Category Archives: Multicultural

Ode to Backyard Gardening

Ode to Backyard Gardening

Lipless mouth of the earth—she has planted her many clocks
The ground is pregnant in too many places
with tiny empresses on her wrist 

Her hands weed out the thyme; time is a spool; an autumn seamstress of patience
A tundra tending architect
Club bouncer of biomes

Find her; search her
thaw her out—
her belly has swollen too big

Her nurturing placenta caskets; pulping over; the collection, 
Of everything inside her, childish and buried;
Asphyxiated paper cut-out dolls
Frosting over

Ask them; flax and psyllium
Aren’t fathers equal to mothers?
As pistil is to stamen
Tell me, Fertilizer and measuring tape of sacrifice

Mother has become a statue and we no longer wait,
Waiting is for summer, when she is an ant mound

And we bring her saffron offerings
And a whistle for her feet

So that she blesses this house that waits for
No one and nothing but garden gnomes and
Wrist watches

Underground, father doesn’t know how we exist
He knows only that we are boundless
Citizens of space debris

Father is our earth monger 
Soil for soul

—Rose Haberer, age 16, Toronto, Canada. She writes: “My family has roots in Poland, Lithuania and South Africa. My writing is inspired by feminism and the Gurlesque, which blends campy, girly, grotesque, and carnivalesque elements. I am influenced by the authors I admire—Kelly Link, Jennifer Egan, Mona Awad, Kurt Vonnegut, Joan Didion, and Sylvia Plath—along with the women in my life who have led me to write about the struggles and complexities of femininity. Writing is how I make noise, channeling the absurd, stitching together the surreal, and screaming without ever opening my mouth. This is why I won the creative writing award at Interlochen Arts Camp, and it continues to drive me as I sharpen my voice through journalism, writing for The Annex Gleaner, a local Toronto newspaper.

“Overwhelmed by thoughts of climate disaster, I often find myself flooded with emotions that I need to excise through artistic expression. In this piece, I reflect on how nature functions within my family, how the ecosystem in my backyard is tended to, and how my family members each have roles within that ecosystem, both functional and emotional. In the piece, I view the members of my family as belonging to the garden, reflecting how we are all children of nature.

“Writing transcends the mundane and breaks conformity and it is something that I hope to continue to do for the rest of my life. Whether through fiction, journalism, or the secret language of music, I’m always searching for new ways to push against the limits of meaning and find the beauty in distortion.”

Nimbu Pani, Homemade Lemonade

Nimbu Pani, A Cupful of Summer

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India.

How to make a cupful of summer
Recipe for Nimbu Pani—homemade lemonade

Step 1
Sunshine squeeze
Get two lovely lemons, the
cheery colour of sunshine
and of everyday joy, and
squeeze the lovely tang
into your cupful of summer.

Step 2
Sweet memories
Summer won’t be summer
without galore memories made.
Add plenty of sugar crystals, so
each sweet moment may last forever,
preserved in your cupful of summer

Step 3
Sun’s hot!
The days are rather long now
with scorching, afternoons
to rival the sun’s hot temper
add a smidgen of spice, salt, and mint
make your cupful of summer exciting

Step 4
Serve summer
Pour water in, and stir well, let everything
blend in well together, remember without it
your summer will be plain water
days dripping like water drops, monotonously
but now you have (nimbu pani), a cupful of summer

—Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India. She adds: “I am originally from the Indian state of Kerala, but I was born and raised in Bengaluru, Karnataka, and I am going to 9th grade next year. I can speak Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi, and Kannada, along with English. I started writing in 3rd grade, beginning with a poem about a playground… My poems are forthcoming in StoneSoup magazine, and I was a blogger and website committee member there. Additionally, I have received a few honorable mentions for my pieces. I was the editor in charge of the school magazine last year, and I have won prizes at the GetLit Poetry Fest and Spin a Yarn contest.

“Nimbu Pani—A Cupful of Summer” is about homemade lemonade, a beverage everyone enjoys during hot Indian summers. Hot summer afternoons are spent lazing on the balcony, sipping lemonade, and reading books. Nimbu pani is made with spices, salt, sugar, and mint.

“I love writing and reading about everyday things that I can relate to. I generally do not follow a strict form in my poems, because I get more room for creativity… Through my poems and prose, I like to give voices to those silent and mundane events that play a huge role in our everyday lives… I understand the impact writing has when it comes to spreading the right messages.”

Editor’s Note:
 In India, English words are generally written using British spellings; colour rather than color (as used in America), for example.
In Hindi language, nimbu is lemon and pani is water.

Holi: Chaotic Colours

Holi: Chaotic Colours*

By Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India.

the scorching sun, burns out
all the bitter feelings as we
gather at the small maidan,**
at the end of our
busy street, a maidan which
is dusty, dirty, dry just
like how we feel after,
the chaotic year we had

the oldest clothes in each
household are donned today by
all, showcasing the chaotic year
that has just gone by

then we drench each other
with fresh water, washing away
all the pain, worries, grief
and sorrow, that has stuck
to us like the burrs
In the grass in our
little maidan, washing away the
last, chaotic year we had

then we grin, feeling much
better and get our Holi,
powdered colors and throw it
at each other and after
we are done with our
simple game, our clothes are
a riot of colour, and we
Are ready for the chaotic
year we will be having.

—Elaine Elizabeth Jinto, age 14, India. She adds: “I am originally from the Indian state of Kerala, but I was born and raised in Bengaluru, Karnataka, and I am going to 9th grade next year. I can speak Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi, and Kannada, along with English. I started writing in 3rd grade, beginning with a poem about a playground… I serve as the Editor-in-chief of our school magazine… I understand the impact writing has when it comes to spreading the right messages.

“…my poem is about the Holi festival in India. It is one of my favorite festivals, and it is a time when friends and foes enjoy splashing color and water on each other. It is a time of joy and new beginnings. I love playing Holi with my friends and family and eating pani puri at the end of the day. The poem is 29 lines long and has a challenging restraint. Each line has exactly 5 words.

“I love writing and reading about everyday things that I can relate to. I generally do not follow a strict form in my poems, because I get more room for creativity… Through my poems and prose, I like to give voices to those silent and mundane events that play a huge role in our everyday lives… I am so happy I am getting a chance to share them with the rest of the world.”

Editor’s Notes:
The festival of Holi celebrates the triumph of good over evil and it marks the arrival of spring and the end of winter in India. This year, it was celebrated on March 12th and 13th.
* In India, English words are generally written using British spellings; colour in place of color (in America), for example.
** Maidan: an open space in a city or neighborhood, usually it’s a bare or grassy ground, and it is used for sports, games or large gatherings.

Vaccinations and Our Disease of Doubt

Vaccinations and Our Disease of Doubt

By Adam Salgado, grade 10, Texas.

Since the first days of vaccination there has always been hesitancy in using such preventative measures, however now it has become a talking point for mainstream political candidates. Despite global successes and proven science, in recent decades anti-vaccination ideology has proliferated on a shocking scale. With multiple parties and religious groups attacking their use and credibility, we must ask ourselves how vaccines became such a widely debated issue, and as our government begins to take a hardened perspective on vaccination, we must prepare to curb this wave of medical misinformation.

History shows that it doesn’t take much to convince people that painful things are bad. Oftentimes an unrealistic fear of such things can be extremely harmful. We do not fear going to the gym, or exercising, but sometimes it feels daunting. The same is true for vaccines. However, with vaccines, it is much easier to employ the ever present doubt in the government. This doubt in the government, and medicine as a whole, was especially present in the late 1700s and the 1800s.

In Anti-vax: the history of a scientific problem by a psychology professor in Chile, Dr. Miguel Gallegos, et. al. (https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9383768/) the authors write that “It is important to note that the anti-vaccination movement dates back to 1796 when the English doctor Edward Jenner introduced the smallpox vaccine. This vaccine reduced the number of deaths caused by smallpox,… and in 1979 the disease was officially eradicated.” During the 18th century medicine was particularly primitive, with the only vaccine literally being the (inactive) virus it warded against, so, it is natural that some members of the public might have developed a sense of dread surrounding vaccines. These hesitations were merited, in a time where illness could end up in death. However, In the modern day and age, we get to look back on history, with clear evidence that vaccines did work and they still continue to work.

The vaccines available these days are far more effective, as well as harmless, but this does not alter the fact that vaccines are nonetheless a widely-disputed issue. Also in Anti-vax, the authors write, “Until now, it is well known that immunizations are the world’s safest method to prevent diseases. People against immunizations represent a relevant part of the global population and examining the negative attitudes towards vaccines should be included in the world’s scientific agenda.”

A percentage of the population has always doubted vaccines, but recently vaccine requirements have become a widespread political issue. These confounding attitudes towards scientifically proven medicine are often baffling, and they make it important to study, and hopefully curtail the misinformation that has bred distrust of vaccines. This issue exploded during the Covid-19 pandemic, when after the release of the vaccine, President Trump began staunchly opposing the vaccine mandates. However, this opposition extended far beyond the U.S. borders and was a global phenomenon.

An opposition to mandatory vaccination requirements is understandable. In order to prepare for future pandemics, we must first understand what causes people to resist vaccination. Without changes in public mindset, their widespread use would be much more difficult.

Our current administration’s attitude towards vaccinations is particularly frightening, and will create a real danger to public health. American politics have significant influence over this issue, and key players in the anti-vaccine movement such as Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. are shaping up to have more sway than ever on vaccinations. According to Truthout, Dr. Jerome Adams, who served as Surgeon General during Trump’s first administration, said “If RFK has a significant influence on the next administration, that could further erode people’s willingness to get up to date with recommended vaccines.”

The anti-vaccine attitude of the current administration will have a negative impact on public health as a whole. If people do not get vaccinated, it will not only be an issue for the ones not taking them, but also for anybody around them who may be immunocompromised, making this dangerous and all the more worrisome. Truthout also reported that “…the Trump-Kennedy alliance has alluded to taking certain vaccines off the market. Both have made claims that vaccines are linked to autism, despite the fact that this has been repeatedly debunked in scientific studies across several decades. Nevertheless, Trump didn’t rule out the possibility of banning some vaccines in an interview with NBC News.”

This skewed perspective towards vaccines has left many worried—and not without reason. While vaccines may not be universally accepted, the idea of banning them, or making them less available for those who need them, can be more than enough to cause unease about the future of medical care in America.

Controversial though they may be, vaccines are widely accepted for a reason. It is not the place of our leaders—whomever they may be—to argue against centuries of proven success. Vaccines are as beneficial to human beings as bathing, and while it may seem trivial to some, the decision to vaccinate can mean life or death to some, especially the week, the elderly and the immunocompromised. The only real cure for the disease of doubt is awareness. During the next four years this awareness will be more important than ever, as vaccines are battered from all sides with misinformation and distrust.

—Adam Salgado, grade 10, Texas.

An Interfaith Prayer of the Upward Path

An Interfaith Prayer of the Upward Path

By Dennis Rivers, Oregon

May I use
this painful moment,
to love more deeply

May I use
this painful moment,
to see more clearly

May I use
this painful moment,
to act more creatively

That all may be lifted up.

Amen.

By Dennis Rivers, Oregon. He adds: “We have within us a power of love greater than we know and much larger than who we think we are. That deep love hidden within us, is the sacred gift that we were born to offer each painful situation into which we will be thrown.”

“Rift” & “Anticipation”, Two Poems

By Gabriel Cheng, age 16, New York.

1. Rift

Beyond the horizon,
the sun begins its descent
into darkness. From my boat,
an off-white wooden petal floating
on the summer-calm Winnipeg,
I breathe in the forsaken festival.
Unshackled by night, swirling
mixtures of maroon and black
frolic in the sky, like children of the sun
set free. Slowly,
the hero of this requiem creeps up,
its luminescence pale and misty.
Then the stars, tarnished and enigmatic,
arrive, disrupting their lives
to reach the moon, everything
attempting to rivet a frayed bond.

I am an outcast in my home
shrouded by inanimate shadows and feign,
witnessing from afar a tale of sorrow
for what could have been,
Kites mingling above star-kissed hills,
fingers clasped with another’s under
a candle-lit table, the laughter of children
orbiting the room like Earth orbits the sun.

As the ceremony comes to an end,
my body tilts with the breath of the sea,
another wandering soul exhumed
on a boat drifting towards and away.

2.  Anticipation

I wake up to my alarm, groggily, fumble for the snooze button,
My heart racing from the jolt. As the blaring ceases

I rub off relics of the night, expecting clarity, only to be greeted
by flurries of light cast from the window-framed sky.

The door creaks as I stumble out of the shadows and into a man-made ravine,
the corridor dividing the subconscious as the sky does heaven.

I enter the kitchen and grab a naked piece of toast. I pop it in the oven,
watching expressions crease along the crusted ridges of its face.

With each bite comes the nostalgia of emptiness sunken deep
inside and lurking within the cavities of my stomach.

I shove the remaining sliver in my mouth and swallow.

The futility hisses in my ears like an engine and something
pounds in my chest fiercely, trying to escape. But I don’t.

I descend the winding stairs leading to the blue expanse,
walk down the asphalt weathered by a trillion steps.

I search for a raindrop, a signal I’m heading down the right path.
I look to the sky and wait,

a moment of silence
anticipating its touch.

—By Gabriel Cheng, age 16, New York. He adds:
“I am a multilingual Asian-American teenager. Poetry and prose have always been my passion, driving me to become an editor-in-chief for my school’s award-winning literature and art magazine, as well as news editor for our campus newspaper. Through both of these positions, I have cultivated a desire to spread my knowledge and to teach others. Outside of school, I’ve built on this commitment to cultural access by tutoring English to Ukrainian children, and then teaching chess after the language lessons.”

A Stronger, Happier Self through Teen Friendships

A Stronger, Happier Self through Teen Friendships

By Kayla C., California.

One Sunday last spring, my friends and I gathered at my house to work on the poster and decide the food for a cultural food festival at my school. We blasted music on our devices, screaming, laughing, and joking—having the time of our lives. Jolie kept slipping on the floor, causing us to all laugh, so I got her some slippers (she still tripped.) After Jolie came out of the bathroom, Elle knelt and proposed to her with a toy flower, and got rejected. (Elle married Leyla instead.) Later, we went for ice cream and drowned it in sprinkles. It was fun to spend time together and work on a project we all cared about. We could easily engage in conversation and have fun while doing so. Friendships like these make us feel wanted, supported, and free to be who we are. Teenage friendships are vital because they can help you become a better person.

Teens talk more about their social life with friends than their parents. They see them nearly every day at school, online, and outside of school. Teens spend more time going and being at school than they do at home. School is where teens make the most friends and their social life revolves around. The result is that they see their friends more than their family, allowing them to understand better and deepen their bonds. Teens and their friends’ type of humor, experiences, and age all affect how they interact with one another, so they feel more comfortable talking to one friend versus another based on how much they trust them. In the article, Having A Best Friend In Your Teenage Years Could Benefit You For Life, Chen writes, “…unwavering support acts as a kind of protective buffer against insults to your self-worth or feelings of depression. That can be especially beneficial during adolescence, a formative period when peer feedback has extra gravity.” (https://www.npr.org).

When someone requires reassurance and company, their friends act as supportive and protective beings that help them re-assess their self-esteem. The result is that teens feel more confident in themselves and trust their friends to be there for them when needed. They develop more trust in them and feel they can rely on them when they’re struggling, so teens often talk about their problems with their friends rather than family.

We need close friendships in middle and high school because quality friendships can help develop your self-confidence over time. “The significance of adolescent friendships seems to lie not in the number of friends a person has, but in the strength of a close friendship. Popularity isn’t important; it’s the true knowing and being known by another person that provides a teen with critical life skills that will serve him well for years to come.” (https://www.arnoldpalmerhospital.com).

A friendship is more important in quality than quantity. If you were to pick between having more friends but not as close versus only one friend whom you are very close to, it’s an obvious choice. Friends help teens realize they are recognized and loved for who they are and understand and accept their differences. “When the researchers evaluated the participants at the conclusion of the study, the ones who had close, emotional links showed improvement in their levels of anxiety, depression, and self-worth. In other words, they reported less depression and anxiety and more self-worth at 25 than they had at 15 and 16.”

Friends with close bonds lasted for not only a long time but helped both re-evaluate and boost their self-worth and confidence. The links they’ve formed kept them connected, allowing them to build trust and help each other through difficult times. Emotional support can guide a happier life and continued virtuous friendships. All that said, the question remains: how do we make the kind of friendships that change our lives for the better?

The most important part of having healthy, long-lasting friendships is effort. You must put in the work for the friendship to thrive because this is your friendship with your friends. Around Christmastime, my friend, Akhila, gave gifts to our whole friend group as a way to say, “Hey, I appreciate you, thank you for being my friend and making my day better every day.” It showed us that she cares, and it makes us feel happy when we’re in her presence. Each gift was different—she knew what we liked and spent her own time finding a gift for us. She paid attention to the little facts about us and found a gift that related to our interests or hobbies.

When it comes to friendships, race, gender, or cultural background don’t necessarily play a significant role in whom you can become friends with. As long as you find someone enjoyable, and comfortable and safe to be around, that’s considered a friend. One of my friends came out last year, and our friend group all accepted and supported them for who they are. Even our classmates outside of the friend group accepted them. To keep any friendships or relationships alive, you need to make sure everyone is cared for, and show that you are making an effort to sustain the friendship.

One of the greatest gifts in my life is my friends. They support me when I’m feeling low, are fun to have around and feel comfortable around me. During our teenage years, we grow more distant from our parents and feel more self-aware. Having good friends we can rely on can help us later in life because we will have less stress, anxiety, and increased confidence. Friends are important in our lives because they can encourage us to be our best selves.

—Kayla C., California. She adds: “… I can speak primarily English and Chinese. The most important aspects of my life are my friends, family, my pet, and the moments I share with them. I hope to live a fulfilling, but also simplistic lifestyle in the future. The people around me who look down on teen friendships and believe they can ruin relationships with your parents inspired me to write this piece.”

Why I Hate Writing Essays

Why I Hate Writing Essays

By Neel Archis-Manish, age 17, Michigan.

It’s the fault of a rigid and purely grade-based public education system. I’m talking about why in today’s world, writings in schools have become a series of boring, formulative, information-stacked essays instead of genuine pieces of creations. I’m not blaming the public school teachers who simply mean well and are horribly underpaid. No, I blame historical education practices.

As a fourth year high school student in the US, I have written many essays in my ELA classes that respond to a specific prompt, include quoted sources, and require annotations on the side. All this basic system does is it makes me hate writing. I hate to say it, but it’s true.

I used to LOVE writing. I wrote poetry (it wasn’t great) and short stories (it was a laughing matter) and started writing my biography several times (I swear I’m going to get past Chapter 1 some day). But no matter how bad it all was, at least writing it didn’t kill my soul a little bit every time.

Language is a powerful tool that can be used to build empires and destroy them. Words are mightier than the sword not because nobody uses swords anymore, but because humans have the right to use words freely. High schoolers are so worried about their Grammarly scores and the 11:59 PM deadline that they often forget the importance of being present as a writer in their writings.

Quoted sources from all across the internet are great, and so are annotations. But neither helps an individual grow as an individual writer. The ‘classics’ we read in our English classes today weren’t classified as classics because they contained a well-researched bibliography, they were titled ‘classics’ because they were written from the deepest emotions from a true heart.

Formality kills humanity. Sure, you could decide to put on a fancy shirt and a suit and a tie and act like a functioning human being to charm yourself into some high-paying corporate job that covers dental insurance, but then what’s the difference between you and a slightly good-looking robot? Feelings are what humans have been doing best since the dawn of time. Let’s not forget our origins.

Love, respect, kindness, greed, envy, jealousy, selfishness, selflessness, humility, humanity, power, hunger, disgust, fear, sadness, anxiety, awkwardness, joy, pride, shame, disappointment, calmness, rage, confusions, desire, and so many more HUMAN emotions and feelings the world possesses. Why are adults teaching kids to bury all of them deep inside and instead turn to writing informative 2000-word essays about a global issue that then students pretend to care about for the sake of getting an A on a summative assessment?

I used to spend hours and hours reading books of mystery, fantasy, and historical fiction. I loved the feeling of being lost in a world where the real words ceased to exist. I loved the feeling of having to imagine, to create, and to be surprised. I used to come up with my own characters when reading stories about people. I used to make up landscapes and roam across Rome and Romania. I don’t do that anymore.

Writing based on information as opposed to human nature has killed the excited kid inside of me that once upon a time lived happily ever after. I’ve stopped reading books for fun. I’ve stopped being excited to enter a library and find a good book and open it in the middle and smell the smell of the fresh paper. I’ve stopped scribbling terrible poetry and weird short stories and unfinished memoirs on scraps of paper.

I once wanted to be one of those writers who wrote the first line of the first chapter of their first hit book on a napkin in a small bistro in a corner of a small town. I don’t want to do that anymore. Now, I just want to turn in my essay before 11:59 PM on the day of the submission deadline.

—Neel Archis-Manish, age 17, Michigan. He adds:

I was raised in Pune, Maharashtra, India in a house with two decent parents (they’re great!), a sister whom I hate passionately (it’s just a sibling relationship: I would give her my kidney, but not my phone charger), and a loving grandmother who’s cooking is, in one word, divine.

Growing up, I went to a Marathi-Medium school and learned Marathi (my mother tongue), Hindi, and English. When I was 15, my dad was fortunate to get an inter-company transfer. So in the midst of the Covid-19 Pandemic, our family relocated to Michigan in the United States of America.

I am currently enrolled at a good public school where I am able to make my Indian ancestors happy by performing well in academics, all while doing what I now love most: theatre. I am now the President of our school’s Drama Club. I participate (act, student direct, and head publicity and programs) in three productions each year, write and perform for our social justice theatre troupe, and have won numerous awards by doing forensics (competitive public speaking). Life is good.

I LOVE comedy. I have watched and re-watched and re-re-watched a ton of comedy sitcoms and TV shows. If you’re looking for someone to understand and laugh with you on niche Saturday Night Live references, I am your guy. Laughter is simply the best medicine, even when you’re not ill.

Currently, I’m looking at colleges and thinking about what I want to do. I’m at a point where ‘what do you want to be when you grow up’ is a legitimate question and not what an adult uses as an ice-breaker when talking to a child. Anyway, I’m fairly certain that I want to become a Secondary English Educator. Which led me to look into writing and publishing opportunities.

Save Them Bears

Save Them Bears

By Ya-Ting Yu, Taiwan

Black Bear recently moved north for climate change research. During the festive season, Black Bear’s colleague, Polar Bear, invited him to her family dinner. “No Bear should be alone on Christmas Eve,” she said when she heard the un-partnered Black Bear planned to hibernate in his cave. With no excuse to say no, Black Bear obliged.

That evening, Black Bear arrived at Polar Bear’s home with a basket of cloudberries in his paws. He’d agonized over the gift, unsure what to bring. Though he’d seen Polar Bear’s lunch boxes: ringed seals, whale carcasses, geese eggs, he still preferred chestnuts and persimmons. Honey and beetle larvae were rare treats he savoured after long hours of foraging through data at the lab, but to be inclusive, a value Polar Bear emphasized, he chose cloudberries, safe for vegans, vegetarians, and the nut-allergic.

Polar Bear’s family welcomed Black Bear warmly, hugging, kissing and thanking him profusely for the cloudberries. Flustered by the sudden physical contact, Black Bear forced a courteous smile and awkwardly patted Polar Bear’s Mom’s back, relieved when she finally let go of his paw. It was his first time receiving kisses from complete strangers. Where he came from, in the East, Bears rarely even shook paws, sniffing was usually as close as they got.

But their habitat differences didn’t stop there. For an occasion like Christmas Eve, Polar Bear’s family usually indulged in seal and whale fat. Vegetation was more for decoration, except for the hippie Cousin who’d recently turned vegan to combat the melting ice.

Before dinner, the family gathered in prayer positions, bowing their fluffy heads to say grace. Black Bear, unfamiliar with their faith, looked from left to right at the table and hurried to mimic their gestures.

“Amen,” Black Bear echoed, a pace too slow.

“Do Bears in your forest also celebrate Christmas?” Polar Bear’s Mom asked.

Black Bear scratched his ear. “I guess so? But it’s more of a time when Bears hunt for deals—shopping sprees, fancy meals. We don’t get the day off, you see. Lunar New Year, now that’s a feast worth hibernating in Taiwan.”

“Oh, are you from Taiwan?” Polar Bear’s Aunt leaned closer, her snout twitching. “My son volunteered to build homes for the poor children in rural parts of your forest. Right, Cubby? He, sorry—they have an igloo architectural license.”

Mortified, Polar Bear injected, “Auntie, Cousin went to Thailand, not Taiwan.” Her fur bristled as she glanced at Black Bear.

“That’s cool,” Black Bear said. “But igloos? My Sun Bear friend told me they melt once the volunteers take off. At the end, it seems easier for them to sleep in trees.”

“In trees!” Polar Bear’s Aunt gasped. “Son, you must go back and build them un-meltable igloos next time. The poor cubs. Just imagine—they don’t even have blackout curtains!” She sighed sympathetically and turned to Black Bear. “Do you have blackout curtains in Taiwan? Don’t tell me you also sleep in trees.”

“Oh no,“ Black Bear said with an uneasy laugh. ”Mostly caves or tree cavities. The only time I climb trees is when I’m hungry—for honey and bee larvae. Have you tried them?”

“Bee larvae? That sounds disgusting,” Polar Bear’s Cousin said, wrinkling their nose, unfazed by Polar Bear’s death glare across the table. “Thailand fed us Pad Thai and Green Curry every day.”

“Son,” Polar Bear’s Uncle rumbled as he lumbered over with a platter of barbecued seal fat. “Don’t you know Formosan Black Bears are battling Giant Pandas to protect their territory? What propaganda are you watching all day on TikTok? Read the news.”

Polar Bear’s Aunt sniffled. “I heard about that conflict. Is that why you left, Black Bear? It must be so dangerous back home. Don’t worry. Stay here in the Arctic as long as you want. We’ll sponsor you.”

No longer able to tolerate her extended family’s political incorrectness, Polar Bear tried to stir the conversation. “So, Black Bear, how’s your research? Any insights to share?”

“Yes, actually,” Black Bear said. “Before coming here, I thought Taiwan did a terrible job on climate change initiatives. Sure, we mostly rely on fossil fuels, but imagine squeezing Australia’s population into an area the size of Switzerland. Add typhoons and earthquakes to the mix. Our islands need to generate energy for millions and the semiconductor industry, which, by the way,” he added, fixing his gaze on Polar Bear’s Cousin, “powers your AI, EVs, solar panels, and wind turbines. Charity case, eh?”

A beat of silence followed as Polar Bear’s family exchanged looks. The Cousin shifted in their seat, ears flattening. Minutes passed. Polar Bear cleared her throat.

“Did you know Taiwan is smaller than many of our icebergs?” she asked, her voice tentative, like a kind schoolteacher. “Every Bear does what they can with what they have. And really, isn’t that what this is about? Climate change affects us all—even those big-headed humans. Here we are, just bears trying to adapt.”

She surveyed her family, looking each in the eye, and finally at Black Bear. “And if Black Bear can adapt to seal fat and bear kisses, maybe we can try a little harder too.”

For the first time that evening, Black Bear felt the tension in his shoulders ease, melting faster than glaciers. Maybe he didn’t fully belong in the Arctic yet, but any bear could find a caring companion who understood, even in this icy corner of the world. He leaned in to sniff the barbecue seal fat and said, “Hold up. Let me get my soy sauce.”

Story and illustration by Ya-Ting Yu is a Taiwanese writer based in Taipei, with roots stretching to Toronto and Edinburgh. Writing in English as her second language, she weaves themes of identity and belonging, drawing on her background in counseling and psychology to tell the stories of East Asian expatriates and international students.

Save Them Bears was inspired by my own experience as a Taiwanese expat, navigating the nuances of cultural assimilation and identity. I hope to highlight how cultural misunderstandings can be wrapped in well-meaning gestures. By anthropomorphizing the characters, I aim to create a story that is somewhat ‘trigger-free’ yet thought-provoking.

Pamela and the Patient Cactus

Pamela and the Patient Cactus

By Chuck Curatalo, New York.

“I’d better hurry!” said Pamela, dashing down the stairs. Her loose shoes clunketty-clunked down the wooden steps.

“Slow down,” said Mother. “And tie those shoes like a good first grader.”

“But Mom, I just cannot be late for school today. Miss Jones is teaching science. Science is about animals and other things,” she recited before gulping down her milk and dashing out to the bus stop.

“Today we will begin learning about plants,” said Miss Jones as she began the lesson. “Plants are living things—just like you and me. Let’s make a collection of plants for our Show and Tell. Then we can learn how they live and grow.”

“But Miss Jones, how can a plant be like us? It does not have a mouth and a nose.”

Miss Jones laughed. “Be patient. We will soon find out. But for now, be patient.

“Patient?” What does that mean?” wondered Pamela, dashing for her lunch box.

The next day Mr. Smith, the florist, led Pamela and her mother through a long greenhouse filled with plants of all sizes. Suddenly Pamela noticed a strange, funny-looking one with no leaves at all, just a short, fat, and fuzzy-looking stem. Pamela touched it. “Ouch!” she said. “It pinched me.”

“That’s a cactus plant,” said Mr. Smith. “You felt its needles.”

Pamela looked closer. “Why does it have needles?” she asked.

“Why don’t you take it to school and find out?” Mr. Smith answered. “This cactus is called a saguaro (sah-WAH-row). That’s only one of the many amazing things about it. But you must be very patient”—

Sonoran Desert Landscape with a Saguaro, among other Desert Plants. Photo: Arun Toké.

“Oh, Mommy!” interrupted Pamela. “The kids won’t believe needles grow on plants.”

The next morning Pamela placed her cactus on the window ledge next to the bigger plants. “Can you see the needles?” Pamela asked her friend Bobby, holding a magnifying glass close to the plant.

“Wow!” said Bobby. “They look humongous.”

“You can touch them if you want,” said Pamela. “But be careful.”

“Ouch!” said Bobby. 

“I told you to be careful,” Pamela laughed.

Days went by but Pamela’s cactus did not seem to grow—no matter how much she watered it. “Oh, Mommy I’m afraid the boys and girls will start making fun of my little plant,” cried Pamela.

“The saguaro is growing. It’s just taking its time. It is not always in a big hurry like you,” said Mother. “When it does finally grow—something wonderful happens.”

“What is it, Mommy?” asked Pamela.

“Be patient, and you will, see?” she answered.

“Mommy, what does patient mean?”

“It means you must wait a long time for something to happen and you must not complain. The saguaro is waiting patiently for something amazing to happen!”

“O.K. Mommy,” answered Pamela, wiping her tears away.

Days went by and the cactus still did not seem to grow. But Pamela tried to be patient. “Are you growing?” she asked calmly.

One day Miss Jones showed the class a book about cactus plants. “My tiny cactus isn’t even in here,” said Pamela, as Miss Jones flipped the pages.

Then Miss Jones pointed to a giant cactus with huge, thick arms. “Now here’s a picture of what Pamela’s cactus will someday look like”—

Saguaros in the Saguaro National Park, Arizona. Photo: Arun N. Toké

“It looks like a giant fork!” interrupted Bobby.

Everyone laughed, except Pamela. “But Miss Jones, that can’t be a saguaro. It is so big!”

“Yes, it is very big, Pamela. It is 50 feet tall,” explained Miss Jones. She held up a ruler. “It takes 50 of these to reach its top. And it is a saguaro—just like your plant.”

“But why is that saguaro so big?” Pamela asked. “My saguaro has not grown at all. And it does not even have one teeny-tiny arm!”

Miss Jones smiled. “That’s because this 50-ft. saguaro is over 200 years old”—

“Two hundred years?” said Pamela. “Isn’t that a long, long time?”

“Yes, it is,” answered Miss Jones. “Your saguaro is only about six years old.”

“Six years old?” said Pamela. “I’m also six years old.”

Miss Jones smiled again. “Just think, boys and girls, it will take 25 years before Pamela’s saguaro is as tall as she is. But in 200 years it will be taller than our school. And can you believe this plant started from a seed as tiny as a period in this book?”

“A-maz-ing!” said Pamela. “That is why Mommy said the saguaro was patient. It takes time to grow. But when it grows, it grows!

“Indeed, it does, Pamela,” replied Miss Jones. “And it has lovely flowers that grow on the ends of its arms”—

“Miss Jones!” interrupted Bobby. “Can I make a hole in the roof so Pamela’s cactus can get really big?” Everyone had a good laugh.

That night Pamela had a wonderful dream…

While sitting on the window ledge, the cactus began to grow and grow. Before Pamela could count to ten, the cactus was as tall as she. Before she could count to 20, it was peeking through the hole Bobby Briggs had made in the roof. And it kept on growing—up past the big oak tree on the busy school playground.

Then the giant sprouted mighty arms that stretched out and out. They started to bend—straight up to the sky! Pretty flowers with white petals and golden centers began blooming on each tip.

By the time Pamela could count to 30, the giant began shedding its petals. They went dancing and swirling in the air like giant snowflakes. The children ran around and around, trying to catch them.

Not long after her dream ended, Pamela heard Mother’s knock. “Time to get up, Sweetheart.”

“Wow! What a dream!” said Pamela, tossing her covers. She knew it would take a long, long time for her cactus to grow big and strong. “I’ll just have to be patient—like my saguaro!” she decided, taking the time to tie her shoelaces before going down the stairs.

Saguaro along a Hiking Trail in the Superstition Mountains area of Arizona. Photo: Nathan Toké.

By Chuck Curatalo, New York. Mr. Curatalo retired after teaching for 33 years. He instilled an appreciation for other cultures of the world in his elementary grade students. He has been also interested in teaching children about the wonders of the Southwest. He is a collector of Hopi Kachina dolls and has toured many historic pueblos. He is a published author.