KA WAI OLA Volume 77 Fall 2023
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Editors’ Note As Editors-in-Chief since our sophomore year, we have had the opportunity to witness the club soar to new heights. After refining the mechanics of the club, as seniors, we can say with confidence that the publication you hold in your hands is a reinvigorated Ka Wai Ola. This issue centers around urbanization and the evolution of human interaction with nature. We hope that we’ve fostered a lasting community of creative and intellectual collaboration. Of course, this would not have been possible without the hard work and dedication of our fabulous team. We would first like to extend a special thank you to our club advisors for their endless support and passion for the Ka Wai Ola community. Our Layout Editor has also been a great asset to the team. Her ability to craft each Ka Wai Ola edition to achieve its fullest potential is an amazing gift. This year, we are fortunate to have been joined by four new Junior Editors who are always willing to give their all to consistently refine this publication. Mentoring them into the realm of this publication has been a great joy, and we are incredibly excited to see where they lead the club in the future. To our wonderful club members, we couldn’t ask for a more intellectually engaging, hardworking, and fun team to work with each week. We appreciate the courage and talent of every student who submitted their work to Ka Wai Ola this semester. We are overjoyed to be able to feature so many of your pieces. This publication would not be possible without your contributions of art and literature, capturing the human experience and the beauty of the world. Finally, thank you to the reader for picking up a copy of the magazine and supporting your peers. We hope you enjoy this edition of Ka Wai Ola.
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Table of Contents Writing Warm
Ash Bu ’25
9
For I Never Knew Something
Iris Xu ’24
15
THE ELEMENTS Like the Promise
Skyly Kwok ’25
11-13
It’s Raining
Ash Bu ’25
19-20
The Earth Beats Too
Asa Shimizu ’26
25-28
Going on a Walk Prison Shell
A Letter to an Old Friend My Summer
To Swim with the Sharks To My Stranger Brainstorm
Familiar Stranger Progeny
Out of Place
Wish You Were Here
Iris Xu ’24
Wes Yamaguchi ’26
Crow Villanueva ’25
Krislyn Ishibashi ’26 Maile Dunn ’27 Anonymous Ash Bu ’25
Gisella Lau Jong ’26 Atropa Choi ’24 Safa Ahmed ’26 Caleb Lee ’25
22
31-32 34-35 38-40 42-44 48-49 56-57 58 63
65-67 69
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Table of Contents Art
Tea by the Window
Haiyi Sun ’24
Cover
Drifting Together
Kenton Chan ’27
14
Haiyi Sun ’24
18
Ring of Fire Alone
Desolation
Eurasian Coot ʻIʻiwi
Study of Grace Hudson’s Waves with Lē’ahi
(Diamond Head), 1901
Christian Haraguchi ’26 10 Kenton Chan ’27 Emma Crago ’24 Emma Crago ’24 Ash Geil ’26
16-17 21 23 24
Makau
KG Pan ’25
29
Metamorphosis
Elizabeth Chee ’26
33
Kazakh Hunting Eagle The Mingling Clouds The Rave
Falling Forward
Aika Middleton ’27 Mira Kubo ’24 Max Chin ’25
Tyf Katsuda ’26
“Me When I Have a Math Test” Haiyi Sun ’24 Tea by the Window
Haiyi Sun ’24
Charcoal of a Woman
Aika Middleton ’27
Petals
Croissant
Silly Little Guys Tahitian Pearls 6 • KWO
Quinn Humber ’27 Shen Kellogg ’25 Chloe Tonda ’26 DJ Fujita ’24
30 36 37 41 45 46 47 50 51 52 53
Table of Contents Art
Teapots
DJ Fujita ’24
54
Christmas Lights
Emma Crago ’24
59
Carnival of the Monsters A Handful of Life
Hands of the Future The Green Light Mid-Morning North Point
we love casting spells Our Alumnus Croissant
Elizabeth Chee ’26 Aya Oda-Osman ’26 Maya Gaudiano ’26 Flora Elham ’25 Chloe Liu ’26
Charles Ye ’26 Anonymous
Mira Kubo ’25 Shen Kellogg
55 60 61 62 64 68 70 71
Back
Cover
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8 • KWO
Warm
Ash Bu ’25 When the embers in our fireplace die out Like fairies racing into the night sky Dancing Nothing warms my heart more than this As dusk pushes blue and dawn fights back Soaring
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Ring of Fire
Digital Photography | Christian Haraguchi ’26
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THE ELEMENTS Skyly Kwok ’25
I am elemental. Like the gods my grandma worships, and the God I stopped believing in a long time ago. I am elemental. Like Water. Like the water that I hate to drink. Every drop, going down like nails. Hard, and painful. The water goes down; like the lies that I tell, and the face that I put on. And for the time that it takes for that water to go down, It still won’t be as long as the showers I take, pondering my thoughts. Water. I am elemental like water. I am elemental. Fire. Fire that is so hot and out of control that it cannot be contained. Fire that is hot, yet can still sometimes get cold. Fire that is so hot that it cannot take an answer as no, so hot that it nearly explodes. A soul of fire in a watery world. Will the water dry up, or will the fire burn cold? I am elemental. I am elemental. Like the ground. No, the Earth. Ground, earth, ground, earth, ground earth. It’s all the same to me. Truthfully, I have never been “grounded”. Not like punishment, and certainly not like a meditator’s goal. I am unstable; not grounded. Ground, earth, ground, earth, ground earth. It invokes fear in me. KWO • 11
All it makes me think of is the day that I will be in it. No matter the trees, and the birds, if I am to die? Though fear is inside, optimism can save the weak and kill the beast inside. So though I am fearful of the day, rather than sit on it, I’m okay. I’m unstable and not like the Earth. Though with the ever-changing landscapes, we may see a change. I am elemental. I am elemental. Like Wind. Wind that carries, and blows. That sings and screams; shifting ever so slightly and making a big change. An unlocked potential, in need of a key. Lucky I am the wind, and the wind is me. Wind, like a good Fall wind. Wind that blows in the Fall, and wind that will pick you up when you fall. A fall. A wind. A wind that will pick you up when you fall. A helping hand, helping the rain move, the trees sing, and the world turn round. Yet sometimes, the wind can get weary. Weary of helping. It instead wants to push and pull - and even sometimes stop. Fortunate that the wind picks up the fallen, but the fall does not matter. The wind does. The wind that tries so hard. The wind that is always there. The wind that deserves to be appreciated and sometimes isn’t. But it will. Because, though an unlocked potential is in need of a key, the wind is the key. So lucky that I am the wind, and the wind is me. I am elemental. 12 • KWO
I am elemental. As free as water, yet water needs a body. As strong as fire, though it’s flames need to be controlled. As un-grounded as ground can be, yet still having so much to offer. And as helpful as wind is, though it can go unappreciated. I am elemental, like the elements that tie the world together. The soul of the Earth, and the light inside of it; with so much to offer. I am elemental.
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Drifting Together
Digital Photography | Kenton Chan ’27
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For I Never Knew Something Like the Promise Iris Xu ’24
The wind howls cold and fearsome, boy, so tighten up your furs and leathers. The whine of the wolves might rival the wind— But no scraggly dog’ll give me a terror! The gods have halted the sun in his path; He presides there, proud, above the eyrie. Our mounts are sturdy, worthy of trust, And you have proved strong enough for the ride. I may be well past my glory, boy, But the snow scares me naught; she is my bride. Onward! For knights do not buckle Under mere feather storms as this. A bit of ice shall prove no struggle; True men would brave this frosted precipice. Upward! We shall scale this mountain, Trek across her wild peaks, The aurochs perch there, and so will we, Though the weather may be bleak. Do not fear, boy, I am with you. I stand tall before your ghost. I have not forgotten my promise, boy. For you I shall do the most.
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Alone
Digital Photography | Kenton Chan ’27 16 • KWO
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Desolation
Oil Paint | Haiyi Sun ’24
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It’s Raining Ash Bu ’25
I chased the little droplets on the thick glass with my pale green eyes Watching them race against the others until they roll off the window Mixing into one, bonding, stopping, bursting, until they escape me Cushioning their world in mystery My hand meets the ice cold barrier to the elements And I lean my forehead against soft vibrations of droplets Like bullets of memories from those old days in the light In the back of my father’s crooked, coughing pickup truck My brother Gabriel would always sit on the right Me to the left, with a pen and some paper Him to the right, on his phone usually Smiling gently, laughing roughly They told me my survival was a miracle The fire and smoke would have killed me If not for the rain Or debris from the front seat would have ripped through me If not for my own father’s body My shield. I curse the day they left me In blinding, miserable, fiery light And as I sit here in muted, hard-earned darkness I’m reminded of when the Pastor sat me down He looked into my eyes, turned blue with the chapel lights He said they had been taken by heaven That the angel Gabriel would bless them forever
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And when he told me to light up that chapel’s candle I blew it out And told him my only angel Gabriel died in a car wreck when he was nine
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Eurasian Coot
Digital Photography | Emma Crago ’24
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Going on a Walk Iris Xu ’24
You were beautiful as the wind, Sparkling as the moon. You were spirited as a rivulet, Soothing as the sun. You were like wind on a day when the leaves don’t rustle, And only sit there somberly, Hanging on to the heavy green silence. You were like the moon on a night where shapes roam the sky, Sheep without legs, bodies without heads, Floating, shifting, and obscuring the light. You were like a rivulet of dirt, twigs, and small scuttling insects, In a forest of broken trust and delusional dreams, So real you could almost see the ghost water flow again. You were like the sun if there were still ten of them, Like sunlight so hot and bright it blinds you, And leaves you cold inside.
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ʻIʻiwi
Digital Photography | Emma Crago ’24
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Study of Grace Hudson’s Waves With Lē’ahi (Diamond Head), 1901 Colored Pencil | Ash Geil ’26
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The Earth Beats Too Asa Shimizu ’26
I was born out of trickery Hooked by Maui, lies told to his brothers To huki, huki, with all their might Breaking through the surface of the moana They see not fish, but me Severed from my reality I was finally free I could breathe I was born I could finally sing Although speech evaded me Lacking company, thoughts locked within But I could sing Melodies that could convey more than speech ever could Harmonies telling of far away places Choruses of my dreams Verses of my solitude I was alone I could sing I was growing bigger each day My molten limbs, exploding orbs of light Inching, creeping, stretching into the endless abyss Flowing, streaming, weaving down my slopes and valleys Reaching out desperately Reaching for something Reaching for someone The abyss freezes my advances I am still lonely I was growing
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I was beautiful A world of life thriving on my back I was a hale My hair grew leaves of green Fruit oozing juices sweeter than a child’s soul My beauty attracting visitors of all shapes and sizes Some came on wings, some on waves, some on wind A beacon of green, shining in a world of emptiness I was beautiful, though no one could see me I was lonely I was beautiful They finally arrived In hallow clouds that glided on the wai They came speaking of far away places A few became a few thousand Building, farming, thriving Centuries of isolation I was beautiful And I would be shrouded by the darkness no longer They had arrived I was at peace I provided for my people They cared for me in return Malama they said, ‘ohana they said Then suddenly, the foreigners appeared A stunning cloud jutting majestically from the horizon This cloud brought pale men, in lavish fashion, armed with fancy sticks My people called them akua I was at peace I would be at peace no longer They came in swarming droves One cloud became two Two clouds became ten 26 • KWO
Ten clouds became a hundred Bringing foreigners, bringing disease, bringing death They chopped down my trees Slaughtered my birds, my fish, my people Songs turned to screams, screams turned to silence, silence turned to tears, tears turned to hatred They came, they took, they left They came in awful clouds They came in droves It was silent once more The foreigners stormed my people Lay siege on my ‘ohana Raised their cloth atop my crown The glorious days were no longer My people had fallen To their ghastly sticks and putrid metal I now presided, a hale for the murderers of my people The tragedy had only just begun It was silent I have become degraded My trees, rotten away My birds, ceased to sing My coral, bleached of color My fish, drowned My streams flow only of oil My body used only for transport My beaches used only for pictures I am degraded I am hideous But I don’t have to be You leave me tarnished Your desire for more, always more, abuses me And in turn, my paucity abuses you For hunger is only ever satisfied when one realizes they were never actually hungry KWO • 27
I am hideous But I don’t have to be I could once sing, I could once grow I was once beautiful I was born out of trickery I am the ‘aina My heart beats too
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Makau
Bone | KG Pan ’25
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Kazakh Hunting Eagle
Colored Pencil | Aika Middleton ’27
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Prison Shell (English and Spanish) Wes Yamaguchi ’26
I am seated here Outside my very nest, While my fellow eggs Dance with interest. ‘Round and ‘round they circle For eternity, Like minnows in a tide pool, A life I can not envy. Yes, I am petrified, But now is the time To free myself and crack This prison shell of mine. Hello regal, avian kings! Now, I can spread my wings And ascend with breeze, But with a glass in hand To catch what was always there Blowing in the wind.
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Estoy sentado aquí Fuera de mi nido, Mientras los huevos allí Bailan con alegría. Pero, siguen en los círculos Por horas infinitivas. Parecen peces en un tazón Y quiero algo más. Sí, me pone miedo, Pero ahora es el memento Para liberarme y romperme La concha que me está cogiendo. ¡Hola otros pájaros! ¡Por fin! Me puedo estirar Las alas y volar Con una copa para llenar Con experiencias Que nunca podía saber.
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Metamorphosis
Digital Art | Elizabeth Chee ’26
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A Letter to an Old Friend Crow Villanueva ’25 Dear S, It has been quite some time, has it not? Though I admit, it is strange that it is you I think to write to of all the friends I have lost over the years, yet here we are. Or, I suppose, here I am, and you’re off somewhere else. If you are still on this earth. I was reminded of you because I made a new friend. I made this friend, in a similar way to how I assume we met. Because, truth be told, so much time has passed that I can no longer remember how our paths first crossed. If I had to guess, I’d say we met in the way we’d met so many other people. Randomly thrown together into a match. Put on the same side of the fight by chance and nothing more. I’d suppose we somehow became acquainted in the aftermath, most likely in victory rather than defeat. I hope I had good manners, so you would have known I was raised right. Unlike the messy, un-behaved people we were probably talking about. I learned so little about you in the time we spent together. All I can recall is that you worked night shifts, which was also when you played this game, and that you came from this place that started with a C. Whether it was California or Canada I could not remember, but for some reason, Toronto comes to mind when I think of you, so maybe that was the truth. This new friend of mine, A, reminded me of the good old times. The dying glory days that I bearly got to be a part of. The fights we won, the laughs we shared, the losses that still felt like victories because they were a burden shared instead of carried alone. I spoke of you to A. Of the battles, we fought side-by-side. How you got me into a new character. Did you know my last highlight was with her? It felt fitting because the one before that was with the first character I ever played, and the last was with the one you taught me. It felt like the perfect bookend to the time I spent in that game. And you were then, and are now, a part of that. 34 • KWO
As much as I miss you, I do not have the means or will to contact you again. The servers on which we now talked now a barren wasteland, the game we played a shadowy husk of its former self, the joy we shared now bittersweet memories tainted by greed and apathy. If only those at the top of the mountain could see how their ignorance affected us; could see that as they lined their pockets with ill-gotten cash we were the ones that paid, figuratively and literally. I met A on a new game, one where the mountains seem less steep, and the people at the top too rich to care about exploiting the likes of us anymore. (Or at least, so I hope.) Just as how I assume we met, A and I were thrown together by fate. A roll of the celestial dice. Just like back then, we fought some, then won some, then got to talking about life. At least this time I know where A lives (And told him to give his governor a good kick in the family jewels for me. I’m pretty sure you would have said the same.) A doesn’t work nightshifts that play games though, they’re just a regular player, staying up to hours worse than we did. Though I suppose I can’t be one to talk; I sleep even less now than I did back then. I hope at least you’re sleeping well. Or at least are not dead. Its odd to think that the memories I have of you may be the only ones that we ever could have. I’m not sure how I feel about that, and I don’t think I ever will. When A and I parted ways for the time being, we exchanged information with each other, something we never got the chance to do before the second game came, and I left for good. I’m sorry I never said goodbye. I think this may be a goodbye, though one long overdue. I wish we had had more time together, or at least, I had valued the time we shared more. I wish that I was not so clouded by anger and grief that I took off without a word. I wish that I had recognized that although I would take no part in their new game (and still won’t now) I still could have taken part in our friendship. Sometimes I wonder where life has taken you. Maybe you are still in that hellhole. Maybe you have gotten out like me. Hopefully, you’re still as nice as I remember you to be, and hopefully, you’re life is full of friends who will actually keep in contact with you even when the chips are down. Hopefully, you’re still a hero, the world always needs more of them. C. KWO • 35
The Mingling Clouds
Digital Photography | Mira Kubo ’24
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The Rave
Digital Photography | Max Chin ’25
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My Summer
Krislyn Ishibashi ’26 A summer in Seoul is not like other summers of sun, sand, and waves, but one of rain, moisture, and misery. It’s monsoon season this July, and Seoul is feeling the brunt of an oncoming storm. Outside my window, the world moves in a daze. Cars move sluggishly, and people keep blinking wearily. Why am I here, their faces seem to ask. Dull, damp days will pass by for another month. Luckily I’ll be long gone by then. I stand up my suitcase, and stop to look around the house. Once full of life, the house is now empty and dull. The stove is where I have cooked many meals with Halmeoni, my grandma. I’ve gone from watching to helping to cooking meals. She couldn’t be more proud. I haven’t seen Halmeoni in so many months. Soon, I will see her again. With my suitcase in hand, I walk out of the house for the last time. The inside of the airport is almost blinding, with sparkling walls and hordes of people. I pause, starting to feel anxious. This is the first time we’ve left Seoul in 17 years. We were too grateful to make it here alive. My family is not the richest. Ever since moving to Seoul, Halmeoni has single handedly made us a living, sometimes working six jobs at a time. She tried so hard to take care of us, but it still wasn’t enough. Money was limited, and life was difficult. 38 • KWO
Gomo, my younger aunty, set out to find work, and by luck, traveled to Hawaii multiple times. She loved O‘ahu in particular, and decided to move there. Luckily, America had just started allowing average Asian citizens into America, in an act known as the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. When Gomo broke the news to us, we were devastated, thinking we’d lose her. Gomo hesitated, then added, “You guys can come too. If you want.” Some families may be okay with living far apart from each other, but not our family. We’ve stayed together ever since we arrived. After struggling to navigate the airport, I finally board the plane. I am enraptured as the plane starts to move. What if my family could have escaped like this? In the beginning of 1950, the Korean War had not yet begun. The North Korean ruler at the time, Kim Il Sung, was still establishing his rule. He believed that by eradicating any traces of previous authority, he would become the only existing power. My grandfather, Harabeoji, had worked for the previous government, which made him a target of Kim Il Sung’s rage. Harabeoji, and his family, needed to escape, and fast. Somehow, he found a path out of North Korea. Under the cover of night, a group of refugees ran for their lives. They had almost made it to shore when Halmeoni suddenly stopped. Running back to a nearby ditch, she peered over the edge with horror. Harabeoji had fallen in, and he was injured. Badly. My family escaped on a boat to South Korea, but Harabeoji sadly passed away a few hours later. Yet Halmeoni stayed brave, singing lullabies, shushing my cries. Though I didn’t know it then, she saved KWO • 39
my life. Many of the refugees were willing to toss me off the boat to survive. I was born in North Korea, but it was never, ever my home. The plane takes off, and I must have let out a loud gasp, for the flight attendant comes over. She says something to me in English, and I look at her blankly. After a few moments, the flight attendant continues down the aisle. I stare at the deep blue ocean. There are so many islands, and I feel exhilarated as I realize how high up I am. At last, the plane slumps to a stop. The flight attendant from before walks down the aisle, and people slowly start to get up. I step out of the plane, legs shaking. My family is there to greet me when I get off the plane, legs shaking. I first hug Halmeoni, smelling her familiar warm scent. She holds me out at arms’ length and examines me, her lips pursed. My brave, brave Halmeoni says, “When did you get so pretty?” Laughing, I hold her tighter. She smiles, stroking my hair. I look outside the window, see the sun, sand, and waves waiting for me. I’m ready to claim my summer and my new life.
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Falling Forward
Digital Art | Tyf Katsuda ’26
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To Swim with the Sharks Maile Dunn ’27
Fields swarm. And hallways crowd by the hundreds. I am a single grain of sand on a shoreline, never-ending. My plodding footsteps follow me like a muddy fever. My bag weighs my whole body down. I rub the thinning skin around my raisin-like eyes. “This is the time of your life.” Really? Hm. My skin is breaking out once again, I notice. “Aren’t you just in high school?” Yes, and that is where the work begins. Five hours of sleep that night. Four hours the next. Three hours. Finally! All of my assignments- finished. Nothing to do, might as well start a new project. Join a new club. Get ahead. Get ahead. Get ahead. I get to school, go to the bathroom, put on makeup to cover my eyebags. Because I am tired, yes. Very tired. A girl walks in the bathroom and looks at me. I try to smile, and she smiles back. I guess my concealer does its job. The next morning, my hands shake when I apply my mascara, and I get a fat clump on my left eyelid. I feel like punching the wall. Or crying. In my next class, I get handed back my test. 86%. No. I toiled for an A. Am I failing? “High school is exciting!” Well, hear it from me. High school sucks. 42 • KWO
Hear ye! Hear ye! All those kids who walk slowly to school, who hang their heads, who act like everything is fine when it's clearly not, who smile often. We’ve all been tossed into a violent sea, but less than half of us know how to swim! The rest are left for the sharks. The sharks. But what might they be? The arrogant kids. The uncompromising teachers. School itself. My imminent departure for college from the only home I’ve ever known? Yes. My future won’t be like this. But I really don’t know. Don’t know about life, sleep, or about geometry, apparently. I hope things will get better. Maybe I will go outside tomorrow, look at the sky like it is peace— resilient and powerful in its delicate nature. I will step warily into a patch of grass- luscious and vivid and brilliantgazing up with unconquerable admiration. And I will wallow in this sight scarcely seen by kids my age, who crane over desperately, eyes glued to the artificial suncold rigid superficial and covered in our greasy fingerprints. I think: Perhaps I will notice more.
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I get to school the next day—seven hours of sleep. I didn’t check everything off my list. But I think it was worth it. “I am so tired,” says the stranger next to me. “Me, too,” I share. Then we look at each other, content, and blink softly. And, I think things will get better. For those learning to swim with the sharks.
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Me When I Have a Math Test Oil Paint | Haiyi Sun ’24
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Tea by the Window Oil Paint | Haiyi Sun ’24
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Petals
Oil Paint | Quinn Humber ’27
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To My Stranger Anonymous
If I’m being honest (like you always requested I’d be)… Every time I write, I end up writing about you. Even if your name isn’t mentioned, it’s always you. It’s you in the lines about love It’s you in the lines about hate It’s you in the lines about sobbing lullabies each night It’s you in the lines about the first thoughts of the day It’s you in the lines about feeling most safe It’s you in the lines about feeling deathly afraid It’s you in the lines about silent, unnoticed tears It’s you in the lines about the full-body tremors It’s you in the lines about “Why self-hatred?” It’s you in the lines about why loving myself might be within reach It’s you in the lines about hideous cries and cheek-painful laughs It’s you in the lines, in between the lines, and behind the lines It’s you everywhere and in everything, And perhaps that’s because you were my everything. But I need to let go, now; The hope, our future, you… However, I simply can’t. I don’t know how, And I don’t think I even really want to. Do you know what that’s like? It’s like how I look for you every second, in every sight I see It’s like how I think about you every second I exist, since the one I met you It’s like how I want you there in the good so we can celebrate together It’s like how I need you in the bad since just your presence comforts me It’s like how I can’t have time to think because I’ll end up thinking about you
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It’s like how I cry every time I think about you, so I’m consistently crying It’s like how I see you in every piece of art because you, yourself, are art It’s like how I hear you through it all; The angel on my shoulder It’s like how I feel you in life because without you living is futile It’s like how I feel you in death because you’re all that can save me. It’s like how my left hand is holding on, gripping so tight... And the right is pulling, begging the left to let go I’ll end up breaking my own hand if it’ll let me let go. I sincerely don’t want to be okay without you. But I think I might be getting there, So I’m here to bid you adieu: Goodbye, I love you, And Thank you. A hui hou! :) Because I believe one day we will, it’s simply fate. And you’ll likely never read this, but if you do... Don’t continue on as My Stranger; Say hi?
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Charcoal of a Woman
Charcoal | Aika Middleton ’27
50 • KWO
Croissant
Acrylic on Canvas | Shen Kellogg ’25
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Silly Little Guys
Ceramics | Chloe Tonda ’26
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Tahitian Pearls
Ceramics | DJ Fujita ’24
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Teapots
Ceramics | DJ Fujita ’24
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Carnival of the Monsters
Graphite | Elizabeth Chee ’26
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Brainstorm Ash Bu ’25
Are there flutes in jazz music? I wanna write a romance novel! What is the neurochemical process of falling in love? What even is love? What’s that smell? It reminds me of that Korean ginseng I bought at the airport in 2017 Where’s my phone? I should get an associate’s degree in political philosophy! Is that even a real degree? I should do some research why can’t i lift a finger off my phone and do anything Oh, there it is. Maybe I should start making jam… I can sell the jars, like Monica from F.R.I.E.N.D.S.! I’ll be rich! i want to do so much with my life why am i not working why can’t i work why can’t i Those birds are so pretty… Where’s my math homework? If there are colors humans can’t see, are there sounds we can’t hear? The smell might just be the apricot pit I forgot to throw away on Thursday… What kind of legal protections do animals have in Kazakhstan? I wanna write a symphony! God, those birds are really annoying me now… why won’t i stop why can’t i stop i want peace i want quiet i want i am madness incarnate, i am an insufferable brain in a ceaseless fury of aimless thoughts i tread wondering if i’ll do any of the things i’ve set indulging in disarray and bringing about my own pain
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But every now and then, the storm might clear And the sunlight shyly pokes me on the top of my head Whispers of art and music I revere Lay out before me in a joyous, chaotic spread Ah, so there are flutes in jazz!
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Familiar Stranger Gisella Lau Jong ’26
Sometimes at night, I stare through the glass, Gazing ahead but I just see the past; Before me, a stranger With short, thick, black hair; I think that I know her But I don’t know from where; Her eyes sparkle like moonlight, Filled with content; Radiant with charm, Weightless without regret; A blossoming flower And shining star– I pull away from the glass because I know who I see; Peering into the mirror, Before me, a ghost Of the girl that used to be me Staring back, Idly; A twinge of remorse floods my brain silently, Knowing the world killed her, But knowing life must go on; No matter how I hard I try I know she’ll never revive, So I kissed her goodbye And then carried on.
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Christmas Lights
Digital Photography | Emma Crago ’24
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A Handful of Life
Colored Pencil | Aya Oda-Osman ’26
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Hands of the Future
Mixed Media | Maya Gaudiano ’26
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The Green Light
Digital Art | Flora Elham ’25
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Progeny
Atropa Choi ’24 The boy in the picture with a hard, blank stare looks beyond the camera, and to whom, I know. The boy in the picture, with a theme-park outfit. Once I sat where he sits, wore what he wears. The boy in the picture, button-nosed with sleepy eyes, though with eyebrows thinner than mine– I’ve seen the ghost of his contour, or, a prophecy, in my own baby photos, and as I peer into a mirror. Half-brother; blood-kin; counterpart by name. Though that couldn’t mean much more than a confusing, quiet heartache. Did he leave your young mother heavy and abandoned? Will the old man struggle into your bedroom, drunk and begging for a child’s forgiveness? We’ll meet one day like doppelgängers, halves shared, progeny of the same rotten seed.
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Mid-Morning
Digital Photography | Chloe Liu ’26
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Out of Place Safa Ahmed ’26
Everyone stares at you, not necessarily in a bad way, But those knives still get you feeling blue. All you want to ask is “What did I do?” You are the singular dot on the whitest sheet. You are the bird alone on a wire across the street. You are the rotten tomato who could have been really sweet. You are the trigger people see while scurrying on the concrete. People usually stare because they like something that they see; To be liked and admired is all everyone wants to be. However, you are not some ghee buttered toast with tea. You are not a sunset flowered, green, magnificent tree. “Your face is out of place and I can’t make you out,” said Alex G. It’s clear he’s right because you always stand in chains waiting to be set free. Everyone thinks you’re odd, not because of your awful social skills; All those knives care about is that you’re hiding under long sleeves. All you want to ask is, “What’s wrong with what I believe?” You are a hooded stranger whose hood is not attached to your jacket, And everyone just places you in the barbaric bracket. The hand that holds a knife doesn’t have to make a motion; A knife just pointed at you is the thing that brings out your motions. Covered from head to toe, you always think everyone sees you as the foe, That they only see you with a cross bow and it gets you feeling so low. Maybe not everyone, but somebody clearly did going back to 2017, When you and the rest were banned live on the big screen. Oh how it must have felt for them to see that the United States closed its gates. You’re really nice if only they just wait; instead you get a bad review KWO • 65
at an alarming rate. Everyone singles you out, which makes you internally pout. When your teacher asks what language you speak at home, The fact she assumes pushes you to go on and write this poem. Are my genes and race supposed to say what goes on in my place? When another asks you about this soccer player from the Middle East, Why does he expect you not to know the least? Do my covers mean that I have it all discovered? They all mean well, but you still get a shark bite from their specific questions. You seem to differ from everyone else no matter their intentions. Thoughts cloud your mind, just when you thought you put it behind, they remind. The power that hands with knives hold as they push you until you’re confined, Power to shape what you think, and force you to be diffident about your displacement. Your dad says you look magnificent, but all you can see in the mirror is somebody different. Everyone sees you stand out from the rest, which isn’t always the best. Monday through Friday you go to school where you’re far from the most. Out in public you’re a visible ghost; they fix on you like you’re the coast. Are you so out of place that people can recognize you from afar? Walking across the yard, the knives close in on you, and your religion feels like a mar. What you listen to every day has clearly gotten into your head. Sometimes I truly wonder what it would be like if my sleeves were shed.
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Millions of people surround you, but you still feel like you are in space So kind and you wish everyone would see you topped with glacé. Why does everyone think you have a giant mace? It seems like there is nobody else of your race. Everyone shows more than just their face. You are so out of place.
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North Point
Digital Photography | Charles Ye ’26
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Wish You Were Here Caleb Lee ’25
Orange soda flares— classroom volcanoes somewhere in the distant night Distant and thus distorted: to pinpoint is to graph where (the colors bleed into one, bleed into one) It’s American Typewriter scent on (weeping-guitar)-white crisp —or hasn’t it yellowed yet—? with over-spoken statements still spilling off into the four corners of a free, infinite, freshly-powdered valley. …What use is it to be free, but retrace the steps back to that same crooked tree branch? Is it liberating to forever spin by on each groove of the dusty track? (What was that you tried to say?) I walked to an old park bench and I …pedaled… up mountainsides to the peak of that swing When your watch ticked in time, by then it was recognized as only a grainy reprise (It was twenty years ago today), a retelling by the bear’s head on the wall; glassy-eyed, blissfully bound so that I could not help it I withered into a grain in your hourglass I tilted off a log that turned into a tightrope and tumbled way back down with just a ripple into the serenely-sparkling creek. (And when I go there, I go there with you It’s all I can do)
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We Love Casting Spells Graphite | Anonymous
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Our Alumnus
Graphite | Mira Kubo ’24
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Writers’ Statements Ash Bu ’25, Warm (9) I talk too much. So, I challenged myself with this piece to create a real emotion in as few words as possible. Ash Bu ’25, It’s Raining (19-20) This piece is entirely fictitious; I never had a brother named Gabriel who died young. But the message of this piece stands that constantly looking on the bright side and pointing out positives can be demeaning toward those who are suffering. We are allowed to be sad. We are allowed to acknowledge the bad in the world. I believe that having the ability to recognize and process real emotions is infinitely more important that coming up with excuses to be happy about tragic things. When the rain comes, let it rain. But you don’t have to dance if you don’t want to. Asa Shimizu ’26, The Earth Beats Too (25-28) I wrote this piece for my GSD class following our many studies on the current status of our Hawaiian home. I was shocked to learn about the damage we have caused to quite possibly the most beautiful environment that planet Earth has to offer. The gentrification of a land that was wrestled out of the caring hands of the Native Hawaiians sparked the idea for this poem. Written from the perspective of the Hawaiian islands over their lifespan, this poem hopes to influence readers to care for their land as they would a person. Wes Yamaguchi ’26, Prison Shell (31-32) This poem was a result of me becoming lost in the process of writing. From the first few words to the final line, everything became a blur as I let myself lose control. My thoughts poured out of me unfiltered, and as a result, the original version of this poem was written in Spanish. This poem represents how my culture influences me and talks about the struggles I had with becoming more extroverted.
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Crow Villanueva ’25, A Letter to an Old Friend (34-35) This is not a work of fiction. While I intentionally kept it obscure in the letter, this is a message to someone I met over the game Overwatch, before some (putting it politely) poor buisness decisions were made by the company that makes it, resulting in my leaving the game. In doing so, I left all the friends I had made playing that game. This letter is to one of them, whose in-game name was “Sloomp” (their name was purposefully shortened in the letter for the sake of tone) and who I have not spoken to since. In writing this piece, I wanted to attempt a different style than I usually do, purposefully creating it both in formating and syntax to be more casual, conversational, and letter-like. I wanted to keep the connection to Overwatch subtle throughout the letter, but made room for one concession at the end in referencing the line “The world always needs more heroes” that was common during the time I played the game. Krislyn Ishibashi ’26, My Summer (38-40) This story is written from the perspective of my grandma when she was moving to Hawaii. I wrote this piece for an assignment in my GSD: Asian Studies class. Throughout the writing process, I interviewed my grandma, and researched more about the history behind events that take place in this story. This story is dedicated to my grandma, and her grandma. Maile Dunn ’27, To Swim with the Sharks (42-44) I wrote this piece in dedication to all of my fellow peers, and the entirety of the high-school community. I entered the original version into a recent contest, where the prompt was to write about what high school is like in 2023. This past year, I have felt shoved and tossed around, flailing from class to class, in constant action as I go from club meetings to sports activities. It is hard being a teenager. The weight of everything—college, social groups, grades, and athletics—it’s heavy on my back. I want others to know that they are not alone in this. They are not failing. We can learn to swim with the sharks together. Side note: some of the situations in this piece have been exaggerated to convey greater impact. KWO • 73
Ash Bu ’25, Brainstorm 56-57) This piece is a sort of top-down representation of my experiences with ADHD. Nearly every line is based on a rabbit hole that has stolen hours out of my life—being neurodiverse is incredibly tiring sometimes. But I didn’t want to make my life seem hopeless because of my disorder, and I do believe that it is possible to separate the disorder from the person and learn to live within the mess. This is my attempt to turn the unwanted chaos into something more useful. Safa Ahmed ’26, Out of Place (65-67) I originally wrote this piece for an English class this year, but I chose to write about my experience as a Middle Eastern Muslim because my identity is important to me. As the only person who wears a hijab in Punahou or at least in the Academy, I thought it was crucial for me to express how I feel every day. This poem highlights how I feel out of place in Hawaii. No matter where I am, in public or school, there is always going to be somebody staring at me because I’m different from them. I stand out everywhere. With this poem, I intended to express my feelings of feeling alone, thinking everyone just sees me as a bad person, and feeling as if my religion is a blemish. My experience as a minority just felt important to share so I hope somebody can understand me more from this poem. Caleb Lee ’25, Wish You Were Here (69) This poem is about dementia. It’s about trying to recall memories, and about getting stuck in that sphere where you don’t know if something is happening right now or if it happened decades ago. Music, especially older music, is a main theme because of its powerful positive effect on dementia patients; the parts in parentheses are references to songs by U2, the Beatles, and Radiohead. Hopefully this piece brings out the best of your imagination and makes you think back to what many people can’t.
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Artists’ Statements Emma Crago ’24, ʻIʻiwi (23) This photo was a product of waiting hours for a bird to come out of hiding. The ʻiʻiwi is only found on Hawaiʻi Island, and I had yet to get a good photo of it. I had been hiking for around an hour and a half when I heard its call, mere feet from me. When I peeked through the brush, I saw it staring at me. As it called again, I lifted my camera and took the shot. Moments later, it flew off. Ash Geil ’26, Study of Grace Hudson’s Waves with Lē’ahi (Diamond Head), 1901 (24) I took a trip to the Honolulu Museum of Art with my teacher and students from my art class. We were assigned the task of picking a piece and re-creating it using colored pencils. After lots of browsing, I sat down in front of Grace Hudson’s painting of Diamond Head, which drew me in with the contrast of the warm mountains surrounded by the cool sea and sky. This piece, over two classes, took me about 2-3 hours to make and refine. KG Pan ’25, Makau (29) Makau means fishhook in Hawaiian. Last semester, I took Ke Kalai Iwi, a class on Hawaiian bone carving. This fishhook lei was my final project. I designed my hook with an inner and outer barb, because of the resemblance to the manō, or shark. The bone I used is from a cow shin. I used a drill press and band saw to rough out the shape, then a file to do most of the cutting down, and then I wet sanded to polish. The cord is made from a four-strand braid, and the dowel is made from a scrap piece of bone. Aika Middleton ’27, Kazakh Hunting Eagle (30) This is a drawing portraying the magnificent Golden Eagle. In the western Mongolian plains, nomadic Kazakh eagle hunters dominate the land. Eagle hunting is a Kazakh tradition where hunters use trained golden eagles to help them hunt small mammals. I was born in Kazakhstan and am proud to be of Kazakh ethnicity. I wanted to portray this elegant and beautiful tradition through art. In the drawing, the eagle can be seen wearing the classic leather headpiece, and I added a contrasting Viola
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Northern Lights flower. My hope is to encapsulate the power of this majestic bird, along with the Kazakh eagle-hunting-tradition. Mira Kubo ’24, The Mingling Clouds (36) I was going for a walk at Ala Moana beach, and I noticed how really odd and striking the clouds were, so I decided to take some panoramic pictures. I really liked how this one came out! Tyf Katsuda ’26, Falling Forward (41) This piece is meant to represent my character’s struggle with memory, and the stages of discovery he goes through. The inspiration for the composition was how your life flashes before your eyes, and I used that to show the different key moments that would occur throughout the story. Aika Middleton ’27, Charcoal of a Woman (50) My charcoal artwork portrays a real woman on an average day. Sometimes, the ordinary is more interesting. Shen Kellogg ’25, Croissant (51) quaso Chloe Tonda ’26, Silly Little Guys (52) I made a bunch of jewelry dishes for my friends of their favorite animals :) Aya Oda-Osman ’26, A Handful of Life (60) “A Handful of Life” is a piece created to portray how humanity holds marine life in its hands and to represent how United Nations Sustainable Development Goal (UN SDG) #14 is a pressing issue in our communities. Plastic pollution is caused entirely by human activity, which is slowly killing off sea life. I drew a self-portrait with my hands holding indigenous species. This shows how I can make an impact to either contribute to or solve the problem of plastic pollution. Maya Gaudiano ’26, Hands of the Future (61) “Hands of the Future,” created both with traditional and digital art, is a representation of food waste and management in our Punahou and our island communities. In the background, I used pictures of trash cans over campus to create a collage of the waste that our school has created. This KWO • 77
waste is mainly food and single use wrappers and utensils from the school cafeteria. I chose the foreground to contain local fruits (‘ulu, dragonfruit, and liliko‘i) to represent how our future can be if we choose to consume sustainably and locally grown foods. Lastly, the hands and bowl are a black and white sketch, showing how we are working towards a more sustainable future while the background is fully colored, showing how the present day is fully formed, yet unsustainable and damaging to our environment. Flora Elham ’25, The Green Light (62) This piece originated as a final project on the The Great Gatsby for my Jazz Age class. Those who have read and analyzed the book most likely know about the incredibly multilayered nature of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s writing, especially in Gatsby. I personally adore the book and wanted to create a piece that encapsulated a multilayered meaning surrounding a main thematic point in the book--kind of like Fitzgerald did when he wrote Gatsby. I don’t want to spoil the magic of discovering the special parts of the book, so I won’t delve too much into detail behind the actual artistic choices I made while putting the piece together; however, I do want to say that the green light is a major thematic point in the book, which is why I used it as the centerpiece for my drawing. You won’t see the green light in the digital version; however, in real life I actually used a small physical green light and attached it on my piece directly under Daisy (the blonde person to the far right). However, since it was hard to get a clear photo that way, I decided to submit the original digital version. Also, hello to all the Jazz Age folks who saw my presentation of this project in class. :) Chloe Liu ’26, Mid-Morning (64) By my hotel, there was a roadway that had an unexpected view. The roadway was packed with regular businesses, shops, and vending machines on the side, but in the middle stood the Tokyo Tower with such peace and power. It was the mid-morning when I took this. The sky was still and calm. The shops were just starting to open, but there stood the Tokyo Tower wide awake and ready to welcome people from all around the world.
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Charles Ye ’26, North Point (68) This picture was taken at North Point, a large residential area in Hong Kong. Behind a giant shopping mall, next to jewelry shops and law firms, there was a wet market. Hong Kong is a unique city, a fusion of West and East, tradition and modernity. It never feels cold or distant despite it being technologically advanced. It retained the humanity and the vibrancy of life between its Fortune 500 companies and high-brow art museums. The photo captured a small moment, a glimpse of life amid a modern city. Anonymous, We Love Casting Spells (70) who did this Mira Kubo ’24, Our Alumnus (71) I really like drawing portraits of people, and I chose to draw President Obama for Ka Wai Ola because he is one of our most iconic alumni.
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Editorial Staff Baguettes Editors-in-Chief Writing & Management
Mika Hiroi ’24
Art & Administration
Ava Pakravan ’24
Layout Editor
Grace H. Chang ’24
Madeleines Junior Editors
Éclairs Advisors
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Ash Bu ’25 Caleb Lee ’25 Crow Villanueva ’25 KG Pan ’25 Jill Sprott Mark Pangilinan
Macaróns Staffers
Benjamin Watanabe ’26 Claire Kitsutani ’26 DT Alam ‘25 Ella Alexander ’25 Greg Lippert ’26 Irene Zhong ’24 Isabella Liu ‘26 Jocelyne Kanaprach ’26 Jovie Okamoto ’25 Krislyn Ishibashi ’26 Maile Dunn ’27 Moxie Gatbonton ‘25 Nicholas Flores ’26 Tiffany Katsuda ’26 Tyf Katsuda ’26
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Ka Wai Ola seeks to showcase original visual and literary artwork from the Punahou community that displays knowledge of craft and impactful artistic intent. KWO celebrates the artistic gifts and talents of Punahou’s students, offering an authentic space for storytelling, expression, learning, and sharing beyond the classroom. Would you like to see your art or writing published in the upcoming issue? Check out our website at kawaiola.punahou.edu for information on submitting.
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