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CL Journals

We have gathered the cherished writings of our club members. Just as individual voices come together to create a powerful resonance, we hope that CL Journals will serve as an everlasting spring in the Crean Lutheran community.

We have gathered the cherished writings of our club members. Just as individual voices come together to create a powerful resonance, we hope that CL Journals will serve as an everlasting spring in the Crean Lutheran community.

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We cannot fully deconstruct discrimination before

aiding people of intersectionality

Justin Choi

As a naive kid, my definition of discrimination was restricted to being black or white. Either

you are the oppressed, or you are not. As to how contentious the term discrimination is,

what I didn't realize was how the very notion of systemic discrimination can be displayed

through various layers. History has shown how a black man would be considerably

oppressed compared to a white man. On the other hand, what the media fail to shine a light

on is how a poor, black, lesbian, woman would experience a comparatively more brutal life

compared to the average black man. This is where intersectionality takes place in society.

Minorities have been at the mercy of the majority, whether it be your gender, skin color,

nationality, culture, ideology, values, religion, or whatnot. Being the victim of even a single

layer of systemic discrimination is already challenging enough. However, what most fail to

comprehend is the presence of people who are marginalized in multiple layers and the very

gravity of such a morbid reality: people of intersectionality. The negligence of the existence

and experience of intersectional people leads to a detrimental practice of reductive labeling.

The concept explains how one generalize an individual into a singular matter, attempting to

distract from the underlying issue: evading responsibility for other forms of discrimination

subjected to the individual.

The New York Times cites specific examples of the negative impact reductive labeling

brings, including multi-layered discrimination in the workplace. For instance, Stacy

Brown-Philpot, the CEO of TaskRabbit, remarked that being a CEO can be isolating at

times. She quotes, “As one of the few black female CEOs, the loneliness builds." These

events have justifiably aroused indignation as a form of “oppression”, yet there can be no

functional response unless we envision past mere excuses. Society will continue to


undermine and generalize women of color.

As an Asian male high school student who once attended school in Korea, the term

intersectionality seemed quite distant. On a personal level, being the target of racial slurs,

behaviors, or discrimination has never striked to me. However, after witnessing my sister

travel to the United States to pursue her education, living with such terror only became

second nature. Every other week, news articles about Asian hate crimes are being posted

which gets me into a spiral of endless questions: Are we meant to live with such fear?

When the media continues to misrepresent the most marginalized groups of society, we

essentially show inadequacy in achieving any kind of genuine justice. Linked forms of

oppression will continue to be disregarded amidst the need for help. Any movement that

focuses just on the experiences of white, middle-class, able-bodied, heterosexual,

individual will fall short of achieving equality for all.

Tugend, Alina. "The Effect of Intersectionality in the Workplace." The New York Times. 30

Sept. 2018.

Taylor, Bridie. "Intersectionality 101: what is it and why is it important?" Womankind

Worldwide. 24 Nov. 2019.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/30/us/the-effect-of-intersectionality-in-the-

workplace.html?searchResultPosition=1

https://www.womankind.org.uk/intersectionality-101-what-is-it-and-why-is-it-important/


Opinion- Iran's Violence Out of Control

Sydney Lee

Many are aware of Iran’s strict laws on the hijab: a head covering worn by Muslim women

to practice modesty through the full concealment of their hair. It is to uphold privacy in front

of males according to Jagran Josh. However, some are not aware of the brutal

enforcement of this law by the police on Iranian women, including those of young age with

their futures ahead of them.

According to the news, a 22 year old Iranian woman, Mahsa Amini (also known as Jina

Amini) was killed for allegedly violating Iranian hijab laws. On September 13th, she was

detained by the police and died on September 16th in a hospital in northern Tehran.

After she was taken by the police to be “informed” about the law, they stated she died from

a heart attack shortly after. However, her family denied that she had any prior heart issues.

They claimed to have witnessed the police beat her in a police van shortly after she was

arrested, according to reuters.com. Many other witnesses testify to this accusation as well

but her death is still quite mysterious.

Iranian president Ebrahim Raisi ordered an investigation on Mahsa’s death but during a

press conference, Raisi showed no impartial nature towards the cause of her death by

stating “the initial detective’s investigations into the death of Mahsa showed she died from

heart failure and not a physical beating by the morality police” according to The Guardian.

Although it is unfortunate that she is no longer with us to witness this remarkable event in

history, it is quite evident that she sparked a revolution among the Muslim women.

Muslim women all over Iran are outraged by Mahsa’s death and are taking action to spread

their opinion about it. In fact, npr.org states, “Many Iranian women are burning their hijabs

and cutting their hair short in protest over the death of Mahsa Amini” and the oppressing

hijab law. The protests have cost some women their lives, including a 16 year old Iranian

teenager named Nika Shakkarami who was reported to have died in the Iranian hijab

protests. During the protest, she stood on top of a garbage bin and waved her hijab that

was smoking with flames. She shouted among the other protesters: “Death to the dictator!”

Her death followed that of Mahsa Amini. She joins the long list of young Iranian women lost

under suspicious circumstances that involve potential violence from the police.

Now, at this point, one might be wondering: “Why these events?” and “Why are they so

significant? Aren’t they just one of the many injustices plastered across the news?”


Yes, this is an injustice but it shows how women are consistently treated as second class

citizens by the government. It is crucial women have global support in their fight for equality,

so consider supporting non profit organizations that advocate for womens' rights such as

Women for Afghan Women, Women Living Under Muslim Laws, Sisters in Islam, and

National Organization for Women. These problems may not apply to one directly, but there

are millions of other people currently struggling with this in their daily lives:today, try to find

opportunities to make a small positive impact on them.


I am a High School Student

Noah Lee

I am a high school student. I am one of 15.3 million students in the United States.

I am a miniscule part of the empire of education. My hardships, that are normalized by

society, are overlooked just as the hardships of the rest of the teenagers who share the

same occupation. I am a part of a conglomerate of same-aged victims that persist together.

As a student, I set an alarm for 7:00 a.m. five days a week. As a student, I cringe and curse

at the melody of the obnoxious cry waking me from my slumber, for five days a week. As a

student, I encounter the unending, sloth-like line of vehicles leading up to the drop-off zone

for five days a week. As a student, I strut by and avoid eye contact with the dean, waiting to

give out late slips, seconds before class starts. As a student, my teachers burn a hole

through my skull with a glare of shame as I creep into class moments after the initial bell.

As a student, my eyes dart with attentiveness, scouting for campus security so I avoid

receiving the dreaded yellow dress code slip. As a student, my consciousness suffers from

the unattainable rest my body lusts to acquire. As a student, there are reverberating

rumbles from my stomach fluids that crave any edible substance, but are unattended for

and utterly dismissed by school policies prohibiting such delicacies. I am a high school

student and I persevere.

The expectations upon me are to excel and stand out as an exemplary scholar, so that I

can feel the torture of being a scholar again in higher education. The expectations upon me

are to be enthusiastic and to contain neverending curiosity for the next pages of my math

textbook. The expectations upon me are to stretch the hours of the day and find time for

school and the other remedies of life, no matter what. The expectations upon me are to

nurture and grow the digits that define my success without fail. The expectations upon me

are to take overwhelming advanced classes that serve as a testament to my academic

worth. I am a high school student and I am an overachiever. As a student, I stress. I open

my neglected bank account and see an alarming number. My hobbies as a growing boy

and a lack of time to take up employment are to blame. I hold onto the single thought of

hope that my education will increase my future earning potential. I open my textbook and

realize that I have thirty minutes to complete thirty pages of notes. My accidental nap after

school, homework for numerous classes, and my unperfect work ethic are to blame.

Somehow, my accidental procrastination leads me to achieve a mode of perfect focus,

which allows me to barely submit my assignment in on time. I open my emails to give a

notice to my teachers that I am sick. In a state of unwellness, I am bombarded with infinite

in-class assignments and foreign concepts that I must learn whilst being chained to my bed.

Being ill does not alleviate my work, but increases the magnitude of the difficulty. No matter

what I do, I cannot escape the unending tasks that must be completed. The fear of the

consequences of not completing them are a nuclear, but effective deterrent to get me to

persevere through the circumstances. I am a student and I am put in stressful situations.


Hopefully, my relentless efforts of seeking the attention of universities will pay off in the

future. Hopefully, I get rewarded with career fulfillment, monetary prosperity, and the ability

to provide for my loved ones. Hopefully, my body will sustain my livelihood, so that I may be

able to reap the fruit of my labor. Hopefully, I am a student and I have hope and dreams.


A Love Letter to Bellagio

Tyler Roquemore

The Bellagio - a beacon of luxury that dazzles guests with its extravagance in the heart of

the Las Vegas Strip. As someone under the age of 21, it may seem unusual to write about

a casino; however, the Bellagio is more than just a casino. The Bellagio is a dish of

opulence, which nourishes my cravings for something sophisticated. Of course, such a

classy establishment deserves a classy outfit. I always dress my best at Bellagio, carefully

crafting an outfit consisting of some of my favorite designers and tying it all together with my

signature smooth black leather Gucci belt with a gold interlocking GG buckle, the caviar of

my closet.

Stepping in the door of Bellagio is like entering a portal into an over-the-top luxurious

Italian villa on Lake Como. Vibrant flowers made from hand-blown glass sparkle on the

ceiling above the reception area. The classical piano music from Petrossian’s Bar fills the

ears of all who enter, adding to the old-money aesthetic. Intricate mosaics fill the spotlessly

polished floor. In the distance, you see the conservatory filled with real flowers and plants,

crafted into fanciful and imaginative landscapes and animals that change drastically with

the seasons. The tall flowery structures in the conservatory carry a floral aroma into the

lobby creating a welcome break from the smokey casino floor, like a breath of fresh air. A

round, detailed mosaic with a gold cursive “B” in the center accompanied by the inscription

“THE BELLAGIO HOTEL EST. 1998” symbolizes the transition from the reception area to

the casino. In the casino, ritzy white crystal chandeliers hang over a sea of slot machines

and card tables. Savvy gamblers flock to this high-roller playground hoping to get lucky and

find a fortune. Unfortunately for them, the house always wins, and the packed casino is one

that will be making a fortune, night after night.

Bellagio’s highly acclaimed restaurant, Picasso, is the crème de la crème of its plethora of

lavish restaurants. Seemingly never-ending plates of caviar and lobster and foie gras and

filet mignon and decadent desserts leave an impression of royalty on diners. On each wall

hangs colorful masterpieces by none other than Pablo Picasso, creating a grandiose dining

enclave for its affluent guests. White curtains elegantly drape over the large floor-to-ceiling

windows overlooking Bellagio’s iconic fountains and the neon lights of the Strip. A terrace

wraps around the restaurant where select diners, including myself, can enjoy an exquisite

dining experience up close to the fountains. Strong gusts of wind heavily blew the evening I

was experiencing Picasso, messing up my hair and canceling the fountain show. The exotic,

mouthwatering dishes stole the spotlight from the temporarily defunct fountains. Each dish

had its own distinctive party of flavors on my taste buds, unlike anything I had eaten before.

Outside the Bellagio lies a vast artificial lake in the midst of a dry desert, where the water

soars up to 460 feet, high-fiving the sky. These fountains are the crown jewels of the resort

and possibly even the whole city. The Bellagio tower, with its beige, slightly rounded

exterior and faux balcony on top, creates a majestic backdrop to the fountains. The water

meticulously dances to famous songs, including “Time to Say Goodbye” by the angelic

voices of Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. Each song has a unique show. Lights


illuminate a golden glow around the artificial lake surrounded by Michelin-starred

restaurants and posh designer boutiques that look like a quaint Italian village. A fountain

view guestroom provides a new perspective to the show as the water shoots up to your

window and glances briefly at you. The contemporary guestrooms lined with classic white

molding and chic gold accents lead into the back wall containing a floor-to-ceiling window

with a jaw-dropping view. Whenever we get one of these rooms, I glue myself to the

window and keep the small, wall-mounted flatscreen TV on the fountain channel, which

plays the music that corresponds to the show. The Eiffel Tower at the Paris hotel stands

proudly behind the fountains from this view, and at night, its glittering lights add to the

ambiance of the 24-hour city. They always shine blue, white, and red to represent the

colors of the French flag. The bustling crossroad where Italy meets France marks the dead

center of the Las Vegas Strip, the point where all other casinos grow outwards from.

Known for resetting the meaning of “luxury” in Las Vegas in 1998, the swanky Bellagio still

shines bright as a coveted prize on the Strip. Being in the scene of the casino heist in

Ocean’s Eleven and experiencing what we see on the silver screen adds a sense of revere.

The magnificent fountains, fanciful conservatory, lavish dining, and overall theming

immerse you into a life of grandeur. First-time visitors become wonderstruck exploring all

the one-of-a-kind entertainment and amenities in the storied casino, known for its glitz and

glamor. But for myself, I am regular who knows my way around the grand megaresort and

all it has to offer. As their advertisements say, “This is the life.”


Between the Silence

Alison Hwang

An original poem written by Ally Hwang (president), who dedicated this poem to the

Robb Elementary School shooting that took place on May 24, 2022, taking the lives of

nineteen students and two teachers in Uvalde, Texas.

My father purses his lips

Mom’s soft hands clap over her mouth

As her breath whooshes Stabs me with bloody icicles of dread

All of our eyes shift towards my brother

An average ten year-old, basketball and Minecraft crazy,

but a sweet and artistic boy who can show magic with cards

The same age as the children on the news

bodies buried in the springtime

They will never see their mothers

For these children, there will be no more

Girl Scout s'mores or fishing at lakes

Dusting off sleds on Snow Day

Jenny will never get to be a kindergarten teacher, Carlos never a doctor

One family says that their daughter loved

to draw faces of loved ones, paint hearts on stones she found, and sculpt presents out of

clay. The news reporter rambles on in her neither cold or dry tone

But her voice is mere noise we are all hushed by could have beens,

It flies around each of us like a smirking coal black fairy

As we breathe in and out

in out

Waiting for another gun to crack the silence


First Born

Grace Jin

The burden I hold

I wish I could say

But I would do anything

To see your smile stay

Through ups and downs

I want to hold your pain

Make me feel numb

Make me feel the drain

I want to see you succeed

Even if that means holding myself back I

want to see you happy

Even if that means I have to be sad

Give me your burdens

I feel that it’s my job

I hope you can pass me them

And not deal with any for long

I pray to God

I hope and wish

That you never have to feel the pain

That I once did

Come to me

I have open arms Transfer

me your burdens Heart to

heart

No matter how much pain

No matter the hurt

I am ready to face What

you don’t deserve

I will fight for you

Until the very end

Don’t look down

Don’t have fret


t’s my job,

I was born to have this role

Let me take all your hardships and tolls

Anything to see you smile..

I love you,

More than words can describe I

am willing to take the pain

I am willing to make the sacrifice

Come to me

I will shelter you close

I promise to never let anything

Hurt you most


The Consequences of Social Media

Jefferson Fang

Too much connection can lead to detachment entirely. For nearly the past two decades,

the evolution of social media platforms in society has reached a point where individuals

identify with their online social status. From Facebook and Instagram to Twitter and TikTok,

social media platforms provide a quick and easy way to access content about others from

all around the world. Family, friends, and strangers can all connect with a device,

connection, and a few taps on the screen. While such instant access can lead to

convenient contact and immediate entertainment, the question of social media’s overall

impact remains to be discussed in society today. Ultimately, social media hurts society

because it causes individuals to be more susceptible to depression, distracts individuals

from being productive, lessens the quality of interpersonal relationships, and fuels tribalism

among different groups.

Social media hurts our society because social media causes individuals to become more

susceptible to depression. The constant spread of updates and information about each

other’s personal lives on social media, causes individuals to be inclined to invest in others’

lives. Furthermore, social media users tend to only want to post the best of the outcomes

and results, which further causes individuals who see such posts to feel sad about their life.

Psychological studies list that social media “may increase depression, dissatisfaction,

jealousy, negative body image, and loneliness” (Miller, et al. 195). These emotional states

heighten due to situations such as “feel[ing] that their contacts ignore them on social media”

and “compar[ing] their own lives to the images they see of their acquaintances’ lives” (Miller,

et al. 195-198). Social media revolves around sharing life updates; according to HuffPost

journalist Clarissa Silva’s conducted interviews with people about social media, “60% of

people using social media reported that it has impacted their self-esteem in a negative way”

(Silva). While people can draw inspiration from other people’s lives and lead new things

based on what is posted on social media, an overload of this information at a quick rate

may become too much to process. At the same time, constant comparisons between one’s

life and others who are at the best time to share about their lives, lead individuals to feel as

if they are not living enough, hence affecting their mental health. Therefore, social media

enables people to become depressed, which also harms the society they are in.

Social media further harms society because using it distracts individuals from being

productive. Nearly all social media networks, specifically Instagram and TikTok, are

designed to grab and keep the attention of their users. In particular, they not only have

algorithms that tailor posts to their users’ individual interests but also short videos that

make it easy for users to watch multiple videos without questioning the time spent.

Studies from Common Sense Media in 2019 “found that 8- to 12-year-olds spend an

average of almost five hours a day looking at screens on smartphones, tablets, gaming


consoles, and TVs. For older kids, ages 13 to 17, that number climbed to 7 hours and 22

minutes” (Walker). Furthermore, a report in 2020 focusing on teenagers revealed that they

“check their apps for any new ‘news’ and then find themselves mindlessly scrolling, no

longer engaged, but unable and unwilling to stop . . . even as they say they suffer

headaches, poor sleep, and exhaustion, teens feel the consequences of being ‘addicted’ to

their phones” (Walker). In providing entertainment, social media enables individuals to

focus less on their responsibilities in the real world and spend their time looking at updates

and data. Since many people are willing to keep scrolling regardless of experiencing

physical fatigue, this further shows that social media serves as a form of escapism for users,

causing them not to focus on their life’s priorities and duties. Thus, social media is harmful

to society because it distracts individuals from being productive and consumes their time

instead; this individual consequence naturally leads to the deterioration of interpersonal

relationships as well.

While social media has the power to negatively affect the individual and the progress of

society, social media also lessens the quality of interpersonal relationships between

individuals. Interpersonal relationships are significantly built on communication effectively

through verbal discussion, facial expression, and overall physical cues. Since online

messaging is primarily through text, interpersonal relationships developed on social media

cause them to have less quality communication qualities than relationships built on direct,

face-to-face interactions. Xinyuan Wang, a Post-doctoral researcher at the University of

London Department of Anthropology, states how “In romantic relationships, surveillance on

social media can lead to jealousy in various ways. For instance, a delayed reply to a

WeChat message can make the romantic partner feel unimportant, especially when he or

she can see on other social media platforms that their partner is online” (Wang 111). The

platform that Wang mentions, WeChat, is a social media platform which has “over 1.2

billion monthly active users . . . users send 45 billion messages daily” (Vuleta). The

platform’s messenger features “an efficient modality combining elements of voice, image,

and text, as well as emoji and stickers” (Wang 110). Despite the variety of messenger

features, relationships that rely on social media communication may lead to bitter feelings

such as jealousy because no direct communication is involved. Social media

communication leaves room for individuals to overthink and have misunderstandings about

the other person involved in the relationship, which could have otherwise been easily

cleared up with direct communication face-to-face. Therefore, social media harms society

because interpersonal relationships built upon an online platform lead to less enriching

communication with one another, thus lessening the quality of the relationship overall. On a

larger scale, social media harms society by fueling tribalism between groups rather than

encouraging open-mindedness and peace. Social media users tend to stay within their

social circle based on shared values and interests. Hence, the longer they spend on

time-consuming posts reflecting their beliefs and interacting with their inner circle, the more

they may become intolerant of other groups and stick to their own. According to


the Pew Research Center, by 2020, 71% of American adults get their news content from

social media platforms, where “Facebook stands out as a regular source of news for

Americans, followed by YouTube and Twitter” (Atske). In times of news discourse, social

media platforms do not encourage analyzing a situation in full or from both sides. For

example, “in the case of Twitter, the restricted length of a tweet does not allow for the

exploration of a topic via extended exposition or documentation. The short lifespan of the

message also renders it a fleeting thought that is divorced from a deeper investigation into

context and significance” (Cook 319). In having control over who and what to see online,

social media users end up becoming more attached to their bubble rather than exploring

outside of it. While this may provide them comfort, this does not help them become more

tolerant or understanding of those who differ from them in values or beliefs. Therefore,

social media harms society because it fuels tribalism between groups.

Overall, social media is harmful to society because it causes individuals to be prone to

depression, decreases individual productivity, reduces the quality of interpersonal

relationships, and encourages tribalism among different groups. First, ongoing

engagement in social media causes individuals to be more susceptible to depression as

they are likely to compare themselves with constant high standards presented online.

Next, social media causes individuals to be less productive due to its ability to keep users

entertained based on algorithms that tailor to their interests met with short content to keep

their attention online. In addition, social media also leads to lacking communication within

interpersonal relationships which would be better off with direct, face-to-face

communication. Finally, social media causes individuals to stay within online communities

that only echo their beliefs and interests, which leads to more tribalism within groups

instead of encouraging open discussions with one another. Perhaps, with less use of social

media, individuals, groups, and communities would be more directly uplifting to one another

rather than focusing on online personas and time-consuming entertainment.


The Mystery of Life

Lukas Franz

He is born from a womb,

He will die in a tomb,

He will struggle, and suffer, and experience pain, doubt, trials, and tribulations,

But at the end of the day, who cares?

Nobody

He will work until he can’t, and suffer like the rest,

There is no escape from this pit of doom,

There is no escape from this fate that looms,

It looms around while you look for an answer,

You search for the answer to the question we all ask,

What is life?

You will never find the answer, nobody knows,

Life is what you make of it,

It is purely ambiguous,

He, the human, will be born, work, and die,

It is the cycle of life,

Benefitting nothing


Carpenteria

Elina Oh

Nobody likes running. Me included. The intense feeling of your legs cycling through the

same repeated cycling motion as the spring sun weathers upon you, encapsulating you in

its heat. However, despite the grueling work of continuous conditioning, vomit- inducing

core exercises, and dreaded sled pulling, I somehow find myself drawn back into the sport.

Instead of constant running as the cross-country runners do, I prefer the alternate, more

attractive older sister, Track and Field. Its short bursts of quick sprints, competing against

the eight other sprinters in your lane, exhilarated a new type of competitiveness in me. The

anticipation of the starting gun alongside the muffled voices of the crowd whispering their

contained excitement made me feel like all eyes were on me. And I was determined to win.

This type of competitiveness led me higher and deeper into the competition until I found

myself in my freshman year at CIF Prelims.

As a freshman walking into Carpenteria High School full of elite athletes, professional gear,

and equipment, I was anxious but also in awe. The scent of fresh morning grass mingled in

the air accompanied by excited conversations. Hours passed, and finally, the meet began.

Anticipation and anxiety crept behind me as time passed for the beginning of my event. I

had all four events to complete. While I had the 4x100 relay, the 100m, the 100m hurdles,

and the 200m, my specialty was the 100m. I observed my surroundings as I began

warming up for the 100m.

Surrounding me were other athletes warming up, perhaps the very people I was

competing against. The morning sun turned into the blazing afternoon sun, beating down

upon anyone in its gaze. Tents from schools from all over California filled the grassy area

with athletes and coaches sitting, chatting, and stretching. As my warmup began to come

to an end, the feeling finally sunk in: I was at CIF. As I headed to what seemed like an

arena, my heart quickened with each step, a mix of excitement and reverence for the

journey. I checked in and waited for my name to be called. Only the top 9 finishers were

allowed to advance into CIF Finals. As I waited, I observed the vast field. Surrounding me

were palm trees for days, swaying their leaves in correspondence to the wind. The air was

crisp, with the scent of a lush spring breeze gently hitting me as I stood waiting. Finally, the

umpire called out my heat number, and the excitement and anxiety settled in. The air was

charged with anticipation, and my heart raced in harmony. I stood at the starting line,

spikes digging into the rubbery surface, ready to embark on a journey of sweat,

determination, and sheer willpower—running track had always been my sanctuary.

“On your marks”

I did my prerun routine and settled into the blocks.

“Set”

We went into the set position.

Boom.


The sound of the gun cracked through the silence as the crowd resumed their cheers. I

exploded off the block, legs pumping into my familiar repeated cycle. My arms pumped

rhythmically, and the sound of the wind shouted at me to go faster. I felt nothing but

determination. As I neared the end towards the finish line, I lunged forward, ensuring I

didn’t waste a second. I walked off the track, collapsing into the grass beside me and

gasped for air. But despite the pain, I got up and jogged to see my place. 10th. My heart

sank as I defeatedly walked over to my tent where my encouraging teammates tried lifting

my spirits. 0.04 seconds. 0.04 seconds faster and I could have gone to CIF Finals. I laid in

the tent, headphones in my ears, not saying a word to anyone out of despair.

Hopelessness washed over me as I laid face down on the tent's floor.

All of a sudden, my teammates began violently shaking me. I took off my headphones to

them screaming at me to recheck my place in the 100m. I frantically opened my phone to

witness a miracle. “9 Elina Oh 12.87.” My time was reevaluated, and I beat the 10th spot.

By 0.01 seconds. Thrill surged through me as my teammates and I screamed in celebration.

Excitement filled the air as we gathered around, not believing our eyes.

To this day, nothing has given me more happiness than on the floor of the tent at

Carpinteria. Each year I go back, it floods back the memories of the immense joy of victory.

The celebration continued the entire day, and my happiness couldn't be contained. After

we exited the meet and climbed onto the bus, I sat in my seat, looking out the window. As

we began driving back home, the scene of the water's edge appeared, and I stood up and

rolled the window down to get a clear view of the beach. The waves crashed into the rocks,

and the salty breeze gently slipped into the window cracks of the bus. The sun hung low in

the sky as the palette of yellows, oranges, and pinks filled up the sky. Now, the gentle roar

of the waves crashing against each other alongside its glistening vast sea at every beach is

a reminder of a day of not only ups and downs but also a testament to hard work and

discipline.


Wonderland

Amy Cha

A wonderland with a clear, bright tranquil place reveals itself to me as I walk in. A place

where I can step back to relax and separate myself from the real world full of worries and

anxieties, which is just a step away. Placed right behind my house, it became its own

individual heaven for me; even as this tiny piece of land held so much power.

With the consistent amount of love and care over the years, it holds a special place in my

heart, as a place that never fails to meet my expectations to the fullest.

Every day is a new impression to me with the storm of bright colors greeting my eyes

before I can even react to them. Flowers bloom with spirit as they dance along with the soft,

comforting breeze in my garden as the sharp morning air strikes. The other plants seem to

nod along as the flowers show their existence and independence through their uniqueness.

I cannot help but smile as I watch each of the individual flowers expressing their own

personalities in their language of nature that I will never fully understand, but are heartfelt.

The greenery visuals smooth out to hold together the colorfulness of each flower as a form

of connection for their secured independence along with self- determination. As the flowers

dance along to the breeze, the perfume of nature captivates me. The fragrance of nature

softens the sharp morning air as it travels through the air of my garden. The mixed scent of

Lavender, Jasmine, Freesia, and Gardenia tickle my nose before I can even spot them with

my eyes. It is as if the garden is well alive and breathing, inhaling the gift of God as it

exhales its own beauty created through Him, which then gets gifted to me.

Not only is it visually pleasing, but the sensation is also unlike any other with each step I

take. The soft grass going through my fingers as I lay my hands on the ground, comforting

me with every touch is a different level of comfort. Another indescribable comfort is a warm

hug from the sun as it strikes above all of us, imparting a sense of life that gives me hope

with motivation. On the other hand, the rough, harsh feelings of barks and the hard ground

awaken me back to reality by providing me with the most pain I could ever imagine in this

wonderland full of featheriness. As if it is inviting me back to my reality where I belong.

Every single texture possible on this land arouses me with new affections just like how it

would persuade me with its words of nature. Each touch reveals another layer of nature

that vigorously attaches me to the basics of Earth. My garden may not be the most

beautiful, experimental, and exotic place on Earth, but it sure is a place I adore with a

passion. It reminds me of the gift we were gifted from God and the nature surrounding us

on a daily. The beauty of my garden is a reminder that emphasizes the things we forget to

admire as we get so used to them supporting us throughout our lives. Entering this tiny

land holds me together and provides me with comfort, and inspiration, and disconnects me

from the harsh reality. I am forever grateful for the existence of my garden; it sure is a

wonderland.


Backtracking To My Childhood

Grace Li

Stepping out of my front door, I walk to the elevator to get down to the lobby to explore

through the busy streets of Beijing. The slightly rusty smell of the parking garage flows

to me through the lobby; it’s a comforting smell despite the thought, a scent I grew up

with.

Walking through the exit into the bustling streets, the smell of city life and various street

foods hit my nose. The scent of lamb skewers and fried steamed buns strengthens as I

walk along the street next to my neighborhood. Looking around, couples enjoy snacks,

friends giggle as they wait for drinks and talk about life at school. A sense of comfort flows

through me as I see the huge building I left the comfort of my home for. Its 8 stories loom

down the block as I slowly make my way to the front, welcomed by its ginormous rotating

glass doors.

As soon as I step through the entrance, the sound of the city fades, and I’m met with the

constant murmur of small talk between friends and chatter of kids as they drag their parents

around to the bungees hanging from the tall ceiling. Meandering through the vast halls with

stores on either side, I can’t decide which I want to visit first: a clothing shop selling floral

dresses for the spring or a pet store with a fluffy little brown dog in the cage right by the

store window. Deciding against these stores, I walk deeper into the mall and take the

elevator to the top floor. As the elevator doors slide open, I smell many different foods

simultaneously. There are stands with beef noodle soup, the long noodles hand cut with a

big butcher knife. The one right next to it sells tea, ranging from fruit teas with bright colors

to milk teas with fresh pulled tea. Out of all of the choices for lunch, I gravitate towards this

one stand in particular that’s near the entrance of the food court. Roujiamo. This

mouthwatering dish has been around for a long time, attracting customers of all ages. It’s a

plain Chinese pancake stuffed with braised pork and topped with bell peppers and cilantro,

making for the perfect lunch or snack. This stand has been in this same exact place in the

same mall for my entire childhood, always open and the lovely old lady always smiling


when giving me the delicious food.

Strolling closer to the rest of the stores, the smell of other food gets me. There are local

takes on different foods like burgers and pizza; the toppings changed to favor the taste of

locals in Beijing. After purchasing passionfruit tea, I take a humongous sip, savoring the

cold it brings after a warm meal. The crunch of the passionfruit seeds adds a texture that

couldn’t be obtained with anything else. A sweet tea mixed with the slightly sour and tangy

passionfruit extract is perfect for an after-meal refresher. Taking the elevator back down to

the shops, I slowly sip on my tea while walking around to browse the shops. I walk past

many clothing stores with clothes ready for spring and summer, the playful colors attracting

my attention. Deciding to go into one of the stores, I walk through their glass doors and

hear the bells ding as I walk in, alerting the shop owner of my presence. The smell of new

clothes envelopes me as I pull out a few shirts to try on. Deciding on a sweater with some

lavender patterns printed with a soft lilac color with accents of light green, I pay and walk

out of the store, bidding the shopowner a good day.


Beyond the Façade: Escaping the Prison

of “Matching Energies”

Justin Choi

“Matching Energies.”

It used to be my go-to move whenever I interacted with others. Conveniently not

having to worry about miscommunication, it also acted as my jail cell, masking and

choking my identity away behind the façade of my “matching energy” self. It was odd

though, despite my obsession with being loved by others, I’d utterly forgotten what it

meant to love myself. And so, my life became nothing more than a mere personality

test, constantly contorting myself and catering to others. In the midst of this selfimposed

struggle, I found myself grappling with the enigma of authenticity. What did it

even mean to authentically be myself anyway? What did it mean to be free from the

shackles of external validation? Constantly echoing in the chambers of my mind,

transcendentalism, and creative writing became the stepping stone to my journey to

rediscover the neglected fragments of my own essence.

As a competitive debater for nearly half a decade, I was naturally drawn to the podium

like a moth to a flame. The stage was my sanctuary, a comforting home that permitted

me to unleash my inner spirit - an assertive and unapologetic public speaker who

defended his beliefs with fervor. It was a competitive and fierce sport that rested on

one’s ability to assert their opinions and embrace the spirit of individuality. Yet beyond

the debating arena, my tendency to “match others’ energies” was water to my flame.

And before I knew it, I was addicted to the collective spirit. My yearning to be

embraced by others became a jail cell that stifled my authentic debater self. The stages


upon which I should have stood tall as a staunch debater were replaced with façades of

mimicry… I felt I’d failed as a debater.

It was amidst this turmoil that I stumbled upon two guiding lights: transcendentalism

and creative writing. Here was a realm that invited my true self, irrespective of others’

expectations. At last, through creative writing, I found a platform to channel my debater

spirit, free from the pressure to match my peers’ energy. It was my refuge. It was a

tranquil space where my spirit and I shared our love for beautiful language and

profound writing. Writing became my companion, a form of expression that provided

me with comfort, understanding, and a sense of direction. Writing was a cathartic outlet,

a means for me to process the world while expressing my deepest inner sentiments. As

Emerson writes in Self Reliance, “...no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but

through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till.” I till the

growth of my preciseness of language; writing allows me to reveal the real me. Simply

by opening up and articulating my inner frustrations and introspections, writing about

my world gave me a sense of direction and I was no longer stifled. I discovered new

paths. I knew where I could take my next journey.

Yet, that journey has helped me to realize that writing isn’t only limited to my own

reflections. Reading Walden and Self Reliance changed my life. From Thoreau and

Emerson, I learned to better myself, cherish my individuality, and the importance of

solitude. I believe language helps us to discover who we really are. Writing is an

instrument for empathy and compassion, a bridge that connects dissimilar perspectives

to find a common ground in our shared humanity. Most importantly, writing reveals

who you are to yourself. Writing teaches me my individuality.


With the two guiding lights illuminating my way to embracing my individuality, a

journey that mirrored the transcendentalists' quest for connection with the inner self

and nature instilling the confidence to embrace me, I am no longer the lifelessly flying

moth in the dark. With every new story, essay, or article, I relive my first encounter with

my fire all over again.


Above the Sand

Natalie Labatia

Gong. Gong. Gong. I open my eyes and rub them gently to clear my vision. I have no idea what time

it is, but I do not need to know; as I know for a fact that it is the call for prayer in Egypt. In a

predominantly Muslim country, this audible announcement is nothing short of ordinary. It happens five

times throughout the day, and I typically sleep through the ones during the early morning and at night.

However, this time, I had been awakened. Waking up this early calls for a long day ahead.

Promptly after waking up from the speaker sounds outside, I turn in my bed to take a look at my sister,

who is sleeping peacefully. The room is small, and very dark. I quickly reach for the lamp on the

wooden table beside me and turn on the light. Now that there is light, I bend down and reach for my

backpack, which happens to be strategically placed right beside my bed. I scrummage through my

backpack and at last, grab a notebook and a pencil. This is not any normal notebook, it is my travel

dairy. I flip open to a fresh page and immediately begin to write. I write and write and write. I write

down every thought that comes to mind. I write about the tag on my shirt that is itching my neck. I

write about the people’s voices in the streets that I can hear through the window. I write about the cat

staring back at me from the balcony. And most importantly of all, I write about the pyramids, a view

that only so many have the privilege of waking up to every morning, or even getting a chance to see

at all. This was my third time in Egypt, and even though I have seen the pyramids every trip, they

never fail to astonish me. I simply cannot wrap my head around the amazing wonder in front of me.

How lucky am I, to wake up to such a magnificent view. I, Natalie Labatia, can say that I have slept in

Cairo, Egypt and in fact, waken up to the pyramids right outside of my window. Interrupting my

daydreaming, I hear a noise. It is the sound of the creaky floorboards right outside of the bedroom

door, which means that somebody is about to walk in. I quickly put away my diary and get out of bed,

ripping the cover right off. I sprint-walk to the door, but before I open it, I quietly mumble, “Teta?”. My

grandmother responds in Arabic, “Good morning sweetheart! I thought I heard a noise so I came to

check on you and your sister. Now that you are awake, come eat some breakfast.” I whipped open

the door and gave my grandma the biggest hug. After all, this was her home, and we were the

luckiest grandchildren ever to be able to stay in it. I make my way to the kitchen and grab the box of

Cheerios from off the counter with no hesitation. After doing so, I find my mom walking in. She greets

me and fills the tea kettle with water as I open up the fridge to grab the milk. As much as I love Egypt

and everything about it, there is only one thing I dislike about it. The milk. There is just something so

strange about it; it is unlike any other milk I have ever had. It has a strange taste, acidic even. But

regardless of my personal opinion on the milk my grandmother had, I poured some into my cereal

bowl. With my completed cereal in hand, I made my way out of the kitchen and into the living room,

where I placed my cereal on the table and took a seat on the couch. The couch, green with red

flowers and matching pillows, has been a part of this house ever since my mom was born, or even

before then. After all, this was my mom’s childhood home. Just like everyday, I reach for the remote

control and turn on the TV. Although everything is in Arabic, I gravitate towards the cartoon channel,


where my daily dose of Tom and Jerry is playing live. My grandma and mom take seats beside me,

and we all watch the show until my sister and dad wake up. After everyone has eaten breakfast, we

soon decide on our plan for the day. Today we will be walking by the Nile and going on a Nile River

cruise. My favorite! I love the music that they play on the cruise, and the food is delicious as well. Not

as delicious as Teta’s though. A few hours pass and we are finally heading home from the cruise.

Just like the pyramids, although I had seen the Nile before, it never ceases to amaze me. As the

driver parks the car, I mentally prepare myself for the trech ahead of us. Flights, and flights, and more

flights of stairs to get to my grandma’s floor. She says it is only the tenth floor, but it feels like one

hundred. As we huff and puff our way up the stairs, we pass by various cats, all strays. My sister and

I count the number of cats on the way up, a tradition from when we were both toddlers. Although it is

sad that there are so many stray animals in the streets of Egypt, it is something that I vividly

remember when I ponder about the trip once I return home to California. We finally make it up all ten

flights of stairs. My grandma pulls out her keys, and we all patiently wait for her to find the right one.

After a few wrong attempts, the door finally budges open, and I smell the wonderful scent of

chocolate. Although it is quite a specific aroma, my olfactory nerve was indeed correct, because there

is a piping hot chocolate cake on the living room table. Beside it is a note, in Arabic of course. As my

grandma examines the note, she lets out a chuckle. Of course! Her neightbor baked it for us and left

it for us to enjoy. I smile, because I learned to appreciate the tight-knit relationships people in Egypt

have with each other, and this was just one example of that. Small acts of kindness like this were

common occurrences in this city. My grandma knows everybody in the building, and they celebrate

and bond with each other. As my family eats the delicious cake that the neighbor so kindly made for

us, I cannot help but think of how badly I would love to live here, in Egypt, with my grandma. It

sounds like the dream life. All of my childhood memories have been developed in this house, and I

can only imagine the many more I could make if I spent my future here. After finishing the cake, my

family turns on an Arabic show, and we all sit in the living room, together. Just us five. Nothing else

mattered in this moment. Not only is my grandma’s house a chamber of memories, but a sense of

peace. I feel truly at home when I am here, and nothing else in the world can beat that. As I try my

best to make out what the characters are saying, I find my eyes shutting, and soon, fast asleep.

Another amazing day has been spent in the house full of memories, and what will happen tomorrow, I

will soon find out!


Sister

Aliyah Khan

I am a sister. I am someone who carries the weight of being a role model, with another

always looking up to me. I am someone who has parents who expect me to take care

of myself and others. I am someone who is always responsible.

My sister and I share a mere seventeen-month age gap, which may seem insignificant,

but it has shaped our relationship in profound ways. As kids, I, as the elder sister, I bore

the responsibility of getting my sister ready for school. I helped her pick out her outfits,

ensured she brushed her teeth meticulously, tied her shoelaces, and packed her

backpack with all the essentials. It was on me to guarantee that she rode the school bus

on time and that we both returned home safely after school. I became her homework

tutor and her playmate, engaging in whatever games she liked.

However, as a child, I didn't fully comprehend why our parents expected us to do

everything together. In moments of sibling rivalry, I often found myself automatically in

the wrong, the one to face punishment. This dynamic fueled a sense of resentment

towards my sister. I felt that I was constantly doing things for her, while she seemed to

escape our parents' punishments unscathed.

As we grew older, this lingering resentment subtly impacted our relationship. We

started communicating less, and as we entered our pre-teen years, I realized I knew very

little about her. Our interactions were limited to superficial knowledge, such as her

favorite color and her aspirations for the future. It was heartbreaking to see that I had

lost my closest confidant, the person I once shared everything with. Our connection had

weakened, and we were no longer as close as we once were.


In hindsight, I now recognize that our parents' expectations were shaped by their desire

for us to bond as siblings and develop a strong sense of responsibility. It was not my

sister's fault that she seemed exempt from blame; rather, it was a misunderstanding of

our roles within our family.

As time passed and we both continued to mature, I was determined to rebuild the

bond that once held us together. I want to rediscover the friendship and connection

that I once shared with my sister, appreciating the unique qualities that make her who

she is. Our shared history and experiences should not be overshadowed by childhood

misunderstandings and resentment.

As we both entered high school, we finally were able to move past our differences. Of

course, we still have arguments and days where we fight. But now, we learned to

communicate our feelings openly and honestly. We also celebrate each other's

achievements and encourage each other to pursue our passions and interests. My sister

is no longer just a sibling; she is my confidant and my closest friend. Together, we are

navigating the challenges of life and building a stronger sisterly bond that will last.


I Am an Overthinker

Marcus Kim

I am an overthinking person. In modern times, I find that the word “overthinking”

carries a negative connotation, where a person is a victim of repetition of thoughts and

analysis. I find

that society portrays the word as an image of an overwhelmed or anxious person at a

cluttered desk, head hunched down, and feeling lost in life, and I heavily oppose this. I

find myself safer when I overthink my concerns than when I have loose thoughts. I

believe overthinking to be a process in which one secures a deeper understanding of a

subject. I feel as if the societal norm of reducing overthinking has not only led to less

stress but discouraged productivity, as overthinking provides adequate preparation for a

situation where knowledge is most needed. Although I could not confidently say that it

has never been a negative element in my life, promoting the impracticality and

avoidance of overthinking would be an understatement at the least.

I am an overthinking person. I am not confused or suffering from any conditions. I am

not creating unnecessary thoughts that distract me from my primary purpose. I am

willing to overthink as much as possible to generate a successful output. Although I find

that many of my companions and acquaintances discourage me from overthinking

because of their view of it as an endless cycle, I find those concerns hard to

comprehend. When has continuous preparation and growth yet to lead to success?

When has going over an obstacle not been more efficient than going under it?

Throughout my experiences, it has only reassured my grasp on subjects that would

otherwise leave me anxious and uncertain about my future. My constant overthinking of


how my future life will live constantly reminds me that I need to stay productive in

order to live the life that I desire. I have been overthinking since childhood, and I only

find it opening new ideas.

I am an overthinking person. I noticed that those unwilling to sacrifice even a slight

disruption to their mental health find ways to criticize the concept of overthinking

rather than to

reduce recurring problems. I always wonder how these people do not find themselves

lethargic, as they will eventually face consequences in which they will struggle to

discover a solution to their problems in frustration. Those who deny overthinking as a

factor in their accomplishments have unknowingly taken it as an advantage. I find many

who oppose overthinking also often use the phrase “just in case,” which is also a

technique of putting extra effort into securing and ensuring the outcome to ease the

mind, similar to overthinking.

I am an overthinking person. I believe overthinking has been a methodology to boost

preparation for the worst possible outcomes, a process to a deeper understanding. If I

had

started underthinking in a significant situation, I would regret my choices, which I had

lazily made earlier, while overthinking would have ensured that my chances were at best

in the most risky situations. Along with many other thoughts that society believes to

consider overthinking, “what ifs” can prevent one from facing an inescapable obstacle.

I like being an overthinking person. I proudly embrace my identity as an overthinking

person, besides what others believe. When controlled effectively, overthinking can be a

tool to navigate life’s complexity. However, I do not care for the societal perception that


overthinking individuals are drowning in excessive analysis and plagued by anxiety. I

never find it to be the debilitating force society often portrays. I am an overthinking

person and stand proudly unburdened, as I’m only using it as a tool for success.


Lost in the Memory

Alison Hwang

“En garde, prêt, allez!”

My opponent rushed toward me, lunging as far as her leg could reach.

Beep.

“Attack touché point!” my coach signaled.

In my peripheral vision, I spotted a monster of fear creeping upon me. My mind is a blur

as I breathe in panic and glance at the scoreboard.

14-14. The numbers flared crimson as my Adidas shoes shakily gripped the piste.

“En garde, prêt, allez!”

Without hesitation, I leap a lunge at my opponent. One light. Green light. My light.

Match over. Victory gained.

I exhale relief as I remove my mask and walk to shake her hand. Exhausted but grinning, I

walked back from the middle line of the piste and unhooked my body cord. I hadn’t felt the

taste of victory in quite a long time. As I unwind and stretch on the far side of the gym, I

chuckle at the back of my thighs, covered with visible dust from the floor. No matter how

many years I’ve spent in this club, my coach never manages to sweep the floors properly.

From eleven to now, my fencing club has basically been my second home. This place

holds some of my fondest memories—from the wave of uncontrollable laughter echoing in

the locker area to silent sobs of defeat, regret, sorrow, and frustration in the bathroom—the

list goes on. Lining up from tallest to shortest every evening at 7 p.m. sharp marked the

start of our session, waiting for Coach to give us an overview of the training. In the spring,

we would warm up by running individually inside the club; in summer, at least 10 laps (2

miles) around the building; in fall; the same, but more difficult since our shoes would crack

on the autumn leaves that covered the hard cement. In the winter, one huge circle around

the club gym.

When Covid hit, everything was rolling downhill. This empire my Coach had worked ages

to build was crumbling down, with receipts of unpaid bills and fees that piled up

in a matter of weeks. I would come in once every week instead of every day, masked up. I’d

never thought I’d hope for the air to smell like sweat instead of an empty building.

My eyes could not fathom the gym—this was the same gym that was once filled with a family

of soldiers who ran in a big circle to achieve the same goal, the same gym where I bit my

bottom lip as my Coach shamed me for my lack of effort, the same gym where I was


bandaging both my teammates and my scars.

It was a chilly Thursday in October when my coach announced the club would close

down until my coach found a better location. I was initially excited for a better gym,

especially one that could provide proper ventilation and a larger space. After my last

practice, my eyes clicked to capture every corner of this room one last time.

I walked through the door and the thorny bush that would always leave a trace of scarlet

on my arms if I didn’t pay enough attention to avoid it while entering greeted me. I had

never thought about leaving this place, as that was not even a consideration. No matter

how many times I complained in the car on the way to practice about quitting fencing, I

never actually gave up.

Thankfully it did not take long for my coach to find a new location. Nevertheless, my old

club location was where I held core memories, where I felt emotions I’d never felt before,

and where I learned countless valuable lessons. It was a place that shaped me into the

individual I am today.

One day after we had moved locations, I was driving by the club. I pulled over to the parking

lot where my journey started. Inside the “club” was now an arts and crafts store, which

tingled a weird feeling inside of me. The arts and crafts store was filled with aisles of art

supplies, pottery, and ceramics, but I was gazing at the memories floating around each spot

of the club that I now could only cherish to myself.


AYF Camp

Lara Cinar

Red. Blue. Orange. The colors of the flag represent our nation and divide our camp into three very

competitive teams. The yelling of counselors on the sidelines. Our hearts race as the ball gets thrown

from one side to the other, ricocheting off two people and going back to the other side. We crowd to a

corner of our small box, hoping the ball does not reach us in the depths of our clump.

“Out! Out!” a counselor yells from the sides, blowing their whistle twice.

As we slowly lose members of the team, intensity and tensions rise. The last person left in the box

runs from one side to the other, panting, hoping not to get hit. The other team takes their shot while

the last person jumps and barely misses the hit. The same tension carries on to the next match. Our

hands burn against the rope as we pull like our lives depended on it. We pull strategically, trying to

outplay the other team and tire them out. Our faces are red, and our feet slip on the dirt as we slide

from the strength of the other team. Right as the bandana crosses the tire, both teams drop the rope

and carry on with the next intense round. The night's activities consist of taking the time to fill a sponge

with as much water as possible and cupping it with our hands while sprinting to the other side where

the cup sits, waiting to be filled. As we get to the other side, our hands tremble as we fear to go over

the limit not to get eliminated, and lose for our team. Screams from the sideline from team members fill

the lodge, but they quiet down as one of the cups fills. The water slowly fills one of the three cups, and

a third of the lodge bursts into screams of joy while the other teams sit in silence, accepting their

defeat.

The red, blue, and orange competitions are never supposed to be taken lightly, especially at AYF

camp.

As the lights go out and the counselors slowly begin to fill seats, the smell of grilled meats and

vegetables fills our nostrils as we step out to join the others for a midnight snack. A never-ending

option of drinks presents itself as we open the cooler, carefully choosing the coldest drink that will

quench our midnight thirst. Patiently standing in line for the food felt like a lifetime, watching others

take the last of the bread and guacamole. As my turn comes, I try to salvage the rest of the guacamole

and hummus, scraping off the sides of the bowl, trying to get as much as I could to go along with the

meal to come. As the kebab fills our stomachs and plates, we join the counselors around the campfire

as they tell scary stories and talk about the other campers. Our laughs and whispers fill the air as we

try our best not to wake up the rest of the camp.

We return to our cabins, plotting the rest of the night's activities. With sweats and hoodies on, we grab

our shaving cream and take the route behind the cabins. We take the route step by step, trying not to

make noise as our feet hit the dirt, making a soft crunching sound. We head to our victims’ cabins and


make our move. Taking our time to strategically place it where they would know what hit them. Quietly

closing the door, a problem arises. A flashlight flashes in our faces, blinding us and restricting us from

running off into the night. We got caught in action. As morning approaches, shaving cream is spread

across the faces of our victims, who wake up in confusion and havoc, wondering who did it.

Excitement and nerves fill our bodies as we stand before them and wonder the same thing, never

revealing our true identity.

Sun rays hit our shoulders, burning the skin that sits on top, and sweat dripping down our faces as we

wait for the serve, going back and forth, hoping to get a point. Intense music plays from the speaker

propped up next to the court, hyping up our team as we serve and finally make it over the net. The

intensity rises as the score gets higher. We watch as the other team celebrates each hit over the net

and onto our side as we laugh, celebrating each point and having fun.

Arms around one another, we sit in lines facing each other. Opening our books to page 61, we start to

sing while someone bangs on the drums. It is a rhythm we have all heard before. As we go line by line,

reading each word and syllable, we all slowly recognize the song. Line by line, we connect with the

words, breathing them in and singing them with a meaning far more profound than sounding good. We

sing, arms around one another, for our ancestors and those we lost during the genocide. Thinking of

those who left their wives, brothers, sisters, children, and friends to fight for their country. We look at

the photos hanging on the wall, some black and white while others are in color. We stare at their faces,

wondering how brave and selfless they must have been to go and fight for their country without

thinking twice about whether or not they will come back.

The Armenian Youth Federation gives us a home away from home. Meeting others with the same

roots, passions, and identity is an experience like no other. Bonding over activities and learning about

our history and heritage brings us together and builds our love for our culture and country. Listening to

members of the AYF during educationals and learning about the constant fight Armenians go through

living in Armenia, a country surrounded by hatred and a desire to take the land Armenians walk on

daily, creates a fire within us to stay strong so we never have to hand over our lands. A week at AYF

camp with other Armenians singing songs, playing games, having educationals, sitting around a

campfire, hiking, and dancing allows us to forget about all our other worries and focus on what's

important. Coming together with Armenians across California, coming hand in hand, singing our hearts

out, and continuing the Armenian passion shows how far our culture has come and our potential to

make a change. We serve as the future generation to lead our people, so we do not give up our cause.

Our strength and passion for our country and one another can lead us to change the way people look.

Rather than thinking of Armenian as a small country surrounded by strong political powers, people will

think of a strong nation that will never back down with the strong backbone of a diaspora working hard

to build a better future for future generations.


My Tears Ricochet and Do Not Go Gentle

into that Good Night

Jasmine Lee

The song "my tears ricochet" describes an enraged tormentor who shows up at the

wake of his/her fallen obsession. Swift writes a metaphorical song that illustrates the

betrayal of a person who was once someone loved and trusted, but the hurt goes both

ways, hence the "ricochet" in the title and repetition within the song. Even if this may

seem irrelevant to Dylan Thomas's view on death, the mood of this song is angry,

solemn, and defiant, evoking how Taylor Swift views death as a serious, inevitable part

of life. In the repeating choruses of the song, Swift emphasizes, "I didn't have it in

myself to go with grace/And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves." Although

this is full of metaphors, it reveals how she will not go down without a fight and that

she will not "go gentle" into death. Just as Thomas believes, she demonstrates how she

will be defiant against death when the time comes. The second line describes that

before her death, her "battleships" will have been fighting against it, but once death

comes, they will sink. The imagery of sinking reveals her belief of the inevitability of

death; once she is gone, the battleships will eventually sink as she did. In the bridge,

Swift writes that "And I can go anywhere I want/Anywhere I want, just not home." This

means that when she is dead, she can go anywhere, but the only place she cannot

reach is home which means becoming alive again. She realizes that after the inevitability

of death, she may not go back.


The Adverse Repercussions of Digital

Technology on The Brain

Amber Nguyen

People of all ages are glued to their phones, constantly checking their devices to see

new updates and research new information. Digital technology keeps many people

engrossed, and they often cannot focus on their work or daily activities. Due to the

ubiquitous nature of technology, their minds no longer need to work; thus, slowing

their mental abilities. When people start to spend less time on their screens and devote

their excess hours to family and friends, their minds will adapt to their surroundings and

have the capability to take in more information. Although digital technology provides

some positive benefits to an individuals' mind, it has negatively impacted their cognitive

skills, attention span, and emotional health.

Having many detrimental impacts on people’s cognitive skills, technology has atrophied

the minds of many. Even though these devices may provide individuals with the answers

they seek, this causes people to be more reliant on their technology. Individuals will

often search for their questions online before thinking with their minds. As suggested

by Briggs, the information that people attain from these devices is also not always the

most effective learning way. Although some individuals attempt to understand the

information more deeply when they research their questions virtually, others do not and

simply take a glance instead. Without deepened learning, people store the information

in the part of their brain that makes retrieving the information more challenging. When

people do not comprehend the information first, their minds have a difficult time


remembering and retaining the information. Later in the future, when they need to

acquire specific knowledge, those individuals who looked up their information briefly

online will not have the capability to remember and will have to relearn the information.

Reputable scientist, Resnick has experimented and studied the frequency of memory

complaints via age; “about 15 percent of young adults complain about their memory,

which suggests there might be things going on such as distraction” (Resnick). The

number of younger people who have stated that they had memory loss or short term

memory has increased because of all the screen time and social media, which becomes

an enormous distraction. These pleasures and deflections hinder their minds from

retaining new information.

The omnipresent technology adversely affects people by distracting them from their

education or basic activities, thus decreasing their memory and attention span. Through

the generations, individuals became more dependent on their devices to remember the

little things in their life. Through technology, people lose the necessities in life. Hiscott,

a neuroscientist, polled 3000 people and received several responses from young

participants who rely on their devices to remember important dates or easy math

equations. People are not making their brain think and retain information, instead, they

hear it and let it come out of their ears a minute later. Ankucic, a scientist, recognizes

“One of the major findings is that we are becoming a society of ‘cognitive offloaders’,

meaning that we no longer memorize important information. Instead, we tend to

remember the location where we can retrieve the information when it is next required”

(Ankucic). Students have a harder time memorizing information and are now only able

to obtain the information in where they received it. As technology advances, people do

not need to use their brains as much as they used to. Instead, devices provide them

with all the information in the world they need. In a quick second, individuals can

google the answer to any question in the world. Overall, they do not need to expand

their brains and make the most of the many interesting things that they can learn.


In addition, the inundation of social media in people’s lives also negatively affects their

emotional health. In “8 Ways Tech Has Completely Rewired Our Brains,” written by

Rebecca Hiscott, 70 percent of millennials experience FOMO (fear of missing out). She

states, “The blend of anxiety, inadequacy, and irritation that can flare up while skimming

social media” (Hiscott). Being away from friends and family, while immersed in their

phones or other technology has impacted them in detrimental ways. Although social

media has helped some people feel closer together, it has left others out instead.

Scrolling through social media, they start to feel anxiety and FOMO, which can lead to

social isolation. As mentioned by Small, “Paradoxically, social media use is linked to

social isolation (ie, a lack of social connections and quality relationships with others),

which is associated with poor health outcomes and increased mortality” He indicated

over 90 percent of young adults in the United States use social media (Small). Therefore,

they consistently check their social media platforms, in which they see the glamorized

facade of people’s lives, thus leading them to feel left out and inadequate. All of these

emotions can have injurious effects and lead people to depression.

The ubiquitous technology impacts people’s minds since they spend exorbitant time on

their devices. From a young age, children's exposure to technology results in many

repercussions. As they grow older, technology becomes ingrained into their routine,

normalizing excessive amounts of time on their screens, thus hindering them from


progressing mentally and socially. Social media, a significant part of people’s time on

their devices, causes many distractions which can limit people’s attention span and

memory. Essentially, since technology is pervasive, it has adversely affected people’s

cognitive capabilities, psychological health, and concentration.


Safety First

Emma Liu

There are many different reasons behind why the covid-19 vaccine is not the safeset

shot yet. A current issue of our community today is the debate of whether the covid-19

vaccine should be taken. All over the world , the governments have been enforcing

vaccinations in all areas. Although the majority of the world have been dosed with the

shot, there are also many downsides of this. The minority of news explain the

downsides to the vaccine but there is enough evidence to represent that it could be

potentially dangerous. Some doctors who supported the vaccine previously ended up

realizing that the downsides could outweigh the benefits. An article by Dr. Aseem

Malhotra, a British cardiologist explains that prior to immunization, people had an 11

percent (pre-mRNA vaccine) probability of experiencing a coronary event in the

following five years; however, two to ten weeks after vaccination, this risk climbed to 25

percent, a notable increase. This proves a negative way the vaccine increases your

chance of sickness. At the same time, the vaccine has only been around for a short

amount of time before it went public. This is not safe because there has been no record

of what the shot could affect. A vaccine with so many reports of adverse effects should

not have rolled out to the public so quickly. It is also proven that myocarditis can be

caused by this shot. The Gandhi speech states, “One who resorts to it does not have to

break another’s head; he may merely have his own head broken.” This relates to the

topic of vaccination because it is important that everyone has the choice of receiving it

or not. Even if the government were to encourage taking the vaccination, it should

never be enforced. If a person decides to receive the vaccine and observes negative

effects, it is right that they do not force the decision of others. Our community has

started enforcing rules which prevent people from common activities without the shot.

Although many may argue the vaccine improves helps the body fight the covid-19 in

many ways, it's important to lookout for the side effects and evenly distribute this

information to the public as well. If there was a law of vaccination across the world,

there would be no free choice of our bodies. It is unfair to the people who have minor

health issues or are simply uncomfortable. Therefore, one action the community could

take during this time is by taking down the common store or work building rules we

see now relating to the requirement of vaccination before entrance.


Beautiful (?) Spider Webs

Grace Jin

Beautiful spider webs

Handcrafted with so much time and care

Only to be brushed off without thought in disgust within mere seconds

Me, I am a spider web

Often, I feel brushed off

A second thought

Gotten rid of to get out of the way

Although I work hard to be pretty like the rest,

Take so much care into spinning my web,

It never matters.

Because a spider web is just a spider web.

Cleared before truly being able to see its true beauty

Wisping and falling apart by people day by day

Rarely given a chance to be anything more.

Because how can I be crafted again when I am disheveled?

I am only left there to be taken by the wind once I am broken,

Reduced to a stringy mess.

I stick and cling to things I know I cannot keep

As I lose my sense of purpose

I can be so easily torn

A home yet unstable

Weak and vulnerable

I often feel fear for threats ready to tear my delicate threads apart

I hope my bonds are strong enough

My silk sticky enough

To endure…


Dying of Thirst: The Future of California

Chaewon Lee

Because California has experienced nine successive “atmospheric rivers” which have

drenched the state, many Californias have difficulty believing that their state still suffers

from drought. Nonetheless, this is true. Although the snowpack levels in the Sierra

mountains stand at 173%, above “average” levels, this snowpack could actually

exacerbate the water shortage because, ironically, one “warm” rain could melt the

snowpack, flooding the Central Valley before washing out to sea. State officials cannot

afford to be complacent.

Context of California Droughts:

Droughts recur regularly in California; California’s droughts are a natural phenomenon

characterized by a prolonged period of abnormally dry weather which, when

accompanied by warm ambient temperatures, threatens agriculture, and recreation, and,

given a drought that is severe, imperils people’s lives. Californians must take the

inevitability of recurrent droughts seriously: the natural aquifer or water table has been

pumped almost dry over the past decades. It took a thousand years for California’s

water table to reach the level enjoyed by the first European settlers in the Central Valley.

One or two atypical wet years will not restore it; much of California’s agriculture comes

from areas in San Diego and Inyo counties that are deserted. Without water from the

Colorado River, these regions are unsuitable for crops–especially lettuce, tomatoes, and

melons, which happen to be the main produce grown in this area. Two or three wet


years will not even temporarily affect this desert part of the state, not even in a year in

which nine atmospheric rivers soak California.

California's usual drought conditions vary depending on the region and time of year.

However, generally speaking, Southern California enjoys a Mediterranean climate: the

state experiences mild winters and arid summers and is therefore vulnerable to

droughts. Drought conditions are characterized by a lack of precipitation during the

rainy season, typically ranging from November to April, followed by high temperatures

during the summer months, which (in Southern California) usually lasts from May to

October. During the drought season, Californians should expect water supplies to

become scarce, not only in the natural aquifer but also in lakes, rivers, and natural

springs. As a result of Santa Ana winds, and rising ambient temperatures, 100,000-acre

fires have occurred with increasing frequency. Dried-up lakes and rivers affect the

tourism industry, which makes up a large percentage of the Golden State’s economy.

When lakes and other freshwater bodies dry up, the effect on wildlife can be

devastating. Recently, salmon fishing has been banned in Northern California for the

remainder of the season due to the collapse of the salmon population: there isn’t

enough fresh water for them to spawn in.

California is Still in a Drought:

Despite record-breaking precipitation levels, the Golden State remains in a state of

drought emergency. California reservoirs are full and have a 173% snowpack.

Nonetheless, this does not mean that all is well. Most of the rainwater that falls upon

cities and suburbs drains directly into the Pacific Ocean. As California continues to pave


over thousands of acres in order to accommodate its rapid growth, the number of

gallons of rainwater lost to the ocean will increase. California allows builders to build

houses in areas where there is little or no natural precipitation. The water for these

homes and strip malls must be brought in from other parts of the state; transporting

water using viaducts is inefficient: water is lost to evaporation and leaks in pipelines.

The pipeline system bringing potable water to much of Los Angeles and Orange County

was installed in 1926, almost a century ago. The wastage from this antiquated system

defies the imagination.

It must be emphasized that California gets most of its potable water supply from

groundwater instead of surface water; California is a comparatively dry state, with much

of its water supply coming from rainfall and snowmelt. The state's population has grown

significantly over the years, leading to increased demand for water. Groundwater

provides a reliable and consistent source of water during times of drought when surface

water supplies are limited. The atmospheric rainfall did not benefit the groundwater as

already noted, nor has it replenished the Colorado River, one of Southern California’s

most reliable sources.

The Future for Residents of California:

California must face some unpleasant but unalterable facts. Droughts will occur with

greater frequency, and warmer temperatures will cause more evaporation, not only from

the surface of lakes and soil but also from the crops themselves that sustain California’s

economy. Frequent wildfires will destroy much of the state’s forests; even the Giant

Sequoia Redwoods, some of which have survived for over two thousand years, may die

out as a result.


If California experiences a high level of out-migration, that is, people moving to other

states, then it is conceivable that California will become like the “rust belt” areas in the

midwest. For anybody who loves living in California–anyone who enjoys the beautiful

beaches, the sublime mountains, and the other natural beauty that defines California, an

arid, economically stagnant future is painful to contemplate. California may no longer

be thought of as a land of opportunity, a place where dreams come true.


Friendship Recipe for an Appley-Ever-

After

Avery Im

There are many steps to baking an apple pie.

The first is to peel the apples.

Get to know them individually

And don’t judge them based on their outer peel

Taste the sweet apples

And learn to separate the rotten from the ripe

The second step is to roll out the dough

You will not go anywhere without stretching, first,

to scary and unknown places.

Even if the dough rips or falls apart

you have learned limits

and now know there are boundaries,

consequences,

to your actions.

The third step is to boil a sweet sugar filling

treat it nicely, and watch over it

stirring it often, taking care of it,

and removing from heat when necessary

or else it may burn.

The fourth step is to place your pie in the oven

You can be proud about your pie

And then your pie will rise, and rise, and rise

But let it rise too much, and then it will deflate

back to where it started.

Finally, serve your pie.

Hand out equal portions

and don’t stress over each slice

appreciate your pie slice

and savor every bite, every moment with it.


The Beauty in Children's Shows

Olivia Lee

Most of the world’s children watch some significant amount of television in their childhood.

In South Korea, a character whose name is Pororo wears orange goggles, a tan aviator’s

helmet, a blue jumpsuit, an orange bandana, gold gloves, and a yellow racing helmet

decorated with the letter P on top. Pororo and his friends enjoy fun experiences and various

adventures in their homeland, Porong Porong Village. Many events occur in the forest,

especially as new friends arrive in the village. There are several animal characters who live

in this winter wonderland, such as Loopy the pink beaver, Petty the purple penguin, Eddy

the orange fox, Rody the yellow robot, Poby the white polar bear, Harry the pink bird, Tong-

Tong the orange dragon, and Tu-Tu the red car. They all have unique characteristics, look

distinctively different, and love to engage in a variety of activities. As they socialize with

each other, they gain an understanding of their own strengths and weaknesses as well as

how to respect others. In what follows, we will see how educational value, the internet, and

child psychology have been key factors in the rise of Pororo and helped to produce a

children’s TV series that is arguably best-in-class.

Educational value is one of the key factors of the rise of Pororo. Choi Jong-il, the CEO of

Iconix Entertainment, “wrote all the scenes himself from his office in downtown Seoul and

says he got his inspiration for the show by watching his then 1-year-old daughter play with

her 4-year-old brother … Choi gives his characters the freedom simply to play and learn”

(Veale). CEO Choi’s main goal was to develop a show from which his own two loving

children could be entertained and educated at the same time; therefore, he produced a

creative educational show to benefit his children and others to learn content without feeling

stressed. A lot of parents often restrain their children from watching television programs,


thinking they would negatively affect their children. For this reason, after Choi noticed the

love and attention that children had towards his show, he decided to dedicate his time to

creating more programs which parents would approve of and from which children could

learn. When Pororo was officially published in Korea, it rapidly became hugely popular, and

many parents introduced their children to the new program. Parents came to believe that

Pororo was education coupled with entertainment—a rare gem at which children could

marvel and from which they learn.

The internet is another key factor which increased the popularity of Pororo, especially

through the use of social media. Owing to many parents’ new-found appreciation of

educational entertainment and the kind of “network” society that S. Korea is,, through many

blogs and social media posts, Pororo exploded! As Jennifer Veale from Time Magazine

noted in [give the year], “Pororo has expanded well beyond South Korea in just four years

and is now seen in 80 countries, its characters adorning everything from diapers to dishes.

Still, it is the success at home that may be most surprising, since the show is not about

learning ABCs—which is what Korean moms, eager to give their kids a leg up in the

country’s ferociously competitive education system, usually want” (Veale). As but one

example among many, in Naver— a Korean website similar to Google—people posted

over a million of blogs related to Pororo. To this day, the mass appeal of Pororo continues

to spread all over the world, and millions of children receive an. entertaining education from

the program. A simple Google search of “pororo” will return 6,650,000 web pages in 0.36

seconds.

Finally, child psychology has helped Pororo to rise in popularity around the world. Pororo

“has short episodes of 5 to 11 minutes’ long, and parents of children aged 4 to 7 help come

up with simple stories from the kids’ viewpoint” (Kalbi). Choi understood how difficult it is for


children to focus on a certain object or subject for an extended period of time. As a result,

he kept the episodes brief and as basic as possible so that youngsters could comprehend

the content and the context. Additionally, he made the colors of the characters particularly

bright, a phenomenon which appeals to young children. As an example, Pororo’s color is

lapis, which is a type of bright blue. The animated scenes are simply a portrayal of

children’s daily lives, and the educational topics underscore the value of helpfulness and

collaboration.

It is worth noting that there are several television programs that were not as successful

compared to Pororo. These programs failed in light of several reasons. One of them is that

these programs were too long such that children lost their focus while watching them.

According to research by Stephanie Watson, as reviewed by psychiatrist Kelley Yost

Abrams, “First memories are usually the implicit type, when you remember more of a

feeling about an event than the event itself. Explicit memories, the kind that involve events

and facts, aren’t robust until around age 6 or 7” (Watson). Only when children reach the age

of six are they likely to improve their memory of events and facts. As a result, if a television

program is too long, children under this age will struggle to remember most of the scenes,

since their memorizing skills have not fully developed. Programs must be emotionally

charged and exciting, like Pororo is. Another reason is that some television programs are

overly fast-paced. An example of this would be a program named SpongeBob

SquarePants, a television series for kids. According to a researcher named Dew M.

Chaiyanara, “Child psychologists warn that watching fast-paced children’s cartoons such as

SpongeBob SquarePants, even for just a few minutes, will hinder abstract thinking, and

affect short-term memory and impulse control in young children. It can also kill their

attention spans, making it one of the bad TV shows for kids” (Chaiyanara). All of the

SpongeBob SquarePants


series change their scenes very quickly, a phenomenon which is detrimental to children.

There are many television programs that are similar to SpongeBob SquarePants, and thus

have failed to become successful. Pororo, by contrast, is a very slow-paced series that

allows every child to feel at ease while watching it, allowing them to both enjoy and learn.

Even though Pororo has made a huge impact in society both in S. Korea and globally,

some people were against the program, hardly considering it best-in-class. There are many

negative comments from both children and parents on a popular website for reviewing

television programs. One commenter posted how he/she did not like the characters’

attitudes, describing the characters as “whiny and self-seeking.” He/she also commented

about how they were very annoying, especially Crong, a dinosaur “who can only say ‘Crong’

and always says it in a highly squeaky voice” (Kid Reviews For Pororo). This person is

explaining how the characters in the program are not educational to children at all. He

describes that they can give children bad habits, since they are “whining” during most of the

scenes. He even states how the characters are very annoying from their voices and actions.

That said, arguably there is something redemptive about Pororo. For example, when

compared against Pengsoo. Currently, there is a new character who is also based on a

type of penguin called Peng Soo. The producer, Seul Yena, made this character using the

same purpose as the CEO of Pororo, which was to allow children to have both enjoyment

and education while watching its videos. However, she wanted to make the program for all

ages, making it more trendy and funny. Therefore, compared to Pororo, who is a fictional

character on an educational program while Peng Soo is a mascot suit in which a man acts

as him, it satisfies grown ups to even watch the program. In addition, Peng Soo has a

huskier voice than Pororo, which might have negative impressions to children but positive

attractions to adults. Another difference is that Pengsoo invites popular celebrities to

collaborate with them. While Pororo is solely concerned with education for children,


Pengsoo is concerned with trends. This analysis reveals that Peng Soo is more popular for

teens and adults than children who are under the age of 10. As a result, Pororo is more

educational for children to watch than Peng Soo.

Contrary to the stereotype that all children’s television is bad television, the massive

success of Pororo among both parents and children serve as a powerful counterexample to

this stereotype. Although learning through technology, especially but not exclusively

television shows, may cause negative effects at times such as addiction, what we have

learned from children watching Pororo is that most children are highly visual learners;

therefore, children worldwide could receive tremendous benefit, rather than determines,

from watching educational entertainment such as found in Pororo.


Cinematography in La La Land

Jasmine Lee

La La Land is a film that presents expert cinematography through camera angles, framing,

and color. In the scene of Mia's audition where she sings "Audition (The Fools Who

Dream)," the camera purposely stays at eye level with her to show how the viewer can

relate to and connect with her as she sings of dreams and perseverance. It acts as the

movie's climax and lets the audience connect with her in relation to dreaming. La La Land

frequently uses the eye level angle to develop and display the realness of it, how reality is

for everyone as it clashes with dreams. The low angle is used during Sebastian's first show

with his new modern jazz band. It is used when showing Sebastian and Keith to make

them seem more dominant and aggressive.

They take up the whole screen, and power is given to them as the crowds go wild for their

show. This also suggests the dominance that Mia feels Sebastian is showing, as he seems

more successful than her. The high angle is used as Sebastian and Mia slowly drift as their

lives grow busier and they do not see each other as often. Even though they live in the

same place, they keep on missing each other as they try to pursue their passions. It shows

that they feel inferior or weak because they are unable to control their fading relationship. It

made the presentation more bittersweet and melancholy.

As Mia sings "The Fools Who Dream," I also noticed how they used a close-up frame to

portray her emotions. The scene is very raw; it has a single spotlight upon her and a plain,

black background that highlights how the main focus is Mia. The close-up again allows the

audience to feel more intimacy and connection with her as it zooms into the emotions that

Mia lets loose as she sings. Another scene of note is when they used a long/full shot when

Sebastian and Mia are walking along a street at Warner Brothers studios. The audience

can see the recording and filmmaking in the background as the camera follows Mia and

Sebastian. It sets the scene for the business that is happening around them, making the

film more realistic while also displaying the dreamlike quality that movie studios are


portrayed as at times.

The filmmaker's use of color in the film advanced the emotions they were trying to evoke.

Their use of color psychologically connected me more to the characters and story as it

used red for anger and blue for sadness. A subtle scene I liked where they used color was

when the blue and red lights met in Mia and Sebastian's bedroom, hinting at the calmness

and happiness they found together. They blended to make purple, which advanced the

emotions of how they have now blended together and found a balance, or in this case, in

the eye of the storm before reality hits.


The Willow Project: What it is, and How

Things Will Change

Avery Im

As of Monday, March 13th, the Biden Administration has formally approved The Willow

Project. Facing sharp opposition by over 50,000 petition signatures and millions of outraged

citizens globally, the Alaskan oil project is an $8 billion proposal from ConocoPhillips

(COP.N) that seeks to drill oil and gas in the largest tract of undisturbed public land in the

United States.

Strong controversy has arisen regarding the environmental impacts of the Willow Project,

which include the production of over 600 million barrels of crude over 30 years and release

of 9.2 million metric tons of carbon pollution annually. Not only will the Willow Project

contradict all the global efforts to mitigate climate change, it will also worsen the situation by

burning over 280 million metric tons of carbon emissions. This will likely result in severely

impacted neighboring communities and ecosystems.

Supporters of the Willow Oil Project, including Alaska Native Congresswoman Mary Peltola,

labor unions, and residents of the North Slope argue that the project would generate $17

billion for the federal government and open new job opportunities. In contrast, the

opposition emphasizes President Biden’s hypocrisy regarding the United States’ movement

away from fossil fuels. The International Energy Agency has also stated that “governments

must stop approving new oil, gas and coal projects if the planet is to avert the most

catastrophic impacts of climate change, according to the New York Times.

As a remedy to the severe environmental concerns presented by the public, the Biden

Administration announced restrictions on the Willow Project. These entail limitations on

future oil releases in the region (including the entire Arctic Ocean), protecting more than 13

million acres in the region from future drilling, and extended protection to habitats important

to several Arctic species, as stated by Impact.

Now, the Biden Administration faces a surge of criticism and opposition from U.S citizens

who urge for action to prevent climate change. Both the Biden Administration and Conoco

Phillips have not yet released any further announcements.


Greek Mythology's Impact on Modern

Society

Elizabeth Chang

The connection between Nike, the shoe brand, Amazon, the shipping company, and

Pandora the music app, originate from an ancient culture in Greece. Specifically, the stories

are referenced as Greek Mythology. However, it may be surprising to learn that these

names and references are more significant than they appear.

Greek Mythology has left an immense impact on our modern society. From mass

media such as modern novels, movies, and video games, to television, music,

company branding, language, and culture, Greek Mythology has influenced every

aspect of our lives.

For instance, the Ancient Greek writer, Homer, is still one of the most influential writers in

history. The most famous works by Homer, the Iliad and the Odyssey, have inspired

countless stories. The Iliad is the story of the Trojan war, and tells the countless tales of

important heroes like Achilles. The Odyssey, is a direct sequel of the Iliad, featuring the

famous hero, Odysseus on his journey back home. He faces many encounters with

mythological foes, like the notorious witch, Circe. Many stories including the Song of

Achilles and Circe by the same author, Madeline Miller, are retellings of these famous

Greek stories.

The fan-favorite video game called Hades was inspired by the romance of Hades and

Persephone. The WEBTOON Lore Olympus is also inspired by the same tale of the love

story between Hades and Persephone. Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan,

is a popular children’s book that tells the tale of a modern day kid living in a world where all

the creatures, heroes, and gods of Greek culture exist. The book even elaborates on the

impact of Greek mythology in the US.

Even popular brands are named after famous icons. The sports brand, Nike, is named after

the goddess of victory. Successful brands thrive to advertise their products in order to

support athletes’ success. Pandora, the name of both a jewelry brand and a music

streaming service, is based on the myth of Pandora’s Box. The box was a mysterious

object that Pandora possessed, and she was brimming with curiosity so she opened it. It

was filled with all of the horrors of man’s world. She quickly closed the lid, and all that

remained was hope.


When most people think of Amazon, the delivery and shipping company, the Amazon

rainforest comes to mind. However, the same name is also the title of the Amazon

warriors, a race of women warriors who live on the mystical island.

In all, Greek mythology leaves a big mark on our everyday culture. It is important to be

aware that everyday culture is built on something ancient and timeless. Because it is a part

of the world’s history, and it needs to be preserved. People can learn so much from these

works and the authors who wrote them as well. The culture of today is influenced

thousands of years ago by a country with rich stories that are fascinating to explore.


When does the Christmas season truly

start?

Samantha Davidson

While Christmas is one of the most celebrated holidays, it is up for debate when the

‘Christmas season’ truly begins. The majority of people begin their celebrations toward the

end of November, yet some put up decorations the day after Halloween or even up through

the week of Christmas, which begs the question: When does the Christmas season begin?

According to numerous polls, including those from Channel 8 News, YouGov America,

and Quora have determined that most Americans begin decorating their homes and

enacting holiday traditions between Thanksgiving and the beginning of December.

However, according to the New York Post, 57% of Americans begin their Christmas

shopping before October, 51% take their Christmas card photos in the summer, and 10%

begin preparing for the holidays before August. It is up to debate when 'official’ Christmas

time starts, as the Twelve Days of Christmas are from December 25 to January 5, whilst

Catholic churches begin Christmas at sunset on Christmas Eve and Orthodox churches

celebrate on January 7th. The Baptist church demands Christmas trees must go up on the

first day of Advent - the fourth Sunday before Christmas.

While there is no definite ‘start’ to the Christmas season by date, many Americans

have opinions on what activities begin the season. About half believe that either

decorating their house or enjoying Christmas music and movies designate the

beginning of the holiday season, and about a quarter believe that exchanging

Christmas cards or seeing decorations in stores kicks off the holiday spirit.

Of course, there is much varied opinion regarding the beginning of Christmas, though the

activities all have one thing in common - joy. In fact, celebrating Christmas connects to

emotions such as nostalgia and excitement. According to ScienceDirect, a recent study

showed people described houses adorned with Christmas decorations as ‘sociable’, ‘open’,

and ‘accessible’. Christmas was not a popular holiday among Americans until the

nineteenth century, when Washington Irving’s The Sketchbook of Geoffery Crayon and

Charles Dickens’ A Chistmas Carol were published amidst a period of conflict and turmoil.

Throughout its history, Christmas has been a beacon of light in the cold, dark winter and a

time of peace in a chaotic world. In fact, according to Mountain News, people began

putting up Christmas decorations much earlier in 2020, arguably an extremely dark year in

American history, revealing that people associate the Christmas season with joy.

Christmas has become a holiday to look forward to throughout the year, and has

evidently become a distraction from the harsh realities of society. Furthermore, the

Christmas season is more than a holiday or a season, rather it is a celebration of joy that

unifies one another regardless of when your Christmas tree goes up.


Money, Cliques, and Arrogance

Alexis Lee

Movies are created through the accumulation of artistic talent. A good storyline, actors, and

directors are required to create a successful film. Clueless (1995), directed by Amy

Heckerling, is about a rich Beverly hills girl named Cher who is popular and part of the elite.

Cher and her best friend Dionne act as matchmakers and later transform a clueless transfer

into one of them. Clueless is a very successful teenage film that illustrates how money is an

influential force for power as characters form cliques to gain superiority over peer groups.

Wealth is a factor that is weighed into the formation of cliques in many movies. This

concept is shown in films such as Mean Girls, High School Musical, Gossip Girl, Bring it On,

White Chicks, The Clique, and many other movies in which characters only associate with

peers within their social classes. Those that do not fit the criteria tend to fake it until they

make it. The American Sociological Association conducted research in schools and

concluded that the “Selection of cheerleaders is usually based on a number of criteria,

including poise, personality, and appearance. Many of these criteria are influenced by a

girl’s current status in school and her family background” (Merten 177). The clique Cher and


Dionne were a part of had a similar process in which they were all attractive, outgoing, and

wealthy, with the exception of Tai, whom they changed to be more like them. They initially

decided to befriend Tai more as a bet to see if they could give her a makeover and turn her

into a popular, pretty, and stylish girl like them. It is unfortunate how common this is, as

another research study observed a clique in a school and found that “The girls fully

embraced the values of consumerism of their local, upper-middle-class Los Angeles

consumer culture, heavily influenced by Hollywood values, where people are ranked in

terms of wealth and prestige” (Goodwin 180). The members of that clique were all

upper-middle-class girls of differing ethnicities, except one girl, who was the only

working-class member. The observer states how she was often left out, unable to

participate fully, and often left ignorant of the relative symbols of wealth. Tai was never

necessarily poor, but she seemed to be of middle class compared to Cher’s clique. It is

clear that the cliques in Clueless were based on social class and wealth, similar to this

particular Los Angeles private school.

Tai’s character in Clueless demonstrates how money and popularity can lead to

arrogance. Cher and Dionne’s group already felt superior over other peer groups by

distinguishing themselves from others and not dating or even trying to get to know people

who were “under” them. The famous phrase “Uh, as if” and “She’s my friend because we

both know what it’s like to have people be jealous of us” from Cher, shows how she feels

like she is above others and that she and Dionne think that everyone is jealous of them.

They take pride and flaunt all their material possessions, which is often interpreted as bratty,

something Cher’s stepbrother has always accused her of. After joining Cher’s clique, Tai

becomes more entitled and arrogant. She ignores the skater boy she used to like because

she thinks she is too good for him and starts to separate herself from her peers. Cher takes

notice of Tai’s behavior once Tai starts competing with her, and she realizes how much

they have changed her. They later realize how arrogant they have been, and Tai decides to

give the skater boy a shot while Cher and Dionne finally support her.


The power of money is thoroughly displayed in the comedy movie Clueless, from the

way characters choose their friends, to how they act. Money is reflected in the main

character's different friend group choices, but it is also seen in real life. Often these cliques

can lead to feelings of superiority, which is represented in Tai’s character, where she was

once a nobody and then became a somebody. Clueless has accurately portrayed the

influence of money found in reality but especially in comedy films.

< Works Cited Page >

Clueless. Directed by Amy Heckerling, performances by Alicia Silverstone, Paul Rudd,

Britney Murphy, and Stacey Dash, Paramount Pictures, 1995.

Goodwin, Marjorie Harness, and H. Samy Alim. “‘Whatever (Neck Roll, Eye Roll, Teeth

Suck)’: The Situated Coproduction of Social Categories and Identities through Stancetaking

and Transmodal Stylization.” Journal of Linguistic Anthropology, vol. 20, no. 1, 2010, pp.

179–94. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/43104249. Accessed 2 Oct. 2022.

Merten, Don E. “The Meaning of Meanness: Popularity, Competition, and Conflict among

Junior High School Girls.” Sociology of Education, vol. 70, no. 3, 1997, pp. 175–91. JSTOR,

https://doi.org/10.2307/2673207. Accessed 2 Oct. 2022.


The Nostalgia of Visiting a Year Later

Bentie Feng

As I step foot within sight of the architectural masterpiece in front of me, my brain is

flooded with memories and nostalgia of the year before, when I first came here. The

familiar crowded areas, the excited hustle and bustle of the people, as well as the scent

of putrid horse poop that I would recognize from a mile away. I begin to quietly walk

around just as I did a year before, taking in the entirety of the view as if it was my first

time here. The numerous exquisite and high end stores that surround me. The aroma of

freshly cooked Austrian cuisine. Oh, the nostalgia of visiting St. Stephen’s Cathedral a

second time.

Extravagant, grand, and glorious are the words that pop up in my head as I enter the

cathedral. The dark corridor that greets us as we first enter gives off a mysterious and

secretive atmosphere. Looking up, the sky-reaching ceilings are intimidating and almost

have an empty feeling to them. Soon enough, the gleaming reflection off of the golden

chandeliers come into sight. Further in, bright and colorful stained-glass windows in the

heart of the cathedral truly allow the builder’s vision to show within this architectural

structure. My eyes darted in several directions, trying to take in the entirety of this

striking scene all at once. In the very center, a painting graces the interior of the church

with its beauty and art. Alongside the large painting coupled statues and gargoyles of

such immense detail that they almost have a living presence. Around the entire

cathedral, tall windows and more paintings add to its mystical aura. Snap. Snap. Snap. I

snap several pictures as I exit to capture and save this memorable occasion to look

back on in the future.

As I step outside again, I continue to be in awe as I gaze at the magnificent structure

before me, filled with rich history. The tall and massive building gazes down at me, and

I only continue to stare up at it. The dark, Gothic architecture and spectacular precision

to detail was astounding to see in real life. The left side of the cathedral stood

exhausted horses pulling carriages of ecstatic tourists and visitors. Looking further, I

spotted the black rustic exterior of the church from the backside. I noticed that our

human bodies had such a tiny frame compared to the building, and how amazing it

was that people back then built this place and preserved it till this day. The aesthetic

and demanding presence of the cathedral was a once-in-a-lifetime sight.

Lined and curved around the lively streets of St. Stephen’s Cathedral is a plethora of


posh, upscale stores, as well as mouthwatering food joints. Walking around felt like

reliving my visit last year, as I had actively remembered most of where each store was

located. Even from far away, the church still had a heavenly appearance. Soon enough,

the sun set and night fell, which encapsulated the beauty of this enchanting scene as

lights began to brighten from the shops, showing the cathedral’s different and majestic

aura in the evening. Finally, after taking one last look, I left the famous historical

attraction with my friends, full of happy smiles and memories to share.

Of course, I have to come visit again next year, to relive this bittersweet experience once

more.


A Beacon of Hope

Ethan Lai

We turn to Him when all is lost

Freedom given for no cost

A shining light in the

dark On his ark we

embark

We trust in him with all our

might He will heal us of our

sight Breaks away Satan’s hold

A ticket to the city of gold

A bright beacon of faithful

hope He cleanses us with

holy soap Holding us in his

hands Comfort with no

demands

Holy Father, Holy Son

Saving Spirit, bonded as

One Forgiving us at all

times

Even through our sinful crimes


Minecraft Chronicles

Lukas Franz

It was cold; it was wet. I was low on hunger with few carrots remaining. I looted the

village and all carrots and apples were ransacked. Amidst the dull and gray stones, the

hue of blue and red, and gold, and copper colors caught my eye. I was overwhelmed by

the sublimity of the underground cavern as lava oozed from walls and water joined it,

shaping a dangerously wonderful environment.

I was on the search for an ore so valuable, so precious. This magnificent ore, created by

immense pressure and only found below y-16 makes a man powerful and wealthy. I had

traveled far and wide in search of such a rarity. I was about to quit; about to give up,

but I had a sensation that treasure was near. As I entered into the depths of the cave, I

noticed a light. Not that of lava as previously seen, but a human light that gave me

hope. I sprinted to the light and arrived at an abandoned structure. I crept through a

sticky, unnatural substance. It was unlike anything I had ever witnessed before. Every

bone in my body told me to give up and go back to the safety of light, but the thought

of success kept me composed. As I trudged further and further into this unknown

structure, which appeared to be a shaft of some sort, I felt closer and closer to my goal.

I had to find this ore. All of a sudden, I noticed a spider emerging from a dark area. I

jumped back in fear but reached for my sword. It pounced and I jabbed back with my

weapon in defense. After a few moments of intense fighting, I managed to defeat the

spider and remained alive. This cost me 2 hearts. I now remained at a total of 4 hearts

left with no food left to heal me. I wasn’t sure if I could make it, but knew I couldn’t

afford defeat.

I advanced further and further into this abandoned mineshaft and approached an end

with two paths. I realized that each path would likely be just as dangerous, but which

one would grant me my precious ore? I knew that I had no time to waste and that if I


was lucky then I would choose a path that did have a fortune located somewhere down

it. I was giving it too much thought. I had to move. I chose left and took a descent

down to y-8. I ran into this strange chest and opened it. It contained bread. I was

hesitant, but out of desperation, I forced the stale, dry bread down my throat. I was

healing! I continued further into the depth of this side, hesitant and warry. I noticed a

scratching sound from behind and spun around to observe my surroundings. I saw

nothing. I had a feeling I was being followed and wasn’t sure what to do. My gut told

me to keep going. I heard the same noise and whipped around violently. A zombie was

slowly limping towards me. I reached for my blade and then stabbed the zombie

through the heart, dropping him dead where he stood. I continued.

I came to an enormous, open cavern as bats flew around me left and right; I was

hypnotized by the beauty of it all and nearly forgot what I was searching for. Then I saw,

on the grotto’s wall, a glimmer of light blue specks. I rubbed my eyes and made sure I

was seeing clearly. I ran over to these blue specks hoping, praying it was what I thought

it was. Diamonds!


Changes

Camilla Glasscock

I took a deep breath. As I felt the crisp and clean air enter my body, the calmness of the

space and the relief that spread through my body was almost paralyzing. The sense of

triumph that I had accomplished my most daunting and demanding and grueling task

that I had put off all week was overwhelming. Content, I jumped to lay on my bed,

whose comforting touch enclosed me, and I laid there thoughtless. The salty taste on

my lip and red heat of my face told me I had worked hard enough; I took more deep

breaths and the smell of clean linen surrounded me. It was over, I thought. I finally

cleaned my room.

I observe my handiwork with pride. The mirrored closet doors reflect a tidy space of

puffed-up pillows, smoothed blankets, and dusted surfaces. My bed has been made to a

T, with the corners of the textured ivory comforter crisply tucked into the wooden

bedframe, the coordinated pillows perfectly placed. The rug has imprinted lines from a

vacuum running across the whole floor. Even my nightstand, a 2-foot cube of worn-out

walnut wood, has been intentionally decorated with plastic potted plants, a tray of

shimmering gold jewelry, and the most essential aspect of every day: my deeply loved

and marked-up Bible. Every surface in my room shone with the glow of being freshly

dusted. The crisp smell of the cleaning products drifted in the air. The picture frames of

my favorite art pieces were exactly straight; my curtains pushed to the sides of my

window as light bounced off every surface of the room. Everything in its place. Just the

way I like it. My space. A personalized reflection of the peace, organization, and

nothingness in my mind. But it will not stay like this for long.

Yesterday, my room was a mess. My freshly washed laundry lay in a heap on my floor,

the multicolored fabrics woven between each other. Blankets from my bed were strewn

across the room, their perfect white tainted with the debris on the floor. Fingerprints

scaled the mirrored closet doors and dust flew in the air with the swipe of a finger

across my battered desk. The blinds remained closed the whole day, giving my room a


dark and eerie feel. My backpack lay in the middle of my floor, untouched and

uninviting after an exhausting day at school. An unpleasant smell was escaping through

the overflowing trash bin and my sheets that had gone unwashed for too long. I was

constantly annoyed with the pieces out of place and the dust that caught on my hands

and the blankets I kept tripping on and the shoes on my floor I had to weave around.

But this room was still myspace. My comfort and rest, even in its unorganized state.

One month ago, my room was completely different. The minimal picture frames

currently fixed to the wall were once printed posters of quotes and inspirations. There

used to be other plants in my room, once green and bright and alive, now dead and

gone and replaced. My bedspread, now crisp ivory, was once bright yellow. Colorful

pillows contrasted the brightness of the bedspread, and the space was loud and vibrant.

The mirror is where my bed used to be, my desk where my mirror used to be.

Everything was different. Rearranged. But it was still my space, carefully designed and

planned and specialized. Just the way I liked it.

It changed after a while, just as it always does. My room can be organized and tidy, the

clothes and decorations put in their places like puzzles. Or, it is a swamp of piles and

clutter and mess, reflective of my overcrowded and complicated mind. Or sometimes, it

can change completely, and my over creative self will add and change the paintings,

arrangements, and decorations. My constantly adapting mind and opinions and taste

were reflected in the way I decorated my room. In the way I cleaned my room. However,

the way I love my room and the comfort it provides never changes. In every design, in

every state of cleanliness, my room is a constant source of comfort and familiarity that I

can always return to. A place that is fully and always mine.


An Island of Abundance

Justin Choi

This is our third day on Jeju Island. We’ve done and seen so much it’s hard to

remember everything; there’s always something on the schedule. We’ve gone to see the

crater, the forest, the beaches. Each scattered island I view makes me feel in awe. I can

feel the history and energy of millions of years of volcanic transformation, of shores

forming and eroding. Here, I can sense the minute-by-minute changes that contribute

to a living place, although it, of course, is impossible to see with the naked eye. But the

feeling is with me all the same.

It's with me as I take walks with my mom at sunset. Sunset is beautiful anywhere, even

in the city, but it’s truly magical here on Jeju. The light fades slowly but doesn’t truly

vanish until one minute, late in the evening, you realize you’re walking in darkness.

Before my visit, what I always heard about Jeju from friends who live here is that it’s

more rural than people think, that there’s nothing to do. That it’s incredibly boring. But I

find it exhilarating here, in these out-of-the-way spots away from the tourists and shop

vendors. I recall Thoreau and Emerson; I wonder if it is possible to build a Walden on

the country’s most popular tourist destination. We have been walking since late

afternoon and I have seen the odd car pass by on the road but not many people. I do

think a new Walden is possible. When living things are allowed to grow wild as they are

here, away from the manicured parks and preservation sites, Waldens can spring.

When we return to our hotel, I hear my sister talking about seafood hot pot for dinner.

My mom mentions sashimi. Everything sounds good; everything is talked about as if it’s

in abundance here. I suppose that one day, it was. After all, the island used to be

referred to as an island of abundances. But I wonder how long all this will last. Such

hopelessness has a hard time sticking to you, as soon as you step out of the hotel. The


dark ocean waters salt the air; wilderness is just minutes away, if you wish to step away

from the hustle and bustle. There’s an idea. I think I will, after dinner. That’s the most

enchanting thing about being here. I think the island wants us to walk, to be at one

with every step, to step away from what we know, and to step deeper into what we

don’t. I think that’s what Thoreau was after; that’s what fills my heart and mind as I take

yet another walk alone. To step deeper into worlds where man is not in control,

territories he has not mapped and engineered. True wilderness, of course, is eroding

from view; I think one day it may not even exist at all. But I hope not. If I can, I’ll help

make sure that day will never come.


The Beauty of Ben and Jerry's

Daniel Cho

South Korea is well known for their traditional food, gaming culture, and unique

attractions. A somewhat unknown part of it, as it also goes for almost every country in

the region, is the thick humidity and the feeling of your pores being clogged from the

combo of the aggressive heat and the humidity. This creates a surge in popularity of

cold treats to find sanctuary in the harsh summertime, such as sweet shaved ice and

cold tea. However, a commonly missed treat for the summer time, and my personal

favorite, is Ben and Jerry’s.

From my experience, in most places in the world Ben and Jerry’s is seen as a secondary

option due to the existence of Haagen Daaz and traditional ice cream shops such as

Handel’s. Although Haagen Daaz and Handel’s are both magical, they tend to be

uncreative with the flavors (Yes, Handel’s is uncreative.). Ben and Jerry’s is more

expensive than Haagen Daaz when it comes to store bought ice cream, and tends to

draw people away from it. Therefore, when I found a massive two story Ben and Jerry’s

in Korea with over 40 flavors to choose from, I thought that most of the flavors were

there for show and just trying to be quirky without making rich flavor. There was no

way that a store with a full room dedicated to being a kid’s play area would surprise my

dormant taste buds.

I was wrong. Out of the plethora of options, I honestly do not remember which ones I

picked but recall that I chose very mundane flavors like strawberry and cookie dough. I

quickly realized my mistake. The higher butterfat content of the Ben and Jerry’s ice

cream led to less air being in the cream, which meant a more dense and thick ice cream

making a rich flavor. I swiftly ordered more, but obviously couldn’t try out too many

flavors due to the previously mentioned price of the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, which

came from the higher butter fat content. Not only was the flavor more rich, the actual


flavor name remained true in the taste. Other ice cream companies have flavors that

don’t taste like the actual name. An example of this is cookies and cream from Haagen

Daaz. The taste of a real Oreo cookie comes from the rich and creamy white paste in

between the brown cookies, but that does not come in the Cookie and Cream ice cream

There are chunks of the actual cookie, but the part that is meant to represent the

“cream” is a low butterfat low milk content icy mixture. This makes the whole ice cream

very bland, while the chunks of cookie are very rich. This creates an extremely confusing

combination. This is not true with any of the Ben and Jerry’s flavors I tried, however. To

use as comparison, the Cookies and Cream flavor of Ben and Jerry’s has an actual rich

flavor in the cream, staying loyal to the source material while also having chunks of the

Oreo cookie.

This specific Ben and Jerry’s is located in Gangnam-gu Seoul, and sits in an area known

for the modern restaurants and is neighbors with the most prestigious movie theater in

the country. However, the greatest part about the area is a burger joint called

“Downtowners”, a premium burger shop with unique twists on familiar flavors. The

perfect meal is a spicy burger with a side of garlic truffle oil fries and heading straight

to Ben and Jerry’s to rinse out the aggressive and smelly flavors with sweet dense

creams.

Ben and Jerry’s holds a special place in my mind not only because of the rich creamy

flavor, but also because of the memories I hold from being there, since all my relatives

live in the area. I remember the exact route from my grandparent’s home to get to the

Ben and Jerry’s, only one right and one left and I could see the diverse lives of different

people on their own conquest of life. My relationship with my cousins became looser

over the years, as Covid prevented us from meeting in the same area for the past 3-4

years. Ben and Jerry’s is not only superior ice cream, but holds special memories of my

relatives and brings me back to the few unappreciated carefree days of my life.


My Bedroom

Aliyah Khan

Sleep is a sanctuary. A sanctuary where time seems to lose its grip, the day's worries

and stresses dissolve, and finally the mind gradually drifts into a realm of dreams.

At precisely 6:00 PM, as the sun casts shadows through the kitchen window, I

clumsily discard my burdens of the day. My heavy backpack, bearing the weight of textbooks

and the remnants of a demanding schedule, lands on the floor with an audible thud. A tennis

bag, its zipper only halfway closed, spills its contents haphazardly, revealing the battered

racquet within. Accompanying them is an extra pair of sneakers, carelessly strewn. I retreat

to the living room, my school backpack dragged across the room like a persistent companion.

There, in a chair devoid of much cushioning, I begin a marathon of trying to be productive.

The hours stretch on, and my spine curves and shoulders hunch as I delve deep into

assignments.

Eventually, I succumb to the siren call of my phone, interrupting my work to check

messages and notifications. The lukewarm mint tea beside me waits patiently for my

attention, offering a brief respite from the demands of my schoolwork.

As the evening progresses, a weariness creeps into my bones. I fight to keep my eyes

open, and brain active, as the minutes tick away. With unyielding determination, I complete

my last assignments. Swiftly, I gather my scattered work into my backpack in order to be

ready for the challenges of the next day. With a weary sigh, I turn my gaze toward the stairs,

their 21 steps a haphazard maze caused by exhaustion.

Finally, I retreat to my room, where I draw in a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the

weight of the day to wash away.

My room. My sanctuary. My peace.

The soft embrace of my bed beckoned like a long-lost friend, ready to cradle me in its

gentle embrace and carry me away to the realms of sleep. I shed the day's attire, replacing it

with the comfiest pajamas that I possess; the soft fabric enveloping me like a warm hug.

Before turning off the lights, I pause for one last lingering gaze around my room. The

walls, adorned in a dull paint color that I had no say in, serve as a constant reminder of the

monumental change I undertook, leaving behind my family and cherished memories to

discover this new chapter in a different state. As I stand there, I'm drawn to the countless

photos and trinkets that populate my dresser, each one carefully placed as an attempt to

bridge the void that has nestled itself in my heart since the day I arrived here.

Yet, in the midst of melancholy, a glimmer of warmth emerges as I recall the

remarkable memories written in the book of my new life here. The laughter, the friendships,


and the milestones reached since my arrival; they too have etched themselves into my heart,

like new brushstrokes on the canvas of my life.

Contempt, I turn my attention to the sanctuary of my bed, and I lovingly pull back the covers,

inviting the night's embrace. With a sense of surrender, I collapse into the welcoming cocoon

of my bed, surrendering to sleep.


One Hundred Percent Both

Kate Shon

In America, convenience stores are a means of providing cheap fuel. They are everyday

on-the-go places you swing by. They are places I never thought twice of. It was not until

recently, when I saw videos of foreign convenience stores, filled with an array of diverse

snack and meal options, that I realized they could be more. It was an unfamiliar concept to

me; I thought that they would be the same as they are in the States. However, the

enthusiasm I saw online intrigued me as my family and I departed on our yearly trip.

As per proper etiquette, I bowed down to the cashier who smiled, welcoming me into the

store. In the aisles, the variety of types of noodle dishes were endless. From classic Spicy

beef to sesame, spicy chicken, and many more unique flavors–more than I ever thought

existed. In the chip section, American snacks also filled the shelves and provided me with

what I was familiar with back home. My mind was craving seaweed rice rolls as my eyes

shyly looked through every section of the store. Looking at the cashier, unsure if she spoke

English, I pulled out my handy dandy Google Translate from my phone, typing out my

question. I handed her what I typed and only confusion and laughter appeared in her eyes.

Feeling embarrassed and insecure, thinking I typed the wrong words, I frantically checked

my translation as she reached her arm behind me to give me a roll. Thanking her, I slid

away, embarrassed thinking that this memory would haunt me for eternity. Looking around

further, Igrabbed two cups of banana milk before awkwardly walking up to the same cashier

to ring up my items. I paid her, but later realized that I was a few cents short. She informed

me using words that were unfamiliar to me, and I could only stare at her, perplexed. As she

kept on repeating the words, a couple sighed, wondering why I was unresponsive. The

tension pressurized my mind, resorting me to pull out more money to trade back what I had

previously given her. I could only hope it was the right call.

My wallet was stuffed with the change as I struggled to close it. Trying not to have a mental

breakdown from the situation, I quickly snatched the items and threw them into my bag,


racing off to my hotel room up the elevator with my unlatched wallet. Behind me, a faint

whisper from that couple at the store chased me, “Oh, she is definitely not from here,” as

my head hung low, pressing the elevator button.

Those words struck a chord in me, echoing my elders and taking me back to something my

grandparents had said. Trying to encourage me, they had once stated how shameful it

would be for me to call myself Korean without being able to speak the language. I knew

they had good intentions, but it led me to compartmentalize my Korean identity and

internalize this sense of shame. While in Korea, I referred to myself as American to locals,

trying to give myself an excuse for my inability to speak the language. Everytime I came

back from these trips, I would become inspired and determined to learn Korean. My

enthusiastic attempt to teach myself would rapidly diminish and become but a distant

memory.My motivations were short bursts of energy that died quickly. After each attempt, I

felt hopeless and ashamed. Thinking back, I realized why I hated going to Korean school: I

was four years younger thaneveryone else. There were placement tests determining what

class students would be placed in, but due to my poor Korean, I was always put with the

kindergarteners when I was in fourth grade. I was made to feel insecure and I stuck out like

a sore thumb.

On top of that, I don’t even look like I belong because of my darker skin tone and the way I

dress and wear makeup; rather than feeling too Korean to be American, I’ve always felt

too American to be Korean. In America, each person has their own way of expressing

themselves and their individuality. Walking down the street in Korea, I catch stares from

my own community. Knowing from my parents and their friends, those stares were like a

punch in the face filled with judgmental comments. I never left my mom’s side and always

wanted to go to places with her to steer away from awkwardness and confusion, making

me think that there was no way I could ever survive in that kind of environment. All of my

dreams and wonders of traveling in Korea alone felt shattered.

Eventually, I realized how much this was holding me back. It wasn’t until recently that I told

my mom about these feelings. She giggled a little, but quickly switched emotions after


seeing the tears fill my eyes. I asked her how I can split myself evenly. How could I identify

myself as both Korean and American? As she tapped my back, she said “instead of being

half American and half Korean, be 100% both!” Initially, this did not make sense to me and

left me very confused. Thinking about her statement, I asked myself what she meant. She

explained that I was always simultaneously both Korean and American. It is not something

that someone can lose and it is always in my blood.


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