The Muse: Spring 2024

THE MUSE

AMHS LITERARY MAGAZINE

| MYŌŌZ |

MUSE

THE SOURCE OF INSPIRATION FOR A CREATIVE ARTIST

THE MUSE: AMHS STUDENT LITERARY MAGAZINE IS A COLLECTION OF ORIGINAL, CREATIVE CONTENT PRODUCED BY STUDENTS OF ARCHBISHOP MITTY. THE PURPOSE OF THIS MAGAZINE IS TO SUPPORT STUDENTS’ CREATIVE EXPRESSION, TO ALLOW STUDENTS TO SHARE THEIR WORDS AND EXPERIENCES IN AN IMAGINATIVE WAY, AND TO ESTABLISH A COMMUNITY OF ARTISTS, WRITERS, AND THINKERS. BY CREATING AN OUTLET FOR STUDENT VOICES, THE MUSE HOPES TO FOSTER A CULTURE OF SELF-EXPRESSION AND INTERCONNECTION THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY.

OUR MISSION

DEAR READER,

We are delighted to introduce to you The Muse’s final edition for the 2023 to 2024 school year. Spring has made a beautiful appearance this year and with it, a mirage of colors. Colors are the lenses through which we view the world, each one reflecting a different emotion and state of being. The subtlety of a pale blue juxtaposes with the fierceness of a fiery red.

Perhaps the beauty of colors arises from patiently observing how they paint our lives. With the world moving at such a fast pace, it is important to stop and see the colors. Colors aren’t just seen in nature, but in people, ideas, and other mediums. This nuance of colors and our patient observation of them is what The Muse attempts to capture with this issue.

As the day begins, bright yellow sunshine pours through the window and energizes us. Then, teal blue toothpaste coats our brushes, and sky-blue jeans adorn our legs. Later, deep red marinara sauce flavors our pizza. However, colors go far beyond the surface level. Deep forest green represents our peace and strength, while a gloomy blue is a reflection of our tougher times. Each hue has a different meaning, one that you can glean if you look carefully.

Throughout the year, we have grown to become a myriad of colors, complex shades blending to encapsulate everything that we are. We have witnessed the flaming red spirit of our classmates and have found comfort in their warm hugs. As some of our classmates move on to the next chapters of their lives, we hope that they find a new shade for the coloring book of life.

The pages of this magazine hold students’ perspectives and perceptions of colors. We hope that as you flip through the pages you are reminded of all the beautiful ways colors enhance your life. Remember to stop and see the colors so that you can witness the kaleidoscope of life.

Please enjoy.

JULES BANUCCI

‘24 | EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

creating art, and seeing amazing submissions this year for Next year, Jules will be attending UC Santa Cruz and majoring in Psychology.

CHLOE LOU

‘24 | HEAD OF ADVERTISING

Chloe absolutely loved promoting The Muse this year! Next year, Chloe will be attending UC Berkeley and majoring in Cognitive Science and English.

MR. KEVIN BRAZELTON MODERATOR

Next year, Mr. Brazelton hopes that The Muse will continue to be a smashing success! He’s excited about the 10 years of publishing he has moderated, and he looks forward to many more!

GWENYTH TRAN

‘24 | EDITOR

While editing this year, Gwenyth found that she enjoyed trying to paint narratives while putting everyone’s lovely submissions together. Next year, she will be studying Biomedical Engineering at Johns Hopkins.

‘24 | EDITOR

In 2023-2024, Kyrene enjoyed curating spreads and witnessing Mitty’s plethora of artistic talent. This fall, Kyrene will start studying Psychology at San Jose State.

ARABELA DEMARILLO

‘24 | EDITOR

Arabela loved to see the passion and dedication put into each submission during their time working on The Muse. Next year, they will be majoring in English at Cal Poly SLO.

MADISON LIN

‘25

| EDITOR

Madison’s favorite part of being an editor this year was finding submissions that told a story. In the 2024-2025 school year, Madison will be pursuing more Mitty activities and continuing to play in the Jazz Band.

ANISHA MAHARJAN

‘25

| EDITOR

This year, Anisha loved seeing all of the creative submissions from the Mitty community. She is looking forward to creating more memories in her last year at Mitty.

KATHERINE WILCOX

‘25

| EDITOR

Katherine absolutely adores seeing how creative the Mitty community can be! Next year, Katherine looks forward to Speech and Debate and her ECJ trip.

MEGAN KELLOGG

‘26 | EDITOR

LAUREL WILLIS

‘26 | EDITOR

During her time on the Laurel loved creating advertisements, such as Mitty Minutes. Next year, Laurel looks forward to working on her photography and writing skills with the

Megan loved promoting The Muse around Mitty this year! Next year, she wants to expand her horizons by trying film making.

SPECIAL THANKS TO

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Bugs, NICK PARISH

Rainbow Iris, OLIVIA LAWSON

Sweet Tooth, ELAINAH DIMES

bright side, ALANNA WARNER

A Bit of Brittlebush, LAUREL WILLIS

There goes the Sun, OLIVIA LAWSON

Bloom, TESSA NGUYEN

Change of Seasons, SIMAR DHILLON

Rainbow Connection, OLIVIA LAWSON

Luke Castellan, FELICIA CHUNG

Surf Surf Crazy, OLIVIA LAWSON

Pool, FELICIA CHUNG

Ahsoka Tano, FELICIA CHUNG

Breaking Through, KYOMIN KWON

Look, JACQUELINE RUAN

Moulin Rouge, JACQUELINE RUAN

Constellations, VANESSA CHANG

Black Dragon, HALEY HAN

Reaching Out, FELICIA CHUNG

7teen, TAYLOR CABRIETO

Untitled, ETHAN LI

Sunset Bloom, ELAINAH DIMES

Mangosteen or …?, MEGAN KELLOGG

The Warmth of Pink, MADISON LIN

Pollination, ALEXANDRA NGUYEN

The Memory of Flowers, ETHAN RAO

The Crying Rose, BRYAN ZHU

Blue Stars, MADISON LIN

Neighborhood Beauties, MADISON LIN

Enchanted Journey - Sunset’s Prelude to Magic, YOONWON JO

Candy Blossoms, XAVIER LUN

Our Reflection, KYOMIN KWON

Spring Rains, VALERIE CHEN

The Sunset Book Nook, FRANCO SANDOVAL

A Pop of Red, MADISON LIN

Rainy Days, JASMIN TAUTGES

Sunlight, ALANNA WARNER

Sunflower, MEGAN KELLOGG

Song of Myself, JASMIN TAUTGES

Birds , COLE TOPPING

Spring Showers, XAVIER LUN

One Summer’s Day, VANESSA CHANG

The Crosswalk, COLE TRIPPING

Dam, COLE TRIPPING

Blue Sea, SIYONA KHER

Urban Nature, CHAITH MITTAL

Beige City Against a Blue Sky, ESTHER

BIJLSMA

Baryonyx, MATTHEW ENOMOTO

A Lone Tree, BAO-QUYEN TRAN

The Road to the Sun, MADISON LIN

龍, MEGAN KELLOGG

Bliss, ALEXIS NAVARRO

Untitled, Fijan Sunset, Asleep, Blind,

Untitled 1, SIDNEY YU

Lotería, OSCAR ORTEGA

Shining, TAYLOR CABRIETO

Spring Swing, MEGAN KELLOGG

To Girls Like Me, ARABELA DAMARILLO

Symphony of Light, VERONICA MINAR

Good Morning, RAAGHAV

CHAKRAVARTHY

Four-and-a-Half-Legged Starfish, VARNIKA ARUN

Evening Bouquet, JULIANA BERNAL

The Vast Unknown, MADISON LIN

The Appeal of New York City, ELLA MEE

Beauty in the Loss, BROOKLYN GRIER

It’s Color Theory Baby!, KATHIE LI

In the Midst of the Night, MADISON LIN

Kaleidoscope, NISHANT PERLA

A Breach,

Your Future Postcards,

MADISON LIN

ALANNA WARNER

SOPHIA STYLIADIS

SUDEEP MANGAM

Two Worlds, CLARISSA MARTINEZ DEL RIO

The Visitor, MANDY CORKEY

Time, CHRISTOPHER HERNÁNDEZ

Spring Day, WYATT NGAI

Kingfisher, MEGAN KELLOGG

Coulds, Shoulds, and Wishes: A Mitty Senior’s

Final Reflections, ARABELA DAMARILLO

A Pink-Clouded Sunset, NITHIN MAHESH

CHAKRAVARTHY

Where It All Falls Away, MADISON COURTNEY

Vivid Voyage, SOPHIA CAPARAS

YHWH, CHRISTOPHER HERNÁNDEZ

The Outside World, VAIBHAV KISHORE

What Is Faith?, CHRISTOPHER HERNÁNDEZ

Kaeya Alberich, FELICIA CHUNG

Flowers, MADISON LIN

The Beauty of Blue, MADISON LIN

VARNIKA ARUN

CHRISTOPHER

Madison Lin

SPRING COLOR PALETTE

#f39890

#eebfb5

#efba6c

#b4c2ac

#afcdcd

#251502

#f6f4e7

OUR ONLY CHAPTER ~

COLOR IS

ALL AROUND US

Rainbow Iris

OLIVIA LAWSON ‘25

If you look, color is everywhere.

Sweet Tooth

Elainah Dimes ‘25

MADISON LIN ‘25

A Bit of Brittlebush

bright side ALANNA WARNER ‘26

what i would give to live in your eyes to look at the world through lenses as bright as those that have grown to set darkness aside and capture the good beautiful and divine

Change of Seasons SIMAR DHILLON ‘25

It was that time of year

Gray colored clouds crowded the sky

Hiding the gleam of the sun from the eye

Trees barren, holidays near There was no fun with so much drear Months past, no color to be seen However, spring was approaching The birds were chirping I started to see the green Something out of a movie scene

Luke Castellan FELICIA CHUNG ‘27

ELAINAH DIMES ‘25

Pool FELICIA CHUNG ‘27

FELICIA CHUNG ‘27

Ahsoka Tano

MADISON LIN ‘25

breaking through KYOMIN KWON ‘27 Darkness makes our colors shine brighter

Look JACQUELINE RUAN ‘25

Moulin Rouge JACQUELINE RUAN 25’

constellations

VANESSA CHANG ‘25

i see the past in the stars. the white obscurities which plague my mind distorts my world, yet twinkles immortally i grasp for a feeling, disappointment reigns, the ocean swells. her face of white, i dare not believe it mere moments to grasp, i had no idea the reality i would face. her laugh echoes in my tears.

but i know who she is, never a stranger to me and twinkling in the sky she looks down upon us, white wings like doves, and i know someday i will bear the same flight.

i see the past in the stars. small gems which offer silence and peace. a vision undisturbed, forever still. forever Mine.

BLACKDRAGON HALEY HAN ‘26

Reaching Out FELICIA

It all faded to black when I realized my own insignificance

My own worthless existence in the face of everything, My own powerlessness in the grand scheme of things, Vibrancy bled away, leaving only my shattered will.

Questioning everything and yearning for nothing, Why do I exist when I am nothing?

Colorless, being less than a beast or even the rocks on the ground.

Even so, it’s freeing in a way

Knowing I’ll never amount to anything. No expectations, no weight to hold, No inherent color governing my will,

The monotone became comforting once I came to terms with worthlessness. Who cares what a worthless existence chooses to do?

I realized it is a freedom to be insignificant.

So with freedom, why not choose?

Why don’t I choose how I live, Choose which colors shall paint my threads of fate, Pick the colors that shall move my mind. I will live for the rule of my own hand.

Are we not the masters of our own meaning? Are we not the painters of the vibrancy that empowers us?

Are we not our own gods?

The

Memory of Flowers

ETHAN RAO ‘25

She lounged, chin sinking towards her sweater’s collar in contentment. She felt the safety afforded by trusted limbs not her own criss crossing her width, which allows a person the gift of collapsing in upon herself.

The lines which she had so acutely traced upon him, the sharpness of bones made into sanctuary by an accompaniment of rhythmic softness following him to his waist, melded into her own lines she had tried to trace over into obscurity. The mirror a dance of marker, a trailing swirl of endless insufficiency, yet each path of ink found itself dissolve when held in sight by irises colored ignorant of a mind’s opinions.

He sat. His sole secretly scraped desperately against the stone wall’s form, finding the traction needed to hold perfectly still. All too aware of each fiery strand of hair, spiraling downward into a campfire, a fire whose wooden structure he cradled: underwhelmed by its too big warmth. He was too scared to cry knowing what might be extinguished.

Two hearts met. Beating so similar yet so drastically heartbreakingly separate rhythms. She lived with a rosy blush pumped across the bridge of her softly speckled nose, her heartbeat regular. He lived with fingers constantly beset by needling pain, pumped by a mind too consumed by cognition, his heartbeat regular.

In some world theorized by professors, by dreamers and optimists: one heart’s beat found a meandering path leading itself to meet the other. The depths of fantasy explored by children wearing all too big snorkeling goggles, illuminated by the glittering of eyes never forced upward, weigh heavy on those whose lungs hold them upon the surface; they who had felt the invigorating hold of drowning, dive no more into the embrace of the sea.

She felt a fault line sinking through the daisies on her blouse. A ten-pronged tectonic plate unmoving in its journey to relieve her of being whole. Cold.

He watched as fiery strand after fiery strand tumbled and turned as the hazel embers, glowing golden with a setting sun’s final gift, inlaid its gaze upon his own eyes, a query with an answer so small it would quell a storm. The embers tilted in recognition, tumbling into the crevice between them, and went out.

Boats do not fight the tide. Birds do not conquer the cacophony of the storm. Castles do not order the sand they’re built upon to hold still. There is no battle which can be won against a constant. No war of attrition which could be had between what is and what will always be.

Straws, infinitesimally thin, grasped by the desperate hands of a dreamer too soon woken by a realization of unexpected isolation, shaped themselves into the fingers of a boy who had never learned to swim in the ocean of fantasy.

Her heartbeat was thunderous, a maelstrom of wishful percussion awaiting a synchronization promised by the nature of two metronomes connected by any string. His heartbeat was regular.

One heartbeat passed. Six heartbeats passed. Two heartbeats passed. Thirteen heartbeats passed. Three heartbeats passed. In the instant between 4 and 20, a single tear mounted a boy’s lashes. He allowed himself to grieve the distance between his floundering arms and her deepness beneath.

In another world which poets have the luxury to view in split seconds, the grass grows under a stone fence tired with disuse. Dust settles in wind-etched paths which shaped the mountains into the waveforms of earthquakes. A singular lizard sits proud upon a dark shard of granite, its blood warmed on the stone exposed to nothing but the blind heat of rays.

She tackled him onto the grass, unaware and uncaring of what growth she had displaced with the fullness in the shape of two grievers.

He wailed, grasped her back. He felt her knee, inlaid with the crook of his leg. He felt her uncompromising promise etched in the way her lips found each dotted point on his face. Tasted the mixing lifeblood of tears shed by eyes made intimately blind by proximity. She did not let go.

The leaves of a watchful oak towering above the lovers—risen from the ashes of a dead flame—glance against the stone fence. They hesitate, dried stems held together for a moment by a ridge of granite, then they give way to the storm that is a breeze.

Dead leaves are but the memories of flowers.

The Crying Rose

Neighborhood Beauties

Enchanted Journey - Sunset's Prelude to Magic

YOONWON JO ‘25

our reflection KYOMIN KWON ‘27

Spring Rains

VALERIE CHEN ‘24

The Sunset Book Nook FRANCO SANDOVAL ‘27

A Pop of Red

MADISON LIN ‘25

sunlight ALANNA WARNER ‘26

oh how sad and monotone were days before your sun black and white were endlessly entangled and undone

you spilled over the mountains and vastest plains of grass the deepest, largest oceans whatever i should ask the most hidden of alleys and most open of fields all felt the warmth you spread with light to give and yield

you’d bathe all nooks and crannies of my world with your rays if it meant i’d be inclined to live a life ablaze

Song of Myself JASMIN TAUTGES ‘26

Intelligence transpires among those who strive to cherish themselves dear, Yet beauty transpires among those who already cherish themselves dear. A girl who possesses both intelligence and beauty seems not to know of such intelligence, Such beauty.

For she looks down, she looks down, in question of her worth.

To what extent shall intelligence and beauty prompt happiness?

To what extent shall one salvage such desirable qualities?

To what extent shall resilience or altruism be as desirable?

Intelligence shan’t be valued as an impressive trophy typically is, But rather, one’s efforts to receive the trophy, even if it were bronze. She is intelligent, she is beautiful, she is resilient, she possesses a pure heart of gold, Even when she places third.

A trophy is a trophy, and a trophy glimmers best when admired for its beauty, Admired for its emphasis on underlying intelligence evoked by one’s efforts. I am intelligent, I am beautiful, I am resilient, I possess a pure heart of gold. I will continue to glimmer as a trophy does, even when dust dares to say otherwise, And I celebrate myself for doing so, for withstanding life’s tribulations, one way or another.

The soft, yet crisp smile I view from the corner of my eye is a smile that isn’t to be mistaken. The tranquilizing, sweet smell of freshly baked doughnuts pierces my sense of smell. Beautiful, the woman whispers...Beautiful...you are Beautiful, she now shouts with radiance.

I am Beautiful.

I possess intelligence and beauty and resilience and a pure heart of gold.

Suzy, a girl I celebrate, alongside myself, reminds me of the beauty that comes with innocence, Of the innocence that comes with one’s childhood, with the season, spring, with nature. I emulate such innocence through letters, letters from which I extract bits of my heart, In hopes of making it known that she awakens my soul, As I do hers when she receives my grainy, glitterfied letters. A pure heart of gold is what I possess, through Suzy, within myself. I celebrate myself for intelligence, beauty, resilience, a pure heart of gold— Each of which I celebrate to my life’s extent.

In a small yet seemingly large room sits a boy, analyzing the concept of Transcendentalism. In a small, yet seemingly large room, sits a boy, who pridefully voices his provoking thoughts. In a small, yet seemingly large room, sits the boy and girl, distant, yet near. Through him, she sees herself—through the things she never admits but so desperately feels. The girl, awakened by such similarity and such enlightenment, to know he, too, feels abandoned. Abandonment, in retrospect to the girl, through society, through friends, through herself. I celebrate myself for choosing to accept such discomfort, in spite of abandonment.

Intelligence, beauty, resilience, a pure heart of gold. Each I celebrate myself for, in hopes of cultivating a prosperous future. Perhaps, most importantly, prosperity on my own terms,

And a future uniquely designed to allow for uncertainty. Certainly, I must admit, though, with a rainstorm comes a rainbow, One can only imagine such beauty. Certainly, I must admit, though, with failure comes growth, One can only imagine such intelligence, such resilience. Certainly, I must admit, though, with heartbreak comes recognition of familial love— Love to nurture a pure heart of gold.

It is at the end of the rainbow, I will await not a pot of gold coins, But bronze coins disguised as gold ones, Lustrous coins that will reflect such beauty and intelligence and resilience, And a pure heart of gold. It will be so great of a reflection that it will be near impossible to remember its authentic color, Bronze.

COLE TOPPING ‘27

one summer’s day

VANESSA CHANG ‘25

The Crosswalk COLE TOPPING ‘27

Blue Sea

SIYONA KHER ‘27

Urban Nature CHAITH MITTAL ‘26

Baryonyx MATTHEW ENOMOTO ‘27

A Lone Tree BAO-QUYEN TRAN ‘26

The Road to the Sun MADISON LIN ‘25

龍 MEGAN KELLOGG ‘26

CALLAHAN ‘27

All the mods, What are mods anyway?

A pulsating black hole. Diamonds, Gold and Emeralds too. Even Dirt, when the time is right. A star giving light, Shining Everbright Untitled ESPEN

Fijan Sunset NITHIN MAHESH CHAKRAVARTHY ‘27

Life is a nightma—

Wake up

Life is a screa—

Wake up

Life is a fanfa—

Wake up

Life is a sche—

Wake up

Life is a warfa—

Wake up

Life is a glea—

Wake up

Life is a jumpsca—

Wake up

Life is a dream

Time to wake up

Blind MEGAN KELLOGG ‘26

Untitled 1 SYDNEY YU ‘27

Lotería OSCAR ORTEGA ‘24

A game of chance, played with beans that will boil for breakfast, lunch, and dinner

Did I pick the wrong tabla?

Maybe, but for now, with warm chocolate in my hands and blankets of pale moonlight, I’ll make do with what comes my way. Roses, birds, frogs

Death, spiders, and skulls

El sol, la luna.

Rema y rema, Sentado en una chalupita.

Shining TAYLOR CABRIETO ‘25

Spring Swing MEGAN KELLOGG ‘26

To Girls Like Me ARABELA DAMARILLO ‘24

Who excel in class, but not in love

Who strive for perfection, aim far above—

To girls who’ll work their lives away

To make up for looking a little too plain. Our work ethic is a survival mechanism— a testament to our hearts' growing schism.

Will anyone love us as we are? Our angered words and acne scars?

Are we “bossy” or are we desperate For control—have we ever even felt it?

Hey, girls like me, I need assurance: Am I alone? Am I making sense?

Am I perhaps just going crazy? It’s like dying slowly, daintily.

So, to girls who smile as their hearts are bleeding

For girls who will stay eternal seedlings.

The more we are trod upon, the more we grow.

Our roots will deepen, the rewards will follow.

You—We—are not unlovable. Someday, sometime, we will aim

And we will rise Far, Far Above.

Symphony of Light VERONICA MINAR ‘27

Beyond the sparkling surface of the sea

Our precious Sun sinks as it moves along

Breaking the waves as gently as can be

Painting the sky with a waxy song

A crystalline glaze appears in my eyes

As the sight burns its way into my brain

The gloomy gray clouds are swallowed by blaze Some rays are reflected, falling like rain

The warmth of the dying, passionate light

Melts the salt and the sand into my skin

But when it’s all over and day becomes night

The stars will arise and will glow from within

Though in the end darkness seems to have won

Hope never dies with the fall of the Sun

Four-and-a-Half-Legged-Starfish VARNIKA ARUN ‘26

The Vast Unknown

MADISON LIN ‘25

The Appeal of New York City

ELLA MEE ‘25

Beauty in the Loss - based off the novel Wild by Cheryl Strayed BROOKLYN GRIER ‘25

You are gone; I know that now

The flowers I pass remind me of your caring affection

You are gone; I know that now

Bandaids abandon my legs just as they did

Looking into that little boy's eyes, I absorb the pain of knowing you are gone.

A rush of tears flow down my face because I know that you are gone

But the wind flows through me, reminding me that you are still here

I see you in every aspect of the hike

I see you in my strength and perseverance

I see you in the mountains and trees I pass

I see you, and I know that you are gone, but not completely

It’s Color Theory, Baby! KATHIE LI ‘26

Yes, I am a hue-y mess, a convolution of splotches.

There’re so many colors I guess—

Let’s take it up some notches:

Silver linings and goldish yellows,

Vivid indigos to deep, deep reds.

Integrate all segments of the rainbow!

— Or just stick to lime instead.

While some people are on the fence about mixing purple and orange, it doesn’t have to make much sense.

(Is there really no rhyme for orange?)

Nope, for you and your lovely dears, shades aren’t the same, I’m afraid.

Your lenses capture few things sheer when wavelengths can exist in spades. So embrace the convex and diffractions,

You’ll find that missing piece One tone’s not your synecdoche; It’s just color theory, baby!

in the midst of the night

MADISON LIN ‘25

in the midst of the night there the glow of a faint light in the midst of the darkness the light seemed hopeless a single star shining seemed like it was dying though the lone star seemed so far though the darkness was embracing though the light was faint like a single spot of white paint as the darkness filled the unknown the single star shone

NISHANT PERLA ‘25

Black

Not for the hate, or the darkness, the death, the evil, but for the power we hold, or the strength we have, or the possibilities in the world

Red

Not for the anger we hold, or the pain we face but for love, for the courage we must have to be brave in the world

Orange

Not for the pride we have within us or the arrogance we present, but for the warmth of family, of friends, and the confidence in the world

Yellow

Not for the sickness that stays, the deceit, the dishonesty, but for the cheer in our lives, the happiness we find, the joy in the world

Green

Not for the greed surrounding us,

or the jealousy, the envy, the judgment but for the life around us, the nature, the beauty, the hope and prosperity in the world

Blue

Not for the sadness, the despair to see the broken within and around but for the peace we seek, the calm we seek, and our trust in the world

Purple

Not for the fear, the anxiety or the frustration we share, but for the wisdom we look for, the knowledge we learn, the creativity in the world

White

Not for the loneliness, the isolation, the emptiness we feel, but for the honesty, the truth, the purity in the simple things in the world

Colors

Not for the negativity draining our hearts, our spirits, our minds

But for the positivity lifting our souls, our lives, ourselves

ABreach ROHAN KUDURU ‘25

Your Future Postcards OSCAR ORTEGA ‘24

We’ve been here, downtown our stars pulled from the sky and lining the streets of saints while riding down the 87. We were raised on old shops of orchids, bells of ice cream, roaring planes, and prayers and dreams held tight before going into Good Night.

Where will you go?

Across the uncharted Pacific to cherry, rosy Tokyo sunsets. Or to Mexican plazas with blue talaveras and ancestral sighs. Or to French towns with scenes straight out of 500 piece puzzles. Or some grey concrete jungle, made of buzzing, taxes, midnight lights. And tomorrow with more noise and lights that never seem to burn out.

Or will you stay here, with Spanish colonials, draped with sprawling scarlet bougainvillea going down a twisty road, seagulls cawing and voyaging, to California coasts, valleys, and equally eroded memories. Will you stay here with cobalt waters and drifting otters, with me?

LIN ‘25

The Blues

MADISON

The Horizon

MADISON LIN ‘25

blush

it seemed someone had spilled red wine or plucked a berry off the vine or disrupted the blood moon’s climb as to so flush your face tonight perhaps a cherry had been split a flame jumped off the candlestick or flesh had been untimely slit to make this scarlet never quit

ALANNA WARNER ‘26

Light in the Dark SOPHIA STYLIADIS ‘25

Heart in Dark Sudeep Mangam ‘26

Two Worlds

Clarissa Martinez Del Rio ‘25

I belong to two worlds

Where the rhythm swings hips and souls sing,

Where the ground is lush and rich,

The heat, suffocatingly inviting

Where hair knows no ribbon or confinement, And the sea shares its glistening diamonds,

The numbing shock of quiet

The conventions of modernity, pop, of dialect,

The furthest from family

The closest to opportunity, a community,

A different kind of comfort, of safety.

I am not half.

I do not choose.

I am all

I fill both shoes.

The Visitor MANDY CORKEY ‘27

Time

Christopher Hernández ‘25

Time, a mysterious force that guides our days, A concept that leaves us in a thoughtful haze. Does it flow like a river, steady and strong, Or does it dance, unpredictable and long?

Some say time is an illusion, a mere perception, While others believe it's a linear progression. But perhaps time is more than we can conceive, A tapestry of moments, intricately weaved.

It's a reminder to cherish each fleeting breath, To embrace the now, for it's all we truly have.

For in the grand scheme of this cosmic rhyme, Time is but a canvas for our existence to shine.

So let us ponder the depths of this enigma, And find solace in the beauty of each ephemeral vista. For in the tapestry of life, where moments intertwine, We'll discover the true essence of time.

Spring Day Wyatt Ngai ‘26

Coulds, Shoulds, and Wishes:

A Mitty Senior’s Final Reflections ARABELA DAMARILLO ‘24

Dear reader,

Guess this chapter’s finally over...wow. Who could have thought it would come so fast? Let’s see if the last four math classes taught me anything: 9 months x 4 years? That’s a grand total of 36 months that you will have spent here at Archbishop Mitty by the time you graduate. ...okay, so I really just took out a calculator for that. Sorry, Mr. Sales!

Still, it really is the end, isn’t it? The close of a book. The episode in a reality 4-season show. The last call at a café before it shuts its doors. The totality of “graduation” is all of that and more.

In a lot of ways, it feels like time itself has cornered me. It all passed so staggeringly fast and yet painstakingly slow. I stare at myself in the mirror, and I see my past, present, and future all at once. It’s overwhelming and stirs unspeakable feelings in me that I cannot even begin to fathom.

In a lot of ways, I mourn for the girl I was. I didn’t HAVE to be so lonely all the time. I COULD have studied for that test or gotten to know that person I thought was cool. I SHOULD have salvaged my fair share of friendships. And—this last one is going to sound petulant—knowing what I know now, I WISH I could go back in time and write better speeches for Speech & Debate. Coulds, shoulds, and wishes. Those are the things that haunt me. And, if I’m correct (which I may or may not be), I’m sure you all feel that way as well. What is it about humanity that makes us so afraid of action? We see it in Prince Hamlet of Denmark, in Holden Caulfield, in countless other protagonists in whichever novel is required in your English class. We’re so afraid of actions causing self-sabotage that we ironically self-sabotage in our inaction.

However,Ialsohavealotofloveformypastself.Imean,onpaper,shesoundsREALLYcool. Survivedapandemic?KeepsaLIVINGTHINGinherfridge?NowownsaHAIRYBEAST thatshenevercouldhavedreamtofowning?Imean,thatsoundsepic,doesn’tit?

...okay,sure.MaybethepandemicwaslesscoolthanImadeitouttobe.That“livingthing”in myfridgeisreallyjustasourdoughstarter—thanks,Ms.Lemak!Andthe“hairybeast”isreally justmyuselesscat,Apollo,whoeatsallday.Iloveyounonetheless,Ponky!

WhatImeantosayis...weareourownprotagonists.And,inalotofways,ourlivesarealot similartobooks,aren’tthey?Imagineyourlifeasahandwrittenbookwithnoproofreadingat all.Onceit’swrittenandpublished,youcan’teraseyouractions—notevenmistakes.Those typosaregoingtostaywithyouforever.Theymightcauseyoumildembarrassmentatbestand deep-seededshameatthemost.Butareafewtypos,afew“coulds,shoulds,andwishes”worth puttingdownthatpenorclosingthatlaptopforever?No!

Welearn,wegrow,andwecreatesomethingbeautifulnonetheless,atMittyandbeyond. Lovealways,

Arabela

Damarillo

Classof2024

0 9

A Pink Clouded Sunset

NITHIN MAHESH CHAKRAVARTHY ‘27

where it all falls away

MADISON COURTNEY ‘25

i was halfway across the world. people were everywhere, nowhere, in between. they scatter across my stepping in and out, running by, tumbling through.

the woman on the boat was twirling softly in her leather jacket, fjord mountains towering over her. her dark hair snapped in the wind and cascaded over her sunglasses every so often. the left side of her head was shaved, the long side shot through with violet. i saw my reflection, briefly, in her glasses.

back at the lake, christmastime burst through the doors of restaurants and clubs. we stood at the crosswalk, the meter clicking distantly over the thrum of rave music down the road. two twenty somethings laughed loudly next to us. one wore neon leather pants, shatteringly bright in the queenstown setting sun. my uncle guessed they were from sydney. "london, actually." i wanted to befriend them, wanted to be invited to the lights and laughter deep in queenstown. i never was; the women disappeared into the crowds and food and bass.

in the city up the coast, we sat at a spry pizza joint plastered with teal and peach. at the bar, a woman sat with her husband, the stem of a wine glass caught between her fingers. her bright red lips popped against her white sweater and dark curls. she kept smiling; whatever her husband was saying made the edges of her mouth curl up every other word. i never found out: my cousins were making faces from the other side of the window, and we chased them out of the restaurant, into the street.

across the ocean, toward the city of ferries, a little girl skittered down the pathway. a unicorn glittered on her pink shirt, her hair was falling out of its ponytail. she cut in front of us on the sidewalk, lunging up the small stone wall separating us from the animals of the zoo. "wallaby!" she shrieked. a woman—her mother—lunged for her before she could make it to the enclosure. "you can't hug the wallabies!" she wrestled with her daughter, who was giggling. we laughed when the mother apologized to us. my mom made some funny remark but it didn't matter: the little girl was already squirming out of her mother's embrace and skipping towards the koalas.

on the ferry, my mom and i sat near the railing, the bridge and white folds of the opera house skating by. "we should live here," my mom noted. the old man next to us had a newspaper perched on his lap. he smiled at us. "my daughter lives downtown, that building right there. great isn't it? helps that i'm paying the bills." we laughed, asked him about the tide of the city, the currents of people and buildings. his answers were curved with his accent. somehow, besides the white of his hair, i don't remember the colors of our interaction. the conversation lingered for the day, yet at this time, i fail to recall it. the one i should have remembered the most.

maybe there was green. or the yellow of the ferry. the blue of the bay, the sky.

still, i don't remember the colors. but i saw his face, heard his voice, met him for that very brief moment, and at that point, the colors don't seem so important.

Christopher Hernández ‘25

God, a concept vast and profound, A subject that has been explored all around. Philosophers pondered, seekers have sought, To understand the divine, the ultimate thought.

Some see God as a creator, the source of all, Guiding our lives, catching us when we fall. Others perceive God as an energy, a cosmic force, Interwoven in the universe, an eternal course.

Through faith and belief, we find solace and peace, In God's presence, our worries may cease. Yet the nature of God remains a mystery, A concept that transcends human history.

For some, God is personal, a friend so near, A guiding light, wiping away every tear. While others see God as an abstract notion, A symbol of love, compassion, and devotion.

In the end, the understanding of God is unique, A personal journey, the truth we seek. So let us respect and honor each other's view, For in our quest for truth, we may find something new.

The Outside World

Vaibhav Kishore ‘25

The Beauty of Nature

The trees growing out of the ground

Lots of colorful flowers to be found

Nothing about nature is man-made But everything eventually becomes decayed

In nature there are many animals to find

There are some that walk and some that climb Nature supports them with food to survive, And all animals work together like a bee hive

Bright blue water falling from the sky

Tree tops in the air way up high

The forest provides us with many different sounds Buzzing, slithering, and caws will be heard all around

Sometimes nature cries

Other times wind makes things fly

Sometimes rocks fall on the land And at night water washes upon the sand

What Is Faith?

Christopher Hernández ‘25

Faith, a beacon in life's uncertain sea,

A guiding light that sets our spirits free.

It's a belief in something beyond our sight,

A trust that carries us through the darkest night.

In faith, we find solace, hope, and grace,

A source of strength in life's challenging race.

It's a leap into the unknown, with open heart,

A steadfast belief that we're never apart.

Faith whispers in the wind, a gentle breeze,

Encouraging us to dream, to soar, to seize.

It's a foundation for love, compassion, and care,

A reminder that there's always goodness to share.

Through faith, we find purpose and meaning,

A connection to something greater, intervening. It's a reminder to trust, to let go of control, And surrender to a power that makes us whole.

So hold onto faith, let it light your way, Through every season, come what may.

For in faith's embrace, we find inner peace, And a love that never wavers, but only increases.

Alberich FELICIA CHUNG ‘27

Kaeya

Flowers MADISON LIN ‘25

Every year

As the cold fades, And the snow caps melt, Day by day The flowers start to bloom.

Starting with the cotyledons, The plants grow taller and taller, And buds begin to form. Soon enough, The flowers start to bloom.

Pretty pink peonies, Dainty delicate daisies, And radiant red roses, Fill gardens

As the flowers start to bloom.

Bees buzz around, Creating flurries of color. As kids chase around The flowers continue to bloom.

Yet everything is temporary, and nothing lasts forever.

Inevitably

The petals will start to fall. Flower by flower, the colors slowly fade away.

The cold returns And the brightness is gone.

Yet no one ever worries. For they know, Soon enough, The flowers will start to bloom once more.

As the flowers come and go, The beauty fades, But the hope lasts forever.

Park Pawsitivity

Varnika Arun ‘26

What Is Family?

Christopher Hernández

‘25

Thanks for reading this issue of The Muse: AMHS Student Literary Magazine! Our creative ventures can have a profound impact on our understanding of the world around us. It is our sincere hope that the content within this issue has inspired you to think, write, and dream. Please be on the lookout for more issues in the future. We hope to see you again as we publish more fantastic work created by AMHS students.

– The Editors