VOLUME 1 • ISSUE NO. 1
THE GYPSUM REVIEW
ES €2.50 IT €3.00 FR €6.00 GB €3.00 USA $6.99
CONT ENTS
PAGE 1 POSTCARD FROM MUMBAI, 2003 Kanchan Naik
PAGE 2
ICHARIBA CHODE Julia Vu
PAGE 3
A CIVILIZATION'S CREED Julia Vu
PAGE 4
STOLEN MOMENTS BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND THE MOON Julia Vu
PAGE 5
Mр║И каI Julia Vu
PAGE 6
MANU Anoushka Prashanth
PAGE 11
BUPKISS Brigitte Chung
PAGE 12
CONF(ESSION)LAGRATION Brigitte Chung
PAGE 13
THE LUCKY GIRL Prajanya Kannan
PAGE 17
NEVER AGAIN Michael Bazarov
CONT ENTS
PAGE 18 FLY TO YOUR DESTINATION Prajanya Kannan
PAGE 19 DYSPNEA Michael Bazarov
PAGE 20
ABOUT GYPSUM REVIEW
POSTCARD FROM MUMBAI, 2003
of a tiring before and a bouquet
My aunt was still young when the train shuddered—
The night always always a little brighter -burning, burning, burning.
wheels skidding into early graves, the shriek of broken gears. A hazy elegy, a bomb, then three. That moment, muted and comatose—its seed still asleep under her tongue, still born in salted earth, beneath the headstone
of tired after—hopelessly pregnant with the heartbeat of the faceless, the train christened in warm blood, unmoving. My aunt, old now, thinks only of trains, their spines convulsing in the moonlight.
ICHARIBA CHODE
(phr.) a saying upon meeting someone new, the spirit of hospitality and friendliness to strangers; “once we meet, we become brothers and sisters” my, what big teeth you have? all the better to eat you with, my dear. the thing with big, bad men is that they don’t seem like big, bad men at first. when he slid onto the stool beside her and asked the bartender for two manhattans, she didn’t know that he was a wicked creature with a taste for young girls, that smoothing talking fucker. his hand was resting on her thigh when he nodded towards the door, winking with a knowing smirk, and, entranced, she followed.
alarmed, she stands up to leave, but then she hears her mother, eyebrows raised as she handed her daughter a purse of fresh bait, well, maybe you shouldn’t have worn a hood blood red, my dear, you might as well have just asked for it, and she sits back down, lips sealed shut and eyes cast to the cover of the room. he reaches a finger beneath her chin, turning her to face his eyes, golden in the dark. my, what big teeth you have! all the better to eat you with, my dear.
he pushed her onto the bed, pinning her wrists against the headboard. he told her that in his culture it’s customary for a man to consume his loved ones, to make them a part of himself and everything he does. i promise to relish your flesh and to tear through you with freshly sharpened teeth.when the deed is done, i’ll wear a lock of your hair around my neck, cradle your skull close to my heart, wrap your fingers around my waist, and hold you close, so so close, and we’ll be one.
A CIVILIAN'S CREED IF I BURNED YOU INTO A SLICE OF MY CRISIS, DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE LOVE IS A CHARITY CASE. DON’T TELL ME I NEED TO CALM DOWN; TONIGHT, THE GROUND HAS SOAKED IN CRIMSON AND PERMEATED IN THE LIMBS OF BOYS YOUNG ENOUGH TO BELIEVE. DON’T TELL ME THAT IT’S GOING TO BE OKAY; TONIGHT, MY HEART IS A TON TOO HEAVY, AND IF I T E E T E R TOO FAR OFF THE EDGE OF LONELY AND ALONE, I WILL SINK AND THE WATER WILL ENGULF ME AND THE EARTH WILL CONSUME ME. PLEASE FORGIVE ME, DOPAMINE HAS DECLARED WAR ON MY MIND LONG AGO AND I HAD PULLED YOU INTO THE SHADOW OF PROJECTION, PLEASE FORGIVE ME. MY WINGS ARE HAVE BEEN TORN, DARLING, THEY'RE NOT MEANT TO SPREAD AND FLY; I CANNOT BE CURED. THIS LOVE WILL NOT FIX ME; MY TRAUMA IS S T E E P, YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE BOTTOM OF IT. GUNSHOTS DO NOT CEASE AT WHISPERED HYMNS, THEY ECHO UNDER DAWN’S LAST BREATH. THE GUILT OF SURVIVAL IS HEAVY. JUST HOLD ME UNTIL THE INSOMNIAC’S DAWN. HOLD ME UNTIL RAIN WASHES AWAY BLOOD-CAKED ON FROWN LINES. JUST HOLD ME UNTIL THE SILENCE OF TOMORORROW FILLS THE AIR.ROW FILLS THE AIR.
STOLEN MOMENTS BETWEEN YOU, ME, AND THE MOON
when the night washes over the sky and the city lights illuminate the restless summer air and the stars hide behind thin veils, the moon doesn’t steal the sky, but only unveils the beauty of the dark, glowing with the sun’s light, and although the sun doesn’t ask for anything in return, when their lips meet, it’s like a burst of energy erupting onto the horizon, painting the breaking dawn with the blushing of the sun and the smile of the moon. as we lay in the midsummer fields and gaze up to the star fields as the blanket of the night wraps around us, watching how the starlight holds onto the vast void of the midnight sky, i thought to myself, i think i’ve loved you from the beginning, perhaps it means we were made from the same star. freckles blending in with stars and galaxies disappearing behind your eyes, you remind me of the moon - imposing, imperial, imperfect - and when you leaned over to whisper your sweet nothings, the warmth of your breath brushing the curve of my ear, i thought to myself, it’s like we’ve met before, it’s like we’ve known each other from the start. lying next to you feels like getting a taste of eternity, like the soft harp playing after a rainstorm, like falling completely lost in the watercolors of the sunset, and tonight we bask in the gentle stillness and the cradle of abysmal solace of night and tomorrow we dream of it again, and i thought to myself, i could get used to this. and looking at the sky’s glittering freckles with my fingers intertwined in yours, my heart skipping beats like rocks across a lake of serenity when our limbs intertwine, my mind clouded with a strange sense of nostalgia, the night filled with the echoing pulse of you and i, i can’t help but wonder to myself, how many sleepless nights does it take to count the stars?
MẸ ƠI IT’S BEEN SIX YEARS SINCE MY PARENTS HAVE READ MY WRITING. MY MOTHER DOESN’T MENTION MY POETRY ANYMORE; SHE HATES MY SELECTIVE MEMORY. SHE SAYS THAT I ONLY EVER REMEMBER THE RAISED VOICES AND SLAMMED DOORS AND THE QUIET TEARS SHED BEHIND LOCKED BATHROOM DOORS. SHE SAYS I NEVER TALK ABOUT THE LULLABIES SHE SANG WHEN SHE FIRST CRADLED ME IN HER ARMS OR THE WAY SHE CRIED SO VIOLENTLY SHE SHOOK. SHE SAYS I NEVER MENTION THE ARMS WRAPPED TIGHT AROUND MY QUAKING BODY AND THE FINGERS THAT WORK THROUGH MY SWEAT-TANGLED HAIR AND THE SPLINTERED VOICE OF A MOTHER WHO DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SAVE HER BABY WHISPERING IN MY EAR AND TELLING ME THAT IT’S GOING TO BE OKAY. I KNOW YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ME AND PERHAPS YOU NEVER WILL. PERHAPS YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THAT SOMEDAYS, ALL I WANT IS TO CRAWL BACK INTO YOUR ARMS AND CURL BACK INTO YOUR WOMB AND BE UNBORNED. PERHAPS YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THAT SOMEDAYS I JUST WANT TO MERGE BACK INTO YOUR BEING, TO JUST BE A PART OF YOU AGAIN. MOMMY, YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND MY FASCINATION WITH DYING, BUT THAT’S OKAY. I DON’T EITHER. MOMMY, IT’S TOO LATE FOR AN ABORTION, BUT IT’S NEVER TOO LATE TO KEEP ME. MOMMY. I MISS YOU. MẸ ƠI, CON NHỚ MẸ.
MANU.
“Hatred is a bottomless cup; I will pour and pour.” ––Medea, Euripides
They called her Manu. She knew her parents hated it. Manu was a boy’s name. Why wasn’t she called Manushi, like they had intended? Manushi––it meant feminine, kind. But she didn’t think she was especially kind, or especially feminine. Manu suited her––after all, she had chosen it herself. It was simple. Short. Easy to say. She liked what it meant––thinker, ruler of the earth. She knew she was a thinker, and she would like to be ruler of the earth, if she could. Names had power. She had always known that. She collected them, the way you collect coins, or stamps. On hot days, she put them under her tongue and sucked on them until they dissolved. On cold nights, she ran her fingers over their grooves, searching for meaning–––Rahu. Phillip. Shrishti. Andrea. Suraj. Jason. She hated her new school. Its name was unmemorable, self-explanatory, like ‘Evergreen’ or ‘Creekwood’. It was the only high school in the small town of Pallas, California, so it’s not like she had much of a choice. (Pallas––like Athena, goddess of wisdom and war). She envied Rahu (star; king of meteors) more than ever. Her older brother had graduated three years ago, and had come up from Cal Poly SLO for just a few weeks to help their parents set up the old office complex that would become the local bed and breakfast. Manu had hinted that she’d be okay with being homeschooled for the first semester to help––it’s senior year, she wouldn’t miss anything––but Suraj (the sun) and Srishti (gift of god) Menon were adamant. Their daughter would complete all of her last year on campus. So every weekday morning, muttering curses under her breath, she clipped back her long dark mane of hair, heaved her dilapidated backpack on her shoulder, and headed to school. She hated her new school not just because everything about it was aggressively uncharactered, everyone in it aggressively archetypal–– she hated it because she was a teenager, and she didn’t need to justify her hatred of things. The only remotely interesting thing was that the back of the school library overlooked the Pallas Regional Forest, and if you knew where the weak spot in the fence was, it was not hard to disappear into the trees for a smoke or a fuck or a cry. But Manu didn’t visit the forest for any of those things––not because she looked down on any of the variety of interactions that happened in the grey-blue shadows of the trees, but because weed addictions were expensive, and she didn’t talk to anyone enough to do them in a forest. And she hasn’t cried since she was three (at least, according to Rahu), so that was out of the question. She went to the forest because she just liked the trees themselves––the smell of wet earth and juniper, of rotting leaves and new growth. She liked the way the light fell like dappled rain on their trunks in the late afternoon light. She liked that they had been around forever––they were like gods, or maybe aliens. If they could speak, she could barely imagine the things they would say. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes, she could almost hear them whisper––treasures, holy and unholy, hidden in the way the wind rustled through their branches. If only she knew what they were saying. Her classes were not challenging enough to keep her attention for long. Days were a blur of dusty fluorescent lights and the distant buzz of too-much air conditioning. She patiently corrected teachers when they butchered her name. Manu. Call me Manu. She held her silence when classmates called her queer or dothead or worse. Her own rage grated against her skull and made her eyes burn but she just closed her eyes and swallowed it.
M A N U , continued Weeks, then months passed, in a growing pool of numbness at the bottom of her stomach. Rahu left for university again. Suraj and Srishti did their best to wipe off the painted slurs off their front door before Manu got home. But Manu still knew. She wanted to confront them about it, beg them to file a police report, to complain, something, anything to stop those red, jeering words. But it was no use––she knew what they’d say if she ever suggested it. Log kya kahenge, Manu? What would people say? So instead, she said nothing. Took a deep breath and thought of her trees. She convinced herself it wasn’t so bad. As long as she had the trees and her names she could float through her last year of high school, somehow. And then she would be off––she didn’t know where, but somewhere, away from Pallas. She would go to SLO like her brother. Or maybe, just maybe, she would go to San Francisco or New York. She could never afford it, but she would try. She was smart. Maybe she could get a scholarship or something. She just needed to keep going. Just for a few more months, and then she could get out. But then he happened. Transferred from another class in the middle of the semester. Something about needing another English credit to graduate. Was he aware that this was an advanced literature class. No messing around. He’d learn soon enough. Extra desk near Manu. He. The king of the school. The archetype of the archetypes. Joseph Campbell’s thousand faces in one. Golden hair, clear blue eyes. She knew what she must look like to him––the funny-looking brown girl. Too much acne. Black bushy hair barely obeying the multitude of pins and clips that held it back. She had never been conscious of her hair before. Indian culture and her mother had always been plain about it: long thick hair was a woman’s beauty. Her pride. Suddenly, she wished it were more tameable. It probably didn’t matter anyway. He didn’t even know she existed. She was ruler of the earth and he had no idea. She cursed herself for even caring, and decided that she hated him. Hated what he represented. But then he looked at her, and smiled, at her, and asked her which page of Oedipus Rex they were on, and she found herself helping him. He’s no good at English. Would she be willing to tutor him? Ms. So-and-so could mark them off as volunteer hours if they asked. Sure, no problem. Fridays after school. Same room. See you. I want to please. Hours spent in that dingy classroom. Cheap ink smudging the pages of Oedipus Rex. Oedipus––swollen foot. Rex––king. She began to memorize his laugh the crinkle at the sides of his eyes the way watered-down sunlight caught his hair and made it blaze. She stored his name away in her collection. Meaning––healer of all things. She felt healed. They took breaks often. Left the scratched back door ajar and hopped the fence to sit cross-legged at the edge of the treeline. She pointed out her favorite tree––a young birch, slanted like the hull of a ship. So much potential in those green shoots. Birch––from Old English bierce. She told him, quietly, about the times she could almost hear them speak. He asked if this was part of her religion. She just smiled. Healer. The first time he touched her, it was under that birch tree. She did not stop to think if she wanted it. Of course she did. He was the golden boy, the king, the demigod, and he had chosen her. How could she not want it? She did not stop to think when he refused to acknowledge her in class, or his self-conscious snickers when his asshole friend Phillip (friend of horses) called her cow-worshipper and stuck gum in her hair when they passed her in the hallways. She couldn’t care less. The joke was on them, because their golden boy wanted her, the dothead, the cow-worshipper. He wanted her, and that was enough. Suraj and Srishti were just relieved that their daughter had come around to living in Pallas. They had been worried about her the first few months, but she seemed to be settling in at last.
M A N U , continued On the last day of Thanksgiving break before he went back to university, Rahu had confronted her about it. They were sitting in a Dairy Queen parking lot while Manu finished her Oreo milkshake and Rahu finished his cigarette. Manu didn’t mind that he smoked around her. She was no snitch. In between puffs he asked––you got a boyfriend? It was less a question than a statement. Sorta, she replied. Manu told him about the tutoring session, the trees. Oedipus Rex. Thousand faces. He was silent for a moment. Extinguished his cigarette with a practiced hand. Finally, he spoke. Be careful, is all he said. Rahu’s just being paranoid. Apollo sending his giant scorpion. Healer of all things. She put Rahu’s hesitation out of her head. One by one, under their tree, she told him all the things she’d never told anyone. The applications to that preppy expensive college hidden away in the nether world of her browser history. The collection of names hidden away in her head. Athena/star/sun/gift/horses. Healer. He asked her about her name. Quietly, gingerly, she put it in his hands. Manu. Manushi. Thinker. Kind. Ruler of the earth. Woman. He held it like a bird between his lips and she decided she was in love with him. She dreamed about what it would be like with him by her side. There would be no mockery, no broken windows on her mother’s car. She wouldn’t get her invisibility, but there would still be silence. The rare kind that comes from the world being awe-struck. Manu––ruler of the earth. She would be made whole in his hands. But then she started hearing things, even as she tried not to. Phillip slipping a different word alongside his usual taunts, so fast she didn’t even catch it. She heard other things too, snatches of conversation between locker-neighbors––did you hear? Caught him behind the school with––yeah, heh. In the forest. Andrea Simmons, can you believe it? You know he’s been trying for her since middle school. Feel sorta bad for that other girl he was messing around with though. The Mexican one––or was she Indian? Philip didn’t tell you? Took pictures and everything. Kind of a dick move, haha. Her heart dropped. A stone. She would turn everything to stone. Then––the next Friday, under their spot in the trees: were you ever going to tell me? Of course, he said. But just because I’m with her doesn’t mean this. He gestured vaguely. Doesn’t mean this can’t go on. Suddenly, she remembered the name Phillip had used. Hadn’t quite heard the whole thing. Sounded like a type of shell. The one they used for that old mythical war Suraj used to tell them about, the one between brothers. Conch. Concubine. It hit her slowly, then all at once. She would never be his queen. Deep inside, perhaps she had known this all along, but she’d dared not think it. Because thinking it would mean everything fell apart. Concubine. She would never be Aphrodite (risen from the foam) or Helen (bright one). She was––dothead. Concubine. Cow-worshipper. Barbarian. Concubine. Concubine. Concubine. Spray painted slurs on her mother’s car. Is that part of your religion. Phillip’s gum in her hair. I’m no good at English. I want to please. She told him all this. You were supposed to be healer of all things. Why am I not whole? Stop being a bitch, Manu. Do you think I could have really walked around school with you? Taken you to prom? What would people say? So this is how it is. You’re no healer. No king. It’s not my job to make you whole. You’re a psycho, you know that? Got some fucked-up image of me in your mind. Just because you got called a few names in the hallways. Gimme a break.
M A N U , continued Fuck you. She mock-curtsied and spat at his feet. Manu walked home alone in the red light of the late spring evening. Sunset. Things ending. My soul bitten into with wrong. She bought a small black can of kerosene. Swiped Rahu’s favorite cigarette lighter from its hiding place under the sink. An old razor from his trash can and the nearly empty tin of shaving cream from the counter. Stuffed them in her bag. The trees whispered more insistently in her mind. Monday morning, she was ready. Positioned the items carefully in her backpack so they didn’t clink together suspiciously on her way out the door. Rahu wouldn’t notice his shaving things gone until he came back for Christmas, and it would be too late by then. Took a moment to glance at her parents before she walked out the door. Shristhi Menon, spindly fingers industriously working chapati atta for dinner. Suraj Menon, newspaper balanced precariously over his cup of coffee. Dark circles etched into their faces. For a moment, she considered telling them everything––the tutoring, the trees, the names, spray painted or otherwise. Considered calling Rahu, telling him what she planned to do, considered letting him talk her out of it. But then her parents looked up at her, and smiled, and said, Manu, you’ve handled all this so well. We’re so proud of you. And the words stuck in her throat. Got to school early. Sprinted there. Left a note in his locker. Set the whole thing up before first period. I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. You were right. I miss you. Meet me at our place after fourth period? Have a surprise for you. xo. Healer of all things. Ruler of the earth. Planned it all out last night in her history notebook. Threw the notebook out on the way here. Wouldn’t need it anymore. She stood right at the tree line, fingers drumming against her thigh in the grey morning light. Their favorite tree, the birch, just there, in the distance. It would only work if it started in the trees. The school is too much of a concrete jungle for it to do little more than evacuate the school.The forest shrieked unholy overtures in the wind. Begging her to stop. She thought about her long-ago plans of leaving Pallas, dreams of skyscrapers and oceans and college libraries, the dreams of disappearing into the very same trees she was about to forsake, and she faltered, if only for a moment. If she wanted this to succeed, she needed to let it all go. And I'm a woman made of sorrow. No matter. She had to do this. Ruler of the earth. She shut the trees out of her mind, and for the first time, they did not speak to her. He was late, but he came. Flashed her that clear blue-eyed smile that suspended her heartbeat. Glad you came to your senses. You said you had a gift? Yes. A make-up gift. Have something hidden for you by our tree. He turned toward the tree. She felt a pang of regret. Wait––she kissed the space between his eyebrows. A last smile. Go on, then. She thinks sadly––my love for you was greater than my wisdom. Pokes around. She flicks the lighter on. He’s confused. Good. Lights her kerosene-coated branch. I don’t see anything. Where–– She hurls the branch at the roots of her beloved tree. I will storm the Gods and shake the Universe. He yelps, jumping back, as his sleeve singes. He is screaming at her, but she isn’t listening. She is entranced by the flames, a dragon crawling up and consuming her tree, bark bubbling and splitting in the heat, leaves dissolving into ash. She thinks she hears weeping, but she could not care. Ruler of the earth. He sprints toward the tree line, but she is already gone, disappearing back into the school.
M A N U , continued Steals through the empty hallways. Ms. So-and-so would have marked her late by now, she thinks irrationally. Stumbles into the girl’s bathroom, giddy with the flames and the look on his face. Pulls out the pair of scissors. She’s cut the first lock of hair when her name is called over the loudspeaker. Fire alarm starts ringing just as she takes out the razor. Students watch from the dusty parking lot as the flames tear apart Pallas Regional Preserve. The sky is a vibrant shade of red. She is the last student to evacuate. They drag her out of the science building just as flames consume the school library. She is unrecognizable–– her hair has been buzzed off, and she is bleeding from where the razor has nicked her scalp. The crimson light illuminates the hollows of her cheeks. Her eyes are wild, unstable in their sockets. She looks around, and everyone is silent. There is no mockery, no laughter, just horror. He stands just across the lot, with his bandaged arm wrapped protectively around Andrea. She looks at him, and she sees nothing in his eyes. Suddenly, she begins to laugh, a sooty, unrecognizable bark of a laugh. They flinch. And as she is led into the back of the police car, impossibly, Manushi looks triumphant. She raises her arms up to the terrible sky in victory. She has finally won. FIN.
BUPKISS must Gay rights be a thing?
the cacophony erupting straight up from the pits jowls shake so do fists in fits so do disapproving faces with all intention to do so. imagine “HAH STRAIIIGHT” being a thing. when Eric and Bianca from the third grade, sat together and didn’t flinch,,,no snarl? schoolyard chuckle. Yet, they did not dare chant “erica and brianna sitting in a tree”, for it was never considered a ‘we’. Wrapped in crumpled eyebrows, aversive disapproval.
→
→
our gift shouldn’t be looking away because it was Gay. it should be looking away because they’re so cute together it’s disgusting. and perhaps if I weren’t so afraid of the forces that fixed my collar,
‘We’ would carry different memories I’d roll over on your side of the bed to warm it up, waiting for you to finish your 3 hour Korean skincare routine. i’d wait, then i'd welcome you into our fuzzy igloo to talk about your day. let me. god damn you, let me. Either way though, I refuse to let this ‘nothing’ freeze.
CONF(ESSION)LAGRATION ––“try harder”_ how churlish. saying that to a person who’s hanging in
。。
、
with one hand final-y-ish cracked knees adhered to vertical arm, soapy fingernails still dirty gesticulating in this tranquil rage for Help 1)
in “Try Harder”, it gets personal real fast. it’s playing the Knife Game around a cliff-hanging creature’s hand light stabbing on fifth -boulevard- digit though, consistently. a solid sock in the mouth though, only weakening
it lasts though never the last
。
(not the killer)
when “try harder” is said ((how Pharisaic.))
to a person who’s hanging in
、
with one hand final-y-ish-now tight hips taped on arm, dirty fingernails gone flappable questioning waves, tranquil rage for Understanding quite literally,burnt out quit-close, cheap slow-roast in their head
traveling
the narrow mind-body thread
when your head is in your hands you really only feel like I.)destroying II.)disappearing “try harder” stays, growing like a cancer staying cool like a firebut god, eventually it spills, culminates. splash and the mess is perpetual, zero-sum mass “try harder” is closing fingers, a diminutive extinguisher it’s a firm smack gripping on the shirt-tail-too, if the camera would just pan down the last pinch on/of(f) pumping out oxygen
burning the fuel,
smothering fire.
THE LUCKY GIRL The bell rang, and I ran against the strong wind at lightning speed until I entered Room 13, waving to the teacher and my classmates. Some heads shifted in my direction with hard looks, so I turned away. They were hinting that I am the different one in the pack. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mrs. Grimhilde questioned, her eyes huge as if looking at her mirror, seeming cunning, “Are you ready for the surprise project?” The subjects nodded in sync with no emotion, scanning the room. “We will …” she stated louder than the roar of a lion, “hold a talent show and a POT - luck!” Every word struck my mind. I analyzed the word “talent” for a while. I knew I had a myriad of interests, but do I have what it takes to present them? “Potluck” attracted me because I do love cooking. I finally raised my head high and put my smile on. I will volunteer for the potluck and,” I answered smoothly, “I will bring Kimchi with curry and some tea!” All that excitement stopped when John stomped on me, and the class exchanged insidious insults.“ Did you just have plastic - surgery?” “Change your accent. Welcome to America.” “Sit in the trashcan because that is where you belong!” The bullies kept rambling, but I sped through the students to reach the bathroom. Although the ambient bathroom air was not calming, the voices in the halls were out to get me! I munched on Bulgogi and pasta. I started to compile my documents in what I called the “Thy Memoiractory,” and drafted what happened today. It was routine to document my moments in my journal. A few classes took place in the same room with the same kids who used the same behavior. The speaker announced, “Everyone, it is now time to go back to your Districts, for I am sure school was a piece of cake!” At supper, our family sat at the table, prayed, and repeated the questions for my sister and me: How was school today? “That is,” I interrupted with no thought, but with the grueling frustration from school, muttered, “too broad a question! You understand!” “Seriously? Never disrespect me and answer,” my mom declared, but started to sob, “because I worked so hard back home to give you this education.” My sister held my hand and took me to our room. I have to give my thanks to my sister. She helps me so much, and those words were motivating. Mom taught us that song when we were young. I had a sound sleep today. I decided to listen to my sister. Our relationship is “Crystal,” which is why my mom chose that name for her. My mom’s cousins always complained about how their kids would fight for just rice cakes. My mom has always taught us to be together. Crystal and I are a couple of years apart and can relate to many things. When we went to Disneyland, Crystal would braid my hair and cling on to me so much that my mom tried for an hour to get her to leave me.
T H E L U C K Y G I R L , continued My mom pleaded, “Su-Jeong (Crystal), leave your younger sister so we can go on the ride.”After all, our relationship is pretty strong, yet we argue a little. Now I get why my mom made us sit next to Gwangeo, our pet koi fish. We had Gwangeo ever since my sister was born. “We are the positive ones in the house. It is fine to rebel sometimes, but this one did not make sense. Mom can scold us, but you usually bring peace, Serene.” I nodded in silence and started crying a little of joy this time. “So, are you happy now?” my sister says in a singsong tone. I have to give my thanks to my sister. I mean, she helps me so much, and those words were motivating. Mom taught us that song when we were young. I had a sound sleep today. After I traveled down memory lane that night, I remember those words, and I would not worry as much. The bullies continued to repeat their behaviors, but something seemed strange-out of the world. I stopped going to the bathroom in school and ignored them. Not only did my attitude change, but I found out the teacher’s true intentions. The point where I found out her smile had defined her attitude was during a math question. “Folks, please come up with the proof for the Tangents-Secants Product Theorem.” Mrs. Grimhilde, as usual, staring at the mirror, instructing us to solve the problem. Just as I was about to explain the proof, she cut me off. “Serene, always disrupting the class with your intelligence. You always disturb the peace in this room. I am the SMARTEST of them all!” I thought and started humming, “Oh, I am in trouble. Oh, I am in trouble.” Even the head of Room 13 thinks I am weird. It almost feels like her subjects are going after me. When could this end? My brain is firing up after what the teacher told me. And she stated not once, not twice, but every day. I knew at the top of my head, my family and I would be upset, but I was frustrated and sad, so I decided to, but something stopped me. My sister walked into the room and urged, “Do your homework, and mom is taking us to an Indian place we love, which we go once a while. Focus and do it. Please. Please. These will be accountable in high school, trust me.” She is an amazing sister, and I love these cuisines. Something was abnormal in me, and I am still young, so I have to stay chill. I will do my homework, and it has been a long time since I ate Indian cuisine. Our family took a walk to the Indian restaurant, and I greeted one of the waiters. “Hi, what can I get for you?” the waitress patiently asked. She reminds me of my grandma, who also had the same calm, soft voice. “We would like biryani.” my mom replied, and she started a conversation with the waitress. “Do you have any kids, and how are they doing in school?”“ My kids are getting good grades, but I stress on their well being too. My son has been bullied sometimes for his mom’s job and being an Asian. How about your daughter?” she used her stern, mom voice. “Serene is having some difficulties. Our family is figuring out a solution.”
T H E L U C K Y G I R L , continued “Wow! I love your daughter’s name, Serene. It means beauty and peace in English. I do not know her much, but I definitely can see your daughter’s kindness and purity after greeting our waiters in our language and English.” “Serene’s birth name is “Byengho,” which means glorious. I named her Serene because she used to help other differently-abled kids out when she was small in daycare. We came from Korea, but we love global cuisines. ”My sister told me about how I wanted to rip my homework to my mom. My mom was pissed that I would think of such a thing. I apologized to my mom. I smell our food, and it is coming! I ate biryani. It had colorful vegetables with rice and masala. The biryani was plain rice with color, but masala to season. “Yay! Thank you.” I bowed a little for respect and smiled. My sister took me to a boba tea shop. As I started drinking passion tea, the bobas in the tea were soft and plumpy, and it popped in my mouth. I noticed many patterns in my food, such as how my sister’s boba is thicker and chewier. I knew about these things. I ordered a boba from my sister. Then, why do I feel so different? I do know that I cannot handle the pain and have to become more resilient. I knew I was going to face the same thing, greeted with rude remarks. “Hey, Asian pervert!” I would ignore them and kneel, but I thought about the boba and thought of old memories. I knew what to do: Stand up for myself. I stood high. “Stop this, okay! Can you stop hollering insults!” I voiced out after a long time. The bullies were surprised but continued to intimidate me. (Boon) Meanwhile, I met Carrey Williams and Maria Fernandez. We already knew about each other since we sit next to each other. I was so self-absorbed in my misery that I didn't even know what others were going through. The restaurant waiter and my new buddies have been through the same situation. I guess I got friends in return! I requested them to participate in the potluck, but I could sense denial in them. “We will be laughing stock if we participated!” Carrey and Maria answered in unison. “The potluck is a great way to show our true capabilities!” I assured them, and they were in for the potluck. Some weeks pass by, and the Day of Potluck comes. Everyone starts booing us, but we do not care. I presented my kimchi with Tteokbokki, and I decided to make the curry that they made in the Indian restaurant. Maria brought churros and enchiladas. At last, Carrey got the Doro Wot. For the first time, the teacher started crying and feeling happy. The students cheered on as I brought boba out of the bag. Everyone chanted our names and got all of our food. No kidding, but this girl stretched my cheeks, and John fist-bumped my new friends and me. I was excited, happy, and fulfilled. I guess I not only saved the day but also changed the attitudes of this kingdom! Now, the kingdom of Room 13 continues to enjoy and be peaceful! THE END.
NEVER AGAIN YOU WERE THE PERSON I WENT TO FOR EVERYTHING CLOSER THAN I EVER WAS WITH SOMEONE I WAS VULNERABLE WITH YOU OH HOW TIME HAS PASSED HOW MUCH WE CHANGED... .
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AND WE WERE BOTH LOST, AND WERE THERE FOR EACH OTHER AND DURING THAT TIME, I’LL BE HONEST IN SAYING I’D NEVER FELT BETTER BUT WHEN YOU LEFT, EVERYTHING CHANGED FIRST I SOBBED THEN I DIED RE-EMERGED AS A PERSON OF HATE THE SADNESS THAT I HAD BEFORE WAS NOW DIRECTED AT YOU AND EVERY PASSING DAY, IT WAS JUST ME AGAIN, MISSING WHAT I ONCE HAD ALONE IN THAT DROWNING VOID THAT IS MYSELF SUMMER COMES, A YEAR AFTER YOU LEFT AND I’M NOWHERE BUT MISERABLE, YEARNING FOR REVENGE SO I HATCH A PLAN, TO LEARN WHAT YOU’VE LEARNED TO SHOW OFF MY SKILLS, THAT I’M BETTER THAN YOU SEE IT’S AN ATTEMPT AT MAKING YOU HURT YOU LEFT AND WERE FINE WHILE I STAYED THE SAME… I STAYED THE SAME. YOU ROSE TO GROUND LEVEL, WHILE I STAYED BELOW... I HATE THE FACT THAT YOU MOVED ON WITHOUT THE BLINK OF AN EYE! I HATE IT SO MUCH, AND I HATE THAT YOU’RE NORMAL! I HATE HOW IT’S JUST ME AGAIN, BACK TO WHERE I STARTED, WHEN I THOUGHT YOU’D UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S LIKE!
NEVER AGAIN, continued BUT I’M WILLING TO BET AFTER YOU HEALED, YOU FORGOT. SEE, THAT’S THE WORST PART OF IT ALL! AFTER YOU HEAL FROM THE PAIN, YOU FORGET HOW YOU FELT WHEN YOU HAD IT. SO YOU CHOSE TO SEVER YOUR TIES WITH ME, ‘CUZ I WAS WHAT? A PERSON WHO WAS LOST TOO? WELL, YOU WEREN’T LOST ANYMORE. AND AS I REMINDED YOU OF THE TIME WHEN YOU HAD THAT PAIN, YOU DECIDED TO SAY GOODBYE, AND TOLD ME THE SAME SHIT THAT PEOPLE TOLD YOU WHEN YOU WERE LOST: “IT’LL BE OK, YOU JUST GOTTA LOVE YOURSELF. YOU MIGHT NOT THINK IT NOW, BUT IT’LL GET BETTER…” I KNOW WHY YOU LEFT, I KNOW IT MAKES SENSE, BUT… I HATE YOU MORE THAN LIFE, I HATE YOU MORE THAN MYSELF, AND IT’S NOT A LIE TO SAY THAT I WISH YOU HELL! I HOPE THAT YOU’RE HAPPY, AND THEN LIFE SCREWS YOU UP, I HOPE YOU FALL BACK DOWN, AND REMEMBER HOW IT FELT! I HOPE WITH ALL MY SOUL AND EVERY SHRED THAT YOU CRY, CRY LIKE I DID, SO MUCH THAT IT BLEEDS! SEE YOU HEALED AND GOT WHAT YOU WANTED, BECAME NORMAL AGAIN AND I, WHO WAS I TO YOU? OH YEA, THE ANNOYING KID FROM THE PAST! ENOUGH! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS, BE SO COLD, BE SO AWFUL? TRULY YOU DESERVE THE WORST, I HOPE KARMA GETS YOU! BETRAYAL I WANT SOMEONE TO BETRAY YOU SO BAD THAT IT ENDS UP CAUSING YOU TO REALIZE WHAT IT WAS LIKE FOR ME I DON’T CARE IF IT’S PETTY. YOU HURT ME ALRIGHT? AND IF YOU’RE READING THIS, THEN, WELL… GREAT THAT YOU’VE HEALED FROM YOUR WOUNDS, BUT YOU MADE MINE WORSE. INSPIRED SOME STORIES AND NOVELS, SURE, BUT WHAT’S THAT COMPARED TO THE PAIN? YOU THINK I WANT TO FEEL THIS YOU’RE RIGHT I CAN’T LET GO BUT DO YOU REALLY THINK IT GETS BETTER? THEN GET THOSE RAINBOWS OUT THAT YOU’VE PUT IN YOUR HEAD GET OUT OF YOUR DREAM WORLD, AND REMEMBER, I’M JUST LIKE YOU WERE. .
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YOU WERE THE PERSON I WENT TO FOR EVERYTHING CLOSER THAN I EVER WAS WITH SOMEONE NEVER AGAIN… I WAS VULNERABLE WITH YOU NEVER, EVER AGAIN… OH HOW TIME HAS PASSED HOW MUCH YOU CHANGED AND I? I’VE ONLY GROWN IN THE PAIN. YOU WERE THE PERSON I WENT TO FOR EVERYTHING CLOSER THAN I EVER WAS WITH SOMEONE NEVER AGAIN… I WAS VULNERABLE WITH YOU NEVER, EVER AGAIN…
FLY TO YOUR DESTINATION The pudgy birdies flew through the blue and gaseous skies of Uranus. Naturally formed domes from iced carbon monoxide and rocky layers guard the planet's circle—no palace or farms on this planet, just caves with many varieties of crystal. After a full orbit around the hot, shining star, a new era is born. To celebrate one rotation, the residents and community council party and create clay figurines resembling the gods. The next morning, the planet was covered with dust and fire. The Uranians rampaged through the unbearable smoke. The community council alarmed the citizens in Uranian, "There are some 12 rockets from Earth, each having 30 intruders on it! What shall we do?" The citizens reply in unison, "Bring them in, so we can ask why they came." The rockets contain humans. What about Mars? Nope, too hot, but Uranus would have a colder climate! At this point, both sides were devastated. Uranians decided to bring humans to their homes and care for them. They poked some amethyst nails near the humans' hearts to shield them from the carbon monoxide. Some humans started cursing and shooting since they did not want other species here. Fortunately, Uranians had extreme resilience, and the gods and community councils tried to keep the peace for 1 more rotation. Humans feel more settled in with the Uranian customs and lifestyles. The community council brought in humans to teach English and other human signs. In the Mashiho Layout near the Amethyst Caves, Narsia, one of the community members, has been housing Freddy from Florida. She has one kid, Reveluv. Her husband has gone out of Uranus to Neptune for an event but never turned back. Uranians and the community have tried to go to Neptune and call him, but he gets married to the Queen of Neptunites, Chailisatea. Also, Freddy's wife passed away in a car accident back in Florida along with his kid, Teumes. Reveluv had been helping her parents a lot and was known as an amazing artisan on this planet! When Narsia met Freddy, everything changed! Freddy was a drug addict back in the U.S. and would have landed in prison if he did not escape to Uranus. His family could have bailed him out anytime since they have lots of money. Teumes was a handsome jock, but not attentive in studies, nor did he have the best impression in school, but he is so popular that everyone gives in to him. Narcissa and Freddy would take walks and teach her English. Teumes and Freddy did not like Reveluv. They started cursing her and made her do chores. The community sent her projects to work on, but none of them were correctly done due to the mistreatment and depression she faced. Her mom continued to kiss and praise Teumes, but did not look even once at her biological daughter. She always longed for her mom's help and love, but Narsia was immersed in her work and the step-kid. The birdies she had in her garden saw Teumes spitting and doing the "middle-finger" to Reveluv. She was having enough! She signaled the birdies who ended up informing the Goddess of Purity. Reveluv knew these signs since the community members had some humans to help with language and culture barriers. The congratulatory festival for the community members' achievements came by, and the community council's families were invited. Narcissa had to leave early since she had to decorate the cave halls. Meanwhile, Freddy and Teumes smoked around her and told her to clean their rooms. The Goddess of Light came down and asked to chant the prayers, while the Goddess of Purity told her to smile and gave her craving tools plus some jade crystals. The birdies helped fit into a velvet gown. The birdies helped The Goddess of Light transport to the halls and give the projects at the entrance. The community guards took notice and kept it ready on the table. The names were finally being announced. Reveluv flew in joy with birdies, and the God of Water came behind her! Reveluv stood up to them, "How dare you do me dirty! It's karma time." She jumped and splashed some water on Freddy and Teumes. Suddenly, a wave poured more on them. They were punished by the other gods. The members and the citizens were proud of her. She got a permanent seat in the council instead of helping with pottery and art!
DYSPNEA noun
MEDICINE difficult or labored breathing. "many soldiers presented with acute dyspnea"
I cannot BREATHE My heart; it is wound tight by leather cords, and is suffering from the lack of space My face is worn, my mind a haze I want something, freedom and escape, I think But in doing so I know I am committing wrong I cannot, cannot commit wrong I mustn't Even though it hurts so much……… I cannot understand why this is happening to me Why I am beginning to rot inside, to shed like a snake my skin Skin that will never be mine again Why is it this way, why do I think such things? Why is everything around me A blank wall of gray and white? They say it isn’t your fault; that it’s the lack of serotonin in the brain I have no words; maybe they’re right, Who cares though! – I’m broken either way And tired So very tired
God help me…
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