Reflections Literary & Arts Magazine

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Filippo Di Franco

Rise Reflections Literary & Arts Magazine Gulliver Preparatory School 6575 North Kendall Drive Miami, Florida 33156

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TABLE OF

Contents

PROSE

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“Editor’s Note,” Olivia Martin-Johnson ‘22

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“The Oar is my Paintbrush,” Sofia Cancio ‘20

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“High School,” Cala Roitberg ‘20

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“Perspective,” Nicole Krolak ‘20

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“We’re Not All Evil,” Isabel Cuellar ‘21 “Phonophobia,” Julia Bueno ‘23

“Butterflies,” Ian Gill ‘23

HAIKU

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“Corona,” Amanda Shaffer ‘23

ORIGINAL SONG

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“Baby Bird,” Emma Grace Delvillar ‘22

POETRY 8 “Alone,” Ivana Ugalde Godinez ‘23

12 “Maya: die Fräulein mit meine Zukunft in ihre Augen,”

Bella Peterson ‘22

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“Miami,” Lauren Garcia-Stille ‘21

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“Orange,” Paola Avazian ‘22

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“Please Don’t Mind Me,” Morgan Vazquez ‘23

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“Everyone Everyone Else,” Olivia Martin-Johnson ‘22

“Cupid Initiation,” Diego Medal ‘22

“Hometown,” Kate Perez ‘22

“My Ocean,” Maya Gowda ‘23

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“Childhood,” Gabrielle Gleason ‘23

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“The Secret of the Heart,’ Elizabeth Rivabem ‘22

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“Un Paso Mas,” Tomaso Enrico ‘20

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“Split,” Ana Carina Villalona ‘22

“Broken Doll,” Ana Carina Villalona ‘22 “School Playlist,” Sabrina Bierman ‘22 “Being Human,” Jonathan Fyne ‘22

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“Times Square,” Luiz Eduardo Santos Guimaraes ‘21

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“Reminisce,” William Olrich ‘23

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“Bed Head,” Elizabeth Rivabem ‘22

“When I Have a Daughter,” Alessia Bianco ‘20

“What Their Funeral Looked Like,” Bella Peterson ‘22 “Lonely,” David Gonzalez ‘21

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“Where I’m From,” Erick Clemente ‘20

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“Seremos Uno,” Ana Aycart Joya ‘20

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“Horror Stories from the ER,” Juliana Vair ‘22

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DRAWING & PAINTING 6

“Imagination,” Acrylic, Katelyn Hartnett ‘21

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“ Black and White Koi,” Ink, Defne Oezdursun ‘20

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“Aura,” Ink and Markers, Karela Palazio ‘21

“I AM RED,” Oil and Acrylic, Lucie Duchene ‘22 “Snow Day,” Oil, Jessica Gype ‘20

“The Perfect Cut,” Soft Pastel, Mariam Bataineh ‘22 “Sitting, Waiting,” Ink, Anabelle Kang ‘20

“Sweet Like Candy,” Color Pencils, Fiorella Polit ‘20

“Portrait Study,” Ink and Watercolor, Joey Elsbernd ‘20 “Broken,” Soft Pastel, Samantha Diaz ‘23

“Serenity,” Water Color, Samantha Diaz ‘23

“Fever Dream,” Mixed Media, Kathryn Alvarez ‘20

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“In The Ocean Beneath The Sky,” Pencil, Siqi Li ‘23

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“Blanket for Better Sleep,” Color Pencils,

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“Fairy Eye,” Markers, Joey Elsbernd ‘20

Carlos Sanchez-Tata ‘20

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“Contemplation,” Oil, Sebastian Merlo ‘21

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“Empower,” Spray Paint, Chloe Hernandez ‘21 “Part the Kimono,” Watercolor, Anabelle Kang ‘20

SCULPTURES 2

“Deformed Cans,” Mixed Media, Benjamin Carey ‘21

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“Silent Beat,” Cardboard, Katerina Navarro ‘20

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“Humming Bird,” Ceramics, Julian Ruiz-Luzio ‘21 “Unreachable,” Stone, Sofia Mueller ‘21

“Broke Free,” Mixed Media, Emily Miller ‘22

DIGITAL ART

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“Lovers,” Maria Sofia Latour ‘22

“Lady in the Clouds,” Maria Sofia Latour ‘22

PHOTOGRAPHY Cover “Long Way Down,” Laura Attarian ‘20 1

“Creation,” Filippo Di Franco ‘20

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“South Point,” Rachel Simmons ‘21

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“Crossroads,” Kathleen Lewis ‘22

“Light Vs. Dark,” Pedro Schmeil ‘21

“Cloudy Event,” Filippo Di Franco ‘20 “Faces of Tibet,” Jake Seymour ‘20

“Bustling Streets of Hanoi,” Jake Seymour ‘20 “Butterflies,” Jacob Gelrud ‘22

“Medieval Awakening,” Sebastian Merlo ‘21 “Winter in Paris,” Kate Perez ‘22

“Sunset in the Andes,” Sebastian Merlo ‘21

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“Misty Morning,” Kathleen Lewis ‘22

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“The Light at the End of the Tunnel,” Filippo Di Franco ‘20

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“Beaches at Lantau,” Jake Seymour ‘20 “Alone,” Julian Ruiz-Luzio ‘21

“Florence Cathedral,” Kate Perez ‘22 “Pacific 310,” Laura Attarian ‘20

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Katelyn Hartnett

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editor’s note Within the pages that follow, each individual tells their

story. Stories on love, loss, beauty, fear and isolation.

Stories that capture emotion and experience. Through

art, we tell our stories. Our thoughts embody our creative actions, and rise above the noise of reality.

Although experiences may differ, we are all connected by that which makes us human. Like the mountain on the cover, we find our inner strength and rise above our darkest moments.

As you go through each page, immerse in your senses and embark on a journey that transcends language, culture and boundaries.

Editor in Chief Olivia Martin-Johnson

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ALONE Ivana Ugalde Godinez

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I’m suffocating by my own breathing Slowly ticking as the time passes as I’m blinking Coldly getting into my disguise To get people to go away as I hide People getting close makes my eyes cry The salty tears get in my mouth The thought of people makes my fingers shake Getting so anxious, I wanna pull my hair Biting on my nails so I don’t get them in my eyes I go back inside It’s a scary place outside I take off my clothes and take a cold shower Washing away the sins of the day I feel so dirty, get it off me The tub is the only place I count Just breathing silently Waiting for the monsters to come in my sleep They haunt me and yet I love them So messed up, isn’t it?

They shake my room at night Making me fly Then when they leave, they still stare Never alone, someone always at my side

Sofia Mueller

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notevil

we’re

all

Isabel Cuellar

Kathleen Lewis

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I go to a private school in Miami, Florida. The combination of people I find there is intriguing, but the most intriguing person I’ve met has to be my exact opposite in every way. My school follows a block schedule, and I don’t see him on odd days. But on even days, it’s like we’re chained to each other. We have all four classes, and, consequently, lunch, together. We spend the whole day in each other’s company, and we complement each other well.

We’re both smart, in class we always compete for the top spot.

Sometimes I earn it, sometimes he does.

But not only do we compete academically, but we’re also in opposition politically. He’s a hardcore conservative. Trump supporter, sort of sexist, pretty homophobic. Gun rights through and through. I’m the opposite.

Latina who grew up in the middle east. Feminist, pro LGBTQ+ rights, pretty feisty. Pro-immigration through and through.

But somehow, we make the friendship work. We respect each other, and each other’s opinions.

Strange as it may sound, I try to be open-minded when we talk about sensitive topics, and whenever we talk about this stuff I make sure to respect him. That’s a ground rule.

Because how are we ever going to get along if there is a basic lack of respect? I very much doubt that he’ll ever change any of my opinions. And I doubt I’ll change his. But I do secretly harbor the hope that I will change

him as he has changed me. That he won’t roll his eyes every time he thinks of liberals. That, if nothing else, he’ll know one liberal that he can say he genuinely respects.

Maybe I shouldn’t be friends with him. Maybe I should judge him because he seems to embody everything I hate about the world.

But somehow human connection seems to go beyond our beliefs.

His beliefs aren’t what I see when he checks his answers against mine. They aren’t what I see when we play hangman after a hard test to cool off. They aren’t what I see when we’re standing on opposite sides of an open courtyard and we roll our eyes at the same time over morning announcements. They aren’t what I see when he stops me outside the cafeteria because I look sad and he wants to know that I’m okay.

I wonder, sometimes, as I drive home or doodle in my notebook, whether this somehow makes me the most heartless person out there. Whether it makes me a fake feminist or a bad ally to look at him and see some good. But I choose a different train of thought. One where maybe this is teaching me a valuable lesson in humanity. I was raised a certain way, so was he. Every rule and warning would have you and I believe that we could never get along but here I am. Friends with my foe. Learning more about myself than I have in years. Wondering what sort of indignation our next encounter will bring. And hoping that the world will forgive me for my crime of compassion.

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MAYA: die Fräulein mit meine Zukunft in ihre Augen

Bella Peterson

Ich sehe dich, und uns, unsere Zukunft in deine Augen.

Hübsche, hellblauen Augen, die aus Kristallen gemacht sind.

Ich liebe dich. rein, wie immer.

Das hat sich nie geändert, und wird sich nie ändern.

Du bist der Grund für mein Glück, dass ich in jeder sekunde fühle Ich brauche dich, und fühle schwach bei deiner Umarmung .

Mein herz aus stein und deine haut aus seide.

Ich verdiene keinen von dir dein Lächeln, dein Lachen, deine Worte, deine Liebe.

Ich Verdiene nichts.

Deine augen sind meine flügeln durch die zukunft.

Lass meine händen dich jetzt führen.

Für immer liebe und freiheit durch Sonne und Regen.

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I see you and us, our future in your eyes; Your beautiful light blue eyes.

Made of crystals.

I love you purely as ever.

This has never changed, and won’t ever change.

You give me all the happiness I feel every second of every day I need you.

I feel weak at your embrace.

Every time you wrap your arms around my cold soul.

I deserve none of you. Your smile, your laugh, and all I Love about you, I don’t deserve it.

Your eyes are my wings through my future Let my hands guide you through yours.

I shall always grant you freedom, love through rain or shine.

Karela Palazio ‘21

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Defne Oezdursun

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everyone else EVERYONE i sat down and i told myself i told myself i was going to sit down and write something i forced myself to focus and think think about what was worth writing about but is anything really worth writing about what do people like reading about why do people think their lives are important important enough for others to really care really care about reading it reading about other peoples lives if they don’t care about others’ lives why would anyone read my writing my writing about my life about myself someone who tries hard to be that person that person others read about and think wow i want to be that person they read and get inspired inspired by others but would they get inspired by me if i keep trying to inspire inspire like that other person did for me then am i really that person or am i trying like everyone else everyone tries to be special special doesn’t sound that special anymore so then how do you distinguish special from focused from willing from trying i can try to do something but i try and others do it naturally people who do it natrually are those people more special i want to be like those people so i am trying to write i’m trying you see but the problem is that i’m trying and others don’t have to try and those people probably write better anyways so why are you reading this if it isn’t even that special

Olivia Martin-Johnson

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MIAMI Lauren Garcia-Stille

mémoire d’un endroit d’où je suis partie cher miami, on était très contents on a eu une relation complexe, nous deux, insatisfaits sans espoir ni action, j’ai souvent dit « c’est fait » une fois des amants, maintenant, indépendants. le suivant c’est à quoi je penserai constamment: une chaleur infernale légèrement apaisée par la fraîcheur de l’océan; une abondance de coquillages volée face à face, bronzés, on n’était pas transparents. une ville aussi éphémère, aussi temporaire que des châteaux de sable... son avenir est clair oh comme je t'ai aimé, tu m'as fait pâmer j’en ai marre des orages, inespérées tempêtes je cherche de nouveaux lieux mystérieux, curieux je partirai pour new york, une nouvelle banquette

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memory of a place that i left dear miami, we were very content we had a complex relationship, both of us, unsatisfied without hope nor action, i said often, “it’s over” Once we were lovers, now, independent. the following is what i will think of constantly: an infernal heat lightly appeased by the freshness of the ocean; an abundance of stolen seashells face to face, tanned, we were not transparent. a city as ephemeral, as temporary as sandcastles... its future is clear oh how i loved you, you made me swoon i’ve had enough of your storms, unexpected tempests i look for new mysterious places, curious i’m leaving for new york, a new feast

Rachel Simmons

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Maria Sofia Latour

cupidinitiation Diego Medal

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As I waited in Dr. Valentine’s office, All I could see were clouds.

Breathless, jaw-dropping, and magical.

Gold rays illuminated the room.

In his office, it was always a golden hour.

The large construct of vines and wood Had books, bird-feathered pens, And stacks upon stacks of paper.

The doctor was a very busy man, Especially nowadays.

Today I would begin my new life; Giving back to those in need down below.

My purpose, my place in this new world, Was going to be determined now.

Logistics need to beat out emotions; There is no place for failure here.

The tears would now be paint; And my mind the brush to paint the world.

The shards of my heart; now my tool chisels.

The canvas down below would now experience a master at work.

After the usual routine of waiting in the doctor's office, Dr. Valentine gave me a light smile and nodded.

I stood and gave him a firm handshake.

The purpose I so desperately search for was now sealed and confirmed.

My mind and soul began floating midair.

The liberation from the mortal ethos was like floating in a pool, after recovering from drowning.

My final memory of my mortal state was looking down below at myself.

That lonely, disintegrating life-form Laying helpless on the street; alone.

Nobody should feel as lonely as I felt; I will not allow it.

That’s why I decided to be a cupid; A creative master illustrating a blank canvas.

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the

Oar is my Paintbrush Sofia Cancio

Texture has always fascinated me. One of my favorite activities as a little girl was coloring paper with markers, crumpling it into a ball, and wetting it in the sink. I would climb on a kitchen stool — so I could reach the sink and watch my creations go from wet to dry, running my fingers through the bumps and crevices, feeling their texture harden as they dried, and observing the colors change, ever so slightly. Once they dried, I would take another page and do it again. It felt like magic! I was excited and curious. Although I have explored many art forms since then, the only medium that makes me feel this way is spray paint. While I can choose colors, direction, and paint concentration, I can’t control the final product.

Brushes and pencils create precise lines, but spray paint explodes in volatile swirls whose colors fade into each other. I love the beautiful unpredictability of this creative process!

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My artistic journey has exposed me to different art forms — architecture, sculpture, ceramics, and fashion design. In architecture class, I discovered that I have a talent for designing structures because I can visualize them on paper and in reality.

Architecture is special to me because it forms a bridge between my imagination and the real world, allowing for creativity while compelling me to respect physical restraints and utility. I love working in 3D because it allows me to play with different materials, textures, and shapes—just like when I was a child. In sculpture, I glued 500 Rubik’s cubes together, twisting them like DNA into a double helix — a symbol of our distinctive human characteristics striving to realize their purpose. In ceramics, the pottery wheel hypnotized me as my hands molded the soft, moving clay. In fashion design, I took sketches and created runway

Lucie Duchene

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samples; I lost all sense of time, immersed in each sketch, entirely focused on shading the folds and draping of my gowns. Design offered new, creative challenges for working with texture as I explored the impact of different fabrics on the gown’s final look.

Perhaps it was fate that led me to my other passion — rowing — a sport whose brutality and force seem to contradict my artistic inclinations — a sport to which I have devoted much of my life for the past four years, advancing from novice to nationally ranked rower. An exhausted rower whose freshly blistered hands are covered in paint is an uncommon sight, but this hasn’t stopped me from pursuing both interests with equal zest. In art, I strive for balance, unity, and rhythm — like rowers in a boat skimming the ocean’s brilliant surface. Just as I lose myself in the experience of spray painting, I lose myself in the feeling of balance, rhythm, and harmony created by the strokes and repetitive back-and-forward motions of rowers perfectly in sync.

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Rowing and art have taught me much about life: precision, persistence, grit, determination, and physical and mental selfcontrol. The timing of feathering my oar after taking it out of the water — or the speed with which my legs and upper body move simultaneously up the slide in time for the next “catch” — demand just as much precision and selfcontrol as molding clay while the pottery wheel is churning, or creating a border line on vellum that has just the right thickness by perfectly retracing it. Both rowing and art demand grit and stamina. I don’t give up; giving up means disappointing my teammates and slowing down the boat. Likewise, creating art takes grit — committing to my creative process and displaying my emotions for others to interpret.

While both endeavors provide me with an escape from the “real world,” they have also grounded me and taught me to stay true to myself — pursuing perfection — but realizing that life is anything but perfect.

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...they have also grounded me and taught me to stay true to myself -- pursuing perfection -- but realizing that life is anything but perfect.

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CORONA

Amanda Shaffer

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Jessica Gipe

A day at home in April, no end in sight, the week is starting.

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Mariam Bataineh

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orange

Excitement and radiance is what it exhibits as its warm pigment blankets the earth from above; Dreary emotions is what it prohibits and observing its complexion is something to love.

Paola Avazian

Whether it’s the fruit you envision Or its compassionate, fiery feeling, it nearly appears like an illusion; The joy it generates, almost like healing.

Unraveling the sentiment of anger its hues serve as an antidepressant; In my reality, it provides an anchor, making the world luminescent.

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HOME

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Pedo Schmeil Pedro Schmeil Pedro Schmeil

TOWN Kate Perez

Miami, charming Glistening skies and palm trees The aroma of freshly cooked fish The sounds of car horns and crashing waves Full of people from every country you could possibly imagine The discovery of my passion that started a new chapter of my life The numerous amounts of traveling and tournament memories, more coming soon...

Dreams about upcoming vacations and the end of school I look to my mom to guide me through thin and thick Don’t let the fake control you Summer all year round, Miami, beautiful

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PLEASE DON’T She’s familiar And yet Unattainable Soft Skin Pink lips Bright eyes I just want to be her I’d say with a sigh But lying’s no fun It goes much deeper It could be so simple To hold her To feel her smooth waist Gentle in my arms She Laughs easily Smiles brightly Loves wholly Just not me No, I don’t want To talk about it No, I don’t want To even feel it So she’ll just be In my mind Divine A dream I can reach Just not quite hold And that’s okay.

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mind me Morgan Vazquez

Maria Sofia Latour

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Annabel Kang

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phonophobia Julia Bueno

Kat not Kate, of the height too tall to be short and too short to be tall, gently closed the door of her mid-sized home in a midsized suburban neighborhood, stepped onto the sidewalk, slammed her headphones over her ears, and listened. The soft droning noise filled her ears, her mind, her thoughts, until all that remained was the pouring white noise, obscuring her from the rest of the world. And in the semi-silence, there was peace.

The noise coming from her headphones was too soft, and she pressed the volume up louder. It filled her like water in a cup, completed her, and kept the thoughts at bay. It was the wall against the storm, the weapon that she wielded, the solution to the emptiness of hallways in that mid sized home; the house that smiled without happiness, keeping shut the secret wars.

Shifting her backpack, she made her way down the red brick pathway in front of her

home. On the outside: white walls, clean windows, carefully cared-for hedges. Just another house, passed by in an instant, another blur out of the car window in a sea of color. And on the inside: quiet spaces, empty hallways, broken glass. Like the reflection of a shattered mirror, fragments torn apart.

As she walked down the street, there were people all around her, moving their lips in the way they did when they spoke. Noise poured out of their mouths just like from her headphones, but it was a sharp, striking sound, loud and ugly and uneven. The cacophony was like a bullet to her blockade, the swing of an enemy sword, and to listen was to step before the firing squad.

It was the only thing to permeate the ever-present hallways, the angry words shouted between her parents and the shatter of a glass projectile that had happened to be close at hand.

But the white noise was her

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shield, and in the semi-silence there was protection.

The cacophony was no better once she reached the school, but now it pressed up against her at all sides in the form of a back or an elbow.

She waded amidst the others and made her way to a bench at the back, a formless shadow slipping between silent bodies.

The white noise continued to drone in her ears as she sat down and looked at the uniformity of the student body huddling in the front court of the gray school building.

Someone started walking toward Kat, or at least toward the bench. He was different from the others, a splash of neon yellow on a gray canvas, with a slight, soundless smile. He reached the bench, sat down, turned to her, and spoke.

It terrified her. She could not read his lips, and the white noise drowned out anything he said, but the way he looked at her in the eyes and talked to her filled her with apprehension and dread. She liked the semisilence, wanted the semisilence, wanted to forget the emptiness, the shattering, the

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screaming. She wished again for his words to end. He was a flaw and a fear and a dissonant chord in her straightforward melody and--He was still smiling in that impish way. He had stopped talking, but the look in his eyes said he had asked a question and was waiting for a response.

He seemed oblivious to the headphones or the white noise that continued to stream into her ears.

She was suddenly very confused. His words were not sharp nor loud, his expression placid, his body language relaxed. He opened his mouth again and more words poured forth. They were not the words that reverberated through the empty hallway, not the ones she was used to.

Kat not Kate, of the semisilence and the white noise, of the words and the fear, stopped the sound coming from her headphones, pulled them off her ears, and listened.

“

He was different from the others, a splash of neon yellow on a gray canvas, with a slight, soundless smile.

”

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Filippo di Franco

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MY OCEAN Maya Gowda

Ripples carry the melody beyond the horizons Into an everlasting lake of dreams

Afraid? Fearful?

In sways they move, glistening their jewels Soft, their voice carries into new worlds, underneath our view Crashing into rocks, the sea merges with unrealism The waving images portray the background in our view

Afraid and fearful of the voices inside our head, echoing Echoes — Starting a ripple, never-ending from the Pacific to the other oceans To think of the melody of the ocean, the sea, the river, the lake They’re all the same, same view, same sound All crashing into something we all can’t live for

Unreal

Lost now?

Something we think about when we need a break A break to break the ice and fall into the cold Now we’re numb, can’t move our eyes to see time We tell ourselves, there isn’t much to do Now close your eyes Can you see yourself —

Start by swaying, we crash In the midst of beauty there is fear Coming together once more, hearing the melodic views You can’t see them, you can’t hear them Close your eyes

Sweet? Ashful?

r

Screaming In our shadows we see something bigger than what the word “might” can hold Shows truth, shows life, but not a real one Our fears are bigger than the truth, we try to see ourselves as real Really, we’re hiding from something everlasting

i p p l e e

r

s

l p p I

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Childhood Gabrielle Gleason

Big and bright Speeding by and Slowing down Like a river of golden light

Lines of bottles labeled “Fun” and “Hurt” and “Fear” Pour into the stream Of memories sad and playful People along the way Steer the river into its path Without proper fanfare But helping all the same These rivers shape differently But shape who we are Pouring into an ocean As far as the eye can see Connecting people near and far

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Fiorella Polit

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Jake Seymour

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Jake Seymour

Jake Seymour

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Ana Carina Villalona

I’m split into two A heart of stone and gold Warm and cold Reserved or bold Not true to one mold It all depends on the day And the company with whom I stay To keep the negativity at bay While the expressions I convey Range from awkward silence and empty stares To desperately spilling all my wishes and cares There’s no in between, they arrive in pairs Normal attachments are a trait I don’t share A constant desire for the sensation of life Yet at the roll of a dice Feelings so deep, cut like a knife For in my mind it’s all a bitter strife Between what I want and who I am When I’m told to smile it gets blocked by a dam Why can’t everyone’s expectations just scram?

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I get told I’m a statue with all sympathy jammed Or a clingy mess who can’t let go I just want everyone to leave me alone But I need someone there when I’m feeling low These contradictions are too much to ask, I know But I can’t control emotions with the flick of a switch If only I could get a wish And gain that aura people want from me served on a dish So out of place when everyone will confidently mix Trying to say all the right stuff When I know acting is tough Please don’t call my bluff Like some say, I never care enough Or it will always be too much How do I deal with such?

And gain that magic touch?

That touch others around seem to have Except for me

Jo

d

ern

lsb

E ey

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Jacob Gelrud

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心の秘密 the secret of the heart Elizabeth Rivabem

この心は どんな不思議が あるですか。 暗いか怖いですか。 明るいか優しいですか。 自分をよく分からないけど、 知りたいです。 What kind of miracles does this heart hold?

Are they dark or scary?

Are they bright or kind?

I don’t really understand myself well, But I want to know.

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OKEN DOLL BRO Ana Carina Villalona

Plastic fair skin Paired with pink rosy cheeks Seeming as though The sunlight it never got to meet Scent of fresh roses With her now it always seems to go As if that was not her least favorite flower Before she started to grow Wavy blond curls Carefully tied with red lace The new product of what used to be Her choppy brown locks strewn across her face Bright emerald eyes Now faded to a dull swampy color Thick makeup covering all those features Once belonging to her mother Rainbow tie-dye shirts Traded in for dark designer clothes Who cares what you like?

It’s all about how you pose Cherry red lips Sewn into an everlasting smile Hiding the fact from the world that she Feels so much more than is written on her file That flawless prima donna Every girl wants to be But deep inside that dolled up masquerade Tears and self loathing constantly proceed Crying herself to sleep When no one can see Not wanting her reputation destroyed By one comment mean She pictures herself as that puppet up there Displayed on a silver shelf Acting and lying and smiling while dying Inside where that broken doll hides itself

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Samantha Diaz

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[Verse 1] I’ll fly high into the sky even if I fall on my face I know I need to give it a try Cause I know I gotta leave this nest someday

Goodbye Goodbye This isn’t forever goodbye

[Verse 2] In your eyes I’m still that baby bird learning to fly It’s been fun being around here But here I am with my wing wide But it’s time to move onto other things ready to take flight You taught me how to fly How to navigate the world outside [Bridge] I’m still growing [Chorus] I’m still learning Goodbye I’m still learning from you Goodbye Just know that, I’ll see you in a little while, okay?

Without you

baby

bird Emma Grace Delvillar

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I wouldn’t be here [Chorus] Goodbye Goodbye I’ll see you in a little while, okay?

Goodbye Goodbye This isn’t forever goodbye [Verse 3] I’ll tumble I’ll fall Into this new world I’ll be a little baby bird Flyin’ on my own

Sky high or down to the ground Don’t make a frown I’ll get past the troubles in life Because you taught me how [Chorus Goodbye Goodbye I’ll see you in a little while, okay?

Goodbye Goodbye This isn’t forever goodbye Slowed This isn’t forever goodbye

Scan the QR code to listen to “Baby Bird.”

Samantha Diaz

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Un Paso

MAS Tomaso Enrico

Scan the QR code to listen to “Un Paso Mas.”

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¿Cuándo nos abrazaremos? ¿Volveré a ver tu cara?

Nosotros esperaremos Mientras pasa la tormenta La esperanza de salir Nos mantendrá en marcha Y la esperanza de vivir Dará sentido a cada día Un día saludaremos A los que no hemos saludado Y nosotros evocaremos La felicidad casi olvidada Abrazos y regocijo Rodarán por continentes El final del desafío Nos hará sobrevivientes

When will we hug?

Will I ever see your face again?

We will wait As the storm passes Hope to get out Will keep us going And hope to live Will give purpose to the day One day we will greet Those who we have not greeted And we will evoke The hidden happiness Hugs and rejoicing Will roll across continents The end of the challenge Will make us survivors

Sebastian Merlo

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Kathryn Alvarez

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SCHOOL PLAYLIST Sabrina Bierman

Beautiful music is meant to be kept close Sounds and words I couldn’t possibly compose Songs seldom contain meaning, but pretty lyrics are nice to hear Meanwhile the poetry of the streets is playing from the headphone in my left ear My song of choice depends on how I’m feeling ecstatic, bored, or in need of some harmonious healing Going through the motions of an endless day Listening to songs that utter thoughts I’ll never bring myself to say What would the world be without lyrical assistance A dull monotonous existence

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He stared blankly at the red light through the foggy car window, counting down the seconds for it to turn green. As much as he did not want to be in the hell which he views school as, he wanted much less to be in a compact space with her in it. He knew someday he would be the one turning the wheel, and then he could finally do something for himself. This thought brought a smile to his face. Instead, he was stuck in a world where he was treated as a 14-year-old who had no control over his own life.

He resented his mother for this, for he knew he was not like the rest of the kids who needed this safety net, called parents. He has always been more than capable of caring for himself. He listened to his mother’s favorite 80’s radio station for the billionth time and hated it for the billionth time.

Although this day started out the same as all the others, he knew it would be different: new school, new people, new teachers, new classes. High school was just the beginning.

“Have a great day, sweetie,”

high school Cala Roitberg

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his mother said, smiling, as she handed him a Spiderman lunch box with “Noah” engraved on it.

“If you need anything, anything at all, call me.”

He grabbed the lunch box in an unwilling manner and started towards the door. She knocked him back towards her and leeched onto him. He was unamused by this occurrence but didn’t object to it for the sake of tranquility. She had no idea how much he despises physical contact. It was such a grave feeling of discomfort, lacking so much joy. She proceeded to squeeze him with more force for a moment before letting go.

“I love you!” she yelled from the rolled down window as he walked away from the car and towards campus. He began analyzing his surroundings to see what would be in stock for the next four years.

He noticed nervous freshmen pacing around looking lost as hell, and other students who already had their faces buried in textbooks. He wondered what type of kid we would end up being. What visible personality traits does he obtain? How do others classify him from afar?

He stopped himself from having these thoughts. He never cared what people thought about him and it wouldn’t start now. He was there for one thing only: to get his credits in order to graduate. The school would be too simple for a mind like his. “Advanced” is an understatement.

Noah stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a couple of pens and a folded up piece of paper. He put the pens back and opened the paper where his schedule was printed on.

“Of course,” he thought as he read Biology, first period.

Biology was his least favorite subject. He had never liked the sciences which seemed to be only memorization; he enjoyed more of a challenge. As he continued walking and looking for his classroom, he couldn’t help but notice the excitement some students had. He could automatically tell what grade each kid was, for each age group had specific traits.

The freshmen were nervous, panicking to find their classes.

The sophomores seemed more comfortable than the freshmen; probably just happy they weren’t

Kate Perez

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looked tired– they are the ones who wanted to be there the least of all the age groups. And lastly, the seniors. They were thrilled, all driving to school and excited for their last year in this institution.

They would soon be out of here and none of them wanted to show how they really felt about that. He wanted to ridicule them for their stupid values that he would never coincide with, just like his mother’s. They all reminded him of her, but he didn’t feel the same way towards them as he did her. She was always there and he was forced to be dealing with her which made it all that more dreadful. Meanwhile, he didn’t need to speak to these kids unless he was forced to. Noah encountered a feeling of relief at that moment and he looked at the floor and lightly grinned. Although high school was known to be like a jail, it might mean more freedom for him. The day had gone by faster than he would’ve wanted and as he walked towards the pick-up area, he began to dread the car ride back with his mother.

She would bombard him with questions, he would show absolutely no interest, and still wouldn’t get the hint that he

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doesn’t want to speak. But, to his surprise, she had not arrived yet. He waited on the bench alongside other kids. As more time passed, he grew more confused. She would never forget to pick him up, nonetheless, show up late. Thirty minutes later, he picked up his bag from the floor and began walking home.

He turned around a couple of times as if waiting for someone to call him out on leaving alone but no one did. He observed the trees and appreciated how they blocked out direct sunlight. They encompassed the street and the clear sky view, allowing for a decently chilly walk. For the first time in his life he left as if he were completely alone– there was nobody watching over him, thinking through every one of his moves. Everything was peaceful until he heard a car rolling around honking like a maniac, and Noah didn’t even bother turning around.

“Honey, I am so sorry,” said his mother as she got out of the car to give him a hug, “there was an accident on the interstate and I was stuck in traffic for ages”. He hopped in the car and dwelled

on the taste of freedom he had just experienced. He didn’t know when he would have it again, but he knew he wanted it again.

School the next day was superb.

Noah walked into Biology and didn’t sit by himself, instead he sat with the girl sitting by herself.

They both awkwardly greeted each other with a little wave and smile, and got right back to work. Class was in session and he noticed that he enjoyed the company. He did not want to move away from this person or feel the need to escape. Caught up in his own thoughts, he noticed he had missed most of the lecture. The girl sitting next to him looked at him as he frantically tried to copy down everything that was on the board.

She slid her notebook over and signaled for him to copy her notes. He smiled, as in saying thank you, and copied her bright notes, all in different colors.

When the bell rang, they walked out of class together and walked in the same direction.

“I’m Haley,” she said to Noah, coming to a stop while holding her hand out. It took Noah a moment to process this, but he eventually shook her hand and

said, “Noah”. They continued walking to their next class together.

“Do I have a friend now?” thought Noah. He did not know what to think of it. “Naturally, having friends is a good thing, but how will I go about this?” They each went into their respective

“He felt present in the moment...” classrooms, and waved goodbye to each other. He wanted to ask her to sit with him at lunch, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Yet, after the bell rang and Noah walked out of class, Haley was standing outside of his class.

They smiled at each other, and without saying a word, walked to lunch together. He felt present in the moment, almost as if the thought of getting picked up by his mother after school was not as dreadful as it was before. It simply did not matter, because in that moment, he had made a friend. He felt proud of himself for reaching out to someone; he wasn’t aware that friendship was a two-way street. School wasn’t so bad after all.

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Being

HUMAN Jonathan Fyne

How is it humanly possible to feel your soul Feel you soul breaking into a pool of pieces But not feel the tears scathe my discolored cheeks You try to pick up these little pieces The cuts from the harp bits don’t hurt The pool dripping down like a waterfall doesn’t hurt What hurts is the desperation you feel to put everything back The hopelessness runs through your body Your veins Your open wounds It hurts to still be in that world you call Paradise; where nothing is real yet you believe it is Like a child believing that their parents are nothing but perfect Even though they see the cracks in the system Of what we call “love” they feel as if those bits are non existent That hurts You would like to think that everything will be okay That those shattered pieces will come together Oh, how utterly naive But it is what it is, call it human nature at its finest if you will.

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Siqi Li

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Joey Elsbernd

butterflies Ian Gill

The Garden was beautiful. Well, that depends on perspective but then again, what doesn’t? As many have come to find out, the difference between wonder or woe simply rests on which lens is tinting your perception. The former perspective is the one which most people adopted on their strolls through the Garden. The small ferns obscuring the earthy floor, the intricate flowers carving their way out of the sea of emerald, the trees of different varieties all rising above the carefully pruned ground to provide shade to all those who sauntered throughout the Garden.

And of course, the Garden would be incomplete without its living soul, its centerpiece: the Butterflies. All different shapes, colors, and sizes fluttered about without direction

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or purpose, existing in the paradoxical state of tranquil chaos. All of these distinct yet interconnected environmental factors converge to form what is almost a platonic ideal of a garden, for some that is. This connection between all of these vessels of life is what most find to be the essence of beauty itself. You can follow one Butterfly, seeing where its meandering journey might take it. Or maybe you will hop from Butterfly to Butterfly, taking in their unique and expressively wondrous qualities. For most, there is no wrong way to enjoy the Garden, which adds another level to its beauty. The Garden may not always be perfect, as everyone has to deal with its particular unpleasantries from time to time, most would consider it to be truly beautiful.

However, there are those who do not see the wonder in this harmonious cacophony. The lens they adopt is shaded gray, and with these colored glasses they are incapable of seeing the grace of those from the order Lepidoptera.

Rather than enjoy the elegance of the unplanned choreography that every butterfly performs, some are only able to peer under those obscuring ferns and what they find consumes their entire perception of the Garden. Broken, dead Butterflies. Instead of seeing life, these unusual few see death waiting to happen. The graceful butterflies, are blissfully unaware of their own irrelevance and coming demise. No matter which Butterfly they choose to follow, they can only see its end: twitching, broken on the ground and struggling against an indomitable force that no living thing ever has, or ever will, defeat. To them, the garden which houses those in the kingdom Animalia, phylum Arthropoda, class Insecta, order Lepidoptera, suborder Rhopalocera, is not pleasant, but a torment where they can view the slow demise of everything that could be considered beautiful. When everything beautiful is reduced to its torturous end, beauty and sadness become so intertwined that they merge into one and the same. This is the plight of those with the gray-tinted glasses.

Is the Garden beautiful? Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.

Or maybe this question is inherently flawed. Maybe the answer to that question is so closely tied to your perceptive lens, that if you strip it away, the inquiry is asking for an answer that is impossible to define.

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times

SQUARE Luiz Eduardo Santos Guimaraes

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Submerged in a deep colorful Sea of people.

Drowning, Among big lights, And yellow taxi cabs.

Multiple fish, Swimming around.

Gasping, for just enough air.

Fish of many sizes.

None of them alike.

As they get to their destination Those who make up this nation Finally feel the sensation.

The sensation to be alone at last.

Sebastien Merlo

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bed head Elizabeth Rivabem

Have you ever walked into your room and fallen on your bed?

Fallen through the sheets into the world inside your head?

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It’s dark and it’s scary.

Of the wild you stay weary, but you trek on ahead and dream away instead.

Carlos Sanchez-Tata

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REMINISCE William Olrich

The misty coast The rolling waves Harken Back to the clearer days When all was not lost in fog

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Kathleen Lewis

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when I have a

DAUGHTER Alessia Bianco

When I have a daughter I will make her bold And brave; I should Teach her how to Turn a shoulder when The world grows colder, And thin sheets of ice Melt by the sides of Her ivory skin and Auburn hair.

When I have a daughter, I will give her a million words, A thousand thoughts and A hundred stories.

With every phrase I Will share every happy ending, While reminding her that White knights in pretty armor Are not the main heroes in Her story.

When I have a daughter, I will share a million kisses, Show her that love has a Strength and bond that Goes beyond what books And stories can show us.

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When I have a daughter, I will give her light. A Candle to guide her Deepest insecurities and Fears through the abyss of Broken dreams, So that she may find herself Singularly powerful in her Own ability to set forth Her own path.

When I have a daughter, I will be sad to see her go.

Because when you have a daughter, She must learn and then live, As you did, and your mother did.

Because she cannot become brave And bold, or read a million words, Or find her own path, Without a small push in the right direction.

Your daughter is more than your reflection.

She is a second pair of eyes.

A second soul. An eternal love.

She will be a piece of me, That I will carry for as long as She and I, are We.

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I've entered the realm of requiems.

The ones chanted for the dead but heard by the waking.

The casket is open revealing a grim face drained from all fluids.

Enriched with short hair and insecurities, a cross necklace, guilt and confusion Their brother tells them goodbye thanks them for the love they gave him.

Their mother tells them she’s sorry for the guilt trips and taunting “conversion camp” visits.

Their father stays seated, looks at them with disgust.

He was against “immoral” beings.

Flowers adorn the hall.

The priest speaks of love and gratitude, and acceptance.

They hear, but no one listens.

Back in the family’s conservative household,

What Their

Funeral

Looked Like Bella Peterson

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Jake Seymour

three blocks from the church, yellow, purple and black flags lay in the dumpster along with the love their parents had for them.

Because pronouns changed everything.

While the casket was closed to be buried, their eyelids caught a glimpse of sunlight.

The last thing they saw was the brilliant moon last night. Its brilliance did not stop them.

Three months after their funeral, a tree began to grow from their face, and grass from their arms and legs, a rose bush grew from their heart, and an iris from their mind.

Nature accepted them as any other soul, yet everyone else turned them away.

No one understood them while they were awake; no one even tried.

But the truth was, they didn't need to be understood.

For nature accepted them even after they said goodbye.

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Filippo di Franco

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perspective Nicole Krolak

Perspective is a beautiful word. Not only is it aesthetically pleasing with a balance of E’s and strong P sounds, but it represents one of the most important things anyone can possess. Perspective is taking the time to learn all sides of a story. It is being silent while others speak so as to understand their meaning. It is a wisdom that comes from experience, a changed mind, and a reflection.

Perspective is one of the most valuable lessons I have learned. In a complicated world where everyone has an opinion, I find it especially important to have perspective.

Before developing my own point of view on an issue I carefully learn about it and research it.

I think about the far-reaching consequences and potential outcomes and always listen to the perspectives of others. Perspective should never be rushed. It should be given its due time and respect in order to be welldeveloped and worth listening to. I ensure that my perspective is meaningful and informed so that I can, therefore, contribute something meaningful back to any discussion. What I love most about perspective is that it can change. It is flexible and can be influenced by others or it can be discovering something for yourself. Perspective is a balance of deep thought, research, and consideration.

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Sebastian Merlo

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LONELY David Gonzalez

Stuck In an endless midnight blue with a foreboding storm lurking always out of reach

My eyes they peer down into a muddy reflection and I see no clouds just the cold deep but when I close my eyes and I let myself feel all that’s left is the warmth The Sun the heat but when it becomes overbearing I wonder why I let myself feel at all The night falls, as it always does the sun sets the stars shine but after some time I realize the stars have no heat No warmth No heat They are the beautiful escape that leads to the same beginning and with that I drift

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WHERE i’m from

Erick Clemente

I am from 16+ Star Wars sets, The plastic bricks clash and clatter together Playing Spyro on some retro PlayStation 2 I am from the sand dunes and palm trees The fern and moss grow graphically green I am from pumpkin carving and thanksgiving meals From Carlos and Arlen, the Delgado household I am from the “Lets go eat” and “watch a game” From life is unfair, unjust, and unlawful, To be forgiving and forbearing I am from Mary had a little lamb I am from the blistering heat that bakes your skin, The crispy cold water clears your throat From frosty salads and sizzling steaks I am from the Photo Vault Tucked away from society

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Emily Miller

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Anabelle Kang

horror stories from the ER

Juliana Vair

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i feel the water in my throat it’s lapping at my vocal cords it’s cutting me off i feel the water grooving gills in my throat like i’m some weird human fish hybrid that’s straight out of a bad sci-fi movie i think i need to go to the hospital honey i think i’m freezing all over again i think i’m ice and crusted eyelids and if i’m shivering it’s because the chunks the glaciers are knocking against my spine i think i’m paralyzed i think i need to breathe slowly i’m wading through the water and my nerves are flowing to the top and and my amygdala’s tangled in the seaweed my hair tingling my arms clench tighter around my stomach my abdomen my organs spilling out into the mud they’ll find them here tomorrow their yellow helmets shining through the dirty gloom their hands sifting shifting my intestines from left to right right to left like a gold digger striking platinum and maybe maybe it’s coincidence but maybe maybe that’s the sun setting the sun settling in

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SEREMOS Ana Aycart Joya

Julian Ruiz-Luzio

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UNO

Scan the QRcode to listen to “Seremos Unos”

Empezamos separados, terminaremos siendo uno.

No estábamos preparados sin exceptuar a ninguno.

Están siendo tiempos duros, sin duda, para todo el mundo Unos arriesgan lo más puro con tan solo ayudar a alguno.

Pronto volveremos a salir, pronto volveremos a abrazar.

Algún día nos vamos a reunir y por fin podremos besar.

Serán las pequeñas cosas como es el estar y poder ser.

Serán miradas cariñosas cuando nos volvamos a ver.

We started apart, we will end up being one.

We were not prepared without excepting anyone.

It is being a difficult time, without a doubt, for everyone Some risk the purest just to help someone.

We will go out again soon, we will hug again soon.

Someday we will see each other and we will finally kiss.

It will be the little things as is being and being able to be.

There will only be loving glances when we meet again.

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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 welcome to submit entries through the Reflections Literary Magazine website, and through their classes.

Submissions are carefully reviewed by the magazine’s student editorial board. Reflections is part of the curriculum of Gulliver Preparatory’s journalism program, and is completed during the second semester of the school year.

COLOPHON

The 2020 edition of the Reflections Literary Magazine “Rise” was printed by Executive Printers of Florida in Miami, FL, with a press run of 400 copies. Designers created the magazine using Adobe Indesign and Photoshop CS6 on iMac computers. Fonts included Belove, Code Light, Quicksand, and Helvetica Light. The 4-color process cover is printed on 80# Dull, with a gloss aqueous coating. The magazine consisted of 84 pages, printed in 4-color process on 80# Dull Text.

Reflections features online content through its 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 was created by students at Gulliver Preparatory School.

Kate Perez

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Staff EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Olivia Martin-Johnson ‘22 Lucie Duchene ‘22

MANAGING EDITOR Kathleen Lewis ‘22

WEB EDITOR Teresa Ariza ‘22

LAYOUT EDITOR Kate Perez ‘22

ADVISER

Monica Rodriguez

LAYOUT DESIGNERS Kimberly Cruz ‘21 Valentina Graziosi ‘20 Kiara Kamlani ‘20 Maria-Sofia Latour ‘22 Adriana Leyba ‘22

Victoria Poliak ‘22 Isabella Quiñon ‘20 Julia Rosenthal ‘20 Morgan Vazquez ‘23 Cindy Vega ‘21

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Laura Attarian

ONLINE gulliver.life/reflectionslitmag National Council of Teachers of English, REALM Superior Rating, 2019 Columbia Scholastic Press Association, Silver Crown Award, 2019 Florida Scholastic Press Association Sunshine Standout Award, 2018 National Scholastic Press Assoc. All American, with Four Marks of Distinction, 2018, 2019 CSPA Gold Medalist, 2018, 2019 *All Columbian Honors Florida Scholastic Press Assoc. All Florida Ranking, 2013-2019

MEMBERSHIPS: FSPA, NSPA, CSPA, NCTE

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