Prisms: Fall 2021 | Volume 31

Prisms A LITERARY & ARTS MAGAZINE

Amelie Ritter ‘21 Beyond Infinite Pen/Ink/Colored pencil

Fall 2021 Volume 31 St. Joseph Notre Dame High School 1011 Chestnut Street Alameda, California

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Prisms Staff Editor In Chief Lisa Ramos ‘21 Writing Editor Koa Chen ‘21 Media & Layout Editor Ariana Schoefer ‘23 Writing Staff Alexis Dollar ‘24 Kalilla Garcia ‘22 Sarah Lisanti ‘23 Media & Layout Staff Tobin Deaker ‘24 Miranda Massie ‘24 Cover Art Lisa Ramos ‘21 Sara Wheeler ‘21 Moderators Colette Gunn-Graffy, Writing Andy McKee, Media & Layout Founder Elizabeth Norris

Vision Statement PRISMS is a literary and arts magazine published and managed

by SJND students. Any student may submit work for possible publication, and submissions are accepted in the fall and winter. In the spring, the student editorial staff reviews and selects pieces for publication and collaborate with the writers, artists, and musicians to revise their work as needed. The Editor-in-Chief has final choice in the selection process with the approval of faculty moderators.

Founded by SJND English and Spanish teacher Elizabeth Norris in 1990, PRISMS was originally printed in black and white and staple bound. The magazine is now printed in full color and perfect bound. Along with writing and artwork, PRISMS now includes student performances and videos, which can be accessed by scanning QR codes. Through the process of putting together the publication, the students on staff learn how to organize and select submissions, how to edit works of creative art, and how to layout the content using Adobe InDesign. PRISMS is distributed each year in May and a copy is provided to the household of each student at SJND.

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Table of Contents 7

Lisa Ramos ‘21

Dedication

8

Lisa Ramos ‘21

Theme

10

Claudia Arguello ‘21

11

Christian Chiu ‘24

2020

12

Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Paranoia

13

Lisa Ramos ‘21

Parasite

14

Michelle Martinez ‘21

Brain Spill

15

Koa Chen ‘21

Still Alive

16

Heidi Manes ‘22

The Sonnet You Never Deserved

17

Abigail Boyer ‘21

Black and White

18

Eric Rico Fajardo ‘23

18

Koa Chen ‘21

19

Kolia Krajewski ‘21

Reminscent Flowers

20

Micaiah Ribay ‘23

Mirrored in Time

21

Angelina Cinco ‘22

Time Isn’t On Our Side

22

Koa Chen ‘21

Temptation

24

Bianca Xie ‘22

Xie Chorales

We Stand Together

Sunlit Flowers Life is Short

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25

Christopher Ramirez ‘21

Escape

26

Ariana Schoefer ‘23

The Residents

28

Isabelly Duarte ‘23

The Canvas of Escapism

30

Jasper Wilson IV ‘22

Mad Man’s Mind

31

Heidi Manes ‘22

32

Mia Holley ‘23

33

Cecilia Perez ‘22

34

Aryan Panchal ‘23

The Pandemic Through A Student’s Eye

35

Miranda Massie ‘24

Masks

36

Maya Gilliam ‘23

42

Lana Dao ‘21

43

Micaiah Ribay ‘23

44

Abigail Boyer ‘21

45

Jonah De Leon ‘22

Never Bee Alone

46

Isabelly Duarte ‘23

My Love For Cinema

48

Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Comic Cage

49

Skyler Johnson ‘21

Precision

Nirvana That Place Haunted

El Chabacano Exoticism Cultural Symbol A New Hope

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50

Sarah Lisanti ‘23

Mosaic

51

Koa Chen ‘21

A Midnight Stroll

53

Koa Chen ‘21

Return to the Light

54

Alexis Dollar ‘24

55

56

Jeancarlo Osorio ‘21 & Mikolaj Sidzinski ‘21 Tobin Deaker ‘24

57

Lola Shook ‘21

Lola’s Banging Beats

58

Mia Holley ‘23

Hardworking

59

Koa Chen ‘21

60

Mick Cuevas ‘21

61

Heriberto Velez ‘23

62

Kalilla Garcia ‘22

63

Miranda Massie ‘24

64

Andy Pan ‘24

65

Ellie Chareonsuphiphat ‘21

66

Cecilia Perez ‘22

Desolate City

67

Olivia Baltutis ‘23

Winds of Wonder

68

Christopher Moore ‘23

A Letter Addressed to the Moon Pillars of Hercules Half-Empty

American Greed Retired from Sad, New Career in Business Escape the Cycle A World House Self.tif Long Road Ahead Run of Life

The Bored King

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71

Ariana Schoefer ‘23

72

Mick Cuevas ‘22

73

Israel Fuentes-Juarez ‘21

Yo Soy

74

Ellie Chareonsuphiphat ‘21

Teach a Man to Fish

75

Luisa Barrantes ‘24

76

Elaine Truong ‘22

77

Lisa Ramos ‘21

Soul

78

Jack Hume ‘24

Australian Aboriginal Serpent

79-83

Zappa In a Daze

Seaweed Stones Doors

Prisms Contributors

84

Prisms Awards and Colophon

Prisms Poets Laureate 2020-2021 Claudia Arguello 2009-2010

Sarah Su

2015-2016

Aaron Ramos

2010-2011

Tia Gangopadhyay

2016-2017 Jonathan Yannantuono

2011-2013

Robin Levy

2017-2018

Beatrice Levy

2013-2014

Amelia Khoo

2018-2019

Sofia Reeves

2014-2015

Karina Leon

2019-2020

Andrew Fowler

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to all the St. Joseph Notre Dame High School teachers, and teachers everywhere.

Thank you for your resilience and tenacity to still connect with your students despite the difficulties that came with doing so through a screen. Your attempts to reach out to us to continue enriching our education and to look out for our mental health did not go unseen and unappreciated.

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Introduction Imagine a bustling city center full of enriched culture and activity — only to be robbed of its people and the atmosphere these inhabitants created within it. The city is reduced to a cold, empty shell of what was once the peak of its life. No amount of electricity and wires can brighten up the place as the people who treasured it.

Likewise, when one is forcibly isolated, the mind becomes barren — ­ no longer enlightened with bursts of excitement or with waves of adrenaline. Without the stimulation of our close friends, the sun beaming on our skin, and the thrills of adventures, we too want to wither away.

Yet, some say that when stripped to the simplest core, humans are nomadic by nature. When the real world outside our homes becomes unsuitable for our needs and desires — no longer habitable — we move and create a new space of our own.

Enter the Cyber World. A web of infinite blue links and a gateway to human interaction across distances once thought impossible. Now, when feelings of loneliness and isolation creep into our souls, we find ourselves remedying them by hovering our cursor over the unmute button, opening social media and sending a quick text, or staring face-to-face with someone recreated into thousands of pixels.

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Just how a city’s infrastructure and complex electricity system is not what gives the place life, the digital world is not what it is just because of lines of code and patterns of 1’s and 0’s. We turn the digital world into our hub; we human beings are what made it into a digital connection mega-complex. Our strong desire to connect with each other follows us through entire worlds and platforms.

PRISMS invites you to discover another way to connect with people — through the medium of writing, art, and music. As one interacts with another just behind the bright screen, we welcome you to resonate with the people behind the pieces through their handcrafted creativity and intricate artistry. Admiring the bright colors of a watercolor painting, dancing to the sway of the audio of a flute, or finding comfort in a poem — these all showcase the wonders of oneon-one connection, of sharing and being in touch with one another.

Let us stay connected together, even when we are six feet, six miles, or a whole country apart.

Lisa Ramos ‘21, Editor-In-Chief

P rP ir iss mmss // VV oo ll 331 1/ /p .p1.01 0

We Stand Together Claudia Arguello ‘21 From seeds strewn haphazardly, We sprout amongst each other as individuals.

Some celebrate our differences, Others misunderstand them, Still others condemn with hatred Our brothers and sisters Of various complexions.

We grow from parched and neglected soil, Having been taught that diversity leads to adversity.

We grow from a soil tainted by animosity, Wars instigated by the color of our skin, Our ancestors’ blood spattered on the dirt, Seeping to forgotten depths.

We grow from the weeds of ignorance, We grow from the thorns of hate, The tainted soil devoid of any hope Yet watered by young voices.

Sprouting forth strong and hardy.

We emerge: the trees of tomorrow, Our branches intertwined, Our leaves rustled By the same air, Separated by dirt, twigs, and grass; Powerful, independent, Rooted and immovable.

Together we create a forest.

P r iP rsims m s s/ /V oV oll 3311 // pp. . 111 1

Mixed Media

Mixed Media

2020 Christian Chiu ‘22

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Paranoia Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Photograph

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Parasite Lisa Ramos ‘21 Desiring to escape his clutches, I long for a new lover, For a faraway dream so sweet and kind.

But he screams at me for being naive, Not to trust a stranger’s intentions Between the ragged lines of their mind.

Does he know he is the true manipulator— Already in the cracks of my heart, Able to dig deep into its crevices And tear me up from the inside?

He controls every part of me: From the nails engraving my wrists, My voice silent against him, And the raindrops down my eyes.

He continuously mends me with a blood-red string, Painfully lacing it around my fragile lips, Whispering see-through lies.

And I lie helplessly silent as he feeds on me— Like a parasite.

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Brain Spill Michelle Martinez ‘21

Tempera

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Still Alive Koa Chen ‘21 In quarantine, Sitting with the sun Streaming through the window.

Outside, on a run, Six feet apart from humanity.

Chatting with my friends In isolation, I slowly wither in the dark.

As I reminisce on my sullen throne, A beam of filtered sun alights on pale skin, The pallor of polished bone, Revealing my wasted soul within.

But really I am still alive, Surrounded by those who truly matterNot my friends and social media, But my family, rather.

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The Sonnet You Never Deserved Heidi Manes ‘22 I gravitate towards you When we’re walking through The field of flowers in bloom I wish our love had more room

Lying by your side Felt so happy we cried You should’ve never lied ‘Cause now we’re saying goodbye

Heart like a dove, red lips like roses Miss the smell of love in our noses My eyes make your shrine but my mind opposes Now we sit and watch as it all decomposes

You say that you regret our love has gone sour But it was you who gave her my flower

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Photograph

Black and White Abby Boyer ‘21

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Life is Short Koa Chen ‘21

Flickering candle Slowly reaches out to me And dies in the wind.

Sunlit Flowers Eric Rico Fajardo ‘23

Photograph

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Reminiscent Flowers Kolia Krajewski ‘21 Who knew?

I didn’ t.

A vision of paradise Dancing through A field of tulips, Hands held, eyes locked, The dream that never was, The reality that could’ve been, The dream is different now.

Stop.

Make it stop.

Life goes on.

I don’ t.

I linger In hopes that The dream will be And the reality will be One and the same...

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Mirrored in Time Micaiah Ribay ‘23

Watercolor

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Time Isn’t On Our Side Angelina Cinco ‘22 Time isn’ t on our side.

Life is short; cheesy I know, but hear me out.

Life is short, which is why I will no longer dwell on you.

Life is short; that’s probably why I want to keep you in mine for as long as possible.

But you will no longer get the sacrificed pieces of me that I set aside for you.

Time may not be on our side, but time is fast. Life is short.

I hope I find you in the next one.

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Temptation Koa Chen ‘21 Do not journey into the land of oblivion And revel in the glory that others are living in.

Behold the beast that guards the scale, The man-made gods, and golden calves, Down in the darkness where the serpent laughs.

You cannot submit to the shadows of night.

But always choose what you know is right.

Should you make a misstep, you’ll find yourself With one doomed foot in the dragon’s maw And regret that you failed to follow the law.

Please know that it is best to refuse The drink and drugs, and domestic abuse, The taunting and riots that stem from use.

But I know that you will not peruse Anything bad, so I won’ t accuse.

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But hey, why would you give up such fun while you’re young?

It’s not like you’ll die, though you might lose a lung From the metal-filled vape and the smoke in the air.

But life is a party, so why should you care?

And from what I’ve heard, dying young is quite rare.

Ignore the voices that beckon you there.

They’re simply just specters of hate and despair.

Stay true to yourself and always ensure That you are a safeguard for souls led astray, And always heed what your wise parents say.

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Xie Chorales Bianca Xie ‘22

I based my composition for the violin, “Xie Chorales” on the piece Bach: Two Joyous Chorales. In my composition, I used the same key signature in order to keep the same light and happy feeling. I also used similar note sequences in my composition but changed the rhythm by using more eighth notes in order to make my composition more lively while keeping the same pitch as Bach: Two Joyous Chorales. I used the same expression markings, slowly and moderato, in my composition to replicate the idea of the two chorales combined in Bach: Two Joyous Chorales. The title “Xie Chorales” imitates the original title “Bach Chorales”, indicating which piece my composition was based on while also highlighting that my own ideas were incorporated as well. I hope that listeners will be able to hear parts of Bach: Two Joyous Chorales in my arrangement while also noticing its overall livelier feel, hopefully making it more enjoyable to listen to, especially those who may not listen to classical music as often.

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Escape Christopher Ramirez ‘21 I want to escape, but there’s no reason to escape for I have my room so why do I say so?

In the real world, I’m brown enough to be disrespected And in the real world, I’m also not brown enough to be accepted So it’s ridiculous, why would I want to leave?

Leave to a place that doesn’ t even notice me?

They treat me as if I’m the curse of man As if I’m the dreams of the poor They say I take what I can And I steal some more But in reality, I’m just really bored I don’ t want to be out there, in the real world When I’m in my room, I’m happiest as can be When I’m in my room, I can set my emotions free When I’m in my room, I can keep my mind at ease I can’ t drive I can’ t see I can’ t pronounce my words And I can’ t read I’m not even trying to rhyme It just comes to me— And I did it again Can I stop doing this, please?

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The Residents

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Photograph & Mixed Media

Ariana Schoefer ‘23

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Canvas of Escapism Isabelly Duarte ‘23 Nothing is scarier than a blank canvas staring back at you, Blank as a dead person’s eyes.

You look deep into it and imagine all the escape routes, Closing your eyes and entering another dimension.

Men with grey suits flying from rooftops on a beautiful blue day; Landing on top of uninhabited homes, roofs full of trash and old toys, The men stop and look at each other, Hair uncombed and the wind brushing past their faces, The roof breaks and they fall through.

The men are now in a library filled with books, The lights dimmed, leather arm chairs, three windows overlooking the ocean.

One of the men starts to read a passage out loud, lifting his finger as he speaks.

The words start to float out; is it in his mind or on the paper?

He can’ t tell, but what he says comes to life.

Lions are chasing the men now, As they run through a green field, Feet barely touching the ground.

But the lion is fast, and he gets closer, The men elevate and elevate, Then fly away, landing back in the library.

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The man finishes speaking.

The others begin to clap, The claps echo, louder, louder, and louder.

Now the men are at an auditorium.

An orchestra is on the stage, A conductor stands on a platform, conducting the musicians The musicians move their hands and create all sorts of heavenly noises.

The men look astonishingly at the musicians, never having heard anything like it; They close their eyes, swayed by the art of the music.

You open your eyes And look back at the blank canvas, Back where you started.

Now you are filled with ideas— Words, images, stories, music All moving, all around it.

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Mad Man’s Mind Jasper Wilson ‘22

Digital Illustration

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Nirvana Heidi Manes ‘22

Photograph

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That Place Mia Holley ‘23 Take me As far as the wind blows As far as the brain can comprehend As far as the giant can reach

Let go evil hands Holding us in the middle of traffic A place locking us within metal bars Shatter the locks and break the concrete keeping me captive

Our heads so heavy Filled with files on top of files With no cabinet to call home The troll reminds me Of things impossible to attack Things not even the giant can crush

Let me escape into the shimmering light That place no one knows but dreams for That place with angels that fly endlessly That place where one lives and dreams simultaneously.

Take me to that place.

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Haunted Cecilia Perez ‘22

Digital illustration

Pink Summer Chase Harvey ‘24

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The Pandemic Through a Student’s Eye Aryan Panchal ‘23 COVID-19. Man, this virus really has changed how we look and interact with each other. If someone coughs, you assume they have the virus. Ever since the pandemic started, there has been no trust between what we call “strangers” as there was before.

I was a social sophomore who played fall and spring baseball while maintaining exceptionally good grades. Now that sports are canceled, life seems to be dull. I wake up hoping that each day will pass and that life will soon return to normal. We are experiencing a situation so unique that it happens almost once a generation. I guess God chose us as the lucky ones.

If you look at this global crisis a certain way, you can see glimmers of hope. For example, there are fewer cars on roads than there used to be and greenhouse gas emissions have been reduced as a result of this major change. Maybe this pandemic is not bad after all. Since the birth of this airborne virus, we have learned not only to adapt to a new way of life but also have embraced nature for our mental health and inner peace. Now when I go outside, I appreciate being in nature because I am always stuck at home.

My family has been going on hikes in the Oakland Hills lately. Sometimes in life, we have to look at the positive side of things. We get so much carried away by the negativity that we forget to realize that change can open our eyes to see the beautiful world around us.

During these times, we must value the people we have the closest to us rather than complaining about not being with our friends. Because at the end of the day, the people in your household matter the most because you share a similar culture. We must adapt.

We must change. We must live to see another day.

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Masks Miranda Massie ‘24

Digital illustration

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El Chabacano Maya Gilliam ‘23 “Maya, it’s time to go!”

“Coming!” I yell upstairs to my mom. I finish combing out my curls, run some product through my hair, and grab a hairband just in case. I personally think leaving the house at nine in the morning on Thanksgiving should be illegal, but the drive down to Hollister takes two hours one way (without traffic), and we don’ t want to be home too late. As I put on my earrings, I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, giving myself a final look over. I smooth my red and orange patterned blouse and brush my dark jeans of any possible lint. However, the part of myself I’m most embarrassed to display to my extended family is not my clothing; it’s my Spanish speaking. Unlike most of my Mexican mother’s side of the family, I am unable to speak and understand fluent Spanish. Unfortunately, this never seems to deter them from speaking a mile a minute and fully expecting me to understand them and carry on a conversation. Tugging anxiously at the hem of my blouse, I rack my brain, trying to recall basic Spanish greetings and conversation starters that I learned throughout my years of Spanish classes. A second “MAYA!” from upstairs cuts my review short. I tug on my shoes and race upstairs.

Scents of apple and cinnamon waft from the kitchen upstairs, indicating that my mom has baked an apple pie. I take a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smells of fall before my mother ushers me outside into the icy Oakland air. I shiver, rubbing my arms over my bulky winter jacket, and hurry to the car, sliding into the backseat. My dad has the radio tuned to the Thanksgiving day football game, and I smile as he spouts offhand remarks along with the announcers.

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Having no interest in the game, I rummage through my traveling backpack and dig out my old DVD player, but decide not to watch a movie just yet.

I look out the window instead, admiring the scenery.

As we drive, I watch the four-lane highway compress into a two-lane one, stretching straight as far as the eye can see. Our tree-filled, densely-populated urban neighborhood is replaced by rolling yellow hills that rise and fall like waves, with hardly a house in sight.

Cattle and tractors replace big box stores. I stare out the window in awe for a moment, drinking in the unfamiliar. However, after watching the same sight for ten miles, I pop a disc into the compartment of my DVD player and slide on my headphones.

Before the movie has a chance to end, my mother’s voice announces our arrival. I look out the window and see the sidewalk outside my grandparents’ house is packed, and I wouldn’ t be surprised if all the cars belonged to relatives. My dad parks across the street and we tumble out, yawning and stretching our legs after the long drive before crossing to the other side of the street. As we approach my grandparents’ house, sunlight reflects off the chipped, sky blue paint, making me squint. I see people moving from outside the house, their silhouettes projected against the faded, lace curtains in the window, and my throat begins to tighten. All too soon, we’re standing in front of my grandparents’ metal screen front door. My mother nudges me from behind. “Are you ready to go in?”

Despite my tight throat, I manage to swallow, nod, and walk through the door into my grandparents’ house. When we enter, the house is so crowded and noisy, our arrival is barely noticed. My grandparents’ tiny living room is packed with family members.

Somehow, it is able to hold up to thirty people, but the overflow crowd spills out onto the patio.

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I see ten new people I don’ t recognize, mostly new spouses and second cousins. There is at least one baby perched on every other lap and screaming children weave in between legs. Food occupies almost every flat surface and the air is thick with smells of beans, rice, and meat. I smile, hoping the bustle will allow us to slip inconspicuously into the fray. However, my prayer is not answered. One of my uncles looks over at us from the couch and smiles grandly, saying “Hola, Estela!” My mom smiles and inches around me to say hello to her brother. A few moments later, I hear the words I dread: “Maya, come over and say hello to your Tio Otilio.” Throat dry, I walk over and murmur a quick, “Hola,” accompanied by a wave of my hand. My uncle smiles, looks me over, and then says rapidly, “¡Mira a Maya, que grandota está! No te hemos visto en mucho tiempo.” I can catch a couple of his words, but for the most part, I’m lost. I glance pitifully at my mother, hoping she can detect my telepathic signals for help. Smiling gently, she translates, saying my uncle said he hasn’ t seen me in a while. I nod and smile weakly. My uncle stares at me a moment, his smile fading, and when he realizes I can offer no more to the conversation, he nods and turns away. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment as I feel tears prickle at the back of my eyes.

We repeat this scenario about a dozen more times, my mom ushering me around to greet people and swooping in to save my futile attempts at conversation. I’m about to burst into tears when I spot someone I actually want to see: Amá, my grandmother. I make a beeline towards her, and from the moment she sees me, her face lights up with a gigantic smile. She wraps her arms around me and pulls my head down to kiss my forehead repeatedly.

Smiling, she takes my hands and says, “Dile a tu mamá que te dé algo de comer.”

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Expectedly, I turn to my mother and realize she’s not there. I blink a few times and feel my heart rate increase. Nervously, I turn back to Amá and focus intensely on the words she’s saying, trying to decipher their meaning. But it’s too difficult. She’s talking too quickly and her words seem all garbled. She scans my face for any sign of understanding, and finding none, she gives up, laughing kindly and pointing me in the direction of the food table instead. I smile weakly and walk over to the table, filling my plate with beans, carnitas, arroz, tortillas, and turkey. My mom, who has magically reappeared, guides me towards the couch where my dad is sitting and then disappears again to help her sisters with the food. I hear my dad discussing the football game with one of my Englishspeaking cousins, and I sigh with relief. I sit listening to their voices, grateful I can understand something, even if it is just football.

After I’m done eating, I sit awkwardly on the couch. I know if Amá catches me with an empty plate of food, she’ll make me refill it again and again until I’m too stuffed to move. I glance around, trying to find a friendly face to sit with and talk to. As the youngest of the first cousins, it’s always been hard to find a place to fit in. I spot some cousins in the corner that I recognize, but they’re all older than me, in their teens and twenties, and playing on their phones. The eldest of the second cousins is only five, still young enough to play with the other toddlers. I would talk to Niña, my godmother, but she’s busy in the kitchen along with my mom. I notice the patio looks empty, and I lean over to tell my dad I’m going outside. He nods at me, still deeply engaged in a debate about the football game. I get up and walk outside. When I step outside, I understand why the patio cleared out.

It’s at least five degrees colder than it was when we arrived, and the sky is heavy with clouds. I shiver and zip up my jacket.

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I think about sitting at the table on the patio, but I realize my family can see me through the glass sliding door. I walk into my grandparents’ garden instead. The dirt is moist and the whole garden is covered in a layer of dew. As I look around, trying to find a relatively dry stump to sit on, I hear a rustling noise and realize I’m not alone in the garden. My grandpa, Apá, is over by his apricot tree, fiddling around with the leaves.

I freeze, groan inwardly, and begin weighing my options. I can either return back inside or stay out here with Apá. Both have their drawbacks. Talking to Apá is difficult, for a number of reasons. First of all, Apá has dementia, and there is a good chance that he may not remember me. Secondly, Apá is hard of hearing, and you practically need to shout in order for him to hear you. Thirdly, like many of my relatives, Apá only speaks Spanish, and honestly, I’ve already had enough of Spanish conversations for the day. But what else is there to do? I decide to give it one more try. I walk over to him and smile.

“Hola, Apá!”

He doesn’ t hear me, and I have to tap his shoulder gently to get him to turn around. When he does, he smiles and says, “Mayita!”

I smile at the use of the endearing nickname.

So far, so good. Venturing slightly out of my comfort zone, I ask him, “Cómo está?” He shrugs his shoulders and says something in Spanish. I feel my spirits fall. I don’ t understand.

Then he points to the apricot tree and suddenly, it clicks. He is saying that there’s not much fruit left on the tree.

I nod enthusiastically, and then say, “Porque es otoño.”

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He nods and sighs, then says something else while making an overly exaggerated sad face, clearly designed to make me laugh. I do, and we chuckle together. I realize it’s the first time I’ve laughed today.

Suddenly, he reaches up and plucks one of the last apricots from the tree and hands it to me, wrapping my hands around it.

“Para ti.”

I take it and hold it to my heart. “Gracias, Apá.”

We stare into each other’s eyes and smile, and I know that language is not needed to express how grateful I am.

Before we can say anything else, my mom appears, calling us in for dessert. We shuffle in out of the cold, and I realize how warm the house feels.

While my mom cuts Apá a piece of cake, I grab a slice of my mom’s pie and Amá’s homemade canela (cinnamon tea) and settle down on the couch next to my dad, letting the apricot rest in my lap. As I eat, I realize the pie and canela, although very different, complement each other quite well.

The rest of the evening flies by, and suddenly, it is time to go. The goodbyes are much easier. Most people have left and the few who remain are too full and tired to say much of anything. I give Amá a gentle hug and nod when she tells me to say hello to my other grandparents like she always does. When I go to hug Apá, he makes another funny face and we laugh together. My parents wrap up their goodbyes as well and soon enough, we’re standing in the middle of the metal doorway I was so afraid of entering hours earlier, waving our last goodbyes.

As we walk down the driveway, I hold the apricot up to the light, letting the setting sun illuminate it.

Although it is slightly dirty and misshapen, all I can see is the beautiful expression of my Apá’s love. To this day, el chabacano still reminds me that love can overcome any barriers, even language.

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Exoticism Lana Dao ‘21

Colored Pencil & Charcoal

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Watercolor

Cultural Symbols Micaiah Ribay ‘23

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A New Hope Abby Boyer ‘21 From the weeds of inequality Blooms a new flower One of hope, Rising from the same streets I know.

The flower signals a spring Forward.

From this flower, May seeds be caught by the wind, Blown across the landscape, Replacing old weeds of the past With flowers of the future.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 45

Never Bee Alone Jonah de Leon ‘22

Mixed Media

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 46

My Love For Cinema Isabelly Duarte ‘23 I watch a film and I am overcome with emotion Heartwarming scenes that project the good in the world Sad scenes that reveal us the pain Joyful scenes that make us smile Funny scenes that make us laugh together and unite us And tense scenes that push us over the edge

Yet there is so much - that goes into crafting these powerful, emotion-provoking scenes

The way a shot is framed The way the camera moves and we move with it, following the story, absorbed inside it The cinematography that changes the mood and feel of the film The sound that takes us in and makes the film jump from the screen The editing that shapes the film and adds the finishing touches The actors that bring the film to life But most importantly, the story

The story is what makes a film stand out It separates a good film from a great film, a masterpiece if you will The story is the center of the film; The heart That keeps it beating That keeps it alive My love for it began when I was very little My earliest recollection of film was watching Bambi on a VHS tape on my mom’s television in Nicaragua Replaying it over and over again

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 47

Perhaps one of my most memorable recollections was watching a comedy in the living room with my grandfather He rarely watched anything on the television He spent his days working But that day, he had decided to stay with me while everyone else had gone out And we laughed and laughed

My relationship with film has changed over time It has grown, as any relationship should It is deeper now It is personal My love for cinema transcends through the screen It stays with me It inspires me It makes me want to create To share my own personal stories with you

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 48

Comic Cage Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Photograph

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 49

Precision Skyler Johnson ‘21

Digital Illustration

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 50

A Midnight Stroll Koa Chen ‘21 I walked into the darkness with my blanket wrapped around My shoulders hunched in worry, and my hands seemingly bound By all the burdens ‘round me as I slowly slumped through life.

And as I walked, the shadows of my darkest dreams ran rife;

I peered into the dragon’s mouth and glimpsed the smoke and fire, And, coughing from the acrid smell of my own burning pyre, Which I knew I must lie upon when life comes to an end, I turned around so that my lungs could slowly start to mend.

I gasped and wheezed as my head cleared, but suddenly I screamed To see a vision of a monster lunging out at me.

Horrified, yet mesmerized, I broke into a run, But tripped and fell on my own feet and thought my life was done.

I waited for that hellish beast to do away with me.

But, suddenly, I realized that I was in a dream In which I knew that I would have to make my final stand.

But my own two feet were held in place by something like quicksand.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 51

Looking down, I gazed upon the pit of Tartarus, Where I could see my darkest dreams a-prowling through the mist.

But, faced with all my greatest fears confronting me this way, The chilly phase I felt before began to dissipate.

Looking up in newfound hope, I glimpsed a scene of fate.

Behold, I saw–with my own eyes–the blessed pearly gates.

No longer is my vision limited to pointless dreams and fears; It now is growing to include all of my hopes and prayers.

So I walked out of the darkness with my spirits soaring high, My blanket now a cape, and my shoulders spread out wide, My formerly-tied hands now free to dangle by my side.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 52

Mosaic Sarah Lisanti ‘23

Photograph

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 53

Return to the Light Koa Chen ‘21

Tempera

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 54

A Letter Addressed To The Moon Alexis Dollar ‘24

O dear moon, Why is it that you Run from me?

Am I overbearing?

Because I chase and chase you And never do you slow.

O clever moon, Why is it that you Hide from me?

Do I frighten you?

Because I search and search for you And never am I closer.

O timid moon, Why is it that you Shrink from me?

Am I too forward?

Because I love and love you And never do you stay.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 55

Pillars of Hercules Mikolaj Sidzinski ‘21 & Jeancarlo Osorio ‘21

Titled “Pillars of Hercules,” this composition is named after the two rock faces on either side of the Strait of Gibraltar between Andalusia— the southern region of Spain and North Africa, particularly Morocco.

With Morocco heavily influenced by Arabian music, the F natural (the minor second in the E minor scale) adds a flare of Arabic influence to the Spanish style.

The combination of the two reflects the location of the two Pillars of Hercules: one on the Spanish side, the other on the North African. When listening to the piece, the audience should feel a sense of exoticism, with E Phrygian being a lesser-used scale in Western music. With heavy tension built up in multiple parts of the piece, the resolutions should provide a feeling of relief and freedom.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 56

Half Empty Tobin Deaker ‘24

Photograph

Chris’s Bossa Nova Christopher Ramirez ‘21 The title, “Chris’s Bossa Nova” is exactly what it means; it is my bossa nova influenced song. The rhythm, while very much inspired by bossa nova, is a bit unique with its odd pauses, and the chords are also unique to the song as the original C chord has been altered. My hope for the listener ’s mood while listening to my composition is to be in a relaxed state of mind.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 57

Lola’s BanginG Beats Lola Shook ‘21

For this composition, I was inspired

by Bucket-Mania to take musical ideas from. I got so connected to the rhythm and abstract beats from Bucket-Mania, so I incorporated that style throughout my own composition but performed it on the snare drum.

Beats symbolizes the style of music I’m composing throughout ‘bangin’ on all sides/rims of the snare drum, creating these unique ‘beats’. I hope that the listeners will feel uplifted and elevated when hearing my composition because its purpose is to get you on your feet and jam along with the beat!

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 58

Hard Working Mia Holley ‘23 I am from dusty carpets and German shepherds.

I am from the cracked elbows on Larger arms.

The smell of tire stacks and gasoline.

I am from greasy hands and tender calluses.

I am from burgers and tangled hair, My Dad and Mom, Whose caring but nonchalant attitude I carry as if it were my own.

I am from rusty nails and screws, Old tools and vacuum cleaners, Full closets and sawdust.

I’m from military stories and old Turner Classic Movies,

From the chaotic family room where pizza and napkins are shared.

I’m from Advil and Tylenol, Never-ending pain in arms, backs, and toes.

And the endless laughter, causing you to nearly pee yourself.

I am from the hard working and the hardly working.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 59

American Greed Koa Chen ‘21

Watercolor & Colored Pencil

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 60

Retired From Sad, New Career in Business Mick Cuevas ‘22

Digital Illustration

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 61

Escape the Cycle Heriberto Velez ‘23 We’re bound by the chains From which we have no escape They bruise our fragile skin We suffer while others are watching us The rich become richer The poor become poorer Homelessness is growing While CEOs are receiving their “well earned” money We are forced To wake up early, Attend work, Return home tired All in a cycle They say, “the land of the free” But take advantage of us and leave us to die There is hope though Like a dam cracking open United, we can be finally free We can escape this madness

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 62

A World House Kalilla Garcia ‘22 Kalilla Garcia writes this thought piece in the context of the contents of Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s final book Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? Inspired by his philosophy, she delves into her own thoughts, explaining how we are in an inescapable web of mutuality, tied to a garment of destiny where the direct effect on one affects all others indirectly.

Greatness does not come from being feared. Our country is violently powerful. Weapons of both obvious and hidden nature hold the ability to obliterate our world house to nothingness, to wipe stories, grandparents, foods, and homes; entire cultures can and have disappeared with our actions. Our brothers and sisters of different nationalities might fear the power, and that does not make us great. Greatness comes from compassion. We must realize that our nation, and most nations throughout time, have never reached true greatness. The compassion we show as a whole nation deteriorates. Our inability to see the great connection we have has put us in a position of refusing to see the world house we are all inescapably part of. Our nation needs to practice much more gratitude. Changing ourselves is how we can affect our web.

Gratitude is the answer. The people who have helped us get here become a net that stretches far and wide encasing all into the debt of others. Millions upon millions of factors across our wide home bring us to this moment. The actions of people both alive and past, both well know and nearly forgotten, have held us on the path. Something as seemingly simple and basic as your morning cup of coffee has its roots in the triumphs, failures, sacrifices, interest, hopes, thoughts, and actions of others. Of our brothers and sisters in the world house.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 63

Self.Tif Miranda Massie ‘24

Digital Illustration

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 64

Long Road Ahead Andy Pan ‘23

Photograph

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 65

Run of Life Anonymous

Dashing around the house, I chugged a glass of water, laced my shoes, and began my daily 7-mile run.

Once my feet hit the pavement, I felt the whole world had melted away as all I focused on was my own breathing and stride. The discipline of running gives me energy, allowing me to be in the moment, and the clarity to notice others.

Often, I would give a soft smile and nod at those I passed or encourage a fellow runner who was struggling to continue on. As usual, everyone made it down the path with their own idiosyncrasy, whether that was trodding along at their own pace, a difference in stride, or even having an accountability partner. I believe all of us treading down this trail can be a parallel to how life works.

Although we are all going at different paces, we all have the same finish line. Our job is to help others to continue the race or for those who sit on the side to join and run alongside us. On one of my runs, I decided to take a different trail and met a man sitting on the sidelines on the run of life. Despite runners, bikers, and walkers passing by, all avoided him. This man was a homeless man on a bench with only his belongings to keep him company. He reminded me of the half-dead traveler in the parable of the Good Samaritan; however, instead of being deprived of his belongings, he was lonely and hungry as he lacked a home.

I stopped and began to converse with him. After that, I ran down that trail once a week so I could talk to Kevin for some company. This evolved later into my providing of occasional meals and trying to find shelter for him.

Helping Kevin made me realize that in other areas of my life, I must be observant and aware of the needs of others and take action to make a meaningful difference. At times, the world seems overwhelming as there are so many people with needs and so full of pain, but I believe when an individual makes a change, it can create a ripple effect on the community.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 66

Desolate City Cecilia Perez ‘21

Digital Illustration

BranDenBurg No. 7 Aila Owens ‘21

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 67

WInds of Wonders Olivia Baltutis ‘23 She walked through the streets, mind wandering, thoughts pondering.

As she went, so did her wonders.

Such wonders traveled through the wind, landing in the minds of others.

Thoughts continuing, minds wandering, wondering.

Time went on, so did they, their wandering thoughts too.

Soon everything and everyone was wandering and wondering.

Through the streets, in the wind, they traveled.

Their thoughts flew, soaring through the wind they went, landing wherever they chose.

They transformed and came out new, fresh within the minds of others.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 68

The Bored King Christopher Moore ‘23 There once was a mountain. On this mountain lived three people: a man, a woman and a child. These three beings lived in peace on their mountain. Then one day, a traveler arrived at their mountain. This traveler explained that he was a king who had heard stories of the people of the mountain. For you see, the people of the mountain were gods. And these gods had the power to grant wishes.

But the king himself was no ordinary king; he was the king called the miracle worker. He had united the human world under one kingdom. Where there was once war, there is now peace; where brothers once fought, now they made peace. Where children had to take up blades just to survive, now kids had a peaceful upbringing, their lives full of family and friends.

But peace was not the only thing the king had accomplished. King and his friends had created wondrous technology that would help, heal or entertain. They even found a way for the king to remain the head of his kingdom long past the friends’ departure. But now with them gone, the king grew bored. New technology and wondrous games were invented, but the king saw them all. He played everything and he beat everyone. The king was bored.

Then one day, King heard a story about the mountain and the gods who lived there. So the king left his kingdom in the hands of his advisors and he traveled to the mountain.

The king traveled to the mountain to play the gods’ game.

He traveled to the mountain for entertainment. After King had told his tale to the gods, they told him they would make him immortal.

Together King and the gods played for many years.

But while King was playing, the human world descended into chaos. Evil and corrupt kings inherited the throne. The kingdom the king created descended into chaos. Wars were waged and brother fought brother. Once again, children had to learn the blade just to stay alive. But King did not know it. The gods were having so much fun with King that they did not tell him about the outside world. And after a while, he stopped asking.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 69

But one day after King had first arrived, he asked the Woman for a wish. You see the game these four had been playing revolved around the wishes granted by the Woman.

When King asked for a wish, the Woman agreed, thinking he was playing their game. But when King asked the Woman to show him what his descendants were doing, the Woman had to agree; she had no reason to refuse. She agreed on one condition: he was only able to see for a second. King agreed. In that second, King saw the human world and saw all the wars and deaths that had happened since he left all those years ago.

King grew very angry. He said “Why do you not help them? Why don’ t you save their world?” The gods exchanged looks. Then the Man explained, “If we or our power leave this place, we will be trapped in the human realm.” King understood; he didn’ t want the gods to be trapped in the human world. But King still wanted to save his world so he stole the special object that the Woman used to grant wishes. Then King wished that he had power to rival the three gods.

When the gods found out, they were furious. As the Woman and the Child shouted their questions at King, King locked eyes with the Man and the Man understood. You see, King did not want to kill the gods but he knew they wouldn’ t let him leave. When the man realized this, he shouted, “Traitor!” The Woman and Child realized it too late. King attacked the Woman and threw her to the ground.

Then King said to the Man and the Child, “Do not hate me for my actions. I had fun, the time we spent together; I even started to think of you as my family. But the human world needs my help. For ages they have been in constant war. You had the power to stop them, to stop the wars and suffering. But you didn’ t, you spent your time here. In this gilded cage. But not me, I will leave this place. I will let you live if you do not challenge me, but if you try to stop me I will turn this mountain and your bones into dust.”

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 70

The Man and the Child looked at each other and laughed.

“You think you are the first king to come here?” The Man spat.

“You think you are the first human that has turned against us?” Said the Child. “You are not the first and you will not be the last. I ask you a question, King. What is a king to a god but just another annoying bug?”

“It is disappointing, though,” said the Man as he pulled out a blade with writing on it, “You were by far our favorite king to come here.”

With a howl of fury, the king charged forward and reached for the Man’s throat. The Child crashed down on King, pinning him to the ground as the Man walked slowly up to the king still speaking.

“It’s a shame, really. I thought you would pass the test of time; after all, we wanted you to stay here forever.

We were going to turn you into a god just like us, but I understand your actions; we were all kings once.’’

King froze.

He looked at the Man and he realized what the blade was for. The king started to plead to beg for forgiveness and justify his actions but the Man walked forward and stopped.

King looked up tears streaming down his face; he looked up at the silent figure that was the Man. Then the Man whispered a few words and cut off King’s head.

King was dead.

The Man, the Woman, and the Child held a funeral for King.

After King was buried, the gods looked at the human world. It had grown peaceful since King’s death. The humans had united under one king.

A great king, a king called the peace bringer.

A king surrounded by technology and wonder.

A bored king, a king who heard a story about a mountain and those who dwelled there.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 71

Mixed Media Sculpture

Zappa Ariana Schoefer ‘23

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 72

In a Daze Mick Cuevas ‘22

Digital Illustration

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 73

Yo Soy Israel Fuentes-Juá Fuentes-Ju árez ‘21 I am tranquil green, kind and hopeful Known for my calm, cool, mild manners I am rain clouds and a cool breeze Breathing new life into all that I do I am the mighty Pacific Ocean Peaceful, powerful, mysterious Vast and full of hidden wonders My heart, strong enough to love deeply I am from busy Bay Area streets Hustling at 100 miles per hour From vibrant forests and enormous peaks Making sure to slow down and enjoy life I am from comida deliciosa From traditional, heartwarming plates Sweet strawberries, dotted with personality I am from arroz, frijoles, y res I am from los cuentos de mi familia De mis padres, Israel y María I am from their grit and their values Ready to create mi propio futuro Yo soy, Israel Fuentes-Juárez, Jr. From books, music, and adventure Yo soy de lo inesperado Determined to make a difference

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 74

Teach a Man to Fish Ellie Chareonsuphiphat ‘21

Tempera

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 75

Photograph

Seaweed Stones Luisa Barrantes ‘24

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 76

Doors Elaine Truong ‘22 Doors open and close behind them are places, little do people know they differ in meaning: some to block out, some to protect, but to me, doors are reminders of people who’ve left.

When the door opens, we feel at home; then why do I feel so alone?

The door opens, the mask comes on, trying to hide this sorrow song.

The door opens, my freedom ends, and all that’s left to do is pretend.

Even if I try to make amends, I know this feeling will never be cleansed.

When the door opens, the hiding begins, because this is when people feel free to come in.

Uninvited, unaware of the tension that’s left hanging in the air.

But when the door closes, I sense something is wrong, it begins the chorus of my sorrow song.

When the door closes, it seems I’m at fault; everything seems to come to a halt.

No need to wear a mask, nothing to hide, but I feel even more empty inside.

With these doors, opened or closed, I’m still hiding the me no one knows.

I try to be strong, but I am weak, quietly singing my sorrow song.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 77

Soul Lisa Ramos ‘21

Photograph

A Conversation ALone Joseph Donovan ‘21 My composition “A Conversation Alone” is a piano piece that represents how my head can run in circles sometimes and is represented in arpeggios and minor chords. Also trills are used to build that tension and octaves are used to sustain that tension. While writing this piece, I took inspiration from Claude Debussy and Frederick Chopin, as Debussy uses a lot of dynamics, chords and arpeggios to represent a particular flow, and a few Chopin pieces I have listened to used different minor chords and trills to build tension. Both of these sources of inspiration helped me put together my piece to represent how my brain can run wild and can easily represent how it tries to calm itself down.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 78

Acrylic

Australian Aboriginal Serpent Jack Hume ‘24

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 79

Prisms Contributors Claudia Arguello ‘21 has made poetry since her youth and throughout high school, her teachers have aided her in building her skills. Her poems are little pieces of her.

She is the SJND 2020-2021 Poet Laureate.

Olivia Baltutis ‘23 started writing poetry in her free time, but now she uses it as a form of expression. She hopes to inspire others with her poems.

Luisa Barrantes ‘24 has enjoyed taking pictures since she was little, but seriously started in 7th grade and hasn’ t stopped experimenting since then.

Abby Boyer ‘21 fell in love with photography as a toddler after watching her dad. Since then it has been her means of creative expression.

Ellie Chareonsuphiphat ‘21 has loved reading and painting since she was young. She hopes to work on painting projects in college Koa Chen ‘21 writes poetry at random points in time when inspiration strikes. He also enjoys dabbling in the visual arts, especially drawing and painting.

Christian Chiu ‘24 has loved creative art and writing since middle school. He wants to use creativity to tell a story and relate to his audience.

Angelina Cinco ‘22 has been writing poetry since first grade. She utilizes poetry as a creative outlet to channel personal experiences and interests.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 80

Mick Cuevas ‘22 has been digitally drawing since the age of 9 when he received his first drawing tablet and hasn’ t stopped drawing digital art since.

Lana Dao ‘21 has been interested in art since middle school. Her piece “Exoticism” is influenced by her own cultural background and experiences.

Jonah De Leon ‘22 has always found art and the infinite beyond interesting. His art piece “Never Bee Alone” interprets space in a more abstract way.

Tobin Deaker ‘24 has loved writing and visual art for years. He creates portraits most often because they are such a familiar art style to him.

Alexis Dollar ‘24 has loved writing and music her whole life. She loves the arts because they welcome community and communication.

Joseph Donovan ‘21 plays the piano, and is also an avid lover of golf. He has previously only written poems for PRISMS, but this time he wants to showcase his musical side.

Isabelly Duarte ‘23 loves art and literature, and especially motion pictures because they bring together several forms of art into one.

Israel Fuentes-Juárez ‘21 has been fond of literature with rhymes and narrative since high school. He’s always looking for a beat in anything he does.

Kalilla Garcia ‘22 is a junior writer whose essay “A World House” explains the connection between greatness and gratitude.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 81

Maya Gilliam ‘23 has loved reading and creating stories since she was little. She is fascinated by the idea that everyone has their own unique stories.

Mia Holley ‘23 has loved writing since middle school. She believes that writing has the power to create a beautiful impact on the world around us.

Chase Harvey ‘24 plays the piano. He hopes his piece, “Pink Summer” will allow listeners to nod their heads, dance, and relax to the tune.

Jack Hume ‘24 has been passionately painting since he was little. He feels that the piece before you now truly exhibits how he has grown since then.

Skyler Johnson ‘21 is a senior artist whose piece “Precision” depicts the precision necessary to style hair into braids through the medium of digital illustration.

Kolia Krajewski ‘21 is a senior poet whose piece “Reminiscent Flowers” describes the beauty and pain of memory, and yet the necessity of continuing.

Sarah Lisanti ‘23 is a member of the PRISMS staff and is passionate about photography.

Heidi Manes ‘22 has been involved in the arts since she was little. Whether it was performance or visual arts, Heidi has done it.

Michelle Martinez ‘21 is a senior artist whose piece “Brain Spill” depicts the constant presence of social media in the minds of youths today.

Miranda Massie ‘24 loves drawing and making art. She took up digital art during quarantine and is working hard to improve her skills.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 82

Chris Moore ‘23 is a sophomore who wants you to subscribe to his YouTube channel called GameToaster where he posts a variety of edited and unedited content.

Kaia Ordinario ‘22 has been interested in art for as long as she can remember. The media she works most with is paint and makeup.

Jeancarlo Osorio ‘21 is a senior musician who writes many original songs in his free time, often performing them during special events at school.

Aila Owens ‘21 is a senior musician with a love for playing the violin. Her piece “Brandenburg No. 7” is inspired by composer Johann Sebastian Bach.

Andy Pan ‘23 is a sophomore photographer whose piece “Long Road Ahead” depicts the perspective of a pedestrian on the sloping streets of San Francisco.

Aryan Panchal ‘23 is a 15-year old author whose passion for writing comes from a young age due to his curiosity for the environment around him.

Ceci Perez ‘22 has been drawing and painting for as long as she can remember.

Christopher Ramírez ‘21 doesn’ t really read or write poetry, but, according to Ms. Gunn-Graffy, he is decent at it. Chris prefers to draw, play his guitar, or watch movies.

Lisa Ramos ‘21 has been writing poetry ever since she joined the PRISMS staff. Her poem “Parasite” is her way of releasing often concealed emotions.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 83

Micaiah Ribay ‘23 has a passion for building fantasy on blank sheets; she began to favor watercolors at the beginning of sophomore year.

Eric Rico Fajardo ‘23 likes to admire nature and really lets his imagination wander around.

Ariana Schoefer ‘23 works on clay sculptures of ninjas, miniature crafts for her Etsy shop, and designs PRISMS as she eagerly awaits the new Zelda game.

Lola Shook ‘21 first began playing the drums when she was a freshman in high school. She has enjoyed it ever since.

Mikolaj Sidzinski ‘21 is a senior guitarist and also an avid lover of chemistry and skiing. His piece “Pillars of Hercules” is a collaboration with his friend Jeancarlo Osorio.

Bianca Xie ‘22 first started playing the violin at a very young age. Her piece “Xie Chorales” is intended to share her love of classical music to a wider audience.

Heriberto Velez ‘23 has a love for all forms of art. They believe that music and writing are a great outlet for their feelings and thoughts.

Jasper Wilson IV ‘22 has always loved art. In his sophomore year, he practiced drawing people and anatomy, and in his Junior year, he took Pre-AP art and transferred to AP.

Prisms / Vol 31 / p. 84

Awards

National Council of Teachers of English

REALM Recognizing Excellence in Art and Literary Magazines Program Superior Award 2019, 2016, 2014, 2013, 2009 Excellence Award 2018, 2015 Best High School Literary-Art Magazine 2017 Recommended for Highest Award 2017

American Scholastic Press Association

Most Outstanding Private School Literary-Art Magazine of the Year 2020, 2013, 2005, 2003 Outstanding Theme: Best Bilingual Selections 2016, 2014 First Place with Special Merit 2019, 2002-2014 First Place Award 1998-2000, 1996 Best Photographer Award Julian DeGuzman 2015, Sophia Seiwald 2019 Best Photographer and Art Award Kaia Ordinario 2020

Artists Embassy International Golden Seal Book Award 2013

Merlyn’s Pen

: The National Magazine of Student Writing Bronze Award for Outstanding Achievement 1997

Colophon Our book was printed by Urban Art Lithography, 2331 C Street Sacramento, CA 95816 on 100# Blazer Digital Silk Cover, and 100# Blazer Digital Silk Text using a Canon Imagepress 7000 - 4 color high speed production laser printer. Our title font is Pixeboy , our body font is Verdana , and our bylines and folio font is Agency FB . We print an edition of 475 copies. Each contributor receives a book, and each school family, faculty and staff receive one, free of charge. Books are also shared with alumni, donors and the greater community.

Our original graphics were created in pixlart.com by our Writing Editor, Koa Chen ‘21, and our Editor-in-Chief, Lisa Ramos ‘21.

Prisms

Saint Joseph Notre Dame High School

Saint Joseph Notre Dame High School 1011 Chestnut St. Alameda, CA 94501

Vol. 31 2020-2021

Prisms