m o o l b
JN Burnett's Literary Magazine Club February 2017
Volume 1 Issue 3
editor's note valentine’s day: for some, it’s the sticky, half-melted chocolates in their pockets and the buoyant slants of pink envelopes. the cotton candy kisses and dizzy skies. for others, it’s a bitter beckoning from nostalgia, an acrid tint in the air. no matter who you are, there’s a certain thrill to valentine’s day, an exhilarating whirl of emotions. in BLOOM, we tried to capture the birth of the good and the dawning of the bad. because every story that we tell begins somewhere..
haley chung & danielle graham
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jnb lit magazine s co editors-in-chief 02/14/17 0:00.
staff & contributors Co-Editors-in-Chief Haley Chung & Danielle Graham Visual Arts Directors Rosanna Tsang & Tiffany Au General Execs Michael Liang & Quan Ng Secretary Sophia Anderson Communications officers Rochelle Guan & Steven Li Editors Elizabeth Lin & Shawn Chang Writers Adam Title, Shawn Chang, Neel Lahiri, Timothy Wan, Dominic Malana, Steven Li Photographers Bisam Kuar, Jonah Wan, Donna Huang, Kelly Chan, Rosanna Tsang, Samantha Tsang Artists Amber Wei, Mazi Herico, Hanna Shimada, Teresa Li, Michael Liang, Benson Lim, Rebekah Seow
table of contents 2 Editors Note 3 Staff and Contributors 4 Table of Contents 6 playlist // hearts that ache 7 playlist// hearts that love 8 BITES // Donna Huang, Kelly Chan 10 Valentina, please stay // Mazi Herico 11 poem // Timothy Wan 12 Love is in the Air // Benson Lim 13 Chummies, innit? // Danielle Vergara 14 Wound // Rebekah Seow 15 Vomit // Rebekah Seow 16 Vernal Kingdom Come // Shawn Chang 17 Flourish // Hanna Shimada 18 Candy // Amber Wei 19 Crystals // Michael Liang 20 Alone // Dominic Malana
Call it Spring // Jonah Wan 23 February Look Book // Rochelle Guan, Dimitri Camara 24 Bloom // Teresa Li 26 Valentines // Bisam Kaur 27 5 Hours // Steven Li 28 Mirror, Mirror // Neel Lahiri 30 Street Night // Rosanna Tsang 31 Woes of a Writers 2: The sequelenining// Adam Title 32 Atlas: Tokyo // Rosanna Tsang, Samantha Tsang 38
Hearts Heartsthat that Ache Ache sad valentine // no vacation boyfriend // best coast february air // lights when you went away // ryan mccartan high school lover // air give me love // ed sheeran chasing pavements // adele drive // oh wonder someone new // cozier cleopatra // the lumineers your kisses // daughter just a friend to you // meghan trainor
Hearts Hearts that Love that Love rosa dear // ruth i do adore // mindy gledhill fallingforyou // the 1975 love is blind // amy winehouse electric love // borns like you lots // lany without you // oh wonder dear to me // electric guest ilysb // lany procrastinate // anna toth warm on a cold night // hone im in love // teenage fanclub
bites
CACAO 70
photos by Kelly Chan & Donna Huang
Address: 1047 Denman St, Vancouver, BC Opening Hours Sunday to Thursday 10am-11pm Friday and Saturday 10am-00am
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Mazi Herico 10
Reboot A fresh start again Left wondering if this time Will it be diff’rent? Firewall New year, same old me Can’t seem to get through to you Will I ever learn? Cliffhanger You are a mountain Far too hard to get over A perilous climb Timothy Wan
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Benson Lim Love Is In The Air
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Danielle Vergara Chummies, innit?
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Rebekah Seow Wound
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Rebekah Seow Vomit
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Vernal Kingdom Come Shawn Chang Atop the acres full of crystals min’d, Beneath the clear clouds’ idling, shrouding sleeves; Viridian veneer thus raw, refin’d, With greener flames than Greek fire are the leaves. The miming mirrors in the maze of seams Which seize the Spring from gaunt, ungainly hands Are muddy mires of shards of shatter’d dreams That one dawn will be breath’d to seeds in lands. Thus hold to vernal dreams that do fade soon; Unleash the tenterhooks, embroider’d chains Of memories of winter, of the moon; Breathe in the Spring before the blessing wanes. For only nymphs of wood and nymphs of sea Can seal the Spring in immortality. Previously featured in Teen Tuesdays by Cahoodaloodaling.
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Hanna Shimada Flourish 17
Amber Wei Candy 18
Michael Liang Crystal 19
Alone Dominic Malana She was standing alone at the train station. With a pair of icy-blue eyes, she scanned the shapes of people across the tracks, beautifully silhouetted by the dying sun barely visible above the horizon. As the last few moments of daylight were consumed by darkness, the shadows melted into the night, leaving her with a feeling of isolation. Gusts of chilling wind blew her hair into a whirlwind of dirty-blonde tendrils that enveloped her face. Clenching her jaw, she gripped her bag and glanced at her watch. Half-past seven. The platform was empty, occupied only by her and another woman. It was nights like these that she dreaded most. She had been alone all her life and had no recollection of her parents. Lonely nights only brought back painful memories of her childhood in the orphanage, crying herself to sleep every night wondering why her parents had abandoned her. She had been told they were killed in a fatal car accident, but the anger and resentment she had towards them was still deeply ingrained into her mind. Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sounds of train wheels braking on the tracks. Waves of people exited the train from the tiny doors, like millions of bees flying out of a hive. She frantically backed up to avoid being trampled by the crowd, almost losing her footing. Then she spotted him. 20
Him. As she locked eyes with him, time froze. Every thought that had previously been racing through her head stopped, and her mind was left blank. A warmth spread through her entire body, it felt as if the wind had turned into a warm breeze. His deep, dark brown eyes were like oceans; full of life, yet still so mysterious, she felt herself getting lost in them. His perfect teeth glistened as he flashed her a sly smile, turning his head as he walked past her. She could feel her cheeks becoming red like wild roses blooming in spring. Continuing his stride, the man ran his fingers through his straight, light brown hair. Each strand fell perfectly, framing his beautifully structured face like a portrait in an art gallery. His coat billowed in the wind as he turned the corner and vanished out of sight. What felt like an eternity was only an encounter that lasted mere seconds. All she could do was stand and barely comprehend what had happened. As the platform cleared, she boarded the train. He stopped. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, and he said nothing. Turning swiftly, he raced back to the platform in hopes that she would still be waiting there. His heart dropped as he rounded the corner to the platform. She was gone. With a lifeless limp, he slowly made his way home, knowing that he would never see her again. Half-past seven. The sun slowly began to rise, its warmth melting the frost delicately formed in the hours of the freezing night. Crowds of people filled the station, frantically trying to board the train on their way to work. She stood still, like a rock in the wake of a raging river. She had hoped that he would be here, no matter how slim the chances. So many faces entered her sight, eventually blurring into the next. Seconds passed, then minutes. With every last effort that possessed her body, she gave up. 21
She would never see him again. How could she be so foolish? She would never have anybody to call hers, no one to reciprocate the love she had hidden deep within her heart. A wave of sorrow washed over her, bringing her back to the reality that she knew too well. She had been alone all her life, and she knew that somehow, that would never change. Gripping her bag, she boarded the train just as he appeared on the edge of the platform.
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Jonah Wan Call it Spring
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February Look Book
outfits shot by Dimitri Camara & Rochelle Guan outfits modelled by Brandon Bae & Jennifer Zhang
"Love is versatile, dress versatile"
top: champion pants: fairplay shoes: vans 24
top: zara jacket: nike pants: hollister shoes: nike
top: zara jacket: topshop pants: hollister shoes: nike visor: lids
top: brandy melville scarf: aritzia jeans: hollister shoes: topshop hoodie: champion jacket: north face pants: FairPlay shoes: comme de garçons x nike beanie: kids
hoodie: gildan pants: levis shoes: vans visor: lids 25
Teresa Li Bloom
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Bisam Kaur Valentine's
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5 Hours Steven Li Hour one, a new life begins: A life illuminating pure innocence. Shining so bright that nothing can stop it, Nothing more radiant than the stars. Hour two, a new chapter, Learning what it can do, Learning what it’s capable of, Learning about the future but being taught the desire to be the brightest. Pressured by what seems to be the need to be better than what’s free. Hour three, what is hurting the most? The heart of the flame or what fueled the angry crackles of the ember. Where is the innocence that we remember? It has turned into something so grim, why, the flame has never been so dim. Hour four, hanging onto its last breath. The flame that once had so much desire, so much strength, so much to look forward to. The deconstruction of what the flame had left was stripped from the soul of the flame and claimed as theft. The flame was no longer a flame. More of a small fire;, A small fire that was no longer driven by success and desire. A fire that was crying, Letting out a drop of black smoke that surrounds the room as the fire hissed.,
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Tiffany Au efflorescence
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Mirror, Mirror Neel Lahiri Narcissus, so the notable Greek legend goes, was widely celebrated for his breathtaking beauty. Such was the extent of this beauty that one day, staring into a pool, he noticed his own face and could not take his eyes off the image. This was not an exaggeration; he quite literally gazed into his reflection until death. Though humankind has been staring at itself since its beginnings, it first manufactured a reflective device around 600 BCE. The development of the mirror has resulted in innumerable scientific advancements, while also arguably allowing both the inherent egotism and self-doubt of humanity to blow out of proportion. The manufactured mirror has been a tremendous boon for the progression of both society and technology. It has allowed for the development of perspective; telescopes and microscopes both rely heavily on these devices, giving mankind the opportunity to see objects it previously could not. Furthermore, the practical uses of the mirror in everyday life are limitless. Perhaps the most prominent example is in the modern automobile; without mirrors to aid posterior view, the most efficient and ubiquitous form of transportation would be rendered all but useless. However, the creation of the mirror has simultaneously caused human vanity as well as insecurity to skyrocket. Though people are born with an innate sense of ego, the ability to stare at oneself gives the opportunity for self-infatuation to arise. Yet the ability to perceive and hence judge oneself can also lead to immense insecurity, for flaws often appear far more prominently to the beholder than to the observer. To conclude, despite the scientific and technological progress that has stemmed from the invention of the man-made mirror, the innate flaws of man, namely narcissism and low self-esteem, have been amplified. Whether or not this should be considered positive or negative on the whole depends on what society values more: unceasing progress, or 30 human decency.
Rosanna Tsang Street Night
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Woes of a Writers 2: The Sequelenining Adam Title
I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock: shrill high-pitched repeating beeps. I slowly pushed myself out of bed. I felt like there were small bags of sand under my eyes. God, I felt horrible. I shuffled my way into my washroom. Well, shuffled is being a bit generous. Really, I should say I summoned an ethereal entity to move my feet slightly while it floated me into the bathroom. Looking into my bathroom mirror didn’t help me feel any less tired. In an effort to make myself feel a bit more “chipper” and “fresh”, I stumbled and bumbled my way into the shower. This was a bit of poor decision-making on my part; sure it felt good to be washed over with hot water, but everything went downhill from there. When I stepped out of the shower, I opened my towel cabinet to find a lack of towels. I improvised and used an old shirt to dry myself off. Sadly, the shirt proved inadequate and I was left damp, tired, and in a poor mood, to say the least. I went over to the sink and looked in the mirror; I looked like a drowned rat. I sighed and continued with my morning routine, brushing my teeth and washing my face. As I was eating my cereal, I had a niggling feeling that I had forgotten something. A date, some kind of event, I wasn’t sure. 32
I heard the doorbell ring and went over to the door. Suddenly, I remembered. Today, out of all the other 365 days of the year, was the day that my mother was coming to see me. “Marvin! Are you home?” A voice screeched from behind the door. I knew for sure now that today was the day my mother was here to see me. I could recognize that shrill, Jewish, New York voice anywhere. I opened the door and there before me stood my mother. “Marvin!” she yelled. My mother was an impressive person in a strange underwhelming way. Now I know that sentence makes no sense whatsoever but don’t worry, you’ll soon see how it does. She was a small person but you wouldn’t know it, as she liked to wear high heels that made her half a head taller than she really was. She wore a massive burgundy red wool jacket with felt cuffs and bright red buttons, as well as several scarfs, and massive hoop earrings, accompanied by several resin bead necklaces. She also possessed many high titles in small places. She was a senior member of The Robin’s Poetry Club, a prominent member of her neighborhood Condo Council, and a key organiser of the Long Island Pet Parade. “Oh, it’s been so long Marvin, let me see your face!” She pulled my head down to her eye level and looked at me through her massive round glasses. For such an old lady she had one hell of a grip. “Oh, you look absolutely horrible, Marvin. Are you sick?” “No, Mom, I just had had a bad sleep, that’s all.” 33
“Well, you know a lack of good sleep can cause a lot of health problems, Marvin.” I could see where that conversation was going (downhill into a pit of death, smoke, choking, spikes, fire, suffering, pain and humiliation) so I quickly changed the subject. “So, uh, Mom, why don’t you step inside and make yourself comfortable,” In all truthfulness, I didn’t actually want her to go into my apartment as it was a complete mess, but I would rather she go in and start a new conversation than continue the one that was in progress. “So, Marvin what have you been up to lately?” she said as she walked into my apartment. “Well Mom lately I’ve been doing a bit of wr--” “Marvin, do you have any wine?” she cut me off. She started opening cabinets. “Yeah, um, in the bottom cabinet.” “Oh, which cabinet, dear?” “The one next to the fridge.” She opened the cabinet door and poked her head in. “I don’t see the wine anywhere.” 34
Oh god, I knew things would start going this way. “It’s in the back somewh-- Here let me get it for you.” “Oh, thank you so much Marvin!” “Yeah, no problem, Ma.” I reached down into the cabinet and grabbed the bottle of wine, bumping my head while taking it out. This day was not off to a good start. “Here you are, Mom,” I said, rubbing the top of my head and handing her the bottle. “Here, I’ll get you a glass,” I said, flashing her a quick smile. I didn’t want my mom looking for any more things, as I was not in the mood for things to start going sideways, if you know what I mean. I poured her a small glass of wine and handed it to her. “Oh, thank you so much, Marvin.” She sat down on the sofa and grabbed the bottle of wine out of my hand. My attempt to limit her alcohol intake had failed. “So what have you been up to, Mom?” I inquired. “Oh well, you know, nothing much, well, you remember my friend Beth, right, Marvin?” “Beth Lindberger? Yeah, I remember her.” I decided I might pour myself a glass of wine, you know, for good luck. “Well, guess what happened…” She took a sip of wine
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“So, Beth is part of my poetry club, right? And she has this huge collection of her own poetry, you know, and she sent it all to a publishing company, and guess what?” “What?” I replied after taking a sip. “She got it published as a book!” I nearly spat out my wine. “She did?” I spluttered. “Yes!” My mother replied. I could not believe my ears, an old woman with a walker and a life alert had managed to get a bunch of rinky-dink poems published, while I, a young writer full of ideas, couldn’t even muster a good plot to a book, let alone get it published. “S- so who’s her publisher?” I asked. “Oh, nobody big, just Penguin.” “Penguin Publishing?” I was in utter disbelief. “Yes, is that someone you want to get published by?” “Of course!” “Maybe Beth can put a good word in for you!” Mom suggested. “Well first I have to have a book to publish,” I replied. “Oh, I’m sure that’ll be easy for you to figure out, after all you are a young man full of new, creative ideas,” she said, pouring herself another glass of wine. 36
I had a sinking feeling that was a sarcastic comment. My mother loved her wine, and I must say, I was impressed by the fact that wine seemed to have absolutely no effect on her mood; for the twenty-five years I had known her, I had never seen her even slightly tipsy. I bet she had a liver of pure iron. “Here, I’ll get your typewriter set up so you can start on a new book.” “Oh, that’s okay, Mom, I can set it up on my own.” If there was one thing I did not want, it was for her to fool around with it my typewriter. I sat down at my desk and slid a piece of paper into the typewriter. “Well I guess I’ll go now and leave you to it! Remember, I’m staying in town for a week and a half and I’ll visit again!” She went out the door and I started in on my new story with reinvigorated purpose. If Beth Lindberger could get published by Penguin, then I damn well could, too.
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Atlas
photos taken by Samantha Tsang and Rosanna Tsang Location: Tokyo, Japan
Red Brick Warehouse, Yokohama 38
Meiji Shrine, Shibuya
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Disney Sea, Tokyo
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Tsukiji Fish Market, Tokyo 41
thanks for reading catch catch you you inin our our next next issue issue with with love, love, JNB Lit J.N. Burnett's Literary Magazine Club
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