Pages 2014–15 by Wexner Center for the Arts

Wexner Center Foundation Board of Trustees

Leslie H. Wexner Chair

Individual projects © the authors All Pages experience images and installation views of Fiber: Sculpture 1960–present: Katie Spengler

Michael V. Drake, MD Vice Chair James Lyski President Trustees Nicholas K. Akins David M. Aronowitz Jeni Britton Bauer Shelley Bird Michael J. Canter Adam Flatto Sherri Geldin Ann Gilbert Getty Michael Glimcher Elizabeth P. Kessler C. Robert Kidder Nancy Kramer James E. Kunk

M A J O R S U P P O RT F O R PAG E S

Mark D. Kvamme Bill Lambert Ronald A. Pizzuti Janet B. Reid, PhD Joyce Shenk Alex Shumate Abigail S. Wexner John F. Wolfe Ex Officio Mark Shanda Bruce A. Soll Joseph E. Steinmetz Mark E. Vannatta

Project Staff Dionne Custer Edwards, Educator for School Programs Brandon Ballog, Graphic Designer, Design Emilia Garber, School Programs Intern, Education Kristen Grayewski, Associate Editor, Marketing/Communications Barret Hoster, Graphic Designer, Design Ann Jacobson, Graduate Associate, Marketing/Communications Uttara Manohar, Graduate Associate, Education Ryan Shafer, Publications Editor, Marketing/Communications Education Department Staff Shelly Casto, Director of Education Dionne Custer Edwards, Educator for School Programs Marisa Espe, Education Assistant Tracie McCambridge, Educator for Teacher and Docent Programs Jean Pitman, Educator for Youth Programs Amanda Potter, Educator for University and Public Programs Uttara Manohar, Graduate Associate Verónica Betancourt, Graduate Associate A D D I T I O N A L S U P P O RT F O R PAG E S

S U P P O RT F O R O T H E R T E AC H E R A N D S C H O O L P RO G R A M S

INGRAM-WHITE CASTLE FOUNDATION

S U P P O RT F O R FR E E A N D L OW- CO S T P RO G R A M S

G E N E R A L O P E R AT I N G S U P P O RT FOR THE WEXNER CENTER

G MILTON & SALLY AVERY ARTS FOUNDATION

S E G 14â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15 0 2 S E G A P cy, and a r e t i L , s t An Ar for m a r g o r P Writing dents u t S l o o h c High S

F O E L B A T S T N E T N CO OREWO

4–5 6–7 8–9 O R ’S F D I R E C T in ld Sherri Ge

MENTS WLEDG s O N K C A ard uster Edw Dionne C

S, CHOOL RS PA G E S S , A N D T E A C H E S T STUDEN

S E G 10–7 3

G WRITIN nses to… ents’ respo d u st Pages

10–25

ce s Experien sent Visual Art pre – 0 6 ture 19 Fiber: Sculp My Rock Stars jjaj: Hassan Ha Volume 1 l, ta Experimen

26–39

rience Arts Expe g in rm o Perf in Power American itch Epste der and M n la d e ri F Erik

40–73

ce s Experien Media Art es: How to Start Voic Forbidden omputer n with a C o ti lu o v e R a iller Barbara M

7 1 1 – 4 7 9 1 1 – 8 1 1

ARTWO

ING IC READ M N E P O N CEPTIO AND RE

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Greetings, avid readers… A longstanding protocol of museum catalogues is to feature a Director’s Foreword—an opportunity for the institution’s leader to underscore salient points and acknowledge those instrumental in producing the publication. And so, too, it is my honor and pleasure each year to provide an introduction to the Pages anthology which, like an exhibition catalogue, reflects the original insights and expressions of its makers. Now in its ninth year, the Wexner Center’s still seminal Pages program embeds essential literacy and writing skills into first-hand arts experiences across multiple disciplines. Judiciously selected by Wexner Center curators and educators, this year’s mix included two exhibitions, a performance, and a film that were considered particularly powerful for and relevant to teens. Over the course of an entire academic year, 259 students from seven high schools visited the center not simply to experience—but to engage with—these programs. Under the guidance of Wex educators, participating school teachers, and artists in residence, the teens produced an impressive array of writings and artworks that we are proud to publish here. A deep and abiding belief in the power of pairing and infusing language arts pedagogy with contemporary art is at the heart of Pages, and year after year we’ve seen the remarkable results of this approach. Beyond this culminating anthology, however, and given the many competing claims on school resources, we also saw the value in measuring—and thus further demonstrating to hard-pressed school districts—the efficacy of our program. To that end we invited Virginia-based firm Randi Korn & Associates, Inc. to evaluate Pages, and they did so using a combination of quantitative

and qualitative methods that included pre- and post-program scored assessments of student writing as well as interviews with students, teachers, and program stakeholders. We’re delighted to share that our convictions were resoundingly confirmed, as you can read in the study highlights quoted on the opposite page. Programs like Pages don’t simply happen; they require creative and intellectual ingenuity, hard work, and passion—all of which are personified in Dionne Custer Edwards, the Wexner Center’s educator for school programs, who conceived of and has managed Pages from the start. I would also like to thank her collaborators this year—Wexner Center School Programs Intern Emilia Garber and Columbus-based artist and educator Kim Leddy—as well as all the participating Pages school teachers for their partnership. We of course could not invest in a program like Pages without our generous lead sponsors American Electric Power, Martha Holden Jennings Foundation, and Ohio Arts Council, whose commitment has helped to both generate and amplify all of the center’s education programs over the years. The commitment of these funders and others has allowed us to serve nearly 2,000 highschool students since Pages’ inception. And as we head into the program’s tenth year, we remain dedicated to both its underlying premise and its promise. Sherri Geldin Director Wexner Center for the Arts

“Pages is an extremely ambitious and successful program—findings demonstrate that the program deepens students’ learning and has a tremendous impact on the way students experience art and writing—opening up their thinking about what constitutes art and giving them the tools to think deeply and deliberately about the choices they make in their own writing.”

“Three-quarters of students scored higher on observation after the program than they did before, meaning their descriptions of works were more specific, detailed, and/or nuanced than they were before.”

“Students described their own confidence in interviews, noting their increased joy in writing, the ownership and pride they feel over their writing.” “Teachers described this confidence in terms of students’ desire to write more, their newfound understanding of the great variety of works of art and writing styles, and their abilities to express themselves creatively through writing.”

All results quoted from Randi Korn & Associates, Inc., Program Evaluation: Pages Program (Alexandria, VA: Randi Korn & Associates, 2014).

2014–15

“Notably, results indicate that the program has a direct and measureable effect on students’ creative problem solving and critical thinking, not an easy task for a museum-based program.”

“Results from interviews strongly suggest that students grew in their ability to appreciate complexity and ambiguities. In interviews many students said Pages caused them to open their minds to the complexity of diverse art forms, to make complex choices and decisions in the writing process.”

Acknowledgments

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Thank you to all of this year’s Pages participants for their willingness to join in on this adventure in art, writing, making, and creative and critical thinking. Students and teachers from the following schools accompanied us on this year’s journey: Arts and College Preparatory Academy, Columbus Alternative High School, Delaware Area Career Center, Franklin Heights High School, Mosaic, Pickerington High School Central, Rutherford B. Hayes High School, and Whetstone High School. I would also like to acknowledge and say thank you to our participating classroom teacher partners, a dynamic group of education professionals with a variety of gifts, interests, and specialties: Mandy Bruney, Sherry Forster, Laura Garber, Thomas Hering, Kim Leddy, Gary Liebesman, Andrea Patton, and Aaron Sherman. They have been remarkable not only for their unwavering partnership, flexibility, resilience, commitment, energy, creativity, engagement, and thoughtfulness, but especially for their willingness to take risks—trying new pedagogy in, out, and around the classroom, and pushing the boundaries of teaching and learning. We had an amazing year that encompassed a fun and inspiring summer learning workshop, professional development activities, collaborative meetings, and consistently dynamic learning experiences. Each year we work closely with educators to customize the contemporary arts experiences featured in Pages with their institutions’ educational standards and curricular objectives. It takes the collaboration of all involved to thoughtfully integrate Pages with the material students are expected to learn. You may notice that the students have deftly incorporated references to literary texts, techniques, and other influences into their writing and artwork, and they’ve done so with the encouragement and guidance of our classroom educators, museum educators, and artists-in-residence.

My special thanks go to a few creatives who joined me as artistsin-residence and, like me, were quite the chameleons, engaged in multiple roles. Cheers to Emilia Garber (Wexner Center education department intern and emerging visual artist) and Kim Leddy (who’s one part classroom educator, another part writer and photographer) for their understanding, insight, hands-on approach, and smiles. In addition to working alongside our artists-in-residence, we had the opportunity to meet and speak in-depth with a variety of artists from wide-ranging disciplines, including Mitch Epstein, Erik Friedlander, Anisa Gandevivala, Mark Lomax, and Robin Post. These artists in our midst opened up our thinking, and the energy, expertise, and talent they brought to the program was dynamic and inspiring. To work with each of them was both a pleasure and an honor. For their partnership each year in hosting our exhibition, open mic reading, and reception, I would like to recognize Tonia Derring from the Columbus Metropolitan Library and Stephanie Rond, our visual artist partner and curatorial advisor. Pages would simply not be the same without your sustained friendship and support. As a final note, thank you to all of our colleagues and staff at the Wexner Center who complement our efforts in programming Pages with their work in fundraising, planning, facilitation, and marketing, as well as with the editing and design of this book. For your allaround support and goodwill I am grateful and appreciate each and every one of you. Dionne Custer Edwards Educator for School Programs Wexner Center for the Arts

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

clockwise from top left: Andrea Patton, Gary Liebesman, Kim Leddy, Marisa Espe, Sherry Forster, Emilia Garber, Gisela Vitt, Diane Drissen, and Dionne Custer Edwards

Columbus Alternative High School

Delaware Area Career Center

Franklin Heights High School

teacher

Aaron Sherman

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

O O H C S N E D U T S A E T

Arts and College Preparatory Academy

Jessica Andrick Colton Barcalow Tristan Berry Nouhak Chanthasene Chloe Cho Amanda Dean Bria Gates Brianna Gauger Brittany Hanson Florence Henket Justin Howard Schylar McClure Tyrin Mills Rayvon Parks Cody Rapp Calvin Richards Kaitlyn Roush Stephon Scott Andrunelle Stevens Sara Valentine Victoria Williams Ashton Zurbriggen

Gary Liebesman

Wonee Abrha Noor Al-Hashemi Mohamed Ba Destiney Bowman Darian Brown Ebony Collins Kiara Collins Rayona Dawson-Spencer Logan DeJarnett Tiana Ellison Blessing Famule Kemonta Fuqua Gyasi Hall Caitlin Knight Christopher Loos Tatum Lowery Nadia Lynch Cameron McCay Madison Mobley-Jack Malle Ratsavong Rayven Sayavong Camille Vogley-Howes Hanna Weimerskirch Juliet White

Sherry Forster

Laura Garber

north campus

south campus

Jaime Ballard Abigail Burden Donald Chaples III Jade Daugherty Kendall Dorsey Emma Eastwood Sam Fairbanks Johnathan Finck Kalli Foreman Mackenzie Gallagher Kayla Gilbert Kenneth Hamme Joseph Harvey Patrick Heuss Olivia Hilderbrant Jordan Lanham Maddison McGlothlin Zachary Reader Mason Rigsby Haruna Sasaki Megan Stark Kylie Taylor Joy VanLandingham Bailey Wilson

Will Borchers Dominique Borham Tatiana Brookins Andrew Brown Jordan Carrington Benjamin Cerda Jordan Christophersen Ashley Divito Clayton Everly Hunter Frey Calvin Harts Christopher Jones Maxwell Kaiser Sergio Lemus Nathanial Miller Tyler Miller Payton Milligan Conner Murphy Mia Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Keefe Jared Pack DeAnn Radcliff Elizabeth Radcliff Tiffany Redick Nicholas Riley Taylor Schurr Tristan Sherpherd Alina Tomei-Thompson Josie Traylor Logan Wolfel Steven Wood

Abdulwadud Abdinasir Maryam Ali Salma Attia Jacob Barnhart Hannah Blanchard Jarrett Boswell Micaiah Brown Brook Burton Joseph Cook Rosemarie Cundiff Amerah Elshahawi Sarah Flanery Oluwatobi Giwa Jarod Griffith Josephine Hammer Omar Hasan Dylan Hess Matthew Hunt James Kells Stephen Kells Destiny Lampl Misha Mahmood Victoria Matthews Emily McKnight Trajan Mitchell Jose Montoya-Mora Emily Moore Isaac Powers Maura Ramos Yanez Alexis Rivera Melodie Shaffer Macie Smith Kimleng Sok Isabella South Julia Vang Michelle Vargas Ramirez Melody Vaughan Enzo Verdines Jason Wood

, S L O , S T N S R E H C A Mosaic

Pickerington High School Central

Rutherford B. Hayes High School

Whetstone High School

teacher

Adia Barmore Noelle Brown KT Bugenstein Kaylea Carlyle Addie Cini Danny Dicks Jordyn Fina Nick Glassburn Cera Hawkins Niko Kasper Jake Little Elzy Lovett Allie McAfee Leah Montgomery Taylor Moore Mimi Nahem Mackenzie Nichols Kay Nyamusevya Alex Parrott Destiny Riccio Caleb Ross Mariah Slater Shoshi Sonham Haley Stelluti Lizi Ward Mahalea Whitehead Trevor Wills Natalie Wotring Jessica Zang

Nehman Aktar Chris Bowers Greg Bowers Alex Brown Zuhaib Butt Anthony Butzer Tahnee Clemens Fulton Costa Katheryne Crum Dalton Dunnette Ethan Goad Cassidy Howard Muhammad Jawed Isac Kenney Jake Kingera Shelby Koon Kaitlyn Lacava Ryan McElwee Sydney Mullins Katie Nelms James Payne Mitchell Reade Garrison Reigle Austin Rieff Taylor Rouchion Eba Sernessa Maria Skowronski Blake Tippie Francis Vargas Dominique Wagner Halle Wardle

Dexter Allen Annamarie Brady Emily Dean Kaitlin Effingham Aidan Garling Blake Hardison Sarah Homan Alec Kapps Craig Klumpp Brianna McKeen Samuel Milner Gabriel Phillips Noah Planisek Molly Schul Marisa Sulek Hannah Weller Amanda Xhelilaj

Kim Leddy

Mandy Bruney

Thomas Hering

Andrea Patton

Akeem Adesiji Mariya Al-Ghawi Zachary Barnum Ila Boley Cecilia Bulgrin Ferris Clark Mark Dravillas Samuel Green-Lauber Hannah Hinger Amin Kamara Emily Morrison Colleen Murray Shaniece Norman Alice Pajor Samuel Price Sophia Rizzi Sr. Elena Sanders Ruby Scheckelhoff Christian Schumacher Elizabeth Schwartz Rachel Schwerdtfeger Lauren Taylor Caroline Wheeler Luke Woodward Josef Wright

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Griffin Arthur David Ash Sarah Awenowicz Samantha Beck Joshua Boulis Saskia Brogan Tyler Brown Savannah Carter Gabrielle Cockerham Natalie Darst Kristen Dunham Grace Floring Curtis Herzog Megan Koehler Emerson Navin Tessa Perry Megan Rumbalski John Trimble

VISUAL ARTS EXPERIENCE Moroccan-born, London-based artist Hassan Hajjaj (b. 1961) is known for blending photography, performance, and fashion in colorful portraits that offer insightful commentary on global capitalism. For the video installation on view at the center, Hajjaj outfitted his subjects (musician friends of his) in costumes that combine found traditional fabrics and bold, sometimes brand-name accessories. Capturing his “rock stars” playing against patterned textile backdrops, his video blends African, Arabic, European, and (2012) Western cultural signifiers in a pages artist vibrant fusion that resonates Emilia Garber with the diversity and energy visual artist of contemporary culture and commerce.

Fiber: Sculpture 1960–present Hassan Hajjaj: My Rock Stars Experimental, Volume 1

Following the shift in fiber art from wall hanging to sculpture that began in the 1960s, the work featured in Fiber: Sculpture 1960–present reflects and reacts to the social and aesthetic movements of that era: from feminism and civil rights to minimalism, conceptualism, and multimedia art. Organized by the Institute of Contemporary Art/Boston, the exhibition celebrates the diverse possibilities offered by fiber and its application in a variety of scales.

Both exhibitions prompted students to think about a range of topics: from new and interesting use of materials, irony, and metaphor to issues of social identity and cultural context. After their guided tour, students participated in group discussion and had the opportunity to write in their journals in the galleries.

2014–15

Students toured two exhibitions on view at the Wexner Center: Fiber: Sculpture 1960–present, which surveys the development of fiber art through the work of more than 30 artists, and Hassan Hajjaj: My Rock Stars Experimental, Volume 1, a multiscreen video installation featuring nine vibrantly costumed musicians who take turns performing for the viewer and each other.

12 VA

White Exotica Cera Hawkins

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Inspired by White Exotica by Ritzi and Peter Jacobi, 1978

The spools of thread that are my memories with the stench of motor oil. My twisted limbs bound together by the roots. With pure strands that flow easily, outside the old window. Slowly become forgotten as they transform into grains. They carefully craft themselves into lonely fragments amongst the stained thoughts. Speaking softly to the innocence of my loneliness, tainting them one by one until I’m hung up on a wall for display. I stare at the Fiber with its example of me and quietly develop the urge to cry.

Inchworm Jake Little

Inspired by Inchworm by Françoise Grossen, 1971

She sits there by the sea of doubt that she is drowning in. You can’t do it. Someone as weak as you isn’t even fit to hold up the seven days that you are. Weak. But despite being weak, weeks it took to prove them wrong. About how a fragile sea blossom such as yourself could create such a work of art that even people as strong as a month or even a year could pull off. Transforming rope as thick as fifty-cent pieces into a beautiful display of struggle, determination, and success. Only you could do it. You pulled it off and over and through and up and around solely with your will and determination to prove that they were wrong. You are more than just a fragile sea blossom. You are the unrelenting great white that fights its way through the doubt because you know that doubt and insecurity are for the guppies. And when you have finished bending the rope to your will, you use what little fire that you still have left in your heart to braid a noose for the doubt of your nonbelievers to draw around their rubbernecks. Because you are not just a gentle sea blossom. You are the ferocious great white that dons an elegant sea blossom lei of beauty and grace which protects the fire in your heart until it is ready to be released and used to fry the fish that ever doubted you.

Womb Room

Kaylea Carlyle Inspired by Crocheted Environment by Faith Wilding, 1972/1995

“Pages is one of the most enriching experiences of my life. It took me on an emotionally thrilling journey that I shall not soon forget.” —John Trimble

But was it ever worth it? If you touch a butterfly’s wings it can never fly so if you touch my heart I can never love My blood can only pump your words and confessions So I never have room to love anyone but you I watch you knit webs and give them to me as blankets Telling me how they can keep me safe and warm But each time I wrap them around my shoulders I can’t get out Is captivity keeping me safe or just yours? Your spiders have laid eggs in my ears Whispering each love song you sang to everyone but me Am I only worthy of entrapment and consumption but not love? Because love must be equal I am worthy of love, I am worthy of respect You may think this white is beautiful That it shows that you found someone, you were pure I can still be pure even after you touch me And if you don’t then please take a look at your hands Do the maggots under your nails beg you to lay nests inside my neck? Because somehow your hands always wander there

Grip so tight that I can’t tell what is the pinch of your fingers on my skin Or your parasites trying to give birth to new life in my dead mind To kill my spirit is to kill me You smash each spider and centipede you see to show me that you can kill with no remorse That when you tore the spiderweb you told me I could never find home That home needs to be built but how can I build when You’re always holding my hands Keeping them bound by your web on bedpost and table legs? I think it’s so beautiful to pretend that I am a butterfly caught in your web That my stained-glass body is so beautiful once you shatter it on your kitchen floor Instead you tell me I’m a moth I will live inside window frames until I suffocate from my own carbon dioxide You’ll press me into your biology books and always flip to my page Ask me if safety was worth death if it only brought me back to your arms

13 VA

2014–15

I don’t feel butterflies I feel a snake coiling around my stomach sloshing stomach acid into my beating heart The tangles of this web give birth to the death of each caterpillar that never became a butterfly The death of each first love and innocence Because your hands have already explored each inch of my garden walls Picked flowers from my sides and plant then as you please Water only when they start to die So you can keep them forever with minimal care The snake coils so tight that my stomach feels empty I reach inside hoping for its scales to ascend into my skin But I only feel the burn of stomach acid and venom The bite filling each vein Sometimes you focus so much on protection you even kill yourself to stay safe

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled

I sat with Grandma on the front porch. The back-and-forth squeaking of her rocking chair was my lullaby. My eyes would grow heavy as Inspired by Front Range by Sherri Smith, 1976 the Nevada sun hit my face, darkening my freckles during the summer. Grandma knits from sunup to sundown, only leaving to refill her sweet tea. Grandma’s knees were bad so I brought her all her meals on a paper plate so that I didn’t have to wash the dishes because I hated the feeling of wet food on my hands. I spent most days sitting on the porch steps watching Grandma knit or cartwheeling around the front yard, making sure to never stray where Grandma couldn’t see me. My hands were calloused from the rocky dusty ground I called a yard but Grandma told me that tough hands were a reflection of a tough inside and that when I grew up I’d be something special. “Through Pages I learned In the springtime Grandma would to look at the world wrap me in wovens she spent all through different lenses.” summer knitting to keep the wind’s chill away. Her blankets were amber —Ellie Schwartz and purple waves like the mountains that scattered the background of the landscapes I painted in school. One spring I found a cat hiding under the stairs. I named her Dusty since she was covered in the

Taylor Moore

orange dust that flew from the ground when the wind blew. Grandma told me I couldn’t keep her but I snuck her in the house when Grandma was napping. When I made lunch for Grandma and myself, I would cut the crusts off the sandwiches and feed them to Dusty. Winter came fast and before I knew it, it was December 3rd, 1975, also known as my 10th birthday. Grandma woke up early and went to the store to get flour to make me a cake. While she was away a man came to the door. He was wearing a navy blue suit with a red tie. I didn’t like navy blue and red together but I didn’t tell the man that. He asked to speak to my parents. I told him I didn’t have any parents but that Grandma would be home soon. He sat down in Grandma’s chair. I wanted to tell him to get up but he had a stern look on his face, the kind of face that didn’t want to be bothered. When Grandma got home she told me to go up to her room so she could talk to the man. I sat at the top of the stairs so I could listen. The man told her that the government needed us to evacuate our house so they could test some sort of bomb. I ran back down the stairs, tears welling in my eyes. “They can’t make us leave!” I cried. They couldn’t make us leave, could they?

Untitled

Danny Dicks Inspired by My Rock Stars Experimental, Volume 1 by Hassan Hajjaj, 2012

Bold Rock stars are bold But aren’t you bold? You must be a rock star

Global Rock stars bridge cultures Bring people together They make us happy

Insightful Rock stars tap into your senses Spark fires of emotion From deep within But didn’t you light my fire? You must be a rock star

Together It was you who brought unity and happiness You are my rock star

Untitled

Niko Kasper Inspired by Crocheted Environment by Faith Wilding, 1972/1995

You’re beautiful. A hollow black box full of spiderweb tension. I wish your rope connected better, but I know you never wanted to be attached. I can fix us. I promise I’ll make it so we can see. A light bulb can last long enough for a glimpse until you wrap your knotted heart around the only source of life we share. You create shadows among us. Shadows that don’t appear. Shadows we cannot see. Unclear because of the box. The hollow black box.

“Pages is where you fill the page.” —Isabella South

2014–15

Wise True rock stars hold wisdom They know what truths to speak And when to speak them Wasn’t that you spittin’ truth? You must be a rock star

16 VA

A Safe Place

Destiny Riccio

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Inspired by Sistah Paradise’s Great Wall of Fire Revival Tent by Xenobia Bailey, 1993–2009

“Pages is a sanctuary for writers and artists.”

—Trajan Mitchell

Even amidst enemies, or a personal hell, it is still possible to maintain a peaceful state of mind. Some of us have a specific place that provides comfort and a secure feeling, no matter what. We all deserve to have a place that helps keep us sane and happy, not only during darkness, but during sunshine too. Vibrant reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blacks, blues, whites form the sanctuary tent that helps hold onto hope and positivity. A beautiful, warm sunshine rug placed directly beneath the colorful canopy, where even during the darkest moments, we can still find some kind of sunshine. “Mystic Seer. Faith Healer. Enchantress Extraordinaire.” “She clearest my path and prepares a blissful sanctuary in the presence of my enemies. She protects me with her gaze streaming from a treasure house of abundant grace.” These words wrap around the magical revival tent to remind us to always stay strong. If you give up during the darkness, you will never get a chance to live and experience life when it finally turns to sunshine.

The Gray Area

Noor Al-Hashemi

Iraqi Bred Born in America

Raised by Iraqi Parents

In a Western culture

Affected by home Am I Iraqi?

Affected by school Am I American?

Sometimes I think that My country is America. Red, white, and blue.

Black or White, neither fit me. I think of myself as living in the gray area.

2014–15

Or maybe somewhere in between.

But Iraq is in my heart. Green, black, and red.

“Through Pages I learned that my voice matters.” —Christian Schumacher

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Hot Wheels

Chris Loos

Bro, Do you remember in Wheeling How we used to Try and skateboard In the basement the night before Christmas? We thought we were the masters of creation or something, Making half-pipes out of old worn-out boards, Trying to grind down the stair rail without helmets, Hitting our heads on the heating vents, I guess we really were, Hot wheels... Bro, Do you remember when you moved to Columbus, And we tried to make our own skating gang with the Neighbors across the street? Brent and Brooklyn, Remember them? Because I remember how you moved more towards Brooklyn, And I found myself more in Harlem looking for you...

We traveled fast, man. We were definitely hot wheels, Fueled by beef-flavored ramen noodles And Power 107.5. Our nitro was Frank’s Spicy Red Hot, And Frank Ocean when we found out That we couldn’t handle the heat. You were trying to win a race on the wrong track, When you know you should have listened to me and your mother, And you ended up taking the wrong turn bro. The smoke from the first black and mild you had exhaled from the exhaust pipe. Your car started to break down with your body. You couldn’t control your actions So you let them control your life, Your life, The opposite of mine. But almost the same.

I went from Little Chris, To tommy, To CHRISTOPHER ANTHONY LOOS JUNIOR GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE!, To drake Christopher Klondike porkchop bar, Christina the ballerina, Christopher Alexander, Lightskinned lil lightskinned Chris loos, To loose goose, To case number 14-JU-14381. Now I’m living In a group home Called “new story” And every story I hear Is a lie. You went from D’angelo Wheeler, to Muka, To Muka de buka, To Muka buka, To Dlo finna get out To Muka buka buka, Stink, Skeems To D-LO from BSB, To inmate number what?

And now I don’t even have your number Because they put you in there With the rest of the statistics, And a lot of our family. Muka, We’re older now man And I need you to come home, I need you to be my brother from another mother again. No more of that “BANG BANG POW” But more of that “CLICK CLICK accepted” No more of that “PUFF PUFF PASS” But more of that “PASS PASS PASS” More of that “PASS PASS, HEY MOM I CANT TALK, I’M IN CLASS” “I BET SHE WOULD THINK THAT WERE GOING TO MAKE IT OUT” And we will.

Bro, Success is our only option. OUR ONLY OPTION!

“Pages is love; Pages is life.”

— Micaiah Brown

Kaitlyn Roush

“The physical laws…of the universe are actually this whole of consciousness in motion.” —Deepak Chopra, The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success

“Forced to choose between his native land and his ancestral one.” —Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex

My goal was to combine two quotes together and to incorporate different aspects of each quote within the art. I focused on motion at the bottom, allowing the pieces to fall with gravity. I also incorporated motion by wrapping, weaving, and layering the different fabrics around one another.

I made them go in all directions rather than in one consecutive pattern because I wanted to break the “physical laws.” As for the second quote, I decided to focus on color. When the words a native land or an ancestral land are spoken, I think of warmth, comfort, and embracing nature. Nature is inviting because of the different shades of yellows, browns, greens, oranges, blues, and reds. The yellows scream positivity, the browns are the shades of tree roots— encouraging you to grow, the greens give energy, the oranges demand balance, the blues are craving more oxygen, and the reds warm your soul. When someone looks at my art, I want them to feel as if the sun is radiating comfort and it is reaching for their embrace. I want them to feel at peace with themselves and to be one with the world.

2014–15

It took so many failures for you to realize That the road to success was right in front of you. A couple classes away. You just have to leave the past In the ash of all the “L’s” You took and smoked Time and time again, And come home bro... Because we’re hot wheels

Artist’s Statement

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Great Wall of Fire

They say, “She protects me with her gaze streaming from a treasure house of Muhammad Jawed abundant grace.” I cannot go inside Inspired by Sistah Paradise’s Great Wall But I wonder what it’s like of Fire Revival Tent I feel from the inside I’ll be protected by Xenobia Bailey, As if nothing can harm me. 1993–2009 The eyes watching over me Shaped like a temple Inside the sanction of God Where I can’t help but to feel safe “Faith Healer, Enchantress Extraordinaire.”

Love

Isac Kenney

A bond that one shares with another that can’t be moved Can’t be broken Can’t be shaken No matter what the situation The unearthly feeling you feel when you look at them Knowing they are not going anywhere No matter how far, good, bad, or close you are They will always be there in the end Standing by your side Having a supernatural bond No outside force would or could come between you You know without a doubt They are yours and yours alone Something that can’t be destroyed, demolished, or diminished The power of undying loss that lasts a lifetime A soul tie that can’t ever be undone Looking into their eyes Knowing you can’t explain Because it’s something that can only be experienced

Isolation

Chris Bowers Inspired by Fiber: Sculpture 1960–present

Here I am, sitting in a jar On the top shelf Free of sight, free of judgment Sitting in a jar, all by myself Satisfyingly surrounded, unacknowledged If I fall… Please don’t let me spill out.

— Kaitlyn Roush

2014–15

“Pages taught me to look at the world in a different light. To listen to the words of not only other individuals, but the voices of inanimate objects. For everything is a beautiful sight, and everything/everyone has something to say.”

22 VA

Fear Fear Go Away

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Alexis Rivera

Dear Fear, Why is it that you choose to cling to my heart? Choose to break my footing as I walk forward? Why can’t you just go away and let me be who I want to be? DO YOU HEAR ME?! BOOM! SPLAT! Here I go again falling on my face to make you happy. There’s no talking with you. Just… Go away.

Rope Piece

Greg Bowers Inspired by Rope Piece by Robert Rohm, 1969/2014

Dear Leadership, Jarod Griffith

This is the grid The norm of society Falling down Does someone need to fix it? No, it’s supposed to be this way Leave it untouched We all need to “tear down the grid” Break out of the norm To be our unusual selves.

I try to obtain my dream of being a great leader in high school, band, and life, but you cling to my ankles like a child. I want to be listened to. I want every eye to watch me. I want to speak smoothly. I want clearer thoughts.

“Through Pages I learned that learning doesn’t always have to be formal. Learning doesn’t have to be from a book—it can be from interpreting art and the world around us.” —Bree McKeen

You make it so much harder when your voice tells others to keep talking and ignore me, when I have valuable insight and intentions. Give me a voice to be heard for I am ready to stop being a follower to those who are unfit. I want to change the world.

Dear Memories,

Every day you haunt me. From

Josephine Hammer the moment I wake up, you’re

there. Your weight drags me down. I can’t move forward when you’re constantly on my mind. You remind me of past mistakes, of misguided trust. It still hurts. I struggle to trust. I feel that I need to forget. But how could I? I have others, better people, to fill the gaps people have left. Yet I can’t trust the people I should. I love you, but you hurt me.

My Safe Place

Kimleng Sok

This is my safe place. MY safe place. No one can hurt me here, this is my safe place.

Watching cars go by. Wishing someday to leave but I’m safe where I’m at. No danger here. I’m in Charge. MY own person. People can’t define me, this is MY place.

This is my safe place. No one can hurt me here. I’m safe.

2014–15

The only place I’m heard. The only place where I have a say. A thoughtful place. A soothing, soooooothing place.

24 VA

A Care Label for Creativity and SelfUnderstanding

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Ashton Zurbriggen

This care label for the ideas of creativity and selfunderstanding is to help improve your cognitive thinking and your comprehension of all ideas and possibilities in life. Please, read carefully…First, we start with creativity. Most people try to figure out what creativity is when given this idea. Forget figuring out the definition, but instead try to understand that creativity is b r o a d. Use this to deepen your understanding of creativity. Find what you’re good at—what you do well. Then, think about how these things impact your life and how you can expand on them. Soon you will think of things you have never thought of before. This process will never stop. There is no end or limit when it comes to your creativity. So don’t believe you ever have it all figured out. As for self-understanding, I could not think of a more enlightening experience in life. Finding yourself could very well be the most important thing to ever happen to you. To practice getting to this point, continue thinking deeply within your own mind—developing your own original ideas. Try not to put any outside bias or influences into your thoughts. This will get rid of a potential avoidance of an idea due to any social or discriminatory opinion that already exists. To help, find a serene and calm area. Sit down and close your eyes to add more effect. Once you get a general recognition of your inner creativity and self-understanding, you may present yourself to the world a little differently. You may change a little. Keep this in your mind before you decide to act on it. Once you’ve decided to act, you can move on with a life of no limits, no boundaries, no box to break out of at all.

Untitled Bria Gates and Damien Deandre Wright

A Care Label for Florence Henket Florence Henket (from Belgium)

Made in the USA. 50% Japanese / 50% African American. Requires 92% of your time and attention. Requires 12% water and 87% orange pop for hydration. Requires—at least—3 hours of Xbox Live per day.

MADE IN EUROPE. GOOD PEOPLE REQUIRED. LOVING CHOCOLATE AND WAFFLES REQUIRED. 30% SMALL, 30% BEAUTIFUL, 20% FAMOUS, 10% FUNNY, 10% RAINY, 100% WONDERFUL COUNTRY.

“Pages has taught me that there isn’t a boundary for creativity.” —Colton Barcalow

Care Label for Myself

Sara Valentine

2014–15

“Pages is a community for students to showcase their literature. When I think of Pages, I think of a place where kids expand their learning beyond the classroom.” —Bailey Wilson

PERFORMING ARTS EXPERIENCE American Power Erik Friedlander and Mitch Epstein

2014–15

Students had the opportunity to experience American of excess, while also revealing how these experiences Power, a multimedia performance by cellist and comled him to reconsider the artist’s role in a country teeposer Erik Friedlander and photographer Mitch Eptering between collapse and transformation. stein that examines how we coIn a Q&A with the artists, stuexist with our diverse sources of dents delved into questions of energy and power. Accompanied where “power” resides in Amer(2011) onstage by Friedlander, who plays ica and pondered the implicahis haunting score live, Epstein tions of energy production and shares images of and anecdotes consumption. They were engaged about the people and towns he by Friedlander’s composition visited across the country while and how Epstein’s photographs, pages artist photographing where citizens drawn from his acclaimed book Kim Leddy live next door to their sources of American Power, managed to writer / photographer / educator power: from fossil fuel to nuclear, function both as art and a means hydroelectric to solar. His stories of social commentary. Their viinclude telling details of his encounters with the Desual and verbal responses explored such subjects and partment of Homeland Security, environmental conconcepts as environmental science, politics, narrative, tamination, corporate impenetrability, and our culture and metaphor.

28 PA

Or So I Am Told

Grace Floring

I am a human. I live on Earth, in a country, that I did not choose.

Untitled

Blessing Famule

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

I am a human. A child, who wishes to do normal things, but cannot. I am a human. I want to go to school, but I am not allowed, because I am a girl because I live in this country because it is dangerous. I am a human. Or so I am told.

“Through Pages I got to experience art forms I didn’t know existed.” —Caroline Wheeler

Don’t look at me! Please don’t. I’m naked after eating the fruit of knowledge. You ask how I got this scar. I ripped every lie I ever heard out of my memories, I scraped everything till I turned pink and green. With new resolve, I crouch down and embrace my knees. I was finally at peace, until it came. The bright moon that shines day and night,

The bright presence that makes people look at me. Why do you have to awaken under me? Now I’m back to being the center of the universe Clinging to my knees tighter, Here is where I should be forever. Above this bright essence with my head between my thighs Forever defeated. GAME OVER

I Am the Sun Juliet White

I am the Sun. I am the biggest, brightest light of the sky. I am too hot. I hide behind clouds. I bring happiness. I bring death. I am the Sun. I am hot, swirling gases. I am one of countless stars. All things surround me. I am the Sun. I am the source of all life. My energy knows no bounds. Systems great and small, I command.

I am the Sun.

Hanna Weimerskirch

There are these voices in my head, and they are ruining me. They pop up during the most social situations, or the most awkward encounters. GRAB YOUR PHONE! CHECK FACEBOOK! ARE THOSE PEOPLE COMING TOWARDS YOU? PULL UP PINTEREST! When did a device become this important? When did cyberstalking get romanticized? When did social media make me less social than ever? When did my phone become a substitute for real human interaction?

“Pages is a program that allows you to show who you really are behind the words that you write.” —Nadia Lynch

A phone went from being something you used on the side of the

road for 25 cents to call for a ride home to being a compact companion.

They ruin relationships, but can also keep them alive. Their endless settings and adjustments can make you feel lost, but their navigation apps can lead you out of the strangest of places. For some they destroy all social capabilities, for others they build their confidence up to astronomical levels. But in the end it’s just about balance. You can go out in nature and experience life to the fullest. Ignore the voices, and govern your own social live(s). Whether they be out there, or in there.

2014–15

I am the Sun. I am Apollo in a golden chariot. I am Ra who drives away the dark. I am Dayman, fighter of the Nightman.

Portable Power

Dear Person, Julia Vang

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

You are the person who drags me down deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean. Filling my lungs with poison and killing me with all your might. But my heart still pumps and I am alive. I hear you in my thoughts and through my ears. Lying, screaming, yelling to the world. You hurt others and you hurt me. Stabbing us through the heart and letting us bleed with your words. Why can’t you stop this madness? Why are you doing this? But you never listen. Not a sound, not a word, nothing. When I do something wrong, you blame it on me but you’re the one who’s at fault. You’re carefree and forgetful. Filled with greed, jealousy, anger, and sadness. You’re the monster I can’t get rid of. The one who lives inside of me. But do you see? You are me. The monster who lives inside of my thoughts. Never do you listen to a word I say. Crushing the opportunities I could’ve taken. You are me and I am you. That will never change.

pictured from left to right: Erik Friedlander and Mitch Epstein

Sink Persona Isabella South

I wash your hands. I wash and wash. You never change You think I erase your past, what you just did You think I don’t see. I hope you know you’re still the dirty liar that you were I hope you look in the mirror and see the dirt.

You won’t. Self-Confidence I hope you know you’re Shelby Koon as clean as you feel. I never have ever done anything for you I only make you feel better about yourself. I stay running I am a stream I am a powerful stream.

Make yourself believe Show yourself the truth Let yourself be open Creativity is the key Only you will be able to see Yourself in the world Open and free Like a bird Flying across the sea Loving yourself for once Free at last.

You think you own me. That I’m yours to fuss and worry over and keep forever, but the day is coming soon when I will make my own decisions and I will be free from your viselike grip. You say nothing I own is mine and that you own even me. I will be free soon and then I’ll be gone forever. I will go far from you, because you pushed me away day after day, with your criticism and your perfectionistic rules. Every time you yell at me to speak, you just push me farther into myself. You do not own me; you never have.

Lightning

Life comes fast Love is furious Tragedies are hectic Lightning is life, love, and tragedy Lightning is fast, furious, and hectic Like me.

Colleen Murray

Francis Vargas

Untitled

Mark Dravillas

You suck; I hate you. You’re my enemy. You control everyone and everything. You’re the reason for stress; you bring me anxiety issues because I don’t have enough of you, and depression to those who have too much. You make fun things go by quickly but things that suck last forever. I have trouble believing that you are slowly and sometimes suddenly taking the lives of everyone and everything I know. You show little mercy to the little, besides giving them more of you—but not always. The more time I spend with you the more my bones and body begin to hurt. I have trouble admitting that you

can do anything good, although I know that you bring people closer together and that you bring us closer to God, and that because of you humanity has learned lots and made amazing discoveries because people are willing to sacrifice you for the sake of science. Even with those things, though, I hate you. You stole my family and friends and even my friend’s family. You bring people pain and tear them apart. Your “experience” is supposed to help people gain wisdom and knowledge and empathy, but sometimes I just feel the pain that starts it all. Time, I need a break.

2014–15

Dear Parents,

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Silence

Brook Burton

An Outlet

Omar Hasan

I asked Julia, “What’s one thing you feel you have power over?” Julia then responded, “Well, Silence.” Silence. Silence is a power. Silence is Julia’s power. If you look into it, you’ll realize Silence is indeed a power. “Silence helps me keep my head on straight, and lets me get what needs done, done. Silence also helps me focus on the things inside of my head.” I asked Julia, if she could tell Silence anything, what would it be? Julia replied, “You’re a pain in the neck sometimes, but thank you for being such a power to me.”

Here I sit, basic on the outside, complex on the inside. I feel electricity shoot up my back; this is happening in the wall behind me. I scream at kids too young to understand. “Don’t stick metal forks in me!” I’m just a plug in the wall, waiting to share my power with you.

Surveillance Cameras

Mariya Al-Ghawi

I am able to watch anyone at anytime. I am a 24/7 pair of eyes that watches every crime. I am watching when people are alone. I am watching when no one thinks their presence is known.

You may feel paranoid when I am around, watching, lurking, and not making a sound. I have the power to invade one’s privacy some may say. But I also have the power to prevent acts of violence occurring every day.

Elena Sanders

Walk the halls with my head held high Look all the oppressors in their eyes If anyone approaches me I’ll handle them with a smile If I didn’t have this strength, where they’d put me is vile Tomorrow it may be gone But today I am strong

2014–15

Today

34 PA

A Blackout Poem Put to Paper

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Kaitlyn Lacava

The light hand Argues work. Threats have not stopped, Creating problems for dramatic effect. We improve through tough actions, Interventions into unfair situations. Leaving explanations of “why” below us, It’s easier to stay and not change. Shut down without investing, Refusing to care or provide. Measuring progress with force Only crushes what’s below.

Found Blacked Out James Payne

Fight it Always send the right message Accidents will happen But always remain humble Discover complicated comfort Play with power Am I good enough or overrated? Thrilling, connected, exceptional, and satisfied Pretending a particular generation isn’t inadequate.

American Hunger

Mitchell Reade

Feet

I carry the burdens I carry your secrets I carry the weight that can’t be measured I’m with you every step of the way. And will never leave you as long as you keep me well.

Music is Art

Music is art From piccolo to tuba And piano to fortissimo Music is art.

Colton Barcalow

Alex Brown

Music is language From allegro to andante And Italian to lazy interpretation Music is language. Music is science From muscle memory to breath support And psychology to physics Music is science.

“Pages is somewhere your imagination can go wild.” —Alexis Rivera

2014–15

Seeing everything that has been destroyed Just for the sake of fueling society’s energy addiction Makes me think of all the places I have gone in my travels Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Glacier, Rocky Mountains, backcountry trails Touching areas unknown to man. How much of this nature will power-hungry corporations take Satisfying their ever-growing need for power? How long can these testaments to the American Frontier hold out? Until they’re afflicted by the urban disease that is spreading across this country like cancer. We demand more power More luxury But don’t care what it affects around us. The whole world is often forgotten for our small one In this time of technology, society forgets the price of our consumption.

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Art and Life Zuhaib Butt

When my sky is filled with darkness Without a glimpse of light The art in my heart creates a flash of hope. The spark gets brighter with each glance Until my heart is filled with an ocean of flames Overflowing through the hourglass in which our lives intertwine.

Humanityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Choice

The darkness is spreading. The evil is growing. Chaos is wreaking havoc. The world is decaying. But, creativity has sprouted. The seeds of thought are blowing in the wind. The vines of truth are spreading. Humanity has a loaded gun. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s their choice as to what they aim it upon.

Hydrant

Every day, I am idle. Slowly rusting with each gust. Useless. Useless I am for much of my life. Never considered, yet looked upon for pleasantness. That is, I am only a reminder of what may happen. A memory, representation, and eraser of tragedy. I am not looked on as a safe haven. I am necessity and nothing more. My only test is when it happens, to show my worth. So I wait, I wait for the world to burn.

Anthony Butzer

Tyrin Mills

Untitled

Chloe Cho

—Sam Milner

If that title got your attention, then good, it should’ve because that’s just what you are. Okay, well to be fair you’re a little worse than a wrinkled up sh*t window residing on the backside of the average human anatomy, but my English teacher is going to be reading this and I don’t want to offend the poor man too much. First, I want you to know that your actions hurt me. In fact, they destroyed the girl I was, and transformed me into a bitter hag who sadly, probably isn’t too much better of an excuse for a human being than you are. It’s a little sad that inside you have so much hate and self-loathing that you feel the need to hurt other people who don’t have the same useless junk you have in a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better. You may have the money, you may have the popularity, the athleticism, the conventionally good looks that you’re sure everyone gawks at you for, but at the same time, you’re a nobody. You are simply a copy of the thousands around you with little to separate you from them. It must be dull to be stuck in a wholesome white-bread community that claims to want diversity, but shoos away anyone different, that will smile in the faces of strangers and pretend to be kind, while they judge the smallest things about them. I’d almost feel sorry for you, but the truth is, I don’t want to. I don’t want to forgive you. I want to see your friends ditch you. I want people to

avoid or ridicule you for something you can’t control, then, and only then, will you feel how I felt. I don’t find your jokes funny. I don’t find your racist, sexist, homophobic, and frankly disgusting comments as uproariously hilarious as you and your equally sick friends make them out to be. The world is moving on without you, whether you like it or not. I’ll probably never get an apology from someone like you; I don’t even know how much you remember me at this point. What I do know, however, is that you’re trapped in a bubble of 20, 30, 50 generations of people who will never leave your isolated small town, doomed to be another copy, and for that—maybe, just maybe, I can find it in my heart to pity you, even a little bit. Signed, You will always be less than perfect

2014–15

“Through Pages I have learned that art and English are more similar than I thought.”

Dear @ss hole,

Dear Insecurities:

Amanda Dean

You are the demons that lurk in my head and feed on my self-worth. I try to ignore you. I shut my eyes. I close my ears. But you never leave. You are like an annoying pop song that I can’t get out of my head. “You are too fat. You are too skinny. You are too pale. You are never going to look like her. You are never going to be good enough.”—The chorus repeats. On, and on, and on, and on. Stop. Please, just STOP.

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

You will not control me anymore. You do not have power over me.

Sunrise

Ethan Goad

I am more than what you make me to be. I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139) I am loved beyond what I know. (Romans 8) And I am a masterpiece. (Ephesians 1) You will never take this away from me. I am beautiful. You will go on and suck the life out of every other girl who doesn’t feel good enough, but I will fight the battle in my head with you daily. You are losing your power. Goodbye. Forever.

The cool breeze of the first warm day of spring cruised across my skin as I sat there on the roof. As I watched the sunrise across the fields of my grandparents’ farm, I could feel change moving through my life. I could see the future rise with the sun, and the past set with the moon. A new day began around me, but a new life begins within me.

The Stairs

Sara Valentine

Ascend or descend Which will it be? I am the stairs of ambition Where do you stand on me? Over your lives Both weak and strong You each have a place You’ll call your own. Will you choose to stay On lower levels Farther down the stairs? Will you sink to their level? Or will you claw your way up With pride or envy Or will you choose to climb The stairs sure and patiently? Let me show you one last thing: The man who rushes up the stairs Will not see the puddle And will slip and fall. But the man who goes up patiently Will take note of the puddle And step around it. Who eventually got up the stairs first? Stop and think.

EXIT Speaks

Stephon Scott

“The best thing about Pages is stepping outside of the classroom and learning in an alternative way. We were exposed to things we never would have known about otherwise.” —Katie Nelms

Never underestimate the power of departure.

To leave is to go away. I happen to see more faces go than I see come. I see more people leave slow than I see run. Hesitant to leave something behind, the people drag their feet when sad and weep when they feel as if they won't be missed. I take their presence for granted, unwilling to understand them, but when they finally disappear I bleed tears wishing for them to reappear—loneliness. But they're far gone. I thought my electric red heart was strong, but it wasn't. It wasn't able to handle the unexpected EXIT of the one that you neglected. Never underestimate the power of departure.

Tristan Berry

My soft glow entices you, I can see it in your eyes. I have what you want, And you can have it. For a price. Willing to put off that new car? That game that just came out? That nice pair of shoes? I’ve got a cookie, and a water bottle with your name on it. You know you want it... I knew it.

Untitled

Ashley Divito

Not knowing that in an instant something can change your life. Screaming and crying, everyone raged in fear, a horrible tragedy, BANG is all you hear. It wasn’t the average morning that day, the air in the sky around us turned so dark and so grey. Shock grew as the long moments went by, laughter and talking went quiet. Glass everywhere, debris flying, steel hanging, dangling from above.

How can someone so cruel have so much power? Sorrow and guilt fell deep into our hearts, as we sat and watched the whole country fall apart. Dust covered everything like a blanket on the bed, tearing away the trash like pulling it from a thread. Firefighters fight for their lives to save others in need. “I Can Do All Things Through Christ Who Strengthens Me” Volunteers assist and everyone comes to share the Power in We.

2014–15

Vending Machine

Students viewed Forbidden Voices, a documentary to the Internet’s potential for organizing and by Barbara Miller that follows three worldbuilding international awareness, applying famous activist bloggers— political pressure, and engaging Yoani Sánchez, Zeng Jinyan, in sociopolitical resistance. and Farnaz Seifi—as their This film tackled sophisticated voices are suppressed, topics that students explored prohibited, and censored in and critically considered their respective home through discussion and writing, countries of Cuba, China, (2012) including issues of social and Iran. These fearless awareness, social justice, and women defy the dictatorial media literacy, as well as the regimes under which they pages artist art and transformative power live — facing police brutality, of communication. Students Dionne Custer Edwards arrest, and exile—and are writer / educator discussed issues relating to the portrayed in the film as freedom of the press around modern rebels who use the world and the value of social media as their weapon free speech herein the US. to denounce and combat violations of human rights and free speech. Forbidden Voices attests

Forbidden Voices: How to Start a Revolution with a Computer Barbara Miller

2014–15

MEDIA ARTS EXPERIENCE

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Mental Illness?

Ruby Scheckelhoff

One in four Americans experience mental illness every year. Additionally, one in seventeen live with serious illnesses like schizophrenia, major depression, and bipolar disorder to name a few. A mental illness, according to the Mayo Clinic, is a “disorder that affects your mood, thinking and behavior.” An illness, according to the Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary, is “a specific condition that prevents your body or mind from working normally.” If a mental illness is a disorder that affects your mood, thinking, and behavior, and prevents them from functioning normally, then this begs to ask—what is normal? And are all mental “illnesses” really illnesses at all? I believe that they are not all necessarily illnesses as much as an abnormality in a person’s thinking structure that is scary or inconvenient to others who do not think or behave in the same way. Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) is a mental “illness” that causes a lack of control and causes patients to be “overactive.” Most cases of ADHD are found in children and are easily recognizable by the child’s lack of control. Children, however, are not known for being in control. They aren’t mature and like to play. If a child likes to play a lot and because of this they blur the lines between focus time and play time, does that make them ill? The behavior of being distracted isn’t uncommon and isn’t limited to just children. There are plenty of observable examples in any classroom or household in the country. Children in classrooms constantly ask random questions, talk to their friends, and play on phones. A youth that talks too much in a high school class gets some form of punishment: write-ups, detention, etc. A child in middle school that only wants to play and make his or her friends smile is branded overactive, tested for ADHD, and drugged up just to keep him from playing and being himself. I understand that some may argue that the medication helps— that it helps the child calm down and makes it easier for them to learn and less likely to get into trouble, that the meds help them have their best shot at life. However, ADHD is a fairly

recent disease, first discovered in 1902 in England, and this behavior was only recognized as an official mental illness in the late 1960s. Research shows that over half of the country’s children are given medication for ADHD. Half of all of our children take pills to make them less active and easier to control. ADHD has only been an illness for around 54 years and yet its medication rates are up to 76% in some places. Parents may believe that they are giving their children a chance to learn more with this medication, but what did parents do before this whole “illness” was even realized? Their parents, our grandparents, did not even know about this disease. Their children received no medication and they are perfectly successful and have greater self-control. They learned to control their impulses while children on ADHD medication have to rely on the pills to keep them focused and “normal.” In an interview an anonymous student told me she had been diagnosed with ADHD as a child. The reason? She simply didn’t like to sit still in middle school. She would bounce her feet or get up and move. This simple and common behavior in children stayed with her in middle school and caused her to be bullied for most of her life. The bullies would make fun of her movement simply because it was abnormal and that idea was supported by her parents and doctors that tried to give her medication. She was lucky—she avoided the medication—but most children are drugged up simply because the behavior is a nuisance to teachers attempting to teach. Being distracted or feeling restless does not prevent children from functioning as an illness would. No one has ever died from bouncing their feet in class or feeling the need to stretch their legs after a while sitting down. How can we as a country be content to force drugs into children simply for being too restless? It may be a different mental state than others, but there is no way we can call it an illness.

Childhood Ruined?

Cecilia Bulgrin

—Shelby Koon

Preteen and teenage years are some of the hardest years. Just think back to the mindset you had when you were twelve or thirteen years old: you are still figuring out who you are as a person and the crushing weight of “wanting to fit in” is not doing you any favors. I know from personal experience that when you are considered different, it is a bit like swimming against the current of a river. You are so frantic to be like everyone else, that you not only stick out like a sore thumb, but you also forget the most important thing: being yourself and not caring about what anyone else thinks. Obviously, these years are hard enough as it is, we do not need the added, unnecessary stress of social media at such a young age to distract from the real-life experiences needed to actually find who you truly are. Another big reason modern culture is ruining childhood is that it is persuading kids not to value nature. This is a deadly chain of events; kids grow up in front of digital screens and do not learn to appreciate the true beauty of nature, therefore prioritizing technology above nature. With all the environmental problems the world faces today, the last thing we want is for future generations not to care about them. I do not know if this “robot mindset of today” is too full-fledged to stop, but we must do all we can to incorporate children into the real world. Screens will never be able to compare to the real beauty of nature, and kids are in dire need of learning this.

43 MA

2014–15

“Pages is excitement...and learning...and it has taught me to be more creative and outgoing not just in my work, but in my life.”

There has been quite a bit of controversy in recent years as to whether or not childhood is being ruined by modern culture. With all of the new technological advances, it seems kids are now learning to prioritize and value these new devices rather than real-world experiences. These seemingly harmless technological advancements could lead to a very fast, slippery slope of the destruction of nature and the construction of a robotic, zombie-like social mindset. Those opposed to the opinion that childhood is being ruined every day by the new culture usually fall back on the argument of evolution: everything around us is constantly evolving and kids are simply evolving too. They also often tend to look strictly at the intellectual benefits, conveniently withholding the argument of the impact of today’s culture on morals and humanity. This to me is the key component amongst all the controversy—would you rather have your child be extremely tech savvy and smart in a way similar to that of a robot, or do you want your child to have common sense, learn from real-life experiences, and become a well-rounded, humane individual? With such a huge emphasis on everything technological, it is no surprise that parents are giving their children smartphones or other devices at very young ages. Not only is it a brain-rotting distraction, but it also teaches kids early on (depending how old they are when their parents “reward” them with a device) to compare themselves to others. Social media is equivalent to a shark feeding frenzy, and if you do not fit the societal norm at the time, you will be eaten up.

44 MA

Are We Losing the Art of Listening?

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Colleen Murray

The question “have we lost the art of listening?” is one that society has been asking a lot more frequently these days. The problem is that when we talk to one another, especially when we are arguing, we aren’t listening to what the other person is saying. Instead we are thinking about what we are going to retort back to them. We’re thinking about how we’re going to say it and what expression we’ll have on our face. In a paper by the Dilenschneider Group the author asks, “How many times have we engaged in a dispute with an adversary and, instead of listening to what was being said, we were too busy thinking about the arguments we wanted to make?” We don’t care at all about what the other person is thinking or saying, because we are so self-focused. In the end that is the root of the

problem. Humans are naturally self-focused so it takes a lot of work to listen to what someone else is saying to you. No one argues that listening is something that needs to be done less. In my research I found that everyone writing about this topic agrees that this is something our society needs to learn how to do more; however, people do not necessarily live this way. Adults, teenagers, and even younger children are isolating themselves; they always have headphones on and are always on their phones. People say that being on their headphones all the time helps them focus on the tasks they’re working on. People are using their phones for useful purposes like a GPS, and to look things up on the Internet. Everyone agrees, however, that we are on our phones too much, because when we aren’t even bothering to make the effort to talk to someone, we definitely aren’t listening to them. If people don’t start learning how to listen to each other then we won’t really be able to understand each other. We can’t keep isolating ourselves from the rest of the world. We need to be able to be an active part of today’s society. I think we should start to teach our children at home how to listen to each other by practicing it ourselves. Also we should start to really try and make an effort in our daily lives to listen to our peers and understand what they are saying. We should do this so that we can have real, understanding conversations and deeper relationships. If we just try to listen and understand each other a little more, then I think the world would be able to function a little better, and be a more loving place. source: “The ‘Lost Art’ of Listening.”

files/Lost%20Art%20of%20Listening.pdf

http://www.dilenschneider.com/

pictured from left to right: Anisa Gandevivala, Mark Lomax, and Robin Post

Awesome Is the New Average

experiences I’ve had will stay with me forever.” —David Ash

Most of them described the word as something along the lines of “really good.” By these definitions it is understandable how the term is frequently overused. The problem starts with children. In many elementary schools constant positive reinforcement is prevalent as anyone would know if they have had a child or a younger sibling in grade school. A student’s work is studded with stickers that tell them they are wonderful, awesome, or spectacular. If we continue exaggerating the way we do we will simply run out of appropriate words to describe truly outstanding circumstances. How would you describe the size of our galaxy? What words would you use to describe the power of a black hole? Chances are those same words you would use to describe the whole observable universe are stuck onto a seven-year-old’s addition homework. If we show our children that everyone and everything is awesome then the word itself will lose its meaning to the children. We will run out of things to say to them. “Awesome” is “average” because every child is special. I fear if we continue to exaggerate we will lose our ability to accurately represent our thoughts and ideas. I believe that using the English language as we do, we are unable to describe the universe we live in. Given our current language restrictions the only word we can use to describe things greater than ourselves is “indescribable.”

2014–15

The English language is one of the most interesting and difficult languages to learn in part because of the countless, Ferris Clark seemingly random grammar rules, but also because of ever-evolving diction. Words that in the past were reserved for outstanding circumstances are now used in everyday life to describe by comparison frivolous things. If we continue to exaggerate the way that we do I believe we will run out of words to appropriately describe events. Everything these days is “awesome.” Our kids are awesome, our favorite artists are awesome, it is awesome when you get a parking space directly in front of Kroger, and you are awestruck when deodorant is buy one get one free. You have “literally” been struck with awe to save a few dollars on your preferred personal care products. And I believe that this starts with the way we treat our children. It seems as though we as a society are over-exaggerating far too much to try to preserve feelings. So much that words lose their meaning. Awe is “a strong feeling of fear and respect and also wonder,” according to the MerriamWebster Collegiate Dictionary. Many students at Whetstone High School have strikingly different definitions for the word, such as “good,” “sweet,” and “pretty good I “Through Pages I have guess.” However, high school students grown not only as a student are not the only people to improperly but also as a person. The use the term. Many adults with college degrees have low-balled the definition. impactful and mind-opening

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Look Up

Our generation as a whole is lost in a world that is becoming Recently, Sherry Turkle, an author and professor at the overwhelmingly addicted to technology. This is a technology Massachusetts Institute of Technology, gave a TEDTalk called that we have within arm’s reach of us at all times, making “Connected, but alone?” where she detailed how the “little it so easy for us to grow more and more dependent on it devices in our pockets are so psychologically powerful that with every use and less and less connected with each other. they don’t change what we do, they change who we are.” We Sure, one could argue that these mini-computers make become different people as we hide from those around us life a whole lot easier than a life lived without them. But and get lost in our phones—especially with an endless feed of what about all the instances where life becomes a whole lot Instagram photos just waiting for us to double tap. We do this harder—resulting either from one careless swipe, one second because we suffer from a fear of missing out. We are afraid of inattention, or one moment of anxiety? We all are familiar and anxious that if we do not constantly check-in on social with the dangers of texting and driving, but no one seems to media we will be looked down upon and left out. As Turkle put discuss the other problems created by our extreme reliance it, “people want to be with each other, but also elsewhere— on smartphones. connected to all the different places they want to be.” Trust Wherever you go—at school, in stores and restaurants, and me, scrolling through the same tweets once again is not in on the road—you constantly see people looking down at their any way productive. phones. Sometimes it is necessary to obtain information or The fear of missing out is usually only associated with contact someone at that exact moment. Other times, people the world online. People should also have a fear of missing choose to disengage themselves from their surroundings, out on the world around them as well. Every second you acting like they’re too busy or have something better to do. aren’t actively participating in what’s going on around you, This usually occurs when they feel a desperate need to hide you’re missing out on an abundance of experiences such as the awkwardness or fill the silence face-to-face conversation, new knowledge, and simply all the of a situation. Most of the time, beautiful parts of the world that are waiting to be seen. “Pages is an idea that has however, you see a group of people I’m not trying to tell you to never use your phone. It a place in the education connecting to the Wi-Fi instead of would just be ridiculous for our generation to stop the to the people around them. How act completely. However, when you are out in public with system, yet it’s found in could you blame them though? Their something of importance confronting you: very few classrooms. For this energy is focused on Kim Kardashian Put down the phone. Pay attention. Look up. reason, we excel at what we Hollywood! source: “Connected, but alone?” http://www.ted.com/talks/sherry_turkle_

Elizabeth Schwartz

do in Pages, push ourselves, and spread the word.” —Griffin Arthur

alone_together?language=en

2014–15

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Dude Looks Like an Unemployed Trans Lady

Many people believe that the biggest problem facing the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender) community is the lack of marriage equality, when in fact there are many other problems that the LGBT community is facing, including workplace inequality, the gay panic defense, and Luke Woodward discrimination for things like healthcare and acceptance into mainstream society. When people think of issues that the LGBT community faces, the one that everyone knows about and focuses on is marriage inequality, and while this isn’t a bad thing because it’s still an issue that needs to be addressed, it would be better if more people were either also aware of the other issues, or focused more on the other issues that are more harmful to people. Same-sex marriage and marriage equality have been most of what the press has reported in relation to issues impacting the LGBT community. And don’t get me wrong, I believe that marriage equality is an important issue that must be resolved, but I don’t think it should be the pinnacle topic. The Human Rights Campaign explains, “There is no federal law that consistently protects LGBT individuals from employment discrimination; there are no state laws in 29 states that explicitly prohibit discrimination based on sexual orientation, and in 32 states that do so based on gender identity. As a result, LGBT people face serious discrimination in employment, including being fired, being denied a promotion and experiencing harassment “Pages is a new on the job.” This perfectly illustrates the problem. way to view learning, People are losing their jobs, or are not able to get a job because of their sexual orientation or what immersing yourself gender they identify as. A paper from the Williams Institute says, “A into an experience national survey conducted by Pew Research of the arts.” Center in 2013 found that 21% of LGBT —Josh Boulis respondents had been treated unfairly by an

employer in hiring, pay, or promotions.” This affects nearly one-fourth of the population and as recently as two years ago—this is appalling. “Additionally,” the paper continues, “the nationally representative 2008 General Social Survey found that 37% of gay men and lesbians had experienced workplace harassment in the last five years, and 12% had lost a job because of their sexual orientation. As recently as 2010, 78% of respondents to the largest survey of transgender people to date reported having experienced harassment or mistreatment at work, and 47% reported having been discriminated against in hiring, promotion, or job retention because of their gender identity,” and more than threefourths of transgender people experience harassment at work, and that’s only if they actually get to keep their job, or actually get hired. Now which would you say is worse? People not being able to marry someone of the same gender, or people not being able to make a living because of something they don’t get to choose. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that marriage equality isn’t an important issue; I’m just saying it’s not the only important issue against the LGBT community right now. Society needs to raise awareness to get priorities straight. The next time you hear someone discussing marriage equality or LGBT issues or see something about it on social media, you could bring to light other issues the LGBT community faces as well. But first, please educate yourself, and tell people the facts. sources: “Employment Non-Discrimination Act.” http://www.hrc.org/

resources/entry/employment-non-discrimination-act

“Employment Discrimination Based on Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity in Ohio.”http://www.acluohio.org/wp-content/ uploads/2014/08/EmploymentDiscriminationInOhio2014_01.pdf

Do Bystanders In acts of bullying, there are three immediate types of people Have a involved in the situation. There is obviously the bully and the Responsibility victim, but then there is also the bystander. A bystander is to Intervene When a person who witnesses the bullying, but makes the decision There Is Trouble? not to intervene. The bystander may not notice it, but they Mariya Al-Ghawi

sources: “FRFP: Bullying Statistics.” http://www.frfp.ca/parents-

resources/parent-education/bullying/bullying_stats.php

“Bullying and Suicide.” http://www.bullyingstatistics.org/content/bullyingand-suicide.html

2014–15

are helping the bully by not standing up for the victim. The bystander has a huge responsibility in intervening in acts of bullying. They have the potential of reducing bullying significantly. Bystanders just need to learn to take action. According to a 2004 US poll of children, “86% of more than 1,200 9–13 year old boys and girls polled said they’ve seen someone else being bullied.” Why would so many witnesses decide not to take action? Bystanders might not be sure of what to do in the situation or fear that they will become a victim as well if they intervene. Social psychologists have also discovered the concept of bystander bias. This is the effect in which any given bystander will be less likely to give aid if other bystanders are present. But people need to be taught that even the smallest act of bravery such as informing an adult can go a long way, and that not doing anything about it is wrong. Some people argue that bystanders do not have a responsibility to intervene. This is not the case. They argue that the situation doesn’t involve them so why should they get in the way? Or that the victim can stand up for themselves if it is really that serious. The idea that they can’t do anything also has come up. But are these really valid reasons? According to the Family Resource Facilitation Program, “When bystanders intervene, they can stop bullying within 10 seconds over half the time.” A bystander has the power to end bullying; they just need to learn how to find their voice. The most harmful result that can come from bullying is suicide. According to a study in Britain, “half of suicides among young people are related to bullying” and “10 to 14 year old girls may be at even higher risk for suicide.” These are children who are still in elementary and middle school. These

are children whose teachers may never get to hand them their diplomas. These are families who may not get to walk their daughters down the aisle. These are families that will never get the chance to see their children grow up and have their own families. All of this because no one was there for the bullied child. Is it right to watch a person—or multiple people—get attacked and do nothing? What if it were someone you knew, someone you cared about? Does something have to happen on a bigger scale, where you could be in potential danger, for you to do something? It shouldn’t take that much for someone to make a stand. It all begins with one small step of action: teaching children that it’s the right thing to stand up for someone. We wouldn’t want our children to watch someone else get attacked—physically or verbally—and not help. We wouldn’t want our children to be the victim, and find out that others watched and did nothing. We wouldn’t want our children—or ourselves—to be responsible for the death of another person. People fail to believe that they have a responsibility to intervene in times of trouble. They do, because they are witnessing it. Bystanders are physically there. No one else will step in because they won’t know unless they are there. The solution is simple: spread awareness. Show people the effects of bullying and who is bullied. Make people care. Show them what they can do if they ever see trouble. Make people understand that they can save lives. Give them the courage to speak up. It must be understood that a better outcome is more likely to result when you help someone rather than watch the helpless victim.

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y 50

Rough Draft Wonee Abrha

I arrived at the destination, the darkest place outside of my walls. So many prisoners in a place that commits the most crime, a present atmosphere with an absence of hope and soul. I am determined to remember every detail for my readers. I wish that I wasn’t blindfolded in that van. I wish that I could have looked those men in the eyes just to try to be sad or something. Or I wish they could have limited both my sight and hearing so what I felt was intense enough to be moving. From the smell of the moldy walls, the sound of dripping water from the pipe that gives me some source of hydration besides my urine, to absolute emptiness, I see myself for the first time in reflection. I can barely extend my legs to lay and sleep. But I suppose it’s better than standing in a one-footby-one-foot cell. I drift to sleep, but not for long. Either hunger or paranoia or both kept me up from my dreams of death. I woke up in the middle of the night in alarm, my breathing was shortening, my body wet with sweat, and blood pouring from my nose. I was dying but I was so afraid? This is what I wanted, what I dreamt, and now that it was reality, I didn’t want to die? I began shaking uncontrollably, and my mind began to question what was real and what wasn’t. Who am I? Where am I? I started screaming, banging, kicking on the walls. Tears falling from my cheeks hitting the floor in harmony with the water pipes. The guards came and started restraining me, and all that made it worse. I couldn’t physically express what was going on in my mind; that physical limitation only contributed to my own uncontrollable state. I was terrified, time couldn’t have moved slower, it now took forty-five seconds for water to hit the ground leaving the top pipe. The guards stuffed rags in my mouth. Dehydration became real. Helplessness and the feeling of evil, things I had already come to know, instantly became real and unfamiliar. It caused every inch of my mind to fill with terror. The intensity of my thoughts soon began to feel physical. I felt for the first time in a long time.

2014–15

“You people beat me, and think that I am going to beat you to my death. I refuse to die. I refuse to let you kill all that makes me alive. You have drained the colors of Cuba, yet I am not colorblind and am able to see vivid images of ugliness, and you are the ugliest of all.” “Very amusing, you think you are far different from the rest because I have allowed the mistake of your life to still engage in its disturbance.” “I am not different—every resident opposes your oppressive governing. Yet why have you ‘allowed’ me to survive, why is that?” He smiles. “Because you are strong. You are strong enough that you would not cut your life short to find peace. And I want you to live in my realm, I want to see you suffer, I want to rip off your tongue and your heart, and I want you to feel it all.” She smiles. “I am numb to you, I will not lose for even in defeat, there’s a valuable lesson learned, so it evens up to me.” “Guards!” “Take this woman to the darkest cell, but a spacious one, so you men have room to bruise her for every word uttered to me, burn her for every crime committed to my country.” “You will burn for eternity! You will never see the finishing products of your marks, the flames that will surround you in hell will never burn out.” I was thrown into a van, restrained, to be punched, kicked, cut, and raped. Truly, inside, I am dead, not with sadness, anger, or desperation but with numbness. We think pain is the worst feeling—it’s not. Nothing is worse than the eternal silence that lives inside of us. I can never let them know they’re winning. They have drained me of all my color, and as I continuously bark about my nonexistent Self, and my determining soul, I begin to re-murder everything dead inside of me.

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled

Kiara Collins

As the coin flipped in the air she stared at it, hoping that it would help her. When the coin hit the wooden floor it had made an echoing ring. She nervously looked at the result that would change her life. The coin was tails side up, meaning that she had to go. She knew that she would have a hard time actually going through with this the moment she looked down. To begin her planning she thought out when would be the best time to leave. She came to the decision to just leave at night after her family had gone to sleep. This was so she wouldn't be followed or seen by anyone, whether it be by a friend, family member, or anyone who would recognize her, because she knows she wouldn't be able to see them and continue on. She wants to leave as soon as possible, so she decides on leaving the night after so she won't change her mind. Throughout the day she would take a little food that had been left over from each meal. She would go out with the little money she had and try to get things like clothes to help her last. After she got anything she would go into her room and put it in the bookbag that she had in her closet.

By the time night comes around she starts to think about all the bad that could happen and how afraid she might get before she actually could claim herself as safe. She thinks she could get caught trying to leave and be in trouble. But, she still chooses to go on this trip because she just wants to be happy. She finally builds up the courage while there is enough time before sunrise to get away.

Devout Souls

Noor Al-Hashemi

1991

It was a risky move, but they approached the light, hope in their hearts. They wouldn’t perish in the desert. They walked for what seemed like forever before a camp of tents finally came into view. “Excuse me!” the man shouted, hoping for an answer. After no reply, he assumed they were being rejected. The hope was crushed. A man, wearing a long thobe and black shemagh came out, wanting to see who was calling for them. Looking around, he spotted a small band of four men. He called to them, and beckoned them to come closer. “Thank you very much.” The man smiled as he was now wrapped in a blanket and drinking his hot tea. His friends were doing the same but each man kept to himself after such an intense day. “Stay here for the night.” The bedouin man smiled, a man of few words. He left their tent and returned to his. — A refugee camp was not where my father envisioned spending the next five years of his life.

2014–15

He hid behind the palm tree, the bright Iraqi moon illuminating the night sky. Enough of the dangerous life, enough of the risks. Being a rebel took its toll on him. He tried his best to remain anti-Saddam but it was hard. He wanted nothing more than a peaceful, happy life. This peaceful life would remain unattainable if he chose to stay. It was time to flee. Being on the run from the collapsing government, fearing execution, and having anxiety fill him every time he walked out of his home simply because of his beliefs. Every single day was not the happy life he dreamed of. What’s a physician’s assistant doing on the run in the first place? A nice job, a nice family, and a nice life is all he wanted. He crept out from behind the tree with his three friends behind him, ready to raid the deserted American military base for supplies. The foursome entered the base and looked around, taking anything they spotted. A blanket, a water bottle, and a lump of stale bread. — 30,000 Iraqis walked into Saudi Arabia that day. My father being one of them. They walked across the border for many

different reasons: freedom, political unrest, safety. Every single person that day had their reasons. 30,000 isn’t just a number, it’s 30,000 lives that craved change. 30,000 lives, each one had a family, a sweetheart, a home, and— simply put—a life. — Taking steps ever so carefully, all of them wanting to avoid landmines that were buried all over the border. They witnessed many people walking over them and setting them off—these were things that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Crossing the border wasn’t the hard part; they made their way into Saudi Arabia. They were happy, crossing the border was burdensome, but easy in comparison to the hardships they would experience later on in life. “We’re out…,” one of the friends said, a smile on his face, euphoria spreading throughout him as he imagined a wonderful future. The four wandered around in the desert. The air was cool and crisp, the cold getting to them. Scorching heat during the day and bitter cold at night. The men drifted throughout the desert, craving somewhere they could rest. The man looked out, swearing he saw a light of some kind. “Guys, do you see that?”

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Anatomy of a Revolution

I was thirsty, so I made some tea. I wasn’t getting any work done anyway. My laptop screen just gave me blank Gyasi Hall stares and an infinite canvas, with no guidance, no help, so I let it sit for a while. The kettle was already on the counter. I’d been in this situation before, you see. Not quite as dire, sure, not quite as important, but still, I’d been there. I felt the reality of the situation tickling the back of my head; you should make up your mind already. You should be writing, Yoani. But still, I didn’t listen. As if I’d ever listened. I made myself some tea and “Pages helped me about what I’d have to to realize that art thought do next. can be pretty cool... I filled the kettle with water. Normal stuff, not harmful or and weird. any different than the last And that’s OK.” time I’d made tea, whenever that was. It sputtered out of —Fulton Costa the tap, a trickle at first, then, with time, started gushing uncontrollably. And as I picked a mug from my collection of four (and a half, if you count the little cup with the purple flowers that was the last surviving member of its set), I waded my hand in and out of the stream, testing the water. It was cold, ice cold.

I tried to remember what the water was doing before I decided to make some tea, what could possibly be the reason it was so cold, but couldn’t think of anything that made sense. My hand was getting numb. Seconds ticked by. Then it changed. From freezing to cold to bearable to the point where it almost seemed to not have a temperature at all. It took some time to heat up. Like ants marching across a meadow. From translucent to lukewarm to warm to hot. When it was ready, I filled up the kettle. I lifted the lid, and opened the mouth of the spout up to the pouring faucet. It drank in greedy slurps, savoring every drop. It drank so much, I thought it might choke, might drown on its own desperate struggle to feel whole. The kettle had these handy little markers, warning you about the amount of water it could carry. There was a minimum and a maximum. Usually they didn’t occur to me. I was the only one in the house that didn’t use them as a guide. But today, for whatever reason, I thought it imperative to pay attention to the ticks, the subtle warnings. I filled up the kettle a fraction of an inch away from the top, testing its limits. I picked it up, slowly and not all at once, and carefully turned one hundred and

eighty degrees to put it on the stove. I turned the burner on, and after several clicks that seemed to echo in my ear, I saw fire leap in the feet of the kettle. It was all colors: red, yellow, orange, even some other colors, like blue and white. They all formed one coherent flame, applying heat and pressure to a heavy and immovable object. I sat there and waited. I don’t know how long it took. Eventually, I saw steam. It bellowed up from the pot, wrapping in on itself in a desperate attempt to stay warm, but always disappeared just before touching the ceiling. It clawed its way up the height of my kitchen, hissing and popping and screaming, bubbling and bursting and cascading down into a fierce movement, all contained in the walls of the kettle. Perspiration burst from the metal. The lid was open. I imagined water sparks flying everywhere, landing on grass and sidewalks and people’s skin, setting everything ablaze. I turned the burner off before the water could scald itself. I poured the flames in the mug. More steam, more hissing, more water sparks. I let it cool before I touched it.

I execute the packet. I rip its top half from its bottom half, decapitating it and reaching inside to get the heart. I dispose of the body. I hold the tea bag up to the light, and I can almost see it still beating. It hangs on a string I can cut at any minute. The hot water is waiting, still hot, but slightly less so after what I’ve done, and I dip the heart in the water. I watch it puff up and start to bleed out. It dyes the water a certain shade of different I can’t find on any rainbow. Two intimate forces—the water and the tea; the body, its comfort, and the spirit, its judgment—dance an infinite dance. They embrace, separate but equal, into a force that will comprise both facets. I pull the tea bag up a few times, hoping to restart the heart and make everything clear, but I only succeed in fusing them more. I drizzle some honey in the pool to try and dilute the fact that they have merged irrevocably. It sweetens things, but doesn’t help. I use a spoon to stir the concoction together, abandoning all hopes of their independence from one another. I take a sip and close my eyes. It tastes exactly how I expected it to.

Forbidden Voices

Nadia Lynch

Like a writer with a muse Inspired to do more Pushing to learn more How to be a part of the change The change for freedom Because the forbidden voices heard across the world Need to be heard Because pushing to revoke their rights Only gives strength Like a connection Never to be broken

55 MA

2014–15

I keep all my tea bags in a box in the second cabinet next to the drawers under the sink. Not an obvious place, sure, but one that becomes second nature to someone who drinks as much tea as I do. I get it out and look at my options. Some of these bags are labeled, others not. Some were grown in the gardens of friends I thought I’d never lose, and some can be found on every table in this country, and any other for that matter. Earl grey, peppermint, vanilla chai, sleepytime, green tea, black tea, and on and on. If I squint, I drown in all the options. Some of these flavors don’t even have names. It is shocking to see so many examples of such a disposable art form. I stare at the tea bags, trying to find a pattern, until finally I choose a bag. I can’t tell you what kind it was. I don’t remember. I sit there with my hands on the packet, looking at all the tea bags still left, lying unaffected by my choice in the box that belongs in the second cabinet by the drawers under the sink. I look at my mug, full of hot water, still steaming, still spitting bubbles to get my attention. Then,

Forbidden voices heard across the world Telling their own side of the story Tell me why? Why should I care? About the spoken words A reverent reality I have seen Burns me from the inside Like an everlasting fire What has the world become? The power of one’s words shunned? Fighting for their right of free speech A machine that’s hard to break

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Forbidden

Cameron McCay

Screeching freedom from bleeding throats, Government scratching at their necks, Tart to the ears, sweet to the soul. A spoonful of sugar, Or a spoonful of salt? Freedom is like a barbed wire fence: Jump too high You get struck down. Freedom is yet, still Forbidden. *** The sour taste of wanted freedom

Parades down throats rushing Like a flooded stream. The attempt to flee fate, But the tongues of authority poke out and whisper “no.” Hearts thump and minds race As population screams for recognition. Freedom is yet, still Forbidden. *** A nazi of the soul Stares through the windows, inside. Emotions leak from the eyes, And beads of salt water stain parched skin. Hands quiver in anger and fear, but Freedom is yet, still Forbidden.

Untitled

Salma Attia

Take the padding from your ears. Admit you’ve seen tears. Admit you’ve seen tears. You bind your eyes, you keep on coming last. Keep your head, they keep losing theirs and blaming it on you. Don’t deal in lies, take some action. Keep your head, don’t give way to hating. Don’t look too good, talk too wise. Make allowance for doubting too. Don’t deal in lies. Keep your head, while they lose theirs. Painful history heard me crying rhythms never changing. How far must we go, people? Children’s lives Slavery… blind... Justice Freedom Bravery Resistance

Untitled

Maryam Ali

YOU CAN You can dream You can think You can! You can do it You can live… Live the way you want to

You can… Take a compelling risk...

Emily McKnight

How blind are we? Going about with our wanton way. Not seeing the whole world, Where some children lie. How blind are we? We take our rights for granted. How hard life must be, for people struggling and not yet free. See how silent we are? Too selfish to ponder about what’s really out there. Ignoring the people who cry out for help. Life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness. We could do so much more with this.

“Pages is a great program that encouraged me to write more often and swim around in creativity. I actually started a memoir about my family with the inspiration of Pages.” —Malle Ratsavong

Do we use it to take a stand? Or ignore it and keep our shameful reality as it is? How blind are we? There is so much more to this troubled world If only you could bear to hear the truth. If only you could take a stand. If only…

2014–15

Keep your head above the clouds! And BELIEVE Because you can You can! You NEED to do it You can live… And do what you want to

Untitled

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled

Maura Ramos Yanez

How hard life must be .pointless. We have a painful history .broken. It frustrates me People taking advantage of their power, authority, Controlling MY life Hearing the blood throb in my veins. How hard life must be, living in fear but I keep on marching forward. .dreaming. Forcing my heart to Say my opinion But meeting triumph. . . DISASTER. . . How hard must life be Watching the things you gave taken away .gone. What have I done wrong? .spoken. My life will be taken away.

Untitled

Alexis Rivera

Good things and Bad things… Happen to any woman. Careful... not to... Stop and Think. Her situation… No money. Tough times. Be pressured? No! Listen to HER Her situation… People may say it’s wrong. Different point of views…

Some people are against it… Stop. Listen to HER… She’s not killing. It’s not her fault… So STOP! Just STOP please stop. Listen… Listen… She’s Sensitive She’s… Sensitive… Listen to her. It’s Hard for her She’s Brave Don’t Judge her. Listen to her Listen…

“Pages is an island of variation in the sea of standardization of education.” —Dexter Allen

Untitled

Jacob Barnhart

Close minded. No discussion. Rights are taken away and people are being censored China. Cuba. Iran.

Open minded. Open discussion. We take things for granted while people are feeling the wrath of the sphere. USA. Canada.

With everything being taken for granted and yet it doesn’t seem like it… How blind are we? How blind can we be?

“The best thing about Pages is we learned with handson experiences, which helped us to remember and to appreciate everything we saw and did.” —Halle Wardle

2014–15

It’s crazy when problems like Ferguson seem so BIG to us but so little to everyone else. It’s crazy when problems like ISIS seem so BIG to us but so little to everyone else.

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled

Oluwatobi Giwa

I’m just a shadow to you. But I stand before you boldly Stable Equal, each one. Triumph I Cast off the chains Shine And Proclaim to The world How much I have achieved. But Realize I’m just a shadow to you. Stop! And Think You Can Dream. You Can Lose. You can Be Lied Upon. But… Keep on Marching Forward. Keep your head. Trust You. Yourself.

“Pages is the key that lets you stop looking through the peephole, and go through the door.” —Tristan Berry

Don’t give way to hating… Trust yourself Risk Risk it all in one turn. Don’t wait for Disaster Disaster Holds YOU back. Don’t give Disaster its way. Cast off ITS Chains In triumph. MY drums are beating. YOUR drums are beating. Equal. We stand before you boldly. Just Shadows. Risked it all. And Achieved. Our Dreams.

Untitled

Stephen Kells

If you hold on to manipulation Make allowance for disaster If you force knaves to trust their truth Let your verdict bear the truth of triumph Make people stand on one side then another

Start at the heap of your beginnings Let all to greed serve you long after you are gone And master your dreams

RESISTANCE!!!!! Bear the disaster and triumph with truth Make dreams a thought and nothing more Face being broken and start at the beginning Have the power to change and affect people Freedoms… Humanity… Exile the knaves… Manipulation… Greed… Hate… Power… Gone… Life, a side. People, the change.

Untitled

Misha Mahmood

Humanity is collapsing and you have nothing to say about it?

There is a struggle everywhere we look. How hard life must be on the globe where people are not yet free. There is a war outside these walls of “freedom” Innocent children are dying Oppression is swarming Racism is alive. There is a pain and suffering that we do not know of because no one is talking. These words could break glass Could you ever understand? Are you all blind? We are free, by most measures. Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness— Bullshit. Confess you’ve heard me crying, Admit you’ve seen my tears. Your words will break me no more. Freedom of Speech is a lie but I will speak my mind.

2014–15

Make losing a dream and master the truth

Master...?!!!

62 MA

Untitled

Victoria Matthews

The truth sucks, reality sucks. Where is my God? People cannot live like this anymore.

Untitled

Isaac Powers

Wake up This world is oppressed. Words are powerful Everything is about power.

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Such measures… Living is a risk Competition to live.

Insignificant to you Is still significant Reflect on yourself: People are selfish, I am selfish. Hold on when there is nothing in you.

knowledge for the free for the equal for the people

Hiding from our knowledge a trap for fools a slave society safety in the lies

for the future of this troubled planet we as a people need equality freedom happiness and love

truth be spoken we as a people humans equal

Scared to face their emotions Everyday we are growing up A new experience A new struggle Cannot live like this anymore. Petty things Base their reasoning from their first feeling Easy to hear Hard to listen.

Government monitored Revolutionary minds Tiananmen square ERASED

Untitled

Rosemarie Cundiff

Seriously I will admit I fear speaking out. Take a risk. People say I’m overreacting. A lot of people, can talk to crowds. The chains that hold us back, pester us. Take a risk.

I will be free. I can dream. I will keep marching forward. Take a risk. Express yourself. It’s worth fighting for. Foes nor loving friends can hurt you. You’ll finally be able to let go, of a fear.

I End Here…

Destiny Lampl

Untitled

Emily Moore

Social pressures, Struggles. Is it change or impact? Freedom or rights?

We say we want justice. Can we change? It’s a cycle Struggling with what we hear Not with what we see. We are blind. We cry out EQUALITY FREEDOM JUSTICE What are we waiting for? There’s nothing holding us back Not a chain to struggle with. WHAT are we waiting for?! Nothing. Nothing Nothing Nothing but you.

2014–15

They will always be afraid of who they are. Who am I then? People naturally have the right to be themselves. Who am I then? There will be no harmony between the differences of the people. I am a person. Where is my harmony? We are not capable of taking steps forward to eliminate prejudices among us. What am I then? Where am I? Who am I then?! Take the blinders from your vision, take the padding from your ears. Confess you’ve heard me crying, admit you’ve seen my tears. If I’m just a shadow to you, how could you understand? You say you hear me. Do you really hear me? Do you really hear me? You say I have a voice, then when I use it, you reprieve it. Do I really have a voice? You see my mouth moving, but do you hear the screams? The cries from my anguish? Do I really have a voice? But then again, who does? Do we have to be important to be heard?

64 MA

Untitled

Enzo Verdines

It is ridiculous, but I really didn’t care. Keep your virtue, yet confess you’ve heard their guns, and force your heart which will not SHINE. Keep your head, marching forward. It is ridiculous RIDICULOUS!!!

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Start again at your beginnings. Men doubt you, but keep your head!

Cuba

Kemonta R. Fuqua

There I sit on the couch with a broken-hearted mother and awestruck father. “Por que, por que nos sales?” he said solemnly. “Tengo que salir. Nada esta aqui para yo.” “Nosotros damos todo nosotros podria.” “I'm sorry, padre. I love you.” It’s been years since I had that conversation with my parents and I haven't seen them since then either. I moved to Detroit a few years after floating to Florida. I still wonder if it was the right decision to make. I'm still working in the factory, being paid minimum wage, still alone. At least we were poor together. I had a safety net. People to talk to when I needed it. Life isn't how they told me it would be. “Miguel!” I know that voice. It sounds familiar but distant, so distant. I miss hearing it, waking me up in the morning, calling me to make sure I was safe. It was so lovely. “Miguel, turn around!” “Mia, que estas haciendo aqui. I thought they caught you after you were blogging con Sanchez.”

A big issue, pondered and pondered and pondered upon. We are born blind, we are. We are casting off the chains, around the world more seriously. It is ridiculous… Ridiculous, Ridiculous… We are walking towards the doors, but I will say, the road IS DANGEROUS. Keep your breath, and keep your head…

I was amazed. Mia was my best friend in middle school. Mia's Puerto Rican, her grandmother and grandfather moved to Cuba in the 1950s while Batista was still in power. They hoped to move to the US after they made enough money. A few years later, he was overthrown and Castro took over. Mia was a smart girl, she’s grown into a beautiful woman. She has always been good with computers and when she ran into Sanchez, she eagerly showed her that. It was a few months ago when she was with Sanchez and there was a raid on the building she was in, that was the last time I heard from her. “I did…but they let me go.” “Why, you were on the most wanted list.” “I gave them Sanchez's location…” “You what?!?” “They were gonna kill me, Miguel. I didn’t have a choice.” “Tu supes what that life held! She was the voice for the voiceless and you sold her out.” “I told her what I did. She understood. I left the next day. I had to.”

2014–15

66 MA

Forbidden Voices

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Caitlin Knight

I pass the pen down To my daughter. Like my mother And her mother before. A long line of outspoken women Dating back to the start of oppression, We have never been a quiet people. There has always been a scream In the distance A scream of equality: Freedom. They have since suppressed our voice, But it only screams louder. We may not be able to yell to the world But we can write to it. Draw more than an image Of the unjust world we live in. We can write the pain, Spill the emotions onto the paper. Write them into our world: Our story. Because a picture is worth a thousand words, But the muffled sound of a forbidden voice Is worth a million.

Take Aim

Dictatorships catch the eye People with so much power Noticed by a select few Pinpointed Aimed at. People with so much power Frightened by just one person Revealing what they really are Once one voice speaks Others will follow They know what is right.

Freedom

Life is full of surprises Things can change as the sun rises So take what you hate with a grain of salt And make the best of the time you’ve lost Your freedom is important And one day you’ll see These people holding you back Cannot change who you were meant to be.

Austin Rieff

Halle Wardle

“Pages is the true definition of learning through creativity and through culture.” —Zuhaib Butt

Dodging bullets or bills Being around your brothers, to no one knowing you Missing home, to wondering where home is Having a life purpose, to just wanting a job All that training for war, but no one told you about this one…

Greatness

Play hard Dream big You are the greatest Shining moments from the past The heart of a champion is tougher than most Harder than steel, and more persistent than a lion But, am I?

Garrison Reigle

Eba Sernessa

“Pages has brought our English class together in a new, creative way, and it taught me how to be open to new styles of learning and expressing my thoughts.” —Molly Schul

2014–15

Which War?

68 MA

And I Could Not Fight It

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Maria Skowronski

Bullying

Dalton Dunnette

Do you ever think about the things that you fight? Going to the brink, shouting through the loneliest night The feelings you get when you’re in a tournament, Comparable to the suicidal torment of mental illness Everyone knows you’re tough and you’re stone You fought the rough and the bone You’re used to being alone Then this girl came along, Threw off your whole world Bent in a whirl, Seemed so strong Then your soul hurt You couldn’t see a way out. Second degree black belt, Fought in Arkansas against twenty-three, You lost,

Buddy, take cover from it all Escape the system Tragedy all around Talk about smoke... This is a message to avoid Not just what you’re going through, But who you might become.

Mind Melt. Your brain was chemically wrong, like a melancholy song But illness wouldn’t win, so you sang along You won. You had fought everything in the past, But this battle was left. Only three months it did last She rattled your heart, made it beat fast When you were about to confess, She went to you first A drought of touch, she caressed your head, ending your thirst Your weakness of will, her seeking thrills A kiss ready for the kill She’s beautiful Makes you feel real You stopped fighting and kneeled Your cheeks were bright and lit You were a second degree black belt, yet you couldn’t fight it.

“Pages is a beautiful piece of work, teaching you that not everyone’s artwork is the same. We all have a mind of our own with brilliant ideas.” —Emily McKnight

Untitled

Hanna Weimerskirch

“But if you get the opportunity, you’re leaving me.” “Only because I want to help you and mama, if I go then I can make enough money there to support myself, and you guys. Plus I could probably put the rest away to save for anything we wanted.” “But I could go with you! Me and mama, we could go with you!” “We both know mama won’t leave as long as the rest of the family’s here.” I ducked my head, and wiped more tears from my cheeks. I knew he was right; I just didn’t want him to be. “I need you to stay and keep things in order. I need you to make sure everything stays good. Alright?” he asked, tickling me a little. “Alright,” I told him, a small giggle coming out. “Alright?” he asked again, tickling me harder. “Alright!” Years later, when I look back at this time of our lives, I regret some of the things I had said to him out of rage in the time before he left. It wasn’t until I left to go live with him that I realized how hard everything had been on him. He left for America at eighteen years old, and then when he got there he put his entire life on pause so that he could earn enough money to send back to us. He waited to go to college, to start a family, to do anything, until we were stable, and even then he wanted to wait until I decided to make the move there. He missed mama’s abrupt passing, along with plenty other milestones, but he still tried to be there in spirit. He even had auntie call him so he could hear my whole graduation ceremony. But when I finally saw him after all those years the only thing he could tell me was, “I knew this was all going to be worth it, no matter what.” And it was his turn to cry while I hugged him.

2014–15

The family celebrated all around me. They jumped around, rejoiced, and hugged him, like it was the best news they ever heard. My family continued while I stood in the same spot in the corner for most of the night. There was nothing to celebrate; we should have been treating it like a funeral, not a party. As the hours passed more and more people left and the noise level became manageable again. I still hadn’t moved from my corner, against the wall with the TV backed up so that there was no chance of me having to see the pictures on it. “Aren’t you tired yet?” “No.” I kept my response short and quiet. I didn’t want to talk to him; I didn’t want to feel like I had to be happy for him. Happy for this amazing future everyone said he would have soon, though that “amazing future” would be the end of my world. Soon enough I was tearing up at the thought. He was quick to react, grabbing my hands in his and sitting us down on the floor. “What’s wrong?” “You’re leaving me.” He laughed at me and hugged me. “I’m not leaving you.” “You’re going to go to America, which means you’re going to leave me.” Tears ran down my cheeks, but he continued laughing at me. “Do you remember the time mama talked all about us going on vacation, but we never did because her work wouldn’t let her have enough vacation days?” “Yeah.” “Well that’s how my plans are now. I’m talking about it because I might have the opportunity, but in the end it isn’t up to me. Everything is still just an idea.”

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Yoani Sanchez

I remembered only seeing her on the big screen. I remembered that she looked strong, able, and more than willing to take on the world in the name of justice, but the woman standing in front of me now just looked incredibly tired. There was no fire in her eyes, and the aura of power that I had initially thought would most certainly be present was nowhere to be found. The bags under her eyes told of countless nights typing away on her computer, telling the world of the struggles of her home. As I shook her hand, I could feel the smooth skin with a tad bit of wrinkle, and I could imagine the late nights typing away at a keyboard, weaving her truths. For some reason, I thought that it would be nice to write one’s truth and have one’s hand “Pages gave spared from hard labor. How wrong it was to us a blank slate hope for something like that. This woman that I had gotten to know as that allowed us Yoani Sanchez was not the same person I to learn how we had seen in the theater. Her hair was longer, wanted to learn.” but instead of being pulled back in her usual ponytail it just laid on her shoulders —Tessa Perry haphazardly, making her look unkempt. There was nothing graceful about her. She was not strong, and my ill-perceived notion of her made me shameful that such a woman would exist. I had thought that she had it easy, that all the things she blogged about weren’t as dramatic as she made them out to be. Oh, how I was wrong. She gave me a half-assed smile and I could tell that she was annoyed above all else. I thought about leaving. Perhaps my visit was unwanted by her, despite our constant talks of meeting for weeks prior. She had assured me that she would

Tiana Ellison

not mind, but I could see it in her eyes. There was no light, and those dark irises only held despondence. I tried to smile back, but I too was unable to bring any kind of joy into this situation. Yoani Sanchez guided me to her glass dining room table, and I sat down as she went in the kitchen to get refreshments. There were various plants sitting about, and I took to naming the ones that I recognized. However, the heat of the midsummer morning was starting to get to me, and I greatly missed the conditioned air of my home. Still, I wanted to learn something on my journey, and the first step was to speak to the one person I had grown to admire. After she came back with two glasses of lemonade and a bowl of fruit, we got to talking. Introductions were of no use, since we had already been talking for weeks over the Internet and we both knew that we had no desire for small talk. I knew about her life through a lens, but here she was real and there was no sugarcoating her struggles. We talked of many things, most of which were about the recent chat of the political dealings between the US and Cuba. I told her how excited I was to learn that I could legally travel to Cuba now. I told her of my dreams to travel the world and become something more than just an American gal. I wanted to show her all of the things I aspired to be, but I could tell that she was off in the distance. Her eyes were looking at me, but at the same time they weren’t. She was peering into me, trying to figure out just what led me astray. My voice died down as I observed her, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed that I had started discussing such narrow ideas with her.

going to college and maintaining a car. They I blinked at her for a split second before were huge problems to me, but compared to her, answering. “I’m Cambodian as well.” they were just sand beneath her feet. I couldn’t I found it a bit odd that she would just ask even imagine the fear that she must have felt that out of the blue, and I wondered where every night when sleeping. I didn’t have to face she could be going with this. Perhaps she was an entire government going against me and just saving me the embarrassment and not taking away my rights. I didn’t have to worry acknowledging the sad excuse of a reason I had about looking over my shoulder to see angry given her. I took a breath and sighed, relieved police officers that hungered for my flesh. My that she had ignored my answer, but also angry problems were pathetic and fake. Her problems that once again I was left without confirmation. were real, and she was entitled to feel fearful. She shifted in her seat and nodded her head, After she didn’t say anything for a minute, I looking up, as if she could see her thoughts could tell she was mulling over my answer in her playing out. “I remember you telling me about head. I stole a glance at her and saw her looking your family. You live with your father, right?” off into the distance. I was blushing again, and I I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve lived with him for about felt like my high school self again. She tapped ten years before I went off to college.” her chin thoughtfully, and I almost held my “And your mother?” breath, embarrassed of what she might say. All “I haven’t talked to her since I was eight.” I could think was that she was going to make “Why is that—if I may ask?” me realize just how idiotic I sounded and that “It’s fine. She was highly abusive, so one day I I should stop complaining. I had heard those told her to never talk to me again.” words before. Being told that your feelings and “And you said that when you were eight?” thoughts are invalid is painful to hear, especially “Yes, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I was never when it comes from someone you greatly happy with her.” I let out a nervous laugh, but respect. My heart was racing and I suddenly then instantly regretted it. I slapped a hand on realized how much of a mistake it was for me to my forehead and groaned. “Sorry, that’s not come here. I was much too tender to face such funny. I-I didn’t mean to laugh.” hardships. I was small and fragile and I should She chuckled and sat back in her chair. have known that I would never be able to fight “Don’t be so nervous. I am not here to judge those stronger than me. you. It is not my place. However,” she held up I opened my mouth to excuse myself when a finger, “don’t think that your feelings are she finally spoke up. invalid. You have every right to be fearful, but “I never really asked, but what ethnicity are at the same time, you have a right to overcome you? I was just wondering because you look that fear.” white, but you also look like you’re mixed with On impulse I grabbed a handful of fruit from something else.” the bowl and shoved it in my mouth. I could

2014–15

As if just realizing that I had stopped talking, she blinked and perked up a bit more, that tired smile of hers getting wider as she spoke to me. Her English was decent, much better than I expected. Upon first contact I had foolishly projected my thoughts to her through broken Spanish. I could almost feel the blush of finding out that she spoke English quite well creeping up my face once more. When she questioned me on the blush, I blamed it on the heat. She leaned forward on her elbows and looked up at me, and I could feel her cool breath pricking at my skin. Although she had been serious from the start, I knew that she was going to halt this pointless conversation in favor of something a little more in her interests. “Why are you here?” she asked. She spoke the words slowly and softly, as if she were making sure she had chosen the correct ones, and her eyes bore into mine. I was nervous, not because I didn’t know the answer, but because I didn’t know how she would react. I shifted in my seat a bit and cleared my throat, thinking of all the different ways I could phrase my answer. My reason for coming here was simple, but I knew that it sounded naive. I had decided that in coming here I wouldn’t sugarcoat anything. There was no room for lies anymore. I looked away and said, “I don’t want to be afraid.” I felt shameful. Here sat a woman who had to face much worse problems than my own, and I couldn’t even believe that I was the one who was scared. The biggest problem that I had in my entire life was not being able to find my keys. The only things I had to worry about were

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

feel my face getting hot and I was suddenly year. Or, rather, the past few years.” the truth proves to be undesirable. I was that getting very sweaty. I closed my eyes and I mashed my cheek on my hand and leaned undesirable person. I was young, a woman, and hit my forehead on the table. I chewed the on the table. “We had the first black president, a far too asinine to be taken seriously by the most fruit furiously and couldn’t believe what was whole bunch of iPhones came out, sweaters are inept of people. happening. I was making a fool of myself again. back in style…” “Humans,” she said, holding up her hands Why did I just eat a handful of various fruits? I “Stop,” she commanded, holding up a hand. as if she were cupping the entire human race, probably scared her half to death by slamming “You’re doing exactly what they did to you.” “are an obedient species. We as a whole are my face on the table. What was I doing? “What?” I was the confused one now, and I entirely powerless against people who happen to “Tiana, are you alright?” she asked, putting couldn’t quite grasp what she meant by that. stumble upon power.” a hand on my shoulder. I peered up at her and “What do you mean?” “True, but what does that have to do with frowned. “They named all of the pointless things that people not believing me?” I asked, confused by “Sorry, I was just surprised,” I said, sitting up happened, just as you did, because they feel what she was getting at. once more and swallowing the fruit. nothing important happens anymore.” She “You have to remember that we have been “Why were you surprised?” She looked a little leaned forward and counted off on her fingers. conditioned to shun those that do not agree confused then, as if she didn’t understand what “What they don’t see is that racism, misogyny, with power. Fear is what holds people down.” I meant. Surely she must have been feigning rape culture, and so much more are taking She shifted in her seat and brought her foot up ignorance. place in your home right now.” I bit my cheek to rest on the chair. “Try to think of all that’s “I just thought that you would have laughed thoughtfully. True, those things were happening, happening in the United States right now.” when I told you I was scared. I mean, with all and I had even followed a lot of stories that I leaned back then and bit my lip. There was that’s going on here,” I answered. pertained to those very topics, but there was so much going on right now. I thought back to “Why would you think that?” something still nagging at me. Ferguson and the police brutality happening all I shrugged. “I mean, everyone else just thinks “Then why does everyone tell me to stop over the states. Even in Ohio, my home, there I’m shallow or something, or that I’m too young talking about them?” had been some news of black children being to know anything about the world.” There was silence again and she sat there, shot down by trigger-happy police officers. The “Who told you that?” deep in thought. I knew she was formulating recent news of possibly illegalizing abortion “Everyone. Friends, family, strangers. They her answer carefully. She put so much care in made me shudder with the thought of perhaps always said that someone had it worse, and that her words, and by the way she talked, she never not having control of my own body. Death I should be worrying about them instead of just blurted anything or spewed nonsense. She threats and declarations of rape were common myself.” Now that I thought about it, I did sound knew how to speak in a way that was specific and now, and simply voicing an opinion was starting pretty selfish. I really wished I could disappear unique to only her. I was the kind of person that to become increasingly dangerous. right then and there. would simply say something without a second There was so much I could say now, but my “Then they don’t matter. If they don’t see thought, no matter the consequences. Perhaps diffidence was starting to get the best of me. the problem, then only spend energy on those that was the reason why no one ever took me Despite her telling me that my worries were that do.” seriously. I was too crass, and I spoke too quickly. valid, I was still bashful for the simple fact that “But what problem do I have?” I asked, getting Many people find a virtue in someone who can her problems were much worse than mine. frustrated. think on their feet, but at the same time are “There’s a lot of stuff happening with police “Well, look at what’s happened over the past insensitive to those who don’t want to hear when brutality and stuff, but that hardly measures

Untitled

Rayvan Sayavong

It was a hard decision to make. Either way it wouldn’t have been easy. Though that wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t a matter of difficulty, it was a matter of possibility. I took a deep breath and checked my word count If the people wanted an answer, I would give them one. It seemed simple, really. ‘Should I stay, or should I go?’ I looked out of the side window, Halfway expecting a camera to be pointed at my face, But there wasn’t one

I was alone. Here comes the difficult part, though; what happens after?

There was no way to know, Not at the time at least And that’s what scared me. I could keep fighting for my life, yes. Or I could live it. I took a deep breath and checked my word count At some point, everything has to end I had made my decision, So I took a deep breath, And hit send.

“Through Pages I learned that some adults really do care what students think.” —Rachel Schwerdtfeger

2014–15

up to what’s happening here,” I said, chewing on the inside of my cheek. I could almost see the frustration in her eyes then and I knew that she was getting impatient. She leaned forward and took my hand in hers. “We are facing the same problems.” She looked directly in my eyes and I could feel myself getting flustered. My heart was racing and it felt like I was falling in love once more, but this wasn’t pleasant. This was terrifying. “What do you mean?” I whispered. “What I mean is that our homes are not so different from each other. Everything that is happening here is happening in the USA as well. The only reason no one wants to listen to you is because they choose not to see it.” Perhaps she was right. Every time I would suggest something to my father he would always counter it with things that didn’t closely relate. The police brutality and racism happening in Ferguson was always countered with “well black people shouldn’t commit crime” or “what about black on black crime?” These analogies always made me feel that my concerns were invalid and I was being a burden by complaining. I wasn’t the one directly affected, but I still cared. “You’re right,” I said. “I never thought of it that way.” “All crime is related, everyone wants to be in power, and no one gets justice. And those who fight are far in between because we are the only ones that truly care.” “Why is that?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. That’s for you to figure out yourself.”

W T R A

K R O W

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled Chloe Cho

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Untitled Juliet White

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Forbidden Voice Katheryne Crum

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Reflections of Dance Katie Nelms

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Mayaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Struggles Are Mine Maria Skowronski

2014–15

I’m Fine Sydney Mullins

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled Kristen Dunham

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

The Yellow Star of Oppression Samantha Beck

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled Griffin Arthur

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Desktop Graffiti Marisa Sulek

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Into Asylum Brianna McKeen

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Am I Not Human Megan Koehler

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Pagans Arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t People Annamarie Brady

2014–15

What’s Left? David Ash

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled Curtis Herzog

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Silence of Women Megan Rumbalski

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Or So I Am Told Grace Floring

2014–15

From the White Man’s Eyes Sarah Homan

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Child Labor Oppression Natalie Darst

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Native American Oppression Tyler Brown

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Covered Up Molly Schul

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Untitled Kristen Dunham

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

Untitled Victoria Williams

2014–15

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

100

101

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

this page clockwise from top

Logan DeJarnett

Christopher Loos Darian Brown opposite page

Logan DeJarnett

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

102

this page clockwise from top

Jessica Andrick & Amanda Dean Juliet White Gyasi Hall opposite page

Juliet White

103

2014–15

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

104

105

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

this page top left

Caitlin Knight

this page top right

Camille Vogley-Howes opposite page

Caitlin Knight

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

106

this page clockwise from top

Brittany Hanson

Tyrin Mills Cody Rapp opposite page

Schylar McClure

107

2014–15

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

108

this page clockwise from top

Madison Mobley-Jack Kemonta Fuqua Kiara Collins opposite page

Kemonta Fuqua

109

2014–15

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

110

111

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

this page clockwise from top

Hanna Weimerskirch Nadia Lynch Stephon Scott opposite page

Hanna Weimerskirch

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

112

this page clockwise from top

Nadia Lynch

Ashton Zurbriggen Blessing Famule opposite page

Justin Howard

113

2014–15

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

114

Dictator Smash Nouhak Chanthasene

115

2014â&#x20AC;&#x201C;15

Wordle inspired by Forbidden Voices ACPA Class

PA G E S A N T H O L O G Y

116

Untitled Kaitlyn Roush

117

2014–15

118

C I M N E OP G N I D A E R P E C E R

D N A N O I T P

119

After the Pages experiences are over, students revise the works they have written and created throughout the year. Each student is offered the opportunity to submit their work for publication in this book and to participate in a public open mic reading and reception. The Pages anthology is released at the event, which this year will take place on May 14 at the Columbus Metropolitan Libraryâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s new Whitehall branch. Pages 2013â&#x20AC;&#x201C;14 Open Mic Reading, Reception, and Exhibition. Photos: Katie Spengler.