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Images The 2013 edition of Images magazine represents Chandler School’s creative writing and artistic vision. Our journey through the pages of Images has opened our eyes to the vast talents of our students ranging in ages from five to fourteen. We were impressed with all of the entries, and it was very hard to choose the pieces that appear in this year’s issue. We would like to thank all of the faculty and student body for supporting the literary magazine. We hope you thoroughly enjoy reading this year’s issue.

Meena Durairaj, 2nd grade

Kim Austin Alec Asatoorian Hanna Barakat Cienna Benn Lucan Bin Rhiana Boyles Jillian Brady Gavin Campbell Talia Dell Angelo Isabella Doumitt


Olivia Smith Jennifer Um Ben Weeden Kristina Yin Scott Fordham Aron Guevara Megan Hsu Julia Otter Julia Nowak

Dean Johnson Jason Katsof Halston Harper Emily Pearson Sophie Silva Isabella Taglioretti

Emma Stellwagen

Tess Stewart

Charlotte Strasburg

Chandler School


Chandler is amazing, Their recess is always fun, The school year goes by so fast, You never wish it’s done. The kids are so friendly, They’re nice and they’re sweet, They always help me up, When I don’t land on my feet. Even in the classroom, They make math fun, With subtraction and division, And also addition and its sum. Lunch is so amazing, They always serve good food, But when I don’t want it, I’m just not in the mood. The place I go to school, Is very fun and cool, The place I go to school, Is called Chandler School.

Eddie Kim and Paul Erickson, 7th grade

Divya Kumar 4th grade

Cienna Benn, 8th grade 3

Images Redwood tress towering over you Like skyscrapers in the city Endless leaves and branches Weaving up into the sky Like thread into a tapestry. The air Cool and moist Like a pond in the spring Frogs croaking and leaping Across lily pads in the calm water The rushing of the wind And the soft bounce of deer feet Magnificent colors blooming Green, orange, yellow, blue Red. At night you can see the stars Twinkling like little fireflies There is no fear in this place Only peace.

The Picture

You can see the moon Round and bright You can feel a gentle wind Blowing your way, Seemingly saying “Good night� And slowly fading away Into the darkness. Nature Forever stays In our memories As a picture of A most wonderful place Kept dearly in our hearts. Good night Good night Good night

Vivian Lu 7th grade

Amy Baum, 3rd grade 4


eight years two months eight years (for me, at least) they’ve flown by it’s funny when you think about it that I was only able to realize how much I learned from you just now and I wonder why you only miss something when it’s gone

Paul Erickson, 7th grade

we’re at the beginning of the end when everyone says it won’t stop us that we’ll keep in touch (and we joke around and laugh and smile for the camera just to mask our sadness) but memories fade (like the hail during that one thunderstorm when we ran out in the rain) people move on and we know that it won’t be the same two months we’re winding down a clock because our lives must change and time goes on but we can’t stop it and even if we could we wouldn’t. Matilda Berke 8th Grade

Andrew Battany, 8th grade 5

Images I Am Poem I I I I I I I I I I I I I I

am a girl who is brave and never gives up wonder what will happen when I’m an adult hear strange noises all the time see the people who are nice and the people who are mean want to see the beautiful world someday pretend to be the one and only beautiful girl feel wonderful when everyone is happy worry when people are mad, sad, or even worried cry when my parents are sad or fighting understand right from wrong and not to be jealous dream that one day I will be president of the United States try to make frowns upside down for everyone hope the world will always be a wonderful and peaceful place am grateful to be here on this very planet

Alyssa Christopoulos 4th grade

Julia Nowak, 8th grade 6

Images Who I Am and What I Stand For While names can define and contain their owner, I choose to define and live up to my name: Jillian Violet Brady. This definition is a work in progress, but hopefully my name and its underlying meaning will make a positive impact on our world. As a culmination of my heritage, personality, and goals, my name gives me a path to follow. My first name, Jillian, is based on the Latin word for “youthful.” My energetic spunk, curiosity and spontaneity embody my name, and I hope to maintain such an attitude throughout life. If put into a song, the name Jillian would have a quirky yet dainty melody, and upbeat tempo. This song and my name reflect my quirky and upbeat personality, and my mother’s dainty style. While the name Jillian’s roots mainly originate from the Latin language, historical ties can be traced back to two predominant cultures in my heritage: the Irish and English cultures. Evidently, my name shares a similar heritage and meaning with my identity. In a meadow overtaken by dandelions, a single, bold violet blooms. The middle name Violet symbolizes many traits, one of them being boldness. The name itself is sweet, but has a strong presence. Violet can be a striking hue of purple, a charming and beautiful flower, or a name. The main correlation between these three is their stark uniqueness. Sometimes I feel like the single, bold violet, who stands out too much. Luckily, I have learned to appreciate originality and creativity, and I am proud to be the violet. Like Jillian, Violet is derived from Latin. It also has direct ties with the French language, which reflects a small portion of my heritage. I am named after my great-grandmother, Viola. She too, had a bold, unique and generous personality. The name Violet also means hero, based on Twelfth Night by Shakespeare. The protagonist in this play, Viola, was a genuine and admirable heroine, just like my great-grandmother. In the year 130, descendants of Ireland’s ruler, the King of Munster, were given the surname Mac Bradaigh. This was derived from the word bradach, which means spirited. Throughout the years, Mac Bradaigh transformed into O’Brady, O’Grady, and many other variations. Finally, my ancestors sailed to the United States during the potato famine with the last name Brady. The Brady family’s spirited attitude has survived into the twenty-first century. I apply such an attitude to my schoolwork, sports, and all aspects of life. Viola, and the rest of my paternal grandmother’s family have the last name Knight. The Knights emigrated from Great Britain in the eighteen and seventeen hundreds. One of my ancestors, Thomas Knight was a modest storekeeper in Arkansas. During the Gold Rush, he traveled to California. When his wagon was robbed and destroyed, he could only recover $18.50. In despair and panic, he turned to gold hunting. He was surprisingly successful, and bought a large portion of Mellacomes Ranch. This area was eventually named Knight’s Valley, after Thomas Knight. His perseverance after losing most of his money and possessions is inspirational, and reminds me to never give up. Years later, my great-great-step father owned a large plot of farmland in Sonoma Valley. During the Great Depression, many California cities scapegoated their economic hardships onto the Chinese. They were forced out of cities without a home. My relative allowed the exiled Chinese to stay on his property for free until the unrest was over. These families were so thankful that after the Depression, they named a street after him. This story inspires me to empathize with others, help those in need, and do what is right. One day, I hope that an admirable story like these can be told to my grandchildren, except I will be the inspirational figure. A name is only skin deep; it’s about what you make of your name and how you define it. I hope to use my name as a guide towards helping others, but how I can help isn’t clear yet. I strive to make my name proud. I am Jillian Violet Brady, a youthful, spirited and unique flower. My name symbolizes who I am and what I stand for. Jillian Brady 8th grade


Images She spins upon a needle-sharp point, On a hairbreadth thread of spider’s silk and moonlight. Her silver garb, shining like a fallen star, Spreading in the hoarfrost puddle of a melted snowflake. Features like glass, gentle, fragile, Yet somehow keener than thousands of razor blades. And as she spins, the world looks on, At brilliant light shattered and reformed. Because she is just a piece, a mere part of a whole. Because she is the mirror’s edge, the first to fall in a realm of broken glass. Kathryn Berzas 8th grade

Michelle Wong, 4th grade 8

Images Cyclone A wave of water Blindingly fast Spinning out of control, A whistle blows An audible sigh from the wind. The tide pulls out, Water recedes back In an instant, Water cascades back, Rises up And collapses. A whistle is blown An audible cheer from the wind. A goal was scored. Water polo. Scott Fordham 8th Grade

Paul Erickson, 7th grade 9

Images Battleground of Survival If you look closely, You can see the past in my eyes. But I’m no longer a girl. I’m transformed into a milky white horse with a golden mane. Running swiftly in the ancient fields of America. I am a warhorse, Battling nature, Fighting to survive, Hunting the bison, Rabbits, And foxes. The women pick berries, cook, and take care of young. Basket-weavers, skilled hunters, invisible in the forests. And I hear the tremble of the stampede. I smell the fire from the huts and teepees. I know we must be strong and careful to survive Mother Nature’s challenges. And I stand proud. As proud as a horse can stand. To know we fight to stay alive And to stay true to who we are. I stay true to my name: Lily Maxfield. Lily Maxfield 8th grade

Julia Nowak, 8th grade 10


Julia Nowak, 8th grade

An Olive Branch I I I I I I I I I

am the only blond in my family come from the dry, ancient, desserts of the Middle East see olive branches of hope and freedom taste authentic spices and herbal medicine hear the rhythmic tapping of footsteps in the debki dance feel honored to be part of such a unique culture know my heritage makes me a distinct, independent individual am proud of my past; it makes me the unique person I am today am Hanna Barakat

Hanna Barakat 8th grade



The Girl, My Age, Who Ran to Hide The blazing sun, And the sound of planes, A girl, my age, ran to hide. The buzzing of planes, And the fire spread about. Closing your eyes, To ignore the hideous shouts. Swiftly, she’d run, Past fields of grains, A girl, my age, ran to hide. Up the mountains she climbed, To her small little house, Neighbors to geese, And friends with the mouse. Under her, the people cried, Of their loved ones who died. Still, my grandmother, she survived. Years later, I would sit beside The girl, my age, who ran to hide. Kristina Yin 7th grade

Madeleine Pearce, 6th grade 12

Freedom Fighter I I I I I I I I I


am a tall, brunette, freedom fighter come from loving civil rights’ activists see the black, yellow, and green of a South African Flag taste the sweetness of my grandmother’s tea hear the South African National Anthem feel excited to help my country know the pain of not being heard am proud of what my family has done am Charlotte Strasburg

Charlotte Strasburg 8th grade

Kristina Yin, 7th grade

A Boy of Different Cultures I I I I I I I I I

am a boy of Irish, Native American, and African American descent. come from a family of many different cultures. see the colorful candles of Kwanzaa. taste the colorful flavors of African fruits. hear the African chant of my ancestors. fell proud of my family sticking to the traditions of our ancestors. know that I am a descendant of an artistic culture. am proud to have such a wide variety of heritage. am William Crum.

William Crum 8th grade

Kristina Yin, 7th grade 13


Pearl Necklace

Eliana Longoria-Valenzuela, 3rd grade

From the grandfather of my mother to Nana. It came from Japan our native home Real pearls. She was in high school when her father traveled home and back. Brought back two for each of his daughters. I’ve only heard the stories of its power. Mom will give it to me, when the right time comes. To wear, on my wedding day. I will cherish the necklace dearly and give it to my daughter when the time comes. Sarah Johnson 7th grade

Jessica Daniel, 2nd grade


Images Unwrapping Life An elaborate and riveting story about how I was entitled Rhiana Grace Boyles unfortunately does not exist. The wind did not whisper my name into the ears of my parents in the dead of night, nor can “Rhiana” be traced back to a great female warrior who saved the lives of her people. In all actuality it was a quite simple story of a soon to be mother and father looking through a used baby book who happened to take a liking for the unique name meaning “goddess” or “great queen”. I have developed a love for my uncommon first name that goes impeccably well with “Grace Boyles”. My middle name, Grace, demonstrates irony of the highest quality, seeing as I am anything but graceful. Boyles, originating as the Irish “O Baoighill”, is a last name I would be able to live without. In reality, I despised my surname ever since I was intelligent enough to realize what it sounded like. Yes, people do say “Look, Rhiana BOYLES!” whenever I am sunburned. Although there is not an engrossing story about the meaning or origin of my name in existence today, I’d like to think that this fact makes me at liberty to write my own story. There are no expectations or limits as to who I am and will become. My story started with a curious and motivated child, who thought everything of her family and friends. She met a wise yet wretched creature known as reality at a young age, taking away her innocence and misconception that all of her role models were perfection in the shape of a human being. This dismal animal transformed her young and innocent personality into that of a distrustful, impassive, and unsympathetic personage. At times, my name can mean all of those ugly qualities, especially in times of desolation and need. On a happier note, the story continues when Rhiana meets another important figure in her life. This living being helped her realize that when reality is as black as night, you are able to create your own destiny. If you cannot find a light at the end of the tunnel, then you have to make one. Fear of self-destruction and failure taught her this important lesson. Fear gave her strength, tranquility, good sense, and affection. All of these qualities, the good and the bad, are what “Rhiana” means. The most wonderful and inspiring part of this story is that it is just beginning to unfold. Rhiana Boyles 8th grade

William Farhat, 4th grade 15


Edge of Aspen On the edge of a giant stack of rough, pale rock Intermixed with spurts of jade grass, The painted world lies before my eyes. Dark evergreens dot my surroundings and the strong redolence of pine needles fills the air. Gray-green birds flit from burnished branch to branch. The pure blue sky holds it breath as the sun rises from behind a grayish mountain range patched with large ice-cold range This is my painted world, the beginning of my imagination, the edge of Aspen. -Anna Gong 7th Grade

Amanda Schaller, 6th grade


Images An Animal’s Dream Sylvia looked out the big window next to the kitchen table. It was a sunny spring Saturday in Nashville, Tennessee and she could hear her mother doing the laundry. Sylvia had been sitting at the same spot for hours and would likely sit here for several more. Sylvia wasn’t always like this. She once had a sister named Savannah who was twelve years older. Her sister had died at the age of 24 from cancer. Sylvia and Savannah had been very close, as close as two sisters could be. Even though Savannah had left home years before to go off to college, she would visit home as often as possible and together Sylvia and Savannah would have a blast. When Savannah passed away, Sylvia had not spoken for a whole week. The sadness that was bolted shut inside her could not get out. Her parents gave her space, for they knew how she felt, but as the days passed and Sylvia had still not uttered a single word, her parents began to worry. Finally, on the seventh day, Sylvia cried and cried and cried and let the sadness spill out. Soon after that, her parents began to fight daily, which led to their divorce. Sylvia’s parents divorced about a year ago, and since then, Sylvia was always very bored and spent most of her free time staring out the window. When Sylvia’s parents had been together, the house had been full of jokes, laughter and happiness. It was also full of one thing that she and her father both loved: animals. However, ever since the divorce, her mother didn’t allow any animals in the house. Since her mother had taken on a new job and was very busy all of the time, Sylvia no longer went to the local zoo, where she used to spend countless hours observing the animals and communicating with them the best she could. Whenever somebody visited and had animals or when she went to somebody else’s home with animals, Sylvia would sit herself next to the animals and talk to them. She felt as though she was not only connected to each animal, but also connected to her father, who Sylvia did not see much. During the school day, the children stayed far away from Sylvia knowing that she didn’t talk much. Her teacher, Mrs. Black, saw that Sylvia was struggling. Sylvia drew sad pictures, wrote sad stories, and hardly ate. Everything to her was black. She was trapped in a pit with only darkness, and there was no way out. She couldn’t hear her teacher speaking, or anything else. All her senses were gone, as if they went down the drain. On one night when there was a cool breeze, Sylvia crept out of the house as quietly as she dared and slowly walked toward the zoo. Something told her that she must go on this night and no other. As Sylvia walked, the trees seemed to talk to her, almost as if encouraging her. When she got to the zoo, the gate was open, the streetlights seem to get brighter and all the animals were out of their cages. They slowly crept toward her. Sylvia was suddenly next to her father once again when he was younger. Savannah was also there and they were laughing together. Her mother was next to her father, her hand in his. As Sylvia joined her family, she handled the animals, spoke to them and fed them. Nothing else mattered. The only thing that mattered was that she was here with her family and that there were loving animals all around her. And to the animals, this happy family was an animal’s dream. Taryn Kim 5th grade 17


The Dying Wishes of a Family I I I I I I I I I I

am hardworking, devoted, and a critical thinker, come from the men and women who sacrificed their lives for their countries, see the Slovenian flag waving high in the sky, taste the delicious flavors in a traditional Chinese dish, hear the birds chirping in the highest part of the Alps, feel proud and honored to be two countries in one, know my ancestors’ dying wishes, follow their footsteps with all my heart, am proud of my people, what they have done, am Tony Kukavica.

Tony Kukavica 8th Grade

Elly Hong, 8th grade

Sprinting up the field with the ball at my feet to score No time to hesitate and look back Siting for hours and hours trying to work I finally start to doze off Bursting into laughter Jokes always seem funnier with friends Emma Stellwagen, fish lover Sister, friend, daughter, student, teammate My mother is so smart and she keeps me sane My father loves me through everything My brother is sweet and sour yet always loveable Friends shape me into who I am Soccer makes me work for what I want Chasing my goals every time I play I push harder and harder to succeed Emma Stellwagen 8th grade 18

Images Wishing Nights and Tired Mornings

La Vida

I still remember In the darkest hour A blanket covered The blue sky, devoured.

Freefalling Sudden emptiness Light, weightless Quick breaths Suffocating

Little lights blinked Like white grains of sand on inked canvas One by one, they winked Like the light bulbs of Christmas. However, a wide smile Was the brightest of them all And all the while I answered its call. I smiled back And reached out I was taken aback My hands were filled with doubt. Still I smiled Still I believed I knew one day On the moon I would stay.

Barreling downwards Faster pace Approaching collision Painful impact Fading Light dimming Darkening Night present No single star Dying Heavenly glow Spiraling staircase Golden steps Angelic sunset Living Ryan Pizante 7th grade

I stifled a yawn Reluctantly, I fell Night turned to dawn I was put under a tired spell. The lights disappeared Over hills, the sun peered To cover the tress in sunlight The greenery and my room lit bright. Kristina Yin 7th grade Megan Hsu, 7th grade 19

Images The Proud Mexican Boy I am strong, tall and athletic. I come from the hot, sunny farming fields of Mexico. I see the red and green colors of the Mexican flag on a piñata swinging in the air. I taste the mouth watering, juicy watermelon. I hear my abuela telling me, “Eat your food, niño.” I feel the warmth of the bear coat in a cold winter day. I know the old folk tales told by ancestors. I am proud of my culture, which is being built upon each generation. I am Alejandro Salinas. Alejandro Salinas 8th Grade

Madeleine Pearce, 6th grade 20

Images From Tribes and Slaves I I I I I I I I I

am dark skinned. come from the Native American Tribes and slaves. see the waving, blue Oklahoma state flag. taste the hot soul food -- greens, cornbread, okra, potato, salad, and yams. hear the chanting songs of the Ancient Tribes. feel like one of a kind. know I have ancestors who have fought for my rights. am proud of my ancestor slaves and those that walked the Trail of Tears. am Kim Austin

Kim Austin 8th grade

Túxiáng is “Images” in Chinese Chelsea Liu, 3rd grade

Background of China and Me I am tall, fit, and awesome. Madeleine Pearce, 6th grade I come from Harbin, China. I see yellow, red, dragons, lanterns, and the curvature of ancient pagodas. I taste dumpling under the crackling of fireworks on New Year’s night. I feel the storm beaten walls and newly furnished houses. I know my family’s lineage dating back to 800 B.C. I am proud of being from a Chinese heritage. I am Hunter Xue. Hunter Xue 8th Grade


Images Pseudo-Power Feelings of insecurity Boil beneath the skin, Expose themselves And manifest in cruelty.

Physically explosive And highly exploited, Manifesting bruises. Creating suicides.

Verbally abusive Stabbing virtual peers, Unseen wounds Harbor unrelenting pain.

Artificial strength Fools the assailant Destroys the target Leaving a residue of ashes. Ashley Wu 7th grade

Jackie Pearce, 3rd grade


Images Unjust Actions The sound of a gunshot The gasping for air The sound of sirens The worried voices. In Connecticut The mothers crying The children dying The teachers hushing For the violence is just too loud Violence has infected society Tearing families apart Unjust actions changing our world completely Why does humankind Have to be so blind In seeing what is really important It is hard to stop And all I can do is watch As it all goes by. Megan Hsu 7th grade

Jillian Brady, 8th grade


Images Speak Countless taunts and teases Starting as a harmless joke Growing into an endless problem Meant to make you fall apart Staying in the shadows, trying to be inconspicuous .The kid starts kicking at your heels Nowhere to run Interrogation day Asking questions Starting to mumble an answer But asked again with another kick to your heel Hurting on the inside Breaking on the outside Gathering courage for the ultimate confrontation Feeling helpless Swinging on the swings The kid comes up and starts to pull your braids Treating you like a horse A mere animal Not able to speak Telling someone Feeling light as a feather Feeling of dread evaporating Fear disappearing Strength rising An important act Of opening your mouth Creaky and rusty from not being used Words jumbled and mixed-up like fruit in a blender Vivid images played over and over in your head With bumps and bruises Slowly being patched together Healing The humpty-dumpty fell off the wall Slowly fitting together after a long period of time Staying strong Preserving Encouraging yourself to open your mouth Asking yourself to have courage Keep your pride Speak Vivian Lu 7th grade


I was your hero. Wasn’t I? Your hopes, your dreams, they all rested on my shoulders. And for a time, I too was content. But this infernal war has shattered that which once was. That which was to be. That which is. Now it will never be. Never. I could see the darkness’s approach, hear its soft, musical whisper, feel its cool touch. It cares, I think. It cares when you never did. You never cared for my hardships, never helped me in my quest, never thought that I was human, that I was like you. I was deluded, you see. I thought that you idolization of me was out of respect. I now see that it was fear. Fear of that which you cannot understand. And so, to tame that fear, you ensured its object would never turn against you, but in the process achieved the polar opposite. I was your knight in shining armor? I am your penance cloaked in shadow. And nothing shall stop my vengeance. Kathryn Berzas 8th grade

Images My Lovely Mother My mom is beautiful With eyes so creative Wide, large, and always open Soft with passion A honey type texture The sun reflecting perfectly in her sunset. She is an angel With wings that stretch for miles As white as the clouds With her gentle voice Soothing the world. She is inspiring Reaching each goal with confidence Pushing her children never to give up A role model Sacrificing her life My miracle. Halston Harper 7th grade

Lauren Chretien, 4th grade

Hair My mom’s voice is like the sound of a sewing machine, purring quietly. It can be loud and sharp, like a whip cracking. When she reads to me her favorite parts of a book, she perfectly shows a picture of a carriage bumping along a deserted road in London or a murder stalking its prey. My dad’s voice is the sound a volcano makes before it erupts. It is deep, dangerous, and on the verge of eruption. It can also be soft and subtle, like a car starting. When he yells it is the lava hitting the ground, blast after blast of rocks flying and people running for cover because they know what’s happening. My voice is a siren on a fire truck passing by. It starts off quiet, then it gets louder. . .and louder. . .and louder, until it is so loud you have to cover your ears. Sometimes, though, very rarely, my voice will be as quiet as a mouse’s squeak. Marina Francis 7th grade 25

Dear Ms. Amy Tan, When I first opened the red-and-gold, dog-eared cover of your book The Joy Luck Club, I didn’t really know what to expect, mainly because I had no idea what “joy luck” was. Was it one of the Chinese sayings roughly translated into English that my mom was so fond of using in order to teach me about life? Was it a phrase created by you in order to describe the people and relations in your book? Or, was it a combination of words designed to trigger feelings of nostalgia in readers? Needless to say, I was intrigued. When I was seven or eight, I read your short story “The Moon Lady.” Even at that young age, the story’s haunting simplicity struck a chord. The poignant closing lines in particular resonated somewhere deep within me. I was moved, although at the time, I couldn’t understand how or why. To explain this, I need to tell you a little bit about where I come from. I was born in America, to a Chinese mother and American father, and was raised with the idea that I could be whoever I wanted. My mother grew up amid smoke and fire: during the Cultural Revolution. The Communist Party had deprived her family of most of their possessions and forced her parents to work in factories and on country farms, leaving my mother and her three younger sisters to fend for themselves. My mother detested the Communist Party and grew up in a state of constant oppression – she was often persecuted for not being “red” (loyal to the government). At 13, her life was changed forever; she was selected to join a ballet training school. She knew that this was her only chance to lift her family out of poverty, and put all her effort into ballet. Hard work eventually paid off – she eventually became the prima ballerina, the most valued dancer in the company. When her ballet company traveled to Australia to perform, she realized the freedom that she had been missing and decided to immigrate to America. I never quite understood how she could go through so many hardships and still remain cheerful, or why she constantly insisted that I never lose sight of (or give up on) my dreams. Problems in my life always seemed inadequate and insignificant compared to my mom’s hardships. At the age when my biggest complaint was typical middle-school angst, my mother was practically taking care of a family. I could never shake the feeling that it was my duty and obligation to achieve great things, simply because I had to carry on my mom’s “legacy.” In times of trouble, I always thought “My mom could handle this, so why can’t I?” This phrase dogged me; I felt like I could never live up to what my mom had achieved, and that anything short of perfection was a disappointment. While reading your book, however, I came to a sudden epiphany. I realized that no matter what I did, my mom would always be proud of me, simply because I was her daughter. There were no typical “tiger mom” expectations placed on me – rather, I discovered that I was the one who dreamed of success. Through the complex mother-daughter relationships explored and explained in your book, I came to realize that the one thing that drove my mother through all the long practices was not ambition or greed. Rather, it was love – joy luck – that motivated my mother to push me so hard. It was because she knew that I could never be happy without achieving my goals. Because the same joy luck that kept her going through gunfire and death, bleeding feet and darkened studios, inspired her to sacrifice her own feelings for what she knew would ultimately improve my life. Thanks to you, Ms. Tan, I think I know what joy luck is. I can probably define it best as “love” or “community”, although as you probably know, many subtleties in the poetry of Chinese are lost when we try to pin concrete words to abstract phrases. Joy luck can span all gaps of status, culture, age, or language, and it’s really not about joy or luck, although it may bring those. No – it’s more like a state of mind, a deep understanding that no amount of studying will uncover. It’s a timid thought that tiptoes from mind to mind, searching for an open door. Continued on next page 26

Images Joy luck is about finding beauty in the mundane. It’s about optimism and love, sorrow and forgiveness. It’s about marching in at 5 in the morning, flooding the room with light and dazed protests, screaming and slamming doors that won’t stay shut for long, creeping back out for lunch and crying and hugging, laughing through the tears and declaring “I was so wrong! I was so stupid!” It’s about holding my head high because, at the end of the day, I’m proud of everything that I am and I know that, given the opportunity, I’d never change a thing about my life. It’s about making jokes and compromises and sacrifices, sometimes in the same breath. It’s about looking past myself. And ultimately, it’s about being a family. Being together. Long life, good health, and joy luck, Matilda Lin Berke Matilda Berke 8th Grade Matilda’s letter won the first place prize in the level 2 (middle school) division of the 2013 Letters About Literature contest sponsored by the California Center for the Book. Her letter went on to win the national honors, as well.

Help I am surrounded. Buried. Suffocated. Enemies encircle me. They never fall. The most I can do is ignore them. But they ALWAYS return. More join them every minute. Not another, I think. No more. They come not as solitary obstacles, but as a great torrent of pain. A mass of troubles, pressing me at all sides. No openings to fight or flee. They surround me. I can slay soldiers, but not an army. Now I can’t even lift my sword. I am ALONE against an army. One being. One sword weighing down my arms. One thousand opponents. Surrounding me. No more. Please, no more. Aren’t there enough already? Each addition chokes me with my own tears. I am ALONE. One against many. Too many ALONE. Elly Hong 8th grade 27


The Streets I walked the streets of a dull gray With the cold winter breeze creeping Echoing subtle chimes of lies and laughter Cold as a corpse’s breath The bittersweet yearning of wishes That was never meant to be The lure of deadly sweet aromas Clouding what we see. The void a heart-shaped treachery The wisp of smoke The sticky flowing of honey The longing that slowly slithers Into you and me. Kristina Yin 7th grade

Sunday Labrucherie, 2nd grade 28

Images Game Over You say it is your dark side. I say control it. But for now, It’s your fault.

But you denied us. Betrayed us. Left us. Hurt us.

Your fault that I’m hurting. My friends are hurting. You’ve found a way. Into our heads.

Now I’m done. I can’t stand this anymore. I just want you to know. That we won’t play along.

Messing with our emotions. Toying with our insecurities. Making life your game. Using us as your pieces.

You bring the game to us? We’ll show you how to play. And it’s our move. So now? It’s Game Over.

We put down our walls To be your friends When you were alone. Ria Lalwani 7th grade

Joshua Cheng, 2nd grade 29


The Spanish Language I am tall and dark-skinned I come from the hills of Spain I see flamenco dancers wearing red and yellow I taste the different spices in Spanish tapas I hear the voice of my grandfather teaching me Spanish I feel proud to know my heritage I know my family originates in Aragon I am proud of my family heritage I am Sophie Silvia Sophie Silvia 8th grade

Aron Guevara, 7th grade 30

Images Every Day Every day is a new day, With a shining morning to rise, Today we turn to the next page of our lives, Like mysteries waiting to be revealed, All because we believe. Leon Kuo 4th grade

Eddie Kim, 7th grade

Bare Trees On my way to school I pass by six lonely trees, Their arms bare, Their branches making veins Running through the sky. The wind breaks their twigs, their cold limbs. They reach out to each other, Exchanging news With their neighbors, The clothed trees. They all dance in the breeze. Calling me to join them. Marina Francis 7th grade 31


Warm Shortbread Cookies I am like a dolphin swimming through the glistening waters of my history I come from the hills of Scotland to the green fields of Ireland, from a small village in Poland and a farm in Russia I see the purple lakes and the ballerinas twirling I taste the warm shortbread cookies, just out of my Scottish grandmother’s oven I hear the music of the bagpipes I feel the struggle and accomplishment of my ancestors I am proud of the strength and dedication of the Scottish, Irish, Polish, and Russian People I am Tess Stewart Tess Stewart 8th grade

My Cuban Culture I am blonde-haired and blue-eyed I come from a loving, vibrant Cuban culture I see my family opening presents on “Noche Buena” I taste pork in my mouth, black beans, and rice that same evening I hear my abuelo playing the guitar, while we sing Spanish songs I know that I am proud to be Cuban I am proud of my grandparents struggle, coming to America I am Lucas Bin Lucas Bin 8th grade 32


Julia Nowak, 8th grade

The Colors of Life I I I I I I I I I

am the last carrier of my family name. come from the small town of Adari founded by a group of brothers. see the vibrant colors of red, yellow, and green coloring the sky during the Festival of Soli. taste the sweetness of cardamom and sugar. hear the honking of cars, the bells on bicycles, and the shouts of street vendors. feel the warm glow of the sun bathing the streets in light know the importance of the Ganges River. am proud of my Indian heritage am Nikhil Adarkar

Nikhil Adarkar 8th Grade


Images The Marvelous Journey Waiting to be explored Like Thomas Jefferson waiting for Louis and Clark to return The heart of the kitchen The life and soul of a party It reminds me of myself at a school dance The refrigerator Always there to help me comfort myself With a quick snack Or maybe some juice. . . Making me feel better Helping me file through its contents Pranav Law 7th grade

A Mixture of East and West I am a boy with my father’s British eyes, and my mom’s Filipino hair. I come from two different islands I see the wild, screaming, audience as Manny Pacquiao scores another punch I taste beer battered fish and chips soaked in cocktail sauce I hear the ringing bells of Westminster Cathedral. I feel like a fusion of the West and the East I know that I have roots extending from medieval England to the Polynesian islanders I am proud to come from such a unique background I am Samuel O’Hagan Samuel O’Hagan 8th grade 34

Gabriela Varga, 2nd grade

Images Hostility and Warfare The gales blow, Snow flies, Impossible to stand, Like a loud rock band, Making too much noise. The winds of the blizzard Plowing down the trees, A raucous war, Where birds cannot soar, It’s a disaster zone! The howling and screaming of the mutinous gales, The roots of plants torn apart, The evil cackle of the enemy, Like the tickling tentacles of an anemone. It’s a war zone, hostility in the air. Tony Kukavica 8th grade

Disappearing Ice caps melting Homes disappearing Polar bears missing Alaska is disappearing Polar bears will be erased But not from our memory Just our sight Mother Earth cries She watches her creations, Her children dying We need to patch the holes we have made Before it all disappears Natalie Akins 7 th grade Amanda Schaller, 6th grade


Images Echoes of the Bagpipes I am tall, red headed, and blue eyed. I come from the green fields of Scotland. I see the Loch Ness Monster dive into the deep blue lake. I taste the crisp sea breeze against my lips. I hear the echoes of the bagpipes. I feel strong and brave to belong in this culture. I know that my heart will always long to breathe Scottish air. I am proud of being from Scottish descent. I am Isabella Doumitt Isabella Doumitt 8th grade

Julia Nowak, 8th grade


Images The Dragon I’m an ancient Chinese dragon I come from the concrete forest of Beijing I see my ancestors roaming the ancient Inner Mongolian Plains. I taste the rice from the terraces of Western China I hear the Erhu playing in Beijing five hundred years ago. I feel many changes over the course of history. I know how it feels to leave my country. I’m proud of Confucius and his philosophy I am Robert Wang. Robert Wang 8th grade

Madeleine Pearce, 6th grade



Spice I am delicate, thin golden thread interwoven with iron bones and mercury blood. I come from the thick, humid bayous of the South, land of the ever-watching alligators and the all-seeing herons. I see the fleur-de-lis, gold and black weaving around my eyes, elegant curves swooping into perfect pointe. I can taste the sweet spices of cayenne and thyme, of paprika and cumin, as a savory stew washes over my tongue. I hear the smooth, looping notes of the saxophone, the rhythmic thrumming of the acoustic guitar, and the sharp screaming of the violin. I feel the wind on my face, the cool mud between my toes, the gently lapping water around my ankles. I know the true meaning of family, what it is to be a part of something greater than yourself, of a culture that stretches back to the castles of Spain and the estates of France. I am proud of the rich history flowing through my blood, unable to be diluted or erased, leading back to the furthest echoes of time. Kathryn Berzas 8th grade


Ivan Penichet-Khaw, 3rd grade


Vivian Lu, 7th grade 39

Images My Piano When night drapes over the sky Like a curtain in a theater No more can it flex its fingers Or sing its beautiful song. It cannot hear the clapping Or the screech of the stool No more notes to be read No more melody to be sung. When the sun rises once more In the beautiful blue sky The birds start chirping Fingers start flying And the pages flap their rigid wings. It is hungry again And the notes have been eaten The sweet taste of the tune Releasing them with a sigh. Humming softly with grace Booming loudly with anger Singing softly with sadness Playing its beautiful song. Vivian Lu 7th grade


Amelia Park, 2nd grade

Images Christus Turris, Fides Telum1 Names are a defining part of our everyday lives. Languages necessitate them for identifying common objects, people require names to function in society, and our lives revolve around names and their usage. Word, languages, cultures, almost everything relies on a name, a definition. People use their names to identify themselves, their cultures, their ancestry and to be an individual in a world of billions. My name, the settlement of a dispute, one that rages on to this very day, is divided into four parts; Scott, Thurstan, Montague, and Fordham. The origins of these parts range from classical England to Norse cultures and to the Celtic villages of ages past. Each part represents a different aspect of my ancestry, my past, and the history of my family. Scott, the first part of my name, means “Painted Warrior,” and became the compromise between Fordhams and Scott-Foxes. Both of my parents wanted to have a section of their name so I received Scott from my maternal side. I was also named after my great-grandfather, Michael Scott Fordham, who was a psychiatrist and a Jungian analyst. Scott was also identifying term for Scottish people in the past. Essentially, I am the intermediary between the two branches of my history. Thurstan, “Thor’s Stone”, is another part of my name. The name has less of a meaning, but it intertwines my Cornish roots with my name, and acts as an anchor, allowing me to connect with my ancestry. The name comes from my maternal roots, as well as it being a name of some distant ancestor, whose tale and history was too complex to explain. Thurstan has much less of background than my second middle name, however. Montague, part of the paternal representation of my name, originates from old English and can literally be translated into “Pointed Hill.” I was named after my great-great grandfather, Montague Fordham, who was an agriculturist, Fabian, and an arts-and-crafts activist. Although both Montague and Thurstan have relations to my ancestry, my last name has the most ties to the past. Fordham, my last name from my paternal side, is the name that has the most significance and has the most meaning. Fordham, a name found in the Domesday Book, a record of everyone in England, ruled by lords under William the Conqueror. My name means “hamlet on the river crossing, and Fordham is an actual village in Cambridgeshire. In Fordham, there is a pub sign that has my family crest, and it used to be family owned, but it was sold over a century ago. A painted warrior, equipped with Thor’s stone, finds himself on a pointed hill near a village on a river crossing. Scott Fordham 8th grade


Motto of the Fordham Family: Christ the Tower, Faith the Spear


Images Ballad of Wanderers Brooks Hum solemn tunes Water rippling Lapping upon dark stone Echoing throughout Resting on Barren shore Lone wanderers Clothes worn Unsteady, grimy hands Laying on sand Wrinkles present on skin Waves crashing at feet Choices made Life determined Sickness befalls weary heart Choke Sputter Cough No wanderer Now sleeps Upon briny shore Yet soul remains Forevermore Ryan Pizante 7th grade

Moses Wong, 3rd grade


Images The Misty Dream The wall of fog, That came today, Followed the early dawn.

The sweet dew of morning, Drifted through the air, The cold wind brushing it about.

With silent strides, And stealthy paws, The fog crept in like a cat.

The dampness of the morning, Filled the air with dew, The silence of the moments, Eerily fills the space, The blanket of fog obscured our view. And in an instant, it was gone.

A rolling wave, Of watery haze, Swooped in on the wings of an owl.

Scott Fordham 8th grade

Julia Nowak, 8th grade 43


The Samurai of Swag Once in the heart of Japan lived A samurai named Jodi All the other samurai teased him for his style of swordsmanship One day there was an attack on Jodi and the others in the village The attackers were ninja bandits None could defeat the ninjas but Jodi Jodi defeated the ninjas with his style And eventually called it swag Lucas Lee 4th grade

Kathryn Berzas, 8th grade


Images Choctaw I am short and dark-skinned with black hair. I come from descendants of the Choctaw tribe. I see pictures of my heritage. I taste the warm Indian fry bread topped with sweet powdered sugar. I hear stories of my Choctaw great grandmother. I feel honored to be a part of my culture. I know that my culture comes from ancient America. I am proud of my ancestors and my great grandmother. I am Cienna Benn. Cienna Benn 8th grade

Rory Grant, 4th grade 45

Images The Ultimate Retribution: Retribution vs. Rehabilitation in the American Criminal Justice System On January 31, 2012, former police officer Christopher Dorner posted his manifesto (a 15-or-so page rant declaring revenge on the Los Angeles Police Department); on February 3, the date on which he allegedly shot Monica Quan, the daughter of a LAPD cop, and her fiancé Keith Lawrence, his threats became a grim reality. But the story starts long before that. Dorner claimed that he witnessed several occurrences of police brutality and racism during his time with the LAPD. He accused fellow officers of using racial slurs and violence against suspects, and stated that he was fired because he reported these “abuses of power.” Dorner’s allegations were dismissed at the time. He blames the LAPD (and individuals within the aforementioned organization) for the loss of his job; in his manifesto, he angrily states, “I lost my position as a Commanding Officer of a Naval Security Forces reserve unit at NAS Fallon because of the LAPD. I’ve lost a relationship with my mother and sister because of the LAPD. I’ve lost a relationship with close friends because of the LAPD. In essence, I’ve lost everything because the LAPD took my name and (k)new I was INNOCENT!!!” In the same document, Dorner also released the ultimatum “The attacks will stop when the department states the truth about my innocence, PUBLICLY!!! I will not accept any type of currency/goods in exchange for the attacks to stop, nor do I want it. I want my name back, period. There is no negotiation.” After Dorner’s attack on Quan and Lawrence, police forces were deployed as part of a massive manhunt; however, due to his military training, he proved very difficult to locate. While he eventually met his fate in a burning cabin, his actions exposed several contentious issues. I personally found that the most disturbing part of Dorner’s vengeful campaign was the way portions of the public viewed the man: as a hero. He gained a significant Facebook and Twitter following, helped in part by the LAPD’s shootings (no deaths occurred, but there were injuries) of people who they mistakenly identified as Dorner. Hashtags such as #GoDornerGo and #WeAreAllChrisDorner gained momentum; many saw the fugitive as a truth-seeking vigilante, a “freedom fighter” who will stop at nothing to avenge the wrongdoings of a corrupt and oppressive (by his definition) institution. People compared him to Batman (he was actually called “a silent protector” and “a dark knight”), suggested he run for President, and even went so far as to say “He is God for now.” According to CBS, some of Dorner’s supporters, when asked to explain why they supported a man whom police are reasonably sure has committed several murders, said that he fought against oppression, corruption, and injustice. And that is where the real problem lies. Whether the unjust and racist actions that Dorner described in the LAPD actually transpired, the widespread mindset that retribution is okay – that killing people in order to “promote freedom” is justified – is the most chilling part of this story. Towards the end of his manifesto, Dorner condemns the vengeful mindset that he has observed in the LAPD, stating “Those black officers in supervisory ranks and pay grades who stay in South Bureau. . .for the sole intent of getting retribution toward subordinate Caucasian officers for the pain and hostile work environment their elders inflicted on you as probationers and novices. . .You perpetuated the cycle of racism in the department as well. You breed a new generation of bigoted Caucasian officer when you belittle them and treat them unfairly.” He disagreed with the generalizations made about white officers that lead African-American officers to mistreat white subordinates; however, by embarking on a “cop-killing campaign”, he adopted the same retributive attitude that he so clearly despised. By waging war upon the entire Los Angeles police force, he “perpetuated the cycle” of violence and injustice instead of bringing government attention to the LAPD’s alleged corruption in a nonviolent way. We see this mindset of retribution endorsed by even our country’s highest institution: the government. More specifically, we see it displayed in the criminal justice system. How can the American people believe that problems can be solved without violence if the American courts resort to violence in the form of capital punishment? What gives anyone the power to decide whether someone should live or die? The death penalty inherently perpetuates the cycle of using violence to solve problems; rather than spending the time and money to rehabilitate or imprison criminals, the government simply executes them. It has been proven by many varied studies that the death penalty deters little to no crime – states with and without capital punishment have similar (if not the same) crime levels. The practice and existence of capital punishment subconsciously sends the signal that revenge is acceptable – that the age-old adage “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth” should be followed. If the death penalty were replaced by a different punishment, such as rehabilitation or life in prison without parole, this mindset would disappear. Because in the end, doesn’t Dorner’s (and his supporters’) description of his goals sound an awful lot like the reasons people provide in support of the death penalty? A punishment for wrongdoings, a way to save others from an “evil” person/ system, an attempt to stop further injustice? Whether murder is carried out by an individual or an institution, it is still murder, and its purpose is the same: to destroy. To destroy, to eliminate, to get rid of that which cannot or will not be dealt with. And no amount of justification can give anyone the power to annihilate another: the ultimate retribution. Matilda Berke 8th Grade


Images Dear Roman Senate, I feel that your rules are harsh and you are unfair to citizens of a lower status. I am a concerned, educated plebian lost in the world of government. But I pray you hear my call, for I have much to shout about. When I was a child, I was told that the world was unjust, and that I must deal with that. I accepted that brutal reality for the last 30 years of my life. That is, I did until now. I expect that you, the Senate, get thousands of letters from people like me everyday complaining about the fairness of the government so I understand how dreary backgrounds are. I have the desire to skip my background entirely in this letter but it is the vital piece in the puzzle, the cause for this complaint. It started when I was a youth, almost 14 years old. My father was a plebian and so was my mother because plebeians cannot marry patricians. My father served in the Roman army for a short period of time before he became dreadfully injured and my family fell into debt. We had to pay to fix the injury, which took several months and much money. My mother’s work let her go because they felt she was not doing her best, and thought she should find another job. And this contributed largely to the problem at hand because my mother wasn’t getting paid. Well, you know the way the laws work - when plebeians fall into debt, they can be sold into slavery. Both of my plebian parents, my kind-hearted and gentle mother and tough, but nurturing, father were sold into slavery. I was sent to live with my aunt, an elderly, but kind plebian. My parents sent us some of the money they earned, but it was never enough to keep us going. By the time I was 20, I was ready to face the world and get a job. I had a small cottage to call my own. I became well educated and felt that I could have almost any job I wanted. But there was only one thing I really wanted. I wanted to run for office, be important in the government, and make valuable decisions. Obviously, I would have treated my fellow plebeians better if I had been elected. Sadly, as you know, the unjust laws say that plebeians cannot run for office. I was enraged, I was simply, absolutely furious. Thus began my resentment toward the Senate, toward government in general, towards the people who came up with the vile rules that my kind were forced to follow. My demands are simple and few, but I request they be followed. I demand representation for lower class citizens, like me, whom the government treats like dirt. I believe that anybody who is a citizen of Rome should be able to run for office. That is what a fair law should be. I also demand fairness because we do not have an equal say in Roman Republic. It is unjust that the richer status (the patricians) is rewarded with more rights and important jobs, such as performing certain religious rituals. It is inequitable that the patricians can run for office but we can’t. Sometimes it not a man’s fault he is poor, but more the fault of the people who make him poor. We plebeians have to pay taxes. That may contribute to part of the reason we are poor – because the darn government is always taxing us and sometimes we don’t have good paying jobs. You, the Senate, must be as well educated as I, maybe more, so I beg you see my logic on my next request. From a wise man to wise men, you must understand my plea for justice. I demand that you make a written law. Please understand me. I want the laws that I have requested, written down, so that everybody can look back at them. This way you can never treat a plebian unfairly ever again. In this written law, I think it is wise that you create other laws that Roman citizens should follow. These laws would prevent the citizens of Rome from doing bad actions such as burying a dead body where other people live or holding private meetings at night. I think the Roman community would be a lot better and stronger together with these laws. I hope that you put my ideas into action. But remember, if you don’t use any of my ideas, you are not only hurting the people of Rome, but you are hurting yourself and your dignity, as well. Thank you, Amanda C. Schaller Well-educated plebian 106 Romania Street Amanda Schaller 6th grade



Aron Guevara, 7th grade

Our Beach Warm breezes Green like a leaf in spring Football tossing Into the water Or on the warm sand Hot like the sunburn on my shoulders Empty All to myself The sea calling me in, like a sweet angel Memorable Kauai. Sarah Johnson 7th Grade

Jessica Choi and Olivia Daniel, 2nd grade 48


Pearls They dance Harmonize Sitting high in a social class Lingering Flickering Waiting for the powdered ladies to rest Gossiping Blossoming Encased in glass as the ball night ends Praised for such value Honorable Royal They stand high above the princes and kings Standing with pride on their silver strings Rosa Llanto 8th grade

Jessica Choi , 2nd grade


Images Ancient History I have two names: my Enlgish name which is Robert, and my Chinese name which is Bodong. My Chinese name has two parts. The Bo is a name of a sea in China which is close to where my family used to live. And, Dong means that a person will be a great individual who can handle responsibilities. The English name is just a name my favorite kindergaten teacher gave me. My last name, Wang, an ancient last name, has probably at least 3000 years of history. my Mom’s last name is also interesting. Her ancestor was a very inflential poet who lived a thousand years ago called Bai JuYi and Bai is his last name. My nickname is DongDong, which means winter. They named me that because I was born in the first day of winter in the Chinese calendar. About 100 years ago, my great grandfather painted the way of the Forbidden Palace. In my Mom’s family, before the communists too over, her great grandfater was a governor of a very large piece of land. Her grandfather was in charge of the whole Chinese economy. In 1949 the Bai house was taken away by the new communist government and shared with other people. My granfater was exiled in 1952 by the communist government and then probably died in a communist jail; however, we’ve never heard anything about him after the exile. In 1966, two years before my mother was born, the communists robbed my family; all the valuable things, gold, silver, and even expensive clothes were gone. The same year, my grandfather’s brother was beaten to death by the government. Also during the cultural revolution, my grandmoterh had a tag around her neck with many horrible, demeaning words on it. My family was the enemy of the government because of all the ties my family had with the previous nationalist government. I found out much interesting history about my family, especially on my mother’s side before I began writing this essay. I never knew what the communists did to my great granfather and his fmaily since my mother rarely talks about it. I also didn’t know much about my grandfather who passed away a few years ago. Robert Wang, 8th grade


Chelsea Liu, 3rd grade

Images Chinese Zodiac Modeling Assignment In my family, culture defines who we are and how we act. The Chinese Zodiac determines different traits about a person. In my family every person has a different type of zodiac. My mother is a snake slithering slyly through the savage forest. Failure is not in her head and never in her dictionary. She works hard to find what she is looking for and does not stop until she does. As demanding and wise as she is, my mother also acts caring and considerate. The mother snake’s graceful strength protects her children and companions from enemies and trouble. Next to my mother, is a strong tiger protecting his family next to her. My father, a tiger at heart is brave, and stands up to any prey which comes in his way. He pounces either to protect his family and friends, or to take charge of the pack. Running next to the manly tiger is my sister who is a girly horse. The horse acts extremely playful, and goes to her stable whenever she wants to. When my little horse wakes up, she is energized once again and wants to run over hurdles again and again. Lastly, I am the rabbit that hides in the bushes. I am the rabbit that has many carrots, and shares it with all my other rabbit family and friends. Sometimes, all my rabbit friends take all my carrots, though, but I do not really mind. The tiger, rabbit, horse, and snake all share an interesting bond with each other, supporting life for all four animals. Ashley Wu 7th grade

Hanna Barakat, 8th grade



13 Streamers strewn everywhere Laughing, shouting Chilling in the pool. Gifts on the table Waiting to be opened up I am a balloon full of excitement. Party of my dreams Can’t wait Any more. Hopeful Cheerful All this will become mine. In a month! Pranav Law 7th grade

Eddie Kim, 7th grade 52


Books Books open the door to a new world, Books are like movies, only you are the director, From an island of dolphins, To a garden of monsters, Books can start a spark in your mind. Leon Kuo 4th grade

Rojan Naimi, 3rd grade

Joshua Cheng, 2nd grade


Images The Haunted Locker It was a breezy and chilly Halloween at Chandler School; all the trees were blowing in the wind on All Hallow’s Eve. A sixth grader named Clarissa Parker was going up the Tower in her costume. She was Juliet and wore a purple and yellow dress with a rose in her hand. Clarissa’s favorite holiday was Halloween; it was the only day she could dress up as whatever she wanted. “Halloween! Yay, I can’t wait to see Jenna and Francine’s costumes!” said Clarissa excitedly. Jenna and Francine were Clarissa’s best friends. Then a strange girl came to Clarissa and said, “Are you the owner of locker number 236?” Clarissa replied, “Yes.” “Then come with me. I have something to tell you. Every Halloween the owner of this locker mysteriously disappears. About 60 years ago a person named Priscilla Signer owned this locker. Before Halloween she felt lightheaded. Then she just disappeared. This has happened to every person who has owned this locker,” said the strange girl. “Take a chill pill, that’s a crazy story!” said Jenna. “Do not be fooled; it will happen. You have been warned!” said the girl. “Does she even go to our school?” asked Francine. No!” answered Clarissa. “Time to go to assembly,” said Jenna. “Wait, let me get my backpack from my locker,” replied Clarissa. That was the last time anybody saw Clarissa. Then she just disappeared. Since then, her best friends were determined to find her. They searched the whole school to see if she was just pulling a prank and everything was fake, but no. “Oh my gosh, our best friend just disappeared!” said Jenna. The girls went to find that strange girl to ask her what to do, but she, too, was gone. The story was right; the haunted locker myth was true. Suddenly, a flash of light flew past them and a ghostlike figure appeared out of nowhere. “You want to find your friend? Then you must disappear yourselves and find the Manor of the 16th dimension, and you and your friend will be released. Though beware, many strange events happen on Halloween,” explained the ghost. Since then, none of the girls was seen again. Christine Panahi 6th Grade



Melancholy’s Lullaby Now I lay me down to sleep Betrayal residing I pray the Lord my soul to keep Aching inside If I should die before I wake Endless misery I pray the Lord my soul to take Peace Ryan Pizante 7th grade

Nadina Wu, 7th grade




Katherine Arcinue, 5th grade

Images Candy Garden of Candy-Flowers There are many Flowers I would put in my imaginary candy garden. One Flower that would grow in my garden is the Flower called the mintaliuon. This Flower is a dandelion with a mint bud. Another Flower is called the ginger-rose. The gingerrose is a rose made of cookies. The third Flower that grows in my candy garden is a sharp-i-pop. This plant is a cactus and a lollipop. My fourth Flower is a choco-grass. This plant is chocolate grass. Finally, my last candy is called the tree-lick. The tree-lick is a tree of licorice. Daniel Kong 4th grade

Olivia Daniel, 2nd grade


Images Candy Garden There would be chocolate flowers and gumdrops in the center of my candy garden. Red Vine trees with huge Red Vine trunks and smashed chocolate trees would surround the center. Everything would be made of chocolate and Red Vines like the Red Vine and chocolate trees. The stems on the flowers would be Red Vines as well. This garden would be magical, because when you eat the flowers of the trees, the plant would be able to grow back whatever was eaten. Bobby Rojo 4th Grade

Natalie Alonzo, 1st grade 58

Images My Candy Garden If I replaced my flowers in my garden with candy, I would replace them with gummy worms, bears, sprinkles that go on cupcakes, Kit Kats, and jelly beans. I could just go outside and get some candy, instead of just buying candy for Halloween, and eat it for dessert everyday. The food wouldn’t matter to me anymore because I would eat candy for breakfast, lunch (unless I’m at school), and dinner (by then, I’d just be sick of it). Any day I could just pick a piece and give it to my family or friends. If one of my friends’ parents didn’t let them have a candy, they’d walk out and just come to me and it’d be our little secret. That’s what I’d do if I had a candy garden. Gaurav Law 4th grade

Ava Delarosa, 3rd grade

Gabriela Varga, 2nd grade 59


The Thoughts of the Worlds Think of the colorful sky at sunset, Think of the birds flying above us, Think of the kind of people you meet everyday, Think of the lives you are about to change, Think of the future we can begin! Leon Kuo 4th Grade

Audrey Akins, 5th grade 60


Ella Belzer, 1st grade

Amanda Schaller, 6th grade

Similes As sly as a fox As loving as your family As fun as Chandler As big as an elephant As confusing as a maze As addicting as music As smart as a teacher As beautiful as a butterfly As bright as the sun As yummy as ice-cream As busy as a bee As clean as white As amazing as a rainbow As dark as black As hard as a rock Uma Jandial, 2nd grade

Izzy March 3rd grade



My Family My family makes me happy They make me sing and dance They know all my favorite songs They even like to dance I love my family and we’re unique They make me feel like a queen Serena Lee 3rd grade

Jennifer Um, 8th grade


Images I Love My Friends I love my friends. They play with me all day, Weekends and weeks. It’s no fun to leave. And when you are sad, They help you. So that’s what a friend is. Ella Belzer 1st grade

Olivia Daniel, 2nd grade 63


Clouds When I sit upon my lawn, I look up at the clouds. I see all kinds of shapes and sizes, And sometimes they are round. When I sit upon my lawn, No, it couldn’t be, Why yes, yes, yes – it s me. Amy Baum 3rd grade Madeleine Pearce, 6th grade

Amanda Schaller, 6th grade

Madeleine Pearce, 6th grade


Images Love Poem Love Love Love Love Love Love Love Love

is a beautiful thing that cannot be tamed. is something as pure as water. is not an easy game. always has a way to shine through. sometimes knocks you down but you get back up and try again. never tries to be the bad guy. is a way to show your personality. is not always what you were hoping for.

Lauren Chretien 4th grade

Olivia Daniel, 2nd grade

My Grandpa My grandpa may not have quick eyes or ability, but in his hands there is a powerful magic, pure and strong, from the core of his heart, called Love. One minute, there is some paper lying around, the next there is a tiny spinning top in its place. I’m trying to make a machine, Mr. Magic Fairy Dust comes through the door and when he leaves, I’m five steps ahead! Manya Lalwani 3rd grade 65

Images Spring “Spring is around the corner.� Spring is the season of wonder play each day Springs flowers are sweeter than roses (At least I think, who really knows?) With spring grasses that are long and thin Spring beauty never stops to grow Spring beauty never stops to grow Elizabeth Boumajdi 2nd grade

Serena Lee, 3rd grade

Megan Hsu, 7th grade 66

Images My Wonderful Life Filed with a bunch of love My wonderful life Filed with kisses and hugs Everyday and each night It’s never out of sight That our love is Big and Bright My wonderful life No matter how small To me it will be infinity feet tall My wonderful life So loved and so grand We will always be hand in hand When our hearts are full Everyday and each night It’s never out of sight That our love is Big and Bright Taysha Kim 4th grade Divya Kumar, 4th grade

Ava Teng, Kindergarten 67

Images Oh No! I wake up in the morning, See the baby blue sky, And lie back in my bed and watch the clouds go by, I see one that looks like a ducky, I see one that looks like an eye, And then I smell something burning, Oh no! It’s mom’s coconut cream pie. Rojan Naimi 3rd grade

Divya Kumar, 4th grade


Images The Music of Each Day I hear laughter from my classmate. I can hear the wind in my ears. This is the start of a new day. We can begin. â˜ş Leon Kuo 4th grade

The Fox in Action Simone Obregon, 2nd grade

Hate, Like, Love I hate war. I like kindness. I love the world peace. World peace means wealth, kindness, respect, And trustworthiness. It means no war, bombs, guns, or swords. World peace means friendliness, love And, most of all, World peace means friendship. Rojan Naimi 3rd grade 69

Images Candy World If you want to live here Here‛s something you should know You won‛t be eating anything else Except for yummy ice cream and colored snow cones But many more tasty sweets you‛ll be sure to find As I introduce you to your new home The homes here are unusual They‛re not made from bricks and stone Instead they‛re made of white chocolate And the floor is soft marshmallows The walls are rock hard With a special swirly design But that‛s because the door‛s made from something Real divine So, if you want to live here Perhaps I‛ll see you soon For I live here And maybe we‛ll be neighbors too! Caitlin Wu 5th Grade

Amy Baum, 3rd grade 70

Images If I Were in Charge of the World If I were in charge of the world I’d cancel schoolwork, Homework, Shots and also Lentils If I were in charge of the world There’d be robots Servants and Free Babolat tennis rackets If I were in charge of the world You wouldn’t have injuries You wouldn’t have pains You wouldn’t have people that brag Or “Stop hitting me!” You wouldn’t even have cleaning If I were in charge of the world All houses would have a backyard with every Sport area in it You would eat pizza, pasta, and ice cream For every meal And a person who sometimes forgets to say Please And sometimes forgets to say thank you Will still be allowed to be In charge of the world! Arianna Stavropoulos 4th grade

Chloe Leong and Chloe Palmer, 1st grade 71

Images The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day I went to sleep with cheese in my mouth and Now there is cheese in my ear and When I got out of bed this morning I fell down the stairs, I could tell it was going to be a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. In the carpool, Mrs. Gibson let Becky have the middle seat, I said I was getting uncomfortable, I said I was not in the right position, No one answered. I could tell it was going to be a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. There were three cookies in Philip Parker’s lunch bag and Albert got a scoop of ice cream, Guess whose mother forgot to put in dessert? I was having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. There was fish for dinner and I hate fish. I had lost my toothbrush in the tub. I had to wear footie PJ’s. It has been a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Lauren Chretien 4th grade

Sunday Labrucherie, 2nd grade 72

Images Flare Flare is the only known animal that inhabits the star known as the sun. He lives in core of the sun. Flare is a large and orange tri-headed dragon. He has the power to start volcanoes, to calm volcanoes, and to start fire tornadoes. Each head holds special power; the first can fire magma. The second can fire an electrical current up to 1,000 volts. The third head can fire scorching water. Earth’s scientists predict that his home world will some day explode. Once Flare learned of the possibility, he plotted until he thought of a solution. He found out that the earth would be caught in the crossfire. With all the powers that he possesses, Flare believes he can save earth from the explosion. Flare will save the world from the exploding sun by using his fire resistant scales to cover the earth to protect it from the explosion. He will save earth and become a hero in return for a volcano to substitute for the sun, food and peace. Lucas Lee 4 th grade

Mason Hasbrouck, 3rd grade 73

Images Nana Priceless like a diamond ring, Blindly taking care of her loved ones, Standing by my side, Cheering me on “Go Sarah Go! You Can Do It!� She never asks for anything in return Cooks like an angel from Heaven Her hugs are soft, nurturing, and warm They make me close my eyes and smile. Sarah Johnson 7th grade

Olivia Daniel and Emma Newhall, 2nd grade 74


Art Xue, 4th grade

The Future The future is a wonderland, like a paradise in Hawaii Or it is a junkyard, full of pollution and nothing else Maybe it is a battle between everything alive. The future is a firework, bursting with new ideas Or it is a moment filled with sorrow and regret Maybe it is just a place, like a lonely, lonely world. The future is a child, waiting to be born. The future is a picture, waiting to be drawn. The future is a time, waiting for you to open it. Ethan Wu 7th grade




Grace Hitccock - 5th grade

Elizabeth Doumajdi, 3rd grade

Artist Unknown

Eliza Williams, 3rd grade

Images 2013  

The 2013 ediiton of Chandler School's literary review, Images.

Images 2013  

The 2013 ediiton of Chandler School's literary review, Images.