CROSSINGS Vol. 27 1
ROSARY HIGH SCHOOL’S LITERARY MAGAZINE
Table of Contents Butterfly- computer graphics (2) Peacock- ceramics (3) Yin and Yang (4) Magic Carpet- computer graphics (5) A True Passion (6) Book- ceramics (6) Coffee Bean Box- ceramics (7) Coffee (7) Winning: Is It The Only Thing? (8) Beauty Misunderstood (10) Crocodile- ceramics (10) Failure (11) Color- computer graphics (11) Teddy Bear (12) Bear- ceramics (12) Brick Wall- computer graphics (13) A Leap of Death (14) Joy in Newspaper (17) Journalism-computer graphics (17) Loss(18) Portrait- drawing (18) Flower Petals- photography (19) A Cry Unheard (20) Girl in Silhoutte- photography (21) Spring Blossoms- painting (22) Wooded Stream- photography (22) Seasons (23) California Miracle (24) Sunglasses- computer graphics (25) Daisy dish- ceramics (25) A Mass of ContradictionsThe 21st Century Woman (26) Jungle Boat- drawing (29) Leave Your Legacy (30)
Pharaoh- ceramics (31) 2:38 AM (32) Space & Time- computer graphics (33) Daisy, Dog- computer graphics (34, 35) Inside the TARDIS- computer graphics (34) Fashion Shoot- photography (35) Response to Mary Wollstonecraft (36) Beach Dancer- photography (37) Sunshine State (40) Ocean Cup- ceramics (41) Ocean Box- ceramics (41) Awe (42) Landscape Triptych- painting (42) Cross- ceramics (43)
Yin and Yang Ashley Rivas We are complete oppositeslYet my light is embraced by his darknessl And his darkness embraced by my lightl Collectively we create day and night, Lightness and Darknessl He is visible for longer periods during the months where the children frolic in swimsuitslHe breathes tepid air out over the oceans filling your summer days and warmthl I, in turn, come
with light, comfort,
in the months of sweaters I
blow a chilling gust of wind and shelter the mountain tops with an icy, white coat of snowl We are opposing forces balancing each other perfectly something like a seesawl I am a feminine womanl And he a masculine manlI
am blackl He is white I am winterl He is summer He radiates sunlightlI reflect sunlight I set, he risesl He sets, I riselCollectively we achieve harmonyl
A True Passion
Words that are said but remain unspoken,
That the hands can express and the lips abide untouched, From the beat of a heart to the well of a soul, The true validity behind the words seeps through the paper within the ink. A word just written lives for nothing, While a word truly written speaks for the world, An identity created that hides in the shadow, The shadow of a girl unspoken, but with so many words. A tree is to paper as words is to a girl, With one story comes a million meanings, But only one meaning is true, To a girl who has found her words in life.
Warm, cold, bronze, black, cream, sugar
Latte, cappuccino, frappuccino, mocha
Providing warmth to chilled hands;
Energy to exhausted bodies
Perfect for early morns Or late evenings
W E E
Winning: Is it the only thing? Lauren Gloady
Vince Lombardi is considered by many to be one of the best
negative way. Quotes such as, “Nobody remembers who finished second,” seem to illustrate Lombardi’s quote. But I think there is
and most successful coaches in National Football League history. He
more to sports, and in fact, more to life than just winning. At the end
coached the Green Bay Packers to countless victories and was so well
of a game, at the end of a season, there is only one winner, but does
respected that the NFL Super Bowl trophy is named the Lombardi
that make everyone else a loser? No, you cannot just look at the end
Trophy in his honor. He was an intense coach known for his ability
result. You need to focus on the hard work and great things you did to
to motivate players with his words. He was once quoted as saying,
get where you are.
“Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.” I find this quote interesting because it makes me think, maybe
From my own personal experiences, I find that this quote from Michael Jordan better captures the truth of winning and competition.
winning is the reason coaches coach and players play. It is the reason
Jordan said: “I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I’ve
fans go to games and why we host competitions such as the Olympics.
lost almost 300 games. Twenty-six times, I’ve been trusted to take
I mean why would we keep score if winning wasn’t everything? There
the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over
is nothing like playing a sport and playing it to the best of your ability,
again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”
proving to yourself and others that you are better than the person across from you whether it be individually or as a team. Winning, however, is not the point. While Lombardi’s quote might have been intended to motivate his players, certain elements of society have embraced it, but in a
In my opinion, the only losers are those who fail and do not try again. You need to know the feeling of defeat in order to experience the great feeling of winning. Winners realize it is not all about the destination; it’s about the journey they took to get there. Hard work and commitment are more important than what the scoreboard reads at the end of a game.
Failure Kimberly Lewis
Eighty teeth in a row,
Clutching papers, bright â€œFâ€? atop, realizing school failures once again.
Lines of scutes from head to toe.
Everglades Holiday Park,
Kneeling on the field, team failed from a winning goal missed.
Land, swamp, canal, lake,
Snout kisses, sweetheart.
Tissues piling up, the result of another failed relationship.
Death roll, tail whip, jump, shake.
Florida smile, head trick,
A best friend no longer called, another friendship failed and gone to waste.
Vicious killers, savage beasts,
Wrestling in the gator pit.
More curse words and slammed doors, parentsâ€™ failed marriage affecting all,
A suitcase or a slab of meat.
Society believes they do no good,
Searching for food, self-defense,
This is beauty misunderstood.
Despair, pain, sadness creep out of eyes and drip down cheeks; A hunched back and hidden face. But persevere Never accept failure Because you are more than a letter, lost game, or broken heart.
You are so much more than simply a failure.
A poem inspired by The Book Thief
A Teddy Bear
like an angel,
with his toolbox
and a teddy bear
above the trees
the last few minutes
with its fumes.
of his life in agony.
waiting stooping lifting carrying the man from this world
into the unknown.
once a bird,
all the time.
in the sky now
choking mangled on the ground.
We never know when he will come.
compilation of bells and chimes and I hurriedly ran down the stairs in
A Leap of Death Ashley Rivas
It didn’t seem like that type of day – the type of day where someone dies.
my socks to open the door, so as to not keep the birthday girl waiting. Angel was at my feet barking as if greeting Eunice through closed doors. He pawed at the door on his hind legs hoping his restless moves would prompt me to open the door faster and wider.
It wasn’t like the day cousin Wilson died. Those types of days, as I learned,
“Angel down, now,” I voiced sternly.
put you in a dejected mood for no apparent reason even before your eyes have seen the light of day. They serve as an indication that something unexpected and unpleasant is going to happen. Those days, you feel death all around you. You feel it in the dry atmosphere, in the rough, robust wind, and in the cold, sullen weather. Those days, the sun hides behind grey clouds of rain with just enough streaks of light beaming through them to illuminate the Earth. But this day, this abysmal day, was completely different in regards to the weather. It was a balmy, spring day and the sun rose to its peak that morning. This day hadn’t been an indicator death. This day I saw death do what it does best – take lives, fluster beliefs, and rupture hearts. This day, I saw life for what it was – unfair, cruel, and nefarious. And this day, I experienced my first death and realized, death stops for no one. This Sunday evening, around 4:30 pm the 28th of April, the sun had created well-defined red and orange streaks in the sky when Eunice rang the doorbell. She was early considering the fact that she had said we were meeting for her birthday dinner at 5:30. The doorbell sang its usual
I cracked open the door to signal to Angel that he wasn’t going anywhere. He was indifferent to this, though. Just as I greeted Eunice through the half-opened door, Angel ran out through the space in between my legs. He’d always done this so I didn’t think much of it. The small, hyper dog had gotten what he wanted – to be free from those encapsulating walls in the house. He desired nothing more than to stride across the lawn feeling the grass under his paws and the wind in his white, curly fur. “Where’s he off too?” Eunice asked with a curious smile on her face. I knew the answer to that. He’d done this numerous times before. So this day, I hadn’t tried to stop him. I predicted his next moves and thought to myself, “Stop at the rock and pee, run diagonally across the street to the light post, and pee some more. I’ll grab him and that’ll be that.” I was wrong. Continued on the next page
A Leap of Death continued He skipped his first stop: the rock. I remember thinking to myself, “that’s strange” and yet, again, I didn’t try to stop him nor did I increase my
A poem inspired by The Book Thief
Joy in Newspaper Laurel Kessler
pace. With my mind at ease, embracing the sunlight and lukewarm air of the day, I casually walked down the path leading from the door to the street.
The deliverer clutches the paper, the joy, to her chest; A tentative trip to the basement;
Knowing I should be upset with Angel for running out, I wasn’t.
His face glows;
He leaped on all fours through the space between the white Toyota
The newspaper brings happiness.
Corolla and the grey Range Roover parked alongside the curb of the house. It was like watching him leap from life to death. Seconds later, a loud, hollow
From a street, a gutter, a trash can;
“thump” shattered the silence. Confusion filled my mind as the Nissan
The news, the puzzle, the words; Delivered each day, wet and soggy;
Not seeing my twelve-pound pup on the other side of the street and having
He longs to buy one on his own.
just heard that loud sound, I realized what had just happened. “Angel, no, no, no! God, please, no!” I screamed hysterically as my legs lost their strength and I fell to my knees. Tears streamed down my face and the world around me went silent. My veins bulged from my neck with each uncontrollable scream. I clutched my aching chest for my heart was in pain and I rocked back and forth, chanting. My four-legged companion had just died in the most tragic of ways. Until this day, death had always just been a concept, an idea. I’d heard of deaths but never experienced one. I knew death was inevitable. I just thought this day, this day in which my childhood dog left me, would never
XTerra that had just driven by abruptly hit its brakes halfway up the block.
The best time, the delivering; Always worth the stealing; Does the joy justify the taking?
The caring and compassion in the carrier’s heart drives her; Stealing such a little thing; Does the delight excuse the deed? Small gifts, the best kind; A treasure to pass the time; Not just gifts but events, scenes, and places.
A poem inspired by The Book Thief
Silent crystal tears trickle down the thin face of a child And fall, suspended in time, Shattering against the ground like glass globes.
The snow falls, Light, fluffy, and deceiving
The body of the child is empty,
Searing the skin of the curious.
With the cavity once occupied by love Now vacated, and filled with grief.
An icy chill climbs the spine, Sticking its long, slender fingers in crevices And poking at the tender flesh of the heart.
Arms fall like leaden weights And knees buckle with the weight of the world Holding them down.
In, out; in, out; in, out
The pattern of breathing
The cause is found: Death has done his work.
A pair of silver eyes As if sleeping peacefully, But they will never re-open.
An unearthly sound rends the air, A sound of pain, loss And loneliness.
A Cry Unheard Katarina Rigoni
Yesterday I lost something. The pain that would fill me in this devastating loss Would not cease. As if it was controlling me, I felt a tug Like that of a five year old, pulling on my dress to try and tell me a secret But this jerk that I felt Was more sinister.
Then everything went dark and chill Completely blank, Like the deepest parts of the ocean, And I tried to imagine myself with the one I lost
With lilies tickling our legs as we walked. But I knew this would never happen Again, For I had lost that thing that would lessen my pain and decrease my worry.
On a brilliant and dazzling hill facing the sun
Seasons Kathryn MacPherson
The warm sunlight shatters my lonely slumber And sings to me: softly, sweetly My feet tread onto cool mud
Which angrily sputters as I walk by. Ancient trees reach out withered arms But my feet are light, my steps quick And they cannot reach me. I feel the warm breath of a fleeting summer wind And hasten my footsteps. The amiable sun slinks behind the horizon Waving her last farewell, mindful we are parting ways
Knowing that icy winter is on his way.
A California Miracle Whitney Linton
Monday morning, don’t want to go to school Want to stay home, want to swim in my pool. But the cruel cold morning forces me up Barely awake and coffee in my cup; The sun isn’t up, so why should I be?
Can’t wait until summer, when I am free. I’ve gotten up late, the clock says tick-tock Why can I find just one Rosary sock? I flip on the news and what do I see? Some fantastic news that causes me glee; Tears fill my eyes as it starts to sink in The reporter says, “What a year it’s been!”
School is cancelled, I can go back to sleep!
Some snow has fallen, it’s now three feet deep
A Mass of Contradictions-
The 21st Century Woman
Mary Wollstonecraft’s revolutionary introductory essay to her
understand when it is time to lead and when it is time to follow. Dedication and loyalty are important in all people, but especially in a woman. She must be independent, but willing to form relationships that will last forever. A woman is a mass of contradictions rolled up into a single person,
Vindication of the Rights of Woman sparked the feminist movement of
and somehow that person makes it all work. It is this ability that makes
the eighteenth century. Today, it has initiated the same type of drive in the
women successful in the workplace and in the home.
Rosary senior class. The should and should-nots, the do and do-nots, and the be and be-nots of women today are particularly relevant to us as we continue on to college. It has caused me to define myself and those around me in new ways. This is what I’ve come up with. I am a twenty-first century woman and I know what is expected of me and what I should expect from others. I understand my stereotypical ‘role’ in society, but I appreciate that women are stepping more into fields that were once dominated by men and am prepared to follow in the example set before me. Wollstonecraft’s rallying cry still rings true today: “acquire strength, both of mind and body.” I am a twenty-first century woman and I am strong.
Women have always had to possess more strength than the average
person – but not in the sense that you’re thinking. Although there are a great number of women who are physically strong, I believe that a woman’s greatest strength is, in fact, her inner strength. A woman can remain strong
A twenty-first century woman must be ready and willing to follow her dreams. In the past, women were locked (not literally) in the home, their ambitions forced away into dark corners. Now, women are allowed to take roles in society that were previously only for men. There are women in politics and female CEOs, powerful women with a substantial amount of weight in the decisions around them. But women who work in the home are strong in their own way, raising their children and maintaining a happy and healthy family. My mother, a former pharmacist turned stay-at-homemom, is one of the strongest people I know. Her plans changed (a woman has to be flexible sometimes), but she still amazes me every day with all the work that she does. She pursued her dreams in a far different atmosphere than I will, but she serves as an inspiration to me. Much to the disapproval of my gender, I’m sure, I’ll say this: I
through anything, be it death of a loved one, loss of a job, or some other
believe that men are not entirely at fault for the way women are treated in
tragedy. At the same time, however, a woman must be gentle and soft,
this era. Wollstonecraft states it better than I ever could: “women…are only
a loving mother and wife. A woman must be a leader, but she must also
anxious to inspire love, when they ought to cherish a nobler ambition, and Continued on the next page
A Mass of Contradictions- continued by their abilities and virtues exact respect.â€? Sadly enough, there are a great deal of women today who only seek pleasure and love, instead of pursuing their dreams and ambitions or thinking for themselves. They are satisfied with the short-term, without thinking of the long-term (a side effect of our society, which is rooted in instant gratification). I firmly believe that unless these women realize that they are not dependent on men and choose to desire respect over lust, very little in the way women are treated can change. A twenty-first century woman should strive for excellence and be able to expect respect from those around her. A twenty-first century woman is full of contradictions: strong but gentle, a leader but a follower, independent but able to form relationships. A woman can be ten thousand different people in the space of an hour, which is what makes us so unique. I, along with my sisters and friends, are ready to continue proving that women can be credit is due). I am proud to be a twenty-first century woman â€“ my ambitions are limitless, my aspirations without end.
successful and strong and that we deserve respect and credit (where
Leave Your Legacy Ronni Hayden
We can look to the future in many ways. The future is the main source of
or die trying.
earth defies this second death. To
stress in our lives and can seem to be this intangible and cruel word that parents
we have to work hard today and for
and teachers use to instill fear in us. The future becomes this ominous black cloud
of our lives on something we love
forcing us not to live in the moment. Often we use the future as an escape plan,
passionate about. It can be a source
an excuse to procrastinate now and care later. We are trained to fear the future
motivation to us to do our best now
because we have to determine it at the young age of fifteen.
so that when our mortal bodies die,
But the future is an opportunity. It’s a blank slate before us waiting with endless possibilities. As humans we naturally aspire to leave our marks on this world and to make our voices heard. All of our hopes lie in the future. Instead of looking at all of these choices as burdens, we can look to them as dreams where we get to decide our destiny. Jason Silva, an acclaimed film maker and performance
we can leave a legacy behind. As Mike Falzone, internet personality and comedian, says, “Challenging yourself is the cure to being bored.” As long as maintain this desire to push our creativity to its limits we can be comforted by the fact that we will always be better than we were yesterday. As we challenge ourselves to create things that we are proud of, we also leave
philosopher, further explains how humans defy mortality with what we leave
impressions on other people’s lives. The memories we make with the people we
behind on this planet. We ultimately long to be eternal and to show the world the
love or the impacts we leave on the world will continue on after we die, and spread
impact of our existence.
to people we have never met. Make working hard worth your while. Strive to
Banksy, political activist and street artist, once said “They say we die twice. One time when you stop breathing, and a second time, a bit later on, when someone you love says your name for the last time.” The idea of leaving behind a legacy on
leave an impact on this world that will last an eternity. Take advantage of all the opportunities in your future, after all “it’s not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves.” (William Shakespeare)
2:38 am Whitney Linton
Restless, sleep deprived
Waiting for sleep to overtake our churning minds
But at the same time
But not tired until morning,
We are the nocturnal generation.
Not wanting it to,
The velvet night beckons,
We are creatures of the night
It is our only refuge
But do we control the night?
A safe haven from our own lives.
Or has the night made us
Wondering, wishing, wanting,
All thoughts are welcomed by the tranquil darkness.
We are enshrouded in darkness
But exposed in the light
Of our own thoughts.
Poets are inspired Scientists are inventive The dawn nurses creative minds Our best work the product of these sleepless nights
Our golden hours.
In these early hours
“Central to natural writing is an attitude of wonder.”
- Gabriele Rico, PhD.
“Writing can teach us the dignity of speaking the truth.”
- Natalie Goldberg
Response to Mary Wollstonecraft’s Vindication Mary Howard As a child I always hated baby dolls, with their creepy faces, surprisingly durable body, and dead eyes. Instead I would play with my brother’s hot wheels and matchbox cars—all to my father’s terror, who was plagued by the irrational fear that I would one day forgo my educational future and become a street racer.
This fear definitely was not placated by the fact that The Fast and the Furious holds the number two slot as my favorite movie (number one being Shall We Dance…I sob every time). Alas, I possess subpar driving skills compared to the Vin Diesels of the world, so my dream was shattered. Although I spent my childhood predominantly playing with my brother’s toys I didn’t grow up to be what pessimists of Mary Wollstonecraft’s era described as “masculine women,” e.g., participating in the modern-day equivalent of hunting, shooting, and gaming…although I’m still a bit hazy on what the equivalent of these activities actually are…obsessing over football? Forgetting to put the toilet seat down after going to the bathroom? But anyway, just because I played with toys advertised towards guys didn’t mean I ended up like the “masculine women” of Wollstonecraft’s worst nightmare; my closet is packed with dresses, I have enough fashion magazines to supply thirty doctors’ waiting rooms, and I have a healthy obsession with shoes--I’m currently wearing a pink version of Dorothy’s ruby slippers, in case you were wondering. But I also work hard in school, I’m considering earning my Ph.D. in the field of economics, and I played competitive baseball up until I started high school (and I was really good too, I made the all-star team twice and was the starting first baseman). I don’t live my life seeking approval of
men and I don’t change defining aspects of myself to fit into the ever-looming gender stereotype that our society appropriates. All of which leads me into my first subject of conversation that expands on Wollstonecraft’s assertion that “the minds of women are enfeebled by false refinement”: that is, society values women on a superficial level and, for the most part, we let them. Think back to grade school, around third grade. Although you might not remember in great detail, you lived every day in the midst of gender bias. Girls were praised by their teachers for being neat, quiet, and obedient, while boys were urged to think independently, be active in the classroom, and speak out. A study by professors Myra and David Sadker investigates. Their study, conducted over a four-year period, reveals that elementary school boys receive way more attention in grade school than girls, and textbooks are canted more towards male students, depicting roughly one female
Continued on the next page
Response Continued saulters before we drive anywhere, we lace our hands with our car keys when we walk ourselves in a parking lot. As we get older we’re expected to do the to every ten male characters. Their study also shows that male students are
majority of the work when raising a family while succeeding in a career and
praised for “substantive achievement” (Sadker and Sadker) while female stu-
balancing them both with perfection. We’re expected to always dress perfectly
dents are praised for quiet attitudes. The study also implies that such differ-
and be a certain weight and are constantly bombarded with pictures in the
ence in praise affects development of students later in life: while grade school
media telling us how to look. Women are expected to be the perfect wife and
girls tend to excel more than their male counterparts in class, by high school
daughter and mother and employee all at once, and then people act surprised
the opposite is true. These results don’t sound far off from Wollstonecraft’s
when the number of women suffering from depression greatly outnumbers
theory that women have been duplicitously and insolently “render[ed] insig-
men. But women continue to strive for perfection anyway because that’s what
nificant objects of desire” showered by “specious homage;” that is, praised for
we’re expected to do. And you know what? We do all this while keeping our
submissive attitudes and admired for only superficial qualities, not for their
eyebrows flawlessly shaped…how many boys can say that?
educational achievement, values, or character.
Along with the subject of education, Wollstonecraft continues her
I’m not going to say how women today should be acting differently
or what women are doing wrong—to quote a close friend of mine and officer
Vindication by asserting that she’s going to “treat [women] as rational crea-
of her school’s feminist club: “A true feminist doesn’t hate on their fellow
tures” instead of emulating the “condescending” attitudes of men, addressing
sisters.” What I’m going to say is that women are strong because no matter
the disturbingly detrimental attitudes men have towards women. Have you
what path they choose in life they are challenged. Women in the workforce
ever heard someone (a coach or father, perhaps) tell you “don’t be such a girl?”
face sexual harassment, workplace discrimination (hello glass ceiling), and
Have you ever stopped and wondered what a person means by telling you not
are criticized for “neglecting their family.” Stay-at-home moms are judged,
to be a girl? It sounds like said person is insinuating that women are so subpar
overlooked, and called lazy even though raising children is probably one of
a species that to call you a “girl” demeans you. Rather rude don’t you think?
the most challenging vocations there are. Women face every day with many
challenges and while I’m so proud about how far our society has evolved in re-
Oh dear, but I do apologize…I’m getting off track and I really need to
wrap this up. The point is, women live lives very different from men—women
gards to the treatment of women, it’s a bit scary how relatable Wollstonecraft’s
constantly fear being attacked. To quote Gavin de Becker, the author of The
Vindication of the Rights of Women is to modern society.
Gift of Fear: “men fear women will laugh at them, women fear men will kill
them.” As women we’ve learned to check the back seats of our cars for as-
she does a lot more than you think.
Oh, and by the way, when you get home hug your mother…because
Swamp green flashes above closed eyes,
Golden sun in azure sky, A cool sea breeze against tan skin. Salty air on crimson lips, Above the ocean seagulls cry,
Palm fronds dancing in the wind.
Chocolate hair the wind does whip, Paddleboards and surfers float by. Ships sail in the cerulean sea, Devoid of noise, ocean acoustics, Ruby lips sip on sweet black tea, Birds and caimans make sweet music.
The beautiful Florida shore.
Child-like heart longing to explore,
As I stand in the sand, toes touching the cool water I am in awe of the enormity that is the ocean. As I stand in the shadow of a great and towering giant I am in awe of the immense power nature possesses. As I sit in a field of flowers, which seemingly has no end I am in awe of the simple beauty the world holds. As I stare into the maniac face of a raging fire I am in awe of the sheer strength which refuses to be quenched. As I stare into the eternal blackness of the night sky I am in awe of my own insignificanc.e
As I laugh at a joke an old friend tells I am in awe of the miraculous gift of life.
And I realize that, through my insignificance, I become significant.
â€œAll writing comes by the grace of God.â€?
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Crossings, Vol. 27 Cover photography by Haley Coad ’14
English Dept. Advisers: Yvonne O’Meara and Brendan Powers
Hayley Coad ’16
Computer Graphics Adviser: David Lyons
1340 N. Acacia Ave. Fullerton, Ca 92831 www.rosaryhs.org
A Royal Publication