Luminescent

Canada

he/him

"Writing is the best way to talk without being interrupted."
-Jules Renard

Published Work

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Instruction Manual

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1aVBm-na9nRMyqDPKQZrEZtKB5obX7M7p/view?usp=sharing

Light pink melted onto a powder blue sky,
fusing with the fuchsias and indiscreet reds.
See the orange sun as the centerpiece
when it sets, as a mother sets down her baby
on the softest of beds.
See the details on the clouds before they fade away.
It’s as if God painted the sky himself.
So beautiful you could cry; so mesmerizing that you try with your outstretched arm to touch this real-life painting.
Feel the cold air on your fingertips
that makes your body shiver.
And suddenly, it’s just you and the sunset.

I wish I could tell you that feeling is real.
But it’s not.
I wish I could tell you that you’ll be fine.
But I don’t know the answer.
I wish I could warn you of people who will put you down;
Who will put down the ones you love.
I wish I could tell you to have emotions and not bottle them in.
I wish...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Instruction Manual

Light pink melted onto a powder blue sky,
fusing with the fuchsias and indiscreet reds.
See the orange sun as the centerpiece
when it sets, as a mother sets down her baby
on the softest of beds.
See the details on the clouds before they fade away.
It’s as if God painted the sky himself.
So beautiful you could cry; so mesmerizing that you try with your outstretched arm to touch this real-life painting.
Feel the cold air on your fingertips
that makes your body shiver.
And suddenly, it’s just you and the sunset.

I wish I could tell you that feeling is real.
But it’s not.
I wish I could tell you that you’ll be fine.
But I don’t know the answer.
I wish I could warn you of people who will put you down;
Who will put down the ones you love.
I wish I could tell you to have emotions and not bottle them in.
I wish I...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Instruction Manual


Light pink melted onto a powder blue sky,
fusing with the fuchsias and indiscreet reds.
See the orange sun as the centerpiece
when it sets, as a mother sets down her baby
on the softest of beds.
See the details on the clouds before they fade away.
It’s as if God painted the sky himself.
So beautiful you could cry; so mesmerizing that you try with your outstretched arm to touch this real-life painting.
Feel the cold air on your fingertips
that makes your body shiver.
And suddenly, it’s just you and the sunset.

I wish I could tell you that feeling is real.
But it’s not.
I wish I could tell you that you’ll be fine.
But I don’t know the answer.
I wish I could warn you of people who will put you down;
Who will put down the ones you love.
I wish I could tell you to have emotions and not bottle them in.
I wish I...

Poetry and Spoken Word Competition: 2021

Instruction Manual


Light pink melted onto a powder blue sky,
fusing with the fuchsias and indiscreet reds.
See the orange sun as the centerpiece
when it sets, as a mother sets down her baby
on the softest of beds.
See the details on the clouds before they fade away.
It’s as if God painted the sky himself.
So beautiful you could cry; so mesmerizing that you try with your outstretched arm to touch this real-life painting.
Feel the cold air on your fingertips
that makes your body shiver.
And suddenly, it’s just you and the sunset.

I wish I could tell you that feeling is real.
But it’s not.
I wish I could tell you that you’ll be fine.
But I don’t know the answer.
I wish I could warn you of people who will put you down;
Who will put down the ones you love.
I wish I could tell you to have emotions and not bottle them in.
I wish I...

Song Writing Competition 2021

this past year

VERSE 1

Stared out my window
With a longing in my eyes
Never felt so alone
A call would've been nice
But it's better than dying in a hospital room by myself
That's why I'm grateful
To still have my good health

PRE-CHORUS

You should be too
Think of others rather than just you
You should try to
Have a different view

CHORUS

People are dying, other's are crying
'Cause this past year's been making them feel so
Helpless but you're just selfish

VERSE 2

Who cares 'bout your freedom
If it means saving a life?
You'll get back your freedom
You just gotta give it some time
It's better than dying in a hospital room by yourself
So you should be grateful you still have your good health

CHORUS

People are dying, other's are crying
'Cause this past year's been making them feel so
Helpless but you're just selfish
Why can't you just, why can't you just stay home...

Song Writing Competition 2021

this past year

VERSE 1

Stared out my window
With a longing in my eyes
Never felt so alone
A call would've been nice
But it's better than dying in a hospital room by myself
That's why I'm grateful
To still have my good health

PRE-CHORUS

You should be too
Think of others rather than just you
You should try to
Have a different view

CHORUS

People are dying, other's are crying
'Cause this past year's been making them feel so
Helpless but you're just selfish

VERSE 2

Who cares 'bout your freedom
If it means saving a life?
You'll get back your freedom
You just gotta give it some time
It's better than dying in a hospital room by yourself
So you should be grateful you still have your good health

CHORUS

People are dying, other's are crying
'Cause this past year's been making them feel so
Helpless but you're just selfish
Why can't you just, why can't you just stay home...

Song Writing Competition 2021

this past year

VERSE 1

Stared out my window
With a longing in my eyes
Never felt so alone
A call would've been nice
But it's better than dying in a hospital room by yourself
That's why I'm grateful
To still have my good health

PRE-CHORUS

You should be too
Think of others rather than just you
You should try to
Have a different view

CHORUS

People are dying, other's are crying
'Cause this past year's been making them feel so
Helpless but you're just selfish

VERSE 2

Who cares 'bout your freedom
If it means saving a life?
You'll get back your freedom
You just gotta give it some time
It's better than dying in a hospital room by yourself
So you should be grateful you still have your good health

CHORUS

People are dying, other's are crying
'Cause this past year's been making them feel so
Helpless but you're just selfish
Why can't you just, why can't you just stay home...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

What A Suburban Boy Does When It Rains

Vulnerability. God, I hate that feeling. It’s the reason I’ve been suppressing my emotions over the years. It’s the reason my friends don’t truly know me. It’s why I don’t cry. I’ve practiced holding it in so much for so long that even if I did want to cry, I couldn’t. It’s too hard. And I hate the feeling of being stripped, standing exposed in the rain. But it poured this year. And I wasn't ready.

April 2020. Beans. Corn. And humming. I was making chili in the kitchen with Mama when I heard the house phone ringing. My hands weren't clean, and I’m profoundly serious when it comes to cleanness, so I didn’t answer the phone. Grandma did instead. She reached the landline and began conversing with her friend, Phoebe, who is not one to readily call people. She prefers texting, which is interesting for an old woman. After three or so minutes of mumbling, I heard a...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

What A Suburban Boy Does When It Rains

Vulnerability. God, I hate that feeling. It’s scary. It’s the reason I’ve been suppressing my emotions over the years. It’s the reason my friends don’t truly know me. It’s why I don’t cry. I’ve practiced holding it in so much for so long that even if I did want to cry, I couldn’t. It’s too hard. And I hate the feeling of being stripped, standing exposed in the rain. But it poured this year. And I wasn't ready.

April 2020. Beans. Corn. And humming. I was making chili in the kitchen with Mama when I heard the house phone ringing. My hands weren't clean, and I’m profoundly serious when it comes to cleanness, so I didn’t answer the phone. Grandma did instead. She reached the landline and began conversing with her friend, Phoebe, who is not one to readily call people. She prefers texting, which is interesting for an old woman. After three or so minutes of mumbling, I...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

What A Suburban Boy Does When It Rains

Vulnerability. God, I hate that feeling. It’s scary. It’s the reason I’ve been suppressing my emotions over the years. It’s the reason my friends don’t truly know me. It’s why I don’t cry. I’ve practiced holding it in so much for so long that even if I did want to cry, I couldn’t. It’s too hard. And I hate the feeling of being stripped, standing exposed in the rain. But it poured this year. And I wasn't ready.

April 2020. Beans. Corn. And humming. I was making chili in the kitchen with Mama when I heard the house phone ringing. My hands weren't clean, and I’m profoundly serious when it comes to cleanness, so I didn’t answer the phone. Grandma did instead. She reached the landline and began conversing with her friend, Phoebe, who is not one to readily call people. She prefers texting, which is interesting for an old woman. After three or so minutes of mumbling, I...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

What A Suburban Boy Does When It Rains

Vulnerability. God, I hate that feeling. It’s scary. It’s the reason I’ve been suppressing my emotions over the years. It’s the reason my friends don’t truly know me. It’s why I don’t cry. I’ve practiced holding it in so much for so long that even if I did want to cry, I couldn’t. It’s too hard. And I hate the feeling of being stripped, standing exposed in the rain. But it poured this year. And I wasn't ready.

April 2020. Beans. Corn. And humming. I was making chili in the kitchen with Mama when I heard the house phone ringing. My hands weren't clean, and I’m profoundly serious when it comes to cleanness, so I didn’t answer the phone. Grandma did instead. She reached the landline and began conversing with her friend, Phoebe, who is not one to readily call people. She prefers texting, which is interesting for an old woman. After three or so minutes of mumbling, I...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

What A Suburban Boy Does When It Rains

Vulnerability. God, I hate that feeling. It’s scary. It’s the reason I’ve been suppressing my emotions over the years. It’s the reason my friends don’t truly know me. It’s why I don’t cry. I’ve practiced holding it in so much for so long that even if I did want to cry, I couldn’t. It’s too hard. And I hate the feeling of my walls collapsing, standing powerless in the rubble. But it fell this year.

April 2020. I was making chili in the kitchen with Mama when I heard the house phone ringing. My hands were clean, and I’m profoundly serious when it comes to cleanness, so I didn’t answer the phone. Grandma did instead.

As she was crawling out of her bed, I reassured the phone by singing, “The phone… the phone is ringing… the phone… we’ll be right there!”

Grandma finally reached the landline and began conversing with her friend, Phoebe, who is not one to readily...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

What A Suburban Boy Does When It Rains

Vulnerability. God, I hate that feeling. It’s the reason I’ve been suppressing my emotions over the years. It’s the reason my friends don’t truly know me. It’s why I don’t cry. I’ve practiced holding it in so much for so long that even if I did want to cry, I couldn’t. It’s too hard. And I hate the feeling of my walls collapsing, standing motionless in the rubble. But it fell this year.

April 2020. I was making chili in the kitchen with Mama when I heard the house phone ringing. My hands were clean, and I’m profoundly serious when it comes to cleanness, so I didn’t answer the phone. Grandma did instead. As she was crawling out of her bed, I reassured the phone by singing, “The phone… the phone is ringing… the phone… we’ll be right there!” Grandma finally reached the landline and began conversing with her friend, Phoebe, who is not one to readily call people....

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

What A Suburban Boy Does When It Rains

Vulnerability. God, I hate that feeling. It’s the reason I’ve been suppressing my emotions over the years. It’s the reason my friends don’t truly know me. It’s why I don’t cry. I’ve practiced holding it in so much for so long that even if I did want to cry, I couldn’t. It’s too hard. And I hate the feeling of my walls collapsing, standing motionless in the rubble. But it fell this year.

April 2020. I was making chili in the kitchen with Mama when I heard the house phone ringing. My hands were clean, and I’m profoundly serious when it comes to cleanness, so I didn’t answer the phone. Grandma did instead. As she was crawling out of her bed, I reassured the phone by singing, “The phone… the phone is ringing… the phone… we’ll be right there!” Grandma finally reached the landline and began conversing with her friend, Phoebe, who is not one to readily call people....

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

Baba never liked the smell of scented candles. Burning wax imitating the tantalizing fragrance of cherry cheesecake or cinnamon apple muffins. Baba never liked when the scent cascaded onto his nose hairs. Baba never liked the sight of flowers. The aroma of daffodils and peonies invading the house, terrorizing his masculinity. He never enjoyed the act of cooking either. Crying with the onions and screaming with the oil. But Baba likes Mama. And it's their twentieth anniversary today.

"Baba!" I exclaim right as a drop of coconut oil had the audacity to land on my father's furry arm.

"Ah!" he shrieks. Then he sighs. "What now, Rosh? Can't you see I'm cooking for your mother?"

"Yeah. I can see that. And you are burning the kibbeh,” I inform him, giving him a minute to think.

He does a full 180 and commands, “You’re not going. You’re the waiter for me and your mom tonight.”

For some unknown reason, whenever Baba...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

I lie. I do it all the time. For example, when I was thirteen years old, I lied to my Dad about my first kiss. To this day he still believes I gave Anthony Parkfield a good kick in the balls when he tried to make a move on me. I’m not planning on making him any wiser.

My parents get back at me sometimes when they find out that I lied about something. Lying is just a part of human nature, even though we shouldn’t do it. Whether major lies or minor white ones. You can’t take it away from humans. It’s ingrained. For example, ten minutes ago, I was just told that my life is a lie.

“Your life is not a lie, Jade,” Dad says.

“It’s a whole sham,” I yell. “I don’t even know you!”

At this point, my mom is wailing on the ground, tears pouring down like a faucet. My little sister, Olive, is...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

I lie. I do it all the time. For example, when I was thirteen years old, I lied to my Dad about my first kiss. To this day he still believes I gave Anthony Parkfield a good kick in the balls when he tried to make a move on me. I’m not planning on making him any wiser.

My parents get back at me sometimes when they find out that I lied about something. Lying is just a part of human nature, even though we shouldn’t do it. Whether major lies or minor white ones. You can’t take it away from humans. It’s ingrained. For example, ten minutes ago, I was just told that my life is a lie.

“Your life is not a lie, Jade,” Dad says.

“It’s a whole sham,” I yell. “I don’t even know you!”

At this point, my mom is wailing on the ground, tears pouring down like a faucet. My little sister, Olive, is...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

I lie. I do it all the time. For example, when I was thirteen years old, I lied to my Dad about my first kiss. To this day he still believes I gave Anthony Parkfield a good kick in the balls when he tried to make a move on me. I’m not planning on making him any wiser.

My parents get back at me sometimes when they find out that I lied about something. Lying is just a part of human nature, even though we shouldn’t do it. Whether major lies or minor white ones. You can’t take it away from humans. It’s ingrained. For example, ten minutes ago, I was just told that my life is a lie.

“Your life is not a lie, Jade,” Dad says.

“It’s a whole sham,” I yell. “I don’t even know you!”

At this point, my mom is wailing on the ground, tears pouring down like a faucet. My little sister, Olive, is...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

lie. I do it all the time. For example, when I was thirteen years old, I lied to my Dad about my first kiss. To this day he still believes I gave Anthony Parkfield a good kick in the balls when he tried to make a move on me. I’m not planning on making him any wiser.

My parents get back at me sometimes when they find out that I lied about something. Lying is just a part of human nature, even though we shouldn’t do it. Whether major lies or minor white ones. You can’t take it away from humans. It’s ingrained. For example, ten minutes ago, I was just told that my life is a lie.

“Your life is not a lie, Jade,” Dad says.

“It’s a whole sham,” I yell. “I don’t even know you!”

At this point, my mom is wailing on the ground, tears pouring down like a faucet. My little sister, Olive, is in...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

Baba never liked the smell of scented candles. Burning wax imitating the tantalizing fragrance of cherry cheesecake or cinnamon apple muffins. Baba never liked when the scent cascaded onto his nose hairs. Baba never liked the sight of flowers. The aroma of daffodils and peonies invading the house, terrorizing his masculinity. He never enjoyed the act of cooking either. Crying with the onions and screaming with the oil. But Baba likes Mama. And it's their twentieth anniversary today.

"Baba!" I exclaim right as a drop of canola oil had the audacity to land on my father's furry arm.

"Ah!" he shrieks. Then he sighs. "What now, Rosh? Can't you see I'm cooking for your mother?"

"Yeah. I can see that. And you are burning the kibbeh,” I inform him, giving him a minute to think about what he just did. “I’m gonna hang at Jay’s. I’ll be back b’fore ten,” I declare.

He does a full 180 and commands, “You’re...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

Baba never liked the smell of scented candles. Burning wax imitating the tantalizing fragrance of cherry cheesecake or cinnamon apple muffins. Baba never liked when the scent cascaded onto his nose hairs. Baba never liked the sight of flowers. The aroma of daffodils and peonies invading the house, terrorizing his masculinity. He never enjoyed the act of cooking either. Crying with the onions and screaming with the oil. But Baba likes Mama. And it's their twentieth anniversary today.

"Baba!" I exclaim right as a drop of canola oil had the audacity to land on my father's furry arm.

"Ah!" he shrieks. Then he sighs. "What now, Rosh? Can't you see I'm cooking for your mother?"

"Yeah. I can see that. And you are burning the kibbeh,” I inform him, giving him a minute to think about what he just did. “I’m gonna hang at Jay’s. I’ll be back b’fore ten,” I declare.

He does a full 180 and commands, “You’re...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

Baba never liked the smell of scented candles. Burning wax imitating the tantalizing fragrance of cherry cheesecake or cinnamon apple muffins. Baba never liked when the scent cascaded onto his nose hairs. Baba never liked the sight of flowers. The aroma of daffodils and peonies invading the house, terrorizing his masculinity. He never enjoyed the act of cooking either. Crying with the onions and screaming with the oil. But Baba likes Mama. And it's their twentieth anniversary today.

"Baba!" I exclaim right as a drop of canola oil had the audacity to land on my father's furry arm.

"Ah!" he shrieks. Then he sighs. "What now, Rosh? Can't you see I'm cooking for your mother?"

"Yeah. I can see that. And you are burning the kibbeh,” I inform him, giving him a minute to think about what he just did. “I’m gonna hang at Jay’s. I’ll be back b’fore ten,” I declare.

He does a full 180 and commands, “You’re...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

Baba never liked the smell of scented candles. Burning wax imitating the tantalizing fragrance of cherry cheesecake or cinnamon apple muffins. Baba never liked when the scent cascaded onto his nose hairs. Baba never liked the sight of flowers. The aroma of daffodils and peonies invading the house, terrorizing his masculinity. He never enjoyed the act of cooking either. Crying with the onions and screaming with the oil. But Baba likes Mama. And it's their twentieth anniversary today.

"Baba!" I exclaim right as a drop of canola oil had the audacity to land on my father's furry arm.

"Ah!" he shrieks. Then he sighs. "What now, Rosh? Can't you see I'm cooking for your mother?"

"Yeah. I can see that. And you are burning the kibbeh,” I inform him, giving him a minute to think about what he just did. “I’m gonna hang at Jay’s. I’ll be back b’fore ten,” I declare.

He does a full 180 and commands, “You’re...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

Bluebirds Don't Sing On Thursday Afternoons

I lie. I do it all the time. For example, when I was thirteen years old, I lied to my Dad about my first kiss. To this day he still believes I gave Anthony Parkfield a good kick in the balls when he tried to make a move on me. I’m not planning on making him any wiser.

My parents get back at me sometimes when they find out that I lied about something. Lying is just a part of human nature, even though we shouldn’t do it. Whether major lies or minor white ones. You can’t take it away from humans. It’s ingrained. For example, ten minutes ago, I was just told that my life is a lie.

“Your life is not a lie, Jade,” Dad says.

“It’s a whole sham,” I yell. “I don’t even know you!”

At this point, my mom is wailing on the ground, tears pouring down like a faucet. My little sister, Olive, is...

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Little Fireflies Everywhere

I remember that day as if it was yesterday - the cold grass, her warm embrace. On Mother Nature’s bed we laid for hours, admiring the stars’ twinkles. The night’s cold kiss awakened my tears, though I wasn’t emotional. A light blinked next to me and caught my young eyes. It blinked again just to tease me.

“What’s that?”

She smiled. “It's a firefly. Fireflies are little stars that come to light our way when we find ourselves in darkness.”

Now, as I stand outside this hospital, forty-seven minutes after mom passed, all I see are little fireflies everywhere.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Little Fireflies Everywhere

I remember that day as if it was yesterday - the cold grass, her warm embrace. On Mother Nature’s bed we laid for hours, admiring the stars’ twinkles. The night’s cold kiss awakened my tears, though I wasn’t emotional. A light blinked next to me and caught my young eyes. It blinked again just to tease me.

“What’s that?”

She smiled. “It's a firefly. Fireflies are little stars that come to light our way when we find ourselves in darkness.”

Now, as I stand outside this hospital, forty-seven minutes after mom passed, all I see are little fireflies everywhere.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Little Fireflies Everywhere

I remember that day as if it was yesterday - the cold grass, her warm embrace. On Mother Nature’s bed we laid for hours, admiring the star’s twinkles. The night’s cold kiss awakened my tears, though I wasn’t emotional. A light blinked next to me and caught my young eyes. It blinked again just to tease me.

“What’s that?”

She smiled, “It's a firefly. Fireflies are little stars that come to light our way when we find ourselves in darkness.”

Now, as I stand outside this hospital, forty-seven minutes after mom passed, all I see are little fireflies everywhere.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Little Fireflies Everywhere

I remember that day as if it was yesterday - the cold grass, her warm embrace. On Mother Nature’s bed we laid for hours, admiring the sky’s twinkles. The night’s cold kiss awakened my tears, though I wasn’t emotional. A light blinked next to me and caught my young eyes. It blinked again just to tease me.

“What’s that?”

She smiled, “It’s a firefly. Fireflies are little stars that come to light our way when we find ourselves in darkness.”

Now, as I stand outside the hospital, forty-seven minutes after mom passed, all I see are little fireflies everywhere.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Little Fireflies Everywhere

I remember that day as if it was yesterday - the cold grass, her warm embrace. On Mother Nature’s bed we laid for hours, admiring the sky’s twinkles. The night’s cold kiss awakened my tears, though I wasn’t emotional. A light blinked next to me and caught my young eyes. It blinked again just to tease me.

“What’s that?”

She smiled, “It’s a firefly. Fireflies are little stars that come to light our way when we find ourselves in darkness.”

Now, as I stand outside the hospital, forty-seven minutes after mom passed, all I see are little fireflies everywhere.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2019

Little Fireflies Everywhere

I remember that day as if it was yesterday - the cold grass, her warm embrace. On Mother Nature’s bed we laid for hours, admiring the sky’s twinkles. The night’s cold kiss awakened my tears, though I wasn’t emotional. A light blinked next to me and caught my young eyes. It blinked again just to tease me.

“What’s that?”

She smiled, “It’s a firefly. Fireflies are little stars that come to light our way when we find ourselves in darkness.”

Now, as I stand outside the hospital, forty-seven minutes after mom passed, all I see are little fireflies everywhere.