By: Grace Bocking
As a perpetually shy individual who also happens to loath conflict, clear communication is not one of my strong suits. I cannot begin to list the number of times I have been unable to properly communicate my feelings or opinions because I’ve been terrified of what could follow. What if people get mad at me? What if they disagree? What if they think I’m stupid? These nightmarish scenarios have played through my head like reruns of Friends, and they’ve prevented me from saying the things that I really wanted to.
In a society that teaches us to filter ourselves and be reserved in groups, speaking with honesty and conviction isn’t easy. It’s fear that often stands in my way, but others fear judgement, can’t find the right words, or are simply avoiding confrontation.
Recently, this pattern of refusing to assert myself has become more troubling to me. I realized that by not saying what I mean or meaning what I say, I have been keeping those around me at an arm’s length. Friends, family, and roommates have all been kept in the dark. Not only is this isolating, but it has prevented me from strengthening relationships that I value. Many of those closest to me don’t know what’s on my mind, and therefore don’t truly know me.
What’s more is that by refusing to share my views and feelings, I have been diminishing their importance. By shaping myself in to the agreeable person that I believe others want me to be, I have been able to avoid conflict. However, I have also been telling myself and the world that the way I see things isn’t important and that my opinions aren’t as valid as of everyone else’s. I am a plain doormat than no one would pay attention to.
This isn’t to say that I should be blunt or rude in my conversations with others; just that I should eliminate some of the fluff and lip service I give. Being genuine makes you an interesting person, whereas avoiding conflict by saying common and agreeable statements just makes you that nice, albeit bland and uninteresting, person.
What I am beginning to learn is that while holding your tongue may temporarily delay a confrontation or an awkward conversation, it is neither a good nor lasting solution. It only prolongs your suffering. I know just how difficult it can be to speak your mind, but I have found that honesty always improves the situation. People won’t know you’re upset unless you tell them, and hiding up your feelings will only make you feel trapped.
Intentionally misleading the people in your life is never the right answer. If we would all commit to saying what we mean and meaning what we say, many misunderstandings would be avoided. Though ripped straight from an afterschool special, honesty truly is the best policy.
By: Grace Bocking
Although you may hear cynics of the world claiming that long-distance relationships don’t work, don’t let them discourage you—at least, not if it’s a friendship. While keeping the spark alive in a romance may not be easy when there’s endless miles separating a couple, friendships can often endure a lot more stress. That is, if you know what you’re doing.
Here’s a word to the wise: even though your first instinct is going to be to start strategising ways to stay in touch, don’t count on being able to keep all your promises. The game plan you and your buddy come up with may work at first, but you won’t be able to maintain daily Skype sessions. No matter how much you love them, the world around you is going to be one big distraction. Learn to lower your expectations, be flexible, and don’t put so much pressure on yourselves. This will be an adjustment if you’re used to seeing each other every day, but it will teach you to have faith in the strength of your friendship. If you do feel the need for daily updates, try using Snapchat. You won’t want this to be your only form of communication, but it’s great for quick updates.
It’s also important to note that even though you’ll miss your friend like crazy, every email doesn’t need to be an expression of your undying devotion. This gets stale really fast, and it can be difficult to reciprocate. Don’t say it unless you really mean it, because if you say it too much it won’t mean anything at all. If you’re worried that they’re going to forget about you, try to remind yourself that they probably feel the same way. Their world is going to keep on spinning without you, but this doesn’t mean that they don’t wish you were there.
The truth is that if your friendship was built on convenience, its structural walls probably won’t be able to withstand the stress. Maintaining a long-distance friendship takes equal effort from both parties, and at the end of the day, it will only work if you both want it to. Still, if you truly value each other, not even distance will be able to tear you apart.
As those who know me can woefully attest to, I am not the type of person to agonize over wardrobe choices. But when I reached for a sweater from my dwindling Clean Pile and came up with a cozy blue one, I hesitated. I stood there for a little while, half-dressed, holding the sweater at arm’s length as a convoluted stream of thoughts battled it out through the morning grogginess. Not because the colour was unflattering, not because it clashed with my pants, not because knits are out this season, but because emblazoned on the front, in friendly, bubbly lettering, was the word “SMILE.”
I knew that most people, myself included, faced with a goofy-font request to grin would likely react in some positive way. If not by smiling, than at least hopefully remembering that it’s still an option. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that demanding a smile from everyone I crossed paths with seemed a bit insensitive. What if someone I encountered, a friend, was having an off-day? My shirt wasn’t offering a sympathetic ear or a tight hug, it was suggesting they bury whatever they were really feeling under a veil of cheerful visual cues.
Nearly everyone has an automatic response for the casual query “How’s it going?” In the barrel, loaded, ready to go, is that reflexive “Good,” “Well,” “Fine.” I’ve come across a lot of discussion about this lately, calling us all out on out how little stuff like this normalizes the way we stifle hardships, hiding our weaknesses from one another. We’re all kind of programed to appear healthy and happy when someone asks how we are, regardless of whether or not we are. This discussion, I think, is constructive in that it encourages people to answer “How’s it going?” more honestly. I think it’d be nice for people to feel at ease talking through their problems, and would be a good exercise in empathy for all parties involved.
But like anything good, this message’s resonance came to an end with me. After scrolling through pages of various blog posts, newspaper articles and well-intentioned videos, I started to feel a little smothered. The concept of someone’s ability to be honest warped into a responsibility to share. I felt guilty for all the times I’d answered “Great!” to a polite co-worker, when what I was really feeling was more “Dishearteningly overwhelmed by life, stuff, and things.”
After wallowing in this image of myself as an everyday liar for a while, I started to actually think about why I lie about these things. It wasn’t because I felt some societal pressure to be perpetually cheerful, or enjoyed perpetuating an image of emotional invincibility. In fact, there are many people who have seen me laying, probably curled up, on the floor, or perhaps sprawled across a table, sobbing unattractively as only an excess of feelings can cause a person to do. Mostly because of my inability to handle terrifying amounts of kindness and happiness, but sometimes because I’ve been wholly defeated by the day.
It’s not that I don’t tell people what I’m really feeling. I’m not an emotional hermit. I just like to choose when I share, and with whom. If I tell you I’m doing great, when I’m really not, it’s not because I’m afraid the pillars of society will crumble, it’s just because this isn’t the time or place to talk about what’s eating me.
I do encourage you to ask, though. People you really care about, even when those people are strangers. Make sure you really ask, not just a quickly-rattled “whatsup?” Only ask when you want to know the answer, and know that really asking places a responsibility on you, not the answerer.
And that is a responsibility I am willing and happy to take on, all the time. So if you see me around wearing that blue knit sweater, know that despite the bold invitation, its shoulders would welcome your tears.
Plus, I give great hugs.
Samhita Misra
The Silhouette
It was the end of a twelve-hour workday when I sat down on the subway in Toronto, heading home. With a pounding headache and shoulders in desperate need of a massage, I pulled out my phone and began playing with it. Texting wasn’t an option underground, but I thought the message was pretty clear: my people skills were declining by the minute.
The man beside me was muttering. Mental illness, maybe, I thought. Not wanting him to feel like he was being judged, I didn’t look up. My phone’s limited uses grew all the more fascinating.
“Come on, how are you?” he said suddenly, cutting into my thoughts and leaning in.
“Oh! Good, thanks, how are you?” I replied, thinking I could no longer “respectfully” ignore him without being a jerk.
We conversed.
He was a Polish man trying to improve his English, he said, apologizing frequently for bothering me.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I repeated adamantly with each apology.
As we spoke, I thought back to my previous impressions and felt horrible. Here I was, making assumptions about his life when I hate being defined by my own challenges. I struggled to make up for it by smiling warmly.
He kissed my hand and said, “you’re a very nice girl.”
I didn’t know how to take that.
Physical affection is important to me. Tight hugs and kisses on the cheek are a part of my daily life with those who are close to my heart. He was not, but then again, perhaps that was again my fault for being too quick to judge.
I smiled awkwardly, glancing at everyone else on the subway. Dryly, I noted that advertisements and fingernails seemed to be just as interesting to them as my phone had been to me minutes ago. The train was silent.
“Have a boyfriend?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, my compensative smile never wavering.
“No, you must have,” he insisted. “But say hi to Polish man, bye to boyfriend.”
My feminist heart clenched at the implication. It clenched further still when he stood up to leave, gesturing for me to follow him out and knocking on the window behind me to ask me again.
In the days since, I’ve thought about the man on the subway. My first impression may have been accurate: he could have had a mental illness, and far be it for me to judge him for it.
Alternatively, he may, as he said, have been a Polish man in a new country, lonely and looking for affection without understanding proper etiquette. Having known the excruciating pain of loneliness, my heart went out to him.
But what if it was more? What if my feminist heart had not misunderstood his words and gestures?
Friends, family and mentors have given me a couple of tips since then. First, if asked about a boyfriend, always say yes. Second, safety over courtesy: ignore him or get off the train.
The first is a tactic I hope never to use. As for the second, I can’t help but think that kindness is more than merely courtesy.
While boundaries must be respected and safety must be considered, I can’t help but think that in a society of averted glances, clipped answers and hasty exits, a little kindness can save each of us from the stigma and feelings of helplessness that surround our own, individual challenges.
Abdullahi Sheikh / Silhouette Staff
There’s a severe disconnect between parents and their children over the use of the Internet, especially regarding social media. Years ago, families only really had one phone in the house, so it’s easy to see why modern families may find themselves struggling to cope with their children having separate phones.
Once you get Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and the rest into the mix it becomes understandably difficult for parents to know exactly what their children are being exposed to.
Although it may come as a shock to any adult readers, you were a child at one point and your parents did need some knowledge of what exactly you were getting involved in.
And today, with our plethora of wireless connected devices, it’s no small wonder parents are getting swamped. I’m not arguing for parents to have to learn how to use all these things; I am arguing for us as a society to realize what impact these technologies have on us as people and how we can work with that.
It may sound vague, but let’s delve into it a bit.
We’re always on the lookout for that new “killer app.” Why is that? Sure, all these applications enable us to reach more people than we ever could; now we can reach people across the globe in mere seconds.
But what we gain in breadth, do we lose in depth?
Isn’t something being lost in translation? When we see texting as an appropriate alternative to calling, or posting a Facebook status as the preferred way to send another a message, I feel we’re missing out on the benefits of dealing with one another face to face. I’m not going to wax apocalyptic on you – far be it for the Computer Science student to wail about the dangers of technology.
But I do think that a problem exists when people can get addicted to the Internet in lieu of meeting people face to face and when parents think they’re stupid because they can’t understand that new device their child has picked up and especially when, as was documented in the news recently, teenagers see a rape in progress, pick up their phones and upload to YouTube.
So, it’s up to you to answer. Are these devices helping us to come together, or are we just one Facebook status from falling apart?
Karen Wang / Graphics Editor
The first things I noticed about Peggy-Anne when I met her on orientation night were her twinkling eyes and her radiant smile. Jet-black hair, pearly white skin and rosy cheeks, she appeared to be in her fifties, but she spoke with the energy and exuberance of a five-year-old. Her smile lines gave the effect of effervescence instead of old age, her shrunken physique a sense of childish vivacity rather than fragility. As she introduced herself, her voice bounced off the walls and her legs – too short to reach the carpet – kicked in the air emphatically.
Peggy-Anne is one of eighteen participants of McMaster University’s Voicing Hamilton Discovery Program this year. In step with Patrick Deane’s Forward With Integrity initiative to strengthen intercommunity relationships, the program offers a twelve-week course on the history of Hamilton to local Hamiltonians encountering barriers to education.
“I just want to learn,” Peggy-Anne said simply as to why she signed up for the program. The genuine desire to learn defined the energy at our weekly Saturday classes and is what I find awe-inspiring as a Support Team member of the program. This array of adult students – despite differences in age, background and enduring difficulties in life, whether monetary, linguistic, cultural or medical – all share the simple excitement to engage in a purely educational environment.
At the graduation ceremony four months after we first met, Peggy-Anne recounted her struggle in entering an academic setting as a big, scary step; one that she is ever so glad she took. Having led a difficult life, it wasn’t until a decade ago that she recognized herself as a victim of family violence and childhood sexual abuse. The program gave her a newfound confidence and a sense that she is allowed to have a voice, to take up space.
The program isn’t just about the spirit of learning, or the history of Hamilton for that matter. It is an opportunity to reach out and make connections; it is about searching for a sense of self and identity. In short, it is about finding your place in society.
Every Saturday morning Peggy-Anne comes to class bearing Tim Horton’s coffee and breakfast for herself and Lina, another student that she has grown close to. Through discussions on local activism and controversial topics, despite occasional opposing opinions, the class members have shown tolerance, respect and intelligence. By sharing stories, ideas and inside jokes, the class of the Discovery Program has become family.
As university students, we have become sheltered in our university life. Often at 2 a.m. when an essay due the next day is still waiting to be started, I wonder ironically why we often feel trapped in this system of deadlines and morning lectures and where our sense of adventure and excitement is that the students of the Discovery Program effortless find in learning.
“Why we are all here?” I often find myself wondering about the mass of students in lectures and tutorials waiting for the proverbial bell to ring, the students who join clubs to fill resumes (we all do it). I am talking about myself, my roommates and the many people I see around campus.
I suppose we are here for an education. For a degree. For a future career. Most of us look at school like an assignment, an obligation to check off the grand To-Do list of life. I realize that in the path of finding a future, we’ve lost something important in the present.
We are becoming robots in an educational system. Yes, we are students. But before that, we are members of larger communities – the McMaster community, the Hamilton community, the global community. We need to remember that.
I am grateful to the 18 creative, intelligent, resilient people who have reminded me of this by sharing their stories and their presence.
I think I’m obsessed with the fragility of human relationships. I reflect upon past relationships and consider the future of my current relationships. I remember boys who held my hand during the short summer months. I remember long-forgotten friends who comforted me while I cried about something dumb. I remember teachers who wrote “keep writing” in my yearbook and schoolmates who made me laugh in the middle of the soccer field. I remember strangers sitting next to me on the bus, strangers whose faces and eyes and expressions I studied so carefully that they were not so strange when the bus came to my stop.
I think about the people who touched my life who I will probably never meet again. Or the people who once meant so much to me, who mean a little less every single day. I think it’s one of the tragedies of life – that we invest so much in one another, only to have it fall apart or fade away or suddenly not matter anymore. We find each other wonderful and fascinating and beautiful and incomprehensibly irreplaceable, but in only a matter of weeks and months and years – we move on. Sometimes we look back, but other times it’s too painful, or we simply don’t care to anymore. And we find new people, make new friendships, kiss other strangers and the cycle continues. Meet, fall in love, separate, forget, repeat.
This must be one of the most unforgiveable things about human nature. Perhaps it is an evolutionary fact of survival. We have to know how to move on. When a loved one dies, eventually we learn to move on – the human race could not exist otherwise, we would have died out centuries ago, it wouldn’t have taken long for every human on earth to experience loss. But I don’t think I’m talking about death. I’m talking about break-ups, failed friendships, random interactions, brief encounters – all those emotions we feel in those moments. Where do they all go when the people we experienced them with have gone? Does the love go with them? Or does it stay hidden inside both of us, a memory we’d rather keep somewhere under a dusty mass of years? Does it all just become a secret that we can’t even share with ourselves?
And the memories, the memories! Where do they go? How can our hearts hold so many memories that we leave untouched for so long, sometimes forever? I often wish that I could play all my memories like a never-ending reel, a film that I would watch for days and days, sobbing and laughing and experiencing them one more time. But what good would that do me? The ex-lovers who lifted my chin with two fingers and stared straight into my soul – what good could come from looking into those eyes again? The friends who made me laugh until a little bit of pee came out, why should I want to relive that laughter only to have it end more suddenly and coldly than before?
And then I have to ask myself, is this the fate of all relationships? Is anything forever? Is it something we have to accept when we enter into all forms of human contact? Do we have to tell ourselves, this will end someday? There will come a time that I mean nothing to you and you mean nothing to me, and it won’t even matter that we mean nothing to each other. Or maybe it will matter, but only to me. So dance with me anyway. Laugh with me anyway. Hold me, fuck me, inspire me, scare me, stay with me a little longer anyway.
Or do we have to find a way to believe that some relationships must be different? Some relationships must exist outside of this universe where people fall asleep beside each other and then rarely think of one another again. And that we have to resist those conditions that reality has handed to us (however deluded and unsafe it might be), those conditions that explicitly state that people die, change, make mistakes, have regrets and sometimes wake up one morning and feel differently for no apparent reason.
Abdullah Sheikh / Silhouette Staff
Living life with a pair of spectacles bridged across your nose. A heavy rain can obscure your vision just as much as it can soak your clothes, and a stiff wind may take both your hat and eyesight away. Still, one can’t really speak out against eyeglasses (with the exception of these in favour of contact lenses) because, well, without them many of us would be unable to see.
My first day with glasses was quite the debacle. Around nine or ten years ago, I found myself unable to read the blackboard in my elementary school class. In that haze of childhood apathy and hakuna matata every child goes through, I chalked it up to nothing important but did resolve to speak to my mother of it.
The day just went downhill after I told her. Within the hour we were driving down to Wallmart (not yet evolved into its super variety) to meet with the optometrist. He checked my eyes, and to my horror actually prescribed eyeglasses! To think, I’d have to wear those dinky little frames, indicative of nerds everywhere, on my face for the rest of my life. Needless to say, I began to count the days until I would turn eighteen and qualify for laser eye surgery.
The doctor knew better, however, and promptly informed me of the nature of laser eye surgery. A big queasy and not just a little turned off from the prospect, I decided that cutting my eyes open to fix them wasn’t the best way to go about avoiding glasses. It was then that they put the glasses on me, kicking and screaming.
Imagine it (for those of you not personally acquainted with the feeling). Seeing the world through a washed up glass, and suddenly having someone yank it away. That first moment of clarity, of being able to see clearly for the first time in who-knows-when. It was a moment I relish to this day. With those wide-eyed Nintendo spectacles on my face (yes, Mario and co. did lend their names to glasses back then), it felt like I was in a whole new world.
I guess that puts me firmly in the camp of eyeglasses. Functional, chic and more than just a little bit liberating.
Regardless of any nerd or geek connotations (and really, what self-respecting adult uses these terms anyway?) I think glasses are great. One shouldn’t be afraid of wearing them because of what others may think.
By Rob Hardy
They’re rich, they’re cool and they have the whole world at their feet: they’re the Rich Kids of Instagram, or #RKOI for those of you hip to hashtag. But don’t hate them because they’re rich, or for all the other things that being rich affords a person. They didn’t ask to be famous or born into the upper class. Well, that’s partially true.
For those of you not in the know, this summer saw rise to one of the latest reality trends burning up the blogosphere, and has quickly captured the imaginations of people all around the world. But it all started innocently enough for the parties involved. The RKOI phenomenon rode the wave thanks to the explosion of Instagram (basically Twitter with pictures), inspiring both exhibitionists and voyeurs as it shows life on Earth circa 2012. Tumblr was the format used to create the RKOI blog, whereby certain pictures from Instagram, notable for their depictions of young people living luxurious lives, were lifted for broadcast to feed our appetites for the good life.
That being said, the blog’s postings have increased rapidly over the slower pace of July when it first began to get noticed. This, as well as talk that it may spawn a reality show, caused a slew of posters to submit photos – a new class of opportunists specifically hoping to get featured themselves.
The blog, and the conversations it has started, are engrossing and raise several issues. What is it about these pictures that really draws people in, and can they actually be faked? I have to say that if one were honest, there is something that many of the subjects have in common collectively. Aside from the fact that many of these pictures demonstrate considerable wealth, the people in the photos themselves, mainly of the young Ivy-league crowd, show a presence and pedigree that is undeniable. You just don’t take them for wannabes who may actually eat fast-food every day and lack a certain kind of breeding.
On the other hand, though, apart from some of the obvious benefits wealth buys, there is something far more accessible being demonstrated. In many ways, spending time on this blog is no different than leafing through an old Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. If the appeal is that it simply sells another version of hyped-up fantasy, then in some ways its purpose doesn’t differ much from numerous other media outlets doing the same thing, despite its unique format.
So going deeper here, and bypassing both the embittered outcries about the rich as well as the tired claims of shallowness, is a simple analysis. What we are really seeing here is people having fun. Yes, some truly enjoy material wealth, even if they do not wholly identify with it. But in the end, it is the happy faces and the promise of optimism, which is making people check their smartphones during lunch breaks to see the latest uploads. And ultimately for all of us, life is what you make it, regardless of how many Swarovski encrusted skulls you may have.
It’s a thought not easily understood by many, but as others have previously noted, money does not increase your level of happiness proportionally after the main necessities of life are taken care of. I wonder at the reports of lottery winners who decry their winnings as the ruin of their lives, but I can’t honestly say that being in the same situation would do much to improve my own life. I’d still have the same problems and my deepest concerns wouldn’t be assuaged.
Most of what a person really needs is provided for with hard work, a little luck and some concerted momentum to change your life. Those resources wind up translating to other kinds, which we wind up attracting from there on. That’s not to say the economy doesn’t absolutely suck, but will your world really be a better place by sleeping in the finest bed while those around you and society at large are slipping further? The answer should clearly be no.
As I wrote above, life is what you make it, provided you have enough to actually make something with (not everyone does). Though dreaming about rich socialites partying in New York, studying at Harvard and vacationing in Newport or the Hamptons is fun, it is a big lie to buy into the idea that something separates one class of people from another. If money is about value, we must also remember that values change, and that the concept of what class even is has been often redefined over time.
The final thoughts here are that, minus the depiction of opulent riches, it might be possible for some of us to land on this blog if we really tried, since images have always carried with them an element of deception and subjectivity. Also, genuine entrance to a better life can equally be granted if we choose to better ourselves. The concept of an ivory tower partially exists in so much as we believe it to be a barrier.
Likewise, as realities also alter, who’s to say we won’t see some of the RKOI one day on the opposite end of prosperity bemoaning their fall? Only time will tell.
