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literary magazine winter 2025 issue 4

438 Literary Magazine Issue 4 Winter 2025

438 Literary Magazine is a collection of poetry, prose, and visual art by students and alumni of Columbia College on the unceded territories of the xwməθkwəyəm (Musqueam), səlilwətaɁɬ (TsleilWaututh), and Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish) nations, colonially known as Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.

Visit Us: columbiacollege.ca/clubs/creativewriting

Issue 4 Editorial Team Copyediting

Design

Lovisht Chawla Reina Le Usaid Ali Syed

Karanveer Singh Rad Karim

Issue 4 Contributors Akash Pahwa, Anchita Bandhari, Caitlin Lai, Coralie L., Daksh Rana, Deeksha Barghav, Gurleen Kaur, Harman Heer, Hritik Jatin Parekh, Jennifer Mbarikatta, Kapish Chhabra, Karanveer Singh, Lucia Joana, Muzammil Sanwal, Navita Gupta, Navraj Singh Sidhu, Navreet Kaur, Pawandeep Kaur, Rad Karim, Reina Le, Richa Rathod, Samuel M. Getachew, Samuel Kevin Gasangwa, Shubnoor Singh, Simran Kaur, Simranjeet Kaur, Simranjit Kaur, Sumandeep Kaur, Swan Yee Htet (Eddy), Tina Ghofrani, Usaid Ali Syed, Veerpal Kaur Jassal, Victor Muhima, Xavier Rune, Yelyzaveta Pushkarova

Acknowledgment 03 Land Muzammil Sanwal the West Coast II 06 On Samuel M. Getachew

is right and what is 21 what wanted Yelyzaveta Pushkarova

Hearts and Minds 22 When Collide

table of contents.

Anonymous

07 Gifts Jennifer Mbarikatta Forgotten Pages 08 From Caitlin Lai UNIQUE SMILE 09 THE Victor Muhima YOUR SORRY 10 EAT Victor Muhima was the one 11 She Harman Heer

23 Untraced Simranjit Kaur 24 Home Shubnoor Singh is Navreet Kaur? 26 Who Navreet Kaur inherited hair 27 My Simranjeet Kaur like my mother 28 Brave Simran Kaur

of Endless 12 Love Samuel Kevin Gasangwa

dad in me 29 My Sumandeep Kaur

Weight of Duty 13 The Samuel Kevin Gasangwa

Chaos 30 Hardworking Anchita Bandhari

Heartbeat of Her 14 The Caitlin Lai

to the University 31 Welcome of Life

of your heart 15 Renditions Usaid Ali Syed of Us 16 Ashes Anonymous

Richa Rathod

life ~ 32 Romanticizing Shubnoor Singh - 2024 33 Flight Muzammil Sanwal

17 Unlovable Anonymous

through Trials 34 Rising Gurleen Kaur

Love That Was Never 19 The Meant to Be

Reflection 35 Fractured Samuel M. Getachew &

Anonymous

Coralie L.

Within 36 Peace Pawandeep Kaur in a Moment 37 Held Navita Gupta

Moments in the Rapids Caitlin Lai

39 Metamorphosis Reina Le I Give, What I Lose 41 What Kapish Chhabra Night 43 Starry Navraj Singh Sidhu Hues 44 Nocturnal Karanveer Singh Bittersweet Bed 45 The Kapish Chhabra the Moonlight 46 Beneath Deeksha Barghav

47 Evening Swan Yee Htet (Eddy) 48 Photography Navraj Singh Sidhu & Simranjeet Kaur

my body to whomsoever 54 Sell bids the highest Swan Yee Htet (Eddy)

Song of the Sad Tale & 55 The The Melodic Tone of Sadness Xavier Rune

pains 56 growing Rad Karim Study of Various Artworks 57 ALucia Joana my SOuL, Take it All 59 Take Rad Karim of Suffering: Prologue 60 Age Usaid Ali Syed

61 Moonlight/Sunset Akash Pahwa GRATITUDES 63 BEYOND Victor Muhima Bloom Keeper 64 The Simranjit Kaur pictures? 65 idk, Hritik Jatin Parekh

66 Nature Veerpal Kaur Jassal

October 49 Beautiful Tina Ghofrani

and Art 67 Photography Daksh Rana

am the architect of my life 50 ITina Ghofrani

of Culture 69 Art Navreet Kaur

Inevitable Guest 53 The Samuel Kevin Gasangwa

71 Author Bios

Photography by Rad Karim

Land Acknowledgement

Land, mountains, or sea Belong to the people who nurture it, The people who see them as treasures. Strangers, however, destroy the natural beauty of plains, Polluting the air, killing forests and animals, and turning rivers into drains. Remains are not artifacts; they are symbols of pride, reasons to fight. Sunlight misses those who were killed, moonlight mourns for them. Blankets in Haida Gwaii, militarized violence in Fraser Canyon, and residential schools Are just a few of the crimes committed against xwməθkwəy̓ əm, səlilwətaɁɬ, Skwxwú7mesh. This is your land. I am a settler. I stand with you, beside and behind, in your fight to reclaim what is yours, So, these treasures can be saved. Muzammil Sanwal

Photography by Akash Pahwa

On the West Coast II Samuel M. Getachew

Came to Beautiful British Columbia with great ambitions, Still struggling with school, facing transitions. Out here working minimum wage, For a life that feels like a never-ending cage. Hearing my order is wrong, and they didn’t even pay, Frustration builds up, as I fight through the day. Think I would change the world someday, Will I? Who knows? If things go the way they are now, Maybe I'll rise, but I can't make a vow. One thing's for sure, though, it's no joke, But I hold on tight to my dreams With each little struggle, I rise and aspire. So here’s to the journey, the highs and the lows, With grit in my heart, I continue to grow. In the Great White North, I’ll carve out my way, For tomorrow is a bright day, come what may.

Gifts

Jennifer Mbarikatta Name--it was given by meaning, I did not ask for it, but I will be followed until my death. My name contains faith, faith that was given by the ancestors, they believed that one day I will be the bridge of two worlds, a bridge that is resistant and embraces the cultures. My name contains a good path, a path that was given by my parents. It was blessed by the words of gods and fellow worshippers, which has reminded me of integrity and relationship between parents. At the end of the day, name is like a charm that brings you good luck and expectation, or maybe in memory of an ancestor.

From Forgotten Pages Caitlin Lai

in disorganized photographs, time feels untamed, memories lay scattered beneath a forgotten sky, yet in their disarray old worlds can be made. colours begin to fade, but in the scattered pieces I trace an image from an unknown time, a face, a voice, an embrace. a child's drawing, curled at the edges, a pressed petal between yellowing pages, a letter, never sent, never discarded, remains of an unfinished story. a smashed vase, a shattered mirror each shard contains a tale, within which we search for who we are. hidden notes are lost in the wind, once vibrant flowers lay withered in dust, amidst the chaos, we search for connection. a torn map, a fallen locket, some things fade but not all is lost, the past doesn't simply vanish, and as dawn slips through the cracks, we see it was never a ruin at all, but the making of something once whole. a mosaic of moments, in a reflection, threads gently bind us, beautiful pieces intertwine, in the broken, lost and forgotten, the fragile art of life. 08

THE UNIQUE SMILE Victor Muhima

Honestly it carries integrity as it rises, as smooth as the kingdom of peace in the moon , statue of joy that can't be sculptured , compassion and love, are its favorite diet it makes me feel so tight. A smile that revives the dry bones of the Pharaoh of Egypt to life and ocean waves to calm. A smile that tastes like Brazilian chocolates, even the devil himself is jealous. A smile of miles, to reach, to seize, A smile that makes our world perfect, With your roses there is no effect, your smile stands for the weak as perfect. With that rare smile in us we perfect, cause a kiss from that smile it's to protect Precious I call it, like a treasure I value it, a smile that makes a difference, that my emotions can easily tell. No resistance on this smile, First world war in my thought ‘cause of this smile, a smile that is full of wonders on its back, a smile I wish to see when I wake up, a smile that mom told me to follow, a smile that, I was told on my day of birth to search for. I have been looking for it, now i think i found it. ~Victor.M

EAT YOUR SORRY Victor Muhima

You again in my world of sorrow shedding tears from your river of beauty again sorry! Honesty the lovely host in your words, Yet your heart bleeds betrayal endlessly, again! A flower you were, yet too cheap Instead your presence activates my healing, emotional wounds please disappear. We kissed in our dream castle, a thousand times Yet treason runs in your veins, a million times You, that I considered an everlasting butterfly that made me shy, the sprouting sprinkle of life I called, Stella Matutina I took you while you chose, luxurious men’s wallets as a getaway to your soul leaving me behind like I never existed, how could you! I am whispering around memories we shared, to quench my pain, for it’s an unbelievable diamond that I owned once becoming a tourist centre, sorry if you turned men into toys, sorry that I can’t have you back for am not a bin to receive leftovers , sorry that forgiveness is not in my DNA after calling me useless, senseless, I mean your apologies are pointless what happened to your consciousness. Sorry that I can no longer seize and caress that lovely smile, like Canadian chocolates Sorry for your messy gory story I can’t contaminate my glory ,my eyes dried up since you left and filling empty oceans it’s not an option. How I wish I would have baptize you in the river Jordan for the forgiveness of your sins but your perfume of betrayal reveals that trial, sorry! ~Victor.M

She was the one Harman Heer

For a heart cold as mine, It was rather an enchanting sight. As her hair strands fell on her face, Enough to turn the soft wind into hurricane, I was left dumbstruck for a while, For I have never seen such a captivating smile, A smile which can outshine the sun, And I perceived she was the one. And how could my poor soul meet its own expectation By Wishing for someone who is beyond perfection. Like a masterpiece of an artist, Like a star in the sky; brightest. Shed have been the garden, if we were a flower, She’d have been the moon, if we were the stars. And she was a rose covered in thorns, Not fragile to be blown away by the storms, I couldn’t take my eyes off her, And except her would see everything blur, Because For a heart cold as mine, It was rather an enchanting sight.

Love of Endless

Samuel Kevin Gasangwa

No one loves you like I do, To the edge of existence, I’d journey for you. When I’m with you, my weary heart grows strong, And every sorrow fades like a forgotten song. Your brown eyes bring the warmth of the dawn, Your smile gives me strength to keep pressing on. The glow of your hair, like sunshine that plays, And chases the shadows of my darkest days. Your lips, your cheeks, so soft and sweet, Make every burden and battle retreat. I’d burn the whole world if you asked me to, Conquer the stars and bend reality too. All I ask in return is a love that is true, Unconditionally mine, unshaken and secure. Never betray me, and forever I will be yours, In a love that knows no edge or shores.

The Weight of Duty

Samuel Kevin Gasangwa

Who will love the one who stands alone, Whose heart beats loud for a land unknown? Who will stay through fire and strife, When duty outweighs love and life?

Will a woman’s heart endure the pain, To love a man she can’t fully claim? When my country’s call must come before The dreams we build, the love we swore?

I give my people all I can, Yet bear the cost of a lonely man. Bound by love, yet chained by pain, Unseen, unheld—I still remain.

If they hate me, let it be so, For all I do is love them, though.

The Heartbeat of Her Caitlin Lai

she smiles like sunsets, the lingering warmth of a fading light as the day surrenders to the twilight. she smells like fresh rainfall, earthy and alive, the delicate scent of nature's breath. one glimpse of her and your heartbeat is changed forever, pulsing with the sky's rhythm. time has stilled, you're left captivated by her presence. her touch is like a wind's whisper, soft and gentle, yet lingers in the air as it brushes past you. her beauty doesn't demand to be noticed but envelopes you in a quiet power, and in her absence, silence speaks her name loudly. you are tethered to her by invisible timeless threads, captured by her subtle magic, unforeseen but etched into your heart.

Renditions of your heart Usaid Ali Syed

Deserted flowers, From frozen darkness within, Release their colors.

I need my heart, I needed my life returned I need my feelings.

Ruined festivals, Repeated nightmares of lies, You protect me from.

I wanted you here, I wanted your memory, I wanted your side.

We stood back-to-back, I awaited your return, you never returned.

The risk I took was, calculated but oh man, Am I bad at math?

Wednesday you are gone. Thursday your heart is empty. Friday you are back.

For you to live with, me to enduring your pain, you live too freely.

how I longed for you, but that smile never returned shaded eye lids dawn

Is my pain a joke? For you to live contently, I had to lose me.

lowered flowers hang, dyed with emotions from you, disdained are your eyes.

To those that want peace, To those who live contently, To me that was there.

You float o’er my heart, You strung the chords that hung me, You left me to dry.

Content you are not I am not the one that’s lost, You are your enemy.

Oh, fairy of life. Oh, goddess of my heartbeat Oh, broken night's dawn.

So remind yourself, I am not the enemy So free me of you.

Ashes of Us Anonymous

I was lost, drifting, a ghost of a man, until she found me, and suddenly, I was seen. We fit—imperfect, broken, yet whole in each other. Her fire met my ice, and for a time, we melted into something real. She fell first, fearless, bold, and with reckless abandon. I fell harder, slowly, hesitant, but certain. She carried rage, a storm inside her chest. I carried scars, old wounds that never fully healed, distrust, and ghosts of a past I never spoke of. But together, we built something strong, something warm, something we believed could last. Our love burned like the sun, fierce, radiant, consuming. But fire does not only warm— it also destroys. And when the fire grew too strong, we burned with it. Scorched hands, broken hearts. We tried to hold on, grasping at embers, begging them to reignite. We sifted through the ruins, searching for a spark that wasn’t there. But all that remained was smoke and memories. Love had left us long before we let each other go. And so, we let go. Walked away, hollowed by the weight of it all. The love was gone, but something lingered. A thread, frayed yet unbroken, keeping us near but never close enough. Then she left. The world too heavy on her, the pain too great to carry. I grieved, drowning in guilt, wishing I had fought harder, stayed longer, loved better. The emptiness swallowed me whole. And soon, I followed. Two lost souls, no longer wandering, but resting. The world lost us both, yet our story remained. A love too wild to survive, but too deep to ever fade…

Unlovable Anonymous

I have given away pieces of myself like an old oak shedding leaves, roots exposed, begging for rain, but the rain never comes— only storms that leave me uprooted, drenched in the weight of my own giving. I want to be held, not just in arms but in understanding, for someone to press their ear against my ribcage and listen to the ghosts rattling inside, to sit in my silence and not run from its weight. But they always leave. Always. And now, I stand at the door before they can, locking it shut, nailing the edges, because watching backs fade into distance is a wound I have worn too many times. Yet, I crave it. The warmth of another body against mine, fingers trailing the jagged scars I hide, a heartbeat against my back whispering, "Stay." But words are cruel. Words twist like knives and I have been gutted before. I can tell you how beautiful you are, how the universe must have poured its light into your veins, how even your fractures are constellations— but when those words are turned toward me, they slip off my skin like water on stone. I cannot absorb what I do not believe.

love too loudly, too recklessly, either a wildfire or a whisper in the wind, no in-between, no safe middle ground. I rage and destroy, leaving bloodstains on the ones who try to hold me, or I sit in my own silence, a bomb waiting to detonate in the hands of the next fool who tries. I wish I could tame the demons inside, silence the voices that echo through my ribs, shake off the weight of the hands that once held me down, steal back the innocence that was ripped from my grasp. But all I see when I look in the mirror is a boy stitched together with rusted wire, cracks filled with grief, eyes hollow with loss. A boy whose own family sees him as a burden, whose name is spoken like a sigh, like exhaustion, like regret. Who could love a thing so treacherous? Who could love something that doesn’t even know how to love itself?

The Love That Was Never Meant To Be Anonymous

She knew love like a well-worn book, knew the rhythm, knew the script, but never knew how to be the one who received, never knew how to be held without slipping through fingers. He knew. Knew the cracks beneath her armor, knew the way her laughter masked the way she ached. So, he poured. Not like a drizzle, but like a flood, steady and relentless, a presence she could never deny. He stood beside her, held her grief in his own hands, let her weep into the hollows of his shoulders. He opened the locked doors, unraveled the chains, showed her a love that did not demand, that did not take, and only wanted to hold her as she was. But she could not see him for what he was. She mistook his patience for obligation, questioned his kindness, called his care a mirage, and she fell— so hard, so deep— and yet, she did not understand why she could not let him in. He did not love her that way. Not with fire, not with passion, but with something softer, planted deep, in roots that would not break. She learned his ways, and he learned her storms. They spoke a language no one else could hear. But when she saw his love was not the love she longed for, she closed herself again. Drew back, let silence take space between them. And he saw. Saw her distance, saw the way she turned blame into self-destruction. She believed herself to be a burden, a ghost of grief and pain, a soul too broken to be wanted. He tried to show her, tried to remind her she was worthy, that she was loved. But when he said it, she could not say it back. And he knew. They both did.

They stayed. Side by side, two souls tangled in understanding. People called it chemistry, marveled at how they could move like two parts of the same heart. Physical, in ways that felt like home, but words—words she could not give. And then, she let go. Not willingly, not easily, not without crying into her pillow at night. And he changed. Somewhere in the spaces she created, he found something new. A different kind of longing. A different kind of love. But she pushed him away. And so, he walked. Thinking it was best for her. Once knowing every inch of each other’s souls, and now, nothing but silence. Still able to read the echoes of emotions in each other’s eyes, but neither daring to speak. People asked what happened. They smiled. Lied. Pretended they weren’t mourning something they couldn’t name. She cried for him. Every night. And he mourned her too, wishing he had been brave enough to stay.

what is right and what is wanted Yelyzaveta Pushkarova

When standing at the crossroads between what is right and what is desired, one must think quickly. This question begs an answer that seems impossible to find. Should you give your love to someone who doesn’t need it, or should you accept the love of someone for whom you feel nothing? It’s a game in which it’s almost impossible to win. A kiss from the unloved, or a slap from the most desired? The pain that becomes a tormenting flame in the chest. It quickly scorches reason. The beloved. He is cold to me. To him, I am just another. One of many who have wandered into his bed. With him, I want to lose track of time. To stay awake until dawn, not to miss a single moment. And with these same dawns, to disappear. To see the coldness in his eyes and mistake it for love. His gray eyes and the so desired smile, given not to me. Words about long conversations with others. And the suffocating resentment that I am not her. I will never be good enough, beautiful enough, desirable enough for him. To him, I will always be just a toy, one he will eventually discard. A puppet dancing to his tune. Hateful dresses will offend the body, and he still will never look into my eyes. His body will intoxicate, and tears will quickly dry. The coldness of his touch will be torture, and the only way to attract his attention. He won’t care about the words from my lips, he will always have a replacement. He will sweetly lie about feelings, and another will warm his bed at night. We will never walk down the aisle, but I will keep searching his eyes for that desired feeling. Will my love be enough to melt his iron heart? Will I be able to save him? I will never be the one he once loved. I will always be one of his toys, to rid him of boredom. The unloved. To him, I am special. He is ready to lay the world at my feet, but I still won’t accept him. His embrace will have enough love for both of us. But in all his kisses, I will imagine another. He will gift me bouquets of flowers, and I will use their petals to divine the love of another. The warmth of his smile would be enough for several, but he chose me. To him, I will always be the only one. All my coldness he will take as willfulness, all my barbs will just be a character trait to him. He will value me. He will always be ideal, but not for me, for in my heart there is no room for another. The realization of wrongness will wash over me in waves. Every kiss and touch will feel like betrayal. As if I am betraying the one who will never look my way. He would be the perfect husband and father to my children. The head understands this, but the heart eagerly waits for reciprocity from another. The heart will protest and struggle, but it can be silenced. But the eyes cannot be deceived, they will always be dim, waiting for a fire he can never ignite. To love or to be loved? To listen to the heart or reason? To do what is desired, or what is right?

When Hearts and Minds Collide Anonymous

You promised me it will be oceans, But it was just a tide withdrew in four weeks. No longer are there two hearts, But a heart and a mind. The things my heart did, Just to call your heart mine. But the things your mind did, Just to break my heart. You shared picture of valentine’s flowers, And I learned it wasn’t for me. Finally, truth came to light, It wasn’t me all along, but someone else. My flowers for you, dried, A symbol of love that withered too soon.

Untraced

Simranjit Kaur

Some streets will remain unknown, Some days will exist only in dreams. Some mysteries will stay unsolved, Some parts will remain unseen. Yet somehow, somewhere, by somebody’s touch, It will turn into a journey anew-a path for strangers to walk upon, For souls I will neither know nor ever will…

Home

Shubnoor Singh In bustling streets, where neon glows, a silent heart, a story flows. Came from green fields and skies so wide, to where buildings tall and dreams reside. The scent of soil, the land so sweet, now drowned beneath the city’s feet. I chase the sun, but here rain prevails, and winds don’t whisper nostalgic tales. A call I missed, a voice so dear, a text appears, "Noor, we’re waiting here". Like a melting ice cube, the time drips fast, the childhood warmth, is now in the past. The taste of tiffin, crisp and light, the constant gossips, laughters at night. The oranges peeled together in winter’s glow, my mother's love’s so vast, there are no words to show. My father’s love, steady and true, never a scolding, just patience through. His hands are rough, his heart so kind, a silent strength, peace of mind. My brother’s comments, the stupid fights, the endless giggles, the endless delights. His love always untold, yet always clear, in every laugh, in every tear. My nephew grows, his curiosity fades, will he remember the games we played? The fights we had, the moments made, a bond so pure, I wish time won’t fade.

The childhood stories my bibi told, of her days in lands now old, of laughter bright, of moments divine, of journeys made, of how dreams unwind, of life she had before she wed, of borders drawn, migration, tears shed.

I felt nothing then, no tear, no fear, just a quiet numbness, the distance unclear. The rental doesn’t hold the love so true, like home holds, through and through.

My dadu, a man both kind and strong, with every step, we walked along, hand in hand, through fields so wide, he’d share family's past with love and pride, in quiet moments, his voice so true, a bond we held, in all we knew.

Back home, the world would gently sway, with golden fields in soft display. The quiet breeze would kiss my skin, a slower time, where peace begins. A childhood lost in fleeting time, now just a dream that echoes soft as rhyme. A home is not walls or earthly ties, but love that lives in their longing eyes.

Their wrinkled hands, their eyes so bright, hair white like distant stars in the night. Now I wonder, can I go back so far, hold them again, before they become a star? Before the chance to hug them tight, will time slip away like fading light? The way to the airport, a journey so short, smiles and pride, yet eyes told a sad song. They were happy for me, but sadness would stay, unspoken goodbyes in the words they didn’t say.

I wish to be a child once more, to run through home's familiar door. A childhood lost in fleeting time, like echoes of a distant rhyme...

Who is Navreet Kaur? Navreet Kaur

In the fields of Punjab, Under skies so wide, A name shines bright, With grace and pride. Navreet Kaur, like a morning star, Guiding the way, near and far, Navreet Kaur, your name’s a melody, A tale of strength and harmony. In every heart, you leave your mark, A spark of light in the deepest dark. Born in Awan Khalsa, where roots run deep, Dreams of the future, the promise you keep. With every step, you rise and soar, Navreet Kaur, forever more. Your spirit’s a river, flowing free, A voice of courage, a timeless tree, Through every storm, you stand so tall, Navreet Kaur, you inspire us all. So sing your name, let the world admire, A soul of gold, setting hearts on fire. Navreet Kaur, you’re a shining lore, Forever cherished, forever more. Navreet Kaur, like a morning star, Guiding the way, near and far.

My inherited hair Simranjeet Kaur

Everyday when I comb my hair, I think of my mother who took care of them, Like her kids she nurtured them, And oiled them with love every now and then, Growing older and older like a tree with me, But do they look as healthy as they used to be? Leaving my home country and coming to foreign lands, Maybe, like me, they also long for my mother’s hands, Sorry for treating them like a plant that is dead, I will try my best to make them shine like a crown on my head.

Brave like my mother Simran Kaur

A mother who never stops, A mother who encourages everyone. I got strength from her, Her sparkling eyes which I got from her. I got motivation from her, She’s the one with me in my ups and downs. Her heart is like a well, Every time I think about her my eyes shine with proud. Words are not enough to express you, Thanks for being with me, my first love.

My dad in me

Sumandeep Kaur

When I was born, my father was not happy After his death Everyone saw him in me like a reflection in water As I grow, I become mirror of him My hands, feet, facial features the same as him After he’s gone, he is still with me Remembering things When I see other fathers with their kids But happy for those who are with their father I can feel his presence He is still part of my life I feel sense of pride When someone says, ‘hey! Balwinder’s daughter’ Miss you and love you Forever.

Hardworking Chaos Anchita Bandhari

When I am at work, I think of my mother who did all the household chores and raised me and my brother. She woke up early and slept late, and also make sure to serve every plate. She burned herself all the day by feeding, caring and fostering to make their day. She gave her piece of cake, even when family was dealing with the painful sacrifice and hate. The girl who I am today out of my town, out of city, keeping my mother’s roots inside my body. With the hope of shining one day like my mother. My kid will definitely, have a mother like my mother.

Welcome to the University of Life Richa Rathod

Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome aboard to the University of life, Please fasten your seat belts tight, As it will be a long flight. If you haven’t already done so, please stow your emotional baggage underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead bin, You want to avoid thinking about it for the coming years. Please note that the exits are located on your left and right, with the nearest exit out of sight, an exit will open once you have arrived at destination Unknown.

Engines roar, no turning back, Feet off the ground, fade into black. Clouds of doubt, storms ahead, Seatbelt sign flashing red. Assignments pile, nights stretch long, Some drop out, some hold on. Skies seem to calm now, you learn to cope, Floating between fear and hope. Looking down, the past seems small, But the ground still calls—you might just fall. Before the wheels can kiss the ground, Baggage spills, regret unwound. From bins above, memories creep, Like spiders crawling, stealing sleep.

Before Takeoff – The Application Maze They said the struggle was over, the battle was won Board exams finished, high school done. But nights grow long, eyes burn red, Laptops wheeze – overworked, halfdead.

Internships land heavy, Clock in, clock out, weeks fly fast, But was this ever meant to last? You reach the top, but the view feels cold, Staring down, you wonder why. A new flight boards, Welcome back to the University of Life.

Applications fly like paper planes, Drifting through inboxes, lost in the rain. And when replies finally make their way, "Thank you for applying, but not today." Hope on life support, running on fumes, Until one prestigious university looms. A single "Yes," you make the grade, "UBC '28" in your bio displayed.

Romanticizing life ~ Shubnoor Singh

Flight - 2024

Muzammil Sanwal Hello everyone, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard Flight 2024, We will be flying in high hopes! From Vancouver, where life started to grow, To Saskatoon, a place of calm and snow. Let us start by honoring the land we cross, From the Coast Salish peoples, who suffered a great loss. To the Indigenous communities of the plains, Their past and present live in these skies and terrains. My life started from Karachi where I grew up, Then moved to London Ontario where friendships always end up. But Vancouver? It was a different scene, More about moments and relationships between. Vancouver, A city of mountains, rivers and sea, There something happened like never before, I felt free! I roamed near and far, with and without scars, From falls to vast valleys under the stars. Saskatoon awaited, peaceful and remote! Here, winter blankets the world in white, A contrast to Vancouver’s rainy delight. The lakes here are quiet, the prairies serene, Yet the heart misses moments from where I have been. As we are preparing to descend, Fasten your courage; the road doesn’t end. From Karachi to Vancouver, and currently Saskatoon, Each stop is a chapter, my soul takes flight. We are about to land, so buckle up tight, Life’s a journey, and this is just one flight. This is your captain signing off, Thank you for being part of this journey!

Rising through Trials Gurleen Kaur

College exams will fade away, but life’s trials are here to stay. We are just learning to embrace the strife, that shapes the course of this endless life. With each new step, the weight will grow, yet strength is born is what we know. One test ends, another comes in sight, ‘An endless exam’ that's how nowadays I define life. In life’s exams, you will rise and fall, but never let hope slip at all. Don’t exist like a lifeless shade, Nor let ‘what if’ be the choice you made. The treasure you seek is yet to be found, so, keep your search, stand strong, unbound. But don’t call your hurdles unworthy or wrong, as every challenge you face makes your spirit stronger. Great things come your way, yet some losses must be faced, the path may be rough, but your heart must stay in grace. From life’s trials we learn what’s useful and true, even nature reveals the lessons, we must pursue, in the mud, the lotus blooms with grace, and amidst the thorns, the rose finds its place.

Fractured Reflection

Samuel M. Getachew & Coralie L.

What’s wrong, child? Something’s weighing on my mind. What? All these expectations, stacking high.

All this pressure I can’t deny. Carry it all, like weight on my back, They expect one thing, then change how they act. Always taking, never giving, Feels like I’m drained, yet still I'm living. Change the rules, change the game, My eyes burn, like tires in rain.

Why not stop? Just let it go. But I crave the comfort in what they show. Like an addict, lost, withdrawn, Knowing it’s wrong but still holding on.

So what comes next? What will you do? Escape, escape—break through. You mean running away? No. But isn’t it? Not when I choose where I go.

Peace Within

Pawandeep Kaur

No rush, Stay calm and, Trust the process. There could be a feeling of being lost, But it’s just a transition, To succeed, which costs. Don’t go out to find peace, Explore the ways of learning, And achieve everything with ease.

Held in a Moment Navita Gupta

White, clear and unused, Folded in the hollow embrace of my pocket. Soft and warm, Scent of the detergent, scent of home. As, I release it to the air’s touch, Loosening from the crease of my hand, Bright in the beauty of love, Extending it out to hold the precious pearls, Freed from the oyster eyes, Seeping through the fine network of fibres. Running through like blood, Depositing memories, deep into the heart Of a friend, a lover A one unlike any other.

Moments in the Rapids Caitlin Lai

What a contrast of how the river gushes, tumbling over roots and jagged stones. Never ending rapids flowing downstream, creating a constant unbroken roaring. Yet as I sit by the riverbank, all I can think about is how time feels slower, the moment gently folding. Feeling weightless, I breathe in the fresh air, observing the stillness between the currents, not the river’s urgency to race ahead. Without hesitation water curls in frantic spirals, a single leaf drifting, spinning lazily, never fighting, never resisting, just moving where the water takes it. And here I remain, refreshed, renewed, unrushed, unhurried, lingering in the scattered golden rays, dancing on the damp, mossy earth.

Metamorphosis Reina Le

What I Give, What I Lose Kapish Chhabra

I give myself wholly, a river poured from mountain’s edge, rushing to meet someone new, Leaving no stone unturned in my heart. Each moment is a canvas, painted with laughter and shared secrets, my soul dances in the warmth of connection, as if we were always meant to intertwine. But it’s hard when they leave, and the tide pulls out from the sand, dragging with it my pulse, my breath, my own reflection buried in their wake. I watch them walk away, their silhouette fading like a sunset, And I am left, a shadow of what I was, my heart a fragile vessel, cracked and empty. Every promise I made, now echoes in the silence they leave behind, whispers of what could have been, if only love had held its ground. I am hollowed out, stretched thin, my energy scattered like leaves in the wind, I am left small, curled like roots in shallow soil, searching for ground that won’t yield. I give my laughter, my stories, every word a thread woven into their tapestry, but the fabric unravels when they go, and I am left to stitch together the pieces alone. 41

I am tired of the fray, of handing out fragments of my soul, of love that feels like falling, while they simply step aside. What is love when it depletes, a currency spent without return, a dance that leaves me breathless, with no partner left to hold me? My heart is worn from battles unchosen, from dreams that turn ghostly as dawn, and I question if there’s peace in being alone, tired of being dismissed, belittled, waiting for a love that won’t let go. So I wrap my heart in layers, a protective shield against the ache, but I know each wall I build isolates, and love slips through like water through fingers. Yet still, I long for connection, to find someone who sees the depth, who doesn’t run when the tide gets rough, but stays, grounding me in the storm. Until then, I’ll carry these echoes, the laughter, the warmth, the light, and hope that one day, love will find me, not to take, but to share the weight, to give and to hold, and to heal.

Starry Night

Navraj Singh Sidhu

The night is so peaceful, At this peculiar hour. No person, no plant Just me and those stars. Madly in love with that void above, Floating on a rock and you are still afraid to ride the turf???? Hold my hand, as I gaze through the stars. Let me ease your pain, as you heal my scars……

Nocturnal Hues Karanveer Singh

The Bittersweet Bed Kapish Chhabra

The bed holds me in this loop: I’m too exhausted to leave, too restless to stay. Every second stretches, becoming both refuge and weight, a quiet pause that I can’t escape. It’s bittersweet--this stillness, this soft, suffocating peace that soothes and stings all at once. The outside world feels distant, like a memory I’m not ready to revisit. And yet, I don’t get up. I stay, not because I want to, but because I can’t figure out how to leave something that feels like the only place I belong.

Beneath the Moonlight Deeksha Barghav

On a starry winter night, The sky looked perfect, it looked alright. The stars, the breeze, the hush of land, A quiet stillness, vast and grand. As the crickets hummed slow, The moon leaned closer, its silver glow. A soft, warm whisper floated near— "What’s the matter? What made you stare? I have seen you grow, I have seen you cry, I have seen you fight and make things right. I know there is something bothering, my friend, Is this about some beginning... or an unwanted end?" I sighed, tracing stars in the cold, Watched my breath fade, like stories untold. "It’s not love, nor a heartbreak tale. Just the weight of words unsaid, The echoes of thoughts trapped in my head. A path I left, a choice I made, A hand I held... then pushed away. Often, I think, and it’s hard to decide, What I did, was that all right?” The moon shone bright, yet soft and deep— "Not all endings are meant to weep. Open hands can’t be held for long, You did it right—you did no wrong. When you can’t hold on anymore, Trust me, it’s time to let go. Not all stories need to extend... Some are just whispers, my friend." I smiled, though a tear slipped by, For the moon had seen—there was no lie. "Maybe," I whispered, "you are right... Some stars fade, yet still shine bright." The clouds returned, the wind grew light, And silence settled on that starry winter night. 46

Evening

Swan Yee Htet (Eddy)

Words that flow on and on like the universe that settles within us all, how nice I thought, And shoots the sky with the blinding light of dawn, settled by pillows and the flapping noises of the wonderful creatures, It might be so for the world to continue. I see a very large tree, three of them in fact, But perhaps it’s the distance that makes them seem so great, Towering over the horizon in its infinity, holding the sky hostage, Holding the light, the clouds, and the birds in its relentless grasp. It’s getting late and the sun is setting, piercing the room with a view with an odd orange tinge, A colour betwixt yellow and white, with a dark drop of life inserted somewhere in the middle, And somewhere in there I lay, On a small bed, wishing for more.

Silent Echo of Leaves Simranjit Kaur

Fraser River, Surrey Navraj Singh Sidhu

Beautiful October Tina Ghofrani

I am the architect of my life Tina Ghofrani

Tea Trust The way the sun was coming through the window and pointing directly at me made me think. What if the universe was trying to tell me something? Something about where I started, how far I’ve come, who I’ve become now, and what a masterpiece I am. It reminded me of a magical gift that is given to us as humans, belief. Every piece of this amazing universe showcases a form of belief. I believe in the sun and its strength to give life to every living thing. I believe that it can give life to nature, to the trees. I believe in trees and their large leaves, which give life to the beautiful fruits and help them grow in their warm embrace. I believe in fruits and how colorful and tasty they make our lives. Sometimes they get sour, and sometimes they get so sweet that you want to eat all of them at once. But the thing is, in each of these gifts, faith shows itself strongly. I believe that everything in this universe is possible. We must expect our goals to come to life without a second thought, just like how we expect to see the sun after each night. The steam rose from the cup of my tea, and it made my eyes momentarily unable to see the beautiful trees and sunlight through the window. I knew that all of those pieces of faith were right there, and me not being able to see them for a second does not change the fact that they are there. I love how the universe is aligned with me and how my hot, tasty tea makes every purpose of my life come true! They are all symbols of something greater, something possible-belief.

A Sip of the Universe The moment I got my coffee, I suddenly realized that time had stopped and the whole universe was looking at me. I felt the strength in my deeper soul. Suddenly, I realized that the sunlight had come all the way down to this universe, for special me, and it directly pointed at me. I felt its warmth on my skin. The wooden, cozy chair suddenly turned into a place where I could sit and watch the strength and magnificence of this magical universe. The trees were dancing with the song of the wind, the birds were flying high in the sky, chasing glory, the mountains were putting on makeup with tons of different cloudy materials, and the hot coffee was showcasing its wonderful taste through the hot steam rising slowly. Then, suddenly, I realized that all of these magical pieces had always been here for me, supporting me. I felt the strength and the charm of this masterpiece of a universe, and how powerful I am, knowing that all of this exists for me, a special human.

Imagination Creates Reality I think I have a magic; a magic that works for me anywhere, at any time! It accepts my command and follows exactly according to the rules I dictate. With the help of this magic, I can be anywhere I want, any time. Beautiful Vancouver, an island far from the city, with a wonderful luxury house in the heart of the mountains, filled with green trees. The magical sounds of special British Columbia’s birds surround me. Sitting on the balcony, sipping hot tea and listening to the sound of water traveling on its journey through the rocks until it reaches its home, the ocean. I can feel the smoothest touch of the wind on my face as it tries to hug me. I can sense the peace inside that jungle. I love the paradox between the luxurious, warm wooden house and the pure nature surrounding it. I love this balance. I can see the clouds flying below the mountains, making the house seem to be built on clouds in the sky. It is such a magical place. You are what you think. You are in a place where you imagine yourself to be. The subconscious mind has the power to create a picture with all those details, so why not use it for another magical place, like California? California, with all those tall palm trees, magical sunrises, beautiful, rare rains, and peaceful oceans with blue waves that keep going back and forth on neat, light sands. You can even smell, touch, and sense all your imagination. Your imagination is your reality. Believing that imagination can create life is the key factor that can help you be there. We could be anywhere right now with our imagination. It doesn't matter where it is, as long as you believe in your mind and feel every little detail of your dream. Sooner or later, your dream will become your reality. This reminds me of an Instagram quote: 'Am I dreaming? No, I’m living my dream.' It’s a powerful reminder that all the answers we seek are already within us.

The Inevitable Guest Samuel Kevin Gasangwa I am simply just death, no disguise, No tricks, no games, no clever lies. I walk in shadows, silent, cold, A story’s end, a tale grown old. My foe, my rival--I‘ve come for you, No running, no fighting--there’s nothing to do. Your time is up, your last breath near, I bring the truth that all must fear. No words, no charms, no swords to sway-I am death, straight up, no one gets away.

Sell my body to whomsoever bids the highest Swan Yee Htet (Eddy)

Sell my body to whomsoever bids the highest, To whomsoever wishes to possess me, Purchase me and do as you please, my soul has long been liberated, It is my body that remains, this hunk of aging flesh, Ageless is the soul that stays stubborn and free. And when you do own me, please do treat me kindly, As a human being would to another, with kindness and love. I will watch over my body and many other bodies when I go, Perhaps I will meet my creator and we will have a lengthy conversation, Or maybe there is nothing, that I am content with too, But what remains of me in this world will be troubling for some. And so I implore you to discard my body; sell it at the grandest auction, Or even throw me in the river, where I can be one with the whales. I will sing in tunes that you will hear in the breezes, Or perhaps I won’t sing, and merely exist in waves, Brushing by the grass outside your window, or the tree that looms tall, Or be still, and carry flightless birds through the night. I am worth whatever you bid, maybe a grand or just a penny, Worthless is my soul that remains stubborn and free.

The Song of the Sad Tale Xavier Rune

A beautiful, bright, and stunning lady, quite a sight, Dazzling in the delightful morning rays, so bright, Those who looked her way fell head over heels, Contrasting Medusa’s stone cold gaze that kills. By a string of fate, perhaps the will of the universe, She encounters a person, that became her purpose, And to the ends of the Earth, the deepest of oceans, She went beyond, yet he became all of her demons. A brilliant soul, killed by the world she once loved, The brightest light, became the void that loathed, I never knew how blind I was, until I saw her pale, So here in eternity, I sing the song of the sad tale.

The Melodic Tone of Sadness Xavier Rune

As the breeze of fall comes to a halt, The coldness of the air pierces through my bones, No matter how thick the shielding is, Continual shivering will continue without ease. Ah, but alas I’ve gotten used to the pain, The pain growing without any sort of gain, The type that will bring you down to tears, That is what I call music to my ears. So it begins again, the tune of that symphony, The silver lining being that I can find serenity, Back on my instrument, preparing to regress, It's now time to play, that melodic tone of sadness.

growing pains Rad Karim

A Study of Becker’s “Cat on a Pillow” Lucia Joana

Bones and Smoke: Inspired by Van Gogh Lucia Joana

The Lady Behind the Screen Lucia Joana

Take my SOuL, Take it All Rad Karim

Age of Suffering: Prologue Usaid Ali Syed

I roam the remnants of a lost civilization that was corrupted by its greed. The civilization has now fallen and crumbled to dust. Now even the remains of the fallen rust away, getting lost forever. No one knows when it began. When did their homes become such barren wastelands? However, everyone knew. We all knew this would happen. Everyone was sure of it, but no one would believe in it. A decree was revealed in the later stages of the history of this planet. A decree which prompted many to try and act. However, it was greed that stood gatekeeping the decree from being acted upon. Now, these ruins are locked up, deserted and left for their ultimate end. The sands of the world destroy them slowly, slowly, until they fall. These ruins, slowly and slowly lose their luster. Their light eventually fades. No memories of them remain. As the luster of the kind stars also fades we are left to wonder what is that we had in mind. What is it that we were trying so hard to achieve?

Photography by Akash Pahwa

BEYOND GRATITUDES Victor Muhima

Life used to be the Headquarter of our suffering With struggles and hunger battling to kiss the change, but still challenges enslaved us in a dark prison of scars. Where goals and dreams are just nightmares buried in our innocent souls. Hence Melting down our existence. Here was a boy with thousand imaginations, Handcuffed with the refugee identity, Bathing failure, the repeated melody, Suffocating his hope, hence hustling Like a hundred year old at the age of twelve. There was a girl with extraordinary ambition, But all was hidden behind the massive wall of Silence, yet speechless raised up in a community where early marriage is cultural practice teenage pregnancy is a ritual, dropping out from school, daily tea due to lack of future certainty, Yet not guilty for the uninvited misfortune

Thanks to mother of all WUSC who adopted us, From zeros to hero, now embracing the change when we all could lay on our head was a stone now became our pillow, Helping us embracing the change Now we divorced Mrs challenge, A new chapter begun a new page, Set free from the cage, Out of sage seen on stage completely our Lives rearranged, sounds strange but fantastic. See WUSC brought us joy overwhelmed even the devil is jealous for the WUSC legacy, That caresses us, rescuing from the abyss to unimaginable bliss, you see we are not Just lucky we are blessed, Though life cursed us here we are at the bridge of transformation, our concealed hopes meet resurrection. Words insufficient to foretell gratitude towards WUSC. If we use pronouns, adjectives and metaphors can't fit our enthusiasm rather than a hyperbole, There is a lot to tell, There is many to relate, Too much to show. For what you have done surpasses our thinking capacity, too big for our brains to comprehend, The word enough it's not just enough, It goes beyond beyond more than grateful to (The world University service of Canada). ~Victor.M~

The Bloom Keeper Simranjit Kaur

idk, pictures?

Hritik Jatin Parekh

Nature

Veerpal Kaur Jassal

Never ending journey to an unknown location in an unknown car Daksh Rana

heaven's grace Daksh Rana

Ignorant humans. Daksh Rana

Diversity of India Navreet Kaur

Tenth Guru of Sikhism Navreet Kaur

Author Bios Anchita Bandhari (she/her) Anchita is a single girl parent from India and is pursuing an Associate of Arts. She has a funny and strange personality. Caitlin Lai (she/her) Caitlin is an introverted fluent French speaker from a tiny island, Mauritius. She loves long walks and sunsets, finding peace in nature’s beauty. She is passionate about plane watching, she enjoys the simple joys of life as she dreams of distant horizons. Daksh Rana (he/him) Daksh is currently enrolled in the Associate of Arts program and he is interested in making art that is lively and includes as much nature as it could. He works to define realism in his art, trying to create something even better than real life. He believes art can express this bad world in a good way. He is not so good with portraits though but is good in landscapes. It's been a while since he has made any art. He just wants to show perfection, and an idealistic world. And for the photography, he thinks he is okay with the landscapes and portraits as many of his friends complimented him and he also thinks that with the new phone that he got, he can take much more clearer and defined photos that combine with the photography skills that he has. Everyday he wishes to surpass his old self, to enhance his skills and be like a professional in both the fields. Deeksha Dutt Barghav (she/her) Deeksha is an Associates of Science student at Columbia College. Originally from India, she has been in Canada for over a year, embracing new experiences and ideas. She is always turning her thoughts to drawing, photography, and writing when emotions run deep.

Gurleen Kaur (she/her) Gurleen is from Punjab, India. She is currently pursuing an Associate of General Arts, and she is in her 5th semester. One of the best decisions of her life is to get admitted to Columbia college as the institution is helping her in growing and glowing. Honestly it's shaping her into a well - rounded individual. Something special that she wants to say to her peers is This is the precious time of your life which won’t come back, so live these years to the fullest. Learn, laugh, make mistakes, and keep growing. Embrace every moment , because this journey is shaping you into the person you’re meant to be. Keep shining Harman Heer (he/him) Harman is from Punjab, India. He is currently in his third semester as an Associate of General Science student. Hritik Jatin Parekh (he/him) Hritik is from Tanzania, studying business at CC. He likes soccer and has been to med school before coming to CC. Jennifer Mbarikatta (she/her) Jennifer is from Hong Kong and she is a business student. She loves listening to music. Kapish Chhabra (he/him) Kapish is from India and has recently graduated from Columbia College majoring in Biochemistry. He is a full time foodie and loves water sports (but doesn’t know how to swim). Moreover, he loves listening to music, his favourite singer is Laufey! Karanveer Singh (he/him) Karanveer is currently studying International studies at Columbia College. Outside of academics, he enjoys photography, music, and observing art in everyday life. Whether capturing moments through his camera or exploring creative works, he finds joy in artistic expression.

Lucia Joana (she/her) In my free time, I like to paint This magazine, it’s pretty quaint I’ll paint whatever for a fee so don't hesitate, to contact me! @car4mel_pudd1ng carmlpudd@gmail.com Muzammil Sanwal (he/him) Muzammil is facing existence. Navita Gupta (she/her) Navita is a student struggling with time management and getting things done. She finds writing a good way to engage with her strange emotions when life gets busy and nothing seems easy. Navraj Singh Sidhu (he/him) Navraj is a first semester student enrolled in the Associate of Arts in Business Administration. A bouquet of daydreams, he is a guy from the land of saints and warriors, Punjab. “An epoch not a trend.” Navreet Kaur (she/her) Navreet is a person who always wants to spend time with nature. She was born in the most famous land called Punjab. She loves to learn something new and explore herself and she is majoring in computer science. She wants to go on a solo world tour exploring something interesting. Pawandeep Kaur (she/her) Pawandeep graduated with an Associate Degree in Psychology. Currently she is surviving on eat, sleep and repeat pattern.

Rad Karim (they/them) Rad was born in Uttara, Dhaka, Bangladesh. Thanks to having ADHD, they often spend their time falling down rabbit-holes and being delusional. Now making bold financial decisions and then crying over their empty bank account. Reina Le (she/her) Reina spent 18 years in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam since birth and is spending her upcoming years in Canada learning how to be mature. Good food helps her cope with a chaotic work-life balance, but its also the reason why she can't balance the balance in her bank account and enter a work-life imbalance due to trying to balance it. Richa S. Rathod (she/her) Richa’s interest in poetry began with her close friends, who enjoyed writing rough, unpolished verses. She soon started performing at poetry slams, first by presenting others’ poems. She was drawn to the rhythm and flow of African-style poetry, and with her friends’ help, she learned how to shape her own words more smoothly. They even performed duet poems together. This magazine features one of Richa’s first solo poems, a step forward in her poetry journey. Samuel Getachew (no pronouns) Samuel flips convos, turns words into gold, From Ethiopia to the world, let the stories be told. Samuel Kevin Gasangwa (he/him) Samuel Kevin is a business major. He likes money and power. Shubnoor Singh (he/him) Shubhnoor is a Computer Science student who has a good habit of playfully going against the rules and is always curious to know more about everything. Yes, he touches grass unlike everyone else in his major. Shub loves to romanticize every moment in life, wishes people don't lose their childlike excitement, and believes the world is all rainbows and fairy tales - indeed a true delulu. As for his curiosity: curiosity killed the cat but Shub survived.

Simran Kaur (she/her) Simran is from Punjab, India. Currently she is enrolled in the Associate of Arts program at Columbia College. She loves to meditate, which relaxes her and also makes her mind fresh. Simranjeet Kaur (she/her) Simranjeet is from India and is an international student living far away from family. She is pursuing an Associate of Arts at Columbia College. Simranjit Kaur (she/her) Simranjit is from Punjab, India. She is pursuing an associate of arts degree in Business administration at Columbia College. She moved here in Canada in 2023. She has a lot of hobbies, photography is one of them and through the lenses, she captures countless moments and transforms them to timeless stories. She hopes that people don’t just see the clicks or images — they feel emotions, memories, and connect with untold stories. She loves to write when sadness comes to her and she has nobody to talk to. Although she does not write regularly, each time she does, she feels a deep sense of satisfaction. Writing unlocks the deeper part of her soul, allowing her to transform her fleeting thoughts into something meaningful. Sumandeep Kaur (she/her) Sumandeep is from Punjab and is doing General Arts at Columbia College. Swan Yee Htet (Eddy) (he/him) Eddy was born in Yangon, Myanmar. He is actively trying to inform everyone on the whereabouts of his native country. He also really likes reading, like a lot.

Tina Ghofrani (she/her) Tina is an Iranian girl from the generation of the Rumi. To her, every moment is an opportunity for learning and growth. She is studying General Science at Columbia College.

Usaid Ali Syed (he/him) "Usaid is both impressed and terrified of his creation" Veerpal Kaur Jassal (she/her) Veerpal is an international student at Columbia College, Vancouver, pursuing an Associate of General Arts. Originally from Punjab, India, she enjoys exploring new perspectives, traveling to the mountains. She is always eager to learn and connect, love engaging in meaningful conversations and discovering new things. Victor Muhima (he/him) Victor is an odd poet, songwriter and a choreographer pursuing General Sciences at Columbia College. Xavier Rune (he/him) Xavier is a magic man with funny words. Yelyzaveta Pushkarova (she/her) Yelyzaveta was born in Ukraine, an amazing country that is slowly being destroyed. Sometimes emotions are difficult to express in words, that's why humanity invented art.

Words

Lettering

Tim Yernar

Violet Charlotta

Photo Ashley Nicole Gabriel

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columbia college creative writing club cover photography by rad karim