The Featheralist: Volume 04, Issue 01 by The Featheralist

DEL NORTE HIGH SCHOOL | FEBRUARY 2022 | VOLUME 04, ISSUE 01

genre | The Featheralist

01 02 03 04

I LIKE THE SAND IN MY EYES by Deanna Hu, ‘22

A ROSE FOR OUR DEMONS by Deanna Hu, ‘22

BLUE SHADES OF GREEN by Nicole Pi, ‘23

THE WORLD STOPS WHEN HE PLAYS VIOLA

by Andrea Baek, ‘22

FOREWORD dear reader, we are so excited to present you issue 12 of the featheralist. it’s our first print issue in almost two years, and we are beyond ecstatic to return in print and digital with this issue. this could not have been possible without the hard work of our writing, art, and graphic design departments, and especially the work of our editors and department heads. the writing and art in this issue reflect the simultaneous excitement and worry that has returned with transitioning back to an in-person world. we were once again reminded of how, through writing and art, expression can serve as a form of human connection. we were once again reminded of the importance of what it means to connect with others and truly be present for others’ stories. we were once again reminded of the diverse voices and artistic expression present around our campus; that with each word and brushstroke, we brought our ideas to life with color and careful thought. through this issue, we hope that the combination of creations from our talented artists, writers, and graphic designers speaks to the importance of our shared humanity. that this issue reminds you of the world coming together once again. we hope you enjoy this issue as much as we enjoyed putting it together. as you feel each page of this issue under your fingers, we hope you can also feel the love and dedication that was put into making this issue possible. best, andrea baek and ellen xu the featheralist team

TAB

05 06 07 08 09 10 11

APATHY CLO

by Rini Khande

THE PRICE O

by Bella Chong

2011

by Nivedita Ret

FAMILY

by Raiya Bann,

VENERATION

by Shriya Sanka

TALE OF THR

by Tyler Xiao, ‘2

THE COLOR DI

by Nikki Hekmat

OUDS

elwal, ‘24

OF MATURITY

g, ‘22

WHY YOU SHOULDN'T GRADUATE EARLY

SHIP'S LOG: THE STORY OF THE EVER GIVEN

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

BLE OF CONTENTS by Meghna Mohan, ‘23

by Vinay Rajagopalan, ‘24

hnakar, ‘22

‘23

aran, ‘23

REE SISTERS

IVIDE

t, ‘24

FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK!

by Anna Prasuovo, ‘24

FINDING OUR FUTURE IN THE FINAL FRONTIER

CONTRIBUTORS AND COLOPHON

WORKS CITED

by Connor Wang, ‘23 and Karthik Rajasekar, ‘23

The Featheralist

I LIKE THE SAND IN MY EYES Written by Deanna Hu '22 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24

creamy pale skin in the creamed hail she is pearls hidden by cans Lies hidden in cams the sand grains chitter with inconsistent crans eight herrings wash ashore poisoned by alcohol hung-over the anchor when a middle aged man scavenges the horrid scene with his thrifted detector for treasures he only finds the remains of a flourished maiden asleep on the blinding flashes from her premiere

Pearl Blues Iris Ding, ‘22 Digital

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

A ROSE FOR OUR DEMONS Written by Deanna Hu, ‘22 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24

the red is a secretly bloodstained heart for my mother and my roots downed in fu (luck… prosperity… riches) the red is an envelope-shaped pouch of money a semblance of well-wishes from my aunt across eight time zones and an ocean to sail. the red is my grandmother; she claps me on the back as a sturdy personification of Redwood trees who defies the limits of her physique as if her hunched back was a hallucination and it was the ghosts of our ancestors pulling her down instead How do I tell her that the ghosts must be impatient? my favorite shade of rogue rested on my lips thinly pressed into a malicious smile (a forced smile) they’re paired with my favorite eyes, the ones filled with fraudulent love time, it lasts forever just like the clock that counts time backwards in the powder room like the new dining room centerpiece—my wedding bouquet that welcomes nostalgia in waves, and crashes on the shore of my wine cabinet where the glass panes struggle to withhold the strain of violent emotion yesterday I heard a peculiar sound, a windchime-like shatter gently the vase pieces broke away and slowly the puzzle ruined itself it was a movie scene; the floor bursting alit with flares this friendly supernova of an ideal selfdestructed they call it rose tinted a euphemism for the deep brooding red

Hypnosis Iris Ding, ‘22 Digital

The Featheralist

Written by Nicole Pi, ‘23 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24

my heart sings as I stand on the summit the storm in my head keeps me from a leap would I be cut if I were to plummet? I am blind to the sea’s bottomless deep. I step away and onto the safe path I look back to the cliffs 一 oh, I wonder the sun is too high; I can not backtrack I walk; I lose sight of the sea’s color. the ocean waves still echo in my ears the smell of salt in my nose; my thoughts bleed the sea whispered words I’d needed to hear it vowed relief I hadn’t thought I’d need. my regret pools; it halts my retreat would the blue and green sea have welcomed me?

Dynasty Hercules Hailey Weedon, ‘23 Digital

Written by Andrea Baek, ‘22 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

THE WORLD STOPS WHEN HE PLAYS VIOLA the world stops when he plays viola. he paints his notes across his bow, and colors the space with vivid greens and blues.

his starting pitch rings an olive green, his favorite color. and a forest green, like the secondary succession species i learned about in environmental science yesterday, the longesvt standing organisms in the ecosystem. in the forest he creates in his canopy of lilting f minor progressions nests an abundance of love he has fostered (and most of it is mine). he paints a mint green, like the color of my room, my home because he is such, like no other.

each stroke of his bow blushes blooming blues across my skin as turquoise as the waves on my shore, as pale as the moon that drives these very tides, pushing and pulling at my heartstrings in beautiful shades of cornflower, ultramarine, and cobalt. in smooth back-and-forth legatos of fs and a-flats and cs, he brushes my sky in pure light blue, and dots my azure with staccato clouds.

the world stops when plays viola. in his crescendo of glissandos and his hush of decrescendos, he paints colors across my world. and i’m so in love with the way he does.

solace Iris Ding, ‘22 Watercolor

The Featheralist

APATHY CLOUDS Written by Rini Khandelwal, ‘24 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 my head is in the clouds with dreams that once filled the bright blue sky, with stars of hope that once sparkled bright. today there is a storm; that is not new. what is unique: the storm is quiet the rain is pouring from my bloodshot eyes, and i can feel the clouds filling up my headspace. there is no room for pretty thoughts for meaningless deadlines for friends’ birthdays for colors for feelings. experience tells me that attempts to break the storm are useless it will only bring LOUD thunder and lightning bolts to shatter my heart and tear apart my soul until I am numb, numb, numb. my screaming has been silenced; my feelings have evaporated. fact: sunshine here is forbidden. what is the point in having dreams when they never come true? what is the point in predicting the future when there isn’t one? hope and faith are simply words. why is it always white paper and gray lead and speckled tiles and pale desks and white chalk and black boards and the whirring fan and sticky heat and essay due wednesday and test on friday? why is it always wake up and eat and walk and work and chatter and gossip and sleep? what is the point in reliving the same day over and over again? i shove the papers away CLANG! as my pencil hits the bottom of the metal wastebasket snap off the lights, ‘till the room is as dark as my mind. my head is in the clouds my apathy clouds, a storm i cannot escape from.

Descension Saumya Palakodety, ‘24 Watercolor

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

THE PRICE OF MATURITY Written by Bella Chong, ‘22 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24

film out my head is a mess of details it’s hard to string it into words— cohesive thoughts are irrelevant but i attempt to count my memories: adolescence passes, the blink of an eye of hunting for plastic eggs in itchy grass and jumping in cold, autumn pools that numb my body but warm my heart there’s Green Eggs and Ham and Queen on the car radio the CD always left on replay until i could sing it in my sleep past the melted ice cream in waffle cones and the scratchy violin recitals the ream of film playing in my mind simply blanks... until all i see are slippery pages packed with words; their weight slouching my shoulders and hunching my back over the desk the ballpoint in hand scars the paper in black a stain on the ream of once colored film where the title is always “do better” and the notes end in “you’ll never understand”

Reminiscent of Childhood Nicole Pi, ‘23 Digital

The Featheralist

2011 Written by Nivedita Rethnakar ‘22 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 She told me the story of her high school graduation for the third time in the past hour. I stared quietly at her palms, upturned as if she was seeking guidance from some higher being. "The ground was crowded. I was in a white frock. Ah, m'amie! There were so many birds that day!" She looked up at me with solemn eyes, slowly tracing out the edges of my face in weary glances. "You remember, Marie?" Today, it seemed like I was Marie. Yesterday, I was Yohan. A week ago, I was a gutted kitten she saw in her youth, an image I could barely grasp through her broken sobs. I nodded steadily. "Marie." Dragging the word across my teeth, it felt like a slur in my mouth, hot and bitter, someone I could never be. It felt wretched seeing her in this state, rather, the weight of knowing I somehow allowed her to fall this low to the ground. Yet, unforgivably, her misery never failed to bring me joy, a soft pleasure

“Dragging the word across my teeth, it felt like a slur in my mouth, hot and bitter, someone I could never be. ” brimming with malice. I suffered at her hands as a child, and any pain she subsequently endured

appeared to me to be a kind of redemption – a rebalancing of the universe, where the rational order of cause and effect aligned. But now, I can't even keep a tally between us. Perhaps even a chance to hold her accountable would have been enough, but she was forgetting, and there was nothing I could do about it. Heartsick, I had tried to

“I watched the distant views of memories roll into the back of my eyelids. dream her into being, so I could pull my jaws open and scream at her, to hear her mumble an honest apology that wasn't a bowl of fruit. Instead, without a means to baste her in guilt, I watched the distant views of memories roll into the back of my eyelids. "I wore your black flats. I wouldn't be surprised if I still have them, Marie. I kept those two through college, you know? A real sturdy pair. I would be lying if I said I should have given them back to you." She began drumming her fingers to a muted tune; the triplets molded themselves into her own rendition of Les Champs-Elysées. I bit the inside of my lower lip in small pulses to accompany her for the chorus. Au soleil. Sous la pluie. À midi. Ou à minuit. Il y a toutCan you tell me the date today?" Her fingers froze. She kept her eyes on the pear basket between us. Then, she looks at me and back at the pears. I

followed her eyes as she trailed my arms with the surveillant glace I knew so well. She lifted her shoulders to shrug in response — a rigid wave, one side slightly higher than the other. In many ways, she was a child now, young and indecisive, every movement built on hesitancy; the signs of her physical degradation felt sickening, something deeper than the sharpness of salvation. "Ma copine," I pled, dropping all honorifics. Sometimes, I felt like I could see the end: when she would become nothing more than a rotting vegetable— forgetting how to speak, how to eat, and eventually forgetting how to breathe. Still, after all these years, I had no plan to make her remember the things she had done over my lifetime, no way to let her experience the brief moments I always saw, no way to forcefully spoon-feed her guilt, because she didn't know. Human degeneration halts and sputters but never reverses. "What year is it?" She opened her mouth, gaping at me like a dehydrated fish longing to return to water. "Nineteen—" she began, frantically scanning my eyes, hoping she was correct, like a toddler waiting to be congratulated. "You mean twenty, I think?" I heard her steady drumming, stopping at the same point in the chorus each time. She agreed and smiled at me as though she was proud of some accomplishment, her wrinkles slowly creasing around her eyes while she nodded with perpetual cheer. I looked at the pears for forgiveness as she continued humming to congratulate herself.

Sliced Circles 07

Vivian Hoang, ‘24 Ink

Written by Raiya Bann, '23 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 A family of three kids with two caring and nurturing parents lie beside one another in the backyard of their home. Under the stars, they count, name, and claim each star as their own. Their father reads them stories of the monsters under their beds. He holds them tight and tells them that he will protect them from any evil. Their mother tells them her stories of when she once traveled the world as a young girl—promising them that they would have their own adventures one day too. While she talks, she makes a ravishing stew from freshly cooked beef and homegrown vegetables, reassuring them that their stomachs will never be empty. The father shines a light on the mother as she dances and sings delicate lullabies. As their eyes shut, the mother gently rests herself between her children as they all huddle together, and they all fall fastly asleep. Eliza woke up to the paralyzing sounds of her and her brothers’ roaring stomachs. She forced herself out of bed, shaking Elijah and Noah to wake up. The boys fussed, but they always listened to her in the end—unfortunately, their mother wouldn’t be there to help again. A common occurrence.

“Eliza woke up to the paralyzing sounds of her and her brothers’ roaring stomachs.” Getting ready, they picked up whatever clothes were piled on the ground and smelled them to ensure they weren’t dirty before putting them on. They walked down the stairs slowly to prevent waking up their tired mother or encountering one of her many friends. Eliza, as the oldest, promised her brothers that she would protect and care for them no matter what. A promise her mother fails to keep. Eliza would rummage through their drawers searching for something suitable for breakfast, but Elijah only wanted frozen bread, while Noah wanted egg. As Eliza made sure her brother’s stomachs were full—she realized that they would be late for school. However, this was always the

normal circumstance. Their mother was usually too tired, angry, or sad to get up from bed so they either didn’t go, got one of her mother's friends or their Aunte to drive them, or they rode on their bikes.

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

FAMILY At school, Eliza had no friends. Her clothes were too shabby, her hair tied back in a greasy ponytail, and she was not the skinniest girl in her grade. Kids would talk about her behind her back and bully her, while she still went home everyday feeling like the world would crush her in an instant. Her mom would always have something wrong, or she would have to take care of her brothers. Noah always lied about his homework, Elijah was too young and still couldn’t read, and Eliza needed to pass her school year or she would be held back. These were the least of her problems though, her only deep concern was her mother. Eliza didn’t have a father or someone else who could take care of them. It was her or when her mother felt up to the task. But as the sun started to fade, the ending to her tiring day, Eliza would make a plate of nachos for her brothers and they would all run up to Noah and Elijah's room, turn on the TV, and huddle together. They would watch scary movies, funny movies, even video gamers on youtube, but after her brothers had finally gone to sleep, Eliza would turn off the TV and head to her room. She would grab her blanket, pillow, and her computer and go to the living room. Another night she’d remind herself that she had done well today and that tomorrow may be better. As she waited as long as she could for her Mom to come home—she shut her eyes and started to drift to the thought of her happy family altogether once again. __________________________________________ Note to reader: It doesn’t matter where you come from or what is going on, we all may feel some sort of isolation or sadness and that is completely okay. It is also okay to talk (or want to talk) to someone because, on some level, there will always be another person who can help, understand, or guide you to overcome those struggles. At the end of the day, despite those struggles, we can always come to find some light at the end of the tunnel, and we’ll find our smiles and vibrant attitudes again. It just takes time: but there is always hope. “No one will hit you harder than life itself. It doesn’t matter how you hit back. It’s about how much you can take, and keep fighting, how much you can suffer and keep moving forward. That’s how you win.” -Anderson Silva.

Girl Andrea Wang, ‘24 Digital

The Featheralist

Aquiring A Halo Nicole Pi, ‘23 Mixed Media

Written by Shriya Sankaran, ‘23 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 The sun rises. It is not like every other day—the world is stagnant, right now. Still. Quiet. Sky a hazy blue, smoke and dust settling on the horizon: even the crows are silent, a pause in their symphony of ever-approaching endings. The sun rises a little more. Today is a good day. Today must be a good day, you see. It is holy not in the way that humans perceive as holy but greater than that, bigger than that. Holy in the way the vastness of the cosmos is holy, holy in the way that indifference is holy, holy in the way that you can never be. Holy in a way that you can never hope to understand. A day of world-restoration. As it should be. Sometimes people settle on truths without realizing their magnitude, you see. This is the way it was: these self-created false gods and false prophets and their ungodly sleight of hand, bloodsoaked palms smearing red wherever they laid their touch. Like chemical weedkiller, sickly sweet in gold and green: take and take and take. Leeches drawing out arterial life until they left a dried corn-husk of a world, leeches looking for another world once they left their own unexploitable. This was the way it was before greatness came back. False prophets, false gods: crooning their own praises. Backs turned, inflicting small violences upon themselves. Bleach soaked words sapping at the life forces of those around them, acid diffusing into taut air: blissfully oblivious to the fact that they, too, were dissolving from the soles of their feet upwards. Understand me: before this there was then and back then they did not pause to consider the after to their actions and so they constructed their own pyres. Industrial wealth turned industrial cremation turned ashes floating in salt-sea and desert-sand. This was the way it was: denial, self-inflicted blindness, heat death consuming the world until skin peeled, flayed from muscle and flesh—desquamation, shedding skin of the old and adopting the new. The ingratitude of the past has sunk its keratin claws into our present: you must pay. There is no way forward without paying. You are in a better reality. A more just reality. It is better to comply. Do not rebel.

“The ingratitude of the past has sunk its keratin claws into our present: you must pay.” The wind hisses its dying breaths across cracking clay. The world is silent because you will pay for what they did. The world is silent because this was the way it was, here, before they came. The world is silent because it must be, miles and miles of open-air confessional ready to receive your regret. Nature lays her heavy hand on your shoulder and you (must) obey, crumpling like dry leaves to your knees in love, in fear, in respect, in awe. In equal parts: there is give and there is take. Those who came before you took: hands dusted criminal-red and overflowing, like overgrown manchildren caught with pudgy hands in the cookie jar, greasy, sticky, with deception, with guilt. Those before took and so you, now, must give: slice in the narrow gaps between rib-bones and let yellowed bruises seep iron into oven-ground, rivers resurrected and running lively once more, ages after first death. Give because you love because you have no other option but to love: you love or you die, sunk into the quicksand hollows that your forefathers’ footsteps have left behind. You must love but you must respect before you love. Do not take. Do not consume. Let acid-fire rise up through the hollow between your lungs and realize what your fathers inflicted on this earth and repent. Repent wholeheartedly. Without the screaming of industrialisation echoing in the cavity of your skull—without second thoughts curling their whispers around the shell of your ears. Fold. It is better to fold. It is easier to fold. The sun comes to its zenith.

Written by Tyler Xiao, ‘24 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ’24 I arose from my bed and felt the blast of my morning briefing in my mind. “Good morning, today is June 8, 2084. Today’s weather is nice, warm, sunny and… Your sisters Sarah and Courtney are waiting for you at the pods to Germanium Valley!” I sighed. Today was data day, an important day in determining our future. Data day determined whether we would work in the top fields of Germanium Valley or get recycled in the factories. In the event of our success, we would be able to find future lovers. After quickly finishing breakfast, I raced down to the pods to meet my sisters, Courtney and Sarah. When we left, on the way, I imagined the field of candidates for lovers. “There’s a 97% chance I would go well with Dave.”

3 minutes.

I reflected on the circumstances of my life.

1 minute. I suddenly realized there was no way I could complete my structure in time. Despite my best efforts, I had only completed half of the needed web. A tidal grip of failure reached me. What would happen when time is up?

Despite losing to my sisters, I did not feel any resentment towards them. Rather, I accepted my predicament with a glaring acceptance. I had lost, fair and square, but I knew that Courtney and Sarah would miss me. Entering the factory, I recorded the last moments of this day to share in my future owner’s memory drive. It’s for the best that I can show them what’s coming.

Beep! The timer reached 0, sending a shock through my body and sending me back into the room. I looked up, and to my shock, found my name in a red font on the bottom of a leaderboard with my sisters.

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

TALE OF THREE SISTERS

Diluc It’s over, I thought. I closed my eyes and accepted my defeat. In this whole time, I had been in a competition against my sisters, who I had known my whole life. I closed my eyes as a pod brought me to the factory to recycle my parts. In this time,

Andrea Wang, ‘24 Digital

“No way,” Courtney replied. “Accounting for some of my further data, Dave will not work well with Sarah or me, reducing it to 89%, below your wanted threshold.” “The next highest is Adam, I suppose he could work well.” Despite the potentially despondent consequences of the day, we continued talking like this until we arrived at the entrance to the examination. As I entered the door, I heard the voice: “Alex Knuth, Made in 2070, Neurolinked in 2071 by Horizon Services, Examination Date Confirmed, Entry Authorized.” Right after entering the building, a pod descended upon me and transported me to a distant room, away from my sisters. Inside, there lay a wire, the exam wire which I spent years hearing from my teachers and peers. Here goes nothing, I thought, as I plugged the wire into the back of my head. Instantly, my body flew to a remote and stone cold floor. I turned around, and saw a glaring blue screen above me. “Greetings Alex,” says a soothing voice, “Your challenge is to assemble a diamond-palindrome configuration of the data web below. You have 10 minutes.” My gears raced. Below me was appeared a bright blue cluster of hundreds of thousands of bases, and millions of connectors, the necessary materials needed to make a web. I set out to work immediately, spinning, gliding, and connecting nodes together at a speed I had never done before. 5 minutes.

The Featheralist

THE COLOR DIVIDE Written by Nikki Hekmat, ‘24 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 Part One: Nick The sky is starless tonight, and I have to squint to make sure I don’t collide headfirst into a wall. I pull the collar of my thin coat up, cursing why Mr. Robinson couldn’t have waited until morning for this shipment. But whatever the big boss says goes, no matter if my teeth are chattering out of my head. When I reach the harbor, I see the dingy white boat as promised. The blue feather peeking out from Mr. Rowen’s hat is striking enough in the darkness, and the color turns my stomach. Why the old man wouldn’t rather don a scarlet plume is beyond me. But he’s never once been late for one of Mr. Robinson’s orders, so I suppose he deserves some credit. His yellow lantern glows hauntingly over the calm waters, and he waves a hand as I near. A russet lock speckled with white falls over his eyes as he lifts a wooden crate out from his rocking craft to set on the ground. “Nick, my boy! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he calls gruffly, loud enough to be heard over the whipping gales. I wrinkle my nose at the scent of salt and seagull waste, nodding in greeting when I near. “You say that every week, Mr. Rowen, and every week I come,” I answer dryly. I hate the harbor. “Ah, that’s a good lad. Got Jacob’s turnips here, as promised,” he says, a tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “Mr. Robinson will be pleased.” I’m not up for much conversation tonight. This trip is already outside of my shift hours, and I’d rather not prolong the process. “Good, good.” He squints, and I get the sense that he can read the exhaustion in my eyes. “Well, then I suppose we ought to get Jacob his turnips before sunup. He won’t like a late shipment, now will he? “No, sir.” I stoop down to grip the sides of the crate, feeling my muscles stretch taut as I lift the box of putrid vegetables. I hate turnips. I hate night shipments. Mr. Rowen pats my shoulder, but his firm grip lingers. “Nicolas, have you seen anything odd lately?” he whispers, his eyes sweeping the barren port. I knit my brows together, straining to hear him over the wind. “No, sir?” He was getting crazier than I thought. He licks his chapped lips again, his blood red eyes

corner, pressing her against the wall, and she stills. Time slows as her breaths and mine form a joint cloud of white between us.

“Of a what, Mr. Rowen?” For a moment, he stares. But in a heartbeat, his inviting smile returns as he drops his hand from my shoulder. “Oh, nothing to bother a good lad like you with. Now, run along. We don’t want to keep Jacob waiting.”

Red and Blue Hema Rajendran, ‘24 Digital

“Goodnight, Mr. Rowen,” I mutter, turning away in confusion. I quicken my pace without a glance back, eager to be rid of the strange man. The nicer road would take longer than I’d like, so the alley will have to do. The tall walls keep the stinging winds at bay, and suddenly ear-splitting birdsong and the buzz of insects fill the night air. I set the crate down for a moment to ease the cramp in my arms, and my breath puffs out in clouds of white as I rub my hands together in a feeble attempt to conjure warmth. Blasted cold, blasted Robinson, blasted turnips— I freeze. My eyes land on a figure, a girl by the looks of it, curled on the ground several feet ahead. I take a step forward, squinting in the darkness. She’s wearing a coat not much thicker than my own, but it seems too big on her, great heaps of fabric pooling at odd ends. Her silver hair is long, strewn over one shoulder, and her gray lashes flutter in her sleep. But it's her skin that catches my attention—a sickly blue, deep as the water that laps in the putrid harbor. And that’s when my blood runs cold. She is a Blue. On Red territory. My mind reels with the steady rise and fall of her chest. I should report her to the Watch—I have to. They’ll know what to do. She needs to be on her side of the bay, not ours. But when her eyes open, daggers of ice colder than the whipping wind, I suck in a breath. They widen, and she startles awake. In the moment of my shock, she is off the ground, her footfalls crunching down the alley before I can even blink. “Hey!” I call, coming to my senses. “Stop!” She isn’t fast enough. I lunge, and my hand clamps around her collar. She kicks and screams, twisting her body like a snake desperate to escape the jaws of a predator, but I hold her fast.

“You’re a Blue,” I accuse, my face twisting in both disgust and awe. I have never seen a Blue in the flesh, and here I am pinning one against a wall. “I have a name,” she spits, her eyes narrowing into slits as she sizes me up. “And at least I’m not a Red.” I don’t like her. “Reds have names, too,” I grumble with a roll of my eyes. Typical Blue. “And I’m not the one breaking the law, so I suggest you hold your tongue.”

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

holding my gaze hostage. “There’s been report of a . . .”

That silences her. All fury melts from her features, and her eyes are as wide as a new fawn’s. “What the hell are you doing here, Blue?” I ask gruffly. She trembles beneath my grasp, eyes searching mine. “I . . . I ran away.” “ You . . . ran away?” She nods. “Why?” A Blue running away to Red territory? Does she think I’m stupid? “I . . .” She chews on her lower lip. I press my lips into a firm line. “Fine. But you better tell me how the hell you got here.” “I caught one of the last trade ships. No one saw me, but they’re looking for me by now, I’m sure of it,” she says in a rush. “Please don’t turn me in. Please.” I gaze into her frightened eyes, cocking my head to the side. For some absurd reason, I don’t call the Watch. Instead, with a glance behind me, I say, “We need to talk somewhere more private. And you look like you could use a bite to eat.” I take a step back, holding out a hand. “The name is Nick Rogers.” “Cassidy Davenport,” she says softly, barely above a whisper. She eyes my hand like it could be a trap, and doesn’t make a move to shake it. “Be that way,” I snort, retrieving my crate of turnips and taking swift strides down the alley. “And you better keep up, because I don’t slow down for—” But to my surprise, her shock of silver hair is already swinging a step ahead of me before I can even finish my sentence. End of Part One Find out the end of Nick and Cassidy’s story in our next issue!

“Will you quit it?” I say through gritted teeth, dragging her back into the alley. “You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood!” I wrestle her into a

The Featheralist

WHY YOU SHOULDN’T GRADUATE EARLY Written by Meghna Mohan, ‘23 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 It’s 6 am. You’re up before the sun, trying to muster the motivation to face another day of high school. When Instagram loses its flavor, you start scrolling through the news app in a last-ditch attempt to procrastinate getting up. A headline catches your eye: “Nine Year Old Child Genius to Graduate University” (Guy). Within seconds, you've felt disbelief, awe, inferiority, and resignation. Whether you realize it or not, this headline has led you to associate intelligence with the idea of an accelerated educational experience. There's no doubt that this 9 year-old prodigy deserves recognition, but it should be because of his advanced mind, not his ability to graduate early. Too often, intelligence in our society is determined by whether or not you can surpass the pacing of America’s education system. It’s not uncommon to believe that the smartest students in high school were the ones that skipped a grade or were able to graduate a year early. The problem is that this ideology ignores the importance of social interaction in a student’s life. Hidden under the

“Too often, intelligence in our society is determined by whether or not you can surpass the pacing of America’s education system.” academic aspirations and advanced placement courses of high school is a priceless social experience that is key to a fulfilling childhood. The beauty of high school is that it only happens once. You get one chance to live out your teenage dreams before you’re dropped into the bottomless pit of adulthood. Why not take advantage of every second? Graduating a year early means missing out on a host of events that culminate into the high school experience. It means missing out on your last first day of school assembly from the coveted white chairs. It means never getting to dance your heart out at your senior prom or scream yourself hoarse at the last football game of the season. It means never getting to see graduation caps rain down on you and your peers in celebration of all you’ve accomplished. You have your entire life to be an adult, but your time to be a teenager is scarce. Why waste it?

You have your entire life to be an adult, but your time to be a teenager is scarce. Why waste it? Critics will argue the case of the overachieving AP student. They’ll say that graduating a year early from high school provides an opportunity for academically gifted students to challenge themselves and stand out on college applications. Unfortunately, sending a student to college simply because they think they’re ready is like throwing a kid into a riptide to teach them how to swim. The college experience is all-encompassing, and academic preparation isn’t enough to guarantee success. If students really want to challenge themselves, they can take more AP courses to experiment with the diligence and time management required of college without the high stakes of actually being in a university. In terms of college applications, taking advanced placement courses boosts grade point average and sets high school students apart from their peers. That being said, colleges look for well-rounded students, not just walking, talking 4.0s. Missing your last year of high school doesn’t simply mean missing your last year of high school; it means missing your last opportunity to join club leadership, your last chance to play a high school sport, or even your last shot at a prestigious internship. A single year of high school may be the difference between an acceptance letter and a rejection notice. As a society, we expect fast-paced learning from those we deem intelligent and the concept of early graduation does nothing but reinforce this. High school should not be a race that rewards only the fastest students with the honor of intelligence. It should not be a competition to see which student can abandon their youth the quickest. High school should be an opportunity for growing teenagers to explore who they are and learn to find balance between their academic and social lives. Instead of allowing yourself to be thrown into the world of independence and adulthood too early, choose to prioritize social development over academic validation. Choose to prioritize the high school experience. Choose to prioritize yourself.

Graduation Cap Iris Ding, ‘22 gouache

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

The Featheralist

SHIP'S LOG: THE STORY OF THE EVER GIVEN Written by Vinay Rajagopalan, ‘24 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 You’ve probably heard the story a thousand times before. You’ve seen it in memes, maybe even heard it on the news or read it in news articles. The novelty’s worn off by now. You might have forgotten about it until this very moment, when I say: “Hey, do you remember about the Evergiven? Pretty wild, huh?” So today you’ll be reading about it for the who-knows-how-many-th time. Prepare for an exciting adventure, full of a boat getting stuck and sitting there for a couple weeks, everyone’s favorite topic (the economy), and more! First some information about the ship itself. It was built in Panama, by a Japanese company called Shoei Kisen Kaisha. It is a huge ship, nearly 100

“Prepare for an exciting adventure, full of a boat getting stuck and sitting there for a couple weeks, everyone’s favorite topic (the economy), and more!” meters long and 60 meters wide. The ship was chartered by a Taiwanese company called “Evergreen Marine Corp.” The ship’s designed as a cargo ship, and it can carry thousands of boxes of cargo and weighs over 220,000 tons, making it one of the biggest ships in the world. It was a shining example of modern shipping, reflecting the immense scale and volume of demand of everyday commodities in our lives. And these commodities (well, most of them, anyway) come to us through one small, narrow, canal: the Suez. Electronics, furniture, and even toys-they all come through the canal. And though it provides a great service by cutting out weeks of travel time, it has its flaws-a major one being that it's comparatively small. Being not much more than 150 feet (200 meters) and at its shallowest less than 80 feet(24 meters) deep, the canal is barely big enough to fit the swelling size of cargo ships. It’s a stressful job-one former sailor said, “I’d rather have a colonoscopy than go through the Suez.” A slight

error, say in a part of the canal that’s one-way, could theoretically end up blocking the whole canal, devastating the economy. But I’m sure that it’ll be fine, right? Our actual story starts just outside the Suez canal, on an extremely windy day. This wind had kicked up the desert sand, blanketing the ships, waiting for their turn to enter the canal, in the middle of a dust storm. A huge ship, maybe even the largest one there, bobs with the waves, waiting for the go-ahead to traverse the canal. This ship was on its way from Malaysia to the Netherlands. This is the Ever Given. It does not know-no one does- what it is fated to do. Then, finally, a small white boat, dwarfed by the humongous Ever Given, approaches. It contains two Egyptian pilots from the SCA-Suez Canal Authority. These pilots wouldn’t actually pilot the ship-their job is to be the link between the ship and SCA control, to ensure the cargo gets through. They clambered aboard and met the captain: Krishnan Kanthavel, an experienced captain from the Indian province of Tamil Nadu. The pilots gave the go-ahead, but Kanthavel wasn’t entirely sure that they should go ahead, owing to the bad conditions, but thanks to fancy 21st-century technology, the ship could technically make the journey (not to mention the commercial pressures), so they set off. The journey seemed to go fine at first-but then something happened. We don’t have a full recording of the events that happened, but what we do know is this: there was an argument, but despite this, the order to go full speed was given. This turned out to be its doom. The ship slowly careened towards the riverbank like an out-of-control car, skidding in the rain. The metal beast listened to no one, the crash’s event horizon had been reached. Kanthavel realized this, and screamed: “Sh*t!” When the dust settled, the Ever Given was firmly settled in the mud of the riverbank. Worse yet, it was stuck in the southern one-way area-meaning that no one

“The ship slowly careened towards the riverbank like an out-of-control car, skidding in the rain.”

can go in or out of the canal until the ship is unblocked. This was the conundrum that faced Captain Mohamed Elsayed Hassanin, the chief pilot of the SCA. The first thing he tried was to drag the ship free with a few tugboats, but the ship refused to budge. Okay, onto the next idea. They would alternate between trying to dig the ship free with excavators and pulling it free with tugboats. This is where that famous photo of the single excavator was taken, the photo that would propel the situation to meme status. But it was dangerous work. If the Ever Given suddenly came free as the tugboats were pulling it, a fatal accident could

“But it was dangerous work. If the Ever Given suddenly came free as the tugboats were pulling it, a fatal accident could occur.” occur. And it did: The SCA revealed that one person died during the rescue effort, though the reason has not been revealed. Yet still, the work carried on, slowly making progress. While the Ever Given was being impounded by the Suez canal itself, the SCA took some time to look at the economy. How long could it last without the Suez? There were over 180 ships that were blocked by the Ever Given, carrying everything from phones to livestock. Who knows what effects the delay of these crucial items could have on supply lines? In a world where we’re used to having everything at our fingertips, wouldn’t this create shortages, compounding with the shortages caused by the pandemic? A team from APM Terminals, who deal with container ports, came up with the estimate that the world could deal with a blockage of a week. The race was on, to fix it before the world economy shattered. The team trying to free the Ever Given had moved on to using dredging, where dirt is removed from the bottom of the canal, and a crane to offload the containers to lighten the ship’s burden. They also ordered a fleet of the biggest towboats in the world

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

to aid them in their mission. Elsayed had ordered that ropes be put connecting the ship to the opposite bank, enduring that when the ship was freed, it wouldn’t swing around to the other side and just get stuck there. And then, on March 29, it happened. The tide was on their side, the tugboats pulling at full speed... and then one rope snapped. Then another, then another. The final rope held, and Captain Kanthavel powered on the engines. The ship was moving under its own power! They had done it! The ship was freed, only to get impounded again, this time by the SCA. It would stay there for another 100 days, until a court case between the SCA and Shoei Kisen Kaisha was resolved. After that the ship was free to complete its journey to the Netherlands, then on to England, and then all the way to China, where it stays at the time of writing. But in the meanwhile, the SCA had its work cut out for it: to clear all of the blocked ships from the canal, and fully open it up again. This took six days, working from day until night. But it was done. The Suez canal had faded back into obscurity by now, barely a footnote in the public’s memory. The Ever Given made another trip through the canal, escorted by a praetorian guard of two tugboats. Thankfully, it made it through without incident. “So what now?’ you may be asking. Well, it's too early to tell. There’ve been plans made to widen the canal, but those are just plans for now. The economy’s normal (at least COVID-normal). If you had to make a “moral of the story” it’d probably be something like ‘don’t drive a ship during a storm’. But maybe some stories don’t need a moral. They’re just fun to tell. Maybe you’ll tell this story to your kids and grandkids, saying, “Hey, wanna hear about the Evergiven? It’s pretty wild!”

A Day in Venice Vivian Ni, ‘24 Acrylic

The Featheralist

FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK! Written by Anna Prasuovo, ‘24 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 March 13, 2020. The day the President of the United States declared a national emergency due to the coronavirus. The day every school in the Poway Unified School District shut down for three weeks. But we didn’t come back after three weeks. Instead, for most of the 2020-2021 school year, Poway Unified schools stayed closed. No table groups. No teacher in front of the classroom. No school bells. Our school was now at home. Every student spends 2 million minutes of their lives in high school. For the class of 2021 through 2024, 500,000 of those precious minutes were spent online through a screen.

“Every student spends 2 million minutes of their lives in high school. For the class of 2021 through 2024, 500,000 of those precious minutes were spent online through a screen.”

So much has changed because of the pandemic. A year later, the world is still not the same as before Covid-19. During 2020, we lost and learned things that we never would have had to deal with if it wasn’t for the coronavirus. We are not the same people that we were in 2019. I interviewed DNHS students asking for their reflection on pandemic and post pandemic times: How was Zoom learning for you? Did you like it? “Zoom learning was very different. I mean it was a new environment and there were some ups and downs to it but overall it wasn’t that bad” (R.S, 10th grade).

I get to see everyone but sometimes I miss zoom learning” (R.S, 10th grade). “A big adjustment. I feel that certain aspects of school feel more difficult but overall I am grateful to be back in-person with my friends and with my teachers” (A.L, 10th grade). “I like being able to see my friends in-person and it has been easier to get help with schoolwork” (A.B, 10th grade). “Kind of a vibe. It was (a good) different at home. Now that we’re back it feels the same because we’ve done this before” (M.M, 10th grade). “The environment has changed drastically as we

“There were aspects of in-person school that I missed but overall I had a good experience and I believe I learned a lot of things about myself during that time” (A.L, 10th grade). “I got distracted a lot” (A.B, 10th grade). “I liked it, it was kind of a vibe! A very fun experience overall” (M.M, 10th grade). “At first I did not like zoom learning as it was inconvenient. It was hard to ask questions and socialize with my “table mates” during breakout rooms. Everybody would often be muted and have their cameras turned off which made it really awkward. However, by the end of the year, I kind of just gave up and started googling the answers” (K.T, 11th grade).

The first few weeks of online learning on Zoom were rough. Both Nighthawk teachers, staff members, and students can admit that we were lost and confused at the beginning of the trimester. Not naming any names, but my Spanish teacher accidentally ended the Zoom early multiple times! To be fair, we had expected to be back by the start of the new school year but had also planned for the worst - and we got the worst: online zoom classes. And the date we planned to return to in-person school? It kept on getting pushed back for months.

“Zoom was definitely an interesting way to learn last year. I didn’t mind it at first, but I think towards the end of the year it was hard to be staring at my computer all day and I dozed off during class a lot. It was hard to pay attention all the time since you’re at home and can easily turn off your camera. Learning wise, I ended up having to teach myself a lot of the concepts because it’s hard to get a concrete understanding over zoom. I’m just glad it’s over to be honest, it was pretty draining” (A.Y, 11th grade).

Still, we were persistent. We eventually adapted to online learning. Many even thrived! Together, the flock made the best of our circumstances and made 2020-2021 a memorable school year. We successfully used a new schedule (the 10-minute passing breaks were BOMB), the Zoom platform eventually became a helpful tool instead of a nightmare (two words: the chat!), and we created Asynchronous Fridays! A day to relax and get school work done on our own time with almost zero stress (personally, I believe that was the best thing that came out of the year).

“I had a pretty good experience with zoom learning. I think comfortable would be a good word to describe how I felt about online school. It was very convenient to be home and kind of do as I pleased during the day. I was able to get my work done in the unstructured setting, but I can see how it wouldn’t work for everyone” (I.M, 12th grade). What is it like to be back at school? “It’s great to be back at school with all my friends!

“Junior year hit me pretty hard, especially after getting used to zoom learning. The academic load is a lot more than last year, especially for history. Since we were online last year, the majority of my work was done online and I only used paper for classes like math and chemistry. But it’s way different this year because now I have to hand write almost everything, so it took a bit of time to adjust to that. But it’s nice to be back in a physical classroom and be able to have human interaction on a daily basis” (A.Y, 11th grade). “Being back at school is nice. I like seeing my

friends and it’s nice to actually interact with my teachers. However, it is inconvenient that we cannot eat in class or drink water. I’m a huge snacker and sometimes I think being able to eat would help me learn better” (I.M, 12th grade).

“18 hours LOL” (K.T, 11th grade).

What was the biggest thing you learned from the 2020-2021 school year?

“My highest screen time was pretty bad, one day I think it was like 11.5 hours” (I.M, 12th grade).

“The biggest thing I learned was how to get used to a new environment because I was so used to in-person learning I had to adapt to doing everything online” (R.S, 10th grade).

Do you prefer online, in-person, or hybrid learning more?

“I learned a lot about myself during that time, especially in regards to how I learn and which aspects of my routine I needed to work on in order to keep a good balance in life” (A.L, 10th grade). “I learned to not take things for granted” (A.B, 10th grade).

Connection Lost Vivian Hoang, ‘24 Digital

“The biggest things I learned were definitely how to cook a breakfast sandwich during p.e, how to estimate heart rates and distances for fitness logs, and how to look on my phone while looking at the computer” (M.M, 10th grade). “The biggest thing I learned was to not procrastinate because all of our assignments were due at 11:59 p.m” (K.T, 11th grade). “I’ve learned the importance of self discipline over the 2020-2021 school year. It’s really up to you if you want to put in the effort to do well in school or not, and that’s challenging to do when you’re cooped up in your bedroom all day. I really had to push myself through the last trimester and I’m proud of the work I’ve done!” (A.Y, 11th grade). “The biggest thing I learned is that I should stay on top of my work. I think we were given a lot more freedom in how and when we completed our assignments and it helped me realize that it’s much more convenient for me to just do tasks right when they’re assigned instead of putting them off for later” (I.M, 12th grade). Fun question! What was your highest screen time during the pandemic? “I would say 13 hours” (R.S, 10th grade). “My average was 10 hours” (A.L, 10th grade).

“I don’t remember exactly but it was definitely between 12-14 hours to be honest LOL” (A.Y, 11th grade).

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

are now able to communicate with our classmates and understand the topics in class better” (K.T, 11th grade).

“I honestly don’t care which one! They were both different and had their own strengths and weaknesses but I guess in-person” (R.L, 10th grade). “I prefer hybrid learning, like having asynchronous days on Friday. I think online school gives students a lot of independence and I think it would be beneficial for students to be able to work on their own time at least one day a week” (A.L, 10th grade). “I prefer in-person learning more” (A.B, 10th grade). “Online learning because it was a vibe and because there was less homework” (M.M, 10th grade). “In-person school for sure” (K.T, 11th grade). “I prefer in-person a lot more than online. Like I said, I didn’t really mind online at first, but compared to in-person school now, I’ve realized how much I actually like in-person. I think the main factor is that I’m actually able to talk to my classmates without it being awkward, like in the breakout rooms last year. And it’s nice to have a normal high school experience after having a whole year of online learning” (A.Y, 11th grade). “I prefer in-person learning. Even though online learning was convenient, it just feels nice to be in-person and talk to my friends and meet new people at table groups” (I.M, 12th grade). No matter what our opinion is on in-person, online, or even hybrid learning, there is one thing every single Nighthawk can agree on: Though we may miss the ten minute passing periods and the one-hour zoom calls, the thrill of being able to laugh with friends during lunch and have engaging discussions in a filled classroom outweighs anything online learning gave us.

“Too high!” (A.B, 10th grade). “16 hours” (M.M, 10th grade).

The flock is back in the nest, and we are ready to soar high and stay fly!

The Featheralist

FINDING OUR FUTURE IN THE FINAL FRONTIER Written by Connor Wang, ‘23 and Karthik Rajasekar, ‘23 | Designed by Daisy Zhang, ‘24 It’s April 12, 1961. Propelled into the blackness of space, cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin leaves behind the planet Earth and everything ever known to man, circling once around the Earth, less than 58 years after the Wright brothers made their first powered flight on the sands of Kitty Hawk. As he soars above the atmosphere for the first time in human history, looking down at the Earth, it’s no far stretch to imagine him contemplating the pointlessness of all our petty earthly bickering. A few hundred kilometers below this serene tranquility, American newspapers all across the country release an unrestrained outpour of panic and fury, all but shattering the myth of American technological superiority. In a panic, Americans urge the government to join and win the “Space Race” before those “damn commies” win dominance of the final frontier. Not long afterward, as if to add insult to injury, the Soviets send the first dog into space while the Americans are sent scrambling. Finally, the United States launches its own satellite, Explorer 1, followed by Mercury 7, which carries Alan Shepard, the first American in space. And so the race for space begins. You are still a child at the time, but you are filled with inspiration and hope for the future of humanity. For you, nothing is impossible. Every night you look up at the stars and wonder where we might go next. Amid all this excitement, the race for the stars culminates on July 20, 1969, when Neil Armstrong utters from the surface of the Moon those immortal first words, capturing humanity’s never-ending desire to explore with the phrase, “one giant leap for mankind.” It’s now been over 50 years since the moon dust sent airborne by Armstrong’s space boots settled down, never to be disturbed again. We ought to be on Mars by now, they said. The truth is disappointing. After 7 historic Apollo missions landed humans on the moon, President Nixon heavily cut back on NASA’s budget, and we have never gone back since. What happened to our eagerness for exploration? Why did these goals never come to fruition? Put simply, we’ve lost that Cold War competition that pushed us to the moon. All of that spirit has become part of a bygone era. Due to instability within the USSR and the death of their space program’s leader, the Soviets experienced many failures in building their own N1 moon rocket. From then on, we have seen the backward evolution of our presence in space. Rather than colonizing our solar system, NASA chose to focus on low Earth orbit, cancelling the

last two planned Apollo missions. Only unmanned probes are sent into deep space, but this itself is a rarity. As cliche as it may sound, the days of old were simply a different era. Whereas teenagers used to dream of reaching for the stars, often receiving pilot’s licenses before they could even drive, teens now dream of popularity on social media or just “success” in life. For the few of us that still dream, we are forced to look to the past, not the future, to keep us inspired. But things are changing. With private companies leading the way, we seem to be on the verge of leaping once more beyond our lonely rock.

“From then on, we have seen the backward evolution of our presence in space.” Some people oppose the very idea of space exploration. With a population over seven billion and growing, why should we divert our attention away from protecting our existence on our home planet? Surely, we ought to solve our earthly issues rather than try to irresponsibly push them aside. Climate change. Poverty. Disease. Inequality. These are the words that opponents to exploration rally behind. And all of these are good points. Our mother Earth ought to be cherished as our natural home. “Save our beautiful Earth or allow it to be ravaged by human exploits,” opponents cry. But this whole argument is a textbook example of a false dilemma. Who is to say that we cannot simultaneously protect the Earth and foster our human desire to expand into the unknown? NASA’s budget amounts to a fledgling $20 billion, which may seem large but pales in comparison to the lumbering US military machine that draws over $700 billion annually. Imagine what NASA could do, or any company for that matter, if it had just one tenth of that amount. With private companies like SpaceX and Blue Origin working to make space travel more affordable, that amount of money would take us a long way. What’s more, space exploration may well turn out to be the saving grace for our Earth. By relocating the environment-harming heavy industries beyond

Amid all this idleness, and as we look longingly towards an era we never knew, there remains a flicker of hope. We are entering a new era of exploration, with private companies, not lumberingly inefficient government-sponsored agencies, for the first time leading the way. Having begun as a fledgling brainchild of the ambitious Elon Musk, SpaceX almost went bankrupt due to a series of rocket failures, but stubbornly persisted to become the first private company to send a liquid-fuel spacecraft to orbit in 2008, soon winning a contract from NASA. The company went on to develop the reliable Falcon 9, which in 2020 sent Americans to the ISS from American soil for the first time in nearly a decade. The company now works feverishly to develop their interplanetary Starship. In April 2021, when NASA awarded a contract for a manned lunar lander to SpaceX’s Starship design, space enthusiasts could hardly restrain their excitement. Though an envious Blue Origin filed a lawsuit, temporarily halting progress, the competition between private companies could turn out to be just what we need to propel us back into space. But this brings up another point of contention: should private companies spread their influence into the cosmos? Both sides bring many pros and cons to the privatization of space. Private companies have the means and drive to go to space. But hesitation in embracing this future is not

Flower Andrea Wang, ‘24 Ink

“We are entering a new era of exploration, with private companies, not lumberingly inefficient government-sponsored agencies, for the first time leading the way. ”

unwarranted. Is our purpose in the stars to make a profit, or is it for discovery? As mentioned before, SpaceX and other companies are making space travel more affordable, but is that all? How will we control private entities to prevent them from exploiting people to make a bigger profit? If private companies become the only means of getting off-world, then will the governments of the world be powerless against these companies? But then again, will we even reach space if we solely rely on the government? Government agencies have faced constant setbacks due to government inefficiency. Created by the Bush Administration, the Ares and Constellation programs suffered significant cost overruns, forcing the Obama administration to cancel and replace them with the more modest SLS program. Had these programs remained in place, we may have already returned to the moon. The primary flaw with government-sponsored programs is that they depend on support in Congress, whose representatives, seeking re-election, support only the programs that would create the most jobs. For instance, rather than prioritizing efficiency and progress, the blunderingly expensive SLS program, jokingly referred to as the “jobs rocket” and fueled by wealthy interests in Congress, has been spread thin among many states and contractors so as to produce the most jobs, making the process incredibly inefficient and prone to going over budget. Trump then started the Artemis program, finally giving the SLS rocket a goal, whereas previously it had been a rocket without a purpose. But even now, with delay after delay and the inefficiency of non-reusability, it seems like this might not come to fruition. Private companies don’t need to deal with the often-shifting winds of politics; what’s more, private companies have a strong motivation since they can't afford not to follow through with their plans. Recently, however, with NASA cooperating more closely with and even funding private companies like SpaceX and Blue Origin, perhaps it might be proven that companies and government can co-exist.

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

our planet, we would be better able to keep the Earth pristine, away from these industries’ harmful effects. Furthermore, the technologies that might be developed in our efforts to produce sustainable life-supporting methods on other worlds may lead to revolutionary practical technology here on Earth, or even reach solutions never before entertained. Finally, without any other evidence, we are forced to assume we are perhaps the only intelligent life in the universe. If some natural disaster were to strike, where would we go? Who would carry on the flickering torch of intelligent life? As author Larry Niven wrote, “The dinosaurs became extinct because they didn’t have a space program.”

But no matter how humanity will explore the cosmos, our ability to do so is most important, whether it be through private companies or government programs. This journey that we are about to undertake is not the journey of one country or company, but one for our species. It is our human nature to traverse the unknown. This gives us all a purpose to work together for this expedition. Hopefully, we will be alive to witness this great leap. Some of us may become the first humans to go back to the moon and build our first extraplanetary colony. Some may even be the first humans on Mars, setting the foundations of exploration beyond the Earth system. But even before we deal with the hardships of colonization and the building of a multiplanetary society, we must think about ourselves and the values we have as a society. If we refuse to explore, then we are hindering ourselves on this journey. But remain hopeful, for it is our destiny as a species to have a future in the final frontier.

The Featheralist

CONTRIBUTORS Staff Contributors Andrea Baek, ‘22 - Co-president/Editor-in-Chief Ellen Xu, ‘23 - Co-president/Editor-in-Chief Anna Feng, ‘23 - Vice-president/Deputy Editor-in-Chief Audrey Zeng, ‘23 - Treasurer/Editor Nicole Pi, ‘23 - Secretary/Editor Anna Prasouvo ’24 - Board Editor Nikki Hekmat, ‘24 - Board Editor Rini Khandelwal, ‘24 - Board Editor Shriya Sankaran, ‘23 - Board Editor Tyler Xiao, ‘24 - Board Editor Iris Ding, ‘22 - Head of Art Daisy Zhang, ‘24 - Co-head of Graphic Design Priya Tantod, ‘23 - Co-head of Graphic Design Advisors Mr. Thomas Swanson Dr. Trent Hall

Writers Andrea Baek, ‘22 Raiya Bann, ‘23 Bella Chong, ‘22 Nikki Hekmat, ‘24 Deanna Hu, ‘22 Rini Khandelwal, ‘24 Meghna Mohan, ‘23 Nicole Pi, ‘23 Anna Prasuovo, ‘24 Vinay Rajagopalan, ‘24 Karthik Rajasekar, ‘23 Nivedita Rethnakar, ‘22 Shriya Sankaran, ‘23 Connor Wang, ‘23 Tyler Xiao, ‘24

COLOPHON The Featheralist, Volume 04, Issue 01 Del Norte High School's Political and Literary magazine. Published on January 3, 2021.

Adobe Illustrator Adobe Photoshop Adobe InDesign

Del Norte High School, 16601 Nighthawk Lane San Diego, CA 92127

Price of magazine We rely 100% on local advertisers and student-essay-contest-award money to print our magazines. We print approximately 150 copies per issue depending on page count and distribute copies for free to the Del Norte student body and surrounding community.

Phone: (858) 487-0877 Fax: (858) 487-2443 https://www.powayusd.com/Schools/HS/DNHS https://dnhshumanities.weebly.com/ dnhshumanities@gmail.com School Population 2,459 students 153 full-time staff Font Families League Gothic (titles) Oswald (pull quotes) Libertinus Serif (by lines/body text) Computer Hardware and Software Windows 10 MacOS

Editorial Policy The Featheralist is produced and managed entirely by members of the synonymous The Featheralist club, an 100% student-run extracurricular club. The Featheralist club members are divided into three distinct but coordinating departments: Writing, Art, and Graphic Design. Each department is led by a small group of student officers. The Writing Department collects drafts from both staff and guest writers. Student-led “editing squads” ensure that all articles are publication-ready. The Art Department curates artwork of all subjects, mediums, and styles

Artists Iris Ding, ‘22 Vivian Hoang, ‘24 Vivian Ni, ‘24 Saumya Palakodety, ‘24 Nicole Pi, ‘23 Hema Rajendran, ‘24 Andrea Wang, ‘24 Hailey Weedon, ‘23 Graphic Designers Daisy Zhang, ‘24 Priya Tantod, ‘23

through methods similar to the Writing Department. Officers screen all writing and art pieces for school appropriateness. Lastly, the Graphic Design Department combines verbal and visual content together into print-ready spreads. The positions expressed in any of the articles are solely those of the individual writer(s). They do not represent the viewpoints of The Featheralist, nor those of Del Norte High School or the Poway Unified School District. Mission Statement: The Featheralist as a club exists to foster a collaborative and mutually edifying community of artists, writers, and graphic designers. We empower students to explore topics spanning the entire spectrum of the humanities—from screenplay to political essay, from poetry to short story. We serve as a megaphone to broadcast students’ unique ideas, experiences, and visions to the entire campus and the larger community. Scholastic Affiliations We are a proud member of the Columbia Student Press Association. Cover art “Mania” by Nicole Pi, ‘23 Foreword art “Dots” by Iris Ding, ‘22

February 2022 | Volume 04, Issue 01

WORKS CITED “Why You Shouldn’t Graduate Early” Guy, Jack. “Nine-Year-Old Child Genius to Graduate University” | CNN. 15 Nov. 2019, https://www.cnn.com/2019/11/14/europe/un iversiy-graduate-child-genius-scli-intl/index. html. Accessed 13 October 2021. “Ship’s Log: The Story of the Ever Given” Chellel, Kit, et al. “Six Days in Suez: The Inside Story of the Ship That Broke Global Trade.” Bloomberg.com, Bloomberg, 23 June 2021, https://www.bloomberg.com/news/features/ 2021-06-24/how-the-billion-dollar-ever-give ncargo-ship-got-stuck-in-the-suez-canal. “Ever given: Cargo Ship Returns through Suez Canal It Blocked.” BBC News, BBC, 20 Aug. 2021, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-mid dle-east-58288512. “Ever given (Container Ship) Registered in Panama - Vessel Details, Current Position and Voyage Information - IMO 9811000, MMSI 353136000, Call Sign H3RC.” MarineTraffic, https://www.marinetraffic.com/en/ais/detail s/ships/shipid:5630138/mmsi:353136000/imo: 9811000/vessel:EVER_GIVEN.

Faucon, Benoit. “Ever given, the Ship That Blocked the Suez, Makes It to Port.” The Wall Street Journal, Dow Jones & Company, 29 July 2021, https://www.wsj.com/articles/ever-given-th e-ship-that-blocked-the-suez-makes-it-to-po rt11627533834. Journalism, Reality Check & Visual. “Suez Canal: How Did They Move the Ever given?” BBC News, BBC, 29 Mar. 2021, https://www.bbc. com/news/56523659. Person. “Explainer: How a Giant Container Ship Is Blocking the Suez Canal.” Reuters, Thomson Reuters, 25 Mar. 2021, https://www.reuters. com/world/asia-pacific/how-giant-container -ship-is-blocking-suez-can al-2021-03-25/. Tabikha, Kamal. “Suez Canal Authority Says Crew Member Died in 'Ever given' Rescue.” The National, The National, 1 July 2021, https://www.thenationalnews.com/mena/eg ypt/suez-canal-authority-says-crew-member -d ied-in-ever-given-rescue-1.1229835.

LET ME LIVE, LOVE, AND SAY IT WELL IN GOOD SENTENCES. Sylvia Plath