Young Voices 2003/4 House # 13, Weley Lau, Age: 12 Young October, 2004 Toronto Public Library Toronto

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Voices Toronto Public Library2003/4 edition of is proud to present the Toronto poetry,It includes selected from entries stories and artwork short agessubmitted by young people 12 to 19. representing the variety of materials items have tried to include We received at of the library. all 98 branches submitted work,Thanks to all those who and congratulations to those here. whose works are published Young Voices Young Contents

Prose: Age 12–14 Thunder, Helen Fu ...... 51 Incendiary, Ashley Park ...... 3 We children are like kites to our parents..., The Memories of War, Mehwish Idrees ...... 4 Natasha Iyer ...... 52 The Sword of Shadows, Part 1, Vincent To . . .6 Life in a nutshell, Sara Anam ...... 52 A Friend, Grace Lujia Cai ...... 8 Maleciful, Mischief, Marauding Mayhem, Why did the Bug Cross the Road? Billy Zhao . .9 Ronda Lo ...... 54 A Regular Morning, Ari Zuckerbrot ...... 10 Good Morning, Julie Ip ...... 11 Poetry: Age 15-16 You will be Rewarded, Isuri Weerakkody . . . .13 Pipes, Pooja Aranthanarayanan ...... 55 Working Together, Andrew LeMay ...... 14 Masquerade, Shirley (Xue Zhi) Wang ...... 56 Chris, Jared Jukes ...... 16 Soaring, Amy Lin ...... 58 The Blink Of An Eye, Perana Das ...... 16 Understanding, MoonJin Kim ...... 59 Imagination…Or was it? Sandra Park ...... 19 Through The Tunnel, Cindy Zhang ...... 60 Dignity, Andrea See ...... 61 Prose: Age 15–16 Colours of Life, Anna Davydova ...... 61 She Might’ve Been Pretty, Through the Eyes of Childhood, Joyce Lam . .62 Jason Ka Kan Leung ...... 20 I walked a thousand miles… but to you they Stephanie Stevens, Sharon Sin ...... 21 seem sixteen, Asher Khalil ...... 63 Shadows and Whispers, Siva Vijenthira . . . . .22 Rose, Sharon Sin ...... 64 Me Against the Night Sky, Jason Liu ...... 23 I…, Kunal Karki ...... 65 “The Good Kid”, Julia Zhao ...... 24 The Chase, Michelle Wong ...... 66 My Mother, Julia Zhao ...... 26 Scarcity, Prescilla de Barros Irmao ...... 27 Poetry: Age 17–19 Hushed Hope, Meghan Sudha ...... 27 a once upon a time, Pearl Mehra ...... 69 The Rain, Abi Vijenthira ...... 28 Summer in Scarborough, Stephanie Law . . .69 The Lights, Bernice Chan ...... 29 Oh, traveller — you invade my life every now Learning to CHILL OUT!, Karim Saleh ...... 30 and again, J.L. Landekic ...... 70 Smoking Me Out, Brian McDonald ...... 70 Prose: Age 17–19 A Kingdom as a Garden, Mallory Baird . . . . .71 The Clichés of Life, Catherine O’Halloran . . .32 Windows of the Mind, Jennifer Auton ...... 71 My poison, Naszrin Arghoshi ...... 33 Untitled, Christine Rentschler ...... 72 Darkling: An ode to hopeless devotion, Faces, Elyse Gabriel Stewart ...... 72 Elyse Gabriel Stewart ...... 34 Stars of Dreams, Fanny Cho ...... 73 My First Body Art, Phi Quang ...... 35 Teardrops, Alison Jericho ...... 74 Early Morning “Baby Turtle” Ride, To Someone I Love, Nesha Charles ...... 74 Yan (Cindy) Lin ...... 36 The Cubes, Veronica Gershenzon ...... 76 Fear of love, Ivan Valencia ...... 37 Stressed-OUT! Archana Shah ...... 38 Illustrations Transition, Shelly-Ann Trought ...... 39 Untitled, Betty Ni ...... front cover How on earth did I ever get here, House #13, Wesley Lau . . . . .inside front cover Anthony Bisnauth ...... 40 The Key to Success, Roanna Shen ...... 2 When Anna was a Little Girl, Jasimin Curtin .42 Write a Picture, Emily Zheng ...... 5 My Goals in Life, Amanda Edward ...... 43 Young Voices, Nancy Jiang ...... 18 Life is a routine, or is it? Amanda Edward . . .44 Farm, Mackje Gao Zheng Jei ...... 22 Thinking Guy, Rumman Khondker ...... 31 Poetry: Age 12-14 Bound by the Past, Trapped in the Present, A cup of happiness, Ulama Saif ...... 46 Awaiting the Future, Anam Zaka ...... 45 Black Guardians, Marta Kinga Chalubinska . .47 Payne, Shameeka Samuels ...... 54 Untold story, Tyrone Alexis ...... 47 Whimsical Visitor, Jessica Leen ...... 57 The Man with the Book, Enas Adose ...... 48 Reminisce, Amena Rahman ...... 68 I: The Chickadee, II. Sunrise, Peony, Amy Lin ...... 76 Andrew Northcote ...... 48 Dreams, Carina Chan ...... inside back cover Memories of Albion Hills, Edwin Kim ...... 49 Inspired by Mona Lisa (self portrait), Free Spirit, Alexandra Kalugina ...... 49 Cindy Rong ...... back cover Look My Way, Marina Moreira ...... 50

Cover illustration: Untitled, Betty Ni, Age: 14 Prose

The Key to Success Roanna Shen Age: 12

2 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 AGE 12–14

First Place

Incendiary

She dances out from among the rubble and broken slabs of building and road. She is a fierce little thing with dirty hair and scabbed knees, prancing about like nobody’s business. “Child! Come away from there, you can hurt yourself!” She looks at me, noticing I am there. With a feral grin she spreads her arms wide, and spins around in a circle, her face heavenwards. She’s thin, face streaked with soot, and her sharp little elbows and knees stick out as she spins around. “Got hurt before, don’t matter no more!” As she twirls her little bauble tied with cord around her wrist glints in the sun and suddenly screams of danger. The small, sleek bauble that writes its name in blood all around the broken city. I look at the little girl-child, still shrieking and laughing as she twirls and dances gracefully among the broken slabs and window frames. She wears an incendiary around her wrist. “For Chrissake get that thing off you!” She looks up, annoyed at me for interrupting her fun. Those fierce, bright, little eyes narrow but look curious all the same. It dawns on her that an infallible ‘Grown-Up’ is talking to her. “It’s just me bracelet.” I gape. This girl-child is crazy. “That’s an awfully big bracelet then.” She sniffs, her prickly pride hurt. “Bigger is better. I ain’t done nothing wrong.” She picks herself daintily around the mess, picking up some rocks and chucking them as far as she can. She finds colourful shards of glass and puts them up to the light. Sheer delight covers her face as she sees the coloured glass sparkle anew in the sun. She has forgotten I am there. “What’s your name, child?” She still holds the colourful shard up to the sun as she makes a cheeky reply. “Child I am and Child I’ll be.” My eyes cast nervously back to her wrist, the incendiary mocking me silently, reminding me of what it can do. It is a wonder it hasn’t detonated already, and something about it makes me fear it more than before. This one is different, more potent somehow. I look to ‘Child’ and ruefully grin. The name suits her, she’s

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 3 different from other children I have seen. More...yes, more potent. More ‘child’ than any other child. “How far can you chuck one?” I look back to her, and she grins before hurling another rock with all her might. It goes far, but I do not see it land. I only see the incendiary, waving at me in the air, laughing as it turns me into a nervous wreck, for fear that the sudden movements of Child will set it off. “Watch it!” I lunge, grabbing the incendiary, hoping to immobilize it from its crazy swing and smother all chance of detonation. The cord snaps but the incendiary leaks Hate onto my hands through cracks that appear on its sleek surface the moment I touch it. Child comes over and sighs exasperatedly. “Aw, you broke it. Stupid Grown-Up.”

Ashley Park Age:13

Second Place

The Memories of War

Tears are streaming down my cheeks. Not only my eyes but my heart is crying too, in unison. It seems like it all happened yesterday. I was just learning how to learn and unfolding the mysteries of life. It all changed after that day. Every time I look out the window, the same scene rewinds in my head. My adulthood has taken over my childhood but these memories are still so vivid. I hoped that time would make me forget it all and heal my wounds. But so many years have gone by but it’s still fresh in my mind. I was sitting on my bed, breathing ever so lightly. The moon was up in the sky, peering at me through the window. I got off the bed and walked up to the window. Floorboards creaked under my feet. I went to the window and opened it, to let the mild breeze visit me in my shabby, little room. I felt the gentle wind against my face and was content. After all these years, I can still feel the same gentle wind against my face. I don’t think it’s a memory, a piece of my past. I don’t know why I feel this way. In the darkness of night I saw some shadows outside. They were soldiers. I looked at the guns they were carrying and was scared. They were walking so swiftly, as if they were walking on the water. They wouldn’t come here in sunlight because our existence was the fact they despised. They were here to ruin us, to erase us from the face of the earth. They didn’t want the world to acknowledge our existence.

4 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 I slowly went back to my bed and checked my watch. It was midnight. I headed downstairs to spy on them. I still regret my decision. I wish I hadn’t gone out to see them. I went downstairs and out the back door. I found a space behind a garbage truck; from there I could see the soldiers. They were working their way up the “Friendship” bridge. I was unaware of my surroundings — my eyes were glued to them.Then something dropped on my head and I was enveloped in darkness.When I recovered and gained consciousness, I saw soldiers. They kicked me hard and ordered me to stand up. I wanted to sit there because my head was throbbing. I slowly walked up to their captain. He slapped me across my right cheek. They all laughed. They were all laughing at me, but he was laughing at my kind. I had to do something. Everyone in my village was sleeping after a day’s hard work in the fields. I started screaming. They tried to stop me. However many villagers were already at their windows, looking down at us. I warned them and then ran for my life. They let me go because they knew that I’d die by stepping on their landmines. I ran for my life; the greatest mistake I ever made. The soldiers were brutal and cruel beasts. The next day I returned to the village to find a lifeless place filled with deceased. They killed my family and dismembered my little brother. The whole village was burnt to ashes. I was determined to get even with them. I thought that destroying them would help me gain peace of mind. I let hatred take over my senses. I would never be free of it or them. I killed them but my mind and soul are still restless. Whenever I close my eyes, I see my loved ones lying in their own blood, with hyenas circling them.

Mehwish Idrees Age:14 Write a picture , Emily Zheng, Age: 13

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 5 Third Place

The Sword of shadows Part 1

“It is going to be a long day,” Ralnor thought to himself. He had been trudging along a dirty, gravel path with the rest of his army, when the cursed clouds had cleared up. This left the soldiers’ skin vulnerable to the hot rays of the Sun. “Just a bit more now lads,” one of Ralnor’s sergeants called to the footmen, knights, archers and aerial riders. On hearing this, the pack picked up their pace, and kept it steady for another twenty minutes. Suddenly something jumped out from behind some low shrubbery. It was a giant wolf, its fangs were bared, its yellow eyes were glowing with such intensity that it could have killed someone faint of heart. The whole regiment halted on seeing the massive beast. “Teralith,” called Ralnor. The wolf suddenly calmed down. Ralnor walked towards the best and stroked it without hesitation. Then they saw it, hanging from the saddle of the creature. It was the scout that Ralnor had sent out ahead of the main party, to try to find any possible ambushes, set up by the OutLanders. What was the most shocking thing about the body? It had been decapitated! Ralnor was really getting angry. This was foul play, and dirty. The whole regiment fell in a hush, for they knew they had to march at a steadier pace to reach their destination, in the dark Valley of Shadows. Ralnor was hoping to reach the Temple of Darkness to retrieve the Shadow Sword. The Shadow Sword was used by the kinds of long ago, in the fight against the first attempted invasion of the OutLanders. After the war it was put in the Temple of Darkness for safe keeping, until the time aroused when men were in great peril. The Shadow Sword was humankind’s last chance of survival from the vile OutLanders. Without it the human rave would be diminished to nothing. Further and further they marched into the valley, and closer they came to the Temple of Darkness.As they entered a forest, Ralnor and his men, started hearing cries for help and other strange noises coming from deep inside the forest and surrounded them from two sides. “Do not stray off the path or it will be the end of you,” Ralnor warned, for he knew what horrible monsters lurked in the Shadow Forest. The rest of the trip down the path went off without a hitch. Walking for another ten minutes they saw a white marble wall, it was the wall of the temple. Just as the men were about to rush out into the clearing and into the temple, they heard a low growl, but it slowly grew louder. Ralnor and some of his top ranking captains went in ahead to scout out what was happening. What they witnessed

6 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 terrified them. In front of the temple’s entrance, there were four human guards, and facing them were two raider orcs, the size of the giant wolves they were riding on. Ralnor sent two of his captains back to prepare the regiment for attack. It only took a few minutes before Ralnor’s men arrived on the scene. The humans and orcs still hadn’t moved yet. Suddenly from the clearing behind the two OutLanders, burst a large army of orcs. They had grunts, more raiders, the dreaded Kodo beast and axe raider, wyrens, bat riders, troll headhunters and the mighty tauren. At the front of this group was the terrible Krelnor, the tauren chieftain. That was when it happened; the Orcish Horde began attacking the four helpless guards, guarding the temple. They put up a valiant effort, but could not overcome the massive numbers of the Horde. That was when Ralnor attacked. He had sent all his archers to surround the temple, and had placed some siege catapults, in front and to the side of Krelnor’s army. Now he was ready to charge with his knights, footmen, gryphon riders, dragonhawk riders, axemen, and wolf raiders. As the two armies clashed, Ralnor and two footmen, raced into the temple, searching for the Shadow Sword. After walking for another ten minutes, they finally found it resting on a podium. Ralnor quickly snatched it up and raced back to the battle going on outside with his two soldiers. What met his eyes was horrible. He had lost half of his ground soldiers, and half of his air units, hopefully his siege catapults and archers were fairing better. He took the Show Sword, and quickly ran toward the midst of the battle. He ran face to face with a mighty tauren, but did not hesitate as he slew it with one stroke of his sword. As the battle continued on Ralnor, dodged many swings and slew many enemies. Finally the tide of the battle turned for Ralnor’s company. At last Ralnor meet with the tauren chieftain, Krelnor. His large, wood- handled, axe blade was dripping with blood. “So you have taken up the puny Shadow Sword?” Krelnor mocked Ralnor, with a growl. “It won’t be so puny after it slays an oversized beast like you!” Ralnor bellowed as he lunged at the tauren chieftain. The mighty Krelnor and Ralnor were evenly matched. That was when Krelnor’s axe came and Ralnor dodged it. The axe was sticking in the ground, and that was when Ralnor used the Shadow Sword and struck the wooden handle as hard as he could. “Craaaaaaccckkkk,” it broke in two. Krelnor stared at Ralnor dumfounded, turned around, and began to run. Ralnor picked up the broken off axe blade and heaved it at Krelnor as hard as he could. With a loud thump, Krelnor hit the ground dead, killed by his own weapon. When the orcs saw they all began to flee, but they were cut off, by the human archers. No orc lived to tell of the day.

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 7 “Now it is time to take back my kingdom!” Ralnor cried at the sky, with a look of fury on his battleworn face.

To be Continued…

Vincent To Age:14

A Friend

Eleven-year-old Andy lives with his parents and his little brother Aaron. Nothing much happens around here, but there is one event that happened in Andy’s life that he will never forget! Five years ago, on one foggy afternoon Andy and his best friend Jimmy were running away from the big bully named Gary. It wasn’t easy getting away from him but when they finally did they found themselves gasping for air on a rusty old bridge where rushing water ran below it. Jimmy was leaning against the banister of the bridge. And before Andy realized what was going on, the banister broke and Jimmy’s body dropped like a rock into the rushing water, leaving Andy just watching helplessly. The guilt of not saving his best friend haunted Andy for the next six years until… It’s Saturday morning. Andy sits down at the kitchen table. Then, without warning the light grew weaker and weaker, till Andy can’t even see his own hands. There is a surge of panic in Andy’s stomach. Something tells Andy that he’s not in his kitchen any more. “Have I gone blind? No! Then what’s going on?” Andy thinks in panic. Suddenly a ghostly light appears. A young boy steps out of it. The boy is about six years old. Water drips from his short black hair. The freckles on his face almost cover his eyes. Instantly Andy realizes that the boy is Jimmy. “Hi,” the boy smiles. Andy wants to smile back and say hi to his old friend, but instead he says, “You — you’re dead.” The panic is not yet gone and his heart is pounding as fast as ever. Then the boy gives Andy an even bigger smile and says, “Last time I checked, yes. But the reason that I’m here is to warn you.” The smile fades on his face; now he’s serious. Andy frowns and gives a puzzled look. “Aaron’s room is on fire,” Jimmy warned. “What!” “Just believe me, Andy. And go save him!” And Jimmy vanishes. When he did every thing turned back to normal. “It wasn’t a dream,” Andy convinces himself.

8 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 “I have to go check on Aaron.” Andy races to Aaron’s room. As he ran up the stairs he sees smoke coming out of it. There’s no time to think. Andy bursts into the room and grabs Aaron’s arm. “I am not letting you go Aaron,” he thinks. “I will not let what happened to Jimmy happen to you too.” He uses the last bit of his strength and breaks through the fire. Andy lay on the floor with Aaron’s little arm in his hand. He hears his parents’ footsteps running up the stairs, but that doesn’t matter any more. “I’m sorry I let you down Jimmy — I could have saved you — I’m so sorry,” he whispers into the air as a single tear drops from his eye. “It’s ok — I forgive you — it’s not your fault,” a soft voice whispered.

Grace Lujia Cai Age:13

Why did the Bug Cross the Road?

So it wouldn’t get squished by me! You know what would do everyone a favour? If all the bugs on Earth were to simultaneously disappear. Bugs, insects, arachnids, parasites, call them what you will; but they are all despicable, butt-ugly pests whose sole purpose in life is to annoy and harass innocent beings like you and me. But I didn’t start out life hating bugs. Oh no! I used to love them, that is, until the age of five. My cousin and I had a “thing” for praying mantises when we were kids. Every evening, we would go out with our little nets and our empty milk cartons to catch these green killers. Well, it just happened that one day after coming home from our little excursion, my cousin, who had a brain capacity the same size as those mantises, let our catch loose in the house. Of course, I wasn’t worried, because I was sure that we would catch them. Unfortunately for me (and fortunately for those bugs), we didn’t. That night, as I lay in bed, I felt some sharp pricks on one of my legs. As I cautiously pulled down my bed covers, there were about two or three of those detestable bugs crawling up past my knees. I must have screamed pretty loud because our neighbors called in to see who was getting killed. My animosity towards bugs grew when I immigrated to Canada. Some “friends” decided to introduce me to the earwig, since I didn’t know what it was. They came back from recess with their catch-of-the-day, which turned out to be an empty Jell-O carton filled with earwigs. Anyway, my so-called friends dumped the bugs on my desk as the class prepared for whatever subject we were about to study. Suddenly, the class turned into a disoriented welter of hysterical kids,

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 9 airborne bugs, scattered books, and furious teachers. My fear of bugs increased tenfold, and I got new friends. My close calls with bugs didn’t make me less afraid; rather, they made me even more terrified of these creatures. These days, I have trouble looking at pictures of bugs in science books, and detest the “great outdoors.” I mean, why go somewhere that’s just crawling with big, juicy bugs just waiting to get at you? If I were to choose a career that would benefit everyone, I’d go into the bug extermination business.

Billy Zhao Age:13

A Regular Morning

Slowly I stepped out of bed. I looked at my watch. “I am going to be late,” I said. I moved my comb across my head. I kissed my wife on the cheek but she was still sleeping. “Oh well,” I said. “I’ll see her tonight.” I walked into my daughter’s room. She was lying in her crib. It was only a year ago that she was born. I walked downstairs and stared at the couch. My son was lying there in a slouch. It was a school day but I did not wake him up. I would be late. I poured some coffee into my mug. On it there was a picture my son drew of us sitting together. I took a sip of my coffee then grabbed a sticky note. This is what I wrote: I am off to work early have a good day at school see you later when I drive the carpool. Susan see you at work make sure you bring in your portfolio. It is a big day today. I opened the door. It was bright outside. A man was walking by with a strange look in his eye. I asked, “Are you new to the neighbourhood?” He replied, mumbling, “I’m off to the airport. I’ve got some work to take care of.” I sat in my Chevy and looked at my house. It was golden in the sun. I said to myself, “I will sit here every day before I leave for work.” I started the ignition and backed out of my driveway. I started off in the direction of the highway. Twenty minutes early, I parked underground at the Trade Centre, then took the elevator to my office. There were so many people. I could barely squeeze in. So many floors I could not count. Only two people got off before me. Finally it was my stop. I walked to my office, put down my briefcase and stared out the window. I could barely see my neighbourhood. The strange thing was that there was a plane flying toward me. It looked closer than usual. It

10 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 was getting so close I could see the nose and the wings. I could see the pilot. It was the man I’d seen on the street. He started to leer. It was still getting closer. Closer and closer. Closer, until it was too close. I ran down the hall. People were screaming. The plane hit and exploded into flames. I ran down the stairs but I tripped and fell. I threw my jacket over me like a protective shell. I kept on running but it was too late. The floor and the walls were beginning to shake. I felt the roof starting to crack. I did not know if I would ever get back, back home to my family. Back home I shan’t be. But in the hearts of the nation I shall be. I am in your heart you see.

Dedicated to the victims of the attacks on The World Trade Center

Ari Zuckerbrot Age:12

Good Morning

The alarm clock rang wildly on the table, screaming at Kevin with all its might. Kevin slammed the top of the clock to make it stop. Kevin made a long groan and covered his head with his blanket. “Kevin! Wakeup! Time for breakfast!” his mother called. Kevin slipped out of his bed slowly like a slug. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, changed clothes and ran down the stairs toward the kitchen. “Good morning sleepyhead. I made you pancakes,” his mother said. “You better hurry up. School starts in half an hour.” Kevin suddenly rushed to the table and stuffed his pancakes with his hands in his mouth without even chewing. He tried to say, ‘Thank you,” through his pancakes, but his words just came out in mumbles. He picked up his backpack and raced out the door. He ran as fast as he could to school. Half-way, he became tired and started walking. He then heard a high screech above him. He glanced at the sky and saw a giant eagle. It was diving right toward him! Kevin was frightened and couldn’t budge. The eagle swooped down and took Kevin by his shirt. Kevin yelled and shook frantically. Claws dug in into his flesh. His shirt started ripping. Before he knew it he was over 30 metres off the ground! He was going higher. “This has got to be a dream,” Kevin said. “Hope I wake up soon.”

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 11 The giant bird flew far from the city and over the forest. It flew past the forest and over a lake. Right in the middle of the lake, the huge bird dropped Kevin in the water and flew away. Kevin landed in the water with a splash. His backpack weighed him down. He struggled out of his bag and finally got it off. His backpack disappeared in the deep. Now he was thinking about excuses he’d make to his teachers about his missing assignments. The water was cold against his skin, sending chills down his spine. He swam to the surface and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and noticed that he wasn’t in the lake at all. He was in a river in a canyon! The water suddenly rushed past him, carrying Kevin along. “Help!” he called. He tried to swim to the side, but the current was too strong. He then heard the crashing of water ahead. He saw he was about to go over a waterfall! He turned back and swam with all his strength, but it did no good. He searched for branches, like in the movies, but there were none. “C’mon! Wake up! Wake up!” he cried. I’m doomed he thought. He turned around and the edge was right there. He screamed as he fell through mid-air toward the sharp rock bottom… Kevin shot up from his bed, drenched in cold sweat. He was shivering all over. Chills went all through his body. He looked around. He was in his room, his bed and was safe. He took a deep sigh. His alarm clock rang wildly on the table, screaming at Kevin with all its might. Kevin slammed the top of the clock to make it stop. “Kevin! Wake up! Time for breakfast!” his mother called. Kevin slipped out of his bed slowly like a slug. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, changed clothes and ran down the stairs toward the kitchen. “Good morning sleepyhead. I made you pancakes,” his mother said. “You better hurry up. School starts in half an hour.” Kevin suddenly rushed to the table and stuffed his pancakes with his hands in his mouth without even chewing. He tried to say, ‘Thank you,” through his pancakes, but his words just came out in mumbles. He picked up his backpack and raced out the door. He ran as fast as he could to school. Halfway, he became tired and started walking. He then heard a high screech above him.

Julie Ip Age:12

12 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 You will be Rewarded

It was a dark, cold night. The wind was howling like a wolf. The leaves on trees jumped up and down as if they were on fire. Trees swayed back and forth in the heavy breeze. Dark clouds covered the moon leaving me alone in this lonely night. I walked along the sidewalk reassuring myself that nothing was wrong. After all, it was quiet. Almost, too quiet, to be real. Then, I heard breathing behind me and I ignored it telling myself that my imagination was getting the better of me. I heard breathing again. I looked back but nobody was there. All of a sudden I was startled to death by a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see who was behind me but to my surprise nobody was there. I shivered and felt a cold chill run through my spine. Ignoring the fear inside me I started to walk again but I felt another tap on my shoulder. This time I didn’t look back. I started running with all my might. “Stop,” somebody yelled behind me. I looked back and I saw an old man close behind me. Where had he come from? I sighed with relief. It was just an old man, stooped over a wooden cane. “My name is Mr. Peter Brown,” he said. He continued to say that he was new in town and had lost his way back to his motel. He asked me for directions and I was more than happy to help him. He thanked me and said in an eerie voice, “You will be rewarded.” Before I could ask him what he meant he disappeared with a tap, tap into thin air. What a weird imagination I had. I am sure that he didn’t disappear. The next morning was filled with sunshine without a breath of wind. I turned on the TV. Something very interesting caught my eye. Mr. Peter Brown was on TV. Handcuffed! A police officer beside him announced that the serial killer, Peter Brown, had been captured last night. Peter Brown was a killer who asked people on the road, after midnight, for directions to his motel and if they failed to help him, he killed them! If they answered him and gave him directions he would say, “You will be rewarded.” I stood shocked, staring at the TV, and in the midst of my excitement I realized something. It felt good to help someone in need. By helping someone I had also helped save my own life. I realized that Peter Brown was right. You are rewarded in several ways when you help someone. I stood there watching the TV anxiously waiting to see what was going to happen next. The police officer pushed Peter Brown inside the police car but before Peter Brown got in I could have sworn that he winked right at me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Isuri Weerakkody Age:14

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 13 Working Together

As he watched the old man stagger along the dusty street, the boy became extremely angry. He was poor, just like that man. The boy hoped that someday he would do something that actually mattered in this world. He hated to be the one who was poor, the one everyone pitied. Ben lived with his mother on the streets of a small town in Brazil. His hair was long and dark and his eyes were icy blue. He was an only child, as his father had died when Ben was the age of six. He spent the first six years of his life living with his father and mother in a tiny house. They were very poor. When his father died, they could no longer pay the rent anymore so they moved out onto the street. Now they scavenged the streets to find old clothes or loose change. Ben’s dream was always to go to school. Ben had one friend in the world. That was his dog Scotty. They had found Scotty in an alleyway. He was a stray and he lived on the streets, just like Ben. One scorching and humid afternoon, Ben and Scotty were walking through the dusty streets of the village. The two of them were trudging along searching for either food or work. While he was doing this, he saw Mr. Young walking around. Ben smiled and waved at him. Mr. Young sometimes gave Ben and his mother some money so that they could buy enough food and water. Mr. Young gave them this money because he was a wealthy storeowner who had a good heart. Ben would run errands for him whenever he could. Ben knew most of the people in his village and was always very polite to all of them, except one person. This one person’s name was Cal. He was one of the wealthier kids in this neighborhood. He lived in a small house. At least he had a house. He hated Cal so much. One day when Ben was on the streets of the village, Mr. Young gave him some money to buy his mother a birthday present. Ben went to a little corner store and he bought his mother some new shoes. This was the first new pair she had received in many years. He put them down for one second and they were gone. He suspected that Cal took them because he saw him running out of the store when he looked back. One day Ben was walking through the streets of his town. He was playing with Scotty. Suddenly Ben stopped. He saw Cal standing at the opposite end of the street. They looked into each other’s eyes. It was like a showdown between two cowboys from Texas. Abruptly, their eyes fell on a shadow moving through one of the alleyways. Both boys decided to go and investigate. When both of their heads peered down the alley, they were shocked at what they found. It appeared they had stumbled across two criminals exchanging their loot. They both yanked their heads out of the alleyway as fast as they could. Unfortunately, the thieves saw them first. Scotty was trying to protect both of the boys, but it was useless. The robbers grabbed Scotty, Ben and Cal. “Help me!” Ben screamed, but nobody could hear him. Then, right when he was drawing his breath to scream again, he

14 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 saw the man raise a pole in the air and everything went black. Great, thought Ben, I am kidnapped with my enemy with no way to get out. This is just my lucky day, I guess. When Ben got his bearings, he realized that he and Cal were in a warehouse, tied up to a pole. Scotty was whimpering beside him. “Cal?” called Ben. No answer, but a voice cried out angrily. “Pipe down kid!” Ben realized that it was the voice of his captor. “Ben,” Cal said, “I think we are going to have to work together if we’re going to get out of this mess.” How could Ben work together with his greatest enemy? This boy stole his mother’s birthday present. How could Ben find it in him to work with Cal? Ben decided that it would probably be a matter of life and death. “All right,” Ben replied (this time in a very soft voice), “we will work together.” Ben reached for the ropes on Cal’s hands. He tried to untie them but the knots just would not come loose. Ben spit on the ropes and they became much easier to manipulate. The knots came loose. Cal did the same to Ben’s ropes and slipped the leash off of Scotty’s head. The three of them made a dash to the door of the warehouse. The thieves noticed them and gave chase. They tried to catch them but Ben had other ideas. He spotted a dumpster and jumped in followed by Cal and Scotty. In this dumpster, it was heaven for Scotty but very smelly for Cal and Ben. The trio waited for the men to pass. Immediately, they jumped out of the dumpster and ran to the nearest payphone to call the police. Ben had hardly ever used a phone before but, luckily, Cal knew how to use one. When the police came, they wanted to get as much information as they could. They had been searching for these people for about a year. It seems that the two men were part of a huge crime organization gathering illegal drugs to sell on the black market. A further investigation of the warehouse showed that there were drugs stored in huge barrels that had been used for storing wine. The police recovered all of these barrels from the warehouse. The two boys did not know the most important piece of information until they received it. This information was that whoever had helpful information in tracking these criminals would receive a ten thousand dollar reward. When Ben heard this wonderful news, he was overjoyed. Now he and his mother could start over again. Cal was so happy for Ben that he gave Ben and his mother two thousand dollars of his reward. All this was done by two people working together to save themselves. Not only did Ben collect twelve thousand dollars, he received a new friend. Ben realized that with the money he would be able to go to school. Now he could fulfill his greatest dream thanks to his teamwork with Cal.

Andrew LeMay Age:12

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 15 Chris

I like school. I like everything everyone else hates. Everyone goes to the movies while I enjoy doing my homework alone. I like the rain, and when everyone is inside during a rainstorm, I’m out for a walk. No one likes me and that’s fine. If I could, I would stay at school forever. I don’t usually sleep at night. I don’t like sleeping at all. I also don’t like a lot of things. I hate parties because they’re boring. I don’t do anything at them. I don’t enjoy going to the movies. They’re too fake. Sleep is a waste of time. I hate everything everyone else likes. “Chris!” Called my mom. “It’s Saturday, you should be out with your friends!” “No, mom, it’s okay,” I called back. I looked at the project I had been working on. ‘This should get me an A+,’ I thought to myself. A few more hours later, I was finishing up my math homework. I looked at the clock, 2:56 a.m. I put the math homework down and crawled into bed. I got up again, turned off the light, then crawled back to bed through the darkness. I woke up and it was raining outside. So I got up, and started up the computer to check for any emails. There weren’t any. As usual. I got dressed. Put my sweatshirt on. Then I walked out into the warm rain. I quietly walked back into my house, slowly taking off my shoes and walking up the stairs. ‘Wouldn’t want to wake my parents up,’ I thought. When I got back to my room after what seemed like an eternity, I saw my dog sleeping on my bed. So I curled up next to him and went back to sleep. I looked at the clock, it was already after 12 p.m. My mom put breakfast out for me, pancakes, they’re okay but I preferred eggs. After breakfast, I slowly went to see what everyone else was doing. They were still eating. When I got back to my room, I crawled back into bed, this time to think. I like everything everyone else hates, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jared Jukes Age:12

The Blink Of An Eye

‘Dear Diary, Today was better. I had no partner, but I didn’t get spat at again. I got one A and a C! It was pretty much the same except for that.’ Naomi slammed her pink diary shut and stormed out of the house. Her brown hair blew against her face as she walked to the park. Because she was a loner, there wasn’t anyone waiting there for her. She was starting to get used to it since there was nothing she could do about it. If only she had friends.

16 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Just then, as though hearing her prayers, she heard rustling. Out of the bushes came Sarah’s posse. Naomi tried to wave, but all she got out of it was a bunch of popular girls’ cold shoulders. As the girls walked by, Naomi noticed it: in a wheelchair by the swings — a girl. Naomi walked over and smiled. She didn’t recall ever seeing this rosy- cheeked girl before. “Hi.” “Hi!” The girl was startled as though she didn’t see Naomi walking over. “What’s your name? I’m Naomi.” “I’m Melanie and I’m lost. I’ve been here hours. Could you take me home?” “Oh my gosh! Certainly! Aren’t you scared?” “I don’t have parents anyway. I live at an orphanage so I ran away.” ‘Dear Diary, You won’t believe what happened! There was a girl at the park…’ Naomi poured her heart out to her diary. ‘And now she lives with us! Mom’s always wanted to be a foster mother. SHE could be my friend!’ The next day at school, Melanie accompanied Naomi to school. Naomi had to push Melanie’s wheelchair. They walked side by side into classes, were partners in classes and even got to sit out gym together. Naomi cherished every moment she had to talk to her new friend. She had never felt such joy before. Since they lived together now, they got to have fun at home too. “This is my diary. You can have a look.” “Erm…can you read the first page to me? Then we’ll play something.” ‘Dear Diary, THAT was weird. Mel didn’t want to read you! Actually, I’ve never seen her read anything before and I spend almost all my time with her! Oh well…I guess she just doesn’t like to.’ Bring-Bring! Naomi glared at the phone, hating it. Must be Sarah prank-calling again. Just then, Melanie came around the hallway corner clutching the cordless in her chubby hand. “Naomi! It’s the orphanage! They found me! Now someone wants to adopt me!” There were tears in Mel’s eyes. However, Melanie recognized them as tears of happiness. She had been overjoyed to finally find a friend but it seemed that her friend would leave her at last. Too good to be true. “Goodbye, Mel!” said Mom. “B…b…bye...” said Naomi, “Are you going far away?” “Too far for visits…There’s something you should know.” She pulled Naomi to one side.

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 17 “Look into my eyes Naomi, and figure it out.” Then Naomi noticed it for the first time. In Mel’s eyes was a milky stare and she never looked straight at her. “I’m blind.” As Melanie’s new car drove away into the distance, Naomi wondered, still in shock, about what she almost had, enjoyed, and lost in the blink of an eye.

Perana Das Age:12

Young Voices Nancy Jiang Age: 15

18 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Imagination….Or was it?

“ first of all, it is an honour to…” Beep— I turned off the television. There were no programs that I wanted to watch. They were all boring and not my style. I was all alone in my house, and had nothing to do. I had finished the project, homework, and even the report about the ecosystem. My friends were nowhere. I guess they went somewhere. I lay down on the floor. It felt so cool. I rolled over. Suddenly everything was so quiet. I stopped and stared at the ceiling...so quiet... I was sleepy as if the sandman powdered me with the sleep powder. As I was falling asleep…something rattled. I sat up and looked around. No one was there. No one was trying to get into the house. I tried to sleep again… something rattled again. I felt cold sweat ran down my back. I suddenly remembered all the horror movies I’d ever seen. “ Oh. I shouldn’t have watched that many horror movies.” I found myself imagining the corpse in a well. Because I was so scared, I ran to my room and lay down on my bed. The murders…beast...ghosts...killer...all the scary things floated in my head. Strangers…thief…death…child. Ghost...more ghosts. Beasts under the bed, hairy cockroaches in the bathroom. Under the blanket...blood...skull…dark alley… “ Nooooo!!! ” I sat up. I was so scared that I was almost crying. I couched and lean against the wall. I couldn’t help thinking about hands that might suddenly shoot out of the wall. I sat up straight so as not to lean against anything. Then I found something. An open window. It was making the rattle sound. I sighed. Those things were from my imagination. I lay down again and slept. Suddenly, the television turned on by itself…Rattling sound…and… “Do you think so…?” “ ….!!” Noooooooo!!!

Sandra Park Age:12

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 19 AGE 15–16

First Place

She Might’ve Been Pretty

It was a snowy day, as the white drifted down to the city streets. It was early evening but already full of people wandering around the city. Little could be said about a young man who made his way down the street, carrying a worn violin case. He walked cautiously, but made his way quickly around the lanes. He had done this many times before and tonight’s practice would be no different. He stopped at the corner; the name of the street was lost in the flurry of snow. Setting down his violin case, he carefully took out his violin and began to play. He was a busker. A sweet tune of true melancholy filled the streets being only spoiled by the required tuning of the aged violin. Few people gave him a glance; but only a few coins, pennies, lingered in the box. The man kneeled down. He silently groped for the change in his violin case. He was blind. Hour after hour passed, and he kept playing, tune after tune. Crowds gathered once or twice, while he played his sweet melodies, but the money is his box was still scarce. He couldn’t see his audience, enchanted by his playing, or the way they walked away quickly without sparing some change after a song ended. The young man could sense the day ending. It was close to midnight and there were less and less people happily strolling down the streets. He was about to pack up, but suddenly someone accidentally pushed him in the back. He fell face flat into the snow. He could only feel its cold sting, never able to see its white. He felt a pair of arms help him up. A hand closed around his, it was gloved and warm to the touch. “Your playing was breathtaking. Thank you for your lovely music,” a woman’s voice quickly whispered. The young man felt her let go of his hand. He did not see her quickly disappear down the street. He yelled after her, but she did not turn back. He felt his hand close around a bill. She had given him money. He could not see its value. The next night, the young man played again, playing songs of love and romance. He expected the woman again. He wanted to get her name. After a while, he stopped playing and simply waited. She did not come. He quietly pulled the bill she had given him the previous night. He knew she was never to be in his life again. The woman might have been pretty. He couldn’t see, but it didn’t matter now anyway. Jason Ka Kan Leung Age: 15

20 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Second Place

Stephanie Stevens

My name is Stephanie Stevens. I am an only child and my parents are separated. I live with my mom and step-dad, Ricky. My mom doesn’t care about what I do, where I go and when I come home. She loves me so much she lets me do anything I want, whenever I feel like it. I admit, I’m a little spoiled, but she doesn’t mind. It’s all good. My step-dad is nobody to me. I don’t like him. Arghh…he is so annoying, he thinks he is my dad, but hell, NO! who does he think he is? He ain’t my dad. He can’t tell me what to do. Sometimes I wish I could just get a gun and shoot him in the head. Why should I treat him like a person? He is just some guy my mom fools around with. I don’t talk to him. It’s not like he cares about me anyway. Not like Freddie. He gives me free cocaine!! Anyways, he is so cute. He is 25 years old. He has brown hair, and honey brown eyes. He’s got both his ears and tongue pierced, ohh yeah…and his nipples. He’s got two tattoos. Gorgeous! He is my boyfriend but he is engaged to a blonde chick. I don’t think his fiancée knows about me though. Ohh well…what can I say? I’m so sad. Sigh…I am really gonna miss him, because he is gonna move to New York with his fiancée. Arghh…who cares..screw him!! After he moves away, I am just gonna have to find someone else to have sex with and who can give me drugs. Getting high is one of the most exciting things that has actually happened in my life. There is nothing good in life that I can do anyways. I don’t like school. It’s my worse nightmare. I’m a dance major. I like dancing, but other than that, nothing interests me. I’m failing most of my classes. Ohh well…I don’t really care. The funny thing is that I am only getting 9% in photography. What a laugh? Haha…If I don’t pass this year, then I’ll just drop outta school. Seriously, there’s really no point in me staying in school if I can’t pass. I don’t care about my education. It’s no big deal. I’ll just go out there and get a job, as simple as that. My parents can’t do shit about it. Dropping out is gonna get me kicked outta my family, but what can I do? What am I gonna do after that? I’ll probably die in a field in Columbia overdosed on cocaine. Life is messed up. I’m a druggie. I don’t care about what other people think of me. I AM WHO I AM!!

Sharon Sin Age: 16

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 21 Farm, Mackje Gao Zheng Jei Age: 12

Third Place

Shadows and Whispers

Black clouds scudded across the iron-grey sky, covering the moon and reducing the world to mere shadows. She heard the whisper of movement near her, the rustle of cloth upon cloth, and felt the hotness of his breath near her ear: “I didn’t think you were going to come.” “Of course I came,” she hissed, staring ahead of her, at the elephantine silhouettes of the buildings on the other side of the river. She felt the thirst gnawing at her abdomen. “What choice did I have?” More shapes materialized from the darkness, sliding smoothly across the ground to surround her. They said nothing but she felt their thoughts, a physical force that assaulted from all sides. She felt her fingers form into fists inside the pockets of her coat as she closed her eyes and inhaled through her mouth. The air was cool against her moist lips. When she opened her eyes again the moon had escaped the cover of the clouds and he was standing in front of her, his eyes unreadable. The silence stretched on.

22 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 “What will I have to do?” she finally asked, despising herself for the wavering tone of her voice. He smiled, a slow smile made all the more eerie in the white lunar light. “What,” he asked, “are you willing to do?” The unreal ebony of his hair seemed to have been painted by an otherworldly hand, the darkness of it casting his face into pale relief. And in the light of the moon, the curve of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbones — all the lines of his face — were sharper, less real, in their beauty. He had always claimed he was camera-shy so she had once tried to capture his ethereal appearance as he reached for a pencil in English class. But something must have happened in the developing room because the picture that emerged in the fluid was one of a chair and a desk — and nothing else. She had told him about the phenomenon and had expected him to mirror her own amused confusion. Instead he had become inexplicably angry. This does not go beyond the two of us, he told her. Her bewilderment made her reckless: Why? What is it? What’s your secret? she demanded. He responded with a painful glare. Don’t ask me that again. And so she buried her questions and settled for a relationship full of lies and silence. Now, months later, she knew why. The ravenous animal that was her stomach cried despairingly for nourishment as she rubbed the sore spot on her neck. She imagined the river in front of her turning into rich red, flowing liquid, and sighed thirstily at the picture. What are you willing to do? She swallowed, and decided. “Anything.”

Siva Vijenthira Age:16

Me Against the Night Sky

Dried leaves sweep their way through the chilly autumn sky. Staggering awkwardly, I lugged my brand-new reflector telescope down the creaky wooden steps of the backyard porch. Having received a top-quality telescope just recently, my arsenal of telescopes would be an impressive sight to any amateur astronomer. Tonight, I wanted to test out the powerhouse telescope of my array. Luck was not on my side and so naturally there were weeks of overcast skies. Tonight was my lucky break. Just getting down the stairs and onto the lawn seemed to take forever. By the time I got down to the lawn, my face was nearly frozen to the aluminum tube of

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 23 the telescope. I slowly lowered the telescope onto the ground, making sure I didn’t damage a perfectly good telescope. My back felt like it was going to crack from the pressing weight of the telescope. When the delicate telescope had been set down, I peeled my frozen cheek off the tube of the telescope. I circled around it admiring the faint light gleaming off the tube. I looked up into the night sky and saw countless shimmering pearls on a perfectly black sky. The brisk wind began to chew at my ears. I hadn’t expected there to be such strong winds tonight. From behind me, our porch light suddenly blazed on. Swiveling around, I caught the full blast of the 100-watt light shining into my eyes. My night vision was probably ruined for the rest of the evening. “Hey, turn that light off, you’re killing my night vision,” I complained in the general direction of the backyard quasar. The light was then abruptly turned off. Scowling, I turned back to the eyepiece. Now that the light had blinded me, I was no better off in the dark than a blind person. In hopes I wouldn’t topple over the telescope, I put my arms out in front of me and slowly made my way towards the telescope. Unfortunately, it was closer than I had thought and so I slammed my knee into the heavy metal counterweight. A fiery stab of pain throbbed up my right leg. The night air now seemed much more humid and the noise from the night dissipated into nothing but the sound of my heavy breathing. After a while, things began to settle down. I got in a few hours of quality observing, though because of the “porch light incident,” objects in my eyepiece seem to have a mystical frosty orb surrounding them. As for the telescope, I was quite pleased with its performance. I took it for a thorough tour of our solar system, and went after a few of the more luminous nebulas and star clusters. Upon entering my warm, comforting bedroom hours later, I was pleased at what I had accomplished for the night. Aside from the “porch light incident,” my swollen knee, and numerous rare autumn mosquito bites, I enjoyed the great observing session.

Jason Liu Age: 16

“The Good Kid”

From kindergarten, I was the model child. Quiet, and obedient, I was always held up as “the little angel,” and “the good kid.” Other children were scolded and spanked for talking back, lying or stealing cookies but not me. I listened when I was spoken to, I told the truth and I asked for what I wanted. My grades dropped a little in middle school but quickly picked up again and I continued to be “the good kid.” I never had a curfew because I’d come home

24 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 anyway. I was never reminded to study because I’d study without being told. I was the kid that made straight A’s, went to church, respected my parents and had a job. I can’t count the number of times my mother has told me how relieved she is that she never had to go through “that teenage ordeal.” She tells everyone what a good daughter she has and how she never has to worry because “she can control herself.” My teachers never worry about my punctuality, my homework or my tests because I always did these things. Even my friends respect me for being what they think they can never be. So why am I not grateful? Everyone in my life seems to be pleased with me, isn’t that what I wanted? Isn’t it what I’ve intended to do: the good kid? There’re just those times when I wonder if I really know who I am. There are times when I wonder if I’m okay. Sometimes it almost scares me that not only do I not do the “normal teenage things” but also that I don’t want to. There are times when I’m afraid that not only do I not CHOOSE to do these things but that I CAN’T do them even if I wanted to. I sometimes want to scream when I hear my mother telling someone: “Oh, I never have to worry about her.” I want to cry: “What about me? Who am I in this deal?” When my friends apologize for swearing around me, I feel different, alienated. I feel that although they respect me, I don’t really fit in. It’s not that I want to swear or I want my mother to worry about me, I just want to know that I’m normal. And then there’re times when I wonder if I’ll ever really make it. I mean, as much as I succeed now, what will it really mean later on? Do I really have what it takes to succeed in real life? Am I really a good enough writer, a good enough Christian, a good enough person? It frustrates me because I know that I’m not perfect. I know that I’m as human as anyone else. It’s frustrating when people simply assume that I don’t want this or I’d never do that or … I usually don’t want these things but I’d like to decide that. I want to be my own person, not just the good kid.

Julia Zhao Age: 16

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 25 My Mother

I have inherited a lot from my father, the way I look like and especially my personality, consequently, I understand and can relate to him in a way that no one else can. Therefore, sometimes I don’t talk about my relationship with my mother as much. In reality, I have probably learned more from my mother than from anyone else in the world. When I was small, my father worked away from home and was only home on the weekends so I always had a very idealistic view of my relationship with him. I associate him with the good times and the fun, but it was my mother that I went to for the things that I really needed. My mother was always there for me; ever since I was born I’ve meant more to her than anyone else in the world. My relationship with her is closer and more concerned with the everyday things so we see each other’s imperfections more than my father and I would. 1 Ever since we came to Canada 6 ⁄2 years ago, my mother has raised me single-handedly while still working full-time to provide for us. She cannot speak English but she does everything she can to help me with whatever I am doing. It’s only now that I understand what it took, and how strong she had to be, to leave the country that she had lived in all her life for a land that is completely foreign to her, and she did it for me. My mother does not share in the idealism that my father and I share, but she’s patient and understanding with the both of us. She also provides a much- needed sense of balance when I sometimes get carried away with certain ideas. Sometimes I even get tired of myself when I do that but my mother is always there to guide me through it. I can’t describe how much my mother means to me. Intellectually, she’s the one who taught me to read and introduced me to the wealth of world literature that has made me a deep and thoughtful person. Personally, she’s the one who taught me to keep things in perspective and how to be a balanced, mature and compassionate young woman. My father may share a special bond with me because we are alike in so many ways but it’s my mother that I have to thank for helping me to become the person that I am today. I hope with all of my heart that I can learn to be the woman my mother is and nothing will make me more proud than to hear someone tell me: “You really are your mother’s daughter.”

Julia Zhao Age: 16

26 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Scarcity

I’ve just realized that my strength is nothing but a feather, not a rock. The first day, I was feeling so strong, I was on top of the world. Not knowing that the hidden pain would soon creep through a narrow wall as I thought things through. Not knowing if I was crying because I thought I threw away something special, or if it was just the fact that I just can’t go on without the person I creatively found. Beginning to be puzzled was just the start for you. Were you going to stay if I continued? Were you going to go if I stopped? These answers were something that I never thought could be figured out without a heart getting broken again, in time. Time is all I have, so I’ll spend it wisely. Time was all I needed, time was all you needed. For us both, considering that we’re both open-minded and crazy in our own ways, we have a weird relationship that I thought wouldn’t be experienced with you, an ex-boyfriend. I’ve noticed that our relationship goes beyond the norm, which is totally radical in my perspective. I like being different, and being different is what I get praised for.

Prescilla de Barros Irmao Age: 16

Hushed Hope

Thunder rocked the foggy air, and the rain poured, each droplet slapping the surface it hit. In my hand, a white candle blazed, and the yellow flame roared with the storm, its fiery voice loud and strong against the howling winds and the drenching acid rain. I looked down at the candle, and my eyes were instantly absorbed by the glow. It was a comforting sight, and I clutched it harder. This flickering flame was the only light I could catch sight of. Except for the lightning that streaked the sky with a blue terror and a jolting fright. The soft orange flame echoed its presence in the caving darkness, the thunder boomed again, sounding like the rumble of buildings crumbling and falling to the ground. I held my breath. I closed my eyes and waited for this nightmarish “reality” to end, so I could return to live my dream. But I looked down at the stone and all of a sudden — I felt overwhelmed. The anger in my stomach began to growl with the stormy realm that had invaded the night sky. Something within me was erupting, fueled by the pressure of two years’ worth of silenced tears. The truth. My eyes were fixed on the perfectly carved letters on the stone. The rain washed it down, and the thunder pounded my ears once again, flooding my soaked body with fear. The reality pounced on my mind. My dreams would never

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 27 be true, and this truth broke the aura of hope that had been radiating from me. He was dead. He was a fireman, saving lives, and had been murdered. September 11, 2001 — this was the date. It all flew back into my mind. He really had been murdered. He wouldn’t come back. My wishes had been useless and my dreams had been torn. I had dreamed he really was alive, that all of reality was fake, pushing it to the deepest hideouts in my mind. I stared at the perfect engraving, looking for an imperfection that would tell me the stone was lying. But the truth was harsh and sharp. My eyes began to sting, sensing the pain of reluctant tears — tears that were unlocking themselves from where I had forced them to disappear to. The wind howled. Tears choked uncontrollably out of my eyes. But they were lost tears. Lost amidst the pounding rain. The rain that would slowly erode the rock that held the perfect letters that spell my uncle’s name, but the tears could never erode my anger. The rain didn’t wash away my anger; instead, each rain droplet that hit me spiked me with reason for revenge. Rain droned on, and my eyes persisted to vomit the tears my heart had internally bled for years. The rain beat harder and heavier, and the candle’s flame was silenced to a ribbon of smoke that escaped into the dark air of the night. Amidst the stormy night, the whispers of hope were muted, the truth prevailed.

Meghan Sudha Age: 15

The Rain

She was sitting in her blue chair by the window when she saw it start — a fine day, and in a few seconds, the rainfall. She knew he was coming. The rain surprised the people on the road, but not her. It attacked them with its mighty force, and the citizens of Allen Street ran for cover. She was a bit frightened of the power of the drops. The rain pounded on the windows; it was relentless, demanding to be allowed into her life. She went to the door and cautiously cracked it open; she opened the door to her fortress of solitude. The downpour came inside, the droplets inviting themselves onto her newly waxed and cleaned floor, dancing down the irregular pathways between each embedded stone. She caught a glimpse through the window. She noticed that the cruel rain had trampled her newly sprouted cherry tomato bush. It concentrated its energy on the soil, harsh drops boring into the ground, trying to expose the roots.

28 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 The rain was at its peak, aggressively falling into her small birdbath. The water was overflowing, as though the birdbath was trying to rid itself of the excess rain. Turning back, she told him to leave. The pitter-patter of the rain became very intense. She walked to the door, as angry drops of rain continually found their way in. She finally managed to fight the wind and rain to shut the door. The rejected rain violently changed direction with the shrieking wind. Angrily and madly, it quickly left her home, and within minutes it was gone. She watched through the window; she was so tired of this routine, so tired of this life.

Abi Vijenthira Age: 15

The Lights

The glow of the moon is fading; the dawn is coming once more. Lights glimmer enticingly far off in the half-lit sky and the breeze is blowing so mild and cool. The stony silent morning doesn’t interest you. It is the lights that do. Across the dusty plains of crimson glowing sand, a bent tree is outlined in the faint horizon. You climb the aged branches of our refuge and relax as the warmth of the rising sun cradles you. A lone swallow flies overhead, swift and silent. Where has it to go in this barren place? You watch it disappear behind a peaking hill, and the brush beneath you rustles as a wolf darts after his prey. But the lights, they are still there. The sun has just risen now, though the rays retain the reddish tint of dawn. The lights are still there, dancing like fireflies around a campfire. You have never seen them before. Perhaps the abnormality of their appearance is a silent cry. The sun-heated red sand is beneath your feet again; the lights are straight ahead. The warmth beneath your running feet yields to delicate toes, cascading up through the red and gold bands that circle your ankle. The lights, faint in the sunlight, are growing steadily larger. Sounds of excitement emerge from over the hill just under the lights. You see they are not just lights, but giant vessels of silver and blue surfaced with protruding edges and indented curves. They sit calmly in the sky glimmering just beyond your reach. The beautiful lights are glowing green. One vessel remains on the ground. There are people surrounding and entering it. You see close friends and family wave to you and you hear their calls of recognition. You feel the desire to be with these people, to join them on their journey in the lights. The sky holds prospect and hope, now a place of desire and dreams. You run — run with all the strength in your weary legs. You sprint like the wolf did beneath you; you fly like the swallow did above you. But the lights

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 29 are already starting to fade. The closer you run, the more you realize that the great lights aren’t as close — nor as near to the ground — as you thought. They are, however, a great deal larger than they were from the hill. Now as you stand in the dissipating shadow, you gaze upwards to watch your life go where you cannot follow. Maybe you didn’t run fast enough, but you sure ran your fastest. Maybe you hesitated for too long, or were distracted by the lights. But you tried so hard, tried your best, and still failed. You understood that it wasn’t them you were running for — you were doing it for yourself. Now it’s your loss. You know, deep in your heart, that there are no more coming, there are no more here; you are alone now. You’ve been left behind.

Bernice Chan Age: 16

Learning to CHILL OUT!

“Karim… I am so depressed. I got 75% on my History test!” said my friend Nancy. It is generally common for most people, when they receive a mark lower than what they were aiming for, to feel like it’s the “end of the world.” Why make such a big deal out of this one mark? Will this percentage come back to haunt you thirty years from now? Lots of people look at academic grades as a “do or die” situation. Perhaps putting too much emphasis on academic studies can be unhelpful and unhealthy. There is always an amount of stress related to academic studies in high school. If you do not balance it out with having fun or spending quality time with your friends, prepare to die at a young age. Steve Burns, a M.D graduate at U.C.L.A Medical School (How to Survive Unbearable Stress,2nd Edition), has proven that stress causes depression, anxiety attacks, insomnia, headaches, ulcers, high blood pressure, and heart attacks. Balancing your academic studies and still having a social life can be difficult. With teachers assigning numerous projects, tests and assignments daily, it’s truly difficult to make time for yourself. Has anyone considered that all of us are just a bunch of teenagers and that we are still young and full of life? As we grow older, we will have more work and more responsibilities with limited amounts of time. So perhaps we should be living life to it is fullest before it’s too late, right? Well, with school, most people cannot find time to do this often and the book Success Secrets (Schubert Walker, Schonwetter 2003) states that studies have proven that stimulating the mind with relaxation and fun helps you study and work more efficiently and productively. So, here are some tips and suggestions

30 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 for achieving the balance between school and personal freedom: 1. Learn to Manage Your Time. Plan your time wisely when working on homework, projects, tests etc. Make a “To Do” list ahead of time, specifically planning and outlining your week’s worth of homework and assignments. This will then help you make time for yourself. Remember, you only have twenty-four hours in a day! 2. Take A Break, Chill Out! Take 15 to 30 minute interval breaks while studying for tests, this can help you focus better. Unless you’re like Einstein, who was so engrossed in his theories and didn’t have time to wear socks, taking breaks will help you clear your mind and work more effectively. 3. Join Extra-Curricular Clubs and Teams. Interaction with other people develops social and communication skills that are needed in everyday situations. It is great to have the ability to work hard with precision, but strong communication skills are also a necessity when getting a job and being successful in life. 4. Unsure? Ask for Help! Do not waste your time trying to solve something that is going to get you overly frustrated. A person who asks a question is a fool for five minutes; a person who does not ask a question remains a fool forever. 5. Things Have A Way of Working Themselves Out. Don’t worry too much. Failing one test does not mean that you can no long achieve your future career goal. You probably will not even remember your mark one year from now.

Karim Saleh Age:15

Thinking Guy Rumman Khondker Age: 14

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 31 AGE 17-19

First Place

The Clichés of Life

John seems like a nice person, but I know he is nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The teacher says that John and I will work well together because we are one and the same. I hate to burst the teacher’s bubble, but she needs to wake up and smell the coffee. John and I are on opposite sides of the fence, and that is why I am bowled over when we are partnered for the project. I don’t want to rock the boat by complaining, so I’ll just bite the bullet and stop crying over spilt milk. You know, John would be a dream to work with if he didn’t think he was the cream of the crop. I guess no one ever told him that the bigger they are, the harder they fall. I think that it would be a crime not to use our time together to give John a piece of my mind. Typically, he takes my opinions with a grain of salt. The concept of being nice to him crosses my mind, since we are going to be spending a week or so on this project. Just as I am thinking about the fact that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, John spills his drink on the fifteen pages of notes that I just made. We spend the rest of the day in stony silence. Since John is a nightmare, I am not going to jump on the bandwagon and want to date him. As long as we can finish the project and get through the presentation, which is worth fifty percent of our mark by the way, I will be as happy as a clam. On the day of destiny, John calls me and says that he is sick as a dog. “Knock ‘em dead. I know you can do it,” are his last words before he is overcome by a coughing fit. The presentation went to the dogs, to say the least, but I couldn’t care less. I am on cloud nine because of John’s faith in me. My head is in the clouds all day, and I realize that life is a bed of roses. At some point during the day, I decide to confess my undying affection to John as soon as I see him. However, when I see John the next day, my dreams are shattered: there is a tall, beautiful, red-headed girl who beat me to the punch and claimed him as her own. I watch, green with envy, as the new couple parades down the hall. I realize now that hindsight is always 20/20, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

Catherine O’Halloran Age: 17

32 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Second Place

My poison

My dad, the person whom I am supposed to love and play soccer with, the person whom I am supposed to be proud of and look up to, smacked me in the face. He punched me until my eyes turned purple and until my lips were swollen. I felt the tears slowly burning down my cheeks, while I sensed the sweet taste of blood fighting its way into my mouth. Though I was on the floor begging him to stop, he slapped me one more time. His eyes grew with pleasure and he was finally satisfied. I used to pray for my mom, who desperately cried in her room, night after night. I wanted to go over to her bed, to hug and support her, maybe even protect her, but instead I laid under my covers, closing my eyes and shutting my ears, so that I made no noise. I wanted to disappear like the lost city of Atlantis. Day after day, I blamed myself. I didn’t know who else to blame. When you are eight, you do not know much, except for one thing: children are supposed to love and respect their parents whether they are right or wrong. Therefore, I thought my father abused me because I was not good enough for him. I tried to put away my toys and have dinner ready whenever daddy came home, but no matter what I did, I always ended up in trouble. I always ended up with a purple eye and a bloody nose. I always ended up lying to my teachers, making up different excuses every day. At the age of eight, I lied so well, that sometimes even I believed my stories. I kept telling myself, one day daddy will come home and instead of giving me a harsh slap, he will give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. It never happened. Apparently I was never good enough for him. Nine years later, it’s difficult to look back and judge my dad. He was an alcoholic and even though he had no control of his actions, I don’t know if I can forgive him. My father, who was supposed to be my best friend and my hero turned out to be the person I feared the most. When I was twelve, I ended up in the hospital, because of my dad’s fanatical outburst. That was the day when my mom finally had enough and called the police. That was the day when my mom and I were able to breathe without fear, sleep without having nightmares and finally live without the terror that poisoned us every day.

Naszrin Arghoshi Age: 17

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 33 Third Place

Darkling: An ode to hopeless devotion

I felt you at my back. You touched my shoulder, ran your hands down my arms and past my fingertips just like you always do. I felt your velvety lips graze my neck, and when I turned to see those haunting green eyes, you were gone again. You draw blood with long black claws. You draw tears with cold dead words. I’ve twisted my mind’s chaos around you like a rope, consumed by the black fire of anger, rage and deception. Revenge seems ever more pleasing to me, when perhaps it is the only way I can have you. If I wanted to, I could destroy you. I hold so many secrets that I could use to drag you down into this pit of self-loathing. I could ruin you just as easily as you feel you could do the same to me. I am stronger than you think. I have been subjected to far worse tortures in this short lifetime than you know, and somehow I am resilient. Bitter, yes, but resilient nonetheless. Oh yes my darkling, I could own you. But I contain myself because I adore you so very deeply. It’s those bright green eyes filled with a multitude of dark emotions. They’re like a storm inside your mind that the entire world sees and yet none can understand. It’s your raven black hair that is so untamed and yet lies perfectly in place. It’s your beautiful dark lips, and the way you bite them when I pull tenderly on your nipple rings. Oh how dearly you love that. I still remember the cries you made that night as you bit down on your finger to try and silence them… It’s the way that you complete embody all that defines masculinity, and yet you are still somehow so gloriously androgynous. When I sit alone and think of you, I can still pick up the scent of your body on the edge of my mind. It hauntingly envelops me, almost as if you were still here in my bed. If you wanted it, if you asked it of me, I would fall at your feet. I would be your slave and let you tear me limb from limb. I would spread myself down on the icy ground and let you steal what little innocence I have left in me. If you needed it, I would let you slice open my very soul and drink me dry. I throw myself down upon your mercy, though you tell me you have none. I even begin now to dream of the time when you will call me to do penance for my sins against you. At least then I’ll be with you. For you my darkling, I will endure the pain you give to me. Kill me if you wish. If it will make you happy, I will give myself to you, mind, body and soul. My darkling, I give you my life…

Elyse Gabriel Stewart Age: 17

34 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 My First Body Art

It was finally the day. I was ready for my first body art. At first I was scared and excited at the same time. I told my buddy Cynar first. I had known him for over five years. Cynar already had a tattoo of a dragon on his chest. Cynar was one of those types of people who was not scared of pain but had a weird style of wearing tight leather pants, his hair was gelled back with red long spikes. The next person I would tell would be my buddy Troung. Troung was surprised that I would get a tattoo because when he had got the dragon tattoo on his chest, he said it was the most painful time of his life. Troung would be one of those types of guys who would be quiet but had hair with really long spikes in different colours. To me it looked like he had a rainbow in his hair. The last person I told was Reggie. Reggie is a really good friend of mine who always called me to drink. Reggie was one of those types of guys who is never sober or always wants to party. Reggie had really long hair and always wears shorts like he was in the Philippines. Cynar, Troung, and Reggie are all 17, the same age I was. When I told my friends there was no way of backing out now. After two days me and my three buddies hop on the TTC at 11:30 to go and get me tattooed. During the TTC ride, my friends were taunting me by saying “Oh it hurts,”“It feels like fire.”“You’re going to cry.”“So much pain.”“It takes long.” But I was not afraid. At 12:00 we all entered the tattoo parlour. I told the tattoo parlour I wanted a koi on my chest. I had been wanting that for over four years. To me the koi meant the symbol of life. All my friends told me I had made a really good choice. After the tattoo artist was finished drawing my koi, I was so nervous because I could hear the annoying sound of the needle. It was time. The tattoo artist told me to sit down and not to move. At that time I thought it would hurt a lot, because of what my friends had said. Finally he started, I could feel the burning pain but yet I enjoyed it. As he dragged the needle for the whole hour, I closed my eyes thinking I wasn’t there. It was painful. When it was done I was like, “ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” because it was finally done and it looked so NICE. My friends said “yeeeeeeeeeee you’re a brave man.” After I got my tattoo, Reggie was scared to get one because I told him it hurt and he saw a lot of blood. Later on when we left the tattoo parlour we went to Chinatown mall and ate at 2.99 (name of the restaurant). The food was so good but I couldn’t enjoy it because my chest was in so much pain. As we were eating we were trying to get Reggie to get a tattoo, but he told us when he was ready he would. After when we all went home, I felt like I was dying because it hurt so much. Later I took my bandage off. I was covered in blood and it looked so red and swollen. When I hopped in the shower to wash

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 35 my tattoo, every time the water touched my tattoo it felt like a burning sensation. It was 11:00 and it was time to go to bed. It took me an hour to go to sleep because I could not sleep on the side where my tattoo was. The day was finally done; I finally got a tattoo of a koi. It was worth the experience and the pain, but guess what — the worst part of getting a tattoo is — it is VERRYYY ADDICTIVE……

Phi Quang Age: 17

Early Morning “Baby Turtle” Ride

I live in the 19th floor of a twenty-three story apartment building; my neighbours are from all different parts of the world. There are three elevators in the building. I nicknamed one of them as “Baby Turtle” because it is so slow that I could even finish writing an English essay by the time I reach the 19th floor. The other two are relatively faster. All three elevators are in full demand in the early mornings of Monday through Friday, which are the times when children are heading to school and when adults are rushing to work. I almost never had a joyful ride during these early mornings of school day. One that stands out from them is the “Baby Turtle” ride of February 2, 2004. February 2, 2004 was the first day of my second semester. I did not want to be late and allow my new teacher to think that I was not a committed student. Thus, I left my apartment at 8:25 am. I had it all planned out: if I would be lucky, it would take me about three minutes to get down to the first floor with one of the relatively faster elevators. “Baby Turtle” would carry me down in about 5 minutes. Then the remaining 10 minutes would give me plenty of time to reach school at 8:40 am. So there I was, rushing out of my apartment and locking the door behind me. In a normal speed, I walked over to the elevators and gently pressed the elevator button. Then I realized I forgot my hat. I didn’t want to go back and get it, thinking the elevator might arrive at any second. However, I remembered watching the weather network and it said today was going to be cold. So, after what had felt like an hour of decision making, I rushed through the hall of the 19th floor at the speed of light, broke through my apartment door, and flew back to the elevators. By then, it was already 8:30 am. This time, I furiously pressed the elevator button. Nothing happened. I started to panic and press the button crazily, like sending a secret code to the wall. Still nothing happened. I pounded my fist on the elevator button and kicked at the tightly shut elevator door with my incredibly powerful right leg and saw an empty can of Coke shaking nervously near me. “Ding, ding,”

36 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 finally, “Baby Turtle” arrived. There were already hundreds of people crowding in the slowest elevator on the planet. I squeezed my tiny body and a 40-pound school bag in rudely. My watch indicated 8:37 am. The elevator stopped at 18th floor and it stopped again at 17th floor and it stopped again at 16th floor. Even though the elevator was full, people were still trying to get in. I could not take it anymore, the heat, the horrible smell of sweat, and the lack of oxygen were intoxicating me. I frowned until my eyebrows touched each other and my face started to twitch. Out of everyone’s surprise, including myself, I screamed out at the top of my lungs: “Oh my god! Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!” Riders of the “Baby Turtle” sharply and uniformly turned their heads and stared at this outrageous girl. I just lost it at that time because it was already 8:45 am. The national anthem had already played its last note. Just as I was going to make a bigger fool of myself and kill another billion of cells for being extremely angry, the elevator reached the lobby. Right before I stepped out of “Baby Turtle,” which I would tear it to pieces when I came back from school, I gave a cut eye expression to all the people who tried to squash into the elevator and thus held the elevator.

Yan (Cindy) Lin Age: 17

Fear of love

Oh God!!!

Monday morning, minus 2 degrees outside and I still feel afraid … all the environment in my bedroom is covered with that fear; fear which I had been feeling since the first day of march break; fear of returning to school and seeing her again, fear of not seeing her again. And now one hour left to start classes after a short march break; I barely can get dressed thinking of how I’m going to act, thinking how is she going to act, what am I going to say? I don’t know what’s happening to me, I don’t know why I feel this fear, I don’t know what I am going to do. OK… The class has started… “Calm down” I say to myself. A little hello to the teacher and to the classmates will help. I do it. It did not help. I realize she is not here. Each second she made me wait; each second this fear grows and grows in my heart. Now I am going to start to yell if she doesn’t arrive soon… The time doesn’t stop. Suddenly the end of the class arrives. 5 minutes to finish and she is not here.

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 37 Maybe I am calming down, but this fear is increasing; I just wonder why she didn’t come. What am I going to tell her when I see her? Oh God… Where the hell is she?!!! Perhaps she is feeling the same … Perhaps her fear is bigger than mine… Maybe not… Maybe she is still asleep… I would really like to know the answer to each question that comes to my mind; with all those answers I would be the king, I would be perfect, I would be the happiest person in the world. But I am not. Is that part of the love cycle? Must I have fear before love?…

Ivan Valencia Age: 17

Stressed-OUT!

It is not difficult to imagine the daily life of a typical high school student, especially when the student is in her final year. Waking up late, rushing to school, she stares in horror as her backpack begins to bulge grotesquely stuffed to the seams with textbooks, binders, and dreaded culminating projects. After school, the fun never ends as the student in question strives desperately to juggle three extracurricular activities and still make it home in time to finish off the scholarship application that is two days overdue. She is lucky to sneak in five or six hours of sleep per night, pittance in comparison to her younger brother’s ten- hour slumber. After a few weeks of this unsustainable, vicious lifestyle something must give or the poor student risks damaging her grades, her health — or both. I regretfully admit that I find myself in exactly the same predicament as this poor student, and often find myself overwhelmed by the pressure to achieve and exceed expectations at school. When bitten by the nasty bug called “procrastination,” major assignments are left until the night before their deadlines, and I have no choice but to tough it out, ignoring the fact that my eyes are stinging, my head is throbbing and I am falling asleep in front of the computer at 1:30 in the morning. However, sometimes it is just not humanly possible to keep going, and in these times, my “Fern Hill” is the perfect remedy to keep me sane. Referring to the famous poem by Dylan Thomas, this wonderful “stress-buster” helps alleviate the pressure when I am feeling too swamped. All I have to do is snuggle up in front of the television on Friday night with my family and immerse myself in a

38 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 good old Bollywood film. Being an Indo-Canadian, I am well-acquainted with the elaborate five song and dance sequences, melodramatic love scenes and intricately planned plots that are characteristic of these movies, but which also keep me glued to the screen right up until the end of the three-hour (or longer) movie. These films were originally meant to provide a welcome escape from reality for the masses living in India, and are understandably over-emotional, and often unrealistic. However, that is precisely why I love the films so much, because it is so easy to get caught up in the problems of your favourite heroes that you instantly forget all about your own troubles. Watching an Indian movie must be one of the best ways to relieve the world’s pressures, because you are always guaranteed a rollicking good time. As long as I am in school, I can count on the fact that stress will be waiting around the corner to pounce on me every chance it gets. Considering the fact that I am the “Procrastination Queen,” it seems highly unlikely that these problems will be going away any time soon. Meanwhile, I am happy to rely on Indian cinema to help lessen the pressures of a typical teenaged life.

Archana Shah Age: 17

Transition

When I reflect back on my years in the past, starting from thirteen and upwards to the present, I realize how much of a fool I’ve been. I look back, and I see how much has passed by, how things have greatly changed, and how the flow of time just runs through my fingers without me capturing it in a firm grip. I’ve constantly said to myself and even to other people that time is the enemy, but this isn’t true. It is not true at all. Time is neutral and we either accept it or we don’t. Either I accept it or I don’t. For as long as I can remember I’ve never accepted it. I haven’t fought for control of it, but kept denying it, kept blaming it for where I’ve been and how I got here. Such a fool was I to fear getting older because I didn’t have enough time to fulfill my dreams. I wonder, if I were given a chance to achieve my dreams by turning back time and becoming thirteen or fifteen again, would I really use it to my advantage? Now I am nineteen. A part of me identifies myself as still being a teenager, still a child. Another part is already peaking at the dawn of me being twenty, striving to identify myself as being an adult, an age of the majority, and an age of maturity. However there is still a part of me, and I believe the most important part of me, that’s just pleased with being nineteen years old. Not exactly an adolescent any more, however not quite at that point of adulthood. I’m basically in a state of limbo, a period of transition. I focus on the present now,

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 39 breathing in moment after moment filled with experiences, and lessons to be learned. I want this year, this year of change and transition for me to discover my potential in life, not what it could be later, or what I had missed then. Transition hasn’t always been easy. It’s like when one explores their keen senses to the unfamiliar. But this is life, and that’s what makes it so amazing: to change, switch around, turn inside out, upside down. Everyday I try to grasp those sheer instants that I would have so blindly missed before, and collectively keep them within my soul to relate and reflect on them in times when they are needed the most. I’ve always thought that I was an open-minded person. I still do think that, but there is this added element that didn’t exist before, and it’s not the fact that I learn or experience, or accept a new concept. It’s that pure and simple feeling that I get of awe, wonder, and excitement of knowing something new. All of this just adds to my life, always renewing and redefining who I am and that’s the beauty of being nineteen, of being in the state of transition.

Shelly-Ann Trought Age: 19

How on earth did I ever get here

“I didn’t steal anything.” “Can you pull out the items you have in your sweater?” said the officer calmly. He was tall, with black hair, and brown eyes. He was Caucasian, about 6'1". He looked very tough. Nobody would mess with him. I don’t have anything on me,” I said, feeling intimidated. I felt insecure and helpless. I was afraid of getting arrested. “This is the last time, sir. Please take out what you have in your sweater.” “Honestly, I don’t have anything on me.” I emptied my pockets. I checked my sweater pockets and didn’t have anything. I patted my jeans pockets too. Nothing. The store owner, an oriental man, 5'7", pretty weak, black hair with black eyes screamed, “It’s inside his sweater, search there.” I was scared, thinking to myself, how on earth did I ever get here? I woke up from a bad dream as if something bad was gonna happen today. Today wasn’t any ordinary day. It was a day off from work. I worked in Full Worth part-time. I had many plans for what I was gonna do today. My plans would mostly be smoking some illegal drugs and hopefully getting my hands on some alcohol. So I got up feeling all weak and hungry, trying to regain strength while I made myself breakfast. While frying my eggs I was thinking, what I can do today while I obtain my drugs — either smoke it with my friends or just smoke it by

40 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 myself. Suddenly, my phone rang. “Hello,” I said thinking who could that be? “Yo, what are we doing today?” my friend Aaron says. “Nothing man just going to school maybe smoking I guess,” I replied. “Oh alright see you at first period,” Aaron said, then he hung up. “Hello… Hello…” hmm, I had wondered, what was wrong? After eating my eggs I started to get ready for school. I grabbed my 725 pants and a white t-shirt from the closet and a black sweater along with my black hat. As I closed the door behind me I had forgotten my money for the day but, I thought to myself, I would grab it at lunch. As I walked to school I had seen a couple of my teachers of classes I had skipped last week. I owed them some work that was really overdue. I ran for my life into my locker and put all my stuff in there and got ready for first period. As I walked into class… “Why are you late Anthony Bisnauth??” “Umm I had to go to my locker to grab my stuff.” The teacher gave me a weird look that I would never forget. One of those looks that would give you a horrifying nightmare. The time was 10:05. “Okay class, finish your project which is due next class on Monday morning, no later.” Ah shoot, I said, I had fallen asleep through the whole class. My cell phone rang. “Anthony I need you to go to the store for me right now. It’s an emergency. I need you to pick up the list that has some of the stuff from the grocery store. I called the office telling them you won’t be here for the afternoon so go now. I’ll be at home okay?” As I walked off I had seen Aaron “Yo Aaron come with me to the grocery store.” “Nah man I can’t, I gotta get to my second period, sorry, yo.” “Aight, peace out, yo, I’ll call you later on tonight.” As I left I went home to pick up the list. I ran to the variety store. Picking the stuff up, I stole a few items. Like myself, I played it cool as always. “That will be $26.89, sir.” As I paid him I walked off. “Pheww I don’t think he saw me stealing the extra stuff which I couldn’t afford.” As I opened the store door the variety store owner said in a manly, calm voice. “Umm just before you go can you pull out the items that you have concealed in your sweater.” Just as I thought I didn’t play it safe so I played it safe now. “I don’t have anything honestly.” That’s it, I thought, now I had played it safe. “We’ll see about that.” As the variety store owner called the police he also locked the front door. The police arrived. “Okay what seems to be the problem?” said the big tall officer. He looked very strong as if he would do some kind of damage to me. “This boy had stolen a few items from my store. I would like you to arrest him.” As the officer recorded it, he asked me, “Okay sir could you pull the items that you have in your sweater please?”

Anthony Bisnauth Age: 18

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 41 When Anna was a Little Girl

When Anna was a little girl she knew exactly what she wanted in this world. Her family, Barbie dolls and an Easy Bake, a child baker’s dream of 40 cm by 20 cm box that could be called an oven. Anna’s grandmother thought these both were trivial things. “You don’t need things like that, honey. Why, you know, when I was your age I was as happy as a jumping bean with my little cloth dolls.” Cloth dolls? Anna thought. “CLOTH DOLLS? But Grandma, those dolls had buttons for eyes. Why not have nice looking eyes and pretty hair?” “Well,” my grandma said, “you certainly don’t need as many dolls as you have perhaps you’re too young — not old enough to understand.” And, honestly, Anna was too young. Too young to understand things like the Barbie’s thin waistline and the mere idea of a disproportionate body that could never be compared to the average person. She liked listening to Grandma’s stories. However, it was too often her grandmother complained about the cost of toys and hairclips — Anna didn’t like that about her grandma at all. She knew Grandma wasn’t a mean woman or anything. It’s just that sometimes when her grandma spoke, it didn’t come out right or she needn’t have said it. Grandma was a strong-willed woman — a woman that you could never have called a “damsel in distress.” She was the opposite of the conjured image of women in the 1930s. Her grandmother’s story begins with when she came to Canada at the tender age of 19. Her name was Elizabeth.After her mother and father died, she was sent to Canada to stay with distant relatives and take care of their child. She did, and when the child grew up Anna’s grandmother left the household to become a career woman — a nurse. She ventured out into the unknown world all by herself. No family. No friends. For her time, Grandma was a pioneer, consequently Anna asked about her grandmother’s life when she was in her twenties. “Oh, when I was in my twenties, I worked so hard. The Great Depression was a misery. But then I met your grandfather — a great man he was. Soon we were inseparable and we got married. He understood what was important to me. He supported my career and we both shared the decision-making in the family.” Anna’s grandmother died five years ago. Though Anna didn’t at all like the conversations about overspending, she loved her grandmother. Anna wondered about her grandmother and what she might have been doing if she was sitting in Anna’s room at that very moment. Perhaps she would be telling Anna that television was unnecessary. No matter what her grandmother would have said, Anna wished her grandmother were with her. Anna plunked her head into the heap of pillows on her bed and wept. Jasimin Curtin Age: 17

42 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 My Goals in Life

People have often asked me what my goals in life are. To be honest, I haven’t really mapped them out yet. There are so many possibilities in this world; it’s hard to choose what I really want to be or what I want to make of my talents. Yet, I am grateful that I can still be surprised, that there are still many things in this world that I haven’t heard of or learned about. Imagine if one knew so much that he or she could not be surprised or amused anymore. I wouldn’t want to live a life like that. I want to think that there are still many questions left unanswered and many discoveries left undiscovered. Which is exactly why I want to explore my options and leave my paths open. There are many careers that I’d like to try out. They say I must settle on only one career path. People may change careers once or twice in their lifetime, but rarely do they change careers more than twice. The entire idea of it may be absurd, but I want to be the first one to accomplish that. Sure, it may seem as if I have a career in science planned ahead, being a prospective science undergraduate at a major university, but I want to be more than what people expect of me. The experiences that one gains throughout a lifetime do not just come from studying and knowledge, but rather, they come from the feelings evoked from doing what they do best. For example, how can one ever share the thrill of winning a gold medal in an Olympic track and field event? It cannot possibly be described in words alone. And how about a politician who has managed to lead a nation of peoples under his or her wing? This takes great leadership skills that can only be attained through experience. Besides that, what beats the lifelong work of a scientist, whose work never ends as there is always something waiting to be discovered? Not much. These are the reasons why I want to be a track athlete, a politician and a scientist, all at the same time. I’m working on it. Trust me, I really am. I have taken track and public speaking courses. And I currently volunteer at a major research hospital. And what would life be if I weren’t constantly meeting people? I’d want to work with an international organization, such as the Red Cross. I want to see for myself what the real situation in the world is like. I’d like to help people, quell their fears, and calm their sorrows. The world is a great place to live when you can put a smile on someone’s face. The world is a better place when one is able to reach out and help others. So, what are my goals in life? I have many goals in life. The hard thing is not accomplishing those goals, but rather, which goal to choose.

Amanda Edward Age:17

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 43 Life is a routine, or is it?

Life is routine. A day in my life begins when the sun rises and peeks through my window, thus waking me. Sometimes it is a cloudy morning, and other times it is a rainfall or a snowfall. But my alarm clock is already programmed to wake me up at 7 a.m. in the morning, regardless of what variation Mother Nature may present. The routine continues as I head to school. Being a math major, all I tend to see are numbers floating around my eyes. Sometimes they are rational numbers, other times they are complete, but whichever they are always involve the ten basic numbers everyone learned in kindergarten. But the routine doesn’t end there. It continues with field hockey practice where I run around the field five times. No more, no less. Actually if I ran anymore, I’d collapse. And if I ran any less, I’d be kicked off the team. Life is such a routine. When I return home, my chores become methodical, as I have become so used to them. And the homework is yet again the soup of numbers with a seasoning of mathematical operators. Sometimes I have to revise my notes for a test the following day. But the revision is pretty much the same as the homework. The routine ends when I go to bed at 11 p.m. sharp. One day, however, my Algebra teacher interrupted my boring routine. He greeted me as I entered the room. He inquired, “How’s life?” I thought about that for a second, and I replied, “A routine, as usual.” My teacher, having had a lot of teaching experience and thus very wise, had a concerned look on his face and said, “Life doesn’t have to be a routine unless you make a routine. I’ve taught the same material day after day for twenty years. Is that routine? Not necessarily. That’s why I throw in a new joke every so often. It makes me happy when my students laugh. You choose to make your life a routine, don’t you?” I shrugged. I thought about it for a few nights actually. Life doesn’t have to be a routine. I decided to join the after-school art club for no two pieces of art could ever be the same. Art will never be a routine. As for field hockey, I decided to talk to some of my teammates. Boy, there is a lot that you can plot against the opposing team! Just the other day, my teacher was asking his class how many years they’d spend in university. Almost everyone said, “four years.” But I told him I intend to spend five years. He was interested and asked me why. I smiled and said, “Teacher’s college.” I wasn’t about to make my life a routine. I want to meet and teach new people every year, but most of all I want to teach the people that I’ll meet that life is not a routine.

Amanda Edward Age: 17

44 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Poetry

Bound by the Past, Trapped in the Present, Awaiting the Future Anam Zaka Age: 14

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 45 AGE 12-14

First Place

A cup of happiness

Would someone bring me a cup of happiness?

I’d drink it like a cup of tea.

I’d pour it down my throat,

And lick my lips with delight.

I’ve no doubt; no one would bring me a cup of happiness,

But myself. As I enter my kitchen of sweet memories,

I take out some of my childhood memories and

Some dreams and some sweet tears of my own,

But no nightmares and frightening memories;

No tears and no flavour of frustration.

I stir my happiness ’til it’s smooth and thick.

I suddenly feel the fragrance of my happiness,

Coming out from my cup and spreading all over me.

You might wonder how my happiness tastes,

I can only tell you, make yourself a cup of happiness.

Ulama Saif Age:13

46 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Second Place

Black Guardians

Silence. In the distance, wings. Like a horse’s gallop, rhythmic. The night is pierced with eyes of fire that are cold. The horizon lightens. The sun rises. But when it dives back, the guardians of the night will return again as owls.

Marta Kinga Chalubinska Age:14

Third Place

Untold story

Make me a girl that will never die Now she lies before my eye she Didn’t make history now I’ll Write her story.

Tyrone Alexis Age:13

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 47 The Man with the Book

He seems to like reading He walks by smiling

So quiet So focused By the corner chair Frizzy blond hair Glass as big as owl eyes Eyes with the colour of the sky He was very warm and friendly Lithely Leisurely He walks by That man With black coat Briefcase on one shoulder Leaving free the other That man with the book

Enas Adose Age:12

I: The Chickadee

Thrills run up my arm, Talons timidly tapping my fingertips The chickadee reaches for its supper.

II: Sunrise

Through the tinted window Fiery trees turn the sky red — The sun’s silhouette glows.

Andrew Northcote Age: 12

48 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Memories of Albion Hills

I.

Darkness encircles As I walk blindly over Crackling white snow.

II.

Hungry wolves howl — Scampering beavers start the chase In flickering moonlight.

III.

Sparkling fire forming With waving roars of warmth — Our campfire begins.

Edwin Kim Age: 12

Free Spirit

I’m an idle soul that journeys the land I’m all in one, I’m a head, foot and hand. Racing through the dark tunnels of time Listening with awe as the bells of fate chime. Fate brought me here, to fly, swim and burn To write with the feather, to advise and to learn. Traveling the world like the spirit of death, Waiting for light as I draw my last breath. I’m all in one, I’m one in all, I’m the spirit striding down the ancient hall. I’m an eagle that soars over land in the sky, I dance with the wind as it helps me fly. I’m a fish in the ocean that swims in the water, I dance with the waves to whom I’m a daughter. I’m timbers of wood that burn in the fire,

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 49 I dance with the flames, that’s my desire. I’m a poet with passion that wanders the land, I dance with my words, lusty and grand. I’m the moon, I’m the sun, I’m winter and spring, I’m the hell underground, I’m the angels that sing. I’m the ship in the distance kissing the sun, I’m hate, I’m love, I stand and I run. I’m all in one, I’m one in all, I’m the spirit striding down the ancient hall.

Alexandra Kalugina Age:14

Look My Way i could think about you all night and day, and still you’d never look my way. i have blue nails you have blue eyes. you rock this world, i jazz it up. i sing you play, i go you stay. we have more differences than sun and moon, night and day, but still, i just wish you’d look my way.

Marina Moreira Age:14

50 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Thunder

The powerful roar of the thunder Shaking the earth beneath me The crushing force of the thunder Making everything seem helpless The mighty thunder Merciless Fierce Forceful Vigorous Compelling Overwhelming Overpowering The intensity of the The intensity of the thunder, devastating and thunder, devastating and tremendous tremendous Hitting Earth at the speed of light The sound deafening Thunder The nightmare of many The undeniable force of The undeniable force of nature nature

Helen Fu Age: 13

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 51 We children are like kites to our parents...

We are like kites to our parents,

They hold our grip tight when we are out of control,

They want us to soar high and run with them,

When we get hurt, they tend us and patch us up,

They spend years trying to get us off the ground,

As we, the kite becomes more distant in the years ahead,

It won’t be too long,

When we, the beautiful creature will snap,

From the lifeline that binds us together with them,

And we will soar as we were meant to soar — free and alone.

Natasha Iyer Age:14

Life in a nutshell

A world of high expectations Without a pretty face or shiny hair A messy room A procrastinator A girl without a care.

The one who spills her books in the hall And trips over her own feet Make up running Uncovering her mask Hair frizzing in the heat.

52 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Dirty looks even from strangers Low whispers as she passes by Crooked glasses Bitten nails A lost look in her eyes.

Countless years of taunting She learned to deal with hurt They told her she was asking for it With breakfast on her shirt.

Blood stain on her white pants Sleeves an inch too short Ignore the giggles The name calling Don’t listen to them snort.

Always picked last in gym class Never knew how to stand proud Slouching past Held from the world Never fit in to any crowd.

Broke up with her three-year boyfriend More alone than she’d ever been. No one to turn to Lost in society Silent screams within.

Nothing is getting better Her future is a blurry outline She’s an unsolved puzzle A mystery Chaos and intelligence combined.

Trapped in her own mind Pounding on her cell Everything downhill Invisible to everyone Sara Anam That’s life in a nutshell. Age: 14

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 53 Maleciful, Mischief, Marauding Mayhem

Are you sure that’s a wise decision you’re making, Leaving your homework there, By the time you’ve stopped by to come and fetch it, It’ll be gone; you’ll have your share.

Don’t worry, it’s not a robbery, You’ll probably find it next morning. But it’ll have claws, teeth and a thick fluffy mane, And most probably will be roaring.

Not to worry; you’ve only just been a victim, Of a marauding, maleciful prank. And if you plan on getting some meaningful revenge, You’ll have to empty your bank.

For you see, we aren’t just some foolish pranksters, We’re experts at it, too. We plan on conjuring up a brilliant new scheme, Yup, that’s what we’re gonna do. Ronda Lo Age: 12

Payne Shameeka Samuels Age: 17

54 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 AGE 15-16

First

Pipes

My luck is unbelievable.

I am the only PERSON I know, who can Come home to F R O Z E N pipes pipes DDD RRR I I I PP P I N G Mocking my hysteria At their D D D R R R I I I P P P P I E N T G Y away The water She preaches at me Till I say STOP You’re so full of sh immering, starry ideals

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 55 that I’ve never loved. It’s almost sweet. That’s a LIE! It PROVOKES me Backwards! !dniweR And yet you think My hysteria is because I come home To these F R O Z E N pipes. Pooja Aranthanarayanan Age: 16

Second

Masquerade

Look Their faces covered with masks, Enchanting

Wonder What lies beneath, It doesn’t matter

Breathe The air is thick, Feel what’s inside

Joy Affection Infatuation

The freedom of expression With no emotion,

56 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Revealing everything but Their faces, They Remain hidden

It’s hard to breathe, The pressure Increasing, The tension Too strong.

Stop! Silence…

Listen There is nothing to be heard Sense The lingering echoes of fear Shirley (Xue Zhi) Wang Age: 15

Whimsical Visitor Jessica Leen, Age: 16

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 57 Third

Amy Lin Age: 16

58 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Understanding

Understand; Naturally difficult Demanded by many, achieved by few Easy to say, hard to do. Reflection comes naturally Struggle to achieve Time is the key All will be able New days will come Dream of hope

© illustration and poem by MoonJin Kim Age: 16

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 59 Through The Tunnel

Step By step Through the Black tunnel Echo of stride Resonating against The wall. Darkness Press down upon me Blind to the next steps Indeed. Trip, Slip, Fall, Get up and Walk. Tremolo of feet, no one there Except only me. Ignorant of the mark; Lean on the icy impediment and see. Ahead A golden cup of light That shimmers through the veil of night. Behind A precipice that shivers under my feet, Look back not or I’ll surely fall. When the light breaks through my eyes, It is to be that wings will snap the binds To the fullest length burst forth to soar and fly. Step by step through the black tunnel. Step By Step

Cindy Zhang Age: 16

60 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Dignity

To those who hurt me You never touched me. To those who gave me the worst You gave me the best. I can`t stay bitter for life So I look towards what`s right. I`ve learned from what burned me So I won’t be that fire. Because I. Am. A. Leaf. What blows me lifts me higher.

Andrea See Age: 15

Colours of Life

I painted my world with bright colours of joy, Of birds’ song in the blue cloudless sky With pink colours of happiness and fun. There was gold of the bright sun, And the emerald green leaves’ dance in the wind’s gentle hands, Red petals of roses and butterflies’ wings. What happened to my world? I was taught to use other paints, Grey and black: Colours of loss, Loneliness, And pain That never, ever Goes away. Time gave me Knowledge and skills But oh where are my wings? My beautiful Butterfly Wings!

Anna Davydova Age: 15

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 61 Through the Eyes of Childhood

The bombs rain down in the distance, As the playroom door creaks open. Small footsteps heard in the darkness, Pattering across the wooden floor.

Petite hands search through the toy box; Uncovering a doll, a car, and two marbles. Deeper, old costumes, balls, and string, Plastic rings, paper, and crayons.

The princess emerges in gold and silk, Commanding her maids and attendants. Heiress to fame, beauty and fortune, Of a distant land known by her alone.

A sailor, voyaging the famed Seven Seas, Braving wind, rain, rats, and maladies. Her ship, loaded with treasures and riches, Perilously journeys Poseidon’s vast waters.

An artist, talented, renowned, admired, Forming beauty from sheer nothingness. Inspired by Muses, she works feverishly, Bringing to life the inanimate in her studio.

An explorer, wandering across Sahara’s sands, Paddling through the lush Amazon jungle. Reaching the peak of the world’s roof, Everest, Sleeping beneath the stars amid temple ruins.

The general leads her troops into battle, Fearless and resolute, she plans her strategy. A noble warrior, she conquers her foes, Heaped with honour, admired by her people.

A doctor, gifted with the power of healing, Working tirelessly to revive those near death. She goes where she is needed to work miracles, Her patients love her and call her blessed.

62 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 The wooden chest slams shut, all toys put away, Hours of amusement as innocence passes by. The door closes, the room is sombre and dark, The ghosts of her imagination still linger.

Moments pass, it plummets to Earth and hits its mark, Blinding light, the deafening roar of thunder, Splinters of wood, bits of cloth and plastic remain, Shattered, discarded fragments of childhood.

Joyce Lam Age: 16

I walked a thousand miles… but to you they seem sixteen

I walked a thousand miles… From left turns to right turns From red lights to green lights From roads to highways From U-turns to dead ends. I walked them all… Every step I take is so heavy… As if gravity was my worst enemy. Many times been yelled at, sworn at Many knives stabbed in my back Many people have salted my wound Many doors slam shut at my back Many questions remain a mystery to me Many tears have fallen from this face Many times my heart’s been split in half But I managed to move on. For better doors to knock at For better paths to travel on For better mirrors to look at For better dreams to dream for And for that I would walk a thousand miles more Until I prove to you that I walked a thousand miles.

Asher Khalil Age: 16

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 63 Rose

My lovely mother, reminds me of a rose in very many ways. The fragrant aromas of her cooking greet me everyday. Her elegant and charming power is the stem of her beauty. Her colourful personality reflects that she is sometimes moody However, rarely the thorns of Mother’s anger cause me pain.

And when it’s all over, we embrace again.

Your happiness blooms best in the summer, when I can spend more time with you, My lovely mother.

Sharon Sin Age: 16

64 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 I…

I like… to do math problems and to learn math too

I dislike… people who think they’re too good for you

I’m depressed… when there’s nothing to do to pass the time

I pity… the people who live in places of war and of crime

I admire… the soldiers who fought for the country in war till the end

I fear… the very thought of never seeing my family and friends

I favour… to be one who can make others cheer up and be glad

I choose… to be a good civilian of this world and not bad

I want… to be more kind, caring, generous and helpful

I dream… of having a life that’s very successful

I hope… one day there won’t be any more war

I wonder… what the future holds for me in store

I thrive… to be a better person for all society

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 65 I cherish… my time on earth and my family

I worry… about the dangers in life and what they’re capable of

I cry… when I lose someone who I used to deeply love

I understand… that I’m not the very best

I try… to grasp the feelings of all of the rest

I can… do a variety of many things in a large range

I am… who I am which no one can ever change

Kunal Karki Age: 15

The Chase

In the dark black canopy of night With moon and stars hidden without light The people who had stayed up so late Saw the chase The frightening race Heard sounds that sealed the gentleman’s fate.

Against strong winds the gentleman runs From the masked men that follow with guns. They dash place to place in this great chase With hurrying feet Each wants to beat. The fate of the gentleman takes place.

66 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 The gentleman speeds, holding his lead His surrounds passing he pays no heed For even the slightest lost of pace Would make him slow And he cannot be so For he must not lose the present race.

The rapid strides of the masked men’s run Meant the tired, pursued man no fun They bypass buildings: farm, barn, and house Which watch the race Passing through each space. Each man was like a scurrying mouse.

The men sprint on rough paths and a hill, Everything around was all so still. Nature holds its breath, observing the dash In the light dim To see who’d win. But they only pass by in a flash.

Close up ahead they approach a gorge The bridge across was only half forge The river murmurs, knowing the fear Of the gentleman As he ran No way across and the men were near.

The gentleman must reach the other side Only then he can from his chasers hide. Against great odds he attempts to jump What grand leap Over chasm so deep Landing on other bank without a bump.

With the joy of success so immense The man turns back to the masked men intense. They cannot go past, the triumph he bore But in self-praise high Missed the dark man nearby With a bang and a thump, the gentleman knew no more.

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 67 In the dark black canopy of night With moon and stars hidden without light The people who had stayed up so late Saw the chase The frightening race Heard sounds that sealed the gentleman’s fate. Michelle Wong Age: 15

Reminisce, Amena Rahman, Age: 14

68 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 AGE 17-19

First a once upon a time i dream of a once upon a time, of a once upon a time when I dreamt

Pearl Mehra Age: 17

Second

Summer in Scarborough

Sweet stillness Hum of the radio Breaking of play Sitting down in hand Talking Listening Dreaming Cooking noodles on propane Whispering flames dance on Plato’s cave Snuggling chums, scaredy cats

Riding shotgun among shadow demons Never seeing, never going Faceless

Revealing “Who’s there?”

BLACKOUT Stephanie Law Age: 17

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 69 Third

Oh, traveller — you invade my life every now and again. Unexpected, but not unwelcome! Part of a dying past, but reaching ever for pieces of my future. You make me think of cherries and snow-filled Sundays and days where the only way to keep track of time is by counting smiles. I feel I needn’t any disguise for you see past them anyway.

And you climb that ladder of despair — look, there I am waiting with outstretched hands at the top. You would envelope me with warmth and smiles and show me tricks on your bicycle. You fly so high, I’m scared you’ll break yourself upon impact with the ground. Blast off into space: an arm’s length away but too distant for the remnants of a whispered conversation, left as cosmic debris to curious foreigners.

J.L. Landekic Age: 18

Smoking Me Out

CHUT — any lighter will do. “Euft, Euft”— a futile attempt to suppress the appetite “Hagh, Hagh”— what’s your body telling you? “Fuuuu”— the user’s lungs feel tight.

“Whoa!”— we have ignition “Blah, Blah”— garrulousness sets in “Huh?”— the first convoluted cognition Discourse — is it really better than gin?

The smoke dances to a melancholy tune, Deluding its inhalers, bringing them low For this I wish to impugn Then, hopefully, this man will forego

I wish to be there that day To show him the way.

Brian McDonald Age: 19

70 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 A Kingdom as a Garden

The tall trees stand frozen, stone guards watching their kingdom. The most melodic birds perch themselves on the branches, and as the animals run over the fresh earth the symphonic sounds whisper among the trees, and ripple the water and perfume the air. The roses drip drops of delicate dew as the untouched youth of the garden displays its virginity. The buds on the trees mirror the actions of baby birds who plead for a taste of the air, a thin baptism of water and the embrace of the light. Incoming flowers stretch out their petals like desperate lips, burning for the hot tongue of spring. The wind breathes for each new life, sighs for the dying moans for the sick. Roots stretch out like desperate fingers, craving a loving touch as water seeps through them like blood through veins.

Mallory Baird Age: 17

Windows of the Mind

Is this what you see when you look at me? A mere creature, a figment of your mind? A sharpened knife creates a blood sea Nightmares of reality is what I find The world on its own is tinted blood red Ripping apart the clothes like a cloth

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 71 While pain, disease, and murder plague my head Eating the pure flesh like a swarm of moths Beauty makes my reasons for living last The shades of grey, part of my heart While I was dreaming, I dream of the past The warmth of summer was no longer tart The visions left, no longer one way to steer A pool of water, a one way mirror

Jennifer Auton Age: 17

Untitled

I look at no cold moon no more, I cry at no sad music score. I find no sprig of life-light here, I have no joy, no Christmas cheer. My dreams are shadowed, nervous full; I slowly drown, with shattered hull. I wish I grey-dreams Gothic had, But find I’m now just going mad.

Christine Rentschler Age: 18

Faces

A flash of a smile in a young man’s eyes,

A passing memory in the window of a train.

All the faces captured in time before me,

All the stories kept in their hearts.

What does that smile contain?

I feel confident in my own power of seduction.

72 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 I feel confident in my life,

So somehow I must capture their stories in my own heart.

If I can bring a smile to the eyes of that soul-dead young man,

Then I can somehow bottle a little bit of the day I’ve lived.

All the faces captured in time before me,

All the stories in the dark city,

All the lives I touch just by walking.

Somehow,

I am immortal in each of those lives…

Elyse Gabriel Stewart Age: 17

Stars of Dreams

Dreams are like little specks of shimmering light,

Twinkling against the velvety evening sky;

When abandoned or forgotten,

They shoot across the night sky.

Eventually, they burn out and go out of sight.

Fanny Cho Age: 17

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 73 Teardrops

The stars sparkle like diamonds on the sea That is when I knew I reached the sea

It was unlike a lake, pond or river For the colour shone brighter in the sea

It sits graciously beside the soft sand And the trees bow down to the sea

The peaceful air wraps us with security The world stops in the stillness of the sea

The sun has journeyed on, as The moon strokes to sleep the sea

As a mother tucks her child to bed A quiet mist blankets the sea

Without a soul, there would be no reflection I am watched and shielded by the sea

Its soul made up of everyone, every Tear dropped, donated to the sea.

Alison Jericho Age: 18

To Someone I Love

You make me happy Even though you belong To someone else You make me want Something I’ll never have You make me forget But not for long You make me wait For what, I have no clue

74 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 You make me see things in A whole new light You make me hate Someone I have no reason to hate You make me think Of things I’ll never have You make me cry But you don’t know that You make me have fantasies That will never come through You make me lose concentration Of things of importance You make me dream I have sleepless nights You make me have feelings I have no business having You screw up my life Because I would never be happy With anyone but you Will you give me the things I want Or are you going to make me wait forever You make me hurt Because to think I’ll never have you Is the most hurtful thing in the world You say words to me That give me hope Whenever I see you I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach But what is that feeling Love or hate Love for everything you give to me Or hate for nothing you give to me

Nesha Charles Age: 18

YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 75 The Cubes

As I invite compassionate ones into my heart’s core my hands, so swiftly, form paper cubes building blocks for happiness.

Oh how I wanted to mend it all, restore the balance but chaos reigns in broken pieces and now my cubes are empty.

I wish we had fixed the damages together but now I’m alone seeking bliss in a desolate, dusty corner which in this moment is my shelter my cube.

And behind the wall, you are... I hear your voice; it pulsates in me so familiar, yet so distant how could you be laughing while I sit here shedding tears in my cube. Veronica Gershenzon Age: 17

Peony Amy Lin Age: 16

76 YOUNG VOICES 2003/4 Enter the 2004/5 Young Voices contest!

November 1, 2004 – April 16, 2005 Get your entry form in: • library branches • Express Yourself on ramp: www.torontopubliclibrary.ca

Dreams Carina Chan Age: 13 Inspired by Mona Lisa (self portrait) Cindy Rong Age: 15

What’s on at the library for teens

Books. Internet. CDs. DVDs. E-books. The Virtual Reference Library Youth Advisory Groups (YAGs) www.torontopubliclibrary.ca The place for homework help. Search Creative Options by Ontario grade & subject. Volunteer Hours ramp for teens Homework Clubs www.torontopubliclibrary.ca Your space. Your info. Your talk. 24/7.