Archive for the ‘What's Your Story?’ Category

by Jamila Remani

Ajax, ON

It started with St. Petersburg, Florida and it ended with my grandma. Which is to say, in a sense, it started and it ended with my grandma. My grandmother was Florida. She was the golden rays that woke me up before 8am; the breeze that danced through my hair on hot afternoons at the beach; ice cream at the fancy hotel down the street; the annual shuffleboard tournament before Happy Hour on St. Pat’s Day for all the old people; the little hill we had to drive over to get to the mall—the one that never failed to make my stomach rise and fall with the wheels of the car. She was in the lady that sold jewellery in the front room of Leverocks and in the man at McDonald’s who ordered a cheese burger with no cheese, and no bun. She was all the things that made the Sunshine State memorable.
I do not remember the first time we went, but I do know it was March Break. It always was. There is no clear divide between the years that followed; all of the memories blend together into one trip. The last time I was in Florida is the only year that’s clear in my mind. And still, not all of it is clear. I do not know, for instance, what bathing suit I wore, where we went for dinner (although I can make an accurate guess because the restaurants never really changed) or what flavour of ice cream I got at the Don Caesar. However, there are three things that changed that year, three things that are embedded in my mind like a footprint in wet cement. Read the rest of this entry »

by Renee Dumont

Assiniboia, Saskatchewan, Canada

I glance at the clock and it reads 8:03pm. I’ve been sitting in this hotel room since noon, and it’s getting annoying that the blizzard outside has still not let up. At least the rest of my family has gone to the pool, leaving me with a quiet room; they were starting to get on my nerves.

I’m regretting giving Dad and Darcy tickets to the Alan Jackson concert for their birthdays. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be storm-stayed in Moose Jaw right now. At least we got a room to crash in, otherwise who knows where I would be right now; although I must say, sitting on a hotel bed in a cramped room at the Spa, reading LA Candy and eating junk food we got on a supply trip to Wal-Mart wasn’t my first pick of how to spend my Saturday night. Read the rest of this entry »

By Vanessa Stewart, St. Cyril Science & Tech,

Calgary AB
There is nothing I would like more than to see me becoming well known. I don’t care what I’m known for, all I know is I want my name to be household. I want to fly first class. I want to make money.

My world is telling me to wake up and make money, and focus my life around money. The world tells me money is happiness. I want California. I want a life of sunshine in January and spring break in Jamaica.

Unfortunately, I live in Western Canada, in a little city called Calgary. If you walk down the street in Phoenix and ask anyone if they know where Calgary is, I’d be surprised if they even know about Alberta. I live in a city the size of a peanut, the best thing that came out of here was Highway 2 North. There are lots of sights I enjoy in Calgary, and some things I really like about where I live, but I want more than this. I want big. I want all the selfish things that humans do.

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By Lucy Ellis, Bishop Tonnos C.S.S.,
Ancaster ON

I was young when it happened, six years and ten months, to be precise. The date was October 11, 2000. I remember it in bits and pieces. Some aspects are completely clear. My family has filled others in over time as they recount the tale of our travels from Australia to Canada. I also have a few items that I brought with me
that are so filled with memories that they all but reduce me to tears when I’m feeling nostalgic.

I remember my mother buying me a special teddy bear before we left. My friends and I named him Peter, and his teddy bear purpose was to be written on. I went to school with Peter in one hand and a black permanent marker in the other. Peter was passed around to all of my friends and classmates, as well as my teachers. They signed him and wrote little messages.

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