THE CARDINAL Bishop allen's literary & arts magazine
november/december 2021
EDITORS' NOTE Welcome everyone to our first issue of The Cardinal for the 2021-2022 school year. We are beyond honoured to be leading this literary magazine; it has been an incredible experience thus far, thanks to the support we have received from our teacher moderators as well as last year’s executives—Grace Bogdani, Veronika Lomets, and Emily Zalewski—who created the magazine. We have been lucky enough to continue their work, so we are extremely grateful for and proud of every one of our members. On Monday, November 8th, our club hosted our very first writing café after school in our cafeteria. We were so happy with the turnout and the creative work submitted by all the students! After a year of virtual learning, it was refreshing to meet in-person and work creatively together (as well as enjoy some delicious treats). We would like to extend a special thank you to Ms. Conroy for supervising the café and the rest of our meetings, as well as Ms. Tuckler for assisting in editing and supporting our club. We would like to commend everyone who made a submission; all the written pieces and artwork are brilliant! Those who submitted have worked hard and it shows in their final submissions. We’re very impressed with the creativity, talent, and dedication of everyone who contributed and participated! We hope you enjoy the magazine; you’re in for a real treat. - Jenna Kim, Nina Popovic, Sophia Lezhanska Executive Team
Table of Contents SHORT STORIES Elaine's Perfect Day by Anonymous (pg 5) What Burning Feels Like by Yohanna Ostrowski (pg 27)
POETRY Nightmares and Day Fears by Alessia Cataudella (pg 1) The Fire by Maja Bavcevic (pg 19)
BOOK AND MOVIE REVIEWS Brave New World reviewed by S. Hadley (pg 3) The Truman Show reviewed by Maeghan Klein (pg 12) The Inheritance Games reviewed by Megan Das (pg 34)
WRITING CAFÉ Words of Wisdom (pg 14) Maja Bavcevic (pg 15) Anonymous (pg 15) Anonymous (pg 16) Anonymous (pg 18) JP (pg 18)
WRITTEN PIECES AND SPECIAL FEATURES The Origin of the Human with the Sun by Sabrina Hu (pg 20) Photographer-In-Training by Livia Alonzi (pg 22) A Contemporary Teen by Lucie Roman-Kiss (pg 36) Movie Recommendations - Designed by Sophia Lezhanska (pg 43)
PHOTOGRAPHY
The Letter "O" by Lauren Machado (pg 40) Letter "M" by Jun Woo Oh (pg 41) The Letter "O" by Victoria Dimech (pg 42)
ARTWORK Cover by Katie Kim A Daisy's View of The World by Kain (pg 2) Truths of Cavetown by Kain (pg 4) Plakatstil Poster by Mikayla Amornsophon (pg 11) Mass Movement by Sophia H. Kim (pg 13) Aston Martin Plakatstil by Andrew Sakuta (pg 26) Fujifilm Camera by Anonymous (pg 33) Soda Plakatstil by Ambra Cekani (pg 35) Camera Plakatstil by Sophie. G (pg 39) What the Eyes See by Kain (pg 50)
Nightmares and Day Fears By Alessia Cataudella It’s quite magnificent. The golden sun transforms my fair skin into one that’s sun kissed. The flares of light hold me in a warm embrace, while the tree behind provides a delicate shade--they balance each other perfectly. The bright green grass cushions the bottoms of my feet as the blossoming flowers smile and wave. This is what peace looks like. This is what peace feels like. It’s quite magnificent. It’s quite miserable. The raging sun beams down on my burning skin. The sun kissed colour dissipates into one of a soft red fire. The glaring rays are hypnotizing; I’m floating in a lucid dream. The tree behind no longer protects me from the sun, but sits and waits to attack. The bees’ nest dangles from above with my name written in honeycomb. This is what doubt looks like. This is what doubt feels like. It’s quite miserable. It’s quite maddening. Bee after bee swarm into my humorously large ear; they’re a parasite and I’m their host. As I shake my head, enough tears flood down my face to water the dead grass beneath me. They huddle in my ear but choose not to sting. I shake, and shake, and shake, until all the bees leave the ear except one. This is what pain looks like. This is what pain feels like. It’s quite maddening. It’s quite maniacal. My ear twitches as the bee buzzes around. I try, but nothing will drive it away -- this is where it’s meant to be. The rest of the bees didn’t hurt, but this one stings like my fiery skin. Panic inhabits me, as I lose control of myself. Arms fly, face droops, my body crumbles to the ground. Suddenly, I wake up. The rough ground reverts back to a soft pillow and the blazing sun becomes a chandelier once again. . . but the lingering feeling of irritation remains in the ear. This is what nightmares look like. This is what day fears feel like. It’s quite maniacal.
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*Tutorial by Correa Art
"A Daisy's View of the World" By Kain
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Brave New World Reviewed by S. Hadley Brave New World is a classic dystopian novel, set in a futuristic world built on distractions—anything that wasn't pleasant was deemed irrelevant. This notion kept this world functioning, so anything that would hurt the citizens, or make them care too much, was removed. The "savages" of this dystopian world continue to give birth, believe in gods, and undergo physical and emotional pain. John Savage, the son of parents who were born in the brave new world but raised on the Savage Reservation, sees the world for what it is––a superficial nightmare where technology had not yet been introduced––yet still works to keep it going. He eventually gains control over this world, but he ends his life because he doesn't want to continue a life with no meaning or depth. Brave New World goes through an ostensibly successful world where everyone appears to be content, but this is only achieved by giving up freedom. This novel goes to show that a Utopia or a perfect world simply isn't possible.
This world is achieved through test tube babies, which means there is already a preordained system, which puts the humans of higher intelligence in the best jobs while the ones created with general genes are put in labour and factory work. Here in this world Huxley created, there is even chemically-induced happiness to brainwash people from the very start. This brutal message of eugenics remains relevant for our generation despite the book's release occurring several decades ago. I think what's really interesting is the question of just how far science could go without being immoral. No one would want to live in a world where everything seems great on the surface, but in reality it's restricting and the people are miserable. In conclusion, I enjoyed reading Brave New World. It is a well written and thoughtprovoking novel that portrays a scary future. As much as I enjoyed this book, it was a difficult read it was a difficult read due to Huxley's challenging vocabulary.
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Truths of Cavetown part 1 Truths of Cavetown part 2
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By Kain
Elaine's Perfect Day By Anonymous The first thing I know are the branches of the oak tree. Long and luring, steady and certain. Next, it’s the sunlight, finding its way through the twisting branches and fluttering leaves. Finding its way through all those obstacles to shine its warmth upon my face. “Elaine!” a merry voice calls. I smile sleepily and push myself up from where I lie on the grass at the foot of the tree. A girl is waving ecstatically at me, her brown hair the precise colour of the tangle of roots I use as a pillow. “Elaine, come on!” The girl gestures at me furiously. “I’m coming!” I laugh. I scramble to my feet and skip down the small hill, letting my hands brush the violets as I pass, stirring butterflies in my wake that flit and flutter in the sunny day. “We’re going to be late,” the girl, Violet, scolds in a playful manner. I take her hand as I approach and slow to a walk, letting our linked arms swing beside us. “I know, I know.” The path to the school is a storybook trail that winds through a quiet and friendly forest. As we walk, hand in hand, I tilt my head back and inhale the sweet-smelling autumn breeze. I sigh and smile at the memories of… The trees around us are sprinkles of red and gold—a mosaic of colours as well as sounds, from the rustling of the leaves to the chitter of the chipmunk. Everything is so beautiful, so splendid. “I am perfectly content,” I tell Violet in a sing-song voice. She smiles at me sadly. “Me too.” The vibrant sound of laughter and playful shrieking announce that we are nearing the schoolhouse. A bubbly feeling brews in my belly, and I pick up into a run towards the little building, dragging a giggling Violet behind me.
-5-
The schoolhouse is small and nostalgic, filled with the sounds of chattering children and clattering cupboards. Inside, there are two rows of tables with a walkway between them, as well as a large chalkboard at the front and a small stove in the corner to warm the room. Violet and I select seats in the front row and turn our attention to the board. As I prepare my pencils and books for the lesson, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn to face a willowy girl with sunken, pale skin and dark eyes. I frown at her, but she smiles at me. “Elaine, it’s me… Aleta.” I break into a grin. “Hi, Aleta, how have you been?” Aleta does not grin back. She seizes my wrist and squeezes it tightly. “Elaine, I need you to meet me after school. I have something important to tell you.” Her unrelenting grip is beginning to hurt. I place my hand over hers and give her a reassuring look. “I’ll be there,” I tell her, as confidently as I can. Excruciatingly slowly, Aleta releases my arm and retreats like a cautious cat. I turn back to face the board. As the teacher smiles broadly at the class and introduces himself, I see Violet watching me intently out of the corner of my eye. When I glance at her, she looks away. “Welcome to the start of fifth grade, everyone!” The class cheers. The teacher laughs and begins to write the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard. I wonder what Aleta wants to talk about. Just as this thought pops into my head, the bell rings. “Follow me.” Aleta hisses into my ear. She does not wait for me to follow her. Instead, she watches me get up from my table, then grabs my arm and steers me out of the schoolhouse, as if afraid that I might try to run away. I feel another hand close around my other arm: Violet. They lead me out through the field, towards the forest on the other side. I look behind me and watch the schoolhouse fade into the background, growing smaller and smaller until it ceases to exist.
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“Where are we going?” I murmur. Aleta and Violet begin to giggle eerily. “To the forest, silly,” they say in unison. The closer we get to the forest, the stronger my urge becomes to turn and flee —for this forest is most unlike the fantastical one through which the path to school winds. In this forest, even the air is different: heavier. This is not a dreamy woods; it is the type of woods that fills you with a sickening feeling that seems to claw its way past your skin and bones and wrap itself around your very heart. “Can we go back?” I breathe, seeing the bordering trees of the forest tower higher and higher above me as we draw near the entrance. Aleta and Violet only laugh, that same unsettling laugh from before. As we enter, the sunlight disappears and the wind dies down, like we have walked into a void where all pleasant things are crushed into nothingness. I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid making eye contact with the writhing trees. At last, we stop walking and I open my eyes. We are in a small clearing of tall, spindly trees. Aleta and Violet both sit down and wait for me to do the same. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask, my voice an octave higher than usual. Aleta and Violet exchange a glance. “Elaine, it’s time you know the truth.” A chill runs up my spine. “The truth?” I ask, my mouth gone dry. “That’s right.” “Okay. What’s the truth?” I have to press my palms into my lap to prevent myself from shaking. They exchange another glance. “Elaine, you already know the truth.” I slowly shake my head. “No, I don’t.” “Just think. Just look. Look at us, carefully.” I look. And then I blink, because they are gone. Where Aleta and Violet once sat, there is only rock and moss. “No,” I lean forward on my toes and wave my arm desperately through the air where they once sat. “No no no no no no no no.” I only realize that I am crying when a teardrop lands on my lap. I tilt my head back, searching for sunlight over the tops of the trees. But there is nothing. Only nothing.
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Nothing. “No!”
The first thing I know are the branches of the oak tree. Long and luring, steady and certain. Next, it’s the sunlight finding its way through the twisting branches and fluttering leaves. Finding its way through all those obstacles to shine its warmth upon my face. I smile sleepily and push myself up from where I lie on the grass at the foot of the tree. A girl is waving ecstatically at me, her yellow hair the exact colour of the sunlight I saw in a dream. “Elaine, come on!” the girl screams. “I’m coming!” I laugh. I skip down the small hill, letting my fingers brush the moss as I pass. “We’re going to be late,” Moss snarls at me. I take her hand as I approach and slow to a walk, letting our linked arms swing beside us. “I know, I know.” The path to the school is a haunting trail that winds through a frightening forest. As we walk, hand in hand, I shiver, and try to keep my gaze on my shoes. The sound of laughter and screaming announce that we are nearing the school. Glad to be almost out of the eerie woods, I break into a run, pulling Moss behind me. We break through the doors of the little building and take our seats in the front row. As I prepare my pencils and books for the lesson, I feel a sharp pain on my shoulder. I turn to face an oddly familiar girl. When the girl smiles, her name suddenly clicks into my brain. I break into a grin. “Hi, Rock, how have you been?” Rock shoots Moss an intense look. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Moss discretely nod. “Elaine,” Rock says, “You need to come with us. Now.” I glance towards the teacher, who is making his way towards the centre of the room to introduce himself. “But lessons are going to start soon!”
-8-
Rock and Moss do not listen. They each grab hold of one of my wrists, and then we are moving. Moving at a highly unnatural speed. Wind is blowing through my hair, and I am confused. Perhaps I have always been confused. Before I am really aware of what is happening, we are back in the clearing of the trees. Rock and Moss sit before me, watching me intently. I have never been here before. I have never been here before. I have never been here before. I have never been here before. “Do you remember this place, Elaine?” Moss asks tentatively. “NO.” “You’ve been here before,” Rock insists, in a much harsher tone. “Think, Elaine. Think.” “I’ve thought, and I am certain that I have never been here before.” They do not continue to pester me. “Tell us the truth, Elaine.” “I don’t know the truth.” “Yes, you do.” Yes, I do. “Neither of you are real,” I say in a sudden revelation. And just like that, they are gone. “Correct.” I say, making myself jump, as if I had not initiated that thought. “But there’s more to it,” I say again. Stop. I think, as my mouth has fallen victim to my mind. Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop. “I know the truth.” Funny how a word, when repeated so many times, loses its meaning.
The first thing I know are the branches of the oak tree. Long and luring, steady and certain. Next, it’s the sunlight finding its way through the twisting branches and fluttering leaves. Finding its way through all those obstacles to shine its warmth upon my face.
-9-
“Elaine!” a voice calls. I jolt up to see a girl with brown hair waving at me. She is so familiarly unfamiliar that her very image fills me with dread. I do not know this girl—of this I am certain—but I do know that this is not a girl I should talk to. “No!” I scream. I scramble to my feet and scamper down the opposite side of the hill, away from the girl. The wind picks up as I go, slamming into me like a solid wall and scattering my hair into twisting tendrils that whip furiously around my head. Something prickly scratches at my ankles and a roar from the clouds above announces a sudden shower of hail. I am scratched, messy and terrified. I risk a glance over my shoulder—the girl has not moved an inch. Nevertheless, I keep running. I keep running through the forest and towards the schoolhouse when I see it in the distance. But I do not dare to go in when I see the sunken face of a girl with dark hair in the window, watching me. This girl is another I must avoid, my mind tells me. And so I run. I run and run and run and run, and get nowhere. It becomes clear to me that no matter which direction I choose, I always circle back to the oak tree, and then back to the schoolhouse, where the two girls are always waiting and watching. When I can no longer muster the energy to run, I sink to the ground at the foot of the oak tree and wail, for when I look up, there is no sunlight shining through its branches. I do not have to look to know that Elaine and Elaine have arrived. Instead I keep my face hidden in the crook of my arm, and I sob for the absence of time. “All things fade in the passage of time. All things, in turn, fall victim to oblivion,” Elaine sings. “That’s the truth.” At that moment, everything goes silent. At that moment, the sounds and smells of the world all vanish, as if they never were. When I finally open my eyes, I see what I have tried so hard to blind myself to: nothing. There is nothing. Around me, nothing. Above me, nothing. Below me, nothing. Just an endless sea of nothingness from now until the end of time. And among this nothingness is me. For I, too, am nothing.
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Plakatstil Poster Drawn by Mikayla Amornsophon
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The Truman Show Reviewed by Maeghan Klein The Truman Show, written by Andrew Niccol, is by far one of the most in-depth movies I have ever watched. The movie revolves around Truman, a man who is oblivious to the fake reality he has been put into. Throughout the movie, he questions himself and everyone around him. He faces self identity problems as well as problems with this “wife,” who he suspects is part of his fake life. This movie teaches us to never take our lives for granted, and to follow our own paths— not the one set for us by others. I would really recommend this movie to anyone who gets the feeling of derealization, and people who just need a bit of help figuring out who they are. “We accept the reality of the world with which we’re presented. It’s as simple as that.”
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Mass Movement
By Sophia H. Kim - 13 -
THE CARDINAL'S VERY FIRST...
Writing Café This year, we held a Writing Café for students to create potential submissions and express their creativity with fellow writers!
The personal prompt for this session was "Words of Wisdom"! Below are some of the lovely pieces our members have written.
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Words of Wisdom Failure and imperfection are okay; thinking you’re imperfect because of failure is not. Constantly striving for perfection can be advantageous, but it can also be immensely damaging. It can lead you not to settle for anything less than your best. Striving for perfection and accepting nothing less can produce exceptional results. But that, just like all other things, has a downside. Believing that you must always outdo yourself, or constantly be perfect is believing a lie. It is okay to mess up. It’s okay to fail. It’s okay not to be perfect. What’s not okay is believing that you are messed up, a failure, or imperfect because of it.
Maja Bavcevic
An overlooked truth about humanity is that we are all flawed. Perfection is rarely achievable, and even if we somehow do achieve it despite the obstacles of reality, it is not something that can be maintained. So a message: Don’t try to be perfect. Try your best in all that you do, but don’t feel the need to BE the best. Celebrate your successes and accept your failures. Stop chastising yourself over irreversible mistakes of the past or think of what could have been. Instead, look towards the future and love all that you are: the strengths and the weaknesses. Accepting yourself is the only way to find happiness. Anonymous
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When I think about words of wisdom that changed my way of thinking, I will always remember the words spoken to me by a teacher; “One day, you’ll have to fail at something, and when that happens you’re just going to have to deal with it.” They didn’t seem to be much more than playful teasing at the time, but they still ring true years later. Growing up, I viewed failure as the end. There was no hope for redemption, if you failed, that was it. It was over. Looking back, this world view may seem a little extreme, but to a narrow minded child, failure was obsolete. At the time I didn’t know any better. I was the model child, the kid who brought home straight A’s, who never got a call home from the office, who was a pleasure to have in class. These little words of praise I became accustomed to as a child developed into a necessity as I grew older. I had begun to base my worth on what I could achieve rather than who I was as a person. I had to be the model child because I didn’t know who I was otherwise. This dependency on encouragement I had created meant I had no way to view myself or my work objectively. Nothing I did or said had value until someone told me it did. I was only as good as other people thought I was. The problem with this mindset is that it’s an endless and draining cycle. The better you do, the greater your own and other people's expectations are, and the harder you push yourself.
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The concept of failure was so foreign that I hadn’t even thought about how I would deal with it if it did occur. So, the first time I didn’t immediately succeed at something, my self confidence shattered. After avoiding failure for so long, I lacked coping skills. Instead of recognizing that it was my first attempt at a new and challenging topic, I zeroed in on the bad grade, the first spot on my flawless record. All I could think about was how others would view me if they knew. It haunted me the rest of the semester, reminding me that I wasn’t as good as everyone else, that I couldn’t measure up and didn’t deserve to be there. Maybe if I had allowed myself to be a little less perfect as a child, I would have had more confidence in my abilities, but after growing up in such a competitive environment, I had no other way of thinking. I couldn’t bounce back because I had never done so before. The one thing these words of wisdom lacked was an explanation of how to deal with failure. There are millions of ways to cope. The most important thing, however, is to forgive yourself. Even though I may have crashed and burned the first time I was unsuccessful, I’ve grown since then. I will accept myself when it seems like everyone is moving forward but me. I am kind to myself when I don’t do as well as I had hoped. And most importantly, I will forgive myself when I make mistakes, no matter how trivial they seem. The truth is, no matter how hard you try, there will always be something you're going to fail at, at least the first time. No one is naturally good at everything, and for some people, accepting that can be hard. It’s important to stop viewing failure as a source of shame and disappointment, but rather an inevitable human experience that we can grow from. Our failures do not define us, but neither do our achievements. We must learn to find validation within ourselves rather than from others. Sometimes you will fail, and you just have to deal with it.
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Anonymous
“Do what you want with your life, and care about everything after.” I’m betting that throughout my life I’ve been given many things that could be considered “words of wisdom”. However, the most memorable ones would mostly come from my mom. My mother tells me this often: “Do what you want with your life, and care about everything after.” Normally, one can apply this piece to anything, but my mom was specifically referring to my future. If one thing can spiral me into an endless vortex of unending apathy and fear, it’s the future. No matter how dramatic or emotional that may appear, when it comes down to it, the fragility of my thoughts concerning the future is alarmingly real. However, the one thing that reassures me to no end is how much love and support my mom gives me when it comes to my career. She says that you should pursue what makes you truly happy, regardless of what anyone says or thinks. “Their judgement shouldn’t control your life,” she claims.
Anonymous
“You define what perfect is.” Growing up, I always thought I had to be perfect. I had the mentality that being perfect equated to being successful. I never thought to question this belief, even though I was surrounded by successful people who weren’t perfect. This idea of perfectionism began to overwhelm me in high school. While studying for a math test, my mom approached me and told me words of wisdom I will never forget: “You define what perfect is.” From that moment forward, my perception of perfection shifted. I am not perfect, and the moment I realized that, I was closer to perfection than I have ever been.
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JP
The Fire By Maja Bavcevic I stood there, staring at the fire with her scream still ringing in my ears. All I could picture is her being pulled into the dark forest, flaming torch in hand. I see his hand on her wrist, pulling her into the woods, the darkness makes it impossible to see what happens next. I hear her scream. The high, ear piercing, screech of sheer terror that seemingly engulfs the whole world. Her silhouette fell to the floor. The torch in her hand illuminating the space just enough to see her body hit the floor. It hit the ground last and engulfed the pile of leaves on which it fell in flames. They painted the night sky with flicks of red and orange as the sparks flew, circling her body in a thick wall of fire. I could have left right then and there, but couldn’t bring myself to leave her there alone. I sat there for hours. Maybe I could have saved her; but maybe I could have died too. Whatever killed her was undoubtedly able to kill me too. For years I told myself leaving her was the right thing to do, thinking if I lied to myself enough, I may be able to drown in the lie the way she drowned in flames that day. The ‘what if’s’ would undoubtedly haunt me for years to come. But in that brief moment, I stood there staring at the fire, her scream still ringing in my ears.
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The Human with the Sun By Sabrina Hu
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The Origin of The Human with the Sun Through the tiny space between the furs, the five senses of the woman are vaguely showing. The sunflower on top of the furs is the focal point of the art piece, employing the same arrangement as The Son Man, which is a famous drawing by a German artist. In that painting there is a man in a suit and a green apple covering his face. The sunflower is wildly blooming as it radiates the feeling of positivity and warmth, like the sun. The Human with the Sun, with its overall tone of warm colours including yellow, orange, red and purple, which specifically mirror one of Picasso’s masterpieces, Woman in a Hat with Pompoms and a Printed Blouse. The collision of these colours, especially the yellows and the reds, provides the impression of sunlight shining on you during the sunset and sunrise. By contrast, a creamy white colour was mixed with a milky white was to form the background. Rather than diverting attention from the focal element, this soft combination emphasizes the human with the sunflower.
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"Photographer-In-Training" By Livia Alonzi
“Livia, look over here!” “Guarda qui, Livia!” “Smile!” Being an only child, photographs were very common in my household, and I often found myself the subject of them. Every single move of mine was documented. My first steps? Yep. My first time eating ice cream? Yessiree. Taking a bath? You can bet on it! Photography was never a foreign concept to me, and it seemed like everyone I knew had a camera, whether it was a fancy one from Canon or just a regular digital one. It was only when my mom lent me her little silver camera, one I could call my “own”, that I picked up my love for photography and finally graduated from being the documented to the documenter.
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I took that silver camera everywhere. To the park, on vacation, to weddings — I never left the house without it. Four-year-old me was surprisingly talented, as I would imitate my dad’s every move when he was taking pictures with his grown-up Canon camera. Whether it was him going down on one knee to get a better shot, turning the camera vertically, or covering the lens a little bit, I would copy every single action with my little camera with an astounding amount of ease. When he finally let me use his special camera, I was over the moon! I must have taken countless photos that day. It was when my cousin Pina got married in September of 2008 when I had one of my most special and cherished moments with my camera. When I first laid eyes on her in her dress, I thought she was the prettiest person in the world. She had her reception in a huge ballroom, like something out of a Disney movie. When she came into the room, between the whimsical music and the magical lighting filtering through the banquet hall, she looked like a true princess. Her gorgeous gown was made out of the sparkliest, floatiest material ever. As she moved around, her dress would fan out, making it seem as though she was wearing a sparkly cloud. I loved it. I called her Princess Pina, and I took photos of her all night long! She didn’t even need to hire a photographer; I was right there, ready to do the work required. I thought my mom did a good job of dressing me, too, so when I went to the bathroom I snapped some photos of myself in the mirror. (Talk about taking a mirror selfie before it was cool!)
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As much as I love being in front of the camera, I love being behind it even more. Seeing the beauty in everyday life is so easy when you have the tools to capture it with. My mom has told me time and time again to start a gratitude journal, and my only response has been to just show her my camera: my digital journal. Taking photos has helped me stay positive throughout my life, even when the times were extremely trying (and, trust me, I’ve had my fair share of trying times). Taking pictures helps me see the wonder of every day; looking at the world through a different lens reveals the small, beautiful details that are often overlooked. It’s therapeutic for me. I feel so much better after clicking that little button. Moreover, I love taking photos because everything on my camera turns into a time machine. I can see family who are no longer with us; I can remember the marvelous memories, and even the awful. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time, re-entering the pictures that I once took. I would be five years old again, back when my biggest concern was figuring out what toy I was going to play with next; or all those times my mom took me to Canada’s Wonderland, towing me along in a little wagon; or family trips, either to the grocery store or halfway across the world. But the most I can do is just look at the photos and take some more, to immortalize the good times and the people who come with them. Without a doubt, pictures are an important part of my identity. I don’t know who I would be without them. They help me see the joy of every day, and there is nothing quite like the
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satisfaction of snapping the perfect shot. I can always expect to be cheered up whenever I pick up my trusty camera, as I know that I’ll be able to take a beautiful souvenir home with me soon. I am eternally grateful to my mom for letting me use her little silver camera that fateful day, fourteen years ago. I am grateful to her forevermore for being my subject, my model, the one who is most important to me. Whether I am happy or I am down in the dumps, there are two words that will never fail to put a spring in my step: “Say cheese!”
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Aston Martin Plakatstil
By Andrew Sakuta
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What Burning Feels Like By Yohanna Ostrowski
I raised my face to admire the few, dim stars that were scattered across the black sea of space. The white glow of the August harvest moon floated in the center of my vision, outshining all the other celestial objects around it. I breathed in the darkness surrounding me and, for no reason in particular, smiled to myself. I always got the giggles when I was under the influence. “Luna!” I called out. I received no answer. Of course I didn’t. What did I expect? I wasn’t going to find my designated driver by breaking my neck looking up. I let my eyes travel back down to earth, and was disappointed to find that nothing had changed since I had last looked upon the scene. The great stone wall that encompassed the property still made it very clear that only the chosen elites of society were welcome at a place like this. The tall, twisted iron gates at the front of the estate were still wide open, welcoming all of California’s most affluent teenagers to come enjoy a night of damaging their parents' bank account balances. The circular, cement driveway at the entrance was still littered with sports cars of every make and model, awaiting the return of the intoxicated drivers and the plus ones they had picked up for the night. The fountain that sat in the center of the padlock still gurgled peacefully, lulling the guard dogs to sleep inside their shelter. The gravel path leading from the driveway through rows of well trimmed shrubs up to the porch still seemed just as long as when I had walked up it the first time hours earlier. The mansion hosting the end of summer celebration was still unnecessarily exuberant and practically screamed the words “disposable income”. The guests were still either skinny dipping in the pool, taking shots, throwing up in the bathrooms, smoking weed on the balcony or having sex in one of the bedrooms. The porch I stood on was thankfully still the quietest place in the whole house. Even I was the same as I had been a couple minutes ago. While I couldn’t see my own reflection,
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I knew my deeply tan skin, golden eyes and curly sun-bleached hair hadn’t changed since I had last seen myself in one of the bathroom mirrors after throwing up. It was an incredibly disappointing experience, but people said the world was full of disappointments. I couldn’t help but agree. This party had left me feeling worse instead of better, which was not the reason I had come in the first place. I’d been having a weird experience; it had felt like every second passing was as long as a year, like my thoughts were moving at a speed my body couldn’t keep up with. It was very aggravating. I was starting to believe that sobriety really was the way to go. I looked down at my hands, and noticed that they were shaking as they gripped the banister. Actually, it seemed like the whole world was shaking. I was far too intoxicated to be here without embarrassing myself horribly. Just another reason why I had to go home. And another reason why I had to find my designated driver. I focused back on the task at hand and turned to face the open doorway that I had just stumbled out of. Even from the front porch, I could feel the bass from the speakers, playing a song I didn’t know, shaking the foundations of the mansion and rattling my rib cage around. The blue and purple strobing lights that illuminated the room I was staring into were giving me a headache, and I remembered why I had stepped outside in the first place; I was feeling a tad bit nauseous from all the different substances that had entered my body so far tonight. I forced myself to stare into the room and searched through the mess of bodies and faces to find the girl I was looking for. The colourful strobing beams were the only source of light illuminating the environment, and I watched them flashover the new carpet made up entirely of red solo cups and crushed beer cans. I followed the purple glow as it crawled across the room, passing over a group of guys snorting cocaine in the corner, then two girls starting a fight by the liquor table, and finally, a mass of couples dancing in ways they shouldn’t, until my eyes found her. “Luna!” I repeated, this time a little louder. Was I louder? I couldn’t tell. I had an awful tendency to lose my volume control whenever I felt a little under the influence of anything and everything. Regardless, it seems my tone was just right since a second or two later, out of the haze of smoke and changing colours, emerged my designated driver.
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She was far too pale for someone living on the West Coast. Seriously, this girl was ghostly white, and the black leather mini skirt and tube top she was wearing only brought more attention to her colouring. At least she was coordinated about it, as her outfit matched the colour of her short, straight bob cut and large eyes. Her black heels crunched the debris on the floor as she stepped out of the heat and noise of the house into the solitude and peace of the porch, shutting the door that I had previously left open behind her. “You called for me, Helios?” She stared at me with her empty, apathetic eyes, quietly observing what state I was in. Her voice had that controlled and constrained tone that she always maintained when she spoke, which was calming in a situation like this, but had never failed to unnerve me. “Luna!” I cried. It seems I was happier than usual to see her, but I’m not sure why, considering she was the one who was going to be dragging my drunk ass home. “It’s home time,” I told her, showing the time on my phone; 4:17 AM. “Indeed it is,” she replied. If it wasn’t obvious by now, Luna was the best designated driver you could ask for. She was still dressed up and having fun at the party, but acted sober enough that no cop would even think of pulling her over. “C’mon,” she said gently, touching my arm to guide me in the right direction as she walked past me down the porch steps. “The cars this way.” “Luna!” I shrieked again. Thank God she was with me, I don’t know how I would’ve acted if I didn’t have my mature little chaperone by my side. “I’m not that drunk,” I said with a little giggle. “Of course not,” she replied patiently, while still leading me down the long gravel stretch to the driveway where my car was parked. “Wait a minute.” I shrugged off her arm and very eloquently was sick in the manicured hedges I had been admiring earlier in the night. "Oops,” I said, wiping my mouth once I had finished. “So tastefully said,” she replied, while searching around in the little black clutch that she had somehow managed to keep safe the whole night. “What are you looking for?” “This.” She revealed a small silver flask from the depths of her purse and handed it to me.
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"Please, Luna,” I said, giggling. “I think we both know that the last thing I need right now is more alcohol. Besides, I thought you hated all and any substances, but as it turns out you’re secretly a heavy drinker?!” I finished, giggling some more. “I’m not,” she spun the cap quickly and forcefully with those long black nails of hers and took a swig that would not have been so easy to take if hard liquor really did exist in that flask. “It’s water,” she informed me, handing the silver container back to me. “Delicious.” I gurgled and spat, then drained the small canteen to help get my blood alcohol levels lower in case we were pulled over, since I was almost certain I was over any legal limit in every state. "Truly delicious,” I repeated once more, returning the now empty silver container to its rightful owner. “But why the disguise?” I asked, hiccuping on the last word; I guess I had drank too quickly for my own good. “Because,” she started as she hunted in her purse for the place to return the flask, “if I want to be a designated driver and still have fun, I have to at least act tipsy.” She succeeded in her quest and looked up at me again. “If I convince everyone else around me that I’m absolutely plastered, like yourself,” she continued, giving a sweet smile to make it clear she was joking, “then I’ll convince myself I’m plastered too. I’m a strong believer in the saying ‘if you tell a lie often enough, it becomes true’.” “What?” I giggled. “Nothing.” she replied, putting away her smile as quickly as she had put away her flask. “Now c'mon,” she encouraged, as she spun on her heel to face our destination. “Make sure you’re sick before we get into the car.” “Aye aye captain!” I answered, giving a little salute and hiccuping again. She didn’t bother looking back. I followed her like a dog on a leash. I managed not to throw up again as I stumbled down the gravel driveway to where we were parked, following the back of Luna’s head the whole way. I slumped into the shotgun seat of my white Lamborghini as Luna revved the car so we could get going. I heard the wail of fast approaching sirens in the distance.
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We pulled out of the parking lot and made it out of the estate before the police cars made it in. We drove in silence. I was too out of it to say anything, and Luna wasn’t much of a talker. She never had been. I was starting to doze out of consciousness as I stared into the dark, winding road ahead leading away from the mansion. I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them again we were on a highway. The sky had gotten brighter. We were the only cars on the road. I looked over to my left and was surprised to find Luna smoking a cigarette. “Luna!” I cried “I didn’t know you smoked.” “You must’ve been out for a while.” Her eyes never left the empty stretch of road in front of her, as her left hand gripped the steering wheel and her right gripped her cigarette. “I went through your whole pack” she said, lifting the empty McDonald’s package from the dashboard. “Sorry about that.” “But I thought you hated all the substances?” She smiled and tore her eyes away from the road to stare at the cigarette she was holding in her right hand. “It’s just because this cigarette is the same as me.” She focused back on the road but kept smiling to herself. “We’re both on fire.” I didn’t understand what she was saying, and I didn’t have time to ask before I fell asleep again with my head pressed against the window, the smell of nicotine filling the air. When I was conscious the third time I had sobered up enough to realize that something was terribly wrong. "Luna.” I started. My forehead was pressed against the cold, tinted glass of the window, as I stared out onto the large stretch of beach in front of us. The sun was starting to rise, and I knew we were not where we were supposed to be. This was not my neighborhood. “Luna, where are we?” “I think we’re both on fire, Helios.” “What?” The sound of sand tapping against the windshield was all I could hear, as we lurched forward through the dunes.
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“Luna?” “I’m doing this for both of us, Helios.” She slammed on the gas. The ocean was so close “Luna!” I tried to grab the steering wheel out of her hands. She pushed me off. Water splashed up on the windshield as we made an impact with the waves. Liquid was sloshing up around us. Someone was yelling. I think that was me. Someone was laughing. I think that was Luna. I closed my eyes and when I opened them again, the sun's rays were shining over the horizon, painting the sky beautiful shades of purple and pink as the black ocean started rising around us. “Luna!” I frantically tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge. They were locked. We were trapped from the inside. “Luna, open the door!” I was frantically shaking the handle now. We were fully submerged. “We’re both on fire, Helios. Just like a cigarette.” The bottom of the car began to fill with water. I was pounding on the windows. “Luna, open the doors!” “I guess this is the only way for us to cool down.” The water had risen quickly. It was scary, but I think I understood what she meant. So when the water went over my head, I didn’t panic. I instead enjoyed the feeling as we sank. Is this what it felt like to be in space? No. This is what it felt like to be on fire.
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Fujifilm Camera By Anonymous
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The Inheritance Games The Inheritance Games by Jennifer Lynn Barnes is a fastpaced book filled with mystery, puzzles, and endless twists. This book looks into the life of a 17-year-old girl named Avery Grambs who has just inherited 46.2 billion dollars from Tobias Hawthorne, a man she’s never met. Seems like she won the lottery of the century, doesn't it? The catch is: she has to move into his mansion filled with puzzles and solve all of them. She only has one year to do this, or else she will lose the inheritance. The house is also occupied by the Hawthorne family that was just disinherited. When the grandsons Jameson and Grayson show interest in Avery — in more ways than one— things only become more complicated. Now, it’s up to Avery to solve the mystery of why she of all people was picked to inherit Tobias Hawthorne’s fortune.
While reading this book, it’s easy to get invested in the mystery and the lives of the Hawthornes, as well as the romance between Avery and the Hawthorne grandsons. I would recommend this to anyone who loves a good puzzle. This book draws you in and keeps you entertained the entire time, making it impossible to put down.
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By Ambra Cekani - 35 -
A Contemporary Teen By Lucie Roman-Kiss As Jia Tolentino, author of Trick Mirror, a contemporary feminist novel, once described, “If you were a girl, and you were imagining your life through literature, you would go from innocence in childhood to sadness in adolescence to bitterness in adulthood—at which point, if you hadn’t killed yourself already, you would simply disappear” (Tolentino 95). Young women in literature are hopelessly unsophisticated, disturbingly unwell, and viciously depressed. The portrayal of heroines in literature and entertainment often resonate the most deeply with modern day maidens. Movies like The Notebook describe our passionate and often toxic relationships, fairy tales like "Cinderella" characterize our rise from ugliness, characters like Blair from Gossip Girl represent our binge eating disorders, and Lux from The Virgin Suicides captures our degenerate, and possible suicidal tendencies.
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At some point during adolescence, the relationship develops into a sort of distorted admiration. Young women bury themselves behind novels or bask in the artificial light of their MacBook Airs, escaping from their own reality of a contemporary teen to a hypersexualized portrayal of the exact same female, a euphemized version of a suicidal 17 year old girl. Her eating disorder only ever emphasizes her youthful look, and she never seems to lose any friends as a result of her careless debauchery. Her smudged makeup only alludes to late nights spent with good friends, and the smell of cigarettes and vodka sodas are never of any concern. Modern maidens hide behind novels about modern maidens hiding behind novels. Modern maidens deglamorize their very own lives without ever realizing that the heroine of their favourite novel, movie, or TV show is living a life parallel to their own. The 2011 British TV series Skins is considered a paradigm of a contemporary teen’s juvenescent life. Main character Effy is only fifteen, yet she has already developed a smoking habit as well as psychotic depression. Effy is often idealized by young females in the Skins community. One Reddit user comments, “Girls who like Effy, are Effy. Maybe they don’t look like her or dress like her, but mentally, they are her. There is no excuse for liking her, she’s pretty... awful as this entire subreddit has established over and over again. So if you like her, it’s because you don’t see anything wrong with her.”
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Although it’s easy to assume that all young women are identical carbon copies of each other, especially when we spend most of our days and nights binge watching teen dramas and reading novels where the only distinguishing feature between a group of girls is the colour of their hair and their favourite designer brand, this is not the case in the real world. Young women come in all shapes and sizes, many of us do not idolize eating disorders and binge drinking. Many of us do not smoke cigarettes to stay thin and many of us do not see the world through smoke or mirrors or rose coloured glasses. It’s easy to fall into the trap that society has set for us, to entice young women to be hedonistic beings with alcoholic tendencies, disordered habits, and mental unwellness. What must we do to prevent more young women from reducing themselves to modern literature’s image of a contemporary teen, unruly and untamed?
WORKS CITED
Eugenides, Jeffrey. The Virgin Suicides. New York :Warner Books, 1994.
“R/Skinstv - the Real Reason Girls like Effy.” Reddit, https://www.reddit.com/r/skinsTV/comments/hgxz7s/the_real_reas on_girls_like_effy/.
Sparks, Nicholas. The Notebook. Grand Central Publishing, 2016.
TOLENTINO, JIA. Trick Mirror. S FISCHER, 2021.
Image taken from The Bling Ring (2007 Sofia Coppola Film)
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By Sophie G.
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PHOTOGRAPHY
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RECOMMENDATIONS We asked students to submit movie recommendations (especially Christmas movie recommendations) on our Instagram page, @balitmagazine. Here are the responses!
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Arthur Christmas (2011)
Everyone knows that, each Christmas, Santa Claus delivers presents to every last child on Earth. What everyone doesn't know is that Santa accomplishes the feat with a very high-tech operation beneath the North Pole. But when the unthinkable happens, and Santa misses one child out of hundreds of millions, someone has to save the day. It's up to Arthur (James McAvoy), Santa's youngest son, to deliver a present to the forgotten tyke before Christmas morning dawns.
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Die Hard (1988)
New York City policeman John McClane (Bruce Willis) is visiting his estranged wife (Bonnie Bedelia) and two daughters on Christmas Eve. He joins her at a holiday party in the headquarters of the Japanese-owned business she works for. But the festivities are interrupted by a group of terrorists who take over the exclusive highrise, and everyone in it. Very soon McClane realizes that there's no one to save the hostages -- but him.
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Air Force One (1997) After making a speech in Moscow vowing to never negotiate with terrorists, President James Marshall (Harrison Ford) boards Air Force One with his family (Wendy Crewson, Liesel Matthews) and advisers. When a group of terrorists led by Ivan Korshunov (Gary Oldman) hijacks the flight, the President's principles are put to the test. Feigning escape, exsolider Marshall stows away in the aircraft and must race against time to rescue his family and everyone else on board.
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Hitch (2005)
Dating coach Alex "Hitch" Hitchens (Will Smith) mentors a bumbling client, Albert (Kevin James), who hopes to win the heart of the glamorous Allegra Cole (Amber Valletta). While Albert makes progress, Hitchens faces his own romantic setbacks when proven techniques fail to work on Sara Melas (Eva Mendes), a tabloid reporter digging for dirt on Allegra Cole's love life. When Sara discovers Hitchens' connection to Albert -- now Allegra's boyfriend -- it threatens to destroy both relationships.
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Little Women (2019)
In the years after the Civil War, Jo March lives in New York and makes her living as a writer, while her sister Amy studies painting in Paris. Amy has a chance encounter with Theodore, a childhood crush who proposed to Jo but was ultimately rejected. Their oldest sibling, Meg, is married to a schoolteacher, while shy sister Beth develops a devastating illness that brings the family back together.
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Tangled
(2010)
Disney animation of a classic tale: Beautiful princess Rapunzel has been locked away in a tower since she was captured as a baby by an old hag. Her magical long blonde hair has the power to provide eternal youth, and the evil Gothel uses this power to keep her young. At the age of 18, Rapunzel becomes curious about the outside world, and when a prince uses her tower as a refuge, she asks him to help her escape.
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By Kain - 50 -
