P.ART Issue 2 by Emily Liu

48 23 17 28 Nov 14, 2017

Before we wrote letters about each other with only hate in our hearts

We left no room for miracles.

Somedays it was a heart. On days I had more faith in my mirror-writing skills, it was a message, a hello, a joke, a little piece of me.

YOUTH LITERACY SOCIETY

issue no. i.ii

to him, i was a tunnel. to me, he was the destination.

CONTRIBUTORS EIC

Emily Liu David Xu

LAYOUT

Emily Liu Harrison Wu

STAFF WRITERS

Chloe Retika Anoushka Singal Moksh Jawa Shivani Manivasagan Raisah Khan David Xu Emily Liu Ankur Samanta

ART/PHOTO

Angelica Shao Kellie Chen Shraesht Chitkara Aseem Doriwala Praveen Ravindar Naveen Ravindar Anushka Kulkarni Ethan Huang Samrat Ghosh Jasper Chang David Xu Emily Liu

2 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

CHANG, JASPER. 2017.

ISSUE I.II | 3

EDITOR’S WORD It’s been a fun journey between the very first issue and this one. I would like to say thanks to all those friends and all those strangers (but hey what’s the difference) who messaged me after that first edition sending love. None of this would be possible without you. Nothing in the world would be possible without people like you.

the best. And that’s, if not obvious enough, more than okay. The idea of this magazine was inspired by and helped made alive by other high schooler’s around me. I got the publishing company from a wonderful friend that helped start a feminist zine at her own high school not too far away from mine.

I would like to say one thing: We are not the best. We are not the “best” that some may have interpreted I meant. I brag about who we are because I am so so so proud of who we are. Most of the people who submit to this magazine are people who would never otherwise explore writing or art. I am so honored to be giving people the opportunity to have a PURPOSE to do something I know that I, and humans naturally, do love. I would love to say we are the best because we are our own special community. We have no competitors; we are not part of any racetrack that’s just one big loop.

However, while I do concede to the above statements, one thing that I will not accept as the leader of this project is any criticism towards our cause. We’re just a bunch of high school students who want REASONS and a PURPOSE. We want an AUDIENCE for our work. And that is all.

We do what we love, and therefore we are always winners. Always. We are not the best in the industry and we are nowhere NEAR

4 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

This second issue is the result of lots of the good types of stress and tears. It’s stories started by inspiration from 2 am messages and ended with quotes from conversations under the afternoon sun. I hope you enjoy. Best wishes,

SHAO, ANGELICA. 2017

ISSUE I.II | 5

CHANG, JASPER.

my ocean RAISAH KHAN

6 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

I’m so so scared of what’s to come for you and I Last time you found the sea of love behind the forest of lies The last time the waves crashed down upon you You went into shelter, you decided to run and hide Because you can stand the drizzling, you can stand the rain, but you can’t stand The hurricane You were afraid of us and I am afraid of them The people in two months who resemble us but are broken into debris, the people who meet their end Because at some point we have to stop pretending like everything’s okay We used to always fight and they say absence makes the heart grow fonder So now your arms are the only place I want to lay But people don’t change and we will battle and we will duel And honestly right now I’m acting like a damn fool But when you saw the ocean of my joy you said you didn’t believe it You probably needed to hear me say it aloud You couldn’t see the mass of emotions flooding from my body because they are so cleverly masked by the clouds And I cannot help but believe if you were able to dip your toe in the water maybe you would show me your pool If you had a pool If you had oceans Because I’m supposed to know, it’s supposed to be a final no But somehow that time when you shot at me with flames, hiding for the first time That first time when we fought, the first battle in a war The first time when you found out my heart wasn’t only with you and you decided that your heart wasn’t going to be with me at all Made me feel like I wasn’t the only one who was stupid enough to fall Because sure sweetness, gifts, hugs show love But isn’t it really the pain that shows you care the most? Isn’t love when losing me is your biggest fear? Isn’t that why my ocean for you is completely made of tears? ISSUE I.II | 7

GRADUATION SPEECH MOKSH JAWA Good evening Washington High School! My name is Moksh Jawa and I am excited to be graduating alongside all of you in Class of 2017 today.

have grown up for years hearing “everything that happens, happens for good” at every rejection and hardship I faced from my parents — but I never believed it (sorry mom and dad). It took a lot of experiences throughout high school to change my mindset, including this one.

say the least. I tried out regardless and I was excited that there were exactly 10 guys trying out for 10 spots on the team. Eventually, the list of the final team was posted and I go down the list looking for my name and I don’t see mine. I stop and think this can’t be right. Then, I counted how many guys had been selected...9. At the beginning of (pause) It turns out I the year, I tried out for was such a bad dancer WHS Taal, our high they’d decided they school Bollywood were better off leaving a team. Now, for those of spot empty than taking you you who know me, me. And, I’ll admit, “dancer” or “flexible” it was an embarrassare not the first words ing and discouraging that come to mind - to moment for me. Yet, I

8 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

MYCAPTUREDMOMENTS. “graduation.” 2017.

was still determined to learn dance and joined a dance class later in the year. And I found it to be one of the best experiences of my life and realized joining Taal would’ve never made sense, as I couldn’t enjoy dancing without learning it.

to attach good to it. Things won’t always go our way, but resilience will help us find good. Embrace the ups and downs of life, because, at the end of the day, the journey matters more than destination. Finding positivity will make us better, more confident, and more Just as I did there, I successful, so let’s tackstarted to see that there le anything and everyis a good to be found thing head-on knowing in everything. But I it’ll make us better. So can’t help but wonder: take that tough comis every failure truly puter science test as an good? And I’ve realized opportunity of learning that the answer was to build your own mono, not everything that bile app. Use a foreign happens, happens for language requirement good but we have the as a path into another opportunity and ability culture and language.

Take a step out of your comfort zone and ask that special girl out. Together, over the past 4 years, we have supported each other and built a network. Today, Class of 2017, we are all moving into new chapters in our lives, but let’s stay connected as an alumni network. Let’s continue to stick together and support each other to not only make everything in our personal lives happen for good, but also to add good to everything in this world. Thank you and congratulations.

ISSUE I.II | 9

FRAGMENTS OF OUR BROKEN SEA We are all tiny fragments - Miniature glistening rocks Cast in an endless sea of sand; Unique individually Though awash in the vast likeness surrounding us. The tide is high now as waves of immigration roll in, Weaving a blanket teeming with diversity; A kaleidoscope of color Mixing the melting pot that has so defined our world, Churning and changing the sediment spectrum; A mosaic. Ranging from the richest white to the purest tan; All with different origins, but unified by our humanity. Yet the assimilation of sands, Brought about by the water-lined beach, Blends the new arrivals into the demographic mix. 10 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

DORIWALA, ASEEM. August 2017.

As the tide subsides, The beach returns to normalcy, and the upheaval dies down, Revealing the glistening, manifold sand; Microscopically distinct, yet indiscernible from afar. We are one and the same. Perhaps there is a comforting prospect to this melting pot; We just need to gaze beyond our own horizons. We must thrive in plurality, But still embrace our individuality. For really we are just specks of sand One in a billion, adrift on a boundless beach.

~Ankur Samanta

ISSUE I.II | 11

CHLOE RETIKA

to the ones who have forgotten 12 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

DORIWALA, ASEEM “Streamline.” August 2017

ISSUE I.II | 13

“

... how much louder still my heart was when we hit turbulence 3576 miles from mainland could write about the tragedy in Charlottesville, the inevitable decline of the legitimacy of the American presidency, the cracks and the swooshes the waves make against Santa Clara’s horizonless beaches, or the thousand and oneth story of getting hurt by that one more person. I could write about how loud the fireworks were on the Fourth of July, or how much louder my heart was when we hit turbulence 3586 miles from mainland. I

”

mean, I could. But I’ll just show you what it sounds like to hear my cousin snore.

and half Indonesian and pure, pure love. He is the single most mature two year old I have ever met. He “How does Papi snore points to a truck on again? Show me.” the road and does not “*snores*” just point, he tells me “Thatsh ah shement This is Colin Hugo twuck” he knows Boenardi, and I have what cement is and learned more from what they make out of him in the one week cement. He does not I stayed at his house cry easily and the only than I have learned time he did was when this entire past year. he thought everyone He is two years old, was angry at him bealmost three. He cause he stepped on really, really likes fish a glass frame but we and hates hard rice were not because we (well, everyone does). were only afraid that He is half German he would cut and hurt

14 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

KULKARNI, ANUSHKA. 2017.

ISSUE I.II | 15

“

himself. He laughs when I hold him under his armpits and drag him through the water so quickly the entire pool ripples. He laughs and jumps into my arms when I pick him up from school for the very, very first time. He laughs when I’m sleeping and he wants to wake me up by shoving my door open and running straight forward and crashes off my bed and stumbles backwards but he laughs and that is the only reason why I woke up at all.

He asks questions about the stars and the constellations and it is so terrible that he can not see them in Jakarta. “Ini apaaaa”

“Itu apaaaa” “What where” “Patung” “What?” “PATUNG” “A statue? Where?” “The gway one no THEWE *pushes my head to look*” “That’s a dragon.” “I’m a howsh” “What do you mean you’re a horse” “Mami bilang”

“Itu apaaaa” What is this? What is that?

”

He wants to know and he remembers what I have told him and what his parents have told him. He is not glued to a screen Colin or a video game or an SAT prepbook or AP Does not stay quiet in Calculus textbook, car rides. He was talking about he asks me about the things that matter his Chinese zodiac. He looks out the winto him and honestHe asks questions dow and not at the tv ly, they are the only about the stars and screen attached to the the constellations and things that should back of the driver seat it is so terrible that he matter. and he asks can not see them in He snuggles his head Jakarta. “Ini apaaaa” against my stomach “That’s a palm tree.” and raises his arms He asks me over and “Pawm twee?” and says “Up” and over “Yes, a palm tree.” I lift him up and he wraps his arm around 16 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

RAVINDAR, PRAVEEN. :”Secrests of the Skies.” 2017.

my neck and nestles against my shoulder and the warmth of him, the knowledge that he is comfortable with me because he is shy to almost everyone else-- that he trusts me, is so amazing. The love Of a two year old Is unconditional. He is innocence; he is pure.

He is everything he will not be when he grows up--it is impending. He is everything we all were... Before she told you she did not love you; He told you he was tired of you;

with only hate in our hearts; Before we wrote love letters that would never be sent; Before we forgot about the stars and forgot how to shine for ourselves instead of other people.

What did you do this Before we wrote about summer? death and pretended to understand and Did you sit on your want it; couch or your bed and watch every epBefore we wrote letisode of Grey’s Anatters about each other omy twice? Did you ISSUE I.II | 17

Did you let the sun touch your skin; did you touch hearts? Did you break hearts? Did you forget your heart? 18 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

only go out of your room to grab a sandwich or a bag of chips? Did you let the sun touch your skin, did you touch hearts? Did you break hearts? Did you forget your heart? Did you sit around on your phone at the Independence Day barbeque you were forced to attend? Did you cram every bit of information about neuroscience and quantum physics into a brain that will forget everything next year anyways? Did you beat yourself up about the 1200 SAT score you got or the nowhere near perfect ACT score marked on your very last practice test oh no I’m not ready oh no I’m going to fail at life I’m so bad I’m so stupid I’m

SPIDERMAN ONE LAST WEEKEND HE GOES PSHT PSHT AND HITS BAD GUYS What did you do this summer? Did you do the things that mattered?

HI MY NAME IS COLIN HUGO BOENARDI I AM TWO YEARS OLD I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY PEOPLE SAY S-A-T DO THEY WANT ME TO SIT DOWN OR SOMETHING I’LL SIT ON YOUR LAP AND SING A SONG FOR YOU I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY PEOPLE COMPLAIN ABOUT A-C-T I LIKE MOVIES AND ACTORS TOO ESPECIALLY THE ISSUE I.II | 19

glass glass glass 20 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

Glass ceiling, glass roof, glass walls, glass floor. Don’t move anything, don’t touch that door. We really can’t take much more. A single nudge, even a tap. Could make the very slightest of cracks. And through the edges the light streams in. A light so bright it’s as dark as sin. The pain seeps deep in her eyes, they say. Please, please think there’s nothing wrong with being gay. I grew up thinking what’s false, what’s right. And now my child is about to take her life. There goes my glass house, glass living galore. Little did I know her’s had disappeared long before.

~“Mary Parker”

TRAECLYN “wet moss n broke glass amiright” 2016

ISSUE I.II | 21

XU, DAVID. “Kids Again.” 21 August 2017.

totality. totality. totality. tota

22 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

he weeks leading to August 21st, 2017, and for weeks after it, the total solar eclipse took over millions of people’s lives. Anywhere on the path of totality, from Oregon to South Carolina, millions of people poured in from all corners of our round world. Millions of people, each with their own lives and stories and differences, were brought together. Especially taking into consideration all that’s been going wrong in our current time, the way the eclipse captivat-

ed and unified so many kinds of people was magical and in sum, the epitome of surreal. I was standing on that sidewalk that Monday on the 21st, that same sidewalk, yet it felt so different with my world enveloped in darkness. Isn’t it ironic how we as humans only seem to actually see, notice, and outline our sun only when it is completely covered by the moon? Our ancient relatives from the beginning of their time had held ceremonies celebrating the sun and just their very existence. They didn’t have the science or tech-

ality. totality.

nological advancements we have to explain to them why they were alive. They didn’t understand why they felt pain or why they cried when felt resemblance of sadness. They didn’t compare their blood to the stars. They didn’t even know why they bled. We do. We spent fortunes and years of lives to uncover every single aspect of our human bodies. We made sure to answer every single question and leave absolutely no speck of mystery behind. We left no room for miracles.

“

We left no room for miracles.

”

By: Shivani Manivasagan and Emily Liu ISSUE I.II | 23

“

All corners of our round world reside under the same sun and them same moon. Ultimately, it is simplicity that preserves the innocence in all of us.

So, we discredit all of the wonders that must have happened to let us be who we are right now. We say that its all science, and that therefore it all means less. We forget about how literally ALL the right minuscule things had to happen at exactly all the right places at all the right times. We forget about how absolutely lucky we are to be alive right now with all of the millions of cells within us doing so many thousands things. We don’t think that we are all masterpieces. That we are the successful one in a million worlds.

We don’t regard our sun as a god. We don’t worship our existence. We aren’t thankful for the world that’s keeping us alive. We live our lives thinking the world exists for us.

”

For once in far too long, we as humans finally wanted to all be together. We acknowledged that we are all under the same sun, the same moon.

Trying not to look up at the sky, jumNot on August 21st. bled thoughts flowed Collectively on Face- through my head. And book and Snapchat, while it really is hard there were reports to accept at times, preparing us all for I do believe that as this phenomenon. a society, each and Trending on Amazon, every one of us are there were glasses be- connected in infinite ing sold to allow us to ways. Bonds that only safely look at the sun. grow stronger when There were events set disaster strikes, when up on certain hillsides others are in trouble; of people collecting even when it seems together to get the like there is nobody exact perfect views. you can trust, these

24 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

ever-strengthening bonds bring out the exact same humanity in each and every one of us without fail. Simplicity preserves the innocence in all of us.

divided civilization with every passing day- many will attest to that. And yet, even though an eclipse wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t normally have you thinking about such things, chance happenings In a society that is like this make you attempting to prorethink that statemote acceptance for ment, even if just for a all people and to unify moment. We all exist its members, reality together. is that we are becoming a more and more

RAVINDAR, NAVEEN. 2017.

ISSUE I.II | 25

the japan DAVID XU

26 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

MEGAWHEEL360. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Maple Leaves.â&#x20AC;? 4 December 2011.

nese maple

When my family first moved into this house, we were amazed by the backyard. Spacious. Filled with trees and bushes and beautiful flowers, it was another world to explore. My favorite of all the trees was the Japanese Maple. Nobly rising out of the rocks and twigs, it looked like a beautiful groomed bonsai tree, fused with a canadian maple in some kind of hilarious experiment. It appeared to sway dangerously in the winds, but something about it had the impression of an elegant dancer, bending without breaking.

ISSUE I.II | 27

And so the Japanese Maple stood. Stoic. Indifferent to my drama with friends and my successes in class. Indifferent to the yelling upstairs and the lights that flickered into the latest hours of the morning. It stood there, from my first chapter book to my first kiss. From my first birthday party to my first F. It was there for it all. Stoic. Indifferent.

ntil its final year. Until this

heart. On days I had more faith in my mirror-writing skills, it year. was a message, a helUntil the house exlo, a joke, a little piece perienced a whole of me. Proudly Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d carnew set of firsts. And ry these frost-bound something to do with messages on the drive the weather or the to school because... anger or the rain or It was a spring of love. the tears or the solar Of young love. Not the eclipse, killed that kind that simmers or tree. Killed it into a steams or roasts, but carcass of mushrooms the kind that roars in and fungus, into a passionate fires and stump and then into a brilliant colors of red bare spot of grass. and white. It burned Killed it out of exisaway the winter, tence. slapped me awake in the morning and refused to be extinspring guished well into the night. Warmth, not It started in the the drowsy kind or spring. the sweaty kind, but the kind that makes Freshly thawed out you feel like yourof winter, the mornself. Where all extering frost begged to nalities, everything be shaped by mituncomfortable or tens and fingers into smiles and messages. off-putting sheds its skin to reveal another Somedays it was a 28 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

Days blurred, an time I felt as if I w a veil had been l eyes to a world t unimaginable fr

flame, another slice of life to love. And nowhere did these fires burn more brightly, than with her. With her. With her almond freckles and frizzled hair and eagle eyes that could locate good conversation and laughter from miles away. With her the fire may have burned too strong. My palms were always sweaty, my words always awkward, but like a cat cuddles up against a radiator in the winter, I found myself always around her. Always around her smile, her laughter, and her charm. That spring the maple

nd for the first was living. As if lifted from my that offered an reedom.

â&#x20AC;?

bloomed a final time. Brilliantly. Buds of white iridescent stars, bursting their way into existence, unfurling into great green sails of vegetation. The squirrels gathered and the hummingbirds flew closer than ever. Even one day the raccoon was spotted under the newly born leaves of the Japanese Maple. Everyday, with an extra kick in my step Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d stand and admire the tree, never knowing that it would be the final time.

summer With the final school bell, the summer burst into life.

It burst into freedom, set free by the prospect of cool swimming pools and ambient sunsets. As sneakers thundered their way down the stairs, I hesitated, standing there on the second floor of the D building. I hesitated, letting the oven heated summer air blast across my face, letting the sunlight blind my eyes, relishing the sensations that awaited around every corner of that summer. I shed my scars and shed my fears. I embraced the way my carâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s high beams illuminated the dark forest road, and how no matter how out of tune our singing was, as long as we had the radio and each other, we could care less. We traveled that mountain road with voice

cracks, missed notes, laughters, limbs (not always arms) sticking out of windows, and a natural air conditioning that was best when we hit 40 mph. We traveled, to your home, to mine, to the movies, to the popcorn that was the only thing between us in that darkened movie theatre. We flew, with those same movies on that German in-flight entertainment system, across an ocean into the land of cathedrals, history, and music. Days blurred, and for the first time I felt as if I was living. As if a veil had been lifted from my eyes to a world that offered an unimaginable freedom. The freedom to act a fool, to bang on hotel walls from laughter and sneak into bathrooms from

ISSUE I.II | 29

CHITKARA, SHRAESHT. 2017.

30 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

I shed my scars and shed my fears. I embraced the way my carâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s high beams illuminated the dark forest road, and how no matter how out of tune our singing was, as long as we had the radio and each other, we could care less. We traveled that mountain road with voice cracks, missed notes, laughters, limbs (not always arms) sticking out of windows, and a natural air conditioning that was best when we hit 40 mph.

ISSUE I.II | 31

dares. Armed with a subway ticket and an alarm clock, no sunrise, no beautiful starlight was safe from our gaze. It was there in Europe that I lost my heart. I lost myself. In the food. In the colored pebbles decorating the river. In the small country town with the rustic bell tower and the mountain breeze that smelled like pine needles and glaciers. Cobbled streets, cramped alleyway stairwells, and simple vanilla gelato. I lost myself there, the-- the thrill of it all. But every dream is

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

greeted by a grouchy morning. I searched for the coffee but something kept that morning fog in my mind. Some part of real life greeted me when our plane touched down, some reminder that life would never be that

That image haunts me still. That beautiful japanese maple. The strength. The familiarity. The trunk and branches that seemed to hug the world with a honeysweet natural love. 32 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

easy. Would never be that simple. Luggage hit the floor as my tired jet-lagged body hit the couch. Ouch. The remote control hidden under the blanket left would leave a bruise on my lower back. Straightening up, tossing the remote control to the side I noticed the japanese maple. It looked strong, mom and dad mustâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve taken good care of it. Its wood was strong, glossy, royal. Its leaves

dried orange reflection of a summer to remember. The green would fade into an aged yellow, then orange, than brown, back to a crisp paper, waiting to be crunched under the rain boots of children, waiting to be crushed back into fibers, nourishment, dirt. But it wasn’t. It was grey. It was grey like the clouds. Like the pebbles its roots dug deep into. Like the fungus growing on its trunk. Like the eyes of everyone. Like the static on the radio. Grey cobwebbed leaves. Dead leaves.

LIU, EMILY. “and then we were One.” October 2017.

were in full bloom, fanned out, casting beautiful green silhouettes on the summer grass.

fall

Fall. Fell. Falling. Faster. That image haunts me Tumbling. still. That beautiful Breaking. japanese maple. The Running. strength. The famil Leaving. iarity. The trunk and Gone. branches that seemed Gone. to hug the world with Lost. a honeysweet natural love. The final time it I thought the leaves would cast its beauwere turning their tiful curved shadow beautiful orange across my backyard. again when the green faded. It was a melancholy optimism, a sun

It was that fall that you left. I braced for the golden leaves to flutter to the ground, but instead they decayed. The green faded. The ISSUE I.II | 33

34 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

CHANG, JASPER.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

no sunrise, no beautiful starlight was safe from our gaze. ISSUE I.II | 35

goodnights, the recounting of our days. Childlike, young love, forced to grow up. The hummingbirds left, as did the joy from that maple tree. As did the joy from us.

“

In the mornings I fight the sun to return to my dreams. Dreams where we never stopped dancing, never stopped talking, never stopped being us.

When the grey leaves finally settled on the earbuds. You chose ground, they made no the thrill of the unsound. known over my futile attempt to create myIt was silent in the self in paragraph long home. Alone, floor text messages. The littered with tearleaves faded, the love soaked tissues. The faded, and we all fell. wind howled broken love songs and the We all fell. maple tree outside broke in its final winter dance. I hoped it was the summer’s fault. My father cut down A summer filled with the tree the other day. sunlight and life that It was like any other somehow overflowed, saturday, yet instead short-circuited our of the alarm clock it maple tree into death. was the whirring of Maybe it was its time, my father’s chainsaw. a sudden heart attack Wood shavings everythat struck without where. I nearly cried. warning. And maybe it was me. I forgot Its winter. to water that tree at times. I forgot to love It’s kind of cold outyou at times. I chose side. Well, as cold as it the blue light of my can get for California. computer games over It’s cold in the mornyour laughter in my ings and the nights. In 36 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

”

the mornings I fight the sun to return to my dreams. Dreams where we never stopped dancing, never stopped talking, never stopped being us. In the nights, I scroll through my camera roll, smiling at the way we seem to be still trapped in those apple live photos. I push my thumb down, watching us laugh in a selfie, laughing in a moment of time untouched by the winter of today.

Something tells me that japanese maple is still alive somewhere. Something tells me a tree that old, that noble, must’ve spread it’s seeds somewhere. I tell myself those seeds are in the backyard

of another teenager, nurturing another young love. Or in the backyard of someone’s grandparents, igniting a smoldering candle into a roaring fire like before. Or maybe it’s free, in the wild, alone, yet never apart from the other trees and squirrels that steal acorns, only to stow them back underneath its familiar roots someday. Somewhere that maple stands, watching, waiting, bending without breaking. And someday maybe it’ll return. It’ll return, as will you, a stranger that knows me better than my closest friends and family. Perhaps I’ll hibernate through this winter. Or maybe warm myself beside the fireplace with someone new. Or lay in bed in an endless dream of what used to be.

CHEN, KELLIE. “BOOM.” 2017.

It’ll return, as will you, a stranger that knows me better than my closest friends and family.

ISSUE I.II | 37

five RAISAH KHAN

However, what students fail to recognize is that high school really is just 5% of life, and if they spend it focusing on their happiness it will fly by a lot faster than if they spend it fighting depression.

ccording to Google, the average person lives to be around 79 years. After divvying up that number, it appears that most of a person’s lifespan is their adult life, which is spent on either making a living or spending time with family or whatever a person might be in to. Assuming that all that

starts after college, that’s about 57 years. This means the first 22 years of life consist of one molding into a person that has their own thoughts, ideas, and beliefs. Four of these 22 years are spent in high school, which is about 5% of one’s entire life. 5% of life that could either be wasted or put to good use. But what

38 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

does that really mean? Believe me, I know the stress and burden of having to get into college, and I’ve had my fair share of mental breakdowns as only a freshman. Not to mention, my parents still want me to go to Harvard, often referred to as the best college in the nation, even though most other kids in the

15 AP classes, and ten extracurriculars. In fact, it takes a sort of superhuman to do all of that. Sure, it’s always a positive thing to have a decent work ethic and try as hard as possible. But a problem emerges when it seems that everything that’s being done is for the sole purpose of getting school gave up a while into the college of top ago on such a top tier choice. It sucks the joy out of living, and I’m school because of its sure many students at low acceptance rate. It’s no secret that the Irvington can affirm this statement. So stress level at Irvington High School is so how can the weight monumental it could of getting into college touch the moon. Bay off be taken off one’s Area kids tend to face shoulders? First of all, pressure from themhigh school really selves, each other, is only 5% of most and especially their parents to be the very people’s life. Some may argue that since best. But how can everyone be the very it’s such a small part of life working really best? hard during that time If being the and getting stressed best means getting doesn’t really matter-into an Ivy, it’s imand again, it’s okay possible for more to work hard, but it than maybe ten to get in from Irvington. should be for the right reasons. It’s better to Not everyone can be pursue passions or the top of their class something of interest with a perfect GPA,

because one will not only be happy but at the end of the day colleges will see them excelling at something they’re good in and like that more. 5% may seem like a little but it’s actually a huge portion of a person’s time on earth. That means for every twenty moments in life, one will be spent being absolutely miserable about grades and how much life sucks. At the end of the day, why do we all want to get into a good college? We want to get into a good college to get a decent job so we can have a lot of money to support our families. We want a better future. However, it’s completely viable to get a desired career without going to Harvard University, and at the end of the day anyone can get the education they want at a lot of colleges. And the fact is, if someone is stressing at a school like Irvington HS of Fremont to ISSUE I.II | 39

the point of depression, they won’t make it at a school like Stanford because the pressure and competition there is the same if not more. 5% of life can easily turn into 10% and even much more. There’s the competition to be better than everyone else, but different people are good at different things, which is why it’s always better to try new things and find what clicks. Signing up for a sport just because it might look good on a resume when in reality what one really wants to do is sit inside all day and draw is actually a worse prospect than it sounds. They’ll spend their time being unhappy and more importantly not reaching their full potential. People confuse full potential for doing as many things as possible, but it’s simply impossible to be good at everything. Quality over quantity. In fact, according to

Fast Company, people who are happy tend to do 12% better at their work. Additionally, there’s always the pressure of parents to get into a good college. No child wants to be a disappointment to their parent. However, what students fail to recognize is that high school really is just 5% of life, and if they spend it focusing on their happiness it will fly by a lot faster than if they spend it fighting depression. The other part of life can be spent doing amazing things, and at the end of the day parents aren’t going to not be proud of just because of one B in freshman year. It’s all relative and rather small in the whole span of a lifetime. And I know for a fact that my parents and I myself would like me much more if I spent my time pursuing my passions and helping those in need-- after all, our world is suf-

40 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

fering-- as opposed to hurting others to get to the top and wasting time with things I don’t care about. Although it’s not true for all, it can be true for most. So at the end of the day, maybe it’s better to quit the rat race for the sake of one’s happiness, their friendships, and their future, and instead join the things they love and surround themselves with people they love. It’s impossible to find oneself if one is so busy finding college.

HUANG, ETHAN. 2017.

ISSUE I.II | 41

42 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

conjunctions GEOFFREY ZHANG

The warm summer breeze flies across the beach, with all of nature reacting. A bird flies by, swooping over some leftovers a neglectful tourist has left behind. Because one man’s waste is another man’s treasure. A squirrel races past, munching on some acorns it found nearby. The tide has suddenly turned from calm to chaotic, but my cousin’s dogs don’t seem to mind. They continue to play catch. A lone fisherman tries to catch whatever fish he can, but continues his eternal struggle to make a living. What happened to “give a man a fish and feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime”? What happened to our cliches? The clouds start coming inland, and what is this? Bitter cold temperatures, on a summer day? I wave this off, continuing to scale a nearby hill, hearing the whoosh of a nearby waterfall. The beauty of nature never fails to amaze. As November winds start to bring us to the bitter cold realization that the year is coming to an end, we all wish to go back to the whimsical summer days, where we could defy logic and yet anything was still possible.

ISSUE I.II | 43

AN ACID TRIP in words And so it seems I have grown up. Yet, I feel younger than I ever have before. I feel small and big and I feel mighty and weak.

I feel like one wrong m feel invincib 44 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

ANOUSHKA SINGAL

move: and I’m dead. But at the same time I ble. God wouldn’t dare to strike me down. ISSUE I.II | 45

was in the woods or perhaps the woods were in me. I feel like that a lot, like the world is upside down and inside out. But the point is, there were woods. There were trees and trees and oxygen and oxygen. I’ve never breathed easier. It smelled like the little car freshener you

“

spite talking enough words to fill the Earth to the brim three times around, they said so so little. But there was one girl. One girl who wouldn’t dare to engage in the nonsense. She walked apart from the rest, all the way in the back, but she was leading them. Somehow. Her eyes were wandering,

the scariest thing in the world. I met her in the summer. A hot, sticky summer night. One of those that just felt hard. Blanket on, blanket off, on, off. She wasn’t scary at first. In fact, she was quite the opposite. She was the girl in the back corner of the classroom. Her hand

The sparks. The lights. Yellow, blue, red, green, orange, purple: the whole spectrum. From me. From her. It was dark that night, but I’d never seen clearer. get at gas stations. That, multiplied by a million. There were humans by me; living, breathing humans. They were discussing little things, things so so small it was laughable. They spoke of regrets and lost opportunities. And I laughed. Because de-

taking apart every tree leaf by leaf. I had spoken to her once before, but I dared not to after that night. Something about her felt too true. She made me see things as they were; she filtered through the nonsense. And that was scary. That was

46 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

”

never up. Her voice never out. I needed a voice that night. Or rather, someone to stop the voices. She was there. I don’t know why. And so we talked, but it wasn’t small. It was the fourth of July at 3:00 am in the mid-

dle of August. Words came easy with her. We spoke so little, and said so much. Perhaps too much. But I didn’t care and she didn’t care and by sunlight our words had risen into the sky and flown far, far away. And then we were strangers. I went back to the woods a few days ago. I went without the noise; without the nonsense. I thought of the words she and I exchanged. The sparks. The lights. Yellow, blue, red, green, orange, purple: the whole spectrum. From me. From her. It was dark that night, but I’d never seen clearer. Nothing does her justice. Because she is alive, and she is the most alive thing, person, being I’ve ever encountered. It’s not safe to call her human for she is far more alive than any human could ever be.

CHEN, KELLIE. “Our Spark Turned Into a Boom.” 2017.

ISSUE I.II | 47

tunnel by emily liu

‘tenl/

I. noun an artificial underground passage, especially one built through a hill or under a building, road, or river. synonyms: underground passage, underpass, subway “a tunnel under the hills” II. noun the place I’ve never taken anyone but You. synonyms: home, my heart “it was in the tunnel that everything familiar could once again be new.” III. noun the end synonym: the beginning “you are the light at the end of my tunnel.” IV. verb to pass through a barrier synonyms: cross, traverse “he tunneled through my soul. he shattered my vulnerability and cut up my insides. he made my warm blood mix with my cold and he made me into a piece of nothin’ special art. he broke me.” V. verb dig a passage through synonym: my secrets “it’s ironic because he tunneled through to my secrets, but that’s where it was supposed to come to a halt.” VI. adjective closest it gets synonym: love “to me, he had tunnel eyes, tunnel hair, tunnel knuckles, tunnel breath, a tunnel soul.” VII. noun covered passageway synonyms: channel, underpass, hole, lies, fantasy “to him, I was a tunnel. to me, he was the destination.” VIII. noun just another end of August adage. 48 | P.ART LITERARY MAGAZINE

GHOSH, SAMRAT. “Tunneled Art.” 2017.

ISSUE I.II | 49

be a P.ART of something bigger