Ana Qarri / Silhouette Staff
Dear Friend,
Between the workload and the complaining about the workload, I often forget to appreciate your existence. So I’d like to do that now.
I’m thankful that at this very moment you exist. I’m thankful that your existence overlaps with mine, in such a way that your existence makes mine much less depressing.
You, friend, somehow find me to be a pleasant human being. You’ve listened to me talk about trivial and important things alike, and have at some point thought “Hey, this girl is cool.”
That thought right there might not seem like a big deal, but it is. It is the biggest of all deals.
In addition to tolerating my character on a daily basis, you also do nice things for me. You’ve brought me food during all-nighters. You’ve let me sleep in your room when the fear of being alone suddenly hit me on a Tuesday night. You’ve let me cry next to you after arguments and breakups and whatever else it is I do to make my life more complicated.
Not to get delusional here or anything, but it seems to me like you think I’m worth something, which is pretty cool of you.
But, the actual point of this letter is that I think I might be platonically in love with you. It’s the kind of love that is sustained with rare hang-out sessions and the occasional conversation on the way to class. I might not see you often these days, but know that the thought of you makes me smile, or laugh hysterically, or stop and acknowledge your beautiful existence.
Come here and give me a hug.
Love,
Your friend
Jennifer Bacher / Silhouette Staff
Dear USA Border Control,
It’s been a while.
I know you probably miss our long talks about how you believe I am entering the United States to work and permanently stay, but like I said before, I am not. I hope you enjoyed all those oranges you took from my Grandmother’s purse. Funny how they can leave the United States to be sold in Canada but not return via the vehicle of a kindly old lady. Well, I hope they were tasty. I could have used one while I waited in your crammed waiting room for two hours.
I would also like to point out that I found your racial profiling very obvious. Although, you probably already knew that.
The last time I saw you was at the New York City airport when I was connecting from Switzerland to Canada, and I really enjoyed when you had no consideration for the fact that I was connecting within 45 minutes. Though it was of no concern to you because really, someone who is connecting back to their homeland of Canada is definitely a red flag for future illegal immigrant.
The next time I come to your country I will only be visiting for less then 24 hours so that I can fulfill the American dream: consumerism. That is correct, I do not want a job, I want to shop. So no, I am not bringing firearms or alcohol into your country and yes, I do have stores to go shopping at in Canada. I’m sure you think you are very funny when you ask “What?! You don’t have ‘em stores in Canada?” or “Why do you need shorts and t-shirts for Canada? Shouldn’t you be skiing or something?” I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you can see Canada from where you are currently sitting.
Truly, I think you should be shaking my hand and welcoming me into your country. I have, for some odd reason, decided to spend my money in your country. I could be shopping in Canada right now, but no I want to come to the United States to empty my wallet at Macy’s and JCPenney for just 24 hours. And I promise, when I’m done, I will go back to where I came from.
I really don’t understand why you need to be so uptight anyway. I thought we were friends?
Yours truly,
A frustrated Canadian traveler
Brooke Hamilton / The Silhouette
Dear Job Hunting,
Thank you for consuming my reading week. It was a pleasure being woken up every morning to spend time with you. Thank you for showing me what the sunrise looks like, but I think I prefer to get my eight hours of sleep.
As I write this, you are still sending me regular e-mails under the identity of my mother. I've gotten your messages. I'm still getting your messages. My inbox is full of Craiglist postings that are in ALL CAPS and Kijiji adds that say “Make money fast now!” I would have thought there are better ways to earn money than selling window cleaning services door-to-door or insurance over the phone, but you persist.
I understand that I was not born to royalty. I understand that I am an undergraduate Humanities student. I understand that as such I am destined to constantly be on the lookout for gainful employment. And like any “mature adult” (as defined by my lovely mother), I count my blessings every day that I have the opportunity to spend time with you, Job Hunting. You are the cornerstone of capitalism. Of course, you're not as attractive as your sister, Job Having, but for now we're stuck together.
So here's hoping that this visit ends soon – that it turns out to be the kind of visit that was so short and so rewarding, you could have sworn you had fun (yeah, right).
Temporarily Yours,
Jobless
By: Nichole Fanara
Dear Fellow Chocolate Aficionados,
Heed my words. Listen to my tale.
"Dear Google", I began, "why am I hopelessly devoted to Nutella?"
Google worked its hardest and in 0.12 seconds showed me the answer to all my burning questions. Turns out the answer is quite simple - chocolate is addictive.
But I couldn’t accept this. Chocolate is so good to me. I couldn’t accept that this love was simply chemical Stockholm syndrome.
So I searched further.
What I found was that chocolate has properties (other than cocoa-y deliciousness) that make you want it all the time, really badly. Like really badly. The little devils are actually the same addictive chemical found in alcohol.
I also found that apparently women crave it more than men - 40% of women in an Answers.com article crave it over only 15% of men. This has something to do with our menstrual cycles. When women are low in magnesium, there is a tendency to crave it. Thus, many women crave chocolate. Just as Mother Nature intended it.
Have I mentioned chocolate’s connection with marijuana yet? No, no it can't be found in chocolate, but according to some studies done at the University of California, a pleasure-inducing chemical found in marijuana is also found in chocolate. Here’s to hoping that the FBI doesn’t know though, because it would be a real shame if the government banned chocolate.
So friends, with all the chocolate your hunny (or you yourself) will be bringing you today, remember this one important message: practice safe chocolate.
(Hershey) hugs and kisses,
Mlle. Chocolate
By: Stephen Clare
Dear past me,
I’ve got beef with you.
Firstly, you definitely didn’t need to do those extra shots last weekend. You’d had enough. I’ll probably have to chat with future us about this as well. Seriously, when have we ever said “man, I’m sure glad Bryce convinced me to choke down a few more gulps of tequila!”?
Secondly, you really screwed me over by not getting that essay done on Sunday. Come on man. That’s just selfish. Seriously, you had a good 12 hours there to crank through, but instead you just watched 14 episodes of Homeland. You don’t even like that show. I know because I don’t like it either.
Speaking of Sunday: I don’t know why you trusted the 49ers. I guess it’s another week of ramen for future us. Poor guy.
Past me, sometimes I just don’t understand you. What made you stay up so late last night? Why did you feel a desperate need to buy a $25 rubber horse head mask? And why on earth would you think she’s awestruck by your wildly gyrating hips? (Hint: she’s just trying to catch the attention of her friend dancing behind you. Stop with the bedroom eyes, they’ll get you nowhere).
You gotta remember that your actions affect other people. Your friends, your family, and, most importantly, me. Present me. I’m number one, bro, and those weird Facebook messages you sent on Saturday night definitely aren’t helping out with the ladies. I don’t care how funny you think they are: an obsession with cat videos doesn’t exactly scream “boyfriend material.” Oh, and while we’re on the subject, none of those pickup lines you Googled are going to work. Just stop.
We can do better, my friend. Trust me. But I can’t keep cleaning up your mess; seriously, we have to work together.
So how about this: let’s cooperate. I need you to pick up a bit of the slack here. You go finish up that essay (trust me, you’ll thank yourself later), and while you’re in an academic mood why don’t you crank out that lab report, Linear Algebra assignment, chemistry homework, philosophy reading, and a good few hours of studying for next week’s test. Then, when now rolls around we’ll have been good and productive and we can start catching up on Parks and Rec episodes. Rock on. Isn’t it nice to have all that out of the way?
I’m not interested in any more excuses, past me. It’s time to clean up your act. You can’t keep dumping your problems on present me, because they’re building up to the point that I can’t dump them on future me. And that’s not cool, because present me would really like to just chill and play Xbox all night.
Cool. I’m really glad we had this little talk. I mean, what’s good for me is good for you, right? Sometimes I think you forget that. Like two weeks ago, when you—well, let’s not talk about that right now. Some things are better left in the past. Or so future me tells us.
I love you dearly,
Present Me
By: Ana Qarri
Dear Sleep,
I’m leaving you.
Don’t exhaust yourself by pretending to be surprised, like you never dreamed this day would come. I know you knew this was coming.
Maybe it was the nights I didn’t spend with you. Maybe it was the mornings I lay down with you just to humour you. Maybe it was the bags under my eyes, becoming more and more commonplace.
As I made my way between friends and parties and last-minute essays, I could feel you trying to pull me closer. I was unconscious of any hurt I caused you. I wanted to stay with you; I do still. I’m not tired of our relationship. I wished there was a compromise we could make, but I know now I was asking for too much.
However, before you start crying and I sit here unsure of how to comfort you, let’s put things into perspective: our relationship was never healthy. Sure, we had our special nights, when it felt like our time together went by faster than second term. We had those few weekends when we were united until the late hours of the afternoon. We have those moments stolen in class, sometimes drawing the disapproving stares of my peers. But between these rare days were periods that stretched, when you and I rarely saw each other. When we did, it wasn’t out of love: it was out of habit.
Sleep, you should know that I find you extremely pleasant. All in all, you’re pretty chill. I still want us to hang out sometimes, preferably on the weekend, preferably when I don’t have other plans.
If you want to talk, I’m here.
It’s not you, it’s actually me.
Regretfully,
Sleep-Deprived
By: Paulina Prazmo
Dear New Years Resolutioners,
Where did all of you come from? As I return to start another term and continue on with my weekly workouts at The Pulse, I am astounded that with the size of our change-rooms, I am not able to find a single empty locker.
Back in the day (in 2012) the gym was as empty as my wallet. Throughout the struggle of finding a locker, I couldn’t help but giggle at your chitter-chatter of “I’m going to lose like 10 pounds this week” and “Seriously, I’ll be going to the gym every day.” These fresh and oh-so-innocent pledges of becoming a gym regular.
Every treadmill is taken and machines are occupied by the first-timers reading the instructions (usually in pairs, because who really wants to look like a newbie at the gym). Weights and clamps are misplaced and thrown about with reckless abandon while gaggles of you keeners titter with your friends right smack in the middle of the gym about your ‘fab’ new workout! Good luck trying to find a good spot in that one fitness class you loved going to. And have fun waiting in that line rivalling TwelvEighty’s on a Thursday night.
And yet, despite my complaints, I know that I must confess to the truth that once upon a time, there were gym regulars bemoaning me. I was once in your running shoes. It all boils down to the weeding out of the not-so-dedicated to get to the motivated. So to you, yes you there, with the resolution of working out and getting fit: on behalf of the gym regulars, I ask that you make the decision rather quickly to either stick with it, or stow away those (super trendy) sweatbands for 2014.
Until then, please at least wipe your bike seat.
Sincerely,
A Patiently Waiting Gym Regular
By: Stephen Clare
Dear Movember Participants,
We’re reaching the end of that special time of year when us men can finally let the hairy caterpillars roam free on our upper lips. Some have managed to support a thriving colony of facial fungi, while others are stuck with peach fuzz. That’s the great thing about Movember, though, isn’t it? It doesn’t matter whether you’re displaying an Amazonian jungle or Saharan wasteland - everybody gets in on the fun.
That’s what Movember is all about. The inclusivity. Men (and occasionally women) united in their pursuit of that most manly of goals: a luxurious, thick moustache.
Wait. That’s not right at all. Isn’t there something more to this month?
We all love a good moustache, but in your pursuit of perfect pilosity, you’ve lost sight of Movember’s true purpose: raising money for prostate cancer research.
Be honest. How many people do you know enjoying a lip-warmer this month? Many. Now how many of those have donated to the cause? I’ll bet my peach fuzz that the answer is, for most of us, none.
But here comes the inevitable cry of protest: “I’m raising awareness,” you declare smugly.
Nonsense, I reply. What’s the point of raising awareness? It’s only to hopefully convince people to donate, and you’ve failed in that respect. Where are the Movember charity auctions? The Movember bottle drives? Unfortunately you’d rather sit at home and trim your mo.
Think of other fundraising efforts: the Terry Fox Run and Relay for Life, for example. These events get people involved and active while never losing sight of their commendable goals. Movember, at least here on campus, doesn’t have that. Movember’s become a time for dudes to razz each other about the state of their mo and make jokes about how cool Ron Swanson is. It’s not about the cancer research.
Enough is enough. Movember’s a huge sensation, and everybody loves it. You should be using this opportunity to do some good, not just demonstrate the sheen of your moustache. I think this problem is exemplified by the popularity of spin-off traditions like No-Shave November, which is both totally separate from Movember and totally separate from any kind of philanthropic ambitions. It never had a purpose; it was just an excuse for lazy college kids to look scruffy for a month.
Look, I realize that not everything you do has to have some kind of selfless, glorious goal. But Movember started out as a charity and has devolved into an excuse to ironically sport a Fu Manchu for a month. That sucks. That’s wrong. This is a great opportunity to run a month-long fundraiser for an excellent cause, and have fun while doing it. Make it happen.
Go to ca.movember.com/donate to show you care.
Put your money where your moustache is. Less mo, more dough.
Yours,
Mustachioed
By: Arnav Agarwal
Dear Unshaven Faces,
I know what you’re thinking; they just don’t seem to understand. You’re walking to the Health Science Library, to DeGroote School of Business or to the Student Centre, and can’t help but notices clean-shaven faces gazing at you as they walk by, their eyes peeled at the scruff sprouting about your face as you walk a little further. How easy it must be to rock a moustache, they probably think. Overhyped, right?
Wrong. The challenges that come up with the no-shave “Movember” are easy to play down when you’re not growing the peach fuzz all over your visage. But have no fear, comrades. If you’re in quite the tangle dealing with your mid-November crisis, you’re not alone.
Consider the following. The average student shaves twice a week or so. November covers more than four entire weeks. Tell the next clean-shaven face to multiply the amount of facial hair that starts getting on their nerves every three to four days by at least eight. If you’re feeling scruffy, you’re certainly on the right track to celebrating the festivities of the month. Throw in the moans and groans as a thickening moustache starts getting prickly on the inexperienced, and you’re definitely encountering the typical Movember-stricken experience.
Most students can attest to the fact that the highlight of their day is taking a break from their textbooks for a little social time or to grab a meal. Universities have been smart on catching on as well; they’ve packed themselves with pleasure foods to quench the hunger pangs while bringing in stacks upon stacks in revenue. The majority of Movember endorsers aren’t typically heavy moustache growers, but bushy hair growth doesn’t make eating very easy. Now, we have to deal with both the high prices and the trouble of ensuring we aren’t feeding our moustaches while we’re at it. What’s more, some would argue the contrary: what could possibly be a better storage place for those late-night emergencies when hunger pangs really kick in? Yes, I went there.
So, what should you keep in mind this month? A few things. First: you’ve embarked on a challenging journey, so be proud of it. Moustaches and facial fuzz are not easy feats, and don’t let clean-shaven faces convince you otherwise. Second: the Movember experience isn’t easy, but it’s definitely rewarding. Convince them into donating if you’re raising money for prostate cancer awareness, male mental health initiatives or another cause, or coerce them into buying you a free meal to help you through that mid-November crisis. And third: take the next stare you get as an opportunity to twitch your moustache and let the clean-shaved faces know they’re being watched from behind those curtains of hair too.
Yours Truly,
Bearded and Proud
By: Yara Farran
Dear YouTube Tutorials,
I’ve figured you out. It didn’t take much effort, just a few sleepless nights and a half empty lasagna tray.
I discovered your inner workings and the construction of your soul (that is, if you even have one). You may market yourselves as something for all people to enjoy, what with your deceiving screen caps and alluring blurbs. However, dear YouTube tutorials, you are not beneficial to my growth as an individual. You do not truly nourish the side of my spirit that likes to indulge in back to school fashion or experimental hairstyles. Instead, you force me to sit at my computer, dedicate time that I do not have, give out love that I cannot spare, just so that I can watch you explain bobby-pin tricks. Well guess what? I’ve had enough of you and your fickle nature (don’t whisper sweet nothings into my ear—you have 15 thousand other subscribers to woo).
Remember that time when I had an assignment and you told me it would be okay if we spent 15 minutes together? I complied, popped some popcorn and intently listened as you explained the differences between a kabuki brush and a powder brush. You took advantage of my naïveté. Maybe it was your smoldering HD gaze and that moving, sharp sound that made me forget that I don’t even own such brushes. Do you recall that winter evening when the snow fell violently outside? The house smelled like freshly baked goods (thanks Costco!) and was warmed by the crackling fire. I was about to do some leisurely reading, but you decided to interrupt with your know-it-all attitude. As you beckoned me, a sense of excitement coursed through my veins. I rationalized that watching one video would be nice before I delved into my novel. I was wrong again. We spent the entire night sharing skincare tips and Christmas makeup advice. The fire soon died out and my novel lay untouched on the table.
If that wasn’t enough, you’ve impeded on my social life as well. Instead of discussing our lives, or divulging in the latest personal discoveries, my friends and I talk about you.
“You can make a vest out of a scarf!” A friend once said.
“You can put mayo/flour/the tears of virgins in your hair.” Another friend revealed over the phone.
“You can repurpose your hair elastics into small scale weaponry,” another whispered excitedly, “really cute weaponry.”
You know what the worst part about this whole thing is? It’s the fact that you don’t even care. I may hand over my precious time and dispel my inner secrets and insecurities to you, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a number—just another subscriber and believer to your quick-fix gospel. And so, while you gain more fame and fortune (did you just get a MAC Cosmetics contract?), I will learn to rid myself of your materialistic clutches.
I will free myself from home remedies and chunky cable knit sweater ensembles.
Yours no longer,
Kabuki Brush-Less Viewer
