Prisms: Spring 2022 | Volume 32

Prisms

A Literary & Arts Magazine

Spring 2022 Volume 32

Saint Joseoh Notre Dame High School 1011 Chestnut Street

Alameda , California 94501

Staff Page Writing Editors

Christian Chiu ‘24 Sarah Lisanti ‘23

Media & Layout Editor

Tobin Deaker ‘24 Isabelly Duarte ‘23

Writing Staff

Media & Layout Staff

Cover Art Flower Illustrations Moderators Founder

Maya Gilliam ‘23 Nick Hoo ‘22 Nicole McClure ‘25 Celeste Hurtubise ‘24 Cecilia Zhuo ‘25 Tiona Truong ‘25 Isabelly Duarte ‘23 Cecilia Zhuo ‘25 Colette Gunn-Graffy, Writing Andy McKee, Media & Layout Elizabeth Norris

Vision Statement

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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 staff reviews and selects pieces for publication and collaborates with the writers, artists, and musicians to revise their work as needed. The editorial staff 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 lay out 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.

Table of Contents 1

Title Page

2

Staff and Vision Statement

3-6

Table of Contents

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Dedication

8-9

Theme

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Kaia Ordinario ‘22

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Sylvia Annis ‘22

Our Galaxy

12 - 13 Chris Moore ‘23

Bed of Fog

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Janicka Lopez ‘24

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Natilie Loza ‘24

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Samantha Fong ‘24

16 - 17 Eathon Daon ‘22

Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Sarah Listanti ‘23 Chrisitan Chiu ‘24 Fractured Affirmations

Starting Venemous who’s the one to blame?

Queen’s Garden

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Richard Kamau ‘24

Green

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Kai Ordinario ‘22

I Remember

20-21 Emma Kwok ‘23

I Am From: A Tribute to My Culture

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Cici Perez ‘22

23-25 Kosi Amuzie ‘ 24

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Use Your Words

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Brooke Brown ‘24

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Izzy Edens ‘ 24

For Brooke

28

Janicka Lopez ‘24

In Solitude

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Kayden Paydo ‘24

Cherokee

30-31 Elaine Truong ‘22

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Huesos

For Izzy

I Hate The Number 5

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Micaiah Ribay ‘23

Apeeling

33

Abigal Richter ‘24

X-ing

34-35 Christian Chiu ‘24

The Deluge

36

Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Tranquility

37

Josiah Lucas ‘22

Working Day

38

Ethan Daon ‘22

Cannon Beach

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Christian Chiu ‘24

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Aiden Montesinos ‘22

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Zoe Deaker ‘24

Tangerine

42

Kyle Barnes ‘ 23

Sacred Heart

Neutral Spotlight

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Hailey Browning ‘24

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Tiona Truong ‘25

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Isabelly Duarte ‘23

Home One-Sided Under the Ferry Bridge

46-47 Natalie Loza ‘24

Wings

48-49 Lucas Wallin ‘24

Tragoedia Anima

50

Ethan Daon ‘22

Wakeless Void

51

Kira Lee ‘24

Inner Demons

52

Elaine Truong ‘22

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Angelina Cinco ‘22

The Edge of Posibility

54-55 Jordyn Martinez ‘23

Life as a Female

Cheba

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Clara Johnson Sandoval ‘24

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Tobin Deaker ‘24

Pink Buffet

57

Miranda Massie ‘24

Imagination

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Natalie Loza ‘24

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Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Metamorphosis

60-61 Bryan McCray ‘22

Facing Red

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Bryan McCray ‘22

Amethyst Sky

Nature’s Kiss

Unity Assembly Poem

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Bianca Espinoza ‘23 Beauty of Diversity - English

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Bianca Espinoza ‘23 Laisha Delgado ‘23 Beauty of Diversity - Spanish

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Sylvie Karlstrand ‘25

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Kathy Nguyen ‘23

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Christian Grunt ‘23

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Kara Yeh ‘24

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Ashley Carreno ‘ 24

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Christian Chiu ‘24

Why?

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Isabelly Duarte ‘23

Skating Towards the Sunset

70-73 Mathew Shih ‘22

The Idealized Body

Last Dance Aozara L’astéroïde B-612 Fires Who Am I?

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Zoe Deaker ‘25

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Miranda Massie ‘24

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Tiona Truong ‘25

Reaching Out

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Joshua Chang ‘24

想念 (Miss You)

78-82 Contributors 83

SJND Poet Laureates

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Awards and Colophon

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Dreaming of a New World Peace for Ukraine

Dedicated to Our SJND Community!

This volume of Prisms is dedicated to the Saint Joseph Notre Dame High School community. We dedicate this volume to you in celebration of the growth that we have achieved together. We thank the faculty, staff, administrators, students, and families for their commitment to growth and evolution. Change and growth are necessary for improvement and require courage and dedication. Your genuine desire for feedback made us feel that our voices and opinions were valued within the community. Honest reflection helped us evaluate our areas of growth and our hopes for the future. We know that change is a gradual process but we enthusiastically embrace and celebrate all the growth that we have achieved so far.

-Sarah Lisanti ‘23 Writing Editor

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Regrowth Regrowth is the paramount step in the circle of life. It represents a new beginning in an old environment. Whether the process of regrowth is as wonderful as the growth of a grand tree or as simple as a stem sprouting from a seed, it is nonetheless a beautiful process that is not to be brushed aside.

Our reunification at SJND this year was nothing short of euphoric. The students’ lively eyes and buoyant voices breathed life into the campus and into each other. In many ways, being distanced from our peers, classmates, and friends could only be described as draining. For many, much of what made life interesting was lost. There was no real connection to be shared, there were few new experiences to try, and at times there seemed to be very little direction. The days seemed to blend together, making life as dull and repetitive as it had ever been.

Despite the grim and unfavorable circumstances, we powered through. With each day leading up to the new school year, our spirits, health, and optimism slowly regained their strength and presence.

Our regrowth and reemergence from the pandemic was not like the revival of a dead plant, but rather the nourishment of an entirely new seed. We did not simply return to the status quo.

We miraculously surfaced from the ruins that the pandemic had buried us in for so long with a newfound eagerness and hunger for new, dynamic experiences. Additionally, the sheer amount of solitude we were forced to endure over the last year and a half certainly trained and strengthened our mental fortitude. In these ways, the pandemic was a sort of metamorphosis that enabled everyone to grow into beautiful new individuals full of life and optimism.

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The reemergence of life and joy on earth was one of the most magnificent displays of regrowth I have ever seen or experienced. In many ways, our journey over these last two years has resembled the life cycle of a dandelion.

PRISMS vol . 23 To begin, we lived happily in the world. Our petals fluttered in the air with breezy and free spirits. Some days we would not see rain or sunlight, but that was okay. The next day was always full of mystery and promise. Life had its ups and downs, but we always bounced back and recentered ourselves. Then, the clouds rolled in. At first, the dark gray clouds seemed familiar and did not seem to pose much harm. Surely a little storm could not do much harm. However, the rainfall never stopped. The clouds grew darker and darker until there was not a single trace of the sun. Our roots were drowned and starved by the clouds and their downpour. Our petals, which once swayed happily in the wind, slowly began to wilt under the ominous gray skies. As the storm persisted, there seemed to be no discrepancy between the days. Day after day, night after night, we were rooted to the ground, forced to endure a seemingly endless storm. At the peak of the storm’s might, our petals wilted entirely. Our vibrant yellow petals faded into lifeless white seeds. The end of the storm was nowhere to be seen, turning us dull and hopeless.

Since the days all seemed to fuse into one, there was no precise way to tell when the clouds first began to disappear; nonetheless, they did begin to fade. The rainfall became lighter, the winds gentler, and the sky brighter. The storm had lost its momentum, allowing for the sun to finally break through. Slowly but surely, warmth and light were being restored to the world.

Without the chains of the storm restricting our freedom, we were simply waiting for a chance to be freed. A gentle breeze rustled through our fields, plucking our white seeds out from our stems.

The friendly wind scattered us everywhere, allowing us to freely choose where to root ourselves next. Of course, it will take some time for us to grow and blossom into what we once were, but with the return of the blue skies and a bright sun, there is no limit to what the future holds for us.

- Christian Chiu ‘24 Writing Editor

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Cinema

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Photography

Isabelly Duarte ‘23

Our Galaxy our galaxy we are stars my friends and I the spotlight is our light the stage our night sky sunset, the curtain rises sunrise, we take our bows the dark between is when we dance our shining spirits roused eyes ablaze with passion twinkling we recite words, deeper meanings to make lives of others bright alone, onstage, we monologue distant, pretty, cold together, though, we are our best basking in each other’s glow we come in all different forms each distinct and radiant alpha centauri, betelgeuse, antares our milky way is brilliant as across the stage we’re flying we are greeted with cheers though aware our light is fleeting my friends and I are stars - Sylvia Annis ‘22

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Bed of Fog

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Photography

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Christopher Moore ‘23

Starting

Photography

Janika Lopez ‘24

Venomous

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Color Pencil

Natalie Loza ‘24

who’s the one to blame? who’s the one to blame? keep fixing our relationship every time it would break told myself we’re human we all tend to make mistakes and every time i’d bring it up, all you’d say was okay i’m so set on being friends that i’m oblivious to the point where I don’t disagree with your defense you’d commit your crimes that I would disregard so I would be the one walking out guilty as charged i’d say it was your fault but in reality it’s mine cause I was the one who chose to stick with you all this time should’ve stuck up I had the opportunity cause now our friendship has to end so brutally wonder if we’ll be friends with a little bit of time, i hate that part of me still wishes i was by your side, all the memories we had feel like they’re going down a drain, and i don’t even know who’s the one to blame i hate that my day still revolves on if we even talk i hate that i can’t reach out cause i know you wont respond hate how you’re always on my mind and how i’m not on yours i hate that i can’t talk to you without being ignored i’d say it was your fault but in reality it’s mine cause I was the one who chose to stick with you all this time should’ve stuck up I had the opportunity cause now our friendship has to end so brutally wonder if we’ll be friends with a little bit of time, i hate that part of me still wishes i was by your side, all the memories we had feel like they’re going down a drain, and i don’t even know who’s the one to blame i miss the friendship that we had and the time we spent together i would do anything to go back to september what happened to us, what did i do wrong, is it my fault? i’d say it was your fault but in reality it’s mine cause I was the one who chose to stick with you all this time should’ve stuck up I had the opportunity cause now our friendship has to end so brutally wonder if we’ll be friends with a little bit of time, i hate that part of me still wishes i was by your side, all the memories we had feel like they’re going down a drain, and i don’t even know who’s the one to blame -Samantha Fong ‘24

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Queen’s Garden

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Photography

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Ethan Daon ‘22

Green

Photography

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Richard Kamau ‘24

I Remember

Mixed Media

Kaia Ordinario ‘22

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我是... 我是... 我來自一個幾乎沒有人認識的小鎮 小小的村莊, 鄰居間有著一種難以忘懷的連繫 善良, 愛心和關懷, 他們總是支持着我 尋求幫助亦只需一個簡單的敲門聲 我來自一個親密的亞裔家庭 親戚散佈世界各地, 家譜遍及國際 關愛和支持來自每一個角落 我擁有中國和越南的血統 重視仁愛, 禮貌, 和智慧 自幼被教導要有個人的良好品德 豐富的文化遺產, 欣賞成長中的美麗人群 我來自一個嚴格的天主教學校 校園內有獨特的氛圍 老師們富有同情心, 親切及關懷, 時刻支持著我 穿著校服的紀律 和每日的彌撒的一貫模式, 塑造了我成 為今日的我 我是一個超級完成者 比別人加倍努力 過度的高期望時常都未必能達到 而精神, 健康和快樂就從來都沒有問題

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我是一個為成功而奮鬥的人 有比太陽更大的抱負 登月夢想是我可以擁有的最佳心態 相信設定遠大目標會帶來巨大的成就

I Am From: A Tribute to My Culture I Am...

I am from a small town that no one really knows A miniature village, an unforgettable bond formed between neighbors Kind, loving, and caring, they always have your back and asking for help is just a simple knock away I am from a close Asian family With relatives and family history around the world Where love and support comes from every corner I am Chinese and Vietnamese Where benevolence, courtesy, and wisdom are valued Taught as a child to have good morals and be an individual Rich heritage and culture flourish, a growing appreciation for the beautiful people I am from a rigid Catholic school Where the campus has its own unique atmosphere Kind, caring, and compassionate teachers that always support you Uniforms and daily church shaped me as a person, creating who I am today I am an overachiever Someone who goes the extra mile With excessively high expectations that can’t always be met and sometimes mental health and happiness aren’t ever in question I am a person who strives for success Having aspirations bigger than the sun Where shooting for the moon is the best mindset to have and setting big goals leads to immense achievements -Emma Kwok ‘23

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Huesos

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Acrylic

Ceci Perez ‘22

Use Your Words In their young adult years, both of my parents took on the great challenge of immigrating from their home country of Nigeria to the United States. For as long as I can remember, they have blended Nigerian culture with the dynamics of our household, meticulously intertwining it with our everyday lives. For me, as well as my four older sisters, home life consists of learning how to prepare our cultural dishes, attending boisterous family gatherings, listening to my father scrutinize and grumble about the politics of our home country, and most importantly, attending Catholic Mass in our native language, Igbo, every first Sunday of the month.

For as long as I can remember, my relationship with Igbo Mass has been one of love and hate, war and peace, enthusiasm and aversion. The complicated part about it is that, although my sisters and I have grown up very in touch with our culture, none of us ever fully grasped the ability to speak, read, or fully understand our native tongue. It is the one pitfall of my identity as a first-generation Nigerian-American. It is the scar etched into my skin from years of my dear parents hoping to facilitate our coming of age in America, fearing that we would grow up struggling to learn English if they dared to fully pass on their mother tongue. So I’ve grown up hearing my parents speak some tangled mix of English and Igbo, their words messily stitching together my two worlds like patches on clothing. And for years, I sat through Igbo Mass content with my limited understanding of what was going on, my young mind simply concerned with playing with my church friends or getting the refreshments that were served after Mass. That feeling of unbotheredness came to a screeching halt one day in the sixth grade, when I received an email from one of the church women asking me to give the First Reading at an upcoming Mass, entirely in Igbo.

Of course, when I notified my parents of her request, they demanded that I do it. One, it would be considered rude of me to say no to her, especially considering how much West African culture values respecting the wishes of your elders, no matter the task. And, two, they saw it as an opportunity for me to tie that final knot between me

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and my culturespeaking the language. I saw it as a chance to humiliate myself.

But, submitting to my parents’ wishes, in true Nigerian fashion, I practiced the Reading with my dad every day after school up until the day of the Mass. The minute that I placed my backpack down upon entering the house, he would make me sit at the kitchen table with him and read the provided Scripture sentence by sentence. I dreaded practicing Igbo with him. It was belittling every time I messed up, I felt like a part of me was being exposed as a fraud. Each mistake I made felt like being stripped of my Igbo identity, ripping open my wound of monolingualism. I tripped over my words, he mocked my accent, and by the end of each session, we were both frustrated. This frustration, with both myself, as a bad Nigerian child, and my strict, disciplinarian Nigerian father, drew a rift between myself and my culture. Igbo words became repetitive. I no longer wanted to cook with my mom.

I didn’t want to attend family gatherings. All of this just because I didn’t see myself as “enough” to belong to such a deep, beautiful culture.

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When the day of the Mass came, I was in mental shambles.

Anxiety took over my body like a virus. As I dressed up in my ornate traditional attire and looked at myself in the mirror, I saw an imposter.

Anxious thoughts ravaged through my mind. Look at you. It doesn’t matter how many recipes or dances you learn or how many flags you own or what your name sounds like. Without the language, you’re just a kid playing dress-up. I stood there in a trancelike state, knowing that I had come too far to go backward yet too afraid to move forward.

I brushed these thoughts away and hopped in the car with a folded-up copy of the Reading in my hand. Upon arrival at the church, I nervously greeted uncles and aunts with brief Igbo greetings, a process that had never been nearly as nerve-racking as it was that day.

During the introductory rites of the Mass, my eyes darted around the church, hoping for some sort of escape from what was bound to be utter humiliation in front of my parents’ friends as well as my Nigerian peers. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like anything or anyone was going to swoop in and save me from this, so when it came time for me to read, I reluctantly walked to the podium, avoiding eye contact with the audience, and placed my paper on the smooth, wooden surface.

As I tried to begin speaking, the microphone produced a dissonant feedback that echoed through the church. I grimaced. As I began reading to the congregation, my foreign words had a steady rhythm. I made eye contact with the audience occasionally to foster some sort of a connection. My heart was beating rapidly, but I spoke through it.

The words, although mostly foreign to me, began to feel like my own.

The eyes in the audience disappeared. The image of my father’s stern, judgemental face faded from my mind. It was just me, the microphone, and Igbo words flowing out of my mouth like a colorful array of light. When I finished, I took a silent, yet deep breath of relief. For a moment, the church was dead silent. And then there was applause.

Afterward, the church service continued as normal. I sat in the pew pleased with myself for taking on such a difficult and nerve-racking task, no matter the result. During the reception that followed the Mass, I was extolled by members of our church, young and old, familiar and unfamiliar, telling me how well I spoke Igbo. There was one particular older man that I had never seen before who approached me and said, “Your voice is the future of Nigerian American children. You have made our people proud.” His words brought tears to my eyes.

I may not be fluent in Igbo. I may not have been born in Nigeria.

However, I put in the effort every single day to remain connected with my culture, despite being on the opposite side of the globe from my homeland. When I delivered that Reading, despite fear of humiliation, I made an effort to keep my culture and language alive, in the face of the pressure to assimilate into American culture all of the time. Without efforts as such, future generations of Nigerian-Americans may not get the chance to indulge in such a beautiful culture. When ethnic groups immigrate to new places, it tests whether or not the culture is strong enough to survive when moved from its birthplace. So it is in the hands of people like myself and my Nigerian peers, specifically those of us away from the Motherland, to keep our language and culture alive.

- Kosi Amuzie ‘24

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For Izzy

Photography

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Brooke Brown ‘24

For Brooke

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Izzy Edens ‘24 S

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In Solitude

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Janica Lopez ‘24

Chereokee

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Tempra

Kayden Paydo ‘24

I Hate The Number 5 I hate the number 5.

It has a weird shape.

Two lines and a curve Like an S that fell on its head.

It irks me every time I write it in lead.

I hate the number 5.

Aside from being what I wished was my size, It reminds me of Asia, claiming Having a smaller waist is a prize.

Beauty standards seem built on these lies.

I hate the number 5.

Get all 5s on the AP exams, Earn a 5.0 GPA Be in the top 5% of your class.

Walk into the breezeway’s room and write an essay Knowing it won’t be good enough, Knowing I won’t be good enough.

Make your family of 5 proud Even when you want to cry aloud, Don’t make a sound.

Don’t cry. . .

Don’t cry . . .

Don’t falter, or break like glass.

I feel like I’m wearing a mask.

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I hate the number 5, I associate it with goodbyes.

In the 5th month, we’ll be gone, off on our separate ways

I dread the day I walk the stage on the last Saturday of May. Can we stay?

Until that day of May, Unit I hear Pomp and Circumstance play, Until I’ve said all I’ve needed to say. . .

Although I hate the number 5, Packed with its lies, Stupid rhymes, Reminder of the timesI look forward to each day with the glistening sunrise.

Instead of looking at 5 as a taker Of time, Satisfaction, And life, I realizedI needed to take a breath, To do all I can before I’ve left, To take 5.

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Apeeling

Acrylic

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Micaiah Ribay ‘22

X-ing

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Photography

Abigail Richter ‘23

The Deluge A thousand days, quite literally The clouds never cried their sweet tears On land, the crops and hills cried different tears - dry tears begging the skies for an ounce of salvation If an entity yearned for the sky’s blessing more than the Earth itself it was its inhabitants The drought plagued every human and animal with an insatiable hunger and unquenchable thirst On the thousand-and-first day, the clouds rolled in An ominous and heavy shroud threatened the peacefulness of the blue skies and gleaming sun Yet, they promised sweet springs Finally, the clouds began to cry Just as the clouds wept, so did the Earth Out of joy For weeks the rain persisted, bringing its blessings Five hundred days passed The rainfall was not a gift but rather a curse veiled in a blessing’s cloak The roots of the Earth swiftly drowned along with all but a few of its inhabitants

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Another five hundred days passed The clouds prevailed, drowning Earth of life and light One man remained, glaring at the blanket of black above wishing for death all throughout that thousandth day He relentlessly begged the clouds to take his life

hoping to join them in the sky Dusk swept over the man’s head and the steady pounding of rain quickly robbed him of consciousness for the night Shortly, the thousand-and-first day of rain began The man woke from his slumber, looked up at the sky, and prayed Please.

The sky rumbled in understanding And with a mighty deluge, lightning, thunder Provided the man and the world with one final blessing - Christian Chiu ‘24

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Tranquility

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Digital Illustation

Kaia Ordinario ‘22

Working Day

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Josiah Lucas ‘22

Cannon Beach

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Ethan Daon ‘22

Neutral Desires for the seasons to never change Weigh down my mind, my heart, my soul Reasons for my wishes know not a range Seasons know not to remain bright or dull Moons reign the sky with each sun’s descent The leaves follow the snow, from white to red The rain, its scent I find so unpleasant The ether above fills me with dread With each new day must we ponder the skies?

Do they bring shades of blue and rays of sun?

Or threaten us with raindrops drawing nigh I wish the days would all blend into one And that I were above in Earth’s heaven: “The skies are gray, the air sixty-seven.”

-Christian Chiu ‘24

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Spotlight

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Acrylic

Aiden Montesinos ‘22

Tangerine

Colored Pencil

Zoe Deaker ‘25

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Sacret Heart

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Kyle Barnes ‘23

Home They say, home is where the heart belongs But my heart doesn’t belong to that place that I daren’t call my home My heart belongs to the trees that sway zealously in the wind And to the mountains that I am to climb in my vast future And to the calm crystal clear waters that keep moving even when I’m stagnant And to the air that fills my lungs with life and purpose And to these things I owe my fragile sanity Because that place I daren’t call my home shut my heart out and let my heart go My heart belongs to the things I cannot own It wanders far and wide searching for somewhere to rest its tired frame And at that stopping point it finds rest and belonging But belonging is only temporary when your home shut you out and let you go But they also say, home is where you hang your hat And I hang my hat on my head down low, so I guess home is wherever I go -Hailey Browning ‘24

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One-Sided Some things are just far from reach, like the dream of fantasies that drifts slowly across my mind.

It appears out of nowhere a pretty sentiment, mysterious yet intriguing, almost translucent under the glowing moonlight.

Chasing after it only seems to set us farther and farther apart.

But I feel it beckoning to me, as if I were familiar to it, and it to me, as if we owed something to each other.

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I feel as if I am grasping at thin air as I reach out my hand for something that was never truly there.

-Tiona Truong ‘24

Alone During the Sunset

Photography

Nicole Chan ‘23

Under the Ferry Bridge

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Photography

Isabelly Duarte ‘23

Wings

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Watercolor

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Natalie Loza

Tragoedia Anima (Tragedy of the Soul) BACKGROUND/INTRO

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This poem follows the life of Antonius Parocles Carolus, a fictional Roman Statesman compared to Julius Caesar.

The story starts with him being born, son of a significant statesman in Ancient Rome.

His father falls ill, and passes away, the next target is Parocles whose mother protects him from being killed by his fathers political enemies.

He grows up and becomes a prominent statesman and ally of Julius Caesar. Once he is killed, he inherits Caesars reputation as a statesmanship, and leads the Roman Empire but is eventually killed just as Caesar was assassinated. His death conflicts the Roman Empire, which is left to fate to decide the destiny of Rome.

I walk the valley The valley of death Shallow heart’s content.

For it is where I, Antonius Parocles Carolus, Uphold my pledge in day Of oath and faith To the location of city A. Born of mundane parentage, I stay at bay; In thorough bones, I lie; Deceased in life, I pray.

One hopeful night Passions spirited I am born under prey United forces against meI As I lay The cradle of Emperor Where I lie Is all that I cherish today Youthful livelihood made way As I ascended that which lay, In front of me I and fore-bearers.

The mountain of demise Stayed away In course of love and kindred spirit; In thorough bones, I lie; Deceased in life, I pray.

Thyself made journey Through the wood and desolate harvest Upon my own Caesar, I prayed Death be upon him everyday

Within short time and day Ides of March appeared that day That with which death appeared I ascended what duty permit Leapt into a stratosphere Of lonely nights and Perilous prey Death duty paid its due Through cowardly quarrels And underworld prey’s One hell of a rotten crowd Species of which Known no bounds I lay deceased everyday In thorough bones, I lay Deceased in life, I prayed As March began Early nights and yam Fellow dips paved their way For course was set Without me.

Arisen from despair To Emperors chair I stand alone On this floor Surrounded by prey I say my peace Make it sweet For I am Antonius Parocles Carolus Born of mundane parentage, I stay in the way In thorough bones, I lay Deceased in life, I pray - Lucas Wallin ‘24

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Wakeless Void

Photography

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Ethan Daon ‘22

Inner Demons They tell you that eyes are the windows into the soul My eyes are the windows out of the cell I live in each day They tell you the prettiest eyes are the ones that cry the most My eyes are vessels for tears -, I guess that’s why they say beauty is pain They instruct you to search under the bed and inside the closet for monsters But the monsters I face are no longer the shadows moving in my room at night They instruct you to stare at the things you fear in the eye But how can you stare into the eyes of something you’ve never seen?

They say a heart of gold is a symbol of strength forged in the fires of adversity They must have forgotten the weight of gold because my heart is heavy like an anchor They say a glass heart is pure and innocent They must have forgotten the damage shattered glass can do They teach you to listen to your head and heart Who would trust their head and heart when both betray you with hidden thoughts?

They teach you that silence is delicate Who would know it can be broken by an imaginary whisper?

They warn me to get my head out of the clouds and focus on the real monsters around me They don’t understand that the truest monsters are the ones that live inside of us - Kira Lee ‘22

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Cheba

Painting

Wasted

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Photography

Christian Chiu ‘24

The Edge of Possbility Like a night sky painted by pilots Mistaken for stars by children Speaking new constellations Into existence, Giants illuminate the sky Even beanstalks can’t reach; A child’s sketch adults cannot see An unfathomable map for an endless sea A treasure hunt with no directions A conjured adventure A roadmap for flying cars A search for the unknown.

Constellations breathe against darkness Planes dart like shooting stars Paint splatters Flashing lights into stars Stars into a nightscape Against an infinite black canvas A free art exhibit Open to interpretation Infinitesimal dots Left for us Turning Moments into memories Work into accomplishments Planes into constellations On the threshold of a universe A universe of our making .

- Angelina Cinco ‘22

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Life as a Female I am from a world of athletics where women are able to show their abilities on and off the court, field, or stage where women are winning gold medals and meeting the president yet, I am from a world dominated by men where the same exact sport is more exciting watching men than women where big muscles and tall women are unattractive and winning multiple championships mean nothing unless you look like a model I am from the media the movies, the shows, and the internet where female superheroes have beautiful beach waves and hourglass figures they don’t get much screen time but when they do we are sure to notice their skin tight, form fitting body suits yes, i do admit we females have our own shows and movies the little wins, the little wins but does it matter? if what we see as female superheroes are women who wear bathing suits and mini skirts what is the point if no matter what women are objects of sex

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I am from a strong lineage where the matriarch of the family moved her family from the Philippines to the USA to provide a better life for her two kids I am from my grandmother who works everyday in her life

to make her family as comfortable as possible I am from my mother the woman who finished college while raising a baby while the father served to protect the country I am from strong independent women I am from the future for the future is female we are “hot” until we speak out about objectification we are gossips if we speak our truth we are considered “masculine” if we are strong, otherwise we are weak we are emotional, sensitive, or labeled as crybabies I am from a generation of exhaustion tired of constantly fighting for my “right” place or label in the world I, and any other females, are just someone’s daughter, sister, or girlfriend we are someone For the Future is Female -Jordyn Martinez ‘23

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Amethyst Sky

Photography

Pink Buffet

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Acrylic

Tobin Deaker ‘24

Imagination My creations, Shaped beyond the city limits Of a concrete jungle Under steel skies tainted by exhaust Coughed from calloused pipes and Packed metal caskets on asphalt roads, Spring to life in a vibrant nook, teeming with Teetering skybound stacks of unfinished canvases and Eclectic colors of overturned oil paints: Lazy blues and dainty greens, Electric yellows and woeful purples, Dancing through the aged cracks of wooden floors And leaping for near blank linen, dreaming Of a symphony of light.

Through this art of mine, my colorful chaos Has found its song.

- Miranda Massie ‘24

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Nature’s Kiss

Colored Pencil

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Natalie Loza ‘24

Metamorphosis

Makeup, Photography

Kaia Ordinario ‘22

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Unity Assembly Poem

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So I’m just sitting there swiping through my friends stories Pictures, quotes, and more animals to save Swipe right “Oh look, another Black man killed by the cops” Swipe right “He had his hands up and still got shot” Swipe right “Protests in the city and the people an angry mob” Swipe right “And of course this guy with a badge and a gun still has his job” This stuff doesn’t surprise me anymore The news barely covers it because this story isn’t new anymore Nothing more I can do than drive slow and pray I don’t get pulled over Make sure my music isn’t too loud and I’m always sober That’ll lower my chances maybe, but the odds are never zero That I’ll see those red and blue lights and make some racist a hero It’s a fear I live with everyday My mom only lets me drive the truck so I don’t bring attention to myself in any way Fast forward a few days and I’m at the house chillin’ I’ll be on the game all day, if God’s willin’ All of a sudden my mom texts me “Your cousin is missing She was last seen at the beach, with her friends she was swimming” I’ve been reading and hearing about Black women disappearing But I didn’t expect it to happen to someone I know I make a post and my friends reshare it “Call this number if she’s found” I’m stressing because I don’t want to be the one To put my favorite person in the ground

My family’s been out for days now Everyone’s searching and researching and granny’s praying her heart out But the search dies down and faith withers Time goes on, more and more missed dinners Next thing I know the search hits its finale My mother tells me she was found...dead in an alley Damn...

I guess we won’t know what really happened until the autopsy procedure And I’m sure that the news won’t cover this story either - Bryan McCray ‘22

Facing Red

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Photography

Bryan McCray ‘22

The Beauty of Diversity I am from East Oakland where diversity is everywhere And the smell of street vendors are comforting I am from a neighborhood where we support each other And look out for one another like family I am from a Mexican immigrant family who came With nothing and believed family was everything I am from a family where my mom sacrificed everything in order to give me anything My family worked hard for us and taught us to never take Anything for granted I am from a strong abuela who grabs my cheeks and smiles as she sleeps An abuela who taught me that it was okay to be unique I am from an abuela who supports me and tells me to make sure I stand my ground An abuela who grabs my chin and says, “Make me proud” I am from an ethnicity where butterflies are a beautiful sign of migration Where monarch butterflies remind us of how we made it I am from a Hispanic community where we bond over tacos and share our ancestors’ folktales

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I am from a community that shares the same interests as me Where the elderly look at me and say, “You are our ancestors dream” -Bianca Espinoza ‘23

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La Belleza de Diversidad Soy de East Oakland, donde la diversidad está en todas partes.

Y el olor de los vendedores ambulantes son reconfortantes Yo soy de un barrio donde nos apoyamos Cuidarnos unos a otros como familia Soy de una familia de inmigrantes mexicanos que vinieron Sin nada y creía que la familia lo era todo Soy de una familia donde mi mamá sacrificó todo para darme de todo Mi familia trabajó duro por nosotros y nos enseñó a ser humildes Soy de una abuela fuerte que agarra mis mejillas y sonríe mientras duerme Una abuela que me enseñó que estaba bien ser única Soy de una abuela que me apoya y me dice Que me asegure y me mantenga firme Una abuela que me agarra de la barbilla y dice: “Hazme orgullosa!”

Soy de una etnia donde las mariposas son una hermosa señal de migración Donde las mariposas monarca nos recuerdan cómo hicimos eso Soy de una comunidad hispana donde nos unimos por los tacos y compartimos los cuentos populares de nuestros antepasados.

Soy de una comunidad que comparte los mismos intereses a los míos Donde los mayores me miran y me dicen “Tú eres el sueño del cual nuestros antepasados tanto soñaron” - Bianca Espinoza ‘23 - Translated by Laisha Delgado ‘23

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last Dance

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Sylvie Karlstrand ‘25

Aozora

Tempera Paint

L’astéroïde

Kathy Nguyen ‘23

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Acrylic

Christian Grunt ‘23

Fires

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Photography

Kara Yeh ‘24

Who am I? In the city Alone Invisible Who am I? A lost soul Captured inside my body Seeking freedom En la ciudad Sola Invisible Quién soy yo?

Un alma perdida Capturada dentro de mi cuerpo Buscando libertad 在城市里 独自的 无形的 我究竟是谁？ 一个迷失的灵魂 困在我的身体里 寻求自由 - Ashley Carreno ‘24

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Why? Glorious ambient moonlight Asks not that you know of its source But rather, to simply bask in it.

Life-giving dewdrops fall from above Though the spring may remain unknown, Their sweet taste floods the Earth.

Vibrant petals of roses and lilies The mystery behind their hues Detract nothing from their natural beauty Roots of fresh green grass along busy streetsDig where the mind cannot venture; Nonetheless, they sit firmly in lush pastures These unknowns Require no further exploration.

Nature, beauty, life, and the human experience Require no explanation, For life is not a puzzle to be solved But a journey to be experienced.

- Christian Chiu ‘24

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Skating Towards the Sunset

Photography

Isabelly Duarte ‘23

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The Idealized Body “The Idealized Body” was written as part of the final project for English IV: Literature as Social Commentary. It is intended to be a chapter from a longer novel titled The Negative Influence which depicts the impact of social media on teen mental and physical health.

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“One more time,” said Noah as he took deep breaths.

Jacob sighed in disbelief, “Come on, bro, you’ve already failed your PR twice.” Noah didn’t listen, he looked determined, ready, and lay back down on the bench press. He took a breath, and with both hands, gripped the barbell tightly. The bar slowly lowered to his chest. Noah’s hands shook. It was time to lift it back up.

“Ahhhhhhh, come on!” Noah screamed out loud as he pushed as hard as he could. The barbell stuck to his chest.

Without hesitation, John lifted the weight up and racked it back in its slot. He stood up, took off his shirt and looked into the mirror, flexing. “Why do I look so small? I look like a twig.”

“Bro, you’re not Chris Bumstead. Chillax, you’re big already,” said John. Noah was irritated that his physique didn’t look in the slightest bit like his favorite influencer, Chris Bumstead.

Jacob and John stood next to Noah and flexed. Noah compared himself to Jacob and John, thinking how much bigger their arms were.

Jacob’s eyes crossed Noah’s eyes in the mirror. “Bro, your eyes are messed up. Are you high?”

“Nah, bro, why would I get high before a workout? That stuff makes me tired.”

John asked, “Bro, what time do you go to bed?”

Noah responded, “Like three or four.”

“You gotta go to bed earlier, bruh. You look like shit,” said Jacob.

“Yeah, I know,” Noah said, knowing he’d stay up late anyway.

“Alright guys, I’m out, I’ll see you guys tomorrow at seven,” Noah said.

*** “Forget this homework,” Noah muttered as he walked to the living room. He whipped out his phone and opened Youtube. Noah sighed and started watching workout videos.

After watching a video on “How to get veiny muscles”, he chugged down a protein shake. Taking out his phone again, this time browsing Instagram, Noah looked at the likes of other people. “One thousand, two thousand. Damn, this person has ten thousand likes?”

Noah scrolled down some more, fixating on one post: “Chris Bumstead wins Physique Olympia of the year!” Noah’s eyes opened wider after seeing Chris’ toned obliques, ripped back, iron chest, and not an ounce of fat. He got off the couch and headed to the bathroom mirror. He took off his shirt and flexed. And then pinched himself, grabbing a chunk of loose skin, squeezing a chunk of fat. “Wow, awesome,” Noah said to himself in resentment. Noah looked at his shoulders and thought how puny they were. Noah flexed even harder, trying to make his shoulders pop more. In frustration, he gripped his loose skin even tighter, and tried to get his veins to pop through his abs. The image of Chris’s physique wouldn’t leave Noah’s mind. To Noah, Chris was a Greek God. Chris’s facial features were pristine and more masculine than Noah’s. Chris’s chiseled jawline, towering 6’1’ height, and mustache were all features Noah dreamed of having but could never achieve. He looked at himself with anger, jealousy, and hatred.

“Hello! I’m home!” shouted Rebecca, Noah’s mom. Noah sprinted to his desktop computer, where he usually did homework, and clicked the power button. Rebecca walked into the computer room. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Homework!”

Rebecca looked surprised. “Okay, just making sure.”

Rebecca gave Noah a hug, but he just received it, not hugging her back.

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Noah looked at his computer screen. He opened his English homework and yawned. An essay was due and Noah had not started yet.

Six hours later, Noah’s head lay on his desktop. Noah got up, slurping the drool that slipped from his mouth. Noah looked at the bottom corner of his screen to check the time. It was 10:00 P.M. already.

“Oh crap,” Noah said as he panicked. He switched back to his English essay tab and stared at his assignment. After five minutes, “Bing!” a notification went off on Noah’s phone. He opened Instagram to see: “Chris Bumstead gets a new girlfriend.”

Noah opened his mouth, “She’s so pretty.” Noah was thinking about the life he could live if he were Chris Bumstead, more girls, more happiness, and more confidence. Noah shook his head in disbelief. He scrolled through more, seeing other bodybuilders and the big smiles on their faces. He saw how happy they seemed. He was jealous. Noah opened a tab on Youtube. He searched: “how to get rid of all your fat”.

“Dinner’s ready!” Rebecca yelled from the kitchen just as Noah opened the video.

“I’m not hungry!” Noah shouted.

Rebecca walked over to the computer room and stood over Noah. He switched tabs, but realized he hadn’t started his English assignment yet. Rebbeca looked in disappointment. “What have you been doing this entire time?!”

“I’ve been doing math,” he lied.

Recbecca left the room. “Okay, well, your grades better go up.”

Noah had C’s in every class. When she left, he clicked on Youtube. He thought to himself, “I’ll get my essay done in math class. I had English for the last period.” *** The next day, Noah’s eyes were baggy and bloodshot. Noah had math first period. His eyes barely opened. Noah rested his head down. He woke to the teacher calling his name. “Noah, what’s the answer to problem 11?”

Noah’s heart started to race.

“Yo, are you high?” another student yelled across the room as the class giggled. Noah started to shake. The kid that yelled across the room was a kid that Noah followed on Instagram. His body was phenomenal. It was much more aesthetic than Noah’s.

Noah got up and left the classroom. The other students stared at him as he slouched out.

“Hey, where are you going?” the teacher asked. Noah didn’t listen. On his way to the bathroom, he saw his friend Kate walk by.

“Why are your eyes so red and baggy? What time did you go to bed?” Kate demanded.

“Don’t worry about it,” Noah said.

“What are you doing staying up so late?” Kate asked.

“Social media,” Noah responded.

“How do you even do your homework?”

Noah responded, “I don’t, really.”

“You know social media is fake? People edit their photos and lighting to make themselves look perfect. It’s not good to compare yourself to others on social media because they are fake identities, they’re not even real.”

Noah understood what she was saying but avoided listening to her as much as he could. “Social media is like kryptonite. You need to change. Don’t let social media consume your life,” Kate said and left for class.

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Dreaming of a New World

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Colored Pencil

Zoe Deaker ‘25

Peace for Ukraine

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Digital Illustration

Miranda Massie ‘24

Reaching Out

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Digital Illustration

Tiona Truong ‘25

想念想念 - Miss You 你离开了这个世界 就在一瞬间 可是你还在我心里 永远永远 You left this world In just one moment But you’re still in my heart For all of time Dedicated to Isaac Yunhu Lee - Joshua Chang ‘24

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PRISMS Contributors Kosi Amuzie ‘24 - Kosi Amuzie loves to express herself through writing. Her piece “Use Your Words” reflects on a cultural struggle and teaches a valuable lesson about confidence and bravery.

Sylvia Annis ‘22 - Sylvia Annis loves writing poetry. Her piece “Our Galaxy” reflects on the importance of unity.

Kyle Barnes ‘23 - “I’m not an artist.”

Brooke Brown ‘24 - Brooke Brown enjoys taking photos. Her piece “For Izzy” is a joint piece that takes a close look at the natural beauty of flowers.

Hailey Browning ‘24 - Hailey Browning has been writing poetry for 3 years now. She started writing poems as a way to express emotion and as an outlet for stress relief.

Ashley Carreño ‘24 - This poem reflects on thoughts and feelings of teenagers when they are in a tough place in life.

Nicole Chan ‘23 - Nicole has enjoyed photography ever since her sophomore year when she transferred to SJND. She loves to travel and take pictures to preserve great memories.

Joshua Chang ‘24 - I wrote this poem to honor my closest friend who suddenly passed away because of cancer in November.

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Christian Chiu ‘24 - Christian Chiu enjoys expressing his thoughts, views, and experiences through creative metaphorical stories and poems.

Angelina Cinco ‘22 - Angelina Cinco fell in love with writing poetry in the second grade. She draws inspiration from friends, nature, and love. She is the SJND Poet Laureate for 2021-2022.

Ethan Daon ‘22 - Ethan Daon loves photography. His pieces “Queen’s Garden,” “Wakeless Void,” and “Cannon Beach” present the beauty of nature in a unique and creative way.

Tobin Deaker ‘24 - Tobin Deaker has been drawing since he was in preschool. He enjoys picturing an image in his mind and then making that come to life on the page.

Zoe Deaker ‘25 - Zoe Deaker enjoys drawing with colored pencils and has been drawing since she was young.

Alexis Dollar ‘24 - Alexis Dollar blames (and thanks) her parents for her avid love of anything writing, dancing, singing, or photography related.

Isabelly Duarte ‘23 - Isabelly Duarte loves all forms of art, especially the art of photography, which she continues to explore with great passion.

Izzy Edens ‘24 - Izzy Edens found her love of taking pictures in her photography class. Flowers are her go-to subjects.

Bianca Espinoza ‘23 - Bianca Espinoza started writing poems when she was in elementary school. She loves being able to express her thoughts through her poetry.

Samantha Fong ‘24 - Samantha Fong started writing her own music in 6th grade. She uses it to creatively express her story of heartbreak, struggle, and perseverance.

Maya Gilliam ‘23 - Maya Gilliam loves reading and expressing herself through writing and painting.

Christian Grunt ‘23 - Christian is new to the world of painting, but really enjoyed making this piece inspired by The Little Prince.

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Celeste Hurtubise ‘24 - Celeste Hurtubise loves all forms of art and believes in the freedom to express whenever and however you want.

Clara Johnson-Sandoval ‘24 - Clara Johnson-Sandoval’s love for photography combined with her skills in photoshop allow her to create unique and creative works.

Richard Kamau ‘24 - Richard Kimau has loved taking photography from a young age. His photo was taken in Kenya.

Sylvie Karlstrand ‘25 - Sylvie Karlstrand has been doing art since she was young; she has always practiced and enjoyed many mediums.

She hopes everyone enjoys her piece!

Emma Kwok ‘23 - Emma Kwok is passionate about poetry and her culture, hence fer piece “A Tribute to My Culture.”

Kira Lee ‘22 - Kira Lee enjoys writing poetry. Her poem “Inner Demons” explores the struggles of internal conflict.

Sarah Lisanti ‘23 - Sarah Lisanti is passionate about the role of art as self-expression and loves celebrating student creativity through her role as Writing Editor.

Janicka Lopez ‘24 - Janicka Lopez is passionate about exploring her interests. This year alone she participated in Speech and Debate, NAHS, and took 2 AP classes.

Natalie Loza ‘24 - Natalie Loza has loved art since she was in middle school. She loves creating bright and imaginative pieces.

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Josiah Lucas ‘22 just took his first photography class and found excitement in the process. He now sees the world from a different perspective.

Heidi Manes ‘22 - Heidi Manes found her love of writing during a time of emotional turmoil. She hopes that her writing can be a beacon for those in times of need.

Jordyn Martinez ‘23 - Jordyn Martinez grew up playing sports and experiences life as a female Filipino student athlete. She firmly believes in equality on and off the court.

Miranda Massie ‘24 - Miranda Massie enjoys many creative arts, including writing, acting, and drawing as a method of self expression.

Nicole McClure ‘25 - Nicole McClure has loved poetry as a way of expressing the passionate emotions of life. Because without love and expression, what are we?

Bryan McCray ‘22 - Bryan McCray reflects on his culture and creativity in his pieces “Unity Assembly Poem” and “Facing Red.” Chris Moore ‘23 - Chris Moore enjoys photography. His piece “Bed of Fog” captures the natural and manmade beauty of the Bay. Kathy Nguyen ‘23 - Kathy Nguyen loves art. Her piece “Aozara” shows nature in its tranquil beauty.

Kaia Ordinario ‘22 - Kaia Ordinario is extremely passionate about art in all mediums. Her many works, including the featured theme piece “Fractured Affirmations” dive into themes of regrowth and nature.

Kayden Paydo ‘24 - Kayden Paydo loves digital art. His piece “Cherokee” is a vibrant illustration of man’s best friend.

Ceci Perez ‘22 - Ceci Perez has been painting since she was little.

She believes that art allows people to express themselves, and has the power to create change.

Micaiah Ribay ‘23 - Michaiah Ribay really loves art!

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Abby Richter ‘23 - Abby has been surrounded by art from a young age. She got into photography in 5th grade. She spends her free time at the beach (doing art of course).

Matthew Shih ‘22 - Matthew Shih enjoys creative writing. His piece “The Idealized Body” highlights the persistent struggles of body image and self-confidence amongst teenagers.

Elaine Truong ‘22 - Elaine Truong has grown a love of poetry throughout high school. She hopes to continue writing in college.

Tiona Truong ‘25 - Tiona Truong enjoys writing and creating art in her free time. She believes that this is a very powerful and beautiful form of expression.

Heriberto Velez ‘23 - Heriberto Velez has a huge love for music.

They believe that art is a beautiful outlet for expressions and ideas.

Lucas Wallin ‘24 - Lucas Wallin has been reading books since he was little. He started writing last year and is working on three books and enjoys writing poems.

Kara Yeh ‘24 - Kara Yeh has always enjoyed the beauty of manmade objects and nature. To her, photography is a way for her to capture them in the moment.

Cecilia Zhuo 25’ - Cecilia Zhuo is fascinated by the arts. She finds comfort in the freedom of the many different ways you can interpret visual and musical arts.

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SJND Poet Laureates Angelina Cinco SJND Poet Laureate 2021-2022 Sarah Su High School Poet Laureate of Alameda 2009-2010 Tia Gangopadhyay SJND Poet Laureate 2010-2011 Robin Levy SJND Poet Laureate 2011-2013 Amelia Khoo SJND Poet Laureate 2013-2014

Beatrice Levy SJND Poet Laureate 2017-2018 Sofia Reeves SJND Poet Laureate 2018-2019 Andrew Fowler SJND Poet Laureate 2019-2020 Claudia Arguello SJND Poet Laureate 2020-2021

Karina Leon SJND Poet Laureate 2014-2015 Aaron Ramos SJND Poet Laureate 2015-2016 Jonathan Yannantuono SJND Poet Laureate 2016-2017

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Aw a r d s

N a t i o n a l C o u n c i l o f Te a c h e r s o f E n g l i s h REALM Recognizing Excellence in Art and Literary Magazines Program S u p e r i o r Aw a r d 2 0 1 9 , 2 0 1 6 , 2 0 1 4 , 2 0 1 3 , 2 0 0 9 E x c e l l e n c e Aw a r d 2 0 1 8 , 2 0 1 5 Best High School Literary-Art Magazine 2017 R e c o m m e n d e d f o r H i g h e s t Aw a r d 2 0 1 7 American Scholastic Press Association M o s t O u t s t a n d i n g P r i v a t e S c h o o l L i t e r a r y - A r t M a g a z i n e o f t h e Ye a r 2020, 2013, 2005, 2003 Outstanding Theme: Best Bilingual Selections 2016, 2014 First Place with Special Merit 2019, 2002-2014 F i r s t P l a c e Aw a r d 2 0 2 1 , 1 9 9 8 - 2 0 0 0 , 1 9 9 6 B e s t P h o t o g r a p h e r Aw a r d Andy Pan 2021, Sophia Seiwald 2019, Julian DeGuzman 2015 B e s t P h o t o g r a p h e r a n d A r t Aw a r d Kaia Ordinario 2020

Artists Embassy International G o l d e n S e a l B o o k Aw a r d 2 0 1 3

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 and is perfect bound.

The cover photography is by Design Editor Isabelly Duarte ‘23 and the flower illustrations throughout are color pencil drawings by Cecilia Zhuo ‘25.

We used the font Segoe Script for our title art, byline and folio. Our body font is Derivia, our Mandarin font is Adobe Heiti Std, and our writing byline font is Adobe Arabic.

We used the Adobe Creative Suite to design our publication and built the layout in InDesign. Staff used their own laptops and computers. The base layout was designed by our layout editors and applied generally via a Page Master and Styles in InDesign.

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All writing, art and photography in the publication is student made, including graphic elements.

Each contributor receives a book, and each school family, faculty, and staff receive one book, free of charge. Books are also shared with alumni, donors, and the greater community.

Prisms is funded exclusively by Saint Joseph Notre Dame High School. It costs $10.23 to print each copy. This year we printed an edition of 400 copies.