I want to be a pilot,

Because I love to fly.

I once went to a flight simulator

at an amusement park.

It had lots of decimals and numbers

and buttons all over the place.

I took a simulated flight from Peru to France,

and it was just five or six minutes in the simulator,

because a real flight would take HOURS

and it projected the sky,

blue and yellowish.

To become a pilot,

learn to steer

very complicated

Use the lever,

power the engines.

Turn off the brakes,

Move the plane.

Taxiing.

Use the pedal

Use the column.

Push it downwards,

pull it upwards.

Use the Rudder

left or right

engage the Ailerons,

tilt the plane.

Flying is like…

Rushing through the clouds,

Gliding merrily like a bird,

Like lying on a platform that’s rushing through the air,

You feel like you’re dreaming

Fluffy clouds are like cars making way before you

like you’re driving an Ambulance.

The sun shines in your face, the sun’s so bright.

The birds chirping and flying is a wonderful sight.

Sweet candy on your plate,

Drinking your tea, with

The slightly bitter taste

My imaginary friends

And my real friends, looking

At me slightly pitifully

Because of the incident

That happened when I was six.

The time I had dinner

With my family and got thirsty

I looked at a very fancy teacup

It was like heaven, but

It turned out to have a very

Bitter taste, but not so bitter

Anymore.

Sweet candy on your plate,

Drinking your tea, with

The slightly bitter taste

On Sunday

I went to my friend’s birthday party at Clip and Climb.

I was so scared I couldn't do at least one of them!

Clip and Climb looks like a huge box

with different climbs on one side and another.

When we got there I saw my friends and classmates.

I was really nervous about which one to start with.

The Skyscraper was really colorful because at night

you can see people still working

with the lights on.

On the wall you can see led lights on the wall

so there were different colors everywhere.

On the Cheese

there were holes like cheese

and they had different vibrant colors.

I tried starting with a medium level one

it was called dots and stripes.

I hooked my harness in and started climbing.

It was a bit hard because

my legs couldn’t stretch to the other ledge.

I decided to do a different one.

I chose to do an easy one.

It looked like a pole

and it had footsteps in the middle and ledges on the side.

I was a bit confused about how to do it,

then one of the helpers gave me a tip,

he said to put your hands on the side

while climbing up with your feet.

I followed his steps

and I tried

and I did it !!:)

Thank you

dad for helping me

learn math

for jogging behind my bike

in case I

fall off

and helping our family

earn money

Thank you

mom for taking care of me

when I’m hurt

cooking food for us

helping me

with my

mandarin homework

Thank you

sister for playing LEGO with me

when I’m bored

telling jokes

and riddles to me

telling me

when my friends

are betraying me

Thank you

myself for letting me

use my gift

of art

use my gift

of communicating to animals

use my gift

of reading.

Because evolution makes life thrive

and adapt to new places. It can create

amazing things.

Without evolution, the world would not

exist. Evolution may not seem important,

but it makes a big difference in our

everyday lives.

I looked at a screen and saw right away,

how important the words were. It sent

information into my brain and gave me

memories to keep or let loose, what it was

telling me was the importance of evolution.

Because evolution is something captivating

and complicating, it would not be something

most people would understand.

Because evolution makes so much biodiversity,

all the things in nature are put to use. Forests

are like natural farmlands.

Because evolution is important to earth. It is

mesmerizing and astonishing to us.

In the night I heard a creak,

A fast running upon the floor.

Nothing more, but something bleak,

Then a squeaking, opening door.

A silence for many moments there,

But later, a quiet sound, I vow,

Not a sound, nor rustle of hair.

Not a pounce, but a single meow.

From rustled curtains comes a sound,

Everyday, like a chore

Between the bench, unannounced.

Scritch, scratch. Almost getting tore.

Scratching on the bed though, too,

Head tired, looking bored.

His bedtime always past overdue,

Leaning upon the footboard.

Jumping high, he runs downstairs,

A whisper, a screech, a quiet scream.

Not a trace, a single hair.

The meowing, meowing seeps into my dream.

Slower steps back to the top,

Not a thud, nor a single peep.

Back to the room, he comes to a stop,

Tip, tip, fall, fast asleep.

Watching

From the wings, I

Stand silent, heart pounding

The crowd cheers louder and louder

For me

it had arrived! finally, it had arrived!

i darted out, my parcel came in.

the tape was clear, yet wide and sticky.

the wrap was soft, but firm, and thick.

scissors dancing around the drenched, yellow edges,

a cut was made, and the book was free.

“crime and punishment”. classical literature.

i flipped through the papers, mesmerizingly so.

the font, i thought, was incredibly small.

the blocks, i saw, were scarily tall.

skipping to the end, the very last page,

604 sides. i can’t imagine how many words.

the first day was tiring, more than i’d thought.

i asked for this book, could i read the whole thing?

the sentences were lengthy, comma-filled pacing.

the paragraphs were more so; and with single line spacing!

placing my harp-formed bookmark between,

“it’s winter vacation, i have two whole weeks.”

then procrastination struck. reading felt hard.

i couldn’t find focus. each sound was a struggle.

the day was too full for me to take time.

the night was too late, it wasn’t my prime.

setting the novel back onto my desk,

each night i’d fall asleep, the guilt unsatisfactory.

but it all turned around! my lamp really helped!

i figured i’d read late, as nightfall would allow.

the position, still, was in no way pleasant.

the light was assisted by the sky’s shining crescent.

deciding on my own terms the beginning and end,

my progress and mood would steadily improve.

winter break was over. a school day took place.

i brought the book to silent reading. little did i know

the teacher in my room was a psychology major.

the novel in question was for the subject’s tenth graders.

taking it from my hands, he left, but came back??

what did he do with it? i may never know.

at last, by the close! page 604!

i remember it clearly. what a way to be done.

the conclusion of the book was better than i’d guessed.

the happiness i felt, at the time, was blessed.

seeing as it took me three weeks to end,

couldn’t i read faster? to the first page. again!

Babies cry,

Not aware of the walls they will have to face.

Growing up with only themselves,

And their parents,

In a sea of masks.

Not aware of the fact that some people they see,

Might be the last time the person glimpses the light of the sun.

Toddlers babble, argue, and play,

Not aware of the hardships they will face when developing.

Playdates happen less than usual.

Young adolescents,

Going through the most crucial parts of their lives,

Are swallowed in a sea of masks,

Even when they can still remember the smiles,

That were not smothered.

Teens,

Never getting the chance to celebrate the achievements they have accomplished.

Like graduation.

University students,

Trying to get degrees,

Try to contribute to society,

In a sea of masks.

All,

Being,

Lonely,

Sad,

Angry,

Confused,

Mad,

Bitter,

And bewildered.

Some are not able to cope with the stress.

Some are not able to cope with the madness.

Some are not able to cope with the sadness.

Some can’t cope with loneliness.

Some people succumb to the virus young,

Never seeing the light of the next day.

Children and adults never live normal lives.

“Hand sanitize!”

They say.

“Wash your hands!”

They say.

“Wear a mask!”

They say.

“Don’t touch your face!”

They say.

“Be safe!”

But they never say,

“Try to be happy and normal!”

Because no one can.

I no longer see happiness

as a prize to be won but

instead as a path to be

walked.

Rather than picturing

a gold medal waiting to be

handed to me as I soar

across a finished line,

I see mountain peaks and

valleys,

rolling hills and soft plains.

I see sun and breeze and

snow and rain

I see flourishing and growth

as seasons change,

I see great days

and bad days

and days somewhere in

between.

I see really big hard things

and I'm hopeful they don't

drown me.

I see really big good things

And small ones, too, all

around me.

I used to think I’d be happy

when I finally reached

some goal.

and I had this paralysing

fear that I’d make a wrong turn

and never quite feel

whole.

But I am right here

In the present

living a life that's full of beauty

and wonder and laughter

and tears and love

and I am so happy to be

here!

I silently watch

As the predators seek out their prey

They pelt him with sharp words that cut from inside

He waits for the storm to pass

As the predators seek out their prey

I want to speak but no words come

He waits for the storm to pass

Countless scars he has endured before

I want to speak but no words come

All animals are afraid of wolves

Countless scars he has endured before

His pains are victories to them

All animals are afraid of wolves

They pelt him with sharp words that cut from inside

His pains are victories to them

I silently watch

like an insomniac owl up a withered oak tree,

weathered eyes waver in dim oil-lamplight

arithmetic blurs and metamorphosed between bane and

insufferable longing,

more miserable longing than anything.

fingers would become one with graphite and lead,

but she kept still, lanky limbs tucked close to her abdomen,

torso contracted,

brows scrunched, lips pursed.

the oak tree shakes in toil;

it gives without rest.

as oil starts to dwindle dim

and spirits fall to a low,

a soft clicking echoes from the oak-hole;

pitying and a little fearful.

soft linen pleats would brush with abashed softness

across the desolate floors.

Her weathered hands would set down

a steaming bowl of rice,

pig’s oil.

the waft of homesickness warming

the eroding bark, softening its coarse exterior,

tenderizing the smooth interior.

she knew to do nothing else,

that woman,

she was never taught affection,

that woman,

she seldom knew what love meant,

that woman.

What does it feel like to be a Chinese in Canada?

Our classmates always fancy sitting close to us in class

And ask us how to find the hydrogen atomic mass

Using us as a practical way to get them a pass

As they think all Chinese are math and science experts, alas!

Our school counselors always pay us special attention

And caution us to relax with a weekly conversation

Criticizing our parents for creating the tension

As they think all Chinese prize homework a great invention

Our boyfriends always insist to be our protective guy

And convince us to learn the meaning of the word “defy”

Reminding us the importance of always asking “why”

As they think all Chinese are hopelessly quiet and shy

Our friends always invite us to a food celebration

And inquire us about some bizarre meal preparation

Discussing dog abuse based on their imagination

As they think all Chinese come from a barbarous nation

The salespeople at Holt Renfrew are always very nice

And offer us water or even champagne served with ice

Giving us trend reports and their professional advice

As they think all Chinese buy things without checking the price

The diners always look at us like we are a big name

And wonder why we have to shout like watching a ballgame

Staring and frowning at us, trying to make us feel shame

As they think all Chinese speak loud because we are not tame

The commuters always leave us along with our own space

And never chat with us on buses and trains face to face

Trusting us that there must be some health issues among our race

As they think all Chinese carry germs that are hard to trace

The government officials always serve us with respect

And explain slowly to us so everything is correct

Beliving that we can only speak our own dialect

As they think all Chinese pronounce “thank you” with a defect

The Canadians always welcome us as a new friend

And talk about Chinese culture with us every weekend

Claiming that all our ridiculous beliefs should be mend

As they think all Chinese are inferior in the end

This is how I feel like being a Chinese in Canada.

Keen eyes watching, every move a thief makes weak

talons sharp as a knife, palm open, feeling ablaze softening their skin

in the reflection of the beak strikes a gold streak.

Possessions so priceless, royalty would grin

guarded for centuries, and even more centuries to come,

protector of all that glitters among the green lining trees,

not a friend nor foe, here for serenity for some

awakening in the forests of ease,

beware danger is all around but of long distance

to fill ones’ belly, must venture near a river,

only to eat the finest of all existence.

Seeking through the woods a free mind for once deliver,

beware the mind said, behind you, all around, inferno

the griffin, lost forever in the brimstone, mind said I told you so.

What began as streaks of light in the sky,

Ended in screams echoing throughout,

And showers of destruction and death.

But as the dust settled,

Nature was an angry blaze.

A roaring fire spreading

And engulfing our creations.

Erasing all traces of humans

Finally retaking its rightful place

Earth once again, burned in a beautiful flame of nature.

The sun shined brightly across the lands,

And the rain gave life to billions.

Flowers bloomed and exploded with colours,

The trees arms’ grew and bore fruits proudly,

Vegetable plants erupted from the earth,

And the waves moved with the rhythm, as the wind whistled.

In just a blink,

The world reset and changed forever,

And mother nature carried on without us.

The first time I witnessed cherry blossoms reflecting moonlight was the first March after I moved in

During day, visitors crowded the streets like mayflies

2 A.M. and not yet summer

My head was tucked inside the covers as I tried to recover the type of heat that surrounded the body but did not invade the skin, a heat that marked the majority of my childhood

Perhaps that would have driven me to sleep but some night drivers interrupted my efforts

It had recently rained, as I heard the sound of their car motors, I remembered peeking out a triangle of my curtain to the sidewalk lit by a few amber streetlights

Only bright enough to pair facts with imagined details

Moonlight fractured into marquis diamonds that adorned the cavities of the otherwise lonely gravel street,

where blossom petals chose to reside for the evening

I pictured tires’ imprinting small scars on the blossom petals that had been weighed down by rain

A soft swat knocks a glass

Upon hardwood, carefully spilling, displaying

Its crystalline contents and shattering

Liquid glass, spilling shards. Individual fragmented

Stars nebulate as

Diamonds come to litter a vast

Floor.

But there was no glazed glass resting on the floor. There

Were no spilling mirrors, reflecting the gaze of guilty souls, no

diamonds nor “Shattered crystalline contents.” Yet, they, the reflections

Remain, holding the empty entrancement of a hollow being, who

Does not hear music

Nor see fragmented stars.

Some say glass could not be helped

From being fragmented. “From life to death, the purpose of

existence is to learn to cope with an indefinite,

meaningless existence without ends."" they say. Animals

Exist to be consumed! Laws are created to be broken!

And the fragile, let even unbending wills be broken as well!

Or so they say.

Still, in an honest harkened heart, there exists the thought that

What is fragmented can be fixed, and what is

Capsized can be collected,

What is lost can be found. Glass comes to exist for an eternity,

Mirroring the expressions of passersby, who

Never fail to turn away at the sight of hollow eyes

Gorged with sadness?

The unbroken hollow mind set itself, mending fragmented

Stars, unspilling crystalline content, casting shards to a place

Where all the other broken beings wait at the end of their

Lives. Only a single silver slimmer remains

To tell the tale of one mistaken husk

Who softly knocked a glass.

White privilege.

Such a strange concept is it not?

But it is no stranger.

It is familiar.

It is something we learned to live with.

We learned

We learned to fit your definition of normalcy

Learned your language

Learned your holidays

Learned your customs

Learned your cuisine

Learned your dress

Learned your media

Learned to appeal to your everything.

You learned our nothing. Saw us as expendable, exploitable.

White privilege.

What is white privilege?

It is many things.

It is being told that we don’t speak the right language

It is being told our faces aren't what society wants to see

It is being told that we should go back

It is being told “wow your English is really good!” when we grew up here

It is people thinking we are all the same

It is overhearing “they’re going to make us all sick”,

while I wait at a Big White ski lift

It is being helped after the white person even though you were there first,

while at the self-check out in Safeway

It is spending ¾ of the school year studying European history, ¼ Ottoman Empire, and skipping the Asia Unit because it isn’t important according to a late-middle aged white male

while sitting in a Grade 8 socials studies class

It is being unable to take back or even get to know the traditions or culture or history of my family,

Having to use Google to learn about holidays I don’t even know I don’t know.

That is white privilege.

White privilege is expecting us to fit your normal.

White privilege is taking our food, our dress, fitting it your people’s desires and marketing it

selling it

without acknowledgement

without a second thought.

My young ears were taught the strange comments about “people like me” you made were normal.

I learned that you were the desired look and that I did not fit that.

I learned to draw you

instead of me.

It was all so ingrained that I learned that you are the definition

of beauty.

That is white privilege.

It is a Sunday,

And much work is due,

A math test is coming,

And a presentation too.

It is 3 pm now,

Many hours to spare,

Perhaps I could relax,

To mentally prepare.

It is 6 pm now,

Much time still remain,

Perhaps after dinner,

Before using my brain.

It is 9 pm now,

Little time is left,

And yet I still neglect,

The massive workload heft.

It is 12 am now,

The due dates draw near,

I shall not sleep tonight,

It would appear.

It is 3 am now,

All feeling is numb,

Stress is kicking in,

And my head beats like a drum.

I speed through the work,

Putting no effort at all

I just want to finish,

and sleep on the wall

It is 6 am now,

I’m basically dead,

My willpower is broken,

And I feel nothing but dread.

After some time

The work is complete,

My body is fatigued,

And to my bed I retreat.

In bed I slumber,

The feeling is nice;

The blanket is warm

And 2 hours should suffice.

At 8 I awake,

My body on the floor,

My shoulders are aching,

And my back is sore.

To school I arrive,

And hand in what I’ve got,

My work is trash,

But give a damn, I do not.

At my desk, I sit with weakness,

Something that I do too often,

My friends notice and they know,

That I have not slept once again.

I make a promise to myself,

One that I never keep:

“You must never again skip

That wonderful thing called sleep.”