Start ” So in the beginning [1] End: “Gha!”, said the Lone Ranger. … “Okay?” “Okay” at bottom of page [11]

Water- Water is a prominent part of Creation stories in cultures both modern and ancient. Tales from Mesopotamia, the Bible, India and even Norse legends feature water as a key component in the ‘beginning’ of life and our world (History World).

Coyote- Focus West notes that in North American Native literature and folklore, Coyote ‘is often referred to as a creator of “the world-as-it-is” (Focus West). Coyote is fond of thievery and trickery, singing and seduction. Coyote’s primary symbolic function is one of chaos and of being a transformer.

Dream/ eventually Dog- Dreams hold a great deal of symbolic power and significance within First Nations cultures. Dog spelled backwards is, of course, God. It is also worth noting that a dog is somewhat of a domesticated form of none other than a coyote.

Lionel- An Indigenous character, and quite an important one within the context of GGRW. Mother is Camelot, aunt is Norma.

Lone Ranger – A fictional, heroic cowboy who fought outlaws and for justice. An article from The Root notes that he may in fact have been based off the life and adventures of an African- American man named Bass Reeves. Lone Ranger history chronicler Art T. Burton wrote, ‘Had Reeves been a white lawman it is quite possible he would have been as popular as any ever written about during the late 19th century’ (The Root).

Hawkeye – A name and character that has been used in James Fenimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans. Described as ‘an experienced, independent, astute man, who knows the wilderness like the back of his hand’ (Novel Guide).

Robinson Crusoe – A name and character used in eponymous novel, Robinson Crusoe. Described as an ‘intrepid hero, who draws on reserves of ingenuity and bravery to survive incredibly against the whims of nature and fate’ (Lit Charts). Also worth noting is Crusoe’s gravitation towards and subsequent dependence on Christianity as a means of coping with his plight.

Ishmael – A name and character used in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. Also a personage in the Old Testament of the Bible. 

Works Cited

“Coyote as Literary Symbol.” Focus West. N.p., n.d. Web. 06 July 2015.

Jr., Henry Louis Gates. “Was the Lone Ranger Black?” The Root. N.p., n.d. Web. 06 July 2015.

“The Last of The Mohicans: Character Profiles.” Novel Guide. N.p., n.d. Web. 07 July 2015.

“Robinson Crusoe: Characters.” LitCharts. N.p., n.d. Web. 07 July 2015.

Zavada, Jack. “Ishmael – First Son of Abraham.” About Religion. N.p., n.d. Web. 07 July 2015.

‘Coyote pedagogy requires training in illegal border-crossing’ (131). This is the line from Margery Fee and Jane Flick’s piece ‘Coyote Pedagogy: Knowing Where the Borders Are in Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water’ that stood out most to me. What this sentence means to me is that Coyote, one of the central characters in GGRW, enlightens readers through the use of tactics that break down the boundaries of what they believe, or think they do. I felt that Coyote’s quirky way of almost challenging the narrator and of halting the flow of the story was a refreshing change. As an English Literature major, I have become accustomed to reading seamlessly narrated and/or organized works- I am comfortable with what is predictable, at least in terms of the way a narrative unfolds. GGRW challenged this by not only featuring two equally important storylines, but also by making Coyote feature prominently in both of them.

I found Coyote charming. I felt that his frequent interruptions of the narrator and his seemingly incessant stream of questions were meant to emulate the manner in which a curious and even precocious reader would be responding to the narrator’s storytelling. What I mean by this is that I felt as though my internal monologue, were I in Coyote’s place, would be similar to Coyote’s external comments and queries.

Additionally, I felt that Coyote (and many of the other personages in GGRW) were instrumental not only in the crossing of narrative boundaries, but also in the breaking down of cultural and ethnic borders. Green Grass, Running Water is a story that is rich in both Indigenous and Euro- Canadian trivia and pieces of knowledge, and this cross- border

What I found to be the central lesson attached to the character of Coyote was this: Active dreams/ imagination, a willingness to learn and a breathless curiosity are essential when reading or listening to a story. Coyote definitely embodies these traits; he is, after all, a breaker and traverser of borders and boundaries.

Works Cited

Fee, Margery, and Jane Flick. “‘Coyote Pedagogy: Knowing Where the Borders Are in Thomas King’s Green Grass, Running Water'” Canadian Literature 161 (1999): n. pag. CanLit. Web. 1 July 2015.

I decided to answer Question #2 this week, by looking at the Multiculturalism Act of 1989. I chose this piece of legislatiom because I am interesed in its intensely widespread and profound effects, which are more tangible in today’s Canadian society than ever before. The Canadian Multiculturalism Act has been and continues to be an essential component in shaping not only communal relationships, but also those Canadians share with their federal, provincial and even municipal governments.  I examined a copy of the Act as found on the Government of Canada’s website for Justice and Laws. 

The intention of the Act has been, from the beginning, to facilitate cooperation, acceptance and synergy between all citizens and residents of Canada, no matter their countries of origin, race or religion. Some of the Act’s central points include recognizing ‘the importance of preserving and enhancing the multicultural heritage of Canadians’ and noting that ‘ all Canadians, whether by birth or by choice, enjoy equal status, are entitled to the same rights, powers and privileges and are subject to the same obligations, duties and liabilities’. Essentially, the Multiculturalism Act serves to celebrate and include all racial and cultural ethnicities that reside within Canada. Equal protection and status are claimed to be offered to citizens and residents, and cross- cultural understanding and appreciation are claimed to be fostered under the Multiculturalism Act.

It is unfortunate, then, to note that not all of the points mandated by the Act have been followed. In particular, Section 1d of the Multiculturalism Policy within the Act states that it is a policy of the Government of Canada to ‘recognize the existence of communities whose members share a common origin and their historic contribution to Canadian society, and enhance their development’.

In examining the relationship between Canada’s Indigenous population and the nation’s government, it is clear that the above statement has not held true for Canada. The current state of affairs is such that growth and progress within relations appears stunted; it seems to me that there are many underlying issues surrounding the Indigenous community that are preventing progress. This leads me to question the lengths to which the Canadian government has gone (or perhaps not gone) in order to ‘enhance [the] development’ of Canada’s Indigenous peoples.

Regarding Daniel Coleman’s stance on white civility, his claim that ‘White Canadian culture is obsessed and organized by its obsession, with the problem of its own civility’ (5) seems to be in line with the tumultuous relationship between Canada’s government and its Indigenous people.  While the act may have been created and put in place for the purpose of protecting and benefiting Canada’s citizens and residents, it seems that promises were made in 1989 that have not been upheld.

While it is true that in a lot of Canada, particularly in metropolitan areas like Toronto, Vancouver and Montréal, multiculturalism is embraced and celebrated, hidden violence and injustice still exists and it should not be forgotten.  The ‘the uncivil past’ is separated ‘from the civil present’ (Coleman 34), and this permits a façade of normalcy to be perpetuated in modern Canadian society.

The question I have now is: How does Canadian society move forward? How can the Multiculturalism Act be amended in a way that will truly ensure the inclusion of all Canada’s residents?

Works Cited

“Canadian Multiculturalism Act.” Justice Laws Website. N.p., n.d. Web. 25 June 2015.

In his paper A Map that Roared and an Original Atlas: Canada, Cartography, and the Narration of Nation, Matthew Sparke mentions the incident that occurred of Justice Allan MacEachern’s referral to the map of Gitxsan and Wet’suwet’en territory as’ the map that roared’ (Sparke 468). Essentially, this map categorically rejected all the devices being utilized by colonizers on native land: these devices include property lines, logging roads, pipelines and general systems of colonial orientation.

McEachern dimissed the Gitxsan and Wet’swuet’en’s claims with what Sparke calls “a remarkably absolutist set of colonist claims about the extinguishment of aboriginal rights” (470). Despite the fact that McEachern dismissed the Gitxsan and Wet’suwet’en’s map and all its aforementioned rejections of colonial infrastructre, his use of the phrase ‘the map that roared’ belies an interesting point.

By using the word ‘roar’, McEachern invokes thoughts of a wild, untamed creature using the most primal of its instincts to lay a claim over its territory; he is thus, albeit indirectly, acknowleding that the Indigenous groups to whom the map belongs are the rightful owners of the land.

Eventually, McEachern’s judgement was overturned and a new trial was conducted, which was considered a huge victory in terms of  First Nations rights. The Wet’suwet’en and Gitxsan people claimed ownership and legal jurisdiction over 58,000 square kilometers of land (Sparke 470) in British Columbia. This case was one of the first of its kind, as it was concerned with geographical ownership and was facilitated by the voices of the First Nations people.

At the very beginning of this section of his piece, Sparke refers to the Atlas, and argues that the ‘template of contemporary Canada is imposed proleptically on a heterogenous past’ (468). Sparke is acknowledging that the cartography present in the Atlas  will “enable its national Canadian audience to rethink the colonial frontiers of national knowledge itself” and to “reconsider the discontinuous positions of native peoples.” The central commonality between the Atlas and the McEachern case is of course, maps. Maps are the very foundation of both geographical and national ownership, and they play an extremely important role in the defining of a nation’s identity and its history.   

Works Cited

Sparke, Matthew. “A Map that Roared and an Original Atlas: Canada, Cartography, and the Narration of Nation” “Contrapuntal Cartographies” Seattle: University of Washington.

The following is a list of ideas and quotes that I have found, while reading my classmates’ blog posts, to accurately construct a definition of home.

• Home is an amalgam of memories and feelings.
• “Home is fleeting, it moves when we do, changes when we adapt, grows when we age” (Angela Olivares).
• Home is a concept that comprises of, at least in part, family, friends and lovers.
• Home is, simply put, where you live (Kevin Sun).
• ‘“Home” is difficult to define and contains numerous emotional, psychological, and perhaps even spiritual meanings’ (Gretta Datten).
• Home ‘doesn’t necessarily have to relate to any physical space specifically’ (Hailey Froehler).
• Home is where you feel a sense of belonging; a sense of being a key that fits perfectly into a lock, a recognition of something kindred between yourself and the ground upon which you are standing.

I found myself nodding in agreement as I read all the pieces I have quoted above. I think that Angela, Kevin, Gretta and Hailey have captured the essence of home by acknowledging that it cannot be captured.

I believe, like them, that it is difficult for many people to pin down exactly where they think home is. To test this, I asked a few friends and family members what home meant to them. Some of the responses I got included:

• ‘Home is my backyard in the summer. In the winter too, but it’s more of an igloo than a home then.’
• ‘Home is the beach in Karachi, in Vancouver, in Brighton, in Sydney.’
• ‘Home is hookah and cards.’
• ‘Home is my parents. And my dog.’
• ‘Home is my camera and something to point it at.’
• ‘Home is wherever family is.’
• ‘Home is food and my bed.’

These people are all getting at the same idea that my classmates and I believe in- that home is what you make it, home is the people you love, the activities you enjoy and the feeling that you’re not in a hurry to get anywhere because you’re right at home where you are. (See what I did there?)

Ending off with a song that is unrivalled in its relevance to this post: Home. (I prefer this cover to the original)

Works Cited

Datten, Gretta. “Assignment 2:2”. Liberal Leaning Literary Landscapes Labryritnhinely Lined with Liminal Loops of Logic and Legend. UBC Blogs, 3 June 2015. Web. 8 June 2015.

Froehler, Hailey. “The Ambiguity of ‘Home’.” English 470A. UBC Blogs, 5 June 2015. Web. 8 June 2015.

Olivares, Angela. “Assignment 2:3- Homeward Bound”. ENG 470. UBC Blogs, 8 June 2015. Web. 8 June 2015.

Sun, Kevin. “Where I Live”. Many Homes, One Earth. UBC Blogs, 5 June 2015. Web. 8 June 2015.

Home is Lahore, the pearl of the Punjab, my birthplace. Home is the sound the leaves make when the breeze rushes through them; it is the stillness in the air before the monsoon laves the land. Home is my cousins, home is Pakola, home is endless novels, bought from Readings, devoured on lazy afternoons as the ceiling fan stirs the hot air around the room. Home is my grandmother’s roast chicken, it is lemon tarts and chicken patties from Shezan, it is the best steak I’ve ever tasted at Café Zouk. Home is the nehr (canal), it is Badshahi Masjid, it is Model Town and Defense and Lahore Cantt. Home is cursing the country’s so- called leaders as you drown in a thick layer of sweat, waiting for the power to come back on. Home is the stories my aunts share, the stories the earth tells as you sit on the porch.

Home is Dubai, with its shimmering skyscrapers and warm weather. Home is returning to the apartment on a humid night, covered in a fine layer of sand. Home is central air conditioning, countless icy drinks and never, ever opening the windows during the summer months. Home is the friends I’ve had for almost fifteen years, home is them coming over the morning after I’ve landed and our traditional dinner at Nando’s or Pizza Hut. Home is us sharing everything we couldn’t say over text, or Facebook, or Skype. Home is lying on my queen- sized bed with my friends who are closer than sisters, noting how we’ve changed over the last 10 months since we saw each other. Home is my parents. Home is my dad’s famous buttered egg, my mom’s biryani and her curry and ‘chunky chicken’, it is the blue- tiled kitchen and the sound of the lock turning in the front door. It is our fax machine turning on after our home phone rings thrice, even though I’ve told my parents a million times that this is the 21^st century and nobody uses fax anymore. Home is watching the news with my dad and taking naps with my mom in the afternoons. Home is the stories the photos of Dubai tell, the way the desert has been transformed into an oasis.

Home is Oakville, it is wooden floors and the fireplace. Home is hating high school but loving the friends I’ve made, it is Tim Horton’s and Lakeshore and kebab rolls from Silver Spoon. Home is endless hours spent on the brown suede couch, putting my feet on the edge of the coffee table even though my mom has told me not to. Home is not wanting to get out of bed in the morning because I know the floor is going to be so cold. Home is the Edward Cullen poster on my closet door, watching me as I sleep. Home is my best friend living next door. It is the afternoons spent in her basement, her dog lying in my lap, a Disney film providing background noise to our endless chatter. Home is nights spent overthinking conversations and texts and jokes. Home is feeling as though, at sixteen, I’ve experienced every emotion on the spectrum. It is sleeping in my mom’s bed, too scared to sleep in my own, because Mal’akh from The Lost Symbol haunts my dreams. Home is the stories the town tells, the suburban comfort that we were so privileged to experience.

Home is Vancouver. Home is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, it is sunsets at Wreck Beach and English Bay and Spanish Banks. Home is the chicken platter at Al Basha and the Pineapple Freeze at Booster Juice. Home is staying up till 4am with my friends, doing nothing in particular. It is turning off my shrieking alarm in the morning, deciding to give myself the day off. Home is UBC, it is mapping out every inch of this sprawling campus with my own two feet. Home is the rain that just keeps on coming. Home is where I realized that English was my true passion, it is where I left behind my dreams of a degree in Biology. Home is where I’ve planned out my future. Home is the stories the city tells about its past, the pride Vancouver takes in its heritage.

In my twenty years of life, I’ve realized that home is not a house. Home is the people you love, it is the moments you cherish, and it is the places you’ll never forget. Home is a feeling.

Works Cited

“Lahore.” Punjab Portal. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

“Pakola Ice Cream Soda.” Mehran Bottlers (PVT) Limited. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

“Shezan Sweets N Bakers.” Facebook. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

“Welcome to Cafe Zouk.” Cafe Zouk. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

“Lahore Canal.” Wikipedia. Wikimedia Foundation, n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

“Badshahi Mosque, Lahore.” Sacred Destinations. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

“Zachary Solomon.” The Dan Brown Wiki. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

Al Basha. N.p., n.d. Web. 4 June 2015.

Story

Many years ago, Earth was a simpler place. There were hunters and gatherers and medicine men, and all lived in peace. Death was accepted with humility, and there was a sense of kinship between man and nature.

There was a hunter who lived in a village on the edge of the world, where the evergreen trees grew lush and plentiful. The ocean seemed to stretch out as far as the villagers’ eyes could see, and the mountain peaks were covered in snow all year. The hunter loved to explore this vast and varied landscape whenever he was not hunting. He only hunted the birds, mammals and fish he needed to feed his wife and four children; he never once shot a creature for sport or out of the need to relieve stress or sadness. Stress and sadness were not things that the hunter knew anything about.

The hunter left his hut a little while before sunset one day. He had a feeling that something was waiting for him in the woods, and he, with his naive enthusiasm, couldn’t strap his bow on his back fast enough. He strode through the woods he knew so well, breathing in the clean crisp air. He could hear birds in the clearing up ahead, and he knew his wife would want something to prepare for tomorrow’s supper. As he approached the clearing, he thought he heard voices- parents and children laughing together, conversing. He could see no humans, though, and did not pause to think this odd.

He stood and took a few deep breaths, absorbing the stillness of the forest that surrounded him. Before long, a handsome black bird flew down from one of the evergreens. It was large and had very glossy feathers and glowing red eyes, and it cooed in a low tone that sounded almost as though it was speaking. The bird did not seem to notice the hunter as he took aim, nor did it see the hunter slowly draw closer to it, taking care not to step on any leaves.

The bird did not notice the arrow as it streaked towards it, the dwindling sunlight glinting off the arrowhead. The arrow sank into the bird’s chest like a missile finding its target.

The creature flopped to the ground without a sound. Blood started to seep from the wound, and the bird’s red eye stared without seeing at the hunter, losing its crimson gleam. The hunter exhaled and started to make his way across the clearing, humming quietly. To him, this was just a way to feed his family; he did not think of it as wrong in any way.

When he was about halfway across, however, he thought he heard something. A distant screaming. The screaming grew louder and closer with every breath the hunter took. He looked up and saw what looked like a black fog descending upon the clearing. He gulped.

‘HOW DARE YOU!’ A female voice screeched.

The hunter was aghast. What was happening?

A pale woman with shiny black hair and burgundy eyes stepped from the feathery whirlwind onto the ground; her expression was one of fury and deep sorrow. She knelt down and took the bird’s body in her arms.

‘Who are you? Where did you come from? What… or who is this bird?’ the hunter asked.

‘I come from a distant planet. Many catastrophes have happened there in the last few centuries, and they have made our home unlivable. Some of our people, including my family, come occasionally to Earth to seek reprieve from the pain and evil that plagues our world. We usually masquerade as trees when we come here but we wanted to move around this time, so we became birds.’

‘So this… this creature. He is part of your family?’

‘You killed my son.’

‘I…’ the hunter was dumbstruck.

‘You have hurt me, and now I must hurt you.’

Please don’t take my children from me! Hurt me, but let no harm come to them.’

‘I need not resort to killing to hurt you, human. I will tell you some truths… they should suffice.’

The hunter closed his eyes, unable to believe what was happening.

‘Not everyone you meet is your friend. Not every food you eat is good for you. Most of the stars you see in the night sky are dead; they died long ago. You are alone, you were born alone, you will die alone. The leaders you trust are corrupt and selfish. Everyone you meet is selfish, in some way or another. The illnesses you humans carry are a punishment for all the evil and pain you inflict upon the world. You will all die. Your lives will amount to nothing.’

The black- haired woman looked up at the hunter with hateful eyes, and scoffed at his horrified expression. ‘It’s about time someone told you humans all this. This land, this earth, this universe…. They are not as pure and welcoming as you all think. There is danger out there, there is hatred. There is despair and destruction, and there is evil.’

As the hunter stood agape, unable to fathom what she was saying, she threw her hood over her hair, screeched in anguish once more and disappeared in a flurry of smoke and glossy black feathers.

The hunter sank to his knees. The bird lay a few feet in front of him, blood seeping from its cooling body. Soon there was a pool of blood around him.

The hunter shuddered and rose after some time, a new emptiness in his eyes. He stepped over the bird as he walked back towards the village, the setting sun seeming to set his silhouette ablaze.

The hunter told his wife what had happened in the woods. She told her sister, who spread the word faster than a hummingbird’s wings can beat. As this news swept across first their land then others, despair and anguish blanketed the world in a bleak mist. Much was made of how true the woman’s words had been, and debates over the words soon turned to arguments, which turned into wars. People fought to protect their families from the woman’s words, but the more they struggled, the truer they seemed to be. There was destruction and needless hatred, and countless beings, human and otherwise, lost themselves in the fray. Thus evil became a part of humans’ psyches; a hunter’s simple mistake cost him his innocence and the happiness of so many others.

Humans have, of course, learned to deal with this crushing knowledge; one way in which we do so is by creating and sharing stories. Stories, based on both fact and fiction, allow humans to imagine beyond reason, to think up a world where anything is possible. Stories allow humans to explore all that seems impossible, and they allow us to feel that perhaps there is a point to this life, that it is not as bleak as the black- haired woman claimed.

Commentary

I spent a lot of time agonizing over details when it came to the above story. I read it out to several friends who enjoyed it, and offered constructive criticism as well, some of which I agreed with (the story originally involved a woodcutter and a tree, instead of a hunter and a bird). I always write in a rushed flurry of thoughts, then go back and tweak things, adding, subtracting and embellishing as I see fit. Something I found interesting about writing this story was how clearly I was able to visualize every scene of the story, almost as though a movie was playing in my head and I was simply transcribing what was going on.

Overall, I really enjoyed this assignment. I found it to be demonstrative of the fact that so much of the stories we tell are made up of things that linger in our psyches. Experience is the most essential thing to telling a story and letting it evolve and grow in an organic, unforced manner- if humans did not have new experiences (mentally, spiritually, physically, emotionally), we would just be telling the same stories over and over again until the end of time. Thankfully, this is not the case.

Closing, as always, with a quote, this time from author Philip Pullman: ‘After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.’ As I mentioned at the end of my story, stories are invaluable, not just because they help facilitate the exercise of human imagination, but also because they help alleviate the fear and tension that can be caused by facing ideas such as the existence of evil and the concept of the far- reaching abyss.

Works Cited

Bird and Arrow. N.d. Buenito: Visual Communication and Creative Thinking. Web. 29 May 2015.

Pullman, Philip. “About Philip Pullman.” Philip Pullman. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May 2015.

“Quotable Quote by Philip Pullman.” Goodreads. N.p., n.d. Web. 29 May 2015.

The following is my response to Question 3.

I don’t believe that a picture is worth a thousand words. I have never believed that, to be frank. While it is a charming concept, ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ doesn’t take into account the past, the future or even the present of what is happening in a photo. For example, a photo of one of Canada’s umpteen majestic landscapes, no matter how spellbinding it may be, will never be able to project to the beholder of the photo how the air smelled, or how the wind sounded as it rushed through the evergreens. Only words can do that.

I believe that words draw us closer to the world we live in because we, as humans, are curious creatures. We are constantly searching for new ways to connect, both with each other and with the world we live in.

In one of my favourite literary works, Walden, author Henry David Thoreau explores this idea, when he sets up a home for himself in the middle of the wilderness, and immerses himself in nature and in solitude for over two years. The following excerpt from Walden is emblematic of Thoreau’s experience in the wild, and to me, it demonstrates the unique insight into Walden’s surroundings that only words could have brought. He states, ‘In the midst of a gentle rain while these thoughts prevailed, I was suddenly sensible of such sweet and beneficent society in Nature, in the very pattering of the drops, and in every sound and sight around my house, an infinite and unaccountable friendliness all at once like an atmosphere sustaining me, as made the fancied advantage of human neighborhood insignificant’ (99). The connection Thoreau is feeling to nature in the above passage is clear; it is a very special thing, I find, that Thoreau was able to find and use the exact words he thought would fit the situation best in order to relay to his readers how close he was feeling to the Earth. I believe that words are the only thing that allow us to be bound together as humans, humans who all live such singular and separate lives but are inherently connected by our connections to the lands we inhabit.

I was excited to find that J. Edward Chamberlin, too, references Thoreau in If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories?. Chamberlin speaks of what Thoreau calls ‘extravagance’, ‘…the quality that counteracts what Thoreau called a life of quiet desperation; that takes us beyond the true and the untrue, the useful and the useless; and that keeps us safe and sane by celebrating the unsafe and the things that defy common sense’ (Chamberlin 156). I believe that this is the true essence of what words (and, in turn, stories) are meant to do; they reach beyond just being ink on pages (or mere sounds, in the case of oral stories) and unite humankind in the knowledge that we are all here, we are all in the same world, watching the sun as it rises, feeling the first drops of rain.

I would like to close with a quote once again; this one comes from spiritual leader Yehuda Berg. ‘Words are singularly the most powerful force available to humanity. We can choose to use this force constructively with words of encouragement, or destructively using words of despair. Words have energy and power with the ability to help, to heal, to hinder, to hurt, to harm, to humiliate and to humble.’ This quote reinforces my belief that words are truly the essential key to connecting ourselves to those we know and to those we do not; to the living and to the dead, to sharing stories about the world around us.

Works Cited:

Thoreau, Henry D. “Thoreau’s Walden – an Annotated Edition.” Thoreau Reader. N.p., n.d. Web. 22 May 2015.

“Henry David Thoreau Biography.” Bio. A&E Networks Television, n.d. Web. 22 May 2015.

“PROF. J.E. CHAMBERLIN.” Victoria College | University of Toronto. N.p., n.d. Web. 22 May 2015.

“Yehuda Berg.” Amazon. N.p., n.d. Web. 22 May 2015.

“Yehuda Berg Quotes.” BrainyQuote. N.p., n.d. Web. 22 May 2015.

Hello! I’m Alishae Abeed, and I’ll be entering my fourth year studying English Literature at UBC in the fall. In addition to writing, reading has always been my favourite pastime, and my preferred authors range from Chimamanda Ngozie- Adichie, to Kamila Shamsie, to F. Scott Fitzgerald.

I have lived in a variety of different places along the globe, including Pakistan (my birthplace), the United Arab Emirates and Ontario, and this has caused me to develop a deep and earnest sensitivity towards cultural and social ideologies. Furthermore, I believe that having been a resident of Canada for the last seven years, the time has come for me to delve into the rich literary heritage and tradition of this nation.

I have long been fascinated by how people from so many cultures, faiths, social structures and background all seem to fit into Canada’s sociocultural landscape like pieces of a puzzle; I believe that one of the key factors in understanding why and how this is possible is reading Canadian literary works.I also believe that reading the work of First Nations authors and intellectuals will be invaluable in painting a complete picture of Canadian literature; the Aboriginal voice, to me, is one that must be listened to when aiming to create an inclusive, cohesive environment in which Canadian literature is studied and appreciated.

Something that intrigues me about this course is the blogging element; I believe that technology is fast becoming a necessary tool for education and for the spread of information. This is my first time taking a Distance Education course, and it is also my first time curating my own blog for a course-I’m excited to learn how the blogging component will foster a collaborative and accepting learning environment.

I would like to close with a quote from Canadian writer Michael Ondaatje’s magnum opus The English Patient: “She had always wanted words, she loved them; grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape.” I have long found this excerpt to be emblematic of my relationship with books and writing; I am hopeful that ENGL 470 will add dimension to this relationship and will facilitate my understanding of Canada as a nation, as my current home, and as the backdrop for so many Canadian stories.

Diversity and cultural celebration have long been a part of Canada’s social landscape

Works Cited:

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. N.p., n.d. Web. 15 May 2015.

“Kamila Shamsie.” The Guardian. N.p., n.d. Web. 15 May 2015.

“Quotable Quote by Michael Ondaatje.” GoodReads. N.p., n.d. Web. 16 May 2015.