Teen Ink magazine – October 2021 by Teen Ink magazine

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The

College Issue Essays, Advice, Facts & More

Plus, Spooky Fiction & 2 Author Interviews

Artwork Contest

Mystical Creatures!

Teen Ink is seeking your best mystical creatures for the December 2021 issue of Teen Ink! Four honorable mentions and the winner will be featured in our digital magazine. The winner will also receive a $25 Amazon gift card!

Artwork by Madeleine Gauvin, Sammamish, WA

For more information and contest guidelines, visit: www.teenink.com/MysticalCreatures2021

Deadline: October 31st, 2021

October 2021 | Volume 36 | Issue 2

Contents OnTheCover

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18College Essays • A Fourt-Year Disaster • My Life • Stronger

21Sponsored Content • An Interview with CollegeAdvisor.com

• CollegeAdvisor.com Facts and Figures

Photo by Sydney Sinclair, Champaign, IL

24College Facts

• Helpful Facts & Stats

5Teen Ink News

26 Travel & Culture

6Memoirs

28 Health

• Contests & Call for Submissions

• Happiness Is Two Sizes Too Small

8College Articles

• College Applications & the Imaginary Audience • A Letter to Those Who've Been Part of the Rejects Club • Undecided • Out of the House • College Admissions: The Stress that Keeps on Giving

• Simensions of the Nashville Sound

• My Daily Struggle • Fears

30 Author Interviews • Bethany C. Morrow, A Chorus Rises • Ben Levin, In the Hole

34 Book Reviews • Ben Levin, In the Hole • Saraciea J. Fennell, Wild Tongues Can't Be Tamed

• Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

36 Movie & TV Reviews • "The Midnight Sky"

• "We Are Who We Are" • "Five Feet Apart"

38 Fiction

• Banana Guts • The Crane • Witness

44 Poetry

• Free verse, haiku, sonnets, & more

Art Galleries

• Photography, watercolors, charcoal, oil paintings, & more

Letter from the

Editor Happy Autumn! Dear Teen Ink Readers, While autumn brings delicious pumpkin spice and stunning fall colors, it is also a time when many teens are deep into the college application process. Perfecting college essays, studying for SATs, making decisions that feel life-altering … the process can be as stressful as it is exciting. Teen Ink’s College Issue features articles by teens reflecting on their own journey to college. They offer insight, advice, and reassurance that you are not alone in both your excitement and your stress. This issue also features examples of strong college essays and interesting college facts and statistics. Be sure to also check out our spooky fiction section just in time for Halloween! As always, we welcome your feedback. Email us at editor@teenink.com and be sure to submit your writing and art! Sincerely,

The Teen Ink Team

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Click Here to Submit Your Work

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We Also

Need:

• Making a Difference: stories about community service, advocacy, starting a business or nonprofit, and changing the world for the better!

• Book Reviews • Movie Reviews • Music Reviews • Video Game Reviews

• Holiday Stories: memoirs and poems about Christmas, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Kwanza, and more!

MEMOIRS | OCTOBER 2021

Happiness Is

Two Sizes Too Small by De'ja A., Hazel Crest, IL

t was his hands. They were drenched in poisonous ink and freedom. I never would have thought to draw on my skin; it was strictly forbidden in my house. The act could lead to skin poisoning, lead poisoning, heart disease, high blood pressure, and, of course, death. But his kind eyes convinced me the risk was worth it. In only 4th grade, he had already mastered the art of having that Matty Healy, James Dean, Johnny Depp, mysterious, artsy, cool-guy persona. He was intentionally an outcast and I wanted to join him; so, if that meant having to live with a fatal disease, then so be it. It was hard being the girl with the widest hips and a higher maturity level than most of my peers. He understood my frustration, and at snack time, we’d sit in the corner making jokes other people “just wouldn’t understand.” After a while, I got pretty good at doodling on my hands and transferred the artwork to paper. It was his crooked smile. He was sweet. The kind of person that could just casually tell you how pretty you look and not realize how much that means. Junior high temporarily turned everyone into demons, but for him, the serum kicked in later and he maintained his sugary exterior for one year past the average. But, like sugar in its purest form, there was a coarse exterior that made his spoonfuls especially hard to swallow. He was friends with my usual audience: a group of boys with blurry faces. They’d walk down hallways and giggle among themselves. I would hear my appearance scratch against their tongues. “She’s so ugly! And she’s big as hell!”

His kind eyes convinced me the risk was worth it The final blow was the leader of the pack slinking his way up to me and saying, “Aye, my friend said he likes you.” The roaring denial and bursting laughter from the rest of the pack were like cheers from a crowd. I was center stage, their between-class entertainment. Their words, while hurtful, were nothing in comparison to the sad reality that he would never see how sh**ty his friends and, eventually he, could be. To them, I was funny. It was his lips. They were plump with an ignorant defense. It’s 7th grade art and it’s been a good day. No groups of boys using me as their entertainment, no homework, and my shadow of insecurities had stayed just far enough behind me to permit a relieving breath. Mrs. Punda had given us the tools needed for crafting our amateur clay vases. And so I lost myself in my work and found some form of solace in the one subject where my mistakes were beautiful. Eventually the time came for me to re-enter reality. The bell rang and we scrambled to the large bottomless sink placed awkwardly to the side of the work stations, all of us attempting to scrape away the slip that nestled between our knuckles.

MEMOIRS | OCTOBER 2021

Photo by Maxis Amos-Flom, Allendale, NJ

“Damn! Your arms are really hairy.” Scarlet burned my face as I tried to laugh it off. I rolled my sleeves back down; I didn’t care if they became soaked with the muddy water. It was his eyes. My wide hips grant me – in some but not all hallways– the privilege of being considered “thick.” For the first time, tight clothing is sexy and having an a** is a great thing (just as long as you don’t exceed the limit). His eyes were deep brown, like the chocolate that coated his skin. I was only 12, but I swear, when our irises met, the world slowed down. He saw past the implicit bruises and enjoyed the view. Sugar freckled his cheeks, too. Long stares with warm smiles and small eternities in the hallway: he changed my name to Beautiful. He was my Prince Charming. The only problem was, I wasn’t who he thought. I took note of every girl who had the pleasure of catching his glare and convinced myself I could never measure up. So, when Ms. Bell placed his name tag next to mine, it was because of the seating chart and not fate. When he’d lean in a little closer than necessary to ask for help, it was because he wanted to make sure I heard him; not because the mixture of my coconut co-wash and shuttle-run sweat make me smell like an exotic flower he just can’t seem to resist. When he insinuated that if given the title of my boyfriend, he’d “treat me like a lady,” I don’t notice the way the tips of his fingers tickled mine like a ghost, or that his eyes were praying I’d understand what he was trying to ask me. I retracted my hand with a friendly giggle and returned to my work. I pretended not to notice the way he slunk in his chair. The bell rang.

It’s the way he remembers my name. He’ll never understand just how much power he truly has. He’s the literal embodiment of every teen movie heartthrob. Pumped with a fiery confidence and a loner perception of the world, his success is inevitable. That Patrick Dempsey, Jake Ryan, Peter Kavinsky kind of magic glistens the walls of his reality. He saunters with admiration and pseudo-stability. Wisdom spirals from his mind, and I think that’s what intrigues me the most. His smile is just as twisted as mine, but his cracks are better hidden. His eyes make my hoping for more seem like less of a waste of time. But, I could never give him my all. My brain has already written our story: girl falls for boy and boy doesn’t notice, so girl cries her heart out because she’ll never hold his gaze. Childhood fables didn’t prepare me for hyper-vigilance. I harbor comparisons and thoughts of “you’ll never be enough.” I couldn’t seem to find the difference between self-love and self-maintenance, so my hair looks nice, but my heart is covered in sunspots. And it’s all his fault. He’s the reason I can’t cough too loud in class or walk to blow my nose, my thighs would make too much noise. The reason my face is painted with cuts in hopes to make my nose sparkle. The reason happiness is two sizes too small. I’d rather gift it to someone else anyway. I had learned to live in my cage and accept my lifelong rejection. He ruined it; he broke the lock.

College Admissions

COLLEGE ARTICLES | OCTOBER 2021

and the

Imaginary Audience by Anonymous, Lincoln, MA

have an unremarkable confession to make. I’m a rising senior, and I hate the college application process. Not because of the essay writing, or the supplementals, or the college browsing. No, I’ve hated it long before that and I suspect I’ll continue to dislike it afterwards. Why? Because it turns my life experience into a commodity to be marketed. For the past four years, partaking in an activity purely for the pleasure of it has been replaced by the frantic search for something, ANYTHING, that will look impressive and unique when neatly condensed into 150 characters on the Common App. The youthful joy of discovering something new is marred by a ruthless evaluation asking whether I can be good enough, or find some way to stand out, so that application readers will notice me. I’m told that “this is life,” that sometimes “you just gotta play the game.” And a lot of kids do that – extraordinarily well, in fact. Especially in the wealthy suburbs of Boston, where parents and kids have been zeroed in on the process for years. Kids find an activity, something that’s not too cliché but is visible enough to put on an application. They spend a few years on it, and voilà, a clear experience, ready to be gift-wrapped and sent off to the Ivy League. But many others just don’t play the game that well. For me, I hop between different activities, picking them up and dropping them off when I lose interest, looking around for something that I can stick to. The self-assurance that I would find something in time for application season sustained me for a while, allowing me to move through high school with a minimal amount of anxiety. Enough to allow myself to get A minuses and the occasional B, while my friends were pulling straight As in APs and then marching off to a robotics competition somewhere. And I know I should have just sucked it up. I should have endured a couple years of activities and pushed myself enough to earn a 4.0. But I didn’t and now I’m here, without enough of a margin to stave off rolling waves of anxiety. What do I say when adults and teachers ask me what I’m doing (a question that neatly omits the “for college”)? Do I make something up? Or do I tell them the truth, that I’m mostly just working at the local grocery store, occasionally volunteering, hanging out with friends, and reading? Of course, they don’t care. They’ll forget, or put my answer aside, within a few seconds. But my brain, in its raging adolescence, feels that I am always being watched, judged, evaluated. This is actually a well-documented and widespread feeling in teenagers and young adults, known as the “imaginary audience.” We imagine that our life is a staged drama, and desperately hope that our acting can earn applause, or maybe just a nod of approval. Maybe that’s why I really hate the process. Not because of some convoluted feelings of commodification, but rather because it is the imaginary audience brought into reality. While most of the time, no one is watching, during applications, my life is quite literally being evaluated by a committee of a dozen or so adults who get to decide whether I am good enough to gain admission to their fine institution. Fortunately, I’m not always in a state of anxiety. I recently read a book called “Where You Go Is Not Who You’ll Be.” The essence of the author’s point is that what you do in college is what really matters, not where you go. I can calm a spike of anxiety by reading a few pages, and reminding myself that my self-worth is not reflected by the college I stick on the back of my car. But the anxiety is always there, lurking in the background, waiting to rise and crash onto shore.

Artwork by Jorja Garcia, Oxnard, CA

COLLEGE ARTICLES | OCTOBER 2021 Photo by Brianna Skye, Attleboro, MA

A Letter to Those Who've Been Part of

The Rejects Club by Marley Noel, Charlotte, NC

esults are in. After weeks of waiting, the decision that will decide whether you like yourself for the next five days is sitting pretty in your inbox. Your organs have already become a marching band inside of you at the mere thought of moving your mouse to check your status. Finally, courage kicks in, and running purely off of adrenaline, the email is opened. Blood chills throughout your body in that one second before the page loads for you to see … rejected. “Sorry, try again next year,” “Unfortunately …,” “You’re a winner for even submitting!” No matter how sweet they set it, you know it’s nothing but another rejection to add to your resume. For those around our age (17 or so), these letters seem to come as often as the sunrise, whether it be from clubs, competitions, or colleges. We know we aren’t the only ones submitting, yet for some reason, we feel like the only ones being rejected. It’s the loneliest feeling being surrounded by “Mr. I Got In!” and “Mrs. Officially Five Times Published!” when you know you have a “There were a lot of applicants this year so …” in your pocket, but I hope you hear me when I say you’re not alone. I hope even if you stop reading right here because it got too corny or clichéd that you know these

rejections don’t define you or what you can do. It’s okay to feel hurt, give yourself that time to sulk. Give it a day – heck, give it a week. Just remember that the hurt is not forever. You’ve gotten through it before and, even if it feels like one more rejection will do you in, you’ll get through it again. Learn from it if you want, but sometimes, it’s okay to just lose. A loss doesn’t always have to be some sort of stepping stone to something bigger. Sometimes, we just lose. I wish that was more accepted. Getting caught up in how we’re gonna flip and reverse every loss prevents us from recovering and moving on. I’m not saying don’t learn from your mistakes, but don’t beat yourself up about it. Sometimes it’s okay to just say, “Okay” and move on. You’re still worthy of free time and food and sleep. Destroying yourself after every loss doesn’t do you any good. Destroying yourself after something so natural as losing is just wicked! Wicked because we’re all losers. We’re all rejects. We all hide from this reality but maybe it’s time we start shouting it from the rooftops. Signed, A Certified Reject

COLLEGE ARTICLES | OCTOBER 2021

Undecided

“T

hat’s okay; you still have time.”

Because this has been one of the top phrases I’ve heard throughout my academic life, a part of me had forgotten that all that time I had to think about college and what I wanted to do with myself was supposed to be filled with active thinking. As time inevitably passes by and deadlines start to pile up on the horizon, I began to realize that the answer does not suddenly appear when it’s most convenient, like those messages in a bottle that always conveniently drift to the main character’s exact whereabouts. Some of my friends are those main characters, though. I wonder if I’ll get my bottle soon.

* * * When I was younger, I used to be fascinated by planes and dreamt of becoming a pilot. My parents would buy flight simulators for me to play with, and since we grew up relatively close to the city’s airport, I would often hear the rumbling of arriving and departing planes as they soared through the sky. Growing older meant that much of that reality had to be put to rest. Flight school is expensive and requires hours upon hours of flight time, which also costs money, to progress past that first step of getting a private license. Instead, since my math and science grades were pretty decent back in middle school, my dad, also an engineer, pointed my attention to aerospace engineering. “If you can’t fly the planes, you could at least design them,” he would tell me. It sounded logical to me, so I tucked that idea in the back of my mind and never put more thought into what I would do when I grew up – my first mistake. Now, I’ve ditched the idea of aerospace engineering and multiple other branches of engineering, and now I feel stuck in a limbo of having so many options that I feel like there are none. Also happening during my early years was being forced into learning an instrument

by Alex Montes De Oca, Lima, Peru

by my parents. It was a steep learning curve, but today I am very grateful for the ability to read and perform musical pieces. With this, I grew a deep appreciation for the compositional aspect of music for the pieces I would play (and fantasize about playing). More often than not, I would search up the soundtrack to various movies and listen to the works of the composers of “Howl’s Moving Castle,” “La La Land,” or other ear-pleasing works. This affinity wasn’t limited to movies, though. The TV shows I watched and the video games I

I have to tread onward and decide on a path because I know no one else can or will do it for me would play had soundtracks that I would find myself searching up on YouTube after a playthrough, trying to recreate the feeling of my first listen. This was how I found channels like Insaneintherainmusic, KyleLandry, and 8-bit Music Theory, amongst others, where I would become mesmerized by the amount of detail present in musical pieces and how impressive it looked to perform. Music performance, composition, and theory became points of interest for me, and although the IB class didn’t scratch my itch to learn more about it (nor did I give myself enough time to practice on my own), I would dream of composing or performing for a large audience. Now, I know I can’t choose music as my major because there would be such a slight chance at a significant payout down the road. An arts degree would not pay the bills, which is just how the world works. The way I see it, critical choices are similar

to a choose-your-own-adventure book. I used to always look for the true ending and worked backward from there, trying to “beat” the book in one go. Not that I’d get much satisfaction from that, it was just better than losing to a couple of pieces of paper. I could’ve tried to read through the entire book and choose the options I thought were most correct, but I didn’t want to be wrong, especially after investing so much time into it. Whether it’s committing to something or reaching farther than what I think my reach is, there’s this fear of wasting time. Sure, I can go through each of my interests and try pursuing a degree in it, but there’s a risk. I’m only 18, after all. Am I even qualified to define the trajectory of my life? Qualified or not, sitting next to a ticking time bomb doesn’t lessen the intensity of the blast. I have to tread onward and decide on a path because I know no one else can or will do it for me. Taking this decision is one of the first tests of strengths we encounter as adults, which admittedly is a strange word when describing a high school graduate. Usually, having difficulty so early into a game would be concerning, but in the end, we all want to live successful lives. Comfort, stability, and happiness are all luxuries that require effort and a willingness to try something new. At this point, as the road ahead of us diverges, I need to be able to trust my gut feeling, regardless of whatever risk I think exists. A risk-free decision does not exist. For all those who are as undecided as me in trying to chisel away at the marble of the future, know that the choice we are making is one where there are no wrong answers. It’s normal to be afraid, and although there’s a net of supporting peers and family members, the choice must come from us and us alone. Victory comes from those who choose their outcome, not those who let it choose them. After all, we have the time.

COLLEGE ARTICLES | OCTOBER 2021

Out of the House

henever the clock creeps past 9 a.m., a vague feeling of discomfort washes over me. Before then, I’m fine. I’m supposed to be at home, waking up, eating breakfast, brushing my teeth. Everyone else is doing the same thing. All the other soon-to-be high school seniors in the sweltering days of July. But then 9 a.m. rolls around, and people march off to their summer internships, interesting jobs, and exclusive camps. But me? I stay. Stay in the house, without my internship, because I didn’t get accepted to the one I wanted. Sure, I have a grocery store job and do community service, but those are just so, perilously … generic. They won’t pop off the page when an admissions officer glances at it. My parents try not to pressure me. But at 9 a.m., I can feel the silent questions start to roll in like a fog, pushing against my mental defenses: Why aren’t you doing something? No, not reading, or occasionally volunteering. Something...well, you know! In my head, I shoot back responses I could never muster up the confidence to say in real life: Oh, you mean something for college? No, I know this isn’t really just for me, stop trying to convince me otherwise. The imaginary retort satisfies me for a moment, before the anxiety returns. My sister, a year older than me, graduated about a month ago. She decided to postpone applying to colleges for a year, unsure of where exactly she wanted to go. For her, the silent questions are more explicit. There’s an urgency in my parents’ voices as they say “Come downstairs!” or “You need to get a job!” Occasionally, the urgency disappears, and with utter resignation they ask, “What’s going on?”

by Charlie Raghavan, Lincoln, MA

I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want the silent questions to turn explicit as I wallow in my indecision. So I need to get out of the house, and I pounce on any chance I get. The library is my respite, and I’m close enough to the local one and another two that I’m usually able to find shelter during the week. There, I can hunker down and just read, just be myself. But the fog is ever-present, and it reaches me in the library as well. There, I oscillate between selfacceptance and stifling anxiety. One moment I’m reading history, and the next, I rush to my computer in a desperate search for any internships that might still be on offer. It’s an impossible search. Even going downstairs is difficult. I want to be able to sit in the kitchen and goof off with my dad, or talk about my friends with my mom. But college is an ever-present, unwelcome guest in our house, always lurking in the background, waiting to assert its importance. I avoid downstairs even more when there are guests over, who can’t help but to ask a rising senior where they’re looking and which extracurriculars they’re doing. And what do I do then? I can’t exactly lie with my parents around. No, I’d have to tell the truth, and feel their imaginary waves of judgment roll over me. Gradually, I’ve settled into a middle ground. I’ll increase my work hours, do some more volunteering, and try my best to snag an impressive-sounding opportunity, if one still exists this late in the summer. Not for me, or even, really, for college. Mostly just so I can go downstairs again.

Photo by Shelbie Perani, Plymouth, OH

COLLEGE ARTICLES | OCTOBER 2021

College Admissions:

The Stress That Keeps on Giving by Anonymous, Scarsdale, NY

Photo by Anonymous, FL

tress. Anxiety. Peer pressure. These were the responses of some rising juniors in my high school when asked what terms came to mind upon hearing the phrase “college admissions.” In our town, it’s not uncommon to see cars with bumper stickers from Yale, Stanford, or Dartmouth, among several other elite institutions. It’s barely shocking when a 7th grader goes to the guidance office, inquiring about extracurriculars that would improve their chances for admission into an Ivy League school. Casually chatting about how many APs you can load up on is the norm. For a number of students living in our town, getting into just any university isn’t enough. It has to be a name-brand one, like one of the Ivies or other institutions regarded as having similar prestige. With universities such as Harvard experiencing an even steeper decline in admissions rates than most other schools in the nation, going from admitting nearly 11% of applicants

I would be completely lying if I said that the pressure, from parents, my peers, and myself, is not getting to me in 2000, to admitting a whopping 4.5% of applicants in 2019, this mindset is probably not a healthy one. As a junior at my high school, I would be completely lying if I said that the pressure, from parents, my peers, and myself, is not getting to me. Every time I hear of a senior getting into a top school, I make sure to check their LinkedIn profile, carefully comparing my extracurriculars and GPA to theirs. Building off of that, I participate in extracurriculars that I dislike, but apparently look strong on an application. I study for hours on end for tests, often spending whole weekends doing nothing

but writing notes in my textbook. Going against my teachers’ advice, I almost always learn for the grade and not for the sake of learning. The external pressure manifests internally as intense stress. I stay up late most nights, worrying about the future. I’ll blank out during tests that I spent a whole week studying for. I feel a sense of dread whenever I have to participate in an extracurricular I’d rather ditch. While I know that the amount of pressure I face is not unique to just me, I sometimes feel like I am the only one who is really impacted by it. I don’t see anyone else with dark circles under their eyes, or who freaks out during tests. “Am I just mentally weaker? What’s wrong with me?,” are thoughts that frequently appear in my head. Am I alone in feeling this way? After talking to some of my peers about my stress issues, though, it turns out that I’m not alone in these feelings.

COLLEGE ARTICLES | OCTOBER 2021

* * * John is very much your stereotypical “overachiever.” Between a week packed with extracurriculars, an impressive number of hackathons that he’s either won or finaled in, and highly advanced classes to boot, you would think that he is perfectly confident in his abilities. During our Zoom interview, John contemplates before answering any of the questions. However, when asked how stressed about college he is, the words seem to burst from his mouth quickly: “I’m more stressed than I should be.” He explains that with his brother at Dartmouth and his cousin at Yale, his and his parents’ expectations of him are high – almost too high. Add in the stress of living around “lots of teens doing lots of impressive college activities.” While John enjoys learning at school and going to his extracurriculars, it is getting to the point where even he has to admit that “many of the things we do to get into college just aren’t very fulfilling.” John is definitely not the only one who thinks this. Juliana, an incoming student in our school’s alternative school program, commonly referred to as the “A-School,” feels the same way. In fact, the lack of fulfillment with traditional schooling is one of the main reasons she tried out for the program in the first place. Our school’s alternative program caters to students who are more interested in creative expression and informal lessons. Teachers are addressed by their first names, and students learn impromptu subjects in colorful classrooms with comfortable sofas. Community-oriented activities are highly encouraged. There are no grades in this program, but at the end of high school, a portfolio of the students’ work is sent to colleges. On a scale of 1-5, Juliana rates her anxiety about getting into a top college as a 4. Much of this stress, though, comes from external pressure, both from other students and her parents. In the A-school, Juliana hopes to learn how to love learning again and how to grow in a supportive, encouraging environment, outside of the pressure cooker that is the main campus.

* * * Upon doing more research, I realized that while our town is demanding, college anxiety is a nationwide phenomenon. The U.S. Bureau of Labor reports that nowadays, if you ask three random high school seniors in the U.S. what their plans after graduating are, chances are, at least two of them will say that they’re going to attend college. This percentage, from 2020, is much higher than what it was even in 1990. This is one of the main reasons why the admission rates for nearly all colleges and universities across the U.S. have decreased. According to Healthy Children, “Nearly 1 in 3 of all adolescents ages 13 to 18 will experience an anxiety disorder. These numbers have been rising steadily; between 2007 and 2012, anxiety disorders in children and teens went up 20 perent.” While this statistic could be impacted by the rise in school shootings, social media, and body-image issues, college stress is likely one of the main factors behind it. As reported by the St. Louis Business Journal, in a Bay Area (California) high school, Dr. Stuart Slavin, a pediatrician, found that the average high school student was more stressed than a student attending the medical school he chaired. “It was appalling,” Dr. Slavin stated. In The Atlantic, Marya Gwadz, a senior research scientist at the New York University College of Nursing, says that “These experiences can cause kids to burn out by the time they get to college, or to feel the psychological and physical effects of stress for much of their adult lives.” So this leftover stress from high school could fester for possibly the rest of our lives. But if this is such a problem, then why isn’t anyone doing anything about it? There are a few possible theories. One very convincing theory is that much of the stress to go to a top-tier university is coming from parents, rather than school officials. This turns high school into a rat race to college. Many of these parents don’t realize that a teen is more than their GPA, number of volunteer hours, and even the college that they are accepted to. Another plausible theory is that many

students (myself included) tend to get stressed about school independently, and then that type of mentality tends to spread, becoming a type of contagious behavior. Psychological services at school might need to be re-evaluated. Oftentimes, a student dealing with intense stress issues may not want to see their guidance counselor or school psychologist for the fear of looking like a “crazy person.” While this is absolutely a societal problem, school psychologists and guidance counselors need to find ways to make appointments accessible and comfortable. Guidance counselors and school psychologists should also take a second look at the type of advice they often give out; telling students to kick their (very real) college stress to the curb and saying that “high school is a once-in-a-lifetime experience” isn’t going to magically destress an anxious teenager. Giving students methods on how to deal with stress in healthy ways will help. Stress is always going to be there – it’s the way you use and combat it that matters. Making programs like the alternative school more mainstream could also help with reducing college anxiety. Right now, a stigma may exist around applying to such programs, because learning in such a nontraditional way is seen as “lesser” by many parents and students. By making alternative programs have a large presence in high schools, or even just implementing certain core elements of alternative programs in regular classroom settings, students who may have been initially hesitant about applying will now be able to reap the benefits of studying and growing in an educationally stimulating, yet laid back environment. Such alternative programs can not only help in relieving stress, but can also help students prepare for a well adjusted adult life. We may never find out the true reason behind why this epidemic of college-related stress is still in full swing, and it’ll likely take us a while to discover a surefire method of alleviating this stress. Until then, though, here’s a message for both the students in my town and across the nation: getting that Dartmouth or Yale bumper sticker is a remarkable feat, no doubt, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of your happiness and mental health.

Artwork by Ananya Guha, Bhopal, India

Artwork by Ashley Jun, Shorthills, NJ

Artwork by Yincheng Qian, Dallas, TX

Photo by Francesca Mills, Mendocino, CA

Artwork by Joyce Tratnyek, Portland, OR

Artwork by Mariam Shengelia, Tbilisi, Georgia

Artwork by Noha Kandil, New York, NY

Photo by Ellen Britt, Port Coquitlam, BC, Canada

Artwork by Jenny Jeewon Youm, Oberursel, Germany

Photo by Keanu Lim, Tarpon Springs, FL

Photo by Rawan Saleh, Louisville, KY 17

COLLEGE ESSAYS | OCTOBER 2021

A Four-Year

Disaster

irls’ basketball is essentially a synonym for disaster at my high School. Considering the boys’ basketball team is included in the state rankings, the girls’ basketball team consists of eight players. Though, it hasn’t always been this way. I have been playing basketball from the time I was in seventh grade, all my best friends, too. We weren’t there to win; we wanted to have fun and maybe that would lead us to a few victories. When freshman year came around, it was time to try out for the high school team. It was obvious who was going to be on which team. My friend Gerda had been playing since she was four, so they were practically waiting for her on varsity. Most of my other friends played JV, whereas I enjoyed my time on the freshman team. I wasn’t ashamed of it because I was having a great time. We were all waiting for the year that our class would dominate on the varsity level and we could all play together – at least I was. However, there was something about the varsity team that seemed toxic. Every time a player moved up to varsity, they quit by the next year, some not even staying for the full season. It was astonishing to watch as I went on to win championships at the JV level. There were ten of us that walked into that intimidating gymnasium that first day of tryouts our freshman year, and by the end of our sophomore year, there were only three left. The beginning of our junior year, basketball had begun and our program had encountered a huge cut in the numbers. Our varsity team had ten players, only five upperclassmen. I was hesitant to continue my basketball career as I was only really playing to have fun with my friends, but I decided to give the varsity team a chance. When I first stepped onto the court, with

the few seniors we had left – who obtained far more varsity experience than me – it was like a whole new version of basketball. I was out of the loop, in fact, so far out of the loop that I got yelled at by not only the coaches, but also the seniors. Physically, I was at practice; mentally, however, I was not. When the coaches were whipping up new plays, I was still attempting to master the old ones. And while the seniors were having the time of their lives, I was embarrassed to even step onto the court. The constant cycle of defeat took an extreme toll on my mental health; I was becoming someone I never thought I would be – a quitter. Yet, as much as I thought I was failing, the coaches

I was becoming someone I never thought I would be – a quitter saw something else. I was appointed team captain; this completely changed my perception of the season. Despite my inability to keep up with the seniors or my lack of varsity experience, to the few freshmen on the team, I was a professional, or at least, I acted as such. The role I possessed as a team captain not only boosted my confidence on the court, but as well as off the court. I became fearless due to the thought of others thinking of me as a leader. The underclassmen looked to me for help and I was more than willing to provide them with such, as I had been in that position not long before them. I flipped my quitting attitude into a confident attitude – finally someone I wanted to be. This helped me earn a spot on the Student

by Anonymous, IL

Athlete Leadership Team at our school and I received a sportsmanship award from the North Suburban Conference (NSC). Although my view of basketball completely changed in the span of one season, I endured so much personal growth that eventually led me to success during my junior and senior year.

Artwork by Lyna H. , New York, NY

COLLEGE ESSAYS | OCTOBER 2021 Photo by Mobin Salimi, Bandar Abbas, Iran

My Life

by Jamilah Arabiyat, Oconomowoc, WI

veryone knows about Christmas. Everyone has an idea of what Hanukkah is. But do people know what Eid is? Or how there are two of them? Do they even know the basic concept of Ramadan? Islam is the second most practiced religion in the world, and the third in the United States. In the state of Wisconsin, only 1% of people who live here are Muslim. And I’m a part of that 1%.

I did something. I am doing something. And I will continue doing something

Out of all my years in school, my freshman year's social studies class was the only class where that actually taught Islam. However, it wasn’t like how I imagined it. I imagined a simple lecture, or a research assignment, just like the other religions that were taught. But instead, we watched a video.

to teach something that he should be confident in what he was teaching. But nothing changed.

That video was about a Christan man who “converted to Islam” for a month. It sounded informative; however, the class was behind and instead of actually finishing the video, the teacher only showed the first 20 minutes. The part where the man was explaining all the stereotypes. Terrorist. War. 9/11. Evil. Finals were next week and he didn’t have time to show the rest of the video. What a way to start the unit. What a way to show a religion that means Peace. But the next few days were just as bad…. “Jamilah, please stop me if I say anything incorrect.” “Jamilah, could you explain this specific part of Islam?” “Do you know if Osama Bin Laden was Sunni or Shia, Jamilah?” I felt like I was being interrogated in that class. But he was teaching my religion, shouldn’t I be happy? I wasn’t. I told him that. I told him I didn’t like being called out. I told him that he shouldn’t have said that and that if he was going

I regret not doing more. I regret not telling the administration. I regret not speaking up. Never again. I told myself. And so I promoted respectful ways to ask questions. Spoke upon injustice. Attended protests. I did something. I am doing something. And I will continue doing something. So that next year I started a club. A club to encourage change and promote inclusion and education of different cultures. A club where people come together and talk about their experiences that were similar to mine. Instead of complaining about those experiences, we put them into action. We’re pushing to not have that video being shown. We’re pushing for more cultures to be taught in different classes. We’re pushing for teachers to be aware of their comments and words. We’re doing something. The summer of 2020 sparked the beginning of a new civil rights movement. The movement brought out so many people protesting and marching to the streets to this day. It all started with the brutal death of a black man. My first protest was in Brookfield on June 4th. I stood up with others and used my voice. I spoke up on injustice and did something my freshman self couldn’t do. I did something. And when college comes around. I will continue on speaking out and doing as much as I can.

COLLEGE ESSAYS | OCTOBER 2021

Stronger A

by Eddy Hogea, Chicago, IL

t some point in life, everyone reaches this feeling of total happiness and invincibility. My first semester of sophomore year, I lifted huge gym weights in the strength and conditioning gym and qualified for an annual robotics tournament at the Virginia Smithsonian Museum. But on the day of January 29, 2020 (the day before Virginia), I did an MRI to check on my “upset stomach.” Unfortunately, my small intestines were severely inflamed from an unhealthy diet and couldn’t handle certain foods anymore. I was immediately placed in 24-hour hospital care, as the doctors thought I had Crohn’s disease but couldn’t prove it as I had no symptoms. I was then barred from physical activities and from eating anything for six weeks. I also couldn’t go on the robotics trip anymore and missed the rest of the season. All my hard work over the year just erased in a single day. All I could do was sit and watch “Happy Gilmore'' until I got better and was released home from the hospital. Due to the coronavirus, I spent three months confined in my house, scrolling through YouTube. Then one day, I had an epiphany watching a video about a speech by Arnold Schwarzenegger from “The Terminator.” My favorite thing he said was, “When you have a goal, when you have a vision, everything becomes easy.” I realized that I forgot my goals to become the strongest I can be and the best robotics teammate I can be. I knew I could still become a strong nerd.

I knew I could still become a strong nerd

I birthed my journey for betterment in the month of June, by first getting an amazing doctor who closely monitored my digestive system. Despite finally being able to eat food again, he put me on an extremely clean diet. No dairy, sweets, gluten, or anything that would disturb my digestive system. At least he didn’t take away meat, that was the only food left I cared about. My next line of business was finally getting back to my robotics club. Due to Covid restrictions, I could only see my team once a week, but being the experienced juniors we are, we finished our robot at record pace. We built our robot in August, a month before the season started, and have had plenty of time to practice driving our robot and changing any inconsistencies. Our team was ecstatic for tournaments to start rolling in. The glory of the Mundelein Robotics Club would shine again once more. For my strength goals, I also began working out and doing solely body weights exercises to gain some strength back. I ran ten miles a week and did at least one hundred pushups, squats, and sit-ups a day. I felt good, but I wasn’t satisfied. Instead of waiting for gyms to open up again, I decided to build my own gym right inside my garage. I used every scrap of cash I saved from birthdays to buy all the tools and resources for under $500 – an amazing price as most people spend thousands of dollars. It took over a month to build my entire gym out of 4” x 4” wood from the heavens of Home Depot, and it took every ounce of engineering I knew to make it hold 300+ lbs. It’s nice to know my robotics skills actually work in a real-life scenario. Now I work out six days a week until I get strong enough to reach my goal of lifting the heaviest weights I can.

Photo by Jody Mertins, Nashotah, WI 20

Overall, I'm glad I ended up in the hospital. Without it, I would still be the weak boy struggling to face the hardships of life. In the words of the famous Arnold Schwarzenegger, “You can have results or excuses. Not both.” I now plan to continue my journey for success and learn how to endure life’s future pain. I’m stronger, I’m smarter, and I’m going to change my life.

SPONSORED CONTENT | OCTOBER 2021

COLLEGE FACTS | OCTOBER 2021

Student Financial Aid Statistics 86.4% of first-time, first-year undergraduate students receive financial aid in some form.

Each student borrows an average of

$11,836 per year to pay for school.

Public university attendees borrow an average of each to attain a bachelor’s degree.

$30,030

The amount each student borrows has increased at an annual rate of .

1.961%

Parents borrowing on behalf of their children accept an average of .

$12,535

source: educationdata.org

Average Annual Cost

to Attend College in the United States Public 2-Year Community College (In-State)

$12, 850

Public 4-Year College (In-State)

$22,180

Public 4-Year College (Out-of-State)

$36,840

Private 4-Year College ©Statista 2021

$50,770

65% of four-year colleges and universities in the US are test-optional for the 2021-22 application cycle. source: www.ivywise.com

COLLEGE FACTS | OCTOBER 2021

of the Most In-Demand Majors According to Indeed.com Nursing Culinary arts Computer science

Business administration Accounting Physical therapy Medical assisting Mathematics and statistics Information science Finance Psychology Marketing Civil engineering Instructional design Systems engineering Economics Public relations Education Criminal justice Sports science

Top 10 Online Colleges for Bachelors Degrees

Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University— Worldwide Daytona Beach, FL University of Illinois—Chicago Chicago, IL University of Florida Gainesville, FL Ohio State University—Columbus Columbus, OH Oregon State University Corvallis, OR Arizona State University Tempe, AZ CUNY School of Professional Studies New York, NY Colorado State University—Global Campus Aurora, CO Medical University of South Carolina Charleston, SC Pennsylvania State University—World Campus University Park, PA source: usnews.com 25

TRAVEL & CULTURE | OCTOBER 2021

Dimensions of the

Nashville Sound by Gabrielle Beck, Tenafly, NJ

Artwork by Anonymous, OR 26

TRAVEL & CULTURE | OCTOBER 2021

he notion that Nashville is nothing more than a small city of cowboys who once made their exodus from the pastoral South with guitars slung over their shoulders and dreams of singing country tunes, is vastly different from reality. Music City allures not only those aching to achieve country stardom, but also emerging alternative, rap, and rock artists. Nashville is one of the fastest growing cities and is home to the new Amazon East Coast Logistics Hub. Yes, you might be serenaded by traditional country melodies downtown surrounded by drunken tourists, but the rest of this modern city is a beautiful clash of the dimensions of the Nashville sound. In the shadow of Tennessee’s capital city country-music empire, burgeoning rappers are vying to construct a platform for a sustainable rap scene. Long dominated by multi-million dollar country labels, rappers are rising to find their own voice and shatter the barriers of the Nashville box. Hip-hop isn’t new to Nashville, nor is the city’s tendency to solely promote country music. The hip-hop scene in Nashville first became mainstream in 2004 when Young Buck released “Straight Outta Cashville” on 50 Cent’s G-Unit Records. However, Young Buck was one the few Nashville rappers to gain national attention and soar to the top of the Billboard charts. There is a diverse array of talent currently in Nashville, such as Ron Obasi, Daisha McBride, and Tim Gent, at the intersection of r&b, hip-hop, and alternative music under the radar. Whereas other cities have developed definitive sounds that, for a fleeting moment, captivate the country (such as Atlanta’s trap takeover), Nashville hip-hop hasn’t established a singular sound or aesthetic. Instead of thriving on created sounds and trends, Music City rappers desire to create music that prioritizes originality and quality.

Raw and anti-establishment, these independent artists are paving an unorthodox path in their subculture revolution to reclaim the city from country twang. Beyond Honky Tonk Highway and Music Row, underground indie and rock musicians are creating their own scene, too. Rock musicians in Nashville once lurked in the obscurity of the “Nashville Curse,” an idea from the ’80’s that Nashville rock bands were unable to connect to a national audience and sell more than a million records. The seemingly inevitable doom of rock bands in Nashville has been broken by natives and transplants Kings of Leon, Paramore, and the Black Keys that have given credibility to the Music City rock scene. Raw and anti-establishment, these independent artists are paving an unorthodox path in their subculture revolution to reclaim the city from country twang.

wave singers, artists that were once outlaws in Music City for their dissociation from customary country melodies have ascended to Nashville Royalty with worldwide popularity. Margo Price exemplifies the convergence of musical genres in her acclaimed album That’s How Rumors Get Started, which is reminiscent of traditional country music while infusing the rock and roll influences of Fleetwood Mac and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Kacey Musgraves in her pop-country album Golden Hour bleeds country authenticity with her distinctive twang while rebelling from Nashville strictures with ethereal pop melodies that advocate social consciousness. Like Musgraves, the up-and-coming crop of country music artists are creating music that is more appealing to a wider demographic by straying from song topics revolving around farm life to instead promoting awareness of the generation’s most pressing issues in their albums. In the mecca of struggling and aspiring musicians, The National Museum of African American Music recently opened in Nashville. Its exhibits celebrate the influence of African Americans through more than 50 musical genres. In the midst of this tribute to the legacy of black artists, the up-and-coming African American singer Lil Nas X faced controversy over whether he should be considered a country artist or not. He ignited debate with the debut of his ode to cowboy life in the top single “Old Town Road”. It is often forgotten the true musical roots of country music, once called hillbilly music, that began with the musical traditions of enslaved people. Not only is Lil Nas X a black, gay singer in a predominantly white heterosexual industry, but he reinvents the country genre through the hip-hop sound and aesthetic that pervades his music. Lil Nas X’s controversial breakthrough shakes the rigid Nashville box as he ventures past the divide in country music and welcomes the genre to a new generation of fluid country music that blurs the boundaries dividing musical styles. With rising black country artists Kane Brown and Lil Nas X, there is a hope to redefine country music in America and honor its diverse origin. Nashville needs this museum to acknowledge how black artists formed the foundations of American music and as a testament to the fact that Nashville is not just a city of country music. The spirit of Music City cannot be encapsulated in a single genre. With budding rap and rock scenes, the Nashville sound is composed of an eclectic variety. While changing the narrative of the Nashville music industry from one that only consists of honky-tonk tunes and racial stigma, the vast array of underground talent acts as vessels for the celebration of the city’s diversity.

Photp by Anonymous, OR

Country music is undoubtedly changing. As hip-hop and pop influences seep into decades of Nashville tradition, country artists are producing a microcosm of the American music landscape by blending these genres. Although the fusion of disparate realms of music has caused conflict between country music purists and new

HEALTH | OCTOBER 2021

My Daily

Struggle by Doyoung Kim, Seoul, Korea

mong the many things that can quickly ruin a restaurant experience, one might be sitting down at the table and discovering an amorphous, unidentified, ominously beige blob stuck to the tine of a fork. As a part-time dishwasher for a pizza and pasta restaurant, it was my job to be obsessed with blobs on forks. I took dirty dishes from the busboy, rinsed and gave them a cursory scrub, and arranged them in the giant industrial dishwasher. Nothing gave me more of a sense of accomplishment than seeing the dishes come out piping hot and pristine since, coincidentally, I was already obsessed with order and cleanliness in every other aspect of my life. My long battle against contaminants and disorder can be traced back to the cautionary steps I take in my daily life to protect against the flare-ups of my eczema, a chronic condition I've dealt with since birth that has both health and social ramifications. Greasy fingers will cause little angry red patches to bloom accompanied with an extreme shyness amongst strangers and even the avoidance of my friends. The chlorine of a swimming pool will dry out my skin and cause outbreaks all over my body, which I combat with extraordinary amounts of emollient lotion. During the summer, I wear long-sleeves to limit my exposure to the micro-dust that pollutes the Seoul

Artwork by Gissel Gomez, White Plains, NY

I have over 40-something allergies, from the fatal peach to the itchy-throat cat fur air. And, to further complicate matters, I have over 40-something genuine allergies, from the fatal peach to itchy-throat cat fur. It's no surprise then that the ideas of order and contamination are always on my mind. My desk at home is free of dust. I reflexively hold my breath in hospitals and on airplanes. My fight against irritants and allergens translates to a habit of orderliness, from literal orderliness to abstract orderliness. Not only in how I categorize lotions to deal with different kinds of irritants and rank each allergen with contingency plans, but also in things like self-designed, color-coded shelves in my school locker and an organized contacts folder for my co-workers at the restaurant. What started as health precautions became a way of life, surroundings characterized by order. I've even organized my approach to work. To dispel the occasional boredom of washing dishes, for example, I came up with a plan, typologizing plates; relatively clean, heavily sauced, crusted sauce, and inventing approaches; simple rinse, wipe-

down, the clockwise tornado scrub. These somewhat off-beat mental adjustments actually helped me to stay engaged in my work. Of course, being obsessed with order and cleanliness doesn't mean that I will be free of contaminants. I can't live in a glass bubble. I love swimming enough to suffer through the occasional bad eczema flareup. And, I enjoy my work in the possibly risky world of the food industry. There's no way to overcome my eczema nor cure my allergies, only methods of adaptation, and these so-called limitations have defined me both physically and mentally. But I'm not sour. Instead, I cherish my happiness. I strive for orderliness, but I know it's just as impossible to live a life free of contaminants as it is to live a life without surprises. And while there are definitely things in the world I must avoid, surprises can be especially wonderful because of the restrictions in my life. Sometimes, for example, the accidental overexposed photo is more beautiful than the original composition I had in mind. Sometimes, while learning about my food allergies, I encounter some new tasty dish I've never heard of. Similarly, I was surprised by this memoir. At first, what was supposed to be a meticulously planned memoir concerning my work habits has evolved into a more personal examination of the relationship between my medical conditions and orderliness.

Fears I

have anxiety. It’s not a huge deal in my life; I live how I want, and I am who I want to be – but that wasn’t always the case.

When I was in 5th grade, I didn’t know what anxiety was. I thought I was a shy, well-mannered introvert. I didn’t recognize that the reason I never talked back was because I was terrified of any and all repercussions. I didn’t know that other people didn’t feel as I did – scared of every interaction because I might say something wrong or that someone would judge me. I realize now that certain things that were common for me, weren’t typical for everyone else. Take, for instance, the time my 5th grade teacher asked me to get the class’ attention. There I was, little 11-year-old Claire in her cotton shirt and khaki shorts, with her nose shoved deep in a book. Reading workshop was almost over, and I had the misfortune of sitting next to my teacher.

Anxiety isn’t something that you can just decide to get rid of Normally, I loved Mrs. York. She was an incredible teacher who challenged me as a student. But she was also of the mind that we needed to face our fears, and at the time no one knew I had an anxiety disorder. I was “just shy.” So I was jerked from the incredible world of Divergent, Hunger Games (or whatever other YA dystopian novel I was devouring at the time) by Mrs. York tapping me on the shoulder and asking me to call the class back to their seats. “What?” I asked, still half in my book. “Get everyone’s attention, please,” she said. “I’ve been sick, I don’t want to yell across the classroom. Use a call and response.”

HEALTH | OCTOBER 2021

by Claire Addison, Charlotte, NC

something to Jack, my heart was thundering in my chest. Everything was so loud. And God, was I angry at myself. What kind of person can’t get the attention of a room full of 20 people? What kind of wimp is too chicken to just do what her teacher wants? I was spiraling. Later on, I would learn that this is what people call a panic attack. I’ve found that when I panic, I somehow don’t let it show. I feel like my world is crashing down around me, but to everyone else, I looked bored and somewhat annoyed. I suppose this is why Mrs. York got angry at me. I had agreed to call everyone together, I hadn’t done it yet, and she had no idea that I felt like that moment. “Claire!” she said sharply, “Just call everyone over!” I opened my mouth to initiate the call. I swear I did. But nothing came out. I widened my eyes and shook my head frantically at her. Maybe it dawned on her what was happening. Maybe she took pity on me. But all I know is that she took one look at my face and turned to Jola and had her do it. Jola stood right up and with confidence and yelled, “Shave and a haircut!” “Two bits!” the class chorused back. Mrs. York told everyone to return to their seats, and that was that. I didn’t face my fear that day. I couldn’t. Anxiety isn’t something that you can just decide to get rid of and suddenly you’re cured. It takes time and work. So yeah, I wasn’t able to face it that day.

Calls and responses were commonly used at my school. From, “shave and a haircut,” to “clap three times if you hear my voice,” they were the tried and true way for a teacher to get their class to listen. And I was assuming that role now, apparently.

But later on, I did. I did the brave thing I couldn’t do that day in fifth grade, and I found a way to help my anxiety. I told my mom how I felt. I went to a therapist, got calming apps on my phone, and got a lot better. I still have anxiety. I still get scared. But I do things now that I never could’ve done before.

“But … can’t Jola do it?” I asked. Jola was a nice, extroverted girl sitting to my left. She would love that job, and I could already feel the fear knotting in my stomach.

I look over the edge of tall buildings I’ve climbed. I make small talk with strangers. I tell people when they make me feel bad instead of letting them walk all over me.

“I want you to do it,” she said.

And today, I'm putting myself out there and sharing my story.

Okay. So evidently I was doing this. Except I couldn’t.

No matter how bad I end up feeling, or how much anxiety pains my life, I know that I’ve grown since 5th grade, and I will continue to grow from here.

People were chatting with their friends, Mrs. York was explaining

AUTHOR INTERVIEWS | OCTOBER 2021

Bethany C. Morrow Author of

A Chorus Rises Interview by Lyna H., New York, NY 1.) What inspired you to write this book? "I was inspired to write Naema’s story by the misogynoirist reactions I immediately saw toward her character in A Song Below Water. It reminded me that one of the dangers of being a Black girl in this world is the world’s own inability to celebrate, love, and protect more than one Black girl at a time; and Naema’s self-possessed -ness and confident belief in her worth made her a wonderful protagonist for a story about a world changing its mind about you, and a reminder that no one gets to decide our value." 2.) How did you come up with Naema’s character? "I don’t remember! I knew there was going to be another magical Black girl in ASBW, but I really might have come up with her on the spot when I was writing the first choir scene in ASBW, and she showed up later with an excuse about Eloko/school business. Sometimes a character will spontaneously appear, and then I’ll find out who they are by the reactions of others or by something they say." 3.) When you were first writing this book, what did you want the message to be? "I think the idea of having a message in a book doesn’t jive with me as much as saying I had an intention in writing it. So I may just be splitting hairs, but I always feel like framing it as a message

... no one gets to decide our value

A Song Below Water novel

document! I know I was writing this book while leading up to the release of ASBW, and I don’t think it’s ever taken more than a couple of months to draft a novel — but drafting is just getting the story on the page for the first time. There’s always revision rounds with my agent and/or editor." 5.) What was the most difficult part of writing this book? "I think the most difficult part of writing this particular book was getting people to understand the necessity of writing this book. Moving the discourse of inclusion and Black femme liberation past the 101 or pre-101 remedial level it’s been in for time immemorial. Because the truth is the power dominant culture isn’t ready for the that discussion, and sometimes you have to move past it." 6.) How did you develop Courtney’s character? "I have a cousin who immediately comes to mind when I think of writing Naema and Courtney’s interaction, and I had so much fun discovering Courtney’s own layered, textured identity. His particular snark, his softness, his care and genuine reverence for family." 7.) How did you develop the plot? "It was sadly easy. I thought of how the world only makes room to love one Black girl at a time, how it pits marginalized people against each other, and how often fetishization and tokenism is a cover for the worst kind of people." 8.) What is your favorite book that you have written? "Oh, that’s hard! I will always adore Mem, my first adult release, because I feel like it was the perfect introduction to me as an artist. I’m so proud of what I did in A Chorus Rises. I’m *obsessed* with So Many Beginnings, which is a remix of (the concept of) Little Women, and involves an excavation of American history we’re not taught, and is a perfect representation of cradling Black Americans in my heart and indicting this society and its curation of a false history." 9.) How did you come up with the title “A Chorus Rises?”

has more to do with taking pains to hold the readers’ hands and walk them through that message, regardless whether the plot or characterizations suffer for it or not. Which is not something I’ll do. More, I have something very specific in mind, and I can’t put the story on the page without that conviction getting onto the page, too. And I trust that someone will see what it is, but I’m certain not everyone will. But I don’t worry about 'everyone.'”

"I did not! My dear, lovely friend, fellow author, Amy Suiter Clarke came up with the title!"

4.) How long did it take you to write this book?

Click here to purchase A Chorus Rises!

"I’m not sure! I usually can figure it out because I track writing day numbers, for posterity, but I can’t find anything in my Excel

10.) Which character in this book is your favorite? "I cannot choose between Naema and Courtney, and you can’t make me!"

AUTHOR INTERVIEW | OCTOBER 2021

Ben Levin

Author of

In The Hole Interview by Bridget Lomax, Short Hills, NJ 1.) So, how would you describe yourself, just as a starter question? "Well, obviously I'm creative, I try to be a good person, [and I’m] kind of on the sensitive side. I’m autistic, which I wouldn’t mind being asked about, and sometimes I get overstimulated — but I’m working on it." 2.) Cool! What do you mean by “overstimulated? "Sometimes things feel more intense for me than, for lack of better word, a “normal,” non-autistic person. So, sometimes I do things like hit a table or occasionally scream, but I’m working on it." 3.) Progress is always possible, right? What kind of student are you? Probably big into the arts — specifically writing? "Yes, obviously, yes. I’m really good at English — I tend to give it my best effort. I struggle sometimes with my other classes, especially science. I’m not that great at taking notes (which I’m also working on) and tend to be a daydreamer. I tend to get mostly B’s, sometimes A’s, and occasionally a C.'” 4.) Is there a teacher who has had a particularly strong influence on your life? Tell me about them, if so. "I’ve had a lot of teachers with strong influences in my life, but one which has made a huge impact is this teacher at a writing organization whom I had for three years. Her name is Donna. She’s helped me believe in myself and encouraged and pushed me. She showed a lot of care during my time there, which really helped me." 5.) Tell me about how you got into your line of work so soon. You are a teen author, and In The Hole isn’t even the first book you’ve authored. How?! "Honestly, it took me a while to learn that it’s not normal to, I guess, start as young as possible. In eighth grade, after doing a lot of producing and writing stories in seventh grade, eighth grade felt like the ideal year to go into publishing. So, I self-published my book Ghost Wars on Amazon in April of 2018. Then, I started preparing some of my other books for publishing, too. Along the way, I got an agent who helped me get more comfortable with editing my own work, since sometimes I have a hard time killing my darlings — if you know what I’m saying. And my agent and editor helped me find Jumpmaster Press, the publishing company where In The Hole was

published." 6.) Was there a specific type of music that you listened to when writing In the Hole? I’m personally interested because I do love music, and some authors from interviews I’ve seen before mention it. Did you jam out to any music in particular? Or do you listen to nothing, white noise? "I listen to music sometimes when I write, but I didn’t when I was working on In the Hole, because, for me, In The Hole was something I used to study. I used In the Hole as a way to improve my vocabulary for English tests — that’s why there are so many big words."

I discovered something shocking about the homelessness crisis 7.) I did read the acknowledgments, and you mention your grandfather, Professor Herman Shwartz. How did he in particular affect your creative process? "My grandfather was the chairman of the National Homelessness Law Center for six years, and connected me with a lot of the people I did interviews with to help make it possible for me to find in the back of the book and on the website. He’s also been fighting for social justice and rights — not just homeless rights, but prisoners’ rights, and the situation with our country and Israel along with other critical, liberal causes. Grandpa was also a fact-checking source for the legal struggles of David (a character in the book), and someone who I could always talk about my anger with when I discovered something shocking about the homelessness crisis." 8.) Do you think that his work has inspired In the Hole, or the basis — the foundation — where a family is taken from their place of stability and then made homeless before rising up again? "That is a great question. While Grandpa and I have had talks about it, he wasn’t my specific inspiration. That came to me at religious school when my Rabbi showed me a video about homeless children in Florida. I envisioned David and thought, “Maybe, if I write about homelessness, I can help raise awareness.” But, yes, Grandpa has been a good help with In the Hole." 9.) Would you like to tell the readers a brief summary of the plot? Brief — we don't need a million spoilers. "Okay! After his father loses his job, a boy named David and his family become homeless very quickly, and they struggle — not just

AUTHOR INTERVIEW | OCTOBER 2021

with poverty. David specifically struggles with hunger and bullying and his father’s addiction, but he tries to stay strong." 10.) That’s an excellent plot. It’s about perseverance, a lot of it, and David doesn’t lose hope — which is a question coming up later, but not quite yet! I want to know what character you most relate to and why? You mentioned David. Is he that person for you or somebody else? There are quite a lot of cast members; Gloria, the girl from camp; there’s the father who struggles with alcoholism; there’s the best friend, Justin, who’s just what anybody needs during a rough patch… so, who do you most relate to, if anyone? "I personally have to go with David, because we’re both on the short side; and while I probably don’t love basketball as much as he does, I also enjoy sports and writing about them. He has a little interest in writing, and I personally think we think alike." 11.) And what was the hardest scene for you to write, because there are a lot of rough places. There is bullying, a girl literally fainting from hunger … how do you write [something so difficult]? "I guess I envisioned it; and I think I was sheltered in a way, because I was also doing this for vocab, which does make it a little easier. It was painful, though. Chapter 8, in particular, was hard to write because of the bullying." 12.) For those who were wondering, Chapter 8 is called “Bully Problems.” I was definitely reading it and thinking, “Wow, this is poignant.” Most people wouldn’t try to go there, but you did. And speaking of hard topics, you added a pandemic-centered epilogue. What’s the significance of that? "The significance is that David continues to get involved with fighting for the homeless, even after escaping the crisis himself. Exploring his activism, this part of the story shows that anyone can make a difference." 13.) Speaking of endings, would you consider In The Hole’s ending happy, hopeful … something else? "I consider the [ending] something of a message. We can and must make a difference for the homeless community. In The Hole’s ending, David's activism and speech about how we’re all in it together reinforces the idea that we can all get more active in the fight against homelessness." 14.) So, the cover art features a boy’s silhouette walking in a field. How do you think this image relates to the book? "The field implies a way that David is still like everyone else with his love of baseball, and the silhouette implies the dark times of his story. I also like how they showed the silhouette instead of David’s specific physical features, because even though those are described in the book, simply showing a black shadow makes everyone be able to see themselves in David." 15.) Some places in the book David looks to God for answers to his questions. It helps him find inner strength. What role do you think faith plays in hope?

"I think believing in a higher power, feeling like you have somewhere to go, helps reinforce the feeling that things will be okay for you. Faith offers both. I wanted to explore something a little different when choosing David’s faith, especially since I’m personally Jewish — as you can probably tell from my last name.

There’s such a thing as an inner home, which is where you feel you belong 16.) Back to homelessness, the Kimballs – the main family in the book – sleep in the forest, a friend’s car, an inn, and more, but remain together. To you, is there a difference between a “house” and a “home?” "That’s a great question that I’m actually still figuring out myself. The mistake a lot of people make — including me, as evidenced in In The Hole — is acting as though a “house” and a “home” are the same thing. My personal opinion is that a home is somewhere where you live, a steady residency, like your house or your apartment; but there’s also such a thing as an inner home, which is where you feel you belong and where your family is. But there are limits with that when people are actually starving or can’t find warmth or protection during the summers or cold winters. From what I can tell, the perspective of what a “home” is tends to differ from person to person. 17.) How do people stop stigmatizing those less privileged than they are, homeless or otherwise? That’s a big topic in your book; some characters have diverse backgrounds. David’s even bullied because he’s short! If we can’t agree on height, how can we respect people that have such drastic socioeconomic differences? "During an interview, one person told me that the fact that someone is homeless is the least interesting thing about people facing homelessness. They have a powerful point. People tend to focus on how we are all different rather than how we’re all alike — I’m guilty of this, too — but if we focus more on what we have in common, welfare-wise, I think it will help us learn how to stop stigmatizing. 18.) Why should people make efforts to fight homelessness? "We should make efforts to fight it because it’s the right thing to do! People are suffering now, including kids! They are struggling with hunger, struggling with living off the street, struggling without necessities others take for granted! As long as that is a fact, we all have to keep fighting to end homelessness." 19.) What are the consequences if they don’t? What happens if people leave the homeless to themselves, continue shunning them on street corners because of all the stigma that surrounds them? "Then they continue to suffer and not get what they need. I mean, as you mentioned, Julia (a character in the book) fainted and nearly died! I’m not saying that’s the normal situation, but if people keep

AUTHOR INTERVIEW | OCTOBER 2021

leaving the homeless to themselves, it will have a serious affect on their health, making more of them lose their lives.

Did you think you’d be the youngest astronaut ever? The youngest cowboy? Oldest person wearing diapers?

20.) Do you have any favorite charities, organizations, or other help groups? For those who have yet to read the book, Ben lists a comprehensive list of charities to help with things from alcoholism to homelessness, of course. You’ve interviewed people for that, correct?

"I don’t think I ever expected to go a specific way, other than just hoping to do well with my writing. I’m hoping that my future includes a college education, perhaps a home in the woods, time with friends, and lots of published books.

"Yes. One that’s really important is Covenant House, which has their main station in New Jersey, but they have places all over the country. They help shelter trafficked and homeless youth. I’m actually working with them this Fall — October 21st, 2021 — to host a homelessness awareness night for youth that will be held over Zoom. We’ll have a national homelessness expert and a sleep-out where kids can spend the night outside to try and understand what it’s like for homeless kids. The money from this event will go to Covenant House New Jersey, and anyone who wants information can sign up at my site, benlevinauthor.com/events." 21.) In The Hole especially emphasizes community support. On that topic, who has been kindest to you in your life? "That is a triple tie between my family (including my grandparents), a couple of extra-special friends I have, and any friends I’ve made during writing classes. Those are the people whose kindness has really helped me get through hard times. 22.) What wonderful shout-outs! Friends and family always have your back! You mentioned at the beginning of this interview that you do have autism. How does this condition affect your writing? "Autism helps me tune out which helps me stay concentrated on my work, and it also helps me — my brain, which is also affected by it — come up with all these different storylines and keep them in my mind."

No one, autistic or otherwise, should feel insecure about who they are 23.) So you’re saying that autism helps you maintain organization? Is that right? "I mean, it helps me hang onto the different plotlines. This is something important for me to bring up because I’ve struggled a lot with it. Especially because I went through a period of time where I thought I recovered from it, even though, thankfully, I learned that all the program I recovered from did was lower my needs. I realized that, while I was hiding it, I’d been trying to remove it because I was insecure about it. No one, autistic or otherwise, should be insecure about who they are, and I want to help other people — especially those on the spectrum — learn how to embrace themselves."

25.) What do you want the main takeaways of In The Hole to be for anybody who reads it? "Homelessness can happen to literally any person, including any child. We must fight to raise awareness about homelessness and end it together. 26.) Do you have any advice for young authors? Helpful snacks? Best times of morning (or night) to write? Maybe, “Don’t write in pajamas because that makes you less focused.” That would probably apply to me, but what would you like people to know? "I’d like to recommend — because this is what helps me get my inspiration — reading a lot of books, watching a lot of movies and television, and living a lot of life. I also want other authors to know that they can fight for their beliefs and causes that are important to them. They just have to be up for the research and fact-checking. 27.) A lot of the arts are social commentaries. Especially books like In The Hole. It’s a great way to express yourself and almost indoctrinate your audience, so they’ll learn a little bit about how you think. Probably, if you as the author are thinking about it, then other people are, too. About what you said with experiences, one of my teachers said that, “You write what you know.” And even if you’re writing fantasy and your protagonist is a blob monster, you can still put some human beliefs in there, and people will know what you’re getting at; that’s where symbolism gets its power. That’s all I have for now, but is there anything else you’d like me to ask? "I think you did great and completely covered it. Thank you so much for interviewing me, Bridget." 28.) Thank you! In that case, I appreciate your time, Ben. If you want to read In The Hole for yourself, it’s available on Amazon in digital and print versions. Once again, I encourage you to sign up for the homelessness awareness night that’s partnered with Ben on October 21st, 2021 from 7:00 PM to 7:00 AM. Click here for more information. You can participate from the comfort of your own yard! If not, do as he suggests and help the homeless. The world owes it to them. Click here to purchase In the Hole.

24.) How has your life been different from what you’d imagined?

BOOK REVIEWS | OCTOBER 2021

Book FICTION

is social stigmatization that plagues the parents’ new job interviews and the childrens’ education; David, the son, is verbally and physically abused in school settings for being homeless, with teachers and even friends distancing themselves for some time. Challenges like these teach the Kimballs that their true rapport lies in those who support them and respect their rights. The Kimball children nonetheless

without such luxuries are people still. In the Hole is ultimately a story about the human condition through a child’s eyes, and an auspicious entry for the teen author’s career.

NONFICTION

A story about the human condition through a child’s eyes

In the Hole by Ben Levin

Review by Bridget Lomax, Short Hills, NJ

en Levin’s debut novel In the Hole is a touching, comprehensive tale about the Kimball family’s struggles with and eventual recovery from poverty. A talented chef, Mr. Kimball’s restaurant is forced into bankruptcy after a kidnapping scandal that threatens to ruin his reputation. He develops an alcohol addiction and both he and his wife face unemployment and eventual homelessness. Their two childrens’ mental and physical health are also damaged during this process. However dire their situation, the family clings to hope, and this drive keeps them together and progressing towards autonomy. Of their strife, one of the largest influences

brave school and maintain their dignity throughout the ordeal of homelessness. In the Hole is a fast-paced work of realistic fiction. Levin doesn’t shy from describing addiction, suicidal thoughts, and a constant feeling of inferiority but places an emphasis on the love that keeps them all afloat. His writing is colloquial enough to please those new to reading and sprinkled with vocabulary to keep mature readers entertained. As someone who tends towards adult novels, this young adult (YA) fiction was a refreshing break from my usual materials. It progressively sheds light on the millions worldwide who yearn for acknowledgement and opportunities, a gritty chronicle of the American Dream and its pitfalls. If you were a fan of Cummins’ American Dirt or Euwer Wolff’s Make Lemonade, you’ll love this fresh perspective on the reality of the underprivileged. Ben Levin explores homelessness and its implications with empathy for those displaced today. He reminds readers to be grateful for their friends, families, and security and to remember that those

ARC Review: Wild Tongues Can't Be Tamed Edited by Saraciea J. Fennell

Review by Anonymous, NY will admit, I did not know much about the Latinx Diaspora before reading Wild Tongues Can’t Be Tamed. After reading the book, however, I felt so educated about this major cultural movement. I loved the way Saraciea J. Fennell gave us 15 different essays about Latin Americans and their lives in their home countries. It explains the struggles, hardships, ups, and downs that they have experienced – and that I never knew about before. These essays are so eye-opening about a certain lifestyle

BOOK REVIEWS | OCTOBER 2021

that not many people know. If you are looking for an educational, but at the same time entertaining series of personal narratives, this book is right for you.

CLASSIC

15 different essays about Latin Americans and their lives One of my favorite essays within this book featured an Afro-Cuban person talking about how they experienced racism due to their Cuban background. This person has repeatedly been given “a Cuban test and failed,” because they were not as lightly colored as most people from Cuba. It took them a while to find themselves and realize who they truly were, but I loved the way this person eventually found themselves. I always thought racism was from white to black; but, as shown here, a Cuban was racist toward another Cuban of more African descent. I was never the type of person who enjoyed reading personal essays because I didn’t think they would be interesting. But this book is like reading 15 mini-stories, each one more interesting than the next! I am proud to say that my attention was kept the entire time. After reading this review, I hope you at least give the book a try. I promise you will learn something new, but also enjoy it at the same time. It is perfect for reading a separate essay each day to get in your daily reading quota. Or, you can do what I did and binge-read all of them. Whatever works for you! Thank you to the editor, Saraciea J. Fennell for putting these essays together in a way for us to easily enjoy them!

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Review by Michael Wang, Princeton, NJ

he second time I perused Frankenstein, I had a different experience. The first time I finished the novel, what remained with me was the selfishness and ugliness reflected throughout the novel. This time, I responded more strongly to the monster, and although it sounds strange, the birth of the monster became for me not only the embodiment of the author's insight into technology, but also a reflection on life. Mary Shelley's mother died after giving birth to her, and she did not have a good relationship with her father. We can therefore imagine that she lived in the shadow of a broken background. While reading, I felt a strong sense of rage and powerlessness when the monster was

Shelley's monster leads people to the bright side born. I believe that many people have the experience of sulking when they encounter frustration, such as after being scolded by their parents. “Why am I in this world,” he or she might think? “I didn't ask you to give birth to me!” Alas! Aren't we all people who were forcibly born without hitting the confirmation button? Then we were randomly assigned families, appearances, and personalities. Compared to the monster, we are extremely lucky: at least we are not as hideous as it is, and we have our own names. Mary Shelley's monster certainly sets us on a completely opposite path, leading people to the bright side. After my second reading, I began to hate the tragic ending of the novel. Even if being born is not your own choice, you do not have to feel out of place and live resentfully all the time. Instead, you say to your creator, I do not know why you let me come into this world, but since I am already here, I will be happy, enjoy my life, and live well. You have an obligation to me, but I do not need you to be responsible, so please do not interfere with my life. We each take care. How many broken families are there in this world like Mary Shelley's! Some children are born with damaged families; some are abandoned by their parents, with no one to take responsibility for them. They are somehow like the monster: isolated and unaccompanied. In such desperate situations, many choose suicide. Brave children! Life is for you. Learn from the book and the author. You should be responsible for yourself.

Photo by Anonymous, CA 35

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | OCTOBER 2021

Movie & TV SCIENCE FICTION

The Midnight Sky Movie

Review by Maethili Patel, Plainsboro, NJ

here is nothing better than watching a post-apocalyptic movie set in the aftermath of a global catastrophe, especially when you are amidst a global pandemic. Oscar-winner George Clooney’s latest movie “The Midnight Sky,” based on the novel Good Morning, Midnight by Lily Brooks-Dalton, is an emotional yet hollow endeavor. It's intended to be a melting pot of popular sci-fi movies notably “Interstellar,” “Ad Astra,” “The Martian,” and “Gravity” but it misses the mark. Clooney’s lackluster direction is as chilly as the landscape his character travels on. The movie is set in 2049 when an unidentified calamity wipes out most of Earth's population and leaves most of the

planet inhabitable. Clooney plays a dying scientist named Augustine Lofthouse, who refuses to evacuate a remote Arctic research station and decides to spend his dying days in isolation. While buried in his desolation, Augustine searches for ongoing crewed space missions to warn about the situation on Earth. He finds only one: a craft called Æther, returning from Jupiter's habitable moon K-23. Neither the crew nor Lofthouse can contact each other, mainly due to Lofthouse's weak antenna. During an abrupt kitchen fire, Augustine discovers a mute girl left behind from the evacuation named Iris (Caoilinn Springall). After some bonding, they travel to a different outpost where they can contact the spacecraft Æther and tell them not to return.

resonates the best of the film. Their mission together creates a handful of powerful moments of realization and survival. It’s a shame that this dynamic relationship is overshadowed and glossed over by extraneous details. Even these tender moments cannot save this movie from its predictable plot twists and clunky tangents. This movie is as weightless as space.

HBO DRAMA

Don’t get me wrong, the stunning soundtrack by Alexandre Desplat and vivid cinematography by Martin Ruhe both add to this doomsday odyssey, and the star-studded cast is a bonus. Sadly, without these production assets and unlike the page-turning suspense of its literary counterpart, the film is like cinematic broccoli. The feelings of warmth and hope in this movie get drowned out by the blockbuster action sequences and slow, pace. Viewers get caught between Augustine and Iris’s journey through the Arctic, the return trip of Æther, and Augustine's brief flashbacks, leaving no time for rich character development. The best parts of “The Midnight Sky” really shine through in Clooney's moments with young Caoilinn Springall, who plays the mysterious girl left behind in the remote arctic station. The “Peas Battle'' scene, for example, is the most memorable and heartfelt moment in the movie, if not the only part that evokes an emotional response from the viewer. Even their journey through the Arctic wasteland

We Are Who We Are TV Series

Review by Gabrielle Beck, Tenafly, NJ

othing is black and white in Call Me By Your Name director Luca Guadagnino’s intimate coming-of-age tale "We Are Who We Are." It is a story of teenage longing and self-discovery in the midst of strange family dynamics, shifting identities, military culture, and American politics with protagonists Frazier (Jack Dylan Grazer)

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | OCTOBER 2021 and Caitlin, sometimes Harper (Jordan Kristine Seamón), set on a U.S. military base in Italy. The HBO series is a beautiful portrayal of adolescent impulses and the messiness inherent to human existence. The usual military base dynamic is turned upside down when Frazier’s mother, in a committed lesbian marriage, becomes the military commander. The once narrow environment must adjust with this clash of a leading queer female in a heteromasculine world. Guadagnino juxtaposes this military culture of discipline and boundaries with Frazier’s fluid character, who deviates from societal conventions and follows his instincts with gritty drunken nights and gender defying clothes. His black and yellow painted nails, cheetah print shorts, and bleached blonde hair exhibit his desire to stand out against the backdrop of structure. Unlike Frazier, who unapologetically embraces his eccentricities, Caitlin lives with the burden of duality: to the world she presents a facade of femininity, but within she longs to experiment with her masculinity. While she blurs the barriers of her gender identity, secretly dressing androgynously outside the military base, her conservative father Richard (played by rapper-actor Kid Cudi) dons a “Make America Great Again ” hat. Caitlin and Frazier’s unconscious gravitation as outcasts in their turbulent home lives and traditionally insular atmosphere allows them to accept and embrace the revolution within instead of silencing their internal calls for change. Frazier and Caitlin represent the enigma of Generation Z adolescence as bodies for the disruption of societal constructs. Viewers, while immersing themselves in the picturesque Mediterranean landscape, in a sense have a confrontation with themselves. We all, as humans, want to wade in the tide of the unknown, undulate along the waves of our intuition, and send ripples through the status quo. It is an uplifting story with authentic adolescent perspectives with which to resonate. Last year, HBO’s stylized teen drama Euphoria tried to capture this same sense of teenage chaos with unflinching scenes of addiction, showcasing the collective darkness shrouding today’s adolescents with propulsive pace. Instead, We Are Who We Are is shot languorously with its

poetic and lyrical aesthetic. Guadagnino’s slow burn of raw adolescent angst is an invitation to rejoice in the freedom of being oneself. In a disconnected digital world, everyone can relate to these vulnerable moments of feeling lost, alone, and trapped within a body that doesn’t feel like our own. In a time of rebellion against labels and categorization, this cinematic opera of teenage confusion is one that deserves to be watched.

DRAMA

Five Feet Apart Movie

Review by Katie Ko, East Brunswick, NJ

n the mood for some tears? "Five Feet Apart" will definitely provide them. Justin Baldoni, well-known as the actor who plays Rafael in the hit TV series "Jane the Virgin," does an amazing job directing this movie. "Five Feet Apart" follows the story of Stella (Haley Lu Richardson), a patient with cystic fibrosis, a condition that causes severe problems to the lungs, creating trouble breathing. We are introduced to many important people in Stella’s life including her best friend Poe (Moises Arias), her mother (Cynthia Evans), her father (Gary Weeks), and her sister (Sophia Bernard). We get to formally meet each of these characters except for her sister. Stella and her sister Abby were extremely close, but unfortunately Abby passed away after a tragic accident. Poe is another person who

plays a very important role in Stella’s life. They spend a lot of time together in the hospital, and Poe’s energetic and outgoing personality keeps Stella laughing. Poe is also another CF patient, which means that he and Stella need to keep their six feet distance from each other at all times, or else they could catch a deadly infection from one another. As the movie goes on, we are introduced to another very important character – Will (Cole Sprouse). Will is very different from Stella; he is not organized with his regime and medicine for CF at all. He is very carefree and does not take care of himself because he believes that he will die soon and accepts it for what it is. When Stella and Will first meet, is a lot of conflict due to their polar opposite personalities. But the more time they spend together, the more Will's feelings develop into something different; it is beautiful to watch. Stella and Will start doing their medication together, and build a strong relationship. Although the nurse at the hospital constantly reminds them to stay away from each other, Will and Stella can’t help but fall in love. I like the way that Justin Baldoni not only addresses the physical obstacles that people with CF have to go through, but also the mental. All that Stella wants to do is give her best friend a hug or give her lover a kiss, but the result of that could be death. We see a very organized and put-together character go from staying in complete control of her life to having mental breakdowns at various points in the movie. In addition, the casting in this movie was fabulous. Richardson and Sprouse deliver amazing performances, keeping the movie from being cheesy. The chemistry between them feels raw and real. The dialogue, unlike in other romance movies, is extremely natural and authentic. The ending scene of this movie was extremely well done. With the dimmed lights in Stella’s hospital room and the warm lights outside contrasting the cool tones of the snow, the beautiful setting makes this final scene even harder to watch. I wish the movie did not stop at this point. While the audience is no doubt rooting for a happy ending, I understand the choice that Justin makes here – a happy ending for patients with CF is not completely realistic. Instead, Baldoni teaches us to be more grateful for the life that we have.

FICTION | OCTOBER 2021 Artwork by Rebecca Feng, Lawrence, KS

Banana by Abby Huo, Waterloo, ON, Canada

Guts

FICTION | OCTOBER 2021

n Romeo and Juliet, Romeo kills himself after seeing his dead lover. What could be another reason Romeo killed himself?” I seriously considered answering “because Juliet was into his brother.” Unfortunately, my English teacher and her peanutsized brain would probably find my answer less amusing. While twisting the frayed ends of my bracelet, I re-read the question and wondered why Shakespeare couldn’t have picked a normal hobby, like ... I dunno, checking out girls? I’ve heard soccer is fun too! My mom’s screaming interrupted my deep thoughts. “MYLAH! DINNER!!” Rubbing my eyes, I turned off the lamp before stumbling out of my pitch-black room. At least I got a break from thinking about Shakespeare. Downstairs, the smell of spices warmed the air. I looked at the food on the table; salmon, rice, and asparagus, one of my mom’s classics. Pouring a glass of water, I began the familiar ritual of soaking my rice in the salmon sauce and watching my mom put on the news. Like always, the sauce was sweet and tangy and the vegetables were perfectly crispy. My mom credited her cooking to her career, telling me, “I’m a scientist, I’m good at everything.” I sneaked a sip of her wine while she changed channels before scurrying back to my seat. “How’s the experiment going?” I asked, the taste of the wine still biting at my throat. Sipping from her glass, my mom replied “I’m close, I’ve refined the drug some more, but I’m down to two monkeys.” I poked at my food while she continued. “I’m worried though, I’m not sure my results will move past animal trials.” “Isn’t it gross?” I asked, “dissecting all those monkeys.” “That’s the best part!” My mom’s eyes crinkled as she continued, “Hey, sometimes the guts smell like bananas.” “Ew mom! I’m eating!”I scrunched my nose in disgust. While finishing my last bites, I shifted my weight back and forth, wobbling my chair with me. Looking at me with furrowed brows, my mom spoke in a stern “I’m an adult so you better listen to me” voice. “Don’t do that, you’ll split your head open.” Snapping out of my mindless trance, a smile broke onto my face. I looked into her soul as I balanced so far on the chair’s front legs that it was almost vertical. My mom rolled her eyes while I stood up and put my dishes away. “Do you need homework help?” she called as I walked upstairs. “No, I’ll be done in an hour.” I replied. Later that night, I checked on my mom. As I approached the basement, I could hear the monkeys whooping in her lab. The lab’s air was sharp with chemicals and the overhead lights reflected off the metal equipment. My mom was hunched over her microscope in the corner, her gloved hand adjusting a petri dish of blood. Her hair was dishevelled, with mahogany-coloured strands sticking out haphazardly.

“Bad.” She replied. “I think I’ve got the drug, but I need a different monkey. This one has tapeworms and it’s interfering with the drug’s effects.” “What about that one?” I asked, pointing to the last monkey left. “Can’t use him.” My mom huffed. “I need one monkey to present my findings, so I can’t touch him until I’m completely sure the drug has no side effects.” While she spoke, I made my way to the wire cages at the bottom of the floor. Sitting down, I watched as the two monkeys groomed themselves while continuously moving their jaws up and down, chewing on what appeared to be nothing. Eventually, my curiosity took over and I stuck my finger through a gap in the wires. Instantly, the first monkey whipped its neck around. It had stopped chewing, its wrinkly mouth hung agape as its honey-coloured eyes looked into mine. Then, in a flash, the monkey joined its cagemate as they shrieked in fear. I wondered if they had watched my mom cut up the other monkeys. As I stood up, I heard a dish clatter before watching my mom slam her fist into the table. Turning around, I saw the cracked petri dish. The blood it once held dripped off the table, leaving crimson splatters on the white floor. My mom spoke in a calm, hollow voice, her eyes glued to the dripping blood. “This isn’t working, I need a clean slate.” That night, my mom worked into the early morning. Upstairs, I screwed my eyes shut, trying to tune out the commotions echoing through the house. I woke up to my mom hovering above me, a big smile plastered on her face. I smiled back instinctively, her joy was infectious. Half asleep, I pushed myself off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. “Did you find a solution?” I asked, my voice laced with sleep. “Yes!” My mom exclaimed. “It’s Saturday, I’m taking us out for brunch! Come on, get ready!” Brushing my teeth, I smiled inside. My mom’s ecstatic expression reflected through the mirror. As I followed her down the stairs, I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to the beams of sunlight streaming through the windows. At the kitchen counter, my mom handed me a smoothie. “Drink this, I added lots of bananas, just how you like it.” Sipping the smoothie, I wanted to ask where we were getting brunch, but before I could, my eyelids drooped. Thinking I was falling back asleep, a wave of panic washed over me. I looked to my mom; she smiled at me with kind eyes, dimples showing. Then, as I began to slump off my chair she caught my fall and picked me up. By now, my body was limp, my eyes sealing in a cloud of haze. In my mom’s arms, I felt her walking, her footsteps reverberating throughout the hallway. As exhaustion smothered my body, I fought the world around me, and against my temple, my mother whispered, “a clean slate.”

“How’s it going?” I asked, trying to hide my concern.

FICTION | OCTOBER 2021

The

Crane

by Anonymous, Tirana, Albania

Artwork by Tanisi Ramrakhyani, Hyderabad, India

he afternoon sunlight reflected off the tall, glass buildings. Long lines of traffic jams were covering the street, and yellow specks of taxis were everywhere. Honking noises made my collar feel uncomfortably tight around my neck. The early winter wind went straight through my bones. I blended right in with the crowd of people walking around me. I turned a corner and walked up the steps. The tintinnabulation that the tiny bell made as I opened the door sounded as if it needed to be polished. The door seemed centuries old. The noise I made coming in didn’t seem to bother her, as her back was still turned to me. She was sitting on a big red pillow. The room was small, and peculiar objects were all over. I spotted an old oil lamp on top of a pile of foreign books. The place reminded me of an antique store. I clashed with every part of this room. I awkwardly tottered toward the woman; her hair was a tornado of dark curls. There was a small, flat round object in front of her, covered with a traditional

Hungarian cloth. On the other side of this table, another red pillow was seated on the ground. I guessed that that was where I was supposed to sit. My dress-pants folded over as I bent down in my gray-black suit. Her eyes opened to reveal button brown eyes that seemed to sink ever so far. A deep steady voice arose. “Ah, you must be Andrew.” The rolling ‘r’ she put in my name revealed an accent. “Yes, I am. And how do you know that?” I snapped back. My tone made me seem stubborn, but my voice was also shaky and had an unsteady rhythm. The clairvoyant didn’t look the slightest bit offended. “It’s on the pin that’s attached to your suit. Next to ‘Boss’.”

FICTION | OCTOBER 2021

“Oh …” My face turned faintly red.

“The symbol means crane.”

She faced down to look at a strange object that I hadn’t yet noticed. It was one of those stereotypical glass balls that were said to show the future. But even though I rolled my eyes, it was somehow captivating, almost magical. Shiny, gray, cloud-like mist was spinning around in a manipulative manner. The movement of the mist was like laundry in a washing machine, but slower.

“And what does that mean?”

She looked at the glass sphere, and although I saw nothing changing in the ball, her eyebrows raised apprehensively, causing deep wrinkles to form between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry to tell you, your future doesn’t look too bright," she sympathetically stated slowly without looking up. “You won’t live much longer.” She said it so kindly, especially in comparison to the doctor in the hospital this morning. He had said it with such little change of tone that at first, I thought he was kidding. It was all too casual, too expressionless, too emotionless. But the fact that the clairvoyant predicted this, caused me to feel odd trust.

Was I really about to drink something I got from a psychopath? “Do you see how I will die?” I questioned unsurely. “Not in this crystal ball, but I can do something else.” She stood up and went through beaded strings that functioned as a door. As I waited, I nervously fiddled with my leather watch strap. When the clairvoyant came back, she held a porcelain cup. She handed it over to me, and I peered down at a dark liquid. “Is this coffee?” I asked. “Not the normal coffee you know. This one will reveal a word, or symbol, at the bottom. And it will be the last thing you see!” She sounded like an evil witch now, one from fairy tales emphasizing some words of her speech. I was bringing the cup closer and closer to my mouth. Was I really about to drink something I got from a psychopath? But I knew that I had to trust her if I wanted to know more about my death. The coffee was the blackness of a demon’s soul. Once I eagerly gulped down the last sip, my eyes indeed found a symbol, or some sort of letters at the bottom of the cup. It looked like a stain. The clairvoyant grabbed it out of my hand and started flipping pages in a book that looked like an atypical dictionary. “Crane,” she said.

“A crane will be the last thing you see on this earth!” *

It was not until Monday, on my way to work with a briefcase in hand, that I realized how hard it is to avoid cranes in New York City. I had decided not to look up at the sky. However, I was just looking in front of me when I saw it. The petrifying shadow of the end bit of a crane. I could hear the builders that were working around it. I couldn’t breathe. My heart stopped, and then beat quicker than it ever had as I turned and ran. I ran back and turned the corner to a block that I was sure had no cranes. I sighed, though my heart kept pumping erratically. I slowly continued walking on my detour toward work, hearing sirens everywhere. The following four or five weeks, I had been able to successfully avoid any cranes. These few weeks, however, I had wondered why I hadn’t died when I saw that shadow. I kept doubting whether I should even believe the clairvoyant. I had managed to not look out the window when at work, because I was sure I would see many from that tall glass building. I had also made sure to not walk through any crane shadows. And yet I was petrified. I was going to move to the countryside. I thought it was a genius plan. I was already 66, and I was allowed to get my pension. After many years of work, I would go to the countryside to live peacefully for as long as my heart would carry me. But the best part was that no crane nor crane shadow could follow me to that place. A week before moving, I decided to go on a stroll in Central Park. It was a beautiful day at the end of winter. Golden light from the low standing sun was shining on the green plants and trees. I sat peacefully on a bench. I looked at the field in front of me. The wailing sirens were echoing faintly. A beautiful bird caught my eye. It was very tall will long legs. There was a big red circle on its forehead. The afternoon sunlight made the bird look like it was made of gold. I could see every little feather, as if it was a painting. And then my heart ached, I felt a horrible pain, and my vision grew blurry. I could still see the majestic bird fly up and spread its long wings hovering to the west. My vision was now completely blurry, and I started panicking. In pain, I could hear a muffled voice of someone nearby, “Wow, do you see that Sandhill Crane? Those birds are extremely rare here.” My vision turned black. I felt death slowly embrace his dark arms around me. And then it was silent.

“Sorry?”

FICTION | MAY 2021

Photo by Yu-Ting, Cupertino, CA

Witness by Riddhi S., Cupertino, CA

he saw him. She saw him get killed. She saw the life drain out of his eyes. She heard his screams of pain.

She heard the footsteps of the murderer as they ran away. She felt a tingly sensation course through her. She felt a tight knot form in her chest. She witnessed it all. But no one believed her. Not a soul. She knew it had happened. Her eyes couldn’t have betrayed her. She wasn't dreaming nor was she hallucinating. The

Her fingers were numb as she dialed the police rasping of the man’s final breaths and the crimson blood were all too vivid for it to be a figment of her imagination. She was there. She was watching. She was witnessing. She had approached the body, hands trembling. The man lay in a pool of his own blood beneath her feet, his body peppered with bullet wounds. His glassy eyes were

rolled back, showing only the bloodshot sclera of his eyes. Her fingers were numb as she had dialed the police. Her breath was shaky, and her voice was uncertain. She told the officer on the phone what had happened. "May I ask what your name is?" The officer had questioned. She responded softly. A moment went by. Her eyes widened as the officer started to laugh. "Nice try. Don't joke that much. We all know

FICTION | MAY 2021

murders are implausible." The officer had drawled before ending the call. The phone fell out of her hand and landed with a thud on the ground. What was the officer talking about? She clutched her heart with both of her hands and fell to her knees. What is going on? Her head was spinning. The ground around her started to spin as well. The lifeless body was still in front of her, her clothes and hands now soaked with blood. No. Something was wrong. Something was missing. Why did the officer hang up so abruptly? Why was the officer so ignorant? She stood up and started to walk away from the body. She needed help. She needed to ask someone else. As she turned around she saw a young man walking by. Her feet dragged her towards him. "Please help! Please help me!" Her cries were loud, and she collapsed onto her knees. The man immediately turned his head. "What's wrong?" he asked, his eyebrows cocked in annoyance. "Please! There has been a murder. Someone has been killed! I saw it all!" She begged, her voice desperate and cracking. The man's eyes lingered over her for a moment. He scoffed. "This isn't funny. Joking about death is despicable." He shook his head as he walked away. “Please!” she called out weakly, grasping for the man’s hand. But it was out of reach, and her hand fell to her side. Tears streamed down her face. They tasted like salt and regret. Stop. Stop it. Stop crying. She kept scolding herself as she slowly stood up. Stop being weak. Make them believe you. They must believe you. She hurried back to the scene of the crime. The knot in her chest tightened even harder each time she saw those lifeless eyes. It was as if they were chiding her, tormenting her. She grabbed her phone from the ground, making sure it was still functional. She wanted to call the police. She should call the police. But what if she got in

She hurried back to the scene of the crime. The knot in her chest tightened each time she saw those lifeless eyes

Why did they not believe her? What had she done to make them so against the thought of murder? She had so many questions but no answers. But there was only one way to elucidate these questions. Slowly, she dialed the police again with trembling, frail, bloodied fingers. They picked up. “Hello? I’d like to report a murder,” She begins once more, telling her story.

trouble. What if they didn’t believe her again. She shut her eyes as pain filled her body. Her words had failed her once again. Her mouth refused to open. Refused to fight back. How weak she was.

“Alright. What’s your name, miss?” The officer asks. But before she can respond, the man cuts her off with a chuckle. “Just kidding. We don’t need your name for a prank.”

She crumbled to the floor in tears. After all, that was what she was best at. Crying. All she could do was cry. She couldn't even stand up for herself. Couldn't even prove something. And she hated herself for being so useless.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the call ended. Slowly, she pushed herself up, wobbling a bit. She took a moment to stabilize herself, then inhaled sharply. Her eyes were closed and her face was pointed towards the blue, blue sky. Her eyes slowly opened after a brief pause, glimmering under warm rays of sunlight.

Her mind was swirling with thoughts. She couldn't swallow nor could she speak, her throat was dry and hoarse. She still knew she wasn't dreaming. This is real. She is real. It had to be real. But why didn't anyone believe her? Why was she never given a chance? Her breathing started to slow down. Her tears lessened. What if it is a dream? But in my dreams, who am I? Where am I? Her reality felt distorted and warped, nothing seemed real yet nothing seemed fake. She reached up, trying to grasp something, trying to find something tangible to provide her some certainty.

“My name,” she began quietly, swaying gently with the wind. “Is Elora Bathory.” She giggled, then disappeared into the shadows of an alleyway. She twirled a gun in her hands.

Photo Ella Snyder, Winter Springs, FL

Maybe she was nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe she was as thin as air. No, thinner than air. As unreachable as the heavens, as unbelievable as the gaping chasm of hell. No. No, she had to stop. No, she knew this was real. She couldn't push the truth away. She still had to face the truth, truth is something no one can evade. What was wrong with these people? Were they just merely stupid? Or oblivious? Or did they just not care?

POETRY | OCTOBER 2021

Photo by Ella Snyder, Winter Springs, FL

Autumn Shower

Milky Way

Waltz to War

Gleaming hues of gold Bright orange bonfire of leaves Fall, ever burning

Dazzling Milky Way, where are you from? Unfathomable mystery, unknown possibility Tempting us to know you, comprehend you Like the eyes of God Twinkling in the dark universe Or the most beautiful carnelian Exhibited by the omnipotent creator I gaze at the Milky Way My soul has fallen into it Loitering from star to star, planet to planet I can see Goddesses traveling on it The tears they drop Meteors across the sky

A lonesome waltz: the seed flutters here and there, ultimately meeting the pavement. Tiered buildings boast perfectly manicured flowers, ferns, and fungi, while a telephone pole blocks my view of the lake.

by William Chen, Winfield, WV

Paracosm I don’t understand Why I can’t stop thinking about you, Worrying about you, And dreaming about you, When all it is Is a disconnection Between reality and imagination In which I float. I can’t get you out of my mind. Your struggles aren’t real, But they’re real to me. They reflect my own and It scares me. I don’t want to fall; I don’t want to slip Back into a place I fought to get out of, But you never leave My thoughts And I don’t know why.

by Audrey Campbell, Nashville, TN

by Yuan Bi, Dalian, China

Paper Plane I remember flying a paper plane. Inside is the name of the hill where I lived and love. Wishing for the day, my lover will know my name. Watching as the plane fly high above. Still wondering what happened to my plane. Maybe it fell and sunk in the sea. Or maybe it just got stuck in the trees. But I am still here – Waiting for the plane to find its way back to me.

by Latrell Montefalcon, TayTay, Philippines

Nature: implemented where advantageous (to the passerby; the wide-eyed civilian taking it all in). Trees are chopped and traded for apartments, allowing porches to be decorated with potted plants. Lush greenery is wiped by a faulty eraser; faint remnants take the form of storebought vegetation. Cracks in pavement give way to dandelions. Nature becomes invasive to the humans who invaded it.

by Susie Anderson, Hingham, MA

Et Ego Let time create color; the first leaf falls to the bottom The pile rises as all Leaves fall victim to the wind's flotsam Raked in the corner is the group at their end The army of the red dead shames winter's friend, I guess — everyone dies in the autumn

by Thomas Mcrae, Nashville, TN

POETRY | OCOTBER 2021

The Woodcutter's Cabin

underdogs

Exit 85

I’ve never been there To that home in the woods With the fish Hanging from the hooks In the trees

theirs is not the quick fuse of a white father teaching his son to fight back (Between the eyes is where it hurts most) but a slow burn, the crackling roll of a wildfire.

Exit 85, Glen Allen, turn right. If drivers take the advice, they head towards a peaceful town where the last autumn leaves shiver in the cold. Or the drivers don't. They continue straight ahead racing towards their Harly Earl trophy, to their own music. And the sign remains through years of unforgiving winds, getting slapped by cigarette butts and crushed soda cans, the sun baking the green palette letting rust take control of its figure. Until one day, when the trees begin to morph into dark curtains the glistening rain its glitter capturing the beady, yellow eyes of cars that lose interest and pass by, the sign of Exit 85 is torn from its supporting legs, drifting with the wind to venture into unknown lands and experience the chaos that awaits.

I’ve never been there To that home in the woods With the bearskin rugs Softening the floor On the doorstep I’ve never been there To that home in the woods With the smoke Rising from the chimney Into the sky I’ve never been there To that home in the woods With the rain Dripping and falling From the roof Must be far To that home in the woods Where the woodcutter lives Working amongst the trees At home in the woods.

by Sarah Smaellie, Tooele, UT

The Jump What if my words come across wrong What if they seem too cliche? What if readers get the beat wrong, The rhythm the words move and sway. What if my points seem too shallow Or on the other end of that pool, Too deep and too controversial For someone not yet out of school. They say there's a beauty in fear, In not knowing how they'll react But they forget that they said "beauty in fear" not "fear in beauty" So I'm still scared that I'll crash. Everytime, round and round, I show myself to the world It feels like I've flown off a cliff There's always that part of me that holds its breath As I wait, suspense like living death To see if they'll catch me as I fall Or if they'll be glad to see me hit the ground, once and for all.

by Megan Goshe, Columbus, OH

their feet grew roots in a land that rejected them they won the war of words and have the scars to show for it their hair, dark as midnight, burns a trail through the crowd.

by Jemay Leow, Edmond, OK

Can It Rain? Simple desire Clouds to weep in agony In sync with heartbeat

by Rebecca Cho, Jericho, NY

Pipe-Organ A young man Like a freshly cracked pistachio Dark-haired and brown-eyed In a spacious echoing house Holds a little boy child son Over the pipe organ. The room is full of echoes and ghosts, Sun-sparkling brown glass, Guitars and mandolins, Dulcimers and violins Maps and drawings. The child clucks with glee Discovering pedals, Music that rises Like smoke from the altar Sighing in the ancestral rafters. The pipe-organ is all his! Nothing matters but toys and music And Daddy’s hands. But the Daddy, he’s older, Thoughts rising in the gloom Sweep over his face like a broom. He knows not to stare at the sun He gazes over the shoulder Of the spirit of music Of the boy-child’s laughter, At the signs and the closing borders Of the journey he’s begun.

by Audrey Muth, Portsmouth, VA

My Apples a rose-cheeked fairy, in a brilliant red dress, sways with other friends!.

by Minnie Wu, Pennington, NJ

Wildflower You are a wildflower. The kind, which grows on its own, In a forest where not a soul is found. The kind, which is full of shades of color, Shades, which no one can name at all. The kind, whose smell is enough to intoxicate anyone. The kind, which is admired by all but plucked by none. The kind, for whose glimpse people can walk for miles. You are a wildflower, darling, Poisonous, powerful yet fragile.

by Yashasvi Durani, Gurugram, India

by Lydia Quattrochi, Somonauk, IL 45

POETRY | OCTOBER 2021

Once, I Dreamt of the Place Once, I dreamt of the place Where I sat face to face With one that I love Who’s graceful as a dove. Then I realized that Love is greatest, more deserving of trust than the rest. But when it came to the one I know, My love of her I had failed to show. I had been swallowed by my fear, doubt, and shame; Left all alone with only myself to blame. I forgot the confidence and strength in me, And hid my gift of love to extremity. Yet the dove of hope does still remain And in my moment of need, she came.

by Joseph O'Gara, South Sioux City, NE

The Sky Throne The moon comes slicing the night with its deep bright light challenging the haughty sight In a bright world spreading happiness for all we forget the whispering call when our sun king falls In comes the moon With a confident stride and its only pride are the stars at its side The moon marches up And sits in the lagoon as it crowns the loon and fades too soon when the moon dips and light comes again as the moon hides in vain and the sun claims its reign.

by Consuelo Bowman, New Canaan, CT

The Dock A thin, hazy fog The secure overcast of Anonymity

by Rebecca Cho, Jericho, NY

Human Heart Gun Shot The bang rings out Like a pebble thrown in water Ripples collide Slamming eardrums Blood explodes A life is lost The blood is red The life is human But the skin is brown The time is slavery Or yesterday Or 500 years ago The time doesn't matter And the killer says The blood doesn't matter The life doesn't matter The skin matters Gun shot The bang rings out Like a pebble thrown in water Ripples collide Slamming eardrums Blood explodes A life is lost The blood is red The life is human But the skin is white And people care That can be yesterday Yesterday is gone Tomorrow When a gunshot rings And ripples like A pebble in a pond It's time to ask Not the skin But the heart And the life And the humanity But not And the skin is brown And the skin is white And the skin is asian And the skin is hispanic But the human heart.

by Dawn Elmer, VT 46

Photo by Sherely Drent, NYC, NY

The Napoleonic Sonnet At school I study reign of Bonaparte With a whiff of cannonball and grapeshot The Frenchmen in the crowd got blown apart Napoleon, a friend? I doth think not. When France sneezed, Europe got a load of snot To be or not to be free was question A strong leader whose heart was full of rot In history, he always earns mention He dominated Europe’s way of life Europe’s first common enemy was he He set the course for century of strife He never knew when to just let it be History bears this man’s mark to this day His vision defines the world, come what may.

by Camryn Neches, Port Washington, NY

POETRY | OCTOBER 2021

Secret Kisses

Roots Revisited

Fugu (Pufferfish)

See, baby! The piano strings throb away in hidden places. See how the apple tree waves tenderly against the fresh linen sky. See, baby, how the tiny birds cry for their pacifiers. Some swift, subtle magic has stripped the blindness from our eyes, so you will look at that special place between my nose and mouth, you will look at that well in my eye nobody else sees, and you will serenade me with a kiss.

I am going back where my roots are – To the grasses green, to the past far. The familiar scapes call me now; The olden days wave to me; The tree's smile, I see in each bough And the dance of the ivy.

Who reached into the dark abyss in search of the ocean’s opulence?

by Lydia Quattrochi, Somonauk, IL

I am going back where my roots are – To the murky pond, to the altar, To the age-old rail track that is lain By the field gold tassels fill. The soil's cologne, after a rain Only for me, lingers still I am going back where my roots are. 'cause, I must go now down these stairs.

by Souradip Guchhait, Kolkata, India

Your Son

Ode to Glitter Glue

Do you want to see your son again? Open your door to see him, then, plant a kiss upon his head, Or see him mangled in a hospital bed, That’s if you’re lucky. 15 feet, that’s not too high, 40 feet, 65 feet, Gliding down slowly like leaves in October, Bright colors pulled by gravity to meet brown, crumpled ends. He tried to tell you, didn't he? No? What’s the call out of nowhere, The ghost behind a long stare, The random text? No, this isn’t fair, But it’s also not inevitable. Breathing’s not a task for the unconditioned soul – A class on living is not available, And books can bite as bees can sting; Academia’s swaying swing. There’s help, there’s hope, there’s half a chance, But nothing can bridge the winding ravine that He’ll soon be heaped at the bottom of. So. How badly do you want to see your son again? Badly enough to listen? Badly enough not to leave? Badly enough to love?

Oh, Great Glitter Glue, How you kiss sparkle & vibrance & joy onto all that you embrace How your companionship metamorphoses a lonely canvas cocoon into galaxies of constellations How you are unapologetically girly! And simultaneously uncompromisingly Herculean — You are glitter, yet you are glue too For you gift interdependence to otherwise uncoupled entities For you uphold a bridge with bare hands never letting go of that one you care for Oh, Great Glitter Glue, The intersection point those selfproclaimed mathematicians fail to notice Accept this tribute from your admirers

by Sam Sachs, Ithaca, NY

Spherules filled with water in a cadence with the silent waves Who knew mother nature laced its body with flares of toxin Delicate blades pierced and sliced rubbery skin glued to its flesh Who mistook this fragile creature, scaled with tiger stripes Becoming foreign delicacy Carefully crafted hands manifested years of rehearsal tugged away its papery gills Who dared to touch its fatal flesh morphing with these tides Delicate escalopes of pearly sashimi laid upon the plate salty from sea of tears Who crushed its bones and tugged the skeleton carcass, empty, barren, worthless Mother Nature humors irony left powerless its liver, bladder, and eyes swelled as heedful fingers tossed away fugu’s delicate threads of vengeance

by Ray Zhang, Troy, MI

by Skylar Peck, Seoul, Republic of Korea

Twisted Heart Do I like you or love you? You make me laugh, you've made me cry, never really knowing why. Do you love me? I'll never know. Hold on to me or let me go? I need you more than I'll admit, I never want to call this quits. It used to be simpler, didn't it?

by Melia Cargill, Boulder, CO

Artwork by Mia Barrows, Jupiter, FL 47

Photo by Charlotte Clements, Charlottesville, VA

Artwork by Brooke Novinger, Columbia, MO 48

Photo by Fatima Shafi, Faisalabad, Pakistan

Teen Ink

Magazine

December 2021

Main Focus 2nd Focus

Teens Making a Difference Haiku Contest Winners Announced

Teen Ink is now on TikTok! Follow us for exciting news, tips, contests, behind-the-scenes sneak peeks, and featured creative work!

Meet The Teen Ink Team Join us for Meet Us Mondays every Monday to say hello

See who’s been crowned “Twained” each Tuesday on our Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok

National Poetry Day International Day of Non-Violence Mean Girls Day National Taco Day National Be Nice Day National Coaches Day Nat'l Depression Screening Day National Fluffernutter Day Curious Events Day World Mental Health Day Indigenous Peoples’ Day National Savings Day National Stop Bullying Day National Dessert Day Global Handwashing Day Global Cat Day National Pasta Day National No Beard Day National New Friends Day National Day on Writing National Reptile Day Int'l Stuttering Awareness Day National Croc Day National Bologna Day International Artist Day National Pumpkin Day National Black Cat Day International Animation Day National Internet Day National Candy Corn Day Halloween

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National Author’s Day National Deviled Egg Day National Stress Awareness Day National Candy Day National Love Your Red Hair Day National Saxophone Day National Cancer Awareness Day International Tongue Twister Day Go to an Art Museum Day National Vanilla Cupcake Day Veterans Day National French Dip Day World Kindness Day World Diabetes Day National Recycling Day International Day for Tolerance National Hike Day National Princess Day National Camp Day Int'l Survivors of Suicide Loss Day World Hello Day Love Your Freckles Day National Espresso Day National Sardines Day Thanksgiving National Cake Day Small Business Saturday National French Toast Day Chadwick Boseman Day Giving Tuesday

November

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October

What's Coming Up?

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Contributors MEMOIRS

BOOK REVIEWS

De’ja A., 6

Abigail Sterner, 38 Lyna Huynh, 39 Yule Zhang, 39

COLLEGE ARTICLES Anonymous, 8 Marley Noel, 9 Alex Montes De Oca, 10 Charlie Raghavan, 11 Anonymous, 12

COLLEGE ESSAYS Anonymous, 18 Jamilah Arabiyat, 19 Eddy Hogea, 20

TRAVEL & CULTURE Gabrielle Beck, 26

HEALTH Doyoung Kim, 28 Claire Addison, 29

AUTHOR INTERVIEWS Lyna H., 30 Bridget Lomax, 31

MUSIC REVIEWS Bridget Lomax, 34 Anonymous, 34 Michael Wang, 35

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS Maethili Patel, 36 Gabrielle Beck, 36 Katie Ko, 37

FICTION Abby Huo, 38 Anonymous, 40 Riddhi S., 42

Sarah Smaellie, 45 Megan Goshe, 45 Jemay Leow, 45 Rebecca Cho, 45 Lydia Quattrochi, 45 Audrey Muth, 45 Minnie Wu, 45 Yashasvi Durani, 45 Joseph O’Gara, 46 Consuelo Bowman, 46 Rebecca Cho, 46 Dawn Elmer, 46 Camryn Neches, 46 Lydia Quattrochi, 47 Sam Sachs, 47 Souradip Guchhait, 47 Skylar Peck, 47 Melia Cargill, 47 Ray Zhang, 47

ART GALLERIES

POETRY William Chen, 44 Audrey Campbell, 44 Yuan Bi, 44 Latrell Montefalcon, 44 Susie Anderson, 44 Thomas Mcrae, 44

Syndey Sinclair, Front Cover Madeleine Gauvin, 2 Maxis Amos-Flom, 7 Jorja Garcia, 8 Brianna Skye, 9 Shelbie Perani, 11 Anonymous, 12

Ananya Guha, 14 Ashley Jun, 15 Yincheng Qian, 15 Francesca Mills, 15 Noha Kandil, 16 Joyce Tratnyek, 16 Mariam Shengelia, 16 Ellen Britt, 16 Jenny Jeewon Youm, 17 Keanu Lim, 17 Rawan Saleh, 17 Lyna H., 18 Mobin Salimi, 19 Jody Mertins, 20 Anonymous, 26 Anonymous, 27 Gissel Gomez, 28 Anonymous, 35 Rebecca Feng, 38 Tanisi Ramrakhyani, 40 Yu-Ting, 42 Ella Snyder, 43 Ella Snyder, 44 Sherely Drent, 46 Mia Barrows, 47 Charlotte Clements, 48 Brooke Novinger, 48 Fatima Shafi, 48 Desirée Dawn, Back Cover

Editorial Staff Managing Editor: Noelle Campbell

Consulting Head of Strategic Partnerships: Chane Hazelett

Consulting Senior Editor: Cindy W. Spertner

Production: Katie Olsen

Editors: Kylie Andrews, Ashley Nix, Jada Smith Teen Ink is a bi-monthly journal dedicated to publishing a variety of works by teenagers. Teen Ink Magazine and TeenInk.com are both operating divisions and copyright protected trademarks of StudentBridge, Inc. Teen Ink is not responsible for the content of any advertisement. We have not investigated advertisers and do not necessarily endorse their products or services. Publication of material appearing in Teen Ink is prohibited unless written permission is obtained. Teen Ink is designed using Adobe InDesign.

Resources

October 2021 | Volume 36 | Issue 2

• SAMHSA’s National Helpline 1.800.662.HELP (4357)

SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders.

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1.800.273.TALK (8255)

Support and assistance 24/7 for anyone feeling depressed, overwhelmed or suicidal. Talk to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area at any time. If you are located outside of the United States, call your local emergency line.

• Crisis Text Line

Text “HELLO” to 741741 The Crisis Text hotline is available 24 hours a day, seven days a week throughout the U.S. The Crisis Text Line serves anyone, in any type of crisis, connecting them with a crisis counselor who can provide support and information.

• International Suicide Prevention Hotlines www.opencounseling.com/suicide-hotlines

• National Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

National call center refers to local resources; Spanish plus 160 other languages available; no caller ID used.

• National Sexual Assault Hotline 1.800.656.HOPE (4673)

Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network - RAINN Nationwide referrals for specialized counseling and support groups. Hotline routes calls to local sex assault crisis centers for resources and referrals. Spanish available.

• National Eating Disorder Hotline 1.800.931.2237 For 24/7 crisis support text: NEDA to 741-741

• Self-Harm Hotline 1.800.DONT.CUT (1.800.366.8288) • Planned Parenthood Hotline 1.800.230.PLAN (7526) • GLBT Hotline 1.888.843.4564 • TransLifeline 1.877.565.8860 | www.translifeline.org

FREE 1-Year Premium Access!

Brightmind Meditation and Mindfulness App

We’ve teamed up with Brightmind to offer you 1 year of FREE Premium Access (a $100 value). Here’s what you’ll get: • Full access to customizable Core Meditations • Hundreds of addition guided meditations • New content added regularly Click HERE to claim your FREE membership 51

Photo by Desirée Dawn, Maple Ridge, BC, Canada