THE CARDINAL Bishop Allen's Literary & Arts Magazine
MARCH/APRIL 2021
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Grace Bogdani — editor-in-chief Veronika Lomets — editor, arts coordinator Emily Zalewski — editor, social media coordinator
EDITOR'S NOTE: Bishop Allen’s very own literary & arts magazine is back! Just in time for spring, we present the second instalment of BA students' artwork, short stories, poetry, reviews… the list goes on. In this issue, we headed in a new direction, with a fresh look and unheard of segments like “BA’s Favourite Books” that got the magazine’s Instagram followers involved. This edition hones in on the relevancy of spring 2021's issues and topics, from mental health and Earth day to racism and women’s history month. The team here at BA literary magazine wants to extend our appreciation to the applause we received for our previous issue. The support was tremendous and overwhelming! We made sure to fervently praise our members with the compliments given by Ms. Tomeczek and the rest of the Bishop Allen community. We are incredibly grateful that there is an audience ready to listen to all the different voices that Bishop Allen students have to offer. Consider us a vessel for all the outpouring of creative knowledge that our members share. We are so excited to see what is next in line for the magazine!
- Emily Zalewski Editor
TABLE OF CONTENTS SHORT STORIES
Prisoner of Time, Part 2 by Sophia Lezhanska [pg 22] Murder in the Snow, Part 2 by Maja Bavcevic [pg 49] POETRY + PROSE
Woman by Ava Vendittelli [pg 10] Young Forever by Anonymous [pg 16] Monsters by Ava Vendittelli [pg 18] BOOK REVIEWS
We Were Liars reviewed by Anonymous [pg 4] Knockout reviewed by Anonymous [pg 46] ESSAYS
7 Easy Sustainable Lifestyle Changes for Students by Annalisa Hammond [pg 5] One Step At A Time by Katherine Switt [pg 12] BA'S FAVOURITE BOOKS
A new special segment featuring the BA students' best book recommendations Pages designed by Jenna Kim [pgs 35-44 ] ARTWORK
Lemon Zest (inspired by Carolyn Lord) by Veronika Lomets [cover] Underwater Adventures by Justine Terka [pg 9] An Illusion of Happiness by Brianna Furtado [pg 11] Amelia by Matylda Schwartz [pg 17] Reach by Brianna Furtado [pg 21] Ignorance Breeds Racism by Brianna Furtado [pg 21] Ballgown by Maja Bavcevic [pg 45] New Perspectives by Mariana Gillies [pg 48] Let's Talk Economics: Scarcity (infographic) by Stephanie Staibano [pg 61]
WE WERE LIARS Reviewed by Anonymous
I recently read We Were Liars by E. Lockhart and was absolutely blown away by this novel. To begin, the choice of diction is alluring and aesthetically pleasing. I found that it really appealed to my five senses and was constantly painting a picture in my mind. Furthermore, the suspense and mystery perfectly balances out and will make the book impossible to put down. It felt as though every chapter left on a cliffhanger, daring you to keep going. The circle of friends depicted in this book is very distinct. The protagonists are especially realistic and relatable, which means you will feel a constant connection and love for each of them. Finally, without a doubt, the most remarkable element of this novel is the plot twist. I can guarantee that despite any hints that it is coming, it will still take you entirely by surprise. All in all, this is an astounding piece of literature. I would give it five out of five stars and recommend it to anyone who enjoys dramas and psychological thrillers.
- 4 -
7 EASY SUSTAINABLE LIFESTYLE CHANGES FOR STUDENTS
By Annalisa Hammond
Even as a student, there are many ways to incorporate sustainable practices into your life. Sometimes, trying to have a more eco-friendly lifestyle can seem overwhelming and difficult. However, making small changes to your lifestyle can make such a big difference. Remember that, “We don’t need a handful of people doing zero waste perfectly. We need millions of people doing it imperfectly.” (Anne Marie Bonneau). Here are seven tips to help lower your plastic use and help keep our planet green: 1. On the go? Bring a reusable water bottle or travel mug! According to the Government of Canada, 3 million tonnes of plastic waste are thrown out each year by Canadians and only 9% is actually recycled. The rest will end up in landfills or in the environment. So, why not contribute to lowering that number by using more sustainable alternatives to plastic, like reusable water bottles and travel mugs? You can get ones that have colourful patterns and designs and that can keep your drink hot or cold for hours. Places like Starbucks also give a discount when you bring a reusable cup with you! Some of my favourite water bottles are Nalgenes or S’well bottles. If you already have some old reusable bottles that you’re bored with, customize it by adding some cool stickers to them! 2. Bring a reusable shopping bag with you Canadians use approximately 15 billion plastic bags each year. Making the
- 5 -
small change of bringing a reusable shopping bag with you can make a much larger difference. Whether you are going to the grocery store to run errands for your family or going out shopping with some friends, bringing a reusable bag will help lower your plastic waste and keep it out of landfills. Put them in your backpack, your purse and even your (parent’s) car so they will always be readily available to use! 3. Opt for a cloth face mask when possible Over the past year, disposable masks have become a much larger environmental concern as they are being littered and end up in landfills. When possible, pick a cloth face mask instead of a disposable one. They can be washed and reused countless times and still work to protect against the virus. Some of my favourite face masks are from Lululemon, Old Navy and Aritzia. Another great company based out of Alberta is Unbelts. 4. Separate waste properly Properly separating garbage can seem very confusing and complicated at times because there are so many rules to what goes where. However, on the City of Toronto’s website, they have many images and posters that show how to properly separate your household waste. I recommend printing these out and sticking them next to your recycling, garbage and compost bins in your house. That way, before you go to throw something out, you can quickly check to make sure you are putting it in the right place. Another great resource is the TO Waste App available on the Apple App store or Google play store. 5. Make coffee more sustainably Let's face it- we all love coffee. Whether it's a latte, a cold brew or a double
- 6 -
double from Tim’s, there is something for everyone! There are many ways to have your coffee without it being harmful to our planet. If you have a Keurig machine, a great alternative to the plastic single use coffee pods are the new compostable pods from Maxwell House that can go straight into your green bin. Another easy swap for those who brew their coffee using a coffee filter is to switch to a reusable one. Also, try to buy ethically sourced coffee beans to ensure that they are getting cultivated sustainably. 6. Create a clean makeup and skincare routine Having a clean makeup and skincare routine will benefit both you and the planet! A very easy eco-friendly swap to single-use makeup wipes or cotton pads is using a reusable makeup cloth. I recommend the Makeup Eraser because it doesn’t require any makeup remover, all you need to do is add water for it to work! Another great option is to buy clean skincare and makeup. A great way to do this is shopping from the Clean at Sephora section. They label all the brands and products that are using sustainable and ethical practices, like clean ingredients and greener packaging. A skincare brand that I recommend is Youth to The People (their Superfood Antioxidant Cleanser is amazing). A more affordable option with great reviews is The Inkey List. 7. Choose sustainable clothing options In North America, 10 million tonnes of clothing is sent to the landfills each year, 95% of which could have been reused or recycled (according to the Recycling Council of Ontario). Next time you decide that you are in need of some new pieces in your wardrobe, why not try to support businesses that are using sustainable practices? Some places like Patagonia, Tentree and Allbirds use recycled materials to make their clothing and accessories.
- 7 -
Another great option is thrift shopping. You can get unique pieces and find clothing from name brands for a fraction of the price. There are also many online thrift stores like Depop, Poshmark or ThredUp. Whenever you have old clothes that you don’t want anymore, don’t forget to donate them or drop them off at a thrift store so they can be given a second life.
- 8 -
"Underwater Adventures" by Justine Terka
- 9 -
WOMAN By Ava Vendittelli
Walking down the street In public, yet still afraid As those around leer at her As if, just for them, she was made And her mind is overrun With merciless words and jeers That people hurtled at her All just spilling out her ears She was a slut when her shirt rode up She was a prude when she pulled it down She was asking for it when you violated her And you wonder why she can only frown That one is too plain That one is trying too hard That one is too fake That one isn’t even worth your regard One day she eats too much The next day she’s a skeleton All the conflicting words convince her Any compliments can’t be genuine And more labels are thrown her way Invading on her dreams Saying “not enough, never enough” Until she has no choice but to scream But still, no one listens to her Saying she should be in the kitchen It’s only there where she belongs After all, she’s just a woman
- 10 -
"An Illusion of Happiness" by Brianna Furtado - 11 -
ONE STEP AT A TIME By Katherine Switt I still remember the first time my sister took twenty steps in a row. “Twenty!” my mom shouted. “I think it was twenty-two!” my brother chirped from behind the video camera. We all cheered her on as she looked back at us with a beaming smile. My sister Emily was four when she took her first steps. Given that most children learn to walk within their first twelve months, you would think that this would be cause for concern, rather than celebration. However, in Emily’s case, this marked an important milestone in her journey. For someone who has multiple disabilities, this journey is very different from your typical child. Emily's path takes more time, has many more bumps in the road, and requires much more support, but she eventually reaches her destination. When Emily took those first steps on her own, she had surpassed expectations. In fact, every little thing that Emily does, whether it be sounding out something similar to a word, or turning on her favourite song all by herself, is a victory. The first time I laid my eyes on my sister I knew she was special. And she is. Together, we go on walks and read and do puzzles. Spending time with my sister has planted foundational seeds of values within me, helping me grow. I’ve developed a peaceful and placid patience as I grasp what she is trying to express through her emotions. Communicating with Emily is difficult as she can't speak. Therein lies the question: how do you
- 12 -
communicate with someone who can't speak through her mouth, but desperately wants to speak her mind? The simple answer is that you can’t— or just not in the traditional sense. Emily and I can connect beyond words. Although she may not be able to physically speak, she communicates so much through her actions and expressions. It is not always easy though. She uses sign language and her iPad to tell me what she wants to have or do, but these approaches can only cover a certain vocabulary, after that, it becomes a guessing game. What does she want to eat? Ice cream? Pasta? Where does she want to go? The park? School? Sometimes it's an effortless step in the right direction that leads me directly to what she wants. At other times, it’s like a relay, where I'm passing like a baton from one object to another—the finish line nowhere in sight. I take a deep breath and remind myself to “stay calm”. If I break down, so will she. We continue the race until I reach the finish line, day after day. Facing these daily hurdles has made me a better person and has allowed me to become someone Emily can lean on as she steps towards the future. I will admit however, I am not always calm and collected. A lot of the time it’s difficult to keep this type of composure when I am focused on my own obstacles. I find this happens most when I’m consumed with school work. Even though my attention is on my work, Emily somehow finds a way to direct my mind elsewhere. She approaches me and tries to show me something. She amusingly pats my shoulder — each time her fingertips pressing into my sweatshirt more convincingly. My head turns in her direction for a split second and my mouth instinctively blurts out “very nice”. Realizing I didn’t even get a glimpse of what she was pointing to, she tries again. This time, she distracts me. “Emily please, I’m trying to work.” As she leaves my room, a familiar sense of guilt sets in. How could I be so dismissive to my sister who just wants to make some connection with me?
- 13 -
My family can’t always understand Emily, and Emily can’t always understand us. The seemingly simple concept of time is one that is troublesome for her. Making statements like “Emily, later we are going on a drive”, “this afternoon we will go to the park”, “tomorrow we are going for a walk” do not resonate with her. Subsequently, she throws a fit. Her arms start to flail and whiny sounds leave her lips as she jumps up and down trying to make it clear that she wants to go now. For a typical child, this might seem like a bratty temper tantrum, but for Emily, it is her way of communicating. When people aren’t exposed to this type of behaviour, seeing Emily act this way incites an uncomfortable look, as it seems like a reflection of bad parenting. To help others understand, I simply explain with a question: when you’re angry how do you express yourself? Through words, they say. For Emily though, that is not an option. Instead, she uses body language and expressions. She points and flails her arms and jumps and cries to express how she’s feeling. Some days are good and some days are bad — but how can we appreciate the good days if we don’t have any tough ones? I cherish the good days. Emily’s happiness is contagious. When she's happy, a beaming smile appears on my face, reflecting hers. Everyone says
- 14 -
to enjoy the little things in life. Emily truly does. She loves going for drives and a thrilled look appears as the first few notes of her favorite Drake song begin to play on the radio. A high-pitched squeal comes from the backseat as we pull into the McDonald’s drive thru to get ice cream. As I read the same “Oh David '' book voicing the characters differently each time, she laughs hysterically tilting her head back. Emily helps me to appreciate the simpler things in life. For me, meaning comes from the moments I spend with her. Our long walks consist of Emily running along the sidewalk, the tips of her feet sweeping against the ground as she tries to lift them, pushing the stroller with all her might, giggling while I try to catch up to her. It’s moments like these where a simple photograph, a moment in time, will be a memory I carry with me forever. I see other children Emily’s age and what they are capable of. As I watch them walking with friends, riding bikes, and playing sports, I realize these are all things Emily may never be able to do and it breaks me. How is it fair that these children are able to do so much more than her? It’s not. But it’s okay that Emily can’t ride a bike, or play sports yet, because she can now do things that she was incapable of doing in the past. She couldn’t swing on a swing, but now she pumps the swing all on her own. She couldn’t communicate with us, now she can use her iPad to say phrases such as “I want school”. She could never smile for family photos, but now when we say “Emily, smile,” her smile lights up the room. Watching her do something new every day, something our family never thought she would do, makes me realize an important truth: Everyone runs their own race in life, but there isn’t only one way to the finish line. Life with Emily has taught me to slow my pace, take the scenic route and enjoy the journey. It’s a lesson that I’m still learning, and Emily is my greatest coach. I guess sometimes you have to learn to walk before you can run.
- 15 -
YOUNG FOREVER By Anonymous
Can I be the only one afraid of losing this childhood? This glorious joyous magnificent unworried blessed enchanted magical childhood? I miss sparkling days on the beach chasing gulls I want another minute of never worrying over work I wish I could unhear things I’ve heard Things I’ve heard about the world A world of people all grown up People selfish corrupting screaming cheating loathing vengeful and worse: never learning I do not want to grow up I do not want to become like them. They have forgotten childhood whereas I refuse to let it go
- 16 -
"Amelia" by Matylda Schwartz - 17 -
MONSTERS
By Ava Vendittelli [ Trigger warning: suicide ]
Every little kid thinks about monsters. Whether it’s the bogeyman, the monster under the bed, the one in the closet, the ghosts of haunted spirits that peer through windows at night or the creatures that replace the creaks of an old house with eerie footsteps. They scare us into doing things. Scare us into keeping the covers on at night or having a nightlight in the corner of the room. It was because of them that we would lie, scared of the repercussions of the truth. And it was because of them that we would run away from home when our emotions got too much. I used to be scared of them too. I still am sometimes. These monsters are vile creatures. We picture them in our minds with huge bodies, practically 10 feet tall; sharp, xiphoid teeth, their canines poking out of their mouths; knife-like spikes coating their back in the most horrifying way possible; a growl that can raise goosebumps and make the bravest person cower. But the worst part of these monsters has nothing to do with their appearance. The scary thing is, despite the threatening nature of these creatures, we rely on them in a way. Throughout our lives, they cling to our minds, morphing our imagination and thoughts around them. Their constant presence begins
- 18 -
to make them our most loyal companions. Since they always seemed to help us out of situations in the past, we start to trust them. When we break Mom’s favourite vase, they whisper, “It’s alright. Blame the cat.” When there’s one forbidden cookie left, they tell us, “Go on, eat it. You’ll enjoy it.” They always seem to know the truth because they can access the most private parts of our minds. They speak our truth because they can see our insecurities and our desires. Whatever they say, we agree with. Why wouldn’t we? At night, the monsters stand at the end of our beds and point at us, laughing. Mocking us for our past mistakes. Ridiculing us for that time five years ago when we failed at something. Reminding us of how we’ll never be as pretty as that girl beside us in science class. They claim they’re doing it for us, that they’re helping us, making us stronger. “It’s just the truth,” they sneer. “We’re just telling you what they’re all saying about you. Everyone sees it.” And when we cry and we scream and we tell them to leave us alone, they stick by, promising they’re helping us. Despite their words, it’s nice to have them stick by us. We can trust them to always be there. We trust them even as their words become more vile and common. We trust them even as we stop eating our dinners and start puking after every meal because we’re fat. We trust them even when we lose the will to get out of bed
- 19 -
in the morning because there’s just no point anymore. And they don’t stop there. They will never stop until they use their fierce teeth to rip us apart bit by bit. They will never stop until we have heard everything we never wanted to hear. They will never stop until they have destroyed our minds enough that we finally want to destroy our bodies. They will say, “Everything is your fault. No one wants you here. Trust me.” Their cruel words will calm us while we tie the knot in that belt. Their horrid words will soothe us while we pour the pills they convinced us to take down our throat. Their vicious words will lull us to sleep while we lay submerged in water slowly turning more and more red. But while this is happening, their voices will begin to fade, and we will start to see their manipulations and lies. We will regret what has happened. We will regret listening to their words and succumbing to their persuasions. But it’s already too late. As we drift out of consciousness, we will realize that those monsters aren’t the vile beasts we imagined as children with spikes and sharp teeth and a towering size. No, monsters are the voices that are always there, the sobs cried into our pillows at night. Monsters live in our heads. And they’re the eyes we see staring back at us when we look into the mirror.
- 20 -
"Reach" by Brianna Furtado
"Ignorance breeds Racism" by Brianna Furtado
- 21 -
PRISONER OF TIME - PART 2 -
By Sophia Lezhanska
check out jan/feb edition to read part 1!
It’s been four weeks since my accident. I wake up and get dressed. I head downstairs and feel invigorated. The cast on my arm was removed yesterday and I finally feel healthy and normal. Except for the memory loss. But then Mom #2 and I eat breakfast, just the two of us, and my mood darkens. “Where’s mom?” I ask. “She left early today,” Mom #2 tells me. “Why?” I persist. “I don’t know. It’s a busy day at work, I suppose,” she mutters. That’s odd; I don’t think an early start was in the schedule for my mom. Maybe she got a call to come in or something. I’m sure it’s fine. Mom #2 leaves for work while I brush my hair. It feels weird stepping outside without my mother; it’s become a habit of ours to walk to my school together. I began to look forward to our morning conversations. She would always recount fun times our family had. It didn’t replace my lost memories, but I enjoyed listening to the exciting things we once did together. As I start walking away from our house, I remember my morning pills. My mom always gave them to me before we left our home, but since she was gone this morning, I didn’t take one. If I go back home to look for them, I’ll be late for class, and I’ll be severely punished. I don’t know what will happen if I don’t take the pill, but I imagine I’ll be fine for the day. When I get to school, I calmly proceed to class and make it right on time. As the day progresses, I don’t feel any different than usual. In fact, I might actually feel better than usual. I’m not drowsy.
- 22 -
I feel amazing right up until lunch. As I sit down at my usual lunch table, I feel… off. I try to focus on the ticking of the clocks to calm me down, but I start to feel overwhelmed. The clamour of the students in the cafeteria fades away and is then replaced by one sound: the continuous ticking. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. And it no longer feels like I’m sitting at a table with friends at my school. I lose all sense of reality; it’s just me and the ticking. I try to tune it out but I can no longer find anything else to concentrate on. It feels like the ticking is all there ever was and all there ever will be. And then, in my mind, I see a vivid picture of trees. It looks like a forest. I think it’s safe to assume that it’s the forest where I was injured. In an instant, there’s an acute pounding pain in my head. It hurts so much that I don’t even hear the ticking anymore. I grab my forehead and groan. Suddenly, all my senses return. Claire, are you okay?!” someone yells at me. I blink up at Katie. I can’t find my voice so I just shake my head at her and run away. I run out of the cafeteria, out of the school, and then I race along the streets outside for a while. I don’t stop running until I reach a forest on the edge of town. I can still see the image of trees clearly in my head and something about this feels right, so I decide to take a walk amongst the trees. My head won’t stop throbbing in pain, but the more I walk in the forest, the less extreme the pain becomes. I don’t know why I’m here, but I couldn’t stay at the school and I think this place is going to offer me a solution to my problem. It’s already alleviating my pain. Maybe I can finally find the answer I need: what happened to me on the day of my accident?
- 23 -
Eventually, after a long trek, I come to a clearing and gape at a crater in the middle of it. It’s not very prominent but there’s an obvious dent in the ground. I look around and notice there are some stumps, as well as dead tree trunks lying about. My headache has fully disappeared now. I guess this was the place I needed to see. I still don’t understand what exactly happened to me, but I know it’s related to the damage in this forest. As I walk away, I breathe in the fresh air, and then feel something crunch underfoot. I look down at the ground and find a broken watch. As I stare at it, it feels really familiar. I deduce that this must be the watch I lost during my accident. I was definitely here on that day. Before I decide whether I should take it with me or leave the past behind for now, a loud noise pierces the air. It sounds like a warning. Or maybe it’s just an alarm for something. This town is famous for their alarms and clocks, after all. I bolt toward the town and follow the sound to the town square. Once there, I see something I wasn’t expecting: my mother, standing on the edge of the fountain, holding a microphone and shouting, “It’s time for you all to listen!”
People are stopping. They all gather to look at Mom #1 standing atop the fountain, seemingly waiting for what she’s going to say. I walk toward her and demand, “What the hell are you doing?” She looks puzzled. “Claire, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?” she asks me. I just glare at her. “I’m calling a town meeting. The sound you’re hearing is the official
- 24 -
meeting bell. I’ve had this booked for a few weeks now,” she explains. “What’s the meeting for?” I inquire. “You’ll see,” she says, and it’s eerily familiar. I’m reminded of that night, weeks ago, when she told my other mom that she wanted to “make things right”. That must be what she’s doing now, for whatever she messed up in the first place. A few minutes later, there is a considerably large crowd. I don’t recognize anyone, which is understandable because I have memory loss and they’re all random adults with no known connection to me. My mom starts to go into a speech: “We need change!” she shouts into the microphone. “Are you satisfied with all these schedules? All these clocks? Aren’t you tired? Don’t you just want to be free?!” A low mumble goes through the crowd as people consider what she’s saying. She’s literally questioning their entire lifestyle, so I don’t think it’s being received all that well. “It’s time to end this!” she continues. “Town council won’t listen to me, but maybe all of you will. I can’t be the only one who feels this way. I can’t be the only person here who hates the schedules and finds it hard to concentrate and get things done. Some of you must understand what it was like as a child when you couldn’t follow all the rules.” The audience is mostly silent now. I guess she’s resonating with people. “Let’s put an end to the scheduling, and our addiction to time. Productivity is not more important than happiness, and time–” she declares. “Is just an illusion!” I shout, finishing her sentence. It’s all coming back to me.
Four weeks ago, I was just living my life. No memory problems and no mysterious accidents. But then, one evening, my moms got into a huge
- 25 -
argument. They didn’t even speak to each other the next morning. I was unsettled that day, so I wanted to be alone during lunch. I decided to go to my favourite spot in the forest. I loved to go there to read during personal time. It was comforting and peaceful. I would also go there whenever I was upset (if permissible according to our schedule, of course). But that day, someone else was there: my parents. And they were yelling. “You can’t do this!” Mom #2 screamed. “You don’t understand. I have to,” Mom #1 calmly replied. “No, you don’t. You’ll be discovered, and you’ll tear our family apart,” Mom #2 insisted. “I won’t be caught. I’ll be very discrete. And even if they do find me out, it will be worth it,” Mom #1 stated simply. “This stupid vendetta against the town is more important than your own family?” Mom #2 demanded. “No, but it’s something I have to do for my family,” Mom #1 said. “If you do this, it will be unforgivable. This is taking it too far. I can’t have this terrible influence on my daughter,” Mom #2 announced. “Why? Are you scared she won’t be your perfect little complacent daughter anymore? Are you afraid she’ll become more like me? Free-willed and determined to fight for what’s right?” Mom #1 exclaimed. “Don’t you dare talk about what’s right! As if you have any moral idea of what’s right!” Mom #2 scoffed. Mom #1 said nothing. After a few moments of silence, Mom #2 declared, “I’ll turn you in, no hesitation. I could arrest you right this second.” “You don’t know where I set it up. I’ll gladly turn myself in right now, but no matter what you do, it’s too late to stop it,” Mom #1 said. “Why? Why are you doing this?” Mom #2 demanded hysterically.
- 26 -
“Because the world is watching. Our ‘perfection’ will spread unless someone does something. I can’t let them take away everyone’s freedom, so I have to take away this town’s hope. I have to take away what they pretend to love to give them some perspective on what really matters. And this is the only way to get their attention,” Mom #1 stated. Mom #2 shook her head as a tear slid down her cheek. Then she turned away and ran. A minute later, Mom #1 muttered to herself, “Why do they care about the damn clocktower so much? Why does time matter so much to them? Time is just an illusion.”
Instead of going back to school that day, I made the stupidest decision of my life – I ran to the clocktower. There was no one inside. I rushed all the way to the top, skipping steps along the way. Once at the top, I found something that terrified me: a bomb. I didn’t really know what to do. My mother was going to destroy the beloved clocktower of the town. My other mother knew about her plan. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to destroy though. The reasonable course of action would’ve been to report this. I should’ve called the police and they should’ve taken care of it. But I kept thinking of Mom #2 telling Mom #1 that this would be unforgivable. If she knew about this, our family would have been just as wrecked as Mom #1 wanted the clocktower to be. If the bomb was detonated somewhere else, then Mom #2 might’ve thought Mom #1 got rid of it herself and all might have been forgiven. I had to stop it myself. I approached the bomb. It had a timer. 11 minutes and 17 seconds. I tentatively picked it up, hoping it wouldn’t explode. Then I ran.
- 27 -
I hurried down the stairs of the clocktower and sprinted across town. I didn’t stop until I reached my spot in the woods, where I had just heard my parents’ harsh dispute. I took a few seconds to catch my breath and glanced at the bomb in my hand. 2 minutes and 36 seconds. I went back to dashing through the trees, and the whole time I ran, I listened to the ticking of the bomb. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. That sound is the only thing that stuck with me when my memory was gone. I picked up the pace and charged through the trees, despite the burning in my lungs. My daily running with my mothers gave me pretty good lung capacity, but I couldn’t handle the physical intensity of this endeavour. By the time I reached a place in the forest that I thought was far enough from the town, I couldn’t catch my breath. I set the bomb down and fought my own body not to collapse right there on the ground. I checked the timer again. 15 seconds. I took a few seconds to try to regain composure. Realizing there was no way I had enough time, I ignored the pain in my lungs, and the pain in my legs, took a deep breath, and ran away. I didn’t get far before the bomb exploded. I didn’t even hear the crack of my arm breaking upon impact with a root in the ground. I couldn’t hear anything except a ringing deep in my ears. I couldn’t remember the exact moment when my head had hit the ground either. All I knew was that I felt excruciating pain throughout my body, especially in my arm and head. I could barely move, but I could feel myself slipping away and I didn’t think I would die, but I wasn’t sure. For whatever reason, in a moment when nothing was really making sense, I grabbed my watch off of my wrist and threw it away from me. I can’t remember why.
- 28 -
Maybe as a commemoration of what I’d done, to signify that I had been there. Or maybe I didn’t want that thing on me. The stupid clock. A clock had gotten me into that situation and had almost ruined my family. So I surely didn’t want one attached to my hand. As soon as I got the watch off, I blacked out.
There was a brief moment of consciousness when I heard voices beside me. I was numb all over but I think I was still in the forest at the time. “This was your doing!” someone said. Mom. “I’m sorry! I never intended for her to get hurt! How did she even know about the bomb?” my other mom said. “Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she just found it and tried to be the hero. Either way, that doesn’t matter. I told you not to sacrifice our family, and you went and did it anyway!” Mom #2 said. “I know. But I can fix this! Please give me another chance,” Mom #1 begged. I didn’t hear any more because I felt myself slipping back into unconsciousness and I felt my memory being ripped away.
Presently, I’m staring my mom straight in the face with a look of total horror and fury. She’s looking back at me proudly. It’s probably because I just finished her sentence (“time is just an illusion”), complementing her grand speech. “You’re absolutely correct, my daughter. Time is an illusion that humans created,” she proclaims to the crowd in the town square. “And time controls us. That’s no way to live. Yes, productivity is nice. But you know what we never do? We never take the time to actually appreciate our
- 29 -
accomplishments because we’re rushing to get to the next activity.” “Let’s let go of time and just let ourselves be happy. This is the first step,” she says, pulling out a little remote with a single button on it. “Last time, I made the mistake of trying to hide. I wanted to keep my anonymity. I thought I could get rid of the clocktower and that might be enough. But I want to do this with you all. Let’s take this first step together,” she urges. “Mom,” I caution. She’s going to do it. She’s going to blow it up, and this time I can’t stop her. “It’s time, Claire,” my mother says, before pressing the button and demolishing the gorgeous clock that is so precious to the town. And everything descends into chaos. People panic and start yelling. Police officers run toward my mom. Mom #2 is among them, and she’s in tears as she makes the arrest. “How could you do this, even after Claire’s accident?!” she cries. “I told you over and over again not to do this!” “I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and I’ve always hated it. I would’ve left a long time ago if the love of my life didn’t insist on living here,” Mom #1 says. “But I had to try to make a difference. Maybe I got through to some of them, and things can now change.” Mom #2 silently leads Mom #1 away.
That evening, back at home, I ask Mom #2 why she and Mom #1 kept the truth from me the whole time. They knew about my accident but blatantly fed me lies about their obliviousness. “She was planning to make amends with you when you woke up. But the doctor told us you might not even remember anything, and we decided that if that was the case then we wouldn’t trouble you with the knowledge. I
- 30 -
truly thought after you were hurt, she wouldn’t try it again. I thought we would just keep living normally and then explain it all to you when you got your memory back,” Mom tells me. I nod. “Ok, so what happens now?” “I think your mom is going to jail for some time. But I don’t know what will happen when she gets out one day. I imagine she’ll move somewhere that’s not as strict with their residents,” Mom says sadly. “You won’t forgive her?” I ask, even though I know the answer. She shakes her head and gives me a hug. “Not after all of this. She’s not happy here anyway. I think moving away would be best for her,” she explains. “I don’t understand,” I remark. “She seemed frustrated with the system but she didn’t seem that frustrated with it.” "She hid her irritation well. But she’s always hated the scheduling. She struggled her whole life with it, and she suffered a lot of abuse from superiors because of it,” Mom tells me somberly. I sit there and think this through, but then I remember something else. “Wait, what about the antidepressants?” I ask. “What antidepressants?” Mom looks really confused. “Other mom gave me a pill every day that she claimed was an antidepressant. Now that I remember everything, I don’t think they were antidepressants after all. Or were they?” I ask, just as confused as Mom. “No, you don’t have a prescription for antidepressants,” Mom notes. I get up and check some of the organized drawers in the kitchen and living room. Eventually I find what I’m looking for. I hand the small container to my mom. She studies it for a minute before announcing, “These are memory suppression pills. Your mother has been keeping you clueless. I assume it’s so that her plan today would go smoothly,” Mom says resentfully.
- 31 -
“And so that we’d have more time together,” I speculate. “What?” “Don’t get me wrong; I’m not letting her off the hook. She literally kept my memories from me. But, as soon as I remembered the accident, it was going to be game over for her. As long as I knew nothing, we could live as a normal family. She gave us a month of bliss. But in the end, she did what she thought was right. She didn’t give me a pill today, knowing she would be persecuted and that you would then tell me the truth anyway. And I understand why she did it now. You said yourself that she’s suffered her whole life in this town. She wanted them to suffer too. Or she wanted to get out of the complacent cycle she was in. She couldn’t keep up the act that she loved her life. Our time was up, mom,” I explain. She doesn’t look entirely convinced, probably because she’s been betrayed by her life partner many times now, and doesn’t want to harbour any positive opinions about her at the moment. Still, she gives me a slight smile and pulls me into another hug.
Nothing changes in the town. The clocktower is eventually rebuilt, and life more or less returns to normal. Students give me odd looks when I go to school for the first time after my mom’s arrest, but other than that, life goes on. What did I learn from this experience? People do crazy things sometimes. I mean, my mom bombed a clocktower to prove a point about a town she lived in her whole life. But also, I don’t think Mom #1 was wrong. This life is exhausting. Sometimes I just want to take a break and spend a whole day sleeping, but I can’t or I’ll be punished.
- 32 -
I think there needs to be a balance. You make the most of life by building a schedule, but you give yourself some leeway to just enjoy living. Maybe more than an hour of “personal time”. Or maybe you make a list of things you want to do that day but not an exact schedule. The bottom line is, we’re not robots. We’re people. So when I grow up, I become a lawyer and do what my mom did – fight for freedom. I don’t blow anything up. But I hold peaceful protests, and defend people in court – those who are considered to be “disorganized”, “undisciplined”, and “inefficient”. I also started a union for people fighting against this dictatorship that disguises itself as a democracy. We’re machines working for the town. That’s all we’ve ever been. But we deserve to live for ourselves. You might be thinking, “Why don’t you just move away?” The answer is: I can’t. News of our town has spread, just as my mother always feared it would. When she got out of jail, she and Mom #2 got a divorce and she moved somewhere else, just as Mom #2 predicted. It was upsetting, but I can’t say it wasn’t expected. Even before the whole bomb ordeal, she and Mom #2 were struggling. They cared deeply about each other, but their relationship was crumbling under the pressure of their differing viewpoints. Mom #1 was always very strong-willed and opinionated, and Mom #2 loved that about her, but in this case it was her downfall. She took it too far. Perhaps under different circumstances, my mothers would’ve had an amazing, long life together. But they were born in a society that doomed their relationship from the start. Mom #1 chose freedom over family, and perhaps that was inevitable. I don’t blame either of my parents in this scenario. Not even Mom #1. She went to such extremes to change something she really despised, and I
- 33 -
can admire that. But after she failed, I guess she just gave up. But I can’t just run away. I have to end this. If I don’t stop this madness at the source, then there won’t be a place in the world that isn’t corrupted by schedules and clocks. And the fact of the matter is this: people need order, but we deserve to have control over ourselves. It is up to us to push ourselves to accomplish what we want in life.
Despite everything, I still find consolation in the ticking of a clock. When I’ve had a difficult day at the office, or my family is frustrating me, I’ll spend my free time that day sitting in a cozy chair or perhaps laying in bed, being soothed by a clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m a prisoner of time, and yet I’m comforted by my captor.
the end
- 34 -
- 35 -
- 36 -
- 37 -
{full review on page 4!!}
- 38 -
- 39 -
- 40 -
- 41 -
- 42 -
- 43 -
- 44 -
- -
"Ballgown" sketched by Maja Bavcevic - 45 -
KNOCKOUT
Reviewed by Anonymous When I first picked up Knockout by Mia Kang, I had no clue who Mia Kang was, so I don’t blame you if you haven’t heard of her either. However, once I started reading this memoir, I was hooked within a few paragraphs and couldn’t put it down until I finished. In Knockout, Kang discusses her rise in the modeling world and how that led her to fall in love with Muay Thai. Honestly, I have never been one for modeling or martial arts. However, this memoir is much more than that. As a child, Kang was left to her own
devices, and after experiencing bullying at school due to her weight, she stopped eating for days at a time. With no one watching over her, Kang believed what she was doing was right, as she began to receive validation from boys who had previously made fun of her. However, her greatest form of validation came at the age of thirteen when her dance teacher told Kang that she would be a great model. Kang was quickly put in touch with a modeling agent, and just like that, was swept into the modeling world. She went from being a shy, bullied girl from Hong Kong to being plastered on billboards worldwide, wearing clothes from the top fashion houses. While many models have begun to speak out against the modeling industry
- 46 -
and their unethical practices, Kang completely pulls back the curtain and shows the dark side of the modeling world. She is candid and raw, sparing no details, and exposes shocking methods she was encouraged to use to stay thin. This life began to take a toll on Kang, not just physically, but also mentally until she discovered the sport of Muay Thai and learned what it meant to truly love your body. I honestly believe the reason why I enjoyed this book so much was because of how candid Kang was while describing her life. It truly opened my eyes to the pressures of the modeling world. However, I want to stress that this memoir is not just a window into the modeling world. This memoir is so powerful because it shows how Kang was able to take her pain and suffering and channel that into something that made her feel more positive about life. While the title can be misleading as the majority of the memoir focuses on her early life and modeling career, it is an easy and eye-opening read that I would definitely recommend. As I said before, I had no clue who Mia Kang was before I read this memoir. But after reading Knockout, I will never be able to forget her story.
- 47 -
"New perspectives" by Mariana gillies
- 48 -
MURDER IN THE SNOW By Maja Bavcevic
- PART 2 -
check out jan/feb edition to read part 1!
POV: I sat there watching the trial for the murder I commited unfold... only I wasn’t the one on trial. “Your Honour, I know how it happened,” the defendant said with an odd level of confidence for someone on trial with, more or less, conclusive proof that they commited the murder. “Oh please, do tell,” the judge said sarcastically. “On the second floor of that house, there are a whole bunch of high-tech computers. Whoever lives there must have committed the murder, and then edited the footage after I came in, replacing themselves with me. Your Honour, I am innocent.” “Then explain to me how your footprints were present in the yard?” “I don’t know.” “And how about the fact that only your DNA and the victim's DNA were found anywhere on the crime scene?” “I'm not sure—” the defendant said, almost in a state of panic. “And how did you know about these computers?” You can see them from the street.”
- 49 -
“Then how come not one of the police officers or detectives noticed?” “Well they wouldn’t have known to look.” “And you would have?” the judge said bluntly. The defendant’s ‘brilliant’ solution as to how the murder happened was crumbling.. “Well—” “Hmm, and explain to me how ‘the person who lives there’ supposedly edited the footage when they died 10 years ago and their child, who now owns the house, hasn't been back in 18 months?” the judge said, completely unfazed and outwardly irritated with the defendant's lack of common sense. “I—” There was no saving the defendant now. “Mhm. That's what I thought. So either the real murderer is some ghost who floated into the backyard, grabbed their rake with his little ghost-hands, used his super ghost-strength to swing the rake fast enough to kill the man with a singular blow to the head, or you’re lying. I would ask which seems more probable, but stating the obvious facts would be redundant and a complete waste of time.”
“You may read the verdict,” the judge said. “We find the defendant guilty,” the lead juror said. “So you say all?” the judge asked in response.
- 50 -
“Yes, your honour,” they all replied. I silently chuckled to myself that the court session lasted this long. I had covered my tracks very carefully. We both had. There was no way they would have been able to trace the murder back to me. The final piece of information they would have needed died that day in the snow. As the defendant was taken away in handcuffs, I stood up from my seat and walked out of the courtroom. “Sir, this way please,” a man said as he led me towards the car beside mine. I hopped into the passenger seat of the car and shut the door. “The verdict?” the man said as he sat down in the front seat. “Guilty,” I replied “I told you there would be no problem.” “Well pardon me for thinking the plan may have had some flaws,” I snapped. “Just because it's extensive and elaborate, doesn’t mean it was ever destined to fail.” "The plan was absurd! The entire plan had no ending. Until he was followed into the backyard and randomly touched both the body and the weapon, we had nothing! Your plan was to try and hide the body! How exactly did you plan on hiding the body?”
- 51 -
"Be quiet!” he yelled at me. “Outside a courthouse where they just settled the murder case we should be convicted for is not the best place to be having this conversation,” I snap back. “I am not the one who started it, but I am the one ending it. “ “You will meet me in that house tonight. Drive straight there, park elsewhere, walk in through the side entrance,” he said bluntly. I opened the car door and left.
Later that evening, I walked up to the house—the one where the murder was committed. I opened the side door just wide enough to step in. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?” I said before walking further into the house. “What a shame a bird flew into the window,” the man's voice replied from the kitchen. “Tell me again, why do I have to say that every time I enter the house?” “Think of the problems we’d have if you walked into the house and started talking if anyone other than me was here,” he replied. He’s right. Yes, it’s stupid, but having an unusual exchange of words is the safest bet. If you don’t get the planned response, you leave immediately. It’s safest that way. I walked over to the man who was sitting at the kitchen table, where he had left me a cup of coffee.
- 52 -
“You got lucky. If that person didn’t follow him into the backyard, we would have been caught,” I said as I sat down. “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “‘And how about how only your DNA and the victim's DNA were found anywhere on the crime scene?’” I rolled my eyes. “I told you. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to do this,” the man said as he took a sip of his steaming hot coffee. “Yes, but it is the first time I have.” “Ah right. I kind of forgot about that,” the man said. “You forgot about the fact that you recruited me for some ‘secret organization’ , and then my first task was murdering some random man who walked into the backyard? I didn’t think that was something you’d forget. It surely isn’t something I’ll ever forget” “In our defence, there’s a lot going on.” “Our?” I asked, perplexed. “Yes, ‘our’. Come, I’ll show you.” We walked upstairs. The inside of the house was in almost as poor a condition as the outside. A thick green carpet ran down the centre of the stairs. They
- 53 -
seemed relatively sturdy, but the wood was splitting beneath the carpet. I pitied anyone who had fallen down those stairs; the splinters they would have gotten would’ve been countless. “So. How much do you know?” he asked me as we turned the corner at the top of the stairs. “Nothing. I know nothing. Literally nothing. I was told I was needed for my specific skill set and would be further enlightened as to what is happening later on. I was told, by you, that I needed to kill the man. We discussed it and decided it would be best to kill him here. With gloves, swing and drop a rake from the upstairs window. It hits him on the head, done. No blood on our hands. You decided the best plan afterwards was to pick up the body and try to hide it,” I explained. “Right. And then as I was on my way downstairs to dispose of the body, someone walked onto the property, touched the rake and the body, leaving their DNA on both the victim and the weapon. We quickly altered the video footage and nothing went wrong.” “I have a question about that. How did the cops show up so fast? And how did they not notice the computers upstairs?” I asked. ''That’s why I brought you up here: to explain,” he said as he opened the door to the room we had been standing outside of. It took me a moment to take everything in. Newspaper clippings were all across the walls. Some in frames, others just taped on. Photos were everywhere, scattered in between the articles, held up with thumb tacks and
- 54 -
connected across the room with red string. I turned around in the centre of the room, absorbing all the information I could. “None of these newspaper articles are related,” I said as I furrowed my eyebrows. “Exactly,” the man said in response, joining me in the middle of the room. “So this ‘secret organization’ is basically a group of people who pin unrelated newspaper articles and pictures to the walls?” I asked. “No. The newspapers are all related,” he said and took one off the wall. “But— You just said they weren’t?” “No, I said, ‘Exactly’. The newspapers are all connected, but aren’t able to be connected unless you have the final piece of data, which only a select few people have. My response of ‘Exactly’ was referring to the purpose of these articles being pinned. We were involved in each and every one — in bizarre ways no one would think of, each different — and the fact that you didn’t know that is proving the point. No one can connect them without the last piece of information. You knew to look for a connection, since they're all tied together with a red string, but you still couldn’t see any connection. “ So the ‘Secret Organization’ is somehow linked to all those events?” I asked, running my fingers across the papers as I read them. The titles went from ‘Canadian Grand Prix’ to ‘First Man On Moon’ and everything in between. “Exactly. I’ll explain more about what the organization is and does.”
- 55 -
I walked over to a photo of a group of people posing for a formal photoshoot. There were four rows of people. The first row was sitting cross legged on the floor, the second row was sitting on a bench, the third was standing on the floor, and the fourth was standing on a bench to further increase their height. They all had on the same grey sweaters that said I.H.A.P. across the front in big red letters. “I.H.A.P.?” I ask “Yes. The name of the secret organization. I’ll explain the details later, but it stands for “International History Altering Program.” “Seems illegal,” I said jokingly. “Very,” the man replied. I choked on water I didn’t know was in me. “I mean, the whole murder of that man was obviously illegal, but that’s all… right?” I ask, almost scared to know the truth. “We had to have him removed because he was going to go to the press with information about our organization. No one knows we exist and, frankly, it’s best for everyone that way,” he said. “It started as just a group of 20 individuals. Many ended up working in different crime prevention careers. Police officers, detectives, forensic scientists; you name it, we got it. Over time, some of them got old and sadly passed on. Others kept one foot in the door to show their loyalty, but became more removed from the group.” “Who’s he?” I interrupted, pointing at a man who was standing alone in one of
- 56 -
the pictures. “Luca Sawh. One of the original 20 members. The youngest, actually. He and his older sister Sinead were two of the originals. There,” he said pointing to them in the first picture I saw. “Sinead was almost 15 years older than him. From the beginning, she was sceptical of having her younger brother in the organization, but the head insisted.” “He looks familiar.” “He’s the man you just killed.” I stood there, jaw dropped nearly to the floor, perplexed as to why I had murdered one of the original 20 members of I.H.A.P. while working for them. “Close your mouth,” the man said. I did. “Like I said, he was going to go to the press with information about the group, mainly the fact that it existed. Sinead was right from the start and the other 18 members were just too caught up in Luca’s intelligence to bother listening to her." "Sinead passed away four years ago with me at her side. She asked if Luca was still part of I.H.A.P., and I had the unfortunate job to tell her he was. The discomfort on her face after she heard that was sadly the last expression she made. Of the original 20, Luca was the only one left. Sinead had brought me in, just as I’m bringing you in,” he said. He tossed me a grey bundle of fabric. I unfolded the sweater and read the lettering on the front. ‘I.H.A.P’. There were small red letters on the sleeve. I
- 57 -
turned the sweater over in my hands. S. Sawh. “It was Sinead’s. She gave it to me right before I told her Luca was still with the organization and told me to give it to the person I would take in to fill her spot. I took in you,” the man said. “And why this house?” I asked. “It was his,” the man said pointing to the tallest man in the back row of the photo. He looked much older than the others. His large moustache and bushy eyebrows were impossible not to stare at. “He was the eldest member of the original 20. Since he was living alone he offered his house as their headquarters. His son ended up joining the crew just before he was going to leak information to the press. His son helped us out and solidified his spot in the group by slipping some poison into his father’s drink one night at dinner, removing all threats of exposure. He took his father’s sweater. There were only 20 made. One for each original member. And that’s how it will stay." "There are hundreds of workers in I.H.A.P nowadays, but only 20 members at the heart of it...each with one of the original member’s sweaters. Either they’re recruited by a member before they step back from the organization a bit as they age, or they’re taken as the new members solidify their spot by removing a threat on the inside.” “I killed Luca, why didn’t I take his?” I ask, wondering why I got his sister’s sweater instead. “I said 20 were made, I never said 20 people got them. Sinead was given
- 58 -
Luca's and was told to give it to him. Instead, she took it home and burned it. Sinead brought me in, but told me to replace Luca since she wasn’t done working for the organization and wanted Luca gone. So, I didn’t get a sweater. She gave me hers on her deathbed and told me to give it to whoever I bring in as her replacement. Luca refused to leave, and has been threatening to take the stories of our group to the press since I was brought in. He became the 21st member, the one no one wanted there.” All I could do was stand there and blink as I tried to take in what was happening. “The other 18 members are coming tonight for another meeting. I’d like you to be there.” The man said. I nodded in agreement. “The group usually drinks coffee at the meetings, but we’re out.. Can you run to the corner store just around the corner and grab some more?” “Sure. I know it seems off topic, but I’m perplexed as to how the police got here so fast after the murder. How did they even know to come?” I ask. “Simple. I called them.” “You called them while we were sitting in a house used by an illegal organization?” I almost shouted. “Like I said, ‘Police officers, detectives, forensic scientists; you name it, we got it’. I called in the specific crew of our officers, who knew what we were doing. The forensic analysts weren’t ours - our team is out in Michigan right now but there was nothing to worry about there. The detective that came to the crime scene didn’t comment on the computers or anything inside the house because they were also our workers. None of them are part of the group of
- 59 -
20, but they’re all workers. Now go, hurry. Get the coffee before the other members arrive.” I walked out of the house and to the store at the end of the street. There was only one jar of coffee left. I grabbed it, paid in cash, and went back. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?” I said as I opened the door, before walking further into the house. Silence. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?” I repeated, this time, much louder. My voice echoed through the house. “What a shame a bird flew into the window,” the man’s voice called back weakly from upstairs. Something was wrong. I walked upstairs and opened the door to the room. There he was, held at gunpoint...
to be continued...
- 60 -