By Emily Coppella

When I walked onto campus for the last time a few weeks ago I felt like I was both at home and trespassing. I blame COVID-19 for these contradictory feelings. It’s upsetting to see my familiar haunts transform into literal ghost towns. I saw only a handful of people while wandering along the Rideau River, slowly making my way towards the quad. Instead of taking my usual daily walk around my student home in Old Ottawa South, I decided I could say a weird goodbye to my time at ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ by physically walking it one last time.

The wind hadn’t decided if it was winter or spring. The quad was bare, only speckled with a few scratchy leaves and my trusty boots that have helped me brave every Ottawa winter. I felt dismal, not only because of the weather, but because of how anticlimactic my undergrad suddenly felt. I was never too caught up in the idea of celebrating by walking across a stage, but I was looking forward to throwing a goodbye party with my Ottawa friends and chatting with my favourite professors in the lounge one last time. Fortunately, on a personal level, COVID-19 has only really impacted things “I was looking forward to,” and that in itself is something to be grateful for. 

April of a final semester is made up almost entirely of me silently repeating to myself: “One day at a time.” This is a coping mechanism I fall into when life gets really busy. If looking too far ahead makes me feel overwhelmed, I just think about today. It’s like covering my ears and saying, “La la la, I can’t hear you” to far-future responsibilities and embracing the near-future ones with a grimace. It seems to work every year because I complete all my assignments. 

This year though, my “la la la’s” were particularly obnoxious, in part because completing schoolwork takes double the energy when everything is online, but also because I would be closing the chapter of my undergrad and leaving the city of Ottawa. Even while packing up my bedroom – which included significant heaving of brick-like Norton anthologies – I had loud music on to distract myself from what I was actually doing. I was a robot. I turned my emotions off.

But while gazing up at buildings I used to scurry around between lectures, that emotional safety valve spluttered. By the time I was walking around Dunton Tower, I was already teary-eyed – from the wind, I would say to anyone passing by – and confused. When you’ve been in your undergrad for five years (thank you, Co-Op program) you inevitably realize around the start of the fourth year that you’re ready to move onto the next thing, no matter how elusive that thing may seem. So I’ve been ready to say farewell to my time at ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ – at least for now – for longer than I thought, and yet at the same time, I felt unable to let it go. Perhaps this is how guardians feel when they drop their kids off at university. This push and pull of letting go and holding on is so bittersweet.

 How did the time fly by so fast?

I tried to analyze this feeling of wanting to stay and wanting to move on while looking up at Southam Hall where I spent most of my English classes. This is a beautiful curse that falls on English majors. You have a tendency to analyze everything. 

I concluded that I just wanted a little more time at ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´. Perhaps if I had known in March 2020 that I wouldn’t be able to return to on-campus learning, I would have milked my final months for all they were worth and felt satisfied at the end of this term. But, I truly believe that if COVID-19 had not happened, I would have felt just as conflicted about leaving. ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ was so good to me that no matter how my undergrad ended, I would have always wanted “a little more time.” COVID-19 was an interruption, a challenge, but it didn’t fundamentally change the conclusion of this chapter. I graduated. The class of 2021 graduated. And we did that during a time like this!

I no longer feel like graduating was anticlimactic. Whether we were in a pandemic or not, I think my time at ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ would have always ended quietly and softly. This is because walking on a stage or getting a diploma are all great forms of recognition, but the true goodbyes are in the quiet moments. They’re often done alone.

So strolling around ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ by myself with my constantly analyzing and constantly emotional English-major mind seemed like a perfect goodbye to me. 

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This post is part of the Life in English Student Blog

There are a few things that pop into my mind as soon as someone says this to me. Some of them are possibly too indecent for a university blog. To be clear, it’s when this question is paired with a smirk, a roll of the eyes, or a scoff, that I get a little irritated. Of course, if someone asks me this question because they are genuinely confused about what an English student’s day looks like, or if they’re genuinely curious about it, I’m more than happy to answer. I’m an English major, how could I not answer in writing?

A confession: English majors do read a lot of “books” (usually people assume these to be fictional novels, and they quite often are, but not always). That isn’t all that we do though. Speaking from personal experience, I shift between wanting to read all day and not being able to, or, having to read all day and not wanting to. Another confession: English majors love to find a paradox in everything.

I’ve discovered that I became an English Language and Literature student because I love to read, and even when I ťĺ´Ç˛Ô’t necessarily want to do it, I still love it. How is that for a paradox?

In one of my very first English classes at ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´, a professor told me that when (notice: not if) you struggle to explain to others what you’re studying, just be honest and say: English students study texts. Seemingly simple. General. Broad. The answer is not meant to be transparently clear. This is because the discipline not only studies freedom of expression, but is freeing itself.

Studying English doesn’t just mean reading Jane Austen, although that can be important too. Studying English might allow you to discover elements of warrior culture around the 5^th or 6^th century by analyzing Beowulf. How does that reflect on modern capitalism in the West? What are the implications of tracing how the hero figure has changed over time and across space? What if we view the hero figure with an intersectional feminist lens? Studying English means examining political documents to understand how language can oppress people. We discover the past and interrogate how it has been constructed, and what that means for today and what it might mean for tomorrow. We read about people who are not ourselves and build empathy for them. Studying English has taught me that the English canon itself can be problematic in the way that it places at its center white, patriarchal, Anglo-Saxon narratives. In English, you’re allowed to call the discipline itself out. You’re actually encouraged by your professors to do so.

Studying English is being able to look at a text, and perhaps beyond texts at every encounter we have with others, to understand what’s being said, what’s not being said, and what should be said.

I return to the question: “So, you just read books all day?” Perhaps the most truthful way to answer is to document some of the thoughts I’ve had throughout my day as an English major:

I need another cup of tea.

I’m reading 4 different novels at the same time. Help.

*while in the shower* That thesis statement I made for Professor —-‘s class is definitely too broad.  

Why do I have “cat, sandwich, barn” written in my notes app? I feel like it was important…Why would that be important?

This writing workshop is seriously healing. Why does it have to end?  

Why does this syllabus not have any women writers?

Brit Lit. Brit Lit. Brit Lit.

Another group essay?!

SkipTheDishes tonight? *checks bank account* Maybe not.

I have 3 papers due this week, and none of them are for my English classes. How is that possible?

Chimamanda Adichie is amazing.

What even is an essay? Really?

I’ve watched films in English as “texts” to study. I’ve listened to my peers stumble as they attempt to read Old English aloud, all of us ending in fits of warm-hearted laughter. Being divided into small discussion groups is common. Context also means a lot, so we study a lot of history. Once, for a group project in my Canadian Literature class, my group created fake passports for our classmates to represent the people that migrated from Ireland to Canada in the mid-19^thcentury. I’ve attended spectacular plays at the National Arts Centre as part of a Theatre workshop. I could go on for longer, but I won’t.

I ťĺ´Ç˛Ô’t want to make any other (non-English) majors jealous.

Actually, as I come to the end of third year, I’m realizing how much I’ll miss being an English undergrad at ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´. Perhaps that’s why I’m trying to document what it’s like to be one.

After going on a tangent, telling many stories, and topping it off with a declaration of my love for my major, in typical English-student style, I’ve somehow managed to not directly answer the question if we read books all day. Perhaps you can come up with your own answer.

After all, there’s nothing like a good cliff-hanger.

ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ Emily

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This post is part of the Life in English Student Blog

I’m sitting in my cubicle, surrounded by three different computer screens and an office filled with people who have worked at this company for decades. There are times during my lunch break when, somewhere between scrolling through Instagram and chatting with my co-workers, I’ll remember where I am. Or more specifically, what I’m doing. I’m on my very first co-op work term. It surprises me every time I remember.

I applied to the ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ undergraduate program with the intention to be a part of the Co-operative Program. I shed my naive freshman status in second year, and with this came a bit of self-doubt. I started feeling more and more uncomfortable as the co-op orientation date approached. Perhaps I had achieved the grade requirements to enter, but what if I couldn’t find a placement? Or worse, what if I did find a placement and I absolutely hated it? I had multiple “what-if” flow charts percolating in my brain before I had even congratulated myself for making it this far.

It would have been easy to become overwhelmed with the co-op process in my second year. Juggling full-time studies, a yoga teacher training course and a commitment to ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ University Women in Business club meant that I had zero days off each week. Simply having a movie night with my roomie felt like the ultimate luxury. Occasional visits with Blue the Therapy Dog were much appreciated.

So I decided not to view the online co-op course as another chore. I saw it as important preparation for one of the coolest experiences I would have yet. Instead of complaining about my busy day-to-day schedule, I set a goal to chip away at my co-op tasks at least once a week. This made me feel productive, without feeling overwhelmed. I tried to put in enough effort to make myself proud, without compromising my other priorities. Every year that I’m a student I am made more and more aware of my mental health. My mental health wavers, but I am committed to returning to mental wellness every day.

After completing the online co-op course, I began searching for a co-op placement for Fall 2018 when I returned home for summer break. Living in the GTA, I wanted to find a placement close to home so I could make nearby connections. There were three things I would miss in Ottawa: my twin sister, my friends, and most importantly, the Panda Game. I’m convinced our unexpected loss meant that I simply wasn’t meant to be there.

Living outside of Ottawa meant I had to conduct my own personal job search. The ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ Co-op website rarely posted co-op placements outside of the Ottawa area. I was tasked with searching for and securing a placement almost entirely by myself. I was also competing with co-op students from other universities and colleges in the GTA.

The available co-op jobs I could find on the internet were limited. The ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ Co-op Office had taught me that the jobs we see online are only a tiny portion of the actual available jobs that exist. Most open positions are only advertised internally within a company. This means that the public, or anyone outside of the company, or even the department, are never made aware that a job opportunity exists in the first place. The seed of self-doubt I had planted earlier was starting to grow roots. But I didn’t let it blossom.

Thanks to the online co-op component, I was able to send inquiry letters to various companies. I tailored each and every resumé to whichever position I was applying for. My mom and sister helped me design networking cards. At this point I had even started planning my third-year timetable, believing it was my destiny to return to school since I wasn’t receiving any co-op job offers. It turned out the placement I would secure was right around the corner. Literally.

I was successful in obtaining a placement with a company that was 15 minutes from my house. My work hours are amazing, making my weekly schedule a dream. I have every evening off and weekends free. My calendar is filled up with coffee dates and pizza nights with old friends instead of assignment deadlines or readings to complete. Being able to spend 8 months living with my family again is an awesome bonus, too. I feel like I am back in high school but with less drama and more of a tendency to be in bed before 9:30 pm.

If you have the opportunity, I truly recommend entering the Co-op program. Seeing how you can contribute to a company with the skills you have right now will give you some insight into what you want to do in the future. Equally, if not more important, you may discover what you ťĺ´Ç˛Ô’t want to do in the future.

Although my placement seems unrelated to, or even opposed to my academic focus, I’m so grateful that it turned out this way. It has forced me to learn new skills and reject ways of thinking I would rely on simply because they were familiar to me. I’m able to meet professionals with diverse backgrounds and work with content I’ve never seen before. Feeling so disoriented at the beginning of my placement resulted in one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had.

The past three years have been a major transformation period for me, as it probably has been for most students after they graduate from high school. For those of us who have pursued university studies, lockers have been replaced by lecture halls. Some of us have chosen apprenticeships instead. Some of us have dived straight into our career fields. Whatever the extraordinary circumstances we’ve all gotten into, it’s safe to say that some plans burn out, opportunities rise from the ashes, and we all become just a little better than who we were before (regardless of what happens).

I think I’ve grown as an individual because I gave myself a chance. Now I see self-doubt as a challenge, not an obstacle. Surely, I’m no poster-child for believing in myself 100% of the time. The self-doubt I experienced before securing my placement likes to tap me on the shoulder every so often. I just shrug my shoulders and get back to work.

ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ Emily

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I feel a little guilty sitting down to write this blog post. After all, I’m more than halfway through first semester and I haven’t contributed to the blog at all yet in my second year. I’m not going to make excuses. Sometimes the best way to begin writing is simply sitting down and writing, even if that means staring at the expanse of white, barren land I like to call An Empty Word Document. Sometimes I even write the first phrase that pops into my head, just so that it ceases being so white and so empty. But then I thought “Student Debt” wouldn’t make a very interesting, or inspirational, blog post.

One of the reasons I’ve neglected my blogging duties has to do with the opportunities I’ve received recently to attend some amazing events. I’ve been grateful enough to attend these events this year. (Because hey, frosh is only one part of university!) There’s one event I recently attended that’s at the forefront of my mind: “Between the Pages: An Evening with the Scotiabank Giller Prize Finalists.” It was held here in Ottawa at the National Gallery of Canada. Having been invited by my first-year English professor, my best friend and I were excited to attend an event known as the “Oscars of the Book World.”

Hosted by the distinguished Canadian journalist and television personality Johanna Schneller, the event brought together the current Giller Prize finalists in a conversation about their nominated books. We sat down in a beautiful theatre, accompanied by live music and so many publishing professionals as to make me dizzy.  The event began with a video montage that collated speeches from previous Giller winners. The video was a moving testimony not only to the strength of the Canadian literary world, but also to the recent passing away of the Giller founder, Jack Rabinovitch. Mr. Rabinovitch’s philanthropy and commitment to nurturing Canadian books will not be forgotten.

All of the shortlisted nominees, Rachel Cusk, Ed O’Loughlin, Michael Redhill, and Michelle Winters were there with the exception of Eden Robinson. An empty chair was placed on stage that held a portrait of a journalist who was imprisoned simply for speaking out. This chair was dedicated to people all over the world who are punished for using the power of language. I found this commemoration extremely heart-wrenching, and have been conscious of how grateful I am to be able to speak (and write) my own mind without fear of persecution.

Johanna Schneller began the discussion with an important question, “Are we defined by the worst things that we do?” After alluding to the challenges our world is facing today, the authors chose to explore the question rather than provide a definitive answer. I began to see a continuum of written language, as well as the contexts that have stretched across this continuum. I was able to appreciate the history of the (founded in 1994), as well as all the books that have influenced me as a young adult. After exploring a number of historical movements in my Theory and Criticism of English Literature class this year, I wonder about the future, and how I will feel when this year suddenly becomes “history.”

While many questions addressed the nominated books, the writers were also asked about their personal lives and, specifically, about their childhoods. While Cusk couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t writing, O’Loughlin grew up attempting to conceal his love of literature, never taking any writing classes and living in fear of people’s judgement. These reminiscences intoxicated me the most. Far too often I catch myself idolizing authors, seeing them as borderline otherworldly. Sometimes I can’t even picture their lives outside of the iconic frames of reference that I associate with them. I see never leaving the coffee shop in which she began writing . I envision at her desk, writing Roughing It in the Bush without ever actually going out into the bush. This discussion about the authors’ beginnings as ordinary people wanting to write pulled me back to reality. It is their own lives that allow them to create life on the page.

The authors also offered some important insights into the craft of writing. O’Loughlin relies on a different tool kit each time he writes, freeing himself from any limitations and attempting to arrive at a certain “colour” by the last page. Cusk, on the other hand, plans her writing from start to finish, viewing it as a performance that needs to have a clear vision. While I can appreciate both writing methodologies, it was the combination of Winters’ and Cusk’s final remarks that I felt most drawn to. Winters said that she writes when she’s angry, often writing to create change in the world. Cusk added that she writes to tell the truth. These two ideas of truth and change struck me as integral to my own writing. So often do I find my poetry, my fiction, and even my academic essays attempting to grasp at these ideas. It’s been the common denominator every time I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

While this evening allowed me to experience the works of selected Canadian authors for this year’s Giller prize, it also made me think of next year, and the year after that. I wonder not only where I will be, but where the world will be. I hope history gives us many pages of rich stories to tell.

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It’s the last month of the school year. I never thought I would be able to say those words. I want to shout them. Although my end of the year countdown has been ticking down since Christmas, it’s only now starting to feel real.

One thing I’ve noticed about nearing the end of the year is that everyone seems to be getting a little loopy. We’re signing leases for next year’s houses, tying up the ends of essays and making exam notes with the very last pen we found lying in the bottom of our bags. Or maybe I’m just speaking for myself…

It feels like Spring exams have approached a little differently than the Christmas ones. I suppose it’s because Spring exams are the final final exams and I’m beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel (no, literally, ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´â€™s tunnels are getting brighter ever since Daylight Savings). I am slowly getting over the instinct to take the tunnels everywhere. Anything above 0 degrees feels like picnic weather, and I’m trying to embrace the sunlight. This ties into my greatest advice for first-years living in residence: get outside! You can take your laptop to Bridgehead in the Glebe, or stroll around Rideau. One of my favourite quick trips to get away from campus and residence is taking the O-Train right from campus to Greenboro. I usually grab a green tea latte and walk around Chapters and Michaels (I like to pretend I’m crafty enough to go there).

I think it’s important to state how insane my year was thanks to my stay in residence. It sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Being away from home is an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything. I realize living in residence isn’t possible for everyone, but if it’s available to you, I highly recommend it. You’ll meet crazy roommates and create a ton of amazing memories to last a lifetime.

Having to pack a suitcase to go home after these last eight months feels strange. Sometimes I forget that a typical dinner time back home is not at 9 o’clock at night (thanks, late night ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ Dining). From this experience, I have learned how to live with roommates, share a bathroom with another person, who isn’t my sister (and yes, it’s easier when it’s not your sibling!), and now appreciate a night of “YouTubing” after a busy day more than ever. Also, paying for laundry machines and looking at my student loan has made the value of money even clearer. Perhaps most importantly, I’ve been reminded that family time is most precious to me.

Understanding all of this, I feel like I’ve made the most of my final month in residence. This March I was able to experience Censorship Awareness Week at the MacOdrum Library. I also volunteered to read an excerpt from Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, and given the current political climate, I felt like it had a great impact. Moreover, my friends and I attended our very first Slam Poetry Session organized by the ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ Dead Poet’s Society. We dusted crumbs of free banana bread from our laps as we marveled at the talent before us. Finally, I attended a Panel Discussion on International Women’s Day, and learned more, as a feminist, about the importance of intersectionality.

So, although my favourite part about the last year has been the amazing events and residence experiences I’ve had, my academic experience has been crucial too. If I could go back and tell myself one thing before I even looked at my first syllabus, it would be to ‘relax.’ It’s easy to get caught up in deadlines and readings, but just trust in yourself that you will come out alive. This isn’t high school anymore, most of the things you do just have to get done (to the best of your ability, of course, haha.) Of course, retaining my scholarship for next year has been a big incentive, but I realized my mental health is far more valuable than any grade.

In fact, the most challenging class I had (and the class where I received one paper with the lowest grade I’ve ever gotten in my life), turned out to be the class I am most thankful that I took. I just finished my last lecture in it last night, and my professor shared some things that really resonated with me. He said that no matter what you do, be awesome at it. If you ťĺ´Ç˛Ô’t have a particular skill, find out how to get it, and work on it. He told us his entire course was designed so that we could teach ourselves. So no matter how many lectures you attend or grade point averages you receive, university becomes invaluable when you realize you’re ultimately teaching yourself.

Okay, so maybe there are a few more things I’d tell myself if I had a time machine. I would tell myself to pack more tea bags. I would also transfer all my work from my laptop to a USB more often (my laptop almost failed on me and I almost lost an 8-page essay.) Oh, and I wouldn’t worry about the freshmen fifteen because guess what? It happened. And I really love that it did.

As I sit beside a pile of exam notes, I have a strong feeling this will be my last post for the school year. I’ll be lightly reviewing, probably hitting the gym (I love the Kickboxing class here) and de-stressing in preparation for summer. Trust me, this experience of a concluding school year feels entirely different from when I was in high school. I have four months off, and strangely enough; I’m excited for it to start all over again in September. I just might need that time machine towards the end of August…another month or so off wouldn’t hurt.

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February seems like one of those transitional months. The craziness of Christmas slips out of our memories as we prepare to awaken ourselves from our winter slumber. February has been accented with just enough assignments to drive me crazy, and just enough valuable lessons to keep me sane. As I crawled my way out of my first semester at university, I decided to step confidently into the second. Already, one month has peeled by.

One of the most exciting moments over the last few weeks has been embarking on a search for a place to live for the next school year. I had a tower of bookmarked rental websites that I would carefully examine in between classes. My twin sister arranged viewings like it was her full-time job, and I got to explore streets of Ottawa I had only seen through the bus window on my way to the Rideau Centre.

I contemplated the idea of monthly payments, and of simply being able to say, “come over to my place.” Mostly, I imagined waking up, walking to the kitchen in my bare feet and making myself my own breakfast. Of course, ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´â€™s cafeteria is remarkable, but the romantic image of carefully following my new cookbooks to make myself a morning meal made me giddy with excitement. I even started getting excited about being able to truly clean a kitchen again (or was that just the mid-term hysteria setting in?)

As the search for a place to live continued, I had the amazing opportunity to attend ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´â€™s 32^nd annual Munro Beattie Lecture. This event was established in 1985 to honor the first Chair of the English Department. On a crisp Thursday night, after a long Sociology lecture, I slid into Azrieli Theatre next to one of my new, university friends. The speaker was Fifteen Dogs author and Giller-prize winner, Andre Alexis.

I learned through Alexis’ obsession with storytelling, that he discovered personal experience doesn’t always translate into a great story. The art of storytelling is influenced by real life – but with the help of the imagination. He described this as “dream-like,” the ability to pleasure and provoke the reader through story. I realized that authenticity is only one part of it, the imaginative is what a great story is wrapped up in.

Alexis spoke of a Fifteen Dogs character who happened to be a poetry-writing canine. During a question and answer period he explained that this dog didn’t just write poetry, he represented the arts, the social sciences, the imagination. Alexis explained that the arts can transform the horrifying into the bearable, possibly even into the loveable. This is the value of the human imagination, and what we all hope to press into pages as writers.

I had seen Jane Urquhart speak about her book A Number of Things (a creative account of Canada’s history through objects) earlier this year. Once again, I was not disappointed by the experience of hearing an author read his/her work and respond to the questions of their readers. When prompted, Alexis explained his greatest piece of advice for aspiring writers. He told us just to write. He said that after all, no one cares if you write or if you stop, the only person holding you back is yourself. The essential part of being a writer is simply writing.

This is what motivated me to finish this blog post. Of course, I was inspired by seeing another month fly by, and by having the amazing opportunity to contribute to ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´, but Alexis helped me realize writing takes inspiration, imagination, and simply, just writing.

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Aside from waking up to too many Christmas chocolate wrappers strewn across the living room floor, I also arose asking myself the most common New Year’s Day question: “What should my resolutions be for the new year?”

Apart from my persistent dreams of meeting Margaret Atwood or John Green, a chaos of possible goals swirled in my head. I thought about many potential objectives, but none of them felt quite right. Like visions of sugar-plums, I tasted each of them before coming to the conclusion that they were all stale.

That’s one of the things about New Years; it is viewed as an afterthought to Christmas.  It’s not until the clock strikes midnight do we begin to think about what we can give up for the next year.

As I embarked on the first day of 2017, I realized there was absolutely nothing I wanted to give up. Although I might benefit from letting go of my nail-picking habit, this type of resolution seemed laughable in the grand scheme of things. I ťĺ´Ç˛Ô’t trivialize these types of smaller scale personal goals, but wasn’t there something more awe-inspiring where I could set my sights?

2017, Back at School

All things considered, returning to school after Christmas break was not as hard as I expected. I mean, I’m already halfway through my first year! In only a few short months I would be celebrating my birthday, coming home for reading week, and then preparing for the chocolate-induced coma we know as Easter. Concentrating on these glimpses of the future distracted me from my lack of a New Year’s resolution.  The thought of establishing New Year’s goals for myself had officially turned from stale to rotten.

I began to wonder if my desire to dream up some great goal was unattainable for the moment, or even worse — impossible. I didn’t want to settle for anything less than ‘spectacular,’ so I continued hoping a single moment would shed some light on a perfect resolution.

The week passed, and here’s the truth — my monumental resolution never came. Surprisingly, I’m feeling okay about it. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my hunger for a ‘big dream’ was quelled by the realization that small resolutions are not necessarily inferior.

Too often I have equated momentous occasions with success. Too often I have forgotten to congratulate myself on completing a challenging essay before swan-divining into the next one (albeit, not that gracefully.)

As I pondered all of this, one of my high school social justice club quotes loomed over me: “Be faithful in small things because it is in them that your strength lies” – Mother Teresa.

As strange as it sounds, Mother Teresa and the gym helped me realize where I went wrong with my New Year resolution. I saw people lifting 20-pound dumbbells as I struggled to keep up with my 12-pound ones, I comprehended where I was mistaken. If I walked over and tried to curl those 20-pound weights, I would inevitably fail, but if I took my time to work my way up to that weight, it was a realistic goal. Possibly months of repetitions and sets would be required for me even to curl that dumbbell once, but it could be done. Success usually isn’t immediate, not even after that magical ball drops on New Year’s Eve.

I used to see January 1st as a reset button — a way to transform into something else. In contrast, my 2017 New Year resolution was more of a revelation. I’m not meant to change but grow. New Year’s is not merely the recognition of a new year, but an addition of another 365 days to the many awesome ones we’ve already had.

Here’s a better truth: Anything can be awe-inspiring.

By Emily.

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I had always considered myself a shy person, but not in a self-deprecating way.

“Emily is so shy, I wish she would contribute more in class,” was a remark regularly conveyed to my parents when they spoke with my high school teachers.

I accepted the label of being a “shy person” nonchalantly, but recently, I decided that it was time for a change.

When I received my acceptance to ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´’s Department of English, I told myself that I was going to make an effort to be a little less timid. I aspired to stand out and get involved as an undergraduate English student.

Don’t get me wrong; I was in various clubs and organizations in high school, but it wasn’t until I had decided on my major that I realized how passionately I wanted to be an outspoken contributor to the world of English.

As clichĂŠ as it sounds, I just wasn’t sure what to expect out of university as I arrived on campus for Frosh. During that week, I found myself surrounded by people galloping all around with their skin painted purple. As I listened to the loud, inconsistent repetition of air horns going off in the distance, I couldn’t imagine that, by the end of that week, I’d be “a university student.”  Although it was fun and easy to feel overwhelmed in these moments, I was relieved that things quickly managed to work themselves out.

In the first week of classes, I realized that ĐÓ°ÉÔ­´´ was the place for me, and as a writer, I was immediately inspired.

Not only was I introduced to the various Departmental clubs such as the English Literature Society and InWords, but I was surrounded by a whole team of people who would rather read the book than watch the movie.

Without even realizing it, my first week of classes flew by, and the idea that I was struggling with – the conception of myself as an actual “university student” began to seem plausible.  I wasn’t just attending lectures and dragging myself to the cafeteria; I was visiting the English Department and surfing the internet for writing submissions.

This was the experience that I had been craving while I was a shy high school student, so I quickly achieved a lot of personal ‘firsts.’ For example, I secured a writing role as a contributor to , an online platform that combined my two favourite things – eating and writing. I was fortunate enough to attend a event with my English professor who never let a class pass without enlightening me in some way. I went to my very first protest. I slipped away from the confines of my dorm room to study in the English Department lounge, which offers a view you won’t get anywhere else on campus.

Somewhere between exchanging daily stories in the Fresh Food Court with my roommate, and waking up engulfed in my weekly readings, I’ve come to a realization. As my professor would remind me, it may be something of a “Joycean Epiphany,” (who knew that James Joyce would jump out of my readings and into my reality so unexpectedly?) The realization is this: I am not the shy girl I had once believed I was. Or more specifically, I am, but I am not only her. I am an assortment of many things; a round character, not a flat one. I am the dynamic, not the static protagonist of my own story. I guess this is my way of mirroring Thoreau who “wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”

It has only been three months since I arrived in Ottawa and I’ve realized that I brought more highlighter markers than I’ll ever need. It has only been three months since I experienced firsthand what it feels like to really, really miss my mom.

And it has only been three months, and I can’t wait for more.

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