WRiting Contest #1 - Poetry
Senior Category Winning SUbmissions
Untiltled
By Olvila Liu
First Place, Senior Category
I am from
worn out hands and calluses
scars and burns each telling its own quiet story
where my grandparents made a living
through fire and flour
in a countryside kitchen
accompanied by only
the faint hum of a dim light bulb
the persistent ticking of a clock
that was always a couple of minutes too early
where bowls of sizzling meat
thawed hearts hardened by winter days
and the warmth of an inviting cup of tea
reached souls and brought forth laughter
saved up
but never spent
where I first learned to spit out fish bones
before I could even say my own name
where my grandparents folded extra filling
into each dumpling I ate
so when the fragrant juices exploded in my mouth
they could tell me how much they love me
without even saying a single word
and as more people discovered
the magic of an overstuffed dumpling
the quiet ticking of the clock
in the humble restaurant
became drowned out by voices and stories
from across the rural town
from tired fingers and the ever present scent
of vegetable oil and lao gan ma
my grandparents slowly built up
a better life for my mother
one grain of rice at a time
I am from
violent torrents of uncertainty and hope
that my parents managed to shove
into a single suitcase
which weighed them down
as they stepped soundlessly onto the airplane
where they left behind
the bustling marketplaces that lit up at night
the familiar roads that breathed nostalgia
into their lungs until
memories lost to time and the passing of days
resurfaced
where they were forced to grow accustomed to
winters that were too cold
without the comfort of a warm bowl of radish soup
days that grew dull on their tongues
stripped of the bright sweetness
of tang hu lu
and a house that seemed just a little empty
without the loud chatter of extended family
and the lively gossip from their favourite a yi
where they had to learn a foreign language
that was too sharp and metallic on their tongues
and as they stuttered and stumbled
the words only scorched their mouths
and left behind the bitter aftertaste of a distant place
where the only burn they knew was the gentle fire
of a bowl of beef noodle soup on a cold foggy day
I am from
their fleeting dreams crushed
so mine could fly even higher
I am from
two worlds
unfurling side by side
eventually melting into one
where different languages curl and float
along with the stream rising
from a pot of ma la tang
but laughter at the dinner table
will always be universal
where we celebrate holidays from around the world
hang up stockings for Christmas
but also turn the whole house a festive shade of crimson
and count the days until Lunar New Year
where scents and smells from halfway across the continent
leave a permanent echo in the corners of my home
and stories about childhood in China
are passed down into my care
so even though I live in a different country
a part of my heart instinctively remembers where I was born
and will forever have a gentle tug
to invite me back home
Anamnesis
By Amanda Ho
Second Place, Senior Category
I remember.
folded paper, cranes, lilies, planes;
stars, shooting across the sky,
a feeling, like I was flying with them.
weightless.
I remember.
candies, streamers, confetti, party poppers;
cake, eaten with as much grace hungry children could muster,
energy about as much as a pack of starving hyenas.
ecstatic.
I remember.
hidden nooks, crannies, secrets, hideaways;
places we could forget where we were, who we’d become,
a respite from life itself.
safe.
I remember.
photographs, polaroids, snapshots in time;
dusty, blurred, static at the edges of recollection and yet so clear,
like I was just there, like it was years ago,
timeless.
I remember.
growing up, developing, maturing, adolescence;
these memories, these moments, this carefree happiness from the tiniest things,
hoping whatever I became, however I changed, it would stay, deep in my soul.
anamnesis.
The Hill We Fell Off
By Stephen Gu
Third Place, Senior Category
After the style of “The Hill We Climb” by Amanda Gorman
When night comes we ask ourselves,
has there ever been light in this never-ending shade?
we’ve fabricated one giant lie
where quiet forms deception,
we’ve welcomed the norms and notions,
of what just is,
and together tarnished justice,
and yet while there is hope,
the past where we worked together
for something larger
is gone
just a memory,
just like the Athenians;
We’ve witnessed a nation in which we cultivated destruction,
of something we destroyed, once finished,
and while we have come a long way from
the discriminations of the past,
in doing so we created more urgent issues;
By protecting one we harm another,
we help people who do not want our help,
we harm people who did not want to be harmed,
we overshadow issues that are worrying,
with issues that impact
merely one group of people;
Being committed to all cultures, colors,
characters and conditions of man
means treating everyone equally,
to not merely restrict racism on one race
just to ban it for another,
to not allow a joke about one group of people
just to publicly shame people that joke about others;
When we lift our gazes to see what stands before us,
we do not see the politicians we elected ourselves,
we do not see nations which are depicted as evil,
but we do see businessmen devoted to corruption,
businessmen who do not care about the future of humanity,
businessmen who infiltrate the minds of our young generation,
businessmen who twist laws, who have no moral compass,
businessmen who make their claims off misused quotes,
off materialistic beliefs
such that
if you cut a human in half
you do not find human rights,
therefore there must be no human rights;
Yet lies are merely words,
lies do not provoke actions,
but we intentionally provoke these actions
in benefit for others,
unknowingly;
The hill we fell off,
over the years,
slipping down the great acropolis of ancient Athens,
slowly, like Sisyphus, we try to recover
from the torture, the brutal punishment,
but are never able,
even now, we continue falling into the chaos below—
so let us look back up that hill,
look back into a time of true democracy,
when the idea of citizen-rule
was first dreamt of;
We cannot climb the hill again
but we can remember the times
when we climbed the hill
reached a place of true dēmokratia
a relic of a kinder past.
Apple Picking
By Emma Yang
Honourable Menion, Senior Category
Ka-click
Time paused
On the rows and rows of apple trees
All climbing high yet not out of reach
Accessible as ever yet never running out
Zooming in on a singular tree
Bathed in the sunlight from the west,
Reflecting on spheres of yellow and red and green
That highlights the perfect while shadowing the bruised
Each protagonist shines in smooth skin
Waiting to be chosen
Fulfilling their purpose
Consumed by other living things
Ka-click
Time stopped
As a young clumsy boy perched atop a strong old man
Neither looked wary nor hesitant
To reach the highest point for the reward
But, as a bystander, my brows furrowed
Throat tightened
Heart gnawed
In time to the seconds of danger
The daring smile of the boy
When a fingertip skimmed the red
Brought forth my anxiety in red
Ka-click
Time froze
The fruits sit on small hands
Barely containing one on each side
Postures relaxed
Both daredevils stretched their mouths wider,
Freer than they had been in months
The younger one pieced the apples like jigsaw to his face
As the cool touch contrasted that of the reddened cheeks
The old man’s eyes shone
With remembrance of his youth
Pride
And I?
I felt lighter than a feather as my worries floated away
Leaving me with the present
Of this moment
In this memory conserving camera
Hope
By Elliott Ng
Honourable Mention, Senior Category
Hope isn’t always loud.
It doesn’t always come as fire or thunder
sometimes it’s a breath,
a whisper that says, not yet.
It lives in the smallest things
a step when your legs are shaking,
a hand reaching out when you were alone,
the choice to keep going
when giving up would be easier.
Hope is stubborn.
It grows in the cracks,
it refuses to leave you
even when you try to leave it.
It’s not blind faith
It’s getting up again,
bloody, tired,
but still moving.
Hope believes in the part of you
that doesn’t break.
It holds the pieces together
long enough for you to heal,
long enough for you to rise.
And when you rise,
You rise brighter.
You rise knowing
that hope was never fragile
it was you
all along.