Teen Ink magazine - August 2021

August 2021 Follow us on Social Media

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Back to School 2 Author

Interviews !

Miel Moreland, It Goes Like This J. Elle, Wings of Ebony

Oh, The Places You've Been!

Stories of Travel & Adventure Little Neck • Experience With The St. Louis Arch • The (Un) Restroom • Where I Stand

Summer is almost over!

Some of our program partners have year-round camp options.

Click each sponsor's image for more information about their Programs:

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C

Contents

August 2021 | Volume 35 | Issue 1

OnTheCover

www.teenink.com

16Health

• My Obstacle • The Perfect Case of OCD

20 Points of View • We Need to "Cancel" Cancel Culture

• A Girl's Right to Education

22Travel & Culture • Little Neck

• Experience With The St. Louis Arch

Artwork by Jorja Garcia, Oxnard, CA

• The (Un) Restroom • Where I Stand

5Teen Ink News

30 Identity

6Memoirs

32Sports

• Contests & Call for Submissions

• My Curly-Haired, Brown-Eyed Person • Sleeping Through Star Showers

8Back to School

• The Pressure of High Expectations • Introverted Minds • The Armadillo

• An Outsider Living in a Bubble

• Mismanagement, Minor League Problems, And My Master Plan to Fix Them

35Author Interviews

• Miel Moreland, It Goes Like This • J. Elle, Wings of Ebony

Follow us on Social Media

38 Book Reviews • Witchshadow

• A Chorus Rises • Monsieur Proust's Library • Wild Tongues Can't Be Tamed

40 Music Reviews • Justice • Justin Bieber

• Everywhere at the End of Time • Leyland James Kirby

43Movie & TV Reviews • Godzilla Vs. Kong • Atypical

46 Video Game Reviews • Doom Eternal

• Democratic Socialism Simulator

50 Poetry

• Free verse, haiku, sonnets, & more

Art Galleries

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

Editor

Letter from the

Welcome Back to School!

Dear Teen Ink Readers,

After a summer of travel and adventure, rediscovering the world after a year shuttered inside, it's time to refresh. School is just around the corner, and with it a new chance to learn and grow.

This month’s issue features stories from teen readers, recounting their own adventures visiting new places, or returning to places they missed.

We have also included exclusive author interviews and reviews of books to read to begin the school year. Feel free to check out the great reads!

As students return to the classrooms this fall, it is important to ask questions, think critically, and challenge the world around us. Everyone has a part to play in the direction the future is heading, and by bringing new ideas and fresh perspectives to the table, we challenge the status quo and spark debate. It is through discussion and a mutual desire for change that we can make change happen and begin to step towards a brighter future. So step up and speak out, so that your voice can be heard and we can work together to create a better tomorrow.

The beginning of the school year holds a lot of excitement and anticipation. We encourage students to set goals, not just for this academic year, but for the future beyond high school, and let those goals help motivate you to carry this energy through to the end and stay on top of your studies. By staying focused and putting in the extra effort, anyone can accomplish their goals and reach new heights, be that through a career or higher education.

As always, your comments and feedback are welcome and appreciated.

Please email: editor@teenink.com.

Katrin Ades

Consulting Editor-in-Chief 4

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We Also

Need:

• College Articles: Advice, Campus Visits, 1st Year Experiences • Book Reviews

• Movie Reviews • Music Reviews • Video Game Reviews

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

5

MEMOIRS | AUGUST 2021

My Curly-Haired,

Artwork by Ashley Jun, Shorthills, NJ

Brown-Eyed Person

by Anonymous, Texas, US

I

Trigger warning never knew how much the curly-haired, brown-eyed girl would have affected my life. Then again, we don't know what we have until we lose it. I wish I could tell you about the first time we met, however, we never had a set date. I was born a year before her to the day, and we always shared birthday parties. We would laugh and play and be the stupid little kids that we were. Was it a simpler time? Yes. Did it last for long? No. As time went on, we started to grow apart.

No more shared birthday parties and no more stupid little girls. We each had a path and we were following them. I saw her at family reunions and Christmas Eve at our grandparents' house, but other than that, our paths stopped intertwining. If only I had known that she was trying to cut her way back to my path. She was swimming against the tide of life that never stopped flowing, and she was doing it all alone.

Middle school was tough for both of us – for completely different reasons. I was struggling with my self-confidence and recovering from abuse; she was struggling with her gender identity. I couldn't tell you when she made the switch. Maybe it was when she stopped wearing feminine clothes, or maybe it was when she cut off all of her curly brown hair. Regardless of the when, she seemed to be more confident and happy with herself.

Cutting was something that had been in both of our paths. I cut to make myself feel something. She cut because she didn't like how she felt. I got help and recovered; she still stayed with the

harming. Yet every time I saw her, she never failed to have that big smile on her face.

I'm only now realizing that the smile was only covering up the tears.

High school finally rolled around and I was thriving, constantly surrounded by friends and a supportive family. Yet that curlyhaired, brown-eyed girl was sinking lower than ever. My confidence went up and hers was nonexistent.

We don't know what we have until we lose it I learned from my other cousin that the little curly, brown-haired girl was no longer a girl. They had made the full switch and I was so happy for them. If only I hadn't been the only one. My family can be brutal at times, and I've always known that. But I never would have expected the reaction my family had to my favorite cousin coming out as a trans man. It was like they wanted nothing to do with him. They believed that casting him off to the side was the best course of action. It made me sick. Yet as time went on, my family became more open to the idea of being transgender, and things got much better for my oldest friend.

The 2020 family reunion rolled around and I was ecstatic. It had been such a long time since I had seen everyone, and I was especially excited to see a certain curly-haired boy. Only, due to some drama, our time was cut short. Everyone left and I didn’t even get to say “goodbye.” If only I

had known what was to come.

About a year later I was sweeping the house when my dad got a phone call. He answered and ran into another room calling my stepmother in behind him. I knew something was wrong, but I never could have imagined. An hour later my parents called me into their room to tell me some of the worst news I had ever received in my life.

My curly-haired, brown-eyed boy was gone.

And it was by his own hand.

I laughed at first because I thought they were teasing me, and then it sank in; I didn't stop crying for two days straight. I never knew how much I would truly miss that curly-haired boy. I never knew how much I would miss his laugh or his smile or even having to share a party with him.

I've learned two very important lessons from that curly-haired, brown-eyed boy.

Number one, being kind can really go a long way. I wonder if people had been kind to him, would he still be here? Or, if someone had been there for him to talk to, would it have fixed anything? Number two, people are suffering every day. Whether it be from a sickness or a loss of some kind, or even something as simple as the stresses of school. You never know what is truly going on with a person, so don't miss an opportunity to save someone from making the biggest mistake of their life.

I know everyone has their curly-haired, brown-eyed boy, whether you know it or not. So spread love and kindness, because you never know how much of an impact it could have.

If you or anyone you know is struggling, please visit the Resources section on page 57 for a list of organizations that can help.

6

Sleeping Through Star Showers

MEMOIRS | AUGUST 2021

by Kaylie Mancino, Farmingville,NY

A

Trigger warning t three, my grandfather asked me to sit on his lap. His voice was tainted by his years of smoking cigars, rough like sandpaper, but as smooth as the jazz music he played in the living room. As I complied and wrapped my scrawny arms around his neck, I breathed in his scent and wondered if he’d always love me the way he did then — "unconditionally," he always told me.

"Grandpa, do you love me more than God?" I once asked, and he nodded his head, his glasses askew at the tip of his nose.

"Of course," he said. "More than all the stars in the great big sky."

At six, I started to grow wary of my grandfather’s lap. His touch didn’t feel gentle anymore — it was the edge of a razor blade, tracing lightly over my skin until pale became red, and love became pain. I recoiled at the word unconditional, and wished for all of the stars to disappear.

At seven, I stopped wanting to sit on his lap. He would frown and beckon me over with a crook of his finger, but I always refused.

My mom chastised me for being rude — Why won’t you let him hold you? I just shook my head and tried to count all the reasons why I loved him, so that I could diminish the reasons I feared him. I

wondered if love and fear were supposed to bleed into each other the way they did whenever he was around.

At nine, my grandfather died. There wasn’t a dry eye at his funeral — nobody knew him like I did. I sat in the second pew and listened to the eulogies about the great, big life he lived and the people who loved him. The sky that night was clear and shining with stars; I waited for them to all fall down on my head and crush me completely.

At 14, I thought I saw my grandfather. I recognized his eyes as they passed me in the hallway of the psych ward; I saw all the history on his face, open and oozing like an untreated wound. I saw my grandfather, but his body was shorter and his beer belly was replaced with skin and bones. Even though my grandfather was dead, and this man was alive, I screamed until my throat was raw and my voice was gone. That night, I couldn’t see the stars, but I felt their stifling presence wrap around me like a noose.

At 16, I discovered what betrayal felt like. It arrived in the soft shape of my grandfather’s stuffed bunny and a note that read, "I’m sorry." I never glanced into the sky anymore because I knew it would rain shame onto my aching body, drowning me with the guilt that came with hating someone you’re supposed to love and sleeping through star showers.

At 16 and a half, I told my mom what my grandfather did to me on his lap. She cried and burrowed me into her chest; I could feel her heart breaking against my cheek, pounding faster with every muffled sob.

That night, we sat in our rocking chair and watched the stars. I counted them and numbered them with all the reasons I was still standing beneath them. Number one: my mother loves me. Number two: it wasn’t my fault.

At 17, I told my therapist. She nodded her head at all the right times and handed me a crumpled up tissue. "I don’t need it," I told her and she just smiled.

The stars weren’t out that night, but I counted them anyway.

At 18, I confronted my grandfather. I wrote a letter to him in my journal, and then I tore it up. I threw the shredded pieces of paper into the air, and watched them flutter down like confetti, celebrating the feeling of release and the swift relief that followed. I let my eyes fall closed and my head grow quiet, until I felt nothing but the light of the moon shine down on my body.

Today, I stargazed for the first time in 10 years. As I let the sky blanket me and the wind wrap me in its embrace, I thought of my grandfather. "I forgive you," I whispered into the winter air; his answer came in the form of a shooting star.

Photo by Aryana Singh, New York, NY

7

BACK TO SCHOOL | AUGUST 2021

Artwork by Dylan Julun-Kokuma, Chicago, IL

Photo by Maxis Amos-Flom, Allendale, NJ 8

BACK TO SCHOOL | AUGUST 2021

The Pressure of

High Expectations

By Cooper Hu, Albany, CA

J

ust a week ago, I had what I considered bad grades. I had Bs in English and math, and that made me feel like I wasn't meeting my parents’ high expectations, as well as those of my siblings. In my family, the only acceptable grades are As – anything lower and my parents will be disappointed. It bothered me, but I still did not feel overwhelmed by it. I knew that they were just quarter grades and if I brought them up by the end of the semester, everything would be fine.

However, many students struggle with high expectations, whether it's academic or in sports, because these expectations come with pressure that some students can't handle. The biggest problem with high expectations is that once students feel they can't handle the pressure, their schools are unable to provide resources to help.

High expectations can put students under intense pressure. In a Washington Post article about how students in highachieving schools have been designated as an “at-risk” group, the author wrote, “The unrelenting pressure on students in high-achieving schools comes from every direction, from overly invested parents who want As, coaches who want wins for their own personal reputations and school administrators who feel pressured to get high standardized scores in their school.” It's hard to get things right when you have expectations dragging you down, especially when it's coming from the people you know or love. Sometimes these expectations can push students to their limits. I fear disappointing my parents and grandparents; the moment that I fear most is my parents realizing I didn't meet their

expectations. They expect good grades and good behavior, which for me means straight As and having good classroom behavior. If I can't meet these expectations, not only will I be met with disappointment from my parents, but also consequences – less internet access, taking away my devices, and even more tutoring.

It's hard to get things right when you have expectations dragging you down, especially when it's coming from the people you know or love One of the problems with the pressure of expectations is that many teachers and schools don't have effective mental health strategies. Writing for Edutopia.org, teacher David Tow wrote “In my day-to-day work life, I see two common – and mostly inadequate – mental health strategies deployed to help high schoolers who look like they might be struggling: First, take some time, and second, get caught up.

Even if the advice is phrased differently, it’s usually a variation on the same theme. Students are advised to take the adolescent equivalent of a personal day, and then complete their work accordingly.”

This approach does not address the root of the problems that the students have, only the symptoms. It just tells the

students to take a break, but that won't help them. Even after the “personal day,” the student will still have to meet the same expectations they were trying to take a break from, and they will feel pressured all over again. The Washington Post reported that “adolescents in high-achieving schools can suffer significantly higher rates of anxiety, depression, substance abuse and delinquent behaviors, at least two to three times the national average.” The better the school, the higher the expectations for the students, and when schools don't have adequate mental health strategies, these students can suffer serious consequences.

Schools should care more about how their students are doing emotionally, rather than how they're doing academically.

When I saw that I had a couple of Bs, I wasn’t overwhelmed. I knew I had plenty of time to fix those grades. However, some people can feel overwhelmed from pressure coming from the high expectations created by the people in their lives. These students can't turn to their schools for help if the schools aren't equipped with adequate mental health resources. Without the help from schools, the students facing the pressure can suffer from consequences that can impact them physically and mentally. Schools need to focus more of their resources on their students' mental health, as well as put their students in a position where they can do well academically without the negative effects of stress and pressure. In order to do these things, the district and community need to make sure the schools have what they need.

9

BACK TO SCHOOL | AUGUST 2021

Introverted

Minds

By Ruhee Hedge, Edison, NJ

Artwork by Taylor Moon, New York City, NY 10

BACK TO SCHOOL | AUGUST 2021

P

eople I know always ask me, “Why are you so quiet?”

I sometimes even ask that question to myself. I don’t have a clear-cut answer to this question. Possibly I was born as a quiet person and I don’t have to change who I am.

I often think that the whole world is designed for extroverts.

In school, it often seems like “you are so outgoing” is the best comment that someone could give to another person. Many times teachers did ask me to speak up more. I always wondered how some of my classmates were able to chat all the time with others, whereas I am not able to. Initially, during school presentations, I would get nervous and uncomfortable that everyone was looking at me. Then slowly I got comfortable and more social with people. Now I can talk about any favorite topic for an hour at least. I can dance or do public speaking on stage without much fear. Little by little, everything got easier. Internally I have not changed much; I still feel exactly like any other introvert would feel. But now I know how to cope up with the other side of the world – extroverts!

I often think that the whole world is designed for extroverts The process of understanding my limitations and powers was not that easy. Before, I always wanted to be like other outgoing kids and questioned myself a lot. I always thought, Am I normal? Why am I not like the other kids? After my own long research through online articles, I understood that it’s nothing but the fact that I am an introvert and whatever behaviors I exhibited are completely normal.

Introverts need some time to actually find out and explore who they are as human beings. I researched online and read some books about the topic. One of the books I liked a lot is Quiet Power by Susan Cain. The author wrote about her experiences as an introvert and in the book, she referred to herself as being “in the world that couldn’t stop talking.” Yes, that’s exactly how I feel inside. She also wrote about other kids’ experiences as the quiet ones. I would recommend that book to anyone going through the same situation as me. It instilled more confidence in me and helped me talk to people more easily. More importantly, it made me realize that there are many other people like me in this world, and it helped clear up a lot of misunderstandings about quiet people. Here are some of the main points I took away from this book:

someone is saying, but they can be as emotional and funny as any other extrovert. Take the example of comedians such as Steve Martin and Woody Allen. Even though they are introverts, they are famous for their funny jokes. It’s hard to believe that even some of the world’s iconic Hollywood actors are introverts.

The overall sentiment is that introverts can do anything that extroverts can do.

Of course, there are some parts of the social world that introverts may feel are hard to connect with. I, being an introvert, generally don't like going to parties with a lot of noise. The fear of being with other people that I am not related to makes it a whole lot harder to make friends. Without the proper company, it’s hard for introverts to enjoy parties. I have always preferred to sit with my parents at our community parties because I didn’t have the proper fun company.

I used to get tired after talking for a long time with my friends.

Introverts might need more “alone time’’ to rejuvenate after any social conversation. It’s not that they don’t like to mingle with people or talk. They prefer to be surrounded by a small group of people during a gathering and preferably more like-minded ones. I can talk for an hour or so on my passionate subject areas like robotics, historical events, or fun trivia facts. Many times my parents were surprised to see me in a “talkative mood.” Introverts may not usually initiate the conversation, but it all depends upon their interests, ambiance, and most importantly, their comfort zone.

To all the introverted adults and teens out there, here is some advice to tackle the fear of not fitting in or not being normal: •

Always let your imagination flow and give yourself some time to just relax. Remember that being quiet helps your brain focus more and organize better. I, myself, am a deep thinker and a good listener. Don’t worry about what others say about you.

Focus on what’s inside your mind, and consider that you being quiet is actually a “magic power.”

•

Find your passion and use it in a way that you are comfortable with. In school, I found out that I am very passionate about math, science, and other STEM-related topics. I love to read about all amazing things on Wikipedia. Introverts usually have a great ability to focus on multiple things at a time.

•

Introversion and shyness are not the same things. People think that introverts are shy just because they are quiet at times.

Take the example of Barack Obama, the 44th president of the United States. He is an introvert too! He’s one of the best public speakers, and he has led our country as a president.

•

Make sure to communicate well with your closest friends and let them know what you are going through. It’s never fun to be lonely and without any friends. But never rush and change yourself to fit in. Being yourself is important and your true friends will understand.

•

The most common misconception is that introverts are poor public speakers, and they don’t like to make eye contact with people. It’s true that introverts, because they are quiet, might not like being up on stage with all the attention. But they can also be very confident speakers and are able to express their feelings when they feel comfortable.

•

Get enough alone time to re-energize. Normally, you can get drained easily by loud noises or social interactions lasting for long periods.

•

Introverts might not show many facial expressions and emotions, and it might look like they aren’t interested in what

I am now happy and comfortable with who I am, and I am eager to explore more about my introverted mind power. I have enjoyed the process of getting to know myself better, and I would like to continue to learn more as I grow.

11

BACK TO SCHOOL | AUGUST 2021

The

Armadillo M

y forehead was pressed against the cold window of the car. I looked up at the gray sky and tears rolled down my cheeks. Everything was wrong. The color of the sky, the streets I drove past, the faint smell of fish that lingered in the air. I started fantasizing about how I could make my escape. Perhaps I could jump splendidly off the car and hitchhike my way to the airport, and then, somehow, go back home – back to Bogotá. My chaotic fantasies were cut short by the loud honk of a passing minibus, and it spurred a single terrifying thought: Today is my first day in a new school.

I will hate it here. I will hate it here. I will hate it here. I kept repeating these five words to myself, partly so as not to give my parents – who had coerced me into being here – the satisfaction, and partly because I wanted to prepare myself for the possibility that it might actually be true. My feet dragged heavily behind me as I was herded by my parents into the elementary school office.

I walked through the doors of a two-story red, white, and blue building, and the moment I saw other adults glaring down at me with a grin plastered on their faces, a shiver went down my spine.

We were greeted promptly by the primary principal, who invited me to take a seat on a couch (which must have been older than my parents) while she spoke to my parents privately. As I sat on the elderly couch, I noticed that behind me there was a map that stretched the length of the wall and displayed the faces of students.

Each face was connected to a different country on the map by a red string. Above, were the words “International Students.” I gawked at the faces on this map, at the foreign and exotic places some of these faces seemed to come from. Maybe these would be my friends. They certainly understood what it was like to leave a life behind and be forced to live in a strange place. I gently ran my finger across the soft pieces of red string and stopped at Colombia. Would this be all that connected me to my former home, a piece of red string hanging on the wall of a school office? Just as I felt my heart sink, as I reminisced about all that I had left behind, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was time to go to class.

12

By Alexandra Bates, Washington, D.C.

Would this be all that connected me to my former home, a piece of red string hanging on the wall of a school office?

As luck would have it, just as I chained the straps of my backpack to my shoulders so that the principal might escort me down the cold halls of the building and lead me straight to my death – sorry – my new classroom, a blonde girl came into the office asking for a late pass. This girl was apparently a member of the new class I would be joining and would now be escorting me herself. I glanced at my parents for the last time. I wanted to seem angry, and yet I think all I managed to show was fear. The girl seemed hurried and impatient to get to class. She walked fast and aggressively, and I followed shyly, closely behind her. I remember thinking how awkward and desperately long the silence between us was. No words were exchanged, no eye contact was made; I simply followed in silence.

Before I could brace myself, she was opening a door and walking inside it as if she had been doing so her entire life. I lingered briefly behind until the teacher noticed me and pulled me inside her classroom.

“This is Alex. She just moved here from Colombia.”

Silence. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, and yet I kept mine locked on the floor. Before the teacher could say anymore, or even worse, ask me to introduce myself, a bell rang, and the once-still classroom suddenly became chaotic. The loud clanking of chairs being pushed in and the chatter of students echoed through the classroom as everyone began to make their way into the hallway.

I followed my classmates to the very end of the building, and as I walked, I recognized someone – one of the faces on the wall, connected by a red string to Mexico. Maybe it was because she

BACK TO SCHOOL | AUGUST 2021

Photo by Raina Smith, Boulder, CO

knew what was going through my head, or maybe because of how forcefully I was unintentionally staring at her, she approached me, and before I knew it, we were sharing each other’s lives. Other girls joined the conversation, and I slowly began feeling less like an intruder and more like an insider.

The first class I attended that day was art. I walked into a room that smelled of fresh paint, humidity, and glue, and whose walls were covered in every painting, ceramic, and papier-mâché I could imagine. I joined my classmates at a large wooden table as we awaited the teacher’s instructions. The art teacher sounded like a woozy happy magician, which for some strange reason I found comforting. She instructed everyone to resume the work they had been doing in previous classes, and then, as everyone left their seats and I remained still, she noticed me. She explained we were making alebrijes, carved and painted Mexican figurines that represent spiritual guides in the afterlife. She told me to make an armadillo. I didn’t know it at the time, but the armadillo is known as the lone traveler, so it really was quite a fitting choice.

I don’t remember what other classes I attended that day, but I remember my lunch break. The school bell rang loudly and everyone rushed out the classroom door, eager to savor every one of those 45 minutes. My new Mexican friend, Ximena, stayed behind and helped me navigate through the jungle that had become the halls of the building. Down some stairs and across the alameda was The Blue Toldo. It was a volleyball court-turned-cafeteria, lined with four rows of tables where students would sit to enjoy their lunch. We sat next to some girls in our class. They ate quickly, and therefore so did I. At this age, the line at which it is no longer cool to use the playground during lunchtime is fast approaching, yet not quite here. So having finished our lunch, we all sprinted toward the exciting play structures. Just as my feet were about to gently land on the sandy surface of the playground, I was caught in the arms of a vigilant teacher. “No hat, no play,” she said. These four words would continue to torment my lunchtime adventures for all

the time I spent in elementary school. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed before, but suddenly all the children that ran, jumped, and played before me were wearing the most unfortunate hats atop their heads. A beige, floppy fisherman hat that could cover your entire head. Sure, you were protected by the sun, but at what cost?

As I stood in wonder at this unjust rule, Ximena took my hand and rushed me to a tall cabinet in a dark corridor. The Lost and Found, where I would find a hat whenever I was in need of one. After a quick search, we found a hat that seemed adequate. I buried my head into it, and we were off.

I will love it here. I will love it here. I will love it here. This is what I repeated to myself over and over as I gathered my things and began walking toward the exit where my parents were eagerly waiting for me. I felt happy and excited to come back tomorrow and the day after. Never could I have imagined I would’ve met so many interesting, diverse, and welcoming people during my first day. Almost intuitively, I could feel that Roosevelt was a place where I would thrive, a place I would never forget. I opened the door to my car and got in. “How was your day?” they both asked almost simultaneously, one more fervid than the other. “Horrible,” I responded coolly. I would not give them the satisfaction.

As my last day at Roosevelt approached, I remembered every moment and person that I had come across in those years with nothing but love and gratitude. That day – my first day – is one that I will never forget because it was the beginning of some of the best years of my life. Roosevelt has been like a second home to me, and I cannot put into words how thankful I am to everyone who was part of my life. From time to time, I think of my younger self, looking up at Lima’s iconic gray winter sky, and now realize it was never really gray. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

Artwork by Evelyn Brown, Murfreesboro, TN 14

Photo by Sarah Mendoza, Indianapolis, IN

Artwork by Genevieve Gungor, NYC, NY

Artwork by Isa Van Os, Tirana, Albania 15

HEALTH | AUGUST 2021

My

Obstacle

by Danica Jitramontree, Cedar Rapids, IA

Artwork by Jiayin Zou, Mclean, VA 16

HEALTH | AUGUST 2021

I

t all started in 2008 when I was five years old and learning to climb the monkey bars at Daniels Park.

My dad was trying to help me overcome my fear of monkey bars by holding my legs as I went across.

told us the results. “As you can see, she has two curves. The one at the top is a 33-degree curvature and the bottom is a 35-degree curvature. I think it best to put her in a back brace. I will send you to Hanger Clinic, where she can be fit for a brace.” explained Dr. P.

”Daddy I can’t hold on anymore! I’m gonna fall! Help me!” I exclaimed in fear.

When I walked through the doors of Hanger, it smelled like a nursing home. A man had to poke me in my ribs and other places.

Then, I had measurements taken with a laser devise, and I had to stay really still, which is hard for any 11-year-old. About a month later, we picked up the brace.

“You are not going to fall, I have your legs. I won’t let you fall, I promise, said my dad, reassuring me that I was safe. I could feel my hands slipping from cold red metal bars. My dad, being him, let go of my legs. I fell to the ground and hit my back against the bars that held the equipment.

Sobbing, I said, “Why would you let go? You promised you wouldn’t let me fall. My back hurts now.” I could tell he felt bad.

I hoped I would be better. I was a gymnast and a lot was at stake “I’m sorry, baby. Let’s go home and put ice on it,” my dad said apologetically. After that incident, I had a lot of back pain. I would get shooting pain in the middle of my back. I would ask my parents to rub it all the time.

It was 2014 and we were in the middle of Walmart when my stepmom noticed I was leaning to the right. “Why are you walking like that?” my stepmom asked me. She put one hand on my left shoulder and one hand on my right shoulder. She tried to make me stand straight.

“Ow, that hurts!” I exclaimed in pain. She jerked her hands back and appeared worried.

She told my dad, “Maybe you should get her looked at. That’s not okay.”

A couple days later, I went the chiropractor. My mom and I were filling out a paper talking about my back pain, and a nurse put us in a room with X-ray equipment.

A tall, blonde, young man came in. “I’m afraid that your daughter might have scoliosis. I don’t normally X-ray children, but I think it is very necessary,” said the chiropractor, Dr. Meyer.

After Dr. Meyer looked over the X-rays, he told my parents I had scoliosis. I remember feeling scared because I didn’t understand what that meant. “If you want me to adjust her, I will, but I would advise against it,” said Meyer. My parents decided to have him adjust me anyway, which hurt very bad.

My parents then took me to my family doctor, and she referred us to the Physicians' Clinic of Iowa. My specialist was the same specialist that my dad had for his arm. Dr. P. did more X-rays and

The brace would make my legs go numb. I never told my parents that I just didn’t wear it. “Danica, go put your brace on!” My mom yelled from a different room. I never put it on.

In 2015, I was back in the specialist's office, I had another round of X-rays done. Sitting there, I hoped I would be better. I was a gymnast and a lot was at stake.

“Good afternoon! Let’s have a look, shall we?” greeted Dr. P. “Well, the top curvature is now 54 degrees, and the bottom is 53 degrees.

I know this is not a fun topic, but we might need to think about surgery,” Dr. P. said. At the time, I didn’t know how to feel. Should I cry? Should I storm out? I sat there and pretty much tuned them out after that.

“Danica! What are you feeling?” asked my mom.

“I don’t want to do it. I’m scared. I have gymnastics!” I cried. I remember seeing one tear go down my mother's face as well. My dad has always tried hard not to show his emotions.

My parents decided to get a second opinion, and that was the last time I ever saw Dr. P. We went to Iowa City Hospital, where X-rays took about an hour. We spent another hour in the waiting room.

“Danica!” called the nurse. I was led into a room with a really high bed. I sat there worrying, hoping that Dr. P. got it wrong.

“Well, Danica, you need to have this surgery within six months, or you might not live. Your lungs will eventually smash your heart.” said Dr. Weinstein.

“Well, let's get this over with.” I said with no hesitation.

“Are you sure?” asked my mom.

“I have no choice,” I said.

It was July 21, 2016, when I finally had my back surgery. I had the support of everyone around me. I don’t think I would be here today without my family. I had aunts, uncles, grandparents, and my parents there throughout the surgery and the four days I spent in the hospital. It also took me six months to recover. Soon after that, I went through periods of depression, but I'm glad to say that today I'm good. Not completely better, but good. Though I had an obstacle to overcome, I tackled it as best I could. It wasn’t easy, but I've learned that nothing is ever as easy as we want it to be.

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HEALTH | AUGUST 2021 Artwork by Anonymous, Los Altos Hills, CA

A Perfect Case of

OCD

by Lily Oldershaw, Raymond, Maine

F

or a while, OCD was not just any disease. It was my disease. No one else was allowed to claim it, because if other people suffered like I did, it felt like I never suffered in the first place. Quite a selfish thought, really, but OCD is a very self-absorbed disease. It seeks all available attention until there is none left to give.

In 4th grade, I had to whisper the names of every student in my class in alphabetical order. My only audience was my humidifier and the radiator (which stopped and started in reluctant applause at my incredible memory). If I failed to recall a classmate, I couldn’t fall asleep. It simply wasn’t feasible. I would shut my eyes and listen to the radiator, but my fists would clench and the 4:00 a.m. light creeping through the cracks between my curtains would settle over my eyelids. Sleep would not come.

In 6th grade, I chewed each bite 30 times in each cheek. I believed that even one bite short of my perfect number would cause me to fail to digest the meal entirely; it would settle in my stomach like a rock, destined to be an eternal resident of my digestive system. I knew it was a foolish thought, and therefore kept it to myself; but I believed it nonetheless.

In 8th grade, I cried because I knew something wasn’t right. Nothing was ever right, but I was never sure why. My breath was taut, like shrinking elastic. Four in, seven out. Harsh beams of light filtered through my sterile shades; the four strips of white that shone on the floor between the bed and the wall were the same every day.

Four was a bad number, so I avoided them. One foot on the cold hardwood, and then another, until they were side by side, toe-totoe. Three sips of water. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Cup back down. Center it, good. Every morning was the same routine, and I liked it this way.

It was also in 8th grade that I developed my X-ray vision. Max Jacobs

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threw up in the middle of our first period class. Mrs. Peterson was explaining the importance of special right triangles when he started coughing. He didn’t even bother aiming for the sink or a trash can. It blanketed his desk like a cocoon, spilling over into his backpack.

I saw the bacteria floating through the air, crawling along the carpet … sinking into the raw skin on my palms “Oh dear,” began Mrs. Peterson, but I didn’t stay to listen to the remainder of her sentence. I pulled on my sweatshirt and hurdled over an empty chair to reach the door before any germs could spread to my open lips. I saw the bacteria floating through the air, crawling along the carpet, clinging to the soles of my shoes, sinking into the raw skin on my palms.

I despised the nurse’s office. It was the most germ-ridden place in the entire school. Germs were everywhere: in the bathroom and on the arm rests of the benches. I usually avoided this hell hole at all costs, but at that moment I didn’t know where else to go.

I perched myself on the table while I hyperventilated. I had never breathed so fast before, but I didn’t have time to be impressed with this new skill because the nurse was rubbing my back with her hand – the same hand that had rubbed hundreds of other backs that very week. I tore myself away from her and shoved my hands into my pockets where they couldn’t touch anything else. I held my breath so I wouldn’t have to breathe infested air. By the time I could no longer hold it, she was dialing the number on my emergency contact sheet. I breathed into the hood of my sweatshirt and waited.

HEALTH | AUGUST 2021 When I got home, I stood under the bathroom’s judging light. I scrubbed antibacterial soap into the bleeding canyons on the backs of my hands, cracked from a combination of over-washing and exposure to the biting winter air. I used hot water until the skin beneath my fingernails turned purple. I clenched the skin of my cheeks in my molars until my eyes watered and counted to 100. A solid number. A safe number.

“Now that I brought it up, and you’re staring at them, you can’t stop thinking about them, can you?”

“What are you doing?” My dad flicked off the faucet. I was just relieved that I didn’t have to touch it.

“It’s like OCD. As much as you try to stop yourself from thinking about your compulsions, they will never go away. You have to stop trying to make them go away, and they will.” This seemed extremely counterproductive. Wasn’t his entire job to cure me? Not to make up reasons why I wasn’t yet cured. I realized how unfair this entire thing was. Why me? Dr. Clump told me I had the perfect case of OCD, but he also said nothing was perfect. He was full of contradictions.

It comforted me, knowing that something about me was perfect, just right: my OCD. As I watched the sinking orange beyond the car windshield, while my dad whistled his usual backing-out-of-atherapist’s-driveway tune, I thought about this idea. I thought about it quite often.

Hands suspended in the air, water dripping onto my socks, I whispered, “Washing my hands.”

Next, I found myself in a cold office. All the laminated degrees meant nothing to me, but they must have meant something to my parents. They trusted this man enough to leave me in his care for hours at a time, even though they hardly knew him. His name was Dr. Clump, and that was all I really knew about him aside from the fact that he graduated with a PhD from Brown.

It haunted me that he knew so much about me, yet I knew so little about him. I was determined to find out more. All I knew was what I could see, and I never liked that, because there were always things lurking beneath the surface. I knew he leaned back in his chair as he talked, and his stomach would protrude over his thick black belt, landing on top of his desk. I knew a Diet Coke left a wet ring on a book called, A Comprehensive Guide to Adolescent OCD. Perhaps he was going on a diet, a rather unsuccessful one. I knew he closed his eyes while he talked, inspiring me to coin the nickname later when I described the session to my parents: Closed-eyed Clump.

His desk lacked any photographs of a wife, kids, or even a dog.

There were only generic framed pictures that he clearly didn’t take himself. A fall leaf, a water droplet on a brick. They seemed meaningless, and hung crooked on his wall. I wondered if he had done that on purpose, because surely, no grown man could manage to center a photo that poorly.

I found solace in the small octagonal window behind him. It was blue, gray, black, or orange depending on the time of day. I loved the drive home from his office through the city, with its buildings stacked neatly side-by-side and its precisely planted shrubbery. It meant I would not have to stare past his ugly glasses into curious, prying eyes for at least another week. However, I loathed the ride there, with the car-seat fabric stretching between my white knuckles and me constantly rolling the window up and down because I could never get it just right.

During one of our earlier sessions, I noticed his computer had adopted a new screensaver: polar bears. It changed about every 30 seconds or so, and each depiction of the animal featured a new pose – one leaning against a rock, one sitting cross-legged, one standing on its heels begging for fish, one resting on its back with its stomach stretching out over its legs. Then and there, I decided my shrink quite resembled this arctic species, but his most accurate likeness was certainly the last image on the slideshow.

“Do you know why I chose the polar bears?”

I shook my head.

I shook my head again. This was our usual routine. He would say something he thought to be profound or groundbreaking and smile to himself at his own genius while I either nodded or shook my head, depending on what I deemed appropriate.

Nothing is perfect. What exactly did that mean? I had heard things described as perfect before, so how was it possible that perfection didn’t exist? It was August when I realized he was right. During one of our dimmer, lamp-lit sessions over the winter, he told me to go kayaking. I was watching sleet blanket a telephone wire through the octagon as he described the ripples in the water that stem from the rivulets dripping off the paddle. How they appear unflawed at first glance, the rings all equal lengths from each other, separating slowly, continuing far into the distance.

“But,” he had said, “even one of the most seemingly perfect sights in nature is still not entirely perfect. A boat could drive by, disrupting the pattern; this is essentially what OCD is. Something disrupts the pattern and it upsets us.” This sounded like something a bearded man with horn-rimmed glasses framed by Brown degrees would say, but it was also one of the moments when I was most fond of my therapist. It was a very therapist thing to say, and I liked that. I liked that it was expected, but I still wasn’t sure how that piece of advice could fix me.

Come summer, though, I did as he told me. As soon as I stepped into the boat, I immediately became ill-at-ease. It tilted with the shifting wake, and I never liked being off balance. Water soaked through my shorts, prickling the skin on my thighs. My breathing tightened again. Seven, four, seven, four. I watched the sky warm to a pale red reflecting in the water on the ripples. It’s true. They aren’t perfect, but they’re still beautiful. Exposure therapy: a term Clump liked to throw around a lot. I knew it was important for me to get better, but I kept putting it off. Getting better seems hard, far away, the future you imagine on the hopeful edge of sleep, but in the back of your mind know it will never find its way into reality. I dipped my fingers into the cool pink water, sweet on my chipped fingernails. I let them stay there for a solid amount of time. I didn’t count, just waited for my fingers to grow numb as I stared at my rosy reflection in the lake water. I tried to remember the second part of what Clump had said.

As he was finishing his sentiment, I remembered, I was watching a cardinal flick ice from the telephone wire, “Even if something disrupts the pattern, don’t let it upset you.

Nothing’s perfect, and that’s okay.”

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POINTS OF VIEW | AUGUST 2021

We Need to

"Cancel" Cancel Culture M

any parents of young children share the fear that their kids are too attached to technology. As a young adult, I’ve grown up during the technological explosion, rise of social media, and most importantly, the creation of a new toxic online culture. We call it Cancel Culture, and by stepping foot on any social media platform, you can fall victim to it.

Young children, possibly more than teenagers, spend time online. Their addiction to screens began earlier due to advancements in technology made in the past decade. You can’t walk into a grocery store nowadays without seeing a kid glued to his iPad screen. As this generation grows up, the online world will be just as important to them as the real one, and with it, the toxic culture will only increase.

Cancel Culture is, like the name suggests, when the entirety of the internet bands together to “cancel” someone after they make a mistake. This can result in a person, if famous, losing sponsorships, fans, and having to face the grueling eyes of the internet expecting an apology. Even the average person faces risks, losing their jobs or personal relationships as a result of being canceled. Sometimes this isn’t enough though, and the person will be outcast from their platform forever. Seems a bit extreme, right? But this is the way of the internet today: there’s always someone new added to the "canceled" list. What is this teaching the next generation that is growing up to learn that Cancel Culture is “normal?" Cancel Culture needs to end, and then maybe the internet will be a less toxic environment for young kids to interact in.

Cancel Culture is a lose-lose situation. The person being canceled has to endure the many effects of the internet essentially rejecting them, and the people doing the canceling are contributing to the toxic mindset that it’s okay to do this to people they don’t know. Young kids may not

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by Olivia Kilgus, Manchester, CT

understand or contribute completely to Cancel Culture, but by simply being on the internet, they can observe it firsthand, affecting their real lives. A New York Metro Parents article describes one child who was canceled in school the same way people are canceled on the internet, and their friends wouldn’t even talk to or look at them.

Cancel Culture is influencing the real world, and as childhood depression is on the rise, it contributes to inadequate mental health for all students by being a part of this toxic culture.

Cancel Culture discourages kids from expressing their opinions Dr. Pam Rultledge, a media psychologist, explains in her blog post that Cancel Culture discourages kids from expressing their opinions and standing up for others by encouraging polarization. It’s always an “us against them” mindset; anyone agreeing with the person being canceled is at risk of joining them as outcasts on the internet. It’s also long lasting; once the negative feeling toward the “canceled” arises, it doesn’t just go away, even if the person apologizes.

So again I ask, what is this teaching our kids? That growth is not okay? That we aren’t allowed to make mistakes? That we have to be perfect? This may be the current narrative, but it shouldn’t be.

Everyone messes up at some point, especially young children. They shouldn’t be publicly punished for it and not given the opportunity to change people’s minds. Forgiveness is an important skill kids need to learn, and Cancel Culture is encouraging the opposite. That’s not to say that people shouldn't be held accountable for their actions, because, on occasion,

somebody’s cancellation is justified.

However, the ability to grow and reform is just as important to recognize as punishing someone for their actions. The world is already negative enough, and we shouldn’t be bringing this negativity into the digital world. The internet can be a wonderful place, a chance to connect with people worldwide, and to share content and ideas.

We don’t need to hold people to such a high standard, because it’s okay to make mistakes. We all do it.

Cancel Culture doesn’t have to exist; we make it exist. And just as easily, we can make it disappear by contributing to a digital world full of praise and love. One small mistake doesn’t make someone a bad person, but Cancel Culture makes them feel as if they are. So to that I say, let’s cancel Cancel Culture.

Artwork by Ishareet Sohal, Sewell, NJ

POINTS OF VIEW | AUGUST 2021

A Girl's Right to

Education

by Sareen Yusuf, Lahore, Pakistan

T

Educating girls helps stimulate economic growth in Pakistani communities

he word education is defined as, “the process of imparting knowledge, skills and judgment between right and wrong.” In this day and age, education is an aspect that differentiates the success of human beings. Not only does it teach us skills and impart knowledge, it also teaches us how to live in a diverse society.

Over the past 15 years, reasonable economic growth and structural reforms have helped reduce poverty in Pakistan. However, regarding education, development outcomes remain mixed. Inequalities remain high and the record remains dismal. Almost 23 million children aged 5-16 years in Pakistan are not enrolled in schools – the world’s second highest number of out-of-school children. Illiteracy is a major issue, and geographic, socioeconomic, and gender disparities remain abominably high.

While many girls across the country are desperate to study, they are instead growing up without the education that would help them work toward a brighter future. Factors keeping girls out of school in Pakistan include the lack of schools, the poor quality of schools, prohibitive school fees, corporal punishment, and a failure to enforce compulsory education. In addition to these factors, girls are blocked from attending school by external factors including child labor, gender discrimination, child marriage, sexual harassment, and insecurity. By ninth grade, only 13% of girls are still in school. Despite these challenges, public spending on education is only about 3% of gross domestic product (GDP), much lower than other countries in the region.

Women only make up about 39% of the labor force in Pakistan. On average, women with primary education earn only 51% of what men earn in Pakistan. However, what both the government and people of this country need to realize is that educating girls helps stimulate economic growth in Pakistani communities. Increasing women’s education by just 1% would result in a 0.3% increase in economic growth. Developmental economists claim that female education will also help reduce the overflowing population of the country. Moreover, educating women is also a good way to increase their self-respect.

Education also benefits a woman's (and her family’s) level of health as it enhances her awareness in regard to a healthy lifestyle.

Photo by Derek Peng, Ames, IA

There is much that can be done to improve the dire situation of the country. By broadening and deepening reforms, Pakistan could reach the millions of girls who currently get no schooling, thereby improving participation rates in school education at all levels. Targeted investments and programs could improve completion rates and learning levels and help educate girls around the country.

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TRAVEL & CULTURE | AUGUST 2021

Little

Neck

by Anonymous, Reading, MA

Photo by Maxwell Selver, Tenafly, NJ

F

amily, friendship and tradition. These are the things that are close to my heart and bring about the best memories and stories. This story begins a long, long time ago, in 1970 to be exact, in a little town named Ipswich, Massachusetts. My grandfather Frederick R. Kelley and his wife, Maryalice Kelley, were out for an afternoon drive. Leaving the city and heading up the coast was a nice treat for them. Along the way they discovered a small peninsula along the Ipswich River dotted with tiny cottages, fishing shacks, and clam digger camps. Little Neck is named after the special Ipswich clams which coincidentally have short necks.

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As they drove around, they decided this would be a great place to bring their children and future generations. However, they were a young couple at the time and did not have a lot of money. So, they put their home ownership dreams on hold and decided to rent on Little Neck for the first couple of seasons. After several years of saving and working hard, my grandparents were able to pull together the $13,000 to buy a little green cottage, their dream escape. This is where my story begins. This is a story filled with crazy characters, annual traditions, and friendship. This is also a story about a tight-knit little community where people have

TRAVEL & CULTURE | AUGUST 2021 strange nicknames and even stranger backstories to their lives.

Every summer the community hires a couple of teenagers to run the “coach” program. Little Neck kids can got to coach every day at the park. There is pick-up basketball, capture the flag, base running, predator prey, and my favorite – four square. Every morning there is a camp run by two coaches where all kids ages three to 18 go over to the ballpark from nine in the morning until noon. This is great so that the parents can relax and have free time when their kids are over at that park playing games such as dodge-ball kickball, and even red-rover. In the afternoons, there are swimming lessons.

These lessons are very important if you live on Little Neck! Some

If you live on Little Neck, you better be a good swimmer … the currents are strong and swift days, swimming lessons are at the beach and some days they are at the dock – it all depends on the tide. If you live on Little Neck, you better be a good swimmer and not afraid of the water. The currents are strong and swift. So strong that we have an annual “float” down. This is one of our traditions. In August, the whole community comes to float down the river in memory of Mrs. Watson, who used to float in the river every day until she died. She wore a silly shower cap and said the water was good therapy for aches and pains. So, we all wear silly shower caps and head down the dock to “float.”

This annual memorial float can be scary, with hundreds of people in the water and the tide pulling you so fast that you might just bump into a boat on a mooring. You have to be alert and pay attention.

Eventually, the community started to have a boat cop to watch us float down the river so no one would hit us or come close to us with their boats. Which brings me back to swimming lessons and coach.

Like I said, you want to be a good swimmer if you live here; it is in your best interest for survival.

Another interesting tradition on the Neck is Irish Night. Now, not everyone is Irish but for one night a summer we all are. It is very interesting that we have Irish Night but no Italian Night or a French Night. This tradition was started by Big Mike and his father Johnny Jigs. As I said, Little Neck is filled with characters with funny nicknames. Big Mike and Johnny Jigs had the idea to start a fundraiser for the community. As the name implies, Big Mike is one of the biggest guys I have ever seen. His personality matches his size. Sometimes the community needs money to repair the playground or the parking lots. So, they started an Irish Night raffle. Selling only 100 tickets for $100 a piece, the raffle raised over $10,000 for the community. This helps out the kids and the coaches program a lot. The only problem is, Irish Night tends to get pretty rowdy. There is lots of beer drinking and rowdy Irish music. So of course, we put Big Mike at the door to make sure no one gets out of hand. Johnny Jigs looks just like his name sounds, like a little leprechaun. He was in charge of the money and the raffle prizes. If you can picture Johnny Jigs running around in a green outfit with handfuls of cash prizes then you have a good idea of what Irish

Night is all about. Irish night is an event held once a summer and this is usually the parents' favorite night because they all party and bond with each other.

As my sister and I grew up, my parents were torn between where they would spend their summer vacation. Little Neck is where my Mom grew up and where she spent most of her summers as a child.

She was really not open to going anywhere else. My dad's side, on the other hand, would spend their summers at the world famous Hampton Beach. You probably can’t find two places any more different than Little Neck and Hampton Beach. Where Little Neck is quiet and slow paced, Hampton is loud and bustling. Little Neck is on the racing Ipswich River with a swift current and Hampton Beach has the large rolling waves and wide sandy beach. At night, you can find families by their campfires on Little Neck whereas at Hampton Beach families are walking the strip or stopping into the video arcades. In Little Neck there are no restaurants, nowhere to get a piece of the world famous Blinks Fried Dough, my Dad’s favorite. Instead of buying cottages, my father's family has rented two cottages owned and operated by the same people who own my dad's favorite restaurant, McGuirks. The McGuirks were always so close to my dad and his fellow family members as they all lived around each other in this cottage complex. So, the decision was a tough one. Where would they spend their summers? Would they stay on the quiet, family-oriented little island of Little Neck or go to the bustling, busy streets of Hampton Beach? I am happy to say they have figured out a way to do both. Even though we own a house in Little Neck, we still take day trips to Hampton.

Mary, Lainie and Ruthie – these are the queens of Little Neck. They are the grandmothers of some of the biggest families on the Neck, and they have some funny traditions of their own. Every Tuesday morning is coffee hour for the ladies. If you bring $1 and your own mug you can drink as much coffee, eat as much pastry, and fill up on as much gossip as you can handle. When I was young, my friends and I were a little mischievous, and I always felt like the ladies at coffee hour were talking about us. There are about 40 women who go to this coffee hour every week. They rotate who is going to host week to week. Along with coffee hour, they have knitting club, book club, Monday lunch, and sometimes even Thursday cocktail hour. I think the average age for women in this club is 70years old and they are mostly widows. They have a great time together, a lot of laughs, and they share a lot of gossip.

Every summer I hear people say “We should write a book about this place,” or “You can’t make this stuff up.” Maybe it’s because we are together during summer and everyone is in a good mood, but it constantly feels like someone is celebrating something. When summer comes to an end it can be very sad and depressing. But it’s nice to know that we have somewhere to return to, somewhere traditions exist and live on, and somewhere that grandchildren and grandparents can make wonderful memories together. This is the place where I have met all my best friends and have made so many connections that I will have for the rest of my life. I am so grateful for my grandparents for finding this place.

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TRAVEL & CULTURE | AUGUST 2021 Photo by Cristina Pak, Vienna, VA

My Experience with the

St. Louis Arch

by Tracie Gray, Noshotah, WI

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TRAVEL & CULTURE | AUGUST 2021

M

y heart sank to my feet. I was the only hand objecting.

We’re going up to the Gateway Arch since majority rules,” said the leader of the mission group I attended.

My group members cheered and eagerly urged the group to hurry into the building to purchase tickets while I stood motionless. My sweaty neck craned, looking at the tippy top of the St. Louis arch while the sun was at its highest. I clutched my camera in my hands.

Eventually I was removed from my shell-shock and dragged along by my boyfriend to catch up with the rest of my group. After our tickets were distributed, we were on our way into the building which would take us towards the elevator.

Fortunately for me, this building had a whole museum filled with aged, framed papers and ideas. One specific area was designated for the design of the St. Louis Arch and the architecture behind it.

It eased my nerves being distracted by my group members and the steady flow of people in awe.

I silently begged them to walk more softly in fear that the floor might collapse solid marble floor. I felt the safety of the ground rush through my feet.

As much as I feared the wriggling piece of sky metal, I was proud I could even get up into the air.

I smiled with leftover adrenaline and exuberance. I rejoined my rowdy youth group.

Laughs and jokes blended together: “Can we do it once more before we leave?”

My heart sank to my feet. I was the only hand objecting.

The fate timer ticked its last tock, and it was time to join the line of animated faces. We were handed a plastic red number while a lady with pulled-back blonde hair gave everyone a rundown. Anxiously, I ran my finger over every gash and scratch engraved on our number three film – I was anything but excited. My stomach felt like a home for angry butterflies.

Ponytail lady gave us a final chant and the elevator doors opened like a space shuttle awaiting for its spaceman. Our group split up, filling one row of pods. I chose an elevator pod with my boyfriend and the two identical twins from our group. My arm rigidly clutched my boyfriend's arm while the two members sat next to me fearless.

The elevator moved with a jerk, then gears turned angrily. Whatever I was feeling before was nothing in comparison to the intensified adrenaline racing in my bloodstream.

After a painstaking several minutes of the pod elevator hoisting us to the top, we made it. I took my first step off the elevator and saw the tough, boxy plastic windows patterned on both sides of me. I made the executive decision that I had to sit down. Immediately.

The beating footsteps of strangers walking and admiring the view made me insane. I silently begged them to walk more softly in fear the floor might collapse.

The camera around my neck weighed on my shoulders, and I realized I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere close to the windows without feeling dizzy. It’s almost as if my boyfriend was in my head; he reached out his hand kindly and offered to take photos for me.

I agreed and gave him my camera, lecturing him about its expense. I watched him go from window to window, clicking and zooming while I sat as still as I could, thinking it might help keep the arch steady.

I thanked him generously as he handed back my camera riddled with various angled pictures. I happily clicked through them.

After what felt like hours in the arch, our time was up. I was never as happy as I was that day to get into a claustrophobic metal pod.

While everyone regrouped, I was too busy soaking up the feeling of

Photo by Reese Low, Demarest, NJ 25

TRAVEL & CULTURE | AUGUST 2021

The

(Un) Restroom

by Bill Yan, Craryville, NY

Photo by Emily Taylor, Hackettstown, NJ

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TRAVEL & CULTURE | AUGUST 2021

T

he world is kind of a big place.

To many people, their country, or even just their state or city, is their entire world – even though there are 200 million square miles of land on this planet. To many people, how things are done where they live is how things are done everywhere.

I had unknowingly lived by the same assumption until I encountered The Toilet.

The summer of 2019 was different from all the summers that had preceded it because I was actually going somewhere just to enjoy life, one-on-one with my dad. Previously, I had spent the entire summer at camps and hadn’t left the US until 2018, when we had to go to Hong Kong to renew some complicated legal stuff and decided to tack on a journey through China to see some relatives. That trip was an eye-opening experience for me. My 10-year-old mind finally realized summer’s potential and its possibilities beyond staying home and attending some random summer camps nearby. This time, I was venturing into a new, alien land. I had at least known what to expect when visiting China – I mean, I lived there for five years. Europe was sure to be a whole different story.

We had left Venice and were looping around the Eastern front of Europe en route to Berlin, our final destination. The drive would take nearly 15 hours and way too many old Cantonese songs. (I have no idea where my dad’s obsession with '80s and '90s Cantonese pop came from. He doesn’t understand Cantonese, yet he listens to these songs daily). We had just crossed the border into Slovakia, and I really needed to relieve myself. We pulled over at a gas station, and I rushed to the restrooms.

I was met by a dirty gray turnstile that demanded I pay a euro to use the lavatory.

Now, keep in mind, this wasn’t the first time I’d been met with this strange, urban creature. I’d seen plenty of turnstiles in my daily life as a New Yorker and didn’t expect this one would be different from others I’d encountered so far in Europe. Turns out, the turnstile served a much more sinister purpose than I could’ve ever dreamed of.

I deposited my euro into the turnstile, and a machine printed a ticket that I hastily stuffed in my pocket. I strolled into the bathroom, humming a tune, acting casual, and trying to deter any potential thieves,

which was actually one of my biggest concerns in this foreign land. There were one or two men in polos using the urinals, and a rhythmic plop plop quickly assured me that I knew what another man was doing in a toilet stall. I found a fairly clean urinal that seemed safely distanced from the men and began to relieve myself.

The last thing I needed was two Slovokian muscle men to force me out of a bathroom I stared at the wall, calculating with annoyance how much longer this leg of the road trip would take. The men in polos left as I flushed my urinal. I looked in the mirror, checked my teeth, and used the water to rinse off some sauce I discovered had been stuck on my face from my lunch. (Thanks for not telling me, Dad.) I’d finished drying my face and was nearly done drying my hands when I heard an ominous beeping noise. It sounded like my morning alarm, and gradually got louder.

My first thought was that it must’ve been some weird European ringtone for the guy in the stall’s phone, and did not pay much attention to it. I finished drying my hands while humming, but after a couple seconds of beeping, I grew concerned. The guy in the stall grunted and gasped in confusion, and that was when I knew something was wrong. My first thought after noticing his confusion was that it was most likely a bomb, as literally every action movie I’d ever watched would suggest.

I took a breath. No, that can’t be it. Those are just movies. No one plants bombs in bathrooms in real life. Besides, there’s no one around that’s important enough to assassinate. Unless … Maybe this is a terrorist attack? Or ... maybe the man in the stall is actually an important enough man to kill … ? I just stood there, scaring myself with my own thoughts, until I forced myself to be rational. Chances are, I assured myself, that someone important enough to be assassinated probably wouldn’t be using some old, half broken-down bathroom in a random gas station in the middle of Slovakia.

I still had no idea what this beeping was, so I just stood there, when two buff guys with scary names riddled with Ds, Rs, and Is on their employee badges into the restroom and started pounding their fists on the poor man’s stall. They both looked like they were in their late forties, maybe early fifties. They both wore big frowns and some light gray stubble that made them look like they really had come out of a spy movie to assassinate someone.

I heard the man in the stall pull his pants up and watched as he awkwardly waddled out of the toilet stall, pants falling, belt unbuckled. He and the men had what sounded like a guttural rap-battle. It was as if I were an alien, observing a primitive species barter about the simple, human right to poop — which, when I think about it, was kind of what was happening. I considered leaving the three guys to do their business, but frozen by a mixture of shock, confusion, and curiosity, I stood there, watching two guys yell at a gesticulating man with his pants half down.

The debate between them gradually got more heated, until finally, the man in the stall went to the turnstile and deposited another euro. The machine beeped and printed another ticket. The poor fellow hung his head in shame as he trudged back into the stall. He stopped to look at me for a moment with his sad, guilty eyes, in what almost seemed to be a warning.

This was a dangerous place, kid, his eyes seemed to say. Get outta here while you still can. I stood there, unmoving, then slowly started to make my way to the door.

The two men who had barged into the bathroom walked out muttering to each other, making wild hand gestures and talking in an annoyed tone. I stepped out of my way to let them go. The last thing I needed was for two Slovokian muscle men to force me out of a bathroom with my pants down. After the two men had passed, and I decided that I was safe, I took one last look at the ashamed man who was heading back to the stall, then decided that it was my turn to go. I opened the door and hurried back to rejoin my dad in the car, making sure that I had some extra coins in my pocket, just in case.

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TRAVEL & CULTURE | AUGUST 2021

Photo by Lauren Bartel, Coral Gables, FL

Where I

Stand

I

t has been nine months since I last stood on Siloso Beach.

This location started off as the destination of an impulsive adventure, a journey with a goal as simple as “somewhere we can see the ocean” and gradually evolved into something much more. I can still remember the afternoon when we first decided to go to Siloso Beach.

The hot tropical sun blazed as we stumbled through the unfamiliar city. Google Maps was confusing as ever; it led us through small bushes and large shopping malls. We eventually sat on the tourist train, and the whole of Sentosa gradually unraveled itself in front of our eyes.

The sea was a peculiar shade of green and blue. As the train moved on, the scenarios developed like fast-changing stop motion pictures. From the bustling VivoCity mall, to skyscrapers, to the busy harbors packed with heavy ships full of cargo. After the harbors came the renowned Universal Studio where countless people swarmed around Princess Fiona’s castle and screamed on the Egyptian Mummy-themed roller coaster trying desperately to spark their already graying childhood memory.

We got off at the third station according to the broadcast in which a cheerful male voice kept repeating “Welcome to Sentosa!”

The journey took us nearly two hours. When we reached the beach, the sky was already darkening. Eventually, it was hard to tell the color of the waves in the dimness. All six of us sat casually on the beach. Behind us, the neon lights of beach bars blazed gaudily on, reflecting off wine glasses and casting pretty shadows on the slippery

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sand. The jovial laughter of girls in bikinis were louder by the minute, encouraged by cordial jokes under the influence of the liquid in their transparent cocktail glasses.

In front of us, far in the darkening sea, the lighthouse stood like a solitary being. The light was white instead of green, so I guess Gatsby wasn’t standing on the other side of the dock. As we sat there, in the fine gap between two different worlds, I felt like I fit right in. After nine months, like a migrating bird, I am visiting this Siloso Beach again.

A lot of things happened during the nine months, but few deserve to be remembered. The Corona-virus deaths around the world, and political tension between China and America dominated most of the headlines. Exams, nostalgia, and “The Great Gatsby” dominated me. A lot of things changed, but a lot remained the same. I have convinced myself to try to accept and even like this country.

For me, Sentosa is a place where I feel like I have traveled to a new country. The diversity of races and languages being used by people from all over the world always makes Singapore seem a bit distant. It is as though I haven’t already lived here for a year, but that I am just a casual passerby in this land, just like the rest of the crowd.

It is only when the uncertainty rises and I am being pressed up against the window in the tourist train due to a large number of people that a fit of anxiety comes back to me.

With the opening and closing of the doors, people rush in and rush out, eager to see the view or eager to get back where they came from. Looking at the bigger

by Yifei Wang, Singapore

The diversity of races and languages being used by people from all over the world always makes Singapore seem a bit distant picture, the same thing can also be said for Singapore. The country itself is like a harbor, attracting foreigners from all over the world. Everyone has their own reasons to board the harbor and they all come with an excited heart. For some, this will be a place to stay. But for the others, this is just a place for refreshments before they drift off to their next destination.

Feeling the swell of anticipation in my heart, the train turns a corner and I see the familiar piece of landscape. Siloso Beach during the day has lost some of the mysterious nature that it possesses during the night. But somehow, instead of being disappointed, I feel content happiness that can only be sparked by the overwhelming sense of familiarity. It is a feeling that has been lacking for such a long time that my breaths come out short and ragged when I tentatively feel the sand beneath my bare feet.

Facing the vast and seemingly endless ocean, I can feel tranquility engulfing me like a much-needed blanket on a cold winter night.

So I close my eyes and laugh.

Artwork by Zakia Irfan, Ottawa, ON, Canada

Photo by Lydia Quattrochi, Somonauk, IL

Artwork by Elizabeth Zheng, Dresher, PA 29

IDENTITY | AUGUST 2021 Artwork by Ruma Poudell, Sacramento, CA

An Outsider

Living in a Bubble

by Natalie Misri, San Juan Capistrano, CA

Y

ou are a terrorist!” the white, well-dressed little girls screamed.

My cheeks bright red, I sheepishly shoved my traditional Arabic lunch back into my bag at lightning speed.

I was mortified as giggling girls in my predominantly white kindergarten class plugged their noses, complaining of my “disgustingly smelly food” and dimwitted Arab nature. To them, a petite, young, brown-haired girl – a broad three feet, nine inches and whopping 46 pounds, wearing Bermuda shorts and a tank top – seemed deathly threatening. Confused by my full lunch when I returned home that night, my mom asked if there was something wrong with her cooking. I proclaimed that I only wanted “American food” from there on out. I painstakingly choked down peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of the year and wore trendy clothes from Justice – which in my opinion were hideous.

I not only attempted to hide my culture and appear as “American” as possible, but saw it as a source of embarrassment. Growing up with two traditional, Catholic Arab parents, I felt like a black sheep in society.

And also in my family. Their strict parenting

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styles juxtaposed the lax ways my friends were raised, never allowing me to have sleepovers, cross the street by myself, or stay out past curfew. This feeling of being trapped and ashamed of my family and my culture continued for years. My parents began to notice that I stopped inviting them to school events or bringing friends home for fear of being affiliated with their full, rich, accent-thick, loud voices.

To them, a petite, young, brownhaired girl … seemed deathly threatening This was more than a decade ago; I was just an innocent little girl struggling with my identity, not knowing the reasons for such hatred. It was in the screams of my fellow peers that I first began to know the unwieldy inheritance I’d come into – the ability to broaden the tunnel vision ideals

of my culture. It was clear the inherently white little girls equated themselves with victims in the presence of a gunman, a killer, or worse. My self-esteem was suffering; I was stalking sleep. I would stay up throughout the night crying and anxiously worrying about the next day. Who would include me at lunch without being judged? I felt as delicate as a shadow, and being equated with a terrorist holding a gun and taking the lives of others made me feel humiliated and disgusted all at once. I felt that no one knew me at all. It was clear that I was an outcast within my community and in my school. As soon as I realized that I was perceived as this “terrorist” or “parasite” or “unwanted species,” I wanted to make a change.

My perspective shifted when my dad told me the poignant story of his journey leaving Syria. Seventeen years old and so poor his family could barely afford food, he felt determined to create a better life for himself. Finding opportunities in Syria limited and witnessing siblings living the same impoverished lifestyle as his parents, he went to the Syrian embassy six hours away to get a visa, and he was one of the

IDENTITY | AUGUST 2021

few who received permission to leave.

Leaving behind everything he knew, my dad went from not speaking a lick of English to becoming a successful engineer who provides for his three children and wife.

This filled me with inexplicable pride in my father and culture. Ten years later, my first time away from my hometown, I traveled to Lebanon – the “Paris” of the Middle East. I took in the greenery, the food, the music, and the people … and I became thoroughly familiar with what it means to be an Arab, and also what it means to be in danger. In that time, traveling out of the country and experiencing life within my culture made me proud; yet the endless checkpoints and guards with guns bigger than myself broadened my real feelings of fright, of terror, of panic, of intimidation, and most of all, of death. During my stay, however, I grew accustomed to (but never comfortable with) being in a car. As crazy as it sounds, Lebanon has no traffic lights, no lanes, and roads made of dirt with potholes so dangerous that it can flip one’s lid. Then, there were the standard unpleasantries with the excessive poverty – bombed buildings, no efficient water systems, pollution, those who are ill, an ocean too

I became thoroughly familiar with what it means to be an Arab, but also what it means to be in danger contaminated to swim in. But worst of all, kids younger than me and deathly thin begging and banging on moving car doors asking for money to simply survive.

I think back to those kids often and vividly remember the pain on their faces. How people so youthful could find nothing but joy out of a few dollars. How this thirdworld country is so harsh that people are starving. How the opportunity in Lebanon is so faint, that we lose the faint of heart.

I am glad to be different and would not want it any other way I realized that America only pays attention to superficial cultural nuances and ignores their specifics. Considering individual differences among members of my culture in America is often not acknowledged, and people’s narrow visions and one-sided point of views of the downsides of my culture are quickly associated with me. I am trapped in a two-dimensional frame – being called a terrorist and therefore becoming “un-American.” My dad, now a citizen of the United States, described this feeling of “not belonging” to American society.

the most endearing way of saying “you are always welcome.” In other words, “whatever is mine is yours.” It is this kind of hospitality that is rare to find nowadays, and is what truly sets me apart from the typical American culture.

Evidently, I was raised in the same way my parents were raised. I have grown to find joy and love in helping others, which is why I want to become a doctor. Growing up, I always felt different; however, now I realize my race and ethnicity are actually the foundation of who I am and who I want to become. I am glad to be different and would not want it any other way. Now, I no longer hide my culture. I embrace it and eagerly share it with others. A source of embarrassment became a tool for me to better connect with and inform others.

Artwork by Evelyn Brown, Murfreesboro, TN

Living in California all my life, I have always been judged. There will always be stories of conflict in the Middle East, in the media, on Twitter, and on the news. I understand, of course, the danger Americans perceive us to be. Yet, these one-sided stories are just a small glimpse of an entire culture, masking the pure beauty of what it can be.

Yet, these truths are no solace against the kind of alienation that comes from being an accomplice, a murderer, a victim.

Over the years, I learned to smother the rage I felt at being taken for a terrorist. Not doing so would surely have led to insanity.

I now take precautions. I have found my balance between retaining the way I was raised and intertwining it within the American society I live in. I do this to save myself. I am calm, congenial, and a spirited Arab American.

I know now that my race defines me as being different from Americans and other ethnicities. It was evident at an early age that my diverse background would lead me to a life of embracing my differences and helping others in need.

My parents are grateful to live in a free country. They constantly give back as a part of the “pay it forward” nature they were raised to have. In my culture, we have a phrase in Arabic, ahlan wa sahlan, which is

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SPORTS | AUGUST 2021

Photo by Michael Zordani, Oconomowoc, WI

Mismanagement, Minor League Problems,

and My Master Plan To Fix Them

by Adam Pohl, Brookhaven, GA

M

ajor League Baseball has a serious problem. It’s not pace of play, as commissioner Rob Manfred would have you believe. It’s not blackout restrictions, and it’s not a lack of nationally recognized superstars. Sure, those issues may have stunted the growth of the sport to younger audiences, when compared with the booming popularity of basketball and football. But while Manfred has instituted changes to begin combating those problems, the real issue isn’t something that the owners, whom Manfred represents, have any interest in changing. The force behind the “baseball is dying” trope is owners who care more about money than winning. It’s hard to believe that the allure of a World Series title isn’t enough incentive, but many of these billionaire owners who are too cheap to build a winning team couldn’t care less.

The practice of buying a team simply as a business investment is unfortunately all too common in the sport, and it’s killing the game. There is no better example of a team prioritizing money over winning in recent years than the Colorado Rockies, who have had only two winning seasons in the past 10. Year after year, the team falls short, yet their upper-level management – most notably owner Dick Monfort and seven-year Rockies general manager Jeff Bridich — has refused to improve the team and sign meaningful free agents. This is now more apparent than ever, with the embarrassing trade of superstar third baseman Nolan Arenado from Colorado to St. Louis this offseason. Arenado was perhaps the best thing to happen to the Rockies in recent history, as he ascended through their minor league system to turn into the five-time All-Star and eight-time Gold Glove winner

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The force behind the 'baseball is dying' trope is owners who care more about money than winning that we now know. So when Bridich built an opt-out clause into Arenado’s extended contract, so that the phenom would be encouraged to leave town just three years into his eight-year $260 million contract, and subsequently traded him before the opt-out could even be reached, it became more and more clear that winning wasn’t a priority of Colorado’s management, so long as Monfort’s pocketbook didn’t get any lighter. The resulting trade saw the Rockies sending Arenado, along with $15 million to the Cardinals for a lackluster package of prospects, shocking the baseball world.

That’s right, Bridich paid $15 million to get rid of the Rockies’ homegrown generational talent. This kind of transaction shouldn’t happen. Simply put, the fans deserve better. But until a radical change is instituted, owners like Monfort will continue to dampen the sport’s potential.

1. The Solution. I would not call myself a soccer fan. I watch the World Cup every four years, and I indulge in the occasional highlight that ends up in my social media feed. However, there is one aspect of the European football leagues that has interested me for years: relegation.

Relegation is the process by which teams can be transferred between leagues depending on their performance. At the

conclusion of each season, the lowest placed teams in a league are consigned to the division below, while the best teams are promoted to a higher division.

This system brings with it two critical benefits that Major League Baseball, and American sports in general, are lacking.

By punishing clubs that underperform, teams have a significantly increased incentive to improve. In avoiding spending to improve their team, owners would risk an even larger cost: being forced out of their league entirely. And on top of this, relegation provides excitement at the very bottom of leagues among teams that would otherwise be playing for very little by the end of the season. But this practice has two major problems in the context of the MLB. A system of leagues in the mold of English football couldn’t exist in America because Major League Baseball holds a legal monopoly on professional baseball, dating back to 1922 when the Supreme Court ruled that the business of baseball was exempt from the Sherman Antitrust Act. This exemption has allowed the league to assign teams exclusive rights to their home market, therefore legally preventing unaffiliated leagues from moving into their territory. But wait — there is still more than just one level of professional baseball. Why couldn’t the MLB institute a new system of relegation and promotion in collaboration with the Minor Leagues? This comes down to the matter of affiliation. Because while leagues below the majors exist, from Triple-A, just one step below the Show, to Low-A, which mostly contains young players drafted directly out of high school, every last team in these lower leagues is affiliated with an MLB organization. This is simply due to the nature of baseball, where prospects need significantly more time to

SPORTS | AUGUST 2021 develop than basketball or football players, many of whom can become professional superstars directly out of college. More simply, teams at different levels of professional baseball are bound together under one front office with the goal of developing players. So it just wouldn’t work to relegate and promote within baseball until the ties between Major League teams and their Minor League affiliates are severed. But I still think it’s possible.

2. The Master Plan. By fate, karma, or some kind of sorcery, I have been crowned GodEmperor of American baseball. My word is law, and baseball’s owners bend to my will — don’t worry, I only have good intentions.

It’s finally time to introduce relegation to Major League Baseball, and I’m going to completely overhaul the Minor Leagues while I’m at it. I’m going to all this trouble for one reason: to fix the problem of teams not playing to win. But this same problem persists within the minors for a different reason. With their objective of developing young talent, winning takes the backseat.

Is this a bad thing? Not necessarily. With the system currently in place, this practice gives young players the best chance to find success and reach the majors. However, it’s hard to be a Minor League fan when your team doesn’t have winning in mind.

But as God-Emperor, I intend to make winning a priority again, even while increasing a minor leaguer’s ability to have a fruitful career. The process might take years, but the result will be worth it.

My first step will be to end Major League Baseball’s stance as a monopoly, before cutting the ties between Major League affiliates. Triple-A, Double-A, and the rest of the minor leagues’ teams will be financially stimulated to jumpstart their separation from their affiliate and become members of fully autonomous and functional professional baseball leagues.

Their seasons will resemble the majors, but with some changes. Lower leagues will play fewer games and potentially have a pitch limit, in order to prevent the overstressing of young players, particularly pitchers, now that the teams are autonomous and playing to win.

While the process of separating MLB teams from their Minor League affiliates will admittedly be unfair in the short term to Major League teams with better farm

systems, it will be crucial to the longevity and health of the sport, causing a massive increase in fan interest in the on-field product of the lower leagues. Not only will winning become important once again with the promised prize of promotion to a higher league, a team and its fans will no longer live with the fear that its star player will be called up to a higher level affiliate simply because that team suffered an injury and needs a replacement. Minor League cities like Indianapolis, Jacksonville, and Las Vegas, will now have a reason to embrace their teams.

This increased fan interest will begin fueling a self-sufficient machine, as increased attendance and viewership will cause minor league profits to soar. This, in turn, will solve yet another horrifying problem of Minor League Baseball.

Currently, minor leaguers are paid shockingly low salaries: the average income of a minor leaguer for the first seven years of their career is only ~$7,000 per year. They have to deal with awful living conditions and food, in addition to working part-time jobs on top of the full-time workload of the baseball season, all so they can have a shot at one day making a Major League roster.

But as minor league teams become autonomous and grow in popularity, baseball players will finally be able to earn a living wage in the minors and even potentially have the ability to play an entire Minor League career for a reasonable salary without ever necessarily making big money by reaching the majors. And with increased pay, the quality of play will increase, as players will now be able to devote their offseasons to training, as opposed to working multiple jobs.

Interleague transactions will be allowed, but limited to the offseason to maintain the competitive integrity of the season. My new system will resemble college baseball in this way—while teams may lose their stars at the end of the year, they will still play a full competitive season with the team. This will end the players’ nightmare of service time manipulation, as a player’s clock to become a free agent will begin as soon as they enter any professional league, not just the majors.

The MLB draft will no longer be necessary, as individual teams will take up the role of recruitment and player development, and rosters will be expanded to compensate for

the loss of teams’ minor league prospect pools.

Interleague transactions will become the primary way that Major League teams acquire new young talent. MLB teams will end up trading large sums for minor league prospects in the offseason, which will in turn fuel Minor League teams’ own player development. At first, large market teams like New York and Los Angeles will see an advantage as they shell out cash for prospects more ambitiously, but small market owners will be forced to narrow the gap in order to compete and escape the threat of relegation. In this way, a kind of trickle-down economics may just work.

So now let’s take a step back and assess the situation. Is this new system good for the players? Absolutely. By increasing minor league salaries, many players will already be thrilled. Some players might not love being stuck in one league for an entire season as they attempt to climb to the majors, but the promise of becoming a free agent sooner and avoiding service time manipulation will be well worth it.

Is this system good for the fans? In the long term, yes. While fans of MLB teams might gripe about the immediate power imbalance, just as fans complained about the expansion drafts of 1992 and 1997, the changes will ultimately increase the popularity and excitement of the sport.

Additionally, fans in Minor League cities will now have real, competitive baseball within their reach.

Is it good for the owners? Well, no, not if their intent was to make money. But the point was to incentivize owners to stop running baseball like a business, after all. Besides, who knows — in the long run, owners might actually reap benefits from the increased popularity of the sport.

At the end of the day, baseball is a game. It looks completely different from any other sport, and I wouldn’t want it to be any other way. At times, we take it deathly seriously, but the fact is, the goal of baseball is to have fun. The owners who disregard that fact make it worse for everyone.

And as I watch the changes unfold from my throne while an attendant feeds me ballpark nachos, I’ll reflect on how baseball was saved by becoming more like soccer.

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Photo by Ritisha Mukherjee, Mumbai, India 34

AUTHOR INTERVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

Author

Interviews

Artwork by Ashley Jun, Shorthills, NJ

Miel Moreland Author of

It Goes Like This Interview by Luka Todorovic, Rochester, MI Hello Reader, My name is Luka, and I had the honor of interviewing Miel Moreland about her Young Adult debut novel, It Goes Like This. This book is about four LGBTQ+ teens that break up their world-famous band after a falling out but are brought back together after a storm devastates their town. The book explores two major themes: growing through evolving relationships and the representation of LGBTQ+ people in a positive light. What makes this book even more special is that the plot doesn’t focus on bigotry toward the LGBTQ+ community, which has been seen time and time again in literature. It was an absolute pleasure and honor to work with Moreland and Books Forward on this interview, and as an LGBTQ+ teen myself, I am grateful for the inclusion and normalcy that is displayed in this book.

Sincerely, Luka T. Luka: Did you fear any or have you received any backlash from writing this book about queer teens?

Miel Moreland: "I haven’t received any backlash yet — or if there has been, I haven’t seen it! I don’t search my name or read Goodreads reviews, so there might be some small grumbles floating around, but nothing that’s reached my attention. I know it frequently happens to queer writers, and I’ve mentally prepared for this to occur in the future. I wouldn’t frame it as something I was 'afraid' of going into the publishing process, as I feel supported and protected by my publishing team and other queer writers."

Did you face any initial rejection for this book idea?

"It depends on what you mean by initial! Like every other writer, not every agent I queried wanted to represent me, and not every editor to whom we submitted the manuscript wanted to buy it. But

all of that occurred within very normal time frames or numbers for publishing, so I don’t see it as rejection so much as part of the process for finding a publishing team that was a good fit for me and my book."

What inspired you to write this book?

"I was inspired by so many different threads of life and culture! It Goes Like This is about a broken-up band, so I was heavily inspired by music and fan culture. I also had questions about ambition and how friendships change as we grow up, so I wrote some possibilities into the book."

Is there any message that you hope readers gain from the book?

"One message I hope readers gain is one I am always trying to remember myself: it’s okay to change your mind, and more than once. You can decide to quit; you can decide to try again; you can decide to try something entirely different. Related to that, I hope readers gain comfort in seeing that friendships can change over time. Sometimes, we’re not able to be good friends, for a variety of reasons. But we can change, and our friends can change, and if we make space for those changes, friendships can (sometimes!) redevelop stronger than before."

It is very uncommon to write a book about LGBTQ+ characters, much less with the plot residing away from bigotry. This kind of normalcy is rarely seen in the real world. Was that a factor in why you wrote this book?

"Yes! I wanted to write a book where queer teens could, for the most part, have the weight of bigotry taken off their shoulders. I think it’s important that YA novels exist that do represent the pain, uncertainty, and violence that so often faces queer people, but I also believe that there should be a full range of queer books — and that means some books that focus on queer joy. It was important to me to write a book in which the problems do not come from bigotry, but primarily from other sources. We spend so much time worrying about queerphobia crashing down: that’s not this book."

How do you fit writing into your daily routine?

"I don’t write daily! How I incorporate writing into my week shifts

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AUTHOR INTERVIEWS | AUGUST 2021 with every season, semester, or job. Lately, that looks like carving out a couple of hours after work two or three days a week, plus a longer chunk of time one weekend day. Mentally, I need to have time to rest, to take care of the rest of my life, and to spend time (even virtually) with friends and family. Setting myself up to write every day would be setting myself up to fail — and I’d rather set myself up for success. Under this routine, I’m setting a clear intention for times when writing takes precedence over everything, while acknowledging that other areas of my life need time as well."

Are there any aspects of the book that reflect your personal life (people, past events, etc.)?

"Other than the band’s musical style and the music references included in the book (which primarily reflect my own musical taste), the setting was the element most heavily influenced by my life. I grew up in Minnesota but attended college in Los Angeles County;

the book of course is primarily set in Duluth, Minnesota, with a handful of chapters in Los Angeles. I enjoyed being able to include places I’ve been in both states — both lives — in the novel."

If you could tell LGBTQ+ teens anything, what would you want them to know?

"You are wonderful exactly as you are. Of course, exactly who you are or who you understand yourself to be may change over time — you don't have to know everything right now. No one is entitled to know your truths; your safety matters more than anyone's curiosity."

Click here to purchase It Goes Like This!

To view Miel Moreland's website, visit: https://www.mielmoreland.com

J. Elle

Author of

Wings of Ebony Interview by Aishah Daiyan, Hollis, NY J. Elle was born in Houston, Texas, and is a first-generation college student with a bachelor's in journalism and MA in educational administration and human development. An advocate for marginalized voices in both publishing and her community.

Wings of Ebony, Elle's debut novel, follows the story of Rue through the fantasy world of Ghizon as she fights against evil to save the community she loves.

Aishah: Rue is a complex, pragmatic character who has dealt with many hardships in her life, much of which the average person wouldn’t have experienced themselves either. What makes Rue, Rue? Being the half-mortal, half-god she is and this journey she must encounter to discover her true identity, what is something you know about her — that isn't mentioned in the book — that no one else does?

J. Elle: "Rue's relationship with her mother and her community are both huge parts of who she is. She spends a lot of time with her, such as coming together on Sundays over meals. The core of who Rue is encapsulated in the depiction of East Row. Each individual person has contributed to her upbringing, such as, her neighbors who would, for example, bring her meals when her mom wasn’t home. There’s this moment that I bring up later on in the book where Rue goes on a car ride with her mother and there’s this suitcase in the back of her car. There are so many moments that stuck with her that I couldn’t really bring into the pages. A lot of pieces in her childhood that have puzzled her together."

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Follow Up: Give us a snippet you wanted to include: "The 'French Fry Fight.' Rue has this obsession with french fries, particularly Whataburger french fries, which is a fast food chain located primarily in the south (including Houston, where Rue is from). I wanted to make a book true to Houston, and so they went to Whataburger to get fries. It’s like this Old Western standoff; they share everything, but not french fries, which might loosely be based on my mother and I’s own relationship with our fries. Rue and her mother bicker in the car over fries and then they break out into ‘can you hold the steering wheel’ [and] ‘you ate more than I did.' Tasha asks for Whataburger fries when they get home and so it’s like this funny moment because if Tasha was in the car it, would've been all three of them bickering. So, that’s one of the sweet ones that I absolutely love, because it shows that Rue and her mother have a mother-daughter relationship; but they have a friendship, too. [And] I think that really comes through because Rue feels like her mother is her best friend."

“Bullets don’t have names. But if they did, chances are one would have mine. Or someone brown-skinned like me.” This is the opening line of the book. Why did you choose such a tense, almost raw, and thought-provoking line to start your book, and what makes this choice so significant to the development of the fantastical universe you create?

"That first line is two-fold. I love first lines that make you stop and think, and are memorable. It can have different layers of significance. It’s also something that my grandmother said anytime we would hear shootings outside and she would scoot us in the house and say ‘bullets don’t have names’ in the house. For me, it was not just a way for me to make the atmosphere of my upbringing feel real, [but] I also thought that it was a sage piece of

AUTHOR INTERVIEWS | AUGUST 2021 advice and wisdom because there is a lot of violence that goes on in both Ghizon and East Row. Violence doesn’t just do immediate damage, Rue’s mother wasn’t the only one killed, it was the impact her death had on both Rue and Tasha and the [rest of the] community. The layers of complexity in this idea of sitting through the reality and the recklessness/senselessness of violence is so damaging. I thought it was a great way to push readers to really sit with the idea as they considered the narrative of the book and how violence had impacted Rue’s life and community and sort of the reckoning that takes place at the end of the book to bring all of that to a heel."

of how personal it feels. Fiction is so permanent. As long as my story exists in perpetuity, it’s accessible for readers to engage with. Stories can make you feel seen in a way that you might not even be ready to talk about. I want teens to know that they are seen, especially with everything going on, but can also be seen on the pages of a book. There’s a line that Ms. Totsi says to Rue that encompasses this: 'If you ever feel like you have nowhere to go, you come to the book, these pages, and find yourself.'"

What inspired you to write Wings of Ebony? Did this idea stem from something you experienced in real life and have taken inspiration from?

"It depends on the writing, but practice is so important. What I want teen writers and adults to understand is that writing is not ever good when it first comes out. Your job is to make the writing exist­— so, write the article, the manuscript, or the chapter, and just let it exist. Once it exists, you mold it, with the help of partners and mentors. Like with a cookie, you don’t just crack an egg and expect a cookie to bake. You need the ingredients to build on each other.

"Not from a specific experience, but probably from several experiences over many years. [I noticed] the blatant frustration that had been buried [inside me] that I hadn't dealt with in seeing my community mistreated. There’s so much injustice they face as a whole. [The idea] just came one day, as I sat on the coach on an early morning, which is weird because I’m not a morning person, and this name ‘Rue’ just came to me. I remember she saw this body in front of her, and felt incredibly sad and powerless about this loss. I felt like a fantasy story could give power to this black girl. I just started typing and the story started to take form. What came out was a girl who realized all that she was capable of and her capacity to create change in her community."

Your book also has themes of recognizing the privilege we have that benefit us in certain situations. What global issues related to such themes are you passionate about?

"The list is long, especially after 2020 and through conversation about Wings of Ebony, discussing racial injustice in particular along with allyship and privilege. A lot of people consider themselves an ally, without understanding what it means. Those are the people I wanted to challenge with this book, like with the Bri plot thread.

For some white allies, it's easier to claim they’re not racist, but when diving into conversations about microaggression, bias, and prejudice, they struggle to find footing. Privilege is not only socioeconomically influenced, like Bri is not rich, and yet she does have this identity in this world that she’s worked so hard to curate [regarding her identity]. I was setting up this idea that Bri can feel pride in her accomplishments, and when she finds out that the way she’s operated is not what she thought, what do well-meaning allies do in such situations? Claim their privilege? I did a lot of research on processing grief to parallel this idea of grieving your privilege to understand how it affects you. It’s also not someone else’s job to educate someone either, so readers can see how this is validated through Rue’s response to Bri." Adding onto this previous question, why is advocacy important to you and why do you feel that writing is a great way to spread such vital conversations that the young adults your book is aimed towards should be having?

"Advocacy is huge to me. I don't think I can have conversations about allyship and privilege without doing some work myself. My activism is writing stories, which is why I chose this avenue because

Do you have any advice for young writers who are interested in pursuing their passion for writing?

I want teens to know that they are seen Spend time getting the words down in a first draft and don’t worry about it being perfect."

What's your favorite book? Is there a book that specifically inspired you to write?

"I can’t do favorites, but some would be Red at the Bone. It was a very emotional book for me and was so well done, I read it all in one sitting. Like it healed parts of me that I didn’t know were broken, it was so impactful. I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter by Erika Sanchez is another. It’s so good [too]. Counting Down With You by Tashie Bhuiyan is fabulous, reading it feels like a hug, an ice cream, and a warm fire. Dear Martin by Nic Stone is also very special to me, it’s one of those books that I have to reread often. And then two that are coming out soon: Bad Witch Burning by Jessica Lewis and Blood Scion by Deborah Falaye."

Any plans for writing another book in the future? Perhaps a sequel to Wings of Ebony?

"Okay, so the cover is almost done, the book itself is done, I’ve finished the edits already. So Jhamal gets a lot of love in this book.

He plays a huge role in the second book. Rue doesn’t also have to be in a story that’s only centered around her trauma here. She gets a love story. There's a lot happening but she gets to be a black teenage girl, and I love that. There's a lot more breathing and living in book two as well because the love triangle is very central. Some swoony moments in the book that I hope get my readers blushing and then there's also some dark and creepy moments that might get them to turn on the light. I really tried to get my foot in this book in a different way than Wings of Ebony, and I slowed this book down a bit, because it’s Rue’s last book so I want to give you a little more of her."

To view J. Elle's website, visit: https://authorjelle.com

Photo by Benjamin Mao, Shanghai, China 37

BOOK REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

Book BOOK CATEGORY

ARC Review: Witchshadow

by Susan Dennard

Review by Abigail Sterner, Arlington, VA

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uckle up Witchlander fans! The epic sequel you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived! Witchshadow

by Susan Dennard (the fourth novel in the brilliant Witchlands saga) takes place about two months after the events of Bloodwitch, following the same cast of characters. In general, this fast-paced fantasy focuses on Safiya, a girl with a power empires will kill to possess; Iseult, Safiya’s friend who teeters on the edge of morality; Vivia and Vaness, queens without thrones; and Stix, a fighter plagued by persistent voices. Together, these women spread across a continent and traverse a deadly world in hopes of preventing an ancient evil from awakening.

The Witchlands saga has stunning

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worldbuilding and Witchshadow is certainly no exception. The world has complex politics, history, and a well-developed magic system, yet the author does an excellent job of expanding the world slowly.

At no point in the story does she shove unnecessary information down the reader’s throat, so the snippets of included history are appreciated instead of ignored. To truly understand the grand extent of the plot and setting, reading the earlier books in the Witchlands series is a must.

The plot — despite its tendency to jump around — is fast and easy to follow, though the dual timeline was slightly confusing for the first hundred pages. The action scenes are well crafted, as are those that focus more heavily on strong character development. Speaking of which, each character in this universe is unique and dynamic; they could easily step off the page. Iseult, around which Witchshadow revolves, had a very interesting arc.

Morality has been such an important aspect of this series, so delving into Iseult’s created a thread that could be followed all the way back to book one.

The relationships that developed were genuine and well thought-out foreshadowing was being done.

The writing of Witchshadow was exceptional. The vivid descriptions easily capture the attention of the reader, whisking them away to settings that seem real enough to touch. The dialogue flowed naturally between characters and the relationships that developed were genuine and well thought-out.

Despite the substantial worldbuilding and foreshadowing, the characters remained the stars of the books.

Witchshadow is Young Adult Fantasy near its best. Die-hard fans of Throne of Glass, The Grishaverse, and Falling Kingdoms will want to get their hands on the Witchlands saga immediately.

What really sets this novel apart from others in the genre is the strong friendship between Safiya and Iseult. These girls would go to the ends of the world for each other, and though their bond is tested, it does not break. It is rare to find such well-developed female friendships in Young Adult High Fantasy, making this book even more unique.

As to critiques, it is clear Witchshadow is a turning point for the rest of the saga.

The original storyline has been left behind as the series sets out for unchartered waters, meaning the earlier plot was lost in this book. This novel did a lot of setting up for what is yet to come; and, though that is important, it also caused the plot to drag in places because of how much

Photo by Terrance J., Chicago, IL

BOOK REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

FANTASY

ARC Review: A Song Below Water novel - A Chorus Rises

discovers her true Eloko self and what it really means. Naema soon discovers toxic online supporters who are targeting black girls and women. I love how the author, Bethany C. Morrow, includes important topics and how Naema takes action. This book doesn’t include much intense action and fantasy, it’s more about Naema finding herself.

Overall, this book was great; I loved it! I liked Naema’s character – she is a definite girl-boss! The writing was detailed and included important topics. The cover is gorgeous as well! This is a sequel to A Song Below Water; which I didn’t read, but I still understood the story, and it was easy to follow. I definitely recommend reading this book!

BIOGRAPHY

by Bethany C. Morrow

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The story explores the theme of finding one's self I really enjoyed this story; it explores the themes of finding finding and becoming one's self and facing change. Naema decides to visit Portland — where her extended family lives — to reconnect with them after feeling lost by her friends, family, and community. In Portland, she

Proust was influenced by famous writers that he looked up to. Baudelaire’s poems are known for their lack of transitions, which Proust imitated in his own work for comedic effect. Muhlstein’s presentation of Proust’s development as a writer is

Muhlstein's presentation of Proust's development as a writer is exemplary

Review by Lyna Huynh, New York, NY he book, A Chorus Rises by Bethany C. Morrow is about a teen influencer — Naema Bradshaw.

She is an Eloko, which is a person who is gifted with a song that woos anyone who hears it. She’s famous, privileged, and pretty. She is adored until she is seen as an awful person who exposed Tavia’s secret siren powers. She is faced with the media against her, LOVE is not as supportive of Eloko, people of Portland don’t adore her as much as before, Tavia got a movie, and Naema despises this because the movie portrays her as a villain and doesn’t show that she is an Eloko.

The reader experiences sparks of familiarity as the biography continues, having recognized the characters’ names, and this familiarity is further strengthened by the characters’ own personalities.

Proust’s great-aunt, for example, viewed Proust’s favorite activity in his early years as “childish” and a “waste of time,” similar to what parents nowadays would often tell their kids about social media. Each figure in Proust’s life has a very clear archetype with their own behavior and distinguished presence. The audience becomes connected with Proust through Muhlstein’s thoughtful presentation of the characters.

exemplary. From Jean Racine’s emotional plays, to the adventurous juxtaposition of the Goncourts’ writing with Proust’s own work, the reader is shown Proust’s journey from beginning to end — gaining a clear understanding of the people and events that influenced his writing style.

ARC Review: Monsieur Proust's Library

by Anka Muhlstein

B

Review by Yule Zhang, Anchorage, AK e prepared for a biography unlike any of its kind.

Muhlstein’s ingenious account of Marcel Proust’s life opens with a pleasant surprise. The list of characters, while not a traditional opening in writing, is an innovative approach that mirrors Proust’s own inventiveness and sets the scene for upcoming chapters.

The occasional pictures located at chapter beginnings are a nice addition to the text.

Accompanying the chapter titles with seamless incorporations of humor, the art provides more insight of Muhlstein’s research and Proust’s exciting life.

Muhlstein provides the audience with not only a biography, but also a lesson in history and psychology. Monsieur Proust’s Library is a bridge connecting the past to the modern world, a phenomenal read for all walks of life.

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MUSIC REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

Music R&B

of the oppression of people of color. This is apparent on the tracks “2 Much” and “MLK Interlude,” in which Bieber employs famous speeches of Martin Luther King Jr., only to follow them up with more predictable songs about his wife.

Bieber’s ploy seems to be an attempt to profit off of the oppression of people of color Justice

by Justin Bieber Review by Colin Harkins, Wayne, PA

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s if one pandemic wasn’t enough, self-proclaimed “R&B” artist Justin Bieber assaulted the globe with his latest album titled "Justice" in March.

After releasing one of the lowest-rated albums of all time in early 2020, many music listeners were excited for a break from the menace who released “Baby” at age 14.

Based on the title, many fans expected the album to touch on topics such as racism, gender inequality, and the struggles of other minority groups (none of which he is a part of). Instead, "Justice" consists of 22 forgettable songs about his equally performative wife, Hailey Bieber. In his Instagram post announcing the album, Bieber wrote, “I want to continue the conversation of what 'Justice' looks like so we can continue to heal.” After the past year, which has been overflowing with social justice movements such as Black Lives Matter and #StopAsianHate, Bieber’s ploy seems to be an attempt to profit off

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Aside from the misguided theming of the album, the songs on "Justice" are genuinely listenable. Hidden within a lengthy tracklist, there are several standout tracks, which just so happen to be the four prereleased singles titled “Holy" (feat. Chance the Rapper), “Lonely" (with Benny Blanco), “Anyone,” and “Hold On.” Unfortunately for Bieber, most of these hits cannot be credited to his songwriting. My personal favorite track, “Holy," was a song originally written and performed by Jon Bellion less than a year before. Additionally, “Anyone,” another standout, is a Camila Cabello reject from her 2019 album "Romance." Bieber’s inability to create music on his own is not uncommon, especially on "Justice." Out of 22 songs, 13 are collaborations. While exciting for fans of artists like Khalid and Lil Uzi Vert, a majority of these collaborations come across as desperate and unnecessary.

If Bieber had fine-tuned the track list and chosen his collaborators more thoughtfully, "Justice" would feel more genuine and listenable.

In terms of overall sound, "Justice" is incredibly cohesive in its production and blandness. The project is much more pop-influenced than his previous album, "Changes," which he claimed was R&B

(despite sounding more like a collection of ringtones). Each song is produced very well, and almost always has a catchy melody and a distinctive beat. However, the simplicity of the lyrics prevents the tracks from peaking beyond mediocre. While nothing on "Justice" stooped to the level of Bieber’s public disaster "Yummy," not one lyric out of 22 songs stood out or impressed me.

Fortunately, the target audience of "Justice" cares more about the “vibes” of a song than the lyrics, and in that case, Bieber definitely succeeded. The melodies and beats of are easy to move to and accessible to any music listener.

While "Justice" reeks of performative activism and male mediocrity, it’s easy to see why many people enjoy listening to Bieber’s music. The album does nothing to challenge the norms of the pop genre or even Bieber’s past projects, but does a great job providing his fans with songs that are just good enough not to hate.

Overall, I didn’t like "Justice" at all, mostly for its laziness and misleading title, but can appreciate why some listeners might enjoy bits and pieces of the project.

Photo by Claire Nobel, Greenacres, WA

MUSIC REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

AMBIENT, EXPERIMENTAL

Everywhere at the End of Time

by Leyland James Kirby Review by Sydney Leahy, Brookhaven, GA

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he six-and-a-half-hour musical masterpiece "Everywhere at the End of Time," by Leyland James Kirby (using the name The Caretaker), depicts the deterioration of mental acuity and memory retention that results from the seven stages of Alzheimer’s. After listening to it over the summer, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.

Kirby has been releasing hauntingly distorted releases from as early as 1999, with his trilogy: "Selected Memories From The Haunted Ballroom." His 2005 release, "Theoretically pure anterograde amnesia," is an amalgamation of 72 purposefully forgettable “memories'' primarily composed of a dense fog of unrecognizable static intended to portray the realities of living with amnesia. His first exploration into the topic of Alzheimer’s disease was "An Empty Bliss Beyond This World," released in 2011, which unlike "Selected Memories From The Haunted Ballroom," primarily focuses on the alteration of the classical audio instead of the creation of the composition itself. This gives the album an almost distant feeling, full of abrupt jump cuts and unfinished pieces overlaid with a similar sense of forgetfulness and static that was introduced in his amnesia period. His years of experimentation with audio distortion were masterfully epitomized in his 2016-2019 release – my

personal favorite of his – "Everywhere at the End of Time."

I would be remiss if I failed to mention the beautiful album covers created by Ivan Seal, an abstract painter from Stockport, England, currently living in Berlin. He creates abstract representations of objects entirely from his mind, which give his pieces a familiar yet strikingly foreign feel. The album covers slowly become less and less recognizable as they progress. Stage one depicts a blank rolled up sheet of what is potentially a newspaper, which I believe could have been chosen to represent the patient’s knowledge that as the disease evolves, so does their ability to remember.

Stages two, three, and four remain somewhat recognizable, with the stages picturing an abstract pot of flowers, what appears to be kelp, and the profile of a woman with no discernible features. The art for stage four, the woman’s profile, was the most striking and saddening to me. I think it represents the loss of one’s abilities to recognize anyone, no matter how much you

Before, I was able to zone out and enjoy the flow of the audio, but in this stage, the music demanded my attention loved them. Stage five becomes completely indiscernible, though some believe it is a woman walking down a flight of stairs. A singular art board with four pieces of blue tape serves as the image for the sixth stage and is the embodiment of emptiness.

The music in stage one is what I can only describe as nostalgic. Its 1930s-esque music makes me remember a time I wasn’t alive to see. The tracks are generally coherent, with the constant crackle from the record being the only interference. At this stage, you can still hear the music. The memories are relatively clear. The songs have a generally positive and reminiscent tone. Every stage is accompanied with a

description, with the first one reading: “Here we experience the first signs of memory loss. This stage is most like a beautiful daydream. The glory of old age recollection. The last of the great days.”

With titles like “The loves of my entire life” and “Into each other's eyes,” you can almost feel the reminiscing. The songs are powerful and melodic. I almost was able to forget what would eventually come.

The second stage felt different. The songs sound slightly pitched down, which made them unsettling, yet not unlistenable.

Where the first stage consisted of shorter snippets of looping music, the second stage was full of what felt like longer tracks where I noticed some instruments would fade away as the song continued. Stage two also included a lot more static and introduced echoes that made me feel on edge. He starts some songs off with purely white noise. The description for this stage is, “The second stage is the self-realisation and awareness that something is wrong with a refusal to accept that. More effort is made to remember so memories can be more long form with a little deterioration in quality. The overall personal mood is generally lower than the first stage and at a point before confusion starts setting in.”

Stage three is the last stage that I would deem listenable. The crackle of the vinyl felt safe and comforting in the former stages, but when it's paired with the first major examples of truly distorted audio, they take on an entirely different feel. Before, I was able to zone out and enjoy the flow of the audio, but in this stage, the music demanded my attention. The tracks would either abruptly stop or slowly deteriorate with the help of reverb. It was the first time everything felt really wrong. I was painting while I was listening to this album, but I had to stop once I reached this point. I couldn’t focus on what I was doing. I found it hard to remember what I had just listened to. The description for stage three is, “Here we are presented with some of the last coherent memories before confusion fully rolls in and the gray mists form and fade away.

Finest moments have been remembered, the musical flow in places is more confused and tangled. As we progress, some singular memories become disturbed, isolated, broken, and distant. These are the last embers of awareness before we enter the post-awareness stages.”

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MUSIC REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

Photo by Justin Tom, Beijing, China

Stage four consists of four tracks, with three of those four titled “Post-Awareness Confusions” and one titled “Temporary Bliss.” The instruments are incoherent and jumbled and the songs contain long bouts of what feels like nothingness. It sounds like everything is happening at once. All sense of order and tranquility are gone. I admit, I could only manage to sit through half of each of the following one-and-a-half-hour stages. The songs went from four-minute songs to 20-minute songs. This section reminded me of the end of “Strawberry Fields Forever” by The Beatles, though even that hodgepodge of nearly incoherent noise had more structure than stage four. “Strawberry Fields Forever” has a constant drum beat and a blaring alarm that brings a slight sense of harmony to the chaos; stage four had none of that. The disjointed nature of the tracks left me feeling confused and stressed. The description for this stage is, “Post-Awareness Stage 4 is where serenity and the ability to recall singular memories gives way to confusions and horror. It’s the beginning of an eventual process where all memories begin to become more fluid through entanglements, repetition and rupture.”

Stage five was mostly crackles, glitches, and scratching, with the slight sound of what my brain was so desperately trying to organize into anything that could be

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recognized as music. The instruments no longer sound like instruments, but the desperate cries of a mind too far gone. I wanted to stop listening sooner, but I was entranced. Nothing made sense. Time felt short. The description for this stage is, “Post-Awareness Stage 5 confusions

It was at this point that I felt an overwhelming sense of nothingness and horror. More extreme entanglements, repetition and rupture can give way to calmer moments. The unfamiliar may sound and feel familiar. Time is often spent only in the moment leading to isolation.”

Stage six can no longer be called music. It was at this point that I felt an overwhelming sense of nothingness. The instruments were gone, leaving behind a sea of white noise and impending doom. Everything felt slow. The titles “A confusion so thick you forget forgetting” and “A brutal bliss beyond this empty defeat” encapsulate exactly what I was experiencing. After about halfway through this stage, I skipped to the end to find the last five minutes full of an almost recognizable, almost angelic,

melody. The last semblance of a distant memory fading away, which was followed by a minute of pure silence representing the finality of death. After so much suffering and nothingness, everything was gone, a life had ended. The description reads, “Post-Awareness Stage 6 is without description.”

After finishing as much of this album I could handle, I was hit with an immense feeling of gratitude. I have never had to witness a loved one slowly decay into an emptiness of nonrecognition, and for that I feel lucky.

I felt grateful for all of my loved ones who are still alive. I also felt great sadness.

Growing up in such a technologically advanced time, it is almost impossible for me to imagine not having hundreds of photos to remember every major event of my life by. As someone with difficulty remembering a lot of my past experiences with clarity, I don’t think I would be able to rely solely on my own mind to reexperience a lot of my previous life events if I had grown up in the 1930s. I felt a great loss for all of the unremembered memories in the time before the digital age, and I felt an even greater loss for the people who could no longer remember them. I highly recommend that you listen to this musical experience, but only if you are in the right state of mind.

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

Movie & TV Sci-Fi/Thriller

"Godzilla vs. Kong" Review by Daniel Ajani, Pembroke Pines, FL

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he Godzilla and Kong franchises are some of the biggest action movie franchises of all time. Ever since their debuts, their iconic status has been so strong that everyone has at least heard of these legendary monsters once, whether they're cinephiles or not.

Nowadays, the “Monsterverse," a shared universe of movies based around the monsters of Godzilla and Kong, has been really successful by raking in millions of dollars in the box office. The newest film of the Monsterverse franchise is this review’s subject: "Godzilla vs. Kong," the film that the previous films have been building up to and people were very anxiously waiting for. Unfortunately, while it has its merits, it’s also nothing short of disappointing.

Apex Cybernetics, a powerful company headquartered in Hong Kong, wants to get to a location called Hollow Earth.

Because of this, a geologist and Hollow Earth theorist named Dr. Nathan Lind (Alexander Skarsgård) is visited by the CEO of Apex, Walter Simmons (Demián Bichir) for advice. Lind believes that Kong will guide them to this location, so he decides to convince Ilene Andrews (Rebecca Hall), a scientist who worked closely with Kong, to let Apex use him to find Hollow Earth. Throughout, they discover multiple obstacles, but the biggest of them is the mighty Godzilla. The confrontation between the two beasts launches an intense conflict and a battle for the ages.

Easily the best thing about the film is its visuals, but more specifically its effects.

The budget was around $155-200 million U.S. dollars, which completely surprised me, because the amount of detail in the environments – and especially the monsters themselves, like Kong’s fur – look incredible, especially compared to other blockbusters with a higher budget. Despite the fact that the color palette is bland most of the time, there are scenes that take place in Hong Kong that are really pretty and colorful. I also appreciated the sound design, as it was incredibly impactful and helped me get more immersed with the screen. At first, both the visual effects and the sound were able to make the action scenes a ton of fun to watch.

Why only at first? The action scenes were well made for the most part, but they started to get tiring after a while. The film always feels like it’s trying to be very loud

Easily the best thing about the film is its visuals and showy. While that should work for a blockbuster as big as this, and sometimes it does, it just comes off as obnoxious at times. The editing seems to contribute to this. During the action scenes it can be very hyperactive, making the action scenes more annoying. A lot of these issues can be blamed on the director himself, Adam Wingard. He does a good job directing most of the human scenes, but when it comes to the big action scenes, there is room for improvement to be more engaging and less draining.

Speaking of the human scenes, despite those scenes being mostly well-directed, the writing is really weak. The main story is interesting in concept, but feels dull in execution because of the direction.

There are a lot of ways to make this story exciting, but not a lot is done with it. As I was leaving the theater, I was asking myself “What was the point of the entire thing?” If there was a point, it wasn’t communicated well. I also found certain plot points and a twist very conventional and cliché, making

Godzilla vs. Kong Trailer 43

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021 the film more predictable. There was also a subplot involving teen characters that served somewhat of a point, but it wasn’t very engaging. It honestly felt like the film was trying to appeal to the teen audience instead of making something interesting.

To me, the biggest issue with the film is its characters. None of the characters are annoying or awful, but most of them aren’t very likable, interesting, or fleshed out. I’ve already mentioned that the teen characters didn’t work well, nor were the attempts at humor very funny, but the main characters are probably less interesting.

Dr. Lind doesn’t have much of a personality and the same goes for Ilene Andrews. The only exception are scenes with Ilene and Jia (Kaylee Hottle), a deaf little girl and the adopted daughter of Ilene. Jia is probably the best character of the film, as her friendship with Kong is at least interesting and gives some emotional weight to the film. However, her connection with Kong

isn’t as fleshed out as it could’ve been, and she comes off as a plot device at times rather than an intriguing character.

None of the other characters were all that interesting either, and since I wasn’t able to get engaged with any of them, the tension felt weak and made the experience even more boring than it already was.

"Godzilla vs. Kong" is style-over-substance popcorn fluff, which should work for a film like this. Unfortunately, that style wears off quickly and the film becomes competent and visually interesting yet overall forgettable and unrewarding. By no means is it a torturous film; you can watch it and it will hold your attention for the time being, but it does nothing special enough to stick with you after the credits roll. If you’re really excited for it, then go see it and don’t let me stop you.

But if you’re already not even remotely excited, then I don’t recommend it.

Comedy · Drama

"Atypical" Netflix

Photo by Sara Kaufman, Hollywood, FL

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MOVIE & TV REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021 Review by Eva Mandelbaum, White Plains, NY

A

typical,” a Peabody Awardnominated, critically acclaimed TV series from Sony Pictures TV, will hit you right in the heart. This quirky, slightly offbeat comedy-drama Netflix TV show follows Sam Gardner (Keir Gilchrist), a teenage boy with autism who is looking for romance. He faces obstacles in his dayto-day life that are unknown to those who don’t have experience with autism. Robia Rashid, the creator of this masterpiece, gives a window into how autism affects people and their families. "Atypical" is a show that will put you right there with Sam and his family on the roller coaster ride of self-discovery they each experience.

The first episode opens with Sam fidgeting with a rubber band, saying, “I’m a weirdo.

That’s what everyone says. Sometimes, I don’t know what people mean when they say things, and that can make me feel alone even when there are other people in the room. And all I can do is sit and twiddle, which is what I call my self-stimulatory behavior, when I flick a pencil against a rubber band at a certain frequency and think about all the things that I could never do, like research penguins in Antarctica or have a girlfriend …” It is revealed that Sam is talking to his therapist, Julia Sasaki (Amy Okuda), whom he is very fond of, as he ruminates about living with autism. Julia is the one who puts the idea into his head that it is possible for a person on the spectrum to date.

On the bus ride home from therapy, Sam is made uncomfortable by simple things that neurotypicals (people without mental disorders) don’t notice, such as the bus seat. We then meet Sam’s overprotective mom (Jennifer Jason Leigh), who is droning on about something, only to get the sarcastic response of, “Wow. That is a great story, Mom,” from Sam’s feisty, yet lovable sister, Casey (Brigette Lundy-Paine). In response to this, Sam’s tough dad, Doug (Michael Rapaport), quickly but gently condemns his daughter's disrespect. From family meals to time spent at school, Sam’s closeness to and dependency on his family is revealed. Sam dryly states that his sister does not let anyone bully him unless it’s her. Although she does fight off all his bullies, they still have their typical

sibling dynamic including many quarrels. Sam’s life is clearly different from those of neurotypicals.

He goes to a therapist, he is obsessed with Antarctic penguins, and he doesn’t pick up on social cues in the same way neurotypicals do.

Regardless, he still lives his life as a semi-typical teen: he works a technology store named Techtropolis with his friend Zahid, he desperately wants to fit in, and as most teen boys do, he yearns for a girlfriend.

Atypical - Season 1 Trailer

"Atypical" would not be the masterpiece it is without its incredible cast. From Keir Gilchrist’s mannerisms to his monotones, he fully embodies the reality of what it is like to be autistic. As an obsessively involved mom seeking an escape, Jennifer Jason Leigh is perfectly dislikable and pitiful simultaneously. The controversial Michael Rapaport brings his natural intensity to his role as Doug. Brigette Lundy-Paine steals every scene they are in,

He faces obstacles in his day-to-day life that are unknown to those who don't have experince with autism playing a character with the most layers.

Brigette’s performance is a true tour-deforce. They manage to show every side of Casey, from her tough skin to the pains and struggles she faces deeper within.

Characters who pop up later in the series include Izzie (Fivel Stewart) and Paige (Jenna Boyd). They bring their intrigue and quirks everywhere they go. Stewart and Boyd each send the message of girl power by fully portraying the strong and assertive female characters of Izzie and Paige.

"Atypical" is beautifully written and executed, but there are some unfortunate cons. The show received a significant amount of backlash regarding the lack of autistic actors and representation.

With close to no autistic actors included until the second season, this TV series has been regarded as a disappointment for the autistic community.

As "Atypical" had its flaws, so did its characters, who teach many important lessons as they develop throughout the series. Penguins, Sam's greatest interest, represent more than a simple obsession (a side effect of Sam’s autism). Penguins represent endurance and adaptation, and because they have adapted to fly through the water instead of the sky, they symbolize determination and change. All the characters of the TV series learn to adapt to new and sometimes terrifying situations.

Although these were not Rashid’s intentions when creating "Atypical," as we are well over a year into the global pandemic, it’s hard not to apply the lessons from this show to our own lives during the pandemic. We have been through a year filled with uncertainty and isolation, but similar to the "Atypical" characters, we also experienced growth and development.

This TV series is important to see for people of all ages. "Atypical" is rated TV-14 for brief sexual and drug content, but I would recommend it to anyone over the age of 11 because of the eye-opening message. Watching "Atypical" leaps past societal stereotypes surrounding autism and will help people better understand that people with autism are human too. A serious show wrestling difficult topics buoyed by comedy and hope, “Atypical” is not only worth watching, but is extremely important to do so.

I f you are brave enough to join Sam’s emotional journey, be prepared to laugh, sob, smile, and everything in between.

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VIDEO GAME REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021

Video Game FIRST-PERSON SHOOTER

many astonishing environments are shown with what used to be a normal city square, now overrun by demonic corruption.

Overall, this is one of the best games I've ever played

"Doom Eternal" id Software Review by Anonymous, Lethbridge, AB, Canada

D

oom Eternal", the sequel to 2016’s “Doom” is a fast-paced action FPS with smooth gameplay, fantastic graphics, and one of the best video game soundtracks ever made. Ask anyone that has played it and they’ll say the same.

Compared to its predecessor, “Doom” (2016), it goes above and beyond everything that the game was praised for including the music, gameplay, aesthetics, and environments. This game references the older games a lot, and some of the weapons and enemies look very similar to how they did back in 1993.

The game starts with The Doom Slayer (the character you play as) being sent to Earth to destroy the demonic corruption by ‘taking care of’ the 3 Hell Priests, the overlords that launched the invasion on Earth. As you explore this first level, the aesthetics of this game and one of the

46

As you arrive in the second level of the game, you see a very different environment. This time, it is an ancient castle-like area covered in moss. As you explore this new environment, more of the game's mechanics are revealed. You obtain a “dash” ability, allowing for more dynamic platforming sections, giving you the ability to dodge enemy attacks and to be more mobile. As you progress through this second level and explore deeper into these castle ruins, you see the original aesthetics again with two ancient bodies of titans that once fought each other. This gives the player a sense of time and history.

The third level takes another turn in aesthetics, this time exploring an area located in the northern regions of Earth.

It is a very icy, frozen section with some of the best music in the game. Mick Gordon, composer of both soundtracks for “Doom 2016” and “Doom Eternal”, engaged metal vocalists from around the world to sing in a choir for some of the music in this game. The soundtrack mixes electronic sounds with fast, metal-like sounds to make an exciting, immersive experience to go along with the intense combat.

It is very hard to find bad things to say about the game. The reviews are positive all over, with ratings such as high as 87%, 9/10, and other reviews pages say that 95% of players enjoyed the game.

One thing I can say, is that the game is definitely intended for mature audiences,

as scenes depict intense gore and violence.

After all, you are slaying demons. I still believe this is the most Christian game ever though. Another thing that some fans were not really impressed with was the difficulty; it can be very challenging at times, but 95% of the time you can tell what you did wrong in specific combat encounters. Some of the puzzles in the game can be confusing. For instance, sometimes you have to look up online how to do something, but often you will be able to eventually figure it out yourself.

Overall, this is one of the best games I’ve ever played and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for an action-shooter experience that you will obsess over for weeks. But one thing I will say ...

I recommend playing through 2016’s “Doom” to better appreciate this new game’s mechanics and story.

OPEN-ENDED SANDBOX

molleindustria Review by JDitri Collaku, Tirana, Albania

M

ost simulation games try to stay neutral on their themes. “SimCity,” for instance, never lays out its reasoning of urban planning. Games like these tend to point and reflect reality, and now and then, developers indeed question whether they have an ideology at all. “Democratic Socialism Simulator”

VIDEO GAME REVIEWS | AUGUST 2021 (DDS) doesn’t fall into that category.

This game, made by molleindustria and developed by Paolo Pedercini, makes you the first Democratic Socialist president of the United States and then confronts you with different issues such as scandals, environmental problems, and political influencers, all presented by colorful talking animals.

DSS’ gameplay lays its (literal) cards on the table, encouraging you to modify America based on environmental sustainability, financial equality, labor organization, and citizen engagement. Animals, which act as your councilors, pose policy questions, which can be as complicated as building a border or as minor as picking your suit for an event. You drag the card toward one of two alternatives, and the game reacts with short- and long-term consequences.

This, the developer has said, is a system of "choosing" borrowed from the dating app Tinder.

At first glance, this game looks quite like “Reigns or Dictator,” operating almost entirely in the same way. The only difference, albeit a major one, is rather than being an absolute ruler, you’re a president. A few choices aren’t achievable without the Congress' majority support, which depends on Democrats’ execution within the midterm elections, all of which

comes down to how many voters like you and the choices you have made.

The game allows for everyone to make choices, regardless of their political opinion According to Pedercini, the game isn’t designed to be a “power fantasy” for Democratic Socialists, but rather a way to help the common population better understand and visualize new and future policies such as Medicare for All or the Green New Deal bills, with all the possible benefits and consequences they might bring. The game includes several hard decisions, and if too many wrong choices are made then you, the president, must deal with the consequences. These consequences vary, starting from losing your re-election for office, being asked to resign, and, if you are non-compliant with the authorities, being forced out of office and stripped of your title.

its purpose, a very promising motion to cancel the student debt affecting millions of Americans, and a swift pathway to citizenship for the millions of undocumented immigrants in America. The game allows for every person to make a choice, regardless of their political opinion, even though they aren’t presented as equal in an ethical sense. Every person can express themselves and their own opinions in a judgment-free place and watch what happens.

At the same time, our developer implies that there are no messages or intentions about politics in the game, one reason being that it is greatly based on chance and unintended effects. The game also makes it quite clear to the player that you are playing a simulation. The nature of simulation is that they have artificial limits as well as a grave number of mistakes and unknown consequences. So instead of focusing on Democratic Socialism and everything political about it, the game touches on several ideas which people might consider socialist and plays out their consequences. And it does so remarkably well. This is a game I’d want to play.

DSS also pokes at and explores several current issues in the U.S. such as budgeting Space Force while trying to figure out

Artwork by Alessandra Montero, Chicago, IL

Artwork by Shelby Hanson, Hoagland, IN 47

Photo by Ava Fung, Brooklyn, NY

Artwork by Arya Nadella, Hyderabad, India 48

Photo by Lyra Willows, Tirupati, India

Artwork by Hailey Perry, Versailles, KY

Artwork by Alexandra Zak, San Rafael, CA

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POETRY | AUGUST 2021

Photo by Cristina Pak, Vienna, VA

Black and White

Going Home

flower puddles

It's a world where all black doves Are painted with a white shine It's a world with all good people But they fade like a grape wine

Beyond the gateway, a cow drains herself to nourish her children & today we are mixing butter with bare hands.

i weep and weep and weep till the flowers grow evermore the roses sprout in waves of rouge and tears i've yet to shed the willow tree crying for me as i lay upon the cloudy sky waiting for my life to grow spring from the dark brown earth and make its way into the throat of song bird yet to be born

Yeah, it is bit to change from the outside But there is more to change from the inside It's the reason that some white doves Shade their wings with a black shine.

by Methmi Mandara, Colombo, Sri Lanka

Sorry, Dude Sorry, dude I don’t take you for granted Because we’re friends I take you for granted Because I’m dumb My apology Is like glue It fixes the broken Which is me and you Let me apply Some of it on us So that we can make up Without a fuss

by Anonymous, Coconut Creek, FL 50

Salt constantly nips on my tongue so wherever I’m at, I know it’s not home.

The wind, strongest at dawn, whips around me to remedy its own & crafts the butter before it gets to my throat.

Tonight, I am constructing

by Ellie Towns, Chicago, IL

Old Daddy Blue

a home: with its thick walls made of hands and its rooftop of salty butter.

Old Daddy Blue said, Our people love the rivers Told me the moving blue Runs through our souls and veins

When the rooftop melts and drips onto my tongue, the hands strengthen their grasp until I realize

Old Daddy Blue said, The rivers makes way for our tears Told me if it weren’t for them, We’d have drowned in our own despair

that my very own home has tried to strangle me.

Old Daddy Blue said, Our freedom tunes bounced along the currents Told me we named the blues From the big blue Mississippi

by Zizheng Liu, Sugar Land, TX

by Nathaniel Spruill, Clarksburg, MD

POETRY | AUGUST 2021

It Knocks Once

My Phone's Dead

It Has a Name

Opportunity is a cruel, deceitful trickster.

The most crucial decisions leave no time to think.

Change always accelerating, but you must be quicker.

Opportunity is a cruel, deceitful trickster.

The promise of treasure that would make life richer all threatened by the eye’s longing to blink Opportunity is a cruel, deceitful trickster. the most crucial decisions leave no time to think.

My phone's at 15 percent.

14 13 It did a lot throughout its life.

It listened to music watched videos took pictures et cetera.

destroyer of souls savior saint to sinners tearing out hearts: hope

by Anonymous, Chicago, IL

A Lone Peak a lone peak raised its arms – crashing cloudy waves

by William Chen, Winfield, WV

3:00 a.m.

While the night slumbered I stared into nothing.

I reached out my pinky And felt a touch.

But no promise.

They had warned me not to look beneath the mattress.

But I only see myself.

by Lenina Cox, Vancouver, BC, Canada

Notes App Ruminations Interview at Panera in Yorkville on Saturday at 3 p.m.

Buy shorts on Depop To do list: Hold hands in Barnes and Noble Make a scrapbook :) Start volunteering at the food pantry again Make a playlist of songs that remind me of him Sometimes I get mad at my parents for not properly socializing me as a child, but now I see it was a gift.

Make lemon pound cake Find my fishnets Poem draft:

by Andie Baker, Oswego, IL

A life well spent, no?

12 I wonder what else it can do with such little time left.

11 10 9 8 Whoa, Whoa!

Slow 7 down!

No. Surely not.

Surely it 6 has more left to it.

5 It can't die now!

No! 4 Where is this coming from?

This this this train of finality and mortality which we call death where, Where, 3 is it coming from, and why 2 is it so 2 Fast.

And sudden.

My phone's dead.

by Devin Frank, North Versailles, PA

by Kelly Lau, Burnaby, Columbia

The Girl in the Green Sweater Saved lives or took them Art major or chem Worshiped heaven or hell Lips sealed or couldn’t wait to tell Loved many or none Did it all for the fame or just for fun Fought or fled Friends all over of just in your head Cried or screamed Lied or schemed Lived in or let the moment pass Drove slow or biked fast Loved the hood or left Owned one heart or was a theft On a normal day out for a meet Nothing mattered out there on the streets She stepped off the curb a little too far And became nothing but the girl in the green sweater hit by a car.

by Emily Lau, Vancouver, BC, Canada

Normandy Smell of gunpowder Soldiers running up the beach Shells are raining down

by Anonymous, Fort Collins, CO

You and Me Time You are the safari. I am the tiger.

I am the wave. You are the sunshine.

I am the surfboard. You are the ice cream sundae.

I am the shell. You are the hermit crab.

You are the ship. I am the anchor.

You are the saxophone. I am the music.

You are the whip. I am the cowboy.

You are I. I am you.

No logic, no rhyme or reason, Just you and me — Rising light and clouds.

I behold you. You behold me.

by Lydia Quattrochi, Somonauk, IL 51

POETRY | AUGUST 2021

I Wish I Had an Island

Peonies at Dusk

I want to build myself a lake isle, I want to build myself a boat, I want to build sunshine, I want to build a day of endless hours.

Welcome to my island, in the splashless, soft-hearted, mama-warm, rippling, tender blue lake rippling with the ripples of my oars.

Welcome to my island.

I have built a cabin here, and when the winter comes and bees fly home, I will skate on the lake, I will skate away.

Welcome to my island, welcome to my pine trees sticky with sap, welcome to my sparrows and honeysuckle and soapy-smelling violets in my windowpane, welcome to my island where dragonflies sail above my bed, fill my hands, fill my head — dragonflies in shimmering blue chrome.

If I die, it will be on my island.

Here the mosquitoes have lost their stings and apple biscuits drenched with milk and honey are served for breakfast — forever and ever, amen.

I will come to back to my island — it will come back to me.

Oh! Peonies at dusk Tracing one full elephant tusk Embracing something warm One raindrop fallen on your petal I sip some masala chai Watching raindrops go by A nightingale soaring high up in the sky Like a soothing lullaby As strong as a Samurai I snapped back into my thoughts Realizing it was a mere day dream

by Lydia Quattrochi, Somonauk, IL

by Ela Ponnachana, Vancouver, BC, Canada

Deadly Sweet Nothings No one told the little girls that the boys with pretty eyes who smell like smoke who taste like rain who whisper in gold were the reasons behind tears on pillows and unfinished poems and sad dreams.

A beautiful bouquet of flowers is still dying.

by Jennaveve Strother, Woodland Park, CO

I watched the summer fireflies last night And while admiring their pretty light I contemplated how, to my dismay They’d likely only live a few more days.

But then, I looked towards the shining stars And pondered on about how we all are A momentary flickering in time To all the speckled creatures of the sky.

And when the planet’s end must come about Long after all our cities fizzle out The creatures of the sky will disappear As stars change their positions through the years.

And some of them will burst in fiery grace And some will fade into the dark of space.

52

Even if I know, Mother, that you'll dismiss this as an adolescent outburst of emotion, even when you're so irrevocably blind as to see the fault of your actions, rest easy, for I love you.

Even if my love for you is like a bullet to the artery, even if the hemorrhage will weaken my body but maintain me alive enough to see the tears on your face (or the smile).

At times, I'm swimming in liquid amour for you, for you've always been the one and only confidante in my life, my only friend, but other times, I wonder if I really came out of your womb.

I've got half a mind to open my windows and ask the One above for counsel on the roof, I've got half a mind to take up my bike and ride through the desolate lanes of suburbia in an eternal purgatory, I've got half a mind to go into the forest and give myself over to Bacchus, just to spite you.

But I've got a full mind to drop the pencil, turn off the lights, and fall asleep. Fall asleep and discard into oblivion that you ever carved my heart out of my chest, and left my body on the pavement lane of our driveway, I've got a full mind to forgive you.

Once more.

by Stephany Guevara, St. Augustine, FL

Flickering in Time

by Arman Badalamenti, Apex, NC

Matriarch; Icarus and Daedalus

Artwork by Inaas Asad, Abu Dhabi, UAE

POETRY | AUGUST 2021 Artwork by Evy Mansat-Gros, Greenville, SC

This American The smell of coffee early in the morn A piece of pie fresh out of the oven Family-owned, little-town, Complacent conversation Baubles sold next door, It can’t get more American than this.

by Kennedy Marshall, Detroit, IL

One's Self Hand lines cross-hatched Imprinted, stitched, stain on me Thread from which I’m made

by Anna Halza, Argyle, TX

The Tree There's a big oak tree sitting in the park.

I've spent long summer days sitting beneath it, Watched its leaves fall each year, Admired how the sun catches on its snow-covered limbs.

There's a large forest near the big oak tree With more birds than you could count, Trees so high you could see the whole world, Hot afternoons spent exploring, and Afternoons coming home in muddy boots.

There's an overgrown trail I would always walk down.

Listening to the leaves crunching beneath my feet, Watching the birds singing in the trees, Trying to count each flower and each bee, Admiring the serenity of the forest and me.

There's another kid just like me, Falling in love with their own oak tree, Exploring the large forest and the overgrown trail, Discovering how beautiful the outdoors can be.

But now my favorite tree is gone, My favorite path was paved.

I'll do everything in my power, So the new tree is saved.

by Natalie Sunderman, Olympia, WA

dust it’s bone-chilling to walk into a room and see it empty for the first time there are ghosts there the ghost of your bed of your bookshelf of your dog, your memories my friends are there, laughing and I along with them but their words – our words – are hazy, inaudible there’s my sister, in the grass, throwing a softball and cracking the window into thousands of pieces those shards still pierce my memory a wisp of our old toy chest remains so faint, disappearing with our memories but my scar keeps it alive: the pain from running into its abrupt corner does not fade quickly it’s noisy, too. barks, shouts, sobs – every sound comes rushing back to me like a torrential rainstorm dousing me in flashbacks. it threatens to slice me open, spill my tears on the floor and longing grips my stomach tightly

I collapse. it’s all too much: I’m down on the hardwood floors that we battered over time. weathered, like sea glass, like a rare artifact with only few people who know the true history. how was I so unfortunate to be one of them? the knowledge is uncomfortably coupled with desire and joy, sorrow and craving and a wholly irreplaceable feeling of empty. it’s a pit, but not like that of a peach: this is hollow, cavernous.

I am deep underground, all alone. my hands brush the ground and dust collects on my fingertips. physical reminiscence, it lingers with the scents of sweet lavender and chocolate chip cookies, and with the sound of bee stings, ice cubes, and sizzling bacon. all that remains is our heights on the door frame, and moths in the curtains. this retainer of memory is evaporating, or decomposing – perhaps both, at the same time. god, I miss those days.

by Piper Wilson, Pittsford, NY 53

Artwork by Paromita Talukder Bronx, NY

Photo by Aayushi Bharati, Houston, TX

Sculpture by Inaam Zafar, Cerritos, CA 54

Teen Ink

Magazine Main Focus 2nd Focus

October 2021

College Issue Spooky Fiction

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American Chess Day World Coconut Day National Lazy Mom’s Day College Colors Day National Cheese Pizza Day National Read a Book Day International Day of Clean Air International Literacy Day National Wiener Schnitzel Day World Suicide Prevention Day German Language Day National Video Games Day National Peanut Day National Coloring Day National Online Learning Day National Choose Your Chocolate Day National Pet Bird Day National Cheeseburger Day National Cleanup Day National Pepperoni Pizza Day International Day of Peace National Ice Cream Cone Day Redhead Appreciation Day World’s Biggest Coffee Morning National Comic Book Day National Pancake Day World Tourism Day Ask a Stupid Question Day National Coffee Day International Podcast Day

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August

What's Coming Up?

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55

Contributors MEMOIRS

AUTHOR INTERVIEWS

Anonymous, 6 Kaylie Mancino, 7

Luka Todorovic, 35 Aishah Daiyan, 36

BACK TO SCHOOL

BOOK REVIEWS

Cooper Hu, 9 Ruhee Hedge, 10 Alexandra Bates, 12

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

HEALTH

MUSIC REVIEWS

Danica Jitramontree, 16 Lily Oldershaw, 18

POINTS OF VIEW Olivia Kilgus, 20 Sareen Yusuf, 21

TRAVEL & CULTURE Anonymous, 22 Tracie Gray, 24 Bill Yan, 26 Yifey Wang, 28

IDENTITY Natalie Misri, 30

SPORTS Adam Pohl, 34

Colin Harkins, 40 Sydney Leahy, 41

Andie Baker, 51 Devin Frank, 51 Kelly Lau, 51 Emily Lau, 51 Anonymous, 51 Lydia Quattrochi, 51 & 52 Arman Badalamenti, 52 Ela Ponnachana, 52 Jennaveve Strother, 52 Stephany Guevara, 52 Kennedy Marshall, 53 Anna Halza, 53 Natalie Sunderman, 53 Piper Wilson, 53

MOVIE & TV REVIEWS

ART GALLERIES

Daniel Ajani, 43 Eva Mandelbaum, 44

VIDEO GAME REVIEWS Anonymous, 46 JDitri Collaku, 46

POETRY Methmi Mandara, 50 Anonymous, 50 Zizheng Liu, 50 Ellie Towns, 50 Nathaniel Spruill, 50 Anonymous, 51 William Chen, 51 Lenina Cox, 51

Jorja Garcia, Front Cover Ashley Jun, 6 Aryana Singh, 7 Dylan Julun-Kokuma, 8 Taylor Moon, 10 Raina Smith, 12 Evelyn Brown, 14 Sarah Mendoza, 15 Genevieve Gungor, 15 Isa Van Os, 15 Jiayin Zou, 16 Anonymous, 18 Ishareet Sohal, 20 Derek Peng, 21 Maxwell Selver, 22 Christina Pak, 24 Reese Low, 25

Emily Taylor, 26 Zakia Irfan, 31 Lydia Quattrochi, 31 Elizabeth Zheng, 31 Lauren Bartel, 28 Zakia Irfan, 29 Lydia Quattrochi, 29 Elizabeth Zheng, 29 Ruma Poudell, 30 Evelyn Brown, 31 Michael Zordani, 32 Ritisha Mukherjee, 34 Ashley Jun, 35 Benjamin Mao, 36 Terrence J., 38 Claire Nobel, 40 Justin Tom, 42 Sara Kaufman, 44 Shelby Hanson, 47 Alessandra Montero, 47 Ava Fung, 48 Arya Nadella, 48 Lyra Willows, 48 Hailey Perry, 49 Alexandra Zak, 49 Christina Pak, 50 Inaas Asad, 52 Evy Mansat-Gros, 53 Paromita Talukder, 54 Aayushi Bharati, 54 Inaam Zafar, 54 Macey Klein, Back Cover

Editorial Staff Consulting Editor-in-Chief: Katrin Ades

Consulting Head of Strategic Partnerships: Chane Hazelett

Consulting Senior Editor: Cindy W. Spertner

Editorial Interns: Noelle Campbell, Kylie Andrews, Ashley Nix, Jacklyn Peterson, Jada Smith

Production: Katie Olsen

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.

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Resources

August 2021 | Volume 34 | Issue 4

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

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

• National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1.800.273.TALK (8255)

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

• Crisis Text Line

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

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

• National Domestic Violence Hotline 1.800.799.SAFE (7233)

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

• National Sexual Assault Hotline 1.800.656.HOPE (4673)

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

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

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

FREE 1-Year Premium Access!

Brightmind Meditation and Mindfulness App

We’ve teamed up with Brightmind to offer you 1 year of FREE Premium Access (a $100 value). Here’s what you’ll get: • Full access to customizable Core Meditations • Hundreds of addition guided meditations • New content added regularly Click HERE to claim your FREE membership 57

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Photo by Macey Klein, Bismarck, ND