Mourning
By: Nicholas Ashenhurst-Toews
I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. Maybe I’ve just heard so much tragedy recently. I’ve been thinking about how we don’t mourn properly. Even after the long, slow process of mourning, what waits on the other side for those left behind is never made easier with time. I think it was in the song “Forget Me Not” by Marianas Trench where I first heard the notion that “Life’s too short / But the end is long.” That song is about the narrator’s mother slowly slipping away and losing her memories due to Alzheimer’s.
We push loved ones away while they’re still here in some feeble attempt to make it hurt less when they’re gone. I’ve seen the tragedy of a young death be used to push someone else’s ideas. My 90-year-old great grandmother has had her funeral planned for a decade, but I’m still not sure I’m ready to mourn her. I’ve been thinking about how every night I assume I will die, but at the same time know I will see the next day. I try not to glorify the dead too much, but it’s hard when seemingly everyone else has such a different way of mourning.
An unfortunate name for an unfortunate garmen
By Aleister Gwynne
It was never going to be easy for the sleeveless white shirt. It is unflattering, unstylish, provides little warmth, and is suitable as topwear only on the most casual of occasions. This item of clothing is hard enough to love without the unfortunate name it has been saddled with: “the wifebeater.” The name conjures up images of a slovenly and uncultured man, his stained undershirt straining against his beer gut. He slouches in an easy chair, TV remote in one hand, can of cheap lager in the other. He does no work save perhaps collecting a welfare cheque, while his poor abused spouse does all the real work around the house. If this warped domestic scene is disrupted, this imaginary man rectifies the situation with his fists. Such foul associations come to mind from the word “wifebeater.” Not only is this nickname cruel and unwarranted, but it also trivializes and makes light of misogyny and domestic violence. So please, let us not use the contemptible term “wifebeater,” and let the poor white sleeveless shirt retain some shred of dignity.
Just another Sunday
By: Carissa Wiens
I had a great Sunday, thanks for asking. Sleeping in on a Sunday is a wonderful little pleasure I always indulge in. After, I did some work for a couple of hours while sipping on some yummy coffee, which is always better when my partner serves it to me as I’m snuggled on the couch with my cat.
Alexa Chung and Tan France’s new Netflix show, Next in Fashion slayed, and I devoured it over the weekend. To celebrate a fantastic show I took a delicious nap on the couch whilst remaining snuggled.
On another note, someone had invited me to a party in the afternoon to watch something on TV — I can’t remember what though — but there’s no way I was going to leave my comfy couch on a Sunday, so obviously I declined. They posted some pictures on Instagram, and a lot of people showed up just to watch TV on a Sunday afternoon — so odd — but it looked like there were a lot of chip-and-dip combos, which is my favourite snack. Maybe they’ll have another get together next Sunday so I can go and get in on it.
Homeless in Delhi
By: Andrea Sadowski
“No one will give you a room in Delhi without your passport — police orders,” the receptionist of the hostel told us after our five-hour bus journey from Chandigarh to Delhi. It was Republic Day weekend (a huge national holiday) which required a passport to be presented at check in, an order that the police enforced due to terrorist threats. The receptionist referred us to one of the biggest Gurdwaras in Delhi, Sri Bangla Sahib, where they would not ask us for passports.
“You must book rooms here at least 15 days in advance; all of our rooms are full on Republic Day weekend,” a volunteer at the Gurdwara told us. After much pleading, the volunteer realized the seriousness of our dilemma and allowed us to stay in the dormitory, a room with 50-plus single beds, normally reserved for families, or those whose relatives were in a hospital.
The moral of the story is this: if you are ever in trouble while travelling, go to a Gurdwara; they will give you a meal and a bed.
Illustrations: Kelly Ning/The Cascade
Andrea Sadowski is working towards her BA in Global Development Studies, with a minor in anthropology and Mennonite studies. When she's not sitting in front of her computer, Andrea enjoys climbing mountains, sleeping outside, cooking delicious plant-based food, talking to animals, and dismantling the patriarchy.
