Enrique's Writings

It was the year I would begin my university education, September 1975. As a pre-requisite to be accepted into the different faculties, the new students were required to attend a preparation course under the generic term ‘orientation.’ The orientations were delivered from May to August three times per week from 6:00 to 8:00 PM. The purpose of the orientation was to prepare us, the new students, for the rigors of academic life. Supporting new students in the complexity of higher education was a commitment to the University. The subjects were not academic per se , but rather subjects aimed to facilitate learning. For example, explaining what a lecture was and how to take notes, the requirements when submitting an essay, how to borrow books from the library, or the use of the ‘ Kardex ’ (a system to find books within the library). I worked full time in the daytime attending the orientations in the evenings. Senior students delivered the orientation as part of their community services. Stud...

As he packed, what he called, his most precious possession, old Jack was remembering his arrival to Canada and the adventures of his long-gone youth.  The decorated wooden box was a little longer than he liked but if it fit under the bed. It would be alright. The box measured 65x30x20cm and was decorated with snakes and strange symbols carved into the dark wood. Even though the box had never been treated with any chemicals it had a lustrous smooth surface that had been polished by the passage of time. The box was a mystery for everyone. It was one of the few things in the house that was always locked. Not even his son, with whom Jack had become very close since they both lived in Peterborough, knew what was in it.  As they were packing the house, young Jack told his dad that the retirement home, where he was moving to, might want to know the contents of the box. “ It’s a safety reason dad ” he said. “ They need to be aware of whatever is in there to be sure it is not dangerous...

The smell of fresh earth after the rain saturated the air. It felt like a promise of spring. The frigid air filling his nose reminded him the season had not yet arrived. He walked on the path that generations of walkers had made through the ancient forest. The sun rays filtering through the canopy made him think of a symphony of musical notes written on the ground. A light breeze made him adjust his coat pulling his scarf over his mouth. His golden retriever walking beside him suddenly took off chasing a squirrel. He let the dog have fun for few minutes then with the palm of his hand hit his left leg a few times. The well-trained animal immediately came back to his side and continued walking by his side.  The dog, the scents of the forest and its natural sounds were his only companions. He welcomed the silence; it was an old friend. Lately walking was his only form of transportation. There was a truck back at his cabin that he rarely used. As he arrived at the small hamlet, he coll...