Writers-in-Residence Anthology by The Surrey Writers

Writers

-in-

Residence an anthology of poetry, prose and art from the Surrey School District Learning Centres

Priyanka Nair Amarpreet Grewal Joshua Bacsa Matt Phillips Allie Hamilton Sara McDonnell James McKay Dave Ellison Anissa Catamo Casandra Rees Henry Szwaba Writers Sahil Kaushik Indy Dhillon Ashiq -inAli Harry Sangha Brad Storms Residence Skye Reite Min Thye Tejpal Mudhar Christian Echegoyan Krystal Bell M0hamud Hirsi Stephanie Gardiner Janarth Mathivannan Jamal Al-Bayaa Austin Bennett Braiden Ferguson Satvir Bhambra Jon M. Rohit Pooni Anonymous Eakum Sull Mo Hassani Bianca Sousa Jacob Sastaunik jade price A writing project by Surrey Secondary School writers. Lead by Alex Leslie and Lois Peterson in 2012/13.

nOTES ON THE aNTHOLOGY Each week for four months students met to write poetry or fiction in workshops lead by local writers Alex Leslie and Lois Peterson. Writing from a range of prompts, students worked on individual poems and prose, as well as collaborative pieces. Also included in the anthology are student visual art and photographs. The Writers-in-Residence anthology brings together work created during the Surrey Learning Centresâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Writers-in-Residence program, which was made possible by a generous grant from the Surrey School District Business Development Fund. note from Alex Leslie This fall and winter I facilitated poetry workshops at learning centres in Cloverdale, Whalley, North Surrey and Crescent Beach. Each learning centre had its own particular culture and each group of students brought its own dynamic and set of interests to the table. At the different centers I heard about struggles with social pressure, finding peace with family members, drugs, and violence. I also heard about political convictions, the joys of daily life, and amazing stories of survival. We experimented with different methods of writing: using refrain, freewriting, using dialogue and answering questions as a group. I thank all the students who participated in the workshops â&#x20AC;&#x201D; the ones in Whalley were so full we had to put out more chairs! Thanks also to the teachers at the learning centres who were so welcoming to me and so accommodating to the workshops. note from Lois Peterson Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s so thrilling to see the creative ideas of local students finding their way into this fine anthology! I derived so much pleasure from working with many of these new and emerging writers, and am very excited to see how the germs they developed and worked on in writing sessions emerge to reveal so much about their lives, feelings and aspirations. Thanks for involving me in this exciting project. And congratulations to the young writers who took the leap to sharing their words with their peers, friends and families.

Table of writers Allie Hamilton 7 Amarpreet Grewal 38 Anissa Catamo 18–19, 58 Anonymous 21 Ashiq Ali 10–11 Austin Bennett 71, 82 Bianca Sousa 85 Brad Storms 31, 47 Braiden Ferguson 70 Casandra Rees 8, 20, 72 Christian Echegoyan 29, 30 Dave Ellison 28, 83 Eakum Sull 80 Harry Sangha — 12-14 Henry Szwaba 60 Indy Dhillon 61 Matt Phillips 62 Jacob Sastaunik 40-41 Jade Price 76-77 Jamal Al-Bayaa 65 James McKay 46 Janarth Mathivannan 42 Jon M. 74 Joshua Bacsa 63 Krystal Bell 32 Matt Phillips 61 Min Thye 26 Mo Hassani 84, 86 Mohamud Hirsi 33 Priyanka Nair 39 Rohit Pooni 75 Sahil Kaushik 59, 64 Sara McDonnell 22, 23, 43 Satvir Bhambra 81 Skye Reite 37 Stephanie Gardiner 36 Tejpal Mudhar 27

He told me all Allie Hamilton He told me all my degree would get me is a job as an underpaid secretary, and he got so drunk he kept missing the fondue pot with his skewer. I got an air popper and lots of socks, though, so not a bad Christmas overall. Perhaps if I’d known him when he made model ships and collected the eggs of giant birds. Instead, when he dies, I’ll collect his shiniest penny and his bone-handled pocket knife and put them in a box labeled “strings too short to be of any use.”

Evolve from the Past Casandra Rees Leave it behind, move on with the ticking Take only what you must, don’t you dare blink Yesterday is forever vanishing, Like drain water down the kitchen sink. When we live our lives with doubt and regret We fail to see the true beauty each day. Stuck in moments we refuse to forget; Over and over, memories replay. Come from your cocoon little butterfly, This great life has so much in store for you! Bright minds await to see you eye to eye And show you things within, you never knew. Embrace each moment as if it’s the last ‘Cause just as you blink, they become the past.

Pride Brad Storms When did it become something to hide Moral decline from suppression of pride Integrity’s gone and honour followed With no benefit of the doubt the truth is hollow I used to believe there was black and white But the mess of gray blocks out the light The world is now full of fucked up places Everyone’s living to die they’re all just faceless.

Haiku Ashiq Ali Paper route starts early Bundles bang against the door Time to go to work The weather changes Today’s paper might get wet All the same to me Checking the time Waiting for the bus to come On my way to school See Gail in the hallways She greets me with a “hello” I smile in return Start visiting friends Anita kicks me out again Back to class working Walk to the Sky train Sky train back to Scott road Catch the bus back home Hang out with buddies Smoke a little of the green End it with a smoke

Walk all the way home Eat some good food made by mom Have a long shower Watch some TV shows Use my tablet for Facebook Look up some new songs Almost time for bed Then switch my phone to vibrate Turn off the TV

Adventure on 4th Avenue Harry Sangha Red, blue and white police lights light up the dark street of 4th Ave. There’s nowhere for me to go. Oh no, there is a fence coming up that’s my only way out. The police dog – a pit bull – is right on my trail. I make a leap onto the chain link fence and started climbing. I’m at the top, and as I’m about to jump my new Jordan shorts get stuck in the fence. What should I do? I think to myself, if I don’t leave my shorts, I’m going to get caught. As quickly as I can, I rip off my shorts and flee into the darkness. I lose the police and make it home safely, hand my grandfather his stuff and run to my room. You must be thinking what is going on? Let me explain. It was a Friday evening and it was almost time for supper. My grandfather had been visiting my sister and I. We are both a 100% vegetarian, and my grandfather eats meat. He came up to me and said, “Son, look I have been here a whole 3 days and I am sick of eating tofu and lentils. I want a chicken burger. I didn’t go to your sister because I did not want to hurt her feelings. So here take this money, $6.79, that is how much a chicken burger costs exactly at KFC. Please get me one. I hope you understand.” “I understand,” I told my grandfather. I took the money and put on my new pair of Jordan shorts that my grandfather had brought with him as a gift for me. I headed out toward KFC and there sitting on a street corner was a homeless man. Feeling bad, I gave him a dollar from my grandfather’s money not remembering he gave me the exact amount. The homeless man was really appreciative and now I couldn’t even ask for the money back. I was really confused about what I should do. I didn’t want to walk 15 minutes back to my house to get more money because KFC would close by the time I returned. It started getting dark as I reached KFC. I decided I was going to give them only $5.79. I ordered a chicken burger and waited. As he was handing me the burger I gave him the money. What I didn’t notice was there was a police officer and his partner which was a k-9 pit bull, both standing there in the park-

ing lot staring right at me. There was only one exit in this KFC. The clerk told me that I was short a whole dollar. I did not want to disappoint my grandfather and without thinking I grabbed the burger and made a run for it out the door. I ran and the clerk started shouting, “Stop him!” The cop ordered me to stop but I kept on running. He followed me down the block in his car, then he stopped, got out and let his pit bull after me. Oh no, the dog was catching up. Only thing for me to do was jump the chain link fence in front of me. I made a leap onto the chain link fence and started climbing. I was at the top, and as I was about to jump my new Jordan shorts got stuck in the fence. What should I do? I thought to myself if I don’t leave my shorts I’m going to get caught. As quickly as I could, I ripped off my shorts and fled into the darkness. I lost the police and made it home safely and handed my grandfather his chicken burger, which was still hot. He looked at me and asked, “Son, where are your shorts? Why are you so out of breath?” Without saying anything I ran up to my room and took some deep breaths and put on a new pair of shorts. “Look Grandpa, here are the shorts you bought me. I was just playing a joke on you pretending I lost them. I actually threw them up to my room through the window.” He believed me because he had bad vision and he couldn’t tell if it was the shorts he bought me or my own pair. Next day he comes up to me and says, “That burger was good. I’m going to buy another one for lunch and with the excuse of buying a burger I’ll get to see 4th Ave a bit more.” I said, “All right.” Twenty minutes later I realized he was going to pass the fence where my shorts got caught. Really worried I was hoping that he wouldn’t notice them. Ten minutes pass by and grandpa gets dropped off by the police officer who chased me last night. He calls me downstairs and says, “Look what I found by the old chain fence? I knew those weren’t the shorts I gave you. What is going on?”

I told my grandfather everything that happened the day before and apologized to the officer for stealing the burger. He let me off with a warning but my grandfather was really upset. I apologized to him and he told me, “It’s not about the ripped shorts. It’s about you stealing. Please promise me one thing, that you will never ever steal again.” I promised him and he was happy again. He didn’t tell my sister and really enjoyed the rest of his vacation.

Note: This story was created in Lois Peterson’s workshops and needed to include the following ingredients: a homeless person, a chain link fence, and an item of personal importance on that fence.

Everything Wall by Skye Reite

Alex Leslie working with students on a poetry workshop.

Lois Peterson working with students on fiction writing.

Idle No More Anissa Catamo I spent my Saturday afternoon tagging along with my mom to the mall, as she exchanged a Christmas gift which didn’t quite fit her. I’m not one for shopping malls; I feel like an automaton amongst the herds of people flooding through the walkways, surrounded and enclosed by the bright, coaxing colors of marketing ploys. Even more so, I can make a claim for myself that I am not much of a shopper, but on this particular Saturday afternoon, my frugality was drawn by the devilishly tempting clearance rack, and I made a purchase. My mom and I didn’t leave immediately thereafter; I was dragged along to accompany her in another store that she had wanted to check out. Uninterested, my ennui beckoned me over to a seat in the store, allowing me to wait patiently for my mom to finish browsing the endless racks of fashionable fabrics. I decided I’d shut my eyes and zone out of the realm of materialism. Boom.. boom.. boom.. The sounds of ambient drumbeats suddenly soar, grab a hold of my ears, and dance with them. Boom.. boom.. boom.. My eyes are still shut as the impending beats are not only continuing, but drawing nearer, and getting louder. From where do these enticing sounds emanate? I open my eyes, wondering if I might spot my answer.. And then, the voices began in a melodic unity with the beats I turned my attention in full to what I now realized was going on behind me. They sang. Their voices touched the hearts of every bystander within earshot, who stood in silence and awe; engaged, every bone in the bodies of the bystanders swayed harmoniously with the enchanting sounds. They were indigenous people, of various tribes, united and marching throughout the mall with a stark confidence which asserted their culture. Their engaging cadence, in their ethnic vernacular, protested Harper’s unjust bill. Though I could not understand their language, I understood their mo-

tives with strong empathy. They marched for their rights, they sang for their culture, and they united for their purpose. Clad in beautifully sentimental, indigenous apparel and face paint, they banged on their drums of change. I stood there, motionless, though emotional, and found myself longing to be a part of the movement. The aching feeling inside of me deepened and stirred as the gathered tribes marched past me, carrying their song away with them. As the sounds gently faded out, I remained standing where I was, in the capitalist zoo that is the shopping mall. Boom.. boom.. boom.. The last of the drum beats that I was able to hear gently played softly, ebbing away. Gone. I felt a little more empty inside, as my fingers gripped tightly to my shopping bag, a stigma of consumerism which I held throughout the entire experience.

I Used to Believe (a poem about my aunt) Casandra Rees I used to believe she would always be around, That every time I knocked sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d always be there. When I got the news I dropped to the ground, She was slowly losing faith and fading into no where. She never drank and never smoked Diagnosed with cancer of the liver and lungs I was so sad and angry, I was choked. Three years later she passed away With a smile on her face and peace in her mind She waited for me, to say what she had to say I cried for so long, Didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know where to start. When she left, so did a piece of my heart.

Love Anonymous I used to believe in love at first sight until the day I got slapped. One week later I forgot about it, and never believed in that again.

Lust Sara McDonnell There were stars in our breath, And earth in our scalp. I tucked you into me, and after blankets never felt the same. Waking up with you already awake took a toll on me, I smelt the time as it burned between us. Didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you see me reach for you, beyond your skin? The ocean never did wash off our sins, But I was baptized in the lake where I lost my virginity. You took me as a whole, and ate me from the breast out.

Mourning Sara McDonnell I dine on the dead meat of my paths. I crossed his rivers once, But I drowned from the lack of passion. In a struggle to be warm I strode to his side Draped in a fury I enrolled myself in his soulâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s classes, Skin fractions had me up all night. Ashtray bruises sang to me songs of woe. I stepped up to the window to possibly, (Hopefully) take the moons hand in marriage, But the lake was in a jealous shimmer. He then brought out his eerie heart, Telling a confession that broke our flesh bond, So I rode away in my sore cartilage carriage.

REV LU TI 24

O-

A series of poems written from the prompt “revolution.”

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Revolution Min Thye A fascination with how the world changes From before and now of changes being made and how It can be terrible or great Can be full of love or anger and hate From what was then and what is now Seeing everything from before And after like the all-seeing owl Revolution is a planned demonstration comes with frustration Hesitation leading to action causing addiction For power hour after hour until itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ours Achieving it not like a coward Many dies, I may not know why But I pause and sigh.

Revolution Tejpal Mudhar Bhagat Singh was an Indian freedom fighter who fought for independence in the 19th century against the British during the Indian revolution in the Punjab. To explain this a bit easier, Bhagat Singh had done the same thing as Louis Riel, but he was not proved mental like Riel. Instead, he said, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Hang me for shooting the General Dyerâ&#x20AC;? and today we remember him for making history in Punjab.

Revolution Dave Ellison We all thought thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d be a revolution during the 70â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. I went to demonstrations of 100,000 or more when I was a student in San Francisco. There was so much awareness and purpose. So what did I learn? I learned to use condensed milk in buckets and sponges to get posters for teach-ins and demos to stick to MUNI poles and newspaper boxes. I learned to use bullhorns and to give speeches from flipped over five gallon buckets. I learned not to judge old people as uncool. The most hard-core radicals I ever met were white-haired communists from the 30â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. I met old men who had fought Franco during the Spanish Civil War.

Revolution Chris Echegoyan They say he is a Negro No, he is a freeman They say she is a slut No, she is in love They are killing people No, they are fighting for freedom They say she is never home to take care of her children No, she is a hardworking mother

Revolution Chris Echegoyan When a person or nation stands up and speaks up and even fights for themselves after being oppressed by a major power for so long.

Revolution Brad Storms The extreme change, new world order. It’s like we all know what’s going down but no one’s saying shit. What happened to the home of the brave? The government is controlling us now but no one’s talking about it. They made us proud to be slaves and everybody’s just walking around heads in the clouds. We won’t awaken till we’re dead in our graves. Before it’s too late we need to be ready to rise up. Welcome to the end of days.

REVOLUTION Krystal Bell Be

Student #270028 Instead of Krystal Bell

A lady and cross your legs Instead of Sitting comfortably

Be A good student and memorize Instead of Learning

Revolution Mohamud Hirsi Freedom is the choice of life you start with and end with. Choice or freedom is the way you live your life and what you make of it. I used to make quick conclusions â&#x20AC;&#x201C; at first sight â&#x20AC;&#x201C; of people but not anymore. Conclusions kill people. You should think before you pull the trigger of your mind.

The Giver Representation by BM

Whatever Happened Stephanie Gardiner Whatever happened to sex, drugs, and rock and roll? Now itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s all aids, crack, and techno, pounding rhythms seeping into your veins and munching on your soul, eating the good and bad in equal parts but only spewing out the bad. Where have the days gone of rock stars so head over heels in love with their own craft, making love to the lyrics and notes that escape their pores and riding the waves in their veins?

Gone Skye Reite A feeling so wonderful, awesome and great. But it’s gone now, it’s gone far away. It lasted so long, I thought it would stay. I treated it so well, but it still went astray. Why did this happen? What did I do? I would have done anything for you. You’re happy now, that’s good. You had it rough. I just didn’t know, that I wasn’t enough.

Landscape Under Stormy Sky Amarpreet Grewal

They cannot see it But I have changed Working in the fields in the hot sun Orange peaceful open fields There is a feeling of calm here Under the blue sky with my dog Just the two of us working in the field I work the fields after school Running to the open blue Yellow and green and white is freedom The wheels race down the road And I am better than being at home With my father who is never happy Hop onto the tractor I can clear myself and my mind I am in control of the dirt and the wheels I can do what I want to do And I want to do whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s right Right for the fields and the wind Moving the trees and the red roofs On the big brown barns And all the different shapes the clouds can make

Glass Marilyn Priyanka Nair Secret cigarettes and scars, Suffocated by traps in a sinners town, I am an intoxicated angel tripped by the lens. From a far they tore me Skinned till bare and they watched When the black rolled down. I stood in the middle of my salvation Black waves and crashed soul and strangled repentance, Waves turned ash and I stood in the depths Of black vanity made of glass A sharp, fragile truth. Sitting before it like a placid mannequin. Hushed by blood red lips. Am I an ocean? Pain masked as beauty playing pretend Lipstick false pretenses- that lie within Broken identity, broken humanity, No one could see. In an inkwell world I lived in shades of grey, As what cameras painted me to be.

Grand Theft Moto Jacob Sastaunik Explosions Police Cars Shattered Glass like its raining Cracked Windows Gunshots Shooting like pow pow pow You ask and I say I don’t know I just play I change from my street clothes Into my new clothes Grab a snack relax and lay back Grab a drink take some time to think There is not much to it – turn it on The X-box black plastic dusty Been with me since I was 13 I bought it with my money I set it up myself and played It till dawn but I don’t really remember

Because time is just a number I never had any limits On how long I could play And in my bedroom is where black box stays There is a green ring that glows as I sleep at night When I forget to turn it off â&#x20AC;&#x201C; sometimes it takes me all night Before I turn out the light I have never fallen asleep playing Because it keeps me awake I sleep well but only sometimes dream Taxi Man Car Chase Black Smoke like a chimney Pistol Handgun Police Tough Fire Buildings like lego being smashed Blood Glass Shards Flashing Lights like looking at your last

Love Janarth Mathivannan Love is just a word Until someone comes along And gives it a meaning. Love is a strong word A lot of times Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the wrong word.

Punk Sara McDonnell You had hair longer than my motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s, a laugh louder than my fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s. Your veins were filled with clovers, I became so lucky. You were my favourite island, But one I could never fully discover.

Broken by Matt Phillips

cracked by Matt Phillips

Pork James McKay Pork is an interesting meat, loved in the west because of bacon, but hated in the east as unclean. Pork and by extension pigs have an odd place in the world. Pigs in the west are seen as farm animals and food sources, with garbage removing skills as well. Not bad for a piggy. Oh! Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not forget teacup pigsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;so small and cute. In the Middle East they are dirty scavengers and eating them is taboo.

Things I Used to Believe in but Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t Anymore Brad Storms Integrity Honour Truth Morals Benefit of the doubt Purple Cookie Monster Digging to China Elmo Black & white â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Cause everything became a messy shade of gray

RESPONSE pOEMS These poems were created collectively by students from the Cloverdale Learning Centre in response to the prompt, â&#x20AC;&#x153;What does courage mean to you?â&#x20AC;? Each student wrote an opening line and then passed it on so that only the previous line was visible. Students riffed off that line and explored the theme of courage

Fragile Minds by G.S.

Cloverdale Response Poem #1 Courage is rage forward going over letting go fresh starts Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d think fresh was fruits and vegetables but air has touched me more Fresh fruit and vegetables on a small round table, sitting in the sun while dust sparkled in the air surrounding it. We are digging our own graves. Letting your insecurities become your security, a safety net to stop reality and progress, despite desire. But who would the fruit react? Courage is rage forward going over letting go fresh starts

Cloverdale Response Poem #2 Courage is Honour, Integrity, Courage is a strong word that means a lot to a lot of different people. Everyone has their own image, part of courage is strength. Part of courage is strength and knowing when to give up the ghost. Hauntings have stopped scaring me, after I realized I was the transparent one. Viewing beyond what is laid down in front of us. Stepping outside of a box … expanding the mind, pathways stretching… growing … enlightenment. Stepping back into the box, closing your mind, buying McDonalds and accepting cowardice into your heart. But where does the heart lie? The mind? The chest? Will you let it rot till there is none of your left? Courage is Honour, Integrity, Courage is a strong word that means a lot to a lot of different people. Everyone has their own image, part of courage is strength.

Cloverdale Response Poem #3 Courage is limbs climbing entirely breathy swiftly Joints tremble climbing a mountain Clouds permeate the air, ironically thick in thin air Separation of brethren through such paper thin titles and marks Hiding in the shadows while others fight the battle Blind eyes refuse to see whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wrong. What happens when the limbs stop moving completely? How does a person go on? Courage is limbs climbing entirely breathy swiftly

Cloverdale Response Poem #4 Courage is the tiger, his eyes are fierce, he stalks his prey. But why is ferocity in his eyes? Why does he stalk the skittish? He should eat the flesh of fungus or taste the berries. His brain is the flesh of the sane, succulent and lost, the bounty of bushes is beyond cost to him. He courage builds up as his hunger worsens Sick, bones protruding like razors, cries of suffering fall of deaf ears. Cowardice is letting people control you for their own aims. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s almost as if the tiger at his mind, and told him the sad story of his life. Does he love himself the way he wishes to? Or did he lose himself in his fears? Courage is the tiger, his eyes are fierce, he stalks his prey.

Cloverdale Response Poem #5 Restless, emotion, moment, courage, confirm Her legs were restless under the classroom desk as her entire being swelled up with emotion. She tried to build up the courage to remove her eyes from the carpet floor while being captured in this terrifying moment that confirmed her feeling of loneliness. No freedom to pursue what infectiously inspires my soul through a lack of opportunity, we are not encouraged to pursue what we love. Chained to the bottom, tortured with visions of open sky, streak with colour, calm and clouds. Her thoughts were scattered, her decision was uncomforting. Why are the things with such great reward so difficult and out of reach when the things that make us miserable are the easiest to choose? Restless, emotion, moment, courage, confirm.

Cloverdale Response Poem #6 Courage is contrasting, placement, knowledge, judgment, think Contrasting the placement of knowledge and judgment and leaving room to think. A room that is large and empty and full of places to store things for safekeeping. Keeping safe is a priority but somehow deadbolts donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t seem to warm me. A cold, empty metal room with doors made of steel, bolted shut, along every inch of the walls. Greed, price, hatred, dependence, parasitic avarice, to take advantage of another. Why is it so cold in this room? Why do thoughts encroach upon my mind remaining to fester? Am I infected? Courage is contrasting, placement, knowledge, judgment, think.

Cloverdale Response Poem #7 Courage is lack of pretense, the child facing the attic, awe inspiring, awful, pure. Although is courage not a state of pure passion? Hearts on fire Homelessness, so many people living on the street, and society doesn’t seem to care. Boxes are nice when you’re five, a house, a rocket, a ride. But add a couple of decades and you’ll feel your imagination fade. To be a coward is to disguise yourself with the mask of someone else, to take what is not yours, and to set blame on anyone else when it is to be put on no one but yourself. Is society a coward with its congenial façade – while others dwell in their hardships? Courage is lack of pretense, the child facing the attic, awe inspiring, awful, pure.

Danielleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Horse Drawing by Skye Reite

A Walk Toward Spring Anissa Catamo Feathery green moss drapes and dangles around the bodies of the grateful trees who, at this time of year, would be shivering in the cold with their naked stumps and barren branches if it weren’t for the warmth of the equally pleased bryophytes. The arms of the tapering trees reach out to one another and form arches up above, and thus create the perfect frame for the forest foyers. The floor of the forest is adorned with an exotic verdant carpet of Sword Ferns—those modest marvels who do not flower. A sense of liveliness is added to the forest’s disposition as birds and critters peep here and there through the thickets. The birds sing, and flutter up above. They zip to and fro between the trees, humming hellos all the while. My mom is up ahead, hying to avoid the cold air of Winter’s end. I drag my distracted feet far behind, my head not in the clouds, but in the beauteous flora. The thick mud squishes beneath the bottoms of my rubber boots with each wandering step I take. And though the air has a sharp chill, the sun still shines through, giving highlights to the rustic hues, and glimmering notably off the foliage of the evergreen cedars and firs. The spring season sings silently of its coming through the sun’s warming coruscations; elated, the forest basks in joy. The atmosphere is filled with vernal hints, and I am welcomed by the life around me, as we all share a unanimous anticipation for the coming of Spring.

Things I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t believe in Sahil Kaushik Zombies are fake Santa is fake Canucks suck

Mein Kampf (My Struggle) Henry Szwaba

My biggest struggle is writing a poem. Another struggle I face is issues with race. I’m native so I get called “chug.” That is possibly the worst thing you can call a native. Like Indians don’t struggle enough.

Nothing Indy Dhillon Nothing can change the way I think about the Canucks winning the Stanley Cup. This is because I had so much belief that they would win against the Bruins in Game 7, but they disappointed me so much that I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t ever believe in them again. I might believe in them if they make it deep into the playoffs ever again, but I doubt it.

Taking a Hit Matt Phillips

My Own Mysterious World Joshua Bacsa I kind of like it Black and white Peaceful and parallel And I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know why The blue and green And sometimes grey Sad and lonely swirls Create a bit of darkness in the picture There is a world underneath this world Complete with clouds and ocean Bright and electric waters And a mysterious island Alone like me When I feel shy If I could live on that island With two moons and stars Peacefully by myself I think my musical and creative side Would come out

More people should know Sahil Kaushik More people should know The corruption the government does not show The money we earn day and night The taxes we pay should go to something right Every day we struggle to pay our bills Although the government treats us as if we have mills.

When I was Jamal Al-Bayaa When I was two and three and four and five, I was told splendid stories to widen my eyes. In the day there were fairies and bunnies laying eggs, Santa came with presents at night and you didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to beg. You just had to have faith and close your eyes, Do as youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re told and believe the little lies.

Excha This writing exercise asked students to create either a completely imagined dialogue or to show what people actually say and what they would like to say but donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t.

anges 67

Exchanges Satvir Bhambra Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s for homework? I wanna be a pilot Hey guys, check out my pecs Look at my swag Hey, is my make-up good? K guys, make sure youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re not late again

bad by R.H.

Newton Exchange Braiden Ferguson Uh, how long is this bus gonna take? Those guys keep staring at me. Oh, here it comes. Yo, you see him Yea, I see him That’s a nice phone he’s got there Go get it Damn, he got on the bus Shit Shit I’m glad that bus came Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where he came from

Western Transloading Corp. Austin Bennett Ops Manager: Why the fuck isn’t he here? Me: Why can’t I get a raise? I’m here almost 18 hours a day, seven days a week. Boss: Why did this shipment go out? Why didn’t we catch this? Where are my cargo trains? Operators: Why am I doing everything? Why won’t you guys help me out? Cleaners: I’m so sick and tired of cleaning people’s stuff up. Why can’t they just put their garbage in the garbage? * Why aren’t my workers here? Why are you freaking out on me? You want to get punched out? You aren’t doing your best, guys. Come on. Just do your job. Give me a break. I’m going as fast as I can. Someone help, please. How much more is there left to do, boss?

Skytrain Casandra Rees I need to get home to feed my baby I wish all these people would shut the fuck up! The man next to me reeks of booze and pot That guy over there is really hot! I really want a cigarette Whereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the nearest Starbucks? These girls dress like they have no self-respect! Do you mind if I sit here? Damn, look at that ass! Stroller, getting off here

Facebook Ink by R.H.

Food Bank is G Jon M. I wanna smoke Here, have some candy Don’t talk about drugs I wanna go home I feel depressed in the morning I want this to hurry up What ‘sup G Don’t be racist, man Don’t talk about stupid stuff Don’t take bread out of a kid’s mouth

I’m gonna Rohit Pooni Get the big guy – he touched my shoulder Oh shit, this little kid has bear spray What do I do if he actually sprays me? Yo, let’s not do this guys. Let’s go home. Screw that, we’re going. You stand here and hold our stuff. Man, fuck these guys. They want beef. All right, hold up. Yo, screw it. Let’s just kick. Fuck that, you guys kick Alright, peace

My hometown, hanging out with friends Jade Price The stoner chick is probably thinking About when the guy she likes will Realize that she’s the right girl for him. The guy who loves South Park is thinking About driving home, ditching his friends To go watch tonight’s episode. The chick who gets too overly attached To all the guys she hangs out with is thinking She’s not good enough for anyone And wants to be alone. The guy that played all of the girls In the group is thinking He’s top shit and every girl Is in love with him What people actually say: The stoner chick: When do you guys want to go pick up? The guy who loves South Park: Let’s talk about the universe and aliens and shit. Overly attached chick: Let’s smoke a bowl and go play grounders at the park. The player: I’m hungry … let’s go get some pizza.

What nobody would say: The stoner chick: I’m sorry for being such a shitty friend, Jade. The guy who loves South Park: I’m sorry I broke our trust, Jade. The overly attached chick: I’m sorry for holding hands with your boyfriend 2 hours after you broke up. The Player: I shouldn’t of let you leave the way you did. I’m sorry for leaving you at the most shittiest time of your life.”

Surr Poems about where we live.

rey 79

Surrey Eakum Sull Surrey belongs to the people. We have Dianne Watts as mayor but honestly the people make the choices around here. We have our own courts and we go to City Hall to file our complaints and requests. It’s the people of Surrey that make the decisions. And that’s how it’s supposed to be. We’re the payers, so we should have the right to make decisions around here.

Surrey Belongs to Satvir Bhambra

• • • • • • •

The crack dealers The rich people living in posh homes The Gang Task Force The undercover cops The homeless that roam free The crack heads on the 108th Avenue strip The corner stores that sell tobacco products and alcohol to kids under 19

Surrey Belongs Too Austin Bennett Surrey belongs, too, me, my family, my friends, my co-workers, my neighbours, their families, and their friends Surrey belongs, too, the homeless Surrey belongs, too, the drug users and prostitutes Surrey belongs, too, the gun slingers and the drug dealers Surrey belongs, too, the freedom of speech, and the desire to speak your mind

Surrey Belongs To Dave Ellison South Surrey mansions Fleetwood monster houses Condos Condos Condos Pocket farms and hold outs to development Green development signs with density of units per acre City Centre City Central Central City No one wants to say they live in Whalley Some call it Gateway Some call it Bridgeview North Delta is not Surrey But who can tell the difference? Cloverdale is Surrey Newton is Surrey White Rock used to be Surrey Before egos got in the way

Surrey Mo Hassani Belongs to the people who live in it. We are a community of multicultural people. We make this community by going to school and working here. We grew up in Surrey and Surrey will always be in our hearts. Surrey is the place where we achieved our goals. We made Surrey what it is today. Surrey isn’t “Surrey” without us.

Schizophrenic Thoughts Bianca Sousa Surrey belongs to the kids lost to the streets All we wanna do is search for some peace. Surrey belongs to the dealers just trying to make some cash. Hustlin’ every day, waiting for freedom. We are the next generation, we own Surrey. Surrey belongs to our minds, and the ones that lost all hope. Waiting for a change, that ain’t ever gonna come ‘Cause this city is ours for the taking. From A spot to B spot, we go where we want. We know so many people, and one day they’re just gone. I’m crazy I’m sick I’m high I’m scared I’m lost in my head I’m tired I’m paranoid And we all need some drugs. Here I go thinking again, and it goes like this … Gotta get more, gotta get more, my mind is racing. Who are you? Get out of my face! I need a smoke I need some help. Come on boys let’s go I think I killed her I need more drugs! It was all me, baby I’m crazy. Surrey belongs to who? Surrey belongs to what? Surrey belongs to us.

D’Corize Mo Hassani D’Corize is a building where all sorts of people live, and knowing that everyone you see in the elevator is your neighbour makes it a lot better. People complain about the parking space, about the janitor not doing his job, about how the rent is too high. People talk about their everyday life in the elevator. All kinds of people live here, from rich to poor and from people that work hard to make their money and to people who just have to get out of the building, sell a bag to make a living. D’Corize is the place I know, it’s the place where I get my ideas. If I didn’t have D’Corize in my life I wouldn’t be where I am now.

NOTE: Photos of the D’Corize building by Thereysa Tabert are featured on the front and back covers of this anthology.

Untitled by H.A.

made in Surrey, B.C.