Academy of Notre Dame de Namur
Maeve Pinheiro ’21
Editors-in-Chief: Hanna Murphy ’21 Andrea Wat ’22 Chief Arts Editor Maeve Pinheiro ’21 Editors: Sarah Deeney ’23 Lorna Petrizzo ’23 Ava Trask ’22
Written and compiled after a turbulent 2020, this edition of the Tournesol is certainly one of a kind. Many of the artistic works explore themes that encapsulate the complexities of our human relationships and experiences. As editors, we have the pleasure and privilege of being introduced to many voices and perspectives here at Notre Dame. This role teaches us that even when our reality seems so disorienting, we can take comfort in our beautiful creativity. The creative works in the magazine tell an important story: even in times of
uncertainty, there are moments of hope and happiness. Throughout the magazine, readers will encounter stories and images that express common human experiences, such as overcoming adversity, appreciating significant moments, and reflecting on our personal lives. We hope you can escape any “2020-2021 stressors” while reading this magazine, as creativity is the ultimate tool for finding joy within ourselves, in others, and in our world. When momentous events shake up our routines and thoughts, artistic expression rekindles our inner joy and connection to others. We hope you enjoy Tournesol 2021!
Sincerely, Your Editorial Staff
In the sycamore, The songbirds are resting now. Deep into the woods. Fear hunts like a pack of wolves. I have lost my way. Lorna Petrizzo ’23
Quinn Carpenter ’27
Julia Youakim ’23 4
Hannah Downing ’24 My friend always cheers me up when I’m sad And stays by me when everyone leaves She sticks up for me when people are rude I know that I can trust her all the time She would never lie to me or I to her Not many people can do what she does Loyalty is a quality she has My family cares for me today They cared for me when I was a baby No matter who I am they still love me My life will always be brightened by them I know they won’t ever abandon me I won’t find their love in many others Parents are the most loyal people to me Loyalty is something to always keep Always remember to give it back 5
Artwork: Kiley Rusak ’24
I am so sorry - Derek never said. He was found guilty but does he feel guilt? Guilt makes a person feel responsible. Does he feel any responsibility? He knelt on his neck for 9 minutes straight. The stain of death is on Derek's knee. They tried to make up different stories. Instead of facing reality. I wonder what he feels in his heart. Is it guilt? Is he remorseful? Is it a shame? As he sits all alone in his jail cell isolated from the rest of the world What feeling of responsibility Does Derek Chauvin have in his heart? He took away the life of a father. A family man and a great citizen. He professed his innocence in court. Without any thoughts of guilt or shame. - Hilary Whitaker ’24 ARTWORK: JULIA YOUAKIM ’23
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Trust and loyalty often hand in hand One cannot remain without the other Friends, partners rely on this sacred bond In losing one you will lose the other Broken trust and unstable loyalties Drive man to insufferable madness All alone having no one to lean on Paranoia strikes back unrelenting Trust who you can, value their loyalty Strive to remember, promises and oaths Break your promise and lose their loyalty Break your oath and forever lose their trust Kiley Rusak ’24
Artwork: Mary Livingood ’21 7
Invisible I Sometimes Wonder why I feel like I Am invisible. I’m there but also not. A shadow. Invisible. Overlooked. Unseen. Unheard. When I don’t want to be seen, I’m noticed. When I want to be there, I disappear. Reagan Parsons ’27 Artwork: Paige Kieft ’21
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Melodies of a Nightingale Ava Trask ’22
At the crimson break of dawn,
Artwork: Andrea Wat ’22
birds begin their chorus of chirps in unison. Their operatic notes thoroughly resonate in my drowsy mind that’s so exhausted of being haunted by your forgotten memory. Every morning is the same melody of serenity and gaiety and it digs the grave of my lamentation deeper and deeper.
Contentment and joy has been absent from my life since you left, but as the sun continues to rise, I realize something is different. Quiet and stillness hushed over the cheerful flock as they tilt their little heads towards one lonely creature.
Perched outside my windowsill is a beautiful nightingale with golden and nutmeg feathers and a puffy white crest. I would swear to anyone who asked that she was the most stunning bird I had ever laid eyes on. Yet, her song was unlike any birdsong I have heard as it was one filled with sorrow and guilty repentance. The other birds and I gaze upon her mesmerized by her soulful voice and that comforting sound brings me comfort for the first time since you passed. Suddenly, her singing stops and her longing eyes fall upon me and my breath gets lost in the sea of my lungs. 9
In those pools of caramelized siena with hints of ocean blue and steely silver, there is so much pain, despair, and familial love. The combination of misery’s irises and dark pupils of sadness send chilling shivers through my entire body. Moments of silence echo in the air as our connection grows and feelings are articulated through the quiet lull of emptiness. I am disheartened at the sight of this gorgeously lost soul, yet so incredibly grateful to be accompanied in my mourning. My inability to move on is suddenly surpassed with the light of existing in peaceful tandem with my grief.
When the warbling, trilling, and twittering begins once more sobs break through the chains of my locked lips. The melancholic tune of the nightingale continues as I prepare to say the words I did not get to say to you. I feel the syllables spilling and slipping from my tongue while crystal tears of hope drizzle from my emerald eyes. Once the stream of words approach their end, a content sleep encloses me in his warm embrace. When my eyelids finally reopen to the light
Charlotte Lignowski ’22
she has flown away. Goodbye
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ON WRITING POEMS
Artwork: Maeve Pinheiro ’21
Not the best I love to write Essays are better This is not fun for me I don’t care for bad poems
Why do this tragic thing to me This is quite very cruel to do Please don’t do this inhuman thing to me Ava Fitzgerald ’27
me
a The S
. Same ual. ody. t. b u t o n g e q . n d E in tu andi Fitting One s Not st f. emsel h t s i n perso e. uals. d e i n v i o d t s. No sam No in nalitie exact o s e r h e t p one’s , same s g Every n i th exact e m p. a S ows u name is h s e h Her Until s irl. Starg 7 sons ’2
n Par Reaga
Artwork: Julia Czachor ’21
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The Sky
Stars. Pictures. In the sky.
Connect the
`
stars,
they said.
See what you
Will find,
as they bring
light to the
dark sky.
Patterns
And Images,
possibilities.
Is it up to us
to decide?
Maybe.
The stars up above are here to guide us. Sofia Mulligan ’27
Artwork: Andrea Wat ’22 12
* A Scholastic Key Writing Award Winner *
I bit into the fruit and everything changed. The world around me blurred and became all too clear at the same time. Adam then took a bite and I saw the shift in him. Nothing made sense. Before I had time to think, I heard footsteps. I knew who was walking through the garden. I pulled Adam behind a tree.
“Why are you hiding, have you eaten from the tree I told you not to?” God inquired in a voice that for the first time frightened me.
“It was the woman you sent me, she ate it then gave it to me” Adam said. This annoyed me, first off the woman? I was his wife and he was my husband. And secondly, I had not forced him to eat the fruit, yet he was blaming this whole situation on me. God glanced at me, I needed to say something.
“It wasn’t me, it was the snake. The snake tricked and tempted me.” I said somewhat confidently. Although it was only a few seconds until God spoke, it seemed like hours. He spoke first to the snake: “You and your descendants shall forever be enemies with them and their descendants.” That was not too bad, but then he turned to me and said,
“Childbirth will become extremely painful and your husband shall rule over you.” That was awful and far worse than I was expecting. Then he turned to Adam and said,
“You will forever work long hours so you can provide for your family.” God then walked away,the snake slithering in the opposite direction. Then we were alone. Angrily I turned to Adam; he had blamed me for eating the fruit. Had he forgotten he had also eaten it? He looked at me and I could tell he blamed me. We stared at each other but said nothing. He walked away. I stood there alone. Nothing was the same. Regret and rage overcame me. It was like my soul had been smashed into thousands of pieces. Victoria Hiscott ’23 Artwork: Claire Chaplin ’22 13
Snowy Silence Quietly falling, Half-silent flakes come to Rest Upon my face and Lay atop the frozen ground, Making a crystalline sound. Isabella Langley ’21 Artwork: Andrea Wat ’22
The Bay at Night
Still and quietly The moonlight reflecting down Waiting for ripple Tatum Maloney ’21
Artwork: Ellen Shaak ’26
Blanket on my lap Blinding powder falls outside A silence so loud The land at rest, in deep sleep Tucked in by white blanket too Jaiden Kennedy ’21
Artwork: Ashley Kolessar ’22 14
Devyn Sargent ’24 A secret kept well is the greatest trust, And loyalty to friends is just a must. In times there comes a choice between two wrongs, Allegiance must go up against the pawns. For when you’re faced with a difficult choice, Remember who was there when you rejoiced. Remember who was there during the dark Whose light did show against the pain, so stark. And keep your loyalties close to your heart, Don’t turn your back the next time you’re apart. Ponder your choices well and do not wave. For loyalties are taken to the grave.
Artwork: Mary Livingood ’21
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Looking Glass Maddie Frank ’22 The blinking numbers on the clock hit three, and screams erupted from every corner of the room, only to be at once drowned out by hundreds of feet pounding the concrete floor in a sprint to any door with the word Exit glowing in red. The last day of school before summer vacation had come to an end. The seventh graders of Hillside Middle School rushed to the bus and their parents' cars to leave there for the summer. I waited in my classroom until my classmates' laughs were sounds in the distance. A few students still chatted in doorways where abandoned math assignments, candy wrappers, and pencils occupied the desks, but no one turned to look at me as me and my clacking flip flops walked out of the school door. I was in a rush to escape into summer like the rest of my classmates. There was no bus to catch and no friend’s mom waiting to pick me up for an end-of-the-year pool party. I turned left out of the school and began walking toward the only thing
Marli Dorn ’22
awaiting my arrival: my mom’s car all packed up for a drive to my grandma’s abandoned farmhouse. Charlotte Kingsbury, my grandma, had lived an impressive 95 years of life. She had passed away six months ago, right before I started attending Hillside a few months into the school year. Perhaps more impressive than her 95 years, though, was the 200-year-old dilapidated behemoth she called home. Calling 570 Flower Street home was generous: more cobwebs and dust lived in the house than people ever had, and the gaping hole in the front porch, dead bird on the backstep, and crumbling walls seemed to suggest a space more inhabitable for death than for life. 16
As I walked home to my house, that was almost as lonely as my school, I heard the sound of basketballs bouncing on the pavement, bike bells ringing, and the familiar music of the ice-cream truck. Before the move, my usual walk home had been quiet with the occasional car horn to interrupt my thoughts, but my new neighborhood had come alive this very day with the spirit of summer–just as I was preparing for a car ride to the house of the dead. I paused only once on the walk home. Before turning down my street, I stopped to glance at the park bench on the corner. It was occupied by an old woman sitting alone, just as it had been every day before for the last few months. The old woman sat staring off into the distance, as if deep in thought, even when the wind caught her old blue dress, suddenly putting on display those incongruous grass and mud stains along the hem line. I had seen them before. I had seen the woman wearing the same dress every single day. If the woman had a name, I did not know it. If the woman had a job, it wasn’t obvious, as she never seemed to leave the bench to complete any work. Every morning and every night since I had moved to Hillside, I passed by the woman on the bench. I had tried to talk with her, but received no answer–I assumed because of the jagged scar across the woman’s throat. And yet she was friendly. She smiled and waved back to me as I walked by, just as she did every morning and every afternoon. I always smiled back. It usually was the only time I smiled each day. At least someone seemed to notice me in Hillside even if it was just silent affection. At home, my mom lost no time shuttling her daughter to the car. “No time for you to change, Leah. I already packed your bag. Your father needs to leave soon. And I want to get most of the house cleared out before dark.” “Why before dark?” “Grandma’s house is run-down, Sweetie. The lights don’t even turn on anymore. It’s better to finish packing boxes before it gets too dark out.” She paused. “A lot better.”
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Andrea Wat ’22
The house was only 30 minutes outside town, but my dread made the trip feel like hours. The thought of cleaning my grandma’s house had me wishing I was back in my old town with my old friends more than ever. My father’s irritation about having to drop them off in the middle of the workday made things tense in the car—even as my mom kept reassuring me, reminding me about the fun old dollhouse and the curious objects they were bound to find among the antiques her grandma collected. I wasn’t reassured in the slightest. My dreams of picking ice cream flavors with my best friends, who were states aways, were replaced with the image of the doll houses that might be found in my grandma’s house. The doll houses my mind conjured did not resemble the pink sparkly princess doll castle that was left behind at my old house. I pictured every room of the house to be filled with doll houses, making it almost impossible to even move from room to room. I shuddered at the thought of the cobwebs stretching from roof to roof hiding the occupants of each doll house from her view. I tried to force my mind back to the past first days of summer with my old friends to get my mind off the thought of standing in a room filled with old dolls watching my every movement while securely hidden away in their cobweb fortress. The dark blue farmhouse sat alone on the street. There was no paved driveway to park the car. My dad pulled quickly into the only opening in the grass not occupied by overgrown bushes and trees. My mom and I came to clean out the house before selling it to a new owner, but the surrounding plants had already claimed my grandma’s house as their own.
Ella Canavan ’21
While the house had been neglected in the months since my grandma’s death, the plants had been left to their own devices far longer than Charlotte Kingsbury had died. “Wait….you’re telling me someone actually lived here?” I asked, moving to get out of the car. My mom answered, “Yes, your grandma grew up here, and I grew up here. It didn’t always look like this.” The honking of the car horn interrupted her response as my dad waved his hand in frustration.
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“I missed an important meeting to drive you both out here. You need to unpack these boxes in the next three minutes or I am going to be late for my client's dinner.” “Don’t yell at me in front of your daughter. This clean-out date has been on the calendar for months! You’ve known it had to be today for months now.” My mom unbuckled her seat belt and opened her car door. “This is the first day my new boss would give me off and the earliest day I could rent a dumpster. Do you know how hard I worked to convince him to give me this day off? New employees get zero say. Zero!” She slammed her door shut and turned to face the trunk where boxes needed to be unpacked. My dad rolled down the window. “Well, you wouldn’t have needed a new job if you hadn’t
forced this family to move into a new state! Look, just look how great the move turned out! Leah has no friends in her new school. All she does is sulk around the house without any friends because of this move. And even better, your mother died before we even moved into our new house. Now I am late for that dinner, because you needed me to drive you here to clean out this
dump.” I flinched during her dad’s yelling. Screaming matches between my parents were frequent since the move. It was not the first time my name was included in their arguments, but my parents usually avoided mentioning my loneliness since the move. They usually pretended it was normal to spend every weekend alone in my room. “Grab the boxes out of the trunk now!” Once the yelling had stopped, my mom and I unpacked each box from the car. We set them right on the ground, to avoid wasting more time. My dad was angry enough already. But my mom was already thinking about something else. “After your grandfather died,” she said, “your grandma just stopped trying to take care of the house. Then after she died, it just got so much worse. Once we get all the boxes out of the car, we can carry them inside.”
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Paige Kieft ’21
My mom and I with boxes in hand stepped around the dead bird on the back step to enter the kitchen. The headlights of my dad’s car briefly lit up the room before pulling away. The power was out in the house, and the afternoon sun through the windows made the white dust on every surface in the house stand out even more. The kitchen table by the back door was still set for dinner as if the house had forgotten to communicate the death of its occupants to the table. Old dollhouses took up most of the house leaving little walking room just as I had imagined. The wallpaper that had once been pink with flowers lay ellowing on the floor in crispy strips. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that an animal had found its way inside here since the last time my mom was there.
Lizzie Dankmyer ’21
“It looks like a horror movie in here,” I surprised myself by saying out loud. “Why would an adult even own so many dollhouses?” “I told you she liked to collect antiques, Leah. All these dollhouses are worth a lot of money to the right people, and don’t go calling my childhood home a horror movie scene. You never saw this house in all its beauty.” My mom set down a stack of boxes in the space between dollhouses and let out a sigh. “I will say that while I never saw anything strange in this house, your grandma always claimed that she saw the ghosts of her dead cats playing in her bedroom.” I looked about the room with renewed fascination. Seeing ghosts would be the most exciting thing to happen to me since we moved. “Do you think there are really ghosts here?”
To read the rest of Maddie’s story, click on the link here
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Tower of Babel
Grace Kane ’23
The Tower of Babel, so big and tall, a story filled with pride. Men working together to build this tower Until they reached the sky. Working together as one massive herd Their differences were unseen. As soon as languages were scrambled up The men started to flee. The theme of this story relates to today And can give us a realization. Why do our differences pull us away? We are all God's creation. To make all people the same and identical Was never on God’s plan. Our race or gender should not matter When we all speak the language of man.
*A Scholastic Key Writing Award Winner* A name they sought to make of themselves, A name greater than God. It seemed they wanted to be on top Which he thought was kind of odd. Our personalities and our goals Are what make us all unique To tell and share them with each other, Is why he gave us the power to speak. People who cannot see our equality And think they are above all. Are the same people still building in Babel The tower which will eventually fall. Our languages around the globe Began at the tower of Babel. But still, our differences superseded And fail to meet man's label.
Artwork: Lizzie Dankmyer ’21
Madison Roselli ’22
If we ever wish to end the division And hope the conditions will change. We must unite together with each other And be inspired by our outrage. Without God and his people in our lives Our world would be abstruse For the word Babel in Hebrew Simply means to confuse.
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Olivia Mulligan ’23 Embedded in deep resonating notes Are secret messages for you alone. As lyrics share their lengthy anecdotes Yet you pay more attention to their tone. Like ships and boats sail smoothly on the sea They glide and move among the world around The chords and rhymes within will set you free To ebb and flow along the waves of sound. But how do a few rhythms and sharp lines
Julia Youakim ’23
Begin to detach any person’s soul? The key is symphonies all intertwined Throughout the melodies like twirling vines. Ethereal sound waves blur and transcend The human mind through music without end.
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Madison Roselli ’22
Floppy ears turned tan the emblem of time and growth Puppy no longer, Her color won’t return, yet Pictures long ago remain
Artwork: Ella Canavan ’21
This ten by ten room Is not enough to contain The fights of siblings
Window streaked with rain The patter of mother earth Awaken to see New life born once again Oh the sense of calm - Ava MacLaughlin ’21
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Annie Greek ’23 * A Scholastic Key Writing Award Winner *
God told Abram he would take him to the “Promised Land.” My great great Grandfather thought that while leaving Italian sand. From Ur to Canaan Abram and his family went. Frank came to America for a new life and to repent . Sarai called herself Abrams' sister. He left Italy away from his sister and dissed her. Being his “sister” kept Abram alive. He had high hopes that in America he could finally thrive. The pharaoh gave them gifts for their beauty. The gift of a new life came with much duty. They left Egypt because of God’s plague. The reason he told his family he was leaving was vague. 10 years and still bore no child. He and his family never got along; it was time to restyle. Hagar the maid, bore Abram a son. His new life in America had finally begun. The son she bore was named Ishmael. He started with no money and couldn’t afford rich meals. Sarah was told she was to bear a son and laughed. He had to change his name if he wanted to get past. They also changed their names at God's request. He stole to provide and was close to an arrest. Isaac was born and would be someone great. He thought America would be better, did he make a mistake? God made Abraham a father of many nations. The biggest problem was his communication.
From Abraham, many kings descended. Speaking Italian has now ended. God later asks Abraham to offer Isaac as sacrifice. Not speaking English just wouldn’t suffice. Abraham was sad but agreed. He had much help but was now up to speed. Isaac was bound to an altar when a messenger appeared. Little did he know he started a family that went on for many years. God spared Isaac and sacrificed a ram instead. I am very grateful from Italy, he fled. God praised Abraham for his faithfulness. I praise my great great grandfather for his braveness. Abraham and his family show to never lose faith in God. My grandfather showed me to follow dreams even if at first they seem odd. Abraham and his family show to never lose faith in God. My grandfather showed me to follow dreams even if at first they seem odd
Artwork: Lorna Petrizzo ’23
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New Beginnings
* A Scholastic Key Writing Award Winner *
Audrey Cain ’23
Andrea Wat ’22
Beginning from the darkness Driving out of a dark tunnel A chance for new opportunity A chance for a new start To see the beauty in all of the world The shining stars in the night sky The snowy peaks of mountains The mystery of the open ocean To connect with people To laugh with a newborn To see the smile of an old woman To watch a couple fall in love To achieve goals To buy a house To see your children grow up To happily retire The promise of new beginnings, Offers a beacon of hope For those inside the tunnel, For those stuck in the dark
Lorna Petrizzo ’23
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d far each n b a r d de nea seclu nds e e i r h f T rom ine f h at s h Sun s aflo porc d e r h a t o m surfb er fro me t h The g rt ho au o l p t g h on nig kes L Late a m at is wh s i h T
Lauren Carpenter ’24
Virtual School Get on the meets Still constantly working Feeling lonely and always behind Homeschool
Charlotte Lignowski ’22
esca P
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4
Fresh man Scar Walk y , Busy ing, L Stres e a r n sful, ing, L Worr augh ied, C ing o u rage Soph , Reli omo ef re
4
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day First g elmin h w r e ss Ov to cla s s a l c s from prise r u s Going , ry t, wor n e m e Excit ing Dawn
Maeve Pinheiro ’21 26
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Short Story Taylor Brooks ’21 “Do me a favor, get out!” A quote that is said very often by the world-renowned chef Gordon Ramsay on his show “Hell’s Kitchen.” The contestants resonate with me because I, too, struggle with cooking. I do not undergo the same pressure as being on reality television with the prize money at $250,000, but I stress nonetheless. I enter my kitchen thinking of various ingredients in my head and debating whether I have the skills to master the meal. Since my parents have turned from meat lovers to vegan enthusiasts, ingredients were limited. The best breakfast dish that comes to mind is pancakes. The fluffy warm stacks can make any morning better. Since the traditional ingredients I did have were all vegan-fied, I had to improvise. I found a recipe that was geared to making pancakes 100% vegan. This recipe also required baking powder, an ingredient that was not in any cupboard in my kitchen. So, just like anyone would do, I substituted it with baking soda because they are the same thing right? Wrong. To make sure I came out with the best vegan pancakes ever, I measured everything to a T. Measuring cups and spoons stockpiled in my sink as my sous chef Mom watched me closely. The batter did not raise any red flags other than seeming a little watery. It was time. The pan was hot and my batter was ready to meet its maker. The red flags soon began to go off instantly as the pancakes were so thin I could not flip them. I tried a few more times to get a perfect pancake off the griddle and served the scraps to my sous chef. My mother looks at me not in awe but with pure disgust when she spits out the pancakes and says: “Those are not good.” Words hurt and those hit me pretty hard considering I was putting all my effort into these tiny salty mistakes.
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Time for a new plan: bake the pancakes. I did not want to give up on my creations because I believed they were going to turn out better. To make a long story short, baking them did not change the taste nor the texture and they were still very inedible. Those pancakes might have thought they won, but I did not give up on the first round. I tried, again and again, to make these pancakes as best as possible because I put my mind to it. I am always creating ideas in my head and wanting the best outcome. When I am challenged, I work hard and aim high to reach my goal. My school experience has taught me that before giving up, try every available option you have and always be open to finding extra help. I demonstrate these tools by going to my counselors and redoing my work before it is perfect. I do these steps because I know I have the ability to succeed. Believing in yourself first before anyone else is the most important thing to succeeding. You have to trust in your abilities to overcome any obstacles you see are manageable. After my pancakes turned out horribly, I did not throw a “Hell’s Kitchen” tantrum, kitchen appliances did not go flying, and I did not fire my mom for being my sous chef. What I did that allowed my pancakes to become a masterpiece was switch to boxed pancake mix.
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Raina Banerjee ’25
Essay & Embroidery Charlotte Lignowski ’22
I was preparing for my sophomore year of high school when I realized I did not have a pencil case. I began searching my room, knowing there had to be something I could use out of all the clutter in my desk and shelves. Then, I found one: an old, pink pencil case. Now, while pink is my favorite color, I still felt the pencil case was kind of boring. It needed more. An idea came to my mind to stitch a design using a sewing needle, thread from an old friendship bracelet kit, and of course, Youtube. I did not know it then, but in that moment, I had found a love for something that would only grow immensely over time: embroidery. To some people, embroidery might just seem like hours of doing nothing, but to me it is the exact opposite of a waste of time. I find this beautiful art form to be therapeutic in a way. For me, it is very calming to sit quietly for hours with the consistent motion of pulling a needle and thread through fabric and nothing to think about but the work of art I am creating. Embroidery also has a vast history that is very interesting to learn about, especially for someone like me who enjoys history in general. It is also pretty awesome to not only feel like a character in a Jane Austen novel, but to know that you are keeping a centuries-old artform alive. Recently, I decided I wanted a place to share my work and document my progress, so I started an Instagram account. Starting this account was a similar experience to when I embroidered that pink pencil case years ago because I had no clue what was in store for me. An account that simply started as a place to document my work began to grow into something more. It not only allows me to look at other people’s work for inspiration, but sharing my own projects means I am able to inspire others as well. My embroidery account also gives me the opportunity to interact with people who share my passion, not just in America, but in countries all over the world including Germany, France, Canada, and Argentina.
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To this day, I still use that pink pencil case I embroidered years ago. At this point, it has seen better days. It is dirty, somewhat faded, and, sadly, a lot of my stitching is starting to come undone. However, I still love it, and I have no plans to stop using it. Every time I take out that pencil case to grab a pen or an eraser, it makes me happy and proud. It is a symbol of where my love for embroidery began and reminds me how much I have learned and improved. Now, it is strange to think back to before I found my love for embroidery because it has become such a huge part of who I am.
Charlotte Lignowski ’22
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Johanna Murphy ’21
How Do You Feel?
For four years we dodged the questions: “Where do you want to go to college?” and “What do you want to do with your life?” Now, these questions have faded into the background and have been replaced with one: “How do you feel?” So, this does deserve an answer. How do I feel? My first instinct is relief. I feel great. Thank God my high school experience is finally coming to an end. I’m ready to get out of here. June 5th cannot come fast enough. No more tests in honors calculus. But then I pause. Never again will I sit in a boat with the remaining seniors from my crew team. I will never have another performance on Malvern’s stage. I will not sit in the wings and laugh with the friends I never would’ve imagined making in my freshman year. I will not attend any more high school dances. I will not roll my eyes as the 15th person yells “guys pay attention” in our spirit day circle. I will not sit in the same basements with the same people after special high school events. My friend group has shifted astronomically since Freshman year and there are so many things that have changed. I’ve gotten better at appreciating these high school moments though. I focused on appreciating every hug and every laugh in the moment and in the times following. Still, I blink and it’s gone. I feel as if I should write these things down. I worry that one day I’ll forget the things that made me laugh so hard I cried or the jokes that triggered my asthma. Will I remember the times that made me smile so much that I’d think about how thankful I was to have more time left with my friends? I spent a lot of good moments taking in the people around me, asking God that each moment be like this one. The only trouble is that now I am here. There is no more time. I may be a little overdramatic, but truly the sand in my hourglass is thinning. The date is May 13th. My first and only prom is Saturday night.
Paige Kieft ‘21
Paige Keift 21
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My final high school race is tomorrow. My final performance on the Malvern stage is tonight. How do I feel? I can already envision the tears that I will pretend are not coming. As the lights go down on the stage tonight and I take my final bow, it will only take one gaze at the sea of friends I have made to make the memories come flooding back. As the juniors announce our names next week at the crew banquet, I know the feeling of accomplishment for surviving the excruciating 3 by 20 minute workout may be outweighed by a sense that I’m going to miss the team a lot more than I let on. As I listen to Halo in a dress that makes me feel like Cinderella, I may lose my shoes over the fact that these experiences are finite. How do I feel? I’m ecstatic to move on to new experiences. I'm enthusiastic because I know I will have an amazing time in college with my new rowing team in a major that I can enjoy. I’m thriving because I’ve had a wonderful year and I feel prepared for the sunny summer ahead of me. But I’m sad because I’m so familiar with my surroundings and my routine. I’m depressed because I’m leaving all of my friends behind. I’m anxious because every time I stop paying attention to the world around me, another month goes by and I get closer and closer to weekly hangouts becoming monthly. I’m scared because in less than four months I will be in a new state with an intense workout schedule and a campus to navigate that is over eleven times the size of the massive campus that I’m already learning on. That’s how I feel. I don’t think I can pinpoint how I feel. I will continue to smile and tell you and everyone else that I’m so excited. “It’s bittersweet,” I’ll say with a smile. But make no mistake, I’m terrified. The whirlwind of emotions I am experiencing is beyond even my own comprehension. Overall, I’m ready. I’m prepared, or at least I must tell myself so. “Take me back!” I will shout, but no amount of longing will return me to my sophomore year. Now, all I want is to shout at the underclassman. “Enjoy this time while it lasts!” They’ll never believe me. How desperately I fight the mindset of being excited to leave even still. My red, yellow, and green sisters will chalk my advice up to sentimentality. But I wish them all the happiness and tears of my high school experience. Maybe I’ll be one of those people who says “I’d never go back to high school.” But don’t you think for a second that I mean it because how do I feel? I feel like I have made the most of it.
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Sophia Burke ’26
”Dreams” Sabine Corrielus ’25 Dreams are an essential part of everyone’s lives because they give hope and help us strive to be better people. No matter who you are or what you have, we are all connected by our dreams, no matter how big or small. In this poem by Tupac, there is a rose growing in concrete which is something that you do not see often. Most people would say that it is impossible or that it is fake. The some people will try to crush your dreams and your spirits by saying things like you’re not good enough or you will never make it. I say dreams do not only give hope, but they also build motivation to keep you going.. Everyone has dreams. From an early age, we watch T.V. shows and think this is what I want my life to look like. Or we scroll through magazines and think this is what I wish I could look like, and this is what college I want to go to. Our lives revolve around the choices we make which are greatly impacted by our dreams. We have two great choices in life: either to listen to everyone that says that your dreams will never come true and that you will never be able to accomplish that, or you can just prove all of those people wrong and follow your dreams and live your life. My dream is to be a pediatrician when I grow up. My mom, a nurse, and my dad, a cardiologist, are both successful because they never gave up on their dreams . They started from nothing in the poorest country in the world to owning their own businesses and sending all of their kids to private schools and living the American dream. My parents’ dream life and success did not come easy to them. My mom and dad had to work so hard for what they have, not even knowing how to speak English. Their lives and hard work inspire me not to give up on my dreams no matter how many stones life throws at me. I also always wanted to have a nice family with at least 2 kids and a dog. Family is a huge part of my life which is why I want to live near all my closest cousins and my brothers. My dreams are very important to me. Living in a world where all odds are against me, I have to rely on my dreams, hopes and wishes for the future to get me far. Being a black girl in America, my dreams are constantly being shut down and rejected. Even little things make major differences. When I was younger, I remember watching all my favorite cartoons and shows and eventually noticing the constant colorism in kids’ shows that make us grow up with the mindset that the lighter you are the prettier you are. The light-skinned girls were always the main characters and dark skinned girls were always seen as the desperate bully. In conclusion, dreams are what make you grow and blossom into a new person. A thing that connects all humans, rich or poor, is our dreams. For some, our dreams get crushed at a young age, but you should never give up because even if the whole world is against you, like the concrete holding the thriving rose, you can prove them all wrong.
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Maeve Pinheiro ’21 Maeve Pinheiro ’21
Maeve Pinheiro ’21