Around this time two years ago, I was one of thousands of doe-eyed, scarlet-shirted bodies gathered at the Vic quad, echoing chants set to off-beat rhythms that I can no longer recall. If you asked me to sum up my O-week in one word, it would be “disorienting.” I had a fun time, but I also had so many questions and concerns: What do I want to study? Which clubs should I get involved with? Is it bad that I’ve been talking to this person for 20 minutes and I can’t remember their name?
I’ve since found the answers to most of my questions, but still, if you asked me to sum up my undergraduate experience since O-week in one word, it would be “disorienting.” University life feels like a path riddled with steep slopes, speed bumps, and forks in the road. One answered question leads to another unanswered one: How do I explain my major in Literature and Critical Theory to my family of doctors and lawyers? Should I go to grad school even though I don’t know if academia is for me, since I don’t know how else to delay entering the ‘real world’? Or, to quote the great John Mulaney, “Do my friends hate me or do I just need to go to sleep?” Throw a pandemic on top of that, and the path turns into a whole maze.
The Strand’s annual Orientation Issue is a special occasion for me. Not only did Vol. 62’s edition mark my first involvement with this small but mighty publication, but the issue is always a good read to ring in a new academic year. Previous Orientation Issue editorials have covered the relevance of student papers amidst the “death of print journalism,” the prospect of a fresh start upon entering university, and the importance of community involvement in light of the Student Choice Initiative (which has, thankfully, been struck down a second time!).
As you can tell, “orientation” is more than just a synonym for “frosh week” here at The Strand. To orient ourselves means to gather our bearings and to prepare for what’s to come. This feels especially true now more than ever. To me, orienting ourselves also means unlearning the dominant narratives that undergird stories and looking at them from oft-neglected angles. It’s navigating campus life and social interaction after more than a year of being alone. And understanding that although we all want some semblance of “normalcy,” COVID-19 isn’t going anywhere without equitable access to vaccines around the world. Orienting ourselves is proving to be a tad bit more complicated this fall, to say the least.
The Strand has kept this encapsulating sense of “orientation” in mind while preparing this issue for you. We’ve tried to answer some of the questions you might have as we head into a hybrid fall semester. How is VUSAC operating and what services are they offering? What are some tips to find research opportunities at UofT? How can I explore the city on a budget? Will I finally fall in love this O-week? The issue also contains The Strand’s signature style of stories that are personal to their authors but still tap into shared experiences—from an argument for a breadth of testing strategies in academia to a story about the journey of coming into one’s own identity.
This volume’s Orientation Issue feels extra special because it seems that all of us are on the cusp of a new beginning. Many of us are entering our first year of university, many of us are honorary first-years (looking at you, sophomores), and many of us feel like first-years after not stepping foot on campus in some eighteen months. Whether you’re making the trek from Vic to Con Hall for the first time, settling into the city after a long flight, or reading this issue from the Northrop Frye McDonald’s, I hope that the Orientation Issue and The Strand can be your companion as we all orient ourselves.
