The Golden Globes clip I played on repeat was Meryl Streep’s lethal political takedown; the one I avoided was the infamous kiss between Andrew Garfield and Ryan Reynolds. Bless the fangirls and their rekindled hopes for a Spiderman/Deadpool rom-com, but personally, I cringed, remembering my first time at a bar.  

I’d just graduated and was traveling Asia with a group of volunteers doing construction work in developing villages. During a night in Vang Vieng, we ended up at a local hotspot.  The DJ was great, and so was I — until I saw two girls I was traveling with, girls who, to my knowledge, very much identified as straight, grinding on the dance floor, cheered on by friends and strangers alike.  

I left the dance floor and anxiously waited for somebody to walk back to the hostel with. It took me ages to figure out why that sight bothered me so much.

My high school’s GSA had kids who only attended once a month, fearing that somebody would figure out why they disappeared every Monday. I hadn’t had a serious relationship yet, since so few of us were open at that school. And two months prior to that night, a nightclub full of queer lovers and dreamers had been filled with bullets and bodies.

Yet who was I to police who should be kissing who?  Who am I, now, to assume that Reynolds and Garfield don’t call someplace on the LGBTQ+ spectrum home or have fluid sexualities?  Nobody, I suppose. But I look at these snapshots and see the foundation of a much bigger problem.

Take Garfield’s statement about the kiss on LIVE with Kelly Ripa. The second Ripa brought it up, Garfield became clearly bashful; when asked about the story behind it, Garfield explained that he and Reynolds had planned it as a funny moment should Reynolds win, since cameras were on all nominees.

That, right there, is my problem. Not that two grown, consenting men decided to kiss despite identifying as straight (with the blessing of Reynold’s wife, by the way), but that the kiss was a complete joke — and an effective one, since Kelly’s studio and the entire Internet laughed.  

I’m sure that those two girls I traveled with, grinding on the dance floor, saw that instant as a joke, too.  But it’s insulting to see somebody so effortlessly possess a moment that the public immediately labels grossly inappropriate, should it involve people who genuinely desire it.

I forgot how to dance after seeing two straight girls grind in a bar.  Seeing my marginalized sexuality thrown around so cheaply made me re-evaluate the way I fit into the normal social code for physical interaction and contact between women; and question where, when, and how I should dance, move, behave, or touch others.  

Why do straight girls get to have what gay girls are taught to hide or hush?  Why do straight men get to meaninglessly kiss each other when gay boys are still subjected to shock therapy and psychological abuse? Is our society still just homophobic enough that they can accept a kiss between guys only if there’s no meaning in it?

Comedy relies heavily on physical play, and sex always sells, but that doesn’t justify the  overwhelming amount of men kissing on camera as a punchline. Just as black actors deserve diverse roles on television to avoid being universally stereotyped as gangsters, slaves, or sassy ladies, non-heteronormative love deserves the same respect and seriousness as its alternative.

What would the Internet be doing had Garfield kissed, say, Natalie Portman that night?  It certainly wouldn’t be as funny or shocking.  If love was as universally accepted and accessible as we claim it is, the Garfield-Reynolds kiss wouldn’t be so funny at all.  

To the bully who targeted me for my hijab: you must’ve been so happy to make me afraid like never before. You took my innocence, and my excitement at enrolling in university. It was a struggle to gather myself and get back to who I am: a strong, fearless woman.

“Go back to where you came from,” you said. You looked at my headscarf and told me it wasn’t accepted here, told me to “remove it or go back.” I felt helpless, not knowing whether to run, scream for help, or just do nothing. I recited every prayer I could in my heart, begging for God’s mercy.

As if sent from heaven, an angel of an old man came to my rescue. He walked straight to where you were tormenting me, and you left calmly, like nothing happened, sure that you achieved whatever you had in mind.

I remained, devastated and traumatized, having no words to describe what just happened. I couldn’t properly reply when asked if I was okay; all I could do was nod and walk away, short of energy, and unsure of who to trust.

That happened after barely two months in this country. My high expectations of my time here went down the drain. I asked myself: how safe am I here? Who do I turn to? To whom do I tell the story of what had happened to me?

I hadn’t yet made friends at SFU. My mother came to mind, but I ended the call before she picked up. I realized that I’d regret telling her, because she’d worry that I wasn’t safe in my new faraway “home.”

I spent days in my room with no food and no contact with anyone, just lying down and sobbing. Afterward, I became anti-social, and never felt ready to talk to new people. I wouldn’t walk anywhere alone. Whenever I saw bigger guys, I found myself moving quickly away.

It wasn’t something I could control, and I didn’t like that. I questioned those behaviours every time, promising myself that they wouldn’t happen again, but I couldn’t help it for a long time. I’m normally social, joking and ever-joyful; now, I can’t stop thinking about the many happy moments I missed during that period.

To the bully who targeted me for my hijab: I don’t know who else you hurt before coming for me, but you’ve opened my eyes to the real world and made me see things as they are. I came here excited to feel safe and secure, able to exercise my rights and privileges, but even in one of the “safest countries” in the world, I still don’t have the power to choose what I want to do.

You’ve reignited my fire, and despite the fear you tried to inflict upon me, you’ve empowered me. I know my rights better now, and I’ll never take off my hijab just because you or anyone else wants me to, or because it’s “not accepted here.” It is my dignity, my respect, and my honour, and I will never trade it for anything.

I speak for all the women out there who, like me, have faced racism and Islamophobia without knowing how to deal with it; who kept their grievances to themselves because of fear; who didn’t know where to report the injustices. We’re in this together, and nobody should feel abnormal for it. Racism and Islamophobia can happen anywhere, and it’s no fault of the targeted individuals.

Insecure, unwanted, and unsafe: that’s how I felt that day. But I won’t let it stop me from speaking my mind — everyone assumes that all’s well, when it’s not even close. I tell my story not because it’s unique, but because it’s what many women face. I choose to tell my story today, tomorrow, and every day after.

For many people, university is a freeing experience. You might be living on your own, or living your life with a greater degree of freedom than you had in high school. You’re staying out late, drinking on Wednesdays, and skipping classes because of the previous two things. Yes, your parents may not have as much control of your life as they once had, but the government’s control is still as strong as it ever was.

Governments across the world regulate pretty much every part of your life, and our federal and provincial governments here in Canada are no exception. These parts often include activities where you’re the only potential victim, from how much exercise you have to get in high school to how hot your milk has to be cooked before you can drink it.

These kinds of regulations might be in place to keep you healthy, but shouldn’t people have the ability to make their own decisions about their bodies? If not, why doesn’t the government ban smoking, or drinking, or risky sexual practises entirely?

Because it can’t, and it knows this. Too many people smoke and drink for an outright ban to work. Just look at the absolute failure that alcohol prohibition was in every country where it’s been tried. From 1920 to 1933, the US attempted to control its citizens’ use of alcohol, leading to increases in two areas: criminal activity associated with the production and sale of liquor, and mortality rates linked to alcohol.

If you take away people’s freedoms too quickly, they start to notice and do everything they can to get around the barriers — often to detrimental effect. No, the more effective path is to just make it as inconvenient as possible to partake in these acts until the people decide of their own volition to stop. So laws such as plain packaging and the Smoke-Free Ontario Act are designed to nag you into compliance.

Health Canada goes as far as patrolling garage sales to ensure that “electronics are packaged with instructions for safe use.” If you think this a good idea, I’d like you to find all the instruction manuals for the electronics in your house. Manuals that you probably threw away immediately, particularly in cases where they’re easily available online.

I agree that things like smoking are pretty bad for your health. I’m just not willing to forcibly browbeat people into quitting. We’ve already seen attempts to extend this logic into areas as mundane as soda pop regulation outside Canada: New York City tried to limit the maximum size of a soda to 16oz.

Sure, sugary drinks cause obesity. So does chocolate, and lack of exercise. The sun causes cancer. Sex can cause STDs. Walking can cause falling, driving can cause crashing, and eating can cause choking.

Being an adult means taking on the responsibility of weighing life’s risks and rewards when making a decision. If you want to live an ascetic lifestyle, without drugs, or fatty foods or sunlight, that’s your prerogative. But don’t advocate forcing that on the entire country. It should not be the government’s responsibility to protect adults from the consequences of their own choices.

Mental health in the media is never messy. Portrayed sufferers tend to be bored white people who spend their time indoors with the lights off, until they find the perfect medication for them. Then it’s all bike rides, swingsets, and walks on the beach. Symptoms are clean and treatment is simple: all it takes is the perfect pill, and wham, instant relief.

But anyone who has lived with mental illness, or has a person in their life living with one — which is pretty much everyone — knows this is bullshit. There’s no easy fix for mental illness, and if there were, it probably wouldn’t be sold in a box. Recovery requires a steady support group, help from a professional, a hell of a lot of effort, and, most of all, time.

It’s work worth doing, but it is work, and it’s a struggle that is almost never portrayed in the media.

Which brings me to Bell Let’s Talk, a program that advocates for mental health awareness and destigmatization. Every January since 2011, Bell has devoted a day to sponsored support of mental health initiatives, donating 5¢ for every tweet, text, Instagram, and Snapchat sent with a #BellLetsTalk hashtag. It promises aid through vague, but positive-sounding slogans like “Be Kind” and “Language Matters.”

The campaign comes with a who’s who of celebrity survivors, including Deal or No Deal host Howie Mandel and decorated Olympian Clara Hughes, the latter of whom has her face plastered on seemingly every bus stop in the city. It’s clean, it’s stress-free, and it comes with testimonials from your favourite TV personalities. What more could you want?

.@ClaraHughes believes understanding is the key to acceptance. Watch this video to hear her powerful message. #BellLetsTalk pic.twitter.com/TcoQV132bT

— Bell Let's Talk (@Bell_LetsTalk) January 12, 2017

I would love to believe that Bell has only our best interests at heart. And to their credit, they do end up raising a lot of money — about $6 million in total to approved charities including the Canadian Red Cross and the Canadian Mental Health Association.

But let’s not forget that Bell still charges customers for all texts sent during the day, and gains plenty of positive media coverage throughout their campaign. Every tweet you send serves a double purpose: it’s a donation to charities that also promises more pocket lining for high-paid media executives.

As with any company, Bell has a product to sell. It’s the biggest telecommunications company in Canada, and about 28 percent of all media and communications revenues in the country as of last year were Bell’s. Canada’s media concentration is among the worst in the G8, and Bell has been targeted for charges of censorship and increasing the monopoly of Canadian media by a handful of companies.

All of this is to say that, for better or worse, Bell has the ability to significantly impact how Canadians see mental health. And the company’s portrayal of Mental Wellness™ is as adulterated as they come, implying that depression is just a case of the blues, and the cure is a hug and some friendly conversation.

It also focuses primarily on young middle-class whites, while mental illness disproportionately affects seniors, the homeless, those in lower income brackets, and those with substance abuse problems. And most Canadians with a serious mental illnesses are also unemployed, meaning that their access to Bell services is likely limited — leaving them out of all the hashtag hype.

To be clear, I’m all about sharing your experiences on social media, and pretty much anywhere else. I’m a chronic oversharer myself. Visibility is important, and stigma is a real barrier to acceptance.

But the medium is the message: every discussion of mental health spurned by Bell Let’s Talk is mediated by the needs and wants of a multi-billion dollar corporation that’s more concerned with your wallet than your wellness.

Chef Eric Pateman of Edible Canada has been receiving a lot of criticism for the dish he’s serving for Dine Out Vancouver — Newfoundland seal pappardelle. Activist organizations are asking for the marine mammal to be taken off the menu, claiming that seal hunting practices are inhumane and that the dish supports the cruel hunt.  

Are the hunts cruel and inhumane? As a certified cries-at-dog-recovery-videos wimp and leaf-eater (vegetarian), of course I believe that the hunts are awful — but that’s not my issue with the controversy. My issue is with the anger and irrationality that many so-called activists seem to have in common.

These sorts of voices seem to be causing a lot of noise, screaming at the restaurant in hopes of getting their way — PETA being a prime example.  The animal rights organization staged a demonstration of a costumed seal writhing in a pool of blood in front of the restaurant to express their beliefs about the seal hunt.

It’s true that, while I do disagree with their methods, PETA isn’t unjustified in the anger they feel.  In 2008 alone,  an estimated 218,000 harp seals were killed with high-powered rifles, shotguns firing slugs, clubs, and hakapiks (traditional hunting tools comprising of long sticks with sharp hooks on either end).

The practices used to kill seals are reportedly more “humane” than others. Yet animal rights advocates claim that many seals are skinned alive, and that working conditions make killing seals quickly very difficult, so many pups suffer greatly during the hunt.   

These facts are awful, but the seal hunt is legal, along with many other cruel practices towards animals. The people who follow and work within these laws, business owners and average citizens, aren’t the whole issue — they’re simply byproducts of a problematic system.

Sure, they are perpetuating a bad practice, but don’t we all? We’ve all got smartphones up the wazoo, and we know that every time we break one in a wonderful first world country, a child suffers in a third world country helping make a replacement. We definitely should all be held accountable for our actions, but we’re often so overwhelmed by the power of big business that it can seem impossible to live ethically — so we give in.

This is what many of the voices that cry out seem to be neglecting, and their ignorance is my issue.  While the restaurant is definitely enabling an often-cruel practice, attacking it for simply selling the meat is rude, pointless, and does absolutely nothing to protect the seals. The only things that these types of protests seem to accomplish is the destruction of the credibility of actual activists, making their causes look like a joke.  The angry and entitled attitudes of these protesters seem to completely halt them from taking a step back and acknowledging the reality of the situation.

If you’re looking to actually make a difference, do the work to make that difference. Organizations like Harpseals are committed to ending seal hunts, and they suggest that you volunteer your time, write letters to those who can help (e.g. government officials, tourist businesses, etc.), and ask your friends and family to join your fight for the cause.  Change the world with your actions and not your ignorance.