Showing posts with label coping up. Show all posts
Things to Do During the Summer (If You Are a Student)
For some, summer is vacation time. You can finally sleepy really late and not worry about any deadline for tomorrow. However, for us students, it’s a bit different. We never really get a break with deadlines until we graduate high school. For that reason, I’m going to give you some advice on how to make the most out of your summer as a high school student.
1. Volunteer
If I have any regrets during my high school years, it’s the fact that I didn’t do my volunteer work during the summer. It was a bit too late when I found out that there AREN'T a lot of volunteer opportunities for students during the school year. Sure there are some, but imagine having a volunteer work that requires more time than school itself. I remember being frustrated about getting enough hours for volunteer requirement whilst finding extra time to study for my exams. Remember, we, as high school students, always have to prioritize what will help us towards our graduation. Think twice before you book that vacation. Think of the 30hrs required volunteer work for graduation.
2. Summer School
One advantage of going to summer school is you only have to do 2 months to complete a course. Think of the classes that you want to improve your grades on or credits that you need to fulfill in order to complete the graduation requirement. If you feel that you are tired from the last year and desperately need a break, just remember that you are only going to be doing it for 2 months! You might even have lots of free blocks when you return to school.
3. Work
Working is also a good option for your summer. You can start earning money for expenses you will have for the next year or you can save it for your tuition fee when you get out. You might even have to say no to student loan if you have enough savings or use it to pay for your textbooks.
4. Prepping for College
I know that most of the things I’ve already said is about preparing for graduation. Nevertheless, if you’re planning to go to college, it’s important that you take the time to research your prospective university or college. Don’t be one of those students who leave their planning at the very last minute and so unfortunately for them, it was too late when they found out they have to meet requirements, not just for graduation, but requirements the college itself has imposed (e.g. a certain grade in English 12 or Math 12 or extracurricular activities to buff your application ) There are lots of people you can get help from such as your high school counsellor, a counsellor from your prospective college or current students who are there.
5. Extra Curricular Activities
Of course, summer is still summer. Don’t stay too much inside your home and bury your face in your phones, TV, or books. During the school year, you probably spent your time doing repetitive actions (i.e. wake up, eat, school, eat, home, sleep). It is important for your body that it gets some actual exercise. Remember that you also need to unwind after that stressful school year. Get up and do something under the sun. It maybe sports, community work, or just walking your dog. Most importantly, ECE’s are also a requirement for graduation. Ask you counsellor how many hours a week you have to accomplish.
There’s a lot of pressure for us high school students. As immigrants, the pressure is even a tad bit more because there’s this feeling that we are just getting started on this new chapter of our lives and there are already tons of things we have to accomplish such as the things mention above, and what makes it hard is that we haven’t completely settled in yet – at least emotionally. So don’t feel too worried if you’re not meeting everything on time. You just have to pause, think, and plan wisely. Get some help from high school counsellors or you can maybe visit our website! We have tons of blogs that are full of tips on how to make the most out of your high school experience. All are written by immigrants! So yes, we know exactly how you feel. Go on and enjoy the rest of the summer!
How is Immigration a Reset Button?
A few years ago, before immigrating, I was ostracized in my old
school, I was called “special” and was teased for my eccentricity, and then I
became the black sheep. All of that because I was raised with foreign beliefs,
something my xenophobic home country has no tolerance for. Luckily, a major
change happened, it opened up a million possibilities, an ongoing story’s new
chapter—immigration.
The chilly winds did not remind me of home; the snowy fields
did not even cause surprise; budding flowers inspire; the hot summer breeze
desired. Coming to Canada made me realize that I should not waste a hefty
privilege by sticking to my old, pre-immigration self. As much as I regret to
say, I don’t miss my past, and having a new life, a new society, peers and
expectations, is a really big change for a young person. However, I’m not
trying to persuade you to relinquish your background, just try to integrate it
into this Western environment.
Possible reasons for leaving your old self behind:
- - People from your country have terrible attitudes towards your new society
- - Afraid of racism and discrimination
- - Your old society’s habits may be harmful, especially to the new environment you’re in now
- - Can’t progress without adopting some Western attitudes
- - And a lot more you can probably think of
Now, I want you to think about a choice. If you
could ever relive the first days after immigration, what would you want?
- - Speak English without a thick accent?
- - Handle culture shock in a better way?
- - Have your family and friends be more Canadian?
- - Be an advocate for your country, being an exemplary immigrant who fares better here?
These are all wishes many of us did not receive as
newcomers. The first weeks were the hardest, but it is also one of the most
memorable, a puzzling era of your life.
Just start changing. Immigration has many positives as well
as negatives.
You will experience negative stereotypes, ultimately causing
you to ignore the underlying causes, then you will not be able to adapt to the
new culture. A few years later, your life plans become awry, your life in the
self-segregating ghetto groups, you lose contact with your family as a bonus
too. This actually happened to a person my family knew, he could not CHANGE
because he was AFRAID. No matter how we look at it, his life got ruined, his
extreme attachment to his long-established beliefs caused his downfall.
While his case was severe, it does not mean it can’t happen
to anyone. His projections to society were pathetic, they just reinforce
negative stereotypes. YES, negative stereotypes are the problems! A black
person who is not a brain-dead athlete, an Oriental who is not a robot
mathlete, Muslims are not brainwashed terrorists, and whites people are not
racists; and a lot more. Society is built by humans, so society should not
force humans its beliefs. Be an individual, not a boring, hollow,
insignificant, ignorant sheep. Start changing for the better now!
To simplify my point, think of an elastic metal spring,
stretch it too much then it breaks, not stretching it means it won’t be of any
use. I like to think of people as metal springs, they need to stretch to have
some use, they become useless and rusty if there is no change after a long
time, changing too much will break the spring and make you an individual, free
from self-stigma if you ever try to do something different in a conformist
environment. A heavy load breaks a spring; a lot of effort can go a long way.
Why try?
Every person has special talents, traits, abilities, potentials…
they just don’t get to use them. Everyone you know has a niche in society, not
everyone can be rich, not everyone can be popular, not everyone can be like
Leonardo DiCaprio. However, you can be as best as you can be, limitless, by
changing into a better, productive person.
"Haters gonna hate cuz I'm doing great" - Anonymous
- Angelo
Preparing for University
Changes in life
can seem scary sometimes. Changes can be quick and unnoticeable; while other
times, it’s so sudden and we weren't even prepared for it. That’s why some people describe changes as tornados: they hit without any sign of warning and can turn
your house upside down completely. I usually don’t like changes because I will
have to adapt to the new environment and I’m usually not good at it.
The biggest change
I’m facing this year is to graduate from high school. It will be one of my most
important life events. I think it will take me awhile to get used to my new
life. So I want to prepare early. I asked my friends attending universities and
got some tips that will be useful to adapt to changes in your life such as
moving, changing school and going to university.
Tip#1: Make friends
Engage with
people, converse, ask questions. When you have friends, you won’t feel lonely.
You can have someone to talk to and hang out with. It’s the best to start
during the first week, while everyone is in the same boat. It is hard to make
the first move, but it will benefit you later on. Be nice and just be you. It’s
simple!
Tip#2: Join clubs
There are lots of
activities to do on campus. Take a look at the clubs list and join in. It’s the
fastest way to make new friends. You get to meet many people with same
interests as you do. Don’t be scared.
Learning how to use the library resources is always important because you will be spending lots of time here researching. It will be painful learning how to research because it’s boring. But it will pay off later in the year.
Tip#4: Choose courses you enjoy
You can always go to the first class and see how it goes. If you were bored and didn’t find it interesting, then drop it and find a new year. By choosing a course you enjoy, you will be motivated and willing to learn.
Tip#5: Don’t over commit
Start with a couple classes. Add more if you have the time for it. Do not start your year with 10 courses and a job. It will stress you out! Slow down and take time to learn.
Tip#6: Don’t Wait
If you feel yourself falling behind, do something about it immediately. Reread lecture notes and textbooks, ask a friend, do extra practice or ask your professor. Don't wait till right before the midterm/exam to deal with it. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.
Tip#7: Ways to save money
Work! Working during school can reduce your debt upon graduation. Most
of the schools offer on campus jobs. You can work part-time and save it up.
Universities can be expensive! Also, buy used textbooks! Ask around for used textbooks or buy them online (craigslist
etc.) It can save you A LOT of money. If you don’t write on it, you can re-sale
it next year!
Hopefully these short and basic tips will be handy once you are in university!
- Lu
New is Always Better 2.0
In my first year here in VANITY I wrote a blog about the advantages of newness, may it be technology, traditions or just plain new ideologies in life. However, that blog was too general. So for this New Year, I am writing about few specific changes that have made my life better since I’ve moved here in Canada.
I guess the first thing that has changed in me is being
quieter. Though any people that know me well will say otherwise, I think that
I’ve gotten quieter. Usually, I will be the one who keeps a conversation from
dying, because dear God I can’t stand awkward silence, but now, I seem to be
quite comfortable with it. It gives me peace. Quite antisocial though. I also have
a problem of not thinking before talking which often gets me into icky
situations even though I did not mean any offense or make myself look stupid,
and so being quiet just saves me from this. Being quieter also taught me how to
listen. You
know that moment when a friend tells you something and you tell him/her
something the same from your experiences and you ended up shifting the tide of
conversation and you feel like you are not “empathising” anymore and you just
look like a big ball of narcissism? (or at least, that’s how I feel) Welp,
being quiet once again saves me from doing this. Like I said, as someone who is
talkative and uncomfortable of awkward silences, being quiet has finally given
me the opportunity to just shut up and realize that not
talking isn’t the worst thing in the world and just to drink in what others are
saying and being observant is probably one of the greatest pleasures
that one should experience.
New things in our life can always be seen in a different angle. Sometimes they can be “bumps”, but as I have previously said, try to see the silver lining. New is always better. .. better in some ways we haven’t seen yet!
- Anonymeh
“Change the changeable, accept the unchangeable, and remove yourself
from the unacceptable” - Denis Waitley
My Christmas Wish
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| Courtesy of: Markus Spiske |
I was never really given a personal allowance, instead, I
was always given a sum of money every week that would be enough for my commute
to school, and anything else I needed. Money for personal use, well, that
wasn’t really something I had growing up.
Part of it was because money was tight, but that was
something my parents never wanted me to know. They took it upon themselves to
hide anything that may indicate financial struggle. Even though I never had an
allowance, I didn’t think I needed one, because when I was a kid, when I wanted
something, they would give it to me. Every time.
My parents struggled to put me through school, mainly
because they wanted me to go to the best private school in the Philippines, and
not once did they complain about shouldering the huge expense by working longer
hours and placing themselves in debt.
I only learned about our financial situation when we moved
to Canada, when I was finally old enough to understand why they did all that
they did, and why they never wanted me to learn about their hardship. They just
loved me so much, they didn’t want me to be bothered with all the stress of not
knowing how to pay the month’s bills or this year’s tuition.
Damn.
So now that I have a job, now that I earn money to pay for
my own tuition, I think it’s only fitting to pay them back. Every time I get my
paycheck, I save some of it for my parents. I have a plan, you see.
Every Christmas, starting from way back when I was five, my
parents would always surprise me by pretending to have forgotten about what I
wanted, then giving the gift to me when the day was over; it’s a tradition that
has so much more meaning to me now that I know the full story behind everything
they’ve ever done.
My plan is that with the sum of money I’ve stashed away,
I’ll use it to buy them the things they want, and as it grows, so will the
gifts. Small gifts for now, given that I’ve only been working for a few months
or so, but as the years go by and as (hopefully) my paycheck grows and the sum
increases, I can give them the things they’ve gone without just for my sake.
I’m a simple guy with no real need for anything other than
food and internet connection, so who knows, maybe with enough time and effort I
can get them a vacation in Hawaii for the Winter, and, maybe with my brother
and sister, buy them a house when we’ve all grown up. It’s the very least I can
do.
- Carlo
Make Yourself
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| Source: Rob Hogeslag |
On July 2013, My family and I went to a road tip to Edmonton. The halfway city and a usual pit stop is a town called Jasper, an old city where many tourists stop by to gas up, have a quick break, or use the washroom. In my family's case, we had to do the last one. So when my dad parked the van, I got out and ran to the closest washroom. When I entered the men's room, I saw a Caucasian man with his 5 year old daughter with him. Of course I didn't care much about the girl because she was only a kid and her dad was with her anyway. So I proceeded to continue to a stall to let all the water in me out. On my way there, I overheard the dad say to her daughter, "don't mind him; he's here to clean the washroom." That got me so mad, I almost said things I would have said if there weren't a kid in the room. So I let it go, gave him a smug smile, and kept my rage to myself.
Trying to Solve the Problems of Stereotypes
According to the Oxford Dictionary, stereotypes is a "widely held but fixed and oversimplified
image or idea of a particular type of person or thing".
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| Photo Credits: Matthew Wiebe |
And yet, people have been trying to get rid
of stereotypes for the better part of a decade. Why? Because stereotypes limit
us. Stereotypes can be something that ties people together, yet also cages us.
It is easy to let who we are determine what we like, instead of the other way
around. And the obvious answer: set yourself free. Don’t let stereotypes trap
you. Don’t be boggled down with what others expect of you, want from you, and
see you as.
If only it were that easy.
If only it were that easy.
Stereotypes still exist only because we want
and we feel the need to “fit in”. We can be the personality clones, wearing
different faces, inside our little cliques. Or we could all be radical
individuals, lonely yet special. But honestly, neither of those sounds very
appealing. So we want both, or to be somewhere in the middle. But how? How do
we conform to a group, yet still retain that vital individuality?
I don’t know.
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| Photo Credits: Viktor Hanacek |
A stereotype is identifying a person/group by
one of their aspect. So let’s flip the board around. If it was not the
projection that had the problem, then perhaps it’s the projector itself we have
to focus on.
If we stop recognizing and categorizing
people based on race, gender….then we really wouldn’t have the whole stereotype
problem. Yes, stereotypes exist. But as long as we, ourselves, remember that
everyone (yes everyone) is more than just what you see of them, then we would
have a much easier time actually getting to know each other.
By understanding that we are actually all
different people, with different likes, dislikes, ideals…then slowly
stereotypes are broken. You discover the Asian raps, the jock is into science.
The world turns from being well….stereotypical…to a 3-D, exciting, living
place.
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| Photo Credits: Lee Scott |
Perhaps by now you would think I’ve gone on
and on without really giving a solution. But really, if there was such an easy
way out, why would there still be a problem? So cliques and stereotypes are a
process. If we see a direction, we head towards it. We take two steps forwards
and one step back. Perhaps there never will be a solution. Perhaps between here
and there, the struggles we face, that’s what makes life worth living. And who
knows, maybe at the end, the world will be a much prettier place.
- Selena
Dealing With Stereotypes
I started to avoid making eye contact with the people I was talking to
because of the way they were looking at me. They stared with their sparkly eyes
as if they were reading my mind, and it always put me into an irrational fear
that I could not ignore. I could not help but think that they were judging me
by the acne on my face, the weird Korean accent that I had, and everything else
that made me different from everyone else.
But was my fear really 'irrational'? I thought about it and realized
that I had this fear because I felt that people were judging me by the way I
look, talk, and act. I was afraid that when people saw the acne on my face,
they would start thinking, "She probably doesn’t wash herself often." But I do. I wash my
face at least twice a day, shower once a day, and brush my teeth at least twice
a day.
Stereotypes are formed when people try to figure out who you are simply by your appearance, actions, and words. They connect you to their past experiences with others who have acted in certain ways and assume that you will be like those people, too. This leads to prejudice and affects people's ways of thinking about you, as well as their attitudes toward you.
Stereotypes
Stereotypes are formed when people try to figure out who you are simply by your appearance, actions, and words. They connect you to their past experiences with others who have acted in certain ways and assume that you will be like those people, too. This leads to prejudice and affects people's ways of thinking about you, as well as their attitudes toward you.
How to Deal People with Stereotypes
In most cases, people who view you through stereotypes will not be very
kind to you. They might look at you critically and treat you with contempt,
which may lead to discrimination from others.
However, should you be afraid of what others may think about you and
therefore hide your true self? Of course not! You should always be confident
and proud of yourself so that people can feel that you are not weird, but
unique. Prove to them that their stereotypes and prejudices are wrong.
Other effective ways to get rid of the stereotypes that people have of
you is to talk to them. Do not avoid eye contact like I used to do; it will
only make them think that you have low self-confidence. Look them in the eye so
that they can see clearly for who you are, not through the lens of stereotypes.
The most important thing that you need to remember is that you should
not be influenced by any judgement someone may have about you. Let them think
what they want; do not hide or lie about yourself so that you can fit in and be
like the others. All you need to do is to be proud of who you are and of your
differences, because you are special.
- Cindy Hong
What's Up, Vancouver? (September 2014)
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| Photo courtesy of: Scooter Lowrimore |
Playland
Still open Friday to Sunday until September 21, 2014
2014 Vancouver Fringe Festival
September 4-14, 2014
Youth Volunteer Recruitment Day at South Vancouver Neighbourhood House
September 4, 2014
Arts in the Park (Richmond) 2014
September 7, 2014
The Long, Long Table: A Community Affair
September 9, 2014
The Color Run Vancouver
September 13, 2014
Wesbrook Village Festival 2014
September 20, 2014
The Amazing Y: Cross-City Scavenger Hunt
September 20, 2014
RiverFest 2014
September 21-27, 2014
MetamorFest 2014
September 27, 2014
The Art Of Leadership Conference
September 30, 2014
Home Again
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| Photo by: John Ward |
It was less than eight hours since we arrived in the small town I grew up in. It almost felt funny but I was not allowed to laugh. After years of living abroad, we came back home because my grandmother passed away. And she was lying in a coffin merely five meters away from where I was sitting. Her casket was in the center of the living room, on the same spot where the long couch used to be. It was surrounded by white flowers and white candles and white curtains that only made the soft yellow paint enraged. My cousins were sitting beside her casket. They were talking about their fond memories of her. Perhaps it was the jetlag after eighteen hours of plane ride and another three-hour drive from the city to our small town, or maybe it was the fact that I was away for a long time that made me indifferent of those memories of her that they were reminiscing. Yet, as I looked at my grandmother’s photograph that was sitting on top of her coffin, with her sullen eyes, thin lined lips, furrowed brows and looking more annoyed than usual, the person they were talking about was definitely not the grandmother who, when I was in second grade, told me to punch the boy who called me fat. If she was there, we would have laughed at it together, all while she took a hit on her cigar, coughed and then spat on the nearest, most appropriate spot.
As they all walked down the memory lane, I excused myself and searched for my mom. She was in the room trying to get some sleep. But really, she was crying. I told her I was going to my grandmother’s house, not the one lying inside the coffin, but the one who gave birth to my father. She called the driver and asked him to take me there. The driver and I bonded over a thick blanket of silence. He was probably the same age as my father but he got that serious look on his face that was almost intimidating. He was wearing the same uniform that the drivers before him had, a black khaki pants and a polo shirt. Somehow it made me feel uncomfortable. It had been a long time since I had someone take me to places, let alone call me “ma’am”. He looked on the road ahead of us and I looked just outside the window. As we passed by the elementary school that my brother and I went to, I noticed that the gates and the walls were artistically painted with children’s bright and shiny faces. Before that, it was just red that screamed murder. Few minutes later, we arrived in my grandmother’s house. The driver told me that he would just come back to pick me up. He waited until I reached the front walkway before he reversed and vanished. I walked the rest of the steps leading to the stairs to my grandmother’s front door. Suddenly, I was twelve years old again, transported back in time to where the rest of my childhood was spent.
It was the house that my grandfather did not build. It was made out of cement and gravel and glass and hardwood. It is masculine and feminine all at the same time. The windows did not have curtains, it was always open. The doors, despite its many locks, never seemed to close. The house was naked out of colours. Unlike the house on my other side of the family, with its grandeur, proud, and brandishing features, the house of my father’s side was solid, unassuming and humble. It was both welcoming and intimidating. It was a house of endless contradiction. But mostly, it was the house that my grandmother strengthened.
At the end of the stairs from the front walkway was an ample sized balcony. It was situated with a garden set and pots of plants lined along the balcony’s edge. Those pots of plants had been there for as long as I can remember. The only difference at that moment was that, they no longer carry the exuberance of sunlight’s love and tender care. Also, there were two rocking chairs angled from one another. The frames of both rocking chairs were made out of oak and the only difference between the two was their bodies. One was constructed out of hand-woven rattan while the other one was re-built and re-furbished with bamboo sticks aligned together as support. The latter was etched with a butterfly. I was not quite sure what it signifies. Out of old habits, I opened the door without knocking. It was not locked but my grandmother was nowhere in sight.
Everything was still the same and all was placed at the exact same spot I remembered. I peeked into the glass cabinet underneath the television case. Our photos were still displayed. They were lined up according to age, from the eldest grandchild to the youngest ones. There were nineteen of us and mine was right in the middle. I did not recognize myself though, but it looked too familiar – sullen eyes, thin lined lips, furrowed brows and already annoyed at the early age of three. I looked up from the photos to the wall and a set of eyes looked back at me. It was a picture of Sacred Heart of Jesus covering the entire panel on the wall. He had his one hand over his heart and the other was raised like a student shyly wanting to get the teacher’s attention. He was judging me. I dodged out of the room avoiding another eye contact.
My grandmother was still nowhere to be found, I checked in the first room on the left side of the hallway. The old bed lying in the middle of the room was no longer there. In fact, there was nothing else in that room except for the diplomas hanging on the wall. It was engraved in a wooden frame, like a plaque of appreciation. There were eight of those, one for each child that my grandmother has. I did not check the door across that empty room for I was sure it was the room of my grandmother’s nursemaid and we were never allowed in that room. The last room left was the master’s bedroom, but mostly it was what we called “everyone else’s room” for it was the room where the kids hung out and stayed whenever we were in that house. The room was still the same. The old television was still lying at the foot of the bed. The photo of my grandfather’s parents was hanging on the wall. Beside it was my grandfather in his glorious days. He was wearing his police uniform and stood like the decorated officer that he was. His face was unrecognizable, though. It was faded by time or maybe, I just knew him with his fragments -devoid of emotional connection and familial recognition and no more connected than blood relation. I have accumulated a fair amount of memories from that room. It was the room my cousins and I played wrestling, it was the room where my older cousins shared the stories of their first kiss, it was the room where we had our first drink, it was the room where we all cried, and it was the room where my grandfather died. Just thinking about it made me cringe a little bit. I left the room without looking back. I walked down the hallway to the kitchen but still, my grandmother was nowhere to be found. I have loved my grandmother’s kitchen until I was forced to wash the dishes. My father’s family, despite having nursemaids, were firm believers of putting their children in labour. I was one of their first recruits. The plastic chairs were stacked up against the wall; the old wooden table was still covered with a dilapidated mantle with its design faded through time. I have had countless meals with the entire family on that table. My grandmother had a proper dinner table with a glass surface and hand-carved chairs but it was only used for special guests. Yet, in her household, there was no such thing as guests. As I examined the room, I realized that it had shrunk. I could easily reach the top of the cupboard, turn on the faucet without having to tip-toe and I could reach the window pane in front of the sink without going over the counter. And as soon as I opened the window, I found my grandmother.
She was sitting under the mango tree and was feeding the neighbour’s chickens. I knew fairly well that the chickens belonged to the neighbours because my grandmother spent most of her time in the city. I walked down the staircase and went directly to where she was sitting. She saw me and a smile etched on her face. I stopped on my track and looked at her for the first time after a long time. She was beautiful. She was the same woman who survived the death of her husband and eldest daughter within the span of five months. She was the same woman who fought with her children’s battle against cancer. I hugged her and she hugged me back. I sat beside her and she gave me rice grains to feed the neighbours’ chickens. I looked at her again, her eyes were shining and her lips hid a smile. The lines on her face that aged through time was even more noticeable but the woman that she used to be was still carved on the outlines of her face, on the rough surface of her hands and in the depth of her warm embrace. She was the house that got me strengthened through time.
An hour later, the driver arrived. He said it was time to go home. I looked at the house and to my grandmother and I could not imagine one without the other. The word ‘home’ echoed into my ears and I thought about my grandmother, the one who passed away, and I could not imagine one without the other. I thought about the chapel at the bend of the road, the murdered gates and walls of my elementary school, the photograph on top of her casket, and my cousins with their memories of her, and those white flowers and white candles and white curtains. It was almost funny but I was not allowed to laugh. After all, my home was not there anymore.
- Janine
