NOVEMBER 2015
NOVEMBER Editor ial Team: Sabrina Chan Insha Khan Karishma Muthukumar Cover Ar tist: Cheryl-Mae Mallabo
TABLE OF CONTENTS President's Note Weekly Writing Submissions Changes Why do you write? Colors Pick a Body Part. Write about it. The Chatterbox The Power of a Mouth The Windows to my Soul? Not Really Feature the Student: Clarissa Gutierrez Pride and Prejudice: Revisited
President's Note 2
Greetings, POPPin?people!
Welcome to December! Wow I can?t believe it?s already the last month of 2015, let?s enjoy it while we can But speaking of December, Pen on Paper 3 has a lot in store for you so get ready and hold on because we aren?t letting 2016 get us just yet 5 before Poetry Out Loud and TEDxWhitneyHigh auditions. Exciting, am I right?If you haven?t heard 7 yet, Poetry Out Loud auditions are on December 4th at 3-5PM in the MAC theatre for all you spoken word lovers. And for everyone who has an idea worth spreading, make sure to come out on 9 December 17th (3-5 PM) or 18th (12:30-2:30 PM) for our annual TEDx auditions. These are 10 some great opportunities and we cannot wait to see what kind of talent our campus holds. Thank 11 you for all your contribution to our club as it FDS grows to different higher heights as we explore what kind of impact we can make together with 12 our words. As I read all your submissions and hello answer all your questions, I can?t express how proud I am to serve as your president this year. I 15 am so lucky to watch this talent and help it grow hello and I cannot wait for the rest of this POPPIN? year together. Good luck and happy December! Signing off, Frances Lee Pen on Paper President
FALL IS A SEASON KNOWN BY THE CHANGING COLORS OF THE LEAVES. WHAT IS A CHANGE YOU WISH TO SEE IN YOURSELF THIS MONTH? POINT OF VIEW- CASEY YOON I look in the mirror and I ask myself, ?Who are you?? What do you mean? We have the same clothes, same hairstyle too Well lately it seems like you?re looking blue Really? And all this time I had no clue Nothing used to bother me. I went about my way willy nilly Picking up for her a bouquet of fresh yellow lilies And things were going well, I could tell I?d groove to the songs by Adele from my Dell But I realized that I had found myself over-analyzing situations Every single nook and cranny was up for deliberation And sometimes I?d make these crazy correlations But did this satisfy me? Did I have a new revelation? I couldn?t know for sure without a confrontation I didn?t have the words, I didn?t know where to start But eventually things just started spilling from my heart And in being completely honest with each other, it didn?t feel so dark Sharing each other?s thoughts and feelings, each of us just doing our part Even if it meant we couldn?t be together, that we had to be apart Maybe the reason that I looked blue was rejection All the time invested with my true feelings and affections But she didn?t mean to hurt me I knew She wouldn?t even hurt any creature that walked or even flew She had made up her mind We were going separate ways - She had hers and I had mine And soon these feelings would settle in time But we always say this line, and to ourselves we would lie In hopes that in a short time, that in the end we would be fine With our goodbyes, but love is blind I ask myself in the mirror today Do you still like her? Do you feel the same way? I don?t know. But I look myself in the eye and say Some things don?t change There?s always gonna be some price to pay Just so that things between us two won?t be so strange Because we were going to see each other anyways Everyday You can?t change who people are But what you can change is yourself and your outlook on life so far See good in everything that other people do See from their point of view
REFLECTION- QUEENA HOANG And when it all goes wrong, will it be you I finally turn to? Will I finally recognize that it was you who grasped my hand tightly Through every step of my journey? Tirelessly trudging along with me as I pulled myself by the skin of my teeth? Through every heartbreak and self inflicted wound, you held my resolve pushing me to keep moving. In the throes of chaos, when I glimpse into the mirror, will you finally be the savior I've been longing to see? Girl in the mirror, I've been searching for my saving grace and you were here the whole time helping me save face, when I was too blind to realize that my hero has been here the whole time. I looked at myself, staring deeper, I see... the hand pulling mine along was actually mine. [The change I wish to see in myself this fall season is to remind myself that I am needed. The sun doesn't need salutations, the mountains are not asking to be climbed, the sea is not dependent on those that swim, and the earth won't cry if you don't plant the flowers. The same law applies to people as well. No matter how much people need me, I am not bound to make them happy but I, myself, need my own touch, energy, art and body.]
FRANCES LEE Was I an idiot? Was I an idiot for believing you when you said you wouldn't tear it into little pieces, as you crushed it into the concrete with the black soles of your shoes? Was I an idiot for letting you shoot me in the back when I turned to walk away from it all? Maybe it was all my fault and you're not to blame. Should I have taken it standing? Sitting down? But I chose to take it as I walked away from you, slowly placing one foot in front of the other as you turned into a stranger. As I stared at the door only three more steps away from me, I turned around to see the barrel of your gun pressed against my forehead. Slowly a tear rolled down my cheek and onto your shoe as I saw your finger pull the trigger and my life became as dark as your soul. I shouldn't have trusted you so easily. I won't let myself next time.
ALL WORK AND ALL PLAY- INSHA KHAN Happy to wake up, excited to get back to work. The day is just six hours until it's my own. All day I worry. "Will she fit that dress?" All day I hope. "Oh the blue! With his eyes!" All day I create. "The full length, the headshot, then the shoes." The colors, the patterns, the shapes circling my mind in harmony. And I come home each day smiling. Because, after all, isn't there a certain glamour to it? The visible contribution to a grand performance, the personally choreographed showcase of my own "editorial prowess", and the big fat magical envelope containing the first letter of the alphabet to keep parents off my track. The last week couldn't have gone better if I had planned it myself. Except, I did. It was my forecasting, my long nights, my due diligence that afforded me this self praise. But one week later, and I know it's all going to be back to the way it was. The way I always am. Avoiding work, binging on Netflix, and crawling back into a hole where I stop giving answers. I stop being an artist. I stop being a writer. I stop being an intellectual. So, honestly, the one thing I hope for myself is to remember what this week was like and strive to recreate that feeling every day.
ESCAPENATHAN NGUYEN ANH VO I writ e. I writ e because nobody l ist ens. My oral speech cannot f ind ears t o l and upon, cannot f ind an audience t o speak t o, cannot make a dif f erence. So I writ e. I writ e because my emot ions inside are dying t o escape, but my voice is t oo f eebl e, t oo nervous, t oo af raid, t o l et t hem out . So I writ e. I writ e because somet imes it 's just not enough t o sit in my room crying int o a pil l ow, screaming "Why me? Why us? Why can't t hings get bet t er?" So I writ e. I writ e because it l et s me creat e my own perf ect worl d, in which my f amil y isn't f ight ing al l t he t ime, in which we can say we l ove each ot her, and mean it . So I writ e.
YOU GOTTA GIVE 'EM A VOICECHERYL-MAE MALLABO I write because you can fabricate worlds by the flick of a wrist. I write because she had a dream of being a novelist, But was shot down so young for writing about cats being painted gold, About clouds holding up the blueness of the sky like paint on a canvas, Or how oceans overflowed with the salty tears of happiness. I write because he said you have to teach them while they?re young Of the heartache of the world, before giving them a childhood. I write because you gotta give them voice; The past, the future, the ones smashed down like bread crumbs Fed to ducks too hungry to understand giving. I write because some days are better than my bed, that Sometimes it?s easier to decorate a document than Tell them what you really mean. Sometimes your words are the only proof that you?re coherent, That you can still work despite the pain.
ETHAN RIGONAN For something so incredible that I never want to forget, for something important so I learn and grow, for something sad so I can appreciate what I have, and for something amazing so I can share with everyone. To see how far my mind can go, to make sure it will never stop or slow, to explore a new world never seen before, and to expand worlds forgotten.I write so that I don't hide anything from myself. I write so that when my mouth is not strong enough to say the truth my pencil will tell no lies. I write to prove that I'm different, but also the same. I write to express myself. I write to be me.
PICK A COLOR, AND JUST WRITE ABOUT IT. A DEATH AT SEA- CRYSTAL WANG Blues, Greens, Whites, Reds No. Blues and Greens. Why are there so many colors so many people and The robes are neither blue nor green. Should we flee the city by boat? And the wise empress: ?Royal purple makes a fine burial shroud.?
SHADES- CHERYL-MAE MALLABO Is there such a thing as the color of loneliness? Do you see it in the crevices between your fingers when Your soul yearns for someone long ways gone? Does it make itself known, next to you in the tint of a darkened room? Whispering passionate tales of lies fed to you once with a bitter spoon? Or was it the illumination of text messages sent after 3 am? Perhaps it was the shade of the sky we last set our eyes on, Before the warmth you had for me became mere formality?
They say that shades of loneliness must be gloomy, veiled in melancholy, But the remembrance of you takes all the colors of the spectrum.
YELLOW SWEATER- NATHAN LAM I never found the reason to why my auntie always wore the color yellow. I'd pay visits to her every now and then, as I had always felt a strong obligation to do so. And I couldn't help but notice the striking monotonous pattern of her applications. Banana colored nails, a pair of yellow wool socks, and a poorly knit, stale lemon scented, yellow cable-knit sweater that I assume she made herself. The color was indeed compelling however. In my mind, yellow had always been a color of brilliance and excitement and joy. But I saw none of such characteristics in my auntie; quite the opposite really. My auntie was a middle-aged woman (in her high forties maybe) quiet, powerless, and submissive woman. She always struck me as a hopeless depressed inferior to which I sympathize. Her face was quite pale with faded spots delicately sprinkled on it and had eyes composed of a dull gray that seemed to sink below her eyelids forming the dull gray circles that hung below. Gray threads streaked throughout her dingy black hair--which I assume she hadn't combed for centuries. Her lips were thin and crusted that occasionally bent with a dull, disingenuous, close-lipped smile that hid her grotesque, dull, yellow teeth. Dangling at her side were pair of pale, middle-aged, yellow-brown liver spotted hands. The shoddy yellow sweater was perhaps the most pleasing thing about her. My auntie lived her life as a servant as she never opposed or argued with anyone. She would do the laundry, the cleaning, the groceries, and the cooking--all in that order. Never have I seen her deviate from such a mundane pattern even if I were to reluctantly pay her a visit. I strolled in through her decaying yellow door on a heated Monday afternoon and she subserviently ran to my feet offering me a cup of coffee as ...
YELLOW SWEATER- NATHAN LAM usual. I, of course, haughtily declined. She then clumsily stumbled across her mountainous piles of clothes as she returned obediently to her laundry. Uncle would come back at around 6:00 as usual with his blood stained hands and his blood stained apron--he was a butcher. The time uncle came home was the time auntie became his slave. Uncle would throw his red stained apron to Auntie and curse at her or something like that. That was the usual. Having had to stay late that evening for personal reasons I do not wish to reveal, I delightfully accepted auntie's congenial invitation to dinner. We were having canned corn and left over chicken liver from Uncle's butchery. 7:00 was the time when we had dinner and I can still remember the foul smell of chicken liver that pervaded the air. Before I do proceed, I apologize, for I cannot seem to recall the following exchange between my uncle and auntie, but I guess it went along the lines of this: Uncle, Auntie, and I were eating our dinner in silence when auntie awkwardly asked me, "How do you like the food, honey?" My response was so rudely interrupted by Uncle's truculent voice: "The food is shit. You always make shit food." And with his thick hand he swung at his meal showering the dull gray carpet floor with chicken liver and yellow corn. Auntie smiled her fake smile as usual and fixed her yellow sweater as usual. "You don't have to speak like that." Uncle pounded the tables with both hands and grabbed Auntie by the collar. "You shut up you useless hag." He threw auntie across the floor by her collar, ripping her sweater from her shoulder to shoulder, exposing her pale speckled back. Uncle stormed out. I scrambled to auntie's side to help her up, noticing the blood trickling down from her mouth. She declined my aid. Auntie so meekly brushed her hair behind her ears and disingenuously smiled-this time however, revealing her unsightly yellow teeth. "Thank you, honey. I'm fine." I told auntie I was calling the police, but she looked at me with the dark red blood now dripping and staining her yellow ripped sweater. To my surprise, she struck me across the face and had the temerity to scold at me to never call the authorities on her "beloved husband." The smell of chicken liver and corn had never been so rancid. Auntie shamefully tossed her ripped yellow sweater into the bin, exposing her yellow bra. She wrapped her hands around her pale arms for a moment then calmly bent down to clean up the mess. I remember visiting auntie the next afternoon, stepping into her yellow door as usual, encountering the lemon scented odor as usual. Auntie was not present to kiss my feet that day, however. Perplexed by the situation, I then decided to approach her room on the top floor. I called for my auntie and followed the usual passive response. I opened the door to Auntie's foul lemon scented room and there she was. Her fingernails freshly polished and yellow wool socks coated around her frail feet, as Auntie smiled with her yellow teeth knitting away at her brand new yellow sweater.
RICHARD YEONG Why is this color detested by all of mankind? A precarious journey from the East to the West ushered the largest catastrophe in history. What should have been a regular journey in prospect of trading goods was a lie. Hostile events? fleas contaminating, rats dispersing? had led to the downfall of the human race. Nothing could have been done to save these poor souls, and one by one, the chapter of each life ends in dismay. An annual night-trip from shopping center to shopping center draws out an alter ego? a different side? in people. As doors open to the wonderful world of item price-drops, people pummel and rummage their way through the aisles to fight for the prized possession, and it ends as a last straw. Nothing can be done to revert these savages back to their normal state, and one by one, the chapter of each life ends in sorrow.
CHATTERBOX BY JASON OOI It?s appearance entails no second thought and its construction is of mere flesh (quite meager the substance, as it tears and scars fairly easily). It is the mouth, ubiquitous, universal, prominent in its position below the nostrils and above the the chin, resting on the variegated visages of every variegated man, woman, and child on this planet. Just as it acts as a unifying characteristic - a mark on all those who bear it - this seemingly inconsequential component has built empires. It has faced hardships, and mouthed toppled kingdoms. The mere mouth, which children are often beseeched to shut is the grand unifier of all life as we know it once opened. The pen is mightier than the sword and a head full of knowledge is the greatest weapon, yet both are nullified with the absence of Mouth. The quiet thinker offers nothing to humanity, dare they not divulge their pensive
thoughts. It houses the tongue, which contorts and taps against these teeth to convey infinities of thoughts. And taste - an at times wordless phenomenon. In fact, what is language without Mouth? Silence. Actions derived solely on inference without verbal confirmations. If language marked the initiation of culture, then Mouth sits above either: the beginning of language. Yet Mouth is no beggar, relying its significance on the presence of the mind?s words for fuel or the car?s penchant for sound. If a picture is worth a thousand of these aforementioned words, then perhaps a kiss is worth a countless more. These lips, blushing pilgrims, propose love - a rather complex emotion - with sincerity through this pervasive front. Mouth?s lips are quite commonplace. But once conjoined, the two pairs form a whole: a, for lack of better
word, indescribable experience. We protect each Mouth with gloss, and sticks of whale fat and beeswax because we understand its significance. As the declaration of a word or kiss brings to the surface emotion from the heart or thought from the soul in an intangible form, the anatomy of Mouth is quite literally the entrance to these vitals. Perhaps it is not by some grand design or scientific bipedal adaptation, but rather, the organs?intrinsic knowledge of this sentiment: Mouth is shrewd - the best bulwark from outside threat.
THE POWER OF A MOUTH By Chr istine Y. K im It has been there since the beginning of time, sitting square in the center of the lower half of all human faces. Big, small, thick, thin, helpful, hurtful, loved, hated. Sometimes crooked and other times perfectly pouty, expressing emotion. Colored or covered, with pigments ranging from soft nude hues to bring and seductive red, other times overshadowed by a meticulously crafted curve of hair or carefully, and painfully, bare. That is the human mouth. Above it are organs useful to take in information: to see, to hear, and to smell. Below it are organs to act upon the information: to grasp, to run, to live. But the mouth is the single most powerful part of our miraculous human body. With it, one can part oceans. Without it, one can passively allow atrocious actions to occur. A mouth brings a voice with it, an insight into a person?s mind, his opinions,
beliefs, and hopes. What does one do with a mouth? Speak up? Stay silent? It may seem as if utilizing a mouth, those two pink slivers, can bring only good. A mouth can defend and fight for its beliefs, but it can also cause harm. A mouth can lead ears awry, tainting the words entering into ears with hate speech and contorted language, encourage an entire nation to support the killing of an entire people. So is it better to keep a mouth closed? Not necessarily. There were millions whose mouths stayed glued together, watching as their peers were abused in their peaceful protests, too afraid or too apathetic to evoke the power of the mouth. But a closed mouth can bring great authority too. Silence can in fact be loud. A mouth closed with open ears can impact lives. It can show love, compassion, even self-control. A mouth opened brings power, but a mouth closed
can do so too. Identity can be rooted in a mouth. Whether the top lip be so thin it is invisible, or both lips be thick and fleshy, a mouth impacts its owner. One can choose to spend his whole life resenting his thick broad lips or her whole life in shame of the thin black hairs that sprouted above her top lip in middle school. He might wonder why his lips are different from his peers?and she might spend her life questioning why she has the spend time, energy, and money to have her raven hairs plucked and pulled or else face embarrassment. But a mouth is much more than its physicality or superficial appearance. What we do with our mouths, using it as a tool to embrace our differences, allows us to love ourselves, big, hairy, lips and all. Lips can love. Loving with words or with physical contact, mouths are intimate. We can speak our most personal and
inner thoughts with our mouths. We can dress in white and seal our vows with our mouths. Kind words, sweet nothings, sultry smiles; our mouths can express love. Thing wrinkly, and well-used mouths can impart wisdom, secrets, and experience to us. Newborn, pink, and tiny mouths can bring us joy and hope. Whatever the mouth, and whatever it may speak or express, we must learn to respect the differences between our mouths, while simultaneously being mindful to utilize these tools to do good, being careful not to cause hurt with them. Afterall, mouths are the doorway to the heart.
THE WINDOWS TO MY SOUL?NOT REALLY. BY SABRINA CHAN They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but in my youth, my eyes were a lasting reminder of exactly what I wanted most to ignore. My eyes separated me from my peers- branding me as an outsider from birth. They reminded me of my heritage, and locked me into the stereotype of ?submissive, little Asian girl.? As a child, I attended a private school in which Asians represented a minuscule minority of the student population, and congenital traits such as eyes and race determined your social standing. My peers, with their large blue eyes, mocked me and my smaller brown ones. They called me derogatory names, squinted their eyes mockingly, and spoke in gibberish, trying to imitate what they believed to be Chinese. I desperately wanted to change my eyes- to fit into their mold of social acceptability- but I just couldn?t. They were a part of me that I couldn?t change, that I couldn?t hide or ignore. I have a distinct memory from around the same time of asking my mom why I looked the way I did, and if there was any way for me to change my eyes in particular. I remember
the disappointment I felt when she told me that I couldn?t, that my eyes were a symbol of my heritage and I should embrace them. In retrospect, I know that she was right, but that didn?t stop me from loathing myself for having eyes that deemed me socially undesirable. The fact that my eyes were so telling of my racial background, what my mom claimed to be their importance, was what drove me to despise them. I wanted to fit in more than anything, to have friendsthough I was never disillusioned enough to actually believe that they would actually be exceptional friends in any regard- and I thought that my eyes were my only barrier. I changed everything that I possibly could about myselfmy hair, the way I dressed, the music I pretended to know and like- to fit their standards, but somehow my eyes deemed me unworthy of their friendship, unworthy of respect. Deep down, I knew that I could never change my eyes and that I would have to live out the rest of my life under the umbrella of social implications that they gave me. To lessen their effects, I tried to ignore everything remotely Chinese to seem like the average American
kid. I demanded lunchables instead of leftover Chinese food from the night before. I woke up extra early on Saturday mornings to watch cartoons so that I could have something to say on the off chance that someone were to bring it up, and didn?t share the fact that I was more well versed in the world of Chinese soap opera than American cartoons. However ?American? I tried to be, I couldn?t shake the thought that no one wholeheartedly bought my act. It took me years to come to the realization that my eyes were a part of me and that they didn?t define me. My eyes were a symbol of my heritage, my roots, an unwavering constant regardless of where life would take me. When I embraced myself and the eyes that I was blessed with, I was finally at peace with who I was fundamentally. I realized that I could denounce all the physical traits that branded me as Chinese, dye my hair bleach blond, contour my face for a slim nose and chin, but I couldn?t change my eyes. My eyes didn?t make me an outsider, my own insecurity did. They made me Chinese, and I had the choice to make of that what I pleased.
FEATURE THE STUDENT: CLARISSA GUTIERREZ Many of you know her as the host of Whitney High School Live, but her talents go beyond the charismatic on screen-persona she shows every morning. Recently published in an anthology called "Emotional Map of Los Angeles", Clarissa is a very skilled writer whose talents have been recognized both in school and out of school.
By I nsha K han
w riting for girls in high YOU WERE RECENTLY school and fortunately, PUBLISHED IN THE I discovered WriteGirl! ANTHOLOGY "EMOTIONAL MAP OF WHAT HAS YOUR LOS ANGELES" EXPERIENCE WITH THE CURATED BY WRITEGIRL PROGRAM WRITEGIRL. HOW DID YOU FIND OUT ABOUT AND THE PUBLICATION OF THIS ANTHOLOGY THIS PROGRAM AND BEEN LIKE? WHAT PROMPTED YOU TO BECOME WriteGirl has genuinely PART OF IT? been one of the greatest treasures of my high I had alw ays been school career because I?ve interested in seeking been exposed to out opportunities and professional w riters in the organizations that industry of varying fields centered around from songw riting to w riting because I w anted to find a place journalism to poetry, and I?ve also been surrounded that w ould not only by a dynamic group of support my creative young w riters that are endeavors, but my passion for expression passionate about sharing as w ell. I had asked my their stylistic ideas. Every person in the program fills English teachers and the room w ith vibrancy counselors if they and positivity and I?m knew about any alw ays so happy to see an journalism environment radiating opportunities and originality. Every tw o many of them suggested that I create years, this mentorship organization develops the my ow n portfolio instead. One day I w as publication of an anthology that focuses on researching online to a certain theme and last see if there w ere any year?s theme w as ?Los L.A.-based programs that fostered the art of Angeles?--the heart and
roots of WriteGirl. Contributing to the anthology required a lot of time and effort in terms of revision, editing, and formulating my piece, how ever, the mentors andeditors w ere all about providing guidance and support. CAN YOU TELL US A LITTLE ABOUT YOUR CONTRIBUTION TO THIS ANTHOLOGY? HOW DOES YOUR WRITING CONNECT TO THE THEME OF ?EMOTIONAL MAP OF LOS ANGELES??
to Los Angeles w ith references to the sandy beaches and picturesque sunsets that alw ays illuminate a vision of skyline silhouettes and palm trees--an illustration of dreams and hopes abound in a concrete jungle. WHAT IS YOUR GO-TO WRITING ENVIRONMENT?
Although I don?t specifically have one special w riting place, I tend to find inspiration anyw here The title of my poem w as and everyw here. ?A Found Wanderer? and Some days I?m enchanted by the it w as essentially about magical hues of a rose breaking aw ay from any garden as I take a ties and constraints that w alk around my prevented me from follow ing the true desires neighborhood, other days I simply w ant to of my heart. Although be in a diverse sea of the anthology?s theme people. As a result, revolved mostly around w henever I?m in a big the vibrancy and rich city like L.A., I find the culture embedded w ith meaning and beauty the City of Angels, there in all that I see. At the w as a large expanse of end of the day, flexibility in terms of w riting my contribution. I how ever, I w rite connected my ow n piece because I w ant to express the human
FEATURE THE STUDENT: CLARISSA GUTIERREZ CONT. emotion that spoken w ords can?t evoke. It is w hen I?m filled w ith hope and the promise of adventure that I w rite for pages and pages. WHAT HAS MOST GREATLY INFLUENCED YOUR PURSUIT OF WRITING? Writing has alw ays been one of my favorite things to do--I w rite for myself and not because I have to do it. As M aya Angelou once w isely said, ?There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.? The w hole concept of sharing a story or idea truly resonates w ith me because expressing w hat you feel or believe is important. As a senior, I am currently flooded w ith tasks and responsibility, but w riting has allow ed me to face the pressures of reality and retain my inner verve alive.
YOU?RE KNOWN TO MANY AT WHITNEY AS THE HOST OF WHS LIVE. HOW HAS YOUR EXPERIENCE ON THE SHOW CONTRIBUTED TO YOUR DESIRE TO WRITE OR VICE VERSA?
as w ell. Although w e?re a small school, w e are truly an eclectic bunch and there?s just so much to learn from each other.
?There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.? - Maya Angelou This is my second year being a part of WHS Live, but as the host I now get to actually interact w ith all of our guests and I learn from them in return. I think that?s my favorite part about WHS Live; I get to hear others share their ow n story--their passions, visions, and opinions. All of this inspires me to pursue my ow n individuality through my w riting
WHAT ARE YOUR RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FELLOW HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS WHO ARE ALSO AVID WRITERS? One of my most prized possessions is this tiny teacup-print ?decomposition? book that I take w ith me w herever I go. I w rite random w ords that I see w hether it?s an
advertisement quote or a funky shop name. Additionally, don?t w ait for the ?right moment? to w rite because the best time to w rite is now ! In all seriousness, remember that your w ords and ideas truly matter, so never stop sharing a part of your story w ith the w orld around you. WOULD YOU LIKE TO EXPLAIN A LITTLE BIT ABOUT THE POEM THAT YOU BROUGHT TO SHARE TODAY? M y poem is left open for a w ide range of varied interpretation, but the overall message is about departure and the drying of a blooming possibility. I think it?s okay to experiment w ith unstructured w riting once in aw hile and not be completely sure about the meaning behind your w ords. The unsolved mystery embedded w ithin your w ork only makes it more alluring and individualized.
THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU BY CLARISSA GUTIERREZ You were out in t he Garden St anding in t he Fade of t he mauve evening; Towering Sunf l owers and t angl ed Weeds. The crisp night air caressed t he jasmine bl ooms and t ouched your raven t resses; The Moon cl osed her eyes and shed t winkl ing t ears of l ight -Serenit y and heart ache. ?When wil l you visit again?? The words of your l ips l ingered, Meet ing an endl ess enigma of sil ence. Few words and f l eet ing moment s; Cycl es of past el magnol ia pet al s and f al l en mapl e l eaves, But t he wint er inside of me f roze f orevermore.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: REVISITED ONE OF THE MOST BELOVED BOOKS OF ALL TIME, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE REMAINS UNWAVERINGLY POPULAR DUE TO ITS UNIQUE RELATABILITY. By M odesty Sanchez Pride and Prejudice portrays the journey of Elizabeth Bennet as her mother tries incessantly to marry her and her four sisters to wealthy and suitable bachelors. She becomes especially relentless in achieving this goal when the very rich and distinguished bachelor Mr. Bingley moves into the neighbourhood, bringing along the handsome, rich, but snobby and rude Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth attempts to keep her sanity through her mother?s thoughtlessness, her father?s indifference, her sisters?lack of decorum, and also her shifting feelings. Jane Austen?s timeless classic brilliantly provides a satire that transcends centurial boundaries and maintains its relevance in today?s society.
This novel has remained one of the most beloved books, not only in English literature, but also of all time, due to its unique relatability. Even today, millions of people can still connect Elizabeth?s problems in an 1800s society to their own. In the book, Austen explores the hostility held by the nobility toward the middle and lower classes and how difficult it is to overcome the animosity society has instilled into the upper class. To many people, this hostility is still driving the upper class today and is what gives them their privileges, as well as explain why they refuse to help or give charity to the lower classes. Additionally, the book gives insight into the importance of maintaining a good reputation, and gives a
detailed and complicated account of the lengths people go to to keep it. Today, all anyone depends on is their reputation and to read about it being threatened and the lengths it takes to keep it is often eye-opening. Finally, the book provides what it is like to fight the feelings one has for another with vivid descriptions and is often what truly connects readers to the novel, since everyone has tried to deny affection they have had for another person at some point or another. Of course, everyone will relate to this novel for different reasons and will find a unique cause for loving it as much as millions of people have. This book truly is a piece of art with beautifully written prose and relatable characters on every page. Hopefully, you will give it a shot and discover the amazing adventure Pride and Prejudice has to offer.