FirstFlight 2019: Beacon

FRONT COVER “Denied Reflection” by Karina Bowden

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Farhan Hossain ASSISTANT

Kahyun Koh SUBMISSIONS EDITOR

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Amanda Yen

Colette Chiang, Esther Choi, Vlada Demenko, Dhathry Doppalapudi, Daniel Kim, Bea de Oliveira

ADVISER: Mia Boardman Smith

“URBAN VIEWS” by YURY BUKHRADZE

PAGES 6 & 7

Yellow by Amelia Gilkey Dazed and Confused by Karina Bowden 8 & 9

You, Again by Jeronimo Laviada art by Emma Roberts

The Taiga by Alena Kurovskaia photos by Kenna Aardema

& 13

As Snow Was Falling by Yury Bukhradze Shibuya Crossing by Beau Chap

At Home by Farhan Hossain California Tower by Angela Liu

Casual Beauty by Karina Bowden

16 & 17

UNTITLED ART by EMMA ROBERTS

& 23

&

On Cheerleading by Amanda Yen photo by Aaron Shi

PAGES 18 & 19

Self Made by Karina Bowden

Ignite by Sophia Ai photo by Anton Glazko

Hanbok by Kahyun Koh photo by Anna Jeong

The Truth Always Comes Out by Adam Leveille Tangled by Seyoung Lee

Greetings by Jackson Drewry art by Jackson Drewry

Dig In by Amanda Yen photo by Garrett Seamans

Shot in the Dark by Kahyun Koh Illuminate by Anna Ni

Tomato Plant by Mackenzie Churchill art by Angela Liu

Ranges of the Heart by Ryan Walsh Self-Perception by Lesley Moon

Before the Sky Falls by Kate Pearson art by Emma Roberts

PAGES 34 & 35

“ESCALATOR AT THE BROAD MUSEUM” by BEAU CHAP

& 37

& 39

& 41

We’ve Never Met ... by Sophia Ai photo by Anna Jeong art by Angela Liu

White Powder by Alyssa Yeh Mammoth Lifts by Beau Chap

Your Ashes by Jee Hoo Nam Foreign by Kahyun Koh photo by Anna Jeong

Dive by Ryan Walsh photo by Shahen Boghoussian

“Airplane View Through Crystal” by Beau Chap and untitled photo by Anton Glazko

Ancient mariners on the Mediterranean Sea, accustomed to traveling in the dark, were mesmerized by the shining fire of the Lighthouse of Alexandria, one of the seven ancient wonders of the world. Its light could be seen from hundreds of miles, and its 300 foot observation tower offered ancient people a rare chance to stand on top of the world. At the opening of the tower in the 3rd century B.C., Posidippus, a member of the royal Ptolemaic court in Alexandria, overflowed with palpable excitement.

… this tower, cutting through the breadth and depth of heaven, beacons to the farthest distances by day, and all night long the sailors borne on the waves will see the great flame blazing from its top ... he’ll find Zeus the Saviour, by this beam.

It is easy to see why the tower captured the imagination of the ancient world: the light of a beacon, after all, is a temptation, a guiding hand beckoning you towards a brighter direction. The darkness, however, invites uncertainty. There is a fear of learning to embrace the unknown, in trusting a distant light, in wading through the aureate waves.

In this issue of FirstFlight, we invite readers to challenge themselves, to take chances on the signals around them. Learn to trust the light, and be rewarded with unknown opportunities and new beginnings.

- The Editors

All that you long for exists within an arm’s reach, yet the world is wide, your life is long, and this is only the start. The sum of your days lasts an instant, a never-seen flash between ocean and sky, a thousand rosy twilights, a thousand blonde sunsets. You see colors in your mind you don’t yet have names for, the sense that there’s something brighter in the distance, beyond this rolling field of blue. Clear skies, and still, you have no way of knowing — what lies over the next crest? The next peak? Turn your face to the sun, arms open, to meet whatever comes.

“Urban Views” by Yury Bukhradze

“Dazed and Confused” by Karina Bowden

yellow

by Amelia Gilkey

everything is black and white yet there she stands in yellow yellow joy peace happiness clarity energy hope all swirling around her how lucky she is to be yellow to embody the breath of a bee to radiate the whispers of gold to shower in sunflower smiles to inhale the sun beams to taste like lemons

yellow dances in rainstorms for she knows her sun will return

she skips in rubber yellow boots twirling in a slick yellow jacket

she’s laughing

she has this laugh that runs straight to your head

her toes dance to the yellow taxi and i’m following?

i'm following.

soon i’m running this yellow?

i need the yellow i need the clarity the positivity so i’m running after yellow

god damnit yellow you’re fast the hope the brightness it’s getting farther away dimming with each step

i’m squinting to see it to see the sliver of happiness

she’s too far gone

i’m tugged down by the grays the in betweens the indecisiveness

i allow the gray to pull me down who needs yellow anyway?

gray churns around my weak body covering my mouth pinching my nose i bury my head down and squeeze my wet eyes closed

i’m being suffocated but there’s a glow poking at my closed gray eyes yellow? short hair tickles my cheeks it’s yellow

now we’re both running except yellow has my hand this time i need yellow

the entire world was black and white until yellow seeped through

you again

by Jeronimo Laviada

First, the memories came like the plague, without even the slightest etiquette or order whatsoever, they were nothing but rapid flashes of what had been, could have been, was, and all those other random thoughts that were filed amongst those memories.

Then came the multiple scenarios that could possibly play out; the millions of things I could say and she could say; and even more important, the inscrutable feeling of knowing that: no matter what, no matter how many scenarios I could think about, not only would I screw things up with my first four words, but that all I thought I had already foreseen happening, was not even in the real list of possibilities.

All these thoughts were bouncing around my mind while the previously mentioned “She is not there, idiot” kept playing in my mind—just like one of those classic rock snobs who insist on playing old Beatles records on repeat to point out their “many mistakes”—making a disastrous cacophony of mayhem in the clusterf*ck that had just become my mind.

The one really clear and discernible thought that sporadically outpowered the rest was the feeling of forgetting something somewhat important, but I couldn’t really point out what, so instead of wasting my energies, I just shelved that thought for later, waiting for a sudden revelation to occur and save me from the excruciating work of remembering whatever I had forgotten. untitled art by Emma Roberts

the taiga

by Alena Kurovskaia

I’m late for our meeting again, It will not be easy. Do not feign! And I know you will wait me any time. To see all your beauty I will climb.

From this mountain I can see you. The sunrise illuminates you, my dear Taiga! It’s not at all like everyone drew. I see you the first time in my life.

You are wider; you are grander! These trees are in snow like under a blanket. You offered me a glass full of adventure. It scared and excited me, but I drunk it!

When you deal with nature, You should always be brave. And if you pass all the obstacles, The Taiga will hug you in it’s own wave.

In it’s wave which is full of inspiration. My dear Taiga, you are wider; you are grander!

untitled photos by Kenna Aardema

as snow was falling

by Yury Bukhradze

Snow was slowly falling. The street was completely empty, as expected. Rows of snow covered cars were lined alongside the road, and almost every window in every apartment building in vicinity was lit up. Yellow, blue, white, green, occasionally purple or red — these windows came in every color you could imagine. And the snow was still falling.

What time is it, by the way? I looked at my watch: 23:57. Huh. What am I doing outside then? I think that would be the perfect time to go back. They're waiting for me. My phone rang. I picked up. "Scha pridu," was my sole response to whatever Dima said.

A group of people came from around the corner of the building. They looked young, maybe in their early 20s. There were 4 people: three girls and a guy. They were walking fast — apparently, they were late to a party.

"My uspeem? Vsevo tri minuty ostalos'," said one of the girls.

"Da ne par'sya ty, doidyom," the guy responded. Considering it was really just three minutes until midnight, these guys were never going to make it in time. They went past the courtyard and disappeared beyond another apartment building.

23:59. What is that sound? Oh, right, I'm listening to music. I don't like this song, skip, This one is awful, skip. This one is good, but the mood is not right. Okay, whatever, no music then.

Fireworks broke the sky. People started shouting everywhere. S novym godom!

It was New Year. 2019… time flies, doesn't it? It feels like just yesterday it was 2010. Time sure flies.

Fireworks disappeared faster than I expected them to. I could still hear them in the distance, as well as somewhat distant voices. And the snow was still falling.

I looked around one more time. People started going outside, some with their own fireworks. I looked at the watch:

00:13. Huh, that late? Time sure flies. I think it's time to go back inside.

I entered the building. And outside, the snow continued falling.

“Shibuya Crossing” by Beau Chap

by Farhan Hossain

The tall yellow stucco and blue shutters and pink roses exude permanence, safe and rooted and confident. But I remind myself that I did not always live here. I can still remember the other family, huddled up on the couch watching television while my parents and I walked around during an open house. They no longer call this place home, but they still linger in the remnants we never bothered to throw away. They are in the bird fountain with ceramic squirrels in the backyard, in that hole in the wall shaped by their dog’s teeth, in the flecks of purple paint that become visible when the overlaying blue chips away. The carpets are now a nice cream white, but I know they were originally a deep evergreen. Their carpets have been ripped out and replaced, save for the small patch remaining in the attic. I wonder why anyone would purchase green carpet for their house. They too must have thought they would live here forever.

“California Tower” by Angela Liu

“Casual Beauty” by Karina Bowden

by Amanda Yen

I give myself an hour and a half before warm ups to get ready. It takes five minutes to find all the pieces of the uniform and another five to get them on right: lift my hair to zip up the liner, hold a breath in to button up the skirt. I have to get someone else to fasten the shell straps into the white and gold X on the back, because I can’t reach it on my own.

It takes a little more than a half hour to do my makeup –– pat the eyelashes, line and swipe the lipstick, tap the glitter on my cheekbones. The trick is to use as much as you can while looking like you used as little. Another three minutes to set everything, two for the hairspray, one to pin down the flyaways. Spray a little perfume, too, though it’s unlikely anyone will get close enough for it to matter.

It takes fifteen minutes to fix my hair into the perfect ponytail. I had planned to wash it two nights before so it’s a little dirty by the time I have to pull it up on Friday –– that way, the bow won’t start sliding out halfway through the game and I won’t get an infraction for not being prepared. I plan my weeks around my Friday nights. It’s like the big performance I keep waiting for.

I never felt like anybody until I got to Friday night. The first thing I learned when I first put on the uniform, at fourteen, was that people started

to notice me. People started to actually look at me. They knew my name because it was written in script across my throat, but it made me feel like I was someone worth knowing.

I knew I was making a bit of a fool of myself, but it was fun. It was thinking a little and feeling a lot, dancing around and jumping around, and the football was only an afterthought, at least in the earliest years. Friday was the only day I had the confidence to say anything at all, even though the words weren’t mine. The best was when they listened, when they clapped along or cheered along, if only for a few seconds, because it meant that I was heard. I could imagine I was really leading those kids who always took the front row at football games, even though they didn’t know who I was during the week. For them, I only existed under those stadium lights.

I wanted to surprise them. I wanted to show them I was strong enough to catch and carry other people, show them I was a good entertainer, show them I was a good time. There’s a kind of victory in shocking people, in doing things they don’t expect you to do, and there are times I think I’m most comfortable when I am acting out that part. At some point, cheerleading starts to feel more natural than whatever role I have to fill the rest of my week with.

When I get home at the end of the night and I take all the makeup off — when I wash my hair and put my glasses on, and look at reflection — I think my own bare face looks stranger in the mirror. I look empty. I don’t look like anyone at all.

untitled photo by Aaron Shi

untitled art by Emma Roberts

Down through the polar darkness you plunge, sinking until the sun is but a distant drowned-out memory. You’re clawing up at surface dreams and frothy promises, left long unfulfilled.

Colder and colder, further from home, the hairs on your arms stand at end, and strange enough, the light becomes a dream you dream not of. There’s depth to the darkness, there’s dimension.

Are you afraid because you’re alone in the dark, or because you aren’t?

“Self Made” by Karina Bowden

by Sophia Ai

your tears were drops of sunlight

every time i tried to wipe them away

my fingers would burn

and a red scorching blossom of pain

would remain tattooed into my skin

untitled photo by Anton Glazko

untitled photo by Anna Jeong

the truth always comes out

by Adam Leveille

So I have a big ass secret, I haven't told the world, Once loved one boy, he took my only heart, And right there in front of me, he ripped it apart.

I want him to love me, To know who I am, The fear holds me back, So I can't let him in.

I do not trust the world enough, Their jokes and rude humor, It seems have joined in, I feel weird, But I still do it too, Betraying myself.

What will happen?

Will I lose my family?

Will I have to sleep on someone's couch? Until they throw me out too, When they find out?

Finally I tell my mother. She lets out a chuckle. I don't think so, she says. There has never been a Leveille like that, but don't tell your dad, or he will be sad. I feel bad, sort of betrayed. I walk away.

What is with this world, full of disgust and hate, Homophobia, is a real threat to take. I have one big secret I dare not tell, If I tell you, will you too yell?

Yell it out loud, tell the whole world. After all its stupid, just do it after I hurl.

But keep in mind my heart and my life, So today I stand and say that I am proud to be gay, The truth always comes out...

“Tangled” by Seyoung Lee

a screenplay excerpt by Jackson Drewry

EXT. DESERT - DAY

The warm sun shines on FRANK’s face. He remains completely still, lying with his back against the rugged desert surface. As he slowly regains consciousness, he notices his oxygen mask and rips it off his face. Shadows of blurry figures appear to be moving around him. He becomes increasingly aware that he is not alone. A boot hits the ground next to Frank’s head. As his vision becomes clearer, he is able to distinguish a man looking down at him with a distinctive coat and a white beard— LAWRENCE MILLS (55).

FRANK: Wh-who are you?

Mills smiles as he continues to stare directly at him. Frank turns his head to see SEAN and SARAH, fifteen yards away from him, unconscious on the ground. They are surrounded by a dozen armed GUARDS. Mills turns to the guards.

MILLS: Take a good look at these earthlings. It’s not often that we get a case as good as this.

The guards observe the three mysterious people with fascination. Frank unbuckles his parachute harness and begins to sit up.

FRANK: Excuse me—who are you?

untitled art by Jackson Drewry

Mills turns to Frank and forces him back to the ground with his boot.

MILLS: Sshh. Don’t move.

Mills motions to the guards.

MILLS:(To the guards) We’ve got a twitchy one here, don’t we. Load them into the budgies.

The guards carry the semi-conscious bodies of Sean and Sarah. The others lead Frank to the parked BUDGIE: a maneuverable flying vehicle with four engines extending from each corner of the unenclosed cockpit. Frank enters the budgie with Mills and six of the guards. The rest of the guards load Sean and Sarah into a second budgie. The pilot starts the engines, and they hover upwards. When they reach roughly fifty feet above the desert surface, the budgies tilt and begin to move forward.

EXT. DESERT MOUNTAINS - DAY

The two budgies fly through the dry landscape. They approach a tall mesa among the mountainous rock formations, and the budgies land on the flat summit. Mills hops out onto the surface of the mesa. The guards lead Frank out, while Sean and Sarah—now conscious—are brought beside him. The pilots turn off the engines.

MILLS: Please, take a seat.

They hesitate, confused. Finally, Frank awkwardly kneels on the ground. Sean and Sarah do the same.

MILLS: Perfect. Mills walks to the edge of the mesa and looks out, pondering the situation. Just as Mills is out of earshot, Sean turns to

Frank.

SEAN: (Whispers) What is this?

FRANK:(Whispers) They found us.

SEAN: Who are they?

Frank shakes his head, somewhat resentful of Sean.

FRANK:I don’t know.

They sit on their knees in silence.

SARAH: Do they know we came from Earth?

SEAN: They real question is whether they know it was illegally.

SARAH: No one’s been authorized to travel to Terra Nova in centuries. If they know we landed from space, then it’s pretty obvious we came from Earth. And if they know we came from Earth, then they can assume we’re prohibited from coming to their world.

SEAN: I hate that word. (Scornfully) ”Prohibited.”

in the aftermath they asked me if i felt any different, now, in losing this main piece of me.

and that revealed the disconnect, because i felt that i’d lost nothing. had nothing i could give away ––

i was still whole, and if i’d fractured, then i held every shard. every fragment, every morsel, not one bite conceded, least of all to him.

by Amanda Yen

some girls winked like they adored me, abhorring me in silence. acrylic hooks beneath my skin, their coal black eyes all glittery they who never loved me, to think i’d had my just desserts.

i know he snickered when he heard it, he whose heart i severed at fifteen, when i was careless, i was cruel. he carved my name up with his forked tongue –– the edge of it, serrated.

it’s funny how they think that if you “give” away yourself at night it’s an invitation for the rest of them to dig in.

so fine. make a four-course meal of my body. tear into my limbs, my organs, and choke on the choicest pieces.

I still belong to me.

untitled photo by Garrett Seamans

“Where are you from?”

So, what brings you here?

“San Diego.”

oh, the usual.

“No, I mean, where are you really from?”

Do you feel … a little blue these days?

You look stressed. Parents put a little too much on your plate? You don’t go out enough. Should I ask mom to step out for a little?

I’m all ears, you know.

“Like, my ethnicity?”

i’m good, i’m just tired (and god so sick of people).

“Yeah, whatever.”

Alright, if you say so.

“Korean.”

“North or South?”

by Kahyun Koh

Relax, hon! It’ll pinch just a teense. Deep breath in … “South,” I exhale, closing my eyes. In goes the needle! Counting down from ten, nine, eight … “So you eat dog.” zero. ***

“... anything else for you, sweetheart?”

“Could I be treated normally?”

“Aw, I’m guessing today’s anesthesia was a little heavier than you’re used to?”

Weaker, actually; I feel it so much stronger this time. But instead I shrink back to that pearly white smile, hating myself for the aching silence.

“Never mind. Sign me up for another Glutathione injection, please.”

“Illuminate” by Anna Ni

untitled art by Angela Liu

ranges of the heart

“Self-Perception” by Lesley Moon

by Ryan Walsh

Laid bare, we have been stripped. Time has touched all stones, Man has polluted all temples. We were weathered away until nothing remained, Hidden in the clouds, Cracking, Falling to pieces. Until the stones in our core began to grind and take shape. The sheer feeling guided us to decide. So, We built. We rose into pillars of hope. Glistening brilliantly in the sunlight, We morphed the surrounding world into an unrecognizable utopia. In our crevices, galaxies are kept tucked away, In our veins are raging rivers, Creations of mountainous stature. We lay gently and steadily in our realms, Throbbing with life, Until we fall into eternity.

untitled art by Emma Roberts

Everything will be much clearer in the light of day. Please let me stay.

I know that you’ve been hurt before. I promise I won’t hurt you.

When the walls close in and the unknown presses down, and the weight of the future hangs heavy as a chain around your neck — you remember, at last, to look up. A candy-striped tower forms a torch to the night, crowned by the jewel of a flame defying. An undying flicker of a heartbeat, a pulse, a touch on your shoulder, a comfort and warmth. The path illumined, guiding you on. Sometimes you must lose the way to find it once more. Better dreams at better heights: the clarity you never knew you were reaching for, at last.

“Escalator at the Broad Museum” by Beau Chap

by Sophia Ai

untitled photo by Anna Jeong

untitled art by Angela Liu

A snowy morning, when I found you in the park, Shaking and quivering, you had been crying. You said your angel left you in the dark, But I didn’t know what you were implying. So I lay down, flapped my arms about, And created a new one for you. That was the beginning of it all.

I invited you over for hot tea. You told me about yourself, and I told you about me. You said you liked the sea, and I said I loved Glee, And we became friends, an unlikely amity.

School began when the snow melted. We found out we shared some classes With some nice teachers and some others...not quite respected. We talked and played with grass and clay, And dreamed the days and troubles away. We became best friends in the most incredible ways, Inevitable, unpredictable, unafraid.

I dreamt about you, and you dreamt about me. As cliché as it sounds, a love bloomed beneath. I thought it could always be like this, Flirting and teasing and maybe a kiss.

One night, I went to your house With a homemade gift, and in my cleanest blouse Knocked on your door, but you didn’t answer Called your number and waited for an hour. Maybe it was my fault for intruding in the first place, But when I walked in, I wasn’t expecting traces Of discarded clothes and half-eaten dinner. I found you with another, And I realized

Love is white powder, Innocent and destructive, Pretty to look at, beautiful to dream of, Regretful to see it melt. Because we melted

Under the heat of your passions and your pursuits

Pursuits for an open heart, Pursuits for some open legs, Pursuits for anything I could not give, And you said it was for the better. One angel wasn’t enough, but strangely four were. Love is white powder, But I still come back for more.

by Alyssa Yeh “Mammoth Lifts” by Beau Chap

Being

with you, I learned, and I loved, and I grew But I won’t ever let you know that I know Why your lover left you in the snow.

by Jee Hoo Nam

You’re the warm summer breeze Drying the tears on my cheeks, Telling me to stop grieving. You’re the beautiful birch tree Standing tall, Showing me that You are strong, That nothing can hurt you anymore. You’re the blue ocean waves Shining bright below the sunlight, Gently kissing my feet

As if to remind me

That you are happy now, That staying in this world No longer pains you.

untitled photo by Anna Jeong

by Kahyun Koh

She believed it was a fingernail against the wild blue yonder but knew that the sheer enormity of it could never compare to something so minute as the human body. Godlike, it was the barrier between her past and present, and the reason for her disconnect from the world. The ocean was why she was foreign. For in the taste of salt crystals seeped deep into skin, and grains of sand entangled in wind blown hair — mermaid glitter, as Samchon would say with a scary Cheshire smile — she was able to salvage glimmers of her past self, even at 9,888 miles from home.

Reaching into her pocket, she’d fish out dry shrimp crackers of her childhood and fling them out to the California gulls, hoping they might replace the Blacktailed ones back home that once swooped down from their brave parabolic dives and grazed her fingers. How she suffered and revelled in this irony between oblivion and reality, between pretending and knowing.

Yet in those unhardened spaces where she was tired of pretending and missed her mother land, she would sit beneath the spreading sunset while cradling that noisy pendulum against her chest, and watch the sky slowly bleed from blushed peach to orange, like a finger gently pressed.

untitled photo by Shahen Boghoussain

by Ryan Walsh dive

Dive deep into the waters unknown Cold spreads her hands over you, And paralyzing fear takes the throne

The temptation to let go and explore this world you never knew

Whispers in your ears and beckons you

Cautiously your eyelids open, and the sharp rays of sun come splintering through the ocean

The world above tries to infiltrate the dream you’re in now

The frigid water isn’t so bad anyhow

You’re drifting through a sparkling current, One the old world can’t seem to torment

Turn your back on the life you once led

And follow the dreams that litter your head

That life is gone, the girl you once knew

This world is exciting, this world is new.