Mr. Wet-Brain” !
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
About the Award The Speaker’s Award for Youth Writers was launched in 2015 to celebrate the writing talents of Ontario’s youth. Each year, students in grades 7-12 are invited to submit their short stories and personal essays to this writing contest. Original fiction and non-fiction submissions are welcome and a winner from each of the following three grade categories is chosen: Grade 7-8 Grade 9-10 Grade 11-12 Selection Committee Claudine Brulé is a communications specialist, sharing stories with both Francophone and Anglophone audiences. She served as a Provincial Affairs Reporter with CBC / Radio-Canada at Queen’s Park, and currently works in communications at the Bureau du Québec in Toronto. Franco Gutierrez is a graduate of the Masters of Education at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education at the University of Toronto. He currently serves as the Page Coordinator at the Legislative Assembly of Ontario. Christina Orr is a Teacher at Neil McNeil High School, in the Toronto Catholic District School Board. She currently teaches Grade 9 Religion, Grade 10 Civics and Careers, and Grade 10 Media Arts. 2018-19 Speaker’s Award for Youth Writers Grade 7-8 WINNER Joey Qiao - If We Could Go Back In Time To Fix a Regret or Mistake, Should We? HONOURABLE MENTION Andrei Li - A Present Of Hope Grade 9-10 WINNER Alisha Ahmed - Stage Five HONOURABLE MENTION Gabrielle La Touche - Why Am I Black? Grade 11-12 WINNER Jasleen Brar - “Mr. Wet-Brain” ! HONOURABLE MENTION Cassandra Lee - Dear Diary WINNER (GRADE 7-8) Joey Qiao If We Could Go Back In Time To Fix a Regret or Mistake, Should We? Ah, regrets. We all have them, every one of us, big and small. With every mistake our actions lead us to, every wrong step we take, there is that one brief moment where we wonder, “What could I have done to avoid that? What would’ve happened if I did this instead? Oh, if only I could go back in time, I could fix it, if only…” Sometimes a second chance is all we really need. But with that chance so out of our grasp, wistful thinking is…. just that. False hope. I still remember, quite vividly, those days of my childhood. The dark days, I called them. Gazing down defeatedly at the chessboard in a grand, silent hall, glittering chandeliers hanging overhead, yet my heart pounding heavily with the urge to simply go home and be done with this. For I did not like to lose, and every time the inevitable checkmate landed, it haunted me for days, the prospect of simply going back in time and fixing that screwed up game taunting me. This is much a petty example, I’m sure, but at such a young age, fear can twist the mind in demented ways. And from my experience, I would like to state that, even if we could go back in time to fix a regret or mistake, we should not. Life is much like a wild roller coaster ride, and the ups and downs we experience through it should be treasured, not erased. Why treasured, you ask? Why should we treasure a shameful flaw? Well, that depends on what the word ‘treasure’ means to you. To some, it is dreams of glittering diamonds. To others, it is an ancient wooden chest buried in the ground. To me, it is a golden memory, something that can be distorted and shifted over the years, but will still always be there, always be yours. Mistakes and lessons learned often lead to something good happening in turn. We are imperfect, and we will break, but instead of staying shattered, take those broken fragments and piece them together to make something beautiful again. And, most importantly, treasure the whole experience, both the good and the bad, and make it something precious to truly keep as your own. For everything we cherish; love, adventure, happiness, we cannot achieve through perfection, but instead through acknowledging our flaws and the mistakes we have made in the past, yet still walking on with our heads held high. We all know that independence is an important prospect of human growth, but how can we develop strength when we consistently lean on the fact that if we do make mistakes, they can be easily fixed? To me, that is what matters most. Doing things with the acceptance of possible mistakes and regrets, but also taking in the risks and leaving room for logic and reason alongside bravery and strength. For there is a fine line between courage and plain recklessness, and although we shouldn’t fear making mistakes and having regrets, we should be aware of the consequences and how they could affect us. If we had the ability to go back in time, we would use that ability as an excuse to charge recklessly into stupid situations and not really try our best, as we know there’s a guaranteed second chance. Sadly, however much light we shine onto this world, there are still places where shadows lurk. Some will inevitably be lost; those who passed away much too young, those who committed unforgivable crimes, those whose lives were destined to be toilsome simply by fate. But sacrifices must be made, for there cannot be a rainbow without the rain, and I know that standing here today, I wouldn’t want to change any of the flaws in my past, as they are a part of me now, important stepping stones to bring me to where I am today. Our mistakes and regrets are what shape us to be better versions of ourselves in the future, and without them, the thrilling stories we tell about ourselves, both our struggles and our triumphs, would no longer be. Caught up in the moment, the urge to fix a mistake might be strong, but know that in the future, you will look back and be glad everything in your life did happen, both the sunlit days and the dark nights. HONOURABLE MENTION (GRADE 7-8) Andrei Li A Present of Hope Thomas hated the mall. Hated the glaring white lights dangling from the ceiling. Hated the stench of bleach and mold and fresh paint hanging in the air. Pitied the sad, lonely Christmas trees shoved into the corners, bare but for a handful of crooked, crumbling globes. He sighed and looked down at his phone: 11:27 a.m. Emily, his older sister, would be back in a few minutes, from the ‘Christmas decoration’ store. Ugh. More like the ‘give-your-brother-ado’ store. “Why can’t we just use last year’s decorations?” he’d asked. “After all, they only need a bit of dusting.” But no. His sister had to buy new globes, new ribbons and lights, new everything. And spend three hours doing so. And his parents didn’t care: after all, Emily had started her first year of university, and they were so proud, blah blah. He shifted in his seat, sending a puff of dust into his face. Even the benches were disgusting, here. “Hey, Tom-Tom!” Thomas looked up. Emily looked back, two bulky shopping bags in her hands and one of her flashy, forced smiles on her face. “For the last time, Em, don’t call me Tom-Tom,” he groaned. “Where to, next?” Emily rolled her eyes. “To the grocery store. Pay attention, Thomas. I already said it earlier, and I don’t like re- peating myself.” She leaned in, lowering her voice to a hiss. “To be frank, I don’t think you want to be here.” That’s right, Em. Notice that your brother’s bored to hell a week late. “No,” he lied. “I just want to go home and start decorating.” Em’s smile popped back onto her face. “Well, if that’s the case, then follow me! The quicker we walk, the quicker we shop, and the quicker we get home!” She chuckled at her failed rhyme. Before Thomas could reply, his sister had already slipped into the crowd, her fancy auburn bun bobbing away like a puppet. If there was one thing about the mall that Thomas hated the most, it would be the crowds. As soon as he entered the mix, the people around him started closing in like a giant steel cage, crushing him in a prison of sweltering coat-wrapped bodies. He clenched his teeth, sweat rolling down his back, and cut through the crowd as quickly as he could. Suddenly, he emerged in a small clearing around the mall’s marble fountain. He looked around, and groaned: no Emily in sight. He’d taken a wrong turn, and ended up walking away from the grocery store. Might as well get a break from Em, he thought. A giggle bubbled up from behind him. From the corner of his eye, Thomas saw a little girl waddle up to an old homeless man, sitting beside the fountain. In the man’s hand was a Barbie doll, dancing through the air. The girl inched forward, hand reaching out towards the toy—when she was yanked back. Her mother. Thomas watched, shocked, as the mother angrily stormed away, tugging her reluctant daughter with her. As the crowd watched, unmoving, indifferent. As the old man’s warm smile was replaced by a desolate grimace and years of heavy wrinkles. He looked at the old man. At his eyes, twinkling like stars in a clear winter night. At his beard, a long tail of snowy hair. His coat, a faded, melancholic red.