Melodrama 2021 by Ladue Publications

MELODRAMA | volume 2 Ladue Horton Watkins High School, 2021

Editorial Policy: Melodrama is a literary magazine created as an extracurricular activity by staffers of Ladue Publications at Ladue Horton Watkins High School. Melodrama accepts submissions of any writing, art, photo or video throughout the school year via Google Form. Detailed submissions guidelines are provided to the submitters throughout the process. Submissions are reviewed by a student editorial board at monthly meetings and accepted based on quality, space and subject matter. Melodrama accepts submissions from current students of Ladue Horton Watkins High School. Melodrama reserves the right to edit student writing for grammar errors that are not stylistic choices, and also requests permission from creators before making any image alterations and grammar edits. Signatures from submitters and staff were collected via JotForm. Mission Statement: Melodrama is a literary magazine with the intention of showcasing art, writing, photography and videography of the Ladue Horton Watkins High School student body. Our purpose is to be an outlet for student expression and accurately reflect the diversity and creativity of our community. Ladue Horton Watkins High School 1201 S. Warson Road., St. Louis, MO 63124 May 2021 | Volume 2 laduepublications.com Phone and Fax: (314) 993-6447 ext. 5844 Email: publications01@ladueschools.net School Population: 1,488 total. 172 faculty. 1316 students.

Creative Capacity MICKY CHYU | digital media

Colorblind BELLA ELEZIN | pencil

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Dear Reader, Welcome to Ladue’s second-ever volume of Ladue’s literary magazine, Melodrama! Founded by Ladue alums Cassie Beisheim (‘20) and Anna Liner (‘20), Melodrama started out as an arts-andculture magazine containing a combination of newsmagazine articles and student submissions, with the goal of creating a publication that reflected the student body’s identity and interests. This year, like a lot of other things in our lives, Melodrama changed. Now officially a literary magazine, Melodrama is a publication consisting solely of student body art, writing, music and video. One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is Melodrama’s goal of showcasing the student body. Ladue is full of students who don’t have a platform to show off their identities and talents, and we wanted to provide an outlet for their work. That’s also why we chose this year’s magazine theme. We wanted something that reflects how we have changed as a magazine and student body, a

theme that focused on what’s most important to Melodrama: individuality. Every submission we reviewed stood out to us as personal, bold and utterly unique. Change and identity are what make us worth celebrating, and, ironically enough, our individuality is what draws us together. Each page is laid out and designed to highlight the work and the individual behind it. We only use elements derived from our artists’ work, and a signature from each contributor puts their personal stamp on every single issue. Still, individual as they may be, you might find that the work on these pages have more similarities than they do differences. As the magazine progresses, every submission works together to create a gradient, moving from black-and-white to saturated with color. We intentionally open with Bella Elezin’s Colorblind and Micky Chyu’s Creative Capacity. These pieces sum up our theme of individuality–– change, personality, identity, boldness and the inner mind––better than we could hope to in words.

Of course, we can’t end this letter without a few thank yous. First, thank you to our review boards, editors and designers (and some of you who were all three) for creating and navigating a totally new system with us. Second, thank you to our journalism adviser, Mrs. Kirksey, for her endless (like, seriously endless) patience, time and help. Third, thank you to all of you who submitted work––we genuinely enjoyed getting to review every single piece, and we’re even more happy you trusted us enough to submit them. Finally, thank you to you, whoever is reading this. Melodrama is made for you, and we wouldn’t have this magazine without you.

Sincerely, Rhea Patney

Oviya Srihari

may 2021

POETRY

PROSE

14 | Safari ya Nyewele 30 | Love for the Earth 67 | a boy from a book

Chase Thompson Hannah Zhou Anonymous

PHOTO

Sydney Collinger Sydney Collinger Luke Sewell

VIDEO

38 | This is Me Sandra Salib 64 | Remember when some songs Andrew Fruend and albums had really long titles 65 | He doesn’t wanna go Erik Tkachenko

ART

Ava Laws Jackson Proper Anonymous Ethan Willick Anonymous Lauryn Donovan Madalene McDonald Sophia Xu Huamin Gao Erica Shi Ava Laws Charlie Hartrich Alby Hsieh Annie Li Grace Hu

Unamed THEOREN MILLER | photo

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Curious Wallaby ALISON NIEDER | photo

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Tadpoles AVA HAGEN | pen

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Screwdriver HARRY SHIPLEY | pen

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Not Your Grandma’s Feminism ANNA REIS

They tell me that women are treated equally. They claim that since women can vote, women can get a job, and women can be politicians then they must obviously be equal. Right? They claim that modern feminism is a disease, a virus, something completely unnecessary, that the only virtuous feminists were the ones wearing suffrage white one hundred years ago. They claim that modern feminists are just too sensitive, that the wage gap is actually women’s fault, and that we should just stop complaining. God.

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But as soon as the conversation ends the same individuals go on. What do they do? These individuals oversexualize every woman they see but as soon as a woman embraces her own sexuality, she’s easy. These individuals interrupt their female classmates every single day to no end. These individuals don’t take a woman’s no as an answer. Sure, the nature of feminism has changed, and women have seen major gains, but the fight for equality is never over.

Scenes from the swing set SYDNEY COLLINGER | photo

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One and the Same MADS

When I met you I wasn’t looking for love But suddenly everything made sense All the colors were once again vivid I was no longer tense or rigid It was never a getting to know you, not really More like, remembering who you were If it’s true what they say, that the world was built for two, You are the sun to my moon Like you and I, they are thousands of miles away Our body’s maybe far But our souls never are. - One in the same

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Crescent Moon ALEXANDRA MARANTO | photo

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Safari ya Nywele CHASE THOMPSON

Sundays were my worst nightmare. Hours and hours of backbreaking labor not knowing what the result would be. Mixing ingredients to obtain the perfect formula just to find out it was too late. No, I'm not talking about potions or food. I’m talking about my natural 4c hair. Yes, I have the kinkiest and the most unglorified of all hair types, 4c hair. As long as I could remember, I’ve had a love hate relationship with my 4c hair. I subconsciously hated my 4c hair, but never realized it due to the excitement of receiving a relaxer. What never registered in my head was how the environment around me put that hate in my heart. Everyday people telling me how nappy my 4c hair was then seeing everyone with straight hair made me feel that straight hair was the way to be beautiful. My hair used to torture me, but there was nothing I could do about it; my worst enemy. Let me take you back… to the years before I

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turned seven. My styles were boisterous braids with beads, puff balls with flower barrettes, and the sleekest silk presses. All the while with my mom, on the living room floor, talking, watching tv, and her teaching me how to do my hair. Beads were my favorite, when I swung them around I felt confident and beautiful. Then came the relaxers; my first rite of passage. As I sat in the kitchen, my mom applied the cream that would change my hair and my life. There was less talking between my mom and I due to the 15 minutes of burning I endured with my hair. My heart pumped with excitement just to have permanently straight hair, “like a white girl.” None of the women around me told me there was still work to be done to achieve bone straight hair. I wonder if they realize now how much self-hate was in this process, like I do. Back to the journey…

During my 7th grade year social media hit, and I started seeing natural hair on women that looked like me. I wondered why my 4c hair didn’t curl up like theirs. I realized it did look like that, but that was before the relaxer. Then came the swimming unit in P.E. The water hit my 4c hair and after it dried humiliation went through my body just because of my hair’s appearance. My hair was wispy yarn that a kindergartner cut with safety scissors. That was the last straw and I knew that going natural was the move. Over the course of a year I followed beautiful Black YouTubers. I spent hours researching how to transition from relaxed to natural hair, with my mom trying to talk me out of it. Spring, the time of rejuvenation and new insight. I trimmed my hair little by little every month, but when spring rolled around it was time for the big chop. I watched the videos, I bought the products, I bought the tools and it was finally game time. The

cut felt like a weight lifted off my shoulders, and away went the pressure of society. Of course, my hair wasn’t long, but to me my hair was beautiful. My hair went from being my worst enemy to my best friend because I started to care . My hair used to take over my life and control me, now I am in control. The spirits of all my ancestors flow through her and flow through me which made me realize she does not describe who I am, I describe who she is. Yes, I said she, my Afro has a persona. She can be sassy, she can be sweet, she has her bad days, nevertheless she has her good days as well.

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Snow Day GRACE HENSLEY | photos

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The Beauty of Winter SARANA XU | photo

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Love From Afar SARANA XU

I fell in love, At first sight. While a dove, Was in flight. With a man, Reading a book, While holding a fan. I went to look,

And I saw his eyes, The color of chocolate. His eyes, Soulful and deep, Always filled, With mystery and wisdom. They resemble, The warmth of the sun, The rich dark soils, Fertile with life, So irresistible Like a bear drawn to honey. His raven black hair, As dark as the night sky. His full pink lips, so soft.

And when he smiles, As dazzling and radiant as the sun. But, he never seems, To really see me. Always thinking about another. So, why should I bother? My heart aches, When I see the look, He gives some other. I look up and see the rain, And I feel my face wet. I feel the pain, And I know the rain isn’t the reason my face is wet. But, sometimes,

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SIX LUKE SEWELL | photo

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Imagination MELIA OESTREICH

Behind my eyes lay a thousand worlds. Each living, breathing, and singing their own songs. Oh, how I wish I could join in their merry cheers; Alas, here I live, and here I stay Forever drawn to my mind by its treasures. To their magic I run, The bountiful lands I have created. Every detail of my own making. Every mountain peak and river valley, I dreamt of in a spell of creativity. My soul seeps into the lands and seas, And I no longer am looking at my creation, But at myself. My own being in a form Of more familiarity than the one I see in the mirror, And it is magnificent to me.

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Not Long Ago JIYA SINGH | paint

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Oh How I Wanted to Look Like You AVINASH KAMATH

Oh, you were perfect to me Your messy brown or blonde hair. I wanted your endearing freckles Those blue eyes that looked like A sun could appear within them And illuminate the sky that they were You were so picturesque to me The ideal boy The boy who was loved, who loved. Handsome, beautiful, better. Though none of your peers ever saw you for it, The only thing you ever were to me was Fairer than me. More attractive than me. More normal than me. While I was the contrary to you and yours.

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People thought of you by name. They thought of me by ethnicity Oh, how I desired to be Avinash The same way you were John, Bill, Patrick. And nothing more. Each glance at the mirror was torture I was convinced that My skinned was stained by some Freakish misfortune On the day of my birth. This horrible, no good pigmentation That brought me nothing but looks, jokes, and remarks. Who wouldn’t believe something is wrong?

Looking back at the reflection Each day became hell. Oh how I pulled, and I pulled! This damn skin won’t come off! How I averted my eyes away from the mirror as I left the shower. You were so much better than me. I thought I knew this without even knowing you. What else could a child have thought? Having stared and absorbed the blue light That projected white into his eyes for years. All the superheroes looked like you. All the girls loved guys that looked like you. You were on the billboards, the screens, the magazines. I saw you. You were so much better than me, And everyone else thought so too.

Classic Reflection ALEXANDRA MARANTO | photo

may 2021

Coffee Cups TAREK AL HUSSEINI | food art

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Chocolate Pond TAREK AL HUSSEINI | food art

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Sunset Rose Wedding Cake TAREK AL HUSSEINI | food art

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Garden Cake TAREK AL HUSSEINI | food art

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Love for the Earth HANNAH ZHOU

As a child, I loved to go outside. At family gatherings, I was the kid who would sit in the grass playing with those tiny white flowers that you could find on almost any lawn. I was also the kid who would run around in circles at the playground during the entire recess because I liked the way the wind felt when it hit my face. I have always loved the earth; I thought of it as my own. In first grade, we were taught the Three R’s: reduce, reuse, and recycle. I didn’t understand the logistics of it at that age, but I understood well enough that by reducing and reusing and recycling, I was, in a way, “saving” the earth. As a little kid who loved her Earth, reminding my parents to do the Three R’s made me feel like a superhero. My environmental education continued into later childhood. From fourth grade to sixth grade, I went to a private school, where our school heavily emphasized “going green.” We planted trees in our Butterfly Garden, held donut sales to raise money for solar panels, and raised pet chickens. We took field trips down to Illinois to learn about our job in cultivating the earth and heard guest speakers speak about how we could help our environment. I learned that we cannot have a clean earth

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without a clean environment. In a simplistic way fit for a child, my sixth-grade math teacher, Mrs. Zarah, taught me that using solar panels would allow us to use “clean” energy from the sun instead of “bad” energy from fossil fuels. She told us that every little step we do, from installing solar panels to turning off the lights, will help our environment. I now know that the environment and the earth are impossible to separate––taking care of one is taking care of the other. Being on this earth isn’t about simply just existing, it’s about living and feeling alive. Paul McGregor writes that living is “taking life as it comes, embracing it and doing as much as you can to feel fulfilled”. He defines the word “existing” as “being here physically, but doing what you have to do to get through the day.” Being surrounded by the natural world, something that humans can’t create, like sunsets, mountains, and the waters, makes me feel alive. When I watch the sunset, or gaze upon the mountains in Colorado, or even just stare at the stars in the night sky in my driveway, I feel so much joy. When I go hiking and reach the top of my destination and look around, it takes me a second to realize I’m actually there––that

all the work in getting to the top has paid off into panoramic views. From a distance, not one beauty of Nature is exactly the same. Each is a gem, and each is so beautiful. Beholding the beauty of the earth reminds me of my Christian faith.

it was God who made the universe allows me to appreciate and love the earth in a fuller way than secular appreciation. Even things deemed “ugly” in Nature are, to me, God’s love song to all his creation.

As I grew up going to Sunday School every weekend, I was taught that God created the heavens and the earth all in seven days. How gravity could just “decide” to pull swirling gas and dust from the sun at that moment, 4.5 billion years ago, when it could’ve happened 5.5 billion years ago amazes me. If everything happens for a reason, then I choose to believe that God created the earth and the universe because he wanted us all to have life in full and live life abundantly. This also means I believe God has a plan. We humans have done our share in polluting and corrupting the earth, but there is nothing we can do to change the past. I see the world taking too-small steps towards rectifying our failures. Global politics complicate the situation further. But still, I have faith that God will restore the earth, because miracles do happen. If He is able to create animals, trees, and heavens out of thin air, I believe he will help us preserve the earth, because it is His creation. Knowing that

I value the earth because everything about our earth, our environment, and the natural world, embodies who I am and my values. I know and love how it feels to feel alive. I thank God every day because I’m able to not just exist, but feel alive. Nature has a way of making you forget all of your problems at home (even if just for a moment) and helps you brain shift gears into the “now.” Anxiety fades, and peace remains. When I pass through the tranquil waters and lush forests of the earth, a feeling rises up in me, longing yet full of hope––a feeling utterly unexplainable, yet utterly great.

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This is Me SANDRA SALIB | video

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Protective Styles HIERAN ANDEBERHAN

Some days, I don’t want to touch my hair Tired of all the effort required

Fragile to the pains of the world The curls welcome the simple braids

Some days, I cannot keep my fingers away from the curvy grooves of mangled curls

Fragile to the pains of the world The curls shelter their prized possessions

Some days, my shoulder-length braids Make me feel insecure

Fragile and in need of protecting The delicate strands of curls learn to accept

Some days, my indomitable afro makes me believe That I can conquer the world

The Braids The Twists & The Knots

-Yet My afro is not indomitable Fragile to the pains of the world The curls embrace the soothing oils

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Unnamed THEOREN MILLER | photo

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Witchcraft Cat JIYA SINGH | paint

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Stargazing DAPHNE GOLDEN

Starga

“Are you up th

Is al

Starry Night GRACE HENSLEY | photo

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g: A Haiku

azing at night

here, Grandfather?”

ll I ponder.

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Pleasant Park 38 melodrama | vol. 2

ADAM GREENE | marker

Unnamed THEOREN MILLER | photo

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Day of the Dead JAELYN LEVER | paint

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Comfort ANNIE LI | digital media

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Mosaic Rose ADRIANNA FINDLEY | mixed media

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Racer BELLA ELZEIN | mixed media

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in my room GRACE HU | digital media

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Spending summer in backyard ANNIE LI | digital media

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Mother’s Day AVA LAWS | mixed media

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The Rhythm of Everything OLIVIA CULLETON

Here I sit at a desk that was once my mother’s, Now papered with little yellow sticky notes. Perhaps at one time it was neat and tidy, the way my mother is, But now it’s a constellation of my wandering thoughts, And things I must remember to do. Clinging on to each other with all their might, Little golden papers inscribed with various shades of ink, At any moment, one may fall to the ground, like an oak leaf in a September breeze, Finally letting go of its branch and swimming to the ground with a sigh, To be swept away and forgotten. Perhaps that little paper held a word I liked, Or some mundane task that now I’ll never remember to do, Perhaps it was a lyric, a fragment of a song I heard and found memorable, A perfect little collection of words strung together like lace, Leaving an empty space in the yellow foliage. Here I sit at a desk that was once my mother’s, That is now papered with small yellow sticky notes, Thinking that there’s beauty in the way things are, a sort of cadence to the rhythm of everything, Searching for the meaning of life in a cluster of yellow sticky notes, Included in a list of chores, or written between the words of a love song.

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fire ANONYMOUS | digital media

depth of a night sky JACKSON PROPER | paint

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relax - 01 ETHAN WILLICK | digital media

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Dance with your heart and let your feet follow HARJAS SINGH | photo

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Inland ABBEY CARRICO

The waves grow larger so the buoys start to sway, but I’m the buoy on the beach, too far inland to play. I see them laughing, headed toward some ocean far away, but I’m stuck in the sand, so there I stay. The waves become smaller, and I realize my fate, as the buoy all alone, on the edge of the bay. Just let the tide pull me in, that’s what I pray, so I could join the fun, so I could come and play. But the sun beams down, keeping me dry, crushing my dreams of a needed goodbye. I’m stuck at my post, not a drop of glee staring at the sand, the clouds and a view of the sea.

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a dandy day outside ANONYMOUS | digital media

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Silence HIERAN ANDEBERHAN

There is an elephant in the room that no-one acknowledges because of the silence We all see it, we all here it, we all know it exists Society often teaches us not to speak out in definace The attack happens, the day passes, another disheartening event Conversations end. Scared of rocking the boat and making things -- unbearable It is far easier to embrace the comfortable silence Back to 1776, or is it 1861? When we proudly waved the Confederate flag Hopes of moving forward squandered. But wait! Cori Bush stands up and finally speaks out in defiance One step forward- a teacher calls out her own family’s racism. Two steps forward- my classmates define white privilege One step backward- only two teachers lift the suffocating blanket of silence The result- one step forward in the dance for justice Our feet strained from the long, peaceful marches Yet, the fire in our hearts forever sustained in honor of defiance White privilege, implicit bias, and comfortable silence Black pain, an added emotional and mental strain Equals a system that will not change Unless we take that step and end the silence

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AF1’s LAURYN DONOVAN | paint

A Model Crowd MADALENE MCDONALD | paint

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Who we were before Ladue NYLA ROBINSON

We were two yellow roses out back, playing in mud before Ladue. We sat in front of the screen, we did each other’s nails, just me and you. Telling secrets, riding bikes, getting in trouble together, but after 4th grade, it seems you found someone better. I gave you space, but found out what it means to be lonely, you slam doors in my face yet I’m the one saying sorry. I tried and tried to be real as you were are fake, days and days go on with hate. You claw at my soul and shatter my bones with nothing but your deadly neglect. But I’m the one infested with regret. As you got older so did I, days got colder as weeks went by. My heart is comatose and they pretend to not notice or care, but October 12 was the last day you would treat me unfair. I was like a waterfall rushing from a ledge off onto a lake, you would play with my heart waiting for me to break. But I forgive you.

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If it were not for you, I would be in fake relationships at Ladue. If it weren’t for you, I would not have been ready for hate at Ladue. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t know how to be kind, loving, and real, at Ladue. It’s because of you I trust no one when they say, they will change. It’s because of you they put respect on my name. It’s because of you I am who I am today, and like an aster growing from the ground you spat in. The knives you stabbed my heart with were no match for my gladiouses. You pluck, pluck, pluck away at my Peony’s as they grow new petals of armor, but yet I’m still the one saying sorry. But don’t worry, you were the first and last mistake I’ve ever made, giving second chances. May my red rose that I was ready to give to you, rest in peace, because after Ladue, you broke me August 14.

Roses in Sunlight SOPHIA XU | paint

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At Midnight ERICA SHI | digital media

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Cassiopeia HUAMIN GAO | digital media

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Prayer AVINASH KAMATH

Barefoot and hands clasped, I enter the vast temple Adorned with marble displays And statues of Heroes and Heroines of some sort. Hallways and passages that lead to More altars of deities Lie beyond the primary room. But this space alone carries enough To awe and humble even The most acknowledged and well-traveled adventurer. Blissfully walking around Are holy men. Old, frail, decorated with colorful cloth And dedicated. They recite the same incantations That they have for years. Yet their mouths do not tell the stories. The tales of What they have seen And experienced through their Unwavering faith All lies within their eyes.

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Aged eyes that most are Yet to obtain. Eyes that many will Never look through, Only at. I pass by each altar, Touching the feet, Bowing down, Mumbling my own incantations In hopes that one day I too can find What these transcendent men have. Yet, I do not search for their gaze. I do not crave the way they glance at others Or their judgement. No. I do not wish for their eyes. I hope to achieve the Completion that lies deep within them.

To desire their stare and view is foolish. For the gods and goddesses of this world Who govern over our domain Created each iris and each pupil Differently. Even within these few holy men, There exists an unimaginable difference in observation. My curiosity drives me to know How they achieved the nirvana within Each glance. But, despite my envy, My heart drives me to search For my own. Perhaps that is why I pass by each altar, Touching feet and worshipping. Not to pay respects, but to learn. For these great deities are not perfect. They have their sin, their flaw. Rather than a blessing, I look for knowledge. Beings who carry the answers of life All within their actions, Which turn to legends passed down.

Their stances, ornamental jewelry, Weapons, companions, wardrobe Their countenance Shows me that there exists no perfect being, Omniscient nor mortal. Every action, Whether it be creating the universe Or slaying an evil king, is still fueled by A mortal desire To experience and protect life, And have relation. Whether a god, a holy man, or Just a passerby. To step foot into this room Tells a story. For all to learn from. And for none to ignore.

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The 80s AVA LAWS | paint

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Guitar CHARLIE HARTRICH | sculpture

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Remember when some songs and albums had really long titles ANDREW FREUND | music

Track List

When you say hey to Jude but Jude does not say hey back

Happily Ever After... after Today He doesn’t want to go (feat. Erik) This song is set in a hypothetical situation

This song is set in a hypothetical situation

This song happens after the hypothetical situation When you say hey to Jude but Jude does not say hey back

This song happens after the hypothetical situation

Happily Ever After... after Today

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He doesn’t want to go (feat. Erik)

He doesn’t want to go (feat. Erik) ERIK TKACHENKO | video

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Untitled 66 melodrama | vol. 2

ALBY HSIEH | paint

A boy from a book ANONYMOUS

I was never the type to fall in love. I was practical and realistic, with not much time left for daydreams. I had a plan, ignore the birthmark. Instead it consumed me, you consumed me. In a world where our birthmarks will match either our soulmate or our killer, I turned to statistics. See, I was a big statistics person. There was a 50% if I looked for you, and found you, you would be the death of me. I did not have time for boys anyway, I wanted to be a criminal justice lawyer. I wanted to be extraordinary. Regardless of my intentions, there were nights where I lay in bed dreaming about you. What color were your eyes? What was your darkest secret? Did you ever dream of me? I quickly dismiss these foolish thoughts as I fall into a quiet slumber.

back, I felt foolish for never looking for you earlier. The times we could’ve had if I had just made an effort.

I still think about the day we met, the day I gave you a chance. It was the beginning of the end. You had been there the whole time, as cliche as it seemed you were the boy across the street. Looking

Sure, there were fights. Mostly, about how I needed to calm down and not stress out about college or law school etc. You only wanted what was best

You were the type of boy that they write poems about, the kind that they write movies and books about. Your sandy blonde hair and deep blue eyes could make any girl’s heart skip a beat. You were athletic on the outside but on the inside, you were incredibly artistic. You loved to paint and write poems about me. You were a dreamer, a wisher. You once brought me a bouquet of baby’s breath because you knew they were my favorite, I haven’t forgotten. You were adventurous and charismatic and better than anything I ever dreamed about. When I was near you, I forgot about the statistics, my brain turned off and my heart took control.

for me, and I see that now. You saw that I was living for the future instead of the present, letting life pass me by. If only I had noticed how much you were struggling. You needed me but I was so preoccupied with myself that I couldn’t be there for you in your darkest moments. Your words still haunt me, “I’ll always love you..” You said right before I held you under the water just long enough for your face to turn purple. You knew what I was going to do, why didn’t you fight back? Why did you always choose me over you? I always thought that you would be the death of me but in the end it was me who was the death of you. I suppose that’s what you get for not listening to the statistics. However, you changed something in me forever Until I met you.. I never was the type to fall in love.

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Expressionless ANNIE LI | digital media

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Self-Portrait SYDNEY COLLINGER | photo

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Untitled SYDNEY COLLINGER | photo

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Disrupting the Portrait LUKE SEWELL | photo

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Colophon

in new york... GRACE HU | digital media

72 melodrama | vol. 2

The theme of individuality was chosen to reflect the growing struggle of being an individual as social media and the internet allows us to interact with more people than at any point in history. Thus, we wanted to convey that being better than someone else or being astoundingly unique isn’t necessary to be an individual, and that we can find aspects of our individuality in everything we create. Theme elements include color pulls, a main focus on the submissions and the signatures of every creator featured next to their submission. This magazine was created using Adobe 2020 applications. The fonts used were Bodoni 72 Oldstyle Bold, Baskerville Regular and Avenir Next Bold. 80# Endurance Gloss Book White paper is used to print this free magazine. This magazine is primarily available online via Issuu but 250 paper copies are printed as well. Melodrama is a member of the National Scholastic Press Association, Columbia Scholastic Press Association, and Journalism Educators Association. Spreads designed by Rhea Patney, Oviya Srihari, Lucy Lochmoeller, Joanne Sung, Olivia Hu, Sophia Liu, Marissa Mathieson and Danielle Zhang. Spread design credits were not included on individual spreads because the Melodrama staff views themselves as the organizers and compilers of the Literary Magazine, not the creators. The staff wants the focus of every spread to be on the submission creators, not on who designed the spread.

design editors LUCY LOCHMOELLER “I have to go to lacrosse!”

Staff List

JOANNE SUNG “I’m only going to screen share for ONE second.”

art editor/design support

adviser SARAH KIRKSEY “you crazy rascals”

editors in chief

DANIELLE ZHANG “the ‘D’ in Danielle stands for ‘death by delegation’”

art staff/design support

RHEA PATNEY “losing braincells”

OLIVIA HU “not grace”

OVIYA SRIHARI “gaining braincells”

SOPHIA LIU “I love frogs”

writing editor/design support MARISSA MATHIESON “most likely to own a VW bus by the time I turn 50 (electric of course).”

photo editor GINGER SCHULTE “don’t panic, but...”

photo staff MIKA KIPNIS “crusty”

ALLEN YOU “sarcasm addict”

may 2021 73