I dream of a home by a quiet lake,
Where trees surround, and the air I take
Is filled with the scent of fresh-brewed grace;
Black coffee rises as I wake.
Inside, the rooms glow with memories,
Stories of love, of hope, of peace;
Each wall bears stains of joy, long pressed,
And pillows, blankets, throws made of cotton and fleece.

The kitchen, warm; a hearth for all,
Where stomachs are full and laughter calls;
Conversations linger, soft and sweet,
As friends and family share their seats.
The walls are littered with art that brings;
A reflection of life, of the little things;
Moments captured, frozen in bliss;
Like the image of our very first kiss.

A library waits, its wisdom always near,
Photo albums filled with memories so clear;
A treasury of knowledge close at hand,
Stories shared with the closest of friends.
The pantry brims with all we need
To craft each meal, to plant each seed;
Enough to nourish an endless fire,
A feast for love’s unquenched desire.

Outside, a garden stretches wide,
Green with life, where dreams reside;
Tall trees shade a tranquil view,
Of water glistening, bright and true.
A wooden dock cradles our boat,
Together we drift, we dream, we float;
From one soft moment to the next one,
Our love is the current,
reminding us where we’ve come from.

Beneath the sun, a spot I find,
To write, to read, to free my mind;
The space to dream, to plant, to grow,
To craft the life I’ve come to know.
The grass a canvas, green and bright,
A valley of hope, a dream in flight;
Where changing thoughts take solid form,
New ideas and themes are born.

And as the stars like fireflies glow,
We sit by the fire’s final show;
The flames die down, the embers fade,
And call us to our peaceful shade.
I dream of a home by a quiet lake.
Where we are proud of the life we make.

— Sincerely, Boris

Every time I see you, it’s the first time again;
like déjà vu rewritten in softer shades,
and I fall, surrendering as though I’d never known
the way you can both heal and haunt me.

I step into this circle, unbroken and sweet,
each glance a welcome wound, a familiar ache,
as if my heart has never learned
the shape of letting go.

I’ve tried to leave,
to walk ahead or fold back in,
but I’m tethered to the memory of you,
an orbit I can’t escape,
falling faster each time I rise.

I want to remember you less, but find myself
lingering in every echo of your name,
bound to relive each look, each touch;
this time loop of you, pulling me deeper,
until it’s all I know,
and all I want to leave behind.

— Sincerely Boris

In my journey as a father, I have come to appreciate the profound interplay between masculinity and feminism, two forces often misunderstood as opposing but which, in truth, are deeply intertwined. Raising my spirited 9-year-old daughter has made this understanding both urgent and intimate. I see the questions in her bright eyes, her quiet determination to navigate a world that does not always favor her, and I feel the weight of my role in shaping a future where she can thrive; unapologetic, unburdened, and unbound by the limits of societal expectations.

Feminism, I’ve realized, is not a challenge to masculinity but its complement, offering a lens through which our shared humanity becomes clearer. To embrace it is to deepen our collective understanding, to confront privilege without shame, and to extend empathy as a bridge between differences. As I teach my daughter about respect and equality, I encourage her to see the world not only through her own eyes but also through the eyes of others, understanding both the struggles women face and the unspoken pressures placed upon men. This dual awareness fosters a harmony where all genders can flourish.

The extraordinary women in my life have been my greatest teachers in this. Mentors who guided me with wisdom, a sister whose resilience inspires me, colleagues who challenged and elevated me, and friends whose strength and grace embody the courage it takes to reshape the world. They have shown me that liberation is not merely an abstract ideal but a lived practice; a daily act of courage, care, and connection that transforms everyone it touches.

Their stories, and my daughter’s unfolding one, have taught me that equity requires more than admiration or education. It demands action. I must unlearn the biases I inherited, redefine love as a force for transformation, and actively contribute to dismantling the interconnected systems of oppression that stifle our potential. True liberation cannot exclude anyone; it must honor every voice, embrace every struggle, and envision a world where my daughter’s humanity; and that of all women; is celebrated rather than questioned.

To create this world, I am redefining traditional gender roles within my home, encouraging my daughter to explore her passions free from the weight of convention. I aim to nurture her belief that she can forge any path, whether it aligns with societal norms or not. This empowerment is essential not only to her independence and resilience but also to her capacity to challenge stereotypes and advocate for herself and others.

As I reflect on these lessons, I see that this journey is not mine alone. It is a collective effort; a tapestry woven from love, strength, and shared purpose. Looking into my daughter’s eyes, I am reminded that the work begins with us, with the choices we make daily to foster understanding, support, and empowerment. Change begins with love and ends in freedom.

Equity is not just an aspiration but a necessity, a vision of a world where every individual is valued for who they are, where collaboration replaces competition, and where justice is not an ideal but a reality. By embracing this philosophy, I hope to nurture a future leader who will navigate life with wisdom, empathy, and strength, carrying forward the torch of transformation that will illuminate the path for generations to come.

— Sincerely, Boris

Growing up as an immigrant from São Paulo, Brazil, I was eager to assimilate into what I thought of as the quintessential Canadian life; road hockey, the Toronto Blue Jays, the peaceful multiculturalism I heard so much about. My early years in Canada were shaped by the simple desire to belong, to be seen as a regular Canadian kid. I was proud to be here, in what I viewed as a land of opportunity and kindness. But as I grew older, so did my understanding of this country’s complicated history, one that runs deeper than the friendly stereotypes I had once embraced.

It took time to see that this land I was so eager to call home had a much darker past, particularly in its relationship with Indigenous communities. There’s a truth in this country’s story that unsettled me as I learned more about the legacy of colonization, residential schools, and the continued struggles of Indigenous peoples. At first, it was hard to reconcile these facts with the Canada I thought I knew; a nation that promised fairness, equality, and respect for all. But the more I learned, the more I realized that this sanitized version of Canadian history was a privilege, one that ignored the voices of those who had suffered most under colonial policies.

The discomfort I felt wasn’t just about acknowledging the wrongs of the past; it was about realizing how deeply ingrained these issues still are. Education systems, for example, continue to perpetuate narratives that erase or distort Indigenous perspectives. This wasn’t just a problem of the past but a reflection of the ongoing challenges in how we talk about reconciliation, truth, and justice. How can we truly reconcile when the systems that shape our understanding of the world; our schools, our media, our public discourse; still operate from a place of ignorance or denial?

I’ve come to see that my immigrant experience, my desire to fit in and feel a part of this country, is a small part of a much bigger conversation. I wanted to be “Canadian,” but I didn’t fully understand what that meant. Now, I see that being Canadian isn’t just about belonging to a multicultural mosaic; it’s about recognizing the responsibilities we all share in addressing the injustices that continue to affect Indigenous communities. It’s about asking ourselves what kind of future we want to build; a future that is truly inclusive, one that honors the truth rather than glosses over it.

For me, this journey of learning has been about more than guilt or shame. It’s been about responsibility. It’s not enough to simply know the truth; we have to ask ourselves what we’re going to do with it. How do we challenge the systems that have caused harm? How do we ensure that education becomes a tool for real understanding and change, rather than a means of maintaining the status quo?

As someone who has benefited from the opportunities Canada provides, I feel a deeper sense of accountability to help create space for the stories that haven’t been told; stories that are central to what this country truly is and could be. We owe it to ourselves, to our children, and to the generations of Indigenous peoples who have carried these burdens for far too long. This isn’t just a matter of reconciliation; it’s a matter of reimagining the very foundations of what it means to be a part of this place, to learn from its past and work toward a future that is genuinely just.

In many ways, the more I understand this history, the more my love for this country has deepened; not in spite of its flaws but because the path forward requires all of us to engage with the truth. It’s a love rooted in the hope that we can do better, that we can build a nation that not only acknowledges its past but works actively to heal from it. That, to me, is the essence of what it means to belong to this land.

–

On this first National Day
for Truth and Reconciliation,
I stand with all Canadians,
bearing the guilt of a history
marked by loss and silence,
the innocent lives of Indigenous children
whose spirits still call for justice.
We are bound by the obligation
to grieve, to remember,
and to carry the weight of remorse,
for the lives lost, the futures stolen,
and the deep scars left behind.
In this moment, we commit
to accountability and retribution,
to the work that remains;
to heal, to rebuild,
a society where all are seen,
and the echoes of the past
no longer go unheard.

— Sincerely, Boris

Today, I close a door left open wide,
But never locked, in case one day, you seek
To return to the place we called our own,
A space once shared, now distant yet near.

On my side, memories linger, healing
From the bond we nurtured, fragile yet full;
But missing still, a knock from the other side,
A sign that you remember too.

On your side, your hand lingers on the handle,
Hesitant, unsure if the past is worth revisiting,
Afraid it may remind you of a love once tender,
That slipped through our fingers like sand.

Our hands meet; two souls on opposite sides,
Turning the **** together,
Opening the door once more.
What begins as a polite greeting
Melds into an embrace,
A hug that stretches time,
Filling the air with memories.

We are carried back,
To a time when we stood on the same side of the door,
Happy, united, alive in our shared warmth.
We leave it unlocked,
For whatever future may come.

A door is just a door;
And though we close it now,
It will never be locked,
For the love and friendship we once knew,
Still lingers, waiting, on both sides.

— Sincerely, Boris

For much of my life, I found myself overextended, giving in to requests and demands that left me drained and resentful. My energy was siphoned away by others, leaving me little time or space to tend to my own needs. In the pursuit of approval, or perhaps the avoidance of confrontation, I became a servant to the expectations of those around me. Yet, I realized that this servitude was not born out of obligation, but from my own inability to say “no” — a simple word, yet one that carries profound weight.

Learning to say “no” is, at its core, an act of self-preservation. It is not a rejection of others, but a reclamation of my time and energy. It is a statement of my boundaries, a way of asserting that my needs, desires, and well-being are just as valid as those of the people who ask for my help. The first step was recognizing that I am not responsible for meeting every expectation placed upon me. In fact, every time I said “yes” out of guilt or fear, I was betraying my own priorities, eroding my own autonomy.

The key to refusing others lies not in bluntness, but in clarity and conviction. To decline with grace, I needed to acknowledge that I am entitled to protect my time. By doing so, I discovered that I can offer more to the world when I am not constantly exhausted or overwhelmed. In reclaiming my ability to say “no,” I opened up a reservoir of energy that could be redirected toward the things and people that matter most to me. It was not selfishness, but rather a conscious decision to steward my own resources wisely.

I also learned that guilt has no rightful place in this equation. The discomfort that arises from setting boundaries is temporary, and it pales in comparison to the long-term depletion caused by over-commitment. Others may not always understand, but their approval is not what defines my worth. There is immense power in standing firm, in recognizing that I cannot be everything to everyone. Saying “no” is an act of integrity; to myself, and in turn, to those who truly depend on me.

By understanding the limits of my own capacity and cultivating the courage to enforce those limits, I now live with greater intention. Every “no” is a door that I close so that I may focus on the doors that truly lead to the life I want to create.

–

If you could hear the music once more,
Would you take my hand to the dance floor?
Would we recall each step we knew,
Or falter on the path we never grew?

Would I grasp at the chance,
To share with you this last dance?

I shouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
I won’t.

For this last dance belongs to a heart worthy of my embrace.

— Sincerely, Boris

We grew up in the same small town,
summers brushing by like strangers.
One day, you came by during band practice,
and wrote down titles of my CD collection,
and I smiled.

Years later, we crossed paths in Toronto,
you, studying to heal others,
We never named what we were;
sleepovers, meals shared,
your love for my cat, our weekends together.

I think of you sometimes,
your voice from Europe, the music in bed,
your quirky and dorky self, so unguarded.
And though we’ve drifted,

I know you’re well;
still carrying that quiet grace,
living the life you deserve.

— Sincerely, Boris