while watching sarah polley’s stories we tell it’s clear to me that the role of theatre, drama, and life documentation such as home videos play in the construction of sarah polley’s life narrative about her family and her relationship to it. coming from a family of actors and producers, the story of her parents’ meeting is directly linked to performance of courtship on stage. the romance between sarah’s biological father and mother, of course, is also a performance of secrets for the local audience around them in montreal.

it’s apt that sarah polley would inscribe the fragments of her family’s memory of her mother with staged representations – filmed as home video footage. for me, polley simultaneously suggests that the camera’s objectivity is just as illusory as individual memories and that multiple and different tellings of the same memory enable certain narratives to come out in the foreground. this is especially telling in her narrative’s ability to persuade viewers that geoff bose is in fact her father, that we are supposed to recognize geoff bose in her face based on his black and white actor’s photo. in addition, the juxtaposition of acting and family-making interrogates the idea of authenticity, especially in thinking about how roles within a family are performed in order to reinforce larger patriarchal norms.

that the camera is as subjective and creative as the memoirist’s pen, of course, is not to say that film and documentary necessarily perform the same generic functions as life writings/life texts. indeed, like Wah’s biotext, film indelibly involves collaboration – between camera-persons, producers, its primary subjects, and the director during the editing process. while stories we tell is ultimately sarah’s story of how she was born, how her family came together, and how her late mother affected those around her, I would argue that documentary film lends itself to the push and pull of different performances.

what makes stories we tell interesting then is its consciousness of its own process and practice as film, which in the context of a family intimately connected with the performance industry, is not only fitting but almost crucial for sarah to carve out her own niche in telling this narrative of performance. it is she, after all, doing the directing, the edits. what’s important to remember though are her intimate relationships with many of the film’s primary subjects, enabling the audience to notice how jarring it is for her to first, direct actors of her parents in their family setting, and second, to stare at her father(s) and relatives seemingly “objectively” through a camera lens. that camera’s gaze, of course, is not actually objective but does provide an “interrogation process” that privileges sarah’s desires and impulses as an artist/director/life narrator.

I think another documentary life narrative exploring family – but perhaps in a radically different way – is tsilhqot’in director helen haig-brown’s my legacy. rather than emphasizing theatre, home videos, or the process of filming, this documentary life narrative captures the act of interviewing as the process of healing between mother and child. while stories we tell is about how narratives of life stories compete and out-perform one another in a complex family setting, haig-brown films her family in order to highlight how filming and life writing can be transformative for family relationships. in this film re-enactments also occur, and the role she gives her mother in shaping part of the narrative in a film about love and motherhood allows for a real sense of collaboration between filmmaker and her subjects (which includes herself). we are made aware in this film that the process is the relationship between the filmmaker and her mother, where filming allows her to both understand better and share with the world that process.

This Thursday I want to come back to blogging.

I was struck in class one day by how intimately tied for me life narratives are with the genre of blogging. More than the different forms of personal accounts I perform through poetry (which I might also do at a reading with a small group of peers), and even more than the actual memoirs I try to write, blogging is the  currency – so to speak – with which I write about my life. I blog all the time: on Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, and occasionally Twitter. When I visited my family in Shanghai, I even made myself a Weibo account, upon which I was disappointed (though not surprised) that most of my audience only blogged in Chinese, which I couldn’t read.

(A note for those who don’t know: UBC students returning to mainland China are able to access VPN, which gives them access to Facebook, Youtube, and other Western social media sites that China blocks. I wasn’t able to do that on my phone, so I still had to download mobile apps like WeChat to communicate with my relatives. WeChat was pretty accessible as a ‘foreigner’ to China for me because it easily translated Chinese characters into English, and vice versa. As an interesting aside, one cell phone network – China Unicom – does not block Instagram, so I was able to see Ai Weiwei’s account and hear of some of his conflicts with Beijing museums that were censoring him.)

I hate to use myself as an example here too much, but the personal “I” is almost impossible for me to forget as I write in WordPress, the medium that nurtured my early blogging experiences (though I was mainly blogging poetry). I don’t think that exigence to speak about myself, here, in a class blog addressed to the class and the public, is coincidental, and I will discuss more of that here.

The other night I found this blog post, which I must introduce by giving a strong content warning for graphic descriptions of child abuse, titled “I watched a mom hit her kid in a thrift store tonight.”

This heart-wrenching piece aside, though, I was struck by the blog’s title, “I Am Begging My Mother Not To Read This Blog.” For me, this title reminded me of what Carolyn Miller and Dawn Shepherd discusses in their essay “Blogging as Social Action: A Genre Analysis of the Weblog,” about how blogs “can be both public and intensely personal in possibly contradictory ways. They are addressed to everyone and at the same time to no one. They seem to serve no immediate practical purpose, yet increasing numbers of both writers and readers are devoting increasing amounts of time to them.” To address one’s mother in one’s blog title, specifically to insist that she’s not allowed to read it, speaks of blogging as a form of post coming-to-age genre – of establishing oneself in the world, among community members, and of self-expression, as Miller and Shepherd observe.

“When bloggers talk about blogging, two themes relevant to these questions are ubiquitous: self-expression and community development. These two themes match very well the intrinsic and extrinsic functions of self-disclosure discussed earlier. Disclosure, however, should not be understood as the simple unveiling of a pre-existent or perdurable self, but rather as a constitutive effort.”

One of the consequences of living in an era of mass voyeurism, I would argue, is that rhetors like myself–who grew up in an age where the concept of celebrity and social media are inter-mixed and interlinked, both for ‘real’ celebrities and individuals whose aspirations involve becoming Internet Famous–are grappling with establishing ourselves as “millenials,” a generation that needs to re-negotiate community in a world where the public is increasingly eroding into the private.

That’s why a sex-positive 20-year-old woman in the 21st Century might draw attention, perhaps humorously, to how she’s “begging” her mother not to read her blog: her exploration of identity through her blog is self-consciously post coming-of-age, only private to her mother because it could potentially destroy the polite, innocent reputation she conceivably only has with one person in the world….

What this implies, though, is that all other mothers do constitute audiences for her blog. That contradiction to me is fascinating, because it speak to how ‘millennials’ might experience exigence to speak to the older generation while simultaneously stabilizing their identity with the current one.

This blog post that also comments on Miller and Shepherd observes that,  “And for people who have grown up in extremely rigid, authoritarian homes, the blog could be an avenue to the freedom they were never allowed and can experience through their exhibitionist expressions and voyeurism on blogs, without anyone knowing the therapeutic purpose blogging might have for them.” 

I certainly feel that the cultivation of “Tumblr Famous” (content warning: a lot of swearing and disrespectful language!) and the kind of blogging world that Tumblr involves allows a certain kind of sub-genre of life narration, one that comes with extremely specific rules for appropriate constructions of the self and its interaction with the wider rhetorical community. It’s incredibly rude not to write about sexual assault on tumblr without tagging it, and it’s even important to tag all food posts to accommodate those with eating disorders, as an example.

Curious about readers’ thoughts about what I’ve discussed in this post!

Last night I had a refreshing conversation with someone I know currently doing a PhD in literature at University of Toronto who was wanting to write a prospectus on dream poetics within Renaissance literature. This friend of mine is taking this particular course with Elizabeth Harvey:

Freud’s frequent, often pivotal references to Shakespeare signal both deep cultural influence and a complex intertwining of shared attention to the nature and structure of the human psyche. The dominance of historicist approaches to early modern studies over the past three decades has tended to marginalize psychoanalysis as a discourse; this seminar will explore the resources of psychoanalytic theory for understanding the early modern “emergence” of subjectivity. We will consider historicism’s skepticism about and exclusion of psychoanalysis, what was at stake in these debates, the role of historical phenomenology and cognitive approaches, and the current reemergence of psychoanalytic theory. 

During this conversation my friend revealed his renewed interest in thinking about dreams, or what I understand as the psycho-affective aspects of a literary period that this course argues has largely been dominated by “historicist approaches.” I shared that I had, myself, gone through some form of psychoanalysis recently and described its effectiveness for me and others (this was psycho-dynamic therapy in a group setting). My friend was interested in how my therapy enacted a form of theatre that can be found in the early modern period, how even where each client sat was important and symbolic to how our psyches emerged and related to our past.

I didn’t mention this to my friend but I couldn’t help but think about how throughout my therapy I was insistent that I ought to be allowed to define my narratives the way I wanted to. One of those narratives had to do with how I related to my parents; any alternative story of a different way of looking at that relationality was unacceptable to me, and felt disruptive to my sense of self. I saw the inarticulated traumas my parents and grandparents had as a betrayal that I must continuously rail against.

As one example how the therapy broke me out of this cycle, I had once had a dream about three dangerous, violent men I knew who are in their 30s, and the dream consisted of trying to escape via stairs when I found myself on the same floor as them, trapped in a small room. The doctor, surprisingly, suggested that my uneasiness with older men had to do with my uneasiness with my father. I found this approach, at first, creepy, repetitive, and sometimes nonsensical. When I shared this feeling, the doctor probed me, however, to remember how my parents affected me in uncanny ways – ways that I could not remember and prefer not to think about. As uncomfortable as this framing was for me, I think it’s useful to keep in mind Young’s conception of “received history,” an idea he adapts from Hirsch’s “aesthetics of postmemory,” when thinking about how autobiographies are produced. I had, after a while, a rehearsed story that I refused to deviate from that constituted some kind of oral narrative of my life.

Of course, my relationship with my parents is informed by larger historical forces (WWII, the Cultural Revolution, June 4th), so I can’t relate to them without having a way to account for received history: the “narrative hybrid that interweaves both events [that occurred in my parents’ life] and the ways they are passed down to me” (Young 669). In Young, of course, he speaks in particular of the events of the Holocaust and how Vladek, Art Spiegelman’s father, tells them to him.

Reading Maus I was struck by the way Vladek the character cohered for me as a father, husband, and Jewish survivor of the Holocaust. One of the most powerful ways that Spiegelman tells this “story of a story” is by paralleling Vladek’s current “manifest behaviours” – that is, through drawing (via comics) his current behaviours around objects, money, and familial relationships – with his telling of his Holocaust experiences.

Throughout Maus Vladek is obsessively spendthrift, resourceful, and skilled at fixing things, but to an extent that makes his son, Art, feel incredibly inadequate and frustrated.

I would argue that, however, writing the comic and having his father receive them constitute a creative, relationally transformative act. As addressable other for Vladek, Art takes up the responsibility of researching and understanding the Holocaust in his own way. By acknowledging Art’s role as documenter, Vladek also suggests that his stories are worth telling, that his version of survival of the Holocaust enables him to be a father to Art, even if, somehow, he still harbours inarticulable trauma around Richieu.

In this way I can see how in telling my own story the same way over and over, I fail to engage in the very relationality I speak of. I fail to unearth and receive history that is relevant to me when I assume that there is a tenable, stable story of this life. Uncanny stories lie embedded in untold trauma within my family, informing the depth of trauma.

In some way, Art’s defensive reaction to finding out that his father destroyed his mother’s journal is like my disappointment that I cannot ask my grandmother about the Cultural Revolution. While she is still alive, that channel in our relationship may as well be dead. That history is lost, because of how strong the cultural silence around that time period is for those in my grandmother’s generation (and her in particular). I am, like Art, never allowed to witness this side of his family story, and all he can do is represent that disappointment, that absence, that sense of incompleteness.

In these ways I think the psycho-affective aspects of narratives and historical narratives at large are crucial, if not indispensable for understanding a life and how it can be represented. They show how authors of life narratives always belong to a larger historical framework where history is “received,” that these stories are always mediated by relationships that affect them psychically.

This week I underwent an analysis of paratextual materials surrounding Amber Dawn’s How Poetry Saved My Life: A Hustler’s Memoir. In doing so I wanted to look at a survivor’ perspective on sex work life narration, and was struck by the respectability politics going into the performance of marketing one’s memoirs about such survivorship, especially with regards to sex work and queerness. I didn’t note this in my paper but I found Dawn’s work displayed at the front of Pulp Fiction books (the one in Mount Pleasant), beside Lena Dunham’s Not That Kind of Girl and Rae Spoon and Ivan Coyote’s Gender Failure.

All these books are new and written by white authors. These are marketable authors whose work Pulp Fiction recognizes as having demand (in addition to being a poet and performer, Dawn also teaches at UBC; Lena Dunham is known for Girls; Rae Spoon and Ivan Coyote both perform Canada wide, etc). And Mount Pleasant itself is as far as I can tell an upper-middle class area, where Pulp Fiction lies snuggly between Gene cafe, an art shop, and a comic book shop. Such a neighbourhood, however, desires life narratives on queerness, non-binary identity, and white womanhood, because such identities are currently palatable for the now apparently trans-friendly Vancouver.

Of course, I feel that any discussion of respectability politics needs to acknowledge its roots in Black Feminism. I won’t say I’m acquainted with Black Feminist or Womanist history, but I am somewhat familiar with some online self-representations and life narratives of black women (this article further discusses respectability politics), trans women of colour (please note that this promotional video of the Free CeCe documentary contains charged language and descriptions of violence!), and Indigenous women.

In the case of Indigenous women (in light of this week reading Forsaken, Jiwani and Young, as well as finishing up Missing Sarah), it’s pretty salient to observe how social media is taken up to resist colonial representations of Indigenous victimhood. #amInext? was quickly turned into #imnotnext, and thousands of Indigenous people (and allies) changed their Facebook profile, defiantly speaking out against the consistent sidelining of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women as an issue, but also to demonstrate the pervasiveness of disappearing Indigenous peoples is within settler-colonialism as a form of socially-sanctioned violence.

Why the Facebook profile, and why the tweet? I would say that both these frameworks allow for the most commonplace, everyday creation of life narrative, one that encompasses all sorts of identities except those who find them ineffectual and plebeian. Whether such bombardment of social media self-representations constitutes a subversion of respectability politics or not, these online social movements create space for an alternative story to the book regularly being sold in Mount Pleasant. At the very least, such acts produces trends against consumerism, at least one symptom of settler-colonialism that seeks to destroy Indigenous lands and ways of life.

Disclaimer: I have a lot of thoughts on what I discuss here but am feeling too ill to expand on all of them tonight. If you have any questions feel free to ask in the comments, and I’ll try to answer them over the weekend. 

The following disclaimer is how Fred Wah, author of       Diamond Grill, ends the book’s acknowledgements:

“After all that, I must take sole responsibility for this text. I wish not to offend any of my family or any of the Chinese Canadians who have known and experienced some of these stories more tangibly than I have. These are not true stories, but, rather, poses or postures, necessitated, as I hope is clear in the text, by faking it.” (x)

I’m struck here by several things: that is, the absence of the hyphen, the care with which Wah positions himself as an author who has postured/posed, rather than told “true stories,” and the idea that readers of the text of a particular identity group could have experienced “these stories more tangibly” than the author.

In the following letter to the editor, Gordon J. Chong, former councillor of Toronto city, writes that the hyphen in ‘Chinese-Canadian’ needs to be abolished. He insists that “Canada needs unhyphenated, unconditional Canadians period.” His argument is that if a group of people are to be considered real Canadians, they are not a different kind of Canadian than other Canadians, especially not those who would call themselves Canadians without any other qualification. That hyphen, according to Chong, creates conditions for Chinese Canadians’ claim to being part of this country. 

Throughout Diamond Grill, however, Wah invokes the hyphen over and over as a concept. While he recognizes Chinese Canadians as a group, addressed directly in this disclaimer, as unhyphenated, “the hyphen is crucial to the composition of” (Wah 179) his biotext (noted himself in the afterward).

Because Wah sees that hyphenation suggests “parts… are not equal to the whole” (178), he actively takes the opportunity in Diamond Grill to explore how the hyphen does operate for him as a mixed race person. Here he has an exigence to openly display this shifting, troubled, loud, and impure conception of racial self – embedded in the autobiographical self’s physical movement with the door, for instance – because this is a way for him to avoid his experiences being appropriated.

So on the one hand, Wah avoids hyphenation in this disclaimer in order to respect readers part of the Chinese Canadian community (who after all ought to represent their lived experiences on their own terms). At the same time, he delineates new boundaries for autobiographical truths when he imagines the importance of the hyphen. His is not yet another story that contributes to Canadianism and its colonial nation-building projects. Rather it is an exploration of how posing, posturing, or ‘faking it’ are crucial to experiences of racialization, and perhaps especially so if that racialization involves being seen as ‘impure.’

As a side note: I want to draw attention to how the subject of the op-ed in The Star is on representations of Chinese Canadian conservatives. This was the first article I found on hyphenation of Chinese Canadian whilst doing a quick google, which I find curious given my own radical leftist politics and subsequent browsing habits. Given this perspective, I can appreciate the need for Wah to want to ‘cop out’ of speaking for a racialized group when he is aware of so many political tensions, not merely diversity, within such a broad community, and to not wish to rock the boat or dilute any historical narratives that invoke purity/resistance to hyphenation in relation to Canadian-ness. If one’s ancestors and relatives fought so hard for that Canadian-ness, the trust between Wah and specific readers would be broken if he neglected to position himself in this way.

Smith and Watson writes that “autobiographical truth resides in the intersubjective exchange between narrator and reader aimed at producing a shared understanding of the meaning of a life” (16). Along this line, I feel strongly that Wah’s undertakings in posturing and posing autobiographical selves create spaces for potential readers to feel far more at home in exploring identity issues of Chinese Canadian-ness. For instance, to say that other Chinese Canadians have experienced these stories more tangibly than the author is to say both that when he speaks of others’, he is more so speaking of his own relationships with them and how they have contributed to his experiences with ‘faking it,’ rather than speaking for them.

Additionally, he is taking on responsibility for his creation, not the stories which have different meanings in others’ conceptions of identity and history. In this sense, I find that Wah’s work is important for Chinese(-Canadian) settlers like myself, who have a jarring relationship with Chinese-ness, belonging, place, and nationality.

Personally, after stumbling upon Fred Wah’s interactive poem/collection of digitized oral histories found here, I felt nourished and welcomed by the title “High Muck a Muck: Playing Chinese,” which conceives Chinese-ness in its action, and within the logic of gambling, and being mapped upon British Columbia.

Can I ever fully reject being “Canadian” if it means living with the privileges that I do, with the citizenship that I have which others in my community (though none of them my ancestors) have suffered in order to obtain? How can I sit easily with being “Canadian” if that construct is ostensibly illegal and violence against Indigenous people of these lands?

Alternatively, can I ever fully embrace being “Chinese” if seeking communities involve encountering violence, political tension, and histories I can never myself claim ownership to? What forms of identity am I coerced to take on when I call myself either Chinese, Canadian, or both, without feeling uneasy with these terms? The concept of “Playing Chinese” invokes a performativity that, I feel, actually empowers me, and offers me more potential to ‘pose’ and ‘posture’ as myself. To me that is how I can actually resist the violence of hyphenation and racialization.

Reclaiming the hyphen and simultaneously resisting ‘hyphenation’ through insisting on the hyphen’s ‘noise’ could certainly be one goal Fred Wah’s biotext achieves.

My therapist is a big believer in “disconnecting.” That is, she believes it’s healthier for people with depression and anxiety to reduce their use of social media – and the internet in general – in order to be more fully present with the people in our lives. While I don’t doubt the therapeutic effects of centring in-person interactions with the people we care about, the indispensability of physical touch, body language, and facial expressions, and the efficacy of developing communities that way, I disagree with the sentiment that many of my classmates have expressed: that life narratives created on Social Networking Sites necessarily create isolated, filtered, and hyper-personalized simulations of connection and personal identity.

For those adamant on the relationship between mental wellness and exercise, Mike Ochotta’s critique of the uptick in exercise applications connected to Facebook demonstrates that using exercise statistics to narrate one’s physical life actually encourages hostility, competition, and a culture of disconnection. These effects counter the intended goals of exercise and physical activity, which include encouraging social interaction and intimacy. Furthering this thesis, Matias Taylor points out how the guise of happiness we perpetuate on Facebook can sustain low self-esteem by enabling us to obsess over our social image as well as accruing social capital through our friend list and the “likes” we get. Indeed, there’s also research that examines the impact that excess Facebook use has on subject well-being in general, as well as how it can exacerbate depression in teens who already have low self-esteem.

The way corporations such as Facebook feed and sell our content back to ourselves, and create an illusion of connectedness through our continuous, voluntary, but still unwitting sharing and over-sharing is no doubt perverse, and unhealthy for society as a whole. This claim to me is undeniable, but a discourse uncovering Facebook’s neoliberalism (not at all to say Sierra Weiner’s argument is weak or inaccurate!) does not actually tell us much about the way Facebook (and other platforms) can be and is being used by marginalized communities for political change and resistance.

Vivian Wan interrogates how the Western-centric construction of identities in Humans of New York (HONY) limits the capacity for self-representation in particular, often marginalized subjects. What she also implies in her argument, especially while citing the Ukrainian woman who consents to being photographed only after another Ukrainian person in the streets insists on the importance of “represent[ing] the women of [her] land,” is that our current historical period provides rhetorical situations for such representations. This is an idea central to Miller’s “Genre as Social Action,” wherein rhetorical situations recur as “an intersubjective phenomenon” (156) based in social meanings.

In the case of the Ukrainian subject, this “acting-together” involves a shared need to construct a stable national female identity for Ukraine and then feed it back to global (north) digital audiences. In turn, HONY fulfils the role of a rhetorical genre whose purpose involves stabilizing a regional American identity, consolidating the idea that New Yorkers are open, diverse, and cosmopolitan – even if the subjects photographed are not all “New Yorkers.”

Many of my classmates have expressed the fact that social networking platforms are indeed tools we can use to explore new ideas and identities if we hold that goal at the centre of our use. To expand on this, I want to point to the ways in which self-representation within filter bubbles can be incredibly powerful for those pursuing radical politics, especially that of disability justice. Prior to connecting with disability justice activists (who are also intimately connected with queer, trans, and racialized communities) online, the way I used Facebook as a medium was radically different than it is now.

For those who are interested, I’ve written a personal piece here describing how my use shifted as my cultural attitudes and community evolved. Please ask me in class for the password, as I wish my audience to be limited to those in the class.

I argue that online filter bubbles are vital for protecting vulnerable communities from the violence they face every day. To me, Lewis’ Law, trigger warnings, block functions, and a myriad of applications aimed at accessibility for neurodiverse individuals help to create safer spaces.

Tumblr and the active, meaningful use of the application Tumblr Savior can be an excellent way for survivors of different forms of violence to voice their concerns honestly without exposing themselves to content that will replay the traumas they’ve endured. Those with mobility needs connect far better with the people they love when going outside is especially difficult when they have access to both a platform where self-expression and social connection are possible, and where resources for spaces they can access can be sourced. The description for disability justice activist Mia Mingus’ blog “Leaving Evidence” is as follows:

We must leave evidence. Evidence that we were here, that we existed, that we survived and loved and ached. Evidence of the wholeness we never felt and the immense sense of fullness we gave to each other. Evidence of who we were, who we thought we were, who we never should have been. Evidence for each other that there are other ways to live–past survival; past isolation.

The life narratives disabled people create themselves work against the medicalization and criminalization of their bodies. They are therefore working against the master narrative of the “flawed subject,” when they insist upon a new way of looking at bodies, love, intimacy, and health.

Works Cited

bjornstar.com. “Tumblr Savior”. Chrome Webstore. 13 September 2014 <https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/tumblr-savior/oefddkjnflmjbclpnnoegglmmdfkidip?hl=en>.

“Facebook Use Predicts Declines in Subjective Well-Being in Young Adults”. PLOS 1. 14 September 2014 <http://www.plosone.org/article/info%3Adoi%2F10.1371%2Fjournal.pone.0069841>.

“FAQ: What Are Trigger Warnings and Why Do You Use Them?” Because I am a Woman. 14 September 2014 <http://becauseiamawoman.tumblr.com/post/30066904557/faq-what-are-trigger-warnings-and-why-do-you-use-them>.

Lewis, Helen (helenlewis). “As I’ve just told @alicetiara, the comments on any article about feminism justify feminism. That is Lewis’s Law.” 9:05 AM, 9 Aug 2012. Tweet.

Miller, Carolyn. “Genre as Social Action.” Journal of Quarterly Speech 70 (1984): 151-167.

Mingus, Mia. Leaving Evidence. 14 September 2014 <http://leavingevidence.wordpress.com/>.

Ochotta, Mike. “September 11 2014”. 474 4ever. 14 September 2014 <https://blogs.ubc.ca/mochotta/2014/09/11/sep-11-2014/>.

Odessa, Brandon. “Humans of New York.” 8 September 2014. Humans of New York. 13 September 2014 <http://www.humansofnewyork.com/post/96991653651/she-initially-said-no-when-i-asked-for-a-photo>.

Project, Radical Access Mapping. “Radical Access Mapping Project – Vancouver”. 14 September 2014 <http://radicalaccessiblecommunities.wordpress.com/radical-access-mapping-project-vancouver/>.

Tanner, Lindsey. Docs warn about Facebook use and teen depression. 13 September 2014 <http://www.huffingtonpost.com/huff-wires/20110328/us-med-facebook-depression/>.

Wan, Vivian. Everyday Life Narratives. 11 September 2014 <https://blogs.ubc.ca/vivianwan/2014/09/11/everyday-life-narratives/>.

Weiner, Sierra. Neo-Liberalism, Censorship, and Identity. 13 September 2014 <https://blogs.ubc.ca/sierraweiner/2014/09/10/neo-liberalism-censorship-and-identity/>.