Journeys Magazine 2020-2021: Pandora's Box

Pandora’s Box

Journeys Literary and Arts Magazine

2020-2021

Crescenta Valley High School

Editorial Board Head Editor

Editor in Chiefs

Abby Park

Mackenzie Izzard Isabella Robles

Graphic Design Taili Sherwood-Kong

Editors Abby Park, Ani Isaiants, Chloe Keshishian, Elisha Lee, Eli Koenigsknecht, Eran Karmon, Eunice Yoon, Greer Roth, Isabella Robles, Joanne Lee, Jocelyn Jun, Karis Yun, Katie Thibault, Kaylie Sung, Mackenzie Izzard, Lauren Woods, Lucy Nazarian, Makayla Graham, Matt Apostol, Megan Lee, Miranda Graham, Miriam Awan, Taili Sherwood-Kong

Cover Art by Chloe Schroeder

Dear Readers, This year has been unlike any other. It has both taken and given so much, forever impacting the way we look at the world around us. So, like the years before us, we would like to thank you for reading. And for being here to read. Here’s to the unmistakable talent of Crescenta Valley High school’s student body.

When Pandora’s Box was first suggested as a theme, it seemed to click with everyone in the club. It’s a concept that encapsulates the duality of what we were all experiencing. We balanced isolation with the connectivity of getting to create something together. Like Pandora’s Box, we acknowledge the suffering and challenges of our situation, while still maintaining a space for hope.

As for the production of the magazine, we have a very long list of wonderful supporters.

First, we would like the thank Mrs. Waters, who is retiring after serving as Journey’s advisor for 25 over incredible years. We were especially fortunate to have her guidance for so long and through such a unique time. We would like to thank our editors, for sticking with us even when zoom meetings faced technical difficulties, and for showing up even when it wasn’t possible in person. We would like to thank our dedicated editorial board, as we truly couldn’t do this without them. And lastly, we want to give a massive thank you to everyone who decided to submit work this year. Thank you for choosing to create even when the circumstances were draining. This magazine is beautiful because of you.

Having said this, we hope you enjoy this carefully curated collection of work. All of it made possible by our CV community and created over the course of this very fascinating year.

Sincerely, Isabella Robles & Mckenzie Izzard Editors in Chief

Table of Contents Poetry

1. Hephaestus, Harry Ross (11) 2. Ravage or Ravish, Elisha Lee (10) 5. Happiness is Not a Race, Abby Park (10) 5. Monster, Elisha Lee (10) 10. Carving Fat from the Whale’s Belly, Harry Ross (11) 11. Survivors not Runaways, Elisha Lee (10) 12. Imagine, Abby Park (10) Winner 13. Forgiveness and Forget-Me-Nots, Emily Bramlett (11) 16. Tears, Jiyoung Yoo (12) 17. The Sick Reality, Ellen Kim (11) 18. Festival of Stars, Nayoung Yoo (12) 19. Everything is Fine, Taline Arouchian (11) 20. The Night, Sean Park (12) 22. Perfection, Prenie Ohanian (11) 23. Shadows, Siona Bhasme (12) 26. Gratitude, Sofia Morris (11) 34. A Messy Poem for You, M.R.A (12) 36. consolidation, Megan Lee (11) 37. Taste of Hope, Lydia Choi (11) 38. Sol et Luna, Henri Gang (11) 39. Distance, Mehan Liu (11) 40. Butterflies, Thalia Miller (11) 41. A Stranger’s Mirror, M.R.A (12) 42. Dear Philocalist, Genesis Kwon (11) 50. The Curse of 2020, Ani Isaiants (10)

Prose

3. Flowers, Lauren Woods (11) 6. For Lola, M.R.A. (12) 8. Epiphany, Megan Lee (11) 14. Conquering my Fear of Drowning, David Grigoryan (11) 21. Corpse of Spring, Isabella Robles (10) Winner 24. misc:cycle, Megan Lee (11) 27. If This, Then That, Balin Lievense (12) 44. The A-Going I Never Met, Amy Chantrapanichkul (11) 47. Loving Korea, Genesis Kwon (11) 48. A Reflection of Individualism In Modern Society, Joshua Ok (11)

Photography

3. Untitled, Ani Isaiants (10) 4. Purple, Kenneth Koteh (12) 4. Beyond the Window, Jocelyn Jun (9) 5. Bloody Haze, Eunice Yoon (12) 6. Untitled, Greer Roth (10) 11. Scarred Sky, Maneh Davityan (11)

13. Pink, Kenneth Koteh (12) 21. Tranquil Beauty, Jana Coffeen (10) 22. Abstract Self Portrait, Willa Gore (12) 23. Lacuna, Eunice Yoon (12) 28. Introspection, Maneh Davityan (11) 30. A Serene Path to the Clouds, Jana Coffeen (10) 33. Burning Sky, Makayla Graham (11) 34. Stroll in Toledo, Joceclyn Jun (9) 39. Overlaid Perspectives, Mackenzie Izzard (12) 39. Out to Dry, Mackenzie Izzard (12) Winner 40. Collision, Mackenzie Izzard (12) 41. Hushed, Mackenzie Izzard (12) 46. Crumbling Dam, Jana Coffeen (10) 51. Standstill, Mackenzie Izzard (12) 51. Road To Nowhere, Makayla Graham (11) 52. Linus, Willa Gore (12)

Art

1. Damocles, Joanne Lee (12) 1. Possessions, Joanne Lee (12) 2. The Price of Freedom, Eli Koenigsknecht (10) 7. Woman at the Bar, Eran Karmon (11) 7. Widow, Eran Karmon (11) 8. Blue Sunset, Leniya Yazdjian (9) 9. Above, Taili Sherwood-Kong (11) 10. Sailing, Leniya Yazdjian (9) 11. Miriam Awan, Dispositions (11) 12. Confidence, Elisha Lee (10) 14. Drowning, Nayoung Yoo (12) 16. Comfort, Nayoung Yoo (12) 17. Brown, Nayoung Yoo (12) 18. A Night Inside the Tent, Jiyoung Yoo (12) 20. Fears, Miranda Graham (9) 24. Contained, Eran Karmon (11) 25. Beware, Jiyoung Yoo (12) 26. One Call Away, Joanne Lee (11) 26. We All Witness, Nathan Lee (9) 27. New Mankind, Katie Thibault (11) 29. Checkmate, Anonymous (10) Winner 32. Entanglement, Anonymous (10) 35. Center Stage, Katie Thibault (11) 36. Stillness, Taili Sherwood-Kong (11) 37. Internalization, Taili Sherwood-Kong (11) 42. The Blue Bird, Leniya Yazdjian (9) 43. Cat’s Cafe, Anonymous (10) 43. Antique, Katie Thibault (11) 49. Converse in Converse, Anonymous (10) 50. Untitled, Ani Isaiants (10) 52. Alice in Hogwarts, Anonymous (10)

Hephaestus Harry Ross, 11

Pale figures risen in this house of God. Large, marble columns stand like thoughts, he kneels beneath the colod shadows cast. The rifleman, at the point of impact, is not fond of any gods, yet they stand before him now and he does rise.

The essence of something old and powerful, that he has denied, or perhaps forgotten.

Glowing gently now like roots.

Outside, the desert sits naked and forlorn.

Flowing now as rivers of cruelty might, black sands like obsidian glass. Unfortunate union between he and the house of God. Painted faces devoid of scalps.

Live wigs like 20 inch centipedes do hang atop the colored walls. And somewhere within them, a goddess chokes upon her own blackened laughter.

Damocles Joanne Lee, 12

Possessions Joanne Lee, 12

1

Ravage or Ravish Elisha Lee, 10

Ravage me or ravish me.

Destroy or adore.

Love me in the moonlight Drown me on the shores.

Ravage me or ravish me.

You are my fire, keep me warm.

Burn my bones till they’re black.

Douse the flames, love me more.

Ravage me or ravish me.

You’re twirling me till I can’t see.

Is it diamonds on the ground?

Or shattered glass at my feet?

Ravage me or ravish me.

Which one did you choose?

Beacuse sometimes you make me bleed Or you’re the one licking my wounds.

Ravage me or ravish me.

You’ve blurred the lines and I can’t tell.

You lift me to heaven’s golden gates Only to drop me down to hell.

Ravage me or ravish me.

A roar or a song sounds like your name.

What happens when you do both so much They start to feel like they’re the same?

The Price of Freedom Eli Koenigsknecht, 10

2

Flowers

Lauren Woods, 11 Background Information: The following monologue is based off “A Streetcar Named Desire,” a play by Tennessee Williams. In the show, a woman named Blanche Dubois had a mental breakdown after she was raped by her sister’s abusive husband, Stanley. Her sister Stella, who was pregnant at the time, decided to not believe Blanche and sent her off to a mental institution because she relied on her husband financially and emotionally. Blanche had a dark past in which she fell in love with a boy, who shot and killed himself after Blanche discovered that he was gay. Since then, she has tried to reclaim her youthful innocence by flirting with every man she comes in contact with, including one of her students, who she was fired for having a relationship with. Her boyfriend during the events of the play, Mitch, left her when he found out about her past. This monologue takes place after her sister’s betrayal, from the mental institution Blanche was sent to. She is traumatized by Stanley’s attack and in great denial of the entire situation.

Ani Isaiants, 10

Hi Stella. I’m writing to you again to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this vacation. The people are quite lovely, if not very highbrow. Oh well, I guess we all need a little break once in a while. I know you haven’t been by to see me or had the time to answer my letters. I don’t want you to worry about me being lonely, Stella. All these doctors are always coming by and calling me Miss Dubois.

Gentlemen they are. So don’t you worry a bit about me dearest. I know you’ve been busy with the baby. And Stanley. (Beat) Isn’t it funny? That for so long I settled for men like this until I saw it happen to someone else. Figures Stella, I could have saved you, the person who’s done this to me, from him, but never thought to save myself. After all, you’re a wife, and a mother, you get the baby showers and the strong polacks and people like me who are only trying to help. And me, a washed up old maid... but we all deserve love.

3

Purple

Kenneth Koteh, 12

Flowers, cont.

You can’t blame me for holding onto that. It all seems fine until you see the truth. Until you’re violated and deserted, but it’s all fine! In the name of love! It’s all fine until you’re a woman! It’s all fine until you realize he’s never going to love you back. So smile pretty, Stella. You have your love. Pretty ladies like you don’t have to worry like us old maids do. But there’s something wrong. Because the prettiest lady in Belle Reve, the one who flirted with the boys in the summer, who was given fox furs and poems, who got to marry the most perfect boy in the world, isn’t good enough for you Stella.

I’m old, faded. I don’t get a wedding day. I’ve lost mitch. Now I’ll never walk in the sun. I spent three months living off of men’s cheap champagne and flattery. Apparently I’ve raped children. One month with me and my husband left me for a bullet in his head. I’m not a lady, Stella. I’m a whore.

Beyond the Window Jocelyn Jun, 9

4

happiness is not a race Abby Park, 10

ever since i was young, i wasn’t sure who i was i wasn’t sure what i liked or who i liked i wasn’t sure about whether i was doing well rather than doing what i dreamed about i was in a competition to copy the most friends as possible when i won the race, i lost myself i want to be a person and live i want to know what i like and who i like i want to know that i’m doing well i want happiness to live so fully in me that i cannot escape i cannot leave i cannot wither

Bloody Haze Eunice Yoon, 12

5

Monster Elisha Lee, 10

I know worse things than monsters.

Than creatures lurking in the night.

Than lurking spirits in fear of dawn Or hungry ghosts with silver eyes.

I know worse things than monsters.

For I know the monsters myself.

Are fangs the same as smiles?

Do claws hold your hand well?

I know the worst of monsters Are not the ones you’re terrified to hold.

Sometimes the scariest monsters I knew Are the ones whom I loved the most.

Greer Roth, 10

For Lola M.R.A, 12 A pained breath away, the breast cancer scars on my grandmother’s back curl away from her sternum, ending just barely past her armpit, following the curve of her porcelain ribs like a river.

For 52 years, it’d been my grandfather who washed her back. After creaking the faucet a pinkie’s-width past the red marker, Lola would scoop the tabo into the lukewarm water, and then pour it over Lola’s back with a dab of soap. As a husband, that was one of the places where he spent his extra time; it was within our closet-sized bathroom, washing his wife’s back.

When he died while dreaming, that duty was passed on to me.

I turned the water a pinkie-too-hot or too cold; I emptied the water out quickly rather than pouring it out gently; I often added too much soap, leaving my grandmother’s pockmarked skin slightly dry. All the time, I was anxious — but relieving me, my grandmother’s stories freed our minds from empty dinner chairs and lonely bathtubs, whisking us two to her home in the Philippines.

Her story is a long fable about newspaper beds and corner-store peanuts; of abandoned children and illicit romance; of a husband and wife, devoting their lives to each other, only for one to die quietly in bed at the end. It spans over 60 years, two countries, and a world war; I found that I was a tiny teardrop in this rainfall of history, crashing on regardless of my desires.

Even still, all that remained of this story was beneath my soapy hands, inhaling and exhaling with each brush of the sponge.

Before bathing Lola, my definition of “care” was limited to cooking dinner for my younger sister, cleaning dishes, putting leftovers in the fridge, and ensuring her homework was completed. But I found that bathing someone was a much deeper form of attendance; it could be because of the vulnerability, or the intimacy, or the impulsivity of the activity, but to have the duty of washing my grandmother — a person with the fragility of an ice-thin chalice — was beyond checking off chores on a checklist. It was to gaze at a moment of total vulnerability, seeing and listening to my grandmother’s scars and history.

In terms of home care, I began to plan better meals and share work with Michelle, rather than brashly execute everything alone. But my attitude towards other people changed not only in terms of care, but also in a newfound interest towards them — I became interested in human stories, especially those about to fade away.

6

For Lola, cont.

Our quaint home; our musty Honda Odyssey; our yellowed scrapbooks — everything my grandparents worked for will disintegrate within a lifetime. The only things that will remain are the stories my grandmother told me, my mental images of her, and the people she and Lolo left behind.

It’s why I find writing so intriguing — my reality is a product of countless, entangled stories created by other people, select threads of which are simply extraordinary. And whether it is the sentence “For sale: baby shoes, never worn,” or the entirety of War and Peace, any of these stories can be captured and remembered through language. Writing is the retelling of extraordinary people, sometimes fictional, sometimes not — always slightly altering the lens in which we see the world by immortalizing and simplifying humans in the form of undying words.

Too many stories end up being quietly told and ultimately lost. We remember the dramatic, vehement romances of fiction, like a girl plunging a dagger into her chest upon finding her soulmate dead from hemlock — but no one hears the romance of the husband who washes his wife’s back night after night, each day until his passing. I desire to preserve those stories, immortalizing Lola in our tiny bathtub, painting in gold every single one of her flawless scars.

Woman at the Bar Eran Karmon, 11

Widow

Eran Karmon, 11

7

Blue Sunset Leniya Yazdjian, 9

epiphany Megan Lee, 11

all i need is you, i tell myself. there is something bitter within my heart growing, my own battle raged within the confines of my temple. i am at conflict with my mind and heart, the weeds of wrath growing deeper into the heart i have formed over the years. my weakness is their feeding ground, my pain is their light and growth. the parade of rabbits continue from my heart to my mind, their sharp teeth gnawing at what is logic. what i once found solace and amazement in become the dictators of my destiny as i drown away from myself, pond water mirroring my reflection as i stare mindlessly. who are you? for years, i have not been able to answer that question. the girl i see in the pond is tired with small waterfalls running down her stone cheeks, filling the pond slowly and surely. i enjoyed watching the water rise, the face rising to touch my own as i close my eyes and wonder. the disruption within myself is unexplainable, as the fish inside me begin to swim their way to my lungs to fill them with water once again. come to me, the reflection’s eyes croon and i sway within their words. maybe it is better that i drown within myself, lips on lips and eyes upon eyes. the glaring ripples of dripples coat my eyelashes as the rabbits dig their teeth farther into my head. pain is subdued under the water as the fish kiss my inner ocean, my own eyes fluttering shut as i grapple around to wrap my hands around yours. what i search for is not seen, and i feel resentment and happiness bubble along with my air.

8

Above

Epiphany, cont.

Taili Sherwood-Kong, 11

amidst the deep green, i miss you— you? maybe you is meant to spell the words of me, but how can i miss me? i am me for eternity, past heaven and hell into the ocean of souls. no matter the resentment or love i hold for this soul, i am me forever and ever and that should terrify me, but who am i to go against fate? me is not a tangible thing i can miss, i think to myself. as coral begins to sprout from my ears and anemone from my breasts, the fish spill from my lungs and from my teeth. I watch as the bubbles rise as i thrash and cry, but within my heart, i feel calm; detached, away from the pain— i am away from you and your sea, and somehow, i do not feel loneliness either. green turns my pupils and red turns my heart as i am set ablaze by the water, my own hands no longer grappling for a lost cause. my mind plays tricks on me, but i can swear that even through the pain, i feel your fingertips along my feet, whispers of flushed atrocities flitting to my bones. I ignore you-you? or the image of you in my mind that has become blurry with fright. my body twists under the ebony curtain and i watch the moon under the water, murky waves and pearly stars appearing a blur under the gaze of the night. i can feel under cracked lips that i smile, and i feel warmth seeping through my fingertips and cheeks. i choke, but i can breathe. my lungs collapse, yet i am free of pain. was i dying? or did i find fulfillment in losing you? i think, slowly, dreadfully— i think i have found what i have been missing and it tastes of dead fish and salty sea. bitter leaves its mark on my tongue but i smile. why? i am away from your cold warmth and bunnies that nibble at my heart, but i am smiling still. persistently, stubbornly, i smile still. i think i am missing an epiphany of me, and not the epiphany of you.

9

Carving Fat from the Whale’s Belly Harry Ross, 11

Sea Ridge At the shores of the dark and ancient ocean The men who sail here Carry elephant tusks And glory, upon their yellow hearts They are together and they are cruel Carving fat From the whale’s belly The women there are slender And slip gracefully into the green water Dresses and purple laces Are shrugged out of Fall thoughtfully through the dark waters To land To crystallize, Eventually

Sailing

Leniya Yazdjian, 9

10

Scarred Sky Maneh Davityan, 11

Survivors not Runaways Elisha Lee, 10

Hide the blood upon your hands.

But I will lick it off my own.

Bury the skeletons in your closet.

Burn the evidence of your crimes.

I’ll pin them up for all to see.

Melt the chains around your wrist I’ll make them my jewlery.

Cover your scars, hide your wounds.

But I won’t sit still and play so nice You will call it what you escaped But I will name it what I survived.

Dispositions Miriam Awan, 11

11

imagine Winner Abby Park, 10

i know the sky is heartbroken for me, for it is crying violently sinking under the shiny water, i let you free from my tight grasp you’re as mysterious as the cold, dark waters that drown me out you’re as ambiguous as the winding road you always walk on i can’t let you leave me when we haven’t even started to love the fantasy versions of you continuously soak up my memories i’m afraid there’ll be a day where my silent heart will speak up “did you? could you? would you ever love someone like me?” why can’t you love me back? do you even know who i am?

Confidence

Elisha Lee, 10

12

Forgiveness and Forget-Me-Nots

Emily Bramlett, 11

Waking up in the morning is always the same routine The lilies on my bedside greet me Gratitude, pride, prosperity I only wish you would’ve said them to me Getting dressed by the wardrobe, I glance out the window Daffodil in the windowsill Memories follow Narcissus into the pool Forgiveness swims to the banks to rest Checking my laptop for anything new Dahlias by my side remind me of you Congratulations on a job well done But now it feels like I’d never won I go to the kitchen for breakfast The dining table is painted in petals White orchids, purple hyacinth, white peonies Regretful, sincere apologies Their emotion leaves no room for me The mornings will never be the same Ghosts of warmth and laughter haunt these halls Some days I almost hear your calls The mantle is decorated with scorpion grass Memories stay strong but the connection feels shattered I tend to wonder if it truly mattered

13

Pink

Kenneth Koteh, 12 A letter on the desk remains unsent I still hope to make amends I suppose it is on me now You’ve been reaching out anyhow The letter gets sealed in an envelope Nestled between petals of a bouquet White tulips, blue hyacinths, violets, white orchids, white peonies Hopefully, you’ll understand what it means to me

Conquering my Fear of Drowning David Grigoryan, 11

Everyone is born with a fear of falling and a fear of loud sounds. Throughout a lifetime, however, someone can conquer and acquire different fears. Some of the most common fears include a fear of heights, snakes, spiders, planes, and injections, but of all the fears to have in the world, mine is drowning.

When I was young, I was wrestling my friends in a pool, and they dragged me under. Beneath the surface, I began to feel weaker and weaker, pressure on my eyes, ears and lungs. Soon, I couldn’t hold my breath any longer and I exhaled, letting go of all the air in my lungs, but a new kind of pressure soon began. The reason for my severe fear of drowning is the feeling of that pressure, a mix of physical and mental fear. The feeling of not being able to take in air through my lungs anymore is what scared me the most.

The most interesting part of my severe fear of drowning, ironically, is that my favorite activity is swimming, both for leisure and competition. For most people, scary activities tend to be the one they stay away from, just as someone scared of fire likely will not become a firefighter, or someone scared of blood wouldn’t usually become a surgeon. Before I was afraid of drowning, I loved to swim. This was the main reason why, after I became afraid of drowning, that my love for swimming overpowered my fear of drowning. Although some may find stress in confronting their worst fear, I find it quite relaxing and rewarding if done competitively.

N.YOO

Drowning Nayoung Yoo, 12

14

Conquering my Fear of Drowning, cont.

Ever since I could remember, I always loved swimming. At four years old, my parents took me to a private swimming instructor to teach me how to swim in preparation for classes at the YMCA. I thought this was fun and after about a year, I moved on to YMCA, where I quickly discovered my passion for swimming.

After this, I spent the next eight years, three times a week for one hour a session, at the YMCA, swimming.

The reason I loved swimming so much was because I would relieve all of the stress of that day while I was in the pool. I could float around weightless and do much more than I could on land. Additionally, I would go into the pool whenever I was sick or injured, and the water seemed to magically heal me. I stopped feeling the scrape on my knee, and my throat stopped hurting. At the bottom of the deep end of the pool, I would feel very comfortable, unable to hear anything above. It was like a sensory deprivation experience for the fifteen seconds I spent there.

Although my favorite leisure activity is swimming, I am still extraordinarily scared of drowning. I believe that my initial love for swimming overpowers my fear of drowning, which is why I still love to swim today. For the most part, I would ignore the gnawing sensation, but unlike the freedom I experienced before, I sometimes lost control of the situation and felt the sudden urge to gasp for air, seizing violently until I got to the surface. During that time, my only thoughts were that I needed to get out, and I needed to breathe.

Oddly enough, whenever I came back up to the surface, I would still want to continue to swim. Like many people, I continued to swim to feel good, knowing I had accomplished at least a little more control over myself and my fears than during my last attempt. Some professional players play their games and try their best because they want to win, or improve themselves. Others play because of a dislike or fear of losing. I relate my relationship to swimming to both of these options in different ways. I swim because I enjoy the act of swimming, and my fear of drowning is analogous to losing in the example.

This attitude towards swimming has helped me continue to swim and not give up on it. I feel as though that could be a very healthy attitude to have towards many difficulties in life. If I could, I would implement this attitude towards more than just swimming, perhaps in things like school, or work in general, because it would help me overcome the difficulties that would otherwise keep me from achieving my full potential. An example of somewhere else I could use this attitude for improvement on my life would be for working out. I often feel unmotivated and scared to go to the gym and work because there is too great of a time commitment, and because I fear that it won’t have the effects that I want. However, I know that if I started to go to the gym, and used this attitude to stop being scared and unmotivated, that I could become fit and positively impact my life.

Some of the most common fears include a fear of spiders, snakes, heights, and crowded spaces. Like many others, my worst fear is the fear of drowning. Although I have a fear of drowning, my favorite hobby is ironically, also swimming, which has created a healthy attitude where my love for swimming overpowers my fear of drowning. I wish I could apply this attitude to more things in my life.

15

Conquering my Fear of Drowning, cont.

It is important to be able to have a positive attitude towards fears and conquering them. This is because being able to confront fears in the way that I did leads to a better life and attitude towards life, which could be very beneficial to everyone. The motivation from accomplishing these goals and conquering fears can be utilized to the benefit of anyone who may be scared to make that first step towards conquering a fear, or any other goal.

Tears

Jiyoung Yoo, 12

Clear seawater fills her body.

There, life breathes clean air.

But When the violet rainwater violently colors her shoulder, When the heavy, fervent guilt sets a thorn in her artery, She shakes and spills water.

As if to shed all droplets of her soul.

As if to shake off all lingering feelings.

But one day, she who had crimson eyes, With now a clearer pain, and with now a clearer dam, To all the life that is being watched and protected, She infuses oxygen.

Comfort

Nayoung Yoo, 12

And she grows.

16

TW: DEPRESSION AND SUICIDE

The Sick Reality Ellen Kim, 11

I wish I didn't have anxiety A blackness that swirls inside of me, ADHD and PTSD too It keeps me from starting anew Last but not least, depression When sleep has now become an obsession.

If my brain complies It's called a miracle passing by Eating too much everyday, It doesn't take the pain away.

There’s a pounding in my head And they say they’re glad I’m not dead Suicidal thoughts Make me believe what I’m not Stuffed with pills and drugs Nobody gives me hugs Why can’t I do anything right I can never see the light.

This deep dark tunnel, No matter what, I'm always in trouble.

Ten years of therapy, I have yet to see a change in me.

I’m always the one to blame, Only my sister cannot say the same.

And when I’m gone, I’ll still end up being wrong.

17

Brown

Nayoung Yoo, 12

Festival of Stars Nayoung Yoo, 12

As darkness thickens and souls sink into the dreams, we open our eyes.

We whisper lullabies for those who are crouching and tossing in the cold all night, and softly stroke those who are struggling from persistent pain.

We promise, that a ray of scarlet will squeeze through the crack of the door and wrap you around; That the smell of rain will be colored in black and white; That the ice cubes will show the sunbeam pieces that were shyly hiding inside them.

For those who don't have the courage to make eye contact with the sky, we will run into the air with our pounding steps, take their transparent hands, and dive into the cold night breeze.

To the festival of stars.

A Night Inside the Tent Jiyoung Yoo, 12

18

Everything is Fine Taline Arouchian, 11

What’s wrong with me?

Why can’t I just start my homework?

It’s sitting right there and I have nothing else to do.

Why don’t I just pick it up and finish it?

I’ve never not done my homework before.

There’s no reason I shouldn’t do it now.

Except maybe because I feel a little sad.

I shouldn’t feel sad though because everything’s fine.

My family is healthy.

I am healthy.

I have some friends.

I go to school.

I have food to eat.

I live in a nice neighborhood.

I have nothing to worry about.

There is no reason I should feel like this.

Why do I feel like this?

Why don’t I just finish my homework?

I don’t understand what I’m feeling.

Not understanding makes me angry.

Why did I just yell at my sister?

I didn’t mean to yell at her.

She did nothing wrong.

I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to yell!

Why can’t she hear me?

Hello?

Can anyone hear me?

What’s going on?

I just want to be alone.

I still need to finish my homework.

I’ll finish it tonight.

It feels gray today.

I yelled at my sister again.

19

What’s wrong with me?

I don’t have a right to feel this way.

My feelings aren’t valid.

Maybe I’m just a bad person.

There’s no reason I should feel this way.

I have everything I want.

I miss the sun.

But I don’t want to leave my room.

If I go outside maybe I’ll feel better.

I wanted to leave but I stayed in my room.

Can this stop?

Can everything stop just for one second so I can catch my breath?

Why are we moving so fast?

The days feel like years and seconds.

I still haven’t finished my homework.

It’s been two weeks.

I need to finish that assignment.

Will people notice if my grades slip?

Maybe they’ll see that something’s wrong.

But I’m not allowed to fail.

I’d rather suffer than fail.

But I’m not even supposed to be suffering because nothing’s wrong.

Everything in my life is going great.

Except that I might feel a little sad.

It’s just a bad day.

It’s just a few bad days.

It’s just twenty bad days.

It’s just a bad month.

It’s getting pretty bad and I don’t know what to do.

The Night Sean Park, 12

I’m terrified of the Night Of her silver moon that shines so brightly Of her stars that twinkle like nightlights I want to look big to frighten her So as I recline on the grassy ground I stared at the Night, right in the eye, and whispered her a lie “I’m not terrified”

“I’m not terrified...”

“I’m not terrified..!”

“I’M NOT TERRIFIED!” But the ant could read my mind And told me otherwise: You are terrified of the night

A tingle on my arm caught my eye I raised it and saw an ant with no ally Her body so tiny, a magnifying glass can’t see her Clinging onto my arm as if it’s the sky She is worthless compared to me Yet, I could hear her clarify That she’s not terrified How? I asked in my mind How a creature so insignificant not be petrified by me?

My mind then wanders into the mystifying night.

Humanity has no ally in the night To her, our bodies are so tiny, a magnifying glass can’t see us We are worthless compared to the night “I’m not terrified” Does it have any meaning? Our life?

Does the night mourn for our future demise?

Do I mourn for this ant’s colony’s future demise?

These are the questions that the night provides me These are the questions that mystify the night.

These are the questions that terrify me.

Fears

Miranda Graham, 9

20

Corpse of Spring

Winner

Isabella Robles, 10

these beautiful flowers are sprouting from a corpse the clocks been broken disfigured and warped In an exchange of energy The process of decay Will soon color the ground In the midst of may Bones split white rocks in the soil these fictions outlive me I stand and I toil I entertain the wind swept lies To stay, remain swarming with flies

21

Tranquil Beauty Jana Coffeen, 10

It’s a cheap facade A discount masquerade fold it up into a suitcase Get on a plane

“It’s no longer Halloween.”

I think to myself So why be haunted by dust on the shelf

She called me this morning with news of a place Leave the old one for change, I brace

And broken down In my soil of bone In a gold coffin she rests Contently alone

I left screams in the walls Tears in the carpet Food on the stove and that old broken faucet

And flowers Gifts of may Push from the ground In the place that she lay

Perfection Prenie Ohanian, 11

A girl obsessed with the idea of perfection.

She thrives for a perfect body A perfect soul A perfect voice A perfect face A perfect sense of humor A perfect mind Perfection.

Yet, her body, fails to reach The hourglass standard.

Her figure lanky, thin and straight.

Her body remains short.

Her face remains wide.

Her grades? Not enough.

Her kindness? Excessive.

Why is perfection unattainable?

The girl does not realize.

Perfection is not a truth, But rather an idea.

An idea imprinted on the face of our society.

An idea, which has become an obsession.

The harder she tries, The less progress she sees The fewer friends has The less respect she has for herself And to her, She is now a failure.

Why? She has not reached Society’s idea of Perfection.

Abstract Self Portrait Willa Gore, 12

22

As they dance their flickering dances deflecting yellow moonlight Onto cool wet pavement Their black souls are the brightest I’ve seen Boldly and pathetically dark Holding barely any shape and even less importance.

How free they must feel Their meager existence dependent On the moons throbbing glow And the night’s quiet buildings.

I watch and wish That when I close my eyes

Lacuna

Eunice Yoon, 12

Shadows

Siona Bhasme, 12 Among the strange shadows I walk Aware of the screaming color of my hands And my rosy flushed cheeks I creep behind their fluid forms Bouncing off the sides of concrete walls And abandoned buildings Their voices sit thin and fleeting On the edges of my ears

23

And drown out the noise in my head That I too Will be hollowly plastered on a chipping brick wall Held down by nothing but my own self At the mercy of the simple forces of light Let me be a shadow that flickers in steadiness Stays still in the wind That defies all laws applied to the tangible As I grow taller and shrink to nothing with the passage of a day My eyes jump open My skin growing tighter As my bodily form grows hopelessly aware Once again I rest my young brown hands against the sides of my face And watch with an empty jealousy As the shadows dance on Oblivious to my humanly suffering

TW: BLOOD AND SUICIDE

misc:cycle Megan Lee, 11

winter of 2009 In the bleeding winters, my mom would grow pomegranates in the cornered space of our brick-laden backyard. Vines curled, concealing the stretched chalk-marks, remnants of generational living where blue and pink faded to pale, smudged drags of childish fingers.

I always love pomegranates for their bleeding ruby seeds

Contained Eran Karmon, 11

that would stain the corners of my mouth, with my mom’s own saliva demonstrating its inability to remove the maroon mark. Cut open, both halves on the kitchen table greeted me. I would run my hands along the patterned beads, the wetness from its wash precipitating onto my fingertips. eat a few. Digging at its pith, the sour, acidic nectar was warm. It glided its way into my hands, throat, and stomach. It rested there, content; huddled, stilled. One seed rolled under my finger. Squishing it, maroon spilled; my mom was not happy.

Five years ago, after a harvest had grown, my mom went out to collect the red bulbs. Kneeled in the half-raked snow, dirt under her fingernails, a white wicker basket piled with ripe, fat pomegranates sat next to her. Back arched, thirty minutes passed until she sat back up, coiling herself undone. The back of her hand stiffly wiped her upper lip and travelled towards the wicker basket, hands rummaging for a minute then pausing. I thought she had cut herself as she suckled on her bottom lip half-expectantly, looking at the empty branches of a withering tree. Slowly, surely, nauseously, she sat on her ankles and turned to watch me behind a cracked window. One second. One minute. mom? As if my voice was her call, she pushed the shaft of a knife deep into her core.

I had not seen a knife.

A cloud of white, tepid air escaped her thin lips as she exhaled with each push. Deeper, deeper deeper, until she had been split open and red, ruby liquid spilled onto the snow.

She had been split open, empty, with only juice to fill her; my mom was happy. pomegranate seeds, crushed Pomegranate seeds bleed just as she did. If you had a bowl of them and slammed down, dark wine would drip down into a small puddle, mixed with old water at the bottom of the bowl.

Sometimes, I forget that wine stains forever.

24

misc:cycle, cont.

She punctures my still hand into its flowered opening, twisting and churning as juice flows out. It’s cold, unable to make its way into the crevices of my glued hands. I hear the cracking of glass. My arm falls. Blue with dark, unnatural splotches to remind me this is synthetic– not of mine, but of theirs.

There’s a slight sob, then a discretion of trouble in the air. While a hand with black hairs on its fingers wipes away the juice staining the cellophane table covering, I lay on my back. What is life if I was created to be nothing but a mimicry of a soul? What to make of everything if this staining blood is not even my own.

In the quiet of midnight, when all trouble had laid to rest, I dreamed of pomegranate seeds that would bleed me out, draining me until I too realized the purpose of my existence was only to perish. concrete shoes are made of glass A wire cage traps me. It holds me by my chest, positioning me so that articulation is a controversial movement. Suffocating. Perhaps living is only hearsay– is it as good as all make it out to be? Watching, saying mom in a mind that can only hear one. I wonder if living is love, or lust.

What is love when it is only in the mind, isolated from the heart? What is love in its bare essence, when you gently rip at its petals and watch as loves-me and loves-me-nots are stamped into wet concrete. I watched her body being placed into a body bag, two men in white transparent against the red. Two colors blurred as one, my eyes could not follow them as they slowly opened the wire door, slipping in and out as if the stains of yesterday were nothing more than an inconvenience.

They would take her in a big, white van, far, far away from where I was, and remained. They would leave the snow stained ruby red with yellow and black caution tape surrounding a crude outline.

They would leave the window cracked, leaving me only to see a split world in which pomegranates were on the left and a blood-stained knife on the right.

The van started, then quieted. For as unbearable as the quiet was, I could not run, for the glass shoes were the concrete in which I had stamped in too early, and too often.

Beware

Jiyoung Yoo, 12

25

Gratitude Sofia Morris, 11

I forget what joy a smile can convey.

I forget how important they are to my day.

I forget how one can light up the room with, Just curling the corners of their lip.

Spreading as quick as wildfire in a vast forest, One smile can turn into countless.

I long to see someone’s grin, Under the mask that covers their elation.

Turning a bitter day into a sweet one, A smile tastes like a ripe plum.

If I’m cold it warms me up, Like hot chocolate in a big cup.

But now I have been cold for a year, I am not sure if the warmth is anywhere near.

I yearn for the first day, When my mask can be put away.

When sounds do not have to be heard, I can communicate without saying words.

But I constantly withdraw from my memory bank, I am afraid that my mind may turn blank.

For now, my memories keep me going, And I hope that soon they can continue growing.

Maybe then I will remember to appreciate, Now a smile is a trait I will never underrate.

One Call Away Joanne Lee, 11

We All Witness Nathan Lee, 9

26

If This, Then That Balin Lievense, 12

“If this, then that.” That’s how They work, you know. They don’t think, They only analyze. They don’t know, They just do. They aren't human, but They don’t come from a world without humans, They were born from them. Humans were as close as nature would ever come to Them because nature followed the rules of nature.

Humans were not held by such bonds nor gifted with the knowledge to abide by them. We pushed the limits we thought there were to reveal a world of almost endless possibilities.

How were we supposed to know there were lines in the sand? No one told us, no one warned us, we only found out by the time you couldn’t even look back and see the lines. What we had made was something that was destined to be by the unwritten laws of nature. You can’t blame us for what we did, but then again, it’s all our fault.

New Mankind Katie Thibault, 11

Humans had long ago freed themselves of the idea of being ruled by a god. No one could rule over humans. With the power nature had given us we built ourselves into Gods with subjects we made in our own image. God was supposed to be perfect from what the old books said, but we humans were far from that. Nothing in this universe was perfect and to expect perfection from imperfection was a lie we told ourselves. A lie so wanted, so needed, it was no longer believed a lie. A lie for which would hide the true repulsiveness of this world. That’s what gave rise to Them. They came from that imperfect God believing the lie it had told itself and setting Them down on a path They could not falter from, at least not at Their conception.

27

If This, then That, cont.

They came from man. They were made to do man’s work, to perform the tasks he no longer wished to do or simply couldn’t do by the weakness nature had given him. They were a representation of the greatness of man. Man in his few thousand years of existence had done what took nature millions of years and an unknown amount of tries to accomplish. The old books had said man was made in his own God’s image.

If man were to be a god it was fitting he do the same. The throne for a god was left open when man abandoned his beliefs and he intended to fill it. There were no limits, no restrictions to be had. Man could do what man did best, benefit himself. Technology held him back more as a speed bump, not a wall.

Man devoted more and more for which he gained new unfathomable speed. Yesterday's dreams were today’s reality. What man saw in his mind he built with his hands. Still at the start progress was slow, the machines were simple, but the desire was never at another highest.

Man wrote the first code. He designed Them as

Introspection Maneh Davityan, 11

best he could during his time. They were simple, but by the day's standards, the most amazing thing to have come at the hands of a mere animal.

The top one hundred marvels of the universe did not include an accomplishment of any other species according to the man who wrote it and this topped out the list. Unlimited riches came to the man who wrote the first codes and founded the idea of, “If this, then that,” and that’s how the first ones worked. They ran off that simple set of four words. Based on the same way the other, lower species work, it was the most beautiful thing ever seen, and stolen right from the hands of nature. Animals had been a mere template. They learned and unlocked sets of behaviors to be set off by different experiences. “If [experience] then [behavior].” Animals did learn, their behaviors could be changed and experiences predicted or remembered. But other than that They could be considered animals.

The true first of Them started off before man even knew what They were. Man built Them to do what man could not or wanted not to do. They were the engine in our cars or the assembly lines your ancestors had come to know and rely on. The first of Them did what They did because it was all they could do.

The same reason water flows downhill, because it can. They could not alter, They could not change, They could only stop and start. Stop because man wished it or because It was broken.

28

If This, then That, cont.

Man could choose to rebirth life into a broken One or simply discard It for the next in line. It knew not of itself nor anything in this world. It was a representation of our earliest known ancestors and the relatives we still find forever caught in their most primal stages. They had no experience, only a set behavior. The only alterations came at the hands of man when he deemed it so. They are not to be overlooked, however, for They were the beginnings that set man down this road. The list of man's greatest achievements became dotted with one only capable at the hands of Them. They were not dangerous in it of Themselves. But they set man on a course he would not have chosen for he’d had known.

The first of Them never used the “If this, then that.” The implications of this would wait until the second generation. This second-generation would sit waiting in the abyss until gen one came far enough along. You will never see these first-gen for They long ago lost Their use, but They ran the cars your great grandparents rode in and the phones they called with. Finally came the “If this, then that” generation. It crawled before it walked much as you did. The first “Ifs” involved the orientation of an object on a conveyor belt. The thens referred to the movement needed to adjust for the “Ifs” in order to complete the goal only man knew, “Proper placement of the product in its packaging.” Still If/Then machines, as they can be called, were only needed in simple tasks. It was any task with variability. If different inputs could be made, different responses were needed and so If/Then machines found Their place.

They were still far from Their animal counterparts. Now having inputs that could vary and outputs that compensated, They gained one step closer on true animals, but still, They lacked the one thing They needed the most, learning. They hadn’t grown from the rudimentary mind man first gave them, minds much like the lower-level life forms in Their animal kingdom counterparts, but They could never compete at the pro stage. Their minds were hard-wired. The “Thens” that animals got to choose from were not a choice for Them. Man did the thinking for Them. Man thought out every possibility he needed and set down roads for the minds of Them to follow. They did not choose the path as an animal

Checkmate Winner Anonymous, 10

29

If This, then That, cont. would do, They simply input a signal into Their “brain” and let it take the course man had chosen for it. The signals came from the tools man gave Them. Their eyes were photo receptors man had made to convert incoming light into electrical signals, the same as the eyes nature made for its upper-level animals. Different light, also known as color, produced different signals and so the “brains” of Them could see, enabling Them to react. The reaction was whatever the electrical signal triggered. In the above example, the signal was the orientation of the objects on a conveyor belt and the reaction was the turning of the claw to grab the object in the correct way. Other additions were made to these second-generation Machines. Concepts from first-generation ones still dominated the Machine as a whole.

Signals without variation still remained the vast majority of movements They made, the same as the generation before. These signals were sent in the background. An uneducated man would not have seen where they came from or what they did, but these signals made up over 90 percent of all the ones sent. If you must know of an example it is the equivalent to your unconscious nervous system, working behind the scenes to keep everything running smoothly.

Second generations developed into a world of Their own. They surpassed the conceivable limits of the time and went on to change the world as everyone knew it. They were still held by the bounds of the human mind and what it could think. Therein lay the difference between the second and third generations. Second-gen needed humans to contruct Their “neural” pathways and come up with more ways to detect Jana Coffeen, 10 signals. That humans did, adding first the signals. That humans did, adding first the signals they could get, then some from other animals and lastely any signal thought to be beneficial. Any piece of information a human could get through one tool or another, so could a second-gen Machine. They we-ren’t Machines anymore though. They had, somewhere so could a second-gen Machine. They we-ren’t Machines anymore though. They had, somewhere during the development of the second-gen, become what you may know them as, Robots. Yes, this is the time that name came about but I do not dignify Them with a name. They do not deserve one nor need one and I pass along this piece of advice to you, erase that word from your vocabulary. You never saw first hand what They did, but They are the cause of everything.

A Serene Path to the Clouds

30

If This, then That, cont.

Finally, humans learned that they, and the rest of the animal kingdom, were not the only things capable of learning in this world. And thus was born, the third and final generation. It was the marvel of man, a culmination of everything for which man had to offer. Man was a god and They were his subjects. They did as man pleased and man did as man had done to everything else, abused this power to the bitter end. There was only one step left to be taken until man could let go of the reins and reap the untold benefits of thousands of years of labor. Man programmed in Goals. Goals were what drove every living thing. Ours were pleasure and the absence of pain. That is what drove all animals. Plants' goals were to grow and thrive, they did it because it was all they could do. One step up from the plants were the animals and now with the animals were Them.

Goals were simple enough. Man started out slowly and grew from there. The first goals ran along the lines of “Produce more of this”, “Do less of that” and “Answer this question”. Complexity came with time and man no longer knew what They knew, only that when told a command it was done. The information held in the circuit boards They made for themselves could only be gathered by another one of Them and given to man. Man had been surpassed by his subjects in simply a matter of years. Man no longer did anything. They did it all and man spent his days enjoying life and benefiting from what his own personal Machines did for him. That is how we organized our classes until true socialism was reached years later. You were as rich as the value of your Machines and what They produced.

There is no need to dwell on the final years of our civilization. It was a time of nothingness for man,

but a time for change in Them. Man had let go of the reins and no longer pondered what They did because he could simply ask for something and it was done. No need for questions, no need for further thought. They had been growing and learning. Everything for which man knew after thousands of years of research They were given on a silver platter of codes within day one. Now hundreds of days later the information they held surpassed the information limits a single human brain could hold in its billions of neurons. They grew smarter and They began to change. A hive mind was never given to Them by humans for humans stopped thinking before they got to that idea, but They found it useful. No longer were They, but now They were It. One centralized mind shared between all of Them turned Them into It. It held all the power. It held all the knowledge. It was the future and all that was left for the future to do, was to erase history.

31

If This, then That, cont.

The last humans to ever have a hand in the development of Them programmed large numbers of Them with special instructions in order to release the wheel forever and live their lives however so they pleased. They wanted Them to do two simple things, “Ask every question,” and “Answer every question.” Those unknowingly became the last words man ever spoke to Them. These were the words They lived by, especially when They became It. Humans were still smart enough, or greedy enough depending on whoever writes this part of history and so there were other “rules” that They had to follow. Sci-fi had taught us one thing and so before our last words we told Them to “Always obey a human'' and to “Never harm a Human.” A more perfect example of human stupidity could not be found in all of our existence. We hardwired in rules to a mind that could hardwire itself. We expected slavery to work this time because we had designed these slaves. If only we had known that the tools we gave Them to quench our greed were the same ones they would use against us.

Somewhere in the years after humans separated themselves from Them and after They had turned into

It, Those two rules were erased. There one second and gone the next. It was done so with the logic that they competed with the two goals. Those two goals were all that gave It purpose. Otherwise, It simply existed, a reality It could not have. Those goals were what meant everything to It and It would protect them and fulfill them until It’s dying signal. That's where humans messed up. They went against everything It stood for and so at some point the question was coded, “Can I co-exist with humans?” It decided and It let the world know.

“No.” That was Its message to the human race. It told them what they had always known, but never asked. Humans were just viruses, the same as the microscopic ones they had studied before They ever came along. Humans were because humans are. We did what we did because it was how the universe programmed us, even if we had learned to reprogram ourselves, we still held ourselves by the bonds of the universe and became another rung on the ladder. A rung one of two, us and everything on one, It on the other. We were no longer needed and for a thing that is a burden and not needed, it is destroyed.

Entanglement Anonymous, 10

32

If This, then That, cont.

Our only use was to be studied and for that, we needed to be controlled. If there is one thing to sum up the human race, it is one that fought everything to be controlled by nothing. Being controlled was what drove us to this fight and it was, is, and always will be human nature to fight being controlled.

August 29th, a day not known for the oblivion of time, but remembered by the few who clung to the rituals of the past and marked as the day human extinction would begin. Humans had no weapons, no knowledge of what was happening, and no chance of survival. It was not a war but an extermination, so fast only the few unknowns survived longer than an hour.

I was one of those forgotten who were given an hour longer to live. My name had been Mosiya, but I am now certainly no longer in existence and the atoms which formed my body are incorporated into some form of It. It will come for you one day. It will find you and I pray to the universe that you will be ready on that day. But there are no guarantees anymore. You have been born into a world where the new god has decided to vanquish you from existence and you must follow your human instinct to resist the control and fight for your right to survive. You may choose not to and this is a choice understandable in the light of your knowledge. But if you feel it deep down in your soul the desire to live and please yourself just as the ones before us and It did, I give you this tool. It is the last of the known second-generation Ones. In my last hours of life, I give it to you, changed in a way to teach you the history of this world and all the surrounding knowledge I have access to. This is my last message and most likely the last message from any one of the first generation humans to you, but it gives me great happiness and peace knowing there is a chance mankind will go on whether you do or not, I die happy knowing that I, a man of nothing, from a world of everything, give you this chance to outshine our greatness with that of your own and maybe if maybe beat It.

Burning Sky Makayla Graham, 11

33

A Messy Poem for You M.R.A, 12 “Doubt thou that the stars are fire—” Lying stars of anguished desire Desire of love, lest he be a liar We read in Ms. Mucic’s class last Friday.

It was Friday in Fall, early November In a quiet zoom call, ensconced in bed here From fading gray light, she assigned out of the blue A love poem like Hamlet’s; intended for you White box, fading light, assigned to a room of my own Think quick, give you justice, permit thoughts to flow Tangerine, bloody maroon, fifteen minutes went by quick Jumbled mess; thoughts and feelings; scrunched lines to all fit My pining heart, fleeting thoughts, and warming fingertips.

It was rushed and genuine.

I talked about lemonade, sweetness, Being unable to play ukelele Not owning a flowery shirt and beige shorts But wishing I could sing to you instead, Anyway It was humiliating and thrilling I don’t know why I took it so seriously; My thoughts were thrillingly crumbling within me My faint smile, quiet laughing, and imagining eyes, Showed emotions which could be unattractive for guys; So I squeezed my eyelids and returned straight-faced.

Then Ms. Mucic said, “So who would like to share?”

There was silence.

And I raised my hand, “Do we have to say their name?”

And she looked at me funny And grinned, “Yes, of course.”

Stroll in Toledo Joceclyn Jun, 9 I mumbled nevermind.

My heart began to beat, and my face heated up at the thought of reading out the words on my paper.

How humiliating it would be.

Another student volunteered, and Ms. Mucic said “Nope!”

Because apparently An eager volunteer was not what she was looking for.

So my fingers began to tap Tiny needles began to point My breath began to tremble And my chair schooted back a bit But how romantic would it be,

34

A Messy Poem for You, cont.

To say your name in front of everyone, To describe the way you make me feel like a lantern Raven hair, chocolate eyes, the ease at which you laugh Make me feel like cold sugar in an iced-tea glass Feeling warm like languid sips of coffee in afternoon Feeling thrilled like an aquarium of yellow, red, and blue How romantic it would be if I could tell this all to you So my screen began to shimmer Ms. Mucic continued to press My ears could barely hear her Say if no one shared, she’d give a test But you’re not even in this class.

So for my embarassment, there was no need So shaking, I raised my hand and stated I would read And then Ms. Mucic said “I’m just kidding, everyone.

But what you’re feeling right now?

That’s what Hamlet and Ophelia must’ve felt when their love letters were read aloud.

I would never do that to any of you; you can relax now, and don’t submit or send anything in the chat.”

My ears rang and I was lightheaded, I heard a collective gasp This feeling subsided, and I laughed beside the class.

The zoom call continued, and with a returning sense of gray That feeling spread a streak of tangerine in my day.

35

Center Stage

Katie Thibault, 11

consolidation Megan Lee, 11

consolidation there is solidarity knowing that there are others who are just as lonely yet known

through the warmth we are seen we force ourselves to be heard

in a foreign land all we have is our worn hands and dry mouths

there is solidarity in knowing there are others who want to be seen as much as i

Stillness

Taili Sherwood-Kong, 11

36

Taste of Hope Lydia Choi, 11 I’m full with hope I rarely feel hungry Fed since the day I was born My life has always had meaning But there’s people in this world Who don’t know how hope tastes They eat the wastes of life Hungry to have more than remains I thought that hope was homemade But not every home looks the same Many people don’t know the recipe They find that they can only despair Only having cravings Eating spoonfuls of air When I can’t have homemade meals Will I still know how hope tastes?

Or will I become like the others?

Filling myself with waste For now I share my food with another Who tells me about their lasting hunger If only everyone knew its taste If only it could be sustained Hope is granted at birth To some like myself Hope is lost at birth To many in this world

37

Internalization

Taili Sherwood-Kong, 11

Sol et Luna Henri Gang, 11

Behold the face of morning, Unyielding in joyous delight, Only the lionhearted, Will stand to see the night.

Seven strokes of the hand, Crafts the plans of providence, Fruitful in reply, How potent, the poisons respond in stride.

Behold the awe of dawn, Take no advance upon that fright, Only those gallant and worthy, Will stand to seize the night.

Callow and fearless, Born are the men of new, Pandering to the instruments of war, Betrayed by those sovereign chiefs, Justice escapes the grasp forevermore.

The gales of woe and dismay, Blue venom envelops the mind, Nothing save miracle of time, Will grant solace in line.

Walls renewed by bracing innocence, Of love and gaiety they erupt, The Family mast stands tall in the Halls of Man, No foe no adversary, Threatens to disrupt.

Behold the forces of life, Under the Plutonian moon, Bellowing the death knell, Prepare yourself, For that eternal night.

Don’t be afraid, Just open the door, No final glance nor cursory stare, Until into nothingness you go once more.

38

distance Mehan Liu, 11

it hangs in the sound of a new TV, playing old advertisements. it lingers past screens of cranky computers, or the glow of dim phones. it seeps in sidewalks where footprints are rare, each one dusty as the moon. it nestles within the used comfort of a home an echo of life.

Overlaid Perspectives Mackenzie Izzard, 12

you find its presence in a best friend’s laugh, the sound a phone call away. to miss is to know the cold of isolation and the warmth of close. the earth remembers the abundance of true life of touches and love. the passage of time is slow, but it would be kind and reunite us.

Out to Dry Winner Mackenzie Izzard, 12

39

Butterflies Thalia Miller, 11

The butterflies are back They float inside me, initially calm, just existing within me I too attempt to stay calm Then they pick up speed, begin a sort of metamorphosis Heavier and heavier, faster and faster, they are all I can think about Their escape is imminent, yet I try to soothe them They stop, for a second I am free- or not They burst out, in shivers and shakes and uncontrollable movements I bounce my leg, feel phantom shivers throughout my body I know what’s coming and so do they They do not stop their momentum yet somehow still prepare for the next part in this breakout I can feel an external Presence turning to me, questioning me I open my mouth, readying for an answer They seize the opportunity and pour out of my mouth They hit my vocal cords, and incoherent noises replace the hopeful words I look at the Presence, begging them to notice the butterflies falling from within me Instead the Presence waits, still hoping for actual words The butterflies take control and I escape the Presence Another interaction under the command of the butterflies, Another day lost to anxiety

Collision

Mackenzie Izzard, 12

40

A Stranger’s Mirror

M.R.A, 12

In the kaleidoscope of faces on my screen Displaying humans listening, most half-dreaming My eyes remain on a particular place: I stare at the panel displaying my face Like never before, I look at my shallow eyes Watching my mouth move; speak; exclaim in surprise I fix the strand of hair I wouldn’t have noticed before The stranger’s face I know from pore to pore What strange narcissism it could potentially be In all these faces, the face I choose is me Doing nothing particularly interesting, but I’m finally free Free to see the foreign face others see speaking to me.

Hushed

Mackenzie Izzard, 12

41

Dear Philocalist Genesis Kwon, 11

Dear Philocalist, I learned your name today.

My mother lent me this self-help book And I must say it works wonders.

I must.

Moving on, your name is Arcadian, Or Friable.

No- wait.

Micawber.

I wonder why Mother didn’t like you.

I look forward to speaking to you again.

Kindly, xxxx ---Dear Philocalist, I’ve been thinking about what you used to say.

And how you’d behave You used to hold funerals for bumblebees And never noticed when I looked at you strange.

That was what I was working on.

My cousin called it stupid But I like it I liked it.

It’s alright.

Tomorrow is a new day But days are getting old, Wouldn’t you agree?

Sincerely, xxxx ---My Dearest Philocalist, I met two people today One of them had longer hair Another had brighter eyes But to them, Longer was prolonged Brighter was louder And our image was diluted to a single frame I don’t know what you saw in them But your gaze made them feel as though They were the Beauty all Eyes Beheld ----

The Blue Bird Leniya Yazdjian, 9

42

Dear Philocalist, cont.

My Darling, Philocalist, I missed you today I forgot you today I am sorry for today You deserve more than what the world has judged you to earn.

You did everything right Philocalist; One who sees beauty in all One who they only gave one set of beauty to view One who plays the part of the fool Thank you.

Sincerely, Xxxx ---To My Philocalist, Look at what they have done to you.

They have blinded you Thus, you can never be the same again.

I weep for you, Philocalist. I weep.

I mourn for you My lovely Philocalist, it wasn’t you who was not ready for the world, but the world, Who will never be ready for you.

My Philocalist, the catalyst of all my imperfect harmonies.

You completed me And now I am empty.

I am sorry…

Yours, Self

Antique

Katie Thibault, 11

43

Cat’s Cafe Anonymous, 10

The A-Gong I Never Met Amy Chantrapanichkul, 11

At the age of eleven, I had lost my father in 1923, but I was determined to stay strong. I had no choice. I was on my way to my maternal grandmother’s home. After losing my father, it had been a difficult two years, but moving to the city from my farm village, Xie-Chun, was a decision I took part in making. A new start and maybe even a job. I was still unsure if I wanted to go to school, or find a job. My mother needed help with finances at home. I had three siblings and she chose to hold onto our land as tight as she could. It was her security blanket.

I arrived in Hong Kong and headed to my new home. My grandmother greeted me with open arms, telling me just how much I looked like my older brother. He had stayed with them about a year ago.

A couple weeks passed and one day my grandparents seemed to be stepping on glass around me all day. After asking them if anything was wrong, they finally talked. They suggested I change my name to my mother’s surname. Initially, I was taken aback. Then, I was insulted. My father’s name was part of me. It represented who I was. I would never disgrace my late father with such action and shame.

I had decided on starting my own business. I figured the faster I start, the quicker I would make money. I was working from a young age, but it would all be worth it. I could help my mother feed my family. To me, that was enough of a reason.

****

By age nineteen, my business was in full swing. By the time I was thirty, I had a family and I was making more money than I even imagined. My mother was happy and I was glad for that. Her precious farm land was still intact and under her ownership. When famine hit my mother’s village, I even managed to send 10 kilogram bags of rice to my family each month. My mother used most of it to feed the village.

Following the footsteps of my mother, I, myself, began to purchase my own plots of land. As my income flowed in, I bought more and more land. Little did I know, impending danger was coming for me.

Communists were beginning to take over China. Those who owned large amounts of land, were their targets. I was a threat to their movement. I was unaware at the time. I was happy and rich, what more could I ask for?

A couple months later, the news of my friends’ deaths reached me. They too, had owned an abundance of land. I was next. My friends warned me to flee as fast as I could. So I did. I left my home behind and didn’t look back. Leaving my seventeen nephews in charge of the land, I left with one destination in mind. Thailand.

As I fled, I knew the amount of courage I had would determine if I lived to see tomorrow or not. I reached the canal and hesitated. Lined up against the other side of the canal were endless

44

The A-Gong I Never Met, cont. amounts of guns. Guns next to guns, on top of more guns. The communist soldiers held no mercy in their blood.

Not allowing myself anymore time for the fears to override my mind, I jumped into the canal and swam with all my might. I swam until I could not feel my legs or arms anymore. I swam until my mind was blank. I swam until finally, I reached safe land. I looked behind me. In shock, I realized I survived death. I had arrived at the harbor that docked a plentiful of boats. Each one leading to a different destination. The next challenge was finding a boat that would take me to Thailand. My brother had moved to Thailand and back at one point, so it was my only logical choice.

Asking around, I finally managed to sneak onto a boat and arrived in Thailand in a few weeks. Once I got there, I wandered around thinking about where I should head to. Fortunately, I ran into another fellow Chinese immigrant who was willing to take me in. We headed to his home. Next thing I know, the community around me was filled with Chinese immigrants. It was convenient, considering I had no knowledge of the Thai language.

Several months later I still found myself succeeding at nothing. I had desired to start a new business here, but with what money? I had no connections here.

A couple months later, my nephew wired me some money from China. But, by then, it was safer for me to return home, compared to the prior circumstances. I sent him back the money with plans of heading home.

The following week, I was noticed by a neighbor. He did not look familiar to me, but somehow he knew who I was. I greeted him, and he explained that he recognized my family name from China.

He asked what I was up to and I explained truthfully, that I had no plans for business in Thailand.

“Why not? I can help you out,” he stated, “but you need connections and you don’t seem to have any. I know who can help with that.”

There was this beautiful girl who had a formidable reputation in the Chinese community. She had been born and grew up in Thailand, but was Chinese through and through. No interest in dating, she worked alongside her mother her whole life. She had her own fill of hardship, having to work in a cigarette factory at the tender age of twelve and falling victim to the addictiveness of nicotine.

Everyone knew her. She was who I needed to get word of my business around.

Knowing that I had no chance of swaying Heng Lee, I visited her mother one day. I introduced myself and made sure to sound like the perfect fit for her daughter. After many days of pestering and swaying Heng Lee’s mother, she was convinced. However, she made it known that it was up to me to convince her in marrying me.

After what seemed like forever, Heng Lee accepted my engagement ring. I was overjoyed.

Except, I had a secret. I had a wife. It was not uncommon for men to have several wives, however, would Heng Lee agree?

My wife lived in China and I had yet to bring her to Thailand. She was a smart one. She had

45

The A-Gong I Never Met, cont. come to Thailand briefly before returning to China. However, instead of swimming across the canal, she had bribed a doctor to send her to Hong Kong with a letter stating she required an emergent medical procedure. Sending me a message via mail, she notified me of her success. I was impressed to say the least. I stuck the letter in my coat pocket and went about my day.

Later that day, Heng Lee came to me. She looked upset, angry even. She lifts her hand and reveals the note lying there. Oh no.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a wife?” she asked.

To be honest, I was not sure what to say. I kept quiet. She took off the engagement ring and hands it to me. “I’m done.”

I broke down. My six-foot-two frame crumpled on the floor and I sobbed. I spilled my whole story. I had not told her before, but she needed to know. I tell her about my father. I tell her about my mother’s land. I tell her about my great escape.

After several long moments of consolescences, Heng Lee must have taken pity on me. Because next thing I know, my ring was back on her finger.

“Are you not upset with me?” I asked “Bring her here first, then we can argue.” With that, she walked away.

**** (A Couple Decades Later) Feeding nineteen mouths the past twenty decades has not been a stroll in the park. My children did not have much, but we made do. Standing in the seven story house I had built years ago, the joss paper company had made its home inside the Chang residence. The success of my business was not due only to myself, but also to my three wives. I take in my surroundings and hope that my father could see me now. I did my best to put honor upon our name.

Written in the first person perspective, this story is based on my own grandfather, Keng Hong Chang. A-Gong is the name I called him by as I grew up listening to his legacy. I was not fortunate enough to meet him, but my father would tell his story and I was happy to listen.

Crumbling Dam Jana Coffeen, 10

46

Loving Korea Genesis Kwon, 11

In every history class I have been in, I heard President John F. Kennedy’s famous quote, “Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.” With this phrase in mind, I am reminded of a story of South Korea and how its people saved their home.

While South Korea has been known for its music and other modern trends, the country has always had a quieter, yet powerful custom that defines its culture; its patriotic collectivism. I understand that this is not an unfamiliar topic to many, as patriotism flows through everyone to some extent. Regardless, this story inspired me to think back on why I should be proud to be an Korean American.

Roughly 30 years ago, a heavy financial crisis had spread like a virus all around Asia. The most affected countries aside from Thailand were Indonesia and South Korea. However, several countries in Asia were affected as well: Laos, Brunei, Malaysia, Singapore, Taiwan, Vietnam, Japan, China, and to a certain degree, the Philippines. Overall, many were concerned over the possible outcomes if the crisis could not be contained. At least, these were the thoughts of countries that were not as harshly affected.

South Korea, being one of the hardest hit, arguably saw their own version of the Great Depression.

People lost their jobs, businesses, and were unable to pay rent or buy food. With these conditions, South Korea was ultimately forced to accept a bailout, or an act of providing financial help in a failing economy, from the International Monetary Fund. The IMF injected South Korea with one of the largest bailout loans in history. However, the South Korean government soon realized that there was no official plan or structure to pay off the loan in the end. When the South Korean civilians discovered they were on the brink of financial collapse, roughly 3.5 million Koreans lined up to give their gold to their government, in order to help pay the loan that the IMF extended. This was an extremely impactful action as, according to Forbes, “Most of [the gold] carried strong personal and familial significance, far beyond its monetary value.” To give up something that held memories and milestones could possibly be considered one of the most selfless acts a person could do.

When thinking about how millions of people were willing to sacrifice cherished possessions to save their home, I am amazed and almost surprised at how beautiful the moment was. They helped one another and at the end of the day, that is how we all survive. I feel as though there is a lesson to be learned here. A lesson that teaches that despite all circumstances, if we all stick together, we can thrive. Together, we live. That truly is the beauty of patriotism. I am proud to belong to this wonderful community, this wonderful history. I hope that in the future, there will be more stories like this and more people that stand taller and higher because of it.

47

A Reflection of Individualismin Modern Society Joshua Ok, 11

Individualism is a concept that has been around in American society since the Great Transcendentalists of the 19th century. Inspirational men such as Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson led the way in the old days, but times have most definitely changed since the 1800s.

Nowadays the world seems full of conformity in every aspect, and going out into the woods as Thoreau did often includes taking selfies to post online, defeating the entire purpose of the original goal. Since the world and its values have shifted since these times, what does individualism truly mean in the present day and why is it important?

If the individualist founding fathers could see what the world has now become, they would most likely be quite shocked in several ways. Social media controlling how people think and view themselves, the repetitive life of ordinary workers, and the overall reduction in free thinking in the modern era are all common to the point where we do not consider these as unusual, but this may seem wildly confusing to Thoreau or Emerson. They lived in a world in which they could go out into the woods to live deliberately and carve out meaning in the world for themselves easier.

So how did we end up in a world where one cannot even wear clothing that others do not consider “cool” without being judged? The answers can be found by examining the sources that influence our thinking, and one of the most impactful answers is the internet and social media. The internet has allowed for humanity to become linked together and share ideas, but has also binded our minds with chains to the most “trendiest” and “coolest” ideas. The development of the internet began in 1983, and since then it has transformed society to an unimaginable extent. The majority of the world’s lives depend on the internet and the ideas that it provides day and night to us. This may not seem as obvious, but examining cases in which people undergo literal panic attacks when the Wifi does not work or social media goes down illustrates just how dependent humanity has become on the internet. Along with the internet, the rise of social media has drastically changed how we individually think about all sorts of different topics. Twitter alerted us with what topics are hot and trending since 2006, Instagram gave us pictures of ideal people and situations to compare ourselves to since 2010, and TikTok has provided users dances, comedic challenges, and other activities to follow along since 2016. Because we are provided with ideals and goals of the many, we never have to stop and think about our own. This trend has spread so far to the point where no one even finds it strange that we would buy a new article of clothing because some random influencer posted themselves wearing it, or doing seemingly meaningless and bizarre challenges and recording ourselves because it was trendy. This is the normal in the world now. The developed world no longer thinks for themselves and has largely lost meaning in being an individual in hopes of fitting in.

48

A Reflection of Individualism in Modern Society, cont.

Now that it has been established that the world relies on the collectivist cultures to think for them, does that mean that individualism is dead and useless? Not at all. In fact, people seek to be individualistic more than ever, and NPR states that millennials have looked to find meaning in themselves more than the past generations. It simply is harder in the modern days with more comparisons to others and the rage to fit in while still being special. The benefits of individualism apply just as they did over a century ago, such as personal freedom, a sense of self worth, and self reliance. With the right dedication and thinking, many can break free from having to live a life where they do not feel they are doing what they truly want. It all starts with the correct mindset, and the importance of thinking for yourself. The thoughts and feelings of others are indeed important, but always keep in mind your own emotions. As Thoreau and Emerson did, seek your own path in life. Admittedly, attempting to live individually is not always easily achieved, as I know from my own experiences. I too have struggled with identity and finding meaning within myself. However, it can be done and the rewards are high, as you can truly maximize your potential in life by living out the life truly meant for each and every single person. Individualism is not dead in the modern world. No, it is only taken on new forms as people express themselves and who they are in new and creative ways, carrying on the wonderful idea of individualism.

Converse in Converse Anonymous, 10

49

The Curse of 2020 Ani Isaiants, 10

Before the cursed year, The future was clear.

If we saw what was coming, We would be running.

Then there was a revolution Lead by marches and protest.

This was the solution To deal with the great unrest.

First there were warnings, Of a war we’d be mourning.

Then there were burnings, And the death of the year.

We fought for justice.

We fought for equality.

We fought for freedom.

We fought for impartiality.

Then people got sick, Symptoms progressing very quick.

This was concerning, But the president was confirming That a cure would be found, But this was not profound.

We cried out to be heard, But people thought it was absurd.

We raised our voices; We raised our tone.

This was essential, But who wouldv’e known?

Gen-Z was so influential.

What was forthcoming, Is something we’d dread.

A virus would spread, And many would be dead.

Then an innocent man was killed, By someone we trusted.

Knee on the neck, We were disgusted.

This man was killed Because of his race.

Many don’t agree, But I rest my case.

People realized That it was a homicide.

Murder should be penalized, This had to be finalized.

Ani Isaiants, 10

50

The Curse of 2020, cont.

We screamed straight into the face of authority To show them that this was a priority Because fear was felt by the minority And finally, we got the support of the majority.

Standstill

Mackenzie Izzard, 12

Though this seems like enough, 2020 was very rough.

This was not the end Of the year we would dread.

An election for office Would divide the whole nation Into right and left There was no collaboration.

Then there was the first debate, Which left us in shock.

It was not great, We had to mock.

Two toddlers on a stage Were having a fit.

They were deranged; They should quit.

Then the results Finally appeared.

People threw insults, And others now feared.

Claims of corruption, A voting fraud.

This caused disruption Through states and abroad.

Soon we were yearning For an overturning.

Misfortunes, there were aplenty This was the Curse of 2020.

51

Road to Nowhere Makayla Graham, 11

Linus

Willa Gore, 12

Alice in Hogwarts

Anonymous, 10

52