La Frontera Hector Reyes

Tired of hearing people say, things will change with time, things will get better. Fed up with it.

My parents wanted a new lifestyle, so they took it.

From milking cows, to put food on the table, to building structures.

From washing dishes and selling fruits on the street, to helping others become citizens. Dedication. Hard work.

You may speak Spanish, but you’re not like me. Different.

Like my mother always told me, “Don’t wait for tomorrow, do it today, If tomorrow doesn’t come, you won’t regret a day.

The Delicious Lemon Grass Hugged my Face. Hayden Burnside

I was home

Home in the wind that licked my lips and felt me gently

Home in the comforting weighted blanket of warm winter time baths

Home in the dew-stained grass and green beating lights

Home in the lacquer-coated steps stooped a mountain high

Home in the house that was all my own All my own, and it was home. For the first time I could call something my own; Finally All mine. It was my home alone.

Yet walk two moons before me; The home was a star-filled sky dream. So distant in the night sky, almost gone, yet still twinkling bright.

A dream crushed, eaten up by the hard truth of an EBT. And by the kids wondering glumly, waiting to be fed While a brother on southeast madison street is shot dead by the fed.

The yellow tape and stapled door notice: a reminder of how far there is still left to run. When progress is blindfolded and tied up. It is hard to move anywhere, be different and change.

A dream A wish A though A need Seemed to fall outpaced most realities

So yeah, this house means a little more than a lot. A home with four walls, a place to prove I won. It is all mine.

But I say poverty only runs so fast Run faster and father to escape

To a new home on the warm lemon grass

A home all your own i open my mouth and then close it again, i open it again but nothing comes out i’m like a fish dumbly blowing bubbles so many words to say knocking on the inside of my brain so many confessions, declarations, questions i take a step forward, then retreat the fury of awkwardness plays at the strings of my vocal cords i want to spit it out, that lump inside my throat but the air around me stays empty, as quiet as the night

My 4th Birthday Nicholas Rodriguez

I walk down the stairs, my hand slowly dragging along the cold faded black railing. I wonder why the railing is peeling; it was painted recently, but I guess that’s a mystery for another day.

“Happy birthday mi nino bonito!” loudly yells Tia Patty. She seems to be in a good mood today. I also notice that she is holding something small in her hand, which looks kind of like a small milk carton. Maybe it could be for me; that would be pretty cool.

“Thanks Tia Patty, what are you holding in your hand?” I ask rather curiously.

She tells me, “it’s a little milk shaped eraser that I got for you.”

Despite the fact I have nothing to erase, I am still very excited about the eraser. I wonder if she got it for me because of how much I like milk. Probably.

Wow! Mom sure did a good job with the minion decorations. I gently brush against some bright yellow hanging streamers.

Now it’s time to sing the “Happy Birthday”song; everyone’s eyes are on me like hawks watching prey. I’m not sure why I don’t like it, but I just don’t because it sort of scares me and makes me feel anxious.

“Come on Nico, time for happy birthday!” Mom yells in an excited voice.

As everyone gathers around me, I start to feel anxious like something is building up inside of me.

“This can’t be good,” I think to myself. Once everyone starts singing, I begin to bawl. My mom quickly tries to comfort me and get the crying to stop, but I am like a man on a mission, and my mission is to ruin that perfect Facebook photo.

In the end I calmed down, and we just ate some of the carvel chocolate cake with extra crunchies and I opened up some of my presents, but I could tell my mom was still upset about my breakdown. However, to me the only thing that matters right now is the Transformers toy that I just got. The plastic on the side of the two is bright red with accents of blue and silver. It sure is awesome I think as I activate the blasters on the side of it, shooting out two little plastic bolts.

“Thanks Mom, thanks Dad!” I say eyes wide, and excitement practically seeping out of my face.

Just as I thought things couldn’t get any better, I opened my gift from Abuela, and suffice to say, things became better. As my hand gently peels back the silver crinkly paper, I saw the words Imaginext and lost it. It is the Batcave playset, with a mini Batmobile that I have been asking for for months. That’s kind of weird, the plastic has a strange smell, it’s kind of hard to describe, but it almost reminds me of Abuela’s house. But whatever, I think of it as I go back to rolling the wheels of the batmobile across the fuzzy shag carpet.

After playing with the Batmobile for a while, everything sort of just turns into a fuzz, a fuzz filled with joy, sadness, excitement, and innocence.

Do it again Jalen Bogues

The hot summer heat is beating my back leaving my skin boiling as if I was making a cup of noodles

Yet I would do it all over again

The lack of the feeling of family the hours given into a place that I did not know of until my eighth grade year this burn will forever stain me and my soul as I have seen the relationship between me and my sisters crumble as if it was the twin towers on that horrible day

Yet I would do it all over again

The lingering pain of watching your peers succeed but you have to hide this anger no you have to hide this sadness with a mask of smile yes you are happy for them but why not you? What are you not doing? as you sit in the shower and cry until there is no tears only the sound of breathing heavy

Yet I would still do it again

The process is different for everybody I know and mine has been a long and hard one

Yet I would still do it again

Essay Mekhi Spriggs

Who am I? Do I belong here? These are questions I asked myself the day I stepped onto Gonzaga’s campus. When I walked up the stairs and through the double doors of the administrative building, I felt something was off. A chapel stared right at me. I stared back. I then asked myself, “What did I get myself into?”

Little did I know this moment would ignite a spark. It posed a question: “Does being a Christian or a Catholic truly define me?”

Growing up, I went to church with my family. Never keen on actually attending Church, I didn’t understand why I was there. I didn’t understand why my mom dragged me and my older brother every Sunday. But now as I look back, maybe I knew all along that I saw nothing inherently special about being Christian or Catholic.

During my junior year, I did a lot of soul-searching. Because I wasn’t Christian or Catholic, my school submerged me in a religious environment. I wanted to truly understand where I stood amongst my peers. A vast majority of them were Christian or Catholic, but what’s the significance of their religion?

That same year, I took American History. My teacher took pride in ensuring his students knew the real, raw, unfiltered truth about America’s history. That was most important to me, knowing the true history of the religion. I vividly remember a unit where we discussed slaves and their roles within religion. We discussed the Jesuits’ role in slavery, specifically the slavery relevant to my high school, Gonzaga. I learned that without the work of the enslaved people, Gonzaga would not be the school it is today. Furthermore, Christianity would not be what it is today without enslaved people too.

The Jesuits, who profited from slavery, are a religious order in the Catholic Church that is supposedly built on human dignity. This led me to wonder how one could be a person of God but still own slaves. The Catholic Church also teaches that all humanity is equal because, according to the

Bible, we were all created in the image and likeness of God. Although that may be true, it’s certainly not evident today. In 2022 America, my people, Black people, continue to get slaughtered like animals. This led me to understand we need to spread love amongst my community. What I have noticed is that the youth in my community need role models to represent how we should treat others. I want to show and reassure them that every being matters, even if the world doesn’t display that.

Furthermore, even without being a Catholic or Christian, I know I am doing my due diligence within my community and I have realized that’s what matters to me. I have learned that religion does not necessarily define me. I’ve determined I am defined by the way I treat and interact with others. With that being the case, one could read the Bible and other religious doctrines consistently and still live an unfulfilling life.

Nevertheless, Gonzaga continues to help me find myself and grow into the person I am becoming. It continues to give me glimpses of what the real world will be like and how I can exist within it. It has taught me that the world will be full of people who place religion above all else, all the while, dismissing the way we treat each other. Moreover, it taught me there will be people who will judge you for just being you. Additionally, it teaches me that it’s possible to lose yourself if you simply conform to societal norms.

Ultimately, I learned that religion alone does not make you a good person, your heart and intentions do. So, does being Christian or Catholic truly define me? I think not.

Gonzaga Colin Phoel

In the halls of Gonzaga, so grand, Lies a brotherhood that will always stand, Where God and knowledge are the call, And Ignatius’ teachings never fall.

With each step on Eye Street, History whispers with people to meet those who walked before and paved the way, Of those who inspired and made us stay.

The campus echoes with the roar of the crowd, As Eagles soar high above the shroud, And victories are etched in every heart, As bonds of brotherhood never depart.

Gonzaga, a place of strength and might, Where courage and wisdom take flight, And every boy who enters its gate, Through their brotherhood becomes great.

So let us stand with pride and might, As we soar to new and greater heights, For the students that attend Gonzaga is a home away from home, without end.

Black Girl Magic Jalen Bogues

Beat down over and over again but I will rise

The men that are supposed to be lifting you are up

Constantly tear you down and throw you into the paper shredder talk down on you in podcasts to praise skinny white women as if they are not praised enough as if they are not responsible for Emmitt Till

But I have this little thing in my back pocket a little magic whenever times get rough

Called Forgive and Forget

I will always be here Us black women will be our brothers keeper even if our keeper is not our brother thank you?

Sam Ewald

you didn’t know me, now, you do. but, with time

I realized how I felt is no more. those feelings. rooted in the ground drifting I’m weightless. you didn’t know me, now, you do.

Our fingers tapping on our small screens Communicating with no vision I didn’t need eyes to see my obsession those feelings. A relic aging with each moment passing I realized

You infatuated me. Now, we share casual conversation

You didn’t know me. Now you do.