SELS Dialogues Journal Volume 3 Issue 1

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Creative Pursuits Dad, I see your spirit in the sleeping bag gift. I remember how you volunteered as a job counselor at a local shelter and as a listener for a cancer hotline. I still see you in acts of service and care, the unrolling of a temporary bed, its careful placement in a tent, a shelter during a time of pain. If you could send a message to your brother or sister in sleep, I believe it might go like this: Take this donation with my blessing and heartfelt prayers for your well-being. May it provide a protective layer between you and the hard ground below as well as the cold air above. Like you, I have known struggle. I fought a cold war, lived with epilepsy, and battled for my very life, surviving two bouts of cancer before the third one got me. I was vulnerable. I was scared. I often felt alone. But suffering passes. You keep smiling. You keep making jokes. May this old but sturdy bedroll of mine help you sleep through the night, giving you strength to face the morning. May it contain some of my optimism, fight, and love to match yours. May it not let you down. Sleep well, dear comrade, and may sanctuary enfold you always. Be warm. Be well. Be safe. Be at peace. Author’s Bio Dr. Catherine Raine is a writer, artist, and tutor at the English Tutoring Centre. She loves writing poetry, making collages, and creating blog posts that combine images and words. Inspired by nature and mindfulness, Catherine enjoys writing journal entries and facilitating journalwriting workshops at the ETC. In 2020, she self-published Visualizations for Heartbreak, which is a series of illustrated meditations that are devoted to anyone seeking comfort after a deep loss. Catherine’s writings and artwork can be found on her website, www.c-raine.com. <strong>SELS</strong> DIALOGUES | 30
Creative Pursuits Toronto by Prabha Jerrybandan The winds had cooled from an unusually hot summer. While most felt relief, Kaya moved with trepidation, hugging her thin windbreaker that her boss had given her when she began working in the spring of that year. She welcomed the shelter of the hairdressing salon where she worked all week except for Mondays when it was closed. Voula gave her a slight smile as she entered and she immediately removed her jacket to bare her crumpled off white blouse, covering it again with a black, canvas apron that was hanging on the door of the washroom. She began sweeping the short, grey hairs that were falling off the almost bald gentleman that Voula had been grooming. He came in every three weeks for a trim although there was not much to cut. Kaya could not understand what the three homesick Greeks were saying, but she knew from Voula’s husband, Sotiros, that over fifty years before, he and his wife had left their home in Athens and travelled by ship to Halifax, Nova Scotia. the hot coffee that she had emptied from the carafe used to serve clients. She had finished cleaning the floors and toilet earlier, but wanted to stay as long as she could. Kaya liked it there. When she remembered that it was Saturday, she relaxed her lips and smiled at Voula who was counting out her pay. The young woman looked smaller and smaller as she moved towards the red and rusted bridge. It was dark enough, so she carefully looked around to make sure no one else was nearby before she ducked under the steel structure. Her blanket was intact on the blue tarpaulin that lay in the corner. As she let herself fall lightly to the ground, she took out her phone to look at the toothless smile of her Isabella. On days when there were no clients filling up the two chairs in the salon, Sotiros would tell Kaya about his childhood in Kalamata. “The sea near. Ah! So nice!” His dark brown eyes looked dreamy as he fixed the oxygen tube under his nose. Coughing intermittently, he sputtered, “They no want me to go—the children.” He pursed his lips and looked somewhat lost. Kaya felt her phone vibrating in the pocket of her apron and glanced down to see “Hija” on the screen. Moving close to the front door, she whispered, “Hola, mi amor.” Her face looked much older than the picture on her passport. It was taken just one year ago before her move to Toronto. Back home, her mother promised to look after her six-year-old daughter. After all, Kaya was going to send money for them and eventually they would all move to Canada. Kaya would go back to school and get a job. She would make lots of money and buy a house. As the hands of the clock on the wall moved to seven and twelve, the street outside looked dark. Kaya drank down Author’s Bio Prabha Jerrybandan holds a PhD. in Education. She is a Professor of English and ESL at Centennial College. She is particularly interested in immigrant stories, Caribbean literature, women’s studies, and incorporates autoethnography and other life history research methods into her academic work. Prabha’s research surrounds experiences of marginalized people, especially in the Caribbean, who are at risk of being silenced or forgotten in the published literature of the region. <strong>SELS</strong> DIALOGUES | 31
Page 1 and 2: SELS Dialogues School of English an
Page 3 and 4: Table of Contents Acknowledgements.
Page 5 and 6: Managing Editor’s Note by Sherry
Page 7 and 8: Educational Technology Games are sh
Page 9 and 10: Educational Technology Machine lear
Page 11 and 12: Educational Technology • Use Imag
Page 13 and 14: Educational Technology three, build
Page 15 and 16: Pedagogy and Critical Thinking case
Page 17 and 18: Pedagogy and Critical Thinking With
Page 19 and 20: Pedagogy and Critical Thinking coul
Page 21 and 22: Research Initiatives Research quest
Page 23 and 24: Research Initiatives In a nutshell,
Page 25 and 26: Creative Pursuits Welcome to the Cr
Page 27 and 28: Creative Pursuits It was never a bu
Page 29 and 30: Creative Pursuits Stratford’s New
Page 31: Creative Pursuits Sleeping Bag Tran
Page 35 and 36: SELS Dialogues Editors Sherry Hejaz
Page 37 and 38: Jill McDonald For the past 30 years
Page 39: A1-01-NOV23

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