Gladstone Review

2013

Welcome to this year’s edition of the Gladstone Review. Previous editions have used this page to impress upon the reader the importance of writing, reading, and the joy that can result. This year, however, is different. This past summer, the Gladstone community experienced a loss with the passing of Larry Killick, a consummate professional, supportive colleague, and exceptional English teacher. We dedicate this year’s anthology to Larry:

you are gone

and cool air in August proliferates

yellow edged leaves reds come on

beans done squash winds the garden

under green cover bulbous and orange

the light is lower at suppertime

like wildflower honey on the table

and still you are gone . . .

2

Over-All Winner: Kevin Ta, Grade 11

The Metal Man

The analog clock, a relic in the modern age, ticked carelessly away in the background. The room it was in was simple, adorned with a reclined white chair and a smooth round table that stood in the corner. The room was illuminated by a soft glow that penetrated the walls, conforming to a uniformly sleek motif. The air was sterile. The sobriety focused itself on the sitting adolescent.

With his left eye closed, his thoughts swirled and surged in a depth of uncertainty. His right eye stared outward indifferently, the overlaying glass scales detecting the pale glow of light and the subtle heat emitted from his body. His head rested upon his cold, mechanical right hand while his left hand tapped away on his knee cap. His messy black hair faced the lone closed door, while his heart beat to the tick of the clock.

“Who am I?” he asked himself uncertainly.

Apprehension had taken hold over his body, or at least the parts that remained flesh and blood. He was sixty percent inorganic by mass, a statistic that derived from his three replacement limbs and the myriad of nano-drones inside his body. His lightweight carbon-based limbs were stronger and more sensitive than normal humans. By definition, he was a cyborg, a modified human. But despite the mechanical advantages, there was constant ostracism and prejudice that ate at his soul. It was killing him.

It was killing him physically too. The nano-drones worked his cells relentlessly until the cells deteriorated. If the amount of nano-drones decreased, his body would not sustain the artificial limbs and he would die. Removing the limbs would create such a shock that might paralyze his nervous system forever. One way or another, he was damned—or he was until a scientific breakthrough offered him a chance to live on.

“Am I just falling further and further down into inhumanity?” he whispered despairingly, trying to settle his shaking nerves. The world enveloped in its belief of human sanctity rejected what he had become as the bionic representation of a growing class disparity between those with biomechanical enhancements, and those that had not. Against the dissidents, he was about to turn the key to Pandora’s Box and commit the ultimate taboo, the modification of the human mind.

He had already agreed of course, but the taste of the bionics’ resentment left an enduring doubt in his mind. The rallying cries of naturalists and humanists united a large group of people clamouring against the destruction of human equality

3 as if those ideals were absolute. The strange looks and pointing fingers left their impression on an all too impressionable child. When he was younger, he thought that his existence itself was wrong, that by living he was in some way depriving the world of an inherent natural flow. When these equalists heard of the cerebral expansion surgery, their efforts redoubled in a tremendous roar, one not easily ignored in an adolescent too young to really understand his role as catalyst.

Regardless of outcry and agenda, his desire to live was the central reason to become the first human to undergo cerebral expansion. That was reason enough to go through with the operation. He stretched out his left hand and breathed out slowly as the door slid open and the doctor came in. The doctor stared at him with his steel eyes, seeing more from a simple glance than most doctors could discern after a slew of tests and reports.

“Are you ready, kid?” he asked, his voice restrained with some feeling of pity or regret.

The boy stood up straight and replied affirmatively. “I think I’m ready,” he said his mind putting all doubts aside. He would do it—he would break the taboo and open the door way for future generations if they dare follow, he would become the rallying cry for proponents or dissidents, but most of all he would live on and see the fallout of his actions.

For better or worse, he would be remembered in the annals of history. He would be the first to ascend beyond human limits. He would be the catalyst of a coming revolution. He would be the Metal Man.

4

Grade 12 Winner: Jackson Liang

Courage

Amidst, a shadow is lost on midnight's nightingale. Dark.

Caw it goes, out to shimmer in the sky; last hopes? He walks.

It pulses, fleeting, yet harder, please, don't, end. The two meet.

Reject's abundance -air- all knew so well. Their eyes proved most.

His sorrows swamped the tiled floors, forced joy. Gazing far ahead.

Scenes unmet, breathing lukewarm mist. An absent champion.

Yet, to espy union's warmth. You spare this dead knight's twilight?

I fixed so long and wide. I restrain those dark, lurking pities.

Waking sun rose. My monument to eternal joys.

Numbness falls dead. Your static eyes seen, yet you do remain.

Together. Although unrequited, the doves do grow thoughts.

Couplet. We are balanced to acidity and basics.

Light. Courage proclaims my volta, an ever fixèd mark.

5

Grade 12 Winner: Kathy Thai

Muted Interrogation

chase after me. stamp your feet into rising ash, make my legs clumsy, my beat panicked.

disturb me, demand my attention. turn me around, thumbs carve into arms. press your hot forehead against mine — cold, and sweating fear.

here I am, wondering if truth is worth explaining here I am, drifting between apologies and excuses watching your furrowed brows as I stammer. staggered breathing fills open silence, lacking the energy to run.

push me back, ignore your own consideration put an end to my peace.

hit hard. flesh displaced by fist to meet bone.

feel proud of yourself, the pride is temporary

you are temporary

stand still and watch me be okay.

6

Grade 12 Winner: Mimi Nguyen

Hands

Our household fell silent under the thick smog of distress. A chilly breeze separated my skin from my clothes, making me feel nude against its body as I crouched in our narrow hallway, my head leaning against the rigid walls. The front door clicked open. I began to count the seconds of the creaks that would take my father to walk up those stairs. From a distance, only the bathroom faucet was brave enough to speak. My heart strings anxiously twisted around my chest as I stared at my mother’s back, unsure if I wanted to be where I was at the moment, though I dared not to move.

Her hair, swirled in a bun, sagged against her shoulders. Since when did her scalp begin to shy with grey? The sound of my father’s slow footsteps echoed throughout the room. The years had hollowed his cheeks by the absence of laughter. How had age drifted from them?

Many people use their hands to tell the future, but we use them to tell our pasts, to hold onto the memories and nightmares that we can’t let go, to caress our loved ones and feel the hidden paths laid out before us. I watched him reach for my mother’s and in return, she kissed his fingers, gently. “I understand,” whispered my father, softly. I sat back and observed a rare motion, losing myself in a memory that may have been lost in the years before. They were once glowing embers, now diamonds in the rough, hoping to be discovered again.

7

Grade 11 Winner: Hubi Chow

The Frosted Tide

The applause of crystal water thunders, a flow of ice roars and a gull cries, under the coat of silver clouds against the lone azure sky. An approval of winter approaches and the cold water ebbs, frosting the dampened shorelines.

Grade 11 Winner: Sobikshna Sivapalan

Happiness in a Black Coat

I want a trench coat, long and voluminous just like a boat. The colour that stains the fields of Flanders, and the colour that absorbs all life, light and love. A coat embellished with brass fastenings, that gleam in the afternoon sun's blessings. A coat made of thick wool, to hug me tight, on the darkest of cold winter nights.

8 Grade 11 Winner: Dionzie Ong

Tan Blankets

She gives him a tight smile, and pours him another cup of tea, remembering to expose part of her bare wrist. His eyebrows raise and his eyes bore into the inviting flesh. He reminds himself to ask for the same girl if he ever decides to visit the city again. He stays a little longer than originally planned. She tries her best to push him along, but he stays put, reasoning that another five minutes never hurt anybody. She smiles, and nods as if it was the most obvious thing and that was she was silly to think otherwise. But all she can focus on is the weight of her dress and how it’s starting to feel like a million pounds. Nevertheless, she puts a bright smile on, and like the white makeup on her face, she masks it all up. At the end of the night, he pulls her into a hug, and tells her that he wants to see her again. Accustomed to this, she agrees and tells him that it is something that she wants too. But all she can see is her tan blanket, and she longs to be under it, no matter how scratchy it is.

She falls asleep on the slow taxi ride back to the house. At the door step, it takes three different girls to drag her tired body in. They get to her room, pull open the screen door, ready to take off her costume; instead, they come face to face with a ransacked room. Her dresses are ripped and torn, gaping holes through the most beautiful patterns, through the most delicate lengths of silk. Her face powder, dumped on every single item in the room, cast a ghostly white glow in the moonlight. Her makeup, her clothes, her everything destroyed. She tells the girls to leave her alone, that she would able to clean up. They conform, not wanting to argue, and they leave almost as soon as the last word drops from her mouth. But she doesn’t clean. She cries. She cries because of her broken things. She cries because of how all the older geishas in the house hate her, just because she was younger, just because more men wanted her, just because she made more money. She cries because she’s sure they were the ones who did it. And she cries because of herself. And what a disappointment her life has been. She hates that she has to talk to strange older men who all eye her like a piece of meat. She hates that she has no friends. She hates that her life is so fragile, that it could be smashed into pieces the moment someone walked into her room and broke everything in sight. She hates it. But she doesn’t have the courage to leave it. Being a geisha is all she knows. She wouldn’t be able to live without it. She walks over to the corner of her room, picking up her tan blanket, and let it engulf her in all its scratchiness.

9

Grade 10 Winner: Fanny Hu

Wool

Hot blood cold breath, tremors and erratic shivers. You attempt to paw the toque further down your head, but fail as your raw red fingers are locked in their bent, claw positions. Your conscience screams and yells for you to stay awake and not fall victim to your ever impending drowsiness; proven futile as your shaking body slumps further and tips to your right. You see a cockroach. Wool.

She sits there; blank stare ahead, surrounded by the dreaded noise. The house is swarming with flies; cockroaches crawl from underneath the sofa and the drawers, seemingly hiding in every nook and cranny. Maggots are crawling in the leftover meatloaf from a week ago. The carrot stew from who-knows-how-long is still left on the kitchen table waiting to be put in the fridge. Dishes fill the overflowing sink. The ground is sticky from cockroach wastes and littered with used baby wipes. She sits there, ankles crossed on the floor, her babies are in their rickety cribs and she cradles two more in each arm on top of her bloated belly. She's wearing holey sweats because no other pants fit her, and a ripped stained t-shirt that hangs loose; her mother's knit garment has been cut and crimped into baby diapers. The doors are opened, letting hot, humid, air settle inside the house. The babies are crying, static comes from the telly, feet thudding outside, rocks are thrown through glass windows. She sits there clenching the wool clad babies as urine drips on to her lap and the left corner of her mouth slowly quirks up.

He smiled as he sips his hot coffee, watching as her eyes closed. She looked so beautiful. Brown hair with frozen patches fanning beneath the dirty unravelling wool toque; her blue lips opened up, letting the curious black critter crawl in. A layer of new snow surrounds her as the storm rages on. There are irregular red patches underneath the snow, her deep yellow sweater standing out from the bright red. Her demented fingers gripped the toque; the other a dirty red diaper. His grip on the mug tightened, she was his. The love they had will always carry on. The window rattles as a gust of strong wind blows by, the wind chimes ringing like a warning as they create a fast and frenzied tempo to the swaying trees shivering like she did before she fell, temporarily blocking his view. The door of the gray and mouldy brick building she was leaning on stays still in the storm, appearing as the unyielding knight behind the fallen damsel. Or the guard to his prisoners. She was his. Pure hot intense fury sprints through his veins. She. Was. His. He watched as the wolves advanced on her, with every inch of their predatory ways. She shouldn't have run.

It's been years since she was taken. I still have flashes of our interaction that day, reliving it inopportunely. I was mad. She was mad. She didn't want to wear the sweater I had knit for her to school that day.

10 It appeared as an insignificant day, having finally finished the sweater I had woven for her, I decided to give it to her, wanting to see her model it as she had done with my previous wool presents. She had the bone structure of a model; I wanted her to be what I could not no matter what I had to do.

It was an unnecessary argument; all she had to do was wear it and it would've been fine. But that day she refuted me. She disobeyed my good wishes. I told her all the time I spent searching for the perfect shade of red for her complexion. If she didn't wear it, it would've been time wasted and I wanted none of that. It’s her prerogative to wear my lovely creations. I forced her arms and head through, ignoring her whimpers and pushed her towards the hall mirror, showing her beauty. She went silent; all noise but the sounds of our breathing seemed to have faded away. I smiled triumphantly squeezing her shoulders, hoping she felt gracious. I opened my mouth to express my pride when she whispered the four words. I like yellow better. Anger flared through me, how dare she speak against my judgement! Yellow is my color and she knows it. This impudent little girl! I put my hands under her shirt so my nails were on her skin while warning her about telling me what to do. I took my hand out and inspected the blood under my nails. I was about to get them done again anyways. I looked back at her and she trembled as I opened my mouth to speak only to be interrupted by a banging on the door—her ride was here. She rushes past me as I opened the door thrusting the toque I made for her into her hand. She nodded her head goodbye trying to conceal something with her hands—she had taken my yellow sweater! Holding in my fury, I waved in greeting to her friend. I yelled, “Have a nice day dear, we'll talk later, careful of strangers!”

11

Grade 10 Winner: Miley Leong

I Wrote My Way Here

One of the saddest truths about the universe is that life itself is paradoxical. The world is such a beautiful place that sometimes we forget the ugliness that comes with it.

I never understood why ugly things happen to beautiful people, and I don’t think I ever will.

I saw the brokenness of the world as it was. I saw it in the face of a little boy when he found out that Santa wasn’t real. I saw it in the way homeless men and women on the streets shook as they clung to old blankets, trying desperately to shield themselves from both the winter’s cold and the disdainful looks cast by passers-by. I saw it in the scars on the wrist of a girl. I saw it in the posture of an old man as he ate alone in a restaurant, his wrinkled hands still reaching across the table for his late wife’s fingers; loneliness made a nest in his spine.

Most of all, I started seeing it in myself.

They teach you in school that two hydrogen atoms bonded with a single oxygen atom will give you water. But they don’t tell you about all the kids jumping off bridges, in hopes that the water below will swallow them whole. They teach you how to read maps and name countries but they forget that some of us are lost trying to figure out the cartography to our own minds. They teach you about the functions and structures of each organ inside the human body, but what of the mind? They don’t teach you about the universes that lie within the pinnacles of the human mind.

They don’t tell you about the ache in your bones.

But hey, let me let you in on a little secret: there is more to the world than its brokenness.

12 There is hope and love and most of all, there are people who will make you enthusiastic about this funny thing called life. People are essentially made of stardust. And guess what? That means you are too.

I’m not going to lie and say, all is well and that the world is whole and unbroken, because that wouldn’t be true. And it seems a bit presumptuous to say, I’ve gotten out and away from the brokenness, but so far I’ve gotten here and, well, here is pretty damn good. And though the asymmetry of the world still disappoints me, it no longer crushes me.

I choose to keep going.

Because this is the world and I know it’s a far cry from perfect but it’s so much more than wonderful, and I choose it with all its jagged faults and broken shards over the nihilistic urges that constantly surround us. This is the world and although it’s full of pain and scars, there is also passion and love. This is life f a l l i n g

a p a r t and comingbacktogether.

This is every song ever sung, every poem ever written, every person ever met and every place you’ve yet to see. This is to be human.

This is the world and if I have achieved nothing in my ever-numbered years, at least I have let it change me.

13

Grade 10 Winner: Jennifer Phi

Our Forest

I take your little hand, together we spring away from the haunting darkness, the radiant sun dances softly beneath the beautiful blue sky, a meadow, grass a soft green pillow, where few dandelions grow, listen to this four note melody, sing this song of freedom, while every imperfection silently drifts away, fall into your sweet dreams, here, you are safe and sound, here, nothing else matters.

14

Grade 9 Winner: Vyvian Chu

I hated the four walls that confined me in a space for too long

I hated that my feet didn't reach the ground and that a woman’s preaching meant more than a nice nap in soft cotton blankets until three

they tell me that the papers in my wallet mean more than these frivolous doodles in my notebook

is this truly the path to freedom?

is freedom just a figure of speech is freedom in between the lines or is freedom a lie concealed in all those papers.

work or starve contribute or die

but what if what I have to contribute is numerically valued at zero? what if my contribution can't be valued with numbers or letters or funny papers that gift you cupcakes

what if my contribution is meant to be valued by the soul, with raw emotion, by the heart, with true feeling

15

Grade 9 Winner: Vivian Guo

Our once regular routine

It's a Sunday morning. I sit in our regular seat just by the tall glass window, with the view of the world. You arrive a little later than we'd planned, as usual. I yell at you, teasingly. You apologize with that dorky little smile. I order a latte You order whatever because it's always a surprise. Two sugars, one cream you remembered.

It's a Sunday morning I sit in our regular seat just by the tall glass window, with the view of the world. Waiting, waiting. For you to come, even though I know you won’t.

16

Grade 9 Winner: Lilian Ng

Caged In

The clock screams and taunts me hands wavering back and forth whispers of pencils moaning for help as my eyelids droop to sleep My once, tamed hair swells into a blond barbaric mane Fingers merge into paws the power to pounce within my thickening hind legs Deadly fangs surface Senses become vigilant engulfed in a newfound sea of smells and sounds My firm frame coated with golden fur inattentively sweeping a veil of dust with my tail restless and yearning for freedom, to an unclear future behind the bars of a classroom

17

Grade 8 Winner: Jinny Lee

Detest, Despise, Dishes

Washing the dishes smells like dead fishes that oil, that grease this person is obese like the drink of sorrow that drains out my life like there won’t be tomorrow and there’s no hand to borrow like placing your hands in hot, red lava I’d rather trade places with a llama like the devil and angel fused together the worst of the worst combination ever like two words that don’t go well with each other: “summer” and “school” “oat” and “meal” “me” and “dishes”

Grade 8 Winner: Sera Verzosa

Dystopia

Feel the cracks through ragged soles run from shining squalor broken teeth and ragged holes and the mad, unlearned scholar. See the sprawl of ancient worlds, the sunset over-broken words March the fallen, flags unfurled to cage the bold corruption (of) the sleeping form of Briar Rose steel ribs of concrete chest exposed.

18

Grade 8 Winner: Amy Liu

There, their and they’re are three different words used in three different situations with three different meanings for example, there is a difference their meanings are not the same they’re not to be confused in case you haven’t noticed your and you’re are two different words used in two different situations for example, if you mix them up you’re pretty stupid your brain capacity must be low in case you haven’t noticed.

19 A Steal for Heels

The big shoe sale of the year has arrived at the mall, All the wealthy women have called in sick for this event, It’s the only time these women calculate their saving percent. Doors open nine o’clock sharp, But there’s a pack of hungry wolves waiting outside before the sun rises. As the glass swings open, they jump for sizes. A lady in red catches the eye of a pair of black heels, Which really was a good deal. But at the same time, another woman in black, Saw it on the rack. And right on cue, They both went for the shoe. As both hands grabbed onto the ends of the heel, Their eyes turned to steel. “I saw this first!” “I had my hand on it first!” The woman makes a sharp pull Causing the lady to stumble over. The lady in red grabs the coat rack next to her, Ready to fight for her desires. The woman holding the shoe in her hand, Pulls out a bottle of pepper spray from her purse. The lady curses that this could not be any worse! The great chase starts around the store, Sending everyone out the door. “Give me back what is mine!” “ I don’t feel inclined” The lady waves the coat rack like a sword Ready to strike for something she ever so adored. But just as her weapon was about to thrash across the woman, The sales clerk jumps in and pulls the lady from behind. The woman causes the lady to go blind, By squirting stinging bug spray into her eyes. The woman is wise. She runs to the cashier and swipes her card And enters her pin number as the clerk stands guard. The woman helps the lady up and says sorry. “Not to worry.” And walks out the door. The woman confused, thanks the clerk. Before she leaves, she sees the clerk giving her a smirk. As the woman arrives at her car, She sees that her car door is wide ajar, Along with a gash across her brand new wheels. A note is taped on her dashboard- “Have fun walking home in those heels.”

Erika Pan, Grade 12

20

A Soldier in the Snow

An angel in the dirt A soldier in the snow playing dead a mirrored enemy as nervous as I scared to shoot afraid to die set me free me and my men the bird whispers to the playing dead A shot rang the bird sang a soldier in the snow dead

Dylan Moore, Grade 10

Devastating Day

One sunny bright day New York was standing strong up in the ski the world changed. Four planes hijacked with many to die flying low into twin towers upon the horror of many lives In the flames the tower goes as eternity flies by before they finally gave away down the towers go with 3,000 lost lives September, 11, a day changed forever.

Ernest Liew, Grade 11

21

They force feed us so full with expectations that we doze off to sleep dreaming of just being happy one day Hopefully sweet dreams are over You wake up in your home to the wretched sound of an alarm clock letting us know its time to go to our grey nine to five job in that cubical. We drive out of our suburban neighbourhood of perfect picturesque people to work, mass produced just like our so called "ambitions" Ambitions, mass produced reproduced waiting at the store with a pretty price We drive home strap ourselves into straight jackets of our own regrets enclosed in a echoing room staring at the walls that taunt us with questions of "WHAT IF...?". Lather, rinse, repeat same struggle different day Is this happiness? It better be because I sold my dreams so I could afford it.

Lisa Li, Grade 12

22 My Sister is a Cedar Tree

My sister is a tree, stretching its slender trunk through the clouds. The tree is a cedar, with wispy, delicate leaves and an ethereal beauty associated with only the most lovely regions of nature. Despite its gentle façade, this tree is not powerless. It has been through storms and forest fires, always coming out stronger and more resilient than before. The bark is rough and the cones are sharp, but if an explorer took the time to examine the interior of this tree he would find it smooth and pliable. Below the clean, moist soil of the forest the tree has roots coiled for miles, and amongst these roots millions of tiny insects make their homes. Birds also find a home within the tree; tiny nests full of ever-hatching eggs speckle the treetop. The branches are strong and always growing. Craning its neck toward the sun’s rays with its root still firmly tethered to the ground.

Laura Moberg, Grade 10

All By Myself

I count the seconds, minutes, and hours till you respond. I stare blankly at the phone, waiting for the screen to illuminate. I pace back and forth. It’s been several hours but still no reply. I exhale slowly and put my phone away. I start on my homework when out of the corner of my eye, I can see this flash. I jump and reach for my phone, but realize it was nothing. My face is flushed and I throw the phone across the room. I start to breathe heavily, like a hammer is pounding against my chest. As I blink, tears rolled down my cheeks. I stare solemnly outside my window. I ponder the reasons why I keep waiting, longing for you to acknowledge me. The time I spend waiting for you does not take away my desire to talk to you. You are ruthless in action yet your words are mellifluous. I then walk calmly towards the phone lying on the ground. I pick it up, take a glimpse and smile.

Kerrie Xie, Grade 12

I wake up in the morning and the rich scent of coffee moves through the air. Rubbing my eyes, I sleepily get out of bed. I walk into the kitchen where I see mom stirring a cup of coffee. She grabs the coffee-mate, and pours it into her cup. “You know that's not healthy, right?” I tell her. But she just shakes her head and smiles. “Oh honey, don't worry about me,” she says as she takes a sip of her coffee. My mom relaxes and leans onto the counter, and puts her cup down. She smiles grimly, and says, “I miss you.” I shoot her a questioned look, but I shrug it off. And in a blink of an eye, she's gone , with the cup of coffee still sitting on the counter

Anna Wu, Grade 8

23

My Bogus Achievements

I once temporarily cured the common cold with my smile My laughter is so contagious, medicines were made to treat it My life has inspired the works or J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien I invented a sarcasm key on the keyboard I climbed Mount Everest to compare acoustics I don't lose, I simply throw games I've fought fire with fire and never have been burned I tamed a lion to fetch my Sunday mail My wardrobe is the door to Narnia I've collected shiny objects from other planets I wrote the definition of "the" in Merriam-Webster's College Dictionary I am the founder of a town erected from LEGO bricks I can speak fluent Spanish in Chinese I've lasted 12 rounds against Mike Tyson in a game of chess I once spilt an atom with a butter knife, they have a chocolate middle I was a YouTube one-hit wonder I currently have the high score on any Rorschach test True story

Joniel Badua, Grade 11

Bedchamber

My bedchamber, sunlight running around. hundreds of cars pass by my window. music fills the room with joy. At night, it gets calm and quiet. so quiet, you can hear the people of the other side of the world talking. The quietness helps the reading and studying that happens in here. The lights soon go to sleep. I close my eyes, and wait for dreams.

Jarrod Pan, Grade 8

24

An Apology to my Grandmother

Early in the morning when the night sky is still gloomy and light is covered with darkness you wake up to do chores listening to the sound of water ‘bang! clang!” the noisy pots and pans like a volcanic explosion I hear the sizzling of stir-fry chicken secret recipe, mysterious flavours I smell the sweet comforting aroma of cooked rice lingering in the air you come into the room like a snowflake, your footsteps soft and soundless singing my favourite song I wake up feeling energetic. I enjoy spending time with you even when you embarrass me you are my diary I trust you with my deep secrets my true feelings I love you because you are special. However, the day after my twelfth birthday things were not the same you tried to comfort me, instead my mouth burst with words I should not have said two months went by and soon a year I remember that midsummer night I lay on my bed missing your presence, wanting to apologize but I buried my feelings aside before I had a chance to stress my pain. You left the world without a word my heart ached with guilt and there leaves a mark that will be concealed until time heals.

Teresa Loo Pan, grade 11

25

Look Her in the Eyes they sit across each other on each end of her mattress in her room he, filled with such embarrassment, unable to look her in the eye she, filled with shame, young and naive was her excuse an atmosphere filled with hate and guilt silence so loud, breath muffled but not loud enough to conquer the beating of two hearts blood running through veins and arteries and back he tapped his fingers against his washed-out black denim skin to fabric, fabric to skin silence so loud, it was broken she looks straight at him, he, unable to look her in the eye “Lie to me again,” she demanded he said, “I love you.” he could not look her in the eye a thief stealing a red diamond.

Donna Chu, Grade 11

Restless Pen

Two o’clock and it is dark And the rain is falling Here I am, sitting restless Towards this bright thin piece Like I always do In a rush, the concentration, The calmness and the thoughts Are coming out of me I can feel the fluent The clearness and the intensity Are coming out of my pen One by one The words are printed I cannot control my restlessness

Jacky Zhang, Grade 12

26

The Wise One

I picture my grandfather playing chess: the decisive mind controlling a playing piece, the twirling of the mustache, the agility the fingers have when delicately grabbing the almighty queen, the fast victory he gets. If he is losing, he just smiles, only thinking of his next move. If he is winning, he just smiles, finding the fastest way to end the game. When l play with him, my grandfather seems to lower his ferocity. I know the reason why: he loves me and at the end of each game, whether he wins or loses, he just smiles, the delightful, intelligent smile; and praises me for trying my best to defeat him, whether l win or lose because l know it’s not about winning, it’s about having fun, and most of all, having the best time of my life, with the person I admire.

Hugo Xiao, Grade 8

I always seem to find myself watching you as a child wondering if you knew the difference between yes and no or the fact that your mother didn’t love you did you tuck yourself in bed at night and cover your head with the blanket or did you lie there listening to silence I remember the day you showed up at my house at midnight sliced open from head to toe and all I could do was try and stitch you back together the scars will never disappear

Zoe Tees, Grade 10

27

Love At Its Finest

I embrace her beauty Her eyes sparkle like the stars She leans toward me with her delicate being I am filled with a passion to love Just a touch from her soul is heaven in my heart

The sun sets as we sit on the big grassy field As another hour passes, the luminous moon ascends from the shadows I can feel her fear, but she knows that I am there for her In the broad silvery moonlight glaze she gleams kissing me on the lips

Neil Ye, Grade 8

Waiting . . .

I'm now alone, why won't you answer the phone? I can never have my say, because you'll push me away. Wishing that you can give me a chance, so I can give you another glance.

Dreaming that we were back in the past Why were you gone so fast? I have been waiting for you all along, what have I done wrong? Without you- my life isn't complete I just hope that someday you'll come back to me in a heart beat

Bella He, Grade 8

28

The Engulfment of the Shadows

We all hail the purity of light but when the Shadows are released we all gaze strenuously into the tenebrous landscape When the unknown is caught in the glimpse of a second We all collapse into the abyss of dusk: darkness has shown itself.

Falling so ever darkly into the vague void of the feral screaming against the gripping fingers of your black obsessive passion: torment has shown itself.

Abandoned shamelessly in crime, never to be trusted exiled from free thought, forced to kill life has gone astray, a lie but when the truth is unlocked it is destructive as it crawls into our minds: corruption has shown itself.

He will slither behind you like a somber serpent his presence dapples the world grey the grasping of his hand will wither life he’s always watching, always waiting when you fall weak he strikes, like a murky shadow he will have your soul: Death has shown himself.

Arka Roy, Grade 8

29 CARrying Success

I am a car with no boundaries, without a limit to obey. Only driven by fuel, and unstoppable by force. Locked doors for no entry, headlights beam ahead on the road in front of me. Let them cry about their car not working, the time will come when the engine will run, like a well-oiled machine, impeccable. For all the mirrors are invisible, there is no need to look back. The end of the road however, extends as the days pass. My distance must improve, in order to reach the end. Focus on my surroundings, be careful not to hit anyone, or a dent will appear, stopping my tracks, and cause a change in my gear.

Leslie Guo, Grade 12

Rain

The grey, cloudy day during the spring of May filled with drops of rain that strikes the window panes as people ponder the light of yonder located above the clouds where no rain is found the season of spring soon comes to wither as summer reveals its shining glimmer

Calvin Lau, Grade 11

30 The Voyage to Digestion

Through the airport doors crunched by the security swallowed in the flight

throat muscles tense up

exit into the stomach

wait time: congestion

A short taxi ride absorbs lots of nutrients through the scenic route

After a long day the last swiveling hike south leads to the release

Danielle WS, Grade 11

Why Do People Always Look Down?

When we walk, we look down, there is nothing there to look at, just the ground. When we do something good, we look down on ourselves, it seems to our eyes we can never do well. We look down on others, we look down because they are not as perfect in their eyes, but we are all unique aren’t we? No one is perfect, but they can try. If you look down when you walk to school or work, maybe keep your head up. You will notice the little things in a completely new view if you keep it up enough. When you talk to someone look at their smile. When you walk home look at the colours around you for a while. When you do something good, look up and tell yourself you can do more. So keep your head up and your eyes on the sky, cause there’s nothing on the floor.

Andrew Ha, Grade 8

31

To the Worried Sky

Just this morning, I glanced at you heavy eye bags, those worry lines had not been there before. I’m too busy growing up to realize you’re growing old. No matter how old you remain adorable to me the cute grandmother crossing the street. I asked you about my future and you replied “Do what you want and live successfully.” I will not forget our talks.

You nourished me with your rain, calm, gently showers and hard disciplining hail. Bathing in your rays like a seedling, I sprout. Day to day, you never hesitate to keep me warm.

I held your hand today and learnt something new: hard working hands are soft. I will not forget those hands blanketed over mine. Now it is my turn to take the lead. Let me be your warmth on a cold day. Let me shower you with energy. Our tables are slowly turning. All the sacrifices made while raising me I will return to you.

Nancy Ra, Grade 11

32

A Dose of Ecstasy

Thick red curtains draw open the audience dies to a mere whisper pin drop silence. suddenly, the music plays drums beating, heart racing. As if I was released from a sling shot, I throw myself onto the stage. precision and grace define me. Instantly, the world becomes a blur. As my hands lead my eyes, and emotions follow the train, I get lost in a whole new universe. The world of dance. Every movement, every expression, so new yet so familiar. A high like no other. Like a dose of ecstasy. There is nothing else I sense except for my movements, the shining lights, the stage below me, and the sound of the bells on my feet.

Lakshmi Soundarapandian, Grade 12

Cold

A scarf wrapped around your neck and a warm coat that hugs you and nice soft socks to keep you warm, you still can’t ignore the Cold, who bites your cheeks and the tips of your ears and sometimes makes your teeth clatter-- but as long as you reach somewhere that’s warm, it probably doesn’t matter.

Candy Nguyen, Grade 9

33

The Lab

Long tongue flapping in the air as she runs at max speed, jolting from side to side searching for that big green tennis ball that she wants oh so much. “You got it,” I yell out and she heads back to me

Her short brown fur shimmering in the light like sun hitting the water.

Soft chocolate lab waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the ball to be thrown again until she collapses of exhaustion.

As the lab lays there I know it’s time to leave and come back another day.

Mitchell Simpson, Grade 11

34 Last

You're always first I'm always last I'm last to know everything You're in front I'm at the end in the alphabet You're A I'm Z Last. Let's remove all that is between us and be together Not last. Not first But side by side.

Zara Liu, Grade 12

Broken

You treat me not so much as a person but more like a doll put aside when you no longer wanted You treat me as if I am an object – inanimate, with no heart a toy that reminds you of your broken childhood. I grow sick of you and your behaviour Violence is buried deep within me You tempt, and taunt it, and your presence will cause it A broken skull here and a bloody dagger there All of no significance once loose I will lay powerless in its wake, cold hearted and empty again Hatred, Spite, and Violence will overwhelm All that was pure and noble will be exchanged for the beast that sleeps within my soul No more laughter, nor love No more pain . . . just empty meaningless hate.

Jennifer Varatharajah, Grade 11

35 although rejected, you love denied, you accept His betrayed, radiant dimples you forgive contagious laughs joyful enthusiasm humiliated, humble intelligence you stay endless positivity smile beaten, you embrace fallen, Kimberly Suezo, Grade 10 you stand suffering, you continue to save

The Assassin

A black silhouette Dark as night But in the plain light of day Submerged in the bodies, his figure they do not shroud, There to carry out a duty that he had vowed He stands alone, but has the might of many Doubts about what he must do, he doesn’t have any He sees his target from miles away Closing in like a bird of prey His blades of steel deliver a quick death The blade gleams for a second, and Like a flash of lightning his job is done. Silence, then the sight of blood His enemy’s world is ended by a man he will never know, Escaping unscathed without anyone’s notice Perhaps that’s what makes him good at what he does. Carrying on thousands of years of tradition He will always work alone to complete his mission.

Ashif Ali, Grade 11

36

Nothing Left

With her fall from heaven and her throne burnt to the ground, she had fallen out of favour with the gods. Forgiveness was never of their caliber nor in their agenda and the world illuminated beneath her with a crude sense of betrayal.

Thrown into an abrupt reality where mortals ruled, she vowed to herself that such innocence of hers was to be destroyed. Plucked from obscurity by the terrible dog in the shadow of the night where stars above her laughed

There the beast stared at her with unwavering eyes. In which such a cruel monster whispered to her: Run away to where you belong, run away now precious little girl. And she did the only thing she could do, she listened.

Panic-stricken screams ached to escape from her mouth but as she tried to speak, the words died across her lips. It seemed apparent to the little bird that her lovely, lovely songs had been ripped straight from her chest.

Annie Ru, Grade 12

a depressed kid

never knowing he was depressed forced to suppress these feelings barely making it to his meetings slowly getting more and more of these feelings he can’t take it any more wishes he can just walk out a door and make it all just disappear hiding from his fear of himself

Ryan Okeymow, Grade 12

37

I remember the first time I entered my grandmother's house. The first thing I saw was a vintage photo of my grandmother, hanging in the hallway. "Wow, that's remarkable," I exclaimed. The photo was black and white and from the early 1950s. The contrast of her wavy dark hair and pale white skin was appealing. I walked closer to the photo and saw her pearly white teeth, brightness in her eyes and her sophisticated dark lipstick. I looked more into her eyes and imagined what she was like, what she did, and compared it to now. I glanced at my grandmother and it looked like as if all the happiness and youth had been taken away from her. Instead, she looked angry and upset. My grandmother saw me glancing back and forth to the photo and back to her. She forced a smile onto her face but after a second, it immediately dropped into a frown. "What happened to you, Grandma?" I asked. "Oh nothing; sometimes I forget to be happy after we lost your grandfather, "my grandmother spoke softly. She looked down and smiled, recalling all her happy memories she had with her husband. My grandmother looked back at me smiling and for a second I could see the same youth I saw in the photo.

Amy Was, Grade 12

Parting Words

It’s time for us to say goodbye We have made it this far, I know there’s no need for another lie Let’s just lie here in the pale snow

Almost like a sweet far-off dream it’s time for us to say goodbye As we fade like a pale moon beam your cold hand gently strokes my cold chin

We are only paper, so thin everything must return to dust It’s time for us to say goodbye Nothing in life is fair or just

To the masked puppeteer who bows there’s no use! Even if you try! We’re no longer bound by our vows It’s time for us to say goodbye

Dana Harpe, Grade 11

38

My Father’s Shoulders

My father and I walked along the riverside. He told me the history and the poems of the river. The river gives birth and dreams to people. In return we give the river names and stories. The stories go on and on. I ask my father, “What if I have no story to tell?” He says all I need to do is try my best so that I will never regret. He takes me to the river again.

Now I am rowing a boat to a place my father can’t see. He stands in the harbour and never stops watching. My boat and I melt into the horizon. The water sticks on the tip of my tongue. I hear the whisper of the breeze. He says be strong, be patient, be persistent. I know I can do as he says. He has the shoulders of giants.

Viola Shen, Grade 11

39

Petals in My Heart

There once was a rose, so full in bloom that it tarnished the walls of my heart The rose given to me from you brought me all the bliss in the world But, oh! How that rose grew! It grew too large for my feeble heart Everything I did revolved around you and your spoiled rose

The worst part was the realization When that rose began to wane in nourishment That’s when you knew that my heart was no place for your rose

I felt it leave me in a sudden rush of emotions Was that relief or regret? I still feel your rose sometimes The scars it left ran deep Marks that would never leave

Long after my death: Petals in my heart

Sharleen Raghu, Grade 8

40

My Father’s Brother

I never understood anything about my father’s brother sitting alone on the stool he made himself reading lost in thought as if travelling to a distant world walking through pages trying to solve a mystery or travelling alongside the main character. His thoughts were a mystery to me.

The way he put firewood into the hungry flames entranced as the wood turned pitch black and sang little tunes. I thought he looked silly staring into nothing but I never knew how lonely he was and his loneliness was a mystery to me.

At night, during the battering summer heat he would ponder the night sky counting the stars or just look for a guideline to a life that has lost meaning and that meaning was a mystery to me.

He is gone now from this world and moments I spent with him were missing pieces to a damaged puzzle. No matter the size and shape of each piece the picture remains incomplete like a cold case but with no evidence left behind and with every passing day my father’s brother will always remain a mystery.

Wai Kit Ng, Grade 11

41 Haiku Page 俳句

Nostalgia Roads a wooden sampan floating on the still river connecting pathways casting out your pain black pavement intertwining shaping the cities masks your misery reveals a genuine smile that spreads like wildfire stars high in the sky glowing with passion nightly Anna Nguyen, Grade 12 brightening the world

Eric Kung, Grade 12

Droplets

In the tall green grass Hockey Haiku are wet and tiny droplets left from last night’s rain dreams fly above clouds celebrate when they succeed Lily Millar, Grade 11 let the cup be ours

Sindy Lin, Grade

I lay there awake pondering my existence alone with my thoughts Autumn Stephanie Goyenechea, Grade 12 the refreshing winds rushing past the tall trees Age leaves float gracefully can never be bought the delicate leaves young and old measured by time red, yellow, orange and brown dimples to wrinkles crunch, crunch, crunch

Raj Dhaliwal, Grade 11 Steven Trinh, Grade 10

42

c h i p s h i p s c i p s c h p s c h i s c h i p upon

In this game of limit to 21 numbers and shapes, sharpened spades hesitant hearts cursed clovers i am awake delusional diamonds nestled in my bed sprawled across the trimmed scattered thoughts emerald field open eyes marking the minutes nickels d never-ending reality r illusive rest o attempting to dream p twirled as you take your chance to match a k o j t c p numbers on dice roll & roll when is day? no sight of sun when is night? no sight of moon only the flicker of engaging screens but you still head in for another game of luck

Paula Chang, Grade 12

- 43 -

An Important Library

My dad is a library. Billions of books about billions of different things. Books in different languages. Everything in the library is put in its right spot. There are no exceptions for late returns of books. There is never a single piece of dust anywhere. The workers have to be ready for anything that happens. A library card is a must for taking out books. When people realize how useful the library is, they also realize that it is also free to use.

Jarrod Pan, Grade 8

This is the Place to get Lost in

The place of knowledge and wonder, where books are lined up neatly onto shelves waiting for someone to open up Curiosity flows through the young and wise minds touching the smooth bindings of ancient and new books The lady at the counter hushing people The sound of pages being flipped it's like a new world waiting to be explored. And so, he comes, the next one to unlock our information, and stories a boy of an open mind. He stands, sliding us off the shelves some selected, others rejected the boy decides, as he stacks the few of us to his journey home. But we will return to our mission, of teaching this boy We will return in this place to get lost, in the place of knowledge and wonder.

Celina Huynh, Grade 8

- 44 - My Daughter

A lonely mother sits on her counter drinking her coffee The door bell rings She opens the door Her daughter standing there

She smiles with joy Her daughter needs to talk She is getting married They start making plans

After the daughter leaves all alone again she starts crying tears of sorrow

Melanie Liu, Grade 12

Sleeping Hollows

In the deepest entity of the tree, small are the tiny microbes who indeed are of a willow’s wisp

Silence has its many traits

whether it be in a shell or a glade miles of the world in gigantic slates

Is all this to be but self made?

In the deepest entity of the tree, a mouse, a crow, a Jabberwocky? Many secrets are concealed with leaves, Innate future presence is of the essence,

While in peaceful cradle without a care a soul, or an animate absence, bear a fruit that is an exalted pear

Flor Anne De Jesus, Grade 12

- 45 -

I can no longer love you as a ,

but only as before. Our love once so ♯, has turned so ♭.

Are we in ?

Our lives once

But now has . Nothing seems ♮ anymore. We used to laugh ff, and seldom speak pp. Where did our love go wrong? You used to hold me like a . We are living in ritardando… Let us go back to a tempo.

It is hard to our mistakes but we could try to da capo. If it does not work, f fine it.

Then we can finally give it a .

Erika Pan, Grade 12

- 46 -

When the Angels Came

Sent by God; they were on their way to retrieve the light, and to the world they fly. Darkness, coldness, and harshness; Oh, all the miserable roaming on earth. Restless, they are, on their flight. Closer and closer; Brighter and brighter. Flapping the loving, charming wings of theirs; singing the enchanting, soothing lullaby of theirs; The angels arrive.

When their delicate feet touch the ground the devil disintegrates into nothingness within a second as if surrendering to the greatness of their light. The pure, angelic voice woke the living and life sprang again wherever the angels step.

Ambition and passion overcoming the evils within the people the goodness hidden in their heart stirs with every vibrating sound those the angels chant. The goodness broke the locked chamber in the hearts of the people at last; free they truly are bringing harmony and peace to the earth. Everything is back onto its right place and thy devil shall never interfere ever again.

Now the angels’ work is done, They gave a smile and sang the last note with all their heart.

Wendy Ngan, Grade 8

- 47 - Round and Round We Go

Up is like down when down is like up The higher I went the more I got lost

As I turn right I end up left This is the end I give up

Or so I thought When I go fast I end up slow I can never let go

I am so lost nobody knows Can’t I give up but somebody said no

So here I go once again to this never ending plan

Emily Chow, Grade 11

Poem

The looming thoughts inside my head whir around as if they are dark stormy clouds that are inescapable poking and prodding with my emotions like sharp needles that drive me insane. Sometimes it feels as though I’m being chased to the edge of a cliff when asked to choose between one thing or another. My mother always tells me to look at the glass as it is half full, but the menacing voice inside my thoughts tell me otherwise. The harsh crudeness of reality slaps me in the face as I try to hide away from it. Dull like an unsharpened pencil, I feel like I cannot go on. In a trance is where I prefer to stay.

Pearlie Koh, Grade 11

- 48 -

A Phantom

I lie under my duvet, close my eyes to the world and shut out the noises of running water and dramatic television. This is when the world becomes—or should become— a deafening silence within abyssal darkness. Yet I lie here confused in a veil of darkness, unable to disentangle my consciousness. Between channelling through today’s events and erasing every image from my mind, I miss the jump toward blissful oblivion by the blink of an eye. To not want as much as need, but to simply do it with a breath of resignation is the key to attaining the state of visionary mirage that is sleep. This is the epiphany I have reached as the result of many insomnious nights. But here I doubt that very epiphany as sleep eludes me again. I turn over in my perfected position and pretend I am asleep, a nugatory attempt at self-hypnosis. My eyes are a throbbing package of veins when I crack them open to survey the sky outside my window. The dense black night has diluted into frosty blue. A feeling in the corner of my mind is telling me that I am being teleported to another world, but there is one question preoccupying me: had I fallen asleep somewhere in between or had I been awake for this long? I never do find out.

Vicky Leung, Grade 11

Monster

Dragged down to the disrespected Hell as darkness devours my existence in this world. To rise up, to slash hearts of the God-protected people was The goal - recognize the monster, the outcast. Allow Heaven and the above to see who is the mightiest of all. Unblessed in shadows waiting to strike, long-waited and moonless nights pass as I prepared for the blood-battle with the enemy. No hope, but just do, Alone, waiting for life to end-

To end defeated.

Krystal Chan, Grade 12

- 49 -

1 pm

Since 11 am have I lay here my neck is numb, and a stranger's hand runs along my cheek the bird sings, a single note, run wait, there aren't any Indians here roll over, dirt, on a landscape made of exclusively snow binoculars face my direction they nod, gesture to move, give us their blessing scrabble, slip, fall one by one, unless you've died already an explosion they moved too suddenly hide, from the gun in my hand

The bird is finished singing now but the sound of its song will stay stuck in my head indefinitely

Kieran Simpson, Grade 10

- 50 - Stanley Park dusk sneaks across the day the green shadow is nigh Hunching like a slug and chills blow down my neck with drooping eyes my hand ticks I hear it again! on the keyboard till the most horrible, the last office hour most wretched most disgusting Today in late Vancouver March most obnoxious it is warm as rain booming burp I run to my favourite place I glare up without puddles or familiar faces “Excuse me, m’am Had a lot of bugs tonight.” To Stanley Park on a black drifting log, where the trees sits a humongous sage frog pray to the sky with ink stained spots shrouding the shrubs smirking at me and hiding the salmonberries “Yes, excuse you.” Leavings cracks in the sun I say angrily I trace scales of the trees gold lines his black eyes a Douglas squirrel darts out and he draws a deep breath jumping through leafed hoops, “Here comes another one.” and dodging pine needles “Don’t you dare! –” and he burps again I skip onwards it echoes through the lake disturbing the rainforest, up the tree trunks fragile as a wing resonating in their rings quiet as the rain awakening the bats the slow streams speed squeaking and squealing a godly green shadow appears they flee from the trees Do you hear something? spiralling through the crescent no light shines through the hulking canopy “You can’t stop the music, city girl.” What is that sound? the frog king proclaims I bow humbly and step back My ear leads me on following the city lights downstream, downtown onto the pavement where the rain flows off where the rain runs off from pavement to rivers to the sound Graceful as a frog to Beaver Lake, with bright eyes the lake without beavers my hand ticks on the keyboard in It is besieged by lily pads, this last office hour a murky moat around its edge I let out a loud burp cheetah feathered ducks on guard everyone glares at me flies of dragons fly across the sky and I smirk back

Marinah Zhou, Grade 12

- 51 - Cookies

These chewy textured sweet delicious snacks are sold in boxes or in small little packs They come in a variety of tastes and please, don't throw them out because that's a waste!

Be careful of the blue cookie monster But don’t hit him; that’s not the answer If anyone steals the cookies from you Just take them back and say merci beaucoup

Hurry up, mix the batter and bake them I'm sure they'll be scrumptious and awesome The heavenly odour that I smell Oh please give them to me mademoiselle

These cookies are super duper yummy I am so glad that they're in my tummy

Matthew Fung, Grade 11

Sweet Baby Pea

I was in the garden, absorbing the sunshine. Grandma picked me up and carried me inside. She placed me in the kitchen and turned on her stove. She picked me up again and gave me a nice warm bath. After the bath, she put me in the sauna. My gosh was the sauna hot! I was placed on the table to cool off, Next thing I knew, Grandma had eaten me.

Susan Zhou, Grade 12

- 52 -

Rain clouds chained closely light of hope radiated by darkness tears fell as rains deluge fear is wildfire scattered desolately to plenty shattered future minds of young survivors as blood splattered groups gathered darkness sighted by witnesses uncivil images infiltrated their head evidence dispersed as rain cleansed shielded them from the awful mistake the end of one ends and anew begins

William Joe, Grade 11

good bye

You liar, cheating, backstabber I don’t know why I admired you you betrayed me what have I done to you?

You entered my life with happiness and love Now look at the things you ruined: Trust, relationships, respect, you see you shattered it all with one big lie you take it all in and want me to leave

I trusted you and you double-crossed me instead you ruined my life and then got rid of me watch me now as I go on my own path, so you and your lie can just leave me behind I’m taking my trust and setting it free.

Edmund Lee, Grade 11

- 53 - A World Made For Me

There is a world made for me, a place no one else can enter. Here, anything is possible. I am the controller. As the darkness slowly engulfs me, I slumber. Sleeping silently, softly. and thus, a vast world reveals a world within my dream. My dream is different each time. This time, I create a country of my own. My kingdom that floats magically in the heavens, where the clouds are blushed in gold, where the breeze is free, and shares its undecipherable tales There is no sadness here, no pain or suffering. I live in my castle with beasts of legends, creatures of fantasy. I enjoy their stories, their company I watch as my world blooms for me the greenery that sings in beauty. lines of lakes and strings of rivers that rushes, playing their music. Their sound that echoes throughout the kingdom The tree stretches high into the sun, The open skies that wrap around me The wind dancing, twisting about me. but alas, no dream lasts forever, no world stays in piece. For as I enjoy the land I have constructed, Suddenly, without a warning, My kingdom flickers and my vision wavers, as I am pulled back, into the light of reality. I open my eyes once more only now, facing the real world. I will never visit that kingdom again. But, I am not sad, nor am I lonely because my memory of such a palace, is gone, wiped, forgotten. Once in awhile, I recall small fragments, but that too, soon disappears. and thus, I return to my dreams another time, and build my new kingdom, a world unlike the previous a world made for me.

Sarah Liu, Grade 8

- 54 -

Feeling of Mine

This feeling of mine that I cannot name, is more akin to fireworks going off. Deafening explosions of colour, same intensity, force and rawness but soft, alike the feeling of silk on your hand, smooth and creamy; you never want it gone. like the taste of rich, mellow, chocolate, and the wafting smell of freshly baked croissant. This feeling of mine that I cannot name feels like the world is at your fingertips It can make you reckless yet careful, blame, yet praise and caring through relationships. Though I try, this feeling I cannot name; Truly indescribable all the same.

Karen Lee, Grade 11

Reflect

Why is it that we look back into our past? It is to reflect. Reflecting and pondering over the puzzles of life Lingering over the good and the bad Smiling at the carelessness and naivety of childhood to inhale the nostalgia in the air and experience a not so distant past Why not take solace? Simply exist in the moment and become entranced by the curiosity that entails

Emma Larson, Grade 11

- 55 -

You

The world is dark, when children are poor. Out on the streets, with no food to eat. The world is dark, when war has broken out. People get killed, their dreams remain unfulfilled. The world is dark, When hundreds and thousands are poor. No money, no happiness, only dirt, nothing more. The world is dark, when bullies are about. Tormenting, teasing, even knocking people out. The world is dark, when people don’t have a voice. Wanting to scream and shout, but no voice can come out. The world is dark, when none of this changes. You can do something about it. You can be the change. You can take action. You can make a difference. You have a voice. and only You can use it.

Sanjana Prakash, Grade 8

- 56 - A Reminder for those Times

Sometimes I am lonely and I overthink thoughts swallow me all because I believe nobody cares enough to see sometimes I feel broken I lie in bed for days on end in a room full of echoes that silence has spoken sometimes I throw tantrums and lose the person I am forget where I’m from and ruin the happiness that’s yet to come sometimes I just don’t know what I’m doing where to go why I feel this and how it still grows… in these times I forget to pray I forget about Him forget to appreciate each day that He has given me the life I live today

I am sorry that I forget sometimes when I am in your care and in your heart all the time

Donna Molina, Grade 11

Today

The flowers have wilted dreams perished by the lack of motivation. The bottle of hope lost in a sea of disappointments It will get better someday and if someday is tomorrow tomorrow seems too far away.

Vicky Do, Grade 10

- 57 -

You’re like the stubborn kid who sits at the back of the class, clicking his pen continuously, like a pair of nails scratching the chalkboard, like the ruckus of an infuriating alarm clock at 6:00 in the morning, like the sound of a toad getting struck with a pointy stick, like the screams of a mother duck as her babies are taken away, like an old lady trying to learn about the internet, like the public washroom at a bus stop, like an oozing wart on a big toe, like the fungus growing in the hairy ears of a hobo, like an angry neighbour when you have a piercing party at midnight, like the boring story of your parents’ childhood, like the disgusting odour coming from an old gym bag, like a high pitch dog whistle, like the roar of riots, like the feeling of old, slimy seaweed, like the taste of a rotten meat mixed with ice-cream, like the feeling of an old lady’s wrinkled, sandpaper skin, like the drops of hail as they make their way down the chimney, like the moment your parents look at your not-so-good report card, like the sound of your neighbour’s dog barking at midnight. like the noise of wind whistling through the trees in the gloomy night. You’re that one thing that enflames me beyond sway.

Gurleen Mander, Grade 8

The Red Toy

It was my everything laugher, smiles, fun It was a part of me until I lost it The days I spent crying turned my tear-filled world blue I grew up that day even though I did not want to.

Lisa Liu, Grade 10

- 58 -

A Passionate Fool

Oh weathered soul, canst thou see the things that I do for thee are all but for goodness, from kind and care no need for passion, but riches bare in thy hands a hand of gold enough to feed, enough to hold the eyes love what thy heart loves sweet kisses, red roses and white doves, fair view, flowers and stones and all! a house, a family, a golden wall, wants and thoughts to the mind desires to thee, riches will bind. but with all the riches thy hands can hold my one wish is but happiness, to be bold thy heart loves what the eyes love faded a kiss, flown a dove fair view and stones gone with fall when thou lie to earth, take none at all. so then I quote the tongue of birth my heart doth exceed its finite girth.

Iris Liu, Grade 12

Falling

Falling in love is simple but knowing what it is takes time

Like riding a bike you were scared, or even reckless There was a future right in front of you with possibilities and adventure Without those training wheels and elbow pads, You wobbled

and fell

But soon, you got back up and tried again one step closer to success.

Joey Zheng, Grade 8

- 59 - The Brave-Hearted

It began in a land not so distant from ours, where villains feigned hero becoming false stars. All the truths became lies and good justice departed. Yet believers of hope would become the brave-hearted. Deception surrendered to wills made of gold, for no foulness escaped from good goodness’ hold. Against staggering odds, they, the brave, carried on. The soldiers of dreams fought until they were gone. The true came again and again like the tides, and their staunch baby steps soon became giant strides. The coastline of fear and of doubt did recede replaced and restored to great beaches now freed. All the evil around slowly faded away, turning that dark eerie night into bright graceful day. The dreamers had won against lies and deceit, The nightmare was over and evil was beat. The sun in the sky and the breeze in the air felt warm, sounded rich on that day truly fair. But darkness remained inside closets and holes, under beds or with doubts hidden deep in our souls. Remember my children to never forget that a hope or a faith is what tempers regret.

Kevin Ta, Grade 11

The Stranger

He paces back and forth,

Strength flowing through his veins.

This is not enough. It never will be.

Mind spins. Hands tremble. Insanity dominates the mind. Truth pushes. But delusions cloud the path. Authenticity disappears.

Tears fall from his broken face. Caught in a fictional world with fictional characters. Safe from the pain and suffering. No more sores. No more wounds. Behind those safe doors lies the truth. Slowly creeping open to reveal a kingdom of fabrication. An impure world of lies and myths. Where true existence becomes fantasy. Imagination becomes reality.

Sofia Alfonso, Grade 8

- 60 -

Memorable Home

There should be a place in your mind that stores all your happy memories and things you are grateful for

It would be called Home, where you wake up every morning and leave everyday to go into the world to experience different feelings and to create more memories Your windows would be open to let in fresh, new memories

Sometimes home would get messy, as more memories are carelessly placed, scattered across the floor The precious ones get kept in little locked boxes while some are pushed into the far corners of your Home Remember where your memories are, because they’ll be hard to find once you forget about them

When you are sad, you can spend time going through memories in your Home If you ever get lost or wander too far off into the world of worry, sorrow, or frustration, go Home It will always be there for you

Vivian Lam, Grade 10

- 61 -

Eternal Love

Everything was so empty, so meaningless until you appeared. You are the gift to me during this exhausting path of life. You brought vivid colours to my grey world.

As I was falling into the large, deep pit, your hands reached out for me and grabbed my wrists, refusing to let go. You used all your strength to pull me back out.

You are the enchanting meadow filled with exquisite, fragrant flowers, taking my worries and sorrows away, bringing peace, warmth, and tranquility to my heart and soul. Butterflies will celebrate your presence.

You may not understand what you mean to me. You may not believe in my love. Yet I will never give up, just how you never gave up on me. I will show you that I am worthy of your trust. I will wait for your full acceptance, no matter how long it may take.

I solemnly vow that I will never take you for granted.

Desmona Tong, Grade 11

- 62 - the cat slithers across the moon-lit park, hunting, the grass shifts as it glides past, its soft belly caked in dirt the wind whistles as the cat crawls out of the grass when you awake, the sun sits like a torch and there it lies at your feet: the bloody stain

Jake Garanito, Grade 11

I Can’t Do It

It’s like falling asleep at night, fairly simple to achieve. But I am an insomniac at late hours. How am I supposed to sit in a chilly desk and show you the midnight raven perched on the rim a vase, that overflowed with golden sunflowers, who was in search of its dinner. Do I look like Vincent Van Gough? or Edgar Allen Poe? Is there somewhere I can find my copy of “Poetry for Dummies?” Because this just isn’t working out for me. I can tell you that pi is, to ten decimals, 3.14159265359 and that you get CO2 and 2H2O after a combustion of methane gas. I know the feeling of running past a cheering crowd, the pounding of your heart in your chest, and the thudding of your shoes on the concrete, as you cross the ten kilometer mark. The feeling of your water bottle dumped on your face, drenching your sweaty body in ice cold water. But can I write a poem?

Vu Huynh, Grade 10

- 63 - Pain

Her visit unleashes with the words that sting your blind ears. They hit your mind like a ten pound bowling ball rumbling down the lane with a crash and strike. No pin left standing; she continues her unwelcome visit with a stop at the eyes. Almost as soon as her assault of the mind, the eyes commenced in a synchronized display of tears that pour and enrage your body who fishes for more liquid to support your now regular habit she relishes in the effect she has and conspires to leave her mark- everywhere. At the hands she infects like the age old disease of leprosy you can feel your hands, and you can see them through a streaky wet blur, but they lie limp and incapable of any function but collecting the pools of water dripping from your face. She leaves the legs with a real ambiguity. They shake amidst her presence like a child struggling to walk- it is as if you never walked a step in your life. Her visit concludes at the heart, where she will make a home for the rest of your life she entices you to recall all those times you ignored him all those times you refused to give him a word all those times you chose not to forgive, not to forget And all those times you will never see him again.

Asha Kaila, Grade 11

Black Suit

Dress in blunt black, the family is silent during their fancy ride transporting to their final destination, there was one sudden cry arriving at the city of the dead, gloominess in the air, kept the young ones buttoned up the shaded clouds come forth, like it’s forcing time, the frail body bitterly goes down, to its eternal home

Nancy Huang, Grade 11

- 64 -

Conversation with my hair

Hair, why do you create problems? First you were all nice and tamed as a kid, then high school hits and you start to rebel. Frizziness, spilt ends, too long or too short, tangling, wavy to straight. Why can't you make up your mind? Pick a style, type, colour. I need something constant in my life. I want that to be you. You've been there for me. Growing and slowing dying. All the haircuts and dye jobs we went through. Sometimes I've cried over you. Stay. Don't leave. Stay planted on my head, growing strands and strands of hair. While it could be my fault. I know I'm demanding and needy, wanting you in perfect place. But don't make me feel like I've hit that point of greyness, taunting my age. Stay and "live" forever. Without you, I am incomplete.

Shila Amin, Grade 11

My Name Is Adam

This morning, they took McIntosh. We watched from afar in our deathbed on the countertop as they not only peeled her red skin off, but sliced her up. A barbaric species. One of the little munchkins that gave me a bruise began to smear a sweet smelling brown paste all over her pale complexion before shoving them into her mouth. We watched in silence as we knew we could be next. We arrived together in the same fruit truck, McIntosh and I. We have been in this basket for almost a week now, they having obviously forgotten about the nutrition value of us. We made a bet to see who would be eaten first, though we both knew it was a matter of time as we were nearing our life expectancy. I didn't mind her company, she wasn't one of those wealthy organic fruits. They often bragged about their pesticide free life. It's the seasonal fruits that go first though, whether it was the blueberries or strawberries. The barbs threw them in the loud contraption and they were history, coming out unrecognizable. It was a juice-bath, a gory mess of skin, flesh and cores. I can't pretend, though. It's inevitable that one of these hairy and oily animals will grab me and I’ll either be devoured or hacked up. Nobody is going to start an investigation, this place is skid row. Looking back into the past, we had it all at the orchard.

Timothy Leung, Grade 11

- 65 - Latent Desire

streaks of vibrant, bold, neon memories burn down my thoughts

has it been fate, has it been destiny that bonds us together; like this forever we are linked for eternity

you're a dancer, I'm a singer our rhythms will be in sync whenever, wherever don't be so sweet, give me mercy your presence has been tattooed into me

I give you my loyalty, praying to be your royalty when you glance at me my soul breaks free

whispering, “I don't love you” I hope you're a liar . . . it made my heart smolder in your fire because you are my latent desire

Julie Lam, Grade 8

Listen

You might ask . . . What am I doing? I'll say Listen. Listen to the birds singing melodies together like a choir. The deer are stomping on the leaves below, their hooves, playing the drums the slight whistle of the wind as it plays the flute the fresh water flowing down the rocky cold stream as it plays the xylophone Listen to the grace . . . Listen to the warmth . . . Listen to the peace . . . Listen . . . What do you hear?

Shanzia Khan, Grade 8

- 66 -

The Grateful Daughter

“What would you like to eat for breakfast?” she says first thing in the morning. She scrambles through the kitchen to fix a quick breakfast. Dashing out of the house like a cheetah, she heads for work.

Walking wearily in the gloomy weather, I hear heavy rain on my umbrella. Freezing cold, my fingers turn to stone. Flustered fumes rise above my head as I scuffle into my room feeling numb.

Calmly, she knocks on my door. “Would you like anything to eat?” Unresponsive, sitting like a statue, I carry on reading my book.

Despite all my unmanageable moods, she loves me unconditionally.

Alisa Vu, Grade 11

Friendship

A rose is like friendship. The thorns can hurt so much, no matter how careful you are. The trust slowly fades like an eraser after every mistake. But the beauty is so hypnotizing. As I hold the rose close to me, I lead it into my deepest secrets. It pierces. I suffer from the bleeding pain and watch the rose pass on to someone else.

Jenni Nipp, Grade 8

- 67 -

Point of Views

“Alright, see you tomorrow morning Sandra! ”God it’s freezing out here. No way, is that him again? Why does he keep following me? Maybe I should call the cops.

Is that her? That must be her I can remember her sweet honeyed aroma from anywhere. This could possibly be the only chance to return her wallet.

The winds clash against each other wildly throughout the night. It’s just another common day for Sandra—working late night shifts at the confectionary store. As the cold wind brushes through her blonde locks, an unfamiliar man walks up behind her. He shuffles his feet while letting out humid breath. The man pulls his cotton hood over his head to cover his freezing ears. Sandra starts feeling suspicious and questions the thought of bumping into him after work consecutively for two days “Miss, excuse me!” She hesitates just for a moment and starts to run. Her heartbeat pounding through her chest at the sound of his footsteps trailing behind her. “Wait! You dropped your wallet last night!”

Helen Huynh, Grade 11

- 68 -

I navigate through bitter, cold waters harsh but all too familiar

I swim I swerve I survey and I strike all of this in the struggle to survive but when you've got mighty, strapping jaws like me and maybe you do things a little barbarically people are going to stare taunts bombard my ears doubts clutter my mind am I a wicked fiend?

I'm just like the rest of you I use what I’ve got to get by

Serena Tam, Grade 10

Forgotten

I'm forgotten left behind a memory from the past a distant fleeting thing of yesterday I was something now I'm nothing for without being remembered I am forgotten a glimpse of the old and turn into something of yesterday

Kristan Bjarndal, Grade 9

- 69 -

Depression

You never do anything right and I don’t know what you’re trying to do All you do is restrict me from what I want to do I’m even scared to turn in bed at night because of you because I know you’re there lying next to me You never leave my side You are the darkness that matches me stride for stride and if I close my eyes you consume me all at once I’m a 17 year old freak that’s scared of the dark

Everyday it’s a struggle and I have to fight Nobody ever knows but I have to use all my might just to stop you I don’t know why but you’re just getting worse and all everybody ever says is just go see a doctor or a nurse when all I need are just a few more pills in my purse ….and maybe a joint or two

I can’t escape you, you consume me every night It’s always a constant fight to not let the sobs out to not let you kill me I want… no, I need to defeat you because I’m tired of being a freak I’m tired of no one understanding that all I want is to get better

Tara Pham, Grade 11

- 70 - The Place I Dare You to Enter

Walking through the gleaming glass You finally finish the treacherous door, journey, with the silvery door handles, bringing you relief. grasping you with their gleam, their A sudden epiphany… trickery, Death Central. their immense intensity of want. You try to escape. You walk through doors of Sorry. destruction, No turning back. possible devastation, Out comes a devastating creature! obvious annihilation. Monstrous, mean, murderous murder of many muzzles, Enough. like that guy and that girl and me. You slip you frail fingers Gray-haired; through the devious doors handles, pot-bellied; as they chuckle with anticipation. Size of an over-grown pig. You look like a bride walking down, Quite disturbing, far and deep into the church aisle. disorienting. Hypnotized…no! Out of darkness, It’s too late. he, The doors of sinister close or is “he” an animal? as a sign of no return. It smacked, smothered, suffocated you Walking into the shining floors, with assemblies, labour, and made of ivory. conscripted abuse. Look around and see, He knocks you a crest, down, an emblem, down, statues. down to Spongy tofu and goat milk cream your knees. cheese coloured walls Silence. invite and coax you A corpse lies among many. to walk the stairs of hell. Good bye, forever. Stairs as high as the Nyan Cat, And I suppose, but too indulged with luxuries, I get to say, no doubt, “I told you so.” you took and upheld the journey. SHH………… You fly, you try, you eat pie!

Jinny Lee, Grade 8

- 71 -

A Stagnant Species

Brevity of life and time, fail to occupy the mind of the young wanderer

It follows a routine: forcing the body to rise, the mind falling behind submerging into the unsure smiles of a rootless crowd accommodating unnecessary human interaction taking only the shortest routes possible, constantly bouncing the right leg until the ball of the foot exhausts the insole

It spends an inordinate amount of time: indulging in a few preferred activities sitting, chewing, committing minor crimes staring attentively at things that glow improving upon skills that are, although amusing, essentially useless

The wanderer, lacking direction from a functioning inner compass allows itself to collapse into life's great trap: becoming static.

Kathy Thai, Grade 12

- 72 -

Pulchritude

Frost on a briar rose a rose only to be plucked at the occasional thorn

In the night the snow glistens twisting sights

of

Chastity

Hubi Chow, Grade 11

Distant

I will step on the fallen petals through the hollowed halls and listen for the echoes of our past but the world's constellation holds 88 keys unmarked to find the locks of both mine, your body and soul, four hands joined to trace everlasting circles boundless by melodies yet to be heard the future is impressionable so stay true to our era Because, Darling I will be drunk waltzing 136 bars of Chopin Slurring over 420 beats a minute Just to find you

Mimi Nguyen, Grade 12

- 73 - Parent-Teacher Conference

Momma was sick. Every day she would swallow a few of her colourful pills with a glass of water. Every day, except that day. Momma woke me up with tears streaming down her face and gently told me to get ready for school. I was looking forward to that day; it was my parent-teacher conference. I walked into the kitchen after I finished getting ready and I saw momma hunched over the sink counter, gripping the container of her pills in her hand. I watched as she turned on the garbage disposal and popped open the lid of the small container. With a loose hold on it, she poured her pills down the sink. I stared at her body trembling, the rumbling of the garbage disposal muffling her cries. “Momma?” I asked over the noise. She flinched at my voice and I saw her wipe the tears from her cheeks as she turned to face me. “It’s time for you to take me to school,” I said. “Yes, of course,” she murmured, silencing the garbage disposal with a flick of her wrist. Momma opened the door to the outside and headed towards her car; I obediently followed. She parked in front of my school and before I got out of the car, I felt the need to remind her. “Momma, you’re going to be here for the parent-teacher conference after school, right?” “Hm?” she asked listlessly. “Oh yes, the parent-teacher conference.” “Promise you’re going to go?” “Of course,” she assured me with a somber smile. “Alright,” I said concerned. “Bye momma, I love you.” “Goodbye, and I love you too. Don’t forget, okay?” I heard her murmur before I walked into the school. Momma had been acting different; a type of different that I hadn’t seen before. I was worried, but momma said she was going to be there for the parent- teacher conference, so I convinced myself that I shouldn’t be worried. I was going to see momma after school. I had been waiting in the empty classroom, aside from my teacher, for an hour. Sitting on my desk was the work I was the most proud of. Momma wasn’t there. The classroom phone rang and teacher answered it, her eyes widening as she listened. Her voice lowered into a hushed whisper, glancing at me every so often. She got off the phone ten minutes later and kneeled in front of me, her eyes watering. “I’m sorry, but your mother isn’t coming,” she told me in a shaky voice. “No, she said she’s coming. She must be busy.” She pulled me into a hug and whispered, suppressing her tears, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but your mother isn’t coming anytime soon.” I didn’t understand at the time. “But she promised,” was all I could say.

Kristine Shum, Grade 11

- 74 -

Convergence

I found myself. Alone. Cold. Lost. My feet were moving, but I was not. I was still. I could not speak. There was nothing to say. There were no signs of people or life for that matter. I felt numb. No pain. No joy. Just numb. A loss for words, a loss for thoughts. Nothing really mattered. Just walking. And walking. And walking. I couldn't remember when I started or where. The park? No, couldn't be. I didn't know if I was to finish. I just knew that I was walking. I paced onwards, parallel to the road. The paved caliginous road hurt my eyes. It was too dark. It seemed to suck the colour out from its surroundings. The grass began to fade from green to white to grey. The dimness of the street lamp made it unclear to see what was ahead. The world was silent. Eerie. To my right there were cottages. A long lane of various shades of grey. The tips of the triangular roof tops seemed to cave in and point towards me. The sidewalk under my feet appeared to narrow. The sky was falling. Darkness surrounded me. The white was gone. The grey was gone. Pure black. I couldn't tell if my eyes were closed or if they were open. Had I become merely a soul? A cool sensation came across and I felt it ripple through me. My body was in a state of shock, almost seizure-like, and that's when a bright white effulgence radiated from all angles. I closed my eyes and waited for the moment to pass. The phenomenon stopped. I glanced and saw a road. Two paths. Three divisions. The first was paved, flat and wet. The second was rocky and mucky. The third was grass. Having no purpose or direction, I began to walk. There was clear blue. The sun was high above. The rays shone down and reflected off the dew drops of the grass. The air was thick and humid. I could feel my skin warming. My cheeks changed from peach, to rose to red. There were a number of daffodils scattered throughout the field. The radiant colours blurred me. The scent of lemon itched my nose. Dizzy, perplexed, faint. I was going to collapse. It seemed endless. I looked as far as my eyes could see. A pole, out in the distance. I treaded along. There was a sign attached, but I could not make out the words. From about ten meters, I read the word. Five white capital letters with an arrow. Directions. Out of all places I could be, this is where fate had led me. I was disappointed. I didn't want it. I didn't need it. I didn't deserve it. When had the past become the present? I had to escape. This was not possible; I could not give in. I had been running miles and miles just to end back here. The origin of problems. I had to make a choice. There was only one option. Happiness.

Serinda Kong, Grade 11

- 75 - Imagine a glass of water. It is sitting on the wooden dining table, placed beside the small box of white tissues and the elegant vase of fresh cut chrysanthemums. This liquid is apparently filtered water, but there is also distilled, boiled, fresh, and salt water. You begin to lick your lips, realizing you’re thirsty and that your body needs water so you take some sips to quench your thirst. The liquid is tasteless. It is not sweet, salty, nor bitter because it literally tastes like nothing. The water is like taking in air, except the only difference is that is in its condensed form. After drinking, you place the empty glass on the table for later use.

Imagine a fire. No one knows how it started or where it came from but, all you can see at the moment is the gradual destruction at the front of the house. As the flames start to increasingly spread, you panic and devastatingly call for help. As smoke fills up the air, your eyes begin to tear up and you feel miserable. You want to do something to help; however, you just wait patiently for the fire crew to come to rescue. Eventually, you start to hear the faint wailing sirens in the distance, knowing that the fire truck is coming closer to the neighborhood. When the firemen arrive and unload their gear, they work as quickly as possible to connect the hoses to the hydrants and climb up ladders. Water finally travels through and gushes out like a burst of joy and the fire perishes.

Imagine a sunny day. It is a moderate spring afternoon and you can feel a slightly cool breeze as you stand in the garden to nurture your plants. Now imagine the water in your watering pot. When you pour the liquid out of the nozzle, the water gently sprinkles and soil absorbs it. After, you stare in awe and anticipate for the growth of your well-cared plants and flowers. Meanwhile, your dad decides to wash his dusty car outside the garage. He starts to uncoil the green hose and grabs the sponge and soap as well. Once again, water sprays out, cleansing all the imperfections on the vehicle. Trails of soapy water slowly slide down the small slope of the street and enter the small slits into the drain.

Imagine an ocean. You are out past the shallow end, swimming with two of your close friends. It’s a hot day, and the cold saltwater calms you down from the scorching heat. Surrounded by nothing but the rolling waves, you and your friends tread water and join hands, forming a little but warm circle. As you laugh and play, all you care about is the moment you’re living in and not thinking about the past or the future, just the present. Minutes of moments pass, and neither you nor your friends notice the strong waves coming near. The circle breaks, and the waves push your friends further and further away from you. You try grabbing on to them, but the water is too strong. Feeling stranded and isolated, your watch as your friends individually drift out deeper into the water, each in a different direction. You attempt to swim and save them, but it is impossible at the current state. Is it too late? Raindrops begin to descend from the sky as tears roll down your cheeks.

The glass of water you have thought about is still settled on the dining table. The wooden table is flat, and you lift the beverage up. You swirl it, checking to see if it would transform into something bigger. The water molecules move and slide past each other, that’s all. There is still some liquid left in the glass, but you hesitate. Are you able to drink it?

Anna Ngyuen, Grade 12

- 76 -

A Sleepless Night

The world is dark when it is night, but even then it’s not truly dark. It is always illuminated by the moon, or by the city lights. I have never seen an actual dark night before, where there is nothing to brighten it. The cold wind rustled some fallen leaves on the sidewalk in front of my house and carried them across the road. I sat at my bedroom window, gazing blankly at the empty streets. I was so tired but I couldn’t sleep. My favourite book was in my hands but I couldn’t bring myself to read it. Instead, I leaned my forehead on the cool window pane and closed my eyes. Thoughts swirled in my mind, random bits and pieces of things that weren’t really relevant at this moment. I stood up and walked to my bookshelf, running my fingers over the smooth, glossy spines. Rows and rows of books lined each shelf, beckoning me to open and read one of them. I blindly began to pluck books off their shelves and stacked them neatly on my desk. I sat down and opened a fresh, clean page in my notebook. I reached for my backpack, and sifted through crumpled assignments, gum wrappers, and other junk before finding a tangled mass of earbuds. I plugged them into my iPod, and pressed play. I grabbed the first book and opened it to a random page and began to read. After a minute, I stopped and doodled on the margin of the notebook paper before continuing to read. It was still dark outside, and I could hear the soft whoosh of a car driving down the barren street and the glow of headlights shining through the window. It was an endless cycle of reading, doodling, and writing as the night started to slip away. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute, so I finally tossed aside what was had to be my thirteenth book and stumbled face first into bed without bothering to pull out my earbuds. The soothing, rhythmic beat of the music slowly lulled me out of consciousness. The sound of chirping birds trickled into my brain. I turned my head slightly to the side and saw a ray of sunlight slice through the window, pooling into a golden pond on the floor of my room. Shutting my eyes, I slept a dreamless sleep.

Christine Thay, Grade 8

- 77 - Dear You

I am the oblivion. I am the unknown. I am the friends from that night of no significance. I am the shelter, the fortress, the damp dark cell that kept you captive. Unbridled senses desecrated from the mice thrown into a game of hide and seek with the snakes. I am the maze and you are Hercules. I am yours as the cancer is to the patient. Forlorn, monsters in the shadows you play with; every scroll of the black handheld you invite more, buzz from the square glass screen enticing you. Land demons, sea demons: all acquaintances to your unadulterated sponge mind obliviously reluctant to change your daily routines. Thankful of the company, you don’t mind. Constant protection brings upon a false sense of security outside the premises of the holding place. Now stranded and alone, you continue on oblivious to the 180 change of circumstances. You note that the surroundings have changed but it’s alright, just because you are in a different place with different people does not mean that your rank will change. You are the princess. With that settled you move on with life strutting around waving your bulbous plastic dulled-with-wear ring clad hand ushering people along thinking, “Life is such a breeze.” “She is such a diva.” “She’s only six, let her be.” Attention, attention, attention, everybody’s giving it to you. As if you’re taking a page out of Lindsay Lohan’s publicist’s handbook, you’ve succeeded in being the midday ladies’ room hot gossip topic, congratulations. You have built this plush, pink, sugar and sweet world around you. Blocking out anything that you don’t like, keeping only compliments. La vie en rose, you’re already wearing rose-tinted glasses at such a young age; you will be such a sad sap when you’re older. Like white on rice, you hang on to people like cymothoa exiguas—tongue eating louses—on fish tongues. Needless to say it is not a commensalistic relationship. To get to the point of why you’ve become such a walking embarrassment we’d have to review events leading up to this. You do not understand criticism. You were the sweet old lady’s most prized flower that bloomed the highest in the spring and survived the longest into winter. You were then taken by a pompous rebelling child who wanted to impress her mother, but didn’t know diddily squat about the fragility of flowers. Therefore you suffered in the dark with the occasional glimpse of sun when the rays hit the right objects at the right time and you received the sporadic saliva spat at you in high pitch verbal assaults as to why you weren’t growing. Through perseverance, gratefulness for the company, and complete obliviousness, you survived. At least long enough for the mother to find you and place you in her garden—where the child promptly started playing soccer. Showered with love, so used to adoration and your needs filled, your empathy and consideration never developed properly; not for others anyways. Living with daily routines as your life day after loved day, then with uncanny speed you are bereft of it all, transported into a new place. Curious, but not enough to find answers, you live. You live as though as it’s all still the same, as though as nothing has changed. However you now need to strive for the attention; you have to earn it. No more of the soft family life, you are but a forgotten puppet in a dingy dank dark empty box. The joyful day by day motions are no longer here, yet you are too dull to realize anything has substantially changed. Having enough of the subtle constant ache of something you could not comprehend, you harvest life. You lash out. You vie for attention in small doses. Foolishly influenced you fall enslaved into the grips of negative society; your hold slipping as you further lose yourself. The most dangerous part is that you’re not even aware of it. I am the oblivion. I am the monster. I am yours as much as the cancer is to the patient. I am you. Fanny Hu, Grade 10

- 78 -

Gathering Storm

The sky is pale and large grey clouds begin to stretch across the earthly dome. You are standing at a crossroads with the build-up of a storm on all sides. Looking around you, you wonder if it was a good idea to be out of the house. Gusts of wind pick up fallen leaves and toss them across the cement roads. The dry leaves scrape against the cement's rough surface every time they slide and bounce off the ground. Trees quiver and shake as the wind gradually builds up. Gazing longer into the distance, clouds cover the white blotches of a pale sky like curtains drawn over a window. Noticing your unexpected composure, you realize that you were only breathing through your nose. You open your mouth and exhale. In the form of mist, your breath rises like smoke and distorts into a wispy skeletal hand as the wind carries it away. Your eyes follow the vapour until you are staring blankly into the distance. Tilting your head back towards the shrouded heavens, a drop of water falls onto your cheek. One by one, more raindrops fall until all you can feel is the moisture on your face. More continue to fall until all you can hear is the pattering of raindrops hitting the ground beneath your feet.

Suddenly, a flash of light followed by the deafening crash of thunder startles you from the enchantment. Wind and rain combined, slams into your body like waves from the high seas. Running quickly across the street, you take cover underneath a low building with an overhanging roof. Tree leaves violently rustle, grey clouds obscure the cold light of day, raindrops paint the cement black, lightning flashes with blinding intensity and thunder roars like resounding strokes from each fell blow of a mighty hammer. A storm is passing. It was nature rehearsing for a natural catastrophe. Just as quickly as the storm arrived, it began to muster its forces to retreat. The rain began to lessen. Raging winds subside to small breezes. Thunder and lightning fade into echoes. Rays of light stab through the clouds forming giant fissures in the grey sky. Shielding your eyes from the brightness, the ringing in your ears is replaced by the stillness of the calm weather and the chirping of birds. Lowering your arm, you behold the scene of a white-hot glowing orb hanging in the clear blue sky, illuminating everything below it with golden rays. The storm has passed and nature, once again, reverts to a blissful state.

Omar Deng, Grade 11

- 79 - delusion&animosity

The roof of her apartment was her solitude. White dystopia, corrupted happiness, broken dreams, all she saw over the ledge. A film of optimism shadowed over the darkness of the city. Above all the hidden lies stood a single tower. The clock struck one. A parade of men in white armour marched uniformly out the tower. A figure followed shortly behind, contrasting the rest of the men in his black armour. All her attention was put to him. She strapped on her tattered leather boots and leaped. She spread her arms out like wings and her eyes locked in on the man in black.

"Dad? Where are you going. Stop please." He grabbed her wrist. "Lilith, please stop."

Lined down the street were cheerful children and caring parents. Disgusting, she thought. Her silken white hair fluttered in the wind as she sped up towards the barren concrete. All she thought about while she dropped was the spite she had for this city. Everyone pretended to act a certain way. No one was free. No one escaped the suppression. Ever since her father left, the place she called home became nothing but hell.

"I have to leave. Lilith. I'm sorry." "Why? Mom's gone, and now you. What the hell did I do to deserve this?" A gust of wind and he was gone.

Her vision tunneled. The white buildings blurred and the victims of a fallen city ducked into the shadows. The man in black. The one Lilith hasn't seen since the beginning of all this chaos. She landed straight on to his back. Both collapsed on the floor but Lilith, being quick on her feet, stood up first. She felt the piercing stares of everyone, even behind her back.

"You left me to die, you bastard. Over a year of this nightmare I had to suffer through."

His body trembled as he tried to get up. "Lil, I'm sorry. When your mother left us, I could not stand to see your face any more. All the memories we had together as a family. I had to leave." Tears welled up in her crimson red eyes. She lowered her head to her chest and a quick blow to her temple knocked her out cold. The last thing she felt was her body being hoisted into the air.

The scent of sea water startled her. She sat up only to see the city she grew up in darken in the sunset. She rocked between the waves as the screams in the distance were taken over by the water crashing around her.

Kevin Qiu, Grade 11

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Just Listen

They say music is the universal language of the world. One tune can get stuck in our heads, prompting us to want to sing-a-long and dance. One artist can create a new global phenomenon with their talent and uniqueness. One lyric can speak to us and relate to how we feel or what we’re going through. One song can touch the lives of people all over the world, helping us form the words that we just couldn’t seem to find in ourselves. They say that music makes the world go round. But I say, that music is our outlet for inspiration.

The world is bright when the beautiful blue sky surrounds you as you stare up into the pillows of clouds. With your finger, you trace out the outline of a sheep, a little truck and an ice cream. It’s Vivaldi’s spectacular piece of “The Four Seasons”. Everything compliments each other perfectly as the melody and harmonies align themselves together in synchronized time. You listen carefully and catch the notes of birds singing away as flowers bloom and all around you, people are happy and smiling. My world is bright when I listen to something that I can relate to. It may be uplifting or beautifully tragic, but either way, I’m listening. Two songs that automatically come to mind are Demi Lovato’s song, “Skyscraper” and Jessie J’s “Who You Are”. Both of these songs depict meaningful lyrics and have a powerful message to me. I think that they’re pure, that they’re true and that they’re real. Your world is bright when you feel like you’re on top of the world, glorified and proud of an accomplishment in your life. You want to belt out your favourite tune “I’m Walking on Sunshine” so that everyone can hear and they too, can be truly happy. Just picture yourself for a moment on the highest peak of a mountain, surrounded by the most breathtaking scenery. Enchanting hilltops encircle you, ravishing colours illuminate the sky, along with a sea of blue reflecting it all back to you. With the wind blowing through your hair, you close your eyes, take a deep a breath and belt the notes you’ve always wanted to out! You get a sense that things are finally falling into place and all your worries can effortlessly disappear with a brush on your shoulder. Now, you can finally do your happy dance. Our world is bright when we realize that fighting, hatred, discrimination and cruelness can stop. Every time we sing our national anthem, it is a reflection of who we are as a country and what we believe in.

The world is dark and what do you hear? Silence. All the lights are out and people are tucked away in the safety of their homes. The number of cars out on the street slowly diminishes and traffic slows as the night sky rolls in to sweep away the sun. Everything is quiet except for the whispers of the wind that sneak past, beckoning us to move along. My world is dark when I shut myself away from all the madness that overwhelms and suffocates me. My mind is a twisted mess of jumbled thoughts tumbling over one another over and over again. I close my eyes and listen to “Breakeven” by the Script. I want to disappear and hide with my headphones on until I’m taken to a place that could be better. In my room, I can block out the deafening noise as well as the echoing silence that never seems to fade away. The

- 81 - chaos can finally dim down and things can finally make some sense to me. Within those four walls of tranquility, my mind is clear and my thoughts are open. With the right song and the right lyrics, the music can take me there. Your world is dark when you’re all alone to face your fears. There is no one to turn to anymore except for the music. You ask yourself, what happened to the people you could once count on? All of those times you once spent together are now just faded, distant memories locked up that are never to be opened or looked at again. And it’s as if nothing had ever even happened between the two of you. Empty space is all that’s left from you to them, but no one is choosing to close the gap. Broken ties, shattered lies, misplaced trust and unspoken words surround you. Take a deep breath and open your ears to “A Drop in the Ocean” by Ron Pope. Our world is dark when somewhere around the globe, there is a horrific catastrophe or maybe a natural disaster changing the lives of many forever. The victims of these events may be half way around the world yet as we stare blankly at our televisions, we realize that those people that we could have known aren’t so far from us after all. These events could have been the falling of the Twin Towers in New York City or maybe the Japanese nuclear explosion that occurred last year or even Hurricane Sandy that hit the East Coast just a few weeks ago. Sometimes a song like “Stand Up” to cancer by a group of powerful female artists or “Wavin’ Flag” by K’naan and the young artists for Haiti can be an anthem for those around the world. Songs like these bring people together in times of hardship and suffering. They’re to make us all aware of the people that we’re not only close to but the people that we could be close to.

Sometimes, music is the only medicine that’ll take away the pain. I know that that may sound clichéd or unrealistic but just think. In that moment that you’re listening, it’s as if time suddenly stops and you can forget about all of your worries and troubles in your life with the people around you. Even if it’s just for a couple of moments, a couple of minutes or even a couple of seconds, we see that there’s finally some light within the seemingly endless darkness. Whether it’s light or dark, we can all just listen to the music

Kelsey Jang, Grade 11

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Acknowledgments

This anthology could not be created without the generosity of the Gladstone PAC (thank you) and the support of the Gladstone administration. Thank you to Antonette Gutierrez and Jessica Lao who helped in the typing, Mr. O’Malley and Ms. Burdon for their keen editing, Mr. Steudel for his words which grace the beginning and end of this anthology, and all members of the English Department who continue to support and encourage our students to write creatively. And a final thank you to those students who have allowed us to read what they have written.

R. Guraliuk English Department Head May 2013

. . . and yet you are here

because some leaves rise before they touch the ground with a sound inaudible to the human ear

because here in this room we are feeling and we are thinking about you

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