InLight Magazine: Summer 2021

SPRING 2021

RESILIENCE

EDMUND BURKE SCHOOL INLIGHT MAGAZINE

CONTENTS

02 03 05 07 09 11 13 17 18

FROM THE EDITORS

Sigita P. ‘21 and Kyra L. '21

LINES IN THE ICE Huit B. '21

A BEAR AND A MARATHON Kyra L. '21

IT'S EXHAUSTING Anonymous

RESILIENCE

Anonymous

THE COMFORT IN BEING ALONE Rayan Al-Amiri '21

50 FIRST DATES

Helen Khuri '21

RESILIENCE MIXTAPE InLight Staff

MEET THE TEAM

Assorted Art: Izzy G. '21, Sam E. '21, Huit B. '21, Helen K. '21, Brandon C. '21, Liam W. '22 & Kalea GP '21

Brandon C. '21

FROM THE EDITORS Dear Burke, We thought the perfect way to finish this crazy year of online/hybrid schooling amidst a pandemic would be with an issue on resilience. This year has required so much from everyone– students, teachers, and parents alike. Although there have been many mentions of “unprecedented times,” and being “stronger together,” what we haven’t discussed is how we’ve gotten through it all. And it’s not just the pandemic, either. As a community and as individuals, we’ve weathered a contentious election, braced ourselves through ongoing racial tensions and the unraveling of a broken justice system, and adapted to the ever-changing COVID-19 restrictions. Throughout all this, we’ve dealt with our own mental and physical health, and mourned the many friends and family members we’ve lost due to COVID-19. And yet, somehow, we’ve made it to where we are today.

How did we do it? How do we continue to do it? In this issue, we asked members of our community to share how they have been resilient this year. We encourage you to read, appreciate, and learn about our resilient classmates, and congratulate yourself for being resilient, too.

Finally, as we graduate and our time being co-editors comes to a close, we’d like to thank all of our readers for your support over the past two years. We can gladly say that we have learned so much and that we have been truly honored to share your stories.

Additionally, we are excited to announce that Ingrid Gruber ‘22 will be the new Editor-InChief next year! We know she will do a fantastic job in continuing to share our community’s stories.

Thank you so so much, Kyra L. '21 and Sigita P. '21

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LINES IN THE ICE A WACKY STORY WITH SPRINKLES OF GENUINE IDEAS

F

ew activities require more resilience than sports. In golf, you have to endure the fact that part of the sport requires driving a tiny car around. Esports players go hours without water or natural light.

Swimmers constantly deal with people thinking “it’s not that hard.” But no sport is more physically demanding than men’s synchronized figure skating. And trust me, I would know.

I’ve been figure skating for as long as I can remember. Sure, it requires enormous skill, and yes, anyone who does it is an amazing athlete, but that’s not the point. Most of skating is plain endurance: continuing to glide effortlessly across the ice day after day, even in the face of people shouting,

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HUIT BLACKMON '21

“Why don’t you try asynchronous skating, you single-axled toad” at you from the stands. (This is a devastating insult in the synchronized skating community.)

Of course, when I say effortlessly, it just looks that way. Sure, to the audience you’re as graceful as a gazelle prancing through the forest in search of a tasty groundhog. But if you’ve ever tried ice skating, you know it’s not that easy. Do you remember the first time you went skating, and you’re just trying not to fall but also wondering if you can find a way to make that six year old who’s doing laps around everyone fall on his face?

That feeling never goes away. Even we professional figure skaters are never fully confident on the ice.

And boy can that ice be tricky.

Sometimes it’s a rock-solid glacier, and sometimes it’s as thin as the wall through which you can hear your neighbors arguing about whether or not a matching set of monocles is a good anniversary present. Either way, the audience still can’t tell. They’re just judging you based on how many flips and spins you can do and whether or not your leotard tears and reveals your Phineas and Ferb underwear.

My coach always says, “Keep cold and carry on.” Well, he doesn’t say it, it’s tattooed on his forehead. But when my skating partner Asparagus Harry went on an exchange trip to Belgium for a few months, I didn’t feel very synchronized and I certainly didn’t feel like carrying on. On the contrary, I felt like the luggage that you can’t keep with you on the plane (because “metal skates are considered dangerous” or whatever) and you just bury it down below.

Happily, Asparagus Harry is back now.

He didn’t really like Belgium (“I thought there would be more waffles”), but I think we’re both better for the experience.

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Also tattooed on my coach is a phrase I like more: “May your past be the sight of your skates upon the ice.” When you look back and see the lines that your blades made, you know that no matter how many times you fell or how thin the ice was, you kept going. Those lines may be messy, and they may have gone in circles at times, but they’re there.

They’re proof that you continued to skate, and to exist. That’s what resilience is.

A BEAR AND A MARATHON KYRA LAYMAN '21

Based on no statistical data and simply my own perception of people I know to be resilient, the majority of them don’t feel like they are resilient. That’s one of the toughest things about being in pain.

About struggling. Most of the time, it doesn’t feel like you’re doing anything right.

I’m a senior—in high school, not in life.

Although, based on my arthritis (which, to my horror, is no longer classified as “juvenile” now that I am eighteen), general attitude towards life, and plethora of sweaters, one might think otherwise. As it stands, the plan for this piece is some rambling commentary and possibly some gross oversharing about losing a loved one and being diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder while being a senior during a global pandemic. I’ll try to throw some resilience in there too, where I see fit.

The hardest part about being resilient is that no one actually feels resilient.

I’m a big fan of Quizlet. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the website, Quizlet is a platform for creating and studying digital flashcards. You type in a term and its definition, and if you so choose,

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Quizlet will generate some photos for your flashcard that match the term you entered (Quizlet, if you see this, please put me in a commercial and make me a star).

When prompted with the term “resilient,” Quizlet gave me three pictures of flowers growing through cracks in the ground, and one gif of a wolf walking through the snow.

Needless to say, the Quizlet automatic photo suggestions aren’t always entirely accurate, nor are they always intuitive, but the suggestions for the word “resilient” didn’t surprise me. Actually, they seemed pretty standard—like they would make stock photos proud.

The thing is, I don’t feel like a bright sunflower growing through a crack in the ground of the desert, and I really don’t feel like a wolf plodding through the snow. Resilience—real resilience, not Hallmark resilience—doesn’t really feel like that. Sometimes it feels like the only reason I keep going isn’t that I’m resilient, but that I’m too afraid of what would happen if I didn’t. Real resilience isn’t always crossing the finish line of a marathon while holding an orphaned bear you rescued after donating bone marrow to it. It’s just

continuing to move. Yes, your sense of direction is terrible and the finish line is actually in the opposite direction, and yes, the bear is actually the one carrying you, but you are still finding a way to keep moving.

Being a teenager during the pandemic is a feat of its own. Pair that with literally anything else, and your life can feel like a nightmare. Last summer, I lost someone very close to me. I consider myself fairly well-versed in grief and handling loss, but it still hit me like the gust of cold air that takes your breath away when you open the door during wintertime. Then, this fall, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder that is painful and impacts almost every part of my life. When I might otherwise go for a walk to clear my head or meet up with friends for a socially distant gathering outside, much of the past months have relegated me to my bed. Most days it feels like the bully of life dunked my head in the toilet and gives me consecutive swirlies without letting me come up for air.

I’ve been forced to take a step back and celebrate the small things: waking up and feeling well-rested. My cat being patient enough for me to take thirtythree pictures of him in the same position. Days when I am able to take small walks. Mostly, I’ve been forced to reevaluate what it means to be resilient.

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I share this with you because I think we need to normalize and diversify what resilience looks like. It’s not a one size fits all type of thing, and it looks different on each of us. Sure, for some, resilience may be carrying an orphaned bear over the finish line, but for many of us, resilience is simply getting out of bed. Eating a meal. Showing up to class.

Being “okay” enough ourselves to check on our friends. Resilience doesn’t have to be a big, dramatic act. Resilience is every small step that got you to where you are now, and every step that is getting you to where you are going next.

HUIT B. '21

IT'S EXHAUSTING ANONYMOUS

It’s exhausting.

It’s exhausting to be told that things will get better but never see that change.

It’s exhausting to turn on the news and see my basic rights being debated by politicians who could not care less about the people they’re hurting.

It’s exhausting to hear she, she, she when I know that it is actually he.

It’s exhausting to look in the mirror and see the reflection of somebody I don’t recognize.

It’s exhausting to wake up every morning just to sit in my room all day just to stare at a screen until school is over and then pick up my phone.

It’s exhausting to not see change.

It’s exhausting to live in a body that isn’t my own.

It’s exhausting to live in a world where people don’t agree with my existence.

It’s exhausting to know that people don’t actually see me as what I am, and rather what I pretended to be.

It’s exhausting to see that it’s not getting better for the next generation of trans youth in our country.

It’s exhausting.

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"MASK OF MY OWN FACE" SAM ECKART '21 The painting depicts a more masculinized version of myself holding a feminized mask of my younger self. I call this painting, “Mask of My Own Face,” named after and greatly inspired by a song by the same name. The song lyrics describe someone parading around with a mask that looks exactly like them, tricking everyone that they are a completely different person. This song helped me describe my gender dysphoria when I was struggling to define it and was my revelation for this painting. This piece depicts how it felt to finally come out as my true self. The mask that everyone thought was me, lifted finally, ready to escape from the husk of a person that I used to pretend to be. The subject sits in the dark, alone, vulnerable, but openly free.

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RESILIENCE ANONYMOUS

Resilience, as defined by Google, is the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties. However, I believe that each person has a different deeper meaning of resilience. A meaning that resonates with them on a personal level. When I hear the word resilience, a couple of different things come to mind. Firstly, I think of my life and all that I’ve overcome—the most prominent things being my birth (weighing in at 1 pound 3.4 ounces, three months early) and the abuse I’ve suffered. Years of hiding and keeping it a secret not only took a toll on me emotionally, but also on my mental health.

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The second thing I think of when I hear the word resilience is a quote by Harold Watt: “In Japan, Broken Objects are often repaired with gold. The flaw is seen as a unique piece of the object’s history, which adds to its beauty.

Consider this when you feel broken.”

Make no mistake: I have never called myself nor felt broken. However, I’ve been called broken many times before by others, simply due to my journey down the road less taken. The overgrowth of weeds & thistles nipping at my ankles. However, those scars will heal and they will become reminders of all that I’ve overcome. Others may call it broken or scarred, but I will always know what it truly means: that I am resilient and can overcome anything that’s thrown my way.

KALEA GEORGE-PHILLIPS '21 This piece, which is a part of a 15-piece series, is a representation of “breaking through.” The use of color portrays the different emotions felt during a breakthrough, specifically the feeling of finally being able to free one’s self from others’ views and beginning to find a true identity. It is meant to be eerie because I believe that the struggle of being resilient is not a glamorous one.

THE COMFORT IN BEING ALONE RAYAN AL-AMIRI '21 Resilience is an undervalued trait. I always used to aim at succeeding on my first attempt. I never thought about what next steps to take if failure occurred or if I faced adversity. I mostly grew up around people who didn't believe in the same religion, speak the same language or even come from the same continent. There was no need to work on myself or my own self-image as I could relate to everyone. I always moved every few years, never staying long enough to form connections. I also never came across anyone from my ethnic background. I never met anyone who grew up Muslim or Arab. I began not only feeling odd, but misunderstood.

I became the spokesperson and defendant of my people. That is where I began to meet adversities that often came in the form of other people.

Sometimes it would simply be the “uniqueness of my background” being inconvenient. I noticed the divide between me and my peers one random day: My friends and I were all talking when they got called for their affinity groups. Each group gradually left before I realized that everyone at the table was gone. They could all relate to each other and I could not.

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I attempted to join the Asian affinity group as there was no Middle Eastern one, yet everyone in there was East Asian and different yet again. I learned that any attempt at a union in which the members wouldn't be my two other siblings was hopeless. I began to get comfortable being alone. The comfort in someone just “getting it” was not available to me. I had to figure out how to go through the world.

My resilience began with assumptions or a small comment about something about my culture that I did not agree with. I had to stand up for myself. It got tiring being the only one who had to take such stands, because if not me, then who? The sense of duty and responsibility to change everyone's perception or to open someone's eyes to a new perspective was exhausting. I had to learn to pick my battles and stop letting others affect me. I also learned to be strong when alone. Many times the joys of special days or events had to be celebrated quietly, as no one else would understand. The loneliness which uniqueness brings is inevitable.

I also had to grow up more quickly; my parents could not understand the Western world as fast or as well as I did.

Tasks from ordering food to reading documents were more complicated. I had to schedule appointments for meetings I did not understand because no one else could. The weight of the responsibility was put on as I had friends telling me I was the first of my “kind” they ever met, and the need of independence was emphasized. The irony is, even when I would go back home to visit, the influence of my new home came with me.

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I found myself torn between two worlds which I was not fully a part of. I had a warped and combined mentality of each side and I learned to be resilient in being misunderstood. I had to exist in a world between, and sometimes, I had to exist alone. I began to be okay with that.

On occasion, you could share your culture and its beauties, but no one else possessed the love you had for it.

Lacking a person to understand makes you toughen up to insensitive comments and atmospheres, and when you realize since there is no one to advocate for your way of living, you must do it yourself.

50 FIRST DATES HELEN KHURI '21 Ever wonder who would play you in the movie of your life? Drew Barrymore has already kind of brought my life to the big screen in the romantic comedy “50 First Dates.” It’s a story of a young woman who suffers a neurologic injury that triggers profound amnesia. In the fall of 2019, I experienced acute retrograde amnesia, with loss of past memories.

Initially, I was severely disoriented. In the first weeks, I didn’t even know my name and age when I woke up. I struggled to follow conversations, couldn’t find my way around my neighborhood, and couldn’t attend school. Word-finding was tricky, but talking to my grandmother who has dementia was great because we would giggle as we made up words to get our ideas across. Though I experienced prolonged memory challenges and brain fog, I was fortunate that my analytic and intellectual skills were ultimately unaffected. Succeeding on my first attempt at the ACT this summer was extremely emotional for me, because for so much of my junior year, I didn’t know if I would ever get back to my full potential. Recovering my memory and processing speed required a tremendous amount of time and perseverance, which I was actually well prepared for because of my history with dyslexia.

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School has always required extra work for me, starting in first grade as an undiagnosed dyslexic kid in a French immersion program where I was learning to read in two languages!

Throughout my education, I have chosen the hardest courses available, even when advisors wondered if the reading volume would be challenging. I have learned to budget my time carefully, to consult with teachers frequently, and to work through challenges. Dyslexia gave me the drive, the skills, and the right attitude to rebuild my cognitive impairment from amnesia.

The greatest gift of amnesia is the appreciation that comes from it. Bad days don’t phase me, and I appreciate good ones more than ever. Lost memories can be frustrating, but reliving good memories is quite fun. I am extremely excited to be back to who I was before amnesia by taking my typical course load in school and resuming interests that I had to take a break from last year: volleyball, service, music, and school clubs. While my story is unusual, and a little exhausting at times, I wouldn’t change it for anything.

My favorite part about “50 First Dates” is that this movie depicts a sad and lifechanging event as a story of love, humor, and hope. Spoiler Alert! That is the spirit with which I have handled my biopic as well.

HELEN KHURI '21

Painted over the course of a month, this piece has become one of my favorites. It is inspired by the concept of dreams turning into nightmares which I depicted through channeling elements of chaos and tranquility.

IZZY GARCIA '21

This garment is inspired by the strength of women. The fabric is draped into shapes of flowers to represent a shield of flowers.

In attrition, the bulk of the piece symbolizes how women need to take up space in the workroom to hold equal power to their male counterparts.

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IZZY GARCIA '21 This piece illustrates fighting the darkness of the world and continuing to thrive.

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Photo courtesy of Brandon C. '21

RESILIENT - KATY PERRY RISE UP – ANDRA DAY FIGHT SONG - RACHEL PLATTEN A CHANGE IS GONNA COME – SAM COOKE SUPERHEROES – THE SCRIPT I WILL SURVIVE - GLORIA GAYNOR AIN’T NO MAN – THE AVETT BROTHERS JUST HOLD ON - LOUIS TOMLINSON AND STEVE AOKI HEY, HEY, HEY – MICHEAL FRANTI AND SPEARHEAD DON’T STOP BELIEVING – JOURNEY AMERICANS – JANELLE MONÁE GLORY – COMMON, JOHN LEGEND LIFE GOES ON – BTS

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OUR TEAM

MEET THE INLIGHT EDITORIAL BOARD!

KYRA LAYMAN '21

INGRID GRUBER '22

SIGITA PUSKORIUS '21

HELEN KHURI '21

MONTANNA NORMAN '22

SPECIAL THANKS TO

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STEVEN LEE