Teen Ink magazine – February 2022 by Teen Ink magazine

February 2022

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Black History Month

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Educator of the Year Contest

Submit it online at www.TeenInk.com/Submit

Do you have an outstanding teacher, coach, guidance counselor, librarian, or principal? Tell us why your nominee is special. What has your educator done for your class, you, another student, or the community? Be specific. Essays should be about 250 words. Only middle school/junior high and high school educators are eligible. Include your nominee’s first and last name, position or subject taught, and the school where he/she teaches.

Deadline: April 1, 2022

Winners will be announced in the June 2022 issue

Contents

February 2022 | Volume 36 | Issue 4

OnTheCover

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15Black History Month 39 Book Reviews • White Tee • Pigments • BLM Is Not Over, Despite Social Media Trends

20 Essay Contest:

An Extraordinary Act of Kindness • My Dance Family

• Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning • The Selection • Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass

43 Movie & TV Reviews • "Mank" •

• The Dictionary • Sweets, Treats, & Other Things That Matter When You're Young

Artwork by Khushi Patel, Germantown, TN

24Points of View • 'A' Is For Action

5Teen Ink News • Contests & Call for Submissions

6Memoirs • Everyone Loves in Their Own Way • The Hockey Practice That Changed My Life

12Love & Relationships • Ways Your Unattainable Crush Makes You a Better Person • You Should Date a Girl Who Creates Art • When I Find Myself …

47Music Reviews • "Red (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift • "Pebble Brain" by Lovejoy • "Donda" by Kanye West

50 Fiction 26 Summer Programs • Of Packing Lists and P-Cord • A Drive Through Foss

29 Health • Diet Culture in the Media: What Is "Clean Eating?" • I Just Want To Fit In

34 Travel & Culture • Road Signs • Living Off the Grid in Alaska

• Things Worth Running From • Remembering • Murray with Eight Legs

55Poetry • Free verse, haiku, sonnets, & more

Art Galleries • Photography, watercolors, charcoal, oil paintings, & more • "Pets Are Family, Too" Art Contest — page 22

Letter from the

Editor It's a New Year! Dear Teen Ink Readers,

to plan out what you would like the rest of your year to entail.

com/summer-programs to learn more about all of the unique and

sections on love and relationships and Black History Month, both described from the voices of modern-day teenagers like you. We always welcome your feedback and invite you to reach out with comments and inquiries at editor@teenink.com. And remember to

Sincerely,

The Teen Ink Team

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Need:

• Educator of the Year Nomination Essays • Stories about Your Part-time Jobs and Work Experience

• Video Game Reviews

• Book Reviews

• Stories about Summer Camp or Summer Program Experiences

• Movie Reviews • Music Reviews

MEMOIRS | FEBRUARY 2022

Everyone Loves by Conner Wolownik, Comstock Park, MI

Photo by Ditri Collaku, Tirana, Albania

was still in shock as we pulled into my

of a small Midwestern town: two-story and white, speckled black where the paint had started to peel, and with a backyard that contained a single oak tree and garage was a separate building that stood to the right of his house, and it was from here that he stepped out of an open side door as he heard us pull in. I turned to my mom as he waited for us to exit the car.

say much else.

Dustin nodded.

for an unbearably long time. He had heard about what had happened and was clearly trying to speak about anything but, and I quickly tuned out of the conversation. It felt stilted and forced, and that had started to bother me. Eventually, the conversation fell to a halt, and my parents waved their goodbyes and walked back to the car. The hum of the engine faded into the distance, and we were left standing beside our uncle in silence.

We both nodded. some far-fetched hope that we could still turn around and go home.

defeat.

to cheer up as good as you can, if not for

We stepped out of the car and walked up to greet my Uncle. He was middle-aged, with short, unkempt hair that had mostly retained its black hue but also had sporadic, prickly facial hair with hints of gray coming in. He wore a faded gray University of Michigan T-shirt and a pair of worn jeans. We were just below the age to give hugs, so he hugged us, greeted my mom and dad, and then spoke with them

He led us to the screen door out back. It squeaked loudly as he pulled it open and banged shut as it swung closed behind us. Inside, the blinds were closed, and the light from a hanging lamp in the dining room was a musty yellow color. A football game played quietly on a TV in the next room. The atmosphere felt suffocating.

MEMOIRS | FEBRUARY 2022

Sidebar

Story

felt strangely invigorated. We transferred then stepped in. Fog clung to the water like rising smoke, lazily drifting about in the windless morning. We split through tufts of fog as Uncle Mark took us across the lake, and the motor rumbled softly as we

thought maybe you guys might want to head out there Sunday morning, see what

stopped in a secluded corner of the lake, near shore. We waited there a moment, listening to the waves lap against the side of the boat, gently bobbing us up and down.

We stood in silence for a moment, until eventually Dustin and Uncle Mark followed the sound of the TV and began talking about the game.

I closed my eyes and began to drift back off, but Dustin shook my shoulder again, harder this time.

I sighed and brought my bags upstairs to

the silence. I was a huge reader at this point in life, so I leapt at the question and talked about the book I was reading, and as I did Dustin teased me, and Uncle Mark showed us how

staying. The room was bathed in darkness, outside of a soft gray light splitting through the bed. I sat on the bed and found myself

parents decided that it was also the day we would have to put our dog, Java, down as have the heart to watch. I felt the emotions swelling up to the surface the more that I thought about it, and I quickly shut it out. I came downstairs an hour later when I light radiating from above the dining room table seeped into the hall, illuminating it with a faint glow. The murmur of the announcers on TV and the soft roar of the crowd trickled through the halls of the house. I stumbled groggily into the

going back upstairs in the night, but I must have at some point. As I changed into my clothes for the day I peeked through the blinds in my room. The sky was a soft purple, and the faintest hues of orange glowed upon the edge of the horizon. We ate, and then began loading up the pickup truck. We drove much of the way there quietly, watching the sun rise over the treetops. It was cloudy when we arrived, casting a somber gray light upon us, yet I

perfect solution to our problems because

Dustin and I dealt with things in ours. But needed somebody that cared about us being happy. Uncle Mark did and that was enough.

Photo by Anna Villavicencio, Three Rivers, CA

washed over the shaggy green couch and faded brown armchair. Uncle Mark sat on couch beside him and watched in silence for a while. Eventually, he began to talk to me about football, and I talked back. I but, for some strange reason, it felt good to be in his company. I woke up the next morning to a hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake.

MEMOIRS | FEBRUARY 2022

The Hockey Practice That by Anonymous, OH

Photo by Aryana Singh, New York, NY 8

MEMOIRS | FEBRUARY 2022

here were so many signs.

The 'C' on my physics test. The 3 out of 6 on my rhetorical analysis. The friend who was mad at me on the last day before Thanksgiving break. The congested nose. The sore back from my orchestra concert. So many unfortunate things had already happened to me that week that

Yet I went. I felt incredibly guilty about the many practices I had to miss due to competitions and fundraisers and was quite intrigued by the fact

It was just a few days before Thanksgiving and many people were out of town, so we had less than half of our team on the ice; eight of us plus the two coaches. And of the eight, two offensemen switched gear with the

We went through some of our normal drills — Greyhound Stretch and 1 v 1 — then played some fun games like relay races for the puck and 3 v 3. On a usual day, I would dominate these activities. I had the speed, stamina, aggression, and most importantly, my characteristic hunger, to take down my competitors. But today my skates were loose — I compensate for my poor performance — and my feet were numb and my nose dribbled with snot. I was worn out by the time we got to the 3 v 3, which, during a typical practice, would be my favorite activity. I remember just skating sluggishly to and fro, not defending or driving the puck in a particular direction. I so badly wanted this practice to end. I kept glancing at the clock — which seemed to be frozen at 8:46 — and at my teammates on the side, wondering when I could be subbed out so I could lay on the ice and stare at the sharp, too-white luminescent bulbs. Finally, my wishes were granted and the coaches were gathering pucks into the puck bag while I was speeding off the ice. *

My driving school instructor warned us to never drive when we were

pick me up after practice. I thought, rather arrogantly, that I was strong history proving quite the opposite. I defeatedly slung my bag in the trunk, threw my sticks astrew and unzipped a pouch in my bag and pulled out my two-week-old Ziploc bag containing my car keys and wallet. This plastic bag really isn’t working out. I’ll have to think about asking for one of those Vera Bradley wallet key chains for Christmas, I thought giddily, and a car of my own, of course, to go with that, haha! I sat in my car for a moment before turning on the ignition to calm

MEMOIRS | FEBRUARY 2022 myself down by thinking about driving so I could simmer down my recent frustration and pile of bad emotions that had slowly built up inside of me this week. Thinking about driving, a meditative feelings for a few moments. I started the car anyway, expecting my inner state to lighten up as I drove away.

immediately set in.

Horror settled in my stomach. Thoughts raced through my mind: 57 mph = 22 mph + 35 mph. 22 mph over the speed limit. 4 points, at least. Probably a suspended court.

The gas pedal acted as my punching bag. My last escape, my only dummy to hit, my only pseudo therapist, my only listener in the world. My heel smashed into that little black square as I pulled out

My hand searched through my wallet and obeyed his commands.

and post-high confusion I was drowning in. felt that I was going too fast, that I was unsafe, that I was no longer in control of the car and … and I loved it.

anymore. Instead, I was one with a growling inanimate beast who understood me and fueled me into a mindset that imitated its hollow shell of a body. I reached the police station, located at the bottom of the hill, and was fortunate that I did decelerate because at the instant I reached

My parents are going to be so disappointed. What is that cop going to say to his family about how disappointing it was to ticket a 16-year-old? What will my friends think of me, what will my teachers say, how will I face my neighbors, I am going to court like a — a criminal at age 16 for a speeding citation? I’m going to court, I’m going to court, I’m going to court. This is going to cost so much money, I’m going to get points on my record … I’m screwed.

occur. I continued on, now an embodiment of a reckless, carefree, teenage Malibu girl with Ray Bans turning Karma Police up and up and up for the world to hear and cruising along in a red Lamborghini along the highway near the ocean, smiling all the way as my speed the corner that led into a straight shot to my house, a rush of adrenaline coursed through my body and I rammed my foot onto the accelerator just as I had been doing, thinking I could continue getting away with speeding. On the other side of the road, at some point, I noticed a car that it — it was night and my eyes could have been wrong, but I did continue to feel a gut-wrenching feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was a cop. As I neared the end of my journey, coasting along the straight road that led to the hill before my development, I noticed that there was a pair of white lights getting increasingly closer to me. I denied it was the police. Probably just a person in a hurry, I said to myself, trying to knock out any uneasy thoughts. As I drove up the hill, the lights were so close.

Cars whirred past me in blurs. I bet the drivers tsked and passengers rolled their eyes and sighed deeply. My head ducked judgments of the poor driver. And then the physical reactions started. My legs, matted to the dirty white leather seat, were suddenly freezing and shivering hysterical ugly cry, crying for everything wrong in my life and for the unrecognizable person I had become.

me my dignity. Overwhelmed with emotions, I made a pact with the speed limit and even if I was prohibited from driving for a few driving for another two months out of the fear of making another mistake but mainly so I would learn my lesson. Also in this pact, I told myself this incident was a sign that I needed to pick myself back up, that this would be the lowest of my lows, that I had to turn my life back around so that I was in control, not my self-doubt and self-hatred. There was a little smile of hope, the most authentic

MEMOIRS | FEBRUARY 2022 Time ticked past even slower than it had at hockey. I watched the bright red and blue alternate through my puffy eyes, still pouring with tears.

was low of me to constantly declare my pride for speeding and how it broke her heart. On the following day, she seemed to forgive me,

Finally, I heard a door slam. my head up and down, just thinking about court and being 16. *

perhaps I sped and loved speeding because it divided me from my category, characterized by perfection and proper behavior and be what the teenage years are for and … I guess I pushed myself into this situation. my vision. I never thought this would happen to me, a straight-A student attending a well-known private girls school, a researcher in a highly complex physics lab at a nearby university, a greatly accomplished violinist with a seat in one of the greatest youth orchestras in the country, a top mathematician many courses ahead of her time.

Despite the many days of pain that followed where all I could think about was the monstrosity of a citation and mope around about my foolishness, and blame my hot head, this experience changed my life in one of the most positive ways imaginable. It got my pre-Covid life back on track. Before the incident, I was in a haze of laziness and depression due to the lockdown and other internal and external forces that were happening in my life. For a while, I was unable to feel

I drove as slowly as humanly possible and upon arriving at home, trudged to the basement, where my dad was sleeping.

which showed in my subpar participation, and I dreaded my extracurricular activities. It affected me so much that there were many days where I grappled with the idea of ending my grief of becoming a shell of a person because seeing myself like this hurt too much and I wanted the pain to stop. I had been in a terrible mood for months preceding the incident.

He jumped out of his seat so quickly, so ferociously, that I feared his veins would pop out and he would yell and yell until his face grew red.

drive to do so. This incident was the catalyst, the very drive I needed to make my life worth living. Suddenly, with the heavy reality of court weighing on my mind, everything else had a positive spin to it. High school

I got back to my successful routine I had established before Covid As I unpacked my stuff from the trunk, my dad told me I was going way too fast and asked me why.

in self pity for another hour. I went to bed as late as my body would and ready for the day.

went back to normal (until my uncle asked about my driving, to which my dad replied I got a ticket and I was embarrassed and had to leave the house before the tears came).

Gaining my old self — the one I so dearly cherished — and my childlike eagerness to grab life by the horns was worth the ticket.

When I went inside, my mother lectured me, as expected and as I deserved.

LOVE & RELATIONSHIPS | FEBRUARY 2022

Photo by Mór Szepesi, Budapest, Hungary

Ways Your Unattainable Crush

Makes You a Better Person by Sakshi Sneha, Khajpura, Patna, India

2. They help us get interested in astrology, making us more spiritual

makes wedding bells ring in your ear.

(Hmmm … I'm a Gemini, he's an Aries. Are we soulmates or enemies?)

But unfortunately, they are also The One who never gives you attention or is a pro

3. They make us a more patient person

ust to make things clear, we are not going to talk about your celebrity crush (way too unattainable and beyond the scope of this article). The one we are going to talk about here is The One — The One we shower with instant replies on Instagram, The One from whom

are thinking about them now, too. But stop, million times that we have to leave them,

your crush isn't always a losing situation.

Please tell me that I am not the only one who checks their crush's horoscope … or who prays for the never-ending love of their crush every time they are in front of a God.

From waiting for their replies (and cringing because we double-texted them) to controlling ourselves from liking their sixyear-old pictures (or in some cases, waiting for them to like us back) our patience seems like the only friend who's gonna hold

1. They help us step-up our hygiene game

4. They make us appreciate song lyrics

Sometimes we become too comfortable with our baggy clothes and slouchy body

"I have died every day waiting for you. I have loved you for a thousand years, I'll

tempted to push our limits and explore our inner Rachel Green, just like Taylor Swift did

actually will — please fall in love with me, you think. Or, "We don't talk anymore, like we used to do." Yeah, because I can't lower my self-esteem any further, you sigh.

(This doesn't mean you have to dress

No matter what plays on the car radio, we

just learn to appreciate and feel the lyrics

5. They teach us the art of letting go

things to learn from your crush. It's really hard to leave someone who wasn't holding onto you or who won't even grieve your departure. But trust me on this, they are exactly the kind of people we should leave. Stop investing, pack up your bag of emotions, and walk out as gracefully as a model walks on the runway. (Imagine Gigi Hadid walking in those knee-high boots.)

because I got my lessons.

LOVE & RELATIONSHIPS | FEBRUARY 2022

Who Creates Art

by Alyssa G., Littleton, CO

ate a girl who creates art. Date a girl who spends hours of her day hunched over a sketchbook, or with a tablet in hand, scrutinizing every detail her hand creates. Date a girl who dedicates her time to turning a piece of her very soul into something physical. hair will be hastily brushed, wild strands halo. She will have wide, beautiful eyes, constantly watching the world pass her by with an unsullied wonder sweeping through her intense, burning gaze. Her clothes will be comfortable and worn with age — and every so often her hand will trail down to her bag, seeking reassurance from the pages of her sketchbook. She will be watching you, watching everyone; and when you turn to meet her gaze, her face will glow pretend to be looking somewhere else. The girl who hides in the back of the class near a window, never quite listening to the teacher, with a faraway look in her eyes — in her mind, picturing what she wants to back into reality like a startled rabbit, wondering for a moment where she is and

close her book, unwilling to show her art to someone strange and new. Holding a

you fondly.

Artwork by Sophia Monteiro, Lakewood, OH

she gives you a detailed, beautiful sketch on a piece of slightly crumpled printer paper. That paper is a piece of her soul,

excited to talk to you, her face brightening with pale pink excitement as she gushes about her newest project, or a current obsession. Talk to her about her art and her interests. Get to know the person hidden behind

a new kind of happiness. You might not understand everything she has, but her

Dating an artist opens you to a new world.

watching a movie or show with you, curled up by your side and excitedly pointing out walks through the park, and watching the

something handmade over something bought.

you the beautiful moments you would normally miss, and show you an entirely different world than the one you started in. Date a girl who creates art because she herself is a work of art, and the greatest

with a new perspective for you to pass along to the next person.

scare her off; be her friend before her

LOVE & RELATIONSHIPS | FEBRUARY 2022

When I

Find Myself... by Zackary Gardner, Oswego, NY

Artwork by Charlotte Clements, Charlottesville, VA

BLACK HISTORY MONTH | FEBRUARY 2022

White Tee by Niyah Martin, Edwardsville, IL

When everyone wept, my face remained bare. People in shock, still in pain Grieving the child that was lost that day. A numb state of mind Beats the agonizing pain. To me the day was ordinary, it was all the same Insanity running vulgar with not one person to blame. But, might I ask … What do you see when you look at me? Nappy? Ignorant? Ghetto? A Gangster?

You got us by a string and never let go.

Get too comfortable, so you snatch us back. Take back control.

Artwork by Iris Cho, Great Neck, NY

He got SHOT — We a target? So we wear a white tee and jeans

I surrendered, at eight years old I know my fate. As I wait, I wear white every day Just enough to become a tired cliché.

BLACK HISTORY MONTH | FEBRUARY 2022

Pigments

by Nyla Ward, Atlanta, GA

Artwork by Khalil McKnight, Ponchatoula, LA 16

BLACK HISTORY MONTH | FEBRUARY 2022

rejection. I love myself without any doubt or hesitation. The world is only subject to me and my imagination. My looks and body are merely a decoration, while my mind and morals should be appreciated in admiration. You look at me and wonder, fascination. My love for fried chicken and watermelon is suddenly

and say through his twisted communication, to just put my head down and ignore the discrimination. At a point in time, you have to remember your foundation, try and learn from whatever is your current situation, and stand with your message in full dedication. You look at the news of one of our deaths as a celebration, then send one of your policemen for the next elimination. You throw

hate anyone with a hint of cinnamon pigmentation.

children create a different type of equation. They think their black family members give them melanin by association. As soon as one

daughters died at your hands without so much as an introduction,

fearing unnecessary confrontation, a quick moment of believing

us onto ships to be your slaves for a thousand generations. I could continue to ask why you long for our termination, but then I wonder who would be up next to unwillingly bleed on your plantation.

irritation, immediately thinking we have an attitude, and begin your plan for assassination. Then you look at your deputy in contemplation, and let the few lucky ones go to marinate in humiliation.

taught to look at other cultures in appreciation, but a certain

He was running in the neighborhood, unaware of the upcoming situation. He was shot dead without a hint of consideration. She was shot eight times with no explanation. And of course, the

We have Columbus Day and call it colonization, but we all know that

burning in disintegration. This country we live in has a certain reputation. Other countries

for help, basically saying his well-being was out of the question. A melanin sister gone because of an unexpected shooting session. Two melanin brothers gone for never getting the chance to explain but you knew the identities of these annihilations? My brother is a young black man in this world; is he the next BLM headline for this nation? At this point, justice for these three and the others in

with take a resignation. Although the world and I may have a color gain the information, so I can prove them wrong and be another success story of my generation.

Artwork by Jialu Sun, Changchun, China 17

BLACK HISTORY MONTH | FEBRUARY 2022

Photograph by Maxis Amos-Flom, Allendale, NJ

BLM Is Not Over, by Zara Shariff, New York, NY

George Zimmerman — the white neighborhood watchman

death — three Black leaders founded the activist movement we refer to as Black Lives Matter. While this movement has the greatest amount of media attention murder of the 46-year-old Black man, George Floyd. Come June, social media black squares, and New York Times articles; meanwhile, the streets were clumped with protesters of all ages, backgrounds, equality and an end to police brutality.

This period was one of the greatest catalysts for change Black Americans have seen in the last decade. Not only did it spark protests across the globe, but

dwindled since its rapid spike.

legislation targeted at defunding state police departments and reallocating the money toward jobs, education, and social services. It also led to the very recent establishment of Juneteenth — a holiday celebrated on June 19th, signifying the end of slavery in the United States due to the

6 percent, compared to its peak in June

federal holiday. Nevertheless, researchers are continuing to discover that widespread advocacy toward the Black Lives Matter movement has

According to Civiqs tracking data, American support for the movement reportedly

of Americans claimed their support for the Black Lives Matter movement in the

percent more Americans stating that they oppose the Black Lives Matter movement. This phenomenon is predicted to continue. And yet, the Black Lives Matter movement is far from over. In many ways, it has just begun. Why wait for the next brutal death to reinvoke our widespread social activism?

BLACK HISTORY MONTH | FEBRUARY 2022

Never Ending Cycle of Death and Reform America has witnessed many historical periods of rapid protest following civil rights casualties.

Eric Garner, a 43-year-old Black man, of selling cigarettes on the street. In a matter of seconds, he was pulled to the ground, placed in a choke-hold, and said

Racism Ingrained in America’s DNA met who had spent 21 days in a juvenile detention center, basically for talking back Amendment to our Constitution, which prohibited the institution of slavery in all years later, slavery is abolished, but the legacy of bloodshed tainted on American soil persists nonetheless. Racism is ingrained in the DNA of this country.

12-year-old Tamir Rice was playing with his toy gun in Cleveland, Ohio. After receiving an anonymous phone call for a potential (mistaken) threat, police rushed to the scene and shot Rice within two seconds.

the apartment of 26-year-old emergency medical technician Breonna Taylor was looking for drugs. The police ultimately Taylor in her own home. The names in this list are merely a handful of the millions of Black Americans who have died at the hands of racism and police brutality. The limitless supply of names, many of which go unreported, only continues to grow each day. American history, even still in the last decade, is haunted by a growing list of victims' names. While each one sparks a new wave of demonstrations across the country — protesting against the discriminatory system allowing injustice to of incentivized protests. Even when news tragic death, even when #BLM is no longer trending on social media, Black Lives Matter is a movement that must be supported regardless.

we need to step back and look at our discipline structures. We need to make sure

When Black students are criminalized at such young ages, it prevents them from escaping generational poverty that has existed since the 19th century. And yet, designed to help assist Black Americans by limiting certain systematic barriers they are

admissions and job applications. Instead,

was accused of having a switchblade; after being brutally dragged into a police car for further detainment, Gray died a week later due to severe spinal injuries suffered Ahmaud Arbery was jogging outside his home when two white men in a truck began to pursue him because they suspected him of being a burglar. Arbery was followed,

of the NEA Executive Committee, on the

resource to help promote higher education and increase employment opportunities among Black Americans, a privilege that has been denied from them for centuries. One of the most obvious examples of racism in everyday society is embedded in the American education system. Ever

With limited opportunities to escape perpetual poverty and a criminal justice system targeting Black Americans from

Plessy v. Ferguson, which corroborated the

extends beyond police reform. Black Lives Matter encompasses all waves of life.

system has inherently disadvantaged African-American minorities from ages as young as preschool. In fact, federal data on discipline in schools found that while Black students make up a mere 18 percent of all preschoolers in the nation, they account for more than half of all out-ofschool suspensions at this age. This is not because Black pre-schoolers are simply more disobedient. It is attributed to the racism embedded in American society, which leads authorities to be inherently more suspicious of a Black student in comparison to their equally disobedient white counterpart. This exact phenomenon has led to the school-to-prison pipeline targeting minority students for minor infractions and funneling them into the criminal justice system. This cycle continues on across generations, and it leads to Black students being unfairly punished and trapped in the cycle of poverty.

Future For #BlackLivesMatter Black Lives Matter is a civil rights cause that must continue to be championed. In our current society, with political upheaval in Washington D.C., health care crises exacerbated by the pandemic, and foreign affairs in the Middle East continuing to make headlines, many Americans may being fought in their own country. This phenomenon ignores the millions of Black discrimination every day. We must not wait for the death of the next Breonna Taylor or George Floyd to reinvoke consumed with black squares and BLM must never be stopped.

ESSAY CONTEST | FEBRUARY 2022

Artwork by Rana Ezeldin, Cairo, Egypt

Contest Winner! by Patience Weir, Grand Junction, CO

performance since my mom passed away last August. I was really missing her. After the show on opening night, we all went out into the lobby to greet guests and take pictures. I saw all my fellow dancers

My best friend, who played Alice in the ballet, could tell that something was off. She is really good at reading my emotions. She asked me what was wrong, but I told her I would text her about it later so that I

She went to dinner with her mom (the studio director), and two of the teachers.

I texted her to let her know what had

extended them toward me. I was really confused as to what was happening. I thought they just needed me to hold their

years old. That night, my best friend, her mom, and the teachers that were at dinner came up with a plan to surprise me.

line was my best friend. She came holding

The next day, I noticed the other dancers gathering in groups and talking. Whenever I went to join then, they pushed me out or said to go away. I honestly thought they were talking bad about me or I just wasn't being included. I was hurt. Little did I know what was going to happen that night.

the moment I realized what was going on and I broke down in tears. They gave me an amazing card that they all signed, saying

After our second show of the night, I was standing in the lobby greeting the guests, when out came each and every member of my dance family holding bouquets of

crying that day, and it was the most I had cried since my mom died.

about me and I was right. I had the biggest support system and I lost her, but I gained a huge family that loves me.

ESSAY CONTEST | FEBRUARY 2022

single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees." I agree. Kindness is contagious, no matter how my case, one small dictionary changed my life forever. It encouraged me to be the new tree, to be the impact, to be the catalyst of action for others. Approximately eight years ago, my family returned to the United States after living in China and relocated to the town where I reside today. I was a stranger in a strange land. With the language barrier, I was unable to communicate effectively or make any friends. Yet, this fact made me even more determined to master English.

hen I was younger, I tried to keep my culture and my school life as far apart as possible. Being one out of only two Indians in my entire 3rd grade class, that was quite the easy task. On our birthday in lower school, we were given the opportunity to bring in a treat to share with the class. "Normal" kids would bring in cookies, brownies, cupcakes, or anything else their suburban moms baked for them. I was determined to make my mother do the same. I came home from school the day before my birthday and asked my mother if she could make me a strictly American sweet for my birthday. Knowing my mother, an incredible baker, I thought she was going to say yes right away and just move on. I was very wrong. My mother had gone to the Indian market that morning and brought home a box

by William Chen, Winfield, WV On a Wednesday afternoon, my third grade teacher was giving a spelling lesson, and all my other classmates had the required dictionary. I had joined the class late in the school year and, therefore, didn't have a dictionary in my possession. Fortunately, my teacher saw the embarrassed look on my face and quickly came over to me. I attempted to point to other students' dictionaries and made a few gestures and utterances. To my relief, she understood and brought me her dictionary. After the class concluded, I tried to give the dictionary back to her; however she put it back in my hands and typed something into her laptop. I was about to turn away when she attempted to say "Gei ni" in Mandarin, which means "to give you." I was surprised and quickly expressed my gratitude.

brought that dictionary home with me. Throughout my years of primary education, it accompanied me as a loyal friend, weathering time and the elements. I can say dictionary, I would never have developed my love for writing poetry or any other type of creative writing. Without my third grade teacher's kindness, I would have never become truly passionate about words. It was her kindness that inspired me to start a creative writing club in my high school where passionate writers could share their love of words.

kindness and encouraging kindness in and roots of our trees.

As that fateful school day ended, I

Photo by Reagan Padgett, by Shoumili Tarafder, GA Eden Prairie, Brooklet, MN of rasgulla, a spongy, syrupy sweet that melts in your mouth. She placed the box in my hand and told me to bring it to class tomorrow for my treat. I refused. There was no way I was going to face the embarrassment of bringing a treat that nobody had heard of. My mother insisted though, telling me that I would be introducing my classmates to something up and accepted the box. The next day came and my nerves were through the roof. When break time rolled around, I anxiously handed my teacher the box of sweets, cellophane crinkling in my would end well. I watched as my teacher placed a syrupy as the students took a bite.

wanting to disappear as my classmates laughed and spit it out. Tears welled in my eyes as I contemplated my life decisions, wondering if this was a reasonable explanation to move to Australia. I rested my head in my arms on my desk and tried not to cry. Then, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. I looked up hesitantly and saw a boy standing over me, with half the rasgulla in his hand.

a toothy smile. At that moment, above all the laughter and comments about how "disgusting" my treat tasted, that one comment was the only thing that mattered. That kind line stuck with me and is still with me now. Ever since that day, I have never been afraid to introduce my culture to others around me.

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POINTS OF VIEW | FEBRUARY 2022

'A' is for Action I

answered aloud, telling my peers what my

Upon hearing their teasing and laughter, a confused feeling welled in my stomach and traveled its way up my body, passing through my tightening chest, and materializing into tears that threatened to reveal my vulnerable spirit. I quickly wiped away any signs of distress and remained still, awkwardly laughing to avoid confrontation. My mind, however, refused to stay in its chair.

by Jeffrey Yi, Belmont, MA

I picked Pokémon as the category, thinking my extensive knowledge gained from years upon years of mindlessly consuming the franchise would grant me an edge over my then eight-year-old sister.

As we continued the game, a middle-aged woman sitting in the opposite aisle, overhearing us chatting in English, stared at us

What’s going on? Why are they laughing? It’s simply a foreign name consisting of Chinese characters. Perhaps I am secretly a comedian,

There I was: a then-quiet, awkward, Chinese eighth-grader newly moved to the U.S. after having lived in Shanghai for six years, with no idea how to acclimate to this new culture where people thought a Chinese name was hilarious.

my cultural differences forcibly acknowledged and judged, but somehow this was different.

headed back from Beijing to Shanghai on a bullet train. I remember my mom telling me and my little sister that it took just four hours to get back home, but my 11-year-old self was only concerned with what I could do to entertain myself on the boring ride. As we took our seats and the train station gradually receded, I glanced up at the monitors placed at the front of our car; the speedometer kept picking up speed, its numbers rising steadily until it reached

with her eyes wide open. After listening in for another minute, she turned to my mother and began speaking in Chinese. The exchange seemed friendly and inoffensive, and despite being preoccupied with destroying my sister in the alphabet game, I managed to focus my attention on their conversation and overheard something that would stick with me for years to come.

My mom nodded.

that high. We moved here from the U.S. a few years back so they

the window, I saw that the scenery had blurred into watercolor. I averted my gaze, knowing if I stared at it for too long I would get a headache. My sister suggested we play the alphabet game to pass the time. We would pick a category, rattle off English words in that category then move on to the next letter in the alphabet. It was something long train ride seemed like the perfect opportunity to dust off our laughing at each other for getting stuck on a letter was satisfying enough to keep us going.

behind those words, and I was struck with a confusion that stuck with me long enough to keep this moment from dissipating into the void of my memory. Questions arose, but among them, the only one I could remember clearly was: Why was I, a random kid who had demonstrated no prominent traits other than the ability to speak English, suddenly viewed as educated and rich? Despite the woman having no malicious intent, I was unable to shake a strange feeling of isolation after that ride on the bullet

POINTS OF VIEW | FEBRUARY 2022 train. I would remember it later, noticing hostile stares from the folks around me as I chatted with my friends in English while standing in an airport on a trip to Guangzhou, or when being asked how many burgers I eat per day by the taxi driver as I told him about my background. I was reminded of these small instances as I was once again faced with race-based isolation, this time on the other side of the world.

dinner, and their parents would always give me strange looks as if

and that anti-Asian racism in the U.S. was a persistent sentiment workers were viewed as inferior and mistreated socially and

felt and how ready they were to hold onto untruths that bolstered such feelings. While racial awareness is a topic that has grown over the past few years, there are still many who are prone to othering and dehumanizing those who are different from themselves. What can we do to stop this? My sister and I have grown from playing the alphabet game to showing each other funny videos on Instagram and Tiktok. I have gone from an awkward 13-year-old afraid of confrontation to a controversial topics for my Model UN travel team. Yet despite my personal growth, the same problems remain: people make assumptions about others based on the languages they speak, the way they look, and the names they have. Just this past year, the surge in anti-Asian sentiment due to the coronavirus caused patients to denigrate or even punch Asian nurses in the face — or worse, to prompt individuals such as Robert Aaron Long to kill eight people in a massage parlor in Atlanta.

nothing had changed since the time I sat with those kids in my eighth-grade classroom, or when I played the alphabet game with my sister on that bullet train. As it turned out, however, there was something new. Later that night, my friends messaged me and talked on a voice channel about how terrible that man was, expressing concern that such an instance of racial mockery could happen under such familiar circumstances. What separated this moment from the others was that now, I had a community there to support me — one where we

differences and acknowledge each other as fellow human beings, I think it has to start with doing what my friends did: retaining our compassion, empathy, and humanity in discussions of racism. Reassuring each victim of discrimination, prejudice, and racist behavior that they are part of our community. Sharing been treated differently, ostracized, or jeered because of their appearance, background, or name will know that they are not alone in these struggles — even if the aggressors are still trying to hurt them. I wish to end with a message of encouragement: Share your experiences, as I have. Never stop sharing; let those on Twitter, Instagram, and Weibo know — let the whole world know — of our connected, but separate stories. Let them know that, while we are different, we are still able to help each other in solidarity and support, as individual humans.

Artwork by Iris Cho, Great Neck, NY

With the journey that I have gone through and will likely never stop undergoing, I can still be affected by the racist comments of others, and will be transported back to those confused feelings I have become so familiar with. Just a few weeks ago I was walking with eating lunch and getting boba from the Chinese stores nearby. As we strode down the sidewalk, we passed by an elderly Black man sitting on some steps.

The man then started spouting gibberish, mocking the Chinese language as our group stood there, taken aback by the sheer

funny in the moment, but the more I thought back to that encounter, feelings of discomfort began to taint the image of "DadaMan" in my mind. I avoided confrontation once again. It seemed as though

SUMMER PROGRAMS | FEBRUARY 2022

Artwork by Austina Xu, Cupertino, CA

Of Packing Lists

and P-Cord

by Tess Boutin, Davis, CA

a reason — and no matter how many

atop my bed, hunched toward my computer. lingering recollection of excess baggage that inconveniently stretched my duffel suitcase to its limits — those unnecessary items that were detailed on a carefully crafted and required packing list, but that

The responses that follow each such bout of adherence to instruction tend to lie somewhere on a spectrum that consists

this remote, mountainous workshop for intensive writing — the message is warm and engaging, and I am grateful for the opportunity. So, as most reasonable people might, I open the packing list that has been tucked in with the acceptance letter. My eyes widen as I scan the meandering bullet points — a bicycle helmet (there were no bikes on the property), a raincoat (locating the raincoat took longer than the thunderstorms that careened across the

I guess," said in a piqued voice), disbelief

swimsuit (there was nary a pool or pond in sight), and — and p-cord? What even is p-cord? I wonder.

to follow any instructions that I receive, dutifully completing each required piece of an assignment; meticulously acquiring and donning required attire; and conscientiously arranging in my luggage each required item on my packing list.

cognitive dissonance that I experienced

As my instinct for rule-following kicks in an irritated voice). Many of my peers seem to intuit when to ignore and when to heed certain instructions, leaving me with the unnerving sense that I missed an early life lesson in subtle messaging. Let me share with you one such instance that has been nagging at my sensibilities for almost a year now. It is a menacing cloud that continues to creep ominously, threateningly, toward the otherwise fair-weather memories of my time at a writing workshop in the high desert of the Rocky Mountains. Since attending this program, my attempts to write with gravitas — whether through tapping laptop keys or placing pencil

when almost everyone else attending the program seemed to mysteriously have known in advance — without ever making inquiries to the program coordinators

solve this conundrum so that I can comply precisely with the instructions. So, I turn to the trusty world of Google. P-cord, I type, awaiting the endless blue waterfalls of answers that I know soon will appear before me. According to the ever-reliable not palliative or palpable or possibility cord — "is a lightweight nylon kernmantle " — ah

supposed to take up room in their luggage, despite being placed prominently on said packing list.

used in the suspension lines of parachutes. This cord is now used as a general purpose"

though. Let me transport you to the

suppose … but how is this p-cord going to enhance my work during a writing program? So, I open a new tab — uses of p-cord,

SUMMER PROGRAMS | FEBRUARY 2022

I type. Oh, my goodness, I think, as I nervously scan the links appearing on my screen. Am I going to get lost in the woods and need to whip together a paracord constructing a paracord writing hammock,

circumstance will I be struggling without the assistance of a paracord survival the function of a giant paracord monkey

terror — there are instructions to follow, so I am faced with a more immediately pressing matter — how much of such a material will be acceptable to tote in my luggage? Fervor sparking in my eyes, I call the number at the bottom of one of the numerous workshop emails in my inbox and pose this question to the program coordinator.

duffel begin to separate like layers of oil in

their prolonged boredom.

my essential notebook and computer, my attempt-to-keep-things-hygienic shower caddy. Down sink my sun hat, my bicycle helmet, two of my three one-liter water

As for me, in the back of my mind lurk wild and daring aspirations of barely scanning the next instruction list that comes my way — severing all tethers and relying only on my own checklist — disregarding the requests and guidelines of any coordinated

of p-cord. The existence of the rope — including my brief dive into Wikipedia, my perplexing phone call with the program coordinator, and my wearying trip to the hardware shop — is nearly forgotten, as I immerse myself in the program with passion. But, one day, closer to the end of my stay, as I am rummaging around the very depths of my luggage, hastily attempting to locate any backup notebook without dried food

gone awry. A moment of nostalgia for my meticulous packing is quickly replaced by a familiar head-scratching. Why were such lengths taken to make sure I brought no actual use for it?

remains elusive. But the call has committed me to bringing the cord — I mean, how would I look if I went to all that trouble bring the item? Dubious, I bike to the local hardware shop, and I ask a salesman where feet. He explains that I can reel my desired amount off of a massive industrial-sized roll that is set glowering on thin, but hardy

wire cutter right then and there. I thank him with a false air of comprehension and strain to pull off a length of p-cord, and aggressively sever it somewhere (hopefully)

As I pack my bag, I carefully include those

discrepancy from my mind; I feel compelled to investigate through conversations with peers and staff. I learn that, out of the 22 students currently at the workshop, only one other person has bothered to adhere to the list and bring the p-cord. I learn that amount necessary. And I learn that the three staff members who live off-campus paid no mind whatsoever to the packing caused everyone other than me to ignore with such irreverence the directions provided so conveniently to us — and why place if they are so wholly irrelevant? Despite my numerous attempts since returning home to banish these parasitic questions from harassing my brooding reveries, they have continued to nag me

life with nary a concern for items unread, unchecked, ignored, forgotten — one who simply knows which items are actually essential and desired. But that is the wrench, the stoppage, the

lesson. So I concede that I will persist in studying instructions and lists, line by line, fearing that any item I do choose to dismiss will end up being the one that I actually

a semester of studying abroad in Mexico with a group of American students. I am scouring the packing list that has been sent by the program coordinator. There is a clear

up from American schools. Understanding I place aside my familiar T-shirts, jean shorts, and jeggings, and I set to work picking out sundresses, gauchos, and rompers. In order to save space, I pack only one pair of jeans for comfort in my residence. Our Spanish immersion experience at the local high school begins the day after we arrive in Mexico. I decide on a modestly cut

entrance to the schoolyard. As I swing open the gate, I am greeted by an ocean of blue jeans on every local student — and, as my fellow students from the U.S. converge at our designated meeting spot, I see that they, too, all are dressed in denim and T-shirts. A life lesson missed, certainly.

other item on that now-infamous packing

Soon after my arrival, the contents of my

SUMMER PROGRAMS | FEBRUARY 2022

A Drive Through by Anna Lieberman, Newfields, NH

very June, I get a similar dream. It is one of the few recurring dreams that I have, and unlike most people, who consider such dreams frightening, I love this dream.

The pathway continues, and to the left is center camp. Center camp is like a valley, morning we start our days there, seeing the

The dream starts with me in my car, sitting in the backseat with my sister. We pull into camp, and I get out and say goodbye. I briskly walk over to the sign-up table, eager I wake up in my bed. The walls are painted rough wood that is so familiar in the cabins at camp. My heart sinks. Only a few more weeks until I go.

plastic box with all shades and colors of thread crammed neatly in rows. We take a right onto a gravel road, passing stomach knots, mostly with excitement and anticipation. What cabin will I be in? Who will my counselors be? Will the girls be funny, nice? The wheels slowly roll over the gravel, and my heart speeds up. We pass the rec hall, with the big red painted rock out front. I imagine the inside, where we take shelter on rainy days. Wooden benches line the walls, and plaques from past years of campers and staff are strung across the wood panels. A stage on the far end meets the thin layer of housed countless dances, talent shows, and plays. Mirrors line the other wall, and I can still hear the music playing over and over as my cabin stood in front of those mirrors, trying to dance in sync. Then there is the dining hall. As soon as anyone steps into that space, all you can hear is the clanking of dishes, and the laughing girls. It is long and thin, with at survived countless chocolate milk, cereal, great, but the memories are. Not one meal whole time.

whole camp, and in the nighttime, we end our days there with everyone. On the other side is the waterfront. A steep sandy hill leads down to the beach, lined with kayaks and canoes. A rainbow of color. Every day without fail, like the sun shining down on us, the music is blasting. The water is cold, and no one really wants to swim, but once we jump in, we forget all about it. We laugh and sing, and we are warm.

Wooden bleachers are in U formation, usually wet from people coming from the occasions. During the day, we play soccer, lacrosse, frisbee, and kickball. At night,

movies, or eat on the grass, towels beneath us, and the stars above us. And on some days, it is a swarm of red and blue, during an intense

You can smell the cabin before you see it. Towels line the stairways, caked in dried sand. The aroma of pond water from days ago lingers on them. The scent of Febreze sprayed hastily to cancel out the

Foss

scent of the towels adds a strange moldymeets-tropical aroma. The door opens with a squeak, and inside is like a whole other world. The sun shines on the wood, making it a deep golden brown. Six sets of bunk beds line the sides and back of the cabin. Shoes and bathing suits are strewn of sand and dirt that is always there, no matter how much we sweep. Polaroids from previous days hang up on the walls, along with letters from home. If you look closely, you can spot bags of chips, and cans of lemonade placed precariously on the rafters. The cabin is our home for two weeks, and the people inside, our family.

it so much. Not because of the rec hall, or the dining hall, or even the waterfront, the tennis courts, or even center camp, where we spend so much time making friendship bracelets, buying sweatpants from the store, or playing gaga ball. No, it is not any of those things. It is the people you meet, the bonds you create. Being with the same 11 people for 2 weeks straight makes you pretty close. Every June, I have a similar dream. It is one of the few dreams that I have that recur, and unlike most people, whose recurring dreams are frightening, I love this dream. For it is a dream where friends become family, and a place becomes a home, and that home becomes one of my favorite places on earth.

Photo by Katie Foley, Louisville, KY

HEALTH | FEBRUARY 2022

Photo by Aryana Singh, New York, NY

Diet Culture in the Media

What Is “Clean Eating?”

by Zara Shariff, New York, NY

lean eating! Detox juices! Liver cleanses! Pure foods! Low carb! Low fat! Organic! Antioxidants! All-natural! Cheat meal! Guilty pleasure! Superfoods! Diet-friendly! Minimally processed! Metabolism boost!

buzzwords so extremely is not only damaging to mental and physical health,

These are common nutrition buzzwords that continuously circulate the media. Through the use of these phrases, we

YouTube channel, cautions those who

and categorize foods as good or bad. This creates an unintended association between

the toxins right out of your body to yield

you may think.

Overall, there needs to be more attention surrounding the prevalence of diet culture having on eating disorders in young teens. many so-called detoxes and cleanses out

When we focus so much on eating the

obsession with eating healthy food. The harmful when it starts to interfere with everyday life. Focusing on these nutrition

What Constitutes Diet Culture? Christy Harrison, an anti-diet registered counselor, host of the podcast "Food Psych," and author of the book Anti-Diet, has spoken out about the consequences of diet culture through her extensive advocacy.

foods are a subject of shame and guilt. This mindset sets many up for disordered eating patterns, and can result in a toxic cycle of excessive food restriction and excessive food consumption.

disordered eating and subject ourselves to the consequences of diet culture. The focus on many of these nutrition buzzwords that we continuously hear, rather than viewing food consumption as a means of taking care of our bodies, is oftentimes a cover for eating disorders like orthorexia.

risk, likening our chances of developing disorders like orthorexia, and essentially wasting our money — just as Sharpe explained.

others promise better skin, gut health, and clear thinking. The bottom line is that we have a liver, kidneys, skin, digestive tract

juice … I see these cleanses as sadly one of the most socially acceptable forms of

Whether we realize it or not, much of diet culture is rooted in marketing schemes to trap consumers into spending more money on foods and products. When we fall into

worships thinness and equates it to health and moral virtue, which means you can

look like the impossibly thin 'ideal.' [Diet culture] promotes weight loss as a means of attaining higher status, which means you feel compelled to spend a massive amount of time, energy, and money trying to shrink your body, even though the research is very clear that almost no one can sustain intentional weight loss for more than a few years. [Diet culture] demonizes certain ways of

HEALTH | FEBRUARY 2022

eating while elevating others, which means

body.

your eating, ashamed of making certain food choices, and distracted from your pleasure, your purpose, and your power."

Foods advertised as “guilt-free” or “clean.”

We live in a society that is overridden by negative food stigma. Rather than being taught how to eat for hunger, satisfaction, and taste, we instead are hyper-focused on how to eat for a certain appearance. logic. Even if we all ate and exercised to the different because of the way our bodies are shown in the media will never guarantee us the results that are so often promised — setting many up for obsession, food fear, and disappointment. According to an NPD survey, over 68 percent of Americans have dieted at some point in their lives, with the diet industry at a record high of 66 billion dollars. These industries

In taglines that imply your weight = your worth or happiness. In products or supplements that imply health requires exorbitant cost, time, energy and privilege. All of these examples are small, subtle behind them, but are still extremely misleading to the average individual. They promote the idea that happiness depends on body size. They promote the idea that everybody can achieve the same body type. They promote the idea that there should be positive and negative connotations associated with food, and that certain learning how to eat a balanced diet is far

We are made to believe that in order to achieve these standards of health and beauty, we have to spend our time, energy, and money. Instead, we should be taught by the media how to stop equating our body image with our sense of self-worth.

more sustainable than cutting out food groups and relying on gimmicky weight loss products.

Examples of Diet Culture In Everyday Life

that this kind of thinking will create a cycle of guilt. If someone who is really trying to

Alissa Rumsey, registered dietitian and owner of the blog, Alissa Nutrition, provides a few examples of the diet culture marketing campaigns: A gym program that sells you a certain look or weight after eight weeks of their classes. Spa treatments that claim to shrink your

The point is, there will always be a new weight loss supplement, a new food group to cut, or a new eating schedule to follow. None of these trends, however, hold any real value beyond adding more confusion to the media. The human body is a complex machine that needs a variety of nutrients to survive. When one starts restricting the intake of certain foods, the body continues to ask for them in whatever other ways it can, such as increasing the strength of cravings or sending out continuous hunger signals to the brain. Chances are that throughout this process, water weight and muscle the short-term. At the same time, hunger hormone levels will increase, metabolism will decrease, and mood and energy levels

increasing body-image issues developing in young teens, and they continue to foster

The prevalence of these nutrition buzzwords and diet claims are found throughout our everyday lives. Whether embedded in everyday conversation, advertisements on the subway, or on the menu of your favorite coffee shop, our constant exposure to them only makes these ideas more socially acceptable in society.

Pescatarian? Will eating spicy food make you lose weight? Does intermittent fasting really work? What are the best laxatives? How many calories am I allowed to eat in a day? Do I need to cut out dairy? With thousands of other claims, the list could go on.

food, they may spiral into several days of unhealthy eating or wind up experiencing a full-blown binge-eating episode."

repercussions beyond the short-term. Why Don’t These Trends Work? One of the most frustrating aspects of the diet industry is the amount of misleading

of essential calories may lead to health conditions much more permanent. When food, it conserves its energy for the organs functions: the heart and brain. Therefore, dieters may experience symptoms like hair loss, chills, infertility, insomnia, or constipation, resulting from the lack of energy being provided to the body.

of these fad diets are temporary. What this usually means is that once these diets are over, the body will naturally compensate for appetite. As a result, many individuals may regain the weight they lost from their diet, or fall into a cycle of continuous weight UCLA on more than 31 different diets found

broadcast to the public. Can I exercise out a out for fat? Am I supposed to cut out meat? Does fruit have too much sugar? How much apple cider vinegar am I supposed to drink in the mornings? What supplements am I supposed to take? Should I go keto? Vegan?

regained all of the weight they lost from their diet and even gained a little more shortly afterwards. As a whole, diet culture takes away from the satisfaction of eating food and enjoying it with loved ones. It does extensive harm

HEALTH | FEBRUARY 2022

individual who believes they have to change their body in order to achieve a beauty standard. In reality, no amount of diet pills or juice cleanses has the power to do that.

Diet culture in the media is one of the most responsible factors. If teens are growing up seeing posed magazine covers, television commercials, and internet articles that promote these disordered

The Effect Of Diet Culture On Growing Teens All in all, the prevalence of eating disorders in the younger generations has been discussed numerous times. With so many teens experiencing eating disorders at such young ages and the rise of social media usage heightening the epidemic, these issues can be severely damaging on both an emotional and physical level.

Photo by Summaya Jamil, Multan, Pakistan

general audience, nor can we erase the history of diet culture that has left a lasting imprint on society. We can, however, do our best to spread awareness around this issue and not fall victim to further media traps.

Artwork by Gina Yang, Southborough, MA 31

HEALTH | FEBRUARY 2022

Artwork by Emma Chen, McLean, VA

I Just Want to Fit In by Xiaohe Chen, Beijing, China

HEALTH | FEBRUARY 2022 t was 9th grade — a period in my life where I felt unprecedentedly solitary.

One of the most common answers I

I found myself isolated from all my

Many people often mention e-cigarette use

school's "most" popular boy.

I was envious any time I witnessed other spending time with a close partner. At the there was nobody else around me. I hated my pride. I really did. There always seemed to be an invisible wall between me and others. One day, I had a breakthrough. I saw that each of them had an e-cigarette in their hand, and a strange idea came into my mind. I thought about what seemed like a

exposure to an e-cigarette. As I vaped more and more, I paid closer attention to the impact of e-cigarettes on teenagers. Teens using e-cigarettes is a problem that should not be underestimated. A study conducted by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration and the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) showed that more than 2 million U.S. middle- and high-school

Why are more teens turning to e-cigarettes?

among teens and point out the physical and biological health threats rather than the more deadly problem, which is how sociable it is. This can negatively affect our mental health. Smoking made me feel like I was free of my parents' and teachers' constraints. It created the illusion of vanity. We would vape on the way home, in the school restrooms, and could never (a vape brand). As one girl said in her story published by The New York Times, vapes "are not messing with your lungs, they are messing with your head." There were some moments when I felt when I felt intense cravings if I stopped vaping for hours, when I realized I couldn't even think without it. It was only then that I truly understood that I was already its slave. I cut off all nicotine products. But I'm lucky. Some teenagers are still swayed by

e-cigarettes and wonder whether to quit. As a vaper and a quitter, I just want to tell you that I know what it feels like. We all get it. But it's not what you genuinely want. When I addressed the issue of e-cigarettes, I found out that schools in China are using disciplinary punishments to force students to quit e-cigarettes, but this method can act adversely. Psychologist Erik Erickson put forward the idea of reactance, a phenomenon where people are motivated to do the very thing that is prohibited, just like e-cigarette use among adolescents. Instead, parents and schools should abandon the traditional thought that extracurricular activities are useless and that students only need to study hard. We should be allowed to develop the passions and experiences necessary to quit the psychological addiction of e-cigarettes once and for all.

loved myself, I realized my self-value should not be weighed down by external objects. Everything that life throws at us provides us the opportunity to learn more about ourselves as we work through it; it gives us a clear idea of what we want to do with our lives and gives us the skills to Being isolated is not a big deal, and it is not an excuse to give up on my own health because my bright future is still waiting to be embraced.

Artwork by Whitney Koetter, Borden, IN 33

TRAVEL & CULTURE | FEBRUARY 2022

Road

Signs by Jinha

Photo by Eric Zhang, Shenzhen, China

n Li, Ma

nila, Ph

ilippine

TRAVEL & CULTURE | FEBRUARY 2022

riving along the winding road, I felt the altitude increasing as we inched toward the village.

Once in a while, road signs appeared. Old Tibetan script unraveled across the arrowed signs, some fading. Mandarin characters in brighter white paint took smaller sizes and crowded below them, obviously an unexpected addition during the creation of these signs. On the roadsides, a riverbed of brown rocks glimmered through the surface of a transparent stream, worming down the slope. When the current met the water that bounced off the rocks, they generated white spindrifts that disappeared the vast grassland where sheep grazed, and beyond, bare mountains devoid of trees turned gray under the sunlight. We arrived at a wooden observation deck where several tourists snapped pictures. A few black eagles circled the sky. Their movement seemed stationary, opening their wings wide and woman carried a handful of colorful bands and several headbands her, helping her customer weave Tibetan braids. When we reached the hotel, the sky turned dark completely. A man and faded jeans, and a pair of silver glasses rested against the protrusion of his nose.

The large prairie appeared in front of us and extended to the end of sight. We rented a brown horse from a group of herders, and they guided us toward the valley and back. After returning the horse, we took a bag of apples and pears from our car and gave them to the group to express our gratitude.

Through the conversation, we realized that fruits were scarce in the prairie. They insisted on offering us a meal in return. We all excitedly agreed, because none of us had eaten their local dishes before.

the strong sunlight in the highlands. She pulled a smartphone out from her pocket and typed something in while walking. Using a grader and learned the technology from school. The polygon tent was their semi-permanent house. They would usually pasture the sheep herds during the summer when grass move back to their houses in town. The top of the tent was covered with black materials made of sheep wool. On each corner of the polygon, a string extended downward and was hooked by a sharp metal spike into the ground. Several blankets were placed inside grow in the area, they collected dry cow excrement and used it as burning fuel for the boiler. She handed us a wooden box with two and white granules of casein. We cut a small piece of melted, yellow butter, mixed it with some powder and casein, and poured hot milk in from the pot on the boiler. After stirring, the mixture became a viscous, light gray liquid. It did not have any strong taste, but contained energy and protein. I felt full after drinking a small cup. We had our lunch while the young girl shared her regular summer schedule with us. In the morning, she would take the sheep herds out to the grassland. They would feed on the prairie for the whole day, and she would guide them back to the sheep pen around

In the previous days, I learned that only some people in this region Tibetan script, whose letters appear on the signboards of the shops, along with the Mandarin characters. Occasionally, the absence of the widely used language could be found in restaurants full of local customers.

a few words of it on the paper. My parents know the language

We checked in and he guided us to our rooms. It was a long walk so taught Mandarin courses in the local school. Since the school was on summer break, he worked at the front desk for two months. He discussed the learning of Mandarin among the new generation of Tibetan children. Although it brings them the ability to communicate with more people from other areas, he argued the cultural importance of preserving their own language.

guided us back to our car and waved to say goodbye. We stayed for a few more days, after which we drove out of the village. In the car, I gazed at the Tibetan letters on the road signs, appearing once in a while but quickly falling backwards.

The next morning, we set off early and drove down the mountains.

TRAVEL & CULTURE | FEBRUARY 2022

Photo by Sydney Han, Rancho Palos Verdes, CA

Living off the Grid by Tristan Grosam, Chicago, IL

arrived in Anchorage, stopped for some chicken tenders, and met up with my leader. So far, only one other girl had arrived. He led us to the van and proceeded to drive us to the one-star motel where a Rottweiler was chained up against an old, rusted trailer near the lobby. I was a little wary, but it was all a part of the experience, right? As we walked to our room, a cleaning woman was standing outside, smoking a joint with a young boy. We awkwardly smiled and waved with our purple youth group T-shirts on. We met up with the rest of the group later that night, had a decent night of sleep, and hit the road in the morning.

Park. This campsite had bathrooms and trails, and was packed with other noisy campers. Here, the weather drastically changed at night. I went to bed in shorts

Our next campsite was the most remote. We stopped at a lodge on the way to take showers were covered with hair, bugs, and other nasty stuff on the ground; however, I was in desperate need of one. After we all showered, we took a speedboat out to the campsite with a friendly guy named Zack. up for us to sleep in and a larger tent for us to cook and eat in. This campsite was absolutely beautiful. We sat around the

mile hike to the Maclaren Glacier. You could tell from the beginning that our group was splitting into factions based on speed. We

stop to climb a pretty big hill about a mile up. It was a beautiful view of all of the land, especially the glacier. At this point it had already been about two and a half hours, and we had at least three miles to go.

next crossing did not have a bridge, which meant we had to get our feet wet. Again,

We came across another stream that some people did not want to cross, and we had to

shivering in my cold sleeping bag, with the sun beaming at me. Little did I know, the sleeping conditions would only get worse.

to try to convince everyone to cross; we

At Denali, we went on a six-hour bus tour that was closed off to other visitor vehicles. One of my tent-mates, a photographer, took some amazing photos of the wildlife.

up crossing, which led to awkward silence for the majority of the hike. We noticed that more streams without bridges were coming up and knew that some of the group

made it to that glacier, but our leader took some of us on another hike where we crossed streams triple the size and current of the other ones. We also found loads of caribou droppings and skulls. I was a little nervous, but it was really cool.

TRAVEL & CULTURE | FEBRUARY 2022

Our next campsite came with two extra guides, named Kaajh and Becca. This was the BEST campsite. It felt very secluded, and we only had our backpacks for three nights. To go to the bathroom, we had to go in a hole and

Unfortunately, our next campsite did not have one. This next campsite was the loudest. We were right next to the highway, but we only stayed there for one night. It was pouring when we got there, so a few of us played a card game called "Joker" under a tent.

bright as day. The tents, bear box, bathroom, and kitchen were all spread out pretty far from each other. Not having a shower for

The next morning was exciting because we

rained a lot and the mosquitoes were the size of my hand.

when I got on the boat, I was so happy I

embarked on our second hike of the trip. This one had no stream crossings, but it was uphill the entire time. I was so excited for this hike and was determined to go as far as they let us. In the middle of the hike, a few people decided to turn around with one of our guides. We had a long way to go. By the end of it, we were all so happy and proud of ourselves. It was a seven-hour hike, completely uphill. We were not able to make it to the peak because of the rocks, but we went as far as we could. We went down and ordered some hot chocolate.

the front row, I jumped out a few times, and sat on the edge — it was really fun.

were very close together. Our neighbors were basically our tent-mates. You could hear everything through the tents, or from people talking outside quietly, and there was no privacy. But, there was a beautiful

This shower had a time limit — I only had six minutes to clean myself after a whole week of living in the woods. This one was also a public shower, but it was dirtier than the other one. The next day we went on a wildlife boat tour. I was a little nervous of getting seasick so I took some Dramamine, and I was asleep for almost the entire time. Afterward, I saw some pictures of sea otters, orcas, seals, and more. After the boat tour, we got in the van and headed back to our beloved one-star motel with the Rottweiler chained up to the old, rusty trailer. On the way, we had some car troubles; the van had lasted so long on this trip without any problems, it was bound to happen at some point. Eventually, we got back to the motel around midnight and ordered pizza to celebrate the end to our amazing adventure.

Artwork by Lydia Quattrochi, Somonauk, IL

The next day was also an active day full of ice climbing. This experience was insane; I When I was up there, I could hear the rest of the group cheering for me, and I just felt so genuinely happy. My adrenaline was pumping. much adrenaline, but ice climbing reminded me how much I love that feeling. It made me feel alive. At this campsite, we played a lot of games

enjoyed the time together.

packrafting, which I had never done before. We wore dry suits because we would be in cold water that came directly from the glacier. We blew up our own rafts and then carried them over to the lake. The rafts were very similar to a single kayak, just lighter and a little harder to control. I loved this campsite so much, but I was ready to leave. After all of the activities and all the sweat that came with them, I needed a nice, warm shower.

TEEN TALK Insight On Issues That Matter To Teens & The Adults Who Care About Them

Buy now on Amazon.com

BOOK REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

Book AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning by Cathy Park Hong

Review by Angela Li, Lakeville, CT

he impact that Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning has had on me is synonymous with taking a towel and wiping off the vapor that has fogged up a window in my consciousness. Through Korean-American author and professor Cathy Park Hong, I can see clearer, think deeper, and feel stronger. I have only begun to understand aspects of my unique Asian experience.

bewildering to some, but unfortunately intimate to individuals who look like Hong and me:

are negative, dysphoric, and therefore untelegenic, built from the sediments of

everyday racial experience and the irritant

Without understating the nearly inexplicable nature of such emotions, Hong gives readers a glimpse into what being labeled tame, docile (plus many other harmful stereotypes), and being subject to gaslighting feels like. Perhaps it is the shared experience of these minor feelings that made me resonate tremendously with

I. Negative Coming from a predominantly Asian middle school, the topic of race was not recognized and did not seem necessary to talk about. After moving to the United States for boarding school and looking at I realized that I was part of the minority in a White community. As the only student in a different time zone logging on to my remote English class, I suddenly became aware of my internationality. Taking on this new identity aroused an unprecedented sense of worth; I enjoyed being the only student from abroad, as that somehow indicated that I was special. Unknowingly, I was repelled by the sight of another Asian last name on my class list, thinking that they were a source of

two Asians, instead of uniting, one may try to take the other out so that the meager power meted out to minorities will not be shared; so that one will not be mistaken as

Until she described a similar sentiment, I felt alone in this self-centered thought. I fell into a negative cycle, thinking that being in an academic setting with someone who looks remotely like me would decrease my voice and character exponentially. Looking back, I wish I could have given myself a slap on the head, a wake-up call, and asked myself: Why did I see the Asians, people who I was supposed to stand next to in solidarity, as threats? II. Dysphoric Two recounts of social injustices in the Asian-American community stuck with me Minor Feelings. These cruel and enraging events left a mark because Dr. David Dao and Theresa Hak Kyung Cha were treated as less than human. These events, rising from learned prejudice, represent the fact that although our community can live in freedom, we cannot be free from race-related violence. I felt a pit in my stomach after hearing — and later watching the incident online — about the measures from his paid-for seat to make room for the deadheading crew. I cannot remove the head, the betrayal and fear in her eyes as she realized the true identity behind the security guard whom she trusted with her safety. I cannot remove and do not ever handled on the news. Hong asserts that reporters failed to acknowledge the fact she was sexually desensitized to a crime statistic, but combine it with the word rape and it forces

BOOK REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022 community living in the United States surrounds gender-based violence is the leading reason why, out of the many rape cases that go unreported, Asians constitute the largest portion of the statistic. One common strand that stands out in

people meant to administer protection, turned out to be the ones hurting the innocent, how can we ever feel safe? III. Untelegenic Growing up in Asia, I was blessed to have been isolated from a lot of trauma experienced by Asian-Americans who have been forced to mature in a realistic, yet heartbreaking way. Unlike the simple, carefree lifestyles described in American

Being the child of immigrants, Hong used childhood struggles with English [to fuse her] own collection of lexemes that came As she specializes in mixed-language poetry, a style derived from bilingualism, Hong communicates her unique Asian experience through her literature and art. I have tremendous respect for her, passion has inspired me to speak my truth

the Asian-American narrative perpetuates a dangerous cycle of stereotyping and me to educate myself and engage in constructive conversations about race. Knowing the hardships we had and have to endure, the Asian community must stand alongside each other in full support.

FANTASY high school movies, where the main

Despite everything, white guilt can be turned into something helpful like genuine allyship and advocacy, starting, perhaps, from highlighting the truth of the BIPOC

futuristic kingdom with caste systems and completely different traditions.

While America tries to remain herself, her heart is caught in a battle to choose between the prince of the kingdom, Maxon, and her hometown boyfriend, Aspen. I am going to be completely honest when I say that there are many, many times where America will get annoying. Not only

is that children are treated like adults,

and a cognitive handicap, a sheltered unknowingness that, once protracted into

When reading The Selection by Kiera Cass, you can truly picture each and every detail within the story. This book makes you feel like you are right there in the kingdom of Illéa. It also makes you wish you could experience all of the ball gowns and royalty for yourself. This book is noticeably

which is our present. The main character, America, struggles to stay true to herself throughout this book.

journey of self-discovery, these children know from early on that despite being born under the same circumstances, their starting lines lie miles behind. Hong

While one group is expected to carry the emotional burden of a grown individual, the other is consistently talked down to and mocked for their demeanor. The irony of this statement is glaring. Therefore, Hong leaves no sympathy for white people who break down at the sight of their Asian friends being verbally or physically abused on the streets instead of standing up, claiming that merely being a witness has left a scar on their mental health. Imagine the level of ignorance and fragility to be scared of racial attacks that are not, and never will be, directed toward you. Hong

interested in the crown. This makes life very complicated for not only America, but Maxon as well. Maxon immediately falls for America, who is really there just to get away from her hometown ex-boyfriend.

The Selection by Kiera Cass

Review by Caitlyn Lea, Wilmington, DE

t all starts when main character, America, gets picked to try and win over the heart of Prince Maxon.

crown. However, she is the only one not

yourself bothered by her actions. Despite this, the author does a beautiful job of keeping the reader interested. It will be excruciatingly hard to put the book down. With lots of twists and turns and plenty of surprises, the story will be over before to entertain you equally as much. There is love, danger, and friendships throughout the selection. In short, America is brought up from her lower-class life to the most elegant and well-supplied life imaginable. completely upside down, but she also top of all this, she is now thrown into a

BOOK REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

over the heart of Prince Maxon. As you can imagine, lots go wrong, but some things happen in favor of America. Once again, Kiera Cass does such an outstanding job at writing this book, that she is able to make the reader feel as if they are right there in the palace. It is an understatement to say she keeps you on the edge of your seat constantly. I would highly recommend this book, not only to people who especially enjoy reading books with royalty involved, but also to people who enjoy reading romances in general. I can easily and wholeheartedly say The Selection by Kiera Cass is undoubtedly worth every second.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

This book is written by Frederick Douglass himself, an American slave in Maryland, and

Black U.S. Marshal and became the most photographed American man of the 19th century. Douglass' life was full of misfortune and despair, yet he managed to stand tall despite the pain and misery. Like every other slave, he was unsure about his exact date of birth and didn't even know who his father was. He had a loving mother who worked on a different farm. When his mom died, Douglass wasn't allowed to see her, nor go to her funeral. In the book, Douglass describes the cruelty of their masters. Some slaves were beaten to death.

also were treated in the most inhumane way. Though some masters treated their slaves like friends, they were a rarity at that time. At the time Douglass was writing this book, many people still believed that slavery was a natural state of human society that they could not change. But history proved them wrong. Thanks to persistent souls like Douglass, the cruel truth of slavery has been shown to the public, helping to eventually bring down slavery.

narrative to anyone interested in history the voice of Douglass will bring hope and strength to even a seemingly dim future.

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave and Other Writings by Frederick Douglass

Review by Jiaying Jin, Shanghai, China

of slavery might seem far away for a 12-year-old girl living in the metropolitan city of Shanghai, the issues of racial justice and human rights ring true even in a completely different culture and time. That was part of the reason I picked up this book. Another thing that attracted me to this book was a pure curiosity about

After secretly teaching himself how to read and write, Douglass managed to escape to the north and saved money bit by bit. He then married Anna Murray, a free woman he met in Baltimore. They moved north to Massachusetts, where Douglass became deeply engaged with the abolitionist movement as both a writer and an orator. three autobiographies, it captures his kindred spirit clearly and portrays the lives of slaves in astonishing detail. The unconditional parental love portrayed in the book is also the very touching. Despite an exhausting and miserable day, Douglass' mother would walk a dozen miles just to say goodnight before her son went to sleep. The book brings alive the brutality of slavery and racial injustice right in front of me and makes the issue ever more relevant. I feel extremely sorry for the slaves. Not only did they lack the basic freedom and rights to live life as they wished, but they

Artwork by Ke Deng, Great Barrington, MA

Photo by Addison Moss, Pacific Palisades, CA

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

Movie & TV BIOGRAPHY/DRAMA

describing himself: a displaced personality,

in which to create their vision, therefore limiting the time that they are able to spend thinking creatively.

title references the nickname of Herman Mankiewicz, the main character, played

reach this deadline, and also has a creative

as his encounters with the crooked elites of Hollywood who inspired him to write it.

Mank Movie

of sharply delivered lines that often come off as very brazen and blunt, and sometimes offend or anger those who are speaking with him. He was an alcoholic, which also hindered his relationships with others. Mank can be described as having been a bitter and cynical man. On the other hand, he was also lauded by peers and critics for his high intellect and creative prowess. In addition to the countless screenplays he is credited with writing,

black and white and the Oz scenes in color.

Review by Alexander King, Mooers, NY

“W

e are a breed apart from the rest of humanity, we theater folk. We are the original displaced personalities, concentrated gatherings of neurotics,

Mankiewicz, the disgruntled screenwriter

system and Hollywood establishment, it makes sense why he harbored such bitterness, and it reveals the darker side of the Golden Age of Hollywood.

injured from a car accident, being carried onto a bed in a California ranch from which

(Sam Troughton). Houseman feels that the script is too dense, and that the nonlinear structure frequently jumps from past to present, which he fears will make it a struggle for audiences to keep up. This movie showcases the great hardship of

director and producers ultimately have the

meets the aging William Randolph Hearst (Charles Dance) and his much younger mistress, Marion Davies (Amanda Seyfried), after stumbling onto a movie set. There, Hearst quickly takes a liking to Mank, and the two are shown to have a complicated relationship. They seem to enjoy being in

originally a friendly one, only for Mank to

with Louis B. Mayer (Arliss Howard), owner of MGM Studios. Mank makes his feelings toward Mayer quite clear from the moment

from the director Orson Welles (Tom Burke), who demands that he completes the

considered by many to be the most iconic of said theater folk better than anyone. One may even see this quote as the man

the real-life frustrating pressure put on more than understandable. Mayer gathers

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

all of the MGM actors and staff to make a dramatic speech, telling them he must cut the Great Depression. He promises that he will pay everyone back in a matter of weeks when the banks reopen, saying all of this with a heavy air of humility. Mayer puts on a great performance, leaving the employees more than happy to have their salaries cut indeed a true story, and Mayer never did pay anyone back.) Alas, what can he do about it? He is only a humble screenwriter, in the company of producers, directors, and, in the case of Hearst, billionaire newspaper magnates.

Leading up to the gubernatorial election, anti-Sinclair propaganda newsreels, in which actors are hired to praise Merriam and bash Sinclair. He further discovers that the newsreels are being operated by his friend Shelley Metcalf (Jamie McShane). Mank then has a conversation with Metcalf, who clearly feels remorseful for making the propaganda. He reveals that MGM gave him a chance to fake newsreels.

state, he merely wants their wealth to be divided more evenly through taxes.

party, it is revealed that Upton Sinclair is running for governor of California as a Democrat, challenging the incumbent; conservative Republican Frank Merriam. Mank roots for Sinclair's campaign over may have heavily strayed from reality. Mank was known to have generally right-wing politics, and so it is extremely unlikely that he ever would have supported Sinclair. Why did David Fincher take this creative liberty? unhappiness with the establishment by putting him in a battle with power that was on a grander scale than any real-life events.

this incident in which a friend of his is driven to suicide by the Hollywood industry. While to a greater reality: that show business can drive people involved in it to their deaths. One year later, a drunken Mank shows up at a party hosted by Hearst. He gives a long, slurred rant in which he pitches a

for Hearst: a wealthy newspaperman turned failed politician who spends his time tilting at windmills. In response, Hearst compares an old parable about the pet monkey of a musician. Because people show up to watch him dance, the monkey thinks that he is of great importance, when in reality he has no

party. The subject of the conversation turns to Adolf Hitler, the then-new chancellor of Germany, when the Jewish producer Irving Thalberg (Ferdinand Kingsley) and his wife recount their unpleasant stay in Berlin, in which they were harassed by Brownshirts. Mank, who is also Jewish, expresses concern over the book burnings and construction about, but Mayer and Hearst easily dismiss the subject as not much of a concern. The subject is then changed to Upton Sinclair, a famous author who advocated for left-wing politics. Sinclair is strongly criticized by Mayer, Hearst, and Thalberg. They accuse him of being a communist, but Mank attempts to defend his policies, telling them

corruption, which leaves him embittered.

amusement. Similarly, Hearst only keeps Mank around for his own entertainment.

and Welles is angered by the request, as a ultimately gives in. In the last scene of the of an Academy Award for best original screenplay. On the night of the election, Mank and his Mayer, and the votes are being counted as are in, Mayer announces Merriam as the projected winner. Mank then gets a call from Shelley Metcalf, who is dejected and guilt-

in person. There, Metcalf commits suicide.

in Hollywood: a gifted writer respected for his talents, but at the same time a loudmouth and an outcast. He saw the corruption and deceitfulness of his superior Louis B. Mayer, but aside from using his typical sharp wit, he was powerless to truly combat him. He befriended William

a dishonest and power hungry tycoon. He fought with Orson Welles over time constraints and obtaining a credit. Herman

Shelley Metcalf worked at MGM. It is possible scenario was to illustrate another instance of the corruption Mank sees in the company that employs him: false information being But, again, he is powerless to combat said

his struggles helped him to write what was arguably the greatest screenplay of all time.

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

hers can occur even under unpromising circumstances.

COMEDY are in. The producers use this, along with simple cinematography, bland clothing, and the average American city of Scranton, Pennsylvania, as the setting to send a clear message: this is not a glamorous life. The show uses this boredom and unexciting setting alongside the optimistic stories and comedic elements to tell viewers that we can

happiness in this despite the monotony of things, and uplifting narratives with happy endings can be found documented, moment-by-moment, in the show. The very premise of the series as both a comedy and a mockumentary series also brings entertainment to the otherwise boring setting of an average paper company — around a dull, gray cloud.

well-known evolving love stories to this generation: Jim and Pam. The two characters begin as friends with unspoken romantic feelings for each other, often interacting through simple games and jokes. As they

TV Series

other, this evolves into a loving relationship. Their story is a testament to the slow buildup of a romance in an everyday situation, and how companionship and love can be found everywhere. Even with the monotony of working at

Review by Eleanor Buchanan, Sacramento, CA

nce a year, a pretzel cart comes into the Scranton Business Park and gives away free sweet pretzels. Stanley Hudson (Leslie David Baker) hates every aspect of his desk job at Dunder

games and mimicking the achievements of great athletes — a symbol of how even their smaller scale recreation can be a joyous event. Jim amuses himself by playing friendly pranks on his co-worker Dwight comfort in his daily crossword puzzles. Michael Scott (Steve Carrel) tries to bring a

day: pretzel day. Stanley complains that his

for his job, but this, getting a free sweet pretzel, is one thing that brings him true joy. This is a common pattern — life often feels tedious and repetitive, but there are small things in our lives that cheer us up. way that has never been more relevant. The series centers around employees at a mid-level paper company called Dunder unenthusiastic. Jim Halpert (John Krasinski) talks about how boring his job as a paper salesman is, while Pam Beesly (Jenna Fischer) aspires to go to art school and

ways to keep themselves happy, even in the smallest ways, while facing the setbacks of paper supply — a job that entails calling uninterested customers and marketing a rather dull product.

submissive and in an unhappy relationship — symptoms of the internalization of the disrespect she faces at work, usually in the form of demeaning assignments from her boss and harassment from her male co-workers. However, she slowly gains throughout the series. Subtle scenes and the message that progressive change like

The theme of the show rings especially true under current circumstances. For the past few years, there has not been much opportunity for exciting events, and the global situation can and has led to an overall feeling of hopelessness. The feelings of

setbacks of working and learning from home. Many high school students also experience feelings of boredom and unhappiness with the repetitive nature and burdens of school, even when not online. Many of us are like Stanley Hudson: a free pretzel will never solve the large issues we face, but it can act as a small comfort among those larger setbacks.

and will now only be available through robbing some viewers of access to the show. relatable television series that reminds viewers that there is reason for optimism in the average lives we lead.

Artwork by Alexandra Yuan, Sandy Springs, GA

Artwork by Oren Stiles Oakland, CA Artwork by Addison Mitchell, Glenwood, IA

Photo by Amber Yu, Trenton, NJ

MUSIC REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

Music contains upbeat pop anthems like the

POP/COUNTRY re-recorded album. However, Swift shocked

as the next re-recording. She also revealed songs that were written for the original her country roots to tell a story of rebirth

collaborator Chris Stapleton. By pulling

Sonic diversity aside, the songwriting and lyricism on the album is breathtaking,

Red (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

laying the groundwork for an album that touches on every aspect of love: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Other songs like

Review by Colin Harkins, Wayne, PA

hen Taylor Swift hinted that she would be re-recording

collaborators including Phoebe Bridgers, months of anticipation, the album was

seen over the past decade. Another notable

songwriting expertise with her unparalleled versatility to form one of the most magical, enthralling, and heart-wrenching albums in recent memory. Throughout the record, Swift conveys feelings of longing, devastation, freedom, and hopelessness.

and intimate confession of insecurity.

on a mission to own her work, fans of the global sensation were eager to relive and catalog. After years of excitement,

would include six never-before-heard songs that were meant to go on the

unprecedented success, including a chart and record-breaking vinyl sales.

tracklist, which is extremely versatile in its genres, themes, and lyrical content.

However, out of every masterful song on

Swift tells the full story of a relationship turned sour, where she practically begs her ex to feel the heartbreak as much as she does. New lyrics on the extended version take a perfect song and make it better;

between us, did the love affair maim you

MUSIC REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

has been met with unprecedented success. It shattered the record for debut streams

For an album containing mostly songs previously heard by fans, the widespread

Despite slight changes in a few of the re-recordings that put them below the

yourself lost in a stream of poetic lyrics with subtle melancholic nuance. Conceived during the decline of Covid-19 restrictions,

and energetic beat that the listeners are sure to enjoy while adding to the mocking connotations.

only six months after the publication of

The majority of Lovejoy songs are notable for their excellent song structure and lyrical choices. Unfortunately, the harmony in some songs may be drab. For example, in

band has gained quite a lot of traction on the charts. Though their newest album only consists of seven songs, each track is nothing short of a poetic masterpiece.

the track was particularly noteworthy. The beat was unattractive, and the song as a whole felt rushed and uninteresting. When

large amounts of mockery established greatly upon what many consider to be

fans and critics alike have praised since

as pleasant. This is in stark contrast to the it carries this belief heavily. The blatant taunts even seeped into the title. The song is completely blithe and energetic by default, conveying a childishly teasing tone

this is the part where I shut up and let you infest my brain / Wrap your arms around While the lyrics may appear unusual, they are clever and unique, and they effectively

album of hers, and will likely become the

yearning of a past relationship. On the

INDIE ROCK

track to appreciate the poetical essence / Abruptly fell in love / And she was in the throughout the entire song and in the lyrics.

The track regards a woman who is unhappy in her current relationship with her boyfriend. However, the actual song centers on the lead singer's tauts to the partner. Ridiculing the man on the downfall of his past relationship while boasting about the potential beginning of his romance with the

Pebble Brain

all the dumb s*** you do / In the back room

by Lovejoy the song adorns relentless mockery that constructs a lovable and catchy chorus.

Review by Kyra Lambert, Newark, DE

simply a vessel for its bittersweet deposition on failed romance and moving on from overwhelming emotions. With

more about (potentially) undermining someone's bitter feelings in a relationship. The cheerful riffs of an electric guitar subtly hinder the grave meaning behind the track. Lovejoy uses a substantial amount of mockery in their songs, creating a lovable

Not only do the lyrics stand out as relatable and memorable, the occasional dips of intensity contrast the energetic melody. While some songs may not be as popular as houses beautifully poetic lyrics that have become a signature of Lovejoy songs.

beautifully poetic and faintly melancholic album. The lyrics go above and beyond at expressing the struggles of moving on from a romantic relationship and the impulsive thoughts that come with it, making it a perfect apathetic album to binge if you want something subtly depressing with a dynamic beat.

MUSIC REVIEWS | FEBRUARY 2022

HIP-HOP/RAP

the most entertaining listening party, Kanye rebuilt his childhood home and lit

the true meaning of the track will blow your

the most anticipated songs on the album, and it did not disappoint. The vocals from Toliver give the song a spiritual feel that makes the listener want to close their eyes

mother died. The speed of the chants in the heartbeats. While this song starts off the album with a sad tone, the whole album is

and symbolic compared to the upbeat and

with every listen.

Donda

expresses his relationship with God and his newfound devotion to Christianity. To some fans, it feels like Kanye is shoving God and Christianity in their face. To others, it shows that an artist can still make mainstream music while appreciating their religion.

by Kanye West

Review by Ben Fischer, Wyckoff, NJ

tracks feel unnecessary and make the album longer than it should be. The original

anye West is truly a marketing genius. He managed to release an album over a year after its original

copies. He held three listening parties, the the other at Soldier Field. Each of these listening parties saw a different version of late mother, Donda West. These listening

listening party, on July 22, featured Kanye standing in the middle of the stadium and was attended by thousands of spectators, the second one, Kanye dressed up in a spiky jacket and was lifted up into the sky at the end. At the third, and arguably

have features from many popular rappers, including Jay-Z, Playboi Carti, Fivio Foreign, Travis Scott, and Baby Keem. These songs

his producers, with whom he had many

who has recently been promoting his relationship with God and Christianity, decided to edit out all the explicit lyrics on the whole album. This decision makes

many strong points and a few weak points. This album has songs for almost anyone. If before a game or workout, you could play looking for a religious song, you could play

back and melodic feel to this album. In the album that you will not stop listening to.

Photo by Leonhard Nagel, Tianjin, China

FICTION | FEBRUARY 2022

Remembering by Shelbie Perani, Plymouth, OH

Artwork by Jennifer Rosen, Wantagh, NY 50

FICTION | FEBRUARY 2022

remember it like it was yesterday.

There were pink strands in your golden hair. They matched your lipstick like they always did. I was standing in the line, watching as you scribbled the wrong names on each and every cup. You once told me you did it on purpose. Obnoxious, like you.

asked again. I was next and when you looked up at me with those eyes, I smiled. You smiled back.

color they were, to make your point. I drew a blank. You hung up.

to my house, I started to miss you. Wanted to touch those strands in your hair. Laugh at your jokes. Listen to every DarkSky song you know by heart. I remember it all, just like you said I would.

to run to you. And I do.

Maybe it always was. I remember you ordered that for me once and left it on the coffee table, so I would have it when I woke up. I threw it away because I was leaking, why my misspelled name was fading with the scent of peppermint. I think you knew why.

You laughed. It was bell-like. I told you once that your laugh was annoying after you started cracking up over a joke a friend told you. You shut your mouth,

You wrote my name backward — Nayar — along with a number. Your number. I remember deleting it one day because I never labeled it. Because nothing but a green parka to keep you dry. I still never labeled it. You handed me my order and I studied the number, smiling slightly. I think I knew then. That you were a notch in my boot. A pretty blonde with no one and nothing. You once said that I would one day think about you. Imagine you. Want you. I scoffed and slammed the door in your face. You wanted your stuff. I kept it all. I still have it. The DarkSky CD you once asked me to play in our

Artwork by Ke Deng, Great Barrington, MA 51

FICTION | FEBRUARY 2022

Photo by Anika Goyal, San Ramon, CA

Murray with by Nick Lusardi, Alpena, MI

real humdinger of an idea. Presented by one real upstage French-Canadian noodle juice-drinker: the [human] owner of the Owen Sound Transportation Company and the Manasoo. Although resented by every sailor aboard the steamer, they credited him reluctantly for his remarkable solution to the spider infestation.

A spark. She was bright blue, quite a pretty little thing, and rounded such that she could easily be knocked out of the park by the Babe.

Those humans sent this thing, everyone thought. Chaos ensued.

Boy, could she scream. It took a moment. One single moment of confusion, when the door slammed shut and it was just her and the thousands of spiders. The place was dead calm. The it. Ash, splinters of wood, and brambles anxiously waiting.

water.

spiders before they kill the crew. The ship was dolled up for its date with the winter storage shed (a real bear-cat), but the summer was stubborn; and if the weather still allowed, then hell, there was money to be made. The Manasoo would do one more voyage if she could, a week or two from to destroy.

On a day in the cargo hold, when even the bird in the universe down right in between the two stables.

A spark. A single spider, maybe an orb weaver, parked himself in front of the great, bulbous beast. A challenge. He was so tiny,

If one can imagine a spider being chased by a football-shaped bird, imagine that, and question may arise: how on Earth could

two-word solution.

But this was no ordinary bird. This was the earthly embodiment of every bird, human, or other animal that had ever been bitten by a spider. This was the embodiment of the families of those who had died, and the embodiment of every snake, rat, or bird that had ever choked on a spider or been killed by those fun little methods of lastditch defense that many spiders have. This was a round, squeaky ball of lost dreams and souls. When murderers arrive in Hell, this is what meets them.

A moment.

Surely, although guesses vary, the bluebird

this thing possibly be doing down where Manitoulin? Pathetic. Then — A snap.

weaver was gone. Every last leg sucked

FICTION | FEBRUARY 2022

two minutes of its attack. Whoever was in charge of keeping track had been eaten.

With eyes that keen and a beak that sharp,

Floor to wall, to wall to stable.

Murray climbed up on the quick-moving beak and looked the beast right in its slippery red eyes. It stopped its devouring for a second, giving the eight-leggers time to run. Murray stared at the beast. The beast stared right back.

The cargo hold was a scene of battle.

Murray was promptly eaten.

A squash court of vengeance. Early September 1928, of course, was before the practical use of exposure therapy. However, had it been developed at the time, the cargo hold of the Manasoo would have been a fantastic place for arachnophobes to face their fear. The lower walls, too. Although even now, they stayed away from the rafters. The clitter clatter of mini legs was a deafening roar, particular direction. Against the porthole, Murray evacuated his web, which was being torn open by spiders seeking to evacuate. He had tried to stop them, but his efforts were in vain. Even the dumbest of spiders knew that birds could remained between these walls. Murray lingered on his wrecked home for mere seconds before crawling down to Theresa's cave, where she and Steven watched the chaos unfold.

A plan, however.

look that way. She stared at the rotting wood. Murray nervously turned away from his friends

was no battle — it was an extermination. Murray watched and saw many of his own kind. Fellow spiders, even White Woods — spiders he had known. They were running in terror, searching desperately for any exit, while the ball of anger and chaos gained on them. There was no way of knowing who had already been killed. Murray realized, here, now, that the time for a hero was current, and that this was a chance to do something, even if it meant certain death. He stretched his legs.

They wore fear like a clown wears face paint.

He readied his fangs.

Thick, forced.

It was time to step up.

Down below, the bird screeched and

The following can be described as a

was sharper than anything anyone had ever seen.

of terror and chaos, bravery and stupidity, insane strategy, is best summed up through seven numbered events.

But the bird, like the fear, had failed to chew Murray up. Inside the grime and cartridge of spider sauce, Murray was doing what he did best. Faster than he had ever done it. Within seconds, the beast began to choke. Its screams became gurgles, and it began to hack and heave and roll all about the cargo deck. It took almost three full minutes. The remaining spiders looked on as the

snuffed out. Blackness to emptiness. It fell over, waking the dust. The thing was dead. Out of its throat, covered in slime.

He had just spun the most important web. A method of killing still, though not used to trap bugs, but to trap air.

Photograph by Eric Zhang, Shenzhen, China

Murray jumped off the cavern and spit out a line of silk, which he used to carry himself over the stampede. Steven and Theresa called after him.

need to stay hidden here. Stay hidden in

Murray sailed over the crowd of spiders, bee-lining for the blue beast in the middle of the deck. Murray landed on the bird, which was bobbing up and down, gobbling up spiders, moving faster than light.

FICTION | FEBRUARY 2022

Things Worth by Aiden Buczek, Oswego, IL

he music in the car sounded like white noise. Thoughts raced through my skull, penetrating my head like a bullet. My foot was shaking on the gas as I rolled down a secluded road in the middle of the woods. Fog just as my life had seemed to have my mind like a dusty photo album on a shelf that should not be touched.

sins. That poor girl. That innocent little child with the ponytail and adorable purple glasses. All she saw were headlights. I was

from it. I could not stomach the guilt and shame when I looked at my family. I could no longer bear the burden in my head. I could not go on with this life much longer.

hours which, seemed like an eternity of contentment. I watched the wildlife scuttle around the brush. I saw families of deer, the brilliant horns protruding

A year has passed, and now I have arrived at my destination. The engine fell to a murmur as I parked alongside the road. The same road where I had left that child for dead. I stepped outside of my truck onto the road. I saw the same tire tracks from when I slammed on the breaks a year ago. I did not come here to dwell on the past any longer. I have had enough self-sorrow. It

adolescents, making sure they were well fed. The beautiful ballads of my winged friends cascaded throughout the forest. The smell of lilacs that graced my nose made my heart melt. I began to notice a clearing ahead that drew me in, as if I was an innocent child stumbling toward a toy store. Piercing through the horizon was a spectacular mountain range with trees as old as time erecting from it. I stepped out onto a large jagged ledge that hung from the rocky landscape. I laid down my blanket on the rocks and sat upon it. I gawked at the ginormous forest below me. I could see the entire horizon, as the sunset lit up the sky like an ombré of tangerine and velvet. I was in awe of the beauty of nature. I could sit there for eternity, not a care in the

down the dark, isolated road in the dense forest. The ghastly sound of the impact made all my surroundings go numb. I could not move a single muscle. I slammed on the brakes and froze. Frozen in time, suspended did not pay for my great sin. I avoided the Piper. I ran. My whole entire life I have been running from reality, but this is the biggest chase. It was my darkest hour, the turning point of sanity. I slammed on the gas and so I did not have to face the reality of what I had done. She could have been okay. She

The smell of burning tires and whiskey haunted my nose as I bolted down the road. Every hair on my body stood up, and my stomach felt as if it was eating itself. I am a sick individual. I am an abomination. Such an abomination that I left my family. My beautiful wife and my two daughters who I brought into this world. That little girl was someone's baby. It could have been my babies. I could not look at my family after the incident. The screams and cries of my wife echoed throughout my soul. "Hank, what have you done, what have you done?" I had to run. I just had to keep running away

Photo by Macey Klein, Bismarck, ND

I grabbed my large backpack that contained only a blanket, a knife, a Zippo, and some rations of food and water. I needed to escape the world. I left my phone in my truck and descended into the depths of the forest. One mile passed after the next, I walked until I could no longer. I set my blanket on the ground and laid under the canopies of life. The forest had a mystical glow from the sun passing through the leaves. The silence of the forest spoke volumes. The wind blowing through the tall canopies made a blissful whistle. I drifted off to sleep, falling into the perfect slumber. The next morning, I awoke from the best sleep in my 42 years of living. The mission was not over quite yet, but I was getting somewhere. My stomach was rumbling because I had no place for hunger in my head yesterday. I drank a whole container of applesauce, along with some tough beef jerky. Feeling replenished, I began to set I trekked the forest terrain for several

and I would not even question God or whoever was up there in the stars watching over us. I laid down, gazing at the stars that began appearing in the ever-so-darkening sky. My peace was disrupted by rustling in the woods. I positioned my head so I could look behind me. There it was. The Piper. A muscular panther was on the prowl, his head protruded from the clearing from which I had come. His gargantuan, glowing-yellow eyes pierced through the night, glaring at me ever so hungry. The blue moon illuminated his blue coat and masculine physique. I turned my head back and looked across the constellations one last time before it was time to go. I felt his presence grow closer and closer, his low purr rattled like a snake preparing to engulf his next victim. This is it. At last, the chase was over. There was no more running now. Death had caught up.

POETRY | FEBRUARY 2022

Artwork by Addison Mitchell, Glenwood, IA

All Things Lovely

Starving Crescent

Digital

More than nothing, less of something To be this way. To relive the Earth once again The sand and salt of the beach, Scent of roses decades-forgotten Smoke and steam, their stories in my veins and how —

She starves like the moon Who was once full and bright She shrivels; smaller and slimmer A body of hollow crescents and curves

There is something comforting and primitive hidden in the way the eye falls on the fragmented segments of a digital clock. Born to the age of microwaves and stove-top timers, my earliest memories are of memorizing the intricacies of that numerical rectangle.

How, The world is a river, a tree, a house, a cage and most importantly, the world is people. As they watch the rain skitter on the grass and the soil, When the black clouds are thick with thunder And a little rain drop is about to be born, They think of the heavens and the secrets in them, The truths and the lies they've told, Milk they once gave and ones they spilled. All things good and bad in a space so small that even a rain drop could understand. This is not a story or a way I shed my thoughts as I fall from a cloud But some vindication of where our dreams lie as the night sweeps us away, And that is where our hearts beat.

Another month, Another moon, Another Girl Will cut away and fade to dark

by Katelynn Wall, Washington, UT

Life in Key of C The only alphabet I know runs from A to G In between bar lines and crooked time signatures Stepping on the toes of rests and Dipping with a key change

Compose myself in bass clef Grounded by a solid root And lowering the third when life Tries to diminish the symphony

by Anonymous, Nigeria

The Ripple Hand Full of industrious ripple clans, Lines, designs and winsome twine, It's my grandma's hand.

by Harleen Kaur, Chandigarh, India

away Like ash disintegrating into the distance Climb the staff with pointed toes And take a leap to dance with the stars

by Katie Dunn, Aurora, IL

of an eight, the unbroken line of a zero? By crippling their gentle curvatures, squeezing until every shape bears cruel corners and a uniformity for the sake of practicality, convenience, obedience.

by Camille Coker, Fort Wayne, IN

The Day the World Stopped Spinning What I remember about that day Is the quiet buzz of the phone The silent weeps telling me the news And watching my mom burst into tears Running down her face like a stream Not knowing what was happening Looking at my mom with sadness Nothing bout the meal we were eating Nothing about the cold food

by Aiden Sheets, Blue Mound, IL 55

POETRY | FEBRUARY 2022

The New Year northern shadows easily danced across the treetopswindy whistles hummed their share yokes of the past eroded away to windy dust. another year, another day rolling away

evanescence yet i could leave these halls without a trace there is the knight and his delicate mace he is so lucky to have found his place

my steps to reveal where is this headspace with every moment i am a disgrace to me; dear artists, i wish to encase

Before You Became Flowers rough storm, a dark night, a lonely shell. You were a sad book with no end. You were an ocean that never calmed, tide never fell, waves never slowed. You were a swing that swung lonely. Your heart shone bright, a midnight moon. And when you were grass, you let everyone play around on you. You were a scary fall, but a not so scary landing. You were a neon sign someone was looking for. A reminder that you are more than what society portrays you as. A smile across someone's face. A glass of thick honey, warm and sweet. A shot of whiskey, burning going down.

can you paint for me a beautiful face

And after the rain stops pounding down, like heavy punches from above, you grew, big and beautiful, like a new life,

place

by Laura Love, Macon, IL

even then, why would they share their embrace with a shaking tired screaming nutcase daggers and knives of words, hide them someplace just out of sight. could they try to unlace the strings that keep me tied to this staircase just out of reach from that beautiful face could they just hold me inside their embrace and shield me from the world i have no place in? horrible that this is commonplace, we are lost in paintings, lost in the chase of the hustle, the bustle, yes, the race:

if someone could reach in, help me save face once again take me in their warm embrace but no one exists. not even a trace will be left in this gallery in place of me, of my life, gone in a backspace

by Piper Wilson, Pittsford, NY

Scribbled Hearts either hearts or birds every day i think of you nonth'less they soar

by Arieis Feldpausch, Novi, MI

To Be In a world of shining, shimmering stars, I feel like a black hole of incompetency, pulling in theatrically threatening thoughts built on my failed emotional maturity. I often look up to these heavenly bodies, planets plastered pleasingly in the night sky,and I wonder: how can I be divine, in body of mine. I wish I could see the beauty in myself, like my friend, Galileo Galilei. I, for one, have searched the seas but have never found the key to loving this mortal body, to love being me.

by Andrew Pintor, Anaheim, CA

the wall is beige but in this light i'd say there's a peachy color to it the isolation settles like dust mites to a dimly lit corner the darkness creeps into the day as I watch people walk past my door there is much to be done, but no time for it thoughts to be pondered, but no memory of them so I will continue to sit here and stare at this wall

by Sam Parmett, NYC, NY

Echo Echo of the stars

by Anonymous, IL

Body Parts my brain is like technology i wish to power down spill water over circuit boards to twitch, shiver, and drown my eyes are like two saucers a smooth and hollow gleam oh how i wish to break them to shatter, splinter, scream my lungs are like balloons wishing they could stop a glinting needle in my hand to puncture, rupture, pop my heart is like a bass drum its steady rhythm loud oh how i wish to silence it

my body's like a boulder too weighted with regret a gentle push off steepened cliffs to free fall, sink, forget

by Anonymous, CA

POETRY | FEBRUARY 2022

Winner Takes All (the pistachio shells) my Grandfather has a garden he nurtures hope in the back right corner

he sows faith next to hope they accompany each other twisting together in one breath after all, what is hope without faith believe in the front my Grandfather holds a watering can

consumes my cousins and me he pours over happiness its own plot by the little white fence my Grandfather is so happy not the grinning ear-to-ear kind softer evidence: dim laugh lines crows feet in hidden corners a content peace achieved everything there is to be achieved he wants nothing else in life

my cousins and me he tells us stories of how he traveled from China over a sea of blue knitted yarn in a boat made out of poker cards a suitcase full of dreams (which i now know was used to plant his garden) we sit in a row high bar stools grow fat on pistachio shells; and Faith; and Hope; And everything he grows;

we let the juice of trust dribble down our chins eat peeled slices of loyalty we are not yet good enough cooks ourselves to learn the craft (yet) so we eat and watch my Grandfather has a garden his hands are wrinkled and tanned with sun he reaches for the stems of hope and faith and new beginnings

by Skylar Christoffersen, San Francisco, CA

Artwork by Whitney Cohen, NYC, NY

Brother Sometimes I wonder what he is doing I wonder where he is

Maybe his cereal has gotten soggy And his coffee is just a bit too bitter, At least that's what I imagine. I imagine he sits at his home phone, Willing someone to call, But nobody ever does. He probably even keeps the photos By his bed and when he sees them, He cries. I believe that is the hardest thing to imagine, That he cries, Just like I do.

by Alyssa Bailes, Geneva, OH

The Music Outside My Window I hear the music of millions of raindrops falling. Each and every one of them joining together to make a tiny river that slithers down the street. It continues to grow wider and wider as it eats up every leaf. For once I am at peace. No other sounds surround me. It's as if the world has frozen. The trees stand still like giant skyscrapers in New York. There are no cars in sight. The sky is gray And the world is crying.

nurture the plants and animals and seep into the brown spongy soil.

That is why I always say, I love rainy days.

by Nicole Rodriguez Vasquez, Lawrence, MA 57

POETRY | FEBRUARY 2022

Dissecting the Meaning of an Eye

Making Pies While the World Is Ending

The strobe lights of the sun scatter my vision as we wind through a state I've never visited before and will never return to again.

When we walked through French doors Somewhere in Trafalgar, Indiana Aunts and cousins rung their arms Around my neck and squeezed My sides until they tingled.

Do they always close your eyes when you die? What if I wish to remain seeing, observing the blank panels of wood above my head for all eternity? We see so much in our short, sweet lives. We see so little in our long, bitter ones, too. My sixth-grade science class once dissected a cow's eye. I was too squeamish, packed myself into the back of the lab and listened to my peers oohing and aahing at the vivid blue color that lived in the iris. My eyes, too, are a bright blue, the same white-smattered patterns as my mother, but I'd trade them in an instant to know for certain I hold my father's love in the same way my brown-eyed brothers do.

by Camille Coker, Fort Wayne, IN

To Wind You are cooing, howling, knocking windows along the street, Waking me from my hollow, hollow dreams: Hollow as a summer pond, tenuous as mist. One hundred stories you have to tell And each one hundred times: About the valley where you once dwelled, About your long-lost paradise.

For each leaf in the yard is your listener: Look how they nod in agreement And mutter out comfort when your cries

Drop by my balcony anytime you want, And we can converse all night long. And see you off in the rising sun. Hope you come with sorrow, But leave with a song.

by Yuting Zhang, Chongqing, China 58

The night before we made seven pies, Around the timing and baking And creating of it all. After awkward Reintroductions and college small talk, And made a sloppy circle around The entirety of the space and bowed Our heads for grace and thanks. How do you say you are thankful For being alive? None of us could. All of us, a chain with no anchor. Swaying back and forth in current, Waves lapping the shore. No one said your name. Everyone watched your kids say everyone. When the thing they love is gone. After dinner we ate our pies And one by one the only things left Were glass dishes and tinfoil. How often do we do this? The pursuit of building, Knowing the end can only be Completely breaking.

by Lucy Somers, Fort Wayne, IN

A Nano Away Sometimes I wonder what he is doing I slipped strawberry cake Through your door grills. Our hands did not brush, yet they have embraced each other before. And when they were a nanometre away from each other, I swear, I promise, they were going to jump into an embrace that they spent months waiting for,longing for, yearning for, craving for. And I recall my lungs breathing out a bubble of laughter

Photo by Kate-Yeonjae Jeong, Houston, TX

sheepish grin. Mona-Lisa like. but I've always thought you were the artwork of the Gods So when gallons of ebony are poured over our world my mind running Brain Yelling that what if it was a picture I painted myself? You don't even like strawberry cake. You don't even like cream. You don't even like me. Or my weird hands with their own heartbeat.

by Ronnie Mon, Singapore

Ode to Wasabi Peas Like a talented performer, it leaves its taste bud audience begging for an encore. Tinted green, creamy white, and blanketed in piquant snow. Sometimes the show is too loud and I have to stop mindlessly listening to your music; The explosion of tang in my mouth overwhelms me, and my eyes start to water.

the most delightful warmth coats the entirety of the audience-a warmth that coaxes them into listening to more.

by John Golicki, Rolla, MO

Artwork by Ella Hedges, Dayton, OH Artwork by Ela Ponnachana, Vancouver, BC, Canada

Artwork by Caydance Sill, Oakland, IL 59

Contributors MEMOIRS

TRAVEL & CULTURE

Conner Wolownik, 6 Anoymous, 8

Jinhan Li, 34 Tristan Grosam, 36

LOVE & RELATIONSHIPS

BOOK REVIEWS Jiaying Jin, 41

BLACK HISTORY MONTH

Alexander King, 43

ESSAY CONTEST William Chen, 21 Shoumili Tarafder, 21

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS

MUSIC REVIEWS Kyra Lambert, 48 Ben Fischer, 49

FICTION

ART Khushi Patel, Front Cover Ditri Collaku, 6

Ke Deng, 41 Addison Moss, 42 Oren Stiles, 46 Alexandra Yuan, 46 Addison Mitchell, 46 Amber Yu, 46 Leonhard Nagel, 49

Aryana Singh, 8 Mór Szepesi, 12 Sophia Monteiro, 13 Charlotte Clements, 14

POINTS OF VIEW Jeffrey Yi, 24

SUMMER PROGRAMS

Katie Foley, 28 Aryana Singh, 29 Gina Yang, 31 Emma Chen, 32 Whitney Koetter, 33 Eric Zhang, 34 Sydney Han, 36

Angela Li, 39

Sakshi Sneha, 12 Alyssa G., 13 Zackary Gardner, 14

Nyla Ward, 16 Zara Shariff, 18

Seung Gon Kang, 23 Shelbie Perani, 23

POETRY

Tess Boutin, 26 Anna Lieberman, 28

HEALTH Zara Shariff, 29

Khalil McKnight, 16 Maxis Amos-Flom, 18 Jada Ma, 22 Neha Vinod, 22 Liz Strut, 22 Emorie Johnson, 23

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

December 2021 | Volume 36 | Issue 3

• SAMHSA’s National Helpline (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders.

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 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 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 • National Sexual Assault Hotline 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 • Self-Harm Hotline • Planned Parenthood Hotline • GLBT Hotline • TransLifeline

| www.translifeline.org

FREE 1-Year Premium Access!

Brightmind Meditation and Mindfulness App FREE Premium Access (a $100 value). • Full access to customizable Core Meditations • Hundreds of addition guided meditations • New content added regularly Click HERE to claim your FREE membership 61

Artwork by Austina Xu, Cupertino, CA