Markham Creates

Submission 2 - Paola Itzkovitch

Artist Name: Paola Itzkovitch Artist Statement: I like to express myself through colours

Tiger - Winnie Chen

Artist Name: Winnie Chen Title: Tiger Medium: Pastel/Oil/Acrylic Artist Statement: These works were actually inspired by images on the internet. And every so often my style changes but it has always stuck to realism and some impresssionism. The most challenging piece is the first painting of flowers because it took several attempts.

Semi-Self Portrait - Harry Yan

Artist Name: Harry Yan Title: Semi-Self Portrait Artist Statement: I'm an 11 year old with an infinite love of drawing. Apart from drawing, I also like coding, gaming, and reading LOTS of books.

Sunny Yellow - Sarah Cheah

Artist Name: Sarah Cheah Title: Sunny Yellow Medium: Acrylic Artist Statement: Doors fascinate me! It's a gateway to curiosity. I have been painting doors on & around Main St, Unionville. I am submitting my latest 3, in acrylic,10"x12", done during the Covid19 quarantine.

Visual Arts - Elaina Sabo

Artist Name: Elaina Sabo Title: Visual Arts Medium: Mixed Artist Statement: My name is Elaina Sabo and I am a young aspiring artist. I have been creating art ever since I can remember as a way to escape reality and bring images from my imagination into our reality. My usual work consists of pencil and marker illustrations.

Chloe Lee

Emma Zheng

This is my 4 year old daughter Emma drew her pet Teemo. Her idea was that inside Teemo’s body were things Teemo loves. Teemo loves watching others playing basketball outside. He loves his toys and collars and etc. Outside Teemo’s body are things that he doesn’t like. Teemo doesn’t like to take a bath. He doesn’t want to brush his teeth or go to training pad to pee and others. Markham is a pet friendly community and we often see people walking their dogs all around the parks and trails.

Chloe Lee

Dhara Bharanitharan

Wall of Art with Maple Leaves

Chloe Lee

A Year in Markham - Sherry Shu

Artist’s Statement: I wanted to reflect on my experiences growing up in Markham through a coming-of-age journey, showing the passage of time and personal growth through four different seasons. I centered all of my experiences around Toogood Pond, as it was one of the most important places of my childhood, containing so many fond memories. I write to capture unique human experiences, and depict deeper emotions and themes through simple examples. It was difficult for me to make all of these pieces connect, and make them as relatable to the reader as possible, since they were deeply personal experiences. Enjoy! A Year in Markham i. Spring “Toogood Pond? That’s a funny name!” I screeched in the middle of the walking trail, making my sister burst into laughter. The nature sign glinted off the summer light, and on the very top, the stretching string of ‘Os’ dashed across my vision as I stood on my tippy-toes, lifting up my pink hat to take a closer look. “Why is it Toogood? Too-good. Tooooo. Goooood.” I rounded my lips around the new, strange syllable, stretching it out and making my pitchy voice vibrate around the tone. The old ladies that sat on the nearby bench are staring at the strange, bulgy-eyed child with a quizzical smile. The family walking in front looked behind with exasperation as they deleted their fifth attempt at a baby geese video. Even the birds on the trees have stopped their dewy calls and turned to gaze in awe, wondering how such a little creature had the capacity for such a major commotion. “Toooouooouououou-” “Shhh, Sherry, xiaoshengyidian! ” (1) Mom muttered sternly, blushing with bright embarrassment. Dad giggled with pride, while Sister simply shook her head at the antics of her tiny partner-in-crime. After a bit more searching, we found a geese-poop-free section of the grass right at the waterfront and rushed to claim it before another family eyes the limited real estate. I saw onlookers staring, and I gave them my proudest grin. For the longest time, I thought they were looking at my hat - my favourite watermelon hat. Tinted pick, with little black dots and green fringe around the edges; the first cool thing I’d gotten ever since we’d come to this brand new place Dad had called Canada. I didn’t know that they were really staring at Mom and Dad because they looked new to the area. They’d brought the essentials for this new phenomenon locals call a picnic - the checkered blanket, cooler, paper plates and towels, and two bright blue Home Depot fold-up chairs that would soon become browned and faded. But instead of sandwiches, sliced veggies, and salami strips flying out of the cooler; there were ‘tea-eggs’, smoked pork slices, soup baos (2), and spring rolls. I didn’t see the few scary faces that Mom, Dad, and Sister were focusing on - the frustration at this batch of newcomers. I didn’t understand that the others didn’t speak the Mandarin my parents mumbled as they struggled to unfold the chairs. I simply waddled around the site with a fistful of dandelions, a bright pink spot in the clearing. I let out a blow after collecting as many as I can carry, and watched the little ‘fluffs’ set off on their sky-bound journeys. While my parents were still setting up the delicious feast, I wandered away from the main setup, looking for more pretty dandelions to pluck. Before I could blow, the big beast of wind came down from the sky, setting the fluffs free. “Hello, Mr. Wind!” I call. But the beast is so strong, it throws my precious watermelon hat into the sky, drifting gently towards the steady ripples. “No! My hat!” I pounced, a tiny cheetah chasing its prey, towards the bright pink blur in the sky. The yells of my parents to ‘come back this instant!’ faded out as I rushed further and further away, and closer to the pond’s open gullet. Just before I was about to dash into the rapids, a great big hand stretched out of the sky, snatching the hat right before it floated out of reach. I stood on my tippy-toes, looking up to see a man with glasses and a funny handlebar mustache, with one hand clutching a fishing rod, the other grasping the precious pink fabric. “Thank you!” I cried, as the man put the hat back on my head with a gentle pat. Mom, Dad, and Sister aren’t far behind, gasping for air. “Thank you so much for getting her hat back… she can really be a bit of a klutz at times!” “No problem!” The man smiled. “I’ve got a daughter her age as well, and I know how often things just fly out of her hands without her control.” Mom and Dad start chatting up a storm with the kind stranger - the first new conversation they’d had since they’d gotten to Markham. With my hat squarely back on my head, I’m ready to go back to our picnic area -- before I notice a girl next to the stranger, also picking dandelions, clad in a small purple hat. “Hi, my name is Sherry - what’s yours?” “I’m Catherine. Nice to meet you!” We were new to the neighborhood, but we’d already made our first few friends. ii. Summer I stepped out of the car with cheese-string legs, barely dodging the trail of a bright yellow car. The Crosby parking lot is packed beyond capacity, honks and lights flashing at every turn. Some of the parkers were heading across the street to the pond walking trails, while others were parents and coaches, eager to see their kids play. I double, then triple-checked my floppy pockets for the “free hot dog” and “free drink” coupons we’d gotten the previous game. The pink-black leather mitt was slipping off my sweat-coated fingers -- I didn’t know if it was the sweltering mid-June heat, or the fact that my heart was pounding at sonic speed. I hated this day every year. I hated the anxiety, the suffocating crowds, the blasting music, the hubbub of never-ending noise, and all of the coaches, parents, and players watching from every corner- “Hey Sher, how’s it goin’?” Catherine grinned, throwing a hand around my shoulder when I stepped up to the food line, sporting an identical long yellow jersey and purple cap. “I’m not ready to let everyone down, Cat.” I moaned. “I’ve been practicing throwing and catching with my dad every day, but I’m still not getting it…” “You’ll be fine, Sher! You played an awesome second base today during the third inning. And remember, the skills challenge doesn’t matter as much as the actual games. It’s all just for fun!” But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. The skills challenge determined who rose up or plummeted to the bottom in the invisible player rankings list. Why did they have to choose me this year, when there were so many better players? Every year, I’d make a mistake during the challenge under the competitive pressure. I’d always been the “new girl” on the team; the teammate whose pop flies bounced out of her glove because they were just out of reach; who’d strike out at bat because she’d forgotten to swing, praying it was a ball. As nice as the other girls were to me, chatting at the dugout or encouraging me in training drills, I knew they saw me as a handicap. Ten-year-old me had to defend my dignity. I refused to give them another reason to look down. We finally got to the front of the line, and I asked for a hot dog and blue Kool-aid -- keeping with tradition. The normally delicious bites are hard pills to swallow as my stomach twisted and turned, watching the boys’ division finish their tournament. “Now… it’s time for our Mite Girls! Can all our mighty Mite Girls teams report to the field?” We stepped into the rose-coloured sand, most of the girls giggling with excitement. I tried my best to mimic and smile and put on the same performance. “The first challenge we have today is the throwing relay! Can the chosen teams from each of the teams please step up?” With a gulp, I turn to Cadence, Sally, and Jackie -- my team for the event. We strode to the grass and arranged ourselves into a line, evenly spaced apart, the same way we’d done every week prior. The pink team to our right gave us a set of sneers as they looked down at their much shorter competition. “Whichever team is the first to throw the ball within their team back and forth, twice, will be the champion! Remember, the whole team has to be seated at the end of the relay. Andddd… GO!” Toss. The ball went at the right height, in Cadence’s direction, who was already turning around to Jackie before it landed safely in her glove. Cadence then aimed it to Jackie, and the rest of the line continued. Every second was a passing heartbeat, where I could do nothing in response but sit and continue to stare, praying that the ball wouldn’t betray us by choosing to blast off to another universe. As it reached the end of our line and began making its way back, I snuck a quick glance at the other teams. Orange Number Three was still fumbling. The Purples had also made it to their last player - but the Pinks were just the tiniest bit ahead. I gritted my teeth, hoping we’d be able to pull ahead for the second round. As it continued to saunter through the air, it finally came right back up at me, and I reached out my glove in hope. Plop. I fumbled to get it out of my glove before passing it forward for the second cycle. “And our girls are finishing their final round -- time is counting down! Who will be the team to finish it first?” Sally. Down. Then Jackie. Then Cadence. Then Me. It’s coming towards me. I reached out my trembling glove. The arc was high and smooth -- high -- too high. I watched it flutter to the cloudtops, above Cadence’s horrified stare. I knew it would easily soar far above my outstretched arm, costing us the tiny lead we’d been able to build up. So I lept. My ten-year-old self summoned up all the strength she had, from the tips of her toesies to the bits of her fingers, and attempted a great big jump. I watched as my left arm moved up, seemingly autonomous of my control, scraping the edge of the round surface before free-falling back down. I heard a startling cry of frustration exit my body, before crashing butt-first into the ground I sobbed - I knew I’d lost it for the Yellows. I looked up with tears streaming down my face to apologize to my teammates, who were also crying in agony. Shrieking. Wait, were they cheering? I looked down. The ball had been knocked perfectly into my lap. It hadn’t been a real game. The first place metals we’d been awarded were made of neon yellow plastic instead of genuine metal. But in my own little way, I’d still proven myself. And the hugs and shrieks I’d gotten from Cat and my other cheerful teammates? Those had all been real. iii. Fall Sasha begged for me to keep holding her hand. Even though I knew I had to pay close attention to all the kids in the line, I still wrapped my fingers tightly around hers. After all, I was her favourite volunteer, and she was my favourite student. “We’re almost there!” The teacher at the very front yelled. “Be very careful and quiet when you’re crossing the road. Stay in a nice straight line, and look both ways first!” After the grueling task of blocking the crosswalk for five minutes, frustrating the long line of drivers that’d piled up on either side, we’d finally gotten all thirty students safely across the street from the Varley Art Gallery. We headed down the hill, across the bridge that made the kids squeal, and finally to the fountain -- spraying forth cooling mist, reflecting the reddish hues of the changing leaves. Each one then held up their sketchpads and pencils, sitting down on a rock or a log, and scribbling at their heart’s content. “I don’t know what to draw! The fountain’s too hard!” I heard a little boy moan. “Me neither!” A girl sighed, twiddling her thumbs and fidgeting with the flowers in the grass. “Can you come help me think of an idea for my picture?” A third one asked. It was so weird to see all these kids standing in front of me, asking for me to lead and offer help, when I had been in their very spot only a few years ago. I smiled, mustered up all the confidence I had, and gathered all the muttering kids in a circle. “Everyone: don’t worry too much about exactly what to draw! Drawing isn’t about creating something perfect, or making something look exactly the way it’s supposed to look. All you have to do is create a story with your drawing. Show people what makes you special with the doodles you do! For example: Michael! What in this park means the most to you?” Michael paused in thought. “Maybe… the big tree over there, beside the water. It looks a little bit like the tree I have in my backyard. My brother and I have a treehouse on the very top, and we go inside to tell each other scary stories!” “Perfect!” I smiled. “You can draw a sketch of your treehouse on top of this new tree! Now, Ashley… what about you?” She pointed to the daffodils, growing in a little patch near the fountain’s base. “Those flowers! They look like the ones growing in my mommy’s garden, that I picked for her on her birthday!” One by one, all of the kids picked out something special to capture on in their sketchbooks. Stroke by stroke, I watched as the drawings began to take shape and burst off the pages. “A little bit more shading there would look great, Eric! Nice use of perspective, Marcus! Wonderful details on that chipmunk, Sasha!” At the end of the day, there were thirty different masterpieces hanging on the walls. Each one had a slightly different angle, perspective, or subject; but all of the kids were super proud of the work they had done. And as the kids came up to hug or high-five me before they walked out the door, I was the most proud of them all. iv. Winter A frosty wind danced past the signs of stores and buildings, gently rousing the bells and store signs who murmured sleepy cries. Little white fairies drifted down from the dappled sky and buried themselves in folds of grass. Although the flocks of geese had long migrated to warmer shores, and the pond had become slightly too chilly for weekly walks, Main Street Unionville was still crowded and lively. It somehow looked even more welcoming in December. Mom and I were taking a stroll, or sanbu (3); the first one in months. We’d both recently thrown for a loop with new jobs and projects. I’d just embarked on a whole new chapter of my life -- high school -- and the transition hadn’t been as easy as I’d expected. It had been months since we’d had the chance to have a one-on-one chat, or even taken the time to sanbu. We’d been able to stop by Uncle Tetsu’s on the path, and picked up a warm box of sweet, cheesy delights that I kept safe under my mitts. The tantalizing wafts were making it hard for us to not eat it on the spot. “Honestly, I miss elementary,” I’d lament, not recognizing the sliver of pressure I’d faced in comparison to adult life. “We used to have fun projects and so many more field trips, and we were all so close together! If I could go back, I totally would.” Mom laughed. “You’re going to get used to your new school. There’s so many more exciting things you get to look forward to in the next four years - clubs to join, new material to learn, new classmates and teachers to meet. Enjoy all of it when you can. Because before you know it - you’ll be whisked off to University.” “University.” “Crazy, isn’t it?” We passed by the open balconies and bars on our second lap, playing loud music and brimming with conversation. Even though many of them were closing down, families were still gathered around the balcony tables, determined to stretch their discussions long into the night. “Mom - real question here. When you first moved to Markham, what made you decide to stay? With the whole English thing, having to get a whole new job, lacking close friends and family, and the fact that winters can feel like negative-one-million degrees. What prevented you from freaking out, turning your one-way ticket into a two-way, and going back to Nanjing where everything was familiar?” She was silent for a few moments. “I’m not sure. It was mostly your dad that wanted to move here in the first place. He insisted it would be better for us, better for jiejie, better for you. He had a lot of hope, and I trusted him even through the tough parts. So we worked together, made friends, joined communities, found new jobs. And we looked for beautiful parks and neighborhoods like Toogood pond to take our weekly walks, the same way we did back in China. “But most of all - when I saw your sister finally enjoy school after being bullied so often back home, when you were so happy after your first day of kindergarten with all your new friends. That’s what made it worth it.” Feisty salsa guitar music had begun to strum out from the Bandstand, as the night’s last song began to play. The lead sang his heart and soul into the mic, vocals ringing across the pavilion and sparking the hearts and lips of passersby. Even though our family had never been one to act emotional, an urge bubbled up to wrap my mother in a warm, wooly hug. “Even though it’s been hard, Markham’s been a pretty great place for us to stay.” As I looked around, I saw the tables surrounded by so many different colours. I watched the children and elderly alike dance in the snow, the bitter frost and impending darkness repelled by the warmth and light of smiles at every turn. “Yeah. It really has.” … It all floods back to me when I get to the park. The place I grew up, made so many friends and precious memories; deserted and empty. Now completely lifeless. “Dad, look…” I step off my bike to gesture at the shocking scene before me. The shops on Main Street barred, the Crosby parking lot emptied, the trails free of screaming children or carefree couples. “Don’t worry, Sherry. Markham’s simply taking a rest at the moment. Everything will go back to normal -- eventually.” I thought about his words, and about the memories I’d conjured up. If there’s one thing I’d learned over the years from my life in Markham… It’s that there’s always hope. There’s always life, laughter, and love in the community and its people. We’re always going to be there for each other, even in the darkest moments. With the passing of seasons and time, Toogood Pond would come back to life. And so would the rest of Markham.

Quarantine - Manmeet Narang

Quarantine A thread must be stuck there As I walked away I began to unravel When I reached here I found my body and soul torn and ripped. The silhouette of the leaves on the curtain danced on the wall in the yellow glow of the rising sun. But Navneet’s eyes remained still.Every morning she sat there facing the wall sipping her morning tea while the day announced its coming.There were days when the wall remained blank, its white face staring back at her. “I am running late, mom.Have you packed my lunch?,” Priti fumbled through her new school bag. “It is all done. Check the kitchen shelf,” Navneet’s eyes had still not moved. But she knew she will have to lift herself up soon.Eggs had to be scrambled, bread to be toasted, fruit to be packed for Angad and maybe even for Aman. The sound of the garage told her that they were gone and now she could have the walls to herself.She adjusted the clipboard on her lap and began to write. This isn’t me Who stares from the window all day This isn’t me Who searches a known face walking by This isn’t me Who feels this blue sky is not mine I still live there Somewhere in the by-lanes of my country This is someone else Who stares from the window all day. Another hour to go before Priti would return. She found it strange that secondary schools here in Canada had a shorter day than the elementary schools.Navneet looked over her shoulder as if to call her helper Usha who had cooked and cleaned for them for more than ten years back in India.She kept looking into the corridor before dragging herself to the kitchen. Wiping the kitchen shelf clean, she placed the utensils she had diligently washed one by one.The rest she stacked in the dishwasher.Its whirling sound was the only sound in the house now.By the time her daughter returned, she had neatly combed her hair and readied some hot bread and cottage cheese. First the sweatshirt, then the windcheater and finally the bulky winter jacket. Now the long winter shoes, gloves and woollen cap.This would be enough to block the cold out during the ten minute walk to Angad’s elementary school.It had been just over a month she landed in Markham from India.It would be a while before she would get her driving license. Markham, a city in Ontario, somewhere near Toronto. A name she had never heard all her life and now she had been uprooted from her home in New Delhi and planted there.Friends had sent her encouraging messages calling her a seed who would grow in any soil. But where was the soil where she would grow in? She had been buried in snow. While Angad played video games and Priti was glued to the laptop, Navneet made her second cup of tea.Her mind was going over the vegetables lying in the refrigerator and deciding so as to what she would cook today. That is how the months passed.The day began with staring at the empty walls and ended with staring into the void.Only the date on the calender changed. Well, the menu changed.The name of the movies and Netflix shows changed.Clothes changed. Other than that, there was no distinction of one day from the next. Navneet was in quarantine. Her only escape was her poetry.She often stepped on words to fly away to her homeland and take a whiff of petrichor, of the curry, of her friends, of the memories of forty years.Other than that she was in lockdown, partial though.She made trips with Aman to buy the essentials and then on her own once the driving license arrived. There was no need of a mask.She had so many layers on her face now that she could not recognize herself. She had been maintaining the social distance.No one had put up boards of instructions but something had told her to stay away. On a cold but sunny December afternoon while walking towards her son’s school, she heard the wind carry music with it.It grew louder as she walked further.She slowed down her pace.She wanted the music to last forever.A petite woman was playing saxophone inside her garage.Without knowing, Navneet almost stopped outside lost in the moment of music slicing through the cold air.But very soon her brain started to scold her. You cannot be standing here, outside someone’s garage,listening to someone’s private music. While her heart gently rubbed her back nudging her to say- Go hug her, say that her music is beautiful, that it is the best thing you have experienced ever since you landed here in Canada in the month of October. Navneet started to walk again.Her brain gave her a pat telling her she did the right thing while her heart shut its eyes and sat down in a dark corner.Tears were stinging her eyes.She found it difficult to breathe, as if the walls of her home had come after her and were now caving on her. May this road someday Take me to those roads I left behind On this road clad in snow May those yellow spring flowers bloom again. How long can water remain standing still.It must flow downhill or become a waterfall to climb down and meet the ocean. It did not happen in one day. It is tough to put your finger when and where. Like that one dry brown maple leaf that holds on to the branch, Navneet began to hold to one thing each day.May be it began with the bunch of sunny yellow flowers she gifted herself after doing grocery or may be when she bought her first lipstick from the mall or may be it was when the cinnamon roll she bought melted in her mouth.Or was it when she found even Zoe, a staff member at the community library, loved picture books by Oliver Jeffers.They had vigorously nodded their heads in agreement how picture books were meant as much for adults as for children.Or may be it was that morning when the clouds wearing a crimson carpet appeared like six steps to heaven.Navneet stood there smiling from behind the window, her blank eyes full of colour of joy. “Priti! Angad! Let’s go buy a Christmas Tree!” Angad came down running in his night pyjamas. “Really? Today?” She lifted him in arms and planted a kiss on his cheek. The day would likely go down in the History of Singh household when all four fingers pointed towards the same Christmas Tree.No questions, no arguments.They laughed in unison while moving on to find the right wreath and ornaments.Priti, the walking encyclopedia of the family, had made a mental list of everything she wanted to go up on the tree.Navneet was happy to see her smiling after days. Together they constructed the four-feet-tall tree.First went the ornaments, then the lights and finally the garland around the branches. Priti lifted her long arms to put the golden star at the top while Angad placed the nutcracker at the bottom.The tree looked full and glowing.They sat down under it in their new Christmas sweaters and clicked a family picture. “Now what?” Navneet asked the kids. “What now?” Angad looked confused. From the corner of the eye they saw a fancy pack lying on the shelf. “A gingerbread house!” screamed both of them. As the four of them glued the gingerbread with the icing to construct the candy house it seemed they were building their own little world, step by step. “Look at that one.What a lovely house!” Navneet pointed out as they drove through Markham on Christmas eve looking around at bright lights and decorated homes. “Reindeer! Two of them, one blue and red!” Angad was her only companion in moments like these.Priti was only interested in her coffee and Aman was quiet as always. “Wow! Mom, so many peppermint sticks in their yard.I saw them at the store.I want these lights in my garden too,” Angad was leaning forward, stretching the seat belt a little too much. “Let’s do that next year. For now, Christmas celebration is over.” Aman replied. He glanced at Navneet who had stopped smiling. “They say it gets lonely after Christmas,” Navneet whispered. “Navi, be here in the moment.Don’t think what will happen next, “Amanjeev gently placed his hand on hers. When was the last he had done that.Years ago.She remembered vividly when it had happened the first time.They had been newly engaged. Aman had picked her from home.She had worn a pink suit and silver earrings.He had squeezed her hand and then entwined his fingers in hers while driving.But when was the last time he had held her hand, she could not recall. “That means we will remove the Christmas Tree tomorrow?” Angad’s words jolted her out of her thoughts. “No, Angad.The tree will remain there as long as want.We will keep the lights on, every night,” Navneet looked over her shoulder and smiled. It was during one such long drive, they discovered the hamlet of Unionville.Like the Christmas Tree at home that still stood in the corner, the big snowman stood outside an exotic boutique that said ‘Lost wives found here’. Two big glittery gift boxes shone outside a jewellery shop.It was the sight of the quaint railway station that made Navneet stop.She found herself among all those people who may have travelled from one place to another in search of home.They would know how it felt.Waiting at the platform, unwilling to leave and unable to stay.This is where she had found herself . Aman had been offered a position by his company in a project in Toronto and within months everything had been put aside to board the plane across the Pacific Ocean.During the 24 hour long journey how Navneet kept pinching herself in hope that she would wake up to find it was just a bad dream.That she would find herself among blaring horns on a sultry morning to reach the school where she taught English language and creative writing to students.Then sit over a cup of coffee with Mona after that.How they could talk non-stop! Sunday she would go to her favourite artisans market with Alka and Manvi and enjoy the hot pakoras*.Mom would pack methi paranthas** and send them over with the driver. Sitting in one of the bakeries,Navneet went over moments of her past life. She looked around at the present, a faint smile spreading on her face.The wooden bench, the aroma of the coffee, the girl making fresh chocolate, Unionville made her feel warm, just like home.Just a different kind of home. Navneet scribbled the word ‘home’ on the paper napkin and folded it. Holding it tightly in her hand she walked out of the bakery to stop by at a park by the name of ‘Too Good Pond’. The sight of the flowing stream made her close her eyes in disbelief.Snow that had turned ice was now melting under the sun, just like her own heart that had turned cold over these past months.She rested her arms on the railing of the bridge to listen to the music of the flowing water. There is an old saying by a Sufi saint which a Mughal emperor once borrowed to describe the beauty of Kashmir, a province in northern most part of India. “If there is heaven on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here…” Navneet’s lips were whispering the same couplet as her eyes wandered around the pond and the trees that engulfed it.She felt like she was in Kashmir and not in a park of Markham.Now it was not only her poetry.She also had the streams, the trees, the ponds, the wooden fences, the birds, the letter boxes, the creepers climbing towards roof tops.She felt as if she wasn’t alone anymore. Even though the fingers through the thick gloves could not feel his flesh, Navneet felt the warmth in her veins as Aman held her hand every weekend and they drove to their favourite park for a morning stroll.Now there were two cups of morning tea, placed next to each other with some cookies kept on an ink blue platter. “Remember when we left the kids at home and checked into this resort near Bharatpur Sanctuary*** for a day.It had rained all night and a cold gentle breeze blew.We sipped warm tea just like we do today,” Aman looked so relaxed. “That was six years ago.Now we don’t need to take a day off or go far.Nature is right outside our home.It’s all around us,” Navneet was smiling. “And we have the time to enjoy it and enjoy it together,” Aman softly patted her cheek. She kept looking into the glass tea mugs.The tea was gone and now sunlight was pouring into the cups. For days Navneet ignored the volunteer form Angad had brought home from school.But she didn’t throw it either. What if the children don’t get my accent? For God’s sake what if I don’t understand what they say? She had noticed the word ‘welcome’ was written at the reception of Angad’s elementary school in nine different languages.Out of which she could clearly make out Hindi, Punjabi, Urdu and of course English. That was a comforting and assuring sight.Yet there were fears that held her back. “Miss Navneet, you have a fairly long experience with children and I believe you are an avid reader yourself.I am very happy that you wish to volunteer in our school and support children in reading,” Miss Sofos tossed aside her curly hair as she spoke. Navneet managed a smile, unable to take in the warmth coming from the person whom she was meeting the first time. “We usually expect volunteers to stack books in library or accompany us on day trips, but I think we can use few hours of your expertise ,” Miss Sofos said taking out some books.Step by step she explained the reading program to her. Navneet looked at herself in the mirror. Five months- October to February. I had forgotten what it is like to get up in the morning, dress up and look forward to something. Taking a deep breath outside the main door, she stepped inside the school wishing herself good luck.It felt awkward to walk the corridors.Her palms were sweaty and her legs felt a bit wobbly.She found herself looking for Angad even though he had given instructions to steer clear of the corridor of fifth graders. But at this point of time, a familiar face would comfort her.Little did she know another face awaited her and would bring her something beyond comfort. The moment 9-year-old Ryan sat next to her in the library and opened the book ‘The Magic Key’, everything dissolved.She forgot that she was now in Markham and not in Delhi.That her accent was different from him.That she belonged to a culture poles apart from his.Between Ryan and herself was just a thin book and a huge possibility. Ryan refused to sit still.He yawned and scratched the back of his arm. Just two pages of reading and he refused to go beyond.Navneet tried pointing towards the sight words but he said they bored him.He was unable to register the same word even if he had read it on the previous page.The next day was no better. “This is turning out to be tougher than I had thought,” Navneet expressed to Miss Sofos after trying for a week. “We need to be creative with kids.Let’s think about how we can teach him so that he can learn. Try changing the book or the way of teaching. Don’t lose heart, Miss Navneet.Take it up as a challenge,” Miss Sofos encouraged and shared her stories of struggle with kids. On her way out, Navneet bumped into the principal of the school. “Good morning, Miss Navneet!I am so happy to see you volunteer at our school.Thank you for giving your time.” she extended her hand. Navneet blushed as she shook hands.She had not realized until now that her time was valued. “How is your son adjusting in the school?” “He is doing much better, Miss Angel.Yet to make friends but his teachers are very supportive,” Navneet smiled. “Give yourself few months, I am sure things will begin to look up.Let me know if I can support in any way.” This time Navneet extended her hand and thanked her. She walked towards the exit feeling important and respected. Navneet lay down on the bed, scenes with Ryan flashing on the ceiling.She had the weekend in between before making a fresh start in the coming week. No, he wasn’t being lazy.No, he wasn’t being difficult.No, he will be willing to learn if he begins to enjoy.Yes, I need to make it fun for him. Fun. On Monday, Ryan was surprised to see the blank table. “Are we not reading today?” Ryan asked gloomily. “No.We are going to do something else,” Navneet smiled. From behind she picked up the box of blocks she had borrowed from Miss Sofos and placed it front of him.Ryan’s lips made a big ‘O’ before excitedly lifting the lid of the green box. Taking one block after another, he placed his finger on the manual and decided to make the big fish.The two big antennae on its head was his own idea. Upon finishing, Ryan gave the fish one good look and then lifted it up with pride to show it to her. Navneet smiled at him and gently placed the drawing book in front of him. “Ryan, why don’t you describe your lovely fish?” With a blue sketch pen, Ryan began writing in a mix of capital and small letters. mY FIsH Is FAT IT HAs TO IEs IT HAs A FIN He put the pen down and began adjusting the antennae. “What is the name of your fish?” Navneet brought her face a bit closer. Ryan’ eyes lit up at the idea.He laughed He picked up a red sketch pen and scribbled. HER NAME Is JoJo “Where is her home?” He laughed again, “In the pond at the back of my home!” “Does she talk?” Ryan laughed at Navneet’s question. With a green sketch pen, he wrote. sHE sAYs I AM HuNGRI Together they walked up to the centre of the library towards one of the bookshelves.Navneet placed Jojo along with Ryan’s drawing book which carried the five-line description.Three feet tall Ryan stood there looking his work, his eyes dancing and shining.Navneet asked him if he would like a picture with his work. He giggled.With his chin up, he stood next to Jojo and made a pose. “Thank you, Ryan!” Navneet held out her hand. Ryan had no clue why Miss Navneet was thanking him. Even Navneet had not known when she had begun that the possibility of making a difference was not going to be one sided. Before schools shut in April due to Covid-19, Ryan had begun to read fluently.He continued to dismantle and make new kinds of fish with the blocks.He still mixed up capital and small letters.His spelling was still jumbled up. But he never missed spotting the same words. Navneet still got confused at the roundabouts and could not make out the difference between one house from another. But she continued to explore nature, write poetry, build relationships, her new home and most of all herself. The quarantine was over. In fog one cannot see Except a few steps Standing at the door The heart trembles Asks you to go in And not step out Fate is decided there and then Right there at the threshold of home There is nothing called destiny. *Pakoras is a traditional Indian dish made by frying cauliflower or potato in oil and is served with tangy sauce. **Methi parantha is a hot bread popular in Punjabi households. ***Bharatpur is a bird sanctuary about four hours from Delhi, India.

Claire Chen - 2 Poems: I Hate Corona Virus & Apples

I Hate CoronaVirus By: Claire Chen, age 10 Sunday.April.12.2020 Hello, Coronavirus, You’re ruining my day. I cannot visit my best friend, Or listen to the bay. You cause a bunch of trouble, Your pandemic is still on, I really, really, really, hate you; When will you be gone?! I cannot step outside, The house is such a bore, I really can’t do anything, You’re rotten to the core! You’ve made a lot of shortages, “There’s our stuff!” Then, poof! The things are gone, and you’re to blame, You are such a goof! Our nice frontline workers, Are risking their own lives, You just sit there watching us Go right down in fives. I know you to help Our old earth to be healed, Please don’t do it like this way, No apples can be peeled! We’re spending all our money, On essentials and some soap, But don’t be happy, just quite yet, No one’s losing hope! Apples By: Claire Chen, Age 10 I am crunchy, I am sweet, I’m made of fruit, No sign of meat. My skin is ruby red, On my inside, I am gold, Now here’s a goody tip for you; Eat me when I’m cold! I’m famous; don’t you see? I start with letter A, I’ve even got a saying, I can keep the doc away! I come up to your mind, When you think about a treat, I’ll say this stanza once again, In other words; repeat! I am crunchy, I am sweet, I’m made of fruit, No sign of meat. I’ve told you all about me, But there’s something left to do, Act along and eat me, please, You really will, won’t you?

If The World Was A Movie: A Covid-19 Spoken Word Poem - Hannah Flores

https://youtu.be/Njbukm_qTng I am a 17-year-old spoken word poet and I hope to put smiles on my audience's faces in this era of uncertainty, changing the world one poem at a time. Watch in HD for the full experience! Winner of the 2020 Write the World Spoken Word Poetry Competition Selected as a feature film for the 2020 Lift-Off Global Network First-Time Filmmaker Sessions Changing Minds (Community Access Inc.) Film Festival 2020 Featured Film This was entirely filmed, written, produced, directed and voiced by me. I love to travel, and I am deeply saddened that I will be stuck at home for a while, so I incorporated some footage from my travels throughout the film. Being born in the height of the SARS outbreak, having lived through the Ebola crisis and now living in the Covid-19 pandemic has given me a unique perspective on human behaviour patterns in health-related epidemics. It has further fueled my passions for global health and neuroscience. Please enjoy, share, leave a like and subscribe! Turn on post notifications for new poems and films that I will be posting very soon! As Covid-19 continues to envelope the lives of people across the globe, we must not lose ourselves in the process. We need to practice social distancing, but we cannot socially distance ourselves from each other's humanity. Reach out to someone you know, strike up conversations and ask your neighbours and loved ones if there is anything that you could pick up for them at the store. Everyone must think outside of themselves, as this is a frightening and unprecedented moment in time where we are all in the same boat. It is difficult to stay grounded but do not lose hope, we will get past this together. Have faith in our medical personnel and emergency response teams around the world. Practice good hygiene, stay safe and stay positive. Life is never static. Life is always in motion.

Say Something - Meilun Yu

Say Something Poem by: Meilun Yu dedicated to Mrs. Toszegi When a seed gets planted, The soil it is in, provides for it, nurtures it But when the land becomes infertile, and the garden full of weeds The plant can’t grow So we moved The day was as hazy as a dream Blindfolded by the memories of a child not full grown The decision was not mine, but I went along with it What could I say? My ignorance as a child clouded my mind But as I grew in this new soil, So did my mind The blindfold of ignorance and youth was just replaced by another one A tongue that my tongue could not curve around The language was mountains and rivers and fields My mouth could not go over the peaks of those mountains The river ran too fast for my lips Those field too flat for my throat to pronounce But what could I say? Then came kindergarten When I tried to speak, my tongue was lead To heavy to lift, just like my eyes Because my ears were blocked Nothing went through Just like my mind Then came first grade The girls who sat behind me sang a song The melody familiar but the lyrics strange I thought that if we all added something to the song It would sound so much better But mute I sat, Like a caged canary The bars made of their ignorance and mockery And the only way to find the key is to find their key To sing the tune of their song To march to the beat of their drums But what could I say? Then came fifth grade Now that I have grown, from a seed to a sapling The language of my past forgotten That page torn from my book I have learned to be clay To twist, and turn and shift into the shape of this mold And I thought that it was natural Like how plants grow to accommodate their changing habitats and seasons Like how their roots find different routes And how their leaves change colours, like how I changed my colours Still, there is something unearthly about this earth To have the ability to change somoene like that And make it feel natural But what could I say? Then came eight grade, A new girl arrived today She sat behind me, as quiet as the night and maybe the night sky is the only thing she sees Does that blindfold also block her view? That blindfold that was actually eyes And I wonder if her heart marches to her own beat still and if she’s listening to our song and trying to join, trapped because she can’t find our key But, what can she say? What can I say? Markham, what can we say? Artists Statement: Writing has always been a way for me to speak. It has always been a platform on which I can deliver my feelings, my opinions, and my view on the world in an artistic way. Because as a young teen about to enter high school, my voice and opinions are not normally heard, as I am young and seem ignorant. Poetry is a way for me to get my thoughts across, and hopefully, people would listen. It is also a way for me to inspire other teens like me to share their thoughts, or to inspire others to not be held back by their age. I want my pieces to convey the creativity of youth, and to show people that we are the future.