The Journey Collective: Exploring Writing From Different Lights

The Journey Collective​: Exploring Writing From Different Lights

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COVER ART: “Perspective” ​by N. Fernandes Acrylic background, drawing on paper stuck on 3 separate canvases.

50 x 120 cm

Authors: Qatar Academy Sidra Class of 2020

Abu-Nabaa, S. Al-Eida, S. Aldobashi, M. Asha, M. Fernandes, N. Gurgenadze, T. Khalid, L. Landayan, J. C. Ali, A. Taj Muhammad Khan, M.

Contributors: Craggs, G. Herbst, T. Mastoraki, A. Mason-Parker, C. Sawant, E.

Editor:

Kandido, M. A.

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Al Mannai, H. D’Souza, K. Iqbal, S.

Nagieb, S.

Husni, M. Said, A.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

Introduction

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Did You Notice?- by N. Fernandes Epistolary

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Levitation by N. Fernandes Poetry

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More than One by N. Fernandes

Documentary Photography ​ Hidden by N. Fernandes Memoirs

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​Unsolved by K. D’Souz​a

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Chapter 5

Graphic Novel/Bandes dessinee and Documentary Film

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Appendix: Contributions by Secondary Principal and Teachers

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Epilogue/Autobiographies of Authors

141

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Introduction I have mentally written the introduction to this book daily since the announcement that IB exams were cancelled.

Sometimes, it begins with adoration and pride for my students. Other times, this introduction scribes rivers of tears on my cheeks--an invisible saltink. To counter that, to absorb the saltink, I now call upon the sesquipedalian in me and allow the paper fill up with polysyllabic academese and scholastica verbosity. But that isn’t enough, either. Other days, I have found the ‘perfect’ quote to honor their perseverance as part of one of the virtual graduation classes. Yet...

Nothing felt exactly ‘right.’

Because, of course, nothing is ‘right’ in ​this m ​ oment. In this moment, it has been weeks since seeing my students in person, since I have taught my students in the way I know how to teach, in the way they know how to learn.

One thing I taught repeatedly is that context changes everything about a text--it is the frame that crafts how we interpret the invisible layers of truth. Context is something that increases our vision when we read through lenses.

The context of this book is, in part, intertwined with the announcement that in-person school is no longer.

Indefinitely. With questions about exams and scores prefacing every GotoMeeting/ Zoomed class or Google Hangout message, the students continued to reveal their inventive literary skills. When exams were no longer a proverbial finish-line, the question I had to ask myself was, what of their rationales and thoughtful research? That is where this book was born.

But we all know context is not just one defining moment. Context includes all the seeds we plant, where we plant them and how we tend to that garden. Context encompasses roads we leave dust tracks on and those we leave untrodden by choice. Context includes lenses and senses, philosophies and theories. My students’ context is not defined by one moment because they are not dichotomous beings set in the before or the after of an event. Rather, the context of this book is splayed at the apex of both/and, not either/or.

This book is a testament. We had an opportunity to ignore word count and criterion in order to craft a text demonstrating 20 months of planting, watering, pruning, ploughing and harvesting our thoughtFULL words.

This book is a culmination of my students’ exploration of writing and researching conventions and literary techniques. This book is adding to the cannon of student work. This book documents a time no other IB student has experienced--completing a two-year course via virtual learning and... a v​ irtual ​graduation. But there is nothing virtual about their stunning writing or thoughts. This book is an homage to their perseverance and dedication.

What you can’t read or see here are the visceral moments of phenomenal Socratic Seminars or the field trips to QNL’s Gardens of Al-Andalous and the Inland Sea. These pages don’t show the strength of this cohort in their collective drive to help each other through the IB. These pages might be many, but they are not nearly enough.

There are not enough words to describe the goosebump-filled pride, sadness, excitement and joy I feel when I think about my students and their growth.

In this moment, this book is enough; in this moment, it is right because it reveals truth.

--M.A. Kandido 19 April 2020

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Did You Notice?

N. Fernandes Drawing and Photography on board 127cmx 100cm

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Chapter 1: ​Epistolary

Antique, archaic, aesthetic, quaint, complaint, recommendation and bewildering --words my students thought of when they heard of this text type called ‘Letters.’ Besides discussing a post office concept, stamps and waitingThis unit asked them to analyze how the audience and purpose of the letter affect the structure and content.

We read letters from Ahmed Kathrada from Robben Island written in 1964 to bring to light how a letter is inseparable from context. We deconstructed Assata Shakur’s Open Letter written in 1989 from Cuba and inquired about how the writer’s language shapes communication. This unit included Einstein’s letter to FDR in 1939 so that students could ascertain the social and historical situation embedded in the lines. To embed historical context even further, students not only read Frederick Douglass’ letters to Henry C. Wright in 1846, to Thomas Auld in 1848 and to William Lloyd Garrison in 1846 but they reconstructed them as an exercise in self-voice.

We read Frida’s letters to Diego in 1929 enabling them to behold the brevity and yet feel how much each word weighs when translated from Spanish to English. We discussed language as a tool but also as an art.

Additionally, Students read letters of support for Maria W. Stewart from Amos Hunt, William Lloyd Garrison, Alexander Crummel, William B. Jefferson and Henry Bailey so they might know what it looks like when I and other teachers wrote their letters of recommendation for college programs.

One particular formative task was for each student to write a hand-written letter and deliver or mail it. I did not have to read it. They are principled and I trusted them to do so. A few wrote letters to themselves. Some are here.

Some wrote new letters for this book explicitly.

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Letter to graduating Huda from Huda written on 15 August 2020

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Dear Granny, I’m writing you this letter which I know you can’t read at the moment, but I will let it be my ticket. I’m writing this letter to your young self that I never got to meet but only in monochrome pictures. I want you to know that even though we never had this special ‘grandma-granddaughter’ bond or hearty conversations, I was always intrigued by your story. Now that dementia knocked your door, you are telling me stories out of nowhere. Stories about your children, your friends whom I believe are now long gone and passed away, and how you believe that blue eyes are the most beautiful of creation-just like yours- and unlike mine. Hearing your stories makes me want to get to know you again at 85 years of age. I believe you were confident, and lived a majestic life in the countryside we often used to visit with you back in my childhood. I believe you were tough, and it shows from your freckled hands. Was it living through a mandate? Losing a spouse too early? Or looking after your own house, and living with a great deal of extended family gatherings? You are telling me these stories like they are fresh and happened only yesterday while all I remember from your past self is your balcony; filled with plants and flowers. Did I tell you that I always found the bottles of cologne and perfume around your old house pretty interesting? It’s like they’re everywhere and each one had a story like a gift from someone or a souvenir from some country you visited. I wonder what happened to your old house. Thinking about it now being so quiet, not the tranquil kind of quiet, but the eerie type of silence. It was once a very lively house and I don’t know if I will ever have the courage to set foot in it again without you in my life. You speak to me now like we are in our home country as if time stopped when only so much has happened since the last time I visited you. You favor the morning so you’re always mumbling ‘good morning’ to every passer by.

Talking to you now makes me feel like I missed the train ticket to some place I should have been in. A place that I will live in to make memories and hand them to some other passenger. Talking to you now makes me value time, yet I know that someday, regret will hit me like a strong scent of cologne....because all I had to do is talk to your past self.

Shahd

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April 3, 2020

Dear COVID-19,

You might have decreased crime rates, CO2 levels and gave some animals a breath of fresh air without us.

But you have isolated not millions, but billions at this point. You have ruined or interrupted many people's lives, yet humanity feels closer than it ever could. I don’t think your main purpose for being here is to just kill or harm people. I think you are mainly here to teach humanity a lesson--a lesson about empathy, understanding and communication. I mean how many times were there horrible actions being committed at one corner of the world, and the rest of the world couldn't bat an eye?

It was your passion for traveling and exploring the world that gave us fortunate people a reality check.

Now we know what it's like to have our daily lives interrupted. Suddenly no more school, work, or hanging out outside the house. Instead, we are stuck inside worrying about our safety.

Safety. That word sounds nostalgic for some reason. I guess sometimes you really have to experience something so you can understand what it feels like. Now in the midst of this pandemic that you have created, you see people helping (or fighting) each other regardless of their differences. No one cares whether your Black, White, Purple, Muslim, Jew, Christian, Atheist, Agnostic, Male, Female, or Other. People just want their hand sanitizers, N95 masks, and most importantly, their toilet paper.

So I will have to give it to you, you have done more influencing than Instagram models and Youtubers combined. I think you hold the crown for the most influential figure of 2020.

However, I am quite certainly sick of hearing about you. Everyday, I get a notification urging me to read about your latest violation towards people without their consent. So whether you're a biological weapon, a punishment from god or just the common flu on steroids, you are not welcome here. Please leave.

Thanks a Million (1,000,000),

Maryam

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Dear Futureself,

First of all, helloooo. Hope you're doing well. You were 18 years old when you wrote this letter. You were about to finish high-school without actually doing your final exams (crazy I know). You’ve had the most awesome two years with the most awesome people. There have been days where you poured out into tears and days where you were out of breath by how much you laughed. Only 18 but been through so much already (you dramatic lil-). *Sigh* School’s almost over, the day you were waiting for, it’s here, I can FINALLY see the finish line but I don’t want it to end this way. I’m a teeny-tiny bit emotional right now, I want you to remember all the friends you've made inside and outside of school, and teachers who have taught you so much in only two years. I want you to remember that if you wouldn't have spent two years here, you would have been a whole different person that you might not have liked.

Anyways, you were stuck at home under quarantine and couldn't go to school or start driving lessons (ugh).

Hopefully you passed all that by now and are living the dream. Hope that you have a big aesthetic house with each room having a different theme, a magical view, an infinity pool, an arcade room, an ​Aston Martin​, a ​Labrador and a job that makes you happy in a beautiful country with the sun shining above you everyday. You wanted to be a successful UX designer, so I really hope that comes true. You wanted to give your parents everything they deserve and more because of all the sacrifices they’ve made just to see you happy. It’s so beautiful to see how they always wanted the best for you and will do everything in their power to make that happen. But if you're not there yet, I want you to remember the most important thing that I took away from highschool and it was never to give up. You might feel dumb majority of the time but NEVER stop pushing yourself because one day you’ll get exactly where you wanted to be all along.

XO, Past Natasha:)

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Dear Self in quarantine and Whomever it may concern,

A lot has happened. Before the quarantine, each day felt like the next -- the monotonous routine you so desperately wanted to shed. Wake up, go to school, go home, study, sleep, repeat. If you were lucky, you’d get a chance to nap, but let’s be real, your mind wouldn’t have allowed you to.

The past two years have really allowed you to get to know yourself. What makes you tick, what doesn’t and most importantly, what you stand for. Sure, you haven’t travelled all your journeys yet, but there is always something to learn out of each moment that passes you by -- there always will be.

I know that because of this virus, you feel like something’s been taken away from you. Like your luck couldn’t get any worse because this isn’t the first time something life changing has happened to you. The important thing to remember to know is that you are privileged in this situation. You know yourself to look at the other side of the coin no matter how bad things are for you. Sure, you may not always pay attention to the other side of that coin, but sometimes we need to let ourselves exhale our afflictions in order to move on. Not everyone your age has this ability; to be able to put themselves in the shoes of others. That’s not to look down on anyone else, but to remind you of how you’ve been doing this since you were eight. You know this, because adults have called you “mature” and you’ve had to be a mother to your own since she received news that would change the trajectory of h​ er life, effectively changing yours as well. In some ways, this virus situation is the same. There i​ s an epicentre and there are​ ripples - just like consequences to your actions.

Now you need, more than ever, to hold strong to your core. You’ve been enduring the IB for the past two years (thank god, that’s over) and now you need to hold tight a little longer. No matter how much you miss your friends, relatives and teachers, your actions d​ o​ cause ripples and you would do anything to prevent that.

Love, Yourself*

*Epistolary Chapter Submission by: D’Souza, K.

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Dear Society,

Hundreds and thousands of you have been infected by this disease on a daily basis, in fact as of now we have reached over one million coronavirus cases. I have been self isolating with my family members for the past three weeks, but I am living in this deep fear ever since. The fear of people not listening to simple directions, the fear of my loved ones catching this disease, the fear of not knowing what will happen tomorrow. I am at my utmost stress level, the kind of stress you get before exams...now multiply that by four.

That fear originates from you not listening to simple directions given by the government: - Don’t leave your house - Leave your house if you have something necessary to do (like buying food) - Keep a distance of 1.5 m between you and whomever you are talking to in public

These are simple and small directions we as a society need to follow to exterminate this virus and for the virus to not exterminate us in a matter of three months.

I went to the grocery store over the weekend, but I was very hesitant to go. Going to buy food in 2020 is more like going to war, I had had to arm myself from getting the virus. I had to wear gloves, mask, and put hand sanitizer everywhere from the door handles to the cart. Life is getting kind of difficult for me, but not to the people I saw on my way to the supermarket. I went past a park in our neighborhood and I was shocked by the amount of family gatherings, children playing, and people playing sports, it looked like a national day event!

Much like Italy, in the beginning, the people here just lived their normal life more comfortably than ever - until things went downhill very quickly. I fear that for our society, so please listen to the instructions and stay at your house; it's not as hard as it looks. We need to work together to end this virus!

Best wishes,

Salem AL-Eida

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Dear Abdullah Dobashi,

It's been a quite long time since we've talked, so today I decided to write to you. I am your dear cousin Moath Aldobashi, you might be asking why am I choosing to write a letter to you.

Well, the purpose of this letter is to strengthen our connection as friends, cousins, family. These past days I’ve been self isolated in my home, (like we all should be) and I recently started to watch your Youtube videos. I have to say I was impressed by how enjoyable they are to watch. I’d like to first congratulate you on finding the courage to start a daily vlog series of your life, starting at such a young age tells me how much potential you have for your future.

I, myself have always dreamed of starting a Youtube channel but was always hesitant about the fact that I’d fail in my beggins, thus I’d like to give you some advice.

First and foremost: patience. You need to be patient in the process. You might face some rough times where you might think of giving up, but you’ll have to be patient. Success doesn't come instantly; success comes through hard work and patience. So be patient.

Secondly, always know that failure is a learning experience. Without failing, you won't learn. So when you feel down because views are going down, always remember that you’ll always have a shot, that one day through all this hard work and the multiple failures you’d always achieve your dream. Hard Work, patience, and learning from failure are the key to becoming successful, so keep on going and keep on making it because I know that you are destined for greatness.

With all love, your dear cousin

Moath Aldobashi

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2 March 2020

Dear Earth,

I have a couple of issues about the world we live in I wanted to address. I firstly legit don’t have a clue what's going on anymore in the twenty-first century. Are you gonna die out on us soon cuz I need to know if I should continue studying for a future or just die out doing what I wanna do. But I know it's not your fault in any way and rather it's completely ours. Humans never deserved to live on this planet in the first place. We are naturally greedy beings and i’m sorry we used earth as our personal tool for our own gain and to slowly kill the planet through global warming, rising sea levels and climate change. I’m so pissed that the world is filled with old age leaders because they have no concern for the future generations but rather their legacy.

I don’t even know if i’m gonna have a good future. I keep thinking that when I get older, a lot of countries are gonna be flooded due to rising sea levels and some countries will be impossible to live in because of the heat so we are gonna have a situation where countries are gonna be over flowed and jobs are gonna be impossible to get so people resort to crime which just gets worse from there.

And then there’s animals. Humans surely don’t deserve to live on Earth because of the way we treat and use animals. We use animals for our personal gain, entertainment, and sports and destroying their homes which is truly sad. I’m gonna end with saying this, the truth is humans are nothing but parasites ​because all we do is live and destroy other living species and most importantly Earth.

I’m sorry,

Saad

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2nd of April, 2020 Dear Future Carlo, This is your past self writing this letter for you. I do not know what would happen to you in the future, although I wish you success and may you always be living in the best optimal choice available to you. Perhaps you’re living the dream, you’re already a certified lawyer or maybe a working diplomat or better a rising statesman in your country. Nonetheless, I intend this letter to remind you of what you stand for and to be confidently brave even when you think nobody would ever understand or agree with you…

Remember, when you were stuck in quarantine? You’re 18, it’s the 2nd of April, President Duterte (as always) made another controversial remark that the opposition and your fake-woke/dumb---- fellow Filipino youths are criticizing. You are pissed, like really, really pissed. Not because you disagree of the “shoot-to-kill” order to those who violate quarantine measure, you are mad because apparently some stupid youths are calling for the government to be ousted. This got you triggered that you wrote a somewhat balanced opinion rant at 2 in the midnight which you then posted on all your social media (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat). You felt agitated when you woke up at 6 am that you even changed your profile picture to different pictures of Duterte doing the middle finger and made another rant defending your government. I guess that’s enough context for you to be reminded of.

Now for the message, you did not pass the 50/+ like or react milestone. It’s understandable, being a DDS in a Filipino teenager social media arena full of Red or Yellow sympathisers; you won’t get any positive praise, you’ll get criticized, or even worse, blocked or unfriended/unfollowed by those who used to be your friends.

However, you are still moved. The comments made be few, and some may have been done privately, but you found it nice that there were people who you rarely talk to, that understand your points and arguments, and applaud you for at least not being as close minded as those social media dummkopfs, and some even calling you smart. I’d like you to remember that.

You may be working in the public service sector in the future. Being involved in that sector is like being placed in a room full of kids who lie on the wide rational-irrational spectrum. You cannot convince everyone to agree with you, there will always be people who’ll act irrationally and suggest stupid things and think they’re better than everyone else. If ever you’re placed in this situation, keep your biases to yourself and act as a voice of reason to those uneducated and those falsely claiming to be awake when they are still asleep. When doing this, be bravely confident. Yes, no one will like it, but you will inspire others to your idea, and hopefully, they’ll join you in this effort.

I’d wish you’re still passionate about politics, actively trying to be informed of all perspectives and not just one, like those bandwagoning “friends” of yours who are easily fooled by the gaslighting opposition, media, and their trolls that manipulate the public. I know you love or admire the extreme fringes of the spectrum, but as much as possible, stay true to your r​ ealpolitik practicing heart and soul. Just try to be the voice of reason, confidently brave as much as possible.

That would be all!

Best regards, Carlo

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3/30/2020 1:00PM

Dear Anybody or Nobody,

I have so much to express yet so little to say. Maybe it's mostly about not knowing what I want to talk about. I think it’s just that my state of mind in the last couple of days have been as hectic as it ever was. I really don't know what's going on in one's mind especially with the situation we are in. I’m not sure if I have inner-peace or I'm just denying it. But at the end of the day, the topic never changes, just what is going on in the human mind?

I’m not one of those people who are nit-picky about a topic or theme to write about, but I would prefer a topic or theme in order to get my hectic mind into a straight line and have a focused topic to write about. So imagine what happens when somebody tells me to write creatively. Yeah, well my brain runs a thousand miles to find out what it wants to do and in the end it still doesn't figure it out at the end of its run. Now listen here buddy, I'm warning you beforehand this paper can go real quick from 0% to 101%, if you get what I mean, but there will be not any sort of profanity. However, there will be a lot of either metaphorical or sarcastic criticism in here somewhere, maybe, I don't know. Otherwise, enjoy this piece of paper where its state will always be bipolar and change constantly due to its owner's state of mind being a hectic hermit whose mind runs a thousand miles a day.

I don't know why I must write this paper. Well, I do know why I'm writing this paper but why this topic specifically, but it came upon me. How is it that we know so much about the brain yet so little? Now I keep mentioning the brain and mind a lot, don't I? I also jump from one topic to another quickly, don't I? Well, deal with it buddy. This is my free-writing and also this is how my state of mind works. Also, the reason I keep bringing up the brain and mind is because of how all these words, ideas and thoughts come out from it. But the funny thing is, if you do get the next line, you're a smarty pants or may I be just the way I’m.

The brain isn't what it truly is at its current state. Humans can go beyond their limits. Yet it is our wishful thinking that stops us sometimes from going “above and beyond.'' For example, this original piece, believe it or not, this is not how it first came to be. Of course, I had to go back edit and perfect it and check if I have any grammatical errors and such to perfect it, right? Now perfect isn't the right term but I needed to do editing to show its full potential. In other words, what I'm trying to say is, at the end of the day, no matter how tough your life comes to be, or how much tougher the situation we are in gets... at the end of the day, your state of mind, inner-peace, moja-boba-mambo or whatever you want to call it, depends and relies on how YOU want it to be.

As for me, I will continue to be the hectic hermit I am. As ladies and gentlemen that is the peaceful way I cope with the world, literally anything. I mean it.

Your Hectic Hermit, Farewell.

*Epistolary Chapter Submission by Rageb, Ali A.

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How to not waste time by reading useless books that talk about nothing or talk about subjects that may not be used in life.

Dear T,

My hobby nowadays is reading books and listening to audiobooks, especially during quarantine. Mostly I read or listen to books about psychology, power, self development and fantasy which contain humor. When the quarantine started, I was reading or listening to a very large number of books about self development: how can you become better than you are now.

At first, I was depressing myself for nothing when I started following all the advice that books said. After I started reading more psychology books and started understanding myself better and found out through all the motivational speeches (how important is to become happier,become better than others and richer and so on - this kind of nonsense never ends) that I wasted money and time in nothing. How does another person know what I really want? Where did I get the idea that someone will help me to get better or stronger or some other useless motivations that hypnotize our imagination and waste time in this imagined world while our real life and everything around us breaks down? So, to help you avoid my mistakes, I am writing two things you should know when you start to read new books.

First of all, we should not trust all ideas. Many people assume when they read big books that they contain totally correct information inside which are laws of this world and life. We need to understand that there are no laws at all, and if there were a law, nobody would share it with other people and give away the knowledge because it's much easier to manipulate people without education and knowledge. That is why we need to be more open-minded and always say as Plato, “I know that I know nothing" This will give us more understanding of ourselves and will not let us be stuck in one place. In my opinion, people die in the moment they start thinking that they know everything because this thinking kills creativity and makes life boring. Always try to see different viewpoints about any subject and get more information about the subject you are interested in.

That takes to the second way. How can we find out if the book contains information that may be helpful in understanding subjects we are interested in? Remember you need to know who the author is. Is he or she really successful in the field which they write about? If the person lives in a one room hotel and has 100$ and writes a book on how to become a millionaire , think logically, would he or she live in such a condition? Will this kind of person give us knowledge that may help us to achieve our goals? For sure the answer is no. But even if the author is a genius in his or her field and they know everything, we still need to be careful and not trust everything they might say because they could also be wrong. Always ask yourself what is their motivation for writing.

This letter contains two simple ways to find out if a book will be useful and teach us some skills or be a waste of time. First, check out other sources that talk about the subject you are interested in and then find out about the author, their bio and motivation. This may be common sense but I found out through trial and error during quarantine that it’s an easy mistake to make because we sometimes ignore common sense.

Regards, Tamaz

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1 April 2020

Dear present self,

A lot of things happened in only 3 months making your life kind of easy yet difficult in some way. After working so hard in the past two years to make the best out of IBDP, suddenly comes the Corona Virus and cancels your exam. I know that it made you feel that you are the luckiest person ever, but at the same time you feel bad knowing you spent a lot of time and effort to take notes and study hard over these two years. Looking at the amount of notes you made and the amount of papers you have in your room makes you feel bad for not taking the exam. At the same time, you are so glad that you gained the skills of note-taking, researching, studying, and working hard to achieve the best.

Now is the time for you to think ahead on your upcoming BRAND-NEW LIFE at university. Choosing where to go, the thought of leaving your family, and the fact that you might feel home sick is driving you crazy internally, I know because I know. However, you are strong and confident to take such a big step based on your personal interest of wanting to live a new life and gain new experiences. The fact that it’s your choice and your decision of wanting to study abroad is a great way for a new start, however, a bit difficult when thinking of your surroundings.

I don’t think you will be the kind of person that feels homesick and cries to death wanting to come back. I believe that you can be the kind of person that waits for the holiday to come back and stays strong during school days. I know that you know that you can be an independent strong woman but you are waiting for the right time to admit that.

While everyone is finding it hard not to leave their house to have some fun because of Corona, you feel bad for only having the thought of not flying to the UK to attend university. It’s funny how you are really excited even though you know that it can be hard, but you’re still very excited to go there and feel bad having the thought that the UK might take time to recover. Well Huda, keep cheering yourself up and always keep yourself strong because you know that I know that you can do it!

Toodles,

Huda Almannai

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Letter to RebelRiverTeacher from LevantEver ReadingStudent written on 13 September 2019 at 3:21pm

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Levitation N. Fernandes Acrylic, charcoal and a photograph on canvas.

50 x 60 cm

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Chapter 2: ​Poetry

This cohort analyzed Derek Walcott’s poetry written between 1948-2013. Students analysed various poetic devices, imagery, figurative language, poetic formats, theme, exposition and diction. This was one of the three texts for their Individual Oral Commentary in Part 3 of the IBDP Language and Literature course where in the context is examined with the work. This poet and painter from Saint Lucia produced an extensive body of work which sails on history woven through waters, allowing words to buoy in our reading and analytical minds.

Some poems studied with an in-depth lens included: ​A Far Cry from Africa, Sea Chantey, Pocomania, Kingston Nocturne, Elegy, Dread Song, Names, Love After Love, Map of the New World, The Season of Phantasmal Peace, Cul de Sac Valley, The Light of the World, Oceano Vox, For Adrian, Homecoming, and The Acacia Trees.

Students explored the synesthesia aspects of producing meaningful and dense text. Part of the experiential learning included music, painting and a trip to the inland sea that borders Qatar and KSA. Much like Walcott’s connection to the ocean, the waves of desert sand and inland Gulf waters connected ideas of his Caribbean-inspired poetry to a local experience.

Writing a poem can feel foreign when students are consistently writing essays with thesis sentences and textual evidence to defend their ideas. Poetry writing. can include collapsing paragraphs and abbreviating sentences. It is investing in each word’s etymology and connotation. The following pages are the students’ investment in not just stanza formation but also a risk-taker trait of revealing an author’s voice.

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Poem Brain ​by D’Souza, K.

In all the folds and crevices, I ought to find a thought.

I hound the impulses tingling my hands and feet.

They move in all directions and I swim through the tumbleweed of dendrites unassumingly wrapping around each toe, each finger, each strand of convoluted curl.

I’m caught.

I’m awake.

I’ve just written a poem.

Beyond The Light at the End of the Tunnel ​by Asha, M.

Sometimes​ i wonder What you hold for Me I dunno if its because I care so much or Because i have to deal with You Or if its just my everlasting boredom Waiting for a push, So that i no longer have to feel like You're beyond my reach.

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Scribbles ​by Nagieb, S. Crisis is one way to put it, And hardship, and ‘fines’, and ‘I’m not feeling it’

Confused are my mind and my soul asking: Is it your heart or your brain that is causing it

My brain is scarred every other day as I fix my head onto the blue screen And wonder; is my identity real?

The ears whisper to the heart: it is your songs and folks and Tanbur. Don’t you dare look back on it

Kevokim le le Kevokim le le

Your grandparents may have forgotten since the day someone decided to leave that mountain. but your heart beats listening to the songs; your sole return ticket

Then the tongue speaks for the others to be silent. Listen, it is your language it is the meaning of your name and faith and being. don’t you dare look back on it

Oud strings quiver in waves that whisper that alphabet

And the mind wakes every night as your head remains fixed onto that blue screen You read the stories and the pain that hides behind the dances, the food, and the green terrain

We all killed each other Why bother?

The mind howls: rest asleep none of this matters except that morning beep to wake up and reap your wheat

But the heart fights And the sensory symphony repeats

As long as your heart is beating And your mind is pondering

The scribbles of home against contemporary survival Remain a tragedy in constant revival

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With a Pen​ by Abu-Nabaa, S.

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To the Person I Should, But, Don’t Know ​by Taj Muhammad Khan, M.

Like the word that sits on the tip of my tongue, your presence is felt but never known.

The thoughts of you consume me til' you make me blue.

Yet, my hopes, dreams and my very soul are all for you.

Am I a forgotten path, uncared for and overgrown?

Or are you just ashamed of the person you've known?

Maybe, you are in awe of me.

Maybe, there is something special you see.

Everything about me, you know; my secrets, my lies and the way I hide

Yet you give me no part of you.

Are you still that cruel to yourself too?

Are you everything I hoped for?

Or are you the void of my fears that have shaken my core?

Would the mirror recognize herself?

Or will you "love again the stranger who was your self"?

Inspiration ​by Fernandes, N.

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God's Most Precious Gift ​by Al Mannai, H.

To one of the closest people to my heart, You know me like you have known me forever, I never thought we would be that close to each other, You have came into my life at a glance, like no one ever did in advance,

I love you even more than horses, and you know that from a lot of sources, I know that this will not make it up to you, but i will try to take this poem through,

You're always there when I need you the most, You always hold my hands to tight, And I know you will never let go, Cause I trust so much and you know,

You know how to draw a smile on my face, and try your best to let me forget my pain, so I can go back to my normal life again,

You're the first I contact when I fall, cause no one is like you at all, You listen to me screaming and crying, and you still keep trying and trying, you try your best to make feel relieved, cause you are the best gift I received,

you try your best to guide me through the dark, and when I don't listen you bite me like a shark, you still try to fix my problems, and give millions of suggestions, so you could leave me with no questions,

You always handle how annoying I can be, cause you're the kindest person the world would ever see, No one would ever bother listening to me, only the person that really cares about me,

Thank you for being part of shaping who I am today, I hope you stay beside me everyday, You are the one person that sits in the deepest point of my heart, I will always pray for God not to set us apart, if I had to choose my last wish, I would pray for everyone to vanish, and Meera stays beside me forever.

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The Iqbal Philosophy ​by Iqbal, S.

Too many fakes in this world, the only thing true is the Iqbal philosophy.

The Iqbal philosophy is part of my prophecy.

Most think my prophecy is nothing but comedy.

But I can assure you this prophecy will soon show my flawless qualities They say “What is the Iqbal philosophy?”

I tell them that it is the philosophy the world needs to restore peace and balance.

My forefathers have spread the Iqbal philosophy in Pakistan.

I was sent to spread the Iqbal philosophy in North America.

They say “Why you specifically?”

Because I’m destined for greatness Back in school days I was known for my greatness Destined for greatness, Known from the get go, written in the stars Going for gold like im digging for some treasure Always been a real guy, never liked the fakeness That's why the Iqbal philosophy will rid the fakeness on this planet Poetry is a hobby fam I do it for my pleasure

Destined for greatness, Known from the get go, written in the stars It is I who wear the crown They hate to see me now Because they never believed me when I said my philosophy was destined for greatness

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Dear Mom and Dad​ by Aldobashi, M.

We are your son and daughter, You have been such a great father, And here we hope to gather, To say we love you O mother.

There hasn't been a day where you haven't made us happier.

We ask Allah to accept our prayers.

As you can see you may have guessed.

A happy Eid we have been blessed.

You have showed us lots of love and care.

We'd like to say to you kol Am Wa Antum Bikhair.

Dear Sister ​by Aldobashi, M.

I can't believe how much time has passed.

Never knew how my sweet sister grew up so fast.

I know that this is the way of life.

But I wasn't really ready for this sacrifice.

My journey of knowledge let us grow apart.

I wasn't in the presence of your sweet innocent heart.

A heart so pure and white and filled with love.

It's as if Allah took care of it personally from above.

She grew up in a house filled with religion, love and care.

No matter where she went she was loved everywhere I know that your life has turned a new leaf.

As much as I should be happy, I only feel grief.

I realize that a part of us will never be the same.

I should have faith, it’s literally your name.

Many things will happen during ones lifespan.

But the thing that’ll never change is my love for you Eman.

This is just a new beginning, not an end.

After all you’re marrying my best friend.

May Allah grant you a life void of any fears.

May you never have to shed any tears.

May Allah bless you both a happy life.

Barak Allahu Lakuma Wa Jamaa Baynakuma Fi Khai

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That walk​ by Khalid, L.

It’s that walk through the airs of winter’s worst night

It’s that walk endlessly waving at taxis that you know will never stop

It’s that walk past inviting yet unreachable glows of light

The walk that so many others have walked to reach

The walk so endless in the evening yet so gone by the morning

That love you showed her in the evening won’t exist by the morning

That mask you polished in the evening was so cracked by the morning

The morning that followed the events of that walk

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My oh my, oh my ​by Ali, A.

This is no cautionary tale, but I am someone who likes to speak her mind out to the world, regardless of the mayhem it is.

This is yet one of my many assignments yet to come, But I do caution everyone.

I am no artist, I am no poemist, I am just your ordinary hermit.

This poem holds no meaning, Nor value not worth.

So for me to say, look at who we have become.

Wait, what have we become?

Do I look like I know?

No, why would I know?

But why do I keep writing in questions?

Because it's my thing to do and no one can stop me at the moment.

What am I on about?

Nobody will ever know, nor do I myself know

At the end of the day I have yet to figure out, What have we become?

Because my oh my, oh my, the need of me being sarcastic about everything in sight or mind is quite high, yet again.

One of my favorite matters on earth is confusing the reader.

Jumping from topic to topic, Or writing about something that may only make some sense to me.

Yet again, I do tell.

I am no artist nor a poemist.

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If you think you will get an artistic piece of a poem today, Then you are wrong.

If you think you will get some well, structured poem today, Then yet again you are wrong.

This is my attempt in both writing and ranting about my poem.

Yet I seem to fail at both.

However I do say again and for the billionth time, I am no artist nor a poemist.

I promise to try to stick to one topic, But who am I to keep such a promise?

To you, the reader, I may be a Friend, sibling, student or even a stranger.

So who am I to keep such a promise?

Nobody, hence the promise is invalid.

But I will try to keep a straight line of streaming conscious thoughts.

However if I failed to do so, that's not on me, that's on you.

How may you ask, is this your fault, if I fail?

My oh my, oh my.

It is because of your expectations of me, that failed, hence you failed yourself.

I say to my english teacher, What do you say of this so-called poem of mine?

Is it messy?

Is it unstructured?

Is there no stanza or literary devices in regards to a poem?

I am pretty sure you are aware I am not aware of what I'm talking about.

But that's okay, right?

Don't fret my dear teacher,

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For yet another failure, another chance and success in learning something new awaits me.

Yet, I thank you For having to read this and not having to analyze it like some Derek Walcott poem.

Or have you already?

My oh my, oh my.

Who knows but you?

I am not hating on your choice of having to read dereck walcott, my dear teacher, I'm simply stating; We are all analytics of our own genre.

I simply am a analytic in the hermit section, As that is my specialization in life.

Of course I do specialize in other areas, What other areas may you ask?

That area my friends is, Coming to no conclusion or an ending topic in my poem, and abruptly bringing my poem to end for no reason.

So my dear readers, This is the end of my poem.

And so I say, farewell until another day comes upon us.

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Oust - say what? ​By Landayan, J.C.

Exasperated is my mood Indeed, it is not really good There’s statements misconstrued I think shouldn’t be fully booed

Nonetheless, I respect your rights We don’t support whatever slights Uphold the poor man’s sake, we must But now, we should all have to trust

Coup, you call? My response - boo!

Unity is what we all need Instability, not agreed For democracy, you just threw.

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More than One N. Fernandes Oil paint on wood 66cm x 66 cm 47

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Chapter 3: ​Documentary Photography

Documenting is an interesting concept. As is intention. The creator must ask what Nayyirah Waheed asks in her poem “a question of appropriation” from ​Salt​:

would you still want to travel to that country if you could not take a camera with you.

The Photographer is a text that defies genres as my students unveiled during their first Socratic Seminar regarding the beginning pages. A man, trained in a medical field takes on a hobby of photojournalism during a war. But not a war story as they have been documented in the past. This book included not just photographs, but also a graphic representation betwixt the contact sheet to the red grease pencil and the translation.

Oh, yes, this was also a translated text. We began to uncover the difficulty of making meaning from French or Russian into English. Layer that with interpreting medical ideas and gender roles during conflict. Translation is an art beyond linguistics. Students translated critical discourse lenses, socio-historical aspects, time and place as well as personal connections.

War is never simple. The vanquished are rarely allowed agency nor given any platform to voice diverse perspectives because it is always simpler to give a sound-bite or a collective voice of oneness. Somehow, this text opens up a way to investigate more than just headlines and instead brings forth sidelines, marginalized stories which are often not printed for consideration.

When ideas and people do not fit inside boxes, we tend to find discomfort and debate; Although the task was to discourse in a seminar, debate stood at the heels of every class, waiting to bite. It made the students better at critically thinking through intensive listening and patience to participate in the seminars. My white-board maps of connected ideas were their own cartography of growth while we deconstructed this visual text.

Camera obscura--a dark chamber. The medium of photography as well as graphic novel genre was a fascinating multi-layered path into what it means to document ​and t​ ell a story. Students not only analyzed the text, they created their own mood boards which iterate on this concept.

49

From the Eye(s) of a Mirror​ Documentary PHotography by Ali, A. 50

Discovering Home​ Documentary Photography by Taj Muhammad Khan, M.

51

Heights​ Documentary Photography by D’Souza, K. 52

My DP Journey ​Documentary Photography by Asha, M. 53

M-E-T-R-O P-O-L-I-S​ Documentary Photography by Landayan, J. C. 54

The Islamic Holy Place​ Documentary Photography by Aldobashi, M.

55

Summer ​Documentary Photography by Fernandes, N.

56

Growing Up with Siblings​ Documentary Photography by Iqbal, S.

57

Beginner’s Guide to Documenting the Supernatural​ Documentary Photography by Nagieb, S.

58

Salalah ​Documentary Photography by Khalid, L. 59

My Appreciation of The Beauty of Nature​ Documentary Photography by Abu-Nabaa, S. 60

Summer Vibes​ Documentary Photography by Al-Mannai, H.

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Hidden N. Fernandes Linoleum Prints on Canvas 100cmx 100cm

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Chapter 4: ​Memoirs

A moment.

A memory.

Written.

Given voice.

In words.

On lines.

With space to breathe.

Not quite an autobiography.

Sensory-driven reflective thought.

Steps to build up our writing and our senses. Steps that lead us into the depths of one’s experiences. This unit is about stepping into voice, stepping into a moment.

Students read two memoirs of their choice between year 1 and year 2. As a class, we read and analyzed language and power, evolution of language, social relations in language and how belief is revealed through language.

Angelou, Orwell, Guppy, Tan, Koul, Akbar, Bryson and student memoirs from years past guided this unit.

I assigned students to write their own memoir. Favorite is relative. But, in terms of outcome...the student voice and agency abounds in Chapter 4.

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I Am Soup ​Memoir by D’Souza, K.

Ten years at an Indian school. Indian parents, Indian friends, Indian teachers and...an Indian identity?

Before I moved schools, I never really thought about my cultural identity.

“Where are you from?”

“Oh, I’m from India”

Living as an expat in Qatar, that’s all it ever was. Growing up, my parents never spoke to me in Konkani1, my native language. As a kid, I never really wanted to learn it either. I figured, if no one else around me spoke it, why bother?

My third language2 teachers showed some form of obvious hatred to the fact that I didn’t understand or speak a word of Hindi. In my head, it seemed logical to have to begin at the fundamentals of a language, but to them, it meant I wasn’t doing my job as an expat Indian. I was a lousy patriot.

“Why you don’t know Hindi? Your parents never taught you, or-what. Where are you from?”

At the time, I wasn’t too concerned that I didn’t know the language. Unfortunately, I also didn’t know how much I needed​ it.

The following year, my friends would only talk about the new Bollywood films and references to old Hindi movies. Eventually, they ended up talking to each other in Hindi. Me, being the type of Indian who didn’t know anything about the language or the movie industry surrounding it, found myself desperately trying to fit in with my own people. I mean, I couldn’t even identify Indian dishes by their name.

I wasn’t born in India, I didn’t have an Indian name. Sometimes, people would go as far as to say I didn’t ​look Indian. Then what part of me is? The knowledge that I would soon move to an international school filled me with hope. Taken for granted as an Indian at an Indian school, I was ready for change.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

“You guys sound like soup”, said my choir conductor.

Sound like soup? Soup is delicious, so my initial thought led to the idea that we sounded good.

“I need you guys to b​ lend​”, she said, frustratingly.

1

Konkani: a language spoken in Mangalore.

Third language: In the CBSE school curriculum (Indian system), a second and third language is learned. The third language subject is taught from grade eight to ten and is a beginner course for students learning a new language 2

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By the time I figured out she was alluding to how soup comprises heterogeneity, I felt pea-brained. It was this very scenario that led to my self-discovery.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I couldn’t conceal the wave of excitement on my first day at my new school. I met new people, and the middle schoolers, in particular, seemed to enjoy staring at the new eleventh graders. Like an art display in a museum, I felt analysed. Uncomfortable yet intrigued, I continued to engage with the people that seemed to show the most interest in getting to know me.

I found it interesting that everytime I conversed with them, they would nod their heads a little too excessively, roll their ‘r’s like the low purr of a cat, and curve the sounds of every ‘d’ or ‘n’ they could. I brushed it off, thinking it was an international kid thing. My biggest mistake was conforming to it.

Jokes or remarks about a kid’s race was a popular topic for them to talk about. If you were Indian or Black, you would’ve faced the full brunt of it. I would participate to show them that I had a “fun side” and that I wasn’t so serious all the time. I made fun of my own and laughed at the second-rate, crummy jokes they made, just so I could fit in . At the same time, I tried to act above my stereotypes. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of standardizing me. The intensity of “casual racism” only sunk in when I heard the same people talk to Indian cab drivers, parked outside school.

“Thendiyana...”3, they repeated whilst smirking and shaking their heads side to side with the most obnoxious sense of purpose. The delight on their faces made it seem like they had made the joke of the century. I realized that the only thing that changed was that they weren’t saying it to me this time. I couldn’t figure out why it took me so long to understand it for what it was. My instant reaction was to call them out for it. Confronting them, surprisingly, took the tiniest amount of courage.

“You guys are racist and the biggest a--holes ever!’’ I yelled in a hall full of passing students, hurrying to their next class. I can’t say I was surprised when they continued to nod and repeat the same dull words towards me.

“Ey thendiyana.

Ghandu, bloody bhenchod.4”

What frustrated me was the fact that I didn’t fully know what these words meant before I met them.

“Do you even know what those words mean?” I said, hoping they wouldn’t ask me the same.

“Well duh.” they said, and proceeded to educate me.

Every so often, I would hear my dad mutter it under his breath to drivers who, perhaps, didn’t turn their blinker on when they were supposed to. That was more than enough to understand what it was intended for. But now, the

3

“Thendiyana”: The actual word is “Thendi” in Malayalam (a language in India), meaning “beggar”. It withholds a negative connotation.

4 Ghandu, bhenchod: Obscene words in Hindi (mostly used by road ragers).

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words no longer held their meaning. Whether they were intended to be cruel or purely nouns, the tongue of my people was used against me. It was their weapon -- a blunt knife.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Visiting India was always a strange experience for me. The smell of grass after heavy rain, the constant shadow of gray cotton clouds, puddles of opaque orange muck, and overgrown forests creeping their way into the city. It was home...and I couldn’t believe it was mine.

I’d walk to store down the road and watch the same shop owner sell his treats to the neighbours in his tiny stall.

He was there every single time. Going to Mangalore was like going through a time machine. The same faces and buildings everytime, only aged. To me, it was filled with nostalgia. There was always a family get-together, where we’d flock to the dining room, sing bailas5, eat pork bafat6 with panpales7. Despite that, I would end up yearning to go back to Qatar within a month.

“I can’t stand it here. I wanna go back.”

“But this is your home.” my dad said, exasperated.

In a perfect world, it would be my one and only. I wanted more than anyone to own a single identity.

Yes, Mangalore is my home, but it isn’t my only home. I am heterogeneous.

5

Bailas: A Konkani word for the genre of songs sung in Konkani.

Bafat: (pronounced buh-fah-th) a type of masala or marinade typically used in Mangalorean cuisine.

7 Panpales: (pronounced puhn-puhl-ays) a thin fried batter, made out of rice, typically eaten with pork bafat.

6

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Under construction​ Memoir by Khalid, L. At twelve, I had an identity crisis.

My teacher described this as carrying a tower of blocks to this new country, only to have it destroyed and rebuilt by someone else. Because before this, I thought of one’s cultural identity almost like your name - fixed.

My crisis came with moving day. New country, new school and… a new ethnicity?

My family constantly moved between English cities when I was growing up because of my dad’s work. We were used to it. Making new friends and settling in only to relocate in a couple of years. This time, we were leaving the UK for the first time, and, after a decade of living there, you’d think I’d have felt miserable having to leave it.

The truth was that I’d never visited the Middle East before, so the knowledge that we were going to move to Saudi Arabia was a cause for excitement for me and my sisters. Secretly, I had hoped that in transferring to Saudi, I would be able to meet more ‘Arabs’ like myself, since there wasn’t exactly an abundance of them in England.

Well, I got my wish, my first encounter went a little something like this.

“​Inti​, you speak Arabic?” The girl that the new principle had introduced me to, spoke with an accent, rolling her r’s. This was the first thing she’d asked me. I nodded proudly, my bilingual nature was always a cause for awe back in England. What I soon realised however, was that her Arabic, was completely different to mine as I struggled to understand her. Eventually, I resulted to simply nodding politely. She introduced me to her friends, though it didn’t take long for them to realise that I was mindlessly agreeing with everything they had to say.

“​Habibti​, where are you from?” I responded, relieved that the conversation had switched back to English, but their reaction told me that I had responded wrong.

“Why don’t you speak Arabic? You don’t sound Sudanese.”

This was the first flaw I found in the identity I had constructed for myself. It seemed baffling to me that I was not as Arab as I had been told, though, despite my clear defiance to this thought, I did nothing to defend my case. I ignored this feeling of uncertainty but it resurfaced much sooner than I had expected.

“What’s your name, dear?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes when my new teacher asked me to introduce myself, interrupting me only to make a fatal attempt at quieting down the class.

I recited my practised introduction but faltered the second I noticed that the class had gone silent and everyone was now staring at me. Before I could regain any confidence to continue, a girl called out to me.

“Oh my gosh, where are you from?”

“I’m from Sudan.”

“What, so you were living in Sudan, then?”

“No, I was living in England.”

“You guys, I knew it, she’s British.”

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I was taken aback by this statement, almost finding it comical. You see, I am brown and I wear a hijab. One look at me ​and people would confirm that I was the furthest from British that you could get. I couldn’t figure out why a symphony of excited chatter rang out at this statement. Once I realised that these people weren’t joking and were clearly just ignorant, I decided to educate them as best I could.

“Thing is, I’m not exactly British I -” “Wo’? You’re no’ Bri’ish, mate?” By this point, I was convinced that everyone around me had either never visited England or didn’t realise that other countries existed.

It wasn’t until that moment, that I became aware of this thing called an accent, or, as it seemed, a cultural identity.

I had one, and apparently, mine was different. It was strange. Because to me, ​they ​were the foreign ones. Their usage of language affected how I perceived them, or associated traits with them. Without realising, both groups had labelled the other with an identity because of the accent they possessed.

The discussion of my cultural origins soon escalated into a heated debate with very few still arguing in compliance with the Arab ethnicity.

“How can she be Arab, dude? She can’t even speak it, Lulu told me.”

Comments like these bothered me. It was agitating having a need to correct them but feeling as though the points made were logically valid. It even seemed as though the teacher was always looking for an excuse to hear my accent by asking me endless questions in class. I became ashamed of my accent. My emotions became too overwhelming for me to process. The scepticism I was beginning to develop frustrated me. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I might not be who I thought I was. What else did I not know about myself? More than anything, I felt angry at my new peers for introducing me to these grey areas.

Soon, I found that particular cultural identities had greater power over others. It just so seemed that being British was a lot more desired than being Sudanese. Well, identity crisis over, I guess. I became British, this time willingly. This decision had its perks, but I never rid myself of the guilty feeling I got from attempting to dissociate myself completely from my place of birth.

This decision wasn’t permanent though. Depending on who I was talking to or where I was, my cultural identity changed. My solution was simple, I was whatever people labelled me as, whatever helped me fit in. Which meant that I was a lot of different things.

I exaggerated my British accent where need be, but incorporated a mixture of Arabic words whenever I visited Sudan. My manipulation of language usage proved helpful in portraying myself as belonging to any particular social group. Despite the benefits, the guilt from disassociating from my region of birth followed me. Whether or not I agreed with this representation was unimportant.

I have not yet found out how to fully define my cultural identity. I think, at some point, I stopped trying to rebuild my tower, although every now and then a person will come over and attempt to ‘fix’ my blocks for me. I’ve also stopped putting them on display, stopped parading around one version of this tower to seem more desired. I wish I could tell you that the tower was finally built and stable. Instead, it seems that it will forever remain under construction.

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Linguistic Identity? It’s complicated ​Memoir by Taj Muhammad Khan, M I remember a 9-year-old me sitting at the very back of the class, staring at the overly eager and confident hands raised ready to answer the teacher’s question with confidence.

I collapsed onto myself. Making myself smaller almost as if somehow I could be as small as an atom if I just tried. Praying Ms. Sarah, my Urdu teacher, didn’t choose me to answer her question. But alas, “Marya, do you know the answer?”.

I know this. You can answer this, Marya!

But my tongue, a block of cement, lay in my mouth tauntingly, daring me to speak. My tongue betrayed me and there was nothing to do but to look down in shame while the teacher moved on to other students whose tongues weren’t cemented with anxiety and self-doubt.

How did I get to this point?

I have always been known for my confidence, which slowly dissipated in the 6 months I started 5th grade.

But my confidence didn’t disappear! Mocking looks, grinning lips stripped me of it and imitating words and condescending behaviors dared my confidence to rise while stepping on its neck.

In the midst of learning Urdu, my accent was influenced by my mother tongue, Pashto.

I was completely oblivious to this before I started going to school because, before that, everyone in my little world spoke Urdu the way I did. When asked to introduce myself to my classmates on the first day, I did it the only way I knew how. C ​ onfidently​. The sound of gentle snickers and giggles reached my ears. But then the most disturbing thing happened. My teacher started asking me questions in a mimicked accent. “Tum ​kaha se ​hai​?”

8 said Ms. Sarah with a grin on her lips. Hearing her mispronounce “kahan” and mimic the jerky symphony of Urdu as spoken by native Pashto speakers, it was clear to me she was mocking me and there was something wrong with m ​ y ​Urdu. I replied reluctantly, trying my best to not say the words in the only way I knew how. I ​failed.

Laughter crackled through the classroom at my attempt to speak “unaccented” Urdu.

Okay definitely never do that again​!

I was out of options. I couldn’t speak in my accented Urdu and couldn’t attempt to speak in “unaccented” Urdu. Slowly but surely, I became a b​ ack-bencher​. I almost always sat at the back of the class. Amusement for the teachers at best and a dismissed nuance at worst. As I looked at my fellow backbenchers, one thing was clear: we were all struggling with language one way or another. Some of us with lisps, others with accents like myself. At the front were all the ‘eloquent’ and articulate Urdu speakers. An unspoken but omnipresent segregation existed among us.

Of course, we were seen as the struggling kids in class and the ‘eloquent’ speakers were the naturally smart ones with the affection of every teacher even if I was in the 5% of my class. At first, I hadn’t understood this but then it hit me in the face like a free fall onto asphalt: 8

Translated: “Where are you from?”

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Language defined if I was smart, not my grades.

Language defined how many friends I had, not my friendliness.

Language defined if teachers liked me or not.

Language defined me​!

My reality was that if I wanted to be taken seriously, I needed to speak “properly”. I spent countless Saturday nights reading articles, titled “How to speak Urdu without an accent”, and watching ?YouTube videos, telling me how ‘h’ sound should be prominent, until I could conceal my accent. Thinking twice about each word fearing if what has been buried comes out, I’d suddenly be realized for the fraud I was.

“Tum ne aj khana khaya?”9 “Haan. Mein ne kan……. k​h​ana k​ha​ ya.”10

When the school suddenly announced that they changed the medium of teaching from Urdu to English with a letter that read “English is universal”, frustration plagued my bones at the thought of starting my struggles over in a new language with which I was vaguely familiar. Not wanting to repeat my mistake of accented Urdu again, I watched hours of American television to be fluent in English with the “proper” accent. Surely, those who speak it natively know how to speak it “properly”, right? They are the universal standard, right?

Alas, snarky looks and hostility was all I got for my efforts because now I was pretentious. How did I have the audacity to ask for acceptance when my English accent is too westernized? A​ Desi​ doesn’t speak English like that.

I wondered whose English is then universal?

Desi English?

One day in 9th grade, my teacher asked me to read from the book. As I carefully tested the words on my tongue, I was abruptly stopped.

“Why are you speaking like that?”, she asked with a confused snarl on her face.

“Like…..​what​, Ms. Fouzia?”

“Like an A ​ ngrez11….. read like a ​normal​ person.”

My lips parted, brows furrowed, and my body stilled like I had suddenly been frozen in ice. Confusion struck my core. As if my linguistic foundation was nothing more than a house of cards, it came crashing down. I didn’t know what n​ ormal​ meant. W ​ hose normal?

9

Translated: “Did you eat today?”

10 11

Translated: “Yes. I ate today.”

Angrez: Informal and sometimes derogatory term referring to an English or English-speaking white person

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Three years later, sitting in English class, being taught that language is an integral part of my identity, left me shaken with its implication. I wondered, is my Identity as murky as my linguistic identity?

Am I not Pashtun enough because I neglected my Pashto over the years?

Am I not Pakistani enough if my Urdu is accented?

Am I not Desi enough because my English is too westernized?

All my life, I have tried to follow conventions in all my languages. I’ve tried to perfect them all. But h​ ow when there is no one convention to follow? How can we expect a language to be static amongst all its speakers and inform our identities when our identities are not static at all?

I can’t ​fix my languages any more than I can ​fix ​my identity. Forming them both in a way that’s unique to me is what I should’ve been doing all these years.

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A Forbidden Vacation ​ Memoir By Abu-Nabaa, S.

Palestine. C ​ ountless m ​ eanings for m ​ ultitudinous ​people. It may illegalize some tongues to move in its pronunciation or can be loyally vocalized to serve as the only key to eternal felicity- despite liberty being unforeseen. Tales of triumphs could be limited like the lives in video games and simple like victory over UNO. An ancient lost jewel yet to be molded by its owners in the way it existed to be.

Many foreign Palestinians are unacquainted with Palestine, but still feel the obligatory need to make space for it on a balance scale to be nurtured equally with other identities. Personally, the level of importance can’t be measured…This is my relationship with Palestine.

How’s American life for Palestinian Americans? Sure, I was born there (in the setting of The Office) h​ ello, people? and lived the typical American life. Built disfigured snowmen that went under plastic surgery (Mom never let us use a carrot for the nose, so we used anything and I mean anything instead) and went back home for steamy, hot chocolate with a floating, fat marshmallow. During the summer, it was always the swimming pool parties we would host as we dived, splashed, and forged noodle wars. I TOUCHED the liberty bell. This list can go on. But just say I am Palestinian by origin. My American identity to other fellow Americans disappears in a flash as stereotypical media-led thoughts pop in their heads like popcorn.

I have never been to Palestine nor was I very familiar with the culture. Stories. All I heard were stories... of this faraway land where wolves once roamed, green olive trees spread out the land like a carpet, villagers and farmers happily living peaceful lives. Feet tapped in a rhythmic beat as songs were sung about folklore. All I could do was dream...

“Ok, let’s go to Palestine this summer.”

Wait, what?!

As my foot touched the soil of Palestine for the first time, I tried to capture the moment on camera. I don’t know how or why, but it hit a home run. This is the land of which I have heard about since I could not remember. This is the land who I felt necessary to protect and defend verbally if someone decides to offend it. This is the land of unjust occupation where from over 50 years till now, different generations are still fighting for their land. This is the land of which we learned to love and cherish it and its people without having seen it. This is the land where their true story was only heard and seen by the media. This is the land where my roots of my family tree came from. But after thirteen years of being alive, without having entered it once, I already found a part of my heart.

This is Palestine​.

The excitement on that Saturday morning was like fireworks exploding inside me. Not only am I in Palestine, but going to see the Al-Aqsa compound! The third holiest place in my religion and where so much h​ istory ​took place.

I looked outside to the view of thousands of green, luscious olive trees. Hundreds were displaced, but to me thousands as I have never seen so many before. Our driver took my family and our tour guide (a distant relative) to Jerusalem. Her story, similar to many Palestinians, was that Israeli armed soldiers came to her house and shot her teenage son. NOR-mal. T ​ his is Palestine.

We had arrived...

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Did we use Google Maps?

This must be a boot camp.

We sorted ourselves into one out of four long lines waiting for permission to enter Jerusalem. We could see as one gets closer to the front, metallic jail bars are seen. There were paralleled long columns for each line and once one entered the “bars area” the width was only enough for one person. It seemed like it was to keep people in a straight line. Soon we learned otherwise. It was early in the morning. People were cranky and NOT having it, but it wasn’t because of the morning. Some people, for some reason, were going BACK in the same way they entered! Through the “bars area” where there was only enough space for ​one individual to stand!

What on Earth?

Obviously, there was so much space all around us, why did they choose to only go back in the same way they came in!? But in reality they couldn’t. The poor people had no way out except the way they entered- the other gate was fenced with the prison security fence topped with razor barbed wire and was locked. All we could do was hope this doesn’t happen to us...like those who were randomly denied access to Jerusalem (the look of disappointment and shame on their faces were punished for a crime). ​This is Palestine​.

After about an hour of waiting, as we got closer to the “bars” area, a young man, with a baseball trucker hat ahead of us was as fidgety as a rabbit and made a commotion. Another Arab man was telling him to do something (it was inaudible to comprehend), and the young man was refusing. He then burst out with American English. I think it was to get the Arab man to back off.

“I need to reach my grandma! I can’t understand you! I am American! OK?”

I found it peculiar and dismaying that he actually tried that coupon while everyone else was in the same, miserable, situation. Just because you speak American, doesn’t get you privileges, pal. It did though! The Arab man decided to leave because of not wanting to deal with someone he didn’t understand, when my Dad declared out of the blue in his own American tinted Texan accent:

“SO WHAT, YOU’RE AMERICAN! You got to stand in line like everyone else does!” The young man stopped.

We are right now in the “bars” area. Space was cramped and we couldn’t help, but feel like caged animals. We reached the front of the line. A woman in front of us was crying as she was coming back from the admission.

“What happened?”

Her face red and with teary eyes, she sobs, “I was denied entry. I don’t get it. I am from Virginia.”

I gulped.

This is Palestine.

I still wonder, w ​ hy us, not her​?

Time for the journey’s toughest part: a matter of few seconds determined doom or triumph. We reached the counter. We handed in our papers. The woman gave us back the documents and said, “Ruhu. Ruhu.”

“What?!” My dad exclaimed.

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“Ruhu! Bye!” pointing towards the hell we just witnessed.

“What. Do. You. Mean? Just. Go?” My dad, a shaken closed soda.

I was the waiter’s starving customer, served the wrong food. The woman rechecked the documents, Dad at the verge of becoming a volcano. I surprised myself as I had expected it sadly, but at the same time felt like I was slapped.

“No passport.”

“You guys have our passport! Our AMERICAN passport.”

I was a vibrating phone call being unheard. I did not want to go back and squeeze myself through over 30 unhappy people-men and women alike. Desperate to get my mind off to stay calm, I noticed a blonde slightly, chubby boy around my age all by himself, with no family nearby. I tried to flash him a sympathetic look yet he was as fidgety as a rabbit and as humble as a monk to even notice.

Finally, permitted ingress after thorough investigation, a sweep of relief came across me. I couldn’t help not hide my smile. It felt like I was passing military procedure by invaders while supposedly going for a vacation in my ancestors’ country. Wait. It ​was ​like that. ​This is Palestine.

We entered Jerusalem leaving the boy behind. He was taken to the private inspection room…

Now to think of it, they did a good job in putting Palestinians through a tough process to get into Jerusalem, so good to the point that it is probably to discourage Palestinian to even come back agian! I learned that not anybody was allowed in. Only those who have other than the Palestinian passport. (​Actually, maybe not all of them either are allowed. The American lady who was denied can witness that.​) Other than that, you can only be 60 and over to enter. To hold a competition to see who could live the longest to be able to enter? It’s a joke. Who could make any sense of it? Oh wait, not to mention any Israeli can enter-for ​free​- in a place where it is so comfortable, they may have entered their own living room accidently in comparison to what the Palestinians go through. How lucky are we? But it didn’t feel like a privilege. It felt like I cheated… People who lived their whole lives in Palestine from generations of ancestors who can’t access it while here I am, a little thirteen year old going in smoothly, like slicing a banana, since I am American (and even then I struggled because of my Palestinian background). All to Judaize Jerusalem.

And into Jerusalem we go.

Rows of mini shops lined up at the sides of the bazaars, selling all kinds of gems- an assortment of multi-colored, fun-looking, sugary and sour gummy candy, gold jewelry delicatly engrained with small details and jewels, and Palestinian souveneirs decorated with the icons of Palestine: the white dove, peace sign, house key, and the Palestinian flag. It was like I entered a time machine back in 1833- before the occupation-as we walked the centuries year-old streets of Jerusalem. The sounds of the buyers chattering amongst themselves and the sellers shouting out their deals, the smell of traditional fresh hot Kanafeh and Jerusalite famous fun-looking loopy-loop breads, the crumbling stone-age walls and the cracked streets. But there was one problem, despite the rich Arab climate, I couldn’t help, but see Israeli flags waving in the air on top of almost each store and Israeli soldiers roaming around with guns everywhere…One nation trapped in a nightmare... this is what it feels like to be in occupation. ​There was always a handkerchief around the neck to choke and remind that the occupation exists as soon one starts feeling like at home.

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Finally, we passed a grand ancient gate. Then I saw it. The Golden Dome. Its gold top shined like the sun in the clear blue sky , its blue and decorative calligraphy that hugs its bottom half around looking like a million dollar masterpiece. I closed my eyes for a second and imagined history being played in front me where millions of people from around the world were at this place for all sorts of reasons- from war to prayer. And then I opened it and saw the same Golden dome, but with new devotees. I made it. T ​ his ​is ​and ​forever​ will be P ​ alestine​.

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Bridging the Gap ​Memoir by Asha, M.

When I was six years old I was enrolled in a very different school than I was used to. English was the primary language, and at that time, I didn’t understand how different this place was going to be. On the first day, my teacher was a white Australian man. I’m pretty sure that was the first white person or at least the first white male I met. He spoke in perfect English, and me, being enrolled just before that in an international school that greatly relied on Arabic, only understood what my limited English could articulate.

“Do you speak English?” he asked with his Australian accent.

“A little.” I said while slowly pinching my thumb and pointer finger to show what I meant by ‘little’.

For the rest of the school year, I found myself starting to dislike my teacher. In projects, I wasn't allowed to be partnered with who I wanted to be with. I was always placed with the girl whose English level was way above mine.

“It was so that I could learn from her,” was what he said.

Though I did understand what he meant, all it did was make me feel like a burden to the people whose English was more advanced. Primarily because they always had to translate some words and sentences to Arabic. I also didn’t enjoy working with them, my ideas and contributions were quickly dismissed by them because my fluency in English (obviously) strongly correlated with my intelligence. What got to me the most was seeing my friend, who also didn’t know much English always partnered up with her (and my) friend. It resulted in severing the trio-friendship we had. I was the extra one in that friendship because their friendship was allowed to develop.

Still, I was determined to learn and improve my English. I wanted to fulfill the expectations that I was starting to burden myself with.

One time I can recall was during recess when I was sitting and reading ​Diary Of A Wimpy Kid, in the shade behind the outside L-shaped stairs. A teachers’ assistant who used to work with me two years ago noticed me and drew near to say hi. She suggested that I read aloud what I was reading, in which I did. Words came out timid but with some flow. She was very glad to tell me that I have gotten better.

Still, I learned and improved.

Arabic is my mother tongue. It's what I grew up speaking with family and friends. I did my best in Arabic class even though I was a bit scared of my teacher. She was strict but she knew how to teach. I learned a great deal from her classes but I regret taking it for granted. When I went to middle school, my new Arabic teacher was horrible. No student could tolerate him for more than one class. I no longer enjoyed going to Arabic because I didn’t learn anything; and so, passed two years of poor Arabic learning. All while I was getting more and more confident in my English skills.

Still, I learned and improved.

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I attended a public school when my family decided to move to Canada, which meant no more Arabic lessons at school. I would spend seven hours a day for five days a week not speaking a single word of Arabic. Not including the fact that a lot of my free time (YouTube videos, books, and Manga) were also in English. A perfect recipe to forget a portion of my Arabic vocabulary.

At that time, I didn’t realize the damage I was doing. I think it was a mixture of starting to become aloof towards my mother tongue and wanting to fit in with my surroundings.

When I went to visit my relatives in Jordan, that's when it hit me. I had a hard time explaining some concepts in Arabic, like when I tried to explain to my aunt the plot of some anime I was watching. I found myself sometimes forgetting some words and stopping mid-sentence, as if I had encountered a mental dead-end. It became apparent to the rest of my family what was happening to me. I was often teased because of it, as I was the ‘that’ cousin who is (too) fluent in English and lives abroad. When the teasing became vexatious I thought:

Oh, how the tables have turned.

Arabic was now my weaker tongue.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Research says language is a key to construct one's identity. I often wonder if I left a part of myself behind when I favoured my progress in English, rather than achieving a balance? Would I have been more accepting and intune with myself? I think life knows how to be difficult no matter which side you take. That’s why both languages are part of my identity. That is why my journey to reclaim my mother tongue began last year. It is as if I’m soul-searching, picking up the pieces I left behind along those eleven years. Searching for my mothers’ love that I missed out on.

Searching.

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Where is home? ​Memoir by Fernandes, N.

An Indian kid born and brought up in a Middle Eastern country *sigh*. I’ve lived all of my 18 years, 3 months and 8 days in Qatar. Not a big fan of this place. Mostly because I’ve been confined to a country that I’m not originally from. But whenever I visited India, it never felt like home--it never felt like it was a place I belonged to. There was a cultural difference -- a language barrier that made me feel so distant.

When I was 10, I was a person who considered myself more superior to other people. Now, I wonder if it was because I knew only english. I don’t know. Local Indian people automatically differentiate between someone who lives in India versus someone who doesn't and therefore, we were treated differently.

“What languages do you know fluently?”

“English.”

“What do you speak at home?”

“English.”

“Just English?”

“Yes.” “Only English?”

“YES!”

For some reason it felt like they found it unusual that I only spoke one language instead of a​ t least two. After all, both my parents came from different states within India.

My mom is from Gujarat and dad is from Goa, two different parts of India with two different cultures. As a product of both of these, I am supposed to know Gujarati 12and Konkani13. Hindi is widely spoken by Indians in multiple states which meant that I was supposed to know a fourth language on top of all the others. I mean…I do understand a small amount of all three languages and to me that was enough.

“Tame kem cho?14” I would say when I’d greet my gujarati cousins. “hav sama assa15” I would reply when someone would ask “how are you?” in konkani.

That’s me only knowing how to ask a question in one language and answer it in another. That’s how limited my knowledge of both languages is.

Living in Qatar, I never felt the need to learn Indian languages. I was perfectly okay with ​just ​English. It only began to bother me in my teenage years.

In India, my family has a tradition of going for Sunday konkani masses. I was never able to understand them, could never participate, and would constantly be asked why I didn't speak Konkani. These are little situations that secluded me. It felt like among a school of ​Marlin’s I was a Pufferfish. I was still a fish, just a very different kind.

12

Gujarati : language spoken in Gujarat.

Konkani : language spoken in Goa. 14 Tame kem cho?: How are you?

15 hav sama assa : I’m good.

13

80

“A tamari bhul che. Tame tamari dikarine gujaratimaṁ bolavanum kem nathi sikhavum?16” My mom’s friends always blamed her for not teaching me Gujarati. But who’s really at fault? My mom? Or me? I never really took an interest in learning it. Since my mom was the only one who knew Gujarati in my family, she felt that it would be unfair to communicate with me in the language because my dad wasn't quite familiar with it.

The only time I considered learning it was when I would try to communicate with my grandmother.

My grandmother only knew Gujarati. Whenever I’d visit her it would be so difficult to communicate with her. She would compromise for my lack of Gujarati by speaking with the few english words she knew.

“Tame kem cho?”

“Hu-m sar ch-uum17” “Tame sum banava muhngo cho?18” *Nods and smiles awkwardly without understanding a word of what was said* “Doctor?”

“Haan19” I agreed in Hindi, even though I had no intention of becoming a doctor.

That was the first time I regretted not knowing the language. I was unhappy that I wasn't able to convey my feelings to my o​ wn ​grandmother.

In Mumbai, I was forced to speak in my broken hindi since people didn't understand english.

One of the days when I was there, I decided to explore Mumbai a little, so I grabbed my oversized cotton handbag and hopped into a yellow rickshaw20where the driver was waiting for money from his previous passenger.

I reached a small souvenir store and went up to the counter to buy a shiny keychain.

“Paisa how much?21” I asked.

“Kya boli?22” the store owner questioned.

“Paisa uncle, paisa23.” I attempted to make him understand.

Obviously, he figured out that I wasn't from Mumbai since my Hindi was lousy. I realized, later, that he took advantage of the situation and charged me extra. Being a non-resident Indian, we are often categorized as another class of Indians. Much like the caste system, I was an “other”. Not speaking in Hindi, meant that I was easy to take advantage of. I wonder how many people experience the exact same thing.

One of my friends told me that I didn’t even have an Indian accent. He began testing me on the Indian Alphabets and pronunciations I learnt for a short while in school.

“You don't sound Indian.”

16

A tamari bhul che. Tame tamari dikarine gujaratimaṁ bolavanum kem nathi sikhavum? : This is your mistake.

Why didn't you teach your daughter to speak in Gujarati.

17 Hu-m sar ch-uum : I’m good.

18 Tame sum banava muhngo cho? : What do you want to become?

19 Haan : Yes 20 Rickshaw : a three wheeled vehicle driven by one person.

21 Paisa how much? : How much money?

22 Kya boli? : What did you say?

23 Paisa uncle, paisa : money, uncle, money.

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“Well, I am!”

I know people coming from different countries have different accents and me not having a ‘strong’ Indian accent is partially because I wasn't raised in India and the other reason was that it didn't seem like an important language to know in Qatar.

“Why haven't you learnt Arabic? You’ve been in Qatar for so long.”

Okay so now, I’m expected to know a​ nother​ language. Great.

I will soon be heading to a different country and am waiting to see what it has in store for me. Now I think differently. According to me, along with language comes identity and culture. One of the very few benefits of being a third culture kid is that I enjoy not tying myself to one location. It's not only about inheriting the culture my parents are originally from. I have the ability to define myself. I have the ability to be different parts of different cultures and create my own and​ that​’s my identity.

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‘True?’ Identity ​Memoir by​ ​Iqbal, S.

“Stop watching cricket, you’re not even fully Pakistani. Stop acting like a Paki wannabe with a Canadian passport.” These were dreaded words growing up as a third culture kid. I felt like I was trapped in a hellish maze not knowing the correct way out to legit please anyone.

In grade 10, I went to Pakistan for the December break. I generally don’t like traveling to Pakistan because I always feel like an alien in my village due to the fact that I am the only kid wearing a t-shirt, jeans, sports shoes, glasses. Basically, what I am trying to say is that ​white spoiled rich boy ​was written all over my forehead when I traveled to Pakistan.

The worst day of my trip was on my second last day in Pakistan, I was forced to go to a ‘fun’ carnival in Islamabad with my brothers and cousins. It was annoying as hell because I just wanted to sit back and relax for the last two days of my stay in Pakistan. Now I was forced to publically interact with people with my already weird enough Urdu skills.

I had the worst possible start in my quest to show my Pakiness. We bought some snacks at the carnival and my cousin and I were arguing like children on who would pay for the snacks because I wanted to pay for everyone. While we were arguing, the cashier noticed my Urdu and asked me “You’re visiting Pakistan, aren’t you?”

I paused. I simply replied “Yes.”

The cashier smiled and then told me that he won’t take money from any visitors so my cousin paid for all the snacks. The fact that the cashier heard me speak and told me that I am clearly a visitor in Pakistan made me feel insulted and it made things worse with finding my identity as my ‘own’ people tell me that I’m not Pakistani enough.

At the carnival, I was surprised to see many half Paki kids like me which made me feel a tad better. I went to ride on the ship swing where we found more half Pakis on the ride as well and they started a conversation with me in English and I could notice their British accent.

One of them asked me, “Do you know Urdu?”

I responded “Meh, kinda”.

They asked to hear me speak so I said a simple sentence in Urdu.

“Kya haal hai, mera naam Saad hai.” (How are you, my name is Saad).

They said, “WOW you know Urdu pretty well”.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or ask them to shut up. They told me they never learned Urdu. For some reason this made me feel much better as I realized I could probably talk to everyone in this carnival because people either know only Urdu or English, but I knew both! Well kinda at least.

Later, a young Pakistani adult who looked in his early 20s came up to me and asked me where I bought my juice from. I told him he replied,“Thank you bhai”.

This simple phrase made me happy as heaven. ‘Bhai’ is used by Pakistanis while talking to other Pakistani’s to tell them that they are family in a way because they are Pakistani. Me being called bhai by another Pakistani was legit the best part of my vacation.

When I look back at this day, I love the fact that I found a way to use English and Urdu at the carnival to help shape my identity.

Does this mean I finally found my true identity?

Well...

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That Document ​Memoir by Nagieb, S. I always feel empty when someone enquires about my nationality. This blue pocket sized document that holds so much significance in the world -which is something I understand- but I feel encaged as I am starting to feel its color painting my identity slowly. It seems like so many criminals and thieves happen to hold an identical document to mine. Again, people assure me everyday: ‘be yourself’ ‘we are all human’ yada yada...but how come I always sense the disappointment on people’s faces when they ask ‘where are you from’ and I respond: Syria?

So much has happened since for the past 8 years when circumstances of my ill belated grandma forced us to visit abroad but little did we know that we will never step foot back in our own home. It is unfortunate and upsetting to see what is happening to my country while I cannot go back or do anything to help my own people, and I do not need you to remind me or sympathize with me, because I am very much aware of the political/humanitarian/destructive situation there.

I have not spent so much of my life in that place, my parents were the travel/unsettling type of employees, and I was not even born in my homeland either. Ironically, some of the best, and most clear memories of my childhood remain in Syria.

I will let my ego down as I write down my feelings in this text for everyone reading, I envy those who value their countries a lot. Especially when I see how everyone gets annoyed by the innocent and funny stereotypes that bring nations together like the ‘funny accents’. Hell, even the ‘lame humour’, when all I seem to be connected to is some terrorist organization or poor refugees crossing borders, or ungrateful economic immigrants leeching off the taxes paid by kind folks who rescued them. Stereotypes which I of course take light-heartedly because I cannot blame the one saying them as I read and read. I find myself too invested in reading comments about us ‘Syrians’ on social media. It is so addictive to see the other perspectives but I figured that I can only take so much.

I realized that those comments might be everyone’s perception of who I am. I suddenly felt like I was trying to swallow something bitter ‘what if all my friends, teachers, neighbors perceived me that way?’ and it was like a wake up call: ‘everyone you know is just being too nice.’ This wave of feelings hit me the most when I moved to an international school where Syria wears a political gown different from the nostalgic, musical, or food-related one I was used to in my old national school. A wave that struck me to remember what is in my purse, that navy blue document.

Yet again, it takes a long period of conversation with people who are -thankfully- willing to listen for them to understand that I do not have ‘Syria’ written all over my forehead, and that I watched Spongebob as a kid so I must be normal. Right? It is an unpleasant taste of reality that not so many -luckily enough- get to experience, but one gets over it. It is one day when you decide to free yourself. Whoever knocks my door is welcome, whether they decide to sit down and enjoy tabbouleh with me, give me the ‘I’m sorry’ puppy eyes look, or ‘get out of my country’ look is not something I will cry about at night or clap for. I was born with character, an interest in enjoying the indoors -and not bothering the host country I live in-, an ambition to get a job I like in the future, and I was born to be an immigrant. For how long? No one knows, but for all I know is that ‘that document’ will remain an explicit part of my identity which I am neither proud nor apologetic for possessing.

84

The Loss of my Soul ​Memoir by Al Mannai, H.

Abnormal cells! Chemotherapy! Tumor! Death becomes embodied in words.

They are the meaning of death to me. In 2018, 9.6 million deaths were caused by cancer. One of the 9.6 million deaths is my grandfather’s. He is a statistic. He is also my soul.

On the 31​st of October 2015, I found out that my soul was about to leave my body. On that day, all of my family were in the hospital waiting for the result of my grandfather’s CT scan. He had been complaining of back pain, so we went to check it out expecting a result showing a slipped disc or pulled muscle. I hadn’t considered any other result because my grandfather was known for his healthy diet, and always being in good physical condition.

On this day, I arrived later in the morning after my family was already introduced to the situation of my grandfather. When I first arrived and was about to enter his room, my mother stopped me right in front of the door, saying “Baba has elkabeeth” 24.

The first thing that jumped out of my mouth was “HA!”. It felt like the sound was pulled back into my throat by force and from the shock of the statement. My face showed an expression of disbelief. My eyes were wide open like an animal caught in the headlights! My face instantly turned a sickly yellow. I reflexively raised my hand to cover my mouth as it was wide open, like after tooth extraction! I stood there motionless. It felt like a crashing weight on my chest that had to be released in some way.

Suddenly, I squeezed my eyes preparing myself to cry and release the shock from my chest. Tears began rolling down my checks onto my chin and mouth, tasting of salt. My mom placed her hands on my arms over my black abaya and walked me away from the room while saying, “Mabeeh ychoufch tseeheen” 25.

She walked me to the waiting area where my cousins were sitting. My uncle Ali (my mother’s only sibling) was there wearing sunglasses to cover his eyes. As soon as he saw me entering with tears rolling down my face, he came up to me and hugged my mother and I together with two heavy arms, laying his right arm on my shoulders while laying the other on my mother. He pulled us both tightly to his chest, causing both of them to start crying. It seemed to me like a dream I’d wake up from as soon as I moved away from my uncle’s chest. But at that point I realized that the terrifying statement my mom told me was actually true.

Three years later, after going through radiation therapy and chemotherapy, it was the day where I had to face my biggest fear of losing my soul. It was the day where my family broke apart. It was the day to say goodbye to my soul. It was the day to say goodbye to all of the nice moments of our family being together. It was the day to say goodbye to that one person that took care of this family and held it together. It was the day to say goodbye to the one that fed me with his two hands, raised me to become who I am, taught me valuable lessons about life, and guided me to the right direction.

Who will yell at me when I don’t eat my food? Who will start getting angry whenever my clothes are found all over the floor? Who will enter my room every night to check on me? Who will massage my back to wake me up every morning?

All of these thoughts were bouncing in my mind.

24

25

Elkabeeth is another word for cancer that is commonly used in the Middle East. ​I don’t want him to see you crying.

85

This was the day when the doctor entered the hospital room where my mom, grandmother, aunts, cousins, and I were sitting around my grandfather and said, “It is just a matter of hours”. How hard is it when you know when your own soul will die? This sentence stabbed my heart like a knife.

On the 29th of May, as always, we were still sitting in this dark room, with the only light coming in from the corridor. The room was full of anxiety and fear of any possible thing that might happen to my grandfather at any moment. The room was quiet except for the sound of the Quran being quietly recited by one of my aunts sitting beside my grandfather. My uncle and some other men were sitting in the waiting room.

I couldn’t take sitting any longer so I decided to stand in front of my grandfather’s bed, and leaned on a wall. I put my two hands behind my back clutching them together tightly as if I was holding my grandfather’s soul to keep it alive. I stood staring at my grandfather’s sick pale face. His white hospital bed smelled like medicine and filled the room with the odour of disinfectant. I stood there counting the seconds between each breath he took.

“1….2….3….4…5..” and he breathed again.

My heart became gripped by fear and I could feel it pulsing between each second horrified from the fact that I may continue counting and he wouldn’t breath again. I looked at him and his chest wasn’t moving. His body was still. I approached saying to my auntie, “Mb gaaed yetnafis!” 26 At this moment, I panicked. I started shouting out the statement again and again while my aunt placed her fingers under his nostrils to check his breath. I went out to the corridor, hysterically calling the nurse. She came to the room with a heart monitor to check my grandfather’s heart beat. I stood in front of the bed squeezing my clenched fists making them turn red while repeating, “laa ellah ela Allah” 27.

It was the most traumatic experience I’ve ever been through.

The room was filled with tension, anticipating the worst. As soon as the nurse removed the pads from his chest, one of my cousins said, “Allah yrhamah” 28.

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He’s not breathing.

There is no god other than God. 28 May God rest his soul, a phrase told when someone is dead.

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Night Demons ​Memoir by Ali, A.

I don't know when my Night Demons exactly started, but I wanna assume it started around when I was the age of 16. Till this very day, I do not know why or in what form my Night Demons kept me up until the very morning of sunrise.

Are they the demons that are in my head and are constantly running a thousand thoughts per mile? Or are they the demons that can't seem to make me close my eyes in the middle of the night?

The funny thing is though, some people out of genuine curiosity ask me, “What is this Night Demon?”

In children’s contexts, it is the Boogeyman or the Monster under their bed who keeps them awake at night. For the adults, it’s insomnia, stress, anxiety, depression, overthinking and so much more--you name it. I could've said that the real name of my Night Demons are overthinking, stresseing, anxiety, pressure, along with the other things that keep me up at night, since the Night Demons traits are similar to those. I just prefered to give it its own persona, because I hate admitting I can't sleep from overthinking or stressing or anything else in general.

Sometimes I think the Night Demons are none other than myself.

All I know is the symptoms of my Night Demons and how they affect me, sometimes, but one thing for sure is I just recently become more aware of my Night Demons. Even though they have lived with me since my childhood--when I was constantly bullied, when nobody was there for me. When I constantly cried myself to sleep, nobody was there for me. While I was busy thinking how to move one from the most hurtful things in life, nobody was there for me to teach me anything ​during my lowest​. My whole life I was a constant shadow of my own reflections and behaviour, sewn by my own precipitation what life is or could be. However, at the end of the day, alongside my other demons, such as the Day Demon or the Hermit Demon, the Night Demon was waiting for me at night to embrace me when nobody was there for me.

I became more aware of my Night Demons when I was 16, I had just transferred schools and felt like it was a fresh start, but not everything goes the way we planned.

Life happens.

Which was having to do with my other demons' fears. Feeling the fear of never having new friends or never being part of a group, because you were an outsider. Never being accepted for my straightforward attitude and personality in comparison to those who were less spoken on what was on their mind and heart. Always being looked down at because being the pushover I was, w ​ hy wouldn't I mind doing anything for you when you didn't give me the chance to breathe or speak out my mind​, because your first assumption of me would be I would do anything and she wouldn't mind or care.

There were more things that added onto the labour of my Night demon, but yet again I just had to deal with it. So what had happened was my other demons within me started to dweldge more into hatred and anger and I was all by myself not knowing what to do with all of this emotional package; I unknowingly gave birth to another demon; The Night Demon.

Eventually, even when I started to learn to accept I don't need others acceptance or approval, or the fact I can and need to depend on myself to survive on my own in life. My Night Demon had become worse than I expected.

I started to miss the days I could go to bed without the Night Demons haunting me, but the sad truth is I realized I had been labouring the Night Demon for so long and was just unaware of it.

Most nights, when my Night Demon gets the best of me, my imagination also gets the best of me. Even though realistically speaking it can’t take a form, I felt and thought I saw the Night Demon lurking in the corner of 87

my rooms on many occasions. Standing there a big glob of shadow, no hand or legs, white dismayed eyes from all the pain it is in. Just thinking about how my Night Demon was real, which it sees, intensifies my irrationality of it making me not sleep, exhausted, tired but mostly cautious of letting it get to me. Sometimes I do go to bed and have the most peaceful nights, but most of my nights, the Night Demon lurks around

Is it the Night Demon that keeps me awake at night or is it me who calls for the Night Demon to keep me up at night?

I may not know the answer, or more like I do not want to know the answer,but one thing is for sure, one day I will have to face my Night Demons, embrace them and move on. I salute those coming peaceful nights without my Night Demons and I pray for a better self for those demeaning nights when the Night Demons are lurking around the corner of my room, waiting to embrace, yet again.

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Negative Things Brings Positive Results ​Memoir by Landayan, J. C.

I stood in a crowded hall full of students, teachers, coming from places not only where I live, but also from distant far away land, and I stood there - all alone. I was exhausted - both physically and emotionally. Physically, because I took a long trip to get there. I came from my school, where there was an engagement celebrating our school’s international identity. I went home, to change my attire from something cultural into something business formal. Then I went to that place where I stood. If you’d draw it, my trip was horseshoe shaped. Then there’s the emotional exhaustion. When I first came to my school, I thought that would be a place where I can finally do most of the things I wished I knew earlier. It’s closely connected to where I want to be, so I thought everything would be easy. I judge fairly, I won’t entirely discredit that place, after all, thanks to them, I got a special, invaluable gift that is difficult to repay. I was just disappointed at the fact that months before, I tried to ask for support and blessing from my teachers or the administration so that I wouldn’t be the lone guy, all I got were several excuses.

“​Sorry, but we can only go to two conferences​”

(Why can other schools attend multiple events during a year, but we cannot? Also, we ended up doing one, officially)

“​We can’t give you guys official support because we cannot do a safety assessment …​ ”

(Uhm, aren’t you guys within this one giant group?

Also, you guys are within the same area? How can you not do that?)

Initially, I tried to do a workaround. I tried to find a teacher willing enough to help, I also tried to assemble a rag-tag team of students desiring to participate. It went smoothly - for the most part. The teacher was effectively blocked to aid us, so we had to go alone. I thought we could do part two, but none of them responded back. Was it because they got busy? Lack of Interest? Lack of Passion? I don’t know. It seemed futile to me to continuously poke and make my case to what appeared to me a hopeless cause. I just resolved to go on my own, independently.

Back to where I was, a ceremony took place - the opening ceremony for an MUN conference. We were told afterwards to move to our committee rooms. Again, I was alone that day, so I moved across the hall to the room and I sat at the far corner, alone. When it came to the “introduction portion” of the session, I felt insecure about saying which school I go to. I am proud to be part of that family, but that family wasn’t with me there. When it came my turn, I remember saying the following:

“​Hi, my name is …, and I’m the Delegate of Malta.

I go to [my school] - BUT - for the conference, I am an independent delegate.​”

It honestly felt weird to me, most of them were able to say which school they came from. Most of them had schoolmates to talk to during breaks or what not, they got teacher-advisors who they got to consult with. For me, I got no one, I was a one-man army for the duration of that conference.

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Initially, it felt boring, the conference ran in a format that I wasn’t used to, I couldn’t send notes to someone I knew in the same committee because we went to the same school nor could I secretly text the group if anyone’s bored so I could sneak out and hang out with time. With no choice, I forced my tired, exhausted self to listen and try to get some key points in the speeches during that boring session. Then the session ended, we got some food packs for dinner and I got to socialize a little bit with my committee. I found out that some are in the same situation as I am, some may have those things I wished I had, but felt isolated or thought they were of no help to them, and there were those who had those things I desired and enjoyed the company of them. I slowly got comfy with them, then we were told to pack up for the day’s (or night’s) session, for the scheduled time has elapsed.

The next day, I entered the room having a relatively positive mood. Before the session started, I got to socialize even more as I tried to lobby my own resolution and then debates started. Even though my country wasn’t that heard of, even some don’t know where Malta is located, I participated. I spoke about my country’s policy, I introduced my draft resolution, and argued for my points. I also scrutinized the policies introduced by other delegates and counter-criticized any criticisms to my arguments. My active participation has attracted the attention of several like-minded delegates who later became my allies in the resolutions I worked on during the entirety of the conference. I sat with them during the break, where I discovered a lot of interesting things common between us. It was, to me, one of the best experiences I had. These new found friends were simply different from the people from my school who normally participated in events like these. Experiences like these occur extraordinarily with people from my school, as they wished to talk or do other things instead. I guess it was just ok after all, I did not have peers from my school in this event. The sessions for that day ended uneventfully for me, the first resolution I worked on failed to pass, but I never had the full confidence to speak, exacerbated by the fact that no one would take my points seriously due to the obscurity of my country, but never mind about that. I looked forward to going to the Cultural Night party later that night.

Cultural Night. I was there, all alone, on a Friday night party… or so I thought. I bumped into a few of my new found friends in my committee, I saw some of the other delegates I worked with in past conferences I attended with my school. However, what really brought joy (as I believed so) was when I got to have an informal reunion with people from my old school. I missed them so much, even though I was only gone for nearly two years. My first conference after all, was with them, where I was one of the pioneer students in doing MUN. That reunion just bought me back a lot of memories and left me feeling a little bit of homes, primarily due to the thing that if say I wanted official support to go to events like these, the people in that school would really go out of their way just to ensure I wouldn’t go alone to a conference like this. Deep inside, I was crying of a mix of joy and sadness. I spent most of the night with them, having fun partying, dancing, eating, taking wacky pictures, e​ t cetera​.

However, as the night went on, it seemed like reality had struck me. I was there, I knew the people, for they were my teachers, my old classmates, my friends, even my old crush, who never showed interest in things like this before. However, I can no longer catch up with all that has happened after I left. The things I missed were still there but things have changed that I can no longer relate. Then came the time when the party ended, so I bid my farewell to them.

The following morning, Saturday’s events were basically a repeat of the day before, small socialization, then debates. Except this time, I changed things. I accepted several of the realities that have struck me during the course of the event. I accepted that I’m alone, I accepted that the things I desired in the past had gone, and also, I accepted the fact that I'm an obscure country. If I want things to happen my way, I can only achieve this if I’ll stand proudly and speak confidently when arguing for my points. So I did, I decided to let go of the fears that held me back and forgot the things that hampered me. I stood there, rebutting points, coming up with counter arguments from my memory of international events and/or laws. All I did was to have fun and live in the moment.

Because of that, I achieved one of my goals - to pass a resolution. Man, I was so happy because of that.

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Sunday, there were no more sessions, it was just the closing ceremonies. In fact, I could have chosen to skip this and instead go to school. I chose instead to do the opposite, for I felt something inside my gut that I should be there so I went. I arrived, there were tables set, I looked for the friends I met during the event and we sat together. The ceremony started with a quick flashback of all the events that unfolded during the conference.

What came after that, were a few speeches by the organizers. Later, the chairs of all committees each went up the podium and announced the outstanding delegates of each committee. That’s when I found out why my gut was telling me to go here instead - I actually won an award, The Best Delegate award. To me it marked the prime of my experience doing MUNs. Everyone I knew, like my fellow delegates, my long-time friends, and my old school cheered for my win. After the ceremonies were over, we ate lunch, shared last minute memories, took group photos, before we go back to the things waiting for us outside - which is our school life. In the end, I walked all alone from that hall where the ceremony was held to the metro station, which I took as my ride back to my home.

Reflecting on those experiences, I think it is ok to have several disappointing things to happen in your life.

Say the lack of support from what you consider family, the idea of being alone or obscure, or even the realization that the things you experienced in the past is already gone. Sometimes, these things can help you rediscover and redefine who you are, helping you to grow up, rely on yourself more, and improve your performance in living your life. You have to realize these pains for you to cathart and reinvent yourself. Maybe if I had the reverse of these things, I may not have acted the way that led me to the success I imagined. So I guess I’m thankful, for these negative things I experienced, because without these, I may not have achieved the positive results I received.

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Unsolved D’Souza, K. Watercolor 20cm x 16 cm

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CHAPTER 5: Documentary Film and Bandes Desinee

When one contemplates what ​is​ or is​ not​ ‘literary,’ oft forgotten is imagery and curating a feeling through line and editing and music and …

pause.

Documentary film takes on six official formats. SIMA and Global Oneness host some incredible fodder for this unit. That is moving pictures told thematically with a specific genre. In terms of images that move through time via gutters but are stills, we studied the translated text ​Aya of Yop City​ by Abouet.

Students jigsawed basics from Mcloud’s ​Understanding Comics; The Invisible Art and learned about semiotics and color theory as well and the time-space-continuum in gutters. They presented their FOAs (Further Oral Activities) to reveal their in-depth knowledge. They Created their own documentary films in QNLs Innovation Station and analyzed TCK (Third Culture Kids) documentary film that bordered on advertising while recognizing bias.

For this chapter, students synthesized a documentary and wrote a rationale that connected the concept to a mini graphic novel (also known as bandes desinee, which is, in fact, different to graphic novels) to reveal their ideas. What resulted is visual and provides a glimpse into the depth and breadth of this cohort.

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Stolen Jam and Hopes​ Docu-Comic by Nagieb, S.

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‘SEEDING FEAR’, a short documentary film that inspired me to create my small comic: ​‘Stolen Jam and Hopes.’

Watching the film answered some of my doubts about the ethics of modern agriculture. The film features a traditional American farmer whose father struggled with lawsuits against modern pharmaceutical food production corporations over his seed production. The documentary raised the following question in my mind ‘why would the synthetic pharmaceutical industry cross paths with natural agriculture?’

I trust that ‘SEEDING FEAR’ features a real demonstration of a significant message for viewers: supporting traditional farmers. I believe that it is artists’ and filmmakers' opportunity to encourage consumption of naturally produced seeds. Not only does the involvement of pharmaceuticals and GMO foods expose our health to uncertain side effects in the long term, but also reflect the greed of mass producers at the expense of small farm business owners that have the right to invest and grow with loyal customers.

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Unity Through Independence​ Docu-Comic by Asha, M.

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The two films that were taken as inspiration for “Unity through Independance“ are ​Vital Voices: Manal Yaish Zraiq and ​Second Cycles. In ​Second Cycles​, Nichalou opens a bike shop/social business, creating jobs for his poor neighborhood. He understands that his country suffers from poverty and unemployment and thus he tries to change that. While in ​Vital Voices​, the film explores a multibillion dollar project city for Palestinians built by Palestinians through the point of view of the ambitious Manal who is one of leaders in this project. She tries to prove that Palestinians are able to work together to create a more promising future for themselves. Like, Nicholou, Manal is proud of the fact that she is helping her people by giving them positions to work on this project. She believes in her people's ability to Negotiate Change. Both of these films share the common theme of Negotiating Change, to be more specific, each film explores different groups of people in which an individual or a group of individuals take an independant stand to improve the life of their people by trying to change their existing conditions, by including their own people. Essentially they are making independent decisions that would lead to the unity of their people, this inspired my title. I connected this to my graphic novel by trying to essentially give the same message. In which by having the main character, a bird and human hybrid, try to talk directly to the reader and convince them to think like the main characters of those two films.

I connected with these two films particularly because even though I haven’t exactly gone through their experiences, I still know what it feels like to be unsatisfied with how your surrroundings work and try to negotiate change. The film that was able to shed some new light on the Arab world for me was ​Vital Voices (it's the only one that takes place there). I had no idea whatsoever about this city project (considering that it’s complete by now) as it opened my eyes about what's going on in Arab countries. I was also happy to see people taking matters into their own hands to change their lives for the better. Both of these films inspired me to start thinking about creative ways in which our communities can be improved. Especially ​Second Cycles because its bicycle project seems more realistic (compared to a city) for someone like me. I strongly believe that others should watch these two films because they really give you a new insight on how different parts of the world are negotiating change depending on their struggles that their own communities are trying to overcome.

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Save Qatar’s Mangroves​ Docu-Comic by Al-Manai, H.

The film I watched is “Anthropocene: Dandora.” I used this film to help me create my bandes dessinee. I created my bandes dessinee by connecting the concept of cleaning up what humans have thrown away from my past experience at The Middle School Model United Nation trip to the mangroves forest. I first thought of the concept when I saw the scenes of people cleaning up and picking the waste of the ground. I remembered the time when we were on a trip cleaning up the beach. Similarly to the film, I added frames of the delegates picking up the waste of the ground. Furthermore, the film used text to clarify the visuals which I also used in the graphic novel in order for the reader to better understand the visuals.

After looking at the visuals and connecting it to my past experience, I began to think of the theme which is environment and recycling. These two concepts best fit both the film and my bandes dessinee. This is because both the film and my bandes dessinee cover the concept of cleaning the ecosystem and recycling the items that were improperly disposed of by humans. When we did the beach clean-up we took the big garbage bags back to the conference building so they could recycle the items we found. Just like the film, they picked them up and took them for recycling. These two themes are connected to having one same message. The overall message of both the film and my graphic novel is that humans throw their waste without taking responsibility for the items they use and places they visit which will eventually cause environmental harm and contribute to climate change.

These thoughts made me name my graphic novel, Save Qatar’s mangroves. I chose to make it specific and personal for the reader to understand one of the importance of preserving and protecting the environment. It also covers the overall topic of the graphic novel which is a trip to the mangroves forest to clean up human waste. This also connects to the film as their clean up is also saving their lands and lives while our clean up saved Qatar’s mangroves forest. Both the film and the graphic novel illustrates a bigger picture of how cleanup and recycling help save the environment from ​marking the Anthropocene in geological time.

Moreover, I can personally connect with the film in my current daily life as Qatar is now burning waste which is one of the ways to get rid of waste. While the film is using landfills to get rid of waste which negatively affects the environment, the method Qatar is using also harms the environment. Both also harm human beings as they also cause pollution.

The film does not break any stereotypes about the Arab world, however, it gave me a new perspective on the motives that make people want to clean up waste. The perspective I gained from the film is connecting business to preserving the environment. These people who clean up the waste in the landfills then take it for recycling in order to resale them to gain income. This inspired me to think of cleaning up waste in a beneficial way to gain income at the same time while helping the environment. In addition, I tried implementing ideas from the film in my graphic novel where I added thought bubbles as the boy is thinking of recycling in another perspective which is business just like film. This is one way of presenting the perspective and knowledge I gained from watching the film through implementing it in the graphic novel.

I believe that others should watch the film as it provides a new perspective on the usage of recycled items. It is also inspiring in the fact that people base their living on recycling other people’s dumped waste. It also gives a motive in participating in clean-up activities as the video shows how the people work as a team to achieve for what they intended to go.

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Empowering Individuals​ Docu-Comic by Fernandes, N.

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Dignity with flowers made me realise one of the many issues my home country faces. My bande dessinee represents this one form of slavery and the importance of spreading awareness to the right people so that appropriate and needed actions are taken.

I have decided to title it ​“Empowering Individuals”​. Although only women are addressed in this bande dessinee, a great number of women, men and children stay in terrible conditions because they don’t have a guaranteed income. Along with coming to a self-realization about my country. It has inspired me to continue this awareness in some form and hopefully start or invest in a project like this in the future.

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The film from SIMA I connected was #ISURVIVEDEBOLA: FODAY, LIBERIA. I immediately thought about how similar the ebola and coronavirus outbreaks were/are. The theme of the documentary was health and hope.

Ever since the outbreak, I wonder what life is going to be like after we’re safe again. I built my comic around the title. I think it’s relatable because everyone likes to predict what’s going to happen, whether it’s because they're anxious or curious.

The film inspired me to think positively and focus on what I already have; good health. I think other people should watch the film because it’s short and also because it might help them cope with the current situation.

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The Harder Choice​ Docu-Comic by Khalid, L.

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My comic, ‘The harder choice’ was inspired by the two films ‘Fledgeling’ and ‘A way forward’. In both of these films, there was an explored theme of struggle as a result of a common global issue. However, this issue, although largely evident, wasn’t always the main focus of the film. In both of these films, there was also the presence of an inanimate or non-human object portrayed as being representational to an abstract concept that helped the characters deal with their struggle. In Fledgling, the little boy carried an old cloth that he viewed as a bird, as he dealt with the struggles of growing up in a refugee camp. Despite the global issue surrounding Syrian refugees, the film focused on the young boy and his ‘bird’ that later flew away from him. I interpreted the bird as symbolising a sense of freedom (that later took off without the boy). In ‘A way forward’, the film followed two girls - Angela and Dianah - in order to explore the struggles faced by young girls and women in Kenya. The inanimate object in this film bicycles that, in any other context, would seem trivial. However, in this film, the bicycles helped the girls to travel to school safely and quickly. This film broke the stereotypes of gender roles in Kenya by encouraging their girls to seek an education in order to attend university in the future. It is a film that can relate to my life since there are similar taboos in my country of origin and I’ve observed the struggles faced by women first hand. I would recommend people to watch these films as they are short but raise awareness of some important global issues.

They’ve inspired me to not only appreciate what I take for granted but to also find comfort in the trivial objects in life.

In my comic, I wanted to incorporate the theme of struggle but also the inanimate/non-human object seen in both films. In my comic, the girl struggles with household/domestic issues. Yet the focus of the comic is her interaction with the boy who has helped her escape and run away from her struggles rather learning to cope and deal with them. The last frame of the comic is the boy’s hat and him flying off in the distance. Here, it shows that the boy’s hat may now become her trivial object of comfort. I chose to title my comic ‘The harder choice’ because of the obvious ‘hard choice’ that the character had to make in order to learn to face issues. She chose to face her problems which meant that she could no longer see the boy.

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Decision Making​ Docu-Comic by Landayan, J. C Themes: Citizenship, Rights, and Political Participation

To create my graphic novel project, I looked into several SIMA classroom films for inspiration. Of those that I have watched, the videos that piqued my interest the most and inspired me to create my graphic novel were “Citizen Next”, “Foreign Entanglements”, and “So You Think You Can Vote.” It connects to my graphic novel because these videos were made primarily to raise voter awareness and realities of voting situations around the USA, which I tried, in my own way, to highlight in my graphic novel. The title of my novel is “Decision Making” and it is about raising awareness on the importance of having the right to vote and why it is a privilege to be cherished.

Voting issues in America don't directly relate to me in any way, as I am no American citizen, nor do I intend on planning on being one. However, I am highly fascinated with ideas regarding citizenship, rights, and political participation, which were themes explored in the films. Since the topics explored in the films were focused primarily on America, there is nothing featured that changed my views on the Arab Word in the films. It inspired me in why I should cherish my voting rights as a Filipino citizen, and why is it important for me to participate in elections. I strongly urge everyone who is a citizen of any country granted with the right or privilege to political engagement should watch the films and reflect on the topics in order to appreciate their said rights or privilege.

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A Cultural Portrait of Women Empowerment, Nationality, Ethnicity and Al​l Docu-Comic by Ali, A. After having watched my three selected videos, I realized a theme that connects them together and it was a theme I have decided to focus on; which was Woman Empowerment. The videos represented from different angles, perspectives, people, cultural and film concepts made me also want to speak up about the different aspects about Woman Empowerment, especially since I live in an arab community but was taught in an international school. It helped inspire me to create a graphic novel where I embrace women empowerment from different angles and perstives and not just for its struggles. Since I got this broad yet decent idea from these videos, I hope those who also watch it or read my graphic novel; see the different aspects of women empowerment and embrace it not as a struggle but more of a as who they are as a woman.

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Giving Up is Never a Choice​ Docu-Comic by Abu-Nabaa, S. The graphic novel was created to represent the film #ISURVIVEDEBOLA: FODAY, LIBERIA. The film describes how a young medical worker who has sacrificed his life in treating those infected with Ebola, put himself to a near-death experience once as he too was infected with the Ebola virus as he was saving another little boy’s life. Having Ebola usually meant having a death sentence, but not only was he able to survive it to tell the story, but also to carry on helping people receive aid as a medical worker. This medical worker’s courage and love to be a risk-taker in saving lives even though his own life is in danger is the same theme that the graphic novel, ​Giving Up is Never a Choice shares. Giving Up is Never a Choice is about how an older sister was risking her fears and her life as she saved herself and her sister from their house lit on fire and was able to make it out alive.

I can relate to the film, #ISURVIVEDEBOLA: FODAY, LIBERIA, in how much I care about helping people and how I want to contribute every day of my life in where if I receive something, I should give back (not only to the person who gave me, but to others). Especially when the question, “What would you do with a million dollars?” My typical response would be to give it all to the poor, so I can at least impact other people’s lives positively just like the medical worker. The only stereotype that was broken for me for the African world is that they are not as strict and strong as I thought they were since the medical worker proved otherwise. Furthermore my stereotypes (unfortunately believed because of the Ebola song) were definitely broken as I saw how serious this virus was putting whole families in the graveyard. The film inspired me to respect the medical workers a lot more because I had no idea of how difficult and dangerous it was to deal with a pandemic. Others should learn from this film, so they could be inspired like me and have better respect for the Ebola situation and Liberia’s heroes as they deserve much more appreciation- especially because they live in a poor environment and are saving lives, unlike Qatar with all the medical necessities near.

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APPENDIX: Principal and Teacher submissions

A Letter from Dr. Carolyn Mason-Parker, Secondary Principal

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A Letter from Mr. Craggs, TOK Educator and DP Coordinator On Motivation: a​ letter of admiration and appreciation to the Class of 2020

The single most abiding impression I have had with this class is the almost universal sense of your ​intrinsic motivation to meet and exceed your own potential​. This is the quality that many high school teachers hope to inculcate in their students, and that I feel is the most important aspect of my vocation as DPC. To help you identify and achieve your potential; to stimulate and provoke the development of your love of learning, to support your desire to be successful and be the best you can be, in whatever field or specialism you choose.

By the time you are adults you will have said goodbye to that desire to please your parents or impress your teacher. Of course, you will always want your family to be proud of you; to recognise your accomplishments; to honour all the hard work you have invested in your own education. But by now it should be about ​your ideas of your future self​, not (just) achieving what your parents wanted for you. You will have said goodbye to trying to impress a teacher (and to wanting to wind them up, or give them the least possible work to get them off your backs). Of course you want them to recognise and appreciate your achievements and successes, and you may wish they had seen more of what you gave them. But by now it should be about your own measures of success; ​your own sense of accomplishment​.

This is the core of ​intrinsic motivation​. That elusive and ill-defined quality The Class of 2020 has ​in abundance​. And I have loved watching you develop, define, refine and prosper from it. To adapt a quote from US President Eisenhower, ‘Leadership is the art of getting someone else to do something you want done because he wants to do it.’ I say that education in general, and Diploma Programme leadership specifically, is the craft of getting students to do their best because they want to do it. Thanks for making this as effective and rewarding as it has ever been.

I know that is has not always been easy. You have had setbacks and knockbacks, been stuck in the doldrums, got lost along the way, wasted so much time you could kick yourself. Some of you have struggled with organisation, time-management, resilience and patience. Others have wrestled with your own ambitions and high demands. Each of you has your own character, approach to school and learning, and your own quirks. (Did I just imply that you were a bunch of weirdoes?) But trust me when I say that it has been a very long time since I have seen ​a class so consistently determined to do and be their best​. And I’ve seen more than a few classes graduate. I celebrate, admire and salute you. All of you. And I’m sure I shall miss you for a long time to come.

Finally, you in turn have been the inspiration for me to become the best DPC I could be. To always have your back, whether to steady you as you wobbled, catch you when you fell, or bark at your heels when you needed a little extrinsic motivation. To serve, inspire and encourage you better than I have other classes before.

So thank you for inspiring me to raise my own levels of intrinsic motivation. And for all the laughter along the way.

Be happy, well, successful and appreciative of your self.

Mr. Craggs

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The story of the class 2020! By Elizabeth Sawant, your smiling & optimistic teacher Dear students, How do you want to remember this time?

You may be stuck at home, but you are safe.

Embrace this test as history is what you are creating, in this test of time.

You fell asleep in one world and woke up in another.

The streets of Corniche were not let to spend- The boardwalks were empty and water calmy contend.

The hugs and kisses were off for a reason!

Masks and gloves were the need of the season- Schools were online and Laptop screens were the learning line- Meeting friends and family online were the rays of sunshine.

Then rolled the news,IB exam were on still - Questions of the tomorrow gave us shrilled chills.

Is work for the past two years really a blink or to think?

Your brain relaxed, your emotions raise- your reactions were cared and attitudes paved.

Kindness, cheers and patience were the winning leads in the head You accepted and here you are to share - Creating and living history, an unparalleled glare.

Gladly, the world will heal and continue- Then one day, You will visit your school in your lifetime- I mean to Qatar Academy Sidra, which was once your school time…

Soon, dawns a new horizon- In years, your children will study these times how you came together and were fine.

You will be nostalgic, you will rewind and smile The question still underlined….

How do you want to remember this time?

Your fun, your friends and teachers and your graduation time!

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‫أﻋﺰاﺋﻲ ﻃﻼب اﻟﺼﻒ اﻟﺜﺎﻧﻲ ﻋﺸﺮ‬ .‫ ﺧﺎﺻﺔ ﻃﻼﺑﻲ اﻟﺬﯾﻦ درﺳﺘﻬﻢ ﻣﺎدة اﻟﻠﻐﺔ واﻷدب‬،‫ﻟﻘﺪ ﻛﻨﺘﻢ ﺟﻤﯿﻌﺎ ﻣﻦ أروع اﻟﻄﻼب اﻟﺬﯾﻦ ﻧﺸﻬﺪ ﻟﻬﻢ ﺑﺎﻟﻨﺸﺎط واﻻﺟﺘﻬﺎد‬ .‫ ﻫﺎدئ اﻟﻄﺒﺎع واﻛﺘﺴﺐ ﻣﺤﺒﺔ ﻣﻦ ﺗﻌﺎﻣﻞ ﻣﻌﻪ ﺑﺄﺧﻼﻗﻪ اﻟﺠﻤﯿﻠﺔ‬،‫ﻓﻘﺪ ﻛﺎن ﺳﺎﻟﻢ ﻣﻨﺬ أن درﺳﺘﻪ ﻃﺎﻟﺒﺎ ﻣﺠﺘﻬﺪا ﺧﻠﻮﻗﺎ‬ ‫ وﻛﻢ ﻛﺎﻧﺖ ﻣﺠﺘﻬﺪة‬،‫وﺷﻬﺪ اﻟﺘﻲ اﻧﻀﻤﺖ إﻟﻰ ﻣﺠﺘﻤﻊ ﺳﺪرة ﻣﻨﺬ ﻋﺎﻣﯿﻦ ﻓﻘﻂ إﻻ أﻧﻬﺎ اﺳﺘﻄﺎﻋﺖ أن ﺗﻜﺴﺐ ﺣﺐ واﺣﺘﺮام ﻛﻞ ﻣﻦ ﺗﻌﺎﻣﻞ ﻣﻌﻬﺎ‬ .‫وﺷﻐﻮﻓﺔ ﺑﺘﻌﻠﻢ اﻟﻠﻐﺔ اﻟﻌﺮﺑﯿﺔ‬ ‫ وﻗﺪ ﻻﺣﻈﺖ‬،‫ ﻓﻜﺎﻧﺖ ﻣﺜﺎﻻ ﻟﻠﻨﺸﺎط واﻻﺟﺘﻬﺎد وﻣﺴﺎﻋﺪة اﻷﺧﺮﯾﻦ‬،‫وﻫﺪى اﻟﺘﻲ ﺗﻌﺪ أﻗﺪم ﻃﺎﻟﺒﺔ وأول ﻣﻦ درﺳﺘﻬﻢ ﻓﻲ أﻛﺎدﯾﻤﯿﺔ اﻟﺴﺪرة‬ .‫اﺟﺘﻬﺎدﻫﺎ وﺣﺮﺻﻬﺎ ﻋﻠﻰ اﻟﺘﻌﻠﻢ وإﺛﺒﺎت ذاﺗﻬﺎ‬ ‫ وﻛﻢ‬،‫ وﺗﻌﻠﻢ اﻟﻠﻐﺔ اﻟﻌﺮﺑﯿﺔ‬،‫ ﻛﺎﻧﺖ ﺣﺮﯾﺼﺔ أﯾﻀﺎ ﻋﻠﻰ إﺛﺒﺎت ذاﺗﻬﺎ‬،‫ اﻟﺘﻲ اﻧﻀﻤﺖ إﻟﻰ ﻣﺠﺘﻤﻊ اﻟﺴﺪرة ﻣﻨﺬ ﻋﺎﻣﯿﻦ ﻓﻘﻂ‬،‫وأﺧﯿﺮا ﻣﺮﯾﻢ‬ .‫اﻣﺘﺎزت أﯾﻀﺎ ﺑﻄﺒﺎﻋﻬﺎ اﻟﻬﺎدﺋﺔ وأﺧﻼﻗﻬﺎ اﻟﻤﺘﺴﺎﻣﺤﺔ‬ . ‫أﺗﻤﻨﻰ ﻟﻜﻢ ﺟﻤﯿﻌﺎ ﻃﻼﺑﻲ اﻷﻋﺰاء ﻣﺴﺘﻘﺒﻼ ﻣﺸﺮﻗﺎ‬ ‫أﺳﺘﺎذ ﻣﺤﻤﻮد ﺣﺴﻨﻲ‬ Dear G12 students You have all been the most amazing students we have taught. It was clear how capable, vigorous and diligent, especially my students who have studied the subject of Arabic language and literature [LL Salem​, from the beginning I saw a well-mannered, diligent, creative and calm person. He's able to gain all of our love and assist because of his good manner Shahad​, joined the Sidra community only two years ago, but she was able to win the love and respect of everyone who met her, and how hardworking and passionate she was to learn the Arabic language Huda, ​is the oldest student and the first person I taught in Sidra Academy. She was a great model of the student who is capable, sensitive, helpful and always supports others. She is acknowledged for her diligence, her eagerness to learn and prove herself Finally​, Maryam​, who joined the Sidra community only two years ago, was also keen to prove herself and learn the Arabic language. She is distinguished through demonstration of her calm nature and tolerant morals I wish you all, my dear students a right future Mr. Mahmoud Hosni

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Dear Grade 12 Students, When I graduated back in 1990, my best friend's mom gifted me this book from Dr. Seuss, "Oh the places you'll go!"

I found this book to be perfectly timed for me. Wishing now I would have read it a couple more times during my first few years of college.......Since I can't buy you all copies, I'll send a digital version. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIeZktBXbfo I sent a version read by a man, so I'm hoping you can imagine me reading it to you...... ;-) Also, as I was reading through this book again, I was struck by the lack of female pronouns.... so, if you need.... change any word "guy" with "gal" or just consider it a collective generic noun :-) I bring that up, just to highlight how strong all of you are truly no limits for any of you going forward.

Bless you all and best of luck whether you are training to be a doctor or drive a truck. And stay connected with each other and don't forget to call your mother. Don't forget us at Sidra.

We are all here to help and support no matter how successful you become with medicine or art or sport.

Best Wishes Always, Tyler Herbst

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Dear Seniors,

May your energy and drive take you far. I am in awe of your growth. I am excited that you each have kept your own personality and maintained strength throughout the two years. I am proud of your friendship with each other and the team work you have displayed in order to support one another. Despite challenges we may have faced together, I am beyond grateful to have had you all as my students and was disappointed that our journey was cut short.

You are strong

You are resilient

You are hope

You are your dreams

Thank you for sharing so much of yourselves in our class, you have inspired me in many ways. Hearing your passion for subjects and certain topics gave me the interest to explore, too. For example, your debates over

Americanah m ​ ade me devour the book within a week. The stories you've shared about your own countries and traditions, made me want to travel there so I can experience them, too.

You're the most strong minded, compassionate and energy full cohort I've had the privilege to teach and I hope you continue to shine your light wherever you go next.

Best, Ayan Said

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Dear QAS Class of 2020, First of all, I am thankful for being given the honor and a platform to say some of the things I wanted to share with you but mostly to share my happiness about this new beginning of yours.

As I am writing this, I remember my own graduation and the phrase I heard as a graduate from our speaker:: “Achievable goals are the first step to self-improvement!” Good advice yes? But was it what I needed to hear?

And what should I tell you now, especially at this time?

I ask myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation. I have come up with two answers: the first is the benefits of discomfort and the second is empathy. So, I have decided to tell you about the benefits of discomfort, which you know very well as you have just survived the Diploma Programme. Well done!

But also because you are surviving something much bigger! Anthropologically, I would place it to the next battle between individualism and collectivism. I am sure you got to constitute what discomfort means to you by now!

Maybe this sounds like a cliche!

Nevertheless though, borrowing some data from collective psychology, our politics right now is ‘triggered’. It comes from a place of chronic anxiety, hyper-vigilance, and threat perception that ripples easily through our collective digital central nervous system. But overall, we invest almost nothing in preventive strategies to help us be resilient citizens who can consciously decide how to respond even when we’re anxious or afraid. That needs to change if we want something different but worse polarisation in the future.

Second, there are our feelings of powerlessness. In our lives and relationships; in work, in school, in our communities, and everything suggests something needs to change? Maybe something to teach self-awareness, self-care, and bridge-building?

Third and finally, we face an epidemic of disconnection – and research suggests loneliness is as harmful as smoking, and worse than obesity.

I have faith in your talents and in your skills ...

Until then, don’t be afraid, just follow experiences and not things, follow friends and not likes, follow challenges and not comfort. At the same time expose yourself to multiple perspectives and learn to understand, respect and implement another individual’s point of view.

I consider myself privileged to have been able to be your counselor.

Kindly Aristea

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The Poem I Wrote to Read at your Graduation but instead I read it on Zoom Kandido, M. A.

I have students whose mothertongue is HYPERBOLE. Others, fluent in onomatopoeiatic opinions.

Some speak in questions during their quest to find their own mind.

I have students who will NOT “Be something w ​ hen​ they grow up.”

For they are GREAT beings ​NOW​.

They are thinkers & communicators & writers.

They are athletes & friends & leaders.

They are musicians & poets & artists.

They are allies & similes & metaphors & Much, much More.

Dear students, do not allow people to tell you that “You ​will​ be great s​ omeday​”.

Forget this archaic blueprint of future-tense hierarchical thinking.

You are great RIGHT NOW. Yes, you will grow in your greatness as you gain more experiences But that does not lessen Nor contradict the greatness you are in THIS moment

Dear present-tense pupils, it is an insult to think that you can only do things in the future.

I do not wait for you to grow up to be great in my classroom.

I refuse to wait because I need the same immediate gratification that you do.

You are great as you are.

Not later.

Not is some sprawling/ mystical/ subsequent moment.

Now.

You are capable of service, kindness, and hard work.

You are capable of questioning authority and should do so often 136

(sorry-not-sorry parents, fellow educators and other adults, but without inquiry, we will still be embedded by boundaries if we continue to tell our students not to bombard the fences with the agency of their voices.)

Students, what you intuit from your hearts IS THE art of humanity’s supernatural power.

You are the ones that with metamorphosize and supersize dreams while others are focused on their value meals.

You challenge the single story narrative with Adichie.

You search for your mothers’ gardens with Walker.

You wander your dust tracked roads with Hurston.

You are the photographers and documentarians effervescently windmilling and outmaneuvering the bad news that surrounds us.

School is not just about moving the mind.

You move your hands and feet to find ways to serve others.

You remove the L from oblivious so that generosity is obvious.

You are cartographers interrogating reality, redefining the impossible, resisting inertia, reviving iridescent perspectives that build temples of hope.

To be in a room observing you recognizing your power to improve your place of existence is like a lightning bolt hitting my heart, like being inspired by the divine, like a defibrillator for the educator who worries about our world.

Students, hear me, please.

Do what you love.

But, also, do things that are hard.

They make you better.

Do what your heart tells you to do AFTER your brain has given it some thought.

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Say what you have the courage to say, But know that silence has its own beauty.

Know that life is not fair.

It never will be.

Because even when you are right, you will be left to your own devices in the juxtaposition of life.

Remember, there is no ‘right’ answer.

But there are tests.

You are not the sum of all your test scores.

You are not the total of all your volunteer hours.

You are not all of your mistakes.

You are not last year’s grades, nor this year’s report card.

You are not the school you attended nor the college of your future.

You can NOT be summed up--and those who think you can be are the people you need to question.

You are not additive.

You are multiplicative You are multitudinous.

You are a multi-verse of experiences and feelings and thoughts.

You are not a fill-in-the-blank.

You are not a multiple choice.

You are not a bubble to shade in with a pencil.

The blanks are too short for you are an essay with no margins.

You are ‘all of the above’ Or, maybe sometimes ‘None of the above’ You spill off pages and doodle outside of edges.

You are limitless Beyond the doors of our school buildings and classrooms, so I ask that you to insert an S into your exit so that ecstatic exists and blossoms exponentially

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Moving past the acquisition of knowledge

but, Yes, of course, try your best to prepare for tests.

Yes, volunteer, but not to be seen.

Yes, learn from your mistakes Because after that, these a​ re​ your choices.

But HEAR ME, I say.

There is NO right answer.

There are perspectives & beliefs & joy & sadness.

There are ways of knowing and theories of knowledge.

There are rebel rivers that run north but there is Never

One Right Answer.

So speak your hyperbolic truths Act on them, be your own second opinion. and know that the best thing about your mind is that YOU--the you RIGHT NOW can choose to change it.

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EPILOGUE: Who are they? (Authors tell their own story)

Sarah Abu-Nabaa

Hi, my name is Sarah Abu-Nabaa (Fun Fact: Nabaa means spring water) and I am from the States, PA. My hometown is Wilkes-Barre where I lived for nine years and then moved to Allentown for four years. I have been living in Qatar for five years now. These moving experiences taught me a lot about my social skills and how two different cultures can differ so much, yet still be important. It was indeed a culture shock when I moved from America to Qatar. I remember just going to the mall in seventh grade to be in shock as I saw a sea of black and white-except it wasn’t Makkah, it was Villagio) as people were dressed in their traditional clothing.

I admired Qataris for how they sustained their culture not by wearing, but teaching as well. It taught me to establish my own identity and my values. That was the moment I learned to revisit my Palestinian roots in every possible way.

Identity: Palestinian American, Muslim… being Sarah :) PS: I love horses and soccer; peach is my favorite color and Abayas are my fashion.

Dream: To stand up for justice against every tyrant and help those in need by supporting them with necessary supplies.

Motto: Never follow the leader… ​be ​the leader.

Patience and ​elegance ​is the key to success.

Huda Al-Manai

After 7 years at QAS, I am now a graduate from IBDP. I entered this community at its very first step, experiencing the different stages it went through to becoming a successful international baccalaureate school. QAS has taught me a lot in many different ways allowing me to live every moment of each year. QAS is not only a school that provides education, it also provided me with a sense of family. I came to this school not knowing anyone at all. The teachers helped us engage together and developed our friendship by making us work in groups to get to know each other.

Teachers also became part of our community. As a student, I now understand the value of having such wonderful teachers that don't only treat us as students in class but more like members of their family. They cared about our feelings and emotions more than just delivering a message during the lesson. This is one of the things that stands out in the community of QAS from their first step.

During the 7 years of experiences in this school, I found out that QAS provides its students with wonderful teachers that try their best to make students feel safe and welcomed. I will personally miss my teachers after I leave in a few months more than everything else. I really appreciate how hard 141

they’re trying to help us reach the highest grades as well as have the best feeling in class. Even when our DP Coordinator, Mr.Craggs, tracked us down in the hallway to submit our essays, which I’ll miss the most, I saw how hard he was trying to make us learn how to submit work on time, follow deadlines, and actually achieve the best feeling of accomplishment. I’ll miss Ms. Kandido’s activities before entering the class, as well as her living room for sure. I’ll miss Mr. Herbst’s early morning lectures about different aspects of life. I’ll miss Ms. Sawant’s math lectures. I’ll miss talking to Ms. Ayan during class about fashion. I’ll miss Mr. Mahmoud’s funny Egyptian jokes.

I’ll miss Ms.Carolyn’s smile whenever I enter her room. I’ll miss Mr. Gerbase’s long lectures and fully detailed explanations of both history and business, which I actually loved and enjoyed.

During my study at QAS, I found out that I am the kind of person that stresses a lot, always scared of not finishing work on time or with the best quality. The only people that support me during that time are my class peers. They are the best classmates anyone would ever ask for. Every time any one of us is worried about a subject or an assignment, everyone will try to help by providing notes, documents, and websites just to help this one individual in any way. The fact that we care about each other and the success of each other is really valuable to me. I’ll reallllllllllllllllly miss every single one of them. I do not believe that we did not get to have a proper goodbye moment together, but we all know that it would have been really hard for everyone. I’ll miss Marya and Saad’s daily arguments. I’ll miss watching Ayah sleep in the DP room. I’ll miss watching Natasha put on her earphones and look at her laptop the entire time. I’ll miss Moath’s talks in class to waste time. I’ll miss Sarah's brownies. I’ll miss maryam’s quiet existence. I’ll miss Salem’s maturity in class among us all. I’ll miss shahad’s low voice. I’ll miss Tazo’s weird comments. I’ll miss laama’s huggs. I’ll miss Saad’s very random comments about us. I’ll miss Carlo’s history lectures. I’ll miss every single one of them very much.

Furthermore, as a DP student, I learned many different things in terms of education that helped me understand life. DP is more than memorizing your studies and attending an exam. DP is way beyond that. As a DP student, I become a risk-taker in many different aspects of my life. This is because DP students are always encouraged to take risks in taking decisions and get engaged in activities that are totally new to us. Taking these actions allowed me to improve my risk taking skills and built my confidence to step forward no matter what the task is. As a DP student, I also improved my communication skills as we have to always work in groups to accomplish class work. This also allowed me to get to know my peers even better. In addition, DP also helped me depend on myself A LOT. I take my own notes, research more information to understand the topic, work on long essays alone, and keep track of my busy schedule. Even though it may be stressful to risk doing something, communicate with people around me, and depend on myself, I still find it effective because I know I’ll need these skills in University.

Lastly, the diversity of cultures I’m experienced at QAS makes me feel grateful that I understand and was taught how to interact with people from different cultures. I would not have taken the risk to apply to universities in the UK if not for the experiences I gained here at QAS.

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Salem Al-Eida

Salem joined QAS in its beginnings, aged 10, and recalls, “I was so young, unfamiliar to a diverse environment, and could barely speak English… I walked down the hallways of what came to be my second home.” Salem is a quiet, polite, unassuming and mature young man who has made outstanding academic progress in the 2 years of the IB Diploma. He writes, “QAS provided me with excellent teachers who had great experience and knowledge within their respective fields. As a result I became a critical thinker, a trait that all students need in order to make sound decisions; not just academically but in all aspects of their life.”

Salem always has a warm smile behind which lies a student with an abundance of motivation, determination and resilience. This drive and focus to exceed all expectations, making huge progress from his MYP grades, has earned Salem our Salutatorian award for the Class of 2020. Salem is thankful that, “QAS nurtured me and has transformed me into the successful student I am today… gave me the confidence and motivation to connect with the school and local community… and provided me with a second family from all around the world.”

Salem continues to strive towards a Bilingual IB Diploma and a place at an Education City university to study Business. We wish him all the success he deserves.

Moath Aldobashi

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Maryam Asha

As of today, I have lived in five countries and eight different cities. I am Palestinian but I was born in Austin, TX, living my life in fractions between Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Canada and now Qatar, where my highschool career ends, and no, I am not a spy. Furthermore, with all these places I have lived in, it's difficult to establish my identity, so I try to make it simple by identifying as just Palestinian. I stick to my Palestinian identity the most maybe because it's the most vulnerable, or maybe because its hard to process and pick one or two or three.

Anyways, I have experienced a lot and have made good memories everywhere I go. Especially in those two years I spent here in QAS, they were hectic at times but I really enjoy it. I am still deciding my future as I keep learning more and more about myself, but I hope to change the world someday.

Kaitlin D’souza

As of my eighteen years of living, I've only ever lived in Qatar. It's strange to grow up with a country. Everything around you constantly changes and so do you. Upon first impression, I have been described as quiet and observing. Though there is some truth to this, I have also been described as loud, strange, funny and sometimes a bit of a goof. I enjoy music, swimming, singing and fighting about trivial matters with friends.

Prior to moving schools, I barely knew myself. Until I joined QAS, I found out that I am not just a cut out of someone else's craft, but that I am complex and filled with dimensions that I may not even currently know about myself. Going through the IB has taught me the value of confidence, putting yourself out there and being open to experiences. With the help of my teachers and friends (whom I'd like to call family) I've had the best high school experience possible in my most difficult years of study. They moulded me into the person I wanted to be.

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Natasha Fernandes

High School, the end of a new beginning like many of us would see it. Being just days and weeks away from graduating, I can truly say it’s been the best years of my life. I’m truly grateful to be given the privilege to study the most rigorous curriculum, International Baccalaureate at Sidra, Qatar Foundation. It took time to adapt to the curriculum because of its versatility in nature. Having said that, I am extremely proud of the skills and traits I have gained within the span of my high school.

The 3 pillars that supported and guided me through this journey are my family, my teachers and my classmates. Hands down, by far the best teachers I’ve had. They take ​calculated, well-thought-out, planned steps and go through extremes to make sure we reach our maximum potential through creative and practical learning, to bring out the best in each one of us. Their friendly, caring and approachable nature really helped ease the typical image we have of stereotypical student-teacher relations. There was never a dull moment with them, from being my absolute true self to being able to express my thoughts. I was understood, motivated and inspired. I'm highly grateful to QAS for the small groups of wonderful teachers and students that I can now proudly call family.

My time at QAS has been nothing ​but an upward learning curve. The past foundation years of study for University has helped me grow into the person I am today. During this time, was when I built on my firm interest in the career path I want to follow. It’s definitely that time of the year for me to look at how I can take my studies to the next level and more specifically, ​do what I love and focus on my passion for learning. ​I’m more confident than ever to start the next phase of my education taking with me all the attributes and memories I’ve imparted through this unforgettable journey.

Tamaz Gurgenadze

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Saad Iqbal

I am a Canadian-Pakistani. I lived all over the world and still trying to figure out my complex identity. Although living and traveling all over the world has made my identity more complex, I have been able to grow a lot as a person. For example, I have been to Sri Lanka which was a completely new environment to me. I interacted with new animals, new cultures/religions, new people, new values/norms which made me engage intellectually, creatively, emotionally, socially and physically which in the end better developed me as an open minded person. I can look like a stubborn person sometimes but I truly appreciate everyone I have in my life from family, friends and teachers. I’ve been able to grow and gain skills ranging from social and academic skills which I will definitely need later on in my future.

One of my greatest strengths is determination to succeed. I have a huge passion for cricket and decided to join a cricket academy/club. One of my main setbacks I was facing was deciding whether I can still continue playing cricket and doing well in school. Friends and family have told me that I should put cricket aside and focus on doing well in school. All that talk just fueled my determination to succeed in both fields and as of now I have been able to be consistent with both cricket and get good school grades. One thing I learned all my life is that when people don’t believe I can do something, I get motivated to prove them wrong which drives me forward to be a better person.

Lamaa Khalid

My name is Lamaa Khalid. I am a 16-year-old, Muslim girl who is at that age where most people would agree one is still figuring herself out. Many describe me as being very talkative (emphasis on very). It’s almost always the first thing people notice about me. I would also say I’m often cheerful, childish and playful.

I like to live my life moment to moment, overcoming each obstacle in turn. I don’t dwell on the past too much because I believe some choices can be situational though they can definitely be learned from. I like to be as realistic as possible when looking to the future, understanding my backups if things don’t work out (although evidently, one can never be too prepared). I wanted to study medicine or biological sciences at university. I was supposed to graduate this year, but it looks like that’ll be postponed. A fair price to pay if it means I’ll be skipping exams, I think.

I am, what you would call, a third culture kid. I was born in Sudan, raised in the UK for 10 years, lived in Saudia Arabia for two years and I have now been living in Qatar for two years. I struggle to define my cultural identity and place of origin, but I believe myself to be pretty open-minded and eager to understand various cultures. I also find that I enjoy interactions with other third culture kids. such as myself, of which many can be found in international school environments.

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My journey in QAS and the IB Diploma Programme has been very influential in developing my understanding of who I am as a person, my strengths and potentials but also my weaknesses. The community has taught me to reflect on a situation in order to better understand myself and others and to perhaps seek improvement.

I’m grateful to have become a part of this collective creation of ideas. It was one of those unplanned yet exciting activities. None of us would’ve expected how drastically things would change just a few months prior. Really puts into perspective how out of control we truly are in our lives. I believe that power belongs only God.

Juan Carlos Landayan

“​What has QAS done to me?​” In my opinion, that would primarily be the opportunities I was able to grab by being part of an amazing, supportive, and welcoming community. From the outside, it may seem that presently Sidra lacks the facilities to compete with other schools and there may be reports that don’t recommend going to Sidra, however keep in mind - as the saying goes “Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover.” There is more to Sidra from what it appears and what these negative remarks imply.

Being part of Qatar Academy Sidra and the greater Qatar Foundation system, I was able to do or further expand my participation in things or events that highly interest me and helped me improve myself holistically. From attending more Model UNs, to being able to participate in several university-run workshops offered by some of the best in the region, to being able to actively pursue and run a fun and engaging extra-curricular event as a project - QAS has actively provided support and encouragement to do these things.

Beyond that, some of the teachers and staff you’ll interact with are willing to guide and help you achieve your fullest potential as a student. From helping you understand the content studied in class, guiding you on how to become the best in your chosen CAS or ASA activity, or even in preparing you for your university; just don’t expect them to do all the work, but if you ever need help on your academics, you can expect to get the best help possible that would enable you to grow.

Shahd Nagieb

I had the privilege to join QAS in 2018, not knowing at first that its community will help me a great deal with my identity and growth. The last two years of high school taught me so much about my purpose, and what I am looking for in the next chapter of my life. I feel more empowered to present myself, and my work to the outside world without filters. Moreover, witnessing how passionate everyone is about their interests in this community made me start my own interest-research journey. I came to fathom overcoming the fear of risk taking, and how rewarding it is to come out of one’s comfort zone.

I would describe myself as a realist in application but not in theory. I like the excitement that comes with thinking about the things that might exist beyond my perception of the world, and I 147

like to share this feeling through writings and sketches of my own. I do not have a favorite motto in particular, but a rule of thumb I want to keep following is to think without borders, work hard, and never be afraid to share because there must be someone out there who will appreciate what one has to offer.

Ayah Ali

It’s been three years since I’ve joined Qatar Academy sidra yet, I can’t come to terms that I will very soon be graduating from it myself​.

Just the other day feels like it was still grade 10, when I first came to QAS. Yet here I am a couple of months departing away from the same place I set off from. From one thing to another, this place gave me so many insights, not only for my benefit, but for the benefit of others and by that I mean that by the time I or the class of 2020 graduate; we will leave something behind yet leave with so much more.

QAS has gave me my higher education and embarked me on a rollercoaster of journeys regarding my education. The days I didn't want to go to class like any other normal student and the days I actually wanted to go to class because I felt like it. They say highschool is a normal adventure but for me it was a tad more than just normal here at QAS. I was able to embark on a journey to learn so much more than I can Imagine, that sometimes it feels like there was an overload of information and that I had to reboot my system. Yet the other days feel like a very normal highschool day to me, which on day to day basis was good enough.

Now I cant lie and say there wasn't no stress at all during my highschool days here at QAS, but another thing I was able to benefit from QAS was my peers, teachers and colleges that I've met throughout the Journey. There were days were I was off but I had those who look out for me. There were days where I couldn't understand the content from my syllabus but was offered more help out of class for my sake. These little notes of appreciation from others helped seek and look for the better and grow as a person.

Everyday set a different course for me here in QAS, that it feels like it has become the normal standard. Having to adapt and work in such an environment has taken a while, but I can finally say after such a long time of high and low adventures and having to tackle challenges that seemed impossible to finish; I will be very soon embark on a new adventure in a couple of months.

Here at QAS I've gained many experiences and many new opportunities that I feel like it wouldn't make me who I am today if I wasn't here. I feel like I wouldn't have the knowledge I have or be the person I am; it would feel very void. However, with all this knowledge, power and experience I’ve gained from QAS, I will go on and move towards the future I seek.

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Marya Taj Muhammad Khan

Marya is one of those students with a larger than life personality. You often hear her before you see her, as she alternately laughs or fiercely debates her way through life. Her friends would describe her as passionate, ambitious, loyal and strong-willed. You might know her by her many different nicknames like mars, tigger or billi. She loves to read and especially enjoys antebellum and pre-civil rights American literature. She is currently studying International Politics at Georgetown School of Foreign Science.

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Thank you to the first virtual graduation class of QASidra 2020

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