2022 Reflections Literary Magazine

Reflections Literary& Arts Magazine Volume 41 2022

Gabriella Montalvo Colored pencil

CONTENTS

Poetry

Reflection - Anya Gruener ‘24

Love Light- Willow Olrich 23

Los Colores Del Mundo - Luna Mejia ‘23

A Koi’s Life - Miranda Rodriguez ‘23

Drifting Away - Andrea Malpica 24

The Law of Applause - Nirvana Sharma ‘25

Journey to the Edge - Pamela Roussillion ‘23

The Loon Has Seen Thousand Nights - Matilde Barrera ‘25

An 8-Hour Journey for a 180 Twist - Sofia Molinari ‘24

I’m Neira - Erika Travieso ‘24

The Real Ones - Gabrielle Gleason, ‘23

Breathe - Ashley Garcia ‘25

Stuck - Luciana Veloso ‘25

Translucency - Chiara Zecchini ‘23

Father - Mariam Bataineh ‘22

Other Half - Kaya Garcia ‘24

- Sofia Nunez ‘22

Hello - Giovanna Musiello ‘25

Prose

Beauty - Madeline Bramson ‘22

Fairytale - Anya Gruener ‘24

As I Watch - Sammy Diaz ‘22

Zip

Gaby Montalvo Ceramics

Christopher King Ceramics

Photography

Sculpture

From

Daniel Lara Photography

from theEditor

Sara Gelrud Mia Carrasco

FromThank you for picking up the 41st volume of Reflections, our literary and arts magazine!

Noting that we have had 40 past volumes, why do we come back every year with a new publication? Well, why do we create art and write in the first place? Sometimes it’s to pass the time, and other times it serves as a way to release emotions. Every piece of work featured in this publication has its own reason for being and examines different facets of the human existence.

Beauty is all around us and it’s in the process of living that we grow and find ways to express our stories. Reading, along with art, is a global connector. One does not have to read Inferno in his or her native language in order to recognize the beauty of Dante’s verse. Similarly, one does not have to understand Klimt’s “The Kiss” in order to appreciate its grace. Through literature and art, we are able to find comfort in knowing that others share our experiences and that we’re not alone.

This magazine houses a diverse collection of experiences and memories which we hope help you gain empathy, understanding, and inspiration from the people around you. Through these shared experiences, we hope our community is strengthened. You, me, us: we all have a place in the world and this collection proves it.

Emily Miller Oil on Canvas

Anya Gruener

I stare into the mirror and I see my ancestors staring back A mirror passed down through generations

It embodies the strength and intelligence of my forebearers

The mirror, an heirloom, as special as a diamond stone I look at it and hear the voices of those who came before The voices of my ancestors who share the stories of their travels

The mirror fogs like the windows of their ship on that which they traveled The mirror reminds me of those who provided a better life for me I talk to the mirror and express my gratitude for all they did The mirror, a token of those who came before me.

BEAUTY

Margaret Miao Oil Paint on Canvas

Madeline Bramson

What is beauty? Are beauty standards something that we have created in our own minds or something society has brainwashed us into believing? Why do we try so hard to be pretty?

Why do we spend hours picking out our outfits and makeup just to feel only a little bit better?

Why do we hate on people who don’t fit in? Is it because we see what we don’t like about ourselves in them?

And why do we spite people who fit into society’s standards, calling them too perfect or too pretty as if no one is ever good enough?

Why do we allow ourselves to look at magazines and compare ourselves to a photo of someone who doesn’t even look like that in real life?

Everyone knows the effect of the media, and its message, however no one tries to change it, instead trying their hardest to fit in.

We are stuck in a demented cycle of blame and refusal to take accountability and yet no one wants to acknowledge it.

From the time we are children we are taught what is pretty and what is not.

We are taught blonde hair, blue eyes, and an unattainable body are what we should strive for. And we taught this all in the form of the most famous doll, Barbie.

Why do children have to look at their dolls and wonder why they don’t look like that?

Eating disorders are on the rise and society still has yet to learn that it and the impossible beauty standards are the problem.

Why did I grow up looking at everyone else and comparing myself and my weight to them? Why do we grow up thinking that there is only one kind of body? And even though society has become more conscious, it still hasn’t changed.

We used the words “plus-sized” to categorize anything that isn’t “normal.”

We tell each other to love ourselves, but how do we do that when no one else loves how they look either?

Why do we have to resort to medical alterations in order to look “beautiful?”

Why is beauty not defined as something everyone beholds? Why can’t one’s own opinion of themselves be enough?

Why can’t everyone be beautiful?

I ask myself again, what is beauty? And why does society have the right to dictate it?

Katie Lewis Photography

Love light

Willow Olrich

And I want you to know

That the universe couldn’t love you anymore or any less That the world cannot be cruel

By fictive concessions

But people can’t help but have knives for hands Learning, by time to dull blades and turn wrists at the proper moments

I’ll come to know the paths of a maze I never walked

Because my castle isn’t far From that hedge

And you only have so much of an eye for your mind before It turns outwards

And tries to find life’s small pleasures in The tracing of patterns in things That refuse them

William Olrich

The faces of the world

Different people, of all shapes and sizes Each smiling at the other Embodying its diverse nature

Diversity, like a color Without him, the void whitens each individual Leaving stripped of their existence Leaving no color...

Inheritance connecting with each other Holding one's culture in his hand Expression through songs, laughter and smiles. Connecting the colors of the world

Paulino Mercenari Photography

Los Colores del mundo

Luna Meija

Las caras del mundo Diferentes personas, de todas formas y tamaños Cada uno sonriendo al otro Encarnando su naturaleza diversa

Diversidad, como un color Sin él, el vacío blanquea a cada individuo Dejando despojados de su existencia Dejando sin color...

Herencia conectando entre sí Sosteniendo la cultura de uno en su mano Expresión a través de canciones, risas y sonrisas. Conectando los colores del mundo

A Koi’s Life

Miranda Rodriguez

Orange white and black Swirling and swishing about Pond life for the koi

Eva Mesa Watercolor on paper

Ava Seymour Photography

Drifting

The day that I left, I knew we would change. All the time that we spent, We will never regain.

Andrea Malpica

All the laughter and tears, The hugs and the kisses, When we shared all our fears, Our joys and our misses

The plane flew abroad, And took me from you, In tears I saw How my world turned to blue.

A few months have passed, Tried to find a way, For this to ever last, And never drift away.

The knots that we’d tied, Are hard to maintain, They will slowly untie, And not much will remain.

I’ll keep the memories In a treasure box, Every single story, Frozen on the clocks.

I hug you, kiss you From cities away Recuérdame, por siempre, As we drift away.

The LAW of APPLAUSE

Nirvana Sharma

You’ve got the skill of a child who got too much praise Your artwork was designed for applause but never a stage.

To whom it may concern it’ll be called good but never a great

To prove to yourself that you’re one in a billion you show your stuff around for the constant approval of people youdon’t care about

Just so that you know you could’ve done a worse job but was it the artwork or the attention that came with it Sucking you in till there’s nothing left of it

Your screams have been cut out ‘cause what are you if not for the approval of people you don't know, who care way less than you do And the fire in your life starts to slowly fade away, And you can’t remember why you started it, Was it for the applause? The attention?

Or the mere love of art? That dragged you into this What is art? When there’s no one there no one to witness it

Miao Digital

Journeyto the Edge

Pamela Roussillion

When I look at the waterfalls I feel calm

Amidst this feeling is imminent chaos

The sound of the water falling follows the rhymes of a song

The patterns in the water create their own course

The mist at the bottom of the falls is unknown

Which causes our curiosity to grow The suspense as we reach the edge Makes us question what we have done all this time

The water represents the clarity we see The transparency between the two of us Will it ever be you, me and us? Or was our journey not worth it at all?

Julio Degreas Photography

The Loon Has Seen a THOUSAND NIGHTS

Matilde Barrera

I still run on the energy from my cradle and wake up as a beautiful jadeite jade girl with my spine made of tea leaves. I get told to bend myself before trying medication Or some kind of midnight surgery.

I am a loon I wake up dead every morning

The moon cries yet she doesn’t know that I kept my wings under me Until they broke And I drowned myself to be able to sleep.

I used to face the sun for it to burn my chest or for the white spots to turn into a blanket to help me rest. It created a fiery ring, not deep enough to cutto cut deep.

If I begin hurting myself before nighttime once more will my body be sore enough to leave the pain for the morning and the desire for movement for the afternoon?

My bones are leaking broken glass. I fix my posture for tranquility and I get told to wear myself out until I rust So I am nothing when I get in bed, And that’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep With chronic pain And leftover anxiety.

Siqi Li Oil Painting

Sophia Azari Mixed media

An8Hour for a180 Journey

At the ripe old age of 10 I was plucked from my home

Where I had my family, my friends

My customs, my school, my neighborhood Where I was comfortable

Where I was secure, ironically safe, despite

The troubles that surrounded my bubble

I knew everyone and everything I was within my culture, I was within myself at ease I was happy and nothing was abnormal

But then I went on a two week trip abroad Which then turned to three months And then 1 year

And then 3 years And now 6 years

There is no going back Everyone has moved on And everything has changed I’m told it’s better this way

But I can’t let myself think it Because I feel that if I allow myself to immerse

And if I allow myself to accept I will be losing a piece of my identity, A part of my life which I cherish And hold so tightly close to me that it hurts I fear becoming distant from my past Which gets farther and farther away everyday

Sofia Molinari

But there is no point longing for something that is not there I understand that being present in my life now

And looking at the positive side Is something I can choose to do I can choose to absorb what is offered here

While still remembering and keeping a connection to my past But it’s hard to let go

trees

the streets

their loud calls and seeing their vibrant feathers in the bright sun

and humid

careful,

even shady

Amidst meadows and spring palpitations, Cherub likeness, thine youthful countenance Lures to thine lips -- alit with sensations Of new lovers bathed in May’s brilliance

In the depths of summer’s scorching ire Our hearts beat as discordant symphonies

Thine touch needed be to quell this fire Of mind: an equinox epiphany

The autumn’s perpetual state of decay Doth not reflect with its leaves that fall on Thine blazing hair that glints and sways In mine hands and tranquil winds once forgone

Winter, simple and wise, hath naméd thee Mine queen for mine lonesome eternity

Erika Travieso

Daniel Lara Photography

Mauricio Luzardo Digital drawing

the real

Gabrielle GleasonOnes

I felt the cold before I saw the fire

Some angels walked the pavement white You know them bold and full of ire

Full of grief and sick delight

All the world’s best hymns can’t sing

The feeling that those angels bring The ones needing saving aren’t us But I thought we could protect them once Recall their kindness, sweet as honey?

But love of war, just as lovely With smiles as sharp as knives, Those narrowing lost eyes, Hands on weapons they’ve created For vengeance long-anticipated For holy wars so consecrated We’ve forgotten their abuse.

But they have not forgotten. Do they even realize how Broken they’ve become?

Do they know that, now?

What happened to the roses that they grew, What happened to the angels we thought we knew, Now dark-circled eyes and tattered wings, I fear they’ve lost the shape of things, Roses red, fury redder

How can violence be any better Than the goodness and the love Supposedly sent by ones above. But now I see that that’s not true Holy rage does not make love too And all the hurt they’re subject to Must create tears I’ve never seen.

You’ll be hard-pressed to find me looking, For the perfect angels we’ve conceived. I know they’re angry, lost, and mourning, In these angels I believe.

Ludovica Enrico Photography

breathe

Ashley Garcia

Inhale, exhale.

My voice sounding like a raspy smoker While pleading for an inhaler.

Inhale, exhale. My lungs working as hard

As a single parent on a double shift.

Inhale, exhale. My hands reaching out, Yearning for the care of someone else.

Inhale, exhale. My mind racing, pacing, chasing, Practically detached from my aching body.

Inhale, exhale. My body pushing its limits, Waiting for each minute to pass.

Inhale, exhale. My lips pushing against an inhaler, My ears, a flooded lake of commands.

Inhale, exhale.

My throat no longer dry, A sigh of relief escaping my throbbing lips.

Inhale, exhale.

My senses overwhelmed by the sudden intake of air

As my eyes flutter open to see my parents beside me, pushing away the damp hair from my face.

Lucie Duchene Color Pencil on Paper

We are growing and things are changing. The way we view the world around us is different than ever before and everyday something new gets discovered.

It’s all moving too fast and though I am on the same page, it feels as if I am being left behind.

I understand that life is like a moving train and I am definitely on it, however I feel that everybody else is moving way faster and I am stuck at the last stop.

There is nothing wrong with this, but I fear that if I am stuck here for too long that it will only get harder to move on.

And it’s not that I don’t want to move, all I want to do is catch up. I want to get on the train that is life and make it pull me out of this unnecessary stop and take me to wherever my peers may be. The problem is, I can’t. I don’t know how.

I’m stuck on a first floor with a broken elevator and no knowledge of how to fix it.

I am constantly wondering if I am an odd person because of it. The last thing I want is for this situation to affect the way people perceive me, so I spend my time making it seem like I am on the fast train.

I know people say you have to take life moment by moment but I still can’t help but to feel this way. Desperate and stuck.

Luciana Veloso

stuck

7 ‘N Free

Emma Grace Delvillar

Walls filled with lining Holes filled with water

Tears running down my cheek Words pouring over Age getting older I just want to be 7 again

Tears only for when you scrape your knee

Instead of when you feel the world on your shoulders

Scan to Listen

I’d rather be a princess astronaut instead something that ain’t me

Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be 7 ‘n free Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be a kid without people saying

Don’t do this, you’re too mature for that You’re not a child anymore (SO) stop acting so wack You’re being too loud, why don’t you smile more often

“What happened to the little girl”, well she got lost in the clouds Don’t want wanna be a dancing queen, just tell me how to get to Sesame Street Blow out the candles, wish to go back to little tiny pigtails and cuddly cheeks

Cherish those good times, before it’s too late Smile till your cheeks hurt before you know it (cause) Society will push you down, but don’t make a frown Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be 7 ‘n free Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be a kid without people saying

Don’t do this, you’re too mature for that You’re not a child anymore (SO) stop acting so wack

You’re being too loud, why don’t you smile more often “What happened to the little girl”, well she got lost in the clouds I’m working on loving myself, but I love you so you should love yourself too

Stop trying to be older, stop trying to be younger But always in your mind you can stay 7

‘n Free

Sofia Andrade Oil painting

Fairlytale

Anya Gruener

I cracked open the book of fairy tales I was gifted as a child, the stories of pretty and emotional princesses and strong and smart princes. I did not connect to any stories, but still I found myself drawn to the colors and words on the page.

At such a young age my emotions were plastered onto sheets of paper through the form of mere drawings. From drawings of adventurous girls to independent women, each stroke had meaning. As I grew older, I began to replace the colors with words and letters. Putting each piece together to reflect the array of women who went against the mainstream depiction of a female figure.

I myself am the daughter of two Mexican immigrants. Not having a father figure, I was raised in a female driven home. Often the many facets of myself clashed in my eyes and in the eyes of others. My Latino culture proved to be “Machismo” strong, and my views were often met by dissension. Writing gave me a

medium between who I understood myself to be as a female and who others understood me to be. I became unapologetic within my writing. I did not let the bias of others affect that which I wrote. Writing was the only place where I truly felt free to write my beliefs and my feelings.

Each character I created was a different embodiment of what I believed meant to be a woman. Not the stereotypical story of a beautiful naive girl, but one of a powerful and decisive one. I continued forming stories, portraying diverse characters that went against the mainstream tales often shown to young girls, those containing guidelines of how they should act or the criterion they must meet. With each word I wrote, I hoped to make the atypical the new typical.

When a young girl lays her hands on her first book, I wish for it to be a colorful reflection of her inner self, instead of the story of a mainstream girl.

Mauricio Luzardo Digital drawing

Chiara Zecchini

Translucency

Memories are timeless, They usher you into a boundless dimension of ceaselessly shifting realms

They entice you into a pool of remote recollection, compelling you to decipher distant reminiscences of long-ago imprints that left a permanent stamp evermore on your past

Perpetually sculpting a future despite the fact the pedestal will eternally have your past engraved

Yet, underneath the drying clay, lie the core memories that sculpted you to be the person you once sought to be.

Lucie Duchene Digital art

Dad…

Every year, you are our heart.

Every year, you are our soul.

Every year we love you Bigger, larger and more.

Your love fills our life with fragrance, Spreading a floral breeze.

Your sense of humor and wittiness, Make every broken heart laugh.

Your motto is hard work and perseverance; You always push for our success;

You tolerated, worked tireless and hard; You taught us that life is an open book; You are recognized for your wisdom, intelligence and sharpness; You are always the advising father;

You were and still are A man of dignity and goodness. Your sacrifices and love to us are with no limits.

Please forgive us with your tender and forgiving heart.

Mariam Bataineh

Mariam Bataineh Mixed media

Kaya Garcia HALF OTHER

Victoria Moya Oil painting

A and B, the names given before we were born

The comfort of each other’s skin The only thing we knew A faint sound Ba boom ba boom ba boom; The heart beat of my other half Compacted into this safe haven Moving, growing in tandem; familiar yet foreign; Circular and mellow

Together in darkness The womb Like peas in a pod And wings of a butterfly We are united United as one A One that will never vanish

Watch

. Samantha DiazAs I

Elisa Regueros Oil on canvas

I watch you wander through the empty house in a daze. Stumbling through the rooms with no destination in mind.

I watch you twirl the ring on the fourth finger of your left hand, gold and delicate with emerald stones. I don’t recall how I got to our home, I don’t know much about the past few days. You put another casserole, fruit basket, or pie that the neighbors think you’ll have the stomach to eat in the refrigerator. I see the blue light brighten your face and remember when we danced carelessly in the kitchen, awash in the glow of the refrigerator light and warmth of our fantasies. We were filled with the thrill of sharing a home and having a place of our own. We giggled like children about the decor we would put over the mantle piece, where the lit up Christmas tree would go, filled with ornaments we would collect from our trips around the world, the pictures we would hang up in the frames our friends had gifted us as a gesture of good faith in our newest adventure, the dogs and cats that would roam these halls pestering us with never ending piles of fur.

The box on the kitchen counter lay untouched for days until one day, dressed in black, you turned through the contents. Memorabilia from the years packed the box, a mosaic of bittersweet memories for both of us to ache for. I watched from the other side of the room, my figure transparent as you delicately inspected the fragments of our life together.

I watch as the napkin from the coffee shop, that night that everything changed so many years ago, flutters onto the floor. We met in the cold cafe at a water stained booth in the back with our bags slung over our shoulders. This was the same place we had always met, our names carved into the wood grain of the table, laying claim to this as our spot forever. You were bent over your book with your bangs hanging over your face. I couldn’t stop staring. You looked up from the pages of the textbook to catch me and with a careful smile you asked me, “why are you looking at me like that?” A small laugh escaped your lips and I knew I had to tell you the truth. I told you that you were everything to me and I could never only be friends with you. I had to make things right this time. I couldn’t let you slip through my fingers. I couldn’t go another day, month, or year keeping up this charade when your smile could light up my whole world and send me reeling. I knew you had to feel the same way about me. I knew you were struggling with the same feelings. You reached across the table and grabbed for my hand, no words had to be exchanged because we both knew what this was. You asked me if it was wrong for us to feel this way and I didn’t have an answer, but I knew that hiding wouldn’t make this go away. A few years later we would realize we were never wrong for loving each other.

I watch you unfold the letters and notes we exchanged during those years when we were kept apart by distance and the prying eyes of others. We kept it a secret the first year, just hoping to get through school and out of this town. We lived off of secret moments in crowded hallways, dark lit movie theaters, and whispered words. The thrill of sneaking through your garden gate was all we needed. After those first months, we left and never looked back. We had each other and that was enough. We went to no name colleges on opposite coasts, but heartfelt pieces of parchment made their way across thousands of miles each week.

Now I watch you cradle a paper cup, distressed and worn brown from the hot chocolate we shared at the skating rink. The chilly air on the ice made us huddle together as we wobbled in circles while others glided across from us. We attempted to twirl and failed miserably, tumbling to the floor still holding each other’s hand and stand ing back up in fits of laughter. I wiped the flecks of ice from your sweater and you brushed the hair from my eyes. Our first “I love you” exchanged with just a glance, we had moved past the irrational guilt our parents instilled in us long ago. You helped me unlace my boots and I bought us a hot chocolate to keep us warm, although our hearts could keep a fire burning during the coldest winters.

You put the cup down and tears fill your eyes. I’m trapped in this middle ground, yearning to comfort you but my hands can’t catch your tears. I watch as you crumble onto the hardwood floor. The floor is cold to the touch just like me, but you are warm and I don’t know how to tell you that I could never leave you. I rest my head against your shoulder, you can’t feel it, but I know that you can sense me here. We both remember these cherished moments and the grief surrounds us, but you finally have the strength to pull yourself off the ground. Among the photo booth pictures and memoirs of our childish dates and ren dezvous, you unearth a dried bouquet, the most important part of this collec tion. I remember seeing those flowers in your hair, the twinkle in your eyes as I couldn’t stop the tears and laugh ter from escaping me when I caught sight of you next to me, dressed in white. I feel a pang through my chest as I know I will never see that glow in your smile again or the weight of your hand in mine. You stare down at the bouquet with a tear stained face and a wistful smile. You press it against your heart and I know that you will make it through this.

And just like that I watch you put the pieces of our life back together. You close the box with gentle hands, seal ing our lives away just so you can get through the day.

“I rest my head against your shoulder, you can’t feel it, but I know that you can sense me here.”

Sunset

Sofia Nuñez

We were the Sun and the Moon.

Unfaltering paths that lead one behind the other You glowed in the dark, and left too soon I always had my head in the clouds, an inadequate lover Maybe it was raining, and I couldn’t see you clearly

Maybe I thought the moon chases the sun Denial worked like the tides keeping us in a never ending cycle Rising and falling, in sync but not together But I realized you were like everyone else Happiest at Sunset When you got to see me go

Sofia Soler-Baillo Digital Art

Pietra Ingletto Wagner Digital drawing

Hello

Giovanna Musiello

Hello, a simple greeting, a formality, and a gateway to an endless amount of possibilities.

How is it that a single word has the ability to form friendships, love, hate.

Isn’t it truly a marvelous thing?

A word. one word, capable of foretelling one’s future, one’s path, one’s life.

The real question is, should we take the leap?

Should we risk the slim possibility of friendship and love, though it may end in heartbreak?

Is it truly worth it to say hello, when one day, we must say goodbye?

Mateo Acosta-Rubio

Summer-Hot!

Can we quit the funny biz? Do you like me or not?

Almost May in Miami, summer hot outside!

Oh Bummer, I think I’m ready; it’s gold outside

I’m waiting on June

Or maybe July

I ain’t seen nothing like you I just wanna make you lie (awake!)

Can we talk- talk, talk about it?

Can we walk- walk- walk, walk it off?

Oh Bummer, I think I’m ready; it’s gold outside

I’m waiting on June

Or maybe July

I ain’t seen nothing like you I just wanna make you lie (awake!)

Nina Castro Alves Photography

Scan to Listen

Editorial Policy

As the official literary and art magazine of Gulliver Preparatory School, Reflections provides a forum showcasing the wide creative scope of the student body. All students are invited to submit entries throughout the year through the Reflections Literary and Arts magazine website. Submissions are carefully reviewed by the magazine’s student editorial board, who will determine the magazine’s content, theme and visual design. Reflections is part of the curriculum of Gulliver Prep’s Digital Mass Media signature program, through the Principles of Journalism, Multimedia and Design course.

Colophon

The 2022 edition of the Reflections Literary Magazine was printed by Executive Printers of Florida in Miami, FL, with a press run of 700 copies. Designers created the magazine using Adobe Indesign and Photoshop CS6 on iMac computers. Fonts included Montserrat,Gallient, Lora, Helvetica Light, and Helvetica Light Oblique. The 4-color process cover is printed on 80# Dull, with a gloss aqueous coating. The magazine consisted of 88 pages, printed in 4-color process on 80# Dull Text. Reflections features additional online content through our companion website gulliver.life/reflectionslitmag, which is student created, managed and produced. All submissions are reviewed, selected and edited by the Reflections Literary & Arts Magazine editorial board. All literary and artistic work featured in Reflections is created by Gulliver students. We’d like to thank the students of the National English Honor Society and their sponsor Ms. Inelissa Artzt for their collaboration in assisting the Reflections Editorial Board with curating and copyediting the final copy selections.

Daniel Lara

Editors-in-Chief

Mia Carrasco ‘24

Sara Gelrud ‘24

Layout Designers

Ava Burke ‘23

Mia Carrasco ‘24

Valeria Castillo Colmenares ‘24 Lucie Duchene ‘22 Valentina Fernandez ‘25 Julia Fogel ‘25

Oscar Garcia del Rey ‘25 Sara Gelrud ‘24

Andrea Lahrssen Comenges ‘25 Andrea Malpica ‘24 Felix Montesano Van de Put ‘24 Ariella Zecchini ‘25

Alessandra Peña ‘23

Willow Olrich ‘23

Laura Rovira Compta ‘23

Ava Burke ‘23

Copy Editors Adviser

Pamela Roussillion ‘23 Kate Cooper ‘24 Olivia Moreira ‘23

Monica Rodriguez

ONLINE gulliver.life/reflectionslitmag

NSPA Pacemaker Award, 2021

CSPA Silver Crown Award, 2019, 2020, 2021

National Council of Teachers of English, REALM Superior Rating, 2019

FSPA Standout Award, 2018, 2021

NSPA All American 2018, 2019, 2021

CSPA Gold Medalist, 2018, 2019, 2020 *All Columbian Honors

FSPA All Florida Ranking, 2013-2021

Memberships: FSPA, NSPA, CSPA

Daniel Lara Digital Art