THE IVY ISSUE XXVII | PHS
THE IVY
ISSUE N . 27 O
The Ivy began in the 1960s. Its serialization began in 2014.
Editors’ Letter Dear Reader, It is with great pleasure that we present our final issue of the school year. The release of Issue 27 is bittersweet as we pass off our titles to next year’s editors, but what an interesting year it has been! Though we have been online through it all, our team has accomplished so much — not only did we produce four full issues, but we also brought together more members to our team, upped our social media presence, received an award, hosted our first literary workshop, and pushed the publication to explore creativity to an extent we never thought we could before. This issue is comprised of diverse works with a variety of new mediums on display. New and old submitters contributed to the well-blended layout. As always, if you are interested in becoming part of the team or have any questions, please contact theivy.phs@gmail.com. You can also find us on Instagram @theivy.phs. We make bi-weekly posts that highlight our staff and works from previous issues. We look forward to another great year to come and can’t wait to see the upcoming summer issue! Congratulations everyone—WE. MADE. IT! Warmly, Olivia and Alice
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Table of Contents
JUPITER’S WRATH ......................................................6 Harmonie Ramsden
TIMEKEEPING ............................................................16 Christopher Bao
WRITERS .....................................................................7 Freya Patel VIBRANT AFRICAN CULTURE ....................................8 Yafei Yan
REFLECTION ...............................................................17 Emily Qian
PATIENCE ...................................................................9 Lana Swindle
苏州花园 .....................................................................19 Shaila Sachdev
LAZY RAMEN RIVER .................................................11 Tracey Liu
LEGACY .......................................................................20 Rachael Dewey
THE IMPORTANCE OF SCHOOL WORK .....10, 13, 14 Faith Neo
A NATION FOR ALL ....................................................21 Soorya A. Baliga
WOODEN DOLPHIN ................................................12 Lindsay Hirschman
AUDITORIUM .............................................................22 Anonymous
PURPLE PAINT SPLOTCH ........................................15 Lauren Girouard
OUR TRUE PLACE HERE ............................................18 Lawrence Chen
COVER PAGE: RAIN, Elaina Phillips watercolor and pen BACK COVER: BIG BUT LITTLE, Elaina Phillips watercolor and pen
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jupiter’s wrath,
Harmonie Ramsden
photography
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WRITERS, Freya Patel We seek rivers scripted by scholars, And illusions transcribed by poets, And answers, Drowned in questions, Painted in declarations of lies. We seek unknown in the known, And pull apart that, that which is weaved, Leaving splinters and hashes to burn A glorious, glorious plea.
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VIBRANT AFRICAN CULTURE, Yafei Yan
oil paint
patience, Lana Swindle I had apologized over and over, but he wasn’t “Please, sir, your son is a pleasure to have in listening. class.” I didn’t know why I was apologizing so profusely. Perhaps it was to avoid conflict, to keep him from complaining to the administration, to keep my job. But no matter how many times I insisted that I was merely informing him of my observations in class, he refused to acknowledge my comments. I had looked to his wife for support, but she remained silent, staring at the ground. It was my job to minimize the tension in the room, organize the chaos, but I found myself incapable of doing so. His outlandish remarks about my class, teaching, and language skills were unjust, based on anger more than fact, but I could say nothing in response.
He huffed something under his breath, pushing up from his chair. “This is ridiculous.” He grabbed his wife’s arm, pulled her into a standing position. Her detached expression twitched for a moment. It was barely noticeable. Just the hint of a frown, a tiny crease of her eyebrows, the first expression of defiance I had seen. I stood up along with them, but they were already at the door. She turned to me, glancing back for just a moment. The door slammed behind them with more force than was necessary.
I had to listen to him, acknowledge his com- I closed my eyes, returning to my desk. It was ments, take them to heart. to be expected, a parent who refused to acknowledge the behavior of their child in class, Or so they often told me. no matter what age was being considered. “How dare you?” he spat. “How dare you say There seemed to be too many of them this such things about my son?” year. XXVII | 9
THE IMPORTANCE OF SCHOOL WORK (I), Faith Neo It’s 3:30 am on a Wednesday morning, but I don’t know that yet. My day often begins before I’m aware of it. I push myself out of bed. Mom says that we’re dropping Isaac off at school, and I have to walk him in. Dad is on a business trip. He’s been gone for a while. The last thing I remember of my dad was him getting into an Uber outside of our house. He was yelling at someone on the phone. I waved. He didn’t see me. Or at least he didn’t wave back. Mom tells us to get in the car. On the drive to school kids keep jumping into the street. In front of the cars. I’m scared that we’ll hit one. We see kids get run over but they seem to be okay, and we make it to Isaac’s school. I need to make it to my own classes. I check my watch, and there’s still five minutes till class starts. But I’m still in my pajamas. And we’re not in my school. Mom’s talking to the lady at the front desk. The clock in my head ticks louder and louder. Three minutes left. One minute left. I stop looking at my watch. I’m not going to make it to school on time. I’m not going to make it to school on time. I’m not going to make it to school on time. I peek at my watch. Five minutes late. I run to the closest door, and
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the front office of my brother’s school disappears. I smash my head into the door. It doesn’t hurt, so I do it again. And again. And again. If I can’t get to school on time, then I won’t be on time to anything ever again. It’s 3:30 am on a Wednesday morning, but I don’t know that yet. I don’t talk to my mother much. All she really knows about me is my stats. How much homework I have, or how much I didn’t eat. She doesn’t know that I skip Bible study every Monday night. She doesn’t know my friends. She believes that my lungs and liver are still in pristine condition. She believes that I won’t go on the ramps in the skatepark just because I promised. Mom asks Isaac why he can’t be more like me. I have decent grades. No late assignments. I work out four to five times a week. I play lacrosse. I play the violin. I play the piano. I play the guitar. I run a club. I take AP French. I really do like most of these things, but I push myself because it’s compulsive. I’d rather die than miss a class. Or have a late assignment. Or skip a workout. But I don’t say that. I don’t talk to my mother much.
LAZY RAMEN RIVER, Tracey Liu pen
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WOODEN DOLPHIN, Lindsay Hirschman pencil
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THE IMPORTANCE OF SCHOOL WORK (II), Faith Neo It’s kind of funny. I was running on the treadmill. But I wasn’t just running. I was balancing my phone in my left palm and sending out emails. One to my French teacher. One to my debate club. One to Coach Jens. After I was done sending out my emails and onto my second mile, I put on some music, and I put my phone down. I was so tired. The lull of the treadmill and the repetitive motion of my feet hitting the track made me close my eyes. Then I fell asleep while running. Twice. It’s kind of funny. Once, I got a notification on my phone. Your Physics grade is now an F. That wasn’t good. That was bad. That was horrible. What was I going to do? I thought about the last test we took. I’d stayed up late studying for it. I was so sure I understood the unit. Maybe I hadn’t participated enough. No, there’s no way—I think I participated too much in that class. Anyway, that sucked. Once colleges saw this, they wouldn’t want me. What was I supposed to say to my parents? I failed Physics? Wow, I must be dumb. Maybe I’ll just get a real estate license. Maybe I don’t have to get a job. I can survive without one, right? Ding. Your Physics grade is now an A. Note from teacher: Hey guys! Sorry for the shock, I entered the last test out of 1000 in-
stead of 100—my bad! I’ve made the appropriate adjustments; have a great weekend! Once, I got a notification on my phone. I can’t believe I left my homework at home. School starts in 20 minutes. If I hurry, I could run home and grab it. It’s 7:15 am. Shoot. After endless sprinting, I have my backpack, and I’m back at school. I trudge through the hallways to find my first period class. Room 715. I’m running, but I’m gradually getting slower. It feels like there are weights on my feet. My head is getting really hot, and I feel sweaty. There are other kids in the hallways. They smile and wave at me. I don’t know them. I try to walk away, but I am walking so slowly that I’m barely moving. I look back at the kids, and they don’t seem to notice my predicament. They smile again, but this time their smiles don’t stop getting bigger. Their mouths keep stretching wider and wider. I’m horrified. Luckily, I seem to have regained the use of my legs, so I sprint away. After running for an hour or so, I find it. Room 715. I find my seat. I open my backpack to pull out my homework. I find that there’s nothing in there but a huge abyss. More importantly, I can’t believe I left my homework at home.
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THE IMPORTANCE OF SCHOOL WORK (III), Faith Neo It was the summer in between sophomore and junior year. My dad had gotten a job in New York, and we all had to move there. I was upset. But not for the reasons that you’d think. Two years before, it was the summer after eighth grade. That first week of summer, I looked at all the classes that my high school had. Then I looked at the requirements and credits I needed to graduate. I made a spreadsheet of every single class I would take over the next four years. I followed the spreadsheet through my freshman and sophomore years. And I was proud of that. It was an inconvenience when I had to move. My plans had been disrupted. I was mad, but I didn’t say so. In fact, that summer, I didn’t speak for two whole months. It was the summer in between sophomore and junior year.
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Something happened. My best friend, Adam, was a swimmer. While practicing for a meet, he had a seizure in the school’s pool. He was alone. His brother Andrew found him four and a half hours later. He’d been worried. It was 1:30 am, and Adam hadn’t answered his phone in hours. The funeral is a week from today. I declined the invitation. Mrs. Chung was upset. I was apologetic. I told her I had obligations. And I couldn’t get out of them. And that I was so, so sorry. But I didn’t tell her that I couldn’t go because I had an essay to write. Something happened. Some of these things really happened. Other parts I imagined. Others I dreamed. Isn’t that crazy? But I really don’t think any of this is too far out. These things could happen—and they’re going to happen if I, like a bunch of other students, keep prioritizing my schoolwork over everything else. But I just can’t stop.
PURPLE PAINT SPLOTCH,, Lauren Girouard
colored pencils XXVII | 15
Drawing at my table, marks lovingly construed in soft shapes and pastel colors. I peer at a note you sent, taped with care to the whitewashed front wall. Keep it for later was all it said. And as the warm glow of the sun and the scent of summer stream through the open door, I shelve my piece, unfinished, away, tucking it deep in my memory.
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timekeeping, Christopher Bao
REFLECTION, Emily Qian acrylic paint
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OUR TRUE PLACE HERE, Lawrence Chen
A snap of twigs in the forest startles a small tree-colored squirrel sitting in its heated nest after a freezing night, dead leaves and branches littered with tiny sprouts of clovers and moss, splotches of red remain on wilting flowers for another few days before the imminent return of blanketing cold to this far-off retreat.
hiding the old decaying underbrush, creating new life in this sacred land. Unknown noises do not bother the nocturnal barn owls burrowed in a tree cavity, each long day is not counted by the proud stag as he moves silently through the waning nights protecting his doe and fawn, nor is the oak tree concerned about who lives in, under, or on it.
Just as last year but in a renewed cycle of another fleeting season, the chirping willow warbler passes the tree every day in a hunt for insects, not fruits or berries, and the sparrow that zips and nips at the ragweed without any care, leafless trees endure day after day bathed in sunlight seeping onto the bare forest floor, as snow falls gently,
Night eases to dawn with red sky, green bushes, brown trees, slowly shifting into full sunshine as time passes as nature intended, moths and mosquitoes buzz and hum around the area, salmon and cod swimming upriver fight against the current, and we, humans, are just one being among many others in this small world even though we often forget our true place here.
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苏州花园, Shaila Sachdev photography
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LEGACY, Rachael Dewey TITLE OF LIT, Author Name photography
art’s medium
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A NATION FOR ALL, Soorya A. Baliga
Unnoticed Forgotten Unheard Ignored Your story That they undermine Has the power To shape our lives How is this democracy We cannot see so many faces Reflected in a nation For all Maybe one day You will be seen And, surely, one day You will be free
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AUDITORIUM, Anonymous I look up, dirt trailing down from the crevices of my fingers onto the peaty battlefield. Even though I honor her, I guess I’ll forget her and live freely. I’ll be everything she never was. I won’t demand my children to kiss me, to hold me. I’ll let them finish their sentences. I’ll let them have their moment. I’ll let them feel unique. When they are budding, not crush their confidence with my experience and skill. I won’t ask them to achieve so I feel adequate. I’ll let them feel unique, I’ll shelve my agenda. I’ll love them deeply and intensely, I’ll covet every stare, every quirk in thought, every brush of a finger through hair, enviously. I’ll give them everything without any recognition. I’ll actually do things out of the spotlight. I’ll have my own self-esteem and hobbies outside of them; I’ll nurture a healthy relationship. I’ll make my children feel like while they should honor me, they don’t owe me. No one held me when I was crushed beyond what I could bear. Everyone else was too afraid to hear about it constantly. I had to do it by myself. And I will never, ever make my children live like their life is about helping me find my way back to myself. I felt pain beyond what most ever experience.
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STAFF LIST ADVISORS Mr. Gonzalez Ms. Muça
EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Olivia Benevento Alice Feng
CREATIVE DIRECTOR Yunbing (Emily) Qian
MANAGING EDITORS Cecily Gubser Shaila Sachdev Savannah Spring
PUBLIC RELATIONS Sofia Alvarez
COPY EDITORS Christopher Bao Irene Dumitriu Heidi Gubser
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TECHNOLOGY Lindsay Hirschman
BUSINESS Lawrence Chen Travis Thai
SECRETARY Delaney McCarty
WORKSHOP COORDINATOR Hillary Allen
SPREAD DESIGNERS Scarlett Cai Xiaoyu (Bella) Cui Sky Jo Jane Lillard Ruchi Mashruwala Hanaan Sikder Lana Swindle Maria Gatzke Serena Lathi Helene Kraft
COLOPHON The works in this issue were accepted through standard review board voting and group discussion. During this process, the artists’ and authors’ names were kept anonymous to everyone besides the managing editors, who had compiled all of the submissions beforehand. Each staff member voted anonymously either “yes” or “no” on a Google form. All art and literature pieces with higher than 50% approval were published. We keep a consistent art-to-literature ratio. We are Princeton High School’s only art and literature magazine. As an extracurricular club, we meet after school for an hour each Tuesday. During the process of designing layouts, we meet three hours every day for four days. Distribution of Issue XXVII initially took place online.
FONTS COVER AND TITLE PAGE | Minion Pro 60pt, 12pt, Open Sans 14pt TABLE OF CONTENTS | Open Sans 11pt, 14pt, 24pt SUBMISSION TITLES | Open Sans light 14pt, 18pt SUBMISSION TEXT | Open Sans light 12pt, 13pt, 14pt, Minion Pro 11pt, 14 pt, 15pt STAFF LIST | Open Sans semibold 30pt, Open Sans light 24pt, Open Sans 13pt COLOPHON | Open Sans semibold 30pt, Minion pro italic 13pt PAGE NUMBERS | Open Sans semibold 12pt
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