Issue #1

Term 1 2014

hashtagJIS

the NEW edition

OLIVER
By Michelle Fung
After almost 3 months of preparing
for this lavish production, I (on
behalf of everyone involved in it)
have to say: it was worth it.
I believe in complete confidence,
that this was not only the largest
production that JIS will have ever
created, but it was the most
impressive one as well. With an
amazing set brought to life by the
creative minds of none other than
JIS very own students; beautiful
music brought to you by the
phenomenal JIS orchestra; and more
or less 170 student performers to steal
your breath away, Oliver! was
incredible.
Playing the role of Mrs Sowerberry, I
have learnt 5 things, 4 of which are
the Rules Of Mr. Kemp and they go
as follows:
1.
2.
3.
4.

Be delightful
Get enough sleep
Work as hard as Mr. Kemp
Girls stay away from boys and
boys stay away from girls
(Apologies to Mr. Kemp if I havent
put these in the right order)

everyone was about this production has me

convinced that every ounce of effort put in
definitely paid off.
The fifth thing that Ive learnt is adopting an
English accent, which I have found to be more
challenging than rule no.3 (which is already
extremely
challenging).
Nevertheless,
my
experiences with rehearsals were delightful and I
gained so much invaluable knowledge in terms of
performance, as Im sure everyone involved has.
Although it was undoubtedly challenging to juggle
the responsibilities that come with being a Year 13
student, and extra-curricular activities like these, I
feel immensely honoured to have been a part of
something so special.

When Mr. Kemp expects us to work

as hard as Mr. Kemp, he means we

How to organise a
charity event

Page 3

New Moments
Page 20

Tips on being a good

student

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#NewEvents
THE

BORNEO
PROJECT

By Amelia, Jennifer & Janelle

On the 16th of October, 2014, a team of approximately
25 keen year 13 students from Jerudong International
School (JIS) travelled to Camp Bongkud located in
Sabah, Malaysia. The excursion was an optional trip as
part of a co-curricular, school based activity group
called The Borneo Project. The Borneo Project itself
was set up in order to help construct a new
Kindergarten and bridge to a water source within a
local village based in Sabah. Fundraising for the project
occurred in JIS during lunch/ break times and after
school. These fundraising events included the selling
and distribution of candy-grams, world water day
activities, drinks stall at sports events and sponsorships
in the school-run lapathon. Overall the donations and
fundraising efforts led to approximately BND5000 which
went directly to the project.
The team stayed in the remote Camps International
owned Campground for the duration of the trip. The
excursion itself consisted of plane travel to Kota
Kinabalu (KK), 1 night in KK, 4 nights at Camp
Bongkud and then again one night in KK before flying
back to Brunei. Student stayed in 2 bamboo long
houses and slept on mattresses surrounded by
mosquito nets at night in camp. Camp life was always
very relaxed after a long day at the project site. The
evenings were composed of a series of Malaysian

cultural
activities
including:
learning
Mount
Kinabalus
traditional songs, dance
practices
to
be
performed to the head
of Bongkud village on
appreciation night and
storytelling.
Students
took responsibility for
the overall cleanliness
of the campsite and initiative in all meal
preparations.
On
one
occasion,
students
participated in campfire storytelling sessions,
learning about the many myths and legends
encompassing Mount Kinabalu (including mini
history lessons of the preceding rule over Sabah).
The project included 3 full working days and 1 half
day as well as the handing over of many toys.
Some of the money raised went into new toys and
equipment for the kindergarten for the children who
will eventually make use of the new school after its
construction. On day 1, teams were quickly set up
to make sure the short time frame was used
effectively. Groups of 4-5 split around the
construction site and were to haul 5 kg bricks from
one point to another using chains of people.
Students quickly learned how to do this efficiently
and a rhythmic passing of bricks went on for
several hours each day. Overall approximately 500
bricks had been moved this way. Alongside brick
passing, teams were to sift, mix, wetten and
distribute buckets of cement and concrete for the
construction of all the walls. Even though this was
the most physically demanding task, all students
persevered and many said they learned to truly
enjoy these more hands on parts of the project.
Everyone to lay bricks on the wall later used this
cement. The brick laying involved setting cement,
levelling bricks and building up the layers. There
was some trouble here as some walls seemed
uneven and several had to be knocked down.
However this was not taken negatively, instead this
was taken constructively and all walls made postknockdown were of very high quality (the best
weve seen from a school- Director of Bongkud
camp). A smaller team of 3-4 students were
assigned to the construction of the bridge each day
and this included the measuring and sawing of
wooden planks, the drilling of planks on to a metal
frame and the erection of metal handlebars for
people to use when crossing.
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Overall, the students on the trip gained not only valuable experience from the construction work for the school
but also skills such as teamwork and effective communication. The students can all agree that the experience
was extremely inspiring and heartfelt, especially during the handover sessions whereby hard work and
perseverance paid off (many students are even considering going back for a second trip). We learned to
appreciate how fortunate we are yet admire those who have so little yet are so content. - Jennifer Prince. The
trip gave students the opportunity gain a new skill set and use this to give back to a community they would
otherwise never have been able to help with. All students described the trip as a truly satisfying way to help
people on a relatively local scale and that they all had a lot of fun doing it! The Borneo Project plans to return to
Bongkud in June 2015 to continue the project and hopefully continue this trend of community development.

How to Organise a Charity Event

Expert help from a sleep deprived Sixth Former
Planning
1.
Map your mind. Use spider diagrams to visualise whatever it is that you want to organise. Remember:
no idea is silly. Crazy is encouraged.
2.
Get friends. Organising events are more fun when you get to boss people around. For help on how to
get friends, please utilise google.
3.
Imagination. After discussing with your friends, sit down in a corner of the room and imagine how the
event will run. Do feel free to shut your eyes. Warning: people may stare, but they will never
understand your feelings.
4.
Write: Using computer and keyboard, type up a proposal to show the Grown Ups said charity
eventthey like it dry and formal.
5.
Propose: find a Grown Up and prepare to fight for your beliefs to the teeth. Warning: Grown Ups do not
like to be bitten.
6.
Wait: Whilst waiting for your proposal to be accepted, exercise.
On the day
1.
Panic. This is a normal and human process. Get it out of the way so you can focus on your future.
2.
Realise that nothing ever goes to plan. This is another normal human process. Friends can help. They
can be used as cover to hide your disgrace.
Other tips
1. During this process, you may notice symptoms such as eye bags and moments of blacking out. This is
due to sleep deprivation, yet another normal human process. For advice on how to stay awake in
class, please see How to: stay awake in class by Anne Uther-SleepiSixthFormer.
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WE CARE FOR
CAMBODIA
"The children in Cambodia live on under
25 cents a day, so whatever contribution
we can make, be it a dollar or two, it will
still make a significant impact on the
childrens lives."
By Rebecca Lau
Celebrating Peace is an annual event at JIS where
we share out thoughts and raise awareness for
Peace around the World. This is a week of
participation from students, who, through fundraising
activities, raise money that feeds through to the two
Charities our school has been supporting for the past
nine years.
The two Charities that we support are located in Siem
Reap, Cambodia. Each year a group of voluntary
students take part in a service trip to enrich our
knowledge about the charity work, as well as getting
a hands-on experience. An important lesson weve all
learnt from this trip is the hidden truth behind the
operation of the orphanages.
Between our arrival at Siem Reap Airport and the
journey back to our hotel, we saw countless
orphanages attached with various welcoming words
to invite tourists for a visit, which all of us thought to
be a very positive approach. That very afternoon we
received a talk by the management of Sangkheum
Centre about orphanages in Cambodia that changed
our view completely.
Sangkheum Center is home to many parentless
children or children whose parents cant afford to
support them financially. However, it is not an
orphanage. The reason for that is simple it does
not operate for the same reason as the others.
During the talk, we learnt that many orphanages in
Cambodia are set up solely for tourism purposes.
Meaning, most of the children you see in the
orphanages arent actually orphans. And in fact, only
26% of them are, so the rest are children who have
either one living parent or both parents. The painful
truth is that some children are being sold into
orphanages as a tourist attraction to earn income for
their families through donations from tourists.
Although tourists often have good intentions in visiting

orphanages, and generously fund the children, what

they dont realized is that they are indirectly
encouraging more bogus set-ups of orphanages
made to generate income and profit, which ultimately
benefits the organization more than the children.
Aside from parents selling their children to
orphanages, and hoping to receive income in return,
orphanages tourism has encouraged more cases of
children trafficking, resulting in the separation of
families.
As a school, we have been supporting Sangkheum
Centre for nine years, which helps to establish a firm
relationship between them and us. Therefore, we
know that our donations to the Sangkheum Centre
are constantly feeding through to the children,
supporting them and providing them with a healthy
environment to live and grow up in; at the same time
preventing any chances for them to develop into
orphanage tourism.
Our second charity work is the Angkor Childrens
Hospital situated in Siem Reap. It is shocking how,
even though the quality and facilities are below
average, this hospital is still by far considered as the
best hospital for children across the whole of Siem
Reap.
Many families travelled for days from the outskirts of
the city to this hospital, only hoping that doctors will
have the chance to even just a glimpse their
childrens health issue behind the days of waiting. On
top of that, the outpatient center in the hospital will be
their accommodation for the rest of the week until the
doctors are free to see them, which means that
families have to live under the harsh conditions where
there is no access to clean water, beds to rest,
decent amount of food to eat, etc.
However, with the substantial amount we raised over
the last couple of years, we managed to fund the
building of a new outpatient center. The new
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outpatient center provided the families with a much cleaner, healthier and accessible environment, which is a
massive contribution to the families lives.
The children in Cambodia live on under 25 cents a day, so whatever contribution we can make, be it a dollar or
two, it will still make a significant impact on the childrens lives.
It is definitely a huge honour representing the Cambodia charity work at our school and it has made me acutely
aware of the importance of fundraising.

PEACE WEEK 2014

Peace Week 2014 was celebrated from 15- 19 September at JIS. The aim of the week was to encourage
cohesion and a greater awareness of peace amongst the JIS community.
Throughout the week numerous events took place to achieve just that. The money raised by the students,
teachers and even parents was donated to several orphanages including the the Sangkheum Centre for
Children, and a Hospital in Cambodia. The students played a huge role in collecting the money needed and
eagerly participated in the Peace week activities. Throughout the week, concerts were held by student bands,
and a few solo artists, and these drew large crowds.
Despite the mysterious absence of the Peace Fair, the students continued to make the most of the week.
Stalls were held by the houses during the lunchtimes. Activities like hair braiding and chalk graffiti were also
offered. Balloons were released into the skies and wooden doves were painted.
The week ended on a grand note with the Peace Week assembly where the amazing performances and
speeches served as perfect denouement. The enthusiasm of the students only helped the week become a
greater success.
Like the past few years, Peace Week at JIS in 2014 was a huge success. However, looking back on it, it
seems as though while we all had individual house booths and events scattered all across the campus, there
doesnt seem have been any single event that brought all of the JIS students together in the celebration of
peace. However, this only means that next years celebration will be even better!

Malala Yousafzai
By Thomas Duckling
I made myself extremely unpopular during Peace week and will go down in history as the man that stopped
non-uniform day. Before you judge me too harshly, let me tell you a story about a little girl that changed the
world. If you still think you are hard-done-by to not have had a chance to wear your own choice of clothes at
the end, then so be it.
It is very rare that you get truly inspired. Sadly when you get a little bit older it seems even rarer still: when you
come across someone who seems to have genuinely made an attempt to change the world. So imagine my
surprise when I came across the story of a 15 year old girl who survived being shot in the head by the Taliban.
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Born and raised in the beautiful Swat valley in

Northern Pakistan, her father was a local
schoolmaster and brought her up to believe she could
do anything. Malala loved school and did very well in
her early years. She felt it gave her freedom and a
future. As she put it herself "boys can be anything
they want. But for me it was hard and for that reason I
wanted to become educated and empower myself
with knowledge."
In 2008 the Taliban had been pushed out of parts
of Afghanistan and had re-settled in the Swat valley.
One of their earliest political moves for their new
territory was to ban all girls from going to school.
Then one day, by chance, a journalist from the BBC
met her father and asked if he knew a student who
would write an anonymous blog; he replied that he
knew just the girl. The result was the famous 'Diary of
a Pakistani Schoolgirl'. Although the blog
was anonymous, Malala was not scared to talk out
and aged only twelve gave a polemical speech on
Pakistani television. She became famous for being
the little girl prepared to stand up against the Taliban
and for female education.
Four years went by and Malala continued writing and
continued illegally learning, along with many of her
friends. People knew her but they assumed she
would be left alone. Even the Taliban wouldn't stoop
so low as to hurt a little girl. Until one day in 2012 she
got on a school bus and noticed the road
was unusually clear. A man got on the bus and asked
'who is Malala?' She didn't say a word but
the instinctive looks from her friends gave her away.
Then the man shot her in the head. The bullet went
through her left eyebrow and down, lodging where the
spine meets the neck.
She had severe brain injuries and had to have portion
of her skull removed. Luckily a British surgeon, Fiona
Reynolds, was in Pakistan advising the government
and, despite the danger, flew to the region. As
Reynolds puts it, "she'd been shot because she
wanted an education, and I was in Pakistan because
I'm a woman with an education, so I couldn't say 'no.'
As Malala's health deteriorated she also told the
Pakistani military (who were increasingly worried
her death may lead to riots) that if they were serious
about saving her life they needed to fly her to
Birmingham, England, immediately. They agreed, and
Malala received dramatic and urgent expert medical
care.
The

part

of

the

brain

she

injured

normally

affects speech and the ability to write. After 3 months

in England she was writing again and she continued
to make an outstanding recovery. She went on to
write a book, win the European Union human rights
award, win Glamour magazine's Woman of the year,
be in the Time 100 and, most recently in 2014, she
shared the Nobel Peace Prize with Indian children's
rights activist Kailash Satyarthi for her struggle
against the suppression of children and young people
and
for
the
right
of
all
children
to
education. Remarkably, at just 17, she is the
youngest-ever Nobel Prize laureate. This little girl
stood up for what she believed in, and sent a
message to millions that peace and education were
the answer.
I am going to end by sharing a quote from Malala that
moves me about more than any other quote I have
ever heard: 'One child, one teacher, one book and
one pen can change the world'. She said this, on her
16 birthday, as she addressed the United Nations,
only 9 months after she almost lost her life. I want you
to read it, think and then ask yourself the question we
focused on for this year's Peace week: 'Are you
aware?'

The Musical
Storytelling Author
If you are a Year 7 or 8 then you probably recognize
that poem. But if youre not, then let me tell you. We
had Mr. Rob Parkinson to visit JIS all the way from
the UK and stay from the 13th-16th of October. He told
wonderful stories to the students. He also gave a
speech on the 15th of October in the Lecture Theatre
during lunch.
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Were all storytellers was the main idea of his

speech. Ill only tell you a lie to get you to the truth
said one of the characters in his story: The Bird of
Truth.
He is also a Blues and Jazz guitarist, and is trained
in Classical guitar. He said that he uses all these
instruments to drive people in more into the story, and
to make it entertaining. If you have seen him giving a
speech in the library to Year 7s and 8s (or you were
one of the Year 7s or 8s) or otherwise listened to his
speech in the Lecture Theatre then you might think:
Hmm How did he learn to play so many
instruments? I just use my guitar skills to play other
instruments which have strings too he said to #JIS.

its that one book that whoever read gave a positive

response he said.
He has experience of over 30 years (that is over 3
decades) in storytelling. Mr. Rob Parkinson is not
just a wonderful storyteller but a man full of
wisdom, which he delivers with warmth, humour
and compassion.

His latest book is My Dads Not a Dog which is a

book full of poems and humour. Some other books by
him include: Storytelling and imagination, Tall Tales
Telling, Fabulous Fables. He is most proud of his
book called Transforming Tales. I think I am most
satisfied with my book called Transforming Tales,
although it didnt earn me that much money, because

#NewPolitics
"One child, one teacher, one pen and
one paper can change the world"
Malala, now 17 years old, stood up for her right to be
educated. It sounds simple but in her situation it
wasnt.
The Taliban (formally known as Tehrik-i-Taliban), an
Islamic group in Pakistan that ruled a few years ago,
banned the education of girls. Overnight it became a
fact of life that girls no longer mattered in education in
this part of the world. However, Malala defied them
and suffered dreadful consequences, as I am sure you
already know, when she was shot for her beliefs.
Nonetheless, Malalas fight wasnt just hers, it was that
of every girl in Pakistan whose voice couldnt reach the
world. I raise my voice not to shout, but so that those
without a voice can be heard she said defiantly.
She has inspired a lot of the young generation to take
education seriously. I am one of them. Malala said that
she believes education is the best way to fight

terrorism. She explained that through education you

not only learn about Maths, English and Science, but
you also learn about equality, as students are
provided the same treatment; education teaches
students how to live with others, how to accept each
others language, religion and beliefs.
Malala is just one of the most thoughtful people. She
inspires me to go to school, she inspires me to wake
up every morning and say Yes, today is a new day
and I am going to learn something new. While you
might think education is just subjects on your
timetable, from Malalas perspective it is way more
than that, and I can see her point of view and I
wholeheartedly embrace it.
So pick up a pen, a newspaper or a book and begin
to change the world. Freedom begins in education.
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#HeForShe
By Ala Akkad
It is 2014 and we have yet to
achieve gender equality. Women
with a bachelors degree receive the
same pay as men with a high school
diploma. Women are being denied
rights to their bodies in the United
States, and child marriage is still
prevalent in developing and even
some developed countries.

'If not
me,
who? If
not
now,
when?

The role of women in history is

overshadowed
by
their
male
counterparts no matter how hard we
try to bring it to the surface. Male
assault is still a prominent threat to
women, and some men still believe
that they are the ones wronged
when moved to the so called friend
zone, finding this a justifiable reason
to go on a murder spree as
evidenced by Elliot Roger.
In this brief summary of all the
wrongdoings to women in our
patriarchal world, it appears that
men are to blame.
However, men are victims too. The
popular argument of not all men is
true. Not all men are misogynistic
ideologists who can only go through
their day by imprisoning women in
their domestic roles. But there are
enough men who embody these
beliefs that allow us to make a
generalization.
While the patriarchal world of today
offers a universal view of women, it
also constricts men and paints them
as unfeeling; unable to display
emotion as that is a womans role.
Men who exist outside this view are
seen as anomalous and many
choose to simply hide their
insecurities and fears. Women who
choose to speak out and take a
stand under the title of feminist are
found to be too aggressive and
unattractive. Since when were basic

human
rights
viewed
as
unattractive? There is no
aggression in feminism but
there is a need to speak out.
Feminism
is
an
allencompassing term that can be
related to women and men.
This is something that has only
recently been brought to the
publics attention through Emma
Watsons campaign He for
She.
Using her fame for good,
Watson stood in the United
Nations Headquarters amongst
powerful men and women and
extended an invitation to men to
help in the fight for equality. She
made a powerful point when she
explained that If men dont have
to be aggressive in order to be
accepted, women wont feel
compelled to be submissive. If
men dont have to control,
women wont have to be
controlled.
The war on gender equality has
always appeared one sided,
women fighting for their rights
from men. But with this new
perspective, it is a war of all
genders
against
the
stereotypical patriarchy, tearing
apart the ideals of the past and
laying down a revised version of
everyones role in society.
It will soon be 2015. We will
continue to fight for equality.
And as Watson said, we are
struggling for a uniting word but
the good news is we have a
uniting movement. It is called
HeForShe. I am inviting you to
step forward, to be seen to
speak up, to be the "he" for
"she". And to ask yourself if not
me, who? If not now, when?
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#NewReads

THE PAGE TURNER

Welcome to the page-turner, the book review section of #JIS, where
pages actually get turned. Here you will find many book reviews and
book recommendations perfect for all you bookworms!

The Book
Thief
My summer has been amazing especially with this
page turner, The Book Thief. I was walking down
the streets one day and saw posters of The Book
Thief being put up on billboards and phone boxes. I
decided to have a little look at the book online. To
be completely honest, I wasnt really interested
about the content at the time. I just liked the book
cover a lot.
Anyway I read the first few chapters and I must say,
it took a bit of time settling into the story but after a
few pushes I got into it. It was definitely the pageturner of the summer for me!
G e n r e
If I were to put this book into a genre, I would
definitely put it in to Young Adult/Historical fiction.
Although I think this book is a bit dark for children I
would still put it into Middle School because I think it
would help them move up their reading level by
reading something different. Also, a little bit of
darkness in young lives is necessary.
S n e a k

The thing what was most striking was

the fact that the book was set-up as
depressing but turned out to have
given me a super good mood. The
Book Thief has left me wanting more.
Which has never been bad.

p e e k

That is exactly what I think this book is: a unique

and naughty page-turner, maturing young readers
minds.
The Book Thief is a book narrated by death who
has in his possession, a book which a girl called
Liesel wrote. Death tells us the story of Liesel
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Meminger and her experiences of stealing books and

hiding a Jew in her basement during Nazi Germany
and The Second World War.
Poor Liesel is an orphan, who never saw her mom or
dad. She was brought up by Hans and Rosa
Hubermann, her foster parents. With a bad education,
poor foster parents and a violent foster mom, her life
in Molching gets off to a pretty bad start.
However, Liesel isnt a fussy girl so soon she settled
in and became best friends with a boy with hair the
colour of lemons, who idolized the famous sprinter,
Jesse Owens.
One night, a Jewish man turns up at their house and
Liesel is confused. Little did she know, she ended up
keeping him in her basement and loving him.
The Book Thief tells us stories about love, family and
friendship and teaches us how strong the power of
words can be.

W r i t i

n g :

Not only was the book perfect, the writing technique

was absolutely amazing! Zusaks text and description
were so strong, and the image you have in your head
perfectly matches is stunning. Here are some of my
favourite quotes from the book:

The one thing worse than a boy who hates

you, is a boy who loves you.
It kills me, sometimes, how people die.
Sometimes people are beautiful, not in looks,
not in what they say, just in what they are.
When life robs you,
sometimes you have to rob it back.
The stars set fire to my eyes.

As you can see all of these words are very powerful

which demonstrates the moral of the book, which is
one of the best writing styles I have read.

RECOMMENDATIONS

Dreams of Gods and Monsters

by Laini Taylor

Isla and the Happily Ever After

by Stephanie Perkins

City of Heavenly Fire by

Cassandra Clare

"This book should come with a

warning, for while the skies may
be bruised in eretz, your heart
will suffer with it"

"Love ignites the city that never

sleeps, but can it last?"

"It's vaguely scary. It has a

moody male lead and a female
protagonist with one facial
expression."

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Hollow City

Miss Peregrine's Home

For Peculiar
Children was the
surprise best seller of
2011an
unprecedented mix of YA
fantasy and vintage
photography that
enthralled readers and
critics alike.
This second novel
begins in 1940,
immediately after the first
book ended. Having
escaped Miss
Peregrine's island by the
skin of their teeth, Jacob
and his new friends must
journey to London, the
peculiar capital of the
world. Along the way,
they encounter new
allies, a menagerie of
peculiar animals, and
other unexpected
surprises.
Complete with dozens of
newly discovered (and
thoroughly mesmerizing)
vintage photographs, this
new adventure will
delight readers of all
ages.

DON'T JUDGE A BOOK

BY ITS COVER OR ITS SALES
We need to face the fact that the
literary world today is dominated
by brand authors and books that
sell in large numbers while
lacking true literary merit. An
excerpt from a famous review
magazine in fine print across the
top of a books cover is enough
to make the author credible and
worth reading in the publics eye.
A phrase as simple as A New
York Times bestseller has the
power to convince me, you and
my neighbours goat (if it ever
develops the ability to read) that
the book weve just picked up is
worth our money and our time.
However, you must realise that
just because a book sells in
huge numbers it does not
necessarily mean that the book
is a beautifully crafted work of
art, even if the hyperbole on the
blurb suggests it is. Although,
the debate as to whether a book
is worth reading is age-old and
endless, whats also true is that
the answer to the question is
largely subjective.
A widely accepted worst best
seller of all time is The Twilight
Series, which sold over 120
million hardcopies worldwide,
and is highly regarded as a
poorly written, overly publicised
series. One reviewer even goes
as far as to pinpoint the source
of the atrocity of the text, saying
that, the worst thing about (the)

chick lit romance is the story which

revolves around this pathetic girl who
just wants to get a boyfriend. The series
has also been made into five very
successful movies starring heartthrobs
such as Robert Pattinson, Kristen
Stewart and Taylor Lautner. The movies
earned a whopping 2.5 billion dollars at
the box office and helped boost sales of
the books themselves. The series also
inspired the popular internet phrase,
Still a better love story than twilight,
which has often been used to describe
the relationship between inanimate
objects like a toothbrush and toothpaste.
Another notable worst best-seller is the
book Fifty Shades of Grey, which is an
adult novel (I hesitate to use the term
novel) that basically relies on the part of
the human mind that is unforgivably
curious about the success of the sales.
Over a 100 million hardcopies have
been sold in over a year, making the
author, E.L James one of the fastest
selling authors of all time, even though
most of the reviews about the book all
have comments along the lines of did a
teenager write this? Oh dear! And I
hear theres a movie along the way.
So, the next time you pick up a book that
is a best seller dont judge it by its sales,
or rely on flipping it over and reading the
synopsis, or the abridged reviews find
a credible reviewer you can trust who
will give you the honest opinion about
the books worth.

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The NEW Edition

#NewScience

A VIEW INTO THE

HEART OF AN
EXPLODING STAR
B y E l l o i se F an g el - L l o yd
S ci en t i st s h a ve u s ed n ew t e ch n o l o g y
t o se e w h at t h e c en t r e o f an
e xp l o d i n g s t a r l o o ks l i k e.
International teams of astronomers have worked
together on the project to create an image of a nova,
or an exploding star.
This discovery has also allowed scientists to
understand how gamma-ray emissions are produced.
Gamma-rays are a type of radiation that is created by
the decay of radioactive atoms basically highenergy radiation and their origin has boggled the
minds of scientists since they were first observed in
2012.
The astronomers created these images by combining
data from telescopes as far away as Manchester and
Michigan.
This
technique
is
called
radio
interferometery, and involves connecting radio
telescopes together over distances to get a clearer
image.

In some scenarios, exploding stars can be seen with

the naked eye at night but usually only in areas with
low levels of light pollution. In the last 112 years there
have been 47 novae bright enough to be viewed by
the naked eye.
The most recent star explosion bright enough for us
to see occurred in August of 2013, and was not
predicted prior to its discovery.

S t a r s as a w i n d o w i n t o t h e p a s t
Stars exist many thousands of light-years away, and
it takes their light so long to travel to us that many of
the stars we see in the sky are already dead.
Stars, too, were time-travellers. Ransom Riggs
The star Deneb is the most distant star we can see
with the naked eye, and its about 3000 light-years
away. Compare this to the lifetime of a star, which
can rack up billions of years, and we can tell that
Deneb is probably still there. In fact, the light from
Deneb that we see today started its journey before
Ancient Rome existed as no more than a couple of
villages.

However, it hasnt been all that easy. Novae are very

unpredictable, so as soon as one occurs it can only
be observed very quickly before it fades.

W i t n e ssi n g n o v ae
When stars burst, the gases they are made of
explode and effectively expand. When this happens,
the reactions inside the star are so bright that it can
sometimes look like a new star.

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The NEW Edition

BOOSTING BRAIN POWER:

traditional and nontraditional approaches
New studies and predictions have been
made about boosting and increasing
brainpower and IQ, but it is important to
know what is healthy and what isnt.

Furthermore, children who walk to school have the tendency

to concentrate well and perform better in academic
assessments than those who ride in cars every morning.
I do think that exercise does boost IQ, because it increases
blood flow and circulation to the rest of body. I think that when
this increases, so does the brain performance and IQ. says a
gifted Year 8 student at JIS.
Chocolate is also quite popular among children and
teenagers, so those with a sweet tooth may find this second
study interesting.
A study carried out on elderly people shows that those who
drank a beverage rich in similar compounds that are found in
cocoa beans achieved similar scores on a memory test to
those several decades younger.
The study suggests that chemicals found in cocoa beans,
called flavanols, have beneficial effects on the brain. These
antioxidants are found naturally in cocoa beans, blueberries,
green tea and red wine.

The study was carried out over a three-month time span.

Nineteen volunteers, aged 50-69, were instructed to drink a
beverage made of 900 milligrams of cocoa flavanols with
water or milk daily for three months. Another 18 volunteers of
By Adrija Majumder
The average American teenager spends the same age group were asked to drink a similar beverage,
approximately five hours on leisure activities but with only ten milligrams of the flavanols, over the same
and sport. However, out of those five hours, time span.
only 19 minutes is spent by participating in Before and after the three months, the two groups underwent
sports. But does that fact matter and why is an MRI Scan. Results of the scan show that the group who
exercise so important and does it actually consumed the drink that had concentrated amounts of the
boost IQ?
flavanols, had 20% more blood flowing to an area of the brain
Everyone knows that exercise can combat and
prevent poor-health conditions and help
people lose weight. It also increases the blood
circulation, which might be the reason behind
improved IQ levels. When the blood supply to
the brain is increased, it also increases the
oxygen supply, which gives it the energy to
think. It could also encourage the growth of
neurons that could possible trigger the release
of some neurotransmitters (chemicals that
transmit signals from one neuron to another),
and the growth hormone that is essential for
brain health. It is also shown that exercise can
contribute to better concentration and memory.
A study shows that older people who enjoy
mild exercise are half as likely to suffer from
cognitive impairment compared to those who
dont. Another study shows that older people
who were asked to go for a walk a few times a
week did better in attention and memory tests.

called denate gyrus. The amount of blood flowing to this

region is often associated with memory loss in the elderly.
However, as with all studies that show benefits gained from
the consumption of normally unhealthy products there is a
flipside. Although these flavanols are indeed found in cocoa
compounds, like chocolate, they exist in tiny amounts. In order
to obtain the optimum amount of these antioxidants, one
would have to consume so much chocolate that it would
damage their health in other ways.
Using these two studies, it is safe to say that both exercise
and chocolate boosts IQ and brainpower, except for the latter
being a slightly riskier choice as it contains little flavanols,
meaning that a lot must be consumed, which only deteriorates
ones health.
Nonetheless, when consumed in moderation, dark chocolate
has also been shown to have positive effects on the brain.
However, maybe the people doing this study just felt
happieruntil the guilt kicked in.
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The NEW Edition

Ebola Fatality
Rate Soars
The fatality rate for the Ebola virus has risen as high
as 70% in Western Africa, a new WHO study says.
This is a huge jump from the previously estimated
50%, but that doesnt mean the issue has been given
due attention.
At the time of writing, the only Ebola-related article in
the BBC News 10 Most Popular Articles placed
number 10, and didnt even mention the new figures.
The fatality rates for the Ebola virus have seen
numbers as high as 100% back in 2011, but
fortunately, the numbers are not that high today. Still,
these new figures mean that in certain areas, seven
out of ten people who catch Ebola die; a chilling
thought.
A more disturbing thought, however, could be the
blatant disregard of this news in global media. With
3,700 children losing one or more parent/s to Ebola in
this recent outbreak, we must ask ourselves why we
havent seen more of this in the media.
One reason could be the credibility of the data.
Counting the patients has proved difficult (and, in
some cases, downright impossible), due to the mass
hysteria the virus has caused. In some of the more
affected nations, the hospitals simply cannot cope
with the capacity of people, and medical aid workers,
have been prone to catching the disease. This means
that any figures we may have could be unreliable.
Another reason could be that it is easy to disregard a
disease in countries that are very far away from our
own. The BBC News number 1 most popular article
deals with an NFL players penalty, and the Ebola
virus outbreak is being pushed further and further
down the ladder, despite its worsening.
While countries located geographically further away
from those currently afflicted by Ebola may feel
themselves much luckier, it is time to ask why this
nightmarish pandemic hasnt received the attention it
is due. A similar question may also be asked about
the lack of funding being provided by the international
community.
It is one we may look back on with regret.

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;#JIS

Planned obsolescence: The Future

of Materialistic Possessions
By Nirmal Jayakrishnan
Consider why you got rid of your last mobile phone.
Was it because the battery stopped working? Was it
because the touch screens sensitivity was starting to
deteriorate? Was it because the new OS you
downloaded worked too slowly for the old version of
phone you have? Like it or not but we are all victims
of a capitalist strategy known as planned
obsolescence.
The phrase was first coined by the industrialist Brook
Stevens who defined it as instilling in the buyer the
desire to own something a little newer, a little better, a
little sooner than necessary. In basic terms, planned
obsolescence is the practice of designing a product
for the market so that it will have an artificially limited
life, therefore rendering it obsolete after a certain
period of time, encouraging an increase in
consumerism. There is lots of evidence for this
predominantly the concept known as the light bulb
conspiracy. This states that the lifespans of light
bulbs - a very common household item were
artificially controlled with the aim that they would only
last a fraction of what they actually should, forcing the
consumer to demand more of them in their lifetime
(during the 1920s an average light bulb could last
2500 hours, 2.5 times the life span of an average bulb
today).
Today, even in the smart phone or computer
hardware market, we can see the effect of this
cunning market ruse. Remember that Galaxy S2 or
iPhone you bought a few years back? The battery is
said to be multi-use rechargeable. But what the
companies dont tell you is that after a certain number
of charges, the battery begins to run down and the
hardware begins to become less efficient (of course
this ends up happening to all devices eventually, but
in these examples, they are designed to break down
faster than normal). Apple devices, especially, are
harder to repair because a lot of the hardware is
internal, so it is very expensive to replace or fix. The
alternative? Buy a new iPhone. This is planned
obsolescence in real life.
In the RBTF documentary L Obsolescence
Programme by Xavier Vanbuggenhout, it talks about
how printer ink manufacturers utilise smart chips in
their cartridges so that they are prevented from being
further used after a certain amount of time or ink has
been used (usually when there is approximately 22%

The NEW Edition

ink left in the cartridge), even though the cartridge
itself may contain ink that could still be potentially
used. This forces the consumer to buy more ink,
regardless of the amount of it still left inside the
cartridge, encouraging more consumerism. In
addition to the economic stimulation planned
obsolescence provides, it also has a major impact on
another part of society.
The environment.

There have been a significant amount of cases

whereby landfill sites have been filled mainly with
things that were thrown away due to being simply,
antediluvian (or obsolete). Furthermore, due to the
inability to recycle these items, tonnes of scarce
resources that are being used to make this junk, end
up as junk themselves in the deep dark void we
called a landfill site. In addition, according to a study
made by the UNEP in 2014-2015, electronic waste is
one of the fastest growing sources of waste.
Electronic waste caused by the ever-increasing
problem of planned obsolescence an Apple a year
keeps the rubbish bins near has an additional
disadvantage too. It is especially a dangerous form of
rubbish as it contains many heavy metallic elements
as well as toxic components that do not biodegrade.
And, the fact that more developing countries dump
most of their waste in less developing countries
(LDCs) makes nothing better -- even aiding to make
the problem exponentially worse as the attempts at
recycling this waste by combustion in the LDCs

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;#JIS

The NEW Edition

results in producing only more toxic fumes too deadly

to be inhaled. This does no good for the economy
either, as it renders it harder for the country to
develop with its citizens surrounded by smog or
fumes (look at China for example).
To quote Obama, its a change we need. Could
planned obsolescence be here to stay? I hope not,
for, otherwise, our future will be nowhere near
sustainable. To stop this runaway train, the
government can put forward a multitude of economic
solutions. An example would be taxes on the
externalities firms produce, such as the amount of
carbon emissions produced when they make
products. This fiscal disincentive will force companies
to produce longer lasting products in order to reduce
costs, thus reducing the amount of planned
obsolescence in the long run. But change actually
begins with a single person.

The new A8 chip in the iPhone 8s have enhanced

graphics and are faster compared to other handheld
gaming devices. Apps such as Asphalt 8 or Modern
Combat 5, both by Gameloft, have both already been
optimized for iOS 8 and are much better tweaked- up
versions of the same games on iOS 7.
To add to that, there is Metal. A new toolkit released
by Apple to make iOS 8 apps. Apple has said this on
the developer website for Metal.
Metal is a low-level, low-overhead hardwareaccelerated
graphics
API
for
iOS
8.

You.
You can employ a variety of different solutions so that
you dont jump on the bandwagon of simply chucking
away your appliances once they become out-offashion or slightly unusable. Easy fix-it videos or
instructions are available anywhere on the net, so you
can learn where in your local community you can find
ink cartridge refill packs, for example, thus reducing
the amount of cartridges infesting landfill sites. Or
extend the life of a product by taking good care of it
and regularly maintaining it by fixing loose bits
yourself if you can- saving you heaps of cash, as well
as helping the environment a little bit.

Are smartphones as good

as next generation
handheld gaming devices?
Have you got an iPhone 6 yet? Well, people have
said the iPhone 6 Plus is just as good as any modern
day handheld gaming device you may have. The
graphics for the iPhone 6 Plus are better than most
handheld gaming devices released in the past year.
Were you planning to get the new PSP? Maybe a Wii
U? You might want to scratch that idea and get an
iPhone 6 Plus, or maybe wait for the iPod Touch
Generation 6 which will be somewhat similar to the
iPhone 6.

A bendy iPhone 6? Not a good sign.

Yes. iOS 8 might seem like the best device operating
system in the world and the iPhone 6 Plus might
seem like the best phone in the world but, as with
any device, There will be problems. The first iOS 8
release had a bug which made your phone lag whilst
the iPhone 6 Plus, well, it was bendy.
Then, there is something that makes handheld
gaming devices what they are. It is their buttons.
There are specifically placed buttons on the console
that never really move. An iPhone game that needs
these buttons however may have its buttons moved
around.
In my opinion, yes smartphones are as good as next
generation handheld gaming devices and the iPhone
is likely to only build a lead in front of other handheld
gaming devices; but, then again, why not just buy
both and get the best of both worlds? Start saving
now or start begging.

By Dominik Ang

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The NEW Edition

BRINGING THE DEAD TO LIFE

Findings show that 50% of emergency doctors
have witnessed the Lazarus phenomena, in which
patients hearts started beating again by themselves,
even after the doctors gave up on resuscitation.
However, even after the heart starts beating again,
the lack of oxygen can seriously damage a patients
vital organs, especially the brain. Dr.Peter Safar,a
physician who is deemed the father of modern
cardiopulmonary resuscitation, came up with a
solution to this problem, known as therapeutic
hypothermia. The process is also known as
protective hypothermia and is a treatment that
involves lowering the patients body temperature to
reduce the risk of tissue injury that can result from a
lack of blood flow. The lower temperature means that
the patients cells begin to work slower and their
metabolism is reduced.
Using this method, however, requires long-term
resuscitation to kick-start the heart beat and is only
effective when the cardiac arrest is not accompanied
by traumatic injury. The survival rate in cases
involving the latter is very low. In such cases, the
surgeon would have to clamp the arteries that lead to
the patients lower body, then open the chest and
massage the heart, which pushes blood flow to the
brain while surgeons stitch up the wounds. The
survival rate of this procedure is less than one in ten.
Suspended animation proves a possible solution to
this issue by providing the surgeons with more time
before the brain is damaged (due to the lack of
blood), from a few minutes to an hour.

Scientists have discovered a radical procedure that

allows them to bring the recently dead back to life.
Dr.Samuel Tisherman, from the University of
Maryland, has shown that it is possible to use
suspended animation to bring the dead back to life.
The procedure involves draining the body of its blood,
cooling it more than 20C below normal body
temperature, and replacing the blood with saline
solution. The injuries of the patients are then treated
and blood is pumped back into the veins, while the
body is slowly warmed back up. The heart beats once
at 30C and as the temperature rises, it picks up by
itself. The procedure has been tested on animals,
(injured pigs) which have had a 90% recovery rate
when their blood was returned to their bodies.

The challenge for Dr. Tishermans group is to

transition from animal trials to human trials, which are
more complicated and often become subjects of
controversy. Ethical concerns have cropped up
regarding the danger of human trials. Patients who
end up surviving the procedure might have a risk of
suffering brain damage from the cardiac arrest. It is
not known as to whether the procedure will increase
or decrease the risk. However, if human trials are
successful, we may see numerous lives saved and
the meaning of death would be redefined.

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The NEW Edition

Street protests demanding

action against climate change

By Adrija Majumder
Hundreds of thousands of people across 150 nations, recently united under the Peoples Climate March and
campaigned for a restriction on global carbon dioxide emissions. They are demanding world leaders take
action on this issue before it is too late.
Annual carbon dioxide levels record that CO2 has increased by 2.5% in 2013, resulting in a total of 40 billion
tons of this gas emitted in this year alone. Linked to this increase in emissions is the fact that Scientists are
convinced that climate change is the result of such man-made emissions and this may have an irreversible
impact on climate change; like extreme weather patterns. Hard evidence suggests that Temperature increases
in the global environment are triggered by emissions and research shows that an additional 40 billion tonnes of
emissions is detrimental to any natural environment.
The passion of the marchers was evident in the numbers who turned out to support the cause. In New York
City alone an estimated 310,000 people showed up at the March. The marchers are preparing for a United
Nations Summit in New York on Monday where they hope to put more pressure on world leaders to heed the
warning of scientific evidence.

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The NEW Edition

The power of a picture

A picture can paint a thousand words.
As cliched as this sounds, many of us do not explicitly
realise how significant this is in this day and age. But
really, what exists now as an image is just a fragment of
the course of history and really just a part of the
evolution of communication.
Social interchange initially was verbally based, where a
story would be recounted orally through generations. As
centuries passed, eventually, this took the form of
written texts, and along with this came the possibility of
preserving the content accurately. However, limitations
existed, where only those who could afford to had the
access to hardcopies of the material, which was initially
hand-written. The era that ultimately came forth a little
later was really a pivotal period where the transfer of
information took on new dimensions the inventing of
the printing press. The idea of mass production of books
soon came into effect where more and more common
people were reached. The novel and the access to it
th
exploded in the 19 century and is still with us today,
creating images in our minds.

saturated or provoking; instilling some feeling or thought that

mere words may find difficult to express. The key really is
interpretation. For example, a picture of the American flag
can produce a range of thoughts: patriotism, emotional
recollection, media culture, hegemony, or fashion possibly. It
depends upon the individual.
However, some may say that images these days are
nothing less than a tool for manipulation. A tool to suggest
something blatant that reading may not. This is extremely
evident in typical food advertisements. Having an extremely
good looking, fit, ideal-kind of person biting into a calorie
packed burger indeed suggests that a burger must be
desired at any cost. Such a distorted message stems from
pure exaggeration. The point being made here is that a
picture has the potential to amplify something to unrealistic
ends. We all know how photo-shopping can make the most
ordinary person look beautiful, and the most limp burger look
appetising. At the end of the day, it still is just a picture right?
But the viewer leaves sometimes unknowingly influenced by
these manipulated images.
Maybe, this article is really just restating the obvious. Yes
we know the influence of imagery and media yada yada
yada But do we notice the consequences? Do we really
see the very essence of the power of a picture?

But later, image communication was born. What allows

this form of media to take its own stand and
position itself for some self-attained glory is the
involvement of the viewer. A picture on its own has
so many hidden subtleties. It can be emotionally

#NewMoments

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;#JIS

The NEW Edition

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;#JIS

The NEW Edition

TOP TIPS ON BEING A

GOOD STUDENT

Stop right there. Now, why are you reading this?

Maybe youre struggling at school and you want some
life hacks to save the day. Maybe your parents keep
telling you to work harder so you can go to a good
university and have a successful career. Or maybe
you think youre already a good student and youre
hoping for a tick list and the chance to feel a bit smug.
JIS is famous for having good studentsbut what
does this mean? Is being polite, doing what youre
told and bagging top grades really what its all about?
Being a good student should mean that you have an
insatiable (from in- 'not' + satiare 'fill, satisfy') curiosity
and the nous (look it upyou know you want to!) to
use the resources within you and your environment to
pursue that thirst for more. At times, it may mean
questioning received wisdom (is being a doctor really
a prestigious and well-paying career?) and even
being a bit cheeky. Dont tell the teachers I said that!
Even when Im ancient, I hope that I always find the
world fascinating and devote time to giving it a prod,
trying to figure it out as best I can. Thus, being a good
student should mean living life to the max!
But the problem is that it can be very difficult to live
this way. Even if we have an idea about what a good
student should be; chances are that the exam boards

measure it differently. What use is it if we have a

fantastic discussion on learned helplessness but we
have a test tomorrow on coastal erosion? Yes,
chances are that most of us adopt survival strategies:
Ill just revise the bits that will be in the exam, or Ill
just try to work out the right answer to make the
teacher happy. Quite a bit of our behaviour is like
this. If were told we should study extra maths or take
up the tuba or else something bad will happen, isnt
it safer to do what were told rather than risk it?
And for the rest of our lives well live in the shadow of
some cosmic teacher with their inscrutable
expression and red felt-tip pen. Thats no way to live.
Teachers dont want this kind of good student either.
Sure, theyre easy to manage and usually get ok
grades but you, dear reader, are better than that. If
you learn the tuba, do it because youre exploring the
world through sound, one trump at a time. Be
fascinated at how your fingers start to remember the
notes better than your brain. If youre told to aim for a
blart but you find the squeaks seems to fit into the
music in your head, then go off and explore that
composition when you get home. Yes, exams and
school will continue to make their demands but
maybe, just maybe, you can find ways to turn being a
good student into a good learner.

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The NEW Edition

Looking for A
Dream Job?
Have You
Considered
Becoming A
Panda Nanny?
Attention all animal lovers, you can now baby-sit Giant Pandas for a living. The China Giant Panda Protection
and Research Centre has recently started accepting applications for panda caretakers. The lucky person who
gets the job is given an annual salary of $32,000, which is equivalent to about 200 000 Chinese yuan. The
employee is also allowed the use of an SUV and is offered meal and board.
The China Giant Panda Protection and Research Centre has decided to create this Panda Nanny Program to
increase the interest in and awareness of the Giant Pandas, as they are an endangered species with only
2,500 of them existing in the wild as of now. Applicants must be 22 years of age or older, with some necessary
photography and writing skills. It is recommended that applicants also have a basic knowledge of the Giant
Pandas.
Although the caretaker position seems ideal, it may be much harder than it seems. There are more than
100,000 people who have applied for the job in China and applicants may even have to undergo auditions. The
organizers, however, are keen on raising awareness of the Giant Pandas and so they were quite quick on
assuring me that the job is very rewarding and that all qualified applicants would be looked on favourably.
However, one last thing to consider is that no one is exactly sure of the tasks of the panda nannies. All I can
say is, if I were 22 years old and an avid panda enthusiast, I wouldnt think twice about applying.

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The NEW Edition

The Glory of
The Sauce
Thanks to the young generation of today, almost
anything edible has ketchup smothered on it- be it
meat, vegetables, even fruit; believe me, Ive
witnessed the latter.
I mean come on, fries would never be the same
without ketchup, right? That lovely bowl of vibrant red
liquid, alluringly poised beside the canteen, who could
resist? I am with you on this one.
Oh wait, I see where this is going. This isnt going be
another argument screaming that what glugs out of
the glass bottle is all chemicals and calories, is it? Oh
but it is.
The naive rebuttal would be that ketchup is made
from tomatoes and tomatoes are goodWrong! No other statement deserves as much scorn
and shame as this does.
The GMO (thats a synonym for Frankenstein by the
way) tomatoes are broiled down to a haem sludge,
seeds and skin are removed, and given further hours
of overnight heating. Essentially this means, to the
non- culinary specialists, that all the good that a
tomato could possibly have is eradicated. Period.
And remember that whole online dietary outburst
that came about a few years ago. Something about
high fructose corn syrup energy bars...and
children? AND CHILDREN? There need not be any
further explanation. A quick google search will
disclose what is left unsaid here. However, for
picturesque purposes, imagine about a third of the
bottle drowned in sugar and imagine how those
kiddy-wink ketchup guzzlers respond to a sloppy
dose of the red stuff. Yep, its frightening to be near
them.
First known as koe-chiap in China, the paste is
home to all the surfeit amount of salt from the kitchen.
But lets lower the fists. Recent studies have shown
that there are some components that aren't
completely detrimental to your health. Lowering the
risk of cardiovascular disease, increasing male fertility

and a better alternative to mayonnaise are just some

loosely supported claims. Indeed, companies in the
past have tried to alter the formula to bring forth
something more healthier. But with the inevitable toll
on taste leading to low sales, these very companies
had to withdraw them and revert back to the original
stuff. How lovely. Give the public what they want!
Yes, its every sauce addicts sweetheart, their first
saucy love, always remembered as that glossy red
concoction liberally slathered over our comfort food.
But, and heres another useless fact, it was once
used as fish sauce and slowly made its way to
become a universal condiment.
But the verdict is clear and absolute. This is not
something you should be having plenty of.
With this slightly inconclusive tone, you, the reader,
can decide how to view the saucy subject matter- not
as you once did, maybe, but as the new enlightened
being you have now become. By Sneha R

Musings and Meanderings

of a Budding Social Activist
By Ameer Dogar
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of going to The
Hague International Model United Nations (THIMUN)
in Singapore to represent Lithuania in the Security
Council. We addressed issues concerning Syria, the
situation in Ukraine, and the war in Afghanistan; and
then drafted resolutions for solving the conflicts.
Although the topics we discussed were disheartening,
I respect the fact that we made an attempt to find
peaceful solutions, something that occurs daily in the
actual UN.
However, the debate was not confined to the high
walls of the Security Council Hall, but continued

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during lunch times as moral and sematically
challenging questions such as Should we do the right
thing, or should we do things right?, were discussed
passionately. Some were even so bold as to debate
the significance of Aristotelian philosophy of
absurdism and the essence and practicality of
Kantian categorical imperative in the contemporary
society...although these were the hardcore.
After the week flew past and I came back to my
mundane life, but the lasting impression was made
and I started to realize that many societies have lost
the art of democratic discourse: the notion that people
should engage in civil discussions to question
morality and politics. Unfortunately it is the case that
we either wishfully ignore, or simply shrink away from
discussing these questions due to emotional stigma
and instinctive unease. Therefore, I am re-imagining
myself as a social activist, as there are ample
opportunities for interaction with the general public,
who can deliver speeches and write blogs in order to
kindle respectful and engaging public debate.
Comments such as I am not interested in politics
and our opinions dont matter are made quite
frequently, and I grieve for the naivety of these
remarks, as they imply that politics and daily life are
independent aspects; mutually exclusive entities. But,
I believe that people must make informed decisions
about who they vote for or endorse, as the politicians
decisions will impact upon their lives! One might think
that the news or the political debates allow us to
make informed decisions, but I would argue
otherwise; the fact of the matter is that people should
not simply vote because they feel associated with a
certain party, but should they consciously probe the
plausibility and the impact of the proposed policies.
For those lucky enough to have a vote in their
society, they should appreciate the gift and make
informed choices before marking their ballot paper.
The same reasoning can be applied to the
discussions about moral philosophy; the biggest
concern, in my opinion, is the societal perception that
philosophy and practicality are mutually exclusive. I
refute that notion because I believe that delving into
such issues will not only enhance ones critical
thinking, but will also challenge ones assumptions.
An example of this is our Theory of Knowledge
classroom, wherein we evaluate ideas such as
Jeremy Benthams Utilitarianism; previously, I thought
that the benefit to the biggest number of people, as
the crux of the argument suggests, is the ideal way of
appropriating. However, after analyzing the claims in
depth and realizing that the individual rights are not
as important, I dropped the idea.

The NEW Edition

These discussions should not only be compulsory in

a Theory of Knowledge class, but ought to be
something that people willingly engage in as a matter
of course. Therefore, they will be able to challenge
their pre-conceived views and will also, in a
respectable manner, challenge those of other
citizens. This kind of discourse will ensure that people
are able to comprehend each others perspectives
and, despite their apparent differences, can try and
find solutions to such problems. A contemporary
example of this would be: should the tax system be
more progressive? Though it seems at first that this
is an economical problem, it becomes clear, on closer
inspection, that its roots are deeply ingrained in moral
philosophy. Philosophers such as John Locke and
John Rawls have already tried to answer this
question through ideas such as The Natural Law and
The Veil of Ignorance respectively. So the idea that
philosophy as a school of thought is independent of
the economic thought of appropriation is nullified, as
one has to invest time to discuss such issues as they
affect ones life.
Although we claim that freedom of expression is, in
the words of John Locke, an inalienable right, we
tend not to employ this right. I would also argue that
the freedom of expression is exercised when people
cast votes, but it optimizes when they converse
before casting. As a course of action, I will use my
blog and speak in the community centres and in
schools; I will also organize local public debate
competitions that will excite people to engage actively
in rhetoric. In the blog, people will be able to, in the
comment section, express their opinions and politely
refute those of others. Through these measures I, the
social activist, will hopefully transform the local
individuals into a community of critical thinkers. It
might sound idealistic but its what I believe and,
anyway, isnt every young man permitted a healthy
dose of idealism?
24

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The NEW Edition

#CreativeWriting
Heres a snapshot of some of the best creative writing at JIS.
Moon Blood by Emmy Carter (Y7)
Escape by
Chief Engineer by Timothy Koh (Y13)
29th February 2016 by Ramhah Mackie (Y11)
White Roses by Kate Brien (Y12)
The Old Man by Umi Sazali (Y12)

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The NEW Edition

29th of February 2016

Society.
Cue the cringe.
Cue the twisted, gnarled, Halloween-like root that just
happens to trip me over into a puddle of mud or squirrel
poop ah, the darkness while I question Society.
Interesting way of dishing out punishments to people who
doubt the brilliance of our social world today, am I right?
I haul myself out of the sticky, moist puddle and
look around.
I stand at the edge of a circular clearing lined with
trees, my hand gently grasping the rough, harsh bark of the
tree that decided to give me some quality time with the
unknown not that Id actually want it to be known
substance.
The velvet grass is curling gently beneath my
shoes a lush, glimmering carpet of emerald stretched
across the clearing. Right in the middle, on a slight
elevation of the ground sits two silvery, reflective rocks
that are shimmering shards of broken mirrors pieced
together to form an enormous kaleidoscope of colours as
the full moon caresses it with its soft glow of eerie
moonlight.
Shes already here, perched on her rock and staring
at me.
Anger. This is the first emotion I feel, every time I
see others. My emotions or my heart or whatever you want
to call it, makes no exceptions for her. Theres always that
constant knife of anger lodged centimetres away from my
heart which thrusts itself in deeper so close to my heart I
feel like just pushing it straight in and getting it over with
every time people are around. Ordinary people.
Trudging up the hill, I sweep my haystack of hair
back which brings me back to my train of thought society
and cringing. Whos the scrawny kid with the weird eyes?
Ah, the most frequently asked question in the subconscious
minds of everyone I pass. Sometimes even in their
conscious minds. Society judges you whether you like it or
not. Mankind assess those around them to see if there are
threats that need to be dealt with. Differences and threats
are exactly the same in the eyes of men.
Finally, I arrive at my rock. Looking at my jarred
reflection, I count to ten and sigh. Staring right back at me
is a boy with straw-like hair and two different coloured
eyes, the right one a dark crystalline blue and the left one a
bright forest green.
I wasnt allowed to read to the children at the

library. I was turned away by the local fast food restaurant

that had a help wanted sign on their door for about six
months.
I feel the love.
Asking why Ive got different eye colours why
bother? Nature or karma or someone up there obviously
isnt in my favour. I just learnt to suck it up and deal with it
after a while.
Sliding myself onto the rock, I fidget until I can
see the night sky. The moon is veiled by a whisper of
clouds. The wind, like whimsical fairies, whips around the
tree tops, allowing the moonlight to spill through onto the
grass and the barks. The moon peeps out from behind the
clouds, flooding the clearing with light. It feels like
something out of a story book, something mystical,
magical and intriguing.
Of course, shes still staring at me from the rock
next to mine while I manage to get lost in my thoughts and
forget she exists in the process.
Her face is sharp and angular, beautiful from
certain angles, but dangerously scary from others. Jet black
curls cascade down to her waist and shift gently in the
breeze. An autumnal scent hangs in the air around her.
Shes got questioning grey eyes thats right you guessed
it, theyre both the same colour the kind that holds
intelligence. Shes always observing, on the edge, but
never interacting, like a constant shadow.
Shes never talked, not once.
We had an unspoken agreement. Id be here at the
end of every month and Id talk about whatever comes to
mind and she just listens. It felt nice having someone to
talk to, even though it pretty much feels like Im talking to
myself with her silent demeanour. It had been two years
since I stumbled upon this place, two years since I found
her sitting on the rock, and two years since I had seen the
note.
A glint on the sycamore tree down at the edge of
the clearing catches my eye. An arrow embedded in the
trunk pierces a rough piece of yellowed paper. In bold
letters at the top it says to my son. The note. My fathers
handwriting. I have no idea how it got here after my father
vanished into thin air two years ago and me, being the
coward I am, still havent ventured down there to read it.
You should read it. A lilting voice says.
I whip my head around so fast I swear I will break
my neck. I think she has spoken. After two years of
silence.
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The NEW Edition

You should read it. she repeats and this time I

see her mouth moving, confirming that she is speaking. I
do the only thing a fourteen year-old, slightly shell shocked
person can do at this point. I stare at her. With my mouth
hanging slightly open lets not forget that about that little
detail. She sighs and snaps her fingers. The note appears in
my hands.
Magic?
Im still too surprised about her talking to care,
actually.
The note feels like its going to crumble into a
million pieces, like an ancient treasure map. She glares at
me in an encouraging kind of way if that makes sense
and I swallow and look down. There is only one thing
written on it besides the to my son part.
29th of February 2016
I freeze. Today is the 29th of February, 2016. The
leaves of the sycamore tree ruffle and a man with my
mismatched eyes steps out from behind the shady
branches.
By Ramhah Mackie
Chief Engineer
By Timothy Koh
Docking request accepted, Mister Lorenz. Your ship will
be towed shortly, chimed a synthetic voice, its metallic
overtones echoing off the vacu-steel hull from which it
seemed to emanate.
Thank you, AI, I can handle the formalities from
here. Please prepare the station plans and my credentials. I
want them on my infopad by the time I step off, I replied.
Certainly, sir.
As I braced for the jolt as the tractor beams locked
in, I reminded myself of where I was, and what I was to do.
Though located in a quiet sector away from the major trade
hubs, Lighthouse station served as the heart of the star
systems industrial and mining operations. This was in no
small part due to its status as the only operating subspace
beacon in the area, and unsurprisingly, it saw a lot more
traffic than had been expected by its designers. The
resident megacorporation had put out a call for an engineer
to be sent over for emergency repairs, as the briefing
called it; naturally, as their most qualified engineer within

five jumps, I was selected. It was supposed to be a routine

procedure, a simple Chandrasekhar core replacement. Id
run simulations several times over on the journey here, and
briefed myself extensively on the most cutting-edge
equipment the corporation had to offer. Nothing could go
wrong.
--My shuttles airlock disengaged and folded out
onto the dull grey pier with a controlled hiss, the
cacophonic clashes and clangs of industry rushing in to
replace it. I gingerly stepped out and off the gangway,
squinting in the floodlights illuminating every corner of the
docks. Like the freighters and mining barges moving to and
fro, these lights never ceased operation, bathing the
docking bay in a perpetual sterile white. On the other end
of the pier waited a man tapping away on an infopad - an
arrivals officer, I assumed - and so I figured it prudent that
I leave the rest of the sightseeing for later.
Greetings, I began, I am here on the behalf of
the station power management engineering division of-
You the reactor guy, then?
Though taken slightly aback by the interruption, I
pressed onwards. Er, yes. I was dispatched here to
investigate a possible reactor core failure. Youll find my
credentials and authorisation on my infopad.
The man merely glanced up from the screen at me,
looked me up and down, and made a quick swiping gesture
across the tablet, all the while ignoring the infopad Id
offered to him. Eh, stuffy suit, shiny shuttle, face looks
about right. Come on, this way. Dont wanna keep Yana
waitin.
With a quiet sigh of resignation, I followed.
The man led me off the main thoroughfare to what looked
like a maintenance shaft, and from there through a series of
ever more complex and winding passageways. Id given up
keeping track of my location on the infopad; these
labyrinthine pathways were uncharted, not declared in the
schematics for stations of this class. Installed and hacked in
over the years, as I figured, the walls were built of a
hodgepodge of rusted and tarnished metals, a sharp
contrast to the austere silver tones of the roads more
travelled. We eventually emerged from a door labelled 27

;#JIS

The NEW Edition

supply closet, my infopad informing me that wed

traversed a twenty minute walk in less than half the time,
and that we were currently outside the entrance to the
engineering lobby. The entrance itself was a set of two
airlocks about twice my height along both dimensions,
painted sulfur yellow with large trefoils on both sides.
Oy, Yana!? Big-shot engine guys here, all
yours! my guide bellowed, the noise becoming lost
amongst the roar of the heat vents.
A womans voice rang back from across the room,
clear and piercing: Yeah, lovely, just a sec! She wore
what looked like a standard (and quite worn) orange
jumpsuit, unzipped and arms tied at the waist, complete
with a white undershirt. Her dark brown hair was tied back,
and a tool belt loaded with an assortment of screwdrivers
and wrenches rattled at her waist as she strode across the
room. Right, youre this Lorenz guy, then?
Ah- yes. Engineer Lorenz, reporting. I was told
that your main reactor was malfunctioning, though Im
afraid the briefing was no more specific than that. Would
you be a reactor technician, then?

you. Clear?
Uh, well arent I supposed to be the specialist
here?
What, a greenhorn like you? ...guess we can see
what youve got, shouldnt hurt too much. When youve
worked the place ten years, though, jabbing a thumb at
herself as she spoke, you get a pretty good feel for it.
The end of the hallway opened up into a massive rustbrown circular room, several walls no longer bothering to
hide the dizzying complexity of the pipe networks behind
them. In the center, as was expected, was a radglass ring of
windows, overlooking the chamber housing the core and
the radiation arrays feeding off its energy. I couldnt help
but notice the gentle blue glow emanating from the reactor
and filling the room; the only indicator of, if not for the
shielding on the radglass, lethal amounts of radiation
coming from the failing core.
Right, a type C breakdown of the Chandresekhar
core. Ill get to work on configuring the core removal arm.
Well need a shielded container to store the old core in for
transport, and-

The officer sniggered.

Shut it, Kepler. Yeah, cores been giving us
trouble. Come on, Ill fill you in on the way. She began
towards a corridor headed C. Reactor, and as seemed to
be the theme for my visit so far, I followed.
--Core started acting up about a year ago, she began, and
went sub-critical early last month.
Youve been running cold for a month? I cant
believe it, why didnt you put out the call sooner?
We managed, for a while. Core replacements
require authorization from the higher ups, and we didnt
want to bring an outside team unless we absolutely needed
it. This stations on a tight schedule, and all the
bureaucracy causes is a lot of scheduling bugs and
problems for anyone in a risk zone. She turned to me. No
offense. Single engineers better to work with than a team,
anyways. Ill be frank, so long as you keep out of the way
and do what youre told, we wont have any issues with

Yana smirked. Arms blown, needed replacement

parts the corp never sent over.
My heart sank. Core retrieval bots? A bit
imprecise, but
Please, those things died ages ago. Blown power
cells, go figure.
Tractor beams? I was running out of options.
Zilch. If it helps, the rad containers are shot, too.
Got caught in a small accident involving a birthday ration
and some frigate-class munitions. She seemed to smile
fondly at the memory, but I could only stare in shock at the
state of the machinery here.
What do we have, then? Those are all the options
I accounted for, even ran through the simulations
Yana just shrugged. I dunno, youre the expert,
right? She took a glance around the room for a moment.
Well, weve got some old radsuits and a mass driver the28

;#JIS

The NEW Edition

boys hooked up to disposals. You feeling lucky?

--Holding up alright in there? came Yanas garbled voice
through the suit speakers. Clearly the flood of radiation
was not doing anything to bolster the strength of the 24th
century transmitters. She took brisk steps through the
room, seemingly unperturbed by both the mess of wiring
almost entirely covering the floor, and the fact that even
the slightest hole in the suits shielding would be enough to
administer a slow, agonizing death. I, meanwhile, paced
along a meter behind with the new core clutched tightly to
my chest, treading gently around the edged heatsinks and
trying desperately not to think about the slight tingling in
my leg. Though it was only a walk of about twenty metres
from the access shaft to the core, itd felt like running a
marathon on a tightrope. The core itself appeared as
nothing more than a short cylindrical device on a pedestal,
elevated slightly above the undergrowth of wiring and
bathing the room in its deadly energy, ready to be
collected.
Just leave the new core over there, while I get this
old one unplugged, she said, gesturing to a small clearing
in the cables. Lets see remove the feed lines here,
reconnect the main power conduit here
Reconnect, I wondered, noting the ease with
which she moved around the core, ducking and weaving at
distances I wouldnt have dared approaching.
...and done. Get ready, she called, yanking the
damaged device out of its fitting.
R-ready? What for?
And though I swore that our visors were mirrored,
and the light emitted by the old core was certainly too
bright to allow my eyes such detail, I swore she smiled.
Catch!
And just like that, she tossed what was essentially
a time-bomb at me, and I caught it, its more jagged features
snagging on my suit.
A second passed before I realized whatd been

Are you insane!? What the hell was that!? I could

have died if this thing tore the fabric, if the enclosured
been damaged who knows what could have happened,
ahh
Yeah, well, you caught it and youre fine, right?
No harm done.
I- but you- I began, before trying to get back to
the task at hand. I could yell at her later.
All done? I could use a hand installing the new
core over here.
Wordlessly, I set down the ruined device, checked
the suit for tears (of which there were, thankfully, none),
and began cleaning out the fitting to accept the new core.
--I hauled my thoroughly rattled body back out of the
engineering airlocks after a thorough dousing and shower
in radfoam. My previously austere clothing was still damp
with sweat at this point. I decided Id swallow my pride
and look into a proper high-quality jumpsuit that day. It
wasnt long before I heard a familiar voice call out from a
maintenance shaft entrance.
So, done already, eh?
It was the officer again.
Oh, dont even start, I moaned, having given up
maintaining the professional facade about partway through
the return trip, when Yanad thumped me on the back for a
job well done. A hell of a reactor tech youve got there.
Heh, yeah, hell of a reactor tech. Anyways, he
said, all the while casually sliding the shaft door open,
need me to hold your hand n walk you home?
I think Ill find my way back. Cant be too
difficult, I replied, ignoring my infopads several pagelong set of directions to the docks.
Uh-huh, as if. Come on, Ive got a break
anyways.

done.
---

29

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With a hiss, the airlock folded inwards, sealed, and
pressurized. I tossed my infopad onto the co-pilots chair
and slumped back into mine, exhausted. I regretted not
sticking around to see Yana off, but she insisted that the
cores disposal be left to her. Not part of your job detail,
meaning I dont need you in the way, she explained,
gesturing to the break room hallway. I didnt blame her.
AI, autopilot back to HQ, I dont have the energy.
Safest route, three jumps.

The NEW Edition

radioactive guts as my impulse engines fired. The
combined effect was remarkable; the glowing blue
supermatter had been caught directly in the folds of the
warp bubble, imprisoned in the folded space while neither
entering nor leaving my proximity. Lighthouse station
shrank into a grey speck behind me, followed by the gas
giant it orbited and finally the star, joining the rest of its
tiny neighbours in the sky, all while the effervescent
ribbons of supermatter danced about my ship.

Certainly, sir.
The craft took a moment to orient itself towards
the docking bays exit before firing its impulse engines,
and soon the blinding light of the station interior was
traded for the soothing blackness of the void. It was just as
the ship began spooling for warp that I received a hail on
comms.
Hey, its Yana. Going so soon? The vidscreen to
my left displayed her familiar face, but unless Id been
mistaken, she was clad in a red jumpsuit now. Munitions?
Yeah, I need to report back to the corp that its a
job all done. Id love to stay and chat, but, well
Hey, no worries, I understand. Things to do,
places to be, huh?
I leaned back into the headrest. Yeah.
A short silence passed between us.
...suppose its great timing for you, actually; just
finished stuffing the old core down disposals. Dont worry,
nothing dangerous this time, just jump into warp when I
say. Get ready.
I decided not to bother asking this time around,
instead moving my hand to the warp drives throttle. It
couldnt hurt to humour her, could it?
And now!
As I engaged the drive, I noticed a familiar blue
speck rocketing towards me from out of the station, its
shape only just discernible as the warp bubbles distortions
enveloped the shuttle. Ye gods, it was the old core.
And just like that, the core detonated, spilling its

I was stunned. Such an incredible display required not only

precise aim and timing to catch the warp bubble at a safe
distance, but an intricate knowledge of the space-folding
dynamics of the Alcubierre drive; even I had only a vague
idea of what exactly had happened. There was a lingering
question in my mind now, and the answer lay in the video
window, Yanas face still frozen in place as the warp
terminated the connection. AI, run an image search over
the comms window when we arrive at the next beacon.
Start with engineering alumni, local regional search.
The list of results began filling up almost the
instant we dropped out of warp. About five hundred
matches; remarkable, given the trillions in the sector alone.
My eyes were drawn to the status displays next to each
record; quite a handful were deceased, most were currently
active, but one was listed as Missing in Action, by the
name of Anaya Howitz. It was her, of course; the name
ringed too many bells. Strangely, her file photo looked
younger than the rugged lady Id met, as if she had only
recently received her degree. Even more outstanding were
her credentials, however, as I gazed in awe at her list of
accolades. The Purple Star of Engineering Excellence; the
Titanium Mouse of Bravery and Courage; the Black
Ribbon of Robotics and Mechanics; it went on and on,
outshining any set of credentials Id ever seen.
In a corner of the vidscreen sat an advertisement of
sorts, sporting the ExoSecurity logo. Anaya Howitz, Chief
Engineer of Mesaren Corp., it began. A rival corporation
to my own. Last seen ten years ago before disappearing
during leave in an unknown industrial system. If you have
information on her whereabouts, do not hesitate to contact
ExoSecurity. Next to it, in a pulsating red, was a button
labelled Report.
I closed the window.

30

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The NEW Edition

Escape

Oblivion was calling out my name

The bruises are still left on my face from the night before
black and blue. It happens every night. My parents lock me
in my room, go down the pub, come back drunk and beat
me up. Most people would call this child abuse, but I call it
my life. My life wasnt even supposed to exist. My parents
just met each other at a club, went home together and here
I am. You were a mistake. They sometimes say, slurring
their words. We regretted you from the day you were
born.

I woke up with a start, switched on my lamp and climbed

languidly out of bed. I trudged over to where my old, rusty
clock sat ticking. It was ten past seven in the morning. I
was hungry. I decided to go downstairs to get some
cornflakes and a glass of milk (if it wasnt off, like usual). I
lumbered over to my door to open it. It wouldnt budge; the
handle wouldnt turn. Must be stuck I thought to myself. I
tried and tried again, twisting the handle in all directions.
They shouldve unlocked it by now.

Since then my parents have been doing the same thing;

drowning themselves in alcohol and beating me to a pulp.
Im surprised Im still alive, really. I wish I was dead. Im
not exaggerating when I say that. Every night I lie awake,
dreading the moment when they come back home and
unlock my bedroom door.

My heart started to thump. Hard and fast. I was locked in

my room; no one could get me out. I tried to calm myself
down, telling myself that they were probably just out to
grab some bread from the corner shop. I decided to wait.

One evening I was drawing a picture of a little cottage,

with a wonderful front garden. I only had a grey lead pencil
so I couldnt add colour, but I imagined that there would be
beautiful trees blossoming with candyfloss-pink flowers.
Frosty, white roses would cascade over the oak door like a
sheet of glimmering snow; everything would be perfect. I
was really at that little cottage skipping around merrily,
rolling in the daises that grew from the soft, green grass
and gazing up at the sapphire blue sky.

Im still waiting for them. It has been twenty-six hours.

What can I do? Im locked in my room and I cant get out.
They are never coming back. Never. I have to get out of
my room. I need to escape. I tried picking the lock with my
bobby pin but it didnt seem to work. Now I am terrified. I
dont want my life to end like this. I dont think any
fourteen- year- old would. Maybe I should climb out of the
window? No, its too risky. Im on the fourth floor of our
block-of-flats. Jumping out the window isnt an option.

Suddenly, the door unlocked and mother burst in: thick

make-up, wonky lipstick, tight crop top and three-inch
heels. Were goin out. Heres ya food. She threw me a
slice of toast and a bottle of water. Dont make a mess or
itll be no more for two days, ya get me?

Six days. Six days since my mother and father decided to

lock me in my room and leave me to die. Ive only been
getting by with that little water bottle my mother gave me.
I havent had any food since the night they left. Im just too
weak; I can barely move my legs or arms. I dont want my
life to end like this

Yeah. I replied quietly.

Thatll be Yes, Stacey not flippin Yeah she spat at
me, her eyes a bloodshot red.
Yes, Stacey. Thank you, Stacey. I squeaked out, on the
verge of crying.
Ill unlock it when we come back.
She turned around, slammed the door and locked it, the key
making a clicking sound as it turned. I stared at my messy
drawing, scrunched it up as tight as I could and threw it on
the floor with all my might.
I hate life.
I climbed over to my bed and closed my eyes, trying to
imagine my little cottage again. It seemed to have flown
out of my mind. I yearned to roll in that glorious, green
grass and look up at the pearly white clouds. There were
just too many things distracting me and whizzing around
my mind like a swarm of bees. I was lost, desolated.

I waited. I waited. Im waiting

Mon 13th Oct

On Friday 10th October, a 14 year-old girl was found
locked in her room in a block-of-flats in Aldershot, Ivy
Road. She was concealed in her room for 8 days and was
found with only a small bottle of water to keep her alive.
Her parents were both arrested for drunk driving on the
night they locked their daughter in her room. Investigators
found her on the floor, nearly dead. She is being treated.
Moon Blood

By Emmy Carter

SNAP!
What was that? asked Mia, her grey eyes as big as
saucers. Jake laughed at his little sister.
Its only me, Mia! I stepped on a twig! Leo answered.
Why are we even in the forest, Jake? Mia enquired, her
voice trembling. Jake went quiet. No way was he going to
tell her that hed left his phone at the tree house. Hed

31

;#JIS
never hear the end of it.
Ill tell you later, he muttered.
The trio walked along the well worn path as the sunlight
faded. The trees stood like soldiers, awaiting orders.
Another twig snapped. Mias head shot up like a bullet.
Shed been staring at the forest floor.
Nothing to worry about, Mia. Its just Jake and his big
feet, Leo told Mia. Jake frowned. He knew that he hadnt
stepped on any twigs. His feet werent that big either!
I didnt do that, mate, he muttered to Leo.
I know but theres no point in scaring Mia. Shes already
terrified, Leo answered. The trio trudged through the
forest in the gloomy twilight. The path got thinner and
thinner until it was gone.
Are we lost? I dont remember this place, Mia asked
Leo.
Wed better not be lost. My mum is already sick with
panic that Im in the forest, shed have a heart attack if she
knew we were lost! Leo replied, giving Jake a look.
CRACK!
A branch fell down behind them, blocking their way back.
How are we ever going to get back? moaned Mia. Jake
ignored her and continued walking.
CRACK!
Another branch fell from above. Leos leg was trapped
under it. Then, they saw him. The silhouette of a man
against the sickly yellow moon.
Run! Leo yelled. Jake hauled Leo out from under the tree
and ran for his life. In the corner of his eye, he saw Leo and
Mia doing the same. Mias honey-blond hair flew behind
her in the wind. Her grey eyes were filled with fear. Leo
had clumps of his dark hair plastered to his forehead with
sweat. He was hobbling because of his injured leg.
The trio ran into an unfamiliar clearing. Moonlight filtered
through the iridescent leaves. A patch of poppies grew in a
corner. Leo doubled over, breathless. Mia flopped down
onto the grass. However, Jake stayed alert.
Did we lose him? asked Mia. The man stepped into the
clearing. He was tall and you could see his muscles
rippling through his skin. His hair was cropped close to his
skull. That wasnt what made him terrifying. His eyes were
strange, his eyes glowed red. Mia jumped to her feet like a
spring. Im going to take that as a no.
The man held an old fashioned torch. A stick with fire
blazing at its tip. He threw it to the ground and turned to
look at the full moon. He gazed at it for a while before
changing into a beast. The creature hed become had a
snarling snout and eyes blazing in anger. Venom dripped

The NEW Edition

off its pointy fangs. The mans skin had turned into thick
silver fur. His fingernails lengthened into claws.he was a
wolf.
Mia let out a small squeal of horror.
The wolf stood there, silent as a statue, as if studying the
trio. He turned his hungry gaze upon Mia and pounced.
Mia screamed as a claw ripped through the skin on her
shoulder. The wolf snarled. Drool dripped onto Mias face
from his fangs. Then, they heard a war cry from behind
them.
Mia turned her head, as much as the wolf would allow, and
saw Leo running towards them. The torch, which the
werewolf had thrown, had made the ground catch fire. The
clearing was ablaze. Leo tackled the wolf to the ground.
Jake helped his little sister up and examined her shoulder.
Leo and the wolf fought, blood and claws everywhere. Leo
was screaming in pain. Jake grabbed a stick and let the end
catch alight. Stay safe, Mia! he instructed her. Jake
launched himself at the fighting pair. He managed to get
the wolf off Leo but then it started to attack him. Mia ran
over to Leo and dragged him to the patch of poppies.
Leos arms were a mess. Blood and flesh everywhere. His
clothes were ripped and tattered. His injured leg was torn
so that you could see the bone. Half of his once handsome
face was burned beyond recognition. Youll be okay, Leo.
I promise to let nothing happen to you! Mia told him.
You shouldnt make promises you cant keep, Mia, Leo
told her. But lets face it. I wont live to see the sunrise.
Meanwhile, Jake was fighting the wolf. With only a stick
to attack and defend himself, he was doing pretty well.
Granted, it was a burning stick and the wolfs fur coat was
on fire, though the wolf didnt seem to care. The wolf was
fast to attack and was incredibly light on its feet.
Jakes dirty blond hair was plastered to his forehead with
sweat. Blood trickled into his eye from a gash above his
eyebrow. Jake lunged for the wolf but the creature rolled
away from him. The wolf took a swipe at him and left a
deep scratch on his arm. Exhausted Jake continued to
attack. He was breathing heavily and all moisture in his
throat seemed to have evaporated. Jake spotted a sharp
silver object, glinting in the moonlight, lying in the grass.
He made his way over to it while defending himself against
the wolf. Jake lunged for it and plunged it deep into the
wolfs chest. He twisted the silver object before taking it
out. The wolf howled in agony as its black blood spluttered
everywhere, drenching Jake head to toe. The wolf curled
into a tight ball, whimpering, and went limp. Its eyes rolled
back into its head as the flames engulfed him.
Jake turned back to his sister and best friend.
Leos head felt terrible, as if it was on fire. Is the wolf
gone? he croaked.
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Jake looked at the silver object, now stained in blood, in
his hand. Killed it with Mias hairclip, he replied.
Leo was in agony. He could feel the blood leaving his body
and taste its metallic tang in his mouth. His body was paper
white and the light was leaving his eyes. Stay safe, guys,
he told them, his voice trembling with effort. Leo took one
last breath before his world went black forever.
Leo? Leo! shrieked Mia, shaking Leos lifeless body.
Jake felt for his friends pulse and found none.
Leave him, Mia, Jake told her quietly. Mia spun round to
face him, her eyes glazed with tears.
Hes gone.
Then, the skies opened up.
White Roses By Kate Brien
There she was. She lay delicately in her mahogany casket
with her hands folded over her torso, her body still and
unmoving. Her wavy blonde hair cascaded over her bony
shoulders, framing her heart shaped face. Although her
cadaverous complexion was conceived after her death, her
rosebud lips still remained as red as before. Her skin was
almost translucent as it seemed to glow in an eerie way,
greatly contrasting with the deep violet dress which bound
her. Our mother bought her that dress for her 16th birthday.
It feels so long ago now.
To a stranger she couldve been sleeping;
dreaming of a world entirely her own. But for all of us who
stood in that room draped in black, we would never be able
to shake the truth from our minds. I began to walk towards
the nearest pew when I was stopped by my father. His
gaunt face could no longer hide the sadness within. I stared
at him for a moment. We both had a million things to say
to each other, but neither of us could speak. He lowered his
head, staring at the floor before he finally broke the silence.
How are you? hed asked, seemingly impassive. Im
okay. I muttered, replying with the same level of concern.
He gave a slight nod before walking off to return to
weeping mother, his expression returning to a solemn,
permanent frown.
My sister was the only thing that used to make him
smile, a true daddys girl. She would always have him
wrapped around her finger with her exceptional grades, wit
and charm; the pride of the family. I turned away from my
parents only to find that the pew was full. I started in a
different direction when my eyes fell upon the large picture
of her that stood beside her casket. Her deep green eyes
gleamed; poles apart from my brown eyes and that smug
smile she wore was plastered on her face and was all too
familiar. This was the smile she would flash at me as father
would give her praise, as she won competitions, as she
would inch a little further in front of me in the race to

The NEW Edition

approval and admiration. My sister was smart and
charismatic, but above all, she was competitive. This
quality was without a doubt, the secret to her success.
White roses were placed in vases all around the
church. Her favourite. They were a perfect metaphor of her
personality; beautiful but equipped with cruel qualities.
Seeing the roses made me recall how I came across her
body that night lying lifelessly against her duvet covered in
those symbolic white flowers.
As I awoke from the recollection, I found my eyes
still glaring at her picture. My father had arrived by my
side. Its time for the burial he whispered. As I turned
around, everybody was calmly exiting the church out
towards the cemetery next to it. I followed my mother out,
who was still bawling into her navy handkerchief. My
father stayed behind with several of my uncles who were to
be transporting my sister to the cemetery. As I stepped
outside, the sun was concealed by wisps of clouds, letting
out slivers of sunlight every so often. The cold nipped at
any skin I left bare, the wind whipping us as we marched
towards her headstone.
The hole in the ground was overwhelming. The
soil was exposed, no longer hidden behind a thick layer of
grass. But thats what happens when somebody dies,
secrets and qualities of people are revealed and you think
you know people, and then they surprise you.
The headstone was marble with golden print. It
read:
Victoria Hastings
-1995-2012-Weve lost a beloved daughter-Heaven has gained an AngelThey began to lower her casket into the ground.
This moment seemed to drag on for eternity. Violins
played as she sunk into the cold earth; our last goodbye.
My mother had lost all ability of controlling her silent sobs,
whilst my father did his best to console her. At least he was
able to pull himself together. Once the coffin was in, my
uncles began to bury my sister. With each mound of dirt
that landed on her, a single thought would pass through my
mind; a rhythm of memories.
She was gone now. The funeral was over. Her
body was buried. But something seemed to linger in the air.
The atmosphere lacked a sense of closure and peace like
people say they feel after somebody is laid to rest. This was
because nobody could begin to comprehend why she died.
Even to the whole of society, whenever something like this
happens, it takes a great deal of empathy to reflect on the
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;#JIS
event from that persons perspective. Nobody could ever
have anticipated this. My sister was always so cunning and
could conceal her emotions with a flicker of a smile.
As I turned away from her grave, I started to
reminisce about her extensive list of achievements and
pictured the certain bright future she had laid in front of
her. However, the same question raced continuously
through everyones minds as they too turned from the
grave to their own affairs: why did she choose to throw it
all away?

Click.

The NEW Edition

Then, he remembered when husband and wife searched

high and low for the perfect ceiling fan. They would visit
showroom after showroom and then re-visit each and every
one of them to make sure there werent any ceiling fans
they missed. How silly, he thought now. In the end we
didnt even find a peach coloured fan...
Click.

The Old Man

Now, the fresh coating of paint had already cracked and

faded enough to reveal the brick and cement wall
underneath. Like a photograph exposed to the sun and rain,
the house began to lose its shine and vibrance. The old man
too, although he wouldnt admit it, had begun to feel
lonely.

By Umi Sazali

Click.

A hot, sunny day. Sweat forms on his brown wrinkly head,

slides over his tired cheeks to finally drip down his rough
unshaven chin. In the background, an old Afia fan, with
rust dotted blades, whirrs humid air towards the old man.
Every ten seconds it clicks and wobbles, then the old man
grunts. Ahmad will fix it, he tells himself every time. But
Ahmad never came. Not since his mother died five years
ago. The house stores too many memories, he said the
last time they met. Im sure Hadi or Faiz would come
running when you call them... he added before hanging
up.

Bloody fan...

The pale winter sun shone on the gravestone, as I stepped

briskly into life without my sister.

The old man shook his head. Hadi and Faiz never answered
his calls. And if they did, its to give some sort of excuse;
oh Im picking up my kid from school or, sorry pa, I
have a doctors appointment right now.
At first, the old man was fine with it. He understood
perfectly how they felt - he had a hard time coping with the
fact that his wife was gone as well. And the house, it was
the last place he wanted to be. It really did hold too many
memories. Every corner of all six rooms shouted Mariams
personal taste; the dusty cream coloured curtain and
matching table top in the kitchen...the mouldy green
armchair and common but authentic, pink ceiling fan in the
living room...the dead, used-to-be purple, orchids in the
veran,da which was her ultimate pride...
Click.
Once, he remembered - when the house was still vibrant
and the scent of pandan lingered in the air Mariam had
suggested they replace the old fan with a new one that
would match the fresh coat of paint. I think a peachy
colour would suit the room best kan? she had said. And
like the loyal husband he was, he agreed, despite the fact
that he hated the colour peach and he didnt really see
anything wrong with the old fan. Women there was no
point in arguing.

Click.
There it goes again. He lets go of a long sigh. Maybe he
should just call the repairman instead of disturbing his
children, else they end up hating him. Now, if only there
was a repairman for family relationships as well...
Click.
The old man leans back on his mouldy green armchair and
closes his eyes. What is it can he do to bring the family
back together? Driving to their house was out of the
question, he most certainly cannot drive anymore. His legs
have lost their strength along with their youth. And his
deep brown eyes are slowly turning blue from the rims,
indicating deteriorating vision. He deemed himself a road
hazard and therefore unfit to drive. What about calling an
emergency family meeting? Somehow he doubted it would
work. They have been avoiding the house for more than
two years now and it would be an absolute miracle to even
have them consider coming here.
Click.
Eh, mati...DIAM TA BAH! he shouted furiously,
threatening the fan to shut up. So what, his children dont
visit him! He is not so weak that he needs to rely on them
all the time! His lungs huffed and puffed and his nostrils
flared. The old man had not realized he was standing up
with his index finger pointing at the accursed thing until
the fan clicked again. Astaghfirullah... Why was he doing
shouting at objects!? Has the solitary life finally driven him
mad? The old man decided that he needed to fix his head
have a walk, cool it down, jalan-jalan. Staying in the house
is unhealthy for him...
Click.
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;#JIS

The NEW Edition

Just as the old man produced his cane, a hesitated knock

sounded on the door. He froze, who was that? ... Best I
wait? Then a more confident series of knocks echoed into
the room. Who could it be? He never had visitors since
that day five years ago - and the house was definitely not in
the state to receive any. He gave the living room a quick
once over with his blurring vision. It didnt look too bad,
he supposed. Not exactly a palace but still way better than
a pig farm. He hoped he didnt look like a pig farmer
himself with his plain t-shirt and kain. He checked his
breath: smelled like coffee but that was okay, and his hair:
balding and unkempt - so he put a topi on. Another series
of knocks sounded, this time impatient. Sekejap! give
me a minute. Holding a cane in one hand, he stumbled to
the front and opened the door.
Click.
Assalam pa, long time no see! a young mans face
greeted him. Sorry pa you had to wait a long time for your
foolish son to realize his duty. Here, I brought you some
mangoes, he stretched his arms outwards and opened the
bag to prove it. The old didnt look at the mangoes though.
He was studying the young mans face. A face he was quite
familiar with. A face he missed nearly as much as he
missed his wife. Come in, come in. Hurry. He ushered
Ahmad in. He was of course delighted but he didnt want
to show it, thinking it would only show his desperation and
weakness. Even though old, he was still a man. Men dont
cry or hug like women do. Instead his eyes were hard and
he was frowning. What made you decide to come?
I felt like I needed to. It is the duty of a responsible son
and...
The duty of a responsible son...so his sons do care...
And?
Well I need to borrow some money.

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