THOUGHTS FROM CHAOS: Edition I

Table of Contents

Poetry/Prose

​Society, Jake Juliano
everything I imagined, Lauryn Taylor
Screen Time, Aida Guo
The Oak Letter, Abby Lu​
don’t make me choose, Ella Park
Beloved, Avery Dille
the letters, Aida Guo
A New Normal, Nethali Padmaperuma
Mom’s Journey, Roshni Daruvuri
Birds and Bees, Avery Dille
How we feel, Lauryn Taylor
You’re So Pretty I Can’t Help It, Aida Guo
Our Sequoia Adventure, Prisha Shah
Not All Heroes Wear Capes, Lauryn Taylor
Bed Head, Aida Guo
the lead, Aida Guo
Sara Abell
Ailene Tan

Visual Art/Music

​Untitled, Sara Abell
Untitled, Ailene Tan
The Unspoken War, Megan Gungor
Found in Nature, Jaya Nadella
thinking, Aida Guo
Untitled, Esha Macha
Together, Aida Guo
Untitled, Tanvi Sapre,
Spaced Out, Tanvi Sapre
Untitled, Raegan Rudd
Untitled, Esha Macha
Untitled, Shreeya More
Untitled, Ayla Lamb
Roses, Shweta Shah
dreaming, Aida Guo
Blind Trust, Jake Juliano
Untitled, Liane Ma
From Home, Aida Guo
The One Who Loves All, Megan Gungor
Untitled, Anika Dwivedi
Untitled, Isabella Hinz
Untitled, Jaya Nadella
nights, Aida Guo
Run!, Jake Juliano
Untitled, Tanvi Sapre
Untitled, Shreeya More
Blowing Dandelions, Shweta Shah
You Can Only Go Up From Here, Jaya Nadella
Untitled, Tanvi Sapre
Starry Night, Shweta Shah
The Sweetness, Prisha Shah

Society

By Jake Juliano
​Room 3301
The windows face behind us
And the colorful chemistry decor surrounds us.
Looking at the board, I see our new unit has a test on Friday.
Glancing to the right
I see today’s notes
And yet again I’m out baffled;
The logic of science seems to make increasingly more nonsense.

Mondays are never good days
For that’s when we go back to that place called school,
That place where we are told what we need to know
For a test, for a quiz, for a standard, for another chameleon of a test.
It used to come at us from the source:
That all knowing superhero at the front of the room
Making the random jumble of independently sensible words and ideas sensibly connect together,
But as we get older
Take harder classes
Advance in this society,
That direct flow of information seems to become more scarce,
Seems to be more reliable from a video online or from a friend,
From somewhere other than school;
Globalization is a wonderful thing for connecting unrelated worlds,
Evidence that we are advancing,
But how much of what we have comes directly from the resources we are given?
The Unspoken War, Megan Gungor
view additional comments here
​“Hey Tristan, are you ready for the vocab quiz in HuGe today?”
“I think I know most of the words”
As we proceed to spend today’s free work time in chem studying for AP Human Geography.
A 60 something list of words
We have to look up on the internet
And proceed to memorize;
We were lucky they decided to start providing us with their own list,
The one they copy-paste the definitions of onto the quiz.

“Can you quiz me”
“Can you quiz me next”
“Define Transhumance”
“Uhhh, I don’t know”
“Moving flocks into the highlands for summer (cooler) and returning to lowlands for the winter (warmer)”
“Oh..” forgetting the definition as we move onto epidemiologic transition.

The bell rings
We thank our teacher
And proceed to walk to class.

It’s time for that quiz.

I feel ready:
I could recite all the definitions last night,
I feel like I have a good grasp of the unit for the accompanying free response question;
I know my stuff.
Found in Nature,
Jaya Nadella

I breeze through the multiple choice,
Picking out words from my drawers of memory.
But then I falter to remember the word for the last definition.
I sit there,
The clock ticking by,
Watching my classmates struggle to find the handles of the drawers
Just like I am.
I sit there,
Trying so desperately to remember:
“A region that is based quantitative data data (that can be documented or measured) - all government areas are this because they share a government”
Is it a formal or functional region?

​In my struggle to locate the correct drawer, my mind starts drifting:
None of these world maps will help me,
None of these informational posters will help me,
She has nice hair,
The forest outside looks so peaceful,
Is he asleep?

​What time is it?
Oh it’s been five minutes.
I’ll just pick formal region and hope I’m right.
​
Free response question time.

Oh it’s the one about the green revolution.
Thank god it’s not the one about pastoral nomadism;
Then I’d really be making all of this up.
I feel so bad for second period:
We never even talked about pastoral nomadism and that was their whole FRQ.

Anyway, time to write.

The bell rings
School is over
And we all get up to go.

“What did you think of the quiz?”
“It actually wasn’t too bad.”
“Yeah. What about the Spanish test today?”
“I don’t think I did that well, I guessed on like everything.”
“Tristen I’m sure you did fine.”
“Ehhhh so many words on there we’ve never seen before.”
“True, like always, I’m sure you still did fine.”

The bus drops us off and we walk to our respective houses.

“Hey mom, whatchya readin?”
“Just the medical bills for your sister’s medications.”
“What is it now? A thousand? Two? Four?”
“Our insurance stopped covering some of the pills, so now it’s ten.”
“Oh no..” as normalized to large sums of debt to the medical game of monopoly as to racial segregation

“Oh hey Tristan, how was your day at school?”
“It was okay.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
“I had a test and a quiz today.”
“How’d they go?”
“Eh”
“Well I’m sure you did fine. 

Hey come watch this news report with me;
Apparently we should stop eating beef
Because the cows fart out methane that melt the ice and then the polar bears die.
Have you heard about this?”
“Yes Dad, they talked about global warming last week too.”
“Was that the story about how nuclear energy is better than solar energy?”
“Yes Dad, because then the fossil fuel companies will expand operations through the night
When the solar panels don’t produce electricity,
Thus releasing more carbon and doing more harm than the minute nuclear waste
Produced from continually-working nuclear power plants.”
“Wow you remembered all of that from last week?!
You are so bright
You are going to do great things in life.”

“Thanks, but it’s not like that’s just some random fact they looked up on the internet; this stuff is serious, and it’s so frustrating that our government can’t do anything about saving our world because enough people in power, even against the will of the majority of this country, care more about the money they get paid from fossil fuel companies than the people who elected them that they’re supposed to protect, oh but wait, this doesn’t affect them, they’re all going to die soon anyway, so if it doesn’t benefit them then no way could it possibly be something they should spend their time as a congressperson caring about because it will only affect us kids who will have to deal with their heartlessness, but oh wait we can’t even vote for who governs us and apparently we aren’t mature enough to give opinions on important matters because we’re just in high school yet the standard we are held to is that of the workaholic adult because for some reason the tick of the clock from 11:59 to midnight means you can vote you're the age to go to college you can have a full driver’s license but before that I guess we don’t matter since our lives are devoted to going to a good college that cares more about stealing the money that banks entrap us with than doing something as kind as teaching because all that matters are the numbers that they define us with and don’t even get me started on how they calculate-and oh god, I’m ranting again. I’m so sorry that’s so rude of me. You nor anyone wants to hear all this negativity about the world: it doesn’t do anyone any good and my opinions don’t even matter anyway; it’s not like I can actually do anything to fix the world. I’ll shut up now, I’m sorry” feeling guilty about criticizing and insulting the very society that encapsulates me, receding into the comfortable confines of insecurity and self-loathing

“It’s okay Tristan, you aren’t being rude or annoying.
I personally love hearing your opinions.
Nothing will change if no one ever says anything”’
While internally thankful the yelling and anger is over

“Agh I guess you’re right.
I should go do my homework now; we just got a HuGe project due in three days.
Bye, love you” feeling guilty for ever invading his time by stealing it for myself to radiate unproductive negativity
“I love you too, Tristan” proceeding to consume more sensationalism in the form of news headlines.
thinking, Aida Guo

​Walking into my room,
I am surrounded by airplane posters and musical instruments and an overdose of blue.
Opening the window to see the light drizzle with a neighborhood backdrop is so relaxing.
The classical music playing on my speaker,
The elegance of the musical color created by the orchestra,
All the ideas I get to write my own music;
This brings more happiness than I could ever imagine.

But I look at my backpack,
Contemplating if I should even still contemplate music as a career:
I want enough money to be comfortable,
To not hold my kids back,
To live a decent life,
A happy life.

But what does copy pasting a list of seventy definitions
Or google translating my project before having my fluent mom fix the mistakes
Because I’m too scared to have my teacher tell me
I’m wrong
And thus be labeled as worse
Because of a lower number 
Have anything to do with my happiness.
Why can’t I just learn for the sake of learning?
Why can’t you just trust that you’ve taught me the concepts
Rather than penalizing me for my second guessing of my correct knowledge?
I guess I am afraid of more than the dark and my future;
I’m afraid to be wrong.
We all are.
We’re taught to be.
We’re trained to avoid the greatest asset to learning:
Mistakes.
Oh look it’s already 7 pm. I should probably start my homework and stop writing music.

After an hour of searching for the comprehension of today’s lesson,
I can finally move on and define those words,
Then work on my project,
Then study for the quiz on Wednesday.
Then I’ll be done with Chem.

10pm and it's time to start HuGe.
Just thinking about the three projects gives me anxiety.
Where will I find the time to finish those
And study for the three quizzes
And test
In the next two weeks
On top of watching the video notes
Doing the vocabulary definitions
And two seminars to prepare for.
When have I ever.

2am and I can finally start English.
I really hope I don’t fall asleep reading the book like I did last night.
Oh it’s already 3am and I’m only three pages in.
I’ll just finish this chapter and then go to bed.
The essay and text analysis can wait until tomorrow.
Maybe I’ll do them at lunch instead of practicing for Indoor Percussion.
Oh gosh we have rehearsal tomorrow and I still don’t know my music.
I really need to spend more lunches practicing.
Oh and I should probably practice clarinet again
For the first time in a week
Since I have a lesson tomorrow;
Why bring the clarinet home if I know I’m not going to practice.
Oh yeah, holding the clarinet case in my hand throughout the day makes me happy.
Oh right, I also have to study for the Spanish test.
Eh, I’ll do that in chem; she’ll probably give us work time again.
How has it been 20 minutes? Ok, back to reading.

4:03. That’s a solid two hours.
Just three more weeks of this and then I’m free.
Then it’s summer.
Then I can write music all day and be stress free and just be happy.
Thank god the AP tests are over; one less thing to worry about.
It would be nice to know that my prospective college would guarantee me college credit
For getting a 5 on the test,
But I’m going to state school anyway to save money,
So they probably will.
But why can’t they just look at the grade I got in the class?
It’s much more accurate in terms of how well I know the content:
It shows my ability over the course of a whole semester,
And then I wouldn’t have to relearn everything to pass yet another test
Three months later
For the chance at getting college credit for a college level course
In which I got a 99% as my final grade.
Oh well, it’s not like I can do anything about it.
How is it 4:30; why can’t I sleep?
Ok I’ll shut up now so my brain can power down and relieve itself of stress so that I can try to sleep. But wow, 4:30, some people wake up around this time.
Ok shutting up now.
​A note from the author:
Tristan’s story is a reflection of my own thoughts and experiences (with some exceptions such as having a sister or a family who can’t pay for medical bills); the ideas presented in this poem are intended to reveal imperfections in this world that I, the author, see and feel. My life revolves around my schooling, hence the focus on school, but I feel strongly for other issues, especially mental health, something I myself struggle with. Tristan’s conflicting feelings about expressing himself and doing what he wishes to do are reflective of feelings of insecurity, guilt, embarrassment, and unworthiness. No one is immune. The pressures brought about by the intensive demands of the workplace and education system along with a political, social, and economic environment corrupted by greed and self-promotion at the expense of kindness, compassion, and generosity towards other people only intensifies the likelihood and consequences brought about by mental illness. We all want to live a happier life, but not all of us feel safe to advocate for what is right.
Esha Macha
Tristan knows that his society does not support him in finding peace and fulfillment in life;
His world can be helped with loving support from people who care to be helpful,
But his life will stay ruined,
If staying at all,
So long as he is shown and told that he,
Himself,
As the person he is,
Will never be compatible,
Be good enough
Be wanted enough
To survive in the physical world that supports him,
And the human world that neglects him.

everything I imagined

By Lauryn Taylor
I laughed softly. My face was worn with lines indicating years of stress and tension. My smile indicated that it had all been worth it. I watched my daughter twirl around our small living room. Her brown eyes framed with long lashes and thick eyebrows shined as she spoke. “And look Mommy, there she is now.” She leaned in, pressing her soft features onto the cold glass window. Her small fingers pointed towards a fluffy cloud in the distance. I smiled, “ Yes honey, I see it too.” 

Of course I knew nothing of the stories my young daughter told. I never quite saw the figures in the clouds or the sparkle showers from the sun that shone through the window. I didn't understand the detailed descriptions my daughter produced from short glimpses of strangers. To me, everything was the same. Clouds were clouds, sunlight was sunlight, and strangers were strangers. I loved her stories regardless. It reminded me of my once vivid but childlike imagination. Her mind was flexible and new. To her, the clouds were her friends and our living room was her stage. My daughter grew and with it her imagination. The stories created in her youth turned into beautiful paintings that scattered across the walls of the house. Her gentle paint strokes could be found on every available wall space. Light blue stripes in the living room, lively yellow dots in the bedroom, and green floral designs etched onto kitchen walls. I was always driving her to a new museum or taking her to drop off a painting at a local contest. 

One afternoon, I found my daughter painting on a fresh canvas. Two shapes with matching chocolate tones appeared. “Who are they?” I asked. “It’s us Mom,” she replied. The painting showed two strikingly similar women standing in front of a mural on a beautiful building. The white columns framing the creation were chiseled and carefully detailed. The oldest woman beamed brightly at the younger woman. “This will be us Mom,” my daughter softly spoke. 
​
And in that instant, I woke up. I felt a bit dazed but an overwhelming feeling of joy erased all feelings of dizziness and doubt. The plain hospital room featured a painting mixed with blue lines, yellow dots and a green flower. I smiled. There was a gentle knock at the door. The nurse handed me a tiny face wrapped tightly in a hospital issued blanket. The chocolate skin paired well with my daughter’s brown eyes. Our resemblance was undeniable. After all the struggle, I finally had my dream. “Congratulations Ms. Ray,” the nurse smiled brightly. I imagined how much my life had changed and how much it would change. All this had started with me. I hoped my daughter would have everything I imagined.
Together, Aida Guo
Tanvi Sapre

​Screen Time
By Aida Guo
​You stare on your screen-cracked phone for 10 hours today,
You won’t do it again tomorrow, you forbid yourself in your head,
But how could you do without scrolling,
How else will you distract yourself from thinking?
How else will you sleep without knowing?
Spaced Out, Tanvi Sapre

The Oak Letter

By Abby Lu
He had stared, unseeingly, unblinkingly, unflinchingly as the casket was lowered into the ground.
​
It wasn’t what she would have wanted. As they sat in their favorite clearing in the woods a year prior, she’d told him about how cremation was bad for the environment, and she had never wanted to be buried in a box in the ground, alone, cold, rotting.

You’ve put a lot of thought into this, he’d said. He’d smiled at her, thinking that death was far, far away - a speck, drifting across the horizon, slipping out of sight, too far away to be worried about.

Of course I have, she’d replied. Death is inevitable. If I can help the world even when I’m gone, that would be one of my proudest moments. She went on to tell him that she wanted to be recomposed, buried in the ground with decomposing nutrients and - of all things - an oak tree seed.

It’ll be like my body is fertilizer for the tree, she’d told him. Oak trees are so strong, so large, so full of potential. They support so much life. How amazing would that be? It’s like reincarnation, almost, into a tree.

If you say so, he’d answered, soaking in the sun and the wind and her presence.

It was only a few weeks after this conversation when she was diagnosed with brain cancer.

He was by her side through almost every moment of it all. The migraines, the seizures, the heart wrenching painfulness of watching her lose her bits of memory and herself.

She had always been a good writer. Her outlet was the words she poured from her heart onto paper. The pen was the tool she used to express her thoughts, her ideas, her perspectives. She wrote constantly, even as her health deteriorated. The pen had been always moving, always twirling, always scratching away.

​She was bedridden within six months, and he’d read to her every day, not quite sure if she could hear him, but wanting her to go peacefully, listening to her favorite stories, her dearest inspirations, her best
memories.

He had held the letter she had written him tightly in his hands, as he stood heavily at her funeral. It was the letter that kept him so stoic, so still, no broken pieces in sight. He had never been able to figure out why he loved her quite so much. It was both a curse and a blessing. He’d grown up knowing that everyone would leave eventually, but he didn’t know why it had to be so soon for her, his selfless angel.
Raegan Rudd

​Throughout the funeral, he’d glanced down at the sloping letters of her disheveled handwriting multiple times to compose himself, to remind himself what he was here for.​

to my person -
complete before we even met,
we complemented each other instead
leaving a blazing trail in our footsteps
as we danced, ran, chased after our dreams
while love is terrifying, grief is even more
you were a spark of brightness on my dark horizon
an inspiration to continue on, to never go out without a bit of fire
so please go on for me -
discover, explore, learn, persevere, laugh, love,
live your life to its fullest capacity,
brimming with happiness and memories
complete yourself once more, as you have always been -
i will never regret knowing you, loving you.

Now, as he stood in the clearing where they had had that fateful conversation about death, he had a feeling of complete tranquility. He looked at the letter in his hands one last time. It had been shredded
to tiny pieces and soaked lightly in water. When they finally fell from his hands, each piece seemed to float, to drift upon the air, before it landed lightly at the bottom of the small hole he had dug. Next to go in was the fertilizer that he had handpicked - all natural. Last was the seed from an oak tree, collected from the very one in his backyard that she had loved. Soon, the hole in his heart was refilled and water sprinkled like his silent tears across the land, and all was at peace again.

don't make me choose

By Ella Park
don't make me choose
words penetrate like a knife in the night
laughs ring out as if it was all a joke
but deep down something hurts
like i'm not enough for you to see me as an equal

don't make me choose
words steal my sunshine like a shadow in the morning
am i a friend or an answer key
i am more than what you see

don't make me choose 
just brush it off and walk away
resilient like teflon, but delicate like a rose
words hurt but do not scar me
Esha Macha

Beloved

By Avery Dille
​1997 was the year the monumental political era, the one-child policy came to life. The grand Republic of China shot the new “improved” policy in the swollen guts and horny attitudes of the Chinese population. “You can only have one child,” and “Fewer and better births, good for the nation and people,” just hearing it shakes the frogs and butterflies living in me, causing my goose skin to rub against my innards making a blanket of feathers fall. It stripped and rubbed her out of reality. Just a smudge on a school paper. A speck of dust on a glass. Regretful of the meaningless existence she had. 
It was a melancholic Monday for Feng-Huang (风-黄), the girl without a last name. She found out she was finally getting a family. Ironically, Feng wanted to stay. The Jianguomen Residential District was a place she cherished and found familiar, and to leave felt like a divine intervention slapped her across the face.  She had to fly to Ohio and start her life all over again. When she grew up, she aspired to be the world’s most exceptional chef, and how could she achieve any of those dreams without Wang Jing, also known as Baba in her eyes?  The stand-in, the substitute to all bitter moments she had to endure was her Baba. He taught her to dance like nobody was watching, cook for herself, and to be her own muse. Even though they weren’t biologically related, their father-daughter chemistry was undeniable. How could she leave Baba?
Shreeya More
However, freedom from the orphanage rang true. She could go anywhere she wanted. She could practically touch the stars, but something was still missing. Baba was still absent from her life, so despite being part of a family now, she felt like a lost kid looking for her parents. So she ran away. Feng renamed Lucy, ran in any direction that felt like home. But, her parents always found her. There was nowhere to hide in the tight neighborhoods of Maple Heights. After she ran away several times, her parents struck a deal with her. Baba could be her pen pal, to prevent more running away incidents. Lucy agreed and would accept punishment knowing the letters will keep the memories and recollections of Baba alive. So, then she made as many chicken scratches as she could explaining her new American lifestyle. By the time July 1998 and her birthday passed, she had survived a year. A whole year without the familiar streets of the First Alley. Without Baba’s cooking tips. Without her friends in the orphanage. It was a delicate occasion to celebrate. Though as life went on, these memories slowly faded into her background intertwining with her new family and friends, that was until she met Jean.

______________________________________________________________________________

July 24, 2011
Dear beloved,

My, hot pink, musty, gel pen and Barbie-themed diary were everything. You would think every seven-year-old girl is obsessed with their dolls and knick-knacks, but I never was because I knew life was bigger and better than those dolls. I had dreams and hopes, which is why you and I are together in the long run. We know what it’s like to bend over backward only to break your back and keep trucking along. I existed in the local orphanage called China Children and Teenagers Fund in the residential district, Jianguomen. It was in the palm of the government, as far as anyone knew, we were just like the museums and tourist sites, government-owned and controlled. Looking back on it, I was like a pig in the woods because I was captivated by food.  There was a roast duck shop across First Alley, clusters of restaurants, and food shops lined down First Alley. 
My fascination with food began with my obsessions of food. The glazes...sauces...batters...and, most importantly, the weird combinations that enamored me. You know by now to never judge my dishes by my ingredients. The first time I saw sugar and meat mixed together when I was six, I became intrigued. I scoffed at the roast duck shop owner, Wang Jing, or as I called him, Baba. He somehow just knew the sugar brought out the most delicious flavors. It felt like I had never had duck before. Baba was the only generous soul I had met. When I was starving, he was charitable. When my lust for food sparked, he taught me how to cook and bake. He was my only sense of family. My anything and everything. Until we separated into different lives. Cities. Countries.
In reality, right now, I’m no longer Feng with no last name or honor, but Lucy Miller. Lucy Miller is an average Chinese American girl just confused in the famed cheese state, Ohio. I live with my white family, a sweet, simplistic stay at home mother, Kate Miller, determined opinionated father, Peter Miller, and an absurd, younger brother, Ben Miller. 
In school, I do, admittedly, get picked on for my differences, but I have my own group of friends, Brooke, Tiffany, and Diane. They’re all these beautifully thin, well-known girls in our party of peacocks. They love me deep down, they really do, but the pool party was not the best idea, not truly my style. My birthday was July 22nd and it felt like a catastrophe. You already know cooking food with them would’ve been more than perfect because next year scares me more than anything. 
Since my birthday bash surprise, that they threw for their Instagram followers and stalkers, I’ve been thinking about how this is the year I would’ve had to leave the orphanage.  The year I would’ve been kicked out if I wasn’t adopted. I turned 14 this year. It’s hard to believe I’ve lived in America the same amount of time as I did in China. I almost nearly forgot all my Chinese except for 新月舞动瑜伽 (Dongfang Roast Duck Shop). I think I can still remember it and all the recipes, the notes, tones, and tastes of duck. The flavors and moments, not the food. 

Hugs and kisses,
Lucy

______________________________________________________________________________

July 29, 2011
Dear Lucy,
 
I know you won’t be reading these, but a friend told me it would help me. I love you, and watching you grow up starting from seven-years-old has been the hardest thing for me as a parent. It makes me become one of those crazed helicopter mothers because I wish I was there since day one. 
It’s pretty clear at this point that Diane, Brooke, and Tiffany aren’t your favorite people in the world, but give them a chance. Remember to give this American life a chance. We didn’t just adopt you to be the neighborhood heroes. We adopted you because we knew you were our missing child, as the lost flower bud to our family tree. I have faith you’re going to fit in our odd little Ohio home and Maple Heights. You already know everything you could ever love and care about is within reach. Schools, stores, and knick-knacks in between are here. 
I know you don’t like sappy writing, so I’ll say it one last time. You get your own life, old or new ever since we adopted you, but we also need to be a part of it. We love you, even stinky little Ben. So, don’t give up on the chance to foster your new life. It can seem like regret for leaving your old life behind, but you will have your own fairytale ending. 

Love,
Mom

______________________________________________________________________________

HIGH SCHOOL - Freshman year


September 19, 2012
Dear beloved,

It was the first day, and all I knew was that I had to whip out the newest hottest summer outfit I had. I had to make my entrance BIG. Bold. And dramatic. I was, after all, the third most popular in my middle school. Brooke and Tiffany were always the top two dogs, but Diane, my proclaimed bestie, said 3rd place was mine to keep. I know my last few letters about middle school were dramatic, but since then everything has been turtles all the way down, the infinite regress of bliss. You know the feeling you get deep down when something is going to go wrong, but everything in you rejects that idea? That was what the first day of school actually turned out to be for me. I was lost, late, and so confused until I met her. Jean Lee. A magnetizing purple stripe, covered head to toe in confidence and purple highlights. She had a bookish look to her with her glasses and stack of magazines, but she had the kind of attitude that only her sneakers and lopsided smile could convey. That was how I met my real best friend.
She was like no one I had ever met. We had an instantaneous connection, and she brought me to the Asian American club at lunch on the first day. I became the secretary of the Asian American club. My mom, Kate, harbors the idea that I’m still adjusting, but it’s been seven years as of today. I have acclimated to the money and food, but socially I know the truth. People in our small neighborhoods have whispered, and it always came back around to me, jabbing and cutting me. Ever since I met Jean Lee, the black and white of my life have molded into gray. You know, when you’re supposed to be doing something, but then you get sidetracked with another task. That’s what it felt like. Like I finally ran off the path set for me, but I started to wake up to who I am and my community. 
So I prayed and consulted about the ramifications of freedom. The pastor, my teachers, and new friends agree that my full acceptance is refreshing for someone with a complex background like me. Everyone’s opinion that I care about has accepted. However, I’m pretty sure several kids think I’m insane and something called a koreaboo, which is a nutty thing to say. It started my whole journey of why I’m writing these letters. Boy, if it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if I would even be sending this letter. I understand you have little expenses for pen and paper, but, when you do, please write me back as soon as possible. I miss you. A lot.

Hugs and kisses,
Lucy
Ayla Lamb



​​__________________________________________________________

Lucy’s start towards the path of adulthood had her examining how much of her original culture was surging in her veins. She wanders in her Forbidden City. You see, from the first day of school, she was freshly painted with red and yellow with stars in her eyes. All because of Jean Lee. 

__________________________________________________________
​October 27, 2012
Honey,
 
I don’t understand. Your mother suggested doing this because it’s helped with her anger towards your changes. I’m not sure you understand the repercussions of your...conversion. Your mother is seeing a therapist, and Ben thinks he’s Chinese now. We adopted you because we knew you were going to be the pride and joy of our family by bringing joy to the family we have created now. We know that doesn’t come without some self-discovery, so we are in full support for you to start your journey of self-discovery, but please do so in a caring and respectful manner. Explain to Ben and your mother your plans and what’s going to happen. Achieve your dreams. I’m encouraging you more than anyone else, but you don’t have to do it without help or family. Don’t justify why or the means you’ll be using to rediscover yourself, but help to make your older relationships right by explaining your new changes. 

Love,
Dad

______________________________________________________________________________

Feng’s acquaintance with her new lifestyle brought her a new social life and helped her to be comfortable in making a change in the community. Her transformation became a whirlwind of expenses and a detour into another dimension. Until she met the Lees. They were going to be saving grace, at least in the eyes of Kate and Peter Miller. Since Lucy’s 15th birthday was coming up in July 2013, the Millers decided the Lees were the remedy for their culturally changed daughter. So, as their gift to her, Kate and Peter were planning a grand gesture for Feng with Jean.

______________________________________________________________________________

March 11, 2013
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lee,

Good afternoon. How have you been? We were wondering if we could talk about the girls’ summer plans. We know, nothing has been planned except for your trip to China. For Lucy’s birthday, we were hoping you could bring her to China. We have already bought her ticket and set aside some money for you to use feeding, transporting, and housing her. She has been showing us brochures of Chinese historical sites and so forth, but we just don’t have the expenses for our whole family to go and feel that she’d be more comfortable in your care in China. Sadly, she has been distant to us, and it seems like the only impressive things in her life have to do with China. We just want to make her happy and get her through her phase of obsession. It’s a lot to handle, so if you can’t and won’t, we understand. Please ask if you have any questions because we’d be happy to answer. 

Kindest regards,
The Millers

______________________________________________________________________________

March 12, 2013
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Miller,

We’d love to have her over for the summer. After discussing the financial situation, we’d be happy to take some of the cost off your hands as a gift to her and you. So, we decided we’ll be paying for all of the hotels for her, so that you only have to cover the cost of her transport and food. Feng has been a delight to have in our house in the past. Our only concern is the length of her stay because our family would also like to have our own separate vacation. We were thinking of having her over only during July so that she can spend her birthday somewhere she enjoys as you specified. We can discuss the rest of the details over a big Sunday family breakfast. Is the 17th okay with your schedule?

Sincerely,
The Lees

______________________________________________________________________________

March 19, 2013
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Miller,

My parents updated me about the big birthday surprise for Feng. I can’t wait to have her over for the summer. As an only child, I get bored often, and my parents and I agree that it would be good for me to have her company. Thank you so much. Your gift to her feels like a gift for me too, and I can’t thank you enough.

Respectfully,
Jean Lee
Roses, Shweta Shah
​__________________________________________________________

“March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers”
Charles Welsh

__________________________________________________________
​May 14, 2013
Dear beloved,

I’m ecstatic. My parents and Jean invited these people to come out and help me find my parents. Then, for the summer, I get to travel with Jean Lee to China. We are going to travel around China. It’s a complicated but perfect plan. If you send me your address, I can eat at your shop and relive some good old memories. Please write as soon as possible. If you have a telephone, my number is +1 (555) - 556 - 9036. You have to meet Jean, and we should all roast a duck together for her parents.

Hugs and kisses,
Feng Miller

______________________________________________________________________________

Leaves growing full like heads of bok choy and flowers as open as a book, Feng Miller and Jean Lee packed together for China planning everything down to the food they were going to eat in Beijing to Hong Kong. This trip was what people considered Feng’s Sweet Sixteen, but she didn’t want to consider it like a big, generic Sweet Sixteen summer blowout. She embarked on her four-day journey eating the cheap, crappy airplane food and breathing the recirculated air, but it was all worth the wait. Feng and Jean toured throughout all of China, and choose their last meal in China to be at the 新月舞动瑜伽 (Dongfang Roast Duck Shop). Feng, sadly, hadn’t gotten word from Baba ever since she sent her last letter. 

______________________________________________________________________________

July 30, 2013
Dear beloved,

I now know you haven’t gotten any of these letters. I’m not sure what to say or how to feel, but the betrayal of never hearing back from you has dissipated and pushed my boundary of thought. When we visited the shop on my birthday, Niáng, Baba’s quiet wife, was the only person to be found. She always stayed in the background of my life, like the white noise in the background. She always seemed like a sly fox of sorts, elusive and always up to something, but once Baba’s talents became completely silenced, so did she.
Baba has had Alzheimer's since 2006 just two short years after my absence, except the local herbalist directly translates it as the catatonic. The herbalist deemed Ginkgo biloba fit for Baba’s treatment plan, but it wasn’t enough to save him. According to Niáng, his smell went haywire first, and she had to learn the ins and outs of the shop. Then, he slowly started forgetting everything. Niáng was very delicate but was having trouble with describing all the events. Slowly, but surely we got through the whole story. She recalled after you started forgetting your routine like how to get dressed and cook, she grew worried and brought you to a real doctor, not the local herbalist.
After getting the consult from a real doctor, complications arose. They had waited too long to treat the advanced late stages of Alzheimer’s. Niáng grave whispered while kissing my forehead, “然后爸爸去世了 (and then Baba passed).” In private, out of respect, she showed me the medical bills of your euthanization. I screamed. I screamed bloody murder only because I knew you were murdered. I clawed at Niáng because I couldn't hear her voice. It just echoed into my head and ran circles around me. You had Alzheimer’s. You were murdered.
Last year, October 21st, 2008, you were euthanized at 17:00. You self-inflicted harm cooperating against the hospital, so that you could end your battle against Alzheimer’s. So, that you could relieve Niáng so that she could provide for herself and live a full life. I couldn’t admit you were gone after Niáng showed me the bill. Jean had to drag me out of the shop as I fought tooth and nail. I demanded answers. I want to know why.

Sincerely,
Feng Miller

______________________________________________________________________________

August 8, 2013

亲爱的凤凰,

我很抱歉发生了什么事，并理解为什么你是在理性的损失。 巴巴几乎无法正常工作，过着他喜欢的正常生活。 即使我们从来没有亲近，我想让你知道，爸爸爱你。 他从来没有回信给你，因为他担心你会像我们一样糟糕的生活。 他保留了你所有的信，他们成了他的圣经。巴巴关心你，从来不想让你知道痛苦和痛苦的艰辛。 你是我们自己人爱你 我希望你能理解他为什么要死

真诚的，娘


Dear Feng-Huang,

I'm very sorry for what happened and understand why you are at a loss of rationality. Baba could barely function and live the regular life that he enjoyed. Even though we were never close, I want you to know that Baba loved you. He never wrote back to you because he feared you'd end up in a crappy life like us. He kept all your letters, and they became his bible. Baba cared for you, never wanted you to know the hardships of suffering and pain. You were our own and loved you. I hope you understand why he had to die. 

Sincerely, Mother

______________________________________________________________________________

As they flew home, Feng was in shock, she couldn’t do anything and was left with a zoned out mind. It was numbing like when the snow blasted into Ohio like no one else’s business. It rustled pins and needles in her chest sometimes making her gasp for air. All she could think about was Baba lying limp with the hue death flooding his body. It was as if she was left at the altar, a body without a soul. After she received Niáng’s letter, she sent one last letter.

______________________________________________________________________________

August 20, 2013

Dear beloved,

This will be my last letter. I’m still in shock of the news, but I understand. The expenses of the medical bills would’ve killed both of you before Alzheimer’s would’ve debilitated Baba completely. This is why I have enclosed details of a bank account I opened for Niáng because I will be paying for Baba’s medical bills and want to be able to care for Niáng. By 2015, I will have transferred 10,400 ¥ in increments of 100 ¥ weekly. I know we aren’t related but I want you to accept this money. You can let it sit and collect interest, use, retire, or buy anything you want with the money. 
In the past, I know Niáng and I were never really close, but the commotion I caused her in the shop has most likely brought her enough shame and humiliation that I want to fix my mistakes. The bank is very reliable and cost-effective and near the apartment.
I want you to know I love you with every bone and blood cell in me. Niáng’s letter coerced me to reach some closure, but I’m lost. What am I going to do? I don’t want to ever find my biological family. You are my beloved family. My father. My Baba.

Hugs and kisses,
Lucy Miller
dreaming, Aida Guo

the letters

By Aida Guo
​I've reread the letters you sent to me
Over a dozen times,
I've loved you every time,

They’re still kept with my memories,
They’re still kept with my dreams,

Because I still have the dreams,
Dreams when you used to love me 

Blind Trust

audio, Jake Juliano
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​Liane Ma
From Home,
Aida Guo

A New Normal

By Nethali Padmaperuma
I want to help but how can I? All I can do is sit in my house to prevent more deaths. I want to fight for the lives lost in all of America’s years. Kids are having to grow up faster with all the hatred in the world and confusion. 

 Times have gotten uncertain. What used to be me waking up at 5:45 a.m. before a long two hours before school started has turned into me waking up thirty minutes to see my teacher’s faces through a blank screen. Everything has changed. I used to come home waiting to relax after a long day to watch Netflix. Now all I want to do is go outside and be with my friends. Everything that was once normal isn’t normal. 

Days have become a blur. Summer is just an extension of quarantine. Socializing with my friends only through Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat is the new normal. Wearing a mask to cover my face in what used to be a fun errand is the new normal. Only having two-hour classes on my laptop is the new normal. 

As the days progress I only hope we all have become appreciative of what truly matters in life. Being together, not behind a screen. I hope that we grow and come out with new skills we never knew we had. I hope we find a new normal that benefits us all. Change has always become the new normal. 
The One Who Loves All - A Space Where Everyone Feels At Home, 
​Megan Gungor

Artist's Additional Comments:

​I created this sculpture to show that I support the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer community. I think the freedom to express your own sexual orientation is becoming more and more understood. Although, I still think there are parts of society, particularly in some religious groups, that continue to have a negative outlook toward the LGBTQ community. To show my support, I created a church accompanied with a sign stating, “Everyone is Welcome.” I think that everyone should be able to go to a place where they don’t have to worry about being excluded from everyone else or feel judged. We should be trying to make everyone feel accepted, cared for, and as safe as possible. No one should treat members of the LGBTQ community as if they were any different from anyone else. I am hoping that this sculpture will help bring awareness to this subject. 

Mom's Journey

By Roshni Daruvuri
Life has two choices,
Practical or brave.
I chose the one usually taken, 
I chose practical.

I chose to fold my hands like so,
To be quiet and listen to others;
Like a parrot, I chose to repeat the words of everyone else,
Telling myself I did the right thing.
I chose to end my education,
And to get an arranged marriage.
I was a cheetah, stripped away from my pride lands, 
From the only place, I can be myself.

I chose to have a child at 20,
To be dependent on a man.
I chose to stay far from the outside world,
To stay safe in a village and keep my emotions a secret.
I chose to be a genie in a bottle, 
A bottle of my own creation.
I chose to end my life before it even started.

I regretted my decision,
But I chose to not accept it.

One day, I chose a chance, 
A possibility to change, 
To relive,
An opportunity to be the person I wanted to be.
This time, I chose the one less taken,
I chose brave.
 Anika Dwivedi
​I chose to work hard,
To get an education and a full-time job.
I chose to move to a city.
A city where dreams come true,
And everyone is treated equally.
I chose to be independent,
And to be able to support my two kids,
Like a lone leopard,
And a mother of two.

I chose to be free,
And experience the world.
Like a falcon soaring high above the dark-green forest.
I chose to not be a tiger locked up in a cage anymore,
I chose to express my emotions,
And listen to my heart.
​I chose to be who I am.
                           Isabella Hinz

Birds and Bees

By Avery Dille
Bees are inside her
They dance and sing having a jolly good time while
She slowly feels stung inside out
Swoll inside and she becomes a goose
Losing her feathers
Losing her shield
​But she waddles on
Jaya Nadella

How we feel

By Lauryn Taylor
​Too often we try to pick how we feel
To mask the sadness and learn to appeal
To the world around us
We give it our trust
To shield and protect
And love us it must
Just as we pick and chose in life
We make decisions that just feel right
We ignore the pain and refuse to stop
A selfish need to stay on top
In an effort to remain flawless and pristine
To hold everything inside
To never let ourselves bleed
We come to point
Where we can hide no more
What can we do when we yearn for more.
nights, Aida Guo

Run!

audio, Jake Juliano
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Tanvi Sapre

You're So Pretty I Can't Help It

By Aida Guo
​You’re so pretty i can’t help it
to look through the same pictures online again and again
Obsess over the gorgeous girl you’re holding
Stare at the comments that radiate your popularity

You’re so pretty i can’t help it
You have the prettiest eyes
And they make obvious impressions on your perfect feed
I can’t help but notice all your friends are gorgeous too

You’re so pretty i can’t help it
The pictures of your academic trophies 
They shine in your eyes
Your success is casually, permanently printed on my screen

You’re so pretty 
I’m so helpless
Shreeya More

​Our Sequoia Adventure

By Prisha Shah
​It was a long weekend trip and we had come out to Sequoia National Forest with our family friends to look at views and have picnics together. All of us were at least four hours from home, and we were sightseeing and spending time with each other in our hotels. It was a huge group of friends, around five families, so everyone was very excited about this trip. It was around four o'clock. As we were driving to our next viewing point to meet everyone there, the roads got worse, and it became a bumpier car ride, twists and turns, the higher we got. Cars passed by and the roads seemed to get narrower and narrower, given the fact that we were at least six thousand feet above sea level. In the car, my dad was driving, my mom was in the shotgun seat, my sister, my best friend, from one of the families and me, were in the back. To kill time we listened to music, watched TV and played games like “20 questions”. As we drove down the road, suddenly we heard a noise, like a deflating ball, somewhere near the front of the car.
Blowing Dandelions, Shweta Shah
​Because the roads were very narrow, there was no space to park the car, fortunately, just after the noise was heard, we found one car parking at a viewing point. My dad pulled over onto the side of the road and we all got out to see what had suddenly happened. All five of us circled the car, and my mom quickly found out what had happened. The right front tire of the car was punctured and losing air. All of us just processed what happened, and we were like “Oh great!”
 My dad, mom, my friend, and I took out our phones to call Geico Towing Service, but of course, we had forgotten the fact that since we were six thousand feet above sea level, none of us would receive any cellular connection. We all stopped and thought about what we should do because this was the last thing that anyone would have wanted because we felt like we were stranded. After all, there was no one around us and it was getting dark. Having no spare tire, my dad pulled out the tire emergency kit and tried to patch the wheel. We were pretty confident it would work so we tried again when the first time failed. After the third time, we gave up and started thinking of other ways to get ourselves out of this mess.

We knew there was a visitor center close by, so we tried stopping cars passing by us, but no one did, assuming that they didn’t know what a hello and waving meant. A few people stopped by, but they said that there was no other way they could help us, except to go to the visitor center and tell someone to call the towing service. Finally, we came across an old man, about fifty years of age in a blue Subaru SUV who stopped his car right behind ours. 
My dad walked up to his window and told him the same thing he told everyone else, “Hey there, we have a flat tire, and we would appreciate it if you could call some help from the visitor center, just the towing service.”

The man responded, “I sure will. But if you want, I can drop you off at the center and you can do whatever you need to do there. The only problem is that I have four seats left in my car and there are more than four of you. If you can somehow manage to fit everyone in and get the necessary items out of your car, it would work out. ”

 My dad turned to my mom, and they discussed what they should do. Finally, my dad said,” Yes thank you, we would appreciate that."

With relief over our faces, we gathered our necessary belongings, left a note with my dad’s phone number in the Prius for contact. We got into the car and drove off in the man’s blue Subaru with my dad in the front, me and my friend with each one seat and my younger sister in my mom’s lap.

To avoid the awkward silence, we talked to the man, John, about our trip and everywhere we were going to go sightseeing. John talked about his experience of camping and told us about how he had encountered a bear. After talking to John for only ten minutes, we knew that he was a very adventurous, willing, and friendly man. 

It was about five-thirty, and we were so relieved to reach the visitor center. We got out of the car and climbed up the wooden steps and pulled the door. It didn’t open. We tried pulling and pushing harder and nothing. Then, we looked for the center’s schedule, and we found out that the visitor center had closed just ten minutes ago. All of us were just desperate for rest and things just got worse and worse. We went back to the car, sat in, and John said, “Well, this is unfortunate. But I know of a lodge that’s probably a few miles away, maybe I could take you there.”

 Without hesitation, my dad replied, “Yes, we have no other choice left to do but that.”

At about six o’clock, we reached the lodge. We got out of the car and thanked John for his time and willingness to help and hustled into the warm lodge. We walked over to the front desk and the receptionist saw us and said, “Welcome to the John Muir Lodge. How may I help you?”

  My dad said, explaining the situation, “Hi, we just came across a flat tire and we need to make some phone calls.”
 “Sure. The phone is over there, feel free to make as many calls as you like.”

  When my dad was done making the phone calls, he asked the lady, “Hi, do you have any more rooms available for us that we can use just for tonight? Our hotel is a few hours away and it would be a hassle to return.” 
“One second, let me check.” She went on her computer and did what was requested. A few minutes later she said,” I’m sorry sir, but unfortunately we’re fully booked and we don’t have any rooms available.”

  My dad thought for a moment and finally, he said, “Okay. Can we at least stay in the lobby while we arrange for a pickup back to our hotel?”
 “Yes, yes of course!”

Because Uber or any other ridesharing apps did not have access to enter the national park, my dad called one of our family friends from the phone in the lobby and told him what had happened. Because the park closed at five, we knew that our friends were heading back to their hotel, which was three hours away from the park. One of them had a van that could carry all of us including the driver. The problem was that there was not enough space to fit everyone in the van if they turned around to pick us up. Because of this, we knew that we had to wait for at least four to five hours to get picked up.

  After we all had settled down in the comfy lobby, all five of us headed out to a nearby store to buy some food for us to eat. When we returned to the lodge, we ate and found ways to keep ourselves occupied. Hours and hours passed by as we watched tv, played games and slept a little.

At around twelve-thirty in the night, my dad was called by the woman on the front desk who told us that there was a towing truck waiting outside. My dad headed out and we all followed. We quickly hurried out, and thankfully, saw our car just how we had left it. We took out the rest of our belongings, said thanks to the truck driver, and headed inside, relieved, as he drove away with our car on top.

 At around one or one-thirty, our family friend came to pick us up and we headed off to our hotel we were staying at. When we reached the hotel, the rest of our friends came to greet us and asked us what had happened. We were all too exhausted to say anything anymore so we told them…
“Well, we had a crazy adventure and a lot happened, but right now we all need some sleep. We will tell you everything tomorrow morning at breakfast.”

And with that, everyone said their goodnights and headed back to their rooms.
You Can Only Go Up From Here, Jaya Nadella
​The next morning, everyone gathered for breakfast and we told them what had happened. Everyone was surprised and some people were laughing at the fact that they had just found out about this whole thing now. After meeting with everyone, we were supposed to go sightseeing again, but of course, we didn't have our car. So, my dad and I went to the towing service center to check on our car. The clerk at the front desk said that it would at least take three to four days for the tire to get repaired because of the number of customers they had. My dad pleaded and told them that we did not live close by and we needed this tire fixed as soon as possible, but they did not listen and said that they would try their best. Luckily, there was a rental car service just a walking block away from the towing service center, so we decided to rent a car for the next two days before we headed home, hoping that our tire would be fixed by then.

For the next two days, we did a lot more sightseeing and visited places like Yosemite National Park and Sierra National Forest. After our trip ended, we said bye to all of our friends and we headed back to the towing service center to pick up our car. My dad asked the clerk about the car and she said, “I'm sorry sir, but we have too many customers in need of service for the past few days and we couldn’t fix your tire in time.”

With that, my dad was frustrated and couldn’t say anything but, “Okay”.

My mom and dad talked about how we would get home, but we had no option so we headed home with the rental car that we had.  After around 5 hours we reached home and planned out how we would get our car back. 
​
​The next weekend my dad and I set out at five a.m. to go back to Rivers, the city we were in, to get our car back. Luckily, we had no problems going and coming back, and finally, we were all relieved that the worst of the whole trip was over, even though it was over after the whole trip. 
Even though we had a crazy and unusual trip, it was one of the most exciting and unexpected one that we had come across because there were so many ups and downs that made it very fun and interesting to look back to. This sure was one of our most memorable trips, but hopefully the last one with this type of situation or worse.

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

By Lauryn Taylor
​Real heroes don’t need capes or powers
Don’t need to be showered in limelight or medals of honor
Real heroes don’t pick and choose battles
Picking those that give fame and glory
Choosing to ignore those tiny battles
In the least cared about places
They don’t take selfies with fans
Or blow kisses in an audience’s direction
Don’t bless us “normal folk” with an Instagram post
Real heroes aren’t motivated by money or greed
They do it for us
They don’t act in Godly ways
In fact, they may still come to church every month
Real heroes don’t silence problems with violence
Don’t use self defense as an excuse to kill
Don’t just save lives
Heroes change lives
We are in a time where things on screens have become real
Perfect smiles on photoshopped faces are admired by most
Compared to the man who saved the lives of those drowning off a boat
So why do we dedicate our screens, lives and time
To people who distract us from truth
Real heroes don’t do things in vain
No ulterior motives
They don’t do things for their own personal gain
After all, not all heroes wear capes
Tanvi Sapre

Bed Head

By Aida Guo
​Time flies,
While i lie,
Sleeping in bed,
Draining my head
Starry Night, Shweta Shah
The Sweetness, Prisha Shah

the lead

By Aida Guo
​You told me you wouldn’t lie to me,
You told me you wouldn’t lie.
Yet here I stand among the cry,
Here we are covered in your lie.
I drown in your mistake.
You’ve put our lives at stake.
The children have risen along with the sea.
But it’s up to you,
So please,
Take the lead.

Thoughts From Chaos

Green Level Literary Magazine
Summer 2020