Bowsprit 2018 by Tabor Academy

Staff

Authors:

Literature: Head Editor Senior Editors Junior Editor

Lydia Mead Hannah Frisch April Mihalovich Harper McKerrow

Art: Head Editor

April Mihalovich

Layout: Head Editor Senior Editors

Junior Editors

Cindy Bao Liam Bai MinGyu Jung BK Kim Fatima Al Abdul Lateef Mohammed Al-Qasmi Dan Bailey Kelly Chang Hana Liu Lizzie Rouseau Mason Schmitt Lili Vazquez Sherry Wang

Faculty Advisors: Literature Art Layout

Table of Contents

Chris White Tricia Smith Kate Angell

The home of the Bowsprit is:

Artists:

Lydia Baer................................................................................. 2

Ploy Pruekcharoen.....3,13,45,59,72,73,78,79

Riley Knight........................................................................8,11

April Mihalovich................................................4,34,39

Sophia Miccolis...........................................................12,15

Abby Loftus................................................................. 5,3,27

Abby Park................................................................................ 16

Zoe Boardman..................................................................... 5

Danny Shannon.............................................................22

Eric Paliotta............................................................................ 6

Brandon Sherman.......................................................24

Anthony Minder.........................................................7,41

Kate Sparks..........................................................................26

Liz Seero..................................................................................... 7

Blair Lalor........................................................................28,31

Savannah Leao..............9,14,29,45,47,56,60,62

Maggie Adams, Kyla Horton, Aaliyah

Maho Tsutsumi............................................... 20,44,47

Garcia & Amelia Ventouris..............................35

John Do.........................................................................................21

April Mihalovich............................................................42

Cindy Bao.................................................................23,30,55

Annalisa Souza........................................................46,48

Richard Shum................................................................... 23

Alexa Smith.........................................................................52

Madden Sterrett.............................................................25

Abby Shields........................................................................58

Hannah McGuire............................................................ 31

Sofia Vakhutinsky........................................................62

Charlie Dineen.......................................................... 32,80

Gillan Campbell................................................................68

Sydney Mazzarella.....................................................33

Liam Bai...................................................................................74

Zi Nean Teoh.....................................................................33

Cover:

William Wu............................................................ 38,51,73

Cindy Bao..................................................................Layout

Vyper LaTulippe...................................................... 40,41

Henry Knoblauch..............................Outside Art

Lillie Lovell............................................................................ 41

William Wu.................................................. Inside Art

Chris Picard..........................................................................43 Riley Suh.................................................................................49 Dan Bailey.............................................................................50 Poom Siripakorn............................................................. 51

TABOR ACADEMY 66 Spring Street Marion, MA 02738

Lela Krein...............................................................................57

Contacts: cwhite@taboracademy.org tsmith@taboracademy.org kangell@taboracademy.org

Jay Simpson......................................................................... 67

Jake Heo....................................................................................57 Tenzin Chodak...................................................................61 Henry Knoblauch..........................................................66 Kai Johnson............................................................................71 Connor Peterson............................................................ 72

Siblings

Lydia Baer

Katie The one with the long dark hair cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall A smile that makes her eyes crinkle A focus and drive that some may find intimidating But a contagious laugh that Most of us liken to a goose... Ambitious. Taking Control.

Me Who am I? How would they describe me? How should I describe me? Smart? not particularly... Kind? I guess so. Funny? I’m not sure. Weird? Probably. How do I compare myself to them? It’s like comparing a bird or a leopard or an owl to a rock.

Julia The one with sparkling blue eyes piercing into you A nose dotted with freckles Strong arms perfect for giving those firm, comforting hugs And a funny, playful streak Making her often act like shes a carefree kid.

Strong. Playful. Loving.

Camden The one with The wide open Laugh-smile, that consumes his whole face The crazy dancing flailing around like a fish And he’s the one everyone describes as smart he’s the one who I’m most often compared to. Just like Camden! Or more often Camden wouldn’t have done that... Smart. Funny. Protecting. 2

Ploy Pruekcharoen ‘18

Abby Loftus ‘18

Zoe Boardman ‘18

April Mihalovich ‘18

Anthony Minder ‘19

Eric Paliotta ‘19

Liz Seero ‘19

Blackout Poem Riley Knight ‘18

Savannah Leao ‘19

Blackout Poem Translation Riley Knight ‘18 la igualdad es la raíz de la sociedad equality is the root of society

Blackout Poem

Sophia Miccolis ‘18

Abby Loftus ‘18

Ploy Pruekcharoen ‘18

Blackout Poem Translation Sophia MiccolisSophia ‘18 Miccolis ‘ 18

la mujer lucha por los derechos trabaja por la igualdad

woman: fights for rights works for equality

Savannah Leao ‘19

14 14

Chapel Speech Abby Park ‘18 To most, being afraid of the dark is a childish phase that you’re supposed to grow out of. Past a certain age, it becomes obvious that there are no monsters living under your bed or no boogiemen in your closet. But, personally, I have never overcome this fear. Just last month when I lost power during the storm I couldn’t stop my heart from racing as I walked through the darkest parts of my house, my legs itching to run from my illogical fear. I know monsters don’t exist, but my fear remains. So is it really illogical? Probably yes, but bear with me. To me, fear is the most powerful motivator. I’ve heard some people claim that love is “the strongest force in the universe” and I can’t help but disagree. I believe we are all the children of fear. None of our ancestors would have survived, never mind successfully lived long enough to reproduce, if love were the strongest motivator. No. Our ancestors saw a predator and they realized ‘this thing wants to eat me,’ so they ran. And they lived to tell the tale. Maybe there was that one caveman whose strongest motivator really was love and when they saw a predator, they realized it was hungry, so they offered themselves up as a meal out of love for the creature. Altruistic? Yes. Admirable? Maybe. But alive? Definitely not. Arguably, if this altruistic lineage of humans had developed at a time when humans were their own biggest threat, the world would be a better place. But that’s not what happened, so that’s not the point. Fear is a primal instinct that has been so long ingrained into the human race that many do not consider its effect on daily life. We no longer have to run from predators, so our fears have morphed and shifted into new, personalized creatures that reside in our subconscious mind, but still retain the unparalleled ability to motivate us to act completely irrationally under a stressor of our own creation. I consider myself to be a very logical person, so when I unconsciously sprint to my bed after I turn off my light or I can’t walk alone after watching a thriller, I feel uncharacteristically powerless. So, I do what I do best, and I proceed to overthink the entire situation. Now, picture me, laying in the dark, squeezing my eyelids shut in a vain attempt to ignore the haunting feeling that has settled beneath 16

my skin. This is a sneak peek of the dialogue running through my brain: What is darkness? It could be described as the absence of light, which is pretty harmless when you think about it. I mean seriously, what has darkness ever done to anyone? You might have stubbed your toe in the dark, but that’s your fault. The lack of sunlight might make you ghastly pale, but again I would assume it’s your fault if you’re just sitting in a dark room 24/7. There could be a murderer lurking in that dark corner over there. Highly unlikely, but bingo. Darkness robs us of visual reassurance. We can no longer say with 100% certainty that a crazy murderer isn’t sitting in the corner of our room if we can’t see anything, and, well, that can really freak me out. Even though that thought process never makes me feel any less scared, I am able to breathe through my fears and mentally tell myself that I am safe, even if my body might be telling me otherwise. I have come to realize that the dark scares me because I no longer have the confidence that my real fears aren’t standing right next to me. So then really, isn’t a fear of the dark just a fear of the unknown? As a child, our fear of monsters or bad guys occupied our thoughts, but when the world is illuminated, we could debunk our childish fears using visual reassurance. We could check under our beds or in our closets and see for a fact that nothing was there besides maybe clothes or discarded toys. But as young adults, and even as adults, long after our fear of monsters has faded, if the lights cut out and you are engulfed in darkness, an uneasy feeling will settle beneath your skin. But again, what has darkness done to you? Nothing. You fear what’s hiding in the deep recesses of your subconscious. The place where you store your irrational fears that are easily laughed off in the light of day. But, as I said before, fear is a motivator. So even if it does make us feel uneasy or insecure, its existence will forever provide us with opportunity. Have you ever noticed how your heart races in anticipation or excitement? How your body tingles with adrenaline and your chest tightens as your feet reach the starting line or your game’s about to begin? Are you like me? Do you feel the same way when you’re standing at the top of a high building, speaking in public or walking alone in the dark? That’s your body preparing to run away, but like most things in life, with a positive spin it can be used to our advantage. 17

Fear allows us to do incredible things, things we would never be able to achieve without it. Fear allows everyday humans to lift cars to save their kids or people like Tom Boyle Jr. who lifted a Camaro to save a cyclist he had never met before. These feats of greatness are driven by fear, and even though research indicates that humans cannot magically increase their strength to that of the Hulk, but instead have a reduced sense of pain in times of extreme duress, these superhuman abilities provide us with both an opportunity and motive to achieve greatness, even while scared out of our minds. I believe, in a sense, we are currently in a state of darkness. Uncertainty and unknowingness hang in the air as people begin to question some of the foundational aspects of our country. The March for Our Lives stemmed out of fear of the lack of gun regulation and how it can affect our schools and our loved ones. The Women’s March was born from the fear of hundreds of thousands of women that our voices and rights would be lost in the male-dominated power grab in the White House. And in this uncertain time, people have a lot more questions than answers, and, at least for me, the future is unknown. And I’ll be the first to admit it can feel overwhelmingly frightening. But the message of this talk is not political, and instead, my message is simple, and hopefully more bipartisan: I believe we can do great things with our fear. So I’m distraught by how quickly, and almost eagerly, we pulled the covers over our heads as soon as the lights went out. Why are we cowering and pointing fingers in the face of fear instead of using this as an opportunity to use our superhuman strengths to improve the world around us? Because it’s natural. That’s why. And even though I believe our fears have resulted in some of the most detrimental divisions between groups of people, we have to remember the place this is coming from. We are trying to protect ourselves. We are trying to survive. We’re trying to create a safe and beautiful world for our loved ones. And, honestly, I find that incredibly admirable. But, unfortunately, giving into our knee-jerk reactions in the face of fear is inhibiting our progress. We continue to build up walls between groups, isolating ourselves and our loved ones from anything that could hurt us, but also anything that could maybe help make us better. In our rush to ensure our own prosperity we forget what’s going on on the other side of the wall. We ignore that the person over 18

there that might not look like us, or think like us, or maybe they’re even the person who makes you scared to turn off the lights each night, we forget that person has built a wall of their own. That they have loved ones who they would do anything in the world to protect. That the unknown is just as scary for them as it is for us. And we have to acknowledge, even though it’s incredibly challenging, that maybe we’re doing it wrong. And that doesn’t mean we’ve always been doing it wrong, and that’s a hard distinction to make, but the good thing is, no one has to make it. We are the children of fear. It has helped us survive, but I think it’s time for us to grow up. It’s time we all reach our rebellious teenage phase and say “you don’t control me” and dramatically storm out and slam the door. But the next stage is hard. We have to go up to our room and maybe take down the poster of our favorite childhood band or hand down our favorite shirt to a younger sibling or maybe start to disassemble that wall we constructed years ago. And, yes, it’s hard. But you know what’s cool? We get new stuff afterwards! We get to repaint our room and get a new shirt and we have the opportunity to talk to our neighbors and find out, that even though we may not have a lot in common, we both really like dogs. But we never have to forget where we came from. Just because you grow up doesn’t mean your parents stop existing, and just because we’ve acknowledged our response to fear doesn’t mean it disappears. In fact, it’s what provided us with the opportunity for growth in the first place. Being in the dark leaves us in a frightening state of uncertainty, and it takes strength and vulnerability to knock down the walls we built up for protection. But I suggest that you do, because you may find that those walls have been keeping you from seeing the stars.

Maho Tsutsumi ‘18

John Do ‘21

Organic Light

Cindy Bao ‘20

Danny Shannon ‘21 Our world had slowed. The blue-black sky swallowed us. The only light, seeping from the suns sitting light years away. I don’t remember our moon that Halloween night. If it was waxing it’s pitted legs, or waning towards its monthly illusion. But I do remember the smell of dirt. A smell synonymous with youth, nature. That nature that grows desire out of the dirt of our Earth. Our Earth which sits in the discarded light of suns, light that lets us grow our bodies and our souls. It may have been my youth, my human nature that put me on that mound of Earth with you basking in the light of far away suns.

Richard Shum ‘20

Downpour Brandon Sherman â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;20

Cramped and tired the stress sets in A never ending lethargic rain, Sweeps through streets and yards reaching everyone, searching for life. You wish to go out To experience, to live. But the rain stops you. Blankets the sunlight, Shutting you in. The anxiety of a paper due, a test grade coming too. A project in a day or two, no time for friends to help you through. These things pour down with no discretion, Unavoidable and ever present. Assignments build up, breaking you down. Stress reaches up grabs a hold, Will not Can not Let go.

Madden Sterrett â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21

The Four Seasons Kate Sparks â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;21 Spring brought them Together, Showing them the happiness of each other, Summer showed them the joy of staying Together, With another there to guide you, Growing old, Throughout Winter, They stand Together, Huddled away, They protected their frail bodies from the cold As temperature rose, and flora reappeared, Her energy faded, He stood with her, he kept them Together, Kate Sparks Mr. Howland Anxiety transformed his hair gray With heat waves came horrid news, As she lay in bed longer, She remembered them Together; While the greenery turned red, Her memories faded, She told him not to worry, They will soon be Together. And by Winter he stood Alone.

Abby Loftus Abby Loftus â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;18

Blackout Poem

Blair Lalor ‘18

Savannah Leao ‘19

Blackout Poem Translation

Blair Lalor ‘18

Hannah McGuire ‘18

la inmigrante trabaja para la perfección incomparable

Cindy Bao ‘20

the immigrant works for incomparable perfection

Sydney Mazzarella ‘19

Zi Nean Teoh ‘20

Charlie Dineen, ‘19

The Lost Play Maggie Adams ‘19, Kyla Horton ‘19, Aaliyah Garcia ‘19, Amelia Ventouris ‘20 I remember when I would get my report cards back in elementary school, I would open them hoping for all A’s. Just so I could show her. Whenever you got a good report card, Nama would slip you 20 bucks under the table. Mom always told us not to take it, but with the reassuring wink that Nama would flash, we knew it was alright. The day Nama passed, I’m not sure I will ever forget it. I had just finished a day’s worth of lacrosse games. My dad and I were just settling into the two-hour car ride back home when he got a call over the speaker in the car. It was my mom, she was crying, she asked where he was and my dad frantically pressed the button to get her off the speaker, I assume it was so I wouldn’t hear. I knew that Nama had what mom called “a minor heart attack” yesterday but when Dad and I left early this morning, Mom said Nama was doing well. I knew something must have changed. I heard only one side of the conversation, my dad telling her we will be back in an hour and a half and that he will go right to the hospital. Of course, my mind jumps to the worst case scenario, and when he hung up I asked, “Is she dead?” I couldn’t believe I said those words, it seemed so insensitive, I just didn’t know what else to say. His response was maybe the worst it would have been, “Not yet” he said, and began to pick up speed, rushing to be with my mom in the last moments of her mother’s life. I couldn’t believe I was the reason that my mom didn’t have her husband there with her. By the time we got to the hospital, my mom was outside, sitting on the curb with her head in her hands. It was like a scene from a movie. I had no idea what to do. This was the hardest thing that I have ever lost. --Maggie Adams

April Mihalovich ‘18

My goal for the afternoon was to organize my history notes for finals. Finals were the most stressful thing at the moment but I thought I could get it done if I worked over the weekend. My mom came home first, flustered for some reason. Then my brother came down stairs, probably after being summoned by a text from Mom. After that my grandma and father came, also with a strange hurried air. Something was up. “Ok, we have some bad news.” My mind immediately flew to MS and my dad’s job. Was there some horrible progression with my dad’s condition resulting in him being unable to work? Did he get fired because his bosses were jerks? I anxiously listen to what my dad has to say. “Grandpa passed away.” What? I heard a weird noise that sounded like laughter next to me and I saw out of the corner of my eye my grandma’s body shaking. Is she laughing at the death of her ex? That would have been cold. And disrespectful to the rest of the family. I turned my head around and saw my grandmother crying. I rubbed her on the back as some of my disbelief wore off. Oh my gosh. I was confused as if a film was separating my conscious mind from the situation before me. I selfishly thought of finals. How could I get good grades while processing the emotional weight of this situation? I looked over at my mom and saw her with her head tilted up against the back of the coach. Her eyes were wet from tears that she refused to spill. I was dumbfounded. Grandpa was perfectly healthy. He wasn’t sick or in a hospital or anything. --Kyla Horton I never really knew him because he never gave me the chance to. No matter how hard I tried to gain his affection, I was pushed away every single time. His excuse was always, “I’m busy, go somewhere,” but I knew he was never busy because he never left that small, dimlit room with only the light of the television glowing on his face. He would buy me toys and clothes every birthday and Christmas to put on the appearance of love, but these were just luxury items with no real value. These were just so I would shut up. I remember a conversation he had with Nana that I secretly joined in on. “It’s not that I don’t love the kid. It’s tough love.” Tough love. This hurt more than words could ever describe. It was as if my heart was glass, and he delicately placed it on the floor only to stomp on it and shatter it into thousands of tiny pieces. What did I do to him that he couldn’t give me the attention I longed for? Was it all my fault? Was it his? When 36

my grandfather passed away four years ago, there was a feeling of loss. It was the loss of all the pressure put on me to be the best I could be just for his love which, in the end, was never granted. All of my worries and failed attempts were lifted off of my shoulders, and I cried not to mourn, but to feel relief. It’s hard to lose love when it’s never really there. --Aaliyah Garcia

She was one-of-a-kind. Black hair with silver highlights, enchanting emerald eyes, and if you looked at them long enough, you could see the glimmering specks of gold hidden within the green. She was agile and intelligent, but timid. In fact, she never left her room unless it was absolutely necessary. We met a little time after my eleventh birthday, and I knew from the moment our eyes locked that she was going to be more than just a cat. She was going to be a part of my family. China was the tabby cat that I grew up with. She basically hated everything that breathed, well, except me. When I was younger, my family and I would eat at a restaurant where the owner had a beautiful gray tabby cat that she brought with her from China. When the cat had her first litter of kittens, the owner of the restaurant allowed me to keep one. I knew China was the one for me when she fit perfectly in my palm of my hand. I took her home, I bathed her, and from then on, she became mine. We were always together. Krystal and China. China and Krystal. The day she died, I was sitting in my room with her. China jumped on my bed, and she purred as I pet her, just like our first encounter. I think this was her way of saying goodbye to me. After this, she jumped off the bed onto the floor, and within seconds, she was gone. It’s been a over a year, now. Over a year since I referred to myself as Krystal and China. I’m Krystal, now. Just Krystal. It felt wrong at first. I lost something so important to me … but I learned something, too. Losing her has made me appreciate the little things in life. As her owner, it’s my job to tell her story. When you lose someone, human or cat, remember to look at the past and admire what you’ve lost, so that with the memories you gain, you never really lose them. --Aaliyah Garcia 37

For months all my sister was was her room. She turned into it. I forgot what she looked like for a while. And when she finally emerged I couldn’t recognize her. Depression had taken over her life entirely since Adam passed. Adam was her first love. Her high school boyfriend and practically soul mate. He was the best thing that happened for her. Every moment they had, they’d be together. And now she’d never see him again. She struggled back unto her feet and eventually back into dating. Used, cheated time and time again, breaking her even harder. That was until she met Jess. Jess was the one. I finally got my sister back. I remember when she first came out to us, telling me her and Jess is “just a cute little thing I’m doing” but they were so much more. She hid this from me and especially my mom for a while. Soph and Jess’ love was greater than anything I’ve ever seen. Soph’s so happy and so am I. I missed her. Once she was lost, but not anymore. --Amelia Ventouris

William Wu ‘20

Anthony Minder ‘19

Lillie Lovell ‘19

Vyper LaTulippe ‘19

Tired

April Mihalovich ‘18

Do you ever get tired of not being able to do anything without seeking to gain the approval of someone else? It’s hard to “be your own person” and “do you” in a world that values the approval of others as currency. We are taught that we’re not something unless someone says we are but I find it hard to believe that the words that pass through your lips are inherently better than mine. Do you ever get tired of sitting for 75 minutes in our classrooms and talking about the author’s purpose and metaphors and the significance of capital letters and punctuation? We are taught that everything a writer does is chosen chosen chosen for someone else to pick and gouge at until meaning comes seeping out and satisfies the masses. We are taught to look for the meaning between the rows of familiar black symbols but never are we taught to question if they mean anything at all.

and bad jokes and music taste to distract me from everything I try to evade. I’m tired of never being enough for other people, but still relying on them all the same. And I’m pretty damn tired of using other people’s words and beats and pencil lines to express the words I can’t say because my mouth is held shut. I’m tired of being told to strive and achieve and work for justice in a world that refuses to give it to me. I’m tired of being told to get up again and again in a world that pushes me back down harder every time. I’m tired of taking tests and making assumptions and writing depressing poetry and all the things I’m good at even though I shouldn’t have to be. But most of all, I’m tired of having to do it all again tomorrow. Chris Picard ‘19

Do you ever get tired of watching those behind you start to pass by you while you can’t seem to do anything other than watch the lazy clobber of the ceiling fan to slow to a stop above you? You stare and you wonder if five more minutes on the couch will make things better but instead you end up watching life dance right in front of you like a theater performance. You look in from the outside at something that could be shared but isn’t and do you ever get tired of searching and trying and giving just to end up as fruitless as holding water in your hands and watching it seep through the bottom. Because I spend my days sitting in classrooms and spinning the ring on my left middle finger and reminding myself of all the meaning it carries. This ring, this necklace, these bracelets, hold the people and places they came from but somehow all they do is make me more numb and let the memories settle in like getting used to a hole in your mouth where a tooth used to be. I get tired of finding meaning in the meaningless and counting on other people to make me feel something. I’m tired of not being able to be enough all on my own but instead I rely on other people’s smiles 42

Ploy Pruekcharoen ‘18 Savannah Leao ‘19

Maho Tsutsumi ‘18

Blackout Poem

Annalisa Souza ‘18

Maho Tsutsumi, ‘18

Savannah Leao ‘19

Blackout Poem Translation Annalisa Souza ‘18

la creación de oportunidad es posible the creation of opportunity is possible

Riley Suh ‘20

Ava

Poom Siripakorn ‘21

William Wu ‘20

Dan Bailey, ‘18

Story 8

Alexa Smith ‘18

I always told her she set my heart on fire, maybe that’s why I did. Love is strange. I spent my entire life searching for it and then I found it. While I had it, it was powerful, consuming, addicting and good. But then it was cut short. The night it got cut was warm. It was the time of night where the last rays of light made everything just barely visible and the time of year where everything smelled new. I had thought it was the cool summer breeze that made the hairs on my arm stand up. She looked as beautiful as she ever had. Her face was slightly sunburnt and her eyes were gray, eluding the blonde wisps of hair that flew in front of her face. I don’t remember what she said, I thought I would always hold onto every one of her words, but I only remembered how they sounded; soft, like music and good. No matter how perfect they sounded though, they were sending me a message I will remember forever. She didn’t tell me to leave, she didn’t tell me she didn’t love me or that there was someone else, she told me that people like us don’t get happy endings. She told me that it wasn’t in the universe’s plan for us to be together. She told me she was born to leave, and that’s why she had to go now. Then she walked away, and the cool breeze that blew her hair out of her eyes made my tears stick to my cheeks and my body freeze. I wanted her to turn around, but she didn’t. I waited for her to come back, and she never did. Days passed then weeks and months, and the image of her gray eyes never left my head. Soon there were other girls, but nothing could set my heart on fire. So on another warm day, at the time of night where the last rays of light made everything just barely visible, I stood outside in a park. The smell of new this time, was covered by the smell of the gasoline I was dosed in. I prayed my heart would be on fire again and I lit a match.

Meménto, homo, quia pulvis es, et in púlverem revertéris. * I wanted to go back to him. That’s why I went to the ocean, I always thought he had eyes just like the ocean. I used to tell him that too. I moved to the ocean to get away from him. I didn’t even believe in love. How are you supposed to believe in something that isn’t supposed to break but always does? But I didn’t think going to the ocean would only bring me closer to him. I remembered every detail about the day I left him. I remember the soft light that reflected off his green eyes and the way he froze when I said it. Every muscle in his body tensed and he didn’t say another word to me. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to stay. I walked away and every inch of me begged him to call after me. It was for the best that he didn’t. He thought we were meant for each other, but we weren’t. I wasn’t good for him. I actually wasn’t good for anyone. I was a nuclear bomb, a challenge everyone wanted to figure out how to diffuse, and everyone thought they could, until I exploded in their face. I didn’t want to explode and take him with me. I told him people like us don’t get happiness. From the moment we’re born it’s a fight, and it never stops. Happiness isn’t part of the fight if you want to win. What’s the point of fighting if you know you’re going to lose? So one day, looking out at the ocean that I knew to be a part of him, I decided to choose happiness. I decided to choose everything I had deserved and never gotten. I decided to choose him over my inherent fear, and myself. I looked down at the sandy beach below me, then up one last time at his eyes in the waves. Slowly and delicately I reached down and placed the largest rocks on the beach inside my boots. I screamed that I loved him and walked towards his eyes. Fluctuat nec mergitur. * She came to me after she left him. She came to me second, but she came to me. She stabbed me in the back, but I stabbed myself in the heart.

She told me the day that she came to me that she didn’t want anything serious. She wasn’t ready to get hurt again. She came to the ocean to escape him, she said, and it wasn’t working. I thought I was going to help her make it work and for awhile, I thought I did. Some days she seemed good, like she was happy. She would look out into the ocean on the rocks, while I would sit behind her on the beach. You could tell she was beautiful even from the back. Her blonde hair flew out behind her when she held her knees on the rocks. She could stare at that ocean for hours. I personally didn’t see what was so special about it, it looked like all the other oceans in the world, maybe just slightly more green. She would look out nonetheless and I would look at her. I don’t remember what the ocean looked like or the rocks she sat on but I remember every highlight and lowlight in her hair and the way her body curved the same way I remember my own name. She never looked back at me though. She seemed so distant I’m not sure she could even tell you the color of my hair or my last name. Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me then, when she never came up out of the waves. I knew she loved them, but I expected her to love me more. I couldn’t believe that she would leave me the way she did. Her selfishness, although I always knew it existed, had reached a peak I had never expected. But even despite her faults, I loved her and the world with her in it more than I ever could love the world without her. It simply shouldn’t be without her. I needed to be with her again, but I also needed her to know what she did to me. So I took a particularly sharp knife, sat on the beach, and stabbed where it hurt; right through my heart. Ama me fideliter, Fidem meam toto, Decorde totaliter, Et ex mente tota, Sum presentialiter, Absens in remota.

Cindy Bao ‘20

Lela Krein ‘21

Savannah Leao ‘19

Jake Heo ‘21

Peaceful Things Abby Shields ‘21 Sometimes, Peaceful things can get Unnoticed. Either too focused on life And the future. Or too distracted by work And our own little worlds. People don’t have Time, To stop And look.

The ocean; The surface is light. Waves, whisked by the breeze. But how far down does it dare go? The depths Are untouchable, Unreachable. Who lurks Just beneath the shadows?

Look up from your phone, Look up from your desk, Or essay, Or shoes.

The sunset; Glorious colors, Parading at dusk. Melting together Like candle wax. Oozing And dripping into the horizon.

And look; The sun. A little speck of light, At morning. Its rays, piercing Through the trees. Staring. A glimpse of life, Beyond the classroom walls. The wind; Whistles and wails. Howling or light breath, It whispers of a land Far away.

The night; The moon, hovering over Earth. Crickets chirping, Leaves rustling, Owls cooing,

And stars. Winking into your soul From above. The beyond, Just grasping their fingertips. These peaceful things Are the ones that get me through the day. Sometimes, They may be unnoticed. No matter who we are, Or what we do. We have it, But we are never able to spare it. Time. Just to stop, And look.

Darkness. No light, No day, No feeling, Just Calm.

Ploy Pruekcharoen ‘18

Savannah Leao ‘19

Tenzin Chodak ‘18

Broken

She realized something was off the second she stepped into her house. Expecting the usual relief from the warmth, she instead walked into the same blue temperature she had just come out off. Carefully hanging her purse on the hook by the door, she put on her soft pink slippers, and started walking down the hallway. She was going to go check the back door until something caught her eye. The door to her daughters bedroom was slightly ajar. Holding her breath, the woman inched open the door...slowly. Suddenly, she froze. She had heard something. It could have been the breeze blowing through the shattered window, but she knew. She was not alone. She clutched her arms, as if trying to physically hold herself together, and stepped forward. Shards of glass were scattered across the floor and the baby blue blanket covering the bed. The dresser that had once stood opposite the bed was on its side, colorful little skirts and shirts spewing out of it’s drawers, lying a few feet away. Before she could comprehend what she was seeing, she heard a voice coming from the left corner of the room behind her. “ Caroline.” A shudder ran down her spine and she gasped, recognizing the thick raspiness of the voice. “Caroline.” it said again. Exhaling shakily, she slowly turned her feet to face him. He loomed in the corner, the moon casting long grey shadows on the periwinkle wall. A tattered black leather jacket hung off his shoulders, and his jeans were grimy with dirt. A slightly matted pink teddy bear dangled from his right hand. After a few moments he slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze. She could see the wrinkles etched into his face by the years of drinking. The darkness of his hair was interrupted by streaks of grey, and the dark circles under his eyes gave his face a hollow look. He had lost weight, and was shaven, something Caroline was not used to seeing. He tried to step towards her, but almost instantaneously, she stepped back. “Caroline, I-” “Stop.” she said firmly, trying to compensate for her heart breaking out of her rib cage. “Please baby, listen-” Richard, get out of my house.’’ Caroline said, desperately trying to suppress the quiver in her voice.

Sofia Vakhutinsky ‘19

Savannah Leao ‘19

“I just missed her so much, you know, and the bear was always her favorite. I needed to see it again but I needed to see you too, baby please, I still love you-” “You never loved me. And you never loved her.” “You know how I got when I drank, it was an accident-” “ She was our little girl, Richard!” she burst out. The sudden silence stole both of their breaths as it filled the room. Memories flooded through the dam she had spent years building in her mind. The fights. The endless bottles of beer clanking against the kitchen tiles, and even more endless bruises on her body. Smearing concealer onto the occasional bruises on the little wide-eyed face staring back at her. The questioning looks from the teachers and the friends. The two men in suits finally knocking on the door. The feeling of the rough hands on her shoulders, holding her screaming, writhing body back, and her little girl staring out the window of the car driving away. He watched the tears run down her face, and her hands crossed at her chest, gripping her soft purple cardigan. He noticed the moonlight shimmer on her now blond hair, and reflecting off the trails left by the tears on her unchanged face. More than anything right now he just wanted to hold her. He tried to take another step forward, but again, like a reflex, she stepped back. A few moments passed until he finally said in a shaking voice, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too-” “Just leave. Put the bear down and leave.” she almost whispered, swiftly wiping away her tears with her sleeve. “I’ve gotten better...I have a job now and I quit drinking and…” he stammered. “Leave my house right now or I’m calling the police.” He gave her one last look before gently setting the bear down on the ground, and stepping over the glass, was walking out of the room when he suddenly stopped, and turned around to face her. “No, you know what, you need to listen to me for once. You never believed I could change. I know I was bad to you, and to Rachel. No, I wasn’t bad, I was horrendous. And I understand that. But when they finally took her, Caroline, I was willing to give everything up to get her back. I would’ve done anything! But you wouldn’t listen. No, you just shut yourself in, and left me out with nothing. Yet here I am .I’ve been sober for ten years now, by the way. Actually, since that very day, if I remember correctly. I have a new job. I got my own house and-” 64

“You hit her Richard. A five year old girl! My little girl, Richard! You took her away from me, ripped her out of my arms, you-” “Don’t you think I miss her too?!” he cried out. “Don’t you understand the guilt I felt every time I would wake up in the morning, not remembering anything, just seeing the blue and purple marks on her perfect skin? And they took her away from me too, Caroline! Do you have any idea how it feels to know that your daughter can’t live with you because of something you can’t control?! She was my little girl too! She was mine, just as much as she was yours! All those sleepless nights, just wanting to end it all from the pain of not being able to hold her little hand, or push her on a swing set, knowing I can never see her high school graduation, celebrate her first real job, help her move into her first house, or walk her down the aisle. Living with yourself, knowing you will never hear the words “I love you, Dad” ever again. But I did not end it. I suffered through it all because I knew there was still a chance with you. So I changed. I picked myself up. All for you.” Her body gave way and she collapsed onto the bed, holding onto the blanket for what seemed like dear life. Before, she was somewhat able to control her crying, but now her tears were streaming down like rain down a car window, blackening her face with mascara. She was frozen in an expression of agony, her gasping sobs leaving her body like hiccups, the forgotten pain so strong it overcame the noise, leaving her body rocking back and forth in the disturbing silence. He stepped towards her again, and extended his hand out to her. “Don’t you dare touch me”, she said quietly, menace woven through her sobs. Trying again, he took one more step towards her but before he could reach out, she interrupted him again. “ Get away from me!” she screamed, hysteria taking control of her voice. “Go! Get out! Get out of my house, I don’t want to see you anymore! Stay away from me!” Finally he backed up, and with his eyes glistening with tears, turned around and walked out of the room. He paused for a moment before rounding the corner, and turned his head to get one final look at her. “ I hope you find someone who can mend what I have broken,” he said, and walked away, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Jay Simpson ‘18

Henry Knoblauch ‘18

Searching for Dreams Gillan Campbell Where do you see yourself in five years? People often ask. “I’m in high school” I tell them. In five years I will still be figuring out how to live all alone. By myself. Maybe sharing a flat with my best friend? How can you expect a 14 year old to know what they want for the rest of their lives? I thought being a teenager was just us going through phases trying to figure out who you are and how to be happy. Not stressing about college, a job, a place to live, food. Where did all that time go?

What are your dreams? People often ask. Which ones? The ones where I drowned in lava? Got bitten by a snake? Watched my friend die right before my eyes? No, what are your aspirations? They clarify. What do you mean? What are my aspirations? Where are they? How can I find them? Maybe by journeying through Narnia? At least by the end I will get to come out of the closet. Attending Hogwarts? 68

Spending my summers at Camp Half-Blood and aboard the Argo II? Maybe travelling through time and space with the doctor. MY Doctor. Maybe driving cross-country in a battered up 1967 Chevy impala that has been through more than it lets on? Maybe living at 221B baker street with Sherlock. Solving cases, helping Watson write about it? How can I find what I want in life when it’s all been written out for me? Handed to me on a silver platter. You’re going to this school. You’re good at this. Bad at this. Like this. Hate that. Then as soon as I go away, This isn’t middle school anymore. College won’t be like this. You have to choose. Support yourself. Get a job. Stop being lazy. I’m not lazy. I’m stuck. Who am I? What do I want? What do I need? My dreams aren’t aspirations, my dreams are an escape. From the stress of finding aspirations. They are different. Not one in the same like people claim Dreams are confusing. Aspirations are straight forward. Dreams are your subconscious telling you how you feel, what you want, what you need. Aspirations are what you think you want they are what people say you want what you need. What do I want? 69

No one can tell me except myself. So, what do my dreams tell me? They tell me stories. How I’m feeling, what I should write what I want but will never happen, what’s going to happen in perfect, accurate detail. déjà vu, they say.

Nothing except for bliss. My own, unique aspirations. A happiness that is mine to share.

Kai Johnson ‘21

My dreams are my own no one else knows them. Not even the happiest or weirdest ones. My aspirations aren’t mine they are what I think people want, yet also what I’m passionate about. Protesting, standing up for what I think is right, that’s what I’m passionate about. But so are other people. Maybe it is something much simpler… Maybe its waking up at 2 pm walking into your living area, and finding your flatmate and best friend arguing on how to make you waffles. Building a fort with your best friend to stay up all night binge watching your favorite shows. Baking with them in the middle of the night because why the hell not? Playing with your pet dogs, going for walks with them and climbing a tree. Spending the day in your pajamas, helping each other get better when you have the flu. Vlogging together and having the time of your lives, doing stupid things. Taking turns being designated driver. Breakfast in bed on birthdays, ordering in all day. Laser tagging, parkour, rock climbing and skydiving 70

Connor Peterson ‘19

Ploy Pruekcharoen ‘18

William Wu, ‘20

Chapel Speech Liam Bai Fast forward to 2082. I sit at my desk and look outside the window – the world is in ruins. Tiny robots that look like hamsters rule the world. The air is full of dust and smells like locker rooms. There is snow in April. What used to be Uncle Jon’s Coffee is now a mess of scattered bricks covered by spiderwebs. Tabor Academy is now The School Under the Sea. I open up my computer. It’s not a mac, of course. I don’t go to a Prep School in New England. And also, let’s be honest, macs are so useless. Computers nowadays are so much more powerful than those used by primitive humans who watched Netflix every day until they died. By the way, I don’t watch TV shows. Instead, when I’m bored, I run a computer simulation of a virtual world. It’s pretty entertaining really, in case you haven’t done it. I just watch simulated people make a fool of themselves – always some good drama. With no idea that they’re actually just some random computer code, they take everything so seriously. Cracks me up every time. Munching on Cheetos, I make some changes to my program. I start with a fat human baby. I give him two loving parents, who love him and love each other, hands and legs with no disabilities, above average intelligence, the ability to go to school without worrying about money, and most importantly, a laughable yet firm belief that these things are nothing more than what the world owed him. For lack of a better name, I call this kid Liam. I sit back, take a deep breath, and press “run.” Colors flash before my eyes, and the show begins. For a while, it’s pretty lame – he couldn’t do much besides crying and sucking his fingers. On screen, he gradually grew up, became skinny, got a good education from the onset of his life. He hated how his mom tried to control everything he did, and had always dreamed of an adventure to somewhere far, far away, so far that the world would be different from that one that he knew.

One day, as he left school and started walking back home, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he turned around, and saw a strange guy with a big beard that he had never seen before. He told Liam about a mysterious island in the Arabian sea that was filled with gold, diamonds, and other treasures. He also told Liam that HE was the chosen one, the adventurer who would discover and rule this paradise on earth. So Liam set out – he left without saying goodbye. Using money he stole from his parents, he rented a sailboat and hired a sailor. They became good friends. At night, they gazed at the stars and talked about life, sorrows, and wild ambitions. Liam fought a shark with his sword. He tricked his prey by muttering confusing ultrasound signals. He killed birds with his belt and drank their blood to quench his thirst. He talked to fish of different size and color, and confided in them the secrets of his heart. When the golden shore of the mysterious island emerged on their horizon, both boys were dazzled by its brilliance. In his trance, the sailor felt a sudden, sharp pain at the back of his head – Liam’s sword had penetrated his skull. Liam realized – perhaps just moments before the sailor – that an empire like this was not to be shared. He reached the island later that day, climbed on top of a mountain of gold, and looked at all the wealth that belonged to him, and him alone. He named this mountain Tabor, and proclaimed himself king. He hired hundreds of servants, and workers who built him a golden castle. --This is when I quit the simulation – I can no longer stand this cheesy bastard. In my exasperation, I accidently drop some Cheetos on my keyboard and it becomes all sticky. I press a key – it goes down but doesn’t pop back up. What the hell! I bang on my keyboard with my fist, typing in a string of random letters. Suddenly, the program activates and the fat baby Liam appears again. On screen, he gradually grew up, became skinny, got a good education from the onset of his life. He hated how his mom tried to control everything he did, and had always dreamed of an adventure to somewhere far, far away, so far that the world would be different from that one that he knew.

One day, as he left school and started walking back home, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he turned around, and saw a strange guy with a big beard that he had never seen before. He told Liam about this mysterious thing called alcohol, and the dizzy but happy feeling you get after drinking it. Liam tried it and the next day, he came back for more. He bought alcohol with money he stole from his parents and hung out every day with a group of local teenage gangsters. It wasn’t long before he tried drugs and got addicted to heroin. He quit school, was disowned by his parents, and lived on the streets with his reckless friends. They stole from shops and robbed the teachers that used to give them the most homework. In desperate need of money, Liam started selling drugs to his friends at school. These small underground transactions turned into a drug cartel that supplied drugs to public schools all around the country. Eventually, he was locked up at one of the most notorious prisons in the entire country, the Totalitarian Authoritative Bureau of Reform – TABOR, for short. That was where he continued to direct his illegal operations, bribing guards and sending couriers in and out. One day, as he sat in his prison cell and contemplated about life, all the lights suddenly went out. “It must be a power outage.” Liam thought for a fraction of a second. But actually, it was the end of the world. --Cursing, I try to move my laptop away from the coffee cup I knocked over with my elbow. Dammit! I was enjoying this one. I hope my computer’s okay; it’s not responding. Where’s my hairdryer? I find it in the bathroom, point it at my keyboard, and turn on max heat. After a few minutes, my computer lights up again. I let out a sigh of relief. Liam appears again on my screen – not as a drug dealer, but again as a fat baby. The simulation restarts from the beginning. On screen, he gradually grew up, became skinny, got a goodeducation from the onset of his life. He hated how his mom tried to control everything he did, and had always dreamed of an adventure to somewhere far, far away, so far that the world would be different from that one that he knew.

One day, as he left school and started walking back home, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he turned around, and saw a strange guy with a big beard that he had never seen before. He asked Liam, “Hey! Do you want a cookie?” It turned out that this guy had just opened his own cookie shop right around the corner, and was giving out free samples. He made the best chocolate chip cookies that Liam had ever had in his life. It was truly a life-changing experience. Liam left his school at age 14 and set out to America. He studied at this rich boarding school called Tabor, where everyone wore the same yellow boots, worshiped the same professional football player, said the same things when they saw each other (How are you? Good. How are you? Good.), laughed at the same weather jokes, and desperately obeyed the same set of unspoken rules about being cool. He thought it would be easy, just like everything else up until this point in his life, until he walked into Ms. Wright’s Honors Biology class. Every study hall of freshman year, he spent an hour and a half studying biology, and half an hour for all his other subjects combined. He managed to perform poorly in that class despite his intense efforts. After going through 4 years of high school at Tabor, though, he will assure you that that was the single hardest class he had ever taken in his life. One day, Liam decided that he wanted to give a chapel speech about his not-so-interesting life and about the crazy ideas that always kept him up at night. WHAT IF he had become a king who rules over a vast and wealthy kingdom? WHAT IF he had become a drug dealer who manipulates the world from behind the bars of a prison cell? WHAT IF his life – his entire world – is just a simulation created for the entertainment of some random post-apocalyptic loser?

He’s often haunted by the scary feeling that his life – the most valuable and concrete thing he owns – is nothing more than the product of a series of coincidences; perhaps some sticky Cheetos or a cup of spilled coffee had changed it all. How ridiculous would that be? Anything that had ever happened to him could just as well be otherwise. If it HAD been otherwise, his life would turn out to be so drastically different that he wouldn’t even recognize it. He realized, in those moments of emptiness, the fragility of his reality. And the only reason why this reality was somehow more ‘real’ than an alternative one was that this was the one HE lived in. No matter how hard he tried, he could not convince himself that his actions – in this random reality, at this random moment – could possibly have any meaning at all. How foolish and laughable he had been all along. But hey! How could you blame him, though? It was the only story he knew.

Ploy Pruekcharoen ‘18

Charlie Dineen â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;19