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By: Sasha Dhesi

A few weeks ago, my mom left the country to visit some relatives. With me in Hamilton and my brother juggling university, work and a research job, neither of us are home particularly often, leaving my dad by himself. My dad started calling me at least twice a day, and began asking me what he was supposed to do for fun now that his wife and kids were too busy for him. I had to confront something I’d never really considered before: my dad’s just as needy as I am.

I never really viewed my parents as people who needed me in any way. Sure, I help out around the house and take care of my parents, but it always felt more one-sided, and that I needed them for support and care. After all, while they’re a constant in my life, I’ve only been in theirs for a fraction of the time. I was lucky enough to have parents who nurtured a healthy environment for me to grow in and I saw them as superheroes, making it difficult for me to see them as people who may feel insecure from time to time.

Chances are, growing up, you saw your parents as superheroes in some sense. If you were lucky enough to live in a healthy and stable home, they took care of you and most of the problems in your life. Your parents most likely hid most issues that were affecting your family so that you could continue living a carefree childhood. But, as you grow up, this changes. Now that you are an adult, you have to face the reality that your parents are just normal people who happened to have raised you. As your parents age, you may feel the onus of their care fall onto you, their next of kin, but if you’re anything like me, that also conflicts with your growing desire for autonomy.

It’s well known that university marks the beginning of a slow break away from your parents. Even those who opt to live at home for their undergraduate degree find themselves staying later and later on campus, usually juggling school, work and a growing social life. This usually brings forth the inevitable internal dilemma of leaving your  older parents on their own. My parents are both in their fifties and suffer from several chronic ailments. They both have histories of heart disease and have lost close friends and loved ones to cardiac arrest. One particular reason I have to go home sometimes is to just make sure that they’re doing okay; something I’ll admit is a little irrational. But as we get older, the dynamic between our parents undeniably changes.

I’m going to level with you: I have no idea how to deal with this. Do I give up on all my dreams of traveling and living abroad one day on the assumption that my parents may one day need me to care for them? Do I jump the gun and leave them in the lurch now, and only contact them when I need something? No matter what decision I make on Friday when I decide whether or not I want to visit them, it feels like a decision between these extremes. There’s a double whammy of guilt going on here, where I’m losing out on what I want or being overly cold to the people who raised me. It’s an odd place to teeter.

As someone who’s South Asian, a cultural clash also comes into play. For those who are unaware, many South Asian cultures stress familial bonds, and it’s not uncommon for people to live with their parents for their entire lives. I personally grew up with my dad’s grandma, who lived with us until her death in 2014. Now, my parents understand social contexts, and by no means are forcing me to stay with them for the rest of my life. But every time I mention going abroad, or looking at grad schools even a few towns away, my mom always deflates ever so slightly as she remembers that our relationship isn’t nowhere near as close as hers was with her mom.

Now that you are an adult, you have to face the reality that your parents are just normal people who happened to have raised you.

Ultimately, it’s just come down to taking it day by day. I call my mom in the morning, and my dad in the evening. I haven’t thrown away my autonomy just yet, but I’m not willing to completely separate myself from my parents. I can’t tell you some magical way to maintain your familial relationships, but I can tell you that a call goes a long way and that even just telling them that yes, you’ve eaten, and yes, your friends are fine, and no, you’re not doing drugs, can go a long way.

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I was warned it would happen. It starts with a post or two on Facebook, and an influx of engagement photos, and lo and behold, it feels as if everyone in their early 20s got married while I was having trouble committing to a cell phone plan. “Whatever,” responded a friend to my lamentations, “they’ll all be divorced in five years anyway.” While I’m holding out hope for their happiness, it got me wondering, would a high rate of divorce in our generation be such a bad thing?

I’m a child of divorce from a relatively long line of divorcees. My parents split when I was 16, and my maternal grandparents divorced in 1982, which was significantly more of a scandal than it would have been today. I won’t lie, living through a divorce is not easy. My parents did an excellent job of supporting my brother and me through the process, but there is no quick or painless way to separate a family. However, much like any upheaval, we recovered. It is safe to say that in the long run we came out happier. The effect of divorce is different for every family, but mine is proof that it is not always a bad thing.

In fact, assuming that death — not lawyers — is what will end your marriage is more damaging than you might think. Happily being with one person for the rest of your life requires a near flawless relationship, which — much like the perfect cellphone plan — is something we can all aspire to, but may never find. The expectation that we are all supposed to remain with the one we married also means that we implicitly support the continuation of unhealthy relationships.

Seeing marriage as immutable makes leaving unhealthy situations that much more difficult by putting pressure on someone to stay with an abusive partner. Instead of viewing rising divorce rates as the failure of modern marriage (or the notorious feminist movement encouraging women to leave the kitchen) we ought to instead see it as a rise in individual agency. Maybe people are no less happy in marriages than they have been historically; instead, they now have the ability to leave when they need to.

At this point, I should probably digress to assure you that I do not think badly of marriage just because I am advocating for an open dialogue about divorce. I myself am excited to marry, and I am often reminded of how well the arrangement can work by the wonderfully happy couples in my life, young and old. However, when discussing matrimony we often lose sight of the fact that other people’s relationships have no impact on our own. Your neighbors getting a divorce does not mean that your marriage is any less of a success, or any less special. Opening up a dialogue on the topic won’t make happy relationships fail, instead it will help put an end to unhealthy ones.

Accepting this, what would a world with more divorce look like? Firstly, we would need to go into marriage with an open mind and a prenuptial agreement. Accepting that we may have many weddings — or none at all — might make them seem less momentous. (“Great ceremony Aunt Judy, see you at the next one!”) Prenups might alleviate some tension during the separation and mitigate some of the legal costs, making the process more affordable. Divorce becoming more commonplace would foster better solidarity networks and support. This could lessen the unnecessary guilt and shame that often makes an already difficult situation that much worse. Let’s treat divorce the way we do breakups from long-term relationships — devastating, but nothing uncommon or to be ashamed of.

To those who will be married, or who are married, I wish to tell you that I have nothing but high hopes for your future and wellbeing. I would not wish a bad relationship on anyone, nor do I think divorce is always the solution, or inevitable. Instead, my wedding vows to my future partner will look something like this:  “you are perfect to me right now, and I can’t wait to spend the foreseeable future with you. Let’s build a life together, and not be afraid to dismantle it if it no longer works. To us, and the happiest we can possibly be.”

By: Daniella Porano

Meeting the family is one of the most stress-inducing parts of a relationship. Between the awkward introductions, like fumbling around or going for a handshake instead of a hug, and the onslaught of uncomfortable questions, like what you plan on doing with your life, it can be a downright terrifying experience. But have no fear, with these simple etiquette tips and your rockin’ personality, you’ll be sure to ace the first family date.

1. Do your research.

Remember, your partner is part of this family and is the best person to ask for information pre-meeting. Ask your partner about family customs, what they like, or bits of info to get a better understanding of them. Basically, dig around, especially for something that can be used as a conversation starter or to establish a commonality between a family member and yourself. Also, make sure your partner lets their family know of any dietary restrictions or other critical information to avoid uncomfortable kitchen/restaurant/event scrambles.

2. Be helpful and endlessly polite.

Always ask if assistance is needed in setting the table, preparing food, or cleaning up afterwards. Even if they decline, offering goes a long way.

3. Bring a small gift.

Personally, I think the best gifts are something everyone can share. If they love desert, bring along some pie or delicious pastries. If they enjoy drinking with dinner, bring a bottle of wine.

4. Take a page from the family.

Whether they do European-style double kisses, firm handshakes, dinner at 5 p.m., or 9 p.m., order takeout, or concoct a massive home-cooked meal, observe, follow their lead, and ultimately, be respectful of family traditions.

5. Step away from controversial debate topics.

This is not the time to bring up politics or religion, or really anything that makes people heated.  It never ends well.

6. Don’t just focus on your partner!

Interact with everyone and make an effort to engage in conversation with other people at the table.

7. Don’t put your partner down

Even if it’s a joke. Seriously, don’t .

8. Turn off your phone

Or, at least leave it in your coat pocket.

9. In terms of how to dress,

it’s a good opportunity to showcase a muted version of your personal style. I’d keep the skin exposure to a minimum and always lean towards the more conservative and clean-cut side of the clothing spectrum until you get to know them better. Meeting the family is almost like a job interview, so your first impression is incredibly important and can leave a lasting impact. Trust me, you don’t want to be “that person who wore a t-shirt that featured a sexually explicit Rob Ford quote to meet Grammy.”

10. Most importantly, be yourself.

As cheesy as this tip is, it’s important to be relaxed and show who you are. After all, you’re getting to know them as well.

 

We Need To Talk About Kevin
Starring: Tilda Swinton, John C. Reilly
Directed by: Lynne Ramsay

4.5  out of  5

Myles Herod
Entertainment Editor

We Need to Talk About Kevin never declares itself safe.

Lynne Ramsay’s disturbing film, based on the novel by Lionel Shriver, is a ferocious adaptation that scratches and spits, breaking through its own words with sound and fury.

Its soul, and suburban hell, is the ever-widening schism of a mother and son at war, where the camera forces us so close we retaliate with a scream or an instinct to duck.

It’s challenging, but not without its brilliance. The movie opens with an overhead shot of bodies and bedlam in a sea of red. Beginning in a wash of provocative crimson, the celebratory bath of tomato juice recounts the films lead, Eva (fearlessly played by Tilda Swinton), as we gaze onto her surreal memory of Spain’s La Tomatina festival.

From there, the picture embraces an unconventional streak, fashioning episodic situations where humour is black, terror is real and life’s realities are a succession of small deaths. There’s no question that the film is expertly crafted and haunting. Just don’t call it wholly digestible.

Ramsay’s choice of altering the film’s chronological order may throw some for a loop, but in lieu of a straightforward narrative, the film affords greater contrast and power.

Years having past, we encounter a depleted Eva rebuilding her life in the wake of a heinous tragedy involving her son. Once an esteemed travel writer, she postponed life to marry the affably goofy Franklin (John C. Reilly), and to give birth to their first child, Kevin (equally creepy Jasper Newell and Ezra Miller).

Through Eva, we confront shards of Kevin’s upbringing, every moment infected with uneasiness. The merciless child grows into a darkly vacant teenager who effortlessly manipulates the love of his father and sister (Ashley Gerasimovich). Eva never buys it.

Ramsay’s interpretation builds against the pair’s incurable bond – her maternal intuition and continental desires with his violent, sociopathic impulses.

There are moments when Kevin’s eyes convey a disquieting abyss, frightfully employed as the film bravely goes all the way in depicting the horrors of a high school massacre. For the most part, however, the film wisely resists genre slumming, accepting violence without bleeding it. The abstract nature of Ramsay’s direction is astonishingly bold, and welcomed from a woman who’s been absent for eight years.

Saturated in red, the colour pervades the film’s look at every turn. Spattered across walls and windows, strawberry jam oozes, red ink soaks – Eva’s life literally becomes stained as she copes amidst a haze of pills and town hatred.

If anything, the film should be viewed as a series of parts. Surely, there are images here I will never forget.

There’s the undeniable absurdity (and the sound) of Kevin savoring a white, rounded lychee fruit as his parents grieve over the loss of their daughter’s eye. Or the eerie Halloween sequence that finds Eva driving down a residential street of costumed ghouls, darkly photographed and bizarrely accompanied by Buddy Holly’s song “Everyday.”

Some may balk at the individuality of a film like We Need To Talk About Kevin. What is its purpose? Frankly, I feel it hits America where it dare not to look – commenting on its banal culture, its moral disengagement, and the unfathomable question afflicting every parents worst nightmare: Is it possible to hate your child?

 

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