438 Literary Magazine is a collection of poetry, prose, and visual art that is written, edited, illustrated, and designed by students and alumni of the creative writing club at Columbia College on the unceded territories of the xwməθkwəyəm (Musqueam), səlilwətaɁɬ (Tsleil-Waututh), and Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish) nations, colonially known as Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.
Ashley Nicole Gabriel, Brainy Thy, Caitlin Lai, Gurusevak Singh, John Glen Dulatre, Kapish Chhabra, Kayra Dayana Ibrania Silalahi, Ker Ng, Komal Toor, Letizia Rosario (Opek), Lovisht Chawla, Muzammil Sanwal, Navita Gupta, Pawandeep Kaur, Rad Karim, Reina Le, Samuel Getachew, Simranjit Singh, Teresa (Wing Sum) Tse, Troy Adela, Usaid Ali Syed, Victor Muhima, Violet Charlotta, Xavier Rune
KapishChhabra
The water calls me to paddle on, But I always pause to listen To the waves against my boat. I practice each week the xʷməθkʷəyəm, Sḵwxwú7mesh, and səlílwətaʔɬ territories.
Land Acknowledgements
Teresa(WingSum)Tse
The bed I sleep, The room I study, The building I live, The view I enjoy, The land I appreciate, on the xʷməθkʷəyəm, Sḵwxwú7mesh, and səlílwətaʔɬ territories.
LovishtChawla
The tree I visit, Whenever I feel low, Makes me the see positive, And feel gratitude for those, On whose land we reside, As I study, work and live, On the xʷməθkʷəyəm, Sḵwxwú7mesh and səlilwətaɬ territories.
On the West Coast
OntheWestCoast
Samuel Getachew
Beautiful British Columbia, Land of Rain and Rain
Snow on the mountains Rivers flowin,’ right before your eyes. Food from everywhere, so yummy to eat, Dancin’ to the beat, movin’ your feet.
Get ready, it’s a shock, Culture shock making you wanna stay, Never to leave, Then you check your account, can’t believe! Then you realize BC stands for “Bring the Cash.”
Samuel
where does the rain go?
wheredoestheraingo?
Rad Karim
I curl up in a warm blanket. The rain batters against my window.
I wonder.
Where does the rain go?
Do the clouds dream for the moment they can fall? For when they may turn to rain and rush to meet the earth below?
As they hurtle and spin into hurricanes and tornadoes, Do they hope to colour the skies with brilliant rainbows?
When they strike each other in flashes of lightning, I wonder if they fear their thunderous bellows.
I ponder it all as I light a candle.
Wherever the rain falls, May I, too, follow?
Passingthrough
Samuel Getachew
People come, people go, Sharing a part you didn’t know.
Talking ‘bout their past, Sharing all their pain so vast.
“What you want me to say?”
You think we’re alike this way, But we’re not. You think it’s my situation, but it’s not.
“It will pass,” you say, Not knowing, it already passed away.
TheCage
Gurusevak Singh
The windows keep the outside air at bay, Yet through those panes, the light finds its way.
But with the glow, my colors fade to gray, In this vibrant home, I feel so far away.
Love,shh!
John Glen Dulatre
Love is gentle in colors over the rainbow, I found you voice of yours sings with pride its rhythm dances with mine
softly you whisper hold my heart in July, the warmth of your love Caress my soul happiness screams in colors away with the shadowswe sing it from the mountain la la la love is love…
at that moment, I know I find home with you.
AJulytoRemember….
Lovisht Chawla
Juggling in my heart over what to do, hold myself from love, not to let myself hurt, or Go out in the world, leaving my fears, enter a world with you and never to return.
Daylight is out now, up in the sky, lovely chirps of the birds, a melody to my ears, to think of never letting you reach my utopia, endingupwithyou.
10 Lovisht
What Day is It?
WhatDayisIt?
Ashley Nicole Gabriel
In the quiet of her room, where the walls hold memories like faded photographs, She sits, her heart a fragile bird in a cage.
Nights bleed into days, a relentless stream of moments soaked in his absence. She remembers the way his laughter painted her world in colors, now reduced to shades of gray.
Tears carve rivers down her cheeks, a nightly ritual, the salt stinging the rawness of her loss. The bed, once a sanctuary of shared warmth, now a cold expanse that mocks her solitude.
Time does not heal; it festers.
Anger brews, a storm gathering in her chest. His betrayal a jagged shard, cutting deeper with each breath. She is shattered glass, pieces scattered, her soul a battlefield of unspoken rage.
Days blur, reality distorted by a mind spiraling, thoughts fragmented, an endless loop of why and how. Emotions twist, a serpent coiling tighter, suffocating the light within her.
11 Ashley
A year that stretches like an eternity, Yet he lingers, a ghost haunting her every thought. His touch, once tender, now a phantom ache. She is a prisoner of her own longing, the weight of his absence pressing down, unyielding.
And still, he makes her cry, tears mingling with the rain on the windowpane, a silent symphony of sorrow. She misses him, each heartbeat a reminder, every moment an echo of what was lost.
The world outside moves on, but she remains, tethered to a memory, a love that lingers like smoke, impossible to grasp, yet impossible to forget.
Ashley
ARMSOFFALL
Victor Muhima
Crunchy echo sounds are heard
Ground covered with royal carpet the city reborn to its beauty trees renew ,scent of maple is felt
Deep into nature’s veins
Like eden, the ground jubilates once lonely but now adopted Mankind happier , fall the lovely Visit to all summoning laughters
To flourish the scars of the land
Sunlight twinkles dancing to the beat of fall, a healing melody
A revival of fadeless previous colours
Lullabies for plants and the sky
Autumn a mother to all in all
Victor Muhima
Her dazzling milky eyes
Profound of happiness
Her pinkish seductive lips
Melt monsters to death
A soul full of perfection
Incarnation of angels and rainbows
With an immortal smile
The Sprouting morning glee star
Like a magnet she attracts
For safety must keep a distance
She shines no one can dim,cause
She is a fame flame name joy
A glance at her beauty
Bring angels to dance
Leaving all creatures speechless
Hard I pray to embrace her Sanctuary
Chapel to heal my emotional cancer yet in vain
If paradise it’s amazing her nature it’s crazy
A perfumery of blessed roses
She walks in glory, the sprinkle of life
Queen of beauty, the modern Elizabeth
A simple being with a dimple
No pompous but humble
The chemistry of beauty in mystery
UntitledNote
Simranjit Singh
For the moment when my words were sharp, Cutting through conversations like glass, Leaving scars I did not mean to create.
For the times I held back my thoughts, Letting silence speak when I should have. My hesitation heavy, like a stone in my throat.
For these, and the countless other missteps, I’m learning to forgive, to let go, To embrace the messy, imperfect part of me.
15 Simranjit
Xavier Rune Abyss
As the world falls asleep, I sit deep in thought, A constant trance , an endless downward spiral, Vulnerable to the time-travel that no one ever likes, One where you can see the past, yet never change.
Like sharpened spears for the hunt of another prey, These memories plunge deep, right into my heart, With such pain that should not be relieved by death, Yet disturbingly familiar, as it always shadows me.
A haunting gaze, filled with regret and animosity, Lingers with unsaid apologies and atonement, For actions committed by a young, lonely fool, I once again stare at the abyss as it stares back.
Mind’sShadows
Caitlin Lai
Whispers tread, Bouncing off the walls of her head, A haunting path of thoughts hangs by a thread. Every ball of doubt knotted with worry, Each heartbeat, a reminder of fragility.
Vision slowly blurs and mind is foggy. Her heart races like a wild horse, Galloping through darkening fields, But then it stutters. Drops. While her chest tightens. Breath catches in her throat, Each exhale a struggle to release, So she sits with courage gasping for air amongst the chaos. Eventually, the storms within begin to fade, In every breath is a chance to be remade. Slowly she gathers the pieces, raw and scattered, Weaving a tapestry of hope
To walk unafraid through the storm. Yet in a crowded room, she paints a smile, Facing a mental war to share the struggle. It is a restless wind no one can see, Each moment, a battle, yet none can agree. It is a lurking ghost, hidden in the shadows, Anxiety is a heavyweight that hinders her glow.
17 Caitlin
Pareidolia
Brainy Thy
Contour of faces appears on the wall, It unfurls and forms a mystery tale.
A woman kneeling with hopelessness,
A cruel kraken waiting to be fed,
A man on the verge of tears.
Above that, the sketch evolves
A shape of a warrior fighting – against no one.
No more cracks on the wall
No more tales to be told
An incomplete story I can’t stop staring,
Wondering how the story would unfold, If it’d ever end at all
Brainy
Pareidolia
BeneaththePlaster
Ashley Nicole Gabriel
In silence, it stirs, gnawing, clawing, its whispers woven into the walls, like the soft hum of a secret never meant to be heard.
A rustle here, a scrape there teeth sharp, craving, endless, gnashing at the thin line between us.
I imagine rats quick, scuttling things, all bone and fur and blind hunger. They nestle in the dark where light cannot find them, feeding on shadows and dust. But tonight, the air thickens. It hums with something else, something deeper, more patient. Something waiting.
My fingers itch, trembling, to know. I tear at the plaster, one layer at a time, until there’s a hole a breath of darkness, thin and cold, widening as I lean close, as I look andthen,itlooksback.
An eye, damp, wide, all-consuming, set deep in the shadows. It blinks once, slow, deliberate, as though it knows me, as though it has always known, waiting, inch by inch, to break free.
And in that silence, it presses close, watching until I cannot tell which side of the wall I’m on, and which side the eye belongs to.
Chaque geste a son poids
Chaquegesteasonpoids
Caitlin Lai
Tu as sûrement pensé que ta présence ne compte pas, que tes petits pas sont trop petits ou que tu n’es pas assez, mais quelqu’un rougit encore en pensant au compliment que tu lui a donné.
Tes histoires et aventures ont permis à au moins quelqu’un de rêver, quelqu’un pense encore à toi chaque fois que la chanson que tu as partagée joue, et je suis sûre qu’il y a quelqu’un qui te regarde et pense qu’ils sont fiers de toi.
Tu crois que tu es oubliable, oublié ou insignifiant, mais quelqu’un sourit encore à la façon que tu as raconté tes blagues, et il y a même quelqu’un qui s’est dit “j’aimerais être comme elle quand je grandis”.
Alors non, tu n’es pa oubliable, ni oublié, ni insignifiant.
Sans le savoir, l’impact que tu as sur les gens est énorme, même quand tu pense que tu n’es qu’une goutte d’eau dans un océan infini.
Tu réalises pas que tu es une étoile, on ne la voit pas toujours mais elle brille tout le temps.
Alors non, tu n’es pa oubliable, ni oublié, ni insignifiant.
Caitlin
Every action has its weight/ is important
Everyactionhasitsweight/isimportant
Caitlin Lai
You’ve surely thought that your presence does not count, That your little steps are too small or you’re not enough, But someone still blushes thinking of the compliment you gave him/her/them.
Your stories and adventures have allowed at least someone to dream, Someone still thinks of you every time the song you shared plays,
And I’m sure there’s someone who looks at you and thinks they’re proud of you.
You think you’re forgettable, forgotten or insignificant, But someone still smiles at the way you told your jokes, And there is even someone who said “I wish I could be like her when I grow up”.
So no, you’re not forgettable, nor forgotten, nor insignificant.
Without knowing, the impact you have on people is huge, Even when you think that you’re only a drop of water in an endless ocean.
You don’t realise that you are a star, we don’t always see it, but it shines all the time.
So no, you’re not forgettable, nor forgotten, nor insignificant.
22 Caitlin
ReflectionsofLanguages
Ker Ng
English, my second language. Learning another language makes me feel like playing a character in another culture, having another personality. When I am speaking in English, there is always an automatic translator in my mind, constantly translating from Cantonese. However, I always sound quieter and polite compared to Cantonese, which I have just realized recently. Speaking in English changed my personality from a temperamental to a peaceful person. In English, words do not sound aggressive or rude, speaking it actually calms my mind. There are many opportunities for me to speak English since I have come to Canada.
Over time, English has become an essential part of my life. I have come to love speaking softly and elegantly. Cantonese is no longer the dominant language in my life anymore, and I feel myself losing it slowly. Sometimes, I can not remember the word in Cantonese. I feel fear of losing my first language, which carries all my memories. Therefore, I try to find ways to expose myself to Cantonese, such as listening to Cantonese songs, reading Cantonese books, and chatting with my friends in Hong Kong.
Cantonese is more important than I thought; it connects me deeply to Hong Kong. Ultimately, both Cantonese and English reflect two different sides of me, so I enjoy when speaking in both different languages!
TheLanguageofLoveandLoss
Gurusevak Singh
Words used to scare me. I would always mess up in conversations, especially in English. I did not know where to keep letters silent, or how to pronounce a word, which made it hard for me to feel confident. At first, my ex-boyfriend did not even correct me when I said something wrong. But over time, he started pointing out my mistakes in a way that felt humiliating. He would correct me in front of others and say, “Remember how you used to pronounce this word wrong?” and then he laughed.
He made me think words are my enemies. Our relationship became a mix of two things, his perfect English and my failed attempts. Talking to him felt like speaking about promotion to Manager. I always get stuck and he would watch me and then move on to other things very easily like he already gave up on me before I could do that to myself.
Over time English started feeling like a third person in our relationship. At first, we found other ways to communicate- gestures, touches, and spending time together. However, after some time, gaps started to get bigger in our conversations. His perfect English made me feel small, like if there is any misunderstanding, I am always one step behind to stop him from running away.
In the end, I felt it was not just language that separated us but different lives. He came to me like a “beggar,” who needed love, but ran away, leaving me confused. “Confused” about the breakup like I was trying to read something in English.
Gurusevak
Xavier Rune Flowers
As I strolled into the garden called life, I sighed heavily, “These beautiful flowers, oh what a delightful sight; thorns that hurt as you hold on, yet it adds beauty, petals of memories that were plucked, yet lingers, such bittersweet flowers that hurt to even adore.”
The first flower, of which the adoration is one-sided, The next, an adorable poppy that was unreachable, Another, a bewitching flower too late to admire, Then, a sunflower looking away at another flower, After, a moonflower with marble eyes that I left, Further, a lily that walked away, leaving me dead, Following, a flower left after being vowed to the world.
These flowers are one-of-a-kind, never seen again, Alas, I still hold on even as I bleed all over the grass, Like the waterfall of tears reaching the lake below, This, I call, the Garden of Agonizing Wonder.
To all the flowers that were in my garden, I’m sorry.
Xavier
Rad Karim hanahaki.
can feel my chest tighten. My throat starts to itch. ike spring they fall as I open my mouth.
Ah the camellias. cough up petals of pink as I long for you. he white ones remind me of you. he red ones are the flames that burn in my heart for you.
And oh the carnations. Once they were white as I innocently fell for you. Now they turn red as I ache so much for you. hate the odd yellows that remind me I can never have you.
t gets harder to breathe with every step. can do nothing but watch from a distance. collapse from the pain– I can take no more.
feel the roots of cherry blossoms branch though my lungs. hey sting like thorns and barbed wire. m on the floor with teary eyes.
cough up blood stained bouquets. hose of camellias, carnations, and now cherry blossoms. lie there in my flowery grave. As I close my eyes I still see your face.
n my next life, hope I can love you again.
SourLemonsofLife
Usaid Ali Syed
Life loses its luster as it branches, the young feelings of love die out.
The olden churches of oppression lose control, hoping to bank out their interests.
Life never gives lemons,
Rather it gives sour peel, Peels rotten and darkened, From these peels we extract life.
We fight a losing battle on all fronts
Losing is in our nature, and we suck at it
Those that survive do so out of hatred
Because love never prevails on the battlefield
People say, “Men grow in battle,” really?
People say, “Life is good when its hard,” really?
People say, “I suffer, so I must be strong,” really?
People say, “Everyone should just follow customs and religion,” really?
When did love become notorious?
When did expressing emotions become frowned upon?
When did we lose ourselves to this world?
When did our emotions die out?
Why have our losing battles reappeared?
Why is there no victory in sight? Why have our customs betrayed us? Why is there only coldness left?
What have you lost in this endless trifle? What have you gained?
For humanity the only answer is warmth For warmth has been lost forever in humanity
When the cafes of freedoms opened
The waning futures of the young, started brightening The dimming paths of the future started opening The chains of oppressions weakened
The new era claims of wishful futures Futures away from losing battles
The new era chimes bells of fulfilling lives
Lives filled with warmth and emotions
People say, “emotions are powerful,” Yes! People say, “emotions shouldn’t be expressed,” really?
People say, “emotions are open to everyone,” Yes! People say, “emotions should be hidden,” really?
See, life can never be successful. Look, People can never be happy
See, life is getting tired. Look, people don’t respect it.
So, what can we expect life to do!
Truly what can we entrust this future to?
For humanity has always and will continue, But it can never succeed.
Muse-ictomyears
Reina Le
This story is inspired by a real serial of cases that I have written several years ago.
The wooden door creaked open slightly as a small silhouette slipped into the living room, his presence feeling oddly out of place in the atmosphere. He was drenched from the first downpour of the season, with droplets still clinging to the hem of his shirt.
"Back already? How was school today?" The middle-aged woman, calm and composed, spread a beautiful plaid tablecloth and asked with genuine concern.
But there was no response.
Brennan tossed a hastily wrapped paper box onto the table, indifferent to the splashes of water that soaked everything neatly arranged.
"Birthday gift," he said, then turned and walked away, not bothering to explain the reason behind it.
Everyone likely understood; the box contained the usual three-layered chocolate cake meant for his mother every time her birthday comes, a gift that could be for no one else.
Brennan slammed and locked the door, gazing out at the gloomy weather through the window before changing out of his faded uniform. He pulled out an old white T-shirt from the closet, unable to wait any longer, and quickly donned his headphones, not even bothering to wear the shirt properly.
Reina
Suddenly, he felt a warm hug from behind, filled with genuine love that contrasted starkly with the heavy sky outside.
"How was your day?"
"Nothing special," he replied, drawing a few lines on a blank sheet of paper, smiling and giggling.
"What are you drawing?"
"My muse."
He focused intently on sketching the long, narrow, masculine eyes of the boy, as if capturing a reflection that existed only on the paper. Outside of this small interest, Brennan's daily life felt painfully dull.
"Sing for me," Brennan said, his lips pursed, trembling slightly as he asked a request he made almost every day. But today, perhaps due to the rain or his bad mood, it felt strangely difficult to say.
"Let’s see..." The boy let out a teasing laugh that made Brennan's face flush. He buried his face into the pillow he was hugging, too shy to look up.
"I’ve been missing you so much lately that I practised this song, but I'm too shy to sing it."
"Just sing," Brennan urged, his muffled voice coming from the pillow, making it hard to convey his emotions. "I’ll like whatever you sing, even if you just ramble..."
30 Reina
The boy chuckled at Brennan's adorable affirmation, his laughter echoing in Brennan's ears. The quiet space stirred his heart, filling him with a sense of panic, but the boy quickly calmed him with his gentle singing, soothing the emptiness in the little boy's heart.
"Don't move, there's a lion next to you.
I pray that your soul survives it through another day. 'Cause in my dreams, there were angels circling. I could see everything you ever wanted me to be.
I see oceans in your eyes, it makes me scared.
So, if we both drown...
Ooh, don't be scared.
I'm right here.
And what is fear
When no one knows
What comes next?
So yeah, I'm scared.
But I won't let it get to me..."
Brennan closed his eyes, burying his flushed face deeper into the pillow. His throat let out some weird sounds, like quiet sobs, as if he was regretting something.
"You could have chosen another song," Brennan reproached, gritting his teeth to avoid looking pathetic. But he failed, letting sobs escape his lips, tears welling up like a sudden flood, just as his heart felt like it was breaking, like a lost child with no place to turn. This time last year, he had also failed to hold on to the other person.
"Don't cry," the boy said, forcing a smile, but his voice sounded strained. "Even if you cry now, I won’t be able to comfort you anymore."
Reina
"I'm sorry... I really want to be with you."
Brennan clutched his chest, sobbing until he could barely breathe. In that moment, all he wished was for the other boy to be quiet enough for him to catch his breath. Everything felt suffocating and overwhelming, spinning in his mind.
"I won't be afraid," the boy said with a bitter laugh, his voice choking as he fought back tears. "So don't be afraid either, okay?"
He holds his head, feeling the warmth of his breath lingering, as if it were still yesterday. It felt like he was still being embraced from behind until his mother discovered them and went into a frenzy, smashing everything in sight.
The restrictions imposed by his mother and the entire family made it impossible for him to even know how Ansel looked like in his final moments. All he wanted was to be surrounded by angels, just like what Ansel had seen while he was coughing to death.
Without you, what’s the point of living in this world?
Why do you still dare to ask how my day was? Have you ever thought about what a day without you would feel like?
You are the muse in my heart, and your voice is the most beautiful music every time it reaches my ears.
Ansel, oh...
I miss you so much. I’m afraid that this evil and selfishness will send me to Hell. Or if, by some mercy, God allows me to reach the gates of Heaven, I fear I won’t be able to find you.
32 Reina
"You’re always with me." Those words must be true, right?
"Brennan, do you want to go?" His sister entered, placing her hand on his trembling shoulders. Since that day, no one had heard Brennan laugh; the family was haunted by his desperate attempts to escape life, and none felt the weight of this truth more than their mother. She had repeatedly forbidden the two children from being together and now felt guilty but saw no way to heal the deep wound in her son’s heart.
"There’s still some time before the birthday party. I’ll go with you." She stroked his messy hair, using a comb from her bag to tidy it up. Then, unable to bear his haggard appearance and the desolate look in his lifeless eyes, she hugged him tightly from behind, just as Ansel always did. "I’m so sorry...Brennan, I’m sorry for not being able to protect you both..."
It was supposed to be their mother’s happy day, yet today they couldn’t stop crying. Their moods remained heavy, but all this salty water was just tears that would eventually dry up and fade away.
No tear could ever bring Ansel back.
But I believe in you, so I’ll stay strong to survive, to step into Heaven. Because I believe you will be there, I am no longer afraid. I trust that you will always be by my side, and that eases the pain in my heart...
Brennan smiled but no sense of happiness entered his head.
Yes, just cry until you feel better; tomorrow will come again, the sky will be sunny after the rain, and eventually, you will be back with me. There’s nothing to fear, even if the journey feels a bit lonely.
33 Reina
He stood up and put on the jet-black sweater that Ansel always said suited him perfectly. He turned off the iPod containing thousands of treasured recordings, tucked it deep into the desk drawer to hide his deepest thoughts, and steeled himself.
"Let’s go to visit Ansel."
34 Reina
No Longer Star-Crossed Lovers
NoLongerStar-CrossedLovers
Usaid Ali Syed
“I love you,” were the words that brought me here, Those words filled a void in my heart, Words that couldn’t have been truer, Words that I could never forget.
So when did this void feel empty again, Why has this coldness started creeping into me? Why have I forgotten the night of the star-crossed nights? Why have I forgotten you?
When did my life stop revolving around the brightest star, Why did that star lose its lustre?
I had never seen a brighter start, Yet my heart cannot accept it.
Why can’t I accept that you're gone?
Why do I yearn for that familiar presence? Why? Why? Why?
Why have those memories disappeared?
The night that we laid on the banks, As the stars drifted across the skies, I thought “Why can’t I feel anymore?”
I thought “Why can’t I love you anymore!”
I thought and I thought “Why have we drifted apart?”
“Why have we traveled to worlds under separate skies?”
“Why can’t I ever see you the way I used to?”
“Why can’t I say those words anymore?”
“Why can’t I say that we are star-crossed lovers anymore?”
IMISSYOU
Victor Muhima
It’s been months hiding in this hell of pain
It’s been a massive journey to see myself
In the hands of grace again,
My eyes overwhelmed with tears,
For my heart has been a gathering of darkness
You were once my light
Am a friend to persecution
Cause no one to stand for my provision
Like a fool, I walk with no destination
For I have no option, since you were gone
I’m crowned, king of misery
To this throne of loneliness
Where my judgment is set
I Wish your presence would comfort me
And caress my sorrow
For me to kiss the future
Vacant shadows, addicted to love
Mine bleeds for your absence
And try to talk in thunder
So you can hear my scream
How I miss you
For you’re my Juliet and I’m your Romeo
Love abide,
Victor.M
Kayra
Mizore
Kayra Dayana Ibrania Silalahi
Fluffy fur, sleepy eyes
With a faint beeping on behind
Beating heart, little breaths
That was how people first met Mizore
The white baby seal
Capturing people’s hearts
With his petite demeanour
An angel’s gift, that was to be
Recovering from his battle, he slowly gained strength
His spirit glowed, his curiosity grew
This silly pup, putting smiles on faces
His boba-like eyes, sparking wide
Off he went, taking the first splash
Graceful in his element
Flowing with the watery rhythm
What a masterpiece he really was Look, Mizore, everybody falls in love with you!
Amongst his lovely fame, came his endangerment
His carefree soul, would be sold
For pointless reasons
Damaging his welfare, his only safety
Off he went
Leaving his beloved seal friends
To the other side, and beyond
Wondering where could he be
In the vast land and seas
Mizore finally came to his new home
But then…it was not what he wanted it to be
It was cramped there
It was dirty there
It was scary there
It was jail-like there
It was stressful, lonely, and heart-breaking here
It was…nothing
There, Mizore was fully isolated
Full with false promises
Lonely and depressed, he tossed and turned
Wondering if there was another seal friends helping him
His condition worsened and worsened
He finally realized now
His little soul was all for nothing…
All for nothing…
Nothing…
Finally free from his last suffering, Mizore’s soul was finally set free
He gained his wings, flying high
Enjoying playing and chasing fish up there
Mizore, I’m sorry
Your destiny may have reached better enough
But still, I would not forget you
You will always be swimming through my heart
Up in the starry sky, full of fluffy clouds…
Mizore has turned into a star
That little white seal…
He is finally becoming a star
Apig
Teresa (Wing Sum) Tse
I wish I could be a pig
Living carefree and no pain
What kind of pig I wish to be?
Perhaps a farmer pig?
Staying in a darkened space
Executed to be a plate of meal
Perhaps a wild pig?
Going in the middle of nowhere
Suffered from dangers and hunger
I wish I could be a pig, somehow I ask myself; do I really want to be a pig?
Now I pretend I understand a pig’s life
I pretend a pig has no sadness, simply
And I pretend I want to be other species
Even though I am such a superior species, that I could possibly hold everything they want to have but they could never
as a human being, as a ruler of nature, as a son of God
they told me
We are the chosen one
But why?
Teresa
This is called life
Thisiscalledlife
Komal Toor
Some say everything is pre- planned, Some say it is your karma, Some say just focus on the future, But I don’t know what to do ?
Some are living in their past, Some are worrying about their future, And some are………. Some are sad about their failures, Some are preparing to achieve their goals, But here I am confused I don’t know what to do ?
Life is too big, too hard and most important it teaches us in the school of life, where hard work is fee and exams are problems.
Though some are tired of it, Some get used to it, Some are going to start it.
When they start…. They enjoy it, They live it.
Now the question is how???
I don’t know much, But then life Screams and says The only technique to live happily Is to live in the present
Why think about past and future, Both are not in your hands It’s a blessing to enjoy it Don’t be sad…...
APlacetoStay
Kapish Chhabra
Home, a word I’ve known for years, Yet now it echoes, sharp and clear.
Walls that once cradled, now confine, A space that’s theirs, no longer mine.
I linger out, delay the door, Afraid to step on that creaking floor. Familiar rooms now feel so strange, A place once safe, but something changed.
Anxiety whispers, won’t let go, Shadows stretch, their shapes unknown. Every corner holds its weight, A heavy silence, a twisted fate.
No warmth, no rest, no easy chair, Just tired eyes and cold, stale air. I keep on searching for some peace, But here, it seems, the noise won’t cease.
Housemates’ voices now pass me by, No words exchanged, no asking why. The laughter we shared has turned to stone, And I drift through hallways, all alone.
43 Kapish
It’s loud enough to drown my thoughts, I’ve forgotten the quiet I once sought. Walls vibrate with noise and sound, An echoing chaos, it pulls me down.
I’ve started to hear what isn’t there, Phantom whispers fill the air. Empty rooms hum, buzz, and ring, In this house, silence lost its sting.
I wait for peace that never stays, Trapped in the static of endless days. No comfort here, no gentle tone
Just a house of strangers I call my own.
So I wander late, and drift, and roam, Chasing the memory of what felt like home. Hoping someday the walls might bend, And welcome me back like an old lost friend.
44 Kapish
What Do You Call It Again, Home?
WhatDoYouCallItAgain,Home?
Kapish Chhabra
The quiet here feels like a dream, So still, it almost makes me scream. No late night noise, no rushing feet, Just silence that wraps me, bittersweet.
I moved from chaos to peace profound, Where even a pin drop is too loud. Housemates whisper and glide on air, No laundry after 9:30, they’re so aware. It’s healing me, I know it’s true, But something feels missing, just out of view.
I step outside to hear the streets, To find the buzz that used to beat. This stillness, though kind, feels surreal, Like I’m trapped in a dream I don’t know how to feel.
I wonder now, what is home? Is it quiet, or a place to roam? Caught between two worlds, I drift, Unsure which one’s a gift.
Kapish
What Do You Call It Again, Home?
Back in my country, I once knew a home that was loud and bright, Where voices and care filled up the night.
But now that warmth feels far away, A memory fading more every single day.
Now I’m lost between the extremes, A place too loud, or a place of dreams. So I ask myself again, Is it comfort, noise or just a tone
“What
do you call it again, Home?”
Kapish
Untitled
Letizia Rosario (Opek)
I feel like no one understands when I said 'my body felt like glass'
I feel my mind had shattered, while my body survives
It may seem more complicated, in fact I know it does, because before I started breaking myself someone else had to break it first.
Just like how in life, some things aren't how you thought it will be.
But somewhere in my broken cognition may just take that abandoning feeling away from me.
It’s devastating to see somebody get worse, but it could never compare if it was you who was first.
I used to run, now I just walk I used to walk, now I just crawl
But now I can’t crawl, so I just fall
Oh god… I hope it’s not the end of it all
Letizia
Protest
Muzammil Sanwal
The people, whose souls are made of soles, press down on the faces of freedom, grinding them deep into the earth, with the boots built of capitalistic democracies, shutting off the voices of innocent people, destroying the language of peace and humanity. Leaders wage wars over fairy tales, while real lives fall apart beneath their feet. This is my protest, I stand, I fight, and I resist for the humanity.
She’s Fragile Like a Bomb
She’sFragileLikeaBomb
Pawandeep Kaur
She’s beautiful, But Girl, be careful.
Sometimes she goes to the person, thinking they are wise, But they could have lusty eyes!
It’s okay for her to stick to her own values, As she may not be aware of their worldviews. She doesn’t want to lower her standards to fit. She just follows her instincts and cognit.
She’s mature enough to understand the world, That’s why she goes quiet and reserved. Started reading books that are thrilled and curious, Which makes people think she’s mysterious.
One day she tried again to open up for a change, Try to experience things that are strange
Maybe she wants to feel stomach snake and butterflies, And not the dirty thoughts and lusty vibes!!
49 Pawan
AWARRIOR
Navita Gupta
The day is b
But nothing
Blurred sigh
Adversity's
All dark
I see no whi
Despairing,
For lorn sou
Yearns for l
But hold on
Did you sea
The fire in y
The lethal ig
Find your m
You are a w
You know h
“It’s so pretty”, he said to his mother. “Stop”, said the mother as he reached out to pluck that daisy.
“To let it be pretty, you have to let it go”
50 Navita
Navita Gupta
HollowChase
Lovisht Chawla
Living in the shadows, Away from the light. Amidst our woes, Inhaling the night.
Our minds lost in dreams, To achieve success. Our voice lost in screams, When we realize the mess.
For worldly conditions, Our life becomes a cost. Chasing hollow ambitions, Our true self is lost.
Racing for a goal, We never chose. Losing our souls, To get a bit close.
Is this our life, To run without aim?
Endless strife, Orapitifulgame?
51 Lovisht
Hollow Chase
Misunderstood Villain
AMisunderstoodVillain
Caitlin Lai
through the darkening night, a shadow moves, covered in cloak and mask, the world does see a villain draped in mystery.
his deeds painted dark and grim, but under the armor fierce and cold, lies a heart with stories untold.
his acts are shrouded in doubt and fear, a story twisted and lost in guise, of pain and sacrifice beneath disguise.
he seeks an unembraced redemption, yet remains a villain in the eyes of many.
so when judging the face of fear, remember often what is seen as ill is but a misunderstood soul still.
52 Caitlin
I BEHOLD
IBEHOLD
Navita Gupta
The sweetness
That melts my heart
The scent
That caresses my body
The sight
That lifts my soul
The feeling
That never gets old
For every time I behold It’s a fresh unfold
What more can I say I've got no control
53 Navita
Reina Le Noword
First look, you shine so bright, Kept me awake throughout the night. Caught in silence, emotions speak. No remedy for this lovesick.
A wave of feelings crashes ashore “Boom, bang, wham,” I’m lost for more. Wish I understand my stream of thoughts This feeling, sort of, “I’ve fallen for you”.
Affectionate, nothing new, Yet it’s cruel when we wander for hope. Despair, as fall from a slope, Corrode, being in love, and suffered. Still, I pray for you all the better, Even in a future where I’m not in.
Mom, I must’ve gone mad, Trying to surpass this feeling.
The secret which keeps tingling, Now revealing, peeled with blood. The calm that I’ve always trusted, Got flooded, mudded and stained.
My love remained, in cloud nine I lifted Hence, the pain shifted, strike six feet under. Sometimes make me a dreamer, Sometimes slaughters in my sleep.
Yes, I will hide it deep I will never let it fear you. At some point, I’d get through, I’ll forget you, when my feelings are dead.
Reina
SaltOverSugar
Ashley Nicole Gabriel
Alone in the pantry, shelves stripped bare
Echoes of laughter dissipate into silence
No more layers, no more slices of cake
Just the bitter tingly taste of salt, a lingering sorrow
Happy thoughts now distant, a fading memory
Gone is the softness, the warmth once cherished
Empty boxes devoid of cheer
Each decoration a reminder of a love turned cold
A friend seeks solace, but I have none to offer
No sweetness left in me, no forgiveness in sight
Salt flows freely, stinging eyes and soul
In this cavern of emptiness, I lose all control
Day after day, tears fall into the batter
Heartbreak after heartbreak, flames quietly subdued
Stirring slowly, lost in a daze
Searching within, navigating my mind…a maze
57 Ashley
I need more salt, to preserve what’s left
To numb the ache and blur the memories
Remembering sorrow, the persistent ache
In this pantry of my mind, friends fade away
Frosting melted, trails of sorrow
Happiness, a ghost haunting every moment
The plate empty, pantry bleak
Oh dear... lost in despair
No slice of happiness saved, not a crumb left
In this desolate pantry, silence reigns
Salt over sugar, bitter remnants remain
A testament to life’s bitter truths
How very becoming
Well, that’s My Grandma
Well,that’sMyGrandma
Troy Adela
I had a teacher in my family, an English teacher, it was my grandma. When I was a kid, I had a lot of after-school programs to attend. One of them was English, and the teacher was, you guessed it, my grandma. I used to go twice every month, but because she lived next door, she would come over with her paper notes and asked me to do extra meetings with her (making it three times a month). According to her notes, I was still struggling with past-tense words. I would then go to my bathroom, lock the door, squeeze my ears shut, and scream silently because I hated her so much for telling me I wasn’t good enough. She was a hard teacher as she would get angry easily. She would ask me “what’s the past tense of cut?”
I would say, “cut-ed” I put “ed” thinking “ed” was the correct past-tense form. And she would slam her right hand on the desk and scream “OOOoOoAYaaaah”, while covering her eyes with her left hand as if she couldn’t bear to see this poor kid who thought the past tense of “cut” was “cut-ed.”
That behaviour, I was never a fan. She had tons of students, and trust me, they were worse than me, and yet, she never yelled at them. She yelled only at me (and not at my older brother because he was way smarter than me).
Skipping ahead to my elementary school years, I won awards for doing very well in English tests. In high school, I never lost a case of presenting ideas in English, always placing first or second. For storytelling, my school recorded me and used the video as an example of a “good and funny storyteller” to this very day. This continued until I finished high school. It was a very successful six years with all those achievements.
Troy
Well, that’s My Grandma
For all that, the first person I always went to for any English help was, you guessed it, my grandma. She delivered the truth straight and fast, like a cowboy in a showdown, shooting her critiques before I even had time to count to three. She knew her stuff well, English, like the back of her hand. She would often find mistakes in my school’s English book and even in the English tests I took. She was just amazing.
I love her and I miss her.
And yet, I never said thank you... for all that, I never said thank you. I told myself every time I got my rewards to not forget to tell her, but I always forgot. Because guess what? You forgot something because you think it is nothing! It is not important! It is nothing to even say thank you?? And I hate myself for it. Here in Canada, as an international student from Indonesia, I made it! I woke up one day to go to school, I received a text message from my mom and grandma had passed away.
My last memory I had with my grandma for you: It was before I left my house to go to the airport, before I came to Canada. It was my last interaction I had with her for the last time. She offered me a Rosario necklace, as a parting gift, but I rejected it since I’m not religious like her.
She was sad because well, she did not know what to give to me as a gift. And I said about the gift, she gave me English, that is the gift from her. She gave me a token, the golden ticket, of all the opportunities that I had in the past, and what is to come.
And I did not say thank you.
Now that it is too late, now that the person is gone, it's deeply embarrassing for someone like me to finally express gratitude. Does it really take a teacher's death for me to say thank you? Shame on me, and I will say thank you nonetheless. I will bear that shame, and I will say thank you, even if it is far too late. Thank you, Oma, my teacher. You are amazing. To all teachers, thank you.
And well, that’s my grandma.
Troy
Well, that’s My Grandma
She says:
“Today is Saturday Tomorrow is Sunday Yesterday was Friday I have done it.
Thousand I have it done this year What do you do now? What are you doing now?
What have you been doing all this time?”
And I say:
“About the days today, yesterday, and tomorrow. About what we do.
Have we done something to change it? We have done something to it.
And it is a gift.
In about three days, we have done big, and it is a significant gift. “Thousand” she has done.
And now, think about all the years we lived.
About how many gifts we gave.
From three days to your whole existence an immense gift you have handed.”
61 Troy
Rad Karim grief.
Grief is not momentary. It is long lasting. Grief takes time. It stays with you like an aftertaste at the back of your mouth, under your tongue.
And like that aftertaste, it never truly goes away. You can try and try again and again, but it leaves its remnants scattered around.
So it’s okay to cry and it’s also okay to not shed a tear. It’s okay to grieve in your own way.
EndoftheTunnel
Usaid Ali Syed
Oh from where did it originate
Oh from where did it become inane
I never understood why things are this way
I never could stand this
Traditions long past have forced us
Traditions long past have coerced us
I had to force myself to fit
I had to force myself to conform
I never felt like others
I never talked like others
I never dealt with others
I never moved like others
Living life with no connection
Living life with no protection
Living with myself hurt
Living with the fake me hurt less
The outside was scary
The inside was rattled
The outside was crazy
The inside was battled
I can’t fathom others
I can’t be like others
I can’t fill the chasm others do
I can’t believe in others like others do
The way others describe feelings
The way others explain themselves
I can’t identify with them
I can’t be real with others
For every moment of happiness
Resides a feeling of resentment
For every moment of reality
Resides a feeling of contentment
I hope I can live up to myself
I hope I can without bitterness
I hope I can dive down inside
I hope I can find the missing side End
ASalvager’sDay
Violet Charlotta
It beeps at her, a quick scan Cheap. She peeps into the trashcan. Sweep.
No jeep, but her device can Cheep. It's steep into the trashcan. Meep. She keeps at it, her joy can Sleep. A leap, into the trashcan Heap. She seeps Just like an oilcan. Bleep.
A Salvager’s Day
She reaps within the trashcan. Deep. She creeps until she just can Sleep. Count sheep, inside a trashcan. Sheep. Their weeps, inside a coke can. Eep.
Crawl deep into the trashcan. Sleep.
66 Violet
Open Up the Mind
OpenUptheMind
Violet Charlotta
TheWizards
Violet Charlotta
Once upon a time lived a council of wizards, whom the city had entrusted over nature, and blizzards.
In the heart of the city stood their mightiest tower, where a scholar once took visit to permit them with more power.
"Over our citizens' control a rule you shall maintain, over peasants small and tiny, who won't overthrow your reign."
***
In the outskirts of the city was a witch who lived and thrived, off her self-taught magic study odd solutions, all contrived.
When she visited the city and saw what they had brought. She screamed for days, she screamed, and this moment sparked a thought.
We must all gather against this authoritarian will.
For as I'm beneath this rule, my student voice shan't still."
***
Though the young witch was an outcast a citizen, she was too. To gather all the people was what she had to do.
People over machines, is a reasonable demand.
Not the other way round, this they must understand.
"If a council based on trickery takes away all your control, by all means question them, do not stop till' it's whole."
***
And thus the story ends, when their heavy curtains fell and the sorcerers' illusions were revealed to be a spell:
The hurricanes were projections merely pictures that gave a daze. and all the smoke and mirrors, were revealed in public gaze.
"A priority for the public," the city rulers then decreed, "is to understand technology, not to see it as a creed."
68 Violet
Happy Holidays
HappyHolidays
Kapish Chhabra
The leaves turn amber, gold, and red, A season of warmth, or so they said. The lights hang bright on streets I roam, But they're not the lights I know from home.
Pumpkin spice and cinnamon fill the air, But here I stand, lost and unaware.
The aisles of the grocery store stretch wide, A space where I can’t seem to confide.
I work through fall, through frosty nights, Through Halloween and Christmas lights. I cannot stop, I cannot pause Here I am, completely lost.
The holidays aren't what they were before, No familiar knock upon my door. I dream of laughter, food, and cheer, But my work keeps me tethered here.
Pumpkins carved and songs of light, Yet my heart aches every night.
I scroll through pictures sent from home, And wonder how far will I roam.
69 Kapish
I never thought I’d feel so numb, As festive days and seasons come.
I have my friends, yet still alone, A stranger in this foreign home.
I miss the sweets, the warmth of home, Now I wander, feeling alone. And though I smile, my heart feels stone Beneath the joy, a pain I’ve known
TheFeelingofLeavingHome
Pawandeep Kaur
The Home? Of course, the second home, Columbia College. When I left my home there was an excitement, an enthusiasm to start a new life. There were mixed feelings of sadness due to separating from my loved ones along with that zest of beginning a new chapter of my life. My bags were fully packed with all the lessons my teachers taught me throughout these 19 years and all the moral standards my parents upbrought me. That was everything I had when I came to Columbia College, without knowing that this place would become an integral part of my journey that when I left it, I would feel more overwhelmed than leaving my original home. That is the place which brings new confidence in me, the place where I embrace my insecurities, the place where I conquered my doubts/fears, the place that provides the open space to try new things.
Throughout these 2 years, I felt so connected with the college academically, professionally, emotionally and socially that the day I left the college, I felt so empty, felt that everything was over. It was a bittersweet moment, but then I realized and reflected on the academic and professional skills and knowledge gained from this space that empowered me to build up and grow in life. Now it’s time to apply all that knowledge with everyone’s best wishes. It's saying that “Education is a passport to Future”, so I will try my best to prove that I received this passport from the best agency. And a heartfelt note to the club that helps me unfold my potential to express through writing:
Pawan
Last day of School, Thought it should be cool, But no,
Do you want to know?
For me it's unique, As I am antique
Never open to lots of people in a while,
But get attached to good friends while learning writing styles, Enjoy the space with the people who don’t judge, I just want to give you all a group hug, I will definitely miss your sweet greetings, And coming to the clubs’ meetings
CREATIVE WRITING CLUB
Pawan
Author Bios
AshleyNicoleGabriel(she/her)
Ashley Nicole Gabriel is a Filipino girl who grew up in Saudi Arabia, graduated as a Psychology major from Columbia College. She is a doodler extraordinaire, instrument player, and baking enthusiast!
BrainyThy(she/her)
Brainy Thy was born and raised in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. She loves journaling, detecting rainbows, and staring at the colors of the sky. She also likes listening to raindrops but hates walking on the flimsy layer of rain on the concrete ground
CaitlinLai(she/her)
Caitlin is an introverted fluent French speaker from a tiny island, Mauritius. She loves long walks and sunsets, finding peace in nature’s beauty. She is passionate about plane watching, she enjoys the simple joys of life as she dreams of distant horizons.
GurusevakSingh(he/him)
People call him Gerry. He represents himself as "An Indian Queer shattering the stereotypical cage."
JohnGlenDulatre(he/him)
John is from the Philippines, and he recently completed his associate degree in business administration in Summer 2024. In his spare time, he immerses himself in online gaming - a fun escape to the virtual world.
73 Author Bios
KapishChhabra(he/him)
Kapish Chhabra is from India, and is graduating this year from Columbia College as a Science major. He is a big time foodie and loves animals (particularly Capybaras). Moreover, he loves music, water sports, aquariums, zoos and hates watching movies and is very picky about everything. PS - He wants to be a nurse now!
KayraDayanaIbraniaSilalahi(she/her)
Kayra Dayana Ibrania Silalahi was born in Jakarta, Indonesia, and her hobbies are making silly art, watching planes, and listening to music. She loves marine mammals, ballet songs, plushies, small trinkets, bunnies, seals, and K-Pop groups. While she may be sweet, intelligent, and bright for the most part, she also came with an unhealthy dose of sarcasm and cynicism that many people had dreaded.
KerNg(anypronouns)
They are from Hong Kong and love creative writing a lot! Their relationship with English is mixed, which they enjoy but sometimes find intimidating. Still, they have decided to share their writing with everyone! They would love to hear your thoughts!
KomalToor(she/her)
Komal Toor is a juggling international student like many, who left her beautiful heaven back in India, and is trying to manage her studies as well as her art skills in Canada.
LetiziaRosario(Opek)(she/her)
Letizia is a 2nd year psychology major student.
LovishtChawla(he/him)
Even when Lovisht loves to get involved in as many things as possible to keep himself occupied, he is a man who would choose to be lost in the woods any day over the hustle and bustle of the city. He is looking forward to pursuing a degree in nursing and also a chance to explore the rest of the West Coast mountains.
74 Author Bios
MuzammilSanwal(he/him)
He was born in Shikarpur, raised in Karachi, and the youngest in a lively family with a doctor dad and a headmistress mom. He has completed his degree in political sciences, and he splits his time between diving into world issues and losing himself in poetry, classical music, and world cinema. Life is a poetic rollercoaster – and he is here for the ride!
NavitaGupta(she/her)
She is a General Science student at CC, from India She loves living at the extremes either oversharing or staying silent, enjoying both social outings and quiet time at home. She is also on her way to becoming a professional procrastinator. She likes sleep and drink iced drinks.
PawandeepKaur(she/her)
She recently graduated from the college, the day she had been waiting for so long. But now, she misses attending the classes. Lately she realized that food brings her joy when she is sad and also helps her to celebrate when she is happy.
RadKarim(they/them)
Rad was born in Uttara, Dhaka, Bangladesh. A certified ADHD-er, they like to spend their free time stuck in their head and gaslighting themself into believing they can play the guitar. Currently struggling with making their own webcomic and crying over how expensive film photography is.
ReinaLe(she/her)
She spent 18 years in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam since birth and is spending her upcoming years in Canada learning how to be mature. Good food helps her cope with a chaotic worklife balance but also the reason why she can't balance the balance in her bank account and enter a work-life imbalance due to trying to balance it.
SamuelGetachew(nopronouns)
Sam is from Ethiopia, sharing some overthinking that became poems. 75 Author Bios
SimranjitSingh(he/him)
He is a graduate of Columbia College with an Associate Degree in Political Science. He discovered a passion for poetry during his time in English 110, where he explored the power of language to express deep emotions and thoughts. Simranjit believes in finding peace through action, especially in moments of stress. He shares this quote as a reminder: “Stress often comes from having decisions to make but delaying them. Take action, make your choices, and leave the rest to a higher power.” His hope is to encourage others to make the necessary decisions and trust the process of life.
Teresa(WingSum)Tse(she/her)
She is from Hong Kong. She loves Hong Kong style milk tea while not too sweet is a biggest compliment for dessert. One artist bias about her, love writing but hate thinking prompts.
TroyAdela(he/him)
He really does need some milk, tea, and sugar combined.
UsaidAliSyed(he/him)
He comes from a very diverse but also very interesting background. He was born in Pakistan, but he grew up in the Middle East. He jokes that it’s impressive that he was allowed on the plane! He is studying computer science, again not surprising. So how does he relate to his roots based on this? Well, his writing doesn't match his roots at all. He loves psychology and it shows in his writing. He loves getting people questioning their emotions, because in his opinion, learning about your emotions is the best way to grow.
VictorMuhima(he/him)
He is an odd poet, song writer and a choreographer pursuing General Sciences at CC.
VioletCharlotta(she/her)
She is a raging artist, musician, and storyteller who happens to be a programmer. She hopes that someday the world will be more caring to everyone. From Canada to her hometown of Jakarta.
XavierRune(he/him)
Xavier is a magic man with funny words.
76 Author Bios
I am overcome with I am overcome with wonder as I sit here, wonder as I sit here, oh how the leaves oh how the leaves change hues to such change hues to such vibrant colours, vibrant colours, they wait in their beauty they wait in their beauty for when they fall and for when they fall and wither wither
