Emi Ando
By: Mattia Gibbs
“Writing means a way to express my feelings and share them with others. It also allows me to share ethereal moments in my life or imagination.”
This is how Emi Ando describes her love for writing, a passion she first discovered in elementary school.
Emi Ando is currently in ninth grade, and has been at Collingwood since junior kindergarten. Since she was little, Emi has enjoyed writing in many different forms. She first discovered her love for writing through poetry, and later began working on short stories as well. She says that one of her favourite aspects of writing is discovering new words to add to her work.
Apart from writing, Emi also excels in many other activities. She has been doing competitive chinese dance outside of school for nine years. On top of that, she is an accomplished debater and public speaker, and also enjoys playing basketball in her spare time. In school, her favourite subject is Humanities, because of her love for writing.
Emi says that art is important to her because it is “a direct reflection of [one’s] feelings and personality”. This is why she believes that the most important aspect of writing is to have your own personal style that, though perhaps inspired by other writers, is original and distinct. In her case, she does not take inspiration from any person in particular. Instead, she says that she is inspired by the genre of old literature in general, which has compelled her to write more poetry and enabled her to discover her own unique style.
Emi’s main advice for anyone looking to develop their writing skills is that reading is the most effective way of becoming a better writer. Not only does it expand your vocabulary, but it also helps familiarise you with a variety of phrases and expressions. Not to mention, reading is just an important and fun activity for any person.
Emi has already competed successfully in many writing contests, and she plans to continue her writing career past high school. Although she doesn’t know exactly what she plans to do for a career later in life, she is certain of one thing; no matter what job she pursues, writing and literature will always play an important role in her life.
Read her short story below:
By: Mattia Gibbs
“Writing means a way to express my feelings and share them with others. It also allows me to share ethereal moments in my life or imagination.”
This is how Emi Ando describes her love for writing, a passion she first discovered in elementary school.
Emi Ando is currently in ninth grade, and has been at Collingwood since junior kindergarten. Since she was little, Emi has enjoyed writing in many different forms. She first discovered her love for writing through poetry, and later began working on short stories as well. She says that one of her favourite aspects of writing is discovering new words to add to her work.
Apart from writing, Emi also excels in many other activities. She has been doing competitive chinese dance outside of school for nine years. On top of that, she is an accomplished debater and public speaker, and also enjoys playing basketball in her spare time. In school, her favourite subject is Humanities, because of her love for writing.
Emi says that art is important to her because it is “a direct reflection of [one’s] feelings and personality”. This is why she believes that the most important aspect of writing is to have your own personal style that, though perhaps inspired by other writers, is original and distinct. In her case, she does not take inspiration from any person in particular. Instead, she says that she is inspired by the genre of old literature in general, which has compelled her to write more poetry and enabled her to discover her own unique style.
Emi’s main advice for anyone looking to develop their writing skills is that reading is the most effective way of becoming a better writer. Not only does it expand your vocabulary, but it also helps familiarise you with a variety of phrases and expressions. Not to mention, reading is just an important and fun activity for any person.
Emi has already competed successfully in many writing contests, and she plans to continue her writing career past high school. Although she doesn’t know exactly what she plans to do for a career later in life, she is certain of one thing; no matter what job she pursues, writing and literature will always play an important role in her life.
Read her short story below:
The 10s
As the lights toggled to a close, the room abruptly turned black. Among the darkness was a window that framed the half-illuminated moon, beautiful and glistening against the midnight sky. It's light, in the form of ethereal rays, cast upon a pair of curious eyes. Laying snugly in her bed, a child listened closely as the sound of footsteps faded into distant silence. Slowly, she crawled off the edge of her mattress, the wooden floorboards creaking and groaning ever so slightly as she approached the window. In a matter of seconds, the cold glass was pushed upward, letting in a sweet and familiar breeze. Expertly, she climbed into the vast night sky.
Then, the child began to run. Her eyes glistened, her face tickled red, and her white nightgown flowed in the wind as she hurried along the soft dirt road. She didn’t stop until she reached a small field of poppies. The flowers swayed in the wind, like waves brushing up against one another. There in the sea of red, a couple stood hand in hand, both tall, with matching dimples and chiseled smiles gleaming on their moonlit faces. Arms open, the child embraced the pair, the warmth of their bodies casting away the coldness of the air and the comfort of their presence chasing away any negative feelings, leaving only happiness.
As the trio exchanged lively chatter, the smell of freshly baked fish and potato pie suddenly drifted from within a house beside the field. As they entered the home, the worn but welcoming yellow wallpaper and the freshly painted white cabinets of the kitchen were all too familiar. Wooden chairs were perfectly placed around a round, wooden table, which sat atop a large woven rug. The child looked around intently, and there, at the centre of it all, in the coal-burning oven, was the glorious pie that was perfectly browned on its peaks. The crunch of the crust paired with the savoury fish flavor, mixed with the soft, buttery mashed potatoes, filled their mouths. As they laughed and ate, warmth filled the child's heart, followed by a rare smile.
As the night grew more profound, the child became weary. Seeing this, the couple assured her that they would finish the meal the next day. They led the sleepy child upstairs into her small but cozy bedroom, lit by a fuel-burning lamp on the bedside table. After tucking her in and kissing her goodnight, the couple turned away. The child’s face flooded with alarm as she struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to make this moment last forever. She fought desperately against the sleep that had wrapped around her, threatening to pull her away. She fought against the heaviness in her eyelids and her vulnerable mind, which had already begun wandering. She had experienced this hurt too many times—this feeling of loss, this feeling of aloneness. Through the slit in her half-closed eyes, she saw the backs of her parents, the same image she’d seen hundreds of times before. A single, fat tear rolled down her face as she progressively gave up her struggle against the rest.
As the lights toggled open, the room was abruptly filled with light. The chatter of young girls rose above the beds that lined the bare walls of the large room. Slowly wiping away her tears, the child forced herself out of bed, past her bedside table, past the wilted bundle of poppies, past the picture framed in broken glass of a smiling couple with matching dimples, standing in a yellow room with white cabinets, and into the lit corridors of the orphanage.
As the lights toggled to a close, the room abruptly turned black. Among the darkness was a window that framed the half-illuminated moon, beautiful and glistening against the midnight sky. It's light, in the form of ethereal rays, cast upon a pair of curious eyes. Laying snugly in her bed, a child listened closely as the sound of footsteps faded into distant silence. Slowly, she crawled off the edge of her mattress, the wooden floorboards creaking and groaning ever so slightly as she approached the window. In a matter of seconds, the cold glass was pushed upward, letting in a sweet and familiar breeze. Expertly, she climbed into the vast night sky.
Then, the child began to run. Her eyes glistened, her face tickled red, and her white nightgown flowed in the wind as she hurried along the soft dirt road. She didn’t stop until she reached a small field of poppies. The flowers swayed in the wind, like waves brushing up against one another. There in the sea of red, a couple stood hand in hand, both tall, with matching dimples and chiseled smiles gleaming on their moonlit faces. Arms open, the child embraced the pair, the warmth of their bodies casting away the coldness of the air and the comfort of their presence chasing away any negative feelings, leaving only happiness.
As the trio exchanged lively chatter, the smell of freshly baked fish and potato pie suddenly drifted from within a house beside the field. As they entered the home, the worn but welcoming yellow wallpaper and the freshly painted white cabinets of the kitchen were all too familiar. Wooden chairs were perfectly placed around a round, wooden table, which sat atop a large woven rug. The child looked around intently, and there, at the centre of it all, in the coal-burning oven, was the glorious pie that was perfectly browned on its peaks. The crunch of the crust paired with the savoury fish flavor, mixed with the soft, buttery mashed potatoes, filled their mouths. As they laughed and ate, warmth filled the child's heart, followed by a rare smile.
As the night grew more profound, the child became weary. Seeing this, the couple assured her that they would finish the meal the next day. They led the sleepy child upstairs into her small but cozy bedroom, lit by a fuel-burning lamp on the bedside table. After tucking her in and kissing her goodnight, the couple turned away. The child’s face flooded with alarm as she struggled to keep her eyes open, wanting to make this moment last forever. She fought desperately against the sleep that had wrapped around her, threatening to pull her away. She fought against the heaviness in her eyelids and her vulnerable mind, which had already begun wandering. She had experienced this hurt too many times—this feeling of loss, this feeling of aloneness. Through the slit in her half-closed eyes, she saw the backs of her parents, the same image she’d seen hundreds of times before. A single, fat tear rolled down her face as she progressively gave up her struggle against the rest.
As the lights toggled open, the room was abruptly filled with light. The chatter of young girls rose above the beds that lined the bare walls of the large room. Slowly wiping away her tears, the child forced herself out of bed, past her bedside table, past the wilted bundle of poppies, past the picture framed in broken glass of a smiling couple with matching dimples, standing in a yellow room with white cabinets, and into the lit corridors of the orphanage.