I enjoyed exploring through the interactive poem, High Muck a Muck: Playing Chinese. Compared to last week’s reading, it wasn’t quite as challenging, but it was still overwhelming. There was so much to click on and explore, and I kept wanting to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I also noticed that the words sometimes disappeared quickly. This made it tricky to keep up. In a way, it pushed me to slow down and I had to really focus on each moment.

That initial sense of disorientation ended up being one of the most powerful parts of the experience. The more I explored, the more I realized that maybe the site was designed this way on purpose. Immigration stories aren’t neat/linear narratives. They’re fragmented and layered. The overwhelming number of choices reflected that reality. Each click felt like a gamble, echoing the risks and uncertainties that shape immigrant lives.

As I clicked around, one of the pieces that stood out to me was the Vancouver section. It focused on the voices of Chinese immigrants. It captured both the energy and the exhaustion of daily life, the constant motion of a community striving to survive and belong. What struck me most was how it balanced hardship with resilience, showing that even in challenging circumstances, moments of connection and care still flourished. It reminded me that history isn’t only made in major events. It’s alive in the ordinary rhythms of life. It exists in the small gestures. It is in the shared routines. It’s also in the ways people carve out a sense of home midst uncertainty.

What makes High Muck a Muck so powerful is how it layers different multimodals elements. Some clicks reveal poetry, others play oral histories or video clips. With the sound on, the voices add another dimension. I found myself listening closely, noticing accents, pauses, hesitations, and laughter. Those voices felt like bridges, connecting me not just to information but to lived experiences.