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Consider what it is that you believe Matters Most. It could be a concept, like security or happiness. It could be a group of people or particular individuals in your life. It could be memories or places. It could be something more global such as the environment. Whatever it is that you believe matters most, we want you to write about it.

You can be creative with how you write about what matters most. For example, you could:

write a poem in any style -- if you'd like, you could record yourself speaking the poem and share it that way

take a photo & describe how it reflects what matters most in 204 words

write a 6-word story -- this too could be shared in spoken form (see below for more info & examples)

draw something & describe how it reflects what matters most in 204 words

write an essay in 204 or 431 words

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A 6-word story is when we use 6 carefully chosen words to share an idea, memory, perspective, etc. In 6 words, we tell an entire story.

Two important things to remember:

1. Because you only get 6 words, it is important to select those words with care. It may help to use an online thesaurus (be sure to check the words you choose are what you intend to say by looking them up in an online dictionary).

2. Punctuation is powerful! Punctuation is how we can put emotion and feeling into the story by creating pauses with commas or using an exclamation point instead of a period.

The most popular example of a 6-word story:

“For sale: baby shoes. Never worn.”
(credited to Ernest Hemingway)

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There’s a popular saying which states that “one photo says 1000 words.” This writing adventure asks you to share a picture accompanied by a paragraph that tells us what the picture means to you. You can take a photo or you can draw / paint a picture!

Step 1:
You have 2 options...

1. Take a photo or paint/draw a picture of what matters most to you...

OR

2. Take a photo or paint/draw a picture that represents strength and perseverance.

If it helps, feel free to take a number of photos and then choose the one you want to write about.

You may also choose to use a photo you've taken previously that you think would work well for this challenge.

Step 2:
After you’ve chosen your photo or drawn / painted your picture, compose a free-write that describes what it means to you or why you feel it represents strength/ perseverance. Try to complete your free-write using 204 or 431 words!

Don’t forget to upload / attach your picture to the post you make.

Happy writing. 🙂

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In the "I Love!" essay, you get to share your passion with us. Your passion could be anything...it could be a hobby such as baking or designing clothing, it could be a sport, it could be music, it could be writing stories. You have the opportunity to make us see why it is your passion and to demonstrate your knowledge.

This essay has 3 parts:

1. The scene that sets up the essay.

This is where you introduce us to what your passion is. This is done by describing a single scene. The scene might be your first memory with that passion, it might be a particular event or action, or it might be a time when you succeeded or failed.

For example, if I was writing about hiking, I could describe the exhilaration I felt on my first day on my first big trail, or I might describe  an interesting day on trail, or perhaps I would describe the first time I completed a long-distance trail (my first success).

The goal is to provide enough details and description that we could picture the scene and almost be there with you.

2. The "I Love" section.

This is where you explain why it is your passion. In this section every sentence starts with "I love...". With each sentence we tell our readers about a part of our passion, we break it down so that our readers can see how much we know about the activity.

For example, in my hiking piece I would including what the love I have for putting on my shoes each morning, despite the sun barely shining. I would then explain the moment when one throughs their bag onto their back and the first few steps into the crisp air. I would try to break down and describe each part of hiking to show why it's my passion.

To help make the writing intriguing we play with the length and structure of the sentences to make it sound poetic. We might have a short sentence in between medium length sentences, or we might use a long sentence part way through. This creates variety.

3. Push beyond the passion.

In the final section, you get to tell us why your passion is important or any goals you might have for it. This could include: what your passion has taught you (like how to be resilient or how to be persistent), or if you want to pursue this as a career in some way eventually, you could explain that.

For example, I might tell my readers how hiking a long-distance trail showed me that I was stronger than I had given myself credit for. If you had asked me a few years ago if I could do a long-distance trail, I'd have said "No way!".  But, then I did it, and I made it to the end.  I also learned that just because we sometimes have to do things slower than other people, that doesn't mean our accomplishments are worth any less. Sometimes, the fact that we had to work harder for the end goal makes our achievement even more amazing.

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Important Tip ❗️

start by making a list of the things you love / are passionate about

choose one of the things from the list to write about

for the "I Love" section, it might help to create a list of different places, people, or things that are connected to your passion  (for example, fellow hikers, my backpack, my hiking shoes, the little cafes where I ate pinchos and bocadillos) AND a list of creative action words associated with your passion (for example, meandering, scaling, zig-zagging, laughing)

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In this essay, you get to tell us about a person who has influenced you. They could be someone you know: a coach, teacher, mentor, parent, sibling, grandparent, friend, etc.  Or, they could be a person you admire that you haven't met, like an author, an activist, a poet, an athlete, etc.

When writing a "Significant Person" essay, you are a storyteller.  Instead of just explaining why the person you selected has influenced you or why you admire them, you show us by describing a moment in time that embodies their influence--a moment that just by reading we can see why they are significant.

Like the "I Love!" essay, there are 3 sections:

1. Introduce us to your person.

In this section you describe your person so that your readers get to know them. Not just their name or relation, but what they look like, what they smell like,  what they wear, what their hair is like. Tell us the small details that make that person who they are.

For example, if I were to talk about my grandfather, instead of just saying he was my Pa (which is what I called him), I might say... One of things I remember best about my Pa was his hands. They looked rough on top, wrinkled around the knuckles, but they were smooth when he held my hand. I always knew I was safe when I held his hand, they were sturdy and wouldn't let me go missing. I also remember how he always seemed so tall--not just because he was much bigger than my 5-year-old self, but because he always walked with his head high and his back straight.

2. A moment in time.

Here is where you describe a scene with that person, an event or interaction that shows how they influenced you / why they are significant.

Be specific! Use details!

For example, I might choose to describe one of the times when my Pa was checking the work I had done (I was learning a new position at the family business). I could tell by his eyes and his voice he was proud, not because the work was done correctly, but because I did the work with care and with a desire to do well. To help my reader experience the moment, I would describe his office and the way I sat across his big wooden desk, seeing my Pa not just as a grandfather but as a business man who cares about the work he does.

3. Return to your own life.

The final section is where you get to share what you learned from your person or how they have shaped / influenced your own goals (whether now or for the future).

For example, I would likely explain to my reader what my Pa taught me about living life with integrity.
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Writers Tip #1:

Lists & quick writes help! Here's a series of steps for composing your essay:

start by jotting down a list of people who have had a significant influence in your life or people they admire, include a note about why they are important

choose one person to write about

do a quick-write describing the individual (see the Introduce us to your person section above for ideas)

do a quick-write describing a moment in time / an event that illustrates their influence (see the A moment in time section above for ideas)

do a quick-write explaining how your life has been affected / how your goals have been shaped / how your perspective has changed because of this person (see the Return to your own life section above for ideas)

after the quick-writes, put them together and begin revising to create a story

Writer's Tip #2:

Keep your drafts & quick-writes❗️ You can come back to them when revising (in case you delete something you later decide you want to keep).

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Like the other essays, this essay asks you to explore what makes you who you are. Instead of a passion or a person, this essay is about a moment in time, specifically a defining moment that you remember well and has helped shape you.

The moment could be happy, sad, frustrating, illuminating...there's no wrong moment. It shows us not only who you are, but who you want to be.

Compared to the other essays, the sections for this one are less obvious. The general structure is:

1. Creating the moment

Like the "Significant Person" essay, this essay is created by zooming in on a single event or moment, creating a scene for your readers. Again, you get to be a storyteller. You want your readers to see, hear, even smell the moment you are sharing. Use the 5 senses (sight, touch, hearing, smell, taste) to help create the scene. You can include dialogue or internal monologues (thoughts).

For example, I might choose to write about the time I decided to try out for my high school's musical. The posters for the upcoming auditions had been posted up all around the school. Many minutes of my classes in the days leading up to the auditions were spent debating with myself. One night, a mere two days before the audition date, I was sitting on my parent's bedroom floor while my Mum got ready to go out for fancy dinner. Tugging at the wine-red carpet, I listed all the reasons why I should and shouldn't try out. Really I was just arguing with myself out loud. Coming out to the mirror to look at the outfit she had put on, she met my gaze through the mirror and simply said, "I know its scary, but I also know you'll regret it if you don't try. The friends and memories you'll make will be the best part of your high school years."

It's okay if you don't remember all the details of your chosen moment. You can make up some of the small details to help create the scene. It is the essence of the moment that is important.

2. Move forward

Once you have your scene, move forward from it -- tell your readers why this moment was a defining moment. How did it shape you? Did it inspire any goals? Did it teach you something? Did it affect / influence the person you want to be?

For example, continuing the same moment as above, I could talk about how I learned that often if you feel both excited and nervous about something it means you're about to experience something amazing. Many of the hardest decisions I have made, like trying out for the musical or changing my major in university, were the ones that were the best decisions. This moment shaped me by showing me that it can be so rewarding to take a risk.

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Tips for getting started:

begin by creating a list of defining moments in your life

go through the list, are there any that you could perhaps group together? Are there ones that you're excited about? Are there any that are better than others?

choose the moment you want to focus on

for ideas on how to create a scene, begin by zeroing in on the moment. What do you see, hear, smell, feel, or even taste? Who is there? Is anyone speaking? Use this information to help create a scene

to help compose the "moving forward" section, jot down notes about the impact this moment had on you. Use the list to help with the 2nd section.

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I absolutely love the spoken word poem "Hands" by Sarah Kay. The video is provided below. In this poem, Sarah talks about all of the reasons she loves her hands and how they help her connect to the things that matter most to her.

In this adventure, you can use Sarah's powerful mentor text as a jumping off point for your own writing.
Start by tracing your hand on a piece of paper. Fill the paper with all of the things your hands do, hold, and touch. What makes you grateful about your hands? Fill the handprint with your memories and ideas. You can use colours and images if you want or keep it simple. The hand print of words can be your finished project OR you can use your hand print to begin your own poem.

Try this process for another (appropriate to share) body part (maybe you feel very connected to your hair, feet, face, etc.). Try using a visual image along with words. Or, create your own written or spoken word poem about your body part.

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6-Stops, 6-Steps, 6-Clicks, 6-Words Poetry Hike

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6-Stops, 6-Steps, 6-Clicks, 6-Words Poetry Hike

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This is a special adventure that will require that you also get outside and get active. This "Poetry Hike" activity was created by Dr. Michelle Honeyford and Dr. Jennifer Watt at the 2018 Summer Writing Institute and we led the Read/Write/Share students through a version of this hike as a "end of the summer" celebration.
Here is what you can do on this adventure:
1. Find a location where you can head out and explore.
You can either go out to a special destination (a park, a hiking trail, a neighbourhood you have always wanted to explore) or just step outside of your front door! Go alone or invite someone to you join you. Allow this to become a practice of well-being and self-care.
2. Begin your hike. Be mindful of what is around you. When inspired, stop!
I would suggest giving yourself at least 60 - 90 minutes for this entire hike, so feel free to stop by distance traveled or time or simply by inspiration.
3. Take 6 steps (big or small--be safe and aware of your surroundings).
Once you are inspired by something, take 6 big or small steps in any direction you choose.
4. Take 6 clicks.
Use this technology on your phone to take at least 6 pictures of something you notice around you. Often by focusing through the lens of a camera, we slow down, become more attentive, and get more connected with what is around us.
5. Write some 6-word poems.
You might want to set a timer for 6 minutes or just spend however much time you like writing some 6-word poems that describe what you are seeing. These may be like the 6 word stories from the first "This Matters Mosts" description. It can be 6 words that make a sentence. It can be 6 description words.
6. Head to Your Next Destination.
Continue the process until you have stopped 6 times.

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I choose to write about this picture taken of me in the last week of my first degree. I remember heading to the makeshift studio in one of the classrooms after a very long week with another long week coming up just to check another thing off my growing to-do list. I dragged my feet through the door and tried to put on a smile but my heart wasn't in it. I just wanted to curl up in bed and forget about every assignment, every goodbye, every change that was about to come my way and every emotion that was ripping me apart.

The next week I would have a string of panic attacks as the stress mounted, the homework piled up and I realized I was going to leave this lovely little school and all its friendships behind me. I was voted valedictorian but the significance was lost on me as I hardly had time to put pen to paper to write the speech that came with that honor. I was mourning, as I knew the cherished past three years of dorm life and community living were coming to an end. Everything blurred together and I did not know how to handle any of it but I just kept burying everything deep down and carrying on.

This was a dark time for me but in this photo session, I remember the photographer asking me to stand and stare at the camera with all the confidence of a superhero. So I turned and stared at the camera and this picture was the result.

This picture represents a perspective shift. I got out of bed one morning and decided it was time to visit a wise mentor. In that cozy little office told her how I was really feeling and she gave me some valuable tools and skills to deal with my anxiety. I went on to write one of the best speeches of my life for graduation and I cherished those last few weeks of school and friendships knowing that what I learned there was going to be carried with me throughout my life. There were tears but so many people stood by me once I opned up. I wasn't alone. This was only the beginning nto an end.

And that is why this picture represents perseverance for me. I had to fight through those final weeks of school, to study, stay focused and finish strong but I did and the things I learned are some of the most valuable lessons I've ever learned. Those anxiety coping and recognition tools I gathered helped me just last week and have also given me the confidence to talk about my experiences in order to help others. So when I see this picture, I see the Ashley I want to stand and be every day and it's a reminder that sometimes that Ashley needs a little help to stand strong.

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There is so much to be said about my grandpa’s hands. All of grandpa’s favourite things to do, and some of the things that I remember him most by, completely revolved around the mobility of his fingers and the swing of his wrists. His ability to drive, swing a golf club, complete puzzles, and lift his favourite mug to enjoy a cup of steaming hot coffee in the morning all became unnatural and nearly impossible all thanks to Alzheimer’s. Grandpa’s hands were always as soft as a feather, with fingers so unusually long and dainty my eyes were always completely drawn to them. Knowing my hands look like his has always been a source of pride. His need to comfort others, which had always been present, really started to shine through his changing body in the last few years. This photo represents one of his last stages of Alzheimers. Often people, such as my grandpa, focus on positive times in their life that shaped them when everything else becomes out of their control. Being a father and a grandfather had always been his biggest sources of pride. While living in a nursing home, grandpa spent most of his afternoons under a warm blanket holding and comforting baby dolls. He stroked them with one hand while I held and stroked his other hand. The strength that it took his shaky hands, and the strength that it took me to always hold back my tears was excruciating. For being so gentle, grandpa’s hands represent strength in its purest form. His body fought with him every day, and his hands always fought back with tenacity and courage. Through stories of my grandpa that have been passed down to me, I have learned that as a baby, as soon as he held me, my tears instantly went away. And on top of this, I would instantly giggle, which would cause him to laugh uncontrollably. I never made the connection until one day grandpa began laughing uncontrollably while holding one of his baby dolls; I guess he saw a bit of me in her. Up until his final days, Alzheimers never stole his courage, and it never changed the grace of his hands. I held them for the entirety of my final moments with him. We would always be his babies. After losing my grandpa around a month ago, this photo brings me immeasurable comfort, as cuddling these dolls always seemed to bring him that very same feeling. There is so much strength embedded in the way that grandpa always tried to comfort those around him.

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I would say that those who are closet to you is what matters most. When we go through times of trouble or hardship like a time that we are going through in these days, it is important to have people around you who will support you and who can be there for you. It is hard to tackle adversities alone, and it can be stressful and a burden to put upon yourself. Things that trouble us can also be difficult to express to someone who we are not familiar with. We feel most comfortable sharing personal feelings with someone we can trust. When things are going good for us we can often forget those who are there for us or we don’t yet realize of how much importance they are to us. When some obstacle in our lives, no matter how big or small, comes to disrupt us it can bring what matters most to our attention. It can possibly even change our relations to those close to us and others. These changes in our lives  can alter  our outlook on the world and can bring us to reevaluate what is important and not important. Also, it can sharpen our perception  leading us to  develop into stronger individuals.

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Starry Night of Strength and Perseverance

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Starry Night of Strength and Perseverance

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I took this photo when I was walking late night around November 2017. I remember that moment vividly in my mind as it was a time in my life when I was very unsure of everything. I walked outside to clear my mind, because I felt so down and lost. My current part-time job wasn’t ideal, I was clueless about my career path, and even though I was doing well in my courses, I wasn’t exactly motivated to do better.

I didn’t magically become better overnight, nor was the battle to do better consisted of only uphill in terms of emotions and successes. However, my mindset changed overtime. It took great strength, especially mentally, to do so. I had a more positive outlook in life where I became more appreciative of the small details in each day, more open to changes, and more grateful for the people I had. Continuous perseverance was also essential in tackling this journey. Not everyday I woke up in a good mood, but there was something in everyday that I looked forward to.

This picture is a reminder for me that with substantial strength, perseverance, and a small shift in perspective, I am doing just fine in life.

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When I look at this photo, I see myself as a happy young girl excited to embark on her first European tour, but I see strength and perseverance more than anything. At the time this photo was taken, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. My bandmate/BFF and I were so broke that we couldn’t afford to rent a vehicle, so we toured Europe on public transport. Try getting on the busy subway system with all of that gear and luggage! Other subway patrons were outraged, but somehow, we pulled it off. After travelling all night, we dragged our heavy suitcases down the dark, cobblestone streets, I slung my snare drum over my aching shoulder, and we finally made it to our destination--a tiny rental in Paris. Eager to rest after a very long day of travel and exhaustion, my bandmate and I opened the door only to reveal over one hundred stairs up to our flat. Yes, we carried all of that stuff up one hundred narrow stairs. Yes, those suitcases were filled primarily with heavy guitar pedals and drums. Yes, we ended up sharing a twin bed, but that twin bed was everything! This experience has taught me many important things; 1. most places in Europe do not have elevators; 2. cheese and wine can fix anything; and 3. I am strong.

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I walked into work for a long shift. It was cold outside. But the drink was warm and waiting for me. The first sip taken burnt my throat a little bit, but it was similar to a milk shake. Two Cream and Two sugar brought to me by someone sweeter than that. I had never had a drink like that before, down the hatch I chugged. Enjoying every sip. That moment I realized I had found something I love. What is this I asked? It was Coffee.

I love Coffee. I love hot coffee. I love iced Coffee. I love how my love for coffee has evolved from just buying from a shop. I love waking up in the morning and opening my bag of Costa Rican coffee. I love measuring the water to make the perfect cups in my French press or pour over. I love measuring the beans to make the perfect ratio. I love grinding those beans in my electric grinder. I love waiting for my coffee to bloom, steep, and become the perfect coffee. I love sharing it with the person who brought me my first cup. I love the first sip that reminds me of that moment.

I immersed myself in coffee because of the feelings that it gave me. My love for coffee has taught me to enjoy the little things. It has taught me to bathe in the morning sun. it has taught me to sit outside and just listen and look. It has taught me to take a deep breath. It has taught me that everything is going to be okay. It has taught me to reach for something better, it has encouraged me to never settle. It has told me to keep going.

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Distant honks. Geese calls. Fall comes.

Geese’s piercing honking fills the air.

Commotion above. Geese’s flock. Dominates all.

Calmness allover. Golden fields. Golden horizon.

The breeze is flowing through branches.

Harvesting fields. Hard work. Rich taste.

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This is an photo I had taken in 2018 at a beach in the Caribbean called Toco. To most people, the beach is a place where you go to have fun and take nice pictures and – yes, to a degree it is like that for me, but it also means a lot more than just that. I was born and raised here in Winnipeg, however my parents are from the island of Trinidad & Tobago. They left all their family and friends behind to start a new life here in Canada and though I am super grateful for the life I have here, I never got to grow up with the rest of my family just a drive away.

I chose this picture of the beach because there is a lot of stories that can be told within this one photo. 2018 was a bit of a challenging year for me, and so that year I had decided to take a trip to visit. It was the first time I travelled alone and the longest I had been away from home.

I remember that day we went zip lining. It had been on my bucket list for years and I finally got to do it! I remember we bought fresh fish from a fisherman who just came back for a long days work, and we had it for dinner that night. I remember on the drive back, a frog suddenly fell out of a tree and landed splat on the windshield …it survived thankfully. I also remember not wanting to get out of the water because it was so warm and swimming during the twilight is a unique experience.

The beach is a place where we travel to as an escape from reality. It is a place where we can be truly present and a place to spend time with those who matters most - especially the ones I don’t get to see often. Its where we go to eat snow cones and destress. It is where I can capture all those life-long family photos, where we can bring out our paddle board and ride the waves, where I can teach my little cousin to swim, and where we can forget about all of life’s problems.

The beach is a day that feels like infinity. It is the first thing on my list to do when I arrive in Trinidad, and it’s the last thing I do before I come home.

Thanks for reading! :)

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When I think about strength and perseverance different examples come to my mind since these two concepts are embedded in every aspect of life. We need them whenever we are trying to learn new things such as: learning to ride a bike, studying at school, playing a new sport or learning to play an instrument. I have chosen to focus on perseverance in music because it requires passion, curiosity, courage, hard work, patience and of course strength and perseverance. For example, there are no short cut in learning how to read music and how to play the piano .This is a process that requires lots of courage in order to move onto the next level, together with strength we endure failures while believing that we will be rewarded at the end. Perseverance is the key in this process and some of us experienced this when having regular piano practices which are not always fun. Without persistence we would simply give up in front of obstacles and turn to less demanding tasks. Unfortunately, by taking an easy way out we would deprive ourselves of experiencing the pleasure of conquering new and scary territories and the feeling of being competent and capable to overcome any obstacles in our lives.

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Love: the first thing that popped into my head when thinking about what matter most. Showing love. Being/feeling loved. A basic human need, not just something people want. Family love, friend love, romantic love, self love etc. Love comes in many forms and represents kindness, compassion, and affection towards others and/or yourself. Love gives humans a sense of belonging. Love can be expressed in many ways such as through affirming words, quality time, gift giving, physical touch, and acts of service.

Photos are important to me which is why I chose a photo to represent the word love. I enjoy pulling out photo albums from throughout my life to reflect on memories. I had a hard time choosing which photo I wanted to use. I believe photos tell stories of love whether they are photos you took with your friends, parents/family members, or significant other. Pictures of yourself/selfies can reflect self love. The picture I chose to share represents a day I felt purely loved. Not only by my husband but by all our family and friends that supported us when we got married. Looking back on this photo, I can almost feel the strong feelings of love that I felt on this day.

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EDUB 3056 Writing Adventure 1 (Love).JPG

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“Gave life and condemned to death.”

"Paradox: Created life then summoned death.”

These are two attempts at an extremely dark 6-words story. My wife and I had our first baby almost 8 months ago. As we are struggling through all the emotions that come with having a child, we got to talking about this topic. Having Avery, our son, was the happiest moment of my life. I am sure it is my irrational parent emotions; however, it makes me sad that one day he will die. This story is about how my wife and I gave him life, and it was the best thing that could have happened, but in the same way by giving him life, we are also the reason for his inevitable death, and that’s a hard pill to swallow. My son and my wife are what matters most (to me).

This is my first attempt ever at a 6-word story. I am not an artistic person by nature, so hopefully it was within the ballpark of what it was supposed to accomplish.

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It was the summer of 2005. I was enjoying the days before I must make the switch to a new school for my grade four year. June had almost ended, and July was around the corner. In my nervous hands, I had (what I did not know, would become one of the most important texts in my childhood) a blue flyer for a two-day basketball camp that read:

What: Ballzout basketball camp

Where: Valleyview School

When: July 5-7

Cost: $90

Hosted by: Mitch and Shane C

My cousins had already told me about this camp they were planning, and I told them “I will think about it.” I had been playing basketball since I was six and I was one of the best in my neighbourhood. So, what was stopping me? The voice in my head was loud and filled with uncomfortable questions: “What if I am not as good as I think I am? What if the other kids do not like me? What if a coach wants me to do a drill that I am not able to do and I get embarrassed?” At that moment, just standing on my porch staring blankly at the invitation, I had a flash of emotions all happening at once: nervousness, anxiety, fear. My palms started to sweat, and my chest was pounding. I was imagining myself at that camp and how it would go. None of the scenarios in my mind ended well. Luckily, I remembered that one of my friends, Alex, said that he was planning to go, so I would at least know a familiar face there. I decided in that split second, that I was going to commit and plan to go to this camp.

The next few days preparing went by like a blur. My mom helped me buy and get everything I would need for the camp, ranging from the ninety-dollar fee to go, all the way to snacks and a water bottle to use. When I was not getting my supplies ready, I was at Alex’s house playing basketball in his driveway. I wanted to be as prepared as possible. However, his driveway was not ideal to replicate the circumstances. The basket was a worn-out outdoor net, with a concrete-grey backboard and an off-white torn netting from the wear and tear. The driveway was jet black and made up of a combination of small rocks. The amount of space we had to play on was two car lengths widthwise, as on our left was a divot of land, and on the right was their garage, along with his mom’s garden alongside of it. I did not care though. It was somewhere to play. The afternoons leading up to the camp were all the same in my mind. Sweltering heat from the sun beating on us. The feel of the grip of the basketball on my hands. The sound of a singular bird circling the sky, with the louder sound of the ball hitting the rock surface. Finally, the taste of litres of semi-warm water in my plastic water bottle from sitting out in the heat for too long.

The night before the day of the camp, my mom was constantly saying things like “make sure you put your name on your stuff” and “Don’t forget to tie your shoes tight”, but I was not focused on any of that. I was thinking, “How am I supposed to go to sleep tonight”? I was a bundle of nerves. My stomach felt like a butter churner. My mind was racing a mile a minute thinking about if I made the right choice.

On the morning of the camp, Alex and I carpooled to Valleyview school, which put my mind at ease. However, time felt like it was moving so fast. In a second, we went from my house to outside of the school. I stepped out of the safety of my parent’s maroon caravan with my big red Roots gym bag to behold the size of the school. It was two stories, situated on top of a hill, and it seemed to have a million possible entrances. Alex and I were trying to figure out which entrance to go in, frantically pacing the perimeter of the school, trying to open the steel door handles, and hoping they would open. Finally, the gym door opened and out popped my cousin, Mitch, excited and ready to coach. In that instant, I walked into the school and would not be ready for what would happen in the next two days. All I knew was I made it in, now bring it on.

This was a defining moment in my life because this was the first extra-curricular activity up until that point in my life. Before, I would only spend time with kids in my neighbourhood and never stepped outside that bubble. This camp was a step into a whole new world and community. Also, it shaped me for the rest of my life because I believe that camp gave me the confidence and sense of belonging I needed at that age. I overcame my fear of trying something new and stepping out of my comfort zone. I interacted with other kids over a common interest and I got the recognition from my peers that I was good at basketball and would belong to a brother and sisterhood for the rest of my life. Also, it taught me an important life lesson: that I must learn to be comfortable being in uncomfortable situations; because without those situations, I cannot grow as a person and expand my horizons in any aspect of my life. Uncomfortable situations are inevitable. I can only control how I react and adapt to those situations. I knew I wanted to be active and participate in extra-curricular activities. I experienced the endorphin rush I get when playing sports and staying active, which is still true today. Finally, the camp came full circle in grade 10, when I was able to team with one of the kids that took part in it. We reminisced about the memories from that summer. That moment showed me that relationships and bonds can stand the test of time from meaningful shared experiences in the past.

Looking back, I am glad that my younger self decided to take a leap and go to that camp; I undoubtedly believe that I would not be the person I am today without that defining moment.

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When I step out onto that shiny, smooth ice and take the first breath of the cold air into my lungs, that is when I feel the smile begin to emerge on my face. The tall, bright lights reflect off the glimmering surface back to the sky and reflect off the millions of stars.  My eyes are drawn to the spots where the light seems to not exist; the pucks littering the ice. I pick one up with the blade of my stick and begin to feel the weight of the puck transferring back and forth. I begin to move my feet a little faster, as I move the freezing wind around me brings the smell of fresh air blowing in from the snow-covered fields around me. I feel as if I am moving in slow motion as I see my target, a bright red four by six rectangle, the net. I shoot the puck with a quick motion that brings me back to reality, and as I circle back for yet another puck I feel my smile, bigger than it was when I began.

I love hockey. I love the sound hockey sticks make when a puck is snapped towards the net. I love the pinch of skate laces around my fingers when I am tying my skates. I love the ice. I love the sound of tape being ripped from the roll. I love the constant chatter of voices while waiting to step out onto the ice. I love the taste of water coming out of the water bottles that line the bench. I love the intermissions. I love celebrating a goal. I love watching the perfect play come together. I love the routine of putting on my equipment. I love hockey.

Hockey is important to me because of the life lessons it has taught me. It taught me how to work with a group of people in a team atmosphere. By working together, you can overcome any obstacles. Being on a team makes you take responsibility for your actions. When you make a mistake, there is people you trust to help you work through the problems together. You get the insight of other’s ideas and opinions and helps you grow as a player and, more importantly, as a person. Being able to own up to a mistake, or admitting you do not know a certain play or what to do in a specific situation is an important life lesson. Knowing that there will be someone you trust to help you work through it and help you learn.  A team also celebrates you when you make a great play. They are your biggest cheering section, the people who want to see you succeed more than anyone else. That is an amazing feeling. Knowing that a group of people will celebrate just as much as you when you accomplish a goal, because they are equally as excited. The mutual excitement everyone has towards the common goals helps cement your relationships within the team. Hockey has taught me many things, lessons that I know I use every day. Lessons that I will continue to use.

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The smell of homemade bread at 7 am, or the quieting tapping of pots and pans at midnight while she made cookies I forgot I needed for class the next day. She worked full time, she drove us to our activities, she grocery shopped, she cooked, she did it all. My mom raised my sister and I on her own. She never let on to how hard it must have been, she never complained or yelled. She is my perfect representation of strength and perseverance. I feel I took it for granted at the time, because I didn’t know the capacity or never ending to-do’s of owning a house and working full time, let alone raising two young children. I remember the look on her face on a Friday after work, her eyes exhausted, yet grinning ear to ear because she finally, got a “break”.  Our deck was her haven, she would garden, sip on coffee and chase us around all weekend. I laugh now that I thought that was her break, she probably worked harder on the weekends than during the week.

I think as I grow, I continue to learn more about the strength and perseverance she had while we grew up. She put aside the dark and angry parts of divorce and focused on what she knew was best for my sister and I. I am certain there were battles that I never knew about, or gossiping and angry banter, but still to this day, never around us.  My mom and dad came together and hosted birthdays, Christmas and most family events, always including the entirety of my wild and blended family. I always tell them they could have been the poster parents for divorce. It was so empowering to look over at the sidelines when I was playing soccer to see my mom, my dad, my step mom, my sister and my half-sister there. I remember being in middle school and getting weird looks that BOTH my mom and dad were at meet the teacher or on field trips when they didn’t live together. I was so confused as to why it was weird, now I just laugh. It must have been incredibly challenging at times, but that never stopped them and they raised us beautifully- together, yet apart.

My mom’s strength and perseverance showed me that even in the darkest or worst of times, you can keep going. She taught me to lead with my best intentions and to assume that everyone else is leading with theirs, too. She is positively the most hardworking and beautiful person I am honored to know. My mom, my superhero.

I included a picture of my mom, my grandma, my step mom and I!

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The moment I walked in, the sweet smell of my grandma’s kitchen overtook my nose. Every time I walked into my grandma’s house a new recipe awaited my arrival. Each recipe was old to her, but to me each recipe was a wonderful new exploration. “Today we make cinnamon buns” she said with a grin from ear to ear. Another new adventure for us to embark on together. Little did I know, this time would be different. My grandma handed over the reigns to me saying, “If you want to eat cinnamon buns, it will be you who makes them”. How was I supposed to make cinnamon buns on my own? Was she out of her mind? I was going to burn down the kitchen without her help. Okay, deep breath Melysa. I was not about to let my Ukrainian grandmother see me panic in the kitchen. The anxiety of trying something new infiltrated my mind immediately. I had never made any recipe on my own before, what made my grandma think I could? I saw this as my chance to step up. I lined up all the ingredients and carefully measured them out before placing them in the mixing bowl. I looked back to my grandma for affirmation. The slight head nod I received was all I needed in order to continue. The buns were rolled, cut and ready to be placed in the oven. We slowly pull the buns out of the oven when they were done, and carefully place them on the counter. The only affirmation I needed now was that of my own. Giving myself a smile and a head nod I knew I was done. The pride, the confidence, and the feeling of independence rushed over me for one of the first times in my life. The feeling on that afternoon at my grandma’s house was one I would carry with me everywhere I went.

I love the confidence baking gives me. I love the feeling of independence. I love baking because it helps me cope with anxiety, allowing me to focus on what I am making rather than how fast my mind is moving and other stressors. I love the connection it has allowed me to build with my grandma. I love buying new baking tools. I love finding new recipes. I love trying new recipes. I love challenging myself with new dishes. I love that baking allows me to do something for others. I love giving others my time through baking. I love the nostalgic smell of cinnamon buns. I love the precision that is required. I love that no matter how small the ingredient is, each part of the recipe contributes to the whole product. I love that baking gives me an opportunity to connect with myself. I love that it contributes to my identity. I love baking because it makes me feel valued. I love the sense of accomplishment that immediately follows finishing a recipe. I love that baking will connect me with my grandma for the rest of my life. I love having a hobby that I do for no other reason than I love doing it. I love having an activity that is entirely mine. I love that baking for others allows me to give them something other than material objects. I love measuring. I love taste testing. I love baking.

Baking is such a passion of mine for many reasons. I have gotten into baking more and more over the recent years. This passion stems from my grandma’s love of baking. She introduced me to all of her handwritten recipes by inviting me to bake with her. At first it was just a fun activity I could do with my grandma. Now It has evolved into something I love to do for myself, as well as for others. Baking has taught me how to cope with anxiety. I have suffered from anxiety for years, in the last five years I have used baking as a coping method. It helps me focus on precision, measuring out ingredients and looking forward to the finishing product. It makes me feel calm. It truly makes me feel in touch with myself. When my anxiety gets too high baking allows me to focus my mind. As well, it has taught me to value someone’s time. Material objects are interchangeable, but someone’s time cannot be given back to them. It is the most valuable thing you can give another person. Baking is one way I like to give my time to others. As far as life long goals, I would love to take baking classes. I have always wanted to participate in something like that. A collective of people who have the same passion as you, all in the same room. I would love that. Mostly, I would love to incorporate baking into my classroom. Whether I bring in baking every Friday, for special occasions, or for specific lessons. Passion and doing what you love can be such a driving force in your life. It makes you want to be better, push yourself, cope with difficult times, connect with others and so much more. No matter what your passion may be, your love of it will radiate and inspire others.

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Blurred purple that dances so easily.

We cut but it keeps growing.

Flaws, not easily gotten rid of.

The sun sets but life continues.

It's stagnant water, but it's home.

Designed by nature, not good enough.

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Thursday. Another assignment completed and handed in, the package of papers released from my grasp both physically and mentally. I made sure to leave no question unanswered; it was time to move along to the next task. Friday. This same assignment came sneaking up on me, as it landed on my desk with a resounding thud. It was overrun with red markings and comments, as the teacher’s notes had a lot to say about my short, basic, couple word answers. To make matters worse, the assignment was accompanied by a friend, as like a ghost from the past I saw a second package of papers, same as the ones I completed on Thursday, the pages still warm from the photocopier.

Instead of a typical Saturday spent running around outside, playing ball hockey with neighbourhood friends and enjoying the fresh air, I was chained to the desk upstairs due to the dreaded return of the assignment. I spent most of that day redoing my assignment, and although I did not enjoy sacrificing my sacred Saturday to do it, the temporary cost was worth the long-term reward.

This was a defining moment for myself because it was the first time I can remember being told that something I did was not good enough. I was in the third grade and I remember being in a grade 3/4 split class with a teacher that was known to be tough. When she called me to her desk, she simply asked me to redo the assignment. I can still picture myself sitting at a desk in my mom’s office, and I remember how it took almost all day to complete a couple hours worth of work because I was so unhappy to be doing schoolwork on a Saturday.

This experience sticks out in my mind years later because of the expectation of quality that my teacher had for me. When she got me to go back and redo the assignment, I felt like she was saying “I know this is not your best work, try again and put in the effort that I know you can do.” This showed me that she saw more potential in me than I was exhibiting, and it made me want to put in a better effort. I think if she had just given me a bad mark and moved on it would have been accepting that all I had to offer was what I put forth the first time. Going through this experience helped to instill within me to take my time when completing tasks in order to not just get them done, but to do them as best that I can.

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Kobe Bryant is one of the biggest names in the world of sport. His love for basketball, healthy lifestyle, honest connection to people and true striving for excellence inspired many to become not just better athletes but even better people.

I have always admired him, however after the tragic helicopter accident where he and eight more people lost their lives I realized that his influence on me was bigger than I thought. It was a huge shock for me and I couldn’t believe it for a while. I love the way Kobe Bryant played basketball and his professional attitude to every game as if it was the most important game of the season. His enormous level of enthusiasm and positive energy toward everybody on the team was captivating to those around him.

I observed how he handled demanding work that he needed to keep up with and his relation to the people around him. Through this I have learned from him how important it is to have a balance between various aspects of life if you want to be successful in whatever work you are doing. I tried to work at improving my work attitudes, maintaining a healthy lifestyle and to focus on teamwork through my everyday interaction with people weather it is on the team, or in class.

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Hands are for touching and exploring the world while trying to make the sense of it. Hands are for seeing the world around us, regardless of the fact if we can see or not. But even with our eyes open our hands decide if something is soft, dry, rough, light, cold or what shape we are dealing with. It seems that we are more trusting with our hands than our eyes or ears, even after seeing something new and after trying to hear the sounds coming out of it, I finally need to confirm what exactly I am dealing with by using my hands. Only after touching it will I be reassured that I have understood the very nature of what I am dealing with at the moment.

But not only that, hands are for communication to clarify when we want to make an emphasis of what we want to say or to add an extra convincing tone to our speech. We could even replace speech with our hands if we want to be secretive or dramatic.

Moreover, hands are for social connection at the level that is deeper than words. It is even preexisting to our words and sometimes a hand on one’s shoulder could reassure a person that everything is safe and all right. Also, hands are for expressing feelings such as in moment of frustration when we are clenching our hands or in moments when we gently touch our friends shoulder to say: “Hello”.

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The rubber beneath my spikes is hot from the July sun in the early afternoon. I set up my starting blocks, just as I have so many times, alongside my seven competitors. The number four sticks so securely on my hip and I am happy that I have my favourite lane. I test my blocks three times just to be sure they’re set to my liking, as I have never competed in this province before. As I get into my blocks I feel the adrenaline start to surge through my body. The gun goes off and suddenly I can no longer think, my body just knows that I need to move fast. I accelerate and quickly find myself at the front of the pack, neck and neck with the girl in the lane beside me. I run as if my body was made to do no other activity. I know what I need to do: 400 metres, coast the corner, run hard on the straight. The only thought that enters my mind when racing is how swiftly my arms move to keep up with the pace my legs have decided. I turn the corner, 100 metres to go. I start speeding up and suddenly can no longer see the girl who has been beside me since the starting gun. I keep pushing, I can feel my body wanting to collapse but somehow that feeling only motivates me more. I cross the finish line and my body starts to slow its speed. I just did it: I ran a personal best and made a national final. I have been passionate about running since I started Track and Field at the age of 11.
I absolutely love running. I love setting a goal for how far I’ll run each day. I love choosing music specifically for each and every run, depending on how I’m feeling that day. I love lacing up my shoes and taking a deep breath of fresh air before I start running. I love the way my body cuts through the wind. I love the way my music and heartbeat dance. I love the way the air feels as it quickly moves in and out of my lungs. I love pushing my body to new limits and achieving a faster pace. I love changing my workouts between steady state and interval training. I love observing the scenery and appreciating the outdoors as I run my route. I love the way my muscles feel after a run; full of lactic acid but stronger than ever. I love the feeling of accomplishment after running and the sense of pride it gives me. I love knowing that if I train hard enough, I can run any distance in any time that I set my mind to.

I became passionate about running because I loved the feeling of pushing my body to the absolute physical limit, and then going beyond that. Throughout my 13 years of competitive running, I have learned perseverance in a way no other aspect of my life has taught me. I have had to overcome physical injuries and the mental anxieties of racing, which have only made me more resilient. Running has brought me lifelong friends, accomplishments, and lessons that I am indescribably thankful for. My current goal for running is to complete a half marathon in the time of one hour and 30 minutes; but my lifelong goal is to try and share my passion of running to my family, friends, and students so that they too can experience the euphoria and discipline that comes along with it.

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I remember the first time I felt true exhilaration and bliss concurrently, strength and power with total control. My teeth were clenched, signalling that my anxieties were about to be pushed out rather than settling in. The loose hairs that refused to be tied back, stuck to my face in a heated mess and gave me the fear that my sweat would drizzle down my forehead into my vision. Taking two steps forward and keeping my sights on a pinpoint that I had chosen on the ground to ensure my form was intact, I heard blood rushing, drowning out the overzealous music exclaiming in my ears. My lungs felt like there was sand rushing down from my windpipe, scraping with every inhale. I prayed they would last for my max and final set. Using my hands to grip the bar, my body instinctively assumed position. All in one movement my forearms locked, knees bent, hamstrings tightened, and head stared down. I could feel my callouses tear as I shot up in one forceful blow. My adrenaline asked me to push for more. I lowered my weight back down, hearing the encouraging sound of heavy weights crashing on the floor. A rhythmic pace then erupted as I pulled the weight up and down, bending and straightening my legs, having a firm but flexible movement—the feeling of power and exhaustion moulded into one feeling. Finally, I dropped the weight wanting the lactic acid flooding my legs to release. My jaw unlocked, and the blood that was rushing through my ears dissented. I felt a wave of fatigue seep in knowing that I had reached my goal. My workout for the day was done.

I love pushing to the limit. I love surpassing my limit. I love discovering that there is no limit. I love the sweat, the pain, the endurance, the adrenaline, the hunger, and the desire for more. I love being stronger each day. I love the mental battle. I love the sound of weights crashing, the comfort. I love having a time to beat, a record to beat, me to beat. I love the feel of a barbell, my hands constricting. I love the suspense before I lift. I love a sore body. I love the stress in my muscles and the stress leaving my mind. I love the good in pain. I love putting on my gym clothes and feeling nothing but happy. I love that I love the challenge over the outcome. I love tying my hair up and putting my headphones in. I love being in my own moment, tuning everything out. I love that something so exhaustive can be so relaxing. I love that I only need to spend an hour of my time to have a better day, a better life.

Working out is important to me because it is an outlet for my life. Whether I am happy, angry, or stressed I have something that I can do to elevate my mood and calm my body. My goal like most people, is to have a life free of anxieties. While hardships are inevitable having an avenue to channel negative emotions helps them to not implode. Moreover, exercise has taught me self-control. Ironically a healthy passion has once been an unhealthy obsession with two hour workouts and an unbalanced diet. Learning that the goal of going to a gym was to make people stronger and not skinnier changed my perspective on health. It is as much a mental battle as a physical one. There is no satisfaction in chasing societal beauty images because they are subject to change. Creating the most healthy and balanced version of yourself is where beauty lies. Having the ability to become stronger and put my body to use and challenge it’s capability instead of what it looks likes, made me mentally stronger as a person. Instead of dwelling on images I could never achieve I now work on what my body can achieve. That is why working out is my passion.

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Strength and perseverance at 14,000 feet above sea level feels like success and defeat rolled into one. This photo was taken in May of 2018, during an acclimatization hike near Dingbouche, Nepal. The end goal was Everest Base Camp, the moment I had forever dreamed of. However, in this photo I was only half way to the top. The next leg of my journey would soon become more difficult, where putting one tired foot in front of the other felt like a daunting task. My trek through the Himalayas continued to take my breath away in more ways than one, but it would soon be worth it for the view at 17, 598 feet.

My goal in 2013, was to hike to Everest Base Camp once I had completed my first University degree and in 2018 I achieved my dream. This photo represents six years of perseverance, saving every penny and sticking to my goal that one day I would walk one hundred and thirty kilometres through the Himalayas. Although I had trained hard for the adventure ahead, no amount of physical activity was a match for the increasing altitude that played with my senses. This photo reminds me of every frosty morning wake-up and the smell of yak dung being burned for heat. It reminds me of every challenging inhale, headaches from decreasing oxygen, and thinking that gripping my fingers around the straps of my backpack was just as helpful to deflect doubtful thoughts as the music that played in my ears. Perseverance was critical, knowing that by the end of the day I would be at an even higher altitude with even less oxygen.

I did not know this photo was being taken, however, I am glad it was. I love this photo as it represents perseverance and strength. It was my determination to reach Everest Base Camp that overpowered the lack of oxygen and the pressure headaches from increasing altitude. I felt all five senses kept me alive and guided me to my goal of reaching the highest altitude I could. This photo reminded me of how amazing it felt to string my prayer flags along the rocks at Base Camp and seeing through my own eyes the beauty of Mount Everest.

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It is hard to pin point an exact moment in my past that I could say shaped who I am today. When I look back and reminisce, I distinctly see a pattern that has repeated itself over and over throughout my life. This pattern started when I first moved to Canada. We lived in northern Manitoba in a small mining town past Lynn Lake called Leaf Rapids.

My father who played high level basketball in Europe took it hope himself to coach the men’s varsity team in this town where basketball was an afterthought. I went to a lot of practices and observed my father coaching and leading this team, from students who had no prior knowledge of the game of basketball, to competing with schools in Winnipeg where they were complete underdogs. At the time I did not understand the significance of the perseverance and dedication my father and these students displayed. Now that I look back at my life I see how that specific scene of me observing my father coaching projected onto my attitude towards bettering my basketball skills as well as instilling my dedication to perfecting my passions and ambitions throughout my life.

The more I mature I realize how this foundation shaped my drive and understanding that no matter how foreign or new something is to someone it can be conquered through hard work, positive role models and intrinsic motivation.

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My Dad has perfect skin which I unfortunately did not inherit, but he also did not have a single grey hair before fifty, so I am crossing my fingers on that one. He can be very particular in his ways, for example, he always has and probably always will wear Tommy Hilfiger head to toe. He washes his clothes using Downy fabric softener which somewhat masks the smell of cigarette smoke that clings to everything else, but nobody’s perfect, right? We have not always been super close, but since I moved away from home 7 years ago, we have become the closest we have ever been. He is the first person I call when I have a problem with school, friends, or just having a bad day. I would say he is one of my best friends.

A lot of people would not think twice about a birthday card, possibly not even buy one, or maybe even throw it out after a holiday has passed. I know I have done all of those things, but as cheesy as it sounds, birthday cards are my Dad’s thing. Every year on my birthday my Dad always buys me the fanciest card. I’m talking about the cards that cost $13 and have a plastic cover, so I feel that it is only fair to do the same for him. Even though we talk on the phone often I do not always get to tell him how thankful I am for everything he does for me, and this is my way of showing him that. I will spend time picking out a card on his birthday or Father’s Day and even catch myself tearing up while reading through them. My favourite thing out of all of it though is watching him try to hide that he is tearing up when he reads it. He usually just gets super quiet and then gives me a hug. He may try to act tough, but when he calls to tell me that he had to read it at least one more time, I know I did well.

I have learned many things from my Dad. He has taught me how to have a sense of humour, how to be responsible, respectful, and kind. He has also taught me numerous things about my car, which I am extremely thankful for. One thing that we have in common is that we both worry and overthink way too much. Even though he can worry about something just as much as I can, he tells me at least once a week not to worry about the small stuff. Even though I have a hard time taking that advice sometimes, I always have it in the back of my head as a little reminder that things are not always as big as they seem.

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Shoes are tied, hat is on straight and I am off to the first tee. I push my tee into the ground of a tightly kept tee box and my eyes shift to see directly down the fairway. All senses begin to stimulate as you begin to take in the surroundings; the smell of freshly mown grass of the fairways, the sight of the sun that has just risen over the horizon, seeing nothing but green grass on the opening hole. The feeling of a brand new glove coming together with the tackiness of a freshly cleaned grip. Hearing the sound of precisely made contact between the club and the ball from the nearby driving range. Jitters of nerves begin on the first tee but also excitement for what is to come. As I approach my perfectly cleaned ball sitting ever so still on the tee, I begin to visualize my opening tee shot, seeing through my mind’s eye the ball soaring through the morning air and landing in the fairway. The round is about to begin, and I can’t wait.

I love golf. I love 6:00 am tee times when the dew is fresh on the ground. I love the sight of a perfectly flighted golf ball into the wind. I love making putts. I love the feel of brand new golf balls straight out of the sleeve. I love connecting and getting to know people as you walk the fairways together. I love the driving range. I love visualizing different shots and seeing them come to life. I love seeing a friend smile after he strikes his shot clean following a swing tip. I love quiet, peaceful evenings when you have the course to yourself. I love following the flight of an iron shot that never leaves the flag. I love quickly picking up the tee knowing your ball is in the fairway. I love perfectly cleaned clubs. I love the sight of the ball spinning back once it lands on the green. I love the sound of the ball at the bottom of the cup. I love the feeling of contact with an iron shot. I love my partner saying “nice ball” after I have my best shot of the day. I love being at the golf course dusk till dawn.

The beauty that lies within golf is that it is a lot like life, you can hit a good shot and receive a bad break or hit a bad shot that kicks out of the trees and onto the fairway. Golf has shown me that I am observant and see small details, noticing a slight change in wind throughout the round or how a putt breaks on the green. Golf has taught me patience as I wait for slow groups on the course, or as I wait for the putts to start falling. Golf has given me countless memories with family and friends that I will cherish forever. I aim to play golf until I am physically unable to, and to continually seek improvement in every aspect of my game, as I have learned that even a bad day on the course, still beats a day almost anywhere else.

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My world was so dark and all of my senses were dulled from burn out. My wife and I tried to escape to the cabin for a birthday vacation weekend but I could not celebrate. That week was a monochromatic rainbow of grays, maybe browns. The most pungent olives filled with blue cheese (a lovely gift from my wife) might as well have been cardboard. A roaring bonfire was a dwindling ember. As I desperately tried to rest with a nap and take my exhausted mind off of work, I was suddenly attacked by quick thoughts of panic. “Your work is meaningless garbage!” A rapid fire from the left forced me to toss over to the right. “We’re all going to die, just like Papa, Kevin and Uncle Russell!” My right flank, however was completely exposed to another volley so I pulled an old and worn blanket over my head and buried my panting face in the pillow. “What good is all your money if you never see your daughter!” The intense heat building up under my blanket was only surpassed by my frustrations. I audibly gasped for cool air, clawing for release from the pressure. This moment demanded change!
My wife heard the ruckus and encouraged me to join her on a lengthy walk where we discussed all of our frustrations and dreams. Through this dialogue, my wife encouraged my strengths and suggested the possibility of pursuing a new career in education. As I began to envision all of the possibilities, a shining beam of hope pierced my cloudy outlook. We immediately drafted up a clever plan and set it in motion later that week. The odds of success were slim with numerous prerequisites, limited finances, and many other demands, but contrasting that moment of desperation with a bright future has kept me on track. I hope to encourage others to overcome their dark situations and help create a brilliant world together.

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Times Square. New York City. 3 AM. 2 girls in their early twenties. A little drunk and a little in love with the bright lights and the magic of a city much bigger than us. It was a cold February morning, we had just left a dive bar in the heart of Manhattan. I have never felt so alive. I learned so much about who I am and who I want to be during that week we spent exploring all New York City has to offer.

I love the way the people buzz in the early mornings. I love the big buildings filled with big people. I love the way the sun rises through the skyscrapers. I love the buskers in the subway with raspy voices. I love the museums filled with curious people and meaningful understandings. I love the expensive coffee that tastes prestigious and proper. I love the libraries filled with stories of the voices which have been lost.

My trip to New York City was full of honest moments of my life.

I will keep them close to my heart for the rest of my life. I laughed until my stomach hurt. I ate the best (and the cheapest) food. I felt stars exploding inside of me. It made me realize that life is really quite simple. Us humans get to experience living for a little while. We get moments that let us learn how to love ourselves. We get moments that teach us how to love others. All of the chaotic, the magical, and the peculiar. New York taught me that to have a life is a gift. There is always a sunny day around the corner. Happiness does not come from ignoring the clouds. Happiness is cultivated when you are present in every moment with your whole heart.

New York City made me feel so big, while simultaneously making me feel so small and so insignificant to this world. It made me believe in dreams so much bigger than myself. It pushed me to want to be better. To do better. To live better. I came to fall in love with each sip of coffee I drank, as if each sip was the best I ever had. Every piece of street art, gallery, glass of wine, bagel, museum, billboard, couple in love, independent woman, skyscraper—was more spectacular and magnificent than the last. I understood that Times Square at 3 AM was among the finer things in life. Surrounded by bright lights and silence and the beauty of falling in love with a moment in time.

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Hi everyone. I just wanted to share this, because it fits our class so well! I subscribe to the Winnipeg Free Press and every evening since Covid started the editor of the paper does an editorial he sends out by email in the evening. Yesterday I noticed he talked about 6-word stories and asked readers to send in 6-word stories about Covid. Here is today's offering:

A roundup of COVID-19 developments for Thursday Sept. 17, 2020Thu, Sep 17

I’ve written about 125 of these newsletter commentaries since COVID-19 slipped into our province during the Ides of March.And now, thanks to readers of this nightly update, I’m finally getting a break as we are going to fill this space with the six-word pandemic prose sent my way.Minutes after Wednesday’s mailing landed in inboxes both near and far, the responses starting pouring in to my invite to capture your viral memoirs in only six words.Even though each oeuvre was limited to half a dozen words, there were more than we can possibly fit into one mailing. So we will start with Vol.1 of our novel coronavirus compressed novels today while Friday’s mailing will feature Vol. 2.Again, thank you so much for taking the time to respond to the literary challenge and for the kind comments you keep sending my way.And without further ado, here’s what was said in six:
School’s out. School’s in. School’s out.
— Sandra Gratton
Coffee, phone call, emails, nap, gin?
— Marie-Josée Chartier
Work school gym shop party home.
— Dean JenkinsonCoVid.
Care Home visits prohibited. Loneliness.
— Shelby Neill
Brave New World, not by choice.
— Jeff Wach
Virtually working, virtually meeting, virtually alone.
— Calvin Brown
Instructing 100 amazing students no classroom.
— Wanda DazaQuiet.
Thought. Meaning. Time. Beauty. Wonderment.
— Adrian Powell
Be kind. Be safe. Be patient.
— Lori McKietiuk
Looking for smiles, coming up short.
— Scott McPherson
Six feet apart. A world away.
— Tammy Marlowe Johnson
Biked through Europe without leaving home.
— Rob Kashin
Freeze, listen, scurry, dart, rabbit hole.
— Diane Plamondon
Still working. Keep those groceries moving.
— Kevin McKenty
Should I... always on my mind.
— Diane Robert
Out of rice, flour, beans, TP.
— Suzanne Danis Kawa
For sale: Comfy mask, never worn.
— Hugo Page
Waiting on the world to change.
— Tracy Proutt
Hello world, aka Zoom Gallery view.
— Elizabeth Cockle
We rise. We are never defeated.
— Kristyn Cain
Our eyes. Fearful. Only kindness matters.
— Sandi Cain
Zero like minus two; thanksgiving isolation.
— Elizabeth Filipowich
Anti mask, vaccine, hygiene, science. Uncle.
— Roger Spelmer
"Lost people. Gained nature and silence."
— Theresa Johnson
— Paul Samyn, Winnipeg Free Press editor

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Viewing life through a lens… cliché, right? It feels the same as listening to Kelly Clarkson’s Since You’ve Been Gone while staring out the car window on a rainy day. Both have been applicable in my life but rather than the minor blimp of teen angst, my camera is a lens I have yet to grow out of. My camera often functions as an extension of myself. Wrapped around my neck or grasped in my hand, it allows me to see the world in different ways. It started at 16. Picture this. New school. Grade 10. Goofy kid. Upper class classmates. First move without my siblings. See, we’re military and although that doesn’t define who I am, it has certainly shaped me. My camera was how I found new connections and eventually it became a way I experienced life.

You came here expecting a photo prompt but so far all you’ve read is a love letter to my bruised, worn-in Canon T2i. An Ode to T2i is what I should have called this piece. I was looking through my hard drive, looking for one that I classified as ‘one of my best’ (as if I was submitting to a gallery show) when this popped up. October 10, 2010. To an outsider, it looks like a blooper during a Thanksgiving family photo. That’s not far off. My dad (the ‘by choice’ bald guy in the red) is aiming up to tap my brother (the one sitting) on the shoulder. My sister (the oldest) is enjoying the target on my brother’s back while my mom is being protective, yet still enjoying the fun. Even as the photographer, there’s a lot I can’t tell you about this photo. I can’t tell you how or why my brother is the one who had dibs on the chair (maybe that’s what the love tap is for); where my sister found a shirt with multi-coloured sneakers on them; or why I seem to love my candid photos of my family more than the ones with everyone (including me, the youngest) together and posed.

Yet what I do know is there is an abundance of strength and perseverance. I see a family who is together in Collingwood, Ontario for three days after months apart. My dad had just returned from his first deployment in Afghanistan, meeting us in Colorado Springs after our move from Portage la Prairie. I see my brother, finding himself in first year of university while balancing a social life and eventual degree in astrophysics. I see my mom, one of the strongest people I know, admiring the family she has built. I see my sister, standing and laughing after fighting a mysterious illness not two years before. And I see me, invisible behind the lens, capturing the people I love most, drawing on their strength and perseverance as I enter into one of the most pivotal years of my life.

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“Shortly after night falls, when the night isn’t black but is sort of that post-sunset dark purple, the stars start to come out. You’ve never seen so many stars before, because you’ve never been at this altitude before, and certainly not in the middle of the night and it does kind of press in a little bit, it makes you feel smaller than you already are. The temperature starts to drop as well, and you wish that you’d had the foresight to build a fire. Suddenly, something in the atmosphere moves, and for a minute you think it could be a giant bird, or maybe a very thick flock of bats, but no, it’s something much, much bigger. You can’t see a lot, because again, it’s dark, and you don’t have night vision, but an enormous behemoth sweeps through the sky. You can make out feet with claws larger than you are tall, and thin graceful wings, 4 of them, in fact, working in tandem with one another to keep the dragon aloft. The beast’s face is somewhat lit up, and you can see it’s got a sort of frill similar to a Dilophosaurus, but what’s really noticeable is the mouth. It sizzles Kaiju-blue with banked lightning, and it’s backlit against the teeth so they really stand out. If your eyes were worse, it would look like the night sky had sprouted an electric mouth.”

I love Dungeons and Dragons. I love dungeons and dragons so much, that I have spent over 100 hours on the same dang campaign. I’ve got a big white binder of handwritten notes that’s an inch thick. I’m the one running this show, the Dungeon Master, as you will. That means I build the world, the encounters, and yell at my players for making stupid decisions. I really got into D&D during a bout of agoraphobia while I was house-sitting for a friend back in like 2016. I was very alone—just me in a big dark house with some books on how to design a world. And design I did! I built mountain ranges locked in eternal magic-fuelled nuclear winter, mountain basins filled with rainforests, ruined cityscapes crawling with mutants, and haunted Lovecraftian New Jersey. I created a cabal of vampire ninjas, teams of Mad Max racers, an Elven empire based on the Aztecs, and an evil supercomputer made of telekinetic slime. The best part of D&D is having people to share it with, so of course, I gave this world to my friends from middle school. We still hang out, still in the same group chats, still in each other’s lives. They are part of the group of people I love the most, and I wanted to give them the best playground to play in. An added bonus feature is that I know what scares them, and I can tailor encounters to scare the Bejesus out of them. Hey, I never said I was a good friend.

My parents, understandably, are not thrilled about my choice of hobby. I’ve been threatened to be thrown out over Dungeons and Dragons. Then again, I’ve been discouraged from dance, writing, art, video games, television, reading, sewing, and cooking. I’ve run out of ladylike hobbies, and there’s only so much catering to a family a woman can do. Does a woman have not the privilege, nay, the right, to drink rosé and do bad German accents at her friends for 4 hours, only to have her friends do them back? Only true love, the love of the game, the campaign, could prompt such a waste of time. It’s a hobby with no career, despite the dissections. I could be a writer, or an artist, or anything else that falls under the D&D umbrella, but why would I want to do that? I should be allowed to do what I want, and what I want is to play Dungeons and Dragons. I’m done trying to turn hobbies into something that benefits a larger form of creation. Creation is the point now. Hypocrite that I am, I still hype it up in job interviews—Why yes, I’m part of a group that tries to meet once a month, usually we solve puzzles together. It’s so tough to get five schedules to line up. Yes, puzzles normally with hypothetical outcomes, philosophical, yes, I knooooow, there’s so much math involved what with the probabilities and all. Yeah, I know. I’m not sorry about anything.

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WARNING: This entry is about cancer. Cancer has touched so many of our lives and for some of you, it may have a grip on your present experience. Some days, we may be able to read about cancer without it feeling like trauma. Other times, reading about cancer can be like re-opening a wound. Please choose to read this piece only if you are in the right space to do so. Feel free to reach out with your own stories (even if it is to me personally rather than on Padlet). Feel free to not read this. Be as compassionate to yourself as you would to your closest loved ones.

In a few days, it will be September 24th, a day that looms as an anniversary in which I  feel both immense dread and gratitude in almost equal measure. On September 24, 2013, I was diagnosed with an invasive breast cancer. I would have to go in for a mastectomy of my left breast on Oct. 7th. I then faced six rounds of chemotherapy (over about five months) and then five weeks of daily radiation treatments. My children were 7 and 9 when I was diagnosed. I was 35.

A few years ago, during a Summer Writing Institute that I was co-teaching, an amazing high school teacher who is working on her M.Ed. degree led us through an activity where we watched this Sarah Kay poem, then we traced our hands, and wrote all the important things our hands have held, the things they do that matter, the ways they help us communicate. I was writing away, not particularly thinking about my cancer experience at all. Then I remembered how my hands had held two bells--one that was held on a counter of the oncology unit where I went every three weeks for 18 weeks to receive chemo, and the other that held on a counter at HSC where I received radiation for five weeks. The bells were rung when  patients completed their treatment.

It wasn't until the moment I thought about all that my hands have done and lived through, held and cherished, contributed to and comforted that I remembered holding those bells. As the shadows of leaves danced across the page of my writer's notebook, I wrote this poem--a poem about hands, about bells, about the ambiguity and fragility of survival. I share it with you during my anniversary week. I celebrate the gift of these seven years (seven years I was not sure I would ever see when I rang those bells). I grieve for the parts of myself that are lost (the parts that felt invincible that did not feel fear with every twinge and change). I honour those who walked with me and held my hand during that time and in the years that have followed.

THE BELLS
The bells sat on the counters
I longed to hold them
Feel the wooden handles
Touch the metal bell

Sometimes I would hear them ring
Ring while I was waiting
Ring while I was hooked up
The slow
drip
drip
drip
of chemicals into my Port

Sometimes I would hear them ring
Ring while I waited
My blue hospital gown
Opening at the front
Ready to be aligned
In the spaceship type machine
That whirled and beeped and directed
Radiating rays to burn
Burn those bad cells
Burn that skin raw

Sometimes the bell would ring
Loud
Clear
Firm
Filled with laughter and celebration
We would erupt in applause
Be part of the ringing

Sometimes the bell would ring
Weak
Feeble
Uncertain
The tentative tremor of bell
Accompanied by sobbing grief
We would look down, look
away
Give space

Space for mourning of loss
Not loss of life
Because we only got to ring
Those bells
If we survived
We survived our rounds of
chemo
We survived our days of
radiation

Bells of announcement
arrival
celebration

We had to do this.
Be this.
Gowned.
Bald.
Fragile.
Burned.
Poisoned.
Saved?

I held those bells in my shaking hands
Rang them loud and clear.

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This photo encompasses what matters most to me. My wife, Samantha, and my baby boy, Avery, are by far the most important things in my life.  In this photo, my son is only 4 and a half months old. His entire life has been during a pandemic. As new parents, my wife and I are pretty much afraid around the clock, trusting no one and suspecting everything. It is so bad that for the first 4 months, due to COVID-19, we probably did not leave our house even once. This photo was taken on June 1st. It was at my parents’ cabin and was the first outing we took since the pandemic started. The only reason we went was because no one else would be there other than my wife, my son, and me. Up until this point my son spent almost his entire life inside, both due to the Winnipeg winter being too cold for a newborn and because of the pandemic being too dangerous to go places. As can be seen in the photo, he was loving the outdoors. That weekend we ate every meal outside.

By this point, my wife had not slept a full night in months. She was constantly up all night feeding her son, comforting him, or just loving him. Even on the nights that I would get up with him, she would still be woken by every little sound, or even when there was no sound to be heard. Each morning, she was up with him by 5am. Then, the rest of the day was spent looking after him.

During this period, I was working full time at my accounting job and taking online courses. Every waking second that I was not working or studying, was spent hanging out with my little buddy. We were tired and were cooped up.

You probably cannot see it, but when I look at this picture, I can feel the sun on our faces. I can smell the pine trees all around us. I can taste the crisp fresh air. I can hear the waves washing onto the shoreline. I can remember the laughter as we tried to get a good photo with this little mover. I feel the pleasant discomfort of being a little too full after the giant steak I finished eating. This moment was just after dinner, around 6pm. It was the end to an eventful day of exploring new things, watching my dogs swim, touching everything in sight, with many smiles to be had. Finally, we were rested, we were relaxed, we got out.

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A gentle breeze blowing light clouds welcomed a timid boy of twelve to the Gimli Yacht Club harbour. Born and raised in the water, I should have been confident on my first sail but I couldn’t help shaking beneath my rigid, banana-coloured rain suit. It may have been from the cold water splashing over the hull as we contacted a rogue wave. It may have been the uncertainty of being pulled out onto the open water by my mysterious new acquaintance blowing from the North. It certainly didn’t help that I was paired with a more experienced sailor on whom I had developed a small crush. We exited the harbour after running through a few drills. My skipper in control, demonstrating basic navigational skills and proper procedure. We made our way to the course outlined by enormous round buoys. “Here, you try steering.” I was blown over but maintained by tough façade and exchanged positions. As I held the tiller firmly, I slowly pulled in the main sail until the wind began to tickle it. As the wind caught more and more of the sail, I could feel the power climb up my arms, through my veins and directly to my heart.
I love when the wind first catches the sail and you can fully feel the power propelling the entire vessel. I love when the sheer force of the wind requires you to trust a harness and throw self out, parallel to the water, in order to remain righted. I love when the wind all but disappears and I am left in the company of my crew. I love explaining sailing concepts to landlubbers and watching their eyes light up as they experience a gust for the first time. I love the water and the wind dancing together.
Sailing defined my cadet career and I continued chasing the wind through several summer sailing camps. Sailing introduced me to resilience as the summer camps were 6 weeks long in Ontario and I was plagued with homesickness. I approached the officers a few times asking to return home but they encouraged me to hang on a little longer. Sailing requires prolonged focus on many small details and the end result of a regatta is the accumulation of maintained discipline even while in last place. If you endure and give your best effort the result will often surprise you. Hanging in there was worth it as I was most proficient cadet every year and eventually became a sailing instructor. I have been able to make it through some pretty dark times with the resilience I learned from sailing.

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The sun begins to set, changing from a bright yellow to a deep orange as it descends behind the dense, smoky clouds. I have finally arrived home after a long, exhausting day. As I muster up the energy to go inside, I put the gear of my grey, four door Honda Civic in park, climb out the driver’s seat and click my fob twice to lock it. A cool breeze awaits me as I walk towards the house, being careful to avoid the small pools of water that have amassed on the walkway during the day’s rainy weather. As I come closer to the front door, that’s when I see them. Two wet noses. Four bright eyes. And a whole lot of hair. They are howling and scratching at the window and my entire mood begins to shift. I push my fatigue to the back of my mind and a smile emerges as I begin to see their faces even clearer. I unlock the front door and am met with excitement as my two little puppies are itching to welcome me home.

Running at me first is Clyve, my Maltese-Yorkie. Weighing 10 pounds soaking wet, he’s a small dog with big dog energy. Even at his size, he is solid and strong with not even an ounce of fat on his brown, smooth exterior. He is the oldest and the self-proclaimed protector of the house and begins to sniff me from head to toe. Once he’s inspected and confirmed that it’s me, I kneel down to scratch behind his tiny, floppy ears and am subject to a series of light, playful licks on my hands and face. I bring his petite paws up on my shoulders and continue to scratch around his nose and under his chin. This moment does not last long. Barrelling close behind is our new Australian-Labra doodle, Walter. He’s only four months old, but already bigger and burlier than his older brother. He gallops towards me and trips over his own massive, black and white paws as he hurdles over Clyve to douse me with kisses all over my face. I run my hands through his soft, blanket-like, fluffy fur, and slowly begin to lose my balance, ending up falling onto my back where I am hounded with even more kisses. Lying on the floor being showered with love from my two puppies, I’ve completely forgotten about any struggles from the earlier hours. In that moment all I am thinking about is how lucky I am to receive this welcome-home party each and every day.

I love everything about my dogs. I love waking up every morning to be greeted with their faces pressed against the glass basement door just waiting to say hello. I love the way their droopy ears and shaggy tails jolt up when I ask them if they want to go outside or for a walk. I love when we are sitting on the couch watching TV together and they flip over onto their backs to get some belly scratches. When I am eating a snack, I love seeing their salivating mouths and captivated eyes, fixated on me, waiting to see if I drop a bite so they can get a taste.

More than anything, I love their ability to make me smile after a tough and defeating day. Seeing them interact with each other makes me laugh in a way that is difficult to put into words. They are so different but compliment each other so well. Clyve is in guard-dog mode all the time, positioned by the window with his ears pointed up on high-alert and wary of any strangers who come near the house or even drive by. Walter is the opposite; he’s a big ball of affection, loving everyone and everything in sight. He’s still so young but growing so quickly, and stumbles around the house following his older brother trying to learn the ways of the world. I can only sit idly by and chuckle when watching them wrestle over the same squeaky toy or scrap over the same chewed up bone. The way they chase each other in circles outside and tussle in the living room is the same way my younger brother and I used to fight when we were kids. What I love most is seeing them finally tire each other out and snuggle together to nap in the same kennel.

When I was nine, my family had a beautiful golden retriever named Buddy. For 15 years he was my best friend, and when I was younger, I often cancelled plans with my school friends so that I could stay home and play with him. When he passed away last year, I did not believe that I would ever feel a bond with another dog truly like that ever again. The human-animal connection is a love like no other; it’s unconditional and pure and free of judgment. Now, I feel so blessed that I have two incredible, fun-loving fur balls that sincerely do make my life whole again. Their wet, sloppy kisses are the best start to the day and leaving the house is always a challenge because I never want to say goodbye to them. In a funny way, my relationship with my dogs has taught me to be patient and responsible, but also silly and vulnerable. I’ve learned to appreciate what I have in my life and feel fortunate for being surrounded by so much love. I care so deeply for Walter and Clyve, and I cannot imagine my life without them. They are my passion, they are my loves, and they are my two best friends.

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When trying to find a defining moment in time, this one stands out as one of the most significant for me. I was very reluctant to share this moment as I have only shared it with one or two people in my life. I hope you enjoy it.

I was lost. I walked about aimlessly waiting for my next class. There was no rhyme or reason, just waiting. Even though I knew where I was and what I was doing, I was lost.

“Do you have a moment to talk,” a man said as he approached me. I didn’t know the man. He was black with a foreign accent. He was about the same height as me although more broadly built, which doesn’t say much given my especially skinny, lanky frame. There was nothing of significance about the man. I could’ve crossed paths with him several times during the year and never noticed. I didn’t know what he wanted but I had an hour to wait before my next class. What could be the harm in a conversation with a stranger?

We sat down in the lounge at the University Centre, not far from the bookstore. His accent was distracting at first. I thought It would make it difficult to understanding him but I was able to quickly move past it. It was like watching a movie where everyone spoke quickly with a heavy French accent and no subtitles. Eventually you just catch on.

He started speaking to me about religion. It seemed like an odd subject to bring up with a complete stranger. I’ve often considered raising religion up in conversation as taboo unless you were familiar with your audience. Still, I considered myself open minded and contributed to the conversation.

We spoke of how people forgive one another. The man identified how people are willing to forgive but never truly forget. God on the other hand would always forgive and forget. It was an interesting if unexpected conversation.

This moment in my life is important not because of what happened but because of what’s missing. I had never been in a good placed during my time at university. My mental health was low.

I was raised by a Catholic family. We went to church on Sundays like many families around us did. Although religion was important, it was never forced on me and we rarely spoke of it at home. As a result, I was never a very pious person. I often kept my beliefs to myself but still grew up with a sense of faith.

After a few years of university that faith had waned. I was lonely in the city. I felt disconnected from everybody and was in a constant state of depression. I began to wonder it there was anything more to life. I was not suicidal – at least not yet – but I did question whether there was a higher power. It seemed strange to me that a higher power would exist in a world were someone could feel so miserable all the time. These thoughts started to sprout just a day or two before meeting the man. After our meeting I felt different though.

Without this conversation my point of view on life could have taken a drastic turn. I may have been much more negative. I may have become uncaring. I may have become ungrateful. I cannot be sure, but I think this man changed the course of my life.

I never new his name and never saw him again.

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(A weird love letter to a dark grey couch in my Best Friends basement)

I chose a picture of my high school friend group, The High Five. We have called ourselves this since we were in the 12thgrade. The five of us, versus the world. This picture was taken about a year ago, but we are still thick as thieves. As in every friend group, we all play different roles. I am the organizer and the one who makes sure everyone is safe, Brynn is the wild and crazy, Devon is the calm in the chaos, Leo is the words of wisdom, and Amy is the laugh everyone always needs. In high school when we weren’t on the sidelines of each other’s volleyball games, or making fun of Brynn because she was a year younger than us. (okay, we still do that) we were in Brynn’s basement on her couch playing a game (usually orchestrated by yours truly) So, I have decided the couch in this photo is what matters most. It is where Brynn had her first kiss. It is where I cried through my parents’ divorce. It is where Amy confided in us about her mental health struggles. It is where Leo has made me laugh more times than I can count. It is where Brynn and I have watched an entire season of Criminal Minds in one sitting. It is where Devon has convinced us all to go get Slurpee’s at 2am. We still always seem to want to find trouble these days, and often gather in one of our parent’s basements in our hometown to play some kind of orchestrated game just like old times. Although our lives are taking us all different places, my favourite place will be on that couch in a family rec room with The High Five.

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Six-feet-tall, broad shoulders, straight face, someone I found intimidating and unapproachable. This first impression kept me from getting to know her. Fast forward a year; I see a beautiful girl whose light brown hair falls just below her shoulders, hazel eyes, and a bright smile. She has unexpectedly dainty little hands that constantly move as she speaks and smooth feet that are always freshly pedicured. Friend, best friend, roommate, co-worker, work out partner, study buddy, these are a few of the titles I use to describe Alecia.

Sunny, 35 degrees Celsius, Alecia and I are in pants and sneakers ready for pool maintenance prior to the summer pool season. Being lifeguards with some extra time as we just finished our first year of university, agreed to help with the pre-season work. This year’s main task: sanding down the big water slide so that it could be re-painted and finished. Day after day, we squished in the slide and sanded a new section. Direct sunlight, slide dust flying, jelly arms and cramped legs, we began to laugh through our masks and goggles. How could I be laughing right now? I knew the answer, Alecia’s contagious laugh reminded me to enjoy each day we get. Even when we are sanding a slide in the heat of summer. The laughter was followed by a moment of encouragement from Alecia reminding me how far we have come already on the project and that we are in this together, motivating me to work hard.

Alecia has taught me to strive to be my best self and take advantage of opportunities that come my way. She has taught me to work hard at my goals and do what I am passionate about. She constantly reminds me to never give up on my dreams. She pushes me to reach my full potential. She believes in me. Alecia has been the most positive influence on my overall health. She wakes up with me at 6:00 am to go workout with me because she knows I need the extra motivation. She supports and encourages me in my faith. When I get overwhelmed and anxious, she remind me to take a step back and take care of myself. She has and continues to help me learn and grow in many areas of my life. She brings out the best in me. I admire Alecia for her passion in volunteering at different clinics, her work ethic, and her ability to make people feel important and loved. Alecia is not only a friend, roommate, co-worker, gym partner, study buddy but my role model.

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Adapt, achieve, succeed, adapt, achieve, succeed
(Padlet will not let me change the font size but imagine the words getting smaller)

Dancing to death, the leaves spin

Discarded masks the ground collects begrudgingly

Sirens ring, people scream... silence remains

Laughter, life, love... nevermore... nevermore…

Bending, breaking, broken, standing, struggling, hoping
(Again the font size grows smaller through the first three words and then grows back up to the end)

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Health is the most inherently valuable thing for human beings. Without it, tragedy will come to our life. With it, miracle will happen at any second. While knowledge, wealth, beauty, and reputation stand for zero, health always stands for one. Losing one in our life, we have nothing in the world. Grabbing one in our hand, we can be as rich as we can. No matter we are young or old, health can bring sunshine in our life. Bacteria and Viruses are everywhere, trying to knock down our human beings. We need to be strong for ourselves, families, friends, and descendants. It’s not just about physical health. It’s also about mental health. If you were born with healthy body and brain, please do not let it fly away. Keep your treasure in your pocket. Some people may say it’s their destiny to lose their health. Letting it be is not drifting along, but temporizing. Hope we will not regret our living choice when health is out of control! The year of 2020 is tough for Canadians and human beings. When conovirus-19 comes to our life as a big wave, human beings seem to be weak. Hold hands in spirt to move ahead. Be healthy!

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It was a chilly fall afternoon. I parked my car on far down on Burland. The street was bustling due to end of the day activities.I approached the school for my first volleyball practice at 3:30pm. I was the Head Coach. I remember thinking nervously, knowing that the group of boys I was given to coach was “difficult”. Opening the door to the school, I entered the gymnasium, listening to the sound of balls bouncing, the net being set up, and the boys discussing volleyball. I knew that this was where I belonged. I knew this is where the adventure began. I know that this group is wild, but I was that kid too.

I gather the boys to introduce myself. “My name is Thomas and I’m a physical education student at the university of Manitoba, I’ve been told by Mr.M that you should call me Coach, but I’d like you to call me Thomas”. Some boys call me coach, others call me Thomas, but I know that I’ve made a connection with them. I know that they’ll listen.

I decide to ask: “what do they want out of this season?”. “Win” is the response they have as they introduce themselves to me. I thought to myself “I think we can win, but I have to show them the way, show them how to have fun and move”. I explain to them that the goal is a great goal, but the most important part of winning is the work that comes before it. We work together to set clear expectations, they smile, we laugh as we create rules when we come on to the court. They know that they can be themselves, because they know that I was one of them.

That first season is one I will never forget. I walked into the gymnasium in my second last year of Physical Education pondering if I really wanted to be a teacher. I walked into the gymnasium with a “difficult group”. I walked into that gymnasium with everything and nothing to prove. I walked into that gymnasium only wanting one thing, for the boys to have fun.

Those “difficult” boys made me realize my purpose. They gave me the confidence to approach situations with a level-head. I gave them the confidence to just be themselves and have fun. They wanted to be treated like young adults, attempting to escape the grounds of “middle school”. They were on their way to high-school and wanted to be treated as if they were humans. They gave me the confidence to talk to them honestly, treat them like people. They gave me the confidence to admit: “I want to be a teacher”. There are times where I know I’ll have a “difficult” group, but I always have to remind myself that I was one of them and that’s why I’m here.

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Devon was someone who, like any other sibling, annoyed me and frustrated me however he still meant the most to me. Why you ask? He taught me so many lessons in life, how to be respectful, accomplish goals in my life, he taught me to cherish everything I have in my life and I am very glad he did.

Growing up, Devon and I fought a lot. We never really got along, being the “princess” of the family, I used that to my advantage to get him in trouble in any way I could. After years of fighting we suddenly stopped, I believe I was around 14 years old and Devon was 17. We were making food and I asked him why we haven’t fought in a long time, Devon told me his fear was that we would hinder our relationship to the point where we would never talk to each other again. He chose to take a step back from the fighting and build a strong relationship with me. Ever since that day, Devon was my best friend. We did absolutely everything together, he was someone that I could talk to about whatever was on my mind, he was always there for me. I’m very thankful that we were able to build a strong relationship together.

For this post I have shared two pictures, I chose these two pictures because I feel as though they clearly depict the relationship we had. The First picture is of the day I graduated high school.  The second picture is a caption that Devon put for a picture of me on my birthday, “Happy 18th Birthday to the #1 women in my life! I love you so much Reethu, words can’t describe how important you are in my life and how much I really love/ need you with me all the time. You’ve turned out to become the most amazing women I’ve ever met in my life, don’t ever change beautiful, I really love you.”

I look back at these pictures every day, I have the same few words going through my mind “words cannot describe how important you are in my life and how much I really love/ need you all the time” I wish I was able to say these exact same words to him myself. I wish I had expressed that to him during the short time I had with him. I’m thankful that Devon has left a lasting impression with so many family and friends. I’m constantly hearing new stories from everyone around me, and those stories are what keep me smiling.

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This is the second part to go with Reethu's amazing piece above. She was having troubles uploading the photo with her piece so I have added it here on her behalf.

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To me, the concept of happiness matters most. When I dive in to the idea of happiness, everything in my life encircles this concept. I can easily admit that I am blessed, in that I have multiple streams of my life that make me feel happy. I chose happiness not because I have never felt sad, but because I believe that it is vital in strange and difficult times like this year to count my blessings and be thankful for all that my life has given me thus far. My family is my rock and growing up with a large family that all gets along is something I have realized can be rare, and thus have never taken for granted. Growing up, and still to this day, learning is something that makes me happy. Whether this be a new language, instrument, or subject in school, I value my ability to learn new things. In continuation of learning new skills, I love teaching others the skills that I learn. On top of this, cooking and eating delicious food is something that makes me happy. Whether this be socializing with friends and family at a restaurant, or successfully not burning a meal while at home, I love it all. I have been very lucky in being able to travel so much from a young age. Last year I had the opportunity to live in the happiest country in the world, Denmark, for four months. It is truly the happiest that I have ever been. I love exploring new places and cultures. Having various hobbies and taking time for myself every week brings me happiness. I believe having a creative outlet or taking time to enjoy the outdoors has helped me grow immensely as a person. I love doing things for fun, and for no other reason. All of these, as well as many others, give my life substance and meaning. My happiness stems directly from these five areas of my life, as well as being able to share these things with others. Although I do realize that every day is not going to be simply happy, I do believe that happiness can be found in something every day. I rely on these five main sources of happiness to help me through my toughest days, as well as make my happy days even happier. My own personal happiness, and the happiness of those around me is constantly at the forefront of my mind and dictates how, and who, I spend my time with. I will conclude with this question; what makes you happy?

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These are the emotions, feelings, and insights gained from my Uncle Glen's passing. This was an ongoing process for me, and even this poem was an ongoing process now that I think about it. I was 10 years old when he passed away, but I think of him quite regularly still 17 years later. Proceed with caution because it is a heavy read, but the thesis of the poem is essentially that although my Uncle Glen passed all that time ago that he still remains as one of the most influential people in my life. Enjoy :).

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A Conversation with Uncle Glen

I still love you, and I know that will never change

When I am warmed by your presence, I like to stay

Just because I know that you don’t come to visit as often anymore

But also, because you have deeply affected me: you are so dear to our family.

I remember the day your leaf fell from earth’s tree

Aunt Edna got the call; she didn’t tell us what happened, but the shift of air chilled us like a cold breeze.

“Glen might be dead” she said, although we knew the truth, the “might be” is the words we held.

Sometimes I flashback to your smile

So genuine,

it wasn’t just an inverted arch fixed upon your lips, but shone throughout your whole face.

A laugh and sound that remains in my memory, it will always last:

like an old favourite song one remembers so vividly from the past

My cool Uncle Glen

Up to date with all the new gadgets, the world traveller, and unrivalled in generosity

You Drove two hours to bring my Mom flowers, bought her a new car to start our family.

Now I revere your selfless nature, living for now, but even more so living for others:

but now I see that

sometimes

that

just

is

not

enough.

Hemophiliac, Hep C, diagnosed at 15 with HIV

A woman no matter how in love could not take on that responsibility.

But to trust a world free of romantic love, because of unjust human disease:

Is to go beyond our nature, something so rare to be seen.

I think that was what made me see that hell is not reality,

A man who became suffering on Earth does not extend into eternity.

The Devil is not God, their positions are reversed

You made water into wine,

Were admired for dealing with your curse.

Therefore, this poem does not do justice, because your life is a song,

and this poem is merely an attempt at one single verse.

I remember the night your leaf fell from earth’s tree,

My mom held me tight, we gathered with friends and family.

We sat in the living room when a church elder said:

“Glen’s death is no different from cancer”

A quote so engrained in my Grandfathers head,

That he will repeat the phrase if he sees you again.

The day you were diagnosed with HIV was the day you knew the Earth was “not for me”

That did not stop you from “being,” that did not stop you from showing others how “to be”

Uncle Glen, my hero, you live through me.

For although you may escape my mind,

You will always be a leaf on my tree,

Rather a root or foundation that will be passed down: your generosity.

See you don’t need to live to “be”

You are more than just a memory

Because so much of you/your traits will forever flow through our family.

You taught me how to live now with the tools that we’re given.

You taught me that we live through the lives we touch.

You taught me that nothing comes for free.

So Uncle Glen,

thank you

for

everything.

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My cousin Alex and his wife Kaitlynn are pillars of strength and perseverance in my eyes. Getting married at twenty-five and twenty-six years old is no easy feat. The idea of having to pay off student debt, buying a house, having a newborn child and all while trying to navigate adulthood at such a young age is terrifying. I feel like some people would crumble or change from the emotional, physical, and mental toll of dealing with that transition in their life. But not them. They are the same people I have known since I met them. Self-less, humble, caring and family oriented. There is never a sign on their face or their body language that they are overwhelmed when adversity comes their way. Why? Judging from their actions and mindset: this is the life they want, and nothing will stop them from their goals. In my eyes, that is inner strength and determination that exudes from them with how they strive and persevere to build the future they envision. They may bicker and have disagreements, but at the end of the day, they work through hardships toward a common goal. All of this is why they are my definition of strength and perseverance. – 204 words

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Our physical bodies do not get enough respect for what it really deserves. We spend so much time focusing on our outer appearance that we - way too often, neglect the hard work our body is internally going through on a daily basis just so we can simply exist.

Why are we taught to admire another’s outward beauty? Why are we taught at a young age that “makeup makes up look more beautiful”? Why can’t we give more appreciation to our bodies and actually recognize how hard it works for us daily – even if we do not treat it right.

In the next 214 words, we are going to take a moment to appreciate the bones in our body. They deserve and award. All 206 of them. We give so much attention to our skin and our hair. But our bones… they work hard for us. And they make sure we know that. Since birth, our bones have been getting stronger so that we can carry out all the wishes and desires we have in life. To walk you through the highest of mountains. Or you move you along to the beat of the music. They work hard to get you through that strenuous workout and they work hard just to get us out of bed in the morning.

We often forget that we need to care for our bones too. The same way that we care for our skin and our hair. We spend so much time sitting and slouching that it puts unnecessary stress on our neck and spine. And what about all those times we neglect the aches and pains in our feet because we tell ourselves “I have to keep going”.

There might come a point in life where our bones will start to become weaker. Getting older isn’t something we can avoid. Take care of your body and appreciate what we have.

Thank you bones.

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My third day in a new city, a whole new group of people, new surroundings, and new nerves. This picture represents perseverance to me for so many reasons. Four days prior to this picture I packed up my clothes, said goodbye to my family and took off on a new adventure in France. This was the first time I had ever travelled to Europe and I was completely on my own. Between moments of panic and excitement I was able to meet a new group of people from all around the world. We decided to hike a volcano just outside of our home city. Not only did I feel challenged physically, but I also felt challenged emotionally and mentally. I was alone in a foreign country with people I barely knew and I was forcing myself to make my time in France as memorable as possible. I can tell you with complete certainty I did not want to climb this volcano. I woke up on that Saturday morning and I was so emotionally drained. I was already homesick and my anxiety would not let me relax. Will these people even like me? How do I connect with them? Questions circled my brain like a non-stop carousel. Every thought in my brain kept telling me not to go. There was no way I was fit enough to climb a volcano. These people will not like me. Yet, In my heart I knew I needed this. I had a gut feeling I would regret it if I did not go. Thank god I listened to my gut. I climbed that volcano all the way to the top with this new group of people. I felt like I was dying for a lot of the hike, but I pushed on until the very top. I could not let myself, or the rest of the group down. I have never felt so simultaneously challenged physically and emotionally before this day. What started out as a scary experience turned into the first memory I shared with my group of best friends. When I reached the top of that volcano, I truly for the first time felt like I could do this, all of it. I would be able to live in France. I would be able to make new friends. I would be able to fully enjoy my European experience. This photo represents perseverance to me because it reminds me I was able to overcome overwhelming physical and emotional challenges. Not only did I climb a volcano, I also made a group of life long friends. I believed in myself enough to push through challenges and make it to the top. I have learned that your fear and doubt are only as powerful as you allow them to be. This lesson of perseverance will stick with me through every challenge I may face.

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It’s a bright, sunny morning as we roll into the parking lot. The sprinklers lightly water the perfectly prepared diamond, the foul lines have been laid out razor straight from home plate to foul pole, and the infield dirt sits untouched. As I reach into my bag I pull out my ball glove, just as the sweet aroma of dirt, sweat, and leather enter my nostrils. It’s the final game of the season, my senior year. As I stand in the on deck circle, bat in hand, I envision the last base hit I had. My view of the pitch approaching, the feeling of my body as I begin to swing, and the sense of solid bat-to-ball contact comes flooding back to me. This is the only thought I have as I approach the batters box, I’m up, and the bases are loaded. I smooth out the dirt, dig in my back foot, and tap the outside edge of the plate with the end of my bat, tap. This is the scenario that I dreamt of while taking batting practice with my older brothers at the park down the street from my parent’s house.

I love the sight of a meticulously manicured baseball diamond. I love the click-clicking sound of metal cleats walking across a concrete dugout floor. I love the smell of pine tar as you grip a baseball bat. I love the feeling of making contact with a pitch so cleanly that you don’t even feel it connect with the bat. I love the crack sound as the wooden bat connects with the ball and sends it between the outfielders. I love the anticipation as I wait for the pitcher to begin his windup towards home so that I can make a mad dash to steal second base. I love the loud smack a catcher’s mitt makes as the pitcher puts the ball exactly where I place his target. I love the feeling of telling the pitcher to throw a curveball when the whole park is expecting a fastball.

Some of my happiest childhood memories have either occurred on a diamond or with people that I made connections with while playing baseball. Our common love for the game and our shared experiences has created a unique bond with teammates from the past. Accompanying these happy memories are also some major times of sadness and disappointment. Sport has taught me to not get too high when things are going good or too low when the going gets tough, and that some things are out of our control. The baseball field served as a place for me to fulfill my passion, to create lasting friendships, and learn valuable lessons that have made me into the person that I am today.

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My picture is one I captured on a hike early this spring at Big Whiteshell Lake. This hike was a little different than most I do during the summer. It started off as just sticking to the road and the plan was to walk around and check out some of the neighbours cabins. This never ended up happening because before long I asked my girlfriend Shay, “Want to go see what is on top of that hill?” She agreed, and off we headed into the bush. We walked a short distance and it already began to feel like we had been transported into the middle of the forest, in reality we were 5 minutes from the road. After a while I saw the tree, and my eyes lit up! I ran up to it to check it out from every side. I was amazed to see this well-established tree growing straight out of the thick slab of rock. As I snapped the picture I could feel her eyes rolling at the back of my head. I knew she did not feel the same excitement as she stated, “it’s just a tree.” I never really knew what excited me so much about that tree either until I really thought about it sometime later.

One reason this picture is important to me is because it reminds me of the power and the importance of exploration. The tree is growing in the middle of rock, a place that is supposed to prevent such growth. Yet, this tree pushed through and had done so for many, many years. It was something I was amazed by, yet, if we had not decided to venture off from our original plan we would have missed it.  As someone who is amazed by the environment and loves being outside this was a sight that warranted a picture. It reminded me of the importance of getting outside and exploring things, even if it is in your own community. Even though we were only a short distance from our road we managed to find something new and I think this idea relates to every community. You never know what you might find.

A second reason this photo speaks to me is because of the memory that is associated with it. It was a weekend where we got to get away after a challenging winter and recharge before the summer started. It is times like this that even though I know she is rolling her eyes at me and humoring me when I am talking about how cool this tree is that I truly grasp how thankful I am to have people like her in my life. People that support you in your simplest interests or craziest ideas. They give an effort to show interest in the things that you enjoy even if it is not something they enjoy. These types of people can make a picture say a thousand words. They make a picture that may not seem all that important be one that you cannot delete from your camera role because every time you scroll by it takes you back into the middle of the forest where that one tree is growing straight out of a rock.

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I took the final step off the creaky staircase that had been rammed against the body of the 737. I felt the hot tarmac penetrating through my shoes, almost melting the Nike’s I had been wearing for over twenty-four hours. I feel the winning combination of exhaling that last breath of stuffy, recirculated plane air and inhaling the fresh and unfamiliar air. It was like the gasping first breath after coming up from under the water. My heart pounds in a way that I couldn’t yet place and I clutch my bag securely against my side. The signage in the distance is in a language I can’t read and I’m scared. I feel my body tense up while I try to tell it to relax. I take a few steps and decide to follow the crowd, they seem to know what to do. Inhale, exhale, inhale exhale. As I reach two glass doors smudged with finger prints, I hear the calming sound of an intercom telling me not leave my bags unattended, in multiple languages.  I’ve heard that before, I am safe, I can do this. My body calmed, legs and arms tingled with excitement and I confidently walked toward the customs counter. I remember thinking how funny it was that such a simple intercom announcement brought me immense comfort. We are all so different, we are all the same.

I love travelling. I love the fear of the unknown paired with the excitement of adventure. I love meeting new people from all over the world. I love the smell, taste and touch of a new city, no two ever the same. I love immersing myself in other cultures. I love the friendly faces of hostel owners. I love planning. I love the calm look of a city from thousands of feet above. I love the last minute changes. I love being lost in dark streets with no sense of urgency or fear. I love the feeling of getting home. I love learning others stories and taking their perspectives with me. I love the busy days. I love the relaxing days. I love being pushed far out of my comfort zone. I love feeling so small. I love trying to pack everything I want to bring into a small pink backpack. I love that it never fits in that backpack on the way home. I love reflecting when I get home and staring at the same pictures year after year and still feeling the joy as if I was still there. I love that no two people are travelling for the exact same reason.

The moment I described in my first scene was right after I had landed in Bangkok, alone for two days before my friends joined me. Bangkok is BUSTLING. That single moment is replayed in my head like a tape every time I feel overwhelmed while exploring a new place. Travelling has taught me empathy, compassion and understanding for others, other cultures and myself. I have learned that no matter how hard I work to plan a trip; it is inevitable that the course will change, and that can feel scary. Sometimes getting lost is actually more fun than sticking with the plan. Travelling has taught me that experiences are more valuable than material objects. Being exposed to other cultures where people own far less made me horrified at how much unnecessary stuff I owned. I now try to buy pre loved items for my home or self when I can. Most importantly travelling has taught me that everyone everywhere basically longs for the same thing. We all live vastly different lives in the context of family, work and social circles but we are all incredibly alike in seeking love, happiness and validation. Although we may all have different ways of viewing these objectives or working towards achieving them, the desire is constant. This has taught me that you can relate to almost anyone if you peel back the superficial layers that separates us.

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As I look at this image, I think back to the way I was able to get away from all the stresses in my life and learning to enjoy the moment. This picture was taken this summer of 2020 when I went on a day trip to Reynold’s Pond about an hour outside of Winnipeg. It was a spur of the moment trip and turned into one of the most memorable days of the summer. While I was in quarantine, there were many days that just slowly ticked by and sitting in the house restlessly did not help with that. This was a day that we had thought would just be going for a swim and enjoying the summer sun. I gradually learned to enjoy the little things in life such as the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft caress that the air gives you as it runs along your skin and blows through your hair. This was a feeling of true bliss in an oasis of contempt. It was at this moment that I thought life could not get any better than this.

We soon saw these individuals riding around in ATV’s while going up and down sand dunes. They greeted us with a smile and seemed very friendly, we asked for a ride and he ended up taking us through muddy puddles and drifting. The combination of both fear and adrenaline was exhilarating while the after-effects left me with this memorable picture and a smile on my face. For a moment, I could escape what was going on in the world and enjoy that time with some of my closest friends. This is my most memorable image during a time that was difficult for the entire world. All I could hope for is that during a time like this, every person worldwide, had a moment like this to be immersed in their happy place.

This experience taught me that no matter how bad a moment in time may seem, there is always a way to overcome it. Perseverance can be defined as “continue in a course of action even in the face of difficulty or with little or no prospect of success.” To me, this means pushing through any tough moment in my life and to look for the brighter side of every scenario presented. I have learned to appreciate and surround myself with those that mean the most to me. Every experience has a lesson built within and it is up to us how we want to perceive these experiences that shape our future selves.

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The year was 2007. I was a fresh-faced teen from the small town of Gimli, obsessed with pop art and punk rock from the 1970s. So much so, that I begged my mom to dye my hair black so that I could look like Johnny Thunders from the New York Dolls.

The Dolls were my jam, but I held a very special place in my heart for the Velvet Underground. I loved the noisiness and raw emotion of the music. I loved the bending of genre and structure. I loved the poetry of Lou Reed and the deep gentle timbre of Nico's voice--but more than anything, I loved that bright yellow screen-printed banana on the front of the album cover.

When the Andy Warhol retrospective exhibit arrived at the Winnipeg Art Gallery, I saw that iconic banana on the advertisement, and I knew instantly that I had to go. Once again, I pleaded with my wonderful mom to take me and my freshly dyed head of black back-combed hair to the Winnipeg Art Gallery. I put on my favourite white denim jacket filled with band patches and studs, a selection of clunky plastic bangles, and bright red lipstick to attend my first ever art exhibit. Within minutes of stepping into the stark white and glossy floored gallery, I knew that I had to become a painter.

I love the flexibility and freedom of expression that painting provides. I love the daunting fear of a fresh white canvas. I love the endless possibilities only limited by your imagination. I love the way that every person mixes colour so differently. I love how you can find inspiration in absolutely anything, even a speck of dust on a record sleeve. I love how someone may paint heavy-handedly and messy, like the guitar playing of Johnny Thunders; or create something so deep and delicate, like the voice of Nico on that monumental screen-printed banana album.

But putting yourself out there is terrifying. When you become an artist, you open yourself up to criticism and critique like no other. For me, that was extremely difficult. Like, permanent-lump-stuck-my-throat-my-whole-degree kind of difficult. In art school, you must grow thick skin very quickly, but thick skin only comes with time and experience. Today I wear mine like it is my armour, and my secret weapon is to remind myself that art is completely subjective. After all, some people consider Andy Warhol’s famous screen-printed banana aesthetic fraud, and I consider it a masterpiece.

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My oldest brother Jansen is a lot like me - short straight hair, limbs that are too long for our torso, and probably the goofiest smiles you’ll ever see. Often people will mistake us for being twins when in reality Jansen is almost 9 years older than me, I’ve always heard of people disliking being told how much they look like their siblings but I fully embraced it. I mean, I’m being compared to my cool older brother, I’m taking that as a huge compliment.

My brother always had a sort of magnetism to him, almost to the point where people need to schedule hangout appointments with him just because they enjoy his company that much. I remember one particular time roughly 6-ish years ago that he and I went to the bank as he needed to deposit money. This was a bank that he used to work at as a Financial Advisor for several years so I expected him to make short conversations with a few of his old co-workers there. The second that the man entered the bank it seems as if every worker’s day just got a whole lot better. Initially, about 4 of the workers came up to talk to him while he was there, asking about his life and how he has been. Just observing my brother speak to them in such a genuine and personable tone made me understand why they jumped at the chance to speak to him again. Once the workers went back to work, my brother deposited his cash and on our way out he’s called into an office with 2 other people looking to chat with him. Apparently, my brother never dabbled in “small-talk” because somehow he had year-long meaningful responses to everything that everyone was saying. There was an elderly greeter at the door that has also known my brother for the time that he worked there, as I’m standing by the entrance waiting for my brother to finish his conversations the greeter looks at me and smiles. “This is what happens when you’re a nice person,” he says as he was observing my brother interact with his past colleagues.

Throughout the years, Jansen always taught me that being a man isn’t how tough you are or how many friends you have, it’s about treating people with respect and dignity. He showed me this not only by telling me but also by witnessing his interactions with such a large number of people.

I’m 23 years old and I still look at my brother the same way I did when I was 9. He’ll always be my biggest role model.

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At the time I wasn’t very good at sports. I had never really touched a volleyball and in all honesty, my friend and I decided to join the practice as sort of a joke. We stepped into the gym we were so used to being in - muddy lights, unkempt dusty floors with volleyball nets that would keep your local safety inspector up at night. We were heavily suited in plain t-shirts two sizes too large for us and shoes that experienced all four seasons twice over. Anyone could tell that it was our first time playing an actual sport, but what was comforting was that we weren’t the only 13 year olds trying something new. Sitting in front of the coach were prospective players that were still wearing jeans, a couple wearing toques and one particular student’s transition glasses were still darkened after having to quickly tell his parents that he’d be staying after school to practice with us. Coach Nychuk was the teacher running these practices, he gave his speech welcoming us and giving us words of encouragement before beginning the basic warm-up drills. I always envisioned “I’ll Make a Man out of You” playing in the back of Coach Nychuk’s mind because, oh boy, did we have a lot of work to do. We spent the last 3 months of our 7th grade in the gym right at 3:30pm honing all aspects of our game, it was a ton of fun and we loved every second of it. 8th grade rolls around and so do tryouts for the team, half the population of grade 8 boys at my school ended up trying out so I had my work cut out for me. I perform to the best of my ability but as an 8th grader going through puberty, my self-image was something I had yet to be proud of. Tryouts finish and as cathartic as it sounds I am the last person that the coach takes into the office to procure his final judgment.

“Darnell, you’re the last one we’re talking to today.”

“Yeah.. I hope I did okay..” I say timidly

“You’ve practiced with us for awhile, you do understand that there’s a lot that you need to work on moving forward right?”

“..I do understand” I murmur as I am fully expecting the worst at this point.

“Good, welcome to the team”

I had read somewhere before that a person experiences something known as a “Milestone Moment” 6-8 times throughout their life. These are significant life experiences that mark the start of a new chapter in one’s life. I believe this particular occasion was one of them.

I love everything about the game. I love passing a hard serve, I love the sound that the ball makes on a perfect spike, I love that I can play casually and competitively and I love watching others and learning from them. Even if I didn’t like every second of playing, I do appreciate all the moments that I was able to take part in. I learned how to deal with the emotions following a loss and to add to that, dealing with the emotions of losing a LOT. I learned the responsibility that a team captain holds, being able to invigorate the team and acting as a role model for younger students was something that I want to carry with me throughout the rest of my life. I also learned to accept that no matter how good our team got there will always be a team that is ready to challenge us, as Christopher Earle once said “be humble in victory and gracious in defeat.”

My love for volleyball is something that I want to pass down to others. The sport plays a big part as to why I want to become a Phys Ed teacher, I’ve seen the effect that amazing coaches have on their players both on the court and outside of it. I also have witnessed the downfall of one of my teams due to poor leadership, this is something I hope none of my future students have to face when playing the sport. I want to facilitate an environment where fun and competitiveness come hand in hand.

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This is a picture of me running a job workshop for students in high school back in August of 2019. In the photo there’s roughly around 14-ish students listening to me talk, to me that was  absolutely nerve-wracking. I had never run my own workshop or done an actual lesson in front of students before so this was something that was definitely out of my comfort zone. The week prior I was doing my research and preparing my PowerPoint in order to facilitate the workshop successfully, during that time my anxiety levels were fairly high. I would ask myself questions such as “What if no one shows up?” “What if people leave during the workshop?” “What if my presentation only lasts 10 minutes and people see how big of a dingus I am?” It was quite tough, but somewhere in the back of my mind I was also asking myself positive questions like “What if it does go great?” “What if one of these students actually found a job because of this workshop?” “Imagine how cool you look up in front of that group commanding the room.” The strength and perseverance didn’t come easy but as the workshop began, the students showed me how motivated they were to get their careers started. I couldn’t let them down, so I threw in all the knowledge and experience I had (with a sprinkle of dad jokes here and there) to make sure that I helped equip these students in their future endeavors.

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The floor vibrates with the rhythm of the dribbling ball. The voices of my teammates can barely be heard over the shouting and cheering of the crowd around us, as the uncertainty of the game arises. These feelings and sounds always bring out fond memories and lessons I learned through the game of basketball. I am connected with my family’s passion for basketball and sports in general. The sport history of my family expands throughout several generations. It started with enthusiasm from both of my grandfathers and is very much alive today since all my family still continues to enjoy sports. We are still very much attached to it through participation in sports as well as in following up with major sports events, such as the NBA for example.

I love the game of basketball and I am immersed in every aspect of it. Still, my love for basketball did not match the general sport preferences of the majority in Winnipeg, so I did not develop it as much as I wanted to. Basketball is not popular here in Canada as it is the USA or Europe. Hockey is the most popular sport here and naturally the broader possibilities are open to athletes who prefer playing hockey. Despite that, I have stayed active through participating in recreational basketball.

My love for basketball has taught me not to give up my passions despite obstacles and has reminded me of the importance to stay true to myself. These are the values that sports develop in children everywhere and this is exactly why it is essential that all children participate in sports or activities one way or another. A team setting such as basketball or even jazz band, helps build communication skills, teamwork and cohesiveness. These are essential skills that transfer over into all aspects of life.

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Anyways, I just got back from the washroom to meet my Dad, who also doubled as my coach, outside the ring where the current match was ending. There was about a minute left on the clock. Naturally, seeing the one-minute left until it was my turn to step into the ring, I resisted the urge to pee again. My Dad was used to all four of his daughters having nervous bladders, so he just asked if he could hold my water bottle. I remember the anticipation more than the fight. The fight was brief to me because I don’t know what I was thinking, I just got in the ring and kicked as much and as hard as I could until the fight ended. I won. I ran to the washroom. I got gold in my sparring category.

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Her hair changes with the weather, a gentle wave when the air is cool, or curly and untamed when the heat is devouring the day. The colour is between brunette and blonde, light in the summer and dark in the winter. However, her eyebrows are so pale they almost disappear into her skin. She has freckles that beautifully frame her face, a trait I have always envied about my sister. Kacey's eyes are dark blue, like the night sky just before the sun dips below the horizon. While her lips are usually shaped crescent in a smile, they are often plump in a pout filled with attitude, as her personality edges on the border between sassy and demonic. I would say she is erratic in the best way possible. Regardless of her split personality at home, she is quiet and reserved when she is in public. Some may confuse this with being shy, but she enjoys hearing other people talk and giving them the spotlight. At times she is my greatest enemy, but she will always be my best friend.

I remember the first time I thought of Kacey as more than my annoying sister. It was my first time babysitting her for an entire day. We planned on going to the movies but had instructions from our mom to walk our dog Saber before we left. I told Kacey that I would pull her in the wagon as we would walk to the movies, but she was determined that she was big enough to walk the whole way. Our air-conditioned home neglected to tell us that it was thirty degrees outside. About halfway through the walk, I hear a whimper complaining that I did not bring a wagon. Not wanting to miss the matinee with Kacey's little legs trailing behind, I had to give her a piggyback. Our shirts stuck together with sweat, and I prayed Saber would not try to chase anything in fear I could not hold her back with a sixty-pound child on my back. I soon realized how heavy a five-year-old child could be, coupled with the weight of her voice, wining that she was too hot and tired.

By the time we made it back home, we had to leave for the theatre. Feeling grumpy and exhausted, we washed up and changed, not wanting to miss Minions as I promised her a week ago we could see it. I knew the walk would be awful as a wagon ride was not an option this time. We set off, and the air was more relaxed, but Kacey was just as upset, yet she did not take the offer of staying home. I was excited to have a day all to myself with her, but I was starting to feel regret. Thankfully we made it to the movies not as a pool of sweat. I thought snacks would lighten our mood. Unfortunately, it made the tension worse. A heated argument broke out, as having a slushy and gummy bears were not enough because popcorn was essential. Trying to explain to a five-year-old that there is something as too much junk food was very challenging and resulted in the silent treatment. After the movie, we walk home; by then, it was early in the evening, and the sun was setting. Kacey was in a better mood but clearly tired, surprisingly not enough to keep complaining that she wanted to be pulled in a wagon. I was at my wit's end by the time we made it home. Wanting this day to be perfect, I felt defeated. I told Kacey she could stay up for another hour as it was not her bedtime then I went to the washroom to wash off this day.

When I came back, I found her curled up and asleep on the couch, exhausted from our adventure. Her face was half squished on a pillow with her hair cascading down her face. She almost looked like a baby again in her fetal position. She seemed so small and fragile. I knew then our day was worth it. What felt like the longest day ever felt sped forward. I barely remember her as a baby, but it did not feel that long ago, and Kacey was five already. My days with her as a child were short, as my dad likes to say, you are old a lot longer than you are young. Suddenly I became happy that we spent all day together, even though it was not as perfect as I planned. The day she is not a nuisance to me, she will be all grown up, which gave me a melancholy feeling. I realized that day how important she really was to me.

She has shaped who I am and who I want to become. I grew up with four brothers in a chaotic mess of a home. Consequently, it was hard to get attention and even harder to have your voice heard. My two older brothers had each other, as did my two younger brothers, and so I felt lonely at times. By the time Kacey was born, my two older brothers had moved out, our parents were divorced, and my younger brothers and I were in our teens, switching back and forth from our parent’s homes. I never wanted Kacey to feel like she was alone, so I made sure she could depend on me for anything. Whenever she needs help with school work, I am there learning with her, when she needs help with her crazy curly hair, I am there with a comb, and when she needs a break, I am ready for a bike ride or to watch Disney movies. Being a dependable sister has become a trait I admire the most about myself and a goal I want to translate into my teaching. I want to be more than just a passive teacher in students' lives. I hope to be at minimum, a positive influence during a student's experience at school, an educator that students can come too if they are having any trouble. What Kacey taught me is time flies fast, and children should not be stressed at school, they have their adulthood for that. Being a dependable person is essential to me, and I have Kacey to thank for that.

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Like a piece of glitter. Shiny, unexpected, bright. I sat down to describe a best friend and all I can think of is glitter. Ironically, it’s something she would have disagreed with. She was stronger than glitter and far more sustainable, and yet she caught the light so she is a little piece of glitter. Dressed in thrift finds and funky earrings, she mixed patterns and fabrics like a Robert Munch character and it all worked. Minimal makeup with collarbone length hair and a smile that lit up every room she was in. Her hugs felt like home and comfort and warmth and confidence and promise and love. She was all of those things, packed into a petite, feisty, unstoppable mind and body. Danielle was special.

We met spontaneously at an earring making event and were fast friends. We went to The Good Will to listen to a brass band. We both wore the earrings we made. It was magical. The music, the drinks, the conversation. It felt like we were floating, like we were infinite. An unspoken agreement covered the booth between us, we would be great friends for life. Her energy was contagious, something I later found out she felt the same for me, and her presence was undeniable.

In those hours we talked about everything – about ourselves, our goals, the future, disappointments, missed loves, current loves, happiness, Chinese food, habits, home. It was one of the first times in Winnipeg I felt I had found a piece of myself again. We had both moved here for jobs and were trying our best to embrace the unpredictable mountains and valleys of life. It was a night that I will cherish forever. It solidified our friendship, our support for one another, our passions that were confirmed to be worthy by someone like minded. We hugged outside in the cold air and as I walked home I wrote in my phone a note to myself: “remember how you feel right now, you feel like you.”

Danielle makes it easy to write about her, catching the light like a piece of glitter. One moment it’s there, the next its lost, only to catch the light unexpectantly again. She has shaped me in ways that are hard to express. At a time where I was struggling to be here, in my own anxiety, in my apartment, in Winnipeg, in a space that felt unmoving and uninspired, she helped shift it. We both decide to go back to school for education the following winter. We had simple goals: save the planet, shape future generations. It was her persistence and bravery that I admired most, serendipitously crafting her way into my life. She was a force to be reckoned with, a winter wind, soft but powerful enough to make drifts. She continues to inspire me to be more vocal, more nurturing to myself, more aggressive in what I want, more imaginative of what I could have, more vulnerable, more giving, more energetic, more open. More everything.

She was all of that and more. “Was”. How odd to say. Even before she was gone I drew on her tenacity and energy, often asking myself “what would Danielle do?”. If she were here, it would be nothing short of changing the world, I’m sure of it. Danielle passed away in March of 2019 to a plane crash in Ethiopia. I was wearing the earrings the morning I heard. The electric candle from her Assiniboine-side memorial still sits in my nightstand, flickering when I need a little extra light. A duplicate of her yellow origami flower sits in one of my potted plants, thriving in a jungle of others. I feel her in the energy of my classrooms, in the warmth from the sun, in the horns when I turn on jazz, in the smell of samosas we shared in a cramped living room. I am so thankful for her having ever been a part of my life. I feel special that I was able to know someone like her and when I think or read about her, my heart fills up knowing that the short time she was here was well spent. It drives me to push and learn and grow, to continue becoming the best possible version of myself. She is like glitter.

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My Aunt is a force to be reckoned with. Her eyes are kind, surrounded by laugh lines and wrinkles that she has never tried to hide. She has millions of freckles on her face and arms that I remember trying to count when I would sit in her lap as a child. My Aunt’s hair is wild and always tied back because she doesn’t have the time or the cares to actually do it in the morning; it has long since turned from fiery red to a well-earned speckled auburn-grey. Her hugs are warm and meaningful and she somehow always knows when they need to last a little longer than normal.  The moment when you first walk into her house is comforting. It’s not perfectly tidy, but it’s clean, there’s not one cohesive style or plan but it’s homey and welcoming. It invites people in just as warmly as my Aunt herself. I spent a lot of time with my aunt growing up. We share a love for second-hand store shopping, or as we called it when I was younger treasure hunting. Many of my favourite days were spent riding beside her in the car on our way to dig through clothes that smelt as if they’ve been in old closets for decades and well loved knick knacks. Our exciting treasures were cool pieces of furniture she could DIY, old books that made me nostalgic for my younger self and the funniest ugliest teapots we could find to give my Mom for Christmas.  The car rides were often more special than anything we could pick out at the stores anyway. We talked about everything and nothing for hours as we drove across the province, never feeling the need to turn the radio on. My aunt has listened without judgement throughout my entire life. While I grew up I gradually learnt how strong she has had to be throughout the years. She left a terrible situation, built her life up from nothing while raising three children and never complaining. My aunt proved to me that no matter what hardships arise, it’s possible to overcome them. She has shown me how important it is to make time to do what makes you happy. She taught me the importance of being able to provide for myself, but also that allowing yourself to have what you deserve is not selfish.

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In the midst of summer, together with the man I love, your refreshing and silencing effects remind me to slow down and soak in your beauty. As I step off the sturdy Earth and into the vessel that floats upon you, I am overjoyed with gratitude as we speed away to our favourite spot. Surrounded by your energy, with the sun setting behind your shores, you create the perfect backdrop for a beautiful surprise. A blissful memory that will forever harmonize my love for the water with the moment I said yes.

I love the body of water that is within arm’s reach of our home. I love the beautiful merriments that occur in and around it each season. I love the fog that rolls along the top, when the crisp winds of autumn churn with the warm air floating off the lake. I love when a deep drop in temperature causes it to freeze in the purest form, where we skate for miles in the dead of winter. I love the break up in the spring. I love watching the blocks of ice begin to separate and move toward the shores as they melt, like a droplet of soap being released into oil. I love hearing the waves softly breach the sandy shores when the months of summer return. I love the freeing feeling of diving beneath the surface on a sweltering day. I love the memories that are created around the water’s edge, with the people in my life who matter the most. I love visiting different bodies of water and the reassuring feeling they all have on my soul, as if I were immersed in the water by my home.

My love for the water has not only taught me to enjoy the stillness of life, but to also embrace the chaos that eventually subsides. The water has shown me how to create peace within myself when moments become thunderous. In times of uncertainty, the rhythmic heartbeat of the waves surge forward, reminding me to keep going, to persevere. Wherever I may be in the world, the water’s edge will always provide comfort. However, it is the body of water closest to home that I will forever cherish and love, till death do us part.

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I take my first step out of the house and I am struck by the heat, my eyes begin to squint as the hot August sun beams down from up above. The smell of the dairy farm just behind me fills my nose, but provides comfort knowing I am at a familiar place.  Walking step by step with one parent on each arm and my five best friends behind me I feel nothing but excitement as I think back to how long I had been looking forward to this day. When I turn the corner my heart swells as I see everyone I love in the world sitting still in white chairs, fanning themselves with ceremony programs to attempt to keep cool in the heat. When I reach the aisle, an unfamiliar feeling hits me like truck and I feel tears begin to stream down my face, and I fast forward in my mind to a few moments later when I would get to see the one I love most walk down the aisle.

This moment of the beginning of my wedding day was defining to me as I was overwhelmed with the support from family and friends. I felt a sense of belonging like I never thought possible.  During that huge change in my life, I felt a confidence and maturity like none other as my new wife and I were about to step into a brand new chapter of our lives. But in that moment,  we knew we weren’t alone as we could look out and see all the smiling faces there to support us. I love being around people, and  that day showed me that relationships is what can make a bad day good, and a good day great. Even after what felt like endless planning, I feel like all of that was left behind and having the people you love with you can make anything special. Feelings like this I can relate to my future profession as a teacher as it is an ultimate goal of mine to create that sense of belonging for all the students in my classroom. People matter, and their feelings matter too.  I feel my life is fueled by relationships and that is one of the many reasons I want to be a teacher. Not only do you build relationships with your students, but you are part of a community of educators that is there to support you even on your hardest days.

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I’ll always remember the day that I bought my first plant. My friend and I had recently moved into a new place and decided to take a trip to IKEA. We took our time browsing the upper level and imagining what it would be like to be able to decorate our whole place with brand new furniture. As we made our way down, we came across the plant section. I was a little surprised that IKEA carried plants, but I knew that would be the one item out of the whole store that I was leaving with. My friend and I each picked out an aloe vera plant and made a bet to see who could keep theirs alive the longest. When I say this was my first plant, I may have lied. I once attempted to keep a plant alive in a basement suite with little to no sunlight, and that did not go so well. This aloe vera plant was the first of my little plant collection, which I am happy to say is still alive and well 3 years later.

I love all plants. I love starting from scratch with a single leaf and watching it grow into something beautiful. I love the excitement of purchasing a new plant. I love the calmness I feel while caring for my plant collection. I love ensuring that their roots are healthy. I love playing musical chairs with them around the house, so I know they are getting just enough sunlight. I love watering them, possibly a little too much. I love trimming old leaves to make room for new ones.  I love having long conversations with my fellow plant-loving friends. I love the fact that we can not only exchange tips and tricks, but we can also exchange plant clippings! I love browsing the produce section at the grocery store, getting lost in the plant section, picking out one or two, and convincing myself that you can never have enough plants.

Plants are my passion because they give me a sense of accomplishment. It can be discouraging when a plant seems to be unhealthy no matter what I do to nurture it, but those feelings all go away when I see another one of my plants thriving and growing new leaves. Though I may not always notice until after, caring for my plants can be a huge stress reliever for me. There are some weeks where I neglect them more than others, but I always make sure to at least give them a little bit of water. Sometimes when walking around with the watering can, I can get carried away. I will start picking at dead leaves, changing their locations, or maybe even switch up their soil. A lot of the time I look back and an hour has passed by. I did not even notice because I was caught up in something that I enjoy and makes me feel accomplished.