PERCEPTIONS
VOL.1,2025-2026
SAINT JOHN’S SCHOOL
JacquelineJiang
It always fills me with supreme awe to see students’ talent I am constantly reminded of the magic and wonder that young people bring to everything they do: what they observe, things they love, the small objects and words that bring them joy.
As always, I present you the work that my students have created with love, intentionality, and passion. Please take a moment to read through these student writings. You may set your eyes on works that others will refer to one day!
A SPECIAL SHOUTOUT to Ms. Ilanit Edry & her talented students!
This volume of Perceptions includes text and art works by Gabriella Maldonado, Ignacio García Thon, Gustavo Alonso, Naira Rivas, Huishan Wu, Harper Piñeiro, Cristine Tacher, Fabiola García, Mariola Lugo, Marc Buxeda, Alexandria Carlo, Isabel Bringas, Emery Cosgrove, Andie Cabrer, Juju Murray, Juane Rueda, Kellin Prentice, Diego del Amo, and Joaquín Fernández Bobonis
To whoever’s reading this, thank you for taking your time for reading what some of us have put hours into Perceptions for me at least means a safe place for anyone to express themselves, no matter if it’s simple poetry or convoluted stories - it’s honestly an amazing experience to be able to just write and have others give their ideas on your work. I hope you go into this with an open mind and hopefully you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed making it
Welcome to the 2025 edition of Perceptions I’m overjoyed to share this edition with you to exhibit our member’s work While reading this I hope you can enjoy the fruit of our hard work, and that you can open yourself up to exploring literature. I’m honored to be a contributor to this project once again and with that said, let the reading begin!
Dear reader, I hope you enjoy the product of five months of copious writing, revision, and editing It has been incredible to see new members join the club and put their talent into this issue of the magazine. Though it has been time-consuming to publish this issue as a new board, I look forward to what our wonderful group will do in the near future
THE EXQUISITE CORPSE
To commence this school year’s first edition of Perceptions, we wanted to present our magazine’s first activity, an Exquisite Corpse poem that was written by all our members during our first meeting
An Exquisite Corpse poem imitates a game that was created in France during the Surrealist Movement. It works as follows: everyone writes a few verses of poetry without knowing what everyone else is writing. At the end, the members reveal their verses and find an order in which to organize them to create a poem This creates a sort of Frankenstein poem made with many different, sometimes contrasting, parts.
We started with this activity to showcase every member’s own literary voice.
-Gabriella Maldonado
BY:ALLMEMBERS
At the morning dawn, I walked up and turned to face my beautiful chicken. I think to myself how grateful I am for the creation of this yellow blub,
I’m walking through an empty house, scurrying like a mouse From the corner of my eye, I see a doused red cabinet.
“You’re late,” my phone kept on repeating, and I truly wanted to throw it into oblivion, but I’m not financially stable for that. Am I? I was running, the sweat rolling down my brow, which was unfortunate since I was supposed to look nice.
Once I entered my grandma’s room, her looming wooden cross had veeb already piercing my eyes, the light reflected off of its rusted silver imprint had suddenly shot my brain with the memories of the church: “Thou shalt not wear a rainbow
On thy heart,
O ese es tu flow, Alabar al diablo.”
The indelible nature of a tattoo emphasized its meaningful expression. A permanent blend of ink imbibed by the skin to express oneself.
Music has been a constant companion through my life. When I heard the song blast on the speakers, I was instantly overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia and familiarity.
They watched it weave circles across the sky as it flew, as if a beautiful melody was being woven.
I wake up in a shallow puddle of sweat, displaced from any known space. Stood up, I fell as my legs gave out under me, and I lay now in a puddle of haze.
Tears dripped onto her chemistry homework as she stared at the water molecule H2O. Tomorrow, the teacher will be oblivious to the little tear on the corner of the page.
THERE IS A FLAME THAT NEVER GOES OUT
I see the look in your eyes as you speak Something tells me there’s a story I hear the words that speakers preach, Do they care for us or for glory?
I see something flicker from within Amidst the walls and window frames. I see something small come from within, I turn to see a tiny flame
Lies are houses built tall and strong Truths are flames that never go out Houses feel safe, they guard our hearts, Flames are misery for they burn the house down.
We think the flame can be hidden, But it peeks through windows and doors. It grows and festers, it can’t be stopped, It grows more willing, it seems more bold.
One day, one day, no matter how long the wait, The house will burn down, All because of that flame And flames seem dreadful, And perhaps they are, They turn houses to cinders, They make smoke out of walls And yet the flame is warm,
And as you feel the chill of night, You turn towards the flame. The flame might just be fine
BAD APPLE
THE CURATOR
BY:GABRIELLAMALDONADOMORALES
When I’m with you there is no one
It’s just me, you, and the solitude that encompasses our fading thoug
I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t h
The keeper of my memory and trut
The guardian of my youth.
The entity that keeps me in check.
You keep it all organized, In rows and rows of shelves.
I can almost picture the dusted man
Where our memories lie.
When it was just you and I.
The tedious curator and the invisib Now not so invisible
But within me you’ll always remain
The stubborn curator who would ne And will never let the light die.
REQUIEM OF HEARTSTRINGS
BY:ISABELBRINGASBERRIOS
So that's what you were scheminganother game before I start feeling too good about myself, is that it? Haven't you mocked me enough?
God, Satan, whoever's out there listening?
After the monumental disaster you put me through two years ago, how can you have the audacity to not only do it again, but make it a thousand times more painful, just so you can have the last laugh?
I wouldn't even be mad if it had been anything else. So why this? Why now?
More than anything...why me?
You could've chosen someone better equipped to handle it, who could take it in stride even!
So why, out of all the people, would you pick the girl who can barely look at her own reflection without flinching?
The girl who wears a different mask with everyone she knows because she desperately craves companionship? The girl who would move mountains and shatter stars to atone for all the damage she's done?
Why pluck the strings of a heart so broken, you start to doubt if it was ever whole?
Why breathe new life into a corpse, just to kill it again and again?
Why am I your favorite cannon fodder?
More than anything, I want to feel the same happiness as everyone else.
For that happiness to well and truly last
Is that asking for too much?
PHOTOGRAPHSBY:HARPERPIÑEIRO
GREEN, GREEN GO AWAY
BY:SANSANWU
Green grass outside my window, Green sweater I wear for school, Green leaves of the trees, And the green chairs I sit on for school,
I hate the color green, I detest the color green.
Nothing brings me more pain than the color embodiment of disgust, envy, decay, The countless negative emotions it brings, Uneases my feelings and causes agitation, Perhaps this is the reason the Hulk becomes green when he is angry.
I detest the color green, I loathe the color green,
The green evokes agony in my eyeballs, The color is distractingly refulgent It does not fit with either yellow or blue on the rainbow, To which induces great torment on my head
I loathe the color green, And one could say I have very green feelings for the color green.
THEATRE OF THE FOOLISH
BY:SANSANWU
Fools on parade, Jesters in the daylight, Playing a role in a meaningless game, Dancing for cheers of an unamused crowd.
Fools on display, Flaunting their pride unjustified, Blind to truths that lurk in the shade, Chasing illusions that never will stay.
Present in the moment, Mind far from reality. For what faces them?
In the midst of whispering comments.
PHOTOGRAPHSBY:HARPERPIÑEIRO
SERENDEPITY
BY:HARPERPIÑEIRO
From morning to night, though it may cause fright. Destiny is truly an omnipotent might.
Destiny is an empyrean task, no matter how much you want, you may not hide behind a mask.
Once the stars align, though it may feel like a taunt, You can whine, whine, whine, all you may want.
Destiny is one thing that will always hold true, now I know that may feel a little blue. This haunting feeling that you are out of control, is life’s most necessary toll.
From the waves to the stars, this will always remain close to your hearts: Wants and needs are unnecessary things,
Once written in the stars is when it truly means anything
THE QUIET PATH
BY:CRISTINETACHER
We ask if fate decides our way, or if our choices shape each day. A single word, a turn, a glance, Can shift the course we call “by chance”
Perhaps the stars design the stage, Yet we write lines on every page. Destiny whispers, steady, near, But choices carve the path, we steer.
And when we reach journey’s end, We’ll see where fate and choices blend Not rivals, but a woven whole, The silent map, the story told.
PHOTOGRAPHSBY:CRISTINETACHER
SHOR STORIE
HEAT HAZE
BY: NAIRARIVAS
Hey, catch me if you can !
You laughed, and ran, not bothering to turn back to look at me. I decided I didn’t quite bother to call for you this time
Expectedly, there I stood, for however many times, watching your lifeless body melt into the burning asphalt. How many times I’ve watched you from any angle as your eyes roll back and your limbs still This time, you’re ugly and spattered all over the road This time, particularly unsightly This time, I didn’t try to save you, somewhat disheartened, you could say I was. They, whoever that is, say love is stifling self-sacrifice, and oh, how I could lament at its absence, but the summer heat burns its patterns into my temples, suffusing my thoughts. More than anything, I wished your fate would change. More than anything, I wished to stop waking up on that August day. More than anything, I wished that stupid cat you seem to adore so much would just quit its job as an omen, and become the full-time target of this cruel cycle instead. But if you were here, you’d pull at my sweater, call me an idiot and say thinking isn’t action, or to take charge, or something. Or maybe you wouldn’t, I don’t know, that’s not something, well; you’re not something I wanna think about right now, God, it’s too hot for that sweat stuffs my palms as I think of you, your bangs falling right into place over your eyelids before they were soaked with thick blood, and settle on my final compromise I’ll pay back what you’ve given, however many times. I’ll take it into my hands, I’ll part them and stop praying to whatever god is letting this happen to you. Hey, I won’t let the cycle continue like this. I’ll do what it takes to stop it next time. I promise you.
LIGHTER
BY:GABRIELLAMALDONADOMORALES
She felt miserable staring at the dark green pond that her town shared which became darker and darker as the years passed. She saw herself in its green hues that once must have been blue. The pond that once reflected the sky and held the hope of the world in its arms now only held decay much like the girl who faced her warped twin in the rippling water.
The ripples continued and part of her figure broke away with every wave. Would there be anything left? she wondered… If it continued like this, would there be any of her left? After years of neglect and rejection, the once thriving village was left in ruin and she was abandoned. Where the trees were once emerald now laid umber, and the green was no longer that of life, but more like that of rot Where there were many, now there was only one. Lonely surrounded by death that threatened to consume her. She pondered how she got to this state, if there could ever be hope, or would she let the water rip away her remaining glee.
No.
This couldn’t be the end She refused to be green just yet So, little by little, she began to bring back what she had once forgot. The trash that lined the ground now laid in a singular pile Slowly with care the umber began to regain its previous color The houses no longer grey were now all bright colors. These homes once empty began to fill with new owners The sky was much brighter and from silence the paths now ringed with chatter She was no longer alone, and she would never forget what she had once left with neglect. The pond, once green, grew lighter and lighter until it reflected the brightest shade of blue she had ever seen, reminiscent of the past she thought only lived in her dreams.
A smile dawned on her face. The bells rang
Music sang in every corner.
If you could choose, what superpower would you like to have?
—A basic question. An icebreaker, if you will. Such a light question is tossed into conversation like many others, considered superficially, laughed over, then disregarded. I guess I’ll never be someone who has to wonder the consequences of really picking. My head burns and stings, it feels as if my forehead is being melted, my skin is sticking to my brain, and it’s pressing and pressing. I try to pull it off to no avail, and before I know it I’m on the ground with my knuckles gripping the floor. All your thoughts are so, so noisy. I’ve gotten past asking myself why I chose this, but rather why I choose to live with this now, in the present. Everything. I can hear everything you’re thinking. Do you know how many folders your brain sorts through to find that dumb thing you were thinking about? How many files it dips into and haphazardly discards a millisecond later? Have you ever thought about that before you selfishly daydream about your deepest desires and toss another thought aside? Do you know everything that I have to hear? It’s enough knowing about you. I don’t need to know what you have decided to scrounge up from the pits of your filthy mind. I long to be the person I was 5 minutes ago, and huff, glancing up from my floor-adjacent eye-level and shutting my eyes, never wanting to hear your voice rambling on again. When I open them, I’m greeted by a near-miniature plastic chair. My classmates are all turned, staring attentively at me, and I glance to the teacher, who blinks at me expectantly. “So, what about you? What superpower would you choose?” she smiles.
LA MER DE VERRE
BY:CRISTINETACHER
The sea around Le Mont Saint Michel shimmered a soft green, like glass touched by time. The wind smelled of salt and rain, carrying bits of sea spray onto my coat. Moss covered the abbey walls, glowing against the gray stone as if the island itself was breathing. Inside, sunlight broke through stained glass, scattering emerald light across the floor. I stood there for a while, quiet, watching how even stone can hold on to beauty.
TO MY YOUNGER SELF
BY:FABIOLAGARCÍA
PHOTOGRAPHSBY:CRISTINETACHER
THE LONG WALK
BY: IGNACIOJ GARCIA BASEDONTHEFILMBYTHESAMETITLE
My mind races on how and why I have found myself here, Step In this world, where being born means playing these sick games, Step
My heart races as I keep the count, Step
Just go by fours, nothing more, nothing less, Step
I see or at least hear the first few fall, Step
The cacophony of powder and barrels rings in a world I don't see, so I don't know, Step
Others start to panic, using up their energy, Step
Not me. I stay calm... Step
As day turns to dusk and quiet turns to ring, Step
Dehydration grasps my body, a sick poison that makes me both want to vomit and preserve all my liquids. Step
In such a state, I alone create my own night as vision turns dark and head grows light, Step I regain composure, almost lost count, Step
No one is left, only empty husks of kinetic energy, Step
Friends chose to take out others, only to get dragged down by their own fallen angels, Step Nature does its way with our flesh, and where our feet were, now a line of red, Step
As more time goes by, the thought of just stopping settles in, but now for what, Step
An animalistic urge to stop thinking burrows into me, and I just move, if I fall, I fall, Step
Every beginning breath starts to feel like a razor blade in your lungs, Step
And every step is like walking alongside the devil in its inferno, Step
And as you regain composure one last time to assess your situation, in horror, you still see a dozen men in front of you…
(Gunshot)
CORNUCOPIA
BY: IGNACIOJ.GARCIA
Great grapes gather on glorious plates
Miss-shaped by those who worry about the date
They yet don't know how precious each of them is in a world of crates
Overflow with those who yet don't know the way upstate
Each crate is shaped by those who don't even carry their weight
They looked at themselves and thought Yes, we are the ones who will choose their fate
Doctors, Lawyers, Soldiers, Teachers, and Chefs who will even try what they make Hell, they could even own their own estate
We live in a cornucopia of grapes that don't think for themselves
Themselves, theirselves, ourselves, yourself
An individual is only as big as their own self-esteem
So admit that you have a big ego and join the team
Are you just gonna let another person tell you how you live
Carry you up and plop you where they think you fit
Or are you gonna change fate and role of the sesame
The table is high up, but after the fall, theirs a whole world to see
BLINDING LIGHTS
BY: IGNACIOJ GARCIA
I wished upon u once
as my love had grown robust
As love had led to dust
Childhood emotions being overshadowed by the expectations of us
A union under the stars collides
As my emotions for you are fully realized
I missed you but I couldn't express it in the moment
Had to keep my composure so no one would notice
And looking back, I remember exactly what you did
Holding me up like a father protecting and caring for his kids
But you did it out of love that was brought to you as an obligation
A fate well divided between humility and patience
And when they took you away
It led everyone to feel the same pain
A union under the stars once again collides
But i won't be able to wish upon you this time
Goodbye to a brother, a sister, a father, a mother, a star
PHOTOGRAPHSBY:JUJUMURRAY
THE LOVE OF THE SEA
BY:EMERYCOSGROVE
His waves crash to the sand calmly, waiting for the warmth of her brown eyes Every morn the girl would come, gracing his waters and fighting off his melancholic glum
She would take the same walk down the beach, and his waters would gleefully lap her feet. Occasionally she would swim deeper into his loving embrace, losing track of all time and space. For he loved the girl, more than the ocean should love a woman.
So every night he would boon of heart to the moon: make me man, for I know you can! I am in love with someone I’ve only dreamed of! These waters I’m starting to lose, for they do not move to my ailing heart. So grant me this wish, or it just might fall apart! One lifetime I ask, to love a maiden, thus my heart will be unladen and I can complete my eternal task!
The moon grew weary but never answered his plea, instead took the ocean’s love to be. The ocean waited, and waited, wondering where his heart he might see, hoping she would come back to set him free. As the days grew long and the nights more glum, the ocean began to weep and beg to the moon for his heart to come.
When the girl never returned, the ocean receded, his heart forever spurned. He waged his rage from sea to land, for all who lived fell to his vexed hand. When his anger was all spent, and his heart he had vent, he beseeched the moon that his verdict might be bent!
The moon cried with an unrelenting hide, “the world you have raged and the lives you have rampaged, have cost you your love, for she was never sent above! She lay in the depths of thee, by your rage she has drowned at sea!”
The ocean fell silent to bitter shock, for all he could do was blatantly balk He cried his disbelief, but knowingly drowned in his own grief.
He finds her deep in his sea, warm brown eyes perpetually open and vacant of their loving glee. His water filled her lungs, stopping her heart, all while tearing his own apart. The same girl he had raged for, the one that warmed his soul with captivation, now lay dead by his instigation.
So he wept and he cried, forever haunted by his bride that had died by his own tide.
WHERE I’M FROM
BY:MARIOLALUGO
I’m from my mother. Her “te amo”s and her “cuchifrita de mami”s.
From whenever I’m feeling down, and she tells me: “mamita, todo va a estár bien, ya verás”, and then feeling the weight vanish off my shoulders.
From her “te encomiendo al Señor” when I’m going out with my friends, that feels as if she drapes a sacred mantle above me, one that will protect me from anyone and everything
I’m from my father.
His stubbornness and strong spirit.
His Sunday afternoon paellas that smell and taste like heaven, while Luis Miguel and José José play beautiful tunes in the background
From the trips he takes us on while the sky’s pitch black, to see the bioluminescent bay in the place he calls home, La Parguera.
I’m from my sister.
My beautiful and incredibly strong Chelita. Her blissful spirit and contagious laugh. Her empathy and care towards animals, as if she were one with nature.
From her love and admiration for others, and for me too. Her struggles and her strengths as well.
I’m from my best friends, Ricardo and Margarita. My soul feeders and guardian angels. From their brotherly and sisterly love and their incredible patience with me. Their unconditional loyalty and trustworthiness. Their reliability and their moral values. Their ability to make me feel at home.
I’m from my cousin. Her nest.
Her guidance and motherly love. Her appreciation and understanding. Her friends and their spirit. Her strong will and respect.
Although not perfect, they are perfect for me.
We have seen each other laugh as we have seen each other cry. We have all gone through hard times with one another, but are always there for each other in the end, no matter what, And that’s where I’m from.
PHOTOBY:JOAQUÍNFERNÁNDEZBOBONIS
GUSTAVO ALONSO
WHEN A HALO DULLS
Remember those walls I built?
See how they’re seemingly coming down, I notice you’re burnt with arduous guilt, Burnt, yet underwater You scream, you drown
You broke them into rubble Did you not notice me torn? Torn like our flowers, the ones you reaped until stubble.
How you held that rose, And wrote that humming prose, To just stab me with its thorn, Near the trapped bower, Where the wind grows so strong, It devours my scorns.
Oh, but you know me wrong.
I had seen right through the pores Of your Janus face
Like crows in a dense forest Scouting for prey, for filth like you.
But no, don’t worry They won’t do anything, You are invincible, after all
Oh, but what a joyful day it will be!
A VERDANT SONNET
We had always been surrounded by that green, The moss that covered our buildings, but with spite, The pines sew together their leaves, no bright light In the bitter sound of grey, they were never keen.
We had its pristine, clean lakes already seen, For our chemical breath was not a blight; Yet we had heard of its fright, such a stupid trite That we were immune to this calm, boring scene.
In warmth, accustomed to the sweetness of lime To the pull of emerald against our tedium, From the frog’s mouth, the pleasant rhyme.
So very distracted in a savage jungle, Were we; it seemed to our goals a medium, That when it sought its fair revenge back, it was no bungle
When they look, You’ll have already disappeared into thin air Left the golden pollen you’d collected from our soil,
Trust me, your mighty hands They won’t be enough to push it open, The casket of your guilt, Because every step you take, Is one more drop of poison in your blood,
The same blood your footsteps had left, The one rain will absorb, To reveal what you truly are: Nothing.
ALL I DO IS TYPE, SO THIS TITLE IS LONGER THAN THE POEM
Taht [red line underneath]
Teh [red line underneath].
DE COMO SE MUEVEN LAS PARCAS EN
EL HUMO DE UN CIGARRILLO
Olor a cigarrillo; Ironía de un cantillo, Adictivo, desvanecido
La nicotina nostálgica De los neurotransmisores, Que no cortan el fino hilo
Aquellas Parcas lo han tejido, Y Atropo espera con sigilo. Esclaviza mis dolores Nasales, con la agridez De químicos matadores: Tauromaquia, mas con cáncer.
Pasodoble en la lucidez:
Uno, al presente carecer, Otro, al pasado renacer
Roza con esa tijera, Al llegar con el humo, Una corrida ligera En la delta; la pradera
Tan lisa y navegable, Donde caigo en trincheras; Me intoxico con memorias, Y aún veo las banderas
Rojas con la sangre, la historia, Amarillas, con las guitarras, Del partidario tan distante.
BALADA A LA LEOCADIA
¡Aquella Leocadia se mueve con un arte!
Cada taconazo, un martillazo de hembra, trecha
Que conoce la toxina que botas al enamorarte
Cuando Cupido dispara, ella ase y te lanza la flecha; El amor que necesita tu corazón; e insatisfecha, Su vestido vuela sobre tu cuerda floja, Camina en tu “delicadeza”, y quema la mecha
Del fuego que débilmente la despoja
¡Ridiculo eres!, no aprendes a apreciar su cosecha,
Donde el fruto de sus logros, sus miradas, se aloja
¡Lista es!, cómo aprovecha tu ceguedad de sospecha
Cuando te roba la corona, como Eva, cubierta solo de hoja.
ROMERÍA DE LOS TRAICIONADOS
El pulso sanguíneo de los abrazos Nunca bastará para satisfacer la sed:
Que con un empuje de brazos, balazo, Escupe pureza latiendo, su éxito, Para beber con culta merced
El juego de monopolio ya concluye Camino adoquinado de buena política, Corrupción común de risa prosaica; Todo arreglado con sorpresa abusiva
Beligerantes, en segado césped, parecen, Donde la grama puñala al optimista, La nutre con los caídos el que conquista
En guerra de expectativa competitiva, Avisada por esta cruel normativa,
Sí, muere gente.
Tan sorprendido os veis, Cuando arribo a vuestra vista
Y eso que siempre he estado, En cada uno de vuestros seres, Solo esperando salir, Vencer el flujo caluroso, Gentil y vanidoso, De vuestros frágiles corazones.
Veo en vuestras caras, Un profundo miedo. Y aún cuando el reflejo De mi presencia vasta, Os consume, (Como lo hace una rata a un queso podrido y asqueroso), Huelo además una putrefacción, (claro, la vuestra interna) Del miedo a sí mismo
Pensais que sois santos, Pero flotan en el mar, Los cuerpos de sus víctimas; Y lleno de sangre el nilo, Le echais cloruro, Para después tomar en su orilla, Y nutrirse de su maldad “inmaculada”
Escucho vuestros respiros; Rápidos, repentinos No sigáis así (no lo suplicaré más ): Os saldrá en una exhalación ráfaga, El verdadero espíritu de vuestra inocencia, O, digo mejor, de esa farsa.
Dejad ya esa historia, por favor, No tolero más el fraude humano. Tanto actúan al verme, Al mismo diablo; Controlad vuestros deseos ociosos; ¡Ay! mas ahí la veo, En hocicos silenciosos, Ojos temerosos, Olfatos curiosos: La real desgracia, Audacia de vuestra especie, ¡Tal epicaricacia!
SELECCIÓN PINTURAS NEGRAS
FRANCISCODEGOYAYLUCIENTES (1746-1828,ESPAÑOL).LOSATROPOS OLASPARCAS,1820-1923.ÓLEOSOBREMUROTRASLADADOALIENZO.
FRANCISCODEGOYAYLUCIENTES (1746-1828,ESPAÑOL) LAROMERÍA DESANISIDRO,1820-1923 ÓLEOSOBREMUROTRASLADADOALIENZO
FRANCISCODEGOYAYLUCIENTES (1746-1828,ESPAÑOL).UNA MANOLA:DOÑALEOCADIA ZORRILLA,1819-1823 ÓLEOSOBRE MUROTRASLADADOALIENZO
FRANCISCODEGOYAYLUCIENTES (1746-1828,ESPAÑOL).ELAQUELARREOEL GRANCABRÓN,1820-1923 ÓLEOSOBREMUROTRASLADADOALIENZO
NONFICTION
OBSERVATION ON A DARK NIGHT
BY:ANONYMOUS
Just yesterday, I was returning home after spending the afternoon with my best friend. The night was as dark as the streets, devoid of functional street lamps, when one is so keenly concentrated on the road to avoid death. It wasn’t sudden or a shock, rather a slow realization that, just below the dull, lifeless light emitted by the car, the pavement had interrupted the plain black tone.
Number 1 lay on the floor, insurmountably peaceful, as if it (or she/he?) had finally reached his goal and could now rest after another long day of survival in the beastly world of humans. Number 2 smelled and looked at its (enemy/friend/equal) so steadily that his eyes were so dark, but vast and sharp that none of us could tell what was going through its (or his/her?) head.
When I walked out of the car, still struck (and what truly struck me was not that the death of a cat was striking, but that I didn’t really become struck by the calmness of a striking death), my eyes, blinded by the headlights, could also see vividly what was in front: the corpse of an (savage/cute/innocent) cat.
Upon witnessing us, Number 1, Number 2, and the fearful ran away, but did not even consider looking away from Number 1; perhaps a chance of life was still possible in his mind.
Well, I do have to say, it is bizarre for me to write about such an event so casually, with so few words; however, the duration of this, in fact, was so short that elaborating more would be, firstly, impossible, and secondly, not true to reality. And all these words, because such an ephemeral moment that will mean nothing to me did, nevertheless, leave an impression on me of the effects of our actions when it relates to the living beings that nature intended us to coexist with, but more importantly, on the difficulty any of these creatures (yes, including us) can experience in an unknown world, where people obviously more powerful and mightyful can dominate us; steal our habitats; abandon us without food on concrete, where water is replaced by sewage waste and oxygen by carbon monoxide coming from exhaust tubes; separate us from our families; kill us and dispose of our bodies as they did with our souls; so that when we see each other, we may grow angry, or sad, or hopeless, but there is nothing we can do, because we are in a world created for all, but stolen and reshaped by the human minority for their benefit.
DIGNITY: WHEN HUMANITY NO LONGER HAS BLINDERS
I previously explored the crucial role of respect in a stable social order However, I disregarded another type of respect: self-respect Otherwise known as dignity, this value is actually not a tool of conformity; instead, it is one of the sole weapons we have to prevent this system from harming our livelihoods. Similarly to respect for peers, dignity transmits a sense of purpose and resolve; yet it is not a veneer that protects social norms, it is hope, awoken by our rebellious natures, often suppressed by predefined social expectations. Nevertheless, we rarely see it flourishing in social circles because it is almost unachievable, at least in its true form, as long as this rulebook exists. Reinforcing dignity as a fundamental human right would offer an opportunity for individualism and creativity in a society that values collectivism, where everyone fits a certain role in a puzzle that could lose its essence even when one piece is lost. In simple terms, self-appreciation could also result in greed that blinds people to their level in a hierarchy and permits them to interfere with the tendencies of mutual respect that buttress social norms. This is why dignity is equated with ego and frowned upon: because it is said to absorb our humility to others and ignore the “decent” and “innocuous” - other terms for “submissive” - human behaviors.
Violations against dignity normally transpire hierarchically, too. An individual above a certain hierarchy exploits their authority as a rule-maker to repress any of the liberties that allow their subordinates leverage to peek outwards, even slightly. Superiors possess an innate amount of power, or at least the ability to decide for themselves. Therefore, they benefit from their roles just because, by benefiting from the hierarchy and keeping others in line, interfering with their intentions of rebellion or dignity, their self-perceived notion of independence is strengthened.
Here, it is appropriate to introduce a metaphor that helps you better understand my point: Imagine a group of growing young horses in the forest, walking in a path, all tethered together and following the lead of a wrangler in the front, who holds their leashes They are headed to the farm of society, destined to work tirelessly for their owners, pulling plows and herding livestock They had been told by their elders not to refuse the order of humans, who insist they should not be concerned, and promise them a happy future, one where their purpose in life, their labor in the farm, will nurture in them a sense of worth; and so their tight blinders besides their eyes forced them to focus on these sweet and optimistic words Yet one of the foals, who was already very mature and developing some independence, even though the farmers who bought them desired they’d still be young and susceptible to training, shook their heads in discomfort from the blinders, which had been blurring their vision, and, gradually, they became loose and fell Then, once without them, he noticed the bridge towards submission afar, and behind it a herd of his peers chained and abused; so, naturally, he fought back and escaped It had been too late for the wranglers, who were not expecting any of them to rebel and leave the path; the foal ran and ran so much, and for so long, that his horseshoe rusted, and its dust disappeared into the air; he not only saw, but he also finally felt his feet in the ground, alas he could now choose his own path. When he reached the top of the mountain, far away from the farm, with the fresh breeze of the clean air blowing onto his face, he felt free. After all, he hoped could live away from those evil and powerful humans. However, he failed to realize that in front of this peak, there was a tall and deadly precipice, and behind a valley full of productive estates, so he decided to stay there for the night, remembering the rumors of deviant horses that had gotten away into a peaceful prairie where they happily ran back and forth, without restraints. But when he woke up, ready to start his new joyful future, he felt a horrible pain in his head, one he could no longer resist. He was blinded once again, only this time, completely. He heard a farmer screaming blissfully, as he held a revolver in his mind, the same one that had shot the foal’s eyes and filled his face with droplets of blood. Desperate, the foal shouted for help from his former friends, yet, although they heard him, they never came for fear of being harmed themselves. As the cruel human wrapped his neck in a collar as heavy as the oppression of his free will, pulled him into his land, and replaced his blinders just in case, the horse shook as his dreams flew away into the unknown. But he didn’t expect his peers at the farm to laugh at his ugly face and his sheer incompetence in performing his tasks, produced by his act of deviance when he arrived at the farm. Ultimately, he regretted his actions and understood it would’ve been a better choice to stay with the others and not leave, but his dignity, his attempt to get out of the dreadful chain, was totally suppressed, and now he was back in it. And he now realized he was even stupider to think there would be more of his species waiting for him at the mountain to give him shelter, protection, or support because he understood that, in his world, either he joined the crowd or risked his dignity if he didn’t Worse, the farmer had exposed his old, bloody blinders and placed them at the entrance of the stables, with the words “know your place, and you’ll succeed” carved into the wood, so all the horses were reminded of committing such a “dishonorable” act, as dishonorable as creating their own identities or recognizing their selfdignity
Moving on, it is particularly disturbing when public policy directly hinders marginalized people’s opportunity to live a dignified life. Notable and recent examples of this in the United States have often been marked by social lines, where the privileged are exempt from oppression, and marginalized groups are exerting influence over. These instances include: the repealing of abortion, which effectively eliminates women’s autonomy over their own bodies and forces them to give up that source of power and auto-determinations to politicians who cannot even empathize with them; the inexistence of euthanasia laws that allow ill individuals to have a similar freedom from control over their longevity; segregation laws in the Jim Crow South that divided the population by race and, along with discriminating and exploiting Black communities, disregarded their worths as human beings; and the anti-Trans bills around the country that create unhealthy social environments where those with the ability to help dismiss Trans people’s valid claims as signs of mental illness, and therefore cruelly subjugate them to a subhuman level that arouses in them suicidal thoughts
There is no doubt that, aside from ancient social customs, governments are also responsible for quashing people’s inalienable right to dignity, either violently or through legislation, to subdue them to the powerful institutions. And it is fair to assume that, despite the many social movements that have appeared as a result of this inequity, which have awoken in us a thought that we can now carry out dignified lifestyles, dignity will remain a tool of rebellion, though not strong enough to dismantle power structures in society.
ARTBY:DIEGODELAMO
GOGO
BY:ALEXANDRÍACARLO
Throughout my life, I have always had a constant companion. Most people lean into common stereotypes - twin telepathy, mirrored thoughts, shared pain. But the truth is quieter. I often think about how two completely different people can be bound by the same beginning. For example, I could never forget the color of my twin sister's eyes. That warm color has followed me everywhere, reminding me about the moments that shaped us and creating a sense of warmth and comfort. The color green brings back an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia, the Sundays our dad took just us for crepes, where in the midst of a hectic week, the world felt uniquely quiet and far more simple. Every moment we ' ve laughed so hard we cried and every tear we ' ve shared when laughter felt out of reach. Whenever I meet someone with the same olive-green eyes, I remember how lucky I am to move through life with her beside me and how I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Life mirrors her in the smallest places. When I feel sand under my feet, I picture us rolling around in it, playing cards, or watching movies at the beach house until we drift off to sleep. When the traffic light glows green, I remember wandering and talking for hours, about everything and nothing in particular, the Icelandic mountains providing a sense of comfort until we found our way back to the tent at 2 a.m.
As I get older, I realize the memories I cherish aren't those out with friends, the memories I most cherish are the ones colored green, by her. And although the future is uncertain, I feel a sense of security in knowing that no matter what, no matter where we go or who we become, I will always have her, and she will always have me.
ARTBY:GUSTAVKLIMT(MOTHERANDTWINS)
FLAMBOYAN
BY:MARCBUXEDA
One of the earliest memories I have was when I was 4 years old.
I remember slipping, my head getting closer to the ground, and then I saw black. I'm on my balcony and my mom heals my cuts. What I remember most clearly was that as I cried and screamed, I remember seeing this Flamboyan tree in front of me, and I remember it calming me down.
That Flamboyan has been next to my house for as long as I’ve lived, and I remember seeing its flowers bloom, and being happy. My house overlooks a forest, where weeds grow tall, and smother any tree. Although I respect the other trees for making it through, I always recognized the Flamboyan the most. I don't know what it is that compels me to do so.
it's massive, sure, but so are many of the other trees, it doesn't produce fruit, and throughout most of the year it either looks dead, or like any other tree, blending in with emerald leaves. Despite this, I seem to regard it as better than all the other trees. Maybe it's the trunk, it looks scarred, aged, and is covered with many types of weeds, all which have failed to destroy it. Maybe it's the size, it is one of the biggest trees I've ever seen, and it's definitely the biggest Flamboyan I've ever seen. Maybe it's the branches, they stretch out far and always have something on them, whether it's macabre looking seed pods, vibrant green leaves, or beautiful fire-like flowers, that slowly glide down onto the floor of my house. Maybe it's simply my perception of nature as a whole? Maybe I consider the tree significant because the blooming season is so brief, maybe two and a half weeks.
A few months ago I came home, and saw one of the main branches of the tree missing. I looked down and saw a pile of wood, I confronted my dad, and he said that our pool cleaner had suggested cutting the branch to stop leaves from flying into the pool. Despite my dads immediate regret, it didn't undo what had been done, and I was angry. Maybe I consider the tree important because it had been hurt over such a petty and materialistic reason, my own pool. Maybe I consider it important because I blamed my father for being a pushover, and myself for not being there to object. The Flamboyan still stands, just missing an arm, but I look at it now, and I wonder, how many years did we cut down, just for a pool, how much history and legacy was stored in the branch that we cut? And for what? A slightly neater pool?
BY: NAIRARIVAS
[“Destiny”-- There is no such thing as predetermined “destiny” or real “luck”. The universe itself has an innate factor of randomness, but such randomness does not have a tendency of any kind. We often call this “luck”-- but again, if truly random, maintains no such preference. We are not “meant” for any fate, and there is simply always a way to impact the present. The future is in the hands of the people it belongs to, and present situations are formed by chains of real, past decisions they have made. They have made said decisions in their own good judgement and it is taken upon them to act with due rationality Whatever consequences they will face after that are of their own doing, and by their own hand. Not by a third-party force. No fate is beyond their control, and no future is out of their reach It’s all to one’s fault, or one’s credit What is our reality if not a construction of our faults? Such can be admitted that it is inevitable what hand one is dealt. Limitations naturally present can be labeled as out of one’s control A bit cliche-like, nonetheless, what matters is how you handle your cards– With grace and technique, the game of life is won.]
How stupid could Squint
“thebittenbullet66” be?
It’s a bit stuck-up to claim so, don’tcha think? Y’know what, this ticks me off. I’m not so eloquent, or whatever, but to believe in the fact that everything that happens to you is some kinda bounce-back of your own actions, isn’t that a little privilegedsounding? A bit snotty? “No future is out of their reach.” To truly and honestly think like this, implying that all harm done to you is your own fault, somehow? It’s dumb. And selfish. Do you really believe you deserve everything bad that’s been done to you? Is all of it of your own doing, to your own credit? All damage inflicted onto you is completely your fault? It sounds like you’ve never been mistreated in your life. Actually, y’know what; to me, it sounds like victim-blaming. Or whatever. Maybe I ’m reading this wrong… Agh, this is so dumb, I’ve gotta log off and quit arguing with random idiots… Ugh…
