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An Unforgettable Speech Contest by Lili
When I entered high school, there was a speech contest held by the school. The topic was National Day. My head teacher encouraged me to join the contest. I was excited and prepared a lot. I wrote a long script and thought carefully to improve my speech.
The day finally came, and the contest began while I waited, nervous and excited for my turn. I wanted to give a wonderful speech without looking at the script. When my turn arrived, I stepped onto the platform. I saw many leaders, teachers, and students sitting there and watching me. I felt butterflies in my stomach. I told myself to calm down and start my speech.
But after just one or two sentences, I was so nervous that I couldn’t remember what to say next. I had never been so nervous before. I had to take out my script and continue reading it emotionally. I thought I was doing terribly, but I told myself to keep going on.
When I turned to the second page, the paper fell onto the ground. Everyone watched me bending down to pick it up. I was extremely embarrassed. I wanted to give up and run away; but I told myself I couldn’t do that. I had to keep going until the end.
Finally, I finished my speech. The teachers and students broke into applause. Maybe they were just encouraging me. I wasn’t sure at that moment; I just wanted to run away. Surprisingly, I won second prize in the contest.
Now I think I was really brave as a teenager. Finishing the speech without giving up was the right thing. The reason I was so nervous was that I wanted to do my best. I believe everything will be better if we try our best. Even if it doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. Just try your best and never give up, and you will keep getting better.
My Story by Genie
I’ll share a personal story about how I started playing pickle-ball. I still remember the first day I went to the gym with my friend. We didn’t know anything about pickle-ball. The place was busy and everything was new. My friend and I were very nervous.
We went to the front court, and we told the people there that we were beginners. Fortunately, many people were willing to teach us how to play pickleball. We learned the basic rules and practiced hitting the ball. I already knew how to play badminton and tennis, so it was not too hard to learn. The paddle felt light in my hand, and the ball made a popping sound every time someone hit it.
Since we were beginners, we were usually placed on different teams. We practiced every week and slowly improved. We felt excited and more confident. Finally, after three months, we played on the same team for the first time. We were thrilled to be able to play on the same team. It was a lot of fun.
From this experience, I learned that even beginners can improve if they keep practicing. Now, pickleball is one of my favourite [recreational][4] activities, and I enjoy playing with other people.
After I came to Canada by Vicky
I never thought I would leave China and live in another country. I have had some overseas travel experiences, but they were merely trips. However, on July 8th, 2025, I came to Canada to live here for
half a year with my children. I left my homeland for my children's education.
When I first arrived in, my English was very poor. I couldn't understand or speak it. I suffered many setbacks. But ultimately I succeeded. I have solved all the problems so far and my life with my children has become stable.This period of experience let me know that I can do everything I need without being afraid. There are many lovely and kind people around us. As long as you speak up, you will receive plenty of help.
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“I love short stories because I believe they are the way we live. They are what our friends tell us, in their pain and joy, their passion and rage, their yearning and their cry against injustice.” – Andre Dubus
A Short Story About Growth by Azita
Last year, I talked to one of my friends in Germany about an interesting topic. It was about how our souls can grow by taking care of nature, plants, animals and movement. She was right, those are important things for mental growth and inner contentment. I have been walking daily for a longtime early in the morning. I have a family dog named Laika that I take care of every day. I take her for a walk, feed her and wash her muddy paws after our walk. But I had no plants to take care of. I thought this would be the right time to buy a planter of roses to nurture. Sometimes, I give the rose fertilizer. After a while, I slowly felt a sense of aliveness and a greater feeling of gratitude. Today, I bought another rose shrub for a friend who will plant it in our backyard. I value moments, living creatures and people more, and therefore I am even more grateful than before.
The Kindness from Strangers in Japan by Cathy
One unforgettable moment in my life was my first trip to Japan in 2024. My husband and I planned to travel from Nagoya to Nara, but we took the wrong train. We felt a little worried because we could not speak Japanese well. Some local passengers tried to help us, even though we could not understand each other very well. Later, the train driver knew about our problem. He wrote a note for us and told us how to change trains and what time to transfer.
When we arrived in Nara, a bus driver heard us speaking Chinese. He kindly called us over and gave us a Chinese travel guide. All these kind actions made me feel very warm and thankful. I will never forget this experience.
Dad, My Son Has Come Back Home by Jonathan
My daughter has a cat whose name is Nicks. Nicks is a male cat and he is nine years old. He is very smart, lively and lovely. My daughter often picks him up and says to him: ‘Call me Mom’ and Nicks always looks at my daughter's eyes and then turns his head away. Nicks often stands by the windows and looks out. When some birds or squirrels come close to the window, he is very excited and claws at the window with his front paws and he always moves his head toward to those small animals. We all know he wants to play with them. Nicks has lived in my house for four years and then moved to my daughter’s house when she married Harry. Fortunately, their house is only about five hundred meters away from ours, so my wife and I can often walk over to their house. Every time we go to my daughter’s home, Nicks comes to me and rubs against my leg. Sometimes I pick him up and say to him like my daughter: ‘Call me grandpa’. I’m proud of our big family.
But an incident almost broke our entire family's happiness. It was one midnight in November of last year, when I was awakened by a phone call from my daughter. She told me very sadly that Nicks was missing, and she asked me to see if he was in my yard. I was so surprised at that moment and comforted her, "don’t worry and we can find him certainly." But my daughter told me, she and Harry had already looked for Nicks for several blocks around their house and found nothing. After the phone call, my wife and I got up and went to both the front and back yard to see if Nicks was there, but still no sign of him.
Harry, my son in law, came to my home early the next morning, and he told me that he found Nicks in my front yard for about ten minutes in the surveillance video. So he put some food and toys that Nicks loves in both the front and back yards of my house, and expected Nicks to come back soon. My daughter, Harry, my wife and I looked for Nicks all day, even into that cold night. The doors of both homes were left open with a gap the size of a fist in order to let Nicks return into our homes easily. Unfortunately, he didn’t come back, but he suddenly appeared on the monitor screen once again. All of us were disappointed and extremely sad. On the third day, we continued to look for Nicks but still didn’t find him.
In the very early morning of the fourth day, I was awakened suddenly by a phone call from my daughter. She said very excitedly on the phone: ‘Dad, my son has come back home’. I was so delighted that I couldn’t sleep when I got that good news, 3:15 AM. Her son to her house from the back door and was very tired and hungry. He finished all the food in the food bowl very quickly.
My Journey to a New Life by Andy
I decided to come to Canada because I didn't like my situation in Korea, where society pressures us to be the same and forces us to endure unfairness, which I believe affects the current very low birth rate. I was in a race without knowing myself, and I wanted to quit competing and go my own way. The big moment was leaving my comfortable life, but it started with a small moment when I talked to my manager. My family and I decided to take a parental leave for two years and find a way to spend valuable time away from a competitive life.
The setting changed from a busy city to an open landscape, and I felt anxious but hopeful. From a career perspective, I thought English proficiency could be my weapon in the Korean job market, and adding an academic background in digital marketing would give me confidence. More importantly, we wanted to establish our own value of life. I realized I always pursue targets for others like companies and was greatly affected by others. In Canada, meeting open-minded people helped me realize that we are ready to build a life defined by our own rules.
Now, I am preparing my own business here, and I think there are so many obstacles to tackle. I am a bit worried and stressed, but I hope to overcome it well. Through this journey, I learned that true success is not about winning a race against others, but comes from achieving a strong sense of self. Everyone follows the same path because of the fear of the unknown, but I have chosen to face it. Our family's journey is just beginning, and we are looking forward to who we will become in this new country.
My First Volunteering Experience by Wendy My big moment was volunteering at Goodwill, and the small moment I remember most clearly is my first interview. Before the interview, I felt nervous, but I also tried to prepare as much as I can.
I searched online for some common interview questions and prepared some simple sentences and vocabulary. I also tried to learn about the company and their service spirit, like helping community and supporting people. I didn’t understand everything, but I tried to remember some key ideas. I felt confident about myself for the interview, but I felt nervous because of my English. I worried that I could not understand all the questions or express my answers clearly. The interview was in the basement of a Goodwill building near downtown, where the Clothing Works program is.
During the interview, I sat at a round table with two interviewers. They were both retired and working as volunteer leaders. They were very friendly, but sometimes they spoke quickly Some times, I only understood maybe half of what they said and I felt a little confused; but I still tried to listen carefully to catch some key words. When I didn’t understand, I asked them to repeat the question.
To be honest, at that time I didn’t understand everything. I only knew some important things, like I need to help customers and organize donated clothes. On many details I was not very clear, and I felt a little “lost”; but I still tried my best to smile and answer with my prepared responses.
During the interview, the main interviewer told me directly that I have good energy, I am positive and always smiling. They said they need people like this. Hearing that made me feel more relaxed and a little more confident. Later, the leader also told me I looked a little nervous in the interview, and maybe I didn’t understand everything. But they still liked my attitude.
After the interview, I needed to complete a police check before starting to work. Two weeks later, I started volunteering in the Clothing Works basement. My main work is organizing clothes and helping prepare items. At first, I still felt a little nervous, but I tried to be more confident.
I also joined a simple activity to help prepare clothes for people. It is simple but meaningful.
One thing I notice is most volunteers are retired Canadians. Middle-aged people and young people are fewer. As a middle-aged newcomer, I feel a little different at beginning, but later I felt more comfortable.
As time goes by, I have become more comfortable. I can understand more English and communicate better. The staff and volunteers are kind and helpful, so I have improved a lot.
This experience is very different from my life in China. In Canada, evenas an unpaid volunteer, I feel more self-worth and more relaxed.
Now I have volunteered for more than one year. When I look back, I feel proud of myself. Even though I felt nervous in the beginning, I still tried and didn’t give up.
In conclusion, this experience has been challenging but meaningful. It helped me build confidence, improve my English, and find my value in a new country. I believe if I keep trying, I can do even better in the future.
How I became John
Caveat Lector: As is the case with most childhood memories, facts are often blended with imagination. It is my belief that recalling events from our birth to the age of seven - the age of reason - much of what we think we remember was likely shaped by what our parents and siblings recounted, or what we think might have actually happened. Our memories may easily be tricked by something called wishful thinking. The following anecdotal excerpts are vivid examples of this theory. Some of the names are changed to protect the innocent and some of the incidents are highly embellished for dramatic effect, but the thematic truth, for the most part, is based on facts.
Chapter 1: What shall we call you?
Part A When I was five years old, this question never came up. My name simply stated who I was ... Gianni Sandro Esposito, un piccolo ragazzo named after my nonno, Giovanni D’Onofrio Sr. Anyone living in or near the Piazza Centrale, near our second story flat, called me Gianni, including my mother, Maria Nicola; and my brother, Cesare Luigi. I assumed that names (like the brassy logos on the car-hoods of an Alfa, Lancia or the rare Ferrari that my dad repaired) gave us pride and a sense of identity. When I became the six-year-old know-it-all who immigrated to Canada, my sense of pride and identity shifted dramatically, along with my understanding of how or why insensitive people conveniently assign labels to newcomers. A few months after our dreary transatlantic crossing to Canada, I discovered that in this country and culture, a name represents not only who you are, but also what the future may offer, such as whether you will one day become rich or poor, a prince or a pauper, one of us or one of them. In my new world, far from my beloved place of birth, names suggested degrees of advantage. Today, as I rewind my life's memory-movie to 1964, the year that I became a follower of musical guru Bobby Zimmerman, I finally understand why he crooned:
I ain't lookin' for you to feel like me
See like me or be like me
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you.
- Bob Dylan -
But in 1954, as a youthful newcomer to Canada, I discovered that the welcoming hand of friendship was often extended reluctantly and I soon learned that I could never fully become one of them.
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Part B. It was a Monday morning, and this was the day of reckoning. My dad would walk with me, all nine long slushy, snowy blocks to the East Side Public School, adjacent to the East Side fire hall. I fought back tears when my father turned to leave, abandoning me at the main entrance to the dark brown brick building, a sombre fortress to an unknown education. As I reached the landing of the concrete stairs, I dared not look back to see if papa had paused momentarily, in case I changed my mind about the importance of schooling. Suddenly, a student about my height, a blonde-haired girl wearing a long winter coat, a wool scarf, and fluffy earmuffs, held open the thick oak door as she gestured, “Follow me; it’s just this way”. I responded with a nervous smile, and wondered what my guide had said as we entered the building, arriving at our destination without incident. Or so I thought.
Chapter 2: What shall we call you?
"Sowhatshallwecallyouyoungman?!”, screeched the silver-haired Mrs. Janet or Janine Bradley, our kindergarten maestra at the East Side Public School, peering down with her steely grey eyes towards my muted and confused face … the latest addition to an already overly-populated classroom. It was 1954 and the post-war immigrants from Italy – she referred to us as refugees – for her arrived in endless waves, annual European tsunamis of children from across the Atlantic, all seeking a life of opportunity and the impossible Canadian Dream. I did not attempt to speak to her, nor did I have the faintest notion what she was babbling on about. She had introduced herself by pointing to her name tag with flourishes of a seeming secret sign-language, much like an orchestra maestra conducting an unheard symphony. She pointed a tiny baton to a small wooden milk-crate filled with tiled letters of the alphabet rescued – much like her refugee children – from boat loads of discarded Scrabble game boxes.
“Me, Mrs. Bradley. What is your name?”, asked the teacher, now in louder, more emphatic English, like the distorted sound from a vintage gramophone that needed rewinding. I made no reply. Fearful, perhaps disoriented, I feigned a smile as I stared in utter confusion at my silver-haired zoo-keeper. This first day of school seemed so different from the familiar Convent Day School (il Convento di San Giuseppe) many miles across the ocean, where, the teaching sisterhood of St. Joseph not only knew my name, but always offered me biscotti before morning recess and the occasional hug in the event of a scraped knee or bumped nose from playing soccer. Their hugs smelled of an intoxicating aroma of talcum powder and altar wine, especially Reverend Mother Adriana who always seemed fair and just with discipline.
Mrs. Bradley, on the other hand, seemed austere and aloof, roughly seizing my frightened immigrant hand to point to herself and then to me, once again repeating, “Me, Mrs. Bradley. (Pause) What is your name?”, this time slowing her speaking tempo down to a snail’s pace, in the strange hope that this adjustment might suddenly spark my understanding of English. After a few failed attempts, and the release of her grip on my aching wrist, I finally sensed what this teacher was trying to say. Slowly, I opened my mouth, and spoke haltingly, “Si, mi chiamo Giovanni Sandro.” I expected a mother superior hug, anticipating that this moment of recognition would at last appease my warden. It was only the first day of school and I had already mastered some degree of English comprehension. Alas, I expected too much.
My intrepid drill-sergeant, deserving a medal of honour for her sheer determination, devised an alternate plan of attack, armed with the weather-beaten Scrabble board. She pointed to herself, for the third time as she arranged the tiny alphabet tiles from the wooden crate in a straight and equally-spaced row of letters apparently spelling her name, B-R-A-D-L-E-Y, and then spread out two more rows of tiles on a tiny desk, loudly announcing in her megaphonic voice, “MRS. BRADLEY”, and finally pointing to a row of four alien tiles that spelled, J-O-H-N. “This is your Christian name in Canada. A lovely name that all of your Canadian friends can spell and easily pronounce”. I laughed, thinking she was joking, like Reverend Mother Adriana when she teased we were all out of biscotti at recess today. Perhaps she was asking me to show her how to spell my name in proper Italian. I reached into the magic letter crate, retrieved six new letters, swept away the J and H tiles to spell G-I-O-V-A-N-N-I. Now, she’ll understand, I smiled victoriously; only to find that she no longer had time for my audacity. She noisily scooped up all of the tiles, hurled them back into their receptacle with an apparent display of exasperation over the stubborn little Italian and finally announced to the entire class: “We shall call you John. In Canada, your name will be John”. Speechless, I again felt tears starting to well up, just as the start-of-recess bell heralded Mrs. Bradley's march to the front of the classroom, “All right boys and girls. Time for recess!
There'll be no biscotti at recess in this Canadian school, I thought to myself.
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