e x p l o r at i o n w i t h i n t e n t i o n

The Inquirer

issue 6 volume 60 • January 12, 2013

THE OFFICIAL STUDENT NEWSPAPER OF CANADIAN UNIVERSITY COLLEGE AN AURORA CHRONICLES PUBLICATION

{WINTER REFLECTIONS IN TRINIDAD BY CHANTAL J. LEOTAUD}

January 12, 2013

You can feel it--in the air. There has been a shift, small tremor, disrupting the regulated bleeps on a monitor that is our lives, collectively.So thin, those lines. So much like another’s.Could it have been your thin line that had stopped moving? Ceased to be? or even worse:Could it have been your thin line-- your existence that rose and fell jaggedlyof a sudden torture, of agony?What does it feel like to die?Could it have been your life that ended? how did it end?

could it have been mine? Sapphire w.

Life is a process of becoming, a combi-nation of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. - Anais Nin

To submit questions, response, art, or an article:

- www.caucsa.tumblr.com

- sachronicles@gmailcom

Editor’s Note

Listen:Anywhere On This Road by Lhasa de Sela

Inside...

3 IN THE BRAIN Being Human, Have Heart

5 THE WORLD How to Survive: Being Me

7 DEVOTION Silence.

8 SUBMISSION Pseudonyms and the Politics of Debate 9 ENTERTAIN AND EXPERIENCE

10 THE LISTENER

11 BEING ALONE

12 FIRST PERSON

14 LIKE A WRITING DESK

Page 3T H E I N Q U I R E R

IN THE BRAIN

It’s coming at us so fast--life. But life is also disap-pearing so quickly, so definitely, so constantly, that, I’m afraid, we have become quite desensitized to its fragility. Non-human. Just functioning, following fun-damentals. Life lived down to a basic science, really. Zombies to the reality that life, your life, is not prom-ised to you. You do not get to receive a certain amount of years just because you’ve planned on it. You do not get to choose how you die. This past winter break, two particular global/in-ternational news stories caught my heart and held me to this very realization: I am mortal. Obviously, this realization is not new, or even remotely profound. However, by gauging the stories of senseless brutality and concentrated cruelty with what it naturally means to die gives the meaning of mortal-ity a much more tangible perspective. Many, if not all of us have already heard and read about the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in Connecticut. Another human being, through his own reasoning, can walk into a place full of other people, twenty children and six adults, and murder. Or is that something that we’ve already heard before? Is it the second largest school shooting in the United States? Or is it, in total twenty-eight people who have died for an unknown, violent cause? Are there twenty-seven fami-lies, with several connections, who would have never expected their loved one to be shot in a school? What about the New Delhi woman brutally raped by six males on a bus? A city bus!? Is she just another female rape victim who, so badly damaged internally and externally, dies? Is she another rising statistic from another country? Have we forgotten to take into consideration the extreme pain of another human who

is feeling sex being violently taken and enduring tor-ture that is prolonged for six repetitive times? What does it take for a human being to wake up in the morning and decide that today is the day to kill? What does it take for a human being to watch a child crawl out of a closet and shoot them multiple times. What causes a person to publicly violate and so wan-tonly cause agonizing pain? Do we think about what causes a man to follow en suit in animalistic frenzy? There is a considerable lack of empathy with hu-man horror stories that is learned in our “don’t get too close, it’s not our business” society. Although we cannot fix our world’s problems and will never be able to think of foolproof solutions, credit goes to the individual that sees a life as exactly that: a life. Not “just another story,” so easy to forget. So easy to look over. Look at your own life and realize that what you feel is important, and is relatable. You can relate to some one, any one, based on the singular fact that you and “they” are human beings. Life is not too busy to connect. Life is built on our connections with others around us. Without the human connection, without sharing stories, without empathy and understanding, humanity, humaneness, does not exist. It is vital to connect on this level. Life is a gift, and a very fragile one at that. Will every day be a frail attempt to reach some sort of per-sonal masterdom? Or can we do better in a world full of people we may never meet or see again? Feel your mortality, realize that we are living and therefore con-nect with everything around us--we do not just exist for ourselves. Be more than a life. Be human.

Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it. - Ghandi

January 12, 2013

You are nextto someone

that ismissed.

- Lily Blu

Page 5T H E I N Q U I R E R

IN THE WORLD

HOW TO SURVIVE: BEING ME EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED BY LILY BLU

Life for me hardly resembles anything that I had ever heard of before. My experience is as different to yours as yours is to mine but I do hope to meet some-one that resembles me in my experience. If you are out there, and can hear my voice, answer-- for I have been searching for you for 23 years thus far. My beginnings were a surprise--I was an unex-pected pregnancy. Insted of being embraced at home, I was taken in by my grandmother and brought up in her home, only to visit my parents and meet my brother five years my senior, at the age of six. When I did even-tually return to live with my biological parents, they were nowhere to be found--too busy living their already established lives, too busy to deal with me. My ethics and life lessons were taught to me by my elementary school principal, Mrs. Blackman. She drilled proverbs and an innumerable amount of apho-risms that not only applied to my work ethic, but also life at large. Some may argue that flushing a child’s head in a toilet bowl in order to teach him a lesson is unethical, but knowing her better than we the students knew the backs of our hands, we understood, and re-vered her nonetheless. Discipline, Tolerance, and Pro-duction were the Watchwords by which we lived. From handler to handler, between elementary school and secondary school, was not a bad transi-tion at all. The year 2003 threw me from a theoretical learning point of view to a practical one as my lifestyle changed when I became a part of a sisterhood. A convent school is not as dreadful as it may sound to some of you. There, the motto was Sapientia Y Scientia: Wisdom and Knowledge. My 899 fellow sisters looked out for me and was an incredible support to each other. Being in such an environment left me in awe for a long time to come. The school was established in 1836 and was built upon the strict standards of the Roman Catho-

lic Church. This meant that the school frowned upon physical same-sex relations. Two best friends from my year group were found guilty of the lesbian experience. The principal of the school, mid-class, personally called all 4 classes of my year group to an emergency meet-ing in the audio-visual room. She began quoting the Catholic stance on the issue and had an open Question/Answer session on the topic. Many girls expressed their neutrality and understanding, except one. A pastor’s daughter spoke up about the disgust that she felt by the situation and reminded us of the wrath God sent upon the city of Sodom and she preached about sleep-less sinners or something of the sort. The principal stopped her in her tracks and explained that love is nothing less of good, regardless of sex, and explained that we should not fall short of compassion and support of the girls in their time of separation. Needless to say, a roar of approval was sounded and we all stood to our feet in agreement to try and help facilitate a somewhat emotionally painless separation for the young women lovers. This is a mere peek into the awkward life that I lead. After these and many horrific experiences, I re-main rooted in that which I was brought up to embrace. Simply: to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God (Micah 6:8). In passing on the flame of life, I urge my peers at CUC to do the same. Even though my parents do not know me, you do. Look around; you are next to someone that is missed. Mrs. Blackman made us repeat the idiom that, “you can lead the horse to the water, but you cannot make it drink.” I present to you the water that sustains life and what it means to be human. Be kind, practice compas-sion, and love without condition. Mother bore the unex-pected, mother bore me, and here I am now at CUC.

January 12, 2013

W. H. Grundling Chantal Jan Leotaud

Page 7T H E I N Q U I R E R

Everything is still in the garden. The peace of night has begun

to seep into your bones, as it has fallen upon the earth. The

heat of the day is fading in shimmers, and the crickets sing in

the key of D, caressing the silence but not really disturbing it.

The darkness holds hands with the flowers, whispering rest

unto them, and dusts the trees with a sort of elegant silver.

The stars seem close tonight – they are moving softly near your

hand, bobbing against the sky-drop. You lay with your face

against the grass, breathing in the deep beauty.

Tonight, in this place, it should be the perfect kind of silence.

But inside, your heart feels tight. Like a scab on your knee that

keeps it from bending.

For at the edge of your eyes, you know He is kneeling. You see

the line that shadows create between his hunched form and

the rest of night. Sometimes, His pained whispers reach your

ears. They seem deep and tortured. Your heart aches for Him

like it has never for anyone save yourself. With each sound, you

cringe.

You hear Him. Pleading. Whispering. Calling.

But there is no reply.

We are often a bit spastic with silence. Sometimes, it is all we

crave. The silence of sleep, the silence of nothing to do, see,

write, study and say at the end of a long day (or night). We

hear all our lives, “Seek God in the silence.” Silence can be

beautiful, refreshing, peaceful, wonderful. Other times, we

dread silence. We fear it, and try to fill it up. Maybe we are ner-

vous for what we may discover, or what may be revealed to us.

But the one place we always hate silence is when God

is silent in response to us. To our problems. To our requests.

To our cares, woes, and burdens. Our hearts cry out from the

depth of us, in sincerity or confusion, pain or demanding. Yet,

there is no response. And when we don’t hear a word, or see a

sign, we get hurt. That hurt often turns to anger, and in frus-

tration, we wonder…

Why?

Does God care?

If so, then where is He?

Is…He even…there?

In the garden on the night before his death, Jesus sought His

Father. Yet the Bible doesn’t say that God answered him.

There, caught between two silences (the luscious silence of the

garden and the crushing silence from above) Jesus poured out

his heart. He got vulnerable with God. He prayed with all His

being.

And if God didn’t answer Jesus, His own son, what hope is

there for us, a bunch of sinners?

Go back to the garden. Read a bit farther to verse 45.

Three ideas emerge. The first idea is difficult. Sometimes, God

uses silence to help us reflect on what we’ve already learned.

He doesn’t necessarily use it to teach us a lesson, although that

may be part of it. Most times, He has probably already given

us the information we need to successfully make the decision

we’re concerned about. But it is very important to understand

that God does not send us into situations that he has not pre-

pared us for. He has given us the tools to make it – sometimes,

we just need to read the instructions again before saying “I

don’t get it.”

The second idea is curious. God is not always in the busi-

ness of revelation – hence the silence. But it is not because He

is just reminding us of His authority over us selfishly. It is not

because He is forcing us to rely on Him. In fact, it is the oppo-

site. Practicum has taught me that the best way to strengthen

the ability and confidence of others is often to remain silent.

This is painful, trust me. But the resulting autonomy in the

other individual strengthens their respect for you, and their

faith in the fact that you trust them.

The last idea is beautiful. Even though the Bible doesn’t

mention God responding to the Son in the garden, it specifically

mentions that an angel came down to comfort him. This is true

for us too. God may not answer our questions, give us what we

want in that moment, take away our pain or respond to our de-

mands of “why” BUT He will not desert us. He will provide us

with the comfort we need, through the Spirit, another person,

or time.

So don’t place the emphasis on the silence. It isn’t the lack of

response that matters.

Understand and claim it as God silently responding, and go

forth in peace.

SILENCE. “And He was withdrawn from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and prayed…” Luke 22:41

Meghann Diminyatz

January 12, 2013

PSEUDONYMS AND THE POLITICS OF DEBATE

In an age of internet trolls, online bullying and the 24 hour news cycle, the use of a pseudonym in the college newspaper seems at best quaint, and at worst a bit nefarious. Why use a pseudonym? If you have something to say, shouldn’t you stand up and say it publicly, without hiding behind the dubious mask of anonymity? Certainly there is a long history of anony-mous dissent in the form of political satire and hetero-dox theological treatise. Many reformers have written under the cover of anonymity for good reason - criticiz-ing the status quo is risky. But if you are emotionally, spiritually and intellectually honest in the statement of your position, what do you have to fear here at CUC? After all, you’re among family. Fear of political or social reprisal is the immediate and practical rationale for writing under a pseudonym. But there is another, and in my mind a better reason to editorialize anonymously. Most of the really big and important ideas debated among Adventists don’t be-long to any single individual. In a world in which ambi-tious thinkers compete for recognition, we often forget that the ability to discuss ideas on their own merits, free of the distraction of interpersonal conflict is one of the great gifts of the modern democratic tradition first developed in the 17th and 18th centuries. Some people argue that as a religious community we ought to act as a family, and air our concerns face to face. The church as family is a useful metaphor for describing our common identity, but it masks an insti-tutional reality in which we are a big fractious inter-

national community that employs tens of thousands of pastors, teachers, nurses, doctors, administrators and professors. We may be a family, but we are also an employer, a regulator, an educator, a steward of tens of millions of tithe dollars and an arbiter of taste and social standards. Don’t forget that we are also a career ladder and a provider of pensions and health benefits. In organizational terms the Adventist church looks more like a medium sized country than a small Chris-tian family. If Adventists were a country, we would be the 60th largest in the world, with a population three times that of Denmark or Norway. In this big, centralized, hierarchical, and dare I say, conservative institution, effective public dissent requires courage and the willingness to place ideas ahead of ego. Sure we are a small community on the hilltop but the issues discussed here have global im-plications. Anonymity can be the perfect cover for ad hominem attacks. However, when public debates are conducted anonymously in an edited forum like a news-paper, pseudonymous authorship can be a powerful tool that allows us to focus more on issues and less on personality. In that spirit I laud the methods adopted by the Chronicle to discuss these important issues.

Signed,

An interested faculty member

SUBMISSIONS

Page 9T H E I N Q U I R E R

BY MELISSA MYERS

• Friday, January 11, 7:30 pm at College Heights Vespers with Dr. Neil Nedley:

• Saturday, January 12, 4:00pm in LVH Chapel AY

• Saturday, January 12, 6pm Basketball

• WISE: Week in Spiritual Emphasis. January 14-17, 11am & 8:30 pm. Morning and evening worships give students the chance to hear from many of their peers and to come together to worship and grow closer with God. Please note that there is a revised class schedule for this week.

• WISE Vespers: Friday, January 18, 7:30pm at College Heights Church. Finish WISE by hearing from a student at CUC.

• Saturday, January 19, 3pm Soup Kitchen

• Saturday, January 26, 4:00pm in LVH Chapel AY

• Saturday, January 26, 6pm Basketball

• January 27 at College Heights Church Sunday at Seven

ENTERTAINMENT AND EXPERIENCE

Welcome back! Look here for events that will enrich and entertain you at CUC, and for interviews, pictures, up-dates about events on and off campus, and recaps of past events. There is al-ways a variety of musical, spiritual, and cultural goings-on at CUC, including volunteer opportunities, sporting events and those put on by our S.A. Here’s a brief rundown of what’s taking place this month: I confess: I am a reflector. At the start of a new

year, I can’t stop myself from having a mandatory contemplation of the last twelve months and the changes life has brought. In my “2012 edition,” I realized how much university has changed my life. I finally absorbed how my education has impacted me during this break—three weeks off from classes can give a reflector a lot of time to, well, reflect. Being in school and in such a challenging and constantly stim-ulating atmosphere, I didn’t have the time to compre-hend how my years in university were changing the way I thought, perceived the world, and communi-cated with others. I was too busy with my classes to notice how they were affecting me on such a personal level—although I could have told you they made me really tired some nights. It was when I came home and looked at my world with new perspectives and questions that a whole semester’s worth of learn-ing sunk in, and then the semester before that, and then the semester before that one, too. Not only am I grateful as a female to be getting an education, I am grateful as a human being—so many people don’t get the opportunity I am getting now. School sometimes seems never-ending or too challenging, but when I think about it, there is nothing else I would rather be doing. With the start of a new semester, I am nervous about classes starting again, but also excited. I hope this semester will be one that challenges and changes all of us.

HOLIDAY THOUGHT

January 12, 2013

“Here Before”- Fever ray

Have you ever held and had a soul deep connection with a

baby? It is an experience that humbles you to your knees. To

look into the eyes of the innocent, pure in heart, miracle before

you with this song in the distant background of your mind is

as good as gold. Do yourself a favour and search this song in

soundcloud. Take a chance.

“Lights are on but nobody’s home” - tom rosenthaL

I see many of you walking around campus, ever present but ever

so absent. How can one exist with no soul? Many of us are a

shell of a former existence. Come to life brethren. Come back to

life and feel a little.

“don’t stand so CLose to me” - the Po-LiCe

I take this as our society’s mentality. The “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”,

the “Let’s Not Get Too Personal, I Don’t Know You Like That.” Is

this your anthem?

-L.B.

THE LISTENER

“THe end of THe World”- the eversons

It may sound cheesy and a little bit too dated to be taken

seriously, but seriously. This song really is one person’s call

to stay alive, and what the world means to one person. With

the simple music and almost pleading voice of the singer, I am

reminded of how desperate our need for love is and what the

people I personally love mean to mean. To the world, you may

be one person. But to one person, you may be the world. Your

life is worth living, just for that alone.

“i try hard” - yaeL naim

Although this song poses a rather controversial thought of what

we know to be God, I think that this beautiful song helps me feel

relatively normal. Like, “Wow, somebody else actually has this

questions and wonders about what it means to belong!” Apart

from Yael Naim’s magical voice, it is the voice of truths spoken

that resonates with me:

“All I can can see is our longing to belong in. We’re all alone,

afraid of the other side.”

Work real hard, on your fears instead of fighting together, work

together.

“CLaire de Lune”- FLight FaCiLities

I often catch myself measuring my life through memories

or moments rather than using linear time. What doesn’t have

a specific nostalgic association simply ceases to exist in my

present reality, and my unmeasured time slips into an abyss of

grey static and fuzz. The problem with this form of memory is

that time can be elusive; it sneaks around without calling any

attention to itself, and then suddenly days, months, years can

pass by, almost unnoticed. Flight Facilities’ “Clair de Lune”

fights time. Don’t go, tell me that the lights won’t change. Tell

me that it will stay the same. “Clair de Lune” is not linear. It

is inverted with layers and voices and sound, each layer peel-

ing back to reveal another more subtle surprise as the song

continues. Through layering and non-linear effect, time stops.

And we’ll stay here forever. For seven minutes, time cannot

trick me. You too, can pause your reality by listening to this

beautiful and enigmatic track, which through its ingenious

composition, truly is timeless. Where we go where we go where

we go where we go where we go.

“take this uP” - star sLinger

Think of something that makes you happy—kittens, donuts,

fancy cars, your mother’s cooking (or just your mother), may-

be—and then throw in a rather crazed, erratic strobe light, and

you may find Star Slinger’s “Take This Up” an adequate sum-

mation of the song. That’s a good thing, I promise. Or imagine

the attention span of a five year old who has ingested way too

many Sour Patch Kids and vitamin water— a true story. Am

I getting off topic? Probably. But for this song, either scenario

will work. High energy, Sour Patch Kids, kittens, erratic strobe

lights, disco pants, kittens, sorry, there I go again. Maybe it’s

possible to be older than five and still have the attention span

of a five year old. Kittens, donuts, Star Slinger, sprinkles,

shiny things, strobe lights, puppies.

-M.M.

Page 11T H E I N Q U I R E R

BEING ALONE

• The Human Experience (documentary)

• Touch (drama)

• The Impossible

• Made in Dagenham

• Dogville

• First Position

• Iron Jawed Angels

• City of God

WATCH

- If you are alone, whether it be by choice, by force, or estranged, cry it out.

- If the tears want to come but probably won’t, put all of your energy into a very simple task. Example: organizing some thing in an isolated area (your room, a closet, a drawer)

- Make real food

- Make a dessert

- Write a letter to a friend you haven’t seen for a while

- Go for a walk

- Read something new

- Do a craft, like painting!

- Follow a news story

- Take a bath

- Learn a new skill

- Make a playlist

• Rain - AFTA 1

• The Sun - Aidan Knight

• Secret Heart - Feist

• 10000 - Phantogram

• Dust On the Ground - Bombay Bicycle Club

• Hands Reversed - Tokyo Police Club

• Can You Tell - Ra Ra Riot

• Hammock - MillionYoung

LISTEN

January 12, 2013

FIRST PERSON

This is the Whatsapp message that I received from my brother on

Wednesday morning at 2:22AM. To fill you in, this is not the first

of messages like this that I have gotten since coming back from

Christmas break. When my peers ask, “how was break,” I reply, “it

was fine.” The truth is, it was far from the idea of pleasant. Ever

since my dad retired, he has not been home much, since he invests

in his agricultural project. My mother has ever since acted as a

maniac, waking dad up at 4AM to ask him about his extra mari-

tal affairs which leads to the spewing of awful words between the

two. I do not know if any of you had to experience that during your

break, from the moment you were picked up from the airport to

the moment you got back to school, and beyond. It is nothing short

of stressful (my hair is starting to fall out) and I have no funds

to purchase textbooks because my parents are too busy chasing

each other in trucks. I get abrupt replies saying, “We’ll discuss

funds later.” This week, there was an apparent truck chase. I have

become ghostlike as I have no idea what to do with myself. They

do not consider that their actions affect me, which in turn affects

my peers, my lecturers, and my work. Whatever you do in life and

whatever you say, even if you think that it is in confidence, do

know that someone else’s life is affected by it. Someone that you

have no idea exists, feels it. Think on this. Be kind.

I don’t like asking for things. When I was younger, I would think about what I needed, or wanted, but could never get the guts to ask for it. I remembered that once, my Dad told me to “open your mouth and ask for what you want.” And I know that I will always regret my ability to do so because of Mrs. Lightfeather. That was her real name. I used to go to work with my Dad a lot when I was really young. I really liked going to work with my Dad. My Dad had a job in a nursing community. He installed alarm systems and there was a little village of old people who all needed alarm systems installed. It was a big job and my Dad would take me with him to meet the elderly folks. At this one home lived Mrs. Lightfeather. When I heard her name for the first time, I could hardly believe it. It was so perfect for her! She was small, adorable, and so sweet with downy gray hair, like perfectly coifed light feathers. She gave me cookies the first time we met and I instantly loved her. We chatted for so long while my Dad worked and I remember not wanting to leave. Obviously, I did, but made my Dad promise to let me visit her next time he went. I really wanted to invite her to church the next time I saw her because I was too scared to ask her the first time. Weeks went by and I didn’t get to go see Mrs. Lightfeather. Finally, I asked my Dad about her and how I wanted to invite her to spend a Sabbath with me. My Dad told me that Mrs. Lightfeather had died. I was too late because I didn’t ask.

I. I I.

Page 13T H E I N Q U I R E R

These are words I hope make sense: For almost a year, I have not meant to ignore you, dismiss our old friendship, or harbour anger. In fact, most of the time, I’ve been trying to figure out a clear way in which I, my feelings, can be understood by you. All through our childhood, you were my special friend. The constant. Almost to the point of ambiguity. We never talked about details. They were almost unneces-sary because we knew each other. We knew what we were to each other. I must tell you now, though, with words, that you were my fresh air, growing up. You were this magic, this free space of weightless wonder. I felt I could just be a kid with you. And that was so cru-cial for me, to live outside my head and be a kid. You and your family felt like home, and I will never forget the kindness and love I received. I remember your pets: Chelsea (RIP), who terrified the crap out of me and Muffy, who I never understood. I remember your house in Newcastle and you Mom’s marshmallow cookies. I remember wearing a ridiculous scarf to a hockey game and when you took Heather to the Avril Lavigne con-cert (why!?). I remember Andrea being psychotic and giving you a note saying I couldn’t play with you and I remember your American Girl dolls. I remember your cottage and your Northern Getaway Spice Girls sweat-er. I remember how you loved/hated your sister and the beautiful journal you gave me for our high school grad (which will always be my favourite and I only write masterpieces in it). I also remember our first years apart, Skyping about our “firsts” and then reuniting at Christmas and summers feeling so good and natural with you. I need to tell you, though , that in between all of our memories together, I hurt a lot. Not to say you never did either. I would never assume that you did not hurt or even that I, at times, did not do the hurt-ing. For any hurt that I made you feel at any time, I am sorry. Very sorry. As for myself, the hurt that I felt came from seeing how people who said that they loved you could leave, and be gone so easily. Effort-lessly. Mercilessly. And assume that the “other” per-sona would forgive and forget. But the hurt just kept going on, and on, and on. So I lived and was always surrounded by people hurting each other and learned quickly that memory tricks people, can trick people,

into letting hurt happen over, and over, and over again.However, my reality was dealing with pain and hurt by shoving it deep inside myself which only made me hurt more. It may have looked like fun and free-spiritedness to everyone else, but I was just hurting. And you may know this. You may have already seen me hurt myself before even I knew I was hurting myself.Finally, last year, it caught up to me. Everything that I was hiding, masking, started to unveil itself when I re-alized that if I kept hurting myself, I would kill myself. And if I died then, it would be my fault.So I got help and closed off a lot of space so I could fo-cus on getting better. And I am getting better. So much better. With you, though, when you left, I felt the hurt again. And I know, or believe that I know, that you didn’t mean it. Mean to hurt me the way you did. Distance makes it easy to get away, to not deal with things. But it also makes it hard to mend things, truly mend things, again. Now, I am not trying to be melo-dramatic. I am trying to be honest and clear. My heart, at this moment in time, is very vulner-able and raw. Thankfully, I have found someone who can love it, me, the way I need to be loved and under-stood. Someone who will never leave or hurt me, even when I am my absolute worst. Because of this love, I am able to stop hurting myself. But, while I am recon-structing my heart, I cannot allow the chance of anyone possibly hurting me. Especially anyone with whom I share memories with. Because memories can trick people into getting hurt over, and over, and over again.I am not asking you to wait so that we can rebuilt our special friendship again. I am not asking you to even fully understand. But a part of me, that might still know a part of you, thinks and feels that you do. You do understand. Silently, in your heart.I hope that I see you in person, up close or from far away in a future where you are happy and successful and still so radiant and free. You really are wonderful--magically unique. I hope that you, too, are loved the way you need to be loved. And that you can love freely in return. If we see each other later rather than sooner, I will always keep my memories of us being us, so eas-ily. I will never take our memories for granted.But here’s to the new memories we are making now.

UNSENT LETTER

January 12, 2013

LIKE A WRITING DESKTo submit your creative pieces, email us at:

sachronicles@gmail.com

test subjeCt

by WiLLiam tayLor jr.

My friend is a poet

which is to sayhe is egocentrichalf insaneand has no money.

He finds me at the barbegs a drink andsits down at my table.

He sips a bit from a glass of whiskey

sets it down hard upon the woodand says,

I have decidedas soon as they finishthat building thatsuicidefence on the golden gate bridge I will be the first to try it out.

Either I’ll be dead or at least they’ll know the damn thing works.

He laughsand quickly finisheshis drink before the bartenderhas the chanceto kick him outfor disturbingthe paying customers.

every good artist Paints What he is

by john sWeet

the poet found deadbehind the wheel of a borrowed carin an empty parking lot

the presidentwith his belief in a murderous god

with his empty phrasesand his addiction to powerand his children stumbling drunkdown broken-glass alleys

and my second son bornjust before noonbeneath a frozen sky in the season of fear andmy view of the lost and the crippledfrom the hospital window

the vapor trails hung like wireabove the burning buildings

the poem written quickly onthe last pageof a battered notebook

words that mean nothing until they’re all that’s left

Page 15T H E I N Q U I R E R

From a CuC student

Aches and pain crippled meBlood trickled to my kneesHelp, please, somebodyMy body is too weak

Condoms are not effectiveWhat a way to learnI contemplate abortionAnd my stomach starts to churn

Rest in peace my babyMommy thinks of you with prideNothing can compare, my sweetMy sweet, unborn child

My prayer is: i Will Be WHaT i Will Be

and i Will do WHaT i Will do.

all i WanT To do, need To do, is sTay in rHyTHM WiTH Myself. all i WanT is To do

WHaT i do and noT Try To do WHaT idon’T do. JusT do WHaT i do. JusT keep

pace WiTH Myself. JusT Be WHaT i Will Be.

“i Will Be WHaT i Will Be” --BuT i aM noW

WHaT i aM, and Here is WHere i Will

spend My energy. i need all My energy To

Be WHaT i aM Today. Today i Will Work

in rHyTHM WiTH Myself and noT WiTH WHaT i “sHould Be.” and To Work in rHyTHM WiTH Myself i MusT keep Tuned in To Myself.

god revealed His naMe To Moses, and iT Was: i aM WHaT i aM.

i aM convinced THaT THis anxieTy running

THrougH My life is THe Tension BeTWeen

WHaT i “sHould Be” and WHaT i aM. My

anxieTy does noT coMe froM THinking

aBouT THe fuTure BuT froM WanTing To conTrol iT. iT seeMs To Begin WHenever isMuggle an “i WanT To BecoMe” inTo My

Mind. iT is THe Tension BeTWeen My desire

To conTrol WHaT i Will Be and THe recogniTion

THaT i can’T “i Will Be WHaT i Will Be” --WHere is THe anxieTy in THaT? anxieTy is

rung on THe opinion-ladder

WHicH i Have JusT seT for Myself. i fear deaTH MosT WHen i aM aBouT To exceed WHaT oTHers

expecT of Me; THen deaTH THreaTens To

cuT Me off froM Myself, Because

“Myself” is noT yeT.

From: notes to myseLF by hugh Prather

I can not “make my mark” for all time --those concepts are mutually exclusive.“Lasting effect” is a self-contradictoryterm. Meaning does not exist in thefuture and neither do I. Nothing will

have meaning “ultimately.” Nothing willeven mean tomorrow what is did today.Meaning changes with the context. My

meaningfulness is here. It is enoughthat I am of value to someone today.

It is enough that I make a difference now.

January 12, 2013

ALBERTA

CANADIAN

EXPERIENCE

FREEDOM

INSPIRATION

INTELLECT

INTERNATIONAL

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WELCOME

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