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YISS
HITCHHIKERʼS GUIDE
Every man's memory is his private literature. - Aidous Huxley
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What Became of Us Christine kim crooked smile but pensive eyes I find my hands in yours a single farewell between us a mass of cluttered letters lingering on my tongue in this final moment our heartbeats intertwine creating the familiar rhythm one last time my ears seize it and hold it close for God knows how long the “We’ll see each other again”s you and I know they're nothing but lifeless words, buried deep into an abyss of mutual fears what we once thought would be us was nonexistent since the first time you became a somebody to me and I, you was it all just an accident? too late for questions, let alone answers I am the first to let go and you are the first to leave “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” but dear Juliet, I do not understand nowhere can I taste the sweet amidst the heartache 2
Pen of Love Penelope Min It was love at third or fourth sight, maybe. On a hot summer day, I first encountered you. And now it is Spring, Spring, Spring. Time has gone by too fast, already over 500 days. The eyes, or I say a clear pond of dreaminess, Caught my eyes on top of a crystal light voice. I counted down each second, waiting for that day. That momentous time made me drop every thought in my mind. It was as if the whole world halted for me. My heart pounded as seconds passed by. Wishing and wishing that time would just stop, even for a minute. Waiting for your name to be called every week. From your hair to your voice, everything enlivens me. Night and day, you are in my mind, Guiding me with your musical words of voice and smile. “Get real�, others would say. Too bad, too bad. No one can stop me. Might appear as a tedious affection, but trust me, it is not. How do I explain the phenomenal things you gave me? Unforgettable memories and first-time experiences. You are like an addicting television show, someone I want to constantly watch and observe. When I close my eyes, I am in a whole new world. A new world where we are the only ones on the planet. You gave me another reason to sing, And handed me the key to euphony. Indeed, strange it is. How my admiration never terminates, as I am usually not this kind of a person. I often wonder if it will ever fade away. No matter what others say, command C command V. My appreciation for you will never die. Endless gratitude for you, from the bottom of my heart For giving me opportunities I would have never had unless I met you two years ago.
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Dream Land Penelope Min
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“A Haiku” Charis Moon I cannot write things Don’t make me write a poem For you, HHG
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If It Had Happened To Me Sharon Prince A glistening pool collecting beneath your head tilted down. Your hair is covering your face, in feeble attempt to mask the tears. I wish I could muster up the courage to say any comforting words, and actually mean them. When I first heard what happened, the only thing I could do was to type “what to do if a friend’s dad dies” like an idiot. I wish I were sensitive enough, Understanding enough, to know what to say to stop those tears. But I’m not, because I don’t know what it feels like to see your life falling apart at the seams. I don’t know what it’s like because this is the first time death has happened so close to me. I could have chosen to go look at the ashen face in that hospital bed you were probably sitting next to but I’m a coward. I was so afraid of saying the wrong words, that you left and I hadn’t uttered a sound. I wish I had done more, or had said that I would be there for you. I had the power to make your day just a little better But my power lay wasted in the very hands that failed to stretch out to you in comfort. And you know what the most despicable thing of all is? I used to call myself your friend, but all I can call myself now is a wretched coward. I’m sorry, that I didn’t find the right words to say, I’m sorry I couldn’t even meet your eyes for the longest time, I’m sorry that I hide in my room when I heard you sobbing just right outside the door. I’m sorry that I could turn my back so easily; I could make myself feel nothing so easily - I disgust myself. Now, I sit leaning against the cool of my wall and think. I think about the possibility of death; what if I was in your position? If it had happened to me I probably would’ve hidden in my room. I would’ve been too cowardly to put on the brave face you had every time you walked out of the house to see that hospital bed. If it had happened to me, I would’ve held it in. I would’ve felt nothing! Felt none of the pain that you tried so hard to hide. I’ve been numbed to partings. I’ve seen so many people come and go in my life that I probably would’ve tried my best to forget and I would’ve been successful. If what had happened to you had happened to me, I wouldn’t have shed a tear in front of anyone, I’m good at that you know - bottling up my feelings. I wish it had happened to me, so that you wouldn’t have to be the one on the receiving end of those pitying glances. I saw people meeting each other’s eyes over your bowed head, and I can almost hear what they were thinking: “poor girl, now how are they going to live?” I wish it had happened to me, because then maybe it would make me feel less guilty. I wish it had happened to me because then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have given up like you did. I admired you for putting on a brave front but I wish that you could’ve been sincere. I wish you hadn’t thrown away your life like you did that night. Now I’m the one standing next to the hospital bed, because I finally mustered up the courage to see you after all this time. You will never get to see this, you probably never even knew that I really did care, but maybe someone else won’t make the same mistake I did. Maybe someone else won’t wait until it’s too late. Because I think you know best of all how a human life can end any-
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Past-Imperfect Irene Lee The ‘good old days’ were never all that good, The past never all that perfect. You long to return to a certain point of time Where you believe to have spent your prime. But when you look closer, When you think carefully, You’ve had your fighting tears You’ve had the choking emptiness You’ve had the endless worries Amidst some emotions you had to bury. And I’m proud of you For having lived through it And having been made a better person By swallowing the every bit. So take that nostalgia as a present, Take the longing as a gift. And after you’ve enjoyed your portion of it, Remember to move on, and may your faith in life never quit. 7
Infinity Hugh Kim Did you know that the gust of air that you created while crossing the street is infinite? The gust went on and on traveling towards a bear in the woods aggravating it. The bear then stumbled out of its home and went on to maul a couple of civilians. Little did the bear know that the civilians were actually diplomats from a foreign nation and news spread far and wide across countries. Eventually at the presidential dinner the other diplomats of their respective nations had a feud and beat each other. But not before knocking the wind out of the chef’s sail, while the window happened to be open. The wind from the chef sailed and traveled the mighty oceans and seas of the world, growing stronger and stronger until it hit a migrating goose knocking it towards an airplane. Unluckily for them it got stuck in the engines and blood rained down from the plane causing some to think it was the end of the world. They went on a rampage thinking there would be no consequences eventually smacking one of your friends in the face. And you had the brilliant idea of making him a “get-well-soon� card, which just so happened to be at the supermarket down the street. So you locked the door made it all the way to the stoplights and crossed the streets. Oh, and the plane exploded, and hundreds died, selfish prick, next time think about the consequences of your actions. I changed nations to countries because you use nation in that sentence and it sounded repetitive. Your call.
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It Was a Happy Place Jeiho Kim A Short Prelude This poem is dedicated to the Friends that have come and gone and to the Friends that are still here. To the happiness that has been given and received and to the happiness that will be given and received May you, reader, always find a happy place to stay. And It Was a Happy Place These halls These rooms Once filled with laughter Love Friendship It was a happy place Now empty All cleared of the warmth that was there But the feelings still linger It was a happy place Shared by friends, family Giving, taking Caring for one another Supporting each other as friends should It was a happy place In time, new friends will return To fill the void But to the old friends, now long gone You were the definition of true companionship You will never be forgotten It was a happy place And will forever be A happy place 9
When I Was A Tree Jin Ha I used to think that I was a tree. “A tree doesn’t live inside! It lives outside with the sun!” I would say with my arms outstretched, fingers tapping against the window. I imagined my fingertips piercing the glass wall, growing and twisting towards the sun, just like the trees that grew near the playground and around the perimeter of the apartment complex’s courtyard. I could see their light-imbued leaves that danced against the splash of blue sky and the whitewashed apartments that peeped from behind the fluttering green hands. The playground, with my favorite red slide and warm sand, gleamed in the morning light, beckoning me with the slightest swaying of its swings. Outside, the voices of Ji-u and Yu-jin broke into peals of laughter as they wended between the metal framework of the jungle gym, their legs stirring up the sand that rose in golden plumes around them. They twisted and turned like the way my stomach was turning with each passing minute. The time tick, tick ticked steadily on, and my desire to smell the crisp air and to feel the comforting firmness of the slide beneath me only grew and grew. I felt my spine melting into the back of my chair, my toes joining with the polished hardwood floor, and my limbs pulsing with viridescent veins that gave birth to quivering shoots. “Ka-yoon, focus!” My math tutor spat. Her pen cracked against the desk, and the snick of the door closing behind me reminded me of my always watching mother. The leaves that grew on my shoulders shuddered and shriveled into brown curls. I stared outside and, seeing that Ji-u and Yu-jin had disappeared from my sight, wondered at what they could be doing. Maybe they were at the convenience store, giggling as they drank from plastic bags full of juice that Ajushi would give to us as a treat. I will be unstoppable, I thought. Eventually, my roots would burst through the cement walls, and I would grower stronger and stronger till I could take over the entire apartment complex! Then, everyone would be happy and would play beneath my wondrous canopy. A grin briefly flitted across my face. “Your daughter is very imaginative,” I heard. “I do not say it as a compliment. She needs more discipline in her life.” I remember standing up and running past my mother and tutor, heading for the open door, thinking it was a way towards a brighter future when, in reality, I was heading to where I am now. I am the girl who used to think that she could accomplish anything. How could I have known that money didn’t grow off trees, but they, instead, grew in concrete cities? My limbs have long since withered, wearing down to scarred stumps rather than the flowering boughs that I had imagined them to be. When I press my fingers against the window, I can only feel the cold glass against skin. When had the appeal of the playground and the comfort of the towering apartment buildings faded away? I see them as the way they truly are: hulking evidence of my lacking background and juvenescence, both of which hadn’t matched up to the standards of the universities abroad. The faded walls of the apartments are pitted, and the jungle gym is a rusty mess. The slide, now pale orange, is full of dank, dark leaves that swirl in a puddle. I no longer wonder about what Ji-u and Yu-jin are doing. Ji-u lives in the newly-built apartments, glistening in the distance, where their sleek, modern windows are in stark contrast with my own crumbling neighborhood. Yu-jin received a scholarship and is studying in an American college. They are happy, I tell myself. “I am not a tree,” I say out loud, the words bouncing off the window and rattling against the glass panes. “I am Ka-yoon, a Korean woman and a nobody.” A flash of unexpected fear runs through me, and I pause, half-expecting the floor to burst into gnarled, blood-thirsty roots. When the hardwood floor fails to germinate, I let out a shuddering breath and draw the window blinds. Trees belong outside, but I belong inside where I could perhaps, hide from what awaited me in the future. I sit still and hear the clock tick, tick, tick.
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Knot Jayde Kim
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Igniting Night Beom Jun Lee It was only when I witnessed The entire shore effortlessly flowing through my fingers The crumbling of a castle that couldn’t hold the weight of its own towers The tearing of a weathered bag that let go of its burdens The blinding light behind the skulls of the surgeons That I pressed the ‘off’ button of my phone.
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Just Another Monday Jeiho Kim “Just another Monday. Just another week of the hell known as school. No big deal. Not at all.” He grimaced as the car turned the corner, and the school came into view. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a worried frown on his mother’s face at his reaction. A familiar, faint tug of guilt came up in his stomach. He tried to suppress it, but it stuck like a thorn. Finally, the car stopped, pulling up at the front gates. The school towered over him, casting a looming shadow. The crisp, cool morning air only served to make the complex seem even more frigid. Wordlessly, he picked up his bag and exited the car. “Have fun,” his mother called out softly, a sad smile on her face. The tug got a tiny bit stronger. It was the same every day. The guilt, the reluctance and the obligation. They had rehearsed this dance a thousand times. One simply hoped for even the tiniest change for the better, and one wanted to be able to fulfill that hope. The only stymie was the fear that they would tip each other over the edge. So they performed this dance for what seemed like eternity, where each could only hope and think about what they could do for each other. The dreams burn too brightly to fade, but seem too impossible to be acted upon. Yet, they will always try and always hope for the best. What is insanity? Doing the same thing over and over, and expecting something to change.
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Minute Irene Song It ’s precisely at this seldom minute of night - a transcending minute cast over the barren expanse distilling the c yan cotton of sky from the onyx abyss, mildly hazed with specks of light - this is when ambient sound dims, and concrete light amplifies. When white pain desensitizes, and vision drinks. Somehow at 4 in the morning it seems that one is always left alone, entrusted to the hazardous self, and depar ted from the familiar entity. And I know this because tonight, the ear th finally leaves to me an undulating, resisting silence. A prescient moment to think. I come to wonder- in this instant, am I upset, weathered by the hassle of day, or saturated with the ecstasy from living? Neither. All such things melt into mere theor y, and an intoxicating fog encloses logic with circumspect exactitude. I'll come down when the moment is over, unedited in an adolescent body. For now, though, I find content in brooding over immaculately thoughtless thought, for none k now when we might see purpose, in the achingly extensive, outstretched moor of nights ahead of us. It's comfor ting to forget time, and binge on the violet nothingness that encompasses ever ything, and to remain still and k now nothing else but that you are alive. In a day I' ve felt too much-I' ve subtly tasted ever ything to feel, from the blunt waxing of nescience, to blithe jubilation, to obese waves of belligerence. But never impassiveness. The only conclusions I gather is that I feel tired, but when the hour clicks into the next I'll desire to stay awake for yet another second, in futile attempts to k now all that there is to know. We are all plainly pulled along in a never- ending succession towards the obscurity we’ve come to despise, as we unravel answer-by-answer, minute -by-minute. We’re fed these precious shards of liquid time, to which we eagerly disclose the mouths of our conscience in ravenous longing to soberly experience more, and take the oppor tunity as life so rashly touts it. There are countries - people - theories to the east, west, and south, nor th of us. Minds, organisms, secrets, gods - and all of it is threaded by an indiscernible commonality. They entitle the frames of the mind a cur tain, but there are no openings. There is no stor y to tell, but only moments. But it all simply mattered little to me, in the realization that the mere minute has passed.
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Outdated Irene Song
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um. Shubham Gupta I can't stay awake I have no inspiration It is Friday night. I am so sorry. I'm going to do this again. Procrastination. I really need sleep. I wish I could time travel. What. Need. Sleep. Please. Thanks. 16
Day and Night Minae Choi Day: A soft haze of brilliant orange resting on billows of clouds suffuse into the backdrop in gradients of red, yellow, and blue amid the excess verticality occupying the terrain; the ground is reduced in the distance, along with its inhabitants, these inconsequential creatures that had subverted the vastness of the land under its soiling reign. The land appears as if a vague, thinning line, giving the illusion that the buildings are floating on water, with their parallels submerged in opposite direction. The buildings lose their solidity in the reflection, liquefied into malleable forms with muddled margins that resemble a J. M. W. Turner or a Monet painting. These dynamics of color and contour underscore what is man made and what had been ordained by the creator; the unnatural linearity a hallmark of mankind while the natural distinguishes itself in curvilinear silhouettes. The rigidities in form symbolic of the limitations of humanity. The sky glows with vitality ironically absent in animate creatures, and I am further assured of life and its passions in this inorganic conception than in what is generally considered to be the most sentient of creatures- the man and his mortal soul. Night: Night has permeated everything through a chronological gradience, from a procession of color to gray to black, and my room has become a black and white film with its film of gray. Everything has been layered with a sheet that dilutes its color, and things feel heavier with their cloth of gray, as if they had gained solidity through their union with gray, the color of shadows, gloom, and darkness. All objects are heavily suffused with color, even more so than in daylight, because night has created stratums of color that stifle day’s colors. Although the layers have thickened, the room’s saturation gives a sense of fluidity to the place, as if melting ice, liquid and solid. I do not perceive gray as a barren color; some define it as a state of colorlessness, a vapidity, but I see gray as a refuge, a place for secrets and clandestine pleasures, a tranquility in its stillness. Night has created a veiled crypt, a private sanctuary for my solace amid its concealment, and I indulge in its presence without fear of exposure.
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sometimes our shadows are more solid than ourselves Grace Han
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Legends of A Divided World (Part Two) Joey Harding It started with dominion then fell to rebellion. A world, granted to its denizens by a god long since dead, fell to chaos with the end of a millennium. The Lord, corrupted by the monotony of ages, took the lone realm by the throat; the hands of his generals clenched tightly into fists. Flashes of Red, Black, White and Blue broke the darkness. The art of war and magic hung in the air and exile ended the era with the creation of the second realm. Then came silence. Then began the rise of the angels. Aetheóra had long been divided, especially in the denizens’ minds. The Grand Summit, the meeting of the High Generals, only served to strengthen that notion. Hades, Osiris, Lucifer and Ragnarok had gone their separate ways after what most would call petty territory disputes, but the true reason behind the schism was something unknown to public eye and had been settled with only the quorum present. No other meetings happened between the four famed generals in that time. However, the arrival of a strange emissary from Hell at the southernmost part of Aetheóra, revitalized old and forgotten tensions, alongside delivering a message that most prayed would never come to fruition. Hades had been the one behind the emergency Summit this time around. Three quarters of a cycle, that normally would be a second in the eye of a denizen of Aetheóra, had passed by excruciatingly slowly from fear of this teon’s arrival. Very similarly, the summit progressed slowly, almost insufferably so. “Nothing less could be expected of the greatest magician to ever live.” Hades said, speaking authoritatively for all to hear. To his left, at the head of the table, sat High General Lucifer and beside her a man that Hades had met only a few days prior, the former human Akira Séran. “Angels huh?” Akira whispered to Lucifer whose gaze was locked on Hades. She merely nodded in response. Across the table from Hades, Osiris sat with his arms folded. “I still question how he could accomplish so much in so little time. It’s been less than a cycle since the revolution and he’s already progressed this far?” Osiris asked, incredulous. “We should have killed him when we had the chance, like Helena said.” At the far right of the panel Helena Ragnarok sat silently, briefly acknowledging Osiris’ statement with a nod before turning back to the soldier at her right and whispering something unintelligible; he left the room with a small yet courteous bow. “I don’t think angering the creator would have been a wise choice, Osiris.” Said a noble from across the table. “Perhaps,” Hades replied, a tinge of contempt in his voice, “but it’s too late for that, Jamis.” The noble sunk back in his chair upon meeting Hades’ piercing gaze. Fool. Hades thought snidely, looking away from the noble that was now blatantly averting his gaze. “A war is the last thing we could want.” Hades continued, “even if it’s a chance to mend our past mistakes, it’s not worth the damage we would take.” “He’s right.” Lucifer agreed wearily, sending a hush over the panel. “We wouldn’t survive an all out war with the angels, not with the way we are now.” “The way we are now, huh?” Osiris said quietly. “I suppose you’re right.” A brooding silence fell over the room and after a few minutes passed Hades called for recess. -
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Akira was left to his own devices after the panel dispersed. He’d intended to try and find Hades, since Emma had been shirking off any of his questions further regarding the Angels or the circumstances surrounding them, but had little success. He roamed the grounds surrounding the Parthenon-esque edifice, which were decorated with intricately beautiful gardens with flowers and plants of every color-coordinated variety. Near the center of the floral courtyard was a collection of intricately sculpted fountains, each depicting a singular figure atop what seemed to be an artist’s rendition of the map of Aetheóra. Light sounds of water pattering atop itself engulfed Akira’s senses as he admired the architecture and craftsmanship, though he himself had never much been one for appreciating commodities like fountains. Even so, these fountains in the courtyard were comparable to the Trevi Fountain, though Akira had never actually seen it himself. Perhaps the man atop the fountain is someone important in Aetheóra’s history, he thought. Akira had never actually heard any of the lore surrounding Aetheóra; that assuming this place actually had lore, because as Akira saw it, this place was the land of lore. A light tap on the shoulder jolted Akira out of his internal aside and he turned around. “I see you’re enjoying the scenery,” A familiar yet nuanced voice said. Akira felt a powerful presence that he hadn’t noticed back during the panel. “It’s quite old. Older than I, or any of the generals for that matter.” Akira scrambled through his etiquettes and formalities in an attempt to respond to the surprise. “Uh.. Um… It’s certainly b-beautiful, sir.” Akira forced out. “Now there lad, no need to be so anxious. It’s just old Osiris.” he laughed heartily and patted Akira on the shoulder. Akira loosened up a little at the general’s cheerfulness, but could not help but be wary of the overwhelming presence this singular man held. Now that I think about it, the entire council room had an aura like his… I’m surprised I didn’t jitter out of my non-existent boots. What a weird idiom, He thought. “Thanks. It’s just that all of this is rather new to me,” Akira said, slightly averting his gaze downwards in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “I suppose that’s true.” Osiris said, contemplatively, “Now that I come to think of it the first time that I heard of you was a little under half a rhythm ago.” “Was my arrival that big of a deal?” Akira said jokingly with a grin. “No, but the message you brought Hades from Lucifer was.” Osiris said, his congenial aura darkening; Akira stepped back a little, minding the space between them. “I’m sure you’ve wondered about it.” Osiris continued. “Actually, I never read it. Emma had asked me to keep it secret.” Akira scratched the back of his head, surprised by his own devotion to Lucifer as he looked back on it. “That wasn’t what I asked. I’m sure you’ve tried to piece together the answers from this meeting, especially because Lucifer wouldn’t tell you anything.” Osiris said, his gaze piercing and presence returning. “And here you think you’ve found a clue to the answer in the fountain, have you not?” Akira stood dumbfounded at the clarity with which Osiris saw his actions, though he should have been used to it by now. “I…” Akira let out a sigh. “You’ve got me.” “Let’s take a walk, and I’ll tell you what Lucifer would not.” Osiris said, resting his hand on Akira’s shoulder, “About the Angels and the being atop the fountain. The one that we call Verin.”
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The Creator was all that existed in the beginning. But a singular feeling reigned over that being, Loneliness. That feeling drove the creator to do what he was best at, creation. From nothing but time came an infinite dimension, the land on which Aetheóra was founded. But the land was inanimate, a mere painting for the aesthetic pleasure of the creator. Thus he created Verin, head of the Seven Magi that would reign over the land. Verin ruled quietly, but held fast to the will of his mentor and master, the creator. Slowly but surely Aetheóra grew, and over the course of several cycles the Ætheoss propagated and the creator quietly passed away. The only one that knew was Verin, and that loneliness began to consume him. Fear turned to paranoia, paranoia to madness. Loneliness turned to anger, anger to hatred. Verin, corrupted by the ages seized Aetheóra by its throat. The hands of the Magi’s descendants poised to strike him down as two magic bloodlines ended. War swept across the land like a flood; chaos reigned everywhere. Traces of the Arts lingered in the ashen sky, and with the power of the Red, Black, Blue and White, Verin was banished to the realm of the former creator to suffer the fate he feared most. Cycles passed by in relative silence and the land was rebuilt into one of prosperity; the descendants of the four remaining Magi ruled over the land. Then came the Earth, a susceptible existence forged at the hands of a faux creator, and with it the Angels. One last act of sacrifice was made; the last of the original Magi gave himself to protect Aetheóra. With that, the barrier was erected and the Realm was now divided. This is the beginning of its legend. Osiris had left the garden with a warm farewell after finishing his account, his green cloak flowing regally behind him. Akira didn’t fully understand Osiris’ tale though; its cryptic nature left more questions than answers floating about in his head. Akira pensively wandered the grounds for a bit more before taking a seat in front of the Grand fountain in the courtyard, once more looking up at the figure atop it. Gods, Rebellion, Magi; what does a legend hold on the present? “Is what Osiris said bothering you?” A kind and familiar voice pulled Akira out of his thoughts. “Emma?” Akira asked, looking behind him. “It’s not a comforting thought is it? Being in a situation like this.” She said warmly. “No, it’s not the situation; I was used to that by the first rhythm.” Akira replied, taking a breath and looking up at the crimson sky. “If anything, it’s the mystery of it all. “Mystery?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow. “What are the Magi? The Angels? The Creator?” Akira asked, “What else do I not know?” “There is much you don’t know yet, but understand this. Those were relics of the past, Akira.” Emma replied quietly, looking worriedly at the sculpture of Verin atop the fountain. “Yes, relics of a war, one that may come back to haunt Aetheóra for betraying its god’s first creation.”
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Transluscent Minsoo Bae
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Liveliness Jessica Choe Such liveliness I have only seen once in life. Such liveliness Is so very unique and rare. In her behavior, I sense it. She is shining with energy. Such liveliness 23
Blemish Sunny Chung October 6th, 2016An attachment sea, quite an imaginary one I am in, where I seek your face more than anything else. I will not reveal the geographic details for you know exactly where I always stand in life. But do know how I see myself at this very moment- I am the edge of a burning candle, emitting the reddest, yellowest passion with a gentle whiff as one may pass the room, but I am also the desperate dancing flame that will unfortunately be blown out just from your glance. This, I should be thankful for- for consistency and tattooed emotions for such an unwelcomed, even unthought, expectation leads to implicit disaster. While I say thanks on one hand, I apologize on another for making unrelated comparisons. But in a process of hiding these humanistic roots amidst revealing what takes up too much of me, I find juxtaposing my mind with visible existence to be of my only option. In this sea, so seemingly immense, I slap my flat palms at the very top of the water to cause an endless disturbance where simplicity was untroubled-asleep. When turbulence calms, I will do so again, like a dumb idea that becomes an everyday habit. If floating, one may say, will free me from my faults, I sure will look up squinting at the blinding sun, absorbing nature. In return, the blue water will absorb all but my frontal face. Everything else of me is doused underwater like an impression of my heart’s drowning fetish for yours. Water rises upward, touching my skin at every centimeter, just giving me the eyes and nose to draw you in the clouds above. Such wronged smiles; even the sky will cloudy up. Every potential of spontaneous or fated love does not exist in this impromptu drawing session of mine, of you. I draw two saltshakers moving like lovers in a stop motion film. White’s you, for the horribly loud beating pulses of my heart are blemished in their motivation. Fixed is I, my stubborn self never being interrupted from this pursuit. Fear lounges in your ability to transparently zoom through my fish-like discoveries of your mesmerizing motions. Naps drop stones on my eyelids; I am yet to be allured to a different world. I gaze with purpose. Spirit-like, fancied scenarios of us overwhelm me with distraction. To conclude my restless physical responses to your sole existence in countable words would take longer than the natural drifting of the clouds above. 24
Morando Irene Do
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A Backwards Glance Ann Lee When I was young, I had dreams. Impossible, unrealistic reveries but dreams nonetheless. Dreams set so high that they rested with the stars. I learned to trust, to love, to forgive. I learned to watch the sun rise and set, thankful for each meal I received and all the people that I met. Lively. Spirited. Full of life. Life was overflowing with colors, colors so vivid they permeated my dreams. In my teens, I didn’t dream. I knew I could but I didn’t want to. Dreams so extinguished that they were sifted powder before I could catch them. It was then when I learned that humans weren’t as trustworthy, that I shouldn’t wear my heart on my sleeve, that I shouldn’t forgive because I didn’t want to forget. I can’t do it; everybody leaves; I deserve better than this. I was afraid because I knew I couldn’t fight forever. I sat in my rocking chair with grey hairs and wrinkles around the corners of mouth. When I was young, I had dreams. Impossible, unrealistic reveries but dreams nonetheless. Dreams that lost their colors in my high school years. But now I learned to only trust the trustworthy, to love the loyal, to forgive those who brought me down. One day, you’ll look back and be glad you made it through life.
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A Strange World We Live In Sarah Lee In this strange world we live in we are taught that true beauty lies within yet we idealize thin hips and bony limbs We are taught that everyone is deserving of respect yet wads of green paper are what set us apart We are taught to work diligently, because with effort comes great reward yet our main concerns are what is here and now and we indulge ourselves in hedonistic pleasures We are told to aspire to greatness yet the mind rationalizes with the heart and instead of keeping our eyes at the finish They are dimmed to the obstacles that litter our path We are told to be the change We wish to see in this world Yet we do most of the talking And not enough of the walking We are instructed to love ceaselessly Because love is free of boundaries and limitations Yet we distance ourselves from mortal enemies Embracing old feelings of hatred and resentment We are instructed to act In accordance with our moral responsibilities Yet we abandon them at the time of utmost importance A small mistake that ignites a national tragedy We are offered to bathe in nature’s delicacies yet we fix our eyes upon small black screens that provide us with an endless supply of insipid entertainment Perhaps we are the strangers Trapped in a beautiful illusion
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The Cycle of Worry Noel Jeong I worry too much. Like way too much. I worry about worrying too much and I worry about worrying. I worry that if I worry too much that I’ll start worrying more about that fact and that I’ll never stop worrying. Do you know what I mean? Of course you don’t. You’re a human-being reading some supposedly “crazy” person’s diary... sigh... Well let me tell you something that is for sure. Worrying Will Not Get You ANYWHERE. At least not forward—that’s for sure. You’ll be stuck in the past wondering, “Why didn’t I do that? Why couldn’t I do that? What stopped me? Why did I worry so much about that? What does that mean? What in the world is the meaning of life? Does my life even mean anything? Why am I here?” Okay, maybe you contemplated through one or two of these questions above; maybe you contemplated through them all— I don’t have a single clue. But I wish I did. I wish I could read people’s minds. Wouldn’t life just be so much easier? Pleasing other people—then everyone would see you as someone who’s perfect. Doesn’t that sound great? Okay, okay, I know what you’re thinking (sort of ), “No one can be perfect!” Yeah, you’re right. So why—why do we try so hard to be perfect? Why do we worry about a test that we will forget the content of in two months? Why do we worry about an action we did to a friend who is understanding? Why do we worry about a punishment that you won’t remember the reason you got that punishment? Why do we worry about trivial matters that won’t matter? Why do we worry at all? Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful phrase—you are so right Timon and Pumba, kudos to you aromatic boys. But that’s hard. See? It’s a cycle all over again. Oh? You’re asking me for the solution? Of course I know the solution, but the important thing is whether I choose to do to surrender to that solution. Phew, it’s been quite a journey for you reading this and trying to understand this! I’ll leave you with this: I’m not gonna tell you the solution. Find it yourself, but don’t worry too much about itsometimes it’s much closer than you expect it to be.
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Was That You? Edward Cho Clustered Flustered Utterly lost Heart drained of apathy Breathless And claustrophobic From being enclosed in a birdcage inhabited by my own thoughts Obscure and distant thoughts of friends of family of you who left my childhood as a shielded blind spot like tangled heartstrings twisted into an adolescent Gordian knot Unfortunately, this type of problem can’t be easily sorted/sworded out Recollections of you have become Faded and Distorted And hearing your voice on the phone Has now become discordant Meaningless to tell a friend Because it would only draw Sympathy When the only connection I long for Is empathy “No, its not a sensitive subject” is often repeated but it’s like trying to ignore the fact that one walks with an invisible crutch I try not to compare myself to other people To sculpt myself into my own individual After all, we’re all heading to the same destination Aren’t we? Except Sometimes it feels like I’m driving alone down A dark and lonesome road 29
With taunting, wilting trees looming overhead And shoulders barely carrying the weight of collected stress. With a misguided GPS It’s hard to head in the right direction Seeking any sort of guidance Or genuine connection But the hole in my chest That you left Was already torn out Like a careless C section I ached and yearned for your discipline Hoping that it would of made me a better man Responsible Intellectual Respectful Rather than a makeshift individual Attentive and awake! So I didn’t fall asleep every third period… Ellipses… I thought I saw you the other day In the ambient, rumbling line 2 subway Looked just like you I swear From gelled hair To rimmed glasses To thin, golden necklace I shivered from archaic reminiscence Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me But even his voice when he was speaking on the phone even resembled yours Goosebumps prickling up as his voice rambled on I don’t even remember what he was talking about But it doesn't matter Maybe it really was you Maybe you were just too scared to approach me Knowing that the awkward years and misplaced fears Were already too much of a burden for you Cement butterflies collecting in my stomach Too weighted and dense for my stomach to digest To confess I was rather impressed With my imagination’s ability to express 30
And alter my perception of a stranger To conform him into you Thought the scars and wounds were already dressed But the holes Where the bullets would enter Were already punctured on my handmade Bulletproof vest If you were here Would I have been any better of a person? Someone to look up to? With faithful morals And a shameless heart instead of wondering if it was worth it? Given a hand-me-down boy’s rule book and brand new first aid kit? Heh. Sounds stupid Because no individual can grow up to be perfect A finger in the right direction would have been nice An x-marks-the spot launching pad But it’s okay I’ve managed without one and I still forgive you Dad.
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Untitled Esther Yoon
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Signs That You Are A YISS Guardian Through And Through (If more than 30 apply to you) By Zoey Ryu with contributions from Grace Han and Garim Kim 1. You type “eung” to non-Korean friends...and then go “oops” 2. You start getting angry when people “chew you” 3. Joining MUN, Mock Trial, and MAT is no longer social suicide 4. You try out for a club position and you have to compete with 8 million others 5. You use Englishfied Korean words like “Jiijj”,”kkapchuh”, “aish” 6. When you hear the word “Guam”, you automatically think “G.W.A.M” and vice versa 7. You’ve complained why a 93 is not an A 8. “What did you get on your test?” “Was the test easy?” “Was it all multiple choice?” are stock questions you get 9. Everyone around you makes an ask.fm account 10. You have seen someone call his or her parents in the bathroom crying over a 97%.... 11. And don’t forget about those people who complain about their 100s when they “could have gotten the bonus” 12. You talk about your dog being sick and teachers randomly pray for you 13. You’ve been getting weird ads from colleges like Texas Christian University, St. Edward’s University, and Baylor University since sophomore year 14. At 5 p.m. when the announcement comes on you know it by heart...and you recite with it. “All students and parents will need to vacate the building at this time unless you are in a meeting with a YISS staff member. The doors will be locked and security procedures will be implemented at 5 P.M. Thank you.” 15. You are a Guardian but you still have no idea who is behind the Guardian mascot costume during assemblies 16. When people mention APs, you’re like, “AP or Advanced Placement?” 17. When you are on a website you shouldn’t be, you get a heart-attack every time the classroom door opens 18. You have been out of dress code and have tried to avoid Parsons all day 19. APs are your cram sessions, and on Thursday, you try your best to hide notes during chapel 20. YISS uniform has become your daily fashion even outside of school 21. “Howzit” now traumatizes you 22. You rant about climbing the hill on the campus every morning 23. You use Korean words with an American accent. Jirall, shibral…. 24. Itaewon is now your second home… and so is Apgu and Gangnam...and possibly Blue Square (Knawmsayin?) 25. When people say, “let’s hang out” you automatically take it as, “let’s go eat” 26. When you watch cliché dramas like “상속자들" you realize it’s based on our school 27. You wonder why J&J is still here, everyday... 28. Your friends are friends with celebrities, and now you’ve become too used to it 29. You attach “ing” to Korean words randomly to use it as a verb. “I can’t. I’m 혼나-ing” 30. You have begged someone who has access on base for American food 31. You realize that people say “legit” 24/7 32. You realize everyone can play at least one instrument or have some super awesome talent... 33. You have been frustrated when 날라리s get better grades than you 34. You don’t know how to act around an upperclassmen considering the whole Korean “hierarchy” system combined with American culture
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35. You yell “야" and your non-Korean friends are like “왜?” 36. It’s only a 3-day weekend but your instagram is flooded with people in airports heading to Paris...or to have lunch in Japan 37. You don’t think missing school for a sports tournament outside of Korea is weird 38. You are so used to YISS teachers using Korean casually. “That ajumma was so aggressive in the subway today” or “Kkak-doo-gi for lunch!” 39. At first when people said “thou” instead of thousand won, you were like wth but now “gimme 5 thou” comes out of your mouth so naturally 40. “Hagwon” is an english word for you 41. It doesn’t surprise you that half the school graduates with honors 42. You sit in the same exact spot during lunch, and you don’t need to worry about the spot being taken. It has become a daily routine. 43. You think it’s so dang hilarious that the so-called Senior Ditch day is scheduled by the principal 44. You have this paranoia that Parsons is remote desktop-ing you 45. You can’t walk around Itaewon without meeting a fellow YISS-er 46. You no longer are amazed by the fact that white people are using chopsticks and choosing Korean meal over Western 47. You found your true identity after you learned the word “TCK” 48. You have walked into the bathroom at YISS for the first time and were shocked that there were bidets 49. You have been around the whole school begging for a printing card. “Do you have a printing card” “No I DON’T, FOR THE 5 BAZILLIONTH TIME” 50. You don’t know who Megan Napier is, but you hate her emails 51. You have been excited when you see a “(1)” sign on the tab for Gmail, and it’s from turnitin.com or moodle 52. And you fall for it all the time even right after submitting it 53. You have stalked a teacher’s facebook account before 54. You just mouth the lyrics during chapel...most of the time 55.You get annoyed with people who have weird names for the school email 56. You can type “@students.yisseoul.org” really quickly 57. But you still are annoyed at the fact that it’s so long 58. You have no idea how the school emails everyone just by emailing to @2014, @2015, @2016, @2017 59. You get pressured to put up an “lms for a tbh” status 60. When the phrase “The building is on fire” make you thrilled 61. You have imitated a teacher’s stock phrase: “Stay with it”, “What does it mean?” 62. When you can’t type “You”, “No”, “Ha”, “Her” without tagging someone on Facebook 63. You know what “Frally” and “MayQ” is 64. You know what “hell week” is 65. When you actually failed, you have to say “No, not the Asian fail, American fail” 66. You know you are a senior at YISS when you come to school and wonder if it is a Y day or an S day. 67. You don’t trust the pictures that J&J provide, so you hover over people’s lunch trays to decide. 68. “Secret” is a word for “about half the school knows” 69. You tell an oldie from a newbie if they had been here when YISS was ICS 70. You are a YISS Guardian through and through. ;)
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SPONSOR Mr. Steigner OFFICERS Grace Han Sangwoo Kim Eunkyeong Hwang Esther Yoon Minae Choi Ann Lee Beom Jun Lee Minsoo Bae Jayde Kim
ARTISTS Esther Yoon Grace Han Irene Song Jayde Kim Minsoo Bae Penelope Min WRITERS Ann Lee Beom Jun Lee Charis Moon Christine Kim Edward Cho Hugh Kim Irene Lee Irene Song Jeiho Kim Jessica Choe Jin Ha Joey Harding Joon Yoon Minae Choi Noel Jeong Penelope Min Sarah Lee Shubham Gupta Sharon Prince Sunny Chung Zoey Ryu