DAEMON “And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise.The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” -Sylvia Plath
STAFF
Editor: Deborah Place ‘12 Contributing Staff: Kelsey Shelton ‘12, Amanda Lee ‘13, Seoyun Choi ‘14, Janet Galvin ‘14, Kyung Ryun Mo ‘14, Shae Clarke ‘17, Liz Roach ‘18 Consulting Editor: Tom Deeds, faculty Layout Editors: Deborah Place ‘12, Janet Galvin ‘14 Art Director: Liss Couch-Edwards, faculty Cover Original artwork by Tyler Varsell, faculty Published Spring 2012
Caitlin Joo ‘12
Stop
Lauren Nicholson ‘14 Who are you? Who are you to judge me, shape me, and make me into what you want out of me? Is the way I am not good to be? Is the way I talk, act, and dress not what you want to see? Who told you that? Society? The real question is, why do I care? Why do I care that you criticize my eyes thighs and my hair And take one look at me and think, “you’re not going anywhere” And ignore the assurance of people who really care Why do you ask what society wants of you? Are you scared of missing the bar, not being the perfect person they want you to? But why be perfect? When being me is just fine, If they want perfect, they can go buy a Barbie and stop wasting our time, Because I’m tired of trying to be things I’m not And it’s time that someone stood up and said “stop” Because I think it’s time that someone told us, so we all can see They don’t define us We define society
Where would we be without dreams? Shae Clarke ‘17
To the fullest it must be To show it, now others will see Why we must be here We must live life with no fear We must live with no fear Friends we shall keep dear We never know until it has ended Then you think about how you should of spent it thinking about how it could’ve been or how it would’ve been and how we needed to have have been those thoughts stay under our skin under skin is where they hide thoughts protect them on the inside see what I see? and follow your dreams Follow your dreams they guide your heart dreams are fueled to our brain and keep us smart smart is opening door for us us is what makes me happy, thus, making me happy makes more dreams so without dreams, where would we be?
Amanda Lee ‘13
Heaven
Darcy Hughes ‘14 The brilliant pink clouds were streaked with gold In a plane above slept a girl four years old In a dreamy haze she looked out at the sky “This must be heaven” she said with a sigh Then an angel appeared with a smile so tender Gave her a dream so she wouldn’t remember
Elle Thacher ‘12
Industry
Ema Graham ‘12 Walk until you can no more. Follow the rivers till they drift away, And the falling water lets out a silent roar. Keep going until you pass where the last trees lay. Walk until you have to crawl, And never think to halt. For if you do, your world may fall, And the destruction will be your fault. The path behind you is now barren land Filled with anger, death, and war. They beg you please to take their hands, And walk until there is no more. You have no say in what you do. All you know is what you’re told. But, my dear, because of you, this land is now empty and cold.
Pura Vida
Melody Altschuler ‘12 I woke up to the sound of our screeching parrot. A tired glance at my watch indicated that it was five in the morning. At the sound of this unquestionably irritating, yet vivacious parrot I had come to love, a smile spread across my tanned face. Instead of being frustrated with the early hour, I was grateful. The sooner I awoke the longer my day would last; the possibilities were endless. Maybe I’d visit a nearby waterfall or play soccer in the plaza. Whatever the day would bring, I was thrilled. Las Mesas, a small town in Costa Rica, was my home away from home. Life was peaceful and spontaneous in this beautiful place, away from the hectic lifestyle to which I was accustomed. Outside my window the sun was already shining. The exhaustion I felt from drinking coffee until midnight and sleeping poorly on my spongelike mattress was irrelevant. Last night’s lively card game lasted for over three hours, and I still cherished every moment. I reflected on the image of Rachel and Sharon when their eyes gently shut during jota, reina, rey, while I laughed and played with their parents. It brought me joy to think about how much a part of the Salazar Ruiz family I had already become. As tempting as it was to stay under my cozy Disney Princess covers, I was inspired by yesterday’s recollections and today’s opportunities to fly out of bed. The wooden shelf at the foot of my bed, which functioned as a dresser, suitcase, closet, and laundry bag, was stuffed with clothes and toiletries. This contained corner was more of a bonus than an inconvenience, for I became accustomed to needing and using less. The simplicity of possessing fewer items deepened my appreciation of Las Mesas and its tranquility. Life was relaxed, refreshing, and thrilling. What more could I have asked for? I found my glasses on the shelf and, when I put them on, could see the brilliant world in detail. Plastic dolls and fluorescent hair bands were sprawled across the floor. Outside the window there were endless mountains, and I thought to myself how lucky I was to be there. As I walked toward the bathroom to brush my teeth, Sharon and Rachel, whose room I inhabited, looked up from playing with rocks to greet me with hopeful eyes and innocent smiles. These girls could find fun in almost anything, and it saddened me that they had few toys to choose from. Melodia, they whispered with picturesque smiles. Unaffected by my morning breath, they offered me hugs. Over Rachel’s shoulder, I could see Hazel in the kitchen cooking gallo pinto. Our eyes met and she smiled back at me. I returned to my room and closed the door behind me to get dressed.
Dressing for the day was a simple task, as most activities were. In the background I could hear Hazel arguing with her daughters about whether or not to come into my room. It was tempting for them to find out what I was doing, but they refrained from opening the unlocked door. The girls were curious about all my endeavors. Although I found it endearing, Hazel always tried to impress upon them to give me my space. While braiding my hair I mulled over Hazel’s kindness and hospitality. She had always treated me not only with care, but also with respect and admiration. I remembered the time a few days ago when she brought me her English workbook from school. She was proud to show me her carefully composed sentences and was overjoyed by my praise. I had always been under the impression that she was intrigued by me. She was only a few years older than I, but she already had two kids and few opportunities to achieve a higher education. She had a genuine interest in all aspects of my life and a desire to learn all the details. Her fascination was shown through the many questions she asked; I did my best to respond honestly and completely. Breakfast was ready. Hazel set me up at the table before serving herself or even her daughters, and I felt like a special guest. A steaming cup of café con leche accompanied my plate of gallo pinto. I inhaled deeply and took in the fresh scent of my favorite dish. The flavor of Salsa Lizano warmed my palate with each bite. Soon Rachel and Sharon sat down with their bowls and we ate our delicious, yet simple meal together. Even six-year-old Sharon had a cup of coffee in her hand. Compared to the mass of rice and beans on my plate, I couldn’t help but feel badly with a glimpse at the tiny portions in the girls’ bowls. Then I realized that the size of my serving was an expression of Hazel’s gratitude. I did my best to finish the food, at least today. Other days, I’d spread my food around the plate so it looked mostly consumed. I never wanted to offend her, as food was the way Hazel let me know how much she cared. As we ate, the girls spoke quickly to me in Spanish and I attempted to understand them. Diego, the man of the house, walked in to say goodbye before he headed off to work at the water filtration plant. We were all wordless for a moment, and my mind wandered. I thought to myself, if home is where the heart is, then I had a home is in this little town in Costa Rica. All of us felt the power in our silence. Then a smile spread over Diego’s face. “Pura Vida,” he remarked. Life is pure.
Nostalgia for Three Hours Ago Meredith Pellon ‘14
All along I knew it was ending That it would be finished But that didn’t help me much Because knowing that something Is about to be over Doesn’t make it any easier to give up And I imagined this day The tears and the laughter But I guess I should have known That I forgot to imagine The moments after When I would be all alone And after all that time Every minute passing by I never really thought it could be done Because the seconds building up Never add up Until you reach the last one
Lauren Nicholson ‘14
TylerVarsell, faculty
Endless Strength Stephanie Cruz ‘14
She tries. She strives. She falls. She cries. Falls down seven times gets up eight. She leaves her mark without a trace. Among the dragon path, she is the symbol of strength.
The True Measure of Love Jill O’Brien ‘13
I have never been in love and to be honest I frequently wonder whether I ever will be. In fact, until a couple of weeks ago, I’m not sure I understood what love really meant. I thought love remained as passionate and as fresh as the love between Darcy and Elizabeth in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice and after that initial passion fades, the love is gone. But I realize now that after the passion settles, a new kind of love forms—a love that can bear any challenge and embrace conflict, which makes the love between two people grow stronger. When I started to read William Shakespeare’s love poetry, Sonnet 116 and Sonnet 29, I felt that they expressed an idealistic view of love. The idea that love not only lasts forever, but grows stronger as it ages, seemed unlikely to me. It was not until last week while I was visiting the parents of a disabled child in a country where the government oppresses its people, that I realized what love really is. Rosa and Juan live in a two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Havana, Cuba. As our 40-foot-long tour bus pulled up to their house, Rosa, gripping her husband’s hand, ran out her front door smiling and waving, her husband looking just as happy as he stumbled to keep up with his eager wife. As my tour group of fifteen people made its way off the bus, Rosa and Juan kissed each one of our cheeks, shook our hands and hugged us. Then they shuffled us into their small home where we stood, shoulder to shoulder, in their stifling hot living room. Juan led us down a narrow hallway into a tiny pink bedroom. In the middle of the room stood a queen-size bed, the kind one would see in a cheap motel. As I turned to ask my uncle why we were in these people’s bedroom, I spotted a 1980s hospital bed adjacent to Juan and Rosa’s bed. On the thin mattress, I saw the limp body of a young woman; a plastic tube installed in her neck allowed her to breathe. Rosa, beaming at the rag doll figure, turned to our translator and explained that her daughter was born with a neuromuscular disorder that prevented her from developing beyond the intellectual level of a newborn. Rosa and Juan had raised Sandrita in their bedroom for 22 years. Reflecting on the scene, the placement of the beds struck me as a metaphor for the quality of Juan and Rosa’s love. How could a relationship like I see in Grey’s Anatomy or Desperate Housewives endure this type of living arrangement? Until this moment I thought that true love meant all you wanted to do was jump in and out of bed. Obviously Juan and Rosa’s relationship also had a spark of passion like this. But with time although the passion mellowed their love for each other did not die, it deepened. Everyone talks about love and all I understood was the fun part at the beginning. Rosa and Juan showed me the bond that can empower two people to survive almost unfathomable adversity. Alone, I wonder if each of these individuals would have the strength to face their life, but together they are a powerful force. In Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116, Shakespeare states that true love transcends hardship and from what I saw, true love can allow people to thrive in the face of terrible hardship. “Love is not love which alters when alteration finds:
Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken” (Sonnet 116, lines 2-6). Rosa and Juan fell in love and in the course of their journey have accepted the hardships life has confronted them with. Throughout the journey their love has been a source of strength. I am told that deprivation can place an incredible strain on relationships, but it also seems that when there is nothing else, love can provide unmatched support. Shakespeare refers to this in Sonnet 29: “Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate ” (Lines 9-12). Like the subject of the poem, Rosa and Juan’s situation could be considered miserable, but their love for each other sustains them. Juan and Rosa do not have much. They live in poverty in a society where no amount of hard work offers a chance to improve their station in life. In Shakespeare’s poem the speaker laments his lack of material wealth, but then he thinks of his love and realizes that it is more valuable than the fortune that he lacks: “For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings” (Sonnet 29 Lines 13-14). While nobody would choose Juan and Rosa’s situation, I had to admire their resilience. Instead of allowing an arguably unfair set of hardships to turn them bitter, they found strength in their love and unknowingly became an example for me. I went to Cuba seeking a glimpse of the type of totalitarian society I had read about in English class. I also hoped the trip might become the topic for a great college essay. The last thing I expected was to learn about love and about how meaningless my recent efforts to find a prom date really were. But that is what Rosa and Juan taught me and I wish I could repay them for the lesson. I hope my love will never be beset by the challenges they have faced. I hope my relationship includes the romance I have read about. But if I am really lucky, I will find a life partner who makes me laugh and shared my passion for traveling all over the world. I want to go on expensive vacations and have healthy children who I can watch grow up, but I realize now that nobody’s life is a fairytale and the true measure of my love will be if I find a relationship where the love is just as deep in good times and in bad.
Caitlin Joo ‘12
Louise Mellon ‘15
TylerVarsell, faculty
Agape (Abel Lee) Monet Clarke ‘12
I once loved a man. It wasn’t a romantic love— No, that would have been too simple; I loved his: Mind. So free. Experienced, yet uncontaminated. It refused to be confined. Pushing each boundary tenderly, Until it yielded to his touch. Soul. So old. Far older than his years, richer than his peers; an inspiration to his hearers. Reaching farther than the breath of any given mold, And deeper than the depth I’d e’er seen one soul go. I loved the life in his limbs, The tenor of his voice, The very breath he exhaled: it fed the trees which fed me. Such was the man I loved. And he loved me as well. This love knew nothing of desire— No, that would have been too easy. He loved my: “Wisdom,” he said. I was wise beyond my time. I had eyes that made him change his mind, And a voice that this air needed to hear ring clear. “Spirit,” he sighed. It was beautiful and strong. It was a fuse that refused to be extinguished, then an explosion of light and song. He loved the grace of my limbs, The warmth of my smile, The very breath I inhaled: it fed my being which fed this earth’s needs. Such was our love, but our love was betrayed. Thirty silver coins and he was stripped from my embrace, lips torn from my brow— Gone with a kiss across the river Styx. All this. So suddenly... I once lost a man But death could not kill his love for me. Our Love could not surrender to a sickle’s decree: I still feel his breath running through these trees.
We Must Overcome Inequality Jonell Brown ‘13
During the Civil Rights Movement Blacks fought for their right, Some of their most active Allies were White, They were sick and tired of the injustice and outright discrimination, Times were extremely difficult throughout the period of segregation, Dr. King once said that we are all sisters and brothers, Why does inequality exist? Why don’t we all love one another? No one should be judged by the color of his or her skin, Buy by what this individual has deep within, Although we may not look alike but we are both one and the same, I can’t grasp the idea of using a derogatory term and calling a group of people out of their name, I believe we should all think about what inequality actually means, I see no true difference in us when we’re all trying to accomplish the American dream, People immediately make assumptions about others based on race, religion, and even how much money you make, Standing up for something you in is a chance you have to take, I’m committed to being a supporter of our community’s diversity, I distinguish myself by expressing my passion for equality, Many civil rights leaders have paved the way, I could get on the bus, but I’m wondering if you’re ready to get on today?
A Right to Confidence Lindsey Riggles ‘18
For you, there always might be something to worry about “Am I not good enough? Will I make it?” If you knew that you had a chance Life would be much easier Nobody is talking about you as much as you think they are No matter how much they look at you and laugh Whatever happens, always remember: You are not alone. We’re in this together The only only one who is keeping you out of the group is you Get past the negative voices in your head You have the same right as everyone else A right to confidence
Caitlin Joo ‘12
Snapshot
Priscilla Jackson, faculty Early evening, late June, Dusk settles to dark. Scrubbed clean, still damp, in fresh pajamas, The only child I lie alone in my upstairs bed. Night bugs punctuate the air, Their hypnotic dots and commas vaguely comforting. In the room below me they play games, Those who have abandoned me to solitary confinement. Familiar voices rumble – Low and deep, high and light, Words indistinct. The men smoke – Cigar, cigarette, The sweet smell of my father’s pipe, Pungent odors that define each man Steal through the screen at my window. The women sip ginger ale from bright metal tumblers. Cards move from hand to hand, Slap the tabletop. “Full house!” “Four of a kind!” “Call!” Jealous, I listen, Coveting adult time I’m not allowed to share. The cats wake me, crying at my head. I’m the grown-up now, Older than they were when they dealt hands On the kitchen table in the room below me.
Caitlin Joo ‘12
Again they have abandoned me – My grandfather – tall, regal, infinitely patient, The one who cradled me, played with me, Called me his “kleine Madchen.” My grandmother – soft, warm, with large comfy arms, She who convinced me that to be a grandmother Was the career of choice; My uncle – bald, obese, yet handsome still, His trademark humor a sly treasure; My aunt – stylish, slender, Her high-pitched hysterical laugh infectious, Hilarious. They used to stage loud mock fights, those two, Fights that always ended with glorious hugs and kisses. My father – short, skinny, Glasses perched precariously on his nose, Teacher of history, pianist, lover of classical music, Corrector of bad grammar; And My mother, my hero… She pulled us together, Made us family, Taught me the meaning of unconditional love; Told me to say what I want, Do what I must, Follow my heart. “Live for every day, In every day, Because life’s too short,” she said, “life’s too short.” I’m the mother, now, The one who exhorts her huge extended family To say what you want, Do what you must, Follow your heart. Life is too short.
Liss Couch-Edwards, faculty