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Three years’ worth of wisdom found at the Sil


A plea from a sleep-deprived soul

• CONT’D FROM A7 to attract and facilitate fucking? Beyond that, though, I have absolutely no beef with sex. Because it’s natural. It’s how we got here, on earth, and it’s what we do here, at university. And, it being a natural act, it can never really be criticised. Sex is really a single all-encompassing entity, and encompasses everything from nudity to intercourse to preference. Homosexuality, therefore, is part of the exact same organization as liking breasts. There’s nothing unnatural about it. Now, I’m getting ahead of myself here, and I’m also sweating a little, so let me back up and explain how this all fits into my job experience. Sex and all bits and pieces related to it are a reality. They are natural, they are what people do. And in my line of work, I have found that it does very little good and makes very little sense to deny nature or reality. You can be idealistic, but you still have to accept the way things are even, and especially, if you want to change them. At its most extreme, this means that Mahmoud Ahmadinijad denying the existence of homosexuality in Iran is foolish. There is simply no sense burying yourself in your own idealistic view of the world and pretending reality is something other than it is. This lesson also applies to censorship. There have been more than a few complaints over my years about the way we say what we’re saying here at the Sil. And maybe that’s understandable. I have endeavoured, after all, never to sanitize any article and, in some cases, to make an article as vile as possible. To me, cursing is integral to opinions, because cursing is a part of the normal thought process. Cursing is a normal way I, we, talk. I have a lot of fucking ideas. I have big fucking ideas. I have ideas about why some people are full of shit. You can never do better than to write the way you talk and to talk the way you think. If that includes expletives, then you’re really better off just to let fly. And besides, words, even bad ones, are the building blocks of communication. If we start taking away words, we start limiting our own ability to communicate and, in turn, our ability to share ideas. Ultimately, that’s the most important cause I have ever come across: the basic communication of ideas. There is nothing so vital to our connection with each other and the world, or our ability to act within the world as the sharing of thoughts. That is what the Opinions section is. That is what the Silhouette is. It is a vessel for thoughts and ideas and questions. And that is what I’ve learned. Or some selection of it anyhow. All that’s left now is for you and I to go on our separate ways. But I do hope you’ve learned something or things as well over the past few years. I hope at the very least that you read and thought and questioned. It was my job to provoke it in you, after all. So I suppose that, more than anything else, I hope I passed the audition.


The world would be a much happier and energetic place if everyone could slumber peacefully until 12 in the afternoon. JASMINE KEILLOR SILHOUETTE INTERN

This morning I literally fell out of bed. My alarm clock bellowed, a horrible, thunderous roar, and I sprung from my sleep, like a pea from a pod, and scurried across the room in a frenzy to end its foul cry. Unfortunately, I took less than two thirds of a step, tripped over my traitor of a blanket, which had sneakily wrapped itself around my two clumsy feet, and plummeted to the rocky depths of the hardwood floor below. On the way down I wacked my left arm and scoffed my right knee and I’ve got a meanlooking bruise and a scrape to prove it. Nevertheless, I rose like a true hero and continued on my humble way. My alarm clock, of course, being strategically situated ten grueling feet from the warm cozy nest that is my bed, laughed like a fiend as I made my way through the mountains of strewn clothing, crumpled books and unruly clutter, sprawled about my bedroom floor. At last I reached its dark and dingy headquarters and tamed its tiresome tantrum with the smack of my hand.

Then, throwing my shoulders back in pride, I congratulated myself on the morning’s victory. By channeling my inner wit and placing my alarm clock on the opposite side of the room, I had successfully managed to trick myself into getting up and out of bed; I was now free to go about my morning activities in a convenient and timely manner. But, just as my mind started to kick into high gear and my thoughts began to browse subjects of substantial intellectual significance, such as cereal bowls and hair straighteners, my feet decided to take on a mind of their own, scurrying back across the obstacle course from where they came and plopping my tired body back into the comfy cushions of my waiting bed. It is thus, in a regular repetition of the same morning events, that I have come to miss my first period class on a regular basis. And when, in exasperation, my teachers ask me for an explanation, all I can do is shake my head in dismay and murmur a lousy “You don’t want to know.” However, in the aftermath of my ongoing morning turmoil, I have developed a drastic

and eye-opening hypothesis: For many students, myself obviously included, waking up in the morning is simply not a possibility. We try and we try and we try even harder, but somehow sleep always prevails. Now let me just set one thing straight: I am a hardworking student; I do my homework, I study for tests, I bring home my report card with a grin on my face and pride in my heart. Indeed it appears that my one and only flaw amidst a record of flawless and poignant academic performance, is that I can never ever get to school on time. And so I’ve come to the logical conclusion that it’s not my fault. It’s merely my pesky, stubborn, adolescent hormones roaring their ugly head in the form of excessive and cumbersome sleeping needs. I decided to put my new theory to the test. Over the course of one week I did everything I possibly could to wake up on time. I shoved my crumpled, sleep-filled face beneath the cold and icy water of a running faucet. I woke to the sound of blasting music, did jumping jacks on my bed, I stood on my head. But still, in the end, my body always

decided to take things into its own hands and jump right back into bed. And thus I came to my second striking conclusion: Sweet mother of Wimbleton! The whole system is backwards and upside down! As students, we are expected to arrive to school promptly and on time, with a pen in our hands, many hours before our internal clocks are set to wake up and greet the day. As a result, we sit through morning classes half asleep, not registering half of what our teachers are saying and occasionally dozing off with our head in our arms. Ironically, just as our minds begin to wake up, the sun goes down, the moon comes up and we are left there, lying in bed, unable to sleep and dreading the impending dawn. And so I make a plea. In a world where snooze buttons have become both my best friend and my worst enemy, in a land where late slips accumulate on teachers’ desks like snow on the top of a mountain and nights are spent staring at bleak endless ceilings, I cry out: For student’s sake, please oh please can’t the whole wide world wake up at noon?

March 31st, 2011  

March 31st, 2011 issue of The Sil

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