Taima Julia Sy She still dances My great grandmother is a hundred and one. I call her taima, father’s grandmother in hokkien. My tribute to Taima was supposed to be an art
I open my apartment door eager to see the familiar violet azaleas lining the walkway nearest my apartment building. My lips curl into a smile as I pass by a large bunch of daffodils. I run my fingers across their velvety petals; each touch fills my heart with happiness. However, seeing a cluster of yellow tulips nearby, I tear up. Nostalgia washes over me as these delicate flowers evoke memories of my time with you.
But the words
Look it’s her,
Look it’s her,
Look it’s her
keep repeating in my head.
It’s all in the attitude,
My father used to say.
If you don’t change,
It will make you go astray.
love stories told in roses.
I was in the attic. The damp, dark attic. I was sitting on a creaky bed right next to the window. Fireworks again. My neighbours cheering again. I winced from the pain on my knee — but when I looked down, I saw it wasn’t bleeding anymore.
Why did I keep doing this?
I could smell the dampness of the attic. The warmth. I touched the window, but jerked my hand back — it was ice-cold. I blew on my hands to warm them. The attic shone with gold and red, constant ‘booms!’ here and there.
Wasn’t this familiar?
By Alexa Sy, Year 13 Sometimes I surprise myself. Far from the familiar elation that the end of the school year usually brings, my mood last June was unexpected and my sense of
By Gabby Uy, Year 10 People often talk about self-love like it’s some kind of magic bullet. Be yourself and the right people will love the real you. Believe in yourself and your dreams will