Voices Magazine 2 by Concordian International School

Infestation

T

he day came when it was our nation’s Independence Day. The annual werewolf hunt took place as an activity to commemorate our independence, where the hunters would rush into the forest and capture as many wolves as possible. This island used to be infested by wolves with yellow eyes, with their teeth as long as knives and fur thick as pine trees. Once we’ve settled on this land, the wolves played a major part in our civilization. It was hunted down for food and clothing. Today, we still bring back this tradition when we claimed this land 500 years ago.

By Chawit (Ninja) Mekarapiruk Artwork: Jenny Thee Tiro PunPun - Grade 8

This afternoon I felt extremely tired. In the morning, I went on a shopping spree. My dad kept denouncing me on my taste for expensive wear. Every day when I come home after buying a new purse, I would hear my dad murmur “Lilian stop depleting our family fortune.” Today I was feeling dizzy so I decided to take a nap. Feeling irritated, I headed to my room and dozed off.

It was 10 years ago when I was four. My dad and I were at a sales auction next to the forbidden forest, bidding on a wolf-skin jacket. I dropped my teddy bear and it went rolling towards the forest. I was unaware of the dangers and foolishly wandered into the forbidden forest.

I got lost and encountered a ravaging beast. Its yellow eyes and sharp razor-like claws all pointed at me. It was getting closer and then picked me up on its back, carefully carrying me to safety away from the forest. After a moment of riding, I saw a glimmer of light from the city’s forest gate, and carefully dropped me off.

Suddenly there was a loud thunderous bang! The wolf took one last look at me and slumped over, it’s claws left a deep scratch wound on my torso.

This curse left me pondering at night, and would turn myself into a werewolf when the moon was full.

I woke up from the dream. To my surprise, it was already dark, I looked out the window. The full moon was out. I heard the howl of the wolves coming from the forbidden forest. It was the time of the year where strange things began to

happen. I felt a tingling sensation in my scratch wound as if there was a creature inside trying to burst out. Then I felt that same sensation in my arm. I looked at my arm and there was thick needle-like fur growing. Then my nails began to grow longer and sharper. My ears began to enlarge. I couldn’t control myself as I let out a loud ground-shaking roar. Then I looked out of my window on the upper floor of the castle. All was quiet, suddenly lights from the huntsmen illuminated on my window.

A group of hunters turned their attention to the royal castle. The hunters rushed into the castle, advancing towards my room. I fell silent, frozen with fear. Hearing a knock on the door, I looked out of the window and took one last look at my royal bedroom. I climbed up to the window and leaped. I felt the water passing through my fur and my vision faded into blackness.

Waking up yet again, there was a ceaseless duration of silence. I felt a warm breeze and the floor was hard. I looked at my arm, it was still covered in thick fur. I stood up to see countless yellow eyes staring at me. Feeling a little sense of despair, I started crawling back. Until the wolves all howled, for some reason I understood what they were saying. I could make out the words “ Lead us, our Queen”. Slowly putting together the bigger picture, I realized what had possessed me was the Queen wolf that left the mark on my torso, and I was to transform into her each time the full moon is out.

The wolves all rushed out of the cave, heading for the central square, disseminating any single hunter in the way. I wanted to control all of the wolves and join them, so I ordered an attack.

I was sick of this community not accepting me as an individual and believing in killing such innocent creatures. It was time I would teach them a lesson. As the wind grew more wild, the wolves burst out of the woods all at once capturing the civilians, keeping them captive in our nest.

Alongside all the chaos, I entered the castle and knocked on its gigantic metallic door. The door flung open and there was my father with a stunned face, I dragged swiftly him back to the nest.

Artwork: Anna Great HuiHui Mimi - Grade 8

There the townspeople were rounded up. I went up to the throne and spoke with a howling voice “I am the royal Lilian.” A gasp filled the room, followed by silence. “I have been possessed and am I now transformed into a werewolf. Now, I have control over these dreaded creatures.

Today will be the day we and the werewolves will no longer have any conflict. These creatures have compassion and do not intentionally kill.

Just like humans, they kill to survive. We have been tampering with them since the day we claimed this land, using them as a primary food source and their skin as clothing. If we learn to cooperate, we can accomplish so much more.”

Raising my voice I yelled “Now do as I say and we will live in a synchronized manner.” Finishing my sentence the townspeople all yelled: “We will do as you say!”

Walking into the middle of the crowd I commanded the werewolves to move in.

Having a sense of satisfaction I laughed. At that instant, I felt my body began to shrink. Glancing at my arm the hairs are no longer there. I heard a scream looking up I see one of the werewolves attack a townsperson, looking closer... it was my dad. With all my might I screamed, “Stop this at once and free these scared townspeople.” There was no reaction from the werewolves and they just kept on attacking with their knife-like claws.

I came to a realization that I could no longer communicate with them, that I was no longer in control. As the werewolves were closing into the middle I took one last breath and closed my eyes. All was darkness.

Artwork: Anna Great HuiHui Mimi - Grade 8

Artwork: Poon - Grade 8

“

One Final Breath

By Eclair Grade 7

What is wrong with me?”, Dawn thought as she ran through the dark alleys swiftly. She always killed her victim. Never letting them go. But the “pain and hurtness” that was described to her sounded so... alien. Something told her that these people knew something, or felt something that she didn’t have. Whatever the case, she didn’t need to worry about it, because she was now back at the base.

“Welcome Agent. I have been expecting you.”

Colonel Ross crooned as Dawn walked into her office. “Recently, your microchip broke, and messages couldn’t be sent to you. We finally fixed it, but your...um...neurological waves seem wrong. Your...er... thought process was different from before. I just want you to promise your loyalty to us. Can you pledge the Agent’s Promise?”. The Agent’s Promise was a pledge of allegiance, to ensure loyalty to the agency.

Dawn stood at the gates of a destitute building. “Alright,” Dawn muttered.

It seemed long abandoned, but of course that wasn’t true. If someone walked into this isolated “ I swear on my life, to be loyal to you, place, they might find out that it was actually a To bring greatness to the agency, secret base, a secret place for spies, hackers and and riches to you. assassins that worked under Colonel Ciara Ross.

No matter if I’m kind, I must be cruel, Dawn rushed through the doors, and walked Be ruthless, aggressive, and murderous too.” through the hallways, heading towards her dorm.

Murmurs of awe echoed from the other agents Colonel Ross smiled, so sweetly it seemed fake. who came across her.

“Alright,” she said. “You can go now.” “ Oh my god! Isn’t that Dawn Jacqueline?” “ Yep. Brains, brawns, she’s got it all. Can heal immediately, has super strength, has super speed.”

As Dawn returned to her room, she felt as if something wasn’t right. Colonel Ross seemed to be hiding facts from her. How could she know Dawn’s thought process? She didn’t know how she jumped so quickly to a conclusion, but that “Typical low-lifes,” Dawn thought. “When will strong tugging she felt earlier came back again, you people learn to shut your mouths and telling her to find out more about it tonight. actually do something for a change?”. As she was entering her room, the hallway speaker rang. “Agent 718, I repeat, Agent 718, please proceed to the Colonel’s office.”

Artwork: Anna Great HuiHui Mimi - Grade 8

Brainwashed.

Her whole life was a lie.

With anger, she rushed out of the room, wanting to leave this place, and never come back. “ You ruined every single thing in my life!”, she thought furiously. As she was approaching towards the main exit, the glimmer of a flashlight shone in front of her. “Leaving so soon?” Ciara smirked.

It was midnight at the base. You could hear the snoring of the agents, who slept peacefully in their beds. Other than that, you couldn’t hear anything else. You couldn’t see anything else, too. But if someone were to open the lights, people would know that Dawn Jacqueline was creeping through the hallways, so fast and quiet she was a blur. She opened the doors to the computer lab, which was as dark as ink. Normally only hackers can enter this room, and it was restricted to assassins, but this was the only place she can find an answer to all of her questions.

The colonel was with a few agents, who were blocking the exit. She had a satisfied smile on her face. “I can’t let you run away,” she said, “ To be honest, I knew you were acting differently from the start. I just wanted to wait for the right moment and see you break.

Agents! Take her to the neuron-resetting room.

We need to change her for the better good,” she sneered.

Dawn tried to hide her grin. “You don’t know me well enough,” she thought. “Just four people?

You made a grave mistake.” She immediately launched into a full scale attack. She planted a roundhouse kick on an agent, an uppercut on the other, hook, elbow, and there you have it. Four agents unconscious on the ground. As she was opening the exit door, she heard a whisper behind her.

She opened a computer, and searched in its browser, “ What is pain?”. The answer was “Physical suffering or discomfort caused by illness or injury. A common sensation you probably have everyday”. Dawn frowned. How come she has never experienced it? Next, she typed in ‘Colonel “You took the pledge. Sweared on your life.”

Ciara Ross’. Suddenly, numerous websites popped up. Intrigued, Dawn clicked at one and read it.

Colonel Ross laughed contently as she pulled the trigger of her gun, and watched Dawn “Ciara Ross, or better known as Cold-hearted fall to the ground. Dawn, gasping, used all Ciara, was a colonel working for the army. She of her strength to knee Ciara in the stomach. was obsessed over the study of brain waves, and Ross screamed, and flopped down. Dawn how they control a human. Sadly, she tried to managed to stumble out of the base, but two perform illegal experiments by secretly steps away, she couldn’t move anymore. brainwashing other soldiers, so she was on a “I have the extreme resilience and healing,” she death sentence. But, on the day of her execution, thought. “Why not use it?” But as she stared she disappeared. Her whereabouts are unknown at the radiance of the sun, the beauty of the until this day.” sky during dawn, she finally knew why she was given this name. The time had come. Dawn Dawn was shocked. She stood still for a smiled for the first time in years, finally feeling moment. Slowly, she realized why her strength and and acting like a human. She closed her eyes speed was better than any human, why she didn’t and exhaled her one final breath. understand the common actions other people performed, why she never knew all of this, stuck to every single word that came out of Ross’s mouth.

I

Forest of Beasts

By Kyla Grade 7

t was a warm night at the campfire. Remi sat on the wooden stump and hovered her fish over the sizzling fire. She bit off pieces of the fish and looked across at the river next to her house, feeling calm and relaxed. She loved being around nature, seeing the trees, the rivers, and the many forms of wildlife that roamed about. There were some dangerous creatures that came out every night, after all people were asleep, but she had never encountered them. “Remi, I will be off hunting now. Don’t forget what I always tell you. Don’t leave the house as you may be found by the beasts.” Her dad reminded her once again about staying in at night for protection.

“Okay, okay I know already!” Remi exclaimed after hearing the warning a million times. As her dad walked off, her tendency to go into the river got her again and she quietly stepped out the wooden stairs of her safe home, avoiding that one stair that always made a squeaking noise. She stepped softly on to the dirt, her dress swaying with the warm breeze and her torch light flickering on and off, for it was old and rarely used.

The sound of crickets singing filled the air, and the dark shadows of birds walked all around the ground. Remi swiftly stepped into the river and looked at her blurry reflection in the dark water.

She felt safe, peaceful, and relaxed. She sat on the grass, letting her feet prance across the soft dirt below the water.

Suddenly, she saw a brown figure splashing about in the water close to her. She turned to look at the creature, quickly realizing that it was a baby otter, struggling to stay afloat. She decided that it was unlikely for her dad to come back early, so she went into the water and swam towards the otter.

The otter had a tiny bullet in its tail and splashed water all over Remi, trying to gain balance. Remi laughed and pulled the tiny bullet out, and waved to the otter with a warm smile. The otter turned its head in confusion, wondering why the pain had left. Remi stroked the otter’s cloud like fur and swam around with it. “I’ll name you, Ollie!” Remi exclaimed happily, swimming around her new friend. They swam past currents and through crystal tunnels. Without realising, they swam into a deeper part of the river. Remi stopped playing with the otter suddenly, realizing that she was in a new part of the river she had never ventured to before. The clouds were dark, thunderous sounds of lightning smashed onto the river. She had entered nature’s war zone, where the trees shook vigorously and the thunder crashed upon the earth. Squirrels and rats ran away from danger, and Remi stood in the water shaking with fear.

Artwork: Tonnam P - Grade 8

She picked the otter up and pulled it close to the shore, trying to protect it. Remi saw some food and gave it to the otter, but realized that the otter’s eyes were a shiny red colour. She turned and saw a gun, pointing straight at the otter, aiming for its eyes. Under a dark tall tree a man emerged, wearing a mask that hid the darkness underneath. Remi stared curiously at the masked man, and suddenly heard a roar of anger from the man that sounded astonishingly familiar. The mask ripped off, revealing the face of Remi’s father as he screamed “REMI SOLACE! WHY ARE YOU HERE!” Remi, shaken with fear thought really hard about an alibi, trying to somehow comfort her father’s anger. He stormed up to her and turned towards the baby otter that hid behind her. He aimed his gun, and pulled the trigger. The otter squirmed around for a few seconds, but quickly dropped down dead without a sound. Remi stood in the water with a shocked and speechless expression. Her dad, who she had seen as an angel and always protected her just killed an innocent creature.

Artwork: Palmy - Grade 8

Remi looked into her father’s dark black eyes and backed away. She got out of the water holding the corpse of the baby otter and ran. She ran through the dark forest with water dripping through her brown dress, and water dripping through her eyes as well. She ran past dark trees aimlessly with no direction. She finally emerged onto a quiet patch of land, everything was a blur, so she sat down.

She lost all her thoughts and her resilience to live. She looked at her legs that were filled bruises, and cuts. She shivered as she felt the night air turn into ice. Remi looked down at the poor otter closing its eyes, knowing that it had fallen into a deep sleep that could never be woken up again.

Remi sat there sadly, with all hope lost, she forced herself to cry out “Hello?”. The trees around her suddenly swayed unnaturally, and she heard murmurs of human voices become louder and louder. She heard footsteps walking towards her, and fear seeped through her skin. “It’s a little girl. She can’t help us” someone shouted in the distance. It seemed that the conversation had ended. Remi had lost herself in dark forest, and all she could see was a glimmer of light getting bigger and bigger. “What do we do with her?”

Another man’s voice came quietly from the distance.

She thought to herself “Has someone come to rescue me from this cruel world?” But what came were men, masked in black approaching her like shadows. Remi realised suddenly. The beasts that her father had warned her about many times weren’t any type of wildlife. The beasts were the hunters that roamed the forest, killing innocent creatures or anything in their path. The hunters masked in black took out their guns and aimed them towards her, then fired their trigger.

Remi quietly closed her eyes, cuddling the otter, embracing the endless peaceful sleep.

Artwork: Chin Grade 10

“Muslimah” by Elia G8 (exhibit below by various female artists) Distressed drops of tears Like her freedom locked in fears Where will she be safe?

These haikus were developed in response to art exhibits the Grade 8 English classes took in on a field trip to the Bangkok Art & Cultural Center.

Two of those works are depicted below.

1. “Forest Floor” by Khim G8 Groaning full of might, useless - no liberation.

The world goes deaf, blind.

2. Forest Floor by Jean G8 (painting below by Fiona Hall) Sins of virtue will Linger this fight, capture fault By the end of night

“Hide and Seek” by Anna G8 (photo below by Anneé Olofsson) The world, once vivid Now it’s gray -- tell my story Don’t lead it astray

Untitled

‘Spilt Milk’ by Tara Grade 12 The chaotic scene is at once a jumbled Still Life and the illusion of an expressionistic abstraction. Has the cat ‘spilt the milk’!

By Pun Pun Grade 8

Twas was the night before the race Winners carb loading hoping for a good pace With watches, bibs, and shoes prepared Keeping the time well awarded On the day of the race, runners filled up the streets Waiting for the signal to be released Setting their watches as they run pass the start All that matters in the race is our determination and your heart As the sweat drops as the miles pass, they run with all their might Water and medic stations not far from sight The crowd cheering keeps the weariness away Giving runners high five’s along the way The finish line with gleaming medals ever so near As crowds on the side cheer Running victoriously into the finish line ahead It’s time for celebration and then straight to bed

The Red Wheelbarrow

William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963 so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens

The Box

Yanawarut Umpornpun (Chan) Grade 11 so much can fit inside the box filled with joy and treasures waiting for you to open it up!

Comic Fiction

Flip.

Bungee Jumping.

by Fay (Grade 10)

The title was bolded and intimidating, kinda like the activity itself. The advertisement, taking up an This original comedic short was developed on a entire two pages, was featuring the Kawarau Bridge Language and Literature 10 prompt to create a comic bungee in Queenstown, New Zealand. If you asked anecdote in the style of a personal email. me 2 weeks ago, I would have said that bungee jumping was just another activity for adrenaline Date: 16/03/2022 junkies, crazy Californians that coveting for the To: bestfriendintheentireworld@gmail.com five-minute fame that comes with being written about in From: akindfriendlookingforcompanionship@gmail.com a column of GQ magazine.

Subject: A Small Rant from your Beloved Best Friend **don’t get mad and finish reading the email please and Yet, here I am seriously considering jumping on a thank you :) plane to New Zealand, strapping myself into the deathtrap which should probably be named a legal suicide method. Looking at the magazine once again, the Dear best friend, shimmering cyan water of the Kawarau River and artificial grin of the tan women seemed to be calling out Last night when I was in the waiting room for my to me. Something along the lines of: doctor’s appointment my phone died – end of the world, I know – after being left at 1% for an entire “Just come and try it, you lazy laggard! Only 198.85 minute. While I was staring dejectedly at the blank AUD for a life-changing adventure! At least do screen wondering about what I should do as to something worthwhile with your life before your not look like a complete loner with nothing to do, a bones break or your heart stops functioning, before Mrs.Tisdale was called up for her appointment. That you grow old just to find out that you don’t have any was the moment that I looked up to survey the room. remotely scandalous tale to tell your grandkids, before A rectangular fish tank built into the walls, a you regret it.” stack of Vogue magazines from the year 2010, a The 43m bungee jump is situated at 47m above the droopy-eyed receptionist who looked like she was Kawarau River, giving jumpers an exquisite view of the about to fall asleep any second, and a huddled group Kawarau River, a 60km long river that popular tourist of women chatting away in the corner where the chairs location for the odd thrill-seeking vacationer looking were pushed in such as way that they can be facing to go rafting on the rapids or jumping off a bridge 47m one another. Everyone else seemed to be here alone above the river. engrossed in the device in their hands.

I guess being suspended in mid-air four meters from the I grabbed a magazine and opened to a random page surface of the river with nothing but a bungee cord and to give my eyes something to look at (I think one of the several harnesses keeping one safe does have its own nurses are started to be creeped out from my insistent appeal. In a you’re-three-seconds-away-from-deathstaring, maybe she was even flattered. But I wouldn’t but-you-are-not-going-to-die kind of way. know as I wasn’t even looking at her. My gaze was directed at the clock mounted on the wall slightly left of Was this a last minute decision that I was going to her shoulder.) regret the minute I step onto the plane? Probably.

Looking down at the magazine sitting on my lap, Will I be having a heart attack standing at the edge I read an article talking about eradicating the use of bird of the Kawarau bridge before jumping to my “death”? feathers in fashion pieces, an im-peck-able feat if I do Probably. say so myself.

But will I regret dismissing this opportunity in twenty Flip. years time? Probably, yes.

The next page featured a gigantic lipstick tube covering at most half the page and a literal ESSAY, just as boring as that previous bird-feathers-article, discussing fish scales from herrings that are extremely common in lipsticks as well as other cosmetic products.

Whether it’s because of my unso-fish-ticated self who despises reading long walls of text or my

So before my coherent thoughts and survival instincts kick in I’m writing this email -in my head because my phone died- to tell you that I’m going to be booking two non-refundable tickets to New Zealand for your birthday gift and you are going to do this with me. One of the nurses just called my name so that will be the end of this email. See you soon!

I-don’t-care-about-what-goes-into-lipsticks self who Love, doesn’t even wear makeup, I swiftly turn the page.

Your best friend Flip.

Review of the new Maybelline mascara. Something I couldn’t be more interested in as someone who wears makeup on an everyday basis .

From: mariaunderscoreticinovic@concordiandotacdotth.ac.th.nothatsdotasindeeohtee.ac.th (nod to McSweeney’s Internet Tendency re: the email handle riff) To: --Date: Thurs., Mar. 9 at 12:56 PM Subject: wildlife conservation On lunch so cannot talk long but let me tell you I had an interesting early AM. Was delayed getting to the gym because had to exterminate THREE LARGE RED COCKROACHES wriggling around on my living and dining area floors and in the drain. Didn’t have my contacts in yet and stumbled out into the living area to fetch my exercise gear off a chair where it had been drying, seeing nothing, and went back into the bathroom. Then came back out with glasses on to see a large dark area precisely where I had been standing to get my laundry. I shrieked and clenched the wall for support (moral and otherwise), trying but not quite able to make out the phylum of the dark area, and leaning in a few inches to get a better view. This allowed only that the dark area had six legs and was wriggling around on its dorsal side. A few more inches revealed the six-legged dark area be a giant cockroach in the middle of some kind of neurological event.

It took a sluicing of Mr. Muscle, forty sheets of wadded-up two-ply toilet paper, and three concussions with the heel of my boot (left foot) to put it down. I went over to the sink and nearly tripped over another specimen, also on its last legs (ha ha), and dispatched that too.

Finally made it to the sink with about fifteen yards of toilet paper soaked in enough cleaning agent to euthanize a grey whale. There in the drain, incompetently trying to right itself, was yet another, smaller roach. Unloaded the rest of the magazine onto it and used the cloud of toilet paper to pick it up (am like the Princess and the Pea - cannot tolerate even any tactile sense of these things).

All before 6am. The drains all now have little inverted fedoras over them, in the form of squat little creme brûlée dishes that I had lying around, which fit them nicely.

Keep having visions of opening some recess and finding it seething with six-legged vermin, which then shower down on me.

Wedge sandal for scale: Gah. GAH! (Would be much better to stumble out of bed and find an octopus on the floor.)

Wildlife Conservation

by M. Ticinovic

Master Harold and the Boys

By Podchanaporn Pichitpongchai (Mild) Ms. Kathleen Baertschy

‘The Burning Branch’ by Kwan Grade 12 The juxtaposition of pearls and flaming branches challenge the notions of permanence and preciousness.

You may know me as Death. I am appointed with the duty of releasing souls from their decaying mortal carcasses, directing them towards a another dimension where all exist in harmonious entropy. Like Sam’s wondrous analogy of ballroom dancing, the collision of spirits here scintillate like fireflies in the endless dark void, where beginning and end merge as a single entity.

When Hally passed away, I was entrusted with a difficult task of guiding him to his final resting place.

As a medium, I have the ability to travel through the infinite facets of the universe. I inspected the misfortune that had befallen on Hally, whose body was chucked to the side of a slick muddy street.

He laid face down, body splayed across the ground like a stray dog that had been ran over. His hand held a tinted glass bottle with its bottom half shattered, its contents were spilled and absorbed

by Hally’s clothes which reeked of its scent.

Like his father, Hally died of alcoholism. Unlike his father, Hally was never given a second chance, Hally was never saved by black man and was never able to return home. When I reached out for his hands, his grasp seemed rigid with hollowness, but his beguiled fingers curled so tenderly with the warmth of a child’s naivete. Beneath Hally’s fallible arrogance still lies the remnants of his recognition for all those who had been charitable to him, the morals and wisdom of Sam still remains; though oppressed by the corrupt apartheid system.

As Death, a large misconception about me is that I am not merely a servant of the natural law, but also a caretaker for the living. Though I am powerless within the scope of the physical world, I have observed with sheer curiosity over all walks of life. Hally was no doubt a tragic figure, fostered with knowledge and awareness of the unjust world that deemed exclusively on ones’ skin color. A potential hero whose Achilles’ heel had been wounded by the shame and guilt of his father, which prompted him to succumb towards a society that crippled his courage to stand up for what he truly would have believed in. When

Hally was a young boy, he was shielded behind the veil of ignorance from the harsh reality which would eventually instill him with fear and self-loathing, he had an obligation to redeem himself as an excuse to live in a comforting illusion.

Hally wasn’t weak, in fact he fought for years trying to maintain his relationship with Sam and Willie in positive light. But his persistence wore out like a flying kite, as Hally matured, he depended less on Sam’s fatherly assistance.

When his keenness to conform towards the apartheid system intensified, it catalyzed the friction between him and his black companions, tugging the string that once connected them together. The kite Hally tried to keep afloat failed to resist against the vigorous collision from the winds of hatred and racism, eventually suppressing its flight until the kite laid lifeless on the ground. In the end, not only is the kite consumed of its soaring pride and optimism, but the one flying the kite is also left with cuts and blisters.

I wanted to offer Hally a genuine sense of solace, and gestured him towards a dimly lit street towards the Central Hotel. That was when Hally’s hands attempted to tear loose from my courteous grasp. I realized that this particular setting had reignited a detestable memory.

“This is a dream, not a nightmare, and no longer a reality. You’ll see.”

That was what I had told him when we approached closer to the hotel’s entrance.

Finally, there it was, the sight Hally once sugar coated, divorced and stalked by. A little young boy trailing behind Boet Sam, clutching tightly on his father’s tie as it limped over Sam’s back.

Many were pointing and staring in perplexity as a drunken, crippled white man was carried off the street like a butchered animal. Hally stood there stiffly, his condescending eyes diverted from the boy and the two men towards the pavement, where an empty bottle of whiskey laid, and his gaze wilted into one with grief. As the headlights of vehicles passed by, it reflected a single tear drop which gleamed as it slid along the curvature of Hally’s cheeks, embracing his trembling lips with tender acceptance.

it. However mystifyingly perfect they seem, dancers will crash and fall at one point. We never realize our mistakes until it catches up and tackles us onto the ground. Though Hally only realized this only after his death, it is still reassuring to see someone pass in eventual peace and acknowledgement. There is nothing deep down inside us except what we have put there ourselves. Even if Hally were to still be alive, there is nothing holding him down except his own mortification and negligence. Though collisions are inevitable, a lesson is learnt when Hally finally constructs a kite strong enough to withstand whatever wind may blow at it.

When Hally closed his eyes, his spirit was ushered away by the dancer’s movements and the sweet nostalgia of jazz music. He had never It was not my intention to show Hally his past, felt more alive at his time of death. for there was an extravagant foxtrot dance at the Central Hotel I wanted Hally to see. We And at midnight, we crossed the final threshold. invited ourselves into the ballroom where the music blared in full volume. Though my feet never touched the ground, I could feel the heavy oscillation from the bass that shook the entire dance floor. We perched ourselves on the pillars of the room, where all was visible. Everyone was in colorful evening gowns, adorned with ribbons and laces, jewels sparkled with sheer brilliance, flaunting the wearer’s delicate neck and wrists.

The crowd celebrated as a loud pop catapulted the champagne cork into mid air, roaring and cheering as a grand toast was made. But Hally was least concerned about the presence of alcohol, for his pleasure for it was already numbed by its austerity. Instead he watched the dancers waltz, gliding themselves across the room in elegant unison and rhythm. The sight was to be awed by, the dancers swayed with robust ambience as if it were their last dance, one to be held with the highest regard. He recognized a familiar tune they danced to, it was one sung by Sarah Vaughan, which Sam and Willie always played for their dance practices. Hally was suddenly reminded of the conversation he had with Sam and Horatian Satire by Prim A. (Grade 9) Willie in the tea room. This archive of the past had in fact, been tucked away deep under his own consciousness, and now he was ready to revive the bittersweet memories of the foxtrot dances, the tomato carton kite and the philosophical talks.

You see, collisions don’t always have to end in disaster, and there is no need to avoid or fear

Black Angus Truffle By: Tiro Grade 8

After the endless tiresome hours at school, I am heading home.

The gas station lassos me in with its pungent smell.

Fatigue dissipated by a an elixir called food.

Without consciousness, the body moves accordingly to its will as if the aroma formed into a hand and hauled me in.

Step after step, the deep earthy aroma grew stronger and stronger.

A Burger King’s sign dazzled in the gold glittering sky.

My head was spinning around from the heat of the sun I was drenched in sweat but was powered by the essence.

Sweet yet subtle, the black truffles call my name.

The swiss cheese, the truffle, the patty, the bun Obesity, diabetes, strokes and heart disease Who cares all of those In I go, here I come

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Artwork: Soomi Grade 10

By: Ang-Ang Opilan Grade 9 Mirror mirror on the wall, look me in the eye, And all I ask is a gossamer suit and a clean blue tie, And an ornate crown, some shiny shoes and a black clean trouser, And a splash of paint and a hot warm shower.

Mirror mirror on the wall, fill me up with ebullience, And all I ask is an ethereal smile, a bottle of power and some forbearance; And a throne so big to fit one person and that person shall be me, And bring me to oblivion, the feeling of felicity.

Mirror mirror on the wall, thou shall be my harbinger, And all I ask is a future so pleasant and everyone my caregiver, And a bed so neat with golden pillows to make my resting a fantasy, And in the end of my journey, my life, shall be sung out like a rhapsody.

Mirror mirror on the wall, please end me my fugacious time, And all I ask is a set of clean tunics and one copper dime, And a sheet of scrap paper with one small pencil to write my apologies, And at last through fire and deep water I have experienced my epiphany.

The Girl Who Lived (Excerpt) Written by: Ang-Ang Opilan Grade 9

The sound of bones on the cold tiles would echo loudly, sounding like a storm. It was thunderous.

One by one, the lady would walk past us, counting. Once I clearly heard her voice, it would be the number of “two thousand and four” and so on. When she came in front of me, she clicked her pen, puffed a breath of relief, gave her metal clipboard to the flanking guards and then said, “kétezer tizenegy”, two thousand and eleven.

I was the last one, but not for long. She would spin towards the other end of the hall, clicked her heels onto the shivering tiles and marched away with her four horsemen. The clicking of her heels was a queue, another magical spell. A click, and the force of gravity would soon seep into the floor once again: another loud echo of bones on the cold tile.

Everything was in harmony. From the marching of her heels to the shuddering of the ground. A musical manifesto.

---The moon has risen and its glow darkened. I put on my black cloak and draped the hood over my head. The thin sheer fabric hadn’t kept me warm, but it had made me powerful. I walked into the camp with the sound of my boots crunching on the snow. The birds did not chirp, the dogs did not howl, and the trees did not whisper.

This was not my first time visiting this grim hotel. I walked through the metal gates,the red bricks surrounded the whole campsite. But did they not know that nothing could block away my presence.

I glided through the hallways and stopped in front of a silver metal door.

I brushed my cold hands on to the cold handle and pushed inside. There was a small chair in the middle of the room, with leather straps. Beside it, a metal tray scattered with colorful needles, like sprinkles on a cake.

On the chair, lies a body. Another young child, eight perhaps. Brown hair covered her pale face. The glow of the moon that escaped through the small cracks of the bricks illuminated the thin figure of a girl. I crouched in front of her, closed her eyes, and carried her soul away in my arms.

When I touched her blue fingertips, I expected a force of resistance. As they always do. Clinging to their scraps of bodies. But there was not gravitational pull, no struggled. Her soul was like feather, it wassoft and if I hadn’t hold on to it, she would fly away. It’s just the purity of her soul, it made her light, very light.

Artwork: Great - Grade 8

Artwork: Tiro - Grade 8

As I left the room, I sensed the presence of a living soul. It was a tingle of warmth that spread from my fingertips and ran through my elbows. It was like being shot. It felt as if someone extracted a drop of the sun and painted them all over my body; staring from the tip of my nails down to the grey strands of my untamed hair.

The sudden warmth travelled through my whole body. The warmth of it melting my cold hands. It was as if I was being resurrected.

I sensed that she was waiting for me. Oh!, how peculiar.

And so I followed the lingering presence of that ‘soul’, its warmth led me to another freezing hallway.

But this time, the walls were not made of bricks, but were make of the metal bars that caged the stars. They were glowing, but barely.

I lay the soul of the little girl on the last inch of the brick wall. I took off my cloak and draped it across her frail soul. Then, I put on my brown uniform. Attached the red badge on my left arm, dusted my boots and marched in the hallway. I nodded to the guards along the hallway but they hadn’t nodded back. Oh how silly of me, how could they greet me back, they don’t even see me! I chuckled loudly, soon, my friend. They will meet me alast.

The only warmth in this grim place was at the end of the hall. I marched down the cold path and saw her. I peeked through the metal bars and looked at her.

Miraculously, she looked at me. Her dark brown hollow eyes stared right into mines and I was paralyzed. She wasn’t dead, no no no, she was alive. She was alive and she saw me. I crouched there, shock coating over my whole body, until the girl smiled. She smiled and extended her boney arms through the metal bars. Her hands touched my cold calloused fingers, she held my hands and shook them. She shook them lightly but it had so much impact.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. No one has shaken Death’s hand before.

Artwork: Great - Grade 8

Written by: Ang-Ang Opilan Grade 9 It was another normal day on July 1914, When his bullet wound slowly darken.

A scream a shriek of a machine.

No one needed to harken.

It was one we all foreseen, the loss of human compassion...

It was another normal day on September 1939, When our blood slowly burnedAnother forlorn figure on the headline, It said “His wife would never return!”

All the ethereal souls floated and aligned, He felt no sonder, it was never a concern...

It was another normal day on November 1955, When he sat on the chair, solitude.

Beneath him were the ineffable lost of lives.

A chess piece; white and black of brotherhood.

All knocked off the board and deprivedPainted over and over until we lost our childhood...

It was another normal day on October 1966, A knock on the door and ye shall answer.

Another lightning strikes followed by Nyx, And a boat with stars sailed over yonderThey say “you were to be fixed!”

It was indeed another harbinger...

It was another normal day on October 2017, Where music and phosphenes lights floated.

Theses days we thought our hearts was cleanBut a man sat atop the roof and his mind, coated.

One thousand and one bullets screamedFor this bloodshed there was no antidote...

It was another normal day on February 2018, When all you cared were numbers on paperAnd how hot the shirt was on Joaquin.

But then you heard the ricochet on the skyscraper, Now you wonder can it really be in his genes?

But no it isn’t, lives are just like water vapor...

It actually is another normal day, As death walked through your white picket fenceAnd another man drowned his glass as a gateway, O! How we slowly lose our effervescence, From the gold and white lights that lay on the bayWhere we all aim to sail once we lost our sense...

It was and will be another normal day, When another clock stops tickingAnd ashes of books will fade away.

The incandescence kept on burning But your heart already turned grayIn the end, you still kept mourning...

The loss of human compassion.

G10 English Language and Literature – During a unit study of poetry, students selected poems by authors with distinctive writing voice. Below is student-written poetry which seeks to emulate the style and conventions of these famous poets.

“Aimless”

by Keekwang Chen Grade 10 – inspired by Billy Collins I gazed upon the night sky, the stars scatter -across the black heaven, It was an empty evening, like the lost soul of a child growing up -But it was neither sorrow nor was it grief Weeks passstill, no sight of the silver shine I hold my pen and attempt to start, the 10th night resembles an empty wine glass, filled merely with a sip.

It wasn’t enough to quench the thirst -It wasn’t enough to extinguish the fire.

I reckon -How do I write, if I am out of fire if the outside feels so cold.

Artwork: Pink Palmy Ice Gail Preu - Grade 8

Artwork: Nisha - Grade 8

“Eleven”

by Finn Muller – inspired by Sylvia Plath A presence loose between the pebbles of my mind I reach, I reach, graze my thumb in a haze I once asked mama, how could I splinter this way?

She touched my cheek, a fine blue And her sorrow whispered in my ear Darling, it’s you.

I never could play your game Eleven years, if you want to know.

I’ve not figured you out, what a tangled mess You sealed broken dreams with a kiss on my head Oh, how I laid my pretty red heart down for you.

Scathing red, dainty yellow, you were my world Divine right until the last Bring me up to breathe with you Fraying ends, but you could tie a noose And I, placid little lamb I walked right into you

Tanzania

by Ms. Baertschy

Ebony Flamingo legs ambling down The deep dirt hill.

Tall proud Maasi Splashes blue and red wrap him Albatross arms lingering languidly On a staff worn smooth by time.

Broad forehead Ears like continents.

Full deep subtle glistening rich, round, smooth.

Swaying in the cradle deep in the heart of dark Africa Africa, anything but dark.

She holds me solid Rocks me wild.

Serengeti breezes nudging Spilling into vastness pure simplicity.

Tasting the beast, which has been sleeping.

Red, purple, green, brown, yellow ... red, purple, green, brown, yellow ... red, purple, green, brown, yellow ... red, purple, green, brown, yellow ... red, purple, green, brown, yellow ... red, purple, green, brown, yellow ... red, purple, green, brown, yellow ...

You’ve seen it so many times, you started thinking it was normal.

I bet you just skipped over it. Was it the color of the rainbow?

My parents used to grow a garden of bamboo. Not because they were green, or long, or slender, or graceful, or natural. It was because it grows easily and are durable. They were grown right outside my house. So they could be accessed easily.

The practice of traditions changes over time. Starting with my brother, then my sister, then me, and then to my little brother. With bamboos, our skins turned red, purple, green, brown, yellow.

Was it the color of the rainbow? No -----------------------------------------------------------------------Anonymous

“To My Favourite 17-Year-Old High School Girl”

by Laura Portillo Grade 11

‘Princess’ by Pang Grade 12 An examination of fantasy and ‘self’ in the context of a traditional Thai dancer and accompanying self portraits.

Do you know that if you had started building a Lamborghini from scratch in your basement, you would be all done by the end of the year?

Of course, you‘re not the only one who’s never done that.

It doesn’t matter; you’re fine just being yourself.

You’re adored for being you.

But did you know that, Greta Thunberg is making a difference in the world at age 16, even presented at the UN climate change conference, and Bill Gates had cleaned up his room — no wait, I mean he had invented Microsoft?

Of course, your own chance will come later in your life, after you come out of your room and begin to flourish, or at least pick up your nail polish.

I remember when Lindsay Lohan was deemed iconic after “Mean Girls”. But then she was rehabilitated, so never mind her as a role model.

A few years later, when she was your age, Alyssa Carson also loaded the dishwasher, but that did not stop her from becoming a Mars One Ambassador and a NASA astronaut trainee at 16 But of course, that was in US at the height of New Media age, not here in the suburbs of Thailand.

Frankly, who cares if Billie Eilish debuted at 15 or if Bhad Bhabie reached 16 million followers on Instagram? We think you’re special just being you — scrolling through your feed and taking selfies.

By the way, I lied about Carson doing the dishes, but that doesn’t mean she never helped out around the house.”

(Pastiche of “To My Favourite 17-Year-Old High School Girl”

by Billy Collins, 2013 Aimless Love)

Bees in Hive

by Kib Anuwongworavet Grade 11 All you have to do is listen to a bee’s subtle alchemy as she turns nectar into honey listen to her buzz as she returns to her hive with a sack full of glutinous saccharine, and you will know why the honeybee flies back to her hive when you gather the courage to climb the mango tree your grandma grew when you look into the honeyed hotel rooms, why some bees are more suited to stay back she will tell you as her black orbs stare back, but she sees her kingdom, with satisfaction.

A pastiche of Men in Space by Billy Collins Artwork: Prince Grade 10

Pastiche by Angelia Jafari Grade 11

“Innocence”

Artwork: Finn Grade 10

The History Teacher

by Billy Collins

Trying to protect her students’ innocence, The history teacher told them the Age of Discovery in 1500 was just A group of people on a scavenger hunt Where the winner would receive a prize, The Black Death of 1347 was nothing more than some friendly mice causing some problems, The Battle of Waterloo in 1815, she said, took place in a bathroom near a waterfall, And the Japanese gifted a big Pearl to Hawaii in 1941 The children would leave the classroom for the playground and torment the weak, skipping past flower beds and white picket fences with a smile on their faces

Blog by Lyn Nimprayoon, 12 March 2019

“The Lost Generation” growing up in China: The education situation of children left-behind

Lyn Nimprayoon (张叶琳), Maitian’s Volunteer to Aid education

A

ccording to Sonia Sotomayor, Until we get Five provinces in China are home to 43% of equality in education, we won’t have an equal all the children left-behind – Sichuan, Henan, Anhui, Hunan, and Guangdong. We are society. working with a village school in Guangning, It’s hard to believe, one in five children live in Guangdong. The school is small in scale, it only rural villages without their parents in China teaches children from Grade 1 to Grade 4. There according to the All-China Women’s Federation. are 5 teachers working at the school. Because The life of a child left-behind is very difficult and their of the lack of teachers, the school can only offer 4 subjects which are Chinese, Math, PE educational status is not optimistic. and English class once a week. Our job is to I recently worked with Maitian Education provide art classes for these children.

Foundation to support child education in Guangning. I see there are so many barriers to limit those children left-behind to achieve fair education. In China Gaokao is the only path for those children to change their fate, but because there are too many barriers, it makes this pathway nearly impossible. For a child who grows up in the city, going to a good university is like climbing up a mountain. But for a left-behind child to go the same university, it’s like climbing up Mount Everest.

As I talked with the principle, he mentioned his worries about the quality of education for the children left-behind . Most of the students are children left-behind and their parents are migrant workers. Without parents, children live with their aging grandparents with low levels of education. Homework assigned couldn’t always be finished and those kids lack warmth.

Without their parents support and with the situation regarding the lack of teachers, it is hard to ensure every child is trying their best at school. The worries seem to be true. It is estimated that as many as 57 percent of children left-behind suffer from a variety of psychological problems, and they account for 70 percent of juvenile delinquency cases.

In addition, according to my observation, girls are in a worse position than boys. In the class that I am teaching, there are only 5 girls out of 16 students in Grade 3. Patriarchal norms are still a big issue in the rural area where people think boys are more important than girls and it is not important for girls to get a good education.

That means many girls don’t get the chance to go to school.

The education quality between the city and rural area is huge. Something as simple as normal assumptions of children growing up in the city might never be seen by the children in the village.

In December, we organized some Christmas activities, and I included “teach children in the class to say ‘Merry Christmas’” in my lesson plan. After an hour of trying I had to admit that the plan didn’t work. I never realized “Merry Christmas” is such a difficult phrase to say. My little cousin in kindergarten knew how to say “Merry Christmas” since she was 5 years old. But for those children left-behind, they have never had a chance to learn this simple phrase. English is a difficult subject to offer without a qualified teacher, and the village school does not have the financial resources to do so. Children studying in the rural area will never have the competitive advantages the city children do, where schools have foreign teachers to teach English. Now it makes sense as to why the percentage of children in rural areas going to university is so low when English is still tested in Gaokao.

Right now the children left behind in China are called “the lost generation” of China. As the result of the wide gap between the rich and the poor forcing millions of workers to migrate from rural areas to the country’s main cities, a lot of children grow up lacking quality education and warmth. The question that we really need to think about is: What can we do to improve the situation? Children are the future of society, and their education is surely the key to achieve fairness and development.

Works Cited The Collective. “‘Ice Boy’ and China Left-behind Children.” Collective Responsibility, Collective Responsibility, 23 Jan. 2018, www.coresponsibility.com/ice-boy-chinas-left-behind-children/.

Chelala, Cesar. “Left Behind Children in China.” CounterPunch.org, CounterPunch, 6 Sept. 2018, www.counterpunch.org/2018/09/07/left-behind-children-in-china/.

Hays, Jeffrey. “China’s Left-behind Children.” Facts and Details, 2015, factsanddetails.com/china/ cat4/sub21/entry-4459.html.

The realistic tale

by Bhornpat (Fern) Waratrujiwong Grade 11 Jealous Queens and poison apples, Venting anger laugh and giggles, Like Rapunzel, I need trimming, I am Dory, I keep swimming.

Is this what you want to show, Toxic cakes, fake miracles.

Missing slippers dainty gown, Just to make my world go round.

Disney is my shining castle, Used to be my youthful angel.

With one wish my dreams complete, Now reality comes to eat.

Take me back to fairy tales, Watch as I see my life sail Far from the bay of innocence Hoping Ariel will seize my deck

Based on “For Whom the Bell Tolls”

by John Donne

by Eugenia Ferrer Grade 11 No singular cell is the body, entire of itself.

Each one is a part of the system, a part of humanity.

If one eyelash swiftly flies away, a human is less.

As well as if an arm were to fall.

As well as the brain of one’s own head were to crack.

Or of one’s own friend.

Every human’s death diminishes my life, as I am part of mankind.

Life begins and terminates on the same day.

It comes and goes like the continuity of breathing, once it’s breathed in, its only path is out.

Therefore do not ask to know for whom the bell tolls.

It tolls for you, it tolls for all.

Artwork: Temmy - Grade 8

The Editorial Page

Ms. Kathleen Baertschy Ms. Maria Tičinović Patcharaporn (Ploy) Panyawanich Podchanaporn (Mild) Pichitpongchai Wanlapha (Prinz) Sa-ardwong

A very big Congratulations to Mild Pichitpongchai, year 11 DP student, earned FIRST PRIZE in the World Scholar Senior Division Creative Writing tournament at Brighton College on March 23-24. Mild competed against over 400 students who addressed the prompt: “How would a 19th century time traveler react to today’s world?”

This is an outstanding honor!

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