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A trashy student reviewing a trashy show

Reality television is trash

That being said, there is a huge market for it, and it usually reflects what the people want.

The beloved “Bachelor’s” market profits off viewers watching attractive people “fall in love.” Although this show has remained popular, it’s clearly not checking all the boxes.

Netflix has jumped on the idea that unlike what we see on “The Bachelor,” people want authentic, less superficial love. That’s tricky for reality television, but alas they have tried to take it on, in the new reality T.V. show “Love is Blind.”

“Love is Blind” is a show where contestants talk to eligible bachelors and bachelorettes through opaque pods, in hopes to find their true love without actually seeing them. For the sake of this article, we are going to skip over the fact that every contestant is extremely attractive, every woman is wearing a full face of makeup despite not being seen and we are mostly only exposed to heterosexual desires because if we unpack that, I will get a migraine. A grain of salt … we are taking this with a grain of salt.

Before I continue, I would just like to admit that I am not a huge fan of reality television. I never understood the point of “Jersey Shore” or “Keeping Up with The Kardashians” (and, I feel like I may have just lost some readers). So, that being said, I am definitely not here to review the show. There are many more qualified pop culture experts who would do a better job than me. I do, however, want to look at why a show like this exists, and why dating in 2020 is always framed as a nightmare.

Is it really necessary for us to delete our Tinder apps and head to Atlanta, Georgia to find true love through an opaque wall? Is this really where we’re at, team?

The other day I asked my grandfather why he married my grandmother. He told me that she was smart, pretty and nice. They dated, and he thought, wow—smart, pretty and nice, let’s get married. My grandmother, of course, can tell you the exact shoes my grandfather was wearing on their first date, and how the hand-me-down button-up white shirt he had on was just a smidge too small. She just knew he was the right guy. A simpler time, right?

When I think about dating in the past, I always feel like it was easier. Wasn’t it just flowers, phone calls and drive-in movies? No texting, getting ghosted, emojis and definitely no swiping. What a dream.

Except that’s not necessarily fair. As society evolves and changes, so do relationships.

Dating apps get a bad rep, and I can tell you from experience they can be quite draining and discouraging. This being said, the world of online dating is complex. I mean listen, guys, some of my best friends are on the apps. Do you know how damn lucky you would be to swipe on them?

I think to completely write off online dating as a concept is quite difficult. Instead of hating on the apps completely, like the hosts on “Love is Blind” (even though it’s good marketing), we might benefit from a more productive conversation surrounding this dating strategy.

There’s something that smells pretentious to me when people say they would rather meet organically and not on the apps.

I mean, of course, it would be nice to have a smart guy come up to you on the metro, ask you about the feminist literature you were reading, take you out for coffee and spend it talking about how he has 2 sisters and loves his mom. But, as we ask our Google Homes to tell us the weather, and we shove two white plastic headphones that don’t even have a string in our ears, isn’t this just, like, the future? Isn’t finding someone on an app not that crazy, considering everything else we do using technology?

I know I’m oversimplifying the dark world of online dating, but I really just want to talk about the stigma. It’s okay to be vulnerable and try the apps, delete them 16 times and then redownload them—I think it is just part of our 2020 story.

There’s also space for you to disagree with me. I’m not even sure if I agree with me, it really depends on the week. Love isn’t one thing. It’s wonderful, devastating, exhausting and may very well include a little swiping.

Dating is hard at the end of the day, and “love being blind” is just a cheesy song lyric. 

 

Graphic by Sasha Axenova

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Note from a Trusty Gryffindor’s Shelf

When I was a kid, my mom and I took turns reading bedtime stories together. Most have burned themselves into my memory: Max and Ruby: Bunny Cakes, Robert Munsch’s Purple, Green and Yellow, Ghost and Pete… The list goes on.

I still dream of the pink, sparkly cake Ruby made in the book; I think of Purple, Green and Yellow every time I use markers of those colours, and find Ghost and Pete’s rhymes stuck in my head obnoxiously often for someone who hasn’t read the book in more than a decade and a half. How many toes does a skeleton have? Ten! Sing it again!

But one book stands out among the rest. One shapes the person I am today, impacts where I choose to travel to, and found me repeatedly jabbing a needle dipped in ink into my left ankle two weekends ago––a line inside of a circle inside of a triangle.

(soft whimsical music playing)

Harry Potter. If you know me, you absolutely knew that was coming. Read on or don’t, I don’t care.

Unfortunately, I often seem to find myself surrounded by people who either are indifferent towards or actively hate Harry Potter. Please hold while I call their mothers to ask if they dropped them on their heads as infants. What kid doesn’t dream of an alternate universe in which the fantastic creatures of our imaginations actually… exist? Also, I don’t think I’ve ever actively hated anything as strongly as these people seem to hate Harry Potter, except maybe beets. What’s up with all the rage, muggles?

I don’t know about you, but I spent most of my childhood playing in an imaginary land my cousins and I created out of thin air. Don’t call a psychologist just yet, pals, because I had a pet dragon and you didn’t. No, I couldn’t see it. But to me, that didn’t mean it wasn’t there (shoutout to Albus Dumbledore). Sydney Buckbeak Bashyball the Third was very much alive to me––he was red, had yellow spikes down his spine, and could spit fire.

I distinctly remember spending hours reading the Harry Potter books from cover to cover as they were released. I went to the events Indigo would host on release dates, during which they kept the stores open until midnight. These books and films shaped my childhood, and, much like “Friends” and “Gilmore Girls,” they feel like home. Heck, I have a Marauder’s Map on my living room wall. Oh, and a poorly-drawn Deathly Hallows symbol on my ankle for the rest of my life.

So, be indifferent towards Harry Potter, if you will, but to actively hate it seems a little unnecessary, and it feels like dismissing magic as a whole. I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would want to do that.

And if you’re one of those people who has never read the books, meaning you’re basing your opinion entirely on the movies––do yourself a favour and read them. I am not ashamed to say that I have yet to find any book as enthralling as this series.

Mischief managed.

 

Photo by Matthew Coyte.

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Note to Shelf: An Ode to Fantasy

I live in my own world. I genuinely believe in magic, and if you ask me, God and the Universe are one and the same. My most trusted confidante is the Grim Reaper, and my happy place is that little hour in the morning where you can still see the stars, but the sun’s starting to rise—that space of time where polar opposites merge and create a little thing called magic hour.

Confusing? Maybe. But considering fantasy novels have shaped my belief system and helped me cope with fears within me that I have yet to fully understand, it makes sense that my head works a little…. oddly.

Out of the endless pit of fantastical creatures such as vampires, werewolves and witches, my fantasy home is the faerie world. Three years ago I picked up a random book at Indigo, by an author called Sarah J. Maas. It was Throne of Glass, a novel about an assassin that was enslaved and later taken to compete against other assassins at the castle. I will not spoil, but A LOT HAPPENS.

The series was made up of 10 books in total, and every single one is worth it.

Throne of Glass then introduced me to A Court of Thorns and Roses by the same author––a series consisting of three giant books, and a smaller tale of “the time after.” I read this series three times in two years, in two different languages. I will be reading it again in Spanish this summer. I cannot get enough.

Here’s the thing about fantasy novels—they’re a perfect balance between a reflection of egregious real-life politics, the inevitable evil that haunts us in our world, and escapism. 

Fantasy is a genre that not only feeds your imagination and trains you to see things in ways that are otherworldly, but it also allows you to draw parallels with real life and understand things from a different perspective.

Game of Thrones sets a rather clear theme: the use politics for personal gain—at one point I was sure that Cersei was the fantasy version of Trump. Daenerys represented the left, and Jon Snow… well I’m still not sure what exactly he represented, but something to do with being in a perpetual state of conflict between doing the right thing and not wanting to get involved seems about right!

In books, you’re allowed a peek into a character’s mind—everything is humanized, even if the characters aren’t human. Emotional struggles, political situations, plans, secrets, all are things you as a reader are exposed to, and made to relate to.

Being able to deconstruct a situation in a fantasy novel and pinpoint similarities within your own life is a skill that breeds a better understanding of human relations. When a character is described, their thoughts and emotions are there. There is reasoning behind every decision, even the ones that are wrong. What that showed me was that everything people do is a reflection of who they are, what they’re going through. In other words, it simply taught me to not take things personally. Or at least to always try not to!

Reading about dark and creepy creatures haunting my favourite characters and the way they deal with them helped me deal with my own—I have a severe fear of inherent evil, I refuse to believe that anything is just evil, even magical creatures. What I loved the most about Maas’ books is that true to real life, there isn’t a clear line between good and bad—bad characters do good things, and good characters do bad things.

Simply put, fantasy novels show you a world that is so fundamentally different than yours, but creates links and bonds that shatter whatever preconceived ideas you had, and forces you to see things in a different light. Grim Reaper? Not always evil. Suriel, the monster from A Court of Thorns and Roses? Okay, kinda evil, but also restores balance.

Teaching you to break down preconceived notions and forcing you to understand a different kind of creature, even building fundamental similarities—fantasy novels, in so many ways, teach you to be accepting, non-judgemental and to appreciate even the things you hate or fear.

Well, how did I come to have the Grim Reaper as my closest confidante? That, little faeries, is a tale for another time. 

 

Graphic by @justineprovost.design

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Portman gets called out for flashy cape

You may have heard Rose McGowan’s name concerning Natalie Portman’s dress choice at the Oscars this year.

McGowan, an American actress and activist, spoke out on Facebook about how she thought Portman’s cape, with the names of female directors who weren’t nominated in gold writing framing the dress, was “lip service.”

In this post, McGowan touched on many interesting points about Portman’s statement piece, alluding to the fact that Portman, being the A-lister that she is, needs to do more than just wear an expensive cape. McGowan explained that she’s not brave, and there are warriors that are taking on gender inequality everyday, and Portman shouldn’t profit off the work of these other women. Other criticism of Portman’s action are related to her directing and acting experience, implying that she has not made an impact on helping women directors grow.

According to CNN, Portman responded by saying “I agree with Ms. McGowan that it is inaccurate to call me ‘brave’ for wearing a garment with women’s names on it. Brave is a term I more strongly associate with actions like those of the women who have been testifying against Harvey Weinstein the last few weeks, under incredible pressure.”

Then, later that week, according to The Guardian, McGowan responded with a Tweet saying “My critique should’ve been about Hollywood’s ongoing culture of silence. I realise that by critiquing someone personally, I lost sight of the bigger picture.”

So there’s a few things happening here—McGowan was mad, Portman was naive, and I’m tired.

All in all, the situation deflated quickly and anticlimactically. Yet here you are, and I’m going to talk about it anyway.

At first, reading McGowan’s post made me frustrated. Why was she so mad? Portman did a thing. It maybe wasn’t changing the world, but it was a thing. Can she calm down?

Then after thinking about it a little longer, I realized that I wasn’t being fair. McGowan’s anger is valid and important. It’s easy to dismiss angry women, and I think I do it more than I realize. There’s space for this anger in the fight for gender equality. This kind of anger moves the conversation forward. McGowan is on to something, true activism isn’t shiny and gold. It’s messy, hard and unpopular. It takes sacrifice.

It’s important for us to continue critiquing celebrities and their media coverage, because these actions affect our culture. We are in a new era of people sharing their opinions online and we are still figuring it out. It’s unprecedented.

We are expecting our celebrities to be political and wise, when many of them are just doing a job. Is it lip service? Or is it better than nothing? Who knows, but this open dialogue, although uncomfortable, is the catalyst for change. We need to move away from cancel-culture and toward conversations like these two women have shown.

Natalie Portman is allowed to wear a fancy cape and Rose McGowan is allowed to be angry about it. That’s feminism.

As for my personal opinion, I defer to Edna Mode: no capes!

Graphic by Sasha Axenova

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Minorities can have racist tendencies

They say stereotypes are there for a reason. That they wouldn’t exist if someone hadn’t experienced similar behaviour in a number of people from that specific group, and that stereotypes are not akin to racism. 

Let’s sit back and ponder on that for a second. For understandable reasons, it seems that people tread around the word “racism” very carefully, and try as hard as they can to not be associated with it. Because racism led to slavery, and still to this day, leads to discrimination, and downright violence.

But in case you didn’t already know, you don’t need to beat someone with a stick, use slurs against them or look at minorities in disgust to be racist.

When you browse for the definition of the word “racism,” you won’t get just one. The main definition as given by the Merriam-Webster dictionary, is “a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race.” Any other interpretation is a variation of that exact principle, extending it to not only racial prejudice, but an ethnic one too.

Therefore, whether we wish to admit it or not, stereotypes are racist—having an opinion about a certain ethnicity or race based solely on hearsay and social conventions is racist. Here are some examples. 

When someone says Latino men are cheaters who will toy with your emotions until they get bored, and go onto the next, that’s racist. When Latinas are equated to crazy women with attitude, that’s racist. When people “can’t tell the difference” between Far-Easterns, that’s a whole level of rude. When Russian women are always seen as prostitutes, that’s racist. When Arab women are seen as either oppressed veil-wearing women, or sensual belly-dancers with all of Daddy’s money to spend, that’s racist. When Arab men are considered terrorists, that’s racist. 

Now here is where I get a tad problematic and add to the generalization. When I hear such statements, I get even more enraged when it comes from a person of colour or a fellow minority. Simply because, someone who isn’t the latter wouldn’t be able to understand how it feels to be limited to negative connotations that date back to an age of discrimination. A white person wouldn’t be able to understand how it feels to stay silent when someone equates your people to terrorists because of the perpetuation of a false image.

So, when I hear a minority who has been a victim of discriminatory and crude comments regarding their race and ethnicity participate in this hateful discourse, it makes me sick—to say the least. What’s worse is when a minority uses their status to justify their racism.

“Oh, I’m Lebanese, I get to publicly insult all Arabs, because I am one, and I don’t get offended.” Honey, no. Just … no. Criticize if you must, no one is feigning perfection and claiming no culture has faults. But when your criticism further intensifies an already-racist image, that’s when you need to check yourself. Because you might not be offended, but many suffer at those unjust racist claims—and yes, it is your business.

To be clear, I am not exempting myself from this equation. I by no means am innocent of racial bias, and the tendency to equate something to someone just because of what it says on their passport. But moving to Montreal and experiencing this mosaic of culture made me realize that if I were to stay in this city, and if I just want to be a decent human being, I better get used to getting all my prejudices crushed—and I am not complaining. 

Graphic by Sasha Axenova

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Gilmore Girls, you feel like home

Finding comfort in a childhood tv show

One of my earliest childhood memories is of me sitting on the couch, engulfed in blankets, waiting for the first notes of Carole King’s “Where You Lead” to begin. In 2004, waiting for the next episode of Gilmore Girls season four to air on tv was, at six-years-old, the highlight of my week.

As Rory Gilmore grew, so did I, and this perhaps is what made it so special. In fact, my relationship with my mother shares many similar characteristics to that of Rory and Lorelai, and I am convinced my grandmother is Emily Gilmore’s long lost twin. The plot reflects my home life in an almost eerie way; a mother and daughter duo who have been mostly on our own for some time, we often struggle with the boundaries between friendship and parenthood.

I made my first friend in high school after discovering that we both watched Gilmore Girls. Having both seen the series in its entirety, multiple times, sleepovers would consist of us using a randomizer app to decide which season and episode we would watch.

I was disappointed, to say the least, to find out that Rory had not become Stars Hollow’s very own Christiane Amanpour in the 2016 revival. However, I found comfort in this detail and reassurance where my own career goals are concerned. Watching Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life serves as a reminder that things will most definitely not pan out as planned.

Rewatching the series, as an adult, brings back a lot of memories and raises a lot of questions in my mind. For one, while it brings me joy to recite passages by heart, it has also made me recognize the endearingly bad acting in season one (I forgive them, look how young Rory was!) I’ve contemplated the impact of the characters on my own life and choices. Leading me to wonder if subconsciously I decided to pursue journalism because of Rory Gilmore, if I dreamed of going to a private school because of Chilton, or if my first solo trip included a three-day stop in Fes because of Rory and Richard’s ongoing banter about the appeal of the Moroccan city.

Gilmore Girls remains my feel-good show. Perhaps a little obsessively, I have seen it in full 11 times, making it very difficult to keep a straight face whenever I serve Yanic Truesdale (the beloved Michel) at work. I have grown-up so closely to the characters that I find myself getting upset at times when I am not even watching the show. The synopsis is even a topic frequently discussed with my mom, over coffee. “Remember that time Rory…” and “It’s like when Luke and Lorelai…” are conversation starters in my household.

I have found comfort in the familiarity of Gilmore Girls, and have grown well-acquainted with the characters. The show has served as a starting point for some of my most important friendships, a means of navigating my relationships with my parents and grandparents and a source of reassurance throughout the ups-and-downs of my education and career.

Through the bad bouts that accompany mental illness, heartbreak and good times alike, the series has been there for me, and has no doubt served as an important pillar in my own character development. Like comfort food, a safety blanket or a childhood pet, I know that wherever I am, watching an episode of Gilmore Girls will always feel like home.

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In solidarity with Wet’suwet’en

Recent tensions concerning the Wet’suwet’en territory in northern B.C. have been thoroughly discussed on social media, with solidarity protests happening all over the country—from Saskatechewan, to Ontario, to Quebec.

Reports from the CBC state that the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) enforced a court order against the Indigenous communities blocking construction on the Coastal GasLink pipeline last Thursday. Camps were set up near the pipeline, including at the Unist’ot’en healing village, which was a Wet’suwet’en-operated checkpoint on the road in 2009, preventing people working on the pipeline from accessing the territory.

Media coverage of the ongoing issue has varied, with some publications learning from past mistakes and putting the work in to accurately reporting on a complex situation. Despite these steps, The Concordian can’t help but notice that this progress is taking far too long. As members of the media, we have a responsibility to not phone in stories on this topic.

Some still don’t even know about the issue, nor the history behind it if they haven’t stumbled upon vigils, protests, or if they aren’t following Instagram accounts addressing the recurring problem. Facebook instates a “Standing in solidarity with Wet’suwet’en” profile picture frame to get people involved, and encourage them to further educate themselves.

The RCMP is forcibly removing people trying to guard land they never ceded to begin with. Does this ring any bells for anyone? How can Canada, or more specifically, the Liberal Government, claim to be moving forward with Truth and Reconciliation when they are consistently participating in colonialism and land theft?

The media should be doing more to call attention to this. The Via Rail train cancellations are being covered thoroughly, but the reason for them? Not so much. The media is covering the inconvenience that protests are causing privileged individuals, but not adequately educating the public on why the protests are taking place.

Wet’suwet’en land is being stolen and used for something its custodians don’t believe in.

This has been happening across North America for centuries––but we’re supposed to be correcting those mistakes. We’re supposed to be righting those wrongs. Remaining silent in times like these upholds and reinforces centuries of colonialism.

We need to do better. 

 

Graphic by@sundaeghost

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Netflix’s Sex Education: a real Sex Education

Sweet applesauce, high school was a messed-up time. We were anxious, we were tired (why exactly, unsure) and most of all we were horny. Well actually, I probably didn’t even know what that word meant in my early high school years, but other, less naive kids definitely did.

Last year, when I opened Netflix in an attempt to turn off my brain, quite the opposite happened. I clicked on a show called Sex Education and was forced to reflect on a time in my life that I did not want to revisit—the dreaded adolescent years.

With witty writing and impeccably awkward characters, I found myself transported to Moordale Secondary School. With its modern Mean Girls vibe set in a gorgeous rural area in the UK, I was sucked in.

Naturally, I finished the first season by the end of the week. Season 2 just came out, and that took me even less time.

This British comedy follows main character Otis Milburn, played by Asa Butterfield, an incredibly emotionally-intelligent adolescent, navigating his horrific pubescent years. With issues like not being able to successfully masturbate and lack of experience with women, his struggles are a healthy mix of charming and awkward.

With a sex therapist as a mother who has clear boundary issues, sexual education has seeped into Otis’ brain through osmosis. With his uncanny ability to understand the complexity of sexual experiences, he found himself helping the school bully overcome issues in his sex life. When Maeve Wiley, played by Emma Mackey, witnesses Otis’ gifted advice, the two set up a sex therapy business within the school.

The show’s 40 million viewers now have the opportunity to learn about sex—beyond unrealistic romantic comedies and porn sites. It’s not pretty. It’s not sexy. It’s awkward, weird, beautiful, disastrous and most of all, relatable.

We follow different characters, with all sorts of different sexual realities, expressing a nuanced and representative version of sex—as opposed to what we usually see in the media.

It would be nice if we could all lose our virginity to Ryan Gosling after he sweeps us off our feet in a mysteriously sexy abandoned house, but unfortunately we can’t all be Rachel McAdams…not even Rachel McAdams.

Alright, enough shade on The Notebook, I love that movie. That being said, the importance of showing the uncomfortable nature of sex is crucial for the development of healthy and safe relationships. As we push forward in the #metoo era and continue to learn about sexuality as a diverse spectrum, shows like Sex Education help viewers dip their toes into many different kinds of relationships. This results in creating more realistic, accessible and healthier expectations and concepts of sex.

Whether its sexually-confused Otis, closeted Adam Groff, lonely Maeve Wily, eccentric Lily Iglehart or insecure Ruby Mathews, there are elements of these characters that are within us all.

The show has managed to demonstrate that women can be intelligent and sexual, while also alluding to the realistic competition that hyper-femininity can promote in our culture. In season 2, they show how women are stronger together, even if they don’t think they have anything in common. “Popular girls” are united with “nerds” and “weirdos” by expressing their shared experience of navigating the world as a woman. Just watch season 2 episode 7, you’ll end up in tears—trust me.

Okay enough out of me. Go! Watch it!

I promise you, you’ll learn so much more about sex than you did in high school and you might even want to move to the UK. 

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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Diary Entry: Writing to cope with immigration

I write every day to process, and I hope to learn from my past.

For instance, I recently wrote this: “By now, I’d accepted that one day I might be blown to bits by a car or truck bomb. Amazingly, I even could see the silver lining to that dark cloud: I wouldn’t know much about it. What worried me was the bomb that didn’t kill me but left me a multiple amputee, perhaps unable to see or hear.”

These words date back to the 1970s. Was I writing a novel set in Baghdad or Beirut during that time? No, I was writing about the facts of life—and death—in my native city Belfast, a United Kingdom city torn apart in the early 1970s by a religious conflict that dates back to 1690, when protestant King William of Orange defeated catholic King James at the River Boyne in Ireland. Back then, as a fresh graduate, sudden death wasn’t my only worry: there was the usual laundry list of QLC (Quarter Life Crisis) issues—relationships, careers, a serious cash shortage, the gathering storm of full-blown adulthood and so on.

I did my best to navigate this sea of troubles, but when the possibility of emigration came along I jumped at it. Unfortunately, I left hastily with no planning and landed alone, mid-winter, in a small rural Ontario town where I had no family or friends.

I was totally unprepared for my new life. I’d taken a job that most of the townspeople felt should have gone to someone local. Then there was winter. In Ireland in January the average temperature is about 5ºC, – 20ºC days are unimaginable. As one of 10 children, I’d never experienced solitude which would be a hallmark of my new life. It wasn’t easy, but I survived.

Three very isolating years later, I moved to Montreal, which was love at first sight, as it still is. Mind you, my new life was still a struggle. I had no relatives or friends, no Northern Ireland community and few possibilities of friendship in my workplace. I had to learn to work and live in French, and much more.

On top of these adaptation challenges, I lived with survivor’s guilt and worried about “that call” bringing news that mum, dad, a brother or sister had been injured or killed in a bombing. My sudden amputation from Ireland’s green rolling hills, ocean beaches, sea breezes and rainbows was a low level, but persistent sensory deprivation. I might even have had a touch of PTSD. It’s not surprising that it took me three decades of sustained effort to feel truly at home.

My friends, even after decades, even as they succeed, still say, “We love it here but it’s not home.” This between-two-worlds; at-home-in-neither, life is, I know, a default setting for most of us who arrive as adults and it’s where I’d still be without my writing.  In the end it was writing that brought me home and for that I am so very grateful.

 

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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I’m a Liverpool fan. No qualifications needed.

I’m a Liverpool FC supporter. 

On May 1, I went to my first ever soccer match. It was Barcelona against Liverpool at the gorgeous (and intimidatingly big) Camp Nou, in Barcelona. It was the first leg of the 2019 Champions League semi-finals. I know, WHAT A GAME TO BE MY FIRST, RIGHT?

My amazing mother bought me the ticket as a birthday gift, and although I was seated in enemy territory, the whole experience was spectacular.

Well, getting to watch Liverpool was.

Next to me sat a Barcelona supporter with a beer in his hand. I was seated right above the Ultras (Barcelona superfans), and the men in my row were intense. But this one was kind; he knocked-over my popcorn and instantly went to buy me a new one. Making my way to Camp Nou was intimidating, there were A LOT of people, and the soccer culture in Barcelona, like that of Liverpool, oozes with passion.

I had my Liverpool jersey hidden under a hoodie because I was afraid I would get in trouble if Barcelona fans knew I was rooting for the opposition. The kind man next to me asked me if it was my first game.

“You look nervous,” he said. I laughed and said it was, and that I was more excited than nervous. The players came out onto the pitch for training before the match, and I watched as the 6’4 colossus Liverpool defender Virgil Van Dijk made his way to my side of the pitch. Dear humans… I peaked in life at that moment. I couldn’t contain my excitement and my teary eyes, and the kind man told me “Barcelona players are amazing, right?” I didn’t even answer, because in came Red’s goalie Alisson Becker. This is what it feels like to be awestruck. It was surreal.

“I’ll explain the game for you,” the kind man quite literally elbowed me back into reality with this. My eyebrows shot up, and I kind of just smiled… He pointed at Mohamad Salah, and said “that’s their best player.” And he went on to explain who everyone is, including Barcelona players.

I thought to myself, did my dumbfounded look make him think I didn’t know anything about soccer, for him to tell me that it’s a corner when the ball went off the defence and out the pitch? Was it the fact that I was silent and just staring at the players? I wish I had asked him, is it because I’m a girl?

In Lebanon, it wasn’t uncommon that I got surprised reactions from boys and men when they found out I liked soccer. It even wasn’t surprising that I was ignored if I had an opinion, or was assumed to like soccer for my boyfriend, who’s also a Liverpool supporter. But to have an assumption thrown at me in Spain was surprising—it made me realize this isn’t a Lebanon thing, it’s kind of a man thing, isn’t it?

The truth is, it was because of my boyfriend, rather than for him, that I’m a Liverpool fan. How come some people don’t see the difference?

“It’s so cute, you watch Liverpool for your boyfriend.” No, dear, I watch Liverpool because of Istanbul 2005. I watch Liverpool because of Bill Shankly and Bob Paisley, and the Fields of Anfield Road. I watch Liverpool because of Sean Cox, because of the 96 fans who passed away in the Hillsborough disaster, and because of Klopp.

No, I wasn’t a supporter all my life. Yes, I’ve only begun really watching the game after getting with my boyfriend. And yes, it has only been three years.

But if I ever hear someone tell me they’ll explain the game for me, or assume anything that isn’t me being a real fan, I will Trent-Alexander-Arnold’s corner your butt.

Photo by Katelyn Thomas

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Thinkpiece: Our Romantic Heart Needs To Be Known

I believe we should be asking ourselves “What is the meaning of love?” more often than we usually do. 

It’s not uncommon these days to end up dating someone without knowing exactly what the outcome will be. We don’t know where this intimate bond stands, either between friendship and committed love, or outside of these two poles. That’s why current generations emphasize this open-ended ambiguity with sayings such as “seeing each other,” “being friends” or “dating.”

Two things remain unchanging while developing interest in someone, whether it be from a two-date period to a defined relationship; Our self and our psychological attributions. Our projections of insecurities and natural attitudes remain, but in the face of a romantic phase they take place against a seemingly different world.The world slightly changes when we’re in love: things seem more positive and don’t matter as much as they should, but in spite of that our insecurities and innate attitudes remain.

The infamous statement “It’s not you, it’s me” allows the speaker to shoulder the blame without explicitly confronting what the problem is. Following a break-up, more often than not, we reflect on what we should or shouldn’t have done. In the early stages of dating, however, some of us scrupulously analyze our text messages, become incredibly vigilant about seduction strategies and try to figure out what our potential partner likes. We readily accept to go on a quest to know what the other likes in order to hide the qualities  we think would repel them. Sometimes we simply shut ourselves to an increase of romantic opportunities for various reasons. We put a stop to moving forward in a relationship for reasons that have nothing to do with the partner we’re with.

In the aftermath of a relationship, the motto “just be yourself” can’t help us when we fall into thinking that we did something wrong—which is why this advice is usually given before the relationship stage, otherwise it’s useless. Most of us are ready to compromise our identity in a heartbeat for the chance to succeed in loving someone. This adaptive behaviour can take place subconsciously with the presence of the other that makes us have an intuitive burst of adoration for them. Sometimes a simple glance at our partner makes us freeze and lose the confidence that we have no issue nurturing with other people.

What do any of these examples say about us and our view of love?

I believe that more often than not these behaviours reveal a crucial lack of understanding of our subconscious belief about the meaning of love. Before, during and after dating someone, we should be asking ourselves more than once about the meaning of love.

“What is love?” is a question that is more complicated than what it might seem. It’s another way of asking, “What does love mean to me?”

Figuring that out, or at least being aware of the uncertainty of the answer, could help us be careful and healthy in our romantic life. That way, we can decrease the chances of becoming traumatized from relationships and views projected onto us by social discourses.

We can begin to understand the kind of person we are when it comes to loving someone other than ourselves. In this way, to be in love is both a challenge and a revelation of our most innate attitude toward the world, which explains the need to understand our core beliefs concerning this mindset.

Some of us feel comfortable diving headfirst into a new relationship weeks or days after the previous one ended. Others would rather take it slow to avoid being hurt again. Asking “what does love mean to me?” often leads us to more philosophical questions that are crucial to maintaining a healthy mindset when we fall in love. Why do I love this person and not someone else? What am I ready to give up for a partner? What do I see, or miss, in the affection given to me by my partner? What do I want out of my romantic relationships?

Once we have set clear expectations, we can comfortably let love sweep us off our feet. We’ll know we have the appropriate psychological resources to take hold of ourselves when our mind starts to run amok amid all the action love generates. 

Graphic by Lily Minkova

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Violence against women and Valentine’s Day

Heart-shaped balloons, chocolate and teddy bears are all part of Valentine’s Day’s trademark. We usually take this as an opportunity to spend some quality time with loved ones, or with ourselves. 

In June 2017, the University of Calgary released the results of a study on the connection between sporting events, holidays and domestic violence. The study revealed there is an increase of calls to authorities regarding domestic violence on numerous holidays, including Valentine’s Day.

As the holiday frenzy dies down, I wondered: how does Valentine’s Day affect women who are survivors of domestic violence? How were they possibly feeling on Feb.14?

Following the passing of two women, Jaël Cantin, a mother of six, who was murdered by her husband; and 22-year-old Marylene Levesque, who was murdered by a client, I read horrible comments made about the victims on social media. People partly blamed Levesque for her death because she was a sex worker.

This made me realize that we must address domestic violence and femicides more than we currently do. The Canadian Femicide Observatory for Justice and Accountability revealed that in 2015, women murdered by their partners counted for 45 per million population, which is five times more than the rate of men killed by their partners.

Femicide is defined by the Canadian Femicide Observatory for Justice and Accountability as “the most extreme form of violence and discrimination against women and girls.” Femicides are primarily perpetrated by men.

We should see a lot more prevention measures about crimes against women, such as programs in schools about healthy relationships and gender equality, a lot more commercials about the issue, etc. The media must report on such tragedies. But what comes after awareness? Are we making a difference? Are we looking to change things?

A lot of women who report domestic violence to the authorities feel as though they are not taken seriously or do not have the support they need. Because of this, they are less likely to ask for help if their partners commit another assault.

This must stop. Our society must ensure a safer environment to allow women to speak up. We have to stop blaming and shaming women for something they cannot control. Parents and schools must educate children and teenagers, but mostly young boys on how to treat women respectfully. We must teach the importance of healthy relationships. 

As a society, it is our responsibility to come up with firm ways to learn how to prevent violence.

Just like self-defence is taught to women, we should continue to teach the importance of consent and the consequences of violent behaviours. This education should not only apply to men, but to everyone. Giving special attention to proactive measures such as consent training will empower people in terms of understanding the effects of domestic violence and consent in a fair way, rather than implying that reactive measures like self-defence, are the only ways to handle the issue.

Women need emotional and legal support. They should be able to feel secure and loved by their partner without any fear.

Valentine’s Day is not just about flaunting our idea of a ‘perfect relationship.’ It’s also about acknowledging the women who are suffering behind closed doors.

As we all enjoy the day to celebrate love, we also have to remind ourselves of the negative impacts that Valentine’s Day may have on women in an abusive relationship. Let’s not just talk about domestic violence, let’s find a way to change the way things are. 
Photo: Sasha Axenova

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