Brewster Outcroppings 2015

OUTCROPPINGS

Volume 36 2015

For physical strength Souls rush through greenery Absolute agony

by Saif Al-Ameemi ’15

OUTCROPPINGS

Brewster Academy Wolfeboro, New Hampshire Volume 36 2015

OUTCROPPINGS

Brewster Academy Wolfeboro, New Hampshire Volume 36 2015

Editor in chief: Jordan St. Peter ’15 Managing Editor: Natalie Holmberg ’16 Contributing Editors: Michelina Vesprini ’15, Allison Caravella ’17 Faculty Adviser: Jennifer Metcalfe Dumont Cover Art: Yuting Xie ’15 (photo), Lydia Allen ’15 (art)

From the Editors: To begin, we wanted to thank everyone that submitted text and artwork to Outcroppings this year. Even though the Outcroppings staff receives submissions from a wide array of students, every year there seems to be a common theme. This year the theme we noticed was reflections.

The theme started to come together after we chose the cover photo of the girl reflected in the puddle that was taken by the extraordinarily talented Yuting Xie ’15. Reflections seemed fitting to me, considering this was my last year at Brewster, and I’ve been reflecting on my past three years here. I am so thankful to have been part of the Brewster community and the Outcroppings staff.

Through my involvement in Outcroppings, I have been able to see the talent that exists in the community between the writers, poets, photographers, sculptors, and artists. We, the staff, hope that you will enjoy the written pieces and artwork in the 36th edition of Outcroppings, and maybe even do some reflecting of your own on your time here at Brewster.

- Jordan St. Peter ’15

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Table of Contents Title Page: Photo by Jordan St. Peter ’15.............1 Artwork by Lydia Allen ’15.................................. 2 In a Hypothetical Monday

by Sam Kiley ’16 .................................................. 4 Artwork by Tabitha Barr ’15 and Natalie Holmberg ’16........................................... 5 Top of the Food Chain by Andrea Smith ’15....... 6 Photo by Michelina Vesprini ’15.......................... 7 Art by Yunhui Wang ’16....................................... 8 A Place that I Miss by Ta Thawinrak ’15............. 9 I Cannot Just Sunbathe by Anonymous............ 10 Photo by Savery Meurer ’15................................ 11 Maturity by Jenna Burgess ’17 and Artwork by Oliver McCabe ’15............................12 Photo by Gala Meyer Marti ’15...........................13 Photos by Gala Meyer Marti ’15.........................14 Already in Paradise by Anonymous and Photo by Gala Meyer Marti ’15...........................15 Artwork by Ilya Chepik ’16.................................16 Artwork by Noel Romeu Oliva ’16 and Artwork by Yuting Xie ’15...................................17 Photo by Milana Savia ’17.................................. 18 One Kiss by Gala Meyer Marti ’15 and Artwork by Pichittra Han-Iang ’17 ....................19 No Miracle on Ice by Mr. T.J. Palmer...............20 Artwork by Yunhui Wang ’16.............................21 Photos by Ray Wang ’17, Steven Zeng ’17, and Mr. Zack Apgar........................................... 22 Photos by Michelina Vesprini ’15, Gala Meyer Marti ’15,

and Tommy Jacobson ’16.................................. 23 Photo by Maisie Ross ’15................................... 24 It’s a Shame by Maisie Ross ’15 and Artwork by Oliver McCabe ’15........................... 25 Night Terrors by Maya Gomi ’18....................... 26 Photo by Michelina Vesprini ’15........................ 27 Superpowers by Tyler Colon ’15........................28 Sculpture by Liz Longshore ’15......................... 29 Realism and a Map by Anonymous...................30 Artwork by Kentaro Kawanishi ’16 and Yessica Choi ’15............................................31 Artwork by Kentaro Kawanishi ’16 and Michelle Su ’18................................................... 32 Artwork by Yuting Xie ’15.................................. 33 Snapshot by Saif Al-Ameemi ’15 ....................... 34 Photos by Gala Meyer Marti ’15 and Michelina Vesprini ’15....................................... 35 Second Place by Ian Foster ’15.......................... 36 Photos by Steven Zeng ’17................................. 37 Photo by Tommy Jacobson ’16.......................... 38 Photos by Michelina Vesprini ’15...................... 39 Snow Day by Ms. Kim Ross and Mr. Peter Moses.................................................40 Artwork by Yuwen Wang ’18 and Nights Like This by Jenna Burgess ’17...............41 Open Letter to a Two Day Memory

by Anonymous................................................... 42 Artwork by Xiuyi Li ’18...................................... 43 Sonnet by Abigayle Callahan ’17 and Photo by Maite De Llano Lehman ’17............... 44

OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 3

In a Hypothetical Monday

by Sam Kiley ’16

In a hypothetical Monday There would be French toast for breakfast.

It would be exactly 67 degrees And I would walk out and feel a breeze swirl my mind and toes.

In a hypothetical Monday There would be grilled cheese for lunch.

It would be 72 degrees now And I would walk in and feel the soft sunshine coat my weary skin.

by Natalie Holmberg ’16

In a hypothetical Monday There would be chicken fingers for dinner.

It would be 59 degrees.

And I would sit upon the sunset, hearing laughter float and people be.

Breathe Nostalgia can be a liar And the future can overwhelm Today is Monday.

And it’s French toast for breakfast.

by Tabitha Barr ’15

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Top of the Food Chain

by Andrea Smith ’15

.The clock ticks, ticks, ticks as we anxiously a wait for the glory period. At 11:36 sharp, three consecutive electronic beeps sound throughout the classrooms. A surge of chatter breaks free in the halls as the elementary students gather their helmets to ride bikes, or race to the bus to get the best of back seats for the ride home to lunch. But I, I race to find my best friend Sydney. Today we will go to the snack bar for lunch, sure to be the most hectic of affairs. We link arms and giggle through the crosswalk, picking up speed with each step.

Across the street stands the Snack Bar. A single building that is essentially the equivalent of every kid’s dream. Along with the copious amounts of greasy food it serves, there are arcade games and an indoor playground. Various video game stations clutter the room. But we are not here for the food, we are not here for the games, we are not here to just hang around. We are here to show who’s on top of the social chain, and who runs this school. .Twenty five, maybe thirty kids are surrounding the cashier/kitchen/waiter window. A single man, who goes by the name of Harroon, stands in a shoe box for a kitchen where he cooks. A window is cut in the wall so he can take orders, and there is a small side door so he can deliver orders (if he had the chance to ever do so). He barely can speak a word of English, and I can see his anxiety raising as every lunch period comes to an end. But he is everyone’s best, and everyone’s worst, friend.

There is no line for Harroon to take orders.

Kids are literately screaming out, “I want a hotdog with extra extra cheese!” and “can I have fries pleeeeeaaaseeee!” which turns the process of ordering lunch into survival of the fittest. Of course, I am the quiet kid, I have manners, I have some

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dignity at the ripe age of seven. Unfortunately, that type of demeanor will leave you hungry.

Luckily, Sydney has no problem speaking through the crowd. She pushes and climbs across the hungry kids, and throws herself onto the granite table next to the cash register.

“HARRROOOOON,” she pleads swatting off a 3rd grade girl with a mess of fiery red hair who claims her mother “called in” to order early. The third grader is one of those kids, the “my mom said so kids” and therefore she is inclined to miss lunch completely. She’s much too weak to survive in this kind of environment if she is depending on her mother.

“Andrea and I want pizza, Harroon pleaaaaaase I’m so hungry.” Sydney tosses ten riyals (equivalent to maybe 3 dollars) at him and it covers our entire lunch plus an extra nice tip. She then takes two pizzas sitting on the counter which are clearly not ours, and I follow her to look for a seat. I can hear the crowd growing angry at her, but you have to giver her credit. She gets the job done.

We opt to eat on the tan leather couches, wrapped up with our victory and munching away.

I watch others struggle at the food counter, and see an awkward student sitting at a table alone chewing on a peanut butter and jelly. Big mistake, never bring your own lunch, you are pinned as a weirdo.

It somehow means that your parents didn’t love you enough to have you come for lunch, so they sent you away with it instead.

Lunch is survival of the fittest, a judgment zone, and a time for social cliques taking shape.

Just because my school did not have a “normal” cafeteria, did not mean I missed out on the cafeteria experience.

by Michelina Vesprini ’15

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A Place That I Miss

by Warut “Ta” Thawinrak ’15

by Yunhui Wang ’16

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The thick fog covering the road is a sign telling that the winter is coming. The huge field, the best scene in my memory, is now filled with yellowgreen rice which is ready to head out. The depth of water in the field is less than in rainy season, which is appropriate for rice to produce grain. Sitting in the little hut on a mound covered by a rusty tin roof, I could almost touch the pleasant smell from the rice pollen blowing in the morning’s strong wind, like a premium perfume from nature.

Looking beside the hut, I see the scarecrow on the paddy-field ridge among green land. He stays lonely with a shabby navy-blue shirt and black shorts that now have the stain made by humid fungi. He looks so tired as he has stayed through many storms this rainy season. He worked so hard to protect our property from the crowds of destroyers, the crowds of tiny sparrows. But he seems to lose the capacity to maintain the scariness which we expected him to have after the season changed. Sometimes a crow is on his lopsided shoulder pinching his face like it is challenging him to respond and laughing in his inability.

Under the base of the rice plants, fish are wriggling quietly—like trying to keep the movement

to be secret—leaving the moist thick mud that soon will evaporate up into the winter air replacing its dryness and remaining hard black soil. The fish are covered by the mud making it hard to distinguish what types they are. Their eyes, the only part not covered in the mud, are shining, reflecting the sunlight making their body look funny like scary fish ghosts. Their gills close and open frequently as well as their mouths showing how hard this work is. After moving to the suitable place, a tiny pothole with dark water, they will find many of their friends in the same appearance. And they might laugh at each other until they are caught by people like us who are passionate in catching fish, so that the energy from the field is transferred to people, creating a food web.

The wind is hitting me harder like it wants to drive me away and remain only pure nature in the field. Dark clouds move together quickly covering the bright sky and then followed by heavy rain, making me have to give up for the day. Today might be a wonderful day where nature wants its privacy, so it acts like this to push me away. However, it attracts me to look forward to tomorrow that I will come here to see this beauty again.

OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 9

I Cannot Just Sunbathe Anonymous

I cannot just sunbathe on the beach Or build sandcastles Or play volleyball I have to dive into the water From the end of the dock And I except people to dive with me But they don’t leave the sand So I make friends with the waves And the seaweed And the fish Because they are in the water with me And I drift to a boat In the middle of the ocean Losing touch with those Who I thought would drift with me But I soon realize That even the waves And the seaweed And the fish Have left And I can no longer swim Because this ocean Is not meant to give you life But to take your life away And the salty waves They stream down my face And the more people who leave The more oceans I make

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by Savery Meurer ’15

OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 11

Maturity

by Jenna Burgess ’17

Maturity is collected, Slowly, one piece at a time.

And it is protected, In places no one looks behind.

It can be found in the cracks of the sidewalk, Or the knots in your hair.

It can be found in the jiggle of a lock, Or a shoe without a pair.

Maturity is accumulated, Quietly without your knowledge.

You shove pieces of it Into your pockets, Even when they don’t fit.

And one day you’ll look, And notice them there.

All of those tiny things you took, Without a thought or care, But now are heavy, And too much to bear.

You realize that nothing has been Quite the same Since you picked them up.

You realize how quickly And quietly, Adulthood has sprung on you.

And how it comes with connotations, You greatly dislike.

You realize that maturity Is very light, Until it’s placed all together.

So sometimes, You just have to Empty your pockets, And play as if you Have nothing In them at all.

And you’ll look up at the sky, At the colors of the sunset, And that’s when you realize You’re not little anymore.

Those pieces in your pockets, Are weighing you down.

They’re too heavy to hold, While building forts, And jumping into the folds Of princess books.

by Oliver McCabe ’15

by Gala Meyer Marti ’15

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Already in Paradise Anonymous

What do you do when you’re already in paradise?

Try your best to stay and never let the birdcalls annoy you, And try your best to hold on to the realization That this is paradise If you let yourself be happy.

by Gala Meyer Marti ’15

by Gala Meyer Marti ’15

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OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 15

by Ilya Chepik ’16

by Noel Romeu Oliva ’16 (left) by Yuting Xie ’15, (top) by Yessica Choi ’15

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17

One Kiss

by Gala Meyer Marti ’15

After dinner Alex asked me if I wanted to go back home or if I wanted to walk for a little.

My mind started to scan and think as fast as the hummingbird wings; I could not even form any of my thoughts. With a quiet voice I said I wanted to walk. We went by the piers and sat down. It was a cold dark night. The light of a lamppost was the only one other than a couple of shiny dots at the other side of the lake. A soft breeze was chilling me.

A beautiful background of music from the moving waves and the lapping water on the little boats calmed me down. We were talking about things, things that I don’t remember because they probably were not interesting; or I was so nervous that my mind was not sticking any of the words that Alex was saying.

A pause. A pause that would drive me even more crazy. I looked at his eyes and my body would

almost melt. Then Alex asked about my tattoo - he wanted to see it. I turned around and let my shirt fall off my shoulder; his tender fingers caressed the lines of the tattoo so softly that it gave me goose bumps. Then he asked, “What does it mean?” Oh my! My mouth started to spit words; I could not manage to take control of my mouth. “Zalio, it’s a word that I invented. That is what my tattoo says.

It is a feeling. It is more than love, ambition, fear, euphoria, or passion…” and I kept going on and on.

The next question was, “And when do you feel that?” At that time we were so close, and my heart was beating so fast. “Now,” I said. I closed my eyes, and he slowly kissed me. His warm lips touched mine, and all my nerves flew away. A wave of heat overcame my body. His arms around me were keeping me close to him. When I opened my eyes he was looking at me. I smiled, and he smiled back.

by Milana Savia ’17

by Pichittra Han-Iang ’17

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OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 19

No Miracle On Ice:

Learning to Skate in a Boston-area Youth Hockey Program

by Mr. T.J. Palmer

Although it’s true that every kid played little league baseball back in the seventies, an amazing number of kids in the Boston-area also played ice hockey. It had to be the hysteria of “Bobby Orr and the Big Bad Bruins,” and their Stanley Cup championships that helped boost enrollment in youth hockey programs all across Massachusetts. .For me, the equipment, and my brother’s enthusiasm for hockey was what got me hooked. A diehard Bruins fan at a young age, he taped the team’s power plays on a portable cassette recorder.

I didn’t even know what a “power play” was at the time, but I agreed that it was a good use of the cassette recorder. .As soon as I was old enough to get hockey equipment of my own, I copied my brother by taping shin-guards, snapping shoulder pad straps, and trying to tighten skate laces. I’d walk around my living room with all my equipment on mimicking the great NHL scorers of my day. My mother only worried that I’d slice up the carpet.

For my grandmother, it was the “garter belt,” that ancient contraption that was used to hold up our hockey socks, that was a bit disconcerting. Today’s player happily uses Velcro to avoid this embarrassment.

I suppose it was because I played every other sport that I had this strong sense that skating and hockey, even though I had no previous instruction, would be easy. My only experience came as a toddler in puffy snow pants and tiny black figure skates with blades that couldn’t cut butter. But I was good at other sports, so hockey would be a snap too, wouldn’t it? .My very first official ice hockey experience started on the ride to the local rink with my friend, Johnny Lockwood. We bragged the whole way about how we were going to skate circles around all the other kids. The fact that my mother had picked out most of my hockey gear, which included baggy blue jeans so the shin pads would fit under them, caused no uneasiness in me. I did notice Johnny had these beautiful satin hockey pants, and a cool red leather helmet, but my confidence wasn’t to be shaken.

Even my brand new, bottom-of-the-line, white plastic helmet that didn’t really fit caused me no concern. My mother thought the big helmet was a good idea because I could “grow into it,” and besides, my wool hat would fit under it to keep me warm in the cold rink. .Once in the locker room at the rink, I struggled with my skate laces, couldn’t get my mouth guard to go near my teeth, and was given a blue practice shirt when Johnny was given a red one – still I wasn’t fazed. I was clueless about the difficulty of balancing on glassy ice with only an eighth of an inch of steel determining fluidity or failure.

Not soon enough, the horn sounded and fifty eager skaters tumbled toward the ice. I took one step on the slippery surface, positioned my other leg like the Heisman trophy statue, and promptly fell flat on my face. The world didn’t make sense for a moment. I leaped to my feet as fast as possible and instantaneously tumbled right back down. I was now on all fours, smart enough not to try and bolt to the standing position again, but so mixed with the emotions of fear, embarrassment, and confusion that I was not sure what to do next. Others had joined me at ice level too, which was good, for misery does actually love company, but there were others whizzing around the rink at break-neck speed, including my friend, Johnny Lockwood. cont. on pg. 21

cont. from pg. 20

I don’t remember much else from that first “skate.” I think I mastered a shuffle, wherein each skate gingerly moved about two inches at a time, and my posture must have resembled someone balancing an egg on the end of a spoon, ever so careful not to make any jerky movements that could send me tumbling to the ice again. My stick had become irrelevant and there was no interest, on my part, in even touching the puck, despite the pleas of the coaches. My sole preoccupation was in not losing my balance, again. I also gravitated towards the boards quite a bit.

To be honest, I had already fallen in love with hockey equipment, it was just the skating part that was the current problem. When I begged to stand like a statue in the crease and play goalie, the coach told me emphatically you have to learn to skate first, so for two or three years, I battled the laws of physics and managed to stay upright long enough to be given the label “skater.”

Much, much later, Johnny and I were on the same high school varsity hockey team. Johnny, the fluid skater, played defense; I played goalie.

Mr. P has written for high school literary magazines, local restaurant menus and several local Massachusetts newspapers. This article appeared in The Wellesley Townsman in 2014. Mr. Domingos would agree that goalies are actually the best skaters on a hockey team.

by Yunhui Wang ’16

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OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 21

(right) by Ray Wang ’17, (far right) by Mr. Zach Apgar

by Michelina Vesprini ’15

by Gala Meyer Marti ’15

by Steven Zeng ’17

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by Tommy Jacobson ’16

OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 23

It’s a Shame

by Maisie Ross ’15

it’s a shame that I can’t see how you look like when you sleep it’s a shame that I can’t feel your hands in mine but I guess I’ll have to deal because I still get to hear your voice when you talk with other people and I can still see you smile and I’m happy because so are you and that’s all that matters just to see you smile too

by Maisie Ross ’15

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by Oliver McCabe ’15

but a small part of me, this little selfish part, wants to be the reason you smile and it hurts my heart

OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 25

Night Terrors

by Maya Gomi ’18

I was cornered in the building. There was slightly chipped cerulean paint on the staircase that I tumbled onto. It was narrow, tight, and enclosed by wooden boards looking as if everyday piece-by-piece it was falling apart. It started from the basement, which was street level, the garage door was open and you could see the starless sky looming over me. The street lamp creeping up on me with its yellow light, made my surroundings more unsettling than ever. The narrow staircase led up to two white decaying doors, one with a window taking up the top half of the door, the other was just a thin slab of wood. .Scared, alone, and cold because I was only wearing a light pink worn out short sleeve shirt, as thin as rice paper. And pastel colored plaid shorts.

I ran from the monsters that looked like something out of Monsters Inc., a whole range of colors and shapes, with facial feature that were flat and bare.

Another person was behind me being chased by monsters, my dad. He was injured and I was too young and immature to know what to do. .I had already lost my first family before I was even a year old. They left me in a basket, wrapped in blankets in front of a day care center. I was found by one of the workers, they called the police and I was taken into yet another stranger’s arms and

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brought to an adoption center. From there I was trusted in the arms of a foster family. They didn’t care for me, all they wanted was to see if they should adopt, but I wasn’t going to be there lab rat. I wasn’t just looking for a place to just live in, I was looking for a home. .I tried to fix his injuries, but I didn’t know how to, the monsters were closing on me now and fear was spread quite obviously on my face. I could feel the tears flowing uncontrollably out my eyes and my t-shirt soaked. By then I was already half awake and aware that my mom had led me to the living room—in the real world. It was very dark, with the same yellow-lit streetlamp beaming through the blinds. .My night terrors started at age 2 and continued till I was 7. Although the night terrors have ended, every so often I’d think about them, leaving me in a state of confusion because I was unknown to the reason why they started. Now that I have a better grasp on the reason, I tend to think of all the bad possibilities of losing everything. I didn’t want to lose everything I had, but who could blame me for being just a little wary. .Then I woke up. And the first person I saw was my mom—that’s when I knew this was my family and I could trust them.

by Michelina Vesprini ’15

OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 27

Superpowers

cont. from pg. 28

by Tyler Colon ’15

.We all want to be special. We all want to be able to kick a bad guy right in their devilish smirk as we fly off to the heroic orchestra of strings while being fawned over by our loving civilians that we must protect. However, some people just don’t have superpowers. No, being able to watch Netflix without going to sleep for 17 hours is not a superpower. In order to take your first step to masked glory, we must find what kind of super power you can acquire. I will give you instruction on how to rip those dormant powers out of you. Reader discretion is advised. These methods are very dangerous and may cause life altering reality checks. Do not be alarmed if you experience mild or severe normalness during the process of learning how to use superpowers. .The marquee super power that you may be looking for is super strength. The more scientific term for this power is hysterical strength. However, you as a normal human being are usually limited to a standard non-jaw-dropping amount of strength. Who wants to go to the gym everyday without getting instantaneous results? I know that you don’t want to go through all of that unnecessary sweat.

There are recorded events of people gaining supernatural strength in seconds. Random people have been able to save others that have been in great danger with “hysterical strength.” Due to their excessive amounts of adrenaline running through the circulatory system, they become very powerful.

In Oregon in 2013, two sisters lifted a tractor off of their father (EMGN). Several cases have been found of mothers lifting cars off of their newborns. Now all you need to do is carry a multitude of babies around with you. Whenever you need to show off your super strength, just throw one under a car, and problem solved. Remember to feel the absolute terror of seeing an infant under such a hulking iron structure. Use that passion and you will be able to lift and throw that car wherever you choose! We will go over aiming cars at bad guys in a later volume.

Now another power that most people want is x-ray vision. This super power is very hard to acquire. Not for me of course, because I have a lot of powers at my disposal. However, this isn’t about me, this is about you. I need you to study different types of special vision in order to get inspiration. I need you to improve your sight before you can see through anything. According to Karl Smallwood, all you need to acquire is a mild amount of autism. Many cases have been found of people with eyes that can record everything like a camera. Smallwood says this about a particular man named Stephan Wiltshire. He took a plane ride over New York and was asked to draw what he saw. “Most of us would be distracted by things like the noise of the chopper, or by thoughts such as “Why are these buildings spaced like that?” or “Is that somebody in the East River?” But Wiltshire’s kung-fu-chop brain can focus like a microscope on just the details, carefully recording them all at the expense of all other normal thought. Because of this, he is not only able to notice relationships and properties of the buildings, but can remember them exactly and use them later in his drawings” (Smallwood).

Wiltshire has been one of my disciples for a while now. Follow his example. I need a karate kungfu-chop brain from you. You might as well give up if your brain can only muster a halfhearted limparmed slap.

You might be asking, what can I do right now to gain a superpower without working that hard?

I don’t want to carry around babies to throw under cars or develop a mild amount of autism. The answer is, go steal from a hospital. Why Tyler? Why go steal? And why from a hospital? Well do you want to be able to run forever? I have been working with Dean Karnazes, a marathon runner with no regard for human limits. Because of all the extra O2 and blood plasma in his system, this man can literally run forever. With the excess blood, his muscles don’t produce the detrimental lactic acid that makes your muscles tire out (Charmicheal). The man ran 50 marathons, in 50 states, in 50 consecutive days. Yes, you read that right. Now try to remember some of the hobbies you have pursued in 50 consecutive days. Yes I’ll wait. Now take your butt off the couch and go steal from that

cont. on pg. 29

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hospital. Inject it into your system and then just run away from the cops! They will never catch you because you now have the power to run forever. My logic is undeniable. When you mastered the art of running forever, we will advance to the next stage. Running at the speed of sound. Soon you will be the next Flash and don his red mask of justice. However, tights are so 90’s, maybe you could go for a nice hipster fedora and scarf combo while saving the world.

To round out your superpowers, we need to show your adoring fans something very impressive.

To induce awe and wonder, you must learn how to use echolocation. Before going around getting filed with copyright by calling yourself Batman, let’s learn how this is possible. My pupil, Ben Underwood, lost his vision when he was younger due to cancer. However, Underwood is able to do normal things such as riding a bike and rollerblading… while blind. This amazing man can “see” the world, using echolocation. By clucking his tongue and judging the echo to understand his surrounding he becomes weary of obstacles in his path. On the other hand, you do not need to use the tongue cluck (Stroffrengen). Try closing your eyes and snapping your fingers, tapping your foot, or clapping your hands. Any of these methods will work. Focus on how fast the sound reverberates to you ear and you will soon be running wild in the dark like an invisible ninja. .Everyone has a wonderful imagination. However it is rare that things we imagine in our heads actually come true. I do believe people are interested in the idea of having superpowers. I want these people to avoid trying to get bit by menacing spiders or dumping themselves in vats of nuclear waste. Now if I ever find myself in any sort of danger, I expect my readers to come swooping in with all the tongue clucking, baby chucking, slight autism wielding, blood stealing madness that I have so dedicatedly taught them about.

Works Cited Charmicheal, Chris. “The Karnazes Effect.” Runner’s World & Running Times. Runner’s World, 03 Jan. 2007. Web. 20 Jan. 2015.

EMGN. “15 People With Real Life Superpowers.” EMGN.com. Taboola, 22 Feb. 2014. Web. 11 Jan. 2015.

Smallwood, Karl, and Keir Harris. “6 Real People With Mind-Blowing Mutant Superpowers: Update.”

Cracked.com. Demand Media, 6 Feb. 2012. Web. 11 Jan. 2015.

Stroffrengen, Thomas A., and John B. Pittenger. “Human Echolocation as a Basic Form of Perception and Action.” Taylor & Francis. Tandfonline, 17 Sept. 2010. Web. 20 Jan. 2015.

by Liz Longshore ’15

OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 29

Realism and a Map Anonymous

I hate the world, because the world will still be here when I am not.

Back to the earth will my possessions lay, as ashes and rot, they will cycle.

But I will not. I will be nothing.

Not even a memory as my lover dies. not even an image.

I will no longer hold a breath, be a breath.

No longer be of a stream’s water or river tooth.

Not even in the soil of the world.

I will be no more.

I have come to hate the earth as it always comes again in another season.

Growing, Living, Repeating a life cycle.

I will not.

I will have an end.

So I sleep next to the world painted on a flat piece of paper, so that though it will not remember me, I will remember and dream of it

by Yessica Choi ’15

by Kentaro Kawanishi ’16

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OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 31

by Michelle Su ’18

by Yuting Xie ’15

by Kentaro Kawanishi ’16

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OUTCroppings • Volume 36 • 33

Snapshot:

A place I witnessed something significant

by Saif Al Ameemi ’15

.In a flash, our once unknown land turned to a heaven of diverse tourists and employees. From a deserted desert, to the country with the most modern city in the world; Dubai. .A crowd, noise, the most cheerful noise, and claps like thunder. Normal people, high-ranked ones, authorities and the Sheikh of Dubai. Not one eye missed this significant mark on history. Four years, that was all it took, and everything changed; the reputation, economy and population.

The tallest tower has been built. Burj Khalifa: The tower of Khalifa. Named after our Sheikh,

to show what happens under his rule. To show that his power strikes all negativities. And there it was, the opening of the tower after the sweat of determined workers who worked for four years, nonstop no matter what time was it; light or darkness. They didn’t care; they were already lit with the motivation from the Sheikh. .Filled with pride, I saw it. Over all the buildings and towers, but with humbleness. Over the clouds but under them. Four years were enough to create a master piece. I wondered how was that, but that was all it took, a blink of an eye.

by Gala Meyer Marti ’15

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by Jordan St. Peter ’15

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Second Place

by Ian Foster ’15

Dear friends and families, life is all about effort and determination. It’s about dreaming big and making those dreams into goals and then succeeding at those goals one step at a time. A year ago I set a goal to be the Salutatorian of the 2016 class at IMG Academy. It started out as a joke with one of my old teachers, but over time I made it into something more. The first step was actually learning how to spell Salutatorian, and then from there we took off. I never really thought I was going to make it. As much as I wanted to believe myself, I always thought I would find a way to bomb it. I was scared of my own shadow; I let fear win a battle over my will and determination. This time was different. This time I did the unthinkable. Look at me now, Mr. Mann, I am number two, I got second place. No one ever said it is easy to be second, but I made it all the same.

I was terrified over one thing in particular, MATH. I would never be able to conquer math.

Every time I felt like I got something, a teacher would have to come along and tell me that I was wrong. English was another class that I have trouble with, which has been a subject of challenge since day one and I continue to struggle with it day in and day out. I do everything my teachers have ever asked me to do in English class. They ask me to make an outline, I try, they ask me to have a thesis statement, so I give it my best shot, they ask for constructed body paragraphs and a conclusion, I give it my best, but for what? I end up getting a 70 anyway. It’s one of those subjects that I can never really tell how I’m doing. I can write an essay and think it was absolutely amazing and then get it back

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as a 70. Don’t even get me started on Physics. I can go through a whole section doing a great job and when it comes down to the test, I bomb it every single time.

Besides just class in general I have constant battles with myself. Like for instance when my grades drop, I seem to worry and let my emotions get the best of me, I shut down and just stop thinking which seems to lead to more stress and worse grades. My biggest enemy is and always will be myself. I’m more scared of myself than the ground hog is of his own shadow. I’m very masochistic, I beat myself up worse then Mohammad Ali did to George Forman. But there is another characteristic about me, it’s one of hard work and determination and a will to succeed.

After a while I started to figure it out, life is no different than a lacrosse face-off. It is a challenge no matter how good the other guy is, and I took the challenge head on. Just like in school no matter how hard the subject may be to grasp, I took it with an open hand ready to do it until I got it right. No one ever said school was easy and it takes perseverance. When you turn your back on what feels right and safe and what some people would call common sense, that’s the first step. The easy way will always be there ready to wash you away, but it’s up to you to head up stream, put one foot in front of the other and really go for it.

So my message to you is this: if you have a dream go for it, set goals to get there and don’t let yourself or anyone else get in your way. Because your biggest enemy is inside of you and after you conquer that nothing else can stop you.

photos by Steven Zeng ’17

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by Tommy Jacobson ’16 photos by Michelina Vesprini ’15

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Snow Day

by Ms. Kim Ross and Mr. Peter Moses

Hiding her green ball Only to be found in Spring McKenzie in bliss

by Yuwen Wang ’18

Nights Like This

by Jenna Burgess ’17

by Ms. Kim Ross and Mr. Peter Moses

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Nights like this are beautiful and silent.

When the water is free and the wind whispers in my ears like it’s trying to tell me something. When my chest is full of the bitter cold air and my hair is blown into my face.

There’s something about the trees as they dance at night that makes me feel like I’m not alone.

Like nature comes to life just for me to remember the symphony of the world just for one night, just for one moment.

Because the sky looks really beautiful right now and I know that I am often sad, but there are moments like this when I fall in love with the world again and I adore every breath of oxygen in my lungs and I’m not scared anymore.

I’m not afraid of the stress building up in my mind or the papers in my backpack or the overdue books weighing my shoulders down. I don’t care about the hollow words preached by teachers in a room full of sleepwalkers, or the scores and numbers that have been trying to define me and rate my importance on a scale of A to F. It doesn’t matter to me anymore and I’ve lost interest in trying to prove myself to people who are always unimpressed.

I open my arms and feel the air around me, I feel the earth breathe.

And I don’t care that I have something to be studying for or something to be stressing about. Because for a moment, just for one second, I feel like a part of something beautiful.

I feel free.

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An Open Letter to a Two-Day Memory Anonymous

Dear A Two-Day Memory, You see, you are special. You were my first and currently my only. You were an ice-cream date that turned into a “one night stand”? I guess so if that’s what you’d call it. A nervous sophomore shared a few kisses with whom she was told was a senior boy, all the way from Colorado. It was weird because I’m from New Hampshire, you were from Colorado, and we were in Florida. Things were hot, but we kept it cool.

It was less than twenty-four hours of actual face-to-face contact, and I met half the guys on your lacrosse team, and you introduced me to your coach; a little fast wouldn’t you say? But there was something about you that I liked. That’s why I followed your goofy, freckle-covered body to meet whoever you wanted me to.

Needless to say, that night resulted with me stalking your FaceBook pictures multiple times until you admitted that you were doing the same

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and then we just stuck to texting. We didn’t even do that right, afraid to actually have a conversation, instead filling up text boxes with ROFL’s, LOL’s and TTYL’s.

You told me you had to apologize, and I got scared as the “typing” symbol came up on my phone. You said, “I lied… I’m actually just a junior, I hope you don’t hate me.” Kid, are you serious?

I don’t hate you, you’re all I can think about right now and I don’t even know you! How dare someone so shortly in my life occupy so much of my time and effort?

Well, three March breaks later and you are still in my “recent” for contacts that I have texted, you are still in my “top” Snap-Chats, and you are still floating in and out of my mind. The fact that we make plans to see each other and “meet up soon” just blows my mind.

You are a two-day memory and I think it’s time to leave you at that.

by Xiuyi Li ’18

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Sonnet

by Abigayle Callahan ’17

Tis not money that makes a family rich But a family entwined with truth and depth For the richest families are those of patchwork quilts Covers handmade, not name brand, that will last A patch alone shows promise but serves little use But together close-knit with others Becomes secure with verity and amour For those with more to spend stretch apart Creating aperture and losing fervor While those with less append more thread Devising impressions that stand along side time.

I’ve seen wealth divert souls, and love start to stretch thin And families with light wallets, create love within.

by Maite De Llano Lehman ’17

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BREWSTER ACADEMY WOLFEBORO, NEW HAMPSHIRE