Response to "The Management of Grief", Bharati Mukherjee -- By David Z. He

I heard a woman who is boiling water tells her story again, if I recall I remembers that she lives the street from mine, she and Satish moved in less than a month ago for a bigger place. They were friendly to neighbor and are liked widely by the society. They made homemade tandoori on their grill and even the white neighbors would stretch their arms desperate for another refill fir the lusture red, charred, juicy Indian chicken cuisine. Their younger daughter danced and sang, they made albums and everyone seemed to enjoy it. I saw my mother bowed and her eyebrows twisted together because of the sorrow of loss—“How many happy faces are gone, why does God give us so much if he plans to take it all away?” she cried out. Kusum, tells her story again, “When I first heard the news, my cousins called from Halifax before the morning, could you imagine? He has already up for prayers and his son overheard about something happened to a plan when he was on a rock channel while reviewing his medical test, “I cried out and paniced”, “what happen, something bad, what do you mean something bad? A hijack.” I’ve never thought it would be something so horrendous like bomb the plan of 364 people inside it. And then he said “sorry, but there is no confirmation of anything yet, check with your neighbors down the streets, lots of them must be on that air plane. As soon as I realized that the Kusums’ have booked their tickets to Vancouver, I panicked, hoping that the accident is just a mechanical mistake that make the planes not able to take off, I’m cheating myself over the brutal reality.

Response to "An Ounce of Cure", Alice Munro by David Z. He

Question: What does the title mean? Why was this saying changed from its original meaning for the title? How is this theme explored?

An ounce of cure, which represents the essential idea of this writing, means that “an ounce of prevention is worth an ounce of cure”. Judging from the main characters’ experience in her child hood, she is in ordeals throughout the story. The abuse using of alcohol to put her sorrow into numbness, also accompanied by guilt for the aftermath, the theme is developed by an incident happened in her child hood while she was babysitting, she got drunk and had to face her parents; from that, she learned that “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, the original title seems to value cure more than the prevention, but the truth is a prevention is more important than the cure…

Short Story-- Gregory Archibald

Short Story – Gregory Archibald
Student: David Z. He Course: ENG2D -12 Teacher: Mr. Andrew Bryce
Location: Toronto Airport
He could still felt his family watching; tried his best to conceal the grief by putting on a sun glasses. He turned around and waved to his beloved family and faked a smile on the face, yes, he is indeed a decent actor. He could feels the tears coming down from his eyes—he is glad that the glasses work; the airport security checked his documents and let him in, he didn’t turn around—“this is place is horrible, I can’t stay here anymore.” He thought, “Why are they still watching me? This only gives both sides a hard”, he increased his pacing speed, walked towards a tax free liquor store and picked a bottle of single malt whiskey. He is 22 but he seemed like a lot older than his appearances, he sat on a bar and started to drink, hoped that the alcohol could clear his mind but it only made it worse with nauseas in the stomach.
“Jesus, I have only 13 minutes to board the plane, God, can’t I just stay a little longer?”, he griped and walked towards the boarding gate. “May I have your boarding tickets and passport, sir?” the steward asked, he remained silence and handed the things to her.
“Hi. Mr. Archibald, welcome aboard. You destination is Hong Kong, is that correct?”
“Yes, it is” he said.
“We wish you have a pleasant flight, thank you for choosing us.” She said with a smile.

Location: Hong Kong
“Mr. Gregory Archibald, where did you come from?” the CIQ [1] asked.
“Canada, my home.” Greg answered with a sense of helplessness.
“Sir, what’s the purpose of your visit to Hong Kong this time?”
“Study, college, I’m here to attend the Globe Acting University, I’m a new student there, they have one of the best acting program in the world you know.” He said.
The CIQ officer said nothing and kept on looking at his paperwork, after a few minutes, he said “Thank you, welcome to Hong Kong.” Greg smiled and went for the luggage. “7A, 7A, aha! Here it is.” He had felt a lot better by sleeping for 12 hours, seemed left Canada behind. After half an hour, he managed to get out of the overwhelmed airport and got on a taxi.
“To Global Acting University, please.” He said to the driver and loaded the luggage.
“What? To where? ” the driver asked with a strong Chinese accent.
“To Global Acting University, you know, the well-known campus here.” He repeated the sentences again, “oh, here is a card from the professor there, it should have an address on it.”
The driver looked at the card and sighed with impatient attitude, “okay okay la, I know.” He started the car and drove. Now Greg felt comfortable and relaxed, he looked outside the window to sightsee the night of Hong Kong and hoped that it would make him feel more like home. But this ease was interrupted by the violent movement of the car and the strange language coming out of the driver’s mouth. Greg was trying to figure what was happening, he could fell the car moving fast and agilely but yet dangerously among the traffic jam. He couldn’t help to start to worry, at the same time, the car in front of theirs stopped abruptly due to the sudden change of the traffic light; the driver seemed well-prepared, he stopped in time and rolled down the window and started shouting at the car driver. Although Greg doesn’t understand what he is talking about, but he was sure that was not something nice.
“People are brutal here; you don’t drive by and swear at someone because they stop in the road” he wondered, “OH. I really missed Canada, the Timmy’s, ice-hockey and the Canadian Moose Beer. Why am I really here. I’m even doubt if they have Starbucks here…” he can’t start questioning himself if he had done the right things; then he got intruded by the sound of the break. The driver turned around and said: “Sorry, but I don’t know where that is.”; “What? This is a joke right? How
could you tell someone to get in if you didn’t even know the destination?” Greg asked with slight anger.
“Sorry, I don’t understand English, you, must go!” the driver said calmly which agitated this friendly Canadian more.
“NO! You can’t leave your customer in the middle of a street, it’s unprofessional and immoral!” he shouted out load. However, the driver ignored the complains and started to take his things out of the car. “Stop. NO. You stop.” Greg shouted fretfully, “this is ridiculous.” He said to the driver, “It’s obligatory and your duty to accommodate the customers, instead of ditch them in the alley!”. The driver said nothing but “I don’t know the place, it’s as far as I could get, now the total is 80 HKD.”
“What the heck is this all about? A robbery or something?” Greg questioned.
“80 dollar, you must pay, sir.” The drive answered.
Greg knew that there is no point kept arguing with this kind of people, one of them have to back up, “I’m a foreigner in this land, how am I supposed to get advantages or justice?”. He stood silently and then opened his wallet, paid the driver 100 dollar “Just keep the change”, he said and grabbed his luggage and left the car.
Greg stopped another taxi and asked him to take him to the campus; the taxi driver said “Yes” and let him in. He said nothing during the ride, meditated and depressed about the incident happened to himself; “We are here.” The driver said, Greg seemed to regain consciences again, he looked outside the window and saw the perfect symmetric campus—elegant, contemporary but suppressed—, “wait, is it really right? I come all the way here for an unacquainted university and a stomach-full of chagrins?” He paid and went along into the campus, thinking “Maybe I’m just tired, perhaps it’s the Jetlag, Yes, it must be. I will explore here, I have to, I will survive here. Be the change you want the world to be.”
Tomorrow will be another day…

To Be Continued…
[1] CIQ: Custom, immigration, quarantine, a customs inspection.

Commentary On Margret Atwood's Happy Endings

Commentary On Margret Atwood's Happy Endings . -- David Z. He
Happy Endings” first appears in Atwood’s 1983 collection, Murder in the Dark: Short Fiction and Prose Poems. The story depicts various types of couples, from mediocre to stereotype. It singles out “Happy Ending” for each situation for its own “ruthless and pessimism”. The whole atmosphere in the short story is grey – John & Mary, as well as Fred & Madge may seemed happy but eventually they were still miserable, the whole story is written in a multi-choice form, which allow the reader to choose from A to F. The narration of the story is explicit but strait, with barely any motions, gives the readers a complete objective but cold feeling -- there is no thing as Happy Endings, because ultimately, as Atwood points out, the end matters little. Readers will be more attracted on the middle of the story—where address the reasons. “Love is portrayed as effortless, and is a natural, rewarding, and mutual experience for both individuals involved” (Quoted from: www. Studentcentral.co.uk, Through analysis of “Happy Endings” by Margret Atwoods)

Commentary On the Poem--The Swimmer's Moment

This is a Mid 20th Century Poem which is written by magaret Avison.
Commented by David Z. He
The Swimmer's Moment
Margaret Avison
From: Winter Sun. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962. pp.36
For everyoneThe swimmer's moment at the whirlpool comes,
But many at that moment will not say
"This is the whirlpool, then."By their refusal they are saved
From the black pit, and also from contesting
The deadly rapids, and emerging in
The mysterious, and more ample, further waters.
And so their bland-blank faces turn and turn
Pale and forever on the rim of suction
They will not recognize.
Of those who dare the knowledge
Many are whirled into the ominous centre
That, gaping vertical, seals up
For them an eternal boon of privacy,
So that we turn away from their defeat
With a despair, not for their deaths, but for
Ourselves, who cannot penetrate their secret
Nor even guess at the anonymous breadth
Where one or two have won:
(The silver reaches of the estuary).

Commentary:
Through this poem, the author is making metaphorical comparison between swimming and life. The title itself gives evidence to support this as swimmer’s life could be related to the moment in life when one must choose whether or not to overcome challenge and obstacles, which is whirlpool. It is hard to tell because the metaphors that the author uses could be interpreted differently. “Many are whirled into the ominous centre/That, gaping vertical, seals up.” Through this quote we can prove that many people who encounter hardships tries to overcome them, however, if they don’t have a strong heart, they will not come out of them.
I liked the poem because the significant moment of life is compared to the trivial actions of swimming. This poem gives great consequence to the purpose of the depth of a challenge. It is an inspirational piece that shows us that if you have the courage to succeed, you will
The poem is written in free style with no regular meter nor rhyme scheme.
The description of water makes readers to imagine a picturesque. The words such as “black pit, rim of suction, whirl, anonymous breath, bland-blank faces” make imagery on senses. The poem makes an image of hope among despair.
The exploration at the beginning of Canada’s history relates to this poem greatly. As the early explorers sailed into unknown waters and dreamt about the new world in the despair of the many storms and hardships at sea. They overcame their boredom and succeed in landing on the coast of the New world. The swimmer in this poem has faced the hardships and risks involved in conquering the obstacles. They were faced with unknown challenges and long sea voyages, considering that they rarely left sight of the shore this was an incredible feat of hope and determination where they overcame the obstacles and did not get sucked into the depths of the whirlpool.

By --David Z. He. David Hakim. Molly Kim. Chirtopher Warrent

Response to Outdoor/Sensory Poem -- David Z. He

Poem digested from Christopher Warrent's Blog
Original Poem:
In the Dead of Winter...-By Christopher Warren

As I lay in bed that cold winter’s night;
I look out my window and see the snow;
I dream of the sun’s majestic bright light;
But who weaved this storm,
Not I, I can’t sew;

As I sit there alone, out comes my book;
I dream, summer’s past and the busy air;
I defy my great grief to take a look;
Now the skyline covered, layer upon layer;

I began to sum, I would go outside;
As I opened the door I saw but white;
I was shocked the Weatherman, he had lied;
I stood there watching, never such a sight.
I walked to the lake and to my surprise;

The banks were warmed by a blanket of snow;
It was unfrozen, my mother, all lies;
As I stood there in thought I heard, wind blow;
I walked about, heard the crunch of snow;

And saw the sorry state of the mighty trees;
Suddenly the sight of geese, fly south, GO!
I ne’er realized how I miss the bees;
Few tracks pollute the crispy, new white pack;

White caps of ice float, an uncharted course;
The heavy breeze picks up the natural slack.
Devastating ice, at the mercy of an unchanging source;
As I lay there alone I fell to ground;
The calming breeze made quiet the great noise;
And pondered the way my thoughts were unbound;
T’was as if I had forgotten all sense of poise;

What more can I say of that wonderful bitter;
Oh day of days in the dead of winter;

Commentary:
I think this poem is very detailed-depicted and emotional. First from the title, In the Dead of Winter we could feel the coldness simply from the word “Dead”. Also the writer’s emotion changed from the baffled about whether he should go out or not to delightful when he saw the sight from the river bank. “White caps of ice float, an uncharted course;” this sentences depicted the floating ice with no clear direction, also suggesting that the writer’s current status of mind. Also, there is still some humorous lines existing, for instance, “Suddenly the sight of geese, fly south, GO!”, we could feel that the writer is delightful to be outside despite the coldness. The writer combined the five senses fairly well and depicted the white, frozen and silent river bank, in the end, the writer seems calm and he had forgotten all of his sorrow and the earthborn affair. What more can I say of that wonderful bitter. Oh day of days in the dead of winter.
However, I think that the poem should be more concentrate on the theme: which is the five senses.

Regular Meters, Form Poem Attemp--Like Pilgrims (Modified) --David Z. He

Like Pilgrims
David Z. He
21, January, 2009

This is a modified version of my former poem.
This is an imbic pentemeter poem in Villianelle form.

In Canada we are pilgrims marching
Through the Kingdom of thousand missionaries
Beneath the sand hill the gold is gleaming

Individual position is easing
Become the unitive believers
In Canada we are pilgrims marching

Consciousness and opinions are arising
People of Yellows, darks, with whites and browns
Beneath the sand hill the gold is gleaming

Undertook doubt the future we exploring
Thrill through the bramble survived as fighters
In Canada we are pilgrims marching

Rivers may show puniness to the ocean
Combined, the strength, is the sole harmonies
Beneath the sand pile the gold is gleaming

Oh Canada, absorbing yet diverse
In her we develop with uniques
In Canada we are pilgrims marching
Beneath the sand pile the gold is gleaming

Outdoor Sensory Poem-- Five of Lake Ontario --David Z. He

This is a poem which I wrote shortly after the trip to Lake Ontario in the Campass.
There is no form or specific rhyms or meters.
But it depicted my inner heart...

Five Sences in Lake Ontario
David Z. He
2009 . Jan. 20th

Strolling in the white, pure snow
The velvet-like flakes spiralling down my face
Melting on my skin
The fragrance of oaks and pines
Like freshly distilled single malt
I can hear the wind whisper around my ear
Narrating the tales of the natural
Of how the geese dive into the lake
Of how the hares sipping water
I can even taste the wind
It’s refresh and bland
Calm, peaceful and invigorating
Yes, that’s how I feel.
I could even taste the icicles

Like Pilgrim--David Z. He

Like Pilgrim
David Z. He
2009-01-17

This is a villianelles poem, a imbic tetrameter poem.





In Canada we like pilgrims marching
Through the Kingdom of thousand missionaries
Under the sand the gold is gleaming

Nationality, ritual or social position is easing
Intentionally adopting the universal identity of believers
In Canada we like pilgrims marching

Personal consciences and opinions are encouraging
Yellows, darks, with whites and browns
Under the sand the gold is gleaming

Undertaken the questions the future we exploiting
Through the bramble survived kindred as fighters
In Canada we like pilgrims marching

Rivers may show puniness to ocean comparing
Combine, the strength, is the sole harmonies
Under the sand the gold is gleaming

Oh Canada, absorbing diversity but not diverging.
Among majority we develop with unique features
In Canada we like pilgrims marching
Under the sand the gold is gleaming

Canadian Poem--David Z. He

In the society we arise
Among the majority we gleam like gold
Despite the mainstream we have our unique feature
In Canada we path and explore our future
Combine the mainstream and the river
The capacity and knowledge is ever stronger
An applied ideology of racial, cultural and ethnic diversity
Within the personal consciousness and opinion
We survived and create the culture
China town, delight food and Kong Fu Panda
In the past we were questioned and struggled
But today in the society we arise
Among the majority we gleam like gold

Some Photos about muticulturalism:

Francesco Pirelli at Union Station donated by the Italian community of Toronto in 1985






































China Town:
































































Next Solution: A flag for the Minority In Canada

Canadian Identity Poem By John McCrae

In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow'

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.