Bugle Solo Stories by bollesbugle

Bugle Solo

Stories

Telling the distinctive stories of Bugle staffers through the art of non-fiction writing.

Table of Contents

1 2 3 Childhood

Challenge

Change

Olive Elliana Emery

College Suprise Clariss Valdivia

My Quarantine Complaints Tyler Schimpff

Eye of the Storm Grace Albaugh

Tidal Waves Megan Howard

Atop Cerro Pedernal Atticus Dickson

The Adventures of Nani Camp Amber Bansal

Hidden Potential Aisha Hasan

Sun and Honey Time Avani Bansal

Preschool Thief Cameron Gratz

Making My Map Ian Wilkinson

What’s Left is Love Sarah Scherkenbach

Hide and Seek Riya Kar

Belly of the Beast Isabel Bassin

Praise the Mutilated World Ava Sickler

County Road 13 Katie Creveling

“The Tech Guy” Thomas Keaveny

Summer Camp Blues Sara Wasserman

Blueberry Muffins Su Ertekin-Taner

The Dissonance of Pessimism Ian Peiris

My Dad and Me Taylor Ford

India In COVID-19 Avani Bansal

Realities of Now Ian Peiris

Editor’s Letter Dear Readers, Bugle Solo Stories is a special edition, end-of-the-year issue of The Bolles Bugle. Through this issue, our goal was to capture stories centered around the themes of childhood, challenge, and change of Bugle staff in less than 500 words; the idea being that a story need not be long for it to carry weight. As a staff, we were inspired by the spoken stories of The Moth and the short written stories of New York Times’ Tiny Love Stories and Metropolitan Diaries sections. Each source highlights the events and thoughts of the storyteller by building a connection with the reader. Through the unique stories of our staff, we hope as well to build a personal connection with our readers. I would like to thank the Bugle staff for so thoughtfully crafting personalized stories through skills learned in this class: journalism, narrative writing, and connecting. Each and every one of our staffers has a distinctive story to tell and a distinctive voice to tell it with. I appreciate your dedication to the art. A note regarding the cover: the cover of this issue includes images submitted by the Bugle staff that visually portray events written about within the contents of this issue. The cover is a patchwork that knits together our stories with the one thing that binds us all together: being the students of journalism and narration. Further, our dividers include small poems written by myself that represent the themes of childhood, challenge, and change under which our issue is divided. We hope that you enjoy this issue! Su Ertekin-Taner Creative Director

I remember when we used to Cup our hands like spoons and weave our hair like weeds Plant apple seeds in the backyard and watch the supposed trees recede Cloth the new action figurines with our own scissor-cut clothing Just to lose our energies and fall into deep afternoon sleep

— Childhood

Elliana Emery | Contributing Writer

OLIVE When looking back on 2020, one of the good memories that flows through is when I had visited my cousins in Oregon during the late summer. If COVID had kept a pause on plane rides at that time, I most likely wouldn’t have gone. My youngest cousin was around 2 and this was only the second time I had seen her since 2018. She was just a couple months old back then and constantly cried. She liked no one but her parents, mainly because she was so little. So, I never had the chance to grow a connection with her.

My cousin, Olivia, sitting with her cowgirl hat as we play picnic together in the computer room of my grandparents house.

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I still remember her glossy checks when she smiled all big. The way her eyes glowed when I agreed to play picnic with her as she wore that cowgirl hat. Her little legs carrying her body across one side of the house to the other as I chased her while saying in that obnoxious little kid voice, “I’m going to get you, Olive!” My other two cousins followed behind, shouting and making a mess which we’d have to clean later. But I didn’t care. I just remember feeling nothing but happiness in that exact moment.

When I arrived in early August she let me hold her and play with her. I was surprised since two years ago she wouldn’t let me go near her and the two times I held her she just cried, but I didn’t waste time thinking about that. I only had a week to somehow establish a relationship with her before I returned home. Even with a chaotic year like 2020, times like this would shine through with some light of positivity telling me to cherish the smaller moments.

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9 Grace Albaugh | Contributing Writer

THE EYE OF THE STORM

Family trip to Morocco that caused many freakouts due to weather.

In my childhood I was never afraid of the dark. I was never afraid of snakes, insects, or monsters under the bed. None of these things frightened me. I was a fool to consider myself brave for the second a clap of thunder pierced its way inside my ears and into my heart, I felt the icy hands of fear wrap around my mind leaving me in a state of terror. At the time it wasn’t the storms themselves that frightened me but the anticipation they brought when their ominous clouds, black as night, rolled towards me. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide, I could only stand and watch them grow closer. This was not a great fear to have, given the fact that I lived, and still live in Florida, land of the afternoon thunder. I was told time and time again that such fears were “irrational,” that my panic attacks were ruining family outings when every time I was caught in a state of vulnerability watching a storm grow closer I would cry and scream begging us to go home, to safety, to stability.

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As I grew older I gained an understanding for these fears, it wasn’t the storm that frightened me but the lack of control that came with feeling at the mercy of a being as powerful as nature. With age I’ve come to peace with this fear. I can understand it and grasp it knowing it wasn’t the storm itself that scared me, however, I still shiver upon seeing cumulus clouds remembering the fear it used to bring me. The fear of storms, nature’s power, has passed but I still fear the debilitating anxiety I felt in those young years and hope to never feel that way again, though that feeling is inevitable, it will always find a new form or way to catch up to you. It never goes away, only changes the way in which it will appear to you.

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11 Amber Bansal | Contributing Writer

THE ADVENTURES OF NANI CAMP I know the stereotypical taste of childhood is melted ice cream on a hot summer day, and I guess I fit that stereotype, but with some Aunt Jemima pancakes too. Growing up, my sister and I had “Nani camp,” (Nani means grandmother in Hindi) where we would stay at our grandmother’s house for about a week at a time and learn sewing, cooking, and that sort of thing, the things she loved to do.

I’m enjoying ice cream after a day of Nani camp.

The highlight of our stay was having “Nani breakfast,” which was nothing more than pancakes made from Aunt Jemima’s pancake mix and my Nani’s signature chai, but, it was the love that went into it that makes it special. Even today, we still look forward to Nani Breakfast. In those days, we also got the stereotypical melted ice cream.

to sit in the front seat, but my sister took that seat, so my solution was to crouch on the floor of the front seat, so I was still there, but the scary police couldn’t “arrest” me for sitting in the front seat (this is what went on in my head). But, though it may not have been the safest solution, my grandmother let me do it, because she wanted me to be happy. She always has, whether it be distracting me with her jewelry because I couldn’t stand being away from my mom for a night, taking me for ice cream, or making pancakes.

While at “camp,” she would take us to Brusters for some ice cream late at night (well we thought it was late, but it was no later than 9). I always wanted

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Check out Cameron’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

Cameron Gratz | Contributing Writer

PRESCHOOL THIEF When I was a child, I was sure that if I held my hand just the right way and focused just hard enough, I could make the blades of grass at the playground move just because I wanted them to, like a Jedi knight from Star Wars. The world was chaos as the 2008 financial crisis raged, but I was none the wiser. And if I had been, I’m not sure I would have cared. I could move grass with my mind, and therefore everything was right in the world, with me at its center.

much that I was also a regular thief of said toy cars. I would make sure I was at that station when school ended, and then I would just put one in my pocket and walk out. And what I lacked in subtlety, I made up for in pride when I, beaming, showed my parents what I had brought home. They made me bring them back. But even on days when I didn’t show them and thus got away with my prize, I didn’t enjoy playing with the cars as much at home as I did at school. At school, I had friends to play with and towering boxes The world around me was as abstract as the of tracks at my disposal. I could build roads and cities Star Wars universe, and I could scarcely fathom that and connect them to those other kids built. Slowly, I existence continued beyond the activities of my own stopped stealing the cars altogether, not because I had family. And then I entered Pre-K, and my world become any less devious, but because I had come to shattered into a billion tiny pieces. There were other realize that the cars meant less to me at home than people. I had teachers and classmates, and I had to at school. Gradually, but beginning at this time, I learn to get along with them. I was by no stretch of the realized that I belonged in a world where I am but a imagination a perfect child. At my preschool, the day small part, and not altogether close to the center. I consisted of moving between stations, so that by the like this great big world, because if it was all my own end of the day, you would have visited all the different field of grass, it would before long become dreadfully stations and done all the different activities. But I boring. To share it with other people, the way I did really liked the station with the toy cars and the tracks with the toy cars, is what keeps it interesting and what that snapped together, and so I frequently snuck away makes each day new. from the other stations to stay there. I loved it so

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I am here on my first day of kindergarten standing outside a car.

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Check out Riya’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

Riya Kar | Crontributing Writer

HIDE AND SEEK As a child of the Harry Potter series, I was a magic fanatic. I would reveal my true abilities in the world renowned competition of hide and seek and like Harry Potter to quidditch, I was the master of the game. I was known to “disappear.” I had the best hiding spots, and to be even more annoying I chose the ones right in front of you. I would hold back my giggles as I saw you walk by with confused searching eyes. To this day I have no idea if I was successful because I hid from 7 year olds who in the span of two minutes would find something else that could keep their attention, but this was my talent, my magic.

Here I am at 7 years old standing on the streets of Odisa, India.

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These days I see myself, a child, running to hide behind a corner, as another kid counts to 20. I follow her as she places her back against the wall, just outside the line of sight. She giggles with excitement and pushes her back into the wall. I look at her and spot a child coming into the room saying “ready or not here I come.” I look at the kid as he slowly approaches the corner. The girl holds her breath as

the boy passes by the corner. However, he obviously continues walking searching for his friend. I sigh in frustration at the sight of stupidity. I turned to look back at the girl in her obvious hiding spot but see nothing. There was no sign of movement or any signs of life, just the wall. I looked around confused, and jumped as I heard a slight giggle. Turning back, I see her face slowly coming out of the wall, her invisibility falling off revealing a glowing proud smile. At some point the kid runs off to find her friend and rub in her skills, but I remain stunned on the ground. I feel around the area she was, staring in everlasting disbelief. Recently, I’ve tried pushing my back against the plaster to mesh with the wall, become one with the shadows, be masked in the air. Hide from the stress counting to 20 on the other side of the wall. Disappear from the disappointment that is searching for me in the closet. Conceal myself from the pressuring expectations now cooing through the hallway “ready or not here I come.” To become invisible, to hide, to escape from reality one more time.

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Katie Creveling | Contributing Writer

COUNTY ROUND 13

My brother hanging out of the sun roof of the car after an adventure at Daytona Beach.

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I have a really amazing memory of this image from last year. Thanksgiving break. Me and my brother drove down to Daytona Beach for a day and had so much fun. We had a good lunch, went by the house I was born in, and went for a nice walk on the beach. Then, while on the beach, I got a call from the local sheriff ’s office saying that I was involved in a hit and run. AND I WAS THE ONE WHO HIT AND RAN. And they threatened to tow my car if I did not “report to the scene immediately.” I began to slightly freak out, because we were a mile away from the scene, so I began to sprint down the beach, leaving my younger brother behind. Fortunately, the lady claiming that I hit her car was false, so it ended up just being a minor inconvenience in the day.

Anyways that doesn’t really have anything to do with the story. But on the way back home, we went down Old Dixie Highway, which is a road with beautiful tree canopies. The hundred-year-old oak trees tower over the road, reaching out to one another with their limbs above, creating a tunnel of nature. We had the windows rolled down, sunroof open, Queen music blaring, and my brother decided to stick his head out of the sunroof. I snapped a picture of the moment and it’s one of my all time favorite pictures. And memory.

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Su Ertekin-Taner | Creative Director

Check out Su’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

Blind was he who climbed ten mountains while breathing for one who does not lose his breath over rock and stone cannot possibly say he climbed more than five feet

BLUEBERRY MUFFINS the world is about to end and the precursor to it is blueberry muffins I know because the skin of muffins like pools of lava with pockets of carbon dioxide it reminds me that if the holiest of sweet-salty-savory treats shape themselves like the devil’s lair then we sure as heck are bound to die in the midst of muffins

— Challenge

Clarisss Valdivia | Contributing Writer

COLLEGE SURPRISE As I did my college application, I was realizing that I really sucked at everything. I was scared and I didn’t even know what college to go to, and my mom was stressing me out by making me apply to every college I laid my eyes on, coupled with the impending deadline looming over my head, it was safe to say I was freaking out. It was a four-day fall break in school when my family decided to go to Georgia for a quick vacation. When I was little, I used to live there, and I hadn’t gone back since. And I also liked to travel, so it seemed like a great way to let off some stress from college applications. Though lo and behold, when we got there, my mom wanted me to tour Emory in Atlanta. At first I was annoyed, because this was supposed to be the time for me to stop thinking about college, but my parents urged me since we were already there. Since it was around COVID times, we drove around the campus without an actual tour guide. Because my old house was near the college, it was jarring to look around. It felt like home, oddly enough. While I didn’t want to admit my mom was

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right for recommending the college to me, I do admit I did some research on Emory on the way home, which was something I almost never did willingly for a college. I had done a little more research at that point, and pinpointing Emory as the best choice for ED was the time when my load became a little lighter. My advisor told me it was a little difficult to get into, so if I applied ED I would have a better chance of getting in. By then, I had applied to four other schools Regular Decision, but Emory was the one that got back to me first. If I made it in, I wouldn’t even need to hear back from them, and my stress would be over. December 6th, at 6 PM, my decision came in, and I had made it in. All that stress and anxiousness had faded away. Because I thought my application was lacking, I was really surprised to make it into a school with only a 16% acceptance rate. My mom was super excited and happy for me, and I know that while she drove me crazy, I really had her to thank for getting into my top school. Without her, I would have never heard about Emory, or acknowledged the potential I had to make it into such a school.

Gifts I received from Emory.

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Megan Howard | Social Media Editor

TIDAL WAVES

Me with fellow Buglers at the annual Bugle Dinner.

Sometimes when I am surrounded by technology geniuses, such as Ava, Thomas, and Sarah, I feel stupid. I’m sorry. I know it’s a mean word to use in reference to myself. But technology of today requires an IQ much higher than mine. You see, my brain is wired for reading books and analyzing history; maybe learning a language here and there as well. But computers? Why do they never work for me? When I am working on layouts for The Bugle, I am constantly calling out to Ava and Ian, “Hello my favorite Buglers, can you help me download a font?” So, I have decided that if I learned to ask for help when it comes to technology, then I can learn to ask my friends if they want to hang out with me. I know, it sounds insane. If they are my friends, then they want to eat lunch with me. No. That is not how my brain works. In my head, each interaction with a person is a spider web of thoughts and complexities with silk linking each unfounded thought with another. “Well, she’s friends with one girl who is really

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intimidating, so maybe my friend does not want to hang out with me. Actually, maybe she secretly hates me, or worse, talks about how desperate I am to her friends.” To someone without anxiety, my line of reasoning sounds illogical, fallible, and ridiculous. But in the moment, with irrational thoughts surging in unstoppable tidal waves, with blood pressure skyrocketing to match the pace of my thoughts, my logical thinking skills cease to exist and the tidal waves drown me in a sea of my own thoughts. I journeyed from the spider web of thoughts to the tidal waves of fallacies so I could learn to be courageous and ask Ava and Ian to help me download the font. Learning to navigate technology and learning to handle social anxiety are parallel experiences: both requiring the ability to be vulnerable and admit to myself and others that I need guidance.

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Aisha Hasan | Contributing Writer

Check out Aisha’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

HIDDEN POTENTIAL In fifth grade I did not really have any hobbies other than school. In my elementary school we had one elective everyday, on this particular day we happened to have music class. In music class, our music teacher announced auditions for our school chorus, if we were interested.

Finally, the day came to audition and she told me to sing “happy birthday.” In that moment all the words to happy birthday just left me. I started to break a sweat and wanted to just cry because I was so nervous. After many deep breaths, I was eventually able to calm down and get out some lyrics with notes.

I honestly at the time had no interest in anything music related, let alone singing. I went about my day not thinking about anything my music teacher had said. Then out of nowhere she cornered me into a wall like a predator does with its prey. “Aisha, please try out for chorus. I need more participants and you seem like the kind of person willing to try new things!” exclaimed my music teacher. Out of complete fear I just said yes so she would leave me alone.

My teacher was shocked when she heard me and immediately lit up like a disco ball. I was so confused when she told me to join the chorus and to keep singing because she saw potential. Now in tenth grade I am still singing in chorus, I thank her every day.

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My music teacher with me and some other students to participate at an all-state choral performance.

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Ian Wilkinson | Contributing Writer

Check out Ian’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

MAKING MY MAP Making a map would appear to be a simple task, right? We all did it when we were drawing treasure hunts in preschool - or trying to show a friend where something “super special secret” is hidden. But there isn’t a compass, or map, to direct me now as I begin my search for the right job. Thankfully, as of late employees have been negligent in attending work, causing employers to search for new, dedicated employees.

Me standing in the road on the way to a dog training “interview” with my dog, Draco.

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As a young student looking for work, these open positions give me the chance to practically pick whatever trade I want - it’s the perfect opportunity to hop into the job market and earn some money! However, the process of finding “the job” is difficult, especially one that fits bioengineering, artificial intelligence, or dog training, for more than 15 dollars and hour. To find my way to the right job, I must make my parents my cartographers, the legend my

goals / what I want in my job, and the job the red “X” that marks the spot. With that said, my cartographers haven’t been able to draw out my entire journey. Instead, they have drawn out small treks to certain websites that I need to visit, and small notes of advice, such as “know what you want to do, and do the research, then go get it!” As of now, this expedition has worked. I’ve been looking on my own, forming contacts and getting an idea of where, and with whom, I want to work with over the summer. Essentially, I am creating my own journey to “the job.”

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Isabel Bassin | Contributing Writer

BELLY OF THE BEAST Every protagonist has friends that care for them and help them achieve their goals. Every antagonist doesn’t have a friend to hold, and doesn’t know the concept of platonic love and support. My worst friend is inside of me, inside my own brain, working relentlessly to look from the outside that they are shaping my character, but from the inside, is turning me into the antagonist. I am my worst friend. I try to be there for myself, but it is not within my mental capabilities. I offer myself consolation when I am sad, and excitement when I am happy, but it just isn’t enough. I am my worst friend because I can never be happy for myself. My anxiety prevents me from stopping to smell the roses. I try to live life, but I am my own toxic friend, unraveling myself from inside to out.

the belly and the beast. I am my best enemy because I push myself relentlessly and never fail to defeat myself. One side of me always wins, and another side of me always loses. Enemies serve the purpose of creating conflict in the plot. The hero, however, must always prevail. Because of this, I am okay being my best enemy. If the plot is my life, then the conflict is within me. The conflict pushes me down. But I, the hero, will always win. Time and time again, I will defeat my inner saboteur and emerge victorious.

I am playing lacrosse with my club team this past November.

I am my best enemy. I know the ins and outs of myself, and I know just how to take myself down. I attack from the belly of the beast because I am both

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31 Thomas Keaveny | Technology Editor

“THE TECH GUY” I am hanging out with my Bugle friends during the annual Bugle Dinner.

Though I am known to be ”the tech guy” believe it or not - my relationship with technology is not all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a love, hate relationship, but not in the sense that technology can sometimes be my greatest ally or worst enemy. My hate for technology stems from my personality and the ways that I like to interact and communicate with the world. Technology is a tool can help me accomplish great feats, but opposingly, technology can also take away something I value over a lot of other things

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and ideas: human connection. I know it’s very cliche, but the danger is also very present in real life; people being sucked in their phones and other devices and believing that the technology they interact with is the focal point of their life. I know that technology is a great source of creating relationships and interacting with people - but it will never be the same as an in person connection. TLDR: the tech guy doesn’t like technology as much as you think.

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Check out Ian’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

Ian Peiris | Online Editor

THE DISSONANCE OF PESSIMISM I began playing piano at three years old, and though I have gotten frustrated, injured, and disappointed through practice, I continue to embark on my journey to musical success.

While I attempt to grace the ivory keys at my first state piano competition, I hear a voice in my head scream loudly at me: “Why did you miss that last note?” it yells, “You are so gonna lose!” This pessimistic voice manifests at every major competition, as if my brain turns on a switch, and I detested its mere existence. Just knowing it was inside of my head, I performed with less energy, emotion, and spirit. Just knowing that I could embarrass myself, I flinched at every vulnerability in my performance. Just knowing that I could mess up, I felt my hands tremble with the magnitude of an earthquake.

mistakes and somewhat falsely informing me that I am doomed to fail. But I know that each time it hurts me, I increase my knowledge on my weaknesses or what triggers its unrestrained response. I know that just by acknowledging the detriments of which it warns me, I am one step closer to cutting its power and finding my potential for growth. I know that it is very possible to control the inner pessimist inside of me; I guess I just have to find the off switch.

That voice has become a part of my practice and performance routine, reprimanding me on my

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Avani Bansal | Co-Editor In Chief

If I were to metamorphose would I leave that shell of myself behind? or barter it for less than owed? or carry it on my back— a shell of my existence before existence? — Change

INDIA IN COVID-19 There is currently a crisis in India where there have been over 300,000 reported cases of COVID every day for the past week. There are so many deaths that the crematorium cannot handle the number of bodies needed to be cremated. There is utter and complete wreckage in this country. Seeing this devastation makes me think about how lucky I, an Indian, am to live in a first-world country. Seeing this mind-numbing news saddens me everyday. However, the number of fundraising pages I have seen flowing through everyone’s Instagram pages is astounding. I have never seen people acknowledge India or the crises going on there. In

the shock and sadness I experienced seeing this news, it was refreshing to see efforts being made on most everyone’s Instagram page with so many people united to help out another country who is going through such a difficult time. Despite all of the recent Anti-Asian crimes we have seen in the United States, there are so many of us that have united to contribute and do everything we can to help save thousands of lives in an Asian country. While the situation in India is horrific, I see and appreciate the efforts being made all across the world.

36 Tyler Schimpff | Contributing Writer

Check out Tyler’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

MY QUARANTINE COMPLAINTS

Doing school from home offered me many distractions that would sidetrack me from my schoolwork.

I know this is going to sound very cliché but I think I handled 2020 pretty well all things considered. I know I did not have it nearly as hard as a lot of people did so I feel weird complaining about the trivial aspects of it but those were really the only ones that affected me so I am going to complain about them anyway.

after being cooped up in the same room all day for school and then for the rest of the day just to kind of mess around at home and spend hours upon hours of YouTube. This is something I still struggle with today as I have procrastinated on schoolwork this year much more than in years prior which I attribute to the bad habit I created over quarantine.

I never got sick, I never lost my job, I never lost anyone in my nuclear family, and I never had to worry about where my next meal would be coming from. I did however lose my ability to be with my friends and really do anything outside of the house. Yeah, I know this was a common theme for everyone all over the world so, again, it seems like I don’t really have the right to be complaining about it, but it really affected me much more than I predicted it would when lockdown first began. I mean sure when it first started and school was cancelled for a week I was actually pretty happy. Never before had I been able to spend an entire week in sweatpants without ever having to go on errands or do anything like that. As that week stretched into many months however, my perspective quickly changed.

I became very isolated even in my own home because, while I love my family, they do unintentionally get on my nerves quite frequently when we are living in close quarters 24/7. As much as I love him, there is a limit to how many times I can sanely play junior monopoly with my seven year old brother and I think I quadrupled that limit last summer.

My schoolwork became more of an afterthought as it was incredibly hard for me to focus

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Since then I learned how to meditate which helped me cope with all the 2020 stress that accumulated over quarantine, I go for daily runs to clear my head, and I try to limit the amount of time I spend on my phone so that I have more time after school work to relax a bit. Admittedly, I still have a long way to go to fix my procrastination habit that stems from my lack of drive working from home, but I could not be more thankful that life is starting to get back to normal after such a crazy year.

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Atticus Dickson | Contributing Writer

ATOP CERRO PEDERNAL Everything in the world is broken, shattered, and imperfect, either by design, or through experience, and, like most people, sometimes both. Every person has faults and defects. Nothing that ever was or ever will be can ever be perfect. And yet, here we are, being, striving to become more than we are.

My family and I hiking up to Cerro Pedernal, the mountain where Georgia O’Keefe’s ashes were spread after she passed.

Everyone has what is called nefesh in Judaism, a spark or breath of divinity imbued in them, like the brightest stars that manage to break through all the light pollution, whether the user of this holiness calls it the soul, rūh, qi, or simply the synapses in our brains firing to give us consciousness. We exist on this earth in imperfect and insignificant forms, yet we continue to exist. To bring meaning into our own lives, we create our own meaning in other meaningless, fragmented things. When I was younger, I used to fear this insignificance. I remember a specific incident that kicked it off. I was around twelve, and my family and I had just gone to see the Oscar-nominated Short Films, one of which was about a man grappling with

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the death of his mother. This really freaked me out, because it was the first time I truly realized that everything and everyone I had ever known and loved would one day perish in some capacity. I became afraid of the end for all people and how my life was destined to pass in the blink of an eye. But I can also pinpoint the exact moment that fear left me and I changed. Last summer, on the top of Cerro Pedernal, almost 10,000 feet up above the earth, after a grueling hike up and facing the same on the return trip, looking out over the New Mexican desert below, I finally came to peace with the fact that existence, on a grand scale, is ultimately futile but as lovely as it is ephemeral. Existing in defiance of the truth of mortality brings nothing but fear. However, on a smaller scale, our pointless existence can mean everything to another pointless existence. Everything on the earth, including the earth itself, is composed of the bodies of stars, reincarnated into new meaning, after the crucial step of destruction. So, we too come together after our destructions and we shine, to make up a collection of broken, beautiful stories.

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Avani Bansal | Co-Editor In Chief

SUN AND HONEY TIME This is a photo of me during Diwali in 2019. I have been dancing for Diwali every year since I was 3 years old!

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My “Sun and honey time” has been the time that I get to relax on my bed or in my comfy chair and either watch Netflix, go on Tiktok/Instagram, or listen to music. Between dealing with the pandemic and the college application process simultaneously, I needed an outlet where I could just give myself a rest. I have always loved music, but I have found a new, deeper appreciation for music. I have found a love for so many different styles of music such as Reggae, Latino Pop, Pop, Bollywood, and Classical music.

Since I am an Indian dancer, I have an appreciation for different beat structures of these different genres. I also love trying to translate the Spanish words in the Latino/Reggae music to test my Spanish skills. My favorite Spanish song is “Vivir Mi Vida” and my favorite Bollywood song is “Ghungroo”. If I am ever stressed or overwhelmed, I can count on music to take me away and allow me to “Vivir Mi Vida La-La-La-La”.

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Sarah Scherkenbach | Co-Editor In Chief

WHAT’S LEFT IS LOVE

This was my first Halloween, and I dressed as a fairy.

The world is about to end, and I still love you. My mom is the one who originally taught me what it means to love. She shows me every single day in every single way that beyond everything, love can endure. She exemplifies love through 16 years of loving my father even after he died. She embodies love by taking care of me even when it was hard and when she could have chosen not to. See, it was never a choice for her; she just did. She just loves selflessly. However, for others, to love someone is a choice. You choose day in and day out that you will care about them—that you will protect them to the best of your ability. However, it is also a paradox because when you choose to love someone, you do what is best for the person you love, and there is no longer a choice.

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Love is not a fleeting spell of infatuation; it is the ability to look at someone and say, I am selfless enough to let you go but selfish enough to ask you to stay. The world is about to end, but love is a force that will bind us all together. At the deepest level of human interactions, every individual has the capacity to love. The people that we love make us who we are and allow us to grow, so when it all comes down to the end, I am proud to have said that I was able to love. Not necessarily in a romantic fashion, but I still loved. I love. And I will love. Nothing can curb how I feel, and that is the one thing that is mine mine mine. The world is about to end, but my love is mine, and your love is yours, and our love is ours, and love will prevail.

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Ava Sickler | Design Editor

PRAISE THE MUTILATED WORLD

Praise the mutilated world.

The world for all its faults and scars is a beautiful place— it has to be, for it is all we have. What does it mean to be broken, or wrecked? Nothing is perfect, untouched, clean, sterile. If it was we wouldn’t like it. I’m sure you’ve seen people try. The fake smile, the immaculate house that echoes with emptiness. The veneer scraped on, over anything that might have endeared them to others.

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As humans, we love flaws. We love seeing vulnerability and compassion. We like to watch the struggle be overcome. What is success without a challenge? An empty reward, seen and felt as undeserved. If the world, if its people, didn’t have these faults it wouldn’t be real or beautiful or complex. It would just be an empty rock with empty people.

I watch a long-worn statue with a broken off hand, still peering over the deat at a Savannah cemetery.

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Sara Wasserman | Contributing Writer

I am rock climbing at summer camp in 2017 before sixth grade.

SUMMER CAMP BLUES I’ve never viewed my experience with change as positive. Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted things to stay a specific way, and when that way changes, sometimes I don’t know where to turn. Whenever I used to arrive at summer camp, I would be homesick the first night, longing for dinner with my family. Yet, when I came home from camp and sat around my dinner table, quiet compared to my previous loud (but happy) atmosphere, I felt out of place.

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I think I can now assume that it wasn’t the close-knit community or environment that made me homesick, nor was it disliking my life at home. It was the knowledge that I left behind the place I had become used to, and I wouldn’t be back for a long while. I know I’ll always have a somewhat rigid way of thinking, but being aware of this lets me challenge that “all or nothing” mindset.

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Taylor Ford | Copy Editor

Check out Taylor’s spoken story with the QR Code below!

MY DAD AND ME My dad has a hard time expressing his feelings and helping others with their feelings. So going to him when I’m feeling down is not a thing I usually do. However, one time, my dad came to me and seemed to know that something was wrong.

At my fifth grade graduation with my dad alongside me.

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My dad walked into my room one day and I was on the verge of tears sitting on the cream carpeted floor in my room. An old boyfriend of mine had just recently broken up with me after a 6 month relationship when I was 15 going on 16. He knew that I was visibly upset but he didn’t know what to say. So he asked if I wanted to get ice cream with him. In my fluffy post break up pajamas and his gym shorts and gator t-shirt pajamas we drove to a BP gas station and got Ben and Jerry’s. In the car he just starts talking to me about what had happened. I don’t remember what specifically was said but I remember whatever he had told me made me feel better. We get to the grungy

dirty BP gas station and we walk in in our PJs. I got my usual cookie dough ice cream and my dad got something different like he usually does. We got back in the car after getting our ice cream and for the first time that night there was a smile on my face. Not just because I had ice cream but because I finally saw how hard my dad tries to connect with my brother and I. I just hadn’t seen it before until that night. After that I started to see all the little things my dad does for my brother and I that he cannot express with his feelings but instead shows me he loves me by going to a dirty gas station with me in our pajamas.

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51 Ian Peiris | Online Editor

REALITIES OF NOW I like to tell myself that my incessant fear of performing comes from the recitals I endured before I even started attending school.

As a self-obsessed, youthful child, I feared change like a Californian living on the San Andreas fault. I feared the adolescent force my parents warned me not to become: the unremitting power of the developing teenager. I feared the acceptance of these changes, or what would happen to me when I accepted them. Hopefully I would never, I told myself. But soon, high school arrived, and the prophecy began its tale. What I once feared became reality; what I believed to be my past self simply became a nebulous childhood retold in flashes of embarrassment. And now, the simplicity of my youth is all I can think

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about. When I look back at my younger memories, bursts of melancholic nostalgia bleed into my heart. I find myself yearning for the times when I could spend a whole day playing board games, while the current stresses of exams and college reinforce the fault lines in my cracked world. But I hope that someday I return to my perfectly imperfect childhood paradise, remember the faint memories of my childhood, and, even if just for a day, remember how it feels to be young again.

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“You’re never going to kill storytelling, because it’s built in the human plan. We come with it.”

— Margaret Atwood