The Folio / Winter Issue / 2020

I ME LI VOLU I ISSUE

A LITE R AR Y & ART MAG AZINE

The

Folio

a literary & art magazine

Conestoga High School Winter - Volume LII - Issue I

Cover photo © 2020 Olivia Wang Inside cover © 2020 Madison Red Copyright © 2020 Conestoga Literary Magazine Staff Internal Design © 2020 Monisha Gupta, Madison Red and Sophia Reeder Copyright © of each work belongs to the respective author or artist First edition of 2020 All rights reserved. All works are copyright of their respective creators as indicated herein and are reproduced herewith permission. The Folio is a public form for student expression produced by the students of Conestoga High School.

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F ROM THE EDITORS MANAGING

LARA BRIGGS

LITERARY

SEBASTIAN CASTRO & JESSICA FRANTZEN

ART

MONISHA GUPTA & MADISON RED & SOPHIA REEDER

BUSINESS

LYDIA NASER

COPY

DHIVYA ARASAPPAN & CHLOE WILLIAMS

T

he staff of The Folio welcomes you to our Winter 2020 issue.

As we leave the previous decade behind, we carry many of its conflicts with us. The Earth’s on fire, minimum wage isn’t livable, and political tension builds with each human rights crisis. And yet, time goes on, and we find ourselves in a new era.

We’re a magazine written by teenagers and run by teenagers. We want to explore serious topics, but we want to do it our way: a way that relates to our lives in a light-hearted but meaningful manner. If Thanksgiving debates taught us anything about ourselves, it’s that nothing can bring people together quite like good food. Whether it’s hotdogs, soufflé, or anything in between, we’re all hardwired to share a love for food. It’s a simple, relatable, and unifying experience, and also the theme of our magazine.

The idea of taste is represented through the wide range of art and literature we present.

As you sample our work, you’ll find stories of disappearing men and broken hearts alongside artwork of Barbie dolls and colorful nightmares. Food’s a distinctive experience that changes for each person—the chocolate cake that's far too sweet for one person might be perfection for another.

As such, you’ll find that no two pieces in The Folio are exactly the same.

We’d like to thank our supervisors, Mr. Smith and Mrs. Wilson, for their dedication to making The Folio a welcoming place to all creators and for pushing us to become the best versions of ourselves we can be.

After all, no matter the ingredients, food can only be as good as the chefs preparing it. As editors, we’re lucky to have an incredible group of artists and authors that each bring their own flavor to the publication.

But most of all, we’re lucky to have you: the reader. Food isn’t made purely for the sake of it. It’s made to be consumed and enjoyed, and we sincerely hope you enjoy this issue of The Folio.

Like any decent meal worth its salt, there’s no right way to enjoy this literary magazine. We encourage you to take your own approach.

If you’re short on time, there’s an endless supply of quick fixes in the appetizer section.

On the other hand, we’ve got entrées with incredible seriousness and depth, courtesy of the dedicated slow-cookers in the back of our artists’ heads. And if you’re looking for something on the sweeter side, feel free to skip straight to dessert. All we ask is that you’re mindful and chew slowly. Everything deserves to be consumed with the same love it was prepared with. The table’s all set, so bon appétit!

The Editors The Folio

5

THE FOLIO VOLUME LII ISSUE I

THE MENU

APPETIZERS The Nose Hunter McIlvain Thocabulary Sebastian Castro Writer’s Block Chloe Williams The Adventures Beyond Eileen Chen Lookin’ Fresh Sophia Reeder Spastically Sprinting Wide-Eyed: FANTASTIC Scott A. Hennessy Always Sunny Ankita Kalasabail The Rising Sun Will Never Set Lara Briggs Prism Space Emma Choe Retro Ryan Bertollino A Riddle Chloe Williams Portraits en Rouge Olivia Rainbow Scisssors Ava Collin The Effects of Glass Parker Gould Tomato Angeline Ma Limited Tomatoes Casey Kovarick In the Attic Lydia Naser Through the Looking Glass Dhivya Arasappan Toby Emily Meaney

16 17 18 19 20

21 24 25 26

My Beach Vacation Lara Briggs The Old and Wise Traveler Scott A. Hennessy Shelter Natalia Green Daze Coco Kambayashi A-flat/heartbreak Angeline Ma Cleopatra Olivia Wang Chinese Girl Angeline Ma Tripp Kaylee Morris Walls Ashka Patel

37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

27 28 29 30 31

For the appetizers on our menu, we recommend the following selection of fine-brewed teas:

32 32

3

12

34 35

22

31

16 **note: All teas mentioned above (as well as a few more) can be found on pg 10-13

36

The Folio

7

ENTRÉES 1 and 61 Sebastian Castro Lasting Tardiness Angela Chen Trip Angeline Ma Primary Color Portraits Stella Lei Race Aryaj Kumar Cabbie Sebastian Castro Tim Burton’s Yoshi Madison Red Driven Jessica Frantzen Primary Monisha Gupta The Rotting Fruit of One’s Labor Scott A. Hennessey Where the Crows Fly Dhivya Arasappan Providentia Rachel Hunt Voicemails for the Dead Shreya Singh Eastern State Penitentiary Sophia Chen A BEE SEA Scott A. Hennessey Swarm Lydia Naser Record Waves Sophia Reeder Luther, Ruther, and Rose Sebastian Castro Girl Stella Lei

8

The Menu

48 49 50 53 55 56 59 60 61 62 63 64 66 69

Asshole Lydia Naser Anatomy Gabi Valencia Pennies Lara Briggs Sparks Fly Joyce Fung Steel to the Head Scott. A Hennessey Ponder Lydia Naser Face Etching 1 Monisha Gupta Duke and Duchess of Ayodhya Monisha Gupta The Wooden House Eileen Chen The Blue House Leyla Yilmaz Moon Mirror Dhivya Arasappan

76 76 80 81 82 82 84 85 88 89 91

For the entrées on our menu, we recommend the following selection of fine-brewed teas:

70 72

7

10

13

73 74 75

19

30

**note: All teas mentioned above (as well as a few more) can be found on pg 10-13

DESSERTS Quotidienne Lara Briggs Gently Sophia Reeder Soar Sophia Reeder Moon Angeline Ma Summer Evening with Fireflies Evelyn Zhao 53 Gabi Valencia Big Eyes and Ears Olivia Brake My Muse Chitra Singh Dreaming Audrey Kim Mr. Biggs Chloe Williams MAGPIE’s Monsters Sophia Reeder Crowded Ashka Patel Market Angeline Ma Mirage Ashka Patel I Forgot Aryaj Kumar Under a Bridge, Virginia Dhivya Arasappan Peony Madison Red Cupcake Madison Red Roses are Red Roses are Dead Nikkita Pandey

94 95 96 98 99

Princess Natalia Green Ballerina Daniel Gergeus Oil Painting of a Woman Olivia Wang Cloaked in Curiosity Coco Kambayashi

113 114 115 116

100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 107

For the desserts on our menu, we recommend the following selection of fine-brewed teas:

108 109

1

21

25

110 111 112

32

33

**note: All teas mentioned above (as well as a few more) can be found on pg 10-13

The Folio

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IT’S TIME TO...

SPILL THE TEA! Here at The Folio, the master chefs have created the best selection of teas in the world! We have teas ranging from your everyday existential dread to your classic Earl Grey. Enjoy not just our recommended pairings, but feel free to make you own.

—The Master Chefs

1

Adoption: the moment when you come downstairs and all of One Direction are sitting at the counter ready to adopt you

2

WhOoPSiEs: when you accidentally press Ctrl X instead of Ctrl C on your essay.

3 4

10

Purple Banana: it’s like blue Rasberry but purple banana instead

TEAth: biting down on your fork

5

Finger: when you bite through your finger as if it is a carrot and you taste the raw flesh and squirting blood that flows too fast for you to swallow it all

6

Fromage: c’est juste de la fondue (cheese: it’s just fondue)

7 8 9 10 11 12

Existential Dread:

Jazz: tastes colorful.

Ambigui-tea: you know you’ve tasted this before, but have no idea what it’s called.

Peppermint: white people edition **finally a spicy tea white people can tolerate :)

Suspense: when will the flavor hit you?

Root Beer: a mix of weeds and alcohol to give a nice, enhanced, earthy taste.

13

Nick Sage: sage flavored tea that gives you infinite insight on American history and a compulsive need to steal the Declaration of Independence

14

Tripping Over Nothing: the feeling of failure after you’ve failed at the extremely simple task of walking

15

There’s a Spider in Your Bed, But You Don’t Know Where: caffeine and licorice, accompanied by some burnt hotdog shavings

The Folio

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16 17

Tis·sue: the taste of a tissue that you were dared to eat in first grade for a quarter. you got in trouble. they took the quarter away. you ate paper for nothing.

18

Pee in a Bottle: when you’re driving on the highway and you pull over and take a sip out of a water bottle that was cast aside. the water was yellow. you drank pee.

19

EXTREMELY ENTHUSIASTIC ATHLETE: TASTES LIKE ENERGY AND DETERMINATION

20

OrGAniAZaTiON: might be tea leaves, might be dead leaves from my backyard. Might be high-end herbs, might be day-old lawn clippings. They were all together in one place.

21 22 23 24 12

AnD i Oop: tastes like hydroflasks and sksksaving the turtles!

Horse: ...horse

Liber-Tea, Fraterni-Tea, Egali-Tea: the pure taste of revolution

Filet Mignon: just dehydrated meat water

Aphrodite’s Rosé: for those of us who never outgrew our Percy Jackson addictions.

25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

TiMmY TEa: obtuse, rubber goose, green moose, guava juice, giant shake, birthday cake, large fries, chocolate shake!

Grass: straight from the neighbor’s lawn, just the way you like it :)

Earl Grey: for all Earls who have gone grey prematurely.

Yule Ball McGonagall: time to let your hair loose.

melk: extremely. soggy. cereal

Ronald Reagan: black bean shavings and powdered sugar, a mix of spices supposed to complement each other but they actually taste terrible together, some other things I forget and an overbearing stench of patriotism Chai Tea: totally completely original “tea-tea”

Calamari Mix: when you try and assert your social dominance freshman year by making conversation in the health screening line.

Consumerism.

The Folio

13

by Madison Red

APPETIZERS

the nose

by Hunter McIlvain

16

Appetizers

thocabulary

by Sebastian Castro

Thank Those That Think They Thould Thick Tho Thalliteration Thechanisms

The Folio

17

writer’s block

by Chloe Williams

Staring at a blank piece of paper is the most terrifying feeling in the world, Allen thought miserably. He had exactly 223 minutes until he had to submit two whole short stories, beginning, middle and end, proofed and likeable.

Of course, he was writing for them not himself. Writing was not something he ever wanted to go into as a career, because writing for them was not nearly as fun as writing for himself.

Deadlines made everything seem like work, and that is precisely when creativity stops. Also, they would judge the pieces based on their criteria, not his. They would tell him what they thought, not what he would think. They would tell him what it was about and how to fix it so it told them what they wanted.

And for once he wanted to be able to write without the “I have to submit this in 219 minutes” alarm in the back of his head. He wanted to be able to write like he had when he was 10 years old, when the only reader was his encouraging grandmother, when creativity flowed from his brain like water from a faucet.

But now he had complete writers block. He’d had it for years now, submitting trash upon trash upon piles of trash to them.

And he was sick of it. But there was no relief for Allen.

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and wrote more trash.

18

Appetizers

The Adventures Beyond

by Eileen Chen

The Folio

19

Lookin’ Fresh

by Sophia Reeder

20

Appetizers

Spastically Sprinting Wide-Eyed: FANTASTIC

I nod to the beat. Quick feet. Bombastic.

Just another one of my tactics I drastically get attached to the ones around me Then pack my bags. Your lack of words astound me.

You didn't really think that I'd pass the test.

You didn't really I'd be cast for this.

If you're thinking that way that's such madness But I'm liking that hate I'm a masochist My skin got ripped up Whipped and cripped up I say words but it's not what I think of I try my best but I always get tripped up Nothin but jargon I call that a lipdub But I still feel so abandoned I jumped that ship then landed I pump that shit I'm loving it Now I feel heavy handed Meticulous and candid I'm In charge and I planned it So worthless and pedantic Hear that bomb tick-a-tick I'm bout to rage out rampid I'm a package of pistons I pissed it Ask for permission I didn't

22

Appetizers

Scott A. Hennessey

Stretched on a table Not living Hate and ambition I'm driven Dicks in their cliques And I’m picking Idiots making a killing Thinking they’re deserving of the things that they’re getting Was it you?

Such attitude Damn you’re getting rude Platonic and placid is living low like prostitutes.

Constitutes my problem A mistake you didn’t choose But happily ever after is a bullshit fake excuse Just breathe.

I stop.

My eyes are shot.

My chest is hot.

And my skin is burning.

Just breathe.

A mind of torment is inelastic But spastically sprinting wide-eyed’s fantastic

The Folio

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a l w a y s

by Ankita Kalasabail

s u n n y

t h e r i s i n g s u n w i l l n e v e r s e t

by Lara Briggs

here, it almost seems serene: the pale orange rays dusting deep brown earth, stones who stand solemn, anchored in the sand;

here, even the wind holds its breath: the emptiness swallows every corner the eye can see, and it bears not a single sound;

here, we walk without answers: the sweet taste of metal in our mouths, sunlight grazing our faces;

here, the eternal daylight is a reminder: the rising sun will never set, and if it were to fall, the darkness would long outlast any dawn.

Prism Space

by Emma Choe

Retro

by Ryan Bertolino

a riddle

by Chloe Williams

A Riddle: What am I?— I’m very popular- you’ve heard of me before.

I clean myself every day, but only whenever the mood strikes me.

I snooze. Y’know, I don’t sleep, just kind of doze on high alert.

I stop walking whenever I want to and just kind of flop onto the floor.

I go through moods where I’m extremely anti-social and others where you can’t get rid of me.

I have a thing for chicken. And most other kinds of meats. And also milk.

Sometimes I behave.

This morning, I tried to eat the stairs. I knew I couldn’t really do it, but it was fun to jam my face into it anyway.

I also chase things that don’t exist because why on earth not?

Climbing walls is fun.

Ignoring people is also fun.

Annoying people is the most fun.

WHAT AM I?

portraits en rouge

by Olivia Rainbow The Folio

29

Scissors

by Ava Collin 30

Appetizers

The Effects of Glass

by Parker Gould The Folio

31

tomato

by Angeline Ma

in summertime our tomatoes burst forth from starlike blossoms, hard and raw and green until they swell bright red under the welcoming blaze of the sun if only a camera could capture the thread of a tomato’s veins, sheathed in unblemished skin covering gentle edges but a camera can’t do it justice, or the way my mother’s face lit up when she brought the first harvest into this home, my home, our home, and told me how her yeye would slice open a tomato and mixmix with sugar and feed it to her when she was sick and how she would drink the juice, slightly gritty from sugar and seed it was a long time ago, back when she was still young and starry-eyed, when china’s roads were paved for a new leader to grace the stage and the stage shook under his tremendous weight, from the red and stars fluttering behind him as he smiled and waved to millions of expectant shining eyes in wintertime our tomatoes rot, dropped from the branches from whence they came, smothered in snow and cold and damp and browned from the center out

a tomato is summertime a tomato is new beginnings.

Limited Tomatoes

By Casey Kovarick

The Folio

33

In the Attic

by Lydia Naser

34

Appetizers

Through the Looking Glass

by Dhivya Arasappan The Folio

35

Toby

36

Appetizers

by Emily Meany

My Beach Vacation

by Lara Briggs

I know when most people go to the shore, They think of white, sandy beaches, Sinking under their feet.

I tried running in my bare feet on this beach, And it hurt.

It’s mostly made of rocks, A few shells, Some pieces of brick, And if I’m really lucky, Bright green sea glass.

I could go in the water, But it’s cold, And still rocky, Until there’s muddy, heavy sand.

So, I’m sitting out on the dock.

Looking left: Vermont.

Looking right: Vermont.

Looking straight ahead: I always thought it was New York on the other side of the lake.

Turns out it’s just more Vermont.

The Folio

37

The Old and Wise Traveler

by Scott. A. Hennessy Oh hello young friend!

I see you’ve lost your touch Scared and frustrated by the whims of your world Fear not!

Rise your head Bend your neck And soon your labor will be worth it If you blindly love this world’s beauty Enough to burn your soul Nothing will stand in your way You’ll laugh and cry With friends and enemies alike And you’ll truly learn what it’s like to feel human Just as I had A long time ago

Shelter

by Natalia Green

The Folio

39

Daze

by Coco Kambayashi

40

Appetizers

a-flat / heartbreak

by Angeline Ma

A-flat tastes like garlic swimming in layers of chili oil and the takeout boxes from the chinese restaurant we never went to.

A-flat tastes like red– red like wringing someone inside out, like pounding heart, like feverish crimson.

A-flat tastes like pure, raw vulnerability that wounds you, but leaves you wanting more as if it’s your last chance at being human.

The Folio

41

Cleopatra

by Olivia Wang

chinese girl

by Angeline Ma

she hates the way the chinese girl slurs her name she imagines the stares of the American kids on her wondering what their American minds think, what their American eyes see she hates the way the chinese girl speaks how her chinese tongue blurs the edges of each syllable and her chinese accent lurking in every word and her chinese voice rising and falling, like a children’s song she hates the way the chinese girl looks like her how they have the same dark hair that refuses to fall into that perfect white girl wisp and the same eyes like burnt apricot kernels that leave their bitterness on the tongue and the same nose that dents in the middle when they smile she hates that the chinese girl is chinese and not American she hates how she’s become used to prefacing American with chinese like it’s a disclaimer she hates knowing that at heart she is the chinese girl.

The Folio

43

TRIPP

by Kaylee Morris

WALLS

ASHKA PATEL Four white walls As long as I have remembered All I’ve ever done Is stare At four white walls They say I’m crazy Psycho In the wrong state of mind But maybe they’re the crazy ones And I’m just Normal Is it wrong to think That I don’t belong here That I shouldn’t be here No Don’t think When you are called crazy Thinking can lead to your demise But what if I’m not crazy What if this was a mistake A dream No, not a dream A nightmare Yes, a nightmare But when that nightmare ends I’ll wake up And Still Be Psycho

by Madison Red

ENTRÉES

1 and 61 Dollar crimes and street signs divide neatly into human suffering Housing lines and family ties color the people with shades of nothing Existing, persisting, and insisting on the same draws the blame on the courageous Pretending there’s compensation for damnation cause some of them got famous Dangerous cities warrant pities for the white man in trouble But get a sigh when colored kids die before they can grow stubble Cultural assault’s our fault even with our backs on the asphalt Drawing attention to racial tension is our bad by default Cops letting brown brains splatter arguing about which lives matter Between black and white, I know they think the latter Self-righteous racists with their principals blurring fictional and biblical How often a killer white cop turns out to be Christian is downright criminal Hat in the ring and I sing my laments as I represent discontent to the 1 and 61 percent There’s no specifics on statistics on how many lives this fight has spent I’m calling America the land of the needy and home of the craven Whites fight for Christ to lead us, but instead they gave us Satan Now I’m appreciative the white man let us go free range organic But I’m asking that you legalize me being an hispanic And I hope every aggressive white progressive and stupid baseless racist knows this is an attack Cause to them racism’s all done now and that’s their matter of fact I’ll never accept their definition of equal rights for white, brown, and black

by Sebastian Castro

48

Entrées

Lasting Tardiness

by Angela Chen

The Folio

49

trip a n g e l i n e

su s p e n d

by Kaylee Morris

m a

S

omehow I am flowing through consciousness, through the void, and I am aware of its existence at the same time as the opposite reality which I am in now.

I am pulled down to the depths of truth, until I am pulled back to reality so that everything fades, like a dream.

But is this reality truly a reality? Perhaps nothing exists at all and I am merely somebody's imagination. Or maybe there truly is nothing and the void is all there is, or maybe nothing is at all, or maybe there is no “there” or there is no “is”.

I am pulled through different dimensions, or rather different dimensions are pulled to me as I travel through this space in my mind and it's the only thing that exists in this moment and I don’t even know what exists anymore and suddenly I'm back and I see the grass, the night sky, the moon, the stars and everything that once was real suddenly is not, like it is part of the void, like I myself am God and I rise above all and I realise that this is all a simulation, that at the end of the day everything that seems so gigantic, so present, so real, is not. I am nothingness and can dissolve in seconds into nothingness. Even though the law of conservation of matter says that I will never really go away, in this moment I am certain that I am nothing, and that the space around me does not exist but merely is here in my mind, and that at will I can once again enter the void, into the nothingness and see once again the truth of the universe. If there is at all a truth or a universe. **I AM NOT REAL** I am not in control, I am helpless, I am not in control. I am terrified and I want it to end please

PLEASE I want it to end NOW. I can control the people in video games because they are not real, or maybe they are real in that they exist merely in their plane of reality and in their world, in their present that seems so tangible and so important but it's not at least not to me because I control them, and I wonder who decided to fuck around with me today because I WANT IT TO END. I am not in control, I'm trapped, I'm aware that somewhere there is a world I've regarded as reality for my entire existence, but right now I am somewhere else, somewhere where I’m not normal, where I’m influenced by external factors and I am AWARE OF IT FOR THE FIRST TIME and I feel so fucking helpless and please STOP. I just want to be normal again, I didn't want this at all I just wanted to learn but maybe this is how learning has to be, and finally I understand why so many people are terrified of this because for the first time I can comprehend the magnitude of this and being in another sphere and another realm, and not being normal and not knowing what’s going on and not knowing why I’m here and not knowing what the point is like I wanted to learn about what the point was but IJUSTCANT and maybe, the point isn't what we think it is at all, maybe the point just isn’t at all and maybe the point IS that there is no point and maybe the point IS that the point ISN’T. Because what is the point when I’m not in control? Maybe right now somebody else is dictating what I'm writing to fuck around with me just because. Is that what God does? Am I God if this is only my reality? If this exists only in my head? Is this an altered state of consciousness? Or is this the truth? In this moment I am back in that black void, in that nothingness, and again there is that terrible thought that I am not conscious but I am somewhere I'm not supposed to be, or maybe this is where I am supposed to be but I just can't handle it.

The Folio

51

This wasn't supposed to happen, am I just weak? **PLEASE DEAR GOD JUST LET IT END PLEASE JUST LET ME BE NORMAL AGAIN** I can't think. I can't move. My dad texts me. I think I remember my dad. I want to let myself go but I can't, I must keep myself from straying too far — Some people say there is no bad, only difficult — Please God I don't want this punishment, please punish me sometime else somehow else because I am not in control, I can't just let myself go just yet — I have never felt so helpless in my life — I am vibrating, I am thrumming with the frequencies of other realities and I am and am not here, I am floating, I am flowing like a breeze through a void until I fall back all of a sudden and I am here under the night sky under the shimmering stars — And I fall back into darkness, where there is no time, where there is nothing besides nothingness— And I wake up again, and I forget.

52

Entrées

Primary Colors Portraits (panel 2)

by Stella Lei The Folio

53

Primary Color Portraits (panel 1)

Primary Color Portraits (panel 3)

54

EntrĂŠes

RACE

by Aryaj Kumar

Desperation racing through me losing patience Talking fast at the mast but don’t think that I can last What are we fighting about so much doubt wrong time to have a bout Heart is heavy with the beat starting to feel the heat Hurting bad feeling sad getting mad at me Hands grip the wheel press the gas with my heel fate is sealed Think it’s wit minds are lit saying random shit Arguments unfold as I am told getting kinda bold In the moment logic’s bent the message has been sent Upset and done there’s no more fun no place to even run Look away one second is one day nothing left to say Didn’t see the truck right there nor hear its blare is this fair Eyes not on the road should’ve slowed red was what the light showed Crashed and lost car got tossed on the road should not have crossed Eyes flutter I begin to stutter there’s nothing I can utter Blood is spread are they dead what’s that pain in my head Glass stings siren rings look at the pain he brings Mistakes were made now need aid vision begins to fade Close my eyes one last sigh mouth too dry to speak Desperation racing through me wishing I had patience The Folio

55

cabbie

by Sebastian Castro

INT. CAR - AFTERNOON CABBIE drives while BARRY smokes a joint in the passenger seat.

BARRY offers CABBIE a hit. CABBIE takes it, coughs, and hands it back.

BARRY

Just don’t be a bitch about it.

CABBIE

I’m... yeah, I mean, yes, I am being a bitch, but, I just wanna, you know, wait for the right... right?

Barry takes another hit. He’s not surprised CABBIE agrees with him, but he is disappointed.

BARRY

Now that’s being a bitch.

BARRY passes CABBIE the joint again.

CABBIE

I mean... yeah. But... yeah, okayBARRY cuts CABBIE off, annoyed.

BARRY

Jesus Christ, kid.

56

Entrées

CABBIE What?

CABBIE doesn’t get it. BARRY can’t stand it.

BARRY

Listen to yourself.

CABBIE

I don’t... sorry.

BARRY

Just stop.

CABBIE What?

BARRY

I said stop, it’s the house.

CABBIE realizes they’re there. He opts to keep his mouth shut. He stops the car near the curb.

BARRY

Listen to me, kid.

BARRY takes a handgun out of the glove box and checks the clip.

BARRY (CONT’D)

It’s a leap of faith. You like this girl?

CABBIE Yeah.

BARRY points the empty gun at CABBIE. BARRY

Are you a man?

There’s a beat. CABBIE knows the truth.

The Folio

57

cabbie

CABBIE Sure.

That’s a lie.

BARRY loads the clip and racks the gun.

BARRY (CONT’D)

Then you gotta take that leap.

There’s a power to how BARRY exits the car. He looks around, then walks confidently up the steps, tucking the gun in his waistband. It looks like a crack house, but it fits in with the neighborhood.

BARRY gets to the door and knocks. He’s greeted by a nervous man who reluctantly lets him in.

CABBIE pointedly looks away, and takes another drag.

Shots ring out from the house. CABBIE turns up the radio.

58

Entrées

Tim Burton’s Yoshi

by Madison Red

The Folio

59

DRIVEN

by Jessica Frantzen

when I was a baby, you placed me down and buckled me in ever so gently as if a single misplaced finger would stir a mewling beast

every drive home, a harmless ruse my eyes fluttered closed wishing on some hidden star wanting nothing more than my mother’s warm embrace

every bump in the road, a mountain which you crossed with the care of a foal taking its first steps scared of crashing down to earth

when I left for school today, you took my picture to put next to all the others year after year of being driven and made me cross my heart to text you when I got there

when I was five, I climbed to my own seat prouder than any mountain climber until I realized I didn’t know how to buckle it you chuckled as you opened the car door, reminding me I was yet a child

every drive on my own, a step towards independence’s peak some sure, some wobbly, all with the determination of a growing foal still guarded from afar by its mother but driven to prove that someday I, too, will run free under the blue sky

60

Entrées

primary

by Monisha Gupta The Folio

61

The

Rotting Fruit

by Scott A. Hennessy

of

One’s Labor

The vulture stands still and stares sinisterly as it waits for the pitiful creatures below him to taste the bitter descent of death.

It continually glides up, then down like a pendulum, descending upon the glass-eyed victims of nature's cold clench.

Its pointed beak and claws rip their skin open like rusted barbed wire.

Then they tear their flesh and throw it back so it may slide down the inner linings of the avian's slick and slimy throat.

As the blood dries upon the vulture's drenched black feathers, What's left of the dead creature's diminishing soul lambasts the will of God as it questions the futility of its never-ending anguish.

To slave away eternally only to die by the cruel game of chance.

The thrill of the hunt, The courage of beasts, The strategic play of patience to quench the primitive, raging thirst for blood, The triumph and turmoil in besting the subordinate by bashing one's instincts into submission, To rise above, To savor the sweet nectar of superiority, Only to learn it was always destined for failure.

To be hung from the gallows then picked apart.

The thrill of the hunt, Undercut by the apathy of ravaging scavengers, Lifted above the food chain by sheer luck.

When the stomach of the vulture grows full, its ignorant bliss is not earned nor warranted.

As the vulture swallows its last morsel, the dead creature's dissipating soul ponders upon the question: When the vulture's pendulum ends its mechanical swing, who will eat the limp corpse of the vulture?

As the creature's soul neared its death, the answer to his question became his final thought: No one.

Where the Crows Fly

by Dhivya Arasappan The Folio

63

64

EntrĂŠes

PROVIDENTIA

by Rachel Hunt

The Folio

65

Voicemails for the Dead

by Shreya Singh

December 11th, 2014

[Hi! If I didn’t pick up which you probably noticed by now, I’m not available at this time. Leave me a voicemail or give me a try later? Bye!]

Beep.

“Thank god that ended.

You have absolutely no clue how hard it is to call you every day and hear your greeting. Hear my laughter in the background with you. To remember that there was once a time when you were breathing, blinking. Everyday I call hoping, praying, begging for you to pick up.

You never do.

That’s the shitty thing about heaven though isn’t it? Whoever’s in charge won’t let you say goodbye or say hi to the ones who matter most—— sorry, mattered most in your life back with the living. They want you to let go because you’re dead.

They want you to accept that your heart doesn’t beat anymore. They want you to realize the world has moved on.

And I hate that.

Because the world hasn’t moved on. I haven’t moved on.

I was walking home from school and I was quiet, observing everyone around me. The little girl crying to her mother about the cut fresh on her arm. The guy in an expensive suit talking rapidly on his earpiece to the person on the other end. The ice cream truck coming down the road causing every little kid to start dragging their parents towards it.

It was heart-wrenching.

To see everyone not caring about you not being with them, with me, in this harsh heaven. I felt like lashing out on everyone. How could they not give a damn about you? The cruelty surrounding me these days. I know I shouldn’t be so mean to them. I mean it’s not like they knew you—just like I never knew they existed—but it hurt so bad to know everyone else has moved on from an irrelevant death and I still haven’t.

But don’t worry mom. You’ll have your place in this world. I’ll make sure of it.

I’ll make sure that you’re remembered everyday because that’s as much as I can do. I have no power to do anything else. Nothing. I feel worthless, but maybe if I can hold your memory as close to me as possible, if I can keep the memory of you alive, maybe I can keep myself alive.

I love you mom. Heaven stole my world away from me, but I’ll make sure they don’t steal you away from this world.”

Eastern State Penitentiary

by Sophia Chen

69

The Folio

BEE SEA

a

sey

ennes

A. H Scott

70

EntrĂŠes

Aftershock and white noise hide victims from their pure agony Breaking the psyche of broken men who Cut their arms with razor blades because tattoos are too expensive Drug-filled frenzies filled with Envy fuel their self-insured destruction Filled with screams and silent Gasps as they drown in black tar Hating the structure of this world Intertwined strands of barbed wire and arteries make a twisted cable to Jump their rusted engines Killing their friends with a toxic poison Limp and twitching on the ground as Moans fill the air of this endless hellscape Nothing is left to care about as Open mouths and dead eyes splinter with stingers Pricking every orifice and slimy skin cell Quivering bodies turns into a hunky grey mush Rising an ocean of homogenized pieces of human matter Seething hot from radiation and filled with rotting Teeth and bones and skin and Underneath it all is just a seabed of broken nails, scraping and Vibrating to the tune of ringing pay phones Winding and seeping down and melting throats Xenon, Lithium, and Plutonium filling half-living lungs Yells and screams of fathers, mothers, and children with Zero chance of survival and zero indication of a swift and merciful end

The Folio

71

Swarm

LYDIA N ASER

they’re all around you feel them beating against your back whispering at your ankles crawling up your spine they found the holes inside your mind and now your skin begins to flake like wax wings buzz against your skull building comb between your brain cells your body becomes nature’s geometry and your flesh itches as it gives way to hexagonal cells abdomens dip into you, buckling under the weight of pollen they pack you with yellows and oranges, drown you in gold nectar smears across your cheek your joints sticky with propolis they fill your throat with honey until it seeps from your pores and coats your lips your tongue already swollen with venom your body drunk on sugar they weave antennae through your hair an infestation of the soul the queen dances inside of you larva lie still beneath your skin basking in capped brood cells birth begins with a flutter at your sides and ends when the hum inside of you becomes overwhelming bodies and bodies and bodies a hive has found a home in you and colonized your dna you belong to the bees now

Record Waves

by Sophia Reeder

The Folio

73

Luther Ruther and Rose

by Sebastian Castro

74

Entrées

Well I’m Unsure Of my Future And my Brother His name’s Ruther And he Ruled her And he Hurt her And I Asked sir Can I Defer But he Ordered Me to Torture My own Sister And she Was hurt But its A blur This will Recur Of that I’m sure Now Rose Won’t stir And her Words slur

girl

by Stella Lei

In pain I’m sure I must Save her She says Luther Not to Be curt But I’ve Been hurt And I Am sure That our Brother Will try To hurt You and I’m sure That you Will hurt Him but Still we’re Siblings Brothers I’m your Sister So don’t Bother This love Is yours I do This for You and Ruther.

The Folio

75

a s s h o l e Lydia Naser

Anatomy

Gabi Valencia

There’s blood in the toilet bowl again So I sit against the tub and put my head between my knees I’m dizzy because I don’t want to do this again Because I need a moment where I don’t have to accept it and be grateful it isn’t so much worse I know this is easy, that it could be an actual disability, or it could be, or it could be And it’s not, it’s so much less than all of that I’m so lucky, and I know that But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck So give me a minute to wallow, and then we’ll call

And I’ll go in two months And we’ll forget that the door opens on the opposite side and I’ll laugh when we almost run into it again And as she checks in and signs things, I’ll stare at the welcome paper on the glass and try to figure out all of the languages that say the same thing and I’ll think about how I can actually kind of read the french one and then I’ll think about how if someone was fluent in many languages it would just say the same thing over and over again

(you must get sick of it, over and over again) And none of that matters, but it gives me something to do And so then we go sit, and there’s always some Disney movie playing on the tv overhead And I like to watch the other little kids watch the movie because they’re so cute and it makes me sad because they shouldn’t have to be here, and I hope they’re okay, I really hope they’re okay And then a nurse calls my name and we walk through a maze of hallways and they take my weight and height and I smile because I’m still taller than my mom, I guess now I’ll always be taller than my mom

(I’ll probably get sick of it, over and over again)

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77

a s s h o l e The doctor is more understanding than most, which is why I still see him But he still talks really fast and he still asks how the fatigue is because I guess I’m the only one who understands that it’s never going to go away And he still sets me on edge because

he always wants me to get blood drawn and sometimes that’s ok but it always hurts and

makes me dizzy and last time I saw him the blood was really bad and so Jesus Christ and so he put his finger in my ass and it was strictly medical and he was fine and whatever but it also fucking sucked because it felt weird and wrong and

Why does my body betray me?

Why does it have to be bad enough to warrant needles and fingers and examinations and specialists?

I know I can handle it just fine, and I know, I KNOW how lucky I am that this is all it is.

But I don’t want to take four pills in the morning, and I don’t want to carry a granola bar because if I get caught without one at the wrong time I’ll stop functioning, and I didn’t want to look at drawings of shit and point to the one that looked the most like mine, and I didn’t want to crap in a plastic bucket and scoop it into vials and send my mom on a wild goose chase trying to get the samples in, and I didn’t want his fingers in my butt, and I didn’t want to hold my breath every time he brought up scoping because when it really comes down to it fingers are better than a camera

(and man it’s really the little stuff, you know?

Like, when we had to shovel my stool samples into the jars, the spoon they gave us looked

exactly like the spoons we were given the summer before to eat gelato in Italy

Like, every time we stay in a hotel, I have to pour freaking Miralax into the little cup and

78

Entrées

a s s h o l e

carry it downstairs to the breakfast bar and pray that no one sees it and knows what it is but also I hope no one thinks its cocaine and sometimes I pretend I don’t know which would be worse because it’s so embarrassing Like, my brother will ask to do something with me and I say no because I’m so fucking tired and then I wonder if I’m just lazy and did I just turn down spending time with my brother because I’m lazy and then I feel so incredibly guilty because I can’t tell how tired is tired enough to be an excuse and no one seems to know how tired is tired enough to be a medical condition and I just want to do things with my brother and I don’t want him to think that I don’t want to and then I watch more TV but God I don’t know - I’m just so fucking tired

And I hate that I can’t talk about it because no one talks about this stuff because it’s embarrassing and so I just talk about the other stuff I deal with.

And I usually don’t talk about it at all. Because writing this made me feel like a horrible person.

Because as much as I hate this, I know I’m going to be fine, that I am fine. I can’t imagine the strength you would need to be one of the people who isn’t fine.

But I just needed a minute to wallow.

The Folio

79

pennies

by Lara Briggs

I grit my teeth and taste copper.

It’s like the pennies you and I used to throw into the water— We’d watch them pirouette like ballerinas as they fell deeper,

until they were gone— And now I look at the water and wish it were kerosene, Feeding flames of pain, spite coming alight,

but I’m too drained, see, Because it feels like my throat is full of bile (or maybe blood).

I’m sick of desire, it twists my stomach until all that comes to mind

is an unwelcome taste Like grains of sand or salt from the sea settling on your tongue.

Bold and bright, it’s the ground caving in until the earth

is nothing more than shiny rocks made into little coins.

Like a blight, roots clinging to soil as their leaves wither and die, Fried in the sun to husks of brown that crumble when you touch them, But they’ll return to the dirt, surely, and there they can start again, Leaving me and the bitter bite of resentment and copper.

Maybe—I hope—those pennies kept falling Down, until they were forgotten; Down, where they carved a hole in the crust; Down, burning brilliantly in the core.

80

Entrées

SPARKS FLY

by Joyce Fung

The Folio

81

Steel to the Head

by Scott A. Hennessy I may have given you a sign By lying I’m used to trying to take advantage of your mind Cause I was blinded By lust It’s rusted It’s color and shape may be stranded You didn’t cosign no tangent No consent for my belligerence Some pain packed ambivalence A cap to the heart I’m killing it Let the bomb go off no pin in it Flatter and flaunt then dead on the sidewalk And watch as I gawk

P O N D E R

by Lydia Naser

leetS eht ot daeH j

In a cell and it’s locked Here’s a gun and it’s cocked Spit out lead and you’ll rot Punch like a piston And you’re doomed to be shot Just hold it back Don’t think about your mishaps So misfire With the quicker route you’d pick that So misfire I feel it rushing back like blood and you can’t misfire I taste iron on my tongue and I won’t Miss This Time.

FIRE

The Folio

83

Face etching 1

by Monisha Gupta 84

EntrĂŠes

Duke and Duchess of Ayodhya

by Monisha Gupta The next piece is a diptych, and is meant to represent a meshing of Indian, specifically Hindu culutre with a western cannon of art. This specific piece is based on the Renaissance painting “The Duke and Duchess of Urbino� by Piero della Francesca. The two figures are the gods Sita and Rama from the Hindu epic the Ramayana.

The Folio

85

86

EntrĂŠes

The Folio

87

The Wooden House

by Eileen Chen

88

EntrĂŠes

The Blue House

by Leyla Yilmaz

T

he little girl and her mom arrived at the faded blue house on the corner of the street. The intimidating view of the white concrete fence of the graveyard was visible when looking outside of the house’s wooden windows, but the blue house warmly welcomed them. Despite her mother’s constant warnings about how the ladder grip wasn’t safe enough, the girl held the grip strongly and jumped up the stairs instead of climbing them. She gave her mother a victorious grin and ran inside to her grandmother, before her mother could scold her. The little girl loved coming here. The wooden chair welcomed her for another game of peek-a-boo with her grandma, while the classic red Turkish rugs waited for her to roll over them. A picture of her grandpa who passed away, tucked in the corners of the golden-colored mirrors could be found even by eyes that paid no attention.

After hugging each other, the mothers immediately got the prepared dough and cheese set on the table, and hurried to the backyard. The backyard was small, but, to the little girl, it seemed like it carried all of the world’s secrets. The tall trees and the occasional bright flowers covered their view of the house behind them. Grass sprouted out of the soil unevenly since the old woman couldn’t bend down to take care of the

plants. Cats roamed around. The girl didn’t pet them even though she really wanted to because she knew her mom would ask her to wash her hands again. She hated going to the bathroom all the way to the back of the house all alone and she wouldn’t dare to ask her mom to go with her. She didn’t like to admit she was scared after she spent so much effort trying to convince her mom that she was a big girl.

As she started to hear her grandma giving instructions to her mom for the gözleme they were about to make, she headed out to the backyard. This was one of the best parts of visiting her grandma. Hands moving in unison to spread the dough stunned her. She observed her grandma hypnotizingly flipping the dough, and her mom filling it with cheese. The girl envied the cohesiveness they had. She watched their white headscarves swaying gently as they moved. Their hands spoke of experience, and the child whose eyes sparkled with amazement could not wait until she could do the same.

Once her grandma started putting the gözlemes on the old-fashioned outdoors oven, she anticipated how the smell of freshly baked bread would spread to the next two blocks.

Since people in the neighborhood would not be able to think about anything other than gözlemes once the rich smell reached them,

The Blue House her grandma always made some extra to give the neighbors. Although the girl didn’t like being the deliverer, she felt accomplished when the neighbors thanked her for the delicious food.

She giggled with delight once her mom called her over to help her make the last one. She struggled a lot, but the proud eyes of her grandmother was better than any reward she could get. In that moment, when her grandmother hugged her tightly and caressed her cheeks, she longed for this magical moment to never end.

But like most good things, it ended. It ended, and over ten years later the girl found herself standing in front of the blue house, watching it get destroyed to the ground by those machines she used to be so afraid of. She expected her lungs to be filled with the smell of freshly baked bread but all she smelled was cement instead. She smiled softly, trying to silence the longing shouting in her heart.

She went to her apartment with small steps, and she tucked a picture of her grandma in the corner of her gold-framed mirror. She could almost smell freshly baked bread filling her room.

90

EntrĂŠes

moon mirror

by Dhivya Arasappan

The Folio

92

by Madison Red

DESSERTS

quotidienne

by Lara Briggs flecks of golden sunlight stand suspended, scattered among the morning mist— they fall upon my crown’s muted jewels diluted as if their vibrance waits dormant, locked in a deep, brilliant slumber.

at daybreak, we reached our hands out into the morning grasses.

i shifted my fingers through chalky earth and came upon delicate roots held by bonds of trust in fragile soil.

the royal purple fabrics of twilight mask steely claws. the robes are dyed with grapes and winter tears.

i stand upon the riverbed: in the mirror of the water, my reflection—

my robes, my crown—

dawn turns to dusk. ripples speak only cyclic truth.

94

Desserts

Gently

by Sophia Reeder

Soar

by Sophia Reeder

Moon

by Angeline Ma

Maybe the moon is soft with spongy canyons and styrofoam glaciers like a warm and malleable heart, ready to be shaped— not broken, just twisted; so that life flows through clayed ravines like Arctic wind.

Maybe the moon is stale with unforgiving crust and brittle dough like orphaned remnants of birthday cake in the fridge teetering on the brink of atrophy, a votive offering to hungry passersby.

Maybe the moon is bitter with hollowed craters and serrated edges like fresh young bitter melon, its surface seeping through luminous green skin so that gourds swell like blisters from sinewy vine.

Maybe the moon is sweet with sun-warmed flesh shielding delicate seed like summer’s first tomatoes spilling into our soup bowls, scarlet sleeves shrinking back like snakeskin to shed the residue of their past selves.

Maybe the moon exists to be plucked from its position amongst stars and savoured to whet our appetites for the next pursuit

Summer Evening With Fireflies

by Evelyn Zhao The Folio

99

53

by Gabi Valencia 100

Desserts

BIG EYES AND EARS

by Olivia Brake The Folio

101

my muse

by Chitra Singh Not hard to identify, you, sweet, familiar, within reach, something that amplifies light, you misplace my words on paper, reach for the ink, unexpectedly create, light the caverns in my mind to release humbled monsters, The clock keeps ticking so I take your hand, I begin to trust you.

Then you’re out of sight.

I look for you, frantic, my pen stalled, fighting the tart taste you’ve left in your wake, you lurk at the fringes of my memory, Even as it hurts, I give chase with grit, Mithridatism, they call it, Trading my tears for your acidic ink, My fingers tremble but it’s easier to think, Please take my hand once more, Push me through a hundred doors, And even as I fall, tumbling down, I will toss you up my crown.

102

Desserts

Dreaming

by Audrey Kim

The Folio

103

MR. BIGGS

by Chloe Williams

“My dear I just don’t understand,” Mr. Biggs said to his wife. She was sitting in her rocking chair and knitting as he paced in front of the fireplace, still in his business suit. “What do they think I am, a machine? A business meeting tomorrow and another on Thursday… They know I need a week to plan and make all the proper arrangements, you know me, dear, I-“

“Yes, I know you very well, dear,” his wife said without looking up from her knitting. She was well accustomed to his work troubles.

“The fact is, I may be an excellent businessman but after all, I need rest and relaxation as much as the next person-“

“Of course you do,” his wife assured him.

“Besides that, I’m not even the boss, surely they could have chosen someone else for the job, I have my plate full as it is already! The reports completed by Wednesday, the new office plans by next week… I simply won’t be able to do it all!”

“Mm,” said his wife.

“You know what I need? I need a vacation. A few days off, to collect myself, you know?”

“Of course,” said his wife.

“But planning a vacation is such an ordeal, sometimes I feel it’s not worth it.”

“Mm hmm,” said his wife.

“You know what I wish, dear? That I could just-“ he snapped his fingers “get away from it all. No planning, no packing, no dealing with those dimwits at work when I’m trying to explain why I’m using my vacation days… I have plenty, I don’t know why they make such a fuss.”

“I don’t know either, dear,” said his wife.

“Just like that,” Mr. Biggs said, snapping his fingers, and promptly vanished into thin air.

“Quite,” said his wife, and she smiled.

104

Desserts

MAGPIE’S MONSTERS

by Sophia Reeder The Folio

105

Crowded

by Ashka Patel 106

Desserts

Mirage

by Ashka Patel

market

by Angeline Ma mother’s in Seafood . grimy aproned butchers chop chop . jaw sets , thrums yelled prices . somewhere along something loses in translation . price is never constant , imagined wrongdoing and indignation . rows on rows of rice bags . stuff sealed surface reveals pebbled grains . soak and steam . soak and steam til swollen , sunken , soften . shriveled wood ear billows. something like . charred clouds warning of rain . or morning glories under sunrise . dragon fruits spiky, seeded , scarlet . persimmons unripe unyielding , as they often are . for they wait eternities The Folio

107

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE i

forgot

by Aryaj Kumar

today i forgot but tomorrow i will not

i promise i’ll be better i promise i’ll try harder i promise all the things I want to say but i know they’ve already been said it’s not easy to strike back to fight back and struggle old habits die hard as they say but it’s not always just that

why do you give me that look that look that you’ve given up the look that’s filled with all the pain these choices have built up

i promise i won’t let you down i promise i’m changing my ways i promise i can be the type of person that i always told you i could be i try to change the little things and act a way I should but every time I look at you it goes all unnoticed

today i forgot and i want to say tomorrow i will not but today is over and tomorrow comes and i’m the same as if it were always today

108

Desserts

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE Under a Bridge, Virginia

by Dhivya Arasappan The Folio

109

Peonies

by Madison Red

Cupcake

by Madison Red The Folio

111

Roses are Red, Roses are Dead

by Nikkita Pandey Roses are red violets are blue But all the flowers are gone with you The roses are dead and the violets are wilted The sky is black and the world is tilted The sun is gone and the rain won’t stop I find myself alone ready to drop But then you come back From the deep shallows of the ground And everything that changed turned around The flowers sprung The sky turned blue The world had light The sun came up And there were rainbows in sight You came for me and stood by my side But when you left again all the roses died

112

Desserts

Princess

by Natalia Green The Folio

113

Ballerina

by Daniel Geregus 114

Desserts

Oil Painting of a Woman

by Olivia Wang

116

Desserts

Cloaked In Curisoty

by Coco Kambayashi

TRY CUSTOMIZING YOUR OWN TEA! **note: make sure to check out our own delicious tea flavors on pages 10-13

My tea’s flavor will be

My tea’s flavor will be

My tea tastes like

My tea tastes like

My tea reminds me of

My tea reminds me of

My tea looks like

My tea looks like

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Meet the

Master Chefs 118

Staff Pages

Lara Briggs likes Japanese food, but she’s allergic to fish, so that’s really inconvenient. She loves making her grandmother’s yellow cake with chocolate frosting. It’s made from storebought cake mix. She enjoys caesar salad, but of course, she’s allergic to anchovies, so she eats it and then immediately takes a Benadryl.

Jessica Frantzen is currently suffering from lemon sugar cookie withdrawal. Her favorite flavor of gum is watermelon twist, and she welcomes anybody who disagrees to engage her in an incredibly unproductive debate.

She may be a senior, but hopes that she’s not ‘pasta’ her prime yet.

Sebastian Castro has a professional relationship with food. It’s always a give and take. They give him nutrients, and he takes their nutrients.

Sophia Reeder is not a coffee fan, and was quite distressed when her parents bought themselves a coffee maker for Christmas. Luckily, it was quickly returned as they realized making their own coffee is more complicated than it looks. If Sophia is what she eats, then it’s a wonder she hasn’t turned into a hastily made sunny-side up egg on toast.

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120

Madison Red made 15 blueberry pies for a pie-eating contest last Thanksgiving. She also has also made Oreos from scratch and is obsessed with Bon Appetit’s YouTube channel.

Monisha Gupta has an unhealthy emotional attachment to bubble tea, specifically Thai bubble tea. She has even tried it from America’s capital of bubble tea: Boba Guys in San Francisco. Monisha has even written a poem about it, and dreams of one day trying Boba Hot Pot.

Dhivya Arasappan is the type of person who will spontaneously organize her pantry (remember, snack at eye level). She enjoys sour Granny Smith apples topped with almond butter and recently started sautéing green vegetables at the stove (pronounced stuh-ve).

Chloe Williams accidentally hurts herself every time she’s cooking. Once she was grilling burgers and managed to hurt herself walking through a doorway. Another time she dropped a fork and it landed with its tines down in her foot. She also has a cat that will try to help the eating process move along by eating meals for you. It’s very helpful. Lettuce eat!

Staff Pages

Lydia Naser spends a concerning amount of time watching satisfying cookie decorating videos on Instagram. The allure of Mary Berry is not lost on her, and she will never make a tart for fear of a soggy bottom. She also really likes things with vinegar, including but not limited to german potato salad, salt and vinegar chips.

Ben Smith recommends the Stone Pot Bibimbpap at Kooma; the hummus at Split Rail; the fried olives at Teca; the mushroom soup at Iron Hill; the Welsh Rarebit at The Whip; the Voodoo Crawfish at High Street CafĂŠ; and even the chicken cheesesteak at The Square Bar.

Noah Lanouette is killed by peanuts. He fully understood the roast beef/pea soup joke a few weeks ago. A gallon of dairy product was thrown up the stairs to him and it was an ulti-milk cow-tastrophe. Used to eat lots of steak but it was no longer enjoya-bull. Spaghetti is now his favorite food because it offers so many pasta-bilities. Knows you can microwave water.

Leyla Yilmaz drinks five cups of black tea a day. She thinks putting milk into tea is a crime. She thinks tea is best when it’s bitter.

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122

Natalia Green has the creativity of an uncooked noodle, but she tries. She is addicted to Sour Patch Kids and believes Italian food is best. She’s not wrong. The only type of cooking she can do is heat up a frozen pizza, but it’s okay because it’s delicious.

Chitra Singh is not impressed by the cafeteria’s daily concoctions and would give up on all food for ginger chai (of her own making).

Returning home from school, she rushes to the kitchen at once, much to the dismay of her family members who allay the bitter brew by sneaking in more spoons of sugar when she’s not looking.

Angeline Ma never sleeps on time but hey, energy drinks were created for a reason, right? One unfortunate consequence of her caffeine addiction is that she becomes quite restless and often leaves her thoughts unfini...

Aryaj Kumar is not pronounced orange as his friends will tell you. He enjoys almost every cuisine. Sour gummy worms are his weakness and he will eat them until he is sick (if there is an available supply). Still pondering if when milk is added to cereal if the milk is now a beverage, broth, or sauce. Really skilled at pan frying dumplings and making quesadillas.

Staff Pages

Ankita Kalasabail cannot cook to save her life. Once, she burnt milk. Another time, she left while making grilled cheese and came back to a kitchen full of smoke. Despite this, she can make a mean cup-o-noodles.

Shreya Singh thinks food puns are cheesy.

She also hates cheese. She doesn’t want to taco bout it. She also wishes she had food allergies to explain her extreme pickiness with food, but really she’s just picky.

Daniel Gergeus is allergic to seafood but eats it anyway because his will is as strong as the overcooked microwave noodles he won’t stop eating.

Olivia Wang is always hungry. Her hobbies include: begging her friends for extra food and/or (but not limited to) scoping out Trader Joe's and Costco for free samples.

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126 124

Ashka Patel is allergic to carrots, binge eats candy, and loves food. She is addicted to gum and will probably lose her teeth by the end of the year. She would spend the rest of her life making chocolate truffles because it makes her friends happy.

Scott A. Hennessy writes weird poems when he’s bored sometimes. People often say he’s too self-centered and that he should “swallow his pride.” So he took their advice and now he’s pridefull.

Casey Kovarick's diet consists of 10 Oreos, 2 packs of gummies, 1 Poptart, a bag of chips, 2 chocolate chip cookies, and a bowl of ice cream a day. She works out by lifting 2 slices of pizza to her mouth each night.

Stella Lei enjoys food more than she does writing her bio. But we think she's the sweetest.

Staff Pages Staff Pages

Sophia Chen thinks that people with peanut allergies should be eliminated by natural selection. She has a peanut allergy.

Eileen Chen believed she could, sushi did. She is berry excited to create new things. She also believes that some things are impopsicle and she always stresses since thyme waits for none.

Nikkita Pandey likes chinese food and chocolate. She never stops eating but it’s okay because she enjoys it. There may be side effects but she always tries “Living like Larry.”

Lulu Gunn is not talented with the art of cooking. She once helped with Thanksgiving, and accidentally put the turkey in upside down. Yes, it did result in it catching on fire. The only food that she knows how to safely make is mac and cheese.

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We would like to thank our staff and advisor for making this issue possible Mr. Ben Smith Lara Briggs Sebastian Castro Jessica Frantzen Monisha Gupta Madison Red Sophia Reeder Chloe Williams Dhivya Arasappan Lydia Naser Eileen Chen Sophia Chen Daniel Gergus Natalia Green Lulu Gunn Scott A. Hennessey Ankita Kalasabail Casey Kovarick Aryaj Kumar Noah Lanouette Stella Lei Angeline Ma Hunter McIlvain Nikkita Pandey Ashka Patel Chitra Singh Shreya Singh Olivia Wang Leyla Yilmaz

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Staff Pages

About The Folio We are a student-run literary and art publication from Conestoga High School. Although our name has been The Folio only since 2007, we have collected, compiled, designed and published student-produced art and literature since 1967. Our staff members are dedicated to furthering their own artistic and literary talents and promoting an interest in the humanities school-wide.

The Folio welcomes submissions from all 'Stoga students. Students who wish to be part of The Folio's staff may apply during the course selection in February. More information can be found at our website: stogafolio.weebly.com Last year, The National Scholastic Press Association awarded our publication All American, its highest distinction. In 2018, the National Council of Teachers of English awarded The Folio its highest honor, Realm First Class.

The Folio

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@stogafolio