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Reconnecting with my hormonal rhythms

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Peak Web
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A woman calmly journaling on a wooden desk in front of a sunny window.
PHOTO: Hannah Olinger / Unsplash

By: Petra Chase, Features Editor

Editor’s note: The following article reflects the writer’s personal experience regarding hormonal contraceptives and menstrual cycles, which vary from person to person. It is for informational purposes only. Always consult a qualified medical practitioner for medical advice.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s probably just PMSing.”

Growing up with a menstruating body, the first and few acknowledgements I had of my menstrual cycle were through the lens of dismissal and shame. I was taught it was “gross” to mention my period in the company of boys and men. In school, girls would hide pads and tampons in our sleeves and share them with each other under our desks.

Premenstrual syndrome (PMS) describes a set of symptoms that occur post-ovulation and can last a few days into menstruation. The emotional and physical symptoms vary in intensity and can include fatigue, bloating, irritability, difficulty concentrating, insomnia, and changes in appetite. This is due to hormonal dysregulation during the luteal phase in the menstrual cycle: progesterone and estrogen rise and fall. Serotonin, the “feel good” hormone, also tends to decrease as a result. 

But I was never taught my body goes through monthly chemical changes. In biology class, we learned about menstruation through the lens of reproduction (the egg, the sperm, the shedding of the uterus lining). In a culture that centres men and sidelines women’s health, my mother had never been taught beyond that either. It took me until my 20s to discover there are four distinct hormonal phases of the menstrual cycle. These phases affect mood, energy levels, and physical symptoms in different ways. And by tuning into them, I’d be better equipped to support myself at different points in the month.

Last year, I decided I wanted to reclaim my bodily knowledge. For me, that meant giving my Mirena intrauterine device (IUD) the boot. I had been using it for almost seven years. Hormonal birth control like the Mirena works as a contraceptive by releasing synthetic hormones which inhibit reproductive processes. Everybody is different, so experiences vary. Some people use hormonal contraceptives to treat conditions like endometriosis, control PMS symptoms, or treat gender dysphoria by making periods less painful and frequent, or disappear altogether. 

The trouble was, I was never given the tools to notice and understand my body’s natural hormonal rhythms. Only having a few, painless periods a few times a year was supposed to be a blessing, and one of the vague side effects was changes in mood. But how could I know if it was the right option for me if I had no baseline for comparison? What if there were non-hormonal contraceptive options out there that could better support me?

Since going off synthetic hormones a year ago, I’ve been journalling about my symptoms throughout the month, and it’s been a refreshing process of intuitive reflection. For the first time, I feel like I have insight into what’s happening in my body at any given time and my cycle follows a 28-day pattern.

Right now I’m in my follicular phase, which lasts about 14 days. It starts right after the menstrual phase and leads into ovulation. I see it as my body’s spring. As it prepares an egg for fertilization, there is an influx of follicle-stimulating hormone (FSH) and estrogen, which also increases serotonin levels. This, paired with the sunny days we’ve been having lately, means I am in a particularly good mood. I feel confident, motivated, social, and have noticeably higher energy than usual. I also know that my luteal phase is looming around the corner, so I’m savouring this feeling before ovulation ends and my hormones wreak havoc.

My luteal phase has been the biggest curveball post-Mirena. Physical PMS symptoms have been negligible, but the mood-related ones have been debilitating. I’ll be going about my day when, suddenly, I’m hijacked by catastrophic thoughts that feel impossible to control. It’s either, “everyone hates me,” “I hate everyone,” or both. Sometimes feelings are so overwhelming I shut down, unable to make simple decisions and communicate. It takes everything to hold in a crying spell as I rush back home from wherever I was going. For up to nine days every month, I dream of a cabin in the woods. And then, like clockwork, as soon as I start bleeding, I snap out of it. It’s a mix of relief and guilt, for having lashed out at those close to me and fallen behind on my responsibilities.

Premenstrual dysphoric disorder, or PMDD, is a chronic form of PMS. Its exact cause isn’t known, but it disrupts daily function and requires treatment. Recent studies suggest this psychiatric disorder affects 1.6% of people who menstruate, though due to a lack of awareness and stigma, it is grossly underdiagnosed. 82% of people with PMDD have experienced suicidal thoughts during their luteal phase. I haven’t sought a diagnosis, but I’ve been seeing more people sharing their experiences online, and close friends opening up about it.

I wonder if many of us would be facing such realizations so late in life if we’d been taught proper hormonal education, and there were structures in place to support a monthly cycle. Perennial patterns could’ve easily been visualized like seasons in lesson plans accompanying puberty. It’s how I’ve conceptualized my rhythms: PMS is my internal autumn, when my uterus lining sheds, along with my happy hormones, and everything feels eerie.

Western society isn’t structured around the month. In work, school, and everyday life, time seems tethered to the 24-day cycle of the sun. You’re expected to show up consistently every day of the work week, no matter what’s going on internally. The hormonal cycle of people assigned male at birth tends to follow a daily cycle, with testosterone rising in the morning and decreasing in the evening. It is uniquely challenging for people to meet these expectations when they’re going through major hormonal shifts. 

Don’t get me wrong, hustle culture isn’t a walk in the park for anyone, and hormonal dysregulation can occur for everyone, regardless of biological sex. It can be caused by things like stress, aging, and gender-affirming hormone therapy. If sex education included this information, we’d be better equipped to understand what’s happening in our brains and approach ourselves and others with care. We might be able to make more informed decisions around contraceptives and symptom management. I might feel comfortable communicating that I need space because I’m dealing with my luteal phase, and not worry about being seen as dramatic or lying, or reduced to the petulant, hysterical woman stereotype that’s been used historically to dismiss female biology. 

Many Indigenous cultures see menstruation as sacred and closely dictated by the moon. In some cultures, like the Anishinaabe, moon time (menstruation) offers a special connection to Grandmother Moon, who offers wisdom, balance, and healing. For many Nations, like the Cree, Ojibwe, and Inuit, moon time is a period of reflection, and taking a break from chores to relax and recharge. 

I can’t predict environmental stressors, but I finally feel like I have a grasp on my inner workings.

I try to plan things like workouts, social gatherings, and new projects for my internal spring. I’m also learning what foods to eat to support different phases, and seeing how my oddly specific cravings are often my body’s way of communicating the nutrients it needs. Like a bear preparing for hibernation, I expect to slow down during my luteal phase; doing bed yoga, getting a few extra hours of sleep, and not agreeing to a ton of social plans. I’m reframing mood swings through curiosity rather than judgement, using my moon time to reflect on what feelings I might have been suppressing for them to be unleashed so intensely when I removed my Mirena.

Syncing my lifestyle with a new internal timeframe has helped me feel more present and trust my intuition. Even if my feelings go haywire for half the month, it helps to know I’m not alone and noticing patterns within me brings a sense of clarity. It’s like my body has been trying to communicate with me, and finally, I’m learning its language.

Renaissance Coffee celebrates 30 years of great coffee

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Peak Web
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PHOTO: Ali Imran / The Peak

By: Noeka Nimmervoll, Staff Writer

This February marks the 30 year anniversary of Renaissance Coffee, SFU’s hub of coffee, food, and connection. Since its beginnings in 1996 as a small coffee stand, owner Parminder Singh Parhar has strived for one thing: to make a great cup of coffee. Over the years, himself, his wife, Kamaljit Parhar, and the hardworking Renaissance team achieved something much more significant: they became a cornerstone of the SFU community. From first-year students to long-term professors, there likely isn’t a soul who hasn’t seen or frequented the beloved café located in the AQ. To mark their 30 years in the community, the Renaissance team hosted a raffle event and a cake-cutting ceremony on February 25. The Peak spoke to Parminder — owner, manager, barista, and janitor (his words!) — to learn more about Renaissance over the years. 

Parhar’s initial vision for Renaissance Coffee: “This is where great minds will sit together and have a meeting to come up with a great idea.” Over time, this goal became a reality and led to the establishment and space we know and love today. With a little help from their friends, their community impact deepened. Parminder and Kamaljit established the Renaissance Coffee Bursary in 2006, supporting students with a rich volunteer history who were in financial need. Following this bursary, they created The Parminder and Kamaljit Parhar Athletic Entrance Award, and The Parminder and Kamaljit Parhar Bursary for Indigenous Students. Parhar gratefully said that these awards would never exist without the effort of the many brilliant friends who contributed to this achievement. 

Parhar passed on his gratitude to the community they serve for their lasting support and loyalty.

“The community makes our job so much easier, day in and day out. And they see it firsthand, how hard we work. But they reward us with their presence. They reward us with the comments [about] how good the food is, how good our drinks are.”

 — Parminder Parhar

The loyalty of their clientele does not go unnoticed, either. He reflected that he sees people walk to Renaissance daily from further locations on campus, like the Beedie School of Business, for the sole purpose of getting a drink from Renaissance. “Now you have to fulfill that responsibility of producing a good product so that it is worth their time,” he said. 

It seems to me that Renaissance Coffee is based on several core values that can be credited for their lasting success at SFU. They are consistently open, from early morning classes to late-night study sessions to reading break. During 2020, following the closure of SFU campuses due to COVID-19, the café reopened in September with safety protocols in place. They remained open until classes were back on campus in fall 2021. They provide quality, local ingredients for their food and drinks, like their coffee beans roasted locally in Abbotsford. They take the time to bake their goods in-house, and make most of their food on-site. Most of all, they work hard every day to provide quality service and love in every cup. Personally, I know that an iced matcha or a latte at Renaissance has often made the difference between a bad day and a good day. 

Parhar had some inspiring words to leave with those of us who need to hear it. “It doesn’t matter what you do in life. You just have to stay focused, and don’t worry about the noise and some temporary failures and all that stuff. So just keep on.” 

Thank you, Renaissance team, for 30 years of service to the SFU community, and here’s to many more!

An evening with slowcry brings company to fight the winter blues

By
Peak Web
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A photo of a promotional sticker from slowcry that says “Quite Honking, I’m Crying and probably listening to slowcry”
PHOTO: Noeka Nimmervoll / The Peak

By: Noeka Nimmervoll, Staff Writer

Wintertime always brings a heavy feeling in my life; the cold weather and shorter days cause me to question if I’m on the right path, and if my efforts will ever amass into the dreamed life of success and fulfillment. It may not bring up this feeling in others, but I feel comforted knowing I’m not alone in my winter blues. An evening at Green Auto, a local music venue on Pandora St. and Victoria Drive, proved just that. On February 19, the venue showcased performances from Benzonn, Riun Garner, and slowcry, three slowcore local bands and performers.

Music lovers, fans, and friends filled the crowd all there to melt in the music and find some respite from the winter night.

I talked to Nathan Chiu, bassist and lead singer of slowcry, and Jamal Coykendall, guitarist and background vocalist, for more information. 

slowcry’s performance at Green Auto was their first headline show as a band, and spoke to their commitment to Vancouver’s underground music subculture. They arranged the show with the venue and got several performers together. Despite the preconception that Vancouver has a cliquey music scene that makes it difficult to launch a music career, Coykendall thinks differently. He said, “There’s so much great talent here. And even though it is kind of tight-knit, there’s just so much opportunity and potential in Vancouver.” Chiu added, “There’s also this beautiful subculture [within the scene] that’s very much more open,” and pointed out that people often don’t see this perspective due to the difficulty of breaking into the underground scene.  

To slowcry, it seems that part of the appeal of underground venues is the DIY aesthetic of said venues. According to Chiu, the human urge to engage in creative and artistic acts drives the success of these performances. “People are really drawn to that [DIY mindset] because things right now are more censored than ever . . . and art is not really scratching the human itch,” shared Chiu. He said that people are paying more attention to indie artists who perform from their bedrooms, attributing this attention to people pushing against the disconnect that is prevalent in modern society. These performances attract photographers, artists, and dancers alike, making it a rich place for networking and human connection. 

The band’s sound is well suited for the wintertime, mixing its observational storytelling with a raw, grungy, and emotional sound. “slowcry definitely shines through in the winter,” said Coykendall. Benzonn, the first band of the night, performed a head-bob-inducing shoegaze set that mixed technical talent with raw performance, ending in a messy mosh pit. The next performer, Riun Garner, sang sweet and slow songs for all the indie boys tucked away in the crowd, and left the crowd wanting more. slowcry performed upbeat, grungy songs that put a smile on everyone’s face as they grooved. In the middle of slowcry’s set, Chiu said to the crowd, “If you’ve been sad this winter, you’re not alone.” It was hard to imagine a cheery guy like that being sad, but it goes to show that we are all human. We are all getting through winter the same way — one day at a time. Often alone, but when we can, we do it together.

“What should be heard becomes seen”

By
Peak Web
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A photo of Laurie Landry with one of her artwork in the background
PHOTO: Courtesy of Aly Laube

By: Maya Barillas Mohan, Staff Writer

Vancouver-based artist Laurie Landry’s exhibition hosts a collection of oil paintings that command attention. Noted on her website, “Her expressive paintings explore themes of identity, embodiment, and non-verbal communication, deeply informed by her lived experience as a Deaf woman raised orally in a society that privileges spoken language.” In an exclusive interview with The Peak, Landry talks about her work in the gallery All the Hands You Cannot See and what it communicates. 

Landry states her central question, “Am I being seen?” and orbits her work around the solution of this query. Large paintings “insist on presence,” while small paintings require “care and attention.” The range of sizes enlists a catalogue of strategies for visibility because “that question doesn’t have a simple answer when you exist in a world that systematically overlooks you.” 

Landry’s tactile painting style encourages viewers to have an “embodied, physical” connection to her work. She wants them to “feel her presence through evidence of her hand, movements, and insistence on taking up space.” The visible brushstrokes demonstrate the “physical gesture of making,” to translate her sensory contact; “in some ways, all three senses are collapsed into one experience.” As a Deaf person, she accesses spoken information visually through lip reading and then translates it to canvas through visible strokes. This tactile information is communicated to the viewer by sight: “What should be heard becomes seen, and what was touched becomes seen.” For Landry, being seen is more than being glanced at; it’s being “truly attended to.” She reports that her work isn’t something to be “passively consumed,” but engaged and reckoned with.

Landry believes that “everyone has a story to share,” and it is worth being heard despite an ableist assumption that it’s not.

So many disabled people ask themselves her central question, “Am I being seen?” She urges minorities to begin making art, even against internal fears. “We have something valuable: perspectives that challenge, complicate, and expand what art can be and who it is for.” 

Landry’s paintings are tethered to her lived experience. “I read lips because I can’t rely on hearing alone. I navigate spaces that weren’t designed for me. I experience being overlooked, ignored, treated as an afterthought. All of that is in the paintings.” There is no filter between Landry and her art but she elaborates that her work is larger than just herself — it’s about demanding visibility for systematically overlooked Deaf and disabled people.

Continuing the largeness of “disability [as] a global experience,” Landry reflects on how interpretations of her work change as it tours Canada, France, and Korea. Her art doesn’t transcend boundaries, but rather “invites conversation across them.” Her central question is a “human question about connection,” not just for disabled people with her specific experience. 

When asked about what she learned about herself or the audience through her exhibition, Landry says that she discovered “curiosity about the world.” She describes this as a “willingness to engage with perspectives different from your own,” which “creates real understanding across all kinds of boundaries.” Through the exhibition her brush strokes proclaim: “I was here. I made this. You cannot overlook me.”

You can visit the exhibition at August Studios, 1320 East Pender Street, until March 8. 

The gallery is open on Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday from 12:00–6:00 p.m., Friday and Saturday from 12:00–8:00 p.m., closed Monday and Tuesday.

Underrated and delectable films for foodies

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Peak Web
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An illustration of two chefs having a cooking contest side by side, separated by a green barrier
ILLUSTRATION: Cassandra Nguyen / The Peak

By: Heidi Kwok, Staff Writer

Whenever I’m craving a midnight snack and confronted with a disappointingly empty fridge, I find myself inevitably revisiting some of my favourite food-centred films to temporarily staunch my appetite. This would, however, prove to be a fatal mistake, as I quickly become engrossed in the electrifyingly fast-paced cooking scenes, followed by the rumbling in my stomach as dozens of mouthwatering delicacies grace my screen. So, by popular demand, here are my top three films for my fellow foodies. A warning in advance: please do not watch these movies on an empty stomach, or you will end up sad like me. 

No Reservations (2007) dir. Scott Hicks

The romantic comedy/drama follows Catherine Zeta Jones as Kate, a talented but intimidating head chef of a fine-dining restaurant in New York City’s Lower Manhattan. Kate is terrible at relationships but knows her way around recipes and kitchens, like the back of her hand. Forced to see a therapist by her boss, she would rather reveal the best ways to perfectly cook a quail — broiled, poached, or preferably roasted to a slight touch of pink, and accompanied with a truffle sauce — then discuss her feelings. Her predictable life is upended when her sister is involved in a fatal car accident. Trapped in a whirlwind of grief, the unexpected guardianship of her surviving niece, and the entrance of Nick, the newly hired, Pavarotti opera-loving, sous chef, who is determined to learn the secret of Kate’s saffron sauce, Kate is forced to confront that life is not a perfect recipe. 

 

The Hundred-Foot Journey (2014) dir. Lasse Hallström

Hassan Kadam is a young cook with a natural-born gift for recognizing the beauty of ingredients. He trained under the tutelage of his mother in Mumbai, India, before she was murdered. Displaced and burdened with heartbreak, the Kadam family builds a new life in Europe, eventually settling in a small but picturesque French village after a chance accident. Papa Kadam, the family’s patriarch, decides to introduce mouthwatering Indian dishes like tandoori, chicken masala, saag aloo, and more, to the rigid, escargot and ratatouille-obsessed, French community. What culminates is a clash of cultures: a fierce, but oftentimes hilarious, rivalry between the newly established Maison Mumbai, and the one-Michelin star classic French establishment a hundred feet across the street. Hassan’s commitment to his cultural food traditions, his mother’s legacy, and familial duty soon become entangled and challenged when he becomes attracted to French cooking and ingredients.

 

Toast (2010) dir. S.J. Clarkson

A truly underrated gem, Toast is based on the true childhood story of renowned British chef and food writer, Nigel Slater. Nigel’s passion for food was certainly not inherited from his parents, who insist on only eating food that comes out of a can. Up to that point, Nigel confessed that he’s only ever had vegetables that have been preserved in aluminium cylinders. A futile attempt, from a then nine years-old Nigel, to make spaghetti bolognese ends in disaster as Mr. and Mrs. Slater refuse to indulge in such an unfamiliar dish, to which the latter then suggests having toast for dinner instead. Soon, Nigel’s mother falls ill, leaving him alone with his ill-tempered father (I swear the family-member-dying-trope is just a coincidence). Nigel must then reckon with a child’s grief of losing his mother, just as Mrs. Potter enters the scene, seducing Mr. Slater with her cheeky antics and signature lemon meringue pies. The film’s cinematography is whimsical, capturing the nostalgia of the ‘60s in warm, bright pops of colour that elevate the delectability of the savoury dishes and baked goodies featured on screen, including sponge cakes, apple tarts, pork pies, and more, even somehow successfully making the disgusting jello-salads of the 20th century appear delicious.

The rivalry between The Ubyssey and The Peak

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Peak Web
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Two humour editors stand next to a microwave with spaghetti spilled all over the inside.
PHOTO: Zainab Salam / The Peak

By: Mason Mattu, Humour Editor

A few weeks ago, The Peak’s staff attended NASH, Canada’s National Student Journalism Conference. While my colleagues went into this weekend with professional development in mind — I had one goal and one goal only. To rid The Ubyssey of their humour editor.

Let me back up and tell you where this beef began. For three weeks leading up to NASH, I had been receiving mysterious messages on my cell phone from a random number with a Vancouver area code. All I was receiving were memes of Shrek and John Pork. One message was a video of someone kicking dirt all over a copy of The Peak flipped to the Humour section. I gasped. What kind of monster would do something like that? I gasped again. I had done the same thing to a copy of The Ubyssey a week before . . . Only a fellow humour editor could have done that. It was time for revenge. A quick email to the previous humour editor from The Ubyssey gave me an unlikely ally (apparently there’s some unresolved shit between them) — someone who hated the enshittification (literally) of the section. 

I looked around on the first day to see my fellow student journalists from across the country equipped with notebooks and copies of their papers to exchange. What losers. Me? I was wearing a bulletproof vest, a clown nose, and a microwave popcorn bag on my left arm. In my ears rang the tune of “Roar” by Katy Perry. No . . . I’m not weird. It was all part of the plan. 

“How many of you are journalists?” Andrew Mrozowski, president of Canadian University Press, posed during the opening ceremony. Everyone’s hands shot into the air except for two people. Me and this one person with googly eyes on her nose. She and I locked eyes. I had secured my target. 

Over the next few days, I pretended to take notes during workshops on topics such as “investigative journalism” and “how to kick your student union in the ass with it.” Yawn . . . until the moment I had been waiting for had come. The humour editor roundtable. I had a plan to eliminate the editor there and then, but we instead ended up joining forces against an anti-humour dude who was moderating the panel. In the most dire circumstances, sometimes our enemies become friends. We answered questions together, rebutted against the slander this guy was spewing, and even shared a few laughs. I had to remember my task. There was no room for distractions.  

As my counterpart and I walked the halls of Capilano, I realized that I had caught her in a moment of weakness. She had been taunting me with those videos, but perhaps she was a changed woman. I shook my head and blasted “Roar.” It was time to get revenge for my people. To establish dominance over the clearly inferior humour section. 

The previous humour editor was stationed by a roughly used microwave in a building. It was now or never. I ran over and opened the microwave, hoping that the soul of the humour editor would be sucked into the microwave. And so it did. The Ubyssey’s humour editor was pulled towards the stench and began laughing like she saw one of my totally funny humour pieces. She got sucked into the microwave portal and transformed into the remnants of spaghetti left in an old microwave. 

I watched in horror as the spaghetti exited the microwave, forming the blob of a human. “You fool. You can’t kill humour,” my Ubyssey colleague spat at me. It was just then that another Shrek meme arrived to my phone. Her and I both looked at each other confused. If she was standing right in front of me . . . who was sending the Shrek meme?

“How many of you are journalists?” Mrozowski asked the students. None of the crowd raised their hands. They were instead generating memes . . . I started receiving a million texts from the same number I thought was from The Ubyssey. It was then that my enemy and I realized that a rivalry had emerged. We will have to work together to defeat them. 

Blackness is not a monolith

By
Peak Web
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A photo of a kid showing the pages of a kids book to another kid.
PHOTO: IIONA VIRGIN / Unsplash

By: Noeka Nimmervoll, Staff Writer

In Canadian media, when Black individuals are celebrated, their cultural identity is simplified under this single social label, seemingly for the convenience and comfort of other Canadians. The author Esi Edugyan explained to The Tyee that “ideas of what it meant to be a Black person were these kinds of easily digested, maybe monotone depictions of Black characters on downgrade TV shows.”   

It’s time to get more specific about the unique backgrounds that make the Black community so diverse. For true celebration of Black excellence, the unique experiences and identities of Black individuals must be recognized and understood. 

Black is a term used in countries with Black diaspora communities, which often comprise many identities. In many families, the term Black is not used until Western influence and racial differentiation set in; before, they identify with terms such as Ethiopian, Algerian, and Nigerian. This westernization of Blackness seems to operate from the false concept of “white superiority,” both past and present. Historically, Black people in America have experienced heavy stereotyping and profiling that come from a lack of respect within a Eurocentric society, felt both individually and systemically. Creating the idea of a singular Black culture, and with it, a singular idea of a Black person, allows for prejudice and fearmongering to grow in a society. This is not to invalidate the experience and identity of those who are most aligned with being Black. 

Yet, the idea for a singular culture seems to be used for the comfort and simplicity of the rest of the population at the expense of a true acknowledgement of Black histories and experiences. Of course, it reflects the limited Black histories that are taught in BC about a multicultural community that comprises only 1% of BC. Often, because of this lack of Black population and historical education, Black children unfairly become the only representation of Black culture in their school settings, and face unique challenges in representing a falsely monolithic identity alone. It’s not their responsibility to be an emblem of Black culture — they should be allowed to just be kids. 

Identities like Black Canadian, Black Indigenous, and Caribbean Canadian are just a few of the identities that exist in Canada under the umbrella term of Blackness, displaying the many existing intersectional identities.

Intersectionality is a sociopolitical framework that points to the interconnected nature of social categories, wherein the experience of a Black Indigenous woman is not simply the addition of these separate experiences of being Black, Indigenous, and a woman. It provides language to talk about the unique experiences and oppressions that someone who exists at the intersection of these identities experiences. 

Instead of assuming a person is one thing or another, acknowledge their history. Your colleague could identify as Kenyan, Black, or both. Most importantly, the agency of divulging one’s identity should belong to the speaker. The norm should be a Black person sharing their unique story, if they feel like they want to. When you meet someone, no matter their race, have them tell you what their identity is and what they prefer to be called. 

This overarching diversity should be precisely what is celebrated during Black History Month and beyond, and should be a key part of the story when celebrating Black identities in BC.

Black spaces that feel like home

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Peak Web
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An illustration collage: a Black church congregation sitting and standing between wooden pews. A bowl of soup joumou, a brown broth with chunks of vegetables. A package green of hair beads. A package of box braid extensions.
ILLUSTRATIONS: Angela Shen / The Peak

By: C Icart, Co-Editor-in-Chief

Last December, I went home to see my family for the holidays, as I do every year. It was a great time, and after months away, the warmth of being in majority-Black spaces envelopes me. So let me let you in on what these spaces are and their historical significance in Black communities. 

The beauty supply store

When I go back to Ontario, my mom always asks if I want to take advantage and get my hair done. With a smaller Black population, there are fewer options and higher prices out here in BC. In the past couple of years, I’ve been choosing to rock the faux loc* look, but I was feeling box braids* this time. I needed to go to the beauty supply store to execute my vision. I didn’t realize not everyone knew about these stores until non-Black people started asking me where I got the hair for my box braids when I flew back to Vancouver.

Beauty supply stores are magical. Some even refer to them as “sacred spaces” for Black women.

While drugstore selection has improved, the beauty supply store is one of the only places that has a wide selection of products for Black hair. I walk past the relaxers* and beads my mom used to put in my hair as a kid, towards the seemingly never-ending wall of braiding hair. It comes in all colours and lengths. I called my mom over to help me decide on the shade of red and the number of packs I need (nothing is more annoying than returning to the beauty supply shop with your hair half done because you didn’t buy enough hair). Oh, and can’t forget the bonnet*! 

 

The braider’s house

Black hair salons and barber shops are some of my favourite places on earth (extra points for the ones with TVs playing Afrobeats music videos), but this time we were heading to my mom’s friend’s house. Many Black women take on braiding as a side hustle. On top of making money, they are keeping alive a cultural practice that has existed in Black communities for thousands of years. Different braiding styles differentiated African cultures, and then, the people taken and enslaved during the transatlantic slave trade adapted their hairstyles to their new conditions. This is the origin story of cornrows*, for example. Unlike the times when I’ve fallen asleep while my aunt braided my hair (the process takes hours), visiting this at-home braider was slightly more professional. I showed her the hair and explained the braids I wanted and her expert hands started moving at the speed of light. Lively conversation and cultural exchange (my mom and I are Haitian and the braider is Cameroonian) animated the space as family members walked in and out. Multiple people worked on my hair at once because they had a packed day (it was New Year’s Eve). Both my mom and I walked out looking absolutely fabulous. 

 

The Black church

As a Haitian Canadian queer and trans person, my relationship with Christianity has been . . . complicated. I was raised Christian, went to Catholic school, and went to church with my mom every Sunday. As I got older and learned more about history, social justice, and myself, I started asking the hard questions. What does it mean to adopt a religion that has been both used to justify the oppression of my people and support the Haitian Revolution? Can I pray next to people who use religion to justify homophobic views? But I also knew that this small local Haitian church was one of the only majority-Black spaces I had growing up. Monday–Friday, I was one of 2–3 Black kids in class feeling like an outcast. But on Sunday, I put on my nicest clothes to go to Sunday school with a bunch of kids that look like me.

We sang songs in French and Haitian Creole and socialized after the service. It was a great place for community and returning as an adult for Christmas and catching up with everyone filled my heart. My Sunday school teacher asked me if I still read the Bible I used to annotate as a kid. I answered with a non-committal smile. 

 

The kitchen

Home is where the bannann peze* is. My mom always makes this Haitian side dish for me when I come home because it’s my favourite, and I don’t like deep-frying in my poorly ventilated basement unit. Otherwise, cooking is one of my favourite hobbies. So, considering that I’ve learned how to make pad thai, scallion pancakes, and mushroom risotto from scratch, how is it that I barely know any Haitian recipes? The recipes can’t die with me. I’m sure my mom was thinking the same thing because she was very clear that this New Year, I was going to make and drink soup joumou. So I asked for her recipe, went online and read how other people make it and headed to the grocery store to gather the ingredients for my attempt at veganizing the iconic dish. On January 1, 1804, the Haitian Revolution culminated in independence from the French.

Soup joumou* used to be reserved for slave owners, so drinking the soup every year on January 1 is a powerful act. Prior to European colonization, the land now known as Haiti was inhabited by the Taíno people. When they became independent, Haitians got rid of the colonial name given by the French (Saint-Domingue) and replaced it with Ayiti, the Indigenous Taíno name. My parents say I put too many hot peppers in the soup, but I think it turned out just right! 

In past years, I think I approached Black History Month as an opportunity to learn and educate other people about Black Canadian history, because it tends to be overshadowed by African American history. After all, I’m a Black Canadian. But I’m also a second-generation immigrant so, for me, learning about Black history is learning more about Haitian history and celebrating my culture. So from me to you, Bon Mwa Istwa Nwa! Happy Black History Month! 

 

Glossary 

Bannann peze: This Haitian creole word directly translating to “pressed plantains” refers to fried plantains. Typically, Haitians will soak unripened plantain slices in salted water before frying them twice.

Bonnet: Typically made of satin or silk, bonnets are used to protect hair from the elements. Many people wear them to avoid the friction between their hair and their cotton pillow cases that would lead to hair breakage. 

Box braids: This is a hairstyle where hair extensions are braided with one’s hair. The term box refers to the square shape of the parting for each braid. 

Cornrows: This braided hairstyle can be traced back to 3000 BC “in the Horn and West coasts of Africa.” They were often used to communicate information like marital status or religion. During the slave trade, they were sometimes used strategically to illustrate escape routes. In some cases, they were used as a place to hide seeds that could be used to plant food to survive after they escaped. Today, they function as a common protective style with a rich history in Black communities. 

Faux locs: This is a hairstyle that imitates the look of locs with hair extensions. Locs (sometimes known as dreadlocks) are a hairstyle where sections of hair are matted together to “create a rope-like appearance.” The word locs tends to be preferred over dreadlocks because the term is believed to originate from slave owners calling the hair of enslaved people “dreadful” when it matted after months on ships. 

Relaxer: This is a chemical treatment that permanently straightens curly hair. Relaxers have been fluctuating in and out of style in Black communities since the 1940s. There has been research coming out about the health risks related to wearing relaxers. 

Soup joumou: Blended calabaza squash and Haitian epis (a blended seasoning paste made with garlic, scallions, thyme, and parsley) serve as a base for this iconic soup. It is then customary to add ingredients like potatoes, cabbage, beef, pasta, and leeks.

My musings on Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner at the Vancouver Public Library

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IMAGE: Courtesy of Columbia Pictures

By: Jonah Lazar, Staff Writer

Throughout Black History Month, the Vancouver Public Library is running “Black Brilliance on Screen,” a film series taking place on Friday afternoons to explore prejudice, discrimination, and Black identity. 

February 13’s programme was the star-studded, 1967 rom-com Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, featuring Sidney Poitier, Katharine Hepburn, Katharine Houghton, and Spencer Tracy. This film is a snapshot of an afternoon when a rich, young, white woman brings home her Black fiancé to meet her parents, and to seek out their blessing for them to get married. The film details how her parents, particularly her father, come to terms with their daughter loving a Black man. Throughout the film, the father, played by Tracy, battles with what he thought were his liberal values and his deep-seated racism. 

This film definitely shows its age when grappling with certain themes; the acceptance of the Black fiancé is largely hinged on the fact that he is a doctor and a professor, among other laudable achievements.

In a way, it seems that this character was turned into an exemplary figure, as this was the only way in which audiences would sympathize with him. The film also leaves much to be desired in the way that the men speak to, and treat, women. 

For me, the most impactful scene of the film is the closing sequence without a doubt. Tracy delivers one last speech in which his character finally comes to terms with the situation, and chooses to support his daughter and fiancé on their journey. While the speech within the film is very touching, the events happening behind the scenes add a layer of gravity, which bleeds through quite visibly. Tracy had been dealing with severe health problems for years leading up to the film, and this scene was his last before he passed away just 17 days later. This final scene continually pans to a heartbroken Hepburn, who plays his wife in the film, but had also been his long-time lover and friend for 26 years. The love and the pain in their eyes as they try to hold it together to finish the scene are truly palpable, and add a depth to this film, which cannot be manufactured. I had been far more critical of this film up until this scene, as prior to the ending it felt like something of a run-of-the-mill vintage movie. However this ending sequence was emotionally captivating and made me feel as though I was watching my grandparents dance together for the last time. Despite certain themes such as sexism and elitism in this movie, I think the end sequence depicting the bittersweet tragedy and loss of these two people who had loved each other for such a long time certainly makes it worth watching.

Personal retrospectives from the As You Are: Celebrating Asian Artists

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Peak Web
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PHOTO: Maya Barillas Mohan / The Peak

By: Maya Barillas Mohan, Staff Writer

Nestled in a repurposed motel painted in bright colours right on Main Street, 15 minutes from the train, One More Life gallery calls quiet attention to itself. Open until February 28, As You Are: Celebrating Asian Artists features more than 30 local Asian artists. I went on behalf of The Peak on Valentine’s Day and met the co-founders of the gallery, Flavia Chan, and Daniel Yang. 

Enclosed in a small space converted from a reception lobby, the gallery has a small footprint. There are 33 pieces, each by a different artist, and the only restriction was size. Chan says that “this is a show for them to create and express with full freedom however they want.”

I also reached out to Kathy Mak, a featured artist and accomplished SFU alum. Having contributed to The Peak as a student new to creating work, Mak has published, performed, tabled, and judged artwork in the nine years since. She urged viewers to think about their “own roots and journey,” while contemplating her work, teaching me the Chinese saying “勿忘初心,” (wù wàng chūxīn), which roughly translates to “don’t forget your initial heart.”  

The gallery featured an abundance of artists, styles, and interpretations Mak described as “inspiring.

” Art aggregates one into the community, forging a connection to “our respective cultures, other artists, and passersby.”  

 — Kathy Mak, featured artist

Peering at each piece, many in experimental mediums, I thought about my own Southeast Asian heritage. Being mixed, I experienced a variety of cultural traditions cobbled together as I grew up. As an adult I’ve lost touch with some of them. So many of the paintings evoked something nostalgic and sentimental as I gazed at each one.

Mak confided that this was her first gallery experience, cherishing the opportunity to share her input on “what it means to be Asian.” Brought to life in the work displayed, Mak incorporated memories of her recent trip to Macao. She characterized the local architecture as “tight-knit and rustic, but [with] a sense of realness to it.” The process of artistic creation allows Mak to “observe, appreciate, and connect with [her] roots deeper.” 

Prominent against a pristine white wall, much is communicated through the colour or a lack thereof in each work. Mak says colour can “transcend a piece to a different level,” but is adamant that there is beauty and charm in black-and-white when a viewer lingers. Mak’s architectural sketches are monochrome, allowing Mak to capture “memorable, happy” moments — her contribution to As You Are is neatly inked on stark white paper. The piece provides clean outlines, and the viewer can wonder where the light fell as the artist gazed upon the reference.

The As You Are exhibition was an immersive experience. Attractions like this are crucial for creating community through production and viewership of the art itself. Interactive workshops make arts and crafts more accessible. Within the narrow display space, I felt completely immersed in something collaborative and expressive. While only open on Saturdays, the exhibition is a must see.

As You Are: Celebrating Asian Artists will be on display at One More Life gallery until February 28.

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Simon Fraser University’s independent student newspaper since 1965.

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For promotional inquiries: [email protected]

© The Peak Publications Society

Simon Fraser University’s independent student newspaper since 1965.

For advertising inquiries: [email protected]
For promotional inquiries: [email protected]

© The Peak Publications Society