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Rol l i ngHi l l sPr epar at or y&Renai s s anc eSc hool

Gaz e

2020/Edi t i onXX

Z E G A


One Rolling Hills Prep Way San Pedro, CA 90732 (310) 791-1101 www.rollinghillsprep.org Follow us on: Youtube: RHPandRen Instagram: @RHPandREN Google+: Rolling Hills Preparatory School Facebook: Rolling Hills Preparatory School

Gaze

Rolling Hills Preparatory and Renaissance School for Arts & Sciences Middle and Upper School Expressions 2019-2020 Edition XX. Time shifts and perspectives change. In an instant our world can come undone and suddenly we are living in “unprecedented times.” Where we were before is no longer where we are and our Gaze has changed with perspective. Art and writing give us only a glimpse into the mind of its creator. It tells us where the maker is at the moment of art creation, but not where they will be tomorrow. As we reviewed work for this magazine, we saw a shift in thinking. A movement in the artists’ Gaze from before a life upended by pandemic, to a life after. We know that tomorrow our Gaze will shift. Hope will come again and the in between spaces will be filled once more with light. But for now, within these pages, we attempt to capture the changing artist’s Gaze.

Stars

By Naya Stroud ’20

Gaze 2020 1


Naya Stroud (’20) Stars, Digital Photograph.............................................................................. Gigi Goshtigian (’21) Landscape, Collagraph............................................................................

Before

Jacob Chidester (’23) “The Volcano Myth,” Mythology............................................................... Henry Weiss (’21) Volcano, Pastel............................................................................................. Elijah Higuera (’21) “Never Going to Stop,” Prose..................................................................... Jim Wang (’20) Portrait, Etching................................................................................................. Kai Nickerson (’20) Child of Artemis, Displacement Map.......................................................... Sana Asifriyaz (’21) “A Buried Seed / Una Semilla Enterrada,” Poem / Poema......................... Dezby Galvez (’23) “The Creation of Bears,” Mythology............................................................ Gabby Esquivel (’22) Getting Ready Bears, Pencil.................................................................... Caitlyn Smith (’23) Duck, Acrylic on Canvas.............................................................................. Henry Weiss (’21) “A Drive and A Secret,” Poem...................................................................... Mason Kaplan (’20) “The Joys of Traveling, Vacations, and the Experience,” Memoir.............. Teel Stevens (’20) Taylor in Dada, Digital Art.............................................................................

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Table of Contents


Landru Manquen (’22) Michigan, Digital Photograph................................................................. Caitlyn Smith (’23) Godless, Acrylic on Canvas......................................................................... Tom Bendelow (’22) View, Digital Photograph........................................................................... Edison Mao (’21) “Venturing East,” Poem................................................................................. Yaya Shi (’21) Global Exploration, Displacement Map.............................................................. Liz Torrey (’21) Planets, Spray Paint on Paper.......................................................................... Sana Asifriyaz (’21) “The Eternal Song,” Poem......................................................................... Ari Arslanian (’25) Space, Spray Paint on Paper........................................................................ Craig Walker (’25) Space, Acrylic on Paper............................................................................... John Thomas Tan (’20) Self-portrait Landscape, Watercolor and Ink....................................... Mason Kaplan (’20) “Salt,” Position Paper................................................................................. Gabe Martin (’23) Rocky Waves, Digital Photograph................................................................. Taylor Corrales (’23) “The Myth of Oit,” Mythology..................................................................... Madison Yamada (’20) “Compliments to the Chef,” Memoir...................................................... Amos Gilbertson (’21) Art is Delicious, Mixed Media................................................................. Jolie Collins (’21) Lemons, Digital Art........................................................................................ Ella Hankus-Biggs (’23) Toucan Sam, Mixed Media.................................................................. Teel Stevens (’20) Homeless, 1900s, Digital Art....................................................................... Ronnie Dinnel (’21) “A Letter Home,” Journal............................................................................ Jacob Smith (’20) Homeless, Acrylic on Cardboard................................................................... Lulu Losson (’23) “Great Depression vs. Coronavirus,” Analysis............................................... Gabby Esquivel (’22) Homelessness, Mixed Media................................................................... Kyle Connell (’20) “Many Personalities / Muchas Personalidades,” Poem / Poema................. Alyssa Maxey (’20) Family, Pointillism....................................................................................... Edison Mao (’21) The Terrace, Silver Gelatin Photograph......................................................... Kellane Kitchen (’20) Gatsby, Mixed Media............................................................................... Isabelle Garvey (’23) “The Dream,” Fiction............................................................................... Rylie Akahii (’21) Antigone, Digital Design................................................................................. Evin Whitfield (’21) Oliver, Digital Design................................................................................... Walker Pawlik (’22) “A Picture-Perfect Plan,” Fiction................................................................. Walker Pawlik (’22) Reflect Map, Displacement Map................................................................ Ian Alonzo (’21) Portrait, Pencil.................................................................................................. Kayla Kaplan (’22) Chanel, Oil on Canvas................................................................................. Hans Lin (’20) Locker, Digital Photograph.................................................................................. Adam Maggid (’20) “The NFL’s Trickery,” Commercial Analysis................................................ Rashad Charif (’22) “Sublime Football,” Digital Photography and Poem.................................. Sophie Nicholson (’21) Running, Ink on Paper.......................................................................... Alyssa Maxey (’20) Turtles, Sharpie........................................................................................... Marlex Iraheta (’20) Hold Up Wait a Min, Digital Art.................................................................. Brie Loseman (’21) Popcorn Sheep, Pencil, Colored Pencil, Watercolor.................................. Kellanne Kitchen (’20) Popcorn Dresses, Pencil, Colored Pencil, Watercolor........................... Kai Nickerson (’20) “The Two Kais / Las Dos Kais,” Poem / Poema......................................... Lily Itzinger (’21) Yin Yang, Watercolor and Ink......................................................................... Brie Loseman (’21) Portrait, Sharpie..........................................................................................

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Gaze 2020 3


Ashlyn Lin (’22) “Judging by Appearances,” Article Analysis..................................................... Ben Franz (’20) Shipwreck, Watercolor and Ink........................................................................

During

Madison Yamada (’20) Mask, Digital Art.................................................................................... Maison Gamble (’23) “Sublime,” Poem..................................................................................... Paulina Galvan (’21) Shop, Pen and Ink................................................................................... Jim Wang (’20) Self-Portrait, Colored Pencil.............................................................................. Luke Wang (’20) Skull, Acrylic and Collage............................................................................... Yaya Shi (’21) The Chase, Digital Photography and Prose....................................................... Tom Bendelow (’22) “Murderous Blood,” Found Poem............................................................. Marlex Iraheta (’20) Red Sun, Digital Photograph..................................................................... Naomi Scott (’23) “Profiling a Murderer,” Literary analysis........................................................ Kai Nickerson (’20) Demeter, Displacement Map...................................................................... Jim Wang (’20) Nostalgia, Etching............................................................................................. Paulina Galvan (’21) Toxic, Etching............................................................................................ Brett Zebrowski (’23) Bones, Digital Photograph....................................................................... Edison Mao (’21) Skeleton, Digital Photograph......................................................................... Ashlyn Lin (’22) Fish Tank, Digital Photograph.......................................................................... Katherine Gong (’21) “Night,” Poem.......................................................................................... Pierce Blackman (’22) Stuffed Bunny Rabbit, Digital Photograph............................................. Katherine Gong (’21) Heart of Words, Pen and Watercolor on Found Pages........................... Amos Gilbertson (’21) Thoughts, Sharpie.................................................................................. Cooper Esquibel (’21) John Wick, Mixed Media........................................................................ Naomi Scott (’23) “Freckles,” Vignette....................................................................................... Amalia Goshtigian (’24) Self-Portrait, Acrylic on Paper.............................................................. Carson Bergeron (’20) “Penrose Stars,” Memoir........................................................................ Ben Franz (’20) Self-Portrait, Watercolor and Ink...................................................................... Naya Stroud (’20) Nayua, Silver Gelatin Photographic Collage................................................. Evin Whitfield (’21) “Consciousness,” Poem............................................................................. Connie Zhao (’20) “The Tiniest Things in Life,” Memoir............................................................. Kennedy Cordts (’21) Donut, Displacement Map...................................................................... Kayla Kaplan (’22) Apple Pear, Acrylic on Paper....................................................................... Connie Zhao (’20) Bear, Pointillism............................................................................................ Tom Bendelow (’22) Jellyfish, Digital Art................................................................................... Alyssa Matuchniak “Jellyfish,” Poem......................................................................................... Luke Wang (’20) Waiting, Watercolor.........................................................................................

After

Beau Lennon (’25) “Underground Caves,” Analysis................................................................... Jackson Berger (’22) Little Steps, Digital Photograph................................................................ Madison Yamada (’20) Teel, Digital Art.....................................................................................

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Stevie Sampedro (’20) “Transformation” Poem......................................................................... Ben Geeler (’22) Explosion, Acrylic............................................................................................ Ella Hankus-Biggs (’23) Wonderland, Watercolor and Ink........................................................ Clarice Akunwafo (’20) “Me, Myself, and I,” Poem.................................................................... Tom Bendelow (’22) Inner Truth, Digital Photograph................................................................. Sydney Shimkus (’20) Vines, Etching........................................................................................ Macy Pakele (’20) Pier, Watercolor............................................................................................ Lily Itzinger (’21) Beachfront, Pastel.......................................................................................... Olivia Becker (’23) Bunny, Etching............................................................................................ Carson Bergeron (’20) Rose, Silver Gelatin Photograph........................................................... Kayla Kaplan (’22) Fly High (Butterfly), Pen and Watercolor on Found Pages......................... Isabelle DiLeva (’26) Lion, Pastel............................................................................................... Rashad Charif (’22) Keep Going, Digital Photograph................................................................ Ryan Connell (’23) Off the Edge, Silver Gelatin Photograph..................................................... Macey Caron (’21) Skunk, Etching............................................................................................. Ella Hankus-Biggs (’23) Legend, Etching.................................................................................. Ronnie Dinnel (’21) Mosaic Street, Digital Art........................................................................... Gigi Goshtigian (’21) “Summer,” Poem..................................................................................... Alex Buccellato (’20) “Grandfather,” Memoir.............................................................................. Jolie Collins (’21) Impressionist Butterfly, Digital Art................................................................. Carson Bergeron (’20) Koi Pond, Digital Photograph................................................................ Ashlyn Lin (’22) Object From Home, Digital Photograph........................................................... Ronnie Dinnel (’21) Neon Lights, Digital Photograph................................................................

Landscape

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By Gigi Goshtigian ('21)

Gaze 2020 5


The Volcano Myth

By Jacob Chidester ’23

Long, long ago there lived the great Phoenix. He lived in the Grand Canyon and his domain stretched to the Great Plateau. Wherever he went the air got hot and musty. The Phoenix himself was so tall and wide that only the Grand Canyon could house him. His feathers were as beautiful as the flaming sunset and his screech as fierce as a lion. The Phoenix loved his domain. Whenever something or someone new entered his province only he could decide whether they stayed or not. Life was good for the Phoenix but not perfect. He felt like he had everything but no one to appreciate it. So the Phoenix, using the ashes from his flaming feathers, created humans, animals, and the sun and moon. As humans grew in population, they started to kill and eat more and more animals. This angered the Phoenix to a raging point. He decided that he had to find another food source for humans. The Phoenix searched high and low, but he couldn’t find a new food source for humans. The Phoenix was running out of ideas, so he consulted the leaders of the Grand Forest, the Triumphant Plains, and the Deathly Desert. As the Phoenix explained his ordeal, the leader of the Triumphant Plains, Jonathon Ryan Dangle, spoke up and said that the humans could migrate to the plains where there was wheat and grain for them to eat. The Phoenix thought this was a great idea and raced off to tell the humans. When the Phoenix arrived at the Great Plateau he told the humans to round up all the animals and to start their journey to the Triumphant Plains. The humans didn’t like this. They didn’t want to leave their homes and start a new life. The Phoenix knew he had to make them move, so he called upon the magma of the earth’s core and made it erupt from the ground making the first volcano. The humans, scared for their lives,

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started their journey to the triumphant plains. When they arrived they saw fields of wheat and grain and also some new animals. After seeing this spectacular site they understood why the Phoenix wanted them to move there. As the years passed, humans mostly forgot about the Phoenix. So as a reminder, the Phoenix will make a volcano erupt every so often to make his presence noticed.


Volcano ry By H e n

Weiss ’21

Gaze 2020 7


ever oing o top By Elijah Higuera ’21 He chases his dream but comes along his doubts All his life, he awaits for his moment to achieve his goals Every now and then, he has to put away that fear Everyday waking up to work in the early mornings Why stop now, when all you have done is grind People tell him he has a gift, but might have to put away his pride But little do people know what helps him grind is his pride Since he was young he knew nothing except to grind He doesn’t want to get in the way, especially fear He has worked so hard for one thing: to achieve his goals Can’t stop now or else it will mean it was all for nothing, even those early mornings Can’t let people get in his head and give victory to the doubts Everyone saying the odds to make it are slim even if you grind But he doesn’t care, because all he knows is to chase his goals Don’t let people in your head, it will cause you to fear Gotta stay strong, keep working with pride If you listen to the haters, it’ll only give you doubts Remember how hard you worked late nights and early mornings Little do they know the work you put into your goals

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All of the people you’re doing better than want you to have fear You move in silence because you don’t want them to know you’re on your grind They just think you have too much pride They want you to keep overthinking and to listen to the doubts But you realize you’re doing better because you have been working early mornings It will all pay off one day, sooner than you think because of those early mornings Everyone is chasing you, they don’t want to see you reach your goals They want you to fall back and listen to the doubts But you have to put all that aside, especially the fear You won’t win if you don’t have enough pride You only want one thing: the grind Don’t listen to the odds anymore, keep chasing your goals He only wants one thing, so he doesn’t listen to the doubts Working late nights, working early mornings Can’t believe how far he has come, he’s been on his grind Don’t let anyone stop you, stay strong, embrace fear Stay tough and shine with all of that pride Made it to the top, can’t stop, keep grinding Early mornings paying off, ignoring doubts and fear Have pride in what you do, don't stop chasing your goals

Portrait

By Jim Wa

ng ’

20


Gaze Gaze 2020 2020 99


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urried eed / na emilla nterrada By Sana Asifriyaz ’21 Who is she? No one knows the answer.

¿Quién es ella? Nadie sabe la respuesta.

Sometimes, neither do I. Some days, I am a bird with large wings. I soar across the sky without distress. I am a bird that rises from its ashes after living souls reduce me to ashes.

A veces, yo no la sé tampoco. Unos días, soy una ave con alas grandes. Vuelo a través del cielo sin una preocupación. Soy una ave que renace de sus cenizas después de que la gente me quema.

Other days, I am a bird, trapped in a cell. My mouth is shut and my hand holds its key. My world is hushed and I am but a silhouette. My prison is unseen. But, today and right now, I know that I am a seed. I am buried and my world is starless. But I am not of the dead. Neither am I oppressed. I feel neutral, knowing that, in this moment, I will flourish to become a flower, a tree, or simply roots that strengthen the soil.

Otros días, soy un pájaro atrapado en una jaula. Mi boca está cerrada y la llave está en mi mano. Mi mundo es silencioso y soy una silueta. La jaula es invisible. Pero, hoy y ahora, sé que soy una semilla. Estoy enterrada y mi mundo es oscuro. Pero no soy de los muertos. No estoy oprimida tampoco. Estoy esperando porque sé que, en ese momento, creceré y puedo llegar a ser una flor, un árbol, o simplemente raíces que fortalecen la tierra.

hild of rtemis B y Ka i

N i c ke r s o n ’ 2 0

Gaze 2020 11


The Creation Of Bears

Long, long ago, there was a village where everyone was intelligent and kind-hearted. People would be kind to others and kind to animals, then count their blessings. As time had passed, there was one civilian who became spoiled rotten. Her name was Berry and she was ten years old. Berry barely knew anything about being kind, although this was strange because her parents were intelligent folk. Berry would pick on the little children in the village and shoot rocks at animals. One day, Berry was playing with a slingshot and hit a mysterious-looking owl, which happened to be Aristaeus, the god of happiness. The owl gave Berry an angry stare, flapped his wings, and rose to the sky and up into a cloud. Soon after, a bright light shined on Berry, and right after, a loud, heavy voice came from the clouds. It was Aristaeus the god of happiness. Aristaeus, raged at Berry and told her that all this harm and disrespect was intolerable and that if she wants to harm and be frightening to others, she should be a large beast and hide in the forest.

Berry did not believe it at first, but then she began to change. She got bigger and her hands became paws with sharp claws that could rip anything. Soon after, Berry had thick brown fur and was terrifying to look at. Berry was enraged that she was now a beast and no longer a kid. She thought that if she went back to her village and was friendly, she would be able to change back. Berry entered the village, but everybody was terrified of her. No one would talk to her and they tried to avoid her. Even her own parents refused to help her because of how selfish she was. They were trying to teach her how to be a respectful child and cope with people.

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By Dezby Galvez ’23

As Berry was trying to communicate with people, it didn’t work out because she was not used to it. This made her frustrated and she started picking on little kids again. Her village thought that she was never going to change. They felt that she should be banished from the village. Berry became angrier and started having a tantrum. She just wanted people to help her. She didn’t realize that she needed to clean up her act and help people. All she did was annoy people and be disrespectful. Berry’s tantrum led to her destroying parts of the village. She started breaking houses and destroying crops. Berry ended up running off on her own. She felt that she would never get help. She went off and remained in the forest. Life was terrible for Berry; she was angry all the time, breaking everything she could get her hands on. She also had to hunt for things and it was difficult because she was used to her father getting her food. Berry was unhappy and decided that if she was going to be a bear forever, so be it. To this day, she still wants to get revenge against the humans. As time passed by, Berry remained a bear and was never changed back. Then more humans were turned into bears and had spread all across the earth. Moving forward, that is why bears are all angry and dangerous: because they were once humans and jealous that they could not be changed back. The moral lesson to this myth is to be kind to one another and be a good person.


Getting Ready Bears By Gabby Esquivel ’22

Gaze 2020 13


Duck

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By Caitlyn Smith ’23


A Drive And A Secret By Henry Weiss ’21

Children’s socks shift and shuffle, pattering by the door A long dark mahogany frame, its locks glassy and glued shut, its aura cold Innocence balloons and silk moves slow, a heart bumps, and a hand soars

Pattering and cracks circle around, tiny limbs swaddled, hot and sore The face and power of a boar, made poor socks waddle to their mold Innocence balloons and silk moves slow, a heart bumps, and a hand soars

Curious limbs invade the transparency, tickle and explore A lust for secrets and a mind uncontrolled Children’s socks shift and shuffle, pattering by the door

Trapped in a hole, suffocating and smudgy, a throat thick with stars to be ignored Youth, cognizant of the future, desires to escape this manifold

Antiques, pictures, trinkets with sprinkles of spoor Disguised as unknown and untold, was glowing gold Innocence balloons, and silk moves slow, a heart bumps, and a hand soars

Children’s socks shift and shuffle, pattering by the door Innocence balloons and silk moves slow, a heart bumps, and a hand soars

A quick taste of self and tears is addictive enough to want more More and more, become cracks and a scold Children’s socks shift and shuffle, pattering by the door

Gaze 2020 15


The Joys of Traveling, Vacations, and the Experience By Mason Kaplan '20

I love traveling. I don’t mean the painfully long plane rides, terrible passengers, or Olympic sprints to get to a connecting flight. That being said, those ordeals actually end up making good stories. Traveling isn’t just about the destination itself; it’s equally about the journey there—the good and the bad parts— and the experiences there. Whether it’s the amazing food or unexpected rerouting, they’re both memories that I hold on to. Out of all of my family trips, the one to Paris has been the most memorable. If I was younger, I’m sure I would be complaining about the bad parts of my trip. Now that I’m older, I can find the humor in them and see how they made the trip memorable. My family went on a trip to France this past summer. I was told weeks in advance, so I had plenty of time to prepare. Immediately after I was informed of our destination, I went online to research potential spots. I didn’t find anything new since they had already scheduled visits to major sites —the quintessential tourist ones— I wanted to go to, such as Normandy, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and the Arc de Triomphe. They asked me if I wanted to go anywhere else in particular, to which I responded, “I’m alright.” Of the trips I went on before, my parents never really factored my opinions into the equation. I get it: if I were them, I wouldn’t want to take suggestions from a middle school “squeaker,” but it was nice that they were finally acknowledging my opinions. The weeks flew by—hah— and we were soon on our way to LAX to catch a red-eye. Fast forward a little because there are only so many school-appropriate ways to describe 405 traffic.

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Surprisingly, everything went smoothly at LAX; no random “courtesy safety checks” by the TSA, no overweight bags, no “good boys” sniffing for drugs—yes, I am aware that it’s against the law to pet police dogs while they’re working if I don’t get permission—and no one yelling at me in a foreign language. A quick flight from LAX to Portland and we were on our way across the pond. It wasn’t until we boarded the plane that I noticed how smoothly things were going—travel is not supposed to be smooth. That all changed on that flight. Originally, my parents planned to fly to Atlanta, then straight to France. However, that morning an hour before our flight, the airline changed our tickets from first-class to economy. Long international flights are awful, so flying upgraded goes a long way when it comes to making it tolerable. Considering that the first class airline tickets had already been paid for, my parents were understandably far from pleased learning about the downgrade. Our flight plan was changed to go from Portland to Amsterdam to Switzerland. I felt indifferent about this, since after all, we were still heading to Europe. Maybe the worst—and possibly best because of the stories—part of changing flights is that we had to stay in the airport an extra three hours layover. They say Portland is a weird city. I’ve heard things about it, but my time spent waiting for the flight certainly confirmed them. The people in the airport were very unsettling to me. A lot of the other passengers at the airport… looked like they got dressed in the dark. One person in particular—someone my age—seemed to be dressed like a traffic light: red shirt, green pants, and yellow shoes. It took a lot of willpower to contain my laughter. Other passengers were equally amusing, but in a much more annoying way. While people with disabilities were being called to board first, three bald men—I call them the Three Stooges—tried hopping on the flight right then. Consequently, they were denied hard by airport staff at the gate. Really, those three were lucky they weren’t booted off the flight entirely. While in line, a rather pushy woman tried to cut in front of the entire crowd. I was not going to get cut off by Tabloid Reader #27, so I put my


Taylor in Dada

By Teel Stevens '20

Gaze 2020 17


arm out and did not let her cut in front of me or my family. I can’t imagine that she was pleased, but then again I didn’t care about how she felt at that point. After getting through Portland International, the actual travelling began with our 12 hour flight to Amsterdam. It was mostly a blur of movies and video games. No matter how much you love either of those things, it’s impossible to stay in the same seat for 12 hours. I didn’t even get the consolation of people watching, as they were all asleep unlike myself. I was simply too awake even after enduring seven hours of traveling. The instant I managed to even get a hint of shut-eye, my stomach rudely awakened me. During the flight, I ate some food it did not agree with. Unfortunately, the damage had been done. Once we landed in Amsterdam, the next and equally rough part of the journey began. After getting off the plane, we went straight to customs, and then our connecting flight to Switzerland. Customs was very chaotic and hectic as the lines did not flow well and were overcrowded. Airport staff did as much as they could, but that did little to calm the lines. Their English was surprisingly pretty good. A little over an hour later, we were arriving in Switzerland and it was early in the morning. Customs in Switzerland was extremely smooth as there was practically no one there. Their English was also good. I would rate it a solid C+. We left the airport as fast as humanly possible and went to our hotel. After taking a nice shower and surviving 20 hours of travel with very little sleep, I collapsed. I was dead asleep for a good 12 hours. After I returned to the world of the living,

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we explored the town for a few hours and then had dinner. We ended up eating at an Italian restaurant near our hotel. We turned in for the night afterwards, since we had to board an early train to France. Note to self: start an offshore bank account in Switzerland in order to have an excuse to travel there. The change from orderly Switzerland to chaotic France was like night and day. Our hotel was within walking distance of the Arc de Triomphe, which was where we headed the next day. Essentially, every day we went on a guided

Michigan


tour, usually on foot. Sometimes we took the Paris Métro, which is their subway system and is 100x better than the NY subways, if only for one more reason: it’s much more civil. There were tons of places to get something to eat, but they all had the same menu. Strangely, they all served steak-frites. No complaints here, except from my colon. The tour of the Arc de Triomphe happened as soon as we got checked into the hotel; we walked to it and got a tour of it. On yet another tour, we went to the Louvre which was an interesting experience. I got to see the Mona Lisa—a lá tourist fashion—along with

By Landru Manquen ’22

some Van Gogh paintings, along with being directly under the glass pyramid at the Louvre. It felt like being under a magnifying glass, with how hot and humid it was. Towards the end of the Paris portion of our trip, we even found an audiophile store while randomly browsing the city. I purchased a high quality pair of headphones, which I saw were recommended online for audiophile level quality at a decent price. Paris was probably the highlight of the entire trip. The locals were very polite and nice, for the most part, despite the preconception that Parisians are rude to American tourists. From the museums to the food, everything was amazing. Besides the walking tours we had scheduled, we had our own adventures. These were some of the highlights of our trip, as some of the best moments happened when we decided to go off on our own. One night, my family and I dressed in our nicest formal clothes to have dinner at a 2-star Michelin restaurant. The rest of my family dined on their prix fixe menu. That food didn’t quite appeal to me I had repeated plates of an appetizer: fried chicken. Now before you tell me what a wasted opportunity it was, let me say it was pretty good, probably some of the best chicken I ever had. I don’t regret it. The food just did not appeal to me so I stuck to what I knew. Instead of going to the Eiffel Tower on my last day, I went to a retro game store which had a rare cartridge: an original Japanese Punch-Out!! gold cartridge. I found out about the place when Googlesearching for retro game stores in the area. I dragged my Dad along with me for an hourplus long Uber ride in central Paris to just go three miles. I thought LA traffic was bad, but no— I had nothing to say. I was pleasantly surprised by the variety at the store. Inside they had rare Japanese import games, consoles, and accessories in display cases. It felt like heaven to me. Unfortunately, we arrived right when they were closing but my dad managed to convince them to stay open for an extra 30 minutes. Thanks to my dad indulging me, I scored a Japanese copy of Super Smash Brothers Melee, an amiibo, and a Gamecube memory card, complete in box. After our time in Paris was over, we headed to

Gaze 2020 19


Normandy just in time for the 75th anniversary of D-Day. Normandy was a mixed bag, but still a fun experience. The commemoration hosted some big events, such as the lowering of a giant American flag at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial. Normandy itself was relatively quiet on the side streets, and it is a peaceful little coastal area. It’s difficult to believe that D-Day took place there 75 years ago, but impossible to forget. We also happened to be there on a day when the curfew and noise limits weren’t enforced. After we spent three days among American tourists of every shape, size, and clothing color imaginable, we visited a resort to relax for a night. Instead of going to the spa, I just went to the pool. It was very nice and peaceful. Only time I truly got to relax during the entire trip. After that, I had two steaks for two meals in a row. That bound me to the hotel room, in white sheets and agony— this seems to be a recurring situation in my life. However, it didn’t ruin my day, because I had already done enough sightseeing this vacation to satisfy my curiosity. The journey back home was uneventful which I suppose is good considering all the issues earlier. The jet lag was pretty terrible but that’s just the price you have to pay crossing an ocean. That and the money of course.

Godless

20

By Caitlyn Smith '23

The trip to France was bittersweet. I didn’t want to leave, but at the same time, it was great to be back home. The difference in culture and atmosphere left me feeling at ease and more well-rounded. Admittedly, it wasn’t a picture perfect trip, but that’s fine by me. If things went as planned, I wouldn’t have had the same experiences. Perfect is boring. One final note: I would highly recommend going to Paris and becoming a baguette, loafing around and then getting buttered.


View By Tom Bendelow ’22

Gaze 2020 21


enturing ast By Edison Mao ’21 In venturing east, we start our pilgrimage We wander like vagabonds We are accompanied by no one but pages In venturing east, we start our pilgrimage We have nothing but wounds To seek that untouchable marriage In venturing east, we start our pilgrimage To see where the sun is found To see where the world is changed In the end, the only thing we gain is age Sinking in that bottomless pond But still, we continue our pilgrimage

Global Exploration By Yaya Shi ’21

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Gaze 2020 23


lanets

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By Liz Torrey ’21


he ternal ong By Sana Asifriyaz ’21 A maelstrom emerges when the wind blows, Accompanying the state of the mind. The curtains intuit a sign to close, A ludicrous courtesy of a kind. Mute is the voice of the wind and its song, Only for the comfort of the minds closed. So, a right cannot be of what is wrong. Alas, grave was the call of the disposed. Highly illuminated are the streets. Sounds of its occupants are heard loudly, Masking murmurs of the wind—its heartbeats, Celebrating their victory proudly. Yet, fierce it remains as a mighty blade. For the wind’s gusts and tides shall never fade!

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pace

By Craig Walker ’25

i an ’ By Ari Arslan

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Self-Portrait Landscape

By JT Tan ’20

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alt

By Mason Kaplan ’20 NaCl, Sodium chloride, salt, whatever you want to call it. While the word “salt” itself has been associated with many things, it’s often associated with people’s reactions. The term, when used in this context, refers to someone being “angry or resentful,” particularly after a loss. I myself have been salty at times, for one reason or another. The term is thrown around with a negative connotation, often an underhanded insult directed at someone, or to tease them. A common saying is, “rubbing salt in the wound.” I’ve dealt with salt on both ends, which I will detail here. From my experience competing in various activities, from sailing to fighting games, I have seen, been a part of, or experienced some form of “salt.” In sailing, I have made people very salty as a result of me abusing the rules in my favor. Sailing is a self-refereeing sport, with sailors often being forced to know the rules in situations that they pop up in. Certain regattas have judges on the water, but this is usually only for the start of the races, and at key points such as mark roundings. Off the water, there is something called a “protest committee.” A protest is a written form that can be filled out if you believe a competitor or other party has violated the Racing Rules of Sailing.

A protest form is then handed to the committee, and they will then hear out all parties involved, including witnesses, and then make a ruling. These rulings can include warnings, being DQed from a race, the whole regatta, a series, all the way to being permanently banned. I’ve been protested quite a few times; however, I have won all of them. Video games transfers into this. From my experience in the FGC/Smash community, I’ve encountered a lot of salt. A lot. I’ve been rage - quit on, told to go take a hike, and other such things. I don’t mind it honestly, but the amount of salt over video games is perplexing to the outside person. People compete for money and other things, often related to the game/things of value. There’s some understanding in raging over a bad loss if it cost you something valuable, but more often then not, a lot of salt occurs in no stakes friendlies games, games where people just play to have fun/practice. Salt has many meanings, but often means to be mad at someone else over nothing.

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Rocky Waves By Gabe Martin ’23

Long, long ago, people lived on Earth, but the world was made of dirt and stone with a big hole, some lakes, and villages. There were people that inhabited the land that had a rocket and a water pump. One of the people was named Oit, and he was the only person in the village with super strength and super speed, so he helped them by being able to gather food, water, wood, and metal or just any material fast, and being able to lift things others couldn’t. The rocket was being built so they could travel around easier and fill the big hole with water. One day Oit walked into the rocket and set it off on accident. Oit was clumsy because he fell into the rocket and set it off. Oit was launched to a planet with a lot of water and started to pump water onto the rocket and fell on top of a big red button. Oit didn’t realize that he was making the water go back to Earth. He thought he was just loading a compartment in the ship. Oit was waiting for the rocket ship

The Myth Of Oit 30

to beep to say it was done while he was playing around in zero gravity. He hit his head really hard and knocked himself out. Oit was kind of smart because Oit knew that if he knew how to work the rockets he could pump. Oit woke up to a loud beeping and realized he needed to turn it off but pressed the wrong button. The rocket launched Oit out of the ship. Oit was spinning in circles, but finally, he got back in the ship by using his super-speed. Using the zero gravity to his advantage, he finally turned off the beeping. When Oit returned home, he noticed that there was water where he had never seen it before. After it all happens, Oit became a hero because he finally made it so people could go explore places that they have never seen. The lesson is that you can do anything, even when you don’t mean to, and because of that, Oit created the oceans. The world now has oceans.

By Taylor Cruz Corrales ’23


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Complements To The Chef

By Maddie Yamada ’20

and I that our table is ready, so we quickly finish our games and we take our seats. We all have a comfort food that originates from a happy time in our childhood. Mine happens to come from a small restaurant in a bowling alley near my old house in Gardena.

Art is Delicious By Amos Gilbertson ’21

I’m driving the bright pink neon car in the glowin-the-dark arcade that is lit by glowing stars and planets; my shoelaces glow purple due to ultraviolet light. I’m crashing into everything in sight because I was never good at video games but loved pressing the buttons on the driving game. While playing I can hear bowling balls knocking over pins, old men talking loudly, and the sound of the rack of balls from the impact of the white ball. My dad calls us to tell my brother

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Bacon fried rice. Eating this fried rice always gives me such happiness. I arrive at the table. The aroma of crispy bacon scattered on the rice fills the table. It’s a perfect flat hill, due to the rice filling the whole pan and being flipped onto a plate. My brother and I would usually drink our Hawaiian-flavored juice, ordering different flavors every time in order to try them all. We found out our favorite flavor was guava juice. He and I were always anxious and excited to eat our fried rice, looking at what the waitress was carrying to see if it was ours, and we would get disappointed when she carried another perfect-looking fried rice to another table. It was a rush. The feeling of my mouth salivating and getting my hopes up that my fried rice was ready. Receiving my ‘perfect mountaintop,’ what I liked to call my fried rice, came with a Japanese soup spoon, so the bites were bigger than usual. I would not destroy my mountain top like my brother would, but eat the bottom edges to keep it


intact. Raising a spoonful to my mouth, the smell of saltiness and crispy bacon grew stronger. When the food reaches my mouth, it feels like the flavors melt into my taste buds and throughout my veins. I would sometimes eat the fried rice too fast and suffer heartburn, but I didn’t care. Despite the pain, this dish makes me happy. Eating this dish has never changed; rather, the people with whom I went changed. My Uncle Rusty put his rice in miso soup, so when I went with him I’d put my rice in my soup as well. I thought it was delicious and amazed that the fried rice could taste so good in soup. My dad taught me to put an over-easy egg on top, giving

Lemons

By Jolie Collins ’21

the fried rice a bit more flavor and texture. I hate cracking an egg on anything, so it was hard for me to crack an egg and mix it in with my beautiful and perfect fried rice. When I got older, I decided to just eat the rice by itself, because it didn’t need an egg or soup to better it. It was already the best. Eating with friends and family at this restaurant was the extra ingredient the fried rice needs. Another meal that brought together friends was a dish my dad made at home. My brothers and I were his little servants, helping him prepare the chicken. My dad would cut the fat off of the chicken and hand us the pieces. I would coat them in eggs, then my younger brother would put flour on them, and finally, my oldest brother would put the panko crumbs to make the chicken crispy. After preparing the chicken, the pieces lay beautifully on a metal tray with only a sheet of parchment paper separating them. Next, my dad would make the sauce. The sauce is the best part. The sauce was sweet from the sugar and salty from the soy sauce, plus a family secret ingredient that makes the chicken melt in your mouth. It wasn’t a thick sauce; it was more liquidy, like a dense water, so it soaks into the chicken. The sauce was simple, yet it brought so much flavor and life to the fried chicken. After helping set up the chicken, it would be time to fry it. I’d usually sit outside in the backyard while feel-good music that makes you want to sing at the top of your lungs would blast from the house, the sun shining as I would feel excited to have a great night with friends. My favorite part would be getting to taste the first chicken Dad made. It was hot coming straight from the fryer. He would dip it in the tub of sauce until its goldenbrown flaky skin was covered in dark liquidy sauce. He would hand it to me

Gaze 2020 33


with his tongs and keep cooking. I would place the chicken in my mouth, making it dance in my mouth because of how hot it is, but chewing it felt like chewing something as valuable as gold. In the moment I would feel its crunchy coating on the outside yet soft inside, tasting the magic sauce soak into my taste buds, feel the humidity from the fryer hitting my face but the breeze flowing my hair, hear the whispers of the loud panko becoming crunchy with music playing in the background, and I see drops of sweat running my dad’s forehead because he gets hot easily, as he dips the chicken in the bucket of sauce. My dad was always the one to make our dinners. He wasn’t the best chef, but he just loved cooking for friends. He just knew that cooking for a party meant a good time for everyone. It meant catching up with the other dads and having a cold one.That meant my siblings and I were off with our friends. I don’t know where my dad found the recipe. but his chicken did not taste like any other fried chicken I’ve ever had. His chicken was special. Dad’s chicken meant we were having a party or friends were coming over. Everyone always loved his chicken. His magical chicken brought everyone together.

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Toucan Sam By Ella Hankus-Biggs ’23


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Homeless, 1900s


The Letter Home By Ronnie Dinnel ’21 March 17, 1967 Dear Mom and Dad,

eyes with every shot. This was his twisted way of grieving Curt’s death. It’s tragic how different I imagined this war to be. Nothing could have This war has felt so long. I miss both of you and prepared me for the violence and the horrors my friends back home, but I don’t see this war that I’ve experienced here. I almost feel like if I ending soon. I have seen such horrific scenes came home, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the things here in Vietnam. Every night, there are gunshots I once enjoyed. I feel like I’ll never be able to and explosions that keep me up. I’ve seen friends adjust back to society, and that is what scares in my squad get blown up, shot, and die on the me the most. I miss going to the beach and not battlefield or when we’re moving from camp to having to worry about being ambushed, I miss camp. Curt Lemon stepped on a landmine, and playing basketball with friends, and most of all, I in an instant, his face lit up and his body parts miss you guys. were shot everywhere. It was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. Kiley couldn’t believe it. I love you both so much, Events like these have almost become normal Ronnie for this kind of war. It seems like almost everyday another person is wounded or dies. I just can’t help but think that I might be next. I’m scared. It’s as if at any second my life could be over. All it takes is one wrong step and I could end up By Jacob Smith ’20 just like Curt Lemon. Something that will haunt me forever though is when, after Curt died, Rat Kiley saw a baby buffalo and started shooting it. Not to kill it, but to bring it pain. He shot its kneecaps, its feet, its tail, and even in the back of its throat. Everyone was in shock. All we could do was watch, but I felt sympathy for both of them. Even though Kiley was doing something that nobody should ever do, I saw the pain in his

Homeless

By T eel S teven

s ’20

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Great Depression vs. Coronavirus By Lulu Losson ’23

The Great Depression. Just from the name, you can tell what a catastrophe this problem was. Almost 10 years after the monstrous World War I, disaster struck again. The Great Depression was caused by many things, but mainly the stock market crash. The stock market crash was a collapse of stock prices which began on October 24, 1929. The Dow Jones Industrial Average had dropped 24.8%. This was marked to be one of the worst economic declines in United States history. This, unironically, destroyed confidence in Wall street markets and led to the Great Depression. The life of a civilian during this time was not easy. A quarter of the United States workforce was unemployed, and those who were lucky enough to be employed suffered from cut wages or their hours reduced to parttime. Unfortunately, the Great Depression is showing signs of great similarity to today’s

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crisis concerning the coronavirus. One similarity includes employment drop. Owing to the coronavirus, many businesses were forced to shut down and many people lost their jobs. This is robbing the United States civilians of their rightful earnings and is causing a wave of stress and doubt throughout our country. I think that the economic impact of the coronavirus is definitely headed toward a new Great Depression. This is a very tragic thing, but the United States knows what the conditions are like, considering the circumstances of already going through something like this. The government, companies, families—all things will greatly suffer throughout this horrific time. Though this new crisis may seem much different than the Great Depression in the beginning, the collateral damage will show that this all leads to something none of us want to suffer from: Depression.


Homelessness

By Ga

el ’22 v i u q bby Es

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Muchas Many Personalidades Personalities Con mis maestros soy una persona con mucha cortesía tratando de hacer lo correcto Con mis amigos soy una persona relajada y no pienso antes de actuar Con mis padres soy obediente y hago lo que es necesario para la familia Con mis compañeros de fútbol no soy muy serio pero en el campo de juego sé que hay riesgo Con mis compañeros de fútbol americano soy serio en el campo de juego pero me gusta divertirme Con mi mismo soy callado y me gusta estar solo Todas estas personalidades son diferentes en maneras variadas Pero una cosa es segura- todas tienen sus defectos

Family

By Alyssa Maxey '20

Bear

n By Co

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hao ni e Z

’ 20

With my teachers I’m very courteous, making sure I do the right thing With my friends I’m relaxed and don’t think too much before I act With my parents I’m obedient and I do what’s needed for the family With my soccer teammates I’m not very serious; however, on the field, I know what’s at stake With my football teammates, I’m serious while playing but love to still have fun With myself I’m calm and like to be alone All these personalities are different in varying manners But one thing is for sure- all have their faults

By Kyle Connell ’20


The Terrace By Edison Mao ’21

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Gatsby

42

By Kellanne Kitchen (’20)


The tiny diamonds and the black, glossy feathers running along the bodice of the dark tutu glistened under the spotlight. My spotlight. My arms moved with the fluidity of a swan’s wings. I was the Odile, the black swan princess, brimming with confidence, an evil gleam in my eye. I was sure of every gesture I made, every head position --- until I wasn’t. I began to feel self-conscious. I didn’t feel beautiful anymore. I felt the audience’s judging eyes penetrating my grace, my beauty, my soul. I don’t know what came over me, but I froze and just stood in the middle of the stage, tears pooling in my eyes, ready to spill. I didn’t deserve to be up on that stage, I didn’t deserve to be the black swan. I couldn’t help it. The tears fell, my soul was broken. The chilly night. The anxiety. Shivers up and down my spine. The trees’ shadows on the stage made it look like eerie demons reaching out to drag me into the darkness. Wait… Trees. I looked up into the bright spotlight still shining my white face. It wasn’t a spotlight, it was the moon. It was a large, polished pearl hanging in the sky, so glassy that it illuminated the whole stage. Amidst my despair, I heard someone whisper my name. I turned my head towards the wings, and through my blurry and teary vision, I saw him. He was dressed in dark green with a brown belt and an acorn was dangling from a string that was tied around his neck. He had a button nose and sapphire eyes. His elf-like ears stuck out from the side of his head and peeked through his mousey brown hair, which was swept in graceful waves across his forehead. He stood there with his arms crossed, a mischievous gleam dancing in his eyes and slight boyish smirk playing on his lips. I was immensely happy to see him, my heart throbbed when I looked into his eyes. I was ready to run away from my misery, escape from the clutches of my self-loathing . I wanted to be with him forever, to explore the magical world that we belong in, to be with the other boys who feel as lost as I do.

raised one eyebrow, gave me an encouraging smile, and nodded his head. He wanted me to keep going. He didn’t want me to give up, like he did. He wasn’t going to let me go with him to the land where you never grow up. He wanted me to succeed. The music was still playing. I was going to continue. I was going to dance for him, and I was going to make him proud. I looked out into the audience, determination written all over my face, and I danced. My muscles burned, beads of sweat were running down my back, my heart was beating fast like a metronome. I executed 32 perfect fouettes, held every arabesque, put my everything into my dancing. I was so happy to be doing what I loved. The audience clapped and yelled. Roses were thrown at my feet. I looked backstage so I could see his face, to see how happy he was to see me dance--- but he was gone. ~ I opened my eyes and stared at the white silk canopy hanging over my bed, like the veil of a bride. I sat up quickly, my heart throbbing with disappointment and sorrow. I ran to my window and I let a few tears fall. There was no moon in the inky black sky. It was only studded with the most precious diamonds, but there was one star, the second star to the right, that shone a bit brighter than the others, and I could’ve sworn I saw the shadow of a boy, a boy flying in the night sky.

The Dream By Isabelle Garvey (’23)

I was about to run into the safety of his embrace, but his gaze kept me rooted to the spot. He

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44

By Rylie Akahiji ’21

Antigone


Oliver

By Evin Whitfield ’21

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icture- erfect lan By Walker Pawlik ’22 It was spring. My best buddy Ethan and I were out skating in the streets of South Phoenix. He told me about this spot where you could see all the way to the other side of town. It was late, we had been out all day long, and our mothers were probably worried about us. But we didn’t care. We were skating for about a half an hour before we came across another group of boys. They were older, and there were four of them. As we passed them, one boy pushed me into a nasty fall. Ethan ran back over to help me up. You could feel the tension between the boys and us like a mosquito in a silent room. Each of us spat insults into one another’s faces. I wasn’t having any of it, so I ran away. Ethan caught up with me as the boys chased us. We couldn’t outrun them, so when Ethan turned and faced them, I wasn’t surprised and stopped. Soon enough, fists were flying everywhere, there was grunting and hollering. I had never seen Ethan the way he was that night. He was an animal; he had knocked out two of the guys with just two punches. He knocked them out. As in, lights out, batteries out of the flashlight, destroy the lightbulb knocked out. Who knows how long they were out for. Who knows if they ever even got up. Then there were two more boys. After seeing their two friends get absolutely clocked, they took out knives. The shine of the blade gave me chills. I immediately wanted to run again. But I knew that didn’t work last time. So I stayed in my place. It was pretty pathetic; I didn’t do much. If anything, I was really just a distraction, but it worked. The boy with the knife looked at me and started strutting towards me. Like a little bird, I cowered. He pounced at me and walloped me in the face. I was out like a light. I awoke among four other groaning bodies. Ethan helped me up with his left hand. I went home that night with my first ever black eye. Had I been alone that night without Ethan, I don’t know if I would have ever gone home. Ever

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since that night, Ethan and I have had a more special bond together. He could have asked me to commit a crime for him, and I probably would have. At the time, I thought this feeling was mutual. The day after we got jumped, I went to school late. All day, I saw eyeballs staring right back at me. No one thought I was tough enough to get into a fight. My school was big. It was a public school that all kinds of kids went to. I didn’t know many of them, nor did I like them. The only people I knew, or really the only people I cared about, were my teachers. After all, they did give me my grade. Ethan didn’t go to my school. He dropped out of high school his freshman year, but he never told me why. It’s probably because he has a rock for a brain and can’t learn anything. Rocks don’t grow, but they can definitely hurt. That night, Ethan told me he wanted to take me somewhere, so I went. Ethan was a very private dude. He didn’t tell me much. Most of our conversations were either about the Diamondbacks, or my problems. Being two years older than me, I felt cool to be buddies with him. Eventually we arrived at an overpass. It was dark and rank, and I really didn’t like it. But Ethan was with me, so I thought, “What could go wrong?” There was a group of two kids that I guessed were around his age, about 17 or 18. They told me that I could make a lot of money and asked if I was in. And when they said a lot, I could tell they meant a lot of money. Of course I was in. Who wouldn’t be. They didn’t tell me much, but all they told me was that there was an art studio. My job was to apply for a job, become an intern, and then gain their trust. I knew none of these people, and already they were telling me to get a job at some art studio. I mean, what can you do in an art studio? That’s stupid. But they told me I would get 20 percent of the cut. There was no answer when I asked about the cut, or what they meant.


eflect Map

By Walker Pawlik ’22

I agreed, as Ethan was part of it. So I knew he would keep me safe. About a week later, I walked up to a dark-grey square building. It looked very bland, nothing special. I walked up to the door. It was behind a matching grey steel gate. I was greeted by a very warm nice man who, I later learned, worked in the front of the studio marketing Ed Mell’s artwork, trying to get it into all the nicest auctions. By the end of the day, I had a job. Well, sort of. I was shadowing the financial advisor for five days a week in the afternoons after school. Ms.

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48

ortrait

By Ian Alonzo ’21


looking up at Ethan through water. My reality was a skewed reality to his own. He looked down at me all-knowing, and used it against me, taking advantage of me. To them, I still had the face of a naive stooge who would make Ethan and his friends a lot of money. Not Ronald, Martha, or Ethan ever thought that I started playing the player. I was their most important asset. Without me, they wouldn’t know the locations of each piece of artwork. I used that against them. I used that against Ethan. Goldberg was a very nice lady. She oversaw all of the orders for every piece of artwork. She knew all of the auctions with her boss’ artwork in it. I could ask her the location of any piece of work that Ed Mell had ever made, and she would know where it was, how much it was last sold for, and its estimated value. It all went downhill from there. Four weeks after my first day, Martha, one of the people I met at the underpass, took me from my morning chemistry class. Pretending to be my mom she was able to get me out of school. I was astonished that she was able to do that; she doesn’t look nearly old enough, nor does she have the vocabulary to be my very articulate and well-spoken mom. Either way, I was out, and she drove me to some small third-floor apartment. Before we entered, there were voices discussing high-value paintings of Mr. Mell’s. In the four weeks of my shadowing, I had familiarized myself with most of Mr. Mell’s paintings. So, when I heard the names of specific pieces, I knew exactly what was up. Ronald, Martha, Ethan, and me. We were the crew of teenagers planning to execute the greatest heist in Arizonian history. Even if I only got 20 percent of the loot, I would have made over 150,000 dollars. However, I was betrayed by my own buddy. A truck had hit me right in the chest, broken all my ribs, and stopped right on top of me. I cannot describe how I felt, looking at Ethan sitting across the room when I walked in. His face smiling, “happy” to see me. Just then, I had realized that I had been

It is a very weird feeling to lose so much trust in someone so quickly. Although I felt like a bee in the rain, it also gave me energy to get back at Ethan. “So this is where we come in?” “That’s right officer. The amount of instant anger I had felt looking at Ethan was inexplicable.” “Well, this is pretty solid evidence. If only we had another source to cross-reference this.” “Well, officer, none of the kids like each other. They are all messed up. Ethan is as dumb as dirt, Martha has an ego as big as a planet, and Ronald thinks both Martha and Ethan will screw him over.” “Your point?” “In other words, officer, they will all speak. Get them to talk about each other, and you’ll have breakfast with cracked eggs.”

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Chanel

By Kayla Kaplan ’22

50


Locker By Hans Lin '20

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The NFL’s Trickery By Adam Maggid ’20

The NFL centers the league’s controversy on the wrong aspects of the company’s production. What people miss, and often times neglect, is the dangerously manipulative advertising that stems around the league’s success. We see this clearly in the NFL’s largest commercial that recognizes its century long reign: The 100-Year Game. The NFL released this commercial on February 3 of 2019, just 11 days before Valentine’s Day. This commercial uses many quick methods to set the mood of the viewer and consists mainly of nostalgic moments made between the ensuing events and a football game where the viewer is meant to be captivated. From a Marxist and psychoanalytic analysis, we see a showcase of the true product of the NFL and can see how the NFL plays with our happiness in order to manipulate the audience into viewing the next game. Within the first five seconds, the NFL establishes a bright mood in order to captivate the audience. The first noticeable rhetorical device of the commercial comes just seconds into the video when our hearts jump from the joyous, welcoming announcement that comes from NFL commissioner Roger Goodell. The crowd goes silent as Roger Goodell makes his announcement, as the crowd is dressed formally and the setting is a black tie event. He states, “Welcome to the 100th season of the national football league” to a crowd of smiling people (NFL 2019). After the announcement is made, the camera cuts from face to face, revealing many legends of the NFL and other famous figures involved in football. The characters are smiling and clapping. NFL fans are already smiling. We are there with them. Of course, this is what the NFL wants. The NFL has established joy in their fans, not for the sheer purpose of making people happy, but to establish a productive relationship with viewers. This manipulation has now caused the viewers to be captivated for the rest of the two minute video in just the first five

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seconds. The audience is captivated in a happy mood, which leaves us vulnerable to the NFL’s manipulation. After the NFL establishes the mood, the company utilizes nostalgia in order to manipulate the viewers. A comedic moment occurs while the commissioner is speaking, where a former running back slips slightly on a cake, which causes a gold football cake topper to fall on the ground. Someone yells, “fumble!” and chaos ensues. All the former players play keep-away with the ball, as if they were playing their former positions. This again brings joy to the viewers. We have now been reminded of each of our heroes prime. Players from the sixties all the way up to current players make appearances, which makes viewers of all ages happy. This nostalgia that the viewer has of each player’s prime makes viewers think about their favorite NFL moments of all time. All the viewers can do is remember the greatest things about the game and neglect the controversies. We remember the Super Bowls while forgetting the horrendous injuries and lost players. The NFL succeeds in their goal as all of the fans are left vulnerable to the company’s pursuit of keeping a consistent fan base. They alluded to what they do best in order to make sure that we keep watching the network and buying all the merchandise that they have to offer. From a Marxist viewpoint, we see the true product of the NFL community, which is a community consisting of the players and another surrounding them. Marx would agree with viewpoint as he believes that, “the total product of our community is a social product. One portion serves as fresh means of production and remains social. But another portion is consumed by the members as means of subsistence” (Marx 669). The product of the NFL’s existence is an external community that surrounds an internal community of high-class players. Through the following of the internal community, that community is able to have a substantial income. This internal community that we see in the commercial, including everyone who has ever played on a team in the NFL, is real because these people


Sublime Football

By Rashad Charif ’22

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Running

This consumption benefits the upper class By Sophie Nicholson ’21 while draining the lower class. It is very easy to see the divide between the classes as the viewing device serves as this divider. Although the device seemingly brings us closer to the upper class because we can now view them, our viewing of them further solidifies their position above us. The commercial produces a social group that both divides the classes and feeds off each other as a means of entertainment and livelihood. For the upper class, it creates money that they can actually know each other and talk within their support themselves with, and for the lower, it community. But that is not the entirety of this creates entertainment that modern society cannot group. As a by-product of this internal group, live without. there is the entertainment that is consumed by the outer, wider group of fans that are viewing the The NFL manipulates our emotions throughout commercial. the video through slapstick comedy, music, and players that all make the viewers tremendously We can also see the class divide through this happy. The NFL sells based on this joy and viewpoint by the separation of those that are admiration for the players. The jerseys and viewing the commercial and those who are merchandise that control the economy of the getting paid indirectly by the viewers watching company are driven by the players and teams them. This inner community, made up of wealthy that perform the best and, therefore, make the celebrities, consumes viewers attention indirectly viewers happy. We have spent years developing through sponsors, teams, and this commercial.

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positive relationships with each of these legends because they were once so great. Therefore, the NFL featuring them is no accident at all. They are there as a means to boost sales of all their merchandise, which coincidentally you can still purchase online. The consumer is most willing to purchase things when they are happy. This happiness stems from the viewpoint that the fans have of the players. In the documentary, Bernays says that Woodrow Wilson was liked so much in Paris, because of the propaganda that surrounded him. He says that because of this propaganda, the people in Paris swarmed to him (Curtis, 2002). The same mentality surrounds the NFL’s players due to this commercial. Fans see the players doing outstanding things and get excited. These players are turned into heroes that fans love to watch. They love them so much, in fact, that they want to buy the merchandise that supports them. There is also the factor of the civilization that is created through the NFL’s existence that moves towards unity by giving up certain individual rights. When the video creates a mood that makes the viewer want to purchase things, it also encourages them to watch their network to see new games and players. Some current players in the video make outstanding plays. We now want to watch and consume what the brand has to offer so that we do not miss out or, in other words, lose standing

in the NFL’s community. Freud says that, “This replacement of the power of the individual by the power of a community constitutes the decisive step of civilization. The essence of it lies in the fact that the members of the community restrict themselves in their possibilities of satisfaction, whereas the individual knew no such restrictions” (Freud 81). A large aspect of the NFL’s marketing is this community of people. One thing that the video wants you to believe is that you are a part of a larger community and are celebrating the NFL with the players. Aside from this belief that the video pushes, the fan bases of each team are constantly trying to show their support to their teams. In order to do all these things, the individual must give up some opportunities for satisfaction and instead focus on the league by watching the games every Sunday. In addition, the merchandise that goes along with their teams must be worn every game or else the person will be dissociated with their teams. In conclusion,

Turtles

By Alyssa Maxey ’20

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in order to be part of the NFL’s civilization that is portrayed in the commercial, you must watch the NFL’s games and buy its merchandise. My analysis that the NFL is manipulating people to watch their games is further proven by Spencer Hall, author of “Reviewing almost every frame of the NFL’s Super Bowl ad,” an article on SBNATION’s website. As I have stated many times, the mood of the video is made extremely clear. The mood is a bright one. This means that viewers of the video would be excited to watch the video and more excited to watch the NFL. That is where I point to Mr. Hall. As Hall states, “The only way to really run through the full scope of the best ad at the Super Bowl — the NFL’s chaotic, crashing ode to itself and it’s 100th season — is to review almost every frame of it” (Hall sbnation.com). His diction includes positive words that clearly shows that he views the ad very highly. He uses words like “best” and is saying that the ad is so tremendous that it requires further examination. His interest is further proof of my point that the ad is captivating and makes people happy. His deep dive into each player proves that fans get joy from remembering the best aspects of the

NFL. In addition to analyzing the commercial, he is actively being manipulated into watching more games and purchasing more merchandise. The commercial is clearly successful in securing the NFL’s massive fan base. The National Football League created an excellent commercial. They successfully manipulate the audience by simulating a community within the organization that includes the fan base. The inclusion in this community makes fans happy, which further lowers their guards to the NFL’s marketing. The divide between the classes that is created through the screen’s division allows the upper class to use the lower, larger class in order to make a profit. This scheme is not very different from other entertainment industries. We see the best moments in movies in the commercials in order to make us interested in watching the movies. The celebrities we see get paid directly based on their popularity, which is a similar process to a professional football player. The commercial is so successful because we view these athletes in the same way that we view other entertainers. When we see this commercial, we become interested in the players performances and want to see them play.

Hold Up Wait A Min

By Marlex Iraheta ’20

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opcorn heep By Brie Loseman ’22

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opcorn resses

Kellanne Kitchen ’20

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as os ais

By Kai Nickerson ’20

En la escuela yo soy feliz y cortés pero en mis partidos yo estoy enojada y decidida. En la clase yo soy accesible y conversadora Pero durante mis partidos yo soy silenciosa y amenazadora. Yo tengo dos caras, una cara es una fachada que yo muestro a todo el mundo. Esta cara está enamorada por todo el mundo y Esta cara se acomoda a las necesidades de mis padres, mis amigos, y mis maestros. Pero yo tengo otra cara. Esta cara tiene las peores cualidades de una persona. Yo uso esta cara en mis partidos Pero a veces se me olvida quitármela y Todo el mundo ve mi verdadera yo.

The Two

ais

In school I am happy and polite but in my games I am angry and decisive. In class I am approachable and talkative But during my games I am silent and threatening. I have two faces, one face is a facade that I show to the world. This face is loved by all and this face conforms to the needs of my parents, friends, and teachers. But I have another face. This face has the worst qualities in a person. I use this face in games But sometimes I forget to take this face off And the world sees the true me.

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in ang

By Lily Itzinger ’21

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udging y

ppearance

By Ashlyn Lin ’22 I have to say that I do judge people and things by their appearances often. I talk to and make friends with the ones that look gentle and “prettier.” I personally consider appearance as an important factor when both consciously and unconsciously judging people or things. I was misjudged by how I look a lot by older people in my family and family friends. Adults and elders in or close to my family tend to think I am childish, and I should like all the things “girls like,” such as pink dresses and Barbies, which I never liked. The article demonstrates and explains the influences appearances can make when judging, and it gives clear and reliable examples to prove the idea. I agree with the writer on the idea of appearances always matter, and the difference is just how much it matters. It is normal and natural for humans to “fill in blanks” when they see new people or things and start judging.

Portrait By Brie L

o se m an ’2 2

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Shipwreck Fra By Ben

nz ’ 2 0


Mask

By Madison Yamada ’20

Sublime How long will it last?

The Diamond mountain and the dust. The more dust there is, the more it burns. The wind swoops up the particles in one large gust. It becomes a treadmill of concern. It lasts as long as time itself. Halfway broken and halfway gone. Though that is true, the origin still remains. As the sun rises on the balanced box. One hour of time passes like a yawn. How much longer will time last?

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It’s all broken - broken in pieces.

By Maison Gamble ’23 Patterned with cracks like those on a wall. The fire longing to disrupt all peace. It doesn’t matter if it’s figurative or literal. Time can be figurative or literal. The doors are still held in place. But the more you burn what is left, It isn’t going to make much sense, And the rhyming starts to end, And you and end up creating something worse Worse than you intended. Answer this. Why are there four main stanzas? What is the purpose of writing this stanza? And why did it end so abruptl-


Shop

By Pau

’ 21 n a v l lina Ga

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Self-Portrait By Jim Wang '20


Skull

By Luke Wang '20

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In Ancient Egypt, a monster awakened from the grave. Whoever her saw first would be hunted until they died. He walked out of the grave and found a target. He set his eye on a girl who happened to be passing by. He went after her and she started running for her life. She thought the forest would be a safe place to run, but there was something worse hidden in there. The Girl finally got out of the deadly forest, but the run for life has not ended. The monster chased her to the lake. She was at a dead end. Should she jump into the lake?

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he hase By Yaya Shi ’21

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Murderous Blood By Tom Bendelow ’22

A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come! Is this a dagger which I see before me? Give me the daggers, all badged with blood, the fountains of your blood. Smear the sleepy grooms with blood. Make thick my blood, dudgeon gouts of blood. Speak, if you can! O horror! One cried, “Murder!” Murder and treason that summons thee to heaven or to hell. Killing swine that I did kill them!

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By Marlex Iraheta ’20


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rofiling

urderer

By Naomi Scott ’23 When I hear the word “murderer,” I think of many things. One item is a knife, the sharp blade with blood dripping down the tip. I also think of screaming. For example, in the trailer for Murder on the Orient Express, there is a scream, and the train screeches to a stop. I also think of blood; bodies lying in pools of blood; blood on the killer’s hands, and blood on the weapon. A murderer is typically a man who is middle-aged. Murderers tend to be smart and they will do whatever it takes to keep people from finding out that they murdered someone, whether they take charge of the investigation or make up excuses. However, some have had a scarred past, and/or are a little crazy, if not completely. People wouldn’t expect certain people to be murderers. For example, children are less likely to be murderers. Children usually don’t have reasons to kill and they usually aren’t capable of planning a murder. If kids were to kill a person on purpose, then an adult or older figure is probably influencing or asking them to do it for them.

Women usually aren’t suspected as murderers either. Some would say that they don’t want to get their hands dirty, or they aren’t devious enough. People don’t suspect prettier or more handsome people because they don’t seem capable of murder. Older people, especially older ladies, are thought to be too nice or disabled to commit murder. Sure, some old people are portrayed as cranky or crabby, but not enough to be murderous. Based on all of this information, I find Armstrong suspicious. I am suspicious of Armstrong because he fits almost perfectly into the role of a murderer. He is a middle-aged man, who is a smart, educated doctor. In his past, he has gotten drunk and killed someone during surgery, which means he has a scarred past. He also takes part in the investigation by trying to figure out the cause of the deaths at the house. But that makes sense because he is a doctor, so that couldn’t be used as evidence against him. Therefore, out of all of the guests, I think that Armstrong is the most suspicious.

Demeter

By Kai Nickerson ’20

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Nostalgia By Jim Wang '20


Toxic

By Paulina Galvan ’21

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Bones

By Brett Zebrowski ’23

Skeleton

By Edison Ma

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o ’21


ish ank

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By Ashlyn Lin ’22


ight By Katherine Gong ’21 Look through the outside of the window The night is so cold I hear the wind blow The leaves travel through the shadow Rustling with the sound of bold Look through the outside of the window The rain sounds like a widow Talking the words of old I hear the wind blow The time flowing without show Leaving the wall with mold Look through the outside of the window My heart is filled with snow Like a tree in the world I hear the wind blow The sun will rise again tomorrow Covering everything in gold Look through the outside of the window I hear the wind blow

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Stuffed Bunny Rabbit By Pierce Blackman ’22

Heart Of Words By Katherine Gong ’22

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ohn Wick

By Cooper Esquibel ’21

Thoughts ertso By Amos Gilb

n ’ 21

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reckles

By Naomi Scott ’23

My face is covered with freckles. Freckles on my nose, my cheeks, my forehead. When I was younger, my aunt would trace her finger, connecting the dots between my freckles. She would say that my freckles are like stars in the constellations she drew. My mother has them too, freckles that is. She has them all over her body. On her face, her back, her arms. Freckles make me feel the most connected to my mother’s side. My father doesn’t have freckles and neither does the rest of his side of the family. I get my eyelashes from him though. My sister has scattered freckles, a few on her face, a few on her arms, a few on her hands. She doesn’t have as many as my mother and me. Her skin is more clear like my father’s. She gets other features from my father’s side too. She gets her dirty blond hair that fights with the brush from his side. She gets her artistry from my mother, though. I didn’t get that. My freckles are one of my favorite features. They’re flourishing, frowzled, flecks of brown on my otherwise pale ivory face. They make me special. They differentiate between my father, my sister, and I. But they make me similar to my mother. I want to be just like her. I want to be strong, creative, and intelligent. I hope that when it is my turn, I will be able to take care of her the way that she has taken care of me. I will be successful in life because of what she has taught me. My freckles make me me, and I wouldn’t trade them.

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By Amalia Goshtigian ’24


enrose tairs By Carson Bergeron ’20 I was never too fond of photos. They depict how much I’ve forgotten in this life and how fast it has gone by. When I look at old photos, I get a sense of mixed emotions, ranging from sad nostalgia to remembering my naive self. The younger I am, the brighter the colors seem to be in the images of my past. But looking at these snapshots also serves as a great way of selfreflection and a realization of how much I’ve changed. I also look back with some regret, realizing I’ve wasted too much time worrying about everything, everyday. I worry about what other people are thinking. I worry about my heart beating. I worry about my hands. Even though I don’t remember these moments captured in the photos, I become overwhelmed with curiosity and wistfulness. While these feelings are brief, I cannot experience them anywhere else other than looking into my

past; it’s like looking into the mirror and seeing someone else. Each photo represents me at a different point in my life, a timeline of my uncertain mental status over the years.

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By Ben Franz ’20

There’s a photo of me around the age of three at Disneyland, where I’m following Goofy’s footsteps, looking up at him with curiosity.


Despite the loud noises of fellow attendees at Disneyland, I was blissfully unaware of the people around me and could only focus on one thing: following Goofy. This feeling of disinhibition is one I’ve longed to relive but have yet to recapture. Moments like these evoke the sad nostalgia within me. The more I sift through photos, the more I begin to see myself change. Amongst the memories, there’s an image that attracts me the most. Instead of staring up at a fantasy character with awe, I’m looking down on the red tile rooftops of a foreign city. This photo was taken in Florence, Italy, about six years ago, from the top of the Duoma. Before this moment happened, I was at the entrance of the cathedral, contemplating whether I should even attempt the climb. There was a long line of people and a crowded coffee shop nearby; the individuals slowly morphed into a mass. The crowds of people and their loud voices clouded my mind and took over my thoughts. All this money spent on a family trip to Italy, and I couldn’t even fully enjoy the experience without getting in my own way. Although my family clearly noticed my building hesitation, they still urged me to go. I began the steep ascent of the 463 stairs. The further I climbed, the more the walls began to close in on me. My heartbeat grew louder, and

my breathing increased. Inside the winding tower, I was unable to distinguish where I was and when the climb would end. It felt as if I was in an unending loop of Penrose stairs. I began to feel a sense of growing chatter echoing through the chambers. I could hear heavy breathing in the air and feet shuffling on the stairs. Everyone had their own distinct sound. I knew my brother had already turned around and was heading back to the entrance of the Duomo. I was beginning to feel that I could not continue into the darkness. I wished I had followed in his footsteps, but I was determined to finish. This seemed like hours for me, but I pushed through to the top. At the apex, I finally got my welldeserved fresh air and a breathtaking view to soothe my unneeded unease. Climbing the tower gave me a sense of accomplishment. It was therapeutic seeing the small dots of people below me and the vast city spanning out in front of me. Being up so high helped me shift my perspective and get out of my own head. Little did I know I would have many more stairs to climb and challenges to face in my own mind. Sometimes I’ll get caught in a spiral of thoughts and become disengaged from the moment. I let my assumptions of what others are thinking of me control my actions. Thinking back about the boy at the bottom of the stairs who was trying to decide whether he should make the climb, I see how getting in my head can take away from the moment. I’m not at a point in my life where I feel I can give this kid advice; often, I’m still stuck in my head. I am not fully in the moment. Although I am more self-aware, the constant chatter still affects me on a daily basis. Maybe life will come full circle, and one day I will once again be like the kid at Disneyland, blissfully unbothered by the people around me.

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Nayua

By Naya Stroud ’20

By Evin Whitfield ’21

90

onsciousness

I open my eyes and blink slow Every blink is one tear With every blink, thoughts go I open my eyes and blink slow With every blink, there is fear With every blink, I know I open my eyes and blink slow With a blink, I hear Unbearable pain I know Light shines now Bad thoughts disappear I can see thoughts go Some fast some slow Some I can bear I open my eyes and blink slow The fear keeps me up, I should know I give into the fear I open my eyes and blink slow.


he iniest hings n ife

By Connie Zhao ’20

6:30 P.M. was an important time for me. That was the time for our family dinner everyday when I was still living in China. Back then, my mom never went into the kitchen to cook. My dad was the only cook. He thought cooking was easy. Growing up, I enjoyed my dad asking me what I wanted to eat for dinner everyday because he was able to make anything I wanted, no matter how hard it was to cook. For example, I loved to eat small sweet dumplings that have sesame paste inside. However, the ones you can buy from the grocery store were the larger ones, which I didn’t like very much. My dad then decided to make them at home for me, starting from making the dough to filling in the sesame paste inside each of the small dumplings. They were as small as half of your thumb, and they usually took him more than two hours to make. They were the best sweet dumplings you could ever ask for.

Donut

By Kennedy Cordts ’21

“It is dinner time,” my dad would yell to call me, my mother, and my brother to the round dinner table and assign each one of us a seat. We would then eat and talk. My dad always gave me comfort by providing me good food that tasted no different than the food you order at the restaurant anytime I felt like I needed it: the time when I traveled out of town for a trip, or the time when I got home from my taekwondo practices. Even though the family dinner was a big part of my memory for food since we had it every day, it was not the meal that I missed the most. I took them for granted. The family dinner to me was more of a mission than an enjoyment. I was always annoyed when I was forced to sit at the table and have dinner, even when I was in a bad mood or I was not hungry at all. The meal that I missed was different. The best meals in my life were nothing fancy. They were simply just tomato with scrambled egg and fried rice, cooked by my dad on the nights I came home from my threehour tutoring classes. I was usually starving. After three hours of usage of my brain cells and writing with my hands, it was hard not to be hungry when I got home. Sometimes it could be worse when some of my classmates brought food to class to eat. Even though I was usually

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starving to death, I still always felt conflicted because I didn’t know if I should eat something or just go to sleep since it was late at night. My dad was always able to read my mind. He would cook something for me before I returned home so a nice hot meal would be ready for me to eat. It was usually scrambled egg and fried rice, since they were the easiest food items to make. The bright red color of the tomato and the golden color of the egg looked delicious, and the attractive smell of fried rice would fly around the whole house. After the tiring tutoring class, my dad’s scrambled egg and fried rice were the things that I needed the most and they could easily brush off all my stress. Good memories only belong to the past. I stopped going to the painful tutoring sessions, moved to a new country, and never tasted anything better than the scrambled eggs that my dad made for me on those starving nights. Life was constantly changing. I was afraid of change, but I was changing while being afraid. I could still request my dad to make me a scrambled egg with tomato and fried rice, but it would not taste the same as before because I was no longer in the same situation to eat the same food, which would make it all different. The taste of the scrambled egg would always stay in my memory and be the precious gift that my childhood had given me.

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I always had good food accompany me as I grew up. It could be as simple as scrambled egg or as weird as duck tongues, my favorite snack. I always love to buy those pre-made pickled duck tongues that were packaged as snacks from the grocery stores in China. Then one day during my summer vacation when I went back to China last year, my brother decided to make some for me. I was impressed. I never knew that my brother could cook something so good. Sure, he had always been interested in cooking a variety of things, such as grilled steaks and potato soups, but none of them were as impressive as the duck

By Kayla Kaplan ’22

tongue he made for me. The duck tongues my brother made tasted better than any kind that I previously bought. Lying on the sofa watching a movie while enjoying the delicious duck tongues soon became the best memory of my past summer. Due to the difficulty of getting duck tongues here in the U.S., it is a summer special dish for me.


Since I fell in love with the tongues my brother made me, it is a tradition for him to make me some duck tongues every summer I return to China. Although I only eat the duck tongues once a year, the memory of eating them and the taste of them last forever. The taste of my brother’s duck tongues was the taste of home as I was studying abroad. The taste of the duck tongues was the taste of freedom that only belonged to summer vacations. The taste of the duck tongues was the taste of the caring from an older brother. My brother does not realize the importance of the dish to me since I have never told him how much I appreciated it. I always tried to stay cool. Every time he asked me if the food he made was good, I would reply with an, “it is okay.” That is how you interact with your older brother. You pretend to take all the care he gives

you for granted but appreciate it inside of your heart. Different food can provide you with different memories. Sometimes they represent a specific period of time and relate to a specific person in your life. Food has always been important for me, but I have never taken it seriously. Food is necessary for our survival. Yet, most of the times I take food for granted while other kids in different parts of the country might actually need the food for their survival. To me, having enough to eat is granted; however, to them, having enough to eat is a blessing. Is there a reason why I don’t appreciate the importance of sufficient and good food even when it is one of the tiniest things in life?

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ellyfish By Tom Bendelow ’22

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ellyfish By Alyssa Matuchniak The queen of the ocean is quick to tell me: Did you know they’re not actually called “jellyfish?” Because they are not “fish” at all— this is a misnomer, a body lost in translation from the dark belly of the sea to the gnashing teeth of men, speaking in tongues they have never taken the time to know. Do you know their names? These crowning bodies of silk, gelatinous and tangled? Did you know the ocean names her daughters for Medusa—a witch with snakes for hair, assaulted by the king of all the seas, a woman with a stare of stone. And this is the mythology of every sea jelly. This is the legend of all Medusa’s girls: they will outlast us all. When the folly of humanity burns itself to dust and ignites our ozone shield in flame, every jelly will go on. They will make the earth a stone, quiet and lonely, again. So. Will you remember now? Will you remember Medusa and her army of daughters? When we are all going to gone, will you remember our names?

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aiting

By Luke Wang ’20

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Underground Caves By Beau Lennon ’25

Underground caves are important to teach us about geology and unique life forms found in caverns. There are underground caves that can stretch as long as a highway. These underground passages are caverns beneath the surface. Sometimes they have tight passages and fissures that are too tight to fit through. Over time, geological forms are made by the slow passage of water through layers of limestone. An example of a geological formation is something called a stalactite or a stalagmite. They are those pointy triangles hanging on the roof of the cave. They

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also could be on the ground, but they are mostly on the roof. Scientists always study caves and they uncover events that happened billions of years ago. Some ways they study are scrutinizing the cave formations and studying the life forms that live inside the caves. The people who go and study caves are highly trained professionals who have much experience. If the average person went into a cave alone, they could get seriously hurt. They could get hurt by a rock falling on their head. They could also get stuck in the cave and not be able to find their way out.

By Jackson Berger ’22


Teel By Madison Yamada ’20

Transformation

By Stevie Sampedro ’20

Staring off in the vast space, thinking hard, Worried about what will happen to us. Wondering whether to write a long card As we are drifting due to constant fuss.

You wrongly chose to abandon me Became unrecognizable, sad soul Treated me poorly; I lost my immense glee. You transformed to one no longer whole.

I want nothing more than to be the one To feel complete by your love, kisses, and hugs. Your mind and soul shine as bright as the sun, Being like my special psychedelic drug.

Poor actions led you to be outspoken, I am forever bruised, but not broken.

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xplosion

By Ben Gealer ‘22

By Ella Hankus-Biggs ’

100

Wonderland

23


e, yself, and By Clarice Akunwafo ’21 All it takes is an open door as we sit by Sitting and waiting there for the next day But a flash of inspiration causes us to fly As we soar we cross our hearts and hope not to die We open our eyes to avoid dismay All it takes is an open door as we sit by Running through the ground or falling from the sky The feeling of stopping fills our thoughts every day But a flash of inspiration causes us to fly Dreaming to be confident as a butterfly Our potential and abilities on layaway All it takes is an open door as we sit by The work put into not letting the fire die Day by day slowly and painfully rust away But a flash of inspiration causes us to fly Our noisy and active character on standby Our remarkable and specialized selves at bay All it takes is an open door as we sit by But a flash of inspiration causes us to fly

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Vines

By Sydney Shimkus ’20

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Pier By Macy Pakele '20

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Beachfront zi n g e By Lily It

r ’ 21


By Olivia Becker ’23

Bunny 108

Rose

By Carson Bergeron ’20


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Fly High

110

By Kayla Kaplan ’22


Lion

By Isabelle DiLeva ’26

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Keep Going By Rash

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arif a d Ch

’ 22


Off The Edge By Ryan Connell ’23

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Skunk

By Macey Caron ’21


Legend By Ella Hankus-Biggs ’23

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ummer

By Gigi Goshitigian ’21 The warmest time of year Nothing brings you more happiness Or excitement when you feel the breeze From the beach as you wiggle your toes in the sand Nothing can compare to the freedom you feel Or the love you have for the warmest time of the year

The warmth you feel from that love You feel all these things at the beach

The love you have for family The warmth you feel hugging them Freedom you feel running with a warm breeze in your hair Oh how happy you feel when the golden drops hit your face Laying on the sand at the beach Fewer responsibilities give kids so much excitement The last bell ringing through the halls bringing a burst of excitement The love you feel for that warm breeze On the beach where you lay feeling the warm sand under your towel and toes the smile that spreads across your face to show your happiness to the world Oh the freedom you feel

A summer day at the beach Is all the freedom in the world The warm sand that is almost too hot to stand on Gives you a rush of excitement as you run across it Your love for the water pulls you in The sand in your hair makes you happy The sound of the seagulls crying gives you a feeling of happiness The beach is how to spend the summer Your love for watermelon engulfs you As the seeds freely fly from your mouth You can hear the kids’ excited cries On that warm summer’s day Happiness is something most students feel in the warmth Of summer where their minds are set free on the beaches The excitement and love they share with each other is enough to last them a lifetime

All you hope for is freedom The kind that gives you a rush of excitement and urge for adventure How happy summer can make you feel The love you feel

Mosaic Street

n By Ro

1 el ’2 n n i ni e D

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Grandfather By Alex Buccellato ’20

Obviously, I’ve always known my grandfather was old. After all, he was 71 when I was born, and for as long as I can remember, he has had thin white hair and wrinkles etched into his face, which show his age like rings inside of a tree. Yet, despite his shuffling step, hunched back, or his gappy grin, I had always viewed him as strong, indestructible even. He was my grandfather, and he had quite literally been there since the beginning, as he had performed a c-section on his own daughter to bring me into the world. I have known him all my life. Whenever I’d have a question about anything, I’d ask him. He was an unending fountain of knowledge. It seemed to me that in the many years he’d lived, he had learned the answers to everything, and as I would sit cross-legged on the floor looking up at him, he would tell me everything I wanted to know and more, his lectures lasting anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours, about anything from how cars work to the intricacies of the ancient Roman’s military formations. He seemed to spit in the face of old age, and remained as sharp as he was 50 years ago, with a sarcastic response ready at all times. But as I grew older, I started to see things I didn’t notice or didn’t want to notice when I was younger, including that my grandfather is also getting older, and seems to be doing so a lot faster than he should be. It started as a trickle. He kept forgetting what day it was, or what was happening on that day. I brushed it off, saying, “I forget what day it is all the time. He must have a lot on his mind.” He started pausing a lot during our talks, his brows furrowed and his eyes scrunched up as he struggled to recall some obscure fact he wanted me to know. I chose to ignore this red flag. He started repeating himself, telling me the same story dozens of times about how the entire class at West Point had been killed in Vietnam, and that he had gone to medical school to avoid the draft, how the average life expectancy of a soldier

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in Vietnam was, “not ten days, not ten hours, but ten minutes. Ten minutes.” One day, my mom told me that he’d fallen down, but that luckily, he was okay. I put the thought out of my mind. I heard from her that he’d fallen down again. And again. And again. One day, I drove with my mom as we do almost every week to visit my grandparents. There was nothing unusual about that particular visit. My grandmother, grandfather, and Kip were pleased to see me, we talked as we usually did, we ate


some food, and then left after a few hours or so. But something clicked while I was there, and I felt like a fool for not noticing it before. I watched with fresh eyes as my grandfather rocked back and forth in his chair, trying to build up enough momentum to get up. I saw the outline of his thighs through his baggy cargo pants, and was shocked by how thin they were. After about a minute, he rose to his feet. I watched him totter back and forth, like an ancient tree in a storm. Then, as Kip walked by, I saw his gaping grin, as

he said, “There he is. There’s the world’s greatest border collie,” chuckling to himself, completely unaware that he’d said the same to me a hundred times before. I’ve always known my grandfather was old; I just never appreciated how old. And now that I do know, I think about it constantly - about how this integral person in my life, who I had always assumed would be there, someday won’t be, and how someday may be very soon. It’s a heavy burden to carry, especially when I am not just a grandson, but one of my grandfather’s By Jolie Collins ’21 few remaining friends. But it is a burden that I am happy to carry. I will listen to the same stories for as long as he will tell them. I will help him with anything he asks. I owe him that much. He helped raise me into the person I am today, so it’s fitting that I do the same and take care of him now.

Butterfly

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Koi Pond By Carson Bergeron ’20


Object From Home By Ashlyn Lin ’22

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Neon Lights By Ronnie Dinnel ’21


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Gaze is the 20th Edition of Middle School and Upper School Expressions magazine and was produced on Apple computers using Adobe Photoshop CC and InDesign CC. This is the first fully digital version of the magazine. The fonts and styles used in Gaze include: Genome Thin, Swistblnk Neaments, and Arial. All design elements are original and were created in their entirety by the Design Staff. The staff of Gaze would like to thank Alyssa Metuchniak for her meticulous proofreading of our submissions and Rachel Rubin for her Spanish language editing. We would like to thank all the RHP students and teachers who contributed work to make this magazine a success. In particular, we would like to thank members of the English and Arts departments who encourage submissions by their students. We also love submissions by individuals and are considering work on a year-round basis for upcoming issues of the magazine. Although we make the greatest effort to create a flawless book, errors occasionally occur during production. We thank you in advance for your understanding, and deeply apologize if we have misinterpreted or misrepresented writers or artists in any way. The 2010-2020 Design Staff is as follows: Rylie Akahiji (’21), Sofia Hernandez (’21), Ashley Nakawatase (’22), Evin Whitfield (’21), Tamara Wood (’23) and Rebecca Kandel-Scott (Adviser).

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Profile for RHP/Ren

Gaze, 19-20  

The 2019-2020 edition of Middle and Upper School Expressions Literary Magazine

Gaze, 19-20  

The 2019-2020 edition of Middle and Upper School Expressions Literary Magazine

Profile for rhpren
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