Hebron Review Fall 2018

Fall 2018

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Letter from the Editors After being asked to be the future Hebron Review editors last spring, we had the opportunity to watch last year's editors, Pashynce and Dylan, work together to, piece by piece, create the Spring Edition. Seeing them work gave us our own vision for what to do this year.

Our first goal was to completely update and refurbish the Hebron Review blog. Since it’s such a new addition to Hebron’s journalism program, there was much work to be done. But it is looking better with every new article or piece of art that we post. We’ve added several new categories, such as poetry, reviews, and current events. A lot of fun and work has gone into creating it, so we encourage you to check it out!

Our next and most important step this term was creating the paper edition that you now hold in your hands. We have a diverse group of staff writers who have produced some awesome, thought-provoking articles. And we have an amazing support system in Dr. Oakes and Ms. Waterman who have given us the reins and allowed the magazine to be exactly how we wanted it. Though there were definitely a few bumps along the road in the forms of technology difficulties or late submissions, we are overall extremely happy with the way the magazine came out. We hope, as you read through, that the articles make you think and that you take in a new point of view, whether it’s about empathy, human rights, or individual interests.

This magazine is representative of the Hebron community and the amazing work that can be done by some dedicated writers and artists. This has been a great learning experience, and we are so thankful for the opportunity to make the Hebron Review our own this year. We hope you enjoy the Fall Edition, and keep an eye out for the next issue this spring!

Emma Skelton ’19, Sophie List ‘19, and Alice Dang ’20

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Table of Contents Opinion 4 5 7 8

GSTA The Cultivation of Empathy as Joy Weekend Duty and Technology Led Zeppelin

Writing Contest 10 12

Cosmopolitan Underground

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That One Moment

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Excerpts of Raw Emotion

Ocean Abyss

Campus Events 22

Human Rights at Hebron

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Round Square

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Spirit Week

25 Poetry 27 27 29

From the woods of Maine to Canada, read about campus events this fall!

By Cara Hu ‘19

Keep an eye out to get to know some of the dogs on campus!

Outward Bound

My Enter Key is Not Broken Tracy K. Smith I Am Told !3

By Yuna Wu ‘21

Opinion GSTA

By Oliver Pittman ’20 Every Tuesday at 12:45, the Hebron Academy GSTA meets in the World Language Lounge. At first, if you come to the GSTA, you see three goofy kids and two teachers, eating lunch and laughing. But almost always, within the first ten minutes of our meeting, we move on to more pressing topics. We talk about the ways we struggle at Hebron, the microaggressions we face everyday, or the scorn we feel from people; however, we also talk about our world--the rights being

stripped from trans

people as we speak, the hate and oppression that we seem to never escape. We’re a small group--only five consistent members, plus the occasional drop-in--but we represent such a key part of Hebron. For years the GSTA has been present, but as time goes on our goals get bigger and our impact stronger. Through the efforts of the current members and faculty advisors, we have increased the amount of gender neutral bathrooms on campus, pushed for a more inclusive dorm policy, and many more small but impactful changes. Though we do our best to make this campus a safe and inclusive place, we still have a long way to go. Implementing gender neutral signs in the Athletic Center is a battle yet to be won. Over and over, trans people are called by the wrong pronouns. There is no comprehensive sex education of any sort, and dorms are still a touchy subject. But even as all of this happens, LGBTQ+ students are making it through day by day with the support of incredible faculty members and friends. Not everything is perfect, and it may never be, but together as a school we are fighting our way forward to a more inclusive and safe campus for all students, regardless of gender, gender expression, or sexuality. This is a revolution, and Hebron is fighting with us. !4

The Cultivation of Empathy as Joy

by Gwen Randall ‘20 When I reflect on empathy, I cannot help but remember the times when I, or other people in my life, have not received it. Remembering the difficulties is unquestionably easier, and neglecting our goodness and triumph seems easy to ignore. Navigating life, wherever we may be in it, requires a baseline ability to connect; however, the connection part is, for many people, just baseline. Empathy, the practice of putting oneself in another’s shoes and actively assessing that individual’s emotions, is arguably one of the most invaluable skills that a person needs in their life guidebook. Yet, this practice is consistently glossed over and neglected in mainstream education.

Sometimes, empathy may be confused with sympathy. Sympathy can be defined as sorrow, compassion, or even pity for a group or individual. Empathy requires one to actively engage in connecting with a person’s emotional experience, actively listening to an individual’s experience, and taking their thoughts and ideas with oneself as one walks through day-to-day life.

Outlined below are five key components that can aid in the pursuit of cultivating empathy: Approach with Openness Creating an environment that is free of judgment is the first step to actively understanding a person’s situation. Forming an opinion or conclusion about someone, in other words judging them, can create a barrier that makes it difficult to be in tune with their feelings. Doing so can be dismissive, and will further distance your position as a listener from their perspective.

Push Discourse Gracefully Questions can drive a change of mind to a change of world. When interacting with other people who may possess different experiences than oneself, it is important to understand the necessity for patience and kindness. Asking questions and pushing conversations is crucial for empathy, but there is always a place where overstepping can occur. Especially when interacting with groups that may be marginalized, do preliminary research and repeatedly check when or when not certain topics may be appropriate.

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Use Body Language Body language is an important tool to use in situations when active listening skills are called for. Eye contact, body positions, and gestures are all useful in helping a person understand that you are engaged with their story. It’s important to note cultural differences. Certain body movements can have various meanings depending on the individuals involved.

Validate Emotions Simply acknowledging a person’s emotions can go a long way. Someone acknowledging and expressing a reaction to a person’s emotions lets them know that their thoughts and feelings are real. It can help refresh a situation by opening up the space to let them come to terms with what they feel inside.

Sometimes when a person is opening up, feelings of shame, guilt, or doubt can arise.

Validating emotions refocus the atmosphere directly on the person, rather than the thing they are talking about. It reminds the person that they’re worthy of their feelings and of their humanity.

Be Comfortable with Silence People experience silence at different comfort levels. Finding a balance between one’s comfort level and the other person’s is a significant tool that can be used in cultivating empathy. In some cases, where one or the other person is caught in a situation that makes it difficult to continue speaking, silence can create the space for the person to think.

It can feel awkward at times to utilize silence, since most of our society is bent on eliminating awkward tension through noise or distractions. However, silence can be an incredibly useful communicator during situations where tensions are rising, or during interactions that become unproductive, unhealthy, or off-topic. Allowing oneself some time to explore the use of silence in conversations undoubtedly promotes empathetic ideas.

Overall, empathy is not a practice to be left out, glossed over, or pushed to the side. As we as individuals narrate our lives and color them with daily actions, we must remember those around us who may need a little support or empathy. Empathy is not endorsement. Empathizing with someone you profoundly disagree with does not infiltrate one’s own firmly held beliefs and endorse another’s. At the bottom of it, empathy just means acknowledging the humanity of someone who thinks very differently or similarly, and that is the most radical joy of it all.

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Reducing the Number of Faculty on Weekend Duty Using Technology

By Dexuan Tang ‘20 On the overnight Outdoor Education trip, Mr. Tholen mentioned dorm faculty should provide more trips instead of being on duty on weekends. This made me think: How can technology help to reduce the number of faculty on duty?

My answer for this is using a similar system as the Health Center sign-in system. It is a web page on an iPad on which students can enter their name and sign themselves in. The idea of implementing this for dorm sign-in is that, on each floor, there will be an iPad for students to sign in.

Only one or two faculty need to be at each dorm to respond to emergency situations, while sign-in information can be sent to other faculty phones or computers either through a webpage, an email, or a text message while they are out on trips.

But another problem might arise here: how do we make sure that students actually sign in by themselves? I have thought of a few different ways, such as fingerprint identification, face detection, or signature comparison. The fingerprints identification is the most secure one, but it has a big issue-privacy. As a student, I do not want personal data as critical as fingerprints to be monitored and managed by any institution, including the school. Therefore fingerprint identification is probably no longer a choice.

The second choice, signature comparison, will require students to sign their names when signing in. The image of the signatures will then be sent with the sign-in messages to the faculty on duty both on campus and off campus; the issue here, however, is that signatures can be imitated, so there is no guarantee that the students actually signed in.

This leaves the third option, face detection. It would work as follows. First, students go to the sign-in iPad, enter their name, click on the sign-in button, and open the camera on the iPad that will then take a photo. To prevent any privacy and cheating concerns, the photos are not compared by machine and stored on any sorts of devices or servers. They will be sent to the faculty directly as a photo that will be deleted automatically after being viewed.

And other possible advances can be added to this. For example, students can have a sign-in app installed on their phones or iPads that will notify them to sign in and students can sign in on their own devices. To make sure students are actually in their dorm, this app will only work on the school network. Also, smart door locks can be installed on the front doors and sides doors of each dorm!7 that

need faculties’ approval to open to make sure students are safe at night.

So, what are some advantages of implementing this? First, because fewer faculties need to be on duty, more and better weekend trips can be provided. More students can go on trips instead of staying in their rooms and playing computer games. This will make students experience more of the amazing nature and culture around this area. Second, faculties can have more free time. In the current weekend duty model, faculties on duty have to stay in the dorms for the entire weekend. We have many faculties that would like to go off campus and do some outdoor activities, or things as basic as go the the grocery stores and get food.

Third, this model will increase the efficiency of signing in. If students are notified to sign in, they will not likely to forget to do this. And students don’t have to go through the sign-in books and find their names.

This sign-in system requires no revolutionary technology or expensive setup. It is only a combination of existing technology, some of which can already be found on campus.

Therefore, I hope this suggestion can be listened to and implemented in the near future. And I hope this will benefit everyone at Hebron.

Why Was Led Zeppelin Called Led Zeppelin?

Happy Birthday to CODA

By Sophie Chu-O’Neil ’20 Legend has it that Keith Moon and John Entwistle, members of The Who, said that Led Zeppelin would “go down like a lead zeppelin” (that is, like a lead balloon--not good). Although I would love to believe two of my favorite rock bands had a skirmish before my time, this is just a legend. In reality, a newspaper printed those words during Led Zeppelin's early years. The New Yardbirds, which was the band’s original name, then decided to call themselves Led Zeppelin in spite of what the newspaper said about their band. While they did a pretty good job proving them wrong overall, Led Zeppelin definitely put out some not-so-great albums. !8

I wanted to write a piece of one of my favorite rock bands of all time, but I needed a good enough reason to. Naturally, I tried to find albums that had an anniversary around this time. The results were tragic, to say the least. I’m not saying that CODA isn’t a good album; it has a few very good songs such as “Poor Tom,” “Darlene,” and “Traveling Riverside Blues.” But that’s only three out of the twenty-three on the album. If I were to recommend Led Zeppelin to someone and start them off would a good album, I would choose Led Zeppelin II before I ever even thought of mentioning CODA. Maybe it’s because CODA came out in 1982 and Led Zeppelin II came out years earlier in 1969. Maybe they got worse over time or maybe their albums are like fine wine and they need time to age.

Clearly, I love Led Zeppelin, but I’m not very into CODA. I’m not mad at them, just disappointed. I could have written about each and every song that I adore of Led Zeppelin, but I chose to do an album that was more unfamiliar to me. Luckily this ended up giving me a better lesson to both learn and to teach.

You can’t judge something based on one small piece of it, even if that piece is an entire album.

Consistency is one of the most difficult things to master. Getting an A is possible, but getting all A’s is much more difficult. Being healthy is manageable, but always eating clean is a struggle. Led Zeppelin is an incredible band, arguably in the top ten rock bands of all time, but that does not mean they were always better than every other band out there.

Don’t listen to people when they say CODA was Led Zeppelin’s worst album or swan song.

Listen to Led Zeppelin 2, preferably, before listening to CODA, but don’t write it off completely. That being said, happy 36th Birthday to CODA.

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Writing Contest

11th and 12th Grade Winner Cosmopolitan Underground

by Lili Ball ‘20 I hear the metal tracks creak louder and louder as I approach the station. My heart speeds up to allow my legs to move at a faster pace. My lungs expand and contract so rapidly that I fear they might burst. Each finger holds a tight grip on my Metrocard: my ticket to cross the Styx river between Earth and the cosmopolitan underworld. All that separates me from the abyss is a simple archaic turnstile. I slide my card through the reader as my body pushes itself to the other side--I have crossed into the world of the living.

I stop for an instant to take in my surroundings, noticing the distinct scent of dense, humid air present within every station. My thoughts are interrupted by the metal creaks slashing through my eardrums again, signaling me that my train is arriving. My feet lunge longer distances with every stride, the urgency of my pursuit intensifying as the train comes to a stop. At last, I undertake one final sprint to reach the sliding doors of the train.

I veer to the right to let a muck of people roll out before stepping over the gap between the platform and the train. My legs are exhausted, and I pray that there will be an empty seat, but as always, the chairs are filled. I find a pole to hold onto, sharing it with five other passengers. In a flash, the doors slide closed and the train begins racing forward. I allow my eyes to wander, noticing people of all different ages, ethnicities, and socioeconomic backgrounds sharing one small enclosure. Most commuters keep to themselves, gazes fixated on iPhones and books, creating their own bubble of solidarity despite being surrounded by so many other passengers. But, as I look around, I ponder what each passenger’s story may be. Some might be new mothers, others convicted felons. I turn my head to see a pack of children in their school uniforms clump together next to a drummer with hopes of earning some spare change by melodically tapping his drum pads and beatboxing along to his rhythm. Businessmen with briefcases are smushed against homeless men with plastic bags as the train’s capacity fills. More than just a steel

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box that transports me from point A to point B, the subway is a vessel full of people with unique experiences, thoughts, aspirations, and personalities.

Growing up amid such a vastly diverse group of people is an experience that only New York City natives can truly understand. Often, I feel lost amongst the millions of inhabitants, but the sense of anonymity can also feel extremely liberating; whoever you want to be, and wherever you choose to go is your decision- It's just a matter of which subway line you choose to take. This sense of freedom makes me feel alive more than anything else I’ve experienced. I remember the day my parents finally let me ride the subway on my own, handing me my first-ever Metrocard. After twelve years of anticipation for this rite of passage, the world was mine. For only $2.75, a small rectangular card promised to take me wherever I desired, and I was overcome with excitement.

The voice on the overhead speaker announcing the train’s arrival at Delancey Street snaps me out of my daze. I quietly count the remaining stops before mine: East Broadway, York, Jay Street Metrotech, Bergen, simultaneously calculating the amount of time it will take to reach my final destination. I check my watch, realizing that it’s now past 8:00 p.m., meaning rush hour has ended. I look around to discover the train is nearly empty and the atmosphere of intensity has dissipated. I close my eyes and return to my thoughts, lulled into a state of relaxation by the steady movement of the train and the soft beat of the music from a nearby passenger’s headphones, tuning out the speaker’s announcement of each passing stop. The familiar sound of a monotone voice projecting !11

the words “This is Carroll Street, the next stop is Smith-9th Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please” breaks the calm and my muscle memory takes over, dictating each step I take out of the train and through the station that I’ve known my entire life. I clumsily maneuver past people as I orient my mind back to reality. Finally I reach the exit, trudging up the stairs to enter the real world again.

To some, riding a busy subway is a nuisance. Holding a germ-infested pole, being pressed up against sweaty bodies, or enduring the piercing sound of a screaming baby’s first subway ride might not be what most people find exhilarating. But to me, the feeling of transporting from borough to borough, the freedom of choosing a destination- my prerogative as a Metrocard owner, alongside hundreds of unique passengers as the train speeds down the tracks, is when I feel most alive.

11th and 12th Grade Honorable Mention Ocean Abyss

By Lily Irish ‘19 On Sunday, on the last day of September of my last autumn of high school, I did something for the very first time.

I didn’t sign up for the trip, I just asked Mr. Tholen impromptu late that week and I was kindly granted my request to come.

A gush of excitement flowed through my veins.

On Saturday night as I packed a drawstring bag of what I'd need, all I could think about was ohh those waves how it would feel and how I would do.

I set an alarm then I drifted into a steady sleep. *beep beep beep* My heart *thump thump thump*-ed as I drove quickly to school.

Yagmur and I waited outside the cold-breakfast dining hall set up, sitting on the wooden table against the wall.

A few boys came down the stairs of Sturtevant dorm, but then returned up to their rooms again. !12

We had the whole bus to ourselves so I placed my bag against the window, leaned my back on it, and put my feet up on the seat beside me.

I slept maybe only three times for around ten minute intervals, while the rest of the time I kept my eyes closed loosely, allowing them to open when the sun shone through my side of the bus or when we reached stop signs and took wide turns.

We pulled up to a teal colored building that I’d call “the surf shack” and a pretty, cool, and young woman with wavy blond hair helped us pick out wetsuits to rent.

They were black with teal accent designs.

In the changing room I put on my old bathing suit bottoms, my spandex, and maroon top, then peeled the wetsuit up to my waist and left the top undone as I’d seen Yagmur had.

The changing room had a shower with sand coating the edges and a pastel shell painting on the door.

We loaded our big yellow surf boards into the back of the bus.

Then we arrived at Higgins beach and my nerves caught up to me.

My heart started racing, my stomach felt the butterflies flapping their wings against its sides, and the ocean breeze made me cold and hyper.

We hopped off the bus and grabbed our boards.

It was surprisingly lighter than I imagined, but it took a lot of effort to carry because my arms were too short to hold it vertically under my armpit.

So I rested it against my hip, out horizontally.

Then tried to balance it on my head.

Then with blushing cheeks, back to my hip.

We passed colorful, empty summer homes.

We reached the beach and the cold sand spit itself through my sandals.

There were many surfers out already.

A few nodded to us with smiles.

I felt like I was a part of them, of the community, of the vibe.

Then goosebumps shivered over my arms.

I tugged the wetsuit over my shoulders, grabbed the back leash and zipped it up.

I put my hair up in a messy bun and rubbed my hands over my bare face and eyes.

We slid wax over the old wax bumps for the areas we’d need it.

Mr. Tholen showed us on the sand how to lay down on the board and hop up to position. !13

Oh how naive I am to believe i’d be that simple.

We snapped a picture then headed down to the water to “dive right in” he said, and chuckled.

My toes hit the ice cold ocean and quickly numbed themselves.

He began running out till the water reached his waist and Yagmur and I clumsily trudged behind trying to keep up.

It took nearly forever to get out there.

Crashing waves kept pushing me back to shallows every time I got any deeper.

I started getting frustrated with this.

He told us to get on our boards and paddle hard like our lives depended on it.

We had the beginner kind of boards that float so you can’t dive under on it through a wave you must fall off each time, to dive yourself under and tug your board along over.

When we finally made it deep enough past the crashing ones, I had gotten better at that routine.

But now, it was time to surf.

He told us to observe other surfers and get a feel for when the right moment was to catch one.

There were calm periods in the waves where we would sit up on our boards, legs to each side, or rest our heads while laying flat just rolling over the hills.

But when a spell of them came through, Mr. Tholen told me to get ready.

A big one approach and I decided to try.

I quickly turned around on the board.

He said just paddle and paddle, so I did, and then I did faster, looking at the wave enclosing around me realizing I had actually caught it!

I rode it in a ways in on my stomach then rolled off so I wouldn’t have too far to struggle to get out again.

I put my hands up in the air with excitement.

I felt like I had accomplished something amazing. !14

I didn’t even mind or compare myself to the other people standing up surfing around me, or that one annoyingly talented guy that could paddle board on this craziness.

The next few times I tried to catch one I was too early, so I drifted over it and paddled in a little bit.

And a couple times I tried too late.

The nose of my board tipped down and I flew off head first into the water.

Under the water I was tossed around I felt like I was stuck in a washing machine cycle; an ocean abyss.

The rope attaching me to the board tugged hard against my ankle, which hurt and later left a red mark on my foot.

Then I finally burst above the surface breathing in huge gasps of air, coughing and blowing water out of my nose.

Before I had a moment to look around another huge wave came crashing towards me so I dove under holding the rope this time to minimize the pull.

I rose again and got on the board quickly to paddle out, and found a calm period to rest my body.

I felt the salt water sloshing in my stomach.

But I liked how there were ups and downs.

It kept it realistic like in life.

We stayed in the water the whole time we were there, no breaks on the beach, just surf.

It was so tiring physically, but mentally I was loving every moment.

I felt scared, excited, nervous, happy, and amazed all at the same time.

I also felt a feeling which can’t quite have a name or be put into words.

The last wave I rode in, I got the courage to get up on my knees.

I felt the salt seeping into my skin, water finding its way to slosh into my wetsuit, and seaweed floating under me, unaware of world above it.

In this year full of “lasts” I strive to do more “firsts” I want to do things that make me feel alive.

Just like surfing did. !15

9th and 10th Grade Winner That One Moment

By Kaila Mank ’21 Have you ever been the first one to arrive at a field early in the morning, where you can see the thin layer of mist that reaches across the horizon as if it's trying to hold onto dawn even longer? Have you ever been standing in that one moment where, everything is standing still, and you can look around without a thing in mind?

That moment, where you’re filled with the most triumphant feeling you have ever experienced as if you had just won your first Olympic medal. Have you ever had that feeling, that one moment that you’ll never forget? That moment that maybe you haven’t talked about or perhaps even thought about in a long time, but still stuck in the back of your mind, where it can always be found. That one moment that will make you feel more alive than anything you have ever known. For some people, it’s that beginning or final whistle at the end of a game, or for others that one day where the colors are the most vibrate colors, you have ever seen at the peak of fall.

That one moment for me was the ending of a soccer game. I was in 7th grade. We were at our home field playing the hardest team in the league. The first half of the game, we looked like monkeys running wild, having no idea

what

we were doing. Thankfully halftime came faster than we would have wished for, which put a feeling of relief in us. But It didn’t take long for the blaming to begin as if we were, lions fighting attacking each other, with all of our “she did this” or “ you should’ve done this.” After a while our coach was done listening to us fight; she came over not mad or disappointed, but relaxed. She asked us, “What would you do if the ball popped?” We all answered, “Go get a different one.” As if the answer was obvious. Confused about where she was going with this, we listened as she explained. If something is not going your way, try something new. This one sentence changed the game; it made us stop and think about what different choice we were going to make in the next half.

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With the second half about to start, we lined up as if we were awaiting the gunshot for the race to start, organized and energetic. Five minutes left in the game, we tied the score 3-3. After that goal was scored, you could stop and look around the field; all you could see were the exhausted players on the field, as if we had just finished a long day working in the fields with the sun shining down on us stronger than ever before. With a minute being yelled on the field, we all put whatever we had left in us onto the field. With the ball in our possession, the midfielders were doing their best to pass and keep it from the other team, until it got to the point they had to make a pass. I received the pass from my left midfielder; from that pass, I took the ball and took a shot right into the upper right-hand corner. In that one moment, I had never felt more alive; I had that triumphant moment watching the ball fly through the air as if it was a butterfly soaring freely in the air. Everything stopped, the players turned to watch, the fans were silent. The goalie jumped. With a feeling of uncertainty, I watched. Touching the tips of the goalie’s fingers the ball soars into the back of the net, there in that feeling of relief we were all hoping for, and seconds after the whistle is blown for the end of the game. In that one moment, everything was still, and there wasn’t a thought in mind. That was my one moment of triumphant feeling, my one moment that I felt the most alive, that I would never forget.

Everyone has that one moment in their life that they feel the most alive. Some may have more than one memory of this feeling. But I challenge you to stop and remember what your one moment was, that you felt most alive. Think about your early morning field time or your winning goal. Even if you don’t know right away, remember that you have had that one moment, and will most likely have many more. !17

9th and 10th Grade Honorable Mention Excerpts of Raw Emotion

By Alaina Bonis ’21 Monday, 11:28 pm The fabric of the car seat presses against my bare back, the seams of my bathing suit top indenting into my skin. My hand is out the window, moving up and down in the patterns of the wind. Dad sits next to me, copying my hand motions, a hand on the steering wheel. I smile, feeling the warm wind funnel through the window and through my hair. The car pulls into the beach parking lot, rubber tires crunching on the rocks and sand. Piling things onto our backs we walk down into the sand, hearing the waves and feeling the hot sand between our toes. The ocean splashes on the shore in playful burst of white sea foam. The water is as cold as ice, climbing up my ankles in a rush to reach the dry sand. My feet go numb and I begin to jump up and down, my toes splashing every time they hit wet earth. Dad eggs me on, slapping a firm hand to my shoulder. I laugh, no, no, I say. In a minute, you go ahead, I'm gonna take my time.

He rushes past me and dives into the water. I follow suit after a moment of reluctance. The sea pulls me under and my hair floats around my head in billows, I open my eyes briefly and see a plethora of colors, greys and greens and blues and browns, all muddled into a blur. My eyes sting and in a split second my head breaks the surface and I suck in a breath, filling my lungs as the temperature knocks the air out of them. My body goes numb quickly as I rush to get out of the waves, my lips spreading over my salty teeth as I push my dripping hair from my face. I reach the shore and the wind feels hot on my face, the sun pressing down on my back, drying up the water droplets and leaving small grains of salt stuck to my skin. I flop into my beach chair, panting.

My feet move below me as I watch the people in the waves, see the bodies on the beach pass by me as I carry myself down the expanse of sand. Behind me is a path of prints, my weight pressed into the earth, marking my path and my presence. The water pulls at my ankles as my legs move faster, the muscles in my feet protesting the give and tilt of the sand. All of a sudden my feet are pounding the sand and my stride is long and fast, I run down the beach to catch up with my dad as he jogs ahead of me. I reach his side and match his pace, working to move at a steady pace as my feet get stuck in sand. Then we're walking, and walking, and walking. Down one beach and the next. Then he says, let’s race. He points to a pile of dark dried seaweed and my eyes scan the area, not picking up on the object. I spot it, at least I think I do and I'm counting down. Three, two--he darts ahead of me and I let out a frustrated laugh before pumping my legs hard enough to cover the distance, sand spraying up all around me. I'm an arms length behind him, but he continues to pull forward. My legs whir beneath me as the water and the trees blur by, out of the corner of my eye I see a couple watching from their perch on

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some multicolored towels. My chest burns and I push air in and out of my mouth as my arms pump at my sides. Then he's slowing down and I let my pace drop, thumping my feet on the packed sand. Taking sharp breaths as a stab lunges at my abdomen. I laugh, high fiving him as he says, “Still faster”.

I open the front door and head to the bathroom. I click the door behind me and brace my palms on the cool porcelain countertop, staring at my reflection. My hair has fallen over my eyes so I bring a hand up to push it back, it's textured from sea water, sand, and hands covered in a sheen of sunscreen. It stay out of my face long enough for my to examine myself a second longer. My under eyes are pink along with the bridge of my nose. I pray for the appearance of freckles within the next few days. I tap the colored skin and feel it's heat, my body is warm and heavy, tired from the sun and the salt. The hairs of my eyebrows have pushed themselves downwards and are laced with fine grains of salt, caught perfectly in each hair. The very tips of my long, dark eyelashes have lightened and fluttered upwards. My lips are dry and the color of rose hips, and they crack as I smile at myself, content with everything. I pull the delicate daisy from behind my ear and twirl it in my fingers. I pluck the petals one by one. He loves me, he loves me not.

Now I sit in bed, exhausted and wanting to sleep. But my body tosses and turns whenever it hits the mattress. The clock approaches midnight and I wish desperately for my eyes to simply close, my eyelids heavy and my eyes stinging. My skin is hot from being burned under the sun and the fabric of my sweater feels heavy as it hangs from my shoulders. But my body and my mind disagree. So I write this.

Sunday, 7:13 pm My eyes are burning. The center of my face feels like a brick wall, my lips feel puffy, and for some reason, I can’t remember why I started crying in the first place. I only know that I cannot stop. I hiccup, I gasp, I choke on the air I try to force down my throat. It hurts. My chest aches, I feel like my very soul is caving in on itself. I have no reason do be this sad. But I am. I am so sad. This thing comes and goes, this thing that lives in my chest. It perches in my ribs once a month, but it never tells me when it’s coming. Every time I am surprised, every time I think, I thought you were gone. But it is never really gone, even on happy, bright days, I can feel it, like a caress. Right now I feel like it has taken over my whole body, like it has expanded and taken up all my insides, like I am just my skin, just a shell. I know it will pass, it always does, but I still hate it. My door creaks open. Squeak, squeal. I am so grateful for the second of warning I get before my mom enters my room. I swallow, I breathe, and in a second I am no longer crying. As long as I can remember I’ve been able to stop crying on queue. It has always kind of frightened me. She sits down on my bed, she is moving so slow. I am so afraid of her when I am sad. I don’t want to make her sad. I watch her watching me. I don’t remember what !19

she said, what I told her, but in three minutes, I am laughing. A weak sound, a bit dull, but still a laugh. A beautiful thing. Laughing after an attack of tears, it’s like no other feeling in the world.

It makes me feel pure and raw and accepting of everything I am. Like a child again. It makes me understand that no matter how heavy the day seems, there is always something or someone who can lift it off my shoulders. In this moment, I know that I can be strong, that I have not healed fully, but I am entirely capable of doing so, and that I will do it, I will be truly happy soon. I know I will. I know it.

Because some days I love myself more than anything, and those days are the brightest in the world.

Friday, 12:03 am Alaina Bonis ‘21 Once again there is a car seat pressing into my back. Except this time it feels like it’ vibrating, or is that me? The seat is cold, my hands are cold, but my heart feels like it’s on fire. The music is so loud. So loud I’m sure the entire town can hear it. And we are matching the volume, horrible screeches and screams that we call singing stampeding past our lips. I haven’t heard this song in years, but I sing every word, the bass beating into my chest and through my throat. It must be me who’s vibrating. Is it from the cold? Or the euphoria? If you asked me I couldn’t tell you why I felt like this. It was the night, the moon up in the sky, peering at us all with one huge eye. It was my friends, two warm bodies in the front seats, two souls, beautiful and just as happy as me. It was the music, making me think of everything and nothing all at once. Or maybe it was just me, maybe this was who I was when everything else was stripped away, all the stress, all the fear, all the sadness. Maybe this was me in my purest, happiest form, without anything keeping me from it. Is that what I would be like, at my core? A shivering body driving down a dark back road, feeling so inexplicably joyful. What makes me happy? It’s such a hard question. This? That? The !20

other thing? I couldn’t tell you. I feel happy at the oddest times. Well, I feel happy when everyone else feels happy, when I’m supposed to feel happy. But I also feel happy at the oddest times, in the middle of math class when I look across the table and make eye contact with a classmate who is just as lost as I am, eating dinner with my Dad, we’re not even talking, reading in bed with my cat, it’s dawn, it’s sunny. I am so happy.

The car is parked. The parking lot looks so strange, it’s like reality has been altered in some small way and I just can’t for the life of me figure out how. I think it’s the lighting, the ghostly, sick fluorescence radiating from those big metal poles. I scramble out of the car, eager to move, to make my body match the speed of my heart. But I don’t, I just jump up and down because I know they probably aren’t experiencing the night in the same way I am. I hold it in, even though all I want to do is laugh and scream and jump for joy. I just feel so light. We walk, we tell each other about our lives, our problems, our thoughts. My heart slows down and I stop feeling giddy and start feeling content, feeling comfortable. My mind is empty, there is only love left. That’s a nice thing to have at your core isn’t it? Love. I’d like to be all love.

My bed has never been softer, I think I might literally sink down into it, I might even reach the Earth’s core. My blankets feel like a gentle nudge into sleep. Sleep, restful, empty, deep sleep, is the happiest way to end a night. I am so grateful for the nights when my mind doesn’t do gymnastics for hours, tossing me around in the realm of half-conscious dreaming. God, I hate that. Sleep has always been my slight enemy. I wish it wasn’t, but I suppose there are some things you simply can’t change. I don’t think about my night, don’t think about my day. I refuse to analyze my happiness. It is enough. I hope it is always enough. Goodnight.

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Campus Events Hebron’s Human Rights: Inside a Meeting with Steve Wessler

By Emma Skelton ’19 Earlier this fall, many students had the opportunity to meet with Steve Wessler in several different focus groups throughout the day. Mr. Wessler is a speaker and activist who focuses on human rights and advocacy, especially in schools. The group sessions lasted only an hour and consisted of about ten to twelve Hebron students. Each group was tailored to focus on an element of human rights that each student could relate to. I had the chance to be in a group of twelve junior and senior girls focusing on gender divides; however, other groups focused on race, sexuality, and other important topics.

Mr. Wessler started our meeting by taking down our thoughts on gender as a whole at Hebron Academy: whether we thought it was an issue, if we had felt the effects of gender inequality ourselves, how it affects others, and more. Then he asked us to take a stack of notecards and asked us several questions regarding gender, telling us to record our thoughts and stories and give them to him to save. He assured us they were confidential and that he would use our answers to help the school understand ways that they can make our campus safer, specifically regarding gender inequality.

Going into this meeting, I have to confess I was a little nervous. I wasn’t sure how open the other students would be or if we would really get anywhere; I was honestly skeptical that it would be worth my time. I initially felt that I had never felt singled out because of my gender at Hebron so what could I even contribute? But much to my surprise and contentment every single person in the group had something to say during our discussions and each person was also willing to answer the written questions as well. Mr. Wessler is a professional, so he was able to phrase his questions in a way that we knew no judgement was being passed about our answers and it felt like a safe space was created in which everyone could vent the issues they’d seen around school.

Now, this doesn’t seem to bode well for Hebron’s ability to prevent harassment based on gender if everyone could think of a time when derogatory comments had been made toward them or they had witnessed an unhealthy relationship. However, I think just the opposite. Nowhere is perfect. It’s extremely hard to go anywhere without witnessing some sort of inequality (and I don’t think that’s me being too sensitive). But the fact that a group of girls from several different social groups could sit down and discuss issues we see and ways to fix them shows that we’re making a step in the right direction. The fact that the school hired Mr. Wessler in the first place shows that they’re making an effort to change some of the toxic behaviors on campus as well. Mr. Wessler took stories and information on lots of different human rights topics at Hebron, and his next step is to use them to make a training curriculum to educate the faculty and staff on how to make the school a better place to learn, work, and live. Now we’ll have to wait and see if Hebron follows through. !22

Round Square Takes On Ottawa

By Leah Bonis ’19 It was 5:30 on a Thursday morning, and I was packed in between a suitcase and a window, clutching a paper map and wishing more than anything that I was anywhere--preferably asleep--anywhere except for the Hebron Academy transit van. As we trundled our way through national parks and across borders, on our way to the Round Square International Conference in Ottawa, Canada, I finally realized how nervous I really was. I would experience a new country, new family (host family), new roommates and more new experiences all at once. This was my first time independently out of the country and I had never been more terrified. Stepping out of my comfort zone and meeting new people has never been something that makes me feel happy or relaxed, and the fact that I would be sharing a room for a week with a girl that I had never met did not help to calm my nerves.

Whether I liked it or not we were bound to arrive eventually and right as we hit hour eight, we rolled into the Ashbury College parking lot. My heart was about ready to burst out of my chest.

To make matters worse, I was also late for the flag-bearing practice where I was going to be carrying the Hebron flag across the stage during the opening ceremony. I stumbled up the stairs toward the gym, expecting staring eyes and laughing faces at my misfortune and poor time management. However, I received none of these reactions when I finally arrived. This was the first large group of people my own age I had ever been around who had not instantly judged me. The second I fell through the gym doors people were introducing themselves, asking me questions, assuring me that they were late too, and were overall the most welcoming and kind people I had ever met.

This feeling of welcome and kindness was not one that faded over the coming week. The conference was honestly the best event I have ever experienced. From white water rafting with Australians to building fires with Chileans, the week was one I will never forget. Not only was this an environment of freedom and education, but it was one that appreciated and elevated cultures and differences. Not only did I gain a broader understanding of other countries but I was given somewhere that my opinion was relevant, and made friends that I know I will cherish for the rest of my life. !23

School Spirit at Hebron

By Moses Kwon ’19

The spirit week of Hebron Academy visually describes the school spirit of Hebron’s students. Hebron’s greatest strength is its diversity of students from over 25 countries. On the first day of spirit week, students dressed up to represent their culture. Different shades of red, white, blue, yellow, green, black, white, and so many more colors beautifully embroidered our campus.

On our second day, students dressed up as lumberjacks to represent our school’s mascot. Students wearing colorful flannels, some with axes, allowed our school spirit to be imparted to any visitors or parents who visited our campus that day. The remaining days followed as students dressed up in fashion from the 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s, formal dress up, and their class colors, with each class distinctly recognizable in either red, green, blue, or black. The week ended with a pep rally thrown by the proctors which included activities like dodgeball, pie eating, knockout, and donuts-on-a-string, to name a few. The pep rally culminated with the annual presentation of the Spirit Stick to the class which had accumulated the most points

by Mr. Marchetti. 2018’s Spirit Stick Winner was the Senior Class! (as pictured above)

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My Take on Outward Bound

By Jasper Curtis ’22 When Mr. Godomsky announced the three-day Outward Bound trip as the first freshman trip, it caught us all by surprise. Most of us had not been on such an intense camping trip before.

The Outward Bound trip’s purpose was to teach us new experiences, how to work better as a team, and obviously, to bond with our classmates. It took around an hour to get from Hebron Academy to the Outward Bound base camp. Once we arrived, they sorted us into three groups, taught us how to pack our bags, filled up our water bottles, and tossed us into another bus to get to the trails.

The groups had around ten freshmen students each, with one teacher, and two Outward Bound instructors in each group.

The hike up to the campsite was simple, but once we got there was when things started getting serious. They taught us the correct knots in order to set up our tents (which were really just tarps), how to clean our one and only bowl using little to no water, how to clean the water we got from the river, and how we should drink two bottles a day to stay healthy. The instructors kept us optimistic when we got frustrated, and helped guide us through mistakes we made. They were very friendly, but would take the strict leadership role when we weren’t putting in all of our effort. We were all compassionate towards one another, and understood how some kids had more experience than others. The trip was a lot of fun, especially being in a smaller group then with the whole freshman class. I learned a lot about how to sustain yourself and survive in the woods, and I learned things about my friends that took me by surprise, and about other cultures that were different from my own. I recommend an Outward Bound trip, and I’d gladly do another, longer one in the future.

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Poetry My Enter Key Is Not Broken, I Swear

by Alice Dang ’20

I’m sure we have all had days when words don’t really do anything. I’ve had days when words don’t really mean anything. They are just messy letters scattered around on the floor, waiting for a cat to put it in order. Words are a bit like that to me, all I do is watch them mindlessly and have no idea what is going on. These are the times when I run to poetry and seek my comfort within it. At such climax in life I turn to writing poetry and especially listen to them, in hope of finding a solution or an inspiration.

At this point, you might think: “Wow, Alice. I couldn’t care less” but, wait, wait!

You do. You might. I know poetry is basically a person writing with a broken Enter key.

Poetry, in the end, is just words. Why would you overwhelm yourself with words when words don’t even make sense anymore? I could always come to music, which is a huge component in helping me to express myself, but it was not how I express myself. I’ve always known what I write is what I am. So when I’m lost, I tend to find myself in words.

And I hope in one way or another, I could help finding you too.

I often find myself stuck, physically and mentally, and how I deal with it is usually using poetry (except when I’m physically stuck, I’d recommend calling a friend).

When I write things down, it all seems to make sense and come together since I have something to look at in order to evaluate. Using poems, I have created a big spread out image of whatever tangle I had. Going through every line and reading it out loud makes me look at my problems from a good but brutally honest friend’s perspective.

You may meditate and listen to your inner soul in order to find tranquility and your best self, but I throw words together for hours and go back to reorganize them, then suddenly I have a poem. Poetry was not something I have decided to go for, but my ways of expressing somehow merged along the line of poetry and I think I like it very much.

Also, a lot of poetry means that I have completely forgotten how to write critical essays or narrative pieces and whatever I write just sound like poems. You are reading a poem. My Enter key is just broken.

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Meeting with Tracy K. Smith

by Alice Dang ‘20 In the beginning of November, some Hebron students had the chance to attend a talk hosted by Tracy K. Smith about “American Conversations: Celebrating Poems in Rural Communities.” Tracy K. Smith is an American Poet Laureate with many awards given to her collection of books and is now a professor at Princeton University. In her current project, she seeks to speak to small communities about her newest anthology, American Journal: Fifty Poems for Our Time, and discusses the importance of poetry along with how it affects people.

I had the absolute honor to be a part of this event with Gwen, Mrs. Waterman, and Dr. Oakes. It was a shame that I had missed the first part of the talk, but managed to arrive in time for the poetry discussion. The Norway library was filled with people from the elderly to small children, but what I saw there at that moment when I stepped in were sponges. Weird, I know.

They were just so absorbed, and whatever vowel was coming out of Tracy’s mouth, it would sink in like water. I was immediately enticed, my eyes on her and the feeling of newly printed books on my hands as I receive the anthology (which was free by the way--gotta love the swag).

I could smell poetry in the air and I was in love.

We read three poems in total. Three completely different poems and unlike any other I’ve read before, but ones that managed to strike all of us immensely.

They were poems that conveyed a sense of identity or relationships which readers could relate to easily. What intrigued me was the enthusiasm from the audience as Tracy raised a question. Each and every person had a different interpretation and image even though we were all reading the exact same poem. It fascinates me how words can evoke the individuality in all of us so simply. Chances to meet someone like Tracy K. Smith are not common, but to see the residents of Norway being as excited as I was eye-opening. This experience has strengthened my belief in words can truly, beautifully bring people together.

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I Am Told

By Lily Irish ’19 I am told that I need to cover up.

I am told that my body is distracting.

That it is inappropriate.

I am told that I cannot be friends with boys.

That it must be more than platonic.

I am told that that too nice equals too naive.

I am told to wait to leave with my coworkers, to have a girl walk me to my car at night, “just in case.”

I will be told to carry pepper spray on my college campus.

I will be told that boys will be boys, that it’s not meant as disrespect when they look, when they speak.

I am told that a woman is lying after claiming to be a victim of sexual assault.

I am told my emotions are linked to my gender.

That I must be secure but not too secure.

To be cautious for my safety.

I am told to speak up, but am silenced when I do.

I am told.

Are they told these things too?

!28

Refreshed

By Molly Skelton ’21 A cool breeze moves through the air Birds sing for the new day Traffic moves around us, but the campus is still Leaves are falling, things are changing Onto a new season, new day, new me.

As I walk, this past year crinkles underfoot This tree grove is its own world The wind ruffles the leaves, and a song is formed Onto a new season, new day, new me.

It’s cool in the shade without the sun The wood forms a shelter, As their arms reach up into the sky They stop because there isn’t anything to grab hold of Onto a new season, new day, new me.

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The Hebron Review is a student publication, written, edited, and designed by Hebron students.