Blazer Magazine 2017-2018 (Imagination Edition)

AZER BL

IMAGINATION EDITION 2017

CONTENTS SHORT STORIES

ART OPEN HEAD

7

LA DÉESSE DE L’IMAGINATION

8

RAAMAT 14

LOST SOULS

WORDLESS STORIES

18

RAAMAT 14

STAR DUST

22

WAYWARD DREAMS

20

THE BOOK

30

THIS IS ME... SHE

25

ALONE AND WAITING

37

LES ETOILES

26

SHHH 41

HEARTBEAT 37 ALONE AND WAITING

41

POEMS

NONFICTION LETTER FROM A FORMER EDITOR

10

5

A WALK HOME

6

BUTTERNUT SQUASH SOUP

13

WORDLESS STORIES

18

WHO ARE YOU?

17

STARDUST 23

IF THE WORLD DID NOT SPIN

28

LE VEAU AFFAMÉ

24

CREATIVE PROFILES

32

THE BOOK

30

IMAGINATION: AN EDITORIAL

42

IN BETWEEN THE LINES

31

L’OIE BLEUE

40

LETTER FROM A FORMER EDITOR NICK GAREL-JONES Class of ‘16

There are many things we lose with time – our youth, old memories, old friends. These are natural progressions that we, as people, cannot control.

However, one thing I’ve noticed is that we tend to lose our imaginations, too. But they are not really lost, we just bury them under layers of something else – ways of being that we are taught, perhaps indirectly, to prioritize. As children, our naiveté allowed us to think on a root level that, to adults, seemed illogical or absurd. Reason had no purpose as long as everything made sense in our heads.

High school is an especially difficult time for many reasons, and it’s easy to lose track of the imagination that came so naturally to us as children.

It gets buried deeper and deeper underneath the rigor of academic work and the time commitments of athletics. Because of this, it can be hard for students to maintain a curious and creative mindset in an environment that does not necessarily prioritize one. But take a look for its significance in the real world, and you’ll find that imagination is everywhere; the key to progress. Behind every new invention, tool, and practice that crops up in our fast-paced society, there is someone with the creative mindset necessary to realize this need for change. If humanity is a rocket soaring to greater and greater heights, imagination is its fuel.

Just like when we were kids, our imaginations can still come up with some of the most foolish things. But with an open mind, and the intent to make way for these trivializations to come out, the imagination can lead to truly impactful ideas. One of the reasons Blazer Magazine meant so much to me during my time at Ashbury is because it’s a consistent outlet for students to realize and share these ideas – big or small, absurd or ambitious. So here’s to the imagination – let’s get digging.

5

A WALK HOME ROBIN KENNEDY

The bell goes and the day is over.

Every bag on the shelf stands up, Following all the kids out of school, Each floating in the air, just steps behind.

My eyes are hit by the sapphire sun As soon as I jump outside.

My feet bounce with each step Off of the bubbled ground, Pushing me towards my destination.

Bouncing amongst the rest of us are the animals.

Animals from the jungle, the ocean, the tundra, the desert.

You name it, it was there.

As we bounce past, the sounds of a friendly greeting Fill the space, and then you move on.

Minutes later, as the fuchsia night falls, And the mist rises from the craters, I sit up in my bed, open my eyes And let sleep take me to tomorrow.

6

nelly kaliza

LA DÉESSE DE L’IMAGINATION

ISABELA HERNANDEZ-OVIEDO

Personne ne lui avait dit que le cours de maths de l’année de première serait aussi peu intéressant. Déjà qu’elle n’était pas scientifique, ce cours était la chose qui ressemblait le plus à une session de torture. Était-ce donc aussi difficile de comprendre qu’elle avait de l’imagination? Qu’elle avait de l’imagination, et que ce cours ne la canalisait pas dans quelque chose de positif!

Et puis, ce prof, ce prof qui ne leur racontait que des banalités telles que le théorème de Pythagore, de Thalès, les équations…

Rien dans le programme de première : tout allait du CM2 à la 3ème. Et puis, qu’es ce qu’il leur chantait là? Le théorème de Pythagore? Bah, que des banalités! Ils avaient déjà vu cette leçon de nombreuses fois.

-…donc, vous écrivez : « Par le théorème de Pythagore » bla bla bla. Bref, vous faites ça…voilà… donc…

La salle de classe se trouble, ses paupières s’alourdissent. Elle entend encore les voix étouffées

de son professeur et de ses camarades.

Ses yeux se ferment. Blanc. Plus rien.

Enfin, non, une seule information luit encore dans son esprit : « Imagination, nom féminin. Capacité à inventer, créer des choses. Synonyme : invention. » Puis, peu à peu, ce dernier ensemble de phrases se dissous, laissant place à une obscurité totale.

Cette obscurité laisse peu à peu place à la lumière.

Elle est dans un pièce.

Les murs sont d’un blanc neigeux, la salle est vaste et le sol est couleur aile de colombe. Toute la salle est d’un blanc immaculé sauf le plafond. Le plafond en forme de dôme portait une représentation méticuleuse de la voûte céleste. La salle couleur de neige était vide mis à part douze trônes avec des motifs différents. Sur chaque trône, une personne était assise.

Elles étaient énormes, trois à quatre fois la taille d’une personne mondaine. Face à cette assemblée menaçante, se tannait une jeune fille d’à peu près son âge. Elle avait des cheveux d’un blond cendré qui lui tombaient en cascade sur les épaules voilant à 8

demi deux grands yeux pers au regard futé. Sa peau de nacre était couverte par un chandail aussi gris que ses yeux et des jeans bleus comme le ciel. Sarah s’approcha et se plaça à ses côtés.

-Bonjour. Souffla-t-elle.

-Bonjour, tu t’appelles comment?

-Sarah, Sarah Smuckers. Et toi?

-Emma Juni. Que fais-tu ici?

-Je n’en sais rien, je viens d’arriver. Et toi?

-Moi, euh… c’est compliqué.

-Et c’est quoi cette assemblée de titans?

-Ce ne sont pas des titans mais des dieux. Tu te tiens face aux douze plus grands dieux de la mythologie grecque. Fit Emma. Écoutons ce qu’ils disent.

-Celui qui parle c’est… Demanda Sarah.

-Zeus, dieux des dieux. Compléta Emma.

déserts, il suffit d’une goutte d’eau pour sauver des vies.

Avec l’imagination on peut tout créer, tout changer, tout inventer. Sarah viendra, blonde aux yeux bleus, sauver le monde des dieux : C’est la Libération des Déserts. » L’Oracle l’a prédit il y a bien des années. Fit Athéna -Et vous croyez que c’est moi.

-Oui. Fit Zeus.

-Non, je crois que vous vous trompez. Assura Sarah.

-Non, je sens la force de l’imagination en toi… Fit Aphrodite en tendant la main vers elle.

-Ils sont fous? Chuchota Sarah à Emma.

-Je crois. Ils m’ont attribué le nom de Dossier 175 alors…

-Dossier 175? Demanda Sarah d’un air intrigué.

-Ne cherche pas à comprendre, c’est toute une autre histoire.

-Sarah, demanda Poséidon, acceptes tu de devenir la Libération des Déserts?

-De nous irriguer de ton imagination? Compléta Héphaïstos -Je…je…

Un homme s’était levé. Il était grand. Il se tenait debout, foudre à la main, sa barbe neigeuse pendant jusqu’au niveau de ses hanches. Zeus semblait adresser la parole à une belle déesse brune.

L’assemblée émue aux larmes se leva d’un bond pour couvrir d’éloges l’écrivain d’un si beau poème.

Apollon, le dieu des arts remarqua la présence de Sarah.

-Puis-je savoir qui est tu, jeune mortelle ?

-Sarah, Sarah Smuckers.

-Enchanté. Puis-je savoir ce qui t’emmène ici, au Mont-Olympe?

-Je… Commença Sarah.

-Apollon, voyons, n’est-ce pas évident? C’est Sarah!

Sarah! LA Sarah!

-LA Sarah! Fit Apollon d’un air surprit.

-Oui, c’est elle. Assura Héra -C’est LA Sarah? Répéta Apollon incrédule.

-Pardon, dit Sarah, qui suis-je censé être?

-Sarah, la déesse de l’imagination, La Libération des Déserts. Fit Hestia -La Libération des Déserts? S’exclama Sarah stupéfaite.

- « Il suffit un peu d’imagination pour irriguer les

Sarah ferme les yeux.

Que faire? Oui, non? Rester dans ce monde de dieux et déesse, devenir la déesse de l’imagination. Gloire, beauté, amour, ou rester dans l’ombre? Sauver des vies ou reprendre sa vie monotone de lycéenne? Le choix semblait clair. Elle dirait oui.

-Sarah?

-Sarah?

Elle entendait les voix des dieux. Ils l’appelaient.

Elle ouvre les yeux. Elle va dire oui.

Quand elle ouvre les yeux, la salle couleur aile de colombe à disparue. Elle est en face de son professeur de mathématiques.

-Sarah? Demande t’il doucement. Sarah, on se réveille!

Elle est de nouveau dans cette veille salle de classe toute sale avec trente autres élèves devant la vision floue de monsieur Mi-Chaud.

9

LOST SOULS ETHAN CARTER

It was a lonely night in November. The old cobblestone streets were lined with dimly lit oil lamp posts that stood tall like a stone, never wavering under the cold November winds. However, while the lamp posts themselves may have seemed like they were fine, their flames were flickering and like the flame inside me, they were close to burning out. The houses on the street were lit up and so full of life. You could hear overlapping laughter and cheers from the happy families living in those houses. Meanwhile, the streets felt so lonely on this dark and cold night, just like me in my empty house. I have no family or friends and I feel alone in this supposedly vast world. The world just makes me feel so small and insignificant. I suppose no one would care if one more flame burns out, because after all, another flame is being lit and another burning brighter than the sun itself. Everyone looks up to people whose flames burn bright because it scares away the darkness that creeps upon all of us. The only difference between me and those who look up to others, is that nothing will rescue me from the crawling shadows of doubt and despair hungry to eat away at my flame until it flickers and dies.

The hungry void of desperation had always been eating away at my flame for as long as I can remember. Ever since middle school, I was bullied constantly and harassed publicly in front of other students who laughed at my despair. There was not a single day where I was not harassed at school and I wanted so badly to run away from my bullies. Running away never worked for me, but it helped delay my inevitable death. Those bullies were, sadly, only one of my shadows that wanted to devour me so badly. At home, even more problems were present. My father works as a paramedic so he is always away at work and on-call for anyone that needs help.

Ironically, he never bothered with helping me and whenever I told him about my issues, he said to ignore it, it’ll be fine. It was not fine. Meanwhile my mother, she was an alcoholic. She was always going out to 10

bars and drinking her problems away. The next morning, she would have a hangover and take forever in the bathroom. Whenever she was hungover, we were not allowed to talk or she would get angry and kick me out of the house. My parents also when he was home. Before long, the home that I’ve lived in no longer felt like one, and I was an outsider. I tried to ignore all of my problems until one day, I was no longer able to take it anymore.

Tonight, was the night where the shadows would claim me because I’d finally given up hope. My problems were drowning me and my shadows were only coming closer and closer. I was drowning in a dark and vast ocean filled with all sorts of creatures looking to stave off their starvation. Today was supposed to be a fun day where families get together and celebrate Thanksgiving, but what is there for me to be thankful for? I have a horrible family that does not even care about me and I was treated like a freak show at school. The worst thing about my life is that not one person ever stood up for me or treated me like an actual person. So, tonight, it will all be over and I will finally be free of the entangling shadows that constantly try to trap me.

The only home I ever felt like I belonged to were these empty streets so deprived of life, and Quincy’s Bridge, the front door to the outside world. As I walked past the houses and the dimly lit lamp posts, I noticed a newspaper stand. The headlines of Sunday’s papers were about a college student who committed suicide. I did not pay much attention to the newspapers as I continued walking towards the bridge. All I thought was how lucky he was to finally be free of his shadows. I stepped onto the old steel bridge that’ve been the site of many suicides and I am going to become one of them, the free souls. I never truly believed in an afterlife for the good or the bad people but I was feeling hopeful that if there was any higher power that existed, they would accept me. I was struggling to find balance on the fencing of the bridge and as I was about to jump into the frigid waters below, a hand grabbed mine.

“Don’t do it, it’s not worth it.” A voice said.

I peered back behind me and it was a man. He had a desperate look on his face as he begged for me to not jump.

“Let’s just talk this out before you jump and make a mistake. Can we do that?”

I nodded at him and his face lit up with delight, while I started tearing up.

“What’s your name? Why do you want to jump and end it all like this?”

“My name is Cecilia and I don’t know. It’s difficult to say…” I choked out while struggling to hold back tears.

“Don’t worry, I’m all ears and might I say, you have a pretty name.”

I climbed back over the rail, shocked that someone wanted to talk to me. We went on to discuss my struggles and eventually I completely opened up to him. He listened to everything I had to say with actual interest and not just boredom. He also told me about his life story and how he came to be who he was. I realized something; it was the first time I’ve ever made a friend. I actually have a friend now and someone to talk to.

11

Before long, those shadows that were so close to devouring me, were gone and my flame was burning brighter than ever before.

“I… I changed my mind about jumping…” I looked down.

“Well, I’m glad you did, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I had let you continue on like this.”

I hopped down from the steel fencings and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you….”

I let go of him and continued walking back to my house and paused with realization.

“Wait… what’s your name?”

When I turned around… he vanished into the cold midnight air. I felt my heart sink but the shadows did not come back to take advantage of me. I never even got to learn his name and now he’s gone… Sad, I continued walking back home and I passed by the newspaper stand. I stopped to take a closer look at the headlines and who it was that had died. I was frozen in fear. The person committed suicide at Quincy’s Bridge and his name was Lincoln but, the picture of Lincoln looked just like the guy that saved me.

12

BUTTERNUT SQUASH SOUP BY: GIULIA RHODES SOUP Ingredients: 2 cups of vegetable stock 600ml of coconut milk 6 cups of frozen butternut squash 1 onion 1 Bulb of garlic 2 sage leaves 2 teaspoons of paprika 1 ½ tablespoons of ginger 1 teaspoon of red curry paste Olive oil Salt Pepper 2 teaspoons of turmeric Cayenne pepper

pomegranate seed bowl

parmesan

pumpkin seed

soup

spoon

Garnish: Pumpkin seeds Pomegranate seeds Parmesan cheese

= happiness

Steps: 1. Preheat oven to 400 F. Cut garlic bulb in half and place in oven. Roast for 15-20 minutes, or until golden brown and bubbling.

2. Add coconut milk, paprika, pepper, sage leaves, salt and pepper into a small pan and simmer in a large pot over medium heat, drizzle olive oil and saute onions with turmeric, a pinch of cayenne, salt, pepper. Add in vegetable stock and squash into the pot and cook for 5-7 minutes.

3. Put squash mixture into a blender with the roasted garlic bulb and blend until no lumps and place back into the pot.

4. Take sage leaves out of the coconut mixture and stir into the squash purĂŠe.

5. Serve warm and enjoy!

13

RAAMAT HANA SAMAD

haigann fevrier-president & emily shinder

A story begins in many places.

but simply Empty; there was Raamat and there was Chaos.

The beginning of a chapter, no path clear, all choices still available. The first time you meet someone and it seems everything up until that point never mattered, that was Before, and now you can start living in the After. The first time an infant takes a deep breath, breathing in both air and a life’s worth of possibilities, and screams because it has the will to start this long, hard journey called Life.

Raamat, with the life blood of existence bled onto its pages, wrote everything we know around us down and through that, creating any and all within its pages. It is neither good nor evil, Raamat could be used for both. Sic Vita Est, such is life, neutral until a choice must be made, but the lines between Good and Evil blur often and the two overlap in shades of grey, until everything is not so distinct. Remember that.

Many places, but this story, this story starts nowhere and yet everywhere, simply because this story just is, and always has been.

Chaos.

Chaos always has existed just like Raamat, for with unlimited possibilities comes unlimited chances for maelstrom, for havoc.

The story of creation is a story that stretches long before the human mind can recall, because the story has always been a part of humanity and so it’s existed as part of the unknown for an eternity.

Chaos found it, and claimed it for it’s own.

It always has been.

By this point the Earth and stars as we know already existed, but in the purest form. Untainted by war, untouched by poison; there was simply calm.

It’s survived hundreds of thousands of years, seen empires rise and fall, the leap from fire to electricity, the evolution of this planet.

Chaos found calm to be quite overrated. It was a conscious being, and an intelligent one at that. If it actually had a physical manifestation, one might say its black eyes glittered coldly and the wry twist of its mouth looked sinister and malicious at the prospect of the power gripped in its hands.

Every people had their own version of creation, and some 1000 years ago, under the ageless, twinkling stars, firelight caught in wide, enthralled eyes, the wind softly running its breezes through the vividly dyed feathers of a village elder, the story was told once more.

Yes, it could do some...interesting things with it by itself, but imagine the possibilities of having puppets.

Pulling every string and watching them move precisely as it wished. All its own to control, the puppet master, with all the world its stage. Double the fun.

Now listen, listen, listen, and the story will be told once again.

Yes, Chaos liked that idea. Liked it a lot.

Long ago, longer than the memory of your ancestors could ever recall, when there was not the inky, sea of black space nor the blank white of a new canvas

And so the first thing to be written in Raamat with evil in mind was humanity.

15

Greed, it wrote. Desease, poverty, misery, sadness, weakness.

Selflessness, health, generosity, love, happiness, bravery. That is why humans have the capability for good and evil, and sometimes we can lose ourselves in the pursuit.

The Greeks may have known some of these traits to be of Pandora’s box. They are and because of these traits humans would be perfect. A volatile poison slogging through their very veins, and the best part?

It would work slowly, slowly for Chaos had all the time necessary to watch them crash and burn. The poison slowly turning their hearts black and sickly, disease killing them from the inside out, all while they turned against each other, father fighting son, a race against the clock. A thrilling saga to see which would work fastest. Their petty wars or their inner demons.

As the ink dried Maat vanished, and Raamat, lost somewhere in the vastness of space.

Both sides lost most of their power and retreated to far away corners, building up their strength and preparing for the day when they will battle again.

Traces of both still linger in our part of the universe, remains of an age old war.

Order and Chaos, two forces that ebb and flow, push and pull, a timeless struggle that ultimately keeps the And if Chaos had everything its way, the world would balance of creation. be a bleak place, desolate and carnivorous. But all was not lost, for just as Chaos existed, and reached Smoke dances, and the stars twinkle, two seeming to its peak, Maat, order, was brought into being to tip collide before disappearing. the balance of the universe back to neutral.

The story lives on with you.

It was an epic battle that lasted 7 days and 7 nights, each side suffering great blows. Continuously colliding with each other in swirling bursts of light, crimson and white.

Chaos nearly won.

Using Raamat it summoned a beast made of the human fear of death, The World Serpent. It is mention in Norse mythology as the herald of Ragnorok, or the End. Maat countered weakened, but erupting in a searing wall of light, a last effort ridding the world of a coherent Chaos, but also itself in the process. The last tendrils of fading light managed to grasp Raamat and erase Chaos’ humans, but alas the ink had dried. The words permanent, instead Maat added good traits to counteract the bad.

16

WHO ARE YOU? What is your favourite season?

A. Winter B. Fall C. Summer D. Spring

How would you spend your ideal summer day?

What is your dream vacation?

What is your favourite movie genre?

A. Surfing on the beach B. Riding a rad rollercoaster C. Having a picnic D.Reading a book

A. Thailand B. France C. Africa D. Chile

What is your go-to social media app?

A. Action B. Comedy C. Horror D. Romance

A. Snapchat B. Twitter C. Facebook D. Instagram

mostly Cs mostly Bs

mostly D

s

mostly As

got mostly D’s, If you got mostly C’s, If you If you got mostly A’s, your If you got mostly B’s, your spirit your spirit animal is the your spirit animal is the spirit animal is the Wolf! animal is the Bear! Wise Owl? Butterfly! You’re ready Rabbit! Your good at You practice all things self More like wise Bear! Your making friends in for any changes coming control and can always wise advice always seems new places and are your way. Not only hold yourself back to point people in the someone everyone are you a social from eating that last right direction and you feels comfortable butterfly, you’re chocolate chip always know that around. Keep extremely cookie! Keep up right thing to do! up those good optimistic! the good work! vibes!

madi harper & chara antrobus

WORDLESS STORIES MICAELA TAING

A pen and paper can do wondrous things When she allows her mind to meet her hands The ink makes a song that doesn’t sing, But creates the symphony of a masterpiece Stroke by stroke, black meets white Uniting these opposites to meet face to face Her art on the paper composes the light Of the curiosity that her mind releases The sketches drawn tell a wordless story, Of the imagination one can hold; An abundance of life and glory Spread out on a canvas created by one Hours pass and the leaves cascade, They spin soft like her pirouetting hands A melodic rhythm not given-but made Oh, the wondrous things pen and paper can do

madi harper & chara antrobus

WAYWARD DREAMS CLANNY MUGABE

They spent their whole life holding it in. Like the magical queen in that one Disney movie, their life motto was: ‘conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know.’ It was hard trying to push it down every day. They knew they couldn’t let it out, but they wanted to do it so badly. It was always just beneath their skin, always ready to jump out and overwhelm the world with wonder and power. They felt like they were in a cage. Really, they were their own cage. Their mind and their powers were trapped in a body that couldn’t let them be free. It wasn’t their fault; they tried to let it out in small doses. There were so many moments in their past where they tried to slowly siphon it out in an attempt to get rid of the constant unnerving feeling of being trapped. It never worked.

The first time they tried to let it out, a dog turned into a dinosaur. The lady walking the dog became a fairy.

A park bench melted, the sky turned blood red, strange grey creatures circled the sky and brought up heavy winds.

The second time they did it, they created two new seasons and a new country. Everyone they knew could speak made up languages and unicorns became real. Their parents came to them with purple heads and curlyfries for hair.

The third time was the most devastating. They were tired, they had no control but when they suddenly felt lighter, and the itchy feeling of their power being trapped left them, they knew they messed up. They were in class, but they fell asleep. Something in their dreams came into the real world. A dragon with spinning wings and ice–cold fire terrorized their school. They began to float; their school became a jungle paradise. Someone 20

may or may not have a tail now. They would never know, they’re homeschooled now.

It became too much. It was always bubbling beneath the surface, and sometimes it became so strong, their eyes burned and their mind pounded with ideas and they could barely keep from screaming. But they had to hold it back. They had to sit with a straight back, and a mild expression, and keep their hands and their minds still. It was too much.

Those rare moments of release always got them into trouble, but they were also the best moments of their life. Their whole life would just be an endless build up until a flood of power left them tired and empty but peaceful and satisfied.

They let it out once more. They were in their room. They locked all the doors before hand, closed all the shutters, and made sure there was no one in the house.

They sat at their desk, a blank paper in front of them, a thousand responsibilities and rules behind them.

They let it all out.

It was wonderful and terrifying and draining and dangerous. A thousand images came to life. The symphony of their emotions rang in their ear. There were screams and ghosts and a billion zillion beasts that all came from their mind alone. Plays came to life. Romeo and Juliet lived, Harry Potter let silvery beast escape his wand, Narnia was within their grasp, all they had to do was reach out and they were there. It was all so real and wondrous, their eyes saw a Technicolor masterpiece, where every sound had their own colour and every song had their own accompanying picture.

It was beautiful.

It was wonderful.

And it all came from their imagination.

21

emily shinder

STARDUST CAMILLE BEAULE

I must ask you to be patient There are cracks running through my bones And my troat when I try to speak Sometimes I will be distant and avoid meeting your eye Sometimes I will disappear for days But if you wait long enough you’ll be able to catch the stardust That pours out from between my fingers Because I really am infinite And there are a myriad of universes within me It’s just Nobody’s taken the time to dust me off before.

I am confound to the limited Potential to preform Medial jobs to accomplish Medial accomplishments to please Medial men to recieve Medial treatment. But listen to this: My stardust is not medial.

Imagine if my stardust mattered.

23

LE VEAU AFFAMÉ ARIANA MILIN

Au milieu du champ, Un figuier succulent.

Un veau le voit dans la distance.

Quand il se rend au figuier immense, Il découvre qu’il est trop petit Pour chercher les figues qui ne sont pas meurtries, Car elles sont suspendues à la cime du figuier.

Il saute et il souffle, mais rien ne bouge de ce fruitier.

Il regarde le sol et voit seulement les fruits pourris ; « Je refuse de manger les figues trop mûries! » Il voit un oiseau dans la distance, Et lui demande d’en chercher sur les branches. « Avec plaisir, pauvre petit veau » L’oiseau cueille une figue d’en haut, Il l’amène au petit veau, puis il s’envole. « Je préfère être affamé que de manger cette figue molle! » Le petit veau décide de se coucher au bas du figuier, Mais à chaque moment qui passe, sa faim s’intensifie.

Ce qui apprend, que les mendiants Ne choisissent pas Dans tous les cas.

24

THIS IS ME... SHE ELIZABETH ARIHO

I fell. I could feel the air resistance tickling my body.

I land in a deep cavity- thought.

I see flashes of memories of my failures and the skeletons in my closet.

Suddenly, I see a light, then, a face. My face?

Couldn’t be.

She looks happier…happy.

Less self-aware.

Loved.

Not to say that I’m not loved but, she seems like the love is being absorbed into her skin. Almost fuelling her. Her smile seems unprocessed, the light falling on her face is organic and un-harsh. The light wants to be there.

She commands the light. She isn’t drowning in the wash.

From her mouth, I see poems and speeches elegantly trickle out. Not over-thought phrases that, to her are funny and will make them like her but that she automatically regrets because they can’t hear her mousy whispers. No, that’s not the me that I’m looking at. The me I feel I have such a disconnect to has a fire in her eyes that was long extinguished in mine by work load and social anxieties.

I want to stay in this world forever. Quietly viewing what could be but will probably never.

The smiles that I don’t have to coax out. This me has a spine where I have a long, thin gap like a missing piece of a puzzle where a spine should be. This me doesn’t dwell in her flaws whereas I bathe in them. I roll around in them like She would probably roll around in a bed of daisies. This me… She isn’t me at all, She will never be and that’s why I don’t wander my mind.

25

LES ETOILES ISABELA HERNANDEZ-OVIEDO

Ferme les yeux. Tu rêves, c’est si doux. Tu te laisses bercer par ce rêve, ce rêve plein d’espoir.

Dans ces mirages qui semblent si lumineux la nuit mais si cruels et trompeurs au réveil. Tu as essayé de retourner le temps, de remuer des souvenirs.

Maintenant, tu en paies les conséquences. « Avance » on te dis, « ne vis pas dans le passé ». Mais, que peut tu faire? On ne rajeunit pas. On vieillit. On passe nos soirées devant les albums photos des années de jeunesse, une tasse de café à la main et on se remémore les histoires du bon vieux temps. Les amis appellent, les collègues de bureau, la famille. Tu laisses le téléphone sonner. Pour toi, c’est la fin. C’est tout ton petit monde qui s’écroule. Tu ressembles à ta grand-mère, le chat sur tes genoux les yeux rivés sur un album photo. Elle est partie. Elle t’a quitté.

Tu es seul au monde. Hier encore, elle était là. À tes côtés. Vous aviez fait des gâteaux ensembles, vous êtes allés voir un film au cinéma. Elle t’a emmené au lac. Elle t’a regardé dans les yeux. « Je dois partir » elle t’a dit « J’ai reçu une promotion ». Tu

la regardes. Tu as devant tes yeux tout ce dont tu as toujours rêvé. Elle t’a changé. Elle t’a rendu meilleur.

Maintenant, elle disparaît. Ce n’est pas grave, tu dis.

Tant qu’elle est en vie, tant que tu sais qu’elle t’aime, tant que vous regarderez les mêmes étoiles, tu seras heureux. Elle sourit. Elle promet de venir te rendre visite. Elle partira dans une semaine. Elle est désolée.

Tu dois la laisser partir. Elle n’est pas à toi. Elle est libre. Tu le sais. Ça fait mal mais tu dois la laisser.

Elle pleure, ça lui fait mal à elle aussi. Tant qu’elle vivra, elle t’aimera, elle te dit. « Je sais » tu réponds.

Vous retournez à l’appartement. Demain, ce sera un nouveau jour. Ce sera mieux. Peut-être même que tu oublieras cette nouvelle. Tu ne l’oublies pas. La semaine se passe comme un rêve. C’est bon, elle part demain. Tu l’aides à faire ses bagages, tu ne dis rien.

Tu la regarde. Elle est triste. Vous l’êtes tous les deux, impuissants face au monde. « C’était une opportunité qui ne se refuse pas » te dit-elle. Tu le sais. Elle te regarde, impuissante. Elle veut que tu fasses quelque chose, que tu la retiennes, que tu la prennes dans tes 26

bras et que tu lui dises qu’elle ne doit pas partir ou alors que tu partiras avec elle. Tu ne bouges pas. C’est sa vie. Elle rencontrera quelqu’un d’autre. Cette pensée est douloureuse. Tu veux son bonheur. Tu es son bonheur. Elle te regarde. Ses yeux miroitent. Elle va pleurer. Tu ne veux pas la voir verser des larmes. « Ça va aller ». Tu la prends dans tes bras. Elle ne veut pas partir. Elle te regarde. Ses yeux verts sont mouillés.

Une larme coule le long de son visage de nacre. Elle sourit. « Je t’aime ». Ces trois mots te réchauffent le cœur. « Tant que je saurais qu’on partage les mêmes étoiles je serais heureux ». Tu lui réponds. Elle te regarde. Tu l’embrasse une dernière fois. Elle fait demi-tour avec un dernier sourire. Tu ne la reverras plus. Tu t’assois sur le canapé de ton appartement et tu lis. La nuit tombe. Tu ouvres la fenêtre. Il neige.

Quelque part sur un avion, elle regarde les mêmes étoiles, tu le sais. Tu fermes les rideaux. Tu vas te coucher. Tu penses à elle. Quelque part, elle pense à toi. Tu en es certain. Le lendemain, c’est la sonnerie du téléphone qui te réveille. Ton chat miaule. Il te suit. Tu décroches. C’est la police.

comme ça! Elle ne peut pas! Les jours passent, les semaines, les mois maintenant.

Tu passes tes soirées devant les albums photos des années de jeunesse, une tasse de café à la main et tu te remémore les histoires du bon vieux temps. Les amis appellent, les collègues de bureau, la famille. Tu laisses le téléphone sonner. Pour toi, c’est la fin. C’est tout ton petit monde qui s’écroule. Tu ressembles à ta grand-mère, le chat sur tes genoux les yeux rivés sur un album photo. Elle est partie. Elle ne reviendra pas. Tu retournes dans le passé. Tu la vois. Elle est partout. Tu poses l’album, tu grattes le cou de ton chat qui ronronne. Tes yeux sont mouillés. Ils n’ont pas été secs depuis longtemps. Elle te manque toujours. Tu fouilles la poche de ton pyjama. Tu poses une bague sur la couverture de l’album. Elle est sur cette photo aussi. Elle est belle, elle te sourit. Elle n’aura jamais su que tu comptais lui demander sa main ce fameux soir au bord du lac. Le soir de l’accident, elle ne regardait pas les étoiles avec toi, elle ne les regardait pas le lendemain non plus et ne les regardera plus jamais parce qu’elle est une étoile.

Elle est morte.

Elle n’a jamais existé.

Ces trois mots te transpercent comme une dague. Elle n’est plus de ce monde. On a retrouvé sa voiture ce matin. Elle a glissé sur une plaque de verglas. Elle est morte sur le coup.

Ce n’est pas possible. Elle ne peut pas être morte.

Tu vas te réveiller.

Tu vas te réveiller.

TU VAS TE REVEILLER. Tu dois te réveiller.

Tu regardes les photos. Elle est sur toutes. Elle te manque. Elle ne peut pas mourir, pas maintenant, pas 27

clanny mugabe

IF THE WORLD DID NOT SPIN STEFANIE AGES

As this world is overwhelmingly busy, I feel as if sometimes I need to take a break and let my mind disconnect. Often I feel that our lives are constantly being filled with certainties or supposed certainties.

Everyone knows what they want to do and how they are going to do it. Everyday it’s a race to the finish, battling for the spotlight. Our days seem to be at in a state of constant movement, we watch people pass or we push ourselves to catch up. The fact is, the world is in a constant rotation. So you are faced with only two choices: you keep up with the pace of society or you are left waving to the world from the outside. Wow, what a deep thought to swallow. Suddenly, an interesting question runs through my head.

Imagine if the world didn’t spin.

Let me clarify; obviously by scientific law, the world needs to spin. But what if the world was always in a state of metaphorical stillness? What if the human mind lived in a state of metaphorical stillness? What if time was never a concern and it existed in abundancy? Nothing is infinite, however imagine if humans did not live by time or possess the capacity to be bound to it. Imagine if humans did not worry about what comes next.

What would this still world look like?

As a start, we could live our lives in the present and enjoy every moment we have. Instead of always planning and preparing for what’s ahead we could truly appreciate the moment when it happens. We wouldn’t have 28

to look back on memories and feel nostalgic or sad, we would have the wisdom to know that we are in “the good old days” before we have left them. As our days would come and go we would never fear of losing these memories as new ones are constantly being made and remembered.

The creation of this world in my imagination has even brightened up my day in the real world. It is amazing where our thoughts can take us, how they wonder and as a result form some pretty incredible ideas.

Another thought comes to my mind that reverts me back to the imaginative world. In this world, we would be able to truly focus on our work or the things we enjoy without the distraction of time. Time often limits us to completing or continuing the tasks or jobs we are passionate about. This world would allow us to be in full control of what our lives consist of, such as family, work and school. We would be completely free. Living in a constant state of mental freedom, unrestrained by stress. We would never worry about how long things take or how long they should take. Maybe life would feel more simple.

Suddenly I revert back to reality and become aware of the park surrounding me. A woman rushes after her child playing in the field and an elderly man lets his dog roam around the green bushes. The bright yellow sunshine beams down on all of us. The imaginative world starts to slowly diminish from the feeling of reality.

The reality is that on earth, we are constantly moving, advancing and progressing. Time exists and it will always exist, as long as planet Earth is around. We cannot prevent time from moving even though we want it to and we can’t rewind the clock. Our time is finite so we might as well make the most of every moment we get.

If we imagine a motionless world, maybe someday it will feel as if it is in some ways the truth. Even if it is not the truth, changing our mindset is most important. You will be fascinated by what your imagination can accomplish.

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This book takes her to a place very different from this She’d run through the endless fields and feel the moon’s soft kiss Wander through the windy trails that lead wherever she please She’d lie on the grass for hours and feel the embrace of the breeze Time would pass by, but she’d always loose track because of this place she always comes back

taylor ages 30

IN BETWEEN THE LINES MITCHELL MARK-GEORGE

The Writer’s hand quaked, His head bled onto the paper; The owls were wide awake, And so was the man in the scenery.

The Gloom had come to play And down came the painful rain The owls were at their bones But the man remained unfazed.

It was a morbid night, And the sky was empty The land a rotten corpse And the moon nowhere to be found.

The setting called for company But the man did not flinch He put down his pen And went off to bed

The crows croaked soundlessly in the blackness, As the lifeless tree tremored in place.

The owls watched closely As the man stood in the midst of the night.

Now the Writer became the man And his imagery became his blood The crows continued to croak And the man in the setting continued to live on.

The breeze sailed the darkness As silence sang its song, Not a heartbeat quivered Apart for the owls, the crows, and the man.

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CREATIVE PROFILES

MATTHIAS MARK-GEORGE

THOMAS EDISON Thomas Edison used his imagination to become a revolutionary in the world. He was an American inventor and businessman, and has been described as America’s or the world’s greatest inventor. He lived from the mid 1800’s to the 1930’s and had 6 children and 2 wives. This extraordinary thinker was raised in Michigan and sadly suffered from hearing impairment, but this didn’t stop him. This led him to want to study sound and engineering, and many of his inventions involve sound production and recording. He preferred spending time in the laboratory to being with his family and would work for long hours in the lab, trying to ensure he was doing everything right. Edison is an example of how working hard and having imagination can lead to great success.

In response to him being hard of hearing, Thomas Edison sought out to prove himself as someone that was imaginative and smart, and that is just what he did. He invented the phonograph, the motion picture camera, and the electric incandescent light bulb, inventions that are still relevant today. He enjoyed inventing and using his imagination to create ground-breaking products, leading him to hold 1,093 US patents in his name.

He was also quite entrepreneurial, leading to him founding 14 companies, including one of the largest publicly traded companies in the world: General Electric. If Thomas Edison had not imagined, the world would be much different than it currently is. We wouldn’t have electric light bulbs, motion cameras for filming movie, and we wouldn’t have voice recording devices. Imagine what we would do?! Imagination is a useful tool that can change the course of people’s life.

Thomas Edison sought out to change the world despite the challenges he faced, and that is what he did. We should stand tall and show the world that nothing can hold our imagination down and we will continue to invent and innovate cool and imaginative products that will better our world.

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LAUREN MACDONALD

WALT DISNEY Walt Disney, the household name that for many of us represents a wide array of childhood memories, once belonged to a man born December 5, 1901 in Chicago, Illinois. When Walt was young, his family moved to Marceline, Missouri where he would spend the majority of his childhood.

In 1918, at the age of 16, Disney attempted to enlist in the military. After being declined for being too young, Walt joined the Red Cross, spending time overseas in France. Upon his return, he started a small company called “Laugh-O-Grams”, which eventually went out of business, after which he left for Hollywood with a suitcase and $20.

Walt worked on some short films until late 1937, when Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs hit Los Angeles theatres as the first full-length animated musical feature. This production is still widely recognized as one of the industry’s “great feats” due to the movie’s production costs at $1,499,000 in the depth of the depression. Finally, in 1955, Walt’s dream of a clean and well organized amusement park came true as “Disneyland Park” opened in California.

In modern times, 52 official Disney movies have been produced, as well as 7 theme parks opened worldwide. To many, the name Walt Disney means much more that just an entrepreneur. It represents imagination, creativity, and dreams. The films and parks that have been created have impacted a vast population of children and adults worldwide, making the Disney corporation one of the most influential entertainment companies to exist.

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CAROL RODRIGUEZ

TIM BURTON Tim Burton is an American film director, producer, artist, writer and animator whose dark, gothic-like imagination has revolutionized and shaped the 21st century.

Burton was born in Burbank, California, not too far away from Hollywood. He was an introspective person who found his passion in painting, drawing and watching films, loving sci-fi and horror films from a young age, Vincent Price being a huge influence and inspiration in his own work. Tim Burton’s characters and narratives often represent the ‘outsider’, the misunderstood, the lonely, and the rejected. Later, he went on to study at CalArts as an animator, where he was noticed by Disney and was selected as an apprentice animator.

Burton worked on Disney films as an assistant animator and concept artist.

Throughout his career, Tim Burton has constantly challenged the “Hollywood formula” to develop and expand his own vision of a dark, gothic, eccentric and quirky world, which can be seen in his movies such as Beetlejuice, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride, etc. but besides being a film director and visual artist, Burton also writes. Both Vincent and The Nightmare Before Christmas were originally written as poems. Yet again, we have the recurring pattern, both visually and thematically, of the ‘outsider’ and the ‘misunderstood’. These characters are fundamental to the emotional depth that is such a trademark of Burton’s films and part of their appeal.

It’s because of this mix of his extraordinary imagination and well-rounded abilities that has allowed Tim Burton to spread his creative world and relate it to his audience through his empathetic and relatable characters.

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KELDON ERIKSON

STEVE JOBS Steve Jobs, born in San Francisco in 1955, went on to become the CEO and co-founder of Apple Incorporated, the company responsible for many of the technological advances that have influenced the widespread use of technology today. It was Steve Jobs who had the idea of selling the computer built by Steve Wozniak, that would eventually turn Apple into one of the richest companies in the world, with a value of $234 billion and market cap of $550 billion.

Since its creation in 1976, Steve Jobs remained an influential part of the creation for products produced by the company, such as MacBooks, iPhones, iPads, watches, and much more. The household name “Steve Jobs� earned its fame by creating the products that have become part of our daily lives, with over 1 billion iPhones sold worldwide. The products produced by Apple have also become a vital element in enhancing learning, creating revolutionary research tools as well as creative outlets.

Steve Jobs continued to function as the CEO and majority shareholder of Apple Inc. until his death on October 5, 2011. He left behind a wife, three children, and an incredible legacy.

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REBECCA MUSCANT

J.K. ROWLING “Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and, therefore, the foundation of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathize with humans whose experiences we have never shared.” This was said

by Joanne (J. K.) Rowling during her speech at the 2008 Harvard Commencement ceremony. J.K Rowling is known as the very successful writer of the “Harry Potter” book series. That in and of itself, requires quite a bit of imagination. However, it took some time for her to finally make it.

From an early age, Rowling knew she wanted to be a writer. She was always thinking of new ideas, and had written a few short stories and a novel by the age of eleven. Her early childhood was relatively normal, but it was later that she learned the true value of imagination. There’s a lot that can be said about her success and how she uses her creativity to guide her writing. However, there is much more depth to Rowling’s imagination.

After receiving university degrees in both French and Classics, she began to work in the African research department at Amnesty International. There she learned of the horrors that humans endure in certain countries. She worked with people who had fled their homes to save themselves from the consequences of speaking out against their governments. One of these victims, who had been physically and mentally shattered from the torture he had endured, took her hand and wished her future happiness. This man’s mother had been executed as punishment for speaking out, and yet he was still able to express his wish for someone much more privileged to be happy. Imagination is not just the ability to come up with ideas, but the ability to empathize, too. She saw these horrible acts every single day, and she learned how fortunate she was. This is the main reason she values imagination so greatly.

She states that imagination is a power that, like the magic in her stories, is neutral by nature. We can choose how to use it, if at all. However, she does say that not using our imagination, is far worse than exposing yourself to the truth and empathizing with people whose places you’d rather not be in. “I think the willfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid,” she says. “What is more, those who choose not to empathize enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.” She has chosen to use her imagination for good, to aid and teach, which is something that everyone should be doing. We all have this power, why not use it for good?

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HEARTBEAT ISABELA HERNANDEZ-OVIEDO

It was so calm, so soft. Jennie was floating in the air. Everything was so white. She could hear her heartbeat.

Hard. She did not think of anything, it was so calm. Strangely calm. No sound was to be made, only the strong sound of her tiny heart beating, beating, beating. She could hear her mother’s voice calling her. The sound was muffled.

“Jennie, Jennie, wake up. Wake up, darling.”

Did she want to wake up? Was it worth it? It was so comfortable here. She could stay like this forever. In this comfy white space. It was so peaceful. The world down there was so noisy, so loud, so crowded.

“Jennie, I know you can hear me, please, wake up, wake up!”

Why can’t I stay here, forever?

“Her heart beat is getting lower, connect her! Oxygen? Here…don’t leave her until everything is stabilized again! Sorry ma’am, you must leave.”

I want to stay here. I like it so much better.

Tubum. Tubum. Tubum. Tubum.

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The minutes pass, hours, days, weeks, months now.

“Jennie, my little girl, I am so sorry. I…remember, remember the day we were at the park? It was so beautiful, the reddish leaves rained in an explosion of colors. So many shades of red! It was beautiful, spectacular. You were running that day. Running everywhere, trying to catch those leaves. You didn’t catch any at first but you didn’t give up. Remember what you told me when it was time to go home? “I’ll never give up mummy, never.

I’ll catch one of those leaves.” And…and I just answered that it was time to head back home, that it was too late. “Mummy, it’s not just only a leaf. It is a leaf now, but then, it might be a dream, a career, a person, a goal, please let me try again mummy.” We stayed one minute more, maybe two. You caught that leaf.

I was so proud of you. You were six at the time. Don’t give up. You can do this. Wake up.

I know you are listening to me. Please, hold on to life, don’t give up, ever.”

Remember, I love you.

I love you too mummy, but I am not sure I want to wake up. I…I am so confused.

The white room suddenly seemed less…reassuring in a way.

“She is so young,” said a voice.

“We tried everything.”

“Everything is not enough,” said her mother, “It’s been five months now!”

“She is so young, she is only a girl.”

“It should have been me,” said Jennie’s sister, “Oh, sis’, I’m so, so sorry. I was driving the car.

It’s all my fault. I didn’t see the truck coming, I should have. I should have!

Jennie, wake up! Wake up! You can’t die! Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” “Hazel, it’s ok, it’s ok,” said her mother, taking her eldest daughter in her arms.

Hazel was crying.

“Wake up Jennie! Wake up! You have to wake up! Don’t leave me! It’s all my fault!”

“Sh..sh…it’s going to be ok.”

“No, it’s my fault, it should have been me! It should have been me!”

“She’ll be fine.”

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“Mum, she’s nine! If she dies…what will I do if she dies? Oh, mother…”

Tubum. Tubum. Tubum.

Don’t worry for me big sister, I’ll be fine. I am fine here. I am sorry if I leave you but live happy, for me.

The clock turns.

Tubum. Tubum.

If I could turn the clock...

They are in a car. Hazel is driving. A calm music is played in the background.

“This music is so lame, why don’t we put on something more joyful?”

“You know I don’t like to drive with crazy music. I want to be calm, we don’t want to get into a car accident, do we?”

“Nah, but we won’t have an accident. You are the best driver ever.”

“Now, now Jennie.”

“Come on! Just this time.”

“I guess it won’t hurt.”

“OK, great! How do I insert the CD?” “Here, let me help you.”

“HAZEL! TRACK!”

The car collides.

Tubum.

How is it back there? Is it the same without me? I am everything for mum, big sis’, daddy, family, friends… I can’t leave them. Wake up! Believe…believe in yourself, don’t giv-

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L’OIE BLEUE CHRIS GAUTHIER

Un troupeau d’oies vivaient en harmonie, ensemble.

Chaque oie était la même, la vie était plaisante.

Un jour, une oie se rendait seule en promenade ; D’un buisson une baie juteuse tomba sur son crane, Tout à coup sa tête devint d’un bleue foncé.

Les yeux sur elle, toutes aimèrent son nouveau style Et copièrent cette nouvelle prédisposition.

L’une après l’autre, elles se coloraient la tête, Car c’était la mode ; Toutes celles qui ne la suivaient pas Etaient laides.

Bientôt elles avaient toutes la tête bleue, Toutes sauf un oiseau Qui se trouvait assez beau comme il était ; Les autres se moquaient de lui : “Regarde son plumage gris, Il est étrange”.

Mais cette oie ne les écoutait pas.

Le lendemain, Le colorant bleu était devenu brun, Et tous les oiseaux étaient laids, Tout sauf l’oie sans colorant Qui était encore belle.

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madi harper & ivanna alba ortega

ELIZABETH ARIHO

ALONE AND WAITING

Can’t you hear it? The sliding of scales on the train floor.

Or was it actually the rattling of the train on its tracks. I don’t know what is real anymore. I’m getting out at the next stop.

I’m going to see my- There it is again! You seriously can’t hear that hissing that seems so close you can feel the saliva ricochet off of their tongues and stick to your cheek, or the fear that the conductor is slowly being strangled by a seven foot long python and that’s why he hasn’t called for my stop which should have come exactly 5.3 seconds ago? Am I the crazy one? To see what other people do not? Or, am I the truth? All of man’s evils slithering along the train.

Twenty.

Twenty snakes and twenty ‘people’. Some smaller than others. Some waiting to engulf you.

10 seconds turns into a minute and soon two then three. I’ve succumb to the serpents that cloud my mind. One by one, the ‘people’ begin to fade and I am left alone.

Alone and waiting.

Alone and waiting.

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Imagination (noun): The faculty or action of forming new ideas, or images or concepts of external objects not present to the senses (Oxford English Living Dictionary)

Imagination is the center of our mind, and lets us roam free in the world. It helps us feel and envision anything that is “present to our senses” (such as the 5 physical senses). It is when we invent, innovate, or incinerate ideas, theories or concepts. Imagination is the basis of all knowledge. Imagination is not something that we can start or stop; it is continuous, it is deep thought and cannot be anything else. We all have imaginations, and we have no control over it.

Empathy (noun): The ability to understand and share the feelings of another (Oxford English Living Dictionary)

Rebecca Solnit defines empathy as “a story you tell yourself about what it must be like to be that other person”. Empathy is the cause and effect behind all emotion and catharsis. We empathize with someone when they have won an award or have lost a relative. Empathy is what creates all our reactions, and as humans learn more about the emotions they empathize, they can begin to showcase these emotions for themselves, and maybe, just maybe, someone may empathize with them, starting the “Empathy Circle” once again.

Quick Activity: I want you to imagine how I felt when I wrote this piece.

In the form of a simple activity, I have made imagination empathy and empathy imagination. Look at the “quick activity” one more time, and then look at the definitions of imagination and empathy. Do you see it?

Empathy is a form of imagination! For you to put yourself inside another person’s shoes, you must imagine their frame of mind and predicament. We must think deeply and make assumptions about the other person/ thing.

To conclude, I would like to quote the actress Susan Sarandon, “When you start to develop your powers of empathy and imagination, the whole world opens up to you.”

SPEAK YOUR OPINION TO OPEN YOURSELF UP TO THE WORLD. EDITORAIL BY: MATTHIAS MARK-GEORGE 42

TO HAVE YOUR VOICE HEARD IN THE NEXT EDITION CONTACT: CHELSEA.LAROCK@ASHBURY.CA EADAOIN.OBOYLE@ASHBURY.CA

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