literary magazine creation team vol. 2
editor in chief:
mariam abaza
Mariam is a senior at Dublin Jerome
High School, but she takes all of her
classes at the Emerald Campus as an IB
Diploma student. She loves writing,
journalism, and art, motivating her to
start the Emerald Campus Lit Mag!
outreach:
sachi chhibber
Sachi Chhibber is a senior at
Dublin Jerome High School and
an IB Diploma Year 2 student at
Emerald Campus. Her favorite
activities are public speaking,
sleeping, and tutoring.
meet the team!
writing editor:
shreya vadlamani
Shreya Vadlamani is a senior at Dublin
Jerome high school. She is currently a
year 2 IB diploma student at Emerald
Campus. She loves to watch movies and
tv-shows in a variety of languages in her
free time. She loves taking naps and
dreaming.
art editor:
brahmjot rooprai
Brahmjot Rooprai is a senior at Dublin
Jerome High School, and an IB Diploma
Year 2 student at Emerald Campus. She
likes to spend her time making art,
reading comics, and geeking out over
her favorite books, movies, and TV
shows in her spare time.
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
age of
discontent
A Short Story
Trigger Warning: Mentions of Suicide
Sophia Bryan Two minutes flew by and all of the sudden, a
man caught my attention. He was barely
When people I have loved die around me, I have above my height, looking up the slightest
picked myself up as though nothing happened. inch to meet his eyes.
But, in reality – it ruined me. It seems so surreal. I
often find myself thinking, ... Is this happening? I
didn’t know one of my friends would be taken His eyes.
away when I least expected it. Sometimes I think
I see him smiling big and wide with his pearly They were soft and easy to stare into. His
white teeth. But the truth is, it’s not him. I don’t figure was rather toned, his biceps and legs
see him. His death is my unfortunate reality. as big as a typical bodybuilder’s would be.
Death is upon all of us, and it is always too soon. He had a darker complexion as if he just got
And death reality came too soon for Dave back from vacation in a tropical area. I
Schafer. couldn’t distinguish if he was twenty-five or
It was a sunny evening, the trees were beaming fifty.
with light and dark shades of green, and flowers “Excuse me…” the man continued. He
were blooming. I was working a Saturday shift at sounded very familiar.
work, and the restaurant was overflowing with “Hi, how may I help you?”
customers. My manager called out tasks for the "“Are you the hostess I spoke to on the
other hostesses and me to do, between the phone?”
clientele and our manager, we were slammed “Yes, I believe so.”
until around 9 o’clock—all of the sudden, the “Well, I’m Dave. Dave Schafer. Now, why
telephone rang. I ran to catch the call before the was I on hold for 30 seconds? That is way
caller hung up. I read the name on the phone – too long for a loyal regular.” He smirked.
didn’t recognize it but proceeded to answer. I grinned. I didn’t know what to say. “Hmm.
“Hi, this is Z Cucina, how can I help you?” I asked. I couldn’t tell you, to be honest. I was
“Well, hello I sure don’t recognize who is talking checking the bar for you!”
on the phone. It isn’t Rick. May I ask who it is?” the “Alright then. The name is Dave Schafer.
voice responded. Don’t forget it.” He smiled. He brought such
“I’m Sophia, one of the new hostesses.” natural comfort. I felt like I could talk and
“It’s very nice to meet you over the phone, have conversations with him for years.
Sophia… now I have a question,” the voice said Months and months flew by. Each time I
calmly. was working, Dave would catch my eye. He
“Yes, how can I help you?” had this way about him. He would walk
“Can you take a peek at the bar and tell me if across the street, look up, and immediately
there is any room available for me to go and grab smile. Every single time. He would wave and
a seat? Or maybe kick someone out and give me laugh, actions that made me feel at ease.
their seat instead?”
I laughed. Our conversation caught me off guard One time, I was having a bad day, and he
since he was talking so casually. I put him on hold. noticed and walked in.
Then, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that “How are you, Sophia? Doing better than
there was one seat at the end available for him. last time?” he asked. Honestly, I’ve never
I grabbed the receiver, “Looks like you’re in luck had anybody care about me to that level at
today. There's a seat waiting just for you.” I work. He treated me like I wasn’t just a
chuckled into the phone. restaurant worker.
pg 3
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
“I’m okay. Y’know, I enjoy talking to you, Dave. You
make me laugh too much.”
I would look forward to seeing Dave, catching up,
and telling jokes.
“You know what, Sophia?” He asked and looked up.
We were making direct eye contact.
“What’s up Dave?”
“You do not seem like your age at all. I feel like I am
talking to an adult. You are just such a positive Monochromatic
person, have a bright personality, and never fail to Caroline Xi - Dublin Jerome High School
make me laugh. You are a unique girl who clearly
has confidence, not a lot of women have that.” Then, I randomly told Dave how I
My cheeks started turning pink and felt like heat appreciated him. I don’t know what
warmers. compelled me to do so, but Dave made me
feel like I wasn’t ordinary. He taught me the
That was a one-of-a- value of appreciating myself. He couldn’t
kind compliment. stop flashing his contagious smile.
“Yes, I remember every moment. I’m
I was over-the-moon ecstatic and eager to tell my thankful I pulled you over to talk that one
mom what he just told me. “You sure do know how night. You’re a very lovely girl, Sophia. I am so
to make a girl feel better. I needed that; you are too glad I met you.” I wish I knew this was the
sweet, Dave Schafer.” last time we would talk together.
“It’s true. Never forget that.” I walked away to get Rick, but the nagging
He walked out the door and waved goodbye. in the back of my head troubled me.
What a guy. He is by far the Something was not adding up in my mind,
sweetest man I have met. He is but I dismissed it.
my favorite regular. That’s where I went wrong.
With summer passing through, I got to see him It was a Wednesday afternoon on August
more and more daily. However, there was a long 10th, 2022. I was packing for a last quick end-
period when I didn’t see him. He stopped coming of-summer hoorah at Norris Lake. And that
down to the lobby and seeing the Z Cucina staff as was when my life was sent to a jarring halt
much. I asked my manager where he had been, but as I received a frantic call from one of my
he didn’t seem to notice. I thought it was unusual friends at work.
for Dave because he was the epitome of a “regular” “Hey, what’s going on?” I questioned.
at the restaurant. My friend sniffled and cleared her throat,
On August 6th, he finally came by to talk to “Sophia, where are you right now?”
everyone. He seemed more laid back than usual. “Uh, I’m packing right now, why?”
Looking back, the dots connect. She then proceeded to let out a soft cry,
“You need to come to the restaurant now.
But of course, how was I It’s about Dave.”
supposed to know? My eyes shot open. My throat fell into my
stomach. I felt like I had the adrenaline as if I
“Hi, Sophia! Guess what I just bought?” were on a roller coaster.
“Where have you been, stranger? I haven’t seen “Oh, God... okay, I am on my way!” I hung up
you in forever! What did you get?” the phone abruptly, not waiting for a
“I got a Lamborghini! It’s beautiful,” he said, smiling response back.
wide, and his eyebrows arched up. A few minutes pass and I arrive in Bridge
Something wasn’t right.. Dave was not a Park. There were SWAT members with
spontaneous person. He was a “regular” for a shields, police officers, and paramedics.
reason. He regularly came to this restaurant, sat at My heart dropped. I lost all feeling in my
his regular spot, and spoke to his regular body.
employees. He was actually predictably predictable. No no no. This cannot
happen now – this cannot
take place here – this
cannot be real.
pg 4
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
I walked to the back of the restaurant and saw
my friend, Kellie. She stared straight into my
eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Dave shot
himself."
He's Dead.
"It was a suicide.” Her voice was breaking. I Unheard
seemed to feel guilty. Guilty of the times I took Katie Amos
for granted. Guilty that I didn’t ask about his Dublin Coffman High School
well-being enough. Guilty for the fact I
thought he was happy.
My manager turned around from the window,
looked at me, and shook his head, “you were
his favorite. He cared about you so much, you
made him happy while he was still here.”
People always talk about checking up on your
friends who seem to be the happiest. Now I
understand why. I never knew that the “happy
clowns” usually have the biggest masks and
are actually the saddest in their souls.
“Dave texted Rick three minutes before he
did it. He gave us all of his love,” Kellie said.
I ran to her and we met in a hug. My
assumptions were terribly mistaken.
That’s the day I learned your name
that a breaking heart was
the loudest sound I never Sophia Bryan - Dublin Coffman High School
heard. your name has been ruined
Sophia Bryan - Dublin Coffman High School forever
in my mind & heart
i never thought
hearing two syllables
could bring so much pain
and sadness to my ears
and tears
streaming down my face
your name has been ruined
in ways i cannot describe
nor comprehend
but i do know
one thing for sure
is that
for as long as i live
your name
Aurelia Massa will serve no importance
Dublin Jerome High School to me anymore.
pg 5
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
August Humphrey "Memories" Dublin Coffman High School
A Trip Through the
Seasons: 2020
Anna Blasinski
with a thousand apples.
That year, the seasons roared. Winter nights knocked.
Springtime buds erupted glitter from the stars: I painted bedrooms in
greener than ever: I clogged my ears my house on the surface of a frozen moon.
with music and photosythesized. At the end, I rose
Summer lunged out a glass of sparkling gape juice over Zoom,
from the shade: I folded lemon juice into relieved to see
my hair, where jeering cicadas nested. '21. But never again
Hot autumn summer colors screeched. would I be so fine-tuned to the weather.
cross blue skies: I baked a hundred desserts
Anna Blasinski is a Junior at Dublin Coffman High School.
my heart Solitary
Caroline Xi
i love you Dublin Jerome High School
or loved you
with every fiber of my being
& with all of my heart
and yet
i’m left picking up & healing
what was once meant
for you.
Sophia Bryan - Dublin Coffman High School
pg 6
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
alone
I wonder, The same,
What the, All,
World Together,
would look, Yet alone,
Like, Surrounded by,
If all, Millions.
Just stood,
in, FKA Twigs
Cholo Calis
Hana Miller Unison Sara Aziz
Eversole Run Dublin Coffman High School
Dublin Jerome High School
Fours
Helena Lee
Dublin Jerome High School e
v
Four protesters ran as fourteen police officers chased a
n
them. On what started as a calm night, arose a thick
dark cloud. The pungency of the smoke covered the
y
sweet smell of the air, the sky turned dark, snowing u
ash and dust. The sound of the steel bullet flashing by,
the high-pitched sound
e waves passing and lingered
v through my ears like ringing
a bells. The sound of the two
n
groups when they met, face
y to face, protesting,
u like hyenas over the same
territory. The sound of cries from frightened children, the yelling of angered protesters, the
screams of those being brutally beaten. The sound of batons strikingly smashing their crackling
bones. The fresh red blood rushing down their clothes, the old burgundy blood staining the
roads. The bricks that have been yanked out of the ground scattered on sidewalks, the
homemade bombs which layed on what were flower beds. The shattered glass crystalized the
paths, the reflections are blinding, a scene no child should ever witness.
Avoid wearing black unintentionally, or they will terrorize you. Forever. Black is the color of the
protesters, representing the people's presence and unity in Hong Kong. Together protesters form a
black sea, drowning anyone who gets in the way. They are determined to save their homes and their
rights. There is no ambiguity, only black and white. The police officers are on the wrong side, and they
should be fighting with the people, not against them. During these times you keep your head down,
and refrain from making eye contact with these beasts, or they will beat you over and over again for
threatening their authority. Sweat runs down my back, the anxiousness I feel knowing there's
someone looking over my shoulder as I cross the street. As a mere child, if you expect no one to
bother you, you're mistaken. The young fourteen-year-old girl who was stripped and assaulted in
public was robbed of her power, and her reputation, right there, within those thirty seconds, her
whole life was ruined. I watched her cry from afar, desperate to help, but I was only fifteen, even with
all my strength, even with my loudest voice, the others would overpower me. I was weak, helpless.
Her face transitioned, from what was flushed with embarrassment and panic, became pale and lost.
pg 7
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
Evan Yu - Dublin Jerome High School
Numb. I just know a part
of her died that day, she
lost something no one can
ever return – her dignity.
I watched as the m
an sat quietly,
standing his ground, reading
newspapers – his silence, louder than
any chant in any protest, stronger than
any action in any fight.
After an hour of holding his ground, I watched as four policemen, struggled to pick him up
like a fish out of water, he kicked and swung, and they escorted him out, grabbing him by his
arms and neck. Such a peaceful action resulted in a violent interaction.
The police move in a single line, synchronized. Like a line of ants, they march – left right left
right, sharply releasing the opposite foot every second. Their weight balanced, standing
firmly on the ground, their hands are always on their belts – to appear stronger. So unaware
of the arrogance they carry, so much power, and so much influence, and yet, they hold no
respect. They say their sole purpose is to protect their country. But you're hurting your own
people, savagely, with no mercy. Hong Kong will treat you the same in return.
if you don't protect her, she will have to protect herself.
Disconnected Desires
Caroline Xi
Dublin Jerome High School
pg 8
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
SYMPHONY OF Hana Miller
Dublin Jerome High School
DESTRUCTION
El Riederer
Jacob L Van Riper Dublin Coffman High School
Dublin Jerome High School Olivia Wang
Dublin Jerome High School
They’re screwed up from the start
Here come the damaged goods
It’s worth is long destroyed
Retreat off to the woods
The woods
The woods
Here comes a broke, poor man
When will life improve?
Dead like the woolly mammoth
Guided by his sentiments, he’s such a killjoy
Abusive parents kill
It’s trauma from the start
It’s a chain reaction
A tattered and torn heart
A heart
A heart
Here comes a broke, poor man
When will life improve?
Dead like the woolly mammoth
Guided by his sentiments
Here comes a broke, poor man
When will life improve?
Dead like the woolly mammoth
Guided by his sentiments
Guided by his sentiments, he’s such a killjoy
Brutal parents construct
Their madness seeps and leaks
They craft more abusers
They’re just building more freaks
More freaks
More freaks
Here comes a broke, poor man
When will life improve?
Dead like the woolly mammoth
Guided by his sentiments
Here comes a broke, poor man
When will life improve?
Dead like the woolly mammoth
Guided by his sentiments
Guided by his sentiments, he’s such a killjoy
pg 9
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
SEA OF ETERNITY Imagine
Sara Aziz Eryn Lloyd
Eversole Run Dublin Jerome High School
gr. 7
A splash, I could lay down and vanish, my legs
Of water, on the ocean shore, my toes in the
In a great, sand, my heart in the clouds, too
Sea,
Is all, beautiful to be existent.
That I, Not thinking.
Will ever, Only breathing.
Be, Just there.
But if I,
changed , I could lift my ankles to the seagulls
Just one, soaring above, my soul stretching
Life,
Just one, toward them, bigger than any
day impossible wave growing in front of
Just once, me, it’s essence pulling my spirit to
A happy, where it felt complete in the presence
Droplet,
I shall be, of the vast sky.
As I fall into, Running.
The sea, Leaping.
Of eternity
Nobody would know.
I could feel every breath of air as it
filled my lungs, steadying my pulse to
match the crashing waves.
I could dig my fingers in the sand,
feeling every grain adjacent to my
skin, the light cloud they made
cascading around me in a whirlpool
of gold.
Nothing significant.
Nothing agonizing me.
A Sea of Life Everything alright.
I could relax, inhaling the salty air,
Katie Amos breathing out as I’m sprayed with
Dublin Coffman High School
seawater, it’s tint so perfect such a
thing could only appear in dreams.
I could bathe in the shadows made
from beaming sun rays hidden
behind cooling clouds, rain dancing
around me, healing places scorched
by the sun.
I could be alone.
I could be calm.
I could be free.
Pragalya Arumugam
‘Icarus’- which is my own take on if in an alternate universe,
Icarus was able to attain the Sun. This is symbolic of people
who aspire to pursue their ambition as a due result of
persistence and their hard work.
pg 10
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
Journey This poem narrates my journey of moving
from Hong Kong to the US in March of
Helena Lee 2022. Similarly, 55,000 others—primarily
expatriates—left Hong Kong during that
From the moment I stepped onto that plane, same month as a consequence of the
I noticed that we were now part of a special
crowd. turbulent political climate. I watched my
In the midst of screaming, crying, and homeland get torn apart by anti-
chanting,
The sound of unity, tears the country apart. government protests until I relocated to
Ironically only the outsiders, the foreigners, the Ohio. This move provided me with the
gweilos, opportunity to meet new people and
Are lucky enough interact with a vast array of different
To have the ability cultures and customs. More importantly,
to escape before the darkness implodes, however, I was fortunate enough to shift
Into a black bubble hiding from a “free” to a “freer” country. A parallel
Itself between Hong Kong and America is the
from the rest of the world. involvement in politics and the profound
I relived the twelfth of march – importance of patriotism. The intake of
Going back in time, reliving new information regarding Hong Kong’s
what would be a meaningless day. political situation does, to some extent,
But what started off as an ending – cause me to feel uneasy. However, Hong
became a fresh, new beginning. Kong is part of my past, and Ohio is my
The smell of clean air shocked my lungs, future—something I need to adapt to.
Like a weight lifted off my chest. There are terms in this poem that have
A new place, yet it had already felt like home. synonymous meanings, for example, in
No longer the judgmental faces, worrying line 40 “the left arm of the body” I used
about what bag I carried. the word left instead of right, as right can
No longer the police watching over my describe the right side of an object, as
shoulders, well as describing something has correct,
Hong kong no longer,
My home, or good. I don't believe that politics
Ohio. should hold such great power in a
My first football game, country, therefore, “left” expresses politics
The national anthem, the rise to patriotism,
The eagle above watching below as being bad, or wrong.
At the stadium, students saluted, sang and
shouted. Your Best Self
Me
stunned. Vanessa Tang
The politics. Dublin Jerome High School
Red or blue or purple,
it's confusing,
And although red is my favorite color,
It is offensive in this country.
Politics,
Which holds every country by its neck,
Is part of its body,
A noxious stimulus,
The left arm of the body.
The memories;
The protests
Individuality. Independence. Freedom.
Rights –
To our own bodies, speech, values.
They are all interconnected
Intertwined.
This new place,
So different but similar
The same
My mind scrambled,
My mind sane.
The people,
The attitudes,
The culture,
Never forgotten, but left behind,
Hong Kong,
My past.
pg 11
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
BURNOUT noble gas koolaid
living
Olivia Lu - DJHS
with constant tension
in my jaws lovesick.
Olivia Lu
music fills my ears
it used to anchor me I know I am
For when i went to write something True
empty sound
the deafening silence in my head There is not a single one
That didn't exist without the thought of you.
is the only music I understand
Neon
I’m floating Breathe in heat
And sweat
I have fell
gray is the color in my head But our hands are Together
but squint closely and you’ll see And we run in circles
we pull souls into our dance
tiny pixels, red, green, blue And They let themselves with a smile
a swath of cobwebs holding back This
This is Teenage youth
innumerable voices And i let the sound vibrate into equilibrium
a chorus that blurs together The lights bleed color onto memory
Breathe out
like these endless days This is Teenage youth
the sun doesn’t set and I’m thinking On the Subject of Divinity
about tomorrow How divine? Nothing about this is touched by god
Rather I bathe in absence
hours blur into days into weeks into months
into an entire year into my life in abundance of sin
i don’t remember anything
all I remember is the tightness
of my jaw The Letter A(+)
Abstract control
-ANONYMOUS- Abandon ourselves
As if a long war has been won
A failing constitution
clementine
As a trophy
Olivia Lu - DJHS Abroad shoulders, bestowed upon blood
A mark rests and make us divine
pg 12
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
u e
v
n e
l
d y
n
e
s
r h
e
p
h
t e
r
h d
e From Above
Maria Zarate
w Dublin Coffman High School
e
a
t
h
e
DSHS Manisha Khullar r
“What A Time To Be Aliv
e”
Katelyn Dufour
Dublin Jerome High School
Two knocks, one long one short,
Enough to open the door.
The sweet smell of an old-fashioned provided
A nice distraction from war.
Conversation flowed freely
With empty barrels of booze.
Gossip and scandals painted deceiving pictures,
Easily stirring up a ruse.
Women flashed Cheshire smiles
and danced around the floor.
Laughing in their short dresses
Fearless activism like none before.
Hair tied up tight in a bob,
Cigarettes lingered in their breath.
Wandering male eyes desired more,
Like a moth to a flame, sentenced to death.
Jazz played in the corner
by men dressed in suits of snow,
And songs of candy filled the room,
Taunting you to listen to just one more.
An era of glamor and flash,
Impulsivity and fun.
Chaos and madness,
The roaring 20s live on.
pg 13
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
ANALYSIS OF "Your Best
American Girl" BY MITSKI
This song is genuinely one of my favorites, I
am more of a rap person but the meaning
of this and everything is amazing. This song
is written from the perspective of a woman
from a less-than-first-world country (or
immigrant, etc. just an underprivileged
presumably non-white lady) who is in love
with a privileged white man.
This song does a great job with the The Dublin Leprechaun
commentary on privilege, western-centric
standards, and inner conflict on Amit Kamath
hating/accepting the non-western features Dublin Jerome High School
about themselves. For example, In the
second stanza, it is said "You're the sun,
you've never seen the night". This white
male is symbolized as the sun, as the earth
revolves around him. He's never seen the
"night" otherwise known as the struggles
that one would go through coming from
an opportunity-lacking place. He doesn't
know what it's like to be hungry, scared,
and going through political or religious
persecution. The worst he's ever been
through is running out of almond milk at Whole Foods. He's
never seen the night. But he has heard its stories from "birds"
otherwise known as the struggles in other parts of the world.
Another lyric I thought had a great amount of significance was
"Your mother wouldn't approve of how my mother raised me". It
shows the incompatibility and cultural differences between the
white man and her. This song talks about a truly difficult
struggle, it's so real. These types of relationships are appealing
but truly not simple.
-VIDHI BHANDARI-
DUBLIN JEROME HIGH SCHOOL
pg
14
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
CITRUS SCENTED
MEMORIES
The bittersweet scent of the
citrus oil from the torn orange
peel hit my nose as I watched
my grandma peel the tough,
porous skin off with a sharp
metal knife. I held a salt
shaker with pink powder in my hands patiently.
My grandma always put salt on oranges, but as
averse I was to salt on my fruit, I liked it on big,
sweet slices of mandarin oranges. I watched her
rough, strong hands quickly cut the orange into
halves, fourths, and then eighths. I grabbed a
big china plate from the cabinet, my favorite
one with flowers on the edges, and helped my
grandma put the orange slices, already
dripping with juice and pulp, on the plate and a
tray. I watched the salt twinkle softly on the
plate as I shook it over the oranges. Since I
helped Grandma, I would get the first slice. That
thought made me beam as I carried it out to
the living room where my cousins were sitting,
watching our favorite nightly Indian serial
before we fell asleep contently with sweet and
salty oranges settled in our stomachs.
-BRAHMJOT ROOPRAI-
DUBLIN JEROME HIGH SCHOOL
pg 15
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
DEAR GRANDPA:
Thank you for everything. Thank you
for our time together. Thank you for
the memories. Thank you for the
laughs. And thank you for the hugs.
Though you lived in India, you never
made me feel your disappearance.
You were always just one call away. I
remember when I was younger ma
yelled at me for breaking the house
window, and I ran all the way into the
bedroom and called you. It must have
been two in the morning in India, but Harlem Blues
you picked up and suddenly we were
in the situation together. Amit Kamath
Dublin Jerome High School
I remember on March of my 11th birthday, you and I would
sneak out of the house and we would light firecrackers that
whole night. I remember the neighbors yelling at us to stop
and the dogs barking because of the sound, but I didn’t care
because I cherished that moment together. As days turned
to months and the months to years, I saw my responsibilities
and my obligations only grow. Soon our daily calls turned
into weekly calls and our weekly calls into monthly ones.
Looking back I realized that I was foolish to let my
commitments to school and friends out-value my family;
looking back, I hadn’t realized how lonely you were and that
your only grandson wasn’t there for you anymore. So I’m
sorry grandfather for not valuing the time we had together;
I’m sorry for not being there for you, like how you were there
for me. So I hope you’re looking down on me right now,
watching my journey through life as if you were there by me,
side by side. I hope that someday, you and I can light some
firecrackers together.
Akshat Shah
Dublin Jerome High School
pg 16
emeraldscape literary magazine vol. 2
August Humphrey "Memories" DCHS
A Commentary on Gary Soto's "Oranges"
Divija Kandru Dublin Jerome High School
Gary Soto uses various techniques in his poem, guided down a memory filled with emotions of
“Oranges” that aid the development of themes endearment.
of love. Firstly, each of the lines start with a In my experience, oranges are seen as objects
capital letter, regardless of grammatical rules. that can bring about small, yet meaningful,
Generally, before the beginning of a sentence, joys. Because I went into the poem having
the reader takes a pause because of the end positive experiences with oranges, I was able to
punctuation. In “Oranges” the capitalization, interpret the poem in an optimistic light.
even without the end punctuation, creates the Furthermore, to me, an orange is something
illusion of new sentences; therefore, the reader that is associated with family and love. My
slows down. In doing so, the reader is able to grandmother’s family owned an orange
experience and savor the meaningfulness of orchard when she was growing up, so I would
the work. Furthermore, Gary Soto utilizes always hear stories about her and her siblings’
imagery. For example, Soto writes “A nickel in shenanigans that took place in their orchard.
my pocket, / And when she lifted a chocolate / As oranges have strong ties to family and loved
That cost a dime, I didn’t say anything.” Soto ones in my mind, the fact that the boy gave up
illustrates here what love is without actually his orange for the girl demonstrated to me
using the word, thereby constructing an almost how much he truly did love her.
ethereal atmosphere in which the reader is
IMPORTANT Rabindranath Tagore - The Bard of Bengal
THINGS Amit Kamath
CHLOE ZAJAC Dublin Jerome High School
Dublin Jerome High School
I have lots
Of important things
They fit in slots
In the shelves of my brain
They sit
Where I can always see them
It's a wonder
They all fit
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Moments of Reflection
Maylah Marcus
Dublin Scioto High School
Coming to Life
095 days had passed since Jax Lockcord looked
Maria Zarate
in a mirror. Because of this, her home,
Dublin Coffman High School comfortable yet modest to her, appeared sparse
to the critical eyes of friends. Although how
long had it been since Jax invited a friend into
her home? Her sofa and the plush throw pillows
that adjourned it never required repositioning,
the three other seats at the kitchen table never
growing dusty. If you were to take a deep
breath of the still air of 131 Cordial Place, no
memory would come to mind.
The apartment was a blank slate that never received the gentle, buzzing touch of laughter
and celebration among friends. When Jax was in college, drunk on the freedom and
privilege of being young and beautiful, she would loop herself around the nearest person
to be closer to the camera. She flashed her teeth and smiled wide to prove she was there,
before throwing up in a cramped dorm bathroom while her friends held her hair back. Like
her friends, Jax poked and prodded at her skin with makeup brushes and complained
about getting a pimple right before a date. Despite these habits, all the women knew their
skin was still smooth, hair still shiny, and youth still deliriously apparent by their toned
bikini bodies on spring break. Even on her worst days, when final exams and the flu left
bags resting in deep crescents under her bloodshot eyes, Jax would smile at herself in the
mirror as she walked out the door. Her roommates wrote daily affirmations on sticky notes
and pasted them to the mirror, so the last thing on Jax’s mind before taking her Intro to
Art History final were assertions of her warm smile or pretty eyes. Over 1095 days had
passed since Jax read an affirmation on her mirror reminding her that she was indeed
beautiful and loved. She was so naive, so blissfully ignorant, to believe that her achingly
perfect life could exist forever in the endless time warp of mistake-making and learning
that defined your twenties. After the accident, she tried to go back to college, but her
classmates were still children after all. Instead of playing with toys in the sandbox, they
now played with alcohol and money. Children stare, whisper, look away uncomfortably,
and avoid playing with the child who looks different. They don’t mean to, but no one has
taught them to do otherwise. Children only copy their parents’ behavior, and the parents
of Jax’s world scold their children for staring too long at people like her. Jax’s friends tried
to pretend they weren’t like the others, but they still winced seeing her in shorts again.
They turned away the first time Jax cried deep, hollow sobs because a group of boys
snickered and called her ugly on her way to a party. Her friends still went to the party,
while Jax stayed behind in their dorm sketching self-portraits of her former selfies. Could
they still be labeled self-portraits if the carefree girl in the photos wasn’t the same
anymore? Later that night, she smashed the affirmations mirror with a hairbrush. The
bridge between the past and present, between two lives, split into tiny shards on the floor.
One month after that, she dropped out of college. At her new apartment, Jax meant to put
prints of her favorite pieces on the spare walls, but she never did get around to it. Staring
into Salvador Dali’s surrealist Metamorphosis of Narcissus while she brushed her teeth
spooked her, although she couldn’t put a finger on the reason why. The reminder of her
college studies–her passion–hurt her more than she anticipated. Johannes Vermeer’s Girl
with a Pearl Earring served as a vestige of group discussions and debates, often extended
out of class over cheap beer and greasy entrees. Seeing art–her dreams, her spark–in her
home only emphasized what she should have been learning from a professor alongside
her closest friends.
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So the walls remained empty, and Jax grew restless. Looking away from art was
like losing an eye: you couldn’t appreciate the color and vibrancy of life with just
one lens. Today, Jax decided to change her daily routine by venturing out into
everyday society. She tended to avoid doing this dreaded task as much as
possible, and she never needed to, as she worked from home and ordered her
groceries online. Jax did not attend holiday parties for work, did not know her
coworkers, and could keep friends like she could keep water from falling through
the cracks between her fingers. Her parents visited once a week to check in, but
they were busy adults with their own lives, and she wasn’t a child under their roof
anymore. So naturally, they sometimes forgot to see her. This happened to be
one of those occasions. She had dressed in her “art student” clothes, as her
mother liked to call Jax’s baggy Levis, colorful striped turtlenecks, and sneakers
her father wore in the 90s. Her long, dark hair was parted neatly down the middle,
and she spritzed a new perfume she purchased last week on her neck and wrists.
Heart of Silk. It smelled of cashmere and airy vanilla. Jax quite liked it. So why not
go out if her parents weren’t coming, which Jax suspected they weren’t? She
would make a day of it. When she further mused over this idea in her mind and
solidified her plans, Jax became giddy with excitement. When was the last time
she had inhaled the indistinguishable scent of conversation
in New York City? Months, it must have been. She scrambled to find her wallet
and debit card, still on the sofa from the Great Perfume Expenditure. She tied her
shoes and set her hand on the doorknob to leave. However, the excitement
quickly melted under the fiery burning of anxiety in her stomach. She touched
her hand to her face, tracing the bumps and valleys in the same path she always
did before going out. Wiping her palms on her jeans, she looked up at the ceiling
as if the yellow water stain could advise her on the next steps. “Okay,” she
breathed, finally. “Okay.” And she opened the door.
Jax went nowhere and everywhere. She simply experienced. Now, the city was a
half-hour drive from her apartment, but she previously lived there in college until
she dropped out. She never liked to listen to music like other New Yorkers while
walking. Surprisingly, that was one of the few things about her that hadn’t
changed. Jax preferred to absorb the bits of conversation that wafted into her
nostrils like the scent of a sunny summer day. Today, she overheard a woman
complain to someone on the phone that her suit was supposed to be dry-cleaned
over a week ago for her upcoming interview. Jax hoped the woman got the job.
She also heard a teenage boy gush to his friend about how “cool the new girl is”
while his friend nodded along. Did anyone else see him swipe the tear from his
eye as his friend spoke? Jax felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. It’s okay. I see
your pain. I’m listening. A father carried his daughter on his shoulder as she
squealed over how the world looked from higher up. Jax’s heart squeezed.
How easy it was for children to see the good in anything. She missed that. She
walked to her favorite spot in Central Park, letting the chill of the September air
rustle her silken hair. She would have brought her sketchbook to pass the time,
but for now, she skipped through the grass to the water’s edge. While going
down a hill, she fell over her ankles in a half-run, half-walk stumble the way
humans do. She could’ve laughed because of the joy bubbling in her heart. No
one stared at her like she’d imagined they would. She cowered behind fear
because that was the easier option. How many other experiences like this had she
missed out on because of her unnecessary trepidation for other
people?
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Maybe it was because of how well the weather behaved for mid-autumn, how her
hair blew across her face in a delicious blanket of lemon shampoo, or how her
favorite jeans sat on her hips. Maybe it was for none of these reasons. Maybe she
just made a mistake, and the slip-up would have happened no matter the
circumstances. But Jax leaned over the water to check if her lipstick had
smudged. Her lipstick! The ripples in the water sliced her face into prisms, but
they didn’t conceal the scars– the forgotten memories. She could see each patch
of tender, raised skin, each unnatural fold in her supposedly youthful face, every
mark and prick from surgical instruments that penetrated her in a series of
unerasable tattoos. Immediately, as if she was burned all over again, Jax jumped
back from the water. She waited for the monster in the reflection to jump out,
grab her, and pull her away from this Earth as punishment for attempting a
return to normality. What was she thinking? Ready to leave, she turned around
to the other clusters of people scattered throughout the park, and her face
burned because she realized she would have to walk past them to leave, and
there would be endless amounts of people and endless walks past them, and she
would never, ever, be the same as before. Why had she tricked herself into
believing she could be? It had been zero days since Jax Lockcord looked in a
mirror. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, tripping over roots and mounds
of dirt as she went. Her breathing increased to the point where she was gasping
for breath with both hands on her knees, bent over at an obscure angle. She was
crying and wheezing so hard she forgot where she was.
A panic attack.
Jax hadn’t had one since she last tried to leave home months ago. Looking for
things she could see, hear, touch, smell, and taste wasn’t working. She could only
feel the ripped skin and sweat seeping into the scrapes on her palms and strange
looks from tourists as they passed her. Only one thing had ever been able to
subdue her panic attacks. With a shaky breath, Jax wiped the dirt off her hands
and set off toward her second home in college: the MET, also known as the
Metropolitan Museum of Art. She cried the whole way there, partially because of
the slip-up and the stinging sensation from her cuts. When she got there, she
practically fell against the cool glass, welcoming the numbing sensation it
provided to her hands. Jax stepped backward, as she always did, through the door
and into the museum. Her feet followed the steps her 18-year-old self had taken
when she first entered the magical world of the MET and decided instantly upon
her college major. She could feel the shadow of her past self grab her wrist and
tug her to the artist that sparked her love of art history all those years ago. Gallery
825: A Sunday on La Grande Jatte by Georges Seurat. When she was 18, Jax could
envision herself relaxing by the water alongside the people in Seurat’s painting.
She pictured her new college friends around her and saw her face morph with
the paint on the canvas until she, too, was ingrained in the idyllic Sunday
afternoon. Jax could still imagine the same. Seurat utilized the style of Pointillism
by painting tiny dots that, from further back, coalesced into people and
landscapes. He painted all the people in the landscape using the same method
despite their varying social classes. No matter what background the people came
from, no matter who they were, they were all there. Jax felt the breeze within the
painting surface from the buckles of time and stroke her damp cheek, and then
she was back in Central Park, enjoying a relaxing Sunday afternoon like everyone
else. She touched her scars and continued to read the painting until a voice
interrupted her.
“Excuse me, ma’am, are those scars real?” the voice asked.
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Jax winced. She could recognize a nosy child anywhere after repeated incidents
involving one-too-many grabby hands. She was in no mood now for some brat
whose parents hadn’t taught them proper manners. She turned to face the child
in question, a girl of about five or six, and she felt her heart jump wildly in her
chest. It couldn’t be. “I–Yes, yes, they’re real,” she replied cautiously. The girl
nodded and shuffled her feet, inching closer to Jax while simultaneously admiring
the painting. Jax gulped, searching for the appropriate response. The two of them
stood in silence, now barely a foot apart. “What about yours?” Jax hesitated.
“Your scars. Are they real?”
“Yes,” the girl answered quietly.
She turned to face Jax, and they locked eyes. Jax scanned the girl’s face, the lines
that crossed her skin like pillowy strings of ribbon. Puffy, raised skin like on Jax’s
face. Eyes, timid and fearful of rejection, reflected the same shock.
“I’ve never met someone else that looked like me before,” the girl whispered.
Jax smiled, feeling her vision cloud for the second time that day. Though this time,
for a different reason. “Me neither.” “What’s your name?” the girl asked.
“Jax. What’s yours?” “Dahlia.” After a pause, “Do you like art?” “I love art. It’s my
passion,” Jax admitted sheepishly. Strangely, she could stand a little straighter
now. “I love art, too. I always think of myself as a living art exhibit. People think I’m
cool to look at, but sometimes I wish I wasn’t cool to look at. Sometimes I just wish
I was normal.” At this confession, Dahlia broke eye contact with Jax and looked
away. Silence. Jax chewed on her cheek until she said, “Everyone is their own art
exhibit, in a way. We all have meaning and personality behind our initial
appearance.” Jax didn’t entirely agree with what she was saying, but for some
reason, she needed this girl to believe her. She just did. “Do you ever feel ugly,
Jax?” Dahlia asked. Her eyes were shining. Again, Jax looked for answers floating
above her head. How was she supposed to reply to that? “Honestly? Yeah. All the
time. But I think all humans feel that way. We don’t see our individual beauty, you
know?” Dahlia nodded. “Sometimes I feel ugly, too, but my mom always cries
when I say that, so now I keep those thoughts to myself. But I think you’re really
pretty if that makes you feel better. You have nice hair, and I like your shirt.”
“Thank you,” Jax replied, choking on a laugh. She crouched down to eye level with
Dahlia. “Listen to me, Dahlia. You have a beautiful heart, and you are more than
your appearance. I’ve wasted so much time looking for beauty in myself instead of
appreciating the beauty of seeing the sun rising each
morning. It’s a gift to survive each day and experience the art we can.” She lightly
grabbed Dahlia’s wrist and looked into her honey-brown eyes. “Promise me you
won’t forget that?” “I promise.”
“Okay, good.” “Can I take a picture with you?” Dahlia asked, pulling out a phone.
“It’s my mom’s. She’s over there.” She pointed to an older yet nearly identical
version of herself standing on the opposite side of the room. “Sure,” Jax said,
unable to hide her smile. She watched Dahlia’s little finger hit the camera button,
and for the first time, she didn’t look away or grimace at the reflection. She took a
deep breath and smiled– a genuine smile for all the Dahlias of the world.
Zero days had passed since Jax Lockcord looked
in a mirror, and for the first time in years, that
was okay.
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Ella Goodwin
Dublin Scioto High School
Bright blue sky, white fluffy clouds.
The city scape is even better from the 104th floor.
On the ground people enjoy the summer breeze and warm air.
Woosh.
The sound of airplanes taking off.
Places to be and people to meet.
On the street people wave, wishing them safe travel.
Wondering where their adventure takes them next.
Then, one plane turns around.
8:46 it hits the North tower.
People rush to get out.
The South tower is told to remain calm.
It was an accident, right?
20 minutes later we think we’re safe,
9:03 the South tower is hit.
People are fleeing, running, rushing.
Confused as to why this is happening.
9:37 in Washington D.C, the Pentagon is hit. America is horrified.
Where is the army?
Why is this happening?
No more accidents, we are being attacked.
10:03, hero’s are made.
They take down the fourth plane.
Pennsylvania, the plane is crashed.
Ha rah to the people who saved the capital.
People in D.C. left their shoes, running away from the Capital.
The guards at the building stayed where they were.
They swore to protect the Capital with their lives and that is what they intended to
do.
Today we remember the bravery, not just of those who stood and protected
And took back the plane.
But, the men and women who searched for bodies and lives.
They are also heroes.
And let’s not forget man's best friend.
Who turned out to be man’s best helper.
The 18th anniversary of 9/11, when heroes were born, created, and found.
But all to protect America the Brave.
Which from that day, has a brand new meaning.
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Fantasy Football Manifesto
Veer Shah
Defense and kicker Dublin Jerome High School
For defense it's simple choose the best defense available and has a good defensive
coordinator
Draft a kicker who is consistent
And the major key is to draft a kicker whose offense is not good in the red zone so
the kicker will come in and get the team 3 points.
What do if you want an average tight end
This is not the worst option because many league winners use this option
Make sure that the tight end is in for most red zone plays
Make sure the QB is decent
Make sure the team has a history of using tight ends
Try to get a veteran player rather than a rookie
What to do if you want a great tight end
Especially for this you have to make sure that the Qb is good.
Make sure the tight end is mostly is used for passed catching and not blocking
Make sure that the tight ends doesn't already have 3 above average wide outs on
his team
Drafting good Wide receivers
If a Wr1 is on the board then just get him no matter what team he is on
Get the receivers that have a pass heavy offense
Target great receivers who are on a bad team, because then they will have to
throw the ball a lot.
Draft a QB in one of the higher rounds
Mahomes, Allen, Lamar, Hurts and Herbert, are all good choices to draft high
This is because these players are the most consistent, and it's better option than
drafting a player who is boom or bust
Make sure these Qbs have a good offensive line
Make sure they have 2 above average receivers
Make sure they are capable of getting rushing yards and rushing touchdowns
Pick a few wide outs from bad teams
This is because if they are bad they will always be trying to throw the ball a lot so
you can easily pick up some garbage players
Make sure that the qb is somewhat decent
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A Commentary on Gary Soto's "Oranges"
Divija Kandru
Dublin Jerome High School
Gary Soto uses various techniques in his poem, “Oranges” that aid the development
of themes of love. Firstly, each of the lines start with a capital letter, regardless of
grammatical rules. Generally, before the beginning of a sentence, the reader takes a
pause because of the end punctuation. In “Oranges” the capitalization, even without
the end punctuation, creates the illusion of new sentences; therefore, the reader
slows down. In doing so, the reader is able to experience and savor the
meaningfulness of the work. Furthermore, Gary Soto utilizes imagery. For example,
Soto writes “A nickel in my pocket, / And when she lifted a chocolate / That cost a
dime, / I didn’t say anything.” Soto illustrates here what love is without actually using
the word, thereby constructing an almost ethereal atmosphere in which the reader is
guided down a memory filled with emotions of endearment.
In my experience, oranges are seen as objects that can bring about small, yet
meaningful, joys. Because I went into the poem having positive experiences with
oranges, I was able to interpret the poem in an optimistic light. Furthermore, to me,
an orange is something that is associated with family and love. My grandmother’s
family owned an orange orchard when she was growing up, so I would always hear
stories about her and her siblings’ shenanigans that took place in their orchard. As
oranges have strong ties to family and loved ones in my mind, the fact that the boy
gave up his orange for the girl demonstrated to me how much he truly did love her.
The Wait
Hope Ford
Dublin Scioto High School
I know that look. I saw myself through the man
approaching the last empty seat beside me. He, brown
hair, tired eyes. The sparkle from his eyes faded as his
shoulders slumped in the chair letting his neatly pressed
blue dress shirt fold at his torso. That sparkle. In that dimly
lit light, I saw a decade of love that he felt was dying. It held
the memories of pain and joy and beginnings and ends he
feared he would lose in a few hours. And as terrible as the
miscarriage and her parent’s divorce and the death of her
best friend had been on her as well as himself, he held on
to those moments at this time. He loved her too much to
only be able to remember the fond memories if she
slipped from his grasp in those next few hours.
I didn’t need the next four hours and 16 minutes to figure out those facts, however. I knew
that look. It was similar: I, brown hair, exhausted eyes. The sparkle in my eyes, is gone. All
that remained was the pit where 56 beautiful years' worth of love once lived. “It’s terrifying.”
He removed his hands from his face, straightening his back. He revealed a look of
confusion--not the annoyed kind, but rather a genuinely confused and surprised kind.” I
added, “How much someone can love another,” and I nodded to his lightly worn band. He
twisted his ring and let out a light sigh. He began his story.
He left for work. She left for work. He arrived at work. She arrived at work. He attended a
meeting. She went out for lunch with coworkers. He got a call during his meeting. She was
found unconscious in the passenger seat. She arrived at the hospital. He arrived at the
hospital. Now she lies on an operating table surrounded by doctors. Now he sits in a cold,
sterile waiting room clutching his knees.
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Of course, there’s only so much of a story one can tell. Many of us leave out
the strong feelings that make those stories worth sharing in the first place.
Either, it makes the action of telling and describing harder, as these potent
feelings can be distracting to the story; or; the storyteller cannot think of
words descriptive or powerful enough to fully encapsulate the rawness of
those emotions. He shares the general outline of the miscarriage and her
parent’s divorce and the death of her best friend. But, I already knew that. I
knew it before he even sat on the tear-stained armchair next to me. I saw it
in the waning sparkle in his eye. So, naturally, I say what I’m thinking, “Yes,
of course. I know this.” Yet again, that surprised and confused--but not
annoyed--look crossed his face. I explain the considerable differences
between a story and a retelling of a memory. Anyone could tell the story of
he and she if they knew the gist of it. But it takes a certain soul to retell a
memory. “Tell me everything you can.” I nodded once again to the ring.
He began, and he ended. That is a story. The first of two stories I could possibly
share related to the three hours and 52 minutes he spent pouring over every
last grief0stricken, sorrowful, heart-pounding, [passion-socaked sentence that
spilled frok his soul. There is no universe or reality where I or anyone other than
the man sitting directly to the right of me could retell the depth of that
collection of memories.
The second story is what I saw during those three hours and 52 minutes. The
sparkle in his eyes gradually growing, like approaching a light at the end of a
tunnel. The slow release of his hands from his knees, and the consequent
relocation of his palms to his shoulders with his arms crossed against his chest.
His eyebrows changing with each emotion. Streams of the rawest and most
unfiltered emotion rushing from his lips.
That was love in its truest form.
It doesn’t need an interesting story to be told as an origin for it. It is seen, it
is felt, and can barely be told--only by the few that have it. It is the purest, yet
most powerful aspect of human life. Love is what kept me sitting in this cold,
sterile waiting room for far longer than needed. Love is what jept me
tethered to the spot where my collection of memories with her stopped
expanding. Love is what will cause me to leave.
For the last six hours and 31 minutes, I received long, sympathetic glances
from the receptionists and passing nurses. Their eyes staring into mine--
recognizing that familiar lackluster gaze, one they’d seen many times
before. For the last six hours and 31 minutes, I sat in this chair. I stared at the
floor for two hours and 15 minutes of them. I sat with my collection of 56
years worth of memories. I looked up to see a man approaching the seat
next to me. He told me his story. He shared his memories. He regained his
sparkle. His name was called. He said goodbye to me. He walked away. That
is a story.
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I did not share my memories of her and me. He does not know what happened
six hours and 31 minutes ago. He will never know. What he does know is that he
brought the sparkle back to my eyes. I saw the look of recognition in his smile
as he said goodbye. The memories of pure love he shared forced their way back
into my heart. My own memories of her and I lit up once again. My recollection
of our pains and joys and beginnings and ends made their way from my soul
back to where they once resided and filled the pit in my eyes.
Here’s a story: I walked out of the cold, sterile waiting room six hours and 31
minutes after she died. That is the end of that story.
What was not added was 56 years' worth of memories. Memories that I will
hold on to for as long as I can.
These memories and the rawness and pureness of love behind
them are what will keep the sparkle in my eyes for a lifetime.
STEPS TO USE A SECOND HAND STORE
JACOB BRYAN
DUBLIN JEROME HIGH SCHOOL
Purpose: The overconsumption so prevalent in our society is more
prominent than ever; The things that we buy control us, anything can
become an addiction. The idea that you cannot rewear an outfit so you have
to buy more has been perpetuated by fast fashion stores like Shein, H&M,
GAP, and so many more. Shein has been one of the most unethical and
destructive companies in the last few years, and it has only grown more and
more destructive, and more popular. There are hauls where people buy
hundreds of items, furthering the demand for more. We need a solution to
these problems and second hand stores are a vital part of the answer. If we
forget the trends created by the companies. If we forget the desire for more.
If we can simplify our life to what truly makes us happy. If we look past what
these companies have been advertising to us in order to make a profit, we
can move on to a better and more fulfilling future. The massive hauls should
be looked down upon, this is not a normal or healthy way to live. The world
is crumbling and we are the problem. Now this being said I am not
condemning anyone who has participated in the idea as I have as well and I
still do, I am not perfect and no one expects you to be either. And this is by
no means telling you to stop buying new stuff, it is just another option that
exists. The idea to consume and to always need more was created by
companies using very good methods to trick us since birth to believe we
need to consume. Media promotion and advertisements are more prevalent
than ever and the trap of consumerism is easier to fall into than ever before.
Two tips to not fall into overconsumption is 1. Only buy things that make you
truly happy or will make others truly happy, if having hundreds of things
makes you truly happy, have the stuff and use it, 2. Get rid of stuff, seriously
ever so often just start getting rid of stuff and cleaning out stuff you haven’t
used in forever stuff that has no meaning. I am merely suggesting a way to
become a little more ethical and I am not telling you that this is the only
way to be ethical. This idea is not my own nor do I claim it to be and it will
not solve the problem. This idea is only to become more ethical in your own
life, no one else's.
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1.Where to find one: Second hand stores may be one of the easiest places to find,
especially since the internet. And remember that second hand stuff is not
restricted to only clothes, it can be anything: books, electronics, furniture, and so
much more. Many online stores exist with hundreds of thousands of pieces of
clothes on them. A few examples could be GRAILED, DEPOP, EBAY, and virtually
any online website that sells used equipment. There are local stores as well if
you prefer in person shopping. Goodwill, Ohio thrift, Volunteers of america,
these stores sell almost anything secondhand, clothes, electronics, books, cds,
movies, furniture, toys, jewelry, pots, pictures, and so much more. While there
are these huge stores many local communities have a local thrift store or a
church thrift store. Literally just putting “Thrift stores near me” into any web
browser to find these. While there are these stores that have a very broad focus
there are many with a more specific niche. Half Priced Books for used books,
movies, cds and video games. ReStore for used furniture and appliances. Once
upon a child for used children's clothes and toys. While there are stores there
are also garage sales, estate sales and many more. There are so many second
hand stores everywhere and for everyone.
2.Consistency: Once you find the stores you like just keep going, it's as simple as
that. Go once a week or twice a week or once a month, just keep going. Go
when you need a coat, go when you need a new pair of pants. Just keep going.
Go when you have some free time. Go with friends, or go alone. Just keep going.
Honestly if you gain anything from this guide it should be this step. Consistency
is the most important thing just being able to go every so often you’ll find a new
item and things that you’d never find anywhere else.
3.What to do when in one: This might be the easiest step, but just start looking
around. Many stores are labeled where things are. A good thing to remember is
to forget genderization. Many stores label their clothes by gender which is silly
as clothes cannot have a gender. If you are stuck in only looking through the
clothes that are labeled for your gender you miss out on many options that may
be more interesting to you. The problem that most people have when they get
to this step is not finding anything. While this is a real issue that many people
have, I think that there is a very easy solution: stop thinking you’ll find
something. Seriously if you go into one thinking you’ll find the perfect shirt or
pair of pants or anything then you’re going to leave disappointed. As the saying
goes ‘The fun is in the hunt’, would you rather be excited to find something
amazing randomly than expecting to find something amazing and be
disappointed every time? Also remember that online second hand stores exist
and many let you save searches and products, if you ever absolutely need
something.
4.Donate: The only reason second hand stores exist is through donations, and
now that you are participating in the second hand store you should donate.
Donations can be freeing and a huge way to save on waste while giving
something that no longer has meaning to you to someone who either needs it
or has new meaning to them. This will forever create a cycle of gaining and
donating which will help the community and the thrift store. Many also provide
money for your donations, which is a nice bonus.
pg 27
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