It does not matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop.

-Wisdom of Confucius

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Thursday, 31 December 2015

Effects of Technological Advancement

In the last decade, we have seen a wave of innovation and technological development. We can easily speak to family and friends halfway across the world. Our lives are simplified with the use of electricity to power our lights, our stoves and our heating. With all this current technology, our lives are simpler than ever. However, as modern lifestyles become increasingly convenient, the earth is becoming increasingly polluted. Industrial development and consumer waste have set us on a course for disaster.

A US study found that air pollution in China kills approximately 4,000 people per day primarily due to the use of coal as an energy source in many industries and for heating in households. Over the course of three decades, industrialization and rapid growth of technology have taken its toll on the land, leading to deteriorating air, water and soil quality in the economic powerhouse. the poor quality of the air around the habitants contribute to stroke, heart disease and lung cancer and account for roughly 55 percent of all Chinese deaths.

Deforestation a large factor of climate change. As vast swatches of forests is being cleared for farms, industries and housing, deforestation contributes to habitat loss and subsequent extinction of many species as well as erosion, it also impacts the carbon cycle. Furthermore Hundred of billions of tons of carbon is stored in trees. Mass deforestation not only lessens the amount of carbon stored, but also releases carbon dioxide into the air.

The sinking of the state of California is well known as well as the cause. By draining the underwater aquifers, Californians transformed the vast desert into a flourishing cornucopia. Nonetheless, with all the water being sucked out to irrigate crops, large vasts of land are deflating like a leaky air mattress. To repair the sinking will cost millions as the sinking destroys bridges, canals and highways

Our advances and achievements in technology is a double-edged sword. Ironically, in order to maintain the health of humans, as well as the earth, developments and technological advances in other sources of energy is needed. Although initially costly, investing in cleaner and greener means of energy will preserve the globe.

Wednesday, 30 December 2015

Christmas Spirit

Holidays. What does that word mean to you? Winter comes around with its icy grip and along with it, comes the festive season. Christmas. To some, it means a dainty little tree clothed in the glittering ornaments. They think of the myriad of aromas filling their kitchens as people pile in for the many parties. Nonetheless, what was the purpose of being relieved from work to kick back during the holiday season? If a child was asked this question, would they respond with quality family time or the gifts under the tree? Probably the latter. The abundance of the garish extravaganza does not compare with the importance of familial rejoice.

When the Christmas trees are up standing proud and parents tell their children to stay on the “Good List”, the children are up at night, dreaming about the mountains of exquisitely wrapped presents. What would it be? The new action figure? A state-of-the-art train set? The greatest gift is yet suspended right in front of them: happiness, love, acceptance.

In spite of the glamorous lights dotting the contours of the warm bustling homes, not everyday is bursting with laughter and popping champagne. The extended celebration is a suitable time to simply get things done. It is the year’s end, paving the path into the new year. It’s the perfect time to reinstate the house impeccably (for the guests, if not otherwise), write out resolutions, and innovate dreams into reality. Why not reconcile with that relative whom you hold a grudge against?

Ultimately, comparing who has the most gifts nor who attended the most parties is not what holidays are for. It’s a time to come together in rejoice and fix any mishaps, smooth over any bumps. Of course, besides the food, be grateful for the most cherished treasure: family.

Monday, 28 December 2015

Les Ressources Naturelles

Mamadou et le secret du fer - Dissertation

L’Afrique au 15e siècle était un continent complètement diffèrent du continent qu’on voir aujourd’hui. Il était dans un état de prospérité et de croissance. Les pays en Afrique étaient gouvernés par des rois qui vivaient dans des immenses villes qui pouvaient habiter 60 mille à 140 mille habitants[1]. Ils étaient sophistiqués dans la médecine ; les peuples africains pouvaient accomplir des césariennes même en 1897[2]. L’Afrique était une place avec beaucoup de culture dans leurs arts, architectures et littératures. Donc pourquoi est-ce qu’ils se trouvent dans un état de bouleversement aujourd’hui ? À partir du 20e siècle, les pays occidentaux comme la France ont commencé à pénétrer l’Afrique pour donner aux peuples africains les trois Cs : le commerce, la civilisation et le christianisme[3]. Cependant, la colonisation a apporté plusieurs épreuves à ces peuples, notamment l’esclavage, la perte de la terre et le décroissement de la culture africaine. Même aujourd’hui, l’Afrique est étourdie par les effets de la colonisation.

Les effets d'esclavage sur les peuples africains et l'impact sur l'Afrique et le reste de monde sont très connus. L'esclavage n'était pas quelque chose nouveaux ; il était pratiqué par nombreux autres peuples au cours d'histoire. Pourtant, au 15e siècle, quand la traite transatlantique des esclaves a commencé, 70 mille personnes[4] africaines ont été forcement prises de leurs familles chaque année. Cela réduit la population africaine immensément et c'est estimé que, en total, 8 à 20 milliards[5] de personnes est devenues esclaves. Tandis que la population d'Europe et de l'Asie a augmenté dramatiquement dans la même période, la population africaine a stagné. Avec le fait que les marchands d'esclaves ont préféré les hommes, la démographie africaine était affectée. Dans « Mamadou et le secret du fer » par André Jacob, le père du personnage principal, Mamadou, a épousé plusieurs femmes (pg.20). Au Mali, la place où ce conte a pris lieu, la polygamie est une pratique commune et une des raisons pour cela est qu'il y a plus de femmes que des hommes. L’Afrique aimerait repeupler, donc les peuples pratiquent la polygamie.

De plus, avec l'arrivant des Européens, les Africains ont perdu beaucoup de leur terre. Les Européens ont confisqué la terre et l'ont utilisé pour leurs usines et leurs propres plantations de tabac, coton et cacao. Avec la perte de la terre ainsi la diminution de la population, les peuples africains ne peuvent pas pousser beaucoup de récoltes, donc il est devenu plus difficile d'obtenir d'argent pour eux. Dans l'Afrique, 65% de la main-d’œuvre[6] est dans l’agriculture. Avec moins de terre, il y a moins d'espace pour ces fermiers. Puisque la terre a été prise par les Européens, les récoltes n'étaient pas de peuple africain. Couplé avec le fait que l'aridité de la terre africaine est très haute et seulement 13,5% de la terre[7] peut être utilisé pour l'agriculture, la famine a affecté la population africaine. Bien que les Africains veuillent vendre leurs récoltes, il serait difficile pour les Africains d’exporter leurs produits avec la compétition des autres pays comme la Chine et l'Inde, qui produisent aussi une grande quantité de céréales. Les peuples africains doivent baisser leur prix et en même temps, produire plus de récoltes, qui mènent l'esclavage. Dans le conte de Mamadou, « …toute la récolte de cacao est vendue…[aux] pays riches » (pg.122). La plantation de cacao a employé des enfants puisque la coute de produire le cacao basse et donc le propriétaire peut le vendre à bas prix.

En 1865, l'esclavage a été aboli et plusieurs pays africains ont obtenu leur liberté. Cependant, les pays occidentaux ont laissé l'Afrique dans un état déchiré. Quand la traite d'esclaves a eu lieu, les Africains ont été préoccupés par leur fuite les négriers. Les peuples africains qui vivent dans la longue de l’Afrique comme au Mali et en Côte d’Ivoire ont déménagé au centre de l'Afrique, ils n'essayaient pas de développer leurs technologies et peu à peu, leur culture a disparu. Avec une centaine d'années sous la commande des Français et les autres pays occidentaux, les Africains ont oublié leur culture et comment se mener. Puisque les pays africains s'appauvrissent, ils ont été vulnérables. Pour se défendre, les Africaines ont acheté des armes des Européens ; les armes pour des esclaves[8]. Les esclaves, plutôt d'être un résultat de la guerre, ont été la raison pour laquelle les pays africains entre en guerre. Comme une boule de neige, les peuples africains ont perdu un sens d'unité et aujourd'hui, l'Afrique est encore déchiré par le confit. Dans Mamadou, après qu‘il a été vendu à la plantation de cacao, Mamadou a raconté un autre Malien nommé Tidame Camara. Pourtant, Tidame vient du sud du Mali pourtant Mamadou vient du nord et à cause de ce fait, les deux garçons n'ont pas été familiers avec les villes d'un autre (pg. 96). Cela est un effet de la perte de l’unité ; les villes africaines semblent plus isolées et les peuples moins comme une collective.

En fin de compte, les épreuves que les Africains confrontent aujourd’hui sont une preuve des malheureux que les Français et les autres pays occidentaux ont apporté en Afrique. Dans le conte « Mamadou et le secret du fer » des thèmes de pauvreté apparaissent partout. Chaque facteur de la colonisation, de l’esclavage, la perte de la terre et le décroissement de la culture africaine a affecté un autre et la vie des peuples africains. On ne peut pas dire que les Africains seraient plus développés si les Européens ne colonisaient pas l’Afrique, le fait reste que la colonisation a apporté plus d’échecs que les avantages aux peuples africains.







[1] Diop-Maes, Louis Marie. "Conséquences Sur L'Afrique." Le Monde Diplomatique. Le Monde Diplomatique, 01 Nov. 2007. Web. 16 Dec. 2015.

[2] Nyoni, Philani. "What Africa Had before Colonisation." This Is Africa. Opinion, 26 Mar. 2015. Web. 16 Dec. 2015.

[3] “

[4] Manning, Patrick. Slavery and African Life: Occidental, Oriental, and African Slave Trades. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1990. Print.

[5] Curtin, Philip D. The Atlantic Slave Trade; a Census. Madison: U of Wisconsin, 1969. Print.

[6] "Resources For." Africa. The World Bank, 2013. Web. 16 Dec. 2015.

[7] Cousins, Ben. At the Crossroads: Land and Agrarian Reform in South Africa into the 21st Century: Papers from a Conference Held at Alpha Training Centre, Broederstroom, Pretoria on 26-28 July 1999. Bellville, South Africa: Programme for Land and Agrarian Studies, School of Government, U of the Western Cape, 2000. Print.

[8] TED-Ed. "The Atlantic Slave Trade: What Too Few Textbooks Told You - Anthony Hazard." YouTube. YouTube, 22 Dec. 2014. Web. 16 Dec. 2015.

FM Radio

Sunday, 13 December 2015

Are people motivated by personal satisfaction rather than money or fame?

Personal satisfaction may come from a variety of sources and, although usually regarded as narcissistic and materialistic, material goods and prominence is associated with personal satisfaction to many people. Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs show that peoples wants and needs differ from their state of living and thus this would also alter personal satisfaction.

Most people choose to pursue professions with higher earnings and higher chances of succeeding. The intense rivalry, the immense adherence and the singleminded goal of students who strive to fill a niche in business or law is an example of how many people equate monetary surplus with personal satisfaction.

Alexander the Great was driven by fame and power. He sought out to reach the "end of the world and the Great Outer Sea" and began a series of military campaigns and created for himself one of the largest empires at that time spanning from Greece to modern day Pakistan. His legacy is unquestionably crucial for the development of the modern world, most notably hellenization, the spreading of the Greek culture. Prestige, for Alexander the Great, was intimately tied with his personal satisfaction.

That being said, money is often the basis for many felonies and can be argued to be detrimental to one's morality. The Americas were plundered for the prospect of gold and countless wars were fought over prosperous land and treasure troves. There are uncountable cases of people falling victim to scams and and cheats and although the ones at the receiving end of these acts suffer, the instigator, who believe happiness derives from fame and fortune, would attain personal satisfaction.

Many people assume that the greatest level of personal satisfaction derive from selfless acts of bravery and kindness such as Mother Theresa and Abraham Lincoln and acquiring glory and wealth for personal satisfaction is often regarded as vain and prideful. However, regardless of which stance one takes, personal satisfaction and the feeling of fulfillment is influenced by many factors and for many, happiness is attainable through amassing wealth and prominence.

is it wise to be suspicious of the motives or honesty

Trust and betrayal are locked in a vicious cycle. They depend on each other. There is no trust if there is the possibility of being betrayed. Betrayal doesn’t exist if the other party doesn’t instil their trust in the double-crosser. To avoid being swindled or taken advantage of by enemies and even those who seem trustworthy, it is best to remain wary of their intentions. 

We see the consequences of being too trustworthy in the specious spam emails sent to the many inboxes. There are many imposters who pose as a well known companies like Apple or  billing services such as Rogers. They send out emails with fallacious messages to swindle off money with the proposed “deals” or infect the device with a virus. People are blinded by the garish fonts and beguiled by their forgery. Is it the fault of the fraudster or merely their own folly?

Another example is the Lord of the Rings. Frodo, on a mission to destroy the One Ring, comes across a former Hobbit named Gollum. Frodo was cajoled into taking a secret passage that Gollum guaranteed would lead him right into the volcano. The passage was actually the lair of a deadly spider where Frodo was nearly killed. By trusting the mendacious Hobbit, Frodo walked right into his plight.

Sometimes, it is the close ones who betray us. In the divergent series, Tris is betrayed by Caleb, her own brother. He worked for Jeanine, a woman bent on destroying all divergents and especially Tris, because he thought it was for the greater good. Although Tris managed to quell the reign of Jeanine and the Erudites, the respect for Caleb was demeaned.

Being vigilant of others is always a good idea as to avoid being betrayed by malevolent imposters. People usually have an ultimate motive for their actions. Perhaps they are being cordial simply out of genuine kindness, but as the old saying goes: it’s better to be safe than sorry.


Sunday, 29 November 2015

Music: the key to the soul

I found my new toy on the first day high school: the clarinet. How hard could it be to play? Not that easy. There are several separated pieces in my clarinet case, with a small yellow bamboo which they call a reed. Which piece goes at the top? Which one at the bottom? My first day friend Anna taught and helped me put them together. The rest of the students were all warming up their flutes, trumpets, and saxophones, and I got ready to blow on the clarinet.

Wetting the reed lightly, I placed my lips over the mouthpiece. “Don’t be surprised if the clarinet doesn’t make a sound,” Anna warned. I brushed off her comment - of course it was going to make a sound. As I took a breath, the insecurities started rolling in. Was I biting too hard? What if the note squeaks? I made sure that I was putting enough pressure on the mouthpiece. I sat up straight. I took a deep breath and I went ahead and blew. Nothing. No sound came out except for a measly ball of spit. I tried again, and again, and again, but still, not even a peep.

I tried many different angles to blow the clarinet. I bit down harder, bit down softer, used more breath, used less breath. Nothing seemed to be working until there! Suddenly, the clarinet let out a short wail. Did I imagine that? I blew on the mouthpiece and there it was again! I had made a sound! The reed vibrated pleasantly as the hollow ghostly whisper grew louder and more confident. Notes were streaming out of its bell and I could see them spinning and dancing. The woodwind instrument rang out its melody until I was no longer making a sound. I was making music.

Music is something that is deeply integrated into our lives but often overlooked. A boy sits on the curb, waiting for his bus, his head bobbing slightly to his headphones. His gaze is far away. A faint smile crosses his face. Words unspoken, but he understands perfectly. A car skids in the distance. A door is slammed shut. A baby starts to cry, but the boy hears only the music.

A girl stares out her window into the rainy clouds. Her day was long, she is tired. She hums along to her favourite anthem. The music envelopes her in its soft caress. The melody drifts on into the night.

Without music in our lives, emotions would turn into bottled thoughts. As Victor Hugo once said, “Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.”

Saturday, 10 October 2015

Autumn Day

No longer the pastel pinks of the spring morning, nor the vibrant greens of a summer day, the scene is decorated like an inferno, fiery shocking colors before the blank slate. Crimson foliage scatters across the smattering of hills. Round golden leaves of the slender graceful aspen flutter onto the browning grass. The flaming scarlet of the bald cypress blooms in the distance. The immortal green of the conifers' needle forms a prickly bed. Shaking their array of colours, the trees perform a vivid show.

Squirrels scramble to search for food and hide their hard earned prizes. Droopy-eyed mice scurry in their burrows for a 3 month long nap. Geese squawk above, in perfect formation, heading south to warmer lands. The sun sinks beneath the horizon ever earlier, leaving trickles of light to form an inky indigo sky.

Sharper winds hurries, inviting in Old Man Winter. Scents of the fresh chill air settles like a blanket, and the cold seeps in both clothes and skin. Chilly fingers rub against each other, in an attempt to feel a bit of warmth. Misty fog forms as people exhale, fleeting and barely noticeable.

Stuffed into coats and scarves, people hunt for warm drinks. Draining the warmth from bowls of steaming soup and mugs of comforting hot chocolate, the air smells of cinnamon and pumpkin. Seeking solace in buildings, people hide behind closed doors, under the protection of a warm blanket. 

Like grizzlies, the cold air brings yawns to late risers. Early morning runners sigh at the weather and heads back inside. Still, children enjoy the crunch of leaves, leaping in piles their hair full of grass, their pants muddy at the knees and their eyes bright with a smile. Decorating their artwork with terracotta maple leaves and brittle stalks of now petal-less flowers. 

The winter chill will soon squirm its way in, but the comfort of a fire, of friends and of family will chase it away. Perhaps like a dying star, the trees blaze bright before loosing its glory, but the picturesque scenery always invites sightseers, enjoying an autumn day.

Les Choristes: Critique du film

« Les Choristes » est un film comique et dramatique à la fois avec des éléments musicaux. Son réalisateur, Christophe Barratier, a réussi à mettre des larmes aux yeux des spectateurs. Ce film a été inspiré par l’histoire « La Cage aux Rossignols », un film réalisé en 1945. Avec 96 minutes de chansons ravissantes, un beau Jean-Baptiste Maunier, et un pion drôle et féru de la musique, c’est un film émouvant.

D’abord, ce film commence avec un montage lent d’un vieux chef d’orchestre. Bientôt, c’est révélé que cet homme s’appelle Pierre par un ancien ami, Pépinot, qui lui donne un journal abimé de Clément Mathieu. Le film ensuite se déplace en l’année 1949 où Mathieu arrive au
« Fond de l’Étang », une école pour les enfants difficiles et des orphelines.

En fait, Père Maxence, un homme à tout faire qui a accueillit Mathieu, a été piégé par un garçon. Lorsque le directeur, M. Rachin, ne peut pas trouver le mauvais garçon, il décide de faire une punition collective et il demande à Mathieu de lire un nom au hasard d’un livre. On trouve que le vieux chef d’orchestre dans le début de film, Pierre Morhange, et son ami, Pépinot, étaient des étudiants à « Fond de l’Étang ».

Mathieu trouve que la philosophie de M. Rachin (action-réaction) est très violente et cruelle. Les garçons sont trépidants et ils n’entendent pas les instructions de Mathieu jusqu'à un jour, quand Mathieu entend un garçon chanter. À cause de cela, Mathieu, musicien raté, fonde une chorale avec les étudiants. Comme dans toutes les écoles ennuyantes avec plein de tristesse et un directeur qui déteste la joie de ses élèves, il y a beaucoup des problèmes pour la chorale et pour ses choristes.

Christophe Barratier a utilisé une façon unique pour signer le passage de l’histoire. Pendant ce film, la voix de Mathieu raconte l’histoire de son point de vue et comme si c’était un journal intime. Tandis qu’il n’y a pas beaucoup d’action dans ce film ni un climax intense, on ressent toujours de l’anticipation après les conflits qui se déroulent.

Le décor de « Fond de L’Étang » est sombre, décrépit et très gris. Les portes ressemblent à celles d’une prison. En outre, les vêtements des garçons sont laids et simples. Dans quelques cadrages, il y a des gros plans des vêtements de Morhange qui sont toujours ébouriffés.

D’autre part, les acteurs et la musique dans « Les Choristes » sont exceptionnels. En outre, Barratier a voulu des vrais chanteurs professionnels donc la cherche pour un acteur de Pierre Morhange a pris beaucoup de temps. Enfin, ils ont trouvé Jean-Baptiste Maunier, un chanteur dans la chorale « Les Petits Chanteurs de Saint-Marc » avec une belle voix bouleversante. La musique change avec le contexte du film – les chansons tristes pour la douleur et les chansons festives pour le bonheur.

« Les Choristes » a eu 2 nominations aux Oscars pour leur musique céleste, et aussi pour leur message fort. Une personne peut changer la perspective d’une autre et avoir un grand impact sur leur vie. Avant que Clément Mathieu a été embauché comme un pion, les enseignants dans « La Fond de L’Étang » étaient stricts et violents. C’est pour cela que les garçons ont appris que chaque action a une réaction sévère alors ils vivaient en peur. Ainsi, quand Morhange a dessiné une image offensant de M. Rachin, il a été jeté dans le cachot et il a perdu son rendez-vous avec sa mère. Avec Mathieu, il pense que tout le monde mérite une autre chance donc il est plus souple et compréhensif. Mathieu a pardonné le garçon qui a piégé la porte et au lieu de lui fesser, Mathieu a lui demandé de prendre soin de Père Maxence.

Pour conclure, « Les Choristes » est un film très mignon et touchant. Ce film est recommandé pour des spectateurs qui sont plus âgés parce qu’il y a quelques phrases vulgaires où les personnages jurent. Malgré il n’y a pas beaucoup de l’action, il faut la peine pour apprécier la musique formidable.

Monday, 24 August 2015

Writer's Block

A detested blank page, white and crisp, unmarred by graphite. The white abyss saps away all the ideas and thoughts, blurred by the endless sheet of white. Like unblinking eyes it stares ahead, daring for the first line to appear. A strange hypnosis settles over, and all one can do is stare back. What should be the first word? What should be the first mark, a break in the infinite whiteness? Thoughts begin to lose focus, drained and sucked away by the daunting paper.

The outside air seems fresh and sweet, the sounds of the city rides on the wind, and the clouds twists and churns, flowing high above deforming and reforming. The laughter from anonymous passersby floats through the window and harmonizes with the constant hum of a computer.

Bright ideas flashes through an empty mind, like silver fish in a charming lake, evasive yet so obvious. A sentence appears on the paper, slowly and deliberately the pencil moves. The period marks the end, and the first line is done. Staring beneath the lonely words, all blood rushes out of the face at the task to fill the rest. Rubbing a forehead, two more sentences appears, only for them all to be erased, the shavings litter across the page. A few more words, then erase, like an unbroken pattern. The page, now scarred with blurred out lines laugh a sinister laugh. Filled with malice, it refuses to be filled.

Reaching out for a phone, scrolling through empty notification bars as an excuse to look at the time. Shutting off the screen and putting it aside, a drawn out sigh echoes through the room. The sun makes its lazy journey across the summer sky. Pleasant musings fill the head, as drawn out scenes seem to dance across the page. Touching the phone again, unlocking the screen only to be locked again.

Frustrated taps of the pencil leaves tiny dot marks on the page. Words seem to form in the head only to dissolve on the page. Looking around the room, trying to think of that one elusive, impalpable, vexing, irksome, impish, necessary word. Searching online, searching the thesaurus, the dictionary and suddenly an eureka moment occurs.

Like a dam overflowing, ideas crash through and suddenly the pencil jumps to life. Repeating them in the mind to retain these precious thoughts. The page fills to the halfway point and once again, the colorful, vibrant, bright ideas pool away.

The dots on the paper seem to have a sudden shape, the lines of the parchment are suddenly touched by imagination. Doodles and sketches blossom around the margins and tabs and windows of much more captivating subjects litter the computer screen.

Peeking at the time, a instant panic clenches the throat. Hastily erasing evidence of the wandering mind, the pencil hurries to scribble down the conclusion. A bright horizon looms ahead, freedom lingers in every breath. The last paragraph, the last sentence and as if the Gates of Heaven were open, a sudden peace settles as the last dot marks the end. Sweet liberty grasps the hand and with the head tossed back, the page is filled. A small smile flits across the face as the vile, discouraging, empty, crisp sheet is at last tamed.


City Lights



Under the shadows of the moon and the quiet lullabies of a thousand stars, the silence of a sleeping neighbourhood is almost deafening. Almost. It long way from the hustle-bustle of the heart of the city but the tired wail of a lone car is never far from people. The silhouettes of towering buildings and structures line up the horizon, it’s lights only a faint memory of the day. Another day gone. Another day come. The stock market just dropped. The gas price climbed yet again. But for now, in the safety of the night, the promise of tomorrow is enough to sing the anxious hearts to sleep. 

And when they do, all the worries from the day fade away. After all, no one determines what’s important other than yourself. They sleep and they dream, but in every dream, there is a killer. When morning comes once again, kids jump mechanically into a school bus and parents robotically drive into the glass city for another day of work.

But the lights from the city are not just another fading lullaby. While small neighbourhoods are leaving behind the eventful day, the city is wide and awake. Under the blessing of the moon and the quiet laughter of a thousand stars, the proudly shining lights border the coastline. The shops and stores are far from closing while people come and go, passing through the doors while their bodies dance across the streets. Waving spotlights beckon for a night of movie marathoning while flashing signs lure carefree people to a night of feasting. 

Arms leaning to the ground, straining against the weight of the many bags from the countless malls, their laughter bounces off the roads. The night is still young. The beaming glow entrap the wild youth, no time for sleep and no place to hide. Where crying is not a sign of weakness but of strength, there is no time for tears. In the safety of metal cars, young life drive through intersections, away from regrets, until there was no telling where the streets began and where they ended.

As the cars drive aimlessly through the dark, they head back, searching for home. Wrapped in the warmth of the city life, they know that they have already found it. While we may gaze longingly beyond the clouds, the universe is gazing longingly back down at the vibrant city and its unforgettable tunes sung by the people.

While the neighbourhoods are quiet - doctors taking prescribed sleeps and businessmen shaking hands with their dreams, the metropolis hums with life. The glass buildings are far from perfect, but what really is perfect? The wrongs from the day and the constant worries are nothing as they are blinded by the city lights.

Sunday, 26 July 2015

Social Media

Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, social media sites are now being used by many people across the planet. In fact 1.15 billion people are active on Facebook as of 2013. One can comment on a picture of what their friends did during the weekend, congratulate a friend for their new baby daughter and one can be updated with breaking news with a flick of their fingers. Yet with this newfound way of communication, we are also creating many problems in society.

Social media has made it easier for identity theft. Identity theft is one someone impersonates another person and thus "steals their identity" usually for financial gain. Because social media sites earn money by targeted advertising, these sites encourage the users to post sensitive information about themselves. In 2011, around 12 million Americans were victims of identity theft, a 13 percent increase from 2010 according to a report from Javelin Strategy & Research. 75 percent out of 700 teenagers were found to be quite open with their personal information, which heightens their risk of being victims of identity theft. A report from The Japan News shows how easy people surrender their private information to fraud posts with links. These messages lead to another page which asks users for contact details. Because these links are thought to be sent by a trusted source, these teens rashly post their personal information, and could become victims of identity theft.

Social media sites also decrease productivity, especially in an office setting. Although these businesses use social media to attract clients, the employees, with access to Facebook and Instagram, are more interested in scrolling through their news feed than actually working. Studies posted by Wired.com show that British companies lose 2.2 billion dollars a year because of the distraction these social media sites provide. Mashable reports social networks could be costing the U.S. economy 650 billion dollars per year. They also report that for ever 10.5 minutes, an employee is distracted by social media, and 41 percent of this time is on Facebook. A study by Ohio State University showed a correlation between people who use Facebook and their grades. As time spent on Facebook cuts back on their studying time, people who do use Facebook tend to receive lower grades.

Social networking is also interfering with our social lives, as paradoxical as it may sound. For one, because we become more and more comfortable interacting with each other behind screens, we have less person-to-person confrontation, which impacts our language skills as well as our public speaking skills. We would have difficulties reading body language and isolation from one another isn't healthy as humans are social animals, meaning they need interactions with one another. And even though these sites let you make many friends, these relationships are superficial. In fact we spend more time with online friends than real friends

In conclusion, social media is, undoubtedly an asset to society, however, it also hinders it as well. Through social media, we are creating more and more problems for ourselves and at times, instead of moving forward, we are in fact, slipping backwards. As social media is becoming more and more widespread, we must also be educated on its effects.

Wednesday, 8 July 2015

Watercolor Paintings

Saturday, 27 June 2015

Blue Sky

The shrill buzz of the cicada breaks through the stagnant air of summer. The sun's heat pelted down onto the serrated leaves, creating a small canopy of shade and offers little relief of the sweltering heat and the stuffy air. Wisps of clouds disperse throughout the cerulean sky. Above, pairs of birds flutter, circling the landscape.

The brittle grass shows patches of yellow, the tips becoming arid as the season progresses. The pale dusty dirt crumbles when disturbed and the much wanted occasional wind would stir up a dust cloud. The leaves of trees and other flora were riddled with holes, victims of the appetites of ants, snails and other insects. Some flowers are in full bloom, unraveling their vibrant colours, and others, their glory days long past, drop their sweet scented petals onto the the dirt ground.

Bees and wasps buzz around, visiting flower and plant, carrying their powdery cargo. Dragonflies and damselflies zip across ponds and lakes. Butterflies flutter across the scenery, visiting flowers and giving the landscape a splash of color. Ladybugs and other beetles scurry around the bottom the plant stalks as ants leave their colonies in search of food. Snails stick to the underside of leaves, to prevent themselves from drying out.

Birds chirp in the distance, fluffing out their feathers and taking towards the clouds. Their calls ring around, asking and replying to each other from tree to tree. They perch on the branches, their wings comfortably tucked behind them, their coloured feathers peak out from the foliage. Squirrels dart out from the trees, onto the open field below, searching for nuts, they quickly dash around.

Shielding the eyes form the blistering sun one lays on the ground under the endless sky. Sweat beads collect on foreheads, slowly dripping down the face and automatically wiped off. In sticky clothes people lounge around, unwilling to budge under the glare of the sun searching in vain for a cooler spot, hoping for a god-sent cloud to block the sun or a gently breeze to take away the heat.

Under the watchful eye of the blue sky, life is in full bloom.

And it starts with spring ...

The rain drops fall delicately onto the earth like the tears of angels. Above, the sun is taking a leave from daylight and the clouds are his curtains. As he sleeps, the grey sky weeps and cleanses the world. 

Does the rain signify the end or just another start? 

Visiting an old home brings back nostalgic memories. Leaving a home takes memories forward. Every smell of damp earth and fallen leaves makes an imprint upon the sands of the mind. Taking a walk through an old pathway of worn cobblestone, the best perfume is the one of home. Like in a forest, where every bush, flower and tree have their own unique scent. They make themselves a home in our hearts and come out to the surface when remembered. 

Buying a new house up north, my family is moving after almost 10 years of living in our current home. Right now, we live a cozy townhouse in the middle of many, making up a small clutter of units and suites. 50 years strong, the red bricks of the houses are now a pale faded shade, some places chipped. They are small but sturdy like a colony of ants. The red bricks contrasts with the black of the asphalt shingles. Some parts are peeling off, but it still keeps the homes safe and warm nonetheless. 

Lining the pathways of our own community, are small bushes and narrow clearings of grass. The sweet smell of the flowers and berries are calming and soothing. The green is a relaxing sight to the eyes and out there is a forest of our own. 

A few streets away is a park with a small ravine running across the fields. Deer and other small animals scurry under the bushes and live alongside the humans among the shadows. Every time we walk through the forest, the sun is cast and shining across the roads.

Each block of townhouses are covered and hidden behind a myriad of trees and bushes. A window in our house looks out upon a small square garden contained within a stone block. In the middle of the garden is a petite baby tree. It's trunk is slim with delicate branches reaching out to the sky. It has been there since we moved in. Season through seasons, it has grown, slowly, but surely. We've watched it lose its leaves only to grow them back every year. With each coat gone, it grows a bit taller.

After all, it starts with spring. A new leaf. A stronger tree. 

This community is our summer, autumn and winter. The brightness of the initial joy, the turning of a new page, and the melancholy reminiscence. And the future holds our spring to our new home. Leaving behind every sight and wonder, but never forgetting. They are brought with us, wherever we go to come back one day. And when they do, the waves of memories wash over us like a comforting blanket of all the years past.

The end of a chapter. The start of another. 

After a harsh cold winter, it will always start again with spring.

Saturday, 6 June 2015

Euthanasia

Euthanasia or assisted suicide is the act of killing a patient suffering an incurable disease painlessly. Many people are against the idea of killing a person, whether someone wishes to die or not as it is regarded as a type of murder and is considered inhumane. Euthanasia is illegal in most countries and when it does occur, it raises a wave of controversy. However, although one should help a human to survive and live, at the end, people should have the choice to decide whether they want to end their own lives.

People say that once a person dies, one will never know whether the patient will survive or a miracle recovery would happen. However, in most countries that did legalize euthanasia, it is reserved exclusively for terminally ill people. Many people would argue that were euthanasia be legalized, doctors would abuse that power to free spaces in a hospital or to use less funds. However, just because euthanasia is legalized, the process for a patient to be approved to undergo euthanasia is also long and complicated and doctors won't have the permission to carry out the action without sufficient paperwork. This paperwork can supervise abuses of euthanasia

Passive euthanasia, where a patient's life is ended without the use of drugs, usually by being taken off of life support of being denied food, is already widespread in the world. In a study in 2012, as many as 57 thousand people die every year in Britain through passive euthanasia. Euthanasia in Britain is illegal, so the government won't be able to track the abuse. In contrast, a report in 1991 in the Netherlands, a decade before euthanasia was legalized there, 0.8 percent of euthanasia procedures were performed without the patient's consent. In 2005, another study found that this number dropped to 0.4 percent.

People who are denied euthanasia often claim their life is dull and sheer torture. They often state that their dignity and privacy are lost. Tony Nicklinson was, a 58 year-old-man who suffered from locked-in syndrome, where the patient in conscious and is capable of sound, but they are paralyzed from neck down and are unable to speak. He can only communicate by blinking and a few head movements. He can only eat if someone feeds him and he has to be washed and dressed by caregivers. He described his life as a living torture. In 2010 and 2012 he bid to die, but he was rejected. In the end, he starved himself and died within a week.

Euthanasia is performed by veterinarians. People bring their dying and suffering pets to be "put to sleep" The pets are injected in a vein with pentobarbital with shuts down the functionality of the brain and stops the heart. The animal immediately looses consciousness so they don't feel any pain and the whole process, in most cases takes about 5 seconds. If animals are euthanized because of chronic diseases or severe illnesses, why can't humans.

The Hippocratic Oath, "First do no harm" is used by doctors as a code of conduct. This means that doctor's can't do anything to harm a patient's chance of survival. The Hippocratic Oath was a piece of text written 2000 years ago by Hippocrates and was summed up into the maxim. However, today, with modern advancements in medicine, most of the points in the oath are not viable anymore, so why are we still clinging onto the Hippocratic Oath? Besides, put under a different perspective, it could also mean "don't hurt a patient by letting them suffer." Through a different light, "harm" can have a different meaning. By keeping a patient in anguish and letting them suffer by keeping them alive, we are also violating the maxim by causing them pain and harm.

Although assisted suicide does present new problems, it also allows suffering victims to alleviate their pain. Much of the public already supports euthanasia. Currently, 70 percent of Americans support "ending a patient's life by some painless mean" in Gallup's poll. Euthanasia is not an immoral action. Through assisted suicide, patients are able to experience death with dignity.

Should we ban scientists from using animals in their experiments?

26 million animals are used for scientific research every year. 26 million. None of them survive to see a day when they aren't trapped in a white lab room. Scientists use them to test out new drugs, medicine, or cosmetics before putting them on store shelves. But what is actually happening during the testing? These animals are put through a lot of pain and being discarded like trash. Even though by testing on animals, humans can be more safe and protected agaisnt diseases, animals should not be used for scientific research.

First of all, testing results are not always accurate when using animals. Animals and humans are both complex organisms and they are both quite different from each other. Of course, we both bear basic similarities, but animal cells differ so much from human cells. Primates are commonly used because of their striking similarity to humans, but even though we were said to have evolved from them, their cells are still different. One drug that seems to be safe when used on a monkey could have drastic side effects on a human. Even humans experience different side effects from each other.

For example, in 1999, when a group of scientists created the Vioxx drug (treats osteoarthritis) it was safe when they tested it on lab mice. In fact, it even strengthened the mice's hearts. So why was it taken down from the market a few years later? Vioxx started to cause sudden cardiac arrests and it induced over 27000 heart attacks. Something that had such a positive effect on mice went on to kill so many lives.

Using animals for scientific research is also inhumane and unethical. The testing conditions in the lab are very cruel. The animals are being force fed to reach a certain size, and they are shoved into cages when not needed. Also, PETA, an animal rights corporation, visited animal labs and discovered that the animals are usually awake when they are injected with harmful substances. The scientists don't usually give them anesthesia to help with the pain which means that the unfortunate animal can feel everything during the procedure. Animals have feelings too, like humans. Just because they cannot speak, or communicate like us, they still have a soul and a right to live. By forcing them into confining cages, is it any better than forcing a person against their will?

Many religious beliefs state that humans should treat other living things with respect. A proverb from the bible states: "A righteous man regards the life of his beasts." Even if the animals are providing the scientists with experiments that can potentially cure a disease, the animals shouldn't be put through so much pain.

Instead of using animals, the technology is now so advanced that there are other ways to yield accurate lab results. In vitro testing is where the scientists place a cell on a petri-dish and then studied carefully. By using the cell, they can add the product to it and observe the results in the cell level. This way, the results can actually be more accurate since it can be tested on a human cell instead of an animal cell. Not only do they get more accurate results, it is also much much cheaper. Using animals for science experiments costs around $32 000 while In vitro testing costs $11 000.

Using animals for scientific research can benefit mankind by finding cures for diseases. However, it is a cruel solution and the results are never 100%, which means the pain the animals go through might as well be for nothing. There are other ways to find cures for sicknesses and other ways to test out cosmetics. Of course, we should do what we can to keep the human race flourishing, but at what cost are we willing to pay?


Saturday, 23 May 2015

The Iron Fist of French Immersion

Canada, a bilingual country, has French as its official language alongside English. It is important to encourage students towards the French culture, as it is an integral part of Canada. The majority of public schools have a mandatory French class, core French, which teaches the basics of the language. For a more advanced option, students can choose to enrol in a French Immersion program in grade 1, or an Extended French program in grade 4.

When they graduate, they receive a certificate to approve that they are officially bilingual. Time is a critical component in the study of languages so in order to graduate, the student must have a required amount of hours. An issue presents itself here: there are some regions throughout Canada where they don't have these programs. And if they do, they might not offer a complete set. What if an Extended French student were to move where they don’t offer Extended French? With only core french and French Immersion, would they be obliged to drop it?

The French Extended student can't transfer into a french immersion program, because of the strict time requirement. Again, language is a time-based subject so to catch up, it would require more work. But what about the talented polyglots with a gift of tongues? They will be able to pick up on the language quickly and effectively. Guiseppe Caspar Mezzofanti, an Italian linguist, is known for understanding 72 languages, 39 of which he can fluently speak. If he were to follow the time restraint, where would he be by his 10th language?

There are other motivated student who will work diligently towards a subject that they passion. There are many after school clubs and courses to take if they ever feel that they are falling behind. Is it fair to neglect them a chance at learning French? 

One of my friends is from Montreal, where french is more common on the streets. The school that she attended was an all french school. When she moved to Toronto and applied for french immersion, she was turned down. Why? Her old school didn’t have an ‘authentic’ french immersion program and she didn’t have a certified time count. But why didn't the system allow her to attend a french immersion school? 

The time barrier between French Immersion and Extended French students is a bit far stretched. Why put a wedge between students who truly have the potential of learning French? Why not promote the program and offer them a chance, especially if its something that they are capable of doing? In a bilingual country, where french should be encouraged?

The number of hours spent on French is solely a way of making sure the student really understands the language. So why is the number of hours mandatory if the student can definitely qualify as a french speaker? It is not the only way to testify the student. 

For an immigrant to arrive in Canada, there is a series of tests for them to complete. An  IELTS (International English Language Testing System) test and the CELPIP (Canadian English Language Proficiency Index Program) test are two English language assessments, both of which are graded using a 9 band scale. The 9 band scale is a detailed level assessor, distinguishing the strong english citizens from the weaker ones. If such a test exists, then why can’t there be a French language assessment? 

The assessment can help determine if the student can qualify instead of the mandatory time requirement. The purpose of the time requirement is a method of approving the student's French skill. But it is now mistaken as the goal, the purpose, of the program. If this assessment can yield the same results, possibly even more accurate, why not offer it?



French Immersion
A Set of Unnecessary Requirements

Dear French Immersion board,

Must I quit the French program? I am a grade 10 student in French Extended and I aspire to continue with my French studies. However, when my family moved from the TDSB region to the YRDSB region, I was faced with a dilemma. The YRDSB did not offer French Extended and to enter French Immersion, more hours of french education was needed.

In Canada, we offer many French programs such as Core French, French Extended and French Immersion. These programs cater to different people's needs and situations, encouraging them to develop take up French studies.

Admittedly, it is crucial and necessary to put in a certain number of hours in French education as the level of one's linguistics and the hours of practice have a direct correlation. While this is an effective and ingenious method to ensure the success of a student in the program, the main objective of French Immersion is not to achieve a specific number of hours. We have misunderstood the usage of this minimal hour required strategy. Instead, the program stands to provide a higher education in French.

I have a friend who had moved to Toronto from Montreal in grade 10. She had come from a solely French-speaking school. However, she could not join the French Immersion program as she did not have an official report stating how many hours of French education she had. Did she not have enough hours?

There are many polyglots in this world who posses a prowess in languages. Siad Fazah is a polylingual person is noted to be able to read and write 58 different languages and was in the Guinness Book of World Records up to the 1998 edition for speaking the most languages. Sir John Bowring claimed to know an astounding 200 different languages and was able to speak 100. If these people must adhere to the minimum numbers of hours constraint, how many years would they have had to dedicate into learning these languages?

French is an official language in Canada. Shouldn't we embolden our students to continue learning french? By putting up a superfluous confinement, this barricades many paths instead of providing opportunities for those who are dedicated to learning french.

A simple solution to this problem is creating a literacy test. Literacy tests are not uncommon. Students in Grade 10 in Ontario must all take the Ontario Secondary School Literacy Test (OSSLT) to graduate, ESL learners must also take assessments such as the Canadian Language Benchmarks Assessment (CLBA). Prospective immigrants to Canada must either take the International English Language Testing System (IELTS), the Canadian English Language Proficiency Index Program (CELPIP) or Test d'évaluation du français (TEF) the latter itself even being a french literacy test. If these literacy tests proves to be such a practical method, should we not adopt them into our school program?

Although we have implemented many rational rules to ensure a student's success, a further look into them is necessary. Students who admire and long to understand the French language deserve a chance to continue in their studies. Instead of barricading the French Immersion program, it should open new doors and built more paths.

Monday, 18 May 2015

Handwriting


The moment my English teacher called out to the class that we were having a "work period" an entire hour to write our assignments, everyone reached into their bags, in a pocket that was made specifically for a sleek, thin computer, and pulled out their laptops. Booting them up, I watched silently as almost all of the class had their fancy portable computers on their desk, and began typing. The tops of the laptops were all facing me, their logos popping out from their black or sliver canvas. From where I was working, I saw only an inkling, a handful of people who, like me, had their pencils out and were scribbling on lined pieces of paper.

Ever since kindergarten, children are taught how to write by hand, tracing dotted lines to form As and Bs. We would scribble in small notebooks with huge spacing between ruling lines about what we did on the weekend. With wobbly and shaking handwriting, one could barely make out a "I like pears" under a picture of said fruit. Still, every year, we would get new notebooks that we filled with notes and lessons and every year, our handwriting would have subtle differences.

However, with the new age of technology, handwriting seems to be becoming less and less practical. We are using emails, texts and other forms of social media more and more regularly and now much of the school curriculum revolves around the use of these new technologies. Now, schools are all equipped with Dell laptops in a large black cart and sometimes even Apple computers. More and more people are now wondering if handwriting will become obsolete.

Many schools today are opting to exclude teaching cursive to the students. Many argue that it is useless, as students will never use these skill outside of school as no one really writes with cursive nowadays. The time spent on learning cursive could instead be used on other subjects that are more suitable for the modern era and keyboarding lessons could supersede lessons on cursive. After all, in this era of fast growing technology, keyboarding would be a much more important skill than cursive.

However, cursive writing isn't that impotent. Cursive writing elevates the speed people can write and thus it creates a sense of automaticity and the brain can spend more time on sentence structure and organization. This spontaneousness is also important when transferring information from the brain's short-term memory to its long-term memory. Students who work on tablets and computers do not develop these skills as instead of memorizing the spelling of the individual words, many spell it out phonetically and the auto-correct feature in these programs gives them the correct spelling.

Often in peer editing situations, I find mistakes in my spelling after getting my assignment returned from a classmate. After pointing out the mistake, they would often look incredulous and state that they had thought that was the correct spelling.

People also stress over how messy their handwriting. They state that because their handwriting is so illegible, it would be better for them to type than to actually write their assignment. Yet, some teachers find that students have a hard time reading their written feedback. Many of my teachers prefer to hand notes back with a comment, written in cursive, which prompts many students to have to go up and ask the educator about the the comment which hinders communication and learning of the student. However, students who do practice cursive and handwriting more often have less difficulty reading the criticism or remark of their teachers.

Handwriting is a unique part of ourselves in this age of technology, handwriting is still as potent as ever. It forms part of our culture and some say that it is even an art. Even though we have more keyboards, the fact remains that handwriting is beneficial to learning and creativity.

Obsessions


It's fair to say that every once in a while, society finds something new to mull over about. Whether it be a new band, a young celebrity, or even a new song, there will always be something in the press. Somethings which the people will fantasize and dream about, but forgotten in a month. However, some of these obsessions stay, and they stay for a long time.

The idea of a 'perfect' body is a fantasy for many people. The media will use attractive figures to lure the attention of a human eye and advertisements add in an alluring image of a beautiful body. Celebrities feel the strong urge to look in perfect condition in front of the public and will undergo surgeries and diets to get to the picture-ready shape. Victoria's Secret models have a stunning look with their long, thin legs. Society sets standards to itself that people feel the urge to meet. But how much of the media is real? Is it worth the trouble to live up to false standards?

Nowadays, models and celebrities struggle to remain in best shape. People who look up to them don't realize the cost of such 'beauty' and they try to match the looks of their favourite star. Many of them, especially girls, feel that they need to go on diets and they refrain from eating. Yes, they might be able to achieve their weight goal, but there is a big difference between 'skinny-sick' and 'skinny beauty'. This is when issues such as anorexia and bulimia start. People starve themselves to the point of weakness and they go through intensive workouts. All for what? The media throws lies out to the public, thus influencing them to force their body into what it's not. The crazy obsession for weight started off as a small fantasy, but is growing into something bigger and dangerous.

While the public is pressuring themselves to look like the ideal human, the goals that they are reaching for aren't even possible. After the models have their picture taken, the picture goes through an extensive amount of touching up and photoshopping. When the final result is out, many of the perfections that are shown to the public could be false. The image is filtered and altered so some of looks aren't from the original model. While girls pine over the beauty of the models, they fail to see through the mirage of technological enhancements. Basically, their body goals are created by computers, not a natural beauty for a human.

Yes, advertisers will say how it's not their fault that all their models are enhanced to a point. Because humans are easily attracted to pretty visuals, a pretty body can easily catch their attention. If the models didn't look so attractive, people will think twice before buying a specific product. As much as we hate to admit it, an aesthetically pleasing body and face will subconsciously persuade the consumers' minds into believing the result of the product. But why is it necessary to have such a skinny model on the front page of a magazine? Plus size models can be just as attractive. And not only do they have to be plus sized, even an average body could still please the eye. They could still attract the attention of the customers and they wouldn't be too disappointed when the product doesn't work out as they hoped it would.

When clothing stores release pictures of their models, an underlying message will be that humans should look like that in order to be 'pretty'. But years from now, when technology advances so much that beauty enhancements are more common, everyone will look the same. Sure, they will be 'pretty', but will they really be beautiful? If everyone looks identical to each other after their plastic surgeries, the ones who will stand out will be the ones with a bit more curves. When everyone is immaculate robots, the ones with their natural flaws would hold true beauty. People shouldn't crave for something that is the standard of 'pretty'. Instead, flaws are what makes them, them. They define each and every one of us and shouldn't be caked under heavy make up.

The obsession over the ideal body weight has been around since the early 16 hundreds. But working towards this picture-perfect world in a less-than-perfect reality is not worth the trouble. Society's standards are too high and absurd. Looking like someone else is the worst form of self-expression. People shouldn't be coaxed into believing what the media shows, instead they should accept who they are as themselves.

The world will always have its obsessions, substantial ones or the occasional fling. But the ideal body image is unnecessary and people should stop fussing about it. And don't even get me started on society's obsession with movie-screen romance.




Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Une Chambre Sombre

La chambre était noire, deux torches à chaque côté d’une grande boite, qui était ouvrir. Il y avait deux autres petites boites dans la chambre sombre et gêné, un de ces était aussi ouvrir, les contenus dans ces boites a dispersé sur le sol gris. La porte, gris et de métal était fermer, et au-dessus, un grand minuteur avec quarante-cinq minutes. Pourtant, quand nous avons regardé fugitivement au chronomètre, nous avons remarqué qu'il y avait seulement 60 seconds et il continuait d’égrener.

C’était le mois de février, la neige continuait de tomber du ciel gris. Le vent hurlait et l’air froid créait des petits nuages quand nous respirons. Pourtant, nous avons été excitées. Sur l’internet, nous avons trouvé un jeu, d’échapper par un chambre dans un temps limité. Les mots « Échapper de ce Chambre » ont été écrit avec un font large et mystérieux. Nous avons réservé une chambre toute de suite; nous avons voulu d'être comme Sherlock Holmes - trouver des indices et échapper!

Donc, nous nous trouvons dans une salle sombre et petite. Notre but était de trouver un « trésor » et d'échapper la salle. Nous avons été équipés avec deux lampes de poches et une lumière d’UV. Avec un bang retentissant, notre lien avec le monde extérieur était couper avec une porte lourd. Nous avons étendu le click clair de la serrure. Le chronomètre immédiatement a commencé de décompter les minutes. Quarante-cinq minutes pour trouver le trésor, quarante-cinq minutes d’échapper.

Immédiatement, nous avons utilisé la lumière UV et nous avons trouvé des petites empreintes qui nous nous guidé à un petit clé, qui ouvrent une grande boite trouver au milieu de la chambre. Dans la grande boite, il y a des bâtons, une boite plus petite, fermé avec une serrure à combinaison, et des numéros, entouré par des contours d’un triangle, une cercle ou un carrée. Il y avait aussi un contour d’une grand clé, qu’on a trouvé enchaîné a la grande boite, pourtant, la chaîne était trop court, et un contour d’une boussole.

Avec les bâtons, qui étaient classé avec des petites pièces des bandes colorés, nous avons remarqué qu’il y avait trois rouges, quatre jaunes et sept verts. Nous avons réalisé que les bâtons forment des numéros comme l’un dans une cloche digital, donc la seule possibilité de chaque numéro de bâtons colorées était sept, quatre et huit. En utilisant ses bâtons, nous avons ouvert la petite boite. Et puis nous avons ouvert un des petits coffres. Nous avons regardé le temps, il y avait encore onze minutes qui restes. Le dernier petit coffre était encore fermer, pourtant, nous avons eu beaucoup du temps.

En observant la devinette qui nous présentant, nous pensons d’une façon de ouvrir la petite coffre. La grande clé était encore enchaîner et nous ne prouvent pas trouver la signification de les numéros entourer par les formes géométrique. Nous avons regardé longuement au nouvelle devinette: une planche avec un diagramme très étrange.

« Ca fait rien de sens, j’ai plaints, en soupirant.

- Pense de quelque chose! On a onze minutes qui restent!

- Et donc pourquoi tu ne fais pas quelque chose? J’ai résolu toutes les autres, et bien mon cerveau est fatiguer! Maintenant c’est ton tour!

- Mais je ne sais pas de quoi faire non plus! » elle a gémi.

La tempe continuait de s’éclipser, on reste 5 minute, pour ouvrir le dernier coffre et de n’importe quoi d’autre dans la boite.

« Dépêche-toi! ma sœur a paniqué quand elle regard la tempe qui reste.

- Tu fais quelque chose! j’ai rétorqua, en cherchant désespérément pour un indice sur la planche.

- Quatre minutes! On a quatre!

- Oui, oui je sais! Aide-moi! » j’ai lui hurla.

Avec moi, nous regardons la planche, le diagramme étrange et les numéros dans le grand coffre.

« Je ne peux pas le résolu! » j’ai gémi.

« Je me demande de quoi pense les peuples à l’autre cote de cette port. Ils doivent penser que nous sommes fous! » ma sœur a rigolé, en renoncent le planche.

« Avec tous les bruits qu’on a fait, bien sûr! » j’ai ri.

Je m'ai levé et surveillé la salle. La chambre était noire, deux torches à chaque côté d’une grande boite, qui était ouvrir. Il y avait deux autres petites boites dans la chambre sombre et gêné, un de ces était aussi ouvrir, les contenus dans ces boites a dispersé sur le sol gris. La porte, gris et fait de métal a été fermer, et juste à haut, un grand minuteur avec quarante-cinq minutes. Pourtant, quand nous avons regardé fugitivement au chronomètre, nous avons remarqué que nous avons seulement 60 seconds et il continuait d’égrener.

« Soixante seconds » j’ai murmura.

- Dix!

- Cinq!

- Trois!»

Dans les deux seconds derniers, on a regardé la planche une dernière fois.

« Nous avons raté » ma sœur soupira, juste quand notre dernier second est passé.

Un cri aigu retentit dans notre chambre. La porte est ouvert, et nous avons sorti.

« Eh bien, nous avons toujours la prochaine fois. »

Winter Frost

The air was plunged deep into winter frost. Birds cried as they furiously flapped their way to warmer countries. Squirrels frantically scoured the lands to fill their stomachs before sleeping away their worries. Feeling the glacial mist enveloping the city, the animals cowered into dark corners. They waited for the frozen age to pass, they waited for the greenery to come back.

The trees shed their clothing, the pale snow too much of a burden for them. They rid themselves of their essence, stripped down to bare bones. The skeletal arms of bushes and shrubs line the neighbourhoods like lonely souls on an empty street without even a small bud of life.

The few remnants of leaves on the naked twigs were brown and shrivelled. They sagged under the loss of life, they hung down in shame. Even the force of a soft wind sent them fluttering into the breeze, flitting uselessly to the ground. The ground which was just as vacant; the patches of dirt were empty shells. The flowers no longer sang in the golden afternoon. The grass was yellow and wilted, they no longer rippled in the breeze.

But the life was still there, it was always there. Old lives were shed to make way for new lives. The trees said farewell to their leaves in the expectation of even greener ones. They lost their colourful flowers only to welcome fresh buds of the spring. The leaves that they rid of would grow back more abundant than ever. Trees needed to keep up with the style too, their new leaves being 'in' while the old ones were 'out'. The dated flowers were put to rest for a brighter garden.

Animals bred in foreign countries. Birds flew miles away only to return stronger, more experienced. Squirrels took a rest to enjoy the joyous chorus come spring. Nature is cleansed, renewed to the next vitality.

Then, the first flake fell. It melted as soon as it touched the still warm earth. However, a thin sheet of snow soon layered the ground, the hills, the unprotected trees. The thin sheet promptly transformed into a frozen blanket. The roads showed signs of strain with each snowflake. The air was a flurry of snow, mist and frost.

Drivers pulled their hair off trying to see through the storm. Some cars skidded precariously close to the side walk. They drove through blind boundaries, everything covered with the treacherous snow. Each car was more hesitant than the other. They propelled their way slowly through traffic, careful not to bump into one another.

Monstrous snow plow trucks drove steadily down major streets, pushing tons and tons of snow off the road. As the white blanket was being removed, more just continued to pelt down. Some vehicles broke down and ceased to continue moving. Their wheels got stuck in the snow turning uselessly.

Walking conditions were more or less tough. Knee deep snow, getting everything wet. The sidewalks were piled over with mountains. People huffed trying to swim their way through the streets. With the heavy winter-wear, transportation by foot was arduous.

The cars were at a stalemate with the weather. But why spend so much effort on the road? Time aside, kids spend giggling hours out in the snow banks. Each snowflake holds another miracle. Instead of a city stung with lights, the city is transformed into forts and snow people. Snowmen stand side by side with lopsided grins and a carrot for a nose. Boulders of snow are carefully aligned to defend against oncoming attackers. A couple of children are throwing snowballs at one another while some and lying on the ground, creating angels.

While the roads are heavily blocked by traffic, transport is so much faster when tobogganing or skiing down a hill. Tracks are created in the purity as people twist their way down from the top of the hill. Mothers push their children on sleds and their squeals of delight travel far through the neighbourhood.

Once inside, the family can cozy up next to the fireplace sipping marshmallow brimmed hot chocolate. While the raging whirlwind of a storm outside calms its flurries, the warmth inside the house is hazy. Dinner is served. No one wants to waste effort on the road as they all prefer to stay back with the family. By morning, the roads will be in better condition, but for now, everyone sits back and enjoys the unexpected time with family.

The next time winter frost sends chills up spines, the cold ugliness can be created into a miracle. The animals will return next spring in full kick. The warm nights will feel more rewarding. Winter is another part of the seasonal cycle; each season balancing each other out, one not better than the other. Winter, being the colder beauty of life.

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

La perseverance est la clé du succès

Il était une fois, une petite fille. Elle a vu un ordinateur portable d’Apple et elle a pensé qu’elle a besoin d’un. Qu’est-ce que ses parents ont dit? «Non!» Comme chaque parents, ils ont dit qu’un ordinateur portable va faire mal aux les yeux, c’est pas bon pour la santé, c’est un distraction et que les étudiants ont besoin d’étudier. Comme chaque enfants, elle a pensé que ses parents étaient incorrects parce que tous les enfants sont toujours correct, n’est-ce pas? Cette fille est moi. Bonjour, mesdames et messieurs, aujourd'hui, je vais vous raconter une histoire comment la perseverance est la clé du succès. Après, je vais parler d’une célèbrité qui est un exemple de la perseverance. Finalement, je vais expliquer qu’après quelques échecs, vous allez devenir plus forts et chevronné.

Comme l’ordinateur était destiné à moi, un jour plus tard, une lettre était trouvé dans ma boîte-aux-lettres. Une campagne de journaux a voulu trouver personnes pour faire de la livraison. Un jour chaque semaine, cent journaux doivent être organiser et distribuer à chaque maison. Hivers froids aux étés chauds, je travaillais très fort. Le travail était lent, très lent. Il prend environ 2 heures pour finir la livraison. De plus, il ne me donne pas beaucoup d’argent chaque mois. Une année est passé et finalement, j’ai échangé presque 2 milles dollars pour un ordinateur portable.

Vous toutes devez savoir Terry Fox. Il a eu la cancer dans une de ses jambes et il a eu besoin de l’amputer. Après, il a voulu toujour de courir d’un coté de Canada à l’autre. Il n’a pas arreté, jour après jour, la même course épuisante. Non, il surement n’a pas arreté. C’est pourquoi qu’on continue de le celebrer et developper le rêve de Terry Fox.

Avec du temps, on va être plus chevronné et on va apprendre plus. C’est comme le cas d’apprendre une langue. Pour les étudiants du français extensif, comme moi, nous avons commencé d’apprendre le français quand nous étions en quatrième année. Je peux encore me souvenir comment c’était difficile de dire une phrase. Maintenant, nous pouvons créer des conversations complete. Encore, nous pouvons preparer un discours! Quelle réussit! Le commencement est toujours difficile et c’est impossible d’éviter les erreurs, mais avec la pratique, ça va être plus simple. Tout le monde qui peut parler une langue avec facilité, c’est parce qu’ils n’ont pas quitté.

Les buts, grands ou petits, sont pas très difficiles d’accomplir. Pour trouver un remède pour le cancer, utilisez les petits pas et ça va être possible. Tout est possible avec du temps. À la fin, vous allez réaliser que tous les travaux ont valu la peine. J’espère que dans le futur, vous ne quittez pas et continuez de travail fort. La perseverance est la rue de la victoire. La perseverance est la clé du sucèss.

Saturday, 14 February 2015

Candle light

He had a creamy, smooth face with a short streak of hair. His face was clean yet delicate, soft to the touch. Standing tall, he never wavered nor grew old, years went by and he still looked the same. He stood at the sides, watching people shuffle about, quietly waiting for his time. 

And so opportunity knocked. His fake friends on the ceilings, on the walls, simultaneously burned out. Even his fake neighbours lost their artificial technology. The power that his friends depended on was gone. He laughed in the corner; how weak these bulbs were when faced with a true challenge. He continued to watch his fellow friends struggle to connect back with their power and try to burn back on. But he knew that darkness would embrace them for a while. 

The people gave out cries of surprise and grabbed for their flashlights. Yet flashlights were temporary heroes, depending on tubes of power for their light. They drink out the portable energy within the cylinders. He admired their tenacity, but still knew that he was the one with true self power. The people seemed to realize as well.

Soon, hands were reaching for him. He wished they wouldn't grab so hard. Even though he has a long life, he was not immortal. His soft skin couldn't take much pressure. The people brought him down and gave him a quick bath, dusting off the layering dust. His family also was pulled out from their homes, stretching out their bodies and anticipated some action. 

He felt a sharp stinging pain at the tip of his head and relished the feeling after such a long time. In the cabinet, he often wondered whether or not he still existed. What is an existence without the sense of feel? His hair was on fire and he was burning bright. He became increasingly pleased when he realized that he was the first to be torched. One by one, the rest of his brothers and sisters where equally bright. 

He jumped with joy, at last, it was freedom. The little orange flame on top flickered and danced in the darkness. With the true strength of his kin, they waved around until their pale light illuminated the room. He smiled at his friends on the ceiling and bathed in the praise and compliments. He knew he was being more than arrogant, but it wasn't often which he was able to shine bright. He continued to wave and bend, creating mesmerizing patterns on the wall. His brothers helped him engage the dark shadows into their exotic dance. His sisters moved at a slower pace, reciprocating the sun's glow during twilight. 

The candle let out a sudden pulse as he picked up a scent. His perfumed members of his family were joining the party! Letting of different smells of nature: of wild strawberries, lemony citrus, sweet peach, and fresh spring grass. The smell of the woods, of cedar trees and honey rivers enveloping the room with warm arms. A wave of flower blossoms soon washed over him, triggering a small sneeze. Oh! allergy season is here!

Suddenly, a cold draft swiped through the room. His little flame dipped and wavered, struggling to stay upright. His siblings were going through the same toil, jerking around like a crazy choreographed dance. As the wind ran by, the candles calmed down and caught their breaths. There were no casualties tonight. 

It was getting late and they were tired. The dancing was slow, stretching out long, then coming back in graceful waves. He watched as his sister, shrinking in age, began to waver. He wished he could call out to her, to warn her of the danger, but she smiled knowingly back. 

Tears ran down the side of her body and she continued to grow smaller. She gave one last wink before drowning in her blood. He continued to watch, for that was all he knew how to do, as she faded into the darkness. Her ashes rose in a wisp of smoke, like a ghost walking away. He dipped his flame in farewell and soon the smell of incense was prominent. He knew that was how he would go. Being there for people, yet no funeral to honour his services.

Finally, the people realized that their electricity was not going to come back. With nothing better to do, they headed of to bed. Coming to relieve them from their duties, the candles were blown out. Just like that, the bright flames vanished into a wispy stream. 

He was stationed at the back of the room and so he followed the trail of his sleeping siblings. Then it was his turn. He burned a bit brighter, stood a bit taller, even though he lost a considerable amount of his body. His tears dried up at his side like droplets of rain. He gave one last flicker of light and he too, was drifting into smoke. 

Returning to his cabinet, the candle was exhausted. His hair was burnt into a crisp but still ready for service. His smooth skin was bumpy with dried up tears and his head curved inwards. His delicate face was hardened, stronger. He settled back and continued to watch people shuffle about, quietly waiting for his time.




Saturday, 7 February 2015

Leather Gloves

The wind bit our red cheeks as we shuffled our shivering legs towards the warmth of a brightly lit mall. Checking our watch constantly, we rushed through the chilly January traffic. The soft snowflakes fluttered down from a light grey sky, swirling into a distasteful glop as it landed on the busy road. Fighting the bitter winter wind we stomped inside the store blowing in tufts of snow. Inside was a quiet him, peaceful and pleasant as people milled around aimlessly.

Yet we were set with a purpose. We marched towards the stairs, snow melting off of our faux fur lined jackets, dampening them. The pleasantly occupied mall passed as a blur, our eyes focusing on one store in particular.

It was my father's birthday that day and my sister and I set out, with money in our pockets and a single goal; to purchase a gift. Ever since Christmas, when my father dropped the fact that his old leather gloves has seen better day, we knew we had the perfect gift idea. Yet Christmas came and passed, and we had not sought out after the prized gloves. It was a mix between laziness and confusion. We never really bought our parents a gift, we usually wrote them a card or went to buy some form of food, always in their presence. This time we wanted our gift to be a surprise.

We decided on a date, to go get our farther a gift. Giddy with excitement, we envisioned or father's face when he would see the present. And with a sinking feeling, we realized we didn't know how large his hands were. His worn and flaking gloves were usually worn whenever our father left the house. 

And so we got our mother in the plan. Our house was under renovations, and my father, along with my mother needed to head out to buy laminate flooring. She would, when they left the hardware store, call us and warn us of their return. With a shocking, yet welcome surprise, my sister discovered that my father had brought in his gloves for the day. Quickly hiding the gloves deep in the recess of the closet, we constantly dropped hints to our farther to leave the house.

"Aren't you suppose to go buy flooring?" I asked innocently while observing the passive form of my father as he surfed the web.

"Uh huh," he replied absentmindedly.

Finally, after much wheedling from our mom, he relented and went down to take his coat. My sister and I watched from our peripheral vision as my father put on his hat. About to leave, he suddenly spun around, remembering to bring something.

"Can you pass me my gloves, they should me in my bag," my father called out from the door.

With a sinking feeling my sister put on a show as she rummaged through his thick bag.

"I don't see them," she declared, acting surprised at the absence of the gloves.

Sighing, my dad shrugged off his coat to search the bag himself. Finding no trace of them, he proceeded to look in his coat pockets.

"Maybe it's in the closet," my sister suggested as my dad searched around the living room. We realized that he would not leave without the gloves

"No, they wouldn't be, I did not put them there," he replied, as he bent over to check under the couch.

"Oh I saw mom putting them away in the closet," my sister persisted, already opening the door.

Uttering a fake exclaim of surprise and triumph, she pulled out the pair of worn gloves. With my father gone now, we were presented with another problem, we did not know his hand size anymore.

We entered the store anyways, where a cheery saleswoman asked if we needed assistance. Directing is towards the glove section, we stared at the large assortment.

"So," I began, testing a glove on, "How do we do this?"

With a smug smile, my sister looked over the gloves.

As she had handed over the gloves to my father a little while earlier, she had proceeded in measuring the size of the glove in relation to her own hand.

At the store she began planning her hand onto of the different sizes, estimating his approximate hand size. Pulling around different gloves, we searched for a right style.

Again, we did not know his preference on color or shape, so we opted to get him similar gloves to the older ones. And with a great disappointment, we found that they did not have to correct size. Going for our second choice, a simple, yet classy pair of black leather gloves, we proceeded to the cashier.
Giving us a gift bag, we skipped home, buying a cup of coffee along the way.

The weather outside seemed warmer and the clouds seemed to disperse a bit, letting through more light. We arranged the gift on my father's chair, the cup of coffee comfortably in each on his desk, the gloves in a suitable size with white tissue paper poking out.

As my father name home, we hid our look of excitement, and smiled at his delighted outburst from his study.

Sunday, 1 February 2015

Momma Phipps

Momma Phipps is my math teacher in school. At the beginning of the school year, she told us that we could call her anything we wanted to like Momma Phipps, Auntie Phipps, etc. From a far glance, she has an intimidating look, one of the nonsense teachers.

When I didn't have her as my teacher, my class was always a bit scared of her for we could hear her yelling in her classroom. When she walks down the halls, she is never in a rush. Some teachers stride from room to room, holding stacks of files, and are probably late for a meeting of some sort. Not Mrs. Phipps. She would slowly walk to her classroom and look around at the students milling about.

Sometimes, we would find her outside her classroom with a student. Usually she yells in class but once outside, she speaks quietly. Her words would be deliberate and precise; silent anger is the worst form of anger. The student would always simply nod with a grim face while constantly rubbing their hands and twisting their shirts. They scurried away as quick as possible after she lets them go.

This changed when she became our math teacher. When we walked into her class, she told us to sit wherever we wanted. After the whole class got settled, she made introductions. There was a mini traffic light in the back of the class that monitors the noise level of the classroom. Momma Phipps claimed that if the light flashed red, then the principal would walk in and give us all detention. We decided to test the light and asked if we could all say "Hello!" at the same time. The light made a beeping sound and Momma Phipps held up her hands in surrender and kept claiming that the principal was going to pop in the door any minute now. The class laughed.

On that first day, we didn't do any work. Instead, she told us about life. Every few classes, she would start the lesson with a story from her past about her education. When one of my classmates would complain about how stressed they were with school, or the struggles that they faced, she would stop the lesson and give us advice.

So when the lesson first began, she started with an account of her childhood. She was one child among many brothers and sisters. Most of the time, she couldn't get any time for studying because of all the chores she had to do. She needed to take care of her baby brothers, cleaning diapers, making sure they get fed, etc. When she finally moved in with her much older sister, she was able to follow her dreams of learning on the condition that she takes care of her sister's children.

The story paused there and she explained that she has a very strict bottom line for offense and insults. She told us clearly that bullying is severe and will be highly frowned upon in her class.

As she was going to high school, many kids would bully her and put her down, mainly because of her skin colour and her race. They thought that people who came from her background (Caribbean) wouldn't be able to understand the things being taught. They thought that because she was a girl, she should just stay at home. Many people would say such things to her but she continued to pursue her passion. When she first started off, she was getting really low marks, barely passing. Her teachers offered her support while her classmates brushed her off.

Momma Phipps told us that when something doesn't go as planned or if life gets tough, it's okay to break down. When she received her test back and if she got a bad mark, she would go home and have a good cry. Then she'd wipe away the tears and continue studying, this time, harder. Little by little, her grades got higher until she noticed that she had strength in math. When she was in grade 11, she noticed that she wasn't the 'stupid' girl and that she was actually quite brilliant.

Ending the story, she gave us a metaphor. Everyone is a star in a galaxy. Each star shining to give the world its light. Everyone is a star and don't let anyone steal your shine.

That was my first class with Momma Phipps. After her speech, the whole class was quiet, processing the information. Unlike the rest of my teachers, Momma Phipps actually understood, she connected with her students. We realized that when she was 'yelling' in class, she wasn't angry - she was just getting excited by her lessons and giving passion in her words.

She was a teacher, a friend, a fighter. She was Momma Phipps.