2024-2025
Stories get told to children as soon as they’re born. Whether it be through bedtime stories or gossip by word of mouth, stories get told in numerous ways, and frequently so. Stories don’t have to be fictional; they can be something your grandpa drones about during Thanksgiving. A story could be so many things, and by hearing these diverse stories, one would gain an opinion about many things. Sometimes in life, you don’t get to choose whether you hear a story or not. You’ll occasionally have to make your dad happy by hearing him talk about his childhood – with the same, worn story that he’s told you before. Sometimes in life, you do get to choose to hear a story or not – like when you attend story time in the library. Stories can be found virtually anywhere, and to any degree. That fact aids in the idea that everyone is diverse and has different experiences. It answers why everyone has different opinions and how strong or weak those opinions are. People don’t stop hearing stories. Stories engulf our everyday lives, regardless of where they come from. Opinions are ever-changing, and sometimes we don’t notice it. A story can influence someone without him/her even knowing; that’s how powerful they are. When you watch a movie, you resonate with a character and may exhibit behaviors similar to theirs for a bit after you watch the movie. While you’re reading a book, you may speak differently because of the type of language you’re reading in the book. Speeches or propaganda on the internet may radically affect you over time, even if you think you disagree. Subconscious influence is one of the most dangerous things, and it’s currently at its peak with social media. Stories, mainly fiction, are wonderful reads, and can be intellectual entertainment. However, they can be equally harmful. Specifically in films and social media, in which there’s a visual aspect, unrealistic goals and lifestyles can warp a person’s perception of themselves and others. No, not everyone’s life looks how it does on his/her Instagram page. No, the snap he/she sent you doesn’t show a “snap” into his/her entire lives. Everything is intentional, and everything has a purpose. That bikini model posts pictures in bikinis on beautiful, unattainable locations because it’s her job. She most likely wouldn’t be there otherwise. Not that she’s in the wrong for posting what she wants, but viewers and consumers need to be more mindful of what it is that they’re viewing and consuming. Not every story is real, and that’s okay; it’s a story for a reason. Stories also don’t just come in words, they come in every type of form. Pictures, art, the look in someone’s eyes. A story can be found or made up anywhere, even in the smallest scratch on a table. That’s the beauty of it - everything has a story to tell. It’s a wholesome and bittersweet concept, but that’s just another aspect of life that everybody must go through and experience. Overall, stories offer a beneficial and important level of development that you can’t really get anywhere else. Of course, personal experiences are very crucial in learning and growing as a person, but the stories of others can be just as useful and interesting. You never know what you need to know until you need to know it. Yola Suloti Photograph by Tessa Klein
Story Syndrome by Yola Suloti....................................................................................page 2 Unhidden, Yet Unnoticed by Juslyn Salazar.................................................................page 4 The Sun by Kaitlyn Yi.................................................................................................page 5 That Night by Dayeon Lee...........................................................................................page 5 It’s Too Late by Kayleigh Van Houten.........................................................................page 6 Time by Samara Barth................................................................................................page 7 Grim by Nina Alise......................................................................................................page 8 Finale by Charlie Tartaglione.......................................................................................page 8 DEATH by Keelin Driscoll..........................................................................................page 9 True Self by Sabrina Haskell.....................................................................................page 10 Flaws by Raina Tolani...............................................................................................page 10 Makeup by Olivia Wu.................................................................................................page 11 You Never Know by Anonymous................................................................................page 12 The Magic of Pen to Paper by Delilah Recio..............................................................page 12 Never Yours, Never Was by Demir Kolenovic.............................................................page 13 Aphrodite by Nina Alise.............................................................................................page 15 Masked by Nico Luo...................................................................................................page 16 Dear Anxiety by Julia Bernard..................................................................................page 17 Serendipity ‘85 by Sophie Simonyan....................................................................pages 18-19 Global Warming by Harry Lawler..............................................................................page 22 Impending Doom? by Nathan Silverstein...................................................................page 23 Butterfly by Charlie Tartaglione................................................................................page 24 Beauty Within by John Olmedo.................................................................................page 25 Real Question: Do You Know My Name? by Evelyn Baek..........................................page 26 Reminder by Kaileigh Taylor......................................................................................page 27 Writing by Aayush Pandya........................................................................................page 28 Pen by Kaileigh Taylor...............................................................................................page 28 Future Awaits by Delilah Recio..................................................................................page 28 Witch of Ire by Michelle Kim.....................................................................................page 30 Two Figures by Kaitlyn Yi.........................................................................................page 31 New Beginnings by Mia Kurtz...................................................................................page 32 The Blink by Anonymous...........................................................................................page 32 Almonds by Nina Alise...............................................................................................page 33 Going Sixteen by Dayeon Lee.....................................................................................page 34 Past and Future by Weronika Jastrzebska..................................................................page 35 Fossilized and Forgotten by Anonymous....................................................................page 37 The Phone Addiction by Weronika Jastrzebska..........................................................page 39 Breathe In, Breathe Out by Giada Caputo.................................................................page 39
I think life is beautiful. Everything around, especially the little things in life, go unappreciated every day, and we often don’t even notice when they’re gone. Things like little buds of flowers that are yet to bloom, or the reflection of the sun glowing through the small chains of a necklace. There’s more to life than the things that we expect to see, and there’s even more than the short-lived blossoming cherry blossoms that only come once a year, and for me, that goes beyond what’s universally considered beautiful. For me, it’s walking through the halls of a school building and glancing into the window of a classroom door, catching somebody yawn. For me, it’s walking past every bookshelf in a library and seeing the dust collected on books that were once best-selling. For me, it’s being a passenger in a car, looking out the window, and admiring every building we pass, like a house painted orange, or maybe a simple office building. I don’t admire them because they look nice—although I do, in fact, do this—rather, I admire them because every building contains stories of countless people. An old and crooked house could contain the history of someone’s family tree, and the neighboring house’s front porch could contain someone’s whole childhood. An office building could, without a doubt, contain a series of an employee’s daily life, even if the employee likes it there or not. Every single inch and crevice of this world is abound with a life that I never lived, and it’s beautiful, even if I wouldn’t have wanted to live someone else’s life. Still, there will be somebody who cannot see beauty in the things that I do. The early bloomless flower buds could resemble the coming season of sneezes, coughs, and itchiness from pollen, or the shine of the sunlight might only be a hindrance to somebody’s sensitive eyes. The person who yawns during class may not have slept at all the previous night, and that person would much rather sleep at home than be in a classroom. The librarian might only sigh at the dust of the books that were once longed for, wiping the dust off and then checking on more countless, dusty books across countless, dusty shelves. The neighborhood in which the orange house resides might hate the vibrancy of its color. The employees of the office building might dread seeing it when they pull up to it every day. There may not be a reason for someone’s distaste, given that people often have their own tastes and preferences. I once found more distaste in things than beauty, and I had hardly noticed the small things until more recently. The dark shades of umber behind the cross at my church never seemed so nice until it was painted over with a lighter shade of brown, and the cross itself never seemed so fulfilling until I learned why it’s so important. The Dunkin Donuts sign at the corner of Midland had never seemed that important until it was torn down and replaced, and the bitterness of coffee had never been so lovely until it became routine. I haven’t been able to see the distaste in most things anymore. It’s all preference and perspective, but mine has changed so much that I can’t dislike the things that I used to in the same ways. I still dislike the lingering bitterness of espresso, but it’s rejuvenating, the bitterness slowly goes away, and then all I’d taste is oat milk infused with vanilla. It’s just a drink, another latte to somebody, and especially just another order to the barista, but somehow, it’s beautiful. No matter how hard I look, my distaste for most things is limited. On most days, especially the rough ones, I come around to noticing the small, beautiful things. Juslyn Salazar 4
The Sun The eternal warmth Beams of pure light blinds my eyes Melts the frozen earth Kaitlyn Yi That Night Under the moonlight, The clouds drift away, The stars are lanterns…floating, Like a clip from my favorite movie, And I can’t run away from this perfect scene. It’s too beautiful for me to leave, almost mesmerizing, Even though I am afraid of the dark, I am glued to this scene, Until I drown under the ocean of lights, And open my eyes, To see what my greatest fear has become. Dayeon Lee Photograph by Deborah Chun Photograph by Erin Tu
It’s Too Late Time is one of those funny things about life. It can fly fast but feels so slow. Time melts, time blends, time bleeds, time is painful yet healing. When you lose track of time, it feels deserted and dry. You sit, lonely, not knowing. Whatever the case, you have lost something. Time. That is the most precious thing given to you. So, if you are the one sitting, waiting, if you’re anything like me, you’re now wasting more time thinking about what you could be doing with your time. Time. Time is helpful, but also dangerous, scary, even. We look back at what we used to do: How we used to speak, walk, act, look. But we can never look into the future because we’re living the future of our past selves. Time. Time haunts me as I’m sure it does others. It haunts me how people move through life without the thought of where you would be if you had taken a minute or two longer before you left the house. Would everything be the same? And it haunts me that I can never get away from it. It will always be there. It’s confusing. It’s frustrating. It’s been here for so long, but it is never going away. The concept of time is normalized, even taught in school - how to manage time, etc. But even after this, I never understood. It seemed everyone else was pretending also, to understand I mean. Because kids always wish for time to move faster, they want to be an adult, have a job. Yet adults are always wishing for the opposite. “Time moves too fast,” they claim, but this is what they wished for as a child. Why do they now take it back? Why do they now say that time moves too fast? Because they got what they wished for…but too late. Kayleigh Van Houten
Time. A countdown till the world ends. Slowly ticking to our deaths. Time. We remember what happened a week or a month ago, but life goes on, and eventually we forget those small times. Time. We take pictures to embed those memories into our brains, wishing they didn’t have to be over. We look at them to take away the pain. Time. With the world addicted to their phones, how will we ever just exist? With tired eyes, we continue to stare at our screens. With tired minds, we continue to feed into the lies that shine through them. Time. A depiction of when the sun comes up and goes down. It’s all a blur. The days are so slow. The weeks are so fast. The months turn into years. Time. The way the world runs. As each second passes, a new story unfolds to be told. Time. Like a flowing river without pause. A dance between the past, the present, and what the future holds. Time. It moves too slowly, yet so fast, until we have our final breath and wish we could go back. Time. Samara Barth Photograph by Timothy Hwang 7
As death’s cold fingertips reached out for me, an icy breeze shook my body. Eternal rest was near…and yet, I felt no fear. A lifetime full of laughter, friends, and fun. I didn’t want it to end…and yet I felt no need to run. Instead, I greeted death as an old friend. Because, in my slow beating heart, I knew this would not be the end. Nina Alise Photograph by Delilah Recio Finale In a split second, a flash of light comes. That’s it. Everything you had ever felt, heard, seen - gone in an instant, as if you were never there. They say in those final moments you see your past loved ones, Who you felt have always been there. Soon enough, your family will come in to say their goodbyes, as you slowly drift away. You prepare for your judgement, to see your fate, as the very last thing in your life. Soon after, you are laid to rest in the real world; You have reached eternal peace, Nothing more to worry about, nothing to fear. You look down on the family you were in not so long ago. As time goes on, you realize it was just a long “see you later,” And not a permanent goodbye. In the coming years, one by one, you are reunited with your family and loved ones: No more fear, Just peace. Charlie Tartaglione
DEATH At some point in our lives, death comes our way. Maybe we lose a loved one, Or maybe it’s our turn, Our turn to die, Car crash or heart complications, Something always goes wrong, Always. You never know what’s going to happen next, It’s just one big mystery, We are all trying to figure it out: At The Same Exact Time. Life is full of curveballs, Challenges, constant challenges, Being thrown our way. It’s all just one big mysterious cycle of life. The struggle is real. Keelin Driscoll Photograph by Sophie Simonyan
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