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EDITOR IN CHIEF Emily Cheng CREATIVE DIRECTOR Kenji Tang EDITORS Eugenia Wan Jai Rane Jessica Sinclair Julia Xu Kayley Cameron Meagan Peoples Pooja Antony Priscilla Ng Sakina Abidi Victoria Cherrington FINANCIAL MANAGER Ernest Cheng CONTRIBUTORS Bridget Kriesel Corne Brink Hazel Chan Mr. Ian Clayton Jake Wong Kuhu Singh Lara Gander Marie Bowers Sumanas Sharma SUPERVISOR Ms. Sara Ellison
WWW.ETHOSZINE.WIX.COM/ETHOSMAGAZINE ETHOSZINE@GMAIL.COM WEST ISLAND SCHOOL’S LITERARY AND ARTS MAGAZINE
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CONTENTS 04 FEMME FATALE
30 FLUX
letter from the editor A
s my last days at this school dropped into the single digits, I began to reflect on what it has meant to be a student at West Island School. With my below-average athletic skills and general cynicism, I am anything but the epitome of a star student. However, in my seven years here, I’ve been honored to observe the achievements of stellar individuals whose passion in creativity, action and service guide the dynamics of this school. This issue is a celebration of such individuals who influence and empower our community.
16 FRESH FACES
ARTICLES 03
Letter from the Editor Emily Cheng
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STILL RISING REVIEW OF MAYA ANGELOU’S ‘STILL I RISE’ Jai Rane
FEMME FATALE POWER DRESSING FOR THE SPRING
POETRY
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FRESH Faces WEST ISLAND SCHOOL’S ARTISTS IN THE MAKING
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FLUX CAPTURING URBAN VITALITY
FEATURES
Perspectives with MS. FOXCROFT Eugenia Wan Pooja Antony Victoria Cherrington
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The power of speech Anonymous it was you Kuhu Singh to you Sakina Abidi on strength Sakina Abidi
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the empowerment issue
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MY GENERATION WOMEN’S STUGGLES THROUGHOUT TIME Meagan Peoples
PROSE HER Mr. Ian Clayton Freedom Kuhu Singh
In this third issue, we sought to explore the theme of empowerment in all aspects of the literary and creative arts, extending our scope to include fashion. In collaboration with the urban luxury web store Backroom, we curated a selection of looks that represent the strong woman of today, worn by young women in our school who are role models in their own right. Working with Lara Gander, Bridget Kriesel and Corne Brink - frontrunners in leadership, athletics and the arts – I’ve realized that clothing itself does not create an empowered individual, it merely serves to bring inner confidence and strength to light. With this edgy and unconventional editorial, we hope to inspire West Island students to take greater sartorial risks and embolden themselves with the works of art that they put on their backs. Of course, we are empowered not just by what we wear, but also by what we create. The production of art has always been a way for individuals to express provocative opinions and incite change. Within our school, the IB Visual Arts students have persevered for the past two years in creative exploration, their efforts culminating in intriguing works addressing social issues and self-identity. Despite that their themes range diversely from protest culture to portraiture, all the students have successfully utilized art as a way of conveying their unique perspectives. We are proud to feature the achievements of five artists whose works demonstrate a mastery of skill and power through visual representation. At Ethos, we place great emphasis on the power of words. In this issue’s self-reflexive poem ‘The power of speech’, an anonymous poet contemplates the potency and impulsiveness of language, cautioning the reader to use words with care. On the other hand, in our review of the poem ‘Still I Rise’, Jai Rane analyzes how the poet Maya Angelou unleashes her language with a defiant ferocity, to effectively convey the image of a confident woman. There is an overwhelming female presence in this issue that highlights the significant role of women in society, but also the obstacles they have to overcome to gain respect. In her article ‘My Generation’, Meagan Peoples examines the gender politics of her native Japanese culture, and how their society is struggling to adapt to the rapidly changing role of modern women. This issue’s ‘Perspectives’ looks at leadership through the eyes of our principal, Ms. Foxcroft. In her discussion with our team, she reflects on the challenges of being a woman in a high-power job, and reveals how she has been able to navigate these trials and tribulations to come out on top. Power has a ubiquitous presence in all of our lives. It is pervades every impeccable outfit, every evocative work of art, every poignant narrative, and even this very magazine. Ethos Magazine had been a way for me to express my creativity and vision to the school community. I would like to think that it has given a voice to others as well, and that it will continue to do so after I graduate and move on. In the creation of my last issue, I’ve realized that power does not exist in a tangible form. The true potential of this magazine lies not in its pages but in the strong community of students that it has fostered. Ultimately, it is this legacy of passion and determination that is the most powerful of all. Sincerely,
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Say goodbye to the oversized shoulder pads and the boxy suits of the eighties! Contemporary power dressing is MORE THAN just an imitation of masculine fashion - it’s a celebration of strong femininity. Dare to revamp the traditional power suit with a short and sweet twist. Embrace athletic silhouettes for vigor and ease on the go. Don’t be afraid TO MIX BAROQUE embellishments with futuristic textiles – there’s nothing more evocative of the classic leading lady and the heroine of the future. Most importantly, wear your looks with confidence and poise. As Yves Saint Laurent said, “what is important in a dress is the woman who is wearing it”
FEMME FATALE
ON Lara (LEFT) Stylestalker GTO Dress bkrm.com Juicy Couture Leather Mesh Boots ON CORNE (CENTER) Finders Keepers Winter Birds Shorts BKRM.COM Helmut Lang Blazer Forever 21 Faux Leather Bralette Zara Suede Boots ON Bridget (RIGHT) Stylestalker Rainmaker Dress bkrm.com
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ON CORNE (LEFT) STYLESTALKER DREAM TEAM SKIRT BKRM.COM H&M EMBELLISHED SWEATSHIRT JEFFREY CAMPBELL LITA ON Bridget (RIGHT) stylestalker rainmaker dress BKRM.COM H&M GOLD COLLAR
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ON Lara (LEFT) STYLESTALKER HOOP DREAMS PANTS bkrm.com COTTON ON GRAPHIC TEE H&M ANKLE STRAP SANDALS ON BRIDGET (RIGHT) CAMEO TRIPPER DRESS BKRM.COM ASOS FAUX LEATHER JACKET HOUSE OF HOLLAND MONOBROW SUNGLASSES
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STYLIST EMILY CHENG PHOTOGRAPHERS KENJI TANG KAYLEY CAMERON MODELS CORNE BRINK LARA GANDER BRIDGET KRIESEL ASSISTANTS EUGENIA WAN VICTORIA CHERRINGTON POOJA ANTONY MEAGAN PEOPLES SPONSORED BY
WWW.BKRM.COM FACEBOOK BKRMOFFICIAL INSTAGRAM BACKROOM
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“I tried to depict the complexity of human nature by focusing on different forms of expression through the use of different fabrics and textiles. This helped me delve into the way women are presented in the media, and how women in particular feel the need to mask their true selves, putting on a mask of the artificially constructed and idealized female”
F R E S H F A C E S
Influenced by artists and writers such as Barbara Kruger and Angela Carter, Marie Bowers’ work presents feminist ideology in a subtle and intricate manner. The artist has used imagery of women she admires in her own life (her friends) in pieces of art featuring shattered glass and screaming faces, to illustrate the themes of freedom and escape. By juxtaposing the spontaneous lines of maps with structured newspaper text, Bowers explores the dichotomy of freedom and constriction that contemporary women struggle with. She uses red stitching as a constant motif throughout her work, as a reminder of the lustful and trivializing way in which society depicts women. Inspired by the work of Maurizio Anzeri, the geometric, fractured piecing together of her art is symbolic of the constructed mask that society places on women.
Art has always been a form of empowerment that transcends the boundaries of language, culture and education. Artists throughout history, from Da Vinci to Duchamp, have used the medium of visual art to convey critical observations on the social issues of their time, and even to provoke cultural change and artistic upheaval. The artists of West Island School are no exception. The works of IB students Marie Bowers, Corne Brink, Emily Cheng, Priscilla Ng and Hazel Chan are exercises in self-discovery that present a personal interpretation of the society they live in. Their striking visuals MAKE A STATEMENT THROUGH IMAGERY, AND speak far more than words.
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E M I L Y
brink
“I wanted to include elements of my culture, beliefs and ideas into my artwork. I tried to focus on ORGANIC patterns and based a lot of my concepts on the simple, yet powerful motifs seen in nature”
C H E N G
corne
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winner of the IB art award
Corne Brink’s work presents an insight into her crosscultural upbringing and the Asian symbolism that has been a major influence in her life. Focusing on the peach as a representation of her Taoist philosophies and beliefs about the cycle of life, she creates intricate tonal studies that highlight the juxtaposition between the rich, warm colours and the dark, poisonous core – the contrast between vitality and decay. Inspired by artists Ye Yu Chang and Fiona Rae, Brink plays with a wide range of media to create a sense of depth. Integrating brusho dyes, ink, oils and acrylics onto one surface, her work presents a richness of color and surface texture that intrigues with its complexity.
Emily Cheng’s artwork reflects her personal exploration of beauty in an increasingly superficial world. Cheng was influenced by the Dada movement and artists Lorna Simpson and Jenny Holzer to deconstruct the embellished facade of beauty as presented in the media and depict it in a brutally stark manner. Through her appropriation of advertising imagery and text in her work, the artist illustrates the way in which our self-identities have been invaded and distorted by messages in the media. In using conflicting realistic and symbolic artistic techniques - photography and collage, pencil work and typography - Cheng’s work reflects the tension of reality and fantasy in our modern conceptions of beauty.
“My work explores the intrinsic connection between beauty and artificiality in this technological era where our lives have been invaded by mass media. Although much of my art revolves around portraiture, it ironically mourns the loss of personal identity to the inflated ideals of advertising. By depicting the modes of vanity in an unconventional manner, I attempted to highlight the hypocrisy of beauty in contemporary society”
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HAZEL CHAN “I was prompted to study how art is used as a vessel for communication, especially how it’s used to express issues, thoughts and emotion. I wanted to bring out a sense of fragility and identity with my use of brush strokes and delicate patterns. The medium of art used, watercolours, helps reflect the free outflow of emotion, while the strong bold prints highlight the daring and defined ways of art” In her work, Hazel Chan focuses on the paintbrush as a symbol of freedom of expression. Drawing inspiration from the works of Andy Warhol, Jim Dine and Wilson Shieh, she highlights the sociocultural issues of Hong Kong such as protest culture and cage homes in an illustrative manner. The amalgamation of illustration, painting and collage techniques in Chan’s work reflects the juxtaposition of outspokenness and constriction that she observes in Hong Kong.
PRISCILLA NG “My study into the function of the paint tube became more than aesthetics when I started to see it as a symbol of collapsing limitations and change. The creation of paint tubes marked a significant pivotal point for fine art in the early 20th Century, as it allowed artists to expand artistically beyond the studio and commence a breakthrough against the restrictions of their works created in a confined space. My body of work reflects the expansion and development of art, as well as a rebellion against conventional artistic practices” 20 | ethos
Inspired by progressive developments in the art world, Priscilla Ng depicts her own growth and transformation as an artist by emulating the avant garde style of the Cubists and Expressionists of the 20th century. The gradual abstraction of Ng’s paint tubes into geometric planes symbolizes the transitioning of her artistic perspective, and the ‘out of the box’ thinking that develops in the journey from adolescence to adulthood. Through her surreal transformation of the paint tube into the human form, Ng establishes an intimate connection between herself and the passion for artistic expression.
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M Y
G E N E R A T I O N
I was eight years old when I first met my mother’s parents. My grandmother was already old, wizened and adorable, bright eyes set deep into a wrinkled face surrounded by a puff of dark hair dyed blue in accordance to the latest fashion. And my grandfather was bent and bald, hands held behind his back, his eyebrows sharp and nearly vertical, though they were softened by a smile so big and easy that it spilled into his eyes. His traditional geta shoes clopped on the ground as we walked to their house, my mother slowly being swallowed by her sisters and her mother as she is able to make use of her Japanese for the first time in years. No one but her spoke the language, making that summer filled with complex gestures and polite nodding. I spent most of my time observing. The language, the culture, the people who I was told I shared half my DNA with, everything was foreign. And so I did not question the practices, as an outsider I was not supposed to judge. Yet nine years later I still have some of the same questions, and my mother no longer has the same answers; tradition is no longer an excuse for sexism. It has long been a joke in the family that my older brother holds a special place in the hearts of my grandparents. “They have no sons and he is their only grandson” it was oft explained to me, “in their generation having a son was important in carrying on the family”. Yet though he doesn’t share their name, my brother is a source of pride and will always have a special bond with my grandfather. “My father’s a traditional Japanese man”, my mom explained to me, “it’s the way he was raised.” Yet these attitudes have even trickled down into her generation. “It was very hard for a woman to get a job high up in a company, to be a secretary was considered very prestigious.” In fact it wasn’t until 1985 that an equal opportunities law was passed to stop discrimination in the work place. “The roles of men and women in the office weren’t equal. Women often had to serve tea to the customers; it wasn’t simply a desk job like the men had.” Over the past fifty years Japan has had a dramatic shift in the status of women in all aspects of life, from work to home there is no doubt that things are changing. Yet some paradigms remain frighteningly similar to what they were in my grandmother’s generation. My mother, a Japanese immigrant to America, was raised traditionally by very conservative parents. She never questioned their practices for they just seemed normal, they were simply a part of her life, but after growing up and being exposed to different walks of life, she started to notice the injustices
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women were facing as the ageing population became a bigger and bigger problem for Japan, “For Japanese women it is always expected that they will be wives and take care of the children, yet as there has been more western influence more and more of the women want to work. The society hasn’t matured enough for this. Women are expected to do much more than men. If they want a job than they still have to take care of the family and do all the chores. Work places don’t understand this and aren’t prepared for this. So women must make a choice between their jobs and having a family. A lot of them are choosing their jobs so the government blames them for the declining birth rate.” Given the difficulties Japanese women face when trying to both have a family and a career it is unsurprising that in a recent survey conducted by the Mainichi newspaper it was found that less than less than a third of single women aged 20-40 wanted to marry ‘soon’. This was even a predicament faced by my mother, “I quit my job after I had your brother; it was too hard to find a daycare. There aren’t enough facilities out there. The only ones with spaces are the private ones, and they cost so much money all my salary would go there.” Though things have changed and are changing there is still much progress to be made, currently less than 1% of children are born out of wedlock due to the stigma attached to single parents and things like spousal abuse continue to go unreported When asked what could be done to improve the problem she answered, “The government needs to realize that with the ageing population the women are needed in the workforce. They need to make it possible for them to work and have a family and stop putting all the pressure of the declining birth rate onto their shoulders. More facilities need to be made to help them, and a more accepting attitude needs to be shown by men. If this can happen then both the economy and the birth rate will improve.” Japan is one of the most developed countries in the world, yet its traditions and culture have held it back, keeping it from overcoming this hurdle of sexism and prejudice. Too many women have been relegated to second-class positions simply by this inherited presumption of subservience. Thankfully time keeps passing and generations will continue to come forward, bringing new ideas with them, and pushing Japan into the future. MEAGAN PEOPLES
PHOTO BY EMILY CHENG
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T
he last remnants of breakfast sat wearily on the table, a cup, a saucer a plate and a white elephantine teapot which had scarcely been used. The hands of the clock seemed to mock her derisively as she stared looking for something to energise her, give her reason to face the day. Only three months ago the clock would have woken her from her torpor and would have been the shock her system needed to start the day. But that was in the days before it happened.
her.
Today started like any other. She found herself in a half dreamhalf conscious state. Images from a past life playing out on a sepia canvas in her mind. What was real? What was imagined? It was hard to tell. She woke with a start at 6.15. She had looked around her room and tried to identify shapes and noises. Her brain was trying to make sense of the world, patterns that would give her confidence, reassurance. As she gained complete consciousness and the arms of sleep had let her go she found comfort in the mundane of her room, the solid wardrobe which once housed all her smart business suits, the expensive, elaborate chest of drawers that her work colleagues had bought for her as a moving in present sat forlornly in the corner judging her like overbearing grandparents. All the pieces seemed to be in the right place-all seemed ordered and correct. She lay there staring at the ceiling, noticing how the lights of passing cars created moving shadow images on the white canvas of the ceiling. Such small and seemingly insignificant things actually gave her great solace these days. After 10 minutes of letting her mind go blank and numb she proffered a foot into the cold of the bedroom. Quickly she made her way into the bathroom and swilled her face with warm water. She stared at her features. She seemed expressionless. Her eyes once such a vibrant feature of her face seemed to have lost energy, a life force was missing. Her ability to carry had been sapped. As she looked she thought that maybe today would be different and that by some miracle her confidence and her vitality would return.
but as time wore on the visits, the calls, the texts had dwindled to virtually nothing. She did not blame people; she had become a shell, an exoskeleton, brittle on the outside. She was no longer good company, she could not remember the last time she had laughed at anything. She found less and less in common with her former friends. More telling than that was how quickly her intimate relationship had fallen by the wayside. She pondered on this ruefully many times. Was it really her fault? She had been so certain about him, his commitment, his love, his time. But after around a month, she could feel him slipping away, through her fingers like sand on a beach. She used to watch as a child as she lay on her back and allowed the sand to drift aimlessly, carelessly through her fingers. This is what had happened to him. He had slowly, but perceptively disappeared. Contact had been less frequent, the words of encouragement less sincere, his body language closed and antipathetic. He had sighed a lot, appeared distracted, then about 6 weeks ago he just stopped communicating. It sounds as though it was an abrupt stop but really it wasn’t. She had intuitively sensed it from day one. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. She switched on the TV. This has become something of a companion over the last 3 months. It gave her a window into the world that she seemed to have left behind. She had become, some would say, interested, morbidly fascinated by stories of murder, abduction, domestic violence and tales of criminality generally, the dark, seedier side of human behaviour. It at once repelled and attracted in equal measure. It was bitter-sweet, a strange feeling of being drawn into something she knew instinctively was wrong. This morning the ridiculously healthy looking news reader was pouring forth the usual babble about the state of the economy, the immigration issue which had become a daily battleground for the left and right to play out their own ingrained prejudices and instil a real and visceral fear of the whole issue. She watched as another bland ‘talking head’ mentioned the state of public transport; she was bemoaning the lack of investment over the last 10 years. The item finished and she was about to begin her usual daily routine of nothingness when something caught her attention. It was one of those human interest stories at the end of the serious news items designed to make the viewers believe that all was really well with the world despite global warming, civil war, human intolerance and a welter of other man-made and natural catastrophes.
She made her way downstairs and turned on all the lights in the house-every one was illuminating her past, her present and her foreseeable future. She had not left the house for three months. She shopped online for her groceries-they were delivered and she had not bought any new clothes for months, she had not been out for a drink, a new restaurant, not even the movies since that day. At the start many people called, texted, came to visit,
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It was a story from Canada. A young couple had set off with their young baby and dog to go ice fishing. They had cut a hole in the ice and had fun playing around. As ever these days they had filmed their exploits, with the view, no doubt of informing the world via social media of the fun they had that day. Then the unthinkable happened. The baby who must have been around a year old had been drunkenly tottering around far from the hole, suddenly slipped and slid head first into the frozen lake through the ice hole. The parents had turned their backs for only a split second. The baby was immediately and completely submerged in the icy grip of the freezing waters. This was all captured on video. There was screaming and a moment of shear and total panic. The distressed voices of the parents could be heard some bleeps obscured the profanity. Then the real of point the story became clear. The dog, the breed of which it was not easy to ascertain, leapt into the water and disappeared for what seemed like an age. As she watched, transfixed she could feel her heart rate soar for the first time since it had happened. She could almost feel the shock of the icy water as if it was playing out on her body. Then from the TV screen with a muffled yelp the dog was seen holding the baby by its clothes in its gaping, panting mouth. The parents hauled the dog and the baby ashore. The baby was struggling for breath, obviously freezing cold and coughing, but other than that did not look too awful considering its ordeal. The dog just sat at the side of the hole shaking. The parents embraced the baby and the dog. The whole thing could not have lasted more than about 30 seconds on camera. The news item then cut to the authorities. A policeman was saying that in his 33 years of service and experience he had never witnessed or heard of anything similar. Then a local vet explained that for this breed of dog it was not unusual for them to be so loyal, brave and altruistic. For a moment this seemed absurd. She had always felt that animals did not possess human traits. That we projected onto them our own traits and attributes. The news item finished with a shot of the dog with a medal of bravery round its neck and a bowl full of treats. She watched through bleary eyes. She blinked several times to clear them. The story had moved her in a way that she had not felt for a very long time. She sat down to collect herself. This was just too much, what a story. Could an animal have cared? The parents quite rightly had been overjoyed. She could feel their sense of gratitude towards the family pet. Emotions were awakening in her that started to hint at a new beginning. It was early days, but as her father had never ceased to remind her when she was growing up, tomorrow was another day.
The power of speech Is yet to be fully harnessed by men Like a wild stallion it bucks and flees Often lashing back and wounding many Never to be recaptured once released
She made her breakfast which consisted of the usual, tea and toast. As the TV news story faded in her mind then so did the feelings that it had engendered. She could feel herself coming down like a drug user she needed another hit to take her up again. She decided she needed to go back to bed to recuperate. She felt she was shaking but maybe it was a good sign, maybe some degree of feeling was returning. She slumbered in her bed for about 30 minutes. She got up again. This really won’t do, she thought as she went to clear the breakfast table, and try and introduce a sliver of normality into her life. She decided to wash up the small number of pots and try and make the place look hospitable, but for whom? As the hot water burbled and foamed she glanced out of the window. All she could see was children walking to school. Then she noticed a couple she had not noticed before. A young girl, she must have only been about 7. She was Asian, possibly Chinese or Japanese. She wore a warm winter coat and scarf; her socks were white and pulled up to almost her knees. She braced herself against the cold wind but was smiling and happy. She was the very epitome of life affirming spirit. She was with a much older woman. She guessed it must have been the grandmother. She was also Asian and it was impossible to gauge her age. She seemed old. She was walking with great effort but was looking at the grandchild with total unbridled, unconditional love and adoration. Though it was an effort for her, she loved every second of her time with her granddaughter. There they were two people bookended in life, two extremes. There was the young innocence of the child and the old wisdom of the grandmother. She was somewhere in the middle of this continuum. Halfway, but lost and listless. They, however, were united in their adoration, united in the moment, in their element. It was a captured moment in time that could not be disputed. It was the human experience right there on her doorstep. She thought for a moment and then realised that her life was at the crossroads, in the balance. Which way should she jump?
Angered it flees fast Escaping the gates of one’s mouth Lashing out at any that hinder it Causing mass destruction thundering on Its hooves never turn back, never Passionately said The stallion bears promises Vows of undying love and loyalty Spelling out touching lips and warm embrace Which more often than not prove false
THE POWER of
Sorrowful it slows Its hooves hindered by falling rain It trudges on: muddy, wet, slipping too At times it slows and stops, at others trots Burdened by tears and promises Few men have success On harnessing this wild strong horse For words tumble out on unlikely times When impulsiveness takes over the mind Best guard your mouth just in case
SPEECH
ANONYMOUS
PHOTO BY KENJI TANG
MR. IAN CLAYTON
PHOTO BY KENJI TANG
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it was you it was you, yes you, who showed me how to shine taught me what the brightness could do and the flame, that flame convinced me of the warmth you said it wouldn’t die with any rain not rain, but maybe storm that wind, it blew my door so the candle fell, the fire spread bent on having my house dead oh that fire. yes that fire. it burnt on my edges charred all that it could desire that evil meant to kill, no doubt but i fought, i promise, aren’t you proud? i did what you said, it burnt me a bit but i did now a memory survives from the corner of my eye consciously brushed aside i desperately try to deny that it was you, yes you, who held my door open, let the wind through let the fire do all that it could do. KUHU SINGH
PHOTO BY KENJI TANG
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flux noun. a state of perpetual change and motion
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Photos by Ernest Cheng, Jake Wong, Kayley Cameron and Kenji Tang
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to you.
i wax poetic about collarbones and folds and rolls and rolls and rolls screaming into the heavens my throat raw and throbbing and i am weary. it feels like decades of stomach-twisting and hand-wringing and weighing and weighing and weighing days on end. it takes only two weeks to gain back weight, perhaps shorter, but it’s been years and the number on that flat metal slab still feels like a life sentence. love, there is so much wrong in hating yourself. there is so much self-loathing and fear in just me and you we could fuel a thousand plane crashes and still live to see their destruction love, i will call you love until i have learnt to like myself i am long gone past the point of caring if i’m nothing but an overly sentimental shadow who is a fraud for not believing what i’m preaching i am my own messiah i could not care less what the world thinks of me and this is a revelation that leaves a sliver of light in my darkness love, i will call everyone love till we stop bleeding love, there is so much wrong in not loving yourself but there is nothing wrong in being weak come tread the water and stay awhile we all fear drowning but we’ll learn to swim. SAKINA ABIDI
PHOTO BY KAYLEY CAMERON
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five: there is no one you must carry. but you promise to because you’re a stupid girl who thinks she can save the world from sinking, but you can’t let go of your anchor. six: how can you be strong when you’re useless. seven: if you’re quiet enough you’ll probably disappear. you’ve already cut everyone off.
on strength one: when your brother dies you want the world to end and to take you to join him. your father cries. your mother hits you the third time you say you want to die and you finally look at her. you forgot there was more than one grieving heart and in that moment you swear that you will be strong.
eight: you don’t want to die. you just want to be alone. nine: when you call at four, no one will pick up. no one will hold your hand and no one even knows you’re there. is this really what strength is? SAKINA ABIDI
PHOTO BY SUMANAS SHARMA
two: when your class ends early, you tell your friends you have work, you tell your mother you’re going out, and you jump fence and crawl under the bridge and put your feet in sand and water and think less of drowning and more of staying afloat. three: you think yourself strong. but you keep quiet when they talk about puking and binging. you eat in front of your friends, you eat more than your sister, you do not throw up, you just cry in the bathroom and sleep early how strong can you be? four: you talk soft to the suicidal, you hold as many hands as you can grasp, you keep an eye on certain girl’s arms and meals and you keep your phone on, and pick up at four, you will always pick up at four you buy pregnancy tests, and listen to hitched sobs, you will be strong.
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FREEDOM You know when I wanted to just stand by your side, I used to contort all my thoughts until they matched yours. And when all my dreams revolved around winning your consent, I founded my views upon your vision. I used to work backwards from your solutions, your conclusions. I’d go back the way you had come, following every footstep that you made in the sand. Because I wanted to travel and experience your journey, see what you’ve seen and do what you’ve done. I wanted to be what you were. I tried to see life the way you did, but all I could see was an engulfing shadow. I could never access that colorful joy that always surrounded you. I used to find myself looking at black, hollow emptiness. So I decided to just let go. I let the waves wash all your footsteps. I don’t care for preserving them anymore. The clear sand is refreshing and unconstraining, it isn’t tainted by memories of my attempts to follow you. I know now that my steps need not fit yours. And now my thoughts rush, rebel. They’ve been freed from their cages; they run savage, raw, wild, tearing down boundaries. The energy is liberating, I never knew what power freedom held. I like making my own footsteps on this soft, unpaved sand. I can see all those colors and joys of life now, radiant, lightening up the darkest of glooms. They reflect off the black, hollow cores of empty nights to illuminate it until sunrise. Maybe one day our paths will cross, and I’d like us then to stand side by side. I won’t change and neither should you, I think it’d be nice to just stay true. If I had known how simple this journey was, this journey that taught me who I am, I would have departed earlier. KUHU SINGH
PHOTO BY KAYLEY CAMERON
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still rising
Surviving is important Thriving is elegant -
MAYA
A N GELOU
Maya Angelou’s rhythmic poem ‘Still I Rise‘ explores the black civil rights struggle of the 1970s in order to celebrate the triumph of the human spirit in the face of adversity. Call it swag, ‘diva’hood, or pure sassiness but the speaker’s audacious display of black pride, from the bellicose assault of interrogative rhetorical questions, to the assertive superiority of her tone, creates a refreshingly defiant voice of mutiny for the oppressed. This fearless ferocity for justice invigorates readers with its tongue-in-cheek remarks, instilling renewed hope and energy for a better tomorrow. If nothing else the persona’s sensational boldness is what defines this poem. From that accusatory opening “You”, Angelou empowers the speaker with a superior denunciatory tone. The admirable confidence of the voice is evident in the many rhetorical questions (“Did you want to see me broken?”, “Does my haughtiness offend you?” etc) which heroically barrage accusations upon her oppressors for their sadism. There is a hint of parental admonishment in the mock consoling tone of these questions, which is repeated in the imperative “Don’t you take it awful hard”. The presumptuousness of Angelou’s language seems to further belittle the speaker’s oppressors into childishly predictable, simple-minded characters. In fact, throughout the course of the poem, one gets the impression that the persona is furtively laughing at her opponents. Particularly, memorable is Angelou’s provocative erotic imagery in the seventh stanza (the “diamonds at the meeting of” the speaker’s “thighs”), where the speaker uses her
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unabashed pride in her race and her sexuality as a weapon against her instigators. However, the most poignant aspect of ‘Still I Rise’ is undoubtedly its climatic ending in which the orderliness of Angelou’s poetic structure (that regular ABCB rhyme scheme of quartets) spectacularly unravels, conveying the persona breaking free of her restraints. Considering, Angelou’s musical background it is hardly surprising that the soulful repetitions of “I rise” in the final stanza are strongly redolent of the uplifting overtones of gospel music, making her free verse read like a spirited tribal chant, the metre peaking to a magnificent crescendo at the close. This final cathartic release of emotion through the hypnotic repetition of Angelou’s spiritual mantra, “I rise”, concludes the poem fittingly, at the apex of the speaker’s ecstasy of triumph, perhaps indicating that there is nowhere to go but up. In this way the speaker, the uplifting musicality transforms her from the interrogator into the choir master of the cult of the oppressed. In all Still I Rise is an inspiring poem that motivates not only women and African Americans, but society itself, to ‘rise’ above the cruelty and to emerge as conquerors in the face of adversity. Motivational, and awe-inspiring, Angelou’s daring writing begs readers to commit her words to memory should the occasion come to ‘rise’. JAI RANE
PHOTO BY KAYLEY CAMERON
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perspectives
with ms. foxcroft
W
ith this being Ethos Magazine’s empowerment issue, it only seems fitting that we interview the most powerful person in this school. Our team chats with Ms. Foxcroft about her experience as a principal, HER dream fictional date and the key to succesful leadership.
came screaming down the stairs that there was a HUGE cobra outside the seventh floor A block. We also had a snake in the elevator once, when a teacher brought in a pet snake and it escaped. Thankfully all the snakes were rescued, but there are usually some in the garden during the summer as well - so watch out!
Who is your favorite literary villain? It would have to be Heathcliff, the antihero of one of my favorite novels, Wuthering Heights (by Emily Bronte). Even though he’s got an evil side and completely mistreats the people around him, Heathcliff has a charisma that people are drawn to. He’s a primal force that you feel attracted to despite yourself, and he’s fascinating to me, villainous yet alluring at the same time.
Where do you see WIS going in the next 10 years? I’m quite interested in creating a vocational center to do with hospitality - like a mini-hotel - so we could get students trained up in that industry. I’d also like to have an exhibition space for art.
So you’re all about the bad boys? Humanity is complex, and his character is a deliberate distortion of this reality. I think such literary personas provide us with the means to think about the dark side of ourselves. Given the chance, who would be your dream fictional date? It would have to by Jay Gatsby (from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald). He is a flawed and enigmatic character, but I really love the time he lived in, America in the twenties. I am quite vain about appearance, so it would be great to go back and dress up in all the fabulous clothes of that period!
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What about fictional women that you admire? She’s not your conventional heroine, but I always admired Pippi Longstocking as a child. She definitely had ‘girl power’ - she was quirky, interesting, lived in a house alone and had amazing and exotic pets. One of the things about literature and film is that women are often not depicted clearly enough for the power they have. I like to see realistic depictions of strong women rather than so-called ‘heroines’ who are merely beautiful. What book you would recommend ALL WIS students to read? Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach. The story is about a seagull that chooses to be different and take risks. It’s about understanding your limits, that it’s okay to be a nonconformist, to ‘fly’ and be different. What is the most interesting that’s happened to you in your time at WIS? We’ve had quite a of snake encounters. After the school fair several years ago, we were clearing up when two students
What is your favorite part of being a principal? When I see a student who just astounds me with their talent, ability and passion, or somebody who just turns a corner because of something we did. It could be an awe-inspiring singing performance in assembly, or seeing someone in Diwali Ball who went through something tough but who is still going strong. Those are truly magical moments. What is the biggest hurdle you’ve overcome in your career? One of the biggest challenges would have to be gender. There aren’t very many female principals, and I’m the only female principal in ESF secondary schools right now. At the start of my career, people always assumed I was Mr. Foxcroft the principal. Even now, it’s not a level playing field. As a woman, you have to strive to be even better than a man would’ve been,
and that’s the challenge. Don’t give up. Who has inspired you? An English teacher who believed in me when I was having a rough time. I wasn’t particularly hard working until upper school, and my teachers thought I wouldn’t do very well which I proved wrong! But this particular English teacher never gave up on me. She was one of those people who was always interested in you and wanted to know your opinion. She was also extremely passionate about literature, which really helped me love it too. It was that excitement about literature that made me want to take it further. Do you have any leadership advice for the students of WIS? Good leadership isn’t just about standing up and doing things it’s about letting people do things with the advice you’ve given. Recognize that other people have talents and let them shine. Know that there are other people that you can work beside or behind, and be there when they need support. Successful leadership is the product of empowering others. For example, if I left the school and everything I did disappeared overnight, then I wouldn’t have been a good leader. It’s all about working together to create sustainability, ensuring the best for the students. BY EUGENIA WAN, POOJA ANTONY AND VICTORIA CHERRINGTON EDITED BY EMILY CHENG | PHOTOS BY KENJI TANG
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