C/O Jessica Yang

Holding space for the stories closest to our hearts 

One of the first articles I wrote for the Silhouette was for the 2020 Sex and the Steel City issue. As I struggled to come up with an idea, I remember feeling daunted and underqualified to tackle the topics at the heart of the issue. I agonized over that article, rewriting it half a dozen times before I got a draft I was even remotely happy with. But after, I also appreciated the space writing that article offered me to think about the questions of love, intimacy and relationships—and then the space the issue offered to read the stories and thoughts of others as well.  

Just like that early article, I’ve agonized over this issue, too. When I started planning it, I felt just as daunted and underqualified as I did before. Sex and the Steel City is a unique special issue, close to the hearts of so many people and I wanted to do justice to that, but I didn’t know what I had to bring to the issue. 

And I kept thinking about the space that first article gave me, the spaces I’ve strived to offer interviewees as a reporter and my writers as an editor, and I thought about the unique, wonderful safety inherent in community — in a space where you are free to not only be yourself but also able to even just figure out who you are to begin with, without having to worry about protecting yourself or the expectations of others and knowing you have people in your corner who see you and will support you. 

This same sense of safety, of community, is a key part of Sex and the Steel City. It’s what allows this issue to offer the space it does to not only its contributors to share the stories closest to their hearts, but also to its readers to feel seen and heard, to know they are not alone. In this year’s issue, we’ve tried to honour the importance of community, highlight the ones that have built us up as well as those we’ve built through love, intimacy and relationships. 

Sex and the Steel City is a community project, a true labour of love. Thank you to everyone who contributed to this issue, who shared their stories and their artwork; it has been a privilege to hear your stories over these past few weeks. Thank you to everyone on staff who wrote for and created and organized this issue. This will be the largest issue of the Silhouette to date and it wouldn’t have been possible without you. 

For everyone who reads this issue, though, I hope you feel some of that same sense of community, too. I hope you can see yourself somewhere in these pages, even if it’s just in one image or one story, and know you are not alone. 

But if you don’t, because I also know there are stories missing from the pages of this issue, stories still to be told, I hope you know there is still space for you here, just as you are. I like to think that’s why we do this issue every year, so everyone has a chance to tell their story.  

What does it mean to love when you feel lost? 

By: Aadhila Nadira, Contributor 

In Western movies, the story flows perfectly. The cushioned Caucasian teenager realizes he loves his best friend and they come out happily with outrageous shows of acceptance. 

For me, there are three key moments that explain my coming out story. A film critic would give me a 1/5 star for allowing the problem to be drawn out for so long.  

The first was at age nine, when my parents took me to New York City. Two men had walked by my family. They were almost exactly like my fathers — age, style of clothing and height. Theoretically, they should’ve been insignificant, two in a crowd of so many. The only difference was their hands were linked, bodies huddled together.

What had stood out to me at age nine though was the unmistakable look my parents gave them. The weight of the stare had felt personal — as if I was being scolded.  

That was the first time I’d seen people like me. 

The second was at age eleven, in a girl's change room. There were thirty girls scattered around the unusually small room with a constant stream of noise — that is until the words “I’m bisexual” echo through the room. It’s the first time I hear of such a thing. It was also the first time my mom heard of it. My mom had fixed me with a look, one I had seen at age nine, and told me to avoid hanging out with her. Her justification was that the girl may “give it” to me if I did.  

That was the first time I had hoped it was only my parent who would look at me like that.   

The third was at age thirteen, in science class. My friend told me she’d finally found a boy she liked. But she wouldn’t tell me his name, not until I’d tell her the name of the boy I liked. In a strange moment of bravery, I’d told my friend her name. She pretended as if it was totally normal until she told my classmates. She said it was because “people deserved to know before they like you.” 

That was the first time I’d realized that I would always be looked at like that. 

Quite honestly, the stare my mom (and classmates) had given me had worked. Back then, I had believed that I was truly a flawed person and that this was all a test. If I could ignore it then I would be loved wholly by those around me. I had fit the rigid mold I told myself I loved. 

This need to suppress held me hostage through my teenage years.

I kissed boys I felt indifferent towards and cut out the girl who had kissed me softly. I’d watched her move cities and then schools and thought it was a blessing from God. Once again I had gently applied another bandage on the cracks that had become a gaping hole.   

It was a month after my eighteenth birthday when I told my newly made university friends I thought a girl in our cohort was undeniably cute. I’m not entirely sure why I told them, I suspect because at that point they were all pixelated profiles in a group chat. I reasoned that they wouldn’t tell my community about the thoughts I had. What threw me was that they all told me to message her, that I wouldn’t know how it would turn out unless I let myself reach out. 

Despite all the comfort, I had been conditioned to think it was all a big test, that if I indulged then I would once again lose the little friends I had. So, with all the shame I held within myself for voicing my true thoughts, I had begun talking to a boy who likely regarded me poorly. I told all my friends back home and in Hamilton, desperate to prove that I was in fact keeping to my mold. I didn't want to break. 

It was when my friends began to show subtle waves of support, trying their best to show their love without overwhelming me, that I let myself hope that maybe I could be myself. Until the age of nineteen, I had truly believed the entire world hated people that loved beyond the binary.  

The way in which I was raised has, and will always, define a part of me. It’s the way I choose to wield it that defines what I can become. I’m still trying to understand the power of it all, taking it one day at a time. Sometimes not every story starts with understanding identity. Sometimes stories are started by letting yourself truly feel openly.  

C/O Amazon, Andrew Mrozowski/Editor-in-Chief

True love is at the  heart of each and every one 

There is something that only true love can bring out in someone. That sparkle in the eye and a hope that one day, we will meet the one. The one that will sweep us off our feet and bring us our happily ever after.  

It may sound cliché but reading these stories reminds me of everything love means to me. It reminds me of that first love feeling, the one you can’t stop thinking about. It reminds me of the perfect love and endings one finds in fairy tales, stories where the world seems to fall into place. It reminds me of the imperfections that make love real. And it reminds me that no matter what, love is always worth fighting for.  

These stories I’m sharing with you are some of my favourite stories of love. I’ve read these books so many times and each time I do they are even more beautiful than the last time I read them. I hope you’ll find a story below that will pique your interest and remind you of everything love can be. 

What If It’s Us by Becky Albertalli & Adam Silvera 

Set in the heart of the city that never sleeps, this book tells the story of Arthur, a believer in fate, the universe and love at first sight and Ben, a universe skeptic with only heartache and a box of his ex-boyfriend's things. They cross paths at a post office, of all places. When a missing connections poster turns into a not-so-perfect first date with two do-overs, things don’t go as planned for the two. But somehow, they make it through. And in the end, no one really knows what the universe has in store. Maybe nothing, but maybe everything. Outing the most closeted romantics, this story will have you falling in love for what feels like the first time all over again.  

“I guess that’s any relationship. You start with nothing and maybe end with everything.” 

― Becky Albertalli and Adam Silvera, What If It's Us 

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz 

Ari lives with a family that shows little affection and spends most of his time in his self-created world of doubt. Dante lives with two loving parents and is talented at almost everything he does. Two seemingly opposite individuals who somehow manage to transform one another’s life. Sometimes it takes someone special to uncover those parts of you that you never even knew were there. Sometimes it takes someone special to show you the world in an entirely new way. And sometimes you just need someone special to make everything feel right. In this beautifully and intricately woven story, you will find yourself at a loss for words as you rediscover yourself all over again. 

“I wondered what that was like, to hold someone’s hand. I bet you could sometimes find all of the mysteries of the universe in someone’s hand.” 

― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe 

Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli 

16-year-old closeted Simon Spiers can’t believe his rotten luck when his secret emails with Blue, the only person Simon feels he can confide in, fall into the hands of the class clown, Martin. Now on the wrong end of blackmail, Simon’s whole world and identity are turned upside down. Being forced to choose between keeping his own sexual identity and his happiness with Blue a secret or betraying his closest friends, Simon will have to figure out who he is and what he stands for before the rest of the world chooses for him. Known to many as the award-winning film Love, Simon, you will be roped into this emotional roller coaster of a novel, being left in awe of everything true love can accomplish.  

“He talked about the ocean between people. And how the whole point of everything is to find a shore worth swimming to.” 

― Becky Albertalli, Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda 

Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston 

From the moment Alex, son of the first female president of the United States, met Prince Henry, heir to the throne of England, their relationship has been far from diplomatic, to say the least. After all, overly perfect princes can be such snobs. But when one argument gets out of hand, the very relationship of their two nations is put at stake and Alex and Prince Henry are forced to damage control. After all, how hard could forcing a few friendly smiles be? But sometimes there is a charming side to people the camera doesn’t always show and maybe Alex was too quick to judge someone he might have more in common with than he first thought. In reading this story that will have you grinning and laughing, there’s no doubt you’ll be left dreaming about your own happily ever after.  

“That's the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.” 

― Casey McQuiston, Red, White & Royal Blue 

How an online dating initiative offered Mac students a chance at love. Kind of.

_{C/O Dan Gold}

As Reading Week came to a close, we also experienced everyone’s least favourite holiday: Valentine’s Day. I am just joking, of course. After all, what is not to love about enviously eyeing a happy couple as you munch on your discounted Valentine’s chocolates and revel in your own loneliness?

Despite the seemingly impossible odds, it turns out that love is indeed in the air for both our single and “it's complicated” McMaster University students after all.

The Aphrodite Project, named after the ancient Greek goddess of love and beauty, has made its debut to hundreds of hopelessly romantic McMaster students.

This mainly experimental and student-led initiative matches you to an algorithmically perfect soulmate or to a platonic friend if you so wish. This left me thinking about an interesting question regarding this project on our campus: will the Aphrodite Project be successful?

This left me thinking about an interesting question regarding this project on our campus: will the Aphrodite Project be successful?

On one hand, this opportunity seems harmless and too good to pass up, but on the flip side, there is the possibility of facing cold, hard disappointment. Personally, I hold the latter view, given my ever-growing disenchantment with online dating apps despite the current situation of students’ social lives.

The Aphrodite Project at McMaster was doomed to begin with given the uneven ratio of the sexes that have signed up, as well as how it did not play out as planned among other larger universities which even led to students even organizing their “post-Aphrodite project” dating profiles using other platforms.

So far, the student opinion regarding this initiative resembles the time-tested issues that are common with online dating in general. The Aphrodite Project, or otherwise presented at McMaster as “Match at Mac,” claims to use a Nobel Prize-winning algorithm, which happens to be the exact same algorithm already being used in other existing dating platforms such as Tinder: the Gale-Shapley algorithm for predicting stable marriages. 

However, there is a reason why all modern online love stories have not necessarily ended in long-term happiness in real life. The Gale-Shapley algorithm is proven to be heavily biased in favour of one sex over the other with the flip of a couple of variables but traditionally remains male-favoured as originally programmed.

The algorithm envisions a scenario where one sex is “married” to their top choice of partner, whereas that chosen partner is “married” to their last choice, proving its clear bias depending on how the algorithm was initially set up.

While the Aphrodite Project has not shared the specifics of its match-making technology for one to assess the exact impacts on the majority of the dating population, the outcome could not have been optimal at Mac given the noticeably high female participation rate compared to male.

Students were destined to lose out either way as the variables needed for projects like this were already skewed and do not foster an environment for the algorithm to have worked to its full potential. 

Thus, the clickbait of the Nobel prize-winning algorithm was slightly misleading and perhaps raised the hopes of many a love-lorn Mac student too soon.

I believe a further inherent problem behind such initiatives is that it gives whatever matches were made what seems like an already established connection. That way, participants feel even more disappointed going into interactions with their matches when enthusiasm is not reciprocated.

Regardless of its flaws, the Aphrodite Project provided an opportunity of light-hearted fun and possible love for Mac students stuck at home, which if anything, brought a smile to our faces in these dark times. If you did not find your soulmate through Mac’s Aphrodite Project, fear not, as a world of romance awaits you once our sexy campus is up and running again.

Reflections on accompanying loved ones in pain

By: Serena Habib, Contributor

cw: Mentions of self-harm and mental illness

In The Vampire Diaries, the vampires had an inner mechanism called a “humanity switch.” This allowed them to turn off any emotions that made them human so they could completely and carelessly follow their desires.

While I am grateful for my sense of empathy every single day, I sometimes wish I had a little knob I could turn to decrease the pain love brings when people around me are hurting.

While I am grateful for my sense of empathy every single day, I sometimes wish I had a little knob I could turn to decrease the pain love brings when people around me are hurting.

However, empathizing with others allows us to build connections and make a difference in the lives of people around us. 

In an interview with Self magazine, Gottman Relationship Institute Co-Founder Julie Schwartz Gottman said that a person’s ability to empathize with others is what makes friendships last.

Psychologists Daniel Goreman and Paul Ekman outline three forms of empathy: cognitive empathy, the ability to understand another person’s perspective; emotional empathy, the ability to share the feelings of another person; and compassionate empathy, which allows us to understand the other person and moves us to take action to help them.

But what happens when your friend has been suffering severely for years from a mental illness? You can see from their perspective, you are agonizing in their pain and you have already tried everything you can do to help, but it doesn’t feel like it makes a difference.

I am scared. I am tired. I dream about her dying and I awake to her messages about how they are hurting themselves. Yet, if my friend was dying from cancer, I would stay with her until their dying day. How is it any different with a mental illness?

I am scared. I am tired.

The definition of love as understood in our society can be summed up by the famous Bible passage from 1 Corinthians. I think about that quote when I think about our friendship.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.”

I am being patient and I am being kind. I do not want to be friends with anyone else. I do not think I am a better friend. I am not prideful about what I have done in the friendship for I know we have helped one another.

“It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” I try not to be angry, but it enrages me to see people suffering so gravely due to circumstances they cannot control. 

“Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.” I am grateful for the honesty in our relationship and I want to be there as a listening ear. Our friendship was built upon rawness and mutual support. 

“It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” I always refrain from saying things that will be triggering or telling my friend how much this is hurting me because she already feels guilty for it. I do not give up and I never will give up on her being okay.

I always get excited at little glimmers of hope when she messages me about recovery or when we text about mundane things all day, but then I am dejected when the illness re-emerges and I once again see myself losing my best friend.

I get swept up in this whirlwind of pain and hope and confusion and I feel like I am trapped by the friendship that has brought me so much life and liberation.

I get swept up in this whirlwind of pain and hope and confusion and I feel like I am trapped by the friendship that has brought me so much life and liberation.

But then I realize that friendship goes both ways. I am not being honest with myself or patient with myself. I am expecting myself to do everything perfectly and blaming myself if anything goes wrong.

I need to follow these rules for myself. I need to be honest when I need time to put on my oxygen mask so we can both make it through these tumultuous times. Seeing as I can’t flip a switch to make this change, I’m not quite sure how to do this, but I am working on it.

Sometimes the most important relationships in your life aren’t your own

One of our favourite family movies is White Christmas. Every year since we were little, my sister and I would attempt to emulate the singing sister duo from the film (sadly without their spectacular outfits) by belting out their song, “Sisters”: “[L]ord help the Mister who comes between me and my sister and Lord help the sister who comes between me and my man!”.

With me being three and her five at the time, the notion of a “man” coming between us seemed completely absurd; our sisterhood was ironclad and eternal.

Fast forward 14 years and the “mister” had arrived in the ominous shape of my sister’s first boyfriend. I met him for the first time when he and my sister came to pick me up — a power imbalance I found deeply frustrating (after all, how could I put him in his place when he was my ride home?).

Completely unprepared for what felt like the most important interview of my life, I interrogated him for a full half-hour. Needless to say, when the car ride was over, I didn’t know what to think of him.

But I knew one thing for sure: this boy had come to take my sister away from me. She could only love one of us best and he was vying for the top spot. This was a state-of-emergency, DEFCON-1 level crisis. I began wartime preparations.

But I knew one thing for sure: this boy had come to take my sister away from me. She could only love one of us best and he was vying for the top spot. This was a state-of-emergency, DEFCON-1 level crisis. I began wartime preparations.

People who say big brothers are protective have clearly never met a little sister. Over the following months, I turned into an amateur private investigator (more Clouseau than Sherlock, I must admit).

Every time we met, I would theatrically narrow my eyes and badger him with questions, certain that I would finally uncover a fact to prove his complete and irrefutable unsuitability for my sister. I was deeply unsuccessful, to put it mildly.

To my horror, I found out that he was actually kind of funny. Well, that wasn’t going to work for me — I was the funny one in our sisterhood. If she was busy laughing at his jokes, she wouldn’t have any time for mine.

He also turned out to be rather hard working and was really nice to her. But aside from stealing her clothes and periodically destroying all her makeup (trivial concerns, really), so was I!

However, the more I talked to him, the more I realized that I just couldn’t reconcile the picture I had of him in my head as a rude, good-for-nothing interloper who would do nothing but cause my sister pain with the reality that he was actually a nice, upstanding guy. In matters of the heart, though, reason counts for very little.

Failing to discover incriminating information, I turned to less sophisticated methods to scare him off: I became really, really mean.

I would call him nicknames to our family friends, I made rude faces whenever he was brought up in conversation and I even made a (losing) bet with my parents about how long he was going to last (the shameful reminder of which lives on in my Google Calendar forever).

I snidely informed my sister one day, “I can’t understand what you see in him”.

“That’s because you’re immature,” she replied.

I had become so cruel, angry and resentful that I barely recognized myself.  Understandably, my sister became upset over why I was treating her boyfriend so badly; what had he ever done to me? My mom told her I was just jealous. 

The truth is that she was right. But I wasn’t jealous of her, I was jealous of him.

Growing up, my sister was my idol. She was the prettiest, smartest and most confident person I knew and in my mind, I held her atop a pedestal.

Her attention and affection were necessary for my personal validation and I worried that he would take that from me. Was I really so replaceable to her?

Was I really so replaceable to her?

One day I walked into my sister’s room and I saw dozens of pictures of her and her boyfriend on the wall. She was beaming in every one of them. In that moment I realized my incredible selfishness.

I thought he was the one damaging our sisterhood, but in reality, I was the one who had inflicted the harm by denying her the right to affection beyond my own. It was a tight fit, but there could be room for three peas in this pod after all.

In case you thought this was a Hallmark movie ending, I’ll tell you that I haven’t fully gotten over my sisterly identity crisis quite yet. Just the other day I had a rather traumatizing “dream” (it was definitely a nightmare) that they got married — clearly, I still need some time before I can consider taking our relationship to the next level.

My sister and her boyfriend are still going strong and seeing them now makes me thankful that my meanspirited meddling didn’t ruin a good thing.

Even more importantly, I learned that sometimes the most difficult, life-changing relationships you will experience aren’t even your own. The “mister” wasn’t the villain in our sister-saga. I was — and we all know the bad guy never wins.

By: Serena Habib, Contributor

Butter slathered on toast during mornings with grandpa,

Soccer games followed by cotton candy ice cream,

Pilsbury croissant scented moments with grandma,

Family Second Cup runs for hot chocolate with whipped cream.

Sleepovers with strawberries wrapped in homemade crepes,

Love in grandma’s curries, which made them preeminent,

Candid photos from feeding each other birthday cake,

Little did she know that a maelstrom was imminent.

Love stopped. Love shuddered. Love got lost in the rain.

Food led to fights over mealtime. Love was enveloped in pain.

Mentally preparing herself for Christmas baking,

Running the chocolate chip calories away,

Laughing at dinner while silently aching.

Food-flavoured love was simply not okay.

She watched the boy she loved post pictures with his loved one

Sharing desserts and dinners she would never be able to eat,

She wanted so desperately to be lovable,

But love drifted away, perpetually out of reach.

She had lost love: she did not deserve it.

She would only have the muffin when she aced her test,

A test with a framework built upon inadequacy,

Years of high standards, and pressure to be the best.

It was love in her aunt’s heart when she tried to feed her oil,

Though she really needed buckets of self-acceptance instead,

From her father’s love formed a focus on body image:

A love that filled family vacations with dread.

Her mother’s love induced carbohydrated commands,

Threats that saved her from withering away,

With loathing she ate her way back to rationality —

This led to a love that would never go astray.

Pancakes with peanut-butter mornings of hope,

Cotton candy ice cream to celebrate her nineteenth,

Love for herself, her family, her journey —

Though her journey might never be truly complete.

For sometimes she feels herself slipping through her fingers,

She sees her reflection and bursts into tears,

But then she grabs some hot cocoa and her purple pen,

Reminding herself to push through her fears.

And sometimes she can’t, and her family is hurt,

As if she doesn’t love them by not trying the homemade cake,

Or they commend her on her weight gain at Christmas dinner,

And a mended part of her begins to break.

But love is eternal; it’s patient and enduring.

With each winter, it reveals itself more.

Meals filled with laughter and fond reminiscing

Are love’s subtle ways of winning her war.

Artist: Edwin Thomas, @edwinthomas__

Title: his last valentine

Medium: single-line digital drawing with watercolour

Description: A first glance, the drawing appears to portray a man giving his girlfriend flowers. However, the details show both individuals with tears leaving their eyes, trying to keep themselves composed in front of each other. It depicts a failed attempt at saving a relationship by making an effort for Valentine's Day. While the flowers appear to be a nice gesture, both individuals know that their relationship is not going to last for much longer. In a way, the flowers are an apology to his girlfriend for his lack of effort in the relationship.

Artist: Jenna Iacobucci, @jennaiacobucci

Title: Pose me (1-5)

Medium: Ink illustration

Description: As with many, growing up with a conservative mindset brings a lot to overcome. But why should we be so scared to appease others? Each person offers a different experience, different backstory, different perspective, different strengths and different struggles — and it's wonderful. If only everyone could appreciate the beautiful composition of shapes they are.

Artist: Jenna Iacobucci, @jennaiacobucci

Title: Comfort (1-2)

Medium: Photography

Description: Do what you need to do to make yourself feel confident. From personal experience — turtle necks, baggy sweaters, long pants and censorship has only brought me delayed anxiety and stress in relations. I truly push for everyone to understand themselves. Don't hide.

Artist: Steffi Arkilander, @peachlily.png

Title: love is domesticity

Medium: Digital

Description: 2SLGBTQIA+ love is often fetishized and over-sexualized. However, 2SLGBTQIA+ love is so much more than how it’s stereotyped — it can be soft, gentle, kind. In this piece, I wanted to highlight the importance of soft, domestic 2SLGBTQIA+ love. I took inspiration from watching and reading about 2SLGTBQIA+ in media and also from my own life experiences to come up with this piece. “love is domesticity” highlights a queer couple watching television together and cuddling during a night in.

Artist: Emelia Da Silva, @emeliainbloom

Medium: Photography

We are stronger together when we love one another

_{C/O Jon Tyson on Unsplash}

In 2020, I was given the insurmountable task as Arts and Culture Editor to create and produce the Silhouette’s annual love and positivity issue, Sex and the Steel City. A tradition for each person in my role, the beginning of SATSC dates back at least 10 years ago.

While it has evolved over the years with each A&C Editor giving it their own spin, the core values remain the same: to give the McMaster and Hamilton communities a creative outlet to talk about sex, body postivity, identity and love. In recent years, SATSC has focused on diversity, self-identity and this year, we focus on education — both formal and informal.

Over the last three years, we have seen a regressional way of thinking from our provincial government. One of the first acts that Premier Doug Ford enacted when elected was to repeal the then-new sex education curriculm.

Updated in 2015 by Kathleen Wynne’s Liberal government, this was the first revision sex-ed had seen since 1998. Topics surrounding 2SLGBTQIA+ communities, sexting, gender identity and consent were added to better keep up with modern values. Instead, the Ford government proposed a new curriculum; however, after much lobbying by students, little was changed.

In the United States and around the world, homophobia and transphobia still run rampant. Sex work continues to be criminalized. Many still wonder if they should teach their kids about “taboo” subjects. While these are issues that are larger than any one person, these are topics that are explored in this year’s Sex and the Steel City. Our way of acknowledging and bringing awareness to these issues that continue to plague society.

Now more than ever, we need unity. We live in a divided world. We live on a divided continent. We live in a divided nation. We live in a divided province. Now is the time to take action, to stand up for what you believe in. Now is the time to unite (albeit virtually) to create change and to be a voice for the voiceless.

Sex and the Steel City is a small annual reminder of that unity that we should all strive for. I hope you take the time to read through the 36 pages of this extended special issue. May this issue serve as a reminder: a reminder that we are stronger together when we love one another.

What happens when your sister starts dating your close friend?

By: Niko Haloulos, Contributor

When my sister started dating one of my closest friends, I felt like I was looking into a kaleidoscope. I was distracted by the twisting shapes of my emotions, thoughts and feelings, but as time went on, I decided to look at their relationship as a full, unified pattern and it changed everything.

When we were allowed to see a few friends outdoors, I hosted a 19^th birthday party. As smoke and laughter filled the air, I peeked over to see that my friend had snuck into the chair beside my sister. I guess they had been talking the entire night, even though they had never met before.

I woke up the next day and realized that my sister was acting giddier than normal. When I asked her about it, she simply said, “You know, if your friend there ever asks for my number, you can give it to him.”

Suddenly I realized that my friend and my sister had begun to develop something that they both thought was special. I couldn’t hinder that so when I met up with my friend a few days later, I offered to give him my sister’s phone number. He accepted.

I did not think much about the consequences of setting them up. It seemed like pretty standard procedure, just passing along a phone number and encouraging my friend to ask her out on a date.

At the time of the party, my sister was only a few months removed from a gruelling breakup so this felt like a good way for her to meet someone for whom I had the utmost respect, trust and love. For my friend, it was a chance for him to meet someone who would help him become a better man. So why did I have such a problem with it?

My sister was only a few months removed from a gruelling breakup so this felt like a good way for her to meet someone for whom I had the utmost respect, trust and love. For my friend, it was a chance for him to meet someone who would help him become a better man. So why did I have such a problem with it?

I began to close myself off from the two of them and I felt myself disliking my friend for a few weeks. I constantly reminded myself that I had offered to share my sister’s phone number and that I had known that he would be a really, really good match for her. Even though I knew this deep down, on the surface I could not help but feel like they were pulling themselves away from me.

I knew I could trust my friend but suddenly, like the flip of a switch, I went into protective brother mode. I couldn’t look at my friend without wondering how he was going to treat my sister poorly and though I know she can stand up for herself, it felt necessary.

Whenever my friend would come to the house, it felt like my sister and I were fighting over him. I would only be allowed in the basement for a certain amount of time because eventually she would ask to be alone with him.

I would throw the “Well, he was my friend first. Why can’t I talk to him?” and my sister would become frustrated. I said passive-aggressive things about their relationship and got angry whenever she said he was coming over.

Soon enough, my sister became worried that I had a problem with their relationship and the anxiety in her expression when she asked me was devastating.

I didn’t own anybody. My sister is strong and knows her own worth, but for her to suddenly think that she would be offending me was a wake-up call.

My friend, too, became worried that he had crossed some kind of line. He asked my sister if I was truly unhappy about them being together and said he wished I would talk to him personally. When my sister told me what he had said, I was saddened.

I had been blinded so much by my pride that I forgot to consider one thing: happiness. Being with my friend had brought a sparkle to my sister’s eyes that had been absent for a long time. My friend, too, slowly began to change, becoming more mature.

I had been blinded so much by my pride that I forgot to consider one thing: happiness. Being with my friend had brought a sparkle to my sister’s eyes that had been absent for a long time. My friend, too, slowly began to change, becoming more mature.

After long talks with my sister and my friend, we reached a better place. We still had some small riffs, but the instances of disagreement became more lighthearted, rather than rooted in jealousy and regret.

When he came over to see my sister, I knew my only role was as the brother. When my friend and I planned to hang out, I didn’t discourage him from saying hi to my sister.

I’ve realized that all three of us have become stronger emotionally by sharing this love that propels itself in different directions. My trust in my friend has grown exponentially because of how he has treated my sister.

While we’ve always been close, I have been able to communicate more openly with my sister since her relationship with my friend started.

The awkwardness took time to clear and I had to communicate very openly about how I felt. Now I’m still standing in the middle ground, figuring out how to equally distribute my time between my friend and my sister and not get in the way of something truly special.

Their relationship is not a violation, but more of an invitation for me to explore just how appreciative I can be about something that is so genuine, pure and beautiful.