The theme for this year’s edition of Up in the Air is “Nighttime and Stars”. While brainstorming for a theme, the Leadership Team thought of how awe-inspiring it is to look up at the stars at night. Each piece encompassed in the magazine represents a unique star that can be seen against the backdrop of the night sky. Besides the obvious ways this year was different, it also uniquely impacted our student artists. During a year of pandemic induced isolation, many students were busy at home writing, drawing, and painting. However, for so many, the new restrictions also limited their access to creative outlets. Therefore, the need to create a platform that could showcase the creativity thriving within our community was more crucial than ever. This need was not overlooked by those students on the Leadership Team. Although submissions are essential to a literary magazine, so is the team of staff that pull it all together. Our Editor-in-Chief, Alyse Saucedo, ensured all departments knew what their tasks were. The publicists wasted no time soliciting submissions from the whole school. Then, the Editors dove into proofreading and editing. Kate Linggi played an integral role in arranging the art and writing pieces. With the layout in hand, the designers were ready to spring into action. Samatha Armstrong, a second-year Lit Mag veteran who also moonlights as a Graphic Designer, created the templates and the Design Team meticulously crafted each page. Now that all of the moving parts have come together and I see the finished product, I am especially proud of the flexibility, tenacity and overall joy this team of students brought to the project. I hope that as you turn each page you are starstruck by each students’ work and by the care and attention that went into designing this edition of Up in the Air.
Four years ago, as a new freshman standing amidst the hustle and bustle of the annual start-of-the-year club fair, I fell in love with our school’s Literary Magazine and knew I would find a home within the pages of our beloved book. Looking back now as a senior and Editor-in-Chief, I’m forever grateful to the wonderful team I’ve grown up with and the beautiful artistic and literary contributions of our student body that our magazine is composed of, as this family has inspired me to see the world through a lens of color and creativity. Moreover, despite the challenges and changes COVID-19 presented to my team, they overcame them with a resilient and enthusiastic zeal that resulted in one of our best magazines produced with dedication, imagination, and artistry. Words cannot express the gratitude I hold for our team members - from our astoundingly innovative Design Team to our driven Editors to our dynamic and peppy Publicists - but also for our dedicated and supportive moderator, Mrs. MacManus. Diving into our magazine the minute she returned from maternity leave, Mrs. MacManus has uplifted us all with her constant encouragement and much appreciated guidance, and we are beyond grateful for her positive presence in our lives. This magazine holds a very, very special place in my heart, as I’ve come to recognize over the years the depth of beauty it holds - it’s a mosaic of the hearts of our OLP girls. I hope that as you flip through the pages of our girls’ thoughts, emotions, laughter, and tears, you remember how vital creativity is to the soul. Let this magazine open your mind to imagination, your heart to expressiveness, your eyes to appreciation. Thank you once again Up In The Air, thank you once again team, and thank you once again reader - you all have touched my heart.
Moderator:
Mrs. MacManus ‘01
Editor In Chief: Alyse Saucedo ‘21
Editors:
Kate Linggi ‘21 - Lead Anna Pingol ‘21 Julia Torres ‘22 Valentina Parra ‘23 Natalia Alvarez ‘21 Natalia Girolami ‘21 Brooks Rudolph ‘23
Competition & Teacher Editors: Kyra Martin-Spencer ‘22 - Lead Jordan Ho’23 Ereny Tanious ‘24
Layout/Designers:
Samantha Armstrong ‘22 - Lead Dayle Cowan ‘21 Maya Hundley ‘23 Kasey Day ‘24
Publicists:
Chelsea Macavinta ‘21 - Lead Joann Cayabyab ‘22 Priscilla Cano ‘23 Gillian Johnson ‘23 Mia Davis ‘23 Olivia Shull ‘24
Isolation The Simple Things In Life Self Portrait Spent To Be or Not To Be (Betty’s Version) I, too, was a bird It’s Called Freefall 6:24 Celestial Spectrums A Higher Power Wheel of Fortune Whimsical Windows The True Blue Dancer Citrus Pencil Illustration Reach for the Stars Jungle Gym Autumn Because of You I Got This The Letter Flowers for My Dad Liquid Gold Stranger Meet By the Mangos Halloween Green Levi on the Moon Love to Death The Pearly Whites Reaching Towards the Light Not Just Me, Myself and I My Jude Headstand
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Sofia Carranza ‘22 Catalina Cruz ‘21 Maya Hundley ‘23 Sofia Velarde ‘22 Dayle Cowan ‘21
5 7 8 8 9 10 12 13 16 17 18 19 20 21 23 28 29 30
Czarina Datiles ‘23 Victoria Agonoy ‘23 Cassidy Matwiyoff ‘22 Maya Hundley ‘23 Julia Torres ‘22 Claire Norwiki ‘21 Maggie Holcomb ‘24 Roni Giolitto ‘23 Lizzy Fee ‘22 Shantel Cervantes ‘21 Gabby Martinez ‘21 Maggie Brunton ‘24 Jennifer Kerwin ‘23 Chelsea Burks ‘22 Mia Davis ‘23 Jennifer Kerwin ‘23 Dayle Cowan ‘21 Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22 Dayle Cowan ‘21 Brooke McFarlane ‘24 Maribel Acevedo ‘22 Paula Andrade ‘23 Jennifer Kerwin ‘23 Chelsea Burks ‘22 Natalia Girolami ‘21 Gracie Bradley ‘21
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She’s Only 8 The Singer Mi Familia Veronica
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Unfocused and Unheard The Koi Fish Nati in a Nutshell
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Step Up, Speak Up This Too Shall Pass Rhythm of Cubes Frida
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Encapsulation Boondaburra Aboriginal Kangaroo Dot Painting How Galaxies are Made To Be Botanical Flower Afterglow The Wall With No End
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Who Am I?
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Smaug Watches Old Bloods Violetta
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Beachside Finale And It Was Vanilla Too...
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Ny, Ny June 2019 Wax Resist Wild Things
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Maya Hundley ‘23 Sophie Fudge ‘22 Catalina Cruz ‘21 Regina Cervantes Ellis ‘22 Stella Occhialini ‘22 Czarina Datiles ‘23 Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22 Czarina Datiles ‘23 Cassidy Matwiyoff ‘22 Gabby Martinez ‘21 Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22 Gabby Martinez ‘21 Isabella Woo ‘22 Emily Concepcion ‘21 Victoria Agonoy ‘23 Annonymous Taly Ferrante ‘21 Dayle Cowan ‘21 Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22 Arantza Martin del Campo ‘23 Alexandra Wolan ‘24 Natalia Girolami ‘21 Regina Cervantes Ellis ‘22 Maggie Holcomb ‘24 Seney Larson Moreno ‘21 Maya Hundley ‘23 Jessica Thiss ‘24 Olivia Greene 21’
Vivo El Centro 2020
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The World 62 Half a Story 63 Constellations Are Simply 64 Roads Uncharted In Need of a Miracle 65 Dragon Lady 66 Gift Giving 67 The Sisterhood 68 The Last of the Chosen 69 Daisuke Kambe 73 Contrast 74 Is There a Line Between the 74 Sea and Sky? Dream 75 Midnight Mayhem 75 Haribinger 76 Anime Club 77 Mortal Deliverance 77 Dazai Picnic 78 In Love 79 Flamingo Visits OLP 80 Darkage 80 I Write 81 Seal: My Grandmother’s Cat82 Out of Place 83 Fauvist Boats 83 Underwater Gold Star When You Land Among the Stars Sisters
84 85 86 87
Facing the Future Together 88
Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22 Carissa Clarke ‘21 Natalia Girolami ‘21 Victoria Agonoy ‘23 Natalia Girolami ‘21 Jacqueline Riel ‘22 Natalia Girolami ‘21 Catalina Cruz ‘21 Josephine Fox ‘24 Brooke McFarlane ‘24 Ana Luisa Fimbres ‘21 Victoria Agonoy ‘23 Lizette Camarena ‘23 Maggie Holcomb ‘24 Mckenna Rogers ‘21 Brooke McFarlane ‘24 Sophia McCloskey ‘24 Sophia McCloskey ‘24 Sophia McCloskey ‘24 Jennifer Kerwin ‘23 Sophia McCloskey ‘24 Czarina Datiles ‘23 Maya Hundley ‘23 Eneny Tanious ‘24 Luciana Lopez-Oviedo ‘21 Sophia McCloskey ‘24 Dr. Angela Gascho Victoria Agonoy ‘23 Mrs. Siobhan MacManus ‘01 Jennifer Kerwin ‘23
Isolation
Sofia Carranza ‘22 I am in isolation No one in sight to turn to Alone on my deserted island Fake smiles although I need rescue Behind the strained grin are tears Behind the falling tears is pain The pain from being different Different from those that were plain Three years on this empty island I had to learn how to survive Not giving up was tiresome But I knew I had so much to strive Fighting predators left battle scars Scars that still remain on my heart But from these scars I’ve known That I can exist apart Then one day in the distance A little boat I see A boat of glee and happiness A boat to rescue me On that boat I see a girl Who builds a bridge across the ocean A bridge to an island full of people All of them wise, kind, and full of emotion They saved me from my deserted island And for that I love them so Especially the girl For whom my happiness I owe
The Simple Things In Life Catalina Cruz ‘21
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Self Portrait Maya Hundley ‘23
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Spent
Sofia Velarde ‘22
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To Be or Not To Be (Betty’s Version) Dayle Cowan ‘21
To show up at her party, or not to show: that is the question Whether she’d have me, want me, begrudge me Or will she take arms to the rumors Albeit true, but that uttering Inez created a sea of troubles And by my own insolence, relent them. To go—to admit, No more; and by admit I lose the one I truly adore, end the misleading moments in time where the other was never meant to be mine. To end the skateboard rides past her house where I couldn’t breathe. That love is heir to: ‘tis a consummation devoutly that I wish. To go—to admit my faults, to admit, perchance to start again-ay’ there’s the rub, the worst thing that I ever did was what I did to thee. When we have shuffled past each other on the floor, thou danced with him, and I left with her. Must give us pause—there’s the respect that these false assumptions are due because we are young, and know nothing. Ay, I am only seventeen, and know little but the sole truth that I miss you. The oppressor appears like a figment of my imagination, ending the spring of a heavenly girl’s old cardigan, the foolish boy’s dancing Levi’s, the glowing streetlight twinkling the cobblestone; cursing a summer where I dreamt of thee? Who would fardels bear, the scorns of time where thou were left bleeding, stars traced around thine scars. To brood and blame, tis’ fair for thou, but not for mine. But that the dread up your porch steps crumbles when thee see me, kiss me, in front of all thou stupid friends. Thou broken wings I have longed to repair and rides in my car we may, once again, share. Making it up to thee, to show up at your party, is the only thing I want to do. No longer we will bear the ills we have, but let us explore the garden where we long to go. ‘Tis true no traveller returns, and thus as lovers we prevail. My conscience brings fears, but no cowardly actions. The hue of resolution appears at the doorstep, as I come back to you. And enterprise of great pitch and moment, thou standing in your cardigan, while I wrap thee in my arms.
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I, Too, Was a Bird Czarina Datiles ‘23
This time, I lied down on the patio, my back against the hard, smooth floorboards of oak, as I stared up at the vast ocean of baby blue. Again, I found myself gazing with eyes tainted green at the beautiful creatures of wings and flight, soaring to reach heights I know I can never reach. A myriad of them appeared before me, some bearing small, unremarkable wings while others displayed large ones of grandeur, prestige, and beauty. Although their wings attracted many eyes, mine included, it seemed to weigh them down. Their beauty, prestige, and grandeur came with the expense of a heavy baggage that held them back from soaring freely, like those whose wings exhibited less splendor. But no matter their differences in where they fly and how they fly, they all had one thing in common. They were reaching heights I, unfortunately, could never reach. Again. -You know, I, too, was once a bird I closed my eyes. Unfortunately, the sun had prohibited me from taking a well-deserved nap, and its rays peeled my eyelids open to reveal itself before me. To my surprise, the sun wasn’t the only person that greeted me with a “good afternoon,” for my eyes took notice of a little girl standing on the porch beside me. Her small fingers fisted into balls by her side. Her body twitched with either eagerness or anxiety. And her eyes, those small yet hopeful circles of opal, gazed at a distance too far for me to see.
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She boasted that longing look in them, a look where voice and movement were trapped and only the eyes could run free. That was her look. The same look I saw in a mirror before. The girl was small in height, tiny in stature, and bore big, black wings behind her back. They were three times her size, drooping low behind her, and appeared to be as heavy as a hundred pounds worth of muscle and feathers on each side. To anyone who saw her, they’d think such baggage to carry on one’s back, especially for a girl so small, would be too much of a burden for her. Yet, she carried them anyway. In all honesty, they were magnificent. I envied her. “You have really pretty wings,” I told her as I sat up from my brief nap. The girl twisted her neck to face me, the only action her heavy wings would allow her to make. “Thank you,” she replied with a smile too wide to be genuine, “I earned them myself.” Surely, to earn such grand and beautiful wings such as hers was quite an achievement. Yet, was it an achievement worth having in exchange for movement-- for freedom? I wouldn’t know for I had lost my wings a long time ago. “Aren’t they too big for you?” I asked. She shook her head. “They said the larger the wings, the higher you’ll fly.” “But you’re not flying, are you? It seems to me you can’t even move at all.” “I’m still learning!” she huffed, attempting small movements
of ups-and-downs on the balls of her feet. Her wings twitched in response to her endeavor to fly, but twitching was all it could muster. The wings were just too heavy. I sighed and rose to help her. “You can never fly like that.” I touched her wings. “No! Don’t touch them!”, she exclaimed, eyes glaring. “I’m just helping you-” “Well, I never asked for it,” she snapped, “A baby bird doesn’t ask help from its mommy bird to fly, does it? It just flies. If it falls, then it’ll learn to pick itself up and try again. The same goes for me. I don’t need your help or anyone’s help!” She continued her attempts to fly. “I-” she grunted, “just need a jumpstart from my feet.” Something about the kid reminded me of someone. A girl I was supposed to know well, yet always seemed alien in the mirror. She reminded me of myself. I crouched down to look in her eyes, gently taking her balledup fist into my hand. “Listen,” I began, “Whoever said that the bigger the wings you have, the higher you’ll fly was lying. Sure, maybe big wings would let someone soar higher than all the others, but with a body too small and young like yours, it’s impossible. It’s only dragging you down, maybe even to the point where you can’t fly at all. The wings are painful, aren’t they?” The girl blinked. “How’d you know?” “Well, it’s not hard to imagine,” I chuckled. “Besides, I had big wings like yours once. A long, long time ago.” “You did?” “Yes.” I smiled. Now it was my turn to look off towards a distance too far for her to see. “You know, if you really want to fly,
you have to get rid of the weight of your wings. You need to lose them.” “Lose them?” She shrieked. “But I’ve been growing these my whole life!” “Then you can grow new ones,” I replied. “Ones that’ll be easier to carry and will allow you to reach heights you never thought you could reach. It would be hard at first, especially when people tell you what a shame it is to let go of such a beautiful and majestic achievement, but if you really want to fly and be free, you must let go of the things that restrain you. Do you understand?” She displayed an uneasy look on her countenance, but she nodded in response. I sighed once more. “Trust me when I say this, but I know what it’s like to have wings too big to handle.” I squeezed her hand. “I want to see you become a free bird, kid. I want to see you fly beautifully without the weight of beautiful wings.” “And why do you want to see me fly?” She tilted her head. “Can’t you fly, too?” “I want to see you fly.” I shook my head. “Because I no longer can.” “And why is that?” “Because someone gave me the same advice as I’m giving you right now,” I said. “The only difference is I didn’t take it. And so I crashed and fell from a height I was not ready to reach. That was when I lost my wings. I’m like a penguin now; still a bird, but a flightless one.” I caressed her hair. “Now, will you promise me that you won’t end up like me? That you’ll fly in the sky for me?” The little girl pursed her lips in contemplation. Then her opal eyes flickered with a sudden realization, making her uneasiness and doubt disappear within seconds. She offered me a smile;
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this time it was genuine. “Okay, I promise you that I’ll lose my wings and grow smaller ones,” she said. “But can you promise me one thing as well?” I chuckled. “Yes, of course. What is it?” “Promise me that you’ll find your wings again.” She paused. “Or at least try to. There’s more than one way to get wings… I think.” More than one way? Get my wings back? “I hope you find your wings some day, lady.” Her eyes met mine, this time with the look of determination and hope. “Because I really think you will.” When I blinked, I found myself reawakening to a sky turning into a hellish mess, the sun in the west
setting as it gave way for the reign of the moon. I sat up and stared at the flaming sky, watching once more as birds reach for heights I know I can never reach. Again. Because, I, too, was a bird. A bird wanting to soar high, a bird with ambitions, a bird with longing to achieve great altitudes. But I, too, was once a bird. A bird with wings too big for me, restraining me from reaching the heights I could no longer reach today.
It’s Called Freefall Victoria Agonoy ‘23
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6:24
Cassidy Matwiyoff ‘22 I coin this time the magical hour. 6:24 a.m. The sun has yet to rise, though it hints at ascension against the mountains. The trees, the mountains, the houses... They are all immaculate silhouettes Contrasted against the cotton candy hue of the morning sky. As I approach 55 mph with the windows down, I feel infinite. Racing against the radiant moon with Mars perched above, I bask in the glow of two worlds: morning and night. To my left, the horizon oscillates between shades of purple and pink. To my right, the faint morning stars wave an earnest goodbye As they lead me on my way for the day. I’m joyously caught between two worlds, two days, two scenes. Lost in the transition of time, I savor every moment. Now, I must bid adieu to the moon, the stars, and the darkness, as my day begins anew. Eradicating confusion and weariness, the sun melts my sorrows. Goodbye moon, may your light not be forgotten and may we meet again soon... Until the next magical hour, I await your presence in my life. That which defeats the gloom.
Celestial Spectrums Maya Hundley ‘23
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A Higher Power Julia Torres ‘22
Sun shining, streaming in, a luminescent daffodil color glowing the way it always does when I leave my blinds cracked open. Opening your eyes to a well-lit room, where you can see the particles floating in the sun’s rays has always calmed me and started my day off on the right note. I was never disgruntled or upset after the rays soothed my face. Yet, today felt different. I felt different. I could feel a pull in the back of my mind, wanting to take me away from my room, which I quickly suppressed. I was invigorated with the very fact of my own presence, as if it were too much to contain in what was my physical body. Thrown off by this overwhelming feeling, I looked down to where my feet typically poked out of my blankets at the base of my bed. I could see them, but only when I gathered my focus and poured it all into the appearance of my feet. Perplexed, I looked closer at my body and realized, with no small amount of shock, its transparency. It only became not so when I willed my form into being. I sat in bed outwardly calm, cool, and collected, but inwardly wailing, pounding on the walls of my body I now felt violated to be in. I screamed as I realized all the focus it took to will my body into existence, the strain on my mind like nothing I had experienced before. My mind was Atlas, holding up everything that kept the world together. As I bowed beneath the strenuous task, my whole body became transparent and I answered the tug in my mind I could feel pulling on my very bones. It felt as if someone had tied a string to my spine and was straining to pull me closer. I gave in, allowing the tug to take me wherever my new body needed to go. My house became a tiny dot in a Georges Seurat painting. I could see the entire state of California, and still my essence was pulled higher. Higher until I reached the zenith and sat in a chair above the sun and stars and the loved ones I had lost surrounded me. My eyes filled with tears. I recognized so many without even meeting them in my human form. I knew who they were and I couldn’t understand why. I had the ability to leave the chair I was perched upon but felt no desire to. I peered over the edge of my seat and realized I could zoom in closer on the world splayed beneath my feet. I wished to see my family and an image surfaced below me. I could see them clearly, my brother in his room sleeping peacefully as he always does when I leave for school. My mom and dad were in my room, huddled near the bed. “Strange. They usually just bring my alarm in and let me get up on my own.” As I thought this, I noticed my alarm was still blaring, yet forgotten and passed over in the corner. “She’s still breathing. I just can’t wake her up. She just won’t—” my dad’s voice broke on the last part as he got up and just stared at my physical body in shock and disbelief. My mom’s head lay on my chest listening for my heartbeat as she hugged my body closer. “Mom!” I cried, “Dad! Stop! I’m fine I don’t know why you’re not responding! I’m fine. I’m fine.” The last part I said to myself sadly, as if I were convincing myself of it and not them. I tried again refusing to believe I wasn’t with them saying, “I’m here! I’m right here. Dad! Please listen—” I was cut off as a warm hand was placed on my shoulder in quiet solitude. I looked up from my chair and to the right. The man on my right-hand side looked at me and said,
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Wheel of Fortune Claire Nowicki ‘21
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“You will be fine. This is temporary. I am with you always. You just need to understand who you are right now and the role you have. I am with you always.” As those words sunk in, I realized where I was, who I was. I was God, Creator of heaven and earth, sitting next to his Son, Jesus in Heaven. The image of my parents was lost as I sunk back in my chair with newfound shock, glazing over my body. I could see the world clearly again, along with my loved ones who surrounded me. Knowing them made sense now as I was the Keeper of their gates, their Protector. I turned to my right, asking Jesus, “Why am—” He simply pointed to the left and I saw a long line of souls I had somehow missed before. “Who are—” I started as the first one knealt at the foot of my seat. He implicitly nodded for the soul to speak and for me to listen. The soul was a man. I looked into his mind and perceived all there was to him. His crimson hair gleamed like the blood Jesus had spilled on the cross. His teeth bared in a sinister smile shown like the lamb offered up for the slaughter. He had lived his life delighting in the most odious of actions, preying on the weak and exploiting the old. His heart belonged to the Devil, if he had any of his heart left at all. The hand that was mine, but did not belong solely to me pointed to my left where a band of angels stood ready to take this man into the Hell he belonged in. As he walked out, the human in me felt the smallest sense of delight that such a hate filled man had been expunged from the world and Heaven. It felt as if I had contributed to the extirpation of evil from earth. Jesus motioned for the next soul, and I waited patiently. Judgement Day. That’s what this is. I came on Judgement Day. Shock reverberated through my bones as I recognized the face of the woman who knealt before me. She was my mom’s coworker. I peered into her mind, just as I had done with the first soul and understood that she would not be such an easy choice. Her hair was golden like the sunrise on the first Easter morning. Her eyes were the blue of Mary’s favorite overlay. Yet, her complexion was tan, the way Jesus’ crown of thorns had been. I pulled out of her mind, mulling over the good and terrible things she had done in life, and as her blue eyes pierced mine, I discovered I couldn’t choose. I was unable to decide if this woman’s heart’s loyalty lay with me or with the Devil. My own human heart was conflicted and I looked to Jesus for assistance. He stared back at me and said, “The choice is yours to make.” His pithy of words did nothing to comfort my splitting heart. “I can’t. I can’t. This woman has done nothing truly evil, but her intentions sometimes were. Almost nothing about them was candid. “I can’t decide.” I said this to her and she nodded her head as if she understood. I wondered if it were just another one of her acts. I turned back to Jesus and begged him, “Please. Please, take me back. I can’t do this. God is the only one who should truly decide our fate. These decisions are not for human minds.” Tears came to my eyes, with the realization I would never come back here until my own Judgement Day. Yet, that’s the way it was supposed to be. I would miss all of my deceased loved ones dearly, but I would know they were watching over me from above. Humans are not to play at being God. As this sunk in, I took a final glance around and nodded once to Jesus. He simply extended his right hand and closing my eyes, I took it. I opened my eyes slowly and found that the hand holding mine was no longer Jesus’, it was my mom’s. I sucked in a deep breath of air, alerting my parents. My mom hugged me tighter than she ever had. Looking into
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my eyes she told me, “We didn’t know what happened to you. It was as if you had been sleeping the whole time, but couldn’t wake up.” I hugged her and my dad securely and whispered with a smile, “A higher power woke me up today.”
Whimsical Windows Maggie Holcomb ‘24
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The True Blue Dancer Roni Giolitto ‘23
Prologue There once was a man named Toby. He was a male ballerina at the Royal Ballet School in London. Fortune seemed to smile upon him all his life and just as he thought life couldn’t get any better, at the beginning of the ballet season he was awarded a blue sash from the artistic director that symbolized his loyalty to the company. Only the most outstanding and committed members at the Royal Ballet School could obtain this sash. He wore his sash with pride and never took it off. What made this honor even greater was that he was to wear it in an upcoming performance for Her Royal Highness, the Queen. He and his dance partner, Martha, had just begun preparing for their pas de deux, the most important dance in which they will perform for the Queen. This performance was also especially important to Toby because he and Martha have been dancing together ever since they were both accepted into the company. Naturally, they fell in love and got engaged. This would be their first public dance together as an engaged couple. This task was not an easy one, though, and not something to be taken lightly, even though Toby and Martha were always in agreement both in their minds and in their dancing. Being given the opportunity to perform live in front of the Queen is a great honor. The last time a man from the Royal Ballet School performed in front of the Queen, he tripped and fell straight into the orchestra. It was a humiliating time for the whole company. A lot was riding on Toby’s performance, but he was ready to dance for the Queen and reclaim her trust for the sake of the Ballet. Toby was planning on wearing his blue sash for the Queen, showing her he was a worthy leader and dancer for the Ballet. If Toby could live up to the expectations the Queen had for him this year, he would be rewarded even more for his tremendous amount of dedication and the Royal Ballet’s reputation would be restored throughout the country. Will fortune smile on Toby again? Or does fate have another plan for Toby? It’s only days before the performance for the Queen, and Toby and Martha practice day and night in the studio. As the music plays, the two dance as one. Their passion for dance is evident. Their bodies move effortlessly as they float across the floor. Their passion for each other is equally evident; every movement is in sync. For their grand finale, Toby must lift Martha high up into the air. It is their signature move and something they have rehearsed hundreds of times before. Toby prepares for the lift and Martha runs toward his arms. Toby grabs her by the waist and lifts her above his head when suddenly, Martha slips out of his hands and falls onto the floor. A crunch echoes in the halls of the studio. Her left ankle brakes. “You must find a new partner,” says Martha. “This performance is too important.” Unable to walk, let alone dance, Toby knows Martha’s words are true; he has to find a new partner. However, he also knows that no partner could ever recreate the beauty that he and Martha have onstage. “Understudy!” the ballet director shouts. “Where is Martha’s understudy?” The director becomes impatient and Toby more nervous. How
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could he dance for the Queen without Martha? He had never danced professionally with anyone other than Martha, but Martha is right and there aren’t any other options. “Oh here you are, darling. Toby, this is your new dance partner. You two get to work. We don’t have much time.” Toby greets Martha’s understudy stiffly and they begin to warm up together. Afterward, the two rehearse the final dance. Things go terribly for them. They are out of sync, their lifts are off, and there is no story being told with their dancing. “It seems to me like the two of you are struggling with finding the chemistry in this dance,” the director finally interjects as he covers his face to hide the fact he is cringing. “Let’s try it with the music to see if that will make things better. Make sure to dance full out,” he instructs. The music starts playing. Toby, who was near tears beforehand, felt a wave of calm once hearing the music. Then, looking up at the understudy, he is stunned to see she’s almost glowing and he feels an instant connection to her, even though they have never danced before. It feels like he is falling in love all over again, only this time, it’s with the wrong woman. He is not able to take his eyes away from her and he finds himself dancing with the same passion that he used to feel with Martha. The director and other dancers are shocked by how quickly Toby and the understudy are able to dance together flawlessly. With how terribly rehearsal had started, no one expected this, least of all Toby. He could feel that what’s happening is wrong. What’s even more surprising is that Toby’s guilt doesn’t block out his feelings for his new partner. Toby knew that if Martha sees him dance with the understudy, she will have the same reaction on her face as everyone watching, which is that he’s in love. He can’t break his promise he made with Martha when he asked her to marry him and he can’t let her see him dance with this woman. He immediately stops dancing and goes into the audience seats where the director is watching them. “There is no way I can dance with the woman you gave me!” Toby demands, marching over to the director in the middle of a rehearsal. “She is dancing on the wrong counts, we are out of sync, and I need a new partner.” The director’s jaw just drops to the floor in disbelief. Not only is he blown away by how aggressive Toby is speaking to him - no man who is loyal to his company would ever consider arguing with his superior like that - but he can’t believe that Toby thought the performance was rubbish. “First of all, Toby, you are completely out of line with that statement you just made. Second, I’ve never seen you dance as gracefully as you did on stage just now. I think I may have finally found the perfect partner for you. Besides, there is simply no time to get you another partner. Martha can’t dance; this woman is your only option.” Despite the director’s words, Toby refuses to budge. “I’ll quit the ballet,” he said, folding his arms and looking the director straight in the eyes. Knowing he can’t afford to lose his top dancer, the director gives in and tells Toby to find someone he is willing to dance with, and to rehearse with her on his own time. Having won the battle, Toby runs to the back of the studio and grabs the first girl he sees, who happens to be the newest member of the company. He quickly teaches her the parts that she needs to know in the ballet and they practice until she learns all of the steps. Toby recognizes that their performance togeth-
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er won’t be worthy of the Queen’s appreciation, but he feels ready enough to practice with the music. As the music begins, they start to dance. He once again can feel he is falling in love. As they dance, he thinks to himself that nothing can break his desire for this new woman. Instantly, he knows that he cannot perform with her either and as soon as the song is over he will walk right over to the director and demand a new dancer. The music stops. Toby takes a step away from his partner when he notices his thoughts and feelings for the dancer are gone, they have left his mind and he no longer feels any sort of connection with her. He contemplates what might have caused him to feel passionate towards her and why the feelings vanished so quickly. He thinks of the different dancers he worked with throughout the day. He remembers that with both women he danced with, the feeling only began once the music started. “It’s the music,” he whispers to himself. The music is what’s causing him to fall in love with whoever he is dancing with. At this moment, Toby knows what needs to be done. Realizing this, Toby finishes his walk up to the director, who is staring wide-eyed and nervous at Toby, not knowing what Toby will say or do next. “I know what’s wrong now! It’s the music that’s making us dance terribly. If you put in a different song, then I can get through the performance.” “Toby, we can’t change the music just for you. So much of this performance has revolved around you, and I admire all the amazing hard work you have been putting yourself through to prepare for the Queen. However, the music is irreplaceable,” the director pleads. Toby feels accomplished when he hears these words come from the director’s mouth. All he ever wanted was to prove himself as an amazing and hard working dancer. Now he is given the opportunity of a lifetime to prove himself not only to the director, but to his company. Although, he can’t break his promise that he made with Martha when he proposed. He can’t risk losing her. “If you can’t change the music, then I am going to quit the ballet.” The director can’t believe what he was hearing. So much work has gone into the preparation for this ballet. The Queen of England will be watching this ballet. “You have to be joking with me,” the director responds. “We have been using the same music every year. People are expecting this music. More importantly, they are expecting to see you there. If you quit the ballet, you will be forced to lose your spot in this company.” Toby doesn’t want to disappoint everyone who depends on him. The world doesn’t revolve around his problems, therefore, he shouldn’t be making such terrible decisions. “I apologize for doing this to you. You gave me this role, and I should be grateful. I am grateful. I’m the problem not the music. I should probably continue practicing until I get the choreography right.” “That would be a good idea,” the director agrees with a breath of relief. Walking back to the stage, Toby rehearses with his new partner until they both master the piece. Hours and hours fly by, but by the end of the day they are ready to show the company what they have been working on. Everyone gathers together in the audience; Martha limps down the aisle in her crutches and ankle brace and sits herself down in the back of the auditorium with the rest of the company. “Alright my young and trusty students,” the director announces at
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the beginning of their warm up performance. “Let’s start from the very top of this number - Toby ... and who is the new girl?” “My name is Clarissa.” “Brilliant, it’s Toby and Clarissa. You may begin.” Toby had come to accept what was going to happen once the music started. He is fine knowing that as soon as the music stopped, he will snap out of his feelings for Clarissa. The music starts and Toby leaps onto the stage to join his partner. As soon as they begin dancing together to the music, love fills his heart. To distract himself, he tries to focus on the moves or about Martha, but he can’t help it. Even his eyes sparkle from the way he feels toward Clarissa. His feelings are noticeable from the back of the auditorium. He suddenly catches a glimpse of Martha’s distraught face as she watches him fall in love with another girl. In that moment, he realizes that being loyal to the one he truly loves is more important than being loyal to his company. Toby can’t even get through the rest of the dance. He pushes Clarissa away from him and escorts himself off the stage. Everyone watching is in awe by how easily Toby is able to give up the most important role of his life. The director, more angry than shocked by Toby’s decision shouts, “Do you know what you’re missing out on? Nobody will ever know what kind of work you had to go through to prove that you could be here. Now you want to walk out on all you’ve ever worked for? I’ve never seen anyone as dishonorable to their company as you. You can’t come back ... ever!” Toby grabs Martha with one hand, and rips off his sash with the other and places it on the front desk as the two of them walk out together.
Citrus Pencil Illustration Lizzy Fee ‘22
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Reach for the Stars Shantel Cervantes ‘21
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Jungle Gym Gabby Martinez ‘21
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Autumn
Maggie Brunton ‘24 We fade away with the wind and cold, gone again until next year. Forgotten. Alone. Our loneliness fills your world with heavy grief. You fill your homes with light and laughter, leaving our world behind. A breath of warmth. The smell of apple blossoms on the wind. Birds are singing, but we do not hear. Our memories fade with every passing day. Silence. Stuffy heat. Total darkness. Infinite. How long has it been? Days? Months? When will we live again? Time stretches on, leaving us long behind. The wind comes again, bringing a storm of color and the scent of cinnamon and apples. We begin to awaken, opening our eyes. I watch your world, searching. There! Waiting at the bus stop, wrapped in a scarf. You shiver and laugh as my icy breath passes through you. I’m here. Pumpkins and laughter. The children run through the field, searching for the perfect pumpkin to set on your porch. You smile sadly, remembering. I am here, my love. Waiting for you, whenever your time may come. Cinnamon and apple. You bend over the oven, checking your pie, and the children come running on winged feet. I breathe out my wish to be together again, and you look up. For a moment, you can almost see me. You smile, but your eyes are full of tears. Do you remember? Autumn nights, curled up with mugs of tea and piles of blankets. A whispered wish, a loving kiss. Headlights, noise. Silence. Children run from door to door, but our home is dark and locked, our family gone for the night. You are shaking, hopeless. You remember too well. You are drowning, sinking deeper every moment. I wish for something I could do. Flowers and colors. Your smile is forced and empty. Our family leads you to a small headstone. You ask for a moment, and they leave you. You crumple to the ground. I miss you, you whisper. I’m sorry. I’m here, love. I’m here. My heart is breaking. Clean white walls. Our family comes and goes, anxious. I see your spirit shiver. You sigh. Silence. And then you are here.
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Because of You Jennifer Kerwin ‘23
You were always so deftly different, Life was easy for you. And then, the grey darkness struck. It almost consumed you. ...But that effervescent light was always there. You never gave up, Even when you hit rock bottom, And they told you that you could never stand up. You proved them wrong. You stood. As long as it took, you climbed. Through damp caves and across poignant mountains. You never looked back. And I am proud of you. You did it. You became something your young, naive self Could have only dreamed of. You became a resilient person. And I love you. Thank you for always trying, Even when you procrastinated and almost lost it all to consuming, mauve fate. Even during those nights when you thought It would never end. When those shimmering tears refused to stop flowing. When you may have been envious of everyone else. You made a name for yourself, even when you were afraid, When you had no idea who you were. So, thank you. I am the beautiful person I am today Because of you.
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I Got This
Chelsea Burks ‘22 After 6 months of studying, I got this. Keys have been in my hands since a baby 15 years later I walk into the DMV with: trembling knees, nervous sweat, and a mask reminding me of a pandemic that came and rocked the worlds of many. A DMV filled with nervous teens and frustrated adults “Good luck, I’ll wait in the car,” my mom said, turning away. And I realize it’s all happening. I Am Growing up. “46 questions; get 38 or more correct, you pass. If not, well you know… Good luck!” Nervously, I thanked the people that filled me with the hope that everything would be okay. Correct… Correct… Correct… Incorrect. “No!” I muttered under my mask Correct… Correct… Correct… Incorrect. “Not again” I muttered again under my mask Correct… Correct… Congratulations! Go to the desk on the left to receive your permit. These words filled me with overwhelming joy I had not felt in months. “Congrats!! We knew you would pass!” Those intimidating yet hopeful people behind the desk suddenly became the people I could share this joy with. Holding back happy tears behind my eyes I slowly walked to my mom’s car. A smile so big you could see every tooth in my mouth...my mask hiding it all. Shaky hands open the car door Silence Anticipation “I PASSED!!!!!!!!!!!!” “WAIT; WHAT!?!?! HOW!?!?!” my mom said realizing it’s all happening. Growing up. “Well, I took the test and PASSED!!!”
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“Oh goodness…” she said
On the way home I thought of all the places I could go. Target?! My friend’s house?! Anywhere!!! Chipotle?! The mall?! “Practice makes perfect, practice makes perfect, soon you will be doing a cross country road trip!” A driving instructor filled with hope and optimism; cracking jokes at every opportunity to ease the nerves. “You got this, you’ll pass the test with flying colors!” he said with the utmost confidence “Yeah, I got this.”
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The Letter Mia Davis ‘23
December 17, 1868 To the pitiful Alexander Stokes,
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I am well aware that you will fail to consider what I have to say until the day your narcissism ceases to guide you, which shall be the day you die. Likely this letter won’t even fall into your clutches - I should hope I never have to see your insufferable face again. I’m writing this more for myself, so I can finally feel at peace with what happened, though my capacity for serenity shall never truly be fulfilled again. I don’t expect such tranquility to be achieved, nor is that my goal. My emotions have simply been held captive far too long, and it is time to set them free. So thus I begin... I draw my breath sharply as Mother tightens my corset, tugging violently at the laces. The metal digs into my skin in an attempt to manipulate my body and achieve an unattainable form one can only dream of possessing naturally. She lifts the heavy golden dress over my head and helps to settle it onto my body, then weaves a honey-coloured ribbon diligently into one of my many braids. Mother didn’t like me associating with boys unchaperoned at that age, yet you were somehow an exception. She always felt a keen liking towards you, perhaps because you reminded her of Father in some ways, with your messy golden locks, crystalline blue eyes, and charismatic nature that instantly enraptured anyone who engaged with you. Father, however, tended to neglect the similarities and always had undefined animosity towards you. He claimed to have poor instincts about you, and these instincts had never steered him in the wrong direction. Mother and I ignored his intuition and held onto the glistening hope that perhaps this one single time, Father was wrong. Reflecting back, it seems as though these negative feelings lurked within me as well, yet I dismissed them, for you held so much potential. It’s a shame that Father was right, and that things turned out the way they did. Concluding the look with a bow, Mother spins me around to face the mirror. The girl that stares back steals my breath. Her chestnut hair bounces with voluminous curls and braids. Dark wings of eyeliner flutter across the lids of her eyes, illuminating them. Such eyes, brown and flecked with captivating amber, glimmer against the dress, which drips down from her body and cascades to the floor like liquid gold. Her beauty seems akin to something out of a fairytale. I remember the day you professed your love for me, Alexander. At the lake, down in Huntington. It feels like yesterday. I had never been to the lake and followed you blindly, for you knew exactly what you were doing. The wind’s glacial hands brushed over my arms and face delicately, and you selflessly provided me with your blazer as I shivered. The wind’s cool fingers toyed with my hair, attempting to sweep my freshly cut curls back to no avail. You were the only one who noticed my altered hair and commented on it; a small act, yet an impactful one. I almost slipped several times, yet you were there to help me keep my balance. A respectful young man, you were. I often tend to still question what happened to that young man, although the reason is evident. I just wish it wasn’t so. “If only he could see you like this,” Mother says, a rare smile blooming
across her face as she places a delicate, frail hand on my shoulder. I take her hand in mine and our eyes meet in the mirror. I share her smile. We finally made it to the lake, a pool of liquid crystal that elaborately reflected the vivacious pastel colours struck across the sky; tints of lavender, orange and yellow danced and intertwined with each other, streaks of paint against a fading baby blue canvas. The sun, previously sporting a daffodil yellow and now dripping with a honeycomb golden hue, threatened to dip below the mountains at any second. We sat in silence, simply admiring the wondrous beauty of Mother Nature. As Mother leaves my room, I hastily lock the heavy wooden doors behind her. Time is not my friend, so each act must be committed succinctly. I rush over to the bookshelf, the novels teeming with frayed leather spines, each individually selected for me from the monumental library we possess at the Ivorwilde Manor. You shattered that tender silence, slicing through it with the blade of three words, three simple syllables that slipped from your lips so effortlessly yet held more weight than imaginable: “I love you.” With three robust tugs, I manage to pull the bookshelf back, revealing a passageway. I am the only one aware of this secret tucked within the thick walls of the manor. I expeditiously dive into the passageway. Time is ticking. I sat dumbfounded, unsure of sure what to say. At the time, I was certainly no wordsmith like yourself, and your eloquence was one of the things I admired most about you. I’m sure you remember exactly what I said, for my response undoubtedly impacted you more than you let on: “I love you as well. However, this love comes from a sisterly place and no more than that, and I am unable to see any more stemming from our relationship. I apologize.” I scuttle through the hall, the damp cobblestone cool against my feet. My footsteps ring out in the silence of the desolate, vast hall. Your expression grew placid and unmoving, and the vivacious energy teeming in your eyes vanished. Yet you plastered on a grin, the same charming smile that drew me to you in the first place. “You need not apologize. I’m man enough to accept it,” you said. Looking back, this feels almost comical. You were man enough to accept it? Your actions proved otherwise. I make it to the end of the corridor and throw open the wooden door that is quickly decaying. My nostrils flare as a thick cloud of the stale air wafts over to me, a mildewed aroma overtaking my senses. I rush straight to the drawer swamped with handwritten notes and letters, each addressed to yours truly and signed by one of the Stokes brothers. Eventually, I met your brother, James. He is not unlike you physically, having the same brilliant blue eyes gleaming like diamonds and freckles dusted across his nose. Emotionally, however, he is the other side of the coin; he is one with a mind of steel and heart of gold, both intellectually and emotionally developed. I will be honest, this was how you were when I first met you. That Alexander has since passed. I grab my quill given to me by James, as well as a thin sheet of homemade paper, and begin writing, the words and emotions flooding into my mind and leaking onto the paper with ease. These emotions have been locked away my entire life, bottled up and placed delicately onto shelves, never threatening to shatter. I have learned to hide them in the depths of my soul, for it has cost me the least amount
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of pain thus far. Yet as I write, the bottles shatter simultaneously and my emotions flood like a torrent, embracing both the paper and myself like a tidal wave. I lace the letter with every emotion that has ever been pent up inside of me. Tears threaten to spill, but I force them back, for with tears comes the washing away of makeup through the method of obvious sorrow. I cannot let such vulnerability be witnessed by anyone other than myself. Sparks ignited instantaneously between your brother and me, swelling quickly and taking both of our hearts captive. When you witnessed the connection between us, on that frigid October night, I could tell that it pained you. Affliction streaked across your face and your appearance fractured within a matter of seconds. As I clung to James, you began to hurl swears and attacks at me, unsolicited and unprompted. You sought to bring me down. I finish, folding the letter, sliding it into an envelope, and signing the back with carefully practiced calligraphy. I hurry out, knowing I only have seconds to spare before Mother returns. I briskly make it to the end of the corridor, force the bookshelf open, and flee the hallway. I push the bookshelf back into its normal position and stuff the letter into my corset. Sure enough, Mother begins to bang on my door, demanding entry, and thankfully, I am there to provide. Once James began to court me, you found a problem with every little thing we did. Time and time again, you attacked me with your weaponry of flourished vocabulary, and incrementally your digs grew more maddening. You framed me as manipulative, claimed me to be a fraud, and said that I only cared about myself. You said you hated me. The first time I heard that it cut like a knife. Yet after so many times, one becomes numb to the pain. Mother provides me with a single buttercup. I grip it tightly. Slowly your engagement of letters dwindled as my primary communication transitioned from you to James. Of the letters I did receive, they were threaded with pure malice. I have each of your letters saved, Alexander. Every last one of them. Mother promptly rushes me outside, lifting my dress as we weave our way through the stones and shrubbery strewn across the ground. Branches attempted to latch onto my hair, but I am stealthy and manage to circumvent such obstacles. Eventually, our letter correspondence concluded, which only intensified your attacks in person. You began to drift away from your own brother, whom you had spent seventeen years of your life alongside, all because of one lady. Even with such distancing, he was never a victim of your loathing. Only me. Although he was the one who had won the girl you sought after so desperately, you were mad at her, for she did not love you back. A silver carriage awaits at the end of the road, led by two proud white stallions. I board it, and we immediately take off. Soon enough, the only conversation topic anyone could have with you revolved around one thing - me. You tore me apart and ripped me to shreds with every last person you spoke to, educating them on your hostility, even when they did not seek to be educated. It became obsessive. Again and again, you declared your hatred for me; then why was I constantly on the tip of your tongue, your sole focus, running repeated circles around your mind? We finally make it to the graveyard. I find the tombstone and place
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the buttercup adjacent to it. A single tear swells in my eye and trickles down my cheek, splashing silently onto a petal of the golden flower. After one year, I have drained the basin of overflowing emotions until it has dried, and there are no tears left to cry. In time, you began to lash out against your brother, your artillery pinned against him being threats. I assumed that such verbal onslaught was baseless and that you were all talk, for your brother was much more robust than you and it was clear he would have prevailed had you engaged in a fight. Yet you challenged him anyway, hurling your fist one day without a second thought. Soon enough, James had triumphed over you, which only fueled your fire more. “Fiorella.” I could recognize that voice anywhere. Then came the dreaded day. Exactly one year ago. I walked into your small cottage, preparing to see James for his birthday, a buttercup flower in hand, his favourite. The door swung open slowly, and I stepped inside. To my surprise, James lay limp on the floor, his skin sallow. I checked his pulse - nothing. The thick red ichor of life pooled around his head, most likely from the impact of a fall. Blood circulation signifies life, yet as it seeped out of him, it bore death. In his hands, he held a small vial, drained completely except for a thin coating of a cherry-red liquid lining the rim. I poured a small amount onto the tip of my finger, and it scorched my flesh. Poison. I pull the letter from my corset. A perfect opportunity shall never be wasted. A flood of emotions emanated from my gaping mouth as I threw myself at him. I cried an unhealthy amount that day. His life was unfairly stolen - who was the dreaded thief? Although it seemed to be himself, something tugged at me, claiming it wasn’t so. “Why are you here?” I ask, still collapsed over the tombstone. Three days later, you came to my residence, hurling rocks and swears at my window. For a fleeting moment, I looked out to see you. From your pocket slipped a small vial gleaming with a crimson liquid. Quickly you dove down to pick it up, looking to the window hastily with fear in your eyes. I ducked, dodging your gaze just in time. “Would you truly expect for me to not visit my poor brother a year after his unfortunate demise?” he sneers. “I am no villain.” I wince as his lie grates against my ear. I know what you did to James. I would have told people, yet there was not enough evidence against you - simply a vial, the fear in your eyes, and my word. And I would be dense to believe that a woman’s word would be of equal value compared to that of a man. So I stayed silent, wallowing in the knowledge of your deed. I rise and slowly turn to face him. The chains of rigid fear attempt to hold me captive, but I shake off the shackles and defiantly face him, embracing this fear and letting it fuel me. I meet his gaze. His eyes are ignited by a bright blue fire; the flames quickly leap across my body and lick my skin, tongues of pure rage lashing out. So badly I want to avert his glare, yet I don’t back down. His lips part and I know what he is to say. I cut him off before he can begin. Although you continued to attack me, you never attempted murder. You easily could have killed me, and your animosity towards me made it seem like you wanted to, yet you spared me. Strange.
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“Why did you kill James, yet not me?” I ask. The fury in his gaze settles, and angst overtakes it. He doesn’t answer. After a month or two, your family, grieved by your brother’s passing and under the impression that it was simply suicide, decided to move to the Americas and away from their source of pain. The last thing you said to me was no surprise: “I hate you.” I take a step forward. “Why didn’t you kill me, Alexander?” He begins to stutter, formulating an excuse, but I bring a finger to his lips and stifle him. Silence locks his lips, a silence similar to the one at the lake before he broke it. Today he won’t dare to shatter such a delicate silence. I know him well. He must ensure he never makes a fool of himself twice. Little does he know he already has. You say that you hate me, and you say that you love me no longer. But love is a strange thing, Alexander. It’s not simple in any way. It wraps its tendrils around one’s heart, injecting deep, indescribable emotions into the system and leading to spontaneous decisions often left unexplainable. However, we often don’t shed light on the malicious side of love, for if such ardor is supposed to be one of the few alluring and infallible gemstones that manages to glimmer in our pessimistic and shattered reality, then why tarnish it? Yet as we flee the truth in an attempt to uphold one of the sole lasting lights of life, it captures us and we fail to evade it. Because of this, we must unwillingly come to terms with such truth. So, here it is: love can drive people towards divine passion, yet can also lead to bitter rage. Requited love can be the source of pure bliss, yet when unrequited, pure hatred. Love often hides veiled under detestation, yet always lurks, refusing to dissipate unbeknownst to the wielder. And from the shadows of one’s soul, it drives the choices and outlooks that one claims to be led by such perceived loathing. I force the letter onto his chest and he grasps it. In the silence, I turn and walk away. Although you claim to detest me with every bone in your body, Alexander, it’s obvious that you still love me and will never stop loving me. I loved you. I still do, although I wish it not. However, unlike you, I will not mask that deep and vulnerable emotion with such hatred. I’ve regrettably come to realize that it is an inescapable part of me; only a small fragment, but it’s still there and deserves to be noticed. I’ve done my deed of regarding it briefly and, from this moment forth, will simply refuse to acknowledge it. It is just the heart of my past self remembering when you were good, and attempting to overtake me with the minuscule hope that perhaps some of that good is left in you. Thankfully, my present self is knowledgeable and realizes that although the good is still there, somewhere, it’s unattainable, for you have forced it down to such depths that cannot be reached even by yourself. So, with that, I can definitively say that yes, I love you, Alexander. Sisterly love at most, yet still love nonetheless. I am aware of this love. It’s time for you to be as well. Disdainfully, Fiorella Ivorwilde
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Flowers for My Dad Jennifer Kerwin ‘23
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Liquid Gold Dayle Cowan ‘21
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Stranger Meet By the Mangos Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22
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Halloween Green Dayle Cowan ‘21
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Levi on the Moon Brooke McFarlane ‘24
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Love to Death Maribel Acevedo ‘22
When hands go cold and eyes go blank When skin goes blue rain pours, all goes dark, Lightning strikes When you are lowered into the ground of darkness All we have left is a piece of stone with your name I told the Stars about us, So when you see them tell them I said hi. Tell them I hate them for taking you away, But thank them for making you shine. When you get the call, and you fall to your knees The initial shock wiping all of your happy memories Unable to remember the last thing you said And hoping it was “I love you” Because I do. Now more than ever Now that I can’t hold you Now that I can’t hear you Now that all we have left is a piece of stone with your name I told the Sun about us, So when you see them tell them I said hi. Tell them I hate them for taking you in the storm, But thank them for reminding me, you were also once warm. When the denial comes The anger that the world will no longer experience your light The lashing out to those who also lost you Wanting only one thing, which is the one thing I can no longer have Fear of forgetting what your voice sounded like Realization that the time I had with you is now done But that can’t be true, Because I love you. I told the Earth about us, So when you see them tell them I said hi. Tell them I hate them for ripping you way, But thank them for giving you a new place to stay. When the rain pours, I know it’s you crying because you miss me too When the sun shines, I know it’s you giving me a hug because you always gave the best ones When the earth is at its best, I know it’s you because your absence is hard to digest. When the last thing we have is a piece of stone with your name. But that’s not true, Because we still love you.
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The Pearly Whites Paula Andrade ‘23
Reaching Towards the Light Jennifer Kerwin ‘23
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Not Just Me, Myself and I Chelsea Burks ‘22
It was the first time all alone, no one next to me. The passenger seat was empty, nothing but my purse and shopping bags. The music playlist I carefully curated over the last month is finally being used. Jack Harlow, Beyonce, Nelly, Drake, 50 Cent, Dua Lipa, Florida Georgia Line, and more all made the exclusive list. Barely 24 hours after the most nerve-wracking test of my life to date was over, all the hard work, delays, waiting paid off and I could finally taste independence. “Are you ready to go places without your mom and meet friends whenever you like?” “Uhh yeah I guess” “Trust me, Chelsea, students I’ve had in the past get used to having a license, although this can be like a fight and you are like one of those heavyweight champs battling it out.” “Rocky!?!?!” The day before I had begun watching all 6 of the famous movies. 30 minutes into the first movie I was hooked, “How many more are there?” My mom over the moon that I started watching it, “6 but you’ll love them.” Over the next 6 days, I watched the highs, lows, and in-betweens of Rocky Balboa and his story. Becoming some of my favorite movies, I found that boxing is oddly like driving minus the physical contact.
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“Assert that you are here. Give
it some gas. Let them know you are here and getting on the freeway” my instructor said. Saying to myself “Just. Like. Rocky.” He’s out in that boxing ring alone with only gloves and techniques to protect himself, I’ve got a 2-ton box made of metal to protect me but still, it’s like a battle. Suddenly I found myself parked outside the mall and meeting up with friends while listening to the playlist that finally sparked exuberant joy. As I looked around I realized, “Oh my- I’m alone”. But I’m not alone- Yes, I am- No, I’m not- Yes, I am- No, I’m notYes, I amNo, I’m not. It’s not just me out completely alone. Nelly got me through the unexpected traffic. Dua Lipa and Florida Georgia Line made empty roads seem not so empty. Drake and 50 Cent made approaching complicated intersections so much easier. And Rocky reminded me that parking lots and the open road can be like a boxing ring. So no, with all of them helping me and protecting me, It’s Not Just Me, Myself, and I.
My Jude
Natalia Girolami ‘21
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Headstand Gracie Bradley ‘21
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She’s Only 8 Maya Hundley ‘23
i watch her hazel green eyes dart around they are filled with wonder i wonder, if i’m being honest, what it must be like to be a child in this wild, wild world she stands, fastens the Velcro on her sneakers, zips her jacket finally, she smiles at me before putting on the final touch i no longer see her grin, her grin is, i admit crooked, a classic mix of new teeth and those yet to fall out the grin of a child, who isn’t so little anymore the final loop is now secured around her ear i put on my mask and follow her out the front door as we stride to the car i watch her small feet go step by step just as mine once did not so long ago things were different back then back then, not even ten years ago when i was 8 we have reached the car i feel the cool saturday morning air on my face or at least what’s left uncovered of it she gets in the backseat dad’s driving i am but a passenger from my seat i can see a lot the world seems so close to us but is it? i look at the neighborhood
through my window, i look at her in my mirror her coily brown locks they’re golden at the tips she lights up at the sound of her favorite song coming through the speakers singing along, her voice is young and hopeful as we pull into a parking space i consider how i never had to worry about the invisible enemy among us when i was 8 no virus, no hate i simply took each day as it came i wish she could say the same we exit the car the coffee shop isn’t far just 3 blocks is all we must walk careful not to get too close, to others but she and i and dad stay close to one another it’s warmer than i thought it would be maybe it’s the people we meet along the way maybe it’s the bliss brought by an iced coffee and a sunny day i hold her hand the barista is nice maybe there’s still hope for a little girl in this wild wild world after all, she’s only 8
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The Singer Sophie Fudge ‘22
Such a life most beautifully fulfilled Years on years undeserving death Almost four score of joyful noise Before I even took a shaky breath. You held me in your arms Then followed me down the hill We all wish we could be like you Sometimes I think I never will. Adored by everyone you meet We don’t like those who don’t like you Moments spent singing or cracking a joke Give me the keys to the kingdom too. From the ships on the beach To the sound of the choir A time more rich spent on earth Than I could barely hope to acquire. But as time stretched on Memories grew blurry and slick You once turned to me and solemnly said “I think I am getting quite sick.” I didn’t cry much when I found out We felt it coming these last few years But when my father said “Dad, I’ll see you soon” My eyes began to fill with tears. Four years almost gone since then The flag still folded on your wife’s table Thirteen with you was hardly enough I’d buy a few more if I was able.
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Mi Familia Catalina Cruz ‘21
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Veronica
Regina Cervantes Ellis ‘22
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Unfocused and Unheard Stella Occhialini ‘22
I don’t remember how the world looked without a plexiglass screen in front of it. All foggy and muddled. Muted, on the precipice of clarity. If I could only adjust the focus on my lens to see it. I can’t hear the symphony the world sings to me. The euphonious notes are stifled by the soundproof walls that surround me. Suffocate me. Silence me. I try to scream, but the sound falls away. My ears are stuffed with mindless media; an eternal cotton swab in my eardrum designed to keep me deaf. The radio is on, 91.1, but no sound spills out of the speakers. If I could only turn up the volume to listen in. I exist isolated, preserved in my own acrylic bubble. A reflection in the glass appears if I stare long enough, but it’s not me. That mirage, is nothing but a phantasmagoria, fabricated by my unfocused irises. It doesn’t exist; She’s not there. I’m not there. I haven’t really opened my eyes, they’re still half shut. Drowsy and dazed. The world outside moves at lightning speed as I try to open them, but my eyelids are leaden. I can only see a blur of movement as my fingers graze the spinning globe underneath them. If I could only adjust the focus on my lens.
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The Koi Fish Czarina Datiles ‘23
I seek guidance from the koi fish everyday. They swim in the little pond behind my grandmother’s house. They swim in peace, in tranquility, in accordance with the laws of nature. They do not mean harm; They only serve their purpose: Bring luck, courage, and perseverance to our home. My friends of ivory and snow laugh at me. They ask why I run barefoot across my yard, Singing tunes in tongues unfamiliar to theirs, And confide my hopes and fears with weird-colored animals. Their words made me blush and hide. Our differences were made known as the sun was to our sky. The worse one was John, The Eagles’ son next door. He would always peep through our fence, Watch me with fire-glazed eyes, And throw rocks over my small head in an attempt to faze me. Never did I falter in his presence. He would demand I do his homework, Asked if I would eat his dog, And most horribly of all, shoot arrows across my yard whenever I talk with the koi fish. At one point, his arrow caught my arm, Drawing rubies to drip onto my skin, And it was then I truly felt fear. I was terrified of his kind. I no longer sought the koi fish hence on. Years passed and my dark skin inheritance, Sharp-eye endowment, And my native tongue, Were all shrouded by a white sheet of linen I used to conceal my identity. I longed to be ivory and snow like them. But upon entrance to my grandmother’s old home, Curiosity drove me to stare at the pond housing the koi fish I used to call my friends. A tint of a new hue made my eyes raise, Scarlet replacing transparent waters captured my attention. Like the child I once was, I slipped off my shoes and ran barefoot across the yard, Towards the pond where I muttered curses in a different tongue, And discovered my weird-colored confidantes to lay still in the water. The koi fish were dead.
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Pierced in their thick flesh was an arrow. Its image brought forth a memory that no longer pained me but rather… Enraged me. It fueled a fire within my soul, One that burned in an oil lamp whose flames were contained by hesitant, cautious glass. But now that glass was shattered. And I no longer kindled a fire. I fanned an inferno. Shame used to cripple my confidence. Difference disabled my defiance. Retaliation fostered compliance. I had guised myself by a pathetic sheet of white, Hoping to hide the woman I was through a pure veil. But now that veil has been discarded; It has been abandoned on the floor. The time of hiding and fear is no more For our fear of injustice should be much greater if we continued to hide as we were. No longer must we keep silent. No longer will we be docile. This arrow shot from the sky will be reunited with its sender. I will pierce it in their heart, myself. The Koi Fish once swam in the little pond behind my grandmother’s house. They swam in peace, in tranquility, in accordance with the laws of nature. They did not mean harm; They only served their purpose: Bring luck, courage, and perseverance to our home. But their home has now changed, For their home is in our hearts, in our desires, in our movement. And their purpose has been enriched, For they no longer just bring luck, courage, and perseverance. They bring a symbol. A symbol of change and resilience against the adversities we have suppressed for far too long. The Koi Fish I used to confide. Now the Koi Fish confide to I About the pains and sufferings it has endured all its life. Comfort as they were to me, So shall I be their comfort. Vengeance is not what I seek But justice is what is demanded.
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Nati in a Nutshell Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22
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Step Up, Speak Up Czarina Datiles ‘23
I feel as though I must speak. How to start is the question. Compared to high born-leaders, I was but a stone in a mountain of diamonds.
It shall be my motivation to speak when I never thought I could. My voice will be heard in everyone’s conscience.
I did not have the capacity to speak which such fervor, To announce lyrics of hope and perseverance to crowds who knew not of my name but of my words. I did not have the confidence nor the charisma to do such an act.
A paper and pen are my sword and shield. Vocabulary and lexicon my ammunition. The time to resist our oppressors, Revolt against established standards, Is now.
Upon seeing the tribulations that have shed light in our society, Never fully being addressed after centuries since it took its roots, A kind of discomfort stirred within me, Sending my humanity into a whirlwind of insuppressible and passionate emotions Too great for it to be contained with one simple breath of tranquility. If I cannot speak with my mouth, then I shall speak with my mind, My hands, My fingers Grazed against the sharp edge of a typewriter, Forging weapons with letters, Releasing missiles made of phrases. Though doubtful, I have an innate talent. Like those born with the gifts of intelligence and compassion, Mobility and willpower, I was born with the aptitude for language. To be born with such a gift whose ability to create and destroy is beyond what anyone could imagine,
I will no longer remain in hiding For I have been cowering behind the curtains for too long. My voice is not as loud as a leader’s; It has no ability to contest with their projection. But I assure you my voice shall be heard across the globe, My message resonating and echoing in every remote corner of the world. My lips tremble but I am not mute. I have a platform, but no influence. Not yet. I will take my role in the liberation of the abused, discriminated, and distressed. I now stand in solidarity with the oppressed. Step up. Speak up. For our time is now. Never again should these issues resurrect from the ground.
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This Too Shall Pass Cassidy Matwiyoff ‘22
My tears are like acid, Raining upon my cheeks as my walls crumble. “Virtual starting tomorrow,” was the phrase that ended it all. One glance at the header, and I was lost. Stress had been bottled up like tectonic tension in the ground. One phrase and my world shook. Fleeting visions of a blissful childhood whirled throughout my head. Who knew one email could cause such a catastrophic fall. My hopes were shattered as my heart sank faster than the Titanic. A warm shower and sad music will do the trick. It’s an indescribable feeling, Letting the water cover your eyes, envelop your sobs, and rinse away all the happiness once felt. All I can see is a future obscured by smoke, vaccines, elections, and inflammatory words. Now, I lay on the cool tile, Letting my breath steady for a while. The anxiety and pressure we are put through is beyond fair. I try to suppress my swollen cries as I gasp for air. I’m drowning, sinking deeper to the ocean floor. My mind is astray, and there’s no telling what will patch this sore. “This too shall pass,” isn’t an easy phrase to echo when your will to try is fleeting. I ask myself, “How many more times, like this, can I take a beating?” 2020 has been a tidal wave for all. Slamming us into the ground without considering the toll that will befall. My patience is drained, serenity slayed, and I am lost at sea. There’s no telling what this next year will do to me. Here’s what I can’t grasp, How am I to recover and rebuild myself if the future is: “This too shall pass.”
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Rhythm of Cubes Gabby Martinez ‘21
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Frida
Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22
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Encapsulation Gabby Martinez ‘21
Boondaburra Isabella Woo ‘22
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Aboriginal Kangaroo Dot Painting Emily Concepcion ‘21
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How Galaxies are Made Victoria Agonoy ‘23
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To Be
Annonymous I had seen them around for the first part of the year. The vibrant image of their hair circled in my mind, spiraling, sticking, to everything in its grasp. It was curly and big, untamed and beautiful. I wanted, needed to be a friend. I really liked their hair. A few weeks later, I forced the courage to say, “Hello.” I wanted to be kind. I heard a voice, full of character and personality, mere seconds after my words, “Hi.” I’m not sure how it happened, no fireworks, no sparks, just a smile A friendship Slow and steady, fast and wonderful They are loud, fun, energetic, and very bouncy, like their hair. Like their spirit They make me smile and laugh so hard that it feels like the world is shaking. A lion’s roar makes its way from their heart. Sometimes I like to think they view the world as a rollercoaster; there are ups and downs, but it’s always fun. At least that’s how they make you feel when you are around them. Everything is fun. I want to be just like that.
Botanical Flower Taly Ferrante ‘21
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Afterglow Dayle Cowan ‘21
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The Wall With No End Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22
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Who Am I?
Arantza Martin del Campo ‘23 I am a woman that likes to smile. I am pure as I am wise. I am a woman who wishes to walk down the aisle. I am blind as I have eyes. I am a woman with a voice I am with company as I am alone. I am a woman with a choice. I am known as I am unknown. I am a woman with skills. I am afraid as I am brave. I am a woman that can fall head over heels. I can be alive as I can be on a grave. I am a woman. I am Arantza.
Smaug Watches Alexandra Wolan ‘24
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Old Bloods
Natalia Girolami ‘21 I keep attempting to understand How and when you came onto the earth Was I meant to hold your hand? To try to alleviate the aversion of rebirth? Sometimes my obsession grows deep I am you, you are me It’s enough to make me weep: The perfection I will never get to be I look at you through bright light, My face burns with jealous disgrace I conclude: your existence will always be right And all that will remain is the atrophy of my face. I held my neck, Gasped for quiet air I grabbed your wrist to check That my pulse was still there When nothing came up, I cried But your emptiness held me tight Afterward, I attempted to smile wide Then, curled my body into the ghastly night I saw the hues of another world, Your body painted an absinthe green Wrists adorned and pearled We moved like an ugly scene In the wind, I heard false tales Of yours and mine, centuries ago Yearning for a freedom so frail Crossing my fingers, hoping you know
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My dreams glittered with voice, The shoes I stared at stomping through hallways, I conclude: our separation
wasn’t a choice Two stray souls unable to converge for the promise of always How can one like you exist so far away? Without my love and grief? How do you make haste? How are you okay? I ask for the sake of my own relief We’ve met in a past life That is why I feel so sickened when I touch your face The strangeness of your hold cuts like a knife, Yet my mind and body itch for more embrace Will I ever be connected to something so pure again? A vessel of art wrapped perfectly in satin You tell me to come, I respond, “When?” Then swiftly you leave me, as we never happened
Violetta
Regina Cervantes Ellis ‘22
Beachside Finale Maggie Holcomb ‘24
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And It Was Vanilla Too... Seney Larson Moreno ‘21
ny, ny June 2019 Maya Hundley ‘23
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Wax Resist Jessica Thiss ‘24
Wild Things Olivia Greene 21’
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Vivo El Centro 2020 Ana Luisa Rosas-Luken ‘22
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The World Carissa Clarke ‘21
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Half a Story Natalia Girolami ‘21
When I think about grief, I think of an untouched bedroom. Empty and unlived, dusty and tidy, fragile and immovable. The bed white and bright, made and untouched. A silent soul sitting on a window sill, unable to speak or move or touch or cry. Grief is multi-faceted: you grieve break-ups, death, loneliness, life. And it hurts to grieve, always. Even when it’s good and positive, it still sticks a knife into your side and makes you feel everything all at once without warning. In death, I often think about what would remain of a person if they were still alive. What songs would get stuck in their head from time to time? What trend would they fall in love with? What book would be their new favorite? The imagining is painful, even if that’s all you have. Scraps and pieces of a person from when they were breathing on Earth to a fictionalized individual you’ll never know, and you make do. You imagine what they would think of you, grown and unloved by your being, and wonder if they could have done anything to make you fit into the world better. Even though that’s not what other people are for: to make you feel better about yourself, to assuage some kind of discomfort with existing as you are. Sometimes you grieve yourself, too. Everyone does, even if they don’t realize it. You analyze pictures closely in disgust, wonder why you ever were the way that you were, or yearn and love and care for a past self that will never be again. Or in the mornings, that’s when the most monumental grieving occurs, you wake and find a portion of your body gone and unable to be found. Your limbs crawl away from your person with minds of their own, slow and steady until finally, they’re free. The sky changes a different hue of blue, the stars misalign, the moon grows greyer. Half a person. The change is mortifying, dissociative, and the entire universe shifts against your will. And you are forced to realize that life goes on without you, even though you’ve felt millions of emotions and feelings and complexities all at once that are now ingrained into your muscles, and you have to go on as nothing ever happened, sore and weary. In grieving friendships, relationships, companionships, you have to live with the realization that someone other than yourself has once known every part of you, inside and out. The scar on the back of your neck and your biggest secrets. The movies you like to watch and the darkest parts of your brain. Which artists are your favorite and how to make you cry. And they go on living without you as if they weren’t an appendage to your person, and you have to remember that they have your secrets and whispers embedded within their hands and feet, able to discover new people and give away your thoughts without permission. They use what was once part of you for unimaginable evil or for kindness—lovely words about your character that you will never know. On my walk before school, I tried not to think about thinking. I listened to the birds and tried to translate their chirps. I watched two crows converse from a telephone pole and an electrical wire, and I found comfort in the simplicity of their lives. I examined the breeze kissing flowers in front yards. I like houses from the seventies that look like wonderlands. I imagined myself listening to music with headphones on
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inside the house, time-traveling back in time. A toy record player spins an album that I have fallen in love with. Laying on the ground, back on shag orange carpet, bell bottoms, long white socks printed with red and blue. A summer’s day, popsicles and the pool, bike ride at dusk. I criticized myself for contemplating clichés and continued on.
Constellations Are Simply Roads Uncharted Victoria Agonoy ‘23
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In Need of a Miracle Natalia Girolami ‘21 like: red juice spraying across the sky, a tightened corset, a vision of you, standing on top of the tallest skyscraper, manmade bliss stockings that rival what you watched in noir films broken glares that used to be enough for adoration the vacancy of youth cascading off your tongue which told too many secrets to detached lovers dripping in inadequacy, drowned by the moon your arms flailing: a mere farewell what you expected from life: countryside dinners, a fawn caressed by ferns, teeth coated in nectar, none of the insincerities that the universe— so carelessly— hurled at you could it be that you will become habituated to a new dreadful life where your eyelids will droop down to your knees and the only words you can say are please, thank you, you’re welcome?
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Dragon Lady Jacqueline Riel ‘22
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Gift Giving
Natalia Girolami ‘21
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The crows kept coming. They’d perch their claws on the wooden fence, awaiting my arrival. I developed a habit of feeding them peanuts; I’d toss them on the grass, and watch the murder peck at their feet until they got lucky and found a snack to enjoy. When I was a child, I’d observe in wonderment as black, majestic birds flew across the sky. Even now, whenever I see a flock of crows caw and glide up in the air, I stop in my tracks. I’ve only ever admired such creatures as crows. They gifted me silver nuts and bolts—anything shiny. Broken earrings, buttons, colorful rocks. I kept the trinkets in a small bowl by my bed. When Henry and I moved to the west, I had to leave my crows behind. Henry didn’t understand my fierce attachment to my raven feathered friends. He promised to get me a pet when we finally settled in, something to love while he was away. We adopted Clancy, a polka-dotted sweetheart. He had speckles of black all over his white fur, and he would wake me up every morning by scurrying into my bedroom and nudging my legs. Henry argued that we should keep him outside so he wouldn’t ruin the furniture, but I’d let him in the house while Henry was away. We’d read the newspaper together, make breakfast, and plan our day side by side. Although I had Clancy, I would still feed the crows. The birds in the west were different from the ones back in the east. They were less friendly, distant. I had to earn their love and affection. I fed them peanuts for months, and one day, one of them dropped a trinket on the front porch then flew away. It was a glassy blue pendant for a necklace in the shape of a circle. It had dirty scratches all over it, but I kept it on my nightstand. I decided to name the giving crow Cherry. A colorful name for an animal lacking vivid hues. My friends, Clancy and Cherry, all I ever needed forever. Of course, I had my doubts that Cherry was the same bird that would often give me gifts because all crows look similar. I knew that it was Cherry through my intuition, which sounds silly. But whenever Cherry cawed and flocked, my body danced with the knowledge that it was my feathered companion saying hello. Henry said I was weird. I got you the dog, why do you need the crows? They make our home look like a madhouse. I thought his words were rude, Clancy did too. Henry determined that I needed to get out of the house, said he felt guilty for leaving me alone all this time. He took me to the movies. Henry kept talking while the big screen blared, said he watched this one when he was a kid, said I’d love it. I did not. I grew upset that I couldn’t bring Clancy. He could’ve sat in silence by me, he was well-trained—I had made sure of it. When we arrived home, Clancy didn’t come and greet me like he usually did. My heart sank to the center of the earth. Any other day, Clancy would run to me, I’d crouch down to his level, and he’d put his paws on my shoulders and hug me. I yelled his name, called for him to come. I heard the pitter-patter of his feet, his nails clashed against the wooden floor. In his teeth, a black body covered with feathers; Clancy’s coat stained with blood. He dropped it at my feet, smiled, waited
for my praise, my love, my usual adoration. I wept, scratched Clancy behind the ear. He was giving me a gift. He didn’t know any better.
The Sisterhood Catalina Cruz ‘21
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The Last of the Chosen Josephine Fox ‘24
I wave farewell to my friends and turn towards home. Something seems quite out of place, though. Many people are still out and muttering amongst themselves. As I catch pieces of what they’re saying, my confusion starts to resurface. I pass two old women whispering to each other. “Today is the day,” one said. “They say that precisely at midnight, the fifth one will be Chosen.” “Ah, I have heard,” replied the other. “Some say that Solomon, son of Zephyr himself; will come to our hometown.” “Solomon,” said the first. “There must be something very particular about this Choosing, then.” I quickly move past them as my confusion paves way to concern. Is there something significant that I do not know of? Something that the people just somehow forgot to tell me? Or worse, they deliberately decided to keep it a secret. I am starting to become even more worried and frightened. As soon as I step into my warm home, I check the old grandfather clock next to our mantel. It reads eight fifty-three. I head straight to my room and start pacing vigorously. As I reflect on my day, I recall that the people were acting quite tense at the pub. And now, multiple people are out and about at times where they would usually be settling down in their abodes. Two or three hours pass. I forget to eat dinner in the midst of my frenzy. When my parents do not say a single word to me or leave anything at my door, my concern turns into panic. I have been wondering what the time is, so I decide to head back to our living room to check the clock once more. But suddenly, I am aware of the strangest occurrence. My mother and father seem to be having an intense conversation with a stranger. I press myself into the short wall that divides our living room from the hallway. As I listen, I notice that they seem to be talking about the same things that the women I passed earlier were talking about. I catch the stranger saying, “You have no choice. You have hid her away for so long, and it is time for her to face her destiny.” “We thought it was for her own protection. We thought this could be avoided,” says my mother, her voice layered with concern. “Ah,” says the stranger. “There is no thing as inevitable as destiny.” The room goes silent for a countless number of minutes. Finally, my father says, “What are we to do?” “Tell her to meet me at the magic shop before the clock strikes twelve. Order her to come alone,” replies the stranger. I slowly peek around and see the stranger’s back, but I catch my parents slowly nodding. “We are trusting you to protect her,” says my mother. “Take good care of her for us. Be there when we cannot.” “Very well,” says the stranger. “I will do as you say, Miss Evaldrien.” I hold my breath and hide again as he turns and exits our house. I do not know how to react. I am frightened, panicked, and confused by what I just heard. I stand in the hallway, trying to catch my breath when my mother and father enter and come towards me and take me in their arms. “Cleone,” my mother whispers. “We should have told you this by
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now, but we thought it was better for your sake and ours to hide this. You are destined to play a part in something that is fated to make or break our world. You have been Chosen to be one of the Five to destroy the Curse and fulfill the Prophecy. We are so sorry, we really should have told you this sooner; but for now, we shall have to wait and see how things play out. Just remember, we have faith in you.” My father nods and says, “You are destined to become great. Believe in yourself. I promise, everything will be explained. We must let you go now, but the man that was just here, Solomon, has promised to keep you safe for us. And remember, we love you.” “Never forget that,” my mother whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks. I feel myself getting overwhelmed with emotion. I do not want to leave my family or my home. I think of Akio and Kassandra. Crow and Aeron. The rest of the people who mean the world to me. I never even got to say goodbye. I simply do not want to leave. I cannot do this. Soon enough, I feel tears erupting from my eyes, rolling down my face. I cling to my parents for dear life. “I do not want to go,” I wail. “What will become of me? I do not even understand!” I shout. “Cleone,” my father whispers. “We don’t want you to go either. But you must. It is your destiny.” I nod slowly, trying to contain my sobs. My mother then adds, “Quickly pack your belongings, anything that you think will be of importance. Your friends already know about this, and they know what you have to do.” I nod then trudge upstairs with my parents trailing behind me. I quickly pack my things, then turn to them. My mother brushes the tears from my eyes, and I am engulfed in my parents’s embrace. Before I head out the door, my father says, “Be brave. For us. For Amarelthyr.” “For Amarelthyr,” I repeat, before heading to meet the destiny I am fated to fulfill. ~~~ I brush the rest of the tears off my cheeks as I head out into the cold night. I should be able to make it to the magic shop on time, but regardless, I still move quickly. The magic shop is the one place in which I was not allowed to enter without close supervision. My mother and father had never explained why, but now I assume that it has something to do with the Prophecy, whatever that is. I cannot make sense of anything that has just happened. I let the cold wind numb me and my pain, and let it take over my emotions. I will myself to not think too hard about what might happen. What will become of me. Where I will go. What my fate will be. I don’t want to think about what will happen to my beloved home and all the people who are dear to me, either. As I venture farther out into the night, I will myself to be brave. For my family. For my friends. For my home. For Amarelthyr. That’s what I promised my father and mother. If there is only one thing that is left for me to do, it is to be brave for my homeland and for its people. Soon enough, I arrive at the doors of the magic shop. It appears quite small from the outside, but I know that it is a lot larger than it appears. For a while, I simply stand outside and stare into the darkness that awaits within. There are no lights on inside and for a moment, I forget all about being brave and all my emotions start to come back to me. I cannot be who
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I am destined to become. I do not understand what part I have to play, what role I must take on. I do not understand what they need of me, since everything has been hidden from me for so long. Then I remember. For Amarelthyr. For my people. I take one deep breath and slowly walk towards the door of the magic shop. Usually, it would be locked but tonight it has been left open. I feel as if I cannot take any more twists to my life today. But nonetheless, I must be brave. Courageous, even. I walk in between the shelves lined with enchanted items and vials of potions. Books that possess knowledge of things I will not even begin to fathom. I do not know where I am going, but my feet seem to be leading the rest of me to the right direction. It is a strange sensation, not knowing where you are headed but knowing the right path. My feet suddenly bring me to a stop in front of a tall mirror. The surface is smooth and sparkling, yet I do not dare myself to touch it. I am aware of how fearful and weak I look, but I remember what I had promised. To be brave. For Amarelthyr. “I must be courageous,” I say out loud. “Courageous.” The word has a nice ring to it, but I cannot contemplate this for much longer. I am drawn to my own reflection in the mirror. At first, I did not know why. And then I see it. My dark blond hair seems to be lit with streaks of gold. I seem to stand tall and imposing, despite being five feet and four inches. I have an aura of power about me, and for the first time in a while, I feel confident. But my eyes are the part of my physical appearance that stand out the most. They shine greener than ever before. My whole body seems to radiate light, and suddenly; the strangest thing happens. I seem to be clothed in a dress made of nature itself. Vines, flowers, and leaves merge together to form the cloth that it is made from. A wreath of leaves sits atop my head, and vines wrap around my arms. It is as if I am the embodiment of nature. I gasp, as suddenly, a ring of golden light appears, encircling me. I am transfixed by its fiery aura. I do not know how long I stare, when suddenly; five shapes emerge from the ring, ablaze with burning light. As I look closer, I see that they are eyes. One is dark gray, reflecting the eye of a storm, with lightning crackling from the sky. Another is ever-changing in color, and an unseen power radiates from within it. The third seems to be made of flames, and it dares me to stare at it; blazing with strength and ferocity. The next is a cold ice blue, unforgiving and lifeless; and bringing about a quality of death. The last is a pure green, kind and derived of nature herself. I cannot move as I realize that this eye is mine. I look at myself in the mirror, and sure enough; my eyes are of the same mysterious, bright hue. Normally, they are an inconspicuous green but now they shine with the light that encircles my entire being. I am captivated by what just happened and am trying to make sense of it when a voice speaks from behind me. “Cleone Evaldrien,” it says. “You have been Chosen. By the courage of Windra, the might of Jasmine, and the kindness of Isabella. May you fulfill our last hope and become who you are destined to become.” I give a sharp intake of breath and whip my head around. Emerging from the shadows is an old man. He is wearing a dark cloak with a hood, from which he stares at me with his all-knowing gray eyes. He carries a tall staff, made of fine dark wood; and the same light that ra-
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diated from my being just moments ago radiates from its tip. His voice is soft, yet powerful and wise. I start backing away as fast as I can. “Wh- who are you?” I say. I continue backing up and in my frenzy crash into a shelf full of books. “Do not fear me,” says the stranger. “I am Solomon, son of Zephyr, the utterer of the Prophecy himself.” Wait. I remember that voice. This is the stranger that was conversing with my mother and father earlier tonight. “Why are you here, Solomon?” I ask. “I am here to deliver you to your destiny. You have been Chosen to be one of the Five to destroy the Curse and fulfill the Prophecy.” “I am sorry,” I begin. “I am afraid that no one has bothered to explain any of this nonsense to me.” Solomon then laughs, and takes down his hood; revealing his graying hair. “Your mother and father did this to protect you, for your sake and theirs. But as I told them, there is nothing as inevitable as destiny, especially the destiny of one of the Five. I know you have your questions and I have my answers, but first I must take you to our Stronghold.” “Where and what is that?” I ask slowly. “It is on the edge of the most foreign and deserted part of the province of Ikthaara.” Ikthaara. That is where Akio is from. Solomon continues, saying, “I am entrusted to be your guardian and your protector, at least up until the point where you set out on your quest to rid the Curse of evil from this world.” I must look very confused because Solomon says, “Do not worry. I will explain everything once we get to the Stronghold.” I nod, then ask, “What is that?” I point at his staff. “I am a wizard,” he says. “This simply channels my magic, and proves as a useful weapon along the way.” “How do you know who I am? And what does being ‘Chosen’ mean?” I blurt. Solomon laughs and fingers his short graying beard. “You are quite a curious individual,” he says. “Like I said before, I will explain all of this and more once we get to the Stronghold. We must move quickly, as you shall begin your training early the next morning.” I nod and look into the mirror one last time. All the traces of my powerful aura have disappeared, and I look as I did before. Plain. Fearful. Unaware. Average. “Yes, the glow disappears after the Choosing has been completed,” Solomon says, voicing my thoughts. “You must be tired and confused, and we must hurry on.” He beckons me over to the back door of the magic shop. When we get outside, I notice a white horse has been waiting patiently for us. “How is it that the horse does not run away?” I ask Solomon. “This here is Tudor. He is no regular horse. He knows the ways of higher creatures and is bound to his duty to me, as you are with your duty to the Prophecy. Now, come.” Solomon quickly mounts Tudor, and holds a hand out towards me. I take it and mount the horse as well. Now, I am seated directly behind Solomon. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?” “No,” I admit. “That should not be a problem then, seeing as I have put a spell on this saddle that will hold you in until I say so.” I nod slowly and suddenly become aware of how tired I am. “Now,” Solomon says. “Take us back to the Stronghold.”
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With that, Tudor quickly breaks into a swift gallop. As the cold wind whips my hair about my face, I try to make sense of what has just happened to me tonight. My mind goes round and round trying to comprehend it all. The piercing gusts numb my body, and the last thing I remember is riding out into the mysterious night, seated atop a foreign horse with a foreign stranger; being taken away from everything that means the world to me and to a place where my unknown destiny awaits.
Daisuke Kambe Brooke McFarlane ‘24
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Contrast
Ana Luisa Fimbres ‘21
Is There a Line Between The Sea & Sky? Victoria Agonoy ‘23
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Dream
Lizette Camarena ‘23 We used to walk alone on broken glass, I tried to look so far into your eyes I could almost see your past, I wish time moved slower, I wish we didn’t have to grow up so fast, But sometimes we don’t get to chose, The things in life that we abuse, We spent so long searching for Neverland We flew so high we thought we would never land, All we wanted to do was to grow old without growing up at all, All I wanted to do was to spend my sad life sitting right next to you
Midnight Mayhem Maggie Holcomb ‘24
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Harbinger
McKenna Rogers ‘21
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Anime Club
Brooke McFarlane ‘24
Mortal Deliverance Sophia McCloskey ‘24
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Dazai Picnic Sophia McCloskey ‘24
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In Love
Sophia McCloskey ‘24
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Flamingo Visits OLP Jennifer Kerwin ‘23
Darkage
Sophia McCloskey ‘24
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I Write
Czarina Datiles ‘23 I write to remember I write to forget I write to form princes Whose arms are outstretched. Lavender sunrises, Melancholy tears, I write to form palaces I never got to see in my years. Enemies and lovers Memories and loss I write to create echoes Of the opportunities I’ve tossed. Handwritten promises Unspoken vows I write to make tragedies for spirits to arouse. Sense and sensibility Pride and his prejudice I write to discover emotions I wouldn’t have found without risks. Longing stares Empty feelings I write to find the fears I’m used to concealing. Tremble my hands Together we dance I write with a quill To imprint the story I’ve willed.
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Seal: My Grandmother’s Cat Maya Hundley ‘23
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Out of Place Ereny Tanious ‘24
“Out of place” -- imagine A brilliant robot! a person, me who knows her way with She is literally the defini- tion of thoughts; unknown to imperfections, staggers and flaws. no Filled with certainty. certainty, Filled with no staggers and flaws; imperfections thoughts unknown to She is literally the definition of a person, me who knows her way with `a brilliant robot! out of place -- imagi ine….
Fauvist Boats
Luciana Lopez-Oviedo ‘21
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Underwater Sophia McCloskey ‘24
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Gold Star
Dr. Angela Gascho The very same day I announced I would be leaving a profession that had been a part of who I was for nearly thirty years, my daughter was beginning her journey in a similar realm. She would not be a “teacher” in the traditional sense but had been recently hired to be the “Literacy & Visual Arts Director” for a non-profit program that goes into schools in Brooklyn to serve children who are underserved and marginalized by our country’s embedded systems of oppression. It was an emotional day, by all counts. The duality of it was striking to me. But there are many emotional days in life. I was feeling resolved in my decision to step away from teaching and my job of the last eleven years, but sad to leave my friends, colleagues, and students behind. A sense of joy and excitement for beginning something new was muddled up with feelings of anxiety about the uncertainty of what is to come. The motherly concern for my daughter, who was taking a leap into a very new direction in her career, was intertwined with my own life transition. As much as I have hated last days, she has always hated first days. Whether it be a first day of school as a child growing up, or her first day of new job, she has always wracked herself with worry about the outcome. I wanted her to feel successful enough to stick with it, which can be so hard with teaching, traditional or not. I was eager for her to share her many beautiful gifts and joie-de-vie with children who truly need some joie-de-vie. My heart was knotted up. As is our daily custom, I texted to check in with her, this time with a simple question, “How did the first day go?” followed by an encouraging GIF. A little while later, that familiar “ding” sounded, alerting me I had received a text. “I got a gold star” it read, accompanied by her hand holding a picture of a child’s awkwardly and beautifully drawn gold star filling the page. I smiled. The text was followed by another, “It was overwhelming, but I think went really well overall for a first day? Loads of room for growth, learning, and the like, but the kids are precious and we’re going to learn so much from each other.” My heart began to unwind, swelling with new emotions. She had gotten through her dreaded first day. I responded, “That’s awesome!!! I know you’re going to be terrific!” She shot back, “Taught some second graders how to tie shoes, and some kindergarteners how to draw and write ‘stars’” “I love it!” “They’re so curious! But definitely need so much support.”
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So we continued the conversation, reflecting on lessons to teach in the future, books from her childhood that I could ship to her so she could bring them in to share, and text-chatting about the next day-to-day what-nots. Long after our check-in was over and we had each carried on with our separate evenings, I found myself reflecting on that gold star. I mean, ultimately isn’t that always what a teacher is looking for? A student to be able to draw and write their gold star? To be one of a myriad of gold stars that are envoys of light illuminating a brighter future… I felt content. My daughter had her gold star.
When You Land Among the Stars Victoria Agonoy ‘23
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Sisters
Mrs. Siobhan MacManus ‘01 Having only a brother, I will never experience first-hand the lifelong bond you two share. Even though you’ve only known each for six short months, I already see a connection building that’s as strong as an iron bridge. The protective, caring, and always affectionate nature of Big Sister is met by the ever-curious, adoring, infatuation from Little Sister. I marvel at the smallest gestures that come so naturally between the two of you: a funny dance earns a hearty giggle; a distressed cry is relieved by a gentle hug; a new toy gets reluctantly but willingly shared. As Little Sister grows from babyhood and becomes more autonomous, I am eager to see how your dynamics will change. I’m sure tear-streaked fights will emerge. There will be times clothing is borrowed without permission or one of you violates the other’s privacy. There will be occasions when one sister feels the other gets more attention. Your father and I will diligently try to mediate those moments of crisis and get each of you to see your sister’s point of view. But through those tribulations, you both will learn the art of compromise, forgiveness, and unconditional love. As years go by and childhood is left in the past, I hope I still see the sparkle of your early bond as a baby and a toddler. My motherly wish is that Big Sister can still make Little Sister laugh uncontrollably. I pray that when one sister is in distress, the other drops everything to come to her rescue. Like a ship at sea, I’m sure each of your lives will encounter calm waters as well as turbulent storms. I hope that through all of it, your sister will be like a lighthouse on the beach. A lighthouse whose beaming illumination will call you home and help you anchor to safety. When friendships or romantic partners let you down, your sister will be there to give advice, lift you up, and probably offer an unwelcome, “I told you so”. When your father and I are no longer there to see you through the lens of your childhood days, your sister will remember the innocence and playfulness you exhibited so freely. She’ll remind you of the dreams you had as a child before life’s turmoils warped your unlimited optimism. These are my plans for you two as sisters. But for now, I’ll delight in watching you both hold hands between car seats. I’ll cherish how you light up when the other enters the room. And I’ll make sure you both learn to recite the adage, “Side by side or miles apart, sisters will always be connected by the heart.”
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Facing The Future Together Jennifer Kerwin ‘23
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