The Dome
A Journal of Art and Literature 2022 Edition
Editor: Managing Editor: Phoebe Smith ’22 Graphic Designer: Phoebe Smith ’22
Faculty Advisor: Mari LoNano
Cover Artwork: Will O’Callaghan ’22
Title Page Artwork: “Lucy” by Motoya Kimura ’23
Back Cover Artwork: Fiona Dong ’23
The Dome 2022
Berkshire School’s Literary Magazine
Table of Contents Ellie Grimmett, “The House That Fades Away” - 6 Leo Yang, “Nocturne” - 8 Leo Yang, “Time Machine” - 10 Boden Gammill, “Where Is He?” - 14 Will Onubogu, “A Body of Fragility” - 17 Layla Pallone, “Sweet Home” - 18 Cole O’Donnell, “Lost Snow” - 20 Luke Trevisani, “Red Sonnet” - 22 Stanley Bright, “Sun Sonnet” - 23 Celina Zhao, “Academic Pressure for Asian Students: Why Do We Try To Be Perfect?” - 24 Emma Ferer, “Ambitions” - 26 Augie Swenson, “Lost Time” - 27 Sun Davis, “Tag” - 30
Kiki Grace, “Imagining in Isolation” - 32 Will Onubogu, “This Summer Man” - 34 Lillie Simpson, “Red” - 36 Will Onubogu, “Maluma” - 37 Will Onubogu, “A Place of Solitude” - 38 Catherine Yan, “Censorship of the Chinese #MeToo Movement: When Victims Become Criminals” - 39 Ellie Grimmett, “Marionette Dances” - 40 Pryor Sullivan, “Unexpected Road Trip” - 43 Kailey Grabowski, “Red Flash” - 46 Charlie Coutts, “Hurricane Killer” - 49 Will Onubogu, “Drowning” - 52 Celina Zhao, “Number 0172” - 54 Liv Angioletti, “Postcard Journal” - 59
The House That Fades Away My dad always says it was a good house. “It was good to us,” he tells me when I reminisce about the shady street it lives on, the neighbors, or the memories. I know it was good to us and I believe that. It’s just hard to believe that we were good to it. We were the ones who left it. Packed up and drove away. Days before we left it for real we weren’t really living there. I can remember the blurred houses next door and the objects in the rooms. I quizzed myself on the plane the day we left, thinking that if I could hold onto the exact way it was then, it would be with me forever. And yet, somehow, that house, our house, still fades away. It hurt to leave it. It hurt like there was a hole in my heart and when I think of my old life too much it feels like the sun is in my throat. A massive lump, making my eyes burn and start to water to put out the flames. It’s hard to be homesick for a place you can’t go back to. In the pictures, it all seems so clear. The white panels and steeped driveway. The red door and pool in the backyard. In my mind, the memories start to have water stains. What was on the walls and how we used to live. After a while, even the sounds start to sound warbled, like they are songs on the radio playing miles out of range. Sometimes in my mind I get on a plane and fly 2,970 miles to that street, Canton Drive, it looks the same as it did when I left. Past the tennis courts and the long steep driveways, past the rose bushes and the massive house across the street. In my mind, I pass the house where I found a lizard skeleton in the yard and the next day it was gone, past the house with the bamboo along the side, past my mom’s first house where she and my dad lived together. In my mind I drive around the cul-de-sac where the neighbor did tai-chi. I drive back down the road and the gate that always used to break is already open. The tires squeal just as they used to and I pull into the garage driving over the imprint of my sister’s feet in the concrete. In my mind, I will myself to unlock the door and step into the house that was mine. The house that was once so familiar to me and yet, now could be unrecognizable. I take a journey in my mind of what could still be if I was back there. What gets to me still is the unknown. The fact that I don’t know what the walls now look like or what furniture accompanies the rooms. I could drive past my street every day and never go up because knowing that I am so close and that house isn’t mine would be worse than not knowing what it was like now at all. So it remains, the house that fades away. Ellie Grimmett ’25
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Ben Cabot ’22 7
Nocturne Night The sun closes its eyes Whisper a sweet dream Goodnight I I stayed up all night Pondering my future One more sleepless night If dreamer can incept subconscious mind Would I be able to trust what I see Would I ever recall what I dream And I can see the boy In his childhood dream He was told there is nothing that he cannot be He doesn’t know that it’s not easy Time It waits for no one Slips through my finger I lost count of mine I I’m walking through time Aimlessly wander there’s nothing to find If gravity distort space and light Would I be able to trust what I see Would I be able to follow my dream
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And I can see the boy In his teenage dream He was told there is nothing that he cannot be He learned to face the reality Mom and dad told me That I can be anyone I want Little fires in my heart Try not to prove them wrong Now he has family He told his kids They can be anything that they wanted to be He always teach ‘em how to dream Leo Yang ’22
Fiona Dong ’23 9
Time Machine
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Leo Yang ’22
Sammie Glogoff ’23 12
Maggie Shen ’22 13
Where Is He? It was a gloomy humid summer day. It was our first day back since we got home from Hawaii. My bag was still half unpacked, and I didn’t know when I was going to finish it. Dirty clothes were splattered under my bed, my toothbrush was nowhere to be found, and I’m pretty sure I lost my computer charger on the plane. I told my brother I’d go on a run with him when we got back home. We hadn’t worked out in a little while so we thought a light jog would get us back in the routine. There are multiple trails we like to go on behind our house, but I thought we could switch it up a little and make it kind of a race. My 13-year-old brother Paul and I both got new sneakers from the mall while on vacation and wanted to test them out. I got blue and black Nikes that were slightly big, but they were too cool to pass up even though they didn’t quite fit me. Paul wasn’t a Nike guy and got gray adidas. We changed into running clothes and planned where we were going to run. “Why don’t I go through Waverly Park, and you could go on the main road and meet up at the end.” I asked “Oh, so you don’t want to be seen while you run like a penguin,” Paul said with a subtle chirp. “Save the trash talk for when I beat you in the end,” I chimed in. I made my way to the park in my black Lulu shorts and blue Adidas shirt. I popped my air pods in and blasted some of my favorite EDM songs. I only saw a couple people through my journey, but I didn’t stop to say hi to anybody as I was trying my best to beat Paul. I felt like I was flying and in reality, I was because when I got to the meet up spot, Paul wasn’t even there and I couldn’t see him anywhere close. I knew I was fast, but not this fast. I waited a couple more minutes for him to catch up, I mean he probably got distracted or got a cramp like he usually does. I gave it about 10 minutes and was annoyed he wasn’t here. He knows where to meet up and I had plans to meet up with my friends after, so the clock was ticking. I shot him a text that read, “Dude where are you, I told Griffin I’d go to his house after this, so I’m headed home.” I walked home still blasting music giving a couple head checks to see if Paul would pop up, but still nothing. When I got home, there was no response and I tried to ring him up. “Hey how was it?” my mom asked. “It was great, I think I smoked Paul because he still isn’t back,” I proudly replied. “WHAT, you mean you guys weren’t running together? Have you seen the news recently, there was a kidnapping earlier this week.” she frantically said.
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“Calm down, mom, you overthink everything, he will be home shortly,” I said hesitantly. I tried to act all tough around my mom and didn’t even question to think he went missing but as each minute went by with no response, I worried a little. My dad got home from work shortly after and I had to explain my situation with him. “Dad, you know how Paul gets right, if he sees somebody, he knows he always stops to talk to them.” I said. “Mom told me it’s been 30 minutes and he hasn’t been on his phone, let’s be realistic here son. I think you should go back and look for him on the trail,” my dad said. “Ugh, fine,” I mumbled. I had to tell Griffin I’d be late to his house because my dumb younger brother couldn’t keep up with me. I put my running shoes back on and ran down the road at a much slower pace as I was still gassed from my initial run. I probably ran for two miles and still no trace from him. His snap maps said he was on his phone an hour ago, which isn’t a good sign. But, as I ran a little further, I saw something in the distance. It was a beat-up pair of shoes and shirt. I got closer and on the side of a private suspicious road was a pair of gray Adidas, a t-shirt, and an iPhone. Maybe his feet hurt? He got really hot and took off his shirt? What was this kid thinking? “Paul hellooooo, time’s up let’s go home I have your phone.” I yelled. Still no response. I took his stuff home, but once I got home the dreadful police car was in my driveway. At that point it got real. I walked in the door and my dad was comforting my mom in tears. They were with the policeman, but I wasn’t allowed to be in the room. I stayed in the kitchen and could only hear certain things. “Mam, he is going to be ok,” the buff cop said. What does that even mean? I started to try to put the puzzle together, but I couldn’t figure out what happened. It turns out our family friend saw Paul running and got in a scuffle with what looked like two guys that were about thirty. It sounded like Paul tried to escape but couldn’t and they threw him in the car. “We have the license plate of the car, and our team will get your son back.” the policeman confidently said to my parents. I felt useless and didn’t know how to help. I went to my room and cried feeling guilty. The thoughts of this being my fault kept circling my head and I couldn’t get rid of them. What if they killed him? Why couldn’t they get me? All these questions were flowing but I had no answers.
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It had been a whole day without my younger brother and my parents, and I couldn’t sleep knowing my brother was in danger. But that’s when we heard a knock on our door at four o’clock in the afternoon. It was the same policeman with Paul, but still with no shoes or shirt. He looked lost and worn out, like he didn’t remember us. “Paul oh my gosh it’s me, thank god you’re safe.” I said. But still he looked confused like I wasn’t his brother. “Hey man it’s me what’s going on can you hear me?” I asked frantically. “I can hear you but where I am, who lives here?” he said. At this point I didn’t know what to do and was freaking out. Did these men drug him? Did they screw up his brain? He’s acting like a robot right now. After all of this went down, Paul looked at me and said “Who even is Paul?” That was the end of it for me. I felt like I lost my brother, yet he was standing right in front of me. They must have hit his head which resulted in all memory loss. The journey to get my real brother back had just begun. Boden Gammill ’22
Elizabeth Wamp ’23 16
Catherine Yan ’24
A Body of Fragility A body of fragility, The arms like autumn trees, Legs like like wires, Feet like blocks, He lays not knowing of his last breath, And new life, He picks himself up to get something, And he begins choking, Gasping in dismay, Last breath. A luminous baby sparks from the place of where he once settled. Will Onubogu ’22 17
Sweet Home In the spring, she moved to New York Ready for a chain of opportunitiesReady for a jubilant life Ready for change. When she looked in the mirror She saw a woman nearly done with her teens A woman with a heavy heart, And a desire for freedom. With a head filled with fear, She felt split between two worlds Her words fell short Her mother tongue was all she knew. There were more fearsMore fears of the bad guys The guys that would take her back The guys who never wanted her. I was chosen to carry her with meTo add meaning to her pains, To add purpose to her works. How do I begin to repay her? For the journey she took that brought me hereTo live the life that she dreamed to live To accomplish the things she never had a chance to. I give her thanks for the opportunity And step into the life I deserve, The life she deserved. I am the granddaughter of Dulce Esperanza Lara; The wonderful sweet hope. Layla Pallone ’25
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Melissa Schuermann ’24
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Lost Snow A young kid lost in his own mind. Sitting in his room, not knowing what his next move was, where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do, he knew nothing. It was a dark night out. The wind was whistling in the air. The splashes of light from the street lamps made the beautiful white snow glisten as it blew from side to side in the wind. As the kid wondered, he laid back comfortably on his bed, he sunk into his comforter. The boy took a deep breath, with air filling his lungs then pushing it all out, hoping the stress that was trying to drown him followed. He turned his head to the right to see the long icicles hanging from the roof reflect the light of the back patio. The boy thought to himself, is this really what I want? Once again, lost in thought. The boy’s mind was racing. He felt so pressured to make the decision. He knew he was making the right choice; he has been wanting this. He has been waiting for this. The boy just didn’t know how to say it or how it would make others feel. The boy would ask himself, “Did I let them down? What could the consequences be of making this decision? I know I want to do this; I know I do. I just have no idea how I would even start?” The boy wanted to reach out and say it, but he felt that he was putting his life on the line just to say it, his neck completely exposed, he felt unsafe. The boy’s safe space is his room. It’s his own space, just for him, he doesn’t share it, no harm can be done in there. It was time for them to go. The boy’s dad was looking for him. His dad was searching everywhere, not stressfully, in a calm manner. The boy knew he was looking for him, but he needed to feel safe, he felt ready. The boy’s mind was racing, nervous to how his father would react. The boy’s dad went to put the gear in the car, so they could leave as soon as his son got in. The dad went back to searching, finally making his way up the stairs and into the boy’s room. The boy was waiting, his palms were sweating, his face bright red, the lights were off. The only light in there was from the back patio lights that reflected off the dark wood bed frame onto the boy’s face. The dad makes it into the boy’s room. Curiosity flowing through the father’s head. Quickly processing what was in front of him. He knew his son knew they had to leave, why would he be hiding? Quickly a light bulb flashes in his brain, his son clearly doesn’t want to go. “Hey buddy!” Says the father. “Hi dad.” The boy responds. “Make room I’m sliding under” The father says. The boy nervously shifts to the right to make room under the bed. With the fathers’ sanguine expressions and attitude toward his son, he sensed a ray of comfort and tranquility was casted over him, almost like a spell, the boy knew he could do this. “Are you ready to go?” Says the dad in a nonchalant fashion, knowing something was wrong and wasn’t actually planning on going. 20
“Dad.” There was a pause. This was it. It felt like time stopped; everything around him stopped. The snow stopped falling, the wind stopped whistling. Everyone and everything was frozen. The boy felt like his dad would be so disappointed, he knew how much this meant to him, to our family. But he had to do it. “I don’t want to play hockey anymore.” All the sudden, that feeling of time freezing, happened again. He felt it come off my lips. He couldn’t hear myself say it, didn’t feel or hear anything come out of his mouth. Only thing he felt was his mouth move. The boy slowly, nervously looked up. “Is this really how you feel?” says the dad. “Yes.” “That’s totally fine.” The boy had a smile come across his face. He felt like he could fly. The weight lifted off the boy’s shoulders. His heart stopped pounding.The support of the boy’s father gave him a feeling he couldn’t explain. That no matter what, the boy felt safe. The boy felt like he could do anything. For the first time, the boy’s brain wasn’t constantly pounding on the walls of his head yelling at him to do something, or making the boy feel anxious. The boy went back to his Legos, happy as can be. Time went by, years. The boy was 17 years old. Passed out on the floor. For some reason out of all the times he has passed out, this time he has this flashback. The day he told his dad. He wanted to do nothing in his life. The loss of passion and motivation. The boy had an extremely addictive personality, and when he found himself doing nothing, his brain led him to trouble. The day where he decided to stop doing something, which in that case was hockey, was the worst decision the boy has ever made. Constantly finding himself wondering, what to do with himself. He never had that problem when he was younger. Which was one of the main reasons why he stopped playing. The boy is filled with emotions, the same ones he was clouded with when he was younger, along with new ones that constantly dragged the boy down. For some reason, The boy still couldn’t figure out why he had that flashback. He missed his old self. What he would do to feel that sort of comfort from his father. The drugs gave the boy something to do, and a sort of comfort. The boy was always in his own head, it would eat him alive. The drugs would take his brain somewhere else. He was hooked, addicted. This flashback wasn’t a warning. The boy has gotten multiple warnings, the addiction overtook him. He felt like the drugs were helping him, while they were his worst enemy. That flashback caused from the drugs was pushed to his brain. To show him what his life could have been; the drugs knew this was it for him, so the last thing to show him was how good life could have been. Cole O’Donnell ’23
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Red Sonnet The heart leaks passion the color of red The love which inspires one to be great It’s passion which pushes one out of bed If someone can love, they also can hate To be red there must be a fire inside Like the inside of angels or devils your heart can be warm like middle July Or your heart can be cold like a pebble Red is emotion within everyone It is your choice to what red you become It lies inside until your days are done If one lived red, they would never be numb It’s the color red that fills one with love It’s the same thing which lets hate rise above Luke Trevisani ’22
Sebastian Klem ’24 22
Sun Sonnet It peers down upon the wet sandy land It glimmers in the sky like an eclipse If it’s shining, there will be purple sand Some days it stays, some days it’s gone in a blitz Some say it’s just a big fiery star There has to be more to the sun than that, It is always there no matter how far When the star shines to bright I bring a hat It’s such a complex thing so far away Controls our lives in ways we don’t realize The way it commands us makes our lives sway We must have sunlight to thrive in our lives What would we do without the sun so bright If only it would stay around at night Stanley Bright ’23
Sammie Glogoff ’23 23
Academic Pressure for Asian Students: Why Do We Try To Be Perfect? Occasionally, I hate myself for being an Asian student. Do you ever think about getting perfect scores on the SAT? Taking all advanced and AP classes, and getting A’s in them? And if you can do that, imagine taking the courses in your second language? Welcome to daily school life for me, and most Asian students. Why do we feel the academic pressure to be perfect? The answer comes from expectations: high expectations from society and colleges. I believe everyone has heard that “all Asians are smart and hardworking.” This “compliment” forces me to have an extremely high standard, and I am desperately trying to reach that standard. A Los Angeles Times article reports that: “Torn by family and peer pressure, many Asian students feel lonely, alienated and unable to discuss their problems. ‘I’m supposed to be this really smart person. Everybody’s always saying I have to get A’s,’” says Magnolia, an Asian student. Similar to Magnolia’s experiences, I constantly receive high expectations from others. “What! You are only in Advanced Algebra 2?” My peers expected me to be in Pre-calculus freshman year. “A- is not a good grade for English. Work harder!” My counselor says without understanding that I am writing in my second language. “Top colleges only want a 4.0 GPA, why do you only have 3.95 this semester!” My parents blame me for not having the highest grade. Yes, I am Chinese, but that doesn’t mean I am a genius. As a sophomore, taking all advanced classes with 2 AP courses exhausts me, but this is what top colleges expect. Based on a report released by Georgetown University Center on Education and the Workforce which investigates the discrimination against Asian applicants in admissions to the 91 most selective colleges, “if all selective colleges were ‘fair’ and considered only a race-blind measure like test scores, Asian enrollments would go up.” Unfairly high standards have torn us down. I constantly ask myself “Am I just stupid?” Why am I not achieving the expectations?” This perpetual pressure to perform well burdens Asian students and takes a toll on their mental health. A survey released by Yale researchers found that 45 percent of Chinese international students reported symptoms of depression, and 29 percent reported symptoms of anxiety. These expectations are killing us mentally! The toxicity of academic pressure on Asian students cannot be ignored. Let’s have some more understanding of the challenges Asian students might encounter. Is it fair to impose such high expectations on Asian students? All I want is for people and colleges to reduce the unfairly high expectations; is that too much to ask? Celina Zhao ’24 24
Catherine Yan ’24 25
Ambitions I want to be the best. I want to prove that no matter how many insults you throw in my way I can rise above. So finally I can get shown some love. That is the dream. But it is not in sight and slowly it’s fading along with my passion with my fight. Fright is all that’s insight. I want to be the greatest yes but everyday is a test. Do I want it? Can I even do it? The answer has to be yes. Good not great average not above. These themes follow me everyday. Fall, crash, bang who is holding me back? I want someone to blame to shame. Because it’s not me, no how could it be? Me with the dream the goals. With the 20 pairs of skis with speed. Transcend I pretend. Stop this is foolish. You can’t blame, you can only ask yourself what is the cause and what is the root. Jealousy. There my limiting factor. I want to be great so why are they and I am not. Please rot. I can’t stand your pedestal. “You’re skiing lacks passion” that’s why you’re crashing. Not because she is better than you. You, it’s simply you. No one is looking at you, just the people you wanted to be. So move on you can’t possibly be the best so just give up and rest. You’re no Shiffrin, Vonn, or Mancuso, so what is it that you could possibly do? Just sit there letting my emotions brew. I’m waiting for the eruption explosion when I just can’t take it anymore. It’s really not that dramatic drama queen. Waiting to start looking out infront that’s when it hits me when the spotlight shines. The calm before the storm, tranquility before chaos. But I am the only one thinking this. Emma Ferer ’22
Midori Fitzgerald ’22 26
Maggie Shen ’22
Lost Time Everything is blurry. I look down towards my leg, I see a massive chunk on my belly, it is black metal with Velcro straps, it wraps around my waist and goes down my leg. I can move my leg, though, and I wiggle it around. I look to my right, I see my dad putting his phone away in his pocket, we say something to each other, he sees that I’m awake, he asks me how I’m doing, I’m ready to stand up and leave. The nurse says, no, I have to sit there, practice on my crutches, and eat some Jello. The Jello is strawberry, I don’t like it, I’m not in the mood to eat, they tell me I have to, but they just put so many things in my body, I don’t want anything else in my body right now, and the Jello has a weird consistency. I have to drink a glass of water, but I like drinking that. Then I am up on my crutches, I know how to use them because I was on them before surgery too, I couldn’t walk then either. I feel like I can really move, I feel fine. I hear all the beeps going off in the hospital, I look around, I see other people fresh out of surgery the same way I am. I don’t pay attention to them, I don’t remember anything or think about the future, I just do one thing at a time. I get into the elevator, the doors open again, suddenly I’m in a cab, my leg won’t fit, and my dad has to call himself his own car, the driver won’t let him sit in the front. My leg takes up the whole backseat. I’m going home. Augie Swenson ’23 27
Sammie Glogoff ’23 28
Catherine Yan ’24 29
Tag We are lying in my bed on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s early October, so the window can still be left open without it getting frigid in the room. Sunlight is streaming in and I can hear the wind whispering in the trees outside. My hair is falling onto my face and she brushes it aside, kissing my cheek. I notice the way her eyes dance when she looks at me. She’s always got a mischievous look, like she has a plan no matter the situation. We play this game of tag- one of us leans in a little bit, just long enough to count to three, and then pulls back. Tag, you’re it! It’s so quiet at this moment that I think if I rustle the sheets even slightly it’ll be as if I’ve broken fine china. I’ve never been great with silence- it usually signifies anger, disappointment, or resentment. Silence is different with her. When she falls quiet, I can hear her heartbeat and I allow myself to hope that my presence is speeding it up slightly. The quiet allows my mind to wander away from the room and into a warm pool swimming with my thoughts of her. I realize just how nervous she makes me, how she makes my heart flutter and my lips curve into an involuntary smile. I think that maybe we should stop the game, that perhaps I should wave a white flag and surrender. She breathes in a heavy sigh, and I’m pulled back to that bed on that Wednesday afternoon. The moment I look back at her, her eyes turn away from mine and she becomes fixated on the ceiling. There’s nothing interesting about stucco- maybe she’s just nervous. Suddenly though, she leans in and bridges that four-inch gap between our lips and she doesn’t seem nervous at all. I suppose this means she lost our game of tag. Sun Davis ’24
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Ben Cabot ’22 31
Imagining in Isolation It was late spring and quickly turning into early summer. I wandered down stairs to my mom’s desk. My eyes were tired and my brain was sluggish. I had just completed one half of an online class day. I waited in the kitchen as my mom finished her conversation on the phone. “Aunt Mara is very scared of COVID, so we were talking about having the cousins stay with us this summer in Maine,” she told me after hanging up. I felt joy as I pictured us all living together, eating dinner on a picnic table, shadows of hydrangea flowers on the bright green grass. Wet toes, greasy corn on the cob hands, and crinkled tennis clothes. Chicken schnitzel sandwiches and wet bathing suits under sweaty hiking clothes. A campfire and a deck of cards. The six of us, Peter, James, Isabel, Teddy, JP, and I, we would sit on the porch, petrified as Teddy talked about outer space, the possibility of asteroids hitting the earth, and the collisions of energy, the process in creating the northern lights. The reappearing notifications on Google Classroom suddenly seemed as far as the other end of a blackhole, faint stars of galaxy’s elsewhere, and the beginning of time. “Yes,” I exclaimed. I ran back upstairs and prepared for finals. I could sense summer in the blasting AC of my room. My dog banged his head into the door and ran in, panting. My cat ran in after him, smelling the brink of summertime outdoors on his shaggy fur. My cat was an indoor pet, she ran to the window and gazed at the breeze brushing the trees. Leaves were removed like dry, dead hair. While adding final touches to my chemistry project, the topics of convection, temperature, heat capacity, and conductivity swirled in my brain. Beings of studious matter roamed my mind. I could not help but call Isabel and inform her of the plans. As we talked, a trail of coastline fog climbed a hill of pine trees, dodged a bike rack, and seeped through a blueberry bush. The murkiness rushed through the oak door of a shingled house. Spilling the fate of our COVID summer on a multicolored, multitasking circular rug: a dog bed, a door mat, a dance floor for Lizzo’s best hits, a movie night blanket, a flat scratch post for the cat, a bellow for the fireplace on a cold summer storm night. Suddenly, the door creaked, and I catched my brothers hovering. “Want to race the go-cart?” We were so bored in lockdown, so stuck in our home, we had repaired Razor scooters we hardly fit on anymore. Soon, I stood at the end of the driveway hill, at the part where our road meets the real road, with quick cars and walking neighbors. As I was in charge of determining the winner of this race, I sat at the end of the driveway and watched JP and Teddy race downwards. JP continued on the go-cart, zooming past me and into the road, as a car came flying down the road. “JP, stop!” Teddy exclaimed. “What are you doing, JP!” I yelled. The car stopped abruptly, meters away from crushing our brother. “Kiki, what are you doing? You were supposed to stop me,” he yelled, laughing.
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My dad had been observing. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “Use your brakes!” We all laughed it off, but life could not have gotten any stranger at this point. JP was supposed to be at college in North Carolina, but he was in online school. Teddy was in his junior year, but he was preparing for college at his bedroom desk. I should have been at school lunch, but I spent my lunch break playing with a go-cart from my childhood. I longed for the days of Maine, where nothing ever changed, summer left off from the last summer, where I naively and ignorantly thought COVID could not reach us. Months of online school passed and blended into one. Spring turned into summer without causing any real attention. The non-academic days seemed normal, the usual excitement of vacation was introverted. Three weeks of June passed by, go-karts, skateboarding, and pickup basketball games. Exciting trips to Target were my only outfit changes. I visited some friends and we swam in the Long Island Sound. My brothers and I went fishing so often it became a routine. We played football together, we rode bikes together, we played street hockey together. Our home became an Olympics, and as the only players, competitions would get heated. We stole things from each other and rode away on the razor scooter. We chased each other, pranked each other, and annoyed each other. Somewhere in between the daily family dinners and unexpected water balloon strikes, we had enough. That is when the the Stupid Question List emerged. This would greatly change our COVID experience. The list was an outlet for unleashing and letting go of all of the irritants we were holding in, for the sake of the family. One night, we were sitting around the table in the kitchen. Harry, our dog, sat under my mom’s feet, the cat was chasing a fly. I was in charge of preparing dinner that night, so I ordered Chipotle. Most people had finished eating, JP is a slow consumer, and we were going over all of the stupid questions of the day. Teddy had written one down that I asked earlier. My mom stated it aloud and we all laughed. Taunting was a normal form of entertainment at dinner. We began to talk about Maine, about where we were each working, and about what islands we wanted to visit. I thought of warm rocks that made the perfect seat. I thought of dunking my head in the freezing cold, most-northern-east-coast-state-water. Isabel and I would snap our heads out of the water as fast as possible and shriek. We would run back onto the beach, squeeze lemon into our hair and sunbathe. I thought of tipping a 420 sailboat with my friends, we would later have a sleepover and make smoothies. The combination of apples, bananas, nutella, and ginger ale was our best creation yet. We would laugh, while fog climbed up a mountain, through a forest, and under a log, chasing a wild turkey farther inland. The low cloud would tower over our home and press against the window pane. It would cover us in a thick blanket, we could not see the outside, we could not see the sea. I imagined a normal summer, and high expectations were blinding.
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Later that night, I fell asleep with a math study guide gripped in hand. My cat stared at the darkened trees outside, my dreams led me to a dimly lit wooden porch. Elevated towards the cratered moon. Six cousins and craned necks. The ocean sputtered and swallowed. Dreams glamorized a brewing summer and reality was shattered. Kiki Grace ’24
This Summer Man This summer man, People like dumb and dumber man, Following their impulses like like they a drummer man, Following the beat of division, Like the government, I’m just tryna sit down with other man, But the heat is too loud, And it aint even the summer man, Category 5 sweat beads, Cause we can’t look at the other man, And silence just impedes, Like hearing the other side, Is contraband, Like slick rick, We can barely see, We shoot a gun into the dark, Cause we fear what it could be, We don’t try to comprehend, We already pull the gun on our sleeve, We never tryna perceive, We empty the whole clip, And so we bleed, Can’t feel the winter, We stuck in the heat. Will Onubogu ’22
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Catherine Yan ‘24 35
Red Fire is burning so brightly tonight Red is anger, fury and violence. Thoughts from within are about to ignite. Red is the sun in a world of silence. Silence makes my thoughts begin to take off My head spins around I drift into space Words coming at me I try to brush off Red is all around us, leaving no trace. Brought up from the ground, like flowers growing Is red just a color or is it more. Red isn’t just anger, its love flowing Flowing like wind, come crashing to shore. Contrasting emotions, love and anger. Dragging your heart deep down, like an anchor. Lillie Simpson ’22
Maggie Shen ’22 36
Maluma Speech shut tight, In a dark room, I hope I can get real soon, Cause this world ain’t feel em, Rather not waste a bill on em, And drug him til he’s still and that’s true, I said, Speech shut tight, In a dark room, I hope I can get real soon, Cause this world ain’t feel em, Rather not waste a bill on em, Rather drug him till he’s still, And that’s true. Will Onubogu ’22
Midori Fitzgerald ’22 37
A Place of Solitude A place of solitude, Trees and bugs surround, Loss of hope not wanting life surround, Though I may be the cause of my own suffering, It changes nothing, In a place of solitude where birds chirp, Laughter eliminates around me, I sit on wooden bench that brings familiar feeling, The bench worn down by life around, The familiar resemblance of my heart, Funny thing is it seems I must be the issue as the pattern of friends and no longer friends is all too frequent, Perched on a bench by myself, Watching discourse I once enjoyed, Now I enjoy this place of solitude... Will Onubogu ’22
Fiona Dong ’23 38
Censorship of the Chinese #MeToo Movement: When Victims Becom Criminals What do esteemed tennis star Peng Shuai and journalist Zhou Xiaoxuan have in common? Both women spoke out against their sexual assaults by high-ranking government officials on Chinese social media site Weibo amidst heavy Chinese social media censorship. Both women were silenced by the deletion of their accounts and scrubbing of relevant hashtags, search topics, and posts. Without a platform to amplify their voices, the accusations against their assaulters have faded into the background. Government censorship of feminist protests halted China’s #MeToo movement from igniting much-needed conversation regarding sexual assault. Since the #MeToo movement’s Chinese establishment in 2018, sexual assault survivors and activists have faced strong stigma and resistance at the official level and among the public. According to CNN, the number of sexual assault and harassment prosecutions spanning from 2013 to 2017 is a mere 43,0000, a small quantity when compared to the whole population of 1.4 billion people. Victims are scared to report, so the guilty are not prosecuted. Removing the stigma of the status quo surrounding sexual assault through open, uncensored discussion online will encourage more women to come forward to seek justice and accountability against their assaulters. Journalist and sexual assault survivor Zhou Xiaoxuan echoed the importance of speaking out: “It not only can comfort other women but also make the general public understand more about sexual harassment and sexual assault. This is the most important thing – young girls no longer feel guilty and ashamed.” Topics and forums regarding sexual assault experiences online creates a safespace for discussion and education. The #MeToo movement’s activism has the potential to transform the way Chinese society perceives sexual assault as a taboo subject. Since the Chinese government does not support protests, speaking about sexual violence under strict social media censorship is criminalizing for activists; however, continuing the movement may arouse substantial change. Recently, China’s parliament enacted legislation that for the first time defines actions that can constitute sexual harassment. As of May 22, 2020, the Chinese government enacted Article 1,010, which established a civil liability framework to hold harassers accountable. However, there is still a long way to go to protect people against sexual assault and punish the perpetrators of such violence. Article 1,010 does not lay out specific enforcement guidance as to how rapists will be held accountable for their crimes. The Chinese government needs to acknowledge the concerns of its people – to truly hear and acknowledge their cry for help. No matter how involved in government affairs, everyone should be held responsible for rape. A government should never choose to protect the guilty and silence the victims. Catherine Yan ’24
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Marionette Dances I am a marionette They tell me go and I go They tell me no and I don’t They say they are better and I don’t believe them How could I When rage boils within me I know my worth and no one needs to explain it to me I do their Marionette Dances so one day I can change for them One day when they tell me go I will stay When they tell me no I will And I will never believe them when they say they are better Because I know that we are equal He and I I just dance for him until he learns the truth It takes a little bit more for me to obey the strings that pull me every time I want to pull back Let the rage go Say Look who the puppet master is now But I don’t I wait patiently for the day I will lead the dance I may be a marionette But only because someday I know that I’ll be dancing As the master Ellie Grimmett ’25
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Thai An Rosario ’22 41
Ben Cabot ’22 42
Unexpected Road Trip My father and I had been planning a road trip for years. He always said that the best way to experience the US was a road trip. Throughout my fathers childhood, he took several trips with his father on special occasions. His first year of middle school, first year of high school and when he graduated. Before my grandfather passed away, my father promised to continue the tradition of road trips. A month before my first day of middle school I turned 12 years old. We celebrated my birthday at home with the rest of my family. My little brother and sister love birthday parties. I remember them waking me up early that morning and singing happy birthday. At the time I was annoyed, but looking back on it I think about how much they love me and how much I miss them right now. The rest of the day was a blur. I think I don’t remember my birthdays very well because I don’t enjoy them. My birthday is one of the worst days of the year. My birthday passed and I was annoyed, but excited for the trip my father and I had planned for the next 3 weeks. After the party, we packed the last few items into the car, said our goodbyes and hit the road. Coming from Montana the road trip started slow, lots of fields, oil rigs and empty land. My father and I passed the time by listening to our favorite songs, all the classics. We loved AC/DC. Ever since I was a little kid I remember my dad playing old rock and roll songs in the car and he would make me play guessing games to figure out which band it was. He made me fall in love with music, and because of him I know a lot of music from the generation before me. We sang for hours and my father, like he had done so many times before, would cover the radio screen so I couldn’t see who the band was. He would always give me three guesses before he finally told me. I wasn’t having my best day of guessing and I started to get frustrated, but luckily we needed gas and pulled over to pee, get food and drinks and fill up. Thirty minutes after we had gotten back on the road, my father noticed a man on the right side of the highway. The man was covered in dirt, tan, leathered and it was very obvious that he had spent some nights outside recently. He carried a dark bag, with letters on it, probably his initials. His clothing was torn, and I could smell it just by looking at it. He wore a hat with words on it that had been worn off, only a few letters remained. The hat appeared to have been red at one point, but the color had worn off. I looked over at my father in the driver’s seat and could see that he was thinking as we approached the man slowly in the car. My father rolled down the window and said, “Hey there.” The man replied in a soft, raspy voice, “Hey how goes it”. My father replied, “Pretty good. Where are you headed?” The man paused for a moment and stared off into the distance as if he were really thinking hard about the question. As this conversation was occurring I sat awkwardly in my seat, scared and unsure of why my father had pulled over on our special road trip for this weird man. The conversation continued as the man snapped out of the weird mental fog he was in and he replied, 43
“Nowhere and everywhere. That’s where I’m headed.” My dad looked over at me, and muttered back to the man, “You need a ride?” I couldn’t believe my ears. I said, “Dad, no wait.” My father looked back over at the man, rolled up the window and said, “Excuse us for one second.” My father turned to look at me, taking his attention away from the man, and as the window inched its way back up, the man on the road stared at me in a way that I have never seen before. There was something off in his eyes. Something about him told me that there was something different. In that moment he was the scariest man in the world and it sent a shiver through my body. The window closed and our staring contest ended for the time being. My father turned his head to me and said, “Son, what’s the matter?” I replied, “Dad are you crazy. This guy looks nuts. I can tell just by the way he looks at me that he is up to no good. He also looks really scary, and this was supposed to be our special road trip.” My dad replied, “Listen son, I know that this man may look like a bad man, but you should never judge someone based on their appearance. And he clearly needs someone to help him.” I replied, “But dad this is our trip and I’m not just judging his looks, the man gives me a very weird feeling in my stomach. I really don’t think you should let him anywhere near us.” My dad replied, “Son, I have been in a situation similar to this man before. It was during a very dark time in my life and I need to help him the way that a man once helped me. The man who helped me is a big part of why I am still alive today. It would not be right for me to not help this man. I know this may be confusing, but one day you will understand.” My dad rolled the window back down, and the man had seemed to slip off into one of his trances again. My dad said, “Excuse me sir, would you like a ride somewhere.” We were probably over two hours from any sort of civilization, truly in the middle of nowhere. The man replied, “That would be lovely.” In an eerie tone. My father stepped out of the car and helped the man with his luggage. My eyes were again drawn to the small letters on the bag he carried, probably his initials I thought to myself again, but I could have sworn that I had seen those letters before. I watched as my father loaded his bag into the trunk and the man opened the back door and slowly stepped into the car. Instantly I could smell him. Within a second of him being in the car his stench filled the space. He smelled as if he had rolled in a field of cow shit and then decided to do it again for fun. But it wasn’t just that, I noticed as he stepped in the car that he wore lots of jewelry around his neck as it made quite a bit of noise when he moved around. I stared at him and he stared back at me. He breathed in slowly and said, “Hello boy, what is your name?” It was then I realized what the initials on his bag were. I saw them on TV a few weeks ago. They were initials that represented a clan of men who have escaped from maximum security prison. I now knew the road trip had just begun. Pryor Sullivan ’22 44
Catherine Yan ’24 45
Red Flash The clock struck twelve. I was running down the street with the city lights flashing white. The air was frigid, biting my skin; the only warmth given to my body was my beating heart.Thump, thump, thump, it continued to beat faster and harder. I peered down at my soaking hands. The color red dripped from my palms, leaving a trail behind. His blood was the only thing I had left of him. My mind was a broken record player on repeat. His body lay there, lifeless, and the man standing above him.. a stranger. I tried to piece together the shape of the man’s body, the size of his hands, the color of his hair. The streets had seemed empty, no person around to call, nobody to help. The constant fear he was following me chased me down the road, for I was the only eye who saw his awful crime. Six long blocks later, I arrived at my apartment building. Quickly I ran up the three flights of stairs. Apartment 306, I grabbed the key from my pocket; with my shaky hands, I unlocked the door. As I entered, I shut the door behind me, locking it as fast as possible. Without hesitation, I grabbed the phone, dialing 911. With my voice shaky, I spit out the address of the crime. In less than five minutes, the scene of the house would be flooded with cop cars and ambulances flashing their violently red and blue lights. But the man unnamed would be gone, somewhere out there where he could not be found. Kailey Grabowski ’23
Midori Fitzgerald ’22 46
Sammie Glogoff ’23 47
Catherine Yan ’24 48
Hurricane Killer “Heavy winds and rain creep up on the east coast. Some experts say it will be one of the worst hurricanes in a few years.” says the news anchor. I make my way back to my room to plan one of my favorite days of the year… hurricane day. As I enter my room I make my way straight for my dresser. In the top drawer, I have all you could need for a hurricane. Flashlights, candles, rain jackets, and a knife. Well, the knife isn’t just for hurricanes but I keep it there for good luck. I take all of my stuff out of the drawer and throw it on the ground. I pick up my phone and decide to call my friends to make sure we are all on the same page. “You all ready Ricky?” I ask. “Are you serious Clark? I am the real hurricane lover out of the two of us.” “Oh please Ricky, you know you would wuss out in the big waves. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” “Fine you got me,” Ricky said, “But seriously are we going to meet up today or should we just wait for tomorrow?” asked Ricky. “Let’s do it tomorrow, it’s getting late and the storm is starting to brew. See you in the morning.” I said. I hung up the phone and made my way downstairs for dinner. As I reach the bottom my nose gets bombarded with my favorite smell, spaghetti. The night before every hurricane my mom decides to make her World Famous spaghetti. It is almost like a send-off meal for good luck and good health during the storm. My mom has never been a fan of hurricanes so she always feels the need to over-prepare. My dad on the other hand… He is more like me. Hurricanes were his favorite too. So I usually go to him when I ask to go out in the storm. At dinner, my mom goes over all of my rules about tomorrow. Where to go, what to do and who to be with. And of course, to end off the meal, she tells the story of the hurricane killer. Apparently, some dude walks around in all yellow and kills people during a hurricane... I don’t know but for some reason, my mom deeply believes this story and continues to tell us. I make my way back to the bedroom and decide to play some video games before bed. Usually, I play with Ricky but he’s not on so I guess I will just play with myself. The winds start to howl and I know the storm is almost here. I shut all of my windows and get into bed, excited for the day ahead of me. I wake up with some water on me, “I must have just been sweating” I thought to myself, but no. I looked around my room to see puddles everywhere. “Ahhh I should have closed my dang windows,” I mumble, still half asleep. I hop out of bed and grab all the things I need before going out. The house was cold and dark. The only noises to be heard were: The wind, the rain, and the countless generators that scream all day long. I’m not lucky enough to have a generator so that is probably why I like hurricanes so much. A little stop in time, not having to worry about anything but survival. I arrived in the kitchen to see my mom and dad huddled next to our fireplace. 49
“Good morning Clark!” my mom screams from the fireplace. “Good morning mom, My room got dumped yesterday. I think I forgot to close the window. Sorry” I say “Dang it Clark,” she says. “I’ll go clean it up after breakfast.” I pour myself a bowl of cereal and sit at the table. The fumes of the lavender candle infiltrate the cold air that coats my house. I quickly finish my breakfast and head back to my room to get prepared for my day. My feet splash on the damp floor as I reach for my flashlight and bathing suit. I grab all of my things and give one last call to Ricky to make sure he is ready. “Ready to go, dude?” I ask “I was born ready, Clark,” Ricky murmurs from the other side of the phone. I burst out of the front door and immediately got punched in the face by the wind. “Holy crap,” I think to myself. “This is one of the worst winds I’ve seen” My favorite thing about summer hurricanes is that they are very wet and warm. Perfect for land sledding. I and Ricky met at the tennis courts. “There you are! Let’s get to it.” Ricky shouts as we come closer. “I’ve never seen it this bad. This will be a fun one.” I say back. We make our way to the second hole on the golf course which has a huge dip that is perfect for sledding. We stand at the top over the daunting drop-off. We both dive in immediately. One thing about us is that we are way too competitive. We fight over any competition. So there is little babying out between the two of us. We decided to make our way towards the beach to play in the waves. This activity we are about to do is by far the most dangerous we try. We park our bikes and run out to the end of the pier. As we made our way near the end of the pier Ricky saw something weird. “Hey. Did you see that?” Ricky asked. “No, what was it?” I said. “It was someone out here in a black raincoat. I thought no one really came out here during hurricanes.” Ricky said. “They don’t,” I said. We continue to walk thinking it was maybe someone who had the same idea as us. But that seemed to be far from the case. When we made it to the end and got ready to jump in we wanted to see what this guy looked like.
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“Hey man.” Ricky said. “What’s a creep like you doing out right now?” Ricky said, trying to get a reaction out of the man. He did just that. After Ricky said this the man slowly turned around to reveal a half-burnt face. Frantically Ricky and I leaped into the ocean out of pure fear. “It’s him! It’s the hurricane killer!!” I shouted. We both frantically started swimming to shore as the killer slowly walked down the pier. We got out of the water and sprinted to our bikes. We both jolt out of there and look back one more time to see where the man was. There he was slowly walking toward the house next to the beach. I did not think anyone ever lived in that house. I stop my bike and yell to Ricky to watch the man. I turn my bike around and slowly ride closer and closer. Once I got within five feet or so I squeezed my breaks and came to a stop. “Hey, Who are you?” I ask. “Jimbo Smith is the name.” the stranger said. “Alright, Jimbo Smith what are you doing just standing out here in a hurricane,” I questioned. “25 years ago my house right down the street burned down. Leaving the marks you see on my face today. After my house burned down no one could bear to really even look at me because of my scar. The one thing I truly ever knew was this ocean. I always felt comfortable near it. So I went ahead and bought this house.” Jimbo said. “I am so sorry for Judging you. I Was told this weird story from my…” “The hurricane killer?” Jimbo asked. “How did you know?” I responded. “You’re not the first group of kids that have run away crying from me,” Jimbo said. There was a bit of an awkward silence. “Why do you only go out in the storm,” I asked. “No one is out to see me and make me feel bad. No one is around during hurricanes. It’s almost a peaceful time for me.” Jimbo said. “I’m going to go inside now. It was nice to meet you” Jimbo said as he walked up to his steps. I stood there in awe wondering what had just happened. Waves of emotions surged upon me as I felt bad but also relieved. I was left outright speechless. But, from then on I realized that people on this earth don’t have it as easy as I do. So every hurricane I made a promise for me and Ricky to knock on Jimbo’s door first. Not as a prank or a ding dong ditch. But to be his friend and be with him during the storm. “Hey, Ricky what’s up,” I said after picking up the phone. “Want to go to Jimbo’s house?” Ricky said. “Yes. Yes, I would like that.” Charlie Coutts ’23
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Drowning Drown them out I tried to drown em out, Somehow i’m drowning how I said drown em out, Somehow i’m drowning how, Big nosed, Skinny kid, With heart, Swing low, Still hitting deep and that’s the start, Too ‘fraid speak up a part Of me tied off, Stored in a jar- gon, Just the start again, Think I forgot to bar you in, Put you in my jar again, I wondering if they drowning in, Or it’s me. Will Onubogu ’22
Fiona Dong ’23 52
Maggie Shen ’22
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Number 0172 07/12/2017 Dear Zhao Mei Lin, Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as one of the elite soldiers for our military summer camp this year. We are excited that you will be joining us for 2 weeks. In the camp, your name Zhao Mei Lin will be hidden, instead, you will be assigned to the number code: #0172. # 0172: the following instructions must be remembered and followed during the camp, or, severe punishments await you. 1. Wake-up time is at 6:30 A.M every morning. 2. Make your bed in the “four square” way. 3. Breakfast starts at 7:00 A.M for 30 minutes. 4. Lunch starts at 12:00 P.M for 30 minutes. 5. Dinner starts at 6:00 P.M for 30 minutes. 6. Bedtime is 10:30 P.M. 7. BE ON TIME for everything! 8. Being 1 minute late to tasks means running one lap for punishment. Laps are added as minutes increase. 9. If you violate the rules, you will have to stand under the sun for hours. 10. Different training activities will be done each day. 11. Be ready for a memorable experience. Best regards, Your instructors This offer was the start of two-week-long suffering. It was indeed memorable, just in a bad way. All members were required to write diaries to reflect on and record their experiences. Here is mine. 08/07/2017 Zhao Mei Lin This is my first day at the camp. At noon, I flew an hour to Beijing, then traveled by car for another hour. Sitting in the car, wearing a white flannel dress, enjoying the music and the sunshine, I was curiously wondering about life at the camp, but was startled into fury when seeing the actual camp…countless Chinese flags flying in the air, people wearing soldier suits running, huge green steel water bottle on the table, dorm room with 8 people, and 2 officers, monitors surrounding the camp, huge dining hall with crude facilities, and a track field with no grass. Oh no! It’s 10:20 P.M now, I have to get ready and go to bed before 10:30, I don’t want to get punished. Good night! 54
08/09/2017 Zhao Mei Lin Today, I finally learned how to make the bed into a four-square shape. First, pinch the two quilt corners on the same side with both hands. Then lift the quilt hardly to both sides so that the quilt is neatly laid out on the bed. Next, fold the quilt from the outside to the inside, about one-third of the width of the quilt. Finally, fold the remaining one-third of the quilt from the inside out so that the entire width of the quilt is folded into one-third of the entire quilt length. And it will be a square! If I hadn’t learned it today correctly, I have to stand in the sun for 30 minutes after lunch as punishment. Glad I learned it, I saw a few kids who didn’t fold the bed correctly, and they were running labs; that is scary! I don’t want to be punished. Good night. 08/10/2017 Zhao Mei Lin We set up campfires today! First, we collected rocks to build a fire ring and gathered wood. Then we are ready to build the campfire. “Placing two larger pieces of firewood parallel to each other and with some room in between to form the base of your structure. Then, turn 90 degrees and place two slightly smaller pieces on top and perpendicular to form a square. Place plenty of tinder inside the square. Continue adding a few more layers of firewood around the perimeter, getting a little bit smaller with each layer. Finish with a layer of kindling and tinder across the top. Remember to leave space between logs so the fire can get plenty of oxygen.” Instructor explained. I followed. It should be fun, but not really because I haven’t made friends yet. Looking outside the window, noticing the sky filled with twinkling stars and a crescent moon, shooed me to bed and dreams of clouds cradling me. Dreams of friends by my side, filling the camp with laughter and love. But they are all fake. I am tired. Good night. 8/11/2017 Zhao Mei Lin I woke up late today and did not go to check-in at breakfast on time. I was punished by running 10 laps around the field. It was 8 in the morning, bright sunshine hitting my face. Inhale, step, exhale, step, step, inhale, step, exhale, step, step, inhale. The running seems to last forever. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead, then my face, then onto my clothes. After the running, my muscles were tiredly lying on my bones, and I no longer had the strength to do anything. I hate running so much. Why? Why are they making me do this? Today is awful. I need to go to sleep now. Good night.
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8/12/2017 Zhao Mei Lin I am writing in a tent. We are sleeping in a forest today, I am scared. I tried to follow the instructor everywhere he went. Mysterious mists cover the moon and the whole forest. There is no light. I can hear animals crying. Bears, wolves, tigers, who knows what creatures live in this forest. What if a wolf jumps out and eats me? Please don’t, I still need to go home, I can’t die here. I wish mom could be here and she will protect me. She always calms me down. I really miss her. Good night. 8/14/2017 Zhao Mei Lin We played paintballing today. It was fun, but I hurt my ankle and knees. There are real trenches, underground tunnels, obstacles, hills, abandoned houses, damaged grass, and trees. I was fleeing from a person chasing me, he kept getting closer and closer to me. The moment he was going to hold up his gun and shoot at me, I jumped out the window of a house, and hid in a tunnel. I survived, but I got hurt. I’m going to rest now. Good night. 8/16/2017 Zhao Mei Lin I went to dinner one minute late today and ran a lap. The food is gone after I come back. I had nothing left to eat. I am so hungry. The instructor told me to bear with it and come to dinner early next time. I didn’t like him. Later in the day, the office asked mer “Do you enjoy your time here?”I responded with a smile on my face: “yes, of course, it’s a great camp.” As he left, my fake laugh ended with a silent swear. Who would enjoy this camp? Ridiculous question. Good night. 8/17/2017 Zhao Mei Lin Nothing is getting better. Everyone is exhausted. I still haven’t made friends. No one did. In this camp, we are all training robots with only numbers and tasks, no names, no emotions, and no relationships. The strict rules, cruel instructors, the physical exhaustion, the loneliness, when can I get out of these? Sitting on the bed alone, listening to music I used to listen to at home, reminds me of the warmness and love outside of the camp. I’d grab anyone who came to me and make some friends, but no one did. Good Night!
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08/19/2017 Zhao Mei Lin Today is my 12th birthday. Happy birthday to me! I am excited about growing up. Mom and dad, my sister, grandma, grandpa, uncles, and aunties all texted me to wish me a happy birthday. But I am not happy today. I don’t know how to describe my feeling exactly, but I just feel..empty. No one here celebrated it for me. The room is dim, the bed is cold. Everything just feels empty. I stood silently by the window, watching the rain and the sky, calming, but lonely. Rain is so peaceful that it gives me a moment of escape, forgetting the camp, leaving behind the unhappiness. The sky is so dark like a huge shade enveloping the whole camp. Tomorrow is the last day, this place is indifferent, boring, cruel, and heartless. I hate it. I hate it. I just want to go home. Good Night! Celina Zhao ’24
Ben Cabot ’22 57
Catherine Yan ’24 58
Postcard Journal Dear Dad, The sun stays out much later now and I can’t help but wish you were here. It is so much more different than home The flowers are beginning to bloom The birds are coming out again And the trees stand tall Even when the wind knocks them over. I wish life was normal again, so you could visit and we could go out to dinner like we used to do. I feel so lucky to walk through this place every day Listening to the sound of the water rushing down the stream. The rocks glisten as the sunlight shines down on it I wish you could experience the same things I do at this amazing place I wish you were here to enjoy the little things with me. Liv Angioletti ‘22
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Berkshire School . 245 N Undermountain Road
