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I was a statue, haunted by the phantom of my former self, metal handle tight between my fingers as I grimaced at the students who passed.

The library would be packed on any other night. This was finally my chance to get a good spot.

Suddenly, as if the universe had heard me, a MasterChef audition invite arrived in my inbox.

I thought he was mere folklore — a boogeyman, a myth that goes bump(?) in the night.

If government policy is dictated by Machiavellian calculations of power, what is the excuse of academic institutions like UBC for failing to live up to their mandate of supporting efforts at decolonizing education?

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