hhg 2011-2012 1st edition

8/3/2019 HHG 2011-2012 1st Edition

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“Creativity is contagious. Pass it on.”

— Albert Einstein

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ABLE OF CONENS

4. In Between, by David An

5. Untitled, by Anonymous

6. I Remember a ime You May NotRecall, by Nicole Park

8. Untitled, by Luke Oh

9. Artwork by Anne Lee

10. A Conversation with God by,Steven Song

11. Untitled by Janie Baek

12. Te First Moment I Met Her, by Siwon Kim

13. Untitled, by Anonymous

14. Artwork, by Esther An

15. Metamorphosis, By Nicole Park

16. Te Day the Earth Stood Still, by Anonymous

17. Tings that Can’t Be Discussed- When Sober #11, by Nayoon Ahn

19. A aste o Football in America, by Roland Umoru

20. Artwork by Joelle Kim

21. Willow ree, by Ann Lee

23. een Perspective, by Jeongmin Huh,

25. Artwork by Daniel Ha

26. Artwork by Anthony Kim

27. rump Card, by Junyoung Jung

30. Te End o My Journey, by Sara Lee

33. Artwork by Vienna Kim

34. Te rinity by Anonymous

36. Commentary on “What the Dog Saw”,

by Minae Choi

37. Artwork by Raymund Shin

38. Senses Writing, by Esther Yoon

40. Artwork by Raymund Shin

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In Betweenby David An

I stand as an actor without a script, A place o unwritten papers and o broken pencil-tips,

O questions that have yet to be asked, With answers too late to be told,I stand alone in the blistering cold.

ales that have yet to unold,But have already grown withered and old.Paper that has yet to be lled,

Ink that has been already spilt,I stand in this place o in-betweens.

Pictures and sights that I still want to see,Te amiliar earth that I eel beneath my eet,Lies and untruth that have yet to be born,Veils and masks that I have already worn,

I balance mysel precariously over the edge,

We teeter between choices, or to one we must pledge, And rom the depths o our miry souls must we dredge,In the hopes that they see the light o another day,Rearm that they had not aded into a grainy shade o gray.

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Untitledby Anonymous

Tere was a great vault o a sky above them, a creamy sort o blue, with large bulbous clouds stringed into its depths. Tey had ound them-selves in an apple orchard, her with a book and he who was lying with hishead in her lap, chewing on cherry stalks, one arm draped across his eyesso that no stray rays o sun could sneak in and disturb his nap, the other

arm resting on his stomach. She stroked his somewhat curly, mouse-brownhair at onto his orehead absentmindedly, her eyes not leaving the pageso her book.

“Hey,” he started, ater several moments o prolonged silence, “Youlove me, dontcha?”

She did not say a word, nor did she stop ddling with the locksupon his head, nor did she take her eyes rom her book. He knew her

well, however, and knew that this was quite common with her. He waitedpatiently. In time, she olded down one corner o the page she had justnished, snapped her book closed and laid it lovingly on the sweet grassbeside her.

“Well, do ya?” he asked again, “love me?”“‘Course I love ya, silly,” she responded.“How?” He looked up into her eyes; they were green, crisp and

orever mesmerising to him.“You’re my best riend,” she said in a decisive tone, as she planted

one sot kiss upon his reckled orehead beore shooing him away and skip-ping o, her long blonde plaits trailing behind her in the breeze.

Suddenly, there was an alien ache in his chest. Te sensation creptinto his throat, making it dry and constrained. It slithered into the pitso his stomach, boiled the blood in his cheeks, and tied his intestines intoknots.

He leapt up rom the ground and ran ater her. Strange, hethought, as he caught up. Perhaps he had just accidentally swallowed acherry stalk.

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I Remember a ime You May Not Recall

by Nicole Park

I remember a time you may not recall, When I hated that disease you hadI hated all the things it didI hated it with all my heart,I hated how you became a kid.

Because I hated how you would always shout

I hated how you threw your oodI hated all the things you saidI hated how you were so rude.

It started o with orgetting namesBut then headed to a “who are you?”I remember a time you may not recall,

When you recalled mum’s ace, mine too.

But I remember a time you may not recall, When I ound that disease you had,Could, maybe, just maybe, not be so badBecause I loved the way you picked your nose,I loved the way your laugh was loud

I loved the way you were so proudI loved the way you sang out loud.

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I loved the way you called me riendI loved the way you slurped your teaI loved the way you loved my letter And I loved the way we nished our puzzle.

I remember a time you may not recall, When you had your wheelchair and I had my shoes, When you picked up a lea and I picked one up too, And when we realized we had to choose, We started at each other, knowing which lea would go soon.

Troughout the years I have learned rom you,

My hope, my prideMy love, my guide, And as your love grows, I have also grown tooGranddad, you’re one o a kindDon’t leave me now; be by my side

But Granddad you remember a time I may not recall,

When I was just little and you carried me strong, When you carried my burdens, and you carried my wrongs,But Granddad you now have no burdens, you now have no wrongs You rest in a place where peace rests in you. And even though you’re gone, one thing’s or sure, You’re always, always, in my heart

You and me, Granddadogether, yet apart.

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Untitledby Luke Oh

Tere was a ragged, worn out teddy bear.Its plushy ur and elt long bare.But that never really mattered much.For the child loved him even such.Every day and every night.Te child snuggled him oh so tight.

One day this bear was orced to move.

o where or why he had no clue.Te only thing that it could tell

Was that the child’s cries weren’t well

From that day on it never letTis place called ‘closet’ oh so beret.O the love and care that once was his.

For ten long years it never orgotTe warm lub-dub o his child’s heart.Ten suddenly the darkness broke,

And there he was the child all grown.

Finally brought out o his years o exile,Te bear and the child were together a whileo a new house the now grown-child took Te bear and told a boy “look!”

And suddenly the child was no longer there.

Yet as he watched his child leave And let him to be, as this boy would pleaseTe bear had a icker o doubt“Te child has let me, but I mustn’t pout.”

Te bear never saw his child again.

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by Anne Lee

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A Conversation with God

by Steven Song

Hey, it’s been a while.Honestly, I don’t know what to say.I don’t even know how I’m doing.I just didn’t have time, you know?It’s so hard. Why can’t you understand that?I you understood, you wouldn’t be telling me this right now. You’re telling me that, but I don’t know i I can trust you on this one. Why? Because this is my lie I’m risking!I know you’ve been a great help, but i I do this, it’s really big or me.How am I supposed to trust you? You told me you understood.

I guess you don’t. What do I have to gain rom this? You know how much I want itIt’s just... I don’t know how to let go. You make it sound so easy.Okay, okay, I’ll try later.No! I’m not pushing it aside; I’m trying right now.

Yes, I am!Okay, maybe I’m not trying, but I will!Oh, come on! I’ll do it later!…I just don’t have time or this right now!I have to take care o so many things in my lie!Because I don’t know what I’ve become!

I I’m so precious, i I’m so beautiul, why don’t I eel that way? Why do I eel so alone?! You don’t understand!

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Everything worked out ne when I tried to do things on my own!Stop telling me what to do!… What’s wrong with me?

I nothing’s wrong, why doesn’t everything eel right?I’m scared.Do you promise? Do you really promise you’ll be right here? You better not leave my side.I’m really going to trust you on this.(Sigh) Okay, I’m going to do this.Onewo

Tree

Untitledby Janie Baek

“YISS is a community o students, parents, and Christian educators work-ingtogether to instill in each student a passion or truth, a commitment toexcellence, and an appreciation or diversity.”

Our school is what we make it to be. Many may express their opinions, o how much school displeases them, but schoolwork is not the only aspect o school. School spirit, encouragement that is passed rom student to stu-dent, and respect that we give our teachers matter too. It’s as i the negativ-ity that comes rom the stress o school overpowers our will to be positive. When high school is the place where we nd ourselves; it is where we acethe most peer pressure, social ostracism, and stress. Overcoming these di-

culties builds our character, will, and maturity. Te legacy that we leavehere matters. Make your school what you want it to be.

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Te First Moment I Met Herby Siwon Kim

Te rst moment I met her…She caught me with the glimpse o an eye, With a silent smile that made me stop. What a bliss it was to just walk by,Shining beauty, nothing could atop.She stood there, with nothing but a smile, And I had to stop and stare, in awe,Te world, immobile, my heart, sessile,

Love, I knew it was. My heart oresaw.I walked toward her, walking on cloud, And I dared to bid her a salutation.Her voice, in my head, blocked out the crowd,My heart, or her, elt the aection.She and I could never separate.One snowy night, I conessed my love,

Te sound so mellow, like chocolate,Our kiss was rom the sweetest octave. We sang a song together, our song. We had our own lock, with our own key, With her, agging days were never long, We just went on, and let things just be.She rested in my arms, and leaned back,Under the spotlight, we would kiss.Our memories o rst days ash back. And remember, how we were in such bliss.

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She still rests in my arms, and leans back, While I play the song o our rst day.

Pleasures are not the only soundtrack,Our tears and pain elt, let them sashay.

Te rst moment I met her, At the cello shop, long days ago.Her chocolate smile, mellow-toned voice.How I ell in love with her,

Since the rst moment I met her.

Untitledby Anonymous

Te overlapping symphony o the buzzing bugs, the odd crow o the laterooster, the barking o the neighborhood dogs, the drizzle o rainwater, thecrunch o gravel beneath our eet, the occasional car speeding on the road,

the sizzle as the batter hardens on the rying pan, the background noise o the television, the hum o the electric an, the amiliar voice o my grand-mother, the gossiping voices o our mothers, our ice-cream as it slowly starts to melt onto our hands, the smell o reshly plowed dirt, the country air, the autumn breeze, the musk o the storage room, the sweet wat o ood as it lls the whole house…

Chusok.

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by Esther An

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MetamorphosisBy Nicole Park

RED: in rustration and inward, aching screams,Fire blazing through one’s mind,Charring the insides with insane pain, without controlO the crackles and snaps in the harsh orest re o the soul.

ORANGE: with streams o calm setting skies,Resting and cleansing, waiting or the new mourn, the new lie.o rest in the presence o a sunsetIn blissul relaxation o the soul.

YELLOW: adrenaline pumping,Trobbing in thrill and sheer excitement,

Trough one’s veins and screamingIn pleasurable ecstasy o the soul.

GREEN: now aspiring into a new lie,Forming new dreams and resolutions, With sovereignty and ourishing desires,urning over a new lea to the soul.

BLUE: in anguish, with torrents o deluging sadness,Flooding one’s lie in heart-rending emotionsNever ending, grie-stricken,Crushing heart and soul.

WHIE: now reecting over lie’s journey,Sae, in a place where the coloured emotions cannot touch you.Tey may aect others close to your heart, Yet you can now rest your soul.

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Te Day the Earth Stood Stillby Anonymous

Te early winter chills slip past the walls o the blanket and penetrates the bare esh; it was a rude awakening. Te Iphone is still churning out the specialized Justin Bieber playl-ist. I look at the clock: 6:45 AM, a disgusting time to be awake. I cramp as I attempt an

exaggerated stretch. Roaring in pain, I roll back and orth on my bed. Slowly my musclesgive me permission to relax, and I crawl out o the bed dragging iron weights across my ankles. As I slam the restroom door open, I cannot help but notice the unorgiving cold-ness o the tiles on the oor. My body and brain struggle to pull my pajamas o. Shiver-ing madly, I dart to the showers and quickly turn it on. Gross. Te water is cold…. Stillcold… Still cold.

“Mom, turn o the kitchen water so I can use the showers!”

Te water begs me to stay, but bitterly I search or a towel not visible on the usual towerholder. Not again. I sprint out the showers to the cabinet where the towels were.

I look at the clock: 6:50. Sorry ladies, no time to do my hair. I double-check my backpack to see i I’m missing any ingredients to the sour recipe named “school”. Where’s my MacBook? 6:55. I dare not miss my morning bus, especially with the rare 6211 that graces me with its presence every 16 minutes. I scurry out the room with my backpack and rou-tinely my mother tosses me my banana milk and muns. All set.I barely catch the bus, but unluckily my -money gives me the words o death, “Tere is

not enough money in this card.” Seriously? I had no choice. I ask a couple strangers or athousand won. Finally, ater ve attempts, I nd the crumpled blue paper in the palm o my hands.I sit down and close my eyes. Oh wait, I orgot about that vocabulary test or literatureclass. “Can the day get any worse?”

Never ask that question.

o be continued.

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Tings that Can’t Be Discussed

When Sober #11by Nayoon Ahn

“About two years ago our neighborhood became a redevelop-ment zone.Empty houses with nothing inside them and the slowly de-stroyed road andthe ast appearing apartments with these thingsmy childhood memories disappear.Everything destroyed and apartments that all look identical

to each other, uniorm education, a society where even yourparents don’t like you i you go o the ordinary road...I still don’t know how I came to choose this road, in thissociety. Te only thing is it seems like the small thought thatI wanted to live dierently rom other people changed a lot o things or me.”

- Hong 10, Feb. 2nd, 2011

I don’t know where I was when the ght started. All I know isthat I was walking across the parking lot to the apartment entrance andthey were there, shouting to high heaven. Te rst thing I thought wasthat it was bad that they were right next to the doors, as they’d see me i Itried to go in. It wasn’t that I was worried about what they’d say, but thatthey’d just ignore me like I didn’t exist. Ten I began to worry about theneighbors, what they might hear and what they would think, but I admitthat was pretty stupid, because the neighbors would have heard all o this

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already. I swear I didn’t even know what they were ghting about; it hadtaken me all o the ten seconds during which I had stood rooted to thesidewalk to even realize what it was about. In the end I just turned andstarted to walk away, even though I’d been out the whole day and I desper-

ately needed a bathroom to go pee. When the body hit the concrete it made the most sickening soundI’d ever heard in my entire lie. It was a lumpy dull thud that instantly silenced everything within a hundred meter radius including my parents.I had swiveled back the moment I heard it, and the only thing I couldsee was a mishmash o blood and pink material splashed out across theground. Te only thing that really registered in me was that it was wearinga school uniorm that I’d seen a lot beore, but that wasn’t really surprising

since our neighborhood has lots o schools nearby and once you see oneuniorm you’ve seen them all. It had narrowly missed a black Sonata by hal an arm’s length or so. I say it because at the time, that was all it was tome.

Tere were people running rom other apartment entrances acrossthe lines o parked cars to the body. Within ten minutes ater the incidenthad occurred, seven (roughly) o the people in the parking lot had let, and

it was only my parents and I who remained there, standing stock-still. Tey commented on this aterwards. Te police, I mean. Tey said it was suspi-cious the way we did nothing when everyone else was doing something.Tey asked i we knew i there’d been something going on. My dad and my mom and me were riding in a taxi behind the ambulance aterwards andall o us knew it but nobody was going to say it. We knew it was her themoment her head hit the pavement. We just did. We knew it was her the

same way we remembered how she’d come home past twelve every nightor two weeks straight, even on the days she didn’t go to math tutoring. Weknew it was her the same way we remembered the Super Junior bromidesand the Catcher in the Rye under the mattress mom ound and threw outone bad Saturday evening. It’s not like you don’t realize these things beorethey happen. But it’s not like you can really do anything about themeither. I couldn’t say that to the police ocer. All I know is that when we were riding home rom the hospital, my mom was trying to pick a ght with my dad, who was staring out o the window even though there wasnothing to see, and when my dad wouldn’t say anything my mom snapped

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to me, asking me what I had said to the police ocer. “What did he ask?”she spat. “He asked the same useless questions, didn’t he? All the police o-cers ask the same useless questions. “ I said he asked i I knew anything.“What did you say?” She asked. “You knew better than to say” – “it’s ok,“ I

cut her o. “I didn’t say anything,” I said. “I’m not stupid,” said my mom.“You must’ve said something.” I said, “I really didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to either.” When the police ocer asked me the same thing the thirdtime I knew all he wanted was a line to go in his report, so I gave one tohim. All I wanted to say was something that would shut up the clack clack clack o his typing that went droning on no matter what I said like noth-ing about this mattered anything to anyone. All I did was ask him one question: “ what would you have done i you

had know that it would have happened? “

A aste of Football in America

by Roland Umoru

With pleasure, I accepted an invitation to a ootball game. With my cleats on, I walked onto the rectangular grassy rame.Next moment, I heard a random chant and saw someone diving in mid-air.Regaining consciousness, I saw my riend stare.“Welcome to America”, were the only words he would proclaim.

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by Joelle Kim

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Willow reeby Ann Lee

Te boy traced his nger along the rough edges o the tree, bump-ing along the crevices and gnarled branches that were reaching out or him,like eager ngers, welcoming him to its home. It was only three years ago, when the tree started developing rom a edgling seed. It was only threeyears ago, when he still had her.

He let his weary gaze wander to the ethereal canopy that stretchedout and around him, enclosing him in. Te memories o her came oodingback, crashing like waves onto him. He tried to pull himsel out, but the waves o memories enguled him into the past, however he didn’t want to

ace her again.She was there in an aesthetic white dress. Her let hand extended

outwards, her ragile ngers trembling rom the eort. She had long black hair entwined with silver streaks. Her pale ace severely contrasted her coldblack eyes. Te girl took a reluctant step backwards, but her eyes were stillastened on him, like two empty glass orbs. Her red lips parted, taking autile attempt to tell him something. Her gorgeous black hair was dissolv-

ing into the air. She tried to utter something but once more was a uselessendeavor. He watched as the girl’s hair started to melt away, being dis-solved by the monster. Her cheekbones began to sink into her pallid ace,but her bony hands were still extended out to him, oering him a chanceto save her. However, the monster continued to work away, and the girl’shair was persistently dissolving into thin air.

Tat monster was chemotherapy, the medicine that presents a sin-gle mere chance to hold onto their dying lie or those aected by cancer.Precious time was running through his ngers like sand. As the secondscontinued to elapse, the girl’s hair was becoming thinner and less copious.

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Finally, only a skeleton stood in ront o the boy. Horror gripped him, butit subsided rapidly. Te unamiliar stranger who stood in ront o him wasonly his sister.

“Because o you,” she whispered.

“It wasn’t my ault,” he replied. “Tere was nothing let that Icould’ve done to save you.”Te boy tried to escape, but invisible ropes around his wrists and anklesbared him behind. He tried to yell but his voice disappeared beore he wasable to say anything. Te cryptic world began to disappear into empty darkness. Te boy tried to erase the delicate ace o his sister rom hismind. A scathing tear squeezed out rom the girl’s hollow icy eyes, trac-ing down her cheekbones and melting on her quivering lips. Her mouth

moved, mouthing one word beore disintegrating into the air. Te boy helplessly watched as his sister vanished right beore his eyes.

Te boy opened his eyes and let his decrepit hands wrap aroundthe tree to support him. His lethargic body was trembling ater the breath-taking scene. It was the weeping willow, that allowed him to see thesevisions o his sister. Te vivid captures o the girl rehabilitating in his mindmollied him greatly. Te tree was an apology rom him to her, but nally,

he was too tired or all o it. Every year, he would visit his sister’s grave,even though his ear urged him not to. His sister’s soul was trapped in the willow, haunting him.

Te boy pulled out the ax rom his bag and aced the tree. Itswayed in the cold breeze, its branches trembling. His sister didn’t under-stand that it was cancer that killed her, thereore, blamed everything on herbrother.

“It wasn’t my ault.”Te ax came down with a satisying crunch. With a ew moreswings, the willow tree ell. Te memory o his sister was gone. Te boy traced his nger along the rough edges o the allen tree, bumping alongthe crevices and gnarled branches that were now lielessly scattered acrossthe orest ground.

“It wasn’t my ault.” He whispered once more.

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een Perspectiveby Jeongmin Huh

At birth I was given a name, Jeong Min HuhBut 16 years later, I am labeled as 0385,Expected to achieve academic excellence at 4.0,Car plates, streets, bar codes and 0385, am I still alive?

I wake up rom my antasies and dreams,Te mirror reects a cockroach contorted by pressures o lust, money,drugs…Numb and paralyzed; evil strains within me to divide and multiply,Larvae hatch, crawling out o my penetrated heart.

I once heard that Lie is beautiul.

We desire rewards, or dreams to come true,But most oten dreams that can shatter others, We call those our lielong dreams.

I’m a bee with no name, in search o Honey my whole lie,But there is no end; lielong goals are trampled by humans,I am orever a ettered slave to the unworthy enemy.

Trow me, toss me, but what I only need is the Honey.

... Am I not well equipped or ight?I stride out o my Nest everyday, brimming with condence,Until I look down and realize the dizzy vertical height I am at,I have to acknowledge that one mistake will result in death.

Te mighty opposing waterall crashes down on meI thrash amidst the vehemently crushing waves, barely even keeping up,One jump orward can either kill me or save me

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From this heartless world, and prepare the next generation.

How I wish to be a lion, a recognized entity that cannot be tamed.I shake my mane violently and roar out my name, or I demand respect…

But no, I shake my head violently and wake up, or in retrospectI remembered that a lion is a social outcast not to be mingled with.

I look into the aces, sweet lambs they are,But they smile, revealing angs, whispering tempting words, but beware!It’s no use. Tey dance like predators, preying on more sheep Where is the shepherd to protect us now?

Others are swine, knowing only to eed themselvesTey choose to only listen and see to their own pleasures,Freedom o Speech, Human Rights they claim so passionately Selsh gluttons… only they are to blame.

Why are the untainted lambs morphing into beasts?Is it an unstoppable orce o nature?

Or are we allowing ourselves to be adulterated?oday in this chaotic world why is it so hard or us to mature?

We imagine and portray local heroes,Day-to-day Heroes to ght or justice! For us!But really there’s just nowhere to runFor every corner has hidden another monster

It’s okay. We’ve got one another We say BFF: Best Friends Forever.But the wolves keep howling togetherSignaling or the kill, it’s time or hunting

I’m deenseless, vulnerable, and helplessI look up to the One or Providence,I want to escape this world, reject my ate,But I am only told to survive and sustain and wait.

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by Daniel Ha

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by Anthony Kim

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rump CardBy Junyoung Jung

Te well-trodden gravel crunched under the weight o my eet,causing the dust o Gaea o soar up into the air. As I trudged orward, astrong gust o wind blew as i attempting to hinder my path, rufing itscold ngers through the locks o my hair and resisting with all its mightagainst my progress. Te wind howled as i enraged, its velocity gradually picking up. An array o clouds reinorced the wind, its daunting intimida-tion causing me to hesitate—think beore taking another step. But my resolve was boundless, like an eloquent enchantress it coaxed me onward,onward toward the waiting edge.

Tunder roared in ury and lightning ashed with warning. Tetwo entities danced in the colossal expanse o the sky, leaving signal atersignal o my impending doom. Still, I continued orward until the gravelbegan to thin underneath me. A portion o my shoes was hanging over thedomain o Zeus, just a slight nudge away rom eclipsing into the ater lie.My eyes gazed at the expanse o the horizon that loomed beore me, risingabove and beyond me like a oreboding ortress. I stared up at the raven

black o the sky and silently prayed, prayed or redemption, or salvation,or resurrection. With my lie ashing beore my I eyes, I released. And Ilet it go. Let it all go.

From my ignoble birth to the slaying o my parents beore my eyes, I was a shade. From the early adolescence with my uncle—with himon his illegal gambling gatherings—to his tragic all, I was a shade. Frommy all in with gangs and the aimless gang-ghts to my spell in prison orprotecting my Helen o roy against Menelaus, I was a shade. From my separation rom her to the realization that my birth was our divide, I was ashade. From the hazy nights with my toxic, liquid companion to the odd

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jobs perormed here and there, I was a shade. From the moment I met my sworn brother to the moment we ran, I was a shade. From our nights gam-bling illegally to the incident with the cops, I was a shade. From our sud-den ight to our years o in an unknown land, I was a shade. From barely

making enough to live o o to even orgetting her or years at a time, I was a shade. From the chance discovery o my talents to risking it all ora stranger, I was a shade. From our saving the business o the stranger tous being oered a high position by the stranger, I was a shade. From ourreturn home to the clearing o all our charges, I was a shade. From my nalvisit to her to seeing her happy, I was a shade. From watching her rom aarto staring in bewilderment as she embraced with the riend o my youth,I was a shade. From dark, lonely nights to my ultimate decision… I was a

shade.My hand limply hangs over the ledge, my st clasped shut over the

chain o our promise. I stare into nothingness as the cascade o tears oodthrough the gates. Remembering Elysium, remembering my Helen o roy,remembering her. I was a shade. All my lie, I lived as a shade. A shade o what I could have been. A shade o what my lie would have been. I only I had noticed in time. My ignoble birth would have been less o a blemish,

the name o my deled ather, not a cumbersome weight on my shoulders.She would have given me another opportunity. She would not have givenup on me. She would have loved me. I…. I only I had recognized intime.

Te pain I had let on her heart, would not have been a burden orher to bear. My twisted ate, I would have carried it on my own. My utileexistence, she would have been unaware o. My boundless pain, I would

have locked it inside me, leaving her in her innocence. I only I hadn’t beena shade o mysel. I wouldn’t be the one starting over while staring in long-ing as she nestled in another’s arms. I wouldn’t be wondering as to what wecould have been. What we would have been. My lie. All my ault….Lie… is game o cards. All my lie, I had bet and bet on vain hands. Allmy lie, I had olded when a winning hand had been dealt in my avor. Allmy lie, I had been lazy, impractical, and egocentric. With a shot at resur-rection, I had glanced at my hand. I had been dealt the card. Te trumpcard. I had been given another shot at lie. o untwist my ate. o live aruitul lie. o eradicate the deathless pain into oblivion. I had been dealt

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a winning hand and I bet. I went all in on that single hand.Te tides o my lie had turned and I chose to release the past. o

walk over to the edge and untwist my ate, live a ruitul lie, eradicatethe pain, and to obliterate the past. o release the chain o our prom-

ise. I released it at the edge. Even her, I sacriced mysel. I chose to leaveher in the dark and purge my very existence rom her heart. o give her,her “happily-ever-ater”, I carved her engraved name rom my heart andreleased it to the wind. And along with my nal treasure o the past: along with the memory o her, I let it all go. Let it all die with my memory o her. Buried the last o my past with my memory o her. And relinquishedmy grip on my past, on her, on my old-sel, leaving everything in order tobe reborn again.

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Te End of My Journey by Sara Lee

I don’t understand. What’s the point o lie when you have eve-rything you’ve cared or stripped away rom you in an instant? Te cold,

dark eeling that lls up inside you until all that’s let is an empty shell.How simple it would be to end my journey here and now. I wouldn’thave to deal with all o this anymore. Te slit o a wrist or a jump rom abalcony can end all o this right now. Te horrible journey ull o toils andtragedies called lie. I stand there thinking this at the top o the buildinglooking down at the people beore me. I hear the trac and the chatter o people going about their business. Tey go on with their dreary lives going

through the same thing everyday. Tey sleep, wake up, go to work, comeback, only to do the same thing over again. I take a step orward towardsthe edge o the building. My body tips orward, threatening to all. Somepeople have a destined ate and other people choose their own ate. Idecided to choose my own. One more step and I plummet towards theground. I ignore any thoughts o restriction and take that nal step.

As I all, time stands still or a moment while I stay suspended

in air. I remember my amily. My beautiul amily that supported me.I remembered that nal drive that we all went on together. I was in theront seat at the wheel with my dad next to me, my mom and my brotherin the back. We were laughing and talking as i all o the horrible thingsin the world had dispersed and all that was let was hope, happiness, andeverything else that was good. I remembered that day and how suddenly the most important people in my lie were ripped away rom me in sucha short time. Te guilt o what I did ate me alive day by day. I heard thegrinding o metal, the screeching o the tires on the pavement, the truck hurtling towards my car at such a rapid speed it practically tore our car

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in hal. Te car ipped over. I remember that rst moment when I saw abroken piece o glass pierce my ather’s throat cutting through the skin andesh. I ignored my own injuries trying to save my ather. In the midst o all the chaos I look back and I see both my brother and my mother had

passed out rom shock. I ocus on getting the glass out o my dad’s throat.I know he’s most likely dead already but I hung on to that little hope thatmaybe, just maybe, I could save him. I hear a noise in the background,the truck, it exploded. All I see is re now and I know that i I don’t getout o here soon the car will explode. My mom’s clothes lit in ames. Tecar door opens and I see a gure. A reman? I don’t remember. All I see isre. Tey drag me away rom my amily and everything was burning. My mom and my brother were both burning to their deaths. Finally the car

exploded beore any o the remen or policemen could save my mom andmy brother. I collapse to the ground crying at the sight o my amily beingkilled.

For days I locked mysel up in a room hal delusional. I was practi-cally crazy and mental. Eventually, I ended up in a mental hospital or ashort period o time. During that time the same memory o my parentsand my brother dying played in my mind over and over again. Once in a

while I would scream rom the guilt o knowing that I killed my amily. When nurses came in with ood I hit them and screamed at them. I didn’tknow what had gotten into me. My body had completely been taken over with grie. I slowly started getting better. Later I was allowed to go outsideagain. I breathed in the resh air and I smelled the earth. Tere was a beau-tiul garden right in ront o my room. you would have thought that this would at least cheer me up a little. But all I elt was hate. Hatred towards

the earth or taking my amily away rom me. Hatred o people or theirstupid drunk behaviors. I was so angry that it was almost uncontrollable.Looking outside I clenched my st and gritted my teeth. Tat kept goingon or another 2 weeks. I slowly became better and didn’t have to stay atthe ward anymore.

Te trial aterwards was horriying. Te man who was drunk driv-ing the truck was dead and I was put into the care o the government. When I went back to school everybody looked at me with sympatheticeyes. Te lie was practically sucked out o my body ater that incident. I was a walking zombie. During class I never listened to the teacher and got

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horrible grades in all o my classes. People did not come anywhere close tome unless they had to. I accidentally skipped some classes because I zoneout while I’m walking in the halls thinking about my amily. My riendslet me. I sat alone at lunch. I went to my oster parents’ home directly

ater school. My stepmother always tried her best to make me happy but Inever did. Ever since the crash I hadn’t smiled once. I hated mysel. Eachand every day was like torture or me. Food tasted like nothing to me. Istopped eating or a while. My oster parents were araid or my health andeventually I was put into rehab or anorexia. I couldn’t take staying in that wretched place any longer. I ran away rom the rehab place and didn’t stoprunning. Te voices rom the people around the city became jumbled inmy head. Tere were cuts on my eet but I didn’t care I just wanted to run

away. I ran up to the roo o the closest oce building and now here I am.I come back to reality ater my moment o ashbacks. It’s been

exactly a year. A year since my amily died and today was the day they diedthat year. A tear squeezes out o my eyes as I all to my death. I look at thesky which is slowly going arther and arther away. ime was slowing andit seemed that I wasn’t alling but rather oating towards the ground. AllI wanted in lie was to have my amily back with me and to see them one

last time but I know that’s not going to happen. I I die here I can jointhem wherever they are. I look down. I see the ground rushing towards meat an unbelievably ast speed. I brace mysel or impact. I hit the ground. Ihear every one o my bones cracking and the pain was unbearable. But, it was a reassuring pain. I knew that this pain meant that I was done. I wasdone with this. I closed my eyes and saw my amily waiting there beckon-ing me to come. Tis was the end o my journey in this world. I smiled

and drited o into an everlasting sleep.

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by Vienna Kim

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Te rinity by Anonymous

Te girl who stood beore meLooked happy as could be

Pity she didn’t see hell’s gate openBelow the cherry treeTe ground shook beneath our eetShe ell to the groundShe gripped onto the blades o grass And then- suddenly, she heard a strange soundShe turned, abrupt, curious o the soundIt was a cry, a wail, a moan o painHer legs tread on the cold dew groundSlowly, she ventured towards hell’s gateShe peered over the edgeUnaware o her nearing dark ateShe reached ar and deep through the barsTe bars o hell’s gateHer ngertips burnt o

Her knuckles stung with heat Yet, she kept reachingDrawn in by Satan’s deceitTe devil, hungry or a child to devourKept calling out to her“Come my sweet,So we can pick your avorite ower”

And the girl, obedient,Reached through the barsFor the devil’s voice in her ears

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Let such strange sweet scarsTe crevice that the girl had walked through,Started to shit and close,But the girl unaware o such events

Reached urther or her blood-red roseTe thorns were at her ngertipsTe petals barely at her reach With one last heave, she lungedBut her gangly bones,banged on the bars o hell, with a deaening screech A white light appeared beore her,

More beautiul than any rose, And then slowly, hell around herBegan to decomposeTe white light enclosed her,In its warm, sound armsHer toes slowly let the ground o hell Away, ar away, rom any harm

She elt her ngertips return to warmthFrom the burnt state it had beenShe elt the colour come back o her once ice-cold skinShe was enveloped in the white light’s warmthSaer than any shieldShe was warm and sae in the light’s embrace

Until she returned to the cold dew grass eldTe light then split with a deaening soundInto three equal partswo rose up into the sky And one settled into her heart.

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Commentary on “What the Dog

Saw”, by Malcolm Gladwellby Minae Choi

“What the Dog Saw” is a compilation o articles written by MalcolmGladwell since his employment at Te New Yorker rom 1996. As usual,Malcolm skillully maniests his ability to give insight into stories o suc-cess, pointing towards the links between sociology and avorable outcomes.

However, a particular article that stands out amid other ingenious analysesis one called “Dangerous Minds.”

A spectacular component o this article is that not only is it highly enter-taining, but it also takes one by surprise. Especially when Malcolm begins

his mild diatribe against the FBI, that seeks criminal prolers or psychia-trists, or help in catching convicts ater setting up a scene.

Moreover, he manages to nish o the article with humor by poking un ata amed criminal psychologist by subtly mocking his ignorance and utility. Ater the rst couple pages o reading, one might think, “Wow, criminalpsychologists are amazing!” (which was my exact response, due to a men-

tion o a legendary story among psychologists/ psychiatrists that had beenaltered in several aspects to boost a particular psychiatrist’s reputation).

Te article continues, mentioning several other incidents, and then goeson to explicitly explain Gladwell’s doubts and his standpoint on the issue,thus pinpointing towards the evident aws and misconceived notions.Te organization o this article is superb, managing to evoke anticipation,thrill, and surprise by merely setting up a proper stage and attention getter.His casual linguistic style and somewhat jocular tone will not bore you inthe least!

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by Raymund Shin

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Senses Writing by Esther Yoon

A rather curious-looking object sits on the desk. Why, it’s a piece o wood. However, this is no ordinary piece o rotten dritwood. Tin, deli-cate lines run across the parched, brittle surace. It is the work o spidery little ngers, digging greedily into the wood. A huge chunk is missing romthe middle. Perhaps some small creature used a little axe to hack away bitsand pieces to make a little boat or itsel. However, a closer look at the in-side o this missing chunk reveals two painted birds on the bark. Along thesides and top, there is the occasional crack and jagged edge. Te ends look

as i they were broken o; sharp and uneven, they look a little painul. Tesides have layers o beautiul yellows, grays, and browns. Te undersideo the wood is smooth and lined. It is a lighter color than the dark brown wood o the other side, and is sprinkled with green and yellow.

ake one, cautious sni. Te smell punches its way to the brain, jerking it awake in an unpleasant manner. Imaginary needles prick andprod uncomortably as the brain tries to make sense o this new aroma

(which so rudely announced its presence). It is oral and somewhat mint-avored with a hint o cinnamon. It is so sharp, resh, and invigorating;however, it is also extremely strong. Te heady aroma soon makes themind ache with dizziness as it ghts the piercing attacks. Te oral andlemon-like scent creeps into the nose and ans out, settling like an uncom-ortable, prickly blanket over the senses. Exhausted by the sudden, viciousattack, the brain warily reassesses the tin o tea. Rubbing its sore injuries,the brain somewhat grumpily settles down again on the watch or moreunoreseen dangers.

It all starts with a gentle pull. Te rst, pure, clear note rings in the

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air. It is immediately ollowed by a cascade o notes ringing in harmony.o some, the sound is a little airy child. She dances through the air onthe waves o the wind and gently alights on one ear. Te airy child gig-gles as she glides deeper and deeper, her silvery, tinkling laugh brightening

wherever she goes. Her delicate eet are light as eathers as she waltzes inperect rhythm to her bubbly laugh and song. While she sings, an enchant-ment alls over the air. Te world seems to catch its breath as this etherealcreature casts her magic on all those who stand still in wonder. o others,the song o the wind chime is a little bird. Its light, chirpy musical playul-ness warms a special part in the heart. Te little bird sings its sot, beautiulsong as it loops and twirls in the air. However, this joy cannot last orever.Much too soon, the airy child completes her journey and song. With alast, gentle whisper, she unurls and utters her wings, the last notes trick-ling away. ogether, the little bird and the airy child return to the windchime. A ne mist settles in the air as the enchantment wears o. Only ashadow o the magic remains in the memories o those it touched. As thelast wisps ade away with the wind, all that remains is a lonely little birdand a airy child locked away in the wind chime. Tey are still patiently waiting, hoping or the next person to set them ree once again.

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by Raymund Shin

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“Te true work o art is but a shadow o

the divine perection.”

- Michelangelo

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