Canticles 2024

C a n t i c l e s 2 0 2 4

Foreword

Ourperceptionofimportanceistraditionallybasedonwhatothershavedeterminedforus; whatbecomesobjectsofvaluereflectourenvironment,culture,andthepeoplesurrounding us.But,whatisoftenoverlookedisthetruesourceofvalue:withinourselves.Somethingthat appearsminisculetoonepersonmay,infact,holdsignificantworthtoanother.Theordinary becomesextraordinary.Likewise,importanceisdeterminedbytheindividual,somethingthat weshoulddecideforourselvesaswegrowintothepeoplewewillbecome.

ThisyearCanticleshasbeenrevived.Toencouragestudentstosubmit theircreativeideasinpoetry,art.photography,combinations,shortstoryand essay,acontestwasheldinFebruary.ThejudgesofthiscontestwereMrs. Leddy,advisortoCanticles;Mrs.Lovejoy,retiredEnglishteacherandMrs. Lazzelle,‘66.Thankyoutothemanystudentswhoentered.Judgingwasdifficult.

Love, Nature, and Sentiment

First Date & Fish (haiku) theaquarium kissedyou,blinked,nowcelebrate us,oneyearlater

-Marielle Tambong ‘24

Bits of Love you ’remypeanutbutter mymorningsun thenotesinmydeskclutter thesighattheendofapun mygrassstainsonmyjeans thesmellofanewbook thehandsovermyeyesduringscaryscenes oh,howmylifeyou’veshook -Charlotte Acks ‘24

Something Somewhere

Manyyearsago,beforeIwasborn Andyouwereborn

Andanyofuswereborn, Somethingsomewherecametobe.

Somethingwithbig,powerfulhands. Somethingwithaheart.

Somethingwithtastesoexquisiteitmanagedtomake You.

Somethingwithalovingtouch

Somethingwithpatiencesoboundlessitcouldtolerate Me.

Somethingsolovelyitletuscrosswaysandbecome Us.

Somethingsomewherelovesusall,makesusall, Feedsusall.

Somethingsomewheremadeoflove. Itsoundsjustlikemourningdoves.

SomethingSomewheremademefallforyou.

-Maddison Dennis ‘24

-Charlotte Acks ‘24

-Charlotte Acks ‘24 givethanksandshowappreciationfor thoseyoudonotinitiallylove unconditionally,theychoosetobeinyour lifeandyouchoosetobeintheirs

Autumn you ’reasbeautifulastheautumn thegoldensun redandorangehues slicksidewalks streetlightsreflectinginpuddles hotdrybreezesturntochilldampstorms leavesontreesandweatherwillcontinuetochange andyoumaytoo butneverwillmyloveforyou

YouhavegivenmesomuchinthetimeI’veknownyou, ButpleasegivemejustamomentsoIcantellyou HowdeeplyandwonderfullyIloveyou.

TherearetimesIwishwehadmetwhenIwaslittle, Whentheworldwaswarmraysofsunshineinmyfavoritewindow, Orwakingupearlyatsleepoverswithfriendstosoakupthequietsafetyandhappiness Likealittlesponge,andrecallthelastnight’sfunandgames.

WhenIcouldtryonanoutfitandnotmindmybody, Whenmakeupwasforfunandnotpartofaroutine. Whenthestarsinmyeyesdidn’tfeelsogritty, Andtheonlythingstosetoffmyanxietywerevocabularytestsandrunningingymclass. Iusedtosmilealot,andI’vebeentoldmyeyessparkledlikediamondswhenIwashappy.

That’sthemeIwishyoucouldhavebeenintroducedto.

Buttimegoesbyandchangeshappen,somebigandsomesmall, Somegood,quiteafewbad,andwechangeaccordingly. Wegrow,butnotalwaysinagoodway.

Theinnercandlestartstoburnout,andthelightscanfade.

Icameintothisworldaporcelaindoll, Andcametoyouachippedupandshatteredmess.

Butyoudidn’tjudgeorhurtme. YousatwithmeandheldthepieceswhileIgluedmyselfbacktogether. Iwasafraidatfirst,butfeargrewtocalm. Calmgrewtolove.

YoufeltlikeallthoseoldthingsIusedtofeel,alongwithsomanywonderfulnewthings. EachdayIlookforwardtotalkingwithyou, AndallIhavetoworryaboutisifIchoseagoodoutfitforthenexttimewehangout. Inawordyou’reineffable,inmorewordsyou’reamazing, OneofthebestfriendsI’veeverhad,oneofthesweetestpeopleI’veeverknown. Andifthereevercomesatimewhereyouaren’tapartofmylifeyou’llstillshineinmymemorieslikeastarinthenightsky,myguidinglightandwish cometrue.

Maddison Dennis;

Taken by Emily Virgilio

Petrichor

Stepoutsideafteritall. Feelthecoolairaroundyousoothe Hot,reddenedskin. Allowraintomixwithandwashaway

Theburningsaltytears, seeitdripofftheleavesandtrees Andbeletgo. Letthefreshairfillyourchest Andcalmyourshortinglungs Andpainedheart.

Seethebirdssitinthebranches

Andlettheraindropsrollofftheirbacks.

Seesquirrelspranceandrunandtrip Astheyretreattothebushesandtrees. Youcanbelikethem, Simple,free,happy. Humanitycanhurt

Butnaturenurturesall. Bequiet,heartherainfall Andletitspeaktoyou. Thepuddlestellyoutoloveyourself, Thedropshittingthetreestellyou

Youareloved.

Thebirdschirpingtellsyoutomorrow Isanotherday.

Thesmelloftheraintellsyoutobekind Toyourselfandothers, Theglazeofthemoistureontherocks Tellsyounottolistentothosethatmeanharm. Dandelionsgrowthroughthetoughestconcrete Andtellyoutobelikethem. Thedropletscontinuetheirsongasthesky Iswrappedinarainbowembrace. You’regoingtobeok,youcandoit.

Seethemoonrise,silentandgraceful Likeringletsofsoftsmokeonaquiet Blackcanvas. Youcanrestnow.

Gobackinside,itwillallbeheretomorrow Andsowillyou.Sleepandheal,andcomeback Shiningandbeautifullikethesunrise. Asyoualwaysdo. Breathe.

-Maddison Dennis ‘24

Chaoswasfirstinthisworld, AndOrderwasbornfromit.

OrderrosefromtheashesofChaos Likeamightyphoenix. ButChaoscamefirst.

TheworldisofteninChaos, AndfromitOrderrises. Wecontrolwhatwecan Andleavetheresttotheuniverse. ButChaoscamefirst.

IstheworldnottoreturntoChaos? WillOrderoverallprevail? Butinalltheoldlegends Onethingiscertain: Chaoscamefirst.

Chaoswasfirstinthisworld, AndOrderwasbornfromit.

-Charlotte Acks ‘24 Chaos

Thedarkandthelightbattle Toseewhocomesoutontop. ButChaoscamefirst. WilltheEndoftheWorldcome? WilltheUniversereturntooldways? Nooneseemstoknow, Butonethingsstaysthesame: Chaoscamefirst. -BookDragon

Her sincenothing shebreatheslifeintoallthingsknownand forgotten sincebirthweknowherbyscentandfeelalone unseparatedfromourownbeing cradledinhervalleys bathedinherrivers placedhighatophermountains fedfruitofherflora swayedtosleepbyherwinds thisrock ourmother whyhavewetakenherforgranted?

Stars - A Tanka Poem

Tolosesomeoneclose, Apiercingstabtotheheart. Butgrowthtakespain’splace. Myhousemayhaveburneddown,but Myviewofthestarsisgreat.

-Maddison Dennis ‘24

Copacetic - A Haiku Oppositesattract, Darkandlightdotheirdances, Andlifeisvibrant.

-Maddison Dennis ‘24

Moon Dance - A Tanka Poem

Thestarsglowbrightly, IwalktheringsofSaturn. Iholdhandswiththe PillarsofCreationnow, Anddanceacrossthenightsky.

-Maddison Dennis ‘24

Constellations

Littlepicturesinthesky, Drawninstardust. Thestarsaregalaxiesaway, Andyetconnect. Eventhoughtheyarefarapart, Theyarestillone; Abiggerpicture, Asareweall.

Weareapartintimeandspace, Butconnectedinabiggerpicture: Thepictureofourworld, Andthebetterplaceitcouldbe. Weareallconstellations, Littlepicturesaroundtheworld Drawninlove.

Take A Breath

Icrackopenawindow, atemporaryrelieffromthehotroom.

Ihearthewindwhistle, theleavesrustle.

Overthesoundsofnature, Ihearthesoundsofpeople.

Pagesbeingflipped,thescratchofapen— whispersandlaughsandshouts.

Acomfortablesilence.

Ilisten. AndItakeabreath.

-Jessica Martin ‘24

“Even in the Harshest of Places, Life Can Prevail,”

-Maddison Dennis ‘24

Wescoat, ‘24

Snow Turnitintoaman, stomponit, throwit, whateverbringsyoupleasure.

Thesnowwillnotmindbutitsurewillremember

-Charlotte Acks ‘24

Forthisisthewinterof shadows, Theangelsarescaredtocome out

Andmonsterstakingallwho sorrow

Leavingonlydistractionandruin

Whooncestoodtall,noware cowering

Whoonceburnedbright,now barelyflicker

Whooncefought,nowtremble Theflameofhopethatallhad, nowfading -Anonymous

Furies of Flurries

Fractalbeauty,hiddenamongstaseaof competitivechaos.Aclusteredarmyof aggressivelittlesoldiers,allwiththesame goal.Inthat,theyareuniform.

Theypeltthegroundwithveracity,bodies pilingontopofbodies.Featureslostinthe masses.Theirdisplayishostile,frigid,and beautiful.

Theycomeinwaves.Sometimestheynever comeatall.Manycheerthemon,advocating fortheircause,whileotherswhineand protest-hidingintheirhomes,afraidofthe onslaught.

Amilliontinysoldiers,fallingintoline.A milliontinydancers,losingtheirindividuality tothearmytheyserve.

Asoundlessdeath.

-Wescoat ‘24

Snow - A Haiku Wintersnowflakesfall, Well,atleastIwishtheywould Itistoowarmhere.

-Maddison Dennis ‘24

i wish i knew (2020)

IfIhadknownthen

Whatwouldhappenlateron

Iwould’vehuggedthemtighter

Beforetheyweregone -Marielle Tambong ‘24

10 years

in10yearsihopeistillknowthesecurvesintheroadandthe samepeopleiknewinhighschoolandthatmyparentsstilllove meallthesame.

thatidon’tlosetouchandinolongerstruggletowashmyhair. andisincerelyhopethesamepetsarealiveandicontinueto lovethesameeyeskindlyandtheyreturnitwithjoy. ihopei’mhappywhenigetthereandthati’llrememberallof those10years.

-Charlotte Acks ‘24

Leah Wentworth, ‘24

Bird

Youmakemefeellikeabird.Small.BeforeImetyouIhadjustlearnedhowtofly,andforawhilewe flewtogether.UntilIsawyouforwhatyouwere.Youweren’tabirdlikeme,butratherahawk.Youpreyed onmebecausecomparedtoyouIwassmallandweak,easyprey.Butno,youweren’texactlyahawkeither. Youwereabirdwatcher,youlikedtothinkyourselfabirdexpert.Youwatchedandadmiredmefromafar. Youadmiredmybeak,myfeathers,mywings.Youlikedthemsomuchyoucouldn’tletanyoneelseseethem, otherwisethey’dwantmetoo,andnoonecouldhavemebutyou.Youtoldmetheworldwasn’tsafefora littlebirdielikeme,thatIwassaferwithyou.Youheldoutacageandtoldmetoflyintoit.Ididn'tknow thatwouldbethelasttimeIflew.Mywingsthatonceattractedyoustartedtoscareyou,youthoughtI’d trytoflyaway.IpromisedyouIwouldn’t,Icouldn’tinacage.Butyoupersisted,soIletyouclipmywings.I wouldneverflyagain.

Otherbirdscamelookingforme,worriedaboutmysuddenwithdrawalfromtheworld.Isang,happyto seethem,butthatmadeyouangry.Mysongwasreservedforonlyyou.Dayandnightyoubeggedmetosing foryou.AndsoIsang,butitwasneverenough.Ididn’tputinmyall,you’dsay,Imustnotloveyouanymore, you’dsay,Imustbesingingtootherbirds,you’dconclude.Istoppedsinging–Ididn’tknowhowtobearound youanymore.

WithoutmywingsandvoiceIhadnothing,soIslept.Butevensleepwasn’tsomethingyouallowedme.You remindedmeofhowwellyoutakecareofme,andsaidthattheleastIcoulddowasstayawakeforyou.I can’trememberthelasttimeIreallyslept.

OhhowmuchIwishIcouldsleep,sing,andflyawayfromyou.ButI’vecometoloveyoumorethanIlove myself.

-Isabella Steinmetz ‘24

Untitled Dogs by Lady Roxane

Crows,ohcrows,sodarkandwise, Ialwaysseeyouinthesky, withdarkblackfeathers, andapiercingbeak, Idreamaboutyouinmysleep. IwishImay, IwishIwill, seeadaywhereyoudon’tkill.

Dayafterday,nightafternight. Whenwillyouevergiveupthefight. You’resobeautiful,blackangelsinthesky, howcomeIonlyseeyouwhensomeonedies yourpitchblackeyespierceinmysoul Ialwayshatetoseeyougo. Justanotherminutetositandtalk anotherhourtohearyoursong. anotherdaygorgeous, anotherdaywithyou. Hopefullywecrosspathssometimesoon.

-Danica Dunevant ‘24

“Ignorance is Bliss” Wescoat, ‘24

Adopted

Mytinyunwantedchildren

Youfollowmeinspiteofmywishes AndIwatchwithunwantedinterest.

Youcravemynourishment,invademyspace Ihurtyou.Iforceyouaway. Iammadatyou. Andstill,youcomeback. Parasitesofcomfort. Myunwantedchildren.

You,myblackgardenants,Iamforcedtotakeinasmyown. -Wescoat ‘24

“Letting Off Steam” Wescoat, ‘24

andifyou’dlisteni’daskyou wherethestarsputtheir loosechangeandwhy caterpillarshavesomanylegs butnoarmsandhowpeople cangotheirwholelives withoutholdingsomeone’s hand. butyoukeepyourearsshut. soikeepmymouthclosed.

-Charlotte Acks ‘24

Free Writing

“The Hand That Feeds You” Wescoat, ‘24

Oranges

Iwouldgiveupmykidneyforanorange

O,ohsoamazing

R,reallyreallydelicious

A,awesomeineveryway

N,nothypedupenough

G,gratefulforlovelyoranges

E,extremelyorange

S,simplyoneofthebestfruits

ThatiswhyIwouldgiveupmykidney

Forthebestfruit

Oranges

-Lauren Alkins ‘27

Pickles - A Tanka Poem Ilovegarlickypickles

Crispylittleflavoredcukes

I Can’t Believe It

Youglisteninthelight,apalebeaconofbeauty. Smooth,sleek.Persuasive,charismatic.Tempting,flavorful.

Honeysweet,even.

Acompoundofmanyfaces.Infusedwithvitaminsofcraving.Youtakemany forms,eachofwhichsuityourobjectofdesire.Yourtarget.

Yousweatintheheatofthelight,mushingandmelting. Slippery,rigid.Deceptive,unsightly.Greasy,repulsive.

Yourbeautyissubjective.Farfromsweet.

Aloneyoustandunsavorytomost;yourappealisfoundwithinonlytheability toblendwithothers.Tobecodependentonamyriadofingredients.Your traitsaresolelyofwhatothershaveprovidedyou,achurnedmaterialof waste.

Alone,youareamessofoily,disgustingfilth.Itisinyournature.Iam ashamedtohavelovedyou.

Fried, dried, lied. Saltedwithfraudulence.

Youhavewrongedme.Youhavesickenedme.Youhavepoisonedme.Filledmy veinswithgunk,myheartwithsludge.

Andyourworsttrait?NomatterhowhardItrytoleaveyou, Ican’t.Yourbrinycharmswoome,asIamdrawntowhatothersfind detestable.Yourversatility,compatibility,adaptability.

Inspiteofmyshame, Ican’tdeny, thatIreallydoloveyou,mystickofLandO’Lakessaltedbutter. -Wescoat, ‘24

I Dressed Wrong for a Spirit Day

Boyohboy!Adressdownday!

Isureamhappytobewearing

Myfavoriteschoolshirtandpants!

I’minthelinenow,waitingtogetout

Ofmymom’scarandintotheschool!

Wait…whydoesnooneelsehavepantson?

Strange…

Ohno…it’smyworstschoolnightmare!

It’sonlyhalfdressdowntoday!

AndI’minsweatpants!

Nolevelofsweatpantcomfort

Canconsoleme,asIwalkwith Pantedlegsinaseaofskirtsandbucks. Myhearthasneverknownsuchembarrassment.

Untitled by Eserine

Oscillating Fans

4bladessculptedinacage

Standingwatchthroughoutthenight

It’sliketime;steady

Don’tweallwishtobemotorizedsometimes?

Apushofabuttonisonandoff

Sosimple

Butsocomplex

Asimpleworking

Butsointricate

Andyetourworstenemyinthewinter

Nobodywantstheblowofcoldinawishingtime

Ofonlywarmth

Butwhenwewantwarmth

Wecancold

Neverdecidingwhichtohave Onlygoingwithwhateverblowthefangives Arestlesstool

Watchingusrest

Andwhenitrests

Nobodyishome

MaddisonDennis“24

Shewasthepartiesthatshethrew, Fullofelationandpeopleshethoughtshecaredabout,but Shealwayslockedherselfawayinherroom. Sheneverthoughtsheneededtoorganizeitbetter.

Eacheventwassobusyandshortand Noonecaredifitwaspoorlyplanned.

Ifthecakewastoodry, Ifthepoolwastoosalty, Orifthewinewastoosweet,and Theycouldn’tcarelessifshewaseventhere.

Theonlythingtheycaredaboutwas Iftherewasn’tenoughcocktails, Iftheballoonsweren’tinflatedenough, Oriftherewasn’tenoughmusic.

Theyleftherestatetrashed. Whenthelastpersonhadleft,shecleanedupand Preparedforitsdestructionagainthenextnight.

Ifonlyshewouldrealizeshedidn’thavetothrowtheseparties. Themajorityofpeopleinvitedthemselves,letaloneevenknewher.

Shedidn’tcareenoughtotellthemtoleave. Sheknewtheywouldn’tanyways.

Shedidn’tneedtopleasetheguests, Shecouldhavestoppedatanytimeshewanted,but Shepersevered.

Eventhoughtheseguestswerethepickiest, Whoalwayscomplainedabouttherebeingtoomuchofsomething, Shedidn’tmindtoomuchthattheystayedtoolong.

Shekeptthrowingherparties, Unsuspectingtothefactthatbythis,she,likeaflower,wasslowlywitheringaway.

“Reflection,” Wescoat, ‘24

Surprising Similarities: Swimming and Playing the Violin

“ThisistheWomen's200IM.”*whistleblows*(stepupontheblock).“Swimmers,takeyourmark…”BEEP! Good dive! Okay, let’s pace ourselves because it’s butterfly. We can’t go too slow, though. How is the person next to me so good at fly?

“Welcometoauditions!Iseeinyourapplicationthatyou’llbeplayingTheFourSeasonsbyVivaldiforyoursolopiece.Youcan startwheneveryou’reready!

Don’t forget…lots of expressions in this piece. You can twist the tempo in the beginning a little. Use a lot of vibrato. Save space in your bow, so you can hold the note longer.

Don’tforgetatwo-handtouch!Okay,good.Now,we’reonbackstroke,thankgod.Thisisyourbeststroke,solet’spickupthe pace.Therearetheflags!Don’tforgetyourstrokecount,soyoucanflip…1,2,3TURN…okay…thatwasn’tbad,butitwasalittle tooclosetothewall. Here comes the high notes. Shift to sixth position! Okay, that shift was a little sharp, but don’t worry. Now you ’ re in the high register. Be careful when going over to the E string. You don’t want to hit the other strings. Use bigger and faster bows for a nicer tone.

Rotateyourshouldersmore,pullthewater,andfollowthrough!Yes,wearehalfwaydone!Now,we’reonbreaststroke.Takeyour pulloutniceandeasy.Donottaketoomanystrokes,justglide!Don’tgetdisqualified.

This is the big moment of the piece! Slowly get louder and louder. Keep the vibrato going. Use your wrist more to save some energy. Now, for the next movement. This is a fast movement, so make sure the difference is noticeable. Keep up with the tempo. Make sure the sixteenth notes are even. Use short bows. Be careful with the accidentals, and make sure the notes are in tune.

I’msotired,butwe’reonthefinaltwolaps!It’sfreestyle!

We’re almost at the end of the piece. Slow down to make it dramatic.

Useupanyremainingenergy!Kickfaster,pullthewater!Let’sfinishstrong.Keepyourheaddown,andslamyourhandonthe board! Take

I’vebeencompetitivelyswimmingyear-roundandplayingtheviolinforaslongasIcanremember. Growingup,itwouldbeschool,hoursofswimpracticeafterschoolalmosteveryday,swimmeetsthat

takeuptheentiredayfor2-3days,andviolinlessonswithmyprivateteachereveryweek. Inmiddleschool,however,Iquityear-roundswimming.Now,IswiminthewinterseasonforCatholic High,practice3timesaweek,haveorchestrarehearsaleveryweek,andstillhaveprivateviolinlessons.

Thesetwohobbiesaredrasticallydifferent.Besidesthefactthatoneisall SPLASH, WHOOSH, SWOOSH, andtheotherisDO,RE,MI,Ihavedistinctandcontrastingsidesofmyselfforthetwo. AlthoughI’mfairlyseriousduringbotharaceandarecital,Iammorestrictwithmyselfwhenitcomes toswimmingsimplybecausethereislessroomforerror.Forexample,ifIfalsestartornotdoatwohandtouchwhenI’msupposedto,itwillbeextremelynoticeable,andIwilleasilybedisqualified.With playingtheviolin,however,ifit’sasolopiece,Icanmakeslightchangestothetempo,orifI’mplaying withanorchestra,oneout-of-tunenotewon’tbenoticeable,astherearealotofsoundstocoverit.

Ultimately,playingtheviolinallowsmetobemoreflexible,whichisoneofthereasonswhyIhavea greaterpassionfortheviolincomparedtoswimming.Idon’twanttoblatantlydemonstratefavoritism, asbothhobbiesplayanimmenseroleinmylife,butIlikehowtheviolinallowsmetomakechoices,be attentivetodetail,andbeexpressive.Iamabletolearnandinterpretacomposer’spiece,playitina stylethateitherdisplaysthecomposer’soriginalintentionorconveysmyownperspective,andthen moveontopracticeanotherone.Withtheviolin,thereisalonglistofnewthingstolearn,suchas techniques,styles,positions,fingerings,bowings,andrhythms.Evenwhenyouthinkyou’vegotallthese thingsdown,you’llenduplookingatyournextpiecethinking“Whatisthis?”Swimming,ontheother hand,actsasmycomfortzone.Idon’tneedtotrynewthingsorbeadventurouswithit,sinceIknow therules,strokes,techniques,anddrills.Insteadoflearningsomethingneweachpractice,Ibuildupon andpracticethesamefourstrokestoincreasespeedandendurance.Inthissense,swimmingissafer andmorecomfortable.AlthoughI’mmoreseriouswithonemorethantheotherormoreexpressive withoneovertheother,swimmingandplayingtheviolinendupbalancingmylifestyle.

Asidefrommypersonalfeelingsbetweenthetwo,theyarefundamentallyandnaturallydifferent.In swimming,youcanuseakickboard,pullbuoy,snorkel,fins,orpaddles,dependingonwhatyouwantto strengthen,butwithplayingtheviolin,it’sjustyou,yourviolin,andyourbow.However,thepointof usingakickboardorpullbuoyistofocusonexercisingandcritiquingtheformofaparticularbody part(legsforkickboard,armsforpullbuoy).Thistechniquecanalsobeusedwiththeviolin.Ifyouare confusedwiththefingeringofapiece,youcanjustfocusonyourlefthand,orifyouareconfused withthebowingofapiece,youcanjustfocusonyourrighthand.Furthermore,inswimming,it’s commontopracticeastrokeatacomfortablespeedbeforesprinting,whichisanalogoustotheway youslowlyworkuptoafasttempowhenplayingtheviolin.Lastly,inswimming,youpracticethesame fourstrokesinordertostrengthenenduranceandform.Thisconceptissimilartothemosteffective drillwithplayingtheviolin:repetition(playingasmallsectionoverandoveragain).Ifyouwanttospice thingsup,youcanevenplayitindifferentandmoredifficultrhythms,sotheoriginalrhythmappears easier.Forinstance,ifitwassomethinglikeLADIDADIDA,youcanpracticeitasLADIDADIDA. Alltheseexamplesweretodemonstratehowthetwoactivitieshavesimilarstrategies,despitethe contrastingwaysinwhichthey’reapplied.Inabroaderperspective,anathleteneedstotrainto improvetheirskillssimilartohowamusicianneedstopracticeregularlytoimprovetheirtechnique. Bothindividualsmuststickanddedicatethemselvestoeitheratrainingorpracticescheduleinorder toachievetheirrespectivegoals.Thepointis,althoughthetwohobbiesareclearlydistinctfromone anotherintermsofspecificdetails,theydooverlapinaspectsthatcanbeseenfromdifferentangles. Anotherexampleofthis:teamwork.Swimmingismoreofanindividualsport,butthepointsyougain dependingonwhatplaceyouearncontributestotheoverallgoaloftheswimteam…towin.Playingthe violin,ontheotherhand,typicallyinvolvesbeingpartofanensembleororchestra,whereyouplaywith othermusicianstodisplayabeautifulperformancetogether.Technicallyspeaking,thetwoare different,butbothinvolveteamworkandcollaboration,nonetheless.

ThemostcommonsimilarityIhavebetweenswimmingandplayingtheviolin,however, ismylove-haterelationshipwiththem.ThoughIlovetheadrenalineyougetwhen you ’reinthezone,thestrugglestostaythere,likeaddingtimeinaraceordisrupting theflowofthepiece,areequallyasfrustrating.Samefeeling,differentsituation. Nevertheless,theybothtakealotoftime,discipline,andpatience.Continuously addingtime,beingunabletoplayacertainspotinapiece,andworkingsoincredibly hardtodropmerelyonesecondortomakelittleimprovementcaneasilysparka mentalblock,amentalityinwhichyoustarttobelieveyoucan’tdosomethingwhen youknowyoucanorwhenyoubelieveallyoureffortsarewastedwhentheyaren’t.

Bothhobbiesarephysicallytiring,butplayingthesemindgamesorwrestlingwith yourmindtogetitinthecorrectspaceareonadifferentlevel.Swimmingandplaying theviolinbothrequirefocus,concentration,thinkingahead,apositiveattitude,and thehealthykindofpressure.Keepingthismindsetdespitetheunsatisfyingresultsis, inmyopinion,themostdifficultpartofitall.Itiseasytofallintopessimistic pressure,asacommitmenttoasportoraninstrumentdirectlyconnectstothis endlesscycleofwinningandlosing,whereunpredictabilityexists,andinevitability ceasestoexist.Thegoodnewsisthatitisalwayspossibletorecoverfromaslump, butthatmeansthatitisjustaspossibletoloseawinningstreak.Thereisnevera guaranteedchanceofsuccess,andhowyouchoosetorespondtothisfactiswhat’s ultimatelyimportant.Maintainingabalancedlevelofpassionandfrustration,aswell asconfidenceandhumilityisequallyascriticalasmaintainingagoodphysiqueor form.

IadmitthattherewereandaretimesthatIwantedtogiveitallupforgood.Infact,inmiddle school,thelove-haterelationshipIhadwithyear-roundswimmingwasnolongerbalanced.Ihated howIkepthyperventilating,howIkeptworryingandstressingoveratime,andhowaffectedmy eczemawasduetothechlorine.Inpractice,Icouldn’tbemorethankfulifIgot10secondsofrest betweensetsoriftherewasathunderstormandeveryonehadtogetoutofthepool.Thisbuild-up ledtomequittingsomethingIusedtoloveandtakinga1-2yearbreak.Ididn’tthinkIwasgoingto getbackintoituntilIbecamepartoftheCatholicHighswimteam.TheloveIhadforswimming regenerated,andtheratiobecameevenagain.Ineverquitplayingtheviolin,butI’vedefinitelyhad experienceswheremypatiencewasfleeting:notgettingthechairIwantedinanorchestra,not seeinganysignsofprogress,spendingweeksononepiece,spendinghoursrecordingforanonline audition,andpretendinglikemybackandshoulderaren’tinpainuntiltheendoftheperformance. Clearly,swimmingandplayingtheviolinhasitsupsanddowns,butitsimplyfeelsgoodtocontinueto dosomethingIstartedwhenIwasyoung.Thankfully,swimmingandplayingtheviolinendupbeing morecomplementarythaninterdependent,andwiththeincorporationofbalance–balancebetween thetwolifestyles(andwithotherpriorities),myloveandhatefeelings,andmypassionand

frustration–Iwon’tgiveup.

Totellyouthetruth,myoriginalideaforthisstorywastoexemplifythetwoverydifferentand separatelivesIliveasaswimmerandviolinist.Tomysurprise,however,Ifoundthatmostofthe differencesIdiscoveredbetweenthetwoactivitiesendedupconnectingtoacommonsimilarity.It becameeasiertothinkaboutwhattheyhadincommonasopposedtowhattheydon’t,especially whenIreflectedonnotonlythefundamentalaspectsofthetwo,butalsoonthechallengesthat gotmetowhereIamandthechallengesthatcontinuetostickwithme.

ToniTan‘25

The Journey of Journaling

I have kept a journal for the past 6 years. Since middle school, I have felt a continuous need to record what happens in my day, my feelings, random anecdotes, etc. Some people document their life through photos—I choose the more time-consuming route of writing everything down. In a book I recently read, Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion, I was struck by one essay called On Keeping a Notebook. Didion writes about the purpose of journals and why she keeps one.“Keepers of private notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant re-arrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss,” she says. I feel the same as Didion—born with a need for permanence, a calling for analysis and contemplation.

A neurotic perfectionist.

She sometimes lies to herself about why she keeps a notebook, saying she “imagine[s] that some thrifty virtue derives from preserving everything observed.” While she writes about things that seem arbitrary, like the conversation she overheard between strangers in a hotel or a lesson someone told her about failed fashion models, she believes the point of her writing these anecdotes down is to remember what these seemingly arbitrary instances mean to her. Didion says that writing in a journal is inherently egotistical, as it is a private record of our own perspective. Egotistical usually has a negative connotation—one of selfishness, vanity, and narcissism. However, in this instance, I believe that the word means self-determination. A journal is a place where one can examine their actions, or the actions of others, and reflect on their decisions. It is a place where one can offer gratitude for the positive things in their lives, scratch down the argument they are dying to open up about, or record an otherwise boring day that can later be looked upon with nostalgia. A notebook allows us to have a dialogue with ourselves from the future—to look back on the “good old days” or “worst days of our lives” exactly how we experienced them at the time and examine them through the point of view we have now. As Didion puts it, journals help us keep in touch with ourselves.

Sensation par Arthur Rimbaud

Par les soirs bleus d’été j’irai dans les sentiers, Picoté par les blés, fouler l’herbe menue : Rêveur, j’en sentirai la fraicheur à mes pieds.

Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.

Je ne parlerai pas ; je ne penserai rien. Mais l’amour infini me montera dans l’âme ; Et j’irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,

Par la Nature,—heureux comme avec une femme

Sensation translated by Gina Marie Brennan

Under the blue summer skies, I will take the road Prickled by the wheat, trampling in the grass Look, I feel cool dew beneath my toes I relent, the wind my bare head wraps

I will no longer speak, I will no longer think

But love comes and I rise from the brink

And I will go far, beyond far, scorning rules from above

Under nature, whole as if with my love

Gina Marie Brennan ‘24

Lady Roxane

Lady Roxane

TranslatorNotes:

Tome,wearealltranslators.Wetakeabstractsensationsandmoldthemintosomethingpalatableandsavory.Penscrapesagainst paperasourmindsswimwithideas,discardingaphrasehereandaddinganotherthere;withit,wequantifytheimmeasurable.Evenin personalrelationships,simplespeechisoftentimesameticulouspickingthroughofemotions.Thechilling,heavyweightoffearagainst one’sbonesisdecompartmentalizedintoasimplephrase:I’mafraid.Nuancebeingaluxuryfewcanafford,wescramblefortheright words,silentlybeggingotherstonotturntheirbacksasweexposeourinnermostfeelings.Thistranslation,inasense,isatakingback ofthiseloquencethatsubjectivityhasstolen.

WhenIfirstreadSensation,Ihadtosoundouteachwordinordertocapturetherhymescheme(ABAB/CCDD,forthose wondering).Noothertranslationofthispoemhasputthisattheforefront,andwhilerhymingisoftenviewedaselementarytoday,it wasintegraltothisspecificpiece,andIhadtomakemanyconcessionstofititin(seeLine7,inwhichtheliteraltranslationofthe latterhalfis“likeabohemian”).Thatbeingsaid,mostphrasesaremoreorlessaccuratetotheoriginalFrenchandcapturethepure lovefornaturethatRimbaudputsout.Ironically,though,hismostfamouswork,ASeasoninHell,completelyabandonsthissimplicity, insteadoptingtofocusonthelarge,existentialproblemsthathadplaguedhim,suchassuicideandalcoholism.

Inadditiontothis,certainwordsintheoriginalFrenchwouldnotresonateinthesamemattertothisaudienceaswasintended.For example,thefinallineliterallymeans,“Content,likewithawoman.”Inorderforittoresonatewithanadolescent,all-femalepopulace, Iwantedtoinvokeamoreplatonicandcyclicalidea,soasnottoalienatetheaudience.Thus,Ichangedcontenttowholeandwomanto love.

Ifnothingelse,Ihopeyoucansensethelovebetweentheselines.Rimbaud’slifewasfilledwithanguish,pain,andfear,butstillmuch goodremained.Friends,family,andcompletestrangersgatheredtogethertopublishhisworksafterhisdeathat37.Thispiece, thoughlackingthecomplexityofhismorefamousworks,insteadilluminatesourhumannaturetoloveandappreciatebeauty,whether thatbethesunshiningagainstourfaceorsimple,goodpoetry.

The True Treasure

Finally,afteryearsofsearching,shehadfoundit.Theonlyknownwaytosavethehumanracewasjustinchesawayfromherface.Thefruitofher laborwaswithinreach.Sheexaminedit,ensuringthathereyeshadnotdeceivedher.Herentirelifehadleduptothismoment;shewouldfinally beenvisionedastheheroshehadalwayshopedtobe.

Sheknewitwasverylikelythatthistreasurewasthelastofitskind.Itsorangefloweringbuds,itseemed,werereachingoutjustforher.Its brightpurplethornspromisedmorehopethandanger. Itwastightlywedgedbetweenthesaphirebluestonesthatmadeupthecaveencompassing her.Thisplanetoffluorescentswasthelastplanetofmanythatshehadsetouttosearch;perhapsitshouldhavebeenthefirst.

“Theflower,”Pollysaid,barelybelievingthewordsthatwereabouttoescapeherlips,“hasbeendetected”Shecontinuedintohertwo-wayradio, “Iwillnowbegintheextractionprocedure.”Hercrew,backonthespaceship,remainedspeechless,mostlikelyshockedbythewordstheynever thoughttheywouldhear.Pollyknewtherewasnolongertimetogazeatthedazzlingflowershehadjustdiscovered.

Theprocedurewentsmootherthanexpected,andPollyquicklybegantomakeherwaytothespaceship,preciousblossominhand.Shestepped brisklybutcarefullyassheknewshewouldneverdeliveramorepricelesspackage.Shehadtogettotheshiptoplanttheflowerinthenutrient richsoilthatwouldkeepitfromwitheringawayonthetripbacktoEarth.Oncetheplantarrived,scientistswouldreproducemillionsofthesame flowerandutilizeallofitshealingproperties.Withouttheflower,humanitywouldbeentirelywipedoutbydiseaseoverthecourseofthenexttwo years.

Herfeetsunkthroughthefuchsiaslime-likesurfacewitheverystep.Shewatchedforthecolorfulspikesthatwereunderfoot.Somespikeswere onlyaninchtall,othersweretallerthanPollyherself.OneparticularrubyredspikecaughtPolly’seyeasittwinkledwiththelightofthemany moonssurroundingit.Luckilyshedidn’tsteponit,asthatrantheriskofpuncturingherspacesuitandsendingpoisonthroughherbody.Despite theplanet’swelcomingcolors,itwasaplaceofdangerandpotentialdemise.

Shewasonly100feetfromthespaceshipwhenPolly’slifechangedforever.Pollywassofocusedonthemissionathandthatshealmostdidn’t noticethetealslimycreatureblockingherpath.Thecreature’slimegreenknuckle-hairreachedthefloor,anditsgoldenantler-likehornspierced thehumidair.AlthoughthecreaturelookedconsiderablyoddtoPolly,sheknewherbubbleofaspacesuitmusthavemadeherlookunusualaswell, threateningeven.Alocalofthisbeautifulplanetwasnotsomethingcommonlyseenbyinterplanetaryprospectors.

“Whatisthatcreaturedoingthere?”Pollywondered,“Shouldn’titbehidingliketherestofthem?Whyisn’titafraidofme?”Itwasonlythenthat Pollyrealizedhowmalnourishedthecreaturewas Shenoticedhowfatigueditwas Sheknewitwasinnoconditiontoattackher

TheshufflingbehindthecreatureonlyconfirmedPolly’sconcerns.Asmallercreature,almostcertainlytheoffspringofthefirst,steppedoutfrom behind,revealingthatitwasevenmoreemaciatedthanitsmother.Thesecreaturesweren’tjusthungry,theyweresick.Sickwiththesamedisease thathadspreadtomuchofthegalaxy.Theywereinfectedwiththesamediseaseasthehumans,andtheywouldneedthesameantidote;the preciousflower.

NowPollyknewwhythecreaturesremainedbeforeher.Theyhadnothingtolose.Theirkindhadobviouslyhadthediseaseformuchlongerthan humanshad.Withouttheflowertheirspecieswouldlikelydiebeforetheendofthemonth.Thealienswerenotheretofight,theywerehereasa lastresort.Theywereheretobeg.

Pollyhadadecisiontomake,anditwouldbethehardestthingsheeverhadtodo.Shecouldeasilytaketheflowerselfishlybacktotheship,and continueonasifnothinghadhappened.Shecouldsavethehumanraceattheexpenseof,arguably,themostuniquespeciesalive.Or,shecould savethecreaturesandhopethehumansfoundanotherway.Shecouldcrossherfingerstightandhopeforthebestforherspecies,assuredthat shehadsavedanother.Itwasonlyguaranteedthatonespecieswouldsurvive,andshehadtodecidewhich.

Pollyfoundherwaybacktothespaceshipdeeplysaddenedbytheconsequencesofherdecision.Sheopenedthedoor,inspectingtheexcitedfaces ofhercrew.Sheclimbedaboard,andthecrew’ssmilesmeltedastheynoticedPolly’sexpression.Herfacewasgloomy,buthereyesremained hopeful.“Falsealarm.Missionfailed.We’llgetitnexttime.”Pollyspitthewordsswiftly,astomaketheblowasquickaspossible.Withsmallsad smiles,thecrewgotreadyfortakeoff.

Backonthebeautifulplanetoffluorescents,thecreaturesstoodwatchingthespaceshipexittheiratmosphere.Thebrightorangeflowerwasheld gentlybutfirmlyinthesmallercreature’shands Theyfinallyhadtheantidote,thankstothemostselflessinterplanetaryprospectoralive,andthe truetreasureofherkindness.

“Comfort Space” Toni Tan, ‘25

Split Beginnings

“Hi,I’mHannah,doyouwannabemybestfriend?”asmallgirlwithfieryhairandaloudIrishaccentsaidtoMerian.

“Umm…sure,I’mMerian,”Merianreplied,wonderingwhythisgirlwasapproachingher,theshyoneoutofalltherestofthekids.

Twirlingherhairintoamessybun,Hannahsays,“OKgood,mymomsaysthatIshouldusesomeofmyextroverted-nessandbefriendswithshykidslike you…Ican’twaittobeyourfriend,Idon’thavemanyfriends,peoplethinkI’mtooenergetic.Howaboutyou?AreyoufromIreland,youdon’tsoundlike youhaveanIrishaccent.Idon’tlikeschool,doyou?Youlooklikeyouaresmart,doyougetgoodgrades?”Hannahasked,notrealizingthatshewasasking questionsandneverallowingMeriantoanswer.

“Um,no,no,yes,yes,”Meriananswered,tryingtoholdbackalaugh.ShecaughtHannah’seyeandtheybothlaughedasMeriansaid,“Ithinkwewillbegood friends.”

Fast Forward 8 Years…

“Yououghttogetgoingnow,dear,”Hannah’smothershoutedfromthekitchen.

“Wa-what?Isittimetogo?AmIlate?”sheasked,franticallysearchingthroughherdisasterofaroomtofindherphone.Checkingthetime,Hannah realizedthatthetaxitheyarrangedtotakeherintothecitywasduetoarrivein2minutes.Sherantothebathroom,yellingthroughamouthfulof toothpaste,“Howlongwouldittakeforyoutodrivemeintothecity?”

Hannah’smomwalkeduptoherdaughter’sroomandgaveherthatlookofannoyancewhenachildmakeslifewaytoodifficultfortheirparents.“Aboutthe sameamountoftimethatitwouldtakeforataxi.Ifyouhadnotpulledthatprank,youwouldhavebeenabletodriveyourself.Ah,butnevermindyou neverwouldhavegottenupearlyenoughanyway,”Hannah’smomsaidasshetauntedherwiththecarkeys.

Pullingonherboots,Hannahemergedfromthebathroomsaying,“Waytooharsh,Mom.Itwasonlyalittlespraypaint,”butshecutoffashermother narrowedhereyesather.“Ok,fine,Ijustneedtogetmyphonecharger,andthenwecango.”

However,hermomgrabbedherhandsaying,“Notime,weneedtoleavenowifyouaregoingtogetthereontime.”Seeingherdaughterrollhereyes,she said,“Noexcusesfromyou,thiswasthedeal.Ifyoudonotgetthisscholarship,youaregoingtogetajobandpayyourwaythroughcollege-andyesyou havetogotocollege.Youcan'tjustgototheskateparkeverynight,youhavetogetaneducation,ajob,andmoveoutsothatIcanmaintainsomeofthe sanityIstillpossess.”Hermompausedforasecondandthensaid,“Nowgetoutthereandcrushit,sister!”

2 Hours Earlier...

Merianfeltahandonhershoulderastheflightattendanttoldher,“Wearelanding,welcometoIreland!”

Rubbingthesleepoutofhereyes,shelookedoutthewindow,tryingnottofreakoutthatshewasonanairplanethousandsofmilesabovesolidground.As theylanded,Merianclosedhereyes,tryingtonotthinkbackonthelasttimeshewasonaplanefromIreland,3yearsago.Forthepast3years,Merian hasbeeninEngland,attendingsecondaryschoolandtakingcareofherfather,whogotsickduringhertimeinIreland.However,asofacoupleofdaysago, shehasdecidedtogoandlivewithherauntandattenduniversityinIrelandattheUniversityofBerlinCity.ButMerianisveryafraidthatherdadwill getevensickerandshewillnotbeabletotakecareofhim.Pushingthesethoughtsaside,Merianfocusedonthegoalathand:conductinganamazing interviewandgettingthescholarship.Thehospitalbillsforherfather’streatmenthadbeenpilingupandthesmallamountofmoneyhermotherleftthem wasquicklyrunningout.Theonlywayforhertogotouniversitywastogetthisscholarship;ifnot,itwasbacktoLondontogetajobandtakecareofher dad.Lostinherthoughts,heranxietywentawayasshewastoodistractedtonoticetheplanelanding.Merianretrievedherbagfromtheoverheadbin andexitedtheplane,walkingintotheterminal.Aftergoingthroughcustomsandretrievingherbag,shewalkedoutsidetheairportsearchingforataxi thatwouldtakehertoheraunt’shouse.

35 Minutes Later…

“Hellochild,skirtdown,shouldersup,”herauntsnappedatherassoonasshegotoutofthecar.Merianwalkeduptoherandgaveheranonearmhug, embracingherasifshewereaninfectiousdisease.ShequicklyletgoandhurriedMerianinside,saying,“Youshouldputyourhairinabun,itismore professionalandasofrightnow,youlookhomeless.”Internallygroaning,Merianfollowedherupstairsasshedirectedhertotheguestroomshewouldbe stayinginuntilshewasnotifiedoftheresultsofthescholarship.

Asherauntlefttheroom,Meriansaidtoher,“Thankyouforallowingmetostayhere,AuntMarlene.Iamtrulygratefulforyourhospitality.”Exitingwith onlyasmallnodinresponse,shewatchedherauntandwonderedhowthetwosisterscouldbesodifferent.Merian’smotherhadbeenakind,warmperson whoonlyeverexpectedthebestofeveryone.However,hersister,Marlene,wasthecompleteopposite-stern,cold,andbelievingthateveryonewould eventuallydisappointher.Followingheraunt’ssuggestion,shedidherhairandgotdressed,hopingtochannelherinnertotally-deserving-a-great-universityscholarship-because-she-has-great-grades-and-personality-self.

Eventhoughitwouldonlytake45minutestogettoDublinCityUniversity,andMerian’sinterviewwasat10:00am,sheleftassoonasshecouldtoavoid morepleasantconversationswithheraunt.

9:45 AM...

RunninguptowardsthemainentranceofBerlinCityUniversity,Hannahbumpedintoagirlaroundheragewhowasdressedasthoughshewerea50-year-old professor.Shouting,“OUTOFTHEWAY,SORRY,EXCUSEME,”toseveralconcernedcollegestudents,Hannahthrewopenthedoortotheuniversityand ranuptothesecretary’sdesk,breathingheavilyandasking,“Here-for-interview,-which-way?”Thesecretarysimplypointedtoadoorbehindherwherea manstoodtherecheckinghiswatchandtappinghisfootimpatiently.Mentallypreparingherselfforalecture,Hannahthankedthesecretaryandwalkedover towhatshewassurewasimpendingdoom.

Assheapproachedtheman,hesaidtoher,“Fiveminuteslate,notstartingoffwellnowareweMissDale?”

“Yes,Ithinknot,”Hannahrepliedunderherbreath,rollinghereyes.Thisinterviewwasawasteoftime,shewasnotthestudentforwhichthesepeople werelookingtopayforcollege.

Themansmiledatherandsaid,“Iwasonlyjoking,MissDale.Afterall,Ididnotbothertoevenshowuptomycollegescholarshipinterview.IamMr.Miller, Iwillbeconductingyourinterview.Pleasefollowme.”

Hannah’smouthdroppedasshefollowedMr.Miller.Shesurehadnotexpectedthatkindness.

15 Minutes Later...

Merianhadbeensittinginthelobbyfor10minutespanicking.Someothergirldressedinrippedblackjeansandcombatbootshadrunintoherandknocked hertotheground,causingMeriantoriphertightsandbreakaheelintheprocess.Tryingtoholdbacktears,Merianhadwalked(aswellasonecanwhen onlywearingoneshoe)intothelobbyandwasgreetedbyakindsecretarywhohelpedcalmherdownuntilamanandtheverygirlwhohadrunintoher emergedfromanoffice.Thegirlshooktheman’shandwalkedovertothelobbyandsatdown,ignoringMerian. Shewaspulledfromherthoughtsasthemansaid,“MerianFitzgibbons?”

Gettingupfromherchair,Merianwalkedovertotheman,butasshewasenteringtheoffice,sheturnedaroundandfoundthattheotherapplicantwas staringatherinshock.Pushingherthoughtsaway,shewalkedintotheofficeputtingonherbestgameface.

Meanwhile in the lobby…

TherewasnowaythatHannahhadheardMr.Millercorrectly,thatgirl’snamecouldnotbeMerianFitzgibbons.Evenifitwas,Hannahassuredherselfthat “MerianFitzgibbons”wasaverycommonnameandtherewasnowayintarnationthatthisgirlwasherchildhoodbestfriendthatshehadn'tseenin3years, right?Finally,after10minutesofreassuringherself,Hannahconcludedthatitcouldn'tbeher.However,asthegirlemergedfromtheoffice,therewasno denyingit,thegirlwasHannah'sformerbestfriend.WalkingoverwithMerian,Mr.MillerstoppedinfrontofHannahandaddressedbothofthegirlssaying, “IwillgetbacktobothofyoubyTuesdayofnextweek,lettingyouknowtheresultsoftheinterview.Goodday,ladies.”AsMr.Millerturnedtoleave,a mysteriousyoungmanwalkedinandapproachedtheprofessor,whothenusheredhimintohisoffice.Distractedbywhathadjusthappened,Hannahturned aroundtotalktoMerian,butMerianhadleftthelobby.Runningoutofthebuilding,HannahdesperatelysearchedforMerian,butcouldnotfindher. One week later…

TherehadbeennoresponsefromMr.MillerandMerianhadstartedtofreakout,believingthatshehadnotgottenthescholarshipand theothergirlhadreceivedit.ButMr.Millerhadtoldherthathewouldemailher,eitherway.Meriandecidedtosearchthroughherold emailsandfindtheotherapplicant’semailtoaskiftheyhadheardfromMr.Millerandifso,congratulateheronthesuccess.Merian emailedtheotherapplicantthinkingthatitwasjustamistakethatMr.Millerhadnotemailedher.

5 Minutes Later…

MuchtoMerian’ssurprise,theotherapplicantemailedherbackrightaway,butasshereadtheemail,shegaspedanddroppedher computerinsurprise.Withshakinghands,shepickedupthecomputerandrereadtheemail.Therewasnoway,shehadtobe hallucinating.TheotherapplicantwasHannahDale,herbestfriendfromwhenshewaslivinginIreland.Meriancouldnotbelievethe chancesthattheywerebothinterviewingforthesamescholarship.ShewonderedwhyHannahwaseveninterviewingforthe scholarship,asHannahwassetonnotgoingtocollege.Atoneoftheirweeklysleepovers,HannahhadconfessedtoMerianthatshewas notgoingtogotocollegeashermotherwishedbecauseshewasgoingtogotoCulinarySchool.Nevertheless,Hannahhadresponded thatshehadnotreceivedanemaileither.MeriansentanotheremailincludinghernumberandaskingifHannahwouldwanttotalkonthe phonetodecidewhattodo.

45 Minutes Later…

HannahandMerianhadbeentryingtodecidewhattheyshoulddoaboutthesituationoverthephone.Merianhadwantedtojustwaitit out,assumingthatMr.MillerjustforgottoemailthemandHannahhadagreedtothis.Despitetheiragreement,Hannahdecidedto emailMr.Miller,demandingananswer.HannahhadalwayssecretlythoughtthatMerianwastooshyandpassive,andfromtheirpast friendship,sheknewitwouldjustbeeasiertonottellMerianwhatshewasplanningtodo.SoHannahsenttheemailandwaited anxiouslyforananswer.

2 Days Later…

Hannahdidgetananswertoheremail,butnotfromwhomsheexpected.InsteadofMr.Millerresponding,hiswife,Mrs.Millerhad respondedaskingHannahtomeetherattheArtCafesothatshecouldtalktoher.Hannahsentbackanemailagreeingtogo,but,not wantingtogoalone,HannahinvitedMerian.However,shetoldMerianthatshewantedtocatchupwithher,anddidnottellMrs.Miller orMerianthattheotherwasgoingtocometothecafe.

The Next Day…

Thiswasaproblem,Merianwasthinkingtoherself,tryingtonotcompletelyabandonHannahandcallataxitotakeherbacktoher aunt’shouse.However,Hannahpushedhertowardsthetable,cuttingoffMerian’schancetoescape.Aftertheysatdownatthetable, HannahapologizedtothewomanandMerian.ShethenexplainedabouttheemailandthatMerianwasanotheroneoftheapplicantsfor thescholarshipandsoshefeltthatMerianshouldbeinvolvedaswell.Mrs.MilleragreedandthentoldthemwhyMr.Millerhadnot emailedthemwiththeresultsofthescholarshipdecision.

Chokingbacktears,Mrs.Millertoldthegirls,“Ibelievethatmyhusbandhasbeenkidnapped.OnTuesdayheinterviewedyougirls,but hedidn'treturnhome.Thenextday,Icalledtheuniversityandtheytoldmehehadtakenaleaveofabsence.Ijust-Idon'tknowwhat todo.Ifiledamissingpersonscasewiththelocalauthorities,butnoonecanseemtofindhim.”

TakingMrs.Miller’shand,Hannah,whohadwatchedSherlockwaytoomanytimes,saidtoher,“MerianandIwouldbehappytotryto findoutwherehewaslastandlookforhim.”

Merian’smouthdroppedandshesaid,“OhI’msorry,Idon'tthinkthisisthebest-.”

ButMrs.Millerhadembracedthegirls,andsaidtothem,“Thankyou,girls,somuch,youhavenoideahowmuchthismeanstome.” 2 Days Later…

Merian’sphonewasgoingoff,shegroaned,grabbingthephoneandcheckingtoseewhotheheckwastextingherat5AM.Itwas Hannahwiththemessage,“Westarttoday,8AMatDCU.”Thegirlsmetattheschooljustasplannedandlearnedfrommany professorsandstudentsthattheyheardMr.MillersayhewasgoingtogotoSpitalfieldstomeetafewfriends.So,thegirlswentto SpitalfieldsandaskedthemanagerifheheardaboutorsawMr.Millergoingsomewhere.TheyweredirectedtoMarsh’sLibrary,Cut &SewBarbers,AIBBank,andthenfinallytothebackalleywayofDunnesStores.Itwasinthisalleywayinwhichthegirlsmeta roadblock,astherewasnoonearoundtohelpthem.Hannahsatdownonthesidewalkandputherheadinherhands.Seeingherold friend’sdejection,Merianasked, “Areyoualright?Youlookexhausted.”

Lookingupwithtearsinhereyes,Hannahsaid,“No,youknowwhat,Ineededafriend.NooneunderstoodwhyIactedhowIdid,you promisedtobethereforme,butyouweren’t.”

“What,wheredidthiscomefromallofasudden?YouknowIwantedtobe,butIhadtobethereformyfather.We’vealreadyhad thisdiscussion,”Meriananswered,splutteringinsurprise.

PointingherfingeratMerian,Hannahyelled,“YouknowallIneededwasaphonecalleveryfewdays,anddon’tsaythatyoudidn't haveachoiceyouknowyoudid.Evenifyouwantedto,youwouldn'thavespokenupanyway.”

“Don'tstartwithme,Hannah.youdon’tknow,youwouldn'tknow,becauseyouneverlistened.Itwasalwaysjustaboutyourproblems inlife,”Merianreplied,turningawayfromHannah.

“Ohsonowit'smyfault.YourdadbeggedyounottocomebacktoLondon.Butyoudidn'tlisten,thatwasyourchoice.Youpromised youwouldcomeback,yousaid2weeksatfirst,then2monthsandnow3yearslaterandyoustillareonephonecallawayfromhopping onaplaneandabandoningmealloveragain,”Hannahcried,tossingherhandsintheair.For30minutesthegirlssatinsilence,then theylookedateachotherandbrokeintosimultaneousapologies.Theyagreedthataftertheyweredonewiththeinvestigation,they wouldcatchuponallthathadhappenedthesepastyearsandtrytorekindletheirfriendship.

Lookingbehindher,MeriansaidtoHannah,“Haveyounoticedthattheotherguyfromtheinterviewhasbeenatalmostevery locationwevisited?”

RealizingwhatMerianwassaying,Hannahreplied,“YeahIfeltlikehewasfollowingus,butIjustthoughtitwasacoincidence.” Withthisencouragement,Meriansaid,“Thatseemsalittlesuspicious,right?Ithinkthatweshouldstayhereandseewhatheis doing.”

BewilderedatMerianspeakinghermind,Hannahsaid,“Ok,goodidea,youshouldspeakyourmindmoreoften.”Laughing,thegirls waiteduntiltheysawtheguyacrossthestreet.Theyranacrossthestreetandapproachedhim.Astheycaughtuptohim,Hannah askedhim,“Hi,youwerethelastapplicantfortheinterviewright?” Lookingupfromhisphone,hereplied,smiling,“Yeah,sorryIneverintroducedmyself,I’mDylan.”

Slylysmilinginreturn,Hannahsaid,“I'mHannahandthisisMerian.Sorrytobotheryou,butwerecognizedyouandwantedtowish youluck.OKbye!”Thegirlsquicklyhurriedaway,crossingthestreetandwalkingintoamarket.AssoonasDylanstartedtowalkaway, thegirlsfollowedhim,keepingtheirdistancesoastonotbediscovered.Finally,afterfollowinghimfor15minutes,thegirlsfollowed himintoanemptywarehouse.Standingattheentrance,theywatchedasDylanwalkeduptoandembracedawoman.

Realizingwhoitwas,Hannahgaspedandsaid,“That'sMrs.Miller!Whatisshedoinghere?”Merianshrugged,butalsohaving watchedtoomuchSherlock,pulledoutherphoneandbeganrecordingtheconversation. TheybrokeapartandDylanspoke,“Mother,theplanhassucceeded,heisnowinAmericaandithasallbeentransferredtoyour account.AlthoughIdobelievethosegirlsareontome.”

Withagrimexpression,Mrs.Millersaid,“IknewInevershouldhaveansweredtheemail,Iwasjusthavingtoomuchfun.Youknow, beingacriminalissoveryfun.”Withthisnewlygleanedinformation,Hannahleftthewarehousetocalltheauthorities. Grinning,Dylanreplied,“It'sOK,theywillneverbeabletofindoutwhathappened.Imean,whowouldguessthatyouwouldsteal smallincrementsofyourhusband’smoney?GetmetodeliveralettertohimtellinghimtogotoAmericatotakecareofhis“sick” relative,anddraintherestofhisbankaccount,therebycausinghimtobetrappedinAmericawithnomoneyandnoideawhat happened.WhereasyouandIgetoffwithaprettysumofmoneyandfleetoEnglandwherenobodywilleverfindout.”

Buttotheirsurprise,Mrs.MillerandDylanheard,“Handsupandturnaround.Youareunderarrestforfraudandtheft.Youhave therighttoremainsilent.”

Eyeswide,Mrs.Millersaid,“Haha,whatafunnyjokeDylan,sorrywewerejustrehearsingforourplay.”

However,Merianemerged,playingbacktherecording.

Realizingtheycouldnottalktheirwayoutofthis,Dylansaid,“Wellplayed,Watson,”asheandhismotherwerehandcuffedand takenaway.

5 Days Later…

“Iwouldjustliketothankyougirlsforallyouhavedoneforme.So,Ihavedecidedtosplitthescholarshipbetweenthetwoofyou andpayoutofpocketfortherestofyourtuition,”Mr.Millersaid,givingeachofthegirlsahug. However,toeveryone’ssurprise,Hannahsaid,“Actually,Iwillhavetodecline,IamgoingtoliveoutmydreamandgotoCulinary School.Itoldmymotheraboutwantingtoattendandshewassohappysheevenofferedtopaythetuition.”

“Wellyouknow,IwouldstillliketohelpHannah,sowhenyougetyourbooklist,sendmeanemailwiththeprices.Merian,that meansyougettheentirescholarship!Congratulationsgirls!”Mr.Millersaid,wavinggoodbyetothegirls,withthemshoutingtheir thanksinreturn.

Togethertheygrabbedeachother’shands,jumpingupanddown,yelling,“WEDIDIT!” MegRothschild

-Melissa Huynh ‘27

-Leah Pompanio ‘24

A Byrd in the Stars

Ihearthebellattheentrancetothestorechime.

“Hi,howcanIhelpyou?”Iask,lookingup.

Theytellmethey’refine,thattheyarejustbrowsing.

Ioffermyassistance,andthat’sit.Thesameroutinenomatterwhowalksthroughthedoor. Sometimestheycomeinknowingwhattheywantandaretooproudtoaskforotherrecommendations,andother timestheycomejusttoprovetheyhavesomeknowledgeleftintheircrowdedbrains.

That’sthethingaboutworkingatabookstore.Beingsurroundedbyfantasyandstoriesfullofhopedoesn’tchange yourlife.Ifanything,itmakesitmorebleak.

“Comeon,silly!”hercurlyredpigtailsbouncingwithexcitement.

“ButByrd,thestoryjustgotreallygood!”Icounteredwithdesperation.

“Ohmygoshstopbeingsoboring!Let’sgoplay.IhateitwhenyoureadaboutunicornsandponiesandPrincess SparklePants.”

“That’snotevenwhatit’saboutdummy!”herlookonlyeggedmeon.“Oh,noyoudidn’t!”Ijumpedupandrantowards her,gigglinghysterically.

Wechasedeachotheraroundtheroom,theoccasionalpillowflyingpastmyhead.

Exhaustedfromlaughing,wecollapsedonthecarpet,breathlessbutcontent.

“Tag!”sheproudlydeclared.

“Noway!Ihityouwithapillowfirst,”Iarguedbacksmugly.

“Ohyeah?Wellguesswhat?You’renotreading!”herelectricblueeyesstaredmedownwithfierce determination.

“Fine...whatshouldweplay?”defeated,Igaveintoherplayfulness.

Iflipthesignattheentranceofthestore,anditnolongerreadsOpen.Icarefullysetthealarmsystem,grab mybag,andlockup.

Duringthesemoments,IfeelateaseandallowmythoughtstodrifttotimeswhenMollyByrdwasstillinmy life.Iremembervividlyhercontagiouslaughandthewayshejustbelongedoutside.Howshewouldyellat peoplewhentheylittered,orhernervoushabitofhummingloudly.

Acarobnoxiouslyhonksatme,andIrealizethelighthaschanged.Thanksforthewakeupcallreality.

OnceIarriveatmyapartment,Ifindmyselfdriftingtowardsthefridge.Outofsheernostalgia,Imake blueberrypancakes,achildhoodfavoriteofmine.

AsIsitaloneinmykitchen,Idesperatelytrytothinkaboutwhereshemightbe.Similartotheothertimes, mydetectiveskillsfailme.

Wehadgottenintoafightmonthsbeforegraduation.Ialwaysfeltlikesheknewmeinsideandout,butthere wasapartofherlifethatshekepthiddenfromme.AllIwantedwastounderstandherandsheshutmeout completely.

Itriedtomakeamendsaweekaftertheargument,butshewasgone.Sheleft,andnooneknewwhereshe went.Thatwas3weeksago.

Thesedays,I’vefounditharderandhardertofallasleep.Haveyouevernoticedthattheworldweliveinisnevertrulysilent?Under thecovers,Ihearthehumofmyrefrigeratorandthedialoguebetweenthecouplethatliveunderme.Thebeepingofthetraffic outsideandthegentleroarofplanesflyingoverhead.Everyday,Iammoredesperateforanescape.Totastethefreshairandfinally beabletobreathe.

Perhapsshefeltthesameway.Perhapsshedisappearedjusttohearthesilenceandfeelthesunonherface.Butwhydoesnoone knowwhereshewent?WhatamImissing?

“Wheredidyougo,Byrd?”Iwhispertomyself,notexpectingananswer,butstillhopingforone.

Thecricketschirp,thewindgentlywhistlingthroughtheventsinmytent.Isighwithcontent.

SomethingnudgesmeandIturn,onlytoseeByrdgrinningatme,mischiefinhersmile.

“Psst!Getyoursleepingbag.”

“Whatfor?Hey!Don’tpokeme!”

“Justgrabit!”

Sheleadsmeoutofthetentandtellsmetolook.

Starsdottheentiresky,thelightvibrantandburstingwithcolor.Nothingblocksthehugestretchofdarkblue,andIcan’thelpbut wonderwhatitwouldbeliketoseethiseveryday.

Igaspinamazement.“Wow…”

Shestickshertongueoutatme.“Itoldyou!”

“Ohwhatever.Butlook!IthinkIseethebigdipper.Andthere’sOrion’sbelt!”

“It’ssobeautiful.”

Iturntoherandtellherwithrawsincerity,“Don’tyoufeelsofreehere?There’snothingtoblockthestars,andwe’resoclosetothe sky.”

“Ialwaysfeelfree.”

“How?”

“Nothingweighsmedown.Idon’tletanythingstandinthewayofmyimaginationandthoughts.”

Wesitundertheblanketofthesky,notsayingaword,butcontentinthemoment,tryingtounderstandthesecretsthestarshold.

“HeyJosie?”she’stheonlypersonwho’severcalledmethat,andIsmile.

“Yeah?”

“Let’sleave.Oncewegraduate,let’sjustrunaway,farawayfromhere.ThenIcanshowyouwhatit’sliketobefree.”

“Wherewouldwego?”Iasklongingly,thedreamseemingsofaraway.

“France,”shetellsmeblissfully.

“France,”Iwakeupwithastartandthinkitover.

“France,”Isayagain,thewordholdingmorebeautytomethanIhadeverimagined.

Ipickupmyphoneandcheckthedate.ThewordsreadJune19,andIformaplaninmymind.WiththemoneyI’vesavedworkingatthe bookstore,Icouldactuallymakeit.Myheartswellswithhope,andIcan’thelpbutsmilethesamewayByrddid.

“France,”Isayonemoretime,thewordtastingsweetandpromisingonmylips.

Idriftofftosleep,relaxedandateaseforthefirsttimeinweeks.

Duringschool,Iwasthequietgirlinthebackoftheclasswhoneverbotheredtotalktoanyoneelse.Byrdwasthe onlyonewhosawadifferentsideofme.Aftersheleft,itwastoohardtostartallover.

Miraculously,onceIstartedworking,Iopenedup.Socialized.Metnewpeople.AndImustsay,it’sasamazingasI remember.

“Brooke?”Iask,thebeatinginmychestcausingmyvoicetoquiver.

“Yes,sweetie?”Theinvitationinmyboss’softvoicewasevident.Irelaxandexplainmydilemma.HowByrd’s disappearancehasbeentearingaholeinmyheartandleftmefeelingsadandlost.Shenods,andthe encouragementkeepsmegoing.IaskifIcantakeafewweeksoff,anddropmygaze,waitingforarefusal,the sameanswerI’vebeengivenallmylife.

“ShesoundssospecialJo.Whydidyounevertellmeaboutherbefore?”Sheplacesherhandonmine,andIlift myeyes,onlytofindempathyandkindness.Ittakesmeamomenttoprocessherquestion.

“I,well—itwasjusttoohard.Shewasmyonlyfriendandthenwhensheleft…Ididn’ttalkabouthertoavoidthe guilt.WegotinafightbeforegraduationandIthoughtIwouldatleasthearfromheragain,”tearsslowlybreak freefrommyeyes.IwishIwasstrongerthanthis.

“Yes,”shemeetsmyeyesandtellsmesincerely.

“Really?Thankyousomuch,”Istandupandhugher,thewarmembracegivingmehope.

“Nowboardingflight7693toParis,”theairplaneintercomalertsme.Ipickupmybagsandhandtheflight attendantmyboardingpass.ShenodsandIstrolldowntheterminal,anunusualpepinmystep.Iamnotan adventurousperson,butIreallydothinkIamstartingtounderstandtheappeal.Theuncertaintyoftheunknown givesusadrenalinetokeepgoing.

Afterfindingmyseat,Ileanmyheadbackandletoutasigh.Ihopetowhateverhigherpowerthereisupthere thatthisistherightthing.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. The crew and I would like to welcome you to Charles de Gaulle Airport. We will be arriving at the gate momentarily. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts securely fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete stop at the terminal gate. Thank you for flying with us today, and enjoy your stay in Paris,” I open my eyes. Right away, I feel the fluttering excitement in my stomach growing. I can do this. I’ve dreamt about it for so long and I’m finally here.

An hour later, I arrive at my hotel and collapse on the bed, exhausted. Who knew sitting on a plane for 7 hours could be so exhausting. But the fatigue is so worth it. I’m in France.

When I sat at home, dwelling in sadness over the loss of Byrd, I was making things worse. Addressing my unhappiness, however—it does crazy things. Not only does it inspire you, but it relieves your problems, even if you haven’t yet found a solution. I fall asleep with no ugly reminders of what’s been lost.

I wake up, tangled in sheets and breathing fresh air for what feels like the first time in years.

Figuring it might be a good place to start, I take a cab to Bibliothèque publique d'information, the Public Library of Information, only 10 minutes from my hotel, the Grand Hotel du Palais Royale. Once I arrive, I search for her name. Interestingly, I find two addresses.

The first one is crossed out, in what looks to be West Paris, near the Arc de Triomphe.

The other is from outside the city in a place called Vézelay, Burgundy. After some research, I discover that it’s a small town in the north-central region of France. The town is also one of the smallest in the entire country with a population of only 434. Looks like this is where I’m headed.

The village is beautiful. Crowded cobblestone streets are surrounded by closely packed but elegant stone buildings on either side. Vibrant flowers give the hilly landscape a pop of color, and sunlight streams in from all directions, making it seem like a fairy tale.

I briefly step into Café du Cosette for information and immediately am met with a strong blueberry scent. I inhale deeply and smile. A break sounds nice.

“Bonjour!” the hostess says to me.

“Bonjour,” I reply and she seats me at a table in the front of the café.

I take in my surroundings and am stunned to find the Vézelay Abbey right outside the window. While at the library in Paris, I learned the main attraction here in Vézelay was La Basilique Sainte Marie-Madeleine. The beauty of the exterior alone astonishes me. I can only imagine what it must be like inside.

After ordering my coffee and blueberry croissant, I find myself watching the people. It seems that in a town as small as this one, everyone knows each other.

My gaze drifts to the ceiling and I gasp.

Brilliant purples and blues cover the entirety of the space, and dotted along the rich colors are bursts of white.

I close my eyes. All of a sudden I am a high schooler again, lying under the canopy of the stars, dreaming of a bright future with the only person who has ever understood me.

Istudythepaintingcloser,andnoticenameswritteninsidethelargerstars.

Istareatoneinparticular,uncertainifit’ssomeoneelse.Butno,itishers.Byrd,handwritteninbeautifulcalligraphy.

Ilookatothernames,mystomachtwistingintoknots,mybrainnotunderstanding.Whatdoesitmean?Whywouldhername beuphere?Thisisinformationnobookorpublicresourcecanexplain.Isuddenlyfeelsolost.

“Excuseme,Mademoiselle?”heavilyaccentedEnglishbreaksmytrainofthought,andIglanceuptoseeaboy,noolderthan 16,staringbackatme.

“Um,hello,”Irespond,notsurewhyhe’sanalyzingmesoclosely.

“Doyouknowher?”heasks,andittakesmeamomenttorealizehe’sreferringtoByrd.

“Yes,actually.We’reoldfriends.”

“Oh.Shewassuchanicelady.Shesavedmylife,youknow,”helooksalmostremorseful,andIcan’thelpbutwonderif thereismoretothestory.Theremustbe.

“Thatsoundslikeher,”Ireply,tryingtolightenthemood.“DoyouknowwhereIcouldfindher?Shehasanewaddressand I’mnotsurewhereitis,”I’msoclose.Icanfeelit.

“Mademoiselle?”Thesuddenpauseunnervesme.Iencouragehimtocontinue.“Wouldyouliketoseesomething?”There’s somethingaboutthewayhe’slookingatme.

Inodhesitantly,andheleadsmeoutofthecozycaféanddownthestreet.ItseemstobethesameonethatIwalkedon before,butIcan’ttell.Ifeelsooverwhelminglydisoriented.There’sastronggutfeelingIhavebutIdon’tknowwhatit’s tellingme.

Weturnthecornerandmythoughtsdisappear.

Lyingbeforeusisanoldcemetery.Itcarriesanoddsortofbeauty,andI’minstantlycurious.Drawntoit.

Hecontinuesforward,andIhavenochoicebuttofollowhim.

No. This is some kind of joke. Her name isn’t on that stone. She’s just playing some kind of trick on me and any minute now she’ll start laughing. Only Byrd.

I look around—waiting for her to come out from hiding and start giggling hysterically. But the boy is staring at me. He’s staring at me, eyes so full of guilt, features heavy and devoid of color.

I feel a weight come crashing down, light at first but growing heavier as it reaches my stomach. Gravity has never been so unkind.

I drop to my knees and I cry.

I look up and wonder how he knew her. I’m wondering so many things right now, but I only manage to ask one question.

“What—what happened?” tears escape my eyes and I can’t stop them. I can’t stop thinking about how something managed to kill the most free and joyful soul I’ve ever known.

“It was only a few weeks ago. She moved to town just a little before that - but everyone knew her right away. She told me that she didn’t like Paris because it was too loud. I remember being so surprised, no one had ever left Paris. But she told me she wanted to hear the crickets and see the stars. She was there when the accident happened,” he swallows hard. “Accident?”

Iwaswalkingtoschool,excited,becauseitwasthelastweekbeforesummerbreak.Iwasn’tfocused.I wassostupid.Iwasn’tlooking,andsteppedintothestreet…shecalledmyname,butIdidn’thearher.I feltsomeonepushmeandIfelltotheground.Iheardsomepeoplebehindme—shoutingandscreaming forhelp.Iwassoconfused.AndthenIsawit—shesavedmefrombeingrunover.Shesavedmylife, butendeduplosingherown,”thesilencebetweenthetwoofusisdeafening.“Iwishsheknewhow gratefulIam,”hestartsagain,softer.“Iliveeverysingledaytryingtomakeupfortheloss.Iwasthe onewhowrotehernameonthestarbecauseshewasbrighterthanthebrighteststarinthesky.She wasactuallytheonewhopaintedtheceiling.Shesaiditremindedherofawonderfulfriendofhers.I alwaystriedtoaskheraboutthefriend,butshewouldn’tanswerme.Theonlythingsheeverhintedat washowshemadeamistake.Icouldtellhowsadshewasaboutwhateverhappened.You’reherenow though.”HelooksupatthesametimeIdo,andIsmileeversoslightly.Becausethat’swhatshe would’vewantedmetodo.

Shewould’vewantedmetotakeadeepbreathandcomfortthebrokenboybesideme.

SoIdo.

Ineveryone’slife,there’ssomeonewhomtheyadmire.Lookupto.They’reourhero.Westrivetobe justlikethem.Notallheroesdon’tjustwearcapesandflyaround.Theyareeverydaypeople.Strong, kind,bold,considerate,anddriveneverydaypeoplewhothinkofothersbeforethemselves. Iworkeverydaytobethatperson.Idosobymodelingherstrength,heraffection,andher perseveranceeverywhereIgo.Fantasydoesn’tsolveourproblems.Facingthemwiththoseweloveis whatgetsusthroughthebaddays.ThesearethewordsItellmyselfeverytimeIwakeup. AndIfeelsofree.

LizzieJo

The Realities of Perfection

I’mobsessedwithcubes.Their12edges,8vertices,6faces,andrightangles,measuring90degrees–Iloveitall.Ifyouknowme,youwould thinkthatcubesaremymotivationbecauseoftheirperfectqualities.That’strue;theyaremymotivation,butnotforthesamereason… actually,fortheoppositereason.I’mnotobsessedwiththeperfectcubesyouseeontheInternet.I’mobsessedwiththecubesinmy notebook.

IrarelymissaclassinwhichIdon’tdrawacube(s)onthesideormaybeeventhemiddle(dependingontheclass)ofmypaper.Thisiswhat usuallyhappens:mymindisrelativelyblank,myhandsveertoanemptyarea,andtheleadthatissupposedtobeusedforwritingendsup beingusedtoquicklysketchbeforethenextslideontheboardispresented.

Doyouknowhowsatisfyingitistodrawacube?It’ssomethingsosimpletodraw,consistingoftwosquaresand4linestoconnect them,yetitlookssocomplicated.ItcanlookevenmorecomplicatedwhenIdrawadditionalcubeswithinonelargercube,orwhenIdraw connectedcubesinadisorderedshape.Occasionally,Iwould“quiz”myfriendnexttomeandaskhowmanycubestheysee.What’s interestingistheywouldhaveanumberbutquicklychangeitwhentheyspotanothercubetheydidn’tseeoriginally,ortheywould hyperfixateoncountingbutignorethefactthatallthesmallcubesareenclosedinalargerone.Thishasbeenaconsistentpattern,andto behonest,Irarelykeepcountofitmyself.Tome,it’sjustamatterofperspective.Evenastheonesketchingit,therewouldbetimes whereIfindacubeIdidn’tpurposefullydrawbutjustformedasaresultoftheadjacentones.Ifindthatsointriguing.Thisjustgoesto showthatplanningandperfectingmaynotalwayshavethemostsatisfyingoutcomes…whatyou’relookingformayjustlieinsomething unexpected.AllthemorereasonwhyIlovecubes.

Ofcourse,thecubesIsketcharefarfromperfect.Mylinesarenotperfectlystraight,andmyanglesarenotexactly90degrees.That’s thebeautyofitall,however.IfItakethetimetotakeoutmyrulerandprotractortomakeaperfectcube,where’sthefuninthat?Yes,I canstrivetomakeitperfectandthereforelookreallyobviousthatI’mnottakingnotes,butwhy?Evenafterallthateffortandbrain power,Iknowitwon’tbeperfectanyway…becausenothingis.Nobodyis,Ishouldsay.Crookedandunalignedlinesexist,andthat’sokay.In fact,Ipreferitthatway.Rightnow,Ifindmorejoyinlettingmyrighthandtakecontrolofthepencilandletitandmyimaginationrunfree inallitsmistakesandimperfections.Disclaimer:I’mnottryingtodiscourageanyone(Irathernothavethetitleof“dreamcrusher”undermy name),butIamemphasizingthefinelinebetweenperfection(orwhatsocietydeemsasperfect)andreality.Overthecourseofmylife,I’ve realizedthatit’spointlessseekingoutsomethingthatdoesn’texist,butwhat’snotpointlessisbeingthebestyoualonestrivetobe.Who knows?Youmayevenfindpleasureinyourinevitablemistakesalongtheway.

So,whatarecubestome?Somesortofentertainment?Decorationstomynotes?Yesandyes,butmoreimportantly,theyexistasan underlyingreminderthatmistakesarenormalandcanactuallybeprettier.Sketchedlinestendtolookmoreprofessionalandartistic, meaningtheymakemelooklikeIknowwhatI’mdoing.Jokesaside,mistakesexist.Perfectiondoesn’t.Why?Becausewe’rehuman.This doesn’tmeanweshouldn’tworkhardtoachieveourgoals.Itjustmeansthatweshouldn’tputunnecessarypressureonourselves.Youdon’t needaruler,protractor,andTI-84calculatortodrawacube.Justdrawit,andmakeitsomethingyouareproudof.

P.S.toanyofmyteachersreadingthis,IpromiseIpayattentioninyourclass.

-Jessica Wescoat

Staff Contributions

-Camilla Navarro ‘25

Shadows of a Fading Heart

Inavillagebytheriver,wherewillowssoftlyweep, LivedaladnamedBenjamin,withsecretsburieddeep.

Hisheart,acaptivesongbird,sangalonesometune, Forintheshadowofhersmile,hedancedbeneaththemoon.

Oh,theechoesofhisyearning,amelodyapart, Aballadofunspokenwords,theshadowsofafadingheart.

Eleanor,amaidenfair,witheyeslikemorningdew,

CapturedBen'saffection,thoughheneverknew.

Herlaughter,likeariver,flowedthroughthesummerair, Buttheriverofhislongingmetalovethatwasn'tthere.

Oh,theechoesofhisyearning,amelodyapart,

Aballadofunspokenwords,theshadowsofafadingheart.

Throughgoldenfieldsofsunlight,hechasedherfleetingsmile, Yet,inthegardenofhisdreams,lovelingeredforawhile.

Thepetalsofaffection,hescatteredinherwake, Butthewindsofherindifferencelefthishearttobreak.

Oneevebeneaththestarlight,withcourageinhiseyes, Benjaminspokehistruth,beneaththemoonlitskies.

ButEleanor,shefaltered,herwordsabitterfrost, Leavinghimwithmemoriesofthelovethathehadlost.

Oh,theechoesofhisyearning,amelodyapart, Aballadofunspokenwords,theshadowsofafadingheart.

Asseasonschangedlikecostumesinaplay, Benwanderedthroughtheruinsoflove'sdisarray.

Intheballadofhissorrow,throughvalleysdarkanddeep, Helearnedthatlove'ssweetmusiccouldbeasongofsleep.

Oh,theechoesofhisyearning,amelodyapart, Aballadofunspokenwords,theshadowsofafadingheart.

Nowthevillagebytheriverholdsataleuntold, OfBenjaminandEleanor,andalovegrowncold.

Intheechoesoftheballad,throughtime'sunyieldingart, Lingersthehauntingcadenceofaslowlyfadingheart.

Oh,theechoesofhisyearning,amelodyapart, Aballadofunspokenwords,theshadowsofafadingheart.

Oh,theechoesofhisyearning,amelodyapart, Aballadofunspokenwords,theshadowsofafadingheart.

Mr.ScottDerosier

PRAY THESE WORDS WITH ME

There is nothing I can be, to make our God stop loving me. There is nothing I can say, to make God turn God’s face away. In God’s image, I am made. By God’s mercy, I am saved. I am a unique gift, Given to the world. And God will never, ever let me go.

When your sin’s so great that you think God can’t forgive you, Pray these words together with me.

When your friends desert you for what you’ve said or done, Pray these words together with me.

When you’re feeling worthless with nowhere else to turn, Pray these words together with me.

Lyrics and

Music

By Mr. Greg Malanowski

Untitled by BookDragon

Alumnae Submissions

“Untitled,” Carol Ciarapica Toth ’73

“Untitled,” Ellen Yannuzzi (Fraim), ‘69

Hope

Earth seems unbalanced, listing heavily in my direction. Fears like matted veils hang, obscuring my optimistic view; wearisome weights of despair ever press, until my spirit weeps like willow leaves and sweeps the dusty ground seeking relief. Yet I dare to dream of open airy fields, flowing streams of living water, and time, infinite time to quench my thirsting soul - for I recall Heaven has no sky.

Deborah Smith, ‘70

“Untitled,” Jeannie Dunphy (Sikorsky), ‘99

“Untitled,” Ellen Yannuzzi (Fraim), ‘69

Thebreadisraised.

Alleyesbehold: "ThisismyBody."

Merewords-unlessIconsumethem, absorbthemintomysoul:

Alongwithyourbody,Lord,Ioffer mydesiretodoyourwill… mysenseofhumor… mygoodwritingweek... -nutrientsforwhichIamthankful. AndGodwillseethis,blessthis, makemestronger.

Thecupextendsforalltosee: "ThisismyBlood."

Morewords-untilIswallowthem, feelthemcoursingthroughmyveins:

Alongwithyourblood,Lord,Ioffer myquicktemper… mybusy-ness… mylethargy… -weaknessesIwishtoovercome. AndGodwillseethisneed,blessit, extendHisgracetosetmefree. ThisisJesusreceivehimagain -forthefirsttime.

DeborahSmith,‘70

“Eric” Mary Elizabeth Dickman (Sattler), ‘01

”Emily” Mary Elizabeth Dickman (Sattler), ‘01

“Untitled 1 and 2,”

Jeannie Dunphy (Sikorsky), ‘99

IattendedCatholicHighasafreshmanin1961.SinceI livedquiteadistancefromtheschool,Ilefthome6:20 am–ittooktwotransitbusestoreachCatholicHigh.I choseCatholicHighbecausemyAuntAlicehadgraduated fromtherein1947justafewmonthsbeforeIwasborn. Sincemymotherwashospitalizedshortlyaftermybirth, myAuntAlicehelpedmypaternalgrandmothercarefor mewhilemyDadworked.NodoubtthatiswhyIfelt especiallyclosetoherandwantedtofollowinher footstepstoCatholicHigh.Manyyearslater,I establishedTheAliceMillerRunklesScholarshipFund.

Whileastudentthere,Itooktheacademicprogramand wasafeaturewriterfortheschoolpaper.WhatIloved mostwasbeinginvolvedinschoolplays.Ihadaleadrolein JeanAnouilh'splayAntigoneinmysenioryear.I graduatedin1965.

I attended Catholic High as a freshman in 1961. Since I lived quite a distance from the school, I left home 6:20 am – it took two transit buses to reach Catholic High. I chose Catholic High because my Aunt Alice had graduated from there in 1947 just a few months before I was born. Since my mother was hospitalized shortly after my birth, my Aunt Alice helped my paternal grandmother care for me while my Dad worked. No doubt that is why I felt especially close to her and wanted to follow in her footsteps to Catholic High. Many years later, I established The Alice Miller Runkles Scholarship Fund.

While a student there, I took the academic program and was a feature writer for the school paper. What I loved most was being involved in school plays. I had a lead role in Jean Anouilh's play Antigone in my senior year. I graduated in 1965.

“Untitled,” Carol Ciarapica Toth ’73

I carried this love of drama and theatre into my college years at Mt. St. Agnes (all women’s college which later merged with Loyola College) where I was an active participant in plays. In 1967 I responded to a request posted in MSA Student lounge to volunteer to tutor a child from the inner city of Baltimore. Being an aspiring teacher, I jumped at the opportunity ~ especially since a Loyola College student would be driving the 4 of us who volunteered. The driver, Joe, and I were engaged in 1968 and married in July of 1969.

Since Joe was to start medical school in September of 1969, he would have no income, so my having a job was imperative. That is when I became a teacher at Catholic High. I had no experience as a teacher but was determined to be professional while keeping the students engaged and as excited as I had been to learn great literature. My first class of students was the Class of 1973 and I taught many of them for 4 years ~ including the 1971-1972 school year during which I was pregnant. (The students surprised me with a baby shower one afternoon in Sister Arnoldine’s cafeteria. I was deeply moved and passed some of the gifts on to my grandchildren years later.)

When the Class of 1973 graduated, I was happy that some of them stayed in touch while I went about raising a toddler (who, 8 years later had a baby sister) and working from home for a time editing textbooks.

Paths crossed again when a few of my Catholic High Students enrolled in Villa Julie College (now Stevenson University) when I was the Director of Student Activities – or later, faculty.

Year after year, my heart was given the sweet surprise of receiving a Christmas card from one or more of my former Catholic High Students.

“Gandalf” Mary Elizabeth Dickman (Sattler), ‘01

In2022Ireceivedaninvitationtoattend thescheduledOctober2023reunionof theClassof1973!Iresponded immediately“yes”!

WhentheClassof1973reunionday arrived,Iwonderedhowmanyofmy

formerstudentswouldbethere.Wouldtheyrememberme?Wouldthey evenrecognizeme withmywhitehair?Itturnedouttobeoneofthehappiest,most memorabledaysofmylife!NinetystudentsoftheClassof1973attended ~andtomysurprisetheyrememberedmeandrecounteddozensof detailedstoriesaboutthingtheyrememberedwhichIhadtaughtthem. WhenIaskedthemhowtheyrememberedallthatinsomuchdetailover somanyyears,severalofthemsaidthesamethingtomethroughoutthe afternoon,“Youlovedusandweknewyoulovedus!Andyouwere passionateaboutwhatyouwereteaching.Thankyouforallyoutaughtus.” Withaheartoverflowingwithhonestgratitude,Isaidtothem,“Thank you–youtaughtmehowtobeateacher!” LindaMillerCiotola‘65

“Untitled 1 and 2”, Maura Bair, ‘18

Triptych Baptism beginsthedance theFatherleads.

Circlingthefloor, Ifalterwiththesteps. TheSonstridesforward, dyingforthedancewithme.

Alongthepromenade, theSpiritenters. Gracefullyweglide, ourdelicatefootwork keepingperfectbalance -DeborahSmith,‘70

Canticles is:

Edited by:

Jessica Wescoat ‘24- Editor in Chief

Charlotte Acks ‘24- Associate Editor

Staffed by:

Sofia Biggs ‘26

Niemh Bodner ‘24

Jaella Chiang ‘24

Maddison Dennis ‘24

Breanna Ervin ‘24

Advised by:

Mrs. Stephanie Leddy

Rosalie Marinaro ‘27

Jessica Martin ‘24

Sarah Parr ‘24

Leah Pompanio ‘24

Kelsey Rook ‘26

Isabella Steinmetz ‘24

Marielle Tambong ‘24

Toni Tan ‘25

Leah Wentworth ‘24

Special Thanks to:

Mrs. Mitchell

Mr. Baker

Mr. Derosier

Mr. Fletcher

Ms. Morales

Ms. Mutz

Mrs. Petro

Ms. Tramontano

Thank you to the alumnae and faculty for your submissions!