The reflection pond is going to waste

The SFU koi have something to say

Illustration of the koi fish in AQ, looking visibly angry.
ILLUSTRATION: Raissa Sourabh / The Peak

By: Nercya Kalino, Staff Writer

Dear SFU,

One would think that the reflection pond has a sense of purpose, considering its name. I have never come across such oblivious humans in this concrete confinement I’m obliged to call home. As the oldest fish in this pond, I find it baffling — almost jaw dropping — at how the students in this university seem to be unaware of the purpose of the reflection pond. It’s in the name!

I don’t get that many visitors, you know. No one wants to talk about how they feel, or even just come out and sit in silence looking back at the reflection of their images casted on the serene, still water. I will say this: as I’m getting closer to kicking the bucket, I find that my skills as a master of self-reflection are quite redundant. I didn’t ask for this, you know. I just wanted to be like the rest of the fish with no worries — except for plastics in our waters — but no! I was given this job to listen to a person’s thoughts . . . and when the moon is full, I ought to pray to it as a way of helping. I am special! But what is it good for if none of you brave opening up to me?

And don’t get me started on why the Avocado is a waste of space! Just the most useless statue among the rest. It is ludicrous that everyone is in love with the Avocado. People have reflected more on its existence than they have pondered my glorious presence. I used to wonder what the fuss was all about. One day, out of curiosity, I leapt out of the water and landed on the pavement. Yes, I risked my life to unveil this mystery. I stared hard at the Avocado and thought to myself, “I don’t understand these people — this is pathetic.” Before I knew it, raccoons thought I was dinner and scrambled towards me! Luckily, my old friend, Crow the Might, pushed me back into the water. I was bedridden for weeks before I could comfortably swim again. How I loathe the Avocado. Yet, you would rather stare at that . . . thing and ask each other the least philosophical questions. 

Let me tell you who among you is the most perceptive. The daycare children! Every once in a while we hold a festival for them as they walk on by. We gather at the pathway and cheer at the bumbling creatures. The children smile and applaud at our performance! They gather at the edges of the water. Some of them receive insightful foundations of self-consciousness. You can see the glimmer in their eyes when they find themselves within the reflection of the water. We call them the beholden ones. They are my favourite, because they appreciate my existence. You students, on the other hand, leave me speechless. 

You would think that maybe the professors are not the same. This is true, but not in the way you think. They gossip, I can tell by their laughs. They cackle and snort as they walk around the pond during their breaks. They call it, “Getting some fresh air!” Ha. Here in the pond, we call them chatterboxes. Like a radio, you simply have it on for background noise. 

As for you students, we do not have a definite name for you yet. Sometimes, we call you “zombies” because of your eye bags, to others we call, “happy litterers” but that’s a smaller demographic. On good days, we call you strangers because never have we seen you look back at yourself from the pond. Maybe you ought to give it a try. Screw this place.

Diving back into the ocean floor,

An Angry Koi