If I asked myself, “what is my purpose?” a year ago, I wouldn’t have an answer.

Do you those reading assignments we had in elementary school, where you had to read ten pages and then write a page about them, or the Scholastic book fair? 

Going to an overnight summer camp is a rite of age for preteens. So, a week after my eleventh birthday, I stuffed my trunk with friendship bracelet string and well-worn t-shirts before embarking on the summer experience for which I’d always longed. 

I come from a line of strong women, something my mom never fails to remind me of on calls home. 

I’m a perfectionist.

“So… where are you from?”

I clutch it in my hand, pat my pocket every so often, and scroll aimlessly when I hold it, just to know it’s there. My phone is my lifeline; it connects me to the rest of the world, and without it, I would be lost.

One of the questions given to me to inspire this article was, “How has O-Week made you feel?” As a Gael, I must say…“I FEEL SO GOOD! OH, I FEEL SO GOOD! OH!” 

As a queer, non-binary woman, I don’t have strong opinions about queer culture.

As the only woman in my family to attend University in a double degree program, I spent a long time idealizing the experience.

As a young girl, I found women beautiful.

The story behind how I learned that life is too short and unpredictable to not show the people you love that you treasure them.In January of 2017, I felt like I was drowning.

When I first stepped into the Journal office, it wasn’t nearly a perfect fit. The floors were covered in a respectable layer of dust and the couches reeked of cigarette smoke. I’ve now spent three years here, losing sleep over all the ways we could be better, wanting to take a breath.  

I was thirteen years old when I performed my first magic trick. All I had to do was say the words “law school” to my parents, and they’d transform into different people. The perpendicular worry-lines which marked my mother’s forehead softened. My father smiled.

In Nairobi, the ghosts of all the women I could have been cascaded in and out of my body. 

At the age of four, I first picked up a violin and started learning the language of music as an extension of my self-expression. 

As I approach the end of my graduate coursework, I’ve been trying to find the words to define what my time as a philosophy student has taught me.

On Feb. 1, I took a pregnancy test in a campus bathroom.

Racism is inescapable. 

Growing up, the only time I can learning about mental health was through my hockey association’s charity.