Arts Review 2012-2013

ARTS REVIEW 2012-2013

“A painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light.”

-Leonardo da Vinci

Contributors Jacqueline Autuori ‘13

Wynn Mason ‘13

Sharon Cababie Amkie ’15

Brice McAllister ‘14

Anna De Gobbi ‘13

Chris McCormick ‘13

Natalie DeLiso ‘13

Caroline Mellekas ‘14

Kira Demitrus ‘15

Susan Mellekas ‘16

Ross Dooling ‘16

Kimmie Meunier ‘15

Julie Doten ‘14

Hunter Newman ‘16

Didi Ezeamama ‘13

Kaitlyn Nigro ‘16

Emily Ferguson ‘14

Val Schwein ‘13

Charlotte Henrichs ‘14

Amanda Silverstein ‘15

Sarah Hong ‘13

Jordan Stanley ‘13

Denzell Jackson ‘13

Max Teitelman ‘16

Jillian Kertanis ‘13

Emma Tryon Repka ‘16

Victoria Kiarsis ‘13

Izzara Ugarte ‘14

Cheryl Kuo ‘13

Caroline Vianney ‘14

Jimmy Liao ‘16

Abigail Wang ‘14

It doesn’t seem fair that I’m living for something I can’t even define.”

Ashley Lombardo ‘14

Frank Wu ‘16

Amanda Mancuso ‘14

Morgan Young ‘13

Micaela Martini ‘14

Zoe Zhang ‘13

“A picture is a secret about a secret, the more it tells you the less you know.”

-Diane Arbus

“The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance.”

-Aristotle

“Art is the reason I get up in the morning, but the definition ends there.

-Ani DiFranco

mission Suffield Academy is a coeducational, independent secondary school serving a diverse community of boarding and day students. Our school has a tradition of academic excellence combined with a strong work ethic. A commitment to scholarship and a respect for individual differences guide our teaching and curriculum. We engender among our students a sense of responsibility, and they are challenged to grow in a structured and nurturing environment. The entire academic, athletic, and extracurricular experience prepares our students for a lifetime of learning, leadership, and active citizenship. non-discrimination Suffield Academy does not discriminate on the basis of sex, race, color, religion, creed, national or ethnic origin, citizenship, physical attributes, disability, age, or sexual orientation. We administer our admissions, financial aid, educational, athletic, extracurricular, and other policies so that each student is equally accorded all the rights, privileges, programs, and facilities made available by the school.

Cover art by Micaela Martini ‘14

Zoe Zhang ’13

Like Mother Like Daughter: the Gorger Woman of the Family Ever since I learned how to crawl I have constantly been guilty of sneaking around and getting into mischief. The downfall may sometimes outweigh the benefits, especially in overhearing conversations, but I am not one to slow down and think about the risks. I don’t consider myself nosey by any means, but I would say that I have a strong curiosity and slyness, which leads me to know more than most people would like me to.

When I was little everyone said I looked just like my mother, which is probably how I manage to get away with so much. I have vague memories of overhearing phone conversations between my mother and her half-sister, whom I believed was just her sister. It was strange to me that my mother would address her father in a possessive manner implying that my aunt had no relation. I asked my mother why she referred to him as “her father,” but she always managed to change the subject. As I reached high school, I became much more persistent to find out the truth.

One lazy afternoon of my junior year, I decided I should do a little family research. Of course my methods were quite manipulative, but no one seemed to speak up about family matters. I phoned my mother and asked her for information on her family, including family crests, names, and our general heritage for a school paper, which I technically made up. She avoided specific details adroitly. She paused as soon as she had told me what she knew about my grandmother, and I said, “So… Where did we get our blonde hair,” knowing that my father’s family had dark hair and so did my grandmother.

I continued to ask about her father, obviously throwing in a few innocent questions: did Papa have blond hair when he was younger? She stammered and answered a different question, a classic misdirect. I just knew there had to be something more. That weekend when she came to pick me up she released a dragon of a secret that danced through my mind wildly. The fact that I was right enthused me and sent a boiling heat through my body; I like to be right.

Yet, when I actually listened to what my mother was saying, it was as if I could feel the pain he had caused her to endure through the words she let linger.

I found out my mother was abandoned, and she had tried to contact her father multiple times in her teen years. When he was around, he made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with my mother and grandmother. He was running with Gypsies, a mastermind con artist. He had at least three other children and tons of grand children, each with blond hair.

My grandfather is a gambler, he plays with the dark side of life, and he gyps people, but he could sing and had glowing blue eyes, thick blond hair, and a charming attitude, which allowed him to trick anyone he laid his eyes on. As she explained the details of her birth father’s life - not at length, might I add—I began to realize our family, like many others, has hidden secrets, and I was only on the surface gazing in.

I could see my mother through different eyes now, and I had a greater appreciation for why she made certain decisions in life. What stood out to me even more now was the significance in the similarities we share, my mother and I. Both of our fathers had rejected us at some time in our lives, both for their own selfish reasons, and this drove us to seek protection and leech onto the people who showed us love. There is no denying that this is a part of the human condition, because everyone wants to be loved. However, the difference is that my mother, like her own mother remains nestled in comfort with a painted on smile, while I, like my grandfather, have just enough edge to break the societal net which binds me tightly at the moment. I wanted to forgive my father for some time after hearing my mother’s actually left her, but as I will grow into the shell my mother has made for me, our stubbornness deters us from fully submitting to forgiveness. While these painful memories ride on our backs, it’s a weight we chose to carry.

Morgan Young ’13

Julie Doten ’14

The Airport Whether it’s the Intense colors of Thanksgiving sculptures, Glaring lights of the Christmas trees, Or simply just The usual, crowded terminal, I notice them all with guarded eyes Before tears blur my vision And take them all away.

“Goodbye.”

Then the spring arrives, And summer too!

They are great times, I am so happy, thank you!

We walk on – With weighted ankles, With broken feet and cumbrous sacks, With crusted eyes ever-a-squinting, With plywood crosses on our backs, We walk on –

But then, Not before long, I end up where I began.

It’s that time again, Where colors are too intense to bear, And lights to bright to glare.

I peek at them with fearful eyes, Brace myself for another flight, Waiting, Expecting, Ready for the tears.

Oh, take my vision away.

Away from sullied ‘scrapers, From disturbed surfaces of pools, Away from memories ever-lingering, Away from the calcified immutable: We walk on – Past trains ever-a-hustling, Past houses nuzzled in the breasts Of mountains meager and downtrodden, Past the blind who see the rest, We walk on –

“Good…”

But then, A calm presence interrupts me.

She whispers into my ears: “See you soon.”

Ah, I’ve forgotten.

I leave from here, But I, as well, return to here.

My journey ends here, But it, as well, begins from here.

Whether it’s the Bright colors of Thanksgiving sculptures, Shining lights of the Christmas trees, Or simply just The usual, vibrant terminal, I ought to notice them with expectant eyes Before tears begin my journey To return once again.

Cheryl Kuo ‘13

Toward new, dew-dappled mornings, Toward peaking prospects cleansed in gold, Toward our chances, chances to fight For what we believe, what we behold.

We walk For though we stumble, We are not drowning – we are the dawn, Our feet will fill with faith – And always, always We walk on.

Jordan Stanley ‘13

The fox was just walking through the forest trying to get to his grandma’s house to get treated for his horrible sickness that just had not gone away. On his journey to his grandma’s house the fox discovered three straw houses with delicious, succulent, juicy, fat pigs inside of them. The fox was in the distance, spying on the pigs’ every movement. The fox was having flashbacks of his grandma explaining to him as a child that, “whenever your feeling sick my son, make sure you get something to eat to feed the cold.” The fox took that into consideration due to the fact that he had not eaten in an entire week. Starving and determined to survive, the fox came up with the idea: instead of going to his grandma’s right away, he was going to eat all three pigs.

The fox came up with an excellent plan on how to eat the pigs one at a time. The first house he was going to pretend that he worked for the government, and there was a new policy that every house on this side of the river must be checked for a proper plumbing system and to make sure that all electrical outlines and lines are up to date.

Following through with the first plan, the fox went up to the first house and knocked on the door. He was disguised in a business suit and a fake police badge he made out of rocks and mud, tricking the pig very well. The pig read the fake warrant and invited him in. The fox asked very descriptive questions, “When was this house made?” “Do you pay your electricity bill to the city of Flocka?” “Does this house have the same layout as the houses next to it?” The pig answered all the questions rapidly. “My house was made three years ago, here are the permits for it, yes, I pay for my electricity to the city, and lastly, yes, all the houses are the same.”

The fox said to the pig, “well, I think I want a taste.”

The pig answered, “excuse me?”

“I meant a tour, a tour of the house so I can check everything out”. Walking through the kitchen, the dining room, and the bedroom, the fox just could not wait until they reached the basement so he could get his hand on the pig. As they reached closer and closer to the basement, the fox’s mouth started watering and he started getting more excited, then it finally came. The pig opened up the door to the basement and before he knew it he was at the bottom of the stairs with a broken nose, legs, arms, and the fox’s claws in his throat. The fox was satisfied but he wanted more.

The sunset just went away and it was now dark. “Onto the next house,” stated the fox. He knew that he needed to be quicker this time. He needed to be completely stealth with this mission. The fox was going to dress in an all-black ski mask, black boots and black gloves. He knew this was going to be the most challenging one because this pig was always on the move.

The fox watched the pig on his rooftop as if the he was a snake and the pig was a rat - his every movement. But for some reason the pig was tired tonight instead of hyper and active like he usually was. As the pig got into bed, the fox cut a hole into the roof and jumped on the pig’s bed and ate him while he was sleeping. The fox was successful two out three so far with one more pig to go.

It was approaching the time when he was supposed to be at his grandma’s house. With little time left, he knew this one had to be even quicker and with the other two dead he could just attack this pig straight up. “Knock, Knock, Knock.” As the pig was walking towards the door, the fox was waiting for him to open the door. As the pig was an inch away from the door, the fox let out the loudest, most devastating sneezes that blew the entire house down. As the pig tried to gather his thoughts and wipe himself off, the fox took full advantage of the pig being blindsided and cut him from limb to limb and enjoyed the last part of his feast.

As the fox finally made it to his grandma’s house she asked him, “Boy, what took you so long?” He responded, “I’m sorry grandma, but good ham couldn’t be left to go to waste.”

Denzell Jackson ’13

Jacqueline Autuori ’13

Fox and His Feast

Emily Ferguson ’14

Ship of Dreams Eternity The blackness continues forever, overlaid with millions of diamonds Forever above, and below, nothing to catch your endless fall The darkness envelops you, first comforting, but then eating away at your soul with cold, Pulling the breath right from your lungs, no way to resist So recently was the grandeur of millions and crystals your quarters, to hold you safely She held you, carried you in luxury, her fires of Hell propelling you across the placid waters Perfectly safe, was the perception, but then icy death loomed in the distance It came on swift, black wings and threw you into your worst nightmare That was when nobody could save you, only luck, which was not present that night The best and worst of mortal man was shown- true colors shine when death is knocking on your door Human screams haunt you the longest, when they die out into dead silence Dead silence Always remember that there is something more powerful than you Never forget your maker The R.M.S. Titanic Ship of Dreams

Kaitlyn Nigro ‘16

The Blue Flower The deceptive blue flower in her youth, Deep, dark inside yet exudes only light.

Never secure enough to show the truth, In the dark she loses her will to fight.

The vital stem weakens and starts to break, Her leaves die more with every passing day.

Others don’t see the toll their actions take, This once-bright flower mutely fades away.

Her petals fell secretly to the ground.

Sunshine and solid roots proved not enough To sway this blue flower to stay around.

Light faded; she proved not to be so tough.

The insignificant blue flower dies, If only we had seen through her disguise.

Kira Demitrus ‘15

Anna De Gobbi ’14

Mr.Rubins His real name is Carl Rubins, but the children call him Mr.Rubins out of respect. Mr. Rubins turned seventy-five last June, but he doesn’t look a day over sixty.

Rubins Toy Co. was the name of the toy store he had been running for fifty-one years. It was the most popular toy store in the entire city. In fact, it was the only toy store because everybody knew you could not compete with Rubins Toy Co. After school, Monday through Friday, all the younger girls and boys would first stare into the window, then after a few moments of amazement and awe, they would run inside and leap through the aisles with eyes wide-open, feeling as if they had found heaven on earth. This particular toy store was a child’s escape from reality. Mr. Rubins loved kids, which is why he opened the toy store to begin with. He made good money from the popularity of his toy store, although he never over charged for a single thing. With the money he made, he just put it away or towards upgrading his store because he had nobody to share it with.

He stood behind the counter and watched the children with their pure smiles, but wondered why he was not feeling the happiness that they were. Day by day his joy slowly fell to the ground, becoming a thin dust that could just blow away with a little wind, without leaving a trace.

“Yeah, we got it. It came last night. It comes every Tuesday night. It’s been that way for fifty-one years,” said Mr. Rubins, with an expressionless face. Timmy took three pieces and a cola bottle, paid for it and walked out. Between getting the same deliveries every week, getting the same customers every day and seeing the same children press their cheeks up against the window in amazement, Mr. Rubins realized right at that very moment that he had lost interest, interest in this life he had created for himself that was designed to satisfy him until the day of his death. He knew he was too old to find a new career, and besides, this was who he was, and what he was. He, himself or anybody else could not picture him anywhere but behind that toy store counter.

Mr. Rubins had spent his life watching children smile, laugh with blood and bones filled with life and excitement.

“Children, I’m gone for the day! Take anything you want, anything your little hearts desire!”

Every child paused. They put down the toys they were playing with, the candy they were holding, and looked at one another. After a moment or two, each child in that toy store went mad gathering as many things as they could, fighting for toys, ripping things out of one another’s hands, going completely crazy. Mr. Rubins walked out of the store, looked up to the sunny sky and took his shoes off. He then left his shoes next to the stairs leading to his store, and skipped down the street bare foot, humming a sweet song like a young child would. After all, being a joyful child was all he ever learned to do, or at least all her ever wanted to do.

He closed the toy store later that week, and was never seen behind that counter again. But he was seen outside the store, which was still filled with all types of memorabilia that dusted and created a thin layer of must in the air. Right next to a wooden “closed down” sign was the window where children used to look in and feel more alive than they ever thought they could. He was seen pushing his cheeks up against the window, hoping to feel some type of excitement.

Amanda Silverstein ’15

Izzara Ugarte ’14

“Hey Mr. Rubins, did you get more vanilla water taffy yet?” said a rather large boy named Timmy Barnes, who stopped by the shop daily to buy his three pieces of water taffy and a cherry cola. Routine describes Timmy Barnes’ life, but most of all Mr.Rubins’. Such an extraordinary life of seeing children smile every day slowly became ordinary to him, something he swore wasn’t possible.

Anna De Gobbi ’13

Emma Tryon Repka ’16

Looking out the window I see snow.

White as my pale skin

Glistening with sunlight.

Sunlight shines on my face

Heat brings warmth

To my cool body

To the shivering ground.

It comforts my wandering mind.

Slowly I smile to myself.

Slowly I begin to question.

Questioning as I sit and ponder.

Ponder the question Why? Why is the sky blue?

Why is the grass green?

Why am I the way I am?

Why are you the way you are?

Are you who I think you are?

I am not who you know me to be.

You don’t know me.

You know only what I want you to know.

I control how you perceive me

Walls and barriers

Hold you back from seeing Who I am.

How I talk

How I express myself

All just an act.

I am a maze.

Are you the one to solve the puzzle?

Val Schwein ‘13

Adolescence I am caught in the swells of adolescence on the shores of adulthood. Struggling with first love, second love… third fourth fifth love, whatever love… young love. The love you don’t touch. There is love in your parents and your dog, the mailman and the FedEx guy… but these loves are different than young love. You cannot touch young love for it will sting you and cut you. You cannot touch it or else it’ll scream at you and tell you that you are wrong and that you know nothing of it, as if you were never young. I am caught there in a love that no one can touch.

Victoria Kiarsis ‘13

The way the light of the new day shines,

it illuminates you. Sets a sparkle, eliminating the dust of sleep still in your eyes.

I believe that you’re the reason

for the stars in the sky;

they’re up there to watch over you.

I don’t I don’t like the way you talk to me.

You’re loud, aggressive and rude.

You don’t respect me.

You say I’m bipolar.

Who do you think you are?

The way you look

so full of innocence

when you sleep, embracing your pillow. I get lost

in your words and in your eyes.

I hurry to finish the sentences

leaving your lips.

I don’t like the way you treat me.

Do this…

Do that…

I am not your slave; you don’t own me.

You’re made up of thoughts,

and where you’re going.

Wherever that is, I want to go there, too.

I don’t like the way you smile: It’s fake.

You do not know the meaning of a real smile And you never will -

Anna De Gobbi ‘13

Natalie DeLiso ’13

I don’t like the way you treat my mom.

You don’t respect her.

You tear her down.

You’re a bully.

I don’t like the way you treat my brother and sister.

You use them.

Then ignore them.

You show fake love towards them.

They don’t trust you.

I don’t like the way you say, “I love you” Those words mean nothing to you You throw them around like candy at a parade I hate candy.

I don’t like the way we are related.

You show no interest in my life But you point out my mistakes You tell me you are disappointed Yet I still forgive you every time.

I don’t like you You are my father But you don’t act like it I wish you would change –

Name withheld by the editor

Micaela Martini ’14

Sunlight

Don’t Make Me Regret It Most people would perceive my blank expression, inactive body, and slow digression of bodily function as a sign of an imminent and sorrowful end. While there is no question that this is an end, it cannot be classified as a conclusion of life. This is a closing to the battles I’ve been fighting in my head. These are not figurative, poetic battles of sin, lust, and teenage angst. They are bloody. They are violent. They are only in my brain, but they are real.

I watched as popes and monks sat at a sports bar squabbling and throwing opinions at each other like stones. I was forced to slaughter my way past rotting souls with empty faces and brutal intentions. They leaked crude obscenities and convoluted lies from their hot, messy lips as I fled within myself to find my aggression.

No later was I confronted by a love-bitten ghost whom I bantered with about romance. He spoke with the eloquence and clarity of a gentleman and had quite a plenty amount of wits about him for a dead man. I have been climbing through every level of my subconscious from the bottommost pit to what I can only guess is the closest one to my genuine life. Or death, I suppose, depending on which path I have unknowingly taken.

But I really must admit what the absolute worst part of this torment entails. There is no time in this realm. My entire life up to this point has been reliant on time. Days controlled by the what and where of classes. Years prepared before I could count on my delicate fingers. If I know one thing of Father Time, it is that he frowns upon stopping to smell the roses. This world has no time. I could wake up from this hell and be startled to realize that I am a cynical, forty-year old spinster. Or maybe I’ve been in this trance for a mere few minutes. Maybe I won’t remember a moment of this. I consider this to be the time that fate must chose which path I am destined to travel. It seems that fate- a cruel, little minx- has given this task to me instead.

I’m lying in a hospital bed while others study my every move, or rather, every move I don’t make. The doctors assured my parents that they would try to keep their daughter alive but that is far from the truth. These people don’t try to keep me alive. In my case, doctors are paid to make sure my vessel survives. They are steadying its vitals. They are maintaining the functions of its organs and forcing nutrients down its throat. These sociopathic products of medical school are keeping my body alive but my brain has never been closer to death. I’m blind to the world and time that continues to creep along as I’m trapped in my mind. I am in a coma.

And I am walking down a tunnel. The walls are being dragged down by the dark and wisps of ghosts slice through me, sending chills of despair as deep as my marrow. I am now certain this is the last layer. Although I see no ceiling, I feel a sense of containment. Perhaps I can blame it on the lack of breeze or the returning echo, but I know I am trapped with whatever is in here with me. This is the most realistic reality I have had to face. The softest sound of a pebble rippling water causes my neck to violently snap upwards. My gaze is locked with a demonic reflection of myself. Jet-black streams of hair flow and whip across behind her head with her movement. Hazel eyes are mirrored with intensely electrified, pale blue ones that strengthen after every blink. I will not physically defeat this enemy. Her lips slowly move into a smirk like she was amused. Turning its back, it observes the room as if it was also seeing this place for the first time. Her voice crawls through me as she says, “It’s funny, isn’t it? Kind of…surreal?”

I catch myself believing the lies. None of this is real. I had forgotten where I was. I’m in a hospital bed. I have a mission. I ask in reply, “What is the meaning behind this?”

It lets out a noise that resembles a mixture between an unexpected laugh and a scream of frustration as she turns back to me. “Meaning? Your life is on the line here, sweetie, and you’re writing an analysis of poetry. I think one of us should at least attempt to get our priorities straight,” she almost whispers at the end. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. It’s human-like.

So I ask, “I meant, what am I supposed to confront here? Myself?”

Her amused smile drops as if she’s disappointed and spews, “Who do you think I am! Do I look like you? Do I act like you? How could I possibly be you? I am nothing like you!”

I step back in surprise from her ferocity. She’s right.

But she continues, “You step back when I’d leap forward. I rise to the occasion. I matter. I bask in the glory of my existence, as you stay hidden. You’re weak and deserve everything that has ever happened to you.” I would have expected those words to be yelled in my ear but they weren’t. She barely uttered them out of her mouth before they fell and shattered on the ground. “You still believe the world has happy endings. True importance lies in the little things and love breeds eternal bliss,” She hissed the last words out.

I barely muster the willpower to say, “Why would you be so mean to me?”

“Because I’m here just as much as you are, darling, but only one of us makes us out of here alive. I’m trying to let you convince me that it should be you but instead of reacting you back down and ask why. How can I let that out into the world? I’ve had my time, but I’d take that surplus and run rather than allow a weak, pathetic girl like yourself to claim that life over me.”

For the first time since I’ve entered I saw a flash of humanity in her eyes, something almost familiar. I’m surprised that my first instinct isn’t sadness. I don’t want to run away this time. I’m significant and I can’t be afraid to prove to that anyone that claims otherwise. But I show restraint.

I try to reason with her, “Why can’t we both walk out of here together?”

I see no humanity in her eyes as she faces me and hisses, “Because this isn’t a movie, sweetheart! We don’t hold hands and walk across a rainbow bridge over a river of gold. This is life and people die, including you. Everyone knows that living is a fatal condition and nothing will change that. You can’t hide behind a sea of people anymore. You have to choose!”

At that instant I have a premonition. I know what I have to do but even better, I want to do it. I feel my hand rising and it is so light I can’t believe it was actually moving as I saw it form a fist. Suddenly I felt my jaw clenching as the bones in my hand collided with her sharp cheekbone. But it doesn’t hurt. I feel a surge through my whole body and I shake uncontrollably. My eyes are fluttering but between the blinks I see myself grinning back as she says, “Don’t make me regret it.”

My eyes flash open to chaos. There are white lights encasing me but everything still feels dreamlike. I can’t make sense of any of it. What if that wasn’t the last level? What if there is no last level? What if the journey is all there is and I can never return back to my own life? But just as I’m about to stop struggling against my eyes’ will to close, I see it on the wall. It’s small but readable, fully functioning, ticking beautifully - a clock.

Amanda Mancuso ‘14

Sarah Hong ’13

I am strolling down a dark tunnel towards what I can only imagine is my final death scene. I believe that the faintest stream of light has managed to illuminate just enough of this cave so I can see drops of water trickle down the sides. Every once in a while, one will fall to the ground and the noise will jolt through me as my heart skips a beat. But this reality exists only in my head. I am aware that none of this is physically happening to me. Nonetheless, at moments this knowledge somehow stealthily slips into the farthest reaches of my brain where common sense claims no residence. That is when I’m truly lost in my own world.

Ode to the Stars

Buenas noches.

Está la noche Y las estrellas Aparecen.

Están despiertas cuando Nosotros dormimos.

Good night.

It is nighttime And the stars Appear.

They are awake when We sleep.

Yo miro al cielo; Yo veo estrellas.

Todas Son brillantes Y centelleantes.

Comparten sus luces.

Sus luces guían a la gente Perdida.

Una estrella puede Guiar tres reyes a Un bebe.

Les da Esperanza.

Me da Esperanza.

Las estrellas me dan Felicidad.

I look at the sky; I see stars.

All Are shining And twinkling.

They share their light.

Their light guides the Lost people.

A star can Guide three kings to A baby.

It gives them Hope.

It gives me Hope.

The stars give me Happiness.

Las estrellas son Muy bonitas, Pero no quiero Ser una estrella.

Están muy lejos de todos.

No tienen compañeros.

No tienen amigos.

No tienen amantes.

No quiero sentirme Sola.

No podría ser Una estrella.

The stars are Very pretty, But I do not want To be a star.

They are very far from everything.

They do not have partners.

They do not have friends.

They do not have lovers.

I do not want to feel Alone.

I could not be A star.

Pronto Las estrellas están Cansadas.

Duermen cuando Nosotros estamos despiertos.

Las estrellas Desaparecen y Está la mañana.

Buenos días.

Soon The stars are Tired.

They sleep when We are awake.

The stars Disappear and It is morning.

Good morning.

Julie Doten ‘14

Jimmy Liao ’16

Oda a las estrellas

Sarah Hong ’14

I soar though the sky and swim through the water I twist and turn through endless space Never stopping, never resting, always moving, always guessing I am a bird in the sky, and a frog in the water I breathe in water and choke on air, but never once did I care Always moving, always guessing, never stopping, never resting I hear the silence, yet there is noise I hear the shouts and screams, but never did I stop for these Never stopping, never resting, always moving, always guessing I hit the water, it is cold, and the silence is once more I break the surface; the noise is great everyone is clapping in appreciation Always moving, always guessing, never stopping, never resting My turn is up but I am not done, for there is still much more to do I turn away from the crowd and face and head into the silence Never stopping, never resting, always moving, always guessing I sit in silence while I wait, for it helps me concentrate I play the motions in my head, just like I do every day Always moving, always guessing, never stopping, never resting I finish strong though not always on top I have tried my best and that is all that was asked Never stopping, never resting, always moving, always guessing The future is unknown to me but I may guess at what may be I am only human, as you know, but perfection is where I mean to go Always moving, always guessing, never stopping, never resting

Ashley Lombardo ’14

Cheryl Kuo ’13

I am only Human

Anxiety fills my stomach It has been months since the last time I saw him I flew three and a half hours to see my best friend My brother is graduating from boot camp Pride is overtaken by bittersweet envy The confidence in his eyes says it all Never has he looked so accomplished The air force changed my brother into a man He came back home four weeks later, But it still wasn’t the same Knowing that he was leaving again Pondered in the back of my mind I got too attached Our relationship only got stronger Which made it that much harder to say goodbye I cried beyond tissues and tears 3500 miles later He now calls Germany his home My brother is gone, For the next three years

Giggles All nervous giggles in between words and in the spaces where our breath goes… and I told her I wasn’t going to talk about it and I was laughing I couldn’t help it and she was too. We were nervously giggling… we sat together, side by side, exhaling as the moments fell flat, as the moments died. She spoke and I nearly jumped, “oh but you can’t stay ashamed for too long.

It will destroy you. It will rot your bones until you can’t move anymore. How can anyone go on that way?” … Mother, dear mother. My love for you is like the seasons; it is inevitable and predictable. It is always there, forever changing and forever the same. To love you and to be loved by you, I am the luckiest girl in the world, or perhaps that is how it seems to only me. But mother, I know you can’t see. These nervous giggles are breaking my heart and I swear to you I would tell you if I had the strength, but some things are just too hard. Sometimes it is too hard, you must know that more than I. I love you, dear mother, don’t forget that. I will love you until the day I die.

Victoria Kiarsis ‘13

My biggest fan won’t be attending my high school graduation He won’t be there when I leave for college He will miss my eighteenth birthday But what can I do about it now?

I miss the times he stuck up for me Him and me vs. mom and dad His advice and wisdom along with our inside jokes, All the secrets and crazy adventures I miss my brother I’m not the same without him He believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself He’s my motivation and inspiration

Val Schwein ‘13

Micaela Martini ’14

Micaela Martini ‘14

[Anxiety fills my stomach]

The night sky is pitch black A hot burning tar But there are tiny pinholes of hope Small, indeed, but great in number They fight to keep the light, to keep the darkness from consuming all They hold a tough job But they hold out because they know they have to Sometimes they flicker, because it’s hard to always be fighting But they keep shining There is darkness in the world And sometimes the stars flicker enough to scare us Like they may not be there forever But they don’t fail us There are many horrible people The tar that try to eat our light It’s a dirty, rotten world And we have to endure it And fear it Fear No one deserves to fear the tar When all we strive to do is exist But we don’t let the hot and burning hell scare us Because then the tar would win It would eat our star And that can never happen We continue to shine We flicker sometimes But shine nonetheless Sometimes we feel we can’t even go outside Without fearing the people passing us on the sidewalk But if something will happen, so be it For we cannot afford for our shine to dim Out of fear of the tar We cannot live a little less Out of fear of things we cannot control We cannot let the tar consume our shine It can be hard to remember, but the stars never stop shining Yes, sometimes they dim, or flicker, but they are always there Every night I pray to God And the list grows And all we have is our pinholes of hope In our cold abyss of darkness

Kaitlyn Nigro ‘16

Didi Ezeamama ’13

Sarah Hong ’14

Our Battle

She sat silently gazing Out her window.

She fixated on the mist-filled grassy fields That seemed to stretch Side by side, with every thought in her imagination.

He stared at the pages.

Pages filled with writing, Meant to be read with attention.

The words began to blur, black shapes floated Side by side, with every thought in his imagination.

I lay uneasily admiring.

The ceiling Became so many things in the dark.

The monsters came alive Side by side, with every thought in my imagination.

Max Teitelman ’16

Anna De Gobbi ‘13

Haikus 1

We fall and get up Over and over again For what reason do we try?

2

I look to the sky Walk in the footsteps of angels Knowing he is watching.

3

Softly my lips touched Upon something so beautiful Love rushed to my heart.

Brice McAllister ‘14

Abigail Wang ’14

Frank Wu ’16

Daydreaming

Caroline Mellekas ’14

Creation: Darkness’ Point of View I wasn’t doing very much at the time. There were gases, a part of me, that were doing their thing, I was only giving them space to do it. It was a strange day when a force unknown to me came and changed everything I had known for all eternity. The force had a booming voice and it scared me half to death when I first heard it. At first, I saw the gases being brought together, swirling and spinning together and forming a circle. Inside of the circle, a mass was formed. I, for some reason, knew it was called Earth. It came about quickly and I felt it take up a lot of room in me. It felt pretty tight, but it was okay. There was a gust of wind and I heard this force say, “Let there be light!” That voice was booming, I don’t know where it was coming from and I still don’t. Right after the voice said that, though, more gases came together and formed this massive star and it gave off the brightest light I’ve ever seen. I knew right away it was the sun. I knew that the light that sun gave off was called Day, and suddenly I knew my own name was Night. The gases formed a smaller planet and I called it the Moon. That first day was nice.

There was morning and evening and it was good. That voice thought it was good, too.

The next thing that voice said was “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.” With that, something I knew was called the Sky was created out of almost nothing and I was separated from the Earth. I wished I could have stayed closer to it but it was okay. I was still the darkness above and the only part of me that the Earth could feel still was the Moon, my little friend. That was the second day and all of those things were good.

The voice thought so, too.

I thought that the booming voice was about done with his speaking, but he said another thing. The third thing he said was, “Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into once place, and let the dry land appear.” I was no longer really feeling the effects of this voice’s changes, but I still saw the waters come together and dry land rise out of it. It was quite beautiful. The dry land was now the Earth part and the waters were called the Seas. The voice wasn’t done yet, though. It said, “Let the Earth put forth the vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it.” The land was green in some places, brown in others. The voice thought that was good. That was the third day.

The fourth day was kind of different. The voice wanted more separation between the light and me. I don’t think it was satisfied with only my moon. It said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the Earth.” So then, all of these little stars were formed from the gases. I thought the gases must have been getting pretty tired, but it was good. The voice thought it was good, too.

The fifth day was the most remarkable. The voice said, “Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the Earth across the dome of the sky.” There were so many of these birds; they covered the Earth at first. There were other creatures, too. If I looked very closely, I saw animals in the water jumping out and diving back in. It was quite beautiful. The last thing the voice said on that day was, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the Earth.” It was good, we both thought so.

On the sixth day, the voice boomed again, heartily this time. “Let the Earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the Earth of every kind.” I looked closer now, seeing animals walking around on the land on four legs or two. I saw specks flying around, knowing they were insects and bugs. It was good.

I didn’t know what else this voice could possibly do. The Earth was beautiful and magnificent. I had been blind-sided by this creation out of me. I didn’t know that something so wonderful could come out of darkness and gases. The voice shocked me the most on the sixth day, when I thought the creating was over. It said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominance over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the Earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the Earth.” I thought it had been talking to me, but it wasn’t.

These spirits and souls came from the stars and the moon and the sun and the voice itself and the waters and the dry land of the Earth and created humankind, male and female. The voice gave itself a spirit and a soul and descended from the gases of me in order to speak to the humankind it had created. “Be fruitful and multiply,” it said to them, “and fill the Earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the Earth.” My initial thought was that that was a lot of responsibility to give the humankind, but I could see the complexity inside of them and the beauty and differences between each one of them. I could see their future and how they would treat the Earth and the seas and the living creatures. There was so much they were capable of. I knew this voice knew exactly what it was doing. It spoke to them one last time: See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the Earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. And to every beast of the Earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the Earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food.

And everything was good. Even the voice thought so.

Victoria Kiarsis ’13

Charlotte Hinrichs ’14

Caroline Vianney ’14

Don’t be Afraid of the Storm Being new is like being the only person in the crowd who thinks they are lost, and the crowd becomes a dull roar around them that rumbles unevenly like thunder. I am here to tell you, after attending five prep schools, I chose a college where I don’t know anyone (because the people I do know, aren’t exactly the people I want to know): Make yourself happy where you are. When you are holding onto a dream and then let it slowly slip away because you are afraid, put on your leather gloves and hold on tighter to that dream, don’t let it slide free, because the only person you will blame for that in the end is yourself, or at least that is who you should blame.

Hide the best parts of you if you are afraid, but then you will never allow others see them shine. Then the moon rises and settles behind a cloud. By morning the sun makes your eyes burn and squint, but it doesn’t mean you reject the sun anymore.

Forget shame and regrets, mean remarks and sinister looks. If the intangible feelings like love and hate stem from our own minds then we have the power to create and destroy them at any quantity. Let the faceless shadows fade like falling stars, but as they burn out, never put unto them cruelty as they have showed you, unless you, yourself want to join them in a valley of ashes.

It is all about you. Youth. Observation. Understanding. Let go of the penetrating pressure of what others want, and think for your self. Don’t allow your world to be governed by everyone else’s opinions. The Y in Your Life stands for: why the hell would you let someone else control your decisions.

The choice is yours, and it always will be. To love, or to hate, or to hurt and feel pain, only to let the love made seem sweeter. Run for the beaches, race towards the edge of the water and do a flip into the tides. Sit in the sun and sing when you are proud, and always scream when you’re upset.

The empty bottle was a burden to my father, but from his faults I learned: Don’t fill a bottle of your own thoughts and sorrows. Share. Find the one person you can speak to about anything, and talk. Talk until the words come alive, like monsters they eat up our fears. We are free.

Free to sit in the front row of the classroom, free to dance on the tops of tables, free to love, but love with guard. Keep your heart in a vine of thorns, but always let the roses bloom. Individuality defines us. Be not stricken by the notion that you cannot be different. Instead let lightning strike everywhere you go.

Name withheld by Editor

Hunter Newman ’16

Sharon Cababie Amkie ’15

[She gently glides out onto the stage ] She gently glides out onto the stage

Her body begins to tremble

As the bright lights hits her.

She poses and waits for the music to start.

Softly and slowly it begins

And so does she.

She gracefully moves with intricate body language.

The lights follow her as she performs.

The music is soothing yet empowering;

The crowd is moved like the ocean on a full moon.

She does not fear the lights following her,

Her nerves begin to fade,

The music fades.

She poses one last time.

As she looks up she finds a standing ovation.

She cries softly with a smile on her face.

Ross Dooling ’16

Jillian Kertanis ’13

Your Own Way Don’t follow in my footsteps, instead make your own. Follow a path that you want to go. Learn from my mistakes and take from my success, because I am an example of the worst and the best. Listen to yourself as you make your mark, embark and embrace from the moment you start. What if today was the end of your journey? The footprints you’ve left would stop in a hurry. Now see if you follow the path of another: your mother, your brother, your sister, and your father. For they are the ones who will guide you, while others don’t bother. The tools provided are ones that need to be used, they will help you carve out the brush and thorns threatening to abuse your body and your legs as your carve your way through this jungle of life that is filled with things that want to stop you. I advise you to listen to those from the past, but don’t rush yourself and don’t go fast, don’t follow the ones that came before, but instead turn a knob that will open your own door. It’s the gateway to the rest of your life. Please listen to me and take my advice, but do not follow. Make your own name, path, and legacy; it’s your choice not mine, so don’t count on me.

Chris McCormick ‘13

Self-Advocacy My identity is my own; It is what I say and what I do.

Every day I make it known.

Opinions are the seeds I’ve sown And I reap each one I grew.

My identity is my own.

I like the curly girl I’ve grown With more facets than she knew Every day I make it known.

For my thoughts, I won’t atone As I sit in a lonesome pew.

My identity is my own.

I am mounted in intrinsic stone Of self-worth, through and through: Every day I make it known.

For I am the girl who’s flown And who I am I’ll never rue: My identity is my own.

Every day I make it known.

Jordan Stanley ‘13

There I was, hanging. It was a normal day. The sun was high in the sky and my neighbor was just waking up. “Good morrow to you, good sir,” I said, but, of course, he could not hear me. Even if he could he would not understand me. We have no common language because there is no need of one. We just hang here all day and all night. We grow and change and sometimes, not often, we die before we are ready. I feel my grip loosening, but this is normal, you can only hold on for so long. Every one falls in the end. It’s what we are made for. We are made, then we age and grow, and then we fall. No one knows what lies below; no one ever comes back. We do not know how far we are from the ground because we have no eyes and no sense of space.

I can feel gravity now and it is strong. I have never felt gravity before; my grip must be failing. No, I do not want to go. I am scared. Scared of what’s below. I have grown very fond of my hanging place and I’ve never known any place else. Oh no! Is that wind? Many fall during the wind.

I can feel it coming and I know others have already fallen. My grip is going and the wind hits me hard. I desperately try to stay, but my grip is lost and I begin my free fall.

I’ve never been away from my post and I feel so alive. I’ve never felt like this before. It might be the fall, or maybe it’s the lack of strain on me.

I do not know. I soon forget what it’s like to hang, now all I know is falling. Falling. Falling. THUD! I land in the soft pile of, what? What is this?

I do not know. I’ve reached my final resting place. No one up there knows about this. It was nice. There was shade, for once, and the ground was soft. I didn’t even feel pain as I hit the ground.

I can feel others around me. They are well, but some have grown old and rotted away. The ground begins to shake. Something is coming.

The creature makes a loud barking noise. A Dog. I don’t now how I knew the word but it just came to my head. I began to panic but I don’t know why. The sound is painful, but I have no ears. The dog is right next to me now; I can feel it smelling me. I am afraid.

The last thing I ever know is the dog’s mouth as he bites into me and I begin to bleed. The dog takes another bite, but by this point I am gone. Gone into an endless sleep. I was meant to be so much more, but alas, my life is no more.

Didi Ezeamama ’13

Ashley Lombardo ’14

Susan Mellekas ’16

Apple in the Air

Wynn Mason ’13

Cheryl Kuo ’13

Sharon Cababie Amkie ’15

But why?

We live in a place where we are judged by our skin tone, A place where things are said to make us feel left alone.

We live to anticipate, contemplate, Where dudes kill other dudes to increase the mortality rate, And I ask myself, But why?

Why must things be as they are?

Why do girls get pregnant so young And not think so far?

Growing up having both parents, I know how lucky I am.

Some kids go through life and fail, Like Kraseman’s physics exam.

But why?

Why do we fall in love with the ones who ignore us?

The ones who cause stress?

The ones who demand requests?

And not the ones who sweep up our mess, And nevertheless ride or die with you on this pony express, That they call life.

And still I find myself asking But why?

Why do we base our society on how much money we have?

Property we own?

Cars we possess?

They’re all inanimate objects, In which we stress over ‘Cause we hold nowhere near the luck of a four-leaf clover.

So much stress, so much tension, Can cause me only to mention But why?

Why in the world would one take another’s life?

Or more importantly, take his own life, Something so beautiful, Something with so much meaning.

We all need each other when we are falling and leaning.

The question, but why, taps my brain with a light touch, And to this day, I know enough to know, I don’t know much.

And yet I still find myself asking the question…

But why?

Brice McAllister ‘14

Human Living Breathing 1 nose, 1 mouth 2 eyes, 2 legs, 2 arms A heart A brain Person Surviving Existing Thoughts and feelings A conscience A soul Individual Thriving Being A mind Opinions and actions A name

Kimmie Meunier ‘15

2013 SENIORS Didi Ezeamama, Jacqueline Autuori, Sarah Hong, Cheryl Kuo, Jordan Stanley, Zoe Zhang, Anna De Gobbi, Victoria Kiarsis, Natalie DeLiso, Denzell Jackson Missing: Jillian Kertanis, Wynn Mason, Chris McCormick, Val Schwein, Morgan Young

SUFFIELD ACA D E MY

185 NORTH MAIN STREET SUFFIELD, CONNECTICUT 06078 WWW.SUFFIELDACADEMY.ORG