GateWay Creative Writing 2026

GateWay Spring 2026 Creative Writing

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Table of Contents SUMMARY..............................................................................................................................4 Fiction.....................................................................................................................................5 The Rule.............................................................................................................................................6 The World City.................................................................................................................................10

Nonfiction.............................................................................................................................15 Mind Over Matter............................................................................................................................16 Piece by Piece..................................................................................................................................18 The One and Only New York City......................................................................................................20

International Memoir............................................................................................................24 Eres Mujer........................................................................................................................................25 Next Stop.........................................................................................................................................29

Poetry...................................................................................................................................31 Why Must I Rot While I Ripen?.........................................................................................................32 loose sonnet: moonlight...................................................................................................................35 A Song of Sound...............................................................................................................................36 The Withering Sun............................................................................................................................37 The Women Behind The Smile..........................................................................................................39 Guatemala.......................................................................................................................................40

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SUMMARY The end of the academic year culminates with GateWay's Spring '26 Creative Writing Contest, open to all students currently enrolled in for-credit coursework at GateWay. The contest recognizes exceptional student writing in the categories of poetry, fiction, nonfiction, and international memoir.

The international memoir category is relatively new, designed for students to tell a story centered around the truth of an experience existing, living, and/or traveling in an international space (for example, topics might include learning a language or experiencing a new culture).

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Fiction First Place: The Rule, by Gael Tellez Second Place: The World City, by Jodi Joya-Clark

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The Rule Gael Tellez Of all the things the Professor had taught me, the most valuable, the most devastating, is the one rule: people do not change what they believe; they only find new ways to justify it.

I was a fourteen-year-old boy the day I learned about the rule. My family had been dealing with the incarceration of my father for three months. It was Tuesday when an officer came and informed us. My mother cried for hours, not out of love, but out of rage. She had been left with his debts and was left alone with a son she hates and a six-month-old son who had been diagnosed with a very rare disease. And a very expensive one. I cried too. Not in front of her. I locked myself away, alone in my room, with the collection of DVDs that he left me as my only inheritance.

Ninety-three sleepless nights later, the Professor appeared in our lives. How, I won't write here.

Let's just say that necessity works in mysterious ways, and that one rainy afternoon I found myself at his door. The building is old but well-kept, on one of those streets where the lobbies don't have a doorman, just a hidden intercom. I ring the bell on the number I have written in pen on my arm, protected under my sweater sleeve. The rest of me is soaked by the rain, which had caught me without an umbrella.

The door opens without anyone asking who I am. I climb the stairs slowly, every step closer toward something I don't entirely understand. On the third floor, a half-open door awaits me. I take a deep breath and go in. The apartment smells of wood, old books, and that indefinable scent only found in places where time seems to stand still. A floor lamp casts a warm light over an elegant living room. I wasn’t afraid when I entered that living room. I should have been. I wish I had been.

He is standing by the window, watching the rain hit the glass. The Professor. A man of medium height, neatly combed black hair with silver streaks, and a posture that inspires confidence more than arrogance. He holds on to a crutch onto which he drops the weight of his right leg.

He turns to me with a half-smile that never quite reaches his green eyes. I take a step toward him, but he stops me with a gesture. He points to an armchair. "Sit down. You're soaked."

I obey, leaving a small puddle on the wooden floor. I feel clumsy, out of place in this refined room. The Professor limps over to a small table and pours something into a small glass.

"Drink," he offers. "It will warm you up."

"I don't drink alcohol."

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He scoffs. "It's tea. With lemon and honey."

I take the glass with trembling hands and take a sip. The heat spreads comfortably down my throat.

"Do you know why you are here?" he asks, sitting across from me.

I hesitate. There are so many possible answers. Out of desperation. Out of curiosity. Because I have nowhere else to go. He doesn't wait for me to explain myself.

"Do you know why you are here?" he asks again, more slowly.

"For my brother," I say immediately. "Because he needs treatment we can't pay for."

The Professor nods, as if my answer were obvious. "And what are you willing to do for him?"

His question floats in the air for a moment. “Whatever it takes," I replied, and at that moment I meant it.

His eyes lock onto mine, evaluating me, searching for a lie or a doubt. He finds nothing. "Then you will need to learn," he finally says. "Learn how the world works. Not how you've been told it works, but how it really is."

He stands up and takes his crutch again. With some effort, he walks to a small wooden secretary desk. He picks up a polished wooden box and places it on the table between us. Inside is an antique deck of cards.

"People are predictable" he says while shuffling the cards. "Everyone thinks they are unique, special. But the truth is, most are as rigid as the rules of a card game." He spreads three cards face down on the table. "Do you want to know why?" he asks, though he doesn't expect an answer. "Because people don't act based on reality, but on what they believe is real. And most importantly: once they believe something, they will do everything possible to maintain that belief, even if the evidence says otherwise."

He turns over the first card. A King of Hearts.

"This is the man who believes his wife is faithful to him," he explains. "Even if she arrives late every night, even if she smells of an unfamiliar perfume, even if he finds suspicious messages on her phone. Do you know what he will do?"

I shake my head, hypnotized by his smooth voice, by the cadence of his words.

"He will say she is working late, that the perfume is from a female coworker, that the messages are misunderstandings. Because changing his belief is too painful. He prefers the comfortable lie to the truth that destroys his world."

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He turns over the second card. A Queen of Spades.

"This is the woman who believes her boss values her," he continues. "Even if he ignores her in meetings, even if he denies her promotions, even if he hires less qualified people above her.

What will she do?"

This time I try to answer: "Look for another job?"

The Professor slowly shakes his head. "No. She will say that her boss is busy, that the promotions will come with time, that the other employees have connections she doesn't have.

Because admitting that they don't value her would mean questioning her own worth. And that is something very few are willing to do."

He turns over the third card. An Ace of Spades.

"And this one," he says, lowering his voice as if he was sharing a secret, "is the criminal who believes he is smarter than the system. Every time he is caught, he doesn't think 'I should quit.'

He thinks 'next time I'll be more careful.'"

A shiver runs down my spine. I can't help but remember my father, in prison, of all the times he had promised that 'this time it would be different.'

"This is the one rule of human nature” the Professor states, gathering the cards. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I think so." And it was true.

"No one, ever, changes what they believe. They only find new ways to justify it."

"But then..." my voice sounds small in that room, "we are trapped..."

The Professor smiles, but it is a sad smile, that of someone who knows a sad truth they must share.

"Freedom, is not about having no beliefs. It is about understanding the beliefs of others and using them. When you understand that people see what they want to see, you can give them exactly that. You can become what they need you to be."

He puts the cards back in the box with his thin, bony fingers. "That is what I'm going to teach you. To be whoever you need to be, when you need to be it. To read people the way I read these cards, to anticipate their moves, to give them the story they want to believe."

“I don't understand why I have to..."

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He silences me by raising a single finger. “You are going to live a great life; one you weren't meant to have." He shakes his head a little, as if he were struggling to concentrate. He was a little drunk, I think. Not much. Just enough to overcome his doubts.

"And is all this going to help my brother?" I ask, because in the end, that was the only thing that mattered.

"You will earn more money than you could ever dream of," he answers. "But it will cost you..."

“How much?"

His green eyes look at me for a moment and then look away. I think he felt ashamed of what he was going to do with me. I wish I had run away. Instead, I just wait. I needed to know the price.

"The illusion that there is a single truth. The comfort of always being the same person. The security of unwavering convictions."

I swallow hard. Something inside me twisted, as if my soul knew I was about to make a deal with a devil.

"And in return?"

“You will survive," he says simply. "And more importantly, so will your brother."

That afternoon, under the relentless rain, I made my choice. It wasn't heroic or tragic. It was necessary, like breathing, like eating. If I had started to know, I needed to know everything.

"So, when do I start?”

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The World City Jodi Joya-Clark Gloria wakes up in a dark tunnel. With no other way out, she walks toward the bright light.

She then finds herself in a land of endless flora, a sight that could take one’s breath away! Roses and Lavenders of pink, yellow, blue and purple decorating the landmarks. A pink carousel with life-sized horses. Big butterflies flutter around large, blue teacups. A winter-crystal ballerina twirling with purple bouquets on her music box. Giant buttercups and daffodils attract giant bees and hummingbirds. Pavilions decorated with big roses of all light colors.

The sight really took her breath away… that is, until a group of men marched into the scene and started draining magic from the flowers, causing them to lose their beautiful color! Gloria stressfully asked one of the guards why they were draining the garden of its beauty, but she was instantly scooped up and taken to one of their trucks, accused of being an outsider! All the poor girl could do was watch as the sight of the decaying garden became further and further away…

There was a puffball-like creature in the truck with her. She looked like she resembled a fluffy unicorn. She noticed the girl and explained that a greedy man in a place called, the World City had ordered the taking of all unique resources from various lands beyond his own. Gloria was determined to stop this madman. As a gesture, she gives the unicorn a name: Fuchsia. Since she does not have one.

The little unicorn decided to share her own past life—she was a little princess who was enslaved by a wicked mistress who treated her very harshly after her family died, leaving her a pauper.

She admitted she was not mad at anyone, not at her family, nor at the mistress. One day, which was recently, the mistress had sold her out to mean-looking soldiers who were looking for children unwanted by the public. That was how she ended up in the truck.

Suddenly, the truck crashed to a stop! Loud sirens could be heard from the outside! The duo saw this as an opportunity to jump out and escape! Once they fled at a good distance, they stopped to take a breath. They looked to see a road lit up by neon rainbow lights. Gloria looked back at the crash site. The road they were on was just a side road that led to this rainbow one.

Believing that it may lead to the World City.

The duo heard yelling coming from a big warehouse off road. They decided to carefully check it out, in case those same men were around. Inside, they found a large space with mostly destroyed arcade games and motherboards. Those same men Gloria had encountered were trashing the machines! The duo quickly hid amongst the debris to get a closer view. There was a lion, twice as Fuchsia’s height, hiding amongst the debris with them. He quietly explained that the greedy king from the World City had ordered these soldiers, called the Ivory Conquerors, to 10

dispose of all remnants of the past history, including the entertainment systems, just to replace them with some of his own. Gloria replied that they are heading to the World City to give this Greddy king a piece of their minds of what he has been doing. The lion decided to join them on their journey. But first, they snuck back out of the warehouse. The lion sadly looked back at all the nostalgic history that was being destroyed. He took out a little gaming device that he managed to salvage from the chaos. Gloria and Fuchsia sympathized with him, as they had also witnessed the damage done by these people. The lion admitted that he did not have a name, so Gloria gave him one: Patches. They continued down the Neon Rainbow Road with their new companion, and a little piece of nostalgia so they would not get bored.

The trio came across a saloon-like tavern off road. Fuchsia admitted she was getting hungry, so they decided to get something to eat. Can’t save the day on an empty stomach.

But once they went inside, they were greeted by a strong smell of smoke! But there was no sign of fire, just the dazzling lights of more colorful game machines. Luckily, there were disposable masks so they would not breath in such air. These games were nothing like pinball, they had 3-5 columns displaying different varieties of items, depending on the theme. All that stood out were the letters: K, Q, J and A. They found a Chinese Garden at the side of the wall, the space filled with tables and chairs. The trio approached the front desk and were assigned to a table next to a bar. There was a pink and white puppy—the same height as Patches, decorated in confetti, balloons, giftboxes and cupcakes—sitting on one of the bar chairs, having a (non-alcoholic) drink. He noticed the big feast the trio was having, and quietly crept down to see it. Gloria noticed the dog looking at the food, so she offered him a seat to join in, while also grabbing his drink. Fuchsia and Patches were friendly to him as well, thinking that he might have also been affected by the Ivory Conquerors. The puppy explained that he heard rumors that those same soldiers tend to falsely imprison those who were considered “different” to societal norms, according to the greedy king of the World City: King Trefslain. Anyone who had come from another land, or did not have the same physical features as his kind were locked away or taken to a random, dangerous prison.

Patches spoke up, explaining that they are on their way to stop Trefslain in the World City. Gloria and Fuchsia joined in. The puppy agreed to join them on their quest… and also stated that he did not have a name either. The unicorn and lion looked towards the girl, who gave him the name: Cupcake; named after the cupcake spots on his fur.

Once they were done, Cupcake wanted to show the trio a bit of how the games here worked. It would not hurt to have a little bit of fun. The puppy inserted some money into the machine, and touched his desired credit and denominator. The items in the columns shuffled, giving off different items in different combinations. However, 3 items lit up, leading them into a bonus round. With every new special item, they had more chances of winning more prizes. While they 11

did not win the grand prize, they managed to get a good amount of prize money for the trip!

They submitted their cash voucher to claim their prize.

Suddenly, the Ivory Conquerors barged into the building, detaining anyone and everyone they found as a foreign! The quartet quickly made their way through the chaos and got out! One of the guards spotted them and ruthlessly chased after them out of the tavern! They managed to get back on the Neon Rainbow Road, but that soldier was still on their trail! He grabbed Gloria by the arm, and the girl saw the soldier’s face. His face had blood running down from their eyes.

His teeth were also bloodied between the sidings, as if they had just eaten something red. He kept blaming her for all the problems of the world, and for turning him into what he is now! The other plushies tried to pry him off the poor girl, but he managed to overpower them all, the soldier demanding to know why they were all even born to begin with! Gloria kept punching the soldier’s abdomen, but he just bit her by her arm! He continued rambling and venting, about how his child had been corrupted by those like them, forcing him to kill his own son. How such differences could be born, and wished this land was better off without them! With one more attempt, Gloria stomped onto the soldier’s foot and kicked him in the leg!! The soldier letting go of the girl, and getting one more punch in the head from Patches and Cupcake. Once the quartet was at a safe distance, Fuchsia took out a first-aid kit she managed to snag from the tavern, and used the items to tend to Gloria’s arm.

The quartet looked ahead, they saw a colorful city ahead. They made it! The World City! Despite the girl’s injury, they quickly ran towards it, as if their troubles had gone away at the sight of it!

But when they got to the city limits, they quickly hid in a nearby clothing store, as there were Ivory Conquerors patrolling the streets, intertwining with the bustling crowd. It was not going to be easy to get through. Cupcake suggested that they try to blend in with the crowd. And since they were in a clothing store, that may be the easy part.

Minutes later, the crowd was in awe at the magnificent individuals that walked out of the store…

One with a suit of fiery hearts. The passions and ambitions of a flamboyant dancer.

One with a suit of icy spades. The coolness and serenity that flows like a river.

One with a suit of lucky clovers. The down-to-earth humbleness of a forest maiden.

One with a suit of radiant diamonds. The charm and trustworthiness of a dandy.

The breath-taking sight prompted the locals—even the Ivory Conquerors, by some miracle—to let this fancy quartet pass. No suspicions whatsoever on them.

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They made their way to a golden tower at the far end of the city, where the king was likely. They crossed a maze of streets and bridges, looking around at their new surroundings. There were different kinds of buildings with shops, restaurants and attractions. The tower of macaron pastries. The pyramid of sand treasures. Candy and Soda factories, for the public to come and visit. Cosmic museums of dazzling light shows. Trendy kawaii~~ cafes. City-sized rollercoasters.

Paradise island parks. Street-wire adventure trails above head. Life-sized playgrounds. All of these different attractions, why visit anywhere else?

And yet, everything in this city felt… off.

All the shops and street names, despite the different typographies and cultures, they all had the same name embedded: Treslain.

His name was creepily everywhere: Trefslain Express, Trefslain-Over, Trefslain Museum of Illusions, Trefslain Island, Trefslain Rd, Trefslain Blvd, you name it.

Gloria saw some of the Ivory soldiers pouring out some magical dust from a sack, which was giving a nearby floral attraction color, giant bees and butterflies arose from the large blooming buds. Was this why they were taking the magic from the garden?

Fuchsia saw women and children being detained despite their cries for innocence. The civilians that likely sold them out were casually bullying them with mean dances and faces. The soldiers paid no mind to those gestures. How could people use others like that, for their entertainment?

Patches saw copies of historical documents displayed in a museum-like room. They too had the greedy king’s name on them. Just because he was the king, does not mean he could just rewrite history like that!

Cupcake overheard a conversation between a group of wealthy men, something about exploiting whoever they wished in order to get what they want. The most likely candidates were slaves, housemaidens, and blossoming maidens.

The fancy quartet arrived at the golden tower. When they went inside, everything in the lobby was decorated with ivory and gold.. It was almost like being transported to another world. Even the elevator was made of gold when they went inside, taking it to the top floor.

They entered into an oval-shaped office, which was also covered in gold. Portraits of King Trefslain, depicting him as if he accomplished every significant moment in history. On the other side of the room, there he was… feasting on a hamburger and fried chicken named after him. He stopped to look down at the magnificent-looking quartet, complementing them on their magnificence.

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Gloria stepped up, explaining what has been happening to the world because of his decisions.

How his actions had taken diversity away. How history had been ruined by his narcissism. But Treslain had just acted so laid back as if he was not listening at all. He just replied that everything he has been doing has been making the land better than ever. … By rewriting history, getting rid of everyone different, and letting only those with the power get away with whatever they wanted?! Letting out frustration, the quartet tried one more time to get him to see reason. Little did they know, someone else entered the office…

Gloria wanted people to be themselves.

Fuchsia wanted everyone to be given a chance to live.

Patches wanted the past to be honored, while also looking forward to the future. Cupcake wanted all kinds of peoples to co-exist peacefully.

The greedy king just replied that they were all goody two-shoes, and that only he should rule everything. Even if the entire crowd “booed” at him, it would not matter. He had control of robots, he claimed. He had control of every supply chain resource in the world. He had control of the people because they loved him. The Ivory Conquerors were an extent of his power, as they saw the world like he did, taking control of the worlds beyond, purifying them of all indifferences in the name of “justice” and “equality”, eliminating discrimination.

Booing suddenly rose from the lands below. Trefslain was in shock…

The people that entered the office were, in fact, a news crew that arrived for more questions for the king, only to stumble upon that entire conversation! But despite all that booing, he just ignored it, thinking the rest of the world wanted to see him. Just then, there was a hissing sound, coming from the man himself! He was shrinking into his clothes!!!

The quartet and the news crew stared in shock as that was happening! A red light shone on the camera corner.

Once the hissing stopped, the plushies walked towards where the king once stood… to find a deformed baby in his stead, his wrinkles still retained. Losing his power from the public revealed his true nature.

The quartet then faced the news crew and camera, sharing their big adventure to the World City, what they had experienced along the way. And that they wanted world peace to be restored as is.

Though not done immediately, it will take time for things to heal… The End

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Nonfiction First Place: Mind Over Matter, by Lourdes Diaz Second Place: Piece by Piece, by Marisa Kimbrell Third Place: The One and Only New York City, by Deszanae Obey

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Mind Over Matter Lourdes Diaz Fear has a way of making even the most ordinary moments feel overwhelming. On the morning of my C-section, fear was the only thing I could feel. I was admitted to the maternity ward at 5:00 a.m. on April 1,2021. When I walked into the hospital it was nearly empty. The tile floors were freshly waxed, and because it was during COVID, the smell of antiseptic lingered heavily in the air. After being checked in, I was escorted to a quiet room and instructed to prepare for surgery. I was given large antiseptic wipes and asked to clean myself before putting on a thin blue hospital gown. The room felt almost too quiet, broken only by the distant sounds of voices in the hallway and the steady beeping of machines. Sunlight filtered faintly through the offwhite blinds behind my husband who sat quietly folding my clothes in a nervous hurry. Nothing about the morning felt warm or comforting. Although I entered my C-section consumed by fear, the kindness and compassion of a nurse transformed my experience, revealing the powerful impact of empathy in moments of vulnerability.

As the morning progressed the calm hospital environment contrasted sharply with the fear that continued to build inside me. Nurses moved in and out of the room with quiet efficiency, checking my vitals, adjusting equipment, and explaining procedures I could barely focus on. My mind fixated on one thought: the epidural. I had never had a C-section before and the idea of a needle being placed into my spine filled me with dread. Every explanation about the procedure seemed to intensify my anxiety and fear. Despite the reassurance around me I felt trapped between the necessity of the surgery and the overwhelming fear of what was about to happen.

When it was finally time for the epidural, I was asked to walk down a quiet hallway toward the operating room. Each step felt heavy as the reality of the procedure became impossible to ignore. The hallway was silent, filled only with the soft echo of my footsteps and the distant sound of hospital equipment. By the time I entered the operating room, my fear had reached its breaking point. The anxiety I had been trying so hard to control suddenly overwhelmed me and I began to cry. My body tensed as the anesthesiologist told me it would feel like a bee sting in my back and panic took over and I felt completely vulnerable. Instead of rushing through the procedure, the nurse responded with unexpected compassion. She stepped closer and gently wrapped her arms around me as I cried. In that moment her presence brought a sense of comfort that I desperately needed. She spoke softly, reassuring me that everything was going to be okay. Rather than treating me like just another patient, she treated me with warmth and kindness that felt like I was being comforted by a sister.

Gradually, with her reassurance, I felt steady enough for the procedure to continue. Although the fear did not disappear entirely it became manageable. The nurses' calm demeanor and 16

gentle encouragement allowed me to focus on my breathing and staying still rather than my anxiety. Before I knew it the epidural was administered and although I was still tense, I was no longer overwhelmed by sheer panic. The operating room, once intimidating and unfamiliar, began to feel less threatening. The procedure moved forward and with it came a sense of relief that I had made it through the most frightening part. Soon the focus shifted from my fear to the anticipation of meeting my twin daughters.

My C-section began as a day defined by fear, anxiety, and uncertainty yet it ultimately became an experience shaped by compassion and human connection. From the quiet tension of the hospital room to the overwhelming fear I felt walking into the operating room, my emotions often felt difficult to control. However, in my most vulnerable moment the kindness and reassurance of the nurse transformed my experience in a way I had not anticipated. Her empathy demonstrated that medical care extends beyond procedures highlighting the impact of compassion in moments of vulnerability. That brief interaction not only helped me navigate my fear but also left a lasting impression reminding me that even in the most intimidating circumstances simple acts of kindness can provide comfort, strength, and reassurance. Even now, I remember that moment not for the fear that I felt, but for the compassion that carried me through it.

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Piece by Piece Marisa Kimbrell My artist of choice is Kelly Clarkson, one of the very first people to win on American Idol. The song of Kelly’s that I deemed as my favorite was written in 2015, with the title also being the same as the cover name of her album called “Piece by Piece”. I would consider this song to be a gentle mix between what I consider soul music, with a dash of modern pop that feeds my soul in a way that no words have been able to describe. I love that she writes her own songs, as well as sings them with such a pensive and soulful voice. I relate to the paternal deprivation of this song, which has always left me feeling as if I was never good enough. I have almost always had an absent father. Once I had my own children, I cannot fathom surrendering any of my children just to revel in a drug addiction. This is one of my favorite songs because it makes me feel that I am not alone with the intense feelings that I have experienced, to know that there is always hope of a better future.

The lyrics to this song brings back memories of my father leaving my mother and going to North Carolina in 1992 shortly after I was born. My mother was only 16 years old when she had me, while my dad was 19. I never knew at the young of an age where he was or why he never wanted me. He not only abandoned me but also my mother. She eventually went back to drugs after that, and my grandma took guardianship of me. I wanted to better myself with what I was given, the best grandmother in the whole world. I still wanted to make her proud, even though it was the love, the piece of my heart that was missing and craving the love and affection from my father. My grandmother was and always will be my rock.

I don’t recall the specific day that I first heard this song, but my first memories of this song were when I was pregnant with my daughter in 2015-2016. Once I found out that I was going to be having a girl, this song just really hit home in my darkest times. I did not want my daughter, or any of my future children, to feel unloved or that they are worthless. All I could think every day of my pregnancy was that I will never leave her, and I made a promise to myself that I would always put her first.

Once I became an adult, I decided to try and continue a relationship with him but that became very difficult over my adult life. He kept relapsing, disappear for long periods of time, and going back to prison. I gave him so many chances to start over, chances to try and make up for lost time. He missed the day my daughter was born; he declined my invitation to go to my wedding because I didn’t do it for the right reasons. He thought that I should invite him because I loved and respected him. Well, unfortunately by the age of 30 I was drained and had no room for his disrespect towards me. He missed every birthday of mine, forgetting some years which day was my real birthday or how old I was turning. The official turning point was when I opened my 18

heart for the last time to my father by inviting him to the wedding and I remember crying for days and months after getting denied again by him hurt so bad, I have not talked to him since.

These instrumental melodies mesh so well together, making the essence of the tone and words evoke feelings that I would have never understood 10 years ago. On the other hand, those feelings of loss and sadness I have from my father’s lack of presence in my life has grown even larger, I have learned that I cannot let his negativity affect my life anymore.

I have 3 children and a husband who have all helped me to become the woman that I am today.

Over the past 3-9 years, my life has changed dramatically. To know that I was still able to make something of my life brings great satisfaction to my soul. In April of 2022 I met a man who showed me that I was worthy of love, who showed our children and I that he was always going to take care of us, he never asks for anything in return. We were both able to find the meaning of unconditional love in each other and in our family unit. He never asked for money, he takes care of us. This is what a father and a husband should do.

This song describes the pieces that have been broken of a young girl, yet with each piece that was broken inside of that young girl eventually grew with age. There will always be a missing piece of my heart, but my grandma was always there to love and support me. She gave me the best life I could have asked for, despite the circumstances. I never want my children to feel what I felt growing up without parents. Even if I did not have a say in what happened to me as a child, I always want people to remember that each of us are worthy of love, no matter our imperfections. As humans we will continue to grow and flourish, so do so with grace and a lot of self-love. Although some may see my story and think sadness, Kelly Clarkson has written so many other songs that evoke other feelings and embrace her talent.

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The One and Only New York City Deszanae Obey Growing up, New York City always felt like a place I already knew—even though I had never actually been there. It wasn’t just a name on a map or something I saw in movies. It felt familiar in a strange way, like I had already been connected to it through stories.

My dad is the reason for that.

He was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, and he talked about the city all the time. Not in a perfect or polished way, but in a real way that made it stick in my mind. He didn’t just talk about the beautiful parts. He talked about everything—the crowded streets, the loud neighborhoods, the different cultures on every corner, the food carts, and even the giant rats people always joked about. As a kid, that honesty made the city feel alive to me. It wasn’t just a dream place. It felt like a real, breathing world.

Even though I had never been there, I used to sit and imagine it. I would picture myself walking down busy sidewalks, hearing horns, smelling food, and seeing people from all over the world moving at different speeds but somehow sharing the same space. New York became something I carried in my imagination for years.

For a long time, it stayed that way—just a place in my head.

Then my life changed when I met my husband.

He was born and raised in the Bronx, and when I found that out, it felt like New York had suddenly become closer to me. It was no longer just something I heard about from my dad—it was now part of someone I loved. Through him, I started hearing even more stories, more real experiences, and more everyday details about life in the city.

And that’s when I started to believe I would actually go one day.

When I finally got the chance to visit New York City, it didn’t feel unfamiliar. It felt like I was stepping into something I had been waiting for my whole life.

And honestly, it didn’t disappoint me at all.

If anything, it was better than I expected.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived was how alive everything felt. The energy in the city is something you don’t just see—you feel it in your body. The air itself felt different. It was filled with movement, noise, and life all at once. I could smell food cooking everywhere, like the

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whole city was one giant kitchen. Street vendors lined the sidewalks selling everything from hot dogs to pretzels to halal food, and the smell of all of it mixed together in the air.

There were people everywhere. Not just a lot of people, but different people—different cultures, languages, styles, and energies all moving at the same time. It didn’t feel organized, but it also didn’t feel chaotic in a bad way. It felt like New York had its own rhythm, and everyone just naturally moved with it.

Walking through the streets for the first time, I remember just looking around constantly. I didn’t want to miss anything.

One of the biggest moments for me was Times Square.

Walking into Times Square honestly felt like stepping into another world. It was overwhelming in the best way possible. The lights were so bright that it didn’t even feel like nighttime. Giant screens covered entire buildings, flashing ads, movie trailers, and Broadway shows. Every direction I looked, there was something grabbing my attention.

The sounds were just as intense. Taxis honking nonstop, people talking, music playing, performers calling out to crowds—it all blended into this constant background noise that somehow made sense there. Even though there were so many sounds at once, it didn’t feel messy. It felt like part of the experience.

People were everywhere—tourists taking pictures, street performers dancing or playing music, vendors trying to sell souvenirs, and locals walking through like it was just another normal day.

That contrast really stood out to me. What felt overwhelming to me was just everyday life for someone else.

Standing there, I realized Times Square isn’t just a place you visit—it’s a place you experience with all your senses at once.

It really felt like the center of everything.

As the day started to shift into night, I noticed a different side of the city. New York doesn’t slow down when the sun goes down—it just changes. The sky turned darker, but the city got brighter.

The lights from the buildings reflected off glass windows and streets, making everything glow. It felt like the city was lighting itself up on purpose, like it refused to ever go dark.

One of the most memorable parts of my trip was traveling across one of New York’s bridges heading toward New Jersey. Even though it was just transportation, it felt like more than that.

Looking out at the water, the skyline, and the movement of cars around me felt powerful in a way that’s hard to explain. The city looked different from that distance—less crowded but still full of life. It felt gritty, real, and strong.

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It made me realize how massive New York actually is, not just physically but in energy.

What stood out to me the most during my visit wasn’t just the buildings or the landmarks—it was the people.

New York is one of the most diverse places I’ve ever seen. You don’t just hear about different cultures there—you see them everywhere you go. People from different backgrounds, different countries, and different walks of life all exist in the same space. What surprised me most was how normal it felt there. Nobody seemed out of place.

Walking through different neighborhoods felt like traveling through different parts of the world without ever leaving the city. Each area had its own identity, its own food, its own language, and its own energy.

That diversity is what gives New York its personality.

And then there’s the food, which deserves its own story.

Food in New York City is not just something you eat—it’s something you experience. You can grab something quick from a street vendor and still feel like you’ve had something special. The smell of food is everywhere, and it becomes part of the city itself. Hot dogs, pretzels, halal carts, pizza slices that are bigger than your hand—it’s all simple, but it all tastes like New York.

At the same time, there are restaurants from all over the world. You can eat food from different countries in the same day without ever leaving the city. That’s something I’ve never experienced anywhere else.

Even now, there are still parts of New York I haven’t fully experienced yet.

Central Park is one of them.

I’ve driven past it and seen glimpses of it, but I’ve never actually walked through it. My dad used to talk about it like it was a completely different world inside the city. He would describe music playing, people relaxing on the grass, birds flying around, and families just enjoying life away from the chaos of the streets.

It always sounded peaceful, like a break from everything else.

I still want to experience that for myself one day—to see that contrast between the loud city and the quiet space inside it.

Because that contrast is really what New York is about.

It’s chaos and peace existing at the same time. It’s noise and silence. Movement and stillness.

Overwhelming and beautiful all at once.

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New York City is not just a place you go to and leave.

It stays with you.

It’s in the memories you make while walking its streets, in the way it challenges your senses, and in the way it forces you to be present in every moment. It doesn’t matter if it’s your first visit or your tenth—there is always something new to see, something new to feel, something new to understand.

For me, New York City lived up to everything I imagined as a child—and more.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t simple.

But it was real.

And that’s exactly what makes it unforgettable.

New York City is the one and only.

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International Memoir First Place: Eres Mujer, by Ixtzel Carreno Gomez Second Place: Next Stop, by Michelle Crawford

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Eres Mujer Ixtzel Carreno Gomez I remember a time when I was 9 and my six brothers were eagerly rushing to play outside with their new four-wheelers on Christmas morning. I ran behind them, excited. I remember the noise of the engines starting and how loud and exciting it felt at that moment. They didn’t hesitate; they just went. I stood there for a second, confused, trying to understand why I wasn’t allowed to join them. It wasn’t something that was explained, it was just expected that I would stay behind. There were also times when I had to clean the entire house as part of my everyday chores and my brothers didn’t. Each time, I was reminded where my place was and what my purpose seemed to be. I didn’t understand much at the time, except that I felt angry at the obvious favoritism and how I was treated as the only girl. This is what it was like growing up as a girl in a Mexican household.

From a very young age, I had many roles and responsibilities. I was expected to deep clean every room, corner, wall, and floor in our home. When my mom was working these things were most expected of me, and once I learned how to do them, they became my everyday responsibility. If I questioned it or argued why it was only me and not my brothers, I was lectured about how this was already understood for many girls back home in Mexico. Enduring it meant I was capable of continuing.

I would wake up at 7 a.m. to start deep cleaning the house. If my brothers were up, they’d be playing video games or hanging out together. Sometimes they would purposely make a mess behind me while I was cleaning saying “you missed a spot” or calling me a maid. I remember feeling angry and annoyed every time they messed with me. It made me jealous of not being like them, to not have the same freedom to just be kids. When I would cry to my mom about it, she would dismiss me or laugh along with them. This hurt me the most. I just knew no one was ever going to stand up for me. I eventually realized that speaking up wouldn’t change anything for me, so I stopped trying.

One time, after I had been crying about how unfair everything felt, my mom finally sat me down and tried to explain to me. She told me that growing up, things were much harder for her. She said that at just seven years old, she was already responsible for making breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the men in her household who worked to provide. She told me that compared to what she went through I had it easy. That this was just a part of becoming a woman.

I remember sitting there, at a loss for words. Part of me felt bad for her, but the other part of me felt like I wasn’t being heard at all. She made it seem like I could never amount to the woman she was, because I questioned things instead of just accepting them. That was the first time I realized that what hurt me had once been normal for her.

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I remember begging to learn how to drive when my uncle was teaching my brothers at the time and I was the only one who didn’t know how to. My mom shut it down immediately, saying no because I was a girl and had no reason to go out. I remember feeling embarrassed just standing there while my brothers learned something new, I wasn’t even given the chance to try. It was more than just driving. I remember watching them laugh, learn, and make mistakes without being judged for it. Something as simple as being given the chance to try felt like a privilege I didn’t have.

I didn’t just feel left out in that moment. I felt like I didn’t belong in those spaces at all. It made me question what I was actually allowed to do, and what I had already accepted I never would.

Moments like that made it clear to me that there were things I wasn’t allowed to experience, simply because I was a girl. It was like that with a lot of things growing up. I never learned how to ride a bike or swim either, because again, I was a girl and “didn’t need to be going out.”

Being the only girl also meant I wasn’t allowed to hang around anyone. I spent most of my time cleaning, cooking and doing what my mother believed to be a “woman’s purpose”. It made it hard for me to make friends, and even harder to enjoy anything outside of that role. Specifically, when I was 15, my sister-in-law wanted to help me make friends with her sisters by inviting me to a hangout next door to my house. My mom had given me permission, but when I returned an hour later my mother was furious that I went along with it. I thought it would be fine, but apparently it put her in a position where she felt like she had to say yes. She made it seem like I should’ve known better. I knew from then on this was something she so strongly believed in by her culture.

I remember many times I questioned or “stepped out of line” for speaking on the differences in how we were treated. One time, I was called disobedient and ungrateful just for asking why, at 12 years old I had to wash my 13-year-olds brothers’ laundry. What I thought was a valid question at the time was seen as disrespect. From that moment, I learned if something wasn’t agreed with, it was better not to speak on it at all. I learned to keep things to myself, even when I didn’t fully understand what I was feeling. It wasn’t just about avoiding getting in trouble, it became a habit. Even when I had something to say I stopped myself before saying it.

Over time, I didn’t just stay quiet at home, I started carrying that silence into other parts of my life as well. It affected how I spoke to people, how I expressed myself, and even how I saw my own thoughts. I would second guess myself before anything, wondering if it would be seen as disrespect or cause a problem. It was like I had been trained to shrink myself without even realizing it.

That mindset didn’t just stay in my childhood; it followed me into who I became. I started to doubt my own thoughts before I even said them out loud. I learned to minimize my feelings, 26

convincing myself they weren’t important enough to speak on. Even when I knew something felt wrong, I had already been taught to accept it instead of challenge it. It took me a long time to unlearn that.

When I upset my mom, I walked on eggshells, stayed quiet, or locked myself in my room until things cooled down. Sometimes it would last weeks or even months. Then suddenly, everything would go back to normal, like nothing had happened. That was how emotions were handled in my house, silence first then pretending nothing had happened.

When I was in 8th grade, I made a diverse group of friends with different lives they grew up with.

Once we hit that ice breaker, we were inseparable. I never really knew how big the world was until then. I enjoyed hearing their stories and how everyone’s upbringing was new for me. It was quite different. I remember feeling surprised at how openly they were allowed to express themselves without being shut down. It made me realize that what I thought was normal wasn’t the same for everyone else. At first, it was confusing, but it also made me start questioning things I had never questioned before. Sometimes it seemed healthier or at least less harsh.

When my friends began to question my treatment, it was inevitable and obvious for me to do so as well.

It was rare to encounter someone with the same lifestyle as me. I don’t think I encountered anyone who was able to speak on that kind of treatment until I was an adult working at a warehouse job where those topics were common to talk about. People would talk about things I had always kept to myself. Hearing these conversations made me realize how much I had normalized growing up, and how little it was ever talked about. Now, I naturally gravitate towards people who seemed to grow up the same and for that split second it feels like I’m a part of something universal.

Now, I’m a mother who went through these experiences, and my mom and grandma went through these experiences as well. It makes me think about what I want to pass down and what I want to change. Now more than ever, I understand where my mom was coming from. I see how most of it was shaped by culture, expectations, and how she was raised. A lot of it came from a machismo mindset, where roles in the household were clearly divided and expected to be followed without question.

Even as I got older, those words stayed with me. “Eres mujer, tu te quedas adentro.” You’re a woman, you belong inside. It wasn’t always said out loud anymore, but it followed me; in the way I hesitated, in the things I didn’t try, and in the limits I placed on myself without even realizing it.

Growing up in this kind of environment, I didn’t always recognize it as something cultural. This wasn’t questioned, it was normal. It wasn’t until I got older and started comparing my 27

experiences to others that I realized how much of it was tied to expectations placed on woman in my culture. The idea that girls should be more responsible, more restricted, and more obedient wasn’t questioned, it was expected. At the time, I thought it was just my family.

It wasn’t until I took a Mexican Art history class last year that I started to see how far back these ideas actually go. I learned how woman have historically been expected to take on nurturing, motherly roles, often putting others before themselves. Seeing that made me realize what I was experiencing wasn’t just something happening in my household. It was something deeply rooted in the culture I was raised in.

That realization changed the way I saw everything. It wasn’t just about my family anymore. It was about understanding how these expectations had been passed down and normalized for so long. It made me question not only what I had experienced, but what I had accepted without realizing I had a choice.

Growing up, it wasn’t just about chores or responsibilities, it was about freedom. I watched my brothers have the ability to go outside, learn new things, and experience life differently.

Meanwhile, I felt limited in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized how much those restrictions shaped how I saw myself and what I believed I was allowed to do.

At the same time, I don’t want my daughter to grow up feeling like she has to stay quiet or question her worth because of the role she’s expected to play. I still carry the values I was raised with- responsibility, respect, and resilience. But I’ve also learned that my voice matters just as much. At one point I started recognizing that I was allowed to question what I grew up believing in. Growing up as the only girl in my household taught me a lot, but it also made me realize I don’t want to recreate that same environment for my daughter.

Even now, I can still hear my mom’s voice in my head telling me to be a better woman, to do more, to not question things. And for a long time, I thought that’s what being a woman meant.

But with my daughter, it’s going to be different. I want my daughter to grow up in a space where expectations aren’t based on gender, and where feelings don’t have to be pushed aside or ignored. I want her to know she doesn’t have to earn her place or prove her worth to anyone.

She’ll grow up knowing her voice matters, because I’ll make sure she hears it, uses it, and never feels like she has to lose it the way I did.

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Next Stop Michelle Crawford As I sit on the Metro headed to my destination I gaze outside the window passing homes, businesses, and people. I observe the community around me and wonder about the journeys of each passenger. Where are they going? What are they noticing as we travel past trees, individuals walking their dogs, or people simply heading to work?

While reading the digital scrolling screen, I hear the intercom announce, “Next stop Glendale Ave to route 70.” Soon after, it’s Ocotillo Road, then Maryland Ave. I begin to ponder: if these stops represented stages of life rather than just road intersections, where would I choose to get off? What would each destination look like? Who would I meet there? Is there something from a previous stop I wish I could retrieve? Or perhaps something I overlooked that I now realize I need?

First stop, Hope. Here is where we discover trust. What does trust look like? How is consistency defined, and what allows it to take root and grow? Perhaps Hope resembles trees with deep foundations and are resilient enough to endure the tests of time. Even if a branch breaks, the tree will have enough trust to survive. If a scar remains, will it influence its growth? Trust is a tree.

Next stop, Will. Here is where we develop independence. What defines choice and autonomy?

Independence is a journey that unfolds as we set out on the open road, filled with opportunities and challenges. Independence is the open road.

Next stop, Purpose. Here is where each of us finds our spirituality, passion and flow. What form does Purpose take? What demonstrates resilience? Purpose is like a river—constantly redefining its path, overcoming obstacles, and forging new ways forward. A river has Purpose.

Next stop, Competence. Here is where we become proficient, we begin combining our knowledge, skills, and behavior. This is confidence—quiet, steady, and vulnerable, yet its presence strengthens us. Confidence is as essential and unseen as air.

Next stop, Fidelity. Here is where you find commitment and loyalty. Solidarity is social, sincere and requires veracity. This is where we establish and cherish relationships. Fidelity is where we find people.

Next stop, Love. Here is where we discover self-awareness and discover the profound depths of a meaningful existence. Does love require harmony or is it a sensation that can only be felt and understood by you? Love holds beauty, is sturdy and needs to be nurtured or it can die. Love is a flower.

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Next stop, Care. Here is where we develop empathy. What validates emotions and guides us without judgment? Empathy is the stars.

Last Stop, Wisdom. Here we stand amongst a social society with trees, rivers, air, roads, and the stars above. Is this where we simply observe other travelers headed out on their journey and allow them to grasp their place in this world? Do we stand like a crossing guards and direct traffic? Or is this where we ponder traveling back to get something we missed? Will it make us whole or are we whole just as we are?

If you traveled back to a destination where would you go? Would you sit under a tree, gaze at the stars, take a deep breath or would you simply smell the flowers?

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Poetry First Place: Why Must I Rot While I Ripen?, by Kayla Rende Second Place: loose sonnet: moonlight, by Julian Oregel Third Place: A Song of Sound, by Emerson Allsworth Fourth Place: The Withering Sun by Samuel Henningsen O'Neal; The Women Behind The Smile

by Magdalena Theisen; Guatemala by Brittany Rogers-Hurst

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Why Must I Rot While I Ripen?

Kayla Rende Why must I rot while I ripen?

I do not wish for fruit in the spring, Or dry logs in the winter.

I capriciously desire, Allowing the fire to burn me.

I wish to suffer within means.

I mustn't hear the taunts whispered By firm steps on lacquered floors.

Why must I rot while I ripen?

I do not stand near pious windows, Overlooking untouched orchards.

I formidably coil, And pick my fruit before it falls.

I unravel textiles with my teeth.

I refuse to use the ink shaken by thoughts that came with score.

Why must I rot while I ripen?

I will not paint my hands on clocks, 32

Twitching with gears of strain.

I anxiously regress, And twist the tools before the tick.

I assess the work of the next.

I withhold the ambit of woodwork echoed by veins of limbs frore.

Why must I rot while I ripen?

I will not mold the scaffolding used to build cities of disdain.

I sharply ingress, And gather my goods before espial.

I wish to build the abode of old.

I suck the splinter of hope.

Soothed by the mind’s implored.

Why must I rot while I ripen?

I am not one with towers above me, angular and foreboding by choice.

I calmly observe, and feel the hum of roads afar.

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I walk along the fractures of time.

I dissolve with the wind etched by the remnants unspoken.

Why must I rot while I ripen?

I revel with the impure, receding as soot cascades the unexposed.

I wadingly commence, and know to walk is to ache.

I now leave without a place.

With all this fruit.

What shall I do?

For I am rotten.

Just as the fruit that came before.

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loose sonnet: moonlight Julian Oregel A fondness forging familiar to diamonds. this bond is unbreakable A beauty so soft, it recalls the moonlight’s kiss over the ocean’s cheek.

Beckoned by billowing brightness, bound by her beak.

I am stripped of my strength for I starve for her sentiments.

A pillar of passion, I ponder my crimson tears as testament.

Galloping over Galileo I pocket galaxies to offer your grandeur.

Softer than silk, sweeter than fruit, drunken by sip of celestial dew.

Many play with rockets or look toward the moon, i forfeit it all just to gander at you.

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A Song of Sound Emerson Allsworth Sound of earth The birds they chirp A different sound Very loud Singing across the world The sound of silence loud through the night A sound of thoughts crowding the mind A thought is both a scream and whisper Only changing with your mind The loudest silence of all Outside I hear the wind the leaves rustling in the wind Outside is quiet ignorance of within A child’s laughter in the park The children screaming having fun The sound of chatter in the background The sound of menus and glasses as they fall This is the sound the songs I hear For what is a song but sounds made to be heard A form of communication in the world This is my song Silent and proud This is my song about the sound around

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The Withering Sun Samuel Henningsen O'Neal Look back — but only if you dare — as you may find the truth is not to hide; and, at the faintest hint of something there, retreat into the hope of finer times.

Look back, but only if you care, as you may find the reason for the rhyme, and, at the faintest hint of something there, misunderstand its depth to be sublime.

But, with nothing useful left to claim, we chase the scents that we have never known, and hope, in some forgotten stretch of pine, lies the promise of a world we've yet to own.

Look back, but not with growing doubt, nor to the lies of your creation; as you may find the truth to be so clear that it can stand alone in ruination.

Look back, but not for sight of home, and use this knowledge only to prepare, as you may find the truth is now so cold, to face the final ending on your own.

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Still you know, as I, what time we've kept, the endless miles traded, lost, and gone; slow your clock — that time is yours to hold — and kneel in silence for the withering sun.

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The Women Behind The Smile Magdalena Theisen Joy, happiness, beauty and peace is what you see. You see what she wants you to see. You hear and feel what she wants you to feel. Look at that smile from ear to ear … is it truly real?

What is real?

We often see others from a different lens not always knowing the truth. The truth we ask? What is the truth? What is reality? What is life really like?

Life is not only joy but also pain. Life is not only happiness but also hurt. Life is not only beautiful but also ugly. Life is not only peaceful but also chaotic.

This is my life… a life full of love, joy, happiness and peace but it's also a life full of pain, hurt, ugly and chaos. We often hide the pain and hurt behind the smile.

We tell ourselves we need to be strong, we need to keep fighting, we can do it on our own but sometimes we are not strong, we can not fight, we can not do it on our own.

It's ok to be vulnerable, it's ok to hurt and let go. It's ok to let people in. It's ok to accept help.

Our heart tells us to take time to love, be kind and not judge.

This "invisible" disease reminds us we can barely move, barely think as we get lost in a cloud of fog.

We tell ourselves, “This storm is so strong we can barely care, we can barely love.”

This storm is like a summer monsoon rolling through without a warning, destroying all in its path. Like our summer storms there's always a ray of sunshine beyond the cloud of dust.

Our strength comes from beyond shining like a rainbow, fighting to break through that wall of dust.

We tell ourselves, “NEVER GIVE UP! Let that RAINBOW shine, be KIND, and LOVE! You’re not alone!”

“STAND STRONG!” because you never know when you’ll see the woman behind the smile.

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Guatemala Brittany Rogers-Hurst I was alone in my thoughts, not a soul could understand.

Did I do the right thing to lend a helping hand?

Could I live 18 months in a world I did not know?

Would there ever be a time when I felt comfortable?

I was alone in my thoughts.

Only time could make things better.

My patience grew, and I felt things were getting better.

I fell in love with the people, but I kept getting sicker.

Parasites filled my stomach, and I was cursed with dengue fever.

The desire to serve others is what kept my heart going.

I didn’t think I could do this any longer, 40

but I kept on pursuing.

I was alone in my thoughts, halfway through my journey.

I learned the language and absorbed the culture.

Guatemala became my home, and the people my family.

I walked the streets, helping people— the poor and the lonely, I saw them daily.

Tin roofs and tarp walls were the homes where I felt welcomed.

They fed me and treated me like one of their own.

I was alone in my thoughts, but now I am heard— in a foreign language that I finally learned.

Seventeen months down, and I can hardly believe it.

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I was swarmed with illness and overcame doubt.

It’s near the end, and I finally figured it out: my hardships brought me into the light— you can find brightness without even a flashlight.

Guatemala will always be my home.

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