Volume 6 Issue 3

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Volum nt expression e 6, Iss ue 3

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Renton High School 400 South 2nd Street Renton, WA 98057 12.17.13

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Who are th ese people? Find ou t on th e b ack page.

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Looking for al l the answers?

Graphic by Alicia Quarles

We don’t have the s ’ e r e h t u b , s r e w s n a what we do have.

we asked. you ANSWERED. Do you believe in a supreme being?

83% said Yes

17% said No

Do you believe in the concept of Heaven/Hell?

16% said No

84% said Yes

How often do you attend religious ceremonies/functions?

As often as possible: 23%

Once or twice per month: 11%

Once or twice per week: 23%

Never: 17%

Once or twice per year: 26%

What do you believe happens in the afterlife?

Heaven/Hell/ Purgatory: 63%

Rebirth: 9%

Other: 9%

Nothing: 11%

Are your religious beliefs the same as your family’s?

No: 14%

Yes: 76%

A little the same, a little different: 10%

What is the best way to describe your religious beliefs?

Catholic: 11.9%

Islam: 7.8%

Christianity: 50.5%

Buddhism: 10.5%

Other: 19.3%

What Gods are teenagers interested in today?

Sharkeisha

The percentages you see are based off of surverys distributed to over 200 students during the week of Dec. 2-6 and have been mathematically calculated. Our margin of error is 4.6 percent.

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Based God

Micheal Sison (Michealism)

Fried Chicken

Text by Naje Bryant

Mother knows best With parental guidance, daughter keeps her faith

Buddhism plays a central role in junior Chelsea Wong’s life.

“I usually make decisions depending if it’s better for the world’s and other’s well-being. I don’t plan on disrupting other forms of peace,” Wong said.

From an early age, Wong celebrated at weddings, mourned at funerals, prayed at home, and attended her temple for Chinese New Year. She remembers one central theme among weddings.

“Red. A lot of red. The color red would scare away the bad spirits,” Wong said. “My grandparents haven’t taken the wedding decorations off from my Uncle’s wedding eight years ago.”

The streamers that hang from the corners of the ceiling of her grandfather’s house remind her of another symbolic Buddhist item, the gong.

“The gong is used to scare the spirits. It’s loud… I could hear it when I was walking on other side of the block. The block is about ten to twelve houses down,” Wong said.

Chinese New Year’s is also a popular event she’s celebrated.

However, temples are crowded during this time. For this same reason she often doesn’t go to specific temples throughout the year, but she makes the effort on Chinese New Year.

“We go to temples to pay respect to the Gods. I talk to them in my head,” Wong said. “It’s kind of like having a conversation with them.”

Wong may be familiar with prayer, but that doesn’t mean she’s comfortable with all aspects of temple.

“When we are at temples, I follow around my mom like a lost child. I know how to pray but there’s a sequence you have to follow for each God,” Wong said. “I’m not sure of that sequence so I just follow my mom.”

Wong doesn’t understand why she prays and honors the Gods during her menstrual cycle only—and doesn’t help with rituals. She continues to learn from example.

“After praying with the incense, my mom does another prayer with oval-looking blocks and sticks that tells your fortune,” Wong said. “I mimic her [and] do the extra praying without the blocks.”

The time spent emulating and helping her mom helps her better understand her religion. She understands the basics but not all concepts.

“Since there aren’t that many temples around the Seattle area, we pray at home, before we leave the house and before we sleep,” Wong said. “I believe we pray to keep ourselves alive, safe and to be successful in life.”

Just like in a temple, Wong has a shrine and incense in her house, though of a smaller size. Sometimes when friends visit, they ask her about it.

“The shrine [is] right in front of the door and red lights shine from there,” Wong said. “I just ignore them and have my sister tell them that it’s part of my religion. They usually say ‘What’s that smell?’ or ‘It’s like a mini-Asia.’”

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Some of you are taught your religion.

Some friends are more polite. When junior Norlene Tejada first visited, she had a connection with the shrine.

“It reminded me of my own shrine that I have in my hallway. I like how [the Wong family] cares and respects their religion so much,” Tejada said.

Tejada is Catholic and, having known Wong since the first grade, had a feeling Wong was religious too.

“I knew she had shrines and stuff but I didn’t really ask her about it,” Tejada said. “I just kind of knew.”

Not that Wong has all the answers anyway.

“When [my friends] talk, they sometimes mention their religion and I can’t really engage in the talks since I don’t understand them,” Wong said.

She’s growing more comfortable talking about religion.

“I usually ask them about the statues they have at home or what they’re doing for Lent,” Wong said.

Not being close with other Buddhist friends, she has no memory of entering another’s house with a shrine set up.

The degree of Buddhism Wong shows in the future may be determined in part by who she marries.

“Someone who is Buddhist might have their parents teach me their ways and other ways to do things. But for now, I only have my mom and occasionally my grandma,” Wong said.

Until then she will continue with her religion and practices alongside her mother.

Photo and Text by Abigail Cetino

Some of you have lost your religion.

Return to sender When I lived in the Philippines, I was a oncea-weeker; an honest-to-God bonified legit church kid. These are my memories

CHURCH BOY IN THE MAKING

My cousins and I and our family knew the priest of the parish personally; by default, our families were heavily involved in the church. At a young age, I was doing everything from singing in the choir and performing for the congregation to helping in the back and assisting Father Jimmy with other chores. I brought him glasses of water after sermons and helped him clean after mass. I remember dancing alongside other children and my cousins while church hymns played. I guess that’s where I got my dancing roots. I wasn’t the official church kid who carries that tall staff thing or holds and swings the myrrh. I was the kid who loved church enough to get involved.

A-E-I-O-U (“THE ALPHABET SONG”) I remember a particular church talent show, a showcase where the children of the church performed in front of everybody.. I danced to what my mother called “The Alphabet Song.” Or I was supposed to. Apparently I froze in front of everybody. Not too big of a deal, though; I was five and everybody thought I was adorable. I remember my mom doing the dance in the background to spur me on.

I imitated her as best I could. One kid danced to N*Sync’s “Bye Bye Bye.” I wanted to be him. He looked cool doing his little imitation of Justin Timberlake. I wanted that attention. While he got the “He’s so talented” remarks, I got the “Oh my gosh, you’re so adorable” ones. I wanted to be talented, not adorable.

everything: the painting of the stained glass, the erecting of the walls, the arranging of the altar, all of it.

He carried me down almost every Saturday and Sunday, my mom walking not too far behind with my brother. At first I thought walking up a hill to get to the church was weird, but luckily the construction took a while to finish; the church behind my house remained open for another two or three years or so. It makes me wonder if that little church is still there—never demolished after all.

YOU DID WHAT NOW? As one of the church boys, I was part of the whole First Communion thing with the bread of Christ. To be initiated into it, we had to be cleansed of our sins. In order to be cleansed, we had to confess all the sins we had made. It was a pretty serious ceremony, and boy did I have a lot to confess.

Months earlier, I had bashed my classmate’s head in in Ms. Candy’s second grade class at Mary Anne Carandang Academy Montessori. I tried to sit up front because I liked to sit up front but this kid—Joseph or Jasper something—tried to take the seat from me. I did not want to give up the seat. The argument over who got to sit in the front seat got a little too heated and I raged.

The reaction wasn’t too serious given the offense, just some bleeding and stitches. And I never got in trouble because no one confessed.

I told the story to Father Jimmy. I told him a bunch of other things I probably should have kept hidden, and he forgave me. That same day, I was fully accepted when I ate the bread of Christ and drank the blood of Christ. From that point on, whenever I attended church, I was able to stand in line with the adults to get the bread of Christ.

THE TRANSITION Generally, I was as happy as a bonified church kid. I prayed every night before I went to sleep and before I ate dinner. I was excited to go to church. I woke up at seven o’clock on Sunday mornings to attend mass. Then I moved to the U.S. and everything changed. Fast forward nine or ten years: I don’t even remember the last time I went to church or prayed. The once devout Catholic boy is caught up in the world of facts, science and technology. I’m more comfortable in science and math than in religion and theology.

Before I go to sleep, I stare at the ceiling and have a conversation with myself about psychology, physics, the universe and other topics. I pray to no one beyond that ceiling. I don’t recall having any recent conversations with the “big guy upstairs.” My Sundays consists of sleeping until ten, going to work, doing homework and maybe squeezing in an hour of videogames.

The thought of going to church bible. doesn’t enter my mind. I don’t even remember any of the prayers. I see reNEW BEGINNINGS WITH GOD ligion as a last resort. It’s there to give My God mom and my god sister hope when everything has gone wrong picked me up from my house once and and nothing is helping, for people to took me to their Church. New Beginhold on to when science, math and nings was a beautiful place, it looked reality fails them. It’s the last breath like a smaller version of a Mega Church. someone takes before the darkness at Here, I also saw some similar faces. the bottom of the ocean pulls them in.

Maybe it wasn’t the most comfort Do I believe these things because able place I’ve ever been, but I was with I’m getting older? Because the nature people I loved so I was okay. There was a of “knowledge” in our day and age computer to log you into sunday school, requires “truth” to be quantified and I’ve never seen that before. counted? Because I moved to the United As my god sister lead me up the stairs States of America? Or maybe a combito where Sunday school was. I looked nation of all of that? around carefully, the church was really big.

Here’s what the ceiling tells me: When we reached the classroom I remember Somewhere, somehow, someone out the room being with just females, the topic there governs our daily lives. We don’t for that Sunday was boys, temptation, and necessarily know who or what. sex, now I understood why only Sometimes I hear the little girls were in the room.

Catholic boy in me and We also talked about forgivehear God’s voice—His ness and the philosophy of saving voice—too. More often I yourself until marriage. I wondered hear the voice of Science, lab what the guys were talking about. and data reports, evolution, logic and Everyone had to say something as we common sense. went around the circle. New BeginThat’s what I know right now. nings was the last church I remembering attending, I hope to go back.

BUILDING A LEGACY: I lived behind the church so the commute wasn’t far. The church was getting really old and was too small for more people to fit in. I remember having to stand in the very back or even outside of the church just to hear the mass. When the district decided to close it down to build a bigger one down the street, my dad carried me on his shoulders so I could see

Church (S)hoppers are like nomads; never settling long enough to call a place home CHRISTIAN IN THE KINGDOM HALL

I’m a Christian, but I hardly ever go to church. I believe there is a god and that He created all of earth, yet my family has never faithfully attended church.

I think I have attended more than ten churches in Wash. When I lived in Ark., we were close with my grandparents, and sometimes I would be confused because every Sunday we would go to the Kingdom Hall, a church for Jehovah’s Witnesses.

We never celebrated one single holiday with my grandparents—no Christmas, Thanksgiving, Birthdays, New Year’s, nothing—but Sundays, sure.

Once I visited the Tabernacle Church (in the Central District), a family member’s church.

I remember the place being a little bigger than Bethany, all the seats full. That experience was also uplifting and spiritual in many ways.

The music was loud, and there was a choir.

There were old woman dancing up and down the aisles and as they reached the alter, the preacher dabbed oil into a cloth, then dabbed the cloth onto their foreheads. People dressed nicely in their Sunday clothes and the women wore big hats.

The children dressed as adults, and everyone looked really nice. No one was in jeans and everyone looked professional.

LOVING BETHANY One of the churches I remember attending is Bethany Church of Christ, (Located in Seattle).

I remember the church being small, the people close and loving.

When I entered the double doors of the church, an usher squeezed and hugged me as if she had known me longer than 30 seconds. Inside, we sang and clapped so loudly, the drumming rang in my ears. People stood; everyone was awake and smiling. The preacher was engaging. I felt comfortable. This is where I belonged. This is where I could find god.

The people stood out to me, they looked different, and they were all ages and all really nice.

I remember asking where the restroom was, and a woman actually got up and walked with me there. That was my Dad’s family’s church.

FASHIONABLE TABERNACLE

HOLY HOLGATE For months I went to a church by the name of Holgate. My aunt would take me and my older sister almost every Sunday for like 4 months.

I remember knowing some of the faces there, from school. A lot of my family did not go to that church, but for some reason I felt they were.

Looking back on my experience at Holgate my Sunday school teacher stands out to me. She was an older lady; I remember her always making food. She would make things and deliver them to us sometime on the weekends.

I remember having two Sunday schools every Sunday, one before the first service, and then one after the morning service. We had one after because if you weren’t old enough or your parents didn’t want you to stay for the “adult service.”

In Sunday school we would eat snacks, watch children videos about God, and read the

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Photo and Text By Rafael Agas Text by Devon Henderson

Church Isn’t Our THing

But for some unknown reason we keep coming back

LEAVING EARLY Religion has never played a big part in my life.

Sundays were more for cleaning the house and completing chores like grocery shopping.

The few times we did attend church we ended up leaving early.

Going to church for our family included dressing early in the morning in what my mother deemed our “Sunday’s Best” or, in other words, a cotton dress from when I was young, some flats and stockings. We’d leave the house with shoes in hand because we were late, stay for an hour or maybe less, then leave for breakfast at IHOP. Being “that family” who left early from church was always awkward, but it was like a game to the small me, the small Khamren. Sneaking out like a ninja or a spy and making a getaway before the bad guys stopped us (the bad guys being those elderly people who questioned us with their eyes and stared at us until we felt guilty for our early departure) was a test with a simple goal. Make a clean get away. No eye contact, no talking and definitely no stopping. No one in this family was running back to his or her seat. Otherwise no pancakes at the end.

One church reminded me of school so much.

The pastor didn’t like people leaving, standing or walking in while he was in the middle of prayer.

Needless to say, we didn’t show up at all after we found out that rule.

Generally, though, we tried to be polite, tip-toeing to the door, keeping our eyes forward and our heads down. Why my mother and sister wore heels to church I’ll never know. That just made the getaway harder. Once we made it to the door we’d run to the car and speed out of the parking lot to the pancake house.

After breakfast we headed home, changed into house clothing and began cleaning.

My mother sometimes tried to make up for her lack of religious practice. While she sat drinking her morning coffee snipping coupons she would listen to preachers and church programs on TV. One time my mom really tried to get into it and drove around for the entire weekend listening to a preacher on CD, and if my sister or me asked her what was going on, she would say, “I’m trying to get in touch with Jesus!”

The little “church” in her car was not enough, however. The empowering real-life service with women waving their hands was not for us either.

Christianity was never our thing. Going to church and praising the lord wasn’t a problem—we just weren’t Christians.

Daisha

ARRIVING LATE So ummm, my family is Muslim, sort of. My grandmother and grandfather are practicing Muslims.

My mother, Daisha Muhammad, heard Muslim prayers growing up but was never forced to practice the religion, so she never pushed religion on my sister or me either.

“I taught the basics to her like dietary laws and what you would call ‘the five pillars,’” my grandma said. “But I stopped because I wanted her to make choices.”

My grandpa taught my mom some parts of Muslim practice. “He taught me the lessons and prayers you had to know,” my mother said of my grandfather. “I stopped learning when I turned ten.”

My grandmother, Asia Muhammad, has been a practicing Muslim since her early 20’s. As a grandma with two young granddaughters who knew nothing about religion, she took on the challenge of teaching me and my sister a thing or two about Islam.

This backfired.

My sister and I were too absorbed with technology and other miniscule distractions to sit down and learn the ways of being Muslim. There may have been a time when I learned a thing or two about Islam but nothing concrete stuck in my head.

Imagine six-year-old Khamren on the bed, half-listening to her grandmother talk. “We don’t eat pork EVER,” Grandma says, “and do you know why?”

I looked at her with big eyes and pleaded to go outside, or to do anything but sit and listen.

Anything sounded better than listening.

That was the last time grandma tried.

I knew the holy place of Muslims was the mosque. This fact I gained from observing my surroundings and asking questions. “What are they building over by your house, Nanner?” or “What is a mosque, and why does it look like that?”

My grandmother lived down the road from a large, beautiful mosque. The outside walls were a bronze color, and the top of the building made a nice puffy shape. When we drove by it on the highway I saw the tower used to call people to prayer. Closer up, I saw a black gate. I had never been inside the building or past the gate but I always wondered what it would be like to walk through those doors.

On Fridays people parked all over the streets, clogged the road and piled into the building for Friday Prayer. On weekends kids played soccer on the nearby field.

My knowledge on Islam grew in a Human Geography class I took freshman year when I learned about the religion’s origins. I sat down with my grandma and asked her questions, starting with, “What is this book?”

My grandma had a Qur’an, the holy text of Muslims, a book the size of the Bible with a green leather back soft to the touch. On the green was gold writing, including a symbol and some words.

“This is a Qur’an,” my grandma said before telling me about the prayers inside.

Back when we lived in Florida, my grandma had a shelf full of Qur’ans in her closet. She stacked them on top of each other, different sizes but the same book with the same prayers, stories and writing.

This book’s first chapter wasn’t Genesis, to say the least.

Unlike the Bible which I had seen off and on again, this book was off limits to my small hands.

This holy book had rules.

My mother has never stacked another book on top of the Qur’an.

When we moved she carried it with her in a purse. It was a rule: nothing could be placed on top of the Qur’an.

“The Qur’an… should always be higher than all other books, whether they are books of sacred knowledge or something else,” my mother said.

It could sit on itself, I figured out, judging from the way my grandma collected them, but had to sit above all others.

My mother never let my sister or me lay our hands on the book; the only time I could look at it was if my mother was holding it. Even if I wasn’t touching it, she would never let me read

Asia

Maybe you feel conflicted.

an excerpt. When I asked, she’d say, “That’s just the rules.”That is, until I turned sixteen and with a new spark of interest continued my questioning. (I’m a questions kind of girl.) Silently my mother bent down to the last drawer of her black wooden dresser and handed me the Qur’an my grandma handed to her. Her hands brushed mine gently as she gave me the book. I could smell her perfume and the printed paper.

I held it lightly, feeling the rough cover and the thin papers beneath it. I looked inside and saw a font smaller than the font in my version of the bible. I flipped through the pages taking note of the headings.

It felt so old.

My grandma used an app on her phone to keep daily prayers or to read the Qur’an at her desk. The phone would ring and she would read the words two or sometimes three or four times and then continue her day, but that was the only time I saw her do traditional prayer.

Traditional prayer is bowing continuously times while saying the prayer over and over to oneself. Something told me my grandma wasn’t strict in her prayers.

“I am of the Believers,” my grandma says.

If my Grandma is of the Believers then so am I. I mean, I believe there is a God and His name is Allah. I may not be a strict Muslim but I am one.

I read once that one who is born into a family of Muslims is a Muslim. Even if I didn’t identify as Muslim sixteen years ago, I can now. I can profess my faith and pray to the God that is Allah.

NEVER RETURNING Maybe my family runs from other churches for a reason.

“Your sister went to church with her granny but she never felt like it was something she wanted to do,” my mother said. “I wanted to allow you to do what you wanted on your own time.”

Though my mom wanted us to have free time, she still tried introducing us to religion. It was as if she was saying, “Here’s something you might like. It’s called religion, no pressure.”

I still wondered why we didn’t go to church.

“Mosques have stricter etiquette than [required by the] Qur’an,” grandma said. “Mosques and churches are social not spiritual.”

“I don’t like going to church,” my mother said. “I don’t like the rituals and it doesn’t feel welcoming. I’ve been to all different kinds and I feel like that everywhere.”

One day after talking to some random stranger in an elevator, my mother proclaimed that me and her were going to church the next sunday. In two days when i reminded her she didn’t want to go and had forgotten the whole conversation.

That wasn’t the first time either. My mom has done this on multiple occasions.

To be clear, my mother is not against churches. It’s what she feels while in The Holy House of God that has driven her away.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel it either.

Being young going to church, you might think I would feel comfortable there, but I’m not.

I always feel put on the spot about what I believe, and as a young woman, I don’t always know the right answer, if there is one. I love asking questions, and questions aren’t always welcome in church. I question myself too. I’m aware enough to know that for someone who loves asking questions I sure hate answering them.

So maybe my unclear state isn’t anyone’s fault. Maybe it’s nothing to be ashamed of to begin with. But one thing I am sure about: our little trips to the pancake house after sneaking out of church (or should say leaving early) never get old. Even now, I love them.

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Photo and Text by Khamren Gulley

FAITH FOR THOUGHT

Maybe you question yourself.

BIRTH OF CATHOLICISM When I was a mere infant, I was baptized in the holy waters and given a candle to prove I am the light of God. I have baby pictures of me in a pure white dress with little white booties on my feet. I remember attending Sunday School with my cousins at the age of eight. We attended Sunday School so we could gain levels in heaven by receiving communion by eating the bread of God. It was a huge celebration, especially for my family. I don’t remember feeling that special.

I recall praying the rosary at night with my grandparents in front of four lit candles next to black and white pictures on the mantel. Each candle represented some aspect of my great grandparents’ lives. Also, I remember making the sign of the cross before meals, and feeling pressured in the back of my head to be a good Catholic kid who obeyed the rules. It wasn’t until the age of 13 I started to revolt and lose faith in my faith.

So I cussed. I said the Lord’s name in vain, like, “Oh my God” or “Jesus” instead of “Oh my gosh.” When I prayed at night I wondered who I was talking to. Was it myself? The skeletons in my closet? There was someone or something there, but I didn’t know who or what it was.

to get better, for good grades, to give me signs of happiness, for a better day tomorrow. And maybe some other personal stuff I shouldn’t mention here right now. All in all, for everything to be better.

MANY MOMENTS OF CONVERSION I have met Mormons many times in many places. One guy who had skin like a vampire and smelled like weed approached my friend and me at the 101 bus stop. He gave us a card advertising Wearemorman.com.

Another time I was waiting for the 101 bus and a lady approached me and asked if I wanted to hear facts/theories and I agreed to pass some time. She thanked me for my time and gave me a colorful pamphlet.

Another time I was at the King County Library sitting at a table in the teen section when an odd man approached me. “Would you like to hear a story?” he asked. I agreed. He asked if I attended church and I told him I usually go to Church on Sundays. He then brought out a piece of paper, a pamphlet, and asked me more questions this time naming names of Judeo Christian historical religious figures. I knew I didn’t know much about the topic. I wasn’t articulate. I kept straying off into random sentences.

He knew what I was doing.

“There you go,” he said.

“Kids your age don’t profess the faith as much as they should. I’m not trying to push my faith on you but God needs to save you.”

I was appalled. The man randomly approached me, made me feel dumb, and said I needed to be saved. Kudos to him for not even knowing who I was, assuming he knew my thoughts and capabilities and actions when he didn’t, saying he wasn’t there to push his faith on me but barely hesitating to talk to me when I didn’t care to listen. This made me angry.

The next time I went to church, I paid attention.

Or I tried to.

Most often the trying to pay attention plan called my attention to something else: to how often I space out sitting in the pews. I know there are 15 squares at the front of the church near the stage, that there are four microphones in the same vicinity, and that the person who plays the tambourine does a good beat; there are at least three babies who cry each day and gum under the seats. By the end of mass I am singing songs in my head or drowning in the worry of everything I still have to do before Monday. I pay attention to these small details but rarely pay attention to the meaningful words and prayers, and I’m pretty sure I’m not

“I hadn’t done Confession in such a long time.

I forgot what I was supposed to do. He told me to say what I did wrong.”

FUN FACT I am supposed to be in Confirmation. Many Catholics consider Confirmation to be the final step toward becoming Catholic before getting married in a church but with the hardcore schedule I have this year, I’ve been avoiding the extra religious class this final step requires. My time is better spent elsewhere on other things maybe more useful in the long run, like Driver’s Ed. I might as well just stop going to church all together.

My mom reminds me to get confirmed, and my stomach plummets. We argue.

“A part of me feels guilty I’ve gotten baptized, received communion, and haven’t gotten confirmed. I might as well, right?”

Well, no, not if my passion isn’t in it. And that word kind of scares me, “confirmation,” like becoming confirmed to be some person or live some certain way or make certain modifications. I haven’t signed up. I don’t think I will.

THINGS I PRAY FOR The “things” I pray are more like wishes, and the wish list goes like this: I would ask for the safety of people, for people to be okay, for God to help me in the ways and choices of my life, for some people who are sick and dying

Religion surfaces to my brain like marshmallows in Lucky Charms the only one.

A couple of weeks later, my mother told me to go to Confession. The last time I went to Confession was in April of 2005 when I first received Communion. In 2013 I was not eager to profess my faith or share, the bad doings I had done, especially to a priest.

My bad mood showed on my face. I got called in to the Confessional Booth, went into the dark cubicle of space, kneeled down to face a screen and heard the priest’s voice. I saw colorful papers on the little counter in front of me.

The priest asked me my confession, and that’s when I made a total and horrible mistake. I asked if I was supposed to read the little papers to him. I hadn’t done Confession in such long time. I forgot what I was supposed to do. He told me to say what I did wrong.

I said the typical and the relatively true that I had been bad to my parents, used cuss words, etc., but then I felt super awkward and paused, unsure what to say. After a long pause a vomit of words came out of my mouth.

I said I had to go to school and go home, that I liked school, that I listened to my teachers and prayed every day.

He gave up. “You have internet at home?” he asked. “I want you to go and search the Hail Mary’s and say them ten times. You are dismissed.” I was shocked. I wondered if the man I’d met at the library a couple of months ago who said I “wasn’t saved” had put a curse on me. Ever since then I’ve been paranoid, wondering if I am a true Catholic.

THE AFTERLIFE Religion is confusing. If you believe in karma, what comes around goes around. People of Islam pray five times a day and their meat is slaughtered in a certain way. Islam was found in Saudi Arabia (middle east/north Africa), not far from where Christianity was founded: Jerusalem. Mohammed, a trader, founded Islam.

Their sign is a crescent moon and a star; the sign for Christianity is the cross. The five pillars of Islam tells devotees how to live; the Ten Commandments tell Catholics how to live.

No one technically knows.

Maybe we decompose into the ground and become little bacteria that release into the air and get sucked into people’s noses.

Or possibly we sprout into beautiful flowers or dandelion weeds, and when bees jump from one flower to another they take us with them, spreading our bodies into the air throughout the earth, our

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souls going on forever.

Maybe that is why we call the natural environment Mother Nature, or why when kids are taught the “birds and the bees” for reproduction education, they somehow learn that the birth of life is also the death of life and that everyone is alive somewhere, still breathing in the continuity of living organisms. That’s an analogy.

Many religions provide a belief, a stance, and a voice to follow. Sometimes followers or devotees meet in a building or a place of sacred worship. Sometimes the worship has spiritual or mystical elements. Sometimes, usually, the leaders in the place of worship are provided a fund to pay for their life expenses.

STREAM OF QUESTIONS Don’t you ever think in the morning after you wake from a good night’s rest why am I here what is my purpose at life and if I’m here for a reason then what is the reason and who am I benefitting other than myself do these thoughts ever pop into your mind at random times and you just want to scream at the little voice telling you things you want to hear and sharing the dreams you want to see when you get the chance to but you can’t because each and every day you have to kiss the feet of your immortal god wondering if s/he is on your side.

Recap: I am Catholic born and raised. I grew up this way. I wonder to myself if I will attend church in the future. Or will I attend the wonders of the world?

I guess one way to raise an atheist is to raise a child Catholic because the more a person forces people to do something, most likely the people will lead a different trail in the opposite direction, far from where the person in charge wanted the end up.

Religion surfaces to my brain like marshmallows in Lucky Charms. Everyday it’s not just a belief but a lifestyle to pass on to future generations. I’m losing it now but maybe I will find it again in the next future, like a lost treasure. I’ll realize what I had all along. That’s what a part of me thinks.

The other part of me thinks the universe is haywire and people don’t know their left from their right. Who knows if god truly exists?

At the end of the day, no one is pure like snow. No one knows all the knowledge in the world about religion. Religion is nothing but mentality of need.

Spirituality is asking faith to plant a seed to transcend oneself. I’m not sure where faith grows. Maybe on the feet of bees.

Possibly even in the knees of my soul.

“There you go,” he said.

“Kids your age don’t profess the faith as much as they should. I’m not trying to push my faith on you but God needs to save you.”

Photo and Text by Christina Nguyen

49 days OF change

At the altar of loss, I found remembrance and regret GRANDMA My parents divorced the same year I was born. Gai Le, my grandma, took care of me when my dad disappeared in his work and my mom struggled balancing both parenting and managing the home. I didn’t have parents who nourished me and changed my diapers, but I had my grandma.

Every 5 minutes she would ask if I was hungry. I’d say no. A few minutes later she would walk in with a bowl of food and start spoon feeding me while I was distracted playing my video games.

Every morning until the 2nd grade, my grandma pulled me and my brother to school in a red wagon. Her hands would sweat from clutching the wagon’s handle. Nonetheless she insisted.

Every day I would offer to wash the dishes for her and she’d let me. But once I finished soaping and washing, I’d pass the plate or dish to my grandma who would then do it all over again.

She would say I didn’t clean the dishes “good enough.”

She gave me practically no responsibilities and in most cases, that would be a bad thing. But she made clear I was to use that time and energy to focus on my main priorities, school and hobbies.

When my bladder woke me at five in the morning, I’d sometimes see her praying in front of pictures behind a jar of rice and incense. When I saw her praying in the daylight, I’d ask if I could help burn the incense. She told me the pictures represented a grave for the spirits and provided a way to speak to the person.

“Always ask them to help you with your school and health, Joe,” she used to say.

“But who are ‘them’?” I wanted to know.

“The top row is for Buddha. Spend the most time praying to Him, and this row”-she’d point to the row of pictures in front“is for everyone I’ve ever loved who passed away.”

The row that my grandma was talking about was filled of pictures in black and white. A jar in front of it, mainly blue but a wave of white on the top and bottom, with rice in it covered with a layer of burnt incense that looked like sand. Every once in a while I would see another incense be put into it, the top slowly burning down leaving its red stem and more sand.

My grandma couldn’t accept she was aging. In her mid-60’s, she acted with the strength of a teenager.

In the middle of Sept.2013, Grandma started spending a lot of her days wrapped in a blanket on her bed. This was unusual considering how much she loved to pass her days with chores and cooking. In Oct., my grandma complained about a stomach ache that just got worse and worse. My mom rushed her to the hospital and a few days later my mom told me she had liver cancer on our ride home from school.

After a brief talk with my grandma while she was on her death bed, she told me to stay healthy and do well in school.

On October 31st, during the end of the school day I was pulled out of class and already knew what happened the second they asked, “Are you Joseph? Can you come with me?”

When I came home there was a new portrait behind a jar with rice and burning incense in it.

One thing that I remember from that day is the smell of a candle suffocating the house. It had such a heavy non-flavor smell. I also remember the monks who preached for the rest of the afternoon. Most of them wore robes over their casual attire;

the sleeves folded several times creating a small pocket that held their smaller instruments.

The day following, I went to school and acted like nothing happened.

FUNERAL Buddhists believe that after a person’s death, his or her spirit lives on for 49 days, even after being buried or cremated.

In those 49 days the family of the deceased prays and follows a ritual once every week so that the deity will bring the person to heaven.

The layout at the temple where my family prayed was pretty simple. The floors were scattered with brown pillows to comfort our knees when we kneeled. In front of each pillow was a book stand that held the sacred text, the Buddhist bible.

I kneeled on a brown pillow, the texture so thin my knees hovered right above the floor.

About a week after my grandma’s death we attended her funeral.

My mother, brother and I sat in the middle of a pew with two other monks in front of us who seemed dressed more religiously while other monks surrounded us with instruments, a drum and shells that made small sounds as they were hit by a drumstick.

At the end of the funeral we watched her be cremated. We did this so we can carry her ashes around if we move. There honestly wasn’t anything wrong with it, but part of me wanted her to be buried in a physical grave, a place I could go to and have one of those cliché talks.

While suppressing my feelings the 49 days of prayer continued. We went to the temple every Wednesday to pray for my grandma and it was honestly relaxing. Kneeling for thirty minutes while candles burned non-candle smells wasn’t a massage I mean, but thinking about my grandma helped.

We found peace that Grandma’s soul was at rest. After that we kind of resumed our normal lives.

MONKS A few weeks into praying, I realize- during a less-than focused moment, I admit, that the monk who lead the prayer each day had the same last name as the name of the temple: Su. I decided to talk to him about his time in the temple and how he got to where he is now.

“School wasn’t really a priority in my younger ages.” monk Duoc Su said, surrounded Su had grown up in South Vietnam, in 1974, during the time Communists were invading. He fled to Australia with his family and migrated to America with his grandfather where he furthered Buddhist studies. At the age of 16, when his grandfather passed, he chose to continue his

Su

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Sometimes things get tough. . studies by becoming a monk.

“My grandfather, who I consider my second master was also a monk and taught me a lot about Buddhism,” Su said “When he died I just decided to take on his role to Buddha.”

In 1996 Su moved back to Saigon, Vietnam where he enrolled in a Buddhist institute where he trained to become a monk. Two years later he had moved back to America and founded “Duoc Su Temple” in Seattle, Wash.

“The idea of making a whole new temple was a big step for me.” Su said, “A lot of the temples I grew up in and seen didn’t really fit my needs, so I just decided to make my own temple.”

The temple has existed for over 15 years and, thanks to donations and help from friends, continues to grow.

“I had a lot of people join me in the process of making the temple,” Su said “A lot of them I grew up with and some along the way.”

REGRETS I am still going to the temple every week where I pray for my grandma. The time there has shown me how much someone can dedicate themselves to their beliefs. Taking on a whole career or using those beliefs to make life decisions.

I am still in those 49 days that my grandma’s soul lives on.

Beliefs in such things can be seen as foolish and leaves me lost when I’m asked to prove it. Regardless, I find myself paranoid of anything that might be my grandma.

What is merely is an object falling to floor can be a sign of communication. It can also just be me trying to see what I want to.

My mom whines some days about why she can’t find any signs of my grandma where I have no idea what to expect.

It honestly comes down to what you personally believe what happens in the afterlife. How you compare reality to beliefs. But sometimes you have to come to a conclusion if that belief is just a way for you to escape reality.

Out of spirits and religion, I should have appreciated my grandma more. I could have held the cart when she went grocery shopping. I could have paused my game and went to go eat one actual meal with her.

Photo and text by Joseph Hoang

. .but God comes around..

Days passed and everything got worse. I had a hard time calling my house my home. My mother was scared to speak to the man who strutted drunkenly around our house day and night, the tyrant who called himself my father.

I prayed for him to be gone.

One night when I was thirteen, God answered my prayers.

I walked through the door to my house and found my dad drinking two huge bottles of sake and waving his gun around while my six-year-old brother wandered from room to room.

I did not pay much attention and went to the living room to play some video games, to enter a world where I could be the hero and everybody would love me for my good deeds and acts of heroism. Controller in hand, I could be dragonborn, defender of the storm cloaks.

I could be Sergeant Soap Mactavish, war hero. I could be Ash Ketchum, Pokemon trainer extraordinaire.

Whatever fantasy I was living at that moment was broken when I heard my dad call my brother over.

“Take this and aim it at the door, son,” he told my brother.

Gun in hand, my brother obediently took hold of the gun, his hands shaking like leaves.

At first I didn’t know what to do, but moments later my mom returned home and saw what was going on. She leaned down to grab the gun and caught a backhand to her cheek.

I stood straight, thinking for some reason standing upright

would help me see the situation more clearly. I saw my mother on the ground and ran between her and my dad.

“Leave her alone,” I said.

My father replied with fists, hitting me. I smashed into a mahogany table, leaving a small wet chip where my teeth grazed it. Screams and tears erupted into the space I wanted to call my home. I grabbed my dad’s leg to hold him in place as my mom and brother ran upstairs. My dad kicked my face to free himself from my grip and to run after my mom and brother.

My vision was blurry and blood dripped down my face. I stumbled up the stairs to find my dad pointing the gun at my mom and brother, who were cowering in a corner. I charged at my dad with what strength I had left, and in an instant I blacked out.

When I came to, I was in a closet holding a gun. My mother held the closet door closed with her shaking arms. My brother hugged my side and cried into my red flannel. I took aim at the door.

“Mom, move now,” I said.

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I emptied the clip of metal slugs into the door. Splinters of wood flew through the air like snow, settling on the floor until everything was silent.

What was left was the sound of the door opening. My dad wasn’t there. I heard his car speed down the road onto the highway. My mom called the police.

A short while later my father was arrested at the Bigfoot Java in downtown Renton.

After being questioned by the police, an ambulance took me to the emergency room where doctors told me my collarbone and shoulder were broken. I was discharged later that night and went home with bandages and slings on my body.

I sat on the edge of my bed staring at the floor. I wanted to cry, but there were no more tears. I wanted to know why this had happened. I laid back on my bed with a one hundred mile stare aimed straight into the white ceiling.

Maybe we would feel safe now. Maybe god was freeing my family and me from oppression. In any case, I was aware of His existence.

Text By Dii Miller Photo by Olan Mills

The unseen guardian

Existing without being seen, Living without breathing, and loving without hate...

. .and you find your faith again.

Late at night in the Intensive Care Unit, a nurse taking care of David Murahashi saw him yanking several tubes out of his throat. He found the tubes uncomfortable and constricting.

She was inspired to draw this picture to represent his warrior instinct to fight.

Christianity is a religion that is strongest when the disciple has immense faith, unshakeable and strong. But even the strongest of Christian’s faces challenges and trials that may make him question the very existence of god. Twenty-two-year-old David Murahashi was in the prime of his life when he found himself in a difficult situation.

“My life was in a good place,” Murahashi said. “I was doing what I really wanted to do in my life.”

Murahashi was a senior in college, training to be a special education teacher for high school students. He worked hard through his college career studying late at night with only a few energy drinks to keep him awake through the following day.

“I worked extremely hard to achieve what I wanted, and what God wanted for me,” Murahashi said.

Everything in his life was going great. His family was happy. His friends were supportive and happy for him. His view of the future crystal clear.

One morning, things were to change forever.

“It was just like every other morning,” Murahashi said.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

So he went on with his daily routine., leaving home and catching the bus to school to attend his first college class of the day, physical education. Class had already started when he arrived, so Murahashi caught up on his warmups by walking around the basketball gym in circles, smiling and speaking to his fellow students every now and then. During the first few laps he grew increasingly nervous to teach math for the first time to a

MURAHASHI

class full of kids he didn’t yet know—a task he was charged with a few hours from then, at noon. As the thought of teaching the class entered his mind, a sharp pain struck his head.

“I felt a pop in the center of my skull, then an immediate pain followed after,” Murahashi managed to make his way to his teacher, who visit the nurse.

He walked down the stairs and into the hall, getting dizzier and dizzier.

“It came to a point where I was using chairs and tables to balance myself,” Murahashi said. “I have had headaches before, but this was definitely different.”

After stumbling into the nurse’s office sweaty and dizzy, Murahashi said hello and collapsed onto the couch by the door. The nurse asked if he wanted water and he said no.

He clenched his head and closed his eyes, fading in and out of consciousness, vaguely overhearing the nurse’s call for an ambulance. “When I got recieved the call from the school’s nurse, I was angry at god for letting this happen to my son” Murahashi’s mother, Cathy, said.

He remembers getting in an ambulance. He remembers the paramedic saying everything is going to be okay. Six days later he woke up in the hospital with his dad next to him telling him the Seahawks beat the Patriots, smiling, a single tear rolling down his face. “It sucked, I felt powerless, but I decided to just trust God,” Murahashi’s father, Kent, said.

After a month fading in and out of consciousness and enduring physical therapy, he was able to leave the hospital. Before leaving, they gave him a helmet. Confused and curious, he asked

MURAHASHI

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why he needed a helmet.

They said a blood vessel had ruptured in his brain, and Doctors had to cut out half of his skull to relieve pressure.

He had to wear the helmet until the swelling went down. As he left the hospital he got his first look at the hospital from the outside. “ My first thought was that it was extremely cold and that the hospital was huge,” Murahashi said. “This was when I realized I was at Harborview Medical Center.”

Murahashi’s Recovery was the hardest part. He questioned his faith.

“It was hard for me to see God in this mess,” Murahashi said. “I couldn’t tell if He was punishing me or if He was trying to teach me something… I asked him, ‘Why did this have to happen to me?’ I thought that He wanted me to succeed. I thought that I was doing what He wanted me to do.”

It wasn’t until the end of his recovery he realized God was there the whole time.

“I realized that I could have died if it weren’t for Him,” Murahashi said. “It could’ve happened when I was at home in my bed where I wouldn’t have [had] help. He allowed this to happen in a place where I would have help.”

When Murahashi took a step back, he was able to see God’s influence.

“It is so easy to just give up on Him and think that he has abandoned you, but if you really think about it, he never really leaves your side,”

MURAHASHI

Photo and text by Dii Miller Art provided by the Murahashi Family

God His His Ere

God of death and embal Symbols are the grain fla stuffed headless animal t During embalming ritua Anubis’ presence

Protector of mankind, the God of healing One of the most well-known Gods of his e Depicted with red hair and a beard, rathe Symbols include thunder, lightning, storm

Or wait.

God of wisdom, patron rulers, outcasts, war, battle, victory, death and po Can only speak in poetry Human sacrifices were made to him by way of hanging Hung from the World Tree, which holds up the nine realms and is locate middle of the universe, for nine days and nights to gain the gift of writin

DEAD GOD

ARROW

d of heaven s consort is Nammu, the mother of all the Gods s main temple was located in the ancient city of ech, Iraq, present day An-Samawah

lming ail, the jackal and the imiut fetish, a tied to a pole and placed on a stand als priests wore jackal masks to represent

g and fertility era er than blonde ms, oak trees and hammer

oetry

ed in the ng

God of water, wisdom, fertility and creation Sets the laws and gives powers to the Gods Also the lord of the Netherworld (called Kur)

Goddess of fertility Patroness of magic and nature Symbols include a headdress with a throne, a sun disk and cow horns. The throne represents her mothering the pharaohs of Egypt, since every pharaoh is an incarnate of Horus, Isis’ son.

Known by four names: Ki (Earth Goddess), Ninhursag (Queen of the Mountains), Ninmah (The Exalted Lady), Nintu (Lady Who Gave Birth) Helps human beings serve God

GRAVEYARD

· 10 · 11

Makes the sun rise and plants grow Banished to the nether world because he raped his wife three times Invented the plow and the pickaxe

God of the underworld, the dead and resurrection His consort and sister is Isis His symbols are a crook and a flail, two types of scepters that show a position of kingship

God of the sun and justice Carries around a saw knife

God of wind, one of the most influential Gods His consort is Amaunet Depicted as a ram, or a ram-headed sphinx, or a man wearing an ostrich plumed hat

Maybe God is dead.

Goddess of lust, love and war Also known as the Destroyer of Kur Tricks Enki into giving her over 94 powers by getting him drunk

The trickster God Odin’s “blood brother” via a blood sharing ceremony Most of his children are the reasons the most powerful God

WALKING INTO CHURCH

You take things one step at a time.

What do you wear when you’re meeting god for the first time? I had no clue.

I was thirteen and on my way to a funeral being held at St. Anthony’s. I’d never been to church before so the whole idea of dressing up to walk into a building and think holy thoughts was a foreign concept. The idea of God: even more foreign.

Being the awkwardly sassy new teenager I was, I decided if I was going to meet the big man today, I was going to make sure he remembered me for future reference.

I wore bright red lipstick that was probably stolen from the depths of my mom’s purse, a white shirt with lace on the collar

and an almost too short skirt. I wasn’t trying to be scandalous.

The year hadn’t been good to my closet or wallet.

As I stepped into the church, I didn’t recognize anybody, but then again, I didn’t even know whose funeral it was.

My parents basically told me I needed to go.

The church looked plain on the outside: bricks painted with terracotta hued paint and some graying arches at the entrance.

I remember there being lots of windows on the inside, each filled with what I assumed to be a story from the Bible. The people in the windows wore ancient dress and softly smug expressions despite their grim settings.

My family walked towards a seat near the back and sat down.

Text by Miranda Clairmont Photo by Emma Collier

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private and catholic Then, with little warning from my parents, I went public My belief system was one I acquired from my parents, and it’s why I attended a private Catholic school. “[I wanted you] to have a foundation, a base of our religion, to have a strong faith, and educate yourself as far as being Catholic,” my mother told me.

We celebrated and observed Lent, Palm Sunday, and Ash Wednesday at school. We wore professional looking uniforms.

We said prayers in the morning in a group in a circle. We said grace before eating lunch at assigned tables. We went to mass every Thursday.

Since my family was religious, we celebrated Holy Thursday and Good Friday. On these days, my family and I went to mass.

All in all, I learned about my religion. Lent is when followers restrict themselves from a pleasure they have, such as smoking, to commemorate Jesus going into the desert for 40 days and resisting temptations from the devil.

And then in eighth grade I arrived at Dimmitt Middle School, a public school. According to family and friends, this is when I became more outgoing.

[You’re] not as reserved or shy as before,” my mom told me. “You have more friends and you’re more approachable.”

I guess at St. Edward’s I was shy, hesitant, and afraid to speak.

“You seem stronger, before, you were very sensitive to my teasing,” my friend junior Jackie Arreola told me. “Now you reply with a sassy ‘well fine, be that way’ and dramatically turn your back to me.”

My teachers have also seen the change in my personality.

“I think that you seem more confident and outgoing,” my math teacher Rosemary Shaw said. She thinks working with Filipino students to prepare a tinikling routing for last year’s Multicultural Show brought me out of my shell.

“When other people weren’t there, you just stepped up and took control of the meeting and helped people know what they should be doing and where they should be,” she said.

This is somewhat different from who I used to be.

“You did not like working with other people,” Shaw said, “but I was guessing [it was] because you were more bashful.”

SHAW

LET’S GET STARTED: THE RUNDOWN Kindergarten to seventh grade, I wore a uniform that consisted of a white polo, a navy blue vest and dark blue pants. Girls had to wear the same thing, or a plaid green skirt that went past their knees.

We were lucky on the first Friday of every month because that would be free dress; students could wear anything, as long as it was school appropriate. Boys also had a restriction on hair: hair had to be short, above the collar of the required polo. Everyone’s hair had to be its natural color.

I grew up in a house with cousins who went to public school from elementary to high school, so finally I was able to express myself by wearing what made me comfortable too.

“You wear colorful sweatshirts like your Zelda one and your

Pikachu one,” Jackie said. “I still want them.”

Class started at 8:30 a.m., but I had to be on the playground early so I could meet with my class/grade before heading inside.

This was really different from Dimmitt where I could walk into school anytime before the bell to do whatever I needed to do.

I remember my kindergarten teacher had a little table that contained the bible in a stand and a small candle that she, or a representative, would light at the beginning of the reading. Reading from the bible, along with reciting prayers, was a morning ritual; “Hail Mary,” “Our Father,” and “Glory Be” were the prayers we recited from memory after reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

Lunch was a simple process to begin with. We had assigned seats by grade level. We had actual dishes that got washed. In sixth grade, the principal started to emphasize leadership in the school, which changed the process of lunch. Everyone from each grade, kindergarten to eighth grade, was assigned a number that corresponded to a lunch table, and that was where a student sat for the rest of the year. The principal called up table groups, and fifth through eighth graders got food for everyone at their tables.

Here’s how it worked: everyone at the table gave their tickets to the older student. The older student gave the lunch tickets to the collector, retrieved the plates, utensils, and food, and carried it back to the table.

No one ate. Once all the tables had their food, the principal got everybody quiet, and said grace. I still remember the words: “bless us O’ Lord for these thy gifts…”

With grace completed, the leaders of the table served the food to the younger kids first, and then themselves. I remember it was sometimes hard to divide the food because we had to feed everybody when lunch was something like spaghetti.

Some kids were picky. I remember a second grader at my table didn’t want any sauce for his spaghetti. Aside from that, some people wanted larger portions, but the leaders had to make sure everybody had enough.

ARREOLA

THE WAY THINGS WORKED Process and protocol was a big deal at my school. Everything had a certain way it needed to be done.

Coming inside from recess, for example. At the end of recess, seventh and eighth graders had to find a kindergartener, first, or second grader, and walk them into the school to their classroom.

And every Thursday, after everybody settled, the teacher said we would be going to mass and let the people serving in the mass leave early. Students not serving later followed their grade level into the church and sat in their assigned pews. Thursday Mass was different from Sunday mass because it was shorter— because we had class.

Everything was organized. Mass helpers not only missed some of class on Thursday, they missed some of recess on Wednesday. They went to the church and practiced so everything would go smoothly on Thursday. Because it was during lunch,

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the church would be dark, the only lights near the altar.

You walk into (or out of) new experiences.

HOW DID THE DAY END? The end of the day had a process to it as well. I couldn’t just go up to my mom’s car, get in and drive off. There was a specific way to control traffic to make sure everyone was safe. The students lined up by grade, kindergarten closest to the office and eighth graders closer to the playground toys, standing behind a yellow line.

The cars lined up in the pick-up area in five columns; the principal directed traffic by shouting directions through a bullhorn. When the cars filled up the area, the principal announced it was safe, and kids found their parents. Kids who didn’t see their parents stayed behind the yellow line.

Cars moved through the gate, following the flow of traffic. A seventh or eighth grader stood at the end of the playground with a sign, allowing cars to enter, and another at the gate, allowing cars to leave. “[Private school] is more uniformed safety wise because it’s fenced up, but in public school, the kids can just go without teachers watching,” my mom said. “Anyone can grab the kids.”

mendoza

NOW YOU’RE HERE. HOW HAVE YOU CHANGED? When I attended St. Edward’s, everyone in the same grade attended the same class, so everyone was on the same page, learning-wise. No matter how many students were in the grade, all the students were crammed into the classroom. Except for art, physical education and science, everything was in the same room. The good thing is I got a chance to make friends in my own grade easier.

“You were just leading [younger] kids,” my mom pointed out. “It’s not tested as much because the kids look up to you and follow you. In public school, it’s more of you [leading] your own peers.”

Now here I am, a junior in public school. My beliefs haven’t really changed. I still pray before I go to bed. I drive now, so I make the sign of the cross before I start driving so I know I’m protected.

“Your beliefs are still there. It hasn’t changed or left. You’re just not as connected as before,” my mom said, “You still believe in God, and still have faith [in Him].”

Photos and Text by Dominique Viray

You experience new things.

My mom never really enforced a specific belief system growing up. There was no prayer before bed, saying grace at dinner or waking up early for Sunday school. I never considered myself lucky for this freedom until I was a teenager and saw that religion, now more than ever, was just as stylish as the Louis Vuitton heels my grandma wore.

My decisions about whom or what to worship weren’t decided until the third grade when I moved to Oregon after losing my cousin to suicide. This would bring family members such as my aunt and uncle into my life and would change my outlook on faith.

My aunt and uncle were devout Christian Baptists and had been that way since the beginning of time. Once familiar with their lifestyle, they brought me into it, hoping I would find comfort in God’s “undying love.”

Not until my teenage years would I find the religion that worked best for me and still does, Agnosticism. This religion made sense for a lost soul like myself; it was the middle ground for those who claimed not to know who or what was controlling our universe and afterlife.

It took many trial and error experiments to find my place in the world of faith.

RELIGION OF THE WEEK My jump on the religious bandwagon occurred after my cousin, Brandon Green, died at his own hands on July 5, 2005.

At the time, I was seven years old and felt no serious need or want to worship a God. When I came home from a shopping trip with my grandparents and heard the news, there was no quiver or shake in my breath. The stillness and shock overtook my body, almost as if nothing occurred.

It wouldn’t be until a year later when the reality of his death hit and broke me in two. My best friend, my brother by choice, was never coming back.

At the same time I realized he was gone forever, I decided running away from my problems and the constant reminders of his death would do me good. My mother seemed to agree and moved us from our home in Bremerton, Wash. to Astoria, OR. The four hour drive took me farther from Green’s place of death and closer to the arms of my aunt and uncle.

There, in the small port town hugging the Colombian River, I would become closer to God than I knew was possible.

CHRISTIAN CAMP Each July I would pack my bags to head off to Dunes Bible Camp. This campus was my sanctuary during the damp summers on the coast. There I would meet up with all of my friends to run on the beach, play in Loomis Lake, and listen to chapel. Chapel was my favorite part.

Every evening right after dinner we would throw on our jackets, closed toed shoes and head down the hill to the chapel. The squat wood building sat on the side of a Frisbee field right in front of the boy’s cabins. It was here where the band played my favorite songs and we worshipped.

Back when I was a kid, everything seemed so wonderful. The worship sessions lasted

Our family never settled on one religion for too long.

Though our beliefs stayed constant, the faith of the week was nothing new

about two hours but it was never like the adult sermons.

We had dance parties, made crafts and watched puppet shows; the button-eyed, feltbearded Jesus didn’t scare me when he was singing hymns. Little did I know that the values being taught were different than my own.

It wasn’t until about my fourth year going to this camp when I felt a change. This was the year I came out to my mother about questioning my sexuality, eventually to tell her that yes, I was attracted to both men and women.

This all went down about a week before I left for bible camp.

Nothing changed at home. I was treated the same and playfully teased the same and hugged goodnight as I had been before. My mother’s love did not waver due to my sexuality and maybe this made me naïve to other people’s opinions on my coming out.

The start of camp had gone fine. I had walked up to the registration desk to turn in my papers and get assigned to my bunk, like usual.

I met friends I hadn’t seen since last year’s camp and those I hadn’t seen since the last day of school, like usual.

I didn’t know at the time that I would later fight for my beliefs, even if they were against those that the Bible had laid down.

After an evening of chapel later in the week, our group of girls went back to the dorms for bible study. This was a time for us to decode the messages from the sermon. Instead of talking about what we had heard, I had questions about my own issues.

I asked the girls in my cabin if being a lesbian was a sin.

It was then my camp counselor sat me down and told me the biblical views on homosexuality. Whether I liked it or not, they weren’t positive.

At that time I chose to follow my own beliefs over those of my family or God’s.

Now faithless and wandering in the realm of uncertainty, I left the comforts of bible camp to find my own answers.

ATHEISM: MY REBELLION FROM RELIGION As I moved into my teens, I stood by the belief that there was no higher being and that the world used religion as a crutch.

It may have seemed harsh, but I never once brought my “religion is for the weak” attitude into the lives of those who did believe.

My opinion was intact though not shoved down the throats of my friends who worshipped a God. I figured that if they respected my decisions, I would respect their’s as well.

My circle of friends had always accepted each other’s’ differences. In my case that came in handy because my resentment towards God was personal. Not only did He take my cousin from me, but He shunned me for my sexuality.

My best friend Jacquelyn Pampalos had grown up as a Jehovah’s Witness and never left my side, even after coming out to her in my 7th grade year.

“When you first told me you were bisexual I was surprised about it, but not in a negative way,” Pampalos said. “I still saw you as my best friend and my sister.”

At the time when everything went down, I was more worried about telling her than anyone else. Pampalos’ opinion mattered most because

she was the one I valued most.

“In my religion we aren’t supposed to support gay or bisexual people,” Pampalos said. “[But] to me whatever made you happy… made me happy.”

It seemed the welcome wagons from my friends didn’t prepare me for the wrath of my family members. For the second time in my life I was not prepared to be faced with a religious choice.

When close aunts and uncles found out I left the faith, they reacted in subdued ways.

Some prayed for me, others gave me the cold shoulder. Their reactions were a testimonial of a kind: proof of just how hard they thumped the Bible. Little did they know it proved their ignorance.

After much consideration and selfreflecting, I saw my so called Atheism was perhaps a product of style, a punk-rock attitude that allowed the good-girl of Christianity to escape and head bang to her own beat.

Mindfulness led me to the light, the Great Revelation of many a teenager: religion is not just a moral system and afterlife, it was the perfect excuse for new fashions.

BUDDHISM All kidding aside, I eventually found inner peace with the teachings of Buddha.

I know it may seem like I go through religions fairly quickly, but here’s the thing: My search helped me find where I fit in the puzzle that made up faith.

Seems pretty contradictory, doesn’t it?

The girl who was a restless, faithless collage of beliefs now wanted to devote her life to enlightenment.

This epiphany of sorts occurred when I was 14 and cleaning out my mom’s garage for our yard sale. In a box full of junk I found three silk lined boxes and a crimson, marble-like statue of Buddha. The only other time I had seen this statue was in my hair dresser’s studio.

Ming was a friend of my grandfather and had cut my hair since I was 12. The very first time I came in and saw the Buddha with incense surrounding his shrine she told me to rub his tummy for good luck.

Now, sitting on the concrete in the mildew scented room I found comfort in his wide grin and full figure. I lightly tapped his tummy and couldn’t help myself from feeling some type of wondrous guilt.

It was as if I had stolen Buddha’s secrets to the path of life through the simple flick of my fingertips on his round belly. This moment struck me as a sign to where I would fit in.

Now all I had to do was check Buddha’s morals against my own.

After some quick and half-hearted research, I was happy to see no mention of sexuality or sinful acts having to do with one’s attraction to the same sex.

What I did find was how to reach eternal bliss and follow the Eight Fold Path. More and more I found that Buddhism was not so much a religious belief to follow, but a way of life that could transform one’s perceptions.

I questioned myself.

Did I have the willpower to follow a set of guidelines for the rest of my life? Would I end up ignoring Karma and get bad Karma as a consequence—only to be reborn as an ant to be

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stepped on?

Wouldn’t it just be easier to give up on a “real” religion and create my own?

THE GODDESS OF GRUNGE Call me a teenager, but I went back to clothes, exploring the “fashion taste of faith.”

Could I could incorporate style to create a moral code or Bible of my own?

Last summer I started looking at people’s faith in a higher power in a whole new light: as an accessory piece.

Think about it: Crosses are a popular trend in teen girl’s clothing stores. Take Forever 21 for instance, selling cross-printed wear to the women who shop there. Girls at our school, including myself, adorn cross leggings, cross body jewelry, cross crop-tops, and so many more cross-related clothing options.

Why is it such a popular accessory? Do we all worship the same Christian God or read the Bible in our spare time? Most of us are following the wave of grunge influenced style options.

Something about the simplicity and power of a cross makes a statement easily incorporated into attire. This symbol of the Christian faith was adopted into a symbol of the Grunge Goddess, which is what I wanted to be.

Never did I claim this worship of fashion as a religion, but neither did I much mind the idea of putting my beliefs in the power of clothing and individual style.

From here, I settled on a religion that truly complemented my train of thought.

AGNOSTICISM Agnosticism is a type of middle ground for people who don’t exactly know what religion is right for them, defined in some circles as the acknowledgment that there may be a higher power but no certain belief of proof that higher power exists. In other words, neither the belief nor disbelief that a higher power or a God exists.

After I learned more about the belief system of Agnostics, I felt foolish.

Somehow, my teenage brain had manipulated me to make me feel as if I was the only human being who had questioned the theory of God, as if I had deemed myself the all-mighty conqueror of religious ignorance and savior of misfit toys who didn’t quite fit into one category.

When looking back on past behavior I see what went wrong. Teenagers are easily made to believe they are the center of the world. This was my state-of-mind during a time where my ignorance blinded me.

Going through all these religions gave me a kind of cultural knowledge I also lacked, and I gained it by trying out new ideas and sharing those ideas with others. Regretting something that fostered such growth would make no sense.

On the journey towards religious ambiguity that is Agnosticism, I picked up different ideas from the many religions I encountered and attempted to fit into.

Maybe Agnosticism is just a patchwork quilt of beliefs that makes sense for some people and not for others. For me it was a perfect fit, because putting a label on someone like me just doesn’t make sense.

Photo and Text by Mikayla Cheney

HIGHLY OPINIONATED thoughts on god What does God look like? Is there one true religion?

Will you go to heaven or hell? What about the afterlife?

You develop strong beliefs.

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1. “If you pretty much live by the Ten Commandments and if you live by the Bible and if you do good things. We all make mistakes, but if you forgive yourself and ask for God’s forgiveness you’ll go to heaven.” [freshman Brianna Franco, Christian] 2.“I believe God is everywhere and within us and within everybody and He guides us and watches over us and either corrects our mistakes or tries to put us on the right path even though we made a wrong decision. To grow… people must make mistakes.

You can’t be perfect all the time or you’ll never grow as a person.” [junior Travis, junior Christian] 3.“I don’t know if there’s a true religion because I haven’t been shown it, like, a god hasn’t been shown to me. It’s only been told to me by other people… So I’m kind of in-between. I don’t, ‘not believe.’ ” [sophmore Chris Matchett, Agnostic] 4. “Do the ABC’s for Christians… Admit. Believe. Confess.” [senior Tilor Ramsey, Christian] 5. “You confess whatever you’ve done, and if you talk to God and everything and you see Him and He shows you your way then you’re going to heaven. But if you do something bad he’s not going to hold it against you if you say you’re sorry and say you’re not going to do it again.” [junior Tanah Hansen, Christian] 6.“I don’t think there is one true religion… If you believe in something you can make it real.” [junior Jackie Tran, Buddhist] 7. “I think He believes in me and I believe in Him, and we communicate with each other. I can tell Him anything and [He] will make it happen.” [sophmore Pedro Vargas sophomore Jehovah’s Witness] 8. “We don’t talk about god much in my religion. We pretty much talk about [God as] a guiding person. I think god to me is just someone.” [senior Quang Thai, Buddhist] 9.“There is one true idea but not one true religion. Each religion

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is connected by one idea and that idea is branched and interpreted in different ways by different religions.” [senior Kanishk Shukla, Hindi] 10. “All the good people should go to heaven… I believe in Him because He never gives up on you and he never fails. He loves us all individually.” [freshman Dakota Pina, Christian] 11.“[God] is good to people and he respects people even when they do wrong and even through hard times.” [sophmore Shakae-Lah Leffall, Christian] 12. “[God] looks smart. Bright faced, tall and brown eyes.” [sophomore Brianna Mitchell, Catholic] 13. “You can’t really see Him when you’re looking at Him. He is supposed to be beautiful and you have to be a very powerful man to see him, like Jesus. You see the glare come down from the sky when you’re talking to Him but you can’t actually see Him.” [freshman Jacob Llamas, Christian] 14. “I don’t really have any proof or faith that He believes in me because He’s never shown himself to be true and hasn’t done anything to show that. How can I believe in Him?” [sophmore Alisdair Nathaniel Lyons, Agnostic] 15. “I believe in heaven and hell but I don’t think you necessarily go to those places.” [sophomore Tatijana, Grove Christian] 16. “Buddhism isn’t really a religion. It’s a way of life. So there’s not one true religion from what I see. Different] religions point toward the same goal… heaven, nirvana, and being a good person.” [senior Trung Doan, Buddhist] 17. “All religion has to be true because they all have a different idea of God… just by a different name.” [freshman Sarah Massey, Apostolic] 18.“Of course I know I’m going to heaven because I believe in Jesus as my savior and in the triune of the Father, Son and Holy

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Ghost.” [sophomore Nicholas Sidwell, Evangelist Lutheran] 19. “God looks like someone from the sky watching us every day, every month and every year. We can’t see Him but He can see us. That’s why He’s called God… He’s always watching you and helping you with everything. Then you get to meet Him in the afterlife.” [sophomore Andrew Nguyen, Catholic] 20.“Buddhism is more of an individual thing rather than a belief in a higher being protecting you. It is trying to find your own part.” [junior Andy Tran Buddhist] 21.“God looks like Buddha: bald, sitting down and always meditating down the flower path. He’s always wearing a one strap orange overall. He always cares about others before himself.” [senior Giao Ly, Buddhist] 22.“God’s physical form is intangible… We were modeled after him so I assume God is some form of humanoid.” [junior Jonathan Reed, Agnostic] 23.“When I think of Buddha, there’s a certain image. He’s usually sitting crossed legged and has big earlobes that represent power, luck and wealth… He’s always smiling and a little chub chub.” [senior Hang Bui, Buddhist] 24.“I’ll go to heaven because I go to check every Wednesday and Saturday, and I always pray before I go to bed.” [freshman Eli Ballesteros, Christian] 25.“I think He’s black” [junior Milkias Redda, Christian] 26.“I bet He’s beautiful. I can’t imagine how He would look but I believe He would be the most beautiful person in the world.” [senior Brittney Nguyen, Christian] 27.“Long hair, tall, pale, and has a mustache.” [freshman Gabriella Barrera, Catholic] 28. “I’m going to go to heaven… because I’m a good girl.” [freshman Dane Calsado, Catholic] Graphic by Amanda Dyer and Rafeal Agas

Very strong beliefs.

Don’t call me anything I don’t believe in anything. But I’m not atheist. Don’t call me that.

I’m not going to tell you that you can’t believe in anything. I think it’s great that people can put their faith so wholly in something they can’t see or touch. But I can’t do that.

Don’t tell me I have to believe in anything. I don’t want you to tell me you think I’m something. It doesn’t matter at all to me what you think of me.

I am not a part of an organized group of anything. I don’t put labels on myself for fear that I will let that label control me, as

a lot of people in organized religion do.

Even though I was raised a Catholic, I have chosen not to believe in something I can’t see. Getting older has shown me I can’t really believe in anything, even tangible things.

It’s unfortunate, losing faith in everything.

And if I let myself believe in things or people I feel like I may become close-minded. I never want to be that way.

I want to choose to believe or not believe whatever I want.

We fight so hard to take away labels other put on us, but many of us accept labels religion gives us. I don’t think that’s fair.

If I were to choose to believe in something, I would not call myself by that religion. If I were to believe in one god, I would not call myself a Catholic or a Christian. I would call myself me.

I don’t accept labels. We are given them, and we give them as a reason. A reason to blame, something to blame, for when we can’t accept that someone is just who they are.

For instance, I may be attracted to men and women, but that doesn’t mean I am bisexual. I could just be attracted to women, but that does not mean I am gay.

That means I am attracted to whomever I want to be attracted to.

The same goes for everyone else.

I am so scared of letting a label define me. I want to be who I am, and I want the ability to change. Having a label takes away the freedom to be myself.

And don’t we fight for freedom as hard as we can?

It’s is human nature to want to feel free. I want to be free.

Let me be free. Let me believe in whatever I want. Don’t make me a reason for blame.

I found I want none of it. Don’t label me.

Don’t call me that.

Don’t call me anything.

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Text by Emma Collier Graphic by Aidan Chaloupka

You find beliefs in unexpected places.

the stars shine brightest in the dark I was eight-years-old and snuggled on my family’s couch, seeking refuge from the hypnotic sun of late July, when a truly amazing sight lit up my family’s ‘80s analog TV: a program on nebulas and other astronomical formations.

My eyes met the illuminating lure of space, and I knew I had found something I had craved: the cosmos. It may have seemed random and chaotic but it contained natural order.

It was both a total and a minute fraction of the whole. It was God’s personal stamp of our existence, a vessel containing millions of equally valid perspectives on a singular essence.

I tried to escape the sun on that July day, but it tracked me down anywway, as I rested on my family’s antique settee, itself a voyager from a distant era.

I realized that this divinity I saw in the stars wasn’t confined to the stars themselves. Sometimes this divinity possesses people.

The cosmos on my television gave me a visualized glimpse into the fundamental animating energy, into a beautiful existence never to be fully understood, custom forged from the hands of God and not those of man. The stars helped me see beyond the pettiness of my physical state.

That day in my mystically illuminated living room, sandwiched between two crimson walls, I felt the presence of God.

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Text by Aidan Chaloupka

A Message to a Hero

Even in books,

A Jewish citizen went into hiding during the dictatorship of Adolf Hitler and was captured by the Nazi army in 1944. Her name was Anne Frank.

Reporter Brandi N Campbell writes her a letter of tribute

Dear Anne Frank, Although you may not know me, I feel like I know you. I don’t know if you know this, but your diary got published in at least 20 other countries in 1952.

It was first published in Holland in 1947. For lots and lots of people. It even turned into a broadway play in 1955. I would have hated that. But after the Nazis came and took you away...

Anyway, here I am. I must say I am in awe of your optimistic attitude in times of great oppression. You have wisdom and other virtuous qualities seen in adults twice or even three times your own age.

You went through so much in your young life, events probably unimaginable to many young people today. The misery of having to live in a “Het Achterhuis” (in English, the“secret annexe”) with seven other people who cannot seem to understand the mind of a young talkative girl growing into a woman, facing the possibility of an early death—all for her religion—seems so unreal.

In spite of all you went through in that upstairs apartment you continued to believe an end to the war was coming. I was personally inspired by a quote in your diary: “Should I stop myself quickly and feel ashamed that I am cheerful?

Ought I then to cry the whole day long? No, that I can’t do. Besides, in time this gloom will wear off.”

You heart is so deep! You were determined to get through even if the constant fear of being discovered by Nazis ate away at you, your family, and your father’s co-worker’s family and a person whom none of you knew very well.

However, even with all on the line, you remained strong-minded and hopeful.

Even though someone like me will never fully understand all you went through, I feel like I can relate. You were an average teenager going through normal things a regular teen would go through: young love, parental problems, curiosity, mental development… plus war and persecution for your religion.

In the “Het Achterhuis” you never once gave up the desire to see daylight again or return back to normal. Having to live like prisoners with limited amounts of food and bathroom space and having to be quieter than mice all day, had to have been difficult. I cannot even imagine!

Even still, you remained grateful. Your circumstances were not nearly like anything you were used to, but they were better than what many other Jewish people had, or what even you would have in coming months. You remained humble. I was touched when you prayed for people you didn’t even know because it showed how considerate and compassionate you are.

In school today children learn about you, your struggles and your life while in the Annexe. You may not realize it, but you are a hero. You impacted the world. Without your diary we would not understand so well what Jewish people went through during those times or what an average day in hiding may have looked like.

Anne, you are someone to be remembered throughout history. Your story captivates me. Your courage motivates me. You are extraordinarily bright and articulate and I commend you for all you did and said and contributed.

Yours Truly,

Brandi Campbell

Frank, A. (1952). Anne Frank: The diary of a young girl. New York: Pocket Books.

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Text by Brandi Campbell

WhaT WE THINK ABOUT WHAT WE WEAR

Or even in newspapers.

Students express what their bracelets, necklaces, religious texts and other religions possesions represent to themselves and their families 1. “It’s a lucky charm.” [senior Benny Souriyadeth]

2. Blessing Bracelets [junior America Kruse] 3. “It keeps me safe from harm; it keeps me away from it.” [senior Paulo Chu] 4. “This represents my church.” [sophomore Francis Loyola] 5. “I was raised Catholic by my siblings, but I go to a Christian church.” [senior Maria Mora] 6. “It symbolizes when I went to my first Communion. That’s when I first felt a real connection to my religion.” sophomore Yesmin Sanchez] 7. “Because God is love. I’m Christian and He loves us.

He died for us.” [sophomore Amy Heu] 8. “Because I’m Christian, it represents my beliefs.

The cross is always first and the look is second. If there’s a cross I will look at it and if I like it, I will choose it.”

Amanda Dyer failed at life #GameOver.................................................................................................................................................................................................................Executive Editor

[junior Seth Davis] 9. “It’s a reminder of what Jesus did for us.” [ sophomore Georgia Johnson]

10. “It reminds me to practice my religion outside of church. It’s a comfort thing. When I’m nervous it’s like God’s with me.” [senior Sheryll Acoba] 11. “It symbolizes my love for Jesus.” [juniot Levell Fillmore] 12. “I just feel like whenever I’m down I can read it to bring my spirits up. It’s comforting to read.” [senior Aalijah Fulton] 13. “It’s a blessed note, a lucky charm.” [ freshmen Vivian Vo] 14. “It makes me feel protected.” sophomore Bryan Rosales] 15. “My parents got it for my birthday. It has my birthstone in it and it’s kind of spiritual.” [sophomore Vanessa Leon Villgomez] 16. “I don’t wear it because I’m really religious. It’s for

style, I guess.” [senior Jan Fabrigas]

17. “I’m Christian and I wear it because my church is inviting other people to show what our religion is about.” [freshmen Ron Adriel Ibanez] 18. “I’m Catholic. I pray every day and it gives me something to pray to. It represents my religion. It gives me a feeling of safety.

Ever since I was a kid, [when] I see a cross it means protection.” [ senior Angelo Ocampo] 19. I’m Christian and I’ve been carrying it since the beginning of the school. [senior Kapkyi Lwai] 20. I”’m Catholic, but I’m not super religious. My dad is though. I just wear it.” [senior Chejay Roxas] 21. “It’s a memento from my family; I got it from my grandma. To me, it means protection. I’ve been a Catholic since I was baptized when I was five or six, but practically my whole

life.” [sophomore Stirling Lam] 22. “It’s Jesus, and I love Jesus.” [sophomore Kim Tran]

23. “It represents peace throughout life, where everything is equal.” [sophomore Siena Bushard] 24. “Because the Bible says you shouldn’t have sex.

It’s my grandma’s ring, and my sister gave it to me.” [sophomore I’lea Roberts] 25. “It was carved out of the largest piece of jade in the world that was carved into Buddha before my specific necklace was carved. My mom stood in a huge line to get one since only so many were made.” [senior Lilian Vo] 26. [My dad never baptized me, but I’m Catholic. [senior Destiny Dalit] 27. “I’ve gone through a lot and that has deepened my faith. I’ve never taken it off. It’s called a saint’s medallion.” [junior Lani Nguyen]

Theresa Burnside punches annoying people in the face......in her imagination.......................................................................................Staff Reporter

Alicia Quarles finally feels like she’s growing up.............................................................................................................................................................................................Chief Storyteller

Brandi Campbell is plotting to rule the world............................................................................................................................................................... Staff Reporter

Annie Kwan needs to pee..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Managing Editor

Mikayla Cheney needs to get over this sickness......................................................................................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Aidan Chaloupka If you have the key, why not open the door?.................................................................................................................................................................Copy Editor

Claudia Wilson will dominate you at Mario Party 7.............................................................................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Evelyn Fitz demands that everyone suck a butt B)........................................................................................................................................................................................................Art Editor

Miranda Clairmont is thinking what the next issue of Arrow should be ........................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Emma Collier wants snow but kind of doesn’t.....................................................................................................................................................................................................Photo Editor

Stephanie Graf should come to paste-up.......................................................................... .....................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Abigail Cetino went to a temple for the first time.....................................................................................................................................................................Ads & Business Manager

Khamren Gulley really should start going back to church...........................................................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Dominique Viray is yelling at the computer screen trying to grayscale.................................................................................................................Ads & Business Manager

Devon Henderson is reading Macbeth......................................................................................................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Rafael Agas decided that oatmeal is considered a full lunch................................................................................................................................................................Events Manager

D’Angelo Miller has a butter lettuce fantasy.......................................................................................................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Christina Nguyen loves this weather because it’s as cold as her heart..............................................................................................................................................Events Manager

Joseph Hoang is a professional Pokemon Trainer................................................................................................................................................................Staff Reporter

Naje Bryant can’t believe that she got a full 8 hours of sleep.......................................................................................................................................................................Layout Editor Derek Smith is stuntin’...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Advisor FINE PRINT ARROW is an open forum produced by senior-missing, memory-saving, nonstop-laughing, untraditionalfamily-like-teenagers who act like a pack of bears who fight for their honey, which is food. They put all their effort in one place and attend at the same time.

A place named Renton High School at 400 S. 2nd St., Renton, WA, 98057. The Executive Editor is senior Amanda Dyer. You can contact her at pandadyer@ earthlink.com.

ARROW is printed eight times a year by Pacific Publishing Company in Seattle, Washington. Word processing, graphics and layouts are created on Microsoft Office 2007 and Adobe Creative Suite 3 programs. ARROW has a press run of 2,000.

The staff welcomes letters to the editor and will publish letters which meet our standards of good taste (as space permits). Letters must be signed. ARROW reserves the right to edit letters, though every attempt will be made to preserve original content. Editorials,

Joseph Kraus is laboring away with thePulitzer-prize caliber writes of Arrow Newspaper......................................................................................Intern Beyoncé Knowles hopes that the Arrow and Illahe staff will play her new album at paste-up........................................................................Baddie

Commentaries, and other opinionated content pieces represent the majority view of ARROW editorial board and do not represent the views of the Renton School District or RHS. Opinions, commentaries, satires, and perspectives are the views of the writers and artists, not the Renton School District or ARROW editorial board.

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