Issuu

GJENSYSNGLEDE. (Norwegian)

The joy of meeting up with a loved one you haven’t seen in a long time.

EDITOR’S NOTE

Reunions are a glorious thing. Full of tears and laughter, joy and contentment, there’s nothing quite like being back together after being separated for some time. But of course, that also goes for things you love that aren’t people. Finding your old Spotify playlists from Year 6, the unfinished painting hidden in the back of your closet, or, naturally, your forgotten love of reading all spark moments of joy. In this edition, we wanted to reunite and reconnect with that human emotion that makes life so worth living: love. We begin with ‘When I cry While I wait’ by Dash Okolovich, which explores the painful limbo before reuniting in a heart-wrenching light. They illustrate a dwindling relationship in which the chasm between lovers slowly expands. At the same time, one desperately clings to the faint memories of the past. Will the two lost souls ever meet again? Genuine compassion for those less fortunate than us is something even most adults nowadays struggle to feel sincerely. Yet, Rachel Beckwith, a nine-year-old girl from Bellevue, Washington, carried this feeling purely by nature. Rachel Beckwith was a girl whose compassion compelled thousands of people worldwide to raise over 1 million dollars for a charity before tragically passing in a car accident in 2011. In ‘For Rachel’, Harrow Hong Kong’s Poet Laureate Stephanie Webb sings a tribute to the girl whose love for others reached the edges of the world and far beyond her age. “Love kills.” writes Sophie Ho in her short story, ‘Ashes’. In this thriller, Sophie sets the scene of a boy returning home to his hometown seven years after the death of his younger brother, his best friend. But, how can he ever move on? How can he ever be freed of the ghosts that plague him? Sophie also depicts how quickly the tides can turn against love in her poem ‘When I Heard the Calling of the Sea’. In times of uncertainty, we find ourselves searching for familiar sources of comfort, which for us at the Literary Harrovian, lie in the well-thumbed pages of our favourite novels. We get to revisit the worlds hidden in between lines and reunite with beloved characters while exclaiming, “I haven’t seen you in forever!” We hope this edition gives you a feeling reminiscent of ‘Gjensynsglede’; joy at your reunion with literature.

1. Editor’s note 2. 27.03.2019: When I Cry, While I Wait - Dash Okolovich 3. Deception - Tiffany He 4. Long Gone - Tanya Pabaru 5. Defining Love - Bess Chau 6. Ashes - Sophie Ho 7. The Queen of Hearts (World Book Day) - Chloe Levieux 8. If Heaven Were a Place - Henry Callan 9. I Used to Dream in Black and White - Annie Zheng 10. For Rachel - Stephanie Webb 11. What do You Know About Love? Benjamin Luvisotto 12. Denial - Rylee Yeo 13. The Lonely Hearts Column: Ophelia - Jolie

Wong (The Love Witch) 14. A Mother’s Love - Angelina Lu 15. Define Love - Kelly Ying 16. Fallen - Rylee Yeo 17. When I Heard the Calling of the Sea - Sophie Ho 20. Manic Euphoria - Kaman Chau 21. Lonely Hearts Column: Elizabeth Bennet1 22. Green-Blue Alien - Se Lyn Lim 23. Untitled - Evelyn Su 24. Lonely hearts Column: Romeo! 25. Valentines Day - Jasmine Godfrey 26. What Is Love? - Antonin David 27. A Note from Mr O’Connor

Photography by Jarra Devi

Doubting everyone around me, I can hear you in my sleep. When you cry, I’m crying with you. When you’re not, I’m crying too. By Dash Okolovich

I am hurt and shattered, Broken – I don’t wipe away my tears. I will go through pain and horror Just to find who I can be. Maybe we will meet again And I will look you in the eyes, Behind the tears, I’ll see a promise That one day It will be okay I don’t know what was driving me Perhaps the fear of failure Or maybe just the fear of failing someone else I wanted to be there for you I yearned so much to save you It’s been two days You’re still alive And I am more content Just wait another day another moment Perhaps it will get better Maybe not

But even still we’ll live through this together We’ll share our wounds and fill the emptiness inside For one day I’ll be with you And all will end or not

Illustration by Stephenie Chen

I scream out through the distance, dark I promise I’ll be there for you But those are empty words Oh how I wish that they were not

You’re playing with my hair I try to replay every moment that we’ve shared I read your texts at night when nothing else is helping Sometimes it hurts sometimes it makes me smile I’m glad you came into my life so early I’m glad I’ve proved I’m worthy of your pain To see you hurting breaks my heart in pieces But when I cry I want to look you in the eyes I like to think you know the pain I’m going through That you can look me in the eyes and feel How much I want to share the happy moments with you Although the bad ones put a veil over my eyes And every day I try to stand, be stronger That every time I end up falling down But I don’t mind because it’s worth me trying Because the happy times live longer in the end

I never wanted you to know Just how much pain you brought into my life I sit in bed for hours longing waiting Believing you’ll be able to reply I hope and pray in ways both spiritual and not That maybe that will stop my train of thought And many sleepless nights are not enough to make me sleep at night I turn my phone off just to tell myself That maybe you’re there, coz I can’t bear the sight Of empty ticks just hanging on the scareen Knowing full well the places that you’ve been Been worried since the time you’ve stopped replying Coincidentally the time I needed to reach out They say you’re busy but I know they’re lying I keep on thinking, in the dark in doubt I tried to get away from thought and feeling To later find that there is no escape The love I have for you is losing meaning I wish I had some scissors and some tape I’ll cut and paste the good times onto paper Though darkest memories will find their way inside The sabotaging thoughts are what comes later They always fail to cover what has died.

She lived on. She lived on in the small wooden frames, the crumbled pair of knitting needles that were fragile to the touch, the wrinkled envelopes with thick bulks of aging letters. He missed her every single day. Then there he was, gently rocking in a crackling chair of hay, dressed in a hand knitted patterned vest embellished with a blue collared top. His corduroy pants ran grey, striped with lightly sewn threads of white. A fuzzy tuscan beret sat on his head, silently concealing that white balding head of his. Beams of moonlight flowed gently through the windows, whispering shades of a dull platinum into the cold midnight blue; specks of silver dust drifted weightlessly within the portal of light. It enveloped his pruney fingers, revealing the raw cuts and dug crevices in the exhausted hands that had been resting on the arm of the chair motionlessly. A light static tune wandered through the radio as it accompanied him alongside the moonlight. The stillness engulfed him. Soon, a familiar melody came on. The delightful notes danced in the air and filled the room, oh how wondrous it was, he could hear them in his mind, flowing through his soul. The melodies wrapped around him like a ray of sunbeam or a woolen blanket, and he slowly got up onto the worn out floorboards. He closed his eyes and swung his arms, hues of pink and red flashed before his eyes and a dark petite silhouette revealed itself. His arms wrapped

around her, tiny steps shifting from the left then to the right, her silk dress complimented his corduroy pants as her long grey hair matched his. The corners of his lips raised gently, and his fingertips tingled: it was her. Sagewood scented perfume with a hint of lavender wafting through the dense light, her twinkling hazel eyes smiling in awe and her thin wrinkles folding beneath her dreamy eyes. Between the birch wood furniture, under the chandelier, beside the candlelight, they danced as the world faded away into a blur and left them swaying alone in the moonlight. There were times where he wanted to leave with her, to escape from his inescapable reality. There had been times when he would dream of her and their once diantara adolescence. Time might have faded his youth, wrinkled his skin, loosened his teeth, but she lived on within him, vividly. His fingers intertwined through hers with determination, knuckles locked tight, close and connected, for the last time, he was never going to let go. However, good things never last for those who long for it the most. The radio buzzes once or maybe twice and with a cry of despair, the deafening silence occupied the room once more. She let go. Withered away into the flickering shadows, she melted away, swept back into the void, light from his pupil dulled and fell, its last sparks sinking heavily into the crooked cracks on the floor. But then, he was alone again.

Illustration by Alicia Yau (The Goldfinch, World Book Day)

LONG GONE by Tanya Pabaru

Photography by Joy Chen

You learnt how to ride those extremely bony horses and travelled far, far away where the tops of mountains would touch the pink marshmallow clouds and stars and rainbows lit the sky, seeing wonders beyond your imagination. Only to find they had been bicycles all along, and you didn’t get further than your driveway, before you toppled over and scraped your knee on the cold, hard, pavement. What if your best friend, the one who played with you even past your bedtime and helped you whenever you felt down, never actually existed? All this time it was just your shadow following you around, or a whisper on the wind, gone within a fraction of a second. What if your first love, the one you devoted all your time to under the majestic oak tree, over the red brick bridge was just a polished dream, a cold fantasy? Your favourite doll is sticks and leaves Crawling with spiders, tied together by weeds. Your favourite present is a wedding ring Etched in rust and held with string. And your favourite books, of princesses and princes are piles and piles of overdue bills and long paperwork. Wishing for the hand to stop.

Defining by Bess Chau

L O V E 12

Love. It’s a beautiful thing, yet it is a scary thing. It’s the thing that people crave most at times, yet it is also the very thing that drives us away. Of course there is nothing wrong really with connecting and building a relationship with our loved ones, but it is the things we do and say that really affects our relationships with them. Now, imagine having a fight with someone you care about. Whenever we fight with someone we love, the after effects of having one will lead you to regretting and despairing and wanting to reclaim that affection, as if the time spent on it was nothing: a complete waste. We could feel bliss or we could feel heartbreak. Love. There are always two sides to each message. From one screen to another, the messages that we send and receive may trigger two completely different reactions. A text deprived of emotion is as dangerous as a knife cutting through the fragile connections that hold us together. Platonic or romantic: the amount of years we spend and use to build what seemed to be so strong, could easily be cut off within a matter of seconds. Or it could heal, opening up a deeper level of emotional connection thus developing one’s relationship to something irreplaceable. Love. The loss of forthright human interaction takes its toll when we are all banished to our homes. Since then, we’ve been relying on all sorts

of ways to cling onto memories that we used to take for granted. Though some may say it is efficient, and some may say it is effective, nevertheless it is still erratic. As much as society believes that it is simply the development of our generation, we mustn’t undermine those of us who still fall prey to harmless apps of Instagram, Facebook and Skype. Taking away the privilege of speaking face to face, we are stripping ourselves from the abilities of emotional connection, we start to centre our lives around the problems we experience due to social anxiety, building up shells that hide us from those we so long to speak to. Love. It is a drug. Without it, we are unable to survive. Yet by having too much, we suffer. The complexity of having just the right amount leaves us in a hole of wondering what to do and say and think and constantly having to worry of the inevitable truth of such a valuable and intangible and indescribable relationship. However, we cannot deny the satisfaction of emotions we feel from having it: happiness, anger; creativity, destruction. At the end of the day, we are left reminiscing the good times from our experiences, the feeling of emotional connections and relationships we form with people of different mindsets opens our minds to completely different approaches even to the seemingly indifferent objects and we are left craving more. Love. The in depth insight of the mindsets of completely different people could change us and our future. By connecting, we under-

stand the different approaches and perspectives towards the same object, opening up the different alternatives that would help us grow as we move through life. Our ever-changing mindset is mainly due to our connections with other people and the lessons we take away from them, without them we will simply move through life with the same concept and mentality. Love. A word that holds a lot of meaning, a word that presents us with discovery, a word that explains what we are and our importance to each other. At first, we may not think that it is as valuable as empathy or kindness, but in truth, it is essential: it is the basis of all relationships; it is what shapes us and forms our identities as we grow. We need love, we need it for communication, we need it to survive.

Illustration by Joy Chen

ASHES By Sophie Ho

The street was stained with shadows. Gloom lurked at every corner, a blanket of silvery haze in the air. A lamppost stood at the intersection, casting an eerie glow over the pebbled sidewalk. The silence here was deafening; no ear-splitting honks from impatient drivers, eager to cut in line; no hollers from food stand owners, desperate to earn a coin; no thrumming of dance music escaping from nightclubs. Instead, I heard nothing. It was unnerving coming home after seven years in the city. Everything seemed exactly the same, like a museum preserved in time. Only this time, something was different: my brother was dead. My fingers grazed the rough texture of the cardstock invitation, hiding in my pocket. “In loving memory of Ash Fleetwood,” I murmured, my voice catching. He was just two years younger, but he was always my baby brother, my companion, and my best friend. We were bound by blood and friendship for eternity – he had promised me so. Then why was I all alone? I pulled my rusty bike off the picket fence, wincing at its groans after waking from such a long period of dormancy. My hands froze in midair as a wave of uncertainty descended upon me. A strange feeling clutched my chest, and I

found myself struggling to breathe. Perhaps one last ride was alright. One last ride, without him. As I cycled past my childhood, my memories began to guide the way; left, past the post office where we used to send our Christmas cards; right, across the river bridge where we raced each morning to see who would arrive at school first. I blinked, and the world materialised once more. I had arrived at our hideout. A swarm of fireflies lit up the clearing, revealing a small, circular area surrounded by an army of trees. The best part, however, was the roof; or rather, the night sky. I laid on the ground, facing the dark expanse above me. Ash and I came here on a regular basis, no matter the day, no matter the season. So many skills were learnt, so many secrets were spilled. It was all trivial nonsense; but it had meant the world to me. The soil nourished our brotherhood and the plants nurtured our growth. The leaves knew our deepest troubles and carried it away with the breeze. And the stars, oh the stars… they counted our dreams. Then a shiver slithered down my back. You have returned, Mr. Fleetwood, a high-pitched voice whispered into my ears, soft and sinister.

I froze, rooted to the ground. What was that? Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? We didn’t expect you to come back so soon. So, so very soon…, it continued, echoing all around like bullets ricocheting off the walls. “What do you mean?” I called out as my hands knotted together. “I haven’t been here since high school.” Oh? Then what is this? As the voice trailed off, a faint layer of fog slowly faded before my eyes, leading further into the clearing. I followed it into the darkness, until my foot tripped and threw me face down on the ground. I yelped, and pushed myself back up while reaching into my pocket to grab my flashlight. As I switched it on and shone the light on the ground, a shrill shriek escaped from my throat. Half-buried beneath the moss was a head. A single, decapitated head. Dark, matted hair covered the top, a terrifying contrast to the translucent skin. Specks of blood littered the bony cheek, which was jutted out at a sharp angle. It was too human to be a skull, but too lifeless to be alive. Its eyes, I thought. I needed to see his eyes. And then I saw it. A bright, piercing blue. As pale as heaven’s skies, and as cool as a winter’s night. A rush of hatred overcame my body. Who had dared to do this? This, this crime? This act of sin, of evil?

Tears streamed down my face as I sobbed into my arm, choking on my words. “What are you trying to say?” You killed him, Gabriel. “No – no, that can’t be. I love him. I would do anything for him. I would die for him. Don’t – don’t you understand?” Trust me, I understand completely. The question is – do you? Ash got married after graduation. The moment he said his vows, he left you. For good. “Yes, but – ” You said you would die for him. But you would also kill for him, wouldn’t you? As the tears trickled onto the ground, swept with ashes of the past, I realised the truth: I had killed my brother. What they say is true, isn’t it? Love kills.

Why, Mr. Fleetwood, don’t you remember? I shook my head. You were there, Mr. Fleetwood. I remember. “N-n-no, I wasn’t,” I mumbled. “No, I wasn’t!” You don’t remember much, do you? How about the time when Ash won the spot on the baseball team? Or when he was made captain of varsity soccer? “What are you talking about?” I bellowed, the world spinning before me. How about when the love of your life rejected you right away, only to ask Ash out a day later? Or when they were crowned homecoming king and queen? Did you forget about that? What about a few years later, when he received a full-ride scholarship to the Ivy League? And you barely made it through community college…

Photograph by Jaidan Voelkner

By Chloe Levieux- from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

IF HEAVEN WERE A PLACE By Henry Callan

If Heaven were a place, I know where it would be; It would be in your presence, Shielding me from all the world’s harshness. If Heaven were a place, I’d find it in your smile, Reflecting warmth and security, Knowing there’s a place I belong. If Heaven were a place, I’d find it in my heart, united to yours.

The Night and I

I’ve never told anyone this before. But before I met them, I used to dream in black and white. Before I met the 7 of them, my world consisted only of your opinions and his opinions and her opinions. They consisted of everyone else’s thoughts and beliefs, molded together tightly to form a large black wall; and that wall became the sky I looked up to when I slept. It became the ground I walked on and the sight I woke to and it consumed me whole. I used to dream in black and white. Walking around on the streets was difficult. It was excruciating for me to be surrounded by piercing eyes, cutting into my skin and tearing me to shreds from the inside out. It was as if I was a patient and they were the surgeons that hovered above me as I lay dead still. Unmoving, as they picked me apart with their stares and thoughts. So I built a fence. A big, dark fence. It kept people out but also caged me in, rendering me helpless, abandoned in solace. That fence used to grow. Day by day it grew higher until I could no longer see the sun.

I Used to Dream in Black and White by Annie Zheng 18

I used to dream in monochrome. But one day I heard the cheers. Loud. Booming cheers. I watched intently as they held each other’s hands, all connected into a tidy line, and took a bow. I watched as they folded onto themselves high up on the stage as the crowd of tens of thousands strained their vocal cords, screaming their last cheer before the curtain fell and the lights would go out. I watched as the fireworks went off, exploding in the dark night sky, casting a brief glow over the stadium, illuminating the people below that stood as one. The next video began playing on the screen and I sat entranced. My eyes moving rapidly over the device, trying to suck out all that it would give me. I read through articles and lyrics, watched speeches and read books. I listened to music and deciphered the message they were sending to me; the message they were sending to the world. “If someone doesn’t love themselves, they could love no one.” one of them said. It was at this point that I realised that I wanted to dream in colours. I no longer wanted to dream the dreams that I used to. I no longer wanted to think the way that I used to. I wanted to love myself for who I truly am. I’ve never told anyone this before, but a long time ago, I didn’t love myself. After meeting them, I learnt the biggest lesson that I as a person could ever learn. He told me that “I didn’t know anything about loving myself but you guys taught me. Through your eyes, through your love, through your letters, through your tweets and through your everything you guys taught me, and inspired me to love myself. What is loving myself really? I don’t know but it is our mission to find our own method of loving ourselves. It was never intended but I feel like I’m using you guys to love myself. So I want to say one thing. Please. Use me. Please use BTS to love yourself. Because you guys taught me how to love myself everyday.” Through them I realised that the greatest love was not the fiery romantic love chronicled in stories between the hearts of those such as Darcy and Elizabeth. It is self-love. The kind of love that makes you smile brightly as you look in the mirror. The kind that allows you to confidently stride down the busy streets and wave at strangers passing by. With this epiphany accompanying me, I finally embarked on the most important journey I will ever walk. Now I dream in colours. In explosions of colours. When I look up, I no longer feel darkness griping me, restraining me. When I walk outside I no longer feel terror and shame. Instead, I feel happiness and it’s the most beautiful feeling in the world. I owe it all to them.

by Stephanie Webb {2010} She dreamt of streams of brilliant blue, of pools of heaven’s glistening dew. Those rippling mirrors to set alight the murk entrenched in their pitiful plight. For throughout everything, she still knew: their veins flowed with the same aqua hue. She longed to quench their gnawing thirst, to allow their cracks to fill and burst. Maybe one day, this will no longer simply be a dream. {June 12th, 2011} On her ninth, she outstretched her hands, The swift swishing of keystrokes like wind lifting sand. This marked the dawn of a kindling flame, A pathway for her to drown their pain. She begged, “Donate to my campaign instead of gifts for my birthday.” It was in such a way that she did plea, But, alas, her prayers failed to succeed. Maybe I’ll make it to 300 next year, 220 is a start. {July 20th - July 23rd, 2011} But all too fast, the roof of her dreams came crashing down. Torn and twisted and twined, she scrambled to scratch for the surface. Silent as sirens laid lilies on her crown.

{Posthumous] Wait! What is happening before me? For trickles of gold have merged into seas, For streams of light shimmer, as if adorned by Apollo. And hovering over this, her glowing halo. Beaming faces reflected, clear as glass. Flooded with echoing cries of bliss, “At last!” Saturated delight stains their rosy lips, greedily parting, watching liquid gold drip. Maybe one day, everyone will be able to beam. Maybe one day, this will no longer simply be a dream.

Note: This is a poem inspired by a girl called Rachel Beckwith. It was her goal for her ninth birthday to raise $300 for a charity dedicated to supplying clean water to impoverished countries. Unfortunately, she was only able to raise $220 before she was killed in a car accident a month later. Now, 9 years later, her fundraising page has raised over $1 million. Her dream was for people all around the world to have access to clean water one day, and it was her great love and compassion for those less fortunate than her that touched the hearts of thousands everywhere.

By Benjamin Luvisotto

Love is magical, It makes your day better, Like when your mum tucks you into bed at night, You can’t feel any happier! “Goodnight love,” She would say with a tone, A tone that sends joy to your bones! Love is a thing you can miss, Us boarders who get homesick from time to time can understand this. Love is a beautiful thing, Sometimes you’re loving and you don’t even notice! Love can also be heartbreaking, You can be separated from family, Like me! My dad is stuck in a different country, I can’t visit! Love is tough especially in this COVID situation, So I hope all of you have a wonderful Valentine’s day and remember to spread love wherever you go!

Illustration by Andrew Hung

DENIAL Zoya trails a line down the dent in the wall, sitting slouched on the wooden bench outside the principal’s office. She hadn’t done anything that bad, just a small prank. Nonetheless, the school deemed that action as a severe enough ‘crime’ that she had to be sent to the principal. What a day. The bench groaned as somebody sat down next to her. Looking at them from the corner of her eye, she identified him as Neil Levi, the ‘mysterious and dangerous’ boy that no one in their school even dared to go up against. Looking him up and down, Zoya couldn’t see what was so terrifying about him. All she could see was a boy her age. Levi sighed through his nose and shook his head in what seemed to be irritation, his right foot tapping restlessly on the floor. Zoya scrunched up her nose, her eyes narrowing, biting her tongue to stop herself from telling him to stop that annoying sound that made her ears bleed. “What’d you do that got you to wind up here?” Zoya bit out, her jaw clenched as she glared at his perfectly polished shoe as if she was going to develop some kind of pyrokinetic power and burn a hole in the middle of his shoe. Levi’s head shot up, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion as if in disbelief someone actually spoke to him of their free will. If Zoya were him, she’d be wondering the same. Finally, his head turned slightly in Zoya’s direction, his foot still tapping impatiently on the ground. He blinked once. Twice. His eyebrow raised just a bit; his eyes showed no sign of emotion, nor did his facial expression. 24

By Rylee Yeo

He stared at her for so long that Zoya just huffed and turned back to tracing the indent on the wall. She shouldn’t have even attempted to make conversation with him. For all she knew, he could’ve killed someone. Murdered them in cold blood. Perhaps over a grudge? “I stole a book from the library.” It took Zoya a while to process what he’d just said. Honestly, it took a while to stop herself from jumping to conclusions about what he did and what she now knew he didn’t do. “Oh.” Oh? That’s all you can come up with? What happened to your ‘wide range of vocabulary’? Sometimes Zoya really hated her subconscious. “What did you do?” His voice was reluctant, like a wave creeping up the sand, yet still too afraid to go any closer than what it had already done. Zoya’s lips tugged upwards, the memory still very clear in her mind. “I flooded the school cafeteria.” Some part of her enjoyed the way his brows jumped into his unkempt hair, his shock blatantly obvious. The small six-yearold inside her was squealing in delight, chanting about how she had shocked the brooding, stonecold boy that no one seemed to know anything about. “What book was it?”

“What?” Zoya reigned in the urge to roll her eyes at his complete and utter confusion. “What book did you steal?” “Oh. Uh, To Kill a Mockingbird,” Levi’s voice dropped low, his tone turning softer yet still not gentler. Oh. Oh. Zoya resisted the need to laugh, her lips twitching. Neil Levi was a nerd. Mr ‘I’m so obscure and tall, no one knows anything about me’ was a nerd. A bubbling sensation crawled its way up Zoya’s throat, the impulse to cackle clawing at the back of her mouth. And she would have laughed, would’ve laughed right in his face, if she didn’t absolutely adore To Kill a Mockingbird. Granted, she’d only come to learn of its existence when the local librarian had recommended it to her when the school had sent an announcement to say every pupil had to bring in their favourite book. And Zoya didn’t read. She knew how to, of course; she just didn’t find it particularly interesting. So when she’d opened the book and skimmed through the first few pages, pages became chapters, and she ended up finishing the book in one sitting. To this day, To Kill a Mockingbird was still the only book she could remember reading out of her own enjoyment. To Kill a Mockingbird was a love story. But in Levi’s defence, it wasn’t really. The book sent out a message that wasn’t - not even in the slightest - related to love.

All the while Zoya was in the principal’s office, she tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach as she recalled her conversation with Mr Dark n’ Strange. She wrote it off as hunger, telling herself it was because she hadn’t eaten all day. “Do you understand?” Principal Thorne asked, snapping his fingers to get Zoya’s attention. She nodded, even though she hadn’t heard a single word he had said. Nevertheless, he let her go, not being able to do much more than that. Half the reason Zoya practically sprinted out of the office was to get out of there as fast as she could, to go and wash her hands of the vile particles that must have hovered in the air of the principal’s office. The other half was that she was hungry. Oh yes, that was definitely why. When she looked to her left as she exited the main office - where the principal’s assistant sat, typing away loudly at her desk - she didn’t know what exactly she was looking for until her brain registered that Levi was gone. He was probably in the co-principals office, though Zoya did not know why. There was a book in place of where he sat, a small piece of paper on it. Zoya narrowed her eyes, walking towards the bench. She picked up the book, taking the note gently between two fingers. Written in messy scrawled handwriting, as if he’d written it quickly in a rush, was a message that had her blood boiling. The degenerate thought she’d lied and hadn’t actually read the book. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it far more than I did.’

“That’s a good book,” Zoya managed to get out. Levi opened his mouth to say something, perhaps something Zoya might’ve liked to hear, but the principal’s assistant called her in. Zoya’s eyes went cold, her mouth set in a tight line. She’d been here one too many times. But at least everything else that she’d done hadn’t been traced back to her. Yet.

Photography by Helen Ng

Lonely and talented Jolie (self dubbed The Love Witch) is here to answer personally written letters from your favourite literary characters, solving their problems (with compassion) from thousands of years ago.

Ask: I think my boyfriend went crazy?! Please help me. My head is being torn apart by my dad, my boyfriend, and my brother to top it all off. I hope you’ll believe me, it seems like nobody will hear me out. I was in love with a Prince, and he seemed to love me too. I’ve never been with anyone else and I thought he was “the one”, but without a mother I have only my father and brother to look to for advice. So I did what any pious daughter would do and followed everything they said. “Play hard to get. Leave him on read. Be wary.” It all seemed like good advice and I had no choice but to do what I was told but guess what, I just got dumped! Dumped for good! He barged in my room and cursed me out and said he never loved me. Then he told me to join a convent so I’d leave forever. I’m crushed! Was it my fault or was my father always right? Could it be that *I* made him go crazy by ignoring him? Sincerely, Ophelia (Hamlet)

Jolie says: Oh, Ophelia. Love’s always hard when family is concerned. You’re heartbroken now so you’ll need time and space to heal— and no, nothing is your fault at all. Crazy or not, that Prince owes you a big apology because no noble mind should ever think to treat their partner that way. Ophelia, you’ve been very kind to trust so many people with the matters of your heart. It’s a sign of love, I believe, but sometimes not everyone deserves it, especially at the expense of your freedom. I mean this kindly and respectfully, but have you ever considered... saying no? When you ignored the Prince’s letters, did you even want to? What if you didn’t and that could have actually strengthened the trust and communication between you and him? Why let your family dictate your love life? Relationships should be 50/50, so why does your family take up half (or more than half!) of your place? I know we can’t face everything alone and that family can mean so much to us, but you need to make choices that are true to you in the end. When we willingly give our choices and agency away the consequences only come back to us. (It’s not your relatives that got dumped after all!) Your heart is broken now but I hope you take this advice into your own hands for the future. Let your voice be heard! Warm wishes, The Love Witch

by Angelina Lu

Photography by Stephenie Chen

Love by Kelly Ying

Love is invisible, unreachable, unseen. It takes no form, no shape, no formation. Love is everywhere, in the air, in your blood, in the sea. It flickers like a candle, small but powerful. Sometimes love can make you feel butterflies in your stomach, feel like a blossom tree is blooming in your heart. It can make you complete, fulfilled with life. Other times it could be daggers shooting right into your heart, it could drag you into the deepest pit. It could break you, let your life fill with hatred. But love is what makes the world go round. The world is filled with selfishness, hatred, greed and many more demons in Pandora’s box. But love balances everything, it defeats evil and stands on its own podium

She’s cried and she’s bawled, Enough to fill a cup to the brim, Thinking that he’ll never notice, But falling isn’t so bad when she’s falling for him. She walks past him in the hallway, Says a small good morning, He doesn’t even know her name, But it’s fine; she knows he’d find her boring. Her friends all tell her that she should just go for it, Just smile, they say, don’t worry, She looks at him then; sees how he’s with someone else, Her vision goes blurry. Locks herself inside her room, Slides down the wall, Tears start pouring down her face, Another tiny chip in her heart; edging closer to a fall. Smile a little, Bring some light into your eyes, She’s the picture of nonchalance, Hiding inside herself as she dies.

Rylee Yeo, Parks Illustration by Reika Oh,31 (The Thing About Jellyfish)

When I Heard the Calling of the Sea.

When I Heard the Calling of the Sea by Sophie Ho

My eyes tightly shut, strands of hair flying wild, as I stepped into the sea. Feet against soft sand, seashells on the shore, waiting as a bride to be. Your love was an ocean, reaching around the Earth in a warm embrace. Minnows scattered high and low, always there in place. Your love was sunlight upon rippling pools, blinding mosaics of colour. Clownfish that stay up till dawn, dancing with their lover. Your love was each wave of my pulse, balanced beating of the drum. Crowntail bettas and caudal fins, steady with every strum. Your love was music to the ears, the siren of an intoxicating song. Dolphins that glide beside the tide, hand in hand all along. Your love was a palace of princes and kings, adorned in pride and royal capes. Regal blue tangs and chatters exchanged, dreaming of great escapes. Your love was a gift, the breath of life, air rushing through my veins. Stingrays alluding elegance, charm tightened at the reins. Your love was a promise, pinkies once intertwined, neglected before the jury. Man o’ wars delivered at the door, poison kisses of salt and fury. Your love was a secret smothered in the twilight zone, of hidden tragedies untold. Vipers that slink and slither through the dark, across the shadow fold. Your love was the wind whistling past, fierce bursts of speed out of control. Barracudas with teeth so razor-sharp, a bite like a bullet to the soul. Your love was a mirror that smashed to the ground, pieces of shattered glass. Great white sharks holding a glare so sharp, stabbed - right at the pass. My heart clutched in my hands, bleeding crimson, as I stepped into the sea. Drowned in the waters, the tears of the past, and finally set free.

MANIC EUPHORIA by Kaman Chau

Two names carved into a tree Stories intertwine; these twisted branches Binded, blinded, yet feel so free Hot coals hold two joyous dances. An object or being you can’t live without They haunt your dreams, but they’ll never be nightmares Obsessed, addicted, no feelings of doubt A risky game of musical chairs. Starved mice climb towards the last slice of cheese But love is fragile, love can end A peaceful chaos, will it cease? Hickory, dickory, the mice transcend. A glass shatters, water spilt Gloved hands gentle on a broken nose Some day, will the petals wilt? Or shine like now with pride; beautiful rose.

Ask: A threat disguised as a proposal? A threat disguised as a proposal? It’s more likely than you think. Like I said, I have just been proposed to, and while I have practiced (or been forced to practice, I should say) turning away unappealing suitors, this time, I fear the consequences much more. This man is more detestable than any other on this earth, and I’m certain that through a proposal of marriage he is determined to make me suffer. What kind of monster would play such a cruel prank on anyone. He is an absolute stick in the mud, rude to my family, and so far beyond my league. The only problem is, he is, in spite of his entirely unattractive personality, very rich and hot. And I do need to marry someone rich ( optionally hot), to save my family’s estate. What should I do? Sincerely, Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

Jolie says: Dear Elizabeth, You seem to be unaware of the existence of the legendary “enemies to lovers” trope. It’s alright, you’re probably the first example you’ve ever seen. From reading your letter, I can really see where your apprehension to this proposal is coming from. I think it’s good to be moderately suspicious of romantic love especially if it is being offered from someone you clearly cannot stand. Besides, the most troublesome and problematic relationships (see: Romeo) are usually born out of instant physical attraction, so it’s a good thing to keep that as more of a side note than main body paragraph in your mind. However, I also understand that there is more at stake in your choice to marry than most people. In this case, I believe all the right decisions are best made with careful consideration and taking as much time as possible to weigh the pros and cons, and maybe coming up with a Plan B before you make your choice. I would like to remind you that people are meant to change, and we can do so very easily, and I’m sensing that your potential suitor has many hidden depths that you have yet to realise. Best of luck to you, The Love Witch

Written and illustrated by Selyn Lim

38 Illustration by Megan Siu - “Green-Blue Alien”

When I was first in your dainty hands, When I was first scolded for mischief, When you called my name many times over, I miss sharing our happiness. If I close my eyes, If I close my eyes, I can still see your smile. Until tomorrow comes， It is goodbye for now. Don’t cry, Let me see your smile Even for one last time. A tiny bit of hope, Just a tiny bit of hope To see you again. From the sky I will watch over you. Only you, I assure you. Only you. Forevermore. In the sky of your memories, Where the two of us, Will dance in the stars. One more time. Just one more time. This is the fate We have both accepted.

Apart for life, Together in death. I miss you, I wish I could see you Never to meet again, Only forever in our hearts Running along the paths, Playing with a little ball, I never knew One day you would feel hurt From these thoughts Which I relished so very much. Although we will never go back I will forever remember you. Such a good night to me, A good night to you. Sleep well, and dream of A world where We will meet again. By Evelyn Su

Ask: I’m hopelessly in love with a girl three years younger than me I’m hopelessly in love with a girl three years younger than me (I’m 16) who I just met five minutes ago at a party where I was looking for Rosaline (the woman I have stopped being in love with since five minutes ago). Problem is, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to hate her... for ancestral-family-feud reasons. I don’t pretend to understand it fully, but I do know that pursuing my dream-girl-at-first-sight is probably very wrong and I’ll face consequences for it. Honestly, I’ve already half-decided that I’m going to go for it no matter the response. So wish me luck? Sincerely, Romeo Montague

Jolie says: Nothing brings out completely unseen levels of self-motivation in a teenager quite like pining does. Unfortunately, I can’t say for sure your “young” love will be the thing that heals a generational family feud, especially as it comes in the form of creeping on the underage daughter of your family’s hated enemy. Yikes. For all intents and purposes, I really think you should back off on this one, and instead spend some time doing meditation and *deep* self reflection so this *never* happens again. Rosaline may not be the target of your obsessions now but at least you knew her name, whereas this mysterious dream girl is just namelessly way beyond your demographic—so let’s not make a hobby out of this while we can. When you’re done with that, consider bringing up the idea of family counselling, maybe not with the two families at the same time but you can work towards that and maybe after that you and your nameless crush will be at more appropriate levels of maturity to figure something out between you two. Until then, no luck from me, I’m afraid. Sincerely, The Love Witch

VALENTINE’S DAY As the sun comes up to say “hello”, My dreams have been answered, and on I go. I stare and stare ‘til my heart’s content, Because time with you is sure well spent As the sun looks down, from high above, I know who’s the one I so desperately love. You make me laugh when I have cried, You make me smile when I have sighed. As we watch the sun fall down from the sky, I look and think “How lucky am I?”, To have you here, to never be alone, To live and love, until we’re grown. As the twilight shone on your ocean blue eyes, And you uttered those words I could never despise, The ocean crashed and bright stars gleamed, I know love is all that I have dreamed. As the stars come up, and the night we brave, The road we created paved the way, A road where no memories can decay, A special place for Valentine’s day. - Jasmine Godfrey

WHAT IS LOVE? by Antonin David

What is Love? By Antonin David

What is love, really what is it? I am not sure, let me think about it I know! It is an obsession, maybe greed? Actually, maybe it is a need? Can you love power? Can you love food? Can you love chocolate? Or is love just a mood? Maybe it could be a desire? A thing like a dream, Or maybe, just maybe, somewhere in between? Could it be a thing or a person that you like? A dream, a devotion or a sense of delight? I really am not sure, I am completely confused Perplexed, puzzled and extremely bemused. Dear reader, what about you? What in the world does love mean to you?

What a whirlwind two years it’s been for the Literary Harrovian. Looking back, that innocent decision to explore the theme of time in our first ever edition was an apt one: we’ve conquered so much in such a short space and flourished in the process. I find it hard to believe that we started off as a ten page spread of internal contributions. Since then, Joy, Chloe and Jaidan have transformed that initial project into a well-respected literary journal with regular contributions from our whole school community. Centred around a termly theme, students are invited to contribute a whole range of submissions which are aimed at doing one thing: celebrating the unique literary talent circulating our wonderful school. As a teacher, it’s student-led learning and enterprise at its best and it’s been so inspirational to watch it unfold. Whilst I pass the literary baton onto another(very fortunate) English teacher, I want to thank our phenomenal team for all of their hard work, resilience and creativity. It truly is a world class student publication and you should all be very proud, especially if you’ve been a contributor. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store! Mr O’Connor

(Editor-in-Chief)

(Head Editors) (Editors)

(Design)

ILLUSTRATION BY CHISE IWAKAWA