA SILVA 11

Kiribati

a paradise sinking Monica Alonso Soria

I

magine how amazing it would be to live surrounded by water on a beautiful island in the Pacific Ocean. What if that dreamland could disappear in less than a century? The inconvenient truth is that a paradise just like the one described above is subtly, but surely, sinking beneath the waves.

Meet Kiribati, an island whose imminent demise is startling proof of climate change. This island nation, formed by 32 atolls and one raised coral island, is sinking 1.2 centimetres each year. That is four times quicker than the global average, and means that this region is predicted to disappear from the map by the year 2100. Of course, this news must come as a horrifying shock for all of you who are reading… but consider the distress of current Kiribati inhabitants whose children may not have a place to live.

in agriculture, the reduction of coastal land and intrusion of salt water affect Kiribati’s main crash crop: the copra. Coastal erosion also damages beaches and land, as does the extreme weather, like flooding and heavy rainfall, that follows. As a result, Kiribati’s economy has greatly suffered. The island nation is an overcrowded region and one of the poorest in the world. There are several factors affecting economic mat-

such as ciguatera poisoning, malnutrition, vector-borne diseases, and even cholera.  The Good News Is… Despite the obstacles ahead, this nation is working hard to survive, initiating the three-stage Kiribati Adaptation Program (KAP) in 2003. This initiative considers several key actions like improving water supply management, strengthening laws to reduce coastal erosion, and controlling population settlement. The program has powerful contributors, including the governments of Japan and Australia, and several global funds focused on environmental protection, climate change action, and disaster reduction and recovery.

This nation has fast become one of the most powerful warnings of the threat global warming poses to islands. The potential future of Kiribati is a difficult pill to swallow, but at the same time, an opportunity to prove that there is still hope – and a lot of work to do. 

This region is predicted to disappear from the map by 2100.

 The Ongoing Situation Climate change has already threatened current inhabitants of Kiribati. Firstly,

ters; on one hand, the rising sea level can inundate the causeways that form the island’s commerce channels. On the other hand, there is a huge concern about the protection budget, as large amounts of money are needed to prepare for and deal with catastrophes. There are also health issues, as increased temperatures and changes in rainfall translate into illnesses

ARTWORK BY LAUREN GORFINKEL

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INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

 Independence Leads to Loneliness Michal Coret You ask your family to leave so that you can unpack alone They are the only people you recognize here But you want to be unknown You ask yourself if you made the right choice If you will be happy If you correctly heard your own voice Independence leads to loneliness Never needing anyone else means no one else will be there to help you Insisting on doing things on your own means you will be alone, motionless You like the challenge, you say You feel More fulfilled that way But comfort and friendship you won’t be seeing Independence is a cold and lonely path, leading To a shallow and deceptively satisfactory state of being In reality you’re just too scared to admit that you don’t know how to be with others You don’t know how to form connections Who teaches this stuff, anyway? Mothers?

You think that being alone means no one will judge you but yourself No one will argue with you but yourself No one will hurt you but yourself No one will exclude you, ever, because you have already excluded yourself Or, rather politely, ‘excused yourself’ But without the pain of human connection Without the fear of judgment and betrayal You alone will feel no affection There won’t be anyone there to provide support, warmth, or a friendly glance And you will sit by yourself Turn the light out in your room when someone walks by inviting you to a dance



ARTWORK BY JASON LAU VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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ARTWORK BY RALUCA TOPLICEANU

THE CHEVALIER OF CHATEAU D’IF

T

he first man I spoke with since my incarceration was the guard.

That conversation was perhaps not of much importance, so I must go on to describe the second, the one whose story I will tell. The conversation was with the man in the next cell, introducing himself only as “a chevalier.”

I hardly knew him, but you could say he was a constant in my life, much like the cobbled walls and the dust settling on our skin.

I suppose our conversations would make these lazy days creep by a slight bit faster, and the hours between those crooked lines I engraved into the walls seemed to lessen. When the day finally came on which I heard the guards rushing through the narrow hallway, throwing open the door to his little cell and yelling, “the prisoner has escaped!” as they went, I nearly chuckled.  “I can hear ocean waves hitting the rocks,” I said.

“A fair amount of coins were exchanged to get this window, but it was money well spent. I can see the blue waters, and beyond them, the shores of Marseille. My home lies a bit farther than where my eyes can reach. Sometimes, if I place my head against the bars there, it is as if I am looking out at the city as a free man.” This thought, spoken from the mouth of a man that appeared to me more noble than most, stuck with me for many sleepless nights. It was during one of those nights that I heard, ever so quietly, the sound of stones knocking against one another and the steady displacement of dirt.

“What are you doing?” I asked. It was disorienting going on nothing more than sounds and trying to pair a facial expression with the voice.

“I suggest you go back to sleep.”

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Raluca Topliceanu “I don’t think there’s one person who has had a good sleep here.”

This drew a slight laugh from him. “Quite true. I can’t say the uneven stones make a good bed.”

I pushed closer to the wall adjoining our cells, and lowered my voice. “Are you… trying to get out?”

“What a silly thought. No one escapes from Chateau d’If.” “But I hear you moving stones.”

“I’m a bored man, what else do I have to do than some rearranging?”

“Don’t jest.”

A pause, then a stone gets lowered to the ground. “I’ve been working on this tunnel for three years now, discarding some of the dirt and stones through that tiny window and then carefully covering the hole.”

“A tunnel! Please, don’t leave without me—” “I don’t intend on leaving.”

“What?”

“There is no escape from here, my friend. I have been a prisoner for many years; the strength has been stripped away, along with my title and honour. I feel like I can count my remaining days on my fingers. Besides, what would there be out there for me, the life of a fugitive? Living the life I have lived, a life of indefinite freedom, this new life could not sustain me. The only thing I have from this tunnel is a grave. I dug out a chamber large enough to comfortably fit my body, and I replaced the stones after I had hollowed out the inside of the wall. When it is time, I will taken my place within it and rebuild the wall from the inside, shutting the world out.”  INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

MARBLE ISLAND Sarah O’Connor (@notsarahconnor)

(excerpts from the travel log of Mara Brown)  September 3, 2013 Tomorrow I’m off to Nunavut – specifically, the Isle of Marble!

How many people do you know who have been to Nunavut, let alone one of its obscure peninsulas?

Most graduates go backpacking across Europe for a year. Every day they post pictures of themselves, smiling up from canal boats in Venice, or ‘leaning’ against the Eiffel tower. They flaunt their money with cheesy grins, “Look at me! Look at my money! I’m somewhere you’ll never be!”

I could afford to go to Europe if I wanted to, but why should I follow the status quo? I don’t need to take selfies across Europe to prove that I’m happy, to prove that I’m living it up for the last few months before I’m forced into adulthood.

I’m not a sheep.

That’s why I decided on Nunavut. I’m going to be staying in a tiny cabin on the Isle of Marble.

The name is sickeningly sweet, like something out of Anne of Green Gables.

Those other students only spend a week here, a few days there at each destination before finally returning home. Well, not me! I’m going to live in Nunavut for a year, and I’m going to learn about Nunavut; the culture, the people, everything.

So those other people may go to many places in a short amount of time, but I’m actually going to experience Nunavut. I’ll be able to say that I not only visited a new place, I legit lived there!

How many people can say that?

Well, I should finish packing. Just wanted to keep you lovely readers updated.

Mara is feeling excited :D  November 26, 2013 I am royally pissed off! Rob brought up that stupid canoe ride again! As if I needed to freak out more about that! I didn’t really explain it before because I was way too freaked out, but I might as well tell you now.

Canoe rides are supposed to be peaceful and calm. They’re supposed to provide moments where you look out at the water and really reflect on life. And yeah, it started out that way. Rob, who I thought was nice, was rowing us to the Isle and explained a bit of Isle lore.

And then, when we were maybe five minutes from the shore, Rob got out of the canoe and started kneeling in the water! He just started crawling towards the Isle, clutching the rope in his hand and pulling it along. Then he said I had to get out of the canoe too because it was a “symbol of respect to the Isle and ancestors” to crawl towards the Isle. If I didn’t, I would die within a year.

Or at least that’s what legend says.

Of course I didn’t get out. My phone was in my pocket, and there was no way I was going to crawl in that freezing cold water!

I’ve complained to our manager about Rob. How dare he scare me like that. I’m practically a resident! Even if it is only for a year, it isn’t right to welcome a new person to the Isle like that.

Some people. I guess he’s just too obsessed with his ancestry to know how to treat people.

Maybe he’s lying.

I hope I can sleep tonight!

Mara is feeling scared :S VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

 April 15, 2014 It’s so lonely here. I never thought such a tiny place could be lonely. You always see such a sense of community in small towns on TV, but it isn’t really like that at all.

I think everyone here is against me. Rob got fired because he wouldn’t stop harassing me about the whole dying in a year thing.

He’s seriously like a horror movie character. I called the police to check my house, I was that scared.

They laughed at me though. Everyone in this crummy town is on Rob’s side and they think because I’m new I’m stupid. How can people really believe these stupid superstitions? I don’t get it.

Still. I’m so lonely… I think I’ll call my mom tonight… maybe cry a bit.

Mara is feeling lonely. :( (the last entry of Mara Brown, unpublished)  August 31, 2014 Haha I’m finally leaving this horrible Isle, I’m so happy I could scream!

I left my cabin a day early and slept on one of the benches at the airport. I was that excited to leave. I even canoed myself over to the mainland. Take that Rob, for all you’ve put me through.

I’m so relieved to finally be going home, but bleh do I have a horrible migraine! I’ve never had one before, but it runs in my family.

It was torture trying to get some rest in the airport last night.

I’ll ask my mom when I get home what she does for migraines.

Despite the migraine, I’ll finally be home, and that’s all that matters.

Just a quick update, I’ll post more once I get off the plane.

Mara is feeling happy (finally) :)  ARTWORK BY LINDA JOYCE OTT www.lindajoyceott.com www.optimismofcolor.com

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DID YOU JUST CHECK YOUR PHONE? Parishae Ali

Y

our cell phone is probably close to you right now, in your pocket, charging beside your bed, or hidden in the recesses of your bag. You probably checked it before you began reading this, or you’re going to stop midway and check it. Perhaps you’ll be checking it for the time, or maybe you want to see if you finally received a long-awaited text or notification.

The point is, even if you may brush it off as just “staying connected”, you’re glued to your phone. In a study commissioned by Nokia, mobile technology consultant Tomi Ahonen reported that during a waking day of 16 hours, users check their smartphones an average of 150 times, which works out to once every 6 to 7 minutes.

This doesn’t really come as a surprise to me, considering the fact that the first thing I do when I wake up is check my cell phone, and the last thing I do before I sleep is scroll through my phone for at least half an hour. Cell phones aren’t the only generators of addictive behaviour; if you look around you, you’ll see people attached to their laptops, tablets, and other technology as well. Naturally, these all have a negative effect on us.

In my second year of high school, my group of three friends and I grew very close and made a chat group on Facebook. Here we talked about anything and everything,

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from procrastination (while actually procrastinating) to toilet troubles. On top of all the time we spent together in school, we spent the rest of our time in our homes, chatting.

Interestingly, we only saw each other outside of school about once every three months or so. Deep secrets and intimate moments were discussed in this chat group; things, I realized, that we would not normally talk about in person as we should have been able to do. I’d become the funniest person and the deepest thinker since, in the online

percent believe that “people spend too much time looking at their phones and not enough time talking to each other.” The statement that “it’s great to take a break from technology every now and again for a few days or more” was agreed to by 82 percent of people. I’ve known quite a few people who’ve undertaken the notechnology test where they completely shut themselves off from any form of technology for at least 24 hours. The undertakers of the test made their friends so concerned by

I began to notice that I’d started spending a lot of time online talking to other friends as well, depending solely on Facebook and texting. world, I’d get time to respond and put a lot of thought into my words. After making a routine of talking to my friends everyday, I began to notice that I’d started spending a lot of time online talking to other friends as well, depending solely on Facebook and texting. Phone calls were rare and restricted to talk of school or the occasional outing.

Now, having graduated from high school, I realize that this behaviour has impacted me in a way that leaves me less confident than I was when I entered high school. I’ve grown so dependent on being able to communicate more openly with people on the Internet that when it comes to face-to-face communication, I am severely lacking.

In a study conducted on 1500 adults aged 18 to 24 in Great Britain, youth research agency Voxburner reveals in a Youth Tech report that an astounding 94

not being available that the friends phoned the families of the test-takers instead, inquiring as to where the said people had disappeared and why they were acting so unresponsive.

I’ve never been able to undertake a technology break of my own; in fact, a large part of this article was written on my laptop while I was out having dinner with my mother and sister. Think of it this way: human beings would find it very difficult to survive on a deserted island alone. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that it’s next to impossible to live alone for long without going crazy. Talking is a big vent for anyone’s frustrations, but when we’re so immersed in our tech, we are essentially isolating ourselves by restricting our communication to a glaring screen and the familiar motions of swipes, taps, and clicks. 

INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

ARTWORK BY RALUCA TOPLICEANU VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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THE EGOCENTRICITY OF MENTAL ILLNESS Emile Shen (@emileshen) ARTWORK BY EMILE SHEN

S

omething like the first principle of Buddhism says that you must control your mind or it will control you. Well I’m not religious, but it is true that the thoughts in your mind have the power to build or deteriorate your identity. The struggle between light and dark is a problem that I encounter often. It is uncomfortably easy for me to let the dark take over because I see what’s there – everything is more interesting in the nighttime anyway.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) lists symptoms like “fatigue”, “depressed, irritable mood”, and “change in appetite”. What is omitted are the implications of how these symptoms can transform lives. For instance, I have found a correlation between mental illness and behaviour (at least in my life): it boils down to the less ‘okay’ I am, the less likeable of a person I become – both to myself and others. The negligence of self quickly becomes apathy towards others. This spirals into a general and consistent indifference for most things in my shabbily maintained existence. I remember that it wasn’t always like this, and that’s depressing in itself. Hopefully this will all be over tomorrow, next week, next month?

The worst part is the irony that accompanies the manifestation of mental illness, or as I like to call, mental ‘not okayness’. I value the feelings of others immensely and crave emotional closeness. To gradually lose the capacity to care is heartbreaking to me.

Sadness is far from interesting, it’s distracting. From afar, another face looks vacantly on as she trudges into her residence building, exhausted from being awake at all.

The lack of feeling both confounds and frustrates her. Her parents wonder why she is constantly on edge, agitated, and rude. Her peers ask why she missed yet another class. Her best friend hears the tone of the voicemail, much more than her friend’s voice. Selfish. If people knew they would understand, but that would be a burden (not to mention embarrassing), so isolation is the next best solution.

But after awhile it becomes gruelling for her to care when the anesthetic-like detachment takes over and nothing is left but the bitter after taste of work neglected and relationships in shambles. Experiences wash over her and she’s left there trying to absorb whatever positive or negative thing it might’ve been, instead of the mediocre greyness that her entire world is seeped in.

Outwardly neutrality. Outward neutrality coupled with inward self-hatred with abusive thoughts galore. The balance is off, but it’s there.

The winter passed, the spring did too, and by summertime and some SSRIs, I had recovered considerably from that bout of not-okayness. There was much resistance, but based on classic weight-lifting logic, this leads to increased strength and endurance, so I hope that same ideology applies to my mental wellbeing.

I wish these things came with a reason because a simple chemical glitch is not a satisfying cause to the effect of months of vague, regrettable sadness. It scares me when I notice the same patterns emerging, but at the end of the day, no matter how much these things consume my life, it is not me, and I am not it.

Because somewhere left inside was the girl who laughed so loudly that the neighbours wondered what the punchline was. 

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INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

THE KEEPER AND I Imaiya Ravichandran (@imaiyar) ARTWORK BY SHREYA YUGENDRANAG

“No man is an island, entire of itself.”

– John Donne

A

most peculiar thing happened the other day. So peculiar, in fact, that my attempts to recount my story to others have been woefully futile. It all began with an evening stroll through the Woods. I come to the Woods whenever I need to be alone, feeling tired and overwhelmed by the disarray of life as one often does.

I walked along a dirt path that grew increasingly precarious as it twisted further into the darkness. Suddenly, I found myself at a perfectly circular clearing. In the middle was an opening just large enough for a person of my size. I approached it without inhibition, thinking – no, knowing – that it was the right thing to do. I leaned in, taking in the faint smell of sea salt. Without a moment’s more hesitation, I jumped.

Seconds later, I awoke to the feeling of warm sand on my back.

I gasped as my vision came into focus; stretched out before me was a vast ocean. I whipped my head around and saw an enormous forest extending as far as the eye could see. In front, a large arrow pointing to a path read: “THIS WAY HOME.” Seeing no signs of life or other options, I proceeded onwards with trepidation.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, I found the trek pleasant. The tropical palms funneled in warm sunshine, lighting the way ahead. Peonies and roses, my favourite flowers, bloomed bountifully. Their intoxicating scent hung in the air and mingled with a hint of what I recognized as my mother’s cinnamon rolls. This savory thought made my throat dry, and I desperately wished for a drink of water.

Instantly, a clear stream appeared out of thin air. Bending down, I cautiously took a sip. It was icy and delicious. What other wonders did this island hold? I closed my eyes and pictured the most delicious feast. I opened my eyes and smiled widely, reaching for the nearest sugary confection.

Afterward, I lay on the ground contemplating this unexpected turn of events.

How marvelous this place was – a personal paradise! Before entering the Woods, I desperately sought solace from people and problems. Here, the very notion of companionship seemed obsolete. “Just as it should be,” I said aloud.

The sound of a twig snapping jolted me from my introspection. I staggered to my feet, searching for the source of the noise. In front of me stood the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her swarthy complexion glowed in the sunlight. Standing seven feet tall, her slender frame would have frightened me had it not been for her gentle face, which gazed at me intently with a doe-eyed expression. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from this perfect, inhuman image.

“Who are you?” I breathed finally.

“I am the Keeper of this island.” Her voice was sweet and fluid, like dripping molasses. “You and I are its only inhabitants.

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

I sensed you were unhappy in your prior life. I guided you here, to show you how blissful solitude can be.”

“No one has been here before?”

“There have been others, but they did not appreciate the island’s many wonders. They thought themselves better off in the chaos above.”

I hesitated. “Do you never yearn for others?”

The Keeper’s eyes darkened to a coal black. “This island fulfills all of my material desires. Whatever happiness other people may bring comes at an inevitable cost of hardship. Here, there is no price to be paid for a lifetime of joy.”

But as I peered into her eyes, I realized that a price had indeed been paid. Her harrowing inhumanity did not come from her beauty, but rather, from an indelible sadness that only true isolation can bring.

“Islands are illusions,” I began gently. “They are wonderful reprieves and a welcome change from our imperfect lives. But I now realize that the ocean is not nearly as impassable as the loneliness that the waves can bring. It is so beautiful here, but I ask that you leave me to find my way home.”

With a sad smile, the Keeper wordlessly pointed behind me. I turned around, expecting to see more palm trees, but I found myself staring at a perfectly circular clearing. In the middle was a small opening.

I walked towards it without hesitation. I thought of looking back to wave goodbye, but I knew the Keeper would be gone. And so I marched onwards, heading back to home and life; it would be messy and unpredictable, but it would be real. n

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THE DEVIL ENJOYS A SUCCESSFUL Christine Wang

verged into every possible shape and proportion and hair became a parameter by which to judge one’s personality. But the consequences of super-morphism deficiency stretched beyond that of diversity. Soon it was evident that for the recombination and preservation of their genetic constructs, something called love was required. Then it became no longer sufficient to only experience what was physically close by, so soaring cities and expansive communication networks were engineered, networks that made the dark side of the earth glimmer through the universal blackness.

Seemingly impossible inventions were brought into fruition through the collective knowledge of billions of minds across millennia of pondering. Communication, it seems, had been terribly underestimated.

For this was not all. These defective offshoots of the pricks learned how to get by despite being desperately incompetent in comparison. The tall shared the view above the trees with the small.

The strong built towers to shelter the creative who in turn amused and educated the strong and together they made each other brave.

Along with all their art and heroism and kindness, they expanded over the globe and left the pricks behind to eat and drink and snort on their own little Absentis.

You’ve guessed it, you egocentric little human. This other, unexpectedly yet wildly more successful master species is ourselves.

But I didn’t just sacrifice my sandwich to tell you this because it’s a neat story. From my travels, I’ve pieced together something that you may find quite alarming. You see, I met a really special prick on Absentis named Sam, because even pricks get lonely occasionally. We sat by the dock and watched the buttery gold sun melt over the dark waves, and he told me a theory about our race. According to Sam, one way to control a people is by splitting them apart and giving them each something to lose. He believes that if humans have something to fear losing instead of each other, they won’t be brave anymore. And if they won’t be brave they won’t be defiant. If they’re not defiant then they’re yours.

I didn’t really believe him at the time because it seemed too simple a theory for too heavy a consequence. But the world is full of surprises. I checked back on Sam a few decades later and he had gotten himself elected as president of Hell.

I’ve started to fear that Sam is giving his twisted theory a little test run as we speak. I fear some of us have already started sitting on our little Islands of “stuff” we think we have to lose.

You would never believe what “having something” could do to our collective courage. We have been cold before, but we have never been cold while unworn jackets collect dust in the closets of the privileged. We have starved before, but we have all starved together.

Today people on one side of the world gorge themselves to obesity while those on the other side stand in plain view, disintegrating into dirt and bones. We’re being infected by super viruses spawned by our own antibiotics. We’re shooting one another. We’re drowning in our minds while our toes stay dry. We used to revolt, to gather in the squares and threaten the status quo. Now we fool ourselves into thinking we made a difference through self-righteous internet posts.

The islands are multiplying, and everyone is either bat shit crazy from loneliness or equally bat shit crazy explorers like me.

We are humans, my friends, not pricks. We need each oth-

An explorer shakes hands with someone interesting while out on one of his many pan-oceanic shenanigans, during which he discovers who we really are.

T

his is Alex Absentis speaking. I’m currently eating a sandwich while trying to stay aboard a very turbulent speedboat, but a man can always spare a couple minutes to talk about himself.

I travel for a living. Or, more pertinently, I travel while trying to stay alive. I hit the seas ten years ago upon discovering that 95% of the oceans remain unexplored. And, partly because I know you won’t believe me but mostly because your fate depends on whether or not you do, today I’m going to tell you about the craziest place I’ve been to thus far: the Island of Absentis.

It is named Absentis after me, of course, and there’s nothing we’re going to do about that. There is nothing physically special about this place. It has dirt and cedar trees and mosquitoes. But what makes Absentis crazy are its inhabitants; having developed and mastered a unique affinity for super-morphism, the ability to become anything and everything at whenever most convenient, they are among the wildest, most stunning constructs I have ever set eyes on. If they need claws, they will have claws. If they need to go fast, they will be already gone. They can rise to see above the trees or shrink to disappear behind the shrubberies as they please.

Reproduction is a hassle-free matter of dropping an identically super-morphic creature to thrive in the underbrush. Moreover, this super-morphism does not only apply to physical attributes. Every single one of these creatures are simultaneously and transcendently brave, intelligent, creative, and strong.

I named them the pricks. Because the moment I stepped onto Absentis and approached one of their brilliantly oscillating forms for directions, it slapped me clear from its path. Who would have known? When everyone is self-sufficient, when everyone is everything, kindness is merely an unnecessary nuisance. On Absentis, every man is an island.

Nature came up with two very distinct plans when designing the master species of our earth. With their highly advantageous ability to be the best of any competitor, the pricks are inarguably one of them They are clearly the summation of one of those slippery plans Nature drew up when designing the master species of our earth. But they certainly weren’t the only ones.

The other was actually a bit of a fluke. The gene for super-morphism was accidently mutated off the template for a batch of the pricks, so in an attempt to compensate they were given the ability to communicate.

But despite having a mere mistake as the origins of their existence, the species that emerged as a consequence is sevenfold more complex, powerful, and rhapsodically beautiful. The lack of super-morphism led to an explosion of diversity, with a gradient of pupil shades ranging from light to soft to dark to misty. Body’s di20

INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

TERM IN GOVERNMENT er. We’re only ever here because we need each other. Sam became president of Hell because our demons know these spaces between us will be the end of us.

So, what do I suggest we do about it? Stop waiting for someone to come and build you a bridge. Ladies, I can guarantee Prince Charming is not coming to show you the world. Just get in the water. It can be cold at first. But I’ve been travelling nearly my entire life and I can tell you it’s not all that bad, certainly not when you compare it to the alternative.

Some nights I lie awake tracing out the constellations of our ancient heroes, pride welling in my chest to be a part of such a kind,

Ladies, I guarantee Prince Charming is not coming to show you the world. vibrant people. Other nights I look back and listen to the echoes of billions of waves kissing our shores in the distance, resonating with their horribly hollow desolate tone. And I feel like all we ever do these days is sit at our desks and cars and couches, listening to the water rise. 

ARTWORK BY BARBARA KARPINSKI

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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Maxine Gravina

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INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

Jason Lau: Inner Colours

a mini photo-series featuring portraits of individuals with their irises overlaid using various effects twitter: @jasonlaucker | flickr: www.flickr.com/arclithe | portfolio: www.laujason.com

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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ARTWORK BY ANGELA MA

W

hen I was three I stuck a piece of Lego up my nose. Not the big two-by-four piece, but a royal blue one-by-two piece. I doubt it would be so painful if I tried to do the same on my adultsized nose, but my young and barely-grown nose was screaming in agony as the tears rolled down my cheeks and shrieks akin to those of a dying animal escaped my mouth.

Thinking back on this moment, I cannot recall my motivations. Maybe I thought since it was blue it would smell like salty ocean spray and remind me of past vacations, or maybe I thought it would taste like the blue raspberry suckers that I loved so dearly. Most likely, however, I just impulsively decided to see if I could fit a Lego piece in my nose. Regardless, I was wrong. It was not fun. It was painful and very embarrassing.

That was the day I learned that Lego is not designed to fit in noses.

Maybe I would have known this had I taken the time to think things through in a logical and practical manner, but the tale of someone who lives through experience is more valuable and, most importantly, more exciting.

Rash choices do not have to result in screaming and a bloody nose, though.

Sometimes they lead to great adventures and sometimes impulsive action can be the precursor to immeasurable amounts of success and happiness. Such was the case when I switched my major.

I was unhappy with my courses. Sure

I worked hard, attended all the lectures, tutorials, and labs, and even threw on a smile every now and then, but inside I was miserable. I knew this was not the right career path for me and it scared me to think that a decision made at the young age of 18 would leave me unhappy for years to come.

I kept with it for a little while because I thought it would be looked down upon to decide half way through my undergraduate degree to hit the redo button.

Then I realized that was stupid. I valued my happiness more than some petty judgment from others who did not un-

Life is an adventure without an instruction guide; no failure is ever truly a failure if you pick yourself up and learn something.

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derstand or respect my choices.

Early one morning, I brewed enough coffee to satisfy an army, sat at a desk overflowing with papers and covered in nail polish stains, and sent an email saying that I was switching from Earth Science to Women’s Studies. After my switch from hydrology to feminist theories I instantly felt better. As I suspected, some people thought I was being rash or lazy, and that I should have given my initial choice a better version of the “college-try”, but it did not matter. In that moment I was more honest with myself about what interested me and about what I wanted from my undergraduate experience: a happy and inspiring four years.

I have not regretted, even for a second, choosing Women’s Studies, even though I had not given it much thought prior to that one morning.

INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

Mary Kate MacDonald

I thought it would be looked down upon to decide half way through my undergraduate degree to hit the redo button. Then I realized that was stupid. I valued my happiness more than some petty judgment from others who did not understand or respect my choices.

I have to admit that acting impulsively is not always an easy path. From a young age we are taught to act cautiously and think things through, undoubtedly valuable lessons. But problems also arise when we overthink and are more wary of danger and failure than the excitement of the unexpected.

Moderation is key, but there is a need for frivolous indulgence too.

It is rare to find a person who has never read and re-read text messages from a cute girl or boy on whom they have a crush. Or wondered the right way to spark up a conversation instead of asking them, with honesty and fear VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

and vulnerability dripping from every word, if they want to grab a cup of coffee tomorrow. Oddly enough, spontaneously asking someone out leads to more dates than overthinking a text message that, in its final version, says “Hey!” So buy that glitter skirt because it makes you feel like a fairy princess regardless of its price and practicality. Twirl all day if it makes you smile, as chances are that someone else’s day will be brighter if they see such honesty and glee frolicking across campus. Introduce yourself to that cute girl or

AND OTHER LIFE LESSONS

LEGO IS NOT MEANT FOR NOSES

boy with whom you have been exchanging shy smiles in lecture for weeks now after class. They might say yes or they might say no, but at least you will have had the courage to do something more than stalk their Facebook page.

Life is an adventure without an instruction guide; no failure is ever truly a failure if you pick yourself up and learn something. We are on this planet too long not to be happy and excited, and often these feelings are found in the pockets of life we least expect or plan.  25

Olivia Fasullo

IN THE

DARKNESS

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hen I was 11, my parents bought a new kitchen table and I had an all-out brat fest. I could not believe they were able to throw away so many memories that easily. That table was where I learned how to use a knife, where I made crafts, and from where I had been sent to my room many times. It was a table I had known all my life, and I couldn’t imagine life with some new polished stranger. We couldn’t just throw out family.

I refused to see that table leave our house. Crying big, salty, 11-year-old tears, I made a plea for its life. After much debate, my parents asked me who would take the table, to which I responded that I would.

In awkward, preteen cursive, I was forced to write a letter to my future self.

The letter described how I would always love that table, and that I wanted it when I moved out, so that it would stay in its rightful place forever: my home.

We still have my table disassembled in our basement, the unopened letter attached.

Needless to say, the kitchen table has always been an important part of my family life. Many years later, when the new table had also seen better days, my mother invested in a sleek, stylish kitchen island.

Her main concern in the renovation was the chairs. If we were going to be spendARTWORK BY ANGELA MA

26

ing countless hours on those chairs, they had to be perfect. They had to be smooth and elegant, but they also had to support us after long days and even longer conversations.

We’ve had some of our most passionate fights around that island. Fights where my stomach churned like a stormy sea and words burned my throat like lava, ready to explode and destroy. In the aftershocks of a fight, it often felt like my words were engraved in the stone of the tabletop. The tension was so powerful at times that the air shimmered from the heat of it. Yet every storm passed eventually, any harsh words exchanged seemingly melting away like sandcastles in high tide.

My father spent the greater part of two years working the night shift, and I think my mom was afraid to sleep without him. She would stay up until she couldn’t hold her eyelids open, and I found myself spending most evenings with her. While we sat in our new chairs, chatting and watching the 11inch television screen in the corner, the early hours of the morning would go by.

I don’t even remember what we would talk about. Everything. Nothing. After my first year in university, when I decided to major in history, I distinctly remember spending the better part of one night explaining all the history I knew, from the beginning of time to the present.

During our nightly chats, the whole house would lie in darkness, every room gone to bed, except for the kitchen. It would remain awake with light and conversation.

Its light would radiate into the dark, touching the shadows, keeping nightmares at bay.

Like a lighthouse, the kitchen is the first room to awake and the last to slumber.

When we are lost in the darkness, sitting around our kitchen table is what lights our way back to each other.  INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

TO MAKE THIS MUNDANE WORLD

SUBLIME

Jesse Bettencourt ARTWORK BY JONSSON LIU

A

once preeminent intellectual and disenchanted social commentator, Aldous Huxley is now known to most only as the author of the 1932 dystopian novel Brave New World. Here, he warns us of our propensity to evolve through technological development into a society of comfort and amusement at the cost of our humanity. Emblematic of this evolution is the ubiquitous use and dependence on ‘soma,’ a psychopharmaceutical that enables every citizen to live a life of painlessness and diversion. ‘A gramme is better than a damn’ is the mantra of the drug; when faced with stress or discomfort one can simply take a ‘soma holiday’, and avoid any unpleasantness of the human condition. Soma even improves upon the best aspects of human experiences: Hug me till you drug me, honey; Kiss me till I’m in a coma: Hug me, honey, snuggly bunny; Love’s as good as soma.

In Huxley’s social commentary, soma is the government’s ideal mechanism for a stable society. The state is maintained not with violence, surveillance, or punishment – methods often depicted in dystopias – but rather through soma induced passivity. A placated population has no motivation to challenge its government. As the leader of Huxley’s society points out, soma has ‘all of the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects’.

Even 20 years after the publication of Brave New World, Huxley viewed drugs as ‘toxic shortcuts to self-transcendence,’ as he wrote in the epilogue of his 1952 non-fiction novel The Devils of Loudun. That same year, however, Huxley had an experience that dramatically changed his vision for the role of drugs in both his life and society.

In May 1952, Huxley participated in the research of Dr. Humphry Osmond, a British psychiatrist researching the effects of halVOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

lucinogenic drugs. Osmond visited Huxley in California to perform an experiment in which Huxley was dosed with 400 mg of mescaline, a hallucinogenic chemical found naturally in the peyote cactus. In the months following the experiment, Huxley recollected his experience in his book The Doors of Perception. The title refers to a verse from William Blake’s poem The Marriage of Heaven and Hell: If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.

For man has closed himself up, til he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern.

Huxley’s experience with mescaline allowed him to access a deeply religious or spiritual awe. He suggests that the role of the sober brain is to filter this awe from our perception. This filtering is of biological imperative, as humans would not be able to survive if the brain were constantly activated. Huxley viewed mescaline as a tool to allow the user to directly perceive and experience the world.

‘I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation – the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence.’

Some years later, Huxley wrote a letter to Osmond suggesting a name for chemicals that facilitate these experiences. Huxley suggested the term ‘phanerothyme’, Greek for ‘manifest’ and ‘spirit’: To make this mundane world sublime, Take half a gram of phanerothyme Osmond, who had considered a different Greek term from ‘mind’ and ‘reveal,’ had responded to Huxley’s suggestion in kind, and in doing so coined what is in present

use today: To fathom Hell or soar angelic, Just take a pinch of psychedelic Ultimately, Huxley’s legacy seems to be that of a dystopian vision of the future. Most people familiar with Brave New World aren’t aware that Huxley wrote a response to his earlier prediction, many years later, in a novel detailing his conception of utopia. In this novel, Island, many aspects of society, including technology, contraception and reproduction, psychological conditioning, and the role of individuals, contrast starkly with Brave New World’s dystopia. His Island utopia, as an antithesis to soma, features the prevalent use of a psychoactive drug called ’moksha-medicine’, named for the Indian philosophical tradition associated with self-realization and liberation. Individuals would ceremonially consume moksha-medicine as a means of engaging in their community and facilitating spiritual awakening in the absence of religion. Moksha-medicine symbolizes Huxley’s revelation on the role of psychedelics in society and for individual self-discovery: So maybe the whole thing [moksha-medicine] does happen inside one’s skull. Maybe it is private and there’s no unitive knowledge of anything but one’s own physiology.

Who cares? The fact remains that the experience can open one’s eyes and make one blessed and transform one’s whole life.

Huxley published Island in 1962, the last of his novels. It was later next year, on November 22, 1963, that Huxley’s death was eclipsed by the assassination of John F. Kennedy. On his deathbed, Huxley’s wife administered to him, on his request, 100 μg of LSD. He died peacefully in unconsciousness.  27

ONLY

THE FINEST Elizabeth Fu

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or fashion-buyers and trend-followers, updating your look with the new season’s style is imperative. But what if you can’t wait anymore for Chanel’s winter collection to come out?

What are you supposed to wear in between seasons or when you go on vacation? Impatient, fashion-hungry clientele like these have led designers to the creation of cruise collections.

Cruise collections are “pre-collections” that are showcased between the main collection seasons (autumn/winter and spring/summer) and aimed at clients looking for designer apparel to wear while vacationing.

Luxury fashion houses

such as Christian Dior and Louis Vuitton also create pre-collections. This year, Chanel showcased their 2015 spring/summer pre-collection in Dubai.

The resort look sells well to clients on vacation and has accounted for up to 30% of Chanel’s revenue.

Instead of packing a pair of old shorts and a tank top, wealthy women are looking for ready-to-wear apparel that has a more wearable, commercial and still designed look. No one, not even fashion buyers who swear by Vogue Magazine, wants to spend a fortune in the stiff and uncomfortable haute couture pieces that are much better suited for the runway than the beach. These

Cruise now represents Chanel’s biggest and most important delivery of the year.

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INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

artwork by Kate Dingwall pre-collections are usually showcased and made available in stores in the first two weeks of June and in early November.

Bruno Pavlovsky, Chanel’s current president, said, “Cruise now represents Chanel’s biggest and most important delivery of the year.” Clients who participate in pre-collections

But what about those loyal customers who have been with Chanel for forever? are usually wealthy women and fashion buyers who keep up with fashion trends as well as the fashion calendar.

Haute couture has always been especially reserved for the richest women in the world. Through its 82-year history, Chanel’s target market has always been older women who seek an elevated, timeless look in what they wear (usually women over the age of 30 years old). These customers have been loyal to Chanel for many years, likely starting with Chanel’s most famous product, the Chanel No. 5 fragrance. However, as their loyal customers age, in recent years, Chanel has taken to targeting women ages 18–29. They have even taken to hiring younger staff, including a 16-year-old model to shoot one of their newer fragrance ads, Chance. But what about those loyal customers who have been with Chanel forever? The ones who have been at all the shows, galas, parties, and openings? Will their loyalties to Chanel transfer to Dior or will they cling to Chanel with stubborn fists even as they are brushed off to the side? With the introduction of cruise collections, Chanel’s older customers may not be jumping to Dior’s ship just yet. If we look closely at the typical high-earning passenger aboard some of the most luxurious and expensive cruise lines in the world, they would most likely be someone who is middle aged or retired, since older people would have time to cruise and travel the world. Since many wealthy cruise passengers or travellers are older, they could be the primary clientele shopping for cruise-wear clothing. Although Chanel’s target market has lowered to young women from the ages of 18–29, these women most likely don’t have the time, although they would have the money, to be vacationing all around the world in pre-collection wear. Cruise collections may be a way that allows Chanel to keep their older, loyal customers happy, while still being able to shift their overall target market towards young adults. 

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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ARTWORK BY KARIN FISH

WE’RE NOT IN ITHACA ANYMORE TOURS PRESENTS:

THE WRONG SIDE OF PARADISE CRUISING Rachel Katz (@RachAlbertaKatz)

Four islands. Five days. The ultimate adventure... or romantic romp.

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reetings, travellers!

I hope the seasickness has begun to wear off! We have a jam-packed week ahead of us. Four islands. Five days. The ultimate adventure… or romantic romp, if that’s what floats your boat (get used to the puns, they only get worse as the week goes on). If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask one of the crewmembers or myself. We’re here to make sure your vacation is absolutely mythical.

We want it to go down in history as the best holiday you ever took.

Below is an itinerary of the coming week; complete with a rundown of meals and activities in which we will be partaking, as well as Day 2: Conch Island a preview of the islands we’ll be exploring each day.

Day 1: Aeaea Have you ever thought about what Odysseus and his men saw when they stumbled upon the island of Aeaea? Well, wonder no more! In today’s activities, you will get to see every hidden feature of this island. Don’t worry, we’ll save your bacon and make sure everyone ends up back on the ship at the end of the day.  Meals • Breakfast aboard the cruise ship while we dock.

• Lunch at a fabulous and extravagant restaurant, famous for its mysterious ways of making bacon seem classy.

• Dinner at a rustic buffet; think stews and gruel.  Activities • AM: A tour of the extensive pig farms on the island, led by none other than Circe, the owner herself. (Ladies, keep your husbands within view. Men here have been known to… wander.)

• PM: In small groups, we will build rafts to race near the shore.

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Our adventures today will be the most demanding of the entire cruise. Our aim is to prepare a day as draining as those Ralph, Simon, and Piggy spent on the very same island. Note that it’s fly season so bring your bug spray.  Meals • Breakfast of scavenged fruits. Remember that some of them might upset your tummy!

• Lunch at a small exotic market.

• Dinner is a ‘cook-what-you-can-kill’ hunting party. There will be a pig roast, plus anything you catch and contribute.  Activities • AM: Explore. Relax. Take some time for you. We’re unleashing you upon the island for the morning, so bring your swimsuit and your hat! Listen for the sound of a conch horn to signal our lunch break.

• PM: Hunting and fishing with a handful of seasoned locals to ensure any catches are sustainable. They will help you perfect your technique, as they’ve been living on the land since they were young boys.

INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

We’re here to make sure your vacation is absolutely mythical. We want it to go down in history as the best holiday you ever took.

Day 3: Travel/Halcyon Day

Day 5: Azkaban

 Meals • Brunch aboard the cruise ship. Enjoy being pampered with a spa and wellness themed meal.

• Dinner in the Olympia Room. A full-service white tablecloth banquet.

Back by popular demand! A location that needs no introduction, our final stop is the eerie offshore prison Azkaban.

 Activities • AM: Your choice of three activities!

• Yoga with Mentor. Learn how to release the stress and tension that will undoubtedly descend once your vacation comes to an end.

• Cooking with one of our onboard chefs. Get hands-on experience learning how to recreate your favourite meals at home! Favourites include Ariadne’s Secret Spaghetti (This dish is a-maze-ing.) and Ambrosia Brownies (Food of the gods, literally!)

• Bingo tournament on the upper deck (weather-pending.

Rain location is Merlin’s Library.)

• PM: An exciting dance class to prepare for the Dinner’n’Dance later this week. Cut the rug with a combination of waltzes, chachas, and jives!

• EVE: Poseidon’s Popcorn. Lounge on the pool deck (or in the pool!) and watch a movie with all your favourite stars!

 Meals • Breakfast aboard the cruise ship.

• Lunch in the mock prisoners’ meal hall, with authentic prison cuisine. (Cold tea, stale toast, gruel. Chances are if you don’t want it, you will have it.)

• Dinner’n’Dance to celebrate the final night of our cruise.  Activities • AM: An interactive tour of one of the world’s most famous prisons. Meet former inmate Igor Karkaroff and learn about the most dangerous criminals who have spent time within the prison’s walls. Delve into Antonin Dolohov’s mind, and find out just how disturbed Bellatrix Lestrange really was.

• PM: Trivia about the prison’s history and inmates. There will be prizes for the big winners! Win a gift certificate to Honeyduke’s, an all expenses paid shopping trip to Diagon Alley!

• EVE: Dinner’n’Dance aboard the cruise ship! Gents, straighten those ties, and ladies, powder your noses, because this might just be the classiest night of your lives!

Day 4: San Lorenzo Today’s stop is a cool one. In fact it’s downright cold! Decades ago the entire island froze over following an accident with ice-nine.

The fallout of this accident is the starkly beautiful landscape we will see today.

N.B. Due to the frozen conditions on San Lorenzo, we will spend the majority of the day aboard the ship observing the island and learning about it from a slight distance. Better safe than sorry!  Meals • Breakfast aboard the cruise ship. We will also be watching a documentary on the fall of the San Lorenzan society.

• Lunch is a picnic on the upper deck, since nothing grows on San Lorenzo anymore. Don’t worry, we’ll be cooking traditional San Lorenzan cuisine!

• Dinner aboard the cruise ship as we set sail once more.  Activities • AM: A crash course in Bokononism, the unofficial religion of the island’s former inhabitants. Learn about the fundamental beliefs at the core of Bokononism and listen to the story of why it was outlawed by the very leaders who practiced it.

• PM: A trip to the unique San Lorenzo Floating Museum. See artifacts recovered from the island before it froze over. Special exhibit on ice-nine. (Due to limited space, there will be three groups that visit the museum one by one.)

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

If at any point during the cruise you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at t.taylor@notinithacatours.com.

Have a fantastic week!

– Tammy Taylor Head Guide We’re Not in Ithaca Anymore Tours  31

 Empty Shell Sabnam Mahmuda A lost soul Without a trace of sadness or sorrow I walked down the long stretch of road Without hope or desire for tomorrow I took careless strides to reach the worn out bridge That stood between the road of life and lonely bliss Tall trees arched above Shading me from rain and sun under their canopy of green leaves The vines from the old birches lazily stroked my neck as I walked underneath to the other side I saw the swings waiting for me I took off my sandals and sat down on the blue one With giddy joy I took off and began to pump up and down to reach the high air Up and down the swing moved as the quietness of the little place surrounded me absolutely The only sound I heard was the swing’s heartbeat, pulsing back and forth Swinging back and forth Swinging back and forth I let my mind drift I let my thoughts wander off As I swung up I saw a little peek of the creek under the bridge I saw the empty cobblestone path leading to the outside world I felt happy, I felt free, I felt like I was flying I felt powerful, I felt like me after years of dormancy I felt as though I was ready to conquer the sorrows I had pushed into the forgotten corners of my soul I slowed down to touch my bare feet in the sand I swung softly and slowly I closed my eyes on the blissful moment, to open the doors to my bloody past I waited for the tears to flow past my closed lids I braced my body with my arms Yet, nothing but a weary sigh escaped from my lips Looking back to the past when tears flowed from sadness and grief It seemed easy, it seemed human But now sitting here in the little island of bliss With my eyes closed and my feet sunk into the cold sand I feel inhuman and empty of all emotions I buried and hid my emotions for so long that Now I am nothing more than an empty shell



ARTWORK BY SABNAM MAHMUDA 32

INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

LOST AT MAC Caitlyn Buhay

Feeling Alone in a Sea of Others

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hen we first imagined university, the prospect of freedom and an escape from the drudgery of home beckoned. Bright eyed and bushy tailed we came to McMaster in the pursuit of higher learning with a slight anticipation for the unknown. Well, at this point, it’s been a few weeks, months or years, and by now you call McMaster home – or not? Maybe we want to feel connected to our school, but it can’t help but feel remote to us. We may not have been thrown out of a plane somewhere over the Atlantic, but we can’t seem to shake the overwhelming feeling of desertion. Thousands of students surround us, and still we feel as if we are struggling alone. Swimming against a tidal wave of apprehension and fear, an overwhelming current of assignments, readings, and essays threatens to drag us under at any moment.

Lost and lonely, we try to cling to support, to find refuge to swim towards – but where can we find it?

The answer isn’t the same for everyone.

There is no one solution that can save us from our feelings of being stranded like Gilligan, but without the lovable cast to keep us company. The good thing for us lonely souls is that we are not as lost as we think. Even though it seems that the only similarity we have with our peers is a craving for caffeine and a 90% likelihood of being between the ages of 17 and 24, we are all in the same boat. The difference is that some are better navigators than others, surer of themselves in these choppy social waters. But land ho!

Home is near! McMaster can truly feel like an abode; all we need to do is adapt to our surroundings and look for some familiar landmarks.

Following our interests can be a good first step to help us feel more comfortable.

There is no need to do what you think everyone else is doing just to fit in. You will end up even more isolated if you join the debate team but really have a passion for photography. So, try to join some clubs and societies that suit your interests. McMaster and the Hamilton area have a wide variety of opportunities for students who want to get involved. If you feel like all your time is spent wandering aimlessly on campus, try volunteering off campus to explore the greater Hamilton area. You will be helping others and helping yourself gain some confidence VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

in your abilities – not to mention finding new places to study and hang out. Just because Hamilton isn’t your hometown doesn’t mean you can’t know it just as well by the end of undergrad.

If you want to volunteer or join a club on campus there are still many options. Getting involved in your faculty’s society is a great solution to integrate yourself into a student community that can really help you with your specific program difficulties. Chances are if you’re having trouble staying afloat in Calculus, others are too – so joining a study group might help you all resurface from those weighty calculations! If you haven’t found the perfect study spot to prep for that oncoming swell of formulas, it’s never too late to start looking. Ask around for where others go or just explore; when you find a place, feel free to share it and you might gain some grateful study buddies to help you stay on course.

Even though it is important to get involved, you shouldn’t go overboard with responsibility either. Nothing is worse than drowning yourself with too many commitments. Try getting your feet wet with different things, and when the water feels nice, jump in! You don’t have to get involved with everything, just the things you enjoy and have time for.

Pursue your interests and find people you relate to and you may see that McMaster becomes a bit less daunting and starts to feel more like a home. You will feel more confident, less alone, and will be able to traverse the sea of students with ease, conquering any storm that threatens your horizon. So, instead of trying to swim to civilization, save your strength and settle in.

Hang up the swimsuit, dry your feet, and let yourself in – McMaster is waiting to welcome you home. 

The good thing for us lonely souls is that we are not as lost as we think.

ARTWORK BY JASON LAU

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PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF NCSSM (FLICKR)

THE REAL HOBBITS: HOMO FLORESIENSIS Graham Colby In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole and that means comfort.

– J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

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hose familiar with J.R.R. Tolkien’s novels may wish that the world he wrote about existed. His novels filled our heads with magic, adventure, and bravery. Yet although his stories forged a unique world, it is not completely unlike our own.

Homo floresiensis (unofficially dubbed the Hobbit) lived alongside modern humans in Indonesia as recently as 12 000 years ago. The discovery occurred in October 2004 in the Liang Bua cave on the eastern island of Flores, Indonesia. Just under a year after the Lord of the Rings: Return of the King had been released in theatres, public attention was again focused on Hobbits. Within the cave, the team of scientist found a female specimen who was about 30 years old at her time of death. Initially, they assumed she was a child because of her extremely small brain size, which was 400 cc (cranial capacity), and small body height of 3.5 feet (1 m). Comparatively, modern humans have brain sizes between 1200–1400 cc, and chimpanzees’ range from 300–500 cc.

The discovery of this species has changed the paradigm of human evolution. The prominent scientific opinion is that 34

this species represents a group of primitive hominins, related to Homo erectus/ergaster, that became isolated in early human evolution, leading to their unique biological variation. H. floresiensis is the most recent and longest lasting non-modern human species to walk alongside modern humans.

They were present in Indonesia at a time when H. sapiens sprawled in the nearby regions, which raises the question: did modern humans and these hobbits ever meet?

There is no physical evidence to indicate modern humans were at Liang Bua before 11 000 years ago. However, there are folklore tales from the indigenous people of Flores citing a group of human-like creatures sharing traits with H. floresiensis.

Whether we made contact or not, the hobbit-like creatures were our neighbours.

They shared sophisticated use of stone tools and fire, using these tools to hunt Stegodons (small elephants) and fend off carnivorous Komodo dragons and giant marabou storks.

As hobbits know, being small certainly makes life challenging, but it must have provided some form of evolutionary advantage for this species to persist. In fact, the de-

velopmental theory of their size is related to insular dwarfism, which is commonly seen in isolated regions. This widely accepted theory proposes that an early hominin population was isolated and dwarfed over the ensuing years. Primates follow the shrinking rule pattern in terms of body size and brain size reduction. The process occurs, adapting the species for energetic efficiency over numerous generations of selective pressures. On Flores, the accessibility of consumable flora and fauna would have been sparse, and the energetic requirements outweighed the risk of predation associated with smaller body size.

Over many generations, this species became smaller. Life got harder, but they were efficient and smart. H. floresiensis never made it to Mordor and never made it off of Flores, and yet they likely shared the Hobbits’ sense of adventure. Surrounded by elephants, dragons, and birds that were all larger than them, everyday was an adventure. The real hobbits lived in caves that were dirty and damp, not holes in the ground, but these caves were a place of comfort and refuge from the world outside.  INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

islanddebates Keir Heath-Griffiths What can we learn from islands and their disputes about how states function in the modern era?

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rom the Falkland to the Senaku and Pacific Islands, we can see examples throughout the globe of how geographically tiny islands can create political reverberations that greatly exceed their size or economic value alone. The emotive and political weight that they carry may seem puzzling, but if we take a moment to ponder their significance, we can see that it lies in the complex cultural, social, political and historical waters in which they reside. In this sense, such islands offer a glimpse into how the national psyche affects interstate relations in the modern era.

In a crude sense, any territory, regardless of its size or pure economic worth, can be valuable to others. You only need to look at a modern atlas to see how the legacy of colonialist acquisition has shaped the geographic makeup of the world. French Polynesia, American Samoa and the Falkland Islands are just three examples of islands which are administratively tied to nations geographically and culturally thousands of kilometres apart. This raises the important question of what benefits they accrue to their parent nations. The argument could be made that all of these islands have some strategic and economic value, but at the same time, it is unlikely that these benefits would exceed the cost of maintaining them, especially during the era of sail and ship travel, when crossing the planet in 24 hours was nothing more than a fanciful dream.

Instead, it is more plausible that these islands’ possessions were valuable in terms of status symbols. In the same way that some people choose to adorn themselves with shiny rocks, these territories represented national prestige at a time when many great powers were having their colonialist experiments in an intense rivalry with one another. Perhaps the best example demon-

strating that possessions such as French Polynesia offered little in terms of raw utility is their use as testing grounds for atomic weapons during the Cold War. Nothing says expendable quite like literally atomising an area. Of course, that’s not to say all these islands have no benefits aside from status. Hawaii, for instance, was annexed out of economic pressure from fruit growers and military strategic motives. However, in all these examples, nationalism and an

Tensions came to a head in 1982 when the Argentinian military government invaded the islands and were beaten back within the year. The invasion sparked a furious nationalistic sentiment in Britain, borne out of public anger at the audacity of the Argentinians to invade territory that had previously held little importance for the British. Nevertheless, the success of the victory and the accompanying fervour significantly bolstered the popularity of the Thatcher government.

Nationalism has a popular effect which is unmatched by almost all political issues. The large anti-Japanese riots in China of 2012 had little to do with the economic value of the islands as fishing grounds. Instead, what enraged the mob was an unyielding national pride combined with a history fraught with conflict between the nations. The Argentinian government of 1982 had hoped to utilise a similar sort of passion to subdue their domestic unrest. One sceptical view is that the current Argentine president, Christina Kirchner, is once again trying to utilise popular nationalism for effect. The historical parallels of economic woes and the tradition of Argentine nationalism lead some to hypothesise that Kirchner, like the Argentine government of 1982, is attempting to distract the Argentinian people from an economic malaise by manipulating a wounded national pride.

It is in this sense that the simple issue of island territorial disputes is actually indicative of far greater ideas and divisive topics. The bitter and violent legacy of colonial land grabs still exerts a strong grip on the world today. The sort of nationalism that fuelled colonialist ideology also retains the power to induce tumultuous passions. It is due to these ideas that these islands create the tensions that give them a special significance in the world today. 

These islands are status symbols.

In the same way that some people choose to adorn themselves with shiny rocks, these territories represented national prestige at at a time when most of the great powers were having their colonialist experiments in an intense rivalry with one another.

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

aggressive national psyche facilitated and motivated nations to envelop a litany of territories in distant parts of the globe.

Both on land masses and at sea, colonialism has shaped the boundaries of the modern map, which is one reason why the legacy of these colonialist campaigns remains controversial to this day. The Argentine–British dispute over the Falkland Islands (or Las Malvinas from an Argentine perspective) is a striking example of the bitter and contested legacy of colonialism. The Argentinians have consistently used fiery rhetoric to denounce the ownership of the Falklands as a vestige of colonialism and ridiculed the absurdity of Britain governing territory over 12 000 kilometres from their mainland. For their part, the British have maintained that the inhabitants of the island have the right to self-determination.

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ARTWORK BY CHRISTIE CHAN

EULER’S SEVEN BRIDGES Matthew Jordan (@mattyj612)

How Island Hopping Changed Math Forever

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uring stressful times, it can be beneficial to turn our thoughts to the goings-on of 18th century Prussian schoolchildren. In particular, let’s take a look at a game that was popular among those who lived on the banks of the Pregel River, in a city then-called Konigsberg (now known as Kaliningrad). The river splits the city in two, essentially creating a pair of islands smack-dab in the middle of the downtown core. A system of seven bridges connects each of the disconnected pieces of land, as you can see in the picture above.

The game goes like this: start on one of the land masses and see if you can cross every bridge without ever retracing your path. It doesn’t matter where you start or where you finish, as long as you never touch the same spot twice. Fun, right?! If you don’t believe that it’s an absolute blast, give it a try!

This is potentially the only opportunity you’ll ever have to test out your Prussian schoolchild impersonation judgement-free. See if you can trace out a path with your finger that crosses each bridge once and only once. If you’re feeling ambitious, draw the picture on a separate piece of paper and go at it with a pencil. If you’re feeling ridiculous, rearrange your room, putting your bed in the middle and painting the floors blue to resemble the Pregel River. Pinterest will love it.

After enough experimentation, you’ll probably realize that the task is impossible. You’ll always end up doubling up on a bridge at some point in order to cross them all. But why? This is the question prolific Swiss mathematician and all-time badass Leonhard Euler asked himself in 1735 after hearing about the popular game. After staring at a map and examining the bridge sys-

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tem for long enough, Euler came to a revelation that proved pivotal in the development of modern mathematics.

Euler’s ingenious insight was that the picture we’ve been using to solve the problem puts too much emphasis on the land masses and doesn’t adequately represent the connections between them. In other words, it doesn’t actually matter how we draw the land masses; all that matters is the configuration of the bridges. With this in mind, Euler redrew the picture in the following way:

Before I keep going, you should take a few seconds to convince yourself that this new picture is identical to the one we were looking at before. Each dot represents a piece of land, and the lines represent the bridges between them. The creative minds who determine mathematical nomenclature decided to call this type of picture a graph.

Now prepare yo’self, because we about to get real mathy up in hurr.

Looking at the graph, you will see that each blue dot is touched by an odd number of bridges – one by 5 bridges and the rest by 3. Herein lies the problem! It turns out that if a land mass has connections to an odd number of bridges, it must be either the

start or the end of our journey. Why is that?

Well, the land masses in the middle of the path must have an even number of bridges, half for ‘arrival’ and half for ‘departures’.

The start and finish, on the other hand, can have an odd or even number of bridges (try it out!).

So, according to this logic, every land mass in this situation must either be the start or the finish of our path. But we’ve got a total of four spots to visit, so this is clearly impossible! Boom! That right there, friends, was a mathematical proof. We did it – no, no – you did it.

Well, actually, Euler did it, and his clever trick of turning the Seven Bridges of Konigsberg into a graph led to the birth of a new branch of math, appropriately called graph theory. It’s become a huge area of study and plays a role in analyzing – among other things – biological systems, social and economic networks, linguistic structures, and the internet. Wanna know how Google’s page rank works? Graph theory. Curious why detectives’ walls always have pictures of suspects’ faces connected with yarn?

Graph theory. Ever wonder how every single world map can be coloured using only four colours? Uh, yeah, I’m gonna go with graph theory.

Most people credit Euler with the foundation of graph theory, and this acclamation is certainly justified. I believe, however, that some praise belongs to the schoolyard children of the world, whose island-hopping whimsies helped create an immensely powerful mathematical tool. And who knows?

Maybe your favourite jungle-gym game or driveway divertissement holds the key to math’s next big leap.  INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

Places.

– Gerald Ibe (@JamalMoor)

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here will always be a place, somewhere between time and space, where grace shines like the efflorescent moon, hanging like a necklace dead centre in the tart black streets of these concrete jungles in this mistake we call civilization.

If you feel brave enough, look up to the sky and remember that if the ground ever opens up and swallows the roads and everything in them, this moonlight will reach you wherever you are, and it will always be your safety.

There will always be a place called safety. It may be in the chaos of a rave, at the bottom of a bottle, under a mother's reassuring gaze, or in a childhood memory, but it is always there. Too often these places have been excavated and their meanings are lost in the process.

I pray you journey with me to some of these places.  Place 1 I pray that she loves me as if we were in a black hole, timelessly. Since time causes all changes, and time doesn’t exist in a black hole, her love for me will be eternally unchanging, never increasing or decreasing in intensity. There is a safety in certainty that I desire to build my foundations on. I pray that I will love myself like a black hole; never wanting more or less, content in existing as pure essence. In this place, our most innate desires exist independently of the anxiety brought about by community life. If you can, go there for a while. I pray that you love yourself like a black hole. This love will reveal to you an image the mirror cannot.

told us to go play with the other kids in the playground. She spoke with metaphors that made us believe there was a mystical land that lay under the sandbox. “No man is an island,” she said. With a hopeless hopefulness, we searched for this island in the space we shared with each other. It took us years to realize that the space we were searching for existed only in our minds.

Recess was fun, but there was something about the melody of our heartbeats that we wanted to memorize. Recess was fun, but silence was exhilarating. The teacher only sent kids to sit in solitude when they did something wrong, as if solitude was something we should fear. There is a safety in melancholy that this culture is not brave enough to celebrate. We are not strange; we are silent. Silence is valid, and some of us are islands.  Place 4 Drop a rock in the ocean of your mind and watch it sink. In the early moments, the typhoons that are your thoughts will attempt to knock you off course, let them come. Watch them leave. Persist. It starts off like this. Then it becomes like the ruffling of a page, then a mild vibration, and at the bottom of your mind’s ocean, where only the big ideas and the greatest epiphanies reside, you will find a certain safety in stillness. Here, you can view your thoughts in isolation of your hopes and dreams, and see things as they are, not as you will them

to be. Here, you will be at peace.  Place 5 There are benefits that can be found only in death. When we die, we are assured we will never die again. We spend more time not existing than we do existing, yet we perpetuate a culture that makes living so unbearable.

Metaphors are born of meta-culture.

These meta-cultures create sub-narratives that serve to preserve the ideology of the power structures that created them. When they told us that no man is an island, they undervalued isolation and overvalued communal spaces and popular culture.

Why? Simple. Pop culture is a billion dollar industry, and isolation is not.

As a society, through our signs and symbols and metaphors, we perpetuate a culture that demonizes isolation and celebrates social interaction. For some of us, solitude is the safest place to be.

For some of us, civilization was a mistake that should never have happened. When we stepped off of our islands, there were machines telling us how to be, what to be, what not to be, but no machines telling us just to be. You must be as you are, in the timelessness of a black hole, in the most still parts of your mind, in the safety of your silence. I pray we give each and every one of us the opportunity to die in harmony with our essence and not as strangers in our own bodies. 

 Place 2 Before the sun graced our skin and pain fornicated with our consciousness, we existed in true serenity. They asked me to describe what love looked like; I showed them a picture of an ultrasound.

Ecclesiastes teaches peace for those who are not yet born, for theirs is true happiness.

You lay in your mother’s womb in perfect serenity as the personification of love. In this place, we exist inside ourselves. As we evolve into something that is destined to return to nothingness, we harbour no obligations to reciprocate the love that we have received. This is true serenity.  Place 3 My elementary school teacher often VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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WHY CANADA’S NOT WITH THE -CROWD

IN

Krista Kruja (@MacEWBAdvocacy)

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hat separates Canada from the rest of the developed countries in the G7 group?

If the United States wasn’t a G7 country, the answer could be: “a large body of water”. Really the answer is that Canada is the only one of the G7 nations – the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, as well as the US and Canada – that doesn’t have a development financing system in place.

This might bring up another question: what does that even mean?

Development financing is a system that financially supports the private sector in developing countries. This is a commercially driven institution that can partner with private sectors to complement the system and build markets in developing countries and is not meant to replace the traditional foreign aid that supports public initiatives through aid that is passed from government to government. In Canada this would take the form of a Development Finance Institution.

A Development Finance Institution, or DFI for short, functions to fill the gap between public aid and private investment.

DFIs are public institutions that finance private initiatives that work to further development. When considering the importance of the private sector in development, as well as the lack of capital available for private enterprises in many developing countries, a DFI starts to seem like a reasonable solution. Think of it like this: You have a new job and need to buy a shirt to wear for your uniform. However the challenge is that you don’t have any money with which to buy this shirt. You could earn enough money to do so by going to work. But you can’t go to work if you don’t first earn enough to buy the shirt. It’s a Catch-22 kind of situation. So what do you do?

That’s where a DFI comes in. A DFI is like an advance you might receive so that you can afford to buy your uniform shirt. If something happens and you lose your job before your first shift, you might not be expected to ever pay back the advance you were given for the shirt. But assuming everything goes fine and you keep your job and continue working and earning money, you would pay back what you spent on the shirt, and it might then be invested into

has chapters in Universities across Canada, including McMaster, have made the case for the establishment of a DFI by the Canadian government to fight poverty. According to EWB, a DFI is meant to follow the principles of additionality (working only where there isn’t already sufficient capital), catalytic effects (providing some capital to mobilize additional private funding), and sustainability (reducing a country’s dependence on aid).

This means that a DFI would have the potential to help in a country where it is actually needed and to spur future change in that country by making the most of its resources and the capabilities of its people.

This brings up one more important question.

How do we know that a DFI would be helpful and not just drain Canadian aid dollars?

Looking at it from a theoretical perspective, a DFI is meant to be financially self-sustaining. Profits from its lending and investments are not subject to corporate taxes. This way, there is more profit with which to finance future investments. A DFI is also meant to be separate from aid that is given to the government of a developing country and deals with a separate capital fund which invests in local initiatives, rather than providing funding for a specific public issue.

DFIs have proven successful from a practical viewpoint as well. The United Kingdom’s DFI, formerly the Commonwealth Development Corporation, has functioned without any input of government funds in over 15 years.

By creating a DFI, Canada could not only make a short-term investment which will have long-term effects in eliminating global poverty and supporting development, but we can also build a bridge between the global efforts from other G7 countries and our own. 

When considering the importance of the private sector in development, as well as the lack of capital available for private enterprises in many developing countries, a DFI starts to seem like a reasonable solution.

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another new employee. Someone took a low-risk chance on you by helping you pay for your shirt, but then you returned their investment. Now you have a job and can sustain yourself. And the money that had been set aside for helping you get started will then be invested to help someone else get started.

In actual practice, a DFI would fund the expansion of a market in a developing country where funding for private initiatives might otherwise be difficult to obtain. In many low-income countries, small- and medium-sized companies have the hardest time acquiring capital, even though they have the most potential for creating the most jobs, and also supporting the local government through the income taxes the company and their employees will have to pay.

Canadian organizations such as the Canadian International Council (CIC) and Engineers Without Borders (EWB), which

INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

Cassandra Ferguson

“Untitled Mobile” 2014 Ceramic, Steel Rod, Wool, Yarn 18" × 24" × 24"

My work explores relationships that exist between forms of life – human life and the natural environment, as well as relationships between human beings and within the self. This work was an examination of the self as I explored our relationship with our bodies and our health. I was thinking about the rareness of medical conditions and diseases as well as issues and stigma pertaining to mental health disorders. The physical separation of the fibre component that suspends just above the ceramic vessel is indicating this division within the self. There is a subtle tension present as the fibre component floats above the vessel but never actually comes in contact with the piece. The piece is representative of how such conditions and situations can make a person feel isolated both from other people and within their own body and mind.  More of my work can be found at: http://cassandramarieferguson.wordpress.com/

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

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LOVE AT FIRST LISTEN Yara Farran

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’m trying to remember the first time I heard it.

Was I visiting a hip café in the downtown core, rubbing shoulders with the city’s creatives and self-proclaimed intellectuals? Or was I taking a midnight stroll with a gentlemen-friend when a group of strangers spontaneously erupted into a choreographed dance routine?

Though I can (sadly) confirm that no spontaneous choreography was involved, I actually don’t remember the specific details pertaining to the first time I heard the song “Islands” by The xx. All I know was that the song, with its cool minimalism and penetrating vocals, resonated with me on a deep level. This declaration may be surprising to some folks who’ve heard “Islands” and weren’t completely blown away, but I really did have a moment with this song.

And it wasn’t the first song to evoke such a powerful and visceral experience – I have a long list of tracks that I refer to when I’m looking to sob uncontrollably, contemplate my fleeting youth, or whip out my dancing shoes. Like finding an extra $20 bill in your pocket or realizing that it’s only Friday night, all of these songs have provided me with

ARTWORK BY ELAINE WESTENHOEFER

unexpected bliss and an opportunity to get lost in the enchanted here-and-now. While I’ll only be discussing three of these noteworthy songs below, I can assure you that there’s much more magic to be discovered.

 Unbuttoned – This Feeling Unbuttoned’s music effortlessly straddles borders. “This Feeling” is a perfect example of the Toronto-based band’s ability to deliver a generous and satisfying serving of ‘electric soul’. What initially struck me about the song was the way it married the old and the new. See, “This Feeling” carries a heavy dose of nostalgia but still finds a way to sound fresh – like an old favourite that still manages to sound like nothing you’ve ever heard every time you take a listen. And though the song begins with an unassuming sweetness, you’ll be on your feet dancing like it’s nobody’s business by the end. I dare you to try sitting still.

Recommendation: Listen to this tune before a night out on the town. Follow “This Feeling” with a listen to Unbuttoned’s “Now and Then”. You can thank me later.

pass me a tissue please.

Recommendation: Listen to this song alone. Cry. Hold yourself. Breathe. Repeat.

Then when you’re ready (and only when you’re ready) ask yourself this: What is a Vanderlyle Crybaby Geek, really?  Mashrou’ Leila – Imm El Jacket Mashrou’ Leila (or in English, Leila’s Project), is arguably the biggest band on the Middle Eastern alternative circuit. Hailing from Beirut, Lebanon, Mashrou’ Leila has quickly become my favourite band (and honestly, it should be yours too). On the surface, “Imm El Jacket” (Girl with the Jacket) is a folk-inspired Arabic song with a killer violin. But “Imm El Jacket” is more than just a lovely song to listen to during a picnic. According to Hamed Sinno, Mashrou’ Leila’s lead singer, the song questions the way that we construct our understanding of gender. It is thought provoking. It is poetic.

And it is a song that everyone should listen to at least once. For all you folks who aren’t familiar with Arabic, translated lyrics to “Imm El Jacket” and many other Mashrou’ Leila songs are available online.

I have a long list of tracks that I refer to when I’m looking to sob uncontrollably, contemplate my fleeting youth, or whip out my dancing shoes.

 The National – Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks While Unbuttoned is a relatively new addition to the Bands Yara Loves list, The National has been on top of that list for several years now. While many of their songs have moved me, “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks” holds a special place in my heart. Instrumentally, it’s a beautiful piece of music – it burns slowly and then maintains a tense simmer for four minutes and 13 seconds. The lyrics, though, are really what make this song as great as it is.

Matt Berninger croons about putting yourself on the line for love, while also tackling the fear of never being able to escape the trappings of the life laid out for you. Okay,

Recommendation: Download this song (along with Mashrou’ Leila’s EP and two stellar albums). Go outside, find a scenic place to sit, and let the music take you away. Then, come watch them live with me… whenever they come back to Canada, that is. 

BAHAMAS Christopher Chiu

I

t’s weird how things work out sometimes: a spontaneous decision led me to a lifelong love. No, I didn’t meet the girl of my dreams (I’m still single, girls! Holla at me!), nor did I land the job of my dreams (I’m still unemployed, employers! Holla at me!).

However, this spontaneity awakened my passion for music.

Growing up, I had very vanilla tastes, often dictated by what was popular in the eyes of the media or what the ‘cool’ kids at school were doing. My life was often just a reaction to what somebody else was doing.

I remember back in 6th grade, when skate culture was the new ‘it’ thing, I begged my mom for a Quiksilver sweater for Christmas (an upgrade from sweaters with GAP sprawled across the chest).

My exposure to music was no different – to avoid being teased, I would only listen to whatever was on the radio.

However, one small incident in middle school completely changed my perception of music and, in a larger scope, my sense of self. It started off as casual browsing through the iTunes Store. Initially, nothing was different. The songs that saturated the radio were featured, with prime retail space, on the interface. As I scrolled, however, ‘free’ caught my eye. I guess the notion of getting something for nothing enticed me even before my struggling-university-student instincts had kicked in. I was hesitant to listen to the song, though, as this was way before I really knew the meaning of individuality, and definitely before I felt the need to venture from the mainstream.

What if I liked the song, but the popular kids didn’t? That irrational fear was the only thought running through my head.

At the time, My iTunes library was filled with Black Eyed Peas albums and singles from the All-American Rejects – basically, music that is still relevant only due to the #ThrowbackThursday phenomenon and ironic house party playlists usually entitled something along the lines of “2006 Middle School Party Jamz”. Ultimately, I decided that I had nothing to lose. It was a free song, and if I didn’t like it, I could go back to listening to Sean Kingston. The song was entitled Already Yours by Bahamas, and I braced myself for the worst, but what I heard was an epiphany. I had never lis-

tened to anything like it before. Something so authentic, so raw, so effortless.

Where had this been my whole life?

Up to this point, my entire musical repertoire revolved around the processed sounds that I would hear on the radio, so it was refreshing to hear what real music with real instruments sounded like. Now, I’m not saying pop music is bad. I would gladly shake it off with Taylor Swift. I’m all about Meghan Trainor’s bass. I almost cried at the Katy Perry concert. But radio was an overprotective parent, and I was the shel-

off the coast of Hawaii or venturing into the jungles of the Galapagos – the deeper you go, the more interesting your music will be.

There’s your island reference for you. 

I decided that I had nothing to lose.

It was a free song, and if I didn’t like it, I could go back to listening to Sean Kingston.

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

tered child, having never been exposed to anything but the same four chords and commercialized production. In a way, Bahamas, the musician, was exactly like Bahamas, the place: a lovely excursion away from the norm. From my discovery of Bahamas, I developed a deep passion for music hunting. As I grew older, I found that more and more people began drifting away from the mainstream of music. After all, we all want to be unique, and music allows us to express individuality.

I developed a reputation at my high school as the 'music guy', which was a big shift from middle school. I went from hiding my musical choices to offering recommendations in the span of a year.

For those of you that want to get into music hunting, I seriously recommend it.

It’s almost like deep-sea diving

ARTWORK BY ELAINE WESTENHOEFER

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A CONVERSATION WITH MY GRANDFATHER Mackenzie Richardson

I

sit with my grandfather on the eighteenth floor of a Scarborough apartment block.

His hands shaking, he leans back in the black leather couch and desperately tries to catch his ever-escaping breath. The four foot journey from table to couch has winded him greatly. Today is not one of his best days. You can see the fatigue in him, pressing down on his shoulders, his eyes watering and mouth hanging open, panting.

“Eh?” he says, making me repeat my last question: “What was it like, living in Ireland?” I’d heard snippets over the years, bits and pieces of the story of my grandfather’s exodus from Ireland. I wanted to hear his story now more than ever because the reality was that these would be some of the last conversations I had with him. Everyone in my family knew that time was short, that dialysis machines were not magic, that they could not turn time backwards. ”Life was simple,” he began, as seemingly everyone does when describing life almost a century ago. His story was a wild and jumping account of his youth in Ireland. “At fourteen years old, I stopped going to school and got a job.” My grandfather had been a good and earnest student while he was at school but his family needed everyone they could get to work to maintain the house. His job was working as an assistant at the local grocer. Eventually, he was taught to drive the grocer’s van, a story he recalled to me fondly: “We went down, right to the heart of Dublin, and the grocer showed me really quick first, second, third, fourth, and so on. There I was, middle of the city, and the bloody van was jolting this way and that!”

My grandfather told me what becoming a man was like in Ireland. “Boys wear shorts, men wear pants” was more than a saying:

until the day my grandfather got a job and began working, he always wore shorts, even in the cold winters. He told me of the time he won some money from the racetracks, and so he got his father and himself a tailored suit. “I told my father that he would be getting measured for the suit. There were tears in his eyes as the fitting happened. God, he was so happy, and could you imagine. I was buying him the suit.”

My grandfather left Ireland in March.

His mother had died three months earlier.

Every day he had worked, he would return home with an envelope containing that day’s wages. Sealed, across the back was

were many boarding houses, factories, and offices, who would not take him because he was “green”, a Catholic from the south. “At the time,” he tells me, “There was a whole lot of orange pride. When I finally found work as a dispatcher for the TTC, I was told I was the first Catholic to ever be in that office.” My grandfather worked for the TTC as a bus driver for several years thereafter. During this time, he lived in a boarding house, unable to afford a place of his own.

“One day, July 12 I remember because it was the Orange Parade, a man dressed in orange got onto the streetcar I was driving. I remember there were a pair of women coming home from church, and he went up to them and said something. Well they said something back. He didn’t like that. So he hits her! I stop the street car, stand up, grab the fella by the shoulders, spin him around, and bam! Punch him right down the stairs and off the car. Two blocks later the police pulled the street car over, and boy were they mad. Never did charge me with anything, after hearing the stories, but when I got home all my things were outside and I wasn’t allowed in. Word had reached them that I’d hit an orange man, and that was that.”

I one day hope to return to the island where my grandfather came from. I want to see the city he lived in, find where his house once stood, look for the grocery he worked at. I want to see these places and experience these things because it connects me to my family and my history. My grandfather may soon be gone, but I want his stories to stay alive. I wish that one day I might be able to chuckle with the grin he always has when he chuckles, and make the wise cracks he always does. I guess I just want to let him know, and let myself know, that there is a point to it all. 

I wanted to hear his story now more than ever because the reality was that these would be some of the last conversations I had with him. written the taxes and the amounts. Every day, he’d hand the meager pay over to his mother who would count on the contents, making sure it was all in order, and give him a small, small amount. Such was life.

To come to North America, my grandfather spent four days aboard the RMS Queen Mary. Originally lodged in cramped quarters, he met an old friend of his who let him into the first class cabins. Once he landed in New York, he took the train north to Niagara Falls, then finally into Toronto.

Finding work was not easy in the beginning for my grandfather. His being an Irish Catholic in a then Protestant Toronto is not something I had ever considered. There

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INCITE MAGAZINE, OCTOBER 2014

LEAVING NEVERLAND Shruti Ramesh (@shrutiramesh)

F

or those unfamiliar with Peter Pan, Neverland is a place where its most famous residents (Peter Pan and the Lost Boys) refuse to grow up. It is used to represent eternal childhood (or childishness), and is the basis for the pop psychology term “Peter Pan Syndrome”. This syndrome is characteristic of adults who emotionally remain at an adolescent level.

While this ‘condition’ is not especially common amongst university students, it can be hard to find the medium between growing up and growing old too fast.

We get lost in our networks of classes, extracurricular activities, to-do lists and responsibilities. Conversely, some are stuck in a cycle of oversleeping, unproductivity, and lacking the experience to make thoughtful decisions. Neither of these are truly “maturity”, but represent young adults stuck at both extremes. There is little unambiguous evidence concerning the nature of the relationship between cognitive and physiological maturity. It appears that environmental factors are more important to consider when examining the sort of “cognitive growth spurt” that occurs before one reaches adulthood and truly becomes grown-up.

This raises the question of what actually constitutes being “grown-up”. When I was a child, it seemed that the path to adulthood was paved with work, responsibility, and most significantly, giving up on having fun. Although maturity is obviously more complex than this, there is merit to this perception that in order to become grown and self-actualized, something must be given up, and in this case that thing is ‘play’.

Play is a quintessential experience that can be hard to explicitly define and place boundaries around, and that is precisely the point. There has been a cultural shift to place more emphasis on the importance of work and optimizing productivity. Time spent not working towards specific goals can often be seen as time wasted. Contrary as it may seem, rediscovering and retaining this aspect of childhood can enable you to become a more efficient adult. In a study at Temple University in Philadelphia, it was observed that children and adults alike exhibited more positive attitudes towards school and work respectively when incorporating ‘play’ or unstructured leisure activity into their weekly routine. It is when this idea of ‘play’ is used in excess that it ceases to be beneficial and can cause people to slide to the other extreme on the scale of “maturity”.

VOLUME 17, ISSUE 2

Not everything about Neverland is detrimental; it can help remind us of the importance of playing and having fun. This childlike spirit fosters within us empathy and sportsmanship, and is at the core of many complex human behaviors. Biologi-

works to recover these childlike feelings of being free and uninhibited.

It is important to remember that although we’ve all been to Neverland, no two people’s experiences are the same. Some have successfully left Neverland, only to

Not everything about Neverland is detrimental; it can help remind us of the importance of playing and having fun. cally, playing simulates reflexive responses to fear and anxiety without the adrenaline and endocrine response. The simulation of aggression and urgency is invigorating, and returns us to a feeling of autonomy which may have been lost in the process of growing up. Play is stylized, often with rules and regulation. Still, people are able to actively engage in play with a wide variety of frame-

have it cross their minds during particularly nostalgic moments. Some act as if they are still there. Others left too soon and spend much of their lives trying to find their way back. Perhaps the best thing to do is to use ‘play’ and build a bridge between Neverland and the rest of your life. You may never need to use it, but at least you know it’s there. 

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