As our first year of college is coming to a close, we find ourselves reflecting on the pivotal moments in our lives that have led us here. The following selection of pieces has been written to help us make sense of where we have been, who we are now, and where we want to go….
Category: Issue VII (2022)
A Friend of the Flames
I’ve been hearing a lot of people talking about how when someone’s born into a burning house, they think that the world is on fire.
🎶Rio de Janeiro, Fevereiro e Março…🎶
I don’t remember what car we drove then. It was likely the Volvo SUV, which was present in our lives for a very short time. Only four months, right before our monumental move to Singapore.
Excerpt from “The Complete Dramaturgical Guide to ‘Sweeps’: An Abridged Musical Inspired By the ‘Society for Superseding the Necessity of Climbing Boys’ Report on the 1832 New Poor Law and Its Swept-Under Impact on Society in Victorian England”
My research on the new Poor Law began when I challenged myself to write a musical adaptation instead of an original musical. I happened upon a report entitled ‘Society for Superseding the Necessity of Climbing Boys: by encouraging a new method of sweeping chimneys and for improving the condition of children and others, employed by chimney sweepers’ and found its contents intriguing.
May 16th, 2016. My mom hates the dentist, but I always thought the orthodontist was much worse. Jaw aching and mouth dry, listening to an old man debate over what he can fix.
I wrote this at the beginning of November 2021, during my first semester at college. In being away from home, the most challenging part was not being able to swim in the ocean or any body of water, something I have long taken for granted. I missed the feeling of being submerged in water and coming back out of it into real life, all cold and recharged.
The Places I Know
There are many places I have been to, but these are the only ones I know. Places are like people. You have to love them, hate them, explore them, and talk to them before you can really know them. Only after you share a cup of soup and a sandwich together will they reveal themselves to you.
You live in October. Warm sunlight drizzling down into your coffee, sweet like caramel. The cinnamon breeze spices the froth— a sprinkle of crimson powder.
A forest sprawls out in front of you. The night lights the forest in a brilliant shade of blue, as if it were part of the sky.
As the Red Walls Fade
My home had always been broken, though at the time it wasn’t something I could acknowledge. It was made almost explicitly of wood and brick and required a mother-daughter DIY fix each day.