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Dedicated hearts like yours Are not so easy to find. It takes a special person to be So generous and kind.

of wood easier than a knife slides through melted butter. Watching my dad work with this saw made me feel so small, it was almost like watching Hephaestus hammer out a weapon for a god. So, as you can imagine, to be actually able to control this awesome strength for the first time was a very special moment for me. My dad was assembling a gate for a picket fence in our front yard, while I, trying (and failing) to help with this project held on to a random piece of wood. Later, as we placed the final plank onto the saw bench, about to be cut to length to take its place among the other palings of the gate, he stepped aside and motioned for me to take his usual place in front of the saw. Almost giddy with excitement, time seemed to near to a stop as I approached the saw, and placed my hand carefully upon the handle. Suddenly, doubt rushed through my head. What if I messed it up? What if I destroyed this piece of wood? I bit the bullet, and placed my thumb on the switch. The blade bucked into motion, and began to spin furiously. It seemed to glide down towards the wood as if it had a mind of its own, and soon enough the blade bit into the surface, sending out a thin shower of dust. As I raised the blade back up, and released the button along with a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. In that moment I made a discovery. I realised that in a way, my dad was a god. He knew so much about everything we had been doing that entire day, and everything that still remained to do. It was perhaps that moment which shaped me into who I am today, driven by making and creating things, and by learning practical skills, so one day I can know as much as him. I shake off this daydream, and place the beam on the table. I mark a thin line, and carry it to the drop saw. With one fluid motion I slice the beam in two, and carry one half to the bed of the truck, where the rest of the beams already lie in wait. I climb into the cab, and drive out to the container in which my latest construction project is soon to come

All poems by Yusef Elnahas – Year 10 Undo a woven poem Undo a knot You separate it and It unravels the thread Untangle a rope It untwines and We can all see its strands distinctly Untangle a mystery It reveals some clues and then Unravels the truth Undo a poem It breaks up but Understanding cannot be discerned in the same way If we break a poem apart It results in nothing but Some words and broken phrases The poet weaves Each scattered thread of experiences And writes ... Te Wiki o te Reo Ma ¯ ori Koinei taku wiki o te Reo Ma ¯ ori Let’s celebrate Mother New Zealand’s language

To care so much for your fellow man Is a quality all too rare. Yet you give of your time and talents For all in need to share. So thank you for being a volunteer It’s a privilege to work with you. Kia tu ¯ ao, e tu ¯ ki te ao Be a volunteer and stand up to the world.

Home Ben Davis – Year 12

I exhale slowly, pausing to watch as the thin vapour melts into the crisp morning air before continuing to walk towards our barn, the tread of my boots leaving prints in the frozen grass and mud. The barn, with its bright red paint and crisp white trim, looks like something from a children’s book, especially on such a dreary morning when the bright colours make it pop out of the surrounding frost-dulled landscape. I open the door and walk through, but have to stop to sneeze as I stir up dust from the thick layer of sawdust coating the ground. I resume walking and collect a long 4x4 beam from the large stack which obscures one wall. As I carry it towards the large table in the centre of the room, I cast my gaze around at the raw wooden surfaces and the huge variety of power tools cluttering every nook and cranny. This workshop supplied me with endless hours of entertainment growing up, finding scraps of wood and shaping them into something more. My eyes finally fall to rest on our old drop saw. This drop saw has been in the workshop as long as I can remember, and as I stare I begin to think back to the first time I ever used it. They say everybody remembers their first time feeling the might of having a power tool grasped in your hand, and it was no different for me. I still remember the sense of awe I felt every time I watched on as the blade slipped through a piece

A language gifted by god

A language infused with stimuli

Woven by the indigenous people

Who for centuries dwelt in this place

A language made of mana and taha

A language so sacred yet so open

Connecting our hearts with our ancestors This is Mother New Zealand’s language Koinei taku wiki o te Reo Ma ¯ ori Syllables of Gratitude A short day is not Enough time to show thanks; Do it everyday



Christ’s College Canterbury

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