Suburbia
WRHS Literary Magazine Volume 5 The Twenties- Then and Now
WELCOME to the
Roaring Twenties
WELCOME to
Suburbia
E
A Letter From the Editors Art is one of the most beautiful things we can do as humans. It is seeing ourselves in the things that we are not. It a testament to the way we are able to feel and to connect. It is a documentation of everything in life that is beautiful and a means of understanding the things that are not. The essence of the 1920s embodied this. The Roaring Twenties was one of the most important decades for art. It was a vibrant explosion of creativity. New trends blossomed, artistic movements flourished, and people from all walks of life found the courage to express themselves and their individuality. For Suburbia’s fifth issue, we attempt to capture that same optimism and weave it into the work we showcase and produce. We have emerged into a new decade and through it all-- this club has worked so hard to create this magazinecreating so many memories in the process. We’ve danced to All-Star by Smash Mouth with our mouths full of chocolate chip cookies, heaving beautiful chairs and chess sets around for the cover photoshoot. We’ve wandered up and down nighttime streets-- the glow of the Christmas lights overhead-singing along to carols and drinking copious amounts of hot chocolate. We have sang and we have laughed together at bake sales, even despite the occasional relocations and melting cupcakes. With every bake sale, every photoshoot, and every Thursday meeting, we have not only made a magazine, but countless memories. This year has been such an incredible journey and we’re overjoyed to finally be sharing it with you. A colossal thank-you to everyone who came to the fundraisers or donated money, to the queen Ms. Heather Frame for putting up with our noise, to all of the talented students who have shared their art with us, and to our remarkable Lit Mag family for their creativity and resilience. This wouldn’t have been possible without you guys. And finally, to Skijler Hutson and Mina Jang, our former editors-in-chief, without whom we would all have a lot less friends. Welcome to the Roaring 20’s. Welcome to Suburbia. With love, Austyn Malynn and River Allen Co-Editors-in-Chief
meet the staff.
River Allen, Austyn Malynn, Claudia Kim, Bridget Sanchez, Maridian Malynn, Tyler Felipe, Chika Ma, Griffin Grider, Elizebeth Banescu, Grace Hofer, Jasmine Zaldivar, Zoe Barron, Emma Sanchez, Mackenzie Ozhekim, Christian Gutierrez, Vannessa McLaughlin, Abigal Vasquez, Jadyn Balsz, Cason Berrendaffan
contents. 1920s 1. 1920’s collage 4. Reflections 5. Allen Cuevas 7. Lucky Shoes 8. Dani Gaddas 9. Music as Escapism 11. Fasion of the 1902s
2020s
13. 2020’s collage 15. Laela Russell 17. Truth 18. Balloons 19. Going Going Going 21. Outta this World 23. Minimalism
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The 1920s
you don’t have to hate jazz A playlist by Grace Hofer Everybody’s Talkin’ Bout Miss Thing! .................................................... Lavay Smith Runnin’ Wild ......................................................... Duke Ellington & His Jungle Band West End Blues ........................................................................................ Louis Armstrong Tuxedo Junction ...................................................................................................Glenn Miller Summertime .................................................................................................... Charlie Parker Monk’s Dream Take 8 ........................................................................ Thelonious Monk So What ....................................................................................................................... Miles Davis Old Fashioned Romance ................................................................................ Lee Morse Trav’lin’ Light ....................................................... Paul Whiteman and Billie Holiday Young And Foolish .................................................................................................. Bill Evans Strange Fruit .......................................................................................................... Billie Holiday My Blue Heaven ................................................................................................. Gene Austin Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out .................... Bessie Smith
Collage by: Chika Winston
Arianna Romagnano
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Reflections Reflections Reflections Reflections Reflections Reflections Reflections Reflections Reflections Reflections 4
BY: ELIZABETH BANESCU
I’ve learned many a lesson in my teenage years I’ve seen the world through ignorant eyes I’ve blinked back many tears I’ve felt the pain of rejection I’ve nearly given up countless times, but I learned to find my strength within I learned to hang on to the smallest hope I learned I could be a light to others I can show you, we’re not alone Even in this crazy, fallen, broken world Even when it seems as though all is lost Even when you think your faith has failed you Redemption is never far off Rescue is close at hand Salvation is created, even as darkness closes in Renew your spirit Reflect on your life Even when you can’t seem to find the good around you Even when you don’t think you can keep up the fight Even when you think all hope is lost I can show you how to cling to the light I learned that others will follow if you lead by example I learned there are no limits to what you can achieve I learned that a little love goes a long way I’ve felt the joy of acceptance I’ve smiled through my tears I’ve seen the world and grown in wisdom I’ve learned many a lesson in my teenage years.
Art by Laela Russell
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Allen Cuevas
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Christian Gutierrez
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Dani Gaddas
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Music as Escapism By: Grace Hofer
It is the middle of the night, in a dark, secluded space stuffed with patrons and alcohol and most importantly, jazz. The room buzzes with a passionate frenzy— the air smells of dust and gin. There is a certain ambivalence to the atmosphere— an energy secretly shared betweenall attendees. On the left of the stage, there is an ancient Steinway and a man, dressed in suit and tie, choreographing his fingers on the keys. He bops his head to a swingin’ tune as he leans forward and closes his eyes. Nothing exists but sound and the intensity of spirit in the room. Every single musician is in sync, horns blasting high notes until it is certain that any person walking outside on the cold rainy pavement would hear. This underground unanimity, although unknown to the patrons, is the beginning of something beautiful-something thus far unexpected. The dramatic jazz standard represents an American rebellion. It exists to push the limits of what already exists. To experience and feel mor than society says that we should. Music has always been a way of not only escaping reality, but changing it. In the 1920s the advent of jazz meant black artists began to perform at clubs they could not even attend-- clubs where they had to be escorted through the back with security and hushed voices. Clubs where they were forbidden to speak to the white attendees; where they were constantly dehumanized; yet they still sang. They still walked on stage to the sound of cheers and together invented harmonious tunes. They played melodies unafraid to express their full lives. They were revolutionaries, and artists, and with that, they gave a voice to resistance. The human soul crave music as it is the expression of the soul, of decadence, of hope. Music in itself is embodied internally and therefore, must convey the agonies of that body whether in pain or in gratification. When one plays, especially in improvisational jazz, nothing can be hidden. It is
honest and raw, full of every possible feeling. Music has always been a way to communicate that which cannot be verbalized and it is the only art that is not physically experienced. You can touch an instrument, or vinyl, or CD, but you cannot touch the sound itself. That is what makes it so unusual, but so rewarding. How can sounds become a symbol of revolution? It must be through experience; through pain, or perhaps through pleasure. Through all of these, there is a melody-- a chaotic, improvised feeling that even a hundred years later embodies the same defiance and with that: the same hope.
Art by Cason Berrendaffan
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“The dramatic jazz standard represents an American rebellion.. It exists to push the limits of what already exists. To experience and feel more than society says that we should.�
Fasion by: Bridget Sanchez, Claudia Kim, Maridian Malynn
ignorant bliss
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A Playlist by: Dylan Gatua 1. Redbone ............................................... Childish Gambino 2. Pink + White ................................................ Frank Ocean 3. Gonna Love Me ........................................... Teyana Taylor 4. Ghost Town .................................................... Kanye West 5. Why Can’t We Live Together ....................... Timmy Thomas 6. Ain’t No Love In The Heart Of The City...... Bobby Blue Band 7. I’m Gonna Love You Just A Little More.............. Barry White 8. Piece of My Heart........................................ Erma Franklin 9. Green Onions - 45 Version............... Booker T. & the M.G.’s 10. My World Is Empty Without You.................. The Supremes 11. I Like That................................................ Janella Monae 12. Purple Rain..........................................................Prince 13. Frontin’ (feat. Jay-Z).............................. Pharrell Williams 14. Got To give It Up (Pt. 1)................................ Marvin Gaye 15. Save Room.................................................. John Legend 16. Roses................................................................OutKast 17. Sign of the Times......................................... Harry Styles
Collage by: Claudia Kim
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Art by: Laela Russell
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My father grabs a pencil and scrawls out the date on the back of an old envelope. I sip my hot chocolate and watch the dying fire flicker. He draws a zero in front of the year and tells me, We are not at the end of a two thousand and twenty year journey but at the beginning of a ninety-nine thousand year one. We are still so very young. Days later my teacher crosses out the extra zero on my home work, taking it for a mistake, and goes on to teach about how we are slowly cooking our planet alive. I bite my fingernails and watch the other kids blow sweet vapor through slanted golden sunlight on our commute home. We are still so very young. -River Allen
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17 I wake up every morning, spending an obscene amount of time staring at myself in a mirror. Ask me what I see. My face becomes blurry, faded. How can I be defined by a label of Man or Woman when I have the body of a Woman, but my mind and soul are numb, numb to labels or judgment, bruised from being forced into a box where I will never fit. How do we define femininity? Is it masculine of me, to speak up? to believe me worthy of choice, of opinion, of laughing at your jokes? I look at the strong women of my generation, women of color, yet women of pride, women of power, yet women of beauty. I ask myself if I am beautiful. My mind stays silent. I am forced to believe I am not, and no one has told me otherwise. Because I am not fragile, not weak. I will not succumb to your ego. Why must I feel forced to scream in endless agony just so you won’t hear me? You. You have consumed me for too long. Let me take off this lie and live my life, as neither Man nor Woman, but as truth. Because truth has no gender, and a lie has no face.
Truth
By: mightysnivy
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A bundle of balloons I bought one day All tied together with a knotted string; Safe in my hand they would not float away, For to the tails of ribbon I did cling; Suppose I were to let them go from me; Would they remain a bundle in the air? Once parted from my grip, we then shall see If string can hold them all together there; I let them go up high into the sky, Observing them with hope from down below; But then the string, it started to unwind Because a mighty gust of wind did blow. Then one balloon escaped the bundle first, And all of them were suddenly dispersed.
Photos by Emily Thompson
By: Connor Davis
B A L L O O N s
Time didn’t stop, At least not literally. It kept going going going And now it’s january. First we were numb. Then we were sad, confused. And now We’ve moved on. So quickly. There are three lives we seem to have forgotten were lost. Normality has returned. No more burning candles. No more wearing blue. No more balloons drifting drifting drifting Away into the night sky. I don’t know how it happened It’s not for lack of caring Is this what healing is? Forgetting? I don’t want to accept that. I’m sorry boy, who never joined the By: army. I’m sorry girl, who never had her daddy-daughter dance to “Cinderella.” I’m sorry boy who was hurting hurting hurting So much that he made that decision I don’t want to forget you. But how can I heal then?
GOING GOING GOING Maridian Malynn
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Mateo De Leon
Ashley Xiang
Austyn Malynn
Clara Kim
o ut t a tt h Photos by: Allen Cuevas
d l r o w hi s Olivia Bates
Michael Mulcahey
m in i m a l i s m
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then and now: combined
a playlist by: Tyler Felipe Tired Boy............ Joey Pecoraro phosphenes ................. Idealism waking up in the park .......... j’san Falling in Love............... Cammie Snug ................................. Aso Flowers ft. Nori .... In Love With a Ghost
art by: cason berrendaffan
t i m b u s o t how
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