THE IVY ISSUE XXVIII | PHS
THE IVY
ISSUE N . 28 O
The Ivy began in the 1960s. Its serialization began in 2014.
Editors’ Letter Dear Reader, Welcome to the first issue of the school year! To kick off the 2021-2022 year, we’re so excited to present Issue 28! Amidst all the disruption during this undoubtedly difficult year, from remote to in-person learning, we hope you get the chance to catch a breather and relax during your winter break. Hopefully you aren’t feeling the jitters of being back at school, but if you are, pick up an issue, unwind, and enjoy this amazing compilation of works! Issue 28 showcases a variety of visual genres and styles, as well as compelling short stories and poems. When reading through this issue, we hope you’ll be able to relive old memories, forge new ideas, and expand your horizons. As always, we would like to thank you for submitting your beautiful pieces- it is our privilege to display them to the rest of the student body. We’re extremely proud of our staff who have worked enthusiastically during their summer and school break to put together this issue. If you like what you see here, follow us on Instagram, @theivy.phs, and check out our website for past issues. If you have any questions or would like to join our team, our inbox is always open at theivy.phs@gmail.com. Enjoy and have a great school year, Lawrence & Shaila
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Table of Contents CITY OF LOVE .............................................................6 Ming Li
BEARS ....................................................................18-19 Yilei Chen
EMBRACE UNITY ........................................................7 Lawrence Chen
UNTITLED ...................................................................20 Harmonie Ramsden
IM IN LOVE WITH AN EGIRL ..................................8-9 Chloe Zhao
NATURALLY PERSONAL ......................................21-23 Lindsay Hirschman
GENTLY LIT ...................................................10, 12-13 Lana Swindle
TIP OF THE ROOFTOP................................................23 Shaila Sachdev
SHELL ........................................................................11 Anonymous
THE DEPTHS ...............................................................24 Christopher Bao
NEW ENGLAND ..................................................12-13 Emily Zhang
LIGHTHOUSE ........................................................24-25 Eva Lependorf
THE SKY’S LIGHT ......................................................14 Carolina Kok
AN INNER DIALOGUE: DAWN .............................26-27 Heidi Gubser
THE SACRED GATE ..................................................15 Yunbing (Emily) Qian
DAD’S ARMCHAIR ................................................26-27 Lindsay Hirschman
MORE IS LESS ..........................................................16 Anonymous
COVER PAGE: OUT OF THIS WORLD, Tracey Liu photography
STAR OF THE SHOW ................................................17 Han Li
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photography
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Lawrence Chen
CITY OF LOVE, Ming Li
EMBRACE UNITY, Lawrence Chen Waking up each morning the Sun casts a warm glow over America, passing through the East coast, climbing over the Appalachians, sailing along the Mississippi, gliding through the Great Plains, and climbing, once again, over the Rockies before touching the Pacific. Millions of faces are greeted by the blinding Sun as they exit their homes. Children line up on street corners for bright yellow school buses, young men and women drive off in their cars, one hand on the wheel and coffee in the other, and older people rock on porches, watching the morning commotion unfold. People pass each other, but fail to acknowledge each other. They ignore each other. A young woman carrying a red purse exits her house, looking away from a young man entering a blue car across the street. Neighbors, once childhood friends, yet years ago their friendship had ended. Once they longed for the company, now they are embittered by years of distaste, of silence, of separation, of loneliness.
Each day is the same as the last, the same as the past, until it isn’t. Until today. The young woman and man cross the sidewalk, embrace in the center of the road, stopping traffic, stopping the people around them. This day in America, as the sun radiates a golden light over the plains, the mountains, the rivers, the oceans, people — friends, enemies, acquaintances, strangers — walk across the road, come together, and embrace.
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im in love with an egirl, Chloe Zhao
digital
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GENTLY LIT (I), Lana Swindle The room was gently lit. A few lamps on the walls, a few lights on the ceiling; few enough to maintain the peace of the room, but enough for her to see the people around her, the glass in her hand. She could hear the music, feel his presence, feel the increasing temperature of the room that continuously tugged at the edges of her emotions, her senses, the ever present heat that she’d only just begun to ignore. Her senses were dulled in the room; she didn’t quite remember why she was in the room at all, only that he was staring at her, and smiling, only that the music was so very lovely, only that she felt more content than she’d felt in a long while.
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He pushed himself up from his chair. He was sitting directly beside her, a seat he’d chosen because he wanted to hear what she had to say, because he valued her company. He was one of the first who’d ever provided her with such attention, and she was thankful, even if she didn’t know what it was she had to say that was so fascinating. He stood up, and he stretched a hand towards her, a gesture to dance. To be the first couple on the dance floor, the most noticeable couple. She smiled; knowing her, she’d never accept to something as overt, as ostentatious as the action he was proposing. She knew that, under normal circumstances, she’d never get up from her chair.
pe n
SHELL, Anonymous
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GENTLY LIT (I
She was far too shy, far too aw to the rest of the world.
And yet in spite of herself, in s thoughts that flooded her bra she knew so very well that sh once she’d returned to her no outstretched hand, placing he ly pulled her up; she did most alongside him, hand clasped
People’s heads were turning, her mother and father were b forced her gaze forward, anyw looking at them, drawing even forced herself not to pay atte
Just the fact that the dance flo music was lovely, that the ligh set down the glass in her han and wouldn’t remember whic holding his hand without a se
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NEW ENGLAND, Emily Zhang photography
II), Lana Swindle
ware of how she appeared
spite of all the paranoid ain, in spite of the fact that he’d analyze her every action ormal self, she accepted the er thin palm in his. He baret of the work, and walked in his.
her mother’s in particular; both staring at her, but she where but on them. He was n more attention, but she ention to him, either.
oor was beckoning, that the hts were dim, that she had nd on the white table cloth ch one it was, that she was econd thought.
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TITLE, Artist THE SKY’S LIGHT, Carolina Kok I built my house at the top of the hill. I laid it down, brick by brick, And before I was done, I laid on the grass, Looking up from inside my roofless creation. The clouds smiled back, A little acknowledgement to the creature that longingly stared at them, As if to say, “Hey, you’re okay.” So, I built a skylight instead.
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THE SACRED GATE,
t Name
Emily Qian oil paint
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MOR
E IS
LESS
, Ano
nym
ous
It’s possible that we as humans, but more importantly people as a whole, understand less than we think. It’s plausible that we know more than we actually know. I say this with the idea that the concept of other living and active people is incomprehensible to each and every one of us. I don’t think any abundance of self-awareness or time spent with another would allow you to properly see or feel the fact that there is a separate and just as functional life happening right next to you, an exact imitation of your own quiddity. The woman who is spending precious time with me, right now, is her own entity. She said “bless you” to me just a minute ago. She struggles to stay awake after a bad night’s rest and wonders if people mean harm or no harm and looks at her peers, taking in their individual facial features, just like me; and yet I am sitting right across from her, occupying the exact same amount of general volume and brain activity (maybe less).
I’m sure that the fact as a whole exceeds our brain’s limitations, just like the true size of space or like the people living in the Fermi Paradox (maybe us). So, do we continue like this? Or do we stick with the pursuit of broadening our knowledge on the neural transmission beside us and the personal interpretations seen more detailed or less intensely across from us?
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STAR OF THE SHOW, Han Li y
graph
photo
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BEARS, Yilei Chen pencil
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photography
YELLOW BUILDING, Harmonie Ramsden
NATURALLY PERSONAL (I), Lindsay Hirschman There’s a patch of sunken grass in my backyard where my playground was located. My backyard has no fence, no discernable boundary, so that must’ve been why other families let their kids play on it — they probably thought it was a public playground. Several years ago a mother brought her kid to my backyard to play on it. It sort of hurt me as I watched the kid slide on the deep green slide and swing on the yellow swings because I had always believed that it was mine. But the playground is gone — we got rid of it about two years ago — and it left behind a rectangle of sunken ground with a boundary of tall, luscious grass. We had to reseed the patch because the tarp that was once there suffocated the grass. Maybe the playground did serve as a boundary for our backyard because in its absence,
more people have walked through my backyard than when it was there. The patch of new grass feels wrong, though, like nature is making a new course. But it’s not making it for me, so why should others take it for themselves? Maybe we should have kept the playground because this past fall, a group of parents and their toddlers made their way over by my backyard. The kids stationed themselves on the drain with a line of rocks while the parents watched from afar on the path beyond. The rock drain is technically behind my backyard, but it felt like it was mine because it was there. These kids were teeter-tottering on the rocks and screaming and running and crying and doing all those things that they call playing.
And it bothered me because when I was young, I tried to cross from my backyard to the path but never could because those rocks were so big and so wobbly. I often fell over, screaming and crying as I tried to run across them as kids do. I went to check on the rocks again. I took a step, one foot on the rock and the other behind on the grass. The gray speckled rock shifted in place beneath my foot; it was a little slippery from the rain the day before. But I was still, except for my arms that I held out for balance, and simply walked across to the other side, to the path. It was entirely underwhelming compared to the kids’ experience that I had witnessed just months prior. The rocks were simply stepping stones, only because I had let them be one. And only because I was grown-up enough to use them right. XXVIII | 21
Before the rocks, thoug large tree in my backya my bedroom window a itself to me. It has one juts out from the trunk trunk, my tree diverges branches to form the c crown, there’s a spiky b ing in between the fork It’s been there for a few like to think that gener huddle together in it, th that I hear chirping in t My tree wouldn’t mind though. It has always b patient, doing what it is with the wind, and bein birds and whatnot. It’s June, and the tree’s lea on its crown and along It doesn’t help that eve has tilted it further tow on the side with that o also doesn’t help balan much.
tip o f
the r oofto p,
Shaila Sachdev photography
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gh, there is a ard. It faces as if it is giving large arm that k, and up the s into a million crown. On the bird’s nest restk of a branch. w years, and I rations of birds he same ones the morning. d the noise, been calm and s told, blowing ng home to dying now. It’s aves grow only g its trunk. ery hurricane wards the right, one arm, which nce it out too
NATURALLY PERSONAL (II),
Lindsay Hirschman
The tree used to have windchimes. I don’t know what happened to them, but without the tingling echo filling the air, the backyard is lackluster. Instead, the only noise comes from the incessant screaming of the cicadas, which my mother told me are good for the trees. It’s hard to believe that those horrible creatures can do any good. I think it’s more likely I’ll have to say goodbye to the tree. Beyond the environment, one of the most profound aspects of nature is the night. Unlike daytime, with a brightness that forces itself upon you, at night, you have to look through the dark, and that’s when you realize it’s not so dark at all. As night falls, the sky loses its hue, but the smudged clouds fill it, even with their indiscernible outline.
When bright and high enough to peek through the layers of clouds, the moon casts a shadow off of my deck — the railing’s stripes stretching across my backyard and duly sinking into the new grass patch — and off of the wall of trees that separate each home — my neighbor’s boundary crossing into mine. Behind the silhouette of trees on the horizon, yellow lights blink on and off every so often from my neighbors’ homes, the neighbors whose kids may or may not have played on the playground or stumbled across the rocks. But the lights don’t compete with the darkness, they complement each other: their blinking is a sign of respect to the faintly glittering stars, especially on nights absent from the company of the clouds. It’s okay to intermix with nature, as long as you do not insist upon yourself, but nature opens itself up and insists upon you.
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THE DEPTHS, Christopher Bao Dark waters of the deep ocean performing, dancing, breathing life. Hidden mysteries flying within cutting and weaving beings creating beings
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LIGHTHOUSE, Eva Lependorf
y
photograph
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an inner dialogue: dawn, Heidi Gubser are you awake yet? come on, it might rise without us there’s already light in the window phone said it would be at 5:58 am it’s only 5:35 and your eyes haven’t opened yet; how can you see light in the window? might have been dreaming well hurry anyway i think it’s already risen let’s go no it hasn’t it takes a while i’ll get up in 10 minutes the sun can wait that long fine but only 10 i’ll set an alarm just in case (or maybe i’ll just get us both up before then) i heard that you know i know […] hey wait it’s only been 7 minutes don’t want to get up yet no wait ugh fine come on come on come on i’ve always wanted to see one and you said you wanted to too but i don’t even think i’m awake yet woah the sky is pretty wait i can’t tell, my eyes can’t focus
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DAD’S ARMCHAIR, Lindsay Hirschman
well then rub them for god’s sake and yes the sky is pretty, obviously can’t make up its mind, does it want to be orange or yellow? hey that sounds like us yeah […] did you feel that raindrop? come on it might be a downpour there are so many clouds no wait it’s still rising and the clouds are magnificent let’s stay a bit longer fine but only a minute i don’t want to get wet (it will definitely be less than a minute)
colored pencil & marker
hey that’s not fair well sorry […] okay okay fine i felt a raindrop too see i told you let’s go back inside yeah let’s go finally
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STAFF LIST ADVISORS Mr. Gonzalez Ms. Muça
EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Lawrence Chen Shaila Sachdev
CREATIVE DIRECTOR Yunbing (Emily) Qian
MANAGING EDITORS Christopher Bao Heidi Gubser Serena Lathi
PUBLIC RELATIONS Laasya Gadiyaram
COPY EDITORS Irene Dumitriu Emily Saunders Lana Swindle
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TECHNOLOGY Lindsay Hirschman
BUSINESS Zara Chen
SECRETARY Delaney McCarty
WORKSHOP COORDINATOR Hillary Allen
SPREAD DESIGNERS Sky Jo Freya Patel Hanaan Sikder
COLOPHON The artwork and literature in this issue were accepted through standard review board voting and group discussion. During this process, the artists’ 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. We are an extracurricular club that meets after school; on normal meeting days we meet for half an hour on Tuesdays. When we are designing layouts we meet for three hours every day for four days. For Issue XXVIII, the initial distribution 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 18pt, Open Sans semibold 18pt SUBMISSION TEXT | Open Sans 10pt, 12pt, 13pt, 14pt, Minion Pro 13pt, 14pt, 15pt STAFF LIST | Open Sans semibold 30pt, Open Sans light 24pt, Open Sans 13pt COLOPHON | Open Sans semibold 30pt, Open Sans 13pt PAGE NUMBERS | Open Sans semibold 12pt
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