OPUS 2015

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The Opus Team Teacher Sponsors Mrs. O'Connor Ms. Jacobs Ms. Lenny Co-Editors in Chief Oscar Hong & Harris Mak Lead Staff Kenneth Huang - Layout Director Jack Wang - Layout Director Richard Chen - Assistant Layout Director Ty Zhang - Artistic Director Kevin Yu - Literary Director John Yu - Literary Director Selections Team Ray Chang Nick Garbuz Curtis Ho James Lin Jordan Liu Jason Liu Jack Pan Konrad Swic Paul Wang Daniel Yan Bowen Zhou

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Arjun Mehta Alvin Tsuei Colin Mitchell Davin Liu Jack Zhang Kenneth Ng Lucas Wong Max Gupta Timothy Kwan Zen Ngam

Richard Chen

watercolour and acrylic

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The Opus 2015

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Liano Liu PHOTOGRAPHY

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Harris Mak painting

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Excerpt From “Wolf Trap�

Aidan Chan

Winter months in Wolf Trap, Virginia are cold and bitter, like the merciless clutches of a rusted factory machine. Slowly and mechanically, the cold curdles up the trunks of trees and silences the frostbitten woodland. Fresh snowfall from the night before had left the forest untouched for miles, and everything was frozen into place. But within the shrub, within the tangle of trees and unscathed ground, I stand, a man with my partner. I lay still as everything around me blurs itself out, retreating from my glare with only the specks of morning light remaining, floating around my body and dancing in solitude. The air around me stands crisp and quiet.

We were both quiet, both letting out only enough breath to suffice as I ran my hand down his fur to ensure our faith. His mane, coarse and uneven, but forgiving, gave me warmth and security.

With this feeling, I then transfer weight into my hands, which were both cracked and calloused from experience. I focus my vision and raise the scope of the rifle to my eye, becoming one with my weapon. I have done this many times before and the routine continues to play out. The specks of dust now fade away and the blurs are no more. It is just me and my partner, and the clean transparency of the earth. The clarity of the definition astounds me, and I stand mesmerized in place. As my grip tightens around the grooves, the tension increases and overwhelms me. I feel the trees reaching out to grab me from my own grasp, and I swat them away with the shaft of my barrel.

My eyes zero in on my target, my prey. Unaware, it moves around aimlessly, making crunches in the earth, compromising its own safety. I hear every step, every beat of its heart. In that instant, my rifle cocks and the smell of gunpowder lifting off the chamber permeates at my mouth and into my nostrils.

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Jamie Oh

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ceramics

One shot, two shots. And it’s over. I feel a sense of warm satisfaction, a sense of power. My grip loosens and the German Shepard at my side lets out a whimper. As a smile escapes out the crack of my mouth, I release the leash and begin my own approach. The bark of the trees, as I pass them, peel aside, and their leaves whither from my breath. Like every kill, I analyze the hunt. I picture the shadow, moving through the trees, erratic in motion. I remember its desperate gasps of breath, sputtering from its realizing fate. As I kneel down, the soil beneath me digs away at my soles, eagerly trying to pull me into the earth.

Pausing, I suddenly feel a tingling sensation in my body, something that I’m far too used to. But I brush this aside and I take a deep breath, running my hand up and down my prey, steadily, his body still damp from the wound. But he is not dead; No, he is now more alive than he ever was. He stares up at me, the life fading from his eyes. Ice blue crystals form around his pupils, and a single tear trickles down his face, forming icicles on the ground. I lift up my hood, my cheeks pink and raw from the murder, and horror fills his face to the brim. This is the last thing he sees. I will honour this man, and leave nothing to waste.

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The Creative Heart

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Seth Book mixed media SPECTRUM | 13

Fossil

Jack Pan MIXED MEDIA

James Lin acrylic 14 | OPUS

Sayonara, Okinawa A

ndrew

Mo

My mind always wanders to one place in particular. Every night I dream, I am not in Vancouver, but on a tiny islet in the Western Pacific, some three and a half kilometers off the coast of Okinawa. My senses, dulled by the everyday drudgery, are liberated from their shackles.

For one hour each night, I am able to experience the full spectrum of human emotions again, during which time I relive my most precious childhood memories.

I savor each of those sixty minutes, laying on the very same beach I visited with my two best friends almost nine years ago. I can taste the salty ocean mist. Their voices ring out to me like a wind chime as we run hand in hand, leaving behind sets of footprints by the tide with our naked feet. I can feel the fine, golden sand trickling through the gaps of my toes and the amber rays kiss my cheek, as does the gentle breeze. Dusk follows, and we tilt our heads to the wondrous heavens, mesmerized as it transforms from a vibrant shade of azure into chartreuse, and then fireball red. The sun gracefully descends below the horizon, dragging all the clouds down with it. We count the diamonds above as they emerge upon a smear of cool colours dominated by tints of royal purple and slate blue, only to realize that they are not simply individual jewels, but rather a string of brilliant gemstones stretching across the sky, as if it were part of an ethereal necklace donned by a mysterious figure watching us from above.

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Jamie Mackay ceramics

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My companions laugh and call out my name as we race to the top of the hill. We rest under the century-old cherry blossom tree, watching as the island wind passionately sweeps the pink petals into a frenzied waltz. My friends roll over on their sides, and we whisper something into each other’s ears. A childhood promise, or perhaps something of greater importance? I can never remember anything from here on because at this moment, I, too, am swept wwby the wind, but not into a dance of my own. Rather, I ride a violent gust into a realm of grey where my memories begin to flicker and fade, like an old box television. Everything becomes neutral, and it’s as if I am numb, submerged in a tub of lukewarm water. When I wake up, I lose the vivid images. The feelings which make me human are stripped away, and I become imprisoned in this drab world of medium, so-so, and just getting by.

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Sloth

Arjun Chehil We are Sloth We sit in the trees looking down on others as they fight our battles Take our toll Lift us up Grabbing our hands moving us forward, but we sit hanging on the tree unwillingly We act like it’s fine, when it’s hard Inwardly we hope to be the ones that take others tolls and lift others up But for now we grab the branch and let others die at our feet Spraying the blood of their faith and purity We are sloth but we hope to get better.

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Harris Mak Painting SPECTRUM | 19

Drifter Arjun Chehil

Whenever I see low drifting clouds I yearn to‌ Jump, to fly, Into the crisp smooth heavenly wonders above, Bouncing across the globe up and down going in their un-soulful pattern, Vigilantly going into the unknown, When I see low drifting clouds, I yearn to jump, to fly into the unknown

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James Gjervan photography

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The Hands of God

Steven Sang sculpture

Duality

Jordan Liu ceramics

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Paul Bains ceramics SPECTRUM | 23

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Ricochet

Bennet Adamson Photography

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Jordan Liu acrylic

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Sayward Spin Arjun Mehta

Tranquil and placid, each of our moves were: Her rays shine bright light down on loch and I; The warmth subtly touching me. No fie!

Yet it took but one fall from Douglas Fir To disperse of this Cove’s short Spring further.

It took but a fall to feel alive n’spry, For never have I ever dreamed to die In fire over melting ice. Don’t blur Your days; don’t rot away or be distraught.

So carpe diem, this day and the next.

Grasp Dawn by its tail and give’er a shot.

Don’t stress over Winter; braise her in pot!

Stand and shout; assume that there is nothing next Things past are past, thus pain still lingers not.

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Kevin Yu ink and watercolour

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Konrad Swic photography

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Bowen Zhou photography 30 | OPUS

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Beginnings Ryan Karimi

A lonely wind rushed through rows of symmetrical houses. Here lie the suburbs: a utopian society, a tired relic of post-war sprawl. Securing the zipper on my ragged backpack, I softly slipped out the door. The sidewalk was aglow with iridescent puddles of moonlight. The rain had subsided, though the city could still feel the storm’s brisk overtones haunting it like an old companion.

I gingerly walked to the main street, wanting to delay the inevitable. The shackled houses loomed over me; I had grown too old for these roads. The bus stop twinkled in the night, beckoning me.

I brandished my ticket as the bus arrived.

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Jason Liu photography

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Divergence Herman Lam sculpture

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Jamie Mackay ceramics

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A Moon’s Love Justin Wang Dear S(un),

My purpose in the writing of this letter is both the information and

profession of my love to you. You are, both figuratively and literally, the light of my life. Your mere presence brings meaning to the universe around you.

The miniature beings that obsess over you - indeed they are most obsessive as they seem to orbit around you endlessly - are unable to comprehend both your beauty and grace. Often, it appears that we are divided: you conquer the day of light while I live in the night of darkness. There often seems a sense of dichotomy, as if I am not good enough to have you. Perhaps they are true. Perhaps it is not my purpose nor my destiny to be with you. Perhaps my sole purpose is to create the tides in the oceans and light up the night. And yet, it is not I that gives off light. It is because of you and your fiery radiance that I am able to shine brightly in the night sky. It is because of you and your blazing luminosity that the world is lit up like stars in the night sky. I understand that I am but a lowly pedestrian, an unworthy being in your presence. Even though I have idolized you since my beginnings, it is quite possible that you have never glanced at me, and even after reading this letter, you will never. And yet, I am unable to rid myself of thoughts for you. It is as if I am being pulled towards you. I feel attached to you, an intangible connection with an explanation that has escaped my mind.

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If you should have read this far, I beseech you: take me and accept me.

Together, we make a full day, a complete circle that brings about harmony and prosperity. During the daytime, you revitalize life; by nighttime, my cool soothing moonlight shines creates an atmosphere of romance. We complete one another; without one, the other cannot live. Love me with all of your blazing heart, and I will do the same.

Love, M(oon)

Nick Garbuz ceramics SPECTRUM | 37

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Palest Ink

Aidan Chan film stills

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James Lin acrylic 40 | OPUS OPUS

Anonymous acrylic

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After Maya Angelou Max Brittingham

I know why the caged bird sings.

Because it is in its nature In everything’s nature When trapped, you despair To maintain your freedom You sing You sing to your god or to the earth You sing for love, for free air Birds sing for the freedom of the skies Humans for the love of others But above all we sing for one thing I know why the caged bird sings, For hope.

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The Hidden Owl James Houston mixed media

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As Technology Rises Qaasim Karim

As technology rises, shall we forget, The founders that toiled to make us?

The ones that fought with blood and flesh, Staining the soil burgundy red?

Those who caused us to grow, From Istanbul to Novgorod, The ones that made us sail the seas, And break all that came before us, Those kings and queens, Serfs and slaves, The singers and dancers of old,

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But now everyone seems to forget, The colonizers and conquerors now, We run about on these streets, Not caring who laid the stones, We build, tearing down the ruins, Of the ones of old, We tear out tradition, Stamp out life, In exchange for the future and here, In an age of fast and quick, A time of now and mine, Will we forget the creators, The people that let us be here?

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Bryan Lo photography SPECTRUM | 47

Being Watched

Daniel Zhu sculpture

Josh Jeyaratnam ceramics 48 | OPUS

A Dot in Life

Jacky Yang mixed media

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Sonnet I: For My Eternal Star Frank Pu

For thou art star, my constellation fair, thy splendid sheen that shin’th i’th’ dark night sky, dispels that which was in my mind, despair; thy lustrous threads untwined, as did my wry soul. Lum’nous fire, thou art more eternal than th’ebbs and tides of oceans deep and wide.

Thy love is graven to my heart as annals that shall persist with grace through nones and ides.

O eternal queen i’th haughty heavens, glam’rous is thy fair complexion golden.

Radiance of thy love is my obsessions; everlasting art thou and thine passion.

Aeons may pass and men must die, but thou, my beacon, liest in my heart’s eternity.

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Sonnet II: For My Ephemeral Star Frank Pu

For thou art star, my constellation fair, thy splendid sheen that shin’th i’th’ dark night sky, dispels that which was in my mind, despair;w thy lustrous threads untwined, as did my wry soul. Lum’nous love, thou art more eternal than th’ebbs and tides of oceans deep and wide.

Thy love is graven to my heart as annals that shall persist with grace through nones and ides.

Yet my fair nocturnal queen art mortal still, Gilded is but thy complexion glam’rous.

Painted cheeks must garner love ephem’rous, for lust seeks garish masks but faces real.

Entrust me thus my goddess treasured most, that in thy truth my passion is engrossed.

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Contemplation Winston Li water colour William Ma acrylic 52 | OPUS

How the World Has Turned Ty Zhang

Oh, how long I’ve wished to tell you so, Beneath this constant mockery, trite hypocrisy, Buried deep, there lies a much warmer soul, One without the bitter frost you’ve known and seen.

And like how the world has forever turned, From the engulfing blackness of this murky night To the bright light that this star has long burned, Have I too changed from what I am naught, To become another misconception?

But can you discern metamorphosis, Or have you been long blinded by deception?

Perhaps there is nothing more merciless,

Than realizing how the world has turned far,

And how I yet fear your light, my wondrous star.

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Tears of Joy

Ray Chang acrylic

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In The Eyes of The Beholder max gupta

The wind rustled over the flowing grass in the meadows, blending with the melodic song of the birds. My beloved comrades were meandering blissfully through the fields below, exchanging talk of the day and savouring the early morning dew.

The creatures were content, To their worries giving vent, Tranquil was the land, Safe from man’s hand.

Crack, clang, clunk, sounds of conflict resonated through the forest, and cries of anguish shattered the silence. I deserted my post on the cedar I had been roosting upon and spreading out my wings in a flurry, descended upon the source of commotion. Dreadful was the sight upon which I stumbled for below me lay numerous bodies strewn horrendously across the golden autumn leaves. As I drew closer I could distinguish them; the dazzling dragon, the trusting troll, and the elderly elves all lay in contorted positions below.

The contrast was a torture to the innocent eye, How a creature so harmless could lie, Upon an earth so pristine and simply die.

Distraught, I raced to the aid of the dragon and nudged him gently hoping to simply be disrupting a peaceful slumber. He lay still. Attempting to choke back the tears, I tried to laugh gaily as we always used to do together to rouse him. He lay still. I began singing his favourite tune that we came up with while flying together through the valley. He lay still.

Now letting my grief run free, Now realizing the true austerity of nature, Now adding my sorrows to the never-ending sea, As my dear friends meet their maker.

Blind with confusion and angst, my head swivelled around violently,

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hoping to find out what had caused such an atrocity. My eyes lighted upon the silhouette of a figure in the distance, tall, broad, and regal mounted upon a jewellery-embroidered horse. The figure drew closer and I could distinguish the shimmering gold armour, the knightly helmet, and the majestic gait of the horse. Everything about this man seemed to radiate purity and gallantry as he sauntered along. His helmet, sewn like steel, sat high on his head with delicate embroidered silk on the neckband with birds stitched on the seams, parrots perched among painted red flowers and turtle doves and lovers knots adorned the front as well. The flowers seemed a deep shade of red and as he came closer the red trickled down from the helmet, spurting all over the armour, staining the silk, and tainting the gold. He drew his sword and it was covered with guts and the blood of those innocent beings he had slain.

And as he rode, Not a pure knight did I see, But a failed code, A shadow of what should be.

Nature’s Void Herman Lam acrylic

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Andreas Dutz ink

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Jealousy blake hayward

& george lin

Behold your loving heart I so desire Only another soul I would require To steal your love, your eye from his heart’s keep I would suffer no guilt though he would weep My love is much stronger but yet unknown I wish his arms that hold you were my own I stare across a gaping void at you While wishing, wishing if only you knew That in my dreams I kneel holding a ring Where you say yes and I become your king But when I awake I know it’s all fake Nothing can soothe my steadfast heartache For it is too late and I must move on You are with him now; my chances are gone

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Monroe

Koshi Hayward spray paint

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O N E on O N E Ty Zhang I saw it, The same will that drove me, The same power that could consume me, But we were not yet the same.

How could have I known That this day would eventually come?

How could have I known That I would meet my stranger foe?

We looked, yet we did not know We knew, yet we did not see We saw, yet we did not hear We heard fire.

At last, it had come to pass Was there no longer light?

Were we sure, That we could breath, or did we drown?

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For we had finally met.

Face to Face.

One on One. As One.

Ty Zhang Acrylic

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Dylan Rupnow Photography

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Outpour

Ray Chang Acrylic

The hockey player is like a soldier Standing in the worn face-off circle Like the soldier who stands on the much-tread front line of War. He shoots the beaten puck With the significance and power Of a soldier’s ice cold bullet, Skating until he is out of time to fight.

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Simulate Pascal Girard

“I was so close, let me try just one more time…” I said. He said. She said. They said. Everyone said. I muttered that phrase again, letting my little cursor hover over the big bold red “RETRY?” button, pausing for a second, hoping I wouldn’t need to say it after I gave the simulation another go for the umpteenth time.

The world is in shambles, but hey, at least there’s no more war, no more language barriers, no more problems with the economy; however, pollution has suffocated even inanimate objects, natural disasters are now hourly occurrences and the world is so overpopulated that new cities have been built on top of and under older ones. At first, when the world became united everyone thought everything would get better, and it did; a golden age had dawned on humanity. But then things went bad really quickly. It was as if someone who was stuck in a hole was suddenly handed a ladder to save himself but he decided instead to keep digging a deeper hole with said ladder. I was born into a utopia and I’ll die in a dystopia.

Click. I take another sip from my can of caffeine-enrichedfresh-air-infused™ Mountain Dew and prepare myself for another marathon of world-saving. If the earth and, subsequently, the human race, were to continue along its current path, this frail planet would be able to sustain life for only a few more years before everything started dying; not to say that this hasn’t already begun. A video game developed together by all major video game publishers and funded by our one-and-only glorious government, this “Immersive Simulation” is a last-ditch attempt to save the world by enlisting the help of the world’s collective brain power. Players are put in the seat of The President, with all the resources of the world at their disposal. Everyone and their dog has been trying to beat this unbeatable game. Needless to say, nobody has won yet, and the bounty for winning has reached a staggering ten trillion dollars. Perhaps my ten trillion dollars.

I listen to my auto-maid whirring away behind me, carefully incinerating my empty drink cans and dusting off my empty shelves. My

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Flashback

Herman Lam mixed media

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Crystal Crystal Run Run

Jordan Liu computer rendering Jordan Liu computer rendering Air-Reconditioning unit drones on, trying its hardest to purify the polluted air in my apartment, like a person trying to scoop all the water out of the ocean with a cup. The only light in the room emanates from my computer screen: a single line of flashing text “Save the World, Save Our World.” These are the words that enticed me and the trillions of other people in the world to play another round of this game.

While the game loads up I browse the various strategy forums, and notice something weird; all the forums are being bombarded with posts saying that their games don’t start anymore. I look back at my other monitor; the simulation is just about to finish loading.

That is odd; ever since the government released the game, not once had it gone offline. I go to the official website and see a giant red banner across the screen reading “THE PLAY PERIOD IS NOW OVER. THANK YOU ALL FOR PLAYING.” The Shut-

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down has happened.

What could that mean? Did someone win? That seemed to be on everyone’s mind as all the forums and news outlets were quickly being flooded to the point that the internet was having a meltdown. Maybe it was a sign our world was having a meltdown. It looked like anyone that loaded a game before the mass shutdown was still able to play through the game one more time. That’s when it hit me. The simulation put the player in the seat as The President of the world at the exact moment in time they started playing. That meant that in everyone’s game world, all of the citizens were busy being addicted to playing a simulation.

A game within a game.

What if everyone just stopped playing? Nobody had even considered to end the game within the game. Nobody until now.

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My game finished loading. I casually glanced at the text in the top left of my screen. “Players Online: 1.” This number was usually in the trillions. Probably the last game in the world was about to be played through by me. I decided I would stream this session live over the internet, something I’d never done before. I felt the public needed to know what a simulation of The Shutdown in the game would reveal. The last gamer in the world playing the last simulation. My viewer count immediately began to spike seconds after I went live. Thousands. Millions.

Billions. I cap at 1.2 trillion viewers. The eyes of the world were literally upon me. I ran through the simulation like any other, with the exception that I stopped the game within the game, like the government had stopped our simulation just now. After The Shutdown productivity soared and I hit a new high score that nobody had ever achieved, but I still lost. Our world was still going to die, albeit in about a century.

I ended my live-stream, turned off my computer, and got up. I stepped outside of my apartment for the first time in years and so did everyone else. But what now? For many, this game was their lives, was my life; the only thing they ever did was play this simulation. At least it seemed like I would die of old age before the world ended.

Oh I could not have been more wrong.

Everyone started talking about how the earth was going to end and how incompetent our government was. After The Shutdown, my live-stream was viewed by everyone in the world, thrice over. It was analyzed every which way. People became disgruntled about how they were “oppressed” and “being used” to the benefit of those in the government.

All the citizens came to the same conclusion: the government had given up on trying to save the world, and instead focused on saving itself.

In the months following The Shutdown, riots broke out everywhere, many cities were razed to the ground and the ones that weren’t started wars with other cities. Like sailors abandoning a sinking, flaming ship to brave the vast, gloomy, freezing-cold ocean all alone, thousands of spaceships, some homemade but most government funded, began shooting away into the darkness in search of a more habitable planet than earth.

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L.O.B.E

Justin Low 3D Printing And with that, the world ended. *** The screen went black, and a big, bold, red button flashed across the screen.

“RETRY?”

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The End Has Come Timothy Kwan

The time has come to say goodbye, The sun will set, the light shall die, Darkness will envelop the sky, And I will pass away.

The end’s arrived, the end has come, It shall be swift, it shall be done, The end’s arrived, the end has come, For I am through, and I am done.

The peaks will fall, the valleys rise, Scarcely heard are creatures’ cries, The greatest men can just surmise, “Then he has passed away.”

The end’s arrived, the end has come, It shall be swift, it shall be done, The end’s arrived, the end has come, For I am through, and I am done.

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The realms have fallen, the oceans drained, The land’s forgot the time it rained, The world’s all dark, that’ll be maintained, For I will pass away.

The end’s arrived, the end has come, It shall be swift, it shall be done, The end’s arrived, the end has come, For I am through, and I am done.

The end has come, the truth is out, The light’s at bay, the dark’s about, And in the dark a man shall shout, “And I will pass away.”

Konrad Swic PHOTOGRAPHY SPECTRUM | 71

Josh Jeyaratnam CERAMICS

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Josh Sagredo CERAMICS

Jordan Liu ceramics

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Sandy Seas Sebastian Steven PHOTOGRAPHY

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The Ocean GEORGE LIN

The baby-blue sky, empty with no clouds, expanding as far as the eye can see, hangs over the ocean like a blanket over a new born child. The crystal clear water is calm as glass and lays unmoving like a dormant giant. Only awakening when the occasional tanker or seaplane passes by, creating large rolling waves that almost seem endless. However, these rolling waves only become smaller and smaller like a decrescendo until they disappear into the distance. It is in these few moments that this enchanting image of nature and its never-ending silence is disturbed by loud noises created by man. What seems like such a quiet, isolated place is actually bustling with life underneath the water. Tiny, barely noticeable ripples form on the surface of the water as sea creatures stir in their kingdoms. Over by the shore where the water is shallow, tall grasses stick out of the water like tiny heads. These plants peek out of the water as if they are excited to see who they are sharing this peacefulness with. And ever so often, when the wind blows by, these grasses look like hands waving, welcoming all to enjoy the surreal breath taking beauty of such a rare atmosphere. Yet no one comes.

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Korea T.K. Nah ACRYLIC 76 | OPUS

Harmanjot Uppal

acrylic

Winston Li PHOTOGRAPHY

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The Yellow Wood Nathan Fong

Once, long ago, while I still walked in the woods, I witnessed a man, Staring down a path that diverged into two separate roads.

I kept my distance, as not to disturb the man, And after he had chosen a path I made my way towards them To see which one he had taken.

I was surprised to see that he had taken The path that was more grown over and dirty.

I noticed though that both paths were actually rather similar in wear; The path he took was just harder to get into.

I was curious to see what both paths would be like, But I only had time for one, So I chose the path the man did not take, As it seemed easier to walk through And cleaner than the other.

I came to the end of the path, and saw an open stretch of land Bleak, empty, and plain.

I wondered what was at the end of the path that the other man took And wanted to inspect, but I had other things to do.

I walked back towards the main road, and looked down the other stretch to see if the man had returned.

But he had not.

I stood there still, for a few more moments, But the man did not return.

Today those woods are no longer there, They became the victim of human expansion.

My life has not changed since that day, I am still the same human being, But some nights, I still wonder what was down that road, Would it have made a difference?

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Josh TsangTony ceramics Li mixed media

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The Roots Buckling at His Feet Quinton Huang

That day when we together scaled the rocky shoals, the brackish breeze assailing us; the screech of gulls abetting the chaos of foot and toe,

He had stumbled, the impervious roots buckling at his feet.

I ran forward.

“No – it’s fine.

It is only a small slip, after all,” said he with a slight chagrin.

In that moment, his face betrayed a pained wisdom, a wistfulness for his youth.

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Mac Shepard acrylic

Bowen Zhou PHOTOGRAPHY

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Santiago Aramburo pencil 82 | OPUS

Jordan Vincent Liu acrylic

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Transience Leo Shi

The ant scuttled across the forest floor, crying loudly, though no one could hear in the roar the rusted and coughing pipes, spewing out pitch black smoke, covering the orangutan, who was first chewing on a metal rod, then, choking gasping for air, then falling into the water, soaking wet.

The macaws saw, and they laughed and guffawed until the thick putrid smoke enveloped them, and they with permanent smiles on their faces, fell, eyes closing shut, and with no graces, was gulped down by the swirling, churning river.

Its large round eyes, eyes thick as moons in the evening skies, its trail, thicker than bread left impressions, and left the ant’s wife dead.

The ant, mourning in sorrow, showed no fear, as the danger grew near.

It raised its head, and saw no more.

The machine was an agent of destruction; life, it is transient

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Linear Calamity

Caius Chew acrylic

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Green Waters Jacky Yang water colour 86 | OPUS

Corn

Sajin Parmar CERAMICS

Jade Petals

Tony Wang CERAMICS

SPECTRUM | 87

Where Am I Joshua Chang

Just off the Swan Valley Highway, more commonly known as Highway 26, lies Irwin, Idaho. A small town with approximately 200 residents, Irwin is not usually found on a map. During the day, the town is filled with sounds of work, which gradually change to drunken laughter as the sun dips below the tree tops and the moon starts its dance across the nighttime sky. About 5 kilometers outside of the main town lies a small farm. Here, the endless rows of corn that color the surrounding landscape can no longer be found. The familiar sounds of humans cannot be heard. In the middle of nowhere and surrounded by a dry and desolate land, the farm seems uninhabited. A small light, however, shines from deep inside that can be seen through cracks in the walls. Never once does it dim or waver, almost like the beacon of a lighthouse in the middle of the sea. An eerie silence possesses this area, and even the barely perceptible sounds of rattle snakes slithering in the dead, knotted grass can be heard. The road leading up to this house is cracked and furrowed, seemingly unused in many years.

From far away, the dilapidated farm looks like it has not seen any visitors in years. However, as one gets closer, the bright, peculiar light within the house entices one like the songs of mermaids in the dark and unknown sea. Lit by the moon, the house seems almost beautiful, the natural glow of the light illuminating the surrounding darkness. Upon closer inspection of the house, one would notice the brown paint began peeling off long ago. The windows are caked with dust and it is impossible to see the interior of the house. The remnants of occupants are nowhere to be found.

The door, however, has a fresh coat of dark red paint, as if painted yesterday.

88 | OPUS

Konrad Swic PHOTOGRAPHY

SPECTRUM | 89

Pinhole Camera Seth Book CERAMICS

90 | OPUS

Shinjuku Oscar Hong PHOTOGRAPHY

SPECTRUM | 91

The Bullet Andrew Campbell

As the bullet enters my body I can see my attacker His face is hidden by a black cloth, but I can see his eyes The first bullet is followed by another, and another...

These men don’t take prisoners‌ Neither do we when it comes to them I can feel the life ebbing from me The Bullet He is holding a gun and another It was my fault I exposed myself at least not for long But this will not help me now along with my blood.

92 | OPUS

Batdog

Windsor Huang PENCIL SPECTRUM | 93

Doumbek

Lucas Ma CERAMICS

94 | OPUS

Hunting Tareeq Mangalji The animal lurks, Hidden behind dilapidated trunks.

It is timid yet holds a gaze, indicating that it won’t shy from confrontation.

It licks its lips as if it has just finished a delicious meal.

Twigs suddenly snap violently as the creature flies up branches, with more force than a jet plane taking off.

As a deer prances unaware and carefree, the animal approaches stealthily.

It takes the deer down and sinks teeth into velvet skin like a starving child biting into freshly washed fruit.

When finished, the animal licks its lips and lurks, hidden by the cowls of overbearing trees.

SPECTRUM | 95

When in a car the world seems to be ajar Parker Ford

Peek in a busy life style feel safe knowing any time you can close your eyes

peek out suddenly you’re in a different place a quiet place a peaceful place so, when you are in a car the world seems to be ajar

96 | OPUS

Serenity Oscar Hong PHOTOGRAPHY SPECTRUM | 97

98 | OPUS

Jason Liu PHOTOGRAPHY

SPECTRUM | 99

Index Anonymous 41 Aidan Chan 9, 38 Andreas Dutz 57, 63 Andrew Campbell 92 Andrew Mo 15 Arjun Chehil 18, 20 Arjun Mehta 27 Bennet Adamson 24 Blake Hayward 58 Bowen Zhou 30, 81 Bryan Lo 46 Caius Chew 85 Daniel Zhu 48 Dylan Rupnow 62 Frank Pu 50, 51 George Lin 58, 75 Harris Mak 8, 19 Herman Lam 34, 56, 65 Jack Pan 14 Jacky Yang 49, 86 James Gjervan 21 James Houston 43 James Lin 40 Jamie Mackay 16, 35, 90 Jamie Oh 10 Jason Liu 33, 98 Jordan Liu 22, 26, 66 Josh Jeyratnam 48, 72 Josh Sagredo 73 Joshua Chang 88 Justin Low 69 Justin Wang 36 Kevin Yu 28

100 | OPUS

Konrad Swic 29, 70, 89 Koshi Hayward 59 Leo Shi 84 Liano Liu 6, 50 Lucas Ma 94 Max Brittingham 42 Max Gupta 55 Nathan Fong 78 Nick Garbuz 37 Oscar Hong 91, 97, 102 Pascal Girard 64 Parker Ford 96 Paul Bains 23 Qaasim Karim 44 Quinton Huang 80 Ray Chang 54, 63 Richard Chen 3 Ryan Karimi 32 Sajin Parmar 87 Santiago Aramburo 82 Sebastian Steven 74 Seth Book 12,88 Steven Sang 22 Tareeq Mangalji 95 T.K. Nah 76 Timothy Kwan 70 Tony Li 79 Tony Wang 87 Ty Zhang 53,60, 61 Vincent Liu 83 Windsor Huang 93 Winston Li 52, 77 Cover Design by Oscar Hong, Jack Wang & Ty Zhang SPECTRUM | 101

Lightstreaks Oscar Hong PHOTOGRAPHY

102 | OPUS