Chavez Literary Magazine: Spring 2015

Chavez Literary Magazine Spring 2015

Our Mission “The Chavez Literary Magazine seeks from its community of

thinkers, innovators, and pioneers their desire to share their previously untold stories, forging the legacy for the thinkers, innovators, and pioneers to come.”

We would like to give special thanks to: Mr. Rene Sanchez, Ms. Claudia Castillo, Mrs. Maria Montes, Mrs. Lupe Eureste, Mr. Roel Saldivar, Ms. Gianna Morales, Mrs. Theresa Benavidez, Mrs. Maria Moreno, and the Cesar E. Chavez staff for your continued support. The entire CHS English Department, for their love, support, and assistance with submissions. Mrs. Christy Saldivar and her students, for their admirable and consistent contributions to the magazine. Mr. Michael Glazner, for his infinite guidance and support, and the CHS Yearbook staff for their time and effort. Ms. Elizabeth Micci, Ms. Meagon Fiengo, and Mrs. Sarah Wolff-Romero for their kindness and advice throughout the year.

Mr. Kris Smetana, for his own specific brand of support, and his 8th period. Mr. Juan Gallardo and Mr. Travis Hunt, for their support of the magazine’s endeavors. Mr. Marco Setien and Ms. Thanh Hoang, for their assistance with translations. Ms. Jasmine Bailey and The Paw Print for their coverage of the magazine’s efforts. Ms. Denise Mancinas and Mr. Raul Arauco, for technical support and guidance.

Sabrina Almaguer, Yesica Pleitez, Alan Garcia, and Olivia Sandoval for their continued support. The CHS Art teachers, for their kind use of art supplies. Mrs. Sineria Nunez-Ordonez, for her time and attention to our project. The University of Houston’s literary magazines, Glass Mountain and Gulf Coast, for their editors’ guidance and patience. The Menil Collection, for their help with facilitating our participation with MenilFest. And to all our contributors and readers, thank you!

Additional Information For a free digital download of the Spring 2015 issue of the Chavez Literary Magazine, please visit its online counterpart, The Howl at

https://loboshowl.wordpress.com/

Greetings readers, Thank you for your acquisition of our humble magazine. This year was our first year as a class and we’ve worked diligently to create this for you (yes, you!).

We’ve explored what it means to be a writer (it’s quite simple really, you just write). We’ve asked questions about the human condition, answered why writing with a theme in mind is helpful, and have had firsthand experience editing pieces with more than just receiving a grade in mind.

The entire point of crafting a literary journal in a high school setting is to experience the practical application of the English language. This is a projectbased course where the quality of the product is in direct correlation to the time put into making it great – and I think we’ve produced something spectacular this year.

We received an increase of submission by 200% and accepted less pieces this year, meaning you have a heavily curated journal in your hands. Every piece was put through a rigorous selection process, was then edited by our magazine team, and finally packaged into this lovely book for you to enjoy.

As a teacher, it has been an incredible experience working hands-on with the students in the literary magazine class. I feel like a true team; each person brings a fresh perspective and specific set of skills that never fails to amaze me.

From Jennifer Nguyen’s concise prose, to Tiara Lowery’s apparent obsession with pairing beauty with the grotesque, to Francisco Sosa’s brilliant thematic understanding, to Ashley Henderson’s ability to churn out pages upon pages of inspired words, to Juana Arana’s talented editing skills, to Jy’nessia Cross’ natural lyrical understanding, to Angelica Padilla’s fresh perspective in fiction, to Jennyfer Perez’s contemplative writing, to Guadalupe Solis’ insightful comments, to Maria Umanzor’s precise and honest understanding, to Aleysha Young’s eager attitude and megawatt smile, to Ashley Dominguez’s creative and fresh ideas, to Genesis Najera’s contemplative and crisp fiction, to Troysha Giggans’ amazing attitude and indomitable writing ability, to Edith Gonzalez’s dry humor and deeply moving flash fiction, to Francisco Guerrero’s eccentric personality and intuitive prose, to Abril’s eagerness and quick learning abilities, to Edgar Martinez’s helpfulness and big picture thinking, to Kassandra Seledon’s quiet leadership and undeniable intelligence, to Genesis Gutierrez’s irrefutable artistic talent and sweet disposition, to Andres Valle’s particular brand of honesty and jaw-dropping artistic merit.

A little bit of each editor exists in this magazine, permeating its pages and seeping through the text. They are the driving force behind it all. At the end of the day, I’m just the one who says, “Yes, you may go to the bathroom.”

They are the Chavez Literary Magazine.

Warm regards, Amber Criswell Faculty Advisor of the Chavez Literary Magazine

Letters from the Editors Dear Reader,

Hello readers of The Howl!

We are personally grateful that you had picked up a copy of our school's magazine. Please enjoy the content the Chavez Literary Magazine handpicked for your pleasure.

If I had to sum up this year in the new Literary Magazine class, it would definitely be “revolutionary.” There were so many more resources available to us this year and so many new systems for us to learn and figure out on our own, but in the end, we took up the challenge and created a fantastic infrastructure for the future of The Howl.

This magazine is brought to you by the Chavez Literary Magazine team.

We are the first team to produce the magazine as a class and it just so happens that the class will expand even more by the following year.

The Chavez Literary Magazine is about two years old and the lovely Miss Criswell has been on the ride for both years. Miss Criswell has also been the leader of this ongoing school project and a guide for the individual editors apart from this piece.

This particular year has been quite crazy and quite certain that you're not alone (you will actually see a piece written about that). Jam-packed with the different aspects of literature, the magazine is diverse.

Please enjoy the passion we share with others and hopefully find that passion within you.

Sincerely, Jennifer Nguyen, Lead Editor of the

Chavez Literary Magazine

For the moment, our submissions are based on those who did not get accepted into the magazine, but as the year persists, we will have submissions that will go to either the website or the magazine. We have all truly enjoyed reading through the amazing amount of submissions that we’ve received this year and we all hope that you enjoy reading them as much as the team has.

Sincerely, Tiara Lowery, Lead Editor of

The Howl

Editorial Team Juana Arana is kind, weird, and serious. She doesn’t talk a lot to other people and enjoys going out with friends and family, She considers herself a nice person who sometimes gets mad easily.

Jy’nessia Cross is a junior that attends Cesar E. Chavez High School and her whole family resides in Houston. Her ultimate idol is Sia because of her talent. She loves writing poetry because of Sia. She’s a really deep and passionate person about everything she does.

Ashley Dominguez was born and raised in Houston, Texas. She loves hanging out with friends, reading, and watching TV shows.

Currently she is a senior and plans on attending the University of Houston.

Troysha Giggans is a junior and this is her first year with the Chavez Literary Magazine. She is a seasoned actor at the Chavez Lobo Theater. She is a baby when it comes to anime and still has a lot to learn! She loves to sing, hang out with friends, and write lots and lots of words! She would like to shout out her favorite teachers which are (THE WHOLE THEATRE and CHOIR DEPARTMENT), Mr. Smetana, Ms. Manchac, and Ms. Criswell. She would strongly encourage anyone to read her works, and feel free to discuss it with her! She would also like to thank everyone who supported the Chavez Literary Magazine!

Edith Gonzalez is a nobody. An invisible speck floating through the halls, trying to make it through high school. She likes things, sometimes, like music, food, TV, etc.

Genesis Gutierrez is a Mexican-American, 17-year-old junior at Cesar E. Chavez High School. In her free time, when she isn’t doing homework, Genesis loves to draw to keep her mind busy, She also enjoys the culinary arts and singing along to her favorite songs. She loves everything pink and shiny and her favorite word is smile, mostly because she always says that a smile is the most beautiful feature on a person’s face. She is a kind girl that loves making people feel happy and laugh.

Francisco Guerrero is native to Houston, Texas. He is one of the founding members of the Literary Magazine Club and is also part of a wide variety of activities at school including Wrestling, EMERGE, and the French Honor Society. He enjoys spending his free time with friends, having group discussions in and out of class, and finding new music. His favorite greeting is “CUH CAAAW.” Francisco is a member of the class of ‘15 and aspires to study life sciences and business at Boston University.

Ashley Henderson is a junior at Cesar E. Chavez High School. In the future, she hopes to be a photographer or a writer living in Seattle.

She enjoys listening to music, singing, writing, photography, and sleeping. She loves animals but is sadly allergic to them, but that doesn't stop her from having them or fangirling everytime she sees them. Especially cats.

Abril Hernandez Castillo is part of the Online Literary Magazine Team at Chavez High School. She was born in Nuevo Casas Grandes, Chihuahua and raised in Houston, TX. She is 16-years-old and her birthday is March 23rd. In her free time, she likes going out to places with her friends. She loves Spanish music, enjoys going out to dance, and having fun. She lives with her mom and brothers; she lost her dad when she was barely five years young. Her plans are to graduate and do what would have made her dad and mom proud, if he was still here.

Tiara Lowery is a senior at Chavez High School that is famous for her caustically sassy attitude. When you get past that, you will find that she actually has a well-rounded sense of humor and is fairly friendly.

She loves to go to anime conventions and to play a ridiculous amount of video games. If she is not watching a new anime or playing some form of game, then she might just be writing a few more sentences for her novel or for a new short poem. On the other hand, she could also be napping. One day she might just become the next top-notch author, a psychologist, or maybe even both, who knows?

Edgar Martinez is currently a junior at Cesar E. Chavez High School.

This is his first year in the literary magazine class.

Genesis Najera is a senior editor at The Howl. She is an enthusiast of world cultures and languages. As an early child she loved to create stories and bring her characters to life through drawing. Although she may rather keep her head in the clouds she ventures into the world from time to time, and provides insightful criticism. Her motto is "When life gives you lemons, throw them at someone till you feel better."

Jennifer Nguyen is a Houston-bred Asian-American with a passion for writing and drawing. She's an avid reader that absolutely loves Harry Potter and hopes to make works as phenomenal as that franchise. There is no one higher than JK Rowling. She enjoys Hozier, Chet Faker, and especially Ed Sheeran.

Angelica Padilla is a junior at Chavez High School. When she gets her set mind to achieve something she could do it and be successful, but sometimes she gets really lazy. She loves coming to school from 11:15 to 12:10, the remaining of the time she attends forcefully but she hopes in attending college; how ironic. She loves Justin Bieber, Fifth Harmony, and Cimorelli.

Jennyfer Perez is currently a sophomore at Chavez High School and part of the website fiction team for the Chavez Literary Magazine.

Most of her day is spent at school but she often spends time with her family, they go out almost every day to enjoy the time they have together.

Kassandra Seledon is a junior attending Chavez High School. This is her primary year in the Literary Magazine Program, however it has been quite an interesting journey for her. She likes to do what she’s best at and that’s pursuing her career and trying new things which might pave her pathway to success. She enjoys exposure to new things and is, in fact, a risk taker.

Guadalupe Solis is a kind and loving girl who is goofy and serious at the same time. She is funny, playful, sweet, and silly. She loves hanging out with her friends and going out with them and having a good time. Family is very important to her.

Francisco Sosa is a Houstonian that has many interests, such as drawing, sculpting, writing, and playing/learning how to play new instruments. Part-time philosopher, full-time dreamer.

Angie Maria Umanzor takes care of kids at Grace Community Church and is an American girl with different styles, hairstyles, laughs, and senses of humor. She is a lovable person who likes to help people and make them feel better. She wants to grow and have a relationship with God. Her favorite artist is The Weeknd. She wants to study business and open daycare. She loves nature and sees the world so differently from others.

Andres Valle can be summed up with the following quote, “ Ratata – Ratatata – tatata – yatatatatatatatal, that’s what I sound like when I do work for this magazine.”

Aleysha Young is a senior at Chavez High School. This is her last year at Chavez; if you ask her she will tell you these years have went by fast and they have been bittersweet. Her family loves her the most because she is the baby. She believes that life has its ups and downs so if you really wanted to do something you should do it and don’t think twice about it, you only live once.

Amber Criswell is a native Houstonian and the faculty advisor for the Chavez Literary Magazine. If you ask for her favorite song, she’ll tell you “Three Little Birds”, but it is actually “Give It to Me Baby”. Once, Tumblr suggested that she name the CLM Tumblr “Scrumptious Chopshop Banana” and it made her laugh for a minute straight. Her favorite hobby is getting into events for free, She believes that life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the number of brunches we attend with friends each Sunday.

Content Fiction --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------JENNIFER NGUYEN/CANDLES EDITH GONZALEZ/DROWNING TROYSHA GIGGANS/THE GIRL WITH THE PIXIE CUT HAIR TROYSHA GIGGANS/NOVEL EXCERPT ASHLEY HENDERSON/NUMB TROYSHA GIGGANS/RAIN ANGELICA PADILLA/SCREEN PROTECTORS GENESIS NAJERA/STREWN ACROSS HER DESK

1 1 1 2 2 3 3 4

Nonfiction --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------DENNIS LOPEZ/A LITTLE THINKING CAN HELP BAO TRAN NGUYEN/BAO TRAN, MY NAME RAMZIYA FAHRADOVA/RAMZIYA, MY NAME RILEY CRUZ/CUPID’S ARROW MELANIE MARTINEZ/DISCRIMINATION GILBERTO GUADIANA/FAMILY RUBY GUERRERO/RUBY, MY NAME JENNYFER JIMENEZ/FAMILY AND PERSEVERENCE CHANTEL CALDERON/FAMILY BONDS EMILY GRIMALDO/FIRST LOVE KASSANDRA ZABALA/LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT JASMINE MENDOZA/MY GRANDPARENT’S STORY CRYSTAL BENITEZ/MY JOURNEY DIANA NGUYEN/THE TRAIL OF TEARS PHUONG LUONG/VIETNAM

5 6 6 6 7 8 8 9 9 10 11 12 13 13 14

Poetry & Lyrics --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------TIARA LOWERY/ADOLESCENT LIMBS TIARA LOWERY/BAD NEWS IS THE BEST MEDICINE TIARA LOWERY/REVIVE TIARA LOWERY/TIME’S WALTZ TIARA LOWERY/THE PROSPEROUS ICARUS TIARA LOWERY/TWO BODIES CESAR DOMINGUEZ/BLACK AND WHITE JY’NESSIA CROSS/BLACK ROSES ALEYSHA YOUNG/DAM JAILENE DIAZ/DEPARTING GERSON HOYOS HUERTA/DON’T DO THE SAME THING JAILENE DIAZ/PREMATURE BURIAL ANONYMOUS/DON’T YOU WORRY YOUR PRETTY LITTLE FACE

16 16 16 16 16 17 17 17 18 18 19 19 20

FRANCISCO GUERRERO/I’M ON THE COMPUTER SAFE AND SOUND FRANCISCO SOSA/IT’S TOO LATE RAMZIYA FAHRADOVA/MAKING A DIFFERENCE BRIAN GONZALEZ/NO MORE LITTLE BIRD

21 22 22 23

Photography & Original Artwork --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------AILEEN TENIENTE/HOLD ON TO HOPE AILEEN TENIENTE/SHONE MARIA UMANZOR/SKY MARIA UMANZOR/PATH VALERIA DELGADO/PORTRAIT MARIELENA MENDOZA/HANDS MARIELENA MENDOZA/COLORS MARIELENA MENDOZA/MUSIC MARIELENA MENDOZA/OWL MARIA UMANZOR/TREES ASHLEY DOMINGUEZ /FLOWER MARIA UMANZOR/IN BLOOM CLAUDIA MARTINEZ/PORTRAIT KANITRIA LEWIS/RIHANNA ISAAC LUNA/NESSY ASHLEY DOMINGUEZ/NATURE KASSANDRA SELEDON/NEW YORK

24 24 25 25 26 27 27 28 28 29 30 30 31 31 32 32 33

Faculty --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------JUAN GALLARDO/AYER AMBER CRISWELL/FALLING ASLEEP ANONYMOUS/HAIKU SERIES JUAN GALLARDO/MI PADRE AMBER CRISWELL/THE WELL AMBER CRISWELL/WATER

34 34 35 35 36 37

Fiction

Candles Jennifer Nguyen The highest quality comes in the most elaborate packaging. Inked labels concerned with what you are made up rather than what you offer. Unearthing from the resting place, chosen from among the rest, their breath of fires bloom.

Illuminating the way for the blind. Comforting the weary. Bringing warmth to the seekers. A simple pleasure. A novelty. Exuding warm fragrances that touches the soul. A quiet companion for the lonely. But, don’t come too close. For it will bite with fiery teeth. Fools see a gentle flame. Never understanding that one wrong brush – the wrong push – may burst a hellfire. To those who aren’t careful, there is always a warning written on the surface.

You are like this, too.

Drowning Edith Gonzalez I have found myself sitting in the back of a cathedral. The room is silent and not at all quiet. I’m drowning. I know that I am drowning. My shaking legs manage to walk towards the front. Towards his cold body laying lifeless in a mahogany box. I’m drowning. He is close to being unrecognizable, but I know it’s him. It can’t be. As I stand there examining his once beautiful body destroyed by tragedy, the oxygen leaves my lungs. My tears are flowing like rivers and streams, sobs escaping bodies from all around the room. I reach out and touch his hands for one last time, touch his lips for one last time, stroke his puffy cheeks for one last time. I am empty. A caravan of cars, songs being sung loudly from people filled with pain.

He is being lowered, the cries have become louder, the pain begins to hurt more immensely, and I am drowning. The last glimpse of him is forever encrypted in my mind; the memory of him is forever encrypted in my heart. Why couldn’t it have been me? Bring him back, I am drowning.

The Girl with the Pixie Cut Hair Troysha Giggans The girl with the pixie cut hair didn’t know how her heart stood still for a moment. “But I have feelings for you. Do you have any for me?” He stood there looking like the world had burned away and he had lost everything he had. The phrase “I am just a notch in your bed post, but you’re just a line in a song.” Fall Out Boy… his favorite band. I mean we’re just friends, right? He didn’t care when he was with his girlfriend. “I don’t know…I…I got to go!” Converse hitting the tile as if it was too cold for her feet. Glancing back once to the boy who realized the love of his life was running away.

1

Novel Excerpt Troysha Giggans I care about him, I still think about him. I just… I guess, it’s my job. No, maybe it’s the stress of my family that is now gone, or my past, my present, and the narrow future is finally weighing me down. I am now a patient that is being counseled by life. I need… I need a break….It is 8 p.m. and it is raining like the world is about to flood….I go out, and I dance. Dancing like no one is watching and for the first time I laugh. I cry and laugh and dance. Replaying pieces of “Distant Lover” in my head. Sometimes you just feel empty inside and the feeling of running away or destroying something is consuming. You don’t always feel this way, of course you have your bouts of happiness and contentment, but sometimes you need to feel the rain drops splash across your cheeks. So that’s what I did. I went outside in my pajamas, and I stood there. I let the rain wash away my anguish, tears, frustrations, and fears. I danced. Well until I got the cops called on me. Then I was a sad, wet, pathetic insane person twirling in the middle of the streets. After the police established that I wasn’t losing my mind. I dragged my tail up to my condo, and changed. I snuggled under my covers, and went to sleep with a smile on my face.

Numb Ashley Henderson Sometimes, things don’t work out for a reason, whether you feel like it should or it shouldn’t work out. All you do is breathe, you breathe in the air that’s barely lingering in the room. You sit and you think, you think how much better you wish you could make it. You think why you couldn’t have done anything sooner, you think it’s going to be the end of your world, but really, it’s only the beginning. You see, as a human, we all make mistakes. We take chances, we think about the good and the bad. We pray and hope everything will eventually work out the way you want it. But sadly, it never works out the way you plan.

People take it for granted, they expect everything out of you until you have no more to give, to only want more. As soon as you’re out of your “glue”, the glue that holds you together, the glue that gets taken away when you put it into someone else, making them better, making them stronger while you’re making yourself weaker. You become broken, destroyed, devastated, and to only to be having more for people to give when they run out.

They go to you in their time of need, but who do you go to? Your glue is gone, your safety net, is gone. Everything you ever felt or had is now gone. The glue that once held everything together is no more. It vanished into thin air, as if it never existed in the first place. You have nothing, you’re left with the thought of something that once was, that is no more. You’re stuck there, pretending.

2

Rain Troysha Giggans You rage like no other. Starts off soft and gives the misconception of just a light drizzle. Evolving into something harsh, hitting the plants, animals, the world in a slanted pattern, sending people cowering in terror or lavishing in your forwardness. You fill up the dried riverbanks, the fish bathe and survive off of you.

You are selfless trying to give your all. Just like the people who cower, who lavish, who curse at you, they all need you like the fish. You uphold them, clean them.

Falling at a quiet, wild, mad pace. Flowing from emotion to emotion at the expense of how the world pulls you. You gather amongst fiends to unite and spread your knowledge. Wisdom flowing from the raindrop down the window.

Slowly connecting the dots, stopping to seek a new path and finally reaching your destination. Sharing this with all people so that they may seek each part of you separately. Family traveling along with you but you’re alone. Seeking, seeking that one person who sees your special raindrop and tries to connect with everyone who notice that you stand out. These special people are rare. You shower their lives with knowledge, touching the base for the losing team even though the game seems lost. Finding temporary relief in their life looking for you desperately, but finding unseen signs that you have left. They needed you.

You are like this, too.

Screen Protectors Angelica Padilla You!! Yeah you!!!

Screen protectors are very useful, until they get worn out and start coming off.

They are smooth and well put. They protect the most valuable things in my life, things that are way too expensive to pay for if they get ruined. Well, screen protectors save you from the scratches that could be done while you either accidentally drop it or put it in your pocket with coins. They prevent my heart and my wallet from feeling empty. They might look ugly after a while, but even with all its flaws, it makes me feel safe and it makes me feel more confident when I put my phone upside down. Yes, they might get annoying at times by having the corners lifted up, and slowly try to make it off the device, but then I come up with something to keep it in place and then it never leaves. They might be really easy to replace but there's just something about that one that you can't let go of. It's not just because of the money, because they are really cheap, but the memories that I make with it are the best and are unforgettable.

You are like this, too.

3

Strewn Across Her Desk Genesis Najera Strewn across her desk lay the remnants of her flashcards. The walls enclosing the small area of desk and shelves were encrusted with achievements received from participating in the school newspaper. Years of pain, blood, sweat and tears lay scattered on the floor along with yesterday’s chores. The only thing properly situated was her graduation diploma, which was encased and mounted on the wall, an emblem of freedom after so much pain. It gave Ailee a sense of comfort and longing. Oddly enough she has returned to a complacent captivity.

In all of this mess, it is a miracle that she manages to construct a tiny passage from the room to the door, not that it bothers her as she hardly ever leaves. Her only trips to the “outernet” as she likes to call it, are to buy groceries, picking up the mail, or any other emergency that is fit to venture outside. It is the reason why she so conveniently became an editor. She could work from the comfort of her home without having to face any unknown dangers, any bonds that would shatter her heart again. One of her emergencies is having to pay the rent. The attendant insists on paying upfront and personal, even-though she has explained her social phobia.

Today, however she must face her fear in order to attend her monthly psychological sessions. With a trembling hand and wavering expression, she unlatches the multiple locks on her door and steps into the hall. Reflexively, her eyes look to the ground in desperation that she would have to cross paths with someone. This is when she notices. Next to her doorstep lies a small carton of milk, the kind one will expect to get as school and a sticky note. In the note there is a drawing of a girl and an enticing hello.

Her brows furrow in contemplation as she wonders who could’ve known a girl lived there. She hardly came out, and if she did she made sure no one was there to see. Either way, she didn’t seem unnerved about it. Weeks passed and the notes increased as well as the milk cartons. By now, she was able to know when the milk and note would be delivered. She had learned that whoever was sending them to her was living in the apartment complex, and had an artistic vibe evidenced by the intricate drawings. Her days now mimic a routine of opening her door to pick up the milk and notes deposited, she however will not venture outside.

4

Nonfiction

A Little Thinking Can Help Dennis Lopez This journey begins in my deep, closed stomach where there I will find out why I am like this. The moment I provoked this expression towards that one human being, I started to feel my stomach rising and my face going through its unnatural colors, rumbling towards her. What I know about suffering is that it can hold your thoughts and regrets about how you conquer that one feeling you have for whoever is out there because suffering shows what you have been through and scares those who fear you.

In this faceted sphere where everything jumps around in an acid that burns through the waste it carries, digesting everything out of it. While moving towards the sky, the growth of my feeling rising up, my stomach hitting the liver and through my veins like a stream running through my heart. I am scared that she will find out that I truly adore her. I know the sensation of the coldness through the variety of organs that flow through my hollow body and because of that I cannot focus right when I am with her. I can see her through my white, glowing eyes, see her pick up what she has not yet to know of. Seeing her makes me irritated and stops me from what I am doing–I cannot focus–How I see her helping me out to solve a problem not knowing the problem is between my great feeling towards her–I cannot focus–But the way she looks at me with her blue eyes shining an equal amount of what the depressed sky looks like from down below towards the surface of Earth. I cannot focus. The days pass by while I clearly have no way to show or explain her my feelings.

Now the waves flow in the sea with that of my blood flowing through and out the tubes that flow through every living human, but not the undead. Farewell my dear stomach. Now I’m moving towards what I have for her directly, but how do I do it? There she is walking in her soft, comfortable purple jacket and somewhat red scarf. I cannot see it quite yet where I feel like she hates me and as if I were not wanted in this country, for staring at their valuable goods. Now here I am trapped in my own esophagus, attempting to climb my way out. There is nothing to do, no one or something to help you out, to get over that one last level. But then I notice my stomach rumbling and growling towards my neck, I know what it is. Here I sit in my esophagus knowing that the growling is explaining what I should do, to get out of this misery I feel. I’m thinking sufficiently about the outer world and there it is, the light has shown down my neck and I grab both sides of the light and pull up. I’m out of the esophagus. The thinking and experiences through the stomach actually prepared me for what to come. Finally, I can’t believe I am crying of happiness because I realized that thinking could have helped me out. Now to move a step closer to her. I tap her shoulder and send her a text message.

The text read “I have feelings for you, of how I love the way you smile. I love your personality. You told me that what we have together, all of the things we share, and wanted there, it is across the other side of the bed where you and me may lay for another time, but I just wanted to tell you I love you, I love everything about you…” The lessons my own body gave me helped me so much in this grateful moment. Currently I’m with her and only with her we wake up, talk, and talk, and talk until the next day we repeat, but new features are discovered between us. Every moment is special to us. Who knew suffering so severely could then turn around in its own course of ways. Heading towards victory, this following moment and place is memorable to us. The feeling we each had for each other, but couldn’t express it to either of us.

5

Bao Tran, My Name Bao Tran Nguyen In English, my name means precious pearl. In Vietnamese, it means typical. It means hopeful, it means optimistic. It is like the number two. A green color. It is like the sound of a cello, bittersweet.

My name is original. I am the first person to have received this name in my family.

My parents did not give me this name. It was my aunt who chose it. According to her, it sounds nice in a Vietnamese accent. Apparently, she did not think about how it would sound in an English tone of voice.

The mispronunciation. When other people read my name off a piece of paper, the struggle they had to go through to pronounce my name was expected. When making new friends, the time it takes to teach them how to say my name correctly is needed.

Always.

I don’t blame people for not getting my name right. It is very understandable. But sometimes, it bothers me when my name is misspelled on a document. Bao Tran Nguyen.

Bao Tran is my first name, and Nguyen is my last name.

At school, even though Bao Tran is my first name, everybody calls me Bao. Maybe they think that Tran is my middle name, or maybe they are confused because my first name is spaced apart. In Vietnamese, depending on the dialect, my name can either sound hard or soft. My name however, does not sound as nice as my sister’s name Thu Hang. When I come home after school, I become Sue. And maybe, someday, the name I use at home can be used anywhere. Permanently.

Ramziya, My Name Ramziya Fahradova In English my name means a variety of letters. In Turkish my name means password or mystery. But to me and my family it means a new start. A sign of hope, a wilted flower finally seeing the light.

It was my sister’s twin’s name and now it’s mine. She was an innocent green-eyed baby.

A sprouted seed ready to face the world. Unlike other babies she passed away, suddenly and unexpectedly gone.

My mom and dad were miserable, but life goes on. They still had another child to stay strong for. Then I was born. They decided to name me Ramziya, my sister’s twin’s name.

Ramziya, to many people, might sound like a weird name. A funny name. A difficult name to pronounce. But to me it’s a very unique and special name.

Cupid’s Arrow Riley Cruz Love is an intense feeling of deep affection. My dad, named Jose Cruz, was twenty years old when he first fell in love. He met the love of his life, her name was Maria Cruz.

She was sixteen. It all happened in Rio Grande, Zacatecas, Mexico. My dad believes in love at first sight. He was the first one to see my mom, because she didn’t see him, the love of his life.

My dad saw my mom in the plaza of Rio Grande, and that’s when Cupid shot his arrow. His first impression was that she was so beautiful, like the sun rising in a warm morning.

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She was tall, always smiling, joyful, and respectful. Later, my dad went and talked to her and they went out.

There was another guy that liked her too. This guy became a problem for my dad.

One day, when my dad and my mom were hanging out, the other guy showed up. My dad knew the guy and what he was there for. He kept getting closer. My dad got furious.

When he got close enough my dad walked up to him to punch him in the face. He avoided most of the shot, but still was damaged. Luckily, my mom got in the middle of them and stopped the fight. The guy didn’t want to leave until my mom told him that she didn’t want anything to do with him.

So he left, and didn’t come back or see them until my dad’s mother died. Before all of that, my dad remembers the good moments. One of them was when my dad and mom were in his car and they ran out of gasoline. So they had to walk, and that’s when they had their first kiss. It was in the gas station when they kissed and knew they were truly in love. So time passed and he got to meet his father and mother-in-law.

My dad proposed to my mom to marry him and of course she said, “Yes.” That day for them was unforgettable. Later on in the future they had their first son, “Jose Cruz Jr.” and when time passed they had four more sons. Something great that he learned from his experience is that you have to evaluate, respect, and be loyal to your love. Today they have five sons (nothing but boys, including me). They’ve been married twenty-two years.

Twenty-two years of being together and living better than any other person in the world.

Discrimination Melanie Martinez Many people are discriminated against based on race, color of skin, and religion.

This is a big challenge in my uncle’s life. Discrimination starts because a specific group of people want to have more power than others. The group that feels superior will start to make people from different backgrounds feel inferior.

The discrimination in my uncle’s life started when he entered middle school. My uncle and his friends used to go out and play in the park. One day when my uncle went to the park, a group of guys started telling him and his friends’ offensive words. They judged them because of their skin color and their language. My uncle felt really bad because he spoke English very well. My uncle got so upset because they hurt his friends. His friends were non-English speakers. Every day when my uncle went to school the guys would push, hit, and trip them all the time. They would call him and his friends’ bad words. He went through the same thing every day at school for a whole year.

He would come home every day upset until one day he decided that he wasn’t going to let stereotypes get to him. He kept on with his education. He remembers his teacher one day told the class, “Don’t let stereotypes you hear about your race bring you down. You are young, strong individuals that are capable of achieving anything in life.”

My grandparents told him that they were going to push him so he could strive to get an education in order to keep breaking the cycle in which we live. His belief of breaking the cycle came into play throughout his education. He became a student with the potential to do great in all his classes.

What I’ve learned is that discrimination should stop because we are all human being and should be treated equal. Just because someone is a different race they shouldn’t be discriminated against. I also believe understanding each other’s backgrounds can help overcome the difficulty of discrimination and prevent it from happening in a larger context.

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Family Gilberto Guadiana My mother gained full custody of my sister, my brother, and I. My parents divorced when I was at the ripe old age of eleven. I was forced to live with my mom, even though I did not want to. I much rather enjoyed the company of my father at the time. I despised the thought of only seeing my father twice a month. Overall, I became rather bitter towards my mother. I truly did not like the situation, for I did not know a lot about my mother and resented her.

When my mother became the materfamilias of our household, I realized that I did not have an actual relationship with her. Over the previous years, we’ve become more and more detached and did not communicate with each other. I took note of this and decided to understand what happened between her and my father, to have a meaningful relationship with her. I began to open up by telling her how I felt about the whole situation.

After I voiced my feelings, she began to do the same. I discovered how she felt about it and her side of the story. While I had these conversations, I learned that it was not my mother’s fault. I stopped hating her almost instantly as I learned that the resentment I felt for her was only misplaced anger.

After I discovered the truth, I decided to try to have a relationship with her. I knew that in order to do this I would need to talk to her. Every day, I would attempt to start a conversation with my mom about how my day went. In return, she told me how her day went and we conversed back and forth about it. Weeks after doing this, I felt that I was starting to get to know her. I learned who she was as a person and what her likes and dislikes were; I felt more connected to her.

We became friends because of our daily talks. We also understood each other and began to deal with each other more pleasantly. Because of this whole situation, I learned that my mother and I have more common than I once thought and that emotions can blind us into being irrationally mad at people.

Ruby, My Name Ruby Guerrero My name means a precious stone. Red, the color of blood. The color of pain. People wear my name as a jewel. Rubies will make you look rich, which is odd, because I’m not. My aunt has the same name, but it fits her, not me. It’s too tight on me sometimes. Ruby is happy, which I am, at times. My name is something most people would like to have, no one wants me though.

Ruby describes a happy person. Whoever owns this name, other than me, must be very happy to have it. When I hear other people say my name it sounds like they are having fun saying it. As if it’s the most joyful word in the world. Except, when I say it, it sounds dead. I’ve said it so many times, I’m tired of it. My name is happy, just like me, when I’m around “friends” or people I’m comfortable with. My name only describes me when I’m outgoing and cheerful. When I don’t feel like crying, when I’m hyper, when I want it to be a good day even when I have a million reasons to be mad or sad, and when in on that “I’m not going to let you ruin my day” mood.

On the other side, Ruby, the miserable girl whose name means the opposite of her current mood. I hate thinking about my name during those “special” moments. Feeling like a rock and not a diamond. Lots of people have a saying that says “don’t drop a diamond searching for a rock.” It makes me think that my name is worth more than myself.

Sometimes, I even think it’s true. In other words, Ruby, is my label, not my description.

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Family and Perseverance Jennyfer Jimenez At the age of 14, it was the beginning of an internal journey. I was a willing hero by noticing the flaws in myself. I was the one who wanted a change. I was tired of comparing myself to other girls because it led to self-loathing, and I was not one to hold negative feelings. I placed myself in a situation where I marked down what I wanted to change, although it caused a feeling of low spirits and devastation.

On the journey of change, I was faced with the disappointment of trying on clothes and disliking the way they fit, especially how different it looked on me compared to someone else. I was, and still am, at the age where appearance matters, where fashion and makeup are appealing topics. I tried new things, but with that, the feeling of despair came back. I will not be able to succeed in finding confidence in myself. It was a process where baby steps were to be taken. I wasn’t going to grow to be a confident person overnight. I encouraged myself, took days where I treated myself, and I made myself a priority. I had a friend who helped, she had the same problem, but unlike me, she had already overcome it. She motivated me and lifted my spirits by sending encouraging messages and advice, giving me a sense of positivity. She described the feeling of peace, positivity, and being untroubled that came with self-confidence.

It was online that I learned what I needed to learn about myself, that was my “belly of the whale”. To see the advice given to other girls with the same insecurities and being encouraged to not change, but to learn to love yourself. I was introduced to a website, an environment where the girls spread positivity and encouraged each other to be confident in themselves. Girls were being told to not put themselves down over what someone else thought about them, to set themselves as a priority instead of making themselves less than everyone else, and I took that advice. I felt overwhelmed, frightened to make a change, but I was already taking the step forward.

I learned to be confident in what I do and what I wear, to accept the flaws I found in myself because no one is born flawless and to never put myself down. My journey ended with a feeling of achievement and self-confidence, and looking at myself wasn’t a devastating task anymore. While I still feel insecurities, I remind myself that it’s completely okay because I have myself to make it better. In this narrative, I present the idea that preservative can have a positive impact on a person’s confidence because it demonstrates overcoming self-loathing and learning to love yourself.

Family Bonds Chantal Calderon “The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but the respect and joy in each other’s life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.”

I never really knew the importance of family because the only thing that I would think about was me. I never really cared about anyone but myself. I regret that because the family members that have passed away may have thought I never liked or loved them at all. Note until they died did I think about how selfish I was and that I really never knew that person that well, even though we were family.

Ten years ago I was a very small child learning new things and starting school. Sure I was a trouble maker, but it that’s a part of childhood and I was a very ungrateful child. I never liked to visit family in Mexico because it was boring. No games, television, movies, or internet.

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We went to see them because they were getting old, and in the long run they are going to end up dying, but I never really knew that until five years later.

I was five to ten years old when I would go to Mexico and visit my grandparents and my uncles because they were getting old. My grandparents and uncles would shake my hand, hug me, kiss me, and I would really get pissed because the only thing we did was talk, talk, and talk. The only thing a kid wants to do is play, watch television and movies, but that wasn’t present in Mexico.

After an hour would pass I would whine because I wanted to go home or somewhere else where I could play, like at my cousin’s house, instead of being in a small house without air conditioning, television, movies, or toys. I would make up any excuse just to leave, like “I’m hungry, I want cartoons, or I want to go play.” I liked going to my cousin’s house because they had everything that was ideal for a kid like me. Not like an adult that just comes and visits and talks about subjects.

Five years passed since that moment and my mom got a call that her grandma had died and she started crying. I didn’t really care, I was like “Oh my god, no school for me and a vacation to Mexico.” We left and all of our family was there. I saw how people would cry on top of her casket and putting candles everywhere in the house, and then the next day we went to the cemetery, we buried her and threw flowers in the hole. Then we saw people throwing dirt on top of her casket. Most of the time I was playing with my cousins because I was a kid I didn’t know what was happening. You know, I barely realized how important that was to all my family, because she was the one who had created all three generations. My great-grandma passed away in September of 2009. She was ninety-seven and her name was Idolina Garcia Murillo.

I’ve realized how important family and friends are now. We need to appreciate and be grateful we are still alive and living. Even though I didn’t do it before I’m doing it now, because my family is together and thanks to God we are still alive and living a new day to the fullest. We may be mad, sad, or happy, but no matter what it is, change your mood and live life because in a blink of an eye, or a cell phone call, can change anything. Finally I’ve learned to appreciate and be grateful for what I have. I always have time for those who are old and can die any second and want to spend more time with family or friends that put a smile on my face every day.

First Love Emily Grimaldo At around the age of 16, Laura took a glimpse of love at first sight. It was on the night of her friend’s wedding when she noticed upon him. A dashing man, with hazel brown eyes and curly black hair. He was the groom’s cousin, but he lived in Houston, hours away from this little town in Mexico. She thought there wasn’t any hope in forming a relationship between them, since then she had only seen him in pictures from that day.

She soon referred to him as “the guy in the photos.”

Forgetting “the guy in the picture”, Laura moved on with her life. In fact, she got a boyfriend. During this time, two years had passed since her friend’s wedding. One Sunday evening, while already running late, she went to her church. Due to being late, there weren’t any available seats by her friend, Shelly. She had to sit in front of her instead of beside her. When Laura turned around to speak to Shelly, she noticed a familiar face beside her, the guy in the photos!

Around this time, Laura was already feeling confused about her boyfriend, whether or not to break up with him after many fights.

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But when Laura saw the guy again, all her confusion came to an end and she thought to herself, “He is the one I really want.” After church, Laura, as bravely as she could, got up and started a conversation with him. Laura soon learned his name, Jesus.

She didn’t know it, but Jesus had his eyes on her all morning. They ended up spending the entire day together, going out to eat, taking a stroll around the park, and eventually walking home after the long day. When in front of Laura’s house, she couldn’t help thinking that Jesus would have to go back home to Houston. With no regrets, Laura leaned in for a kiss on his cheek, and while noticing this, Jesus aimed for her lips. Laura quickly turned her head the other direction, causing Jesus’s lips to land on her cheek.

The two of them soon became closer together after Laura dumped her boyfriend.

Although Jesus lived hours away, he would always send her two or three letters each week. They were falling more and more in love by the day. One summer, when Laura went to visit her cousins in Reynosa, Jesus dropped by for a surprise visit. That night, while taking a walk outside around her cousin’s house, Jesus picked out a flower, looked at Laura directly in her eyes and asked her to be his girlfriend. Stunned, Laura answered, “My friend is having a 15, and if you come as my date, I’ll give you my answer.” Jesus agreed and never spoke of the topic until that night.

On the day of her friend’s 15, Laura wore a bright red dress that ran down to her ankles, while also wearing her beautiful curly brown hair half-up with a braided crown done by her mother. As soon as she got to the party, she started looking for Jesus. Just then he walked in the door and instantly had his eyes on her. They enjoyed the party together the whole day, they danced, joked around, and teased each other until the end of the party. Then, Jesus asked the question again the night at her cousin’s house,” So, now can I know if you want to be my girlfriend?”

“What?!” claimed Laura, disturbed in confusion,” I thought we were already going out since you came as my date,” she explained. Relieved of her answer, Jesus smiled and thought,” I love you.”

Love at First Sight Kassandra Zabala Once upon a time on a winter night, a brave and strong woman with a broken heart was loading freight in a trailer at work. Her head was full of thoughts and she couldn’t hear herself think. Her life was falling apart. Every decision she made depended on her kids. So many suicidal thoughts, all alone with no one to help. All she wanted was the best for her kids, they were the only reason she’s alive now. She acted like nothing would hurt her. She ignored every single guy that tried flirting with her at work. One night she was sweeping while loading the freight, the truck driver could see her from the side view mirror of the trailer. He saw each tear drop fall. He could see her pain. The truck driver got out and started helping her. She held her head up for the first time in a while to thank him. Gaby’s heart stopped; all she can think about was how gorgeous the man was. She never believed in love of first sight until she saw him. The truck driver was freaked out for a moment because she was zoned out and shook his hand for a long time. As she apologized, she was memorizing that man’s face, she was happy to see a name tag. After he left, all she could think about was Jaime…

Before she went to sleep she hoped to see that man again. She caught herself smiling while thinking about him. He was tall and muscular. He had light brown eyes and a very bright smile. A week later, she saw Jaime again. They talked a while and got to know each other. He was older than she was; a single man. Ever since they started seeing each other, Jaime started having feelings for Gaby. They shared their life stories.

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Gaby felt something real for Jaime. Her life was starting to get back on track. They would make each other happy. He would surprise her with gifts and he would endear her with his beautiful words. He would give her unexpected calls to make sure she was okay. They would go out to eat and be the only couple laughing. He was romantic; the definition of a perfect boyfriend.

When they would fight they could only stay mad at each other for a little while. They couldn’t live without one another. Gaby literally believed that Jaime was her angel. She thought he could fix her. He would protect her from harm, wipe away her tears, and give her all the love and attention she deserved. Jaime would keep Gaby company and comfort her when she needed it. He changed her life forever; their first kiss was unforgettable for both of them. He came into her life and made it better and easier by supporting her every decision. They were more like best friends who shared secrets.

Of course every relationship has troubles, and Jaime’s job was moving their company to Dallas. Gaby was devastated. She couldn’t leave everything behind for him because of her kids. She would have to sacrifice her happiness if he left. Jaime was also confused. He couldn’t leave the love of his life behind and start a new life. Everything was going great until that bad news. Gaby believed that happiness didn’t last very long, so she started thanking Jaime for all he did for her before he left. For making her happy in this little time they spent together, but Jaime shushed her up before she said anything else. He told her that he was willing to leave everything behind for her. Jaime just couldn’t go on with his life without Gaby.

Gaby’s first love was Jaime. He made her see life a different way. He fixed her broken heart. Love is an intense feeling of deep affection. He filled her heart with so much love.

He made her happy in a little amount of time. Sadness does not last forever. Be patient with love.

My Grandparent’s Story Jasmine Mendoza When my grandmother was only nineteen years old she went to Cuba in order to follow my grandfather, because he was hired to be a translator for a white businessman.

It was the summer of 1958 and it was scorching hot, yet Cuba was beautiful. The streets were overrun with tourists from America. With all the tourists, it was happy times and my grandfather fell in love with my grandmother. On the 26th of July, my grandmother’s life changed.

July 26, 1958 was the same year that the arm revolt by Fidel Castro's 26th of July Movement was conducted. During the beginning of the revolution they sent all the “Yanks” (white businessmen) out of Cuba and back to America. My grandmother didn’t have money to go back to America. My grandfather offered to quit his job to stay behind with her, but she refused and forced him to go, citing that she would stay until she had enough money.

Through the days, weeks, and months my grandmother suffered in Cuba. Lying to my grandfather in her letters saying that she was safe and sound and had a warm place to live. In actuality, she was on the streets working one job to another and receiving very little from the rich people she worked for. She had just enough money to keep her body alive. The system in Cuba was getting worse every day. It came to a time that if you needed something you must trade it with something you had. My grandmother didn’t have anything and she was dying of starvation, so she sold her body for money. She stole food and clothes from random people and places.

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After two months my grandfather was worried. He came back to Cuba with the help of some friends and saw my grandmother sick and weak. Secretly, they took her back to America. By that time my grandmother woke up in a warm bed with my grandfather holding her hand.

As she got her life back together, she cried to my grandfather about how sorry she was and what she did in Cuba. My grandfather understood and forgave her. My grandmother kept thinking how she could have handle things better, if Cuba was in better hands than Fidel Castro's. Even today he still lives and people in Cuba suffer in the hands of that man.

My Journey Crystal Benitez “Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” - Helen Keller.

If I was told this before, I never understood. Pain led me to an emotional journey I didn’t want but had to take. It really is scary when life hits and you’re still stuck in the brain of a child, as unprepared as raw meat.

My journey began in middle school when my mom finally explained why she was my only parent. I swore I cried more tears than all the water in The Great Lakes. Although my mom hadn’t noticed how horrible I felt knowing my dad willingly wasn’t in my life, depression took me under its wing. I spent roughly a year wondering what was wrong with me, as if I had a defect in myself that made me unbearable. I never could bring myself to talk to my mom about it because I knew she’d feel the need to blame. I never shared these feelings with a soul, until one day I had enough and although I felt terrible, I told my mom.

As she wrapped her arms around me, I knew I made the right decision. She told me I was beautiful and though I didn’t have a real father around, letting it take control of my life wasn’t the answer. I understood, finally, how wrong I was and that I wasn’t at a loss.

Whenever I saw girls and their dads after that, I no longer felt the burden, seeing as I was just as happy with my mom. Proud of how she took care of me on her own, she gives me everything I need and then some. My feelings for my parents stay the same and I’ve long since stopped feeling unworthy of a father’s love.

The Trail of Tears Diana Nguyen In the epic story, “The Odyssey,” Homer expresses that suffering leads to a reward in the end. There is always a crack of light in the darkness. The trigger of my emotional and physical journey concerning my uncle’s death was when my father got the call. As the tear drops trailed down his face I knew that the time was here. He was gone. My parents immediately started to pack their bags. My mom screamed at us to hurry up and pack, but I just sat there motionless, I refused to leave. A deep pain shot to my chest and I could feel my throat choke, my eyes started to water. I couldn’t move.

Next thing you know, my mom dragged me out to the car with a bag full of black clothes and we were off to Louisiana. It only took us six hours to arrive at the funeral home. As we stepped closer to the door I breathed deeper and slower; I could feel my heart pounding. I held my mom’s hand all the way to the double doors as the men in black suits directed us to a small room.

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There were two rows of seats filled with people weeping uncontrollably. In the front, on a table, was his casket. Gradually we made our way to my uncle. I caught a glimpse of his face. Seeing him made it real. He was actually gone. I ran down the aisle, I couldn’t bear to see him like this. I sat down in the last row, sobbing. My mom sat down next to me and handed me a tissue. Then she whispered that it was okay and that he was in a better place now. I wanted to reply but when I opened my mouth all that came out was just air.

When I calmed down, I got up and walked up to the front. His face was pale, his arms were crossed and on his chest. He was wearing a black suit with a red tie. In the light two golden rings glistened, there were his wedding rings. Staring at him, I slowly realized that suffering is okay. It was okay to cry. I know now that if I had not seen him for the last time before he was buried, then I would have regretted it for the rest of my life. I knew that if there was no pain or sadness then there would not be happiness either. I felt a greater peace in myself that day. I made peace knowing that he was gone and in a better place.

After we arrived to the cemetery we all stood around his coffin and prayed. My mom let me rest my head on her shoulders. When the time was right, one by one, we picked a white rose from the bouquet and set it on his grave. Finally, we headed home.

The car was silent, but in my mind the thoughts were loud. This time, instead of the horrible thoughts of his death, the thoughts were of relief, thoughts of happiness.

Suffering though these days taught me that we have to accept the loss from our lives, but the loss is just another gain. The gain of new experiences, the gain of knowledge.

Vietnam Phuong Luong It has been 6 months since the day I left Vietnam to The United States. Still, in the bottom of my heart, the picture of my dear homeland has never faded: never-ending fields filled with rice, pretty maidens in the traditional dress ao dai, and the busy, crowded city working all day long.

Located in Asia, right below China, Vietnam is a small country in an S-shape. This place is also famous for beautiful beaches, like Nha Trang beach. If you have ever traveled to Vietnam, there is still a place you can’t visit: Ha Long Bay - one of the UNESSO World Heritage. I can make sure that the beauty of the panorama will amaze you. Not only is the geography what I take pride in, but also in our honorable history. One of the biggest cities in Vietnam is Ho Chi Minh City, which was named after Vietnam’s first president. The people here venerate President Ho Chi Minh so much that each school, from elementary to university, has a picture of the President in every classroom. Hence, whenever somebody asks me about where I was from, I’m always willing to tell this person about the things of my homeland that I love.

Even now, I miss my friends, my school, places, and the people in my old country. When my parents first told me that we had to move to another country as far as half of the planet from my own, and I must leave everything behind, it made me feel so sad. Leaving a place that you had spent fourteen years growing up, meeting some of the most important people in your life, and learning so many things, making up your own person, is hard. When can I see this land again? When can I see my old friends, who had been with me since my childhood? I’ve never realized that such a tiny country could have kept so many memories of mine.

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The friendly people –Vietnamese, the uproarious city that I can visualize in my mind: the whole street crowded with many motorcycles, tall and short houses next to each other, the variegated lights, noisy sounds of talking people, traffic sounds. Everything is so memorable. Furthermore, because of the poverty, there isn’t any smart boards or laptops in schools. Instead, black boards with chalks are more familiar. I would never forget a typical day going to school, listening to my teacher’s lesson, watching each of the words comes out from that white chalk and branding the board.

An old song, a Vietnamese song that is deeply inside my heart “When you're writing/Chalk dust's falling/There are some grains/Falling on the dais/There are some grains/Falling on your hair/I'd love this moment/Your hair seems gray and gray/Grayer for chalk dust/To give good lessons/When we are grown up/How can we forget/Long ago you taught us/When we were still young” Thus, thinking of Vietnam always makes me feel proud and miss it so much. I hope one day not too far, I can visit Vietnam again. Thoughts like this usually make me feel excited. Lastly, Vietnam is a pretty country, and this place never stops welcoming anyone visiting it.

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Poetry & Lyrics

Adolescent Limbs Tiara Lowery Young and malleable are the youth of today With their star colored eyes and their rose colored lips.

Their eyes point towards the future while their hands point to the sky Unknowing of what truly lies ahead.

Bad News is the Best Medicine Sick with pains and treacherous affliction, I lean my ear to the wall and hear the tremendous misfortunes.

My sorrows cleared up like a sunny day after a storm and from then on, I noted that bad news is the best medicine.

Revive Our late night conversations under the onyx sky and its pearl counterparts engulf me, and suddenly, I am awake Time's Waltz Time's momentum filled swing, the bounce of the dance causing a sting as you look down at the newly formed coffee ring.

Perplexing, how Time is blissfully jiving during a period of decaying.

The Prosperous Icarus The best days are the days when the sun smiles gaily upon my battered, wax wings, and decides that they shall not melt.

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Two Bodies The best feeling must be the awe-struck turbulence that collides into our hungry kisses in the middle of the night.

Each tumult aching for more and more until our young bodies, finally tired, synchronize with our deep, low breaths that cascade onto one another.

Instantaneously, our two worn out skeletons collapse like ephemeral home-bound snowflakes as we are now satiated of our desire.

Black and White Cesar Dominguez Black and white is all I see now, nothing grabs my attention nor makes me feel what I want to feel.

Black and white is all I see, took all of the emotions and color out of me.

Black and white, close to disappearing, white to black, I’ve set foot out of the holy and in to evil.

White and black and white, white and black, black and white, white and black, black and white.

My focus has changed and with the hopes to see color again.

Black Roses Jy’nessia Cross Black roses seem to be more plausible than red ones right?

I mean really... Does EVERY-thing end well or do people have no sight?

Black seems dark doesn’t it?

So does life.

So why do people think red roses light up the sky?

I think it’s all a lie, an illusion of something deeper inside.

But red is so bright that it blinds the eye.

People are being deceived by red roses all the time, and they hide their pain….

Almost afraid to speak as if it’s a crime.

So I but black roses to remind myself, that whenever I get a rose not to drown myself.

Not to forget what it means and to find myself.

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Dam Aleysha Young Water in the Hoover dam taking over the U.S.A No matter what the weather The dam is what keeps the water together It helps stop the water from overflowing we can use dams to save water, to grow food and we can make electricity.

The dam can lose some water And the stream can lose its bubble But if you've got water in your dam You’re heading for big trouble For the water in the Three George dam it’s coming down so fast like a water slide And when the dam decides to break There will be no place to run or hide!

Huge losses of forest, wetland and farmland I wish i could visit the Grand Canyon Dam and get a tan I might go see it, and take a trip with my fam I lied that will just be one of my to-go wishes Oh what a large dam have led to the extinction of many fish now we have more seafood platter dishes Departing Jailene Diaz pity had built upon me like the dust over an old almanac anticipating towards better nights as the ones I’d hope to have next to you slouched under a ceiling with no other option but to let a bitter stream of sorrow free onto a pale surface not another pitch of black would be comforting the thought of your return no witness of my despair would fill the void you caused

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Don’t Do the Same Thing Gerson Hoyos Huerta If you know it’s bad, don’t do the same things Cause when you get in trouble you gonna know what it really means Sometimes we just do it because we don’t got no choice We will rob a bank and bust a gun and do so much noise If you kill somebody you will forget it just drinking wine But tomorrow is back, this is not a track so you can’t press rewind If what you do is wrong, but that thing is done You will get some money, but a life is gone And when you get in jail it’s gonna be hard to figure They gave you 10 years just to pull a trigger You ruined your life, you just threw a bomb Can it be worse? Yes, when you tell your mom Maybe you came from a family of killers and drug dealers So it is probably in your blood But you can escape from that if you really trust in God I know you are just a kid and your father is not here And I also know you want to hear I love you coming through your ear I swear that is what you want to hear But not because of that you got to drink so much beer Your mother is not at home, she is working for your shoes Quit the alcohol, you better drink some juice And what I tell you better use it I hope you understand I don’t want to turn the TV on and see another dead man Look Mom, this is what I bring I’m a good man because I didn’t do the same thing!

Premature Burial Jailene Diaz contemplating leaving with no trace. death isn’t a race I’d like to win today, tomorrow, nor ever. but I’m sure I’ll know when it’s coming when I feel like I’m under you forever. forever, an art of what was once. forever, a body that was unloved. forever, the reason why my life is done. forever, the feeling which is now none. forever, the smells of rotting ages. forever, the scream beneath the stages.

I’ll forever be here, when I’m in my grave. and I’ll be waiting for you, when you’re on last-base.

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Don’t You Worry Your Pretty Little Face Anonymous You have a bright future ahead.

So don’t you worry your pretty little face Ignore all does words of hate Don’t let them judge you by your race.

They don’t know who you are It’s only us against the world You and me against all odds We’ll hold on because of our bonds.

So don’t you worry your pretty little face I got your back in this race.

And if your heart begins to sink In this never ending abyss Just know that our hearts are in perfect sync Beating one after another You’re a part of me and I’m part of you You’ve got me and I’ve got you Let your dreams take flight Just don’t lose me from your sight Because you’re a part of me and I’m part of you And together we can go as far as the eye can see.

So don’t shed a single tear Not for a single soul do you hear me loud and clear.

And no matter what I just want to tell you you’re the one The one I love and need And that we’ve long ago won.

So don’t you worry your pretty little face We can make this our one and only place.

We don’t have to be alone We can walk together into the unknown And together we can find out who we really are We could be life or we could be that everlasting star.

So don’t you worry your pretty little face I’ll be your everlasting grace.

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I’m on the Computer Safe and Sound Francisco Guerrero I’m on the computer safe and sound I’m on the computer watching the result of a conflict thousands of years in the making I’m on the computer wondering how people can manage to do such horrible things to one another I’m on the computer watching extremists wave a green flag I’m on the computer watching the victims of ignorance and the refusal to compromise; I’m watching members of a community rushing to save people trapped under the rubble of what used to be a family’s home I’m watching Arabic-speaking people who go through their entire lives thinking that all Jews and Israelis are exactly the same as the ones in the military I’m watching men desperately trying to save a mangled child as they yell “God is the greatest!”

I’m watching Hebrew-speaking people, people like us, people looking for new opportunities, settling on someone else’s land I’m watching men and women sporting the Star of David bursting into people’s homes to assert their dominance and belitt… I mean maintain order.

I’m watching peaceful protests turn violent because no one seems to be listening, and those who hear have a tendency to ignore or respond with violence I’m watching extremists waving a green flag launch a rocket across an iron curtain I’m watching soldiers sporting the Star of David as they destroy an entire community I’m watching scared men and women who believe they are responding appropriately to decades of oppression I’m watching men and women doing what they think is necessary to defend themselves

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It’s Too Late Francisco Sosa It’s too late Driving towards your house singing along to the song in the background “The way you look should be a sin you’re my sensation” I pull up to your dark driveway, the air still cold from a fading winter I turn down the music and sit there in silence … thinking A nervous, overwhelming feeling in the bottom of my stomach I look at myself in the mirror, making sure I look okay I fix the collar on my dark blue shirt I grab the carefully wrapped bouquet of blood red roses and get out of my car Working on my hundredth time telling you sorry I pretended like it didn’t affect me but nothing was further from reality I missed you I miss you I step on your porch and ring your doorbell Moving nervously I hold the flowers in front of me as I wait for you to open your door I missed the small things, holding your hand…kissing your lips… hearing your laugh I was ready to apologize and try to make things work like all the times before As the door opened I closed my eyes Just so I could open them and be greeted by your new boyfriend It’s too late Making a Difference Ramziya Fahradova With the hand you have lent, You straightened many life’s that were bent.

You’ve helped expose dreams that were hidden, You’ve helped grasp happiness that was forbidden.

You were like a flower, Blooming hope with every hour.

Sprouted many seeds, With a lot of helpful deeds.

You’ve left people no reason to cry, You’ve left people no reason to lie.

You’ve wiped away many tears, You’ve faded away many fears.

You gave life a glow, You gave life a better flow.

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You’ve created peaceful nights, You’ve decreased useless fights.

Cruelty is no longer in power, Life is no longer a lime that’s sour.

Because of the hand you lent, Because of the love you sent.

No More Little Bird Brian Gonzalez Secrets are secrets, some are spread, some are hid.

Little bird, why do you spread our secrets?

Do you hate us?

Do you intend to hurt us?

Little bird, why do you spread our secrets?

Some are to be known, some are to remain unknown.

You have gone too far.

Little bird, why do you spread our secrets?

Do you seek pleasure from our secrets?

Are you satisfied sharing our secrets?

Some are protective, Some are destructive.

Little bird are you trying to change us?

Are you trying to improve us or destroy us?

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Photography & Original Artwork

“Hold on to Hope” (left) and “Shone” (right) by Aileen Teniente

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“Sky” (left) and “Path” (right) by Maria Umanzor

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“Portrait�

by Valeria Delgado

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“Hands” (left) and “Colors” (right)

by Marielena Mendoza

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“Music” (left) and “Owl” (right) by Marielena Mendoza

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“Trees” by Maria Umanzor

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“Flower” (top) by Ashely Dominguez and “In Bloom” (bottom) by Maria Umanzor 30

“Portrait” (left) by Claudia Martinez and “Rihanna” (right) by Kanitria Lewis

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“Nessy” (top) by Isaac Luna and “Nature” (bottom) by Ashley Dominguez

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“New York” by Kassandra Seledon

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Faculty Submissions

AYER Juan Gallardo Ayer te vi y me lanzaste una mirada triste una de esas miradas que pretenden ser lo que no son una mirada llena de angustia de querer y quedarse como siempre; pasaste como una exhalación, estabas y de repente ya no estabas, igual que siempre.

Ayer te vi y me lanzaste una mirada triste una de esas miradas que se graban en la mente del que las sufre Ayer vi el mar, era de noche y me lanzó una mirada triste tan triste como la tuya allí sobre la suavidad de las olas estaban tus ojos mirándome, atravesándome; las farolas ya no daban la misma luz parecía que todos los objetos me miraban igual, tus ojos se dilucidaban en el asfalto en las paredes en las fotografías en las sábanas en las miradas de los demás Ayer te vi y me lanzaste una mirada triste yo siento cada pequeña cosa que haya hecho para construir esa mirada lo siento por cada impulso por cada latido lo siento por los días que ya no van a volver lo siento por tus ojos que me atraviesan lo siento por existir Ayer te vi y me lanzaste una de esas miradas que juegan de tú a tú con la melancolía y hoy ya todo me recuerda a tus ojos Falling Asleep Amber Criswell It’s soft. There is nothing jarring about the experience. It’s a fleece noose, a fade from color to black, the close of a shutter, an eye blinks and never recovers, a natural machination of the body. It pulls me in, a sweet lullaby of warmth, a mother language that feels foreign.

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I appreciate its pauses and enjoy its fluidity. It rocks back and forth, docked at the shore of my consciousness, drifting away at a pace so slowly that I know not that I am too far out until I am too far past.

Plush. An old friend, a connection being made between the known and unknown, no matter what dreams may come – it’s welcome.

Balancing strange and familiar on spider’s silk; a small comfort at the end of the longest and shortest of days.

You are like this, too.

Haiku Series Anonymous Morning bell, tardy pass I should have left earlier Credit recovery Cheetos. Flaming hot Lips, fingers, bowels engulfed Indigestion reigns It is on the HUB The HUB is progress, you know Everyone likes progress Walking the halls Seeking what? It is not known I disregard it Where is your pass, sir? this is a napkin from Brewings just go to class please MI PADRE Juan Gallardo Mi padre puede ver una moneda tirada en el suelo a treinta metros de distancia y te hace reír aunque estés sumido en la tristeza.

Mi padre sabe contar chistes con la mirada y es capaz de entender a dos enemigos, te arregla cualquier cosa con un alambre, una tuerca y un pedazo de papel de aluminio.

Mi padre sabe la fecha de nacimiento del portero, del alcalde, de la mujer de un primo de Francia y de gente que lleva sin ver veinte años.

Y hace un manjar con queso manchego, ajos, aceite y un pedazo de pan.

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Mi padre tiene los ojos azules como el cielo de verano y el pelo gris como la ceniza y me mira a los ojos y le puedo ver el alma.

The Well Amber Criswell “No man is an island, entire of himself.” – John Donne Like every other person, she was gifted an island at birth. It was small, damp, unpopulated, and dense. Unlike her peers, she recognized at an early age that it would be a lifelong struggle to cultivate the island, but it was worth the struggle. She was lucky enough to have visited her parents’ islands many times; her father’s island was thick, too.

It seemed groomed from the outside, well-managed with a flourishing port and vacation homes littering the beaches. But, the further she tried to venture into the depths of the island, it became exponentially darker. If she became lost, which often happened, she would call out for her father and he would ride to her on a four-wheeler, barely managing the terrain himself.

He would bark at her, “Why do you go out here, all alone? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

“But father,” she would argue, “this is your island, and I am your daughter. Am I not welcome here?”

Her father quieted her, placed her on the back of the four-wheeler, and would later tell her that he missed when she was young a child. “When you were young,” he said, “you had no desire to enter the forest.”

Her mother maintained a very different property, which was connected to her father’s island by a long pier. This island was vast and magnificent. Trails littered the island and visitors were encouraged to traverse the pathways, with little fear of real danger. At times it became evident that certain trails had not been travelled in many years, but she continued down them and her mother encouraged her to hack away at the vines and bush with a broad machete. Her mother equipped her with many tools for managing the forest. Upon stepping foot onto her mother’s beach, she was given a backpack containing the essentials; an empty journal and pen to record the journey, a machete to battle the bush, a flashlight to provide focused light, a bottle of water to sustain herself, a jacket for warmth, and a compass to guide the way, should the trail suddenly disappear, which had happened before.

Sometimes she watched her father at the foot of the forest, lounging leisurely with her mother. They laughed and ate together, counted stars and watched the moon reflect on the water. She watched them run into the forest when a storm approached, huddling together under a large tree, waiting for the winds to blow over and the torrential floods to pass. When she was younger, she feared these storms because she could only concentrate on the destruction. What would be taken away? What would they lose this time? As she grew older, she came to appreciate the time after the storms; in her youth, she assumed their ability to survive was sheer luck, a happening of chance that simply occurred each and every time. She learned that their ability to bear the storms, picking up the debris and clearing the destruction, was in fact no matter of luck, but a beautiful and confident deliberation they had made together many years ago.

She wandered around their islands at night, when everyone else had drifted off to sleep. She was quiet and contemplative, from years of walking her mother’s deep trails.

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She paced back and forth on their shared pier, staring at her coarse island in the distance. Very rarely did anyone visit; it wasn’t the most attractive place. Sometimes, during those nights of thought and watch, she witnessed her mother venturing into the forest of her father’s island, backpack of tools in-hand, with an indomitable countenance.

Years later, her mother confessed to her it was an act of love, and while in love, you must fight the battles as they are presented to you, not when it is most convenient.

She started to gather wood to build a pier to her island; one that connected to both of her parents’ islands. Her father constructed the base, walking on it first to ensure its sturdiness. He enlisted the help of his island’s inhabitants. They worked tirelessly under his watch, building and crafting a pier that surpassed his own. His happiness rested in his ability to do this. This, she discovered later on her own, was also love. It was the selfless love that you experience when you want to give someone everything that you have but you can’t, so you instead craft a better version and gift it.

She and her mother watched from the shore as the men worked for hours, without rest. They sipped tea and discussed the stars and the reflection of the moon on the water and dipped their feet in the warm, tropical waves. They grew close during this time; as her father built the pier, her mother helped her sharpen her machete and refill her empty water bottle. She fixed the few kinks in her compass, so that the needle did not waver as she walked back and forth.

“I’m teaching you these things so that you can do them yourself,” her mother said, lovingly. “If you get lost on your island, no one will hear you yelling for help.”

She felt nervous for the first time and reached out for her mother.

“But, that doesn’t mean that we will not come looking for you. The beauty is that we create the map by forging our own trails. Never fear the forest; it was created for you and will be tamed by you.”

“I think I’m ready, but I’m afraid,” she replied in a hushed voice.

“Darling, no man is an island. You are never alone. You will do great,” her mother pulled her up and led her to the finished pier. Her father stood triumphantly at the other end, lit torch in hand, motioning at his two women to join him; the structure was safe.

Water Amber Criswell The placid water of the lake near my home serves the primary purpose of reflection. Sun bounces back forcefully, moon rides the ripples to the shore, clouds glide across it lazily. My canoe balances on the blunt edge of its obsidian. I go here, despite my deep fear of water, because of its beauty. The likelihood of drowning seems further and further away, as distant as the cold, lake bottom. Firmly placed within the canoe, I will spread out, eat lunch, hum something sweet, and leisurely lie in the middle of this firmamental place, whose peacefulness is one of the many clever ruses of nature. Survival shapes this fear. I would not dare venture into the water; despite however important I may feel in the presence of company, or while working on a project, or after upsetting someone I love, because a swift pull of the water will remind me of just how very little I am. There is no greater force than the abyss, and while its totality is directly connected to its sublimity, I will only sit at the ledge and consider dipping a toe. The water, in all its beauty, continues to terrify me because its all-consuming power is as quiet as a sunset.

You are like this, too.

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