38 Golden Eagle Michael Ubarri You dive head-first into danger for your prey, no matter how large they may be. On the end of thorns, you wrestle with the fearsome snake. With valor, you face even the mighty kingsnake. Talons interlocked firm, even as you plummet towards the ground. Symbol of loyalty, you vow to stick around. Ary by Gabriella Maldonado ('26)
THE WHALE IN ME Round, long, and spotted. Like a constellation in the sea, A whale roams around the ocean. A gentle giant with secrets to keep. Beneath their intimidating facade, A warm heart awaits your embrace. Eager to greet those who come near, In the wide domain of the ocean clear. Serioused-faced, yet with a gentle grace, The whale wanders in ocean space. Seeking comfort, forming bonds once more, A friend to all, from tail to shore. The whale, in waters deep and blue much like you, much like Me, in all they do. 39 Anonymous
You occupy electricity lines Concrete floors Ugly buildings Unwelcoming hard surfaces and walls that were not made for you. You don't have clearance and we didn’t save you a seat. I wonder how you feel I wonder if you find solace in all your blue brethren if they save you a spot on the power lines The silhouette of your quiet solidarity a comb of sweet ovals But I know that's not true I’ve seen you fight over crumbs. Your so-called brethren shoving and cooing stealing the miniscule scraps not even worthy of being considered leftovers. PIGEONS SOFIA ABREU 40
But you must have a family? Maybe you’re too primitive for siblings But your reliable mother Your quirky, hardline father You have them don't you? But they don’t pick you up from school anymore, do they? You probably don’t remember, but a long time ago humanity domesticated you You were coddled and pet and loved And yet Your place is the spaces in between The quiet spaces between crowds, Strangers even when they know you Sometimes I wonder if you die knocking into windows because you do remember and you think that food bowl is for you 41
THE WATER RODENT The sociable rodent The master of the grasses The furry turtle Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris Let me speak my mind I have no clue why my dad is so affectionate with you No clue why you became an internet sensation No idea of why people crack When I call your native name Personally, I think you’re ugly You’re fat You’re sweaty and dirty And your buck teeth disturb me With all that, I had to come visit you on my vacation My family desperate to visit you In your forever resort (Aren’t you a wild animal?) Either way, we walked and walked And crawled and crawled And dragged and dragged To you (lazy ass) And when I finally got to see you In your Malibu like Residency I ran straight towards the roaming monkeys After your paparazzi crowd went down I actually went to say hi to you And then I got it After your paparazzi crowd went down I actually went to say hi to you And then I got it You didn’t care that I was there The same way I didn’t care to be there You strolled away, more as in confusion, the moment you heard the hyenas The same way I didn’t get why people laughed at your name You bathed yourself every chance you got to dive into the muddy puddle The same way I will walk and splash by my nearest beach, just ‘cause I can My dad loves not only because you’re all of these things But because you’re delicious But it’s ok, I still don’t care much about you, Hope you feel the same way towards me, Chigüiro 42 by Hannah Mebarak
Aguada The fresh air of Aguada, Swish Swish suena el arbol de guayaba Filling me with sweetness and memories of hot summer days. ¡Ay Bendito! Abuela exclaims. as she mops away the memory-encrusted dirt from the marquesina, left from los juegos de simon dice, simon says y desgranar gandules ¡A COMER! Abuela says, The scent of Asopao de pollo stuffing my nose. I inhale the broth and rice, letting it sink warmly onto my stomach, an unseen curve graces my lips. And has me thinking, ¿Abuela, qué vas a cocinarme mañana? 43 Anonymous
44 public class Java Laleigh Piñeiro public class Java // instantiate motivation, intelligence, { private int motivation = 0; private int intelligence = -2; { Error { private String plea = “help me”; System.out.print plea; { return help me; } } // to no avail { private int desperation; desperation = 1010; } { get.motivation; } Error { Get.intelligence; } Error { remove.desperation; } Error { get.motivation; get.intelligence; remove.desperation; } Error
GRACIAS A DIOS SOFIA ABREU 45 “¿Qué es el SAT?” Standardized algo Test. Gracias a Dios que no sabías que era, or else my score would have disappointed you. “¿Para qué es el Early Decision? Que si me cogen, estoy obligada a ir a esa escuela. Gracias a Dios que me preguntaste ahora, porque ya I applied. Gracias a Dios que ustedes no saben Gracias a Dios que ya no los culpo Porque yo no les cuento, y ustedes preguntan cuando ya es too late.
I never knew life outside, Taking my steps stride by stride. No saben lo que se han perdido, En un mundo de un solo sonido. I thought everyone changed at the “pero”, Pero cuando usan “but” it feels like I’ve hit a roadblock. In English, Spanish, caught in between, Una barrera silenciosa, sin concluir. Does everyone question si son puertorriqueños? Soy blanca y latina but when put under the pressure to talk… I feel as though I never fit under one block. Somos orgullosos de nuestra cultura y lenguaje, Pero cuando I say something in English. Veo las miradas y me duelen los chistes, That she is básicamente GRINGA. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA OR / O JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA But when the switch is normalized, I finally realized. Que sí soy de Puerto Rico, Y mis palabras tienen un matiz único. LA CONFUSIÓN BETWEEN LANGUAGES VIVIANA RAMOS MYATT 46 Photo by Alexandria Lugo-Negrón (‘25)
47 I’m convinced my ability to multitask was maxed out when I became fluent in English and Spanish. I understand why though. My brain thinks at a las millas all the time, and it’s exacerbated by having two streams of consciousness instead of one. I walk around the school saying, “Buenas!” “Good morning!” “Gracias mucho!” Oops. I meant “thanks a lot”. A relatively common occurrence for me is failing to remember that “thanks” is a noun in Spanish and not a verb. Yet, two languages in conflict after time become to languages in confluence. Arguably another language within itself, a product of an overstimulated brain storing double the spelling and grammar rules. Why can’t I multitask? Because I constantly am already. Why I Can't Multitask Lorenzo Núñez Nazario
“Bless me.” A battle cry for many. “Bless me.” A sign of hopeful resignation. For some, a symbol of faith. For others, simply a common phrase. Some in dire situations, others in the face of procrastination. “Bless me.” Phrase for the risk-takers. Bless Me 48
When life gives you lemons You should make lemonade So when life gives you shit, Should you make a sandwhich? Struggle and Strife Disgust and Disdain Chop it all up and you get the worst sandwich you’ve ever had So when life gives you shit don’t make a sandwich Don’t dwell, don’t cry Don’t whine, and definitely don’t dine You’ll figure it out and it’ll all be ok. A SHITWICH “IF YOU ARE EATING A SHIT SANDWICH, CHANCES ARE YOU ORDERED IT” WATER BY THE SPOONFUL 49 by Laleigh Piñeiro
LORENZO NÚÑEZ NAZARIO “Where ever you go, there you are” -Confucius Wherever you go there you are. It seems so simple, kind of stupid even. Yes of course if I’m somewhere, that’s where I am. Yet, I think deeper, and I realize that I never think about whether I am where I am or not. Should I? What does that mean? Wherever you go there you are. Yes, that’s true, but is it really? Can I say I’m in class when I’m thinking of being at home playing guitar? Can I say I’m eating dinner when I can’t help but replay the day in my head? Am I really anywhere? Yes. And no… Wherever you go, there you are. An exercise in mindfulness that makes the difference between sitting somewhere and BEING somewhere. The difference between, “huh? sorry.” and “Tell me more!” The difference between “bye” and “I love you, goodnight.” So from now on, wherever I go, there I am. Here I Am 50
if you get restless buy a hydrangea or rose water it, wait, bloom -water by the spoonful I’ve never not been restless I’ve never learned the meaning of patience, of comfortable silence or peaceful doubt Yet still my life is filled to the brim with silence, quiet moments that only seem to worsen a familiar itch that I shouldn’t be able to scratch I’ll never know when to plant the nameless flower how to how much time I have left to if it’s too late or if I’ve already planted it. In the seemingly never ending abysmal quiet, it feels like the former In my mother’s smile, It seems like the latter GINYARD MAGAZINE VICES SOFIA ABREU 51
HARPER RUSSO “PACHUCO: Off to fight for your country. HENRY: Why not? PACHUCO: Because this ain’t your country. Look what’s happening all around you. The Japs have sewed up the Pacific. Rommel is kicking ass in Egypt but the Mayor of L.A. has declared all-out war on Chicanos. On you!” Act 1, Scene 3 A lit candle in a dark room, A presence that evidently stands out. But, they don’t like that. The wind blows, Its howls convey that this room is not fit for a candle. Return to your box, The fire wavers but the candle remains standing. But, when the conditions of the room cause the wick to weaken, And the wax to soften, It too murmurs that this room is not fit for a candle. So what is a place fit for a candle? This place is. Each darkroom needs a source of light, And these are the quarters being illuminated by this candle’s light. Something no blowing of the wind or weakening of the wick can change. So accept it, Only then will the wax reharden, And the wind softens, Because this candle belongs in this room too. EMBERS OF BELONGING BY ZARA AKRAM PAINTING BY ZARA AKRAM 52
Being reborn is a scary, scary thing. As if being birthed wasn't painful enough, And life wasn't hard enough. Being reborn is the icing on top. Being reborn is a scary, scary thing. No one is the same before the time of quarantine, People have changed, friend groups are different. Although everyone had their individual struggles, No one ever stopped and asked how I was doing. Being reborn is a scary, scary thing. Was everything this hard before? “Deprived of my shackles, I was unable to find my balance and I tottered like a woman drunk on cheap liquor. I had to learn how to speak again, how to communicate with my fellow creatures, and no longer be content with a word here and there. I had to learn how to look them in the eyes again. I had to learn how to do my hair again now that it had become a tangle of untidy snakes hissing around my head. I had to rub ointments on my dry, cracked, skin, which had become like a badly tanned hide. Few people have the misfortune to be born twice.” ― Maryse Condé, I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem Being reborn is a scary, scary thing. School is different, I have no one. Ointments aren’t enough to cover up, The scars that appeared through this year. So even though being reborn is a scary, scary thing. That time has passed, I am reborn. I have new friends, This me is different but twice as better. How did I speak again? How did I make friends again? Why can't I make eye contact? Why can’t I breathe? Do I look presentable? Is my hair alright? Can they see my pimples? WHY AM I SO ANXIOUS??? Being Reborn By: Viviana Ramos-Myatt 53
THE QUOTE From a book filled with witches and priest A quote from a vaquero dad is what stuck with me Why, idk. “Every generation a man is a part of his past” Like my mom, with her witch-like habits “He cannot escape it” Like how people call me bruja From songs From books From poems From what I know is a witch but not the witch that people know “But he may reform the old materials, make something new” How for almost a full semester In a Latino literature class I read, and experienced what truly a witch is And wrote about what truly a witch is For almost a full semester "Ay, every generation, every man is a part of his past. He cannot escape it, but he may reform the old materials, make something new --" BASED ON BLESS ME, ULTIMA ANONYMOUS 54
EL HOMBRE CAIMAN a rewritten FOLKSONG by Hannah Mebarak On Plato de Magdalena Land of Spiritual Flora Madremonte takes care of parentela From the land of the river mar The people live off the river Full of the Holy and Sacred Girls shower in the lower bank While Madremonte keeps them safe Praise to Earth Fauna hermitage Floor of the Beautiful Goddess Madremonte But in a pure land A muse will always tower A muse full of sin and vice To see how the ladies shower A handsome boy rises early Every beautiful morning To Indulge in his worst crime Seeing girls wash that's his earning Praise to Earth Fauna hermitage Floor of the Beautiful Goddess Madremonte One day the boy said That it's not enough just seeing them He needed to find a spell To get closer to the women He went to see his friend formulate a filthy approach His friend tells the boy He knows who to look for Praise to Earth Fauna hermitage Floor of the Beautiful Goddess Madremonte They arrive at the sorcerer's hut And to him the boy tells "I want to be an alligator To enter the sea river" The sorcerer hands him two Glass-filled bottles One to become a man Another one to be an alligator Praise to Earth Fauna hermitage Floor of the Beautiful Goddess Madremonte Madremonte finds out That a pervert is coming near She Decides to keep her guard up On the waters of the Magdalena River That's when the boys come in One pours the bottle into the other The boy changes completely Into a big green monster Planted is on the shore With lust in his sight His Dirty Desires Fulfilled It's what excites him right When Madremonte notices Those cursed actions She’s filled with fury and rage And causes a ravaging tide The tide disturbs the boys Trying to turn back into men Half the potion is lost The one that turned him into man The last drops that were left It was only half the bottle He pours it into his friend But it doesn’t return his legs He was fully a man From the waist up Caiman will be the rest For his perverse santeria Praise to Earth Fauna hermitage Floor of the Beautiful Goddess Madremonte 55
ODE TO MY CURANDERA She wakes early, lights candles before her sacred statue, brews tea of yerbabuena Approaching her safe place, the bushes and herbs that have given her so much affection. That place needed in her moments of pain. A husband ignorant to her beliefs. Since she is now free, healthy in spirit, and calm, she does not see the pain that caused her. Now when she looks at her life she sees the reflection of her prayer bearing fruit. Ella ahora endulza sus mañanas con aroma de lavanda, romero, eucalipto y que venga la calma. 56 by Hannah Mebarak
The breakfast on the dining table was already cold as the weight of silence filled the room. I awoke one morning and you were gone. My friend, I have been running around headless trying to find you. Would you recognize me if we lay in the pitch dark of night? It is as though we are lost, nauseated by the spins of the clock. There is an empty bedroom in my ribcage. But you and I, we’d know each other in our bones. My friend, when do I know when I have gone too far? I seem to be getting quite close to the sun. All of our secrets lay bare on the sheets of my childhood. Please call me one last time to say goodnight before the wind blows the ashes away. My clothes are tattered and worn and you are in all the yesterdays. We are eternally doomed to sit with our backs turned away from each other. My friend, it is time to let go. Where do I leave these hands that have been full of your hands? I have decided to hold you in my mouth a little longer. UNTITLED ISAAC CARRIÓN ORTIZ no.1 57
Colonialism. The ever gnawing, ever corroding force. It subjugates and undermines. It destroys and creates. In the context of natural disasters, colonialism has deeply impacted the resilience of former colonies. Haiti, for example, faced much trauma historically (Rahill et al., 2016). After independence from the French, the new country was ravaged (McKey, 2016,). Much of Haiti’s plantation infrastructure was destroyed, creating a dire need for investment to rebuild the economy (McKey, 2016). Unfortunately, there was no capital for domestic investment (McKey, 2016). To make matters worse, foreign investment and foreign property ownership were prohibited. Western nations boycotted Haiti and did not recognize it as a country (McKey, 2016). Haiti had to pay reparations to France, which were demanded by the French in 1825 and took decades to pay (Oosterlinck et al., 2022). This shows how colonial legacy had an impact well beyond its independence and contributed to how the povertystricken country faced massive casualties in the 2010 earthquakes. Despite all their hardships, Haitians remained resilient. According to the Journal of healthcare for the poor and underserved, in the article In their Own Words: Resilience among Haitian Survivors of the 2010 Earthquake, “Haitian resilience accords with some definitions from the literature. It also comprises independent, discrete, and isolated contextual resignation and intentional choice to survive and function- when there is no alternative course of action”(Rahill et al., 2016). In other words, Haitian resilience is unique and is aligned with some of the resilience literature. The same case can be observed in Puerto Rico, which was devastated by Hurricane María. PUERTO RICAN RESILIENCE: LEGACY OF COLONIALISM BY ADELAIDA SIACA ORTIZ 58
In a similar manner to Haiti, Puerto Rico has endured hundreds of years of colonial influence, both Spanish and American. Though Puerto Rico is not independent, like Haiti, it has acquired some sovereignty in the last two centuries, an unincorporated territory (Cheatham & Roy, 2022). On September 20, 2017, the island was hit by Hurricane María. The hurricane was a Category 4 hurricane, with 155mph winds (Martynuska, 2019). Despite this, upon landfall, Hurricane Maria was stronger than Harvey and Irma (Martynuska, 2019). Research from the Climate Impact Lab, a partnership of more than 30 climate scientists, economists, computational experts, researchers, analysts, and students from top research institutions, suggests that “In more than sixty years of data, there has never been an Atlantic hurricane event as intense as Maria’s strike on Puerto Rico”(The Mind-bending, 2020). The effects of the hurricane were devastating, with damages ranging from $20,000,000 to $94,000,000 (García López, 2018). 80 % of Puerto Rico’s generators and power lines were destroyed and many towns had to rely on federal aid for water and food (Martynuska, 2019). In this setting of devastation and recovery, a term gained ubiquitous use: resilience. Resilience was used in the news. Politicians from the island and the US used it (Serrano‐García, 2020). A unique resilience, like that of Haiti. A resilience surely transformed by the colonial legacy Puerto Rico has had to deal with for the last hundreds of years. Thus the question is posed: To what extent did the US’ colonial mindset affect Puerto Rican resilience in Hurricane María? To a great extent, the colonial mindset has affected Puerto Rican resilience, from resilience literature to society’s perception of said resilience. photo by Carlos Levis (‘24) 59
One way colonialism can be observed in the development of Puerto Rican resilience is in President Trump’s response to Hurricane Maria, which undermined Puerto Rican resilience by indirectly emphasizing Puerto Rican colonial inferiority and disposability. One of the things Donald Trump commented when he arrived in Puerto Rico, 14 days after Hurricane Maria, was that “Every death is a horror, but if you look at a real catastrophe like Katrina, and you look at the tremendous- hundreds and hundreds of people that died- and you look at what happened here with really a storm that was just totally overpowering, nobody’s ever seen anything like this” (Martynuska, 2019). A tweet published by Trump on September 13, 2018, supported this same point, stating that “3000 people did not die in the two hurricanes that hit Puerto [Hurricanes Irma and Maria]. When I left the Island, after the storm had hit, they had anywhere from 6 to 18 deaths” (Trump, 2018). He even stated that the death count “was done by the Democrats in order to make [him] look as bad as possible when [he] was successfully raising Billions of Dollars to help rebuild Puerto Rico” (Trump, 2018). A study by Harvard University found the death toll of María to be much higher than the numbers previously reported by the government. The study estimated that there were 4,645 deaths caused by Maria and its aftermath (Kishore et al., 2018) a death toll 70 times higher than the official one (Martynuska, 2019). These statistics show another story. They show innumerable suffering. Suffering as delegitimized by Trump’s inferior view and treatment of Puerto Rican people. A view that Trump carried on when criticizing Puerto Rican resilience, especially that of the government. Another one of Trump’s critiques was directed toward Puerto Rican leadership; “such poor leadership…they want everything to be done for them” (Martynuska, 2019). At one point “he threatened to withdraw FEMA workers and repeated his earlier criticisms that some Puerto Ricans were not doing enough to help themselves” (Martynuska, 2019). To Trump, “Puerto Rico is one of the most corrupt places on earth. Their political system is broken and their politicians are either incompetent or Corrupt…” (Trump, 2018). It is true that Puerto Rico has had a history of past corruption in the government. There is also the fact that poor management of funds has contributed to the $74 billion debt Puerto Rico finds itself in (Martynuska, 2019). However, this does not mean that Puerto Ricans are lazy people who have no resilience and that it is the government’s fault that Puerto Rico did not recover well. 60
Furthermore, Trump’s argument fails to acknowledge that corruption is found everywhere, even in the United States. Data compiled by the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse, a nonprofit organization focused on nonpartisan data gathering, data research, and data distribution shows that in FY 2018, there were 340 new official corruption prosecutions by the government (Official Corruption, 2018). One of the top charges filed, as stated by Title 18 U.S.C. Section 666 was “Theft or bribery in programs receiving Fed funds”(Official Corruption, 2018). All of this demonstrates the double standards Trump has for Puerto Ricans and that his mindset is a colonial one. In an arrogant tone, Trump describes Puerto Ricans as inferior beings who take no action. As if the only reason Puerto Rico recovered was due to the ‘saving grace’ of the United States. According to the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, a component of the colonial mindset was the ‘civilizing’ mission, where colonial powers deemed their people ‘backward’, stating that it was the “obligation” of Europeans to bring light and guidance to their territories(Colonialism, 2018). This is the same mindset that Donald Trump exhibits in his tweets and actions, whether it be by discrediting the Puerto Rican government or portraying the island’s inhabitants as secondclass citizens. All in all, Trump’s argument is not credible whatsoever. First, it was published on Twitter, not in a credible peer-reviewed journal or respected establishment. He is not even an expert on matters when it comes to Puerto Rico. Trump’s argument is merely a collection of claims and allegations full of generalizations with a lack of robust evidence. The colonial mindset shown is not only found in Trump, but also in resilience literature. Current resilience literature has failed to properly define Puerto Rican resilience and is full of colonial connotations. According to Gemma Sou, a development geographer with a Ph.D. in Global Development from the University of Manchester, “ Much of the resilience literature myopically focuses on actors’ responses to exogenous hazards, implicitly suggesting that resilient actors are merely adapting mitigating, or recovering from a hazard…reduces actions to no more than survival and coping” (Sou, 2021). The type of resilience described here is “thin resilience” (Serrano‐García, 2020). According to Irma Serrano‐García, a retired professor from the Department of Psychology of the University of Puerto Rico in Río Piedras, thin resilience, as defined by Ungar (2005), is a description of resilience that 61
regards as “bouncing back from a crisis or disaster to return to the previous state of affairs or to a state of healthy politically grounded efforts toward creating different living conditions” (Serrano‐García, 2020). Thin descriptions of resilience are the ones that have been most commonplace in Puerto Rico (Serrano‐García, 2020). For so long, colonialism has been used as a means to stress that the individual is the one who has the ability to “solve problems” and disconnect “suffering from social conditions and serves both the colonial government and the colonizer” (Serrano‐García, 2020). Hence, the way resilience is depicted in Puerto Rico is too simplistic, and too general. To properly describe it, requires a new definition. In reality, Puerto Rican resilience is community resistance to the colonial power held by the United States. For so long, Puerto Rico has had a high dependence on the US for goods, as seen by the fact that 85% of goods in Puerto Rico are imported by the United States (Sou, 2021). Due to the Jones Act, which “requires shipping between U.S. ports to be conducted by US-flag ships” (Department of Homeland Security, 2017), federal aid that came to Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria was slow (Sou, 2021). Countries like Venezuela offered relief, but the Jones Act prevented said relief from arriving immediately (Sou, 2021), The Jones Act was eventually waived 8 days later, but for only 10 days of speed relief ( Department of Homeland Security, 2017). This intervention, however, was not enough. More days would have made a difference. 10 days after María, only 5% of power had been restored, 11% of cellphone towers fixed, half of the supermarkets opened, 9 of 69 hospitals connected to the electric grid, and only 50% of water services back in function (Roman, 2018). Thus, resilience became resistance. Sou (2021) states that “Everyday resistance does not require explicit political motivations or to be sustained by formal organisation. Actors may not necessarily regard their actions as resistance at all, rather a normal part and way of their life, personality, culture” (Sou, 2021). It was community actions, actions with the pure intention of helping others, that became acts of resistance in themselves. For example, in response to the inefficient and slow response of the United States, a “chain of solidarity” (Serrano‐García, 2020) formed, composed of 4,5000 community organizations that deployed their 200,000 volunteers that provided relief to over 1.1 million people, and worked hours “equivalent to 200 full-time jobs” (Serrano‐García, 2020). Not only is this an act of resilience, but one of resistance and sovereignty as well. 62
While the federal and Puerto Rican government struggled to aid the Island, it was the people who stood up “removing rubble…providing food, water, medicine, power plants, mosquito nets, fuel, and medical and psychological help…creating community kitchens…controlling animal infestations, and … rebuilding houses” (Serrano‐García, 2020). As the saying goes, “Solo el pueblo salva al pueblo- only the people save the people” (Rodríguez Soto, 2020), and in Puerto Rico, this was the case. The people stood up, and for a brief moment, broke the shackles of dependency colonial powers had put on the island. Colonialism has simultaneously been a force of both destruction and creation in these times. While it has fostered oppressive thought, it has also marked countries that were once colonies with the uniqueness they have today. The impact of colonialism on these places is observed in the face of natural disasters, where colonialism gave rise to the unique resilience its inhabitants show. In the case of Puerto Rico, colonial thought gave rise to resilience as a form of resistance. In the 2017 Hurricanes, this resistance shined through the web of lies and oppression created by the colonial occupation. The problem is, however, that this resilience is not recognized properly as it should. For so long “thin” (Serrano‐García, 2020) descriptions of resilience have been used. It is time for “thick descriptions” (Serrano‐ García, 2020) that “encompass community resilience defined as community capacities for adaptation and the availability and mobilization of social capital within an environment characterized by change, uncertainty, and unpredictability” (Serrano‐García, 2020). In other words, resilience has to recognize the limits of communities. Resilience, like Rahill et al.(2016) state, also has to recognize the generations of trauma a place previously colonized faces, such as in the case of Haiti, which had to deal with the consequences of French colonization decades after (Mckey, 2016). Rahil et.al.(2016) achieved this with their definition of Haitian resilience, which encompassed all the historical trauma and hardships Haitians bear Rahill et al.(2016). It is time to do the same with Puerto Rico. Let the truth shine, and let the Puerto Rican people be recognized. For it is a force to be reckoned with. A force that no one, not even Donald Trump, can stop. 63
Maya Angelou once said, “Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future, and renders the present inaccessible.” Racial discrimination is one of the biggest problems in today’s world, which is filled with prejudices. Police officers are consistently mistreating people of color in nearly every police department across the country. Racial discrimination impacts me because I am a person of color. I and people of color are afraid to do daily activities like walking down the street, driving, and going to the mall, because our skin color is a target on us, like a scarlet letter. People of color are afraid that what happened to George Floyd and countless others, will happen to them. I believe there is a way to work towards a solution to fix the problem of racial discrimination. However, this will take a while and it will take everyone in the United States to cooperate and help us start this. We must think of the people who have lost their lives due to police prejudices and discrimination. We cannot have police officers afraid of people simply because their skin color is different. We cannot have police saying “People look suspicious” because of their skin color. We cannot have police unload their weapon simply because of someone's skin color. There are countless examples of people of color who were shot and killed by police officers because according to the police, they “looked suspicious” at the time of questioning. This injustice even occurs when the only thing that was “suspicious” about the individual was that he/she was of color. “Why is the color of someone's skin suspicious?” It is because of prejudices. Prejudices have existed for hundreds of years that are unwarranted and invalid. However, if a white person acted suspiciously, police officers would act differently towards them. To solve this problem with the police department, they need cultural training, cultural awareness training, and need to understand the social community in which they serve. They need to be tactically able to recognize the difference between guns and tasers when under pressure. If a person wants to become a police officer, he/she must undergo certain requirements to prove that they are fit mentally, emotionally, and physically for the role. Police training is very important since it can eventually determine the life or death of individuals especially those of color. Funding needs to be guaranteed for the police department to help the officers learn how to do their job correctly, without prejudice, and without hurting others based on race and the color of their skin. RACIAL EQUALITY BY DIDIER JAPHET CHERUBIN 64 Art by Valeria Martí (‘27)
AT THE DONUT SHOP GABRIELLA MALDONADO Matt was working his shift at the donut shop when suddenly Hope Mathews entered the door. Matt had gone to school with Hope, he had known her since they were both fourteen. The thing about Hope and Matt is that they started off on the wrong foot the second they met seven years ago. As Hope walked towards him Matt was prepared to treat her like any other customer, he thought that after all this time she might have changed. Sadly, for both, neither of them had changed. “What are you doing here Barr?” Hope demanded. “What do you think I’m doing? I work here, now what donut would you like?” Mathew grumbled. Hope’s face disfigured, she had been offered the job as manager of the donut shop, but she didn’t know she had to work with Matthew Barr. He was a lose canon, a mess, annoying, and the list goes on of reasons why she hated him. He was also Hope’s first crush. But she wasn’t about to lose this opportunity just because she had to work with Matt. Misunderstanding will kill a person is what Matt thought when Hope sat down for a meeting with him. “Are you thinking of quitting anytime soon?” Hope asked. “Not until I graduate” Matt answered. “Well, I’m not either and I’m your new manager” Hope answered. Matt was screaming internally, of all people it had to be Hope Mathews. At first Matt and Hope almost became friends. ALMOST. Until they met in front of the donut shop. Matt had asked Hope out to eat donuts, he was eating his with a hot chocolate in his hand until Hope bumped into him. The hot chocolate spilled all over her. Now an incident like that isn’t enough to make someone hate you. But when it happens almost every day for a month you begin to think there’s something wrong with them. So, after a month of Matt being a klutz Hope began to think he hated her. So, she decided to hate him too, and the feud began. What Hope didn’t know was that Matt didn’t hate her nor did he want to hurt her. He liked her but got nervous each time he saw here which led him to do stupid things whenever she was around. In the beginning Hope also liked Matt, but as time passed, he kept on doing odd things around her. He would run away or become cold whenever she approached him. She had wondered where the nice guy she used to like had gone. There was only one conclusion in her mind: he hated her, and two can play that game. The next morning came, and it was Matt’s shift. A customer had just ordered a bear claw and that would be the first of the many incidents that would happen that day. Both Matt and Hope rushed to get the donut and their hands bumped into each other as they attempted to get it. They glared at each other but eventually Hope gave the customer her donut. After this Matt began to see this as a competition. Hope and Matt would continue to fight about that for the rest of the day. 65
Now standing in the rain Matt handed Hope is umbrella, “You remember the last time we met here?” he gave a weak chuckle, “Yes, you threw hot chocolate at me”, Hope snarked in reply. “I never meant to throw it at you”. “Oh, really! Then why didn’t you apologize. Just admit it you hated me then and now. I can’t fathom why though”. Matt was tired of the misunderstandings, and he knew that in a few months he wouldn’t have to see Hope anyway so, he finally said what he wanted to say seven years ago. “Hey! I never hated you. Okay. You were the one who threw water at me, insulted me, and ignored me every chance you got. And I know what you’re going to say, ‘you ignored me first’. Yes, I did avoid you, but it was because I liked you and I was embarrassed after the whole chocolate incident. But then you began being mean to me!”. At that moment Hope was too shocked to speak and Matthew instantly regretted all the words he had spit out of his mouth. I guess you could say he was a fan of the dramatics because Matt left Hope with his umbrella and ran away getting soaked in the rain. Matt was in a rush to clock out he had enough of her for one day. But it was raining, as if his day wasn’t bad enough already. He rushed back into the shop to get an umbrella. When he came back, he found Hope in the entrance. It reminded him of the day it all went wrong. Matthew, on that unfortunate day, spilt his drink on Hope, but he was so embarrassed that he ran away. After that he could never find the courage to face her. Weeks later Hope demanded to know why he had been avoiding her, Matt, as always, couldn’t find the right words to say and just tried to avoid her. Hope was over it, so she threw water at Matt, “You hate me, right? Fine. Well, I hate you too. You don’t want to talk to me fine, then don’t ever talk to me again!” Hope yelled and then ran away. Matt knew why Hope hated him but still, he was heartbroken. Now every time he tried to explain himself to Hope, she ignored him. But luck wasn’t on Hope’s side for the next four years she and Matt would be placed in the same class and their teachers always paired them up in groups for projects, no matter how evident it was that they hated each other. But Matt never truly hated Hope but no matter how hard he tried she never let him explain, so Matt gave up. Art by Gabriella Maldonado 66 (‘26)
Sophia Davis majored in music during her time at university. She loved listening and writing music more than anything. But isn’t it curious how one event can change everything. Sophia and her best friend Amanda were going to perform at a coffee shop one cold December night. This was until Sophia received a disturbing call. It was the hospital to tell her that her mom had been admitted. Amanda told Sophia to go and that she would cancel it. Worried out of her mind, Sophia jumped into a taxi and rushed to the hospital. There she found her mom pale in a hospital bed. The doctors told her that her mom had been diagnosed with cancer. Thankfully her mother had been admitted to the hospital in time to receive treatment. But the treatment was extremely expensive, and their medical insurance covered very little of the cost. Sophias’ mom would be unable to work effectively until the treatment was completed, that is to say that she would be in and out of the hospital until it was completed. Sophia needed a quick income. So, she decided to juggle her two majors and various part time jobs. But she quickly realized this would be ineffective. She couldn’t stand seeing her mother sick. She was also constantly stressed by juggling both work and school. So, she dropped one of her majors, music. She decided to concentrate on finance thinking she’d be able to do music outside of school anyways. But she found little time to do it and her dream of making music slowly died. She now was concentrated on finishing her final year of college and getting a real job. At this point Sophia had long forgotten what it felt like to do anything fun since she was so busy. She would always run between the hospital, work, and school. Everything was going to plan she would finish college, get a real job, and pay her mother’s hospital bills. Back then, her dream was simply in a small corner of her mind. But one of her part times had closed and she needed a new job. Luckily her friend had a job waiting for her. Amanda was tired of seeing her friend struggle. She saw Sophie and could no longer recognize her friend. It’s as if what was left was the ghost of the person Sophia used to be. Amanda couldn’t take it anymore she knew that working those part times was barely cutting for Claires treatments and that later she would have to pay school loans. She knew that even if Sophie got a job, she would be miserable, and it would be a long time before she could pay her debts. She knew she wasn’t meant for an office job she was meant to make music. Because of this Amanda took matters into her own hands. It’s no coincidence that Amanda and Sophie were under the same major. Amanda was raised by her two eccentric aunts who together owned one of the most well-known music record labels. To this end she decided to ask her aunts for a favor. “Hey Aunt Alex!” “Yes,” Alex answered drily. “Can I…” “Ask me for something”. FORGOTTEN MELODY GABRIELLA MALDONADO 67
“How’d you know?” “It’s rare that you call me without an ulterior motive. I feel sort of insulted.” “Liar. But whatever, we can go out to eat ice cream next week, now listen.” “I should say no.” “But you won’t, so listen. Do you by any chance have a space open for a new employee in your company?” “Maybe… Our secretary just quit, and we also need a new composer. But I’m not given them to you since you treat me like this.” “You say it like I didn’t see you two days ago. You’re so clingy. Anyway, I don’t want the job. Not yet anyway. You said that you’d hire anyone with potential for the position of composer. Right?” “Yes…” “Okay, I need you to hire my best friend Sophia Davis as secretary. But I want you to convince her to become a composer. You don’t require college a degree, right?” “No, for the job of composer we don’t require a degree as long as their good. But why do you want me to hire your friend, and how am I supposed to convince her to be a composer is she even good?” “She’s an amazing composer and she quit only because she had to take care of her mother and didn’t have time for it anymore. It isn’t like you to let someone with potential waste it. So, convince her to become a composer, work your magic.” “Fine bring her over, I’ll give her a two-week trial period and try to convince her. What can I convince her with?” “MONEY.” “Now you’re the one that’s not convincing me. What do you mean money?” “She stopped making music because she was busy working to make money to pay her debts. If you give her a good salary she might change her mind.” “Fine” “BYEEEEE!” A while later Sophie entered their dorms. “Hey Soph!”, Amanda called. “What’s up?” “I got you a new job!” “What? How? Where? Really?” “ Yes, don’t you trust me. You need to come here on Tuesday, I know the owner. She’ll explain the job when you get there. Her names Monica.” Amanda handed her a business card that read A&M Record Labels, and although she was weary about what Amanda was trying to ensue by sending her to a record label she exclaimed, “Thank you so much! You just saved my life!” Tuesday came and Sophie was heading to the company building. “Hello.” Sophia said to the doorman as she entered A&M Record Label. The building was like nothing she had ever seen before. It was oddly shaped but there was something almost magical about it. That’s because Alex and Monica, Amandas other aunt, wanted to express the magic of music all over their company including the building itself. If you looked at the building from above the building together shaped different instruments and musical chords. 68
“Hi, Sophia nice to meet you it’s time for the interview.” Monica welcomed her. “Come this way.” She followed Monica and entered a huge office with two grand semicircle desks and there were instruments and records in every corner of the room. Along with multiple prizes hanging on the walls. There Alexandra Pheonix was sitting behind her desk waiting for Sophia to enter. “Welcome Sophia, I’ve heard great things about you.” Sophia was surprised to hear this. She was even more shocked to know that her best friend knew the owners of the biggest Record Label in the country.” “Oh, really, I came here to apply for the secretary position at least for the next few months.” “Yes, that’s what I heard. Regardless of which job you want to apply for you need a two-week trial period. In those two weeks me and Monica will give you a tour around the building to understand what the work is we do around here.” Sophie was confused, “Isn’t this just a record company.” Alex cackled, “Hahaha, your funny.” “Follow me” Monica gestured. “The first floor is office space for the managers, this is also where you will work, this is your cubicle.” Monica said pointing to the rectangular space built out of metal. “Now follow me, this is the interesting part” Monic continued “This floor is dedicated to producing music. We have the recording room and then we have multiple rooms dedicated to song writing and composing.” “I see.” Sophie nodded. “Do you want to try them out?” Monica asked. “Try what out?” “The instruments. Amanda told me you new how to play.” “No, its alright. By the way, how do you know Amanda.” “She’s, my niece.” “What! She’s your niece.” “Yeah. That’s what I said. Anyway, now that I’ve shown you around you can return to your cubicle. Their some paperwork there you can sort out. Also later, around three there is a meeting in the conference room I told you about earlier. I’d appreciate it if you could take the minutes.” “Oh, of course Ms. Pheonix.” The workday ended and Sophie ran back to the dorm. “Your aunt is Monica Pheonix?!” Sophie asked Amanda. “Yeah, and Alexandra Pheonix too.” She answered unbothered and continued to watch her tv show. “And you never told me.” “I’ve talked about my aunts before not my fault if you didn’t put two and two together.” “Well anyway thanks for getting me the job.” “Welll, if you really want to thank me, how about taking the job of composer.” Amanda said with a sly smile. “Why would I do that? And your aunts wouldn’t allow me to anyway I’m a nobody.” “You’re not a nobody! Your Sophia Davis and amazing composer. And my best friend. If I asked, they’d give you the job and don’t you dare say it’s nepotism because you’re good and you know it. Plus, my aunts are desperate for a composer. What’s the worse that can happen they fire you.” “Yesssss!” “They won’t, plus if it doesn’t work out, you’re graduating in a few months anyway. It’s a win win. And if you do well you won’t end up in an office job and you can pay your mothers bills anyway.” Sophie was hesitant, she didn’t want to take any risks. But Amanda was right. Worse comes to worse she could get a new job in a few months anyway. “Okay, I’ll do it, how much are they paying me anyway.” “How should I know, but I assume enough.” 69
Sophie returned to work the next day and asked Alex if she could apply for the composer position. She said yes but that she would have to pass the interview before getting the job. Alex gave Sophie a week to come up with a song. Then she would see whether she would hire her. Writer’s block is such an annoying thing, she would touch the keys of the piano, but nothing would come to her. She thought that maybe she had lost her touch. The song was due in two days and Sophie had nothing. It was the middle of the night, and she was about to go to sleep when she got an idea. The small bits and pieces of a song she had created in the past few days came together to create a melody. She got her guitar and her piano. It took her a few hours, but she now had a song. She smiled. This is how it felt like, she reminisced of the times she would spend days on end trying to compose a song for her classes. Then she thought about Amanda and how right she had been to push her into trying again. She handed over the drive to Alex and it was at that moment she saw the potential her beloved niece had seen in her friend. Sophie was hired. A few months later Sophie graduated and among the fields of people she saw one of them was her mother standing up waving at her tears sprinkling her eyes. Sophie had successfully paid her mom’s hospital bills and she was healthy once again. “I was right, wasn’t I?” Amanda asked Sophie with a smug smile, later that night as they ate their celebratory dinner. “Yes, you were. You love being right don’t you.” “Yep!” Amanda answered resolutely. Harmony had returned to Sophies life and once thought to be impossible dream of creating music had come true. Art by Gabriella Maldonado 70 (‘26)
THE WAGER ISABEL BRINGAS Caliban wasn’t one to intervene in mortal affairs. As the god of justice, it was in his nature to be impartial (or at least, as impartial as situations would allow). That being said, he still paid keen attention to what happened in Raortia. Like the other deities, he watched over one of the continent’s many nations, and it was his responsibility to help his people when they needed him. But tonight, as there was no pressing crisis to attend to, he allowed himself to relax. It was a full moon, so he was in especially high spirits. Beyond just being the god of justice, he also had domain over the moon in all of its phases. And luckily for him, that came with a side benefit that made keeping tabs on mortals much simpler: for as long as his celestial body remained in the sky, Caliban could see everything happening down in Raortia. So with nothing better to do and some free time on his hands, he’d decided to take a little peek. As of now, nothing had caught his eye. Most of the people of his nation, Eossexus, were nocturnal, so it didn’t surprise him to see them up and about at this hour. So he’d turned his attention to some of the other nations instead. Right then he’d been looking through Caelica, where the sound of music and chatter had led him to a party full of mostly young adults. He quickly scanned the house where it was being held, noting many people participating in the usual shenanigans that came with this sort of teenage romp. He was about to dismiss it altogether, but then his gaze snagged on one attendee in particular: A tall girl wearing arm guards and combat boots, getting herself a drink from the unoccupied snack table. A hunting knife was sheathed at her belt. Caliban frowned slightly. Social gatherings among Raortia’s youth tended to be casual affairs (at least, from what he’d observed), so why would someone supposedly there to have fun be dressed and ready for battle at a moment’s notice? Out of the corner of his eye, he caught another flicker of movement nearby. It appeared he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her, as a muscular boy with brown hair and a scar on his cheek made to approach her. It was then that Caliban noticed the wolf ears perched atop the boy’s head, as well as the tail sprouting from the end of his spine. A werewolf, no doubt an alpha from the way he carried himself. Interesting. Werefolk were native to Eossexus. Whoever he was, this boy was one of his own. 71 His curiosity piqued, Caliban watched the were-boy stride up to the warrior girl as she refilled her cup. “Lonely night, eh?” he said, leaning against the snack table. The girl looked up, noticing his presence for the first time. Caliban saw her hand instinctively move to the knife at her belt. The boy must have noticed it as well, because he chuckled. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t bite.” He smiled, deliberately flashing his fangs when he did so. The edges of the girl’s lips quirked upward, and she relaxed slightly, though her free hand remained at her side. “Well, I can’t imagine what those are for if you don’t.” The boy’s grin widened at her response as he grabbed a refill of his own. The girl, meanwhile, took a quick sip of her cup. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” said the boy after a moment. The girl merely shrugged in response. “I’m here with a friend. We heard this thing was open-invitation, so we figured, what the hell.” She set her cup down again, turning to face him. “I take it you’re a regular then?” As their conversation continued, Caliban watched with unexpected interest. Relationships had always been Florelia’s domain and not his, but even he could pick up on what was going on between them. As someone who’d been alive for many, many eons and married for almost equally as long, he knew chemistry when he saw it. That sort of energy was rare between two people who’d only just met, but there it was unfolding right before him. His left ear twitching slightly, the were-boy rolled his eyes. “Not in years. I came ‘cause I had nothing better to do.” The rakish grin returned to his face as he subtly checked her out. “Although suddenly, I’m glad I did.” The warrior girl laughed, a genuine one at that. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Eventually, the warrior girl’s friend—a mousy, blonde girl with round glasses—came over to collect her, cutting the flirtation short. As she excused herself, the were-boy smirked amiably. “I never caught your name.” The girl grabbed her cup, smiling. “It’s Faye.” And with that, she and her friend made to leave. “See you around, wolfy,” she called back as they walked away. He chuckled faintly to himself, leaning against the table with his arms crossed. “I’m Ewan!” he responded. She stopped for a moment, shooting him a wink over her shoulder before quickening her pace to rejoin her friend. Caliban saw the boy’s gaze linger on her for a second too long as the two silhouettes melded into the crowd, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. The moon god was grinning in spite of himself. There was a strangely giddy feeling to watching the two young adults forge such a connection. He hadn’t felt sparks fly like that since… Since… An amused light danced in his eyes as a slow smile manifested itself on his features. “Astraea is going to love this,” he whispered fondly, disappearing into the night sky to await the sunrise. Almost a week after that evening, Caliban was waiting patiently atop a cloud, watching the sun. Being largely invulnerable, looking at it didn’t hurt him, despite the brightness. Though admittedly, it wouldn’t be his first time admiring the sun—or rather, the person behind it. As if on cue, a flash in the distance caught his eye as a shower of light descended from above. He watched as the light raced down to settle beside him on the cloud, before manifesting into the form of a red-haired woman clad in golden armor: Astraea, goddess of war and the sun. Her blazing aura dimmed when she saw him, the corners of her mouth lifting into a faint smile. Smoldering hazel eyes reflected the sun rays high above, and her armor likewise glinted under the light. Even in this form, she was absolutely radiant. Caliban smiled warmly as he embraced his wife. “How I’ve missed you these last few nights.” Astraea laughed, giving him a peck on the cheek. “You always were the romantic, weren’t you?” she teased. Caliban grinned as the two separated. “It won you over, didn’t it?” Actually, that was only half true. He’d always been taken with Astraea from the moment they met, stumbling over his sentences around her. Yet somehow, she’d found it endearing. The sun goddess chuckled in response, a placid smile settling onto her face. “What was it that you wanted to show me?” she asked, gesturing to the land below. Her husband’s eyes lit up, a sly smile crossing his features. He leaned over the edge of the cloud, gesturing for her to come closer. Astraea moved over to where he was, subconsciously leaning into him in a way that he was more than okay with. Caliban pointed down at the ground below, to a forested road between Caelica and Florauna. “There.” Four figures were walking along the path, with one mounted atop a beast of some kind. He couldn’t make it out as well without the moon in the sky, but he knew his wife could see, and he knew exactly who those figures were. Traversing the forest were the same young adults from the party he’d seen all those nights before—Faye and Ewan. Accompanying them was Faye’s blonde friend, whose name he’d learned was Maia, and an unknown brunette who was noticeably younger. Faye was the one riding the beast, an elegant creature with russet brown feathers and large, powerful wings. “A griffin,” Astraea commented, no doubt able to make out the details with the help of the sun’s position. Down below, Ewan had sidled over to walk alongside Faye. “Are you sure the kid knows where she’s going? From the sound of it, she hasn’t been home in a whiiiile,” he whispered. Behind him, Maia inhaled sharply as the brunette scowled. “I can hear you, ya know.” Faye turned to Ewan. “Cremini knows what she’s doing. She just…has a bit of a rough relationship with her home. Sore spot.” As the werewolf processed that, she leaned down to whisper in his ear, “And while we’re at it…maybe don’t mention you were a Follower. Out of everyone, Crem’s got it out for them the most, and I kind of need you in one piece now that you’re one of us.” 72
Ewan flinched, a strange emotion flickering through his eyes, but he covered it up quickly. “Gotcha. Don’t piss off the angry twelve-year-old if I want that second date.” Both Maia and Cremini rolled their eyes, an admittedly comical display that made Astraea openly snort. 73 Caliban nodded in the direction that the little group had gone. “I think we both know they’ll figure it out eventually. So I wager you that the wolf boy will confess first,” he said, confidently laying down the challenge. His wife took a moment to think it over. After a brief pause, she smiled. “Alright then. In that case, I’ll bet the girl is the first to confess.” The moon god’s features morphed into a grin. “Then it’s settled,” he declared, offering her a hand to shake. However, when she took it, he brought it up to kiss her knuckles. Astraea blushed, drawing a sly chuckle out of her husband. Letting go of her hand, Caliban gave an elaborate bow. “May the best divinity win.” Faye chuckled, straightening in the saddle of her griffin. “Focus on the mission, wolfy. Gotta make sure we don’t royally fuck up first.” Ewan grinned, his ears perking up slightly. “That’s not a no.” “I’ll think about it.” Beneath her, the griffin squawked indignantly, ruffling its feathers. Faye laughed, scratching the side of its neck. “Alright Hydrangea, we won’t bother you anymore.” “I don’t think it’s Hydrangea you should be worried about,” Ewan whispered, pointing ahead at Cremini with a wink. “Again, I CAN HEAR YOU,” Cremini barked, annoyed. Faye and Ewan merely smiled, exchanging a playful look. All the while, Caliban had watched his wife’s eyes begin to gleam with intrigue as they watched the interaction below. He could see her connecting the same set of dots that he had before. Eventually, the young adventurers continued down the path, their voices fizzling out into the distance. Astraea straightened, turning to her husband. “Alright, I can see why those two caught your eye,” she admitted, a knowing smile adorning her face. Caliban shrugged, though he too was grinning. Truly, there were moments where she knew him all too well. “What can I say? I’m a man of simple tastes.” The sun goddess shook her head, chuckling affectionately. “It’s interesting, though, isn’t it?” she said, her expression turning thoughtful. “To already be that friendly after one week…one almost can’t help but wonder which one will realize first.” At that moment, an idea sparked into Caliban’s mind like a comet through the night sky. He smirked, a mischievous light dancing in his eye. “Then what do you say to a little wager?” Astraea raised an eyebrow at her husband’s proposition. He also noted that the sun’s brightness ticked up slightly, no doubt an involuntary response. “What were you thinking?”
I followed the purplish smoke as it winded its way up, forming a dark cloud above my head that slowly dissipated into the cracked popcorn ceiling. During the early morning hours, when the only thing heard was the deep chirping of the mourning doves and the dew dripping off the leaves, I sat on my father’s tattered leather chair smoking a cigarette, suffocating. The grandfather clock near the entrance broke the crackling silence and struck six, prompting me to get up from his chair and make my way to the bathroom, through the dimly lit hallway lined with old family portraits. The bathroom, a disheveled version of the one I remember using while growing up, was missing a mirror. Knowing this, I still stared forward as I dried my face, expecting to see my now ghastly self peering back. The sun had risen as I returned, creeping into the living room through the half-open blinds. The stain on the carpeted floor seemed bigger than I remembered it to be, the ash forming an imperfect circle at the foot of the right-handrest of my father’s chair. My father, a distasteful and harsh man, had kept our home in perfect condition with his feverish religiosity, for this was a home the Lord should feel welcome to stay in. I gawked at the stain some more, wondering how to clean it, wondering how to clean myself of this sin, when the clock chimed the half hour. I snatched the brown glasses off the side table next to his chair, placed them atop my protruding nose, and made my way out the door, grabbing the mess of a briefcase with marked papers sticking out of it before exiting. *** The last conversation I had with my father was more of a screaming match, our damned souls blaming each other as though they were not destined for the same fate. I had walked home from school with a dear old friend of mine, Elijah. Full of gumption and charm, Elijah was the kind of person who had many friends, yet most of his time was spent with me up until that point. In my naiveté, I did not know if I wanted to be like him or be with him. I would attest that my father, with his ugly bitterness and blind cowardice, was the only person in the world who did not like Elijah. I could not comprehend a reason for his revulsion at the time. Til’ the Cows Come Home by Isaac Carrión 74
I entered the old house with the warm smell of cigarette smoke trailing behind me, my friend on the wooden porch. For you see, past what I deemed as human perfection, the one vice Elijah could not get rid of was his smoking habit. Perhaps it was the time we were living in, perhaps the small southern town we had grown up in, perhaps his family history. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. My father stood from his chair as he watched me walk through the door, violence in his dark eyes. “I told you to quit them damn smokes, boy. Them things make you sick and ain't no son of mine gone meet the Lord before his daddy,” he said scornfully, still in his ivory priestly robes. I hadn’t been the one smoking, at least not yet, but he did not know that. It wouldn’t have mattered to him anyway. “I ain’t no boy no more,” I replied monotonously, switching between each of his wrathful eyes. “Well, you sure as hell ain’t my boy no more.” “What do you care what I do? You never even around to know what I’m up to,” I trashed back. My father’s anger began surfacing itself in my own body. “You watch your mouth when you talk to me, ya hear? I’m your father fer Chrissake, I deserve some respect. And tell that li’l friend of yours to leave. I don’t want you hangin’ ‘round no sissies.” I wanted to yell at my father, I wanted to yell for Elijah, but I stayed regretfully silent. I turned around and stared at the door, still half ajar, and Elijah’s back making its way down the road. *** The cool autumn air struck my face as I exited the rusty car I couldn’t seem to get rid of and made my way toward the lecture hall, across the small, red-bricked campus. My mind trailed along behind me, jumping between upcoming lessons I had yet to plan to distant memories of Elijah. I began craving a cigarette, part to cope and part to warm myself up. It had been so long since I’d last seen him, yet I remembered. I don’t know why I remembered. After a short walk, I entered the bright classroom and began organizing my belongings in the corner of the room, by the wooden podium. 75
“Mornin’, Mr. Ellis,” a voice by the entrance said. I glanced at the thin figure entering the room. “Mr. Miller, it’s good to see ya,” I replied with a small smile. Mr. Miller was an assistant professor working toward gaining full tenure in the English department, though he was only one or two years younger than I. We had recently begun to teach a class on Homer together, scheduled for once a week, but I had grown very fond of him during our short times together. His bone-white smile and enticing eyes intrigued me, seeming ostensibly familiar at times. I, however, could not let this curiosity show, to not make him uncomfortable. *** In high school, I once wrote a poem to Elijah on a crumpled-up piece of paper that I ripped from some notebook. I never got around to giving it to him, but I always kept it folded up in the small pocket of my wallet, no matter if it decayed and smudged with age. I would argue that it is my best work, the start of my wishful literary career, that it should be published for the masses to enjoy, but I lacked sophistication and precision; I was only seventeen. And how could I share something of immoral nature? Stain my father? “There are more counties in Kentucky than there are pews in the church where the congregation sits. As the Father preaches to the choir, eternal damnation, of the lost souls to which share his spit. Born of cardinal sin, you and I are dressed the same. And the brown belt buckle hides the crime south of the navel and tightens our waists strapped, to the south of Kentucky. -- Archie E.” *** 76
After arduously trying to engage the group of mostly uninterested young adults on the thoughts of a long-deceased guy from Ancient Greece, class was finally over. I had almost reached my car when I noticed a silhouette out of the corner of my eye. “Archie, wait for me!” called out Mr. Miller’s voice behind me. I stopped and stood on a heap of grass, a few paces away from the parking lot. I began feeling something for which the words do not exist. “I know it’s been-a long time, but you don’t gotta pretend like ya don’t know me,” he said as he approached my side with a gap-toothed grin. And standing before me, I saw my once young Elijah, his mother’s maiden name on the small name tag attached to his collared shirt. His dark hair, now cut short, had begun to develop specks of gray and his face had sparse signs of aging. I suppose he had lost some weight, mostly baby fat, making his face much more sharp and defined, as though he himself were created not by man, but sculpted by God. Cigarette scars lined the bony bumps of his knuckles, even if they were more faded than what I remembered. And I thought of all the times I gently bandaged his hands, holding them softly, cursing the Lord and cursing our Fathers. We were children then, now no longer, and we were different. There was nothing like him and there would never be anything like him. But, if you looked closely, it was still him. How much can a thing change before it’s no longer itself? “I’ve missed you, Archie,” he said solemnly, whereas I could not muster up any words, shocked with my mouth slightly agape. My throat began to dry up and I felt like a little kid again, like a baby taking its first breath, crying out for its mother and father in the bright light of the sterilized hospital room. I hated myself for it. Time seemed to stop as my mind wandered through a distant fog of memories, of the creek we played in as kids, of schoolyard fights and scraped knees, of dark shadows and whispers that lined the halls we walked through together, of nights under stagnant moonlight, of hellfire and smoke, of the spit escaping my father’s mouth as he dismissed him with dudgeon and indignation. Where had time taken us? I knew then that I could not be saved. *** 77
When I was a young boy, I would accompany my father to the church every so often. He would make me sit in his office as he prepared his next sermon, or organized future fundraisers, or spoke over the phone with chatty men and women that I did not know. His prattle distractions lasted for hours and I, in my boredom, would wander the rooms of the church whenever he was too busy to pay me any mind. More often than not, I made my way to the modest nave where I would sit at the front pew, by the steps leading up to the priest’s podium, and stare at the crucified figure mounted on the wall, illuminated by the subtle reds and blues and yellows of the stained-glass windows. And I pitied him so. I pitied the way he was up on display, for all to see his most naked and vulnerable moment, for all to see his writhing agony. And I feared how people would respond if I were ever in the same state of bareness as He, stripped to nothingness of crime and sin. And I feared I would mull over this earth in Heaven too. And I feared that I could never be deserving of forgiveness, of salvation, from the Lord. *** I was doomed from the beginning, shackled and crucified to my own polluted, smog-filled notions of self. Words were not invited to the interaction between Elijah and I, and the things left unannounced followed me back to the old house where they had come from. I was the one who left this time. As I sat on my father’s chair once again, burning cigarette in hand, the ash stain on the carpet became ever so bigger and seemed to consume the entire room. Floor to ceiling, it was as though the depths of my soul had become visible and Hell had arrived on Earth. Night had already fallen, but the darkness outside could not compete with the darkness that continued to spread throughout the house. Light only entered through the sporadic sparks whittling off of my cigarette, burning tiny holes into the wrinkly clothes I wore. Each breath I took felt like a deserved punishment, as if there were something inside of me that could only be purged through harmful vice. With every motion, an inextinguishable flame emerged within, an intangible amalgamation of the bright flickers that escaped the paper and tobacco rings. I was being turned inside out. The flame continued to grow; it grew until I had become much too small to contain it. 78
Confined, there was nothing more the flame could do but escape. And the flame made its way out and spread throughout the house, engulfing the chair I sat on, the stained carpeted floor, the side table, the grandfather clock, the portraits, the papers; anything it could get its hands on. Fire was everywhere, everywhere. The house had gone up in flames. It had become light, and I was finally able to see. I was saved. Artwork by Viviana Ramos (‘24) 79
On a brisk August weekend, Shannon was woken up by the sounds of little feet pitter-pattering across the wooden floor boards of their home. I wanted to keep sleeping, Shannon thought. But alas, Shannon was out of luck, because in a matter of seconds those taps turned into stomps that sounded like they were coming from an elephant, not her 3 year old daughter Jordan. Grudgingly, Shannon peeled off the covers and was shocked by the chilly air and ground. She walked out the door, down the hall to the bathroom, elephant stomps persisting. Once she opened the faucet Shannon remembered that her mother said that she had to go to an important doctor's appointment this morning. With this in mind, Shannon walked down the stairs with the toothpaste in her left hand and a damp-bristled toothbrush in her right. “Mommy”, Shannon heard Jordan say, “I’m hungry.” “Ok Jordan, what do you want to eat?” Shannon asked the energetic girl, hoping the response was something quick and easy so she could lay on the couch after. “Shinamon toast!” the young girl exclaimed. “Coming right up!” Jordan announced, and with that she set off to the corner cupboard grab the cinnamon and the toaster. Then, she grabbed the bagged white bread from the basket on the counter, pulled out a slice and buttered it. While preparing the bread for toasting, Shannon heard RING RING RING, and saw the phone call from her mom. Picking up the landline, she heard a wet cough and the sound of her mothers voice. “Hi Shannon, how are you?” her mother asked. “I’m good mom, just making breakfast for Jordan. How are you feeling?” Shannon replied, really just hoping for good news. The Myth by Laleigh Piñeiro 80
Her mother sighed and then said, “It’s just a cough, but you know how your father gets about these things,” her mother said. It was routine in their family for Shannon’s mom to get very sick out of nowhere and need quick medical attention. Shannon didn’t want to get into a fight with her mom, so she let it be while her mom quipped about her dad. Shannon lifted Jordan off the ground and brought her up to the high chair so she could focus while multitasking. Returning to the toast preparation corner, Shannon sprinkled the Cinnamon atop the bread while still on the phone with her mom, and stuck it in the toaster, turning the dial to 4 and turned around to watch Jordan. “Momm, I want toast now!” Shannon heard her daughter say. “Sorry mom, I think I have to go” Shannon said and said her goodbyes with her mom so she could feed her daughter. A dinging sound signaled that the breakfast was ready, and Jordan clapped with excitement. Once it popped out of the toaster, Shannons placed the toasts on a plate, walked over to her child’s highchair to give her her breakfast, which she began to eat immediately. “Mommy, my face feels really hot”, Jordan said after taking her first two mouthfuls of her toast. “You have to let the bread cool down before you eat it” Shannon replied, thinking the girl must have started to eat too soon after popping out of the toaster. After a few minutes passed, Shannon assured Jordan that it would be ok to start eating again because the toast had time to lose some heat. The toddler took three more bites, but was still complaining of a burning sensation in her mouth. “Jordan, you have to finish your toast because it’s the only breakfast you’re getting.” Shannon explained. Jordan knew her mom wouldn’t be happy if she didn’t finish her plate so she kept eating. When Shannon glanced back to check on Jordan’s plate, the little girl’s face was turning bright red and swelling rapidly. Very quickly becoming alarmed at this sight, Shannon rushed to fill a glass of icy water for her young daughter. She gave it to Jordan hurriedly, but the swelling and redness didn’t go down at all. Rushing to the cabinet to check the cinnamon, Oh no, Shannon thought, I covered Jordan’s toast in red pepper instead of cinnamon. 81
Turning around to check on the little girl, Shannon watched as her daughter’s sweltering face swelled into rubbery blisters. Frozen in her surprised state, Shannon stared and watched all the blisters spread until they combined into one. In front of her eyes, Jordan was turning into a weightless, red, balloon. Shannon, not completely sure of what to do, watched as her daughter, or now the balloon floated up up and away. Frozen in that moment, she picked up the plate that had the toast, washed it, dried it, and put it back in the cabinet where it belonged. What do I do now, Shannon thought, and decided to call her mom. As she picked up the phone and got ready to punch in her mom’s phone number, the familiar RING RING RING erupted from the phone. Except now, her home was so much quieter and the ringing so much louder. For the second time this morning she lifted the telephone to answer a call from her mom. “It’s time” she heard her dad say. Shannon replied “Ok” and solemnly got into her car to say goodbye to her mom. For the second time that day. The drive to the hospital felt longer than normal without the toddler babble coming in from the back seat asking dozens of curious questions. The new silence felt odd. Once Shannon pulled her car into a parking space, she walked slowly into the building, unsure if she was ready for her second goodbye. The receptionist asked her all the questions they normally did, but this time it was followed by “We’re sorry to see you here again so soon.” Shannon walked down the hallway to room B-402 and entered, to see her mom lying in the cot asleep and her dad in the recliner next to her. All in silence, Shannon hugged her dad while they sat with her mom, and waited. Outside, Shannon saw a red balloon float up past the window, her red balloon, Jordan. Except, the oddest thing happened. The ribbon of the balloon got stuck on the building right outside the glass pane. Tears began to stream down Shannon’s face, and then her mother awoke and raised her hand to wipe the tears away. “Don’t worry about me Shannon” her mom said “I’ll get to see Jordan again”. “Please take care of her mom, '' Shannon replied. Both Shannon and her dad reached for the hands of the woman in front of them, ready to say goodbye. She drifted off to sleep again, but there was something more permanent about this time. Shannon’s dad’s eyes met hers and they both knew she was gone. Looking out the window, they both watched as the red balloon found its way out of its trap, and floated up, up and into the sky. 82
Nothing, at least that anyone was ever allowed to speak about, ever went wrong in Leo’s hometown of Santa Ana. Houses were built perfectly beside one another, traffic continued flawlessly with each white Kia Soul perfectly equidistant from the next. People lived each day exactly the same way, as if by mechanical design. Once again, Leo’s alarm went off at five in the morning, and he forced himself to appear happy as he completed the steps of his monotonous morning routine. Carefully, he slipped his feet into the light gray slippers beside his bed, walked twenty steps to his glass closet, and opened it to reveal seven outfits–one for each day of the week–neatly folded before him. Once fully dressed, he continued on his path to the kitchen. With footsteps already mapped out for him, he began to walk… One, two, three, four, five… As he approached the elevator, it greeted him frigidly, “Good morning, Leo. Today the date is February 3rd, and it is a piercing twenty-eight degrees fahrenheit outside. Breakfast has been served in the kitchen”. Right as the elevator finished updating Leo, the doors parted. It may be important to note at this time that in Leo’s town, doctors were nonexistent. In fact, any occupation geared toward fixing anything: be it cars, cracked screens, alterations, broken windows, simply did not exist; there was no room for error. Sickness, imperfection, and disaster were not options. As Leo stepped out of the elevator and continued on his usual path to the kitchen, he followed his pre-set footsteps and counted as one foot stepped perfectly ahead of the other. Then, the unexpected happened. by Natalie Dalmau 83
As he continued to count his steps, Leo felt a throbbing pain in his left leg, and tripped on what should have been his forty-sixth footstep of the day. Quickly, Leo experienced a range of emotions and sensations that he knew he was NOT supposed to be feeling. In fact, he did not even have the words in his vocabulary to describe them. Like pins and needles stabbing at every vein and crevice of his leg, he shrieked while in full panic, laying on his side with his skin up against the cold marbled flooring. While this may seem insignificant, to Leo and everyone in Santa Ana, this may as well have been Armageddon, but it was in his best interests to continue with his forty-seventh footsteps and pretend that nothing ever happened. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty–OUCH! Suddenly his whole body went numb, and everything around him went completely blank. The excruciating pain outshone the shame he felt for disrupting a perfectly designed system in which he lived. In that next moment Leo’s worst fears began to shine in front of him. Only once had something like this ever happened. The disappearance of his neighbor, whose name he mysteriously never learned. He was an older man of soft, kind, features who followed the rhythm of monotony required by the town of Santa Ana. He seemed content in that lifestyle, as though scared of any alternative; as if a life of freedom and hardship, or a world of only happiness would be worse than the tedium of the town. However, one day, his common path was obstructed, and later that night, his neighbors heard the echoing shrieks that arose from his home. No one ever dared to mention what had happened, and people everywhere went along with their business as intended. But now, with the pain trickling through his body, Leo could not help but wonder if he was next. Leo continued the routine of the day as normal, trying to reset the events that had occurred. However, the more he walked, the more he began to notice heinous looks from bystanders. 84
The people he passed by every day stared directly at him as though they were searching for Leo to unveil the hideous truth of his incident. It became so apparent, that Leo decided to halt his daily routine and retrace his steps back home. His routine had been disrupted, pain was surging through his body, and sweat dripped down the sides of his face– this may as well have been the end of the world for poor Leo. Finally back in his bedroom, Leo bravely faced his reflection in front of the mirror, but could not recognize what stood before him. A pale face, fear darkening his already dark eyes, and gray hairs frantically appearing from the roots of his usually brunette hair. With quivering lips, he decided to wish upon himself that it was all just an unfortunate dream. He took seven steps to his perfectly made bed, and shut his eyes, hoping that when he awoke the next morning, everything would be perfectly intact. Little did he know–nothing would ever be the same again. _____________________________________________________________ That night, what seemed like a family of glowing orbs phased through Leo’s bedroom window, surrounding him as he slept through the events of the day. Each orb glowed a different color, giving each of them a specific identity based on their hue. “Is this him?” asked Purple. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure of it,” assured Yellow. Then, as if by magical force, the colorful glow of the orbs began to circle Leo, moving faster by the second, until all that could be seen by the naked eye was a tornado of color lifting Leo by his limbs. Finally, he vanished into thin air, away from the not-so-perfect but perfect town of Santa Ana. ___________________________________________________________ Leo felt himself awaking from his deep slumber. As his right eye slowly opened, following the left, the blurry whirlwind of color around him began to transform into a wonderland filled with pure bliss. Instantly up against his skin was the warmth of the air around him, and there were figures of people that he had never seen in his life were dancing right before his eyes, leaping into the air, while others soared from one brightly-hued building to the next. No scientific law that Leo had ever learned of was followed in this alternate universe. 85
In fact, it was as though someone had flipped his perfect town of Santa Ana, and painted it a billion different colors, sprinkling a magical dust that allowed everyone to follow their own instincts and desires. He had never even fathomed an experience nearly as close to this one. Rainbow-colored creatures, figures, and architecture encircled him as he gathered himself, and tried to recover bits and pieces of memories of what had happened the day prior. The pins and needles that he swore he had felt protruding through his skin–it was gone. All the pain was gone, and in fact, he had never felt so at peace. His heart swelled with happiness, hope, fearlessness, all the extreme feelings he swore he had never felt his entire life. Then, as if to address the awe in Leo’s eyes, seven figures swiftly approached him. Leo spoke his thoughts aloud as he asked, “Am I dreaming?”. The figures in front of him simply laughed and approached Leo, humbly looking at him, making him feel more seen than ever. The green figure amongst a rainbow of beings before him responded to his rhetorical question, “No, Leo. In fact, we’ve been waiting for you for quite some time. How do you feel? Happy? Calm?” Green asked. Leo responded without a second thought, “I’ve actually never felt better in my entire life. Please, someone explain what is happening to me”. The line of colors before him refused to respond to his inquiry. Instead they merely laughed at him. Leo was perplexed at the oddities of their behaviors, how they were far from humanlike, and almost too mesmerizing to be true. Pink shyly approached Leo, as if reading his mind, “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore Leo. All your pain, all your boredom, all of your sickness, it’s gone. And you’re finally home.”. With those words, Leo realized that he in fact could not remember ever truly feeling at home. All he remembered was one day simply, existing. His first memories of his life began at the age of thirty, but life before that was foggy if not nonexistent. However, even with the eeriness of the thought that he did not even know himself, Leo could only feel peace and calm. He knew that this was the place where he would be able to eternally rest, a place where he truly was home. “So Leo, will you stay with us, or will you go back to where you’ve come from?” asked Red, confident he already knew the response that would follow. Leo swiftly answered, “I want to stay. I’m home.” _________________________________________________________________ 86
The incessant beeping of monitors had become like a lullaby for Leo’s poor parents. They slept drowsily through the night waiting for any kind of update on their son’s condition. Then, as abruptly as an alarm clock rings, a long beep sounded, and then, silence. Leo’s parents rushed to his side, watching as his already lifeless body lost the last of its color, and he released his last breath. His three-year coma had officially ended, and he was pronounced dead. However, the lifeless Leo seemed relaxed. Finally his fight was over, and he was free to reach his personal resting place, a realm of peace and harmony. Photo by Efe Kurnaz on Unsplash 87