Gabriella Montalvo Colored pencil
CONTENTS
Poetry
9. Reflection - Anya Gruener ‘24
13. Love Light- Willow Olrich 23
15. Los Colores Del Mundo - Luna Mejia ‘23
16. A Koi’s Life - Miranda Rodriguez ‘23
19. Drifting Away - Andrea Malpica 24
20. The Law of Applause - Nirvana Sharma ‘25
22. Journey to the Edge - Pamela Roussillion ‘23
24. The Loon Has Seen Thousand Nights - Matilde Barrera ‘25
27. An 8-Hour Journey for a 180 Twist - Sofia Molinari ‘24
30. I’m Neira - Erika Travieso ‘24
32. The Real Ones - Gabrielle Gleason, ‘23
35. Breathe - Ashley Garcia ‘25
37. Stuck - Luciana Veloso ‘25
42. Translucency - Chiara Zecchini ‘23
44. Father - Mariam Bataineh ‘22
46. My Other Half - Kaya Garcia ‘24
52. Sunset - Sofia Nunez ‘22
55. Hello - Giovanna Musiello ‘25
10. Beauty - Madeline Bramson ‘22
44. Fairytale - Anya Gruener ‘24
48. As I Watch - Sammy Diaz ‘22
Songs
38. 7 ‘N Free - Emma Grace Delvillar, ‘22
56. Summer-Hot! - Mateo Acosta-Rubio, ‘23
Zip Odes
28. Nico Pineros ‘25 - 33149
28. Ethan Artzt ‘25 - 33155
28. Andrea Lahrssen ‘25 - 33143
29. Mariajose Larenas ‘25 - 33133
29. Ian Uccelli ‘24 - 33158
29. Olivia Anzai Takahashi ‘25 - 33143
Digital Art
Cover Color Play - Lucie Duchene ‘22
1. Color Play - Lucie Duchene ‘22
21. Ego - Margaret Miao ‘22
32. Take Flight - Mauricio Luzardo ‘22
40. Railroad- Mauricio Luzardo ‘22
42. Forward Thinking - Lucie Duchene ‘22
52. Rise - Sofia Soler-Baillo ‘22
54. Innocence - Pietra Ingleto Wagner ‘22
60. In the City - Daniel Lara ‘23
Gaby Montalvo Ceramics
2D Art
2. Look At Me - Gabriella Montalvo ‘23
8. Oh How You’ve Changed - Emily Miller
10. Obsession - Margaret Miao ‘22
24. Bones - Siqi Li ‘23
26. El Taxi - Sophia Azari ‘23
36. Sleepless - Lucie Duchene ‘22
45. Dad - Mariam Bataineh ‘22
46. Spring Spent Well - Victoria Moya ‘24
Photography
6. Bayside - Daniel Lara ‘23
12. Sunflower - Kathleen Lewis ‘22
14. Hot Air Balloons - Paulino Mercenari ‘23
18. Green Doors - Ava Seymour ‘23
23. Mountain - Julio Degreas ‘23
28. Sunset - Ava Burke ‘23
31. Lost in the Forest - Daniel Lara ‘23
34. Entangled - Ludovica Enrico ‘22
57. Refuge - Nina Castro-Alves ‘23
58. On the Road Again - Daniel Lara ‘23
Sculpture
4. Hands - Gaby Montalvo ‘23
5. Skull - Christopher King ‘22
Christopher King Ceramics
From
Daniel Lara Photography
from theEditor
Sara Gelrud Mia Carrasco
FromThank you for picking up the 41st volume of Reflections, our literary and arts magazine!
Noting that we have had 40 past volumes, why do we come back every year with a new publication? Well, why do we create art and write in the first place? Sometimes it’s to pass the time, and other times it serves as a way to release emotions. Every piece of work featured in this publication has its own reason for being and examines different facets of the human existence.
Beauty is all around us and it’s in the process of living that we grow and find ways to express our stories. Reading, along with art, is a global connector. One does not have to read Inferno in his or her native language in order to recognize the beauty of Dante’s verse. Similarly, one does not have to understand Klimt’s “The Kiss” in order to appreciate its grace. Through literature and art, we are able to find comfort in knowing that others share our experiences and that we’re not alone.
This magazine houses a diverse collection of experiences and memories which we hope help you gain empathy, understanding, and inspiration from the people around you. Through these shared experiences, we hope our community is strengthened. You, me, us: we all have a place in the world and this collection proves it.
Emily Miller Oil on Canvas
Anya Gruener
I stare into the mirror and I see my ancestors staring back
A mirror passed down through generations
It embodies the strength and intelligence of my forebearers
The mirror, an heirloom, as special as a diamond stone
I look at it and hear the voices of those who came before
The voices of my ancestors who share the stories of their travels
The mirror fogs like the windows of their ship on that which they traveled
The mirror reminds me of those who provided a better life for me
I talk to the mirror and express my gratitude for all they did
The mirror, a token of those who came before me.
BEAUTY
Margaret Miao Oil Paint on Canvas
Madeline Bramson
What is beauty? Are beauty standards something that we have created in our own minds or something society has brainwashed us into believing?
Why do we try so hard to be pretty?
Why do we spend hours picking out our outfits and makeup just to feel only a little bit better? Why do we hate on people who don’t fit in? Is it because we see what we don’t like about ourselves in them?
And why do we spite people who fit into society’s standards, calling them too perfect or too pretty as if no one is ever good enough?
Why do we allow ourselves to look at magazines and compare ourselves to a photo of someone who doesn’t even look like that in real life?
Everyone knows the effect of the media, and its message, however no one tries to change it, instead trying their hardest to fit in.
We are stuck in a demented cycle of blame and refusal to take accountability and yet no one wants to acknowledge it. From the time we are children we are taught what is pretty and what is not.
We are taught blonde hair, blue eyes, and an unattainable body are what we should strive for. And we taught this all in the form of the most famous doll, Barbie.
Why do children have to look at their dolls and wonder why they don’t look like that?
Eating disorders are on the rise and society still has yet to learn that it and the impossible beauty standards are the problem.
Why did I grow up looking at everyone else and comparing myself and my weight to them? Why do we grow up thinking that there is only one kind of body? And even though society has become more conscious, it still hasn’t changed.
We used the words “plus-sized” to categorize anything that isn’t “normal.”
We tell each other to love ourselves, but how do we do that when no one else loves how they look either?
Why do we have to resort to medical alterations in order to look “beautiful?”
Why is beauty not defined as something everyone beholds? Why can’t one’s own opinion of themselves be enough?
Why can’t everyone be beautiful?
I ask myself again, what is beauty? And why does society have the right to dictate it?
Katie Lewis Photography
Love light
Willow Olrich
And I want you to know That the universe couldn’t love you anymore or any less That the world cannot be cruel
By fictive concessions
But people can’t help but have knives for hands Learning, by time to dull blades and turn wrists at the proper moments
I’ll come to know the paths of a maze I never walked
Because my castle isn’t far From that hedge
And you only have so much of an eye for your mind before It turns outwards
And tries to find life’s small pleasures in The tracing of patterns in things That refuse them
William Olrich
The faces of the world
Different people, of all shapes and sizes
Each smiling at the other
Embodying its diverse nature
Diversity, like a color
Without him, the void whitens each individual
Leaving stripped of their existence
Leaving no color...
Inheritance connecting with each other
Holding one's culture in his hand
Expression through songs, laughter and smiles.
Connecting the colors of the world
Paulino Mercenari Photography
Los Colores del mundo
Las caras del mundo Diferentes personas, de todas formas y tamaños
Cada uno sonriendo al otro Encarnando su naturaleza diversa
Diversidad, como un color Sin él, el vacío blanquea a cada individuo Dejando despojados de su existencia Dejando sin color...
Herencia conectando entre sí Sosteniendo la cultura de uno en su mano Expresión a través de canciones, risas y sonrisas.
Conectando los colores del mundo
Luna Meija
A Koi’s Life
Miranda Rodriguez
Orange white and black Swirling and swishing about Pond life for the koi
Eva Mesa
Watercolor on paper
Ava Seymour Photography
Drifting
The day that I left, I knew we would change. All the time that we spent, We will never regain.
All the laughter and tears, The hugs and the kisses, When we shared all our fears, Our joys and our misses
The plane flew abroad, And took me from you, In tears I saw How my world turned to blue.
A few months have passed, Tried to find a way, For this to ever last, And never drift away.
The knots that we’d tied, Are hard to maintain, They will slowly untie, And not much will remain.
I’ll keep the memories In a treasure box, Every single story, Frozen on the clocks.
I hug you, kiss you From cities away Recuérdame, por siempre, As we drift away.
Andrea Malpica
The LAW of APPLAUSE
Nirvana Sharma
You’ve got the skill of a child who got too much praise Your artwork was designed for applause but never a stage.
To whom it may concern it’ll be called good but never a great
To prove to yourself that you’re one in a billion you show your stuff around for the constant approval of people youdon’t care about
Just so that you know you could’ve done a worse job but was it the artwork or the attention that came with it
Sucking you in till there’s nothing left of it
Your screams have been cut out ‘cause what are you if not for the approval of people you don't know, who care way less than you do
And the fire in your life starts to slowly fade away, And you can’t remember why you started it, Was it for the applause?
The attention?
Or the mere love of art?
That dragged you into this
What is art?
When there’s no one there no one to witness it
Margaret Miao Digital
Journeyto the Edge
Pamela Roussillion
When I look at the waterfalls I feel calm Amidst this feeling is imminent chaos
The sound of the water falling follows the rhymes of a song The patterns in the water create their own course
The mist at the bottom of the falls is unknown Which causes our curiosity to grow The suspense as we reach the edge Makes us question what we have done all this time
The water represents the clarity we see The transparency between the two of us Will it ever be you, me and us? Or was our journey not worth it at all?
Julio Degreas Photography
The
Loon Has Seen a THOUSAND NIGHTS
Matilde Barrera
I still run on the energy from my cradle and wake up as a beautiful jadeite jade girl with my spine made of tea leaves. I get told to bend myself before trying medication Or some kind of midnight surgery.
I am a loon I wake up dead every morning
The moon cries yet she doesn’t know that I kept my wings under me Until they broke And I drowned myself to be able to sleep.
I used to face the sun for it to burn my chest or for the white spots to turn into a blanket to help me rest. It created a fiery ring, not deep enough to cutto cut deep.
If I begin hurting myself before nighttime once more will my body be sore enough to leave the pain for the morning and the desire for movement for the afternoon?
My bones are leaking broken glass. I fix my posture for tranquility and I get told to wear myself out until I rust So I am nothing when I get in bed, And that’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep With chronic pain And leftover anxiety.
Siqi Li Oil Painting
Sophia Azari Mixed media
At the ripe old age of 10
An8Hour for a180 Journey
I was plucked from my home
Where I had my family, my friends
My customs, my school, my neighborhood
Where I was comfortable
Sofia Molinari
Where I was secure, ironically safe, despite The troubles that surrounded my bubble I knew everyone and everything I was within my culture, I was within myself at ease I was happy and nothing was abnormal
But then I went on a two week trip abroad
Which then turned to three months And then 1 year And then 3 years And now 6 years
There is no going back Everyone has moved on And everything has changed I’m told it’s better this way
But I can’t let myself think it
Because I feel that if I allow myself to immerse And if I allow myself to accept I will be losing a piece of my identity, A part of my life which I cherish And hold so tightly close to me that it hurts I fear becoming distant from my past Which gets farther and farther away everyday
But there is no point longing for something that is not there I understand that being present in my life now And looking at the positive side Is something I can choose to do I can choose to absorb what is offered here While still remembering and keeping a connection to my past But it’s hard to let go
ZIPOdes
33149
Nico Pineros
Whoever you talk to is Hispanic, and Katzumi is the best place for sushi
33155
Smells like candles right through the door happiness ever shining through the glass loss and memories still linger
33143
Andrea Lahrssen
Seeing the trees Lining the streets
Views From ocean to greenscapes I feel peaceful
Ava Burke Photography
Ethan Artzt
33133
Mariajose Larenas
The sun rays reflect on the orchids different shades blending together in harmony.
33158
Ian Uccelli
Tall oak trees fill the streets peacocks hearing their loud calls and seeing their vibrant feathers in the bright sun
33143
Olivia Anzai Takahashi
A hot sun and humid air, careful, not even shady trees can help Miami!
Amidst meadows and spring palpitations, Cherub likeness, thine youthful countenance
Lures to thine lips -- alit with sensations
Of new lovers bathed in May’s brilliance
In the depths of summer’s scorching ire
Our hearts beat as discordant symphonies
Thine touch needed be to quell this fire
Of mind: an equinox epiphany
The autumn’s perpetual state of decay
Doth not reflect with its leaves that fall on
Thine blazing hair that glints and sways
In mine hands and tranquil winds once forgone
Winter, simple and wise, hath naméd thee
Mine queen for mine lonesome eternity
I’mNeira
Erika Travieso
Daniel Lara Photography
the real
Ones
Gabrielle Gleason
Mauricio Luzardo Digital drawing
I felt the cold before I saw the fire Some angels walked the pavement white You know them bold and full of ire Full of grief and sick delight
All the world’s best hymns can’t sing The feeling that those angels bring The ones needing saving aren’t us But I thought we could protect them once Recall their kindness, sweet as honey? But love of war, just as lovely With smiles as sharp as knives, Those narrowing lost eyes, Hands on weapons they’ve created For vengeance long-anticipated For holy wars so consecrated We’ve forgotten their abuse.
But they have not forgotten. Do they even realize how Broken they’ve become? Do they know that, now?
What happened to the roses that they grew, What happened to the angels we thought we knew, Now dark-circled eyes and tattered wings, I fear they’ve lost the shape of things, Roses red, fury redder How can violence be any better Than the goodness and the love Supposedly sent by ones above. But now I see that that’s not true Holy rage does not make love too And all the hurt they’re subject to Must create tears I’ve never seen.
You’ll be hard-pressed to find me looking, For the perfect angels we’ve conceived. I know they’re angry, lost, and mourning, In these angels I believe.
Ludovica Enrico Photography
breathe
Ashley Garcia
Inhale, exhale.
My voice sounding like a raspy smoker While pleading for an inhaler.
Inhale, exhale.
My lungs working as hard As a single parent on a double shift.
Inhale, exhale.
My hands reaching out, Yearning for the care of someone else.
Inhale, exhale.
My mind racing, pacing, chasing, Practically detached from my aching body.
Inhale, exhale.
My body pushing its limits, Waiting for each minute to pass.
Inhale, exhale.
My lips pushing against an inhaler, My ears, a flooded lake of commands.
Inhale, exhale.
My throat no longer dry, A sigh of relief escaping my throbbing lips.
Inhale, exhale.
My senses overwhelmed by the sudden intake of air As my eyes flutter open to see my parents beside me, pushing away the damp hair from my face.
Lucie Duchene Color Pencil on Paper
stuck
Luciana Veloso
We are growing and things are changing. The way we view the world around us is different than ever before and everyday something new gets discovered.
It’s all moving too fast and though I am on the same page, it feels as if I am being left behind.
I understand that life is like a moving train and I am definitely on it, however I feel that everybody else is moving way faster and I am stuck at the last stop.
There is nothing wrong with this, but I fear that if I am stuck here for too long that it will only get harder to move on.
And it’s not that I don’t want to move, all I want to do is catch up. I want to get on the train that is life and make it pull me out of this unnecessary stop and take me to wherever my peers may be.
The problem is, I can’t. I don’t know how.
I’m stuck on a first floor with a broken elevator and no knowledge of how to fix it.
I am constantly wondering if I am an odd person because of it. The last thing I want is for this situation to affect the way people perceive me, so I spend my time making it seem like I am on the fast train.
I know people say you have to take life moment by moment but I still can’t help but to feel this way. Desperate and stuck.
7 ‘N Free
Emma Grace Delvillar
Scan to Listen
Walls filled with lining
Holes filled with water
Tears running down my cheek
Words pouring over
Age getting older
I just want to be 7 again
Tears only for when you scrape your knee
Instead of when you feel the world on your shoulders
I’d rather be a princess astronaut instead something that ain’t me
Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be 7 ‘n free
Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be a kid without people saying
Don’t do this, you’re too mature for that
You’re not a child anymore (SO) stop acting so wack
You’re being too loud, why don’t you smile more often
“What happened to the little girl”, well she got lost in the clouds
Don’t want wanna be a dancing queen, just tell me how to get to Sesame Street
Blow out the candles, wish to go back to little tiny pigtails and cuddly cheeks
Cherish those good times, before it’s too late
Smile till your cheeks hurt before you know it (cause) Society will push you down, but don’t make a frown
Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be 7 ‘n free
Don’t wanna be 17, just wanna be a kid without people saying
Don’t do this, you’re too mature for that
You’re not a child anymore (SO) stop acting so wack
You’re being too loud, why don’t you smile more often
“What happened to the little girl”, well she got lost in the clouds
I’m working on loving myself, but I love you so you should love yourself too
Stop trying to be older, stop trying to be younger
But always in your mind you can stay
7 ‘n Free
Sofia Andrade Oil painting
Fairlytale
Anya Gruener
I cracked open the book of fairy tales I was gifted as a child, the stories of pretty and emotional princesses and strong and smart princes. I did not connect to any stories, but still I found myself drawn to the colors and words on the page.
At such a young age my emotions were plastered onto sheets of paper through the form of mere drawings. From drawings of adventurous girls to independent women, each stroke had meaning. As I grew older, I began to replace the colors with words and letters. Putting each piece together to reflect the array of women who went against the mainstream depiction of a female figure.
I myself am the daughter of two Mexican immigrants. Not having a father figure, I was raised in a female driven home. Often the many facets of myself clashed in my eyes and in the eyes of others. My Latino culture proved to be “Machismo” strong, and my views were often met by dissension. Writing gave me a
medium between who I understood myself to be as a female and who others understood me to be. I became unapologetic within my writing. I did not let the bias of others affect that which I wrote. Writing was the only place where I truly felt free to write my beliefs and my feelings.
Each character I created was a different embodiment of what I believed meant to be a woman. Not the stereotypical story of a beautiful naive girl, but one of a powerful and decisive one. I continued forming stories, portraying diverse characters that went against the mainstream tales often shown to young girls, those containing guidelines of how they should act or the criterion they must meet. With each word I wrote, I hoped to make the atypical the new typical.
When a young girl lays her hands on her first book, I wish for it to be a colorful reflection of her inner self, instead of the story of a mainstream girl.
Mauricio Luzardo Digital drawing
Chiara Zecchini
Translucency
Memories are timeless, They usher you into a boundless dimension of ceaselessly shifting realms
They entice you into a pool of remote recollection, compelling you to decipher distant reminiscences of long-ago imprints that left a permanent stamp evermore on your past
Perpetually sculpting a future despite the fact the pedestal will eternally have your past engraved
Yet, underneath the drying clay, lie the core memories that sculpted you to be the person you once sought to be.
Lucie Duchene
Digital art
Father
Dad…
Every year, you are our heart. Every year, you are our soul. Every year we love you Bigger, larger and more. Your love fills our life with fragrance, Spreading a floral breeze. Your sense of humor and wittiness, Make every broken heart laugh. Your motto is hard work and perseverance; You always push for our success; You tolerated, worked tireless and hard; You taught us that life is an open book; You are recognized for your wisdom, intelligence and sharpness; You are always the advising father; You were and still are A man of dignity and goodness. Your sacrifices and love to us are with no limits.
Please forgive us with your tender and forgiving heart.
Mariam Bataineh
Mariam Bataineh Mixed media
Kaya Garcia
A and B, the names given before we were born
The comfort of each other’s skin
The only thing we knew
A faint sound
Ba boom ba boom ba boom; The heart beat of my other half
Compacted into this safe haven
Moving, growing in tandem; familiar yet foreign; Circular and mellow
Together in darkness
The womb
Like peas in a pod
And wings of a butterfly
We are united United as one
A One that will never vanish
Victoria Moya Oil painting
As I
Watch
. Samantha Diaz
Elisa Regueros Oil on canvas
I watch you wander through the empty house in a daze. Stumbling through the rooms with no destination in mind. I watch you twirl the ring on the fourth finger of your left hand, gold and delicate with emerald stones. I don’t recall how I got to our home, I don’t know much about the past few days. You put another casserole, fruit basket, or pie that the neighbors think you’ll have the stomach to eat in the refrigerator. I see the blue light brighten your face and remember when we danced carelessly in the kitchen, awash in the glow of the refrigerator light and warmth of our fantasies. We were filled with the thrill of sharing a home and having a place of our own. We giggled like children about the decor we would put over the mantle piece, where the lit up Christmas tree would go, filled with ornaments we would collect from our trips around the world, the pictures we would hang up in the frames our friends had gifted us as a gesture of good faith in our newest adventure, the dogs and cats that would roam these halls pestering us with never ending piles of fur.
The box on the kitchen counter lay untouched for days until one day, dressed in black, you turned through the contents. Memorabilia from the years packed the box, a mosaic of bittersweet memories for both of us to ache for. I watched from the other side of the room, my figure transparent as you delicately inspected the fragments of our life together.
I watch as the napkin from the coffee shop, that night that everything changed so many years ago, flutters onto the floor. We met in the cold cafe at a water stained booth in the back with our bags slung over our shoulders. This was the same place we had always met, our names carved into the wood grain of the table, laying claim to this as our spot forever. You were bent over your book with your bangs hanging over your face. I couldn’t stop staring. You looked up from the pages of the textbook to catch me and with a careful smile you asked me, “why are you looking at me like that?” A small laugh escaped your lips and I knew I had to tell you the truth. I told you that you were everything to me and I could never only be friends with you. I had to make things right this time. I couldn’t let you slip through my fingers. I couldn’t go another day, month, or year keeping up this charade when your smile could light up my whole world and send me reeling. I knew you had to feel the same way about me. I knew you were struggling with the same feelings. You reached across the table and grabbed for my hand, no words had to be exchanged because we both knew what this was. You asked me if it was wrong for us to feel this way and I didn’t have an answer, but I knew that hiding wouldn’t make this go away. A few years later we would realize we were never wrong for loving each other.
I watch you unfold the letters and notes we exchanged during those years when we were kept apart by distance and the prying eyes of others. We kept it a secret the first year, just hoping to get through school and out of this town. We lived off of secret moments in crowded hallways, dark lit movie theaters, and whispered words. The thrill of sneaking through your garden gate was all we needed. After those first months, we left and never looked back. We had each other and that was enough. We went to no name colleges on opposite coasts, but heartfelt pieces of parchment made their way across thousands of miles each week. Now I watch you cradle a paper cup, distressed and worn brown from the hot chocolate we shared at the skating rink. The chilly air on the ice made us huddle together as we wobbled in circles while others glided across from us. We attempted to twirl and failed miserably, tumbling to the floor still holding each other’s hand and standing back up in fits of laughter. I wiped the flecks of ice from your sweater and you brushed the hair from my eyes. Our first “I love you” exchanged with just a glance, we had moved past the irrational guilt our parents instilled in us long ago. You helped me unlace my boots and I bought us a hot chocolate to keep us warm, although our hearts could keep a fire burning during the coldest winters.
You put the cup down and tears fill your eyes. I’m trapped in this middle ground, yearning to comfort you but my hands can’t catch your tears. I watch as you crumble onto the hardwood floor. The floor is cold to the touch just like me, but you are warm and I don’t know how to tell you that I could never leave you. I rest my head against your shoulder, you can’t feel it, but I know that you can sense me here. We both remember these cherished moments and the grief surrounds us, but you finally have the strength to pull yourself off the ground. Among the photo booth pictures and memoirs of our childish dates and rendezvous, you unearth a dried bouquet, the most important part of this collection. I remember seeing those flowers in your hair, the twinkle in your eyes as I couldn’t stop the tears and laughter from escaping me when I caught sight of you next to me, dressed in white. I feel a pang through my chest as I know I will never see that glow in your smile again or the weight of your hand in mine. You stare down at the bouquet with a tear stained face and a wistful smile. You press it against your heart and I know that you will make it through this. And just like that I watch you put the pieces of our life back together. You close the box with gentle hands, sealing our lives away just so you can get through the day.
“I rest my head against your shoulder, you can’t feel it, but I know that you can sense me here.”
Sunset
Sofia Nuñez
We were the Sun and the Moon.
Unfaltering paths that lead one behind the other You glowed in the dark, and left too soon I always had my head in the clouds, an inadequate lover Maybe it was raining, and I couldn’t see you clearly Maybe I thought the moon chases the sun
Denial worked like the tides keeping us in a never ending cycle
Rising and falling, in sync but not together But I realized you were like everyone else
Happiest at Sunset
When you got to see me go
Sofia Soler-Baillo Digital Art
Pietra Ingletto Wagner Digital drawing
Hello
Giovanna Musiello
Hello, a simple greeting, a formality, and a gateway to an endless amount of possibilities.
How is it that a single word has the ability to form friendships, love, hate.
Isn’t it truly a marvelous thing?
A word. one word, capable of foretelling one’s future, one’s path, one’s life.
The real question is, should we take the leap?
Should we risk the slim possibility of friendship and love, though it may end in heartbreak?
Is it truly worth it to say hello, when one day, we must say goodbye?
Summer-Hot!
Mateo Acosta-Rubio
Can we quit the funny biz? Do you like me or not?
Almost May in Miami, summer hot outside!
Oh Bummer, I think I’m ready; it’s gold outside
I’m waiting on June
Or maybe July I ain’t seen nothing like you I just wanna make you lie (awake!)
Can we talk- talk, talk about it?
Can we walk- walk- walk, walk it off?
Oh Bummer, I think I’m ready; it’s gold outside
I’m waiting on June
Or maybe July I ain’t seen nothing like you I just wanna make you lie (awake!)
Scan to Listen
Nina Castro Alves Photography
Editorial Policy
As the official literary and art magazine of Gulliver Preparatory School, Reflections provides a forum showcasing the wide creative scope of the student body. All students are invited to submit entries throughout the year through the Reflections Literary and Arts magazine website. Submissions are carefully reviewed by the magazine’s student editorial board, who will determine the magazine’s content, theme and visual design. Reflections is part of the curriculum of Gulliver Prep’s Digital Mass Media signature program, through the Principles of Journalism, Multimedia and Design course.
Colophon
The 2022 edition of the Reflections Literary Magazine was printed by Executive Printers of Florida in Miami, FL, with a press run of 700 copies. Designers created the magazine using Adobe Indesign and Photoshop CS6 on iMac computers. Fonts included Montserrat,Gallient, Lora, Helvetica Light, and Helvetica Light Oblique. The 4-color process cover is printed on 80# Dull, with a gloss aqueous coating. The magazine consisted of 88 pages, printed in 4-color process on 80# Dull Text. Reflections features additional online content through our companion website gulliver.life/reflectionslitmag, which is student created, managed and produced. All submissions are reviewed, selected and edited by the Reflections Literary & Arts Magazine editorial board. All literary and artistic work featured in Reflections is created by Gulliver students. We’d like to thank the students of the National English Honor Society and their sponsor Ms. Inelissa Artzt for their collaboration in assisting the Reflections Editorial Board with curating and copyediting the final copy selections.
Daniel Lara
STAFF
Editors-in-Chief
Mia Carrasco ‘24
Sara Gelrud ‘24
Layout Designers
Ava Burke ‘23
Mia Carrasco ‘24
Valeria Castillo Colmenares ‘24
Lucie Duchene ‘22
Valentina Fernandez ‘25
Julia Fogel ‘25
Oscar Garcia del Rey ‘25
Sara Gelrud ‘24
Andrea Lahrssen Comenges ‘25
Andrea Malpica ‘24
Felix Montesano Van de Put ‘24
Ariella Zecchini ‘25
Copy Editors
Alessandra Peña ‘23
Willow Olrich ‘23
Laura Rovira Compta ‘23
Ava Burke ‘23
Pamela Roussillion ‘23
Kate Cooper ‘24
Olivia Moreira ‘23
Adviser
Monica Rodriguez
ONLINE
gulliver.life/reflectionslitmag
NSPA Pacemaker Award, 2021
CSPA Silver Crown Award, 2019, 2020, 2021
National Council of Teachers of English, REALM Superior Rating, 2019
FSPA Standout Award, 2018, 2021
NSPA All American 2018, 2019, 2021
CSPA Gold Medalist, 2018, 2019, 2020 *All Columbian Honors
FSPA All Florida Ranking, 2013-2021
Memberships: FSPA, NSPA, CSPA
Scan the QRcode to access the Reflections website
Daniel Lara Digital Art
