SPSG Confetti 2020 by St. Paul's School for Girls

SPRING 2020

CONFETTI Digital Artwork by Alexandra Abrams '20

LETTERFROMTHEEDITORS Confetti?s m ission is t o highlight t he creat ive ingenuit y of t he St . Paul?s School for Girl?s Upper School. The st udent body has creat ed a diverse port folio t o showcase t he voices of our com m unit y. Through t his year ?s issue of Confetti, we hope you can find solace during t hese unprecedent ed t im es. Reflect ing on our t im e as t he edit ors of Confetti, we are pleased t o find we have grown not only as individual writ ers, but also as a st aff. This year it has been our int ent ion t o em power our peers and give t hem t he confidence t o share t heir st ories. If you did not subm it t o Confetti t his year, we hope t his issue gives you t he ext ra push t o t ell your t rut h in t he fut ure. Thank you t o everyone who support ed and cont ribut ed t o t he m agazine. We want t o especially t hank our dedicat ed st aff who selflessly devot ed t heir t im e t o creat ing a wonderful product . We would also like t o t hank t he st udent s who subm it t ed work.

We underst and it is difficult t o put a piece of yourself out int o t he world for ot hers t o see. We com m end you for your bravery and aut hent icit y. Our final expression of grat it ude is dedicat ed t o Mrs. Schult z. Mrs. Schult z began overseeing t he lit erary m agazine as a new t eacher during t he 2018-2019 school year. Since t hen, she has t irelessly worked t o enhance t he program . Her passion for creat ive writ ing is evident t hrough her effort s and cont inuously inspires her st udent s. Mrs. Schult z?s m ent orship has equipped us wit h creat ive courage we hope t o carry wit h us forever. As we em bark on our individual journeys, we would like t o leave you wit h one m essage: if you have a life, you have a st ory wort h hearing.

Your Edit ors, Rain Kesler ?20, Genevieve Krygier ?20, and Nia Lewis ?20.

CONFETTI STAFF Edit or s-in -Ch ief -

Rain Kesler '20 Genevieve Krygier '20 Nia Lewis '20

Edit or ial St af f

Confetti accepts submissions of poetry, fiction, nonfiction, art, and photography from Upper School Students. All submissions are reviewed anonymously. Interested in submitting to Confetti or joining our team? Email us at con f et t i@st pau lsm d.or g!

Alex Brummett '20 Lindsay Carroll '20 Anna Hjortsberg '20 Kiera Ruby '20 Cree Seunarine '20 Morgan Tillman '20 Chloe Pitard '21 Hannah McCambridge '22

Facu lt y Advisor -

Whitney Schultz

TABLEOFCONTENTS How to Like Your Writing by Rain Kesler

Painting by Sami Marino

Painting by Sydney Chmar

My Dog by Caroline Lee

Creases by Morgan Tillman

Digital Artwork by Caitlin Zappacosta

Digital Artwork by Alex Abrams

I Am a Songbird by Genevieve Krygier

How to Fall in Love by Morgan Tillman

Dance by Sarah Roberts

Ghazal to My Hair by Rain Kesler

Painting by Ally Williams

Digital Artwork by Alex Abrams

Scars Upon Scars by Eliza Sollers

Painting by Claire Foley

Painting by Maggie Norton

Thoughts of Faults by Anna Talmage

Ghosts by Anna Talmage

The Unexpected Burdens by Sophia Grass

Dixieland's Demise by Casey Brown

Painting by Alex Abrams

Painting by Claire Foley

A New Life by Lila Burch

The Magic of Sam's Club by Bianca Eguzo

Naming It by Nyrel Malcom

Love's Stepping Stones by Anna Talmage

Photograph by Lindsay Carroll

Artwork by Abby Mudd

Photograph by Lindsay Carroll

Where I'm From by Genevieve Krygier

Ghazal by Alex Brummett

Painting by Susannah Webster

28 Days of Sound: Breath by Dekhira Oula

My Big Fat Greek Family by Skiatheni Trintis

At This Time by Maressa Cuthrell

Be void of all desire. Think of your body as no more than a means to hold the pen. Be able to tell stories that go beyond your bedroom door.

HOWTOLIKEYOURWRITING

Poem by Rain Kesler '20

Remember when you were young and could become someone else if you breathed a certain way. Look into the faces of others and see universal truth rather than personal defect. Write about what you know but do not write about yourself. Reach inside of you and grab your soul; take it out and put it on the desk, just above the page. Then peel the skin off your hands until in the remaining muscle, you find rivers.

Painting by Sydney Chmar '20

CREASES

Poem by Morgan Tillman '20

I?m t ruly not a child t hat m y body cont ains. The body represent s t he person doesn?t it ? Doesn?t it det erm ine how you look or how ot hers perceive you? I wat ch when classm at es pass not es around t he classroom and giggle. I always t hink it is about m e The st ret ch m arks t hat t ravel t hrough t he creases of m y body. Do t hey define m y pat h in life? They t ear up m y self-confidence, t he kids st are. The fat t y t issue rubs against m y jeans, m y skirt s. It rolls over m y dream s of fit t ing in My fat does not fit ? int o anyt hing The food I like you m ust ask: fat t y, candy, m eat y, and st arch t hat can kill m y insides Sugar, a 5 let t er word, a subst ance t hat is usually cont ained in a jar I am cont ained in t he jar of m y body Trapped in a lit t le jar t hat I cannot even fit in Where t he lid closes and m y loud voice st ops My self-est eem fades, and m y body represent s m e I list en t o a lot of different people: Hat ers, Users, Cheat ers But do I ever list en t o t he loud voice t hat is scream ing out side of m y body Scream ing adject ives Beaut iful, Courageous, and Dangerous because of m y voice Bet ween t he sag of m y st om ach, t he lum ps, and t he st ret ch m arks I am devast at ed about how I look and feel I am not just a body Digital Artwork by Alexandra Abrams '20

HOWTOFALLINLOVE

Poem by Morgan Tillman '20

First open your heart , be ready t o let it com e when it com es Be open t o not finding som eone right away Let your heart be your guide Physical at t ract ion is not only t he way you fall in love Ment ally do not get at t ached on t he first t im e you m eet t he person Spirit ually, find som eone t hat want s t o have spirit ual growt h A person t hat want s t o grow wit h you as a person Religion, Polit ics, and Et hical Background is not what you want a person t o define you as Sexually, do not rush it , find a balance and let it be consensual An absence of no does not m ean t hat t here is consent Let it be nat ural Be t rut hful wit h your part ner from t he beginning Don?t lie or hide anyt hing Be ready for reject ion and Be ready for som eone t hat act ually loves you As people we find it hard t o believe t hat a person

can act ually love us for just us and not our physical appearance Love Is Love Do not let gender be a regulat ion of how or who you love, do not let t hat keep you in a box Do not have t he social anxiet y be som et hing t hat holds you back Love who you want t o love Be gent le allowing som eone t o com e int o your bubble Fall in Love wit h som eone t hat m akes you feel good on t he inside Fall in love wit h som eone t hat gives you am ple com plim ent s Fall in love wit h som eone t hat does t he sm all t hings not always t he big t hings Som et im es Sm all t hings can m ake you happier t han t he big t hings Allow som eone t o pop your bubble t hat loves you Allow yourself t o be happy and not t ry t o m ake everybody else happy You can learn how t o Find Love by being som eone t hat som ebody else want s t o love Be t he Love

GHAZALTOMYHAIR Ever since I was young, I?ve been t ort uring t his hair. Aft er every wash, m om would sit up t il m orning and t wist hair. At t welve I realized what people like; Mom and I bot h knew school was no place for t hick hair. If you put a bird in a cage it doesn?t st op singing. Brand new hands said it was t im e t o snip hair. When it grew back, it was back t o t he iron; Som e Sat urdays all I sm ell is crisp hair. I st ill don?t look in m irrors for t oo long. I wish som eone had t old m e t his was a gift , hair. No one ever t old Grandm a and she didn?t t ell Mom , so at night she folds and clips hair. At 17 I?m t eaching m yself how t o love t hese locks; wit h blades for lips, how t o kiss hair. When I?m old and wrinkled I wonder what I?ll say when t hey ask,?Rain, do you m iss hair? Poem by Rain Kesler '20

Digit al Artwork by Alexandra Abram s '20

Paint ing by Claire Foley '20

M y f au lt s ar e m y t h ou gh t s t h at blan k et m y m in d. Gr ievin g an d h ear t ach e t w ist ar ou n d m y side. Keepin g m e h er e, f igh t in g h ear t in bin d. Br eat h in g in m y ach in g lu n gs su bside. Com e h it h er h er e, st ay in m y m in d. Saf e f r om t h e t h ou gh t s t h at h aven?t died. You ?ll st ay h er e t r yin g t o collect t ear s lon g dr ied. For I k n ow of t h e speech oh so m align ed. For you r r ealit y is su m m on ed by su bject s. I w ill leave you in m in d bu t leave you r body beh in d. Su bject ed by t ain t ed love I h ad t u r n ed over ch eck s. You r t ain t ed love h ad r at h er m e blin d. I am f in ally don e w it h you r t ain t ed lies. Poem by Anna Talm age '22 For lover s of love ar e alw ays lef t w it h f ew er allies.

THOUGHTSOFFAULTS

THEUNEXPECTEDBURDENSONETAKESON

Poem by Sophia Grass '21

To be the good and perfect daughter since we all know she is too far gone to live up to what was expected. But, to be held to a higher standard than she ever was. To be responsible and mature. But, to know you are a child and cannot make choices for oneself. To be smart, be a good student, take high level classes, do extracurriculars, finish all assignments on time, and maintain good grades. But, to maintain a decent sleep schedule, not over invest oneself, and to be and act as a kid. To be one?s own and to stick up for oneself. But, to maintain respect for whom one is speaking with. Say Yes Sir, No Sir, Yes Ma?am, No Ma?am and of course one must not ever curse. To respect, take care of, and love one?s parents. To put aside one?s own needs and do what is convenient for others. But, to know what is right for you and take care of oneself.

To be always and forever for him. But, to never seem him. To be fine. To be fine of biting off too much to chew but to deal with the bitter aftertaste, like rotten cauliflower swirling around in your nose, your mouth, everywhere, leaving a film on your tongue, for fear of disappointing those close by. To be content. To be content doing the same routine day in, day out. Wake up with the wet nose of a puppy pressing against your forehead, get dressed, take the puppy out, eat breakfast, drive through bumper to bumper traffic, get to school on time, get through the day, after school activities, yet again more bumper to bumper traffic, home, homework, dinner, homework, shower, homework. Finally, the sweet, warm, and comfort of bed. Wake up. Repeat. Repeat. Day in. Day out. To be happy. To be happy!? Why? How? How!? Tell me? Please?

Paint ing by Alex Abram s '20

ANEWLIFE They say I am not want ed, left alone at t wo days old ? on a life-long journey t o find a forever hom e. Yet no ot her fam ily shows m ore love and affect ion. Each st ar in t he galaxy ? resem bling each m em ber of m y fam ily, shining light over m e providing a pat hway for life, root ing for success. There is no sham e in being adopt ed, A new life ? chosen for you.

Poem by Lila Burch '20

?It ? is not norm al, or put t oget her. Nor is ?It ? easy and sim ple. ?It ? is weird and m essy, Com plicat ed and dysfunct ional.

NAMINGIT

Poem by Nyrel Malcom '20

?It ? is as st range as a flying shark, Messy like a t oddler eat ing spaghet t i. ?It ? is a huge puzzle. Many pieces m ake up ?It ?; Som et im es t hey fit , Som et im es t hey need a lit t le help connect ing. Nevert heless, ?It ? is loved. Nevert heless, ?It ? is perfect t o m e. ?It ? is m y fam ily.

Phot ograph by Lindsay Carroll '20

I?m losing t rack of what day it is out t here. I m iss t he out side world. I hat e being st uck in here. I want t o go out side. I know t hat I can. There?s not hing st opping m e. I could get up right now and t ake a walk out side. But I?ve done t hat already. It ?s get t ing old. I can leave m y house. But everyt hing?s so dead. It doesn?t feel like t he out side. It ?s good t o go out , t hey say. Rout ine, exercise, see t he sunshine. The t rees are st ill out t here. But t he world isn?t out side. Not anym ore. The world shines t hrough screens and m y own m em ories. My people aren?t out side. I?m t ired of t his I?m t ired of t his I?m t ired ofAlex, it ?ll be over. You?ll be okay. Soon, you?ll see t he out side.

GHAZAL Phot ograph by Lindsay Carroll '20

Poem by Alex Brum m et t '20

28DAYSOFSOUND:BREATH

Poem by Dekhira Oula '21

How I?ve forgot t en t he sound of Breat h, How I?ve chased it from class t o class, school t o hom e Everywhere I go, Yet it ?s t oo hard t o cat ch, How I?ve seen it abandon m y fam ily, Leaving rushed Breat h, Everyt hing is m oving every second, Breat h. Don?t forget t his, don?t forget t hat , Breat h. How I was jealous of t he dist ance yours goes, Wit hout hesit at ion, clear, calm , full Mine was forced, short and anxious, yearning for one m ore inch, But now, do you hear it ? My chest blossom ing like a gladiolus flower, Opening t o t he sound of cool winds com ing from m y lungs, No m ore t ug of war wit h m y chest , And I can let t he sweet , m elodic sound of Breat h out , And so did m y fam ily, On a walk, wat ching TV, doing work We didn?t not ice but we all heard t he sound, It was different , it was foreign, But when I laid down, it was a fam iliar sense, And how I?ve learned I needed t hese 28 days t o sound m y Breat h.

ATTHISTIME

Poem by Maressa Cut hrell '20

They say t his t im e is scary, And it is not safe t o walk about , That it is t oo lat e t o go out . But t his is t he coolest t im e t o wander, To forget about t he day and just be. This is t he best t im e t o see t he st ars, Hear t he wind howl, see t he m oon shine, Get lost in t hem and t hink, Rem inding you how int erconnect ed We all really are. I feel t he m ost creat ive and calm at t his t im e. I t hink all people should t ry t his; Maybe if t hey did, we could have som e peace. Paint ing by Sam i Marino '21

Digit al Art work by Cait lin Zappacost a '21

Oh, he?s only a sm all dog, Lazy and wit hout charm ? He will never learn a t rick. Yet no ot her dog Has such a robust personalit y. His barking calls m e t o play Each sound a shower of affect ion ? Or perhaps, like a child, Yearning for at t ent ion Building charact er t hrough t he gam es. It is t rue m ine is not as fierce

MYDOG

My dog is half t he size of m ost but His charism a radiat es.

Poem by Caroline Lee '20

I AMASONGBIRD

Poem by Genevieve Krygier '20

Song is m y cage. The not es wrapping around m e and binding m e wit h chains It is a st ruggle each day t o sing each word Yet , I am a songbird Wit h t he not es flying t hrough t he air in an em pt y forest It is an escape from t he st ress of t he day I am a songbird and m y not es cat ch on t he wind, grabbing people?s heart s It is t he m edicine t hey need t o go on I am t he voice in t heir heads offering advice When I fly, m y song carries away m y worries away The words lift t he weight from m y shoulders Music set s people free It is t he job of t he m usician t o unlock t he gat e To t he happiness t hat was hiding in t he shadow of doubt

They say pain, blood, and t ears follow when t here is a passion wit hin a dancer. Doubt const ant ly runs t hrough your m ind, Fearful of t he dream s you have because you fear failure.

Yet , dance is what keeps m e grounded, It is m y words when I do not have any.

Dance helps m e see t he light in a dark sit uat ion. Dance is like candlelight in t he m iddle of t he night . Dance is like an escape t hat is always t here. Dance is like a pict ure t hat com es alive t o t he m usic. Dance m akes m e feel like a swan t hat sways on t he side of a river.

Yes, dance is painful. There are m om ent s where doubt cont rols m y m ind, But in t he end t his art form is what brings m e t he m ost joy.

DANCE

Poem by Sarah Robert s '20 Paint ing by Ally William s '21

SCARSUPONSCARS

Personal Essay by Eliza Sollers '21

Imagine spending 10 hours every week with your best friends, saying goodbye for the night, and it being the last time you see them. My last practice wasn?t supposed to be my last practice. Once it was decided that I would stop training, I knew it would be too hard to go back and watch them move on without me. Before my pain started, I was thriving athletically. I was captain of my gymnastics team. I was a field hockey goalie with a pretty high save ratio. I was the only person who made ?A? team that didn?t play club lacrosse. I wasn?t set to be a Division 1 athlete, but I seemed to have a bright athletic future ahead of me, though this did not last forever. The clouds of pain began to roll into my life. If my body was Mother Nature, she was confronting me with every trick in her book.

Static was in the air as I began to lose skills due to limitations of my body. I felt electricity shoot through my body, down to my feet and hands, and through the back of my head. Wildfires burned through the skin on my lower back and continued to spread with no water source in sight. Earthquakes ravaged my skeleton as I could feel the shifting and cracking of my foundation. The tides of change were more like tsunamis, wrecking so much of what I had worked for, and making rebuilding a daunting task. Reviewing my five MRI?s, CAT scan, and 26 X-rays, my doctors repeatedly call my body the perfect storm. The catastrophic damage of said storm is evident through the internal scars that can be seen in the imaging.

A year and half into the never-ending rainy season that my life had become, I was given the opportunity to climb Emigrant Peak in Paradise Valley, Montana, a mountain I?d stared at in awe since I was a toddler. Standing at an intimidating 10, 926 feet, at the time, Emigrant was adorned with a blanket of snow that had remained through August. I knew the steep, 10-mile hike would take a toll on my already damaged body, but this did not stop me for a second, as I felt obligated to complete the strenuous hike. The first hour was straight uphill, through hill side meadows with a small rock path that cut through them, followed by a steep open pasture that revealed the first view of the valley. Our group of 5 had spread out, as some were able to brave the intensity of the hike better than others. I was not in first. I was in last. The group finally came back together when the trail, though still as steep as before, became even slower once we began to scramble which

is when hands become involved because it is too dangerous to trust your feet. We rested at 9000 feet, then while three stayed, two of us decided to continue. I made it 300 feet from the top, and because I was on my own at this point, I was not confident enough to brave the last bit. While I sat and waited to be guided down by Joe, our family friend, who we refer to as a mountain man. I was able to sit and reflect on my journey up the mountain. I never could have imagined I would have gotten that far. Little did I know, the journey had only just begun. One of the things I noticed as I gazed upon the valley that had meant so much to me for so long, was the unexpected set of storm clouds rolling in from the distance. When Joe appeared again, he was clearly concerned by the ominous view as well. We moved as quickly as we could to find the rest of the group, and when we reunited, we did our best to maneuver down the mountain

fast. Not only were we crushing our toes by going down the hills so quickly, but each one of us took a tumble or two. I was already bleeding from some branches that broke my skin, but I tripped in a small divot in the trail and hit into a fallen tree stump that punctured my thigh. I was bleeding a lot, and was in a lot of pain, but I knew I did not have the option to stop and complain about it. The static in the air was evident, and electricity approached from the distance, but this time it was the real Mother Nature. I had to push through and get another three or so miles down the mountain. As rough as it was, we made it just in time to be out of harm?s way, and I also got a little souvenir that happens to be in my skin. Every time I notice the spot on my leg that is now just slight discoloration, I?m reminded that even though it might have to hurt at times, I can get ahead of the storms I face. It?s a physical scar that reminds me of

how to handle the scars on the inside. It emphasizes that I should not spend time complaining because it is not beneficial to me, and that I should instead stay focused on what?s in front of me.

Paint ing by Maggie Nort on '20

Fict ion by Anna Talm age '22

Tick t ock, t ick t ock. The clock hanging on t he wall slowly t icked count ing t he seconds t o m inut es t o hours t o days. That t hey were gone. Glancing over t o wat ch like m y sist er oft en did, I saw a t welve-year-old wit h soaking wet hair swaying wit h t he pendulum inside. Shaking m y head, I look back t o t he em pt y space before t he clock. St riking noon, I ent er t he kit chen hearing hum s t o words I long forgot about an old fairyt ale t hat m ot her loved. Breat hing in, breat hing out I ent ered t o see a wom an st anding next t o t he st ove. Words echo around m y head, like a sym phony long forgot ; ?lunch is alm ost ready, go t ell your fat her- he should be in t he st udy.? Minut es t icking away I ent er t o m y fat her scribbling away at som e new poem . My words encircle m e like a halo of m em ories; ?m om said lunch was ready.? I call from t he door, walking away like I was never t here. I ent er t he dust y kit chen and sit down.

GHOSTS

Bags beneat h m y eyes feeling like a m illion pounds. Mout h dry like I hadn't eat en in days. Skelet al hands st and out on display, covered in a m ilky skin I shouldn?t be calling m y own, if I looked in a m irror, I'd see out lines of bones, sunken eyes and red runny nose. I sat at t he t able t o st are as m y fam ily at e ghost s of food, apparit ions whose spell I was under. Looking down I see a plat e of food unt ouched and if I chose t o look past , I would see not a fresh t hing of salad wit h a m out hwat ering BLT whose sm ell waft ed m iles drawing t hose ot her people int o an unknown scent t hey som ehow craved, but a m oldy piece of bread far t o st ale t o eat . Looking at m y fam ily I could finally see t hat t he illusion I was under m ade m e feel like drowning in t he sam e lake I lost t hem t o. I survey t he glass scat t ered along m y fat her ?s chest from t he window t hat sm ashed in. My dear m ot her ?s forehead caved in, and lake wat er dripping from t he gash.

Glancing at m y sist er, younger by t hree years, she st ared back wit h pale whit e lips whose color was washed away wit h her breat h. Her t ears m ixed wit h t he wat er as she drowned t o deat h. Wit h what seem ed like her last breat h she said, ?face your fears before t hey st eal your breat h.? Gaining m y confidence, I left t he bug infest ed t able t o find t he old broken broom . To get dressed, and cat ch t he dim m ing sunlight , t o get food for t he aching in m y st om ach. Yet all t he way t hey followed m e, m y ghost s and fears shining t hrough.

It was abandoned now Left t o die And suffer. Just like Ma and m e. There was a 70% off sale But st ill wasn?t m akin?m oney Money we needed but didn?t have. Money t hat no one in t his t own had. Ma was let go and everyt hing crum bled. Midnight , a ghost t own A shell of a cit y t hat once t hrived? Maybe in t he 60?s but not anym ore. Nebraska, 1993 The sum m er breeze m ovin?slow The glass shat t ering The sirens ringing The adrenaline pum pin?t hrough m y veins. The handcuffs on m y wrist s That som ehow m ade it feel wort h it . The light er in m y hand. The feeling when I dropped it It was st ill going, The m usic of sirens and scream in?in m y ears As I wat ched m y m ast erpiece from t he backseat .

How I lit up t he sky. Oh how I m ade t his t own bright for once. Oh how I m ade it shine. Oh how I m ade it shine.

DIXIELAND'SDEMISE Poem by Casey Brown '20

Paint ing by Claire Foley

THEMAGICOFSAM'SCLUB

Personal Essay by Bianca Eguzo '21

Can you imagine a place filled to the brim with all your favorite foods (in bulk, I might add) just waiting to be bought for a low, affordable price? What about a huge store with various desirable name-brand clothing being sold for just a portion of their original price? Or a restaurant that allows you to sample the most enticing items on the menu, free of charge? I bet most people believe that these things sound too good to be true on their own, let alone combined with each other. However, I am here to say that this wonderous place does exist. It is real and it presents itself in the form of Sam?s Club. This store has groceries, beauty items, clothing, baked goods, electronics, furniture, home dĂŠcor,

jewelry, office supplies, and even tires; so (too casual) for the most part, anything anyone could ever need. It amazes me how many people have either never been to Sam?s or underestimate its power and superiority. All one needs to do to understand the appeal of this magical place is take a step into the warm, welcoming oasis that is Sam?s Club and take a look around. When I look back on my childhood, there are a few events and themes that stand out to me. For the most part, vacations, birthdays, Christmases, and bonding moments between my family and I are the most prominent memories I have.

Trips to Sam?s Club fall under the category of ?bonding moments? for me. Growing up, my mom, my sister, and I (occasionally accompanied by my dad) visited Sam?s club at least two Saturdays a month, almost without fail. I always looked forward to these family outings because not only did I get to spend time in my favorite store, I also got to do so with my favorite people. I did not realize at the time, but these Sam?s Club trips were important to the closeness of my family. Both of my parents are extremely busy people, and though my sister and I were young, we too had our own schedules during the week. The hour and a half we spent as a family unit roaming around Sam?s Club every other Saturday morning may seem small and insignificant. However, something I have learned is that spending uninterrupted time sans distractions with my family is vital for a healthy relationship. The fact that we all shared a love of Sam?s Club and all it has to offer, such as the gourmet samples and

sweet, fresh squeezed orange juice, and (add third item) also did a lot to bring us together. I valued these expeditions and bonding moments even when I was younger but, in hindsight, I value these times even more now. Over the years, my family?s trips to Sam?s club turned into a trip for just my mom and me. My sister got older and busier and the tradition of us all going together gradually changed into a rare occasion. Instead of getting to spend the time every Saturday with my whole family, the outings became a way for my mom and I to bond one-on-one. Nonetheless, I still appreciated these times time as they were some of the few instances where I was my mom?s sole focus and she would not be distracted by my sisters or her work. Since my mom and I are so similar in many ways, it was fun for us to spend time with just each other every once in a while.

For example, she and I have always connected over our love of organization and decided to create a special routine for our grocery store visits. We would always start at the very first aisle, the beauty and personal care section, and weave our way through every single one, regardless of whether or not we actually needed an item from a particular aisle. My mom and I would especially enjoy our strolls through the produce aisle and took turns picking out the best fruit week to week. We made our time together even more enjoyable by turning our produce picking into an ongoing competition. Whoever picked the best produce that month won the competition. Another fun aspect of Sam?s Club excursions with my mom was the snacks we bought. Skinny Pop and Fiber One bars were always our go-to items at the top of our list. Finally, one of the best parts of traveling to Sam?s Club with my mom has always been sifting through the racks and stacks of

leggings, t-shirts, and sweatshirts in the clothing section, all being sold for a fraction of their value. Almost every time we went, my mom and I would find a cute new item to purchase. Some aspects of our Sam?s Club ritual had changed (mainly the participants), but my mom and I found ways to make the tradition our own and were brought even closer through this. My mother is not the only person with whom I?ve bonded with over a love of Sam?s Club. Though my sister ?s participation in the bi-weekly errand decreased significantly as she got older, this just made the times we could go together even more special. When it was my mom, my sister Courtney and I, we would always have great fun. Courtney and I would often separate from my mom in a sample frenzy, roaming from cart to cart searching for the tastiest foods.

We would then proceed to go pouting back to mom since Sam?s Club workers had a tendency to turn down sample obsessed kids without a parent present. But my sister and I did not let this ruin our fun. Something else we looked forward to is picking out a dessert. Every time we went grocery shopping, my mom would allow my sister and I to pick out one dessert for dinner that night, in addition to whatever she had decided to buy. We took this duty incredibly serious and always mulled over our options for extensive periods of time before making our final decision. Apple fritters and brownies were two of the most popular options, but Sam?s club has so much to offer we frequently switched up our pick. I will never forget the lighthearted arguments my sister and I used to have while trying to make this difficult decision, but I am thankful to Sam?s Club for the delightful memories I have. To many people, Sam?s club is just a grocery store. Many people probably just regard the weekly trip to Sam?s as an errand they have to run to

cross off a task on their to-do list. However, this is not the case for me. Sam?s Club and its extensive offerings have always been a means of connection for my family and me. The time we have spent together in the store during my childhood has truly left an impact on my family. To this day, I still love Sam?s Club, partly because of the delectable treats, interesting books, and stylish clothing that can be found there, but mostly because of the memories I have made in the store.

One beat , Two beat s, Three, t hen four. St epping on st ones m arked by num bers on t he floor. A breat h filling breat hless lungs. As a heart beat m at ched t he m usic t hey list ened on. Arm s wrapped in com m it m ent t o t he loved one. Hold her closer, breat he a lit t le m ore. A giggle erupt s and t he dance is no m ore. Two lit t le girls gracing a carpet ed floor. One breat h in, Two no m ore. Foot st eps avoiding wooden drawers of dust y corridors. Racing down t he halls are t wo t een girls. Racing, running, all a lit t le m ore. One beep, Two beeps, Just a lit t le sore. Two young wom en t rapped on opposit e doors. One wat ching, longing t o be wit h her lover once m ore. Eyes wat ching each ot her longing a lit t le m ore. A soft weak voice calls t he ot her in. Fingers gracing colder skin. One beat , Two beat s, Three, ont o four. Count ing aching breat hs as she runs a lit t le m ore. Pacing t he graves t o one she knows best . Spirit s wat ch past lovers t ry t o reconnect . One breat h, Two breat hs, Just a lit t le t oo far. Broken dream s, hopeless breat hs. Eyes begin t o wat er just a lit t le m ore. One t ear, Two t ears. Just a hundred m ore. Poem by Anna Talm age '22

Art work by Abby Mudd '20

LOVE'SSTEPPINGSTONES

WHEREI'MFROM

Poem by Genevieve Krygier '20

I am from the blanket draped on the couch, From Aveeno moisturizer and Downy laundry soap. I am from the distinct fragrance of lilac perfume I am from the lavender bush, the scent of lavender as it clings to me and the feeling of the flower against my fingers I am from baking cookies and kindness, From the smile of my mother and the constant support of my father and the laugh of my aunt I am from the long weekend drives to nowhere in particular and movie days From the idea that I can do anything I put my mind to, And that I should never question who I am. I am from the belief of equality and that everyone matters I?m from Baltimore Maryland, Chili and spaghetti and meatballs From the time that my mother was away, The fish was on the floor because my cat had knocked over the tank, And death had reached its hand out and taken my fish from me.

My mother ?s voice on the other end of a phone, A calm presence in the chaos. I am from the picture on the bookcase, From the sign my mother made for my birthday that sits on my dresser. The picture on the bookcase is of my aunt and I the day of my 8th grade speech, The day I told her through my speech what an impact she has had on my life. My mother made a sign for my birthday, She waited until I had gone to bed, and she had decorated the whole living room. The sign was front and center, The sparkle of the glitter on the paper, On it were words that reflected the love and care she had for me. I was touched by how much work she put into it, It now sits on my dresser as a constant reminder that someone will always be there for me. Both of these things are mementos that capture moments of my childhood, Moments that will always remind me where I am from.

Paint ing by Susannah Webst er '20

MYBIGFATGREEKFAMILY Personal Essay by Skiat heni Trint is '21

I can?t remember a birthday party where ?Happy Birthday? wasn?t sung twice, once in English and once in Greek, as I looked around at the confused faces of all of my American friends. I am Greek. My mom?s parents immigrated to the United States from the island of Rhodes in 1966 on a boat called the SS Queen Frederica after my grandfather got a job offer from Joseph A. Banks. My mom, the youngest of three children, was the only one of her siblings born in the States. On my dad?s side, his mom immigrated to the United States as a kid, and his dad?s parents were immigrants, both also from Rhodes. My parents speak fluent Greek, especially my mom because, when her parents moved here, they hardly spoke any English. My pappou,

my grandfather, eventually learned a fair amount of English out of necessity in order to communicate for his work. My grandmother, YiaYia, however, did not work and therefore does not speak the American vernacular. Instead, when attempting to speak English, she speaks what my family calls ?Grenglish,? where she makes a valid effort, but the words never seem to come out right. For example, she calls TJMaxx ?Mac and Joy? and ketchup is ?kecho.? My yiayia and pappou on my dad?s side were very involved with the Greek Orthodox Church. With this as my background, my family is very invested in the Greek traditions and culture. My childhood was definitely different than many American kids. Not by much, but still different. Every Sunday I went to church, and after, I went to Greek dancing

lessons where we rehearsed for our performances at festivals and parades. We did many traditional Greek dances, such as pentozali, ikariotiko, tsambiko, and kalamatiano while we wore traditional Greek dancer costumes. The costumes were my least favorite aspect of performing. They consisted of layers upon layers of stockings, heavy skirts, aprons, long sleeve shirts, jackets, and headwraps. I especially did not like the costumes because I remember being too small to fit into the jacket for the girls and instead had to wear a vest like the boys. The next day, I would go to school where I had to constantly say that I did not believe in the mythological Greek gods such as Zeus and Aphrodite to all of the Percy Jackson readers. After regular school, I went to Greek school. My three siblings and I

made up most of the class until the older two graduated after completing their five years. That left my older brother and me to our own as we attempted to understand the lengthy words put in front of us that were never explained. The only reason we ever wanted to go was because sometimes the teacher would give us sweet treats. I used to be embarrassed of my family?s traditions. I didn?t like feeling different from all of my friends. I didn?t think being Greek as anything special, I saw it as a way of separating myself from my friends. I did not like having to explain to people why our Easter was different than other people?s, what a name day is, or what my name means. I hated having to call my Yiayia and Pappou ?grandma? and ?grandpa? or my Thea and Theo ?aunt? or ?uncle? when talking about them to my

non-Greek friends. I hated watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding. This lasted until about my first year of middle school. That summer I had traveled to Greece with my family for the first time. I remember feeling shocked by the sights.. We went to the petaloudes, a tourist attraction filled with black and orange butterflies everywhere we looked. My parents told me that there were not as many petaloudes as there used to be, but, to me, it was one of the most fascinating things I had ever witnessed. We went to beaches with clear waters and small waves. My favorite was Prasonisi. This beach is at the very bottom of the island, and it is where the Aegean and Mediterranean seas meet. On one side, the water was so calm, and on the other, the antithesis. It was non-stop, back to back waves that were

filled with surfers and parasailers. My favorite part of this trip was being able to visit the monasteries that I was named after. In Rhodes, these names meant something, unlike in the United States where they were just a bunch of syllables most people still don?t pronounce correctly. My name was still uncommon and kind of unusual in Rhodes, but they recognized the name and, for the first time ever, I saw it printed on something other than my own homework. My name was in big letters on a ferry. I felt so special because every time I would go to a tourist shop in the States and looked at the keychains and mugs that had everyone?s names printed on them, I was reminded that my name would never have its own special place in the cupboard. We flew back to America from the trip that I wished would last forever. I

remember being proud of my background. I got home and watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The movie felt so real; it was like a documentary. For the first time, I felt that I was represented. All throughout school I was the only Greek kid other than my siblings. I always felt like there was a part I never shared with my friends because I didn?t think they would understand. I thought they would judge me for sharing that we had a whole lamb on a spit in our backyard on Easter. I used to be young Toula Portokalos, unappreciative of my culture and traditions. After watching the movie hundreds of times and realizing how special and great my family was, I became Costa Portokalos. Just the other day, I felt as if I actually embodied him, like his spirit took over my soul, when I could not wait to explain the

Greek roots behind a random word that was written on the board. Just before the Ring Dance, I felt like Toula Portokalos again. I was at my Yiayia and Pappou?s house to get my dress altered because my Pappou is a tailor. I was sitting with them and my Pappou asked me, ?Who are you taking to the dance? Is he Greek?? to which I replied, ?No, he?s not.? My Yiayia and Pappou disappointedly sighed and said, ?Oh, it?s alright. You can take one to prom,? in their heavy Greek accents. They have always had the mindset that their children and grandchildren need to marry good Greek people. When my mom was younger, xeni, non-Greeks, were not even allowed to call the house. These stories and traditions are what make my life interesting, and I would not

change them for the world. Watching My Big Fat Greek Wedding has made me realize just how special these moments are. I cherish them so much. Representation is so important in people?s confidence. When I came to St. Paul?s I remember having one other Greek girl in the grade and immediately, we created a bond over our strange traditions, and now, being Greek is something I talk about nearly every day instead of something that I hide. My Big Fat Greek Wedding is so important to me and it has created in me a sense of pride for my roots and my heritage.

DEARREADERS, It has been an ext raordinary year? for t he world, for our st udent s, for Confetti. This year, we celebrat ed our award from t he Nat ional Council of Teachers of English, who recognized our m agazine?s hard work, creat ivit y, and diversit y and awarded our publicat ion wit h a ranking of ?Excellent .? The st aff m em bers of Confet t i went int o t he year energized by t his recognit ion and eager t o cont inue growing our m agazine. We received subm issions from all grades and genres t his year, and we were given t he im possible t ask t o select t he works t o showcase t o t he school. We t hank you all for your support , encouragem ent , and desire t o be a part of our m agazine. As we cont inue growing and evolving, we hope you?ll cont inue t o support our endeavors by sharing t he m agazine, subm it t ing your own work, and support ing

our cont est s and subm ission drives. While we wish you could hold t his m agazine in your hands, we hope you?ll t ake t he t im e t o enjoy t his digit al product ion. The st aff m em bers collaborat ed t o bring you t his beaut iful issue, and we hope you enjoy reading every word and viewing every pict ure and piece of art . Many t hanks t o our senior edit ors, Rain, Nia, and Genevieve for encouraging and m ot ivat ing t he st aff t o produce t his beaut iful issue t his year. We hope t hat t his m agazine rem inds you t hat no m at t er what is going on in t he world, art cont inues t o connect us all.

Whit ney Schult z Upper School English Teacher & Confetti Advisor