Montgomery&Lafayette
“Wheneversomeonecreatessomethingwithalloftheirheart, thenthatcreationisgivenasoul.”
-HayaoMiyazaki
Editor’sNote
AsIconcludemyfinalyearworkingonthemagazine,Ifindmyselfreflectingon everything Montgomery&Lafayettehasgivenme.Withouttheexperienceofbeingan Editor-in-Chief,Idon’tbelieveIwould’vefoundmyselfapplyingforaliterary internship,whichwasamajorcomponentinmysuccessfulapplicationtoBrown. However,IfoundthatthemostvaluablepartofbeingonMontgomery&Lafayette isn’tjustputtingitonmyresume,butgivingmepermissiontoimmersemyselfinour community’sartandwritingculture.
I’vealwaysknownIwantedtopursueadegreeinSTEM,butI’vealsoalwaysknownI can’tlivewithoutexploringtheworldofliteratureandart.Scienceandmathnurtures mymind,buttheartsnurturemyheart.IbelieveJohnKeatingfromtheDeadPoets Societysaiditbest:“Andmedicine,law,business,engineering—thesearenoblepursuits andnecessarytosustainlife.Butpoetry,beauty,romance,love—thesearewhatwestay alivefor.”ThankyouMontgomery&Lafayetteforallthatyou’vegivenme,andthank youtoalloftheeditorsandMs.DiNuzzoandMs.Iannucciwhohelpedmakethis magazinehappen.
- Angie
Classof2026:
AngieHuynh
NiaLofton
Classof2027:
GabriellaBalboa
KaraCorso
PriyaHartnett
ShayleyHartnett
CatieMurphy
LaurelRhoads-Goodman
Classof2029:
FayeCahill
NateLerner
EmmaService
ClaireShen
FacultyAdvisors:
Ms.ElizabethDiNuzzo
Ms.NancyIannucci
EditingBoard
Classof2026:
WillGavin
AngieHuynh
Nia-AlexisLofton
LuciaRibero
HarmaanSidhu
KatieWainwright
AshleyZhang
Classof2028:
LoganEbert
NaylaMacon
AnastasyaNechyporuk
KellenNorton
LouisaPero
OwenReich
Contributors
Classof2027:
IsabellaBasile
Henry“Hank”Buckner
KaraCorso
AveryFitzgerald
LilyKeeler
Classof2029:
NathanEllis
WilliamKeating
ChaewonLee
NateLerner
EmilianaMuscato
KylerPrime
KoltonRussell
BradyService
EmmaService
LeoYin
ATeaPartyRev.2
LuciaRibero’26
Amongstbrownandrot,aburstofmagenta:thereshesat.Asmallwhiteteacupwith pinkrosesandgoldrimmingsatatophersauceramongdustyjournalsandforgotten peppershakers.Mythirteen-year-oldhandliftedthesetforinspection—perfectlyclean, notonevisiblescratchamongtheflora.ItappedAuntLynny’sshoulder.“CanIbuyit? Please?”Welefttheantiqueshopwithapiebirdforherandmyprizedteacup.
IfilledtheteacupwithhalfofacanofArizonaArnoldPalmerandplacedaLofthouse cookieonthesaucer.IenvisionedthelifeofawealthyEnglishladydiscussingsociety whileenjoyingafternoonteawithfriends.EverySaturday,Ienjoyedmycookieonmy saucerandmyArizonainmyteacup.
AuntLynnyandIoftenvisitantiqueshopstofindtheperfect,thrown-awaytreasures:a desk-shapedpencilsharpener,globeslitteredwithfallennations,andteacups.Myritual, ArizonaandaLofthousecookie,repeatswitheverynewvessel.Oncefinished,Iinspect theteacupforthetypeofchina,thedesign,andthecountryoforigintodatethepiece. 1953,1896,1932,1879.EachquestionIask,theteacupanswersinfriendly conversation.Thepinksmudgeabovetheleafmentionstheporcelainwashand-painted; themaker’smarkprintedbeneaththesaucerconfessesthatmyhandholdsEnglishbone china.Thereisonequestionnoteacupcananswer:Whogave youup?
Nooneknowswhogavethesetreasurestotheantiqueshopformetofind.Noone knowswhodelicatelycraftedeachone.Nooneknowswhodrankfromthemorwho passedbytheirglass-cupboardhomes.Thesepeoplewillneverbeinhistorybooks.They willbeforgotteneventually,aseverythingwill.GeorgeWashingtonwillceasetobe rememberedonthedaytheMilkyWayandAndromedacollide.Humanitystillroams
thisplanet,yetweforgetthelivesthatwerenot“notable.”Thepersonwhorelinquished theteacupwasjustlikeme.Shelaughed;sheloved;shehadafavoritemusiciananda favoritedress.Thepersonwhopaintedthisteacuplaughedandlovedandhadafavorite somethingtoo.
Thepersonwhohadmyteacupmusthavebeenwell-offtoownoneatall. Consequently,thelikelihoodthatsomepartofherlifehasbeenrecordedisdecent.Most ofhumanityhasnotbeensoluckyastobedeemed“worthremembering”bythe invisiblejudgmentoftime.Nooneknowsthenamesofslaveswhobuiltthepyramids, thetownseamstresses,ortheblacksmiths.Theaveragepersonknowsnothingabout theirpastequivalents.Tous,ordinarypeoplearesimplenumbersoncharts.Wedon’t seethehusbandwhocouldn’tprovideforhisfamilyduringtheGreatDepression,nor themotherweepingafterreceivingwordthatheronlysondiedinbattle.Everydata pointhasaname,alife,andsomethingtheyloved.
Howcanwebeconnectedifwereducepeople,whopasseddowneverythingweknow, tonothingbutstatistics?
Howcanwemaintainanunderstandingsocietyatall?
Myteacupshavetaughtmetoexcavatethearchaeologicalwondersofhuman connectionbyhonoringthememoriesofonehundredbillionaveragefolk.Thosepretty porcelainpiecesaretheremnantsoflove,passion,andfamily:allthatmakesushuman, allthatmakesthemhuman,andallthatmakesmehuman.Throughoutthe10,000years ofcivilizationthatweprideourselvesupon,muchhaschanged.Weexplorestarsthat onehundredbillionpairsofeyeshavegazedupon;wecommunicateacrosscontinents throughmicrochips.Whathasn’tchangediswhatwepersistin:communication, creation,curiosity,andpassion.I’velearnedthatifwerealizewehaven’treallychanged,
wecanbridgeourselvestoeveryforgottensoulanddiscovernotwhoweare,butwhywe areexactlythesameasourpredecessorswhoforgedthepathofourprogress.
IfICould
Nia-AlexisLofton’26
IfIcouldspeaktoheronemoretime,lifewouldbecomplete
Onemoretime,complainingtoherabouthomework,whisperingthroughoutclass,our wordsfollowinguslikeechoesthatrefusetofade
Talkingaboutourdreamsandwhowewantedtobecome,plantingthenamesof strangerswehopedwouldbeusoneday,whisperingourfuturesintojarslikefireflieswe didn’twanttolose
Theyearsweplannedtospendtogether,livinginthesamehouse,startingafamily
Astoryleftonacliffhanger,incomplete,withanabruptending
IfIcouldtouchheronemoretime, lifewouldbecomplete
Onelasthug,meltingintoherarmsastherestoftheworldfades
Asifitwerejustus,herwarmthlikeabonfireonacoolsummernight
Onelasttouchofherpalm
Thepatternsofherhandsareforeveringrainedintomymemory,likefootstepsworn intothefloorboardsofanoldhouse.
Orthekeysonanancientpiano,pressedhundredsoftimes
Accustomedtothepattern,dependentonthesteadyrhythmoftappingkeys
Onelastcryonhershoulder
Thecryweweresupposedtohavetogetherongraduationday
Excited,yetnervous,aswepreparetosetoffintotheunknown
IfIcouldhearhervoiceonemoretime,lifewouldbecomplete
OnelastgiggleaboutajokeImade,causingustogaspforairandclingtoeachother
Liketwosoulstightlyintertwined,unabletounravelfromeachother’sgrasp
Onelastsnicker,aswetrytoholdinourlaughter
Likefirecrackers,fizzingattheends,waitingtoexplodeinthenightsky
Onelastexcitedsqueal
Hearingherexcitedlycallmyname,oncewecamebacktoschoolaftertheweekend
Everyreunionfeltlikethefirst,liketwofriendswhohaven’tseeneachotherinyears.
Twosoulscrashingbackintoeachother
Butsoonourreunionswouldnevercomeagain
Wemetlikeastoryjustbeginning
Blindtothetruththattheendingwasalreadywaiting
IfIcouldseeheronemoretime,lifewouldbecomplete
Onelastglanceather
Secretlystolenacrossaroom
Oureyesignitingassoonastheymet
Likeconstellationsinthenightsky
Butnowthelighthasfaded
Ourgazesnolongerlingeroneachother
Butrathersharpandcold
avoidingeyecontactlikepiercingdaggers
Onelastsearchforherinaroom
Thewayshealwaysstoodouttome
Hermemorablesmile,smalleyes
Themolenexttoherlips,
ThefeaturesIcouldsoeasilydistinguisharenowindifferenttome
Likeavoicedrownedoutinacrowd
IfonlyIcouldlaughwithheroncemore,orcry
Doanything,justonelasttime
Thenlifemightbecomplete
ButI’vecometoseenothingwasmeanttolast
Thevows,theplans–
nothingmorethanjusthopesanddreams
Madebyfragilekidsafraidtogrowup
IoftenwonderwhatI’dgiveforjustonemoremoment
Onemoreanything
Toanswerallmyquestionsleftunsaid
Tomendmyregrets
Rewriteourending
Whatifourstoryneverendedinthemiddleofachapterbutrathercontinuedtothe finalpage?
Ihopesomedaywhentherestlessnessfadesaway
Andthepastnolongeraches
I’llfinallyrealize
Thatlifeiscomplete
ElegyforUncleWalter
HarmaanSidhu’26
OnaJulyshoreline, wherewavesfoldedthemselvesintobluesilence, Ilearnedgriefcouldarriveinsummer. Thesandclenchedaroundmyfeet asifit,too,wantedtoholdon.
Notanunclebyblood, butbychoice,
Youspokesoftlyofhistoryandmaps, yetcarriedawaryounevernamed.
Onwinterholidays wemovedchesspiecesthroughthenight, yourvoiceturningeverysquare intoanotherstate,anothercapital, anotherwayofknowingtheworld.
“Knowledgeistheonethingnoonecantake,” youwouldalwayssaytome.
Whenthephonerangthatday, Ipressedmyhandsintothesand tryingtokeeptheworldfromshakingloose. Eventhen,Iwantedjustonemoremove, onemoreword, onemoremapunfoldedacrossthekitchentable.
NowIcarryyourvoicelikeabookmarkedpage, yourstoriestuckedbetweenlongquietevenings,
stillteachingme longaftertheboardhasbeencleared.
WebcomicsandPeople
AngieHuynh
’26
SMASH!Thefirstblow.Aseriesofpunchesandjabsfollowsuit.Hisbodyflailslikea punchingbag.Hecan’thelpbutthink,whotheh***Isthiskid?
Episode1ofTheBoxerturnedinto2.Then3,then4…and,suddenly,Iwasaquarterof thewaydonewitha123-episodewebcomic.Throughthegapofmydoor,aboisterous voiceburststhrough,“Con,concómuonan?’’Grandma’scallingmedownfordinner.
“Coming!”
IshutmyiPadoffandunearthedmyselffrommyweightedblanketandplushies.I rusheddownthestairs.Myfeetthumpedrapidlyagainstthewood,convertingmy excitementtosound;Icouldfeelsparks.Thisstory’ssogood;IthinkIfoundmynew favorite.
Tobedeemedafavoritebymiddleschoolmewasrare,sinceIhadstrictrulestoeven qualifyfor‘good’.
Plot:Agoodstoryischaracter-driven,notplot-driven.
Purpose:Agoodstorymakesaclearmessageaboutthehumancondition.
Precision:Agoodstoryaccuratelyportrayscomplexhumanemotions,morals,and motivations.
TheBoxerexcelledatallthreerules.Themaincharacter,Yu,feltsoreal.Hewasa troubledboywholosthishumanityasheprogressedintheboxingring.Itwasastory aboutthedestructionofobsession.ReadingitremindedmeofthereasonIread webcomicsinthefirstplace:Ilovedaskingquestions.WhydidYuclingtoboxing despitegrowingemptier?WhyisYuthewayheis?WhyisYuhuman?Thanksto webcomics,Idiscoveredmyappreciationforwhypeopleactthewaytheydo.
Now,whywasIconnectedtowebcomicsandnotpeople?Fromelementarytomiddle school,everydaywasthesame.I’dgethome,readwebcomics,eatdinnerwithgrandma, andeitherreadmoreorwatchanalysesofthecomics.Myweekendsweresimilartomy weekdays.Iwasn’tarecluseorfriendless,justsheltered.MymomimmigratedtotheUS inthe90s.
TheAmericasheexperiencedwasacruelone,andshefeareditwouldbemyAmerica too.Combinedwithherneedingtowork24/7toprovideforfourkids,shefeltmoreat easekeepingushome.Yet,despitemycircumstances,Ineverfeltalone.HowcouldI?
Nuzzledupinmybedroom,Iexperiencedthelivesofhundreds,ifnotthousands.
WhetheritwasYubattlinghisemptinessintheboxingring,ahighschoolerstruggling tocomeout,orascientistdebatingifmankinddeserveshiscure,Iwasinaweofhow thesecharacterscouldbesodifferentyetunitedbythesinglethreadofbeinghuman. Lookingback,it’sobviouswhyItookwebcomicssoseriously.Tome,itwasn’tjust aboutreading,butlearningaboutdifferentpeople.
IfinditsillynowthatwhenIwasafreshmanstartinghighschool,Iwasanxiousabout beingsociallybehindeveryone.Despiteitneverbotheringmeinmiddleschool,Iwas worriedthatbeingshelteredwouldmakeitdifficultformetoformconnections. However,myfearsquicklydissipatedasIgottoknowanassortmentofnewfreshmen, sophomores,juniors,andseniors.
Ilovedhoweveryonewasdifferent,andthatIwasfreetodiscoverthosedifferences.For everynewpersonItalkedto,Icouldfeelsparksignitewithinme–thesamefeelingIgot fromreadingagoodwebcomic.Myanxietyturnedintoexcitement,andIrealizedI didn’twanttojustbeareaderofstoriesanymore:Iwantedtobeareaderofthehuman heart.Iwanttogettoknowmorepeople,learnnewperspectives,andwitnessthe differentwayspeoplegrapplewithbeinghuman.Webcomicswerethekeytomy curiosity,andasIbranchouttotherealworld,Ihopetomeetasmanypeopleas possibletofulfillit.
CatandMouseChase
AshleyZhang’26
MouseFightsBack
AshleyZhang’26
PlottingforRevenge
AmIbeautifulasIam?
Nia-AlexisLofton’26
AsIwakeupinthemorning
Ilookatmyselfinthemirror
I’mascurvyasapear
Astanasanalmond
I’masbeautifulasonecouldbe
ButasIpickupmyphoneandstarttoscroll
Iseegirlswhoareslimmer,thinner,prettierthanme
Betterineverypossibility
ArethosethegirlsIwanttobe?
No,no,no,I’mbeautifulasIam
AsItrytocontinuewithmyday
Thosedeplorablethoughtsjustwon'tgoaway
AsIpassbygirlswithslimwaistsandthickhips
Ithinktomyself,whycan’tIlooklikethat?
Inolongerwanttobeapearortan
Iwouldratherbeanhourglasswithclearskin
No,no,no,I’mbeautifulasIam
AsIarriveatthemall,excitedtowalkintomyfavoritestore
AllthegorgeousmodelsIseeplasteredonthewallsstarttomakemefeelinsecure
AsIpushmyinsecuritiesaway,andtrytolookfornewclothes
Theinevitablehappens,nothingismysize
Toosmall,toobig,tootight,tooloose
WhydoesthishavetohappeneverytimeIwalkintoastore?
AmInotgoodenough,notprofound?
No,no,no,I’mbeautifulasIam
No,asIarrivehome,empty-handed
Itakealookinthemirroronceagain
AsIstareintomyreflection
Adifferentgirlcomesbacktome
Nottheconfident,proudgirlIusedtobe
NowI’maninsecure,broken,weakgirl,whonoonewantstolooklikeorsee
AsIcontinuetolookintomyreflection,onlyonequestioncomestome
AmIbeautifulasIam?
Spring
KatieWainwright’26
Aswinter'sloomingshadowfadesout
TheairsoftensandwarmthcreepsinasSpringmakesherentrance
lightflickersbehindleavesastreesstarttorememberthewarm,
sunshinesthawingthegildedheartoftheearth
Thesmelloflifeandfruitfulnesswashthroughtheair
Springsoftlywhispers,asherbreathunfreezesthegrass
Thepadsofherfingertipsturningicyterrainintosoftgreeneryasshegrazesthemover hills
Hergracefulsweepsandstridesclearingthelandofarcticpresence
herwarmthencapsulestheearthlikeawoolblanket
Andwinterstepsaway,thecoldleaving.
ElegyfortheDeerontheSideoftheRoad
WillGavin’26
Isawyouforthefirstandlasttime
Allinamoment
Butyourmemorystillremainsvivid
Eternallystainedinbrownandgreyandgreen
Andred
Yourblurrymangledform
Passingasmybreathdid
Mystomachtwistedasyourshadbeen
ButInevergottomeetyoureyes
Noryou
ButI’veseenyouinyournondescriptclearingwithitsnondescripttrees
Yournondescriptdeerfamilybyyourside
Drinkingfromthesamenondescriptstreamyoualwaysdo
Ioftenwonderhowyouendeduponthatcoldhardbattlefieldofpavement
Soalone
Isawmeforthefirsttime
Allinthatmoment
ButIknewitwasn’tthelast
Irealizedinthatmoment
Iam
You
Andyouaremeandwe
Arejustasafraidofthatmonsteroftwistedsteel
Asweareofourselves
Ofeachother
Toseetheredstreakrunacrosstheothersbody
Knowingthattheother Willsoonbearittoo
O,deeroftheroad,oftheunnamedforrest
Ihopetobesparedofourfate
NewBridge
Henry“Hank”Buckner ’27
EdgesofOrder
KaraCarso’27
Henry“Hank”Buckner’27
ColorAgainstQuiet
KaraCorso’27
Dr.Brown’sFavoriteLeaf
Henry“Hank”Buckner’27
StillbutLoud
KaraCorso’27
FeedingoftheVultures
KellenNorton’28
WhenUndertheStreetlight
NathanEllis’29
Youleanagainstthenightlikeitowesyouwarmth, asthehumofthelampspillsoveryourshoulders, goldashoney,slowasforgiveness. Theairholdsitsbreath
Themothscirclequieterthanusual. Youtalktothecracksinthepavement, pretendingtheycananswer, pretendingtheydon’tleadanywhere. Theworldfeelspaused, likeasongwaitingforthenextchord thatnevercomes. Yourhandsacheforsomethingtohold notforcomfort,butforproof thattheglowstillbelongstoyou, thatthedarkhasn’tyetlearnedyourname.
SpaceShuttle1984
WhenILoseYou
KoltonRussell’29
Acrownstillgleams,yetnokingdomanswers
Adarkcave,youronlylighthavinggoneout
Afamiliarpath,onlythemaphasfaded
Alighthousespins,yettheshiphassunken
Aburningflame,butnofueltokeepitspreading
Atallladder,butnorungstoclimbupon
Acompassspins,butpointsinnodirection
Apuzzlesitsnearlycompleted,butonepiecelost
Amelodycomestoaclose,butthelyricsunfinished
Avoicecallsout,buthasnoearstoreach
Apairofshoesintheattic,waitingforfeetthatwon’treturn
Yourhandsreach,butthememoriesyougraspforslipthroughlikewater
Itwillneverbethesame
StrikingLion
NateLerner’29
OdetoaStuffedBunny
ChaewonLee’29
Becauseyouarecoloredwithbrightorangeandredflowers, becauseyouglowlikethelasthushofsunset, becauseyourtwoglassyeyes holdtinygalaxiesofcomfort. Becauseyoursoftandgentlefaceneverchanges. Yourwarm,fuzzyfur, aquietsnowfallofsoftness— gathersdawn-lightinitsfibers. Itfeelsalmostlikecottoncandy, sweetenoughtomeltatatouch, somethingmadeofsweetnessandmemoryboth. Youknowthesecretswhisperedintomoonlight, thesmalltriumphsandquietdisastersofmydays. Youcarrythehushofspringinyourscent, alittlebreathofwarmthandbeginnings— areminderthatsoftmomentsstillexist evenwhentheworldseemstoosharp. Andwhenyourshyfacelooksupatme, withyourcloudsoftsmileblooming, Irememberthatcomfortcanbesimple. Justthesteadypresenceofsomethinggentle, somethingwarm, somethingthathaslovedmethrougheveryseason.
YinandYang
EmilianaMuscato’29
WhenyouHaveaHeadache
EmmaService’29
Yourheaddrumminglikeamarchingband,
Eachbeatgettinglouder,sharper,rattlingyourskull
Thoughtssnaplikeatwiggettingsteppedon,
Patienceisafragilevase,alreadybroken.
Yournervesarebuzzinglikefliestrapped,
Yourthoughtsarescatteredleavesinthewind.
Agitationhumsbeneathyourskin,
Arestlessriveryoucannotquiet.
Timeislikesyrup,drippingheavy
Minutesmeltingtogetherlikewarmtaffy.
Yourmusclesaresoakedwool,weigheddown,
Youcollapselikeadyingflower,
Beggingtofeeltherain,therelief.
Thepoundingstops,likewavessettlingonthebeach,
It'sthedustafterastorm,still,silent.
Freshlikemountainsnowturningintostreams,
Thoughtsarenowspringflowers,blooming.
SportsCar
TheRoomthatShinesAlone
NateLerner’29
Youcowerattheendofthehallway, Atthesharpendofthepentagon. Youwouldbethehauntedroom
Ineveryone’snightmare.
However,fromwhatyoulack fromtheoutside,
Youdazzlefromtheinside. Youressenceisof Orangeandgoldsmoke.
Thesmoothwoodenfloors, Withthelingeringscentoflavender.
Therustyandsandalwoodsmell Ofthedarkbutinvitingcloset.
Youechothesounds
Ofthecoldwind
Onthecoldestofdays.
Youproudlyrepresentandshow
Theorangebeamsofthesunshining Intoyourwindows.
Thecottonfeeland Hexagontexturesofthemattress Aremesmerizing.
Thesmoothanddarkhardwoodof Thedeskiscooling.
Thewavesofhomeandcomfort Crashthroughouttheroom.
Thefanexhalescoldairthat Createsawaxcoveringoflove.
Whenonedriftsaway Intoanightofslumber. Itisnicetoknowthat Thebeautifulroom Iswaitingforyourreturn Withwarmthandcomfort.
WinningDeclamations2026
ThefollowingDeclamationswerethegradefinalistsinthe2026Declamation CompetitionandwererecitedinpersonatAlbanyAcademyonApril15,2026.
ChaewonLee’29
Today,Istandbeforeyoutospeaknotjustaboutpoliticsorborders,butabouta wound.Awoundthathasbeenopenforover75years.
In1945,KoreawasfinallyliberatedfromJapanwiththeendofWorldWarII.But freedomdidnotbringunity.Instead,alinewasdrawn:the38thparallelthatbroke Koreaapart.Asimplelineacrossthemapbecameasolidwallbetweentwobrothers. Whatwasmeanttobetemporarybecamepermanent,andpeacenevertrulycame.Now imaginethis.Yousaygoodbyetoyourfamily,expectingtoseethemagainsoon.But overnight,everythingchanges,andyouareneverabletoreturn.Imaginesayinggoodbye toyourmother,believingyouwouldseeherafterschool.Imaginewatchingyourfather walkaway,neverknowingitwouldbethelasttime.Imaginewakingupeveryday wonderingifyourfamilyisalive,wonderingifyouwilleverheartheirvoicesagain.This isthedevastatinglifeoftheseparatedfamilies.
Fordecades,theywaited.Theywaitedforlettersthatneverarrived,forphonecallsthat nevercame,forfootstepsthatneverreturned.Manydidnotevenknowwhethertheir lovedoneswerealive.Amongthe134,000separatedfamilies,mosthavepassedaway withoutreunitingandonly28%arealivetothisday.Butevenmostoftheremaining peopleareintheir80sand90s.
Timeisrunningout.Thesepeoplearenotwaitingforapoliticalchange.Theyare wishingforonelastchancetoseeabrotheragain,tostandataparent’sgrave,tosay goodbye.Somesayit'simpossible,somesaytheeconomicgapistoowide.Thepolitical systemstoodifferent,theriskstoogreat.Yethistoryteachesushope.Germanywasonce separatedbytheBerlinwall,asymbolofcoldwartension.Ifwallscanfall,whynotthis one?Unificationisnotaboutforcingchange.Itisaboutcreatingopportunity,about choosingdialogueoverdivision,andrememberingthatasharedidentityexistedlong beforethedivide.AndthisisnotjustKorea’sproblem.Itisareminderofwhatdivision doestopeopleeverywhere.Thisisnotonlyastoryofthepast.Itisshapingthefuture. Newgenerationsaregrowingupinadividednation,andtheconsequencesof separationcontinuetobepassedon.Nowconsiderwhatunificationcouldmeanfor them:achancetogrowupwithoutfearofwar,achancetostandtogetherasone.
Hereisthequestionweshouldask.Cananationtrulybedividedwhenitspeopleshare thesameblood,thesamehistory,andthesameculture?Nolineonamapcanbe strongerthanthebondofourpeople.Unificationisnotjustapossibility.Itisa responsibilityweallshare.Forthosewhorememberthepain,andforthosewhomust neverforget.ThestoryofKoreacanendinreunion,withalinenolongerseparatinga people.Andwhenthatdaycomes,thewoundwillbegintoheal.Notovernight,butone stepatatime.Everyhandshake,everyconversation,everyfamilyreunited,everystory toldwillbeastitchinthefabricofanationtornapartfortoolong.Thatisthepowerof unification.NotjustforKorea,butforhumanityitself,areminderthatnowall,no
politicaldifference,nofearcanovercomethebondsoffamily,culture,andshared history.
Sotoday,aswelookatthemap,asweseelinesthatdivide,letusalsoseethepeople behindthoselines.Letusimaginethelaughterthatwassilenced,thestoriesthatwere leftuntold,andtheconnectionsstillwaitingtoberestored.LetusnotseeKoreaastwo nationsseparated,butasonepeoplewaitingtobewholeagain.
WeAreAllHercules
LeonardoYin’29
Hercules.Amancondemnedtotwelve"impossible"labors.Wecallhimamyth,buthe isaheartbeatinthisroom.Today,wearen'tjusttalkingaboutalegend;wearetalking abouttheheroinsideofyou.Allofyou.Herculesisachoice…thatsparkofdefiancethat flickerswhentheworldsays"impossible."Hisstoryisamapofthehuman experience—proofthatwhileburdensareheavy,nohardshipispermanent.Youarethe personyoubecomewhenyourealizeyourgreatestweaponisn'tyourphysicalstrength, butyourwill.
Thetwelvelaborswereneveraboutmonsters;theywereaboutthechallengeswemust endure.TaketheHydra:anine-headedcreaturewhere,ifoneiscutoff,twogrowback. Herculesfirsttriedusingbruteforce.Hehackedaway.9headsbecame18,then36,then 72.Soon,hewasdrowninginaswarmofhisownmaking.Finally,hesteppedback.He realizedthattostopthegrowth,hehadtochangehisstrategy.Heburnedthestumps beforetheheadscouldgrowback,defeatingtheHydra.OurworldhasitsHydras. mistakesmultiply.Oneargumentturnsintotwo;onemistakespiralsintoten.Some problemsgrowthemoreblindlyweattackthem.TheHydraremindsusthatsome battlesaren'twonbyfightingharder—theyarewonbysteppingbackandthinking clearly. Strategicthinkingworksfortheworld,butitdoesn'talwaysworkforthesoul.Forhis finallabor,Herculesfacedthemostterrifyingtaskofall:Cerberus,thethree-headeddog
whoguardedtheunderworld.Therule:Noweapons,andHerculecouldn’tkill Cerberus.Herculesdescendedintothedarkness,wrappedhisarmsaroundthebeast, andsimply...heldon.Heenduredthebites.Heignoredthesnarling.Heheldonwitha gripthatwouldnotbreak.Hedidn'tdefeatCerberusbykillinghim;hedefeated Cerberusbytaminghim.Cerberusisthefinalbossofthehumanmind.HeisFear.Fear doesn’thaveonehead,ithasmany.Fearoffailure,fearofjudgment,fearofthe unknown.Youcannotkillfear,butyoucanmasterit.Walkintothedark.Lookyour fearintheeyesandsimply…holdon.Stayuntilthesnarlingstopsandtheshadowsfade. Fearisn’theretodestroyyou;itisheretotransformyou.Youdon’tkillfear—you outlastit.Bystandingyourgroundyouproveyoudidn’tsurvivethedarkness.You commandedit.
LookingcloseratHercules’map,youwillseealaborforeverystrugglethatweface. TheCeryneianHind,acreaturesofastthatitwasdestinedtoneverbecaught.Hercules caughtitafterayearusingpatience.
TheAugeanStablesweretoofilthytoclean.Herculesusedinnovationbydivertinga river. TheErymanthianBoar,abeastofpurerage,toowildtooutmuscle.Herculestrappedit underamountainofsnowusingtheenvironmenttohisadvantage.
Patience.Innovation.Adaptation.Theseweren’tjuststrategiesforahero;theyarethe survivalkitforthehumansoul.Foreverychallengethrowninourwaythereisa mindset…aspecific,hiddenstrength…waitingtobeused.
Herculesdraftedtheblueprint,butthearchitectofyourownlife?That'syou.
Remember:youholdthemapandthepen.Youdecideifthemountainsareinyourway. Youchoosewhetheryourstoryisdefinedbytheweightofthelabororthestrengthof thesoulthatcarriesit.Herculesisn’tamyth.Heisthebreathyoutakebeforeyoufacea challenge.Heisthequietresolvethatrefusestoquit.Heisinsideeveryoneofus, waitingforthemomentwedecidetobebrave.So,whenyoufaceyourownmonsters, don'tlookforaneasywayout.Don'twishforaneasierlife;wishforthestrengthto mastertheoneyouhave.Lookatyourmap.Chooseyourpath.Facethechallenge...and unleashtheherowithin.
LouisaPero’28
Whentheracestarts,everythinghastobetimedperfectly.Iglancedownatthestop watcharoundmyneck,10secondstillthestart.Formethestartofaraceisalwaysthe hardestpart.Sailingisnotlikeothersportsinthesensethatyoucan’tjustmakeittothe startinglineandwait,youhavetotimeeverythingdowntothesecondsothatyoucross thelineatexactlytherighttime.Isignaltomycrewaswetackoverbuildingspeed headingtowardsthestartingline,5seconds.Weallknowwhatiscomingaswebeginto focusin,twoseconds.“Start”Ihearsomeoneyellintheboatnexttomeasmy stopwatchturnstozero.Assoonaswepassthestartingline,we'llhavetotack,turning tomakeourwayupwind.Forthoseunfamiliarwiththeupwindlegofaraceit's notoriouslyknownasthemostchallengingpart.Thishastodowiththemechanicsofa sailboat,sailsarekindalikeaflagexcepttheyareattachedattwosidesinsteadofoneso youcanturntheboatonanangleandhavethesailcapturethewind,pushingtheboat forward.Howeverthismeansthatyoucanneverturndirectlyintothewindotherwise thesailinevitablybecomesjustlikeaflagflappinginthewind.Atcampwe’vealways calledthisthe“nogozone”becauseitmeansthatyouwillgoabsolutely,nowhere.Soin ordertosailupwindonemustformanalmostzigzagpatternwithaseriesofturnson theedgeofthewind.Ifyoustarttoturntooearlythenyou'llbeforcedtomakemore tackscausingyoutoslowdownandloseyourplaceamongtheotherboats.Whereas turningtoolatecanensurethatyoustraytoofarfromthecourseandareforcedtoturn back.It'sallaboutfindingthefinelineofbeingontheedgeofthewind.Afterallthe bestracersaretheoneswillingtotaketheriskandsitinthat
uncomfortablepocketbetweendangerandsafety.Whenyouwatchtheupwindlegofa raceit'salmosthardtotellwhat'shappening.Alltheboatsswerveindifferentdirections asdifferentskipperschoosetheirroutetowardthemark.Eachoneknowingthatthey willgetthereeventually,buteveryonedesperatetofindthepaththatgetsthemthere first.AsyouapproachtheWindwardmarkyoumustthinkofwhatcomesnext.Inorder topreservespeedyourcrewmustquicklyadjustthesails;requiringclear communication.Ifyouadjustyoursailstooslowlyyouwillloseallyourspeedandfall behind,tooquicklyandyouwon'troundthemarksuccessfully.Youhavetohavetrust inyourtiming.Youcannotcontrolthewindorthewavesoreventheboatsaroundyou. It'sallaboutyouandyourcrew,adjustingeverythingjustrighttodotheabsolutebest withthesituationyou’representedwith.Afterthatsecondlegyouroundthethird buoy.Aroundthisbuoyyoumustdowhat'scalledajibe.Thismeansthatasyouturn yoursailswillmovequicklyfromonesideoftheboattotheother.Ifdoneincorrectly theweightoftheboatwillshiftfromonesidetoanothertoodrasticallycausingtheboat totipabruptlyandpotentiallycapsize.It'saveryfineline,astheboatswingsfromone sidetoanotheryoufeeljustasthoughit'sabouttotipandyougetthatfeelinginthepit ofyourstomach. Thefirsttimeyoudoitit'sterrifying.Youfeelasthoughoncetheboattipsoveryouwill neverrecover.Butsoonyourealizethatit'sjustwater.Worsecomestoworseyouget soaked,findyourbearingsandstartagain.
Asyoustarttoapproachthefinishlineyouenduprightbackwhereyoustarted,atthis ratetheboatshavespreadoutanditisclearwhohasroundedthecoursewithmore precisionandwhocanimprove.Butattheendofthedayitwasjustarace,agame,a hobby.I'velearnedmanythingsfromsailing;I'velearnedthatjustlikeupwindsailing, everyonewillhaveadifferentpathinthislife,theirowntwistedformofzigzags.Inevery racethereisastartandanend.Butwewould'vehadourownwayofgettingthere,our ownsetofchoices.I'vealsolearnedstrongcommunicationisessentialasweallridein thepocketbetweendangerandsafety.I'velearnedtheimportanceofanalyzingthecards dealtandusingtheresourcesandpeoplearoundmetomybestadvantage.Becauseafter allyoucan'tchangethewindyoucanonlyadjustyoursailsandmoveforward.And therewillbethosehardturnswhenyoufeeltheboatstarttotipbutattheendofthe daythewaterwillcatchyou.Justliketherealitythatwhenlifefeelslikeit'scrashing downyoucantakeastepbackandrealizethattheworldisnotendingandyoucanright yourboatandsailbackoffintotheocean.Sodowiththeselessonswhatyouwill,but knowthattheworldandthewindwillchange.Theonethingyoucanreallycontrolis yourabilitytoskipperyourownship.
WhyMath?
OwenReich’28
“Ineachof7housesare7cats,eachcatkills7mice,eachmousewouldhaveeaten7ears ofspelt,andeachearofspeltwillproduce7hekatofgrain;howmuchgrainisthereby saved?”
ThatisaMathematicsproblemoriginatingfromtheRhindMathematicalPapyrus,an artifactthatdatestotheSecondIntermediateperiodofEgypt,around1700BC.Thatis threethousandsevenhundredandtwentyfiveyearsagothattheancientEgyptianswere studyingmath.Foroverthreethousandsevenhundredandtwentyfiveyears,humanity hascontinuedtostudyandimproveonourmath.Butthatdoesraisethequestion: Why?
Whyhashumanityputsuchvalueonsomethingthat,inallreality,isn’treal?Onan arbitraryconceptthatwemadeup?Whatutilitydoesithavethatwehavedevotedsuch efforttoperfectingitsuse?
Well,letmegiveyouanexample.SupposeIwanttodescribetoyou,say,myblazerhere. Icansaythatit’srelativelylight,abitonthelongerside,darkblue,andabitfrayed.But noticethatallofthatwasrelativeandimprecise-maybewhat’s“light”toyouisn’tlight tome.Oryouhaveadifferentideaofwhat“long”is.AndwhenIsay“darkblue,”well, whatshadeofdarkblue?Inotherwords,allofthesedescriptionsaresubjective-subject toourownindividualwhimsandbiases.
Now,ifIdowanttobeobjective,anddescribethisjacketinawaythatcannotpossibly beinterpreteddifferently,I’mgoingtoneedtousesomethingotherthanjustverbal descriptors-I’mgoingtoneedMath.I’mgoingtochoosesomeknown,fixedmass,and I’mgoingtocallitagram.I’mgoingtochoosesomeknownlengthandcallitameter. Then,whenIdescribemyjacket,itgoesfrombeing“light”tobeing700grams,from“a bitonthelongerside”to0.8metersinlength.
Thinkaboutit-Ijusttooksomethingrealandtangible,somethingIcanholdinmy hand,andIturneditintoaseriesofimaginaryconstructscallednumbers.Or,inother words,I’veabstractedit-Itooksomethingconcrete,andmadeitimaginary.
Butyoumaybeaskingyourself,whatgoodisthat?Imean,sure,it’snicetobeableto describesomethingaccurately,butthathardlywarrantsthirty-sevenhundredyearsof work,right?
Well,let'stakeitastepfurther.ImagineIpickupabaseball,Iwindupmybestthrow, andIchuckitrightacrosstheroom.Now,doIhaveacluehowit’sgoingtotravel?Not really.Sure,Icansaythatit’sgoingtogoforward,arcabit,thenhittheground somewhereoverthere.ButIcan’tbeprecise.
Withmath,however,Ican.Icantakeallofthephysicalcharacteristicsoftheball's motion-howfastitleavesmyhand,whatangleIthrowitat,howhardit’sbeingpulled onbygravity-andIcanabstractthem.Icanturnthemintoimaginarynumbers,andI
canusethosenumberstopredicttheball’smotioninminutedetailbeforeitevenleaves myhand.Inotherwords,I’veusedsomethingcompletelyimaginarytopredict somethingreal.
Andonceyourealizethatitworksforasimplebaseball,thenwhystopthere?These sameabstractionsarewhatallowustopredictthemotionoftheplanetsinthesky,letus launchmissilesacrosscontinents,letuscalculatethepathsofspacecrafttraveling millionsofmilesinspace.
So,then,whymath?Well,mathletsusdosomethingnootherhumaninventioncan.It letsustakesomethingreal,andtakeastepback,abstractthatreal,complex,convoluted thingintosomethingimaginary,numbers.Somethingwecanworkwith,somethingwe canmanipulate,andsomethingwecanpredict.
Andthatability,totakesomethingrealandabstractitintosomethingusable-well, suddenlythosethreethousandsevenhundredandtwentyfiveyearsseemverywellspent indeed.
TheBluesandtheValueofLife
Henry“Hank”Buckner’27
Letmetellyouastory…Once,inthecountry,therewasalittleboywhohadabad stutter.Hismotherdidn’tknowanyoneelsewhostuttered,soshedidn’tknowwhat waswrongwithhim,andsheprayedoneday“Lord,what’sthematterwithmychild?”
Well,heheardher,sooutofshamehedecidedtorunaway.Hetookhislittlefloursack andpackedhisthingsandleft,andeventuallyhecameuptoarollingmill,whichwas ownedbyamannamedMr.Charlie.
Theboyfoundhimandasked,“M…M…Mis…MisterCh…Charlie,I…I…Iwanta home.”Mr.Charliesaidthathehadanoldbunkhousetheboycouldliveinifhe promisedhimonething:Ifthemillevercaughtonfire,runuptoMr.Charlie’shouse andtellhim.Simple.
ThatistheintroductiontomyfavoritesongbytheprolificTexasbluesguitarist Lightnin’Hopkins,whoperformedduringthemid-twentiethcentury.Now,Ifellin lovewithbluesmusiclastsummer,andIdothinkeveryoneshouldtrylisteningtothe genre.Butthat’snotmypointhere.Idon’twanttoconvinceyoutolovetheblues;I wantthebluestoconvinceyoutoloveyourself.I’mtellingyouthestoryofMr.Charlie becauseitillustratesexactlywhatIwantallofyoutotakeawayfromthebluesasanart form.
Letmeexplain.Thebluesisastyleofmusicwhichcameoutofaplaceofimmense suffering,theplantationsoftheruraldeepsouthinthelate19thcentury.The formerly-enslavedsharecropperslivingandworkingtherefacedviolent,institutionalized racismnearlyeverydayoftheirlives.Asaresult,theyweregenerallyverypoorand unabletoliftthemselvesout.Manypeoplefellintovice,drinkingheavily,cheatingon theirspouses,andgamblingawaywhatlittlemoneytheyhad,allofwhichare prominentthemesofbluesmusic.
Thisisaprettymiserableplace,andaprettymiserablestateofbeing,yetthemusic proceedingfromallofit,theblues,isshockinglybeautiful.
Theguitarists,harmonica-players,andsingerswhomadeuptheearlybluestradition wereself-taught,orlearnedfromotherswholivednearthem.Theywerenottrainedin musicalnotation,theory,history,orevenquote-unquote“proper”instrumental technique.Theywerealljustabunchofordinarypeoplewhosangthepaintheyfeltin theirhearts,looselyfollowingasimplemusicalform.Theytookaterriblesituationand madesomethingbeautiful,thismusic,outofit.Today,evennearlyacenturyandahalf later,thebluescontinuestohelppeoplethroughtheirsufferings,myselfincluded. Thesemusiciansthereforedidsomethingtrulygood,whichmadetheirsuffering meaningful.Thatsameprincipleappliestoallofyou.Ifeveryoufeeldowntrodden,if youevenfeelhopelessoruseless,mymessagetoyouisthatthosethoughtsaren’ttrue. Youcanstillmakebeautifulthings.Youcanstillhelppeople.Nooneisuselesswho lightenstheburdenofanother.
Lightnin’Hopkinswasonesuchmanwhosemusichasgivenmealotofpeace,soletme finishhisstoryabouttheboywiththestutter.
Oneday,Mr.Charlie’smilldidcatchonfire.Thelittleboydidashewastold,andhe ranasfastashecouldtotellMr.Charliethathismillwasburningdown.Mr.Charlie decidedtoletitburnbecauseitwasoldandwornout,butbecausetheboydidhisjob, Mr.Charlielethimstayinthebunkhouseaslongashewantedto.Eventhoughtheboy wasashamedofhisstutter,hefoundapurposeandpeaceinhelpingMr.Charlie.Ihope thatwhenyoufeeldowncast,youcanfindpeaceinhelpingothersinasimilarway…Or maybe,youcouldevenwritethesongyourself.
Untitled
LilyKeeler’27
Doyourememberbeingakid,andknowingexactlywhatyouwanted?Itwassosimple whenlifewasjustschoolandhome,MomandDad,siblingsandfriends,morningand bedtime.Theworldhadsomuchcolor,whenyoucouldseeshapesintheclouds,orroll downahill,yourgrass-stainedkneessmellingofearthandair.Youcoulddriftoffinthe caronthewayhomefromgrandma’shouse,headpressedagainstthecoolglassofthe window.Later,you’dbecarriedtobed,inthathalfwayworldbetweensleepingand waking.You’dfall,andbleed,andmakemistakes,butitdidn’tevenmatter,becauseyou wouldgrowuptobeaveterinarian,anastronaut,anactress,adoctor.Yourparents wouldtellyou“youcanbeanythingyouputyourmindto,”andofcourseyou’dbelieve them.
Butthat’snottrue,isit?Itshouldhavebeen,“Youcanbeanythingyouputyourmind tojustaslongasit’sstableandcanmakeyoumoney.”That’salwaysbeenthetruthof themodernworld.
Andnow,approachingmysenioryearofhighschool,Irealize:Ihaveabsolutelynoclue whoIam.
ThefirsttimeIheardtheworstquestionintheworld,Iwasprobablyin5thor6th grade.Ican’tthinkofwhoaskedme,onlythefeelingthatcamewith“Whatdoyou thinkyouwanttodoincollege?”Dread.Fear.Panic.Myanswerissomewherealongthe
linesof“Oh,I’mstillfiguringthatout,”butit’shardnottonoticeasyougrowthatthat answerbecomeslessandlessacceptable,tothepointthatIdreadeventhinkingabout college. Andifyou’relikeme,everytimeyoupouryourheartouttoanyadultwiththosefears, theresponseisalways,alwaysthesame:“You’regoingtobefine.”Alsoifyou’relikeme, itmakesyouunbelievablyangry.Howwouldtheyknow?Howcouldanyadult,whois secureandknowswhotheyare,havefeltaslostasIdonow?Theydon’tseemto understandthatwhenevertheyaskmeaboutmyplans,itmakesmewanttorunaway andhide. Theworstofitisthateveryonearoundmeseemssosure.WheneverIaskotherswhat theythinktheirfutureholds,theyactuallyhaveananswer.Evenatmyage.Itmakesme unbelievablyjealous,mainlybecauseIfeellikemyinterestskeepmefromcommittingto onething.
ButonethingI’vebeguntonoticeasIgothroughhighschoolisthatmaybeI’mnotas aloneinthisasI’dalwaysthought.Ittookalongtimetobeabletostepbackandrealize thatweareteenagers.Nobodyreallyknowswhat’sgoingon,andeventheonesthatdo havebeeninthe“lostsoul”positionbefore.Andyes,Icametothisconclusionwith perspectivefromadults.They’renotasuselessasI’dthoughtwhenitcomestothis. Allofthisistosay,you’renotalone-ifyouchangeyourmindeverydayaboutyour collegepath,ifyoustillhaveabsolutelynocluewhatyou’reinterestedin.Thebest
adviceIcangiveanyonewhofeelsthewayIdoisthis:Igethowitfeelsnottoknow, howfrustratingandlonelyitcanbe.Don’tworry,somanypeopleinthisworld,evenin thisroom,feelthesame.We’reallondifferentpaths.AndmaybethebestadviceI’ve beengiven hasbeenhidinginplainsightallalong.It’sokaynottoknow.You’llfigureit out.Maybetomorrow,maybeinayear,ortwo,butyouwill.Soit’sokaytoslowdown, andtakeabreath.
You’regoingtobejustfine.
Untitled
WillGavin’26
Iamallofme,yetnopartofmyselfistrulymyown.It’sabitofaconfusingstatement,I know,butit’stheonlywayI’vefoundtoaccuratelyexpressabeliefofmine.Inreality, it’salotsimplerthanitsounds.Letmegivesomeexamples. Mydadisoftenonetocrackjokesinconversation,sometimesatotherpeople’sexpense. WhenIwasyounger,Iusedtogetverydefensiveandupsetwheneverhemadeajoke directedatme.Onetime,Igotsupermadatoneofhisjokesandhedecideditwasa goodopportunitytogivemesomeadvice.HetoldmeIneededtolearntolaughat myselfandnottakeeverythingsoseriously.Ididn’tquiteunderstandwhathemeantat first,butastimewentonIrealizedhewasright.Ifoundmyselfmuchhappierbeingable tonottakeeverythingsopersonallyandlaughwithpeopleinsteadofgettingmadat them. Infourthgrade,wehadapoetryunit.Backthen,Iwasn’ttoopassionatetowards anythinginparticular.Iwasonly10afterall;anaimlessballofenergybouncingoffof whateverwasplacedinfrontofme.Butpoetrywasdifferent.Itbroughtupsomething inmethatIhadn’tfeltbefore.ItwasfunandIlookedforwardtodoingit.Ididn’treally carehowgoodIwasatit,butmyteacherseemedtoreallylikemywork.Sheparticularly likedmypoemWhat’sBadAboutPlaid;somuchsothatshehaditputintheWeekly CadetandevenhaditreadinUpperSchoolChapelforpoetryweek.IthinkI’dstilllike
poetryifshehadn’tshownsomuchsupport,butIdefinitelywouldn’thavethesame loveofwritingthatIdotoday.
Upuntiltheendofmiddleschool,Ihadaprettybadhabitoflying.It’dusuallybe aboutknowingaTVshow,movie,orgamesothatpeoplewouldthinkIwascool. However,Iwasn’taverygoodliarandmostpeoplecouldseerightthroughme.Theend ofseventhgradecamearoundandoneofmyfriendsstartedtogetsuperfedupwithit. Eventually,hesnappedandcalledmeoutinfrontoftherestofourfriends.Ifelt ashamed,butinretrospectthatshamewasn’tabadthing.Becauseofit,Istartedtelling thetruthmoreoften,evenifitmademeseemdumboruncultured.
AlloftheseeventshavecontributedtowhoIamtoday,andifnotforthesepeople,I mayhaveneverchangedorgrownasaperson.IamaFrankenstein’smonsterof everyonewhoevertouchedmylife.Iammydad’shumility.Iammyfourthgrade teacher’sbeliefinme.Iammymiddleschoolfriend’sbluntness.Andit’snotjustthem. Iammyelementaryschoolbestfriend’swittiness.Iremembersittingatthelunchtable tryingtokeepstupidbitsgoingforaslongaswecould.Iwouldn’tsayIwasveryfunny backthen,butIadmiredhowfunnyhewasandtriedmyhardesttomatchhim.Iammy olderfriend’stastes.WhenIwasfirststartingtogetintomusic,hegavemeatonof recommendationsandhelpedbuildthebasisofwhatIliketoday.Nowthatwe’reboth older,wesometimesstillsharealbumsbackandforth.Iammycollegiatefriend’sloyalty. He’salwaysstoodbyhisfriends,regardlessofthesituationandIreallyadmirethat.I
don’tgoquitetothelengthsthathedoes,butI’vedefinitelygrownmoresupportiveof myfriendsthankstohisinfluence.
I’mnotdonegrowingasaperson,nomatterhowgrownImaythinkIam.Allthetime theactionsofmyfamilyandfriendschangemelittlebylittle,andIhopeitstaysthat wayforever.Thesechangesaretokensoftheirlovethat,evenifsomepeoplearen’tinmy lifeanymore,Istillholdnearanddeartomyheart.SoI’dliketosaythankyoutoanyone whohaseverlovedmeandletmelovethem.OnlybecauseofyouhaveIbeenmolded intothepersonstandingbeforeyoutoday.
Soldier,Poet,King
AngieHuynh’26
WheneverIreflectonmylife,Ioftenthinkofthissongcalled"Soldier,Poet,King”by TheOhHellos.Whileit’saboutthesecondcomingofChrist,I,andmanyothersalike, havefoundanewmeaningforthesong.InsteadofChristembodyingthesoldier,the poet,andtheking,it’saboutuschoosingwhichofthepathstopursue. Poetspursueself-expression. Kingspursuestatus.Soldierspursueacause.
I’vealwayswantedtobeapoet.Towearmyheartonmysleeveandlettheworldseeme inmytotality…ButI’mnotapoet.DespitehowmuchIyearntobe.
I’mnotapoetbecauseIchoosetoplaythegame,evenifmybeliefsmakemeagainstit.I knowwegotoacollegeprepschoolandall,andIcomefromaculturethatvalues academicexcellence,butIdon’tfeelfulfilledbychasinggoodgrades,collegeprestige,or fancyleadershiptitles.I’dratherspendallmytimeonrobotics,art,andlivingmylife quietly.AndeventhoughIsaythat,Istillpushedmyselfrelentlesslytogetintocum laude,getintoanIvyLeague,andbecomestudentcouncilpresident.BecauseevenifI thinkthesethingsareunfulfilling,theworldrewardsthosewhoachievethemand punishesthosewhodon't.
NomorewasthisevidentfreshmanyearwhenIwatchedmysistergetadmittedtothe mentalhospitalandkickedoutofAcademyforherdepression.Thattimeinmylifewas
mostlyablur,butwhatIdovividlyrememberwaswatchingthewayadultstreatedher, vs.thewaytheytreatedme.
MysisteristhepurestpoetIknow.Shefollowedwhatshecaredfor,notwhatsociety wantedherto.Shedidn’twantorneedtobethemostrespectedinaroomorspend hoursonhergrades.Butwhenshewouldopenherhearttoadultsandtellthemwhat shewasgoingthrough,fartoomanysawsomethingtofix,insteadofsomeoneto support.Itwasalways,whydidn’tyoudothis,whydidn’tyoudothat,whycan’tyoube thisway.Andrarelya,I’msorry,Iseeyou,lsupportyou,everything’sgoingtobeok.
Shewasrarelytoldthat.ButIwas,eventhoughmypainwaslessthanhers,Iwas.When Ibroughtmyproblemsuptothesamepeople,Ididn’tgetpeopletryingtofixmeor ignoringhowIfelt.Igotempathy,Igotkindness,Igotthesupportmysistershould’ve alsobeenentitledto. Why?BecausemyGPAmademeseemmorerespectable?Because myworkethicmademeseemworthyofsympathy?Whydowepickandchoosewho deservesourunderstandingwhenallthatdoesishurttheoneswhoneeditmost?
Well,it’sbecauseweexistinaworldthatonlyseesthevalueinthosewhofollowitsrules. Soit’swhywelookinthemirrorsearchingforthingstoperfectsootherscanfindus beautiful.It’swhyweworktirelesslyonourgrades,reputation,andassetssowecanbe morerespected.Andit’swhythoseadultssaidwhattheysaidtomysister.Becausethe olderwegetthemoreaccustomedwebecomewithchangingourselvesinexchangefor societalacceptance.
AndIthinkthat’squitesad.That'swhyI'mnotheretoattackanyone.HowcanI,when attheheartoftheconflictbetweenpoetsandkings,isourfundamentalneedtofeel seen?
ButwhatIamheretodoisshoweveryonewhatourneedforvalidationcostsus.When wereverethestandardsotherkingshaveleftbeforeus,whetherthatbeacademic excellenceorbehavioralnorms,andimposethemonotherpeopleinattemptstohave themvalidatedbysociety,weactuallyendupcausingmoreharmthangood.
Yet,ifspeakingthesetruthsintotheworldwasenoughtoinvokechange,we’dallalready bepoets.Theworld'stoorigidtoacceptchangeunlessthere’sproofofitsvalue,andthe beautyofpoetsisthattheydon’tneedtoprovetheirvaluetoanyonebutthemselves.So howcantheduelingnatureofkingsandpoetsevercometogether?
Well,thesongiscalled"Soldier,Poet,King”forareason.
Ifkingsupholdthenorm,andpoetsrejectit,thensoldiersexpandit.Theyplayby society'srigidrulestoleveragetheirsuccessforchange.That’swhyIplayintothegame andpursueacademicandsocietalexcellence.BecauseIknowitgetsmorepeopleto listentome.AndIwanttousemyfleetingexistencetoarguethatwealldeservetobe seen,atourmostugly,atourmostimperfect,atourmostunconventional.Andifit meansItemporarilysacrificemyinnerpoetforawhile,thensobeit.Iwanttoseea
worldwherepoetsgetjustasmuchpraiseaskings,sothatkingscanfeelsafeenoughto embracetheirinnerpoets.Somaybethenwe’dseektounderstandeachothermore.So maybethere’dbefewerstorieslikemeandmysister.
