Carynn's Intercultural Collaboration

                It would be the darkest and coldest night when 7-year-old Synneva sat in front of the fireplace. The firewood crackled as embers danced about, painting the right side of Synneva’s face in a warm glow. She craned her head to look into the archway that lead to the kitchen. From where she was, she could peek an arm moving around. Her mamma and grandfather’s voices mingled with the sound of chopping and bubbling water.                She quickly pulled on her gloves. Though she despised not being able to feel what she touched, she didn’t want the cold to bite into her slender fingers. With practiced movements, she tiptoed towards the front door and carefully opened it. Just enough for her body to squeeze in so the winter wind would not have a chance to slither into the house.              ...

Writing outside my own experience has always been a daunting idea. There are so many things I'm interested in. I watch them through a window and they fascinate me. There's nothing wrong with observing, but writing is a different story. When writing, we are "pretending" to be someone else (in fiction, but one can argue that even in non-fiction, we might be trying to express a version of ourselves). We put ourselves in our characters' shoes and walk the journey as them. It doesn't matter if they're not the main character, we still have to be  them. And that's where problems arise. I personally do not feel comfortable writing outside my own experiences because I know some things I wish to write about are topics that I have to tread carefully around for fear that I might offend someone from said community. I'm afraid of getting it wrong, afraid that my version of the experience as an outsider is not authentic or right, afraid of offending when I di...

PROMPT #1 I stare at the line of people increasing in front of the small counter. There was a family right at the front, a baby in the father’s arm, and the mother struggling with the backpack as a young boy tugs at her arm. I hope I would not have to sit with them, else this would be a much longer flight than it already was. It was true that it can’t be helped, they can’t do much to control their children, but I’ve flown enough to eventually stop caring. Especially on this flight to this place – again. All these years and I’ve never once flown peacefully there. I waited until the line dwindles and head off myself. Double checking my pockets as I inched across the aisle to my seat. As always, I stashed my bag under my seat and watched as the compartment below closed silently then the moment my back hit the seat, the seatbelts emerged from both sides and met in the centre. There was a pressure before they loosened and adjusted across my stomach. Adjusting my posture, I scan th...

Sai read the email again. Her big, slanted eyes reflecting the words from the email. An icon bounced up and down at the bottom right of her screen, telling her that she has 7, 9, 12, and now 27 unread messages. She swiped her finger down to preview the messages, not ready to go into the app just yet. Her friends were talking about the email as well, but theirs were different from hers.                They sent in their applications together. Scanned their fingerprints and clicked the button on a countdown. Just a week ago, they were looking at pictures and searching for good restaurants near the university they were supposed to go as one.                The messages flooded in as they expressed their excitement over their acceptance to University of Reia. She could barely read the messages on the preview screen, they were going too fast. She...

In Malaysia, I studied in a Chinese government school from the age of 7 to 12 before going to a private high school. Despite the shift from a government school to a private school. Their teaching methods were quite similar. Although the private school was slightly more relaxed in terms of teaching and homework, but the teachers I had were still strict and most of them came from teaching at government schools. Since young, we were taught to be silent in class. There should be no noise when the teacher is speaking, no noise when we were assigned work to do. Even during the small breaks between classes when we wait for the next teacher to come, we were expected to be quiet. In primary school, my teachers had what we called a 'rotan', which means rattan. Those things you use to make baskets, except they were used to punish us. Whoever was too noisy would be called out and receive a hit or two on their palms. A couple of times, my teacher threw chalks or dusters at my friend...

As we become more educated, we grow into individuals with deeper feelings, deeper thoughts. Some say that people now gets offended by everything; we are too sensitive even if the issues are not related to us. Of course, this affects the writing industry because writing is a form of expression. With the positive increase of people of colour becoming published authors and books including more diversity, comes several issues. Most commonly: cultural appropriation. Disclaimer: I'm not a scholar nor am I an expert in this field. I'm just a very tiny person in this huge world expressing my very tiny thoughts.  Writing is a passion, it's a form of escapism, it's an art. I believe that anyone can write anything they are interested in writing. Saying no to someone's interest is like me waving my baby cousin's favourite fruit (strawberries) in front of her without giving it to her. I don't think we have the power or the right to suppress someone else's inte...

In week 2 of this course, we had the opportunity to learn from Sanaz Fotouhi, the general manager of Asia Pacific Writers & Translators. The lecture was heavily based on discussion and in one of them, she asked about fears (forgive me if I got this wrong, my memory is not the best). I mentioned that I was afraid of not being 'Chinese' enough to write about Chinese inspired stories. I was scared that as someone who grew up in an English speaking household surrounded by American content, I would not be qualified to write about Asian stories. I would be told that I wasn't enough. Recently, I've noticed a surge of books published by people of colour, especially in the YA section. And as usual, we can't have nice things. While many of us are celebrating these marginalised authors, there are those that lurks in the shadow with their slimy tongues and nasty fingernails waiting to pounce. Here are some tweets I found where these authors speak of their experiences. ...