THE H itchhik er’s g uid e
W INTE R 2014
The Insignificant by Ann Lee You act as if you Matter. As if the earth was placed on its axis for you, a careful distance from the sun So that you wouldn’t be burnt or frozen alive, as if you matter Much more than you actually do. You act as if people Care. As if you expect people to sympathize when all they feel is antipathy, Far from empathy, only enmity, as if you even thought for even a second that they Too would understand you, as if people would waste their time to be with you but Much to your disappointment, they wouldn’t dream of it. You act as if people would give you a helping hand. Shouldn’t people care about me like I care for them? You think but when you begin to Give up on this miserable journey of life, why would they? They are Too caught up in their own world and they put only themselves in the center. Easily done because this is what all humans do: care about themselves. But maybe you shouldn’t let the others get to your head; Perhaps they’re the insignificant ones. Because unlike the rest, You matter so much, You care far too much, and You shouldn’t give up too easily.
Be As Unapologetic As The Weather by Anonymous The weather never apologizes for the rain that beats the ground and clouds the sky with grey. So do not apologize for the rain that spills from your eyes and tightens your lungs, as though a storm of your own brews inside you. Because in the end, the rain will cease and the clouds will disperse and all that is left will be sprouts of grass and buds of flowers peeking from the irreparable cracks. (You may be splintered, but at least you still leave room to grow.)
“Myeongdong” Esther An
good advice at 5am by Esther Yoon i don't know if anyone has ever actually carried out a new years resolution but there is something admirable in how we keep trying to renew ourselves to be better so if you want something, go get it because sometimes you need to work for your own happiness
“Mother Nature� Hannah Kim
// Speak by Eunkyeong Hwang The ability to spread joy is like the ability to speak, but if we acted the same with speech, we would never let words escape our tongues for fear of losing our voices.
What is Blue? by Hannah Kim As a little kid, I always wanted to know what exactly my favorite color was. I’ve always answered the question, “What is your favorite color?” With an unconfident response... Maybe I like red because I love strawberries? Maybe I like yellow because it’s the color of the sun? Maybe I like black because I own a lot of black clothes? I really don’t know. As a child I asked my dad, “Dad, what’s your favorite color?” He said, “My favorite color is blue.” Out of curiosity I ask, “What is blue?” To which he answered, “Blue is several thingsBlue is the vast sky that looks down at you, Blue is the splash of water, which shimmers under the sunlight, Blue is the ocean that creatures of all sizes thrive in, Blue is the fragrance, of blueberry cupcakes, Blue is the lily that grows in the grass.” In complete awe, I cry thank you and leave his room. But now, as a teenage girl, I look back, and realize that blue could be many more things“Blue is the feeling you get when you’re down, Blue is the sadness that forces a frown, Blue is the gloomy day, in which it will rain, Blue is the emotion of pain.” ... But despite all that, I knew that blue was not quite as bad; Blue was the sensation of music, Blue was the blues, the beautiful sound, That flowed from the spirit and out through the voice, Out through the trumpet, saxophone, and piano. Blues shook the hearts of every human race, Blues was a way to channel misery, Without blue, the world would never be the same.
“this place i call home” Janie Baek
Wonderland by Hugh Kim Reality is a bore It’s a drag It’s a chore Trapped inside our own consciousness Alone in our heads with no one else That’s why you took the blue pill Creating imaginary tales and friends to alleviate the suffering You live a world to blind yourself from the truth that you deny The truth is you’re scared; you’re scared of the world outside The problem of other minds, how they think, how they feel, They sense things that you can’t; they think things that you can’t You can’t escape, your place is here What if your fiction is real and your real is fiction? What if your dream was the truth but your truth is just a dream? We are denizens of the phaneron but there is this phantom pain that yearns for more— Now excuse me. I have to go back to wonderland and see how deep this rabbit hole goes. But before I leave, you ask: “How do you know what is real?” I answer, “How should I know?”
“Undimmed” Anonymous
awakening by Irene Lee the dusk is approaching, debris gathering at her feet what a tiring day! breathless prayer - deargodthankyousorryforgivemeamen. just as she thought her mind was dissolving back to sleep to dream of dreams perhaps a meaningless temporary escape she awakens into a daze of imperfection letting herself slip and fall into the abyss of ashamed sinfulness aching within the world’s brokenness shattered on the surface of her heart to catch her wondering the many visions a wink of congruent moonlight could witness the cut-off echoes of a desperate damsel in distress children assaulted and abashed by kin mindless with menace to her soul, it’s just another night black and blank it wasn’t me! it was him! and them! and all of these people! ...but not me! she cries to her defense with a face carved by hurt immense; tell me now, is that a new sense you’ve acquired for your own pretense? -- and again she carries herself back to the antediluvian, dominion of the wicked, where no good was to be found she was intended to be cleansed once and for all with a promise arched over the cobalt depths of the heavens but in a generation where the holy covenant collapses to symbolize mortal pride (yet another evidence of the fallen)-where do we begin? where is the love? the light? the promise? the dawn is approaching, debris cleansed from her feet do you remember the way back? i think it’s time we get back home...
Religion by Irene Song I would often pinpoint my sporadic sense of security in the synthetic doctrines that the edges of my mind grip desperately – the self-concocted, yet often seemingly strong ideologies upon which my brain would clench on to with such fierceness, until the knuckles of its muscles would theoretically grow damaged, wrought with much too strenuous cross-pondering. When is enough, enough though? To my past beliefs, my work was, in fact, done three years ago. In my so-called younger days I, with the paragon of naivety called my heart, doubted not that I successfully had clawed my way out of the onyx abyss brimming with “religious” confusion when I had first let the holy, tinted pages of the Bible fall one by one from my fingers. The precise crinkle that sounded each time I dared turn another rich page into a new one would even sometimes launch parallel ague down my body – followed by unknowing moments of bliss that would etch themselves endlessly unto the growing, breathing, fleshy wall of engraved influence on my mind. But that was the “then”, and not the unforgiving “now”. Now my stance rocks back and forth in haunting rhythms between sheer carelessness and confidence in self-government. After sinking underneath the oceans whose edges stretched from the precipices of a normally wishy-washy disposition to the steppes of seeing religion as the easy solution for life to which I was unwilling to conform to, my worn fingers, tattered by the abrasiveness of strange experience, eventually pointed to the path that steered from religious convergence. A path that hauls in the resounding serenity of indifference that shrieks inquiries – inquiries I should address but don’t -- into my head every single day with no damned regard to the halt that would give me my peace. So I walk this metaphysical path, and sometimes I tear across it in fright, blocking my sight and sense of hearing from the challenging sighs and shrills that gather to stand on the sidewalks, pestering me to stop, walk over to them, and perhaps yell at them my answer to their equally unknowing faces. I run this race at the equivalent pace I do for real life, the place far from the dreamy prerogatives of my thoughts draped over with coal-black mist. When these two realms assemble I find myself staring, once again, blankly into the depths of the theology teacher’s eyes, armed with absolutely zero answers to his question – “why are we here?” At least he’s got it figured out for himself. It’s quite beautiful that he has. It’s a shame I can come to several, widely ranged conclusions excitedly, nearly reaching such august glory, to each ethics question belted out at me daily in this community, but in the end I come to eliminate each answer one by one... one after the other, butchered and tossed away, like the participants in a successive line of anxiously bitten nails running down the sink, first circling the bowl, and then gulped down into the greedy throat of the sink pipe. I strive to harness the string of events in my day-to-day living with the strings of destiny, but my hands fail to impress me with success, as they loosen and fumble to regain composure under the slightest pressure and the most pathetic persuasion. I find myself unable to consolidate and speak of the actual, deliberate thoughts I hold on the infamous topic of “religion,” but to the least I find solace in description as disproportionately muted and unoriginally foggy as the ideas in my head.
“Lamborgini Veneno” David In
Memory by Anonymous This memo maybe a bit long But please read it all the way to the end. I’m sorry for telling it you like this, I’ll leave the key back under the mat. Why did you push it so far? Why didn’t you call it quits? Why did you gently answer me with a smile? Why did you even try? You smiled as you told those lies, That niceness of yours was a crime. Should I have let you hold me like this? Should I have pretended not to notice? As I write this memo, everything will be gone: My belongings and loveYour lies are the only things left. Memory, it’s hard to leave them behind, I learned that from you. You let me experience the feeling of love, But also showed me reality. You can crumple the memo and throw it away, But please read it all the way to the end I’m sorry for telling it you like this, I’ll leave the key back under the mat. I wanted to walk a bit longer with you; I pretended to be strong and lied; I don’t want you to hold the other one the same way you did me. We won't meet ever again, So it might not matter anymore. I am realizing how lonely it is to be alone; Maybe it is better to lie with you. Memory, it’s hard to leave them behindI learned that from you. I discovered the feeling of pain, The pain I can only try to forget. This memo maybe a bit long But please read it all the way to the end. I’m sorry for telling you like this, I’ll leave the key back under the mat.
“It’s Part of Growing Up” Sarah Lee
The Box by Jayde Kim There was a box lying on the middle of a grassy field. The box was blackened and scratched, but did not look as if it were neglected. It looked as if it was placed deliberately, but without the purpose of being found. I looked over both my shoulders, afraid that someone was watching me. But no one was there, I hope, because I walked towards the box. I had no intentions of keeping it. I promise. I only wanted a quick peak because the thought of opening it gave me the same rush as opening something I was not meant to see. Just like the feeling of opening presents before Christmas day, but without the feeling of Christmas. I brought the box close to my face. It was much heavier than I thought it would be. I was about to lift the lid up, but then another thought came up. I have always been told to leave alone things that didn’t belong to me or else I would be stealing. And stealing is wrong. So I placed the box back on the grassy field and ran home.
The Race by Jeiho Kim Dedicated to the YISS Cross-Country Team of 2013-14 Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Characters are not based on any specific person. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Part I: First I glanced backwards and saw that the next person was far behind me. I grinned to myself and kept going. Running had always come naturally to me. My father was a runner, as were my siblings. I had been running with my family for as long as I can remember. In my senior year, I was team captain of the cross- country team, an accomplishment that I was proud of, though not particularly surprised by. Being in varsity for four years straight tends to raise one’s chances of becoming team captain. Now, I was running my last race of high school. I was certain of what place I would get: first. The course changed from pavement to a rougher dirt path. Not a problem. I slowed down slightly as I encountered rocks, roots, and other risks along the course. The finish line was just across the street, then a straight shot to the end. “Go time,” I whispered to no one in particular. I steeled myself, breathed in deep, and took off in a sprint. Part II: Second I stared daggers at the runner ahead of me. That guy was always just a few seconds faster, but this time, he was really far ahead. We had met in our 9th grade year. Both of us were skinny freshmen, terrified of the upperclassmen, who turned out to be rather nice. We had an intense rivalry from the start. He was the star runner, getting into varsity by his second race. I was the ‘almost but not quite’ guy, and was put into JV. The competition culminated until this final race. Senior year, and I hadn’t managed to beat him once. I pushed myself, sprinting to catch up, and nearly tripped over a stray root that was in the way. I managed to catch myself before falling on my face, regained my footing and continued onwards, determined to catch up. I was not going to let him win. Not this time. Part III: In the Middle I was breathing hard. Sweat poured down my neck, and my muscles burned, but I was feeling pretty good. I wasn’t exactly in first place, but I wasn’t dead last either. I took a left and headed down the dirt trail. I had joined cross- country in sophomore year, to help prepare for soccer. After the season finished, I decided this whole running business was rather fun and added ‘cross country’ to my mental list of sports that were pretty good. Though I wasn’t very fast, I still put effort into it. Now I was running my last race of high school. Of course, I had soccer to look forward to, but I would certainly miss running. I was determined to make this last race my best. I then tripped over a root and fell onto my knees. “So much for best race,” I thought. I got up, dusted myself off, and kept running.
Part IV: Second to Last I felt terrible. I was sore in places I didn’t even know could be sore, and my clothes were sticking to me like a second, nylon skin. I asked myself for the hundredth time why I had joined cross-country. I wiped sweat from my eyes and missed the left turn leading to the next section of the course. I doubled back and entered the dirt path. The ground was rife with protruding roots that reached for my legs. I ran through them, hell-bent on finishing this race. I joined the team in freshman year at the insistence of my parents. Though I did enjoy bonding with the rest of the team, I detested the actual running part. I was a chunky kid, so any athletic activities were beyond my admittedly limited capabilities. I showed little improvement each year, and now I was the senior that was being outrun by far faster freshmen. This didn’t bother me too much, but it certainly didn’t raise my self-esteem either. With this last race, I was finally finished with running. No more daily jogs and workouts. No more sore legs. No more wheezing and coughing after races. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and massage my taut muscles. I saw that the guy behind me was gaining, and I hurried to get back into the race. Part V: Last I was beyond caring at this point. The coaches always told us to avoid walking, but I disregarded those orders and took my siestas as I wanted to, which was all the time. I made the turn to the next part of track at a leisurely pace. I joined cross-country in my senior year, to see what all the fuss about running was about. After the first practice, I decided that it wasn’t for me. I couldn’t quit, however, so I made it my mission to have as much fun as I possibly could. I was the ‘class clown’, so to speak, of the team. I was actually pretty decent at running, but, to quote my head coach, “wasn’t meeting my full potential.” I saw that the guy ahead of me had stopped. Maybe this would be my chance to beat someone. I slowly picked up speed and reached a sprint, just as he started running again. Part VI The runners all crossed the finish line, cheering crowds yelling words of encouragement. In a surprising turn of events, the best runner, who usually came in first, was surpassed by his rival, who usually came in second. The last runner came in, hands raised in a Tony Stark-esque fashion. The times were displayed, awards announced, and people gave hugs and high fives to each other. For the seniors, there would be no more high school races. They will all move on to run their races. Just as these runners ran their races, we, as humans, run our own. We try to get ahead of one another, fighting each other till the finish. But not all of us can be First, though we can all try our best to be. We can learn something from the Last. Sometimes it’s not about finishing first. Sometimes it’s about having fun, and enjoying life.
“Everyone Has Something Shining From The Inside� Penelope Min
Legends Of A Divided World by Joey Harding Prologue Heaven, Hell and Human: three realms of unknown age; all lost in the mystery of chronology. It varies amongst the legends, but most agree that the human realm was not the first. Only scientific inquiry brought that point across, and recently at that. Both lore and science are believed by the masses, but what if they were told that both lore and science were wrong? What would people do in the absence of truth; face the facts and begin the search anew? Once truth has been completely overturned everything descends into chaos; that is the reality that they currently face, though they remain unaware. Humanity continues on its course, oblivious to the histories and events that directly affect and guide it. This is how it was, and this is how it shall stay, even as the realms are turned upside down around them, the humans will hold their pace, moving onwards until they decide to face the fact that they were only tools. What is an appropriate sacrifice to save the life of the one most precious to you? Time? Money? Strength? Various things are sufficient in concept; however in reality, all cost greatly. But what if someone offered you a solution so painfully simple that you couldn’t refuse? “I will heal your sister, but in return your soul shall be mine, Akira. From the day the contract is made to the day you die, you shall be bound to me.” Those words, in part, rekindled the flame of hope that had been slowly diminishing these last few years. But before we go any further, allow me to explain; my name is Akira Séran; for the last four years I have been taking up various jobs and offers to make money in order to pay for my sister’s medical treatments. She was diagnosed with leukemia and the treatments were only prolonging her life, but I always had hope that one day they would cure her. After four years though, that hope slowly began to wane. Her condition grew worse and worse; at least, until I met her. An offer I couldn’t refuse: my soul, an intangible, nonexistent object, for the life of my sister. With that, I thought that I could go to living a happy life with my family, free of the thought of lingering death. There was no end to how wrong I was. Not many people actually know what a soul does, or rather, what it is. Some simplify it to represent the status of your afterlife; others interpret is as the manifestation of your personality. As one would have it, the first isn’t half wrong. It is an indicator, but a soul is also much more than that. It serves as an identifier, affirming the existence of those in possession of one. It also serves as a flag of allegiance, determining access to either the barrier to the underworld, or the gates of heaven after the shedding of the cocoon called a human body. Consequently, a lack of knowledge of what a soul was ended my “existence” as a human being. I quickly became an intangible apparition, incapable of being recognized by a human through any means. My efforts and hopes of having a normal life had been rendered null, and without a purpose in life, without a family or friend to recognize me, depression began to settle in. And, one night, after another lonely day, I fell asleep and never awoke. However, that was when the truth I thought I knew was turned on its back, and the light at the end of the tunnel signified the first step in the restoration of the natural order of the realms.
Part One Red; that was probably the only accurate method of describing what rested in front of Akira; the horizon was red, the ground was red, even the plant growth was red. “Talk about depressing scenery,” Akira complained casually, despite the recent events; the last memory he had was of falling asleep in his apartment, which somehow led to him winding up here - in the middle of somewhere. What happened? A quick look had told him he was still himself, which was a relief. He’d always been sure that if he were reincarnated, he would probably end up as a dog or something else from the animal world. (If that had happened, life would’ve gotten a lot simpler—but also, a lot shorter. That would have been a pain, from a human perspective at least.) Whatever had happened it would be best to find people, or perhaps shelter, so Akira set off thinking that the latter option wouldn’t be too difficult, but deemed the former to be unlikely, at least not without factoring out the drab environment. Akira was pretty sure that any sane human would die of monotony from seeing the same color everywhere everyday for their entire life. These random thoughts filled his journey, which was quite easy as the terrain was made up mostly of small hills coated in a smooth red dust that required little to no active thought to climb. As time progressed, Akira eventually found himself standing at the base of a particularly massive hill. Looking up, he whistled at the sight, as it truly was impressively large, but it looked difficult to climb. This’ll be... interesting. Akira began to climb the monstrous crater. Twenty minutes later, he was still making his way up, well, rather crawling up after the fifteen- minute mark, and questioning the sanity of his thinking during high school when he’d chosen to skip stamina training. “Guuuhh, why’d I climb this thing?” Akira grumbled as he pulled himself up over the top of the hill, breathing heavily. Overlooking the horizon visible from the summit, he realized that what he was on top of wasn’t a hill, but rather the lip of a crater. A few hundred meters away, a small pit of bubbling lava with flames jetting out from the surface rested in the center; a strange air surrounding it that made Akira feel uneasy. He turned away but could’ve sworn he heard screaming coming from behind as he slid down the slope. People often say boredom drives people to do stupid things. Akira had been a frequent victim of this as a child, though he nearly dropped the tendency after he entered high school. The current situation Akira was in, however, was enough to lead to trouble if he didn’t actively combat the impulse. The monotony of this warm colored world was only making it worse as nothing had changed at all in the course of the day. The level of light was the same; the color of the sky the same; the temperature the same; everything was the same, as if this place were designed to drag someone to the brink of insanity. The only object that had a sense of uniqueness to it was the crater. The aura emanating from the center and the disconcerting cries in the distance were what drove Akira away initially, but now they seemed to be the most appealing thing in the never-ending wasteland that he’d found himself in. With a little hesitation, Akira, who’d been lying down around a kilometer away from the caldera, picked himself up off the dusty ground and got started moving towards and climbing the conical mound. This time he was going to the center of the crater; he’d lost the fight against his impulse.
“What... What is this!?” Akira questioned as he stepped back wide eyed in horror. The screaming was much louder here at the center, and Akira now understood why. The bubbles in the lake that he’d seen weren’t from gas vents, as one would normally assume; rather, they were from creatures screaming and struggling to reach the surface of the lake as they burned without dying. Akira wanted to run, but was unable to move at the shock of his realization. His thoughts were jumbled and panicked, unable to comprehend the reason for such a horrendous thing. As Akira stood there in shock, an arm broke the surface of the lake and threw itself on the edge, slinging lava around as it struggled to grasp its freedom. Another arm arose from the fire, the pair to the first, and once more slung itself over the ledge, flinging molten rock into the air before pulling the rest of its body out of the lake. A string of the liquid fire landed on the bottom of Akira’s eyelid causing him to let out an agonized howl before scraping it off with his sleeve in a flurry. A thin linear burn that would scar now resided under Akira’s right eye. The injury caused him to coil up, holding his hands over his right eye until he saw what had given him the injury. Crawling in Akira’s direction was a humanoid creature coated in lava with glowing red eyes. Its mouth opened and unleashed a noise unlike anything Akira had ever heard, causing him to scream in terror and dash away up the side of the crater, the air rushing past causing the new wound to throb. Even after reaching the rim, Akira kept running as fast and far as he could until he collapsed. There he stayed in the red dust staring up at the never changing sky in a daze. “So it was you, eh?” A voice broke the dead silence that engulfed Akira’s senses, a silhouetted figure hovering over him, looking down. “I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, you did give me your soul after all.” The voice spoke as if it wasn’t expecting a response. “Well, it’s time to hurry, we wouldn’t want the cherufe to catch up to you, you know.” The figure knelt down and placed a hand on Akira’s chest, and in a flash of familiar red light, everything around Akira changed. The red dust on the ground became a soft green grass; the sky overhead turned a bright crimson and, in the distance, large buildings, towers and a few skyscrapers became visible. Akira picked himself up off the ground after he’d snapped out of his daze and looked around. He turned to face the figure of mystery, and in front of him was a woman he remembered very well. As far as Akira could guess, she was around the same age as him, with black hair, a pale, beautiful face, and to his early surprise: crimson eyes. Also, from what he could remember, she had quite a way with words. Yes, this was the very same person who saved his sister with her magic. Emma Lucifer: the very same Lucifer whom people often called “The Devil.” “Welcome to the Underworld, Akira Séran. You now work for me.” She said with a mischievous smile.
“Fleeting Beauty” Noel Jeong
Sisters by Joon Yoon “Are you okay?” She could now safely say she despised those 3 words. In the span of two days, she had been asked that question or some derivative countless times, each time only serving to make her angrier. As if the answer wasn’t obvious. Deep down, she knew that people were just asking out of genuine concern, but she was in no state to appreciate the sentiment. Right now, she just wanted to be left alone, wallowing in her own grief. The sound of her name snapped her out of her thoughts. Right, someone had asked her “The Question,” as she was now dubbing it. The most recent asker was a short, raven-haired boy in her grade. She didn’t know him particularly well and thus she didn’t feel a shred of guilt as she sent the poor boy scampering off with a cold glare. She walked through the halls to her next class, ignoring the stares and murmurs as she passed by. Normally, she would’ve felt self-conscious, but right now she didn’t care. She got herself to her next class, the last class of the day, plopped her things on the desk and stared out the window. Her mind started to wander and, inevitably, her mind started to reflect on the last couple of days, even if she didn’t want it to. (repetitive ending/ inevitably already tells the “even if she didn’t want it to.”) A loud crash echoed outside, followed by a quick flash of lightning. Naomi (is there a reason you call yourself Naomi suddenly?) looked up from her book to see rain pouring even harder outside. A pang of worry went through her heart as she recalled her parents’ words a few hours earlier. ‘We’ll be back by 11 at the latest.’ Her father had told her and her sister. ‘Take care of each other.’ Her mother had told them. They had both nodded and watched as their parents went out for the night. It was now 11:30 and Naomi couldn’t deny she was starting to fear the worst, especially with the rain now pouring even harder. To take her mind off of things, she decided to go check on her sister. She took the stairs up and knocked on her sister’s door. She heard a faint “Come in” and entered the room. She found her sister sitting on her bed, staring at the raging storm outside. Lily’s ginger hair was disheveled, like she had been lying down and she could see the dread in her eyes. Naomi took her seat beside her sister, squeezing her shoulder to comfort her, knowing what she was thinking. “They’ll be alright Lily.” She said reassuringly. She knew she was trying to convince herself as much as her sister. Her sister flashed her a small, grateful smile but then turned her head toward the window again. It worried her when Lily was this quiet. She was the loud, outgoing, and talkative one. She wasn’t one to be pensive, instead preferring to speak what she thought. She must’ve been really anxious to stay this quiet. (repetitive) The two sisters sat in nervous silence for a little while, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Suddenly, Lily broke the silence. “Naomi, we’ll see them again right?” Naomi could hear the desperation and fear in her voice, even if Lily was trying her best to keep a brave front. “We will.” She tried to reassure her sister, giving her sister’s shoulder another squeeze. Lily just nodded and pulled her knees into her chest. Naomi tucked a strand of her own blonde hair behind her head and waited while the sounds of the storm echoed outside. After what seemed like a few minutes, the phone rang downstairs. Both of them raced down the staircase, both of them anxious for any sort of news. Naomi picked up the phone, heart racing. “Hello, is this the residence of Howard and Morgan Grace?”
Naomi’s heart began to beat faster. That was definitely not the greeting she would’ve hoped for. Lily was nervously shifting her wait from side to side. Naomi swallowed the bile in her throat and replied with a simple “Yes.” “Who is this speaking?” The voice on the other end asked. The knot in Naomi’s stomach, which she had just noticed, was now tightening. “This is their eldest daughter.” As the next words came over the phone, Naomi’s body went numb. She couldn’t register what the lady on the other end had just said. She was shaking in disbelief. Tears were brimming at the edge of her eyes. All she could think was “No, no, no, no, no.” Then despair hit her like a punch in the gut. The knot in her stomach tightened again as she sank to the floor. She dropped the phone and uncontrollable sobs started to wrack (this word sounds weird/ruins the flow of the sentence/do you mean wreck, rack, etc?) her body. The tears were flowing freely now, running down her cheeks. Lily had seen her reaction and was now crying freely down on her hands and knees from the shock. They stayed like that for a while, both of them crying until they felt totally drained. Naomi felt arms fiercely wrap around her waist and a warm, wet feeling on her shoulder. Naomi returned the embrace just as tightly and stroked her sister’s hair, trying to comfort Lily. For a few minutes, they hung on to each other for dear life, dry sobs heaving both their bodies. They now only had each other left, and both of them didn’t want to lose the other. The next day passed by in a blur. They had barely gotten any sleep, kept awake by the despair that was gnawing at both of them. Their hair was disheveled, their eyes were red and puffy and there were dark bags under their eyes. After breakfast, Mrs. Kain, a good friend of their parents’, came by to pick them up. She had heard of the accident and they were going to stay at her home until something was figured out. The first time Naomi had been asked “The Question” was in her car. “Are you alright girls?” At this, Lily was desperately holding back more tears and Naomi just stared out the window, trying to erase last night from her memory. Without another word, Mrs. Kain drove them to her house. She showed them the guest bedroom where they would be staying. Her son and their friend Chris had offered his condolences. Lily had just been despondent, barely nodding in acknowledgement, while Naomi gave him a glare, which made Chris leave the room in a hurry. The rest of the day passed by quickly. They slept, exhausted from last night, they ate and then they tried to sleep some more. At dinner, Mr. Kain came home, welcomed them and again asked “The Question.” Neither of them said anything. He just gave them a look of pity and all of them kept on eating. They all went to bed, and the sisters settled into their beds. “Hey Naomi,” Lily broke the silence of their sleep. Naomi ignored her. Right now, she just needed some time to think. “Naomi, are you awake?” Frustration built up within Naomi. “Go back to sleep Lily.” Naomi told her sister. She didn’t see the hurt that had flashed upon Lily’s face upon hearing that. School the following day had been horrible. Many stares, whispers and many acts of pity followed the sisters wherever they went. They all said sorry, they all offered their comfort, and it was getting irritating. They didn’t know how it felt to have lost so much. They didn’t know how much her and her sister were suffering. Naomi attempted to avoid Lily the entire day, shrugging off her sister’s attempts to talk to her, and instead focused on shutting out everything and everyone. She needed to get through the day. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to be where everyone stared and whispered. The sharp sound of the bell brought her back to reality. She realized she had zoned out through that entire class, and now school had ended, She didn’t really mind though and her teacher had been tactful enough to let her be. She was now at her locker putting back the textbook for her last class. She shut the door and slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to go. Then she heard it. “Naomi, are you ok?” She exploded, all the frustration and anger of the day coming out. She let out a string of curses and let out all she had felt that
day. All the emotions, all the horrible thoughts, she let it all go. She didn’t regret it until she saw who had asked her. Lily was standing there, eyes wide with fear and tears brimming at the edge of them. Guilt was gnawing at Naomi’s stomach. She took a step forward and said “Lily,” Lily just frantically shook her head and took off. Naomi saw that she had created a scene, but she didn’t care. She just put her hands in her face, and slumped down the wall, tears now coming out when she realized what she had said to Naomi. Naomi took her time getting back to the Kain’s house. She walked slowly and even sidetracked herself a couple of times, the only thought running through her mind being how to apologize to Lily. She had screwed up, and really badly at that. She expected Lily to never want to speak with her again. She pondered what she could do, what she could say, but in the end she ended up in front of the house without a plan. She took a deep breath, and then entered the house. Mr Kain, Mrs. Kain and Chris were having dinner as she came in. They heard her come in. Mrs. Kain asked where she had been, to which she responded with a simple shrug. They asked her if she wanted dinner, to which she shook her head. She asked where Lily was and they pointed her to the guest bedroom. Naomi nodded in thanks. She went up to the door and her doubts started to come in. Would Lily even want to talk to her? Would she even want to see her? She’d probably just shut the door in her face. Naomi sighed in despair, but decided she would at least try. She knocked on the door. After a few moments of tense waiting, the door handle turned and the door opened. Naomi saw her sister; her red hair now messier and more unkempt than it had ever been with red and puffy eyes from crying. Lily’s eyes widened with surprise, which was quickly replaced by wariness, which made the guilt in Naomi’s stomach that much heavier. Lily asked, “What do you want?” The coldness in her voice almost made Naomi walk away right then and there, but she gathered her nerves and spoke. “Lily, I am so so so sorry,” She whispered. It wasn’t eloquent and it didn’t express nearly enough of what Naomi felt, but it was a start. Then Lily did something completely unexpected and threw arms around Naomi, sobs coming back in full force. Naomi flinched in shock, but slowly returned the embrace. “I’m so sorry.” She kept repeating the apology, tears brimming at the edge of her own eyes. “You should hate me.” Naomi whispered. Lily shook her head. “I could never hate you. It hurt when you shut me out and ignored me. It definitely hurt when you said all those things. But I could never hate you.” Naomi opened her mouth but Lily continued. “Just don’t ever leave me alone again ok? I can’t-“ Lily broke into a sob. “I can’t lose anyone else.” She managed to finish between sobs. “I won’t. Not anymore. I promise.” Naomi smiled at Lily, which she returned. They held each other, taking comfort in each other’s arms.
Space by Minae Choi I think a writer should have a vast piece of paper that extends infinitely in every direction. The end of a page seems to discourage further writing, and I am again prompted by the feeling to hastily conclude whatever I am writing when the whiteness is brought to an immediate halt. But an enormous white sheet seems to warrant activity; a fathomless vacuum that must be filled and occupied. As an artist should fill up the world with his art, writers should fill up the world with their art- the numerous curlicues and curvatures of language that adorn the world with expressions of reality and our mentality. At this moment, I write in exuberant earnestness; I want to write to the ends of the universe, write until every page or blank sheet of paper is brimming or overflowing with words.
“Flash” Lauren Kim
find me by Minsoo Bae I smile. My dimples pinch confidence onto my cheeks. But the crescent moons that my nails create on my palms tell a different tale. Pulses and warmth of bodies surround me, and I am alone. Why do I find it so hard? My confidence was a caught fish, slippery and writhing for disappearance in my frail grip. I take a step- and another back. Afraid to shatter the wall that protects me. Crossing the line that let me maintain the infinite possibilities I carried as a stranger to making an inexorable stroke on my image. It was too much; the fear of ruining the blank canvas I projected, the fear of not being good enough, the fear of regret that would surely chase my steps shortly. I was thinking too much, as I always do. That was one thing I excelled at. Endless scripts of what could happen, a photoshopped version of reality. But it was a one-man play; at the end of the show, the lights would switch on, revealing the lone dreamer that stood in the dark. Carefully crafting the perfect dialogue, scissoring away the awkward frays and blowing away the babbled ennui, was easy in dreams. But face to face -- one eye devouring another -- stole my tongue of the wit that tickled my throat. Afraid of the judgment that would cut our connection. Afraid that the flash I provide of myself would be stamped "not good enough". Vulnerability was a coat that I didn't often like to see myself in. And so I hold my tongue. I smile. Perhaps when the days gather upon days, I'll feel comfortable enough with you to allow a thread of myself to unravel. But for now, I mist away into the safe zone -- blank canvas once more.
“Overgrown” Jessica Richards
Complicatedly Straightforward (A Thought) by Noel Jeong I’m straightforward in a complicated way And I’m exactly how this description was said. And I’m whatever this description made you Feel.
suppressed emotions by Rachel Park I am in my room. This cold dark room, full of secrets that I dare not share with the people I know. This is where I shed my cheerful facade, this is where I let my real emotions take control. It is very lonely living a double life. In the midst of my “performances,” I sometimes feel confused and lose my identity. At school, I appear as a cheerful and careless person, perhaps even foolish at times. I am perfectly aware of my actions, and how they are perceived by the people around me. They will never know the truth behind my clever jokes, my satire, and my constant lightheartedness. It is all an act. I do not wish for my friends, especially those who I am closest to, to know of my true feelings. There are times when I slip up in my act, and a few people notice a change about me. Those are the people who I am afraid of. They are very perceptive, at times very sly, as they notice my mistakes and point them out to me. When they ask me if I am feeling alright, I regain my composure immediately and tell them I am just tired. They immediately back away from me and say they understood how I felt. They do not. They have no inkling of understanding on how I feel. They do not know the real me. I will appear to them, friendly and cheerful, but that appearance will always be a ghost of what I truly am. I am afraid of what they may say if they found out, if they saw what kind of a person I truly was. This is my constant paranoia. I must always keep my composure, and continue tricking the people around me. But there are times when I wish and desperately hope that I may be able to release the burdens I hold to myself. There is always a longing of sharing my secrets, having someone understand what I am going through. But I know that is impossible. My room. Oh, the secrets and emotions I’ve kept in there. Even my family does not know all the dark pasts I’ve kept in that room. My room is cold and drab. It is unrealistically cold in there, especially in the winter. It is so cold, I am unable to stay in there for a minute before shivering and covering myself with five blankets. But I feel comforted in that room. It is the one place I can close the door, lie on my bed, and let my thoughts flow. This is when my emotions take over and I feel so lonely. This is when I feel as if I am abandoned and no one is able to help me. The thought that lingers in my mind everyday is, will someone, anyone be able to lighten the weight that has been on me for so long?
“Boats” Jayde Kim
Ears by Sangwoo Kim You heard it. You heard it allBut you ignored it, So they died.
“Inroads to Melancholy” Hanna Chang
One More Lie by Sharon Prince You told me that the stars were within my reach, That I could be whatever I wanted, Whoever I wanted, So why can’t you lie just one more time? I need you to reassure me, just like that rainy day when I broke my arm. You said everything would be okay then. Is it so hard to just construct one lie about one insignificant life? I’ve been happy settling for a mediocre tomorrow while I’ve been dreaming of a gleaming future. Why would you choose to live in reality When there are unreachable, beautiful dreams waiting? Why won’t you let me engulf myself in naiveté? Why did you tell me the truth? I needed to survive just a little longer in a summer’s reverie. Even if you thought it was best for me, How dare you crush the very reality You had a hand in contriving? Is my life that easy to toy around with? To manipulate? Feed it fabrications that belong in a fantasy world. I don’t deserve another disappointment in my life. There’s nothing more to life. You’re not remembered for the deeds you did or the people who smiled at your clumsiness. No, you’re remembered for the cups of coffee you spilled, The plates you broke. Is it too much to ask you to lie one more time, and tell me that I’ll be remembered for something more than that?
From Autumn to Here by Sunny Chung Brain: aches and lines overcrossing To think of the new. In this suffering I cannot eat or digest But the thought of revealing myself to you Rehearsing lines as if to announce on stage To yearn for you to gain more of me. In the end I am coward steps back How long fickle can I be Beginnings to ends I question what I will receive in turn After exposing a sensitivity Will there be no return? Will it just be to proclaim bravery? A reason for a toast Away from becoming meek I am always just a so-so, an almost. Overflowing to-do lists That all alike I utilize Do not compare to this destitution For it has all but a checkbox. Unending Unending What we look for in love so sensual But I guess not this thing. Maybe it stems from liberty Claiming to hand over much independence But with options I pick the wicked Sending me afar to the lows and ambivalence This frothy desire runs through me And I only dream of it traveling through your self Concordantly attracted by a sense of gut-feeling Perchance we can change to ‘selves Whether you will sway like winter’s weather I will not know As long as I am free of your faults My attentive eyes will remain their status quo What seemed so distant is no moreOur breaths under the heavy snow Merge and I see when you are out of breath, When you are absorbed, when things move slow
Cold puffs and mine own drags A decision to free me from mislabels To only love, love, love, love, love, and love me There lies nothing more unbearable. Then I’d promise the greatestNothing in vain. Whereas all else I am well-fed of Teethless smiles and discolored stains Picture: New Year fireworks So spread and admired by everyone equal Will be IAnd you, envisioning my past as factual. Stories are finally transparent and projected, Every word floating in black and white. Humbly I take off my own relief To see you take flight. For your own escapes and sorrows I would hand you my third lucid dream. My throbs are of indulgence now, And you inmost deserve what your laughter seems But here I lifelessly gaze and gaze Caught by bone-freezing worries. Maybe the delay embodies future regret And an ideal miscarried. The unforeseen creates these racing illusions Both deep and dirtyBut to compare this destitution to love Is wrongly overvalued and unworthy. Unending Unending What we all look for in love so sensual But I guess not this thing.
“Playground” Dongmin Koo
Slavery by Stacie Park Slavery: It’s funny when we forget That slavery isn’t uniquely Among persecuted men Who struggle against their chains. Slavery of the inside Of our souls. It is that which makes us forget That we continue to manufacture The very chains that we despise. Freedom: It’s funny when we forget That freedom isn’t uniquely Among liberated ethnic groups Who have been emancipated in society. Freedom of the inside Of our hearts. It is that which constantly reminds us That we can choose to abandon our idols That we have put our allegiance to, That so long for our commitment, love, and trust And quietly, like death, eat at our strength. But love is also quiet, patiently waiting, Yearning so achingly. Its heart breaking at our chain wounds, Its power to redeem and conquer to come That will wrap itself around us While we bathe in its Light, Pouring our desires into its warm open arms And laughing as our cups overflow And weeping as we receive our long-awaited, Deepest cravings of intimacy Found only from someone who would lay down his life for us, Who has already laid down his life for us. For we are his treasured, beloved children, Who deserve to know where authentic, foolproof freedom lies.
Nothing for Granted by Zoey Ryu No one knows Sky like I do. I offer you a short cut to recognizing his magnificence. So you don’t have to learn the hard way, the way I did after he had gone. This is a little tale that will help you understand... You see, you probably don’t know that Sky can lose his color in exactly 13 hours. I didn’t either, until I landed in our peninsula after 13 hours of flight. I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t blue, but looking pale and gray. ‘Tis too heartbreaking, only the Smurfs would understand. The deep blue ocean that surrounded our land, seemed to mock him every way and day. He also lost most of his precious jewels that used to keep him company when Sun left him each night. You’d think the few gems that are left embedded on his colorless body was all he had to start with. But I have seen him at his best, when every inch of his existing body sparkled. Just 13 hours ago down in the West. You probably don’t realize the significance of his blueness. But that’s understandable since you weren’t there to witness his illness. Yet there is something you should know in case his color and gems return... You shouldn’t be foolish like me, but thank him for being blue and sparkly. While you have the chance, you must. Thank him for his plain existence. Or you’ll be sad like me.
“Documentary” Grace Han
What Makes The World Go Round by Christine Kim For 4.54 billion years, A quite a long time, The world is still alive Its energy, most sublime. We’ve asked each other before What makes the world go round? Is it money, or gold, or friendship? Or can it not be found? Maybe the power of the sun, Perhaps the glittering stars; Could it be those who tell legends and myths? Or brave men with battle scars? Majestic purple mountains Could surely be the answer. Is it the ever-changing sky? Or the world’s biggest mirror? All right, you’ve guessed enough! On this place we all belong, The answer lies within you Surely you’ve known it all along.
“ OUTSIDE OF A DOG, A BOOK IS A MAN’S BEST FRIEND. INSIDE OF A DOG IT’S TOO DARK TO READ. ” - GROUCHO MARX
A R T I STS estheran hannachang dongminkoo janiebaek jessicarichards noeljeong penelopemin davidin sarahlee laurenkim
O F F I CERS gracehan sangwookim ekhwang estheryoon annlee hannahkim christinekim hughkim irenelee irenesong jaydekim jeihokim joeyharding joonyoon minaechoi minsoobae noeljeong rachelpark sharonprince sunnychung staciepark zoeyryu
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