The Muse AMHS Student Literary Magazine Volume 5, Edition 1
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Dear Reader, Welcome to the first 2018-2019 issue of The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine. This magazine has been serving as an avenue for creativity and imagination for students of the Mitty community for the past five years, and we are excited to share this new edition with you. The uniqueness of every student’s mind shines brightly through these selections of poetry, prose, artwork, and other ingenious creations. We hope that you enter these pages with an open mind and that you find a sense of solace and inspiration within the words they contain. After you have enveloped yourself in all this magazine has to offer, you hear the light whisper of the muse in your ear.
Do you want to be featured in the next edition? The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine will be accepting entries for the spring semester (Volume 5, Edition 2) in March. Please refer to the myMitty page under “Clubs” to learn about the submission process for poetry, prose, art, six word stories, jokes, and memoirs to be published in the AMHS Literary Magazine.
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The following works are the intellectual property of Archbishop Mitty students. All ownership rights reserved.
The renowned author John Steinbeck once said, “What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.� In today’s world, opposites encapsulate many aspects of our lives: opposing political parties, opposing viewpoints, opposing oneself. But once in a while, we need to be reminded that we need to consider both sides of an argument or story. We cannot have one side of beauty and grace without the ugliness and despair. And writing can express the epitome of this contrast. The world of literature is comprised of many stories and differing perspectives. There are stories about love and poems about hate, jokes to convey humor and haikus to communicate deep insights. Each individual can express his or her inner feelings and opinions through writing, and yet each individual can choose to compose a variety of works with contrasting themes. And because of this, all humans are able to find their place in that world of words, allegories, and extended metaphors. Some people are intrigued by a famous author or a major event in their lives. Some people are inspired by their own achievements and self-worth. And some people, no matter how hard they try, have a hard time putting that inspiration to good use. Learning to put our inspiration to work comes from honing the ability to understand and evaluate the world around us. When we believe something, we have the ability to put our thoughts into words and our words can convey our perspectives. But without understanding both sides of an issue, our inner praises for other people and other ideas turn to nothingness, and their inspirational light in our lives is dimmed due to our own misconceptions. We need to consider the opposing beliefs of others to better understand our own view of the world. The Muse is evidence of those who have put their outlooks into practice by creating pieces about their emotions, politics, society, family, and individual stories. Feelings trigger beautiful thoughts and ideas that must flow from our minds, through the tips of our pencils or pens, and onto the blank page. Through a variety of means, opposing interpretations can be communicated successfully through writing. Through this issue of The Muse: AMHS Literary Magazine, students have created works that impart a multitude of genuine and sometimes opposing thoughts. Thank you to the students who have submitted their work for this issue. You have made your feelings known through your writing, and it is greatly appreciated. Thank you, readers, for taking time to appreciate and understand the value in the opposites in the world and those around you. Take a chance; really look at the black and white, the good and evil, the beauty and disgrace. Feel the passion and attitude of brilliant writers, close friends, and classmates as you turn the pages of this magazine. Ponder the deep opinions of your society, and thank the writers for being bold enough to break through their own vaults of consciousness and shields of insecurity. Thank them for being bold enough to share their hearts and minds with the world.
Sincerely, The Editors of The Muse 3
Index
Mahder Aklilu ‘22, Page 65
Milo Mee ‘21, Page 34
Joy Barsoum ‘22, Page 60
Karina Mehdizadeh ‘22, Page 34
Matthew Burrows ‘21, Page 5
Billy Melo ‘20, Page 35
Erica Cardozo ‘21, Pages 6, 7, 22, 56, 66
Emily Nguyen ‘20, Pages 39 & 43
Hannah Chang ‘21, Pages 13 & 68
Joanne Park ‘20, Pages 48-49
Megan Chiang ‘21, Pages 14, 42, & 61
Priyal Patel ‘21, Page 59
Hannah Cheng ‘20, Pages 21, 23, 51, 58, &
Seo Park ‘22, Pages 17-19
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Aileen Pulchny ‘19, Page 57
Nathan Chou ‘21, Page 37
Esther Ramirez ‘19, Page 11
Helen Deng ‘21, Pages 8, 16, 26, 32, 33,
Christa Rios ‘21, Pages 20, 47, 54, 59, &
38, 47
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Salem Dimes ‘19, Page 25
Paige Rosckes ‘21, Pages 10, 50, & 60
Samantha Fonseca-Vallejo ‘21, Page 24
Emilie-Anne Roxas ‘21, Pages 15 & 59
Roisin Gilmore ‘21, Pages 41 & 59
Angel Sanchez ‘21, Page 45
Julianne Glahn ‘21, Pages 23, 30, & 36
Deepan Shah ‘20, Pages 62-63
Amelia Herbert ‘20, Page 59
Nikhil Shanbhag ‘21, Page 69
Sydney Hwang ‘19, Page 28
Stephanie Shao ‘20, Pages 27 & 51
Joanna Jain ‘19, Pages 30 & 32
Danielle Slaughter ‘21, Page 53
Sahit Kavukuntla ‘20, Page 40
Rohan Tawade ‘22, Page 9
Elaine Ma ‘22, Pages 46 & 52
Alexandra Wong ‘22, Pages 12, 59, 60
Maureen Mailhot ‘19, Page 29
Jassen Yep ‘20, Page 55
Katrina Manacio ‘20, Pages 31 & 44
Marijka Vernooy ‘22, Page 67 Sebastian Young ‘21, Page 59
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Leake Street, in London Matthew Burrows ‘21
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warm Erica Cardozo ‘21
i love the stars i love the warm sunshine i love the soft pattering of rain falling outside my window and the fluttering of pages, turning little galaxies and worlds spinning tales inside my head but lately, i’ve been looking at your eyes the way i’ve looked at the stars, and i’ve found myself seeking out your touch the way i’ve sought the sun upon my skin lately, i’ve longed to hear your voice as reassuring as the rain tapping on my window and your company as heart-warming as any book, and the tales spinning themselves inside my head are filled with you
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Erica Cardozo ‘21
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how are you doing? Helen Deng ‘21
honey, how are you doing? a patronizingly asked question that never really looks for the actual answer. how am i doing? i am breathing. i am being alive. i am entertaining the thought of not answering at all. i am screwing up my life. i am overthinking every little thing. i am becoming the person i will be. i am trying to convince myself that i’m becoming the person i want to be. the person i should be? but no. they are not asking for this. so i say, i’m good! (because fine sounds just a little too fragile)
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Plaza de España in Seville, Spain Rohan Tawade ‘22
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Mean Paige Rosckes ‘21 Humans are mean. Some are teens. They say things behind your back, So you can receive a mental smack. You think they are your friends, But you need to get a bigger lens. They purposely exclude you, So you feel the midnight blues. They never really liked you. Their friendship was never true. You want to escape this word of sadness, But this constant reality just causes madness. People are mean and I don’t know why. Their cruel actions always make me cry. I thought God created all to be nice, But I guess some people were born with a vice. There’s nothing I can do but just pray That these people will not ruin my day.
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Esther Ramirez ‘19 11
Alexandra Wong ‘22
#1 Girl plays in the rain Umbrella filled with colors Water floods her boots
#2 Universe beyond Dots, streaks, shines, flickers, flutters What lays there unknown?
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Hannah Chang ‘21
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Megan Chiang ‘21
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a metaphor Emilie-Anne Roxas ‘21 pain is when a black hole opens in your chest nothing escapes the infinite spiral of all that was in Pandora’s box sucking in every last star and planet and galaxy throbbing away like each heartbeat requires more work every time it beats you are aware of it or maybe it’s not there anymore pain pain is that or maybe something else; the crash of the sea against the shore inky black water eroding the rocks that rest there everyone is caught in the waves taking them out to sea; drowning but still breathing free falling into the unknown and landing face first on the solid ground and everything hurts nobody’s coming to save you get up up and get up because everyone hurts sometimes, but then you get up again and find the strength to continue. “In some ways, pain is the opposite of language” (John Green, Turtles All the Way Down).
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rouen Helen Deng ‘21
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A Series of Notes Seo Park ‘22 It is a commonly known truth that the geometry of molecules isn’t exactly the most interesting. So, I could hardly blame myself when I started to detach myself from the lecture and fidget in my seat. I doodled in my notebook, leaned back in my chair, stared at the unbudging clock, and tapped under my seat. As I drummed, I felt a curious texture. Instantly filled with curiosity, I felt around and brought up a piece of paper. I unfolded the paper, intrigued. It read, “I hope you know you’re an amazing and sweet person.” This only intensified my curiosity. Who was the person who wrote the note? How old was this note, anyway? After contemplating the paper for a few minutes, an idea formulated in my mind. Grabbing my pen, I wrote underneath the message, “Thank you so much! You seem like an amazing person also.” Smiling, I retaped the piece of binder paper back where I found it. The day passed by in a blur as I contemplated the message left under my seat. I felt giddy with the prospect of the other person reading my message and perhaps leaving another of their own. The next day, I brushed past everybody else in a hurry to get to my seat. The boy who sat next to me, Jack, remarked, “You seem excited to learn today.” I only smiled at him unthinkingly, already trying to predict what would be on the paper. Making sure that nobody was watching, I felt for the piece of paper and unfolded. Sure enough, a new reply was written in black ink underneath my message. It read, “That was really nice of you. How are you doing today?” Tapping my pencil, I thought of my reply. Hesitating a little, I wrote back, “I guess I’m doing alright. I have a math test next period which I’m a little nervous about.” Folding up the paper, I retaped it to the underside of my chair. I nestled my chin into the palm of my hands as I daydreamed about my unknown acquaintance. I was rudely pulled out of my thoughts when Jack said, “Well, you’re awfully smiley today.” “Hmm,” was all I could reply.
The days came and went. We wrote to one another every day. In those few months that I conversed with my penpal, I discovered that he or she was unfortunately allergic to dogs, had a 98.5% in Chemistry, and was currently crushing on the boy who sat next to me. When I read that last tidbit, I quickly glanced at Jack and couldn’t resist laughing out loud. For this message, it read, “I’m in 1st period Chemistry. What about you?”
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I chewed my lip, debating whether or not I should seize the opportunity to ask the teacher who sat in my seat for 1st period. For some reason, however, I decided not to ask for a name. Part of the excitement from this exchange came from the mystery of it all. I quickly wrote down, “I’m in 3rd period. By the way, Jack sits next to me in this class.” The sun rose and set, and the year passed by more quickly than it ever had. My penpal and I shared jokes, memories, and personal problems. One day at the end of the year, I practically leaped into my seat in chemistry, eager to find the most recent message from my anonymous friend. I felt underneath the seat. Nothing. Frowning, I got on my hands and knees and looked underneath the chair. Sure enough, there was only cheap blue plastic and cold metal. With a slightly dampened mood, I clambered back into my seat, a million questions clamoring for attention in my mind. Had the janitor found the paper and thrown it away? Had my acquaintance gotten tired of communicating with me? Was I sitting in the wrong seat? “Hey, you alright there?” Jack asked. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s nothing,” I replied absentmindedly. The next day came, and I slowly walked into the chemistry classroom. With a little bit of hope, I felt around for the paper, but it still wasn’t there. “Why the frown? There’s a week left until the end of school,” Jack poked. “Really not in the mood right now,” I snapped irritably. “Okay,” he shrugged, returning back to whatever he was doing before. I instantly regretted lashing out at him. However, I did feel like an important part of my life had now vanished. I was ready to head back home when I felt a slight tap on my shoulder. With a sigh, I turned around, ready to write the same wish of a great summer in someone’s yearbook. My right hand was sore from the number of well-wishes and little comments I had written. However, a petite brunette who I hadn’t seen very often all year was waiting for me with a book in her hand instead. “Hey, it’s Stephanie, right?” I greeted her. “Yeah,” she replied, beaming at the fact that I recognized her. She scratched her neck awkwardly and continued, “I hope you’re the right person. Otherwise,” she said, laughing nervously, “this would be painfully embarrassing. Anyways, I’ve been exchanging messages on pieces of paper all year with the person who most recently sat at the far right, third seat from the front in 3rd period Chemistry, Room 506.” I stood there, stunned with the realization of who I had been exchanging messages with all year. My mind backtracked and went over the layout of my Chemistry classroom as if there could be another person in my class who had been penpals with someone for the whole year. Indeed, I did sit at the far right, third seat from the back. Slowly, a smile broke over my face as I grinned at Stephanie. “It was you this whole time?” “It was,” she replied, smiling back with equal energy. “I just felt like writing a nice note to whoever would come upon it; I didn’t know that it would lead to me making a new friend who I feel I'm closer to than anybody else I know.” 18 “The feeling’s mutual,” I agreed.
“So, I decided to take all of the papers that had our messages and compile them into a book. It’s my parting gift to you. I really meant everything I wrote,” she gushed. She extended the book to me. I took the book and examined it. It was bound with a leather cover and everything. Embossed in the front in gold letters was “Letters of 2018~2019.” Cracking open the book, I smiled at the familiar sight of the many sheets of binder paper and Post-It Notes. The very first page looked old and a little crumpled, but I could clearly make out the message at the top that said, “I hope you know you’re an amazing and sweet person.” Right below that, in my handwriting, was written, “Thank you so much! You seem like an amazing person also.” I flipped through the pages, skimming the contents and reliving the whole year. There were positive and uplifting messages, complaints, shared memories, miscellaneous notes from various subjects, and friendly but heated debates. Nostalgia filled me as I read the tale of a friendship blossoming between two girls. Closing the book, I reached out to hug Stephanie. “Thank you so much for this, you have no idea how priceless this book is. Words cannot express how grateful I am.” “There’s no need. Your friendship is enough,” she replied. After more conversing and laughter, we parted ways. I clutched the book to my chest, feeling for the first time that this year had been a success.
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Stanyan in San Fran.
Christa Rios ‘21
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Hannah Cheng ‘20
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words Erica Cardozo ‘21 perfect. what meaning does it have society changes everyone, everything curves, edges, slim, thick what are they they are words words that can bring wretched times or confident smiles they can bring on self-harm or eating disorders are these words a transgression to our society or are they a transgression to humanity the marauding of one’s hopes and dreams replaced by the demons that make them not want to get up in the morning is this the sad reality or a crazy nightmare
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Julianne Glahn ‘21
Hannah Chang ‘21 23
Samantha Fonseca-Vallejo ‘21
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Who Am I Salem Dimes ‘19 A school day routine wake up, dress up drive and arrive There is nothing more important to me than to strive Lunch time find a place to sit and eat Class time last period of the day, what a treat home now, looking out the window... Who am I though? weekend arrives going to bed feeling I’ve committed a crime wake up, dress up seeing the sun shine I find a mirror and say out loud “Is it finally my time?” Was I made by design? I’m quiet, shy, all of the above when will life fit me like a glove I’ve gone through a lot But I don’t care Because I have learned enough to bear I still don’t know I swear I live, I laugh, I breath in air Isn’t that enough? Life can be rough but I know what I have got, family and friends who love me a lot It seems as though I forgot But now I know I’m not alone I’ll do great things And I’ll see what life brings Now I can sing
I know who I am Do you? 25
st. louis cathedral Helen Deng ‘21
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Stephanie Shao ‘20
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elegy for a lost love Sydney Hwang ‘19 to all the hearts that i have held, that i’ve had and did not hold. to gem pure lips i did not kiss, and sentences for me, untold, such affections are not lost to cuts and blades of time, which clipped the wings of heart in what could have been thine. weep not for patchwork heartstrings, for three which made one half, of what my little bird sung to me what ended my last laugh. nor for the sugar-soft words of cream, frozen red between your teeth. melted by the black fire that bled through stitches sewn into irregularity. rebuild your stained glass house for two, crystalline viscera cutting the pews, into a brick-walled sanctuary of birds, that sing love songs only for you. 28
Maureen Mailhot ‘19
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The Hard Part Joanna Jain ‘19 It’s an agonizing decision, one that Keeps me up for hours, Endless sleepless nights Tearing my hair out by the roots, Asking the empty ceiling to no avail Two trips downstairs for a glass of water (And maybe something stronger) But the question still haunts me: Where to put the breaks between The Words In My Poem.
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Julianne Glahn ‘21
Katrina Manacio ‘20
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Early Joanna Jain ‘19 I stand alone Under that silvery sky and blue-gray filter of morning Waiting to hear the swallow’s call or the cricket’s song Nothing, not even the wind rustling through the trees, Disturbs this sleeping picture My breath comes And goes In hushed whispers; The world stands still. (If only just for a moment.)
Étretat Helen Deng ‘2132
Rose Garden Helen Deng ‘21
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The Snackers’ Lament Milo Mee ‘21 When back to my home I haul my pack I settle in for an evening snack: But revealed is the end of my great plan I can’t fit my hand in the Pringles can. Oh the truth in my despair As I run my hand right through my hair; For how can I be a happy man If I can't fit my hand in a Pringles can. Should I tip the can with ease and grace And let the crumbs fall on my face; Or waste my short attention span On this intolerable Pringles can. Original, Cheddar, or BBQ I pray this doesn’t happen to you; For when I die and close my eyes I’ll have lost to this can which I despise.
Karina Mehdizadeh ‘22 34
Untitled Billy Melo ‘20
Who am I? I’ve ruminated for so long, I thought I knew so many times, But proven to be wrong all along, Like some philosophical crime. Once I walked the edge of insanity, Looking for a spot to jump in; But I was saved from the absurdity, My friends reached out, my wondrous kin. I was broken, but they remade me. Yet outside their reach I fell again, Until another gave me her mercy; Love rescued me, both now and then. Who am I? I do not know, But what I am I can say. I am grateful, forever so; I love them only more every day. For them I refuse to let myself fall, Not even in my darkest hours, no; I wish only to be as loving to all, And that is all I need to know.
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Julianne Glahn ‘21
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Singing In the Shower Nathan Chou ‘21 Melodies flow Water falls Pulling down lyrics Dreary From the weight of it all Over the rainbow The tone pushes towards Yet the droplets drum on Beating it sore An ember of passion Holds out against the rain A chord of relief To soak Clean through the pain.
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little dreamy field Helen Deng ‘21
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I’ll Be Where the Sun Sets Emily Nguyen ‘20
I'll be where the sun sets Where it all ends, but begins somewhere else Like that… In a blink of an eye This cycle of never-ending beauty Will you follow me to where it ends and begins again? To see that endless beauty
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Sunrise on Our Quest Sahit Kavukuntla ‘20
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Roisin Gilmore ‘21
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Megan Chiang ‘21
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The Love You Give Is Everlasting Emily Nguyen ‘20 The love you give is everlasting It feels me Makes me desire The love you protect is beauty It’s never ending And oh so wondrous The love you give makes me feel It provides warmth And comfort Then I awoke from my slumber And my heart sank as I have craved For the everlasting love you make me feel Where I am willing to protect the nonexistent Oh the love that can only be felt In the heart of a broken soul
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Katrina Manacio ‘20
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You Angel Sanchez ‘21 Your cute smile And your adorable brown eyes Are some of the many things That make me think about you all the time Your cheerful laugh And your wavy hair too Are just some of the many things I like about you Your intelligence is also admirable Not just the way you look Your physical attributes are like The cover of an amazing yet to discovered book Now to you I don’t know if you will read this I don’t know if you’re gonna like it But I just want you to know in this way That someone cares about you every day So be yourself, smile, and please never be blue Because the smart, bright, and cute person That I admire Is you..
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Enter Elaine Ma ‘22
don’t leave me Christa Rios ‘21 1, 2, 3, 4... i collect every memory we've had. but missing you makes me feel sad. our happiness frolicked and i always keep you in my heart. but a state of social solitude is keeping both of us apart. we climb mountains but eventually collide. minds can't match words, why do we feel empty inside? your presence is around. my eyes point at you but seeing you change is something new. our doors are shut. my joy is trying to fight the sweet pessimism. our journey is not over, right? bitterness corrupts, but love still remains. if you decide to depart, my life won't be the same. friendships can sink but they can always revive. whenever you are around, i feel happy and alive. you are the definition of a genuine friend. our adventurous story must never end. our daily movies and our chapters are “to be continued,” but not to end with “happily ever after.” please. please. don't ever leave me. because without you, my life will be lost at sea. meanwhile, life goes on and i must accept the reality. i know i am strong, and that is what i'll always be.
canadian clouds Helen Deng ‘21 47
stuck Joanne Park ‘20 A name isn’t supposed to have layers When you say it, it shouldn’t feel like much It’s the kind of sweet that lingers on your tongue Dances around and reminds you of your identity And dissolves as soon as you lick your lips But how do you taste the sweet when you possess a glossy name punctured by two oozing, messy words stuck at the top of my mouth, sticky with embarrassment Jeong Yun. No matter how many times my friends tried to fish it out i’d clamp my mouth shut and tell them it wasn’t important. that was a lie. obviously i cared about the words that carved out my existence, i just didn’t have the luxury to break off and share that existence like loaves and fishes at least, not for a crowd eager to grind it all up into something they could laugh at, gray sludge from what was once a testament to my heritage. It coated my childhood membrane of syllables Not meant to be pronounced with a foreign tongue But it always was, always butchered Its pink flesh pinned to your American tablecloth Each sound cutting it into pieces to fit a foreign palate Baptized with vanilla and cinnamon that drowns out Ginger, sesame, and soy 48
they wouldn’t just be laughing at me but my grandfather’s reputation, whose family psychic said my name would carry the sky and the stars walking on water across the ocean, to America. but when they mutilated my name with exaggerated syllables and mocking tongues, i couldn’t carry the world on my back anymore. I could barely manage the weight of the mess contained in my mouth Colorful cultural flavors locked away I crucified them with my tongue. saying it to an audience who’s never tasted it before is terrifying. a menu they don’t care to read but love to critique arrays of names beautiful to all but the audience each name got its own package, two sentences of preface saying “i know it’s not a common name, i’m sorry” i’m reassuring them, because it will be over soon. and it is. i spit it out painfully, and as the name leaves my mouth Jeong Yun -- so does my comfort, everything spilling out as i struggle to hold my mouth closed before i vomit up my pride. it’s funny how protective i am of my middle name when for most of my life, it was my only name that sat nonchalant on my official transcript, my passport, and the standardized test that i hid under the fold of my elbow worried someone would detect the alien sequence of letters and make me seem more foreign than i want to be.
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Paige Rosckes ‘21
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Car Ride Stephanie Shao ‘20
When I was younger I would stare out the car window in the back seat Blocking out all conversation Watching the blur of colors The whir of cars, the blend of billboards and dashing street lights Most times I would be separated by a slab of glass, covered in a layer of dust And bird droppings Other times I would roll down the window and feel the power of rushing air Sticking my hand out, waving at panting dogs I try in vain to see if I can hear the birds’ pretty voices I am oblivious to where my parents are bringing me and when I have to be there Nothing to worry about I just enjoy now i'm older and i focus on the road a conductor, in the driver's seat i make sure to signal before i switch lanes glance in the rear view mirror glance in the side mirror glance over the shoulder i have to know where i am going— at least i can go wherever i want whenever i want with certain restrictions of course i complain about the dimness of the headlights just as my dad did when he had to chauffeur me around the best part is playing music and singing no news station chattering about traffic or buying mattresses no worrying about mom criticizing my music taste everything is better in solitude but i still miss the times when i didn't have to pay attention at all when i could watch everything pass by in a beautiful blur of colors sometimes i wonder, if i could choose would i pick Then or Now ? Hannah Chang ‘21
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Elaine Ma ’22
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I played my part in this world you had transpired Danielle Slaughter ‘21
I played my part in this world you had transpired, Keeping myself grounded and partaking in your enchantments. You had a way with words I had never seen in this world, For you had made this your own and intended to reform. I enjoyed the world you had made all for me, But at times felt undeserving for everything you had created. I wished to share the world with others, Though, I felt selfish and kept it all to myself. As the years went on, your world had developed. No longer was it the inviting world of wonder and woe, For we had grown too old and tired of the amazement. It had all become so repetitive with no new additions being made. While your world was no longer the place it had once been, I still enjoyed every second I spent taking in your vision. You had created a glorious world that would’ve amazed the minds of many. And even if your creation may never be seen by the world, I’m lucky you felt I was worthy enough to see and understand. It’s time I moved on to pursue my vision and explore my imagination, But join me in my endeavors and maybe you’ll see what joy you had brought. 53
spicy and sweet Christa Rios ‘21 54
Jassen Yep ‘20 1. Once a day I lock myself in my private space Turn on the hot, hot water And my stereo. And I sing Where no one can hear me In my scratchy, rough tenor, Loud and shameless Full of emotion All drowned out by the splashing of water And then I dance, waltzing to the music Such as I never will in public Awkward arms swinging Side to side to side All hidden by doors, And immersed in thick steam And I think Like I have for years, that Tomorrow, Tomorrow will be different — I will turn off the splashing water, Break down the walls with my dancing, The steam slowly dissipating And I will dance for the world to see, Finally, Truly, Shameless
2. I sit Perched on the windowsill Birdlike (like a bird) Singing a tune (like a bird) But in my head I don’t dare sing aloud (a bird would) I don’t dare lift my wings and fly (a bird would) I sit Perched on the windowsill And look out across from me Where a bird sits In its nest how lucky you are 55
Erica Cardozo ‘21
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Awake Aileen Pulchny ‘19 The pain fades as you lie awake You don’t care that they’re fake They don’t care that you’re real You don’t feel what they feel So they’ll pull and they’ll quake But they’ll never break free So believe that you’ll be The last one on your feet And they look but won’t speak To repeat what they’re thinking You’re linking up only When thoughts are too lonely to hold But you’re bold So you tell yourself whisper And leave them alone To be cold for the winter … The pain stays awake and won’t go to sleep ‘Cause she cares that you’re fake And you care that she’s real But to feel would be kneeling too low So you go every day in your way And you pray that she stays But she probably hates you Will try to replace you
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Hannah Cheng ‘20
Six-Word-Stories Bowl of soup... spoon fell in Amelia Herbert ‘20 I tried loving myself every day. Sebastian Young ‘21 She bought two milkshakes, drinking one. Emilie-Anne Roxas ‘21 Stepping on Legos, ouch ouch ouch! Alexandra Wong ‘22 There’s nothing like happiness for all. Sebastian Young ‘21 May you find light in darkness. Christa Rios ‘21 The truth lies in the stars. Priyal Patel ‘21 He let go. I held on. Roisin Gilmore ‘21 Once upon a time, the end. Alexandra Wong ‘22 Everywhere I go, there’s no hiding. Sebastian Young ‘21
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Me: Santa, can I have a dragon for Christmas? Santa: Can you be realistic? Me: Can I have a boyfriend? Santa: What color dragon do you want? Paige Rosckes ‘21
There once was a man with a serious heart issue. He went to the doctor and the doctor told him, “Listen, this heart condition of yours is really terrifyingly terrible . . . But, don’t worry about it, because stress will make it worse.” Joy Barsoum ‘22
What do you call a potato that farts? A tater toot Paige Rosckes ‘21
Sun: Get up. Me: No. Sun: Get up! Me: Zzz... Sun: ... *shines even brighter, super effective* Me: ...ughhhhh Alexandra Wong ‘22
Jokes
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Megan Chiang ‘21
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What Have We to Worry Deepan Shah ‘20
The time was 7:47 P.M. and Preston was set to return home. He left his work, entered his car, and drove the short two block ride home. As he travelled home with the windows down, he couldn’t help but notice the ever-present tinge of sadness in the air, as if someone or something was disappointed in him. Every so often Preston noticed this, yet brushed it off. “What have we to worry?” he thought to himself as he got out of the car and walked up the sidewalk to his house. As he approached the house, Preston found the morning newspaper in its bag, not yet opened, awaiting his eyes to peruse the pages as he did each night. He opened the front door, kicked off his shoes one by one, and walked briskly up the stairs to the master bedroom. There he encountered his wife, Jane, completing her nightly chore. Tonight, she was beside her laundry basket, matching socks that had been misplaced. They exchanged pleasantries, and Preston sat down in his brown faux leather chair. His eyes were fixated on the newspaper. It was a luxury to hold a physical newspaper in his hands, as they had been taken out of print for a while for some unknown reason, but just last month they had come back. He fingered the date on the top right corner of the paper; it read, “January 7, 2037.” He then proceeded to read the first article that caught his eye. He read aloud, “Corn Fails to Grow for 14th Year in a Row, Farmers Promise to Try Again Next Year.” Jane heard his statement but continued with her task at hand. Preston was surprised with the news; the corn used to sprout every year in his childhood; why wasn’t it sprouting now? As he read down the article, he was elated that the farmers were going to try to grow the corn the same way next year as they had this year and each year in the past; it was the only logical way to proceed with this matter. This made Preston feel content, and he continued reading the article. *** Every year for the past fourteen years, the farmers have planted the corn, but the corn always fails to push through the surface of the rough, grainy soil to meet the radiant beams of the sun. Life and growth lay but inches to the other side of the soil, yet the seeds choose to remain lifeless. People make like seeds, and seeds make like people. Such is the way, and has been the way, for many years. *** By now, Preston had moved on to the next article. “Jane, apparently there’s a fire just seven miles north of us. Did you hear about that?” “Yes, but what have we to worry? Just the small weekly fire. It will come and go by tomorrow. Anyhow, the winds are blowing west, the fire will never reach us. Let’s go eat downstairs.” Jane stood up from her work and opened the windows on each side of the bed. Dust shook off the metal blinds and dingy air began to seep into the room.
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As they ate, Jane couldn’t help but focus on the miniature globe sitting on the fireplace mantle. “Hey, Jane, what was that problem people were worried about some twenty years ago. Had to do with the polar bears or something.” “Oh, umm, climate change.” “What ever happened to that?” “I’m not really sure, but hear me out. I think people finally realized how little climate change really matters. I don’t truly believe it exists. San Diego is still in the same place it was 100 years ago,” she said gesturing to the globe. “The waves still rise and fall and the moon still climbs the sky each night. Everyone knows the corn will grow again next year, and we still have enough food to eat. But what matters of that? All that matters is now. We have a house. We have each other. What have we to worry?” Jane and Preston finished eating, and then they headed upstairs to prepare for bed. Jane contemplated closing the windows, but ah! the winds had shifted from westward to southward, and some air was coming into the room. “How nice!” Jane thought to herself. *** The wicked fire burned and raged as it moved south toward the city. The enormous demon grew nine times its original size and seared through houses racking up deaths as a bird collects twigs for its nest. A similar tinge of sadness could be felt in the air, just as it had been felt so many times before. Soon enough, the fire engulfed Jane and Preston’s house. Fate was had. All was deserved. What have we to worry?
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summertime snack. Christa Rios ‘21.
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let me prove to you that I’m weird Mahder Aklilu ‘22
I’m a pretty weird person. I like to think of it as a compliment. I just am drawn to things that are colorful, crazy or, as Joshua would say, “very very cool.” That kid is pretty amazing. I had summer school with him and when he would make a really bad joke, he would explain it until it would get so awkwardly hilarious that everyone would fall apart with laughter. I don’t know why I told you that, but I was wearing weird clothes that were sadly out of dress code. The dress code sort of restricts my weirdness. Speaking of clothes, on the first day of school I saw a couple kids that were wearing these super cool, super 90s, and sort of retro outfits, which got me super excited because I thought they were fellow weirdos. The amount of clout displayed was beautiful, but once we got into the gym I soon realized they were just seniors in costumes. That felt sort of uncomfortable because I was the costume. I’m not mad at it though. It wasn’t offensive. I just wish their clout was real. I can’t really think of anything else, so you get to read another story about summer school. We had corn hole set up for us, but the regular version of the game got boring so we made our own. We had two teams, with each one standing behind one of the corn holes, and the objective was to pick up the beanbags and try to throw them as fast as you could into the other team’s corn hole. You could also block the other team’s bean bags from getting in yours. One time we kept on blocking this dude’s bean bag from getting in, so he started to rage by throwing the bean bags and one of them hit my non-dude friend in the head. Later in the game he just gave up on throwing and came over to just shove in the bean bag. I then made the decision to throw a bean bag at him. I didn’t really throw it hard cause I wasn’t trying to hurt him. It was more of a toss that happened to hit him in the face. I got scared for a second because he looked mad, but then he looked me in the eye and smiled. It was confusing because it was the type where I couldn’t tell whether he thought it was funny or if he was planning my assassination. Anyways, I’m sorry that you had to read my rambling, and I hope that I have proven my weirdness.
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Erica Cardozo ‘21
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Nostalgia Marijka Vernooy ‘22 The leaves danced, macabre in the cold afternoon’s glow as if pulled by the strings of passersby long deceased. The atmosphere held an eerie warmth, and I basked in it. Nothing was more satisfying than the touch of a stray raindrop against my skin or the cool caress of a breeze lilting by. I was younger then, and the changing autumnal tones called to me in voices of nymphs and fairies at work. Every circle of fat toadstools was some ethereal summoning ring, and every tap of dry, brittle branches against the worn shutters were ghouls looking for a place to rest their bones. Simpler times meant simpler pleasures, and the crunch of dying flora under the tires of my dirty bike, cool and sleek from the puddles found in the more uneven corners of the street, soothed a part of me still thirsty for the thrill of being young. My hair was pulled at by the crisp hands of dusk as I flew through ghost town-esque suburban neighborhoods, backpack heavy with the novels I’d raced to finish the night before. The sky was holding its breath in an attempt to keep the inevitable drizzles at bay, and I was thankful for its kindness. The library was lit up like a jack-o-lantern, its amiable glow waiting eagerly for me to discover the knowledge it held inside. Breathless, I bounded through the front doors into worlds unknown, full of magic and intrigue and life itself. The shelves were knowing old mentors with twinkling eyes, beckoning me forward into the ether impossibly held between bookends. Every breath was full of wonder, every step crafted purely of imagination and the need to see it into reality. Certainly the lines between the two were blurred here more than anywhere else. It matters not how I have grown apart from that innocence since, for I still have the boundlessness of those days to reel me back to who I was before I decided it was more important that I exist for the pleasure of someone else. I curled up in armchairs stained with the unknowable as I dug gleefully into tomes of adventure, passion, mystery, and spiritual nourishment. Eyeing the clock passively, I cautiously migrated (nose still between pages, mind you) to the back steps of the building, where I perched under the narrow overhang and watched the spitting rain, highlighted in street lamps and the headlights of blaring cars full of silent people. “Already?” I wondered, loading far too many books into my tiny backpack, pulling with all my strength to force the zipper closed. “I suppose so.” Pedals pumped as I rode off towards home, the promise of a hot meal, and the hope for tomorrow and all it might hold. This specific excursion stretched on for years, and no two trips were ever the same. Sometimes, I’d like to think I have the maturity to regress into that wide-eyed state, even if only for the hour it takes to get to the library and back. It’s a pity some things cannot linger on forever, that the youthfulness that once whispered in my ears and giggled as it chased me around my childhood cannot hold my hand with a soft smile even for a little while every now and then. I suppose that is what makes things worth remembering, however--the notion that something so glorious happened at least once in the universe, and that it may be enough to keep it close forever. 67
Hannah Cheng ‘20
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This I Believe Nikhil Shanbhag ‘21
I believe that not everything happens for a reason. One day, I rolled a die, and it happened to be a two. Then I rolled the die again, and this time the number happened to be a four. I was impressed and, in fact, continued to roll the die. Again, I saw the number four on top. It seemed improbable that a number would show up twice in a row, but when I was five years old, I honestly had no clue how the system worked. One last time, I made my roll, and the number on top was… a four! Who was controlling what number comes up on top? God? My two-year-old brother? My hands? I have now figured that there is only one word to describe such an event: chance. As a high schooler, I now realize the importance of probability in everyday life, especially since it proves that not everything is guaranteed. The likelihood of rolling three fours in three flips is only 1/216! Just imagine how slim of a chance this event has of occurring. I cannot explain the obsession I had with dice when I was a child. Dice were the only items that provided me joy. Furthermore, they were was primarily what I used to convince people that not all events occur for a specific reason or because of another event. Actually, a lot of events happen just by chance, and there is no explanation or reason for them. I have no way of explaining why a die can roll a four three times in a row. As for the die I used when I was five years old, it was not rigged! Neither was I a magician to force a certain number to be rolled. It was all just by chance. I will never forget that day when the number four appeared on the top so many times in a row. Many individuals claim some events happen for a particular reason, and events spark other events to occur. And I will admit, they are certainly not wrong. For example, don’t we have day and night because the earth is tilted on its axis? Hey, I learned that in fifth grade! Didn’t the Great Depression happen because of a stock market crash? Historically accurate. Don’t earthquakes happen due to plate tectonics? Scientifically proven! But think about it from a different perspective: Why, hypothetically, would there be an earthquake of magnitude 5 yesterday, but not one the day before? How on earth did I manage to roll three fours in a row on a die when I was five years old? Why did a random card that I happened to pick when I was seven years old have to be the King of Spades? There is only one answer to all these questions: not everything has a reason behind it; most events are simply due to pure luck or chance. This I believe.
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Hannah Chang ‘21
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Moderator Kevin Brazelton Proofreader Janelle Kroenung Administrator Keith Mathews Editors Aneri Bhatt Annabelle Duflock Stephanie Jue Cailey Larmore Maureen Mailhot Rachel Min Paola Moreno Emily OrdoĂąez Joanne Park Julia Pratt Bailey Phoenix Sophia Scott Deepan Shah Ishir Vaidyanath
Archbishop Mitty High School Literary Magazine
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Mission Statement The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine is a collection of original, creative fiction written by students of Archbishop Mitty. The purpose of this magazine is to support students' creative expression, to allow students to share their words and experiences in an imaginative way, and to establish a community of artists, writers, and thinkers. By creating an outlet for student voices, The Muse hopes to foster a culture of self-expression and interconnection throughout the entire student body.
Thanks for reading this issue of The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine! The words we write can have a profound impact on our understanding of the world around us. It is our sincere hope that the words within this issue have inspired you to think, write, dream, and understand more fully. Please look forward to more issues. We look forward to seeing you again and publishing the fantastic work of AMHS students. – The Editors
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