Teen Ink magazine - April 2023

By teens, for teens

Special Focus: Environmentalism

Fast Fashion, Coal, & the Planet

National Poetry Month

Dear Teen Ink Readers,

National Poetry Month is hallowed ground for Teen Ink. Our poetry section is by far the most popular, whether it’s measured by visits, submissions, or comments. So every April, when National Poetry Month rolls around, we make sure to feature some of our favorite examples of verse out of the thousands we read every month!

In addition to a super special poetry section, we’re also taking a deeper look into how teenagers feel about the Earth and the environment. As part of the most environmentally conscious generation in history, Gen Z certainly has strong opinions about the state of the planet and how that outcome will affect their future quality of life.

As always, we welcome your feedback! If you want to write a letter to an editor, respond to an opinion article, or just take a stab at creating a poem good enough to make it into our next magazine, visit teenink.com/submit!

Best wishes! The Teen Ink Team

“Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.”

— Plato

ARTWORK BY ZOE LI, SHANGHAI, CHINA

Ultramarine

ARTICLE BY HUILIN TANG, STATEN ISLAND, NY

The glass door closes, opens, then closes again. The Whitney Museum is hosting an Open Art Studio for teens today. My friend and I are more than excited to get our hands on some free supplies. More people walk into the studio, and outside the glass door where the art gallery stands, I see a young woman in a creamcolored winter coat, perhaps still in college, looking at the artwork hanging on the wall in the museum.

would be. However, my parents dislike ultramarine. They say it is too dark, just like unnecessary negative emotions piled up. It gives them an unwelcoming vibe. I never argue with them regarding this color — just like how I never argue with them about anything. I am old enough to understand that those quarrels don’t end well and no one will end up happy. I have learned from experience.

it?” I jokingly said to my father at the dinner table.

His aging face froze for a second, and he replied, “That is not a suitable job for a girl. If you are a boy, I will support you 100 percent. ”

My smile vanished, “Fine then.”

My father noticed my mood change and later explained that it is because as an architect, I might be

With the dim illumination from the ceilings shining on her face, she looks tthe table near the floor-to-ceiling window to get a new canvas to paint. Then, I see my reflection in the window.

The original orange sky is vanishing as the horizon becomes more and more visible, and it seems to include my reflection in the scene, too. I see my favorite color, the most pleasant blue in the world: ultramarine. It starts to expand until I can no longer detect another trace of orange. Ultramarine is such a romantic color. I used to tell everyone I know about how beautiful this color is, how brilliant and dignified its existence is, and how unparalleled the artwork it creates

My parents often ask me what I want to do in the future, and I answer every time that I don’t know. It is not an impressive answer, but it is the truth. My parents have their own list of ideal jobs they want me to pursue. On the top of that list is a teacher. My mom absolutely loves this career. Her reason is that it is an easy and stable job with a good salary and a summer vacation. Most importantly, it is a job that is very favorable in the marriage market since there is a long-standing stereotype that female teachers are good at raising kids and supporting the family. I know teaching is a sturdy profession, but growing up, I have begun to feel annoyed with this stereotype as the emphasis on the teacher is not on how they teach, but on how good it looks to outsiders. I wonder what my mom would think if she applied this logic to her high school teacher, whom she recalls as the “most biased human being alive.” I remember there was a time when I was very interested in being an architect. As a kid growing up in New York City, I had this dream of making my work stand among those worldlevel buildings.

“Wouldn’t you be proud of me if I did

too far from home, and he would miss me a lot.

“It is also a very hardworking job that is just not suitable for a young lady like you. It is not a comfortable job where you will sit in an office all day and draw. Instead, you actually need to go look at the construction sites.”

“I know that,” I interrupted him. I know my expression is full of disappointment, and I don’t want to hide it, either.

I have often heard my parents’ annoying comments about how if this person has a son, his or her life would

I never argue with them regarding this color — just like how I never argue with them about anything

Its flow greets the trees with an autumn vibe and the leaves are falling down toward the sidewalks like golden confetti

be better. They act like those annoying relatives who pressure people to have another kid solely because their firstborn is a girl. I feel this is deeply disturbing, but I can’t really say much, because I know for sure I can not pull up the roots of bias that have been planted in their minds for decades. It is because they grew up in such an environment where these ideas were ubiquitous. My parents both grew up in rural China back in the ‘80s. It was the age of the cult of domesticity, where women are expected to stay home and raise children. It was the age when women’s education was unvalued. However, my mother is an educated woman. She went to college, which many girls in her village were not able to do. She broke many barriers to get where she is now, and yet, the hidden bias that time left behind is still seeded in her mind. I often complain to my parents about why my sole value in this society is to get married early. They laugh at my silliness. “You’re too young,” which is what they often said. “Everyone gets married and has kids, it is just a process that you need to experience.” I have hated this idea from the day I heard it, just like how I hated their other hackneyed, biased views.

Ultramarine is like a battle of generational concepts. I look down at my canvas, which is printed with different hues of blue — most noticeably, the ultramarine that I use to color the ocean. I grab a paper bag on a table nearby and put my dried painting inside. My friend is already waiting near the exit, ready to head outside to go home. The sun has completely set, leaving only a dark night behind. As I walk down the stairs of the museum, I can feel a cold breeze echoing around me. Its flow greets the trees with an autumn vibe and the leaves are falling down toward the sidewalks like golden confetti. I look up at the starry sky. The ultramarine is hiding its trace among the stars.

You might not notice it, but it is always there.

I look down at my canvas, which is printed with different hues of blue, most noticeably, the ultramarine that I use to color the ocean

PHOTO BY ELLIE BRUBAKER, HOUGHTON, NY

My New-Found Hobby

ARTICLE BY ANONYMOUS

The beginning of Covid-19 saw me alone in my room for countless hours of the day. I would be doing one of two things: online school or playing video games. This cycle of waking up, going to school, playing video games, and going to bed was something I could not handle. It was extremely unhealthy, and I could feel myself becoming pale and sick as time went on. So, when my brother walked into my room and asked me to come fish with him, there was no way I could refuse.

My brother quickly rigged up a rod for me, and we made our way down to our local pier. As we walked across the bridge from the mainland to the pier, I could feel a comforting breeze brush against my skin, a kind that immediately told me that I had made the right decision to come.

We cast our lines in the water and waited for fish to bite. If I remember correctly, we ended up not really catching much that day which, for some people, would make them

never want to fish again. That was not the case for me. Even though we didn’t catch much, I ended up riding home with a smile on my face. A smile that was not obtainable through video game victories or good endings to movies, but one that was achieved through peace. I believe that being down at

began fishing almost every day and evolved as a leader to help convince my friends to take a break from video games and come fishing with me. None of us could drive at this time, so biking was our mode of travel. Biking, including the walk to the perfect fishing spot, allowed for consistent physical activity that

the pier with only the lake water in front of me allowed my mind to be at rest.

The peacefulness of being outside, down by the water, watching your rod is something every human should do at least once in their lives. I would like to think of fishing as a type of therapy that helps ease your mind and comforts you. Fishing can be therapeutic for everyone and is a great way to escape our daily lives and step away from the constant noise surrounding us.

Fast forward to a few months later, I

helped relieve tension and improve energy during a time when going out was uncommon.

This experience — discovering how the outdoors can be beneficial — was something I did not expect to come out of such a terrible time for most people. I got lucky and used the impact of being quarantined to discover a new hobby that may not have been obtainable without Covid. I’ve also discovered that whenever I need to free my mind or escape reality, going fishing is a great way to deliver those needs.

PHOTO BY ANONYMOUS

I would like to think of fishing as a type of therapy that helps ease your mind and comforts you

The Taste of

When my little brother and I slide open the pine and rice paper doors of Garam Ggukshi, we see the same ahjummas, middle-aged aunts, all dressed in purple-striped flannels tucked into their black apron skirts and worn-out jeggings.

“Oh my, look who it is! Yeonkyeong! Deoksoon! Come out!” Soonhee Ahjumma shouted.

She hurriedly wipes her wet hands on her apron and rushes to hug me.

“Funny, you smell the same!” I let out a laugh as I hugged her back. All of the ahjummas rush to see us and spread out their arms. Without a jist of hesitation, my brother and I fling ourselves into their arms.

“Oh my gosh, he grew so tall!”

“She’s matured into a beautiful lady!”

“What did they feed you in America?”

The ahjummas joyfully shared with each other, as if we were their own kids who just returned from the military. My cheekbones hurt from smiling too much.

Soonhee Ahjumma leads us to our favorite spot in the entire restaurant: the hidden room in the back with low wooden tables and heated floors. I cannot help but let out a gasp as I reminisce about all the memories I made in this room — my

favorites being the time where I met my uncle’s fiancée, now my beloved aunt, or all the times I played house with their utensils with my favorite cousin. We sit on traditional Korean bangsuks, or cushions, which are now faded and flat. Soonhee Ahjumma cannot hide her smile as she passes out water cups. “How many years has it been? Do you need to see the menu?”

“No, we don’t. Do you still remember our order after all these years?” Dad asks.

“Of course, how could I not? One

The first few months after my immigration, I faced trouble adjusting to the new environment and only speaking in English

Now, as I sat here crying over a bowl of noodles, I realized that Garam Ggukshi was the cure for my homesickness

of my Youth

ARTICLE BY ALISON HWANG, NEWPORT BEACH, CA

ARTWORK BY AKHILA MUSHINI, NORTH ATTLEBOROUGH, MA

kalguksu with extra broth and green onions and salt on the side, extra spicy signature galbi gukbap, and one plate of bossam (boiled pork shoulder sliced with side dishes) with cabbage instead of lettuce, right? It will be right out!” says Soonhee Ahjumma.

It was great to see Soonhee Ahjumma still the same: healthy and happy. I thought of her often in the States. “The food’s here.”

My mouth waters as I carefully blow the steam off of Garam Ggukshi’s kalguksu, my all-time favorite handmade wheat flavor noodles. Sluuuuurp.

“Honey, are you crying? What’s wrong? It doesn’t taste good?” Mom frowns. I’m crying because it tastes like my youth.

As a clueless two year old, I first ate these noodles with my bare hands.

After my first day of preschool, I spilled the soup on my new uniform.

I’m crying because it tastes like my youth

As a five year old, I craved the comforting broth after my disappointing violin recitals.

As a six year old, it was the first meal I had with my new baby brother.

As a seven year old, it was the last meal I had with Grandpa before he lost his battle with cancer.

As a nine year old, I had a spicy bowl of gukbap, hot and spicy soybean sprout soup, two hours before moving to California.

Garam Ggukshi is where I went after church on Sundays, after arriving at the airport from family vacations, the meal of choice for all of my birthdays. It was where I went after bad days and after good days.

The first few months after my immigration, I faced trouble adjusting to the new environment and only speaking in English. I tried to find solace in dining at various Korean restaurants, but none of them came close to imitating Garam’s signature meal. Now, as I sat here crying over a bowl of noodles, I realized that Garam Ggukshi was the cure for my homesickness.

“I’m okay, Mom. Nothing is wrong. Everything is just right.”

“BREAD ON A BREEZY DAY”

BY JESSLYN WONG, BOLINGBROOK, IL

“BLUE BIRD OF SPRING”

BY EVY MANSAT-GROS, GREENVILLE, SC

“VILLAGE LIFE” BY SI CHEN, FREMONT, CA

“GROW FREELY 2” BY WENJIA SU, SHENZHEN, CHINA

SHEIN: SHADY OR SAVVY?

ARTICLE BY SOPHIA HAN, SAN JOSE, CA

PHOTO BY LAUREN KIM, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

$5.36. $7.25. $9.82. These are the prices of clothing listed by the thousands on SHEIN’s website. With such appealing prices, how could anyone resist? As shoppers scroll down endless pages of trendy clothing, they can’t help but purchase every item that catches their attention. “One more couldn’t hurt,” consumers tell themselves — especially not at this price. Slowly but surely, unneeded but irresistible items fill the cart, racking the total into the hundreds. In no other universe would these crazy low prices be possible except in fast fashion’s shady and secretive world.

Oxford Dictionary defines fast fashion as “inexpensive clothing produced rapidly by mass-market retailers in response to the latest trends.” SHEIN started out selling cheap

designs and get rid of the old, it encourages consumers to abandon products after only a few wears, solely because it is “out of style.” Fast fashion affects all areas of the environment, from mercury, lead, and arsenic levels rising in freshwater, to full landfills, extreme water consumption for cotton, and microfabric contamination in freshwaters. Business Insider states that “fashion production comprises 10 percent of total global carbon emissions... It dries up water sources and pollutes rivers and streams while 85 percent of all textiles go to dumps each year.”

wedding dresses, but later turned to female clothing. Its popularity only skyrocketed as teenagers fell in love with SHEIN’s affordable and in-style clothing and bought products in massive “haul”-like quantities. In 2021 alone, SHEIN brought in about $15.7 billion in revenue, hit an all-time high of 43.7 million users worldwide, and increased its valuation by 840 percent (since 2020). These statistics compare fairly well for a solely online store in the fast fashion industry, with giants such as Pacsun, H&M, and ASOS bringing in $797.8 million, $23.07 billion, and $4.54 billion, respectively.

However, taking a deeper dive into the world of fast fashion uncovers dark secrets hidden behind cheap clothing. Because the very purpose of fast fashion is to pump out new

Not only does fast fashion contribute to the decimation of our environment, but the process by which clothes are created is inhumane. There have been multiple reports made by workers in South Asian countries against fast fashion companies such as H&M and Gap, according to the Global Labor Justice Organization. They claim that over 540 workers that work for H&M and Gap have admitted to being threatened and assaulted in their workplace. The Guardian elaborates on this and shares the heartbreaking story of a worker who was yelled at by her supervisor for not meeting the quota, pushed onto the floor, kicked, and beaten across her body. Additionally, Yahoo News shares that consumers have found messages embedded in their SHEIN tags, reading “Help me,” “Send Help,” “SOS,” “I have dental pain,” and “Need your help.” SHEIN denies all claims of cries of help by attributing these concerning messages to mistranslations.

What is left to do? Although it is unreasonable to expect all consumers to shop “cleanly” in our modern-day society, it is vital to make conscious shopping decisions. First, become educated on which stores you choose to purchase from. No company is completely innocent, but it’s better to support companies that have made changes to prevent harm to their employees. Secondly, shop sustainably! Buy only what is needed and stop impulse buying clothes that will eventually go to waste once fleeting trends change.

In no other universe would these crazy low prices be possible except in fast fashion’s shady and secretive world

FAST FASHION:

the global implications of our clothes

ARTICLE BY ISAAC BAI, SOLON, OH

PHOTO BY ARYANA SINGH, NEW YORK, NY

Fast fashion refers to the concept of cheap, trendy clothing produced on a large scale, often paralleling social media and celebrity cultures. The rise of fast fashion has led to the development of microtrends when the “newest look” changes in a blink of an eye. Microtrends consist of specific items in a wearer’s wardrobe that quickly become “out of style” by the time the next trend rolls around. Fostered by social media platforms such as Tik Tok and Instagram, these microtrends have developed into issues far more significant than they seem.

The Sustainability of the Fashion Industry

The fashion industry has skyrocketed in the past two decades, doubling clothing production between the years 2000 and 2014. It has one of the largest carbon footprints, accounting for eight to 10 percent of all carbon emissions in the world, which is more than all maritime shipping and international flights combined. If the fashion industry continues to head down its current trajectory, by 2050, it will account for a quarter of the world’s carbon emissions.

Waste

Clothing takes over 200 years to decompose in landfills; in the process, releasing harmful gasses, such as methane, into the atmosphere. When considering that 85 percent of the world’s clothes end up in landfills, the waste piles up. Companies often throw away unsold apparel: in 2017, Burberry destroyed over $37 million of its merchandise. Moreover, only 12 percent of all the clothes we buy get recycled — when comparing the recycling rates of clothes to other waste materials, such as glass and paper, which are recycled at rates of 27 percent and 66 percent respectively — clothes are clearly falling short.

Water and Microplastic Pollution

The fashion industry consumes over 90 billion cubic meters of water per year to process, dye, and finish fabrics. To make one pair of jeans and a t-shirt, over 5,000 gallons of water are required. By 2050, it is projected that water consumption by the fashion industry will increase by over 50 percent. On top of that, the industry produces 20 percent of the world’s wastewater — consisting of dyes, chemicals, and toxins — which leaks back into the environment. Even more, 35 percent of the microplastics found in the ocean come from the fashion industry’s synthetic fibers. Microplastics have been found in organisms ranging from mussels to bears, tap water, and even human blood. They can be extremely toxic, having possible carcinogenic effects and the possibility of carrying disease-bearing microbes.

Social Implications

In order to accommodate high consumer demand, large fashion companies grow their industries in developing countries. These countries often lack strict and substantial labor laws, allowing fashion powerhouses to exploit the labor of impoverished people. Workers are forced to work 11- to 12-hour days in dangerous, uncomfortable, and unsanitary environments — with wages not even close to scraping the living wage of their home countries. In fact, only two percent of all fashion factory workers earn a living wage.

Furthermore, factory workers, especially women, face

abuse from their employers. In 2018, over 540 H&M and Gap workers reported alleged abuse from their employers. The alleged abuse consisted of rape, assault, gender bullying, and sexual harassment. Several other violations included forced overtime and not allowing women to use the restroom.

The fashion industry continues to abuse and exploit labor from men, women, and children in third-world countries across the globe.

How Fast Fashion Makes This Possible

As the growing influence of social media and celebrity culture shapes the fashion norm, consumers will continue to demand new apparel. In turn, fashion companies continue to harm the environment through unsustainable production practices, and they will continue to exploit the labor of over 250 million men, women, and children across the world.

What Can You Do to Help?

By keeping the clothes you buy for as long as possible, or donating clothes to thrift stores and homeless shelters, you can reduce the amount of clothing entering landfills. By supporting sustainable brands such as C&A and Reformation — who are taking action to reduce toxic chemical use, lower their carbon footprint, and ethically produce their clothing — you are directly decreasing the fashion industry’s impact on our planet. The most effective course of action is to be a conscious spender, and know when and what to buy to save our planet and its people.

If the fashion industry continues to head down its current trajectory, by 2050, it will account for a quarter of the world’s carbon emissions

“WHAT DO I KNOW?”

POEM BY NICOLE QIAN, AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND

You think I am rambling on and on and on

About the prospects of a planet in danger

About the wildlife species which are forced into

An early passing because of our very own actions

And you ask:

What do you know? My little child?

Yes.

What do I know?

I know that in the short 18 years I have been alive

Things have changed a lot. This planet looks less green

There are less oxygen giving plants in the amazon forest

There are more cars on the roads outside my house

And more smoke which comes from the backs of their toxin ejaculating rears

To make the air fill with particles that make Us cough and ill.

I know that there are less species of Eukarya, prokarya and eubacteria

And that our furry friends are slowly Entering their glorified afterlife — Or so they say.

I see that there are less trees

More streets

More rubbish filling up the islands of landfill

That make swimming and walking and wandering less free.

I know that we are drinking and eating

Things that we used to cast away

And that seafood tastes of plastic and they never used to.

I also know that our only home is heating up and There is so little I can do to solve this problem

And I can only hear and see my people dying, starving, fleeing What they know as their life because

There are wars, unemployment, starvation, natural disasters, and Infertility of the soil because what was most abundant

Like H2O have become a sad, blue drop

We have to conserve

And Earth is making a combat

At our lack of appreciation at all it has given us.

Storms, eruptions, earthquakes, floods

And still some of us can sit Pompous and stress free

In the genuine leather recliners

Watching all this happen

Like a weekend getaway at the Broadway theaters

Brothers against sisters

Nature against man

All while sipping your decaf latte

And thinking game theory to next beat your opponent

And make the first move in Welcoming more ka-ching into your

Gucci wallet.

Or, I might also know that there is a group of you

Around the mahogany long table Splitting up rewards of your next policy

Like cutting a red velvet cake And the concerns of me, of us

Way, way down

At the bottom of ‘the’ list.

What do I know?

That I am afraid

I am stressed

I am angry

I am disappointed

That at the people who seem to know so much

Are asking this question to me of ‘What do I know?’

I know, that—

This is no longer the world I was born into nor a world I wish to see in the future

And most importantly,

I know, the continuation in this path Will not lead to a future any of us

Want to live in.

What do I know?

I am not a child anymore.

I am not alone in this anymore. I am not fighting alone anymore. You are not on your freepass anymore.

I will get you to join this.

THE END OF COAL

One day, in the not-too-distant future, most of the industrialized world will have ditched coal as an energy source. Most of the European Union, the U.K., Canada, Israel, and Chile plan to phase out coal by 2030. By 2040, countries like Ukraine, Bulgaria, and Germany will join the coal-free club. Western Europe and most of the Middle East will be coal energy-free zones, with holdouts like Turkey, Serbia, and Poland being the anomaly as opposed to the norm.

Despite the war in Ukraine and the 2021 spike in coal production, coal has entered its terminal decline. There may be a few more production and consumption spikes left, but it is expected that a steady decline in coal use is the new norm. This is excellent news for the planet, given the urgent need to cut greenhouse gas emissions. However, it is important to address the proverbial elephant in the room. China, the United States, Australia, and India have not directly committed to a coal phase-out, merely they’ve pledged carbon neutrality.

While the progress being made in phasing-out coal energy is promising, it is critical to bring both industrialized and industrializing nations to the negotiating table. Without explicit pledges from countries that haven’t committed to a total phase-out, the world’s most polluting fuel will be burned well into the latter half of the 21st century. And when coal is phased out in these countries, an emphasis must be put on replacing the coal generation with renewable generation instead of perpetuating a fossil-fuel reliance through natural gas.

However, there is hope. South Africa wants to sever its coal reliance, but lacks the required funds to properly conduct a just transition. And it is possible that coal power will become too expensive to be profitable in the United States by the 2030s, sealing its fate. Similar situations may play out in India, and even China may eventually reach similar circumstances. But we as a species and a society don’t have the time to wait for that eventuality to occur. We’re in a

climate emergency that demands quick action and large-scale international cooperation.

To look beyond coal and envision the day when the last sooty black rock is burned for our own glee, we need to work together. A global transition plan needs to be created to minimize the impacts on coalreliant communities. Wealthy countries need to help poorer ones develop in a sustainable and environmentally friendly manner. And most importantly, the biggest polluters need to commit to a future of sustainable energy.

Then, and only then, can we declare victory over coal, the fuel that launched the Industrial Revolution, raised living standards, and globally and effectively powered the early modern world. It has been over 250 years since the steam engine was patented, and nearly 150 since coal was first used to generate electricity. The time has come for us to bid farewell to this storied energy source, for both the sake of our planet and ourselves. It is time for the end of coal.

PHOTO BY PEISHAN HUANG, WEST CHESTER, PA

ARTICLE BY LUCA GEIGER, GLENDALE, CA

ART GALLERY

CREDITS

1 PHOTO BY JUNWON PARK, SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

2 PHOTO BY GUO RU, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

3 ARTWORK BY POOJA SUNDARAM, SANTA CLARA, CA

ARTICLE BY ANEESH KRISHNA, SAN RAMON, CA

ARTWORK BY JESSLYN WONG, BOLINGBROOK, IL

Music is something that has existed for centuries. It has connected cultures, people, and generations. Music is something we all take for granted. But lately, it seems that one of the most well-known and ancestral forms of musical entertainment may be at risk.

Orchestras, ensembles of musicians who perform music together for audiences, have been losing revenue and audience members for over a decade.

The pandemic caused complete reliance on donors to keep orchestras afloat. However, orchestras were losing money even

buyers to choose what concerts they go to, giving greater flexibility. Flexibility could be improved further by offering a greater variety of concert packages. Typically, orchestras offer single tickets, customized subscriptions with few concerts and curated subscriptions with many concerts. By uncoupling flexibility and package size, orchestras can increase revenue. Being unable to commit to dates in advance is a major issue for concertgoers. However, this can be remedied with the implementation of a “Flex Voucher,” which allows customers to pay upfront and

orchestra hall, preferred access to single tickets, and adding a “Platinum” label. Interestingly, the latter has the greatest impact on uptake, more than any concrete benefit, as was found in a simulation conducted by the Oliver Wyman consulting company in conjunction with the League of American Orchestras. Of course, this is not suggesting that orchestras should provide no benefits with a Platinum membership, but indicates that they can utilize low-cost benefits, and have a lot of leeway in what they can offer. To further tighten the connection with audience members, orchestras could provide the ability to briefly meet with performers post-concert.

before the COVID-19 pandemic. For example, there was a 24% decrease in the total volume of subscription packages from 2005 to 2015. Orchestras have attempted to combat the decrease in subscription sales by increasing prices. However, the League of American Orchestras states that “if the prices rise much further, people will start walking away in big numbers. Data suggests that for average ticket prices we are within a few dollars of that point.”

Not all subscriptions are failing though. While the traditional, “curated” subscriptions, in which the orchestra determines the program mix and dates, declined in revenue by 17% from 2004 to 2014, customized subscriptions were up by 67%. This trend continued up until the pandemic, which caused a major drop in subscriptions. When surveyed, consumers state that a lack of flexibility and not being able to commit to dates far in advance are some of the biggest reasons for not buying subscriptions.

Customized subscriptions allow

select specific concert dates closer to the performance. Such vouchers allow customers to not have to plan for concerts too far in advance, enabling them to go at whatever point they want within an expiry date.

The relationship between orchestras and consumers has traditionally been highly transactional. However, buyers have grown more and more used to a closer relationship with their suppliers. Orchestras can combat this by offering new types of membership, ones unrelated to ticket buying. These memberships would provide an enhanced experience and prestige with no relation to how often one attended the orchestra. Due to being unrelated to tickets, they would not reduce ticket sales. Since they would contain mostly perks unrelated to the core orchestra experience, the public accessibility of orchestras would not be diminished. Some membership types that orchestras could provide include a VIP lounge in the

After the damage caused by COVID-19, rebuilding from it may be difficult for orchestras. One way to encourage people to attend is by making sure they feel safe. Currently, customers may choose not to attend concerts due to concerns about COVID-19. Orchestras can combat this by sharing the vaccine rates of their patrons with prospective ticket buyers (95% in 2021), which is far greater than the U.S. average (68%). One way that orchestras can move with the times is a change in repertoire, incorporating movie or pop music into their concerts. This is a great method to introduce new audience members to orchestral concerts.

It is evident that orchestras must change how they operate. If they continue to languish in an economic crisis, there is no hope for the industry. As of now, despite the music played by these orchestras being world-class, revenue is lost. After being hit by the pandemic, orchestras are in a critical state. Making changes to their systems is necessary now more than ever, lest the music we love be lost due to a lack of funds.

ORCHESTRAS MUST CHANGE HOW THEY OPERATE ... IF THEY CONTINUE TO LANGUISH IN AN ECONOMIC CRISIS, THERE IS NO HOPE FOR THE INDUSTRY

ARTWORK

THE FANGIRL

dilemma

ARTICLE BY EMMA CLARE BARRASSO, SMITHTOWN, NY

BY LYDIA QUATTROCHI, SOMONAUK, IL

Fangirls are misunderstood.

Yes, you read that correctly. Fangirls are misunderstood.

The girls with the One Direction posters all over their rooms. The girls that live in Taylor Swift merchandise. The girls that worship Harry Styles. They are misunderstood.

Fangirls have thrived for decades.

When I think of early fangirls, The Beatles come to mind.

I have no doubt that the girls who screamed and sobbed for The Beatles were mocked, ridiculed, and labeled as “crazy.” But, as time passed, The Beatles were named the most successful band of all time. The root of their success? Fangirls.

Perhaps think of Elvis Presley. His fans were just as dedicated but labeled as “deranged” and “out of their minds.” Now? Elvis has earned the title “The King of Rock N’ Roll.”

I can’t help but wonder, was the only reason these artists, among many others, earned these prestigious titles because men began to recognize them? Was this yet another example of misogyny in the music industry? When will people begin to realize that fangirls know what they’re talking about? Prince…

Micheal Jackson...

They’ve been supporting these music industry heroes since day one.

Yet every time a new artist has a predominantly female following, they aren’t taken as seriously. Think about Harry Styles. I’m sure you’ve heard that name everywhere recently.

He started with a solo audition on “X Factor,” eventually pairing up with other contestants forming the band “One Direction.” This band became famous for its army of fangirls. Once again, being labeled as “crazy.” Since the band split in 2015, Harry Styles has gone up to the top of the industry, taking his “Directioners” with him

and gaining even more of a following.

He currently is the fourth most listened-to artist on Spotify and is in the middle of a world tour, selling out Wembley Stadium twice and performing 15 nights at Madison Square Garden.

Who did all of this success start out with? The “Directioners.” The fangirls.

Because of these fangirls who are derided at every turn, artists like Styles have been exposed to everyone, even people who might have written them off just for being a pop singers.

So, why should a girl be scoffed at by a man wearing an AC/DC t-shirt in a record store for picking up a pop

album? Why should a girl have to listen to a man go on a harangue about how his pretentious music taste is superior to hers?

Why can’t a girl be able to enjoy the rush of nostalgia or joy a certain artist gives her without worrying about being labeled?

Fangirls’ music tastes aren’t taken seriously. You hear they like one artist and you assume you know everything about them. Maybe the girl with the One Direction posters also likes Metallica. What if the girl who lives in Taylor Swift merchandise also likes Blondie? Maybe the girl who worships Harry Styles also likes Fleetwood Mac.

So, next time you talk to a fangirl, hear them out and make no assumptions — because history has shown that they know what they’re talking about.

WHY CAN’T A GIRL BE ABLE TO ENJOY THE RUSH OF NOSTALGIA OR JOY A CERTAIN ARTIST GIVES HER WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT BEING LABELED?

[FAN GIRLS HAVE] BEEN SUPPORTING THESE MUSIC INDUSTRY HEROES SINCE DAY ONE

THE ETHICS OF TRUE CRIME MEDIA & ITS CONSUMPTION

ARTICLE BY MING WEI YEOH, CHANHASSEN, MN

The September release of the Netflix true crime series “Dahmer” — a dramatized retelling of the life and crimes of the notorious American serial killer — has prompted heated discussion over the ethics of true crime media and its seemingly endless production.

From the O.J. Simpson case to the death of Elisa Lam, various cases of homicides, disappearances, and other horrific incidents are the subject of much intrigue in popular culture. Followers of true crime TV series, movies, books, and podcasts have grown into a massive fanbase, with an equally massive presence on social media. Fan-run accounts dedicated to analyzing and discussing crimes can be found on virtually every platform, and some have even incorporated a variety of unique twists that have expanded the community even further. Content creators will monologue true crime cases in the background of videos where they display other hobbies or activities, such as doing makeup or decorating cookies.

Many believe that both the production and consumption of this content is unethical, a discussion which has resurfaced with the release and blockbuster success of “Dahmer.” Supporters of this side of the debate argue that society should not trivialize real,

horrific crimes by converting them into entertainment for the masses. Among them, it is also widely believed that at times, true crime fans can forget that the victims of these crimes were real people, with lives and families, who should be remembered for more than simply being a prop in an exciting, highprofile case.

As is the case with Dahmer, many victims still have living family members who can be deeply affected by the portrayal and widespread discussion of their loved one’s experiences, which seem to reduce them entirely to the terrible crime they suffered. In some cases — as with the sister of Errol Lindsey, one of Jeffrey Dahmer’s victims — showrunners do not even consult the victim’s family before portraying them on screen. Lindsey’s sister, Rita Isbell, reported feeling as though she were “reliving it all over again” upon seeing the actress recreate her exact words in a scene that was filmed without her knowledge or consent, and reproached Netflix for turning the tragedy of Dahmer’s crimes into a profitgenerating opportunity.

The film and TV industries have a long history of spinning true crime stories into highly profitable hits. Since the ‘60s and ‘70s, Hollywood

and major streaming services such as Hulu and Netflix have pumped out countless recreations of the lives and crimes of the Zodiac Killer, Ted Bundy, Richard Ramirez, and more, each captivating the public’s attention more than the last. It has apparently become such a reliable source of profit that the stories of just a handful of famous serial killers — Bundy and Dahmer in particular — can be recycled and reformatted an infinite amount of times.

But many believe the makers of these films and shows are not the

VIEW BOTH CRIMES

only ones at fault. Fans’ fascination with the killers themselves occasionally also lacks basic sensitivity, with some developing

[FANS] SHOULD...

AND KILLERS IN AN OBJECTIVE LIGHT, AND TAKE INTO CONSIDERATION THEIR IMPACT ON REAL VICTIMS AND FAMILIES

such an intense interest in the motivations and psychology of these people that they seem to lose sight of the basic moral wrongness of their nature. Many fans seem to get so caught up in analyzing and, in some cases, even humanizing these killers that they forget that these were real, terrible people.

On the social media app TikTok, there was a brief craze over Ted Bundy among teenage users, who expressed their attraction to the serial killer and even went so far as to claim they wished he could have made them his victims. While most true crime fans may not go this far with their fascination, many strongly believe they should still take care to view both crimes and killers in an objective light, and take into consideration their impact on real victims and families.

On the other end of the debate, several arguments have been raised in defense of the true crime craze. Rick Nizzardini, a licensed clinical social worker, spoke on the topic with NBC News last summer. He claimed, “These shows touch on the hallmark elements of trauma: a sense of powerlessness, a shattering of our sense of safety in the world and the violation of attachments to family, friends and community. This can raise emotions to the surface that often feel dissociated or cut off from processing, but can be helpful for recovery in the right context.”

Thus, some argue that consuming true crime media can facilitate emotional experiences necessary for achieving a sense of peace and stability in the long run. In fact, simply knowing about these horrific crimes can bring true crime fans a level of reassurement about their own lives.

Citing the words of her friend Neil Gaiman, a notable children’s horror and fantasy author, writer

and true crime enthusiast Kelly Sue Deconnick told NBC, “[Gaiman] says that kids already know dragons exist; what they crave is assurance that dragons can be defeated.” In the same sense, true crime media can provoke feelings of relief and reassurement in consumers, who are comforted knowing that their lives are far more fortunate than those of the victims featured in their favorite stories.

The ongoing discussion is not likely to be resolved anytime soon. As demand for true crime media continues to rise, and new books, movies, and podcasts are steadily churned out to fulfill it, this discussion will only grow more polarized and more relevant to our daily lives. For now, the buzz about “Dahmer” gives us a chance to stop and consider our own values and opinions, prompting us to ask ourselves the

hotly debated question: is the big business of true crime something to be concerned about?

TRUE CRIME MEDIA CAN PROVOKE FEELINGS OF RELIEF AND REASSUREMENT IN CONSUMERS, WHO ARE COMFORTED KNOWING THAT THEIR LIVES ARE FAR MORE FORTUNATE THAN THOSE OF THE VICTIMS FEATURED IN THEIR FAVORITE STORIES

ARTWORK BY KENNY MAN, SASKATCHEWAN,

“LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT” BY AMAYA VERAS, HASBROUCK HEIGHTS, NJ

“BANG” BY TAERIN LEE, PORTER RANCH, CA

“A MUSICAN’S MELODY” BY ALEXA ROBERTSON, GLADE HILL, VA

BY ANTIGONE STANLEY, ADELAIDE, AUSTRALIA

BY KAYRA DAYI, PLANTATION, FL

“OMG”

“POP! CELEBRITY PORTRAIT” BY SKY RAMOS, WESTHAVEN, CT

“DISCO CHICKENS”

The pounding of my feet and the movement of my arms are steady. I close my eyes, silencing the intrusive thoughts, and begin to run. I feel an emptiness as soon as I start. True peace. The noise stops. The shaking stops. The nervous tics stop.

The feeling of my feet hitting the ground is hypnotic. Everything leaves my mind. For once, it’s silent. Sometimes I feel as if I’m floating. I could keep running forever, and I want to. I never want to stop. Running causes all the pain to cease. When you run alone, you can be left with your own thoughts, and sometimes that might be bad. All the negative thoughts are in the forefront of your mind. However, this only makes me run faster. I keep running until the pain subsides. People always talk about a “runner’s high.” They describe it as a deeply euphoric feeling after you run. Well, for me it’s different. I feel the euphoria during the run.

running free

ARTICLE BY ANONYMOUS

Running is the only thing that has ever felt natural to me. In my experience with running, I have felt the most comfortable with my body and with myself.

I only recently started distance running. In my freshman year of high school, I was a sprinter. While I was talented, I didn’t feel welcome. I felt like I looked very differently than everyone else. I was very slim, with little muscle. The environment was very competitive, given the fact that there were only select spots in races to be filled, and they were chosen on who was fastest. People resented me for this reason. I felt as

though everyone hated me. There were only a few people that made me feel welcome. At our first meet, I did very well. People were surprised that I was good. I was constantly reminded how no one thought I was going to be any good until the first meet. In the weight room, I was compared to everyone by the fact that I was weaker. I couldn’t even lift the bar. I was told by coaches and teammates that I didn’t have the typical body of a sprinter, because I was skinny and had long legs.

While I know that people didn’t think twice about saying these kinds of things, they hurt me and it took me a long time to get over it. At the time, I found these comments normal, but now, two years later, I have discovered that this was detrimental to my mental health. This was the beginning of my anxiety and depression.

I started getting anxiety attacks and became a nervous wreck

I was told by coaches and teammates that I didn’t have the typical body of a sprinter, because I was skinny and had long legs

at meets. After finishing at each event, I would shake uncontrollably. I dreaded going to practices, and most of all dreaded the weight room, because everytime I went in there, I would see a constant reminder of how weak I was. I began thinking that I needed to change my body. I wouldn’t talk to

my teammates were yelling at me, and I started having a major panic attack. I couldn’t breathe, and was crying and shaking uncontrollably. The worst part to me was that no one was making sure I was all right. At that moment, I realized this environment was so toxic, and I needed to get out of it.

I was encouraged to run over the summer. The distance coach approached me and wanted me to try cross country. I wasn’t too thrilled with running that much, but was willing to give it a try.

overcome with anxiety. I knew my coaches were there for me no matter what, and if I had a bad race, they were never mad. They were there to help me be the best athlete I could be.

anyone — not because I was shy, but because I was anxious that everyone hated me.

At meets, I was part of the 4x1 relay. The first time I participated, I was not told how to do it, and therefore I messed it up, causing the team to get disqualified. The coaches and

By the end of the first summer practice, I was a changed person. I realized that running can be a positive experience with the right coaching, and kind, welcoming teammates. As the summer ended, I fully immersed myself in cross country. I absolutely loved every minute of it. I felt good while I was running, and during the races, I never had a panic attack, nor was

While my earlier experiences with running had caused me to develop anxiety, running is also what helps it be manageable every day. Running has saved me, quite literally. No matter how rocky my life is, it’s the one thing that stays constant. Everyone has different ways of dealing with their stress. For me, it’s simple. I run. It’s how I cope.

ARTWORK BY HAZEL COLBY, SOUTH PARIS, ME

I realized that running can be a positive experience with the right coaching, and kind, welcoming teammates

While my earlier experiences with running had caused me to develop anxiety, running is also what helps it be manageable every day

WINNING IS 90 PERCENT MENTAL

The ringing of swords echoed off the stadium walls. Blades crashed together, singing with the impact of sword-on-sword. Time was ticking by, but I couldn’t tell. I was focused on my opponent. My eyes burned from the sweat dripping into them. It flowed down like waterfalls on both sides of my face, and a cold, wet trickle ran down my spine. I was close, so close.

It was July in St. Louis, Missouri. The largest and most important event of the season was underway — the 2018 U.S. Fencing Summer Nationals.

I narrowed my eyes, staring down my opponent with determination. The sheer intensity of my gaze should have melted him on the spot. I scoured for a weakness in his mental game as well as in his parries. It is this level of concentration, focus, and courage in the sport of fencing that elevates you to champion status.

I was.

The numerous setbacks I’d overcome this year to get here were now in the past. My muscles were rock-solid from the rigorous hours of training, running, lifting weights and doing foot drills. I blinked once as my mind and thoughts became crystal clear. It’s not just muscles and lightning-quick reflexes that take the best fencers to the top. Concentration, focus, and confidence are even more important. And my focus was as hard as tempered steel from every roadblock that had led up to this exact moment. Each failure prior to this had only served to sharpen my focus.

The nerves were real. “On guard…”

The crowd was silent, and my body went into full lockdown mode.

“Are you ready? Fence!”

This was the moment. This one touch would seal my fate and make all the hardships and painful training sessions worth it. The only thing standing between me and my trophy was time.

ARTICLE BY TEI KIM, DEMAREST, NJ

I was only minutes away from my destiny — be it a failure or a win.

In the first round of competition, I came out strong, defeating every opponent to finish at a solid 10th place. In the next direct elimination round, I defeated close rivals of mine. I was amazed at how smoothly things went after I had felt so nervous at the first match. Touch after touch, my execution was perfect. I finished in second place, completely exceeding my expectations. I smiled from ear to ear at the end of the tournament, and I headed into the next season as the No. 1 ranked fencer. I was thrilled to be ranked No. 1, but anxious to prove

It took me a lot of sweat, pain, and practice to get here.

I’d fought my way into the gold medal match of the Youth-10 Men’s Foil Event, taking a commanding 9-7 lead. I was just one touch short of being crowned the 2018 National Champion. Would I – could I – pull it off this time?

“Are you ready?” the judge asked.

In 2017, I was the No. 7 seed heading into the national tournament. I was extremely nervous about my first national competition. The butterflies in my stomach flew non-stop, hammering against my lungs and heart until I thought my chest would explode. My entire body felt extremely stiff, as though it wanted nothing to do with this competition, the crowds, or me. We were two parts, not one body and mind as we were this year.

I had warmed up with anxiety then, but it quickly melted. I reminded myself that I had endured hundreds of training sessions just for this moment.

I deserved that ranking. I knew how much I would need to work to take my skills one step further than a silver medal, and win gold.

How naive I was. After two months of intense training, I expected to easily win the opening tournament of the new season. After all, I’d won silver at the national tournament in 2016, and I trained even harder for this. But someone else wanted that coveted spot even more than I did, and after advancing all the way to the finals, I met him. His name was Roy. I was thinking I’d easily secure my first gold medal, but Roy had the same thought. My confidence was quickly shattered as he took control of the match to defeat me 10-6.

BLADES CLASHED, SHOES SQUEAKED, AND METALON-METAL SANG A SONG I COULD NOT FORGET

IT’S NOT JUST MUSCLES AND LIGHTNING-QUICK REFLEXES THAT TAKE THE BEST FENCERS TO THE TOP

My parents’ faces revealed their shock at my loss. I understood they were unsettled, but I did not feel the same way. I didn’t like it, but I was comfortable with the loss. I knew each and every mistake I made after fencing Roy for the first time. I knew what I’d done wrong, and I was ready to correct my errors.

Blades clashed, shoes squeaked, and metal-on-metal sang a song I could not forget. Its victory tune was not for me this time. Unlike my first silver medal, the silver medal I’d won that day left a very bitter taste in my mouth, and I was certainly ready to get rid of it.

In the following tournament in November, I encountered Roy again, also in the finals. I was determined to prove to myself that I could defeat him. More importantly, I needed everyone to see how much I had improved. My game plan had been finalized and I was ready to go… or so I thought. I lost 8-0. I failed to score a single point. My parents weren’t even watching the bout midway. Had they given up on me?

I had endured so much pain and growth with each practice, yet for some reason, the puzzle pieces weren’t fitting together. I remember thinking I’d never defeat Roy. I may have been the number one ranked fencer, but it seemed that I had to simply accept that I was the second best fencer. My confidence was shaken, but not my determination. There was no time to waste focusing on my disappointment. The most important competition, the 2018 U.S. Fencing Summer Nationals, was coming up in two months. All I could think of was, how am I going to beat Roy?

After the school year finished, I trained at the club five days a week. Every practice, I trained until I hit the point of pure exhaustion and could do no more. After an hour of

footwork drills, my legs were on fire. My arms felt like noodles after hitting the target at least a thousand times. There were times I cried because of how much pain I was forcing myself to endure.

If my body was weaker after the workout, my mind was growing stronger. Mentally, I never tired. All I could think about was how I finished second at the competition last year. It was like a burning splinter in my brain, taunting and irritating me.

opponent. He blocked me. Then I saw an opening on his torso, and I pushed the tip of my blade into him. BEEP!

I was the national champion!

My emotions were too overwhelming for me. I screamed, jumped, and hugged everyone within reach — friends, brother, parents, and my coaches. I cried tears of pure happiness. I have never experienced that kind of overwhelming feeling before.

My parents told me how proud they were, even when I finished in second place. I knew they were putting on brave faces then, so it felt so good to show them they weren’t wrong in believing in me.

Throughout the season it only made me extremely angry. That memory, and the image of coming in second, fully locked me down on winning the title.

Two months became one month, then three weeks, two weeks, and then the day arrived. The competition started on July 6 in St. Louis. There were 160 competitors fighting for the championship, but none were fighting as fiercely as I believed I was. I desperately wanted to hoist that number one trophy high in the end. But there was just one problem: I was meeting Roy in the Top 16!

If I lost that match, I’d not only show the entire auditorium I wasn’t worthy of being the No. 1 fencer — I’d prove that maybe the ranking was wrong all along and I was just a lucky starter before.

With that nightmare in mind, I gritted my teeth and focused on the No. 1 spot. I stuck to my game plan — exploiting his major weaknesses. It worked.

There I was, with the score at 9-7 in the finals. With less than a minute to go on the clock, I began to attack my

Looking back at the season, at my practices, at the pain I endured, and the mental toughness and doubts I’d had, I learned something more important than what it takes to be a number one fencer. I learned what it takes to be a winner. I learned that no matter how many times you fall down, no matter how many times you feel like you just cannot get better, you get back up and fight. Failure is a good teacher, not your opponent. You look at all the marks around you, and learn from them to erase their traces.

You take the extra step to work hard and to believe in yourself no matter what the challenge. Ultimately, it’s your mind that takes you from being great to being the best. I worked my body hard, but without my mental strengthening and encouragement, I’d have been one of dozens of other fantastically fit fencers. When we work our minds, we learn that we can do so much more than our bodies could ever imagine. Believe in yourself, and your dreams. They are worth every second, minute, or hour you invest in them.

ULTIMATELY, IT’S YOUR MIND THAT TAKES YOU FROM BEING GREAT TO BEING THE BEST

The Physics Behind Figure Skating

ARTICLE BY JOY MERRY, WASILLA, AK

As a figure skater, I can confidently say, figure skating employs a crapton of physics. Different parts of the blade are used to execute various elements such as jumps, spins, and footwork dance sequences. Your arms and legs also play a huge role in creating and minimizing air resistance.

Ice has a low level of friction. When your blade slides against the ice, it melts and forms a tiny layer of water. This process is called sliding friction. The skater deforms the ice through sliding friction in order to propel themselves forward and backward. The faster the skater goes, the more friction is generated. Your skates have inside, outside, and flat edges. Edges, on several areas of your blade, are used to execute footwork.

All of the most impressive jumps (and less impressive jumps) are only possible through employing toe picks. One of the most important things when landing a jump backward is to land on your toe picks and shift to the tail of your blade to stop the rotation. Shifting from your toe picks to between the

rocker and tail of your blade, and extending your arms and legs creates air resistance to stop the rotation out of your jump. In figure skating, we call this a checkout.

When spinning, you use the area of the blade that is called the spin rocker and barely touch the drag pick, in order to minimize travel. Traveling is a term used to describe how much a spin moves from where it started. Every skater has their favorite spot on their blade. It can vary depending on your center of gravity. In a standard one-foot spin or front scratch, to gain speed, your arms and legs should start extended and close into your body as close as possible, to lessen drag and create momentum. When doing a spin of any kind, it’s important to not drag the tail of your blade. This could slow down your spin and could be very dangerous. When doing glides, such as forward spiral, forward grab leg spiral, or forward Chinese spiral, it’s important to stay in the tail of your blade so you don’t end up catching your toe picks and falling forward.

When doing any backward spirals, such as backward Y spiral, Charlotte, or backward grab leg spirals, it’s important to stay in the rocker and drag picks so you don’t catch the tail of your blade and fall backward. Y spiral can be dangerous when done backward, but more so when done forward. Falling forward on a Y spiral while going forward can cause long-term damage if you don’t fall properly. My favorite glide just so happens to be the Y spiral, but doing it forward caused my first patella dislocation.

Your arms and legs, in addition to your blades, are extremely important components in figure skating. Figure skating requires a ton of physical strength to create momentum and sometimes carve through it. There is also the artistic aspect of using your limbs creatively and elegantly to create illusions. Different areas of your blade keep you in balance and help create an array of movements. Figure skating is so much easier to appreciate when you know how much work and perseverance it takes to make the sport elegant.

PHOTO BY ELLA BARRIE, HARTLAND, WI

ART GALLERY

CREDITS

1 ARTWORK BY ALEXANDER HERMAN, LINESVILLE, PA

2 ARTWORK

3 ARTWORK

BY SKY RAMOS, WEST HAVEN, CT

BY ABIGAIL SCHAEFER, JUPITER, FL

YA FICTION

BOOK REVIEWS

while both are trying to be there for each other, they don’t focus on themselves.

The plot also addresses what life is like growing up as an Asian immigrant in America. This really shows how the author implemented her life experiences into her book. Choi directly addresses the hardships of many immigrant children, like facing racism and culture shock.

by Mary H.K. Choi

Review by Lydia Le Clair, Hartland, WI

Yolk by Mary H.K. Choi follows the main character Jayne Beak, a college student living in New York who discovers that living in the big city wasn’t as glamorous as she had imagined growing up. I chose this book because of a recommendation from a friend, and knowing nothing about the plot and just liking the cover art, I had little expectations. As I progressed through the story, my minimal expectations were met and exceeded. Throughout the story, I was sent on a roller coaster of emotions and it left me wanting a second book.

Throughout the novel, symptoms of mental illnesses appear through the characters’ actions. This shows how the characters are affected by the physical illnesses they face in many ways. Along with many flashbacks to Jaynes’ childhood in Texas, her mental illnesses aren’t directly discussed until the end. This creates much tension between Jayne and her sister;

After following her sister, June, to the other side of the country, Jayne cut all contact with her family back in Texas, including her sister. Two years after she moved, the story starts with her in an illegal, run-down apartment with her ex-boyfriend, Jeremy. One day while Jayne is out, she’s confronted by June and the harsh reality of June’s sickness — uterine cancer. After getting in a fight with Jeremy, Jayne asks to stay at June’s extravagant apartment. Jayne is forced to face the jealousy she has been plagued with since childhood. The story continues as the sisters try to brush off their problems. They go back to Texas, and Jayne faces her estranged mother. Here is where we discover Jayne’s eating disorder in full force with harsh detail. The book ends with June going into surgery and Jayne staying in the waiting room.

I WAS SENT ON A ROLLER COASTER OF EMOTIONS AND IT LEFT ME WANTING A SECOND BOOK

Although Yolk ’s themes of mental health and relationships with family and friends really stuck with me and kept me reading, the start is very slow. This made it hard to keep reading at the beginning of the book, and felt like many of the plot points served as filler before we reach the main details of what happened. Many of these filler points get dropped after a couple of chapters. This makes the first half of the book confusing and made it feel meaningless.

Even with these few holes, the ultimate storyline makes up for them. The heartfelt story of two sisters regaining the relationship they lost because of a problematic childhood kept me hooked.

YOLK

This realistic fiction perspective shows what many people face, and I would recommend it to everyone who wouldn’t typically experience it. In the end, I would give this book four stars.

THRILLER/MYSTERY

Maximilian Kohler, who needs him to travel to CERN, a research facility, and help him with a murder case. The man murdered was a world-renowned physicist who had been working on making anti-matter, a new, extremely explosive, and expensive substance. The physicist had been branded with the Illuminati symbol on his chest, and his anti-matter substance had been

A MUST-READ FOR AUDIENCES WHO ENJOY ACTION AND RIDDLES

ger hunt that keeps the reader entertained by guessing the missing pieces. Readers will be sucked into the book by the author’s descriptive storytelling and overwhelmingly exciting plot twists.

ANGELS & DEMONS

by Dan Brown

Review by Ethan Dassow, Pewaukee, WI

The novel Angels & Demons, written by Dan Brown, is an absolute page-turner that constantly has the reader on the edge of their seat, wanting more. I chose this book because I read a different Dan Brown novel similar to this last year and couldn’t get enough of it. Angels & Demons is a murder mystery thriller that finds a way to connect the very polar scientific and religious worlds together. It follows the main character, Robert Langdon, as he entails on a one-day adventure throughout Vatican City and other areas in Europe.

The story begins with Robert Langdon receiving a call from

stolen only 24 hours before it explodes. So, with the help of the physicist’s daughter, Vittoria, Langdon and her need to retrieve the substance before it explodes. They receive a tip that the anti-matter is in Vatican City, so they must find it. However, currently going on in Vatican City is the election of the new Pope. Therefore, with all the Cardinals in danger, Langdon and Vittoria must find the anti-matter before the timer runs out. While searching, they encounter another problem. The four preferred Cardinals elects are missing and are in danger of being killed.

Langdon and Vittoria find the anti-matter bomb, but still need to find the remaining Cardinals before they are murdered. With time running low, this book builds great suspense and is hard to put down. As the book uses 600 pages to detail the events of a single day, the plot of the story occurs at a quick pace but with great detail. The author does this by always having the characters move around to different locations, giving a feeling of rush. That is one of the key reasons why I love this book, there is no filler, and it is all action, making it very hard to put down. The book acts as a scaven-

I personally loved this book and everything it was, with all of the interconnecting pieces to this puzzle. I love reading how Langdon deciphers riddles and is able to find the true meaning behind symbols. In fact, if I could only give one reason why one should read this book, it would be to understand the brilliant mind of Robert Langdon. He is an extremely smart professor from Harvard who teaches the deep meaning of symbols. Langdon also has a photographic memory, making it very easy for him to remember things. For example, Langdon is able to deduce that he needs to follow the “Path of Illumination” to find the lair of the Illuminati after only reading a poem.

My only concern for readers is that this book might be too similar to another Dan Brown book, The DaVinci Code. These books are in a series together with another Dan Brown novel, Inferno, which I have not read yet. Both Angels & Demons and The DaVinci Code follow Langdon on a scavengerlike chase with many twists and turns. Even with these similar books, I could never get enough, and I hope to read Inferno soon.

I highly recommend Angels & Demons, despite its many pages. This mystery makes me compelled to keep reading and look forward to reading similar books by the same author. Angels & Demons is a must-read for audiences who enjoy action and riddles. Any person that has the chance to learn about Robert Langdon and his mind should definitely take the opportunity.

SPORTS FICTION

MISSING LINKS

by Rick Reilly

Review by Xiyan Liu, San Ramon, CA

“Golf is such a boring sport,” one may say. Luckily, this book breaks this conventional thinking and illustrates the joys of playing golf. Missing Links is a comedic novel written by Rick Reilly. As a junior golfer, I first picked up this book due to its golf-related subject. Then, I was intrigued by this book’s humor, accurate interpretation of golf, and the meaningful messages conveyed.

This novel is based on the sport of golf. It is about a group of golfers in Boston who play at a poor-conditioned golf course called Pocky. The story is narrated by a man named Ray, also known as Stick or Stickman in the story, as all of the characters go by nicknames. Some of Ray’s friends are Two Down, Cementhead, Hoover, Crowbar, and Thud, and these groups of friends are known as the Chops. At the beginning of the book, the Chops

play happily in Pocky. They endure and train themselves to play in the long grasses, rough lies, and difficult angles. They find joy in socializing with each other when playing there. However, everything changes when a hole is knocked at a hedge in Pocky, which opens up with a view to a marvelous golf course next door. The Mayflower Club is one of America’s most exclusive golf courses, solely made up of descendants of the Mayflower ship. The course only opens up a few spots for people to join the club each year, with an exorbitant membership fee of $35,000 that is impossible to afford. Peeking into The Mayflower golf course, the Chops are curious to discover what the exclusive course looks like and want to play in it. In that case, “The Bet” begins, a bet to see who can finish 18 holes at The Mayflower Club first. Each person thinks of their techniques for sneaking into the club. Throughout the process, Ray demonstrates his passion for The Mayflower Club and encounters situations that allow him to grow in relationships and adulthood.

Missing Links is a highly entertaining book, and I enjoyed reading it. There are jokes scattered on every page. Even though the book was first published in 1996, the jokes still create laughter today. For example, “‘Actually,’ said Two Down, ‘I guess if you did notice your shadow, it would help your swing. I mean, you could see whether your club face was a little open at the top or whether your elbow was flying or all kinds of stuff.”’ When playing golf, the player’s shadow should not get into the way of the golfer hitting because that can seriously disturb the player from knowing where to hit the ball and where to align the club face towards the hole. Two Down’s comment is a creative way of finding an excuse for his ignorance, which is funny. If you pick up this book, so many of these kinds of

funny moments can be found. Moreover, the book also indeed portrays an accurate illustration of golf. Golf-related terms and phases such as “Titleist” (8), “breaking 100” (18), “par 3” (23), “U.S. Open” (23), and “3-iron” (24) appear throughout the pages. I cannot believe these specific golf vocabularies can be incorporated into novels so well while not making the book an educational golf flyer but an exciting novel. If you do not understand these golf vocabularies, do not worry because the book also does a great job explaining these terms.

There are also numerous themes throughout the book. One of them is relationships; Stick manages a friendship with the Chops. During “The Bet,” he encounters conflicts with his friends due to the different rules of “The Bet” applied and ideology regarding if they should conduct certain actions or not. This golfing experience allows Stick to understand the importance of communication and compensation. The universe does not always rotate around one person, so sometimes one needs to sacrifice some aspects of their life in order to receive a larger benefit. Moreover, Stick also explores family relationships. Initially, he had a hostile relationship with his father; luckily, “The Bet” provides an opportunity for Stick to talk to his dad and enables them to play rounds of golf together. He realizes how great it is to have a family member who he can talk and reconnect with. You can read the book to find out how their relationship becomes.

If you are a golf lover or player, this is the perfect entertaining book. If you know nothing or have never played golf before, this book is also perfect for obtaining golf-related knowledge. If you want to learn more about golf and the lives of a group of golfers, Missing Links is waiting for you on the shelf.

FILM REVIEWS

shoulders instead. Guiying also tries to help her husband as much as possible. One cold winter night, to let her busy husband enjoy the warmth earlier, Guiying takes the risk of carrying a light and hands hot water to Youtie. With the intelligent direction of Li Ruijun, the film proves that love does not require grand gestures.

In addition to the rich portrayal of the characters, the rural atmosphere is also realistic and effective. The filming location is set in an authentic rural area. Except for Guiying, all other villagers, including Youtie, are played by real-life fellow villagers of director Li Ruijun. In addition, there isn’t much background music, so the movie’s atmosphere isn’t disturbed, and the story slowly evolves with simple shots.

Review

by Xiaofeng Li, Weston, ME

Would you still watch a movie that seems boring? “Return to Dust,” directed by Li Ruijun, doesn’t contain any of the elements often considered indispensable to a movie: a magnificent worldview, a complicated and tortuous plot, or an exciting climax. It focuses on Ma Youtie and his disabled wife, Cao Guiying, living in 2011 in Northwest China with scarce resources. Despite their hardships, they appreciate the world’s simplest warmth.

This film shows the honesty, kindness, and gentleness of rural laborers. Absent of grand scenes and complicated dialogues, the small actions make these characters extremely realistic. At the beginning of the film, Youtie and Guiying face poor living conditions. Youtie works to strive daily to improve their lives while simultaneously taking care of his wife. In a rainstorm scene, Guiying asks Youtie to help her cover the mud bricks they are using to build their house with a protective plastic bag, but Youtie takes it from Guiying and wraps it around her

The exploitation of the poor by the rich is also a problem in rural areas, and Li Ruijun portrays it realistically. In order to save the landlord’s life, Youtie donates his rare blood to him, receiving nothing in return from the rich landlord. Since most older generation viewers in China have experienced similar incidents, these scenes give them an immersive feeling, arousing their sympathy. Moreover, the director avoids excessive narration to explain the plot’s background, rather, he allows the simple shots of the setting and the dialogue between characters to speak for themselves.

Li Ruijun does not romanticize love or

THE FILM PROVES THAT LOVE DOES NOT REQUIRE GRAND GESTURES

life in this movie. He reveals the most cherished traits of tenderness and selflessness through the simple relationship between Youtie and Guiying. On the loess, Youtie and Guiying make their lives abundant through hard work and kindness. Just like the “wheat flower” Youtie seals on Guiying’s hands, although ordinary, it represents the sincere and beautiful emotions in the hearts of rural laborers .

Review by Cara Halloran, Wilmington, DE

Mental health is a topic rarely discussed in the real world. When it comes to our own psyche, it’s pushed under the rug and never shown in a realistic light. Mental Illness isn’t pretty, but it’s not ugly, either. “Girl, Interrupted” (1999) is a movie that paints an interesting and bittersweet picture of the turmoil of psychiatric care in the 60s and the relationship between its patients. Starring Winona Ryder as Susanna Kaysen and Angelina Jolie as Lisa Rowe, the bittersweet film painfully portrays the struggles of mentally ill women. Its storytelling is smart, fast-paced, and emotional to watch. It’s the perfect movie for audiences who enjoy dramatic films.

One of the many factors that make “Girl, Interrupted” unique is the subtlety of its storytelling. Facts are not outright handed to the audience; listening and attention

are crucial. This detail is exceptionally beautiful in the conversation of mental health; mental health is often overlooked, and we often are not able to realize when our loved ones are struggling. The theme of Susanna’s identity is superbly explored in multiple facets: her relationship with Lisa, her perception of herself, and her relationship with her doctors during the course of the movie. Susanna’s relationship with Lisa brought to light her fragile identity with those around her. She changes her personality to fit in better with Lisa and only realizes her faults when Lisa calls Susanna “Jaime” — Lisa’s former best friend. Susanna is forced to look internally at her identity and become her own person, not someone dragged along by Lisa or by doctors. She has to decide for herself what she will do with her life, explicitly stated by the head nurse, Valerie (Whoopi Goldberg). While the theme of mental health is portrayed tastefully in “Girl, Inter-

to bring unnecessary persecution into play. This sentiment holds true when considering black viewers who have expressed discomfort with these scenes.

All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed “Girl, Interrupted” and recommend it to anyone looking for a film to watch on a rainy day or to anyone who likes to watch movies that have an abundance of substance. However, as with most things, the film has to be watched with a veil of criticism and understood by a level-headed audience.

rupted,” there is an elephant in the room regarding the movie’s unnecessary racism, which was not present in the book. In multiple instances, the main characters are bigoted toward Valerie, which adds no movement to the plot. These scenes are deeply uncomfortable. Fans argue that they helped illustrate the time period of the movie, but that was already communicated through the setting and items in the background itself. There was no need

Tatsuya Endo’s “Spy x Family” is an animated series from Japan about a cold war between two Eurocentric countries. A spy from the West must forge a traditional family so he can infiltrate a political extremist’s inner circle, understand

Review by Emmy Miralieva, Germantown, MD

GIRL, INTERRUPTED

ANIME

SPY X FAMILY

SMART, FASTPACED, AND EMOTIONAL TO WATCH ... THE PERFECT MOVIE FOR AUDIENCES WHO ENJOY DRAMATIC FILMS

his intentions, and end any chance of a violent war. Little does he know that his new wife is an anti-terror hitwoman and his adopted daughter is a telepath. “Spy x Family” is both relevant and valuable to modern viewers because of its themes around renouncing unreasonable expectations, opposing war, and cherishing familial love.

we care less about understanding others and more about hurting them. With current events like the war against Ukraine caused by Russian nationalist propaganda, it is imperative that we as an audience know ignorance leads to war, which leads to suffering for everyone.

“Spy x Family” teaches modern viewers that authenticity and familial love matter in life. The main characters reject the expectations of society: the spy, Twilight, can take on roles to satisfy social standards, but he sticks to his personal principles. His wife, Yor, is expected to be a good wife by tending to the house and her daughter, but she only succeeds by embracing her maternal instinct and her great physical strength. Their little daughter Anya is a bad student in a rigorous private school who excels at using her unique talents and creativity to stay ahead. The series uses this universal struggle to assure us that high standards and perfectionism are unattainable aspirations, but our unique and eccentric selves are valid.

“Spy x Family’s” other prevailing message is that we must oppose war and the ignorance that brings it. It shows us that war destroys happiness, and propaganda makes us ignorant and divided human beings. Twilight’s mission is to obtain the knowledge needed to keep the peace. This reflects reality:

Finally, these themes make us more intelligent as people, but the reason “Spy x Family” is so dear to my heart is in its core lesson: familial love is crucial to happiness. Yor protects her family from harm, Twilight teaches Anya that real life is more complex than fiction, and Anya understands her parents’ feelings and desires. They’re a middle-class quirky team with difficult lives, but they love each other first and foremost. In contrast, the powerful and affluent Desmond family is disconnected from each other because they don’t understand love. Americans have always strived for the “American Dream” — being married with a nice house with perfect kids. Instead, this show taught me and others that living in a big house was nothing without unconditionally loving people in it to help me grow.

Some audiences disapprove of “Spy x Family” because they believe that it’s a show ruined by its goofiness and a regressive focus on old Western gender roles. It’s a false claim; the moments of brevity and humor give the sadness and terror a greater impact when we’ve let down our emotional guards. I also believe that comedy makes the show more mature: comedy is a grounding agent that helps characters appreciate the present moment and ponder the situation before making impulsive decisions or catastrophizing out of fear.

As for how “Spy x Family” supposedly isn’t progressive in its depiction of gender roles, they have ignored the fact that the story

is using a traditional family dynamic to deconstruct it and present realistic consequences; Twilight is the breadwinner, but his excessive workload is taking a mental and physical toll. Yor is supposed to be a model wife, but she expresses the human quality of failing in some duties and not understanding how to best contribute to her family. “Spy x Family” is a very progressive series for its realistic balance between solemnity and levity, as well as its criticism of traditional (and unrealistic) gender norms. I believe that everyone can learn from this surprisingly grounded animated story that life is a fun experience,

despite the stress and that we shouldn’t compromise our humanity to fit into society’s rigid roles.

“Spy x Family” is a valuable piece of media because of its themes of opposing societal expectations, depicting war and ignorance as harmful, and embracing familial love in a grounded story that very much reflects reality. The depiction of familial love and the expert balance between solemnity and levity helps write a universal story. From this series, we can all learn to be more thoughtful and happy people.

RELEVANT AND VALUABLE TO MODERN VIEWERS BECAUSE OF ITS THEMES AROUND RENOUNCING UNREASONABLE EXPECTATIONS, OPPOSING WAR, AND CHERISHING FAMILIAL LOVE

“SPY X FAMILY” TEACHES MODERN VIEWERS THAT AUTHENTICITY AND FAMILIAL LOVE MATTER IN LIFE

by Zoe Mogavero

“Overthought”

“The Intruder”

by Anonymous

by Xiyan Liu

“Golf is a Sport”

the washer

STORY BY SIENNA HOMSHER, NEDERLAND, CO

ARTWORK BY SEOJIN MOON, NEW YORK, NY

Wind chimes ring softly through the open window. Sun streams through the curtains. A day like all others. A hard day’s work lies ahead of you. Eager, you smile.

You can fix anything. Smooth out the wrinkliest shirt and remove any stain. You wash clothes. That is your passion. This is your home. The business was your mum’s and before that your Nana’s. Washing clothes was what made them happy and now it is what makes you happy. The simple shop sits directly beneath your home. In one corner is a small ironing table, in another the wash bin. No washing machines, no dryer. Bamboo rods hang from the ceiling for the clothes. An old fashioned washboard and homemade soaps are your tools. In the spare time between customers you make teas, remedies, and foods. You live alone with only your two cats for company. But you are happy. You have few customers, mostly old folks who miss the care and quality of hand-washing clothes.

Your first customer walks through the door. He is hunched over with pearly white hair. In his arms he holds a wicker basket filled with clothes. They are all folded neatly and labeled. He wears his best shirt and a new tie around his neck. He looks sad but he smiles and hands you his basket. He is a simple man of few words. He trusts you to make him look his best. Without a word he turns to leave the shop but you stop him.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea before you go?” you say to him. He pauses and turns around. He smiles and nods. You help him into an old rocking chair and begin brewing the tea. He sits there rocking back and forth slowly. He seems content in the silence. You bring over two cups of steaming tea and hand him one. He sips it slowly. He is a peculiar person. A tear begins forming in the corner of his eye. The smile stays frozen on his face but the tear falls down his cheek. His shoulders begin to shake timidly. He rocks gently on the

chair. You reach your hand out to comfort him. When your hand meets his, something changes.

He freezes. A humming sound fills the room. You feel more awake than ever. A shimmery object floats out of his chest. His soul. It is glowing softly but covered in dust. It is wrinkly and crumpled as if someone had balled it up and thrown it away. It is small but you know it holds great importance. It has small tears on the edges and stains covering it. It looks battered and broken. The rest of the room has gone silent. You lean into it and reach out to touch it. It feels like silk. It floats into your arms. It flows between your fingers as you

smooth it out. It is battered and broken. It hurts you to look at it. How could something so beautiful be so broken? It ripples like water and you see glimpses of memories woven into it. But they are hazy. Patches of it remain blank and empty. You know what you have to do.

You move to the bin and run the water. The tub fills with crystal clear water. Gently, you place it in. It sinks to the bottom. Pieces of dirt and grit begin leaving it. With each piece that floats away you feel the pain. Loss, grief, loneliness. It hurts you but you reach your hands into the water, tears streaming down your cheeks. You swirl it around and more and more rubble escapes it. It flows out of every seam, darkening the water. You hold it in your arms, dripping wet and place it in the next sink. Bubbles shimmer on the top of the water like crystal balls. Cautiously you set it in the bath. Vapors begin to escape it, like little wisps of smoke. They carried soft voices with

You can fix anything. Smooth out the wrinkliest shirt and remove any stain

ARTWORK BY DIAMOND BRAZILE CINCINNATI, OH

them as they arose from the water. It feels as though you got punched in the chest. Each cry you hear pierces your skin like a dagger. You grab a brush and plunge it into the water. In one hand you hold it gently and with the other you begin to scrub at the stains. Pain shoots up your arm but you continue to work. The brush begins to smoke as you press harder. The stains begin to fade to ash, dissolving in the water. You grasp it in your hands and begin to wring it out. Final pieces of rocks fall from it, some into the water and some piercing your hands. Every bad feeling you’ve ever felt comes rushing back to you all at once and some even worse that you have yet to experience. With shaking hands you place it on the rack to dry as you collapse in a heap on the floor.

Echoes of your past creep up on you. Your mama’s face as she took her last breath. Nana wailed in agony as she fell to the floor. Every horrible thing that has happened to you all at once. It comes rushing to you in a wave, ready to drown you. But you stand. You ball your fists and watch this wave towering over you, ready to crash. Mama’s face appears in your mind again, but it is different. The echo of her laughter as you played in the park. The smell of nanna’s cookies coming out of the

oven. A warm glow surrounds you as you stare at the mass of pain. It rushes through your veins filling you with strength. They keep coming. Swinging from the drying racks as a kid, playing in the tub. Learning how to make soap just like Nana. Standing on the balcony two floors up watching the sunset. The wave starts to shrink and recede. Back into the depths. The light surrounding you grows until it is almost blinding. Your eyes shoot open.

You look up. It is dangling above you from the racks. It seems to glow faintly. You reach to grasp it but it slides into your hands by itself. Smiling, you walk to the table. Picking out the gentlest needle and the softest thread you begin to work. Each stitch you make jolts you, but in a good way now. The needle guides the thread through the rips and tears mending it stitch by stitch. The thread mends it seamlessly. As the holes are sewn shut the scenes begin to return. Though still hazy and cloudy they were there. Satisfied, you grab the iron. It glides over it softly, removing all the wrinkles. As it moves over the scenes and memories it wipes away the fog. Just like wiping away the steam that fogs the glass of the shower. The scenes become clear as day as they ripple and change. A tear forms in the corner of your eye. But it is not from pain. A different kind of tear. It trickles slowly down your cheek, down to the edge of your chin. It rests there for a moment. As if in slow motion it slides off your face and falls. Your single tear lands in the center of it. It sinks in and dissolves weaving itself in through the threads.

It rests in your arms as you move back over to the chair opposite him. You sit calmly and look at him. He is frozen. His face wore a smile but eyes showed pain and sadness. With a deep breath you lean in closer to him and release your arms. It floats towards him slowly, glowing brightly. It enters his chest and disappears. He sighs deeply and looks at you. His eyes no longer hold that pain. They sparkle with hope and joy. He smiles at you but it is different this time. He actually means it. Without a word he gets up and moves to the door. He no longer hunches over or shakes while he walks. He stands tall and steps with confidence. Reaching the door he pulls it open. A fresh spring breeze blows through, ruffling his hair. He pauses briefly and looks up. He sighs contentedly as the sun touches his face and steps out the door.

forget-me-not

STORY BY SAMEEHA SOOD, FARIDABAD, INDIA

April 21st, 1943

To my Dearest Helen,

I love you. I don’t know when, or even if, I’ll be able to see you again, and with each passing day that we spend apart I think about the fact that even if I did see you again, I wouldn’t be able to live as who I truly am. And who I am is someone who lives to love you, not as a friend or as a sister, but in the rawest, truest sense of the word. I live to be your lover. And yet, even if I were given the chance to see you again, the world would never be so kind as to let that be my reality.

You left three weeks ago, and as happy as I am that your family has evacuated to somewhere safer than London, I miss you terribly. Everyday I write you a letter, each time addressed to ‘Henry Lloyd’, the man my parents assume to be my boyfriend in the army. The one I’m eternally dedicated to, yet they never question how they’ve never heard of the man, much less met him. They seem to simply be grateful that I’ve grown out of my queerish tendencies. Imagine if they discovered the truth. But I’m tired of keeping up appearances. I don’t know how much longer I can take being estranged from you, how much longer this heavens-forsaken war will last.

Last time you wrote me, you said your parents had arranged for your union, to make things easier on them by marrying you off to some businessman. “One less mouth to feed,” you said. You asked for my advice, and as much as I want to urge you to refuse, to reject the old geezer, at least you would lead a comfortable life with him. Three children and a dog, white picket fence and all. The only thing I want in this life is your happiness and safety, even if I can’t grant you that myself. But if I can’t show the world how much I truly love you, I want to at least be able to tell you. As Helen, not Henry.

Helen, I love you more than I could possibly put into words. I love you more than the distance between the Earth and its moon, more than you or anyone could ever imagine. I don’t ever want to forget you, even if circumstances drive us apart. And I pray to whatever entity presides in the heavens above that you won’t forget me either. It may seem a little cliched, but you bring out that side of me. Which is why, enclosed with this letter is a forget-me-not bracelet. The kind of bracelet prematurely-grieving wives give to their war-bound husbands. Because if I am to lose you, I would at least want you to remember me in some way. I hope you appreciate the gesture, Helen, and keep me in your heart, even as you move on with your life.

Forget-me-not Helen, Love, Dorothy

PHOTO BY TATIANNA LAZARO, PORT ORANGE, FL

POETS’ CORNER NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

Heat Death

There’s a woman, sitting by a cliff She stares to the sky covered in orange and yellow as things crumble apart at her feet- a breaking and shattering of all the world’s songs.

It’s the last moment.

The final breath and song of the universe.

Nothing else would come in the aftermath of this.

Nothing we can predict.

Scientists talk about what will happen

after we’re long gone. They tell us about how the world will one day disappear into the sun.

But the immortal woman stares on.

It’s the end of the world, but there’s no one to blame.

A universe in shambles, a crumbling landscape.

There’s nothing to be done.

The immortal woman stares on.

A final goodbye.

BY GABRIELA MONTEIRO CORTADA, LANDENBERG, PA

free verse: poetry that follows natural speech patterns, without rhyme or regular meter

Silver Pendant Boy

Pick me up when I get home

Grasp me the way I clutch

My knees on the train

Twirl me the way I Spin in your pockets.

Take care of my body

As I age like brass coin

Rinse me as you learn

How to love the patina on my face

Rub it off in concentrated circles

Feel the oil and grime on your fingertips

Wipe it slowly on your thighs

Watch as the dirt becomes a residue

That sprouts small versions of us

Popping from the surface like memories

As I return, a glassy coin

Satisfied and shiny

With the erosion of your fingers

divets on my skin.

BY KENDALL SNIPPER, SAN FRANCISCO, CA

warheads

i bought a bag of warheads at my local cvs on the way home from rehearsal i haven’t had one in eight years and they taste different than they did when i was ten but somehow they still taste like home that small oklahoma town trisha yearwood and terri clark rhinestone crosses red dirt that stained my boots grubby hands long division, tree forts

sunday school chapel

loose teeth and crashed bikes and though it’s not the same as it was all those years ago my childhood still remains just like those little sour candies that i used to love.

BY AVERY-GRACE PAYNE, HOUSTON, TX

PHOTO BY MARIAN DE SILVA, SRI LANKA

Art and Science

I have heard an artist say, When questioned on their perfect lines

Or shining dew on driest paper, “There is a science to it.”

And yet a scientist, when asked Of experiments, hypotheses, theory craft, and foreign symbols said “There is an art to it.”

BY SPAZ WOODWORTH, PAPILLION, NE

Tulips

I watched as my childhood slipped me by leaving behind the smell of grass and the feeling of mud beneath my fingernails.

I caught glimpses of my own smile, faintly hearing the laugh that came between parted lips. We met at four.

Picking flowers and playing teacher.

The boys hand out flowers, we’re studying to become teachers. It leaves me weeping, hunched over, and out of breath.

Snot and tears paint my face now just as they did at age six. What a gut-wrenching experience to feel everything. To know but never understand.

Suddenly, everything came full circle and I thought it would end here

It did not.

The miles stretch on before me, even if it did all end here. We will part, and if there is a chance you read this, know You cannot fear what is out of your control.

It is true, One never knows when it is coming.

Fear what? Asked the child.

The sun is warm and the first tulip has bloomed

BY ELLEN LOPES, PEPPERELL, MA

Falde

The sun is climbing higher, out of reach, Fading to a pale and jealous flax. Foxes flee into dens, fish settle under ponds. Who wants to bear witness to winter’s herald?

The clock ticks steadily with the season’s turning. Quickly! Time to gather the last flowers of fall.

Columbine roots and fennel flattery, Earth’s cruel taunts of a longforgotten summer. Rough stems chafe against a grownup hand, And Ophelia climbs a tree. The last apple hits the earth. Swollen, its belly bursting with ripened flesh, The bruised side breaks, the sweet rot stains soil, The mute swan lays still. Turn it over. See there. Worms slither through its stomach

— A carrion cuisine for the creeping undergrowth. It’s slaughtering time: An ax swings; a pig squeals; A nation falls to its knees, And Ophelia climbs a tree. The creek babbles, wind chatters. A barren branch sways and cracks. Buzzards don’t worry battlement wraiths.

Snakes sleep soundly under snow. Seasons change; this too shall pass.

What difference is one mad girl? One vengeful boy? One dying Dane? Yet still –Ophelia climbs a tree.

BY GENEVIEVE BREEN, NEWARK, DE

A Mother’s Unseen Pain

One mother lays bound with hope While watching her sleeping baby’s face.

She ponders the world around the globe

Looking what the future will hold in place.

While another mother looks for pacification

Prays she can teach what is no longer spoke.

As she lays restless in fear and indignation

As this little brown face will grow up in a society of anti-woke.

As children play void of color, holding hands as if they’re brothers unbeknownst of their valor innocent to the future peril of others.

While one mother says have a good day

She kisses her child’s cheek Knowing that nothing will go astray.

She sends them off with no worries, quite meek.

While another mother says good day

She cautions on what was taught To never question and obey So you can see another day. We live in a country of diversity And speak of equalities

Yet blind to the other’s adversity

While others are the casualties

BY INDIA FOSTER, WINTER PARK, FL

ARTWORK BY AVERY-GRACE PAYNE, HOUSTON, TX

The Moors

For your sake, I must go into a desolate dawn

At the midnight’s wake, on an owl’s back carried on and on In the mansion’s hell-maze, a tragic tale begun With a jester’s sleighbell stage and a poet’s lungs And a still body’s cold, a shaking grave left open, The last desperate hope of a damned devotion, Dress of diamonds, voice of honey, is it enough Wail of sirens, hands still muddy, silver handcuffs

The truth shifts and silence hits, a pact of blue blood, Taught against my ribs, please believe it was an act of love, my love A temptress takes the bait, nature takes its course

So twist the hands of fate, so strangle the ropes of war

An angel rises from the ashes, raven hair barely singed, Every olive branch has a catch, each loss has a win In nights she flies above, clutching my neck with frozen hands, A figment, a light, of undying love?, of lust?, of clever plans?

The steel levels at my skull, lips twist into a smile, The moon settles in a lull, but they still rigged the trial, Ripped gowns melt into shadows, too parchment soft to leave scars, But the crowds won’t shove us to the gallows, no one will seize our arms Garden’s iron walls, secrets taking root in buried hearts, Until the castle falls, my one, I will stroll hand in hand with you in the dark A pinprick red handkerchief unspoken, shovels caked in dirt, A dotted navy ocean, a nail-scratched black hearse.

Wash the ruby away in the sapphire pond, let it float with carnelian koi

The million dollar rug is gone with the stable boy, Walk away from love, walk without a care, lying roses curl and bloom Hands in gloves, feet torn and bare, no solace in lips so blue Ivy pulls me to the ground, tangled in vines

If you walk away I won’t hear a sound, tears dare not be cried I lay, a heart-of-stone carved statue on the earth’s pillow, Untouched by the new moon, under a lavender weeping willow, Cold to the touch, I am paper-blank to the horrors, At the edge of the bluff, I become mist in the foggy moors.

BY ANNA GOODMAN, NEW PALTZ, NY

A Chill

I stride out onto those hardwood floors

A kingsnake mimicking courage. The peppermint chill of epinephrine

Reels me back to center stage.

I gaze out upon expectant faces

An intimidating crowd of four, Yet wish it were but a thousand strong— The frightening less is more.

I sink to a bow while cold metal cuts

Four imprints into my arm, Then rise and breathe in my pas de deux—

A fine-tuned scene of charm.

I nod to cue the delighted bells

ARTWORK BY DISHITAA JAIN, SAMMAMISH, WA

As a fairy alights upon the string. A millennium’s collection of notes and tales Lies in wait for my time to sing.

I dance in Oberon’s magic ring

For the enchantment of a page, But as music engulfs my reverie, My fingers fall into a cage.

I blink in horror as the chill returns And the piano forges ahead.

The weight of the curtain falls over my heart, And the violin betrays my dread.

BY LYRA CHEN, WEST LAFAYETTE, IN

Ballad of the Wind River Backpacking Range

Heading into the wilderness we do depart Leaving behind our van

What do we hope we may find

Far from any man?

Perhaps we hike in search of inner peace

Or perhaps we simply hope to see a bear

Let us hope we can fulfill our hopes

It would be quite a letdown if all we saw were a hare

This question weighs heavier than our packs

Burdened not by food and gear, but by fear

If we fail to satiate our desires

What more can we do than simply shed a tear?

However, once the simple pattern is reached

Of the consistent padding of feet on trail, Worries seem to melt like wax from a candle

Far from life’s pressing issues, such as what’s on sale

7 miles in is the point of exhaustion

Where further than the shadows of the sun, our breaks stretch beyond Weary and tired we collapse onto the uneven ground

With our only remaining wish to dip into a pond

Yet our worries and fears were left behind

Just behind that moose by the bend

For with only open trail to distress

We’ve found this distress serves only to mend

BY JOHN UPHAM, MADISON, WI

Genesis

great prometheus still holds the torch, and restless flames lick his hands in burns. ovely ashes on which eagles gorge, beaks smeared with the bloody fate he earns. he punished the old gods, plagued the earth, cleansed the charred soil and cursed the waters. he tricked the divine, swore false rebirth, beast bringing fire where mankind falters. rivers ran dry when his teeth he bared, the sky blue remnants staining the sea. the ceiling shattered and wide eyes stared, fractals feigned raining down; “we are free.”

the titan said “use this light to guide, use this light to see your gleaming tears.” forget the covenant where dawn died, we scorch the afterglow with deaf ears.

BY KARINA GUREVICH, BROOKLYN, NY

ballad: a poem that typically follows an specific rhyme scheme and has a narrative quality (tells a story)

ARTWORK BY ANNE ENGELBRECHT, LAFAYETTE, LA

ARTWORK BY EVY MANSAT-GROS, GREENVILLE, SC

So Oft’ I Close My Eyes

So oft’ I close my eyes and you are there, Just like the many times within my dreams.

That you may not be near is hardly fair, This life is much more lonely than it seems.

But with you or without I see it clear, For once my fragile heart may slow its pace.

I think much better now that you are here, And smile each time I see your lovely face. The details never cease to leave my mind, A glance or kind remark and I feel shy. If you could see my thoughts I’m sure you’d find, I think of you just as the clouds do sky. My future once a known feels so unsure. But I should hope to see you evermore.

BY EMILY IVANAUSKAS, FLEMINGTON, NJ

Sonnet of the Sea

Gulls cry, waves lap on shore beautifully.

Sunbeams dance on sparkling clear seas.

Sandpipers search for food dutifully.

Foamy waves stretch out their feathers with ease.

A salt sea breeze blows around lazily.

All of a sudden a storm starts brewing.

Winds are fierce, waves crash on rocks crazily.

Lightning strikes, rain comes down a stewing. The seas are tossed and turned round and around.

Then the sky is clear without a trace.

A calm steals over without a sound. There is not any other wondrous place.

The beauty of the sea in all its pools. God created the sea with all her jewels.

BY ALISA ZVEREV, COCOA, FL

The Corporate Hurricane

The swirling stinking filth that lies

Within the heart of he who grasps

At power by sacrificing lives

Withers and dies in heaving rasps

That iron hand of his is clamped

Around the souls of those who sow

The seeds of his successes stamped

On history, they tend to grow

The legacy of one so foul

Will never become spoiled

for the systems he churns in society’s bowels

Control the ones that toil

Hundreds of years that come to pass

Still feed that great pestilential mass

BY MORGAN C, MADISON, WI

sonnet: a poem of 14 lines that follows a specific rhyme scheme and formal meter

My Rendition of the End of the World

How do you think the world will end?

An apocalypse in turn?

Or will robots transcend?

Ready to watch the world burn

I argue that it’s already finished

Because how can you live if your soul is dead?

The vivid colors of life diminished

Your shimmer of passion has fled

Stuck in a state of perpetual agony

Suffocating in the hazy air

Society has made your veins run cold with apathy

A predicament to our welfare

We are left with a garden of wilted flowers unable to bloom

Finding solace only in the moon

BY HAILEY KIM, ARVADA, CO

Poems (Used to) Suck

I used to say, “I hate writing poems.”

I thought they were too depressing to bear

Perhaps they got me down in the doldrums

Because my cruel thoughts were so unfair.

Oh, but now how I see things differently; I can say that poetry is blissful. Cruel thoughts turn to happy memories, And to make more of them, I am wishful.

Now, poems are full of life and meaning. They’re full of wonder and discovery

Instead of fresh tears and awful feelings. Finally, I can enjoy poetry.

So, to my past self, I have a message: Don’t give up yet, the cruel thoughts will lessen.

BY ISABELLA SPINA, WOOD-RIDGE, NJ

To —

The antique land was past; the faery isles sunken. Far beyond the Orient, the green deep’s waves flee, And beyond those is the silent Heaven —

Yet where art thou, or shadows cast by thee?

The self-same wind, one thousand years ago, was here; Facing these skies, as thou didst, I stand spellbound; I love the Moon well, for thine eye oft beheld there; I have been where thou hadst been — no thy steps found. Where? O where? the remotest gap, full of rosy colour, In vain I strive to pass thro’ riding o’er hill and dale. Sleeping in thy turfed grave, knew me thou never, Nor wilt mingle thy sense with my fingers pale.

I feed upon thine ancient tales as aliment mine, And for thine once fragrant entity I pine.

BY KUNYUAN ZHANG, ZHENGZHOU, CHINA

Edible Tears

The chaotic whimper of remorse shouts you to sleep

A tree tilts his head and opens his eyes while he bleeds

Ice cream appeared from a cluster of dusty fire

The tree sat down beside you with your ice cream to keep

You’ve spent all your hair, dying to cease the fire on top the cone

If you don’t listen to the old man’s wise words, you will suffer in front of your eyes

You would enter a bar in three years

Or an airplane, a bus or a paper airplane

But you still hate NYC when you visit Lilian

So “I’m sorry for making you come all the way for nothing”

But L’s gone now without a doubt after everything

You were in tears but instead of wiping them away, you ate them

You began to be fond of New York like she favored

But your tree is eating your ice cream now --- mint

chocolate flavored

BY YIJIA LIN, CULVER, IN

Now a Paper Once a Tree

People never seem to notice the real me

Well, they do but only when they are in need

Then they use and change me, I used to be a tree

I cry while they cut away at my branches I begin to bleed

I’ve now taken a new form, I am now paper

Even in my new form I go unnoticed until I’m useful

I’m boring until they print on me calling me a ‘newspaper’

I was just a tree forced to be paper, does that not seem at all abuseful?

People hand kids these crayons to give me some color

At least it’s better than when they scrape me with ink all over

I also get the ‘pleasure’ of being the paper given to a graduating scholar

Why me? Why a tree? Did I do something wrong? Why not the four leaf clover?

People have never seemed to really noticed me much

For I was a tree now a paper that people hold in their clutch

BY AZALEA JOGLER, OLYPHANT, PA

ARTWORK BY CHANGAN CHEN, BEIJING, CHINA

The Murmuration

Starlings that soar in Chaotic frays of a brush, Paint the sky with coal.

BY SYDNEY DAVIS, CARBONDALE, IL

Crush

Secretive glances, Feels as if the stars aligned, Gazes locked, he smiles

BY ANONYMOUS

The Unseen Door

Dust laying lightly

On the door that never closed Waiting while it splits

BY SAOIRSE BOLGER, HOLLY SPRINGS, NC

My Surrender

i raised a white flag, sunbleached and tapered in the windy and warm air.

BY PEPPER ROSE, SPARTANBURG, SC

haiku: a Japanese poetic form with 3 lines — the first with 5 syllables, the second with 7 syllables, and the last with 5 syllables

Cathedral

watch the light beams waltz thrown upon the floor like glass stained with choir hymns

BY ALLY KRYZALKA, CHARLOTTE, NC

Desperate

It was like being the leaves on a fallen branch, slowly withering.

BY TAILI GAO, LEXINGTON, MA

Just Like Me

haikus are my loves they crave rhythm and balance yes, five seven five BY CASS

NEWSOM, MADERA, CA

Flashback

Your familiar smell Sends me back to days long past Back when you were mine.

BY KAI TRAMMELL, HIGHWOOD, MT

PHOTO BY SAM A., WAYNE, PA

Sorry, Mother Earth

Smog clouds and full crowds

We are Sorry Mother Earth

We are not good kids

BY TY GETZ, HARTLAND, WI

Journeys

In the warmth of spring, butterflies stretch their new wings flying far from home.

BY SAMANTHA IGOT, HACKENSACK, NJ

Plank Position

every bone aching the weight of the world balanced on my trembling spine

BY CASS NEWSOM, MADERA, CA

Swirling Sounds

Running through music

How sound impacts perception

Auditory bliss.

BY ISABELLA AMDUR, HOUSTON, TX

Droplets of Ruby

droplets of ruby upon a bed of tulips — one fallen dagger

BY WILLIAM CHEN, WINFIELD, WV

A Sad Story

Write a sad story, You can use only three words: He never belonged.

BY JAMES WILSON, MINNEAPOLIS, MN

Jealousy

those perfect faces where is mine, i ask the gods but comes no answer

BY KINSLEY TRUITT, ÇATALKÖY, KYRENIA, CYPRUS

My Structure

If I am a house You, friend, are my supporting, Solid foundation

BY MIA PALMER, ARLINGTON, TN

Bookmarking Walden

Candy-apple leaf, plucked from the heavens to be pressed inside a book

BY EMILY SCHERL, SHOREHAM, NY

To Be Human

beginning and end wrapped in the fragile fabric of flesh and unknown

BY GABBY WEST, PORTLAND, OR

6th Period

Braiding in the back, Your red hair being fish-tailed, As we ignore math.

BY ANONYMOUS

ARTWORK BY MIKAYLA BEISLY, HAURAKI, NEW ZEALAND

CREDITS

ART GALLERY 1 2

1. ARTWORK BY EMMA ZHOU, GROTON, MA

2. ARTWORK BY LOTTIE D., HEREFORD, ENGLAND

3. PHOTO BY VIKRAM ANANTHA, LEXINGTON, MA

4. ARTWORK BY ISABELLA LIU, HONOLULU, HI

CONTRIBUTORS

THANK YOU!

Memoirs

Huilin Tang, 7

Anonymous, 9

Alison Hwang, 11

Environmentalism

Sophia Han, 14

Isaac Bai, 16

Nicole Qian, 18

Luca Geiger, 20

Opinions

Aneesh Krishna, 22

Emma Clare Barrasso, 24

Ming Wei Yeoh, 26

Sports Anonymous, 30

Tei Kim, 32

Joy Merry, 34

Book Reviews

Lydia Le Clair, 36

Ethan Dassow, 37

Xiyan Liu, 38

Movie & TV Reviews

Xiaofeng Li, 39

Cara Halloran, 40

Emma Miralieva, 40

Fiction

Sienna Homsher, 44

Sameeha Sood, 47

Poetry

Gabriela Monteiro Cortada, 48

Kendall Snipper, 48

Avery-Grace Payne, 48

Spaz Woodworth, 49

Ellen Lopez, 49

Genevieve Breen, 49

India Foster, 49

Anna Goodman, 50

Lyra Chen, 50

Spaz Woodworth, 51

Karina Gurevich, 51

Emily Ivanauskas, 52

Alisa Zverev, 52

Morgan C., 52

Hailey Kim, 52

Isabella Spina, 53

Kunyuan Zhang, 53

Yijia Lin, 53

Azalea Jogler, 53

Sydney Davis, 54

Anonymous, 54

Saoirse Bolger, 54

Pepper Rose, 54

Ally Kryzalka, 54

Taili Gao, 54

Cass Newsom, 54

Kai Trammell, 54

Editorial Staff

Managing Editor: Noelle Campbell

Consulting Senior Editor: Cindy W. Spertner

Associate Editor: Kylie Andrews

Consulting Editor: Ashley Nix

Head of Strategic Partnerships: Chane Hazelett

Account Executive: Sara Shuford

Ty Getz, 55

Samantha Igot, 55

Cass Newsom, 55

Isabella Admur, 55

William Chen, 55

James Wilson, 55

Kinsley Truitt, 55

Mia Palmer, 55

Emily Scherl, 55

Gabby West, 55

Anonymous, 55

Art Galleries

Madison Lee, Front Cover

Zoe Li, 6

Ellie Brubaker, 8

Anonymous, 9

Akhila Mushini, 10

Jesslyn Wong, 12

Evy Mansat-Gros, 12

Si Chen, 13

Wenjia Su, 13

Lauren Kim, 14

Aryana Singh, 16

Anonymous, 18

Peishan Huang, 20

Junwon Park, 21

Guo Ru, 21

Pooja Sundaram, 21

Jesslyn Wong, 22

Lydia Quattrochi, 24

Kenny Man, 27

Alexa Robertson, 28

Amaya Veras, 28

Taemin Lee, 28

Antigone Stanley, 29

Kayra Dayi, 29

Sky Ramos, 29

Hazel Colby, 30

Ella Barrie, 34

Alexander Herman, 35

Sky Ramos, 35

Abigail Schaefer, 35

Seojin Moon, 44

Diamond Brazile, 46

Tatianna Lazaro, 47

Marian De Silva, 48

Avery-Grace Payne, 49

Dishitaa Jain, 50

Anne Engelbrecht, 51

Evy Mansat-Gros, 51

Changan Chen, 53 Sam A., 54

Mikayla Beisly, 55

Emma Zhou, 56

Lottie D., 56

Vikram Anantha, 56

Isabella Liu, 56

Tanmayi Panasa, Back Cover

Videos

Zoe Mogavero, 42

Anonymous, 43

Xiyan Liu, 43

ARTWORK BY TANMAYI PANASA, CARY, NC