Writes of Passage

document.getElementsByClassName('th-hero-container')[0].insertAdjacentHTML('beforebegin', ` IN PARTNERSHIP WITH AMAZON CANADA `); document.getElementsByClassName("cat-links")[0].innerHTML = 'In Partnership with Amazon Canada'; .gallery {/*margin-bottom: 0; top: -40px; position: relative;*/} div.gallery span.hm-tagged {/* margin: 0; */} Writing is a process that can age you in more ways than one. For the nominees of this year’s Amazon Youth Short Story Award, penning their pieces helped them glean new wisdom about what it truly means to mature and what this world requires of adults, even if many of them still aren’t old enough to vote. Throughout the course of their brief yet impactful tales, their protagonists learned valuable lessons about grief, physical milestones, friendship, memory, and holding onto love, however fleeting it may feel. But we asked the young folks holding the pens and pressing the keyboards: Which truth about growing up did your story help you come to terms with? Here, they share those life lessons. “Writing ‘In the Chair’ helped me appreciate the quiet ways our lives change as we get older. I used to feel a constant urge to grow up, to reach the next stage. But now, at eighteen, I’m beginning to understand the beauty of being young and curious, and I hope that part of me never fades. For years, I sat in my father’s dental chair, measuring time by milestones—losing baby teeth, getting braces, having them removed. My dad often said he watched his patients grow up through that chair, noticing how they changed between visits. He heard about new life events and saw shifts in their personalities, from quiet to outgoing and sometimes back again. I never realized he was witnessing the same changes in me. My journey with my teeth mirrored the way I grew—gradually, quietly, and often without noticing. Growing up isn’t one moment. It’s a slow shift that others may see before we do.” – Thivya Jeyapalan, “In the Chair” Through writing, I can deal with problems that I don’t feel strong enough to face. I am able to look through the different perspectives of my characters and confront my own emotions. I have struggled with this and have a hard time coping with difficult situations. Being able to take the risk of writing about my feelings builds my courage. – Abbie Pasowisty, “The Colours of Your Thoughts” “Writing ‘Lost Boy’ helped me come to terms with imperfection. As we grow, both older and as a person, we look back on what we’ve done in a new light. When I revisited this story, I saw how unpolished my writing was and all the mistakes I had made. It’s easy to think our past work is bad and put ourselves down because of it, but we only think that because we are somehow better now. I think my current work is the best, but someday I will look back on it as I do my past work. I’m starting to realize that this isn’t a bad thing; that [improvement] is something I should celebrate, not be ashamed of. We are always growing and learning, so we will never achieve perfection—and that’s okay. “Lost Boy” helped me learn that I don’t need to burn the bad drawings to be good.” – Emma Chappel, “Lost Boy” “Growing up meant accepting that some people are not meant to stay, but instead pass through quietly and linger like a phosphene. ‘Suzanne’ taught me about impermanence. I used to measure relationships by length, weigh them by years, and equate them to their impact. I used to believe friendships should be sustained until there was nothing more to know about each other. Writing this story helped me accept that I did not owe my relationships longevity—that erosion is acceptable and sometimes needed. It could be okay that we only message each other on birthdays, that my parents are no longer in every photo. At the same time, ‘Suzanne’ made me realize that I should not expect closure, nor am I required to give it. I learned that I’m permitted to let people go and fade from their lives guiltlessly, and, in the narrative, leave the ending open.” – Vicky Zhu, “Suzanne” “An unavoidable truth about growing up is that you will, at times, feel completely and utterly alone in the world. It is the quintessential experience of standing by yourself at a party—the unbearable yearning for connection that we all must endure at some point in our lives. It is also a deeply painful experience, one that makes you feel as though there is something fundamentally absent. It leaves you perpetually searching to make others understand you in a way that is often impossible. In my own life, I have frequently experienced the heartbreaking sensation of wanting desperately to belong somewhere, yet feeling profoundly apart. One of the beautiful things about writing, however, is that it allows you to express feelings like these and, ultimately, view them in a different light. Though it often feels otherwise, loneliness is a transient state; as you get older and expand your world, it is possible to find people who do deeply understand you, and the glorious anticipation of this prospect is enough to spur us on toward the moment when we will finally find the meaningful connection for which we are searching.” – Willow Greenfield, “Autumn Nights” To learn more about the authors, visit thewalrus.ca/afna The post Writes of Passage first appeared on The Walrus.