Enrique's Writings

Maureen was annoyed as she was looking for a new sweater at the end of the season. Jack had asked her to go with him to the Saint Patrick’s Day parade on Sunday and since she didn’t have a green sweater, Maureen decided to get one. She didn’t really want to go as it was going to be a miserable day of rain and wind. Maureen had argued with him about it, but she hadn’t dissuaded him. Since Jack had been reading novels on medieval Ireland, he was into everything Irish. Immersed in her thoughts, Maureen continued sorting sweaters on the rack. “ This is so frustrating ,” she thought. “ It’s the end of the season and soon we will be tossing our winter clothing and looking for shorts. ” Yet there she was, trying something to please Jack and his almost new found enthusiasm to do things. This is something Maureen liked about him. As she checked a green sweater, that unfortunately had a Christmas motif, her thoughts began wandering again on how Jack’s personality had changed lately. She smiled t...

 It’s10 o’clock on an unusual warm Thursday evening yet the soft northern wind reminded him that the autumn is just an introduction to the cold crispy winter. And winter will come, and then he chuckled remembering the line of that popular TV series from few years back. These clear nights and the cool breeze make him, almost, forget that this year has been extremely warm and has broken all sorts of records. The planet is warming up there is no question about it. However, these are problems too big to think about on his way to meet Maureen. He is thinking about his problems the ones closer to him the ones keeping him awake at night.  When Maureen mentioned she was going to be in Peterborough he invited her to meet him at the pub on Water Street. His first thought was “ It’s Thursday and I have to work tomorrow ,” calming himself down he remembered his shift on Fridays started at 11:00 in the morning. It was ok to go out on a weeknight. His second thought was that he was no longe...

“ Hey Jack, do you want to keep this old camera ” young Jack asked his father. They were packing his dad’s belongings to take to Vinnies. They did this every week since old Jack had moved into a retirement home up on Chemong Road. Young Jack first thought was why dad keeps so much junk in such a little place. He was not like that when his mom was alive. “ Now this place looks like a house of a hoarder, ” he thought.   From the living room old Jack responded with an emphatic voice. “ Don’t throw it a way !” Adding “ and please don’t open the wooden box beside it. Just bring them both to me .”   This was the third week they spent together trying to prepare the house for sale. Neither of them had a close attachment to the little bungalow. Young Jack had never lived there, and his dad had bought the house after his wife died ten years earlier. It was at a time when the house prices in Toronto had become so expensive. Selling the house in South Riverdale was a good idea s...

  Maureen was half sleep and a bit confused when she answered the phone ringing beside her on the night table. It was instinctive for her to answer the phone. It was a remnant of another time when she expected emergency calls. As she responded, Maureen, realised it was old Jack calling and without waiting for her to answer said “ Hi dear I’m on my way to yours… with some friends… for a nightcap … ” Maureen didn’t have time to respond or say anything. She was still half asleep, and old Jack didn’t let her to say anything. Maureen couldn’t believe his audacity and made her angry and thought to herself “ Who calls at 4 o’clock in the morning? if it is not an emergency…, what am I saying, Jack of course he would, bloody Jack. “ The nerves of your dad ” Maureen said to her partner who was getting out the bed and was beginning to dress. “ What are you doing? Seriously? Are you, really getting dressed? Your dad doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries, does he? and apparently neither ...

In a small apartment overlooking busy George Street, there lives a young and ambitious musician. Danny’s room reflects his dual passions: music and technology. In the bedroom there is a cherished guitar, a sleek laptop, a vibrant red chair adding a splash of color, and a desk with an ergonomic office chair.  Danny dreams of becoming a famous music producer. He spends countless hours strumming its guitar, composing melodies, and experimenting with digital audio workstations on his laptop. His ultimate goal is to create music that resonates with people. He aspires to achieve a balance where his music is not only a creative outlet and a sustainable career but a vehicle to protest social inequities. The path to Danny’s dream is loaded with obstacles. Financial constraints are a constant challenge, as investing in high-quality recording equipment and software is expensive. The competitive nature of the music industry means that talent alone is not enough. Breaking through requires conne...

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” ~ Confucius. Beneath the thick canopy of ancient trees, shadows danced on the forest floor. The air was heavy with the scent of pine and moss, and the silence was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the huffs of the horses. In this secluded grove, two figures stood facing each other, their breaths visible in the chilly air. One of them, cloaked in a dark, hooded robe, bore a mysterious scar that ran from their temple down to the corner of their lips—a stark reminder of an old betrayal. The other, a person of noble bearing, gazed back with a mixture of determination and resignation. “ This union, ” the noble began, “w as meant to bind our families and end the feud that has plagued us for generations .” The scarred one let out a bitter laugh, their eyes glinting with a vengeful fire. “ An arranged marriage to solve your father’s mistakes? Do you genuinely believe a piece of parchment can erase the blood spilled ?”...

Upon opening his eyes, he saw the screen on the wall and realized the landscape he was seeing showed the wrong colours. The pink shade of the landscape was disturbing, almost otherworldly. His first thought was that the colors of the monitor were unbalanced, maybe the settings had been altered. Then he noticed the sterile environment around him and a chilling shiver ran down his spine. He was lying down on a bed in a very stark, sterile room. The walls were an impersonal white, the kind found in hospitals or laboratories. He wasn't strapped to the bed, yet a strange paralysis overwhelmed him, as though his limbs had forgotten how to move. The bed, though comfortable, provided little warmth against the pervasive cold that seeped into his bones, leaving him feeling very cold indeed. His mind raced, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He felt an icy sweat form on his forehead as the realization crept in—he had no memory of how he had ended up here. The last thing he remembered w...