Medium Magazine

stretching our journalist work

In 2010, amidst weekly responsibilities and a hectic publishing schedule, Alain Latour (Editor-in-Chief, Volume 36) and his Editorial Team decided to create the Medium Magazine. Latour writes in the first editor’s note: “The belief that we can all do much more than we think we can, that so many opportunities lie before our eyes, happens to be a core belief of ours.”

Since then, Medium Magazine has served as a spotlight to display the best of student journalism. Recent editions feature long-form journalism, narratives, and poetry that explore chosen themes, and are curated into an aesthetic and functional layout for enjoyable reading.

The most recent magazine unveils innovation, art, family, friendship, and the self in a meditative experience of change. We hope “In With The New” serves as a reminder that change is healthy, because it steers us towards our futures. 

We invite you to browse the carefully crafted print editions below.

The New Meaning of Octobers

Octobers have a new meaning for me now. I realized this when I answered “October” to a work meeting ice-breaker question, “What is your favourite month of the year?” When, I wondered afterwards, had October become my favourite month? Four years ago, Octobers, to me, meant the monsoon—cool, drizzly days…
Read more… The New Meaning of Octobers

Renew Through Life

Heavy footsteps fall down the hallway and stop at the end, where three closed doors lead into three bedrooms: the twins’ rooms and mine. Leaning back against my headboard in the dark, balancing a Sleepytime Tea on my closed laptop, I forgo further movement. He is standing outside my room….
Read more… Renew Through Life

Mind | Body | Soul

“The mind can never find the solution, nor can it afford to allow you to find the solution, because it is itself an intrinsic part of the ‘problem.’” – Eckhart Tolle in The Power of Now Sitting on the floor of my room, a space that appears to have grown…
Read more… Mind | Body | Soul

Love Me, Love Me Not

13 I sneak out of the classroom minutes before my English class. I sprint to the girls’ bathroom, turning off the light as I stumble in. I wince at the sight of my reflection in the mirror. The bathroom window lets in the dim January sun, my face is bright…
Read more… Love Me, Love Me Not


I never knew the hands that made me.  They pour hot liquified plastic into my metal mould. I am one of the millions of malleable bodies solidifying inside the water-cooling tubs that rest on top of the concrete factory floors. We stand next to each other—identical soldiers in formation—waiting until…
Read more… Plasticity


Women are often the managers of Polish households. They raise the children, cook, clean, control the finances, and create welcoming atmospheres for all friends and family who visit. With elegance and etiquette, Polish wives tend to act as delicate dictators around their husbands and tough mothers towards their kids. Their…
Read more… Babcia

Back in Style

When I was three years old, my parents bought me a Fisher Price cassette tape player. This was their first mistake. My radio, as I liked to call it, was white with bright blue speakers. It had a red handle that I decorated with all the best puppy and princess…
Read more… Back in Style

Brushstrokes of the Past

The University of Toronto Mississauga (UTM), once Erindale College, began its history in the early 1960s when a timid building, set upon the valley of the Credit River, was constructed. The story commenced on the lands of the Huron-Wendat, and most recently the Mississaugas of the Credit River. From new…
Read more… Brushstrokes of the Past

Fallen Leaves

It’s that dreaded time again—summer cleaning.  I sit at my desk and slide open the top drawer, exposing its faux-velvet-lined wooden interior. Amongst the numerous pens and paperclips, my hand-crafted acrostic poem from the third-grade peeks out from the colourful mess. I smile as I run my hand over the…
Read more… Fallen Leaves

The Open Casket

Seated on a taupe couch, I search the room for imperfections. I find none—not even a crack in the off-white enclosed space. Blooming greenery and vibrant artwork cover the walls and fill the corners of the room. The smell of honey wafts from a lit candle on the coffee table. …
Read more… The Open Casket

Reimagining the 9-to-5

The 9-to-5 workday is a relic. For decades, people hailed the 9-to-5 as an ideal—satisfied to work 40-hour weeks with only two days off. So did I. However, the world is changing, and workers are demanding more.  Although I shied away from questions related to my future post-graduation, I always…
Read more… Reimagining the 9-to-5


And there it is. A cold piece of bone staring at her. So soft and small—she doesn’t know it is a child’s bone when she retrieves it from underneath her bed. Her muscles tense. She doesn’t know what to do; her hands itch to drop the decaying bone back to…
Read more… Etch

Art is Water

Sargy Mann, a British painter of portraits and landscapes, began to lose his eyesight in 1973. Mann saw spectral haloes and suffered from oedema of the cornea—corneal swelling that causes a buildup of fluid in the eye. Undeterred by his failing vision, he devised alternative methods to experience his surroundings….
Read more… Art is Water

The Dinner Table

Cloaked in a quiet suburbia, survivors slice into medium-rare steaks and sip red wine at the dinner table. Mothers swoop back and forth like trained servers, fathers make a parody out of politics, and the young swipe across tiny screens, slouching behind handheld barriers. With flushed cheeks and gruff voices,…
Read more… The Dinner Table

My name is Aroni

“अरोनि” is what I wrote as my name on the top of my third grade Hindi test paper. It was a bold choice. You see, a few months before this test, my Hindi teacher taught everyone in the class how to write our names in the Hindi alphabet. My name,…
Read more… My name is Aroni

Monotoned Me

I waited two years to go back in person because I was going crazy at home. I was tired of my every- day routine; wake up, eat, sit at my computer for twelve hours (maybe more), study and sleep—only to re- peat it all over again the next day, and…
Read more… Monotoned Me

Our world through rhythm

I never paid attention to the sound of footsteps. The rhythmic thuds of feet patting against dry concrete, crunching through heaps of snow, or gliding between blades of fresh cut grass. These sounds are often mundane, muddled and missing within the noise of everyday life. In between the crowds of…
Read more… Our world through rhythm

Soundless Vibrations

It took me a while to understand the preciousness of communication and the beauty of being understood. It took watching two of the people I hold closest to my heart—my cousin Maddy and my brother Noah—struggle with endless frustration. Their divergent means of communication obstructed their thoughts, leaving friends and…
Read more… Soundless Vibrations

Skin Against Our Fingertips

A year without summer,A night without stars—the constellations aligned,Perched high above the sky’s radiant stunner,Life without connection is stumbling through the darkness blind, Connection, a delicate force of the human heart,Giving meaning in a world of conformity,With universality that does not hinder progression, prejudice falls apart,The distinction between harmony and…
Read more… Skin Against Our Fingertips

Meeting Madam U.R.

Four concrete walls with wooden faces,Stare back at me, dull and lifeless.11 p.m., the coffee spill cleaned to leave no traces.White light; letters on keys, flickering, blinding; keeps me timeless.  Staggered attempts at escaping this black mirror-boxOf empty hellos and goodbyes and incomplete mornings and nights,Created Unknown Resilience and she…
Read more… Meeting Madam U.R.

A New “Normal”

Sydney “Sydney! Breakfast!” Mommy calls up from the kitchen. I put on my fuzzy princess socks, say goodbye to my teddy bear, and race down the stairs. The smell of fresh waffles welcomes me into the room. I pull myself up into a chair and kick my feet back and…
Read more… A New “Normal”

The Other

“Just breathe.” White snow blows across my computer screen as these words appear: “Why are you so nervous?” A soft piano tune opens a pixelated scene of dirt platforms, some covered in snow, and white flakes continue to fall against a background of trees under a dark, cloudy sky. Madeline—my…
Read more… The Other

Silent Interactions

Bà nội uses one swollen foot to pull herself around in her wheelchair. That’s the image I see, the sound I hear, when I think of home. Most people probably think about their dog—something we’ve never had—or stories around the dinner table—which we rarely ate at—but not me. I think…
Read more… Silent Interactions

Diary of a Fatherless Daughter

The English Oxford Dictionary (OED) defines grief as “a very sad feeling, especially when someone dies.” Featuring up to six hundred thousand words and a rich thousand-year history, the OED is universally reputed as the established guide to the English language. But that doesn’t mean there is only one definition…
Read more… Diary of a Fatherless Daughter

Campus in Limbo

Despite my classes being online, I chose to spend my second year in residence at the University of Toronto Mississauga. I thought it would help me stay motivated and connected to the campus.  But the stark reality soon settled in. Upon setting foot outside my 3-by-3 metre bedroom, I realized…
Read more… Campus in Limbo

A Car Headed for a Cliff? Health Care in Rural and Northern Ontario.

Context In Ontario, 90 per cent of the population resides within 160 kilometres of the American border. The remaining ten per cent of the province’s population, 1.46 million individuals, experience drastically different living environments. Differences between rural and urban health systems exacerbate inequalities and render it difficult to access care…
Read more… A Car Headed for a Cliff? Health Care in Rural and Northern Ontario.


“Don’t worry if you can’t recognize them,” my dad says to my sisters and me as we push our luggage carts around the masses of people gathered by baggage claim. “We left when you were all young, so you might not remember.” Dad starts listing the names of aunts and…
Read more… Homecoming

Finding Home

It takes me a while to acclimate to Russia’s white nights. As light peers through the windows and drapes across my face, my eyes stay wide open. I breathe in the air redolent of home. I can’t pinpoint the smell, but it gives me comfort. The ceiling is coloured with…
Read more… Finding Home

Growing Through Expectations: Taking Back Ownership of Our Own Lives, Successes, and Challenges

The names in this piece have been changed to protect individual privacy.  “Do you want to prove them right?”  When I was in high school, struggling to get out of bed in the morning, mental health issues aside, I asked myself almost every morning some version of the question above. …
Read more… Growing Through Expectations: Taking Back Ownership of Our Own Lives, Successes, and Challenges

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