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Welcome to the inaugural issue of Mother Tongue! The road to publishing this very first issue was a long and difficult one, but we maintained our cool as a group and were ultimately able to create something that (and I speak for everyone when I say this) we are extremely proud of. Amidst the writing and the research, we were always able to see the light at the end of the tunnel – the publication date – so we never gave up. Our goal with this publication was to provide Heritage College students with valuable information, all the while still being able to entertain. I believe that our goal was absolutely met. We have an array of informative articles for you to read (see: The Dreaded R-Score, or Life as we knew it) followed by some more amusing reads (see: Etiquette to Manliness, or the Snoot). We also thought it would be interesting to get to know our professors a bit more, so we chose to feature one in particular, Patrick Moran, and ask him the sort of questions that teachers are very rarely confronted with. While working on this issue, I came to realize that Heritage is bursting at the seams with talent. As an academic institution, that is something to be proud of. We are the home of exceptional athletes and passionate writers, and we aren’t afraid to show it. We step up to the plate when it comes to donating our time to a good cause, we are constantly coming up with new ways to improve student life, and we cooperate with one another, combining our skills, to aim for something better. Not to mention, our professors are quick to help with anything – be it looking over a last-minute assignment or making crazy ideas, like publishing a quarterly magazine/journal/newspaper, become reality. On that note, we would like to take this opportunity to thank Tim Fairbairn for all of his help in making this publication possible, and any other members of faculty who were kind enough to contribute to this issue. So, here it is. This issue, the Winter Edition, aims at giving you an array of things to do during our month-long winter vacation. Check out any of the upcoming events in the region or hide out in a coffee shop with this booklet in hand. Most importantly, though, enjoy. Zoë Quigg Editor-in-Chief

2 – Life as we knew it... by Zoë Quigg 3 – The Dreaded R-Score by Selma AlvarezBarkham 4 – The Snoot by Karissa Larocque 5 – Etiquette to Manliness by Leo Benoit 6 – Getting to know ... by Jessica Pacheco & Jennifer MacKenzie 7 – Places to Go by Karissa Larocque 8 – Beauty Insider by Sophie Pon 9 – Upcoming Events by Amanda Rocha 10 – Sports by Zoë Quigg 11 – On our Radar by Everyone 12 – Creative Works by Karissa Larocque and Samantha MacConnell 13 – Creative Works (con’t) 14 – Creative Works (con’t) 15 – Creative Works (con’t) 16 – Horoscope by Amanda Rocha

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” We’ve all heard this ubiquitous question, be it from our very first elementary school teachers or more recent inquisitive relatives. Some people, a lucky few, have maintained the same, firm response since the beginning. Surgeons, engineers, lawyers... They’ve had their minds made up since day one. But for others, the question induces a certain amount of stress, like the answer is actually some undeniable truth that they have yet to discover, a code they haven’t been able to crack. The question is rather existential, but remains futile without an intelligent response. Many individuals will quickly dismiss the inquisition, claiming they still have plenty of time to figure it out. To those of you, who share that mindset, consider this: while you’re basking in carelessness, the future is fast approaching. Why put off until tomorrow what you can do today? In other words, it’s in your best interest to begin taking steps towards an eventual decision. While you may not find an answer to the question overnight, you can try to focus on another, highly urgent matter: “Which university do you plan on going to next year?” That question, too, has been asked a million times. I’m sure most of you have heard it within the past month. You know the feeling. You’re at your aunt’s 50th birthday party, minding your own business, and suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you spot your mom’s second-cousin or your Grandma’s nosy neighbour making a bee-line towards you. You know they’re not going to want to talk about the weather. They’re going to ask, first, how school is going, second, how many years you have left until you graduate, and when you hesitantly respond with “only one,” they’ll drop the bomb. As mature, civilized young adults, we have been taught to respond in a courteous manner, smiling and replying with à-propos small-talk that usually attempts to provide an answer to the question at hand. However, wouldn’t it be much more fulfilling to reply with, say, incoherent shouting about the difficulties associated with choosing a university to attend? I mean, such a response may not be socially acceptable, but would it not in fact be a more realistic portrayal of our current state of mind?

The truth is, choosing what we want to do with our lives is probably the hardest decision we will ever have to make, which makes every step along the way – including our choice of university – a crucial one. As students in the market for an enjoyable university experience, we usually don’t even know where to start. This is due in part to the seemingly infinite amount of options we are exposed to, both in the long run and in the immediate future. It’s the limitless nature of these possibilities that gives us the uncanny feeling that no matter what we choose, we’ll be missing out on something else. Sure, I would love to attend Ryerson University and live amidst a big, bustling city, but that would entail missing out on the many pleasures of a beautiful campus in a quaint town. Why does it have to be one or the other? And more importantly, how should I go about making such a big decision? It’s certainly not as simple as flipping a coin. To help us in narrowing our options, publications like The Globe and Mail and Maclean’s delve deep into the world of postsecondary education. Every year, the 40-some Canadian institutions are intimately studied in order to produce statistics on everything from environmental commitment to overall student satisfaction. Their annual “University” issues publish the results of their research, ranking universities based on library holdings and scholarship funds. While informative, these facts can be overwhelming. We are bombarded with numbers that provide recommendations on every topic: where to live, what to study, what to avoid eating at the cafeteria. Some facts are useful, others particularly useless, and we are usually left stranded when it comes to making sense of it all. The methodology for the grading scheme of the schools is rarely divulged to the readers: or if it is, it is often too confusing to properly grasp. What we do know, however, is that schools are evaluated according to the standards of the publication, which means the rankings of a Toronto-based newspaper, for instance, often differ from those of any other Canadian city. Moreover, these publications don’t always acquire their data from the same place. Take the Canadian University Report, published by the Globe and Mail, a Torontobased newspaper, in the fall of every year: they analyze responses provided to them by the

university students themselves, granting a unique perspective to readers. Maclean’s, on the other hand, looks at both factual elements (number of students per classroom) and opinion-based scores (quality of teaching). So who do we believe? How do we know who publishes the most actual compilation of facts and personal opinion? While some people maintain the belief that publications like Maclean’s are biased in their rankings, I believe we should give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, very few Canadian magazines have studied universities with as much depth as Maclean’s and given students such a broad range of information. While the abundance of numerical references may seem like a lot to digest, some of the statistics being doled out are actually useful, so it’s best not to dismiss the research project as a whole. As prospective students, it’s important for us to do preliminary research in order to avoid feeling like we are drowning in a sea of opportunity. And by preliminary research, I don’t mean anything too complex. Pick up a magazine. Whatever you don’t find in there, you can definitely find on the World Wide Web. Google works wonders. Heck, Wikipedia may even provide you with some legitimate information. Better yet, set up a chat with Heritage’s own Judy Mueller and discuss anything university-related. Once we have done all this, I suppose it’s time to gather our strength and dive in headfirst. While there may be a lot on the line, at some point we have to replace our fear with sheer excitement. If we forget about all the numbers for a split second, it becomes easier to see the light at the end of the tunnel. And while we may need a few helping hands along the way, it is possible to make an eventual decision. That’s when the fun really starts. There’s a world outside the walls of a classroom that is just waiting to be explored. Places to go, people to meet. On top of quenching your thirst for knowledge, universities will provide you with tons of new acquaintances. Chances are you’ll be forming bonds that outlast the gruelling midterms, tough professors, and recurring all-nighters. As the saying goes, “You will never leave where you are until you decide where you would rather be”. So go ahead, pick something! The world is your oyster, is it not? Zoë Quigg 2nd Year Liberal Arts Student

a career. How does this seem fair? As youth, aren’t we meant to try out as much as possible? Aren’t we supposed to experience what life has to offer us? Isn’t life supposed to be all about trial and error? As Oscar Wilde said, “Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes”. The fact that decisions impacting our life are based on a number seems unfair. Especially when this number does not properly reflect one’s present life. I turned my back on nursing and I want to explore something else. Whatever marks I received in nursing ought not to trail after me when they are no longer relevant. There is something seriously wrong with our society. A bold and negative statement, I concur. Nevertheless, there is reasoning behind such a proclamation. I shall convey this rationalization about the topic of R-scores through the perspective of a hard-working, fun-loving and motivated student. Not necessarily me, though it may be. I do not admit anything. I am in my university application process. A lengthy and yet highly exciting ordeal. I have been dreaming about McGill University since the day my mother told me my grandparents’ love story. They met there. I have always associated McGill with beauty and brilliance. It was (still is) the place I would like to attend. However, as sun can easily change to rain, my dream is being slightly destroyed by reality. I am smart I know I am. I am also lazy and love to do other things than spend all of my time studying. Therefore, I can assure you that my Id is quite predominant over my Superego. Whilst my poor Ego is trying to keep the balance, it is to little avail! The Id is basic human impulses. Thus, I am much more likely to go out, seek adventure (and food!) than to stay in and read chapters of my school books. McGill was one of the reasons I chose Heritage’s nursing program. The university has an agreement to accept Heritage’s DEC nurses to do two years to receive their BAC. Always the light at the end of the tunnel, McGill was. But paediatrics happened, all of my insecurities about my math skills arose, and a certain mental block did not allow me to realize that I can solve little equations with no problem. In fact, I can do exceedingly well if I just focus. Nevertheless, all stimuli pushed me over the edge. I failed. Everyone said it was an experience. I loved it all, I learnt a lot, but now I have come to realize that it was a waste – of my time, my energy, my parents’ money, and my R-score. The dreaded R-score acts so nonchalantly that it seems it will not hurt a fly. That’s a lie. It affects you forever! It follows you all your life. Yet, no one had the courtesy to tell me that I it was in my best interest to simple choose the easiest subjects, do exceedingly well in them, and get it over with. Then, I could head off to any university of my liking! I came from the International Baccalaureate, the crème de la crème. I was prepared for everything but this little item. I do not pretend this is not also my fault, for not finding out the impact of CEGEP and the R-score. Today, I am in social sciences, doing well. However, I am now the proud possessor of not one, not two, but three R-scores: One for nursing, one for social sciences, and one for a global accumulation. Well, you can only imagine my enthusiasm when I saw that I could be eligible for McGill if they looked only at my social sciences mark. I want to pursue International Studies, so any marks concerning nursing logically should not be taken into account. The sad truth is that none of the Québécois universities that I have considered look at the concerned department alone. They look at the global score, without realizing the impact this has on students and without consideration of the changes most young people go through while selecting

Therefore, from a student who has been through a lot, all of you first years (and even second years), remember to study hard, keep your Rscore as high as possible (over 24 at least!). Do what you love, make mistakes, but be astute. You do not want your mistakes to come back to haunt you and change the course of your life. Unless a change is made to Québec universities’ requirements, youth will forever be unmotivated by the unfairness of the system. Selma Alvarez-Barkham 2nd Year Social Sciences Student 4th Year Heritage Student

We did some research involving the nature of the R-Score, and found an abundance of information published by John Abbott College.

“University admissions policy generally is to accept all applicants to a program who meet its general and specific admission requirements. However, when a selection must be made from among those who qualify, most often because of program enrolment limits, each university must decide if and to what extent a student’s academic record should be used in the selection process. For example, in some programs admission could be based solely on college grades, whereas in others college grades are merely one of a number of criteria in the selection process. In any event, the universities are well aware that the methods used in comparing and classifying candidates must be as objective and as fair as possible. The use of academic records for purposes of classification and selection assumes that there is a common basis for evaluation, or, alternatively, that the groups of students, their learning experiences, and the grading methods are inherently the same. The college education regulations are clear on the autonomy enjoyed by each institution in the evaluation of learning. Consequently, the universities have devised a way of classifying students for purposes of selection by utilizing statistical methods to correct for observed differences in the grading systems used by the colleges, and to adjust the resulting values to take into account the relative strength of each group of students. This method, called the R score, was adopted by the universities in Québec in 1995.” How is it calculated?

“The R score contains two types of information for each course taken by a student: an indicator of that student’s rank in the group based on that individual’s grade (the Z score), and an indicator of the relative strength of that group (ISG). Thus, the R score allows for the initial differences between groups in addition to the advantages of the Z score. The ISG is a corrective term that can be applied to all college courses. Its general utility allows appropriate adjustments to be made to account for each student’s particular situation. For example, should a student attend a different college, or switch to another program or another group, the Z score for each course transferred will be adjusted according to the indicator of the group in which the evaluation takes place.”

“How about I comma splice YOU!” I’d like to cry to these delinquents. I might add for good measure, “What do you think a dangling infinitive feels like? Well let me tell you punk, it’s not pretty, it leaves a terrible rash!” Unfortunately, I am a SNOOT and therefore physically weak, so I will not attempt such a reckless attack, and will be much safer reforming the youth through the power of my eloquent article, don’t you think?

Well Hello there dear reader! Welcome to my little article! It is so nice to meet you! How are you this fine day? Very well I hope! Let me introduce myself to you. I am a SNOOT, a self-proclaimed protector of syntax and all things grammatically correct. I spend my days gallivanting about to my high teas and Classical English Literature clubs, leaving behind me a trail of New Yorkers and Perrier bottles. My favourite activity, of course, is making disparaging remarks about my colleagues. I stand before you today (in text, of course) to inform you of a terrible situation that is rather upsetting to this particular SNOOT. A great cloud has fallen over our civilization! The Gods storm over us, threatening to smite us in their threatening rage! The problem, my readers (May I call you my darlings? Would that be alright with you?), is that there is no respect for the grammatically correct in this world! No one cares about “their” and “there” anymore! “But why not?!” I often cry in dismay, wringing my hands quite dramatically. Most of you, my little ickles, are no exception to this horrible trend. And if you are not a part of the problem then you have at least noted grammar missteps in some of your acquaintances. Now, wait a minute! I know what you might say to me! “Oh, mister or madam SNOOT! How unfair you are! It is not just us younglings who violate the English language! Surely you are aware that peoples of all sizes commit the gargantuan error of engaging in improper grammar!” Now, now my pets, calm yourselves. I am aware – oh the horror! – am I ever aware of the legions who let themselves succumb to the slothful practice of poor grammar. The problem, you see, is that these oafs have long engaged in their naughty grammatical behaviour. They have long defiled the elegant face of our lovely language, and unfortunately, they are too set in their ways to be changed by a mere SNOOT like yours truly. All we can do is look upon them disapprovingly down our upturned noses and call them by their true name – brutes! You however, my darlings, are still young and there is time to change! Do not fear, there is hope in your stockings! By gum there is hope! Ahem. Now, let us get to the root of the matter, my ickles. The horrible grammar epidemic sweeping today's youth can be said to be just as bad as the bubonic plague, if not worse: at least bubonic plague did its victim the favour of allowing them to die. Indeed, poor syntax is just as contagious as expressions of disdain during high tea or as bodily odour among the plebes. “Facebook”, that vile, confusing websheet, seems to be a festering mecca for these gross indecencies of grammar. This site seems to be popular with today’s younglings, with these ickle creatures spending hours with their little eyeballs glued to their bright screens. Young girls, clamouring over their makeup, their "eyepods”, their “beeber”, seem to be a main culprit in this vendetta against poor old syntax. These “profile photographs” are a horrendously popular place for these young girl childthings to throw about their heinously constructed sentences. “Oh my God your so pretty!” they say to each other in strange blue boxes. "Your!!!??" I cry in disgust, throwing my arms to the threatening heavens above in horror. Surely, dear readers, pretty is not a possession! Young men are however not exempt from gross oversights in judgement when it comes to proper use of the Mother Tongue, and frequently our language finds itself dejected and abused in favour of profanity. These young whippersnappers are also fond of “Facebook”, and they often write on each other’s “walls” (Why, I do not know, for surely it must be hard to wash off). They send such grammatically vile messages as “hey bro how r u?”. “Ah!!!” I proclaim. “!!!!!!” Is all I can say to this! What does this cryptic message mean? Who can begin to understand this foolish sentence? What, exactly does “bro” (I shudder as I type the letters) signify? Is this an abbreviation? A code word? Heavens only knows I tell you! And what, pray tell, are the seemingly random “r” and “u” supposed to convey? I, dear readers, am one confused SNOOT. What do these floating letters mean? Perhaps they use it as a crude symbol? An upturned smile of lewd adolescent tomfoolery? Anyhow, it is a vile desecration of our beloved language and I will not stand for it! It makes me so upset to see these horrors!

Back to the issue, however – What has gotten into these young things? Are they even aware of their gross missteps in the fine art of sentence-crafting? Back in this old SNOOT’s youthful days there was integrity in writing! There was sentence structure, there was catchy and grammatically correct nineties pop tunes, but most importantly, there was SNOOTlets. You see, SNOOTS are not born with their splendid knowledge of the world’s finest language, heavens no! Before they can transform into the majestic North American SNOOT they must first be a SNOOTlet: an enthusiastic and studious young thing that is a SNOOT in the making. They must train and bruise their little noses by sticking them into so many books that their physically weak bodies grow strong from carrying so many wondrous novels to and fro. Oh dear reader, how I remember those days! How my small SNOOTlet arms cradled my preferred books, how the smell of old paper filled the house of my decidedly un-SNOOTly parents. Fitzgerald! Joyce! Lowry! Eliot, both George and T.S! Oh how I love thee! Oh…. Excuse me, I might’ve gotten a tad carried away just now in my reminiscence. A thousand pardons. Back to the real point here – that this generation of ickles is lacking their fair share of SNOOTlets. How can a new generation of SNOOTs come to bloom if there are no younglings? This is no longer an issue over the grievous grammatical errors of the young! No! This is surely now a matter of life and death for us SNOOTs! Who will fill our position when we are gone? Who will take over our grammatical and metaphorical thrones (Alas thrones are expensive and being a SNOOT does not make much of a salary) and reign when we are old and shrivelled? This is a matter of extinction, we – the proud, the snarky, the SNOOTs – we are an endangered species! I pray, dear reader, that you read my eloquently phrased plea for help and weep with pity and woe. Anyone with their heart steeped in literary love would surely not allow this tremendous tragedy to run its course!

A solution to this gargantuan injustice, I propose, is to train yourself in the fine art of SNOOTdom and join our bookish ranks. It is not hard work to be a SNOOTlet, and only a bit harder to graduate to a SNOOT (Truthfully it is actually quite tedious, but no matter, please join anyway!). So please, my legion of fervent readers, heed my advice! Read! Devour books until your little hearts explode onto the library walls with the joy of literature! Write! Type on your “labstop” keyboard until your teensy fingers are brittle and bruised! Educate yourself, my younglings! Let yourself learn about the wonders of our strange little planet! Please my darlings, do yourself a tremendous favour and make an effort when you speak, look over what you write to check for syntax errors, let yourself be immersed in novels of all kinds! If you are capable of reading my little article, then you must certainly understand the English language, our fantastic dialect. So, my tiny little SNOOTs-to-be, take the advice of a snobbish and wise old thing. Consider grammar when you read and type, improve your writing at every chance you get, and join the SNOOTS in our quest for grammatical purity everywhere. Now it is time for us to part, my darlings, and I hope the separation will not strain your ickle hearts. I hope I have reformed you! Now if you are resentful towards me and think this endeavour was foolish then I say to you – Pah! The only thing worse than writing silly articles in school journals is writing the same articles with bad grammar. Now that only applies to bothersome little punks, do not fret my lovelies. Besides, there is something worse than both of those things, and that is when finger sandwiches are improperly cut at high tea. It was tremendously nice to meet all of you, splendid really, even more so than the time I cried "Why, these aren't triangular sandwiches, these are parallelograms!" at a prestigious literary circle. Ah, I digress. So, dear readers, it is with great pleasure that I say adieu. Goodbye! Farewell! Please be a SNOOT!

In this day and age, manliness has taken a serious blow. When television shows like Jersey Shore and musicians like Justin Bieber pollute our TV screens and radio waves, the male sex sometimes forgets what it means to be a man. But don’t worry fellas. There are easy ways that we can also be the burly, disgruntled and carefree men of yesteryear. After following these tips, you will be living out your man-fantasies, or mantasies, of riding a T-Rex in space while having a lightsaber duel with Batman.

kinds of beards, some manlier than others, but all manly none the less. I bet you are asking “but there are so many kinds of awesome beards! How can I choose just one?” Don’t worry, my testosterone-fuelled brethren, for I shall aid you in this epic endeavour. The classic example of the beard is what I like to call “The crazy whaler”. Simply grow it out! No shaving, trimming or anything. Soon, you will look like a sailor, ready to go on a blood-lust charged hunt for man eating creatures of the sea. If you are looking for a more tamed beard to grow, there is always the goatee. This is quite simple to do effectively. All you need to do is shave your neck and jaw line. The only remaining facial hair should be the ‘stache and around the chin. After the release of “The Lord of the Rings” movies, many men have yearned for the awesome Gimli beard. Grow your face-hair out and then braid it. You’ll be bringing orcs to justice with your battle-axe in no time after! The last is the Handlebar. 10 out of 10 bikers agree that this is the supreme man-face-hair thing to do. Simply shave the neck and your chin, leaving your moustache connecting with the jaw line beard.

Air guitaring Grunting What some people don’t realize is that a little grunt can go a long way. Grunting is the most basic (read: effective) way of displaying to the world around you what you’re feeling. Did someone criticise your method of hammering those two planks of wood together? GRUNT! Did that new movie about the people who are dreaming about being inside a dream in a dream confuse you? There is a grunt for that. Did that bodacious blond just give you the eye-undressing while walking past you? Let her know you are interested by giving one of those grunts of satisfaction. You can even display sadness and dissatisfaction through the wonders of grunting. Now that you know this, how does one grunt like a true man? The common myth of phenomonous gruntanius is that it is any little noise or stream of air that comes out of your word-hole without actually being a word. After extensive study and research, the top scientists in the field of grunting (known as Gruntologists) have come to the conclusion that a grunt is a guttural sound that comes from the bottom of the throat. So practice your arsenal of grunts, and you begin your quest of becoming a true man.

Your man card rests on your face. Wear a beard today! When asked what a true man is, most people will imagine a lumberjack-like figure. He stands atop a mountain, hacking at a tree with his man-muscles and shiny axe. This idea of a true man is nothing short of absolute truth. Now, what is the one common element between lumberjacks, aside from their fiery red hair and insulated plaidshirts? If you said a beard, you are right. Now boys, there are many ways to wear a beard. The only thing you need to do is grow it, and find the one you like best. There are many different

There is no instrument that is as manly as an electric guitar. They are loud, crude and rude. Now, I know that you can’t always drag one around with you, so instead you can do the next best thing. The first thing you need to do, is turn your left hand so the palm is facing the sky, and bring it to about the height of your shoulder. The next step is to pretend you are holding a pencil with your right hand. Now start wiggling the fingers on your left hand, and imagine you are furiously writing an angry letter to the failing coach of a sports team with your right. You are now airguitaring, and everyone knows it. You are now being awesome, and therefore being manly. In order for realism, do this on a raised platform of some sort and get your best friend to light some fireworks beside you. Now that is some manly air guitaring. Author’s note: As well as grunting, practice your guitar sounds. It’s as easy as that. Being a man is within your powerful, train-crushing grasp. If you feel I left anything out, then feel free to write in with your tips on being a man. And by doing that, you are criticizing me, so I am now grunting at you. To top this roaring article off, listed below are five manly things you can cook up for yourself and the curvaceous women you will no doubt attract. - Leo Benoit, 2nd year Liberal Arts Student

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

Liquid hot magma, served in the skull of a Viking lord. Buffalo wings, at a heat level of no less than “suicide”. A cocktail known as “The Lemmy”. Soak 2 packs of extra strength Marlboro cigarettes in a barrel of Jack Daniels Whiskey. Preferably drank in broad daylight, surrounded by no less than 6 exotic dancers. The Baconator. Take a pound of bacon, and firmly place it between two more pounds of bacon. Add baconnaise to taste. Milk, two weeks expired. Nothing says manliness like unnecessary risk taking!

We asked Patrick Moran, along with a few more of our professors, what is on their wish lists this Christmas. The responses were varied...

Professor Patrick Moran is a Humanities and Philosophy teacher here at Heritage, known for his enjoyable teaching technique and in-depth knowledge of all things Socrates. On-campus reporters Jennifer Mackenzie and Jessica Pacheco caught up with him recently and asked him a few questions that were not Philosophy related.

Q: If you could live in any city, where would you live? A: Sherbrooke, Quebec.

Love, happiness, serenity, simplicity, and quality family time.

Q: What is your favourite holiday? A: Easter. Q: What motivated you to have an interest in philosophy? A: I enjoyed it because I didn’t fail in it and found it interesting.

Paul Elliott-Magwood: “Vectoria” (the mathy My Little Pony), "Mind Over Muscle" by Jigoro Kano, a replacement wig, Legend of the Seeker (Season 2), and final exams, proudly written by my students, that fully show all of the hard work that they put into their studies this term.

Q: Which university did you attend? A: McGill as an Undergraduate. Q: What is your favourite TV show, on or off the air? A: SCTV. Q: What is your favourite movie? A: The Last Imitation of Christ. Q: Favourite book? A: 1984 by George Orwell. Q: If you weren’t a teacher, what would you be? A: A lawyer. Q: What would you change if you were Prime Minister? A: Lengthen Summer holidays for teachers. Q: Do you agree with Facebook? A: I barely understand it. My brother says it’s a Christmas card list everyone can see but me. Q: Which Greek god would you be? A: Hephaestus. It’s a cool name, and I’d get to make things. It would be pretty cool to be a blacksmith. Q: What is your favourite type of music? A: Beethoven.

Q: Which career did you want when you were a kid? A: I wanted to eat candy and stay up all night. Oh, and a writer, doctor, or lawyer.

A hovercraft, a trip to Kiribati, a lifetime supply of gingerbread, tango lessons, and a good (or, at least, less bad) singing voice.

Q: What destination would you pick for a vacation getaway? A: France. Q: If you had to pick one song to listen to for the rest of your life, what would it be? A: La Marseille (National Anthem of France) Q: What are your thoughts on Twilight? A: Funny how vampires are recurring cultural images and metaphors.

Choose who we interview for our next issue! Vote by writing the name of your chosen teacher as the title of an email addressed to

Patrick Moran: music by Lars Erik Larsson, Rockford Files on DVD, a new bookbag, more hazard lights for my bike, and a hot water bottle.

One of my favourite things about Heritage is our massive winter break, we get a full month off from school to spend lazing around. Sure, there’s the horror of exams right before, but think of the giant break as a reward for your cramped hands and those massive studying headaches. It’s hard not to get into the Christmas spirit when there’s no homework to worry about, and no reason to wake up at 6:00 AM to stumble out to the bus stop and fall asleep on the crowded 49. Some of us spend the holidays working, but some of us just spend the time wandering around the house like old hags. The luxury of free time and the abundance of holiday cheer is enough to make anyone jolly, but there comes a point during every break where we hit a wall – we get bored. Suddenly there’s no reason to get up before noon, hell, there’s no reason to even change out of your pyjamas! Here’s my solution for the holiday blues – go out! Save yourself before you start pouring a little too much rum in your eggnog! We can all get a little stir crazy, and even those who work need a break sometime from those crazy holiday shoppers, so here’s a list of my favourite places to sneak off to... A really interesting place just off of Elgin. At first glance, Aunt Olive’s just looks like a vintage store, but upon closer inspection, the curious shopper will realize that it’s a café as well. They boast a vast selection of strangely stylist vintage clothes, and their food is delicious (and some of it is vegan, too). Their coconut curry potato soup is particularly wonderful. This is a great place to go to shop or to have a meal, but the fun doesn’t stop there, oh no! A brand new used CD store called the Record Shaap recently moved into the basement under Aunt Olive’s, and boy do they ever know their stuff. You’ll probably be able to find any music that you’re looking for at an attractive price. The staffs at both stores are really friendly and knowledgeable, so talk to them – they’re great conversation! 209 Gilmour, just off of Elgin

This is a lovely, quiet little place that serves simple and yummy snacks and drinks. By day, that is. At night this Chinatown café doubles as a venue for great music, so expect a crowded room. The place is really charming, with its mismatched furniture and friendly staff, and it’s a great place to head off to for some tea or an intimate concert. 692 Somerset West, in Chinatown

Don’t let the cheesiness of the name mislead you, this place is so good that they can get away with it. Their coffee and tea is always incredible. I would recommend the chai tea latte, but they have so many great drinks that you really can’t go wrong with any of them. Their real attraction though, is the desserts. These aren’t plain Jane, wishy-washy, run-of-the-mill treats. These are heavenly confections that are so good that they will literally blow your eyeballs rights out of their sockets. This is not an overstatement. They are actually that delicious. The place itself is really nice too, there are lots of seating options and it always feels cosy and inviting. That doesn’t really matter though; you’ll probably just be concentrating on your cake. 25 York, in the Byward Market

This place is adorable, I mean, look at the name: it’s precious. It’s out of the way of the busy bustle of the market, nestled inside a cute old house. It’s a relaxed pace – the seating and décor are simple, and they have a few big windows so you can watch the snow outside from your cosy chair. If you’re looking to enjoy some tea undisturbed, then this is definitely your kind of place. It’s usually pretty quiet, and if there are any customers around they’re probably readying or chatting quietly. Their tea and coffee selection is impressive, and their desserts are pretty lovely as well. This is a perfect place to sit and read by yourself, or heck, bring a friend along, I’m sure they won’t mind. 119 York, in the Byward Market

I have a profound love for this store. It literally looks like the inside of my head – lots of adorable clothing, old-fashioned things, generally precious items, and a great deal of catadorned products. If you’re grumpy or feeling glum, go to this store. It’s so unbearably cute that you’ll probably come out smiling like a buffoon, and you will be happy about it. The staff is really sweet: these girls dress to the nines and are always up for some cat related banter. 246 Dalhousie, in the Byward Market and 1282 Wellington West, in Westboro

A favourite of mine. The Antique Market is a giant vintage store/maze located in a Glebe basement, but don’t let the subterranean scare you off – this is a spectacular place. I’m not quite sure how they’re supposed to be organized, but the store is like a giant maze of loosely categorized vintage merchandise. You can spend hours wandering around this place, every narrow corner has a new surprise – a wall of teacups, a room of vintage desks, and (one of my favourites) a truly baffling room displaying innumerable vintage rugs occupying every inch of the floors and walls. Don’t come here with rowdy friends, there are a lot of breakables that could be worth more than you’d like to pay. So gather up your careful footed and dainty acquaintances and spend a couple hours wandering around the store’s labyrinth of strange antique wares. 1179 A Bank, in the Glebe

This is a large and enchanting bookstore. They have an impressive collection of literature, so if you can’t find what you’re looking for then you’re probably an insufferably picky snoot. A dedicated literary fanatic could spend a good two hours wandering through the Book Bazaar’s aisles. The store is usually quiet and it’s a wonderful place to wander around and relax. The staff usually keeps to themselves but they’re always helpful, and the prices are reasonable as well. 417 Bank, in the Glebe

Problem Number 3: Chapped Lips Solution: Lip balm and exfoliator

Here are some valuable beauty tips that will make you look like you got the 8 hours of sleep you so badly want instead of the 2 you actually had...

Problem Number 1: Under Eye Bags Solution: Illuminize, illuminize, illuminize! One way to get rid of the bags under your eyes is to use a reflecting formula such as Benefit High Beam Luminizer. I use this stuff all the time, and trust me, its gold. To make sure you reflect light, apply it in t hree key spots: under your eyebrow, in the corner of your eye, and along the tops of cheek bones. This way, the light is reflected around your eye area, creating a lifting affect and taking attention away from those 2 AM bags under your eyes. As well, you could even apply it to the under eye area to cover the bags, just make sure to blend it really well so you don’t look like a glitter addict. I prefer this method to concealer since concealer tends to cake around the eye area and make you look even more tired! As well, for darker skin tones there’s always the Benefit Moon Beam that does the exact same job as moon beam, you just won’t look like a clown.

Problem Number 2: Blotchy skin Solution: Primer Winter winds, stress, and lack of sleep all bring out the worst in our skin. It becomes dry, red, and irritated, resulting in our stressing about that on top of everything else in life. Our instant go to? Foundation. What most girls forget to use under this saviour of a formula though is a primer. Although they’re not as hyped about as much as foundation is, in my opinion they are just as important. Not only do they extend the life of your foundation, they also improve the performance by making it go on smoother. They also create a barrier between your pores and the foundation, resulting in the prevention of pimples and black heads! Some of my primer favourites include Smashbox Photo Finish Primers and Make Up Forever HD Microperfecting Primers. If you have oily skin, and really have no discolouration or redness, you would use a clear, white, or light blue oil free formula. For red irritated skin, you would use a green primer which counteracts the redness (don’t worry, once blended in it disappears so you don’t look like the Grinch!). Finally, for discoloured skin, purple primers counteract the discolouration in fair tones, and caramel reduces the look of ashiness in darker skin tones.

So there you have it: three of themost common beauty problems brought on by stress. Hopefully these suggestions will help, and remember, if you have any questions you can ask me anytime. Good luck with exams! You’ll look 10 times more beautiful than you already are with these tricks of the trade under your belt!

Not only does winter dry out our skin, it also has the nerve to suck the moisture out of our lips. There are two ways to fight this; by exfoliating and using a ton of lip balm. In all honesty, you really don’t need to buy a pricey exfoliator, instead you can use an old toothbrush to gently remove any flakes. First, dab your lips with a warm cloth, and then gently rub the toothbrush around your lips until all flakes are removed. Lip balm for me is a must though. Not only does it continue to moisturize your lips throughout the day, it smells amaaazing. One lip balm that I’m especially in love with right now is Jack Black Intense Therapy Lip Balm in Natural Mint and Vanilla Lavender. Not only does it include moisturizing super agents such as Shea butter, avocado oil, and vitamin E, it also contains SPF 25! Also, right now at Sephora you can buy a pack of two for $11.00 which is a great deal considering that they’re usually about $7.00 each. Another reason to get this fab ulous lip balm? Lavender is one of the top 4 scents that are proven to attract men, and considering that this particular scent will be on your lips...well, you get the picture!

Alberta Ballet: The Nutcracker December 1-5, 2010 The National Arts Centre

Living the broke college life? You can always revert back to your childish ways, and save yourself some cash! Try building a fort, renting a holiday movie with friends (see our recommendations below), or enjoy a nice cup of hot cocoa.

Enjoy the familiar strains of Tchaikovsky in this new production of the beloved holiday classic, with original choreography by Edmund Stripe.

Originals Ottawa Christmas Craft Sale December 9-19, 2010 Landsdowne Park A classic Christmas tradition in Ottawa.



Rideau Canal Skateway – February 24th (dates are approximate)

At 7.8 km, the Canal is the Guinness World Record’s largest outdoor skating rink.

The Trans-Siberian Orchestra December 22nd, 2010 Scotiabank Place

TSO is a holiday tradition, and one of the most successful holiday music tours around.

Vintage Stock Theatre presents A Dickens of a Christmas December 9-12, 2010 Shenkman Arts Centre

Members of this travelling theatre group present the acclaimed work of Charles Dickens.

Tales of Christmas Past and Present December 16th, 2010 National Arts Centre (Stage Four)

Come listen to Ottawa storytellers tell three of their very own Christmas tales and memories.

An Irish Christmas Concert December 17th, 2010 Library and Archives of Canada (395 Wellington St.) Singer Dominic D’Arcy and The Barley Shakers are sure to entertain. Profit and Ambition: The Canadian Fur Trade, 1779-1821 Until February 6th, 2011 Canadian Museum of Civilization

This exhibit tells the story of the North West Company, that laid groundwork for the Canada that we know today.

Bell Capital Cup December 29th, 2010 – January 2nd, 2011 Various arenas around Ottawa More than 500 teams of young hockey players from Europe, the United States, and Canada compete.

There’s nothing better than warming up with a mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day, but sometimes the traditional taste just isn’t enough. Try some of these new twists on an old favourite to change things up: using white chocolate with whipped cream and crushed candy cane topping; adding a teaspoon of ground cinnamon and a pinch of cayenne pepper; melting your marshmallows into a mixture to add creaminess to your coco; using some of those leftover candy canes as stir sticks to add a hint of mint; or trying out an Italian version called Cioccolata Calda, with the consistency of pudding. Now that you’ve got your hot chocolate in hand, it’s time to cosy up on the couch and pop in a DVD. Here are our favourite Christmas movies of all time. 1. It's a Wonderful Life 2. How the Grinch Stole Christmas (Original Version) 3. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer 4. Elf 5. Jingle All the Way

Heritage’s other major athletic contenders, competing in soccer and basketball, have also been successful this semester. Here are the standings to prove it.

This was the first year Heritage College put a female rugby team in the intercollegiate league. The competition was tough, filled with teams which had been playing together for a lot longer, and therefore had a head start on Heritage in terms of chemistry and team cooperation. However, the talented young women who signed up for the rugby team were up for the challenge. I caught up with a few of the players from the Women’s Rugby team to discuss their experience with Heritage College. Samantha Yost, one of the team’s captains, assured me that the experience was more than enjoyable. “My experience playing for Heritage College was awesome. Though we didn't get a medal for Heritage, we played with heart. I loved practicing and playing with the girls each week and the coaches were amazing”. Fellow teammate Shaddy Saneie added that the team truly came together in their time playing together, comparing them to a family. “As a team we did all come together well. It was easy to see when we were playing as a team and when we weren't. Like I said we are family, we have each other’s backs, no matter what happens”. This sense of solidarity is refreshing when it comes to team sports – often times, numerous issues arise when dealing with a large group of individuals hailing from different social groups and backgrounds. In this case, however, it didn’t take long for the group of young women to grow together, and play together. That’s not to say that the team didn’t run into some obstacles! Samantha admits that there were instances where individual play took predominance over team effort, and that’s when problems arose. “There would always be someone who would try to be the 'hero' and get a tri for us. Really, it set us back in our game strategies. We quickly realized this issue and tried fix it right away”. Samantha is not alone in understanding that being a part of a team often involves a few setbacks, as Shaddy confirms. “We were a group of strong individuals, and our frustration on the field sometimes translated to frustration towards each other”. These are the kinds of obstacles that any competitive sports team is faced with. The manner in which they dealt with them is what makes their particular group so impressive. In sum, while many of the girls on the team were not first-time rugby players, the team as a whole was a new project for Heritage College. The players, along with a great coaching staff (consisting of Mylene Mongeon, Marc Wolvin and Isabelle Latremouille-Maheu), were able to rise to the challenge and face their adversaries head on. They put up quite a fight. Ranked 5th in the standings overall, this was just a beginning for Heritage in terms of women’s rugby, and onlookers are eagerly anticipating their next move. Check out their standings below... Zoë Quigg

Men’s Soccer

Women’s Soccer

Men’s Basketball

Women’s Basketball

Vashti Bunyan - Winter is Blues John Fahey - Sun Gonna Shine in my Back Door Someday Blues Six Organs of Admittance - Saint Cloud Tame Impala - The Bold Arrow of our Time Comets on Fire - Pussy Foot the Duke

Black Mountain - Stormy High The Gories - Nitroglycerine The Black Keys - Strange Times Exploding Hearts - Sleeping Aides and Razorblades The Make-Up - Born on the Floor Les Breastfeeders - Misérats Polvo - Beggar's Bowl Explosions in the Sky - First Breath After Coma HRSTA - L'éclat du ciel était insoutenable Cymbals Eat Guitars - Cold Spring Deer Tick - Art Isn't Real (City of Sin) The Tallest Man on Earth - Shallow Grave

The Submarines - Vote Handsome Furs - Evangeline Wolf Parade - Ghost Pressure Swan Lake - All Fires Sunset Rubdown - Nightingale/December Song The Acorn - Darcy The Luyas - Tiny Head Past Lives - All is Well

The Disappearance of Alice Creed (Gemma Arterton) The Kids are All Right (Annette Benning, Mark Ruffalo, Julianne Moore)

A Serious Man (Michael Stuhlbarg) An Education (Carey Mulligan, Peter Sarsgaard)

Bright Shiny Morning by James Frey Atonement by Ian McEwan It’s Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini Lullabies for Little Criminals by Heather O’Neill Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult My Sister’s Keeper by Jodi Picoult Paint it Black by Janet Fitch The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky Running with Scissors by Augustus Hambling The Stone Angel by Margaret Laurence Hey Nostradamus! by Douglas Coupland The Gum Thief by Douglas Coupland Girlfriend in a Coma by Douglas Coupland

We were fourteen and it was December. Her basement hadn’t been redone since the eighties and the weird orange walls looked murky in the creeping light from the high window, blocked by snow. We had pushed all of the couches and armchairs into a circle and then burrowed into a pile of blankets. I could barely see her face in the dark but she looked pale and tired. I said that I was tired of being alive and that I just wanted to sleep all the time. The words felt strange and tumbled out of my mouth guiltily, and I wanted to tell her that I was happy sometimes, too. But she said she agreed with me, and she said that she felt like a ghost at night, and that she wanted to haunt old houses and watch families eat dinner and fold laundry. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to imagine it, and I saw sisters and brothers watching cartoons in the morning, unaware of the small ghost sitting between them and laughing at their squabbling and telling them to shhhhh during the punch line. She sighed and turned over, staring at the ceiling, her eyes heavy with the weight of being a kid. We knew so much, then. We thought we did, at least. The world was messed up and we were in the wrong era. We dreamed of old prep schools and men in military uniforms, depressed housewives and dads staring distantly with a glass of scotch. Everyone else was artificial and stupid, so we spent our time together, dreaming of places over the sea. She told me about her piano teacher that night. How he told her she was talented and touched her hands, her face, and then somewhere else. I don’t think she ever told anyone else. She might’ve told someone by now, but that night it was secret and neither of us really understood it. It felt like our town was empty and full of people we hated, and the only way to live was to stay together. We were the perfect match – a shy kid who was scared of everything, and the fearless kid who was foreign and strange. She moved away a couple of months later. We sent a lot of letters and I bought a lot of stamps and envelopes. She’d wander around at night, sneak into shopping malls after they’d closed, scream my name into the echoing halls and then run home, exhilarated. I don’t know why, but we both felt like we would die without the other. I refused to make new friends, my parents concerned by the obsessive and manic friendships that only young and sad girls are capable of. We wanted to be writers and sent stories to each other about little brothers dying on trains, about bruises forming, and about learning to count to ten in German. It took a year for us to get over each other. When she left, the ocean between us felt like a constant burning in my stomach, and I dreamed about seeing her in hallways and on busses. After a while it got weaker, and eventually it just died away. We don’t talk anymore but I hope she turned out okay, and I hope she’s not on medication. Memories get foggy and vague, and I’m forgetting things. I hardly ever think about her, but every now and then I’ll see some small reminder of her and something will stab my stomach. Sometimes, though, I feel a dull ache that must be what’s left of the burning. I wonder if she feels the same things, and if she still thinks of me as her transparent twin, a match to her broken ghost of a spirit. I don’t think we’ll ever talk again, but I remember that we stayed up until breakfast that icy night, our heads heavy with the pains of being sad little girls, our eyes blinking against the best kind of insomnia.

Cold, billowing wisps of breath On dark December nights. Footprints in the sand. Intricate, quick glances between two souls A quiet connection behind lashes. Ripples in the water. Simple, lovely drawings on foggy glass Broken hearts etched out on windowpanes. Sweet perfume.

I turned back, smiling as I called out goodbye. It was cold out, a bit, and my fingers fumbled over the bike lock. I pushed away the kickstand, swinging my leg over the bike and pushing off. It was cold out, and the wind stabbed my bare legs as I biked faster. The neighbourhood streets were empty, the lampposts old and rusty, casting a dim light over hedges and driveways. I shivered and pushed faster, looking into the blurring living room windows as I passed them. I imagined narrow hallways, bedrooms shared with siblings, little feet being tucked into bed. The dad in the basement, playing solitaire on the computer, maybe watching TV, sometimes reading a book. The mom in the kitchen, maybe. Teenagers in their rooms, skulking, or staring at bright computer screens. I turned onto a bigger street, there were more cars now. Their lights were too bright and the red screamed into my eyes. It bothered me, how Sarah’s parents had made supper together. Moving around silently, never bumping into each other, speaking every now and then about work or the weekend. I couldn’t watch them for too long without having an urge to shudder. Not in a bad or disgusted way, but in a kind of disbelief. It was foreign to me and made my head feel heavy and my eyes tired. It’s a kind of jealously, I guess. A hopeless wanting, maybe, or a wishful thought that you know will never leave you head. I kept biking faster and my legs felt numb. Noah was right, I shouldn’t have worn a dress tonight. My legs kept pushing and my head was spinning with my bike, my eyes felt too wide as wind stung them. Toddlers being tucked into bed, a cat stretching on the back porch, ½ teaspoon of pesto being mixed in, little flowers jumping up and down as wind pushed the fabric back on my thighs. The cat, the flowers, a broken glass, a glass shattered on the bathroom floor. It kept spinning and spinning and I needed a shock to get out of the cycle. The lights in front of me are green and blurry, little spikes of light shooting out to make stars. My face feels raw and wet. I’m crying, I think. The lights get bigger, they’re yellow now, like little suns peeking out at night. I want to say “You’re up late!”. I figure no one will hear me so I do, “You’re up late little suns!”. In a normal voice though, not too loud, I don’t want to wake up the little babies in the dark houses. I hear yelling and look up at the lights, they’re red now. I look down and my hands are crimson, I guess the suns went back to bed. I hear a car horn and I fly off my bike, landing on the cold pavement. I look up at the sky, trying to find some stars. Maybe I can find Vela tonight. My left side feels all soft and broken, and I hear car doors open. Someone touches my face. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t even see her” I look over at the voice. A man looks back at me, he looks a bit scared. Maybe he didn’t know that the sun comes out at night sometimes. A hand touches my side and I wince a bit. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” Someone keeps asking me that over and over, it’s a woman’s voice. Maybe there are more people here than I thought. I try to sit up but hands keep me down, telling me to stay, to stay where I am. The pain gets a bit worse so I arch my neck, looking down at my side. The flowers are all red, now. I hope the stain comes out, I don’t want to throw this dress out. I hear sirens, and the night feels a bit exciting. The man is still talking to me, so I look over at him, widen my eyes so he knows how serious I am. He looks more alert now that I’m paying attention to him. He starts speaking more loudly, “Talk to me, are you alright? Can you hear me?” I blink slowly and open my mouth a bit, “Listen, I feel alright” I point at the sky, glancing up then back over to him, “but can you help me find Vela?” He starts to answer but he hears cars pull up so he turns around. I hear it too. Two men run over and start grabbing my wrists, asking me more questions. They’re wearing white. Paramedics, I think. I smile at them, but then they get blurry and quiet. The feeling is familiar, so I close my eyes and let it pull me to sleep. Later, when I wake up, I hear beeping and whispering. The hospital.

The day was quiet; the world around me was bleak. The sky seemed tired of trying so hard to be blue, and the blades of grass continued too snooze against the warm earth, even though it was nearly noon. An ivory pebble ran back and forth between my fingers, catching rays of sun as it moved. I held it tightly, proud to have found such a vibrant creature within the grey canvas of rocks that littered the path. Its vivid whiteness glimmered between my lashes as I was walking towards Susie's house, and I frantically snatched it from its place in the mass of monochrome, afraid that any other movement could drown it beneath the dull stones. Its beauty reminded me of Susie; the flutter of her voice, the arch of her back, the sweet smell of her hair. Every crease in her tiny body danced through my mind, she was unique, bright and bold, her skin as smooth as the pebble that now nestled comfortably in my pocket. The memory of her laughter propelled me forward, as I tiptoed along the edge of the sidewalk, swaying side to side, trying to keep my balance, trying not to fall over the edge. Her eyes were bright blue today, she was happy. Lately, cobalt was the hue that overwhelmed her pupils, but today, I found the sky in her eyes, she must have stolen it from right above her. Her skin shone alabaster beneath the sun's lazy rays as she stepped outside to greet me, her body moulding right up into mine, she was a perfect fit. Her cloudless eyes smiled up at me as I spun her round along the narrow sidewalk, we danced dangerously close to the edge, twirling round and round as the world around us continued to blur. Her room was bare, white walls and open windows, that's all it was. The only proof of her existence within it's constraints were the dishevelled sheets, thrown feverishly across her bed. We sat down, her small fingers contained in mine, and I wondered if the world held anything brighter than her smile. As she whispered stanzas about her morning, the white weight in my pocket seemed dull and grey in comparison. I know it was lust, I was aware that, in reality, her eyes were sunken, and her skin was tissue paper, but, in my eyes, she was the brightest, most beautiful girl in the world. She was sick, that's all, but so was I. We both suffered from the dreariest disease there was; the malaise of the mundane. Luckily for us though, we had found a cure, we had found an escape. Dry mouths embraced laced papers, two bodies intertwined in an empty room full of possibility. She had shown me color. Because of Susie, I knew that love wasn't just red, it was glimmering ruby, and blazing flame, it was her lips and my heart and pomegranate lust. She handed me this epiphany the first time we met, placed it in my palm and told me to press it to my tongue. Since then, we had discovered so many colors together, day after day. We forgot the monochrome of reality and slipped away into a prism of hues, our visions splashing across the empty walls of her room. This kaleidoscope became our cure; it washed away modernity and tired skies, enveloped us in neon wonder. I was addicted. Addicted to the hum of chemicals as they whirled

through my veins and obsessed with the whirl of hues that took over my senses. The aqua skies of Susie's eyes filled the room; I swam in her happiness as our bodies wove together, urgently wanting to be frozen in this moment forever. I kissed her everywhere, my lips burning on nerveless pieces of skin; her fragmented pieces, parts of her that had been broken off, stolen, or given away, and I embraced them, replacing wounds with white pebbles of purity, putting the pieces back together. Pale skin blinded me, golden hair tickled my shoulders, and blue skies poured into me as I gazed into dilated pupils. We found intimacy in blue, as my ocean eyes flowed into her sky; it was quickly becoming my new favourite color. So much more than blue, we were surrounded by crashing waves and mid-day coloured canvases, moulding perfectly into each other, the sea and the sky, melting into one world. This world, however, was nothing like the one we had just left, this world held no grey bruises, it didn't hold us down or keep us up at night with its harsh words and broken promises. Our world was bright and soundless (except for the rhythm of sweet breaths and soulful hearts); it held no malice, only hope. Susie's fingers laced mine, filling every empty space, and soon I found glimmering crystals, nestled in my palm. Susie’s skies gazed up at me, and windy words whispered questions; did I want to visit ecstasy? Did I want to see the yellow? My answer took form in fire and ice, as the crystal shards found their way through my nostrils and into my being. Susie’s heart raced in my hands as we soared into exotic yellow. This was foreign land, two feet from the sun, higher than we had ever been before. The sleepy grass and they grey concrete were lost shadows in our minds, completely obliterated by the incredible light that filled our eyes. I could feel the tears escaping Susie’s lashes, flowing down around me, filling me up. The sky poured into the sea and together churned and crashed, two hearts, beating frantically beneath torrential floods of chemical exhilaration. Yellow, yellow yellow; it was lemonade on sticky summer days, quenching our thirst for life and washing down the grey paste that caked our throats. Susie convulsed with intensity, as the afternoon sun shone through her skies; the day couldn’t get any brighter. Higher and higher and higher, I felt weightless, but the pocketed pebble anchored me down, just far enough from the scalding yellow sun, from oblivion. Susie’s fingers dug into my shoulders, clinging as she continued to rise. My seas saw glimmers of clouds in her eyes as she shook with exasperated cries, but my mind couldn’t register reality, couldn’t help her back down to earth. I watched, transfixed, as she erupted into neon rainbows, lights of every shade erupting from her. Yellow and red burned into deep orange, and blue eyes mixed fire into evergreen; these colors bounced off the walls but left no mark, escaping out the window and dispersing into nothingness. Suddenly, the yellow aura paled its complexion, and I screamed pained requests for life as Susie became a blur of Easter pastels, and her eyes turned into tired skies. I kissed her everywhere, searching for a pulse, hoping to smell the chemical as it flowed from beneath her skin, but scalding tears ripped me down to reality as black incense poured from her stilled heart. Through high tides I gazed into her skies, but I found no sunshine, only a starless night, a veil of black, void of all light. Utter darkness.

Aquarius (Jan 21-Feb 19) This is a tricky month for you. If the urge to investigate something comes up, fight it; it will only get you into a mess of trouble. Avoid people with tendencies to give you ultimatums to get their way, because decision-making will not be your strong point this December. Lay low this month and avoid confrontation

Pisces (Feb 20-Mar 20) This is the month to move on. Anything that may be nagging at you should be put aside; you’d do better not to dwell on the past. a new beginning will present itself; grasp it with all you have. This is a good month to make changes in your life, as you are filled with a newfound spirit of self-worth.

Aries (Mar 21-Apr 20) Do not be too prompt to give your opinion. Listen to others and you may be surprised at what you hear. However, do not let people limit what you have to say once you’ve heard all there is to hear. Reckless abandon in the romance department will get you nowhere, so be wise.

Taurus (Apr 21-May 21) This is the time to seek ways to improve your health. Try something new, like a massage or aromatherapy. Also, make sure you discuss holiday plans with your significant others, and don’t be alarmed if the two of you aren’t on the same page, it’s to be expected.

Gemini (May 22-June 21) Money problems this month will raise your emotions. Taking part in activities involving two young people and an old man will give you great success. You will finally achieve recognition for the work you’ve done. Free up time in your busy schedule to congratulate yourself.

Cancer (June 22-July 22) To avoid problems later on, try and avoid spending too much time with your colleagues. Benefit from this month by letting your musical talents flow and you will reap the benefits. You will be more emotional than normal this month, but try to use it to your artistic advantage.

Leo (July 23-Aug 22) Channel all your excess energy into your work this month and you will see the results. Be frugal with your earnings, though, or you might find yourself in an embarrassing financial situation. The people around you will need you to be liberal with joy this month, so smile freely.

Virgo (Aug 23-Sept 23) December will be a month in which you will need to focus on your heart, causing all sorts of feelings to return. Embark on a journey of self-evaluation in order to bring back things you enjoy and remove the elements of your life that bring you down.

Libra (Sept 24-Oct 23) Use the holiday season to connect with friends and family on a deeper level. If you experience a sense of worry, stay away from operating vehicles or heavy machinery. Do not hesitate to express your opinion when asked to do so at work.

Scorpio (Oct 24-Nov 22) Do not be too proud to accept help from a friend this month, and be sure to offer a hand back in thanks. Do not spend the money you earn all in one place; consider saving it for a rainy spring day, or a sunny vacation. Now is the time to make that drastic change in your looks.

Sagittarius (Nov 23-Dec 21) Be careful if a friend asks you for council, they may take it too literally. If someone apologizes, be weary of their motives, but take the high road and accept it. You can’t hold grudges this month due to your holiday cheer. To spread it to all, spend as much time as possible with friends and loved ones

Capricorn (Dec 22-Jan 20) When giving advice to colleagues or employers, your words will have the potential to be taken out of context. You will find yourself in a kind of triangle situation this month. However, an abundance of social activity will help you blossom.

MotherTongue: Winter Edition  

Heritage's own MotherTongue is a student-made newspaper / journal with the aim of entertaining and informing fellow students. Enjoy!