Despite taking place during a period of online learning, Book Week brought the English classroom together in creative and meaningful ways. Through live online activities, digital creation, and virtual classroom tasks, students enthusiastically embraced the opportunity to celebrate language and self-expression from home.
Throughout the week, students explored identity through poetry, creative writing, creating bookmarks and masks, crafting character inteviews, writing opinion pieces, and storytelling. From personal narratives and spoken word pieces to cultural reflections, students used language as a powerful tool to express theirindividuality and perspectives.
BookWeek2026 was a reminder that stories have the power to unite us, no matter where we are. The week not only celebrated literacy and creativity, but also highlighted the resilience, adaptability, and spirit of our students during online learning.
Exploring Identity through Poetry
Although the Poetry Slam could not take place as a live competition during online learning, students still rose to the challenge by submitting a range of thoughtful, powerful, and creative poems.
Theirentries showcased imagination, individuality, and confidence, proving that poetry can continue to inspire and connect people even from a distance.
Unheard
They tried to fit me into one single word.
Quiet.
Loud.
Too much.
Not enough.
Like identity is a print in bold sticky note which you can glue to my back, So everyone else can scrutinize it Before I even speak
They called me quiet in Year 7 I called it enduring a new world.
There’s my classroom voice - calm, steady, just right.
There’s my friend group voice - loud, cheerful, happy enough. And then there’s the voice inside my head - the one which never stops asking “what if?”
I can debate an idea with confidence, But freeze when someone new talks to me.
They call it petty. I call it survival
You say I’m lazy - but I was the one who was up late practicing that presentation I was the one who spent my free time running over the script They told us, “search for the voice inside ”
So I did
I drowned out my words. I folded my sentences smaller.
But what if my inside voice is a speaker undercover?
What is my whisper is a future firework?
The first time I got the lead role, I broke my leg. The show went on.
I am not a final draft.
I am sketch marks and rubber dust. I’m a book with folded pages. I’m a playlist still adding songs
So don’t decide who I am in 2 seconds Don’t make my story a newsflash
This voice is only growing stronger. AmeliaAnwar– 8J
Who am I?
That is the question, now an enigma I am me, myself, Anoushka Edwards, daughter, sister, British, Canadian, it all seems so simple But as I grew, those three words disoriented me. Life was no longer child’s play. Somewhere along the line, I misplaced a crucial part of me, the part that held my opinions, my voice, my identity, what makes me, me I used to carry an internal monologue around with me, in order to avoid the ‘where are you really from’ conversations No, I am not Indian, No, Iam not Iroquois, or Ojibwe or any other Canadian first nation, yes, the fair-skinned man over there really is my dad As I grew older, these questions made no more appearances, but the brief chronology of my background and hobbies, are still there, and always will be, tailored just for the person I'm talking to I donned a mask, strived to blend in, I was a chameleon in society. Likes? Dislikes? Whatever was cool with my peers was cool with me. Convincing myself I enjoyed what they enjoyed. And the worst part? It worked I had fit in
Who do you think I am?
Anoushka Edwards, 8F
My identity was withering away. I had become entangled, in the web of conversations that built the messy facade that I hid behind But when I was sure no one was there, I looked in the mirror, and saw who I really was Not the friend your mum likes, not the bad comedian, not the ‘nerdy friend’, or any of the array of masks I wore But me
Just me. Who I have always been, not the person others perceive.
Lebanon Jordan Bahrain
All be loved the same
Forever they shall talk in Arabic
And they have the same fabric
There many stereotypes
We always need to have the rights
yes we may share the food
We will always have different moods
But forever we’ll be loved the same
Lebanon, Jordan, Bahrain
And that’s a wrap of this poem
For us it will always be home
KarenAchkar,Tia Halasa & FarahAlmubarak, 7A
7F
All that grass, it was never green
Everything was artificial, behind the scenes
The truth was trimmed to fit the dream,
And true parts erased, completely unseen
The sky was colored in, cerulean blue
No thunder allowed, to break through
No space for fears that somehow grew
That warned me it was never true
The wind blew soft, yet never wild
Shaped to shatter, then reconciled
Even the air was neatly styled
Until each and every hope was exiled
I learned to fake it all, to hold in my breath
To bite my tongue, until nothing was left
Never show doubt, never show stress
To call the silence ‘confidence’
They said “be made of opalite”
Not too loud, but not too bright
“Life’s short, talk fast” but not in sight
Be strong enough, but not strong enough to fight
But there is a truth they can’t control
The subtle misstep beneath the role
A broken piece from the perfect whole
That doesn’t fit their flawless mold
So let their perfect paradise stay neat
Their plastic palm trees tall along the street
When I was seven, identity was simple. It was pink, or blue.
It was the colour of your new pencil case It was ‘cats’.
It was ‘ice cream’.
It was ‘my best friend is Dalma and we made little paper horses in Kindergarten’. Back then, ‘Who are you’ was as easy as ‘what’s your favourite colour’.
Now?
Now it's a cycle test question and I forgot to study
Because somewhere between learning my times tables and graduating junior school, I misplaced the version of me that fit on a ‘get to know me’ sheet. You know the type: Name, Sophia Maria Macarie. Three fun facts about yourself, um?
What makes you unique? (pause)
Unique?
I don’t even know what music I like without checking what my friends like first.
‘What makes you unique’ now feels less like a question and more like a full on police interrogation
‘Who Are you?’
- Sophia Macarie, 8F
Because when you’re my age, identity isn’t what your favorite animal is. It's a demolition site.
It’s tearing down the person you built to survive junior school and realizing you don't have the blue prints to rebuild what you lost
It's answering ‘who are you?’ with ‘I’m trying’.
I’m trying to like things before asking if they're cool.
I'm trying to answer without checking the room first.
I’m trying to stop rehearsing my personality in my head
I'm trying to recognise myself without a mirror
Maybe identity isn't a perfectly shaped bubble you fill in with a 2B pencil Maybe it’s eraser marks. And unwritten goals And personality questions left blank. When I was seven, identity was simple Now it’s a story I’m still learning to tell.
The Version They Prefer
- Andrea Ha JieTong,Agata Giorgi,
Hailey Duncan, Mira Bomholtz, 8F
In school halls where everyone blends, I hide my name, my accent, my friends, I change the way I’ve always been, Like a butterfly before it’s seen. But unlike a butterfly I tuck my bright wings in tight, Afraid the colours might cause a fight. And suddenly it is needed that I have hair that isn’t mine, Paired with a structurally fitted outline, Perfectly proportioned shapes, Since most of me are classified as mistakes. I trace the girls on glowing screens, With flawless smiles and spotless jeans. Then slowly my laugh disappears, Too loud or fake or met with jeers. Replaced is something rehearsed, Which wouldn’t have been a first. My favourite artists, foods and shows, Buried and deemed as childish, overhyped or gross. I shape myself to fit their mold, A puzzle piece in their hands, losing my hold. Forced to erase the girl outside, Is that the only thing I’m meant to hide?
Do I react too much, too plastic, too shy?
Do I have to resort to putting on a mask, answering everything in a lie?
Do I have to swallow my heart and my pride?
I guess I do, I always do
Swallow my spark, keep it in the dark,
Swallow my flame, so my actions aren’t to blame. Hold the feelings in one place, Hold the feelings so taut there’s no escape.
Step by step I watch as I can no longer recognise the girl in the mirror, Just the version they prefer
Author/ Character Interviews
Students tookpart in imagining authorand characterinterviews that brought literature to life in a creative and interactive way. Through thoughtful questioning, students explored characters’ motivations, personalities, and experiences.
A Chat with Nikki from ‘Dork Diaries’ – Mariam Elhagr, 7C
Nikki, can you describe your experience at Westchester Country Day School?
My experience at Westchester Country Day has been both exciting and challenging. Middle school is not always easy, especially when you are trying to discover who you are I have faced academic pressure, social drama, and moments of embarrassment. However, I have also made wonderful friends and learned important lessons about confidence and kindness. Overall, it has helped me grow as a person.
What do you find most challenging about being in middle school?
I think the most challenging part is fitting in while still being true to yourself There is a lot of pressure to look, act, and dress a certain way. Sometimes it feels like everyone else understands the rules except me I have learned that it is better to focus on being genuine rather than trying to impress others.
How do you handle conflicts with classmates, especially Mackenzie?
Dealing with difficult classmates can be frustrating. I try to remain calm and not let negative comments affect my confidence. It is not always easy, but I remind myself that responding with kindness shows strength Writing in my diary also helps me reflect on situations and decide how to handle them maturely.
Why is keeping a diary important to you?
My diary allows me to express my thoughts and emotions honestly. When I write about my day, I can better understand my reactions and learn from my mistakes. It also helps me see that even embarrassing moments can become funny stories later Writing gives me confidence
What advice would you give to other thirteen year olds?
I would encourage them to be patient with themselves Growing up involves making mistakes and learning from them. It is important to choose friends who are supportive and to believe in your own strengths. Middle school may feel overwhelming at times, but it is only one chapter in a much larger story
How would you describe your personality?
I would describe my personality as a kind, bubbly and caring person. I’m always clumsy and always think of the worst case scenarios in embarrassing situations, but I always try to humour them later. I care so much for my family and friends, and I always try to stay out of trouble and do the right thing even when it's difficult I believe writing in my diary helps my creativity and helps me to stay positive during hard times.
Who has influenced your middle school experience the most?
The most people who influenced me the most were probably my best friends Chloe and Zoey. They have always had such a positive influence on my life in school and outside school. They are kind, supportive and have always been there for me. Their friendship with me has taught me the importance of loyalty and kindness. Encountering different personalities has helped me develop resilience and confidence.
What are some challenges you have faced?
One of my hardest challenges has been overcoming my insecurities and learning to be confident in myself. Middle school can make students feel pressure to fit in. I have learned that trying to be yourself is more valuable than popularity. Although everyone has to have some mistakes and awkward moments, they also become a lesson.
Quidditch Defeat Leaves Malfoy Bitter
–
Hana Osman, 8D
Harry Potter and his team have just won the Quidditch finals against Slytherin. A player in Harry’s team was injured midgame (meaning one less player), and the score was tied. Despite that, with just under a second left to spare, Harry caught the Golden Snitch, right under Malfoy’s nose, seizing victory for Gryffindor. His best friend, Ron Weasley, is currently interviewing Malfoy postgame.
Ron: “So Malfoy, how do you feel about being beaten by Harry again?”
Malfoy: “Listen, Weasley, you’d better do this properly, or my father will hear about this!!”
Ron: “Stop being so immature, and just answer the question!”
Malfoy: “I almost had it, I know I did! Dumbledore must’ve blown it in his direction! We all know how much he favours Potter!”
Ron: “What a sore loser. How does your team feel?”
Malfoy: “Will you stop trying to rub it in, weasel! One more time, and my father will really hear about this!”
Ron: “Stop wasting our time, and just answer the question!”
Malfoy: “Ugh. We’re all disappointed of course, knowing he cheated, but just wait ‘till next time! We’ll win by double, just you watch! Once my father hears about this he’ll buy my team the newest brooms againeven better than Potter’s one!”
Ron: “Can’t you ever go one time without telling your precious father?! So, are you going to quit after that?”
Malfoy: “Who even allowed you to interview? And no, once I beat him, I’ll do it a hundred times all over again! I’ll even get my father to book the pitch right before the match so we get extra training!”
Ron: “Do you think you’re better than Harry?”
Malfoy: “Now what kind of question is that? Of course I do, Potter isn’t all that!”
Ron: “Oh boy, just one more: Do you even really care about quidditch?”
Malfoy: “WEASLEY! Well, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t at all, now would I! Now wrap it up, or I WILL tell my father!!”
Ron: “ You’ve talked more about your father than the game- l’ll make sure to add it in the report. You’ve credited your dear father for nearly everything; maybe he should take your spot next time Interview’s over ”
Merchant vs Moneylender: The Truth Behind the Conflict – Karma Elkhoshina, 8A
Lorenzo: Antonio, you have been brought before the Council of Ten. You are accused of failing to repast a loan, do you accept this charge?
Antonio: Yes sir. I borrowed the money and you were unable to repay it on time.
Lorenzo: You are a respected merchant in Venice, why did you take such a risk like this?
Antonio: I believed that my ships would return safely in order for me to pay the money on time I did not expect all my fortunes and jewels to disappear
Shylock: You made a deal, the law does not care about your bad luck.
Lorenzo: Shylock, you will have your turn to speak later. Antonio, do you believe the law should punish you?
Antonio: Yes, I believe the law should be followed but I also believe that some mercy should exist I never tried to escape my payment
Lorenzo: Shylock claims he wants justice not revenge, so you agree with this statement.
Antanio: I believe he feels wronged, not I fear this is more about punishment than fairness.
Shylock: I was mocked and treated unfairly for years, now the law finally protects me.
Lorenzo: If the council takes your life, do you have any last words to the people of Venice?
Antonio: I would say that power must be used carefully and that mercy makes a city stronger than a city of punishments
Lorenzo: The council will now decide whether Venice is ruled by strict laws, or mercy.
Panem Uncovered: Conversations with the Mockingjay Characters –
IvonAneke, 8H
Snow: Oh, I control it quite well
Finnick: (voice sharp) You sold me like I was a prize
Snow: You enjoyed the luxury.
Finnick: I was sixteen.
(Room goes quiet)
Suzanne Collins: That’s a truth not many people talk about. Finnick, why keep smiling through it?
Finnick: Because a pretty face is easier to market than a broken one.
Peeta: That’s exactly what they want. For us to become what they design.
Snow: And yet here you are Exactly where I predicted
Katniss: You didn’t predict me blowing up your arena.
Snow: No. I predicted you would force my hand.
Gale: You’re scared of her
Snow: I am cautious There’s a difference
Suzanne Collins: Final question. If you had the power right now, what would you change?
Gale: I’d burn the Capitol to the ground.
Peeta: I’d end the Games Forever
Finnick: I’d expose every secret Snow buried.
Katniss: I’d protect my family. That’s all I ever wanted.
Snow: I would restore order. Even if it means destroying all of you.
Katniss: Try it
Snow: I already have.
(Peeta steps forward. Gale clenches his fists. Finnick’s smile disappears.)
Suzanne Collins: And that… is why Panem is on the edge of war.
Character Masks
The outside of the mask reflects what others believe, its interior holds what we never reveal.
Students designed masks to explore the contrast between outward appearance and hidden emotions.
Oghenemine (Dora) Eguono, 8H
IVY CHECKETTS, 7G
DUDLEY PETLEY, 7G
JESSICA KING, 7E
LILIA Ariouat, 7B
Opinion Writing
Students shared their opinions on a range of topics during English Week. Their writing showed strong ideas, honest perspectives, and confident use of language. Some pieces were thoughtful, others were funny or bold, but all reflected students’ individual voices. The activity encouraged students to speak up and express what mattered to them.
Why I think video games tell better stories than books
Okay, this may sound like a stretch, but hear me out - video games tell way better stories than books. Now, you’re probably wondering why I made this statement. I would like to introduce you to the first example A book can be read over and over… and over again, but it has the same plot, no differences However, a game gives you infinite choices, infinite worlds. A good example of this is Minecraft.
When you boot up a Minecraft world, the first thing is not “ughhh not this again ” it’s more of “I love this place! Can’t wait to check it out!”
However, when you read a book, the characters don’t have choices, because they are forced to be in the author’s control - either they appear, or get written out and die And, secondly - in games, you can travel anywhere, anytime. In books, you just see the characters going where they’re supposed to
Third of all, when you read a book a couple of times, it starts to get repetitive. You know what's going to happen to the characters, you know who’ll defeat the villain, so there’s no point On the contrary, you could boot up a game endlessly and still continue to have fun No matter what base you build, wherever you explore, the animals you tame, and what you create, everything is almost… different and amazing in every way
Students shared theiropinions on a range of topics during EnglishWeek. Theirwriting showed strong ideas, honest perspectives, and confident use of language. Some pieces were thoughtful, others were funny orbold, but all reflected students’ individual voices. The activity encouraged students to speakup and express what mattered to them.
AliAlrahma, 7B
And, for my final statement, there’s just endless possibilities for you to explore in a game, beyond the book’s comprehension, wandering into the most mystical and beautiful of utopias, exploring the fantasyland that is your world. And, now, just remember, do not read a book - if you have a video game nearby.
People who do not read are missing out
Some people think reading books are boring and are a waste of their time, but I agree that people who do not read books are missing out. Reading is not just about schoolwork or revision, it can help you learn new things, understand different ideas and learn to use your imagination.
First of all, reading helps people gain knowledge and when you read books, articles or maybe even stories, you learn about new things that are similar to our world. For example, books can teach you about history, science, different cultures, or real life problems. Even fiction books can teach you so much about daily life problems such as friendships, relationships or maybe even making the right decisions. People who do not read will miss out on this opportunity to try to learn and adapt to more knowledge.
Another reason why reading is so important is because it makes your imagination more advanced. When you read a book, you create the characters, setting, and theme all in your head This is very different from watching a movie, where you can see the characters and what is really happening. There is no imagination happening there, so you won’t be able to brainstorm new events. Reading allows your brain to be creative and enjoy the story in your own way This can make stories seem more interesting and exciting.
Reading can also help you relax and release stress from your mind, because it helps you distract yourself from something unwanted. A good book from your interest can make you feel like you are living a dream For example, Lord of the flies or other novels can make readers think deeply about human behaviour and society.
In conclusion, people who do not read are really missing out. Reading helps you learn new things, develop new skills, and learn to use your imagination to express your ideas. It may not seem exciting at first but it is really beneficial, especially at a young age You’ll understand the world better, how to solve simple things, and when to make the right decisions
HooriyaAman, 9F
The Sound of Storytelling: Audiobooks Zaina Sharkas, 7C
Nowadays, audiobooks are becoming really popular, especially with students Some people think listening to a book is cheating or not real reading, but I disagree. I believe audiobooks still count as reading because you understand the same story, learn new words, and they help more people enjoy books.
Firstly, when you listen to an audiobook, you are still following the same story as someone reading a physical book You imagine the characters, settings, and events in your head while listening. The goal of reading is to understand and enjoy a story and audiobooks allow you to do exactly that. Just because you are using your ears instead of your eyes does not mean you are not reading.
Another reason is that audiobooks can actually help students improve their vocabulary and pronunciation When a narrator reads out loud, you hear how words are supposed to sound and how sentences flow. This can make it easier to understand different words and helps students become more fluent.
Audiobooks also make reading easier for people who find normal reading difficult. Some students struggle to focus on long pages or take longer to read, so listening to a book gives them another way to understand and enjoy the story Books should not be something that feels stressful or frustrating.
Some people argue that listening is way easier than reading, but you still need to concentrate carefully to understand what is happening If you stop paying attention, you can miss important details of the story.
In conclusion, audiobooks definitely count as reading. They tell the same stories, help people learn, and make books easier to read Reading is about understanding ideas and enjoying stories, and audiobooks do both.
KAITLYN VAZ, 7k
Creating Bookmarks
Students created bookmarks based on the theme Voices. Stories. Identity. Theirdesigns used colours, drawings, and quotes to represent individuality and selfexpression.
Aazeen Jamshed, 8H
Lara Dwyer, 8A
Talia Hussein, 8H
YOUSIF ALKHUZAIE, 8D
Creative Writing
The CreativeWriting competition encouraged students to explore the theme of Identity through imaginative and personal pieces ofwriting. From reflective narratives to powerful descriptive pieces, students showcased originality, emotion, and creativitywhile expressing theirunique voices through words.
The Pill -Alesha Hameed, 8H
BANG - The school gates slammed behind me. It was my first day, and I kept telling myself this year would be different The corridor smelled of fresh paint and old lockers Every laugh felt pointed, every gaze felt sharp and clear. I felt small, like an outsider in a world that didn’t want me. I walked faster, ignoring the loose shoelace until I tripped with a loud THUD.
Silence fell Hundreds of eyes fixed on me Unblinking. Before I could recover, a sharp slap at the back of my head brought roars of laughter. Jessica, her clear blue eyes and golden bright curls glowing in the hallway, smirked. “Had a good summer, twig-face?” she sneered. I forced a smile, picked up my bag, and ran, determined to avoid more of her comments, but the laughter followed me, echoing in my mind
Maybe it wasn’t them, it was me. I studied the girls around Jessica. Perfect hair, confident smiles and flawless skin I looked at myself in the mirror Messy hair, a dull face and plain clothes. A thought struck me. If I change, maybe I can belong. That afternoon I stared in the bathroom mirror, practising fake confident smiles. Scrolling through Jessica’s Instagram, I saw her perfect life. Her friends, her style, her effortless smile. A spark ignited inside me. Makeup, clothes, hair… That would be my key The next morning, I transformed Foundation, mascara, red lip gloss, straightened hair, blue contacts. I wore a black tube top, cream frilled mini skirt, brown coat and black boots. Each piece felt like an armour to protect from the vicious comments and laughter. My mom protested, but I ignored her, sprinting out with a new confidence At school, those girls approached me, “Hey girl, you ' re gorgeous, what's your name?” they said I smirked “Emma Bennett. Ring a bell?” Heads turned, whispers followed and for the first time, I felt powerful. Two days of transformation later, I felt unstoppable, but suddenly a mysterious box appeared on my front porch, a glittery purple pill, labeled with a red note, “Take this and you will see the truth ” Curiosity overwhelmed me, and I swallowed it The taste was unreal, like chocolate and cheesecake, but my body started to shake violently and I blacked out.
When I woke, everything seemed normal I got ready for school as usual, until my vision glitched Golden letters appeared above people’s heads. COMPETITION - FAKE FRIENDSHIP. I saw Jessica’s face split into half, into a dull and insecure version of herself. ENVY - ATTENTION SEEKING. My heart raced. In the bathroom, the mirror flickered, revealing my own fake self. INSECURE - NOT TRUE TO HERSELF - FAKE IDENTITY “No no, no, this cannot be happening ” I whispered to myself A calm synthetic voice echoed. “The truth always finds a way out, Emma. You can lie to yourself, but can you really lie to others?"
I realised the pill hadn't changed me. It had revealed the lies I was living. My confidence, my appearance, my social mask.
Silent tears streamed down my face as memories of my younger, messy, happy self appeared in the mirror, laughing, painting, running through the park. The voice whispered, “You didn't hate who you were, Emma, you just believed what others told you.”
The next day I embraced myself, no makeup, no contacts, messy hair and ordinary clothes. Whispers and laughter didn't scare me. Jessica mocked me, but I stopped walking and met her gaze with pride. “I’m not pretending anymore. This is me.” The confidence felt real and strong.
At the end of the year, the principal announced the Student of the Year Award. Jessica stood up and grinned, certain she’d win. “Emma Bennett.” The principal called. My jaw dropped. I walked up, held the trophy tight, and gave a speech “Masks hide our true identities, being yourself is not easy, but it's worth it Don't be afraid to show the world who you truly are, because your true self is amazing. The room fell silent, then erupted in applause. I had not only changed myself, but had given others the courage to do the same thing. The hallways no longer felt like a battlefield and the mirror reflected only me, unmasked, unafraid and entirely myself One question remains unanswered though. Who sent me that mysterious box?
Moral of the story: The moral of the story is to be who you truly are, and not to be influenced by other people’s identities and personalities, because your personality matters Use your voice loudly and clearly because you are heard. Identity is what shapes you as a person, so you should never change it to fit in.
Identity is not given, it is created
I stand in front of a mirror all the time And it always stands back at me.
Same hair, Same body, Same face.
But somehow, she and her reflection are not the same girl
One of them stands shyly. She notices everything, the big and small. The way she has a big nose, The way she has bruises on her arms and legs, The way she walks.
Reflection - Suha Rehman, 8J
She counts each flaw individually, one by one She thinks about the embarrassing things she said in the past. She wonders if everyone around her hates her. Or if she is too loud, Too quiet? Or just too much.
The other girl She stands straighter
She doesn’t apologise for her opinion. She laughs without covering her mouth or thinking if her laugh is strange. She doesn't stare at herself in pictures wondering why she looks like that She looks peaceful.
I blink, and we switch places
The majority of the time I am the small one. But sometimes, I recognize the brave one
The mirror never tell me which version is real. Maybe they both are.
But slowly, I am learning that I can’t choose one reflection, but learning that both are ok.
24-year-old Anna Belova was excited. Excited for what exactly? Moving to the U.S. After living in Russia all her life, she was excited and ready to take on a new environment and city. She landed just as the sun was rising She had a feeling Tennessee was going to be great She wanted to be a nurse ever since she was 5 When she got to her apartment, the other tenants were very friendly. Even old Mrs Kelly, who had been living there for the last 47 years, stopped by.
A few days later, Anna started her job at the hospital On her first day, while talking to a nurse called Ella, Anna mentioned that she was from Russia. As soon as Ella knew that Anna was Russian, she walked away.
Anna was confused Later, Anna overheard a group of nurses talking in hushed tones. Anna stalked forward, and her heart dropped at what they had to say. They were discussing her. They talked about whether she had vodka or if she’d lose her temper and do something illegal. Anna quickly backed away from the group and tried not to burst into tears. Soon, she noticed that a lot of people were avoiding her
When she got home, she went to see Mr and Mrs Kelly. She was disheartened and told them about the strange glances and whispers she received because she was Russian “Oh,” said Mrs Kelly, “we started a club for people who don't feel welcome Would you like to join?”
“Yes, please,” Anna said.
Anna met a lot of people with similar experiences. She met Pasi and Ivy, two nurses she recognised from the hospital, and from that day on, she made good friends with whom she worked.
Pasi admitted that some nurses kept calling him slurs because he was from Nigeria and had dark skin.
Ivy told her that people thought she, like the common stereotype, was superstitious (unlike some, she didn’t believe in bad luck) and that she didn’t understand English; they got bold enough to insult her and continue to do so.
Anna, Ivy and Pasi continued to see each other both at work and during Mr and Mrs Kelly’s club. The club rebuilt everybody’s confidence, and they decided to spread the message to draw attention to their problem: racism
They spent all their time making posters, hats, shirts and even more, all talking about how most stereotypes were wrong and it wasn’t alright to assume all those things. Weeks went by, and progress was being made every day, but it took 7 weeks until they were ready
The day they had been working towards arrived.
The protest began and, as expected, people stared and started filming A reporter was called, and soon the protest was all over the news.
After the protest was over, all the members of the club were exhausted, but they felt happy and accomplished
Anna slept peacefully for the first time in months.
The next day, Anna found her protest on the news She glowed with pride at the bright faces on the screen, all passionately talking about their friends’ situation as well as their own, to raise awareness of how racism is bad and shouldn’t be taken as something to simply brush off.
“We all hope that the people watching will help us spread our message!” Anna saw herself smiling at the camera and couldn’t help but smile even brighter than before. At the hospital, people looked at her in a new light.
Meanwhile, across the globe, a 16-year-old Bahraini girl watched the news and felt inspired and hopeful. She felt a surge of confidence in herself as she grabbed a notepad and began writing down ideas to spread their message on anti-racism.
“Leila, dinner’s ready!” Her mother called “Coming, mum,” Leila said, putting her pen down. She fixed her hijab as she went downstairs.
“Was the news interesting?” Her father asked. Leila smiled.
“Yes, it was very inspiring,” Leila told him
“Who am I?” you ask yourself, curled up in the suffocating silence of your closed room Dim, lit only by the pale crescent of the moon Tamed and broken you try to take power but you feel like a puppet, controlled by thin, cutting strings - you just can't stop it. Lost your freedom, faith, friends and yourself
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The four walls start to pull inward Confined The thought of it knots at your throat, tightly entwined. With battered bones you climb and cling to the rim of victory. You grip the precipice with frail fingers of misery only for a sliver of gold to crown you- hollow and loud
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Now, the cold needles mercilessly through your skin. It worsens, but a voice buried deep within says, “Your roots have started to wither and shrivel under piles of ghosted sediment - now brittle” You just can't bottle up more pressure, worry and doubt.
Breathe in Breathe out
You glance over to the bruised mirror and from it emerges a young, happy woman with amber eyes and gossamer-woven hair, somebody whose smile is like an envelope decorated with glitter, brews tea the way her mother taught her, and loves the salty scent of the foam-fretted beach. She constructed an identity nobody else could replicate.
The earth holds its breath, desperate. The ghosted sediments that smothered you split open, your roots once rotten now blossom wildly they stretch vast, lacing connections inside and out, leaves unfurl - each one an infinite possibility, a boundless story. Now you rise untamed and unbroken, lit by a new moon.
“I know who I am, " you answer yourself proudly “I’m just someone who wants to have an identity.”
Perched on the floor, the sunlight bathes me, yet does not choose me. I still do not radiate. Taking in the sight before myself, I have grown used to my face. I feel unremarkable. I am another rose in the bush, some may perceive me as a thorn If you really ask me what I think I am, I’d tell you that I am more than what people think of me I have mastered the art of gleaming I am a mirrorball at a run-down Brooklyn disco club. I shine for people undeserving. These words are practiced, falling out of my mouth with utmost faux confidence. Unbeknownst to the audience I am performing for
Nothing will ever surmount the understanding I have of myself, my body, every freckle, curve, follicle and pore on my body has been analysed.
I am not the scarring on my face. I am not the frizz in my hair. I am not invaluable like they said I was. Nor am I incapable.
I am metaphysical I am a fig, ravenously devoured by a starved villager, or a shepherd herding his sheep upon the heath. I am a pearl in the clam, yearning to be revealed and cherished, my value is cheap when exhibited, strung on some bourgeois neck.
I am the effervescence in your drink, lively for a moment I can get you bubbling inside, upset me and I will fall flat like your jokes. I am the mother, the father and the whole family tree, I am independent.
I am the Eiffel Tower, dominant and the heart of the city Glitz and glamour is what you see of me but I feel hollow after midnight. I am the Seine, flowing through you, remembering me for my view, striving to comprehend my depth, you can’t even float in the shallow.
I am a mosaic of everything and everyone I’ve ever loved Each tile is a relic, scattered around the globe, the entire world will dote upon.
I am my soul, transient frequencies, healing and unhealing, something you can’t see I am a lotus, sprouting on a lilypad I am a cherry blossom sweeping the temple roof, I am an enchantment, a breathing representation of the fragility of life.
I am a mosaic of everything and everyone I’ve ever loved Each tile is a relic, scattered around the globe, the entire world will dote upon.
Our Identities Vaiga Vipin, 9E
Every student made it on time for the first period, as their Life Skills teacher patiently waited, greeting all the young smiling faces warmly
The class settled in.
Each student was carrying an object. One carried a book. Another held a paintbrush in the palm of their hand. Some other student brought a football. There were a variety of different everyday objects, each one meaning something to each 8-year-old of class 4B.
The teacher greeted the students enthusiastically, beaming through her words. “Good morning everyone!” The students responded in unison, as one would expect.
The class was learning about their identities Finding out who they really are Discovering themselves. Being introspective.
“Did everyone bring an object as I instructed?” The teacher asked Everyone nodded in response
The teacher went around the classroom and asked everyone the same question. “Why did you choose this object?”
As anticipated, there was an array of answers. “I chose the paintbrush because I like art” “I brought a football because I play with it” “I brought a book because I love reading” Despite the different objects, the answers were all somewhat the same It was related to their respective interests.
The teacher turned to the last student, sitting in the corner attentively and waiting patiently The teacher noticed that the student did not bring anything
“Did you forget to bring your object?” the teacher asked in a calm demeanour.
The kid shook his head.
“I didn’t bring anything, because I don’t know who I really am.”
The teacher, with a curious expression, asked the young boy. “And what would you suppose that means?”
The boy replied. “We’re not defined by just one object. Our identity is shaped by our life experiences. No one in this room knows their full identity. Even if we think it’s fully built, it’s still really under construction ”
The teacher, slightly shocked by the intellectuality of the boy’s answer, smiled.
No one expected such a pensive reply, not even the teacher
The classroom fell into a thoughtful silence. The objects on each desk suddenly seemed smaller… pieces of something unfinished.
In the corner of the room, the boy sat empty-handed… yet somehow holding the most.
And for the first time that morning, the classroom felt bigger than its four walls.
