Blazer Magazine 2019-2020 (The Consciousness Issue)

Consciousness / Unconsciousness

Dear Reader, The theme for the 2019-2020 Blazer Magazine is Consciousness vs Unconsciousness. This theme addresses the innate lenses in which humans use to view the world. One can experience life consciously, meaning: open minded, compassionate, and mindful. In contrast, one can view life subjectively, selfishly, and insensitively. This self focus contributes to an unconscious lifestyle.

In today’s society the challenges we face reinforce, amplify, and expose these two extreme lenses. The seventh edition of the Blazer Magazine’s rich literature and art pieces will guide you through the transition from a conscious state of mind to an unconscious mindset.

After reading the magazine you will be able to recognize how these two opposing lenses define

what it means to be human.

Sincerely, Taylor Ages Editor-in-Chief

EDITORS

EDITORIAL TEAM

TEACHER ADVISORS

Ms. Chelsea Larock Ms. Bridget Grady

Editor-in-Chief Ficton Poetry Creative Nonfiction Creative Content French Content

DESIGN TEAM

Art and Design Director

WEB TEAM

Multilingual Content Junior Fiction Junior Poetry Junior Creative Nonfiction Junior Creative Content Junior Multilingal Content

Web Content

Taylor Ages Hana Samad; Emma Katchadourian Thiyara Girihagama Olivia Taylor Giulia Rhodes Isabela Hernรกndez-Oviedo; Margret Efraim Stephanie Cheng Sydney Joos Gala Davila; Arnav Hiremath Caitlin Baxter Armita Dabirzadeh Minh Thu Vo; Jodie Lau Taylor Ages; Armita Dabirzadeh

Arnav Hiremath

TEAM

POETRY

ART

MULTILINGUAL

FRENCH

CREATIVE CONTENT CREATIVE NONFICTION FICTION

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Jamie Turner-Patry Gala Davila S.R. Joos Aylin Lim Catherina Niu Maria Safonova Katya Lawrence Hannah Noll Mitchell Mark George Armita Dabirzadeh Stella Sui Rebecca Abarbanel Sora Bui Nora Zolfaghari Alex Johnson Taylor Ages Laila ElDanasoury Katya Lawrence Rebecca Levesque Sumiki Hayashi Delphine Shen Anna Kim Hyebin Jung Pud Kanatharang Isabela Hernández Oviedo Zoé Jammes Morena Piza Maia Dos Santos Thiyara Girihagama Isabela Hernández Oviedo Giulia Rhodes Armita Dabirzadeh Cassie Mac Kylie Fung Isabela Hernández Oviedo S.R. Joos Catherine Doan Ilyana Fornes Laila ElDanasoury Ayah Sadiki Zoé Jammes

CONTENTS CONSCIOUSNESS

Only a Redbone

1

Passing Trains

40

Daylight

5

Freedom of Thought

41

A Different Kind of High

6

Naked to Become

42

The Breakfast Club

9

The Thunder of Silence

43

L’imaginaire S’est Dévoilé

10

Paper Heart

45

Le Rêve d’une Éternité

11

The Monster Inside

46

Hong Kong Revolution

13

Worth it: Beyond Meat Review

15

Humans of Ashbury

17

We All Fall Down

47

Sustainable Shopping

19

Mirror Please Tell Me

21

Amazon Rainforest

23

A Playlist to Cry To

25

Nuances de Gris

27

Mother Nature

28

Silence

29

Wonderful Day

30

Contradiction Vegan Dumpling Soup Recipe

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Viscious Circle by Unconsciousness 37 Our Earth

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UNCONSCIOUSNESS

Netflix Suggestions

49

Shadowed Truth

50

We Were Warned

51

Broken Promise

52

A Million Stars in the Sky

53

Surreal Winter Nights

57

The Girl at the Window

59

You are Worth More

65

6 Layer Cake Recipe

67

She’s My Best Friend

69

ONLY A REDBONE Zoé Jammes

“Hi, I’m Alizea,” I say, extending my hand.

“I know,” he laughs nervously, “and I’m Unys.” He shakes my hand.

“Yes, my mom told me.”

“Of course she did.”

We keep walking side by side, feeling the weight of formality slump our shoulders forward.

“So, what grade you in?” He asks.

“Grade 8. I’m fourteen.” I look around and try not to stare at the dog passing by that has three legs. I can see his hungry ribs underneath his papery skin.

“You getting so big. My little girl turnin’ into a young lady,” Unys smiles sadly.

“Yeah.” I have nothing to say. On the way here, I started to think of conversation starters but I have none. I feel like asking all of the questions I’ve saved up in my head since I was young—what’s your favourite book? Do you eat sandwiches with or without the crust? Do you ever think of me, at all? All of those questions seem silly now.

It’s strange seeing so many black people all in one place. And they’re not all maids like in my city! I watch them cooking in their shacks, hanging out laundry to dry, burning garbage in big tin cans on the side of the road. It stinks but I don’t dare cover my nose. I want to feel like I belong here. I want to feel a connection to these kids on the street splashed in mud, playing with a football made of cloth, but I don’t.

I’m an outsider with my straight hair and pale face. My clothes are too nice and my hands have never scrubbed anything to the bone in their lives. They are soft.

“I have a dog now. His name’s Adiel. I’d been begging Mama to get me one since forever.”

“That’s nice. I know your mom is tough but she love you. More than you know,” Unys sighs.

A woman passes by and she gives me a dirty look.

“Redbone,” she mutters under her breath.

I don’t know what that means. I turn to my father and he looks away. Redbone must not be a nice word.

“Wanna sit down?” He asks.

The sign on the bench says COLOURED ONLY. I hesitate.

“I guess we should just head to my house then.”

“Okay,” I say. “So, what do you do?”

“I’m a painter. I mean, not a painter painter,” he laughs, “I paint signs.”

“That’s nice.” I say this even though it’s not nice. I think back to all the things I’ve imagined him to be— an explorer, a chef, a pilot, a musician. I’m embarrassed. As we walk to his house, I can’t stop thinking about my new leather shoes that are being splashed by mud and I reprimand myself. Who do I think I am? Someone that’s too good for this place? I march on. We finally arrive at a small shack that he calls home.

Once I enter, I’m relieved that it’s clean. There’s a kitchen with a stove and a refrigerator and his bed is on the opposite side of the room and the bathroom is in a nook at the far back. I wonder how someone could live without a library and a big bathtub or fragrant lavender candles to warm one’s spirit at night. This studio is uninhabitable and I don’t know where to sit. There are no chairs. Unys goes to a corner and brings me a fold out chair and he sits down on his bed.

“What do you want to be when you grown up? Ah,” he chuckles “I forgot, you already grown.”

“I think I want to become a marine biologist. I really like pointed sawfish! Have you heard of pointed sawfish?” I ask and Unys shakes his head. “It has a rostrum, like a beak thing, that has teeth that come out of it! Unbelievable. If I had to study one fish, it would be that one,” I gleam.

“Well, you seem very smart, Alizea. Just work hard and I’m sure you’ll get to study that fish you like.”

I hear police sirens and pots and pans clashing from neighbouring houses and I wonder if this is what it sounds like at night. Do these people manage to sleep even with faraway shouts and police dogs barking at their windows? Do they really live like this?

My father talks a bit about his life. The neighbours are getting a divorce and his best friend just opened a restaurant and I try to care. But I don’t know this man, this Unys, someone whom I’m supposed to love. When it’s time to leave, it’s raining outside.

“Do you have an umbrella?” I ask.

“No. Why you need an umbrella? We can just run fast. I’ll race ya!” He laughs it off but his back is stiff. I think it’s because he’s embarrassed he doesn’t have something as basic as this. He must guess that we have four umbrellas at Mama’s house.

“Unys, my face, my hair. I can’t get wet.”

“You’re right,” he hands me a jacket, “here you go.”

“Thank you.” I tuck in my hair and zip it up.

“You know, you come visit anytime. It’s an open invitation. Really, anytime Alizea.” His eyes are watery.

“Ok.”

He accompanies me to the entrance of the city where my driver is waiting for me. The car looks out of place here. Children have stopped to stare. I give Unys a hug. He holds on too tight and too long, like he’s trying to make up for all of the bed times he’s missed. He could never make up for them. I get in the car. Outside, the woman who called me redbone is looking at me. She’s wiping her bloody hands on her apron. Her eyes look dead tired. A boy comes from behind her and she puts her arms

around him. Holds him tight. He is one of those football boys, dressed in rags. She mouths traitor as I drive away.

I think of the times I’ve wished I could live in the coloured areas. I could have stopped putting on beige powder every day and stopped putting lye in my hair. I contemplate every time I’ve savoured this dream of freedom. I was innocent then, no more than a week ago. Now I know that I’d been dreaming in technicolor. I am a redbone but I am not those boys in the mud and I am not that mother with the bloody hands. I am not the rich white man nor the extravagant blonde housewife. I exist in this middle ground of not good enough for my own people and too good for my own people and what does that make? That makes a redbone, an outsider from everyone.

My friends don’t understand why I can’t go tan with them and my father doesn’t get why mud on shoes is such a bad thing. I wish my father could come to my city and we could rewind the timer to zero. We could restart my childhood but with a dad included. Unys would be there to watch me grow up and win the Lexington Collegiate spelling bee trophy three years in a row and attend my spring flute recital. We would talk about pointed sawfish but he can’t come to Orania. It’s all white here.

Art by Rebecca Levesque

DAYLIGHT Jamie Turner-Patry

Believe me when I say this You have turned me right side up Yes, I am still the same Still kind, still caring, still loving But it’s as if I have woken up As if my once cruel love is kind As if my broken heart is now mended As if you turned me golden From what we have I was wading endlessly in darkness Every guiding light In the fires of hell Realizing it all too late My screams muffled by their laughter Until your golden smile You and your golden love Brought me back into daylight And taught me to be happy again And to let go of the fallen angels that hurt me I’ve been sleeping for so long But now things are brighter Things are golden We are golden

5 Art by Laila ElDanasoury

A DIFFERENT KIND OF HIGH Gala Davila

The world turned red The world was dead The world didn’t care It was the truth of the world It was our truth.

I thought it would help me forget, Put a veil on reality So that I could find false peace in a lie I faced the eyes of betrayal With a single golden tear.

But I found peace In the fact that it was reality That instead of a lie I was living a truth That I was finally conscious.

So, I struck the lies And danced with reality for a night The veil began to thin But the after shock shook me to my core And my gold turned to blood

6 Art by Nora Zolfaghari

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Art by Armita Dabirzadeh

8

THE BREAKFAST CLUB S.R. Joos

They see her hair, in golden locks So perfect and pristine Her waist, so slim Her skin, so smooth and clean

They don’t know that she’s been hurt before That Pain’s a family friend Her walls are strong as steel They shall never break, let alone bend

They forget the hours she spends Fixing her face in the mirror Starving herself for beauty A thing so fragile and small

She can’t let her guard down; Him, her, all of them, It’s only part of the act The curtain drops, the spotlight fades And the façade begins to crack

She can’t have a hair out of place; They see him grin, smirk and laugh See him stride down the halls Watch him joke with other guys Hear his whistles and catcalls They don’t see the bruises He doesn’t show the pain They don’t see the way he stares At others’ parents in vain He can’t lose; They see his numbers, always sky-high His perfect, polished grades have no caveats Teachers adore him, to the chagrin of his peers But all things must fade, someday They don’t see the tonnage of the pressure That forces him to his knees, like a modern-day Atlas The heavy burden of expectations That plague him like a disease He can’t get a question wrong; They only see her differences They judge her for her clothes Her nerve and plucky attitude The shimmering stud in her nose

Art by Taylor Ages

9

L’IMAGINAIRE S’EST DÉVOILÉ Zoé Jammes

Ma main devient de l’eau.

Elle ruisselle sur le tapis qui est tellement doux, Oh, aussi doux qu’un chat.

Les chats, les chiens, les humains et la nature, Je sens le lien astronomique, dynamique qui relie tout ce qui compose la vie...

La musique classique qui joue grimpe les murs comme des vignes Retrouvées sur les maisons âgées, mais celles-ci sont jaunes, Aussi brillantes que le soleil qui réchauffe notre Terre.

Les rideaux bougent, Ils dansent, vibrent, éclatent en morceaux et tombent telle une avalanche De beaux flocons paisibles.

Ils atterrissent sur mes joues et je les remercie,

Ils sont mes nouveaux amis.

Tout bouge maintenant Mes orteils nus poussent comme des arbres Tandis que les murs de ma chambre deviennent une cascade de couleurs vives.

Ma chambre s’est animée.

Je me lève du divan lentement, Tout se passe comme je l’aurais vu au cinéma Je m’aperçois presque dans l’angle d’une caméra.

Chaque pas prolonge mon agonie Je me laisse tomber sur mon lit, Je m’étends dans la chaleur des couvertures, Et je ferme mes yeux fatigués Pour dévoiler Un ciel étoilé.

10 Art by Nora Zolfaghari

LE RÊVE D’UNE ÉTERNITÉ Morena Piza Maia Dos Santos

Quand je m’endors, tout disparaît autour de moi ; la lumière sous ma porte, le bourdonnent de la télé dans le salon… Le monde devient noir, mais il est loin de s’éteindre. En fait, il s’agrandit, se transforme en mes rêves les plus fous. Les couleurs reviennent plus vives que dans la vie de tous les jours, elles se mélangent et se séparent pour former les idées de mon imaginaire. Ici ce qui se cache au plus profond de mon esprit est possible. Je nage dans les profondeurs de la mer aux côtés de toutes sortes de créatures bizarres, puis je m’envole avec des dragons sortis tout droit de mes romans fantastiques. Je pars explorer une nouvelle galaxie au nom imprononçable découverte par des scientifiques. Les parties cachées de mon esprit se relâchent et ma tête se remplit de possibilités.

Mais quand je me réveille, quand la lumière du jour vient me chatouiller, ces moments magiques disparaissent. Ces images restent pourtant bien présentes: les belles couleurs, les écailles qui brillent dans le ciel étoilé si bien que dans le fond de l’océan... Je suis frappé par cette vague d’émotions, la liberté de voler dans le ciel, la fraîcheur revigorante de l’eau qui ne voit jamais la lumière du jour, la sensation de flotter dans mon vaisseau spatial...

Je m’apprête à me lever quand je les vois, tous les dessins sur mon lit, chacun est une image parfaite d’un rêve que j’ai vécu. Je n’y crois pas, je ne sais pas d’où ils viennent, si beaux, si détaillés. Ma mère rentre dans ma chambre d’un pas brusque, me disant que je vais être en retard, mais elle s’arrête mi- phrase, les yeux écarquillés de stupeur et de merveille.

Les dessins la laissent bouche-bée et je ne sais pas quoi répondre. Elle les examine puis me complimente, me demande pourquoi je cachais de si belles choses. Je lui réponds que je ne sais pas et lui prie de sortir pour que je puisse me changer pour aller à l’école. Ma mère me regarde et me dit de ne pas priver le monde de quelque chose de si beau. Aussitôt la porte refermée, je ramasse tous les dessins et les jette sous mon lit. Je ne peux pas les avoir dessinés dans mon sommeil, n’est-ce pas?

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主題：偽黃 六月 民陣二度遊行 藍黃發生衝突 五大訴求誕生 硝煙初起 七月 立法會淪陷 元朗白衣人 連儂牆散佈 衝突加劇 八月 全港三罷 七區開花 流水式集會 陷入僵持 九月 國慶大典 抗暴之戰持 禁蒙面法實行 抗爭繼續

HONG KONG Sumiki

Art by Sora Bui

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是誰高呐喊光复香 港 又是誰高呼五大诉 求 結語 夫戰，勇氣也。 一鼓作氣，再而 衰， 三而竭。 彼竭我盈， 故克之。 他朝功成名就時， 必名留青史。 夫夷以近， 則游者眾； 險之遠， 則至者少 而世之奇偉， 瑰怪， 非常之觀， 常在於險遠， 而人之所罕至焉 故非有志者不能至 也。 他朝功成名就時， 必徒勞無功。

REVOLUTION Hayashi

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I’m

’

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HUMANS OF ASHBURY Armita Dabirzadeh

For Celine Fu, a grade 10 student at Ashbury College, fashion is a way to be different and exciting.

Fu’s style is constantly changing.

Much of her inspiration comes from men’s fashion. Currently, her style is classy streetwear. She likes simple but vibrant colours and a minimalistic high-end look.

Fu gets many of her clothes second hand “I don’t remember the last time I went to the mall and bought something new”. She gets most of her clothes from thrift stores and Instagram sellers as well as from her mom and family. Fu is very confident about her clothing choices. Her style has gone through many phases until she finally found the right one.

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Last year was her first year at Ashbury. She had the freedom of a new school to find the new her.

Fu does not let other people’s criticism stop her style. Other people may have annoying comments, but she ignores them because she doesn’t care about their opinion on her style. Fu dresses in this style because she didn’t like the way everyone else was dressing. She wanted to escape the basic clothes every other girl was wearing and all of the current trends they were following. Much of Fu’s inspiration for her style comes from Instagram such as @nicolemclaughlin, @alanrvy, @byarthurboyd, @ader_error, @acnestudios and @soy_raka.

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Vintage Stores Ragtime The magical mess of the store is filled with amazing hidden vintage finds. From the early 00s, the funky 80s, crazy cowboy boots, roaring 20s, and amazing hats, this store has it all.

Darling Vintage The colour coordination of the shop sorts the beautiful garments in a very aesthetically pleasing way. Darling Vintage is filled with delicate and timeless pieces.

Bellwethers Walking into Bellwethers takes you into a world of 70s glamour and luxury. Each rack is carefully curated with high-end garments that will add bold statement pieces into your wardrobe.

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Grocery Stores

NU - Westboro The average Canadian produces more than 700 kg of waste per year, one of the highest rates among developed countries. Many of us recycle and compost, but the majority of our waste still ends up in a landfill.

Waste pollutes our waterways, our soils and even our air – landfills generate 20% of Canada’s methane emissions. There’s good news though: we can do something about it!

Adopting zero waste shopping habits means saying no to unnecessary and single-use packaging, and buying sustainable products in the quantities that we really need. No more packaging waste. No more food waste.

NU is an amazing zero waste grocery store that can help you work towards a more sustainable lifestyle. The stores can be found on Wellington and Main Street.

Sustainable Restaurants

The Green Door The Green Door makes a great effort to minimize food waste both in the kitchen and with our payby-weight style buffet. They collect vegetables off-cuts to make our soup stock and set aside the leftover scraps for our farmers to use as compost. Their take-out containers are compostable & recyclable.

Their menu is filled with gluten-free, vegan, and organic options. The soups, bread, hot dishes, and salads do not contain any sweeteners. Not only is The Green Door a great sustainable option, but each dish is also filled with amazing flavour profiles and creativity.

Little Jo Berry’s Little Jo’s is a shop built on community and friendship. It’s a priority for them to create a safe, inclusive space for the folks who visit their shop and help them grow. We love ya!

The bakery is filled with delicious and decadent fully vegan pastries.

The Wild Oat The Wild Oat is an Ottawa staple! The cozy interior and friendly staff are serving affordable, healthy delicious meals. From brunch to dinner to dessert, the shop has it all!

Grow Your Roots Grow Your Roots thinks that living a vegan lifestyle is all about making plant passionate food choices ranging from kale salads, smoothies, power bowls and hemp hearts, to Seitan steak, fried cauliflower & cashew mac & cheese to keep your variety exciting and your body balanced.

Their menu is filled with mouthwatering dishes that will stop you from 20 than vegan options. thinking about anything other

Art by Taylor Ages

MIRROR PLEASE TELL ME Aylin Lim

Mirror mirror on the wall When will I be able to stop the fall?

The girl I see when I look at you Is from a broken point of view Eyes follow Every step taken Thoughts echo Every word spoken Too short, too tall Too fat, too skinny Got to have it all But that won’t come for free Touch of acid Trace through the body Anxiety loaded Mind intoxicated So, tell me mirror.

How can I smile at her?

The girl that is within you.

Does she deserve the happiness?

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Art by Armita Dabirzadeh

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AMAZON RAINFOREST Delphine Shen

缺乏意识 现在世界上发生了很多事情。名人的新活动，首相选举等等。然 而，去年暑假我读到一则令人心碎的消息。那则新闻显示了一种无 意识的现象。 亚马逊雨林是世界上最有价值的森林系统之一。亚马逊雨林中生活 着2000多种哺乳动物，250万种昆虫和6万种植物。人们称它为“地 球的肺”。因为它每年能产生大量的氧气并吸收大量的二氧化碳。然 而，巴西政府并没有很好地对待这颗自然的宝藏。 巴西拥有世界上最大的雨林—亚马逊雨林，但政府却对待它毫不留 情。2019年8月22日，亚马逊雨林大火持续燃烧了3周!没有人来灭 火。他们放任无情的火焰燃烧着我们地球的肺。在媒体将这一可怕 的消息公诸于世后，巴西政府甚至拒绝道歉，说“我们没有钱拯救雨 林”。这种消极的态度引起了许多政客的愤怒。 来自不同国家的人们争论不休，互相指责。在各个国家的举棋不定 中，一周过去了。一周后，亚马逊雨林仍然在燃烧，里面的动植物 和周边的村民仍被浓烟影响着生活。这件事让我很伤心。不仅因为 我们地球的肺燃烧了近一个月，没有政府关心，更是因为每个国家 政府都在说着英雄的台词，却没有一个真正做些什么来拯救雨林。 世界上每个国家的政治家都在考虑，如果他们帮助拯救亚马逊雨 林，他们能得到什么，他们可能失去什么。他们的犹豫使雨林又燃 烧了一个星期。他们不关心地球上每天有多少种动植物消失。他们 似乎只在乎钱，只在乎名利，只愿意做到独善其身。他们似乎都忘 记了地球才是我们唯一的家。 23 23

让热带雨林被烧毁2周是巴西政府的自觉，留下它继续燃烧1周后的 媒体新闻是整个世界的自觉。我们只有一个“地球的肺”，其中五分之 一已经被人类社区占据。希望有一天人们可以停止这种无意识的行 为，共同拯救地球。

24 Art by Stella Sui

LISTEN NOW

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26 Art by Armita Dabirzadeh

NUANCES DE GRIS Thiyara Girihagama

Regardez notre jardin Regardez ses feuilles

Frais, vert et sain

Ne clignez pas. Ne fermez pas vos yeux;

Pas une seule seconde; vous manquerez la vue

Contemplez. Les feuilles ont brûlé. Elles virent au jaune, orange et rouge Assurez-vous de les regarder longtemps Bientôt, l’hiver les couvrira

Dans le jardin d’à côté, les enfants jouent sous le soleil d’été Ils savourent leur liberté dans la brise Ils courent si vite

Qu’ils semblent voler Leur mère les regarde de la fenêtre

Le verre est froid, elle sait que le temps passe vite

Le jeune garçon frissonne quand un flocon de neige caresse sa peau

Sa sœur le ramène à l’intérieur, en entendant l’appel de leur mère Dont la voix résonne tel le chant d’un oiseau Devant la cheminée, la famille se réjouit

Le père est fatigué d’une longue journée de travail

Il semblerait qu’il soit né pour subvenir aux besoins de sa famille Néanmoins, il apprécie ces temps

Avec amour, les parents nourrissent leurs enfants

Le garçon ressent un frisson, encore

En regardant par la fenêtre, il est triste de voir son jardin devenu aride

Il ne voit que des nuances de gris

Sa sœur regarde à travers la même fenêtre Mais elle est heureuse

Elle voit un petit bourgeon traverser la neige

Elle27 aperçoit l’espoir au-delà des nuances de gris

Art by Armita Dabirzadeh

MOTHER NATURE Aylin Lim

Great drops fell from her eyes The heavy rainclouds unleashed their fury.

The fire devours her whole Slowly crushing her dry.

She searches for her children Who had turned a blind eye.

The urbanized shotgun in their hand.

Aiming at her head and Bang!

Meanwhile, her body lies, sacrificed.

Ours stand, protected.

Ears closed and eyes shut.

Where are you going?

Can’t you see?

Our mother is dying.

28 Art by Nora Zolfaghari

E SILENCz-O viedo

Isabela Hernánde

Pourquoi m’offrir ce silence ?

Pourquoi me laisser dans l’ignorance ?

Pourquoi refuses-tu de parler ?

Pour me protéger ? De quoi ?

Des autres ? De toi ?

Tu ne veux pas me perdre dans le jeu, Mais je m’y suis déjà perdue.

Où sont passées nos années de jeunesse ?

Alors pourquoi m’offrir ce silence ?

Pourquoi laisser ce feu consumer mon âme ?

Pour me laisser dans l’insouciance ? Ça fait longtemps que je l’ai jetée dans les flammes.

Je l’ai vue brûler en dansant sous le clair de lune.

Et pourquoi me faire souffrir Si ce n’est que pour mourir à petit feu Avant de disparaître.

Je veux seulement entendre ta voix Une dernière fois. Rien qu’une fois.

Le temps est passé si vite…

Il est parti sans un dernier regard.

Ainsi, tout vient à terme.

Non ! Ne m’offre pas ce silence !

Silence.

Rappelle-moi du temps où nous étions heureux.

Entends ma voix. Tu es si loin…

Pourquoi m’offrir ce silence oppressant ?

Art by Taylor Ages

Non ! Ne m’offre pas ce silence !

Dis-moi seulement que tu songes encore à moi.

Silence.

Réponds ! Un mot, une phrase… Écoute-moi. J’ai besoin d’aide.

Parle-moi. Je veux t’aider.

On ne se suffira jamais, N’est-ce pas ?

Dans quelques années ce sera fini et il ne restera plus que le : Silence.

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WONDERFUL WONDERFUL DAY Anna Kim

Но вот в один прекрасный день Я осознал кто я а кто они Я кричал, пихался, дрался Я сделал все что смог бы человек Ссадины и синяки на теле. Утоптаны надежды и мечты Ведь это вы на самом деле Сломали жизнь и детские деньки

И вот он я счастливый ненадолго Пришел мой день, пришел мой час И чувтсвую я что жив Как тело медленно немеет

И каждый день одно и тоже “Ты грязный, мерзкий и тупой” Прилипшие слова как паразиты к коже Ранят сердце незаточенной пилой

В те дни, я мертв Но сейчас живу как никогда Живой как ты, как все, как эти гадкие деньки И слышу последнии удары седрца

Ну почему же я, а не кто другой Может есть то что не так со мной И не могу я ничего поделать А смысл? Никому нет дела

Жить осталось ненадолго Но хотя бы здесь Умру я в ней оставшись воином Защищая честь свою, любя себя

Помогите, спасите, отпустите Я жаждал помощи друзей, учителей Но они с тупой бездушною ухмылкой, Оставили меня с проблемой на душе

Человек творец своей судьбы Судьбой которой управляешь только ты И вот он я, оставшись настоящим Как тот прекрасный дивный день.

30 Art by Sora Bui

31 Art by Laila ElDanasoury

32

Hey.

I live a life that I don’t want to live.

I choose to get up every day because I Don’t you dare give me any pitying looks. believe in myself.

Because I think I can walk out of the life I Hi. choose to live as soon as I get a job.

That I will one day be free.

I don’t want your sympathy either.

Live on my own.

Get a cat.

Here I am.

Sustain another life, when I myself wonder why I choose to live mine.

Please don’t come to talk to me about your I’m ungrateful, aren’t I? worries.

Just a kid.

I don’t want to hear them.

Who hasn’t lived long.

Who doesn’t understand pain. *pause* I once shared such thoughts.

This is me.

I once opened myself up, gave everything and got nothing in return.

A contradiction.

I showed myself, and in one of my weakest A living, breathing contradiction. moments was discarded, like that one baA walking, talking, hurting, loving, caring, nana you never ate but let rot, turn pitch lying contradiction. black before throwing it away entirely.

I would have used the word dying if I “How can you be stressed at your age?” knew I wouldn’t get pitying looks.

I stopped.

I stared.

I hate those looks.

I grit my teeth and ate the God damned Those eyes. avocado I held because I couldn’t handle Those furrowed eyebrows paired with the it. frown that I’ve memorized on the faces of those I decide to avoid.

This anger.

In those eyes I see myself.

White, hot, scalding anger that flowed In those eyes, I see who I never wanted to through my veins like blood. be.

This anger was inside my body, inside my And in those eyes I see disappointment. head, and a part of me I could never get rid of.

I hate those looks.

I hate meeting those eyes, and more than I broke things. anything, It started with everyday items.

I hate that I can’t handle it.

Pencils, snapped in half with the hem of I hate that I choose not to face it. my shirt wrapped around it so I wouldn’t I hate that I’m scared. get splinters.

I hate that I’m a coward.

Pairs of scissors, pulled apart with my I hate that it keeps me up ‘till sunrise and bare hands. leaves me half dead throughout grueling The many things I’d thrown to the ground days. and the frequent moving of furniture to I hate getting up in the morning after 2 cover the marks they’d made on the hardhours of sleep. wood floor.

33

C O N T R A

D I C T I O N

The number of times I’d thrown clothes to the ground with all the strength I could muster...

Just to relieve the burning blood running through my veins.

I was constantly told to take care of the things I owned.

To treasure objects as if they were my child.

The many water bottles, pencils, erasers, and other things I’d lost can attest to the fact that I’d never believed in such words, no matter who’d told me to believe.

So this is me.

Flawed.

Hurt.

But still, I care and still I make the same mistakes.

Because I love those mistakes.

Those mistakes make me who I am.

Those mistakes remind me of who I want to be.

Whether I choose to hate or accept myself, this is my choice.

There is one problem and only one problem I accept about myself.

One personality flaw I can confidently say I defy all that I don’t believe in. that I would never trade for the world, for I hate that I refuse. all the money in the world, for power, inI hate that I can’t do as I’m told. fluence, fame, or love. Not even happiness, I hate that every fiber of my being is if that works. against becoming an emotionless doll.

I care about myself.

I hate that I still want to lose everything.

I don’t struggle with body image.

I hate that I don’t care.

I don’t have cancer.

I hate it even.

I’m not being abused.

I’m not being bullied; I probably was the I hate... bully at some point.

And I do it again, and again, and again, I’m the supporting character. and again.

I’m the annoying wing person.

I go around and around in circles until I I’m weird, possibly mentally unstable but can’t tell left from right.

I’m okay with that.

I’m hurting inside but I’ve learned from With every step I take, every breath I steal, that pain. a little part of me wonders when the world I know I am the only cause of my own will stop giving to me. pain.

I just don’t care that much anymore.

I accept it.

I accept myself.

It’s interesting, isn’t it?

I may never truly love every aspect of myThe small internal problems seem all con- self, but that’s okay. suming.

This is the only thing you focus on.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Nothing else is important.

I mean, if I could I’d take that risk but Nothing else is worth it. since I believe I can’t, I’ll just stay the same.

Me, a flawed, imperfect human being.

Stagnant, but still content.

Someone who acknowledges their faults That’s good enough for me. but makes no effort to better them.

That is me. I am that. Really just a thing, a speck of dust in the life of a universe that is otherwise unimportant, for anything other than being a speck of dust. 34 And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kylie Fung

35 Art by Taylor Ages

36

VISCIOUS CIRCLE BY UNCONSCIOUSNESS Hyebin Jung

사회적으로 집중되고 있는 이슈, 혹은 사람과 사람 간의 사소한 다툼 속에서도 인 간은 두 가지 카테고리로 분류될 수 있다. 의식이 있는 사람과 없는 사람. 여기서 말하는 ‘의식’은 단순히 사람의 건강 상태를 뜻하는 것이 아닌, 어떠한 사건을 바라 보는 사람의 관점을 뜻한다. 그리고, 이러한 의식도 사람마다 여러가지 단계로 나 눌 수 있다. 그렇다면, 누구나 이 컨셉을 쉽게 이해할 수 있도록 간단한 예를 하나 들어보자. 대한민국 서울에 위치하고 있는 한 초등학교 안에서 2학년으로 이제 막 진급한 두 여자아이가 서로에게 잘못된 오해를 품어 말다툼을 하고 있다고 치자. 그리고 이 말다툼은 시간이 갈수록 점점 범위가 커져 주변 아이들이 개입되고, 곧 머지않아 선생님까지 개입이 된다. 이 상황에서의 핵심 문제는 ‘오해’이다. 그리고 초등학교 선생님은 꽤나 어렵겠지만, 두 아이간의 오해를 말끔히 풀어주면 된다. 하지만 진짜 문제는 여기서 부터 시작이다. 이 난장판 속 선생님의 판단은 선생님 을 의식이 없는 사람과 있는 사람, 즉 두 가지 다른 타입의 사람으로 나눌 것이다. 예를 들어, 만약 이 초등학교 선생님이 두 아이의 입장을 듣다말고 무작정 사소한 일 하나가 골치아픈 말다툼으로 이어졌다고 두 아이를 다그치고 난 후, 서로 잘못 했다고 말하라고 한 후 화해를 억지로 시킨다면, 선생님은 분명 이 상황 속 잘못되 고 고립된 지각을 가지고 있고, 이후 두 아이들의 관계를 더욱더 악화시킬 것이다. 하지만, 만약 선생님이 두 아이의 입장을 모두 들은 후, 두 아이에게 서로의 입장 이 어떠한지 차근차근 이해시킨 후, 마지막으로 두 아이가 가지고 있는 오해가 무 엇 이였는지 아이들에게 확실히 설명을하면 두 초등학생은 자연스럽게 그들 스스 로 미안하다고 사과를 하는 것을 물론 그들의 친구사이가 더욱 돈독해질 것이다. ‘ 잘못된 지각이 불러일으키는 악순환’은 위의 예시처럼 사소한 생활 속에서 발견되 는 것 뿐만이 아닌, 정치적인 문제 환경적인 문제에서도 종종 발견된다. 예를 들어, 지구온난화로 인한 기후 변화 문제를 해결하기 위한 수많은 해결책은 이미 제기된 상황이지만, 거의 대부분의 사람들은 자신의 편의를 위해 일회용 플라스틱으로 만 들어진 물품을 쓴 뒤, 재활용은 커녕 길바닥에 쓰레기를 아무렇지도 않게 버리고 는 모른척 하는 일상을 수십년간 살아왔다. 지구온난화에 따른 기후 변화는 이미 왜 일어나고 있는지 과학적으로 증명된 상황이지만, 위와 같은 행동을 하는 것은 오직 자신 한 명 뿐이라는 고립된 생각으로, 우리 인간들은 환경오염으로 멸망해 가는 지구를 그저 지켜봐 왔다.

37

자신만 살면 된다는 생각으로, 미래를 이끌어나갈 그다음 세대를 철저히 외면 하는 것이 바로 우리이다. 또한, 어른들은 아이들에게 지구온난화의 심각성만 계속 강조할 뿐, 막상 행동으로 해결방안을 실천하지 못하고, 아이들은 그저 학 생이라는 이유로, 아직 어리다는 이유로 서로에게 책임을 떠밀고 있는 것이 우 리들의 슬픈 현실이다. 생각해보면, 사람들 속 일어나는 갈등, 즉 똑같은 주제 를 가지고 의견분열이 일어나는 이유는 분명하게도 문제를 바라보는 인식과 관점이 사람마다 모두 다르기 때문이다. 그리고 잘못된 지각과 인식은 종종 상 황을 악화시킨다. 사소한 문제든 전세계가 함께 힘을 합쳐 해결해야하는 문제 든 우리가 서로 다른 의견과 인식을 갖고 있어도, 지구의 공동체를 밝은 미래로 이끌 뚜렷한 목표와 우리들의 기발한 생각들을 하나로 통합시킬 수 있는 힘이 우리에겐 있기에, 때론 사회 속 우리의 잘못된 지각이 불러일으키는 악순환이 공교롭게도 우리자신과 우리사회를 헤치지 않길 바란다.

38 Art by Stella Sui

OUR EARTH

Pud Kanatharana โลกของเรา โลกของเรา ขั้วโลก กำ�ลัง ละลาย สัตว์ตาย ไม่มี ที่อยู่ โลกนั้น ร้อนดั่ง ไฟเผ้า พวกเรา ควรหยุด ขัต้​้วอโลก ง ละลาย ตาย ไม่ ่อยูำ�่ ท่วม งลดกำต้�อลังเลิ ก ต้องกูสั้ ตว์เอาจริ ง ก่มอี ทีนน้ โลกนั ได้แล้​้นว ร้อนดั่ง ไฟเผ้า พวกเรา ควรหยุด องลด ต้องเลิก ต้องกู้ เอาจริง ก่อนน้ำ� ท่วม ได้ดแทิล้ว้ง หยุดตัด หยุดโลภ ก่อนโลก จะพัง ต้โลก หยุ หยุ ทิ้ง หยุดตัด หยุดโลภ ก่อนโลก จะพัง โลก ทำ�ดลาย ทุกคน ทำ�เป็น ไม่รู้ ทั้งรู้ ว่านี่ คือปัญหา ทำ�ลาย เป็นมีไม่ รู้ ทั ้งรู้ ว่าทำนี�เล่ ่ คือนปัไม่ ญหา อย่กาคน คิด ทำว่า�เรา เวลา จะมา ได้ โลกร้อน จนป่า แผดเผ้า น่าเศร้า ที่เรา ไม่ ทุ โลกร้ สน อน จนป่า แผดเผ้า น่าเศร้า ที่เรา ไม่ อย่าคิด ว่าเรา มีเวลา จะมา ทำ�เล่น ไม่ได้ สน อย สัตว์ใหญ่ ตาจน โดนลน โดนลวก วิจัย ก็บอก ชัดแล้ว ไม่แคล้ว อีกยี่ สิบปี นกน้ จัย ก็บตอนนั อก ชัด้นแล้ ปี ตอนนี้ ไม่วไ ได้ม่ แคล้มัวนอีทักนยี่ ถ้สิาบไม่ นกน้ อย สัตว์ใหญ่ ตาจน โดนลน โดนลวก วิจะแก้ ด้วยไฟ จะแก้ ตอนนั้น ไม่ได้ มันทัน ถ้าไม่ ตอนนี้

ด้วยไฟ

โรงเรี ยน ควรสอน ให้รู้ ต้องสู้ ต้องรัก ษาไว้ ทะเล น้ำ�งาม สีคราม คำ�ราม ร้องดัง เจ็บ โรงเรี ให้รู้ ต้ไม่อใงสู ต้องรั้ กมอดวาย ษาไว้ พื้นป่ายนทั่วควรสอน เขต แดนไกล ห้ ้ โลกนี ทะเล ปวด น้ำ�งาม สีคราม คำ�ราม ร้องดัง เจ็บ ปวด ตอนนี้ เหลือแต่ ก้อนกรวด เพราะกรด น้ำ� พื้นป่า ทั่วเขต แดนไกล ไม่ให้ โลกนี้ มอดวาย จึตอนนี ง เป็น้ เหลื พิษอแต่ ก้อนกรวด เพราะกรด น้ำ� จึง เป็นพิษ

39 Art Art by

by Stella Stella Sui Sui

PASSING TRAINS Jamie Turner-Patry

40

Art by Nora Zolfaghari

You know, I dreamt of you And it felt so real that I almost thought it was.

I was at a station With a destination unknown And an emerald green light Shimmering through the window pane Almost as a melodic waltz As it dances across the room.

I was about to board the train When my heart skipped a beat As I heard something in the distance And as I looked to my left Towards the horizon I understood why it existed.

Because there you were Perfectly healthy With that beautiful smile of yours As if that dreaded 3rd of October Had become a figment of my imagination.

Let me tell you I have never run so fast Never felt my lungs lose breath so quickly As I crashed into your arms And felt your hug one last time It all felt so real And although it was not It was real enough for me To say goodbye one last time And always hold on.

FREEDOM OF THOUGHT Isabela Hernández-Oviedo

Je me demande, Will it always be the same?

Ce poids étouffant, Will it always remain?

Dicen que vivo en una ilusión, Mais pourrais-je ouvrir les yeux Pour voir autre chose que le néant?

Y tal vez tengan razón, But I can at least try One. More. Time.

Quizás esté construyendo un castillo de sueños, Maybe I’ll never touch the stars.

On me l’a dit bien trop souvent: “Ne vole pas aux côtés des étoiles Podrías quemarte las alas” Vielleicht ist es Zeit aufzuhören.

Mais je vole trop haut pour m’en rendre compte Why look back Das Universum in Reichweite zu haben Un battement de cœur.

Cierro los ojos Ein letztes Mal E dopo?

Plus rien.

Nada?

Nient’altro che i lamenti del silenzio Guarda cos’è la libertà: Ignoranz.

41 Art by Nora Zolfaghari

When life first started, it was naked.

As naked as an ape; as naked as our first mother and father.

Naked hiding by bushes, naked free in the mountain ranges.

So naked that we followed our scale of instinct, our conscience yet to become.

The apple of evolution gave us intelligence, And we knew then merit and false; We took fur and burned bark to keep warmThe scale was in balance, nothing wrong.

NAKED TO BECOME Catherine Niu

For thousands of years we lived as thus, Taking what survival asked and nothing more.

My old mamas and papas buried as naked as they come, The scale was in balance, nothing wrong.

When the monstrous age of machines came, We cheered as if they were man-made gods.

Sacrificing forest, coal, water and air, We piously tilted our scale.

Now we know that something must be wrong: Choking air suffocated some of us, Toxic water poisoned some of us, Some of us bearing furs and diamonds and manufactured goods, Some of us having nothing but lost mamas and papas.

Shhhh! We sense not, remember not, and think not.

Hold the scale and turn it upside-down.

We are not naked anymore.

Apathy. Denial. Ignorance.

Shhhh! We feel it, enshrine it, and cry for it.

Don’t awaken mama from her slumber, We are naked children all along.

Empathy. Acceptance. Restoration.

To whom should I listen, whom should I trust?

Aren’t these people phony?

Aren’t those people radical?

Shhhh. Balance your scale.

Listen to the rusty cracks (suppressed roars) And find where you are from.

We need not shout, need not cry, Just be naked as we were born.

42 Art by Nora Zolfaghari

THE THUNDER OF SILENCE I was floating.

I was free.

Isabela Hernández-Oviedo

Trapped in the delicate freedom of ignorance, I lived in a grandiose illusion. In a universe whose only limits lied at the end of my imagination. I existed only within my own reality. And that was enough. I was enough.

Time flowed slowly in that universe of mine. Each second dripped into a flow, that lasted for an eternity. Each breath escaped my lips to become a nebula, extending its arms in a sea of colors. And there I lay-—free, unknown, infinite. My hands would stretch and open like the morning’s sun, closing them around nothing. I was free.

Resting in nothingness, standing in a shimmering sea that extended to the edge of the horizon, a line of heavenly colors. I was unconscious of my being, unconscious of my life. I closed my eyes. Close them.

My hands reached into the timeless substance, and by the wind’s command, the stars began to dance.

Open.

Violent noise. Loud, very loud. Vivid lights, flickering around me. Thunder. The sound of it. Noise. Too much. Too sudden. Too much noise. Hear! Listen…You can’t.

A sea of people rushing about. The screams of unborn children. Lights flashing in front of me. Action. And suddenly- a face… I saw a face! Blurry and rushing towards me. A flash, a sound. I braced for impact but they didn’t hit me. They couldn’t reach me.

I slowly raised my hand, extending, my fingertips to touch the glass. I was safe. Safe within these protective walls of glass. Waves of faces crushed against my shores, water splashing around me without a single drop coming to wash my soul. Names howling into my ears, the wind throwing itself against my walls without ever touching me. The sun raised endless times, attempting to melt the wall but the ice only grew thicker. They couldn’t reach me. They never would. And they all kept screaming, blood dripping against my walls.

43

And they all kept smiling, their face distorted by a dreadful grin. And the wind became harsher, stronger, colder but I could not feel it. And they cried, and they laughed, and they lived before disappearing. And I remained silent. Safe within the barriers of my soul. And as time passed, the ice grew thicker. Nothing seemed to have changed. Nothing would ever change. Or so I thought.

Faces kept coming. But now they danced, their feet floating above the ground. Now they sang with the wind, and they bent through time. They lived. I smiled, seeing flowers bloom, their petals extending their gowns to the golden run. I opened my arms, attempting to reach them but never could.

Snow fell, giving the dancers its silver wings. Snow flew, it swung its dress to the sun, running through the faces, but it never touched me. It would never touch me.

Slowly, what had first seemed to be a soft caress became a bite and the walls a cage.

The sweet murmur of winter burned my skin, inflamed my heart. Who was I? What had I become? I attempted to move my feet, I tried to escape without ever being able to. I reached my arms to the wall and pushed as hard as I could, leaning dangerously from side to side, pressing my hand against the wall in an eternal battle. Let me out!

Let me free!

But what if I had buried myself too deeply into these thoughts? What if I could never escape? Oh, how blissful was ignorance! Where could I go? There was no place for me. I had no other place than the walls I was trapped in and my heart would never be warmer than the ice crystal it had become. For who was I? I was no one at all.

44 Art by Nora Zolfaghari

PAPER HEART Maria Safonova

Can I fade away? Just for today, can I leave?

I don’t want this It hurts to see this...

I want to find my way New crush just breaks the thin layer Made of “I’m okay” I turned my back to love, but do I have a choice?

I’m tired, my heart aches I’m burnt out, my thoughts control me, I want this to stop, to put it on pause...

So I can finally catch my breath So I can put a bandage On the hole between my lungs.

45 Art by Alex Johnson

THE MONSTER INSIDE Cassie Mac

Quái Vật! Đứa trẻ ấy khóc, Tiếng cầu cứu không tên, Lớn dần rồi lớn dần Không một ai nghe đến.

Con quái vật vĩ đại, tài giỏi và lớn lao Nó dẫn dắt đứa trẻ Tới một nơi không tên Tâm hồn vỡ vụn ấy Chới với trèo lên cao Bóng tối vẫn theo đuôi Ngày càng thêm mạnh mẽ Ánh sáng rọi chiếu xuống Năm tháng rồi trôi qua Ngày một sáng chói hơn Con quái vật biến mất

Quái vật cũng lớn lên Trong cô gái lúc này Tiếng cầu cứu vang lên Không một ai quan tâm.

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Art by Rebecca Levesque

Một tiếng nói thì thầm Xa lạ mà thân quen Không còn hình dạng ấy Nó đang ở nơi đâu

con sciou nes

YOU HAVE REACHED THE MAGAZINE’S EXACT MIDDLE

unco sciou nes

47 47

nusss

onusss

48 Art by Armita Dabirzadeh

N

Art by Taylor Ages

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H T RU

T D WE nova

O afo S D a i r A Ma

SH

Art by Alex Johnson

head y m n h y ow ssing wit uzzle m n o e sp eathe echoes m n endles r b t o , a prise Cann whispers ment on r u s d e e e Thes stop mov desire an k the o abus o d l n , y r a n i e h A no of despa atred yet t h , , e w s e r e ro Mad f sor part. o div o s e e g r sa olla to tear a c tline u e Path g o hu es es ugh s an .

This t of piec late smil same there wa ld be eno ht one� u o u ig h Ran o ark choc ghter I wis clue wo se the “r u ,d o le Dark d into a la Simp p me cho e el Turn p u To h d e a c i e st vo my h vy o l p e y e hea hm ok n e.

Try t became ming wit roke b ot m the water air m n s a a , k e s I s r e c t Ma ratch ed under for some ng, s ness tha i c s n e w s s Dro f aware ft tho e I scream thin stick help. e l o y r v r The Fea belie up those hope fo o d o And o climb sional t t u Tried I was del s Gues

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We were told that this would happen and what did we all do?

Continued using plastic bags and kept on wasting fuel.

Soon, the sky will turn grey, the grass won’t be so green, the water won’t be clear or blue, and nothing will be clean.

We destroy until there’s nothing left and then we act surprised, we saw this coming long ago and yet we still deny.

WE WERE WARNED Katya Lawrence

Art by Katya Lawrence

51 51

BROKEN PROMISE Hannah Noll

When did I become the visionary who can see beyond the thunderstorm, dark and clouded, hovering just past the horizon?

When did I leave behind the days of skipping through meadows, of counting the flower petals, of wishing on dandelions blowing in the wind?

Why did I get bestowed the curse of a promise, a promise I see but am not yet ready to create, under the glaring eyes of clouded gods?

Why is the path clear in my eyes, but shattered in the eyes of the blind?

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Art by Taylor Ages

A MILLION STARS IN THE SKY Catherine Doan

The logical thing to do in reaction to seeing a stranger appearing out of nowhere on your coffee table would be to scream, call the police and run, in that particular order.

Unfortunately, Felix was everything BUT logical.

“Good evening.” The stranger greets, eyes blinking slowly. His eyes are a brilliant shade of gold, barely covered by the strands of blond hair that rest on his eyelashes.

“You’re on my coffee table,” Felix deadpans, ceramic coffee mug in hand as he takes in the sight of the stranger in front of him. The stranger rolls his eyes.

“Why aren’t you running away?” he asks. Felix contemplates the question for a second, absentmindedly noting that he should be screaming and calling the cops right now. Instead, he shrugs.

“I’m a lonely, sleep-deprived, and frankly, bored college student. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that you’re just a figment of my imagination,” Felix shrugs, not at all processing how there’s a stranger in front of him. The stranger raises an eyebrow, yet he doesn’t say anything. Instead, the stranger extends his hands into the sky and stretches, face scrunching up as he groans. Cute, he thinks, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I am Ash, Star #17 in System 96, here on my required fall,” Ash explains, to which Felix only nods at, brain trying to grasp the concept.

“Felix Rochelle. A human being, sadly.” Felix returns the favour. Ash cracks a smile.

“I wasn’t aware humans became so self-aware.” the fallen star teases. Felix shrugs.

“I try.”

Silence. Felix clears his throat.

“Why do you have to fall?”

“Trust me, if it weren’t for the guys up there I’d rather not mingle with you violent, self-destroying, simpleminded creatures without the wisdom to do anything worth my attention—” “Sounds like a superiority complex.”

“—if I had the choice. Alas, every star must find the human soul that is tied to their existence to continue shining,” Ash finishes, ignoring the raised eyebrow Felix gives him.

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“And just why do you not like humans?” Felix questions, causing Ash to scowl as if there was a memory behind the reason.

“Didn’t I just explain it? You creatures only think for yourselves, ready to trample over each other for a short-term gain that will ultimately lead to your species’ demise,” Ash growls, mood changing in a fraction of a second. Felix shakes his head.

“That’s a stereotype,” Felix points out. Ash barks a laugh.

“That’s the truth,” the star states stubbornly. Felix squints at him. The fallen star glows faintly in his dim apartment light, arms crossed as he stays adamant.

It’s gonna be a long night.

A few millennia ago, a war broke out. Those without starmates became jealous, claiming that the celestials favoured those with power and wealth, instead of the lower classes. Rebellion broke out across the universe as the humans went to war, capturing starmates to sever their bond forever, hoping to teach the universe a lesson. The stars went into hiding, fortifying Celestial city into a base of military prowess the entire universe would quiver under. Together, humans stormed the city as one united force, resulting in the bloodiest battle in the history of the universe. The stars that survived the catastrophic battle swore to hide forever, finding starmates to fuel the universe only in secret. They separated the systems, making sure no life-carrying planet could find another.

From then on, every surviving star spends eternities falling to find their star mates. The high council of zodiacs made each starmate immortal, hoping to one day end the secret migration of emotions that once caused their kind so much pain. The universe would hide the city forever, and every star was excited to finally end their lifestyle of caution and fear. If all it took was finding their one true love, then there was no harm, right? Everyone agreed that this was for the best.

All, except for one.

“Ash, you can’t keep hiding in the library. The council demanded your star fall a week ago.” Ash looks up from his book, glasses slipping to the bridge of his nose as he watches a figure leaning on the bookshelf by his reading station. Scowling, he ignores the star, returning to the story he held in his arms.

“Go away, Aurelie. The library is my sanctuary, and the council is not welcomed here.” Aurelie rolls her eyes, striding over to the window and yanking the curtains down. The humongous glass frame reveals itself, exposing the universe to Ash’s uninterested eyes. He ignores the influx of brightness as Aurelie directs the glass frame to show a particular system.

“If you won’t come to the council, I’ll bring their orders to you!” Aurelie stands firm, a little spark of electricity shooting out from her fingers as she zooms in on a particular system. Ash grunts in ignorance, gingerly flipping through the pages of his book. Aurelie sighed, walking over to pluck the book away from Ash’s grasp.

“Hey!” he protests, arms flailing as Aurelie holds the book high over her head. His, ah, vertically challenged frame is no match for her taller one, and Aurelie’s expression of determination convinces Ash to grumble as he settles onto the armchair once again.

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Art by Taylor Ages

“Listen. You’re the last star who hasn’t fallen, and we all want to close the city gates soon. It’s only fair that you fall now.” Ash groans, crossing his arms. The library is silent, the usual sound of self-writing books and scratching quills no longer echoing the walls of the library. Their muses all quiet down, peeking into the reading area to watch the happenings of the celestial world. Their patron star stays stubborn in his belief, and the quills worry for their future.

“Why should I? The city’s been doing fine on the reserve of emotions from before the war.” Aurelie flicks Ash’s forehead, making him hiss in pain as he clutches the spot.

“Ow!” “Don’t be selfish Ash. We can’t live on reserve magic forever,” Ash glares at her. Two books fall from their shelf in their attempt to lean over and watch. Ash moves his gaze to them, silently ordering the books to return to their positions. They obey, although the moment the star returns his attention to Aurelie, the books pike out again.

“Then generate more. I’m not going down to that cursed system of ungrateful thieves,” Aurelie sighs.

“Ash. Let go of your grudge. For the rest of us,” the star huffs, facing away from the councilwoman as he holds his stance.

“They’ve been nothing but trouble for us, and you still let them mingle in our city? I won’t argue with your stupidity, but I will never bring one of those vermin into Celestial City,” Aurelie glares at him.

“You must! For the survival of our species!” Ash grunts. He waves his hand over the fallen curtain, letting it rehang itself to cover the world outside. Aurelie sighs at his stubbornness, hands massaging her temples as she throws him a packet of files. Ash yelps as he scrambles to catch the loose pieces of paper, face scrunching in disgust as he sees the official order on the first page.

“System 17. YOUR system. The last one we need to find a starmate in. His name is Felix Rochelle, academic,” Aurelie pauses, although Ash is so absorbed in being scandalized at the papers he doesn’t see her gaze of disappointment as the councilwoman turns back.

All things considered, Felix isn’t a bad host. He lets Ash sleep on the couch, finding a spare blanket for him and even letting Ash claim Felix’s rather large collection of books as his own. Ash claims it was research about this world, although Felix knows he simply missed the scent of the Celestial library.

“You seem to like books,” Felix comments offhandedly. Ash looks up from his perch on the love seat, eyes squinty as his glasses fall down yet again. He groans as he tries to pick it up, although his arms prove to be a little too short for the floor. Felix picked them up and held them out, Ash scowling and swiping them from his hand.

“You also seem to need new glasses,” Felix notes, retracting his hand. Ash scowls.

“Mine works perfectly fine, thank you very much. And I’m researching your world, not just reading,” the star snaps. Felix rolls his eyes, snickering at Ash’s method of researching.

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“Sure. As if the fiction there is anything like real life,” Felix mutters, attention returning to his paper.

His eyes squint at his laptop screen, trying to decipher exactly what it is he has written. A sock is thrown at Felix, to which he easily dodged.

“Then try me. Tell me about your kind,” Ash challenges. Felix snorts. He abandons his paper in favour of facing Ash more comfortably.

“First of all, not all humans are the same. We fight each other all the time, and the entire reason why social problems exist is proof that humans think differently! It’s not all black and white out there, Mr. Know-it-all,” Felix begins. Ash nods in contemplation.

“And yet the very fact that you are also willing to trample over each other for your gains prove otherwise. You’re all ungrateful for what you have, which is why you’re all so willing to abandon others for your own gains,” Ash smirks, happy with his retort.

“But human love for each other is what has gotten us this far. There wouldn’t be new humans without the love of the older ones,” Felix challenges.

“But human love is fragile, and when it breaks the human soul becomes too tainted and broken to ever fully heal. If you could do that to your own kind, I can at least understand your treatment to the other creatures that inhabit this Earth,” Ash retaliates, blond hair blown out of the way as he waves his arms around in grand gestures. A single cactus sitting on the coffee table listen intently, an intrigued stupor hanging in the air as it watches the scene with the interest of very keen businessmen and women.

“And yet human love is the kind of love that sustains your species, no? If it’s so insignificant, then why are you forced down here in the first place?”

“Because the council refuses to search for another way to supply our magic!”

“Really? Or is it because they’ve already tried, and found that this was the most reliable? You told me the universe was all but stable before the creation of starmates.”

“A creation that resulted in the horrific war that killed most of my kind due to you humans, might I remind you,” Ash spat, voice nearly doubling in volume. Felix is calm, only a hint of anger creeping into his voice.

“War is managed by the politicians with too much time on their hands, not the poor civilians who are tricked into the war.”

“But it’s the civilians’ choices that lead them to war!”

“To save the ones they love because of manipulation, not to fight.” Felix holds his stance firmly.

“You’re not changing my mind.”

“I don’t expect you too. At least, not yet.”

“Then stop trying.”

“No.”

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SURREAL WINTER NIGHTS Mitchell Mark-George

Bleeding New York street lights whisper a new tune every night, The stars fall onto the blank body of black.

The paved streets respond with the swarming thoughts of the homeless, Boasting so loud lungs, their lungs almost fall out of their chests.

With the subtle melody of the night’s breath, playing in their coin-filled cups, And the moon’s reflection dancing to its rhythm on the shimmering dimes and nickels.

The sandwiched noise sails into the dark ears of flashing headlights, Exploring the roads of the chilling shades of the night hour, With the winter’s icy breath creeping down its neck.

Droplets of milky snow blanket the city and her eyes, Roaring in victory of the now soundless night, Shaking the city into a realm of ghosts.

Silence rings loud across each street and alley, With the storm growling in the background close behind, The bloodless lamps flicker in terror nowHeadlights fade into the deafening silence; always quiet And the street swallows the homeless into lighted buildings.

Hours to the morning light, The snow-bitten flakes of clouds belt out their song one last timeSo the stars crumble to dust, The great body of black rolls into a grave, And the hungry sounds of the opening light Can sit on its rightful frost-jewelled throne While the slightest drizzle heals the New York lamps, Preparing for another soundless winter night.

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58 Art by Zoe Gingras-Theriault

THE GIRL AT THE WINDOW Ilyana Fornes

Mohammed had lived in his house since the day he was born. He wasn’t born in a hospital, his parents couldn’t afford that luxury, so he was brought to the world in the old porcelain bathtub in his parents’ room. He liked his house. It was sandy-coloured, which camouflaged perfectly with the occasional sand storms in Jordan. It was smaller and simpler than his classmates’ houses, but he liked it more this way. He never got lost in it, and knew every nook and cranny of his home. He also thought he had the nicest room out of all his friends. It didn’t have many decorations, but his mother worked hard growing different plants she would buy at the Friday morning souq, and would surprise Mohammed with different flowers that he would put on his windowsill. Having so many plants in his room made him feel as if he lived in a tropical jungle all alone, and he liked that.

Mohammed remembered very well the day he was standing at his windowsill, looking down at the new plant his mother had bought. It was called Merimia in Arabic, and was used by his grandparents for stomach pains. It was a beautiful flower, and he decided to take great care of it. As he watered the base of the plant carefully, he looked up and saw a girl staring at him from a window on the other side of the street. She had her chin cupped in her hands, and was carefully examining him.

As Mohammed stopped watering the plant, she hurried off in a panic, and brought down the blinds. Mohammed furrowed his eyebrows, and looked at the plant. Maybe the girl was scared of plants, or maybe he had startled her. He looked up again at her window. He had never seen her, yet had always looked at that window when he watered his plants. The house was across from his, with only a small bustling oneway street dividing them. It was, however, very different. It was completely white, which he had never understood the point of, as he saw many workers tirelessly washing the walls under the scorching heat, and he thought that was unfair. Once, when he saw the workers washing the walls after a rough sand storm, Mohammed came to his mother who had just returned from the market.

“Mama, why do our neighbours have a white house, while the rest don’t? It looks weird and different,” Mohammed said, helping his mother put the groceries on the table.

“Some people want to stand out. The neighbour has worked hard for that house, and he wants to show everyone else how nice his house is.”

“But, why is it important that it is white? It’s more work for him.”

“You see, Mohammed, white is a colour of purity. It is hard to clean, and is very easily stained. To have a white house is to show that he is pure, that he is better than the rest of us.”

“I don’t understand. Why would the neighbour care about what others think?”

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“That, Mohammed, is going to take you a long time to understand.” His mother

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put her hand on his head, and ruffled his curly locks. She said it looked the same as his father’s when he was young. Mohammed didn’t ask much about his father, because he saw that his hair made his mother sad if she stared long at it, and he didn’t want to make her sad.

It was night and Mohammed had climbed out of bed. He wasn’t tired at all, but his mother wouldn’t hear of it and made him go to bed as usual. He was also slightly curious to see if the girl’s blinds were still down. Her house glistened in the moon’s rays, and some rooms were still lit. He looked at her house again. It started to look pretty to Mohammed, a white gem amongst the habitual sand-colour. He noticed they had a backyard with lavish green grass, and he couldn’t imagine the amount of work and water that had to be put in to make it that green. He also noticed that her blinds were half-up, half-down, as if she was still scared, but curious as well. He turned on and off his small lamp, as a sign. He would wait one minute, he decided, and then go back to bed.

57 seconds, 58, 59, 60… still nothing. And yet, he thought he saw something move. The blinds moved up a little bit further, and the girl sent him a series of flashes. Mohammed smiled, happy with the response. He decided to take a piece of paper out of his school binder, and wrote a message:

“I am Mohammed. Who are you?”

He stuck the paper on his window, and shined the light on it. He saw the girl look intently at it, and saw her leave the window before coming back with pieces of paper.

“I can’t see, write bigger.” She used three pieces of paper, and put them on her window for him to read. He wrote the message on four papers and stuck them to the window again.

“I am Mohammed. Who are you?” 60

60

Art by Taylor Ages

“I am Sarah,” she wrote back. He nodded, and found a few more pieces of paper.

“I have never seen you before”.

“I just moved back.”

“Where did you live before?”

“Israel.” Mohammed recognised that country. It was north of Jordan, and also the place his father had gone to for work. He died there as a soldier, and Mohammed’s mother hasn’t liked Israel since. “They steal our husbands and fathers for wars we didn’t need or want. It’s a disgrace,” Mohammed remembered her saying.

He also heard at school that in Israel, they do not have the same religion. He decided to ask Sarah what religion she believed in.

“I am Jewish, and you?” she replied.

“I am Muslim. I heard Jews do not like us.” He was a little bit nervous. He didn’t want his new friend not to like him.

“That’s not true. Why would you say that?” It was a good question. Mohammed himself didn’t know the answer. He just knew the two religions had fought before, but he didn’t know what for.

“Why did you move to Jordan?”

“It was unsafe there. We decided to join my father here.”

As he was about to write back, his room’s light turned on. He jumped around to see his mother with her hands on her hips. She did that often when she was mad.

“Mohammed, what are you doing?”

“Mama, I am talking to Sarah in the white house.”

“What? Mohammed, go to bed. You shouldn’t be talking to them. They come from Israel, and are Jewish. They are not nice people.” She pushed him towards his bed, and closed his blinds.

“But mama, Sarah said that she doesn’t care. They left because it was not safe.”

“You know, it’s the selfish Israeli people that are leaving as Israel needs help.

They don’t care about their own country. I do not want you talking to her again, whoever that Sarah is.” She slammed the door behind her, and Mohammed heard her sigh before she walked back to her room.

Mohammed always listened to his mother, but decided not to this time. He hurried off to the window, and started writing on pieces of paper again.

“Let’s meet tomorrow before my mum wakes up.”

“When is that?”

“Right before the sun comes out.”

“Fine.”

And with that, Sarah closed her blinds, turned off her light, and Mohammed did the same.

Mohammed slipped out of his bed and hurried out of the house. He made sure not to close the door behind him, as it could wake his mother up. The air was getting 61 colder, and the icy wind was poking his arms. He sat down on the curb of the street,

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and watched the cars pass. The sun was starting to come up, but he didn’t see his friend.

Finally, the portal of the white house opened and the little girl rushed out, leaving the portal wide open. She pranced towards him and stopped to look at his house.

“I like it. It’s different from mine,” she said. Mohammed nodded.

“My mother said I shouldn’t talk to you.”

“Why?”

“She said you are a coward and selfish for leaving your country.”

“Oh. That’s not nice.”

“Are you?”

“Of course not! I think I’m quite brave, actually.” She furrowed her eyebrows, to appear intimidating. “At least, I don’t think so.

What do you think?” She sat down next to Mohammed and cupped her head in her hands, as if in thought. Mohammed wondered if she did that a lot.

“No, I don’t think you are.”

“Well then, you should tell that to your mother.” Mohammed nodded. He didn’t think it would do much in changing his mother’s opinion.

“Why is your house white, Sarah?” Mohammed said. Sarah shrugged, her head still in her hands.

“I don’t know. My dad likes white. Why do you ask me such hard questions?” Sarah scrunched up her nose, looking down.

“Is it because your dad wants to show people he is better than others?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Sarah sighed, clearly annoyed by this deep philosophical questions.

“Sarah?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think of me?”

“You’re my friend.”

“Good. You’re my friend too,” he replied, happy to have gained a friend. But he soon became worried. “Do you think we are 62allowed to be friends?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

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“Because we are different.”

“Why is that a problem? I don’t care that you are Muslim. So what?” Sarah threw her hands up dramatically to emphasize her point.

“What about our parents?”

“Well, we can secretly be friends. No one will know, only us.”

They looked at each other and shook their hands like adults. At the portal of the white house, a man appeared. Sarah quickly stood up and Mohammed thought he saw fear in her eyes.

“Sarah, what are you doing? Come back here right now!” Her dad took her by the arm and walked towards Mohammed.

“Who are you?” her dad sneered.

“Mohammed. I live in this house.” Mohammed pointed to his small house, and the man got angrier.

“You two should not talk to each other again, understood? Sarah, I warned you about this, but you never listen.”

“But why, ab?” Sarah cried out.

“You will understand later. Let’s go.” The man pushed Sarah towards the white house, and Mohammed watched his new friend disappear behind the scary, ghostlike portal.

It had been a long time since Mohammed talked to Sarah. In reality, it had been two weeks. He was scared to look out his window, and kept his eyes down when he watered the plants. He did not want Sarah to be yelled at again. He was coming back from school when his mother greeted him at the door. She looked at the white house, which had several vans in front of it. She sighed quietly and ruffled her son’s hair.

“Why are there so many vans, mama?”

“The Jews are moving out. They are going back to Israel. It is more peaceful now.” She closed the door behind and went to the kitchen. Mohammed hurried off to his room and waited for hours until the sun set down. Finally, after eating dinner and doing his homework, he ripped out papers from his schoolbook and wrote on them. He taped them to the window and turned on his light.

“Sarah, are you leaving?” He waited impatiently for her response. He didn’t get one that night. He decided to wake up early, to see if she would still be there. As he 63 did before, he left his house before his mum awoke and rushed to the portal. Ner-

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vous, he banged on it and waited for something. The vans were still there, and he saw light in the house last night. Finally, he decided to go back home. It was winter in Jordan now, and it was very cold.

As he crossed the street, he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around to see Sarah. She was all dressed up with a bag on her back and a pot with a plant in her hands. She smiled lightly and handed him the plant. Mohammed took the plant from her and looked at it carefully. It was beautiful; he had never seen anything like it.

“I know you like flowers, so I got you one. It is called rakefet in hebrew. It is very popular in Israel. I am leaving to go back to my country today. We are waiting for the taxi.” Mohammed nodded. He didn’t want his friend to leave.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t need to.” Sarah hugged him, careful not to squish the flower. She smiled at him one last time, and the two stared at each other, as they did not know what to say. Sarah finally ran back to her house and closed the white portal that glistened in the sunlight. With the years, that white portal would change colour and would turn sand-coloured, fading with the rest of the neighbourhood.

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YOU ARE WORTH MORE LAILA ELDANASOURY Alexander stared in disbelief at the glass that now covered the hardwood floor. He could see the reflection of his son’s glossy eyes against one of the larger jagged shards of the now broken whiskey bottle. He couldn’t understand what had caused William to go down this path, but he knew that it had gone too far. William stumbled onto the ancient couch in the living room and began to doze off. Alexander sighed and sat silently beside him.

The television was switched on but muted, images of the Afghan war lighting up the darkly lit room. This was all Alexander watched as a retired war veteran. He reached for the ashtray that sat upon the wooden card table in front of them. Beside it lay a framed photograph of Julia. It was usually placed on the bedside table in Alexander’s room, but for the last few hours he had sat reminiscing of her voice, soft as linen, and her eyes, bright as pearls. He thought about the years he spent in Afghanistan, away from her. He wished to himself that he’d stayed and told her he loved her more often. As he brought the ashtray into his lap, he continued to stare into her bright eyes.

“William,” he said softly in his deep voice. He tapped his cigarette on the edge of the tray. “When it’s least expected, the world knows exactly where our weakest point is.” He spoke slowly, as though he had not yet deciphered the best way to approach such a topic. “I am unsure of what has happened, but I assume it involves your relationship with Alice. Perhaps you wish not to speak to me about such things.”

As his father’s words sloshed around in his mind, William drunkenly watched the photo of his mother. He wished she was here to speak to him. She knew always what to say. Alexander’s absence brought he and his mother closer, and he wished he could hug her just once more. He knew his father was unaware of what Alice had done to him, but he couldn’t tell him the reality of the situation. Alexander was a strong and masculine man, and William did not want to appear a coward before his very own father. William looked away from the photograph of Julia and down at his nimble hands, which were cupped within one another. His chewed finger nails stared sadly back at him. He had a small cut on his thumb which was turning increasingly red with blood.

“William. You may not wish to feel anything. Perhaps you wish 65 you never had. I have experienced a similar pain to that which you

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are feeling. I beg of you not to treat it in the way I have.” He paused for a moment, staring deeply into the light from the television, reminiscing about the time he wasted away from Julia’s side when she needed it most. “We sometimes wish so much to stop feeling pain, that with it we stop feeling joy,” he continued. Alexander put the cigarette to his mouth but did not inhale. He wondered if William would have any recollection of what he was saying in the morning. Perhaps it was better if he did not. “I hope I am not speaking out of line. I hope that when the time would come that you would need to reach out to me, you would feel that you are able to.” He paused and looked over to William, who he ached to hug. He was a small boy. Delicate, and broken.

“Will,” he spoke even more softly now. At the sound of this word, William’s eyes opened wide.

Only his mother called him Will, and so even his drunken conscience reacted to the sound of it coming from his father. Alexander reached out and placed his hand upon his son’s. This was unexpected, as Alexander never did such things.

Alexander’s hand rested still, on his son’s. As the time passed, William began to gain awareness of his surroundings. The two thought of Julia, but did not mention her. William thought of the countless hours his father spent in their beat down living room since her death. Though unsure of what his father thought about on such lonely nights, William knew it was nothing his mother would have wanted for him. He knew his father was sad, and it hurt him to see him like this. He looked at Alexander’s hands. They were heavy, with broad fingers and nails as thick and ridged as small shells. The cigarette he held looked minuscule between his fingers, which were covered in callus.

“You are worth more,” William repeated to his father.

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Art by Armita Dabirzadeh

“It is simple. You are worth more.” And with that, the two sat silently for some time. Neither of them knew how long, nor monitored the clock. They had nothing to say, but had nowhere else they wanted to be. The smoke from Alexander’s cigarette rose slowly into the warm air. It was not completely opaque, and its long grey wisps seemed to curl with others, softly hiding the room in full smoulder. The smell of whiskey coated the smoke in a strangely comforting way. The dark room was like a place out of time, a place to rest without consequences. In that way, the darkness was a sanctuary where Alexander and William could recharge and forget the pain of the world.

6 LAYER BROWNIE OREO COOKIE ROASTED MARSHMALLOW CHEESECAKE Armita Dabirzadeh

Ingredients 16 ounces premade cookie dough (455 g) 36 ounces brownie mix (2 boxes / 510 g) 1 pack of Oreos 20 marshmallows Caramel sauce

“Equipment” 10-inch baking pan (springform) x 2 5-inch baking pan (springform) 1 large bowl

Ingredients (for cheesecake) 8 ounces cream cheese (4 packages) 1 cup granulated sugar ½ cup sour cream 2 teaspoons vanilla 3 eggs

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PREPARATION

1. Preheat the oven to 350° F. 2. Line one of the 10-inch pan with 2 layers of plastic wrap. (make sure to have enough plastic wrap to hang over the edges) 3. Evenly press the cookie dough into the bottom of the pan, then fold the excess plastic over the top.

4. Place the cookie dough in the freezer 5. Spray the bottom of the 5-inch pan with cooking spray 6. Pour in the brownie batter into the second 10-inch pan 7. Press the 5-inch pan into the 8. Back for 35 minutes, then set to cool for 5 minutes 9. While the brownie is still warm, press down on the inner cake pan to create a brownie crust 10. Chill for 30 min 11. Remove the inner cake pan and arrange a single layer of Oreos (14-15 Oreos) on the brownie shell 12. Prepare the cheesecake batter 13. Mix the cream cheese and sugar with an electric mixer at medium 14. Add the sour cream, vanilla and eggs on low (make sure not to overbeat the eggs) 15. Pour the cheesecake batter on top of the Oreos and spread evenly across the top 16. Tap the pan to release any air bubbles 17. Bake for 40 min at 300° F. 18. The cake should slightly jiggle in the centre when you take it out of the oven.

19. Freeze for 30 min 20. Take out when the top is slightly firm 21. Arrange another row of Oreos on top of the cheesecake layer 22. Place the frozen cookie dough disk on top 23. Bake for 15 min 24. Remove cake from oven then place a layer of marshmallows on top of the cookie layer 25. Bake for another 5 min 26. Let chill completely and release the pan 27. Drizzle caramel sauce 68 28. Enjoy!

Art by Taylor Ages

SHE’S MY BEST FRIEND Ayah Sadiki

I was never your popular go-getter girl; I also wasn’t your sit in the front row and kiss the teacher’s ass type of girl. On the contrary, I don’t think I can even be classified in your cliché high school girl genres. I’m the girl you don’t know. I’m the girl that sits right beside the door all the way at the back of the classroom. Yeah, that girl. The girl that’s apathetic in all her classes in the hope of never being called on by the teacher. I’ve always been that girl and I honestly was never expecting to change.

I met my best friend Lexi in the 11th grade. We were far from best friends then. I never really understood that term to start with but eventually, with her it fit perfectly. Somehow with her, I wanted to be seen, and I guess what made her so perfect is that I didn’t have to ask she just got it. Ms.Wakeham’s grade 11 geography class was hell. She always picked on me to answer the questions she knew I didn’t have the answers to. You can just imagine how embarrassed I was. I slowly started showing up late more frequently, booking more non-existent doctor appointments during that class but that just caused her to pick on me more when I would show up.

Walking as slow as my feet would allow me, I really was dreading that class. I was standing by the door getting ready to sprint into my seat in the far corner, and she caught me off guard.

There she was, sitting in my seat. I understand that I’m considered a nobody here at North High but that’s the point, the nobody’s sit at the awkward loner table located in the far back, it’s high school 101. I couldn’t understand why she, of all people, would be sitting there. At this point, the whole class is turned around looking towards this random girl standing in the middle of the class pale with a blank face. I was that girl. After realizing I had failed at doing what I do best, not being seen or getting attention, I came back to reality only to now start panicking about where I should sit.

“Here come the tears, classic move… wait what’s her name again?”

“No sudden movement boys, we don’t wanna initiate her daily panic attack.”

“Oh no her seat has been taken, what will she do now?”

With all the thoughts going in my head, I could hear the football boys’ comments surprisingly well. Stop fucking with my head Soph, sit down it’s not that hard. How am I getting so frustrated at myself?

“Ms. Miller let’s take a seat already please, all the tables are the same.”

I sat down as fast as my body would allow me, surprisingly right next to my normal seat.

She smirked at me. I made eye contact, and with no hesitation, did not smirk back.

Time seemed to slow down every time I glanced at the clock. Finally, 10 minutes left and I was holding back a smile. It could possibly be the first time I don’t get called on in this class.

I’m starting to think Ms.Wakeham got the feeling I was having a bad day and decid “Ms. Miller, what percentage of the Nile River is located in Egypt?”

Oh no. No no no. I couldn’t get myself to look up from my desk. I’m hoping she’ll realize I wasn’t listening and just give up.

“Ms. Miller hellooo?”

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At this point, I can’t even remember her question.

I feel all the stares. I bounce my leg

harder debating on getting up and just leaving. If I were sitting in my normal seat, this is when I would typically turn my head and gaze at the window for a good amount of time. I still did it out of habit I guess. Instead of simply attempting to avoid the teacher, I am now staring at Lexi, giving her a stupid look of desperation. As I’m debating what’s more awkward, staring at this random girl sitting in my seat or the teacher who’s asking me a question, I feel Lexi’s hand discreetly reaching over and dropping a paper on my desk, perfectly timed to when Ms. Wakeham was distracted by the boys at the front and their obnoxious yet typical teasing. I slowly lift my head a bit more. 22% was written on a teared-up piece of paper. I took a deep breath and looked up, made contact with Ms. Wakeham and softly stated the answer, 22% out loud.

“Exactly, thank you Ms. Miller.”

That’s it, that was it. No one laughed, no one made any comments. I just said the answer and everyone turned back around. Weird. I turned my head slightly, she made eye contact and smirked again. This time, without hesitation, I smirked back.

A month later, and this is the usual. I walk in, sit not exactly at my table but right next to it. She walks in, gets a couple of friendly yet strange acknowledgments. Then comes and sits right at what used to be “my” table. Before it used to be just smirks, and then it was the basic small talk but not now. Now it’s the “I hooked up with him last night and he won’t stop texting me” or “I don’t know how to get my mom off my back, who knew an A+ wouldn’t be good enough for her”. Funny enough it wasn’t a one-sided conversation. Instead of the teacher picking on me for a question it has turned into her picking on me to stop chit-chatting. Ms.Wakeham couldn’t get mad because now I was the one raising my hand to answer the questions, by choice. Lexi was a genius which helped with the answers but importantly she gave me the confidence.

Today’s conversation caught me off guard. It was our routine. We gave each other a typical life update. I answered some questions. Judged some people in class. Teased her for having her hickeys that she somehow always had, she always managed to have them in the weirdest spots too. Gossiping about the football boys was my favorite part, she never ceased to know everything. When I asked how volunteering was going, her eyes lit up.

“Sophie, I can’t even explain how much I love those kids.”

“I can tell,” I grinned.

“The excitement and happiness these little kids bring into a room is so uplifting”

She went on for the rest of the class. No one would have guessed that she chooses to volunteer with young children let alone that she would find it fun.

I felt her hesitating to ask me something but wasn’t quite sure what it would be.

She finally hits me with,

“The parents are out of town this weekend. Party at 11. Please be there.”

I laughed, there’s no way she actually expected me to come to that.

“Soph, please, Alec’s gonna be there and I need my wing man.”

A quick 5 minutes later, and she managed to guilt trip me into saying yes.

After a long period of hesitation, many outfit changes, several times walking in and out of the house, I went. I also had fun. Surprisingly. I shadowed Lexi everywhere. Then she disappeared and left me with her phone, no way to get in contact with her.

Starting to feel anxious being alone, I found a quiet corner. As I was standing there, I realized, it only took me several years and one person to finally get the courage to stumble into that light 70 was all thanks to Lexi, I felt my thoughts that everyone seems to have been in all along. That

getting deep so I started scrolling on Lexis phone to keep me busy, I also just didn’t want to risk anyone to come up to me and having to start a conversation.

As the several shots of vodka start kicking in, her phone buzzes. A text from her Mom.

“He’s back from the bar, too many beers, don’t come home.”

I was confused. I was also really drunk. Before I could even try to understand the text, Lexi was back and dragging me onto the dance floor. Lexi spent the night at my house that night. And every night that weekend. All the late-night chats, made me glad I found my person. High school without one was tough. It’s been a whole new high school experience with what seemed like the perfect person and yet, I couldn’t help myself to think that it was too good to be true, thinking the other shoe was going to drop. And soon.

It was our senior year annual Christmas dinner. It’s one of those rare moments where our whole grade actually interacts. It’s a cheesy activity that everyone loves and looks forward to. Unusually, everyone except for Lexi.

“I’m not going,” she answered when I called to ask her for a ride

“Yeah okay, what time should I come pick you up?” This cliché dinner is the type of stuff she lives for; she wouldn’t miss it.

“No Sophie, I’m really not going. I have too much work.”

“It’s our last day before Christmas break, what work could you possibly have?” I was thrown off. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want to come.

“Let it go, Sophie. Have fun. Bye.”

The shoe finally dropped. It took me this long to put all those small and strange things I’ve been noticing together. The growing collection of beers, the bruises, and the many abruptly ended phone calls.

I felt guilty. This whole time, I was given the feeling of her as my savior.

I needed her. I relied on her. I was oblivious to the realization that she needed saving too. Her changing seats wasn’t fate or meant to be. It was her way of screaming “help me”. She didn’t party every weekend and hook up with random guys because she wanted to or because she thought it was cool. She did it because it was the only way she knew how to ignore the pain. I was in such awe of Lexie as a person, that I became ignorant to the alcoholic dad and bruised up mom.

I was too late.

I had met and lost my best friend Lexi in the 11th grade.

I was never your popular go-getter girl; I also wasn’t your sit in the front row and kiss the teacher’s ass type of girl. On the contrary, I don’t think I can even be classified in your cliché high school girl genres. I’m the girl you don’t know. I’m the girl that sits right beside the door all the way at the back of the classroom. Yeah, that girl. The girl that’s apathetic in all her classes only in the hope of never being called on by the teacher. I haven’t always been that girl, but without her I’m not expecting to change.

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Art by Rebecca Levesque

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Art by Armita Dabirzadeh

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75 Art by Zoe Gingras-Theriault

con·scious·ness /ˈkän(t)SHəsnəs/ noun The quality or condition of being aware; empathetic, intelligent, cooperative, cultured or educated. un·con·scious·ness /ˌənˈkän(t)SHəsnəs/ noun The quality or condition of being ignorant; superficial, insensitive, biased, stubborn, or exclusive.

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