Isabel Burns
By: Farrah Thompson & Jungyoon Park
Whether it’s in the arts, sports or literature Isabel covers it all. Isabel Burns is a grade 10 student who loves writing poetry and short stories. She is a Collingwood lifer and she quotes a “Cavalier through and through ''. Isabel was born in Vancouver and is a second-generation Canadian as her grandmother had immigrated to Canada from Germany during WW2. Outside of school, Isabel is interested in sewing, drawing and reading although reading “is not” considered a hobby she sure does it a ton. Currently, her favourite sport is volleyball while she plays for an outside-of-school club team and our very own Junior grade 10 volleyball team. Volleyball is not the only sport she plays, Isabel does field hockey and rowing when the season comes around.
Isabel is a well-rounded person possessing many interests, her favourite subjects in school are visual arts and creative writing. She has said, “they both give my imagination room to roam free as I like the creative license each one grants me”. She spoke about how there is no way she could pinpoint a specific person that is an inspiration to her but, she shared that “almost everyone and everything around her” has an effect that defines her as a person by collecting interactions and experiences. Isabel loves poetry and short stories. She enjoys poetry because she widely consumes the writing media in the form of books as she pulls fantasy and murder mystery off of library shelves. As she mentioned before Isabel loves visual arts and thinks that writing is the same, as each artist is unique, their pieces are usually very recognizable. “Almost like a fingerprint composed in their chosen media”. A writer’s words form an equivalent fingerprint, which is individual to them. Isabel loves freedom when it comes to writing and loves all the diversity that comes with it. Writing to Isabel is a very versatile thing, as the meaning of her product can change depending on what she is writing about. She has explained how in her eyes writing is when an artist infuses themselves into their work. Isabel talked about how she believes that she is not only seeing through the lens of the developing characters but also in the eyes of the author writing the book. Isabel has high hopes as she aspires to be “that” good though for now she “works to leave bread trails” of herself in her writing.
Although Isabel possesses these amazing skills, she has yet to participate in a contest. She believes that anyone can become an artist, for this reason, she has provided some advice in growing as an artist. Isabel has said that instead of going for something hard and trying to create something the many people consider as “professional” or a “masterpiece”, aspiring artists should just let their minds free on the page. Isabel has also said “'Do not worry about how many like's, 'and's, or 'also are, you somehow fit into that last sentence” as she believes that vomiting out whatever you have in your brain onto a document or page is where the best ideas bloom. Despite all of this amazing advice she has shared, she wasn’t always a literary artist. Until now, she has thought that words were very restricting as she struggled to comprehend her relation in emotions and feelings with these symbols and lines she lays down on a page. However, these days she has found opportunities to explore this area in arts, she has begun to create using different formats and styles. This has allowed her to open her eyes to the boundless world of writing. She has no idea of what she aspires to be in the future, however, she is hoping that it will be something that she truly enjoys doing to the bottom of her heart.
Silent Treatment. By: Isabel Burns
I sit here.
Tortured by a never ending silent treatment
This silence,
has no taste. This silence,
has no smell. This silence,
sits at my doorstep, peeking through a key hole,
waiting for the right thoughts to open my door.
I sit here.
Empty daydreams rattle through my hollow skull
Bouncing off the bone like a pinball with no end goal
This silence,
finds its way under my clothes. This silence,
finds its way under my skin. This silence,
drenches my senses in a viscous glue until I can't
Move… See… Touch… Feel… Breathe.
It will stuff me in a closet.
It will leave me isolated.
It will leave me when I am gone.
And so,
I surrender,
You win.
Perfect Day: A Dissection of LGBTQ+ Identity and Homophobia in our World.
On a perfect day. By: Isabel Burns
A rosy hue would spread across the pearly sky as the sun rises upon the horizon. The early light would shine through the trees with contentment, leaking through the blinds and striking gently across my face. The leaves rustling outside my window would drift upon a warm breeze, then float softly through my window, as if a gift from the wind herself.
Only then, would I open my eyes upon the house of my childhood. One saturated with memories that dance through every hall, every doorway, walls coated with nostalgic reminiscence. There, I would begin to wiggle my toes, fingers, and the rest of my body until eventually, my entirety would be stretched out from a long deep sleep. My muscles and joints would not ache as I lift my body from its place. Instead, I would feel primed to seize the very day, I have been awaiting for years.
As I make my way downstairs, I would plant my feet into each intentional step. The delicate aroma of freshly baked bread would waft through the air, feeding through my nose as I enter the kitchen. A welcoming scent. The counter would be full of its usual clutter; every tool, material, and piece of food on full display. I would take a seat at the counter and busy myself with breakfast.
“Good morning!” I would call through the echoing house while pouring milk into a bowl of my favourite cereal.
On cue, I would be greeted with my mothers' familiar tone, “Morning! How was your sleep?” she would say as her footsteps slowly approach.
“Refreshing” I would reply, “Yours?”
“Restful,” she would utter with a smile, stationing herself in front of the sink to begin rinsing the multitude of coffee cups she drained earlier that morning.
As I lap the spoon from mouth to bowl, my mind would begin to wander to a phrase I meticulously prepared my mouth to articulate. A phrase I practiced. A phrase I was ready for.
“Mom?” I would say with confidence.
She would look up from the sink and her face would turn to meet mine.
“I have something I’ve been thinking about for a while now, something I have been wanting to tell you” I would remark with a imperturbable tone.
“Hm?” she’d say, keeping her eyes locked on mine.
“I’m gay.”
And at that, my imagination would cap out. Every scenario my conscious perpetually tired over would lead me to those same two words, never further. I still don't know what I expected, nor do I know what I truly wanted.
Hours poured into curating the perfect moment. A moment in which her reaction would fill the hole eating away at my chest. One where, each movement, each word, would be carefully curated to create the perfect balance of trust and vulnerability. Though, what I failed to realize, is that not one word she could produce would come close to touching that hole. Not one scenario I delicately composed, would simulate the real thing.
In reality, it was messy and unexpected. My father found out through the midst of heavy tears and panic. As for mother, she received the information via. her daughter's shaking body on a casual Saturday afternoon. There was no smell of fresh bread, no pearly sunrise, and no calming breeze.
Despite the mess, I am incredibly grateful for my experience. I am inexpressibly lucky to have two open-minded parents who love unconditionally.
Unfortunately, innumerable LGBTQ+ youth can not say the same.
By: Farrah Thompson & Jungyoon Park
Whether it’s in the arts, sports or literature Isabel covers it all. Isabel Burns is a grade 10 student who loves writing poetry and short stories. She is a Collingwood lifer and she quotes a “Cavalier through and through ''. Isabel was born in Vancouver and is a second-generation Canadian as her grandmother had immigrated to Canada from Germany during WW2. Outside of school, Isabel is interested in sewing, drawing and reading although reading “is not” considered a hobby she sure does it a ton. Currently, her favourite sport is volleyball while she plays for an outside-of-school club team and our very own Junior grade 10 volleyball team. Volleyball is not the only sport she plays, Isabel does field hockey and rowing when the season comes around.
Isabel is a well-rounded person possessing many interests, her favourite subjects in school are visual arts and creative writing. She has said, “they both give my imagination room to roam free as I like the creative license each one grants me”. She spoke about how there is no way she could pinpoint a specific person that is an inspiration to her but, she shared that “almost everyone and everything around her” has an effect that defines her as a person by collecting interactions and experiences. Isabel loves poetry and short stories. She enjoys poetry because she widely consumes the writing media in the form of books as she pulls fantasy and murder mystery off of library shelves. As she mentioned before Isabel loves visual arts and thinks that writing is the same, as each artist is unique, their pieces are usually very recognizable. “Almost like a fingerprint composed in their chosen media”. A writer’s words form an equivalent fingerprint, which is individual to them. Isabel loves freedom when it comes to writing and loves all the diversity that comes with it. Writing to Isabel is a very versatile thing, as the meaning of her product can change depending on what she is writing about. She has explained how in her eyes writing is when an artist infuses themselves into their work. Isabel talked about how she believes that she is not only seeing through the lens of the developing characters but also in the eyes of the author writing the book. Isabel has high hopes as she aspires to be “that” good though for now she “works to leave bread trails” of herself in her writing.
Although Isabel possesses these amazing skills, she has yet to participate in a contest. She believes that anyone can become an artist, for this reason, she has provided some advice in growing as an artist. Isabel has said that instead of going for something hard and trying to create something the many people consider as “professional” or a “masterpiece”, aspiring artists should just let their minds free on the page. Isabel has also said “'Do not worry about how many like's, 'and's, or 'also are, you somehow fit into that last sentence” as she believes that vomiting out whatever you have in your brain onto a document or page is where the best ideas bloom. Despite all of this amazing advice she has shared, she wasn’t always a literary artist. Until now, she has thought that words were very restricting as she struggled to comprehend her relation in emotions and feelings with these symbols and lines she lays down on a page. However, these days she has found opportunities to explore this area in arts, she has begun to create using different formats and styles. This has allowed her to open her eyes to the boundless world of writing. She has no idea of what she aspires to be in the future, however, she is hoping that it will be something that she truly enjoys doing to the bottom of her heart.
Silent Treatment. By: Isabel Burns
I sit here.
Tortured by a never ending silent treatment
This silence,
has no taste. This silence,
has no smell. This silence,
sits at my doorstep, peeking through a key hole,
waiting for the right thoughts to open my door.
I sit here.
Empty daydreams rattle through my hollow skull
Bouncing off the bone like a pinball with no end goal
This silence,
finds its way under my clothes. This silence,
finds its way under my skin. This silence,
drenches my senses in a viscous glue until I can't
Move… See… Touch… Feel… Breathe.
It will stuff me in a closet.
It will leave me isolated.
It will leave me when I am gone.
And so,
I surrender,
You win.
Perfect Day: A Dissection of LGBTQ+ Identity and Homophobia in our World.
On a perfect day. By: Isabel Burns
A rosy hue would spread across the pearly sky as the sun rises upon the horizon. The early light would shine through the trees with contentment, leaking through the blinds and striking gently across my face. The leaves rustling outside my window would drift upon a warm breeze, then float softly through my window, as if a gift from the wind herself.
Only then, would I open my eyes upon the house of my childhood. One saturated with memories that dance through every hall, every doorway, walls coated with nostalgic reminiscence. There, I would begin to wiggle my toes, fingers, and the rest of my body until eventually, my entirety would be stretched out from a long deep sleep. My muscles and joints would not ache as I lift my body from its place. Instead, I would feel primed to seize the very day, I have been awaiting for years.
As I make my way downstairs, I would plant my feet into each intentional step. The delicate aroma of freshly baked bread would waft through the air, feeding through my nose as I enter the kitchen. A welcoming scent. The counter would be full of its usual clutter; every tool, material, and piece of food on full display. I would take a seat at the counter and busy myself with breakfast.
“Good morning!” I would call through the echoing house while pouring milk into a bowl of my favourite cereal.
On cue, I would be greeted with my mothers' familiar tone, “Morning! How was your sleep?” she would say as her footsteps slowly approach.
“Refreshing” I would reply, “Yours?”
“Restful,” she would utter with a smile, stationing herself in front of the sink to begin rinsing the multitude of coffee cups she drained earlier that morning.
As I lap the spoon from mouth to bowl, my mind would begin to wander to a phrase I meticulously prepared my mouth to articulate. A phrase I practiced. A phrase I was ready for.
“Mom?” I would say with confidence.
She would look up from the sink and her face would turn to meet mine.
“I have something I’ve been thinking about for a while now, something I have been wanting to tell you” I would remark with a imperturbable tone.
“Hm?” she’d say, keeping her eyes locked on mine.
“I’m gay.”
And at that, my imagination would cap out. Every scenario my conscious perpetually tired over would lead me to those same two words, never further. I still don't know what I expected, nor do I know what I truly wanted.
Hours poured into curating the perfect moment. A moment in which her reaction would fill the hole eating away at my chest. One where, each movement, each word, would be carefully curated to create the perfect balance of trust and vulnerability. Though, what I failed to realize, is that not one word she could produce would come close to touching that hole. Not one scenario I delicately composed, would simulate the real thing.
In reality, it was messy and unexpected. My father found out through the midst of heavy tears and panic. As for mother, she received the information via. her daughter's shaking body on a casual Saturday afternoon. There was no smell of fresh bread, no pearly sunrise, and no calming breeze.
Despite the mess, I am incredibly grateful for my experience. I am inexpressibly lucky to have two open-minded parents who love unconditionally.
Unfortunately, innumerable LGBTQ+ youth can not say the same.