TW: Rape I was nineteen. Innocent. Arrogant. Thought I was invincible. Impervious. I could choke down cheap whiskey on Thursday nights and show up on time for my 10 am Friday class. I could blow my then-boyfriend at 7 pm and hit the town with
The life of a butterfly is brief but intense. What do we leave behind in order to change? I am sitting with S watching T.V. She wants to watch a movie, but we are stuck watching an educational program concerned with spelling. Mother’s orders. She
I first encountered Islam in a brutalist building in Toronto’s east end. There were prison-grey walls, decor in uninspiring browns and beiges, several thousand seeking minds, including me — a then student of philosophy and politics at the University of Toronto Scarborough campus. The building
1. My Auntie O tells my older sister, who later relays to me, that our great grandfather from four generations ago put a curse on the women of our family. Auntie had taken Madison to a spring in Oahu to look for orbs that dotted
During our early stages of life, our brains start developing a unique set of neuron cells called mirror neurons, which are located in the parietal lobe on the top of our brain where visual and motor abilities intersect. When a baby is just a few
A woman writes a recipe because that is all she can write. Crisco, cold water, flour, five apples, cinnamon and sugar. She dips her young hands into the bowl and feels the comfort of the flour. Yes, the kitchen is her refuge, a promised land
In the city where I grew, we knew the chief entomologist by his first name. Far from the tropics, the city was visited by few spectacular, glistening, colourful examples of Insecta. Instead, we were plagued primarily by two pest antagonists, both humble in appearance. The
When I was a little girl, I viewed my mother’s fashion accessories as sacred objects. Silky, perfumed scarves. Buttery-soft kid gloves stretched over long fingers and polished nails. Slender three-inch heels with handbags to match and an array of belts that emphasized her slim waist
This is how you move through the world when you’re a young boy: you just move. Forward and back, side to side, and up and down. You climb trees when the days are fat with sunshine. You stomp down in muddy rain puddles. You
The morning goes as it always does: my gramma gently pulls me out of bed at 6 a.m., an hour after she’s already had her Folgers, pursued her lips at the news, and quickly changed the channel to her soaps. I am five years old,