Twinning With Taylor Swift (In The Worst Possible Way)

BY CHELSEA RICCHIO

Taylor Swift and I both broke up with our boyfriends recently.

You may be thinking, “Wait, you had a boyfriend?”

And I don’t blame you, because the relationship was so short that I didn’t have time to tell a whole lot of people about it.

I keep trying to write about my feelings on the situation so I can heal but for some reason the words just aren’t coming out. I think this is because there is one version of this story that I am comfortable talking about, the one in which I believe whatever I need to in order to feel okay about things – the one in which I believe whatever he says – but there is another version that I could barely even think about until now.

That’s the version in which I realize that I still do not have the full story, and the full story probably isn’t going to make me feel okay about anything. The full story is probably full of half truths and lies of omission and someone who doesn’t care even half as much as I thought he did (which was already only about half as much as I do). Continue reading

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To Make Up, or Not To Make Up

BY RACHEL WONG

Based on my experience, girls in general tend to be a little more concerned with their appearance and self-presentation. From their hair red-carpet-makeup.jpgto their clothes, make up to accessories, everything is meticulously planned and coordinated with the intention of showing off the best version of themselves.

I am no stranger to spending great lengths of time with my makeup, trying and re-trying outfits and making sure that everything looks just right. But when it comes to my motivation for trying to looking great, it is always for myself. I wear certain clothes and do my makeup a certain way for me, and not for anyone else.

I bring this up because I was confronted with this the other day. As I fixed my eyeliner in the school washroom, a girl that I would call an acquaintance asked me who I was trying to impress. She knew fully well that I am currently single, and in a very serious voice, she asked me if I was going out on a date, or if I was trying to pick someone up.

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Big Girls Cry

BY CHELSEA RICCHIO

I make scrapbooks for every year of my life, and though I took a break for a few years, my 2015 was so eventful that I was motivated to pick the hobby up again.

While doing a page of events that occurred around this time last year, I revisited some blog entries I wrote at the same time. One of them features lyrics from the song “Big Girls Cry” by Sia. That song hit me hard at the time because it described exactly what I feared I was becoming – someone who is living a mundane life, bored out of her mind, just surviving and not really living. I’ve been that girl before. But there were extenuating circumstances that made me that way. I don’t want to be that girl again.

post-64.jpgAnd for a while it looked like I was escaping that reality. Sure, there were some days like that, but I had a pretty fun year.

But it’s been more than 3 full months into 2016 now and I think I can safely say that I have become exactly what I feared. Most of my days have been like that, and even more now that I live alone. “I come  home, on my own, check my phone, nothing though, act busy, order in, pay TV, it’s agony.” Replace “order in” with “eat Doritos” and “pay TV” with “Netflix” and that is my life in a nutshell. Continue reading

My Struggle with the Freshman 15

BY RACHEL WONG

This semester, I exposed myself – quite literally – in one of the most personal pieces that I have ever written for my student paper. The paper is circulated widely throughout each of Simon Fraser University’s three campuses, and has a massive online presence as well. In the article, I came clean about my unhealthy struggles trying to avoid putting on weight in my first year of college. As post-secondary students, we always joke around about the infamous freshman 15 – pigging out to no end and having a terrible time managing our weight due to stress eating and a lack of time to cook or do adequate exercise. Though the term is often used lightly, in my case, the freshman 15 was ultimately what pushed me to developing an eating disorder. 400300p2999ednmain1840avoid-the-freshman-15.jpg

I was never really happy with my body at any point in my life. Looking at old photo albums would make me cringe at terrible fashion choices, chubby cheeks and a core section that I didn’t hide very well. Puberty was good to me I guess, as I had stretched out (and have since stopped at the ginormous height of 5’2″), gained some pretty reasonable sized breasts, and developed somewhat nice hips.

But I lamented day and night that I wasn’t skinny enough. This was my struggle all throughout high school – I wanted to be skinny, but I didn’t want to give up my eating habits or my relationship with the couch and the TV. My only real activity was gym class and running late to class.

Then senior year rolled around, and I reminded myself that at the end of it all, I had to be in front of all my peers in some sexy dress that made me look like a princess. So at the beginning of my senior year, I made it my goal to slim down by any means – even if it meant cutting back on some junk food, eating more healthy meals and actually taking physical activity seriously.

Throughout high school I had fluctuated between 110 and 120 pounds. By the night of my graduation, I was 105 pounds. 18 years old, 5’2″, and 105 pounds.

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When Home Doesn’t Feel Like Home Anymore

BY ZAKIYA KASSAM

Over the past seven years or so, my definition of “home” has been in shaky limbo between where I grew up and where I live now. I’ve always called both my home, because that just seemed like the diplomatic thing to do. As the cartoon Dragon THow-do-I-protect-my-home-equity_slideshowitem.pngales taught me, two is better than one; so I had deemed myself lucky to be able to call two cities my home – Calgary, where I was born, and Toronto, where I live now.

I’m not sure if this was inevitable, but over the past few years I’ve found myself growing indefinitely estranged from my hometown. This became more glaringly apparent with each visit back to Calgary, where instead of feeling safe and comfortable, like “home” should make you feel, I instead itched to return to my new life in Toronto.

I recently went back to Calgary for a visit, and those five days felt way longer than they should have. Funny enough, I felt as though nothing had changed since I left there, but the uncomfortable lurch in my tummy told me that I no longer felt any sort of pull back to the city I had lived in for the first 18 years of my life.

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