“Go home. Get some sleep” by Julia on the bed

Wednesday June 3, 2020
2:29pm
5 minutes
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay
Michael Chabon

In the last few days we have seen the focus become singular, and good, and finally, and I know I could have pulled up sooner. I know what it means to not have to think about it daily, and not think of my own skin as more than skin. Skin in the game, singular, sorries.

When a friend posts about responding verses reacting to racisim, when a friend posts about needing all lanes and not to worry if you don’t occupy all of them.
These are resonating bells that some rest is needed to show up better and stronger and with attention.

“A boy in my algebra class nicknamed me “terrorist”” by Julia at English Bay Beach


Saturday September 12, 2015
8:01pm
5 minutes
https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/life-as-a-hairy-muslim-girl-after-911

I think Luke heard it from his dad or something. Luke is always coming into class with his big words and his big hate and it sounds like stuff his dad says. My dad says that Luke’s dad is a vessel of pure sadness. I don’t get how he thinks he’s sad, cause Luke’s dad is always yelling and screaming and swearing and stuff and that seems like he’s pretty angry to me. Sad is when you cry and when your nose leaks and your stomach gets that empty feeling. How do you get that sad empty feeling when you’re always filling your stomach with cans of beer?
Luke is always saying things to me or to Ruby about our skin and about our voices. He laughs and his face goes all red when he holds my arms behind my back and calls me a “terrorist.”

“Was it good or was it evil?” by Sasha on the Bathurst streetcar going North


Sunday March 2, 2013
1:02am
5 minutes
East Of Eden
John Steinbeck


Bobby Bicklestein wasn’t sure how he felt about his new Grade Six teacher, Miss Asha. Number one, he had had a raging crush on Mrs. Hill, who’d gotten knocked up and had to depart after Christmas holiday. Miss Asha, first name Asha, second name Khan, was too young to be teaching almost-teenagers. She didn’t look a day older than twenty two. Also, why should they call her by her first name, but with an obligatory “Miss” in front? Progressive in the worst possible way, thought Bobby. Progressive in the same way that their desks were arranged in circular “pods” and not the common rows, which Mrs. Hill had always paced with grace and a smile. Miss Asha said that she was born in Egypt. Bobby imagined her climbing pyramids and riding Sphinx as a little girl. He was a bit envious, but never would have told a soul. She wore a scarf over her head which Bobby desperately wanted to pull off. Mike MacPherson asked, on their first day back in the New Year, “If we aren’t allowed to wear hats Why don’t you have to take off your head-dress-thing?” Everyone snickered and a few of the girls blushed. Leave it to Mike. Miss Asha said, in her quiet voice, in her “I’m the boss now, suckerz” voice, “I wear a hijab, Mike. It is a symbol of modesty in my religion.” She didn’t smile. She walked over to Mike and continued, “I would like you to research the hijab for tomorrow so that the whole class can understand a bit better. Please prepare a five minute presentation.” Mike rolled his eyes when she turned her back. Bobby sat behind Mike. He poked him with the eraser end of his pencil. “I hate her, too,” he said, when Mike turned around.