Maisha isiyo shwari, iliyo na dosari (Life: Its non-tranquil and flawed nature)

By Lynn Musembi

Life often passes me by

When I feel drained by my mere existence, excessive work and life in general, I sit in bed, staring at the sky as my thoughts race in my head

How can life really stress me out this much before I’ve even experienced the wholeness of the struggles this world holds

The way we think disturbs me

How is it that I must conform to be liked by others

When did individuality disappear?

泰山

By Zoe Mu

Looking out the window from my room, there is a quiet and deep woods. Unknown trees rose up one after another, staggered on the land. When the day is cold, the leaves have long fallen off, leaving only the bare branches of the trees, looking at the fury of the teeth and claws, uninteresting. In a few days, it will snow here. The blanket of white covers the ugly branches, blurring their outline, so that these originally sharp dead wood with a layer of soft and uncontested sense. Growing up in the south, I never seem to have seen the golden breeze of autumn or the silver of winter in the book; in my memory, the trees in my hometown are lush green all year round, no dazzling yellow leaves, and no snow-capped sky. So I often look out the window, seeing the maple leaves falling in autumn, seeing the snow gradually covering everywhere in winter, witnessing the change of day and night and the cycle of the seasons. Every snowflake, every tree, every wind, every day and night is unique; at this moment, when I am looking at them, I am the only person who has them in that second, that minute: they belong to me alone. When the next wind, the next day and night arrive, they will not be the ones I saw.

Perhaps in everyone's heart there is a view that belongs to them.

In this era of high-rise buildings lined up, covering the sky, the stars at night in the colorful neon lights eclipsed, quietly receding into the blackness of the infinite; when the blue or turquoise lake has now become turbid, because of the vicissitudes of the sea brought about by the dust, or is this the price of the changing times? The sky we see when we look up is still the same as the one people saw a thousand years ago?

Probably not. In the present world, where can we find a quiet place where we can play the piano and whistle? Where can we find the golden and yellow chrysanthemums under the eastern fence? When we are accustomed to the dazzling neon lights, and where to see the glittering Altair in the sky? When our hands are used to the keyboard, how will we go to the reeds by the river to find a reed to write nature with the ground as the paper? When wandering in this colorful world, have we lost ourselves?

But in fact, we are not the only ones who are lost. Throughout the ages, how many people were full of enthusiasm when they were young, but after stepping into the world, they were blinded by all kinds of things, and thus became the kind of people they once hated? Is it possible that Qin Jun and Heshen were not all righteous youngsters when they were young?

But there are always people who never change their ambitions in life, and there are always people who can prove to the world that the person who Mencius said "cannot be moved by poverty, cannot be lusted after by wealth, and cannot be bent by might" really exists.

Zimei Du did it.

When Zimei Du was young, he lived a life of freedom and pleasure. When he was seven years old, he showed his literary talent, and when he became an adult, he began to travel in all directions. He had been to Mount Tai, had set foot in Wu and Yue, had traveled with friends in Liang and Song, and had covered half of China. At that time, Zimei Du was a young man with a clear and confident view of the mountains and a great deal of pride.

But the good times did not last long. In the sixth year of Tianbao, Zimei Du went to Chang'an to take an examination. He could have passed the exam and entered the officialdom to show his ambition. However, as fate would have it, Linfu Li’s farce of "no one is left behind," killed Du’s path to glory. Since then he has been depressed, living in Chang'an for more than ten years, until his fourteenth year in Chang'an only barely got a small official. Fourteen years, these fourteen years of time gradually eroded his will; by then Du was no longer the young man with far-reaching aspirations, age and family burdens forced him to accept an insignificant official position. He no longer prayed that he could do anything for the country, he just wanted to live on at that time. Even so, fate was not willing to let him go. At the end of the year he accepted the official position, the An Shi Rebellion broke out, and all the prosperity and romance turned into a dream, forcing Du Fu to begin the rest of his life in turmoil.

Did he ever regret it? During his ten years in Chang'an, did he ever have a chance, even just once, to make it to the top, only to give up his lifelong ambition to work with Li Linfu and other traitors? Did he ever regret in his later years that he was too stubborn and insistent in his youth? Did he feel that his fate was unfair and wanted to cry out, to cry out his indignation at not being able to meet his talent?

(What was the view he saw back then?)

In fact, our era has a lot in common with the old days.

We all have the same blue sky and a hot sun. Although the stars in the night sky are rare in the city, if you find a mountain top close to the sky or go to a quiet and pleasant countryside, you will find that they are still emitting the same light and have not changed for thousands of years.

When Zimei Du climbed Mount Tai still towering, where the Qin Emperor and Han Wu worshiped the sky; when Wang Bo called "the old pavilion of the immortals" Teng Wang Pavilion is still on the banks of the Ganjiang River, watching year after year the sunset and lonely sands flying together; when Tang Emperor Taizong planted the ginkgo tree for Empress Zhangsun, in the autumn is still full of golden yellow trees.

So what is it that shakes our original heart? Is it poverty, is it riches, or is it majesty?

In his later years, Du was destitute and lived in a thatched hut in Chengdu. Later on, Zimei Du, who had written ‘ever so often being thousands of miles away from home, autumn grieves me, living so long a life bound by illness, alone I take in the view here on a high lookout’, died in a boat on the Xiangjiang River for unknown reasons.

Mr. Cat

By Lily S.

Once upon a time, in a cozy house, there were father, mother, Luca and Lucy. One day Lucy’s favorite doll disappears. Lucy is very sad and asks Luca to help find the doll. Luca told Lucy that ‘Let’s start looking for each other room by room. Don’t cry ok?’ Said Luca Started in the parents’ room, find, find, and find, couldn’t find the doll. Go look for it in Luca’s room, find, find, and find, can’t find it again. Go look in Lucy’s room, find, find, and find, still can’t find it. Lucy eyes start to become watery, Luka said don’t cry. Suddenly they heard something. The two slowly followed the sound.

Meow, meow. Eh, what’s that sound? Keep walking ‘Ahh! Here’s Lucy’s doll with this cat.’ Lucy was overjoyed, but they couldn’t help but wonder how the cat got into the house. So they go ask their parents. ‘Who’s cat is this?’ They both asked. ‘surprise!! This is the new member of our house,’ said Mother. They both laughed and were delighted. Because Lucy’s doll was found and there was a new member in the house. Happy ending

흰 저고리 (the White Cloth)

By Hajun Kim

The cloth that used to be white as snow

Blood-like

Red dot has been drawn

The dot stretches out in all directions

And stabbed us

Our clothes never been white since

What rings in my ears every day is

The scream of my neighbors

Swears with scorn

What I see every day is

Persecuted brothers

More and more dead bodies

I grab my starving stomach

Crouch my bodies by fear

Bend my knees down to my fear

The voice of resistance in market

Gets smaller everyday

As well as the gun sound

Below them walking with power

Are us getting stomped

Leaves black footprints in our clothes

I close my eyes

What I see is

Us wearing a white clothes

Untitled

By Santiago Burgsmuller

Your personality is not something you were born with. It is something you developed as you developed as you grew with your own thoughts, emotions, behaviours, and experiences. A huge factor in how your personality is formed is when you observe the behaviour of others. This leads to adaptation and assimilation, especially in the case of family, friends or people you look up to or socialise with. Through social media this process is accelerated. You can talk to more people, and there are millions of users online, some of which can reach insane fame and popularity, and which you might start unconsciously assimilating yourself to, either because you like them or you admire them. On a more sombre note, an addiction can lead to several negative traits, such as impulsivity and narcissism, and not all denizens of the web are friendly. Chances are you’ve come across instances of cyber bullying, be it someone yelling insults in an online game, or someone flat out spewing hate speech at you. The internet can have massive impacts on young influenceable minds who were practically born with blue screens in their hands. Should this be stopped? Or tell me, my friend, do you believe in fate?